, 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  sleighrunners-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 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.
   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:
   "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?"
   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.
   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.
   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
headquarters.  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.
   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.
   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).
   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:
   "Tom."
   "Oh, no, not Tom-it is-"
   "Thomas."
   "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?"
   "Tell  the  gentleman  your other name, Thomas," said Walters, "and say
sir. You mustn't forget your manners."
   "Thomas Sawyer-sir."
   "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?"
   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:
   "Answer the gentleman, Thomas-don't be afraid."
   Tom still hung fire.
   "Now I know you'll tell me," said the lady. "The names of the first two
disciples were-"
   "DAVID AND GOLIAH!"
   Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.


        Chapter V

   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.
   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.
   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:

   Shall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow'ry BEDS of ease,
   Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' BLOOD-y seas?

   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."
   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.
   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.
   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  the  ground of old, and the clergyman's regular
route  over it-and when a little trifle of new matter was interlarded, his
ear  detected it and his whole nature resented it; he considered additions
unfair,  and  scoundrelly. In the midst of the prayer a fly had lit on the
back  of the pew in front of him and tortured his spirit by calmly rubbing
its  hands together, embracing its head with its arms, and polishing it so
vigorously  that  it  seemed to almost part company with the body, and the
slender  thread of a neck was exposed to view; scraping its wings with its
hind  legs  and smoothing them to its body as if they had been coat-tails;
going  through  its  whole  toilet  as  tranquilly  as  if  it knew it was
perfectly  safe.  As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's hands itched to
grab  for  it  they  did  not dare-he believed his soul would be instantly
destroyed  if  he did such a thing while the prayer was going on. But with
the  closing  sentence  his hand began to curve and steal forward; and the
instant  the  "Amen"  was  out  the  fly  was  a prisoner of war. His aunt
detected the act and made him let it go.
   The minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through an
argument that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod-and yet
it  was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and brimstone and thinned
the predestined elect down to a company so small as to be hardly worth the
saving.  Tom  counted the pages of the sermon; after church he always knew
how  many pages there had been, but he seldom knew anything else about the
discourse. However, this time he was really interested for a little while.
The minister made a grand and moving picture of the assembling together of
the  world's hosts at the millennium when the lion and the lamb should lie
down  together  and  a  little child should lead them. But the pathos, the
lesson,  the  moral of the great spectacle were lost upon the boy; he only
thought  of  the  conspicuousness  of  the  principal character before the
on-looking  nations; his face lit with the thought, and he said to himself
that he wished he could be that child, if it was a tame lion.
   Now  he  lapsed  into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed.
Presently  he  bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out. It was a
large black beetle with formidable jaws-a "pinchbug," he called it. It was
in a percussion-cap box. The first thing the beetle did was to take him by
the  finger.  A  natural fillip followed, the beetle went floundering into
the  aisle  and  lit  on its back, and the hurt finger went into the boy's
mouth.  The  beetle  lay  there  working its helpless legs, unable to turn
over.  Tom  eyed  it, and longed for it; but it was safe out of his reach.
Other  people  uninterested  in the sermon found relief in the beetle, and
they eyed it too. Presently a vagrant poodle dog came idling along, sad at
heart,  lazy  with  the summer softness and the quiet, weary of captivity,
sighing  for  change.  He  spied  the beetle; the drooping tail lifted and
wagged.  He  surveyed the prize; walked around it; smelt at it from a safe
distance;  walked  around  it again; grew bolder, and took a closer smell;
then  lifted  his  lip  and made a gingerly snatch at it, just missing it;
made  another,  and another; began to enjoy the diversion; subsided to his
sTomach  with  the beetle between his paws, and continued his experiments;
grew  weary  at  last,  and  then  indifferent and absent-minded. His head
nodded, and little by little his chin descended and touched the enemy, who
seized  it.  There was a sharp yelp, a flirt of the poodle's head, and the
beetle  fell  a  couple  of yards away, and lit on its back once more. The
neighboring  spectators shook with a gentle inward joy, several faces went
behind  fans and handkerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy. The dog looked
foolish, and probably felt so; but there was resentment in his heart, too,
and  a  craving  for  revenge.  So  he went to the beetle and began a wary
attack  on  it again; jumping at it from every point of a circle, lighting
with  his  fore-paws  within  an  inch of the creature, making even closer
snatches  at it with his teeth, and jerking his head till his ears flapped
again.  But he grew tired once more, after a while; tried to amuse himself
with  a  fly  but  found  no relief; followed an ant around, with his nose
close  to  the  floor, and quickly wearied of that; yawned, sighed, forgot
the  beetle  entirely,  and  sat down on it. Then there was a wild yelp of
agony  and  the poodle went sailing up the aisle; the yelps continued, and
so  did  the dog; he crossed the house in front of the altar; he flew down
the  other  aisle;  he  crossed  before  the  doors;  he  clamored  up the
home-stretch;  his  anguish  grew with his progress, till presently he was
but  a  woolly  comet  moving in its orbit with the gleam and the speed of
light.  At  last  the frantic sufferer sheered from its course, and sprang
into  its  master's  lap;  he flung it out of the window, and the voice of
distress quickly thinned away and died in the distance.
   By  this  time  the  whole  church  was  red-faced and suffocating with
suppressed  laughter,  and  the  sermon had come to a dead standstill. The
discourse  was  resumed  presently,  but  it  went  lame  and halting, all
possibility  of  impressiveness  being  at  an  end;  for even the gravest
sentiments were constantly being received with a smothered burst of unholy
mirth, under cover of some remote pew-back, as if the poor parson had said
a   rarely  facetious  thing.  It  was  a  genuine  relief  to  the  whole
congregation when the ordeal was over and the benediction pronounced.
   Tom Sawyer went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that there was
some  satisfaction about divine service when there was a bit of variety in
it.  He  had  but  one marring thought; he was willing that the dog should
play  with  his  pinchbug,  but  he did not think it was upright in him to
carry it off.


        Chapter VI

   Monday  morning found Tom Sawyer miserable. Monday morning always found
him  so-because  it  began  another  week's  slow  suffering in school. He
generally  began  that day with wishing he had had no intervening holiday,
it made the going into captivity and fetters again so much more odious.
   Tom  lay  thinking.  Presently it occurred to him that he wished he was
sick;  then  he could stay home from school. Here was a vague possibility.
He  canvassed his system. No ailment was found, and he investigated again.
This  time  he  thought  he could detect colicky sympToms, and he began to
encourage  them  with  considerable  hope.  But they soon grew feeble, and
presently  died  wholly away. He reflected further. Suddenly he discovered
something.  One of his upper front teeth was loose. This was lucky; he was
about to begin to groan, as a "starter," as he called it, when it occurred
to  him that if he came into court with that argument, his aunt would pull
it  out,  and  that  would  hurt. So he thought he would hold the tooth in
reserve for the present, and seek further. Nothing offered for some little
time, and then he remembered hearing the doctor tell about a certain thing
that  laid  up a patient for two or three weeks and threatened to make him
lose  a  finger. So the boy eagerly drew his sore toe from under the sheet
and  held  it  up  for  inspection.  But now he did not know the necessary
sympToms.  However, it seemed well worth while to chance it, so he fell to
groaning with considerable spirit.
   But Sid slept on unconscious.
   Tom groaned louder, and fancied that he began to feel pain in the toe.
   No result from Sid.
   Tom  was  panting  with  his exertions by this time. He took a rest and
then swelled himself up and fetched a succession of admirable groans.
   Sid snored on.
   Tom  was  aggravated.  He  said, "Sid, Sid!" and shook him. This course
worked  well,  and  Tom  began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then
brought  himself  up on his elbow with a snort, and began to stare at Tom.
Tom went on groaning. Sid said:
   "Tom!  Say,  Tom!"  [No response.] "Here, Tom! Tom! What is the matter,
Tom?" And he shook him and looked in his face anxiously.
   Tom moaned out:
   "Oh, don't, Sid. Don't joggle me."
   "Why, what's the matter, Tom? I must call auntie."
   "No-never mind. It'll be over by and by, maybe. Don't call anybody."
   "But  I  must!  DON'T groan so, Tom, it's awful. How long you been this
way?"
   "Hours. Ouch! Oh, don't stir so, Sid, you'll kill me."
   "Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner ? Oh, Tom, DON'T! It makes my flesh
crawl to hear you. Tom, what is the matter?"
   "I forgive you everything, Sid. [Groan.] Everything you've ever done to
me. When I'm gone-"
   "Oh, Tom, you ain't dying, are you? Don't, Tom-oh, don't. Maybe-"
   "I forgive everybody, Sid. [Groan.] Tell 'em so, Sid. And Sid, you give
my  window-sash  and  my  cat with one eye to that new girl that's come to
town, and tell her-"
   But  Sid  had  snatched  his  clothes  and  gone.  Tom was suffering in
reality, now, so handsomely was his imagination working, and so his groans
had gathered quite a genuine tone.
   Sid flew down-stairs and said:
   "Oh, Aunt Polly, come! Tom's dying!"
   "Dying!"
   "Yes'm. Don't wait-come quick!"
   "Rubbage! I don't believe it!"
   But  she  fled up-stairs, nevertheless, with Sid and Mary at her heels.
And  her  face grew white, too, and her lip trembled. When she reached the
bedside she gasped out:
   "You, Tom! Tom, what's the matter with you?"
   "Oh, auntie, I'm-"
   "What's the matter with you-what is the matter with you, child?"
   "Oh, auntie, my sore toe's mortified!"
   The  old lady sank down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried a
little, then did both together. This restored her and she said:
   "Tom,  what  a  turn you did give me. Now you shut up that nonsense and
climb out of this."
   The  groans  ceased  and the pain vanished from the toe. The boy felt a
little foolish, and he said:
   "Aunt  Polly,  it  SEEMED  mortified,  and it hurt so I never minded my
tooth at all."
   "Your tooth, indeed! What's the matter with your tooth?"
   "One of them's loose, and it aches perfectly awful."
   "There,  there,  now, don't begin that groaning again. Open your mouth.
Well-your  tooth  IS  loose, but you're not going to die about that. Mary,
get me a silk thread, and a chunk of fire out of the kitchen."
   Tom said:
   "Oh,  please, auntie, don't pull it out. It don't hurt any more. I wish
I  may  never  stir if it does. Please don't, auntie. I don't want to stay
home from school."
   "Oh,  you  don't,  don't  you?  So all this row was because you thought
you'd  get to stay home from school and go a-fishing? Tom, Tom, I love you
so,  and you seem to try every way you can to break my old heart with your
outrageousness."  By  this time the dental instruments were ready. The old
lady  made  one end of the silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a loop and
tied  the  other  to  the  bedpost.  Then she seized the chunk of fire and
suddenly  thrust it almost into the boy's face. The tooth hung dangling by
the bedpost, now.
   But all trials bring their compensations. As Tom wended to school after
breakfast,  he  was  the  envy  of every boy he met because the gap in his
upper  row of teeth enabled him to expectorate in a new and admirable way.
He  gathered  quite  a following of lads interested in the exhibition; and
one  that  had  cut  his  finger  and had been a centre of fascination and
homage  up  to  this time, now found himself suddenly without an adherent,
and  shorn  of  his glory. His heart was heavy, and he said with a disdain
which he did not feel that it wasn't anything to spit like Tom Sawyer; but
another boy said, "Sour grapes!" and he wandered away a dismantled hero.
   Shortly  Tom  came upon the juvenile pariah of the village, Huckleberry
Finn,  son  of  the  town  drunkard.  Huckleberry  was cordially hated and
dreaded  by  all  the mothers of the town, because he was idle and lawless
and  vulgar  and  bad-and  because  all their children admired him so, and
delighted  in his forbidden society, and wished they dared to be like him.
Tom  was  like  the  rest  of  the  respectable  boys,  in  that he envied
Huckleberry  his  gaudy outcast condition, and was under strict orders not
to  play  with  him.  So  he  played  with him every time he got a chance.
Huckleberry  was always dressed in the cast-off clothes of full-grown men,
and  they  were in perennial bloom and fluttering with rags. His hat was a
vast  ruin  with a wide crescent lopped out of its brim; his coat, when he
wore  one,  hung nearly to his heels and had the rearward buttons far down
the  back;  but  one  suspender  supported  his  trousers; the seat of the
trousers bagged low and contained nothing, the fringed legs dragged in the
dirt when not rolled up.
   Huckleberry  came and went, at his own free will. He slept on doorsteps
in  fine  weather  and in empty hogsheads in wet; he did not have to go to
school or to church, or call any being master or obey anybody; he could go
fishing or swimming when and where he chose, and stay as long as it suited
him;  nobody  forbade him to fight; he could sit up as late as he pleased;
he  was always the first boy that went barefoot in the spring and the last
to  resume  leather  in  the  fall; he never had to wash, nor put on clean
clothes;  he  could  swear wonderfully. In a word, everything that goes to
make  life  precious  that  boy  had. So thought every harassed, hampered,
respectable boy in St. Petersburg.
   Tom hailed the romantic outcast:
   "Hello, Huckleberry!"
   "Hello yourself, and see how you like it."
   "What's that you got?"
   "Dead cat."
   "Lemme see him, Huck. My, he's pretty stiff. Where'd you get him ?"
   "Bought him off'n a boy."
   "What did you give?"
   "I give a blue ticket and a bladder that I got at the slaughter-house."
   "Where'd you get the blue ticket?"
   "Bought it off'n Ben Rogers two weeks ago for a hoop-stick."
   "Say-what is dead cats good for, Huck?"
   "Good for? Cure warts with."
   "No! Is that so? I know something that's better."
   "I bet you don't. What is it?"
   "Why, spunk-water."
   "Spunk-water! I wouldn't give a dern for spunkwater."
   "You wouldn't, wouldn't you? D'you ever try it?"
   "No, I hain't. But Bob Tanner did."
   "Who told you so!"
   "Why,  he  told  Jeff  Thatcher, and Jeff told Johnny Baker, and Johnny
told  Jim  Hollis, and Jim told Ben Rogers, and Ben told a nigger, and the
nigger told me. There now!"
   "Well,  what  of  it?  They'll all lie. Leastways all but the nigger. I
don't  know  HIM.  But I never see a nigger that WOULDN'T lie. Shucks! Now
you tell me how Bob Tanner done it, Huck."
   "Why,  he  took  and  dipped  his  hand  in  a  rotten  stump where the
rain-water was."
   "In the daytime?"
   "Certainly."
   "With his face to the stump?"
   "Yes. Least I reckon so."
   "Did he say anything?"
   "I don't reckon he did. I don't know."
   "Aha! Talk about trying to cure warts with spunkwater such a blame fool
way  as that! Why, that ain't a-going to do any good. You got to go all by
yourself, to the middle of the woods, where you know there's a spunk-water
stump,  and  just  as  it's midnight you back up against the stump and jam
your hand in and say:
   'Barley-corn, barley-corn, injun-meal shorts,
    Spunk-water, spunk-water, swaller these warts,'
   and  then  walk away quick, eleven steps, with your eyes shut, and then
turn around three times and walk home without speaking to anybody. Because
if you speak the charm's busted."
   "Well,  that  sounds like a good way; but that ain't the way Bob Tanner
done."
   "No,  sir,  you  can bet he didn't, becuz he's the wartiest boy in this
town;  and  he  wouldn't  have  a  wart  on him if he'd knowed how to work
spunkwater.  I've  took  off  thousands of warts off of my hands that way,
Huck.  I  play  with  frogs so much that I've always got considerable many
warts. Sometimes I take 'em off with a bean."
   "Yes, bean's good. I've done that."
   "Have you? What's your way?"
   "You take and split the bean, and cut the wart so as to get some blood,
and  then  you  put  the blood on one piece of the bean and take and dig a
hole and bury it 'bout midnight at the crossroads in the dark of the moon,
and  then  you burn up the rest of the bean. You see that piece that's got
the  blood  on it will keep drawing and drawing, trying to fetch the other
piece to it, and so that helps the blood to draw the wart, and pretty soon
off she comes."
   "Yes,  that's  it, Huck-that's it; though when you're burying it if you
say  'Down bean; off wart; come no more to bother me!' it's better. That's
the  way  Joe  Harper  does,  and  he's  been nearly to Coonville and most
everywheres. But say-how do you cure 'em with dead cats?"
   "Why,  you  take  your  cat and go and get in the graveyard 'long about
midnight  when  somebody  that  was  wicked has been buried; and when it's
midnight  a devil will come, or maybe two or three, but you can't see 'em,
you  can  only  hear  something like the wind, or maybe hear 'em talk; and
when  they're  taking  that  feller away, you heave your cat after 'em and
say,  'Devil  follow  corpse, cat follow devil, warts follow cat, I'm done
with ye!' That'll fetch ANY wart."
   "Sounds right. D'you ever try it, Huck?"
   "No, but old Mother Hopkins told me."
   "Well, I reckon it's so, then. Becuz they say she's a witch."
   "Say!  Why,  Tom,  I  KNOW she is. She witched pap. Pap says so his own
self. He come along one day, and he see she was a-witching him, so he took
up a rock, and if she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her. Well, that very night
he rolled off'n a shed wher' he was a layin drunk, and broke his arm."
   "Why, that's awful. How did he know she was a-witching him?"
   "Lord, pap can tell, easy. Pap says when they keep looking at you right
stiddy,  they're a-witching you. Specially if they mumble. Becuz when they
mumble they're saying the Lord's Prayer backards."
   "Say, Hucky, when you going to try the cat?"
   "To-night. I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to-night."
   "But they buried him Saturday. Didn't they get him Saturday night?"
   "Why, how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight?-and THEN
it's Sunday. Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I don't reckon."
   "I never thought of that. That's so. Lemme go with you?"
   "Of course-if y