Приключения Тома Сойера / The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

About half-past nine or ten o’clock he came along the deserted street to where the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; heard nothing. A candle was casting a dull glow upon the curtain of a second-story window. Was she there? He climbed the fence, carefully walked through the plants, and stood under that window. He looked up at it long, and with emotion; then he laid down on the ground under it, with his hands clasped on his chest and holding his flower. He thought that here he would die—out in the cold world, with no shelter over his homeless head. And she would see him in the morning, and oh! would she drop one little tear upon his poor, lifeless body …

The window went up, a maid-servant’s voice said something loudly, and a deluge of water drenched him from head to toe.

Tom sprang up. There was a whiz as of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, and a small form went over the fence and into the darkness.

Chapter IV

On Sunday after breakfast Tom went to learn “his verses”^[11] from the Bible. Sid had learned his lesson days before.

Tom tried very hard to the memorize the 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. His cousin Mary took his book to hear him recite, and he tried his best:

“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, 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.”

That made Tom do his best—and be a 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. He was going to try the knife on the furniture when he was called off to dress for Sunday-school.

Mary took care of the process. She made Tom put on a suit that had been used only on Sundays during two years. He now looked much better and felt very uncomfortable. He hoped that Mary would forget his shoes, but she asked Tom to put them on:

“Please, Tom—that’s a good boy.”

So he got into the shoes. Mary was soon ready, and the three children went to Sunday-school—a place that Tom hated with his whole heart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.

At the door Tom asked another pupil:

“I say, Billy, have you got a yellow ticket?”

“Yes.”

“What’ll you take for it?”

“What’ll you give?”

“Piece of liquorish and a fish-hook.”

So he exchanged one of his “treasures” for a yellow ticket. Then Tom traded a couple of other small things for three red tickets, and a couple of blue ones. He went on buying tickets of different colours ten or fifteen minutes longer.

Then the lesson began. Almost all the children in Tom’s class were noisy, and troublesome. When they came to recite their lessons, no one knew his verses well. However, each pupil got his reward—in small blue tickets; each blue ticket was pay for two learned verses. Ten blue tickets could be exchanged for a red one; and ten red tickets could be exchanged for a yellow one. For ten yellow tickets Mr. Walters (the teacher) gave a very cheap Bible (worth forty cents) to the pupil. So, to get it a pupil had to learn two thousand verses. Mary had collected two Bibles in this way—it cost her two years of work.

Frankly speaking, Tom has never been interested in getting such a prize, but he wanted the glory and success.

In the middle of the lesson Mr. Walters said to the pupils:

“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. 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.

The latter third of the speech was marred by the recollection of fights among certain of the bad boys, and by the whisperings of the class.

A good part of the whispering was due to the entrance of visitors: Judge Thatcher, brother of the village lawyer and a well-dressed lady, his wife. The lady was leading a child—the girl whom he had already met once and who became his “new love”. When Tom saw this girl he began showing off with all his might^[12]—beating other boys, pulling hair, making faces—in a word, he did everything he could to win the girl’s heart.

The visitors were given the seat of honor^[13]. They were from Constantinople, twelve miles away—so they had travelled, and seen the world. Jeff Thatcher, Tom’s classmate, immediately went forward, to be familiar with the great man and be envied by the school.

Mr. Walters tried to show how good he was at teaching. There was one thing that could make his success complete. It was a chance to call an excellent pupil and award him or her with a Bible. He asked the class if anyone had ten yellow tickets. Several pupils had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough.

And now at this moment, when hope was almost 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^[14]. Mr. Walters was shocked, because he had never expected that Tom could win a prize; but he was glad that there was a prize-winner in his class at that moment. Immediately Tom became a school hero. All the boys were all eaten up with envy^[15], especially those who had exchanged their tickets with Tom.

Amy Lawrence was proud and glad, and she tried to make Tom see it in her face—but he wouldn’t look. She wondered; next a dim suspicion came; she watched; and then her heart broke, and she was jealous, and angry, and the tears came and she hated everybody, and Tom most of all.

The teacher gave Tom the prize. But Mr. Walter knew that there was some mystery here. He doubted that the boy knew a dozen verses, not to speak of two thousand.

Tom was introduced to the Judge; but he couldn’t speak, his breath would hardly come, his heart beat fast—partly because of the awful greatness of the man, but mainly because he was her parent. 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— 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! 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 was silent.

“Now I know you’ll tell me,” said the lady. “The names of the first two disciples were—”

“DAVID AND GOLIAH!”^[16]

Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.