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汤姆.索亚历险记|The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

第4章|Chapter 4

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 马克-吐温] 阅读：[11487]
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第四章　主日学校，风头出尽

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太阳升起来，照在宁静的世界上，静静的村庄仿佛沐浴在圣光之中。早饭过后，波莉姨妈做了祷告。开始的一篇祷告词完全是从《圣经》中引用来的，其中还掺杂着星星点点的新意。两者勉强地被粘合在一起，这种粘合做得就像她是从西奈山顶宣布了“摩西律”中严酷的一段。

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然后，汤姆好像是振作了精神，一本正经地着手去背那一段一段的《圣经》了。希德几天前就把他该背的段落记牢了。汤姆花费了所有的精力，全力以赴在背五段《圣经》内容。他选择的是基督《登山宝训》的一部分，因为这部分是全文中最短的部分。快到半个小时的时候，他对要背的内容已有了一个模模糊糊的印象。不过，仅此而已，因为他此刻已经心不在焉，胡思乱想，两手不停地忙着一些无关紧要的东西。玛丽拿着他的书，要听他背诵，他就竭力地云来雾去地往下背：

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“有福的人是……呃——呃——”

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“穷乏——”

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“对——穷乏；有福的人是穷人……呃——呃——”

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“精神上——”

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“在精神上；有福的人是精神上的贫乏者，因为他们——他们——”

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“他们的——”

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“因为他们的。有福的人是精神上的贫乏者，因为他们的是天国。有福的人是那些哀恸的人，因为他们——他们——”

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“因为他们……呃——”

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“因为他们将——，下面我记不得了！”

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“将要——”

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“欧！将要！因为他们将要——因为他们将要——呃——呃——将要哀恸——呃——呃——被保佑的是那些将要——那些将要——呃——那些将要哀恸的人，因为他们将要——呃——将要什么？玛丽，为什么不提示我？——你干吗要这样小气？”

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“哦，汤姆，你这个可怜的小笨蛋。我可不是在拿你开玩笑。我不愿逗你。你必须再去重新背。汤姆，你可别灰心丧气，你会背来的——如果你背熟了，我会给你些好玩的东西。

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哎，对了，这才是个好孩子。”

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“好吧！给我什么，玛丽？告诉我是什么好玩的东西。”

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“这你用不着问，汤姆，我说好玩，就是好玩的东西。”

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“你可得讲话算话呀，玛丽。那好吧，我就再去好好地背一背。”

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后来他真的“好好地背”了——在好奇心和获得奖品的希望的双重诱惑下，他精神十足地学了一阵，结果居然获得了辉煌的胜利。玛丽给了他一把价值１角２分半的崭新的“巴露牌”小刀。他欣喜若狂，手舞足蹈。说真的，这把刀切不了任何东西，但它是“千真万确”的“巴露牌”，这可是意味着一种极大的荣耀——虽然西部的孩子们居然认为这种刀器也有可能被冒牌，会损伤它的名誉，这个谜令人印象深刻，也许永远都是如此。汤姆拿这把刀在碗橱上乱刻了一阵，正准备在衣柜上动手的时候，却被唤去换衣服，准备上主日学校。

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玛丽递给他一脸盆水和一块肥皂。于是，他走到门外，把脸盆放在那儿的一个小凳子上。然后他把肥皂蘸了点水，又把它放下；他卷起袖子，轻轻地把水泼在地上，转身走进厨房，用门后面的一条毛巾使劲地擦着脸。可是，玛丽拿开毛巾，说道：

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“嘿，你不害臊吗？汤姆！你可千万别这么没治了。水不会伤着你的。”

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汤姆有点不自在。脸盆重新又盛满了水，这一回，他下定决心俯身在脸盆边站了一会，然后深深吸了一口气，就开始洗脸。不久，他走进厨房，闭着眼睛伸手去摸那条毛巾，脸上的肥皂水直往下淌，算是他老老实实洗过脸的证明。可是，当他拿开毛巾，露出脸时，还是不能让人满意。因为洗干净的地方只局限于两腮帮子和下巴上面，看上去像个假面具似的。

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在下巴以下和腮帮子两旁，还有很大一片没有沾过水，黑乎乎的，从脖子一直往下，往后伸展。玛丽又拉过他来帮他收拾。她把他梳洗打扮完毕之后，他看起来才像个男人，像个兄

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弟，脸再也不是白一块黑一块了，那湿透了的头发也梳得整整齐齐，短短的卷发还弄成了挺好看的对称样式。（他曾费了很大的劲，偷偷地把满头的鬈发按着，紧紧地贴在头上。因为他认定鬈发总有些女人气，他为自己天生的鬈发十分懊恼。）后来，玛丽把他的一套衣服拿出来，这套衣服已穿了两年，只有星期天才穿——干脆就叫“那套衣服”——由此我们可以知道他的穿戴方面的全部衣物共有多少。他自己穿戴之后，那姑娘又帮他“整理”了一番。

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她把他那件整洁的上装的衣扣统统扣上，一直扣到下巴底下，又把他那个宽大的衬衣领子往下一翻，搭在两边的肩上，再给他刷得干干净净，戴上他那顶有点点的草帽。这一下子他显得极漂亮，也极不舒服，他看上去一点也不舒服。因为穿上衣服还要保持整洁，对他是种拘束，所以他心里很烦躁。他希望玛丽别让他穿鞋子，可这希望落了空。她按照当时的习惯，先给鞋子抹了一层蜡油，然后拿了出来。他发火了，埋怨别人老是让他干他自己不愿意干的事情，可是，玛丽却劝他道：

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“汤姆，——这才是个好孩子哪。”

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于是，汤姆一边大喊大叫，一边穿上了那双鞋。玛丽也很快地作好了准备，三个孩子就一块动身去主日学校——那地方是汤姆最深恶痛绝的；但是，希德和玛丽却非常喜欢那里。

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主日学校的上课时间是从９点到１０点半；之后，就是做礼拜。他们三个中间有两个总是自觉自愿地留在那儿听牧师布道，而另外一个因为更重要原因也是每次都留下来。教堂里的座位靠背很高，没有垫子，一共可坐三百人。教堂是一座简陋的、规模不大的建筑。屋顶上安了一个松木板做的盒子似的装置当做尖塔。在门口，汤姆故意放慢一步，跟一个穿着星期天服装的同伴打了招呼：

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“喂，贝利，你有黄色票吗？”

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“有啊。”

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“你要什么东西才换呢？”

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“你准备用什么换？”

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“一块糖和一个钓鱼钩。”

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“东西呢？”

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汤姆就拿出来给他看了。贝利对这两样东西很满意，于是，双方的财物易了主。接着，汤姆用两个白石头子换了三张红票，又用其它一些小玩意换了两张蓝票。当其他的孩子走过来时，汤姆又拦住他们，继续收买各色各样的票。这样换了有十几分钟，汤姆才和一群穿着整齐、吵吵嚷嚷的男孩和女孩一起走进教堂。汤姆走到自己的座位上，和一个离他最近的男孩争吵起来。他们的老师是位面色严肃、上了年纪的人，他叫他俩别闹，然后就转过身去了。汤姆又揪了另一条板凳上一个男孩的头发，那男孩转过头时，他却在全神贯注地在看书。接着为了要听另一个男孩子叫一声“哎唷！”他又用一枚别针扎了他一下，结果被老师臭骂了一顿。汤姆所在的这个班全是一个模式——吵吵闹闹，东捣西戳，一刻不停。他们一起背诵经文时，没有一个能完整记住的，都必须不断地给予提示才行。然而，他们还是勉强过了关，个个都得了奖——蓝色的小纸票，每张票上都印有一段《圣经》上的话。要背两段《圣经》经文才能得这么样一张蓝色纸票。十张蓝色票等于一张红色票，也可以互换。十张红色票又可以换一张黄色票。如果得了十张黄色票，校长就奖励给这个学生一本简装的《圣经》（在当初日子好过的那个时候，值４角钱）。我亲爱的读者们当中，有多少人肯这么用功，费劲去背上两千段《圣经》经文来换取一本多莱版的《圣经》呢？然而玛丽却用这种方法得了两本《圣经》——那可是两年之久的耐心学习的代价——还有一个德国血统的男孩得了四五本。他曾一下子背诵了三千段《圣经》。可是由于他脑力的过度劳累，自此以后差不多成了一个白痴——这是主日学校的重大不幸，因为每逢盛大的场面，在许多来宾面前（据汤姆的讲法），校长总是叫这个男孩出来“露一手”。只有那些年龄大的学生才坚持努力用功，想法得票，为的是获取一本《圣经》。所以，每次颁发这种奖品都是件稀罕而轰动的大事。

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得奖的同学在当时显得那样的伟大，那样的光荣，以致每个在场的学生心里都产生新的野心，这种野心往往要持续一两个星期之久。汤姆内心可能从来没有真正渴望过获得这种奖品，不过，毫无疑问，许多天以来他的全部身心都在渴望得到随着这种奖励而来的光彩和荣誉。

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等到一定的时候，校长在布道台前面站了起来，他手里拿着一本合上的圣诗，食指夹在书页中间，叫大家静下来，听他讲道。主日学校的校长开始他那简短的开场白时，手中总少不了要拿着一本圣诗，就像歌手参加音乐会时站在演唱台，开始独唱的时候一样，手中也少不了要拿本乐谱——虽然谁也不知道为什么要这样。因为无论圣诗也好，乐谱也好，台上受罪的那个人从来都不会用得上这些的。这位校长是个３５岁的瘦子，蓄着沙滩色的山羊胡和沙滩色的短头发；他穿着一副硬挺挺的衣服领子，领边几乎顶到他耳边，两个尖尖的领角顺着脖子弯过来，齐到他的嘴角——就像一堵围墙似的，逼着他只能往前方看，每当他要看旁边的时候，就不得不把整个身子都转过来；他的下巴托在一条宽大的领结上面，那个领结就像一张支票那样又宽又长，周围还带有花边。他的靴子头尖尖的，向上翘着，这在当时非常时髦，好像雪橇下面翘起来的滑刀一样——这种时新式样是年青人耐心地、吃力地一连几个钟头地坐着把脚趾拼命顶着墙的结果。华尔特先生态度非常庄重，心地虔诚而实在。他对宗教方面的事情和场所非常尊敬，把它们和世俗方面的事分得清清楚楚。因此尽管没有意识到，但他却养成了主日学校讲话时一种特别的语调，这种语调在平常的日子里是绝对听不到的。他就用这种语调开始说起来：

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“孩子们，现在我要你们都尽量地、端端正正地坐起来，集中注意力听我讲一两分钟的话。对——做得好。好小孩子们就该这样做。我看见一个小姑娘在向窗外看——我想她一定认为我是在外面的某个地方——也许想着我在给树上的小鸟作演讲吧，（一阵嘻嘻哈哈的喝彩声。）我想告诉你们看到这么多聪明的、干干净净的小脸儿聚集在这样的地方，听话、学好，我心里是多么的高兴。”等等、等等诸如此类的话。下面讲的话我就不必一一写下了。

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反正是些千佛一面大家都熟悉的东西。华尔特先生的演说到后面三分之一时受到了一些干扰，因为一些坏孩子又打起架来或搞别的小动作，满堂都在扭头讲悄悄话。连玛丽和希德这样巍然屹立，不易摧毁的“中流砥柱”也受到了冲击。随着华尔特先生的声音突然终止，课堂里的一切吵闹声也都随之嘎然止住，大家突然静下来，以此来表达对演说结束的感激之情。

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刚才那阵子的窃窃私语主要是由一件多少有些稀罕的事情引起的——那就是来了几位来访者：有撒切尔律师，他由一个非常衰弱的老人陪伴；一位文雅、肥胖、满头铁灰色头发的中年绅士；还有一位贵夫人，她无疑是那位绅士的太太。这位夫人手里还牵着一个小孩。汤姆心里一直很不安，心里充满了烦恼和忧愁；而且还受到良心的谴责——他不敢正视艾美·劳伦斯的眼睛，她那含情的注目简直使他受不了。可是当他看见这位新来的小女孩，他的心里立刻燃起了幸福的火焰。接着他就拚命地卖弄炫耀——打别人的耳光，揪头发，做鬼脸——总而言之，凡是可能引起女孩注意，获取她欢心和赞赏的把戏，他都用了。想到在这个小天使家花园受到的那种非人的待遇，他高兴的劲头凉了一截，不过快得就像留在沙滩上的印迹一样，被幸福的浪潮一冲，就被冲得一干二净。

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这几位来访者被请到最上席就座，华尔特先生刚刚结束讲话，就向全校师生介绍了这几位贵宾。那位中年人原来是个不平凡的大人物——竟是县上的法官——他是这些孩子们所见过的最威严的人物——他们很想知道他是由什么做的——他们一方面很想听听他吼叫两声，可是另一方面又相当害怕他吼叫。他是离这儿十二哩远的康士坦丁堡镇人——因此他是出过远门、见过世面的人——他那双眼睛曾见过县上的法庭——据说那所房子的屋顶是用锡皮做的。想到这些，他让人觉得畏惧，这从他那令人难忘的沉默和一排排瞪着的眼睛可以看得出来。这就是了不起的撒切尔大法官，是他们镇上律师的哥哥。杰夫·撒切尔立即走上前，和这位大人物亲近，真让全校师生羡慕、嫉妒。听大家切切私语，他就像听见音乐一般，心情舒畅。

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“吉姆，你看！他上讲台了。嘿——瞧！他要和他握手啦——他真的和他握手了！哎呀，你不希望自己就是杰夫吗？”

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华尔特先生开始“出风头”了，他一副官样，到处发号施令，表示意见，给予指导，忙得他不亦乐乎。只要他发现目标，免不了都要唠叨几句。图书管理员也“卖弄”了一番——他手里抱着许多本书，嘴里咕咕哝哝，到处跑动，忙个不停。他这种举动起码让那位小权威人物开心。年轻的女教师们也“炫耀”了一番——亲切地弯下腰看着那些刚被打过耳光的学生，伸出漂亮的手指对着那些不听话的孩子以示警告，或者和蔼可亲地拍拍那些乖孩子。年轻的男教师们也“出了一番风头”，他们小声地骂一骂学生，还用别的表示享有权威和重视校规的方式表现了自己——所有男男女女的教师们都在布道台旁的图书室那儿找到可干的事情。这种事情只干一次就可以了，他们却反复干了两三次（表面上装出很着急的样子）。小姑娘们也用各种方式“卖弄”，男孩子“卖弄”得更是劲头十足，于是，空中满是乱飞的纸团，教室里互相扭打的声音不断。尤其是，那位坐在台上的大人，面带庄严的微笑，一副高高在上的样子，望着全场，这种优越感令其陶然——因为他自己也在“炫耀”啊。

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这时候只差一件事情，就能使华尔特先生狂喜到极点，那就是他非常想有一个机会给某个学生颁发一本《圣经》，借以展示一下自己。有几个学生拥有一些黄色票，可没有一个够数的——他在几个明星学生中间转了一圈，问了问。假如，这时候能叫那个德国血统曾经出色过的学生脑子健全起来，再能表演一回，他真情愿付出所有的一切。

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希望眼看就要落空了，就在这个时候，汤姆·索亚却走上前来，手里拿着九张黄票、九张红票和十张蓝票，请求得到一本《圣经》。这真是晴天霹雳。再过十年，华尔特先生也不会料想竟是这个宝贝来提出申请。可是又无法推脱——票面都不假，按照规定都该是有效的。于是，汤姆有幸与法官和其他几位贵宾们坐在一起，这个重大的消息就从首脑席上公布于众了。这是十年来最令人吃惊的事情，全场大为轰动，把这位新英雄的地位抬高得和法官老爷相等。这下子学校的人们瞪着眼睛看的是两位而不是一位了不起的人物了。男孩子们更是忌妒得咬牙切齿——可是最懊悔的还是那些用背《圣经》得来的条子跟汤姆换他出卖刷墙特权时所积攒下的财宝的孩子们。为了汤姆这些宝贝玩意，他们给了汤姆这些条子，这帮了他大忙，使他获得了这种令人气愤的荣誉。可是，现在才发现，后悔已经晚了。这些孩子们现在才明白他们的对手是个诡计多端的骗子，是一条藏在草里狡诈的蛇，而他们自己却是上了当的大傻瓜，因此他们都觉得自惭形秽。

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校长给汤姆发奖的时候，为了应付这种场合，他尽量找出一些赞美表扬的话来说。可是从他话里听出好像没有多少是发自他内心的热忱，因为这位可怜的人的本能告诉他，这里面也许潜藏着某种见不得人的秘密。这孩子脑子里真的能装下两千段圣书里的经文，真会让人笑掉大牙——因为毫无疑问，十几段经文就够他受的了。

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艾美·劳伦斯既得意又自豪，她想方设法地要汤姆看出这点来——可是，汤姆偏不朝她这边看。她搞不清这是怎么回事，接着她有点儿慌张，然后隐隐约约又有点怀疑，很快疑虑消除了——跟着又怀疑起来。她注视了他一会儿，当看到汤姆偷偷地瞟了新来的女孩子一眼时，这才恍然大悟——于是她心碎了，忌妒了，非常恼火，跟着眼泪也流了出来。她恨所有的人，最恨最恨的是汤姆（她心里想）。

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汤姆被校长介绍给法官大人，可是，他的舌头打了结，气也喘不过来，心也跳得厉害——一半是因为这位大人物的威严，一半则因为他是她的父亲。如果现在是夜晚，是在黑暗中，他简直就要向他下跪膜拜了。大法官把手放在汤姆的头上，说他是个好小伙子，还问他叫什么名字。这孩子结结巴巴，喘气困难，勉强答道：

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“汤姆。”

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“哦，不对，不是汤姆——应该是——”

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“托马斯。”

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“喔，这就对了。我想应该还有一半吧，也许该有，这很好。不过，我肯定你还有一个姓，你告诉我，好不好？”“托马斯，告诉法官大人你姓什么！”华尔特先生赶忙说，“还要称呼先生，你可别忘了礼貌呀。”

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“托马斯·索亚——先生。”

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“这就对了！这才是个好孩子。很不错的小伙子。不错，有出息。两千段的圣书经文可真不少——实在，实在是够多的。你花了那么多精力来背诵这些经文，你一辈子也不会后悔的，因为知识是宝贵的，比世上一切财富都有价值。有了知识，你就能成为伟人，成为好人；托马斯，等将来有一天，当你回首往事时，你会说，一切都归功于我儿时所上的主日学校——归功于我亲爱的老师们教给我的那些知识——归功于我的好校长，他鼓励我，督促我，还给了我一本漂亮的《圣经》——一本漂亮而精美的《圣经》——让我自己永远保留——这一切多亏了我的老师们教导有方啊！将来你会这么说的，托马斯——你那两千段经文别人无论给你多少钱，你也不会卖吧！——你肯定不会卖的。现在把你学过的内容说给我和这位太太听听，你该不会介意吧——不会的，我知道你不会在乎的——因为我们是非常赞赏有知识有学问的孩子。那么，不用问，你肯定知道所有十二门徒的名字，就把耶稣最初选定的两个门徒的名字告诉我们，好不好？”

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汤姆捏住一个钮扣眼使劲地拉，样子显得很害羞。他的脸一下子涨得通红，眼皮也垂了下来。华尔特先生的心也随之一沉。他心里想，这个孩子连最简单的问题都不可能回答出来——为什么法官偏要问他？然而他又不得不开口，说道：

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“托马斯，回答法官大人的问题——不要害怕。”

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汤姆仍旧不肯开口。

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“好吧，我知道你会跟我讲，”那位太太说。“最初的两个门徒的名字是——”

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“大卫和哥利亚斯——”

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这幕戏不能再往下看了，我们还是发发慈悲就此闭幕吧。

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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.

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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:

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"Blessed are the -- a -- a --"

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"Poor" --

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"Yes -- poor; blessed are the poor -- a -- a --"

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"In spirit --"

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"In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they -- they --"

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"Theirs --"

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"For theirs. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they -- they --"

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"Sh --"

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"For they -- a --"

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"S, H, A --"

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"For they S, H -- Oh, I don’t know what it is!"

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"Shall!"

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"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?"

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"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."

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"All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is."

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"Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it’s nice, it is nice."

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"You bet that’s so, Mary. All right, I’ll tackle it again."

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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.

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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:

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"Now ain’t you ashamed, Tom. You mustn’t be so bad. Water won’t hurt you."

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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 life with bitterness.] 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:

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"Please, Tom -- that’s a good boy."

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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.

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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 comrade:

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"Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?"

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"Yes."

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"What’ll you take for her?"

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"What’ll you give?"

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"Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook."

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"Less see ’em."

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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.

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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 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:

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"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.

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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.

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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.

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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:

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"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?"

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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).

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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:

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"Tom."

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"Oh, no, not Tom -- it is --"

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"Thomas."

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"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?"

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"Tell the gentleman your other name, Thomas," said Walters, "and say sir. You mustn’t forget your manners."

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"Thomas Sawyer -- sir."

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"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?"

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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:

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"Answer the gentleman, Thomas -- don’t be afraid."

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Tom still hung fire.

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

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"DAVID AND GOLIAH!"

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

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