THAT was Tom's great secret -- the scheme
to return home with his brother pirates
and attend their own funerals. They had
paddled over to the Missouri shore on
a log, at dusk on Saturday, landing five
or six miles below the village; they had
slept in the woods at the edge of the town till nearly daylight, and had then crept through back lanes and alleys
and finished their sleep in the gallery of the church
among a chaos of invalided benches.
At breakfast, Monday morning, Aunt Polly and
Mary were very loving to Tom, and very attentive to
his wants. There was an unusual amount of talk. In
the course of it Aunt Polly said:
"Well, I don't say it wasn't a fine joke, Tom, to keep
everybody suffering 'most a week so you boys had a
good time, but it is a pity you could be so hard-hearted
as to let me suffer so. If you could come over on a log
to go to your funeral, you could have come over and
give me a hint some way that you warn't dead, but only
"Yes, you could have done that, Tom," said Mary;
"and I believe you would if you had thought of it."
"Would you, Tom?" said Aunt Polly, her face lighting wistfully. "Say, now, would you, if you'd thought
"I -- well, I don't know. 'Twould 'a' spoiled everything."
"Tom, I hoped you loved me that much," said Aunt
Polly, with a grieved tone that discomforted the boy.
"It would have been something if you'd cared enough
to THINK of it, even if you didn't DO it."
"Now, auntie, that ain't any harm," pleaded Mary;
"it's only Tom's giddy way -- he is always in such a rush
that he never thinks of anything."
"More's the pity. Sid would have thought. And
Sid would have come and DONE it, too. Tom, you'll
look back, some day, when it's too late, and wish you'd
cared a little more for me when it would have cost you
"Now, auntie, you know I do care for you," said
"I'd know it better if you acted more like it."
"I wish now I'd thought," said Tom, with a repentant tone; "but I dreamt about you, anyway.
That's something, ain't it?"
"It ain't much -- a cat does that much -- but it's better than nothing. What did you dream?"
"Why, Wednesday night I dreamt that you was
sitting over there by the bed, and Sid was sitting by
the woodbox, and Mary next to him."
"Well, so we did. So we always do. I'm glad
your dreams could take even that much trouble about
"And I dreamt that Joe Harper's mother was here."
"Why, she was here! Did you dream any more?"
"Oh, lots. But it's so dim, now."
"Well, try to recollect -- can't you?"
"Somehow it seems to me that the wind -- the wind
blowed the -- the --"
"Try harder, Tom! The wind did blow something.
Tom pressed his fingers on his forehead an anxious
minute, and then said:
"I've got it now! I've got it now! It blowed the
"Mercy on us! Go on, Tom -- go on!"
"And it seems to me that you said, 'Why, I believe
that that door --'"
"Go ON, Tom!"
"Just let me study a moment -- just a moment. Oh,
yes -- you said you believed the door was open."
"As I'm sitting here, I did! Didn't I, Mary! Go on!"
"And then -- and then -- well I won't be certain, but
it seems like as if you made Sid go and -- and --"
"Well? Well? What did I make him do, Tom?
What did I make him do?"
"You made him -- you -- Oh, you made him shut it."
"Well, for the land's sake! I never heard the beat
of that in all my days! Don't tell ME there ain't
anything in dreams, any more. Sereny Harper shall
know of this before I'm an hour older. I'd like to see
her get around THIS with her rubbage 'bout superstition.
Go on, Tom!"
"Oh, it's all getting just as bright as day, now.
Next you said I warn't BAD, only mischeevous and
harum-scarum, and not any more responsible than -- than -- I think it was a colt, or something."
"And so it was! Well, goodness gracious! Go on,
"And then you began to cry."
"So I did. So I did. Not the first time, neither.
And then --"
"Then Mrs. Harper she began to cry, and said Joe
was just the same, and she wished she hadn't whipped
him for taking cream when she'd throwed it out her
own self --"
"Tom! The sperrit was upon you! You was a
prophesying -- that's what you was doing! Land alive,
go on, Tom!"
"Then Sid he said -- he said --"
"I don't think I said anything," said Sid.
"Yes you did, Sid," said Mary.
"Shut your heads and let Tom go on! What did
he say, Tom?"
"He said -- I THINK he said he hoped I was better
off where I was gone to, but if I'd been better sometimes --"
"THERE, d'you hear that! It was his very words!"
"And you shut him up sharp."
"I lay I did! There must 'a' been an angel there.
There WAS an angel there, somewheres!"
"And Mrs. Harper told about Joe scaring her with
a firecracker, and you told about Peter and the Painkiller --"
"Just as true as I live!"
"And then there was a whole lot of talk 'bout dragging the river for us, and 'bout having the funeral
Sunday, and then you and old Miss Harper hugged
and cried, and she went."
"It happened just so! It happened just so, as sure
as I'm a-sitting in these very tracks. Tom, you couldn't
told it more like if you'd 'a' seen it! And then what?
Go on, Tom!"
"Then I thought you prayed for me -- and I could
see you and hear every word you said. And you went
to bed, and I was so sorry that I took and wrote on a
piece of sycamore bark, 'We ain't dead -- we are only
off being pirates,' and put it on the table by the candle;
and then you looked so good, laying there asleep, that
I thought I went and leaned over and kissed you on
"Did you, Tom, DID you! I just forgive you everything for that!" And she seized the boy in a crushing
embrace that made him feel like the guiltiest of villains.
"It was very kind, even though it was only a -- dream," Sid soliloquized just audibly.
"Shut up, Sid! A body does just the same in a
dream as he'd do if he was awake. Here's a big
Milum apple I've been saving for you, Tom, if you
was ever found again -- now go 'long to school. I'm
thankful to the good God and Father of us all I've got
you 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
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 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
"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.
"And me?" said Sally Rogers.
"And me, too?" said Susy Harper. "And Joe?"
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
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
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.