Tom Sawyer - Chapter 4 - Bedtime Story

This recording stays sentence-by-sentence close to Mark Twain’s original classic, while gently updating language to make it easier to understand for today’s listeners. Care has been taken to remove or soften outdated and offensive terms, allowing the heart, humor, and mischief of the story to shine through without distraction.

Perfect for relaxation, mindful listening, bedtime enjoyment, or introducing classic literature to a new generation, this reading preserves the charm, wit, and playful spirit that have made Tom Sawyer beloved for over a century.

For those seeking nostalgia, families listening together, and anyone who wants to experience a literary classic in a more inclusive and approachable way.

Transcript

Hello,

It's Gina here.

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

Chapter 4.

The sun rose on a calm world and shone down on the quiet village like a blessing.

Breakfast finished,

Aunt Polly held family worship.

It began with a prayer built from the ground up out of solid layers of Bible quotations held together with a thin mortar of her own words and from the top of this she delivered a stern chapter of Mosaic law,

As if from Mount Sinai.

Then Tom,

So to speak,

Tightened his belt and got to work,

Learning his verses.

Sid had learned his lesson days earlier.

Tom threw all his energy into memorizing five verses and he chose the section of the sermon on the mount because he couldn't find any verses that were shorter.

After half an hour Tom had only a vague general sense of the lesson,

Nothing more because his mind was roaming across the world range of human thought and his hands were busy with distracting little amusements.

Mary took his book to hear him recite and he tried to find the way through the fog.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they,

They mourn,

For they shall mourn.

Blessed are they,

That shall,

That they,

That they shall mourn,

For they shall,

What?

Why don't you tell me,

Mary?

Why do you have to be so mean for?

Oh,

Tom,

You poor thick-headed thing.

I'm not teasing you.

I wouldn't do that.

You have to go and learn it again.

Don't get discouraged,

Tom.

You'll get 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 is it?

Never mind,

Tom.

You know if I say it's nice,

It's nice.

You bet it is,

Mary.

All right,

I'll tackle it again.

And he did tackle it again and with curiosity and the promise of a reward pushing him from both sides,

He attacked it with such spirit that he achieved a brilliant success.

Mary gave him a brand new Barlow knife worth 12 and a half cents and the shock of delight that ran through him shook him to his core.

True,

That knife wouldn't cut anything,

But it was a real Barlow and there was an incredible grandeur to that.

Tom managed to scratch up the cupboard with it and was preparing to start on the bureau when he was called away to get dressed for Sunday school.

Mary gave him a tin wash basin of water and a piece of soap and he went outside and set the basin on a little bench.

Then he dipped the soap in the water and set it down,

Rolled up his sleeves,

Poured the water carefully onto the ground and then went into the kitchen and began wiping his face hard on the towel behind the door.

But Mary snatched the towel away and said,

Now,

Aren't you ashamed,

Tom?

You mustn't be so bad.

Water won't hurt you.

Tom was a little rattled.

The basin was refilled and this time he stood over it for a while,

Gathering courage,

Took a deep breath and began.

When he came into the kitchen a little later,

He had both eyes shut and was feeling around for the towel with his hands and an honest mixture of suds and water was dripping down his face.

But he lowered the towel,

But he still wasn't acceptable because the clean area stopped at his chin and jaw like a mask.

But though lit that line,

There stretched a dark region of untouched grime spreading down his throat and around his neck.

Mary took charge and when she was finished,

He was thoroughly clean without any leftover patches and his soaked hair was neatly brushed,

Short curls arranged into a tidy symmetrical effect.

He privately worked to smooth the curls out with the effort and annoyance and plastered his hair flat to his head.

He considered curls unmanly and his own made his life bitter.

Then Mary brought out a suit of clothes that had been worn only on Sundays for two years and they were simply called his other clothes and from that we can judge the size of his wardrobe.

Mary set him straight after he dressed himself.

She buttoned his neat little jacket up to his chin,

Folded his huge shirt collar down over his shoulders,

Brushed him off and crowned him with a speckled straw hat.

He now looked greatly improved and deeply uncomfortable.

He was as uncomfortable as he looked because there was a restraint in clean skin and whole clothes that irritated him.

He hoped Mary would forget his shoes,

But that hope died.

She thoroughly greased them 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 gently,

Please Tom,

That's a good boy.

So he got into the shoes grumbling.

Mary was soon ready and the three children set off for Sunday school.

A place Tom hated with his whole heart,

Though Sid and Mary liked it.

Sunday school ran from 9 until 10.

30 and then came church service.

Two of the children always stayed voluntarily for the sermon and the other always stayed too,

For stronger reasons.

The church's tall,

Hard-backed,

Cushionless pews could seat about 300 people.

The building was small and plain with a kind of pine board box on the roof for a steeple.

At the door,

Tom slowed down and spoke to a friend dressed in Sunday clothes.

Say,

Billy,

Got a yellow ticket?

Yes.

What do you take for it?

Will you give?

A piece of licorice and a fishhook.

Let's see then.

Tom showed them.

They were acceptable and the trade was made.

Then Tom traded two white alley marbles for three red tickets and some little trifle for two blue ones.

He intercepted other boys as they arrived and kept buying tickets of different colours for another 10 or 15 minutes.

Then he went into the church with a swarm of clean,

Noisy boys and girls,

Went to his seat and immediately started a quarrel with the first boy he could.

The teacher,

A serious older man,

Stepped in,

Then turned his back for a moment.

And Tom pulled the hair of a boy in the next bench and was buried in his book when the boy spun around.

Soon Tom stuck a pin into another boy to hear him yelp,

Ouch!

And got another reprimand.

Tom's whole class were all alike,

Restless,

Loud and troublesome.

When it came time to recite,

Not one of them knew their verses perfectly and each had to be prompted through the whole thing.

Still,

They struggled through and each got his reward,

Small blue tickets,

Each printed with a bible verse.

Each blue ticket paid for two memorised verses.

Ten blue tickets equaled one red ticket and could be traded for it.

Ten reds equaled one yellow and for ten yellow tickets,

The superintendent gave the student a plainly bound bible worth 40 cents in those easygoing days.

How many readers would work hard enough to memorise 2,

000 verses even for an illustrated door bible?

And yet,

Mary had earned two bibles this way.

It was the patient work of two years and a boy of German parentage had won four or five.

Once he recited 3,

000 verses without stopping but the strain on his mind was too much and from that day on he was barely better than an idiot,

A terrible loss for the school because on big occasions before visitors,

The superintendent,

As Tom put it,

Always made the boys come out and show off.

Only the older students managed to save their tickets and keep at the dull work long enough to win a bible,

So handing out one of these prizes was rare and memorable.

The successful student became so important for that day that every scholar's heart flared up with fresh ambition,

An ambition that often lasted as long as two weeks.

It's possible that Tom had never truly wanted one of these prizes for itself but it's certain that for many days his whole being had longed for the glory and attention that came with it.

In time,

The superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit and a closed hymnbook in his hand and his four fingers struck between the pages and called for attention.

When a Sunday school superintendent makes his usual little speech,

A hymnbook in his hand is as unnecessary as the sheep music a singer holds when stepping forward to sing a solo.

Though why is a mystery because neither the hymnbook nor the sheep music is ever actually used.

This superintendent was a thin man of 35 with a sandy goatee and a short sandy hair.

He wore a stiff upright collar whose top edge nearly reached his ears and whose sharp points curved forward near the corners of his mouth,

A fence that forced him to look straight ahead and to turn his whole body if he wanted to look sideways.

His chin rested on a wide carvet and as broad and long as a banknote with fringed ends.

His boot toes curled sharply upwards like sleigh runners,

The fashionable effect of the day,

Patiently and painfully producing a yip by men sitting for hours with their toes pressed against a wall.

Mr Walters looked very earnest and was very sincere and honest at heart,

And he treated sacred places and sacred things with such separation from worldly matters that without realising it he had developed a special Sunday school voice,

An intonation that vanished on weekdays.

He began like this,

Now children,

I want you all to sit up as straight and nice as you can and give me your full attention for a minute or two.

Yeah,

That's it.

That's how good little boys and girls should behave.

I see one little girl looking out the window.

I'm afraid she thinks I'm outside somewhere,

Maybe up a tree giving a speech to all the little birds.

A little approving titter.

I want to tell you how good it makes me feel to see so many bright clean little faces gathered in a place like this,

Learning to do right and be good.

And so on,

And so on.

There's no need to write down the rest of the speech,

It was the kind that never changes and it's so familiar to all of us.

The last third of the speech was spoiled by fights and other amusements restarting among some of the bad boys and by fidgeting and whispering that spread everywhere,

Even washing up against the firm uncorrupted rocks like Sid and Mary.

But suddenly,

Every sound stopped as Mr.

Walter's voice sank and his speech ended,

And the conclusion was received with a blast of silent gratitude.

Many of the whispers had been caused by a somewhat rare event.

Visitors had arrived,

Lawyer Thatcher accompanied by a very weak elderly man,

A fine solid middle aged gentleman with an iron gray hair,

And a dignified lady who was almost certainly his wife.

The lady was leading a child.

Tom had been restless and irritated and conscience stricken too.

He couldn't meet Amy Lawrence's eyes and couldn't bear her loving look.

But when he saw this new little comer,

His whole soul flared into happiness in an instant.

The next instant he was showing off with all of his strength,

Cuffing boys,

Pulling hair,

Making faces,

In short,

Using every trick he could think to charm the girl and win her applause.

His excitement had only one bitter note,

The memory of his humiliation in this angel's garden,

But that record was in the sand and was quickly being washed away by the waves of happiness sweeping over it now.

The visitors were given the highest seats of honour and as soon as Mr Walters finished his speech,

He introduced them to the school.

The middle aged man turned out to be an enormous personage,

No less than the county judge.

By far the most majestic being these children had ever seen.

They wondered what he was made of.

They half wanted to hear him roar and were half afraid he might.

He was from Constantinople,

12 miles away,

So he had travelled and seen the world.

These very eyes had seen the country courthouse,

Which was said to have a tin roof.

The awe those thoughts created showed itself in heavy silence and the ranks of staring eyes.

This was the great Judge Thatcher,

Brother of their own lawyer.

Jeff Thatcher immediately stepped forward to be familiar with the great man and to be envied by the entire school.

It would have been music to his soul to hear the whispers.

Look at him,

Jim,

He's going up there.

Say,

Look,

He's going to shake hands with him.

He is shaking hands with him.

Why,

Jimmy,

Don't you wish you were Jeff?

Mr Walters began showing off too,

Bustling around with official importance,

Giving orders,

Issuing decisions,

Handing out directions here,

There and everywhere he could find a target.

The librarian showed off,

Running back and forth with his arms full of books and making as much fuss and splutter as a small authority loves.

The young lady teacher showed off,

Leaning sweetly over students they had recently boxed on the ears,

Lifting dainty,

Wearing fingers at naughty boys and patting good ones with affection.

The young gentleman teacher showed off too,

With small scoldings and little displays of authority and careful attention to discipline.

Most of the teachers,

Men and women alike,

Found reasons to be busy up by the library near the pulpit,

Business that often had to be done again two or three times with a great deal of theatrical annoyance.

The little girl showed off in different ways,

And the little boy showed off with such dedication that the air was thick with paper wads and the murmuring sound of scuffling.

And above it all,

The great man sat there with a majestic judge's smile,

Soaking in the sunshine of his own importance,

For he was showing off too.

Only one thing was missing to make Mr Walters' happiness complete,

The chance to hand out a bible prize and display a prodigy.

Several students had a few yellow tickets,

But none had enough.

He had been checking amongst the best pupils.

At that moment,

He would have given anything to have that German boy back again with a sound mind.

And now,

Right when hope was dead,

Tom Sawyer stepped forward with nine yellow tickets,

Nine red tickets and ten blue ones,

And demanded a bible.

It was a thunderbolt from a clear sky.

Walters had not expected an application from that source for the next ten years,

But there was no escaping it.

Here were the certificate checks,

And they were valid for their full value.

So Tom was raised to place with the judge and the other honoured visitors,

And the great news was announced.

It was the most stunning surprise of the decade,

And the shock was so intense that it lifted the new hero up to the judge's level so that the school had two wonders to stare at instead of one.

The boys were sick with envy,

But the ones who suffered most were those who realised too late that they themselves had helped create his hated glory by trading tickets to Tom for the treasures they had gathered by selling,

The privilege of whitewashing.

They despised themselves for having been fooled by a crafty fraud,

A hidden snake.

The prize was given to Tom with as much enthusiasm as a superintendent could force out under the circumstances,

But it lacked the true warm gush because the poor man's instincts told him there was a mystery here that might not stand up well in daylight.

It was simply absurd to imagine that this boy had stored two thousand bundles of scripture knowledge in his head.

A dozen would stretch him,

Surely.

Amy Lawrence was proud and happy,

And she tried to show Tom in her face,

But he wouldn't look.

She wondered,

Then grew slightly uneasy,

Then a dim suspicion came and went and came again.

She watched.

One secret glance told her everything,

And her heart broke,

And she became jealous and angry,

And tears came,

And she hated everybody.

Tom most of all,

She thought.

Tom was introduced to the judge,

But his tongue wouldn't work,

His breath barely came,

And his heart shook.

Partly because of the man's intimidating greatness,

But mostly because the judge was the girl's father.

Tom would have liked to fall down and worship him,

If it had been dark.

The judge put his hand on Tom's head,

Calling him a fine little man,

And asked his name.

The boy stammered,

Gasped,

And managed.

Tom.

Oh,

No,

Not Tom,

It is Thomas.

Ah,

That's it.

I thought you might be more to it.

Very good.

But you have another name too,

I expect.

And you'll tell it to me,

Won't you?

Tell the gentleman your other name,

Thomas,

Said Walter.

And say sir,

Don't forget your manners.

Thomas Sawyer,

Sir.

That's it,

Good boy,

Fine boy.

Fine manly little fellow.

Two thousand verses is a great many.

Very,

Very many.

And you'll never regret the trouble you took learning them,

Because knowledge is worth more than anything in the world.

Knowledge is what makes great men and good men.

You'll be a great man and a good man someday,

Thomas.

And then you'll look back and say,

It's all because of the precious Sunday school privileges of my boyhood.

It's all because of my dear teachers who taught me.

It's all because of the good superintendent who encouraged me and watched over me and gave me a beautiful Bible,

A splendid,

Elegant Bible,

To keep as my own forever.

It's all because I was raised right.

That's what you'll say,

Thomas.

And you won't take any money for those two thousand verses.

No,

Indeed you won'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,

Because we're proud of little boys who learn.

Now,

Of course you know the names of the twelve disciples.

Won't you tell us the name of the first two who were appointed?

Tom tugged at a buttonhole and looked sheepish.

He blushed and his eyes dropped.

Mr.

Walter's heart sank.

He said to himself that it couldn't be possible the boy couldn't answer such a simple question.

Why had the judge asked it?

Still,

He felt forced to speak up.

Answer the gentleman,

Thomas.

Don't be afraid.

Tom still hesitated.

Now I know you'll tell me,

Said the lady.

The names of the first two disciples were David and Goliath.

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

Reviews

Wonderful story i am looking forward to the next chapter 🤩