 CHAPTER IX At half-past nine that night, Tom and Sid were sent to bed as usual. They said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay awake and waited in restless impatience. When it seemed to him that it must be nearly daylight, he heard the clock strike ten. This was despair. He would have tossed and fidgeted as his nerves demanded, but he was afraid he might wake Sid, so he lay still and stared up into the dark. Everything was dismally still. By and by, out of the stillness little scarcely perceptible noises began to emphasize themselves. The ticking of the clock began to bring itself into notice. Old beams began to crack mysteriously. The stairs creaked faintly. Evidently spirits were broad. A measured muffled snore issued from Aunt Polly's chamber and now the tiresome chirping of a cricket that no human ingenuity could locate began. Next the ghostly ticking of a death-watch in the wall at bed's head made Tom shudder. It meant that somebody's days were numbered. Then the howl of a far-off dog rose on the night-air and was answered by a fainter howl from a remote or distance. Tom was in agony. At last he was satisfied that time had ceased and eternity begun. He began to doze in spite of himself. The clock chimed eleven, but he did not hear it. And then there came, mingling with his half-formed dreams a most melancholy catawalling. The raising of a neighboring window disturbed him. The cry of scat, you devil! And the crash of an empty bottle against the back of his aunt's woodshed brought him wide awake, and a single moment later he was dressed it out the window and creeping along the roof of the howl on all fours. He meowed with caution once or twice as he went and then jumped to the roof of the woodshed and then tensed to the ground. Huckleberry Finn was there with his dead cat. The boys moved off and disappeared into the gloom. At the end of half an hour they were wading through the tall grass of the graveyard. It was a graveyard of the old-fashioned western kind. It was on a hill, about a mile and a half from the village. It had a crazy board fence around it, which leaned inward in places and outward the rest of the time, but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over the whole cemetery. All the old graves were sunken in. There was not a tombstone on the place. Round top worm-eaten boards straggled over the graves, leaning for support and finding none. Sacred to the memory of, so-and-so had been painted on them once, but it could no longer have been read on the most of them, not even if there had been light. A faint wind moaned through the trees, and Tom feared it might be the spirits of the dead, complaining at being disturbed. The boys talked little, and only under their breath, for the time and the place and the pervading solemnity and silence oppressed their spirits. They found the sharp new heap they were seeking, and ensconced themselves within the protection of the great-elm trees that drew in a bunch within a few feet of the grave. Then they waited in silence for what seemed a long time. The hooding of a distant owl was all the sound that troubled the dead stillness. Tom's reflections grew oppressive. He must force some talk, so he said in a whisper, Hucky, do you believe the dead people like it for us to be here? Huckleberry whispered. Oh, Easton knowed, it's awful solemn like ain't it? I bet it is. There was a considerable pause while the boys canvassed this matter inwardly. Then Tom whispered, Say, Hucky, do you reckon House Williams hears us talking? Of course he does, least his spirit does. Tom, after a pause, wished I'd said Mr. Williams, but I never meant any harm. Everybody calls him House. A buddy can't be too particular how they talk about these year-dead people, Tom. This was a damper, and conversation died again. Presently Tom seized his comrades' arm and said, Sh, what is it, Tom? And the two clung together with beating hearts. Sh, they're just again. Didn't you hear it? Now you hear it? Lord Tom, they're coming. They're coming, sure. What'll we do? I don't know. You think they'll see us? Oh, Tom, they can see in the dark, same as cats. I wish I hadn't come. Oh, don't be afraid. I don't believe they'll bother us. We ain't doing any harm. If we keep perfectly still, maybe they won't notice us at all. I'll try to, Tom, but Lord, I'm all shiver. Listen. The boys bent their heads together and scarcely breathed. A muffled sound of voices floated up from the far end of the graveyard. Look. See. They're whispered, Tom. What is it? It's devil fire, oh, Tom. This is awful. Some vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging an old-fashioned tin lantern that freckled the ground with innumerable little spangles of light. Presently, Huckleberry whispered with a shudder. It's the devil, sure enough, Tom. Three of them, Lordy. We're gone, hers. Can you pray? I'll try, but you don't be afraid. They ain't going to hurt us. Now I lay me down to sleep. I... What is it, Huck? They're humans. One of them is anyway. One of them's old Muck Potter's voice. No. Taint. Is it? I bet I know it. Don't you stern a budge. He ain't sharp enough to notice us. Drunk, same as usual, likely. Blamed old rip. All right, I keep still. Now they're stuck. Can't find it. Here they come again. Now they're hot, cold again, hot again. Red, hot. They're pointed right this time. Say, Huck, I know another of them voices. It's Injun Joe. And so they had murder and half-breed. I'd rather they was devils of Dernsight. What can they be up to? The whisper died wholly out now, for the three men had reached the grave and stood within a few feet of the boy's hiding place. Here it is, the third voice said, and the owner of it held the lantern up and revealed the face of young Dr. Robinson. Potter and Injun Joe were carrying a hand-burrow with a rope and a couple of shovels on it. They cast down their load and began to open the grave. The doctor put the lantern at the head of the grave and came and sat with his back against one of the elm trees. He was so close the boys could have touched him. Hurry, men, he said, in a low voice. The moon might come out at any moment. They growled a response and went on digging. For some reason, there was no noise but the grating sound of the spades discharging their freight of mold and gravel. It was very monotonous. Finally, a spade struck upon the coffin with a dull woody accent, and within a minute or two the men had hoisted it out of the ground. They pried off the lid with their shovels, got out the body, and dumped it rudely on the ground. The moon drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the palid face. The burrow was got ready, the corpse placed on it, covered with a blanket, and bound to its place with a rope. Potter took out a large spring knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and then said, Na, the cussed things ready, saw bones, and you'll just out with another five or here she stays. That's the talk, said engine Joe. Well, look here, what does this mean, said the doctor. You required your pay in advance, and I've paid you. Yes, and you've done more than that, said engine Joe, approaching the doctor who was now standing. Five years ago you drove me away from your father's kitchen one night when I come to ask something to eat, and you said I weren't there for any good, and when I swore I'd get even with you if it took a hundred years your father had me jailed for a vagrant. You think I'd forget. The engine blood ain't in me for nothing, and now I've got you, and you've got to settle, you know. He was threatening the doctor with his fist in his face by this time. The doctor struck out and suddenly stretched the ruffian on the ground. Potter dropped the knife and exclaimed, hey and I don't you hit my part. And the next moment he had grappled with the doctor and the two were struggling with might and main, trampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels. Engine Joe sprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion. Snatched up Potter's knife and went creeping, cat-like and stooping round and round about the combatants seeking an opportunity. All at once the doctor flung himself free, seized the heavy headboard of William's grave and felled Potter to the earth with it, and in the same instant the half-breed saw his chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the young man's breast. He reeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him with his blood, and in the same moment the clouds blotted out the dreadly spectacle and the two frightened boys went speeding away in the dark. Presently, when the moon emerged again, Engine Joe was standing over the two forms contemplating them. The doctor murmured in articulately, gave a long gasp or two and was still. The half-breed muttered. That scores settled, damn you. Then he robbed the body, after which he put the fatal knife in Potter's open right hand, and sat down on the dismantled coffin. Three, four, five minutes passed, and then Potter began to stir and moan. His hand closed upon the knife. He raised it, glanced at it, and then let it fall with a shudder. Then he sat up, pushed the body from him and gazed at it, and then around him and confusededly his eyes met Joe's. Lord, how is this Joe? He said. It's a dirty business, said Joe, without moving. What did you do it for? I never done it. Look here, that ain't kind of talk no wash. Potter trembled and grew wide. I thought I'd get sober. I had no business to drink tonight, but it's in my head yet, worsen when we started out. I'm all a muddle, can't recollect anything of it hardly. Tell me, Joe. Honest now, old fellow, did I do it? Joe, I never meant to pun my soul in honor. I never meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. It's awful. And him so young and promising. Why, you two was scufflin', and he fixed you one with the headboard, and you fell flat, and then up you come, all a-reeling and staggering like, and snatched the knife, and jabbed it into him, just as he fetched you another awful clip, and here you've laid as dead as a wedge till now. Oh, I didn't know what I was doing. I wish I might die this minute if I did. It's all on account of the whiskey and the excitement, I reckon. I never used a weapon before in my life, Joe. I fought, but I never will weapons. They all say that, Joe. Don't say all. Say you won't tell, Joe. That's a good fellow. I always liked you, Joe, and stood up for you, too. Don't you remember? You won't tell, will you, Joe? And the poor creature dropped on his knees before the stolen murderer and clasped his appealing hands. No, you've always been fair and square with me, Muff Potter. And I won't go back on you. There now. That's as fair as a man can say. Oh, Joe, you're an angel. I'll bless you for this the longest day I live, and Potter began to cry. Come now. That's enough of that. This ain't any time for blubbering. You be off yonder way, and I'll go this. Move now, and don't leave any tracks behind you. Potter started on a trot that quickly increased to a run. The half-breed stood looking after him, he muttered. If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as he had the look of being, he won't think of the knife tell his gone so far as he'll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by himself. Chickenheart. Two or three minutes later, the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the lidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the moons. The stillness was complete again, too. Chapter 10 of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by John Sherman. Chapter 10. The two boys fled on and on toward the village, speechless with horror. They glanced backward over their shoulders from time to time, apprehensively as if they feared they might be followed. Every stump that started up in their path seemed to be a man and an enemy, and made them catch their breath, and they sped by some outlying cottages that lay near the village. The barking of the aroused watchdogs seemed to give wings to their feet. If we can only get to the old tannery before we break down, whispered Tom, in short catches between breaths, I can't stand it much longer. Huckleberry's hard panties were his only reply, and the boys fixed their eyes on the goal of their hopes and bent to their work to win it. They gained steadily on it, and at last, breast to breast, they burst through the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in the sheltering shadows beyond. By and by their pulses slowed, and Tom whispered, Huckleberry, what do you reckon will come of this? If Doc Robinson dies, I reckon hanging will come of it. Do you, though? Well, I know it, Tom. Tom thought a while, and he said, who'll tell? We? What are you talking about? Suppose something happened and Engine Joe didn't hang while he'd kill us sometime or two, or just as dead as sure as we're laying here. That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck. If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it. If he's fool enough, he's generally drunk enough. Tom said nothing, went on thinking. Presently, he whispered, Huck, Muff Potter don't know it. How can he tell? What's the reason he don't know it? Because he just got that whack when Engine Joe done it. Do you reckon he could see anything? You reckon he knowed anything? By a hokey, that's right, Tom. And besides, looky here, maybe that whack done for him. No, it ain't likely, Tom. He had liquor in him. I could see that, and besides, he always has. Well, when Papp's full, you might take and belt him over the head with the church and you couldn't vase him. He says so his own self. So it's the same with Muff Potter, of course, but if a man was dead sober, I reckon maybe that whack might fetch him. I don't know. After another reflective silence, Tom said, Huckie, you sure you can keep mum? Tom, we got to keep mum. You know that, that engine devil wouldn't make any more of drowning us than a couple of cats if we was to squeak about this and they didn't hang him. Now, little looky here, Tom, let's take and swear to one another. That's what we got to do, swear to keep mum. I'm agreed. That's the best thing. Would you just hold hands and swear that we, oh no, that wouldn't do for this. That's good enough for little rubbishy common things, especially with gals, because they go back on you anyway and blab if they get in the huff, but they're ought to be writing about a big thing like this and blood. Tom's whole being applauded this idea. It was deep and dark and awful. The hour, the circumstances, the surroundings were in keeping with it. He picked up a clean pine shingle that lay on the moonlight, took a little fragment of red keel out of his pocket, got the moon on his work, and painfully scrawled these lines, emphasizing each slow down stroke by clamping his tongue between his teeth and letting up the pressure on the up strokes. Huck, Finn, and Tom Sawyer swears they will keep mum about this, and they wish they may drop down dead in their tracks if they ever tell and wrought. Huckleberry was filled with admiration of Tom's felicity in writing and the sublimity of his language. He at once took a pen from his lapel and was going to prick his flesh, but Tom said, hold on, don't do that. A brass pen, it might have ver degrees on it. What's ver degrees? It's poison, I tell you what it is. You just swallow some of it once and you'll see. So Tom unwound the thread from one of his needles and each boy pricked the ball of his thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. In time after many squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials using the ball of his little finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry how to make an H and an F, and the oath was complete. They buried the shingle close to the wall with some dismal ceremonies and incantations and the fetters that bound their tongues were considered to be locked and the key thrown away. A figure crept stealthily through a break in the other end of the building now, but they did not notice it. Tom whispered Huckleberry, does this keep us from ever telling? Always? Of course it does. It don't make any difference what happens. We got to keep mum. We drop down dead, don't you know that? I reckon that so. They turned to whisper for some little time. Presently a dog set up a long legubry as howl just outside with in ten feet of them. The boys clasped each other suddenly in an agony of fright. Which of us does he mean, gasp Huckleberry? I don't know. Peep through the crack quick. No, you, Tom. I can't. I can't do it, hug. Please, Tom, there it is again. Oh, Lordy, I'm thankful, whispered Tom. I know his voice. It's Bull Harrison. Oh, that's good. I tell you, Tom, I was almost scared to death. I'd bet anything it was a stray dog. The dog howled again. The boy's heart sank once more. Oh, my, that ain't no Bull Harrison. Whispered Huckleberry. Do, Tom. Tom, quaking with fear, yielded and put his eye to the crack. His whisper was hardly audible when he said, Oh, huck, it's a stray dog. Quick, Tom, quick. Who does he mean? Huck, he must mean both of us. We're right together. Oh, Tom, I reckon we're goners. I reckon there ain't no mistake about where I'll go to. I've been so wicked. Dad, fetch it. This comes a plane hooking and doing everything a fellow's told not to do. I might have been good, like Sid, if I'd have tried. But no, I wouldn't. Of course. But if I ever get off this time, I'll lay, I'll just waller in Sunday school. And Tom began to sniffle a little. You bad. And Huckleberry began to sniffle, too. Con sounded, Tom, you're just old pie alongside of what I am. Oh, lordy, lordy, lordy. I wish I'd only had half your chance. Tom choked off and whispered, Look, Hucky, look. He's got his back to us. Hucky looked, with joy in his heart. Well, he has by Jingos. Did he before? Yes, he did. But I, like a fool, never thought of it. Oh, this is bully, you know, now. Who can he mean? The howling stopped. Tom pricked up his ears. What's that? He whispered. Sounds like hogs, grunting. No, it's somebody snoring, Tom. What is it? Whereabouts is it, Doc? I believe it's down at Tother Inn. Sounds so anyway. Pap used to sleep there sometimes, along with the hogs. But law's bless you, he just lifts things when he snores. Besides, I reckon he ain't coming back to this town anymore. The spirit of adventure rose in the boy's souls once more. Hucky, do you dast go, if I lead? Oh, I don't much like to, Tom, supposing it's in Jingjo. Tom quailed, but presently the temptation rose up strong again and the boys agreed to try with the understanding that they would take to their heels if the snoring stopped. So they went, tiptoeing stealthily down with one behind the other. When they had got to within five steps of the snorer, Tom stepped on a stick and it broke with a sharp snap. The man moaned, writhed a little, and his face came up into the moonlight. It was moth-potter. The boys' hearts had stood still and their hopes too when the man moved, but their fears passed away now. They tiptoed out through the broken weather boarding and stopped at a little distance to exchange a parting word. That long legubrious howl rose on the night air again. They turned and saw the strange dog standing within a few feet of where potter was lying and facing potter with his nose pointing heavenward. Oh, Jimny, it's him, explained both boys in a breath. Say, Tom, they say a stray dog come howling around Johnny Miller's house about midnight as much as two weeks ago when a whipper will come in, lit on the banisters and sung the very same evening and there ain't anybody dead there yet. Well, I know that and supposing there ain't. Didn't Gracie Miller fall in the kitchen fire and burn herself terrible the very next Saturday? Yeah, but she ain't dead and what's more she's getting better too. Oh, right, you wait and see. She's a goner just dead as sure as moth-potter's a goner. That's what the niggers say and they know all about these kind of things, Huck. Then they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept in at his bedroom window the night was almost spent. He undressed with excessive caution and fell asleep congratulating himself that nobody knew of his escapade. He was not aware that the gently snoring Sid was awake and had been so for an hour. When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone. There was a late look in the light, a late sense in the atmosphere. He was startled. Why had he not been called, persecuted till he was up as usual? The thought filled him with boatings. Within five minutes he was dressed and downstairs feeling sore and drowsy. The family were still at the table, but they had finished breakfast. There was no voice of rebuke, but there were averted eyes. There was a silence and an air of solemnity that struck a chill in the culprit's heart. He sat down and tried to seem gay, but it was uphill work it roused no smile, no response, and he lapsed into a silent and let his heart sink down to the depths. After breakfast his aunt took him aside and Tom almost brightened in the hope that he was going to be flogged, but it was not so. His aunt wept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old heart so, and finally told him to go on and ruin himself and bring her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try anymore. This was worse than a thousand whippings and Tom's heart was soreer now than his body. He cried, he pleaded for forgiveness, promised to reform over and over again, then received the dismissal, feeling that he had one but an imperfect forgiveness and established but a feeble confidence. He left the presence too miserable to even feel revengeful towards Sid, and so the latter's prompt retreat through the back gate was unnecessary. He moped to school gloomy and sad and took his flogging along with Joe Harper for playing hooky the day before with the air of one whose heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead to trifles. Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on his desk and his jaws in his hands, and he stared at the wall with the stony stare of suffering that has reached the limit and can no further go. His elbow was pressing against some hard substance. After a long time he slowly and sadly changed his position and took up this object with a sigh. It was in a paper. He unrolled it. A long lingering colossal sigh followed and his heart broke. It was his brass and iron knob. This final feather broke the camel's back. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain, Chapter 11 Close upon the hour of noon, the whole village was suddenly electrified with the ghastly news, no need of the as-yet undreamed-of telegraph. The tale flew from man to man, from group to group, from house to house, with little less than telegraphic speed. Of course, the schoolmaster gave holiday for that afternoon. The town would have thought strangely of him if he had not. A gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had been recognized by somebody as belonging to Muff Potter. So the story ran, and it was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter washing himself in the branch about one or two o'clock in the morning, and that Potter had at once sneaked off. Suspicious circumstances, especially the washing, which was not a habit with Potter. It was also said that the town had been ransacked for this murderer. The public are not slow in the matter of sifting evidence and arriving at a verdict, but that he could not be found. Horsemen had departed down all roads in every direction, and the sheriff was confident that he would be captured before night. All the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heartbreak vanished when he joined the procession, not because he would not a thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful, unaccountable fascination drew him on. Arrived at the dreadful place, he wormed a small body through the crowd, and saw the dismal spectacle. It seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody pinched his arm. He turned, and his eyes met huckleberries. Then both looked elsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed anything in their mutual glance. But everybody was talking an intent upon the grisly spectacle before them. Poor fellow, poor young fellow. This ought to be a lesson to grave robbers. Muff Potter'll hang for this if they catch him. This was the drift of remark, and the minister said, It was a judgment. His hand is here. Now Tom shivered from head to heel, for his eye fell upon the stolid face of engine Joe. At this moment the crowd began to sway in struggle, and voices shouted, It's him! It's him! He's coming himself! Who? Who? From twenty voices. Muff Potter. Hello, he's stopped. Look out, he's turning, don't let him get away. People in the branches of the trees over Tom's head said he wasn't trying to get away. He only looked doubtful and perplexed. Infernal impudence, said a bystander. Wanted to come here and take a quiet look at his work, I reckon. Didn't expect any company. The crowd fell apart now, and the sheriff came through, ostentatiously leading Potter by the arm. The poor fellow's face was haggard, and his eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stood before the murdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his face in his hands, and burst into tears. I didn't do it, friends, he sobbed. Bound my word and honor, I never done it. Who's accused you? Shouted a voice. This shot seemed to carry home. Potter lifted his face and looked around him with a pathetic hopelessness in his eyes. He saw Engine Joe, and exclaimed, Oh, Engine Joe, you promised me you'd never. Is that your knife? And it was thrust before him by the sheriff. Potter would have fallen if he had not caught him and eased him to the ground. Then he said, Something told me, and if I didn't come back and get, he shuddered, then waved his nervous hand with a vanquished gesture, and said, Tell him, Joe, tell him, it ain't any use anymore. Then Huckleberry and Tom stood, dumb and staring, and heard the stony-hearted liar reel off his serene statement. They expecting every moment that the clear sky would deliver God's lightnings upon his head, and wondering to see how long the stroke was delayed. And when he had finished and still stood alive and whole, their wavering impulse to break their oath and save the poor, betrayed prisoner's life, faded and vanished away. For plainly, this miscreant had sold himself to Satan, and it would be fatal to meddle with the property of such a power as that. Why didn't you leave? What do you want to come here for? Somebody said. I couldn't help it, I couldn't help it, Potter moaned. I wanted to run away, but I couldn't seem to come anywhere but here. And he fell to sobbing again. Inge and Joe repeated his statement, just as calmly, a few minutes afterward, on the enquest, under oath. And the boys, seeing that the lightnings were still withheld, were confirmed in their belief that Joe had sold himself to the devil. He was now become, to them, the most balefully interesting object they had ever looked upon, and they could not take their fascinated eyes from his face. They inwardly resolved to watch him nights when opportunity should offer, and the hope of getting a glimpse of his dread master. Inge and Joe helped to raise the body of the murdered man and put it in a wagon for removal, and it was whispered through the shuttering crowd that the wound bled a little. The boys thought that this happy circumstance would turn suspicion in the right direction, but they were disappointed. For more than one villager remarked, It was within three feet of muff Potter when it done it. Tom's fearful secret and annoying conscience disturbed his sleep for as much as a week after this, and at breakfast one morning, Sid said, Tom, you pitch around and talk in your sleep so much that you keep me awake half the time. Tom blanched and dropped his eyes. It's a bad sign, said Aunt Polly gravely. What you got on your mind, Tom? Nothing, nothing that I know of. But the boys' hands shook so that he spilled his coffee. And you do talk such stuff, Sid said. Last night you said, It's blood, it's blood, that's what it is. You said that over and over, and you said don't torment me so, I'll tell. Tell what? What is it you'll tell? Everything was swimming before, Tom. There is no telling what might have happened now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt Polly's face, and she came to Tom's relief without knowing it. She said, Show, it's that dreadful murder. I dream about it almost every night myself. Sometimes I dream it's me that done it. Mary said she had been affected much the same way. Sid seemed satisfied. Tom got out of the presence as quick as he plausibly could, and after that he complained of a toothache for a week and tied up his jaws every night. He never knew that Sid laid nightly watching, and frequently slipped the bandage free and then leaned on his elbow, listening a good while at a time, and afterwards slipped the bandage back to its place again. Tom's distress of mind wore off gradually, and the toothache grew irksome and was discarded. If Sid really managed to make anything out of Tom's disjointed mutterings, he kept it to himself. It seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holding in quests on dead cats and thus keeping his trouble present to his mind. Sid noticed that Tom never was coroner at one of these inquiries, though it had been his habit to take the lead in all new enterprises. He noticed too that Tom never acted as a witness, and that was strange. And Sid did not overlook the fact that Tom even showed a marked aversion to these inquests and always avoided them when he could. Sid marveled but said nothing. However, even inquests went out of vogue at last and ceased to torture Tom's conscience. Every day or two during this time of sorrow, Tom watched his opportunity and went to the little graded jail window and smuggled such small comforts through to the murderer as he could get hold of. The jail was a trifling little brick den that stood in a marsh at the edge of the village, and no guards were afforded for it. Indeed, it was seldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease Tom's conscience. The villagers had a strong desire to tar and feather engine Joe and ride him on a rail for body snatching. But so formidable was his character that nobody could be found who was willing to take the lead in the matter, so it was dropped. He had been careful to begin both of his inquest statements with the fight, without confessing the grave robbery that preceded it. Therefore it was deemed wisest not to try the case in the courts at present. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain, Chapter 12 One of the reasons why Tom's mind had drifted away from its secret troubles was that it had found a new and weighty matter to interest itself about. Becky Thatcher had stopped coming to school. Tom had struggled with his pride a few days and tried to whistle her down the wind, but failed. He began to find himself hanging around her father's house, knights, feeling very miserable. She was ill. What if she should die? There was distraction in the thought. He no longer took an interest in war, nor even in piracy. The charm of life was gone. There was nothing but dreariness left. He put his hoop away and his bat. There was no joy in them any more. His aunt was concerned. She began to try all manner of remedies on him. She was one of those people who were infatuated with patent medicines and all newfangled methods of producing health and mending it. She was an inveterate experimenter in these things. When something fresh in this line came out, she was in a fever right away to try it. Not on herself, for she was never ailing, but on anybody else that came handy. She was a subscriber for all the health periodicals and phrenological frauds, and the solemn ignorance they were inflated with was breath to her nostrils. All the rot they contained about ventilation and how to go to bed and how to get up and what to eat and what to drink and how much exercise to take and what frame of mind to keep oneself in and what sort of clothing to wear was all gospel to her. And she never observed that her health journals of the current month customarily upset everything they had recommended the month before. She was as simple-hearted and honest as the day was long and so she was an easy victim. She gathered her quack periodicals and her quack medicines, and thus armed with death, went about on her pale horse, metaphorically speaking, with hell following after. But she never suspected that she was not an angel of healing and the balm of Gilead in disguise to the suffering neighbors. The water treatment was new now and Tom's low condition was a windfall to her. She had him out at daylight every morning, stood him up in the woodshed and drowned him with the deluge of cold water. Then she scrubbed him down with a towel like a file, and so brought him to. Then she rolled him up in a wet sheet and put him away under blankets till she sweated his sole clean and the yellow stains of it came through his pores, as Tom said. Yet notwithstanding all this the boy grew more and more melancholy and pale and dejected. She added hot baths, sits baths, shower baths, and plunges. The boy remained as dismal as a hearse. She began to assist the water with a slim oatmeal diet and blistering plasters. She calculated his capacity as she would jugs and filled him up every day with quack curals. Tom had become indifferent to persecution by this time. This phase filled the old lady's heart with consternation. This indifference must be broken up at any cost. Now she heard of painkiller for the first time. She ordered a lot at once. She tasted it and was filled with gratitude. It was simply fire in a liquid form. She dropped the water treatment and everything else and pinned her faith to painkiller. She gave Tom a teaspoon full and watched with the deepest anxiety for the result. Her troubles were instantly at rest. Her soul at peace again for the indifference was broken up. The boy could not have shown a wilder, hardier interest if she had built a fire under him. Tom felt that it was time to wake up. This sort of life might be romantic enough in his blighted condition, but it was getting to have too little sentiment and too much distracting variety about it. So he thought over various plans for relief and finally hit upon that of professing to be fond of painkiller. He asked for it so often that he became a nuisance and his aunt ended by telling him to help himself and quit bothering her. If it had been Sid, she would have had no misgivings to alloy her delight, but since it was Tom, she watched the bottle clandestinely. She found that the medicine did really diminish, but it did not occur to her that the boy was mending the health of a crack in the sitting room floor with it. One day Tom was in the act of dosing the crack when his aunt's yellow cat came along purring, eyeing the teaspoon avariciously and begging for a taste. Tom said, don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter, but Peter signified that he did want it. You better make sure, Peter was sure. Now you've asked for it and I'll give it to you because there ain't anything mean about me, but if you find you don't like it, you mustn't blame anybody but your own self. Peter was agreeable, so Tom pried his mouth open and poured down the painkiller. Peter sprang a couple of yards in the air and then delivered a war whoop and set off round and round the room banging against furniture, upsetting flower pots and making general havoc. Next he rose on his hind feet and pranced round in a frenzy of enjoyment with his head over his shoulder and his voice proclaiming his unappeasable happiness. Then he went tearing around the house again, spreading chaos and destruction in his path. Aunt Polly entered in time to see him throw a few double summer sets, deliver a final mighty hurrah, and sail through the open window, carrying the rest of the flower pots with him. The old lady stood petrified with astonishment, peering over her glasses. Tom lay on the floor, expiring with laughter. Tom, what on earth eels that cat? I don't know Aunt, gasped the boy. Why I never seen anything like it. What did make him act so? Dude, I don't know Aunt Polly. Cats always act so when they're having a good time. They do, do they? There was something in the tone that made Tom apprehensive. Yes, that is, I believe they do. You do. Yes. The old lady was bending down, Tom watching with interest emphasized by anxiety. Too late, he divined her drift. The handle of the telltale teaspoon was visible under the bed valence. Aunt Polly took it, held it up. Tom winced and dropped his eyes. Aunt Polly raised him by the usual handle, his ear, and cracked his head soundly with her symbol. Now, sir, what did you want to treat that poor dumb beast so for? I'd done it out of pity for him, because he hadn't any aunt. Hadn't any aunt? You numbskull, what has that got to do with it? Heaps, because if he'd had one, she'd have burnt him out herself. She'd have roasted his bells out of him without any more feeling that if he was a human, Aunt Polly felt a sudden pang of remorse. This was putting the thing in a new light. What was cruelty to a cat might be cruelty to a boy, too. She began to soften. She felt sorry. Her eyes watered a little, and she put her hand on Tom's head and said gently, I was meaning for the best, Tom. And Tom, it did do you good. Tom looked up in her face with just a perceptible twinkle peeping through his gravity. I know you was meaning for the best, auntie. And so is I with Peter. It done him good, too. I never seen him get around so since. Oh, go along with you, Tom, before you aggravate me again, and you try and see if you can't be a good boy for once and you needn't take any more medicine. Tom reached school ahead of time. It was noticed that the strange thing had been occurring every day laterally. And now, as usual of late, he hung about the gate of the schoolyard instead of playing with his comrades. He was sick, he said, and he looked at. He tried to seem to be looking everywhere but whether he really was looking down the road. Presently, Jeff Thatcher hoven sight and Tom's face lighted. He gazed a moment and then turned sorrowfully away. When Jeff arrived, Tom accosted him and led up warily to opportunities for a remark about Becky, but the giddy lad never could see the bait. Tom watched and watched, hoping whenever a frisking frock came in sight and hating the owner of it, as soon as he saw she was not the right one. At last, frock seemed to appear and he dropped hopelessly into the dumps. He entered the empty schoolhouse and sat down to suffer. Then one more frock passed in at the gate and Tom's heart gave a great bound. The next instant he was out and going on like an Indian, yelling, laughing, chasing boys, jumping over the fence at risk of life and limb, throwing handspring, standing on his head, doing all the heroic things he could conceive of and keeping a furtive eye out all the while to see if Becky Thatcher was noticing. But she seemed to be unconscious of it all. She never looked. Could it be possible that she was not aware that he was there? He carried his exploits to her immediate vicinity, came war whooping around, snatched a boy's cap, hurled it to the roof of the schoolhouse, broke through a group of boys tumbling them in every direction and fell sprawling himself under Becky's nose, almost upsetting her. And she turned with her nose in the air and you heard her say, some people think they're mighty smart always showing off. Tom's cheeks burned. He gathered himself up and sneaked off, crushed and crestfallen. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Nan Dodge The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain Chapter 13 Tom's mind was made up now. He was gloomy and desperate. He was a forsaken, friendless boy, he said. Nobody loved him. When they found out what they had driven him to, perhaps they would be sorry. He had tried to do right and get along, but they would not let him. Since nothing would do them but to be rid of him, let it be so and let them blame him for the consequences. Why shouldn't they? What right had the friendless to complain? Yes, they had forced him to it at last. He would lead a life of crime. There was no choice. By this time he was far down Meadow Lane and the bell for school to take up tinkled faintly upon his ear. He sobbed now to think he should never, never hear that old, familiar sound any more. It was very hard. But it was forced on him, since he was driven out into the cold world he must submit. But he forgave them. Then the sobs came thick and fast. Just at this point he met his soul's sworn comrade, Joe Harper. Hard-eyed and with evidently a great and dismal purpose in his heart. Plainly here were two souls with but a single thought. Tom, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, began to blubber out something about a resolution to escape from hard usage and lack of sympathy at home, by roaming abroad into the great world, never to return, and ended by hoping that Joe would not forget him. But it transpired that this was a request which Joe had just been going to make of Tom and had come to hunt him up for that purpose. His mother had whipped him for drinking some cream, which he had never tasted and knew nothing about. It was plain that she was tired of him and wished him to go. If she felt that way there was nothing for him to do but succumb. He hoped she would be happy and never regret having driven her poor boy out into the unfeeling world to suffer and die. As the two boys walked sorrowing along they made a new compact to stand by each other and be brothers and never separate till death relieved them of their troubles. Then they began to lay their plans. Joe was for being a hermit and living on crusts in a remote cave and dying some time of cold and want and grief. But after listening to Tom he conceded that there were some conspicuous advantages about a life of crime and so he consented to be a pirate. Three miles below St. Petersburg at a point where the Mississippi River was a trifle over a mile wide there was a long narrow wooded island with a shallow bar at the head of it and this offered well as a rendezvous. It was not inhabited it lay far over toward the further shore abreast a dense and almost wholly unpeopled forest. So Jackson's island was chosen. Who were to be the subjects of their piracies was a matter that did not occur to them. Then they hunted up Huckleberry Finn and he joined them promptly for all careers were one to him he was indifferent. They presently separated to meet at a lonely spot on the river bank two miles above the village at the favorite hour which was midnight. There was a small log raft there which they meant to capture each would bring hooks and lines and such provision as he could steal in the most dark and mysterious way as became outlaws. And before the afternoon was done they had all managed to enjoy the sweet glory of spreading the fact that pretty soon the town would hear something. All who got this vague hint were cautioned to be mum and wait. About midnight Tom arrived with a boiled ham and a few trifles and stopped in a dense undergrowth on a small bluff overlooking the meeting-place. It was starlight and very still. The mighty river lay like an ocean at rest. Tom listened a moment but no sound disturbed the quiet. Then he gave a low distinct whistle. It was answered from under the bluff. Tom whistled twice more. These signals were answered in the same way. Then a guarded voice said, Who goes there? Tom Sawyer the Black Avenger of the Spanish Maine name your names. Huck Finn the Red-handed and Joe Harper the Terror of the Seas. Tom had furnished these titles from his favorite literature. Tiswell give the counter-sign. Two horse whispers delivered the same awful word simultaneously to the brooding night. Blood! Then Tom tumbled his ham over the bluff and let himself down after it, tearing both skin and clothes to some extent in the effort. There was an easy comfortable path along the shore under the bluff, but it lacked the advantages of difficulty and danger so valued by a pirate. The Terror of the Seas had brought a side of bacon and had about worn himself out with getting it there. Finn the Red-handed had stolen a skillet and a quantity of half-cured leaf tobacco and had also brought a few corn cobs to make pipes with. But none of the pirates smoked or chewed but himself. The Black Avenger of the Spanish Maine said it would never do to start without some fire. That was a wise thought. Matches were hardly known there in that day. They saw a fire smoldering upon a great raft a hundred yards above, and they went stealthily thither and helped themselves to a chunk. They made an imposing adventure of it, saying, hissed every now and then, and suddenly halting with finger on lip, moving with hands on imaginary dagger-hilts, and giving orders and dismal whispers that if the foe stirred, to let him have it to the hilt, because dead men tell no tales. They knew well enough that the raftsmen were all down at the village, laying in stores or having a spree, but still that was no excuse for their conducting this thing in an unparadical way. They shoved off presently, Tom in command, huck at the after-or and Joe at the forward. Tom stood amid ships, gloomy-browed and with folded arms, and gave his orders in a low stern whisper. Lough and bring her to the wind. Aye, aye, sir. Steady, steady, steady it is, sir. Let her go off a point. Point it is, sir. As the boys steadily and monotonously drove the raft toward mid-stream, it was no doubt understood that these orders were given only for style and were not intended to mean anything in particular. What sail is she carrying? Courses, topsoils, and fly-and-jib, sir. Send the oryals up. Stay out aloft there. Half a dozen of ye. Pour top mastons. Lively, now. Aye, aye, sir. Shake out that mane to gallons old. Cheats and braces. Now, my hearties. Aye, aye, sir. Hello, Malie. Hard a port. Stand by to meet her when she comes. Port, port, now men. With a will. Steady. Steady it is, sir. The raft drew beyond the middle of the river. The boys pointed her head right and then lay on their oars. The river was not high, so there was not more than a two or three mile current. Hardly a word was said during the next three quarters of an hour. Now the raft was passing before the distant town. Two or three glimmering lights showed where it lay, peacefully sleeping, beyond the vague, vast sweep of star-jammed water, unconscious of the tremendous event that was happening. The Black Avenger stood still with folded arms, looking his last upon the scene of his former joys and his later sufferings, and wishing she could see him now, abroad on the wild sea, facing peril and death, with dauntless heart, going to his doom with a grim smile on his lips. It was but a small strain on his imagination to remove Jackson's Island beyond eyeshot of the village, and so he looked his last with a broken and satisfied heart. The other pirates were looking their last too, and they all looked so long that they came near, letting the current drift them out of the range of the island. But they discovered the danger in time, and made shift to avert it. About two o'clock in the morning the raft grounded on the bar, two hundred yards above the head of the island, and they waited back and forth until they had landed their freight. Part of the little raft's belongings consisted of an old sail, and this they spread over a nook in the bushes for a tent to shelter their provisions, but they themselves would sleep in the open air in good weather, as became outlaws. They built a fire against the side of a great log twenty or thirty steps within the somber depths of the forest and then cook some bacon in the frying pan for supper, and used up half of the corn-poned stock they had brought. It seemed glorious sport to be feasting in that wild, free way, in the virgin forest of an unexplored and uninhabited island, far from the haunts of men. And they said they never would return to civilization. The climbing fire lit up their faces and threw its ruddy glare upon the pillared tree trunks of their forest temple, and upon the varnished foliage and festooning vines, when the last crisp slice of bacon was gone and the last allowance of corn-poned devoured, the boys stretched themselves out on the grass, filled with contentment. They could have found a cooler place, but they would not deny themselves such a romantic feature as the roasting campfire. Ain't it gay, said Joe. It's not, said Tom. What would the boys say if they could see us? Say? Well, they'd just die to be here, hey, Hucky. I reckon so, said Huckleberry. Anyways, I'm suited. I don't want nothing better than this. I don't ever get enough to eat generally, and here they can't come, and picket a filler, and bully-rag him so. It's just a life for me, said Tom. You don't have to get up mornings, and you don't have to go to school and wash, and all that blame foolishness. You see, a pirate don't have to do anything, Joe, when he's ashore. But a hermit, he has to be prey and considerable, and then he don't have any fun anyway all by himself that way. Oh, yes, that's so, said Joe. But I haven't thought much about it, you know. I had a good deal rather be a pirate now that I've tried it. You see, said Tom, people don't go much on hermits nowadays, like they used to in old times. But a pirate's always respected, and a hermit's got to sleep on the hardest place he can find, and put sackcloth and ashes on his head, and stand out in the rain, and... What does he put sackcloth and ashes on his head for, inquired Huck? I don't know, but they've got to do it. Hermits always do. You'd have to do that if you was a hermit. Durned if I would, said Huck. Well, what would you do? I don't know, but I wouldn't do that. Why, Huck, you'd have to. How'd you get around it? Why, I just wouldn't stand it. I'd run away. Run away? Well, you would be a nice old slouch of a hermit. You'd be a disgrace. The red-handed made no response being better employed. He had finished gouging out a cob, and now he fitted a weed stem to it, loaded it with tobacco, and was pressing a coal to the charge, and blowing a cloud of fragrant smoke. He was in the full bloom of luxurious contentment. The other pirates envied him this majestic vice and secretly resolved to acquire it shortly. Presently, Huck said, What does pirates have to do? Tom said, Oh, they just have a bully time. Take ships and burn them, and get the money and bury it in awful places in their island where there's ghosts and things to watch it, and kill everybody in the ships, make them walk a plank. And they carry the women to the island, said Joe. They don't kill the women. No, assented Tom. They don't kill the women. They're too noble. And the women's always beautiful, too. And don't they wear the bulliest clothes? Oh, no! All gold and silver and diamonds, said Joe with enthusiasm. Who, said Huck? Why the pirates? Huck scanned his own clothing for Lornley. I reckon I ain't dressed fit for a pirate, said he, with a regretful pathos in his voice. But I ain't got none but these. But the other boys told him the fine clothes would come fast enough, after they should have begun their adventures. They made him understand that his poor rags would do to begin with, though it was customary for wealthy pirates to start with a proper wardrobe. Gradually their talk died out and drowsiness began to steal upon the eyelids of the little waifs. The pipe dropped from the fingers of the red-handed, and he slept the sleep of the conscious free and the weary. The terror of the seas and the black avenger of the Spanish main had more difficulty in getting to sleep. They said their prayers inwardly, and lying down since there was nobody there with authority to make them kneel and recite aloud. In truth they had a mind not to say them at all, but they were afraid to proceed to such lengths as that, lest they might call down a sudden and special thunderbolt from heaven. Then at once they reached and hovered upon the imminent verge of sleep. But an intruder came now that would not down it was conscious. They began to feel a vague fear that they had been doing wrong to run away, and next they thought of the stolen meat, and then the real torture came. They tried to argue it away by reminding conscious that they had perloined sweet-meats and apple-scores of times, but conscious was not to be appeased by such thin plausibilities. It seemed to them, in the end, that there was no getting around the stubborn fact that taking sweet-meats was only hooking, while taking bacon and hams and such valuables was plain simple stealing, and there was a command against that in the Bible. So they inwardly resolved that so long as they remained in the business, their piracy should not again be sullied with the crime of stealing. Then conscious granted a truce, and these curiously inconsistent pirates fell peacefully to sleep. End of Chapter 13. Recording by Nan Dodge Chapter 14 of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nan Dodge The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain Chapter 14 When Tom awoke in the morning he wondered where he was. He sat up and rubbed his eyes and looked around. Then he comprehended. It was the cool-grade dawn, and there was a delicious sense of repose and peace in the deep, pervading calm and silence of the woods. Not a leaf stirred, not a sound intruded upon great nature's meditation. Beaded dewdrops stood upon the leaves and grasses. A white layer of ashes covered the fire, and a thin blue breath of smoke rose straight into the air. Joe and Hawke still slept. Now, far away in the woods, a bird called. Another answered. Presently the hammering of a woodpecker was heard. Gradually the cool dim gray of the morning whitened. And, as gradually, sounds multiplied and life manifested itself. The marvel of nature shaking off sleep and going to work unfolded itself to the musing boy. A little green worm came crawling over a dewy leaf, lifting two-thirds of his body into the air from time to time, and sniffing around. Then proceeding again, for he was measuring, Tom said. And when the worm approached him of its own accord, he sat as still as a stone, with his hopes rising and falling by turns, as the creature still came toward him, or seemed inclined to go elsewhere. And when it lasted considered a painful moment with its curved body in the air, and then came decisively down upon Tom's leg, and began a journey over him, his whole heart was glad, for that meant that he was going to have a new suit of clothes, without the shadow of a doubt, a gaudy, peratical uniform. Now a procession of ants appeared, from nowhere in particular, and went about their labours. One struggled manfully by with a dead spider five times, as big as itself in its arms, and lugged it straight up a tree-trunk. A brown-spotted ladybug climbed the dizzy height of a grass-blade, and Tom bent down close to it and said, Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home, your house is on fire, your children's alone. And she took wing and went off to see about it, which did not surprise the boy, for a new of old that this insect was credulous about conflagrations, and he had practised upon its simplicity more than once. A tumble-bug came next, heaving sturdily at its ball, and Tom touched the creature, to see it shut its legs against its body and pretend to be dead. The birds were fairly rioting by this time. A cat-bird, the northern mocker, lit in a tree over Tom's head, and trilled out her imitations of her neighbours in a rapture of enjoyment. Then a shrill jay swept down a flash of blue flame, and stopped on a twig almost within the boy's reach, cocked his head to one side, and eyed the strangers, with a consuming curiosity. A gray squirrel and a big fellow of the fox-kind came scurrying along, sitting up at intervals to inspect and chatter at the boys, for the wild things had probably never seen a human being before, and scarcely knew whether to be afraid or not. All nature was wide awake and stirring now, long lances of sunlight pierced down through the dense foliage, far and near, and a few butterflies came fluttering upon the scene. Tom stirred up the other pirates, and they all clattered away with a shout, and in a minute or two were stripped and chasing after and tumbling over each other in the shallow, limpid water of the white sand-bar. They felt no longing for the little village sleeping in the distance beyond the majestic waste of water. A vagrant current or a slight rise in the river had carried off their raft, but this only gratified them, since its going was something like burning the bridge between them and civilization. They came back to camp wonderfully refreshed, glad-hearted, and ravenous, and they soon had the campfire blazing up again. Huck found a spring of clear cold water close by, and the boys made cups of broad ochre hickory leaves, and felt that water, sweetened with such a wildwood charm as that, would be a good enough substitute for coffee. While Joe was slicing bacon for breakfast, Tom and Huck asked him to hold on a minute. They stepped to a promising nook in the riverbank and threw in their lines, almost immediately they had reward. Joe had not time to get impatient before they were back again with some handsome bass, a couple of sun-perch, and a small catfish, provisions enough for quite a family. They fried the fish with the bacon, and were astonished for no fish had ever seemed so delicious before. They did not know that the quicker a freshwater fish is on the fire, after he is caught the better he is, and they reflected little upon what a sauce, open-air sleeping, open-air exercise, bathing, and a large ingredient of hunger make, too. They lay around in the shade after breakfast while Huck had a smoke, and then went off through the woods on an exploring expedition. They tramped gaily along over decaying logs, through tangled underbrush, among solemn monarchs of the forest, hung from their crowns to the ground with a drooping regalia of grapevines. Now and then they came upon snug nooks carpeted with grass and jeweled with flowers. They found plenty of things to be delighted with, but nothing to be astonished at. They discovered that the island was about three miles long and a quarter mile wide, and that the shore it lay closest to was only separated from it by a narrow channel hardly two hundred yards wide. They took a swim about every hour so it was close upon the middle of the afternoon when they got back to camp. They were too hungry to stop to fish, but they fared sumptuously upon cold ham, and then threw themselves down in the shade to talk. But the talk soon began to drag and then died. The stillness, the solemnity that brooded in the woods, and the sense of loneliness began to tell upon the spirits of the boys. They fell to thinking. A sort of undefined longing crept upon them. This took dim shape presently. It was butting homesickness. Even Finn the Red-handed was dreaming of his doorsteps and empty hogs' heads, but they were all ashamed of their weakness, and none was brave enough to speak his thought. For some time now the boys had been dully conscious of a peculiar sound in the distance, just as one sometimes is of the ticking of a clock, which he takes no distinct note of, but now this mysterious sound became more pronounced, and forced to recognition. The boys started, glanced at each other, and then each assumed a listening attitude. There was a long silence profound and unbroken, and a deep sullen boom came floating down out of the distance. What is it, exclaimed Joe, under his breath? I wonder, said Tom in a whisper. Taint thunder, said Huckleberry in an odd tone, because thunder. Hark! said Tom. Listen, don't talk. They waited a time that seemed an age, and then the same muffled boom troubled the solemn hush. Let's go and see. They sprang to their feet and hurried to the shore toward the town. They parted the bushes on the bank and peered out over the water. The little steam ferry boat was about a mile below the village, drifting with the current. Her broad deck seemed crowded with people. There were a great many skiffs rowing about, or floating with the stream in the neighborhood of the ferry boat, but the boys could not determine what the men in them were doing. Presently a great jet of white smoke burst from the ferry boat side, and as it expanded and rose in a lazy cloud, that same dull throb of sound was born to the listeners again. I know now, exclaimed Tom, somebody's drownded. That's it, said Huck. They done that last summer when Bill Turner got drownded. They shoot a cannon over the water and that makes him come up to the top. Yes, and they take loaves of bread and put quicksilver in them, and set them afloat, and wherever there's anybody that's drownded, they'll float right there and stop. Yes, I've heard about that, said Joe. Wonder what makes the bread do that? Oh, it ain't the bread so much, said Tom. I reckon it's mostly what they say over it before they start it out. But they don't say anything over it, said Huck. I've seen them, and they don't. Well, that's funny, said Tom. But maybe they say it to themselves. Of course they do. Anybody might know that. The other boys agreed that there was reason in what Tom said. Because an ignorant lump of bread, uninstructed by an incantation, could not be expected to act very intelligently when set upon an errand of such gravity. By jings, I wish I was over there now, said Joe. I do too, said Huck. I'd give heaps to know who it is. The boys still listened and watched. Presently a revealing thought flashed through Tom's mind, and he exclaimed, Boys, I know who's drowned it. It's us. They felt like heroes in an instant. Here was a gorgeous triumph. They were missed. They were mourned. Hearts were breaking on their account. Tears were being shed. Accusing memories of unkindness to these poor lost lads were rising up, and unavailing regrets and remorse were being indulged. And best of all, the departed were the talk of the whole town, and the envy of all the boys, as far as this dazzling notoriety was concerned. This was fine. It was worthwhile to be a pirate after all. As twilight drew on, the ferryboat went back to her accustomed business, and the skiffs disappeared. The pirates returned to camp. They were jubilant with vanity over their new grandeur and the illustrious trouble they were making. They caught fish, cooked supper, and ate it, and then fell to guessing at what the village was thinking and saying about them. In the pictures they drew of the public to stress on their account were gratifying to look upon, from their point of view. But when the shadows of night closed them in, they gradually ceased to talk and sat gazing into the fire, with their minds evidently wandering elsewhere. The excitement was gone now, and Tom and Joe could not keep back thoughts of certain persons at home who were not enjoying this fine frolic as much as they were. Misgivings came. They grew troubled and unhappy, a sigh or two escaped unawares. By and by Joe timidly ventured upon a roundabout feeler as to how the others might look upon a return to civilization. Not right now, but Tom withered him with derision. Huck, being uncommitted as yet, joined in with Tom, and the waiverer quickly explained and was glad to get out of the scrape with his little taint of chicken-hearted homesickness clinging to his garments as he could. Mutiny was effectually laid to rest for the moment. As the night deepened, Huck began to nod and presently to snore. Joe followed next. Tom lay upon his elbow motionless for some time, watching the two intently. At last he got up cautiously, on his knees, and went searching among the grass and the flickering reflections flung by the campfire. He picked up and inspected several large semi-cylinders of the thin white bark of a sycamore, and finally chose two which seemed to suit him. Then he knelt by the fire and painfully wrote something upon each of these with his red keel. One he rolled up and put in his jacket pocket, and the other he put in Joe's hat, and removed it to a little distance from the owner. And he also put into the hat certain schoolboy treasures of almost inestimable value, among them a lump of chalk, an India rubber ball, three fish hooks, and one of that kind of marbles known as a sure-nough crystal. Then he tiptoed his way cautiously among the trees till he felt that he was out of hearing, and straightway broke into a keen run in the direction of the sandbar. Chapter 15 of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Keegan O'Dell. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain. Chapter 15 A few minutes later, Tom was in the shoal water of the bar, waiting towards the Illinois shore. Before the depth reached his middle, he was halfway over. The current would permit no more waiting now, so he struck out confidently to swim the remaining 100 yards. He swam quartering upstream, but still was swept downwards rather faster than he expected. However, he reached the shore finally, and drifted along till he found a low place and drew himself out. He put his hand on his jacket pocket, found his piece of bark safe, and then struck through the woods, following the shore with streaming garments. Shortly before 10 o'clock he came out into an open place opposite the village, and saw the ferry boat lying in the shadow of the trees in the high bank. Everything was quiet under the blinking stars. He crept down the bank, watching with all his eyes, slipped into the water, swam three or four strokes, and climbed into the skiff that did y'all duty at the boat's stern. He laid himself down under the thwarts and waited, panting. Presently, the cracked bell tapped in a voice gave off the order to cast off. A moment or two later, the skiff's head was standing high up against the boat's swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy in his success, for he knew it was the boat's last trip for the night. At the end of a long 12 or 15 minutes, the wheel stopped, and Tom slipped overboard and swam ashore in the dusk, landing 50 yards downstream out of danger of possible stragglers. He flew along, unfrequent to the alleys, and shortly found himself at his aunt's back fence. He climbed over and approached the L, and looked in the sitting room window, for a light was burning there. There sat Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother, grouped together talking. They were by the bed, and the bed was between them and the door. Tom went to the door and began to softly lift the latch. Then he pressed gently, and the door yielded a crack. He continued pushing cautiously, and quaking every time it creaked, till he judged he might squeeze through on his knees, so he put his head through and began warily. What makes the candle blow so, said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up. Why, that door's open, I believe. Why, of course it is. No wind of strange things now. Go along, and shut it, Sid. Tom disappeared under the bed just in time. He lay and breathed himself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch his aunt's foot. But as I was saying, said Aunt Polly. He weren't bad, so to say, only mischievous, only just giddy and harm-scarmed, you know. He weren't any more responsible than a cult. He never met any harm, and he was the best-hearted boy that ever was, and she began to cry. It was just so with my Joe, always up to his devilment and up to every kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he could be, and Lord bless me to think I went and whipped him for taking out cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out myself because it was sour. And I never to see him again in this world, never, never, never poor abused boy. And Miss Harper sobbed, as if her heart would break. I hoped Tom's better off where he is, said Sid, but if he'd been better in some ways. Sid, Tom felt the glare of the old lady's eye, though he could not see it. Not a word against my Tom, now that he's gone. God'll take care of him, never you trouble yourself, sir. Oh, Miss Harper, I don't know how to give him up. He was such a comfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me most. The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. But it's so hard. Oh, it's so hard. Only last Saturday my Joe busted a firecracker right under my nose and I knocked him sprawling. Little did I know then, how soon. Oh, if it was to do over again, I'd hug him and bless him for it. Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Miss Harper. I know just exactly how you feel. No longer go than yesterday noon, my Tom took and filled the cat full of pain killer. And I did think the cruder would tear the house down. God, forgive me, I cracked Tom's head with my thimble poor boy, poor dead boy. But he's out of all his troubles now. And the last words I ever heard him say was to reproach. But this memory was too much for the old lady and she broke down entirely. Tom was snuffling now himself and more in pity of himself than anybody else. He could hear Mary crying and putting in a kindly word for him from time to time. He began to have a no-lirp in him of himself ever before. Still, he was sufficiently touched by his aunt's grief. To long and to rush out from under the bed and overwhelm her with joy. And the theatrical gorgeousness of the thing appealed strongly to his nature too. But he resisted and lay still. He went on listening and gathered by odds and ends that it was conjectured at first that the boys had got drowned whilst taking a swim. Then the small raft had been missed. Next, certain boys said the missing lads had promised that the village should hear something soon. The wise heads had put this and that together and decided that the lads had gone off on that raft and would turn up at the next town below, presently. But toward noon the raft had been found. Lodged against the Missouri shore some five or six miles below the village. And then hope perished. They must be drowned. Else hunger would have driven them home by nightfall if not sooner. It was believed that the search for the bodies had been a fruitless effort merely because the drowning must have occurred in mid-channel. Since the boys, being good swimmers, would otherwise have escaped shore. This was Wednesday night. If the bodies continued missing until Sunday, all hope would be given over and the funerals would be preached on that morning. Tom shuddered. Miss Harper gave a sobbing good night and turned to go. Then with a mutual impulse the two bereaved women flung themselves into each other's arms and had a good, consoling cry and then parted. Aunt Polly was tender far beyond her womb and her good night to Sid and Mary. Sid snuffled a bit and Mary went off crying with all her heart. Aunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom to so touchingly, so peelingly, and with such measureless love in her words and her trembling voice, that he was well-turning in tears again, long before she was through. He had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making broken-hearted ejaculations from time to time, tossing unrestfully and turning over. But alas she was still and moaning a little in her sleep. Now the boy stole out, rose gradually by the bedside, shaded the candlelight with his hand, and stood regarding her. His heart was full of pity for her. He took out his sycamore scroll and placed it by the candle. But something occurred to him, and he lingered considering. His face lighted with a heavy solution of his thought. He put the bark hastily in his pocket, then he bent over and kissed the faded lips and straight away made his stealthy exit latching the door behind him. He threaded his way back to the ferry landing, found nobody at large there, and walked boldly on the board to the boat. For he knew she was tenetless except that there was a watchman, who always turned in and slapped like a graven image. He untied the skiff at the stern, slipped into it, and was soon rowing cautiously upstream. When he had pulled the mile above the village, he started quartering across and bent himself stoutly to his work. He hit the landing on the other side neatly, for this was a familiar bit of work to him. He was moved to capture the skiff, arguing that it might be considered a ship, and therefore a legitimate prey for a pirate, but he knew a thorough search would be made for it, and that might end in revelations. So he stepped ashore and entered the woods. He sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meanwhile to keep awake, and then started warily down the home stretch. The night was far spent. It was broad daylight before he found himself fairly abreast the island bar. He rested again until the sun was well up and gilding the great river with its splendor, and then he plunged into the stream. A little later he paused, dripping upon the threshold of the camp, and heard Joe say, No, Tom's shoe blew, Huck, and he'll come back. He won't desert. He knows that would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for that sort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what. Well, the thing's as ours anyway, ain't they? Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he ain't back here to breakfast. Which he is, exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic effect, stepping grandly into the camp. A sumptuous breakfast of bacon and fish was shortly provided, and as the boys set to work upon it, Tom recounted and adorned his adventures. They were vain and boastful company of heroes when the tale was done. Then Tom hid himself away in a shady nook to sleep till noon, and the other pirates got ready to fish and explore. End of Chapter 15, Recording by Kegan O'Dell Chapter 16 of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kegan O'Dell The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain, Chapter 16 After dinner, all the gang turned out to hunt for turtle eggs on the bar. They went about poking sticks into the sand, and when they found a soft place, they went down on their knees and dug with their hands. Sometimes they would take 50 or 60 eggs out of one hole. They were perfectly round white things with trifles smaller than an English walnut. They had a famous fried egg feast that night, and another on Friday morning. After breakfast, they went whooping and prancing out on the bar, and chased each other round and round, shedding clothes as they went until they were naked. And then continued the frolic far away up the shoal water of the bar against the stiff current, which later tripped their legs from under them from time to time and greatly increased the fun. And now and then they've stooped in a group and splashed water in each other's faces with their palms gradually approaching each other with averted faces to avoid the strangling sprays, and finally gripping and struggling till the best man ducked his neighbor. And they all went under in a tangle of white legs and arms and came up blowing, sputtering, laughing, and gasping for breath at one at the same time. When they were well exhausted, they would run out and sprawl on the dry hot sand and lie there and cover themselves up with it, and by and by break for the water again and go through the original performance once more. Finally, it occurred to them that their naked skin represented flesh-colored tights very fairly. So they drew a ring in the sand and had a circus, with three clans on it, for none would yield this proudest post to his neighbor. Next, they got their marbles and played Knux and Ringta and keeps till that amusement grew stale. Then Joan Huck had another swim, but Tom would not venture, because he found that in kicking off his trailers, he had kicked off his string of rattlesnake, rattles off his ankle, and he wondered how he had escaped cramps so long without the protection of this mysterious charm. He did not venture again until he had found it, and by that time the other boys were tired and ready to rest. They gradually wandered apart, dropped into the dumps and fell to gazing longingly across the wide river to where the village lay drowsing in the sun. Tom found himself riding Becky in the sand with his big toe. He scratched it out and was angry with himself for his weakness. But he rode it again, nevertheless, he could not help it. He erased it once more and then took himself out of temptation by driving the other boys together and joining them. But Joe's spirits had gone down almost beyond resurrection. He was so homesick that he could hardly endure the misery of it. The tears lay very near the surface. Huck was melancholy too. Tom was downhearted, but tried hard not to show it. He had a secret which he was not ready to tell yet. But if this mutinous depression was not broken up soon, he would have to bring it out. He said with a great show of cheerfulness, I bet there has been pirates on this island before boys. We'll explore it again. They've had treasures here somewhere. How do you feel to light on a rotten chest full of gold and silver, hey? But it roused only faint enthusiasm, which faded out with no reply. Tom tried one or two other seductions, but they failed to. It was discouraging work. Joe signed poking up the sand with a stick and looking very gloomy. Finally, he said, oh, boys, let's give it up. I want to go home. So lonesome. Oh, no, Joe, you'll feel better by and by, said Tom. Just think of the fishing that's here. I don't care for fishing. I want to go home. But Joe, there ain't such another swimming place anywhere. Swimming's no good. I don't seem to care for it. Somehow when there ain't anybody to say I shan't go in, I mean to go home. Oh, shucks, baby. You want to see your mother, I reckon. Yes, I do want to see my mother. And you would, too, if you had one. I ain't any more baby than you are. And Joe snuffled a little. Well, let's the cry baby go home to his mother, won't we, Huck? Poor thing. Does it want to see its mother? And so it shall. You like it here, don't you, Huck? We'll stay, won't we? Huck said, yes, without any heart in it. I'll never speak to you again as long as I live, said Joe Rising. There now. And he moved moodily away and began to dress himself. Who cares, said Tom. Nobody wants you to. Go long home and get laughed at. Oh, you're a nice pirate. Huck and me ain't cry babies. Let him go if he wants to. I reckon we can get along without him, perhaps. But Tom was uneasy, nevertheless. And was alarmed to see Joe go sullingly on with his dressing. And then it was discomforting to see Huck eyeing Joe's preparation so wistfully and keeping up such an ominous silence. Presently without a parting word, Joe began to wait off toward the Illinois shore. Tom's heart began to sink. He lanced to Huck. Huck could not bear the look and dropped his eyes. Then he said, I want to go too, Tom. It was getting so lonesome anyway, and now it'll be worse. Let's us go too, Tom. I won't. You can all go if you want to. I mean to stay. Tom, I better go. Well, go along. Who's hindering you? Huck began to pick up his scattered clothes. He said, Tom, I wish you'd come too. Now you think it over. We'll wait for you when we get to shore. Well, you'll wait a blame long time, that's all. Huck started sorrowfully away. And Tom stood looking after him, with a strong desire tugging at his heart to yield his pride and go along too. He hoped the boys would stop, but they still waited slowly on. It suddenly dawned on Tom that it was become very lonely and still. He made one final struggle with his pride, and then darted after his comrades yelling, Wait, wait! I'm going to tell you something. They presently stopped and turned around. When he got to where they were, he began unfolding his secret, and they listened mootily till at last they saw the point he was driving at. And then they set up a war-loop of applause and said it was splendid, and said if he had told them at first, they wouldn't have started away. He made a plausible excuse. But his real reason had been the fear that not even the secret would keep them with him at any very great length of time. And so he had meant to hold it in reserve as a last induction. The lads came gaily back and wanted their sports again with the will, chattering all the time about Tom's stupendous plan and admiring the genius of it. After a dainty egg in fish dinner, Tom said he wanted to learn to smoke now. Joe caught up the idea and said he would like to try too. So Huck made pipes and filled them. These novices never smoked anything before, but cigars of grapevine, and they bit the tongue and were not considered manly anyway. Now they stretched themselves out on their elbows and began to puff cherryly and wassunder confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant taste, and they gagged a little, but Tom said, Why, it's just as easy. If I had to know this was all, I'd have learnt long ago. So would I, said Joe. It's nothing. Why, many a time, I've looked at people smoking and thought, Well, I wish I could do that. But I never thought I could, said Tom. That's just the way with me, ain't it, Huck? You've heard me talk that way. I haven't you, Huck. I'll leave it to Huck if I haven't. Yes, heaps of times, said Huck. Well, I have too, said Tom. Oh, hundreds of times. Once down by the slaughterhouse, don't you remember Huck? Bob Tanner was there, and Johnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher when I said it. Don't you remember, Huck, about me saying that? Yes, that's so, said Huck. That was the day after I lost White Alley. No, towards the day before. There, I told you so, said Tom. Huck recollects it. I believe I could smoke this pipe all day, said Joe. I don't feel sick. Neither do I, said Tom. I could smoke it all day. But I bet you Jeff Thatcher couldn't. Jeff Thatcher? Why, he needed to kill Lovel with just two draws. Just let him try it once, he'd see. I bet he would, and Johnny Miller. I wish you could see Johnny Miller tackle it once. Oh, don't I, said Joe. Why, I bet you Johnny Miller couldn't any more do this than nothing. Just one little sniff that would fetch him. Deed it would, Joe. Say, I wish the boys could see us now. So do I. Say, boys, don't say anything about it. And sometime, when they're around, I'll come up to you and say, Joe, got a pipe? I want to smoke. And you'll say kind of careless-like, as if it weren't anything. You'll say, yes, I got my old pipe, and another one, but my tobacco ain't very good. And I'll say, oh, that's all right, if it's strong enough. And then you'll out with the pipes and we'll light up just as calm. And then just see him look. But, jinx, that'll be gay, Tom. I wish it was now. So do I. When we tell him we'd learn when we was off piratein', won't they wish they'd been along? Oh, I reckon not. I'll just bet they will. So the talk ran on. But presently, it began to flag a trifle and grow disjointed. The silences widened. The expectoration marvelously increased. Every pore inside the boys' cheeks became a spouting fountain. They could scarcely bail out the sailors under their tongues fast enough to prevent an inundation. Little overflowings down their throats occurred in spite of all they could do, and sudden retchings followed every time. Both boys were licking very pale and miserable now. Joe's pipe dropped from his nervous fingers. Tom's followed. Both fountains were going furiously, and both pumps bailing with might and main. Joe said feebly. I've lost my knife, I reckon I better go and find it. Tom said with a quivering lips and halting utterance. I'll help you. You go over that way and all huntin' rounds by the spring. No, you needn't come, Huck. We can find it. So Huck sat down again and waited an hour. Then he found it lonesome and went to find his comrades. They were wide apart in the woods, both very pale, both fast asleep. But something informed him that if they had had any trouble, they had got rid of it. They were not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble look, and when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal and was going to prepare theirs, they said no, they were not feeling very well, something they ate at dinner had disagreed with them. About midnight, Joe awoke and called the boys. There was a brooding oppressiveness in the air that seemed to bode something. The boys outled themselves together and sought the friendly companionship of the fire, though the dull, dead heat of the breathless atmosphere was stifling. They sat still, intent and waiting. The solemn hush continued. Beyond the light of the fire, everything was swallowed up in the blackness of darkness. Presently there came a quivering glow that vaguely revealed the foliage for a moment and then vanished. By and by another came a little stronger, then another. Then a faint moan came sighing through the branches of the forest, and the boys felt a fleeting breath upon their cheeks and shuddered with the fancy that the spirit of the night had gone by. There was a pause. Now a weird flash turned to night and today, and showed every little grass blade separate and distinct that grew about their feet. And it showed three white, startled faces too. A deep peel of thunder went rolling and tumbling down the heavens and lost itself in swollen rumblings in the distance. A sweep of chilly air passed by, wrestling all the leaves and snowing the flaky ashes broadcast about the fire. Another fierce glare lit up the forest and an instant crash followed that seemed to rend the treetop right over the boys' heads. They clung together in tear and the thick gloom that followed. A few big raindrops fell, pattering upon the leaves. Quick boys, go for the tent! Exlaimed Tom, they sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the dark, no two plunging in the same direction. A furious blast roared through the trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding flash after another came, and peel on peel of deafening thunder. And now a drenching rain poured down in the rising hurricane drove it in sheets along the ground. The boys cried out to each other, but the roaring wind and the booming thunder blast drowned their voices utterly. However, one by one they strangled in at last and took shelter under the tent, cold, scared, and streaming with water. But to have company and misery seemed something to be grateful for. They could not talk. The old sail flapped so fiercely, even if the other noises would have allowed them. The tempest rose higher and higher, and presently the sail tore loose from its fastenings and went winging away on the blast. The boys seized each other's hands and fled, with many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter of a great oak that stood upon the riverbank. Now the battle is at its highest, under the ceaseless conflagration of lightning that flamed in the skies. Everything below stood out in clean cut and shadowless distinctness. The bending trees, the billowy river white with foam, the driving spray of spume flakes, the dim outlines of the high bluffs on the other side, glimpsed through the drifting cloud rack in the slanting veil of rain. Every little while some giant tree yielded the fight and fell crashing through the younger growth, and the unflagging thunderpeels came now in years splitting explosive bursts, keen and sharp and unspeakably appalling. The storm culminated in one matchless effort that seemed likely to tear the island to pieces. Burn it up, drown it to the treetops, blow it away, and deafen every creature in it. All at one in the same moment. It was a wild night for homeless young heads to be out in, but at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with weaker and weaker threatenings and grumblings and peace resumed her sway. The boys went back to camp a good deal odd, but they found there was still something to be thankful for, because the great sycamore, the shelter of their beds, was a ruin now, blasted by the lightnings, and they were not under it when the catastrophe happened. Everything in camp was drenched, the camp fire as well, for there were but heedless lads like their generation and had made no provisions against rain. Here was matter for dismay, for they were soaked through and chilled, they were eloquent in their distress, but they presently discovered that the fire had eaten so far up under the great log it had been built against, where it curved upward and separated itself from the ground, that a hand breath or so of it had escaped wetting, so they patiently wrought until with shreds and bark gathered from undersides of sheltered logs, they coaxed the fire to burn again. Then they piled on great dead bows till they had a roaring furnace, and were gladhearted once more. They dried their boiled ham and had a feast, and after that they sat by the fire and expanded and glorified their midnight adventure until morning, for there was not a dry spot to sleep on anywhere around. As the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over them, and they went out on the sand bar and lay down to sleep. They got scorched out by and by, and drearily set about getting breakfast. After the meal they felt rusty and stiff-jointed, and a little homesick once more. Tom saw the signs and felt cheering up the pirates as well as he could, but they cared nothing for marbles or circus or swimming or anything. He reminded them of the imposing secret, and raised a ray of cheer. While it lasted, he got them interested in a new device. This was to knock off being pirates for a while and be Indians for a change. They were attracted by this idea, so it was not long before they were stripped and striped from head to heel with black mud. Like so many zebras, all of them chiefs of course, and then they went tearing through the woods to attack an English settlement. By and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and darted upon each other from ambush with dreadful war whoops, and killed and scalped each other by the thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently, it was an extremely satisfactory one. They assembled and camped towards suppertime, hungry and happy, but now a difficulty arose. Hostile Indians could not break the bread of hospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple impossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other process that ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost wished they had remained pirates. However, there was no other way. So with such show of cheerfulness as they could muster, they called for the pipe and took their whiff as it passed in due form. And behold, they were glad they had gone into savagery for they had gained something. They found that they could now smoke a little without having to go and hunt for a lost knife. They did not get sick enough to be seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to fool away this high promise for lack of effort. No, they practiced cautiously after supper, with right fair success, and so they spent a jubilant evening. They were prouder and happier in their new acquirement than they would have been in the scalping and skinning of the six nations. We will leave them to smoke and shatter and brag, since we have no further use for them present. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain Chapter 17 There was no hilarity in the little town that same tranquil Saturday afternoon. The Harpers and Aunt Polly's family were being put into mourning with great grief and many tears. An unusual quiet possessed the village, although it was ordinarily quiet enough in all conscious. The villagers conducted their concerns with an absent air and talked little, but they sighed often. The Saturday holidays seemed a burden to the children. They had no heart in their sports and gradually gave them up. In the afternoon, Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the deserted schoolyard and feeling very melancholy, but she found nothing there to comfort her. She soliloquized, oh, if I only had a brass andy iron knob again. But I haven't got anything now to remember him by, and she choked back a little sob. Presently, she stopped and said to herself, it was right here. Oh, if it was to do over again, I wouldn't say that. I wouldn't say it for the whole world. But he's gone now. I'll never, never, never see him anymore. This thought broke her down, and she wandered away with tears rolling down her cheeks. A quiet group of boys and girls, playmates of Tom's and Joe's, came by and stood looking over the paling fence and talking reverent tones of how Tom did so and so the last time they saw him, and how Joe said this and that small trifle, pregnant with awful prophecy, as they could easily see now, and each speaker pointed out the exact spot where the lost lads stood at the time and then added something like, and I was a standing just so, just as I am now, and as if you was him, I was as close as that. And he smiled just this way, and then something seemed to go all over me like, awful, you know, and I never thought what it meant, of course, but I can see now. Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, and many claimed that dismal distinction and offered evidences more or less tampered with by the witness, and when it was ultimately decided who did see the departed last, and exchanged the last words with them, the lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of sacred importance, and were gaped at and envied by all the rest. One poor chap, who had no other grandeur to offer, said with tolerable and manifest pride and the remembrance, well, Tom swore he licked me once, but that bid for glory was a failure, most of the boys could say that, and so, that cheapened the distinction too much, the group loitered away, still recalling memories of the lost heroes and odd voices. When the Sunday school hour was finished, the next morning, the bell began to toll instead of ringing in the usual way, and it was a very still Sabbath, and the mournful sound seemed to be keeping with the musing hush that lay upon nature. The villagers began to gather, loitering a moment in the vestibule to converse and whispers about the sad event, but there was no whispering in the house, only the funeral rustling of dresses as the women gathered to their seats, disturbed by the silence there. None could remember when the little church had been so full before, and there was finally a waiting pause, an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly entered, followed by Sid and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all in deep black, and the whole congregation, the old minister as well rose reverently, and stood until the mourners were seated in the front pew. There was another commuting silence, broken at intervals by muffled sobs, and then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed, and moving him was sung, the text followed, I am the resurrection and the life. As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the graces, the winning ways and the rare promise of the lost flats that every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt the pain in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always before, and had persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor boys. The minister related many touching incidences in the lives of the departed too, which illustrated their sweet generous natures, and the people could easily see now how noble and beautiful those episodes were, and remembered with grief that at the time they occurred, they had seemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the cow hide. Congregation became more and more moved as the pathetic tale went on, till at last the whole company broke down, and joined the weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the preacher himself given way to his feelings and crying in the pulpit. There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed. A moment later the church door creaked, the minister raised his streaming eyes above his handkerchief and stood transfixed. First one, and then another pair of eyes followed the ministers, and then almost with one impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came marching out the aisle, Tom and the lean Joe Nex and Huck, a ruin of drooping rags sneaking sheepishly in the rear. They had been hid in the unused gallery listening to their own funeral sermon. Aunt Polly, Mary, and the Harper's threw themselves upon their restored ones, smothered them with kisses and poured out thanksgivings, while poor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not knowing exactly what to do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming eyes. You wavered and started to slink away, but Tom seized him and said, Aunt Polly, it ain't fair. Somebody's gotta be glad to see Huck. And so they shall. I'm glad to see him, poor motherless thing. And the loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one thing capable of making him more uncomfortable than he was before. Suddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice, praise God from who all blessings flow, sing and put your hearts in it. And they did. Old Hundred swelled up with a triumph from burst, and while it shook the rafters, Tom Sawyer the pirate looked around upon the envening juveniles about him and confessed in his heart that this was the proudest moment of his life. As the sold congregation trooped out, they said they would almost be willing to be made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like that once more. Tom got more cuffs and kisses that day, according to Aunt Polly's varying moods than he had earned before in a year, and he hardly knew which expressed the most gratefulness to God and affection for himself. End of chapter 17 read by Matis Yahu