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Mark Twain



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Mark Twain

Tom Sawyer 2-04

Chapter 4
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
distracting recreations. Mary took his book to
hear him recite, and he tried to find his way
through the fog:
'Blessed are the - a - a -'
'Poor' -
'Yes - poor; blessed are the poor - a - a -'
'In spirit -'
'In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit,
for they - they -'
'Theirs -'
'For theirs. Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are
they that mourn, for they - they -'
'Sh -'
'For they - a -'
'S, H, A -'
'For they S, H - Oh, I don't know what it
is!'
'Shall!'
'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
Sunday-school.
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
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 himself; 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
'Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?'
'Yes.'
'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 unquestionably 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 superintendent 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
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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 whisperings 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 conclusion of the
speech was received with a burst of silent
gratitude.
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 gentleman 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 the whisperings:
'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 was Jeff?'
Mr. Walters fell to 'showing off,' with all
sorts of official bustlings and activities,
giving orders, delivering 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 therefore elevated to a
place with the Judge and the other elect, and
the great news was announced from headquarters.
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: 'Tom.' 'Oh, no, not Tom - it is -'
'Thomas.' '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 your manners.' '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 knowledge 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 encouraged 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 appointed?' 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.