Mark Twain. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876).
Марк Твен. Приключения Тома Сойера.
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Date: 18.09.2002
MOST of the adventures recorded in this book really occurred; one or
two were experiences of my own, the rest those of boys who were
schoolmates of mine. Huck Finn is drawn from life; Tom Sawyer also, but
not from an individual-he is a combination of the characteristics of three
boys whom I knew, and therefore belongs to the composite order of
architecture.
The odd superstitions touched upon were all prevalent among children
and slaves in the West at the period of this story-that is to say, thirty
or forty years ago.
Although my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and
girls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account, for
part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what they
once were themselves, and of how they felt and thought and talked, and
what queer enterprises they sometimes engaged in.
The author.
Hartford, 1876.
"Tom!"
No answer.
"Tom!"
No answer.
"What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You Tom!"
No answer.
The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the
room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never
looked THROUGH them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state
pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for "style," not service-she
could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked
perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough
for the furniture to hear:
"Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll-"
She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching
under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the
punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.
"I never did see the beat of that boy!"
She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the
Tomato vines and "jimpson" weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So
she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:
"Y-o-u-u Tom!"
There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to
seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.
"There! I might 'a' thought of that closet. What you been doing in
there?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What IS that
truck?"
"I don't know, aunt."
"Well, I know. It's jam-that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you
didn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch."
The switch hovered in the air-the peril was desperate-
"My! Look behind you, aunt!"
The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. The
lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and
disappeared over it.
His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle
laugh.
"Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything? Ain't he played me tricks
enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time? But old
fools is the biggest fools there is. Can't learn an old dog new tricks, as
the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days, and
how is a body to know what's coming? He 'pears to know just how long he
can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make out
to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down again and I
can't hit him a lick. I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and that's the
Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child, as the
Good Book says. I'm a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know.
He's full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he's my own dead sister's
boy, poor thing, and I ain't got the heart to lash him, somehow. Every
time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and every time I hit
him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is born of woman is of
few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says, and I reckon it's so.
He'll play hookey this evening, * and [* Southwestern for "afternoon"]
I'll just be obleeged to make him work, to-morrow, to punish him. It's
mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having
holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else, and I've GOT
to do some of my duty by him, or I'll be the ruination of the child."
Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home
barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day's wood
and split the kindlings before supper-at least he was there in time to
tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work. Tom's
younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through with his
part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy, and had no
adventurous, troublesome ways.
While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity
offered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and very
deep-for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like many other
simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she was endowed
with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she loved to
contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low cunning. Said
she:
"Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn't it?"
"Yes'm."
"Powerful warm, warn't it?"
"Yes'm."
"Didn't you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?"
A bit of a scare shot through Tom-a touch of uncomfortable suspicion.
He searched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. So he said:
"No'm-well, not very much."
The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said:
"But you ain't too warm now, though." And it flattered her to reflect
that she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing
that that was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew
where the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:
"Some of us pumped on our heads-mine's damp yet. See?"
Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of
circumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new
inspiration:
"Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to
pump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!"
The trouble vanished out of Tom's face. He opened his jacket. His shirt
collar was securely sewed.
"Bother! Well, go 'long with you. I'd made sure you'd played hookey and
been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you're a kind of a singed
cat, as the saying is-better'n you look. THIS time."
She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom
had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.
But Sidney said:
"Well, now, if I didn't think you sewed his collar with white thread,
but it's black."
"Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!"
But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:
"Siddy, I'll lick you for that."
In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into
the lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them-one needle
carried white thread and the other black. He said:
"She'd never noticed if it hadn't been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes
she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to
geeminy she'd stick to one or t'other-I can't keep the run of 'em. But I
bet you I'll lam Sid for that. I'll learn him!"
He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very
well though-and loathed him.
Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles.
Not because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a
man's are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore them down
and drove them out of his mind for the time-just as men's misfortunes are
forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new interest was a
valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired from a negro, and
he was suffering to practise it undisturbed. It consisted in a peculiar
bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble, produced by touching the tongue
to the roof of the mouth at short intervals in the midst of the music-the
reader probably remembers how to do it, if he has ever been a boy.
Diligence and attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he strode down
the street with his mouth full of harmony and his soul full of gratitude.
He felt much as an astronomer feels who has discovered a new planet-no
doubt, as far as strong, deep, unalloyed pleasure is concerned, the
advantage was with the boy, not the astronomer.
The summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom
checked his whistle. A stranger was before him-a boy a shade larger than
himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive curiosity
in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy was well
dressed, too-well dressed on a week-day. This was simply astounding. His
cap was a dainty thing, his closebuttoned blue cloth roundabout was new
and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes on-and it was only
Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon. He had a citified
air about him that ate into Tom's vitals. The more Tom stared at the
splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose at his finery and the
shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to him to grow. Neither boy
spoke. If one moved, the other moved-but only sidewise, in a circle; they
kept face to face and eye to eye all the time. Finally Tom said:
"I can lick you!"
"I'd like to see you try it."
"Well, I can do it."
"No you can't, either."
"Yes I can."
"No you can't."
"I can."
"You can't."
"Can!"
"Can't!"
An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:
"What's your name?"
"'Tisn't any of your business, maybe."
"Well I 'low I'll MAKE it my business."
"Well why don't you?"
"If you say much, I will."
"Much-much-MUCH. There now."
"Oh, you think you're mighty smart, DON'T you? I could lick you with
one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to."
"Well why don't you DO it? You SAY you can do it."
"Well I WILL, if you fool with me."
"Oh yes-I've seen whole families in the same fix."
"Smarty! You think you're SOME, now, DON'T you? Oh, what a hat!"
"You can lump that hat if you don't like it. I dare you to knock it
off-and anybody that'll take a dare will suck eggs."
"You're a liar!"
"You're another."
"You're a fighting liar and dasn't take it up."
"Aw-take a walk!"
"Say-if you give me much more of your sass I'll take and bounce a rock
off'n your head."
"Oh, of COURSE you will."
"Well I WILL."
"Well why don't you DO it then? What do you keep SAYING you will for?
Why don't you DO it? It's because you're afraid."
"I AIN'T afraid."
"You are."
"I ain't."
"You are."
Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently
they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:
"Get away from here!"
"Go away yourself!"
"I won't."
"I won't either."
So they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and both
shoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with hate. But
neither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and
flushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:
"You're a coward and a pup. I'll tell my big brother on you, and he can
thrash you with his little finger, and I'll make him do it, too."
"What do I care for your big brother? I've got a brother that's bigger
than he is-and what's more, he can throw him over that fence, too." [Both
brothers were imaginary.]
"That's a lie."
"YOUR saying so don't make it so."
Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:
"I dare you to step over that, and I'll lick you till you can't stand
up. Anybody that'll take a dare will steal sheep."
The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:
"Now you said you'd do it, now let's see you do it."
"Don't you crowd me now; you better look out."
"Well, you SAID you'd do it-why don't you do it?"
"By jingo! for two cents I WILL do it."
The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out
with derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys were
rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and for the
space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair and clothes,
punched and scratched each other's nose, and covered themselves with dust
and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of
battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his
fists. "Holler 'nuff!" said he.
The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying-mainly from rage.
"Holler 'nuff!"-and the pounding went on.
At last the stranger got out a smothered "'Nuff!" and Tom let him up
and said:
"Now that'll learn you. Better look out who you're fooling with next
time."
The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing,
snuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and
threatening what he would do to Tom the "next time he caught him out." To
which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and as
soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it and
hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like an
antelope. Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he lived.
He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the enemy to
come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the window and
declined. At last the enemy's mother appeared, and called Tom a bad,
vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went away; but he said
he "'lowed" to "lay" for that boy.
He got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in
at the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and
when she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn his
Saturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its
firmness.
SATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and
fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the
heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every
face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom and the
fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village
and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away to
seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.
Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a
long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a
deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence
nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden.
Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank;
repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant
whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence,
and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the gate
with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from the town
pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but now it did
not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at the pump.
White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their
turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking. And
he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards
off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour-and even then
somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:
"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some."
Jim shook his head and said:
"Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis water
an' not stop foolin' roun' wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars Tom gwine
to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long an' 'tend to my own
business-she 'lowed SHE'D 'tend to de whitewashin'."
"Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's the way she always
talks. Gimme the bucket-I won't be gone only a a minute. SHE won't ever
know."
"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n
me. 'Deed she would."
"SHE! She never licks anybody-whacks 'em over the head with her
thimble-and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but
talk don't hurt-anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give you a
marvel. I'll give you a white alley!"
Jim began to waver.
"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw."
"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful
'fraid ole missis-"
"And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe."
Jim was only human-this attraction was too much for him. He put down
his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing
interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he was
flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was
whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with a
slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye. But Tom's energy did not last.
He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows
multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of
delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for
having to work-the very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his
worldly wealth and examined it-bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to
buy an exchange of WORK, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half
an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his
pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and
hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great,
magnificent inspiration.
He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in
sight presently-the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been
dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump-proof enough that his heart
was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a
long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned
dingdong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As he
drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far
over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and
circumstance-for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered
himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and
engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own
hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them:
"Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!" The headway ran almost out, and he
drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.
"Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!" His arms straightened and
stiffened down his sides.
"Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow!
Chow!" His right hand, meantime, describing stately circles-for it was
representing a forty-foot wheel.
"Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-lingling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!"
The left hand began to describe circles.
"Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on
the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow!
Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! LIVELY now! Come-out
with your spring-line-what're you about there! Take a turn round that
stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now-let her go! Done with
the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T! SH'T!" (trying the
gauge-cocks).
Tom went on whitewashing-paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared
a moment and then said: "Hi-YI! YOU'RE up a stump, ain't you!"
No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then
he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before.
Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple, but he
stuck to his work. Ben said:
"Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?"
Tom wheeled suddenly and said:
"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing."
"Say-I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of
course you'd druther WORK-wouldn't you? Course you would!"
Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:
"What do you call work?"
"Why, ain't THAT work?"
Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:
"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom
Sawyer."
"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you LIKE it?"
The brush continued to move.
"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a
chance to whitewash a fence every day?"
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom
swept his brush daintily back and forth-stepped back to note the
effect-added a touch here and there-criticised the effect again-Ben
watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more
absorbed. Presently he said:
"Say, Tom, let ME whitewash a little."
Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:
"No-no-I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful
particular about this fence-right here on the street, you know-but if it
was the back fence I wouldn't mind and SHE wouldn't. Yes, she's awful
particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon
there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the
way it's got to be done."
"No-is that so? Oh come, now-lemme just try. Only just a little-I'd let
YOU, if you was me, Tom."
"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly-well, Jim wanted to do
it, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let
Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and
anything was to happen to it-"
"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say-I'll give you
the core of my apple."
"Well, here-No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard-"
"I'll give you ALL of it!"
Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his
heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the
sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his
legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents.
There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while;
they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged
out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite, in good
repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and
a string to swing it with-and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when
the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy
in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the
things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-harp, a piece of
blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key that wouldn't
unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin
soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one
eye, a brass doorknob, a dog-collar-but no dog-the handle of a knife, four
pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.
He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while-plenty of company-and
the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of
whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.
Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He
had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it-namely,
that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary
to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great and wise
philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have comprehended
that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to do, and that Play
consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And this would help him
to understand why constructing artificial flowers or performing on a
tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing Mont Blanc is only
amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England who drive four-horse
passengercoaches twenty or thirty miles on a daily line, in the summer,
because the privilege costs them considerable money; but if they were
offered wages for the service, that would turn it into work and then they
would resign.
The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place
in his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to
report.
Tom presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an open
window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom,
breakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined. The balmy summer air,
the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing murmur of the
bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her knitting-for she
had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in her lap. Her spectacles
were propped up on her gray head for safety. She had thought that of
course Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered at seeing him place
himself in her power again in this intrepid way. He said: "Mayn't I go and
play now, aunt?"
"What, a'ready? How much have you done?"
"It's all done, aunt."
"Tom, don't lie to me-I can't bear it."
"I ain't, aunt; it IS all done."
Aunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence. She went out to see for
herself; and she would have been content to find twenty per cent. of Tom's
statement true. When she found the entire fence whitewashed, and not only
whitewashed but elaborately coated and recoated, and even a streak added
to the ground, her astonishment was almost unspeakable. She said:
"Well, I never! There's no getting round it, you can work when you're a
mind to, Tom." And then she diluted the compliment by adding, "But it's
powerful seldom you're a mind to, I'm bound to say. Well, go 'long and
play; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I'll tan you."
She was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took
him into the closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to him,
along with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor a treat
took to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort. And while
she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he "hooked" a doughnut.
Then he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway
that led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were handy and the
air was full of them in a twinkling. They raged around Sid like a
hail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her surprised faculties
and sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken personal effect, and
Tom was over the fence and gone. There was a gate, but as a general thing
he was too crowded for time to make use of it. His soul was at peace, now
that he had settled with Sid for calling attention to his black thread and
getting him into trouble.
Tom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by
the back of his aunt's cowstable. He presently got safely beyond the reach
of capture and punishment, and hastened toward the public square of the
village, where two "military" companies of boys had met for conflict,
according to previous appointment. Tom was General of one of these armies,
Joe Harper (a bosom friend) General of the other. These two great
commanders did not condescend to fight in person-that being better suited
to the still smaller fry-but sat together on an eminence and conducted the
field operations by orders delivered through aides-de-camp. Tom's army won
a great victory, after a long and hard-fought battle. Then the dead were
counted, prisoners exchanged, the terms of the next disagreement agreed
upon, and the day for the necessary battle appointed; after which the
armies fell into line and marched away, and Tom turned homeward alone.
As he was passing by the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a new
girl in the garden-a lovely little blue-eyed creature with yellow hair
plaited into two long-tails, white summer frock and embroidered
pantalettes. The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a shot. A certain
Amy Lawrence vanished out of his heart and left not even a memory of
herself behind. He had thought he loved her to distraction; he had
regarded his passion as adoration; and behold it was only a poor little
evanescent partiality. He had been months winning her; she had confessed
hardly a week ago; he had been the happiest and the proudest boy in the
world only seven short days, and here in one instant of time she had gone
out of his heart like a casual stranger whose visit is done.
He worshipped this new angel with furtive eye, till he saw that she had
discovered him; then he pretended he did not know she was present, and
began to "show off" in all sorts of absurd boyish ways, in order to win
her admiration. He kept up this grotesque foolishness for some time; but
by-and-by, while he was in the midst of some dangerous gymnastic
performances, he glanced aside and saw that the little girl was wending
her way toward the house. Tom came up to the fence and leaned on it,
grieving, and hoping she would tarry yet awhile longer. She halted a
moment on the steps and then moved toward the door. Tom heaved a great
sigh as she put her foot on the threshold. But his face lit up, right
away, for she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment before she
disappeared.
The boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower, and
then shaded his eyes with his hand and began to look down street as if he
had discovered something of interest going on in that direction. Presently
he picked up a straw and began trying to balance it on his nose, with his
head tilted far back; and as he moved from side to side, in his efforts,
he edged nearer and nearer toward the pansy; finally his bare foot rested
upon it, his pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped away with the
treasure and disappeared round the corner. But only for a minute-only
while he could button the flower inside his jacket, next his heart-or next
his sTomach, possibly, for he was not much posted in anaTomy, and not
hypercritical, anyway.
He returned, now, and hung about the fence till nightfall, "showing
off," as before; but the girl never exhibited herself again, though Tom
comforted himself a little with the hope that she had been near some
window, meantime, and been aware of his attentions. Finally he strode home
reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.
All through supper his spirits were so high that his aunt wondered
"what had got into the child." He took a good scolding about clodding Sid,
and did not seem to mind it in the least. He tried to steal sugar under
his aunt's very nose, and got his knuckles rapped for it. He said:
"Aunt, you don't whack Sid when he takes it."
"Well, Sid don't torment a body the way you do. You'd be always into
that sugar if I warn't watching you."
Presently she stepped into the kitchen, and Sid, happy in his immunity,
reached for the sugar-bowl-a sort of glorying over Tom which was wellnigh
unbearable. But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl dropped and broke. Tom
was in ecstasies. In such ecstasies that he even controlled his tongue and
was silent. He said to himself that he would not speak a word, even when
his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly still till she asked who did the
mischief; and then he would tell, and there would be nothing so good in
the world as to see that pet model "catch it." He was so brimful of
exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old lady came back
and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath from over her
spectacles. He said to himself, "Now it's coming!" And the next instant he
was sprawling on the floor! The potent palm was uplifted to strike again
when Tom cried out:
"Hold on, now, what 'er you belting ME for?-Sid broke it!"
Aunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity. But when
she got her tongue again, she only said:
"Umf! Well, you didn't get a lick amiss, I reckon. You been into some
other audacious mischief when I wasn't around, like enough."
Then her conscience reproached her, and she yearned to say something
kind and loving; but she judged that this would be construed into a
confession that she had been in the wrong, and discipline forbade that. So
she kept silence, and went about her affairs with a troubled heart. Tom
sulked in a corner and exalted his woes. He knew that in her heart his
aunt was on her knees to him, and he was morosely gratified by the
consciousness of it. He would hang out no signals, he would take notice of
none. He knew that a yearning glance fell upon him, now and then, through
a film of tears, but he refused recognition of it. He pictured himself
lying sick unto death and his aunt bending over him beseeching one little
forgiving word, but he would turn his face to the wall, and die with that
word unsaid. Ah, how would she feel then? And he pictured himself brought
home from the river, dead, with his curls all wet, and his sore heart at
rest. How she would throw herself upon him, and how her tears would fall
like rain, and her lips pray God to give her back her boy and she would
never, never abuse him any more! But he would lie there cold and white and
make no sign-a poor little sufferer, whose griefs were at an end. He so
worked upon his feelings with the pathos of these dreams, that he had to
keep swallowing, he was so like to choke; and his eyes swam in a blur of
water, which overflowed when he winked, and ran down and trickled from the
end of his nose. And such a luxury to him was this petting of his sorrows,
that he could not bear to have any worldly cheeriness or any grating
delight intrude upon it; it was too sacred for such contact; and so,
presently, when his cousin Mary danced in, all alive with the joy of
seeing home again after an age-long visit of one week to the country, he
got up and moved in clouds and darkness out at one door as she brought
song and sunshine in at the other.
He wandered far from the accusTomed haunts of boys, and sought desolate
places that were in harmony with his spirit. A log raft in the river
invited him, and he seated himself on its outer edge and contemplated the
dreary vastness of the stream, wishing, the while, that he could only be
drowned, all at once and unconsciously, without undergoing the
uncomfortable routine devised by nature. Then he thought of his flower. He
got it out, rumpled and wilted, and it mightily increased his dismal
felicity. He wondered if she would pity him if she knew? Would she cry,
and wish that she had a right to put her arms around his neck and comfort
him? Or would she turn coldly away like all the hollow world? This picture
brought such an agony of pleasurable suffering that he worked it over and
over again in his mind and set it up in new and varied lights, till he
wore it threadbare. At last he rose up sighing and departed in the
darkness.
About half-past nine or ten o'clock he came along the deserted street
to where the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; no sound fell upon
his listening ear; a candle was casting a dull glow upon the curtain of a
second-story window. Was the sacred presence there? He climbed the fence,
threaded his stealthy way through the plants, till he stood under that
window; he looked up at it long, and with emotion; then he laid him down
on the ground under it, disposing himself upon his back, with his hands
clasped upon his breast and holding his poor wilted flower. And thus he
would die-out in the cold world, with no shelter over his homeless head,
no friendly hand to wipe the death-damps from his brow, no loving face to
bend pityingly over him when the great agony came. And thus SHE would see
him when she looked out upon the glad morning, and oh! would she drop one
little tear upon his poor, lifeless form, would she heave one little sigh
to see a bright young life so rudely blighted, so untimely cut down?
The window went up, a maid-servant's discordant voice profaned the holy
calm, and a deluge of water drenched the prone martyr's remains!
The strangling hero sprang up with a relieving snort. There was a whiz
as of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, a sound as
of shivering glass followed, and a small, vague form went over the fence
and shot away in the gloom.
Not long after, as Tom, all undressed for bed, was surveying his
drenched garments by the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up; but if he had
any dim idea of making any "references to allusions," he thought better of
it and held his peace, for there was danger in Tom's eye.
Tom turned in without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid made
mental note of the omission.
The sun rose upon a tranquil world, and beamed down upon the peaceful
village like a benediction. Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had family worship:
it began with a prayer built from the ground up of solid courses of
Scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin mortar of originality;
and from the summit of this she delivered a grim chapter of the Mosaic
Law, as from Sinai.
Then Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and went to work to "get his
verses." Sid had learned his lesson days before. Tom bent all his energies
to the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the Sermon on the
Mount, because he could find no verses that were shorter. At the end of
half an hour Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson, but no more, for
his mind was traversing the whole field of human thought, and his hands
were busy with distracting recreations. Mary took his book to hear him
recite, and he tried to find his way through the fog:
"Blessed are the-a-a-"
"Poor"-
"Yes-poor; blessed are the poor-a-a-"
"In spirit-"
"In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they-they-"
"THEIRS-"
"For THEIRS. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom
of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they-they-"
"Sh-"
"For they-a-"
"S, H, A-"
"For they S, H-Oh, I don't know what it is!"
"SHALL!"
"Oh, SHALL! for they shall-for they shall-a-a-shall mourn-a-a-blessed
are they that shall-they that-a-they that shall mourn, for they
shall-a-shall WHAT? Why don't you tell me, Mary?-what do you want to be so
mean for?"
"Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not teasing you. I wouldn't
do that. You must go and learn it again. Don't you be discouraged, Tom,
you'll manage it-and if you do, I'll give you something ever so nice.
There, now, that's a good boy."
"All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is."
"Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it's nice, it is nice."
"You bet you that's so, Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again."
And he did "tackle it again"-and under the double pressure of curiosity
and prospective gain he did it with such spirit that he accomplished a
shining success. Mary gave him a brand-new "Barlow" knife worth twelve and
a half cents; and the convulsion of delight that swept his system shook
him to his foundations. True, the knife would not cut anything, but it was
a "sure-enough" Barlow, and there was inconceivable grandeur in
that-though where the Western boys ever got the idea that such a weapon
could possibly be counterfeited to its injury is an imposing mystery and
will always remain so, perhaps. Tom contrived to scarify the cupboard with
it, and was arranging to begin on the bureau, when he was called off to
dress for Sunday-school.
Mary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went
outside the door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he dipped
the soap in the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves; poured out
the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the kitchen and began to
wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the door. But Mary removed
the towel and said:
"Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be so bad. Water won't hurt
you."
Tom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time he
stood over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big breath
and began. When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes shut and
groping for the towel with his hands, an honorable testimony of suds and
water was dripping from his face. But when he emerged from the towel, he
was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped short at his
chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and beyond this line there was a
dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread downward in front and
backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand, and when she was done
with him he was a man and a brother, without distinction of color, and his
saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls wrought into a
dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He privately smoothed out the
curls, with labor and difficulty, and plastered his hair close down to his
head; for he held curls to be effeminate, and his own filled his life with
bitterness.] Then Mary got out a suit of his clothing that had been used
only on Sundays during two years-they were simply called his "other
clothes"-and so by that we know the size of his wardrobe. The girl "put
him to rights" after he had dressed himself; she buttoned his neat
roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt collar down over his
shoulders, brushed him off and crowned him with his speckled straw hat. He
now looked exceedingly improved and uncomfortable. He was fully as
uncomfortable as he looked; for there was a restraint about whole clothes
and cleanliness that galled him. He hoped that Mary would forget his
shoes, but the hope was blighted; she coated them thoroughly with tallow,
as was the cusTom, and brought them out. He lost his temper and said he
was always being made to do everything he didn't want to do. But Mary
said, persuasively:
"Please, Tom-that's a good boy."
So he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three
children set out for Sunday-school-a place that Tom hated with his whole
heart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.
Sabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past ten; and then church
service. Two of the children always remained for the sermon voluntarily,
and the other always remained too-for stronger reasons. The church's
high-backed, uncushioned pews would seat about three hundred persons; the
edifice was but a small, plain affair, with a sort of pine board tree-box
on top of it for a steeple. At the door Tom dropped back a step and
accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:
"Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?"
"Yes."
"What'll you take for her?"
"What'll you give?"
"Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook."
"Less see 'em."
Tom exhibited. They were satisfactory, and the property changed hands.
Then Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets, and some
small trifle or other for a couple of blue ones. He waylaid other boys as
they came, and went on buying tickets of various colors ten or fifteen
minutes longer. He entered the church, now, with a swarm of clean and
noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started a quarrel with the
first boy that came handy. The teacher, a grave, elderly man, interfered;
then turned his back a moment and Tom pulled a boy's hair in the next
bench, and was absorbed in his book when the boy turned around; stuck a
pin in another boy, presently, in order to hear him say "Ouch!" and got a
new reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole class were of a
pattern-restless, noisy, and troublesome. When they came to recite their
lessons, not one of them knew his verses perfectly, but had to be prompted
all along. However, they worried through, and each got his reward-in small
blue tickets, each with a passage of Scripture on it; each blue ticket was
pay for two verses of the recitation. Ten blue tickets equalled a red one,
and could be exchanged for it; ten red tickets equalled a yellow one; for