Reading Help Adventures of Tom Sawyer Ch.XVI-XXXV
flocked at his heels, as proud to be seen with him, and tolerated by him, as if `
` he had been the drummer at the head of a procession or the elephant leading a `
` menagerie into town. Boys of his own size pretended not to know he had been `
` away at all; but they were consuming with envy, nevertheless. They would have `
` given anything to have that swarthy suntanned skin of his, and his glittering `
` notoriety; and Tom would not have parted with either for a circus. At school `
` the children made so much of him and of Joe, and delivered such eloquent `
` admiration from their eyes, that the two heroes were not long in becoming `
` insufferably "stuck-up." They began to tell their adventures to hungry `
` listeners--but they only began; it was not a thing likely to have an end, with `
` imaginations like theirs to furnish material. And finally, when they got out `
` their pipes and went serenely puffing around, the very summit of glory was `
` reached. Tom decided that he could be independent of Becky Thatcher now. Glory `
` was sufficient. He would live for glory. Now that he was distinguished, maybe `
` she would be wanting to "make up." Well, let her--she should see that he could `
` be as indifferent as some other people. Presently she arrived. Tom pretended `
` not to see her. He moved away and joined a group of boys and girls and began to `
` talk. Soon he observed that she was tripping gayly back and forth with flushed `
` face and dancing eyes, pretending to be busy chasing schoolmates, and screaming `
` with laughter when she made a capture; but he noticed that she always made her `
` captures in his vicinity, and that she seemed to cast a conscious eye in his `
` direction at such times, too. It gratified all the vicious vanity that was in `
` him; and so, instead of winning him, it only "set him up" the more and made him `
` the more diligent to avoid betraying that he knew she was about. Presently she `
` gave over skylarking, and moved irresolutely about, sighing once or twice and `
` glancing furtively and wistfully toward Tom. Then she observed that now Tom was `
` talking more particularly to Amy Lawrence than to any one else. She felt a `
` sharp pang and grew disturbed and uneasy at once. She tried to go away, but her `
` feet were treacherous, and carried her to the group instead. She said to a girl `
` almost at Tom's elbow--with sham vivacity: "Why, Mary Austin! you bad girl, why `
` didn't you come to Sunday-school?" "I did come--didn't you see me?" "Why, no! `
` Did you? Where did you sit?" "I was in Miss Peters' class, where I always go. I `
` saw YOU." "Did you? Why, it's funny I didn't see you. I wanted to tell you `
` about the picnic." "Oh, that's jolly. Who's going to give it?" "My ma's going `
` to let me have one." "Oh, goody; I hope she'll let ME come." "Well, she will. `
` The picnic's for me. She'll let anybody come that I want, and I want you." `
` "That's ever so nice. When is it going to be?" "By and by. Maybe about `
` vacation." "Oh, won't it be fun! You going to have all the girls and boys?" `
` "Yes, every one that's friends to me--or wants to be"; and she glanced ever so `
` furtively at Tom, but he talked right along to Amy Lawrence about the terrible `
` storm on the island, and how the lightning tore the great sycamore tree "all to `
` flinders" while he was "standing within three feet of it." "Oh, may I come?" `
` said Grace Miller. "Yes." "And me?" said Sally Rogers. "Yes." "And me, too?" `
` said Susy Harper. "And Joe?" "Yes." And so on, with clapping of joyful hands `
` till all the group had begged for invitations but Tom and Amy. Then Tom turned `
` coolly away, still talking, and took Amy with him. Becky's lips trembled and `
` the tears came to her eyes; she hid these signs with a forced gayety and went `
` on chattering, but the life had gone out of the picnic, now, and out of `
` everything else; she got away as soon as she could and hid herself and had what `
` her sex call "a good cry." Then she sat moody, with wounded pride, till the `
` bell rang. She roused up, now, with a vindictive cast in her eye, and gave her `
` plaited tails a shake and said she knew what SHE'D do. At recess Tom continued `
` his flirtation with Amy with jubilant self-satisfaction. And he kept drifting `
` about to find Becky and lacerate her with the performance. At last he spied `
` her, but there was a sudden falling of his mercury. She was sitting cosily on a `
` little bench behind the schoolhouse looking at a picture-book with Alfred `
` Temple--and so absorbed were they, and their heads so close together over the `
` book, that they did not seem to be conscious of anything in the world besides. `
` Jealousy ran red-hot through Tom's veins. He began to hate himself for throwing `
` away the chance Becky had offered for a reconciliation. He called himself a `
` fool, and all the hard names he could think of. He wanted to cry with vexation. `
` Amy chatted happily along, as they walked, for her heart was singing, but Tom's `
` tongue had lost its function. He did not hear what Amy was saying, and whenever `
` she paused expectantly he could only stammer an awkward assent, which was as `
` often misplaced as otherwise. He kept drifting to the rear of the schoolhouse, `
` again and again, to sear his eyeballs with the hateful spectacle there. He `
` could not help it. And it maddened him to see, as he thought he saw, that Becky `
` Thatcher never once suspected that he was even in the land of the living. But `
` she did see, nevertheless; and she knew she was winning her fight, too, and was `
` glad to see him suffer as she had suffered. Amy's happy prattle became `
` intolerable. Tom hinted at things he had to attend to; things that must be `
` done; and time was fleeting. But in vain--the girl chirped on. Tom thought, `
` "Oh, hang her, ain't I ever going to get rid of her?" At last he must be `
` attending to those things--and she said artlessly that she would be "around" `
` when school let out. And he hastened away, hating her for it. "Any other boy!" `
` Tom thought, grating his teeth. "Any boy in the whole town but that Saint Louis `
` smarty that thinks he dresses so fine and is aristocracy! Oh, all right, I `
` licked you the first day you ever saw this town, mister, and I'll lick you `
` again! You just wait till I catch you out! I'll just take and--" And he went `
` through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy --pummelling the air, and `
` kicking and gouging. "Oh, you do, do you? You holler 'nough, do you? Now, then, `
` let that learn you!" And so the imaginary flogging was finished to his `
` satisfaction. Tom fled home at noon. His conscience could not endure any more `
` of Amy's grateful happiness, and his jealousy could bear no more of the other `
` distress. Becky resumed her picture inspections with Alfred, but as the minutes `
` dragged along and no Tom came to suffer, her triumph began to cloud and she `
` lost interest; gravity and absent-mindedness followed, and then melancholy; two `
` or three times she pricked up her ear at a footstep, but it was a false hope; `
` no Tom came. At last she grew entirely miserable and wished she hadn't carried `
` it so far. When poor Alfred, seeing that he was losing her, he did not know `
` how, kept exclaiming: "Oh, here's a jolly one! look at this!" she lost patience `
` at last, and said, "Oh, don't bother me! I don't care for them!" and burst into `
` tears, and got up and walked away. Alfred dropped alongside and was going to `
` try to comfort her, but she said: "Go away and leave me alone, can't you! I `
` hate you!" So the boy halted, wondering what he could have done--for she had `
` said she would look at pictures all through the nooning--and she walked on, `
` crying. Then Alfred went musing into the deserted schoolhouse. He was `
` humiliated and angry. He easily guessed his way to the truth--the girl had `
` simply made a convenience of him to vent her spite upon Tom Sawyer. He was far `
` from hating Tom the less when this thought occurred to him. He wished there was `
` some way to get that boy into trouble without much risk to himself. Tom's `
` spelling-book fell under his eye. Here was his opportunity. He gratefully `
` opened to the lesson for the afternoon and poured ink upon the page. Becky, `
` glancing in at a window behind him at the moment, saw the act, and moved on, `
` without discovering herself. She started homeward, now, intending to find Tom `
` and tell him; Tom would be thankful and their troubles would be healed. Before `
` she was half way home, however, she had changed her mind. The thought of Tom's `
` treatment of her when she was talking about her picnic came scorching back and `
` filled her with shame. She resolved to let him get whipped on the damaged `
` spelling-book's account, and to hate him forever, into the bargain. CHAPTER XIX `
` TOM arrived at home in a dreary mood, and the first thing his aunt said to him `
` showed him that he had brought his sorrows to an unpromising market: "Tom, I've `
` a notion to skin you alive!" "Auntie, what have I done?" "Well, you've done `
` enough. Here I go over to Sereny Harper, like an old softy, expecting I'm going `
` to make her believe all that rubbage about that dream, when lo and behold you `
` she'd found out from Joe that you was over here and heard all the talk we had `
` that night. Tom, I don't know what is to become of a boy that will act like `
` that. It makes me feel so bad to think you could let me go to Sereny Harper and `
` make such a fool of myself and never say a word." This was a new aspect of the `
` thing. His smartness of the morning had seemed to Tom a good joke before, and `
` very ingenious. It merely looked mean and shabby now. He hung his head and `
` could not think of anything to say for a moment. Then he said: "Auntie, I wish `
` I hadn't done it--but I didn't think." "Oh, child, you never think. You never `
` think of anything but your own selfishness. You could think to come all the way `
` over here from Jackson's Island in the night to laugh at our troubles, and you `
` could think to fool me with a lie about a dream; but you couldn't ever think to `
` pity us and save us from sorrow." "Auntie, I know now it was mean, but I didn't `
` mean to be mean. I didn't, honest. And besides, I didn't come over here to `
` laugh at you that night." "What did you come for, then?" "It was to tell you `
` not to be uneasy about us, because we hadn't got drownded." "Tom, Tom, I would `
` be the thankfullest soul in this world if I could believe you ever had as good `
` a thought as that, but you know you never did--and I know it, Tom." "Indeed and `
` 'deed I did, auntie--I wish I may never stir if I didn't." "Oh, Tom, don't `
` lie--don't do it. It only makes things a hundred times worse." "It ain't a lie, `
` auntie; it's the truth. I wanted to keep you from grieving--that was all that `
` made me come." "I'd give the whole world to believe that--it would cover up a `
` power of sins, Tom. I'd 'most be glad you'd run off and acted so bad. But it `
` ain't reasonable; because, why didn't you tell me, child?" "Why, you see, when `
` you got to talking about the funeral, I just got all full of the idea of our `
` coming and hiding in the church, and I couldn't somehow bear to spoil it. So I `
` just put the bark back in my pocket and kept mum." "What bark?" "The bark I had `
` wrote on to tell you we'd gone pirating. I wish, now, you'd waked up when I `
` kissed you--I do, honest." The hard lines in his aunt's face relaxed and a `
` sudden tenderness dawned in her eyes. "DID you kiss me, Tom?" "Why, yes, I `
` did." "Are you sure you did, Tom?" "Why, yes, I did, auntie--certain sure." `
` "What did you kiss me for, Tom?" "Because I loved you so, and you laid there `
` moaning and I was so sorry." The words sounded like truth. The old lady could `
` not hide a tremor in her voice when she said: "Kiss me again, Tom!--and be off `
` with you to school, now, and don't bother me any more." The moment he was gone, `
` she ran to a closet and got out the ruin of a jacket which Tom had gone `
` pirating in. Then she stopped, with it in her hand, and said to herself: "No, I `
` don't dare. Poor boy, I reckon he's lied about it--but it's a blessed, blessed `
` lie, there's such a comfort come from it. I hope the Lord--I KNOW the Lord will `
` forgive him, because it was such goodheartedness in him to tell it. But I don't `
` want to find out it's a lie. I won't look." She put the jacket away, and stood `
` by musing a minute. Twice she put out her hand to take the garment again, and `
` twice she refrained. Once more she ventured, and this time she fortified `
` herself with the thought: "It's a good lie--it's a good lie--I won't let it `
` grieve me." So she sought the jacket pocket. A moment later she was reading `
` Tom's piece of bark through flowing tears and saying: "I could forgive the boy, `
` now, if he'd committed a million sins!" CHAPTER XX THERE was something about `
` Aunt Polly's manner, when she kissed Tom, that swept away his low spirits and `
` made him lighthearted and happy again. He started to school and had the luck of `
` coming upon Becky Thatcher at the head of Meadow Lane. His mood always `
` determined his manner. Without a moment's hesitation he ran to her and said: "I `
` acted mighty mean to-day, Becky, and I'm so sorry. I won't ever, ever do that `
` way again, as long as ever I live--please make up, won't you?" The girl stopped `
` and looked him scornfully in the face: "I'll thank you to keep yourself TO `
` yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer. I'll never speak to you again." She tossed her `
` head and passed on. Tom was so stunned that he had not even presence of mind `
` enough to say "Who cares, Miss Smarty?" until the right time to say it had gone `
` by. So he said nothing. But he was in a fine rage, nevertheless. He moped into `
` the schoolyard wishing she were a boy, and imagining how he would trounce her `
` if she were. He presently encountered her and delivered a stinging remark as he `
` passed. She hurled one in return, and the angry breach was complete. It seemed `
` to Becky, in her hot resentment, that she could hardly wait for school to "take `
` in," she was so impatient to see Tom flogged for the injured spelling-book. If `
` she had had any lingering notion of exposing Alfred Temple, Tom's offensive `
` fling had driven it entirely away. Poor girl, she did not know how fast she was `
` nearing trouble herself. The master, Mr. Dobbins, had reached middle age with `
` an unsatisfied ambition. The darling of his desires was, to be a doctor, but `
` poverty had decreed that he should be nothing higher than a village `
` schoolmaster. Every day he took a mysterious book out of his desk and absorbed `
` himself in it at times when no classes were reciting. He kept that book under `
` lock and key. There was not an urchin in school but was perishing to have a `
` glimpse of it, but the chance never came. Every boy and girl had a theory about `
` the nature of that book; but no two theories were alike, and there was no way `
` of getting at the facts in the case. Now, as Becky was passing by the desk, `
` which stood near the door, she noticed that the key was in the lock! It was a `
` precious moment. She glanced around; found herself alone, and the next instant `
` she had the book in her hands. The title-page--Professor Somebody's `
` ANATOMY--carried no information to her mind; so she began to turn the leaves. `
` She came at once upon a handsomely engraved and colored frontispiece--a human `
` figure, stark naked. At that moment a shadow fell on the page and Tom Sawyer `
` stepped in at the door and caught a glimpse of the picture. Becky snatched at `
` the book to close it, and had the hard luck to tear the pictured page half down `
` the middle. She thrust the volume into the desk, turned the key, and burst out `
` crying with shame and vexation. "Tom Sawyer, you are just as mean as you can `
` be, to sneak up on a person and look at what they're looking at." "How could I `
` know you was looking at anything?" "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom `
` Sawyer; you know you're going to tell on me, and oh, what shall I do, what `
`
` he had been the drummer at the head of a procession or the elephant leading a `
` menagerie into town. Boys of his own size pretended not to know he had been `
` away at all; but they were consuming with envy, nevertheless. They would have `
` given anything to have that swarthy suntanned skin of his, and his glittering `
` notoriety; and Tom would not have parted with either for a circus. At school `
` the children made so much of him and of Joe, and delivered such eloquent `
` admiration from their eyes, that the two heroes were not long in becoming `
` insufferably "stuck-up." They began to tell their adventures to hungry `
` listeners--but they only began; it was not a thing likely to have an end, with `
` imaginations like theirs to furnish material. And finally, when they got out `
` their pipes and went serenely puffing around, the very summit of glory was `
` reached. Tom decided that he could be independent of Becky Thatcher now. Glory `
` was sufficient. He would live for glory. Now that he was distinguished, maybe `
` she would be wanting to "make up." Well, let her--she should see that he could `
` be as indifferent as some other people. Presently she arrived. Tom pretended `
` not to see her. He moved away and joined a group of boys and girls and began to `
` talk. Soon he observed that she was tripping gayly back and forth with flushed `
` face and dancing eyes, pretending to be busy chasing schoolmates, and screaming `
` with laughter when she made a capture; but he noticed that she always made her `
` captures in his vicinity, and that she seemed to cast a conscious eye in his `
` direction at such times, too. It gratified all the vicious vanity that was in `
` him; and so, instead of winning him, it only "set him up" the more and made him `
` the more diligent to avoid betraying that he knew she was about. Presently she `
` gave over skylarking, and moved irresolutely about, sighing once or twice and `
` glancing furtively and wistfully toward Tom. Then she observed that now Tom was `
` talking more particularly to Amy Lawrence than to any one else. She felt a `
` sharp pang and grew disturbed and uneasy at once. She tried to go away, but her `
` feet were treacherous, and carried her to the group instead. She said to a girl `
` almost at Tom's elbow--with sham vivacity: "Why, Mary Austin! you bad girl, why `
` didn't you come to Sunday-school?" "I did come--didn't you see me?" "Why, no! `
` Did you? Where did you sit?" "I was in Miss Peters' class, where I always go. I `
` saw YOU." "Did you? Why, it's funny I didn't see you. I wanted to tell you `
` about the picnic." "Oh, that's jolly. Who's going to give it?" "My ma's going `
` to let me have one." "Oh, goody; I hope she'll let ME come." "Well, she will. `
` The picnic's for me. She'll let anybody come that I want, and I want you." `
` "That's ever so nice. When is it going to be?" "By and by. Maybe about `
` vacation." "Oh, won't it be fun! You going to have all the girls and boys?" `
` "Yes, every one that's friends to me--or wants to be"; and she glanced ever so `
` furtively at Tom, but he talked right along to Amy Lawrence about the terrible `
` storm on the island, and how the lightning tore the great sycamore tree "all to `
` flinders" while he was "standing within three feet of it." "Oh, may I come?" `
` said Grace Miller. "Yes." "And me?" said Sally Rogers. "Yes." "And me, too?" `
` said Susy Harper. "And Joe?" "Yes." And so on, with clapping of joyful hands `
` till all the group had begged for invitations but Tom and Amy. Then Tom turned `
` coolly away, still talking, and took Amy with him. Becky's lips trembled and `
` the tears came to her eyes; she hid these signs with a forced gayety and went `
` on chattering, but the life had gone out of the picnic, now, and out of `
` everything else; she got away as soon as she could and hid herself and had what `
` her sex call "a good cry." Then she sat moody, with wounded pride, till the `
` bell rang. She roused up, now, with a vindictive cast in her eye, and gave her `
` plaited tails a shake and said she knew what SHE'D do. At recess Tom continued `
` his flirtation with Amy with jubilant self-satisfaction. And he kept drifting `
` about to find Becky and lacerate her with the performance. At last he spied `
` her, but there was a sudden falling of his mercury. She was sitting cosily on a `
` little bench behind the schoolhouse looking at a picture-book with Alfred `
` Temple--and so absorbed were they, and their heads so close together over the `
` book, that they did not seem to be conscious of anything in the world besides. `
` Jealousy ran red-hot through Tom's veins. He began to hate himself for throwing `
` away the chance Becky had offered for a reconciliation. He called himself a `
` fool, and all the hard names he could think of. He wanted to cry with vexation. `
` Amy chatted happily along, as they walked, for her heart was singing, but Tom's `
` tongue had lost its function. He did not hear what Amy was saying, and whenever `
` she paused expectantly he could only stammer an awkward assent, which was as `
` often misplaced as otherwise. He kept drifting to the rear of the schoolhouse, `
` again and again, to sear his eyeballs with the hateful spectacle there. He `
` could not help it. And it maddened him to see, as he thought he saw, that Becky `
` Thatcher never once suspected that he was even in the land of the living. But `
` she did see, nevertheless; and she knew she was winning her fight, too, and was `
` glad to see him suffer as she had suffered. Amy's happy prattle became `
` intolerable. Tom hinted at things he had to attend to; things that must be `
` done; and time was fleeting. But in vain--the girl chirped on. Tom thought, `
` "Oh, hang her, ain't I ever going to get rid of her?" At last he must be `
` attending to those things--and she said artlessly that she would be "around" `
` when school let out. And he hastened away, hating her for it. "Any other boy!" `
` Tom thought, grating his teeth. "Any boy in the whole town but that Saint Louis `
` smarty that thinks he dresses so fine and is aristocracy! Oh, all right, I `
` licked you the first day you ever saw this town, mister, and I'll lick you `
` again! You just wait till I catch you out! I'll just take and--" And he went `
` through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy --pummelling the air, and `
` kicking and gouging. "Oh, you do, do you? You holler 'nough, do you? Now, then, `
` let that learn you!" And so the imaginary flogging was finished to his `
` satisfaction. Tom fled home at noon. His conscience could not endure any more `
` of Amy's grateful happiness, and his jealousy could bear no more of the other `
` distress. Becky resumed her picture inspections with Alfred, but as the minutes `
` dragged along and no Tom came to suffer, her triumph began to cloud and she `
` lost interest; gravity and absent-mindedness followed, and then melancholy; two `
` or three times she pricked up her ear at a footstep, but it was a false hope; `
` no Tom came. At last she grew entirely miserable and wished she hadn't carried `
` it so far. When poor Alfred, seeing that he was losing her, he did not know `
` how, kept exclaiming: "Oh, here's a jolly one! look at this!" she lost patience `
` at last, and said, "Oh, don't bother me! I don't care for them!" and burst into `
` tears, and got up and walked away. Alfred dropped alongside and was going to `
` try to comfort her, but she said: "Go away and leave me alone, can't you! I `
` hate you!" So the boy halted, wondering what he could have done--for she had `
` said she would look at pictures all through the nooning--and she walked on, `
` crying. Then Alfred went musing into the deserted schoolhouse. He was `
` humiliated and angry. He easily guessed his way to the truth--the girl had `
` simply made a convenience of him to vent her spite upon Tom Sawyer. He was far `
` from hating Tom the less when this thought occurred to him. He wished there was `
` some way to get that boy into trouble without much risk to himself. Tom's `
` spelling-book fell under his eye. Here was his opportunity. He gratefully `
` opened to the lesson for the afternoon and poured ink upon the page. Becky, `
` glancing in at a window behind him at the moment, saw the act, and moved on, `
` without discovering herself. She started homeward, now, intending to find Tom `
` and tell him; Tom would be thankful and their troubles would be healed. Before `
` she was half way home, however, she had changed her mind. The thought of Tom's `
` treatment of her when she was talking about her picnic came scorching back and `
` filled her with shame. She resolved to let him get whipped on the damaged `
` spelling-book's account, and to hate him forever, into the bargain. CHAPTER XIX `
` TOM arrived at home in a dreary mood, and the first thing his aunt said to him `
` showed him that he had brought his sorrows to an unpromising market: "Tom, I've `
` a notion to skin you alive!" "Auntie, what have I done?" "Well, you've done `
` enough. Here I go over to Sereny Harper, like an old softy, expecting I'm going `
` to make her believe all that rubbage about that dream, when lo and behold you `
` she'd found out from Joe that you was over here and heard all the talk we had `
` that night. Tom, I don't know what is to become of a boy that will act like `
` that. It makes me feel so bad to think you could let me go to Sereny Harper and `
` make such a fool of myself and never say a word." This was a new aspect of the `
` thing. His smartness of the morning had seemed to Tom a good joke before, and `
` very ingenious. It merely looked mean and shabby now. He hung his head and `
` could not think of anything to say for a moment. Then he said: "Auntie, I wish `
` I hadn't done it--but I didn't think." "Oh, child, you never think. You never `
` think of anything but your own selfishness. You could think to come all the way `
` over here from Jackson's Island in the night to laugh at our troubles, and you `
` could think to fool me with a lie about a dream; but you couldn't ever think to `
` pity us and save us from sorrow." "Auntie, I know now it was mean, but I didn't `
` mean to be mean. I didn't, honest. And besides, I didn't come over here to `
` laugh at you that night." "What did you come for, then?" "It was to tell you `
` not to be uneasy about us, because we hadn't got drownded." "Tom, Tom, I would `
` be the thankfullest soul in this world if I could believe you ever had as good `
` a thought as that, but you know you never did--and I know it, Tom." "Indeed and `
` 'deed I did, auntie--I wish I may never stir if I didn't." "Oh, Tom, don't `
` lie--don't do it. It only makes things a hundred times worse." "It ain't a lie, `
` auntie; it's the truth. I wanted to keep you from grieving--that was all that `
` made me come." "I'd give the whole world to believe that--it would cover up a `
` power of sins, Tom. I'd 'most be glad you'd run off and acted so bad. But it `
` ain't reasonable; because, why didn't you tell me, child?" "Why, you see, when `
` you got to talking about the funeral, I just got all full of the idea of our `
` coming and hiding in the church, and I couldn't somehow bear to spoil it. So I `
` just put the bark back in my pocket and kept mum." "What bark?" "The bark I had `
` wrote on to tell you we'd gone pirating. I wish, now, you'd waked up when I `
` kissed you--I do, honest." The hard lines in his aunt's face relaxed and a `
` sudden tenderness dawned in her eyes. "DID you kiss me, Tom?" "Why, yes, I `
` did." "Are you sure you did, Tom?" "Why, yes, I did, auntie--certain sure." `
` "What did you kiss me for, Tom?" "Because I loved you so, and you laid there `
` moaning and I was so sorry." The words sounded like truth. The old lady could `
` not hide a tremor in her voice when she said: "Kiss me again, Tom!--and be off `
` with you to school, now, and don't bother me any more." The moment he was gone, `
` she ran to a closet and got out the ruin of a jacket which Tom had gone `
` pirating in. Then she stopped, with it in her hand, and said to herself: "No, I `
` don't dare. Poor boy, I reckon he's lied about it--but it's a blessed, blessed `
` lie, there's such a comfort come from it. I hope the Lord--I KNOW the Lord will `
` forgive him, because it was such goodheartedness in him to tell it. But I don't `
` want to find out it's a lie. I won't look." She put the jacket away, and stood `
` by musing a minute. Twice she put out her hand to take the garment again, and `
` twice she refrained. Once more she ventured, and this time she fortified `
` herself with the thought: "It's a good lie--it's a good lie--I won't let it `
` grieve me." So she sought the jacket pocket. A moment later she was reading `
` Tom's piece of bark through flowing tears and saying: "I could forgive the boy, `
` now, if he'd committed a million sins!" CHAPTER XX THERE was something about `
` Aunt Polly's manner, when she kissed Tom, that swept away his low spirits and `
` made him lighthearted and happy again. He started to school and had the luck of `
` coming upon Becky Thatcher at the head of Meadow Lane. His mood always `
` determined his manner. Without a moment's hesitation he ran to her and said: "I `
` acted mighty mean to-day, Becky, and I'm so sorry. I won't ever, ever do that `
` way again, as long as ever I live--please make up, won't you?" The girl stopped `
` and looked him scornfully in the face: "I'll thank you to keep yourself TO `
` yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer. I'll never speak to you again." She tossed her `
` head and passed on. Tom was so stunned that he had not even presence of mind `
` enough to say "Who cares, Miss Smarty?" until the right time to say it had gone `
` by. So he said nothing. But he was in a fine rage, nevertheless. He moped into `
` the schoolyard wishing she were a boy, and imagining how he would trounce her `
` if she were. He presently encountered her and delivered a stinging remark as he `
` passed. She hurled one in return, and the angry breach was complete. It seemed `
` to Becky, in her hot resentment, that she could hardly wait for school to "take `
` in," she was so impatient to see Tom flogged for the injured spelling-book. If `
` she had had any lingering notion of exposing Alfred Temple, Tom's offensive `
` fling had driven it entirely away. Poor girl, she did not know how fast she was `
` nearing trouble herself. The master, Mr. Dobbins, had reached middle age with `
` an unsatisfied ambition. The darling of his desires was, to be a doctor, but `
` poverty had decreed that he should be nothing higher than a village `
` schoolmaster. Every day he took a mysterious book out of his desk and absorbed `
` himself in it at times when no classes were reciting. He kept that book under `
` lock and key. There was not an urchin in school but was perishing to have a `
` glimpse of it, but the chance never came. Every boy and girl had a theory about `
` the nature of that book; but no two theories were alike, and there was no way `
` of getting at the facts in the case. Now, as Becky was passing by the desk, `
` which stood near the door, she noticed that the key was in the lock! It was a `
` precious moment. She glanced around; found herself alone, and the next instant `
` she had the book in her hands. The title-page--Professor Somebody's `
` ANATOMY--carried no information to her mind; so she began to turn the leaves. `
` She came at once upon a handsomely engraved and colored frontispiece--a human `
` figure, stark naked. At that moment a shadow fell on the page and Tom Sawyer `
` stepped in at the door and caught a glimpse of the picture. Becky snatched at `
` the book to close it, and had the hard luck to tear the pictured page half down `
` the middle. She thrust the volume into the desk, turned the key, and burst out `
` crying with shame and vexation. "Tom Sawyer, you are just as mean as you can `
` be, to sneak up on a person and look at what they're looking at." "How could I `
` know you was looking at anything?" "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom `
` Sawyer; you know you're going to tell on me, and oh, what shall I do, what `
`