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Sawyer; you know you're going to tell on me, and oh, what shall I do, what `
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shall I do! I'll be whipped, and I never was whipped in school." Then she `
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stamped her little foot and said: "BE so mean if you want to! I know something `
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that's going to happen. You just wait and you'll see! Hateful, hateful, `
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hateful!"--and she flung out of the house with a new explosion of crying. Tom `
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stood still, rather flustered by this onslaught. Presently he said to himself: `
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"What a curious kind of a fool a girl is! Never been licked in school! Shucks! `
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What's a licking! That's just like a girl--they're so thin-skinned and `
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chicken-hearted. Well, of course I ain't going to tell old Dobbins on this `
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little fool, because there's other ways of getting even on her, that ain't so `
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mean; but what of it? Old Dobbins will ask who it was tore his book. Nobody'll `
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answer. Then he'll do just the way he always does--ask first one and then `
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t'other, and when he comes to the right girl he'll know it, without any `
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telling. Girls' faces always tell on them. They ain't got any backbone. She'll `
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get licked. Well, it's a kind of a tight place for Becky Thatcher, because `
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there ain't any way out of it." Tom conned the thing a moment longer, and then `
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added: "All right, though; she'd like to see me in just such a fix--let her `
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sweat it out!" Tom joined the mob of skylarking scholars outside. In a few `
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moments the master arrived and school "took in." Tom did not feel a strong `
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interest in his studies. Every time he stole a glance at the girls' side of the `
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room Becky's face troubled him. Considering all things, he did not want to pity `
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her, and yet it was all he could do to help it. He could get up no exultation `
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that was really worthy the name. Presently the spelling-book discovery was `
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made, and Tom's mind was entirely full of his own matters for a while after `
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that. Becky roused up from her lethargy of distress and showed good interest in `
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the proceedings. She did not expect that Tom could get out of his trouble by `
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denying that he spilt the ink on the book himself; and she was right. The `
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denial only seemed to make the thing worse for Tom. Becky supposed she would be `
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glad of that, and she tried to believe she was glad of it, but she found she `
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was not certain. When the worst came to the worst, she had an impulse to get up `
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and tell on Alfred Temple, but she made an effort and forced herself to keep `
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still--because, said she to herself, "he'll tell about me tearing the picture `
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sure. I wouldn't say a word, not to save his life!" Tom took his whipping and `
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went back to his seat not at all broken-hearted, for he thought it was possible `
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that he had unknowingly upset the ink on the spelling-book himself, in some `
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skylarking bout--he had denied it for form's sake and because it was custom, `
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and had stuck to the denial from principle. A whole hour drifted by, the master `
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sat nodding in his throne, the air was drowsy with the hum of study. By and by, `
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Mr. Dobbins straightened himself up, yawned, then unlocked his desk, and `
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reached for his book, but seemed undecided whether to take it out or leave it. `
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Most of the pupils glanced up languidly, but there were two among them that `
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watched his movements with intent eyes. Mr. Dobbins fingered his book absently `
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for a while, then took it out and settled himself in his chair to read! Tom `
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shot a glance at Becky. He had seen a hunted and helpless rabbit look as she `
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did, with a gun levelled at its head. Instantly he forgot his quarrel with her. `
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Quick--something must be done! done in a flash, too! But the very imminence of `
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the emergency paralyzed his invention. Good!--he had an inspiration! He would `
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run and snatch the book, spring through the door and fly. But his resolution `
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shook for one little instant, and the chance was lost--the master opened the `
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volume. If Tom only had the wasted opportunity back again! Too late. There was `
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no help for Becky now, he said. The next moment the master faced the school. `
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Every eye sank under his gaze. There was that in it which smote even the `
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innocent with fear. There was silence while one might count ten --the master `
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was gathering his wrath. Then he spoke: "Who tore this book?" There was not a `
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sound. One could have heard a pin drop. The stillness continued; the master `
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searched face after face for signs of guilt. "Benjamin Rogers, did you tear `
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this book?" A denial. Another pause. "Joseph Harper, did you?" Another denial. `
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Tom's uneasiness grew more and more intense under the slow torture of these `
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proceedings. The master scanned the ranks of boys--considered a while, then `
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turned to the girls: "Amy Lawrence?" A shake of the head. "Gracie Miller?" The `
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same sign. "Susan Harper, did you do this?" Another negative. The next girl was `
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Becky Thatcher. Tom was trembling from head to foot with excitement and a sense `
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of the hopelessness of the situation. "Rebecca Thatcher" [Tom glanced at her `
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face--it was white with terror] --"did you tear--no, look me in the face" [her `
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hands rose in appeal] --"did you tear this book?" A thought shot like lightning `
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through Tom's brain. He sprang to his feet and shouted--"I done it!" The school `
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stared in perplexity at this incredible folly. Tom stood a moment, to gather `
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his dismembered faculties; and when he stepped forward to go to his punishment `
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the surprise, the gratitude, the adoration that shone upon him out of poor `
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Becky's eyes seemed pay enough for a hundred floggings. Inspired by the `
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splendor of his own act, he took without an outcry the most merciless flaying `
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that even Mr. Dobbins had ever administered; and also received with `
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indifference the added cruelty of a command to remain two hours after school `
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should be dismissed--for he knew who would wait for him outside till his `
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captivity was done, and not count the tedious time as loss, either. Tom went to `
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bed that night planning vengeance against Alfred Temple; for with shame and `
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repentance Becky had told him all, not forgetting her own treachery; but even `
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the longing for vengeance had to give way, soon, to pleasanter musings, and he `
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fell asleep at last with Becky's latest words lingering dreamily in his ear-- `
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"Tom, how COULD you be so noble!" CHAPTER XXI VACATION was approaching. The `
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schoolmaster, always severe, grew severer and more exacting than ever, for he `
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wanted the school to make a good showing on "Examination" day. His rod and his `
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ferule were seldom idle now--at least among the smaller pupils. Only the `
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biggest boys, and young ladies of eighteen and twenty, escaped lashing. Mr. `
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Dobbins' lashings were very vigorous ones, too; for although he carried, under `
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his wig, a perfectly bald and shiny head, he had only reached middle age, and `
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there was no sign of feebleness in his muscle. As the great day approached, all `
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the tyranny that was in him came to the surface; he seemed to take a vindictive `
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pleasure in punishing the least shortcomings. The consequence was, that the `
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smaller boys spent their days in terror and suffering and their nights in `
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plotting revenge. They threw away no opportunity to do the master a mischief. `
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But he kept ahead all the time. The retribution that followed every vengeful `
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success was so sweeping and majestic that the boys always retired from the `
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field badly worsted. At last they conspired together and hit upon a plan that `
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promised a dazzling victory. They swore in the sign-painter's boy, told him the `
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scheme, and asked his help. He had his own reasons for being delighted, for the `
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master boarded in his father's family and had given the boy ample cause to hate `
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him. The master's wife would go on a visit to the country in a few days, and `
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there would be nothing to interfere with the plan; the master always prepared `
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himself for great occasions by getting pretty well fuddled, and the `
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sign-painter's boy said that when the dominie had reached the proper condition `
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on Examination Evening he would "manage the thing" while he napped in his `
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chair; then he would have him awakened at the right time and hurried away to `
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school. In the fulness of time the interesting occasion arrived. At eight in `
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the evening the schoolhouse was brilliantly lighted, and adorned with wreaths `
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and festoons of foliage and flowers. The master sat throned in his great chair `
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upon a raised platform, with his blackboard behind him. He was looking `
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tolerably mellow. Three rows of benches on each side and six rows in front of `
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him were occupied by the dignitaries of the town and by the parents of the `
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pupils. To his left, back of the rows of citizens, was a spacious temporary `
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platform upon which were seated the scholars who were to take part in the `
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exercises of the evening; rows of small boys, washed and dressed to an `
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intolerable state of discomfort; rows of gawky big boys; snowbanks of girls and `
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young ladies clad in lawn and muslin and conspicuously conscious of their bare `
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arms, their grandmothers' ancient trinkets, their bits of pink and blue ribbon `
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and the flowers in their hair. All the rest of the house was filled with `
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non-participating scholars. The exercises began. A very little boy stood up and `
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sheepishly recited, "You'd scarce expect one of my age to speak in public on `
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the stage," etc.--accompanying himself with the painfully exact and spasmodic `
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gestures which a machine might have used--supposing the machine to be a trifle `
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out of order. But he got through safely, though cruelly scared, and got a fine `
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round of applause when he made his manufactured bow and retired. A little `
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shamefaced girl lisped, "Mary had a little lamb," etc., performed a `
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compassion-inspiring curtsy, got her meed of applause, and sat down flushed and `
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happy. Tom Sawyer stepped forward with conceited confidence and soared into the `
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unquenchable and indestructible "Give me liberty or give me death" speech, with `
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fine fury and frantic gesticulation, and broke down in the middle of it. A `
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ghastly stage-fright seized him, his legs quaked under him and he was like to `
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choke. True, he had the manifest sympathy of the house but he had the house's `
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silence, too, which was even worse than its sympathy. The master frowned, and `
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this completed the disaster. Tom struggled awhile and then retired, utterly `
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defeated. There was a weak attempt at applause, but it died early. "The Boy `
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Stood on the Burning Deck" followed; also "The Assyrian Came Down," and other `
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declamatory gems. Then there were reading exercises, and a spelling fight. The `
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meagre Latin class recited with honor. The prime feature of the evening was in `
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order, now--original "compositions" by the young ladies. Each in her turn `
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stepped forward to the edge of the platform, cleared her throat, held up her `
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manuscript (tied with dainty ribbon), and proceeded to read, with labored `
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attention to "expression" and punctuation. The themes were the same that had `
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been illuminated upon similar occasions by their mothers before them, their `
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grandmothers, and doubtless all their ancestors in the female line clear back `
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to the Crusades. "Friendship" was one; "Memories of Other Days"; "Religion in `
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History"; "Dream Land"; "The Advantages of Culture"; "Forms of Political `
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Government Compared and Contrasted"; "Melancholy"; "Filial Love"; "Heart `
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Longings," etc., etc. A prevalent feature in these compositions was a nursed `
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and petted melancholy; another was a wasteful and opulent gush of "fine `
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language"; another was a tendency to lug in by the ears particularly prized `
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words and phrases until they were worn entirely out; and a peculiarity that `
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conspicuously marked and marred them was the inveterate and intolerable sermon `
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that wagged its crippled tail at the end of each and every one of them. No `
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matter what the subject might be, a brain-racking effort was made to squirm it `
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into some aspect or other that the moral and religious mind could contemplate `
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with edification. The glaring insincerity of these sermons was not sufficient `
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to compass the banishment of the fashion from the schools, and it is not `
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sufficient to-day; it never will be sufficient while the world stands, perhaps. `
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There is no school in all our land where the young ladies do not feel obliged `
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to close their compositions with a sermon; and you will find that the sermon of `
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the most frivolous and the least religious girl in the school is always the `
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longest and the most relentlessly pious. But enough of this. Homely truth is `
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unpalatable. Let us return to the "Examination." The first composition that was `
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read was one entitled "Is this, then, Life?" Perhaps the reader can endure an `
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extract from it: "In the common walks of life, with what delightful emotions `
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does the youthful mind look forward to some anticipated scene of festivity! `
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Imagination is busy sketching rose-tinted pictures of joy. In fancy, the `
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voluptuous votary of fashion sees herself amid the festive throng, 'the `
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observed of all observers.' Her graceful form, arrayed in snowy robes, is `
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whirling through the mazes of the joyous dance; her eye is brightest, her step `
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is lightest in the gay assembly. "In such delicious fancies time quickly glides `
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by, and the welcome hour arrives for her entrance into the Elysian world, of `
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which she has had such bright dreams. How fairy-like does everything appear to `
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her enchanted vision! Each new scene is more charming than the last. But after `
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a while she finds that beneath this goodly exterior, all is vanity, the `
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flattery which once charmed her soul, now grates harshly upon her ear; the `
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ball-room has lost its charms; and with wasted health and imbittered heart, she `
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turns away with the conviction that earthly pleasures cannot satisfy the `
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longings of the soul!" And so forth and so on. There was a buzz of `
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gratification from time to time during the reading, accompanied by whispered `
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ejaculations of "How sweet!" "How eloquent!" "So true!" etc., and after the `
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thing had closed with a peculiarly afflicting sermon the applause was `
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enthusiastic. Then arose a slim, melancholy girl, whose face had the `
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"interesting" paleness that comes of pills and indigestion, and read a "poem." `
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Two stanzas of it will do: "A MISSOURI MAIDEN'S FAREWELL TO ALABAMA "Alabama, `
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good-bye! I love thee well! But yet for a while do I leave thee now! Sad, yes, `
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sad thoughts of thee my heart doth swell, And burning recollections throng my `
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brow! For I have wandered through thy flowery woods; Have roamed and read near `
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Tallapoosa's stream; Have listened to Tallassee's warring floods, And wooed on `
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Coosa's side Aurora's beam. "Yet shame I not to bear an o'er-full heart, Nor `
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blush to turn behind my tearful eyes; 'Tis from no stranger land I now must `
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part, 'Tis to no strangers left I yield these sighs. Welcome and home were mine `
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within this State, Whose vales I leave--whose spires fade fast from me And cold `
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must be mine eyes, and heart, and tete, When, dear Alabama! they turn cold on `
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thee!" There were very few there who knew what "tete" meant, but the poem was `
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very satisfactory, nevertheless. Next appeared a dark-complexioned, black-eyed, `
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black-haired young lady, who paused an impressive moment, assumed a tragic `
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expression, and began to read in a measured, solemn tone: "A VISION "Dark and `
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tempestuous was night. Around the throne on high not a single star quivered; `
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but the deep intonations of the heavy thunder constantly vibrated upon the ear; `
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whilst the terrific lightning revelled in angry mood through the cloudy `
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chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn the power exerted over its terror by the `
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illustrious Franklin! Even the boisterous winds unanimously came forth from `
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their mystic homes, and blustered about as if to enhance by their aid the `
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