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The author.
Hartford, 1876.


Chapter I

Tom!
No answer.
Tom!
No answer.
What's gone with that boy, I wonder You Tom!
No answer.
The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the
room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never
looked THROUGH them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state
pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for style, not service-she
could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked
perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough
for the furniture to hear
Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll-
She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching
under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the
punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.
I never did see the beat of that boy!
She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the
Tomato vines and jimpson weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So
she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted
Y-o-u-u Tom!
There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to
seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.
There! I might 'a' thought of that closet. What you been doing in
there
Nothing.
Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What IS that
truck
I don't know, aunt.
Well, I know. It's jam-that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you
didn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch.
The switch hovered in the air-the peril was desperate-
My! Look behind you, aunt!
The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. The
lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and
disappeared over it.
His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle
laugh.
Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything Ain't he played me tricks
enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time But old
fools is the biggest fools there is. Can't learn an old dog new tricks, as
the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days, and
how is a body to know what's coming He 'pears to know just how long he
can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make out
to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down again and I
can't hit him a lick. I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and that's the
Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child, as the
Good Book says. I'm a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know.
He's full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he's my own dead sister's
boy, poor thing, and I ain't got the heart to lash him, somehow. Every
time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and every time I hit
him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is born of woman is of
few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says, and I reckon it's so.
He'll play hookey this evening, and [ Southwestern for afternoon]
I'll just be obleeged to make him work, to-morrow, to punish him. It's
mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having
holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else, and I've GOT
to do some of my duty by him, or I'll be the ruination of the child.
Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home
barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day's wood
and split the kindlings before supper-at least he was there in time to
tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work. Tom's
younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through with his
part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy, and had no
adventurous, troublesome ways.
While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity
offered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and very
deep-for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like many other
simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she was endowed
with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she loved to
contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low cunning. Said
she
Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn't it
Yes'm.
Powerful warm, warn't it
Yes'm.
Didn't you want to go in a-swimming, Tom
A bit of a scare shot through Tom-a touch of uncomfortable suspicion.
He searched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. So he said
No'm-well, not very much.
The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said
But you ain't too warm now, though. And it flattered her to reflect
that she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing
that that was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew
where the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move
Some of us pumped on our heads-mine's damp yet. See
Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of
circumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new
inspiration
Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to
pump on your head, did you Unbutton your jacket!
The trouble vanished out of Tom's face. He opened his jacket. His shirt
collar was securely sewed.
Bother! Well, go 'long with you. I'd made sure you'd played hookey and
been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you're a kind of a singed
cat, as the saying is-better'n you look. THIS time.
She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom
had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.
But Sidney said
Well, now, if I didn't think you sewed his collar with white thread,
but it's black.
Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!
But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said
Siddy, I'll lick you for that.
In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into
the lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them-one needle
carried white thread and the other black. He said
She'd never noticed if it hadn't been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes
she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to
geeminy she'd stick to one or t'other-I can't keep the run of 'em. But I
bet you I'll lam Sid for that. I'll learn him!
He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very
well though-and loathed him.
Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles.
Not because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a
man's are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore them down
and drove them out of his mind for the time-just as men's misfortunes are
forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new interest was a
valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired from a negro, and
he was suffering to practise it undisturbed. It consisted in a peculiar
bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble, produced by touching the tongue
to the roof of the mouth at short intervals in the midst of the music-the
reader probably remembers how to do it, if he has ever been a boy.
Diligence and attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he strode down
the street with his mouth full of harmony and his soul full of gratitude.
He felt much as an astronomer feels who has discovered a new planet-no
doubt, as far as strong, deep, unalloyed pleasure is concerned, the
advantage was with the boy, not the astronomer.
The summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom
checked his whistle. A stranger was before him-a boy a shade larger than
himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive curiosity
in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy was well
dressed, too-well dressed on a week-day. This was simply astounding. His
cap was a dainty thing, his closebuttoned blue cloth roundabout was new
and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes on-and it was only
Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon. He had a citified
air about him that ate into Tom's vitals. The more Tom stared at the
splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose at his finery and the
shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to him to grow. Neither boy
spoke. If one moved, the other moved-but only sidewise, in a circle; they
kept face to face and eye to eye all the time. Finally Tom said
I can lick you!
I'd like to see you try it.
Well, I can do it.
No you can't, either.
Yes I can.
No you can't.
I can.
You can't.
Can!
Can't!
An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said
What's your name
'Tisn't any of your business, maybe.
Well I 'low I'll MAKE it my business.
Well why don't you
If you say much, I will.
Much-much-MUCH. There now.
Oh, you think you're mighty smart, DON'T you I could lick you with
one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to.
Well why don't you DO it You SAY you can do it.
Well I WILL, if you fool with me.
Oh yes-I've seen whole families in the same fix.
Smarty! You think you're SOME, now, DON'T you Oh, what a hat!
You can lump that hat if you don't like it. I dare you to knock it
off-and anybody that'll take a dare will suck eggs.
You're a liar!
You're another.
You're a fighting liar and dasn't take it up.
Aw-take a walk!
Say-if you give me much more of your sass I'll take and bounce a rock
off'n your head.
Oh, of COURSE you will.
Well I WILL.
Well why don't you DO it then What do you keep SAYING you will for
Why don't you DO it It's because you're afraid.
I AIN'T afraid.
You are.
I ain't.
You are.
Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently
they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said
Get away from here!
Go away yourself!
I won't.
I won't either.
So they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and both
shoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with hate. But
neither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and
flushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said
You're a coward and a pup. I'll tell my big brother on you, and he can
thrash you with his little finger, and I'll make him do it, too.
What do I care for your big brother I've got a brother that's bigger
than he is-and what's more, he can throw him over that fence, too. [Both
brothers were imaginary.]
That's a lie.
YOUR saying so don't make it so.
Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said
I dare you to step over that, and I'll lick you till you can't stand
up. Anybody that'll take a dare will steal sheep.
The new boy stepped over promptly, and said
Now you said you'd do it, now let's see you do it.
Don't you crowd me now; you better look out.
Well, you SAID you'd do it-why don't you do it
By jingo! for two cents I WILL do it.
The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out
with derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys were
rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and for the
space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair and clothes,
punched and scratched each other's nose, and covered themselves with dust
and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of
battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his
fists. Holler 'nuff! said he.
The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying-mainly from rage.
Holler 'nuff!-and the pounding went on.
At last the stranger got out a smothered 'Nuff! and Tom let him up
and said
Now that'll learn you. Better look out who you're fooling with next
time.
The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing,
snuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and
threatening what he would do to Tom the next time he caught him out. To
which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and as
soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it and
hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like an
antelope. Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he lived.
He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the enemy to
come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the window and
declined. At last the enemy's mother appeared, and called Tom a bad,
vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went away; but he said
he 'lowed to lay for that boy.
He got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in
at the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and
when she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn his
Saturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its
firmness.


Chapter II

SATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and
fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the
heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every
face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom and the
fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village
and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away to
seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.
Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a
long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a
deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence
nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden.
Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank;
repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant
whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence,
and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the gate
with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from the town
pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but now it did
not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at the pump.
White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their
turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking. And
he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards
off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour-and even then
somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said
Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some.
Jim shook his head and said
Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis water
an' not stop foolin' roun' wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars Tom gwine
to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long an' 'tend to my own
business-she 'lowed SHE'D 'tend to de whitewashin'.
Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's the way she always
talks. Gimme the bucket-I won't be gone only a a minute. SHE won't ever
know.
Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n
me. 'Deed she would.
SHE! She never licks anybody-whacks 'em over the head with her
thimble-and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but
talk don't hurt-anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give you a
marvel. I'll give you a white alley!
Jim began to waver.
White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw.
My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful
'fraid ole missis-
And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe.
Jim was only human-this attraction was too much for him. He put down
his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing
interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he was
flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was
whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with a
slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye. But Tom's energy did not last.
He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows
multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of
delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for
having to work-the very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his
worldly wealth and examined it-bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to
buy an exchange of WORK, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half
an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his
pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and
hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great,
magnificent inspiration.
He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in
sight presently-the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been
dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump-proof enough that his heart
was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a
long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned
dingdong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As he
drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far
over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and
circumstance-for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered
himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and
engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own
hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them
Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! The headway ran almost out, and he
drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.
Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling! His arms straightened and
stiffened down his sides.
Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow!
Chow! His right hand, meantime, describing stately circles-for it was
representing a forty-foot wheel.
Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-lingling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!
The left hand began to describe circles.
Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on
the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow!
Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! LIVELY now! Come-out
with your spring-line-what're you about there! Take a turn round that
stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now-let her go! Done with
the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T! SH'T! (trying the
gauge-cocks).
Tom went on whitewashing-paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared
a moment and then said Hi-YI! YOU'RE up a stump, ain't you!
No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then
he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before.
Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple, but he
stuck to his work. Ben said
Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey
Tom wheeled suddenly and said
Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing.
Say-I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could But of
course you'd druther WORK-wouldn't you Course you would!
Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said
What do you call work
Why, ain't THAT work
Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly
Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom
Sawyer.
Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you LIKE it
The brush continued to move.
Like it Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a
chance to whitewash a fence every day
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom
swept his brush daintily back and forth-stepped back to note the
effect-added a touch here and there-criticised the effect again-Ben
watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more
absorbed. Presently he said
Say, Tom, let ME whitewash a little.
Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind
No-no-I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful
particular about this fence-right here on the street, you know-but if it
was the back fence I wouldn't mind and SHE wouldn't. Yes, she's awful
particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon
there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the
way it's got to be done.
No-is that so Oh come, now-lemme just try. Only just a little-I'd let
YOU, if you was me, Tom.
Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly-well, Jim wanted to do
it, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let
Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed If you was to tackle this fence and
anything was to happen to it-
Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say-I'll give you
the core of my apple.
Well, here-No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard-
I'll give you ALL of it!
Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his
heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the
sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his
legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents.
There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while;
they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged
out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite, in good
repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and
a string to swing it with-and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when
the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy
in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the
things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-harp, a piece of
blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key that wouldn't
unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin
soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one
eye, a brass doorknob, a dog-collar-but no dog-the handle of a knife, four
pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.
He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while-plenty of company-and
the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of
whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.
Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He
had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it-namely,
that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary
to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great and wise
philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have comprehended
that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to do, and that Play
consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And this would help him
to understand why constructing artificial flowers or performing on a
tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing Mont Blanc is only
amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England who drive four-horse
passengercoaches twenty or thirty miles on a daily line, in the summer,
because the privilege costs them considerable money; but if they were
offered wages for the service, that would turn it into work and then they
would resign.
The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place
in his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to
report.


Chapter III

Tom presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an open
window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom,
breakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined. The balmy summer air,
the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing murmur of the
bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her knitting-for she
had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in her lap. Her spectacles
were propped up on her gray head for safety. She had thought that of
course Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered at seeing him place
himself in her power again in this intrepid way. He said Mayn't I go and
play now, aunt
What, a'ready How much have you done
It's all done, aunt.
Tom, don't lie to me-I can't bear it.
I ain't, aunt; it IS all done.
Aunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence. She went out to see for
herself; and she would have been content to find twenty per cent. of Tom's
statement true. When she found the entire fence whitewashed, and not only
whitewashed but elaborately coated and recoated, and even a streak added
to the ground, her astonishment was almost unspeakable. She said
Well, I never! There's no getting round it, you can work when you're a
mind to, Tom. And then she diluted the compliment by adding, But it's
powerful seldom you're a mind to, I'm bound to say. Well, go 'long and
play; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I'll tan you.
She was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took
him into the closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to him,
along with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor a treat
took to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort. And while
she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he hooked a doughnut.
Then he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway
that led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were handy and the
air was full of them in a twinkling. They raged around Sid like a
hail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her surprised faculties
and sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken personal effect, and
Tom was over the fence and gone. There was a gate, but as a general thing
he was too crowded for time to make use of it. His soul was at peace, now
that he had settled with Sid for calling attention to his black thread and
getting him into trouble.
Tom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by
the back of his aunt's cowstable. He presently got safely beyond the reach
of capture and punishment, and hastened toward the public square of the
village, where two military companies of boys had met for conflict,
according to previous appointment. Tom was General of one of these armies,
Joe Harper (a bosom friend) General of the other. These two great
commanders did not condescend to fight in person-that being better suited
to the still smaller fry-but sat together on an eminence and conducted the
field operations by orders delivered through aides-de-camp. Tom's army won
a great victory, after a long and hard-fought battle. Then the dead were
counted, prisoners exchanged, the terms of the next disagreement agreed
upon, and the day for the necessary battle appointed; after which the
armies fell into line and marched away, and Tom turned homeward alone.
As he was passing by the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a new
girl in the garden-a lovely little blue-eyed creature with yellow hair
plaited into two long-tails, white summer frock and embroidered
pantalettes. The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a shot. A certain
Amy Lawrence vanished out of his heart and left not even a memory of
herself behind. He had thought he loved her to distraction; he had
regarded his passion as adoration; and behold it was only a poor little
evanescent partiality. He had been months winning her; she had confessed
hardly a week ago; he had been the happiest and the proudest boy in the
world only seven short days, and here in one instant of time she had gone
out of his heart like a casual stranger whose visit is done.
He worshipped this new angel with furtive eye, till he saw that she had
discovered him; then he pretended he did not know she was present, and
began to show off in all sorts of absurd boyish ways, in order to win
her admiration. He kept up this grotesque foolishness for some time; but
by-and-by, while he was in the midst of some dangerous gymnastic
performances, he glanced aside and saw that the little girl was wending
her way toward the house. Tom came up to the fence and leaned on it,
grieving, and hoping she would tarry yet awhile longer. She halted a
moment on the steps and then moved toward the door. Tom heaved a great
sigh as she put her foot on the threshold. But his face lit up, right
away, for she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment before she
disappeared.
The boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower, and
then shaded his eyes with his hand and began to look down street as if he
had discovered something of interest going on in that direction. Presently
he picked up a straw and began trying to balance it on his nose, with his
head tilted far back; and as he moved from side to side, in his efforts,
he edged nearer and nearer toward the pansy; finally his bare foot rested
upon it, his pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped away with the
treasure and disappeared round the corner. But only for a minute-only
while he could button the flower inside his jacket, next his heart-or next
his sTomach, possibly, for he was not much posted in anaTomy, and not
hypercritical, anyway.
He returned, now, and hung about the fence till nightfall, showing
off, as before; but the girl never exhibited herself again, though Tom
comforted himself a little with the hope that she had been near some
window, meantime, and been aware of his attentions. Finally he strode home
reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.
All through supper his spirits were so high that his aunt wondered
what had got into the child. He took a good scolding about clodding Sid,
and did not seem to mind it in the least. He tried to steal sugar under
his aunt's very nose, and got his knuckles rapped for it. He said
Aunt, you don't whack Sid when he takes it.
Well, Sid don't torment a body the way you do. You'd be always into
that sugar if I warn't watching you.
Presently she stepped into the kitchen, and Sid, happy in his immunity,
reached for the sugar-bowl-a sort of glorying over Tom which was wellnigh
unbearable. But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl dropped and broke. Tom
was in ecstasies. In such ecstasies that he even controlled his tongue and
was silent. He said to himself that he would not speak a word, even when
his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly still till she asked who did the
mischief; and then he would tell, and there would be nothing so good in
the world as to see that pet model catch it. He was so brimful of
exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old lady came back
and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath from over her
spectacles. He said to himself, Now it's coming! And the next instant he
was sprawling on the floor! The potent palm was uplifted to strike again
when Tom cried out
Hold on, now, what 'er you belting ME for-Sid broke it!
Aunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity. But when
she got her tongue again, she only said
Umf! Well, you didn't get a lick amiss, I reckon. You been into some
other audacious mischief when I wasn't around, like enough.
Then her conscience reproached her, and she yearned to say something
kind and loving; but she judged that this would be construed into a
confession that she had been in the wrong, and discipline forbade that. So
she kept silence, and went about her affairs with a troubled heart. Tom
sulked in a corner and exalted his woes. He knew that in her heart his
aunt was on her knees to him, and he was morosely gratified by the
consciousness of it. He would hang out no signals, he would take notice of
none. He knew that a yearning glance fell upon him, now and then, through
a film of tears, but he refused recognition of it. He pictured himself
lying sick unto death and his aunt bending over him beseeching one little
forgiving word, but he would turn his face to the wall, and die with that
word unsaid. Ah, how would she feel then And he pictured himself brought
home from the river, dead, with his curls all wet, and his sore heart at
rest. How she would throw herself upon him, and how her tears would fall
like rain, and her lips pray God to give her back her boy and she would
never, never abuse him any more! But he would lie there cold and white and
make no sign-a poor little sufferer, whose griefs were at an end. He so
worked upon his feelings with the pathos of these dreams, that he had to
keep swallowing, he was so like to choke; and his eyes swam in a blur of
water, which overflowed when he winked, and ran down and trickled from the
end of his nose. And such a luxury to him was this petting of his sorrows,
that he could not bear to have any worldly cheeriness or any grating
delight intrude upon it; it was too sacred for such contact; and so,
presently, when his cousin Mary danced in, all alive with the joy of
seeing home again after an age-long visit of one week to the country, he
got up and moved in clouds and darkness out at one door as she brought
song and sunshine in at the other.
He wandered far from the accusTomed haunts of boys, and sought desolate
places that were in harmony with his spirit. A log raft in the river
invited him, and he seated himself on its outer edge and contemplated the
dreary vastness of the stream, wishing, the while, that he could only be
drowned, all at once and unconsciously, without undergoing the
uncomfortable routine devised by nature. Then he thought of his flower. He
got it out, rumpled and wilted, and it mightily increased his dismal
felicity. He wondered if she would pity him if she knew Would she cry,
and wish that she had a right to put her arms around his neck and comfort
him Or would she turn coldly away like all the hollow world This picture
brought such an agony of pleasurable suffering that he worked it over and
over again in his mind and set it up in new and varied lights, till he
wore it threadbare. At last he rose up sighing and departed in the
darkness.
About half-past nine or ten o'clock he came along the deserted street
to where the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; no sound fell upon
his listening ear; a candle was casting a dull glow upon the curtain of a
second-story window. Was the sacred presence there He climbed the fence,
threaded his stealthy way through the plants, till he stood under that
window; he looked up at it long, and with emotion; then he laid him down
on the ground under it, disposing himself upon his back, with his hands
clasped upon his breast and holding his poor wilted flower. And thus he
would die-out in the cold world, with no shelter over his homeless head,
no friendly hand to wipe the death-damps from his brow, no loving face to
bend pityingly over him when the great agony came. And thus SHE would see
him when she looked out upon the glad morning, and oh! would she drop one
little tear upon his poor, lifeless form, would she heave one little sigh
to see a bright young life so rudely blighted, so untimely cut down
The window went up, a maid-servant's discordant voice profaned the holy
calm, and a deluge of water drenched the prone martyr's remains!
The strangling hero sprang up with a relieving snort. There was a whiz
as of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, a sound as
of shivering glass followed, and a small, vague form went over the fence
and shot away in the gloom.
Not long after, as Tom, all undressed for bed, was surveying his
drenched garments by the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up; but if he had
any dim idea of making any references to allusions, he thought better of
it and held his peace, for there was danger in Tom's eye.
Tom turned in without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid made
mental note of the omission.


Chapter IV

The sun rose upon a tranquil world, and beamed down upon the peaceful
village like a benediction. Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had family worship
it began with a prayer built from the ground up of solid courses of
Scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin mortar of originality;
and from the summit of this she delivered a grim chapter of the Mosaic
Law, as from Sinai.
Then Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and went to work to get his
verses. Sid had learned his lesson days before. Tom bent all his energies
to the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the Sermon on the
Mount, because he could find no verses that were shorter. At the end of
half an hour Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson, but no more, for
his mind was traversing the whole field of human thought, and his hands
were busy with distracting recreations. Mary took his book to hear him
recite, and he tried to find his way through the fog
Blessed are the-a-a-
Poor-
Yes-poor; blessed are the poor-a-a-
In spirit-
In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they-they-
THEIRS-
For THEIRS. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom
of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they-they-
Sh-
For they-a-
S, H, A-
For they S, H-Oh, I don't know what it is!
SHALL!
Oh, SHALL! for they shall-for they shall-a-a-shall mourn-a-a-blessed
are they that shall-they that-a-they that shall mourn, for they
shall-a-shall WHAT Why don't you tell me, Mary-what do you want to be so
mean for
Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not teasing you. I wouldn't
do that. You must go and learn it again. Don't you be discouraged, Tom,
you'll manage it-and if you do, I'll give you something ever so nice.
There, now, that's a good boy.
All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is.
Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it's nice, it is nice.
You bet you that's so, Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again.
And he did tackle it again-and under the double pressure of curiosity
and prospective gain he did it with such spirit that he accomplished a
shining success. Mary gave him a brand-new Barlow knife worth twelve and
a half cents; and the convulsion of delight that swept his system shook
him to his foundations. True, the knife would not cut anything, but it was
a sure-enough Barlow, and there was inconceivable grandeur in
that-though where the Western boys ever got the idea that such a weapon
could possibly be counterfeited to its injury is an imposing mystery and
will always remain so, perhaps. Tom contrived to scarify the cupboard with
it, and was arranging to begin on the bureau, when he was called off to
dress for Sunday-school.
Mary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went
outside the door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he dipped
the soap in the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves; poured out
the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the kitchen and began to
wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the door. But Mary removed
the towel and said
Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be so bad. Water won't hurt
you.
Tom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time he
stood over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big breath
and began. When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes shut and
groping for the towel with his hands, an honorable testimony of suds and
water was dripping from his face. But when he emerged from the towel, he
was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped short at his
chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and beyond this line there was a
dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread downward in front and
backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand, and when she was done
with him he was a man and a brother, without distinction of color, and his
saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls wrought into a
dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He privately smoothed out the
curls, with labor and difficulty, and plastered his hair close down to his
head; for he held curls to be effeminate, and his own filled his life with
bitterness.] Then Mary got out a suit of his clothing that had been used
only on Sundays during two years-they were simply called his other
clothes-and so by that we know the size of his wardrobe. The girl put
him to rights after he had dressed himself; she buttoned his neat
roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt collar down over his
shoulders, brushed him off and crowned him with his speckled straw hat. He
now looked exceedingly improved and uncomfortable. He was fully as
uncomfortable as he looked; for there was a restraint about whole clothes
and cleanliness that galled him. He hoped that Mary would forget his
shoes, but the hope was blighted; she coated them thoroughly with tallow,
as was the cusTom, and brought them out. He lost his temper and said he
was always being made to do everything he didn't want to do. But Mary
said, persuasively
Please, Tom-that's a good boy.
So he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three
children set out for Sunday-school-a place that Tom hated with his whole
heart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.
Sabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past ten; and then church
service. Two of the children always remained for the sermon voluntarily,
and the other always remained too-for stronger reasons. The church's
high-backed, uncushioned pews would seat about three hundred persons; the
edifice was but a small, plain affair, with a sort of pine board tree-box
on top of it for a steeple. At the door Tom dropped back a step and
accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade
Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket
Yes.
What'll you take for her
What'll you give
Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook.
Less see 'em.
Tom exhibited. They were satisfactory, and the property changed hands.
Then Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets, and some
small trifle or other for a couple of blue ones. He waylaid other boys as
they came, and went on buying tickets of various colors ten or fifteen
minutes longer. He entered the church, now, with a swarm of clean and
noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started a quarrel with the
first boy that came handy. The teacher, a grave, elderly man, interfered;
then turned his back a moment and Tom pulled a boy's hair in the next
bench, and was absorbed in his book when the boy turned around; stuck a
pin in another boy, presently, in order to hear him say Ouch! and got a
new reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole class were of a
pattern-restless, noisy, and troublesome. When they came to recite their
lessons, not one of them knew his verses perfectly, but had to be prompted
all along. However, they worried through, and each got his reward-in small
blue tickets, each with a passage of Scripture on it; each blue ticket was
pay for two verses of the recitation. Ten blue tickets equalled a red one,
and could be exchanged for it; ten red tickets equalled a yellow one; for
ten yellow tickets the superintendent gave a very plainly bound Bible
(worth forty cents in those easy times) to the pupil. How many of my
readers would have the industry and application to memorize two thousand
verses, even for a Dore Bible And yet Mary had acquired two Bibles in
this way-it was the patient work of two years-and a boy of German
parentage had won four or five. He once recited three thousand verses
without stopping; but the strain upon his mental faculties was too great,
and he was little better than an idiot from that day forth-a grievous
misfortune for the school, for on great occasions, before company, the
superintendent (as Tom expressed it) had always made this boy come out and
spread himself. Only the older pupils managed to keep their tickets and
stick to their tedious work long enough to get a Bible, and so the
delivery of one of these prizes was a rare and noteworthy circumstance;
the successful pupil was so great and conspicuous for that day that on the
spot every scholar's heart was fired with a fresh ambition that often
lasted a couple of weeks. It is possible that Tom's mental sTomach had
never really hungered for one of those prizes, but unquestionably his
entire being had for many a day longed for the glory and the eclat that
came with it.
In due course the superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit, with
a closed hymn-book in his hand and his forefinger inserted between its
leaves, and commanded attention. When a Sunday-school superintendent makes
his cusTomary little speech, a hymn-book in the hand is as necessary as is
the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of a singer who stands forward
on the platform and sings a solo at a concert-though why, is a mystery
for neither the hymn-book nor the sheet of music is ever referred to by
the sufferer. This superintendent was a slim creature of thirty-five, with
a sandy goatee and short sandy hair; he wore a stiff standing-collar whose
upper edge almost reached his ears and whose sharp points curved forward
abreast the corners of his mouth-a fence that compelled a straight lookout
ahead, and a turning of the whole body when a side view was required; his
chin was propped on a spreading cravat which was as broad and as long as a
bank-note, and had fringed ends; his boot toes were turned sharply up, in
the fashion of the day, like sleighrunners-an effect patiently and
laboriously produced by the young men by sitting with their toes pressed
against a wall for hours together. Mr. Walters was very earnest of mien,
and very sincere and honest at heart; and he held sacred things and places
in such reverence, and so separated them from worldly matters, that
unconsciously to himself his Sunday-school voice had acquired a peculiar
intonation which was wholly absent on week-days. He began after this
fashion
Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty as
you can and give me all your attention for a minute or two. There-that is
it. That is the way good little boys and girls should do. I see one little
girl who is looking out of the window-I am afraid she thinks I am out
there somewhere-perhaps up in one of the trees making a speech to the
little birds. [Applausive titter.] I want to tell you how good it makes me
feel to see so many bright, clean little faces assembled in a place like
this, learning to do right and be good. And so forth and so on. It is not
necessary to set down the rest of the oration. It was of a pattern which
does not vary, and so it is familiar to us all.
The latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of fights
and other recreations among certain of the bad boys, and by fidgetings and
whisperings that extended far and wide, washing even to the bases of
isolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary. But now every sound
ceased suddenly, with the subsidence of Mr. Walters' voice, and the
conclusion of the speech was received with a burst of silent gratitude.
A good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which was
more or less rare-the entrance of visitors lawyer Thatcher, accompanied
by a very feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged gentleman with
iron-gray hair; and a dignified lady who was doubtless the latter's wife.
The lady was leading a child. Tom had been restless and full of chafings
and repinings; conscience-smitten, too-he could not meet Amy Lawrence's
eye, he could not brook her loving gaze. But when he saw this small
new-comer his soul was all ablaze with bliss in a moment. The next moment
he was showing off with all his might-cuffing boys, pulling hair, making
faces-in a word, using every art that seemed likely to fascinate a girl
and win her applause. His exaltation had but one alloy-the memory of his
humiliation in this angel's garden-and that record in sand was fast
washing out, under the waves of happiness that were sweeping over it now.
The visitors were given the highest seat of honor, and as soon as Mr.
Walters' speech was finished, he introduced them to the school. The
middle-aged man turned out to be a prodigious personage-no less a one than
the county judge-altogether the most august creation these children had
ever looked upon-and they wondered what kind of material he was made
of-and they half wanted to hear him roar, and were half afraid he might,
too. He was from Constantinople, twelve miles away-so he had travelled,
and seen the world-these very eyes had looked upon the county
court-house-which was said to have a tin roof. The awe which these
reflections inspired was attested by the impressive silence and the ranks
of staring eyes. This was the great Judge Thatcher, brother of their own
lawyer. Jeff Thatcher immediately went forward, to be familiar with the
great man and be envied by the school. It would have been music to his
soul to hear the whisperings
Look at him, Jim! He's a going up there. Say-look! he's a going to
shake hands with him-he IS shaking hands with him! By jings, don't you
wish you was Jeff
Mr. Walters fell to showing off, with all sorts of official bustlings
and activities, giving orders, delivering judgments, discharging
directions here, there, everywhere that he could find a target. The
librarian showed off-running hither and thither with his arms full of
books and making a deal of the splutter and fuss that insect authority
delights in. The young lady teachers showed off-bending sweetly over
pupils that were lately being boxed, lifting pretty warning fingers at bad
little boys and patting good ones lovingly. The young gentlemen teachers
showed off with small scoldings and other little displays of authority
and fine attention to discipline-and most of the teachers, of both sexes,
found business up at the library, by the pulpit; and it was business that
frequently had to be done over again two or three times (with much seeming
vexation). The little girls showed off in various ways, and the little
boys showed off with such diligence that the air was thick with paper
wads and the murmur of scufflings. And above it all the great man sat and
beamed a majestic judicial smile upon all the house, and warmed himself in
the sun of his own grandeur-for he was showing off, too.
There was only one thing wanting to make Mr. Walters' ecstasy complete,
and that was a chance to deliver a Bible-prize and exhibit a prodigy.
Several pupils had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough-he had been
around among the star pupils inquiring. He would have given worlds, now,
to have that German lad back again with a sound mind.
And now at this moment, when hope was dead, Tom Sawyer came forward
with nine yellow tickets, nine red tickets, and ten blue ones, and
demanded a Bible. This was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. Walters was
not expecting an application from this source for the next ten years. But
there was no getting around it-here were the certified checks, and they
were good for their face. Tom was therefore elevated to a place with the
Judge and the other elect, and the great news was announced from
headquarters. It was the most stunning surprise of the decade, and so
profound was the sensation that it lifted the new hero up to the judicial
one's altitude, and the school had two marvels to gaze upon in place of
one. The boys were all eaten up with envy-but those that suffered the
bitterest pangs were those who perceived too late that they themselves had
contributed to this hated splendor by trading tickets to Tom for the
wealth he had amassed in selling whitewashing privileges. These despised
themselves, as being the dupes of a wily fraud, a guileful snake in the
grass.
The prize was delivered to Tom with as much effusion as the
superintendent could pump up under the circumstances; but it lacked
somewhat of the true gush, for the poor fellow's instinct taught him that
there was a mystery here that could not well bear the light, perhaps; it
was simply preposterous that this boy had warehoused two thousand sheaves
of Scriptural wisdom on his premises-a dozen would strain his capacity,
without a doubt.
Amy Lawrence was proud and glad, and she tried to make Tom see it in
her face-but he wouldn't look. She wondered; then she was just a grain
troubled; next a dim suspicion came and went-came again; she watched; a
furtive glance told her worlds-and then her heart broke, and she was
jealous, and angry, and the tears came and she hated everybody. Tom most
of all (she thought).
Tom was introduced to the Judge; but his tongue was tied, his breath
would hardly come, his heart quaked-partly because of the awful greatness
of the man, but mainly because he was her parent. He would have liked to
fall down and worship him, if it were in the dark. The Judge put his hand
on Tom's head and called him a fine little man, and asked him what his
name was. The boy stammered, gasped, and got it out
Tom.
Oh, no, not Tom-it is-
Thomas.
Ah, that's it. I thought there was more to it, maybe. That's very
well. But you've another one I daresay, and you'll tell it to me, won't
you
Tell the gentleman your other name, Thomas, said Walters, and say
sir. You mustn't forget your manners.
Thomas Sawyer-sir.
That's it! That's a good boy. Fine boy. Fine, manly little fellow. Two
thousand verses is a great many-very, very great many. And you never can
be sorry for the trouble you took to learn them; for knowledge is worth
more than anything there is in the world; it's what makes great men and
good men; you'll be a great man and a good man yourself, some day, Thomas,
and then you'll look back and say, It's all owing to the precious
Sunday-school privileges of my boyhood-it's all owing to my dear teachers
that taught me to learn-it's all owing to the good superintendent, who
encouraged me, and watched over me, and gave me a beautiful Bible-a
splendid elegant Bible-to keep and have it all for my own, always-it's all
owing to right bringing up! That is what you will say, Thomas-and you
wouldn't take any money for those two thousand verses-no indeed you
wouldn't. And now you wouldn't mind telling me and this lady some of the
things you've learned-no, I know you wouldn't-for we are proud of little
boys that learn. Now, no doubt you know the names of all the twelve
disciples. Won't you tell us the names of the first two that were
appointed
Tom was tugging at a button-hole and looking sheepish. He blushed, now,
and his eyes fell. Mr. Walters' heart sank within him. He said to himself,
it is not possible that the boy can answer the simplest question-why DID
the Judge ask him Yet he felt obliged to speak up and say
Answer the gentleman, Thomas-don't be afraid.
Tom still hung fire.
Now I know you'll tell me, said the lady. The names of the first two
disciples were-
DAVID AND GOLIAH!
Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.


Chapter V

About half-past ten the cracked bell of the small church began to ring,
and presently the people began to gather for the morning sermon. The
Sunday-school children distributed themselves about the house and occupied
pews with their parents, so as to be under supervision. Aunt Polly came,
and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her-Tom being placed next the aisle, in
order that he might be as far away from the open window and the seductive
outside summer scenes as possible. The crowd filed up the aisles the aged
and needy postmaster, who had seen better days; the mayor and his wife-for
they had a mayor there, among other unnecessaries; the justice of the
peace; the widow Douglass, fair, smart, and forty, a generous,
good-hearted soul and well-to-do, her hill mansion the only palace in the
town, and the most hospitable and much the most lavish in the matter of
festivities that St. Petersburg could boast; the bent and venerable Major
and Mrs. Ward; lawyer Riverson, the new notable from a distance; next the
belle of the village, followed by a troop of lawn-clad and ribbon-decked
young heart-breakers; then all the young clerks in town in a body-for they
had stood in the vestibule sucking their cane-heads, a circling wall of
oiled and simpering admirers, till the last girl had run their gantlet;
and last of all came the Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful
care of his mother as if she were cut glass. He always brought his mother
to church, and was the pride of all the matrons. The boys all hated him,
he was so good. And besides, he had been thrown up to them so much. His
white handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket behind, as usual on
Sundays-accidentally. Tom had no handkerchief, and he looked upon boys who
had as snobs.
The congregation being fully assembled, now, the bell rang once more,
to warn laggards and stragglers, and then a solemn hush fell upon the
church which was only broken by the tittering and whispering of the choir
in the gallery. The choir always tittered and whispered all through
service. There was once a church choir that was not ill-bred, but I have
forgotten where it was, now. It was a great many years ago, and I can
scarcely remember anything about it, but I think it was in some foreign
country.
The minister gave out the hymn, and read it through with a relish, in a
peculiar style which was much admired in that part of the country. His
voice began on a medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached a
certain point, where it bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost word
and then plunged down as if from a spring-board

Shall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow'ry BEDS of ease,
Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' BLOOD-y seas

He was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church sociables he was
always called upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies
would lift up their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps, and
wall their eyes, and shake their heads, as much as to say, Words cannot
express it; it is too beautiful, TOO beautiful for this mortal earth.
After the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into
a bulletin-board, and read off notices of meetings and societies and
things till it seemed that the list would stretch out to the crack of
doom-a queer cusTom which is still kept up in America, even in cities,
away here in this age of abundant newspapers. Often, the less there is to
justify a traditional cusTom, the harder it is to get rid of it.
And now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went
into details it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the
church; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for
the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United States;
for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the President;
for the officers of the Government; for poor sailors, tossed by stormy
seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under the heel of European
monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the light and the
good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to hear withal; for
the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with a supplication
that the words he was about to speak might find grace and favor, and be as
seed sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of good.
Amen.
There was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat
down. The boy whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer, he
only endured it-if he even did that much. He was restive all through it;
he kept tally of the details of the prayer, unconsciously-for he was not
listening, but he knew the ground of old, and the clergyman's regular
route over it-and when a little trifle of new matter was interlarded, his
ear detected it and his whole nature resented it; he considered additions
unfair, and scoundrelly. In the midst of the prayer a fly had lit on the
back of the pew in front of him and tortured his spirit by calmly rubbing
its hands together, embracing its head with its arms, and polishing it so
vigorously that it seemed to almost part company with the body, and the
slender thread of a neck was exposed to view; scraping its wings with its
hind legs and smoothing them to its body as if they had been coat-tails;
going through its whole toilet as tranquilly as if it knew it was
perfectly safe. As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's hands itched to
grab for it they did not dare-he believed his soul would be instantly
destroyed if he did such a thing while the prayer was going on. But with
the closing sentence his hand began to curve and steal forward; and the
instant the Amen was out the fly was a prisoner of war. His aunt
detected the act and made him let it go.
The minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through an
argument that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod-and yet
it was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and brimstone and thinned
the predestined elect down to a company so small as to be hardly worth the
saving. Tom counted the pages of the sermon; after church he always knew
how many pages there had been, but he seldom knew anything else about the
discourse. However, this time he was really interested for a little while.
The minister made a grand and moving picture of the assembling together of
the world's hosts at the millennium when the lion and the lamb should lie
down together and a little child should lead them. But the pathos, the
lesson, the moral of the great spectacle were lost upon the boy; he only
thought of the conspicuousness of the principal character before the
on-looking nations; his face lit with the thought, and he said to himself
that he wished he could be that child, if it was a tame lion.
Now he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed.
Presently he bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out. It was a
large black beetle with formidable jaws-a pinchbug, he called it. It was
in a percussion-cap box. The first thing the beetle did was to take him by
the finger. A natural fillip followed, the beetle went floundering into
the aisle and lit on its back, and the hurt finger went into the boy's
mouth. The beetle lay there working its helpless legs, unable to turn
over. Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out of his reach.
Other people uninterested in the sermon found relief in the beetle, and
they eyed it too. Presently a vagrant poodle dog came idling along, sad at
heart, lazy with the summer softness and the quiet, weary of captivity,
sighing for change. He spied the beetle; the drooping tail lifted and
wagged. He surveyed the prize; walked around it; smelt at it from a safe
distance; walked around it again; grew bolder, and took a closer smell;
then lifted his lip and made a gingerly snatch at it, just missing it;
made another, and another; began to enjoy the diversion; subsided to his
sTomach with the beetle between his paws, and continued his experiments;
grew weary at last, and then indifferent and absent-minded. His head
nodded, and little by little his chin descended and touched the enemy, who
seized it. There was a sharp yelp, a flirt of the poodle's head, and the
beetle fell a couple of yards away, and lit on its back once more. The
neighboring spectators shook with a gentle inward joy, several faces went
behind fans and handkerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy. The dog looked
foolish, and probably felt so; but there was resentment in his heart, too,
and a craving for revenge. So he went to the beetle and began a wary
attack on it again; jumping at it from every point of a circle, lighting
with his fore-paws within an inch of the creature, making even closer
snatches at it with his teeth, and jerking his head till his ears flapped
again. But he grew tired once more, after a while; tried to amuse himself
with a fly but found no relief; followed an ant around, with his nose
close to the floor, and quickly wearied of that; yawned, sighed, forgot
the beetle entirely, and sat down on it. Then there was a wild yelp of
agony and the poodle went sailing up the aisle; the yelps continued, and
so did the dog; he crossed the house in front of the altar; he flew down
the other aisle; he crossed before the doors; he clamored up the
home-stretch; his anguish grew with his progress, till presently he was
but a woolly comet moving in its orbit with the gleam and the speed of
light. At last the frantic sufferer sheered from its course, and sprang
into its master's lap; he flung it out of the window, and the voice of
distress quickly thinned away and died in the distance.
By this time the whole church was red-faced and suffocating with
suppressed laughter, and the sermon had come to a dead standstill. The
discourse was resumed presently, but it went lame and halting, all
possibility of impressiveness being at an end; for even the gravest
sentiments were constantly being received with a smothered burst of unholy
mirth, under cover of some remote pew-back, as if the poor parson had said
a rarely facetious thing. It was a genuine relief to the whole
congregation when the ordeal was over and the benediction pronounced.
Tom Sawyer went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that there was
some satisfaction about divine service when there was a bit of variety in
it. He had but one marring thought; he was willing that the dog should
play with his pinchbug, but he did not think it was upright in him to
carry it off.


Chapter VI

Monday morning found Tom Sawyer miserable. Monday morning always found
him so-because it began another week's slow suffering in school. He
generally began that day with wishing he had had no intervening holiday,
it made the going into captivity and fetters again so much more odious.
Tom lay thinking. Presently it occurred to him that he wished he was
sick; then he could stay home from school. Here was a vague possibility.
He canvassed his system. No ailment was found, and he investigated again.
This time he thought he could detect colicky sympToms, and he began to
encourage them with considerable hope. But they soon grew feeble, and
presently died wholly away. He reflected further. Suddenly he discovered
something. One of his upper front teeth was loose. This was lucky; he was
about to begin to groan, as a starter, as he called it, when it occurred
to him that if he came into court with that argument, his aunt would pull
it out, and that would hurt. So he thought he would hold the tooth in
reserve for the present, and seek further. Nothing offered for some little
time, and then he remembered hearing the doctor tell about a certain thing
that laid up a patient for two or three weeks and threatened to make him
lose a finger. So the boy eagerly drew his sore toe from under the sheet
and held it up for inspection. But now he did not know the necessary
sympToms. However, it seemed well worth while to chance it, so he fell to
groaning with considerable spirit.
But Sid slept on unconscious.
Tom groaned louder, and fancied that he began to feel pain in the toe.
No result from Sid.
Tom was panting with his exertions by this time. He took a rest and
then swelled himself up and fetched a succession of admirable groans.
Sid snored on.
Tom was aggravated. He said, Sid, Sid! and shook him. This course
worked well, and Tom began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then
brought himself up on his elbow with a snort, and began to stare at Tom.
Tom went on groaning. Sid said
Tom! Say, Tom! [No response.] Here, Tom! Tom! What is the matter,
Tom And he shook him and looked in his face anxiously.
Tom moaned out
Oh, don't, Sid. Don't joggle me.
Why, what's the matter, Tom I must call auntie.
No-never mind. It'll be over by and by, maybe. Don't call anybody.
But I must! DON'T groan so, Tom, it's awful. How long you been this
way
Hours. Ouch! Oh, don't stir so, Sid, you'll kill me.
Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner Oh, Tom, DON'T! It makes my flesh
crawl to hear you. Tom, what is the matter
I forgive you everything, Sid. [Groan.] Everything you've ever done to
me. When I'm gone-
Oh, Tom, you ain't dying, are you Don't, Tom-oh, don't. Maybe-
I forgive everybody, Sid. [Groan.] Tell 'em so, Sid. And Sid, you give
my window-sash and my cat with one eye to that new girl that's come to
town, and tell her-
But Sid had snatched his clothes and gone. Tom was suffering in
reality, now, so handsomely was his imagination working, and so his groans
had gathered quite a genuine tone.
Sid flew down-stairs and said
Oh, Aunt Polly, come! Tom's dying!
Dying!
Yes'm. Don't wait-come quick!
Rubbage! I don't believe it!
But she fled up-stairs, nevertheless, with Sid and Mary at her heels.
And her face grew white, too, and her lip trembled. When she reached the
bedside she gasped out
You, Tom! Tom, what's the matter with you
Oh, auntie, I'm-
What's the matter with you-what is the matter with you, child
Oh, auntie, my sore toe's mortified!
The old lady sank down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried a
little, then did both together. This restored her and she said
Tom, what a turn you did give me. Now you shut up that nonsense and
climb out of this.
The groans ceased and the pain vanished from the toe. The boy felt a
little foolish, and he said
Aunt Polly, it SEEMED mortified, and it hurt so I never minded my
tooth at all.
Your tooth, indeed! What's the matter with your tooth
One of them's loose, and it aches perfectly awful.
There, there, now, don't begin that groaning again. Open your mouth.
Well-your tooth IS loose, but you're not going to die about that. Mary,
get me a silk thread, and a chunk of fire out of the kitchen.
Tom said
Oh, please, auntie, don't pull it out. It don't hurt any more. I wish
I may never stir if it does. Please don't, auntie. I don't want to stay
home from school.
Oh, you don't, don't you So all this row was because you thought
you'd get to stay home from school and go a-fishing Tom, Tom, I love you
so, and you seem to try every way you can to break my old heart with your
outrageousness. By this time the dental instruments were ready. The old
lady made one end of the silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a loop and
tied the other to the bedpost. Then she seized the chunk of fire and
suddenly thrust it almost into the boy's face. The tooth hung dangling by
the bedpost, now.
But all trials bring their compensations. As Tom wended to school after
breakfast, he was the envy of every boy he met because the gap in his
upper row of teeth enabled him to expectorate in a new and admirable way.
He gathered quite a following of lads intereste