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The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)
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."
