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X
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
cow-stable.
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
***
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
***
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
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' 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.