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Take time to read.
Reading is the
fountain of wisdom.


(Samuel Langhorne Clemens)

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THE harder Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book,

the more his ideas wandered. So at last, with a sigh

and a yawn, he gave it up. It seemed to him that the

noon recess would never come. The air was utterly dead.

There was not a breath stirring. It was the sleepiest

of sleepy days. The drowsing murmur of the five and twenty

studying scholars soothed the soul like the spell that is in the

murmur of bees. Away off in the flaming sunshine,

Cardiff Hill lifted its soft green sides through a shim-

mering veil of heat, tinted with the purple of distance;

a few birds floated on lazy wing high in the air; no other

living thing was visible but some cows, and they were

asleep. Tom's heart ached to be free, or else to have

something of interest to do to pass the dreary time.

His hand wandered into his pocket and his face lit up

with a glow of gratitude that was prayer, though he did

not know it. Then furtively the percussion-cap box

came out. He released the tick and put him on the

long flat desk. The creature probably glowed with a

gratitude that amounted to prayer, too, at this moment,

but it was premature: for when he started thankfully

to travel off, Tom turned him aside with a pin and made

him take a new direction.

Tom's bosom friend sat next him, suffering just

as Tom had been, and now he was deeply and grate-

fully interested in this entertainment in an instant.

This bosom friend was Joe Harper. The two boys

were sworn friends all the week, and embattled enemies

on Saturdays. Joe took a pin out of his lapel and

began to assist in exercising the prisoner. The sport

grew in interest momently. Soon Tom said that they

were interfering with each other, and neither getting

the fullest benefit of the tick. So he put Joe's slate on

the desk and drew a line down the middle of it from top

to bottom.

"Now," said he, "as long as he is on your side you

can stir him up and I'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. Joe harassed him awhile, and then he

got away and crossed back again. This change of

base occurred often. While one boy was worrying the

tick with absorbing interest, the other would look on

with interest as strong, the two heads bowed together

over the slate, and the two souls dead to all things else.

At last luck seemed to settle and abide with Joe. The

tick tried this, that, and the other course, and got as

excited and as anxious as the boys themselves, but time

and again just as he would have victory in his very

grasp, so to speak, and Tom's fingers would be twitching

to begin, Joe's pin would deftly head him off, and keep

possession. At last Tom could stand it no longer.

The temptation was too strong. So he reached out

and lent a hand with his pin. Joe was angry 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 you sha'n't touch him."

"Well, I'll just bet I will, though. He's my tick

and I'll do what I blame please with him, or die!"

A tremendous whack came down on Tom's shoul-

ders, and its duplicate on Joe's; and for the space

of two minutes the dust continued to fly from the

two jackets and the whole school to enjoy it. The

boys had been too absorbed to notice the hush that had

stolen upon the school awhile before when the master

came tiptoeing down the room and stood over them.

He had contemplated a good part of the performance

before he contributed his bit of variety to it.

When school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky

Thatcher, and whispered in her ear:

"Put on your bonnet and let on you're going home;

and when you get to the corner, give the rest of 'em

the slip, and turn down through the lane and come back.

I'll go the other way and come it over 'em the same way."

So the one went off with one group of scholars, and

the other with another. In a little while the two met

at the bottom of the lane, and when they reached the

school they had it all to themselves. Then they sat

together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky

the pencil and held her hand in his, guiding it, and so

created another surprising house. 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 your head 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 give it back to me."

That was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about,

and dangled their legs against the bench in excess of


"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't shucks 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."


"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't ever have anybody but him,

ever ever ever, and then you kiss and that's all.

Anybody can do it."

"Kiss? What do you kiss for?"

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


"Why, yes, everybody that's in love with each

other. Do you remember what 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 so easy."

Becky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent,

and passed his arm about her waist and whispered

the tale ever so softly, with his mouth close 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 you mustn'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 breath stirred 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 her little white apron to

her face. Tom clasped her about her neck and pleaded:

"Now, Becky, it's all done -- all over but the kiss.

Don't you be afraid of that -- it ain't anything at all.

Please, Becky." And he tugged at her apron and the hands.

By and by she gave up, and let her hands drop;

her face, all glowing with the struggle, came up and

submitted. Tom kissed the red lips and said:

"Now it's all done, Becky. And always after this,

you know, you ain't ever to love anybody but me, and

you ain't ever to marry anybody but me, ever never

and forever. Will you?"

"No, I'll never love anybody but you, Tom, and

I'll never marry anybody 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 school or when we're going home,

you're to walk with me, when there ain't anybody

looking -- and you choose me and I choose you at parties,

because that'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 and turned her face to the wall,

and went on crying. Tom tried again, with sooth-

ing words in his mouth, and was repulsed again.

Then his pride was up, and he strode away and went

outside. He stood about, restless and uneasy, for a

while, glancing at the door, every now and then,

hoping she would repent and come to find him. But

she did not. Then he began to feel badly and fear

that he was in the wrong. It was a hard struggle

with him to make new advances, now, but he nerved

himself to it and entered. She was still standing back

there in the corner, sobbing, with her face to the wall.

Tom's heart smote him. He went to her and stood a

moment, 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 an andiron, 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 over the hills and far away, to

return to school no more that day. Presently Becky

began to suspect. She ran to the door; he was not

in sight; she flew 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 companions but silence and loneliness.

So she sat down to cry again and upbraid herself;

and by this time the scholars began to gather again,

and she had to hide her griefs and still her broken

heart and take up the cross of a long, dreary, aching

afternoon, with none among the strangers about her

to exchange sorrows with.



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