THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER 2 страница

dog-collar--but no dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces of

orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.

He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while--plenty of company

--and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out

of whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.

Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He

had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it--namely,

that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only

necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great

and wise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have

comprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to do,

and that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And

this would help him to understand why constructing artificial flowers

or performing on a tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or

climbing Mont Blanc is only amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in

England who drive four-horse passenger-coaches twenty or thirty miles

on a daily line, in the summer, because the privilege costs them

considerable money; but if they were offered wages for the service,

that would turn it into work and then they would resign.

The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place

in his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to

report.

CHAPTER III

TOM presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an open

window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom,

breakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined. The balmy summer

air, the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing murmur

of the bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her knitting

--for she had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in her lap. Her

spectacles were propped up on her gray head for safety. She had thought

that of course Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered at seeing him

place himself in her power again in this intrepid way. He said: " Mayn't

I go and play now, aunt? "

" What, a'ready? How much have you done? "

" It's all done, aunt. "

" Tom, don't lie to me--I can't bear it. "

" I ain't, aunt; it IS all done. "

Aunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence. She went out to see

for herself; and she would have been content to find twenty per cent.

of Tom's statement true. When she found the entire fence whitewashed,

and not only whitewashed but elaborately coated and recoated, and even

a streak added to the ground, her astonishment was almost unspeakable.

She said:

" Well, I never! There's no getting round it, you can work when you're

a mind to, Tom. " And then she diluted the compliment by adding, " But

it's powerful seldom you're a mind to, I'm bound to say. Well, go 'long

and play; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I'll tan you. "

She was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took

him into the closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to

him, along with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor a

treat took to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort.

And while she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he " hooked" a

doughnut.

Then he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway

that led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were handy and

the air was full of them in a twinkling. They raged around Sid like a

hail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her surprised faculties

and sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken personal effect,

and Tom was over the fence and gone. There was a gate, but as a general

thing he was too crowded for time to make use of it. His soul was at

peace, now that he had settled with Sid for calling attention to his

black thread and getting him into trouble.

Tom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by

the back of his aunt's cow-stable. He presently got safely beyond the

reach of capture and punishment, and hastened toward the public square

of the village, where two " military" companies of boys had met for

conflict, according to previous appointment. Tom was General of one of

these armies, Joe Harper (a 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.

CHAPTER IV

THE sun rose upon a tranquil world, and beamed down upon the peaceful

village like a benediction. Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had family

worship: it began with a prayer built from the ground up of solid

courses of Scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin mortar of

originality; and from the summit of this she delivered a grim chapter

of the Mosaic Law, as from Sinai.

Then Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and went to work to " get

his verses. " Sid had learned his lesson days before. Tom bent all his

energies to the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the

Sermon on the Mount, because he could find no verses that were shorter.

At the end of half an hour Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson,

but no more, for his mind was traversing the whole field of human

thought, and his hands were busy with distracting recreations. Mary

took his book to hear him recite, and he tried to find his way through

the fog:

" Blessed are the--a--a--"

" Poor" --

" Yes--poor; blessed are the poor--a--a--"

" In spirit--"

" In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they--they--"

" THEIRS--"

" For THEIRS. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom

of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they--they--"

" Sh--"

" For they--a--"

" S, H, A--"

" For they S, H--Oh, I don't know what it is! "

" SHALL! "

" Oh, SHALL! for they shall--for they shall--a--a--shall mourn--a--a--

blessed are they that shall--they that--a--they that shall mourn, for

they shall--a--shall WHAT? Why don't you tell me, Mary? --what do you

want to be so mean for? "

" Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not teasing you. I wouldn't

do that. You must go and learn it again. Don't you be discouraged, Tom,

you'll manage it--and if you do, I'll give you something ever so nice.

There, now, that's a good boy. "

" All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is. "

" Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it's nice, it is nice. "

" You bet you that's so, Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again. "

And he did " tackle it again" --and under the double pressure of

curiosity and prospective gain he did it with such spirit that he

accomplished a shining success. Mary gave him a brand-new " Barlow"

knife worth twelve and a half cents; and the convulsion of delight that

swept his system shook him to his foundations. True, the knife would

not cut anything, but it was a " sure-enough" Barlow, and there was

inconceivable grandeur in that--though where the Western boys ever got

the idea that such a weapon could possibly be counterfeited to its

injury is an imposing mystery and will always remain so, perhaps. Tom

contrived to scarify the cupboard with it, and was arranging to begin

on the bureau, when he was called off to dress for Sunday-school.

Mary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went

outside the door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he

dipped the soap in the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves;

poured out the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the

kitchen and began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the

door. But Mary removed the towel and said:

" Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be so bad. Water won't hurt

you. "

Tom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time

he stood over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big

breath and began. When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes

shut and groping for the towel with his hands, an honorable testimony

of suds and water was dripping from his face. But when he emerged from

the towel, he was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped

short at his chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and beyond this line

there was a dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread downward in

front and backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand, and when she

was done with him he was a man and a brother, without distinction of

color, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls

wrought into a dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He privately

smoothed out the curls, with labor and difficulty, and plastered his

hair close down to his head; for he held curls to be effeminate, and

his own filled his life with bitterness. ] Then Mary got out a suit of

his clothing that had been used only on Sundays during two years--they

were simply called his " other clothes" --and so by that we know the

size of his wardrobe. The girl " put him to rights" after he had dressed

himself; she buttoned his neat roundabout up to his chin, turned his

vast shirt collar down over his shoulders, brushed him off and crowned

him with his speckled straw hat. He now looked exceedingly improved and

uncomfortable. He was fully as uncomfortable as he looked; for there

was a restraint about whole clothes and cleanliness that galled him. He

hoped that Mary would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted; she

coated them thoroughly with tallow, as was the custom, and brought them

out. He lost his temper and said he was always being made to do

everything he didn't want to do. But Mary said, persuasively:

" Please, Tom--that's a good boy. "

So he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three

children set out for Sunday-school--a place that Tom hated with his

whole heart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.

Sabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past ten; and then church

service. Two of the children always remained for the sermon

voluntarily, and the other always remained too--for stronger reasons.

The church's high-backed, uncushioned pews would seat about three

hundred persons; the edifice was but a small, plain affair, with a sort

of pine board tree-box on top of it for a steeple. At the door Tom

dropped back a step and accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:

" Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket? "

" Yes. "

" What'll you take for her? "

" What'll you give? "

" Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook. "

" Less see 'em. "

Tom exhibited. They were satisfactory, and the property changed hands.

Then Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets, and

some small trifle or other for a couple of blue ones. He waylaid other

boys as they came, and went on buying tickets of various colors ten or

fifteen minutes longer. He entered the church, now, with a swarm of

clean and noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started a

quarrel with the first boy that came handy. The teacher, a grave,

elderly man, interfered; then turned his back a moment and Tom pulled a

boy's hair in the next bench, and was absorbed in his book when the boy

turned around; stuck a pin in another boy, presently, in order to hear

him say " Ouch! " and got a new reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole

class were of a pattern--restless, noisy, and troublesome. When they

came to recite their lessons, not one of them knew his verses

perfectly, but had to be prompted all along. However, they worried

through, and each got his reward--in small blue tickets, each with a

passage of Scripture on it; each blue ticket was pay for two verses of

the recitation. Ten blue tickets equalled a red one, and could be

exchanged for it; ten red tickets equalled a yellow one; for ten yellow

tickets the superintendent gave a very plainly bound Bible (worth forty

cents in those easy times) to the pupil. How many of my readers would

have the industry and application to memorize two thousand verses, even

for a Dore Bible? And yet Mary had acquired two Bibles in this way--it

was the patient work of two years--and a boy of German parentage had

won four or five. He once recited three thousand verses without

stopping; but the strain upon his mental faculties was too great, and

he was little better than an idiot from that day forth--a grievous

misfortune for the school, for on great occasions, before company, the

superintendent (as Tom expressed it) had always made this boy come out

and " spread himself. " Only the older pupils managed to keep their

tickets and stick to their tedious work long enough to get a Bible, and

so the delivery of one of these prizes was a rare and noteworthy

circumstance; the successful pupil was so great and conspicuous for

that day that on the spot every scholar's heart was fired with a fresh

ambition that often lasted a couple of weeks. It is possible that Tom's

mental stomach had never really hungered for one of those prizes, but

unquestionably his entire being had for many a day longed for the glory

and the eclat that came with it.

In due course the superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit, with

a closed hymn-book in his hand and his forefinger inserted between its

leaves, and commanded attention. When a Sunday-school superintendent

makes his customary little speech, a hymn-book in the hand is as

necessary as is the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of a singer

who stands forward on the platform and sings a solo at a concert

--though why, is a mystery: for neither the hymn-book nor the sheet of

music is ever referred to by the sufferer. This superintendent was a

slim creature of thirty-five, with a sandy goatee and short sandy hair;

he wore a stiff standing-collar whose upper edge almost reached his

ears and whose sharp points curved forward abreast the corners of his

mouth--a fence that compelled a straight lookout ahead, and a turning

of the whole body when a side view was required; his chin was propped

on a spreading cravat which was as broad and as long as a bank-note,

and had fringed ends; his boot toes were turned sharply up, in the

fashion of the day, like sleigh-runners--an effect patiently and

laboriously produced by the young men by sitting with their toes

pressed against a wall for hours together. Mr. Walters was very earnest

of mien, and very sincere and honest at heart; and he held sacred

things and places in such reverence, and so separated them from worldly

matters, that unconsciously to himself his Sunday-school voice had

acquired a peculiar intonation which was wholly absent on week-days. He

began after this fashion:

" Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty

as you can and give me all your attention for a minute or two. There

--that is it. That is the way good little boys and girls should do. I see

one little girl who is looking out of the window--I am afraid she

thinks I am out there somewhere--perhaps up in one of the trees making

a speech to the little birds. [Applausive titter. ] I want to tell you

how good it makes me feel to see so many bright, clean little faces

assembled in a place like this, learning to do right and be good. " And

so forth and so on. It is not necessary to set down the rest of the

oration. It was of a pattern which does not vary, and so it is familiar

to us all.

The latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of fights

and other recreations among certain of the bad boys, and by fidgetings

and whisperings that extended far and wide, washing even to the bases

of isolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary. But now every

sound ceased suddenly, with the subsidence of Mr. Walters' voice, and

the conclusion of the speech was received with a burst of silent

gratitude.

A good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which

was more or less rare--the entrance of visitors: lawyer Thatcher,

accompanied by a very feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged

gentleman with iron-gray hair; and a dignified lady who was doubtless

the latter's wife. The lady was leading a child. Tom had been restless

and full of chafings and repinings; conscience-smitten, too--he could

not meet Amy Lawrence's eye, he could not brook her loving gaze. But