APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/authors/marktwain/tomsawyer/CHAP10_19

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                           Chapter 10

                Dire Prophecy of the Howling Dog


  THE TWO BOYS flew on and on, toward the village, speechless with
horror. They glanced backward over their shoulders from time to
time, apprehensively, as if they feared they might be followed.
Every stump that started up in their path seemed a man and an enemy,
and made them catch their breath; and as they sped by some outlying
cottages that lay near the village, the barking of the aroused
watch-dogs seemed to give wings to their feet.

  "If we can only get to the old tannery, before we break down!"
whispered Tom, in short catches between breaths, "I can't stand it
much longer."

  Huckleberry's hard pantings were his only reply, and the boys
fixed their eyes on the goal of their hopes and bent to their work
to win it. They gained steadily on it, and at last, breast to breast
they burst through the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in
the sheltering shadows beyond. By and by their pulses slowed down, and
Tom whispered:

  "Huckleberry, what do you reckon 'll come of this?"

  "If Dr. Robinson dies, I reckon hanging 'll come of it."

  "Do you though?"

  "Why I know it, Tom."

  Tom thought a while, then he said:

  "Who'll tell? We?"

  "What are you talking about? S'pose something happened and Injun Joe
didn't hang? Why he'd kill us some time or other, just as dead sure as
we're a-laying here."

  "That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck."

  "If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it, if he's fool enough.
He's generally drunk enough."

  Tom said nothing- went on thinking. Presently he whispered:

  "Huck, Muff Potter don't know it. How can he tell?"

  "What's the reason he don't know it?"

  "Because he'd just got that whack when Injun Joe done it. D' you
reckon he could see anything? D' you reckon he knowed anything?"

  "By hokey, that's so Tom!"

  "And besides, look-a-here- maybe that whack done for him!"

  "No, 'tain't likely Tom. He had liquor in him; I could see that; and
besides, he always has. Well when pap's full, you might take and
belt him over the head with a church and you couldn't phase him. He
says so, his own self. So it's the same with Muff Potter, of course.
But if a man was dead sober, I reckon maybe that whack might fetch
him; I dono."

  After another reflective silence, Tom said:

  "Hucky, you sure you can keep mum?"

  "Tom, we got to keep mum. You know that. That Injun devil wouldn't
make any more of drownding us than a couple of cats, if we was to
squeak 'bout this and they didn't hang him. Now look-a-here, Tom, less
take and swear to one another- that's what we got to do- swear to keep
mum."

  "I'm agreed, Huck. It's the best thing. Would you just hold hands
and swear that we-"

  "O, no, that wouldn't do for this. That's good enough for little
rubbishy common things- specially with gals, cuz they go back on you
anyway, and blab if they get in a huff- but there orter be writing
'bout a big thing like this. And blood."

  Tom's whole being applauded this idea. It was deep, and dark, and
awful; the hour, the circumstances, the surroundings, were in
keeping with it. He picked up a clean pine shingle that lay in the
moonlight, took a little fragment of "red keel" out of his pocket, got
the moon on his work, and painfully scrawled these lines,
emphasizing each slow down-stroke by clamping his tongue between his
teeth, and letting up the pressure on the up-strokes:


                          (See illustration.)


  Huckleberry was filled with admiration of Tom's facility in writing,
and the sublimity of his language. He at once took a pin from his
lappel and was going to prick his flesh, but Tom said:

  "Hold on! Don't do that. A pin's brass. It might have verdigrease on
it."

  "What's verdigrease?"

  "It's p'ison. That's what it is. You just swaller some of it
once- you'll see."

  So Tom unwound the thread from one of his needles, and each boy
pricked the ball of his thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. In
time, after many squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials, using the
ball of his little finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry how to
make an H and an F, and the oath was complete. They buried the shingle
close to the wall, with some dismal ceremonies and incantations, and
the fetters that bound their tongues were considered to be locked
and the key thrown away.

  A figure crept stealthily through a break in the other end of the
ruined building, now, but they did not notice it.

  "Tom," whispered Huckleberry, "does this keep us from ever
telling- always?"

  "Of course it does. It don't make any difference what happens, we
got to keep mum. We'd drop down dead- don't you know that?"

  "Yes, I reckon that's so."

  They continued to whisper for some little time. Presently a dog
set up a long, lugubrious howl just outside- within ten feet of them.

  The boys clasped each other suddenly, in an agony of fright.

  "Which of us does he mean?" gasped Huckleberry.

  "I dono- peep through the crack. Quick!"

  "No, you, Tom!"

  "I cant- I can't do it, Huck!"

  "Please, Tom. There 'tis again!"

  "O, lordy, I'm thankful!" whispered Tom. "I know his voice. It's
Bull Harbison."

  "O, that's good- I tell you, Tom, I was most scared to death; I'd
a bet anything it was a stray dog."

  The dog howled again. The boys' hearts sank once more.

  "O, my! that ain't no Bull Harbison!" whispered Huckleberry. "Do,
Tom!"

  Tom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put his eye to the crack. His
whisper was hardly audible when he said:

  "O, Huck, IT'S A STRAY DOG!"

  "Quick, Tom, quick! Who does he mean?"

  "Huck, he must mean us both- we're right together."

  "O, Tom, I reckon we're goners. I reckon there ain't no mistake
'bout where I'll go to. I been so wicked."

  "Dad fetch it! This comes of playing hookey and doing everything a
feller's told not to do. I might a been good, like Sid, if I'd a
tried- but no, I wouldn't, of course. But if ever I get off this
time, I lay I'll just waller in Sunday-schools!" And Tom began to
snuffle a little.

  "You bad!" and Huckleberry began to snuffle, too. "Consound it,
Tom Sawyer, you're just old pie, 'longside o'what I am. O, lordy,
lordy, lordy, I wisht I only had half your chance."

  Tom choked off and whispered:

  "Look, Hucky, look! He's got his back to us!"

  Hucky looked, with joy in his heart.

  "Well he has, by jingoes! Did he before?"

  "Yes, he did. But I, like a fool, never thought. O, this is bully,
you know. Now, who can he mean?"

  The howling stopped. Tom pricked up his ears.

  "Sh! What's that?" he whispered.

  "Sounds like- like hogs grunting. No- it's somebody snoring, Tom."

  "That is it? Where 'bouts is it, Huck?"

  "I bleeve it's down at t'other end. Sounds so, anyway. Pap used to
sleep there, sometimes, 'long with the hogs, but laws bless you, he
just lifts things when he snores. Besides, I reckon he ain't ever
coming back to this town any more."

  The spirit of adventure rose in the boys' souls once more.

  "Hucky do you das't to go if I lead?"

  "I don't like to, much. Tom, s'pose it's Injun Joe!"

  Tom quailed. But presently the temptation rose up strong again and
the boys agreed to try, with the understanding that they would take to
their heels if the snoring stopped. So they went tip-toeing stealthily
down, the one behind the other. When they had got to within five steps
of the snorer, Tom stepped on a stick, and it broke with a sharp snap.
The man moaned, writhed a little, and his face came into the
moonlight. It was Muff Potter. The boys' hearts had stood still, and
their hopes too, when the man moved, but their fears passed away
now. They tip-toed out, through the broken weather-boarding, and
stopped at a little distance to exchange a parting word. That long,
lugubrious howl rose on the night air again! They turned and saw the
strange dog standing within a few feet of where Potter was lying,
and facing Potter, with his nose pointing heavenward.

  "O, geeminy it's him!" exclaimed both boys, in a breath.

  "Say, Tom- they say a stray dog come howling around Johnny
Miller's house, 'bout midnight, as much as two weeks ago; and a
whippoorwill come in and lit on the bannisters and sung, the very same
evening; and there ain't anybody dead there yet."

  "Well I know that. And suppose there ain't. Didn't Gracie Miller
fall in the kitchen fire and burn herself terrible the very next
Saturday?"

  "Yes, but she ain't dead. And what's more, she's getting better,
too."

  "All right, you wait and see. She's a goner, just as dead sure as
Muff Potter's a goner. That's what the niggers say, and they know
all about these kind of things, Huck."

  Then they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept in at his bedroom
window, the night was almost spent. He undressed with excessive
caution, and fell asleep congratulating himself that nobody knew of
his escapade. He was not aware that the gently-snoring Sid was
awake, and had been so for an hour.

  When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone. There was a late look in
the light, a late sense in the atmosphere. He was startled. Why had he
not been called- persecuted till he was up, as usual? The thought
filled him with bodings. Within five minutes he was dressed and down
stairs, feeling sore and drowsy. The family were still at table, but
they had finished breakfast. There was no voice of rebuke; but there
were averted eyes; there was a silence and an air of solemnity that
struck a chill to the culprit's heart. He sat down and tried to seem
gay, but it was up-hill work; it roused no smile, no response, and
he lapsed into silence and let his heart sink down to the depths.

  After breakfast his aunt took him aside, and Tom almost brightened
in the hope that he was going to be flogged; but it was not so. His
aunt wept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old
heart so; and finally told him to go on, and ruin himself and bring
her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her
to try any more. This was worse than a thousand whippings, and Tom's
heart was sorer now than his body. He cried, he pleaded for
forgiveness, promised reform over and over again and then received his
dismissal, feeling that he had won but an imperfect forgiveness and
established but a feeble confidence.

  He left the presence too miserable to even feel revengeful toward
Sid; and so the latter's prompt retreat through the back gate was
unnecessary. He moped to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging,
along with Joe Harper, for playing hooky the day before, with the
air of one whose heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead to
trifles. Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on
his desk and his jaws in his hands and stared at the wall with the
stony stare of suffering that has reached the limit and can no further
go. His elbow was pressing against some hard substance. After a long
time he slowly and sadly changed his position, and took up this object
with a sigh. It was in a paper. He unrolled it. A long, lingering,
colossal sigh followed, and his heart broke. It was his brass
andiron knob!

  This final feather broke the camel's back.

                           Chapter 11

                      Conscience Racks Torn


  CLOSE UPON THE HOUR OF NOON the whole village was suddenly
electrified with the ghastly news. No need of the as yet
undreamed-of telegraph; the tale flew from man to man, from group to
group, from house to house, with little less than telegraphic speed.
Of course the schoolmaster gave holiday for that afternoon; the town
would have thought strangely of him if he had not.

  A gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had
been recognized by somebody as belonging to Muff Potter- so the
story ran. And it was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter
washing himself in the "branch" about one or two o'clock in the
morning, and that Potter had at once sneaked off- suspicious
circumstances, especially the washing, which was not a habit with
Potter. It was also said that the town had been ransacked for this
"murderer" (the public are not slow in the matter of sifting
evidence and arriving at a verdict) but that he could not be found.
Horsemen had departed down all the roads in every direction, and the
Sheriff "was confident" that he would be captured before night.

  All the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heart-break
vanished and he joined the procession, not because he would not a
thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful,
unaccountable fascination drew him on. Arrived at the dreadful
place, he wormed his small body through the crowd and saw the dismal
spectacle. It seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody
pinched his arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's. Then
both looked elsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed
anything in their mutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent
upon the grisly spectacle before them.

  "Poor fellow!" "Poor young fellow!" "This ought to be a lesson to
grave-robbers!" "Muff Potter'll hang for this if they catch him!" This
was the drift of remark; and the minister said, "It was a judgment;
His hand is here."

  Now Tom shivered from head to heel; for his eye fell upon the stolid
face of Injun Joe. At this moment the crowd began to sway and
struggle, and voices shouted, "It's him! it's him! he's coming
himself!"

  "Who? Who?" from twenty voices.

  "Muff Potter!"

  "Hallo, he's stopped!- Look out, he's turning! Don't let him get
away!"

  People in the branches of the trees over Tom's head, said he
wasn't trying to get away- he only looked doubtful and perplexed.

  "Infernal impudence!" said a bystander; "wanted to come and take a
quiet look at his work, I reckon- didn't expect any company."

  The crowd fell apart, now, and the Sheriff came through,
ostentatiously leading Potter by the arm. The poor fellow's face was
haggard, and his eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stood
before the murdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his face
in his hands and burst into tears.

  "I didn't do it, friends," he sobbed; "'pon my word and honor I
never done it."

  "Who's accused you?" shouted a voice.

  This shot seemed to carry home. Potter lifted his face and looked
around him with a pathetic hopelessness in his eyes. He saw Injun Joe,
and exclaimed: "O, Injun Joe, you promised me you'd never-"

  "Is that your knife?" and it was thrust before him by the Sheriff.

  Potter would have fallen if they had not caught him and eased him to
the ground. Then he said:

  "Something told me 't if I didn't come back and get-" He
shuddered; then waved his nerveless hand with a vanquished gesture and
said, "Tell 'em, Joe, tell 'em- it ain't any use any more."

  Then Huckleberry and Tom stood dumb and staring, and heard the
stony-hearted liar reel off his serene statement, they expecting every
moment that the clear sky would deliver God's lightnings upon his
head, and wondering to see how long the stroke was delayed. And when
he had finished and still stood alive and whole, their wavering
impulse to break their oath and save the poor betrayed prisoner's life
faded and vanished away, for plainly this miscreant had sold himself
to Satan and it would be fatal to meddle with the property of such a
power as that.

  "Why didn't you leave? What did you want to come here for?" somebody
said.

  "I couldn't help it- I couldn't help it," Potter moaned. "I wanted
to run away, but I couldn't seem to come anywhere but here." And he
fell to sobbing again.

  Injun Joe repeated his statement, just as calmly, a few minutes
afterward on the inquest, under oath; and the boys, seeing that the
lightnings were still withheld, were confirmed in their belief that
Joe had sold himself to the devil. He was now become, to them, the
most balefully interesting object they had ever looked upon, and
they could not take their fascinated eyes from his face. They inwardly
resolved to watch him, nights, when opportunity should offer, in the
hope of getting a glimpse of his dread master.

  Injun Joe helped to raise the body of the murdered man and put it in
a wagon for removal; and it was whispered through the shuddering crowd
that the wound bled a little! The boys thought that this happy
circumstance would turn suspicion in the right direction; but they
were disappointed, for more than one villager remarked:

  "It was within three feet of Muff Potter when it done it."

  Tom's fearful secret and gnawing conscience disturbed his sleep
for as much as a week after this; and at breakfast one morning Sid
said:

  "Tom, you pitch around and talk in your sleep so much that you
keep me awake about half the time."

  Tom blanched and dropped his eyes.

  "It's a bad sign," said Aunt Polly, gravely. "What you got on your
mind, Tom?"

  "Nothing. Nothing 't I know of." But the boy's hand shook so that he
spilled his coffee.

  "And you do talk such stuff," Sid said. "Last night you said 'it's
blood, it's blood, that's what it is!' You said that over and over.
And you said, 'Don't torment me so- I'll tell!' Tell what? What is
it you'll tell?"

  Everything was swimming before Tom. There is no telling what might
have happened, now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt Polly's
face and she came to Tom's relief without knowing it. She said:

  "Sho! It's that dreadful murder. I dream about it most every night
myself. Sometimes I dream it's me that done it."

  Mary said she had been affected much the same way. Sid seemed
satisfied. Tom got out of the presence as quick as he plausibly could,
and after that he complained of toothache for a week and tied up his
jaws every night. He never knew that Sid lay nightly watching, and
frequently slipped the bandage free and then leaned on his elbow
listening a good while at a time, and afterward slipped the bandage
back to its place again. Tom's distress of mind wore off gradually and
the toothache grew irksome and was discarded. If Sid really managed to
make anything out of Tom's disjointed mutterings, he kept it to
himself.

  It seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holding
inquests on dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble present to his
mind. Sid noticed that Tom never was coroner at one of these
inquiries, though it had been his habit to take the lead in all new
enterprises; he noticed, too, that Tom never acted as a witness,-
and that was strange; and Sid did not overlook the fact that Tom
even showed a marked aversion to these inquests, and always avoided
them when he could. Sid marveled, but said nothing. However, even
inquests went out of vogue at last, and ceased to torture Tom's
conscience.

  Every day or two, during this time of sorrow, Tom watched his
opportunity and went to the little grated jail-window and smuggled
such small comforts through to the "murderer" as he could get hold of.
The jail was a trifling little brick den that stood in a marsh at
the edge of the village, and no guards were afforded for it; indeed it
was seldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease Tom's
conscience.

  The villagers had a strong desire to tar-and-feather Injun Joe and
ride him on a rail, for body-snatching, but so formidable was his
character that nobody could be found who was willing to take the
lead in the matter, so it was dropped. He had been careful to begin
both of his inquest-statements with the fight, without confessing
the grave-robbery that preceded it; therefore it was deemed wisest not
to try the case in the courts at present.

                           Chapter 12

                   The Cat and the Painkiller


  ONE OF THE REASONS why Tom's mind had drifted away from its secret
troubles was, that it had found a new and weighty matter to interest
itself about. Becky Thatcher had stopped coming to school. Tom had
struggled with his pride a few days, and tried to "whistle her down
the wind," but failed. He began to find himself hanging around her
father's house, nights, and feeling very miserable. She was ill.
What if she should die! There was distraction in the thought. He no
longer took an interest in war, nor even in piracy. The charm of
life was gone; there was nothing but dreariness left. He put his
hoop away, and his bat; there was no joy in them any more. His aunt
was concerned. She began to try all manner of remedies on him. She was
one of those people who are infatuated with patent medicines and all
new-fangled methods of producing health or mending it. She was an
inveterate experimenter in these things. When something fresh in
this line came out she was in a fever, right away, to try it; not on
herself, for she was never ailing, but on anybody else that came
handy. She was a subscriber for all the "Health" periodicals and
phrenological frauds; and the solemn ignorance they were inflated with
was breath to her nostrils. All the "rot" they contained about
ventilation, and how to go to bed, and how to get up, and what to eat,
and what to drink, and how much exercise to take, and what frame of
mind to keep one's self in, and what sort of clothing to wear, was all
gospel to her, and she never observed that her health-journals of
the current month customarily upset everything they had recommended
the month before. She was as simple-hearted and honest as the day
was long, and so she was an easy victim. She gathered together her
quack periodicals and her quack medicines, and thus armed with
death, went about on her pale horse, metaphorically speaking, with
"hell following after." But she never suspected that she was not an
angel of healing and the balm of Gilead in disguise, to the
suffering neighbors.

  The water treatment was new, now, and Tom's low condition was a
windfall to her. She had him out at daylight every morning, stood
him up in the woodshed and drowned him with a deluge of cold water;
then she scrubbed him down with a towel like a file, and so brought
him to; then she rolled him up in a wet sheet and put him away under
blankets till she sweated his soul clean and "the yellow stains of
it came through his pores"- as Tom said.

  Yet notwithstanding all this, the boy grew more and more
melancholy and pale and dejected. She added hot baths, sitz baths,
shower baths and plunges. The boy remained as dismal as a hearse.
She began to assist the water with a slim oatmeal diet and blister
plasters. She calculated his capacity as she would a jug's, and filled
him up every day with quack cure-alls.

  Tom had become indifferent to persecution, by this time. This
phase filled the old lady's heart with consternation. This
indifference must be broken up at any cost. Now she heard of
Pain-Killer for the first time. She ordered a lot at once. She
tasted it and was filled with gratitude. It was simply fire in a
liquid form. She dropped the water treatment and everything else,
and pinned her faith to Pain-Killer. She gave Tom a tea-spoonful and
watched with the deepest anxiety for the result. Her troubles were
instantly at rest, her soul at peace again; for the "indifference" was
broken up. The boy could not have shown a wilder, heartier interest,
if she had build a fire under him.

  Tom felt that it was time to wake up; this sort of life might be
romantic enough, in his blighted condition, but it was getting to have
too little sentiment and too much distracting variety about it. So
he thought over various plans for relief, and finally hit upon that of
professing to be fond of Pain-Killer. He asked for it so often that he
became a nuisance, and his aunt ended by telling him to help himself
and quit bothering her. If it had been Sid, she would have had no
misgivings to alloy her delight; but since it was Tom, she watched the
bottle clandestinely. She found that the medicine did really diminish,
but it did not occur to her that the boy was mending the health of a
crack in the sitting-room floor with it.

  One day Tom was in the act of dosing the crack when his aunt's
yellow cat came along, puffing, eyeing the tea-spoon avariciously, and
begging for a taste. Tom said:

  "Don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter."

  But Peter signified that he did want it.

  "You better make sure."

  Peter was sure.

  "Now you've asked for it, and I'll give it to you, because there
ain't anything mean about me; but if you find you don't like it, you
musn't blame anybody but your own self."

  Peter was agreeable. So Tom pried his mouth open and poured down the
Pain-Killer. Peter sprang a couple of yards into the air, and then
delivered a war-whoop and set off round and round the room, banging
against furniture, upsetting flower-pots and making general havoc.
Next he rose on his hind feet and pranced around, in a frenzy of
enjoyment, with his head over his shoulder and his voice proclaiming
his unappeasable happiness. Then he went tearing around the house
again spreading chaos and destruction in his path. Aunt Polly
entered in time to see him throw a few double summersets, deliver a
final mighty hurrah, and sail through the open window, carrying the
rest of the flower-pots with him. The old lady stood petrified with
astonishment, peering over her glasses; Tom lay on the floor
expiring with laughter.

  "Tom, what on earth ails that cat?"

  "I don't know, aunt," gasped the boy.

  "Why I never see anything like it. What did make him act so?"

  "Deed I don't know Aunt Polly; cats always act so when they're
having a good time."

  "They do, do they?" There was something in the tone that made Tom
apprehensive.

  "Yes'm. That is, I believe they do."

  "You do?"

  "Yes'm."

  The old lady was bending down, Tom watching, with interest
emphasized by anxiety. Too late he divined her "drift." The handle
of the tell-tale tea-spoon was visible under the bed-valance. Aunt
Polly took it, held it up. Tom winced, and dropped his eyes. Aunt
Polly raised him by the usual handle- his ear- and cracked his head
soundly with her thimble.

  "Now, sir, what did you want to treat that poor dumb beast so, for?"

  "I done it out of pity for him- because he hadn't any aunt."

  "Hadn't any aunt!- you numscull. What has that got to do with it?"

  "Heaps. Because if he'd a had one she'd a burnt him out herself!
She'd a roasted his bowels out of him 'thout any more feeling than
if he was a human!"

  Aunt Polly felt a sudden pang of remorse. This was putting the thing
in a new light; what was cruelty to a cat might be cruelty to a boy,
too. She began to soften; she felt sorry. Her eyes watered a little,
and she put her hand on Tom's head and said gently:

  "I was meaning for the best, Tom. And Tom, it did do you good."

  Tom looked up in her face with just a perceptible twinkle peeping
through his gravity:

  "I know you was meaning for the best, aunty, and so was I with
Peter. It done him good, too. I never see him get around so since-"

  "O, go 'long with you, Tom, before you aggravate me again. And you
try and see if you can't be a good boy, for once, and you needn't take
any more medicine."

  Tom reached school ahead of time. It was noticed that this strange
thing had been occurring every day latterly. And now, as usual of
late, he hung about the gate of the school-yard instead of playing
with his comrades. He was sick, he said, and he looked it. He tried to
seem to be looking everywhere but whither he really was looking-
down the road. Presently Jeff Thatcher hove in sight, and Tom's face
lighted; he gazed a moment, and then turned sorrowfully away. When
Jeff arrived, Tom accosted him, and "led up" warily to opportunities
for remark about Becky, but the giddy lad never could see the bait.
Tom watched and watched, hoping whenever a frisking frock came in
sight, and hating the owner of it as soon as he saw she was not the
right one. At last frocks ceased to appear, and he dropped
hopelessly into the dumps; he entered the empty school-house and sat
down to suffer. Then one more frock passed in at the gate, and Tom's
heart gave a great bound. The next instant he was out, and "going
on" like an Indian; yelling, laughing, chasing boys, jumping over
the fence at risk of life and limb, throwing hand-springs, standing on
his head- doing all the heroic things he could conceive of, and
keeping a furtive eye out, all the while, to see if Becky Thatcher was
noticing. But she seemed to be unconscious of it all; she never
looked. Could it be possible that she was not aware that he was there?
He carried his exploits to her immediate vicinity; came war-whooping
around, snatched a boy's cap, hurled it to the roof of the
school-house, broke through a group of boys, tumbling them in every
direction, and fell sprawling, himself, under Becky's nose, almost
upsetting her- and she turned, with her nose in the air, and he
heard her say. "Mf! some people think they're mighty smart- always
showing off!"

  Tom's cheeks burned. He gathered himself up and sneaked off, crushed
and crestfallen.

                           Chapter 13

                   The Pirate Crew Set Sail


  TOM'S MIND was made up now. He was gloomy and desperate. He was a
forsaken, friendless boy, he said; nobody loved him; when they found
out what they had driven him to, perhaps they would be sorry; he had
tried to do right and get along, but they would not let him; since
nothing would do them but to be rid of him, let it be so; and let them
blame him for the consequences- why shouldn't they? What right had the
friendless to complain? Yes, they had forced him to it at last: he
would lead a life of crime. There was no choice.

  By this time he was far down Meadow Lane, and the bell for school to
"take up" tinkled faintly upon his ear. He sobbed, now, to think he
should never, never hear that old familiar sound any more- it was very
hard, but it was forced on him; since he was driven out into the
cold world, he must submit- but he forgave them. Then the sobs came
thick and fast.

  Just at this point he met his soul's sworn comrade, Hoe Harper-
hard-eyed, and with evidently a great and dismal purpose in his heart.
Plainly here were "two souls with but a single thought." Tom, wiping
his eyes with his sleeve, began to blubber out something about a
resolution to escape from hard usage and lack of sympathy at home by
roaming abroad into the great world never to return; and ended by
hoping that Joe would not forget him.

  But it transpired that this was a request which Joe had just been
going to make of Tom, and had come to hunt him up for that purpose.
His mother had whipped him for drinking some cream which he had
never tasted and knew nothing about; it was plain that she was tired
of him and wished him to go; if she felt that way, there was nothing
for him to do but succumb; he hoped she would be happy, and never
regret having driven her poor boy out into the unfeeling world to
suffer and die.

  As the two boys walked sorrowing along, they made a new compact to
stand by each other and be brothers and never separate till death
relieved them of their troubles. Then they began to lay their plans.
Joe was for being a hermit, and living on crusts in a remote cave, and
dying, some time, of cold, and want, and grief; but after listening to
Tom, he conceded that there were some conspicuous advantages about a
life of crime, and so he consented to be a pirate.

  Three miles below St. Petersburg, at a point where the Mississippi
river was a trifle over a mile wide, there was a long, narrow,
wooded island, with a shallow bar at the head of it, and this
offered well as a rendezvous. It was not inhabited; it lay far over
toward the further shore, abreast a dense and almost wholly
unpeopled forest. So Jackson's Island was chosen. Who were to be the
subjects of their piracies, was a matter that did not occur to them.
Then they hunted up Huckleberry Finn, and he joined them promptly, for
all careers were one to him; he was indifferent. They presently
separated to meet at a lonely spot on the river bank two miles above
the village at the favorite hour- which was midnight. There was a
small log raft there which they meant to capture. Each would bring
hooks and lines, and such provision as he could steal in the most dark
and mysterious way- as became outlaws. And before the afternoon was
done, they had all managed to enjoy the sweet glory of spreading the
fact that pretty soon the town would "hear something." All who got
this vague hint were cautioned to "be mum and wait."

  About midnight Tom arrived with a boiled ham and a few trifles,
and stopped in a dense undergrowth on a small bluff overlooking the
meeting-place. It was starlight, and very still. The mighty river
lay like an ocean at rest. Tom listened a moment, but no sound
disturbed the quiet. Then he gave a low, distinct whistle. It was
answered from under the bluff. Tom whistled twice more; these
signals were answered in the same way. Then a guarded voice said:

  "Who goes there?"

  "Tom Sawyer, the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main. Name your
names."

  "Huck Finn the Red-Handed, and Joe Harper the Terror of the Seas."
Tom had furnished these titles, from his favorite literature.

  "'Tis well. Give the countersign."

  Two hoarse whispers delivered the same awful word simultaneously
to the brooding night:

  "BLOOD!"

  Then Tom tumbled his ham over the bluff and let himself down after
it, tearing both skin and clothes to some extent in the effort.
There was an easy, comfortable path along the shore under the bluff,
but it lacked the advantages of difficulty and danger so valued by a
pirate.

  The Terror of the Seas had brought a side of bacon, and had about
worn himself out with getting it there. Finn the Red-Handed had stolen
a skillet, and a quantity of half-cured leaf tobacco, and had also
brought a few corn-cobs to make pipes with. But none of the pirates
smoked or "chewed" but himself. The Black Avenger of the Spanish
Main said it would never do to start without some fire. That was a
wise thought; matches were hardly known there in that day. They saw
a fire smouldering upon a great raft a hundred yards above, and they
went stealthily thither and helped themselves to a chunk. They made an
imposing adventure of it, saying "Hist!" every now and then and
suddenly halting with finger on lip; moving with hands on imaginary
dagger-hilts; and giving orders in dismal whispers that if "the foe"
stirred, to "let him have it to the hilt," because "dead men tell no
tales." They knew well enough that the raftsmen were all down at the
village laying in stores or having a spree, but still that was no
excuse for their conducting this thing in an unpiratical way.

  They shoved off, presently, Tom in command, Huck at the after oar
and Joe at the forward. Tom stood amidships, gloomy-browed, and with
folded arms, and gave his orders in a low, stern whisper:

  "Luff, and bring her to the wind!"

  "Aye-aye, sir!"

  "Steady, stead-y-y-y!"

  "Steady it is, sir!"

  "Let her go off a point!"

  "Point it is, sir!"

  As the boys steadily and monotonously drove the raft toward
midstream, it was no doubt understood that these orders were given
only for "style," and were not intended to mean anything in
particular.

  "What sail's she carrying?"

  "Courses, tops'ls and flying-jib, sir."

  "Send the r'yals up! Lay out aloft, there, half a dozen of ye,-
foretopmast-stuns'l! Lively, now!"

  "Aye-aye, sir!"

  "Shake out that maintogalans'l! Sheets and braces! Now, my
hearties!"

  "Aye-aye, sir!"

  "Hellum-a-lee- hard a port! Stand by to meet her when she comes!
Port, port! Now, men! With a will! Stead-y-y-y!"

  "Steady it is, sir!"

  The raft drew beyond the middle of the river; the boys pointed her
head right, and then lay on their oars. The river was not high, so
there was not more than a two- or three-mile current. Hardly a word
was said during the next three-quarters of an hour. Now the raft was
passing before the distant town. Two or three glimmering lights showed
where it lay, peacefully sleeping, beyond the vague vast sweep of
star-gemmed water, unconscious of the tremendous event that was
happening. The Black Avenger stood, still with folded arms, "looking
his last" upon the scene of his former joys and his later
sufferings, and wishing "she" could see him now, abroad on the wild
sea, facing peril and death with dauntless heart, going to his doom
with a grim smile on his lips. It was but a small strain on his
imagination to remove Jackson's Island beyond eye-shot of the village,
and so he "looked his last" with a broken and satisfied heart. The
other pirates were looking their last, too; and they all looked so
long that they came near letting the current drift them out of the
range of the island. But they discovered the danger in time, and
made shift to avert it. About two o'clock in the morning the raft
grounded on the bar two hundred yards above the head of the island,
and they waded back and forth until they had landed their freight.
Part of the little rafts belongings consisted of an old sail, and this
they spread over a nook in the bushes for a tent to shelter their
provisions; but they themselves would sleep in the open air in good
weather, as became outlaws.

  They built a fire against the side of a great log twenty or thirty
steps within the sombre depths of the forest, and then cooked some
bacon in the frying-pan for supper, and used up half of the corn
"pone" stock they had brought. It seemed glorious sport to be feasting
in that wild free way in the virgin forest of an unexplored and
uninhabited island, far from the haunts of men, and they said they
never would return to civilization. The climbing fire lit up their
faces and threw its ruddy glare upon the pillared tree trunks of their
forest temple, and upon the varnished foliage and festooning vines.

  When the last crisp slice of bacon was gone, and the last
allowance of corn pone devoured, the boys stretched themselves out
on the grass, filled with contentment. They could have found a
cooler place, but they would not deny themselves such a romantic
feature as the roasting camp-fire.

  "Ain't it gay?" said Joe.

  "It's nuts!" said Tom. "What would the boys say if they could see
us?"

  "Say? Well they'd just die to be here- hey Hucky?"

  "I reckon so," said Huckleberry; "anyways I'm suited. I don't want
nothing better'n this. I don't ever get enough to eat, gen'ally- and
here they can't come and pick at a feller and bullyrag him so."

  "It's just the life for me," said Tom. "You don't have to get up,
mornings, and you don't have to go to school, and wash, and all that
blame foolishness. You see a pirate don't have to do anything, Joe,
when he's ashore, but a hermit he has to be praying considerable,
and then he don't have any fun, anyway, all by himself that way."

  "O yes, that's so," said Joe, "but I hadn't thought much about it,
you know. I'd a good deal ruther be a pirate, now that I've tried it."

  "You see," said Tom, "people don't go much on hermits, now-a-days,
like they used to in old times, but a pirate's always respected. And a
hermit's got to sleep on the hardest place he can find, and put
sack-cloth and ashes on his head, and stand out in the rain, and-"

  "What does he put sack-cloth and ashes on his head for?" inquired
Huck.

  "I dono. But they've got to do it. Hermits always do. You'd have
to do that if you was a hermit."

  "Dern'd if I would," said Huck.

  "Well what would you do?"

  "I dono. But I wouldn't do that."

  "Why Huck, you'd have to. How'd you get around it?"

  "Why I just wouldn't stand it. I'd run away."

  "Run away! Well you would be a nice old slouch of a hermit. You'd be
a disgrace."

  The Red-Handed made no response, being better employed. He had
finished gouging out a cob, and now he fitted a weed stem to it,
loaded it with tobacco, and was pressing a coal to the charge and
blowing a cloud of fragrant smoke- he was in the full bloom of
luxurious contentment. The other pirates envied him this majestic
vice, and secretly resolved to acquire it shortly. Presently Huck
said:

  "What does pirates have to do?"

  Tom said:

  "O they have just a bully time- take ships, and burn them, and get
the money and bury it in awful places in their island where there's
ghosts and things to watch it, and kill everybody in the ships- make
'em walk a plank."

  "And they carry the women to the island," said Joe; "they don't kill
the women."

  "No," assented Tom, "they don't kill the women- they're too noble.
And the women's always beautiful, too."

  "And don't they wear the bulliest clothes! Oh, no! All gold and
silver and di'monds," said Joe, with enthusiasm.

  "Who?" said Huck.

  "Why the pirates."

  Huck scanned his own clothing forlornly.

  "I reckon I ain't dressed fitten for a pirate," said he, with a
regretful pathos in his voice; "but I ain't got none but these."

  But the other boys told him the fine clothes would come fast enough,
after they should have begun their adventures. They made him
understand that his poor rags would do to begin with, though it was
customary for wealthy pirates to start with a proper wardrobe.

  Gradually their talk died out and drowsiness began to steal upon the
eyelids of the little waifs. The pipe dropped from the fingers of
the Red-Handed, and he slept the sleep of the conscience-free and
the weary. The Terror of the Seas and the Black Avenger of the Spanish
Main had more difficulty in getting to sleep. They said their
prayers inwardly, and lying down, since there was nobody there with
authority to make them kneel and recite aloud; in truth they had a
mind not to say them at all, but they were afraid to proceed to such
lengths as that, lest they might call down a sudden and special
thunderbolt from Heaven. Then at once they reached and hovered upon
the imminent verge of sleep- but an intruder came, now, that would not
"down." It was conscience. They began to feel a vague fear that they
had been doing wrong to run away; and next they thought of the
stolen meat, and then the real torture came. They tried to argue it
away by reminding conscience that they had purloined sweetmeats and
apples scores of times; but conscience was not to be appeased by
such thin plausibilities. It seemed to them, in the end, that there
was no getting around the stubborn fact that taking sweetmeats was
only "hooking," while taking bacon and hams and such valuables was
plain simple stealing- and there was a command against that in the
Bible. So they inwardly resolved that so long as they remained in
the business, their piracies should not again be sullied with the
crime of stealing. Then conscience granted a truce, and these
curiously inconsistent pirates fell peacefully to sleep.

                           Chapter 14

                 Happy Camp of the Freebooters


  WHEN TOM AWOKE in the morning, he wondered where he was. He sat up
and rubbed his eyes and looked around. Then he comprehended. It was
the cool gray dawn, and there was a delicious sense of repose and
peace in the deep pervading calm and silence of the woods. Not a
leaf stirred; not a sound obtruded upon great Nature's meditation.
Beaded dew-drops stood upon the leaves and grasses. A white layer of
ashes covered the fire, and a thin blue breath of smoke rose
straight into the air. Joe and Huck still slept.

  Now, far away in the woods a bird called; another answered;
presently the hammering of a woodpecker was heard. Gradually the
cool dim gray of the morning whitened, and as gradually sounds
multiplied and life manifested itself. The marvel of Nature shaking
off sleep and going to work unfolded itself to the musing boy. A
little green worm came crawling over a dewy leaf, lifting two-thirds
of his body into the air from time to time and "sniffing around," then
proceeding again- for he was measuring, Tom said; and when the worm
approached him, of its own accord, he sat as still as a stone, with
his hopes rising and falling, by turns, as the creature still came
toward him or seemed inclined to go elsewhere; and when at last it
considered a painful moment with its curved body in the air and then
came decisively down upon Tom's leg and began a journey over him,
his whole heart was glad- for that meant that he was going to have a
new suit of clothes- without the shadow of a doubt a gaudy piratical
uniform. Now a procession of ants appeared, from nowhere in
particular, and went about their labors; one struggled manfully by
with a dead spider five times as big as itself in its arms, and lugged
it straight up a tree-trunk. A brown spotted lady-bug climbed the
dizzy height of a grass-blade, and Tom bent down close to it and said,
"Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home, your house is on fire, your
children's alone," and she took wing and went off to see about it-
which did not surprise the boy, for he knew of old that this insect
was credulous about conflagrations and he had practiced upon its
simplicity more than once. A tumble-bug came next, heaving sturdily at
its ball, and Tom touched the creature, to see it shut its legs
against its body and pretend to be dead. The birds were fairly rioting
by this time. A cat-bird, the northern mocker, lit in a tree over
Tom's head, and trilled out her imitations of her neighbors in a
rapture of enjoyment; then a shrill jay swept down, a flash of blue
flame, and stopped on a twig almost within the boy's reach, cocked his
head to one side and eyed the strangers with a consuming curiosity;
a gray squirrel and a big fellow of the "fox" kind came kurrying
along, sitting up at intervals to inspect and chatter at the boys, for
the wild things had probably never seen a human being before and
scarcely knew whether to be afraid or not. All Nature was wide awake
and stirring, now; long lances of sunlight pierced down through the
dense foliage far and near, and a few butterflies came fluttering upon
the scene.

  Tom stirred up the other pirates and they all clattered away with
a shout, and in a minute or two were stripped and chasing after and
tumbling over each other in the shallow limpid water of the white
sand-bar. They felt no longing for the little village sleeping in
the distance beyond the majestic waste of water. A vagrant current
or a slight rise in the river had carried off their raft, but this
only gratified them, since its going was something like burning the
bridge between them and civilization.

  They came back to camp wonderfully refreshed, glad-hearted, and
ravenous; and they soon had the camp-fire blazing up again. Huck found
a spring of clear cold water close by, and the boys made cups of broad
oak or hickory leaves, and felt that water, sweetened with such a
wild-wood charm as that, would be a good enough substitute for coffee.
While Joe was slicing bacon for breakfast, Tom and Huck asked him to
hold on a minute; they stepped to a promising nook in the river bank
and threw in their lines; almost immediately they had reward. Joe
had not had time to get impatient before they were back again with
some handsome bass, a couple of sun-perch and a small catfish-
provision enough for quite a family. They fried the fish with the
bacon and were astonished; for no fish had ever seemed so delicious
before. They did not know that the quicker a fresh water fish is on
the fire after he is caught the better he is; and they reflected
little upon what a sauce open air sleeping, open air exercise,
bathing, and a large ingredient of hunger makes, too.

  They lay around in the shade, after breakfast, while Huck had a
smoke, and then went off through the woods on an exploring expedition.
They tramped gaily along, over decaying logs, through tangled
underbrush, among solemn monarchs of the forest, hung from their
crowns to the ground with a drooping regalia of grape-vines. Now and
then they came upon snug nooks carpeted with grass and jeweled with
flowers.

  They found plenty of things to be delighted with but nothing to be
astonished at. They discovered that the island was about three miles
long and a quarter of a mile wide, and that the shore it lay closest
to was only separated from it by a narrow channel hardly two hundred
yards wide. They took a swim about every hour, so it was close upon
the middle of the afternoon when they got back to camp. They were
too hungry to stop to fish, but they fared sumptuously upon cold
ham, and then threw themselves down in the shade to talk. But the talk
soon began to drag, and then died. The stillness, the solemnity that
brooded in the woods, and the sense of loneliness, began to tell
upon the spirits of the boys. They fell to thinking. A sort of
undefined longing crept upon them. This took dim shape, presently-
it was budding homesickness. Even Finn the Red-Handed was dreaming
of his door-steps and empty hogsheads. But they were all ashamed of
their weakness, and none was brave enough to speak his thought.

  For some time, now, the boys had been dully conscious of a
peculiar sound in the distance, just as one sometimes is of the
ticking of a clock which he takes no distinct note of. But now this
mysterious sound became more pronounced, and forced a recognition. The
boys started, glanced at each other, and then each assumed a listening
attitude. There was a long silence, profound and unbroken; then a
deep, sullen boom came floating down out of the distance.

  "What is it!" exclaimed Joe, under his breath.

  "I wonder," said Tom in a whisper.

  "'Tain't thunder," said Huckleberry, in an awed tone, "becuz
thunder-"

  "Hark!" said Tom. "Listen- don't talk."

  They waited a time that seemed an age, and then the same muffled
boom troubled the solemn hush.

  "Let's go and see."

  They sprang to their feet and hurried to the shore toward the
town. They parted the bushes on the bank and peered out over the
water. The little steam ferry boat was about a mile below the village,
drifting with the current. Her broad deck seemed crowded with
people. There were a great many skiffs rowing about or floating with
the stream in the neighborhood of the ferry boat, but the boys could
not determine what the men in them were doing. Presently a great jet
of white smoke burst from the ferry boat's side, and as it expanded
and rose in a lazy cloud, that same dull throb of sound was borne to
the listeners again.

  "I know now!" exclaimed Tom; "somebody's drownded!"

  "That's it!" said Huck; "they done that last summer, when Bill
Turner got drownded; they shoot a cannon over the water, and that
makes him come up to the top. Yes, and they take loaves of bread and
put quicksilver in 'em and set 'em afloat, and wherever there's
anybody that's drownded, they'll float right there and stop."

  "Yes, I've heard about that," said Joe. "I wonder what makes the
bread do that."

  "O it ain't the bread, so much," said Tom; "I reckon it's mostly
what they say over it before they start it out."

  "But they don't say anything over it," said Huck. "I've seen 'em and
they don't."

  "Well that's funny", said Tom. "But maybe they say it to themselves.
Of course they do. Anybody might know that."

  The other boys agreed that there was reason in what Tom said,
because an ignorant lump of bread, uninstructed by an incantation,
could not be expected to act very intelligently when sent upon an
errand of such gravity.

  "By jings I wish I was over there, now," said Joe.

  "I do too," said Huck. "I'd give heaps to know who it is."

  The boys still listened and watched. Presently a revealing thought
flashed through Tom's mind, and he exclaimed:

  "Boys, I know who's drownded- it's us!"

  They felt like heroes in an instant. Here was a gorgeous triumph;
they were missed; they were mourned; hearts were breaking on their
account; tears were being shed; accusing memories of unkindnesses to
these poor lost lads were rising up, and unavailing regrets and
remorse were being indulged; and best of all, the departed were the
talk of the whole town, and the envy of all the boys, as far as this
dazzling notoriety was concerned. This was fine. It was worth while to
be a pirate, after all.

  As twilight drew on, the ferry boat went back to her accustomed
business and the skiffs disappeared. The pirates returned to camp.
They were jubilant with vanity over their new grandeur and the
illustrious trouble they were making. They caught fish, cooked
supper and ate it, and then fell to guessing at what the village was
thinking and saying about them; and the pictures they drew of the
public distress on their account were gratifying to look upon- from
their point of view. But when the shadows of night closed them in,
they gradually ceased to talk, and sat gazing into the fire, with
their minds evidently wandering elsewhere. The excitement was gone,
now, and Tom and Joe could not keep back thoughts of certain persons
at home who were not enjoying this fine frolic as much as they were.
Misgivings came; they grew troubled and unhappy; a sigh or two
escaped, unawares. By and by Joe timidly ventured upon a roundabout
"feeler" as to how the others might look upon a return to
civilization- not right now, but-

  Tom withered him with derision! Huck, being uncommitted, as yet,
joined in with Tom, and the waverer quickly "explained," and was
glad to get out of the scrape with as little taint of
chicken-hearted homesickness clinging to his garments as he could.
Mutiny was effectually laid to rest for the moment.

  As the night deepened, Huck began to nod, and presently to snore.
Joe followed next. Tom lay upon his elbow motionless, for some time,
watching the two intently. At last he got up cautiously, on his knees,
and went searching among the grass and the flickering reflections
flung by the camp-fire. He picked up and inspected several large
semi-cylinders of the thin white bark of a sycamore, and finally chose
two which seemed to suit him. Then he knelt by the fire and
painfully wrote something upon each of these with his "red keel;"
one he rolled up and put in his jacket pocket, and the other he put in
Joe's hat and removed it to a little distance from the owner. And he
also put into the hat certain schoolboy treasures of almost
inestimable value- among them a lump of chalk, an India rubber ball,
three fish-hooks, and one of that kind of marbles known as a "sure
'nough crystal." Then he tip-toed his way cautiously among the trees
till he felt that he was out of hearing, and straightway broke into
a keen run in the direction of the sand-bar.

                           Chapter 15

                   Tom's Stealthy Visit Home


  A FEW MINUTES LATER Tom was in the shoal water of the bar, wading
toward the Illinois shore. Before the depth reached his middle he
was half way over; the current would permit no more wading, now, so he
struck out confidently to swim the remaining hundred yards. He swam
quartering up stream, but still was swept downward rather faster
than he had expected. However, he reached the shore finally, and
drifted along till he found a low place and drew himself out. He put
his hand on his jacket pocket, found his piece of bark safe, and
then struck through the woods, following the shore, with streaming
garments. Shortly before ten o'clock he came out into an open place
opposite the village, and saw the ferry boat lying in the shadow of
the trees and the high bank. Everything was quiet under the blinking
stars. He crept down the bank, watching with all his eyes, slipped
into the water, swam three or four strokes and climbed into the
skiff that did "yawl" duty at the boat's stern. He laid himself down
under the thwarts and waited, panting.

  Presently the cracked bell tapped and a voice gave the order to
"cast off." A minute or two later the skiff's head was standing high
up, against the boat's swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy
in his success, for he knew it was the boat's last trip for the night.
At the end of a long twelve or fifteen minutes the wheels stopped, and
Tom slipped overboard and swam ashore in the dusk, landing fifty yards
down stream, out of danger of possible stragglers.

  He flew along unfrequented alleys, and shortly found himself at
his aunt's back fence. He climbed over, approached the "ell" and
looked in at the sitting-room window, for a light was burning there.
There sat Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother, grouped
together, talking. They were by the bed, and the bed was between
them and the door. Tom went to the door and began to softly lift the
latch; then he pressed gently and the door yielded a crack; he
continued pushing cautiously, and quaking every time it creaked,
till he judged he might squeeze through on his knees; and so he put
his head through and began, warily.

  "What makes the candle blow so?" said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up.
"Why that door's open, I believe. Why of course it is. No end of
strange things now. Go 'long and shut it, Sid."

  Tom disappeared under the bed just in time. He lay and "breathed"
himself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch
his aunt's foot.

  "But as I was saying," said Aunt Polly, "he warn't bad, so to say-
only mischeevous. Only just giddy, and harum-scarum, you know. He
warn't any more responsible than a colt. He never meant any harm,
and he was the best-hearted boy that ever was"- and she began to cry.

  "It was just so with my Joe- always full of his devilment, and up to
every kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he
could be- and laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for
taking that cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out
myself because it was sour, and I never to see him again in this
world, never, never, poor abused boy!" And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if
her heart would break.

  "I hope Tom's better off where he is," said Sid, "but if he'd been
better in some ways-"

  "Sid!" Tom felt the glare of the old lady's eye, though he could not
see it. "Not a word against my Tom, now that he's gone! God'll take
care of him- never you trouble yourself, sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don't
know how to give him up, I don't know how to give him up! He was
such a comfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me,
'most."

  "The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name
of the Lord! But it's so hard- O, it's so hard! Only last Saturday
my Joe busted a fire-cracker right under my nose and I knocked him
sprawling. Little did I know then, how soon- O, if it was to do over
again I'd hug him and bless him for it."

  "Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just
exactly how you feel. No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took
and filled the cat full of Pain-Killer, and I did think the cretur
would tear the house down. And God forgive me, I cracked Tom's head
with my thimble, poor boy, poor dead boy. But he's out of all his
troubles now. And the last words I ever heard him say was to
reproach-"

  But this memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke
entirely down. Tom was snuffling, now, himself- and more in pity of
himself than anybody else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a
kindly word for him from time to time. He began to have a nobler
opinion of himself than ever before. Still he was sufficiently touched
by his aunt's grief to long to rush out from under the bed and
overwhelm her with joy- and the theatrical gorgeousness of the thing
appealed strongly to his nature, too, but he resisted and lay still.

  He went on listening, and gathered by odds and ends that it was
conjectured at first that the boys had got drowned while taking a
swim; then the small raft had been missed; next, certain boys said the
missing lads had promised that the village should "hear something"
soon; the wise-heads had "put this and that together" and decided that
the lads had gone off on that raft and would turn up at the next
town below, presently; but toward noon the raft had been found, lodged
against the Missouri shore some five or six miles below the
village,- and then hope perished; they must be drowned, else hunger
would have driven them home by nightfall if not sooner. It was
believed that the search for the bodies had been a fruitless effort
merely because the drowning must have occurred in mid-channel, since
the boys, being good swimmers, would otherwise have escaped to
shore. This was Wednesday night. If the bodies continued missing until
Sunday, all hope would be given over, and the funerals would be
preached on that morning. Tom shuddered.

  Mrs. Harper gave a sobbing good-night and turned to go. Then with
a mutual impulse the two bereaved women flung themselves into each
other's arms and had a good, consoling cry, and then parted. Aunt
Polly was tender far beyond her wont, in her good-night to Sid and
Mary. Sid snuffled a bit and Mary went off crying with all her heart.

  Aunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so
appealingly, and with such measureless love in her words and her old
trembling voice, that he was weltering in tears again, long before she
was through.

  He had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making
broken-hearted ejaculations from time to time, tossing unrestfully,
and turning over. But at last she was still, only moaning a little
in her sleep. Now the boy stole out, rose gradually by the bedside,
shaded the candle-light with his hand, and stood regarding her. His
heart was full of pity for her. He took out his sycamore scroll and
placed it by the candle. But something occurred to him, and he
lingered, considering.

  His face lighted with a happy solution of his thought; he put the
bark hastily in his pocket. Then he bent over and kissed the faded
lips, and straightway made his stealthy exit, latching the door behind
him.

  He threaded his way back to the ferry landing, found nobody at large
there, and walked boldly on board the boat, for he knew she was
tenantless except that there was a watchman, who always turned in
and slept like a graven image. He untied the skiff at the stern,
slipped into it, and was soon rowing cautiously up stream. When he had
pulled a mile above the village, he started quartering across and bent
himself stoutly to his work. He hit the landing on the other side
neatly, for this was a familiar bit of work to him. He was moved to
capture the skiff, arguing that it might be considered a ship and
therefore legitimate prey for a pirate, but he knew a thorough
search would be made for it and that might end in revelations. So he
stepped ashore and entered the wood.

  He sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meantime to keep
awake, and then started wearily down the home-stretch. The night was
far spent. It was broad daylight before he found himself fairly
abreast the island bar. He rested again until the sun was well up
and gilding the great river with its splendor, and then he plunged
into the stream. A little later he paused, dripping, upon the
threshold of the camp, and heard Joe say:

  "No, Tom's true-blue, Huck, and he'll come back. He won't desert. He
knows that would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for
that sort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?"

  "Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?"

  "Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he
ain't back here to breakfast."

  "Which he is!" exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic effect, stepping
grandly into camp.

  A sumptuous breakfast of bacon and fish was shortly provided, and as
the boys set to work upon it, Tom recounted (and adorned) his
adventures. They were a vain and boastful company of heroes when the
tale was done. Then Tom hid himself away in a shady nook to sleep till
noon, and the other pirates got ready to fish and explore.

                           Chapter 16

                 First Pipes- "I've Lost My Knife"


  AFTER DINNER all the gang turned out to hunt for turtle eggs on
the bar. They went about poking sticks into the sand, and when they
found a soft place they went down on their knees and dug with their
hands. Sometimes they would take fifty or sixty eggs out of one
hole. They were perfectly round white things a trifle smaller than
an English walnut. They had a famous fried-egg feast that night, and
another on Friday morning.

  After breakfast they went whooping and prancing out on the bar,
and chased each other round and round, shedding clothes as they
went, until they were naked, and then continued the frolic far away up
the shoal water of the bar, against the stiff current, which latter
tripped their legs from under them from time to time and greatly
increased the fun. And now and then they stooped in a group and
splashed water in each other's faces with their palms, gradually
approaching each other, with averted faces to avoid the strangling
sprays and finally gripping and struggling till the best man ducked
his neighbor, and then they all went under in a tangle of white legs
and arms and came up blowing, sputtering, laughing and gasping for
breath at one and the same time.

  When they were well exhausted, they would run out and sprawl on
the dry, hot sand, and lie there and cover themselves up with it,
and by and by break for the water again and go through the original
performance once more. Finally it occurred to them that their naked
skin represented flesh-colored "tights" very fairly; so they drew a
ring in the sand and had a circus- with three clowns in it, for none
would yield this proudest post to his neighbor.

  Next they got their marbles and played "knucks" and "ring-taw" and
"keeps" till that amusement grew stale. Then Joe and Huck had
another swim, but Tom would not venture, because he found that in
kicking off his trousers he had kicked his string of rattlesnake
rattles off his ankle, and he wondered how he had escaped cramp so
long without the protection of this mysterious charm. He did not
venture again until he had found it, and by that time the other boys
were tired and ready to rest. They gradually wandered apart, dropped
into the "dumps," and fell to gazing longingly across the wide river
to where the village lay drowsing in the sun. Tom found himself
writing "BECKY" in the sand with his big toe; he scratched it out, and
was angry with himself for his weakness. But he wrote it again,
nevertheless; he could not help it. He erased it once more and then
took himself out of temptation by driving the other boys together
and joining them.

  But Joe's spirits had gone down almost beyond resurrection. He was
so homesick that he could hardly endure the misery of it. The tears
lay very near the surface. Huck was melancholy, too. Tom was
downhearted, but tried hard not to show it. He had a secret which he
was not ready to tell, yet, but if this mutinous depression was not
broken up soon, he would have to bring it out. He said, with a great
show of cheerfulness:

  "I bet there's been pirates on this island before, boys. We'll
explore it again. They've hid treasures here somewhere. How'd you feel
to light on a rotten chest full of gold and silver- hey?"

  But it roused only a faint enthusiasm, which faded out, with no
reply. Tom tried one or two other seductions; but they failed, too. It
was discouraging work. Joe sat poking up the sand with a stick and
looking very gloomy. Finally he said:

  "O, boys, let's give it up. I want to go home. It's so lonesome."

  "O, no, Joe, you'll feel better by and by," said Tom. "Just think of
the fishing that's here."

  "I don't care for fishing. I want to go home."

  "But Joe, there ain't such another swimming place anywhere."

  "Swimming's no good. I don't seem to care for it, somehow, when
there ain't anybody to say I shan't go in. I mean to go home."

  "O, shucks! Baby! You want to see your mother, I reckon."

  "Yes, I do want to see my mother- and you would too, if you had one.
I ain't any more baby than you are." And Joe snuffled a little.

  "Well, we'll let the cry-baby go home to his mother, won't we
Huck? Poor thing- does it want to see its mother? And so it shall. You
like it here, don't you Huck? We'll stay, won't we?"

  Huck said "Y-e-s"- without any heart in it.

  "I'll never speak to you again as long as I live," said Joe, rising.
"There now!" And he moved moodily away and began to dress himself.

  "Who cares!" said Tom. "Nobody wants you to. Go 'long home and get
laughed at. O, you're a nice pirate. Huck and me ain't cry-babies.
We'll stay, won't we Huck? Let him go if he wants to. I reckon we
can get along without him, per'aps."

  But Tom was uneasy, nevertheless, and was alarmed to see Joe go
sullenly on with his dressing. And then it was discomforting to see
Huck eyeing Joe's preparations so wistfully, and keeping up such an
ominous silence. Presently, without a parting word, Joe began to
wade off toward the Illinois shore. Tom's heart began to sink. He
glanced at Huck. Huck could not bear the look, and dropped his eyes.
Then he said:

  "I want to go, too, Tom. It was getting so lonesome anyway, and
now it'll be worse. Let's us go too, Tom."

  "I won't! You can all go, if you want to. I mean to stay."

  "Tom, I better go."

  "Well go 'long- who's hendering you."

  Huck began to pick up his scattered clothes. He said:

  "Tom, I wisht you'd come too. Now you think it over. We'll wait
for you when we get to shore."

  "Well you'll wait a blame long time, that's all."

  Huck started sorrowfully away, and Tom stood looking after him, with
a strong desire tugging at his heart to yield his pride and go along
too. He hoped the boys would stop, but they still waded slowly on.
It suddenly dawned on Tom that it was become very lonely and still. He
made one final struggle with his pride, and then darted after his
comrades, yelling:

  "Wait! Wait! I want to tell you something!"

  They presently stopped and turned around. When he got to where
they were, he began unfolding his secret, and they listened moodily
till at last they saw the "point" he was driving at, and then they set
up a war-whoop of applause and said it was "splendid!" and said if
he had told them at first, they wouldn't have started away. He made
a plausible excuse; but his real reason had been the fear that not
even the secret would keep them with him any very great length of
time, and so he had meant to hold it in reserve as a last seduction.

  The lads came gaily back and went at their sports again with a will,
chattering all the time about Tom's stupendous plan and admiring the
genius of it. After a dainty egg and fish dinner, Tom said he wanted
to learn to smoke, now. Joe caught at the idea and said he would
like to try, too. So Huck made pipes and filled them. These novices
had never smoked anything before but cigars made of grape-vine and
they "bit" the tongue and were not considered manly, anyway.

  Now they stretched themselves out on their elbows and began to puff,
charily, and with slender confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant
taste, and they gagged a little, but Tom said:

  "Why it's just as easy! If I'd a knowed this was all, I'd a learnt
long ago."

  "So would I," said Joe. "It's just nothing."

  "Why many a time I've looked at people smoking, and thought well I
wish I could do that; but I never thought I could," said Tom.

  "That's just the way with me, hain't it Huck? You've heard me talk
just that way- haven't you Huck? I'll leave it to Huck if I haven't."

  "Yes- heaps of times," said Huck.

  "Well I have too," said Tom; "O, hundreds of times. Once down
there by the slaughter-house. Don't you remember, Huck? Bob Tanner was
there, and Johnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher, when I said it. Don't you
remember Huck, 'bout me saying that?"

  "Yes, that's so," said Huck. "That was the day after I lost a
white alley. No, 'twas the day before."

  "There- I told you so," said Tom. "Huck recollects it."

  "I bleeve I could smoke this pipe all day," said Joe. "I don't
feel sick."

  "Neither do I," said Tom. "I could smoke it all day. But I bet you
Jeff Thatcher couldn't."

  "Jeff Thatcher! Why he'd keel over just with two draws. Just let him
try it once. He'd see!"

  "I bet he would. And Johnny Miller- I wish I could see Johnny Miller
tackle it once."

  "O, don't I" said Joe, "Why I bet you Johnny Miller couldn't any
more do this than nothing. Just one little snifter would fetch him."

  "'Deed it would, Joe. Say- I wish the boys could see us now."

  "So do I."

  "Say- boys, don't say anything about it, and some time when they're
around, I'll come up to you and say 'Joe, got a pipe? I want a smoke.'
And you'll say, kind of careless like, as if it warn't anything,
you'll say, 'Yes, I got my old pipe, and another one, but my
tobacker ain't very good.' I'll say, 'O, that's all right, if it's
strong enough.' And then you'll out with the pipes, and we'll light up
just as ca'm, and then just see 'em look!"

  "By jings that'll be gay, Tom! I wish it was now!"

  "So do I! And when we tell 'em we learned when we was off
pirating, won't they wish they'd been along?"

  "O, I reckon not! I'll just bet they will!"

  So the talk ran on. But presently it began to flag a trifle, and
grow disjointed. The silences widened; the expectoration marvelously
increased. Every pore inside the boys' cheeks became a spouting
fountain; they could scarcely bail out the cellars under their tongues
fast enough to prevent an inundation; little overflowings down their
throats occurred in spite of all they could do, and sudden retchings
followed every time. Both boys were looking very pale and miserable,
now. Joe's pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Tom's followed.
Both fountains were going furiously and both pumps bailing with
might and main. Joe said feebly:

  "I've lost my knife. I reckon I better go and find it."

  Tom said, with quivering lip and halting utterance:

  "I'll help you. You go over that way and I'll hunt around by the
spring. No, you needn't come, Huck- we can find it."

  So Huck sat down again, and waited an hour. Then he found it
lonesome, and went to find his comrades. They were wide apart in the
woods, both very pale, both fast asleep. But something informed him
that if they had had any trouble they had got rid of it.

  They were not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble
look, and when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal and was going
to prepare theirs, they said no, they were not feeling very well-
something they ate at dinner had disagreed with them.

  About midnight Joe awoke, and called the boys. There was a
brooding oppressiveness in the air that seemed to bode something.
The boys huddled themselves together and sought the friendly
companionship of the fire, though the dull dead heat of the breathless
atmosphere was stifling. They sat still, intent and waiting. The
solemn hush continued. Beyond the light of the fire everything was
swallowed up in the blackness of darkness. Presently there came a
quivering glow that vaguely revealed the foliage for a moment and then
vanished. By and by another came, a little stronger. Then another.
Then a faint moan came sighing through the branches of the forest
and the boys felt a fleeting breath upon their cheeks, and shuddered
with the fancy that the Spirit of the Night had gone by. There was a
pause. Now a weird flash turned night into day and showed every little
grass-blade, separate and distinct, that grew about their feet. And it
showed three white, startled faces, too. A deep peal of thunder went
rolling and tumbling down the heavens and lost itself in sullen
rumblings in the distance. A sweep of chilly air passed by, rustling
all the leaves and snowing the flaky ashes broadcast about the fire.
Another fierce glare lit up the forest and an instant crash followed
that seemed to rend the tree-tops right over the boys' heads. They
clung together in terror, in the thick gloom that followed. A few
big rain-drops fell pattering upon the leaves.

  "Quick! boys, go for the tent!" exclaimed Tom.

  They sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the
dark, no two plunging in the same direction. A furious blast roared
through the trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding
flash after another came, and peal on peal of deafening thunder. And
now a drenching rain poured down and the rising hurricane drove it
in sheets along the ground. The boys cried out to each other, but
the roaring wind and the booming thunder-blasts drowned their voices
utterly. However, one by one they straggled in at last and took
shelter under the tent, cold scared, and streaming with water; but
to have company in misery seemed something to be grateful for. They
could not talk, the old sail flapped so furiously, even if the other
noises would have allowed them. The tempest rose higher and higher,
and presently the sail tore loose from its fastenings and went winging
away on the blast. The boys seized each others' hands and fled, with
many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter of a great oak that stood
upon the river bank. Now the battle was at its highest. Under the
ceaseless conflagration of lightning that flamed in the skies,
everything below stood out in clean-cut and shadowless distinctness:
the bending trees, the billowy river, white with foam, the driving
spray of spume-flakes, the dim outlines of the high bluffs on the
other side, glimpsed through the drifting cloud-rack and the
slanting veil of rain. Every little while some giant tree yielded
the fight and fell crashing through the younger growth; and the
unflagging thunder-peals came now in ear-splitting explosive bursts,
keen and sharp, and unspeakably appalling. The storm culminated in one
matchless effort that seemed likely to tear the island to pieces, burn
it up, drown it to the tree-tops, blow it away, and deafen every
creature in it, all at one and the same moment. It was a wild night
for homeless young heads to be out in.

  But at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with
weaker and weaker threatenings and grumblings, and peace resumed her
sway. The boys went back to camp, a good deal awed; but they found
there was still something to be thankful for, because the great
sycamore, the shelter of their beds, was a ruin now, blasted by the
lightnings, and they were not under it when the catastrophe happened.

  Everything in camp was drenched, the camp-fire as well; for they
were but heedless lads, like their generation, and had made no
provision against rain. Here was matter for dismay, for they were
soaked through and chilled. They were eloquent in their distress;
but they presently discovered that the fire had eaten so far up
under the great log it had been built against, (where it curved upward
and separated itself from the ground,) that a hand-breadth or so of it
had escaped wetting; so they patiently wrought until, with shreds
and bark gathered from the under sides of sheltered logs, they
coaxed the fire to burn again. Then they piled on great dead boughs
till they had a roaring furnace and were glad-hearted once more.
They dried their boiled ham and had a feast, and after that they sat
by the fire and expanded and glorified their midnight adventure
until morning, for there was not a dry spot to sleep on, anywhere
around.

  As the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over
them and they went out on the sand-bar and lay down to sleep. They got
scorched out by and by, and drearily set about getting breakfast.
After the meal they felt rusty, and stiff-jointed, and a little
homesick once more. Tom saw the signs, and fell to cheering up the
pirates as well as he could. But they cared nothing for marbles, or
circus, or swimming, or anything. He reminded them of the imposing
secret, and raised a ray of cheer. While it lasted, he got them
interested in a new device. This was to knock off being pirates, for a
while, and be Indians for a change. They were attracted by this
idea; so it was not long before they were stripped, and striped from
head to heel with black mud, like so many zebras,- all of them chiefs,
of course- and then they went tearing through the woods to attack an
English settlement.

  By and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and darted
upon each other from ambush with dreadful war-whoops, and killed and
scalped each other by thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently it
was an extremely satisfactory one.

  They assembled in camp toward supper time, hungry and happy; but now
a difficulty arose- hostile Indians could not break the bread of
hospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple
impossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other
process that ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost
wished they had remained pirates. However, there was no other way:
so with such show of cheerfulness as they could muster they called for
the pipe and took their whiff as it passed, in due form.

  And behold they were glad they had gone into savagery, for they
had gained something; they found that they could now smoke a little
without having to go and hunt for a lost knife; they did not get
sick enough to be seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to
fool away this high promise for lack of effort. No, they practiced
cautiously, after supper, with right fair success, and so they spent a
jubilant evening. They were prouder and happier in their new
acquirement than they would have been in the scalping and skinning
of the Six Nations. We will leave them to smoke and chatter and
brag, since we have no further use for them at present.

                           Chapter 17

                  Pirates at Their Own Funeral


  BUT THERE WAS NO hilarity in the little town that same tranquil
Saturday afternoon. The Harpers, and Aunt Polly's family, were being
put into mourning, with great grief and many tears. An unusual quiet
possessed the village, although it was ordinarily quiet enough, in all
conscience. The villagers conducted their concerns with an absent air,
and talked little; but they sighed often. The Saturday holiday
seemed a burden to the children. They had no heart in their sports,
and gradually gave them up.

  In the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the
deserted school-house yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found
nothing there to comfort her. She soliloquised:

  "O, if I only had his brass andiron-knob again! But I haven't got
anything now to remember him by." And she choked back a little sob.

  Presently she stopped, and said to herself:

  "It was right here. O, if it was to do over again, I wouldn't say
that- I wouldn't say it for the whole world. But he's gone now; I'll
never never never see him any more."

  This thought broke her down and she wandered away, with the tears
rolling down her cheeks. Then quite a group of boys and girls,-
playmates of Tom's and Joe's- came by, and stood looking over the
paling fence and talking in reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so,
the last time they saw him, and how Joe said this and that small
trifle (pregnant with awful prophecy, as they could easily see
now!)- and each speaker pointed out the exact spot where the lost lads
stood at the time, and then added something like "and I was a-standing
just so- just as I am now, and as if you was him- I was as close as
that- and he smiled, just this way- and then something seemed to go
all over me, like,- awful, you know- and I never thought what it
meant, of course, but I can see now!"

  Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life,
and many claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences,
more or less tampered with by the witness; and when it was
ultimately decided who did see the departed last, and exchanged the
last words with them, the lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of
sacred importance, and were gaped at and envied by all the rest. One
poor chap, who had no other grandeur to offer, said with tolerably
manifest pride in the remembrance:

  "Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me once."

  But that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say
that, and so that cheapened the distinction too much. The group
loitered away, still recalling memories of the lost heroes, in awed
voices.

  When the Sunday-school hour was finished, the next morning, the bell
began to toll, instead of ringing in the usual way. It was a very
still Sabbath, and the mournful sound seemed in keeping with the
musing hush that lay upon nature. The villagers began to gather,
loitering a moment in the vestibule to converse in whispers about
the sad event. But there was no whispering in the house; only the
funereal rustling of dresses as the women gathered to their seats
disturbed the silence there. None could remember when the little
church had been so full before. There was finally a waiting pause,
an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly entered, followed by Sid
and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all in deep black, and the
whole congregation, the old minister as well, rose reverently and
stood, until the mourners were seated in the front pew. There was
another communing silence, broken at intervals by muffled sobs, and
then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed. A moving hymn
was sung, and the text followed: "I am the Resurrection, and the
Life."

  As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the
graces, the winning ways and the rare promise of the lost lads, that
every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang
in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them,
always before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in
the poor boys. The minister related many a touching incident in the
lives of the departed, too, which illustrated their sweet, generous
natures, and the people could easily see, now, how noble and beautiful
those episodes were, and remembered with grief that at the time they
occurred they had seemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the
cowhide. The congregation became more and more moved, as the
pathetic tale went on, till at last the whole company broke down and
joined the weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the
preacher himself giving way to his feelings, and crying in the pulpit.

  There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment
later the church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming
eyes above his handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First one and
then another pair of eyes followed the minister's, and then almost
with one impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead
boys came marching up the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and
Huck, a ruin of drooping rags, sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They
had been hid in the unused gallery listening to their own funeral
sermon!

  Aunt Polly, Mary and the Harpers threw themselves upon their
restored ones, smothered them with kisses and poured out
thanksgivings, while poor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not
knowing exactly what to do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming
eyes. He wavered, and started to slink-away, but Tom seized him and
said:

  "Aunt Polly, it ain't fair. Somebody's got to be glad to see Huck."

  "And so they shall. I'm glad to see him, poor motherless thing!" And
the loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one
thing capable of making him more uncomfortable than he was before.

  Suddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice: "Praise God
from whom all blessings flow- SING!- and put your hearts in it!"

  And they did. Old Hundred swelled up with a triumphant burst, and
while it shook the rafters Tom Sawyer the Pirate looked around upon
the envying juveniles about him and confessed in his heart that this
was the proudest moment of his life.

  As the "sold" congregation trooped out they said they would almost
be willing to be made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like
that once more.

  Tom got more cuffs and kisses that day- according to Aunt Polly's
varying moods- than he had earned before in a year; and he hardly knew
which expressed the most gratefulness to God and affection for
himself.

                           Chapter 18

                  Tom Reveals His Dream Secret


  THAT WAS TOM'S GREAT secret- the scheme to return home with his
brother pirates and attend their own funerals. They had paddled over
to the Missouri shore on a log, at dusk on Saturday, landing five or
six miles below the village; they had slept in the woods at the edge
of the town till nearly daylight, and had then crept through back
lanes and alleys and finished their sleep in the gallery of the church
among a chaos of invalided benches.

  At breakfast Monday morning, Aunt Polly and Mary were very loving to
Tom, and very attentive to his wants. There was an unusual amount of
talk. In the course of it Aunt Polly said:

  "Well, I don't say it wasn't a fine joke, Tom, to keep everybody
suffering 'most a week so you boys had a good time, but it is a pity
you could be so hard-hearted as to let me suffer so. If you could come
over on a log to go to your funeral, you could have come over and give
me a hint some way that you warn't dead, but only run off."

  "Yes, you could have done that, Tom," said Mary; "and I believe
you would if you had thought of it."

  "Would you Tom?" said Aunt Polly, her face lighting wistfully.

  "Say, now, would you, if you'd thought of it?"

  "I- well I don't know. 'Twould a spoiled everything."

  "Tom, I hoped you loved me that much," said Aunt Polly, with a
grieved tone that discomforted the boy. "It would been something if
you'd cared enough to think of it, even if you didn't do it."

  "Now auntie, that ain't any harm," pleaded Mary; "it's only Tom's
giddy way- he is always in such a rush that he never thinks of
anything."

  "More's the pity. Sid would have thought. And Sid would have come
and done it, too. Tom, you'll look back, some day, when it's too late,
and wish you'd cared a little more for me when it would have cost
you so little."

  "Now auntie, you know I do care for you," said Tom.

  "I'd know it better if you acted more like it."

  "I wish now I'd thought," said Tom, with a repentant tone; "but I
dreamed about you anyway. That's something, ain't it?"

  "It ain't much- a cat does that much- but it's better than
nothing. What did you dream?"

  "Why Wednesday night I dreamt that you was sitting over there by the
bed, and Sid was sitting by the wood-box, and Mary next to him."

  "Well, so we did. So we always do. I'm glad your dreams could take
even that much trouble about us."

  "And I dreamt that Joe Harper's mother was here."

  "Why, she was here! Did you dream any more?"

  "O, lots. But it's so dim, now."

  "Well, try to recollect- can't you?"

  "Somehow it seems to me that the wind- the wind blowed the- the-"

  "Try harder, Tom! The wind did blow something. Come!"

  Tom pressed his fingers on his forehead an anxious minute, and
then said:

  "I've got it now! I've got it now! It blowed the candle!"

  "Mercy on us! Go on, Tom- go on!"

  "And it seems to me that you said, 'Why I believe that that door-'"

  "Go on, Tom!"

  "Just let me study a moment- just a moment. O, yes- you said you
believed the door was open."

  "As I'm a-sitting here, I did! Didn't I, Mary? Go on!"

  "And then- and then- well I won't be certain, but it seems like as
if you made Sid go and- and-"

  "Well? Well? What did I make him do, Tom? What did I make him do?"

  "You made him- you- O, you made him shut it."

  "Well for the land's sake! I never heard the beat of that in all
my days! Don't tell me there ain't anything in dreams, any more.
Sereny Harper shall know of this before I'm an hour older. I'd like to
see her get around this with her rubbage 'bout superstition. Go on,
Tom!"

  "O, it's all getting just as bright as day, now. Next you said I
warn't bad, only mischeevous and harum-scarum, and not any more
responsible than- than- I think it was a colt, or something."

  "And so it was! Well, goodness gracious! Go on, Tom!"

  "And then you began to cry."

  "So I did. So I did. Not the first time, neither. And then-"

  "Then Mrs. Harper she began to cry, and said Joe was just the same
and she wished she hadn't whipped him for taking cream when she'd
throwed it out her own self-"

  "Tom! The sperrit was upon you! You was a-prophecying- that's what
you was doing! Land alive, go on, Tom!"

  "Then Sid he said- he said-"

  "I don't think I said anything," said Sid.

  "Yes you did, Sid," said Mary.

  "Shut your heads and let Tom go on! What did he say, Tom?"

  "He said- I think he said he hoped I was better off where I was gone
to, but if I'd been better sometimes-"

  "There, d'you hear that! It was his very words!"

  "And you shut him up sharp."

  "I lay I did! There must a been an angel there. There was an angel
there, somewheres!"

  "And Mrs. Harper told about Joe scaring her with a fire-cracker, and
you told about Peter and the Pain-killer-"

  "Just as true as I live!"

  "And then there was a whole lot of talk 'bout dragging the river for
us, and 'bout having the funeral Sunday, and then you and old Miss
Harper hugged and cried, and she went."

  "It happened just so! It happened just so, as sure as I'm
a-sitting in these very tracks. Tom you couldn't told it more like, if
you'd a seen it! And then what? Go on, Tom?"

  "Then I thought you prayed for me- and I could see you and hear
every word you said. And you went to bed, and I was so sorry, that I
took and wrote on a piece of sycamore bark, 'We ain't dead- we are
only off being pirates,' and put it on the table by the candle; and
then you looked so good, laying there asleep, that I thought I went
and leaned over and kissed you on the lips."

  "Did you, Tom, did you! I just forgive you everything for that!" And
she seized the boy in a crushing embrace that made him feel like the
guiltiest of villains.

  "It was very kind, even though it was only a- dream," Sid
soliloquised just audibly.

  "Shut up Sid! A body does just the same in a dream as he'd do if
he was awake. Here's a big Milum apple I've been saving for you Tom,
if you was ever found again- now go 'long to school. I'm thankful to
the good God and Father of us all I've got you back, that's
long-suffering and merciful to them that believe on Him and keep His
word, though goodness knows I'm unworthy of it, but if only the worthy
ones got His blessings and had His hand to help them over the rough
places, there's few enough would smile here or ever enter into His
rest when the long night comes. Go 'long Sid, Mary, Tom- take
yourselves off- you've hendered me long enough."

  The children left for school, and the old lady to call on Mrs.
Harper and vanquish her realism with Tom's marvelous dream. Sid had
better judgment than to utter the thought that was in his mind as he
left the house. It was this: "Pretty thin- as long a dream as that,
without any mistakes in it!"

  What a hero Tom was become, now! He did not go skipping and
prancing, but moved with a dignified swagger as became a pirate who
felt that the public eye was on him. And indeed it was; he tried not
to seem to see the looks or hear the remarks as he passed along, but
they were food and drink to him. Smaller boys than himself flocked
at his heels, as proud to be seen with him and tolerated by him, as if
he had been the drummer at the head of a procession or the elephant
leading a menagerie into town. Boys of his own size pretended not to
know he had been away at all; but they were consuming with envy,
nevertheless. They would have given anything to have that swarthy
sun-tanned skin of his, and his glittering notoriety; and Tom would
not have parted with either for a circus.

  At school the children made so much of him and of Joe, and delivered
such eloquent admiration from their eyes, that the two heroes were not
long in becoming insufferably "stuck-up." They began to tell their
adventures to hungry listeners- but they only began; it was not a
thing likely to have an end, with imaginations like theirs to
furnish material. And finally, when they got out their pipes and
went serenely puffing around, the very summit of glory was reached.

  Tom decided that he could be independent of Becky Thatcher now.
Glory was sufficient. He would live for glory. Now that he was
distinguished, maybe she would be wanting to "make up." Well, let her-
she should see that he could be as indifferent as some other people.
Presently she arrived. Tom pretended not to see her. He moved away and
joined a group of boys and girls and began to talk. Soon he observed
that she was tripping gayly back and forth with flushed face and
dancing eyes, pretending to be busy chasing school-mates, and
screaming with laughter when she made a capture; but he noticed that
she always made her captures in his vicinity, and that she seemed to
cast a conscious eye in his direction at such times, too. It gratified
all the vicious vanity that was in him; and so, instead of winning him
it only "set him up" the more and made him the more diligent to
avoid betraying that he knew she was about. Presently she gave over
skylarking, and moved irresolutely about, sighing once or twice and
glancing furtively and wistfully toward Tom. Then she observed that
now Tom was talking more particularly to Amy Lawrence than to any
one else. She felt a sharp pang and grew disturbed and uneasy at once.
She tried to go away, but her feet were treacherous, and carried her
to the group instead. She said to a girl almost at Tom's elbow- with
sham vivacity:

  "Why Mary Austin! you bad girl, why didn't you come to
Sunday-school?"

  "I did come- didn't you see me?"

  "Why no! Did you? Where did you sit?"

  "I was in Miss Peter's class, where I always go. I saw you."

  "Did you? Why it's funny I didn't see you. I wanted to tell you
about the picnic."

  "O, that's jolly. Who's going to give it?"

  "My ma's going to let me have one."

  "O, goody; I hope she'll let me come."

  "Well she will. The picnic's for me. She'll let anybody come that
I want, and I want you."

  "That's ever so nice. When is it going to be?"

  "By and by. Maybe about vacation."

  "O, won't it be fun! You going to have all the girls and boys?"

  "Yes, every one that's friends to me- or wants to be;" and she
glanced ever so furtively at Tom, but he talked right along to Amy
Lawrence about the terrible storm on the island, and how the lightning
tore the great sycamore tree "all to flinders" while he was
"standing within three feet of it."

  "O, may I come?" said Gracie Miller.

  "Yes."

  "And me?" said Sally Rogers.

  "Yes."

  "And me, too?" said Susy Harper. "And Joe?"

  "Yes."

  And so on, with clapping of joyful hands till all the group had
begged for invitations but Tom and Amy. Then Tom turned coolly away,
still talking, and took Amy with him. Becky's lips trembled and the
tears came to her eyes; she hid these signs with a forced gayety and
went on chattering, but the life had gone out of the picnic, now,
and out of everything else; she got away as soon as she could and
hid herself and had what her sex call "a good cry." Then she sat
moody, with wounded pride till the bell rang. She roused up, now, with
a vindictive cast in her eye, and gave her plaited tails a shake and
said she knew what she'd do.

  At recess Tom continued his flirtation with Amy with jubilant
self-satisfaction. And he kept drifting about to find Becky and
lacerate her with the performance. At last he spied her, but there was
a sudden falling of his mercury. She was sitting cosily on a little
bench behind the school-house looking at a picture book with Alfred
Temple- and so absorbed were they, and their heads so close together
over the book that they did not seem to be conscious of anything in
the world beside. Jealousy ran red hot through Tom's veins. He began
to hate himself for throwing away the chance Becky had offered for a
reconciliation. He called himself a fool, and all the hard names he
could think of. He wanted to cry with vexation. Amy chatted happily
along, as they walked, for her heart was singing, but Tom's tongue had
lost its function. He did not hear what Amy was saying, and whenever
she paused expectantly he could only stammer an awkward assent,
which was as often misplaced as otherwise. He kept drifting to the
rear of the schoolhouse, again and again, to sear his eye-balls with
the hateful spectacle there. He could not help it. And it maddened him
to see, as he thought he saw, that Becky Thatcher never once suspected
that he was even in the land of the living. But she did see,
nevertheless; and she knew she was winning her fight, too, and was
glad to see him suffer as she had suffered.

  Amy's happy prattle became intolerable. Tom hinted at things he
had to attend to; things that must be done; and time was fleeting. But
in vain- the girl chirped on. Tom thought, "O hang her, ain't I ever
going to get rid of her?" At last he must be attending to those
things; and she said artlessly that she would be "around" when
school let out. And he hastened away, hating her for it.

  "Any other boy!" Tom thought, grating his teeth. "Any boy in the
whole town but that Saint Louis smarty that thinks he dresses so
fine and is aristocracy! O, all right, I licked you the first day
you ever saw this town, mister, and I'll lick you again! You just wait
till I catch you out! I'll just take and-"

  And he went through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy-
pummeling the air, and kicking and gouging. "O, you do, do you? You
holler 'nough, do you? Now, then, let that learn you!" And so the
imaginary flogging was finished to his satisfaction.

  Tom fled home at noon. His conscience could not endure any more of
Amy's grateful happiness, and his jealousy could bear no more of the
other distress. Becky resumed her picture-inspections with Alfred, but
as the minutes dragged along and no Tom came to suffer, her triumph
began to cloud and she lost interest; gravity and absent-mindedness
followed, and then melancholy; two or three times she pricked up her
ear at a footstep, but it was a false hope; no Tom came. At last she
grew entirely miserable and wished she hadn't carried it so far.
When poor Alfred, seeing that he was losing her, he did not know
how, and kept exclaiming: "O here's a jolly one! look at this!" she
lost patience at last, and said, "O, don't bother me! I don't care for
them!" and burst into tears, and got up and walked away.

  Alfred dropped alongside and was going to try to comfort her, but
she said:

  "Go away and leave me alone, can't you! I hate you!"

  So the boy halted, wondering what he could have done- for she had
said she would look at pictures all through the nooning- and she
walked on, crying. Then Alfred went musing into the deserted
schoolhouse. He was humiliated and angry. He easily guessed his way to
the truth- the girl had simply made a convenience of him to vent her
spite upon Tom Sawyer. He was far from hating Tom the less when this
thought occurred to him. He wished there was some way to get that
boy into trouble without much risk to himself. Tom's spelling book
fell under his eye. Here was his opportunity. He gratefully opened
to the lesson for the afternoon and poured ink upon the page.

  Becky, glancing in at a window behind him at the moment, saw the
act, and moved on, without discovering herself. She started
homeward, now, intending to find Tom and tell him; Tom would be
thankful and their troubles would be healed. Before she was half way
home, however, she had changed her mind. The thought of Tom's
treatment of her when she was talking about her picnic came
scorching back and filled her with shame. She resolved to let him
get whipped on the damaged spelling-book's account, and to hate him
forever, into the bargain.