Hello it's Gina here.
We'll now continue with chapter 10 of this modernised reading of Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer.
The two boys kept running and running towards the village,
Speechless with horror.
From time to time they glanced back over their shoulders in fear,
As if they expected to be chased.
Every stump that loomed up in their path looked like a man,
An enemy,
And made them catch their breath.
And as they raced past some outlying cottages near the village,
The barking of the awkward watchdogs seemed to give their feet wings.
If we can just make it to the old tannoy before we collapse,
Tom whispered in short gasps between breaths,
I can't keep this up much longer.
Huckleberry's harsh panting was his only answer,
And the boys fixed their eyes on the goal of their hopes,
And drove themselves towards it.
They gained on it steadily,
And at last,
Shoulder to shoulder,
They burst through the open door and fell,
Grateful and exhausted,
Into the sheltering shadows inside.
After a while,
Their breathing slowed,
And Tom whispered,
Huckleberry,
What do you think will come of this?
If Dr Robinson dies,
I reckon somebody's gonna hang.
You really think so?
Why I know it,
Tom.
Tom thought for a while,
And then said,
Who will tell?
Us?
What are you talking about?
Suppose something happened,
And Injun Joe didn't hang?
Why,
He'd kill us sooner or later,
Just as sure as we're laying here.
That's exactly what I was thinking too,
Huck.
If anyone tells,
Let Mothpotter do it.
If he's foolish enough,
He's usually drunk enough.
Tom said nothing.
He kept thinking.
After a while,
He whispered,
Huck,
Mothpotter doesn't know it.
How can he tell?
Why doesn't he know it?
Because he'd just been knocked senseless when Injun Joe did it.
Do you think he could see anything?
You think he knew anything?
By golly,
That's right,
Tom.
And besides,
Look here.
Maybe that blow killed him.
No,
I don't think so,
Tom.
He had liquor in him,
I could tell.
And besides,
He always does.
Why,
When my dad's drunk,
You could hit him over the head with a whole church and he wouldn't faze him.
He'd say so himself.
So if it's the same with Mothpotter,
Of course.
But if a man was completely sober,
Maybe that blow might do it.
I don't know.
After another thoughtful silence,
Tom said,
Huck,
Are you sure you can keep quiet?
Tom,
We have to keep quiet.
You know that.
That Indian devil wouldn't think any more of drowning us than he would a couple of cats if we squealed about this and they didn't hang him.
Now listen,
Tom.
Let's swear to each other.
That's what we've got to do.
Swear to keep quiet.
I agree.
That's the best thing.
Do you want to just shake hands and swear that we.
.
.
Oh no,
That won't do for this.
That's good enough for little ordinary things,
Especially with girls,
Because they go back on you anyway and blab if they get mad.
But for big things like this,
It ought to be in writing.
And blood.
Tom's whole being approved of the idea.
It was deep,
Dark and terrible.
And the hour,
The circumstance and the surroundings all matched it perfectly.
He picked up a clean pine shingle laying in the moonlight,
Took a little piece of red chalk from his pocket and caught the moonlight on his work and painfully scratched out these lines,
Emphasizing each slow downward stroke by clamping his tongue between his teeth and easing the pressure on the upward strokes.
Huck and Finn.
Tom Sawyer swears they will keep mum about this and they wish they may drop down dead in their tracks if they ever tell and rot.
Huckleberry was full of admiration for Tom's ease in writing and of the grandeur of his language.
He immediately pulled the pin from his lapel and was about to prick himself,
But Tom said,
Hold on,
Don't do that.
A pin's made of brass.
It could have vertigous on it.
What's vertigous?
It's poison.
That's what it is.
Just swallow some once,
You'll find out.
So Tom unwound the thread of one of his needles and each boy picked the ball off his thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood.
Eventually,
After many squeezes,
Tom managed to sign his initials using the tip of his little finger as a pen.
Then he showed Huckleberry how to make an H and an F and the oath was complete.
They buried the shingle close to the wall with some gloomy ceremonies and spells and considered the chains on their tongues to be locked forever and the key thrown away.
At that moment,
A figure slipped stealthily through the gap at the far end of the ruined building,
But they didn't notice it.
Tom,
Huckleberry whispered,
Does this mean we can never tell,
Ever?
Of course it does,
It doesn't matter what happens,
We've got to keep quiet.
We're dropped down dead,
Don't you know that?
Yes,
I reckon that's true.
They went on whispering for a little while.
Soon,
A dog began a long mournful howl just outside,
Within ten feet of them.
The boys grabbed each other at once in a storm of terror.
Which one of us does he mean,
Gasped Huckleberry.
I don't know,
Peek through the crack,
Quick.
No you,
Tom.
I can't,
I can't do it,
Huck.
Please,
Tom,
There it goes again.
Oh lord,
I'm thankful,
Tom whispered.
I know that voice,
It's Bull Harbison.
Oh,
That's good,
I'm telling you Tom,
I was almost scared to death.
I'd have bet anything it was a stray dog.
The dog howled again.
The boys' hearts sank all over.
Oh no,
It isn't Bull Harbison,
Huckleberry whispered.
Do it,
Tom.
Tom,
Shaking with fear,
Gave in and put his eye to the crack.
His whisper was barely audible when he said,
Oh Huck,
It is a stray dog.
Quick Tom,
Quick.
Who's he pointing at?
Huck,
He must mean both of us.
We're right together.
Oh Tom,
I reckon we're done for.
I know there's no mistake where I'll go.
I've been so wicked.
Blast it,
This is what comes of skipping school and doing everything a fellow's told not to do.
I might have been good like Sid if I'd tried.
But no,
Of course I wouldn't.
But if I ever get out of here,
I swear I'll just wallow in Sunday schools.
And Tom began to sniffle a little.
You're bad,
Said Huckleberry,
Starting to sniffle too.
Confound it,
Tom Sawyer,
You're a saint compared to what I am.
Oh lordy,
Lordy,
Lord,
I wish I had only half of your chance.
Tom swallowed hard and whispered,
Look Huck,
Look,
He's got his back to us.
Huck looked,
Joy lighting up his heart.
Well he does,
By Jimmy.
Did he before?
Yes he did,
But I was such a fool I never thought of it.
Oh,
This is wonderful,
You know.
Now who can he be howling at?
The howling stopped.
Tom listened hard.
Shhh,
What's that?
He whispered.
Sounds like,
Like hogs grunting.
No,
It's somebody snoring,
Tom.
That is it.
Where is it,
Huck?
I think it's down the other end.
Sounds like it anyway.
My dad used to sleep there sometimes,
Along with the hogs.
But good grief,
He could make the roof lift when he snored.
Besides,
I don't reckon he's ever coming back to this town again.
The spirit of adventure rose again in the boy's souls.
Huck,
Do you dare go if I lead?
I don't like it much,
Tom.
Suppose it's Injun Joe?
Tom shrank at that,
But soon the temptation rose strong again and the boys agreed to try on the understanding that if the snoring stopped,
They would run for it.
So they crept forward on tiptoe,
One behind the other.
When they got within five steps of the snorer,
Tom stepped on a stick and it snapped sharply.
The man groaned,
Shifted a little,
And his face came into the moonlight.
It was Muff Potter.
The boys' hearts and their hopes had stopped when the man stirred,
But now their fear faded away.
They tiptoed out the broken wallboards and stopped a little distance away to exchange a final word.
Then that long,
Mournful howl rose into the night air again.
They turned and saw the strange dog standing a few feet away from where Potter lay,
And facing Potter,
Nose lifted towards the sky.
Oh,
Goodness,
It's him both boys breathed at once.
Say,
Tom,
They say a stray dog came howling around Johnny Miller's home around midnight about two weeks ago.
And a whippoorwill came and sat on the banister and sang that same evening,
And nobody's died there yet.
Well,
I know that.
And suppose nobody has.
Didn't Gracie Miller fall into the kitchen fire and burn herself terribly that very next Saturday?
Yes,
But she isn't dead.
What's more,
She's getting better.
All right,
You wait and see.
She's doomed,
Just as sure as Muff Potter's doomed.
Then they separated,
Each deep in thought.
When Tom crept in through his bedroom window,
The night was almost over.
He undressed with extreme caution and fell asleep,
Congratulating himself that no one knew anything about his adventure.
He did not realize that gently snoring Sid was awake and had been for an hour.
When Tom woke up,
Sid was dressed and gone.
There was a late look in the light,
A late feeling in the ear.
He was startled.
Why hadn't anyone called him,
Pestered him until he got up as usual?
The thought filled him with dread.
Within five minutes,
He was dressed and downstairs,
Sore and sleepy.
The family was still at the table,
But they had finished breakfast.
No one rebuked him aloud,
But there were all eyes turned away and silence and solemnity that seemed to chill through the guilty boy's heart.
He sat down and tried to act cheerful,
But it was hard work.
He got no smile,
No answer,
And he fell silent and felt his heart sink lower and lower.
After breakfast,
His aunt took him aside and Tom almost brightened,
Hoping he was about to be whipped,
But that wasn't it.
Instead,
His aunt cried over him and asked how he could go and break her old heart that way and at last told him to go ahead and ruin himself and bring her gray hair down in sorrow to the grave because it was no use for her to try anymore.
This was worse than a thousand whippings and Tom's heart hurt more now than his body ever had.
He cried,
Begged forgiveness,
Promised to reform again and again,
And was finally dismissed,
Feeling that he'd won only incomplete forgiveness and inspired only weak trust.
He left too miserable even to feel angry at Sid,
So Sid's quick escape through the back gate had been unnecessary.
He dragged himself to school,
Gloomy and sad,
And took his whipping along with Joe Harper for skipping school the day before with an air of somebody whose heart was occupied with troubles much heavier and was completely numb to lesser things.
Then he went to his seat,
Rested his elbows on the desk and his jaw in his hands,
And stared at the wall with the stony look of suffering that had reached its limits and can go no farther.
His elbow was pressing against something hard.
After a long time,
He slowly and sadly changed positions and picked up the object with a sigh.
It was wrapped in paper.
He unwrapped it.
A long,
Slow,
Enormous sigh followed,
And his heart broke.
It was his brass Adrian knob,
The last feather broke the camel's back.
