Reading Help Adventures of Tom Sawyer Ch.XVI-XXXV
is. We couldn't hear them here." Becky grew apprehensive. "I wonder how long `
` we've been down here, Tom? We better start back." "Yes, I reckon we better. `
` P'raps we better." "Can you find the way, Tom? It's all a mixed-up crookedness `
` to me." "I reckon I could find it--but then the bats. If they put our candles `
` out it will be an awful fix. Let's try some other way, so as not to go through `
` there." "Well. But I hope we won't get lost. It would be so awful!" and the `
` girl shuddered at the thought of the dreadful possibilities. They started `
` through a corridor, and traversed it in silence a long way, glancing at each `
` new opening, to see if there was anything familiar about the look of it; but `
` they were all strange. Every time Tom made an examination, Becky would watch `
` his face for an encouraging sign, and he would say cheerily: "Oh, it's all `
` right. This ain't the one, but we'll come to it right away!" But he felt less `
` and less hopeful with each failure, and presently began to turn off into `
` diverging avenues at sheer random, in desperate hope of finding the one that `
` was wanted. He still said it was "all right," but there was such a leaden dread `
` at his heart that the words had lost their ring and sounded just as if he had `
` said, "All is lost!" Becky clung to his side in an anguish of fear, and tried `
` hard to keep back the tears, but they would come. At last she said: "Oh, Tom, `
` never mind the bats, let's go back that way! We seem to get worse and worse off `
` all the time." "Listen!" said he. Profound silence; silence so deep that even `
` their breathings were conspicuous in the hush. Tom shouted. The call went `
` echoing down the empty aisles and died out in the distance in a faint sound `
` that resembled a ripple of mocking laughter. "Oh, don't do it again, Tom, it is `
` too horrid," said Becky. "It is horrid, but I better, Becky; they might hear `
` us, you know," and he shouted again. The "might" was even a chillier horror `
` than the ghostly laughter, it so confessed a perishing hope. The children stood `
` still and listened; but there was no result. Tom turned upon the back track at `
` once, and hurried his steps. It was but a little while before a certain `
` indecision in his manner revealed another fearful fact to Becky--he could not `
` find his way back! "Oh, Tom, you didn't make any marks!" "Becky, I was such a `
` fool! Such a fool! I never thought we might want to come back! No--I can't find `
` the way. It's all mixed up." "Tom, Tom, we're lost! we're lost! We never can `
` get out of this awful place! Oh, why DID we ever leave the others!" She sank to `
` the ground and burst into such a frenzy of crying that Tom was appalled with `
` the idea that she might die, or lose her reason. He sat down by her and put his `
` arms around her; she buried her face in his bosom, she clung to him, she poured `
` out her terrors, her unavailing regrets, and the far echoes turned them all to `
` jeering laughter. Tom begged her to pluck up hope again, and she said she could `
` not. He fell to blaming and abusing himself for getting her into this miserable `
` situation; this had a better effect. She said she would try to hope again, she `
` would get up and follow wherever he might lead if only he would not talk like `
` that any more. For he was no more to blame than she, she said. So they moved on `
` again--aimlessly--simply at random--all they could do was to move, keep moving. `
` For a little while, hope made a show of reviving--not with any reason to back `
` it, but only because it is its nature to revive when the spring has not been `
` taken out of it by age and familiarity with failure. By-and-by Tom took Becky's `
` candle and blew it out. This economy meant so much! Words were not needed. `
` Becky understood, and her hope died again. She knew that Tom had a whole candle `
` and three or four pieces in his pockets--yet he must economize. By-and-by, `
` fatigue began to assert its claims; the children tried to pay attention, for it `
` was dreadful to think of sitting down when time was grown to be so precious, `
` moving, in some direction, in any direction, was at least progress and might `
` bear fruit; but to sit down was to invite death and shorten its pursuit. At `
` last Becky's frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat down. Tom rested `
` with her, and they talked of home, and the friends there, and the comfortable `
` beds and, above all, the light! Becky cried, and Tom tried to think of some way `
` of comforting her, but all his encouragements were grown threadbare with use, `
` and sounded like sarcasms. Fatigue bore so heavily upon Becky that she drowsed `
` off to sleep. Tom was grateful. He sat looking into her drawn face and saw it `
` grow smooth and natural under the influence of pleasant dreams; and by-and-by a `
` smile dawned and rested there. The peaceful face reflected somewhat of peace `
` and healing into his own spirit, and his thoughts wandered away to bygone times `
` and dreamy memories. While he was deep in his musings, Becky woke up with a `
` breezy little laugh--but it was stricken dead upon her lips, and a groan `
` followed it. "Oh, how COULD I sleep! I wish I never, never had waked! No! No, I `
` don't, Tom! Don't look so! I won't say it again." "I'm glad you've slept, `
` Becky; you'll feel rested, now, and we'll find the way out." "We can try, Tom; `
` but I've seen such a beautiful country in my dream. I reckon we are going `
` there." "Maybe not, maybe not. Cheer up, Becky, and let's go on trying." They `
` rose up and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They tried to estimate `
` how long they had been in the cave, but all they knew was that it seemed days `
` and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not be, for their candles were `
` not gone yet. A long time after this--they could not tell how long--Tom said `
` they must go softly and listen for dripping water--they must find a spring. `
` They found one presently, and Tom said it was time to rest again. Both were `
` cruelly tired, yet Becky said she thought she could go a little farther. She `
` was surprised to hear Tom dissent. She could not understand it. They sat down, `
` and Tom fastened his candle to the wall in front of them with some clay. `
` Thought was soon busy; nothing was said for some time. Then Becky broke the `
` silence: "Tom, I am so hungry!" Tom took something out of his pocket. "Do you `
` remember this?" said he. Becky almost smiled. "It's our wedding-cake, Tom." `
` "Yes--I wish it was as big as a barrel, for it's all we've got." "I saved it `
` from the picnic for us to dream on, Tom, the way grown-up people do with `
` wedding-cake--but it'll be our--" She dropped the sentence where it was. Tom `
` divided the cake and Becky ate with good appetite, while Tom nibbled at his `
` moiety. There was abundance of cold water to finish the feast with. By-and-by `
` Becky suggested that they move on again. Tom was silent a moment. Then he said: `
` "Becky, can you bear it if I tell you something?" Becky's face paled, but she `
` thought she could. "Well, then, Becky, we must stay here, where there's water `
` to drink. That little piece is our last candle!" Becky gave loose to tears and `
` wailings. Tom did what he could to comfort her, but with little effect. At `
` length Becky said: "Tom!" "Well, Becky?" "They'll miss us and hunt for us!" `
` "Yes, they will! Certainly they will!" "Maybe they're hunting for us now, Tom." `
` "Why, I reckon maybe they are. I hope they are." "When would they miss us, `
` Tom?" "When they get back to the boat, I reckon." "Tom, it might be dark `
` then--would they notice we hadn't come?" "I don't know. But anyway, your mother `
` would miss you as soon as they got home." A frightened look in Becky's face `
` brought Tom to his senses and he saw that he had made a blunder. Becky was not `
` to have gone home that night! The children became silent and thoughtful. In a `
` moment a new burst of grief from Becky showed Tom that the thing in his mind `
` had struck hers also--that the Sabbath morning might be half spent before Mrs. `
` Thatcher discovered that Becky was not at Mrs. Harper's. The children fastened `
` their eyes upon their bit of candle and watched it melt slowly and pitilessly `
` away; saw the half inch of wick stand alone at last; saw the feeble flame rise `
` and fall, climb the thin column of smoke, linger at its top a moment, and `
` then--the horror of utter darkness reigned! How long afterward it was that `
` Becky came to a slow consciousness that she was crying in Tom's arms, neither `
` could tell. All that they knew was, that after what seemed a mighty stretch of `
` time, both awoke out of a dead stupor of sleep and resumed their miseries once `
` more. Tom said it might be Sunday, now--maybe Monday. He tried to get Becky to `
` talk, but her sorrows were too oppressive, all her hopes were gone. Tom said `
` that they must have been missed long ago, and no doubt the search was going on. `
` He would shout and maybe some one would come. He tried it; but in the darkness `
` the distant echoes sounded so hideously that he tried it no more. The hours `
` wasted away, and hunger came to torment the captives again. A portion of Tom's `
` half of the cake was left; they divided and ate it. But they seemed hungrier `
` than before. The poor morsel of food only whetted desire. By-and-by Tom said: `
` "SH! Did you hear that?" Both held their breath and listened. There was a sound `
` like the faintest, far-off shout. Instantly Tom answered it, and leading Becky `
` by the hand, started groping down the corridor in its direction. Presently he `
` listened again; again the sound was heard, and apparently a little nearer. `
` "It's them!" said Tom; "they're coming! Come along, Becky--we're all right `
` now!" The joy of the prisoners was almost overwhelming. Their speed was slow, `
` however, because pitfalls were somewhat common, and had to be guarded against. `
` They shortly came to one and had to stop. It might be three feet deep, it might `
` be a hundred--there was no passing it at any rate. Tom got down on his breast `
` and reached as far down as he could. No bottom. They must stay there and wait `
` until the searchers came. They listened; evidently the distant shoutings were `
` growing more distant! a moment or two more and they had gone altogether. The `
` heart-sinking misery of it! Tom whooped until he was hoarse, but it was of no `
` use. He talked hopefully to Becky; but an age of anxious waiting passed and no `
` sounds came again. The children groped their way back to the spring. The weary `
` time dragged on; they slept again, and awoke famished and woe-stricken. Tom `
` believed it must be Tuesday by this time. Now an idea struck him. There were `
` some side passages near at hand. It would be better to explore some of these `
` than bear the weight of the heavy time in idleness. He took a kite-line from `
` his pocket, tied it to a projection, and he and Becky started, Tom in the lead, `
` unwinding the line as he groped along. At the end of twenty steps the corridor `
` ended in a "jumping-off place." Tom got down on his knees and felt below, and `
` then as far around the corner as he could reach with his hands conveniently; he `
` made an effort to stretch yet a little farther to the right, and at that `
` moment, not twenty yards away, a human hand, holding a candle, appeared from `
` behind a rock! Tom lifted up a glorious shout, and instantly that hand was `
` followed by the body it belonged to--Injun Joe's! Tom was paralyzed; he could `
` not move. He was vastly gratified the next moment, to see the "Spaniard" take `
` to his heels and get himself out of sight. Tom wondered that Joe had not `
` recognized his voice and come over and killed him for testifying in court. But `
` the echoes must have disguised the voice. Without doubt, that was it, he `
` reasoned. Tom's fright weakened every muscle in his body. He said to himself `
` that if he had strength enough to get back to the spring he would stay there, `
` and nothing should tempt him to run the risk of meeting Injun Joe again. He was `
` careful to keep from Becky what it was he had seen. He told her he had only `
` shouted "for luck." But hunger and wretchedness rise superior to fears in the `
` long run. Another tedious wait at the spring and another long sleep brought `
` changes. The children awoke tortured with a raging hunger. Tom believed that it `
` must be Wednesday or Thursday or even Friday or Saturday, now, and that the `
` search had been given over. He proposed to explore another passage. He felt `
` willing to risk Injun Joe and all other terrors. But Becky was very weak. She `
` had sunk into a dreary apathy and would not be roused. She said she would wait, `
` now, where she was, and die--it would not be long. She told Tom to go with the `
` kite-line and explore if he chose; but she implored him to come back every `
` little while and speak to her; and she made him promise that when the awful `
` time came, he would stay by her and hold her hand until all was over. Tom `
` kissed her, with a choking sensation in his throat, and made a show of being `
` confident of finding the searchers or an escape from the cave; then he took the `
` kite-line in his hand and went groping down one of the passages on his hands `
` and knees, distressed with hunger and sick with bodings of coming doom. CHAPTER `
` XXXII TUESDAY afternoon came, and waned to the twilight. The village of St. `
` Petersburg still mourned. The lost children had not been found. Public prayers `
` had been offered up for them, and many and many a private prayer that had the `
` petitioner's whole heart in it; but still no good news came from the cave. The `
` majority of the searchers had given up the quest and gone back to their daily `
` avocations, saying that it was plain the children could never be found. Mrs. `
` Thatcher was very ill, and a great part of the time delirious. People said it `
` was heartbreaking to hear her call her child, and raise her head and listen a `
` whole minute at a time, then lay it wearily down again with a moan. Aunt Polly `
` had drooped into a settled melancholy, and her gray hair had grown almost `
` white. The village went to its rest on Tuesday night, sad and forlorn. Away in `
` the middle of the night a wild peal burst from the village bells, and in a `
` moment the streets were swarming with frantic half-clad people, who shouted, `
` "Turn out! turn out! they're found! they're found!" Tin pans and horns were `
` added to the din, the population massed itself and moved toward the river, met `
` the children coming in an open carriage drawn by shouting citizens, thronged `
` around it, joined its homeward march, and swept magnificently up the main `
` street roaring huzzah after huzzah! The village was illuminated; nobody went to `
` bed again; it was the greatest night the little town had ever seen. During the `
` first half-hour a procession of villagers filed through Judge Thatcher's house, `
` seized the saved ones and kissed them, squeezed Mrs. Thatcher's hand, tried to `
` speak but couldn't--and drifted out raining tears all over the place. Aunt `
` Polly's happiness was complete, and Mrs. Thatcher's nearly so. It would be `
` complete, however, as soon as the messenger dispatched with the great news to `
` the cave should get the word to her husband. Tom lay upon a sofa with an eager `
` auditory about him and told the history of the wonderful adventure, putting in `
` many striking additions to adorn it withal; and closed with a description of `
` how he left Becky and went on an exploring expedition; how he followed two `
` avenues as far as his kite-line would reach; how he followed a third to the `
` fullest stretch of the kite-line, and was about to turn back when he glimpsed a `
` far-off speck that looked like daylight; dropped the line and groped toward it, `
` pushed his head and shoulders through a small hole, and saw the broad `
` Mississippi rolling by! And if it had only happened to be night he would not `
` have seen that speck of daylight and would not have explored that passage any `
`
` we've been down here, Tom? We better start back." "Yes, I reckon we better. `
` P'raps we better." "Can you find the way, Tom? It's all a mixed-up crookedness `
` to me." "I reckon I could find it--but then the bats. If they put our candles `
` out it will be an awful fix. Let's try some other way, so as not to go through `
` there." "Well. But I hope we won't get lost. It would be so awful!" and the `
` girl shuddered at the thought of the dreadful possibilities. They started `
` through a corridor, and traversed it in silence a long way, glancing at each `
` new opening, to see if there was anything familiar about the look of it; but `
` they were all strange. Every time Tom made an examination, Becky would watch `
` his face for an encouraging sign, and he would say cheerily: "Oh, it's all `
` right. This ain't the one, but we'll come to it right away!" But he felt less `
` and less hopeful with each failure, and presently began to turn off into `
` diverging avenues at sheer random, in desperate hope of finding the one that `
` was wanted. He still said it was "all right," but there was such a leaden dread `
` at his heart that the words had lost their ring and sounded just as if he had `
` said, "All is lost!" Becky clung to his side in an anguish of fear, and tried `
` hard to keep back the tears, but they would come. At last she said: "Oh, Tom, `
` never mind the bats, let's go back that way! We seem to get worse and worse off `
` all the time." "Listen!" said he. Profound silence; silence so deep that even `
` their breathings were conspicuous in the hush. Tom shouted. The call went `
` echoing down the empty aisles and died out in the distance in a faint sound `
` that resembled a ripple of mocking laughter. "Oh, don't do it again, Tom, it is `
` too horrid," said Becky. "It is horrid, but I better, Becky; they might hear `
` us, you know," and he shouted again. The "might" was even a chillier horror `
` than the ghostly laughter, it so confessed a perishing hope. The children stood `
` still and listened; but there was no result. Tom turned upon the back track at `
` once, and hurried his steps. It was but a little while before a certain `
` indecision in his manner revealed another fearful fact to Becky--he could not `
` find his way back! "Oh, Tom, you didn't make any marks!" "Becky, I was such a `
` fool! Such a fool! I never thought we might want to come back! No--I can't find `
` the way. It's all mixed up." "Tom, Tom, we're lost! we're lost! We never can `
` get out of this awful place! Oh, why DID we ever leave the others!" She sank to `
` the ground and burst into such a frenzy of crying that Tom was appalled with `
` the idea that she might die, or lose her reason. He sat down by her and put his `
` arms around her; she buried her face in his bosom, she clung to him, she poured `
` out her terrors, her unavailing regrets, and the far echoes turned them all to `
` jeering laughter. Tom begged her to pluck up hope again, and she said she could `
` not. He fell to blaming and abusing himself for getting her into this miserable `
` situation; this had a better effect. She said she would try to hope again, she `
` would get up and follow wherever he might lead if only he would not talk like `
` that any more. For he was no more to blame than she, she said. So they moved on `
` again--aimlessly--simply at random--all they could do was to move, keep moving. `
` For a little while, hope made a show of reviving--not with any reason to back `
` it, but only because it is its nature to revive when the spring has not been `
` taken out of it by age and familiarity with failure. By-and-by Tom took Becky's `
` candle and blew it out. This economy meant so much! Words were not needed. `
` Becky understood, and her hope died again. She knew that Tom had a whole candle `
` and three or four pieces in his pockets--yet he must economize. By-and-by, `
` fatigue began to assert its claims; the children tried to pay attention, for it `
` was dreadful to think of sitting down when time was grown to be so precious, `
` moving, in some direction, in any direction, was at least progress and might `
` bear fruit; but to sit down was to invite death and shorten its pursuit. At `
` last Becky's frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat down. Tom rested `
` with her, and they talked of home, and the friends there, and the comfortable `
` beds and, above all, the light! Becky cried, and Tom tried to think of some way `
` of comforting her, but all his encouragements were grown threadbare with use, `
` and sounded like sarcasms. Fatigue bore so heavily upon Becky that she drowsed `
` off to sleep. Tom was grateful. He sat looking into her drawn face and saw it `
` grow smooth and natural under the influence of pleasant dreams; and by-and-by a `
` smile dawned and rested there. The peaceful face reflected somewhat of peace `
` and healing into his own spirit, and his thoughts wandered away to bygone times `
` and dreamy memories. While he was deep in his musings, Becky woke up with a `
` breezy little laugh--but it was stricken dead upon her lips, and a groan `
` followed it. "Oh, how COULD I sleep! I wish I never, never had waked! No! No, I `
` don't, Tom! Don't look so! I won't say it again." "I'm glad you've slept, `
` Becky; you'll feel rested, now, and we'll find the way out." "We can try, Tom; `
` but I've seen such a beautiful country in my dream. I reckon we are going `
` there." "Maybe not, maybe not. Cheer up, Becky, and let's go on trying." They `
` rose up and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They tried to estimate `
` how long they had been in the cave, but all they knew was that it seemed days `
` and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not be, for their candles were `
` not gone yet. A long time after this--they could not tell how long--Tom said `
` they must go softly and listen for dripping water--they must find a spring. `
` They found one presently, and Tom said it was time to rest again. Both were `
` cruelly tired, yet Becky said she thought she could go a little farther. She `
` was surprised to hear Tom dissent. She could not understand it. They sat down, `
` and Tom fastened his candle to the wall in front of them with some clay. `
` Thought was soon busy; nothing was said for some time. Then Becky broke the `
` silence: "Tom, I am so hungry!" Tom took something out of his pocket. "Do you `
` remember this?" said he. Becky almost smiled. "It's our wedding-cake, Tom." `
` "Yes--I wish it was as big as a barrel, for it's all we've got." "I saved it `
` from the picnic for us to dream on, Tom, the way grown-up people do with `
` wedding-cake--but it'll be our--" She dropped the sentence where it was. Tom `
` divided the cake and Becky ate with good appetite, while Tom nibbled at his `
` moiety. There was abundance of cold water to finish the feast with. By-and-by `
` Becky suggested that they move on again. Tom was silent a moment. Then he said: `
` "Becky, can you bear it if I tell you something?" Becky's face paled, but she `
` thought she could. "Well, then, Becky, we must stay here, where there's water `
` to drink. That little piece is our last candle!" Becky gave loose to tears and `
` wailings. Tom did what he could to comfort her, but with little effect. At `
` length Becky said: "Tom!" "Well, Becky?" "They'll miss us and hunt for us!" `
` "Yes, they will! Certainly they will!" "Maybe they're hunting for us now, Tom." `
` "Why, I reckon maybe they are. I hope they are." "When would they miss us, `
` Tom?" "When they get back to the boat, I reckon." "Tom, it might be dark `
` then--would they notice we hadn't come?" "I don't know. But anyway, your mother `
` would miss you as soon as they got home." A frightened look in Becky's face `
` brought Tom to his senses and he saw that he had made a blunder. Becky was not `
` to have gone home that night! The children became silent and thoughtful. In a `
` moment a new burst of grief from Becky showed Tom that the thing in his mind `
` had struck hers also--that the Sabbath morning might be half spent before Mrs. `
` Thatcher discovered that Becky was not at Mrs. Harper's. The children fastened `
` their eyes upon their bit of candle and watched it melt slowly and pitilessly `
` away; saw the half inch of wick stand alone at last; saw the feeble flame rise `
` and fall, climb the thin column of smoke, linger at its top a moment, and `
` then--the horror of utter darkness reigned! How long afterward it was that `
` Becky came to a slow consciousness that she was crying in Tom's arms, neither `
` could tell. All that they knew was, that after what seemed a mighty stretch of `
` time, both awoke out of a dead stupor of sleep and resumed their miseries once `
` more. Tom said it might be Sunday, now--maybe Monday. He tried to get Becky to `
` talk, but her sorrows were too oppressive, all her hopes were gone. Tom said `
` that they must have been missed long ago, and no doubt the search was going on. `
` He would shout and maybe some one would come. He tried it; but in the darkness `
` the distant echoes sounded so hideously that he tried it no more. The hours `
` wasted away, and hunger came to torment the captives again. A portion of Tom's `
` half of the cake was left; they divided and ate it. But they seemed hungrier `
` than before. The poor morsel of food only whetted desire. By-and-by Tom said: `
` "SH! Did you hear that?" Both held their breath and listened. There was a sound `
` like the faintest, far-off shout. Instantly Tom answered it, and leading Becky `
` by the hand, started groping down the corridor in its direction. Presently he `
` listened again; again the sound was heard, and apparently a little nearer. `
` "It's them!" said Tom; "they're coming! Come along, Becky--we're all right `
` now!" The joy of the prisoners was almost overwhelming. Their speed was slow, `
` however, because pitfalls were somewhat common, and had to be guarded against. `
` They shortly came to one and had to stop. It might be three feet deep, it might `
` be a hundred--there was no passing it at any rate. Tom got down on his breast `
` and reached as far down as he could. No bottom. They must stay there and wait `
` until the searchers came. They listened; evidently the distant shoutings were `
` growing more distant! a moment or two more and they had gone altogether. The `
` heart-sinking misery of it! Tom whooped until he was hoarse, but it was of no `
` use. He talked hopefully to Becky; but an age of anxious waiting passed and no `
` sounds came again. The children groped their way back to the spring. The weary `
` time dragged on; they slept again, and awoke famished and woe-stricken. Tom `
` believed it must be Tuesday by this time. Now an idea struck him. There were `
` some side passages near at hand. It would be better to explore some of these `
` than bear the weight of the heavy time in idleness. He took a kite-line from `
` his pocket, tied it to a projection, and he and Becky started, Tom in the lead, `
` unwinding the line as he groped along. At the end of twenty steps the corridor `
` ended in a "jumping-off place." Tom got down on his knees and felt below, and `
` then as far around the corner as he could reach with his hands conveniently; he `
` made an effort to stretch yet a little farther to the right, and at that `
` moment, not twenty yards away, a human hand, holding a candle, appeared from `
` behind a rock! Tom lifted up a glorious shout, and instantly that hand was `
` followed by the body it belonged to--Injun Joe's! Tom was paralyzed; he could `
` not move. He was vastly gratified the next moment, to see the "Spaniard" take `
` to his heels and get himself out of sight. Tom wondered that Joe had not `
` recognized his voice and come over and killed him for testifying in court. But `
` the echoes must have disguised the voice. Without doubt, that was it, he `
` reasoned. Tom's fright weakened every muscle in his body. He said to himself `
` that if he had strength enough to get back to the spring he would stay there, `
` and nothing should tempt him to run the risk of meeting Injun Joe again. He was `
` careful to keep from Becky what it was he had seen. He told her he had only `
` shouted "for luck." But hunger and wretchedness rise superior to fears in the `
` long run. Another tedious wait at the spring and another long sleep brought `
` changes. The children awoke tortured with a raging hunger. Tom believed that it `
` must be Wednesday or Thursday or even Friday or Saturday, now, and that the `
` search had been given over. He proposed to explore another passage. He felt `
` willing to risk Injun Joe and all other terrors. But Becky was very weak. She `
` had sunk into a dreary apathy and would not be roused. She said she would wait, `
` now, where she was, and die--it would not be long. She told Tom to go with the `
` kite-line and explore if he chose; but she implored him to come back every `
` little while and speak to her; and she made him promise that when the awful `
` time came, he would stay by her and hold her hand until all was over. Tom `
` kissed her, with a choking sensation in his throat, and made a show of being `
` confident of finding the searchers or an escape from the cave; then he took the `
` kite-line in his hand and went groping down one of the passages on his hands `
` and knees, distressed with hunger and sick with bodings of coming doom. CHAPTER `
` XXXII TUESDAY afternoon came, and waned to the twilight. The village of St. `
` Petersburg still mourned. The lost children had not been found. Public prayers `
` had been offered up for them, and many and many a private prayer that had the `
` petitioner's whole heart in it; but still no good news came from the cave. The `
` majority of the searchers had given up the quest and gone back to their daily `
` avocations, saying that it was plain the children could never be found. Mrs. `
` Thatcher was very ill, and a great part of the time delirious. People said it `
` was heartbreaking to hear her call her child, and raise her head and listen a `
` whole minute at a time, then lay it wearily down again with a moan. Aunt Polly `
` had drooped into a settled melancholy, and her gray hair had grown almost `
` white. The village went to its rest on Tuesday night, sad and forlorn. Away in `
` the middle of the night a wild peal burst from the village bells, and in a `
` moment the streets were swarming with frantic half-clad people, who shouted, `
` "Turn out! turn out! they're found! they're found!" Tin pans and horns were `
` added to the din, the population massed itself and moved toward the river, met `
` the children coming in an open carriage drawn by shouting citizens, thronged `
` around it, joined its homeward march, and swept magnificently up the main `
` street roaring huzzah after huzzah! The village was illuminated; nobody went to `
` bed again; it was the greatest night the little town had ever seen. During the `
` first half-hour a procession of villagers filed through Judge Thatcher's house, `
` seized the saved ones and kissed them, squeezed Mrs. Thatcher's hand, tried to `
` speak but couldn't--and drifted out raining tears all over the place. Aunt `
` Polly's happiness was complete, and Mrs. Thatcher's nearly so. It would be `
` complete, however, as soon as the messenger dispatched with the great news to `
` the cave should get the word to her husband. Tom lay upon a sofa with an eager `
` auditory about him and told the history of the wonderful adventure, putting in `
` many striking additions to adorn it withal; and closed with a description of `
` how he left Becky and went on an exploring expedition; how he followed two `
` avenues as far as his kite-line would reach; how he followed a third to the `
` fullest stretch of the kite-line, and was about to turn back when he glimpsed a `
` far-off speck that looked like daylight; dropped the line and groped toward it, `
` pushed his head and shoulders through a small hole, and saw the broad `
` Mississippi rolling by! And if it had only happened to be night he would not `
` have seen that speck of daylight and would not have explored that passage any `
`