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X
CHAPTER
VII
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
***
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
***
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
lapel
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
awhile,
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
sha'n'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
awhile
before
when
the
master
came
tiptoeing
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."
"Oh,
I
should
say
so!
I
wish
I
had
some
now."
"Do
you?
I've
got
some.
I'll
let
you
chew
it
awhile,
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."
"Oh,
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
sha'n't
tell
you."
"Shall
I
tell
YOU?"
"Ye--yes--but
some
other
time."
"No,
now."
"No,
not
now--to-morrow."
"Oh,
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,
ever
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."
"Oh,
it's
ever
so
gay!
Why,
me
and
Amy
Lawrence--"
The
big
eyes
told
Tom
his
blunder
and
he
stopped,
confused.
"Oh,
Tom!
Then
I
ain't
the
first
you've
ever
been
engaged
to!"
The
child
began
to
cry.
Tom
said:
"Oh,
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
***
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.
CHAPTER
VIII
TOM
dodged
hither
and
thither
through
lanes
until
he
was
well
out
of
the
track
of
returning
scholars,
and
then
fell
into
a
moody
jog.
He
crossed
a
small"
branch"
two
or
three
times,
because
of
a
prevailing
juvenile
superstition
that
to
cross
water
baffled
pursuit.
Half
an
hour
later
he
was
disappearing
behind
the
Douglas
mansion
on
the
summit
of
Cardiff
Hill,
and
the
schoolhouse
was
hardly
distinguishable
away
off
in
the
valley
behind
him.
He
entered
a
dense
wood,
picked
his
pathless
way
to
the
centre
of
it,
and
sat
down
on
a
mossy
spot
under
a
spreading
oak.
There
was
not
even
a
zephyr
stirring;
the
dead
noonday
heat
had
even
stilled
the
songs
of
the
birds;
nature
lay
in
a
trance
that
was
broken
by
no
sound
but
the
occasional
far-off
hammering
of
a
woodpecker,
and
this
seemed
to
render
the
pervading
silence
and
sense
of
loneliness
the
more
profound.
The
boy's
soul
was
steeped
in
melancholy;
his
feelings
were
in
happy
accord
with
his
surroundings.
He
sat
long
with
his
elbows
on
his
knees
and
his
chin
in
his
hands,
meditating.
It
seemed
to
him
that
life
was
but
a
trouble,
at
best,
and
he
more
than
half
envied
Jimmy
Hodges,
so
lately
released;
it
must
be
very
peaceful,
he
thought,
to
lie
and
slumber
and
dream
forever
and
ever,
with
the
wind
whispering
through
the
trees
and
caressing
the
grass
and
the
flowers
over
the
grave,
and
nothing
to
bother
and
grieve
about,
ever
any
more.
If
he
only
had
a
clean
Sunday-school
record
he
could
be
willing
to
go,
and
be
done
with
it
all.
Now
as
to
this
girl.
What
had
he
done?
Nothing.
He
had
meant
the
best
in
the
world,
and
been
treated
like
a
dog--like
a
very
dog.
She
would
be
sorry
some
day--maybe
when
it
was
too
late.
Ah,
if
he
could
only
die
TEMPORARILY!
But
the
elastic
heart
of
youth
cannot
be
compressed
into
one
constrained
shape
long
at
a
time.
Tom
presently
began
to
drift
insensibly
back
into
the
concerns
of
this
life
again.
What
if
he
turned
his
back,
now,
and
disappeared
mysteriously?
What
if
he
went
away--ever
so
far
away,
into
unknown
countries
beyond
the
seas--and
never
came
back
any
more!
How
would
she
feel
then!
The
idea
of
being
a
clown
recurred
to
him
now,
only
to
fill
him
with
disgust.
For
frivolity
and
jokes
and
spotted
tights
were
an
offense,
when
they
intruded
themselves
upon
a
spirit
that
was
exalted
into
the
vague
august
realm
of
the
romantic.
No,
he
would
be
a
soldier,
and
return
after
long
years,
all
war-worn
and
illustrious.
No--better
still,
he
would
join
the
Indians,
and
hunt
buffaloes
and
go
on
the
warpath
in
the
mountain
ranges
and
the
trackless
great
plains
of
the
Far
West,
and
away
in
the
future
come
back
a
great
chief,
bristling
with
feathers,
hideous
with
paint,
and
prance
into
Sunday-school,
some
drowsy
summer
morning,
with
a
bloodcurdling
war-whoop,
and
sear
the
eyeballs
of
all
his
companions
with
unappeasable
envy.
But
no,
there
was
something
gaudier
even
than
this.
He
would
be
a
pirate!
That
was
it!
NOW
his
future
lay
plain
before
him,
and
glowing
with
unimaginable
splendor.
How
his
name
would
fill
the
world,
and
make
people
shudder!
How
gloriously
he
would
go
plowing
the
dancing
seas,
in
his
long,
low,
black-hulled
racer,
the
Spirit
of
the
Storm,
with
his
grisly
flag
flying
at
the
fore!
And
at
the
zenith
of
his
fame,
how
he
would
suddenly
appear
at
the
old
village
and
stalk
into
church,
brown
and
weather-beaten,
in
his
black
velvet
doublet
and
trunks,
his
great
jack-boots,
his
crimson
sash,
his
belt
bristling
with
horse-pistols,
his
crime-rusted
cutlass
at
his
side,
his
slouch
hat
with
waving
plumes,
his
black
flag
unfurled,
with
the
skull
and
crossbones
on
it,
and
hear
with
swelling
ecstasy
the
whisperings,
"It's
Tom
Sawyer
the
Pirate!--the
Black
Avenger
of
the
Spanish
Main!"
Yes,
it
was
settled;
his
career
was
determined.
He
would
run
away
from
home
and
enter
upon
it.
He
would
start
the
very
next
morning.
Therefore
he
must
now
begin
to
get
ready.
He
would
collect
his
resources
together.
He
went
to
a
rotten
log
near
at
hand
and
began
to
dig
under
one
end
of
it
with
his
Barlow
knife.
He
soon
struck
wood
that
sounded
hollow.
He
put
his
hand
there
and
uttered
this
incantation
impressively:
"What
hasn't
come
here,
come!
What's
here,
stay
here!"
Then
he
scraped
away
the
dirt,
and
exposed
a
pine
shingle.
He
took
it
up
and
disclosed
a
shapely
little
treasure-house
whose
bottom
and
sides
were
of
shingles.
In
it
lay
a
marble.
Tom's
astonishment
was
boundless!
He
scratched
his
head
with
a
perplexed
air,
and
said:
"Well,
that
beats
anything!"
Then
he
tossed
the
marble
away
pettishly,
and
stood
cogitating.
The
truth
was,
that
a
superstition
of
his
had
failed,
here,
which
he
and
all
his
comrades
had
always
looked
upon
as
infallible.
If
you
buried
a
marble
with
certain
necessary
incantations,
and
left
it
alone
a
fortnight,
and
then
opened
the
place
with
the
incantation
he
had
just
used,
you
would
find
that
all
the
marbles
you
had
ever
lost
had
gathered
themselves
together
there,
meantime,
no
matter
how
widely
they
had
been
separated.
But
now,
this
thing
had
actually
and
unquestionably
failed.
Tom's
whole
structure
of
faith
was
shaken
to
its
foundations.
He
had
many
a
time
heard
of
this
thing
succeeding
but
never
of
its
failing
before.
It
did
not
occur
to
him
that
he
had
tried
it
several
times
before,
himself,
but
could
never
find
the
hiding-places
afterward.
He
puzzled
over
the
matter
some
time,
and
finally
decided
that
some
witch
had
interfered
and
broken
the
charm.
He
thought
he
would
satisfy
himself
on
that
point;
so
he
searched
around
till
he
found
a
small
sandy
spot
with
a
little
funnel-shaped
depression
in
it.
He
laid
himself
down
and
put
his
mouth
close
to
this
depression
and
called--
"Doodle-bug,
doodle-bug,
tell
me
what
I
want
to
know!
Doodle-bug,
doodle-bug,
tell
me
what
I
want
to
know!"
The
sand
began
to
work,
and
presently
a
small
black
bug
appeared
for
a
second
and
then
darted
under
again
in
a
fright.
"He
dasn't
tell!
So
it
WAS
a
witch
that
done
it.
I
just
knowed
it."
He
well
knew
the
futility
of
trying
to
contend
against
witches,
so
he
gave
up
discouraged.
But
it
occurred
to
him
that
he
might
as
well
have
the
marble
he
had
just
thrown
away,
and
therefore
he
went
and
made
a
patient
search
for
it.
But
he
could
not
find
it.
Now
he
went
back
to
his
treasure-house
and
carefully
placed
himself
just
as
he
had
been
standing
when
he
tossed
the
marble
away;
then
he
took
another
marble
from
his
pocket
and
tossed
it
in
the
same
way,
saying:
"Brother,
go
find
your
brother!"
He
watched
where
it
stopped,
and
went
there
and
looked.
But
it
must
have
fallen
short
or
gone
too
far;
so
he
tried
twice
more.
The
last
repetition
was
successful.
The
two
marbles
lay
within
a
foot
of
each
other.
Just
here
the
blast
of
a
toy
tin
trumpet
came
faintly
down
the
green
aisles
of
the
forest.
Tom
flung
off
his
jacket
and
trousers,
turned
a
suspender
into
a
belt,
raked
away
some
brush
behind
the
rotten
log,
disclosing
a
rude
bow
and
arrow,
a
lath
sword
and
a
tin
trumpet,
and
in
a
moment
had
seized
these
things
and
bounded
away,
barelegged,
with
fluttering
shirt.
He
presently
halted
under
a
great
elm,
blew
an
answering
blast,
and
then
began
to
tiptoe
and
look
warily
out,
this
way
and
that.
He
said
cautiously--to
an
imaginary
company:
"Hold,
my
merry
men!
Keep
hid
till
I
blow."
Now
appeared
Joe
Harper,
as
airily
clad
and
elaborately
armed
as
Tom.
Tom
called:
"Hold!
Who
comes
here
into
Sherwood
Forest
without
my
pass?"
"Guy
of
Guisborne
wants
no
man's
pass.
Who
art
thou
that--that--"
"Dares
to
hold
such
language,"
said
Tom,
prompting--for
they
talked
"by
the
book,"
from
memory.
"Who
art
thou
that
dares
to
hold
such
language?"
"I,
indeed!
I
am
Robin
Hood,
as
thy
caitiff
carcase
soon
shall
know."
"Then
art
thou
indeed
that
famous
outlaw?
Right
gladly
will
I
dispute
with
thee
the
passes
of
the
merry
wood.
Have
at
thee!"
They
took
their
lath
swords,
dumped
their
other
traps
on
the
ground,
struck
a
fencing
attitude,
foot
to
foot,
and
began
a
grave,
careful
combat,"
two
up
and
two
down."
Presently
Tom
said:
"Now,
if
you've
got
the
hang,
go
it
lively!"
So
they"
went
it
lively,"
panting
and
perspiring
with
the
work.
By
and
by
Tom
shouted:
"Fall!
fall!
Why
don't
you
fall?"
"I
sha'n't!
Why
don't
you
fall
yourself?
You're
getting
the
worst
of
it."
"Why,
that
ain't
anything.
I
can't
fall;
that
ain't
the
way
it
is
in
the book. The book says, 'Then with one back-handed stroke he slew poor
Guy of Guisborne.' You're to turn around and let me hit you in the
back."
There
was
no
getting
around
the
authorities,
so
Joe
turned,
received
the
whack
and
fell.
"Now,"
said
Joe,
getting
up,"
you
got
to
let
me
kill
YOU.
That's
fair."
"Why,
I
can't
do
that,
it
ain't
in
the
book."
"Well,
it's
blamed
mean--that's
all."
"Well,
say,
Joe,
you
can
be
Friar
Tuck
or
Much
the
miller's
son,
and
lam
me
with
a
quarter-staff;
or
I'll
be
the
Sheriff
of
Nottingham
and
you
be
Robin
Hood
a
little
while
and
kill
me."
This
was
satisfactory,
and
so
these
adventures
were
carried
out.
Then
Tom
became
Robin
Hood
again,
and
was
allowed
by
the
treacherous
nun
to
bleed
his
strength
away
through
his
neglected
wound.
And
at
last
Joe,
representing
a
whole
tribe
of
weeping
outlaws,
dragged
him
sadly
forth,
gave
his
bow
into
his
feeble
hands,
and
Tom
said,"
Where
this
arrow
falls,
there
bury
poor
Robin
Hood
under
the
greenwood
tree."
Then
he
shot
the
arrow
and
fell
back
and
would
have
died,
but
he
lit
on
a
nettle
and
sprang
up
too
gaily
for
a
corpse.
The
boys
dressed
themselves,
hid
their
accoutrements,
and
went
off
grieving
that
there
were
no
outlaws
any
more,
and
wondering
what
modern
civilization
could
claim
to
have
done
to
compensate
for
their
loss.
They
said
they
would
rather
be
outlaws
a
year
in
Sherwood
Forest
than
President
of
the
United
States
forever.