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tomsawyer.xml
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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<TEI xmlns:xsi="http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema-instance">
<teiHeader>
<fileDesc>
<titleStmt>
<title level="m" type="main">Tom Sawyer: an electronic edition</title>
<author>Mark Twain</author>
<principal>Jacqueline Hettel</principal>
<respStmt>
<resp>Initial creation of TEI header and transformation of original
TEI-compliant SGML to TEI P5 XML</resp>
<name>Humanities Digital Information Service, Stanford University
Libraries</name>
</respStmt>
</titleStmt>
<editionStmt>
<edition n="v2">Second version, which is a transformation of the original SGML,
which was based on the Public Domain TEI edition prepared at the Oxford Text
Archive, into XMl</edition>
</editionStmt>
<publicationStmt>
<publisher>Humanities Digital Information Service, Stanford University
Libraries</publisher>
<availability status="restricted">
<p>Freely available to the Stanford community</p>
</availability>
<date>1999</date>
<distributor>
<name>Oxford Text Archive,</name>
<address>
<addrLine>Oxford University Computing Services,</addrLine>
<addrLine>13 Banbury Road, Oxford OX2 6NN;</addrLine>
<addrLine>[email protected]</addrLine>
</address>
</distributor>
</publicationStmt>
<sourceDesc>
<p>First edition published in 1884. The electronic edition was downloaded from the
Internet Wiretap anonymous ftp server in August 1993. Tagged to a TEI compatible
format by Jeffrey Triggs at Bellcore for the Oxford Text Archive. Further
modified for TEI-lite by Glen Worthey, Stanford, December 1999. Converted from
SGML into TEI P5 XMl by Jacqueline Hettel, Stanford, March 2013.</p>
<p>Original filename at OTA: toms.1972. See original OTA header in associated file
d_toms.1972.</p>
</sourceDesc>
</fileDesc>
<encodingDesc>
<projectDesc>
<p>Converted to TEI-lite from Oxford Text Archive edition in order to use with other
TEI-lite texts for a Twain collection.</p>
</projectDesc>
<editorialDecl>
<p>Page breaks are not represented. All direct speech is represented by [odq ] and
[cdq ] but these have not been checked against the original. Long dashes are
represented by --. [Note from OTA.]</p>
<p>Character entities odq and cdq have been replaced by simple double quotes to
facilitate processing. GW, 12/99</p>
</editorialDecl>
</encodingDesc>
<revisionDesc>
<change when="1999-12">
<name>Glen Worthey</name> Converted Oxford Text Archive version to
TEI-lite.</change>
<change when="2013-03-29">
<name>Jacqueline Hettel</name> Converted TEI-lite SGML into TEI P5-compliant XML.
</change>
</revisionDesc>
</teiHeader>
<text>
<front>
<titlePage>
<titlePart type="main">The Adventures of Tom Sawyer</titlePart>
<byline>by <docAuthor>Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens)</docAuthor></byline>
</titlePage>
<div type="Preface" n="P1" org="uniform" sample="complete" part="N">
<head>Preface</head>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>THE AUTHOR.</p>
<p>HARTFORD, 1876.</p>
</div>
</front>
<body>
<div1 type="Chapter" n="1" org="uniform" sample="complete" part="N">
<head>Chapter I</head>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"TOM!"</q></p>
<p>No answer.</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"TOM!"</q></p>
<p>No answer.</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!"</q></p>
<p>No answer.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll --"</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"I never did see the beat of that boy!"</q></p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Y-o-u-u TOM!"</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"There! I might 'a' thought of that closet. What you been doing in there?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Nothing."</q></p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What IS that truck?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"I don't know, aunt."</q></p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"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."</q></p>
<p>The switch hovered in the air -- the peril was desperate --</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"My! Look behind you, aunt!"</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle laugh.</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"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."</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn't it?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Yes'm."</q></p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Powerful warm, warn't it?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">Yes'm."</q></p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Didn't you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?"</q></p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"No'm -- well, not very much."</q></p>
<p>The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said:</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"But you ain't too warm now, though."</q>
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:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Some of us pumped on our heads -- mine's damp yet. See?"</q></p>
<p>Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of circumstantial
evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new inspiration:</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to pump on your
head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!"</q></p>
<p>The trouble vanished out of Tom's face. He opened his jacket. His shirt collar
was securely sewed.</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"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."</q></p>
<p>She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom had
stumbled into obedient conduct for once.</p>
<p>But Sidney said:</p>
<p><q who="Sidney" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well, now, if I didn't think you sewed his collar with white thread, but it's
black."</q></p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!"</q></p>
<p>But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Siddy, I'll lick you for that."</q></p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"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!"</q></p>
<p>He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well though
-- and loathed him.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 close-buttoned 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:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">I can lick you!"</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">I'd like to see you try it."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well, I can do it."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"No you can't, either."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Yes I can."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"No you can't."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"I can."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"You can't."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Can!"</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Can't!"</q></p>
<p>An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"What's your name?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"'Tisn't any of your business, maybe."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well I 'low I'll MAKE it my business."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well why don't you?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"If you say much, I will."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Much -- much -- MUCH. There now."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Oh, you think you're mighty smart, DON'T you? I could lick you with one hand
tied behind me, if I wanted to."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well why don't you DO it? You SAY you can do it."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well I WILL, if you fool with me."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Oh yes -- I've seen whole families in the same fix."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Smarty! You think you're SOME, now,
DON'T you? Oh, what a hat!"</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"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."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"You're a liar!"</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"You're another."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"You're a fighting liar and dasn't take it up."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Aw -- take a walk!"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Say -- if you give me much more of your sass I'll take and bounce a rock off'n
your head."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Oh, of COURSEyou will."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well I WILL."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"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."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"I AIN'T afraid."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"You are."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"I ain't."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"You are."</q></p>
<p>Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently they were
shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Get away from here!"</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Go away yourself!"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"I won't."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"I won't either."</q></p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"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."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"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."</q> [Both brothers were
imaginary.]</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"That's a lie."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"YOUR saying so don't make it so."</q></p>
<p>Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"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."</q></p>
<p>The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:</p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Now you said you'd do it, now let's see you do it."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Don't you crowd me now; you better look out."</q></p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well, you SAID you'd do it -- why don't you do it?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"By jingo! for two cents I WILL do it."</q></p>
<p>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. <q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Holler 'nuff!"</q>
said he.</p>
<p>The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying -- mainly from rage.</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Holler 'nuff!"</q> -- and the pounding went on.</p>
<p>At last the stranger got out a smothered <q who="Unnamed" sex="Male" age="Child">"'Nuff!"</q> and Tom let him up and said:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Now that'll learn you. Better look out who you're fooling with next time."</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
</div1>
<div1 type="Chapter" n="2" org="uniform" sample="complete" part="N">
<head>Chapter II</head>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some."</q></p>
<p>Jim shook his head and said:</p>
<p><q who="Jim" sex="Male" age="Child" race="African American/Slave">"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'."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"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."</q></p>
<p><q who="Jim" sex="Male" age="Child" race="African American/Slave">"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n me. 'Deed
she would."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"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!"</q></p>
<p>Jim began to waver.</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw."</q></p>
<p><q who="Jim" sex="Male" age="Child" race="African American/Slave">"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful 'fraid ole
missis --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe."</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 ding-dong-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 star-board 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:</p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!"</q> The headway ran almost out, and he drew up
slowly toward the sidewalk.</p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!"</q> His arms straightened and stiffened down his
sides.</p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow! Chow!"</q> His
right hand, meantime, describing stately circles -- for it was representing a
forty-foot wheel.</p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!"</q> The left
hand began to describe circles.</p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"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!"</q> (trying the gauge-cocks).</p>
<p>Tom went on whitewashing -- paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared a
moment and then said: <q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Hi-YI! YOU'RE up a stump, ain't you!"</q></p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?"</q></p>
<p>Tom wheeled suddenly and said:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing."</q></p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"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!"</q></p>
<p>Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"What do you call work?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Why, ain't THAT work?"</q></p>
<p>Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer."</q></p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you LIKE it?"</q></p>
<p>The brush continued to move.</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"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?"</q></p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Say, Tom, let ME whitewash a little."</q></p>
<p>Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"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."</q></p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"No -- is that so? Oh come, now -- lemme just try. Only just a little -- I'd let
YOU, if you was me, Tom."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"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 --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say -- I'll give you the
core of my apple."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Well, here -- No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Ben Rogers" sex="Male" age="Child">"I'll give you ALL of it!"</q></p>
<p>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 door-knob, a dog-collar -- but no dog -- the handle of a
knife, four pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place in his
worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to report.</p>
</div1>
<div1 type="Chapter" n="3" org="uniform" sample="complete" part="N">
<head>Chapter III</head>
<p>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:
<q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Mayn't I go and play now, aunt?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"What, a'ready? How much have you done?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"It's all done, aunt."</q></p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Tom, don't lie to me -- I can't bear it."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"I ain't, aunt; it IS all done."</q></p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Well, I never! There's no getting round it, you can work when you're a mind to,
Tom."</q> And then she diluted the compliment by adding, <q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"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."</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Aunt, you don't whack Sid when he takes it."</q></p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Well, Sid don't torment a body the way you do. You'd be always into that sugar
if I warn't watching you."</q></p>
<p>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, <q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">Now it's coming!"</q>
And the next instant he was sprawling on the floor! The potent palm was uplifted to strike
again when Tom cried out:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Hold on, now, what 'er you belting ME for? -- Sid broke it!"</q></p>
<p>Aunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity. But when she got
her tongue again, she only said:</p>
<p><q who="Aunt Polly" sex="Female" age="Adult">"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."</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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?</p>
<p>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!</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Tom turned in without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid made mental note of
the omission.</p>
</div1>
<div1 type="Chapter" n="4" org="uniform" sample="complete" part="N">
<head>Chapter IV</head>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Blessed are the -- a -- a --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"Poor"</q> --</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Yes -- poor; blessed are the poor -- a -- a --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"In spirit --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they -- they --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"THEIRS --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"For THEIRS. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they that mourn, for they -- they --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"Sh --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"For they -- a --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"S, H, A --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"For they S, H -- Oh, I don't know what it is!"</q></p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"SHALL!"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"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?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"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."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is."</q></p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it's nice, it is nice."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"You bet you that's so, Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again."</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be so bad. Water won't hurt you."</q></p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Mary" sex="Female" age="Child">"Please, Tom -- that's a good boy."</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Billy Fisher" sex="Male" age="Child">"Yes."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"What'll you take for her?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Billy Fisher" sex="Male" age="Child">"What'll you give?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook."</q></p>
<p><q who="Billy Fisher" sex="Male" age="Child">"Less see 'em."</q></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p><q who="Mr. Walters" sex="Male" age="Adult">"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."</q> 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>A good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which was more or
less rare -- the entrance of visitors: lawyer Thatcher, accompanied by a very
feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged gentleman with iron-gray hair;
and a dignified lady who was doubtless the latter's wife. The lady was leading a
child. Tom had been restless and full of chafings and repinings;
conscience-smitten, too -- he could not meet Amy Lawrence's eye, he could not
brook her loving gaze. But when he saw this small new-comer his soul was all
ablaze with bliss in a moment. The next moment he was "showing off" with all his
might -- cuffing boys, pulling hair, making faces -- in a word, using every art
that seemed likely to fascinate a girl and win her applause. His exaltation had
but one alloy -- the memory of his humiliation in this angel's garden -- and
that record in sand was fast washing out, under the waves of happiness that were
sweeping over it now.</p>
<p>The visitors were given the highest seat of honor, and as soon as Mr. Walters'
speech was finished, he introduced them to the school. The middle-aged man
turned out to be a prodigious personage -- no less a one than the county judge
-- altogether the most august creation these children had ever looked upon --
and they wondered what kind of material he was made of -- and they half wanted
to hear him roar, and were half afraid he might, too. He was from
Constantinople, twelve miles away -- so he had travelled, and seen the world --
these very eyes had looked upon the county court-house -- which was said to have
a tin roof. The awe which these reflections inspired was attested by the
impressive silence and the ranks of staring eyes. This was the great Judge
Thatcher, brother of their own lawyer. Jeff Thatcher immediately went forward,
to be familiar with the great man and be envied by the school. It would have
been music to his soul to hear the whisperings:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Look at him, Jim! He's a going up there. Say -- look! he's a going to shake
hands with him -- he IS shaking hands with him! By jings, don't you wish you was
Jeff?"</q></p>
<p>Mr. Walters fell to "showing off," with all sorts of official bustlings and
activities, giving orders, delivering judgments, discharging directions here,
there, everywhere that he could find a target. The librarian "showed off" --
running hither and thither with his arms full of books and making a deal of the
splutter and fuss that insect authority delights in. The young lady teachers
"showed off" -- bending sweetly over pupils that were lately being boxed,
lifting pretty warning fingers at bad little boys and patting good ones
lovingly. The young gentlemen teachers "showed off" with small scoldings and
other little displays of authority and fine attention to discipline -- and most
of the teachers, of both sexes, found business up at the library, by the pulpit;
and it was business that frequently had to be done over again two or three times
(with much seeming vexation). The little girls "showed off" in various ways, and
the little boys "showed off" with such diligence that the air was thick with
paper wads and the murmur of scufflings. And above it all the great man sat and
beamed a majestic judicial smile upon all the house, and warmed himself in the
sun of his own grandeur -- for he was "showing off," too.</p>
<p>There was only one thing wanting to make Mr. Walters' ecstasy complete, and that
was a chance to deliver a Bible-prize and exhibit a prodigy. Several pupils had
a few yellow tickets, but none had enough -- he had been around among the star
pupils inquiring. He would have given worlds, now, to have that German lad back
again with a sound mind.</p>
<p>And now at this moment, when hope was dead, Tom Sawyer came forward with nine
yellow tickets, nine red tickets, and ten blue ones, and demanded a Bible. This
was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. Walters was not expecting an application
from this source for the next ten years. But there was no getting around it --
here were the certified checks, and they were good for their face. Tom was
therefore elevated to a place with the Judge and the other elect, and the great
news was announced from head-quarters. It was the most stunning surprise of the
decade, and so profound was the sensation that it lifted the new hero up to the
judicial one's altitude, and the school had two marvels to gaze upon in place of
one. The boys were all eaten up with envy -- but those that suffered the
bitterest pangs were those who perceived too late that they themselves had
contributed to this hated splendor by trading tickets to Tom for the wealth he
had amassed in selling whitewashing privileges. These despised themselves, as
being the dupes of a wily fraud, a guileful snake in the grass.</p>
<p>The prize was delivered to Tom with as much effusion as the superintendent could
pump up under the circumstances; but it lacked somewhat of the true gush, for
the poor fellow's instinct taught him that there was a mystery here that could
not well bear the light, perhaps; it was simply preposterous that this boy had
warehoused two thousand sheaves of Scriptural wisdom on his premises -- a dozen
would strain his capacity, without a doubt.</p>
<p>Amy Lawrence was proud and glad, and she tried to make Tom see it in her face --
but he wouldn't look. She wondered; then she was just a grain troubled; next a
dim suspicion came and went -- came again; she watched; a furtive glance told
her worlds -- and then her heart broke, and she was jealous, and angry, and the
tears came and she hated everybody. Tom most of all (she thought).</p>
<p>Tom was introduced to the Judge; but his tongue was tied, his breath would hardly
come, his heart quaked -- partly because of the awful greatness of the man, but
mainly because he was her parent. He would have liked to fall down and worship
him, if it were in the dark. The Judge put his hand on Tom's head and called him
a fine little man, and asked him what his name was. The boy stammered, gasped,
and got it out:</p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Tom."</q></p>
<p><q who="Judge Thatcher" sex="Male" age="Adult">"Oh, no, not Tom -- it is --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Thomas."</q></p>
<p><q who="Judge Thatcher" sex="Male" age="Adult">"Ah, that's it. I thought there was more to it, maybe. That's very well. But
you've another one I daresay, and you'll tell it to me, won't you?"</q></p>
<p><q who="Mr. Walters" sex="Male" age="Adult">"Tell the gentleman your other name, Thomas,"</q> said Walters, <q who="Mr. Walters" sex="Male" age="Adult">"and say sir. You
mustn't forget your manners."</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"Thomas Sawyer -- sir."</q></p>
<p><q who="Judge Thatcher" sex="Male" age="Adult">"That's it! That's a good boy. Fine boy. Fine, manly little fellow. Two thousand
verses is a great many -- very, very great many. And you never can be sorry for
the trouble you took to learn them; for knowledge is worth more than anything
there is in the world; it's what makes great men and good men; you'll be a great
man and a good man yourself, some day, Thomas, and then you'll look back and
say, It's all owing to the precious Sunday-school privileges of my boyhood --
it's all owing to my dear teachers that taught me to learn -- it's all owing to
the good superintendent, who encouraged me, and watched over me, and gave me a
beautiful Bible -- a splendid elegant Bible -- to keep and have it all for my
own, always -- it's all owing to right bringing up! That is what you will say,
Thomas -- and you wouldn't take any money for those two thousand verses -- no
indeed you wouldn't. And now you wouldn't mind telling me and this lady some of
the things you've learned -- no, I know you wouldn't -- for we are proud of
little boys that learn. Now, no doubt you know the names of all the twelve
disciples. Won't you tell us the names of the first two that were appointed?"</q></p>
<p>Tom was tugging at a button-hole and looking sheepish. He blushed, now, and his
eyes fell. Mr. Walters' heart sank within him. He said to himself, it is not
possible that the boy can answer the simplest question -- why DID the Judge ask
him? Yet he felt obliged to speak up and say:</p>
<p><q who="Mr. Walters" sex="Male" age="Adult">"Answer the gentleman, Thomas -- don't be afraid."</q></p>
<p>Tom still hung fire.</p>
<p><q who="Unnamed" sex="Female" age="Adult">"Now I know you'll tell me,"</q> said the lady. <q who="Unnamed" sex="Female" age="Adult">"The names of the first two disciples
were --"</q></p>
<p><q who="Tom Sawyer" sex="Male" age="Child">"DAVID AND GOLIAH!"</q></p>
<p>Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.</p>
</div1>
<div1 type="Chapter" n="5" org="uniform" sample="complete" part="N">
<head>Chapter V</head>
<p>ABOUT half-past ten the cracked bell of the small church began to ring, and
presently the people began to gather for the morning sermon. The Sunday-school
children distributed themselves about the house and occupied pews with their
parents, so as to be under supervision. Aunt Polly came, and Tom and Sid and
Mary sat with her -- Tom being placed next the aisle, in order that he might be
as far away from the open window and the seductive outside summer scenes as
possible. The crowd filed up the aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who had
seen better days; the mayor and his wife -- for they had a mayor there, among
other unnecessaries; the justice of the peace; the widow Douglass, fair, smart,
and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and well-to-do, her hill mansion the
only palace in the town, and the most hospitable and much the most lavish in the
matter of festivities that St. Petersburg could boast; the bent and venerable
Major and Mrs. Ward; lawyer Riverson, the new notable from a distance; next the
belle of the village, followed by a troop of lawn-clad and ribbon-decked young
heart-breakers; then all the young clerks in town in a body -- for they had
stood in the vestibule sucking their cane-heads, a circling wall of oiled and
simpering admirers, till the last girl had run their gantlet; and last of all
came the Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful care of his mother as if
she were cut glass. He always brought his mother to church, and was the pride of
all the matrons. The boys all hated him, he was so good. And besides, he had
been "thrown up to them" so much. His white handkerchief was hanging out of his
pocket behind, as usual on Sundays -- accidentally. Tom had no handkerchief, and
he looked upon boys who had as snobs.</p>
<p>The congregation being fully assembled, now, the bell rang once more, to warn
laggards and stragglers, and then a solemn hush fell upon the church which was
only broken by the tittering and whispering of the choir in the gallery. The
choir always tittered and whispered all through service. There was once a church
choir that was not ill-bred, but I have forgotten where it was, now. It was a
great many years ago, and I can scarcely remember anything about it, but I think
it was in some foreign country.</p>
<p>The minister gave out the hymn, and read it through with a relish, in a peculiar
style which was much admired in that part of the country. His voice began on a
medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached a certain point, where it
bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost word and then plunged down as if from
a spring-board:</p>
<l part="N">Shall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow'ry BEDS of ease,</l>
<l part="N">Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' BLOOD y seas?</l>
<p>He was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church "sociables" he was always called
upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies would lift up their
hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps, and "wall" their eyes, and
shake their heads, as much as to say, "Words cannot express it; it is too
beautiful, TOO beautiful for this mortal earth."</p>
<p>After the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into a
bulletin-board, and read off "notices" of meetings and societies and things till
it seemed that the list would stretch out to the crack of doom -- a queer custom
which is still kept up in America, even in cities, away here in this age of
abundant newspapers. Often, the less there is to justify a traditional custom,
the harder it is to get rid of it.</p>
<p>And now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went into
details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the church; for
the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for the county; for
the State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of
the United States; for Congress; for the President; for the officers of the
Government; for poor sailors, tossed by stormy seas; for the oppressed millions
groaning under the heel of European monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such
as have the light and the good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to
hear withal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with a
supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace and favor,
and be as seed sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of
good. Amen.</p>
<p>There was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat down. The boy
whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer, he only endured it --
if he even did that much. He was restive all through it; he kept tally of the
details of the prayer, unconsciously -- for he was not listening, but he knew