Together We Teach tm
The Word! "
You are what you
"Take time to read. It is the
fountain of wisdom."
Room | THE
ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER
ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER
THE sun rose upon a tranquil world, and beamed down
upon the peaceful village like a benediction.
Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had family worship: it began
with a prayer built from the ground up of solid courses
of Scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin mortar
of originality; and from the summit of this she delivered
a grim chapter of the Mosaic Law, as from Sinai.
Then Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and
went to work to "get his verses." Sid had learned
his lesson days before. Tom bent all his energies to
the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of
the Sermon on the Mount, because he could find no
verses that were shorter. At the end of half an hour
Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson, but no
more, for his mind was traversing the whole field of
human thought, and his hands were busy with dis-
tracting recreations. Mary took his book to hear
him recite, and he tried to find his way through the fog:
"Blessed are the -- a -- a --"
"Yes -- poor; blessed are the poor -- a -- a --"
"In spirit --"
"In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they -- they --"
"For THEIRS. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs
is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn,
for they -- they --"
"For they -- a --"
"S, H, A --"
"For they S, H -- Oh, I don't know what it is!"
"Oh, SHALL! for they shall -- for they shall -- a -- a --
shall mourn -- a-- a -- blessed are they that shall -- they
that -- a -- they that shall mourn, for they shall -- a -- shall
WHAT? Why don't you tell me, Mary? -- what do you
want to be so mean for?"
"Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not
teasing you. I wouldn't do that. You must go and
learn it again. Don't you be discouraged, Tom, you'll
manage it -- and if you do, I'll give you something ever
so nice. There, now, that's a good boy."
"All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is."
"Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it's nice, it is nice."
"You bet you that's so, Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again."
And he did "tackle it again" -- and under the double
pressure of curiosity and prospective gain he did it
with such spirit that he accomplished a shining success.
Mary gave him a brand-new "Barlow" knife worth
twelve and a half cents; and the convulsion of delight
that swept his system shook him to his foundations.
True, the knife would not cut anything, but it was a
"sure-enough" Barlow, and there was inconceivable
grandeur in that -- though where the Western boys ever
got the idea that such a weapon could possibly be
counterfeited to its injury is an imposing mystery and
will always remain so, perhaps. Tom contrived to
scarify the cupboard with it, and was arranging to begin
on the bureau, when he was called off to dress for
Mary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of
soap, and he went outside the door and set the basin
on a little bench there; then he dipped the soap in
the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves;
poured out the water on the ground, gently, and then
entered the kitchen and began to wipe his face diligently
on the towel behind the door. But Mary removed
the towel and said:
"Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be
so bad. Water won't hurt you."
Tom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was
refilled, and this time he stood over it a little while,
gathering resolution; took in a big breath and began.
When he entered the kitchen presently, with both
eyes shut and groping for the towel with his hands,
an honorable testimony of suds and water was dripping
from his face. But when he emerged from the towel,
he was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory
stopped short at his chin and his jaws, like a mask;
below and beyond this line there was a dark expanse
of unirrigated soil that spread downward in front and
backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand,
and when she was done with him he was a man and a
brother, without distinction of color, and his saturated
hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls wrought
into a dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He
privately smoothed out the curls, with labor and difficulty,
and plastered his hair close down to his head;
for he held curls to be effeminate, and his own filled his
life with bitterness.] Then Mary got out a suit of
his clothing that had been used only on Sundays during
two years -- they were simply called his "other clothes"
-- and so by that we know the size of his wardrobe.
The girl "put him to rights" after he had dressed him-
self; she buttoned his neat roundabout up to his chin,
turned his vast shirt collar down over his shoulders,
brushed him off and crowned him with his speckled
straw hat. He now looked exceedingly improved and
uncomfortable. He was fully as uncomfortable as he
looked; for there was a restraint about whole clothes
and cleanliness that galled him. He hoped that Mary
would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted; she
coated them thoroughly with tallow, as was the custom,
and brought them out. He lost his temper and said
he was always being made to do everything he didn't
want to do. But Mary said, persuasively:
"Please, Tom -- that's a good boy."
So he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon
ready, and the three children set out for Sunday-school
-- a place that Tom hated with his whole heart; but Sid
and Mary were fond of it.
Sabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past
ten; and then church service. Two of the children
always remained for the sermon voluntarily, and the
other always remained too -- for stronger reasons.
The church's high-backed, uncushioned pews would
seat about three hundred persons; the edifice was but
a small, plain affair, with a sort of pine board tree-box
on top of it for a steeple. At the door Tom dropped
back a step and accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:
"Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?"
"What'll you take for her?"
"What'll you give?"
"Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook."
"Less see 'em."
Tom exhibited. They were satisfactory, and the
property changed hands. Then Tom traded a couple
of white alleys for three red tickets, and some small
trifle or other for a couple of blue ones. He waylaid
other boys as they came, and went on buying tickets
of various colors ten or fifteen minutes longer. He
entered the church, now, with a swarm of clean and
noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started
a quarrel with the first boy that came handy. The
teacher, a grave, elderly man, interfered; then turned his
back a moment and Tom pulled a boy's hair in the next
bench, and was absorbed in his book when the boy
turned around; stuck a pin in another boy, presently,
in order to hear him say "Ouch!" and got a new
reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole class were
of a pattern -- restless, noisy, and troublesome. When
they came to recite their lessons, not one of them knew
his verses perfectly, but had to be prompted all along.
However, they worried through, and each got his reward
-- in small blue tickets, each with a passage of Scripture
on it; each blue ticket was pay for two verses of the
recitation. Ten blue tickets equalled a red one, and
could be exchanged for it; ten red tickets equalled a
yellow one; for ten yellow tickets the superintendent
gave a very plainly bound Bible (worth forty cents in
those easy times) to the pupil. How many of my
readers would have the industry and application to
memorize two thousand verses, even for a Dore Bible?
And yet Mary had acquired two Bibles in this way -- it
was the patient work of two years -- and a boy of German
parentage had won four or five. He once recited
three thousand verses without stopping; but the strain
upon his mental faculties was too great, and he was
little better than an idiot from that day forth -- a
grievous misfortune for the school, for on great occasions,
before company, the superintendent (as Tom expressed it)
had always made this boy come out and "spread himself."
Only the older pupils managed to keep their tickets
and stick to their tedious work long enough to get a Bible,
and so the delivery of one of these prizes was a rare
and noteworthy circumstance; the successful pupil
was so great and conspicuous for that day
that on the spot every scholar's heart was fired with
a fresh ambition that often lasted a couple of weeks.
It is possible that Tom's mental stomach had never
really hungered for one of those prizes, but unques-
tionably his entire being had for many a day longed for
the glory and the eclat that came with it.
In due course the superintendent stood up in front
of the pulpit, with a closed hymn-book in his hand
and his forefinger inserted between its leaves, and
commanded attention. When a Sunday-school superin-
tendent makes his customary little speech, a hymn-book
in the hand is as necessary as is the inevitable sheet of
music in the hand of a singer who stands forward on
the platform and sings a solo at a concert -- though
why, is a mystery: for neither the hymn-book nor the
sheet of music is ever referred to by the sufferer. This
superintendent was a slim creature of thirty-five, with
a sandy goatee and short sandy hair; he wore a stiff
standing-collar whose upper edge almost reached his
ears and whose sharp points curved forward abreast the
corners of his mouth -- a fence that compelled a straight
lookout ahead, and a turning of the whole body when a
side view was required; his chin was propped on a
spreading cravat which was as broad and as long as a
bank-note, and had fringed ends; his boot toes were
turned sharply up, in the fashion of the day, like sleigh-
runners -- an effect patiently and laboriously produced
by the young men by sitting with their toes pressed
against a wall for hours together. Mr. Walters was
very earnest of mien, and very sincere and honest at
heart; and he held sacred things and places in such
reverence, and so separated them from worldly matters,
that unconsciously to himself his Sunday-school voice
had acquired a peculiar intonation which was wholly
absent on week-days. He began after this fashion:
"Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as
straight and pretty as you can and give me all your
attention for a minute or two. There -- that is it.
That is the way good little boys and girls should do.
I see one little girl who is looking out of the window
-- I am afraid she thinks I am out there somewhere --
perhaps up in one of the trees making a speech to the
little birds. [Applausive titter.] I want to tell you
how good it makes me feel to see so many bright, clean
little faces assembled in a place like this, learning to
do right and be good." And so forth and so on. It
is not necessary to set down the rest of the oration.
It was of a pattern which does not vary, and so it is
familiar to us all.
The latter third of the speech was marred by the
resumption of fights and other recreations among
certain of the bad boys, and by fidgetings and whis-
perings that extended far and wide, washing even to
the bases of isolated and incorruptible rocks like
Sid and Mary. But now every sound ceased suddenly,
with the subsidence of Mr. Walters' voice, and the con-
clusion of the speech was received with a burst of silent
A good part of the whispering had been occasioned
by an event which was more or less rare -- the entrance
of visitors: lawyer Thatcher, accompanied by a very
feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged gentle-
man with iron-gray hair; and a dignified lady who was
doubtless the latter's wife. The lady was leading a
child. Tom had been restless and full of chafings and
repinings; conscience-smitten, too -- he could not meet
Amy Lawrence's eye, he could not brook her loving
gaze. But when he saw this small new-comer his soul
was all ablaze with bliss in a moment. The next
moment he was "showing off" with all his might --
cuffing boys, pulling hair, making faces -- in a word,
using every art that seemed likely to fascinate a girl and
win her applause. His exaltation had but one alloy
-- the memory of his humiliation in this angel's garden
-- and that record in sand was fast washing out, under
the waves of happiness that were sweeping over it now.
The visitors were given the highest seat of honor,
and as soon as Mr. Walters' speech was finished, he
introduced them to the school. The middle-aged
man turned out to be a prodigious personage -- no less
a one than the county judge -- altogether the most
august creation these children had ever looked upon --
and they wondered what kind of material he was made
of -- and they half wanted to hear him roar, and were
half afraid he might, too. He was from Constantinople,
twelve miles away -- so he had travelled, and seen the
world -- these very eyes had looked upon the county
court-house -- which was said to have a tin roof. The
awe which these reflections inspired was attested by the
impressive silence and the ranks of staring eyes. This
was the great Judge Thatcher, brother of their own
lawyer. Jeff Thatcher immediately went forward, to
be familiar with the great man and be envied by the
school. It would have been music to his soul to hear
"Look at him, Jim! He's a going up there. Say --
look! he's a going to shake hands with him -- he IS
shaking hands with him! By jings, don't you wish you
Mr. Walters fell to "showing off," with all sorts of
official bustlings and activities, giving orders, de-
livering judgments, discharging directions here, there,
everywhere that he could find a target. The librarian
"showed off" -- running hither and thither with his arms
full of books and making a deal of the splutter and
fuss that insect authority delights in. The young lady
teachers "showed off" -- bending sweetly over pupils
that were lately being boxed, lifting pretty warning
fingers at bad little boys and patting good ones lovingly.
The young gentlemen teachers "showed off" with
small scoldings and other little displays of authority
and fine attention to discipline -- and most of the
teachers, of both sexes, found business up at the library,
by the pulpit; and it was business that frequently had
to be done over again two or three times (with much
seeming vexation). The little girls "showed off" in
various ways, and the little boys "showed off" with such
diligence that the air was thick with paper wads and
the murmur of scufflings. And above it all the great
man sat and beamed a majestic judicial smile upon all
the house, and warmed himself in the sun of his own
grandeur -- for he was "showing off," too.
There was only one thing wanting to make Mr.
Walters' ecstasy complete, and that was a chance to
deliver a Bible-prize and exhibit a prodigy. Several
pupils had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough
-- he had been around among the star pupils inquiring.
He would have given worlds, now, to have that German
lad back again with a sound mind.
And now at this moment, when hope was dead,
Tom Sawyer came forward with nine yellow tickets,
nine red tickets, and ten blue ones, and demanded a
Bible. This was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
Walters was not expecting an application from this
source for the next ten years. But there was no
getting around it -- here were the certified checks,
and they were good for their face. Tom was there-
fore elevated to a place with the Judge and the other
elect, and the great news was announced from head-
quarters. It was the most stunning surprise of the
decade, and so profound was the sensation that it
lifted the new hero up to the judicial one's altitude,
and the school had two marvels to gaze upon in place
of one. The boys were all eaten up with envy -- but
those that suffered the bitterest pangs were those who
perceived too late that they themselves had contributed
to this hated splendor by trading tickets to Tom for
the wealth he had amassed in selling whitewashing
privileges. These despised themselves, as being the
dupes of a wily fraud, a guileful snake in the grass.
The prize was delivered to Tom with as much
effusion as the superintendent could pump up under
the circumstances; but it lacked somewhat of the true
gush, for the poor fellow's instinct taught him that there
was a mystery here that could not well bear the light,
perhaps; it was simply preposterous that this boy had
warehoused two thousand sheaves of Scriptural wisdom
on his premises -- a dozen would strain his capacity,
without a doubt.
Amy Lawrence was proud and glad, and she tried to
make Tom see it in her face -- but he wouldn't look.
She wondered; then she was just a grain troubled; next
a dim suspicion came and went -- came again; she
watched; a furtive glance told her worlds -- and then
her heart broke, and she was jealous, and angry, and
the tears came and she hated everybody. Tom most of
all (she thought).
Tom was introduced to the Judge; but his tongue
was tied, his breath would hardly come, his heart
quaked -- partly because of the awful greatness of
the man, but mainly because he was her parent. He
would have liked to fall down and worship him, if it
were in the dark. The Judge put his hand on Tom's
head and called him a fine little man, and asked him
what his name was. The boy stammered, gasped, and
got it out:
"Oh, no, not Tom -- it is --"
"Ah, that's it. I thought there was more to it,
maybe. That's very well. But you've another one
I daresay, and you'll tell it to me, won't you?"
"Tell the gentleman your other name, Thomas,"
said Walters, "and say sir. You mustn't forget
"Thomas Sawyer -- sir."
"That's it! That's a good boy. Fine boy. Fine,
manly little fellow. Two thousand verses is a great
many -- very, very great many. And you never can be
sorry for the trouble you took to learn them; for knowl-
edge is worth more than anything there is in the world;
it's what makes great men and good men; you'll be a
great man and a good man yourself, some day, Thomas,
and then you'll look back and say, It's all owing to the
precious Sunday-school privileges of my boyhood -- it's
all owing to my dear teachers that taught me to learn
-- it's all owing to the good superintendent, who en-
couraged me, and watched over me, and gave me
a beautiful Bible -- a splendid elegant Bible -- to keep
and have it all for my own, always -- it's all owing to
right bringing up! That is what you will say, Thomas
-- and you wouldn't take any money for those two
thousand verses -- no indeed you wouldn't. And now
you wouldn't mind telling me and this lady some of
the things you've learned -- no, I know you wouldn't
-- for we are proud of little boys that learn. Now, no
doubt you know the names of all the twelve disciples.
Won't you tell us the names of the first two that were
Tom was tugging at a button-hole and looking
sheepish. He blushed, now, and his eyes fell. Mr.
Walters' heart sank within him. He said to himself,
it is not possible that the boy can answer the simplest
question -- why DID the Judge ask him? Yet he felt
obliged to speak up and say:
"Answer the gentleman, Thomas -- don't be afraid."
Tom still hung fire.
"Now I know you'll tell me," said the lady. "The
names of the first two disciples were --"
"DAVID AND GOLIAH!"
Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.
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Room | THE
ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER