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Chapter 4
Showing off in Sunday School
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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,- O I don't know what it is!"
"Shall!"
"O, 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?"
"O, 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,
present, 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 breast 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
sleigh-runners- 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's 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 traveled, 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 head-quarters. 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."
"O, 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, someday, 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 then- 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 and looking sheepish. He blushed, now,
and his eyes fell. Mr. Walters's 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 GOLIATH!"
Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.
CHAPTER_5
Chapter 5
The Pinch Bug and His Prey
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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 Douglas, fair, smart and forty, a generous, goodhearted 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
gauntlet; 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 to 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 "pinch-bug," 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 forepaws 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 stand-still.
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 pinch-bug, but he did not think it
was upright in him to carry it off.
CHAPTER_6
Chapter 6
Tom Meets Becky
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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 occured 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:
"O 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! O don't stir so, Sid, you'll kill me."
"Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner? O, 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-"
"O, Tom, you ain't dying, are you? Don't, Tom- O, 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:
"O, 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?"
"O, auntie, I'm-"
"What's the matter with you- what is the matter with you, child!"
"O, 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:
"O, 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 interested in the
exhibition; and one that had cut his finger and had been a centre of
fascination and homage up to this time, now found himself suddenly
without an adherent, and shorn of his glory. His heart was heavy,
and he said with a disdain which he did not feel, that it wasn't
anything to spit like Tom Sawyer; but another boy said "Sour
grapes!" and he wandered away a dismantled hero.
Shortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village,
Huckleberry Finn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was
cordially hated and dreaded by all the mothers of the town because
he was idle, and lawless, and vulgar and bad- and because all their
children admired him so, and delighted in his forbidden society, and
wished they dared to be like him. Tom was like the rest of the
respectable boys, in that he envied Huckleberry his gaudy outcast
condition, and was under strict orders not to play with him. So he
played with him every time he got a chance. Huckleberry was always
dressed in the cast-off clothes of full-grown men, and they were in
perennial bloom and fluttering with rags. His hat was a vast ruin with
a wide crescent lopped out of its brim; his coat, when he wore one,
hung nearly to his heels and had the rearward buttons far down the
back; but one suspender supported his trousers; the seat of the
trousers bagged low and contained nothing; the fringed legs dragged in
the dirt when not rolled up.
Huckleberry came and went, at his own free will. He slept on
doorsteps in fine weather and in empty hogsheads in wet; he did not
have to go to school or to church, or call any being master or obey
anybody; he could go fishing or swimming when and where he chose,
and stay as long as it suited him; nobody forbade him to fight; he
could sit up as late as he pleased; he was always the first boy that
went barefoot in the spring and the last to resume leather in the
fall; he never had to wash, nor put on clean clothes; he could swear
wonderfully. In a word, everything that goes to make life precious,
that boy had. So thought every harassed, hampered, respectable boy
in St. Petersburg.
Tom hailed the romantic outcast:
"Hello, Huckleberry!"
"Hello yourself, and see how you like it."
"What's that you got?"
"Dead cat."
"Lemme see him, Huck. My, he's pretty stiff. Where'd you get him?"
"Bought him off'n a boy."
"What did you give?"
"I give a blue ticket and a bladder that I got at the slaughter
house."
"Where'd you get the blue ticket?"
"Bought it off'n Ben Rogers two weeks ago for a hoop-stick."
"Say- what is dead cats good for, Huck?"
"Good for? Cure warts with."
"No! Is that so? I know something that's better."
"I bet you don't. What is it?"
"Why, spunk-water."
"Spunk-water! I wouldn't give a dem for spunk-water."
"You wouldn't, wouldn't you? D'you ever try it?"
"No, I hain't. But Bob Tanner did."
"Who told you so!"
"Why he told Jeff Thatcher, and Jeff told Johnny Baker, and Johnny
told Jim Hollis, and Jim told Ben Rogers, and Ben told a nigger, and
the nigger told me. There, now!"
"Well, what of it? They'll all lie. Leastways all but the nigger.
I don't know him. But I never see a nigger that wouldn't lie.
Shucks! Now you tell me how Bob Tanner done it, Huck."
"Why he took and dipped his hand in a rotten stump where the rain
water was."
"In the daytime?"
"Cert'nly."
"With his face to the stump?"
"Yes. Least I reckon so."
"Did he say anything?"
"I don't reckon he did. I don't know."
"Aha! Talk about trying to cure warts with spunk-water such a
blame fool way as that! Why that ain't a-going to do any good. You got
to go all by yourself, to the middle of the woods, where you know
there's a spunk-water stump, and just as it's midnight you back up
against the stump and jam your hand in and say:
-
"Barley-corn, Barley-corn, injun-meal shorts,
Spunk-water, spunk-water, swaller these warts;"
-
and then walk away quick, eleven steps, with your eyes shut, and
then turn around three times and walk home without speaking to
anybody. Because if you speak the charm's busted."
"Well that sounds like a good way; but that ain't the way Bob Tanner
done."
"No, sir, you can bet he didn't, becuz he's the wartiest boy in this
town; and he wouldn't have a wart on him if he'd knowed how to work
spunk-water. I've took off thousands of warts off of my hands that
way, Huck. I play with frogs so much that I've always got considerable
many warts. Sometimes I take 'em off with a bean."
"Yes, bean's good. I've done that."
"Have you? What's your way?"
"You take and split the bean, and cut the wart so as to get some
blood, and then you put the blood on one piece of the bean and take
and dig a hole and bury it 'bout midnight at the cross-roads in the
dark of the moon, and then you burn up the rest of the bean. You see
that piece that's got the blood on it will keep drawing and drawing,
trying to fetch the other piece to it, and so that helps the blood
to draw the wart, and pretty soon off she comes."
"Yes, that's it, Huck- that's it; though when you're burying it,
if you say 'Down bean; off, wart; come no more to bother me!' it's
better. That's the way Joe Harper does, and he's been nearly to
Constantinople and most everywheres. But say- how do you cure 'em with
dead cats?"
"Why you take your cat and go and get in the graveyard 'long about
midnight when somebody that was wicked has been buried; and when
it's midnight a devil will come, or maybe two or three, but you
can't see em, you can only hear something like the wind, or maybe hear
'em talk; and when they're taking that feller away, you heave your cat
after 'em and say 'Devil follow corpse, cat follow devil, warts follow
cat, I'm done with ye!' That'll fetch any wart."
"Sounds right. D'you ever try it, Huck?"
"No, but old Mother Hopkins told me."
"Well I reckon it's so, then. Becuz they say she's a witch."
"Say! Why Tom I know she is. She witched pap. Pap says so his own
self. He come along one day, and he see she was a-witching him, so
he took up a rock, and if she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her. Well that
very night he rolled off'n a shed wher' he was a-layin' drunk, and
broke his arm."
"Why that's awful. How did he know she was a-witching him."
"Lord, pap can tell, easy. Pap says when they keep looking at you
right stiddy, they're a-witching you. Specially if they mumble.
Becuz when they mumble they're a-saying the Lord's Prayer back'ards."
"Say, Huck, when you going to try the cat?"
"To-night. I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to-night."
"But they buried him Saturday, Huck. Didn't they get him Saturday
night?"
"Why how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight?- and
then it's Sunday. Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I
don't reckon."
"I never thought of that. That's so. Lemme go with you?"
"Of course- if you ain't afeard."
"Afeard! 'Tain't likely. Will you meow?"
"Yes- and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kep' me
a-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says
'Dem that cat!' and so I hove a brick through his window- but don't
you tell."
"I won't. I couldn't meow that night, becuz auntie was watching
me, but I'll meow this time. Say, Huck, what's that?"
"Nothing but a tick."
"Where'd you get him?"
"Out in the woods."
"What'll you take for him?"
"I don't know. I don't want to sell him."
"All right. It's a mighty small tick, anyway."
"O, anybody can run a tick down that don't belong to them. I'm
satisfied with it. It's a good enough tick for me."
"Sho, there's ticks a plenty. I could have a thousand of 'em if I
wanted to."
"Well why don't you? Becuz you know mighty well you can't. This is a
pretty early tick, I reckon. It's the first one I've seen this year."
"Say Huck- I'll give you my tooth for him."
"Less see it."
Tom got out a bit of paper and carefully unrolled it. Huckleberry
viewed it wistfully. The temptation was very strong. At last he said:
"Is it genuwyne?"
Tom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.
"Well, all right," said Huckleberry, "it's a trade."
Tom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been
the pinch-bug's prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier
than before.
When Tom reached the little isolated frame school-house, he strode
in briskly, with the manner of one who had come with all honest speed.
He hung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with
business-like alacrity. The master, throned on high in his great
splint-bottom arm-chair, was dozing, lulled by the drowsy hum of
study. The interruption roused him.
"Thomas Sawyer!"
Tom knew that when his name was pronounced in full, it meant
trouble.
"Sir!"
"Come up here. Now sir, why are you late again, as usual?"
Tom was about to take refuge in a lie, when he saw two long tails of
yellow hair hanging down a back that he recognized by the electric
sympathy of love; and by that form was the only vacant place on the
girl's side of the school-house. He instantly said:
"I STOPPED TO TALK WITH HUCKLEBERRY FINN!"
The master's pulse stood still, and he stared helplessly. The buzz
of study ceased. The pupils wondered if this fool-hardy boy had lost
his mind. The master said:
"You- you did what?"
"Stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn."
There was no mistaking the words.
"Thomas Sawyer, this is the most astounding confession I have ever
listened to. No mere ferule will answer for this offense. Take off
your jacket."
The master's arm performed until it was tired and the stock of
switches notably diminished. Then the order followed:
"Now sir, go and sit with the girls! And let this be a warning to
you."
The titter that rippled around the room appeared to abash the boy,
but in reality that result was caused rather more by his worshipful
awe of his unknown idol and the dread pleasure that lay in his high
good fortune. He sat down upon the end of the pine bench and the
girl hitched herself away from him with a toss of her head. Nudges and
winks and whispers traversed the room, but Tom sat still, with his
arms upon the long, low desk before him, and seemed to study his book.
By and by attention ceased from him, and the accustomed school
murmur rose upon the dull air once more. Presently the boy began to
steal furtive glances at the girl. She observed it, "made a mouth"
at him and gave him the back of her head for the space of a minute.
When she cautiously faced around again, a peach lay before her. She
thrust it away. Tom gently put it back. She thrust it away, again, but
with less animosity. Tom patiently returned it to its place. Then
she let it remain. Tom scrawled on his slate, "Please take it- I got
more." The girl glanced at the words, but made no sign. Now the boy
began to draw something on the slate, hiding his work with his left
hand. For a time the girl refused to notice; but her human curiosity
presently began to manifest itself by hardly perceptible signs. The
boy worked on, apparently unconscious. The girl made a sort of
non-committal attempt to see, but the boy did not betray that he was
aware of it. At last she gave in and hesitatingly whispered:
"Let me see it."
Tom partly uncovered a dismal caricature of a house with two gable
ends to it and a cork-screw of smoke issuing from the chimneys. Then
the girl's interest began to fasten itself upon the work and she
forgot everything else. When it was finished, she gazed a moment, then
whispered:
"It's nice- make a man."
The artist erected a man in the front yard, that resembled a
derrick. He could have stepped over the house; but the girl was not
hypercritical; she was satisfied with the monster, and whispered:
"It's a beautiful man- now make me coming along."
Tom drew an hour-glass with a full moon and straw limbs to it and
armed the spreading fingers with a portentous fan. The girl said:
"It's ever so nice- I wish I could draw."
"It's easy," whispered Tom, "I'll learn you."
"O, will you? When?"
"At noon. Do you go home to dinner?"
"I'll stay, if you will."
"Good,- that's a whack. What's your name?"
"Becky Thatcher. What's yours? Oh, know. It's Thomas Sawyer."
"That's the name they lick me by. I'm Tom, when I'm good. You call
me Tom, will you?"
"Yes."
Now Tom began to scrawl something on the slate, hiding the words
from the girl. But she was not backward this time. She begged to
see. Tom said:
"Oh it ain't anything."
"Yes it is."
"No it ain't. You don't want to see."
"Yes I do, indeed I do. Please let me."
"You'll tell."
"No I won't- deed and deed and double deed I won't."
"You won't tell anybody at all?- Ever, as long as you live?"
"No I won't ever tell anybody. Now let me."
"Oh, you don't want to see!"
"Now that you treat me so, I will see." And she put her small hand
upon his and a little scuffle ensued, Tom pretending to resist in
earnest but letting his hand slip by degrees till these words were
revealed: "I love you."
"O, you bad thing!" And she hit his hand a smart rap, but reddened
and looked pleased, nevertheless.
Just at this juncture the boy felt a slow, fateful grip closing on
his ear, and a steady, lifting impulse. In that vise he was borne
across the house and deposited in his own seat, under a peppering fire
of giggles from the whole school. Then the master stood over him
during a few awful moments, and finally moved away to his throne
without saying a word. But although Tom's ear tingled, his heart was
jubilant.
As the school quieted down Tom made an honest effort to study, but
the turmoil within him was too great. In turn he took his place in the
reading class and made a botch of it; then in the geography class
and turned lakes into mountains, mountains into rivers, and rivers
into continents, till chaos was come again; then in the spelling
class, and got "turned down," by a succession of mere baby words
till he brought up at the foot and yielded up the pewter medal which
he had worn with ostentation for months.
CHAPTER_7
Chapter 7
Tick-Running and Heartbreak
-
THE HARDER Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book, the more his
ideas wandered. So at last, with a sigh and a yawn, he gave it up.
It seemed to him that the noon recess would never come. The air was
utterly dead. There was not a breath stirring. It was the sleepiest of
sleepy days. The drowsing murmur of the five and twenty studying
scholars soothed the soul like the spell that is in the murmur of
bees. Away off in the flaming sunshine, Cardiff Hill lifted its soft
green sides through a shimmering veil of heat, tinted with the
purple of distance; a few birds floated on lazy wing high in the
air; no other living thing was visible but some cows, and they were
asleep.
Tom's heart ached to be free, or else to have something of
interest to do to pass the dreary time. His hand wandered into his
pocket and his face lit up with a glow of gratitude that was prayer,
though he did not know it. Then furtively the percussion-cap box
came out. He released the tick and put him on the long flat desk.
The creature probably glowed with a gratitude that amounted to prayer,
too, at this moment, but it was premature: for when he started
thankfully to travel off, Tom turned him aside with a pin and made him
take a new direction.
Tom's bosom friend sat next him, suffering just as Tom had been, and
now he was deeply and gratefully interested in this entertainment in
an instant. This bosom friend was Joe Harper. The two boys were
sworn friends all the week, and embattled enemies on Saturdays. Joe
took a pin out of his lappel and began to assist in exercising the
prisoner. The sport grew in interest momently. Soon Tom said that they
were interfering with each other, and neither getting the fullest
benefit of the tick. So he put Joe's slate on the desk and drew a line
down the middle of it from top to bottom.
"Now," said he, "as long as he is on your side you can stir him up
and I'll let him alone; but if you let him get away and get on my
side, you're to leave him alone as long as I can keep him from
crossing over."
"All right- go ahead- start him up."
The tick escaped from Tom, presently, and crossed the equator. Joe
harassed him a while, and then he got away and crossed back again.
This change of base occurred often. While one boy was worrying the
tick with absorbing interest, the other would look on with interest as
strong, the two heads bowed together over the slate, and the two souls
dead to all things else. At last luck seemed to settle and abide
with Joe. The tick tried this, that, and the other course, and got
as excited and as anxious as the boys themselves, but time and again
just as he would have victory in his very grasp, so to speak, and
Tom's fingers would be twitching to begin, Joe's pin would deftly head
him off, and keep possession. At last Tom could stand it no longer.
The temptation was too strong. So he reached out and lent a hand
with his pin. Joe was angry in a moment. Said he:
"Tom, you let him alone."
"I only just want to stir him up a little, Joe."
"No, sir, it ain't fair; you just let him alone."
"Blame it, I ain't going to stir him much."
"Let him alone, I tell you!"
"I won't!"
"You shall- he's on my side of the line."
"Look here, Joe Harper, whose is that tick?"
"I don't care whose tick he is- he's on my side of the line, and
you shan't touch him."
"Well I'll just bet I will, though. He's my tick and I'll do what
I blame please with him, or die!"
A tremendous whack came down on Tom's shoulders, and its duplicate
on Joe's; and for the space of two minutes the dust continued to fly
from the two jackets and the whole school to enjoy it. The boys had
been too absorbed to notice the hush that had stolen upon the school a
while before when the master came tip-toeing down the room and stood
over them. He had contemplated a good part of the performance before
he contributed his bit of variety to it.
When school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky Thatcher, and
whispered in her ear:
"Put on your bonnet and let on you're going home; and when you get
to the corner, give the rest of 'em the slip, and turn down through
the lane and come back. I'll go the other way and come it over 'em the
same way."
So the one went off with one group of scholars, and the other with
another. In a little while the two met at the bottom of the lane,
and when they reached the school they had it all to themselves. Then
they sat together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the
pencil and held her hand in his, guiding it, and so created another
surprising house. When the interest in art began to wane, the two fell
to talking. Tom was swimming in bliss. He said:
"Do you love rats?"
"No! I hate them!"
"Well, I do too- live ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round
your head with a string."
"No, I don't care for rats much, anyway. What I like, is
chewing-gum."
"O, I should say so! I wish I had some now."
"Do you? I've got some. I'll let you chew it a while, but you must
give it back to me."
That was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled
their legs against the bench in excess of contentment.
"Was you ever at a circus?" said Tom.
"Yes, and my pa's going to take me again some time, if I'm good."
"I been to the circus three or four times- lots of times. Church
ain't shucks to a circus. There's things going on at a circus all
the time. I'm going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up."
"O, are you! That will be nice. They're so lovely, all spotted up."
"Yes, that's so. And they get slathers of money- most a dollar a
day, Ben Rogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?"
"What's that?"
"Why, engaged to be married."
"No."
"Would you like to?"
"I reckon so. I don't know. What is it like?"
"Like? Why it ain't like anything. You only just tell a boy you
won't ever have anybody but him, ever ever ever, and then you kiss and
that's all. Anybody can do it."
"Kiss? What do you kiss for?"
"Why that, you know, is to- well, they always do that."
"Everybody."
"Why yes, everybody that's in love with each other. Do you
remember what I wrote on the slate?"
"Ye- yes."
"What was it?"
"I shan't tell you."
"Shall I tell you?"
"Ye- yes- but some other time."
"No, now."
"No, not now- to-morrow."
"O, no, now. Please Becky- I'll whisper it, I'll whisper it ever
so easy."
Becky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm
about her waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his
mouth close to her ear. And then he added:
"Now you whisper it to me- just the same."
She resisted, for a while, and then said:
"You turn your face away so you can't see, and then I will. But
you mustn't ever tell anybody- will you, Tom? Now you won't, will
you?"
"No, indeed indeed I won't. Now Becky."
He turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breath
stirred his curls and whispered, "I- love- you!"
Then she sprang away and ran around and around the desks and
benches, with Tom after her, and took refuge in a corner at last, with
her little white apron to her face. Tom clasped her about her neck and
pleaded:
"Now Becky, it's all done- all over but the kiss. Don't you be
afraid of that- it ain't anything at all. Please, Becky."- And he
tugged at her apron and the hands.
By and by she gave up, and let her hands drop; her face, all glowing
with the struggle, came up and submitted. Tom kissed the red lips
and said:
"Now it's all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you
ain't ever to love anybody but me, and you ain't ever to marry anybody
but me, never never and forever. Will you?"
"No, I'll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I'll never marry
anybody but you- and you ain't to ever marry anybody but me, either."
"Certainly. Of course. That's part of it. And always coming to
school or when we're going home, you're to walk with me, when there
ain't anybody looking- and you choose me and I choose you at
parties, because that's the way you do when you're engaged."
"It's so nice. I never heard of it before."
"O it's ever so gay! Why me and Amy Lawrence"-
The big eyes told Tom his blunder and he stopped, confused.
"O, Tom! Then I ain't the first you've ever been engaged to!"
The child began to cry. Tom said:
"O don't cry, Becky, I don't care for her any more."
"Yes you do, Tom,- you know you do."
Tom tried to put his arm about her neck, but she pushed him away and
turned her face to the wall, and went on crying. Tom tried again, with
soothing words in his mouth, and was repulsed again. Then his pride
was up, and he strode away and went outside. He stood about,
restless and uneasy, for a while, glancing at the door, every now
and then, hoping she would repent and come to find him. But she did
not. Then he began to feel badly and fear that he was in the wrong. It
was a hard struggle with him to make new advances, now, but he
nerved himself to it and entered. She was still standing back there in
the corner, sobbing, with her face to the wall. Tom's heart smote him.
He went to her and stood a moment, not knowing exactly how to proceed.
Then he said hesitatingly:
"Becky, I- I don't care for anybody but you."
No reply- but sobs.
"Becky,"- pleadingly. "Becky, won't you say something?"
More sobs.
Tom got out his chiefest jewel, a brass knob from the top of an
andiron, and passed it around her so that she could see it, and said:
"Please, Becky, won't you take it?"
She struck it to the floor. Then Tom marched out of the house and
over the hills and far away, to return to school no more that day.
Presently Becky began to suspect. She ran to the door; he was not in
sight; she flew around to the play-yard; he was not there. Then she
called:
"Tom! Come back, Tom!"
She listened intently, but there was no answer. She had no
companions but silence and loneliness. So she sat down to cry again
and upbraid herself; and by this time the scholars began to gather
again, and she had to hide her griefs and still her broken heart and
take up the cross of a long, dreary, aching afternoon, with none among
the strangers about her to exchange sorrows with.
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