Tom Sawyer - Chapter 3 - Bedtime Story

Good evening,

It's Gina here.

We'll now continue with Mark Twain's The Adventure of Tom Sawyer,

Chapter Three.

Tom presented himself before Aunt Polly,

Who was sitting by an open window in a pleasant backroom that served as a bedroom,

Breakfast room,

Dining room,

And library,

All at once.

The soft summer air,

The peaceful quiet,

The scent of flowers,

And the sleepy hum of bees had done their work,

And she was nodding over her knitting,

For she had no company but the cat,

And it was asleep in her lap.

Her glasses were perched safely on her grey head.

She had assumed Tom had run off long ago,

And she was amazed to see him put himself back within her reach so boldly.

He said,

Aunt,

Can I go and play now?

What,

Already?

How much have you done?

It's all done,

Aunt.

Tom,

Don't lie to me,

I can't stand it.

I'm not Aunt,

It is all done.

Aunt Polly didn't trust words like that very much.

She went out to sea for herself,

And she would have been satisfied if even 20% of Tom's claim had been true,

But when she found the whole fence whitewashed,

And not only whitewashed,

But carefully coated and coated again,

With every streak added down to the ground,

Her astonishment was almost beyond words.

She said,

Well,

I never.

There's no denying it.

You can work when you feel like it,

Tom.

Then she weakened the compliment by adding,

But it's precious rare that you feel like it,

I'll say that.

Alright,

Go on and play.

But mind you get back sometime within the week,

Or I'll tan you.

She was so overwhelmed by the brilliance of what he had done,

That she took him into the pantry,

Picked out a fine apple and gave it to him,

Along with a moral lecture about how much better a treat tastes when it's earned honestly through good effort.

And while she wrapped it up,

With a careful flourish on From the Scripture,

He slipped a doughnut.

Then he skipped outside and saw Sid just starting up the outdoor stairway that led to the upstairs back rooms.

Clods of dirt were nearby,

And in an instant,

The air was full of them.

They flew around Sid like a hailstorm,

And before Aunt Polly could gather her shopped wits and rush to help,

Six or seven clods had hit their target,

And Tom was over the fence and gone.

There was a gate,

But most of the time he was too rushed to bother using it.

His soul was peaceful now,

Because he had gotten even with Sid for pointing out the black thread and getting him into trouble.

Tom went around the block and came into a muddy alley that ran behind his aunt's cow shed.

Before long,

He was safely out of reach of capture and punishment,

And he hurried towards the village square,

Where two military groups of boys had gathered to fight,

As arranged earlier.

Tom was the general of one army,

And Joe Harper,

A close friend,

Was the general of the other.

These two great commanders did not lower themselves to fight in person,

That was better suited to the smaller boys,

But sat together on a little rise and erected the battle by sending orders through Ides.

Tom's army won a great victory after a long,

Hard-fought fight.

Then the dead were counted,

Prisoners exchanged,

And the terms of the next disagreement were agreed on,

And the date for the necessary battle was set.

After that,

The armies lined up and marched away as Tom headed home alone.

As he passed the house where Jeff Thatcher lived,

He saw a new girl in the garden,

A lovely little creature with blue eyes and yellow hair braided in two long tails,

Wearing a white summer dress and embroidered underclothes.

The freshly crowned hero fell instantly,

Without firing a shot.

Amy Lawrence vanished from his heart and didn't even leave a memory behind.

He had thought he loved her madly,

He had believed his feelings was the true devotion,

And yet it turned out to be only a flimsy,

Fading crush.

He had spent months winning her,

She had given in hardly a week ago,

He had been the happiest and proudest boy alive only seven short days,

And now in one instance she had left his heart like a casual stranger whose visit is over.

He adored this new angel in secret glances until he saw she had noticed him,

Then he pretended he didn't know she was there and began showing off in every ridiculous boyish way he could think of,

Trying to win her admiration.

He kept up this foolish performance for quite a while,

But eventually,

While he was in the middle of some risky acrobatic stunts,

He glanced sideways and saw the little girl walking towards the house.

Tom went up to the fence and leaned on it,

Miserable,

Hoping she would stay in sight just a little longer.

She stopped for a moment on the steps,

Then moved towards the door.

Tom let out a heavy sigh as she put her foot on the threshold,

But his face brightened immediately,

Because just before she disappeared,

She tossed a pansy over the fence.

The boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower,

Then he shaded his eyes with his hand and stared down the street,

As if he'd spotted something interesting happening in that direction.

After a moment,

He picked up a straw and began to balance it on his nose.

With his head tilted far back it and he wobbled from side to side,

He edged closer and closer to the pansy.

At last,

His bare foot came down on it,

His toes curled around it,

And he hopped away with the treasure and vanished around the corner.

But only for a minute,

Only long enough to button the flower inside his jacket,

Close to his heart,

Or maybe close to his stomach,

Since he wasn't much good at anatomy and wasn't picky anyway.

He came back and lingered near the fence until nightfall,

Showing off as before,

But the girl never appeared again,

Though Tom comforted himself with the hope that she had been near the window the whole time and had noticed his attentions.

At last,

He walked home reluctantly,

His poor head filled with dreamy visions.

All through supper,

His spirits were so high that his aunt wondered what had gotten into him.

He got a solid scolding for throwing clods at Sid,

And he didn't seem to care in the least.

He tried to steal sugar right under Aunt Polly's nose and had gotten his knuckles wrapped for it.

He said,

Aunt,

You don't smack Sid when he takes it.

Well,

Sid doesn't pester people the way you do.

You'd be in that to that sugar all day if I wasn't watching you.

A little later,

She stepped into the kitchen and Sid,

Happy with his special immunity,

Reached for the sugar bowl,

Gloating over Tom in a way that was almost unbearable.

But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl fell and broke.

Tom was thrilled,

So thrilled that he even held his tongue and stayed silent.

He told himself he wouldn't say a word even when Aunt Polly came back,

But would sit perfectly still until she asked who had done the damage,

And then he would tell,

And nothing on earth would be sweeter than seeing that precious model child finally get it.

He was so full of triumph that he could barely contain himself when the old woman returned and stood over the wreck,

Shooting flames of anger over the top of her glasses.

Tom told himself,

Now it's coming,

And the very next moment he was sprawled on the floor.

The powerful hand had raised to strike again when Tom cried out,

Hold on,

Why are you hitting me for?

Sid broke it.

Aunt Polly stopped,

Confused,

And Tom looked for soft pity.

But when she found her voice again,

She only said,

Hmm,

Well I reckon you didn't get a whipping you didn't deserve.

You probably been up to something other bold mischief while I wasn't around.

Then her conscience stung her and she wanted to say something kind and loving,

But she believed that would sound like she was admitting she'd been wrong,

And discipline wouldn't allow that.

So she stayed silent and went about her work with a troubled heart.

Tom sulked in a corner and nursed his misery.

He knew that deep down his heart felt sorry and wanted forgiveness,

And he was grimly pleased to know it.

He wouldn't give up any sign,

He wouldn't respond to any.

He knew that now and then she looked at him with a longing through her blur of tears,

But he refused to acknowledge it.

He imagined himself lying sick,

Dying,

While his aunt bent over him begging for just one little word of forgiveness,

But he would turn his face to the wall and die without speaking it.

Ah,

How would she feel then?

Then he imagined himself carried home from the river,

Dead,

His curls soaked and his aching heart finally quiet.

He pictured her throwing himself over him,

Her tears falling like rain,

Her lips begging God to forgive her and bring her boy back,

And promising she would never,

Never mistreat him again.

But he would lie there cold and white and give no sign,

A poor little sufferer whose troubles were finished.

He worked his feelings up with the sadness of these fantasies so strongly that he kept swallowing,

Afraid he might choke.

His eyes swum with tears that spilled over when he blinked and ran down and dripped from the end of his nose.

It felt like such a rich indulgence to him,

This pampering of his grief,

That he couldn't bear for any ordinary cheerfulness or irritating happiness to break into it.

It was too sacred for that.

So when his cousin Mary came dancing in,

Full of joy at being home after an endless one-week visit in the country,

Tom got up and slipped out through one door in the storm and darkness as she brought sunshine and song in through the other.

He wandered far from the usual hangouts of boys and searched for lonely places that matched his mood.

A log raft on the river called to him and he sat on its outer edge and stared at the bleak stretch of water,

Wishing he could only drown it once,

Quietly and without having to go through the uncomfortable process nature designed.

Then he thought about his flower.

He took it out,

Rumpled and wilted,

And it greatly increased the gloomy pleasure of his misery.

He wondered whether she would pity him if she knew.

Would she cry and wish she had the right to put her arms around his neck and comfort him?

Or would she turn coldly away like the empty world always did?

That thought brought him such painful,

Delicious suffering that he turned it over and over in his mind,

Setting at new angles and different lights until he had worn it completely thin.

At last he stood up sighing and walked away into the darkness.

Around 9.

30 or 10 o'clock he came along an empty street to the house where the beloved unknown lived.

He paused and listened.

No sound reached his ear.

A candle cast a dull glow behind the curtain of the second-story window.

Was the sacred presence there?

He climbed the fence,

Slipped quietly through the plants,

And came to stop beneath that window.

He looked up for a long time,

Deeply moved.

Then he lay down on the ground under it,

Arranging himself on his back,

Hands clasped on his heart,

Holding his poor wilted flower.

And so he would die,

Out in the cold world with no roof over his homeless head,

No friendly hand to wipe the death's sweat from his brow,

No loving face bending over him in pity with great agony came.

And so she would see him when she looked out on the happy morning,

And oh,

Would she drop one small tear down on his lifeless body,

Would she sigh once to see the bright young life so harshly ruined,

So untimely cut down.

The window flew up.

A servant girl's harsh voice shattered the holy silence,

And a flood of water drenched the martyr sprawled below.

The choking hero leapt up with a relieved snort.

There was a whizz of something thrown through the air mixed with the sound of a curse.

Then came a crash like breaking glass,

And a small shadowy figure went over the fence and vanished into the dark.

Not long afterwards,

As Tom,

Completely undressed for bed,

Was inspecting his soaked clothes by the light of the tallow candle,

Sid woke up.

But if Sid had any vague idea of making sly comments,

He decided against it and kept quiet,

Because there was a danger in Tom's eyes.

Tom climbed into bed without the extra annoyance of prayers,

And Sid made a mental note that he had skipped them.