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    The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
    The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
    The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
    Ebook272 pages4 hours

    The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

    By Mark Twain

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    The classic story of a boy who makes his own rules and the small Missouri town where he and his friends experience the adventures of a lifetime

    Filled with schoolyard pranks, buried treasures, spooky caves, secret gangs, and grave robbers, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is entertainment of the highest order. The clever schemes of its eponymous hero—from tricking his friends into completing his chores to sneaking into his own funeral—are the stuff of legend, and the cast of characters, including Huckleberry Finn, Becky Thatcher, Aunt Polly, and the Widow Douglas, is one of the most recognizable in American literature.
     
    A tale of friendship, fun, and intrigue that celebrates the rural life Mark Twain knew as a boy growing up on the Mississippi River, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer mixes good-natured humor with thoughtful consideration of serious issues such as race, religion, and the strictures of adult life. Amusing and insightful for readers of all ages, it is one of the most enduring novels in American literature.
     
    This ebook has been professionally proofread to ensure accuracy and readability on all devices.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateDec 22, 2015
    ISBN9781480475069
    Author

    Mark Twain

    Mark Twain, who was born Samuel L. Clemens in Missouri in 1835, wrote some of the most enduring works of literature in the English language, including The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc was his last completed book—and, by his own estimate, his best. Its acquisition by Harper & Brothers allowed Twain to stave off bankruptcy. He died in 1910. 

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    Reviews for The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

    4/5

    5,829 ratings137 reviews

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    • 3/5
      This tells the story of a boy, Tom Sawyer, and his best friend, Huck Finn, and some of the adventures they get into. Some of those adventures include ghosts, haunted houses and treasure. I listened to an audio version of this one, narrated by William Dufris. The narrator was very good with amazing expressions, but my mind wandered, anyway. The one mostly couldn't hold my interest. Because of that, I missed a lot, so initially, it almost felt like these were short stories, rather than a novel. A lot of the same characters did return later, and I think storylines were picked up again later, but it was hard to connect everything because I just hadn't focused enough. However, the parts of the book that I did catch, I thought were cute. And, I have to give bonus points for the narrator, so an “o.k.” 3 stars it is.
    • 4/5
      A young criminal mastermind-in-training gets into mischief with his disreputable neighborhood friends.
    • 4/5
      I had never read the Adventures of Tom Sawyer except in a childhood version in Golden Books or something like that. I skipped right over to read Huck Finn. While this is definitely a children's book in many ways, Twain writes in such a way that adults still enjoy Tom and his picaresque adventures, both as nostalgia for our own childhoods and because the adult voice of Twain cannot help inserting his snide commentaries on humanity.
    • 4/5
      I'd forgotten what a little trouble maker Tom was. It was a nice enjoyable read.
    • 2/5
      Cruciaal is de ontmoeting met Huckleberry Finn. Vinnige dialogen; Mooie impressie van jongensachtige gevoelens en leefwereld, genre Witte van Zichem (Claes is duidelijk maar een doordrukje van Twain). Toch maar matig boek.
    • 3/5
      I think Mark Twain is overrated.
    • 4/5
      One point less for mocking Christianity
    • 3/5
      I've returned to the river.A year ago I spent a weekend on the Missouri River attending a Writers Workshop. In typical Chris Blocker fashion, I thought it prudent to read something riverish. I selected Mark Twain's Life on the Mississippi. Thus a new association was born and once I decided I was returning to the river, one of my first considerations was what Mark Twain book I'd read this year.I was hesitant to get into the Tom Sawyer/Huckleberry Finn story-arc. I had a feeling I'd be underwhelmed or offended. I was leaning toward a different selection, but at the last minute, I decided to go with a classic. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer wasn't that bad—not as bad as I imagined it could be—but it certainly didn't impress me too much. Part of the issue is that Tom Sawyer feels slightly underdeveloped—ideas are used seemingly haphazardly and are recycled throughout the story. And part of the issue is that some of the novels better moments have become cliché. I recognize that Twain was likely the originator of some of these ideas—at least he was probably the prominent figure who introduced them into the American narrative. But I've seen enough Our Gang to know that children who play pirates will find treasure, children who fake death will convince everyone, and that little boys will always win a kiss from the girl of their dreams. It's not Twain's fault that his story has been resurrected repeatedly, but the familiarity minimized any sense of wonder and adventure I might have had had I come across this book 130 years ago.In a different time, this book may have had a much different impact on me. This is a strong story of adventure from a unique child-like perspective. Those who enjoy a little swashbuckling or hijinx will likely eat this story up like blackberry pie. (Why blackberry pie? I don't know. It just feels like something I'd expect from these characters.) With a different person, there would've been different results: I'm not one for adventure; I was never a child. It's a good, simple story, very much plot-driven, but I didn't see much else to it.Sadly, this book didn't hold to the river like I thought it would. There are a few mentions, a few explorations, but I have the notion that Huckleberry Finn is the more river-centric of the two. Will I explore the river someday with Huck? I don't know. I probably should, but I have the same hesitance I did with Tom Sawyer. Maybe I'll leave it up to the river. If it's able to pull me back another time, I'll consider it.
    • 5/5
      It is perhaps unusual to read this book aimed at boys for the first time at the age of 45, but I really enjoyed it. Tom is an appealingly mischievous boy whose adventures, fears and insecurities are fairly timeless; though written in 1876, the book could be set in the modern era in a small town or rural area with relatively few changes. The other main characters, Aunt Polly, Joe Harper, Becky Thatcher and of course Huck Finn are equally attractively drawn. From the modern perspective the character of Injun Joe is portrayed as a wholly negative and stereotypical "savage", but this is lifted by Tom's compassion towards him at the end. Very enjoyable read for all ages. 5/5
    • 4/5
      The Adventures of Tom Sawyer gets better each time I read it, because as I get older (and as I've read more of his writings) I get more of Twain's sly, irreverent humor. The fourth chapter, for example, which finds Tom showing off in Sunday school, is hysterically funny.But besides that, Mark Twain really captures the spirit of childhood in this book. And on top of that, Tom Sawyer is a great adventure story. In some ways it isn't really a "Great novel" with a capital G, and it's not one of my all-time personal favorites, but it is a darn Good one.
    • 5/5
      Having only read Huck Finn previously, I was very glad to get the background story of these two interesting characters. Tom is every bit as bright as Huck always makes him out to be, and Huck is just as sympathetic as I remember him. This is a great story that really draws the reader in to the lives of the St. Petersburg children. The humorous parts are very funny, the tense parts very tense, and the end ultimately satisfying. Despite the many character flaws of Tom it is impossible not to love him and root for him throughout the whole story. I especially enjoyed the dialog between the children. Their wholehearted superstitions and the ways that they play together really paint a vibrant and believable image. Overall I was more impressed with the writing and the story itself than I expected to be. This is an American classic for a reason, and certainly well worth the read.
    • 5/5
      I plan to make a practice this year of re-reading books, not just books I enjoyed in my childhood and adolescent, but books from my own library that I keep because" I might want to read them 'someday'". I read Tom Sawyer more than once, more than twice, I don't actually remember how many times. At some point I began to understand that much of what Twain writes from Tom's point of view was ironic and therefore funny. I finally got the joke. This time I appreciated Twain's craftsmanship with plot, as well as character. Obviously, this book is a classic. I will probably read it again some year.
    • 5/5
      It had been some time since I'd read this, and I'm fixing to read a new novel about Huck Finn's Pap, so I thought it best to repair to the source material first. Being the mother of a boy has certainly changed my reaction to this particular book. What struck me as hilarious fiction once now rings true and is not so mirth-inducing. The nature of the boy as boy seems unchanged though lo, these many years have passed. Twain's not dated in the least, and is still one of the funniest writers ever.
    • 2/5
      Allow me to preface this review by informing my reader that I do not much care for southern accents. I do not find them appealing. I say this as a southern girl (with no accent...I'm Atlanta born and raised). This audiobook definitely plays up the southern-ness of the story. The narrator pulls out the accent, which, perfectly fitting to the story though it may be, annoys me greatly.

      In middle school, I had to read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which seemed to me at the time to be essentially a form of torture exacted by my teacher. I can say, gratefully, that this one was not so bad, although whether that is the audio format or the different, shorter book, it's hard to say.

      The story did not hugely impress me, although it was interesting to learn the details of a book about which my only knowledge was drawn from Wishbone. True fact. As I was listening, I kept trying to remember what I knew about it and I just now realized that all I know is thanks to a spunky Jack Russell terrier. Man, I miss that show.

      Anyway, the book was not too bad. Except for the blatant racism. The discussions of black people and of Injun Joe were certainly what would be expected of a man of Twain's time, but definitely are completely awful. Also, there was one scene in which Tom was talking about being a pirate in which he describes how pirates or robbers get ladies; his description is essentially of Stockholm Syndrome. Terrifying!!!

      Lynch did, accent issues put aside, a really good job with the book. His voices were really unique, almost always allowing me to know who was speaking, even if I missed the part that said who was talking. Aunt Polly's voice definitely grated, even beyond the accent, but I thought his Tom definitely conveyed the excitement of a young, incorrigible boy.

      The production of the audiobook seems to have been done pretty well. I liked the music, which had a sort of slouch-y, casual southern feel to it that fit perfectly. What was odd, though, was that the music seemed to occur at completely random intervals.
    • 3/5
      I really doubted this book would be a thriller, or energetic to read. This book makes you want to fall asleep while reading it. I am so sorry, but this book had so many POV'S I could not keep up. MY REVIEW; This book was a serious letdown. I thought there would be more action because it tells about a boys and his friends life in this story. NO ACTION. I liked some parts like when they were trying to find treasure and couldn't find it for like 3 chapters! No. Terrible absolutely did not like the writing. There was also different related stories to read while you finish Tom Sawyer but I decided NOT to read it.
    • 5/5
      Tom represents the perennial, eternal, perfect boyhood - both for an adult remembering childhood, and a child wishing for a perfect life. His story has aged enough, however, that my nine-year-old set it aside halfway through (he particularly didn't like Injun Joe's casual violence in the graveyard.) I picked it up from there, remembering it was read to me when I was about his age. It was like reading for the first time, so foggy was my memory.Books with no plot always make me stumble. There is a sort of a plot around Injun Joe, but it's clearly secondary for all that it's visited and the point of climax is tough to pinpoint. The focus is on Tom's hijinks and seeing what he comes up with next, one thing after another. It's strangely compelling for all the lack of what-happens-next tension, replaced with what'll-he-do-next curiosity. Credit belongs to the fun narrative voice, the creativity of Tom's ideas, and the unexpected results they inevitably lead to for himself and the town.I played special attention to Huckleberry Finn throughout because of this book's sequel, but he remains a fairly thin character outside the limelight. Tom doesn't even automatically pick him first as fellow adventurer, often preferring Joe Harper. I read Huckleberry Finn's story as a child but that's mostly gone from memory too; I should probably do something about that. "Children's books" these may be, but due to their age, Twain's storytelling power and my nostalgia for childhood I feel no shame at diving in.
    • 4/5
      A great adventure...
    • 3/5
      I thought it was a fun read, but enjoyed it more when I was younger. I think Mark Twain has an excellent way of making you sympathize with the characters. I found myself shaking my head at some Tom's antics and laughing at the same time.
    • 3/5
      Must read for all young boys and girls...
    • 5/5
      Seriously a great read! I remember hating this as a kid - being forced to read it - with 25+ years of experiences under my belt since I last picked up this book, it's just an amazing read. As adults, we really just need to say fuck it, let's see what kind of trouble I can get myself into more often ...
    • 5/5
      We read the book in school in Germany. I learned English with the book. The reading was good. I like the story. But some words are difficult. The school edition has word help that was good for me. I want to read Huckelberry Finn next.
    • 4/5
      American classic, all boys and men should read often
    • 5/5
      The first and only time I previously read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was back in middle-school or late elementary school. Since then I've read a lot of Mark Twain's short stories and a few of his novels. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is one of my favorite books and I've read it a pile of times but until now I'd never revisited Tom Sawyer.One of the things I love about Twain's writing is just how real and honest everything feels. Very quickly I felt myself pulled into the world of St. Peterburg. I absolutely love the flow and tone of the language. It's just so fluid and friendly. I love Twain's narrative style as he makes commentary on situations or behaviors. I can almost hear his snarky voice as he satirizes the sanctimonious behavior of some of the adults as set against the devil-may-care (yet very superstitious) attitudes of the children.I vaguely remembered bits of the larger plot of the story but as I was reading I was struck by how much this book is a compilation of shorter stories instead of one single big plot piece. Admittedly there is the overall thread of Tom and Huck and their adventures with Injun Joe, but that particular story thread often goes many chapters completely forgotten, much in the way a child will forget some of their worries and cares as soon as the next big adventure comes along.This book is definitely lighter in tone than Huckleberry Finn. It's not addressing heavy topics like slavery. But it still has plenty of weighty segments alongside the frivolous fun. There are plenty of subtle morality lessons as well as very dramatic scenes. I really enjoyed the tension as Tom and Becky sat in the dark cave watching their candle go out or the suspense as Tom and Huck sat upstairs in the haunted house waiting for Injun Joe to come up the stairs and find them hiding there. These segments were a fun balance to the light hearted adventures of boys playing pirates or whitewashing the fence.While not as outrageous as Huckleberry Finn, there are segments in this book that may be potentially offensive or off-putting to some readers. The boys do observe a grizzly murder, though it isn't described in ghastly turns. There is also a lot of talk about superstition and witchcraft and sneaking out in the middle of the night for special ceremonies for luck or play. Beyond these elements (which are quaintly fun and characteristic of the world at that time and place), the boys also run away from home and spend days cussing and smoking and when they do return home they only get mild chastisement. Tom comments how he's going to impress the other boys by pulling out his pipe and smoking around them. While the behavior doesn't get much more applause than this (and it actually makes him very sick the first time he smokes), it doesn't get particularly villainized either, which could certainly be a cause for shock in some readers. I think as long as the reader understands the context, it shouldn't be a problem. And if a parent or educator is giving this book to a young child to read, it could be a good teaching point.Being a fan of Mark Twain, I certainly have some bias, but I can wholeheartedly recommend this book. I plan on pushing it on my unsuspecting children and hope they enjoy it as much as I do. It's a true pleasure to go romping around with Tom Sawyer and his friends as they get up to adventures and into and out of trouble. If you've read it before, pick it up again and find old friends. And if you've never read it, you should definitely give it a read. It's tons of fun and definitely stands up to the test of time. As a note, there are a lot of Abridged versions out there (presumably to remove some of the potentially offensive segments). Do yourself a favor and read the unabridged version. You don't want to miss any of the fun.*****5 out of 5 stars
    • 4/5
      The standard by which all other boys' adventure stories are judged. More episodic than I'd have liked (so that it sometimes was hard to follow which actions were related to which), but still fun to read. I can now say that I've read (more or less) Tom Sawyer, rather than just scrubbing my toe in the dirt and looking abashed when the topic of literary classics comes up.
    • 4/5
      The story was cute, but man that kid needed some discipline! It's hard to believe how wild children used to be. But it did make for an entertaining and amusing story.
    • 3/5
      Never been much of a Twain fan, but TS is much more enjoyable than Huckleberry Finn. The Rockwell apintings are gorgeous.
    • 5/5
      I've read this book at least twice, probably more, but it's been a while. Still there are scenes that stick in my mind -- the famous fence whitewashing sequence, the one where Tom and Huck attend their own funeral, and others. Although The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a deeper book, and probably deserves six stars, I can't downgrade Tom Sawyer because of that. Certainly every American - whether child or adult, Mayflower descendant, American Indian or recent immigrant -- should read both books.
    • 3/5
      To borrow a phrase from Ceridwen, I'd like to punch this book in the nose. Don't get me wrong; Mark Twain's novel is engagingly written and probably a timeless classic for its rich depictions of rural life in the antebellum South; it's just that the "lovable rascal" schtick doesn't work for me. It isn't really the book I have an issue with; it's Tom Sawyer himself I'd like to punch. He's been an icon of carefree boyhood antics for nealy 150 years, and as such he's been a stone in my shoe for as long as I've known him. My mother's dogeared copy from her own childhood has been floating around our household for decades, both predating my own appearance, and remaining after I departed for college. When somebody keeps a book around that long, and it's as lovingly worn as Mom's Tom Sawyer you just know it made an impression at some point. As my mother's only son, I can assure you that to some significant degree, Tom imprinted himself in her imagination as a sort of rough guideline of what a growing boy should be: a spirited imp who passes lazy summers fishin' with his buddies, getting into rough-and-tumble adventures in the great outdoors, swimmin' at the swimmin' hole, and layin' on the hillside chewin' a long stem of grass while lookin' at clouds, &c. That's fine, if that's what you're into. The problem was, that's not what I was into. Twelve year old Brian of 1980 was absolutely nothing like twelve year old Tom Sawyer of 1876. Brian didn't give a fuck about fishing or getting into brawls with the neighborhood boys (just for spirited fun of it) or any of that other damn stuff. If left to my own devices, I would have spent my summers reading in my room, building models, listening to music on my cool cassette player and probably watching more tv than I should have. Introversion isn't a crime, you know... but Tom made his unwelcome influence known more times than I can recall, when I'd be contentedly engaged in one of the above sedentary activities, and Mom would come by and say something like "What are you doing in here on such a beautiful day? You should go outside and play!"To which I responded (although not usually aloud) "Play? What do you think I'm doing here?" But my play didn't really count as "play" in Mom's book. It was Tom's play I was supposed to be engaging in. I had a general sense that "go out and play" probably involved some sort of team sports, which I was not much a fan of, or some vague kind of frolicking in the sunshine, the specifics of which eluded me. Once I went outside though, I never knew exactly what I was supposed to do. More often than not, when shoo'd out of the house, I'd just bring my book with me, and read in the yard. Occasionally Mom would get more aggressive in her efforts and send me away on my bicycle, not to return for a specified time interval. Mostly I'd ride around then, or occasionally drop in on friends to play board games, or some other decidedly non-Sawyeresque activity. Those were the days I knew Tom was conspiring with Mom, whispering like a ghost in her ear to disrupt my favorite pasttimes, and replace them with boyhood romps more alligned with the ideals propegated by Mark Twain and Walt Disney (another of my childhood enemies).My dislike for Tom only grew when I got around to reading his book. I could hardly believe it! Sneaking out of the house late at night? Lying? Not doing chores? Crawling around in prohibited caves? Stealing? Getting into fights?? What the hell?!?!? This is all stuff I would have gotten in trouble for, had I actually done it! Tom Sawyer was like an infuriating sibling who never got held to account; a Bart Simpson, if Bart Simpson wasn't remotely funny. And this was the boy I was supposed to be like?? It was a bitter mixed message; a situation where you just couldn't win. When I look back on the book now, I only recall a few specifics. One of them is the famous fence painting scene. Tom tricks his friends into helping him paint a fence by convincing them how much fun it is. He stands there, whistling and painting away, telling his buddies what a great time he's having, until pretty soon they are begging to be allowed to participate. He refuses at first- wanting to keep the "fun" for himself, but eventually reluctantly remits. I think he even charges them money for the pleasure. What a manipulative bastard. If he were alive today, he'd probably be running a sweatshop somewhere, inducing seven year olds to make Nike sneakers for 30 cents an hour (without bathroom breaks). Or maybe he'd be working as a Director for the Federal Reserve. I can picture him in a press conference, the skinny blonde freckled kid of yesteryear now grown into a doughy, pale late middle aged fat man with bloodshot eyes, jowls, excessive nose and ear hair, and male pattern baldness. He'd stand there with his script, sweating under the camera lights in his ill-fitting suit, and tell the American public how lucky we all are that the Fed is going to "save" us from economic collapse with quantitative easing and a big "liquidity" injection of worthless paper money which will destroy the value of our hard-earned savings. Then he and his Goldman Sachs buddies would duck into a back room to do some lines of blow with Becky Thatcher, laughing all the while at what a bunch of suckers we all are.Fuck you, Tom Sawyer.
    • 4/5
      Charming bit of Americana, and serves as a build up to Huckleberry Finn, Twain's masterwork.
    • 3/5
      I tried reading this back in grade school and got stuck on the dialect. Either I have gotten better at reading dialect or this one did not have as much. Anyway, the story was actually more fun than I would have thought and was less episodic than many novels from the same time period, but I still would have liked a tighter story.

    Book preview

    The Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain

    CHAPTER I

    TOM! No answer.

    TOM! No answer.

    What’s gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!

    No answer.

    The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never looked through them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for style, not service—she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear:

    Well, I lay if I get hold of you I’ll—

    She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.

    I never did see the beat of that boy!

    She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato vines and jimpson weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:

    Y-o-u-u TOM!

    There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.

    There! I might ’a’ thought of that closet. What you been doing in there?

    Nothing.

    "Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What is that truck?"

    I don’t know, aunt.

    Well, I know. It’s jam—that’s what it is. Forty times I’ve said if you didn’t let that jam alone I’d skin you. Hand me that switch.

    The switch hovered in the air—the peril was desperate—

    My! Look behind you, aunt!

    The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and disappeared over it.

    His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle laugh.

    "Hang the boy, can’t I never learn anything? Ain’t he played me tricks enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time? But old fools is the biggest fools there is. Can’t learn an old dog new tricks, as the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days, and how is a body to know what’s coming? He ’pears to know just how long he can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make out to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it’s all down again and I can’t hit him a lick. I ain’t doing my duty by that boy, and that’s the Lord’s truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child, as the Good Book says. I’m a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know. He’s full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he’s my own dead sister’s boy, poor thing, and I ain’t got the heart to lash him, somehow. Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and every time I hit him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is born of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says, and I reckon it’s so. He’ll play hookey this evening, * and I’ll just be obleeged to make him work, tomorrow, to punish him. It’s mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else, and I’ve got to do some of my duty by him, or I’ll be the ruination of the child."

    Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day’s wood and split the kindlings before supper—at least he was there in time to tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work. Tom’s younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through with his part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy, and had no adventurous, trouble-some ways.

    While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity offered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and very deep—for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like many other simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she was endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she loved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low cunning. Said she:

    Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn’t it?

    Yes’m.

    Powerful warm, warn’t it?

    Yes’m.

    Didn’t you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?

    A bit of a scare shot through Tom—a touch of uncomfortable suspicion. He searched Aunt Polly’s face, but it told him nothing. So he said:

    No’m—well, not very much.

    The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom’s shirt, and said:

    But you ain’t too warm now, though. And it flattered her to reflect that she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing that that was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew where the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:

    Some of us pumped on our heads—mine’s damp yet. See?

    Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of circumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new inspiration:

    Tom, you didn’t have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to pump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!

    The trouble vanished out of Tom’s face. He opened his jacket. His shirt collar was securely sewed.

    "Bother! Well, go ’long with you. I’d made sure you’d played hookey and been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you’re a kind of a singed cat, as the saying is—better’n you look. This time."

    She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.

    But Sidney said:

    Well, now, if I didn’t think you sewed his collar with white thread, but it’s black.

    Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!

    But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:

    Siddy, I’ll lick you for that.

    In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into the lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them—one needle carried white thread and the other black. He said:

    She’d never noticed if it hadn’t been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to gee-miny she’d stick to one or t’other—I can’t keep the run of ’em. But I bet you I’ll lam Sid for that. I’ll learn him!

    He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well though—and loathed him.

    Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles. Not because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a man’s are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore them down and drove them out of his mind for the time—just as men’s misfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new interest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired from a negro, and he was suffering to practise it un-disturbed. It consisted in a peculiar bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble, produced by touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short intervals in the midst of the music—the reader probably remembers how to do it, if he has ever been a boy. Diligence and attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he strode down the street with his mouth full of harmony and his soul full of gratitude. He felt much as an astronomer feels who has discovered a new planet—no doubt, as far as strong, deep, unalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with the boy, not the astronomer.

    The summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom checked his whistle. A stranger was before him—a boy a shade larger than himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive curiosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy was well-dressed, too—well-dressed on a week-day. This was simply astounding. His cap was a dainty thing, his close-buttoned blue cloth roundabout was new and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes on—and it was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon. He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom’s vitals. The more Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose at his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to him to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other moved—but only sidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all the time. Finally Tom said:

    I can lick you!

    I’d like to see you try it.

    Well, I can do it.

    No you can’t, either.

    Yes I can.

    No you can’t.

    I can.

    You can’t.

    Can!

    Can’t!

    An uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:

    What’s your name?

    ’Tisn’t any of your business, maybe.

    "Well I ’low I’ll make it my business."

    Well why don’t you?

    If you say much, I will.

    "Much—much—much. There now."

    "Oh, you think you’re mighty smart, don’t you? I could lick you with one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to."

    "Well why don’t you do it? You say you can do it."

    "Well I will, if you fool with me."

    Oh yes—I’ve seen whole families in the same fix.

    "Smarty! You think you’re some, now, don’t you? Oh, what a hat!"

    You can lump that hat if you don’t like it. I dare you to knock it off—and anybody that’ll take a dare will suck eggs.

    You’re a liar!

    You’re another.

    You’re a fighting liar and dasn’t take it up.

    Aw—take a walk!

    Say—if you give me much more of your sass I’ll take and bounce a rock off’n your head.

    "Oh, of course you will."

    "Well I will."

    "Well why don’t you do it then? What do you keep saying you will for? Why don’t you do it? It’s because you’re afraid."

    "I ain’t afraid."

    You are.

    I ain’t.

    You are.

    Another pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently they were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:

    Get away from here!

    Go away yourself!

    I won’t.

    I won’t either.

    So they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and both shoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with hate. But neither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and flushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:

    You’re a coward and a pup. I’ll tell my big brother on you, and he can thrash you with his little finger, and I’ll make him do it, too.

    What do I care for your big brother? I’ve got a brother that’s bigger than he is—and what’s more, he can throw him over that fence, too. [Both brothers were imaginary.]

    That’s a lie.

    "Your saying so don’t make it so."

    Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:

    I dare you to step over that, and I’ll lick you till you can’t stand up. Anybody that’ll take a dare will steal sheep.

    The new boy stepped over promptly, and said:

    Now you said you’d do it, now let’s see you do it.

    Don’t you crowd me now; you better look out.

    "Well, you said you’d do it—why don’t you do it?"

    "By jingo! for two cents I will do it."

    The new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out with derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys were rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and for the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other’s hair and clothes, punched and scratched each other’s nose, and covered themselves with dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the fog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him with his fists. Holler ’nuff! said he.

    The boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying—mainly from rage.

    Holler ’nuff!—and the pounding went on.

    At last the stranger got out a smothered ’Nuff! and Tom let him up and said:

    Now that’ll learn you. Better look out who you’re fooling with next time.

    The new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing, snuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and threatening what he would do to Tom the next time he caught him out. To which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and as soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it and hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like an antelope. Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he lived. He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the enemy to come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the window and declined. At last the enemy’s mother appeared, and called Tom a bad, vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went away; but he said he ’lowed to lay for that boy.

    He got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in at the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and when she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn his Saturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its firmness.

    * Southwestern for afternoon

    CHAPTER II

    SATURDAY MORNING WAS COME, AND all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.

    Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from the town pump had always been hateful work in Tom’s eyes, before, but now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at the pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there waiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour—and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:

    Say, Jim, I’ll fetch the water if you’ll whitewash some.

    Jim shook his head and said:

    "Can’t, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an’ git dis water an’ not stop foolin’ roun’ wid anybody. She say she spec’ Mars Tom gwine to ax me to whitewash, an’ so she tole me go ’long an’ ’tend to my own business—she ’lowed she’d ’tend to de whitewashin’."

    "Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That’s the way she always talks. Gimme the bucket—I won’t be gone only a a minute. She won’t ever know."

    Oh, I dasn’t, Mars Tom. Ole missis she’d take an’ tar de head off’n me. ’Deed she would.

    "She! She never licks anybody—whacks ’em over the head with her thimble—and who cares for that, I’d like to know. She talks awful, but talk don’t hurt—anyways it don’t if she don’t cry. Jim, I’ll give you a marvel. I’ll give you a white alley!"

    Jim began to waver.

    White alley, Jim! And it’s a bully taw.

    My! Dat’s a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I’s powerful ’fraid ole missis—

    And besides, if you will I’ll show you my sore toe.

    Jim was only human—this attraction was too much for him. He put down his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he was flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with a slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye.

    But Tom’s energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for having to work—the very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and examined it—bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange of work, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great, magnificent inspiration.

    He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in sight presently—the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben’s gait was the hop-skip-and-jump—proof enough that his heart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and circumstance—for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them:

    Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! The headway ran almost out, and he drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.

    Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling! His arms straightened and stiffened down his sides.

    Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow! Chow! His right hand, mean-time, describing stately circles—for it was representing a forty-foot wheel.

    Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ch-chow-chow! The left hand began to describe circles.

    "Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! lively now! Come—out with your spring-line—what’re you about there! Take a turn round that stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now—let her go! Done with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH’T! S’H’T! SH’T!" (trying the gauge-cocks).

    Tom went on whitewashing—paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared a moment and then said: "Hi-Yi! You’re up a stump, ain’t you!"

    No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom’s mouth watered for the apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:

    Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?

    Tom wheeled suddenly and said:

    Why, it’s you, Ben! I warn’t noticing.

    "Say—I’m going in a-swimming, I am. Don’t you wish you could? But of course you’d druther work—wouldn’t you? Course you would!"

    Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:

    What do you call work?

    "Why, ain’t that work?"

    Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:

    Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain’t. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer.

    "Oh come, now, you don’t mean to let on that you like it?"

    The

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