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X
THE
ADVENTURES
OF
TOM
SAWYER
BY
MARK TWAIN (Samuel Langhorne Clemens)
P
R
E
F
A
C
E
MOST of the adventures recorded in this book really occurred; one or
two
were
experiences
of
my
own,
the
rest
those
of
boys
who
were
schoolmates
of
mine.
Huck
Finn
is
drawn
from
life;
Tom
Sawyer
also,
but
not from an individual--he is a combination of the characteristics of
three
boys
whom
I
knew,
and
therefore
belongs
to
the
composite
order
of
architecture.
The
odd
superstitions
touched
upon
were
all
prevalent
among
children
and slaves in the West at the period of this story--that is to say,
thirty
or
forty
years
ago.
Although
my
book
is
intended
mainly
for
the
entertainment
of
boys
and
girls,
I
hope
it
will
not
be
shunned
by
men
and
women
on
that
account,
for
part
of
my
plan
has
been
to
try
to
pleasantly
remind
adults
of
what
they
once
were
themselves,
and
of
how
they
felt
and
thought
and
talked,
and
what
***
enterprises
they
sometimes
engaged
in.
THE
AUTHOR.
HARTFORD, 1876.
T
O
M
S
A
W
Y
E
R
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
***,
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 close-buttoned 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
***
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
ding-***-***, ding-***-***, 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-***).
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 ***; 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
***
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 passenger-coaches 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.