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set about getting breakfast. After the meal they felt rusty, and stiff-jointed, `
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and a little homesick once more. Tom saw the signs, and fell to cheering up the `
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pirates as well as he could. But they cared nothing for marbles, or circus, or `
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swimming, or anything. He reminded them of the imposing secret, and raised a `
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ray of cheer. While it lasted, he got them interested in a new device. This was `
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to knock off being pirates, for a while, and be Indians for a change. They were `
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attracted by this idea; so it was not long before they were stripped, and `
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striped from head to heel with black mud, like so many zebras--all of them `
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chiefs, of course--and then they went tearing through the woods to attack an `
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English settlement. By and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and `
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darted upon each other from ambush with dreadful war-whoops, and killed and `
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scalped each other by thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently it was an `
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extremely satisfactory one. They assembled in camp toward supper-time, hungry `
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and happy; but now a difficulty arose--hostile Indians could not break the `
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bread of hospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple `
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impossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other process that `
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ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost wished they had remained `
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pirates. However, there was no other way; so with such show of cheerfulness as `
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they could muster they called for the pipe and took their whiff as it passed, `
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in due form. And behold, they were glad they had gone into savagery, for they `
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had gained something; they found that they could now smoke a little without `
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having to go and hunt for a lost knife; they did not get sick enough to be `
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seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to fool away this high promise `
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for lack of effort. No, they practised cautiously, after supper, with right `
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fair success, and so they spent a jubilant evening. They were prouder and `
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happier in their new acquirement than they would have been in the scalping and `
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skinning of the Six Nations. We will leave them to smoke and chatter and brag, `
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since we have no further use for them at present. CHAPTER XVII BUT there was no `
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hilarity in the little town that same tranquil Saturday afternoon. The Harpers, `
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and Aunt Polly's family, were being put into mourning, with great grief and `
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many tears. An unusual quiet possessed the village, although it was ordinarily `
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quiet enough, in all conscience. The villagers conducted their concerns with an `
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absent air, and talked little; but they sighed often. The Saturday holiday `
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seemed a burden to the children. They had no heart in their sports, and `
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gradually gave them up. In the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping `
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about the deserted schoolhouse yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found `
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nothing there to comfort her. She soliloquized: "Oh, if I only had a brass `
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andiron-knob again! But I haven't got anything now to remember him by." And she `
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choked back a little sob. Presently she stopped, and said to herself: "It was `
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right here. Oh, if it was to do over again, I wouldn't say that--I wouldn't say `
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it for the whole world. But he's gone now; I'll never, never, never see him any `
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more." This thought broke her down, and she wandered away, with tears rolling `
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down her cheeks. Then quite a group of boys and girls--playmates of Tom's and `
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Joe's--came by, and stood looking over the paling fence and talking in reverent `
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tones of how Tom did so-and-so the last time they saw him, and how Joe said `
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this and that small trifle (pregnant with awful prophecy, as they could easily `
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see now!)--and each speaker pointed out the exact spot where the lost lads `
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stood at the time, and then added something like "and I was a-standing just `
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so--just as I am now, and as if you was him--I was as close as that--and he `
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smiled, just this way--and then something seemed to go all over me, `
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like--awful, you know--and I never thought what it meant, of course, but I can `
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see now!" Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, `
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and many claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more or less `
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tampered with by the witness; and when it was ultimately decided who DID see `
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the departed last, and exchanged the last words with them, the lucky parties `
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took upon themselves a sort of sacred importance, and were gaped at and envied `
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by all the rest. One poor chap, who had no other grandeur to offer, said with `
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tolerably manifest pride in the remembrance: "Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me `
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once." But that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say that, `
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and so that cheapened the distinction too much. The group loitered away, still `
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recalling memories of the lost heroes, in awed voices. When the Sunday-school `
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hour was finished, the next morning, the bell began to toll, instead of ringing `
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in the usual way. It was a very still Sabbath, and the mournful sound seemed in `
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keeping with the musing hush that lay upon nature. The villagers began to `
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gather, loitering a moment in the vestibule to converse in whispers about the `
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sad event. But there was no whispering in the house; only the funereal rustling `
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of dresses as the women gathered to their seats disturbed the silence there. `
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None could remember when the little church had been so full before. There was `
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finally a waiting pause, an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly entered, `
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followed by Sid and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all in deep black, and `
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the whole congregation, the old minister as well, rose reverently and stood `
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until the mourners were seated in the front pew. There was another communing `
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silence, broken at intervals by muffled sobs, and then the minister spread his `
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hands abroad and prayed. A moving hymn was sung, and the text followed: "I am `
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the Resurrection and the Life." As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew `
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such pictures of the graces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost `
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lads that every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang `
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in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always before, `
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and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor boys. The `
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minister related many a touching incident in the lives of the departed, too, `
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which illustrated their sweet, generous natures, and the people could easily `
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see, now, how noble and beautiful those episodes were, and remembered with `
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grief that at the time they occurred they had seemed rank rascalities, well `
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deserving of the cowhide. The congregation became more and more moved, as the `
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pathetic tale went on, till at last the whole company broke down and joined the `
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weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the preacher himself giving way `
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to his feelings, and crying in the pulpit. There was a rustle in the gallery, `
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which nobody noticed; a moment later the church door creaked; the minister `
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raised his streaming eyes above his handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First `
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one and then another pair of eyes followed the minister's, and then almost with `
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one impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came `
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marching up the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of drooping `
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rags, sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in the unused gallery `
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listening to their own funeral sermon! Aunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw `
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themselves upon their restored ones, smothered them with kisses and poured out `
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thanksgivings, while poor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not knowing `
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exactly what to do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming eyes. He wavered, `
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and started to slink away, but Tom seized him and said: "Aunt Polly, it ain't `
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fair. Somebody's got to be glad to see Huck." "And so they shall. I'm glad to `
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see him, poor motherless thing!" And the loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished `
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upon him were the one thing capable of making him more uncomfortable than he `
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was before. Suddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice: "Praise God `
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from whom all blessings flow--SING!--and put your hearts in it!" And they did. `
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Old Hundred swelled up with a triumphant burst, and while it shook the rafters `
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Tom Sawyer the Pirate looked around upon the envying juveniles about him and `
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confessed in his heart that this was the proudest moment of his life. As the `
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"sold" congregation trooped out they said they would almost be willing to be `
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made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like that once more. Tom got `
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more cuffs and kisses that day--according to Aunt Polly's varying moods--than `
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he had earned before in a year; and he hardly knew which expressed the most `
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gratefulness to God and affection for himself. CHAPTER XVIII THAT was Tom's `
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great secret--the scheme to return home with his brother pirates and attend `
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their own funerals. They had paddled over to the Missouri shore on a log, at `
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dusk on Saturday, landing five or six miles below the village; they had slept `
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in the woods at the edge of the town till nearly daylight, and had then crept `
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through back lanes and alleys and finished their sleep in the gallery of the `
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church among a chaos of invalided benches. At breakfast, Monday morning, Aunt `
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Polly and Mary were very loving to Tom, and very attentive to his wants. There `
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was an unusual amount of talk. In the course of it Aunt Polly said: "Well, I `
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don't say it wasn't a fine joke, Tom, to keep everybody suffering 'most a week `
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so you boys had a good time, but it is a pity you could be so hard-hearted as `
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to let me suffer so. If you could come over on a log to go to your funeral, you `
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could have come over and give me a hint some way that you warn't dead, but only `
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run off." "Yes, you could have done that, Tom," said Mary; "and I believe you `
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would if you had thought of it." "Would you, Tom?" said Aunt Polly, her face `
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lighting wistfully. "Say, now, would you, if you'd thought of it?" "I--well, I `
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don't know. 'Twould 'a' spoiled everything." "Tom, I hoped you loved me that `
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much," said Aunt Polly, with a grieved tone that discomforted the boy. "It `
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would have been something if you'd cared enough to THINK of it, even if you `
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didn't DO it." "Now, auntie, that ain't any harm," pleaded Mary; "it's only `
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Tom's giddy way--he is always in such a rush that he never thinks of anything." `
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"More's the pity. Sid would have thought. And Sid would have come and DONE it, `
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too. Tom, you'll look back, some day, when it's too late, and wish you'd cared `
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a little more for me when it would have cost you so little." "Now, auntie, you `
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know I do care for you," said Tom. "I'd know it better if you acted more like `
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it." "I wish now I'd thought," said Tom, with a repentant tone; "but I dreamt `
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about you, anyway. That's something, ain't it?" "It ain't much--a cat does that `
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much--but it's better than nothing. What did you dream?" "Why, Wednesday night `
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I dreamt that you was sitting over there by the bed, and Sid was sitting by the `
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woodbox, and Mary next to him." "Well, so we did. So we always do. I'm glad `
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your dreams could take even that much trouble about us." "And I dreamt that Joe `
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Harper's mother was here." "Why, she was here! Did you dream any more?" "Oh, `
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lots. But it's so dim, now." "Well, try to recollect--can't you?" "Somehow it `
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seems to me that the wind--the wind blowed the--the--" "Try harder, Tom! The `
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wind did blow something. Come!" Tom pressed his fingers on his forehead an `
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anxious minute, and then said: "I've got it now! I've got it now! It blowed the `
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candle!" "Mercy on us! Go on, Tom--go on!" "And it seems to me that you said, `
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'Why, I believe that that door--'" "Go ON, Tom!" "Just let me study a `
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moment--just a moment. Oh, yes--you said you believed the door was open." "As `
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I'm sitting here, I did! Didn't I, Mary! Go on!" "And then--and then--well I `
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won't be certain, but it seems like as if you made Sid go and--and--" "Well? `
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Well? What did I make him do, Tom? What did I make him do?" "You made `
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him--you--Oh, you made him shut it." "Well, for the land's sake! I never heard `
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the beat of that in all my days! Don't tell ME there ain't anything in dreams, `
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any more. Sereny Harper shall know of this before I'm an hour older. I'd like `
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to see her get around THIS with her rubbage 'bout superstition. Go on, Tom!" `
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"Oh, it's all getting just as bright as day, now. Next you said I warn't BAD, `
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only mischeevous and harum-scarum, and not any more responsible than--than--I `
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think it was a colt, or something." "And so it was! Well, goodness gracious! Go `
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on, Tom!" "And then you began to cry." "So I did. So I did. Not the first time, `
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neither. And then--" "Then Mrs. Harper she began to cry, and said Joe was just `
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the same, and she wished she hadn't whipped him for taking cream when she'd `
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throwed it out her own self--" "Tom! The sperrit was upon you! You was a `
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prophesying--that's what you was doing! Land alive, go on, Tom!" "Then Sid he `
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said--he said--" "I don't think I said anything," said Sid. "Yes you did, Sid," `
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said Mary. "Shut your heads and let Tom go on! What did he say, Tom?" "He `
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said--I THINK he said he hoped I was better off where I was gone to, but if I'd `
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been better sometimes--" "THERE, d'you hear that! It was his very words!" "And `
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you shut him up sharp." "I lay I did! There must 'a' been an angel there. There `
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WAS an angel there, somewheres!" "And Mrs. Harper told about Joe scaring her `
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with a firecracker, and you told about Peter and the Painkiller--" "Just as `
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true as I live!" "And then there was a whole lot of talk 'bout dragging the `
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river for us, and 'bout having the funeral Sunday, and then you and old Miss `
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Harper hugged and cried, and she went." "It happened just so! It happened just `
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so, as sure as I'm a-sitting in these very tracks. Tom, you couldn't told it `
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more like if you'd 'a' seen it! And then what? Go on, Tom!" "Then I thought you `
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prayed for me--and I could see you and hear every word you said. And you went `
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to bed, and I was so sorry that I took and wrote on a piece of sycamore bark, `
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'We ain't dead--we are only off being pirates,' and put it on the table by the `
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candle; and then you looked so good, laying there asleep, that I thought I went `
`
and leaned over and kissed you on the lips." "Did you, Tom, DID you! I just `
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forgive you everything for that!" And she seized the boy in a crushing embrace `
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that made him feel like the guiltiest of villains. "It was very kind, even `
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though it was only a--dream," Sid soliloquized just audibly. "Shut up, Sid! A `
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body does just the same in a dream as he'd do if he was awake. Here's a big `
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Milum apple I've been saving for you, Tom, if you was ever found again--now go `
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'long to school. I'm thankful to the good God and Father of us all I've got you `
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back, that's long-suffering and merciful to them that believe on Him and keep `
`
His word, though goodness knows I'm unworthy of it, but if only the worthy ones `
`
got His blessings and had His hand to help them over the rough places, there's `
`
few enough would smile here or ever enter into His rest when the long night `
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comes. Go 'long Sid, Mary, Tom--take yourselves off--you've hendered me long `
`
enough." The children left for school, and the old lady to call on Mrs. Harper `
`
and vanquish her realism with Tom's marvellous dream. Sid had better judgment `
`
than to utter the thought that was in his mind as he left the house. It was `
`
this: "Pretty thin--as long a dream as that, without any mistakes in it!" What `
`
a hero Tom was become, now! He did not go skipping and prancing, but moved with `
`
a dignified swagger as became a pirate who felt that the public eye was on him. `
`
And indeed it was; he tried not to seem to see the looks or hear the remarks as `
`
he passed along, but they were food and drink to him. Smaller boys than himself `
`
flocked at his heels, as proud to be seen with him, and tolerated by him, as if `
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