The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Part 2. Page 8

stepped over the house; but the girl was nothypercritical; she was satisfied with the monster, and whispered:

  "It's a beautiful man--now make me coming along."

  Tom drew an hour-glass with a full moon and straw limbs to it andarmed the spreading fingers with a portentous fan. The girl said:

  "It's ever so nice--I wish I could draw."

  "It's easy," whispered Tom, "I'll learn you."

  "Oh, will you? When?"

  "At noon. Do you go home to dinner?"

  "I'll stay if you will."

  "Good--that's a whack. What's your name?"

  "Becky Thatcher. What's yours? Oh, I know. It's Thomas Sawyer."

  "That's the name they lick me by. I'm Tom when I'm good. You call meTom, will you?"

  "Yes."

  Now Tom began to scrawl something on the slate, hiding the words fromthe girl. But she was not backward this time. She begged to see. Tomsaid:

  "Oh, it ain't anything."

  "Yes it is."

  "No it ain't. You don't want to see."

  "Yes I do, indeed I do. Please let me."

  "You'll tell."

  "No I won't--deed and deed and double deed won't."

  "You won't tell anybody at all? Ever, as long as you live?"

  "No, I won't ever tell ANYbody. Now let me."

  "Oh, YOU don't want to see!"

  "Now that you treat me so, I WILL see." And she put her small handupon his and a little scuffle ensued, Tom pretending to resist inearnest but letting his hand slip by degrees till these words wererevealed: "I LOVE YOU."

  "Oh, you bad thing!" And she hit his hand a smart rap, but reddenedand looked pleased, nevertheless.

  Just at this juncture the boy felt a slow, fateful grip closing on hisear, and a steady lifting impulse. In that vise he was borne across thehouse and deposited in his own seat, under a peppering fire of gigglesfrom the whole school. Then the master stood over him during a fewawful moments, and finally moved away to his throne without saying aword. But although Tom's ear tingled, his heart was jubilant.

  As the school quieted down Tom made an honest effort to study, but theturmoil within him was too great. In turn he took his place in thereading class and made a botch of it; then in the geography class andturned lakes into mountains, mountains into rivers, and rivers intocontinents, till chaos was come again; then in the spelling class, andgot "turned down," by a succession of mere baby words, till he broughtup at the foot and yielded up the pewter medal which he had worn withostentation for months.

  CHAPTER VII

  THE harder Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book, the more hisideas wandered. So at last, with a sigh and a yawn, he gave it up. Itseemed to him that the noon recess would never come. The air wasutterly dead. There was not a breath stirring. It was the sleepiest ofsleepy days. The drowsing murmur of the five and twenty studyingscholars soothed the soul like the spell that is in the murmur of bees.Away off in the flaming sunshine, Cardiff Hill lifted its soft greensides through a shimmering veil of heat, tinted with the purple ofdistance; a few birds floated on lazy wing high in the air; no otherliving thing was visible but some cows, and they were asleep. Tom'sheart ached to be free, or else to have something of interest to do topass the dreary time. His hand wandered into his pocket and his facelit up with a glow of gratitude that was prayer, though he did not knowit. Then furtively the percussion-cap box came out. He released thetick and put him on the long flat desk. The creature probably glowedwith a gratitude that amounted to prayer, too, at this moment, but itwas premature: for when he started thankfully to travel off, Tom turnedhim aside with a pin and made him take a new direction.

  Tom's bosom friend sat next him, suffering just as Tom had been, andnow he was deeply and gratefully interested in this entertainment in aninstant. This bosom friend was Joe Harper. The two boys were swornfriends all the week, and embattled enemies on Saturdays. Joe took apin out of his lapel and began to assist in exercising the prisoner.The sport grew in interest momently. Soon Tom said that they wereinterfering with each other, and neither getting the fullest benefit ofthe tick. So he put Joe's slate on the desk and drew a line down themiddle of it from top to bottom.

  "Now," said he, "as long as he is on your side you can stir him up andI'll let him alone; but if you let him get away and get on my side,you're to leave him alone as long as I can keep him from crossing over."

  "All right, go ahead; start him up."

  The tick escaped from Tom, presently, and crossed the equator. Joeharassed him awhile, and then he got away and crossed back again. Thischange of base occurred often. While one boy was worrying the tick withabsorbing interest, the other would look on with interest as strong,the two heads bowed together over the slate, and the two souls dead toall things else. At last luck seemed to settle and abide with Joe. Thetick tried this, that, and the other course, and got as excited and asanxious as the boys themselves, but time and again just as he wouldhave victory in his very grasp, so to speak, and Tom's fingers would betwitching to begin, Joe's pin would deftly head him off, and keeppossession. At last Tom could stand it no longer. The temptation wastoo strong. So he reached out and lent a hand with his pin. Joe wasangry in a moment. Said he:

  "Tom, you let him alone."

  "I only just want to stir him up a little, Joe."

  "No, sir, it ain't fair; you just let him alone."

  "Blame it, I ain't going to stir him much."

  "Let him alone, I tell you."

  "I won't!"

  "You shall--he's on my side of the line."

  "Look here, Joe Harper, whose is that tick?"

  "I don't care whose tick he is--he's on my side of the line, and yousha'n't touch him."

  "Well, I'll just bet I will, though. He's my tick and I'll do what Iblame please with him, or die!"

  A tremendous whack came down on Tom's shoulders, and its duplicate onJoe's; and for the space of two minutes the dust continued to fly fromthe two jackets and the whole school to enjoy it. The boys had been tooabsorbed to notice the hush that had stolen upon the school awhilebefore when the master came tiptoeing down the room and stood overthem. He had contemplated a good part of the performance before hecontributed his bit of variety to it.

  When school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky Thatcher, andwhispered in her ear:

  "Put on your bonnet and let on you're going home; and when you get tothe corner, give the rest of 'em the slip, and turn down through thelane and come back. I'll go the other way and come it over 'em the sameway."

  So the one went off with one group of scholars, and the other withanother. In a little while the two met at the bottom of the lane, andwhen they reached the school they had it all to themselves. Then theysat together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the penciland held her hand in his, guiding it, and so created another surprisinghouse. When the interest in art began to wane, the two fell to talking.Tom was swimming in bliss. He said:

  "Do you love rats?"

  "No! I hate them!"

  "Well, I do, too--LIVE ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round yourhead with a string."

  "No, I don't care for rats much, anyway. What I like is chewing-gum."

  "Oh, I should say so! I wish I had some now."

  "Do you? I've got some. I'll let you chew it awhile, but you must giveit back to me."

  That was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled theirlegs against the bench in excess of contentment.

  "Was you ever at a circus?" said Tom.

  "Yes, and my pa's going to take me again some time, if I'm good."

  "I been to the circus three or four times--lots of times. Church ain'tshucks to a circus. There's things going on at a circus all the time.I'm going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up."

  "Oh, are you! That will be nice. They're so lovely, all spotted up."

  "Yes, that's so. And they get slathers of money--most a dollar a day,Ben Rogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?"

  "What's that?"

 
"Why, engaged to be married."

  "No."

  "Would you like to?"

  "I reckon so. I don't know. What is it like?"

  "Like? Why it ain't like anything. You only just tell a boy you won'tever have anybody but him, ever ever ever, and then you kiss and that'sall. Anybody can do it."

  "Kiss? What do you kiss for?"

  "Why, that, you know, is to--well, they always do that."

  "Everybody?"

  "Why, yes, everybody that's in love with each other. Do you rememberwhat I wrote on the slate?"

  "Ye--yes."

  "What was it?"

  "I sha'n't tell you."

  "Shall I tell YOU?"

  "Ye--yes--but some other time."

  "No, now."

  "No, not now--to-morrow."

  "Oh, no, NOW. Please, Becky--I'll whisper it, I'll whisper it ever soeasy."

  Becky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his armabout her waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouthclose to her ear. And then he added:

  "Now you whisper it to me--just the same."

  She resisted, for a while, and then said:

  "You turn your face away so you can't see, and then I will. But youmustn't ever tell anybody--WILL you, Tom? Now you won't, WILL you?"

  "No, indeed, indeed I won't. Now, Becky."

  He turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breathstirred his curls and whispered, "I--love--you!"

  Then she sprang away and ran around and around the desks and benches,with Tom after her, and took refuge in a corner at last, with herlittle white apron to her face. Tom clasped her about her neck andpleaded:

  "Now, Becky, it's all done--all over but the kiss. Don't you be afraidof that--it ain't anything at all. Please, Becky." And he tugged at herapron and the hands.

  By and by she gave up, and let her hands drop; her face, all glowingwith the struggle, came up and submitted. Tom kissed the red lips andsaid:

  "Now it's all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you ain'tever to love anybody but me, and you ain't ever to marry anybody butme, ever never and forever. Will you?"

  "No, I'll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I'll never marryanybody but you--and you ain't to ever marry anybody but me, either."

  "Certainly. Of course. That's PART of it. And always coming to schoolor when we're going home, you're to walk with me, when there ain'tanybody looking--and you choose me and I choose you at parties, becausethat's the way you do when you're engaged."

  "It's so nice. I never heard of it before."

  "Oh, it's ever so gay! Why, me and Amy Lawrence--"

  The big eyes told Tom his blunder and he stopped, confused.

  "Oh, Tom! Then I ain't the first you've ever been engaged to!"

  The child began to cry. Tom said:

  "Oh, don't cry, Becky, I don't care for her any more."

  "Yes, you do, Tom--you know you do."

  Tom tried to put his arm about her neck, but she pushed him away andturned her face to the wall, and went on crying. Tom tried again, withsoothing words in his mouth, and was repulsed again. Then his pride wasup, and he strode away and went outside. He stood about, restless anduneasy, for a while, glancing at the door, every now and then, hopingshe would repent and come to find him. But she did not. Then he beganto feel badly and fear that he was in the wrong. It was a hard strugglewith him to make new advances, now, but he nerved himself to it andentered. She was still standing back there in the corner, sobbing, withher face to the wall. Tom's heart smote him. He went to her and stood amoment, not knowing exactly how to proceed. Then he said hesitatingly:

  "Becky, I--I don't care for anybody but you."

  No reply--but sobs.

  "Becky"--pleadingly. "Becky, won't you say something?"

  More sobs.

  Tom got out his chiefest jewel, a brass knob from the top of anandiron, and passed it around her so that she could see it, and said:

  "Please, Becky, won't you take it?"

  She struck it to the floor. Then Tom marched out of the house and overthe hills and far away, to return to school no more that day. PresentlyBecky began to suspect. She ran to the door; he was not in sight; sheflew around to the play-yard; he was not there. Then she called:

  "Tom! Come back, Tom!"

  She listened intently, but there was no answer. She had no companionsbut silence and loneliness. So she sat down to cry again and upbraidherself; and by this time the scholars began to gather again, and shehad to hide her griefs and still her broken heart and take up the crossof a long, dreary, aching afternoon, with none among the strangersabout her to exchange sorrows with.