“November 30, 1835 in the United States, in the village of Florida in the state of Missouri, a child was born, who was named Samuel Langhorn Clemens. This year was remembered by the inhabitants of the Earth with a majestic cosmic spectacle - the appearance in the sky of Halley's comet, approaching our planet once every 75 years. Soon the family of Sam Clemens moved to the town of Hannibal in the same Missouri in search of a better life. The head of the family died when his youngest son was not even twelve years old, leaving nothing but debt, and Sam had to earn a living in a newspaper that his older brother began to publish. The teenager worked tirelessly - first as a typesetter and printer, and soon as the author of funny and caustic notes ... "

Not a sound.

Silence.

“Amazing, where did this boy go?” Where are you, Tom?

No answer.

Aunt Polly pushed her glasses up to the tip of her nose and looked around the room. Then she raised her glasses to her forehead and looked around the room from under them. Almost never did she look at such nonsense as a boy through her glasses; these were ceremonial glasses, and they were acquired solely for beauty, and not for the sake of utility. Therefore, it was as difficult to see anything through them as through an oven door. She paused for a moment, thinking, and then she said, not very loudly, but so that the furniture in the room could hear her:

- Well, wait, just let me get to you, and I ...

Cutting herself off in mid-sentence, she leaned over and began to fumble under the bed with the broom, catching her breath after each attempt. However, she was unable to extract anything but a frightened cat from there.

“What a punishment, I’ve never seen such a child in my life!”

Going to the wide open door, she stopped on the threshold and looked around the garden - beds of tomatoes, thoroughly overgrown with weeds. Tom was not here either. Then, raising her voice so that she could be heard beyond the fence, Aunt Polly called out:

“So-o-oh, where have you gone?”

There was a faint rustle behind her, and she glanced around in an instant, just enough to catch the boy by the hand before he scurried through the door.

- And there is! I again lost sight of the closet. What did you need there?

- Nothing.

- How is it - nothing? What are your hands? By the way, and physiognomy too. What is this?

“How should I know, aunt?”

“But I know. This jam is what it is! I told you a hundred times: don't you dare touch the jam! Give me the rod here.

The rod whistled menacingly in the air - trouble cannot be avoided.

“Oh, auntie, what is that stirring in the corner there ?!

The old lady turned around quickly, tucking up her skirts to keep herself out of harm's way. The boy instantly jumped over the fence of the garden - and that was it.

At first Aunt Polly was taken aback, but then she laughed:

- Well, a scoundrel! Am I really not going to learn anything? Haven't I seen enough of his tricks? It's time for me to wise up. But it is rightly said that there is no worse fool than an old fool, and you cannot teach an old dog new tricks. But, my God, he comes up with something new every day - how can you guess? And most importantly, he knows where the limit of my patience is, and if he makes me laugh or even for a minute confuse me, then I can’t even spank him properly. Oh, I do not fulfill my duty, even though it is a great sin! It is rightly said in the Bible: whoever spares his offspring destroys him ... And what can you do: Tom is a real devil, but he, poor thing, is the son of my late sister - and who will raise his hand to punish an orphan? To indulge him - conscience does not order, but if you take up the rod - your heart breaks. No wonder the Bible says: the human age is short and full of sorrows. True truth! Here you are: today he is slipping away from school, which means that I will have to punish him tomorrow - let him work hard. It is a pity to force the boy to work when all the children have a holiday, but I know that work for him is twice as bad as a rod, and I must do my duty, otherwise I will completely destroy the soul of the child.

Tom didn't really go to school, so he had a great time. He barely had time to get home to help Negro Jim cut wood and chop wood for kindling before dinner. And if in truth - in order to tell Jim about his adventures, while he manages the work. Meanwhile, Tom's younger brother Sid was picking up and carrying logs for kindling. Sid was an exemplary boy, not like any tomboys and mischief-makers, however, he was not Tom's brother, but half-brother. No wonder they were two completely different characters.

While Tom was having his supper, and now and then putting his paw into the sugar bowl, Aunt Polly asked him questions that she herself seemed very insidious - she wanted to take Tom at his word. Like many very simple-hearted people, she considered herself a great diplomat, capable of the most sophisticated tricks, and believed that her innocent cunning was the height of insight and cunning.

“What, Tom, wasn’t it too hot at school today?”

- No, aunt.

“Maybe it’s still too hot?”

- Yes, aunt.

"Don't you feel like taking a bath, Thomas?"

Tom's back went cold - he instantly sensed a dirty trick.

Looking incredulously into Aunt Polly's face, he did not see anything special there, and therefore said:

Aunt Polly put out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said:

“In fact, you didn’t sweat at all. It gave her pleasure to think that she was able to check if Tom's shirt was dry without anyone guessing why she needed it.

Tom, however, had already sensed which way the wind was blowing, and was ahead of her by two moves:

- At school, the boys poured water from the well on their heads. I still have it wet, here - look!

Aunt Polly was upset: what evidence was lost! But then she took it up again:

“But you didn’t need to open your collar to wrap your head around, did you?” Come on, unzip your jacket!

Grinning, Tom opened his jacket - the collar was firmly sewn up.

- Oh, come on, you scoundrel! Get out of my sight! I confess, and really thought that you ran away from swimming lessons. But you're not as bad as you sometimes think.

Auntie was both upset that her insight had failed her this time, and rejoiced - although it was an accident, Tom behaved decently today.

- It seems to me that in the morning you sewed up his collar with white thread, and now, look - black.

- Well, yes, of course, white! Thomas!

It became dangerous to wait for the continuation of the investigation. Running out the door, Tom shouted:

“I’ll remember it for you, Siddi!”

When he was safe, Tom examined two thick needles stuck in the inside of the lapel of his jacket and wrapped in thread, one white, the other black.

- Damn it! She wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for this Sid. And what kind of manner is this: now she sews with white thread, then black. At least one thing, you can’t keep track of everything. Oh, and I'll give this Sid the first number!

Even with a very big stretch, Tom could not be called the most exemplary boy in the city, but he knew this most exemplary boy well - and could not stand him.

However, after a couple of minutes, and perhaps faster, he forgot about his misadventures. Not because these misadventures were not as painful and bitter as the misfortunes of adults, but because new, stronger impressions forced them out of his soul - in exactly the same way as adults forget old grief, starting some new one. a business. Now such a novelty was a special manner of whistling, which he had just adopted from a black man, and now was the time to practice this art without interference.

This whistle was a bird trill - something like a flooded chirp; and in order to get it right, it was necessary to touch the palate with the tip of the tongue every now and then. The reader probably knows how to do this if he ever was a boy. It took a fair amount of effort and patience, but soon Tom began to succeed, and he walked down the street even faster - bird twitter flew from his lips, and his soul was full of delight. He felt like an astronomer who discovered a new comet - and, if we talk about pure, deep, unadulterated joy, all the advantages were on the side of Tom Sawyer, not the astronomer.

Ahead was a long summer evening. Suddenly Tom stopped whistling and froze. In front of him stood a completely unfamiliar boy a little older than himself. Any visitor, regardless of age or gender, was a great rarity in the seedy town of St. Petersburg. And this boy, in addition, was dressed like a dandy. Just imagine: dressed in a festive way on a weekday! Incredible! He was wearing a brand new hat without a single spot, a smart cloth jacket, buttoned up with all the buttons, and the same new pants. And, good God, he was wearing shoes - it's Friday! He even had a tie made of some kind of colorful ribbon, tied at the collar. The dandy looked haughty, which Tom could not bear. And the longer he looked at this dazzling splendor, the higher he turned up his nose in front of a dandy stranger, and the more miserable his own outfit seemed to him. Both were silent. If one of the boys started to move, the other moved too, but sideways, keeping a distance; they stood face to face, never taking their eyes off each other, and at last Tom said:

- Do you want me to cut it off?

– Just try! brat!

- He said that I'll beat him, and I'll beat him!

- Will not work!

- Come out!

- Will not work!

- Come out!

- Will not work!

A painful pause, after which Tom began again:

- What is your name?

"None of your fucking business!"

- I want - it will be mine!

- Why aren't you fighting?

- Talk more - and you will get the full.

- And I'll talk, and I'll talk - what, weakly?

- Think, peacock! Yes, I'll lay you down with one left!

- Well, why don't you put it in? Everyone knows how to chat.

- What are you dressed up for? Think important! Also got a hat on!

- Take it and knock it down if you don't like it. Just touch and find out! Where are you going to fight?

- Roll to the devil!

- Talk to me again! I'll break your head with a brick!

- And I'll break it!

- You, I see, are a master of chatting. Why don't you fight? Cowardly?

- No, not scared!

And again a formidable silence. Then both began to step sideways towards each other until the shoulder of one rested against the shoulder of the other. Tom said:

"Come on, get your feet out of here!"

- Take it yourself!

Both continued to stand, pressing hard on the opponent and glaring at him with hatred. However, neither one nor the other could overcome. Finally, inflamed by the skirmish, they cautiously stepped back from each other, and Tom said:

“You are a lousy coward and a drooling puppy. I'll tell my older brother to ask you properly!

“I don’t give a damn about your older brother! I also have a brother, even older than yours. He will take it and throw yours over the fence!

Here it should be remembered that both had no older brothers at all. Then Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and, frowning, said:

“You cross this line, and I’ll beat you so hard that you won’t recognize your own!” Try it - you won't be happy!

The dandy quickly stepped over the line and said cockily:

- Well, come on! Just touch! Why don't you fight?

Give me two cents and you'll get it.

Rummaging in his pocket, the dandy took out two copper coins and handed them to Tom with a grin. Tom instantly hit him on the arm, and the coppers flew into the dust. In the next moment, both rolled in a ball on the pavement. They dragged each other by the hair, tore their clothes, treated them with heavy cuffs - and covered themselves with dust and “military glory”. When the dust settled a little, it became clear through the smoke of the battle that Tom was saddling the visitor and beating him with his fists.

- Ask for mercy! he finally spoke, taking a breath.

Frant silently fidgeted, trying to free himself. Tears of anger streamed down his face.

- Ask for mercy! – Fists have earned again.

- You will have science. Next time, watch who you're messing with.

The dandy wandered off, brushing the dust from his jacket, limping, sobbing, sniffing, and swearing to pour Tom if he "caught him again."

Having laughed to his heart's content, Tom headed home in the best of spirits, but as soon as he turned his back on the stranger, he grabbed a stone and threw it at Tom, hitting him between the shoulder blades, and he took off running, jumping like a water antelope. Tom followed him all the way home and at the same time found out where this dandy lives. For half an hour he guarded at the gate, luring the enemy out into the street, but he only made faces from the window. Finally, the dandy's mother appeared, scolded Tom, calling him a nasty, rude and ill-mannered boy, and told him to get out. Which he did, warning the lady that her overdressed son would no longer come across him on the road.

Tom returned home already in the dark and, carefully climbing through the window, stumbled upon an ambush in the person of Aunt Polly. When she discovered the condition of his clothes and physiognomy, her determination to replace his Sabbath rest with hard labor became harder than granite.

“November 30, 1835 in the United States, in the village of Florida in the state of Missouri, a child was born, who was named Samuel Langhorn Clemens. This year was remembered by the inhabitants of the Earth with a majestic cosmic spectacle - the appearance in the sky of Halley's comet, approaching our planet once every 75 years. Soon the family of Sam Clemens moved to the town of Hannibal in the same Missouri in search of a better life. The head of the family died when his youngest son was not even twelve years old, leaving nothing but debt, and Sam had to earn a living in a newspaper that his older brother began to publish. The teenager worked tirelessly - first as a typesetter and printer, and soon as the author of funny and caustic notes ... "

It's a glorious Saturday morning. Everything around breathed freshness, shone and was full of life. Every face shone with joy, and cheerfulness was felt in everyone's gait. The white locust was in full bloom and its sweet scent was everywhere.

Cardiff Mountain - its peak is visible in the town from anywhere - was completely green and seemed from afar a wonderful serene country.

Just at that moment, Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of diluted lime and a long brush in his hands. However, at the first glance at the fence, all joy left him, and his soul plunged into the deepest sorrow. Thirty yards of a nine-foot solid board fence! Life seemed to him meaningless and painful. With a heavy sigh, Tom dipped his brush into the bucket, brushed it across the top board of the fence, repeated this operation twice, compared the insignificant whitewashed patch with the boundless continent of what still had to be painted, and sat down in despair under a tree.

In the meantime, Jim, a Negro boy, jumped out of the gate with a bucket in his hand, singing "Girls from Buffalo". Until that day, Tom had thought that there was nothing more boring than fetching water from the city well, but now he looked at it differently. The well is always full of people. White and black boys and girls are always hanging out there, waiting for their turn, chatting, swapping toys, quarreling, mischievous, and sometimes fighting. And even though it was only a hundred and fifty paces from their house to the well, Jim never returned home until an hour later, and it sometimes happened that someone had to be sent for him. So Tom said:

“Listen, Jim! Let me run for water, and you're still a little whiter.

- How can you, Mr. Tom! The old mistress told me to bring water in a moment and, God forbid, not to get stuck anywhere along the way. She also said that Mr. Tom would certainly call me to paint the fence, so that I would do my job, not stick my nose where they were not asked, and she herself would arrange for the fence.

“Why are you listening to her, Jim! Whatever she says! Give the bucket, one foot here - the other there, that's all. Aunt Polly wouldn't even guess.

“Oh, I'm afraid, Mr. Tom. The old mistress will tear my head off. Oh my God, rip it off!

- Is that her? Yes, she does not fight at all. Unless he clicks on the top of his head with a thimble, that's all business - just think, importance! She says different things, but nothing is done from her words, except that sometimes she bursts into tears herself. Jim, do you want me to give you a balloon? White, with marble veins!

Jim hesitated.

“White and marbled to boot, Jim!” This is not for you!

- Oh, how shiny! Only I'm really afraid of the old mistress, Mr. Tom ...

- Well, do you want me to show you my sore finger?

Jim was an ordinary person - and could not resist such a temptation. He put down the bucket, picked up the marble, and bulging his eyes in curiosity, bent over the sore finger while Tom unwrapped the bandage. The next second he was whirring down the street, rattling his pail and scratching his head, Tom was whitewashing the fence with frantic energy, and Aunt Polly was leaving the battlefield with a shoe in her hand. Her eyes burned with triumph.

But Tom's zeal did not last long. His thoughts returned to how nice he could have spent the day, and he began to burn again. Other boys are about to appear on the street and make Tom laugh because he was forced to work on Saturday. They themselves go to different interesting places.

This thought burned him with fire. He took out all the cherished treasures from his pockets and gave them an audit: broken toys, balls, all sorts of rubbish, maybe they will fit for an exchange, but it is unlikely that one can buy at least an hour of freedom for this. Putting his meager capital out of sight, Tom put the thought of bribing anyone out of his mind. But at this moment, full of despair and hopelessness, inspiration suddenly visited him. The real inspiration, without any exaggeration!

Taking up the brush, he continued to work slowly and tastefully. Soon, Ben Rogers appeared around the corner - the same boy whose venomous ridicule Tom feared most of all. Ben's gait was carefree, he jumped up and down every now and then - a sure sign that his heart was light and he expected solid gifts from life. He nibbled on an apple and occasionally let out a long horn, followed by a melodious chime: "Ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong" - on the lowest notes, because Ben was imitating a paddle steamer. Approaching Tom, he slowed down, turned into the middle of the fairway, leaned slightly to starboard and began to slowly approach the shore. He had an unusually important look, because he portrayed the "Greater Missouri" with a draft of nine feet. At that moment, Ben Rogers was both the steamer, and the captain, and the helmsman, and the ship's bell, therefore, giving the command, he immediately carried it out.

Stop, car! Ding-ding-ling! - The mechanic followed the command, and the steamer slowly moored to the edge of the sidewalk. - Reverse! Both Ben's arms dropped and stretched out at the seams.

- Rudder right! Ding-ding-ling! Whoo! Choo! - The right hand flew up and began to describe solemn circles: now it depicted the main paddle wheel.

- Left hand drive! Ding-ding-ling! Choo-o-o-o-o! - Now the circles were described by the left.

- Stop, right side! Ding-ding-ling! Stop, port side! Small move! Stop, car! The smallest! Ding-ding-ling! Chu-u-u-f-f! Give up the ends! Yes move there! Well, where is your mooring end? Moor for the knecht! So, let go now!

- The car has stopped, sir! Ding-ding-ling! Piece-piece-piece-sh-sh-sh! This steamer was dumping steam.

Tom continued to wield his brush, not paying the slightest attention to the "Greater Missouri". Ben squinted and spoke.

- Yeah, I got it! They took you in tow!

There was no answer. Tom looked at the last stroke with a painter's eye, then once more carefully stroked the brush over the boards and stepped back, contemplating the result thoughtfully. Ben walked over and stood behind. Tom swallowed his saliva - he wanted an apple so much, but he did not show it and again got down to business. Finally, Ben said:

- What, old man, you have to work hard, huh?

Tom turned around abruptly, as if in surprise.

- Oh, it's you, Ben! I didn't even notice you.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to swim. I don `t want? Although what am I talking about - you, of course, still work. This one is definitely more interesting.

Tom looked at Ben in bewilderment and asked:

What do you call work?

“What do you think this is?”

Tom waved his brush widely in the air and casually replied:

- Well, maybe for some it's work, and for some it's not. All I know is that Tom Sawyer likes it.

- Come on! Tell me what you like to whitewash!

The brush still glided evenly over the boards of the fence.

- Whiten? Why not? I suppose it's not every day that our brother gets to fix the fence.

From that moment on, everything appeared in a new light. Ben even stopped chewing on the apple. Tom carefully moved the brush back and forth, stopping from time to time to admire his handiwork, adding a stroke here, a stroke there, and again evaluating the result, and Ben watched his every movement intently, his eyes gradually flaring up. Suddenly he said:

“Listen, Tom, let me whiten a bit too.

Tom thought for a moment, putting on an air as if he was ready to agree, but suddenly changed his mind.

No, Ben, it won't. Aunt Polly just prays on this fence; you understand, he goes out into the street ... Well, if it had been from the side of the courtyard, she would not have said a word ... and neither did I. But here ... Do you know how to whiten it? Here, perhaps one out of a thousand, or even out of two thousand boys will be able to cope properly.

- Yes, what are you? Hey, Tom, let's at least smear, well, just a little! Here I am - I would let you in if I were in your place.

“Ben, I’d love to, I swear by the scalp!” But what about Aunt Polly? Jim wanted it too, but she forbade it. Sid - he was lying at her feet, but she did not allow Sid either. Such, guy, things ... Let's say you take it, but something goes wrong?

- Come on, Tom, I'm doing my best! Well, let me, I'll just try ... Listen, you want half an apple.

- Well, how can I tell you ... Although no, Ben, it's still not worth it. Something I'm afraid of.

- I'll give you the whole apple!

Tom reluctantly let go of the brush, but his soul rejoiced. And while the former steamer "Big Missouri" worked hard in the very sun, the retired painter, sitting in the shade on an old barrel, dangled his legs, crunched an apple and made plans for further beating of babies.

Babies were out of business. Boys appeared every minute in the street; they stopped to taunt Tom and ended up painting the fence. As soon as Ben was exhausted, Tom profitably sold the next line to Billy Fisher - for a used, but still very decent kite, and when he got tired, Johnny Miller bought the right to a brush for a dead rat with a rope tied to it - to make it more convenient to spin in the air. And so it went.

By the middle of the day, from almost a beggar, Tom became a magnate. He literally drowned in luxury. Now he had: twelve marbles, a broken harmonica, a piece of blue bottle glass to look at the sun, a spool of thread, a key for who knows what, a piece of chalk, a cork from a crystal decanter, a tin soldier, a pair of tadpoles, six crackers, a one-eyed a kitten, a bronze doorknob, a dog collar, a knife handle, four pieces of orange peel, and an old window frame. Tom had a great time and the fence was covered in three coats of lime! If he hadn't run out of whitewash, he would have let all the boys in town go through the world.

"Life in the world is not so bad," thought Tom. Without knowing it, he discovered a great law that governs human actions. This law says that in order for a boy or an adult - it doesn't matter who - to want something, only one thing is needed: that it be difficult to achieve. If Tom Sawyer were an outstanding thinker like the author of this book, he would come to the conclusion that work is what a person is forced to do, and play is what he is not obliged to do at all. And this would help him understand why making artificial flowers or carrying water in a sieve is work, but knocking down skittles or climbing Mont Blanc is pleasant fun. They say that there are rich people in England who like to drive a mail-coach drawn by a quadruple in the summer. Such an opportunity costs them a lot of money, but if they received a salary for this, the game would turn into work and lose all its charm.

For some time, Tom pondered the change that had taken place in his property situation, and then went with a report to the headquarters of the commander in chief.

Chapter first

No answer.

No answer.

“I wonder where that boy could have gone!” Tom, where are you?

No answer.

Aunt Polly pushed her glasses down her nose and looked around the room over her glasses, then lifted them up to her forehead and looked around the room from under her glasses. She very seldom, almost never looked through her spectacles at such a trifle as the boy; they were ceremonial glasses, her pride, acquired for beauty, and not for use, and it was as difficult for her to see anything through them as through a pair of stove dampers. For a moment she was at a loss, then she said - not very loudly, but so that the furniture in the room could hear her:

- Well, wait, just let me get to you ...

Without finishing, she bent down and began to poke under the bed with a brush, catching her breath after each poke. She didn't get anything out of it but the cat.

“What a child, I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!”

Going to the open door, she stopped on the threshold and looked around her garden - beds of tomatoes overgrown with dope. Tom was not here either. Then, raising her voice so that she could be heard as far as possible, she shouted:

“Whoa, where are you?”

There was a slight rustle behind her, and she looked back, just in time to grab the boy by the hand before he slipped through the door.

- Well, it is! I forgot about the closet. What were you doing there?

- Nothing.

- Nothing? Look where your hands are. And the mouth too. What is this?

“I don’t know, aunt.

- I know. This jam is what it is! Forty times I told you: don't you dare touch the jam - I'll tear it out! Give me the rod here.

The rod whistled in the air - it seemed that troubles could not be avoided.

- Oh, aunt, what is that behind you ?!

Auntie turned around, tucking up her skirts to keep herself out of harm's way. The boy jumped over the high fence in an instant and was like that.

Aunt Polly was taken aback at first, and then laughed good-naturedly:

- So go with him! Am I really not learning anything? Doesn't he play tricks with me? It seems like it's time to lighten up. But there is no worse fool than an old fool. No wonder they say: "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." But after all, my God, my God, every day he will come up with something, where is there to guess. And as if he knows how long you can torment me; he knows that if he makes me laugh or even for a minute confuse me, my hands drop, I can’t even slap him. I do not fulfill my duty, to be honest! After all, it is said in Scripture: whoever spares a baby, he destroys him. Nothing good will come of it, there is only one sin. He is a real imp, I know, but he, poor thing, is the son of my dead sister, somehow I don’t have the spirit to punish him. To indulge him - the conscience will torture, and if you punish him - the heart breaks. It is not for nothing that it is said in Scripture: the human age is short and full of sorrows; and I think it's true. Today he shirks from school; I'll have to punish him tomorrow - I'll put him to work. It is a pity to force the boy to work when all the children have a holiday, but it is the hardest for him to work, and I must fulfill my duty to him, otherwise I will ruin the child.

Tom didn't go to school and had a great time. He barely had time to get home to help Negro Jim before dinner to cut firewood for tomorrow and chop wood for kindling. In any case, he managed to tell Jim about his adventures, while he did three-quarters of the work. Tom's younger (or rather half-brother, Sid) had already done everything he was supposed to do (he picked up and carried wood chips): he was an obedient boy, not prone to pranks and pranks.

While Tom was having supper, carrying lumps of sugar out of the sugar bowl at every opportunity, Aunt Polly asked him all sorts of tricky questions, very cunning and tricky - she wanted to catch Tom by surprise so that he let it slip. Like many simple-hearted people, she considered herself a great diplomat, capable of the most subtle and mysterious tricks, and believed that all her innocent tricks were a miracle of resourcefulness and cunning. She asked:

Tom, was it not very hot at school?

- No, aunt.

"Maybe it's too hot?"

- Yes, aunt.

“Well, don’t you feel like taking a bath, Tom?

Tom's soul went to his heels - he sensed something unkind. He looked incredulously into Aunt Polly's face, but saw nothing in particular, so he said:

- No, aunt, not really.

She reached out her hand and, feeling Tom's shirt, said:

“Yeah, you probably didn’t sweat at all. She liked to think that she was able to check if Tom's shirt was dry, so that no one understood what she was driving at.

However, Tom immediately sensed which way the wind was blowing, and warned the next move:

- At our school, the boys poured water over their heads from the well. I have it and now it's still wet, look!

Aunt Polly was very upset that she had overlooked such an important piece of evidence. But then I got inspired again.

“Tom, you didn’t have to rip open your collar to wrap your head around, right?” Unzip your jacket!

Tom's face lit up. He opened his jacket - the collar was tightly sewn up.

- Well, you! Go away! Frankly, I thought that you would run away from swimming lessons. So be it, this time I forgive you. You're not as bad as you seem.

She was both distressed that her insight had deceived her this time, and glad that Tom, at least by chance, behaved well.

Sid intervened:

“It seemed to me that you sewed up his collar with white thread, and now he has black thread.

- Well, yes, I sewed up white! Volume!

But Tom did not wait to continue. Running out the door, he shouted:

"I'll remember that for you, Siddi!"

In a secluded place, Tom examined two thick needles, driven into the lapels of his jacket and wrapped with thread: white thread was threaded into one needle, black thread into the other.

She wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for Sid. Damn it! Now she sews with white thread, then black. At least one thing, otherwise you can’t keep track of it. Well, I'll beat Sid. Will remember!

Tom was not the most exemplary boy in the city, but he knew the most exemplary boy very well - and could not stand him.

In two minutes, and even less, he forgot about all his misfortunes. Not because these misfortunes were not as hard and bitter as the misfortunes of an adult, but because a new, stronger interest forced them out and drove them out of his soul for a while - just like adults forget their grief in excitement, starting some new business. Such a novelty was a peculiar way of whistling, which he had just adopted from a Negro, and now he wanted to practice this art without interference.

It was a very special bird trill - something like a flooded chirp; and in order for it to turn out, it was necessary to touch the palate with the tongue every now and then - the reader, surely, remembers how this is done if he was ever a boy. With diligence and patience, Tom soon acquired the necessary skill and walked down the street even faster - music sounded on his lips, and his soul was filled with gratitude. He felt like an astronomer who discovered a new planet - and no doubt, in terms of strong, deep, unclouded joy, all the advantages were on the side of the boy, not the astronomer.

Summer evenings are long. It was still quite light. Suddenly Tom stopped whistling. In front of him stood an unfamiliar boy a little bigger than himself. A visitor of any age or gender was a rarity in the seedy little town of St. Petersburg. And this boy was also well dressed - just think, well dressed on a weekday! Just amazing. He was wearing a brand new smart hat and a smart cloth jacket, buttoned up with all the buttons, and the same new pants. He was wearing shoes - it's Friday! He even had a tie - made of some kind of colorful ribbon. In general, he had a metropolitan look, which Tom could not bear in any way. The longer Tom looked at this brilliant miracle, the higher he turned up his nose in front of the dandy stranger and the more pathetic his own suit seemed to him. Both boys were silent. If one moved, then the other moved too - but only sideways, in a circle; they stood face to face all the time, never taking their eyes off each other. Finally Tom said:

- Do you want me to beat you?

- Come on, try it! Where are you!

- I said that I will beat, so I can.

- But you can't.

- Can not!

- Can not!

A painful silence. Whereupon Tom began:

- What is your name?

- None of your business.

- I want it, so it will be mine.

"So why aren't you fighting?"

- Talk to me, you'll get it.

- And I'll talk, and I'll talk - here you are.

- Think about what you found! Yes, I want to, so with one left hand I will beat you.

- Well, why don't you hit? You only talk.

- You will play the fool - and I will beat you.

- Well, yes - we saw them.

- Look dressed up! Think how important! Still in the hat!

- Take it and knock it down if you don't like it. Try it and then you'll know.

- You're lying!

“Where can you fight, you won’t dare.

- Yah you!

- Talk to me again, I'll break your head with a brick!

- How, so it broke!

- And I'll break it.

- Are you standing by yourself? Only the master speaks. Why don't you fight? Are you afraid, you mean?

- No I'm not afraid.

- You're afraid!

- No I'm not afraid.

- You're afraid!

Silence again, again both begin to step sideways, squinting at each other. Finally got together shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:

- Get out of here!

- Get out yourself!

- I do not want.

- And I do not want to.

They stood, each with a foot forward as a support, pushing with all their strength and looking at each other with hatred. However, neither one nor the other could overcome. At last, heated by the struggle and flushed, they cautiously stepped back from each other, and Tom said:

“You are a coward and a puppy. I’ll tell my older brother to ask you the right question, so he will beat you with one little finger.

“I don’t give a damn about your older brother!” I also have a brother, even older. He will take it and throw yours over the fence! (There were no brothers at all.)

- All lies.

- Nothing is a lie, you never know what you say.

Tom drew a line in the dust with his big toe and said:

“Just step over this line, I’ll beat you so hard that you won’t recognize your own. Just try it, you won't be happy.

The new boy quickly crossed the line and said:

- Well, try it, touch it!

- Don't push, otherwise I'll give it to you!

- Well, I'll see how you give me! Why don't you fight?

- Give me two cents, I'll beat you.

The new boy took two large coppers out of his pocket and handed them mockingly to Tom. Tom hit him on the arm and the coppers flew to the ground. At the same moment, both boys rolled into the mud, grappling like a cat. They dragged and tore each other's hair and clothes, scratched their noses, treated each other with cuffs - and covered themselves with dust and glory. Soon the confusion cleared up, and through the smoke of battle it became clear that Tom was saddling the new boy and beating him with his fists.

- Ask for mercy! - he said.

The boy only thrashed about, trying to free himself. He was crying more out of anger.

- Ask for mercy! And the fists started working again.

This is science for you. Next time, watch who you're messing with.

The dandy wandered off, brushing the dust from his suit, sobbing, sniffing, and promising to give Tom a proper job "when he catches him again."

Tom laughed at him and went home in the best of spirits, but as soon as Tom turned his back on him, the stranger grabbed a stone and threw it at him, hitting him between the shoulder blades, and then took off running, galloping like an antelope. Tom chased him all the way home and found out where he lived. For some time he guarded at the gate, calling the enemy into the street, but he only made faces at him from the window, declining the call. Finally, the mother of the enemy appeared, called Tom a nasty, rude, ill-mannered boy, and ordered him to get out. And he left, warning her son not to come across to him again.

He returned home very late, and as he climbed cautiously through the window, he found the ambush in the person of Aunt Polly; and when she saw the state of his suit, her determination to replace his Saturday rest with hard labor became harder than granite.

Chapter Two

Saturday morning came, and everything in the summer world breathed freshness, shone and seethed with life. Music sounded in every heart, and if this heart was young, then the song was torn from the lips. Joy was on every face, and spring was in everyone's gait. The white locust was in full bloom, and its fragrance filled the air.

Cardiff Mountain, which could be seen from everywhere, turned green all over and seemed from afar a wonderful, alluring country, full of peace and tranquility.

Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of lime and a long brush in his hands. He looked around the fence, and all joy flew away from him, and the spirit plunged into the deepest anguish. Thirty yards of a nine-foot-high wooden fence! Life seemed to him empty, and existence - a heavy burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush into the bucket and ran it along the top board of the fence, repeated this operation, did it again, compared the insignificant whitewashed strip with the boundless mainland of the unpainted fence, and sat down on the fence under the tree in complete despondency. Jim hopped out of the gate with a tin bucket in his hand, singing "The Buffalo Girls." Carrying water from the city well had always seemed boring to Tom, but now he saw it differently. He remembered that the community was constantly gathering at the well. White and black boys and girls were always hanging out there, waiting for their turn, resting, exchanging toys, quarreling, fighting, indulging. And he also remembered that although the well was only a hundred and fifty paces away, Jim never got home before an hour later, and even then someone had to be sent for him. Tom said:

“Listen, Jim, I'm going to fetch water, and you'll whiten a little here.

“I can't, Mr. Tom. The old mistress told me to quickly go for water and not stop with anyone along the way. She said, Mr. Tom, surely, she would call me to whitewash the fence, so that I would go my own way and not meddle in my own business, and she would take care of the fence herself.

“Don't listen to her, Jim. Little does she say. Give me a bucket, I'll run away in one minute. She won't even know.

“Oh, I'm afraid, Mr. Tom. The old mistress will tear my head off for this. Oh my god, it's off.

- Is she? Yes, she never fights. Hit on the head with a thimble, that's all - just think, what an importance! She says God knows what, but nothing will be done from words, unless she herself cries. Jim, I'll give you a balloon! I'll give you white with marble veins!

Jim began to hesitate.

“White marble, Jim!” This is not nonsense for you!

- Oh, how great it shines! Only I'm really afraid of the old mistress, Mr. Tom ...

“Also, if you want, I’ll show you my sore thumb.”

Jim was only a man - such a temptation was beyond his strength. He put the pail on the ground, took the white ball, and, in a curiosity, leaned over his bad finger while Tom unwrapped the bandage. The next minute he was flying down the street, rattling his bucket and scratching his back, Tom was diligently whitewashing the fence, and Aunt Polly was leaving the theater of operations with a shoe in her hand and triumph in her eyes.

But Tom's energy didn't last long. He began to think about how cheerfully he expected to spend this day, and his grief multiplied. Soon the other boys would go out of the house to all sorts of interesting places and ridicule Tom for having made him work, the thought alone burning him like fire. He took all his treasures out of his pocket and reviewed them: broken toys, marbles, all sorts of rubbish - maybe good for an exchange, but hardly good for buying himself at least one hour of complete freedom. And Tom pocketed his meager capital again, leaving all thought of bribing the boys. But in this gloomy and hopeless moment, inspiration suddenly dawned on him. Nothing more and nothing less than a real dazzling inspiration!

He took up the brush and continued to work leisurely. Soon Ben Rogers appeared around the corner - the same boy whose ridicule Tom feared more than anything in the world. Ben's gait was light, bouncing - a sure proof that his heart was light and he expected only the best from life. He was chewing on an apple and occasionally making a long, melodious whistle, followed by ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, on the lowest notes, because Ben was imitating a steamboat. As he approached, he slowed down, turned into the middle of the street, tipped to starboard, and began to turn slowly towards the shore, carefully and with due gravity, because he portrayed the "Greater Missouri" and had a draft of nine feet. He was both a steamer, and a captain, and a steamship bell - all together, and therefore he imagined that he was standing on the captain's bridge, he himself gave the command and carried it out himself.

Stop, car! Tin-lin-lin! The car stopped, and the steamer slowly approached the sidewalk. - Reverse! Both arms dropped and stretched out to the sides.

- Rudder right! Tin-lin-lin! Chu! w-w-w! Chu! - The right hand, meanwhile, solemnly described circles: it depicted a forty-foot wheel.

- Left hand drive! Tin-lin-lin! Choo-choo-choo! The left hand began to describe circles.

- Stop, right side! Tin-lin-lin! Stop, port side! Small move! Stop, car! The smallest! Tin-lin-lin! Whoo! Give me the ends! Live! Well, where is your rope, why are you digging? Moor for the pile! So, so, now let go! The car has stopped, sir! Tin-lin-lin! pcs-pcs-pcs! (He let off steam.)

Tom went on whitewashing the fence, paying no attention to the steamer. Ben looked at him and said:

- Yeah, I got caught, they took it to the pier!

There was no answer. Tom examined his last brushstroke with the eyes of an artist, then ran his brush over the fence again carefully and stepped back, admiring the results. Ben walked over and stood next to him. Tom swallowed saliva - he wanted an apple so much, but he worked hard. Ben said:

- What, old man, you have to work, huh?

Tom turned around abruptly and said:

“Ah, is that you, Ben?” I didn't even notice.

Listen, I'm going to swim. Don't you want to? No, of course you will work? Well, of course, work is much more interesting.

Tom looked closely at Ben and asked:

What do you call work?

“You don’t think it’s work, does it?”

Tom began to whitewash again and answered casually:

“Well, maybe work, maybe not work. All I know is that Tom Sawyer likes her.

“Come on, do you really like whitewashing so much?”

The brush still moved evenly along the fence.

- Like? Why not? I suppose it's not every day that our brother gets to whitewash the fence.

After that, the whole thing was presented in a new light. Ben stopped chewing on the apple. Tom carefully moved the brush back and forth, stopping from time to time to admire the result, adding a stroke, another, admiring the result again, and Ben followed his every movement, showing more and more interest in the case. Suddenly he said:

“Listen, Tom, let me whiten a little.

Tom thought for a moment and at first seemed ready to agree, and then suddenly changed his mind.

“No, Ben, it won’t work anyway. Aunt Polly is just shaking over that fence; you understand, he goes out into the street - if this was the side that into the courtyard, she would not say a word, and neither would I. She's shaking right over that fence. Do you know how to whiten it? In my opinion, perhaps one boy out of a whole thousand, or even out of two thousand, will be able to whiten it properly.

- Yes, what are you? Listen, let me try, just a little bit. Tom, I would let you in if you were in my place.

"Ben, I'd love to, honest Indian!" Why, what about Aunt Polly? Jim wanted to paint too, but she wouldn't let him. Sid wanted to, she wouldn't let Sid either. See what's up? Come on, you will undertake to whitewash the fence, and suddenly something ...

- What are you, Tom, I'll try. Well let me try. Listen, I'll give you the center of the apple.

- Well, okay ... Although no, Ben, it's better not to. I'm afraid.

- I'll give you the whole apple!

Tom dropped the brush from his hand, not very willingly, but with glee in his soul. And while the former steamer Big Missouri toiled in the sweat of the sun, the retired artist, sitting in the shade on a barrel, dangled his legs, chewed an apple and pondered a further plan for beating babies. There was no business behind them. The boys ran down the street every minute; they came up to laugh at Tom and stayed to whitewash the fence. When Ben was exhausted, Tom sold the next line to Billy Fisher for a used kite, and when he got tired of whitening, Johnny Miller bought the line for a dead rat with a string to make it easier to twirl, etc., etc., an hour after hour. By the middle of the day, from a poor boy, close to poverty, Tom became a rich man and literally drowned in luxury. In addition to the riches already listed, he had: twelve marbles, a broken harmonica, a piece of blue bottle glass to look through, an empty reel, a key that did not unlock anything, a piece of chalk, a crystal stopper from a decanter, a tin soldier, a pair of tadpoles, six firecrackers, a one-eyed kitten, a copper doorknob, a dog collar without a dog, a knife handle, four pieces of orange peel, and an old window frame. Tom had a great time doing nothing and having fun, and the fence was covered with three layers of lime! If he had not run out of lime, he would have ruined all the boys in the city.

Tom thought that life in the world is not so bad. Without suspecting it, he discovered the great law that governs human actions, namely: in order for a boy or an adult to want something, only one thing is needed - that it is not easy to achieve. If Tom were a great and wise thinker, like the author of this book, he would conclude that Work is what a person is obliged to do, and Play is what he is not obliged to do. And this would help him understand why making artificial flowers or carrying water in a sieve is work, but knocking down skittles or climbing Mont Blanc is fun. There are rich men in England who like to drive a post-coach drawn by four in the summer, because it costs them a fortune; and if they received a salary for this, the game would turn into work and would lose all interest for them.

Tom pondered for some time the essential change which had taken place in his circumstances, and then went with a report to the headquarters.

Chapter I

TOM PLAYS, FIGHTS, HIDES

Volume!
No answer.
- Volume!
No answer.
- Where did he disappear to, this boy? .. Tom!
No answer.
The old woman lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose and looked around the room over her glasses; then she pulled her glasses up to her forehead and looked out from under them: she rarely looked through her glasses if she had to look for such a trifle as a boy, because they were her smart glasses, the pride of her heart: she wore them only "for importance"; in fact, she didn't need them at all; she might as well look through the oven doors. For the first minute she seemed at a loss and said not very angrily, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear her:
- Well, just get caught! I you...
Without saying her thought, the old woman bent down and began to poke under the bed with a brush, stopping each time, as she did not have enough breath. From under the bed, she didn't get anything but the cat.
I have never seen such a boy in my life!
She went to the open door and, standing on the threshold, vigilantly peered into her garden - overgrown with weed tomatoes. Tom was not there either. Then she raised her voice so that it could be heard further, and shouted:
- That-oh-oh!
A slight rustle was heard behind. She looked back and at the same moment grabbed the boy who was about to slip away by the edge of the jacket.
- Well, of course! And how could I forget about the closet! What did you do there?
- Nothing.
- Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What did you stain your lips with?
- I don't know, aunt!
- I know. It's jam, that's what it is. Forty times I told you: don't you dare touch the jam, otherwise I'll skin you! Give me this rod.
The rod shot up in the air - the danger was imminent.
- Ai! Uncle! What is that behind you!
The old woman turned in fright on her heels and hurried to pick up her skirts in order to save herself from a formidable disaster, and the boy immediately started to run, climbed a high wooden fence - and there he was!
Aunt Polly was dumbfounded for a moment, and then began to laugh good-naturedly.
- Well, boy! It would seem that it is time for me to get used to his tricks. Or did he throw out all sorts of things with me a little? Could have been smarter this time. But apparently there is no worse fool than an old fool. No wonder they say that you can't teach an old dog new things. However, my God, my God, this boy and things are all different: every day, then another - can you guess what is on his mind? He seems to know how much he can torment me until I get out of patience. He knows that he has only to confuse me or make me laugh for a minute, and now my hands drop, and I am unable to whip him with a rod. I do not fulfill my duty, what is true is true, God forgive me. “He who does without a rod destroys a child,” says the scripture. [Christians consider the Bible, a book that contains many legends about God and all kinds of “saints,” as well as the gospel, a book about the “son of God” Jesus Christ. In many countries, the gospel is part of the Bible.] But I, a sinner, spoil him, and for this we will get in the next world - both me and him. I know that he is a real devil, but what should I do? After all, he is the son of my dead sister, a poor fellow, and I do not have the courage to flog an orphan. Every time I let him evade the beating, my conscience torments me so much that I don’t even know how to say, but I’ll whip it - my old heart is directly torn to pieces. It is true, it is truly said in Scripture: the human age is short and full of sorrows. The way it is! Today he did not go to school: he will be idle until the evening, and it is my duty to punish him, and I will fulfill my duty - I will make him work tomorrow. This, of course, is cruel, since tomorrow is a holiday for all the boys, but there's nothing to be done, more than anything in the world he hates to work. I have no right to let him down this time, otherwise I will completely ruin the baby.
Tom really didn't go to school today and had a lot of fun. He barely had time to get back home to help Jim the Negro chop wood for tomorrow and chop wood, or, more precisely, tell him about his adventures, while he did three-fourths of all the work. Tom's younger brother, Sid (not a sibling, but a half-brother), by this time had already done everything that he was ordered to (collected and carried all the chips), because he was an obedient quiet man: he did not play pranks and did not cause trouble to the elders.
While Tom ate his supper, taking advantage of every opportunity to snatch a lump of sugar, Aunt Polly asked him various questions, full of deep slyness, hoping that he would fall into the traps set by her and spill the beans. Like all simple-hearted people, she considered herself, not without pride, a subtle diplomat and saw miracles of malicious cunning in her most naive designs.
"Tom," she said, "was it hot at school today?"
- Yes, "m. ["M" is the first and last letter of the word "madm", which is used in England and America when referring to a woman with respect.]
- It's very hot, isn't it?
- Yes, m.
- And really did not want you, Tom, to swim in the river?
Something unkind seemed to him - a shadow of suspicion and fear touched his soul. He looked searchingly into Aunt Polly's face, but it said nothing to him. And he answered:
- No, "m… not really.
Aunt Polly reached out and touched Tom's shirt.
"I didn't even sweat," she said.
And she thought smugly how cleverly she had discovered that Tom's shirt was dry; it never occurred to anyone what a trick she had in mind. Tom, however, had already figured out which way the wind was blowing, and forestalled further questions:
- We put our heads under the pump - to freshen up. My hair is still wet. See?
Aunt Polly was hurt: how could she miss such important circumstantial evidence! But at once a new thought struck her.
“Tom, to put your head under the pump, you didn’t have to rip open the collar of your shirt where I sewed it up?” Come on, unzip your jacket!
The anxiety vanished from Tom's face. He opened his jacket. The collar of the shirt was tightly sewn up.
- All right, all right. You will never understand. I was sure that you didn’t go to school and swam. Okay, I'm not angry with you: although you are a decent rogue, you still turned out to be better than you might think.
She was a little annoyed that her cunning did not lead to anything, and at the same time pleased that Tom at least this time turned out to be a good boy.
But then Sid intervened.
“I remember something,” he said, “as if you were sewing up his collar with white thread, and here, look, it’s black!”
- Yes, of course, I sewed it up with white! .. Tom! ..
But Tom did not wait for the conversation to continue. Running out of the room, he said quietly:
- Well, I'll blow you up, Siddi!
Hiding in a safe place, he examined two large needles tucked into the lapel of his jacket and wrapped with thread. One was threaded with white thread, and the other with black thread.
She wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for Sid. Hell! Now she sewed it with white thread, then black. I would have sewed some one, otherwise you will inevitably get lost ... But I will still blow Sid - it will be a good lesson for him!
Tom was not a Good Boy that the whole city could be proud of. But he knew perfectly well who was an exemplary boy, and hated him.
However, after two minutes - and even sooner - he forgot all the hardships. Not because they were less difficult and bitter for him than the hardships that usually torment adults, but because at that moment a new powerful passion took possession of him and drove all worries out of his head. In the same way, adults are able to forget their sorrows as soon as they are carried away by some new business. Tom is now carried away by one precious novelty: he adopted a special manner of whistling from a Negro acquaintance, and he had long wanted to practice this art in the wild, so that no one would interfere. The negro whistled like a bird. He got a melodious trill, interrupted by short pauses, for which it was necessary to often, often touch the tongue to the palate. The reader probably remembers how it's done, if he's ever been a boy. Persistence and diligence helped Tom quickly master all the techniques of this business. He walked cheerfully down the street, his mouth full of sweet music, and his soul full of gratitude. He felt like an astronomer discovering a new planet in the sky, only his joy was more immediate, fuller and deeper.
In summer the evenings are long. It was still light. Suddenly Tom stopped whistling. Before him stood a stranger, a boy a little bigger than him. Any new face of any gender and age has always attracted the attention of the inhabitants of the wretched town of St. Petersburg. [Americans often give their small cities loud capital names. They have several Parises, three or four Jerusalems, Constantinople, etc. They named the city depicted in this book after the then Russian capital.] Besides, the boy was wearing a smart suit - a smart suit on a weekday! It was downright amazing. A very elegant hat; a neatly buttoned blue cloth jacket, new and clean, and exactly the same trousers. He had shoes on his feet, even though today is only Friday. He even had a tie - a very bright ribbon. In general, he looked like an urban dandy, and this infuriated Tom. The more Tom looked at this wonderful marvel, the more shabby his own pitiful suit seemed to him, and the higher he turned up his nose, showing how disgusted he was with such smart outfits. The two boys met in complete silence. As soon as one took a step, another took a step - but only to the side, sideways, in a circle. Face to face and eye to eye - so they moved for a very long time. Finally Tom said:
- If you want, I'll blow you up!
- Try!
- And here I will sigh!
- And here you will not blow up!
- I want and I will!
- No, you won't!
- No, I will!
- No, you won't!
- I'll blow it!
- Don't freak out!
A painful silence. Finally Tom says:
- What is your name?
- What do you care?
- I'll show you what I care!
- Well, show me. Why don't you show?
- Say two more glory - and I'll show you.
- Two words! Two words! Two words! It is for you! Well!
- Look how clever! Yes, if I wanted to, I could give you pepper with one hand, and let them tie it with the other - I will describe it for me.
- Why don't you ask? Because you say you can.
- And I'll ask if you pester me!
- Oh no no no! We saw these!
- You think how overdressed, such an important bird! Oh what a hat!
- I do not like? Knock it off my head, and you'll get nuts from me.
- You're lying!
- You're lying!
- Only frightens, but he is a coward!
- Okay, get out!
- Hey you, listen: if you don't calm down, I'll break your head!
- How do you break it! Oh oh oh!
- And I'll break it!
- What are you waiting for? You scare, scare, but in fact there is nothing? Are you afraid, you mean?
- I don't think so.
- No, you're afraid!
- No I'm not afraid!
- No, you're afraid!
Silence again. They devour each other with their eyes, marking time and making a new circle. Finally, they stand shoulder to shoulder. Tom says:
- Get out of here!
- Get out yourself!
- I don't want to.
- And I don't want to.
So they stand face to face, each put his foot forward at the same angle. Looking at each other with hatred, they begin to push with all their might. But victory is not given to either one or the other. They push for a long time. Excited, red, they gradually weaken their onslaught, although everyone still remains on their guard ... And then Tom says:
- You're a coward and a puppy! So I'll tell my older brother - he will beat you with one little finger. I'll tell him - he'll beat!
- I'm very afraid of your older brother! I have a brother myself, even older, and he can throw yours over that fence. (Both brothers are pure fiction.)
- You're lying!
- You never know what to say!

Warning

An attempt to find the motive for the birth of this story will be prosecuted. An attempt to extract some morality from the novel is punishable by exile, and for an attempt to find a hidden meaning in it, the guilty will be shot by order of the author by the head of his artillery.

Chapter I

Civilize Huck. - Moses and the reeds. - Miss Watson. Tom Sawyer is waiting.

If you have not read the book entitled The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, then you know absolutely nothing about me. However, there is nothing particularly illegal here. The book was written by Mark Twain, generally speaking, quite truthfully. It is clear that the matter was not without some embellishments, but after all, as they say, the light stands on this. Almost everyone I have ever met has lied a little on one occasion or another. The only exceptions to the general rule are: Aunt Polly, and the widow, and, perhaps, the red-haired beauty Mary. Aunt Polly is the one who is Tom's aunt. About her and the widow Douglas are told in the already mentioned book, generally speaking, truthful, if you do not pay attention to some of the embellishments in it. As for Mary, she will be discussed ahead.

There is some information about myself in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. It tells how Tom and I found money hidden by robbers in a cave, and thus got rich. Each of us had six thousand dollars in pure gold. It was strange even to look at such a lot of money, stacked in regular columns. Judge Thatcher took all this money and paid it for interest, whereby it brought each of us a dollar a day for a whole year, that is, much more than we were able to spend. Widow Douglas took me to her house, looked at your obedient servant as her own son and set out to civilize him. Taking into account the deadly correct and decent way of life of a widow, it was extremely hard for me with her, and when I had to be completely unbearable, I ran away from her. Once again in rags and in a large granulated sugar barrel, I felt free and contented again, but Tom Sawyer sought me out. He persuaded me to return to the widow and behave decently, promising to accept me as a reward for this in a gang of robbers, which he was going to organize. In view of such a tempting promise, I immediately returned to the widow.

When she saw me, she burst into tears, called me the poor lost lamb, and gave me many other similar nicknames, without, however, having the slightest desire to offend me. I was again put on a new dress, in which I sweated all the time and felt as if my whole body was convulsed. Everything went back to the old track. The widow called the whole family to dinner at the bell. On hearing the bell, it was necessary to immediately appear in the dining room, but meanwhile, having reached there, it was still impossible to immediately secure something to eat: you had to wait until the widow, bowing her head, muttered a little bit over the dishes, although with them without that all seemed to be going well. Everything was fried and cooked in moderation. It would be a different matter if a keg of some sort of mixture were brought to the table; then the spells could perhaps come in handy: the contents would be better mixed, the juice would be released from itself and it would become tastier.

After supper, the widow would take out a large book and begin to teach me about Moses and reeds. I struggled to find out all the ins and outs about him, and over time I got the widow to explain that this same Moses had died a long time ago. Then I completely ceased to be interested in him, because I do not speculate in such goods as the dead.

After a very short time, I felt the desire to smoke and asked the widow to let me do it; she did not agree - she declared smoking an unclean, dense, dirty habit and demanded that I give it up completely. People all the time in general are like this - they are addicted to things about which they know absolutely nothing. If only Mrs. Douglas was fond of Moses and constantly talked about him, although, as far as I know, he was not related to her. Moreover, not the slightest use could come from him for anyone, since he had already died long ago. For all that, Mrs. Douglas lashed out at me terribly for smoking, which still had some use. Meanwhile, the widow herself took snuff and did not find anything wrong in it, no doubt, because she did it herself.

Miss Watson, a rather thin old maid with glasses, has just arrived and settled in with Mrs. Douglas. Armed with the ABC, she pounced on me and worked mercilessly for almost an hour until the widow begged her to let my soul go to repentance. I really could not endure such torture any longer. Then, for about an hour, there was mortal boredom. I fidgeted in my chair every now and then, and Miss Watson stopped me every minute. "Sit tight, Huckleberry! - Don't swing your legs! - Why are you so squirming? - Stay straight! "Don't yawn or stretch, Huckleberry!" "Couldn't you be more decent?" - she said to me, and then began to explain that with such bad behavior, it is not surprising to end up in a very bad place called hell. I, in the simplicity of my soul, decided that it would not hurt me to go there, and frankly told her about it. She was terribly furious, although there was not the slightest ill intention on my part. I generally wanted to go somewhere; where exactly - it was completely indifferent to me, since I longed, in essence, only for change. The old maid announced that it was very bad of me to say such things, that she herself would never say anything like that in the world and intended to live in such a way as to get into a place of evil, "where the righteous rest." I personally did not see the slightest advantage for myself in being in the same place with her, and therefore decided in my mind not to make the slightest attempt to do so. However, I did not tell her about my decision, as this could only irritate her and would not bring me any benefit.

Miss Watson, feeling herself set in motion, could not stop soon, and continued to tell me about the place of evil. She assured that a man who fell there lived perfectly: all day long, until the end of time, he only does what he walks around with a harp and sings. This prospect did not particularly appeal to me, but I did not express my opinion to her, but only asked her what she thought: would Tom Sawyer end up in a place of evil or not? She sighed heavily and, after a pause, answered in the negative. I was very glad about this, because I was extremely anxious not to be separated from him.

Miss Watson kept pushing me; I'm very tired and tired of it. In the end, however, the negroes were called into the room, they began to say prayers and went to their bedrooms. I went into my little room with a candle, which I placed on the table, and then, sitting down on a chair near the window, I tried to think of something more amusing, but nothing good came of it. I felt so sad that at that moment I even wanted to die. The stars shone, it seemed, somehow sadly; from the forest came the melancholy rustle of leaves; somewhere in the distance an owl was crying, of course, over the dead man; there was a howl of a dog and the plaintive cry of "uive-poor-ville", foreshadowing someone's death; the wind began to whisper something, which I could not make out, but why cold sweat broke out all over my body. Then I heard from the forest the muffled voice of a dead man who needs, but fails to express what lies in his soul. The poor man cannot lie quietly in his grave and must wander at night in inappropriate places. I completely lost heart and was especially upset that I did not have any comrade at hand. Soon, however, a spider descended on me and crawled along my shoulder.

I hurriedly shook it off me, and it fell right on the candle and, before I could move, it was all wrinkled and burned. I myself knew that this was a terrible omen and that the death of the spider would bring me misfortune. This upset me to such an extent that I almost tore my clothes. It is true that I immediately got up and walked around the room three times in the same footprints, each time signing myself with the cross, and then tied a tuft of my hair with a thread, in order to protect myself in this way from witches. However, I still could not feel completely calm. It helps when, instead of nailing a found horseshoe over the doors, you lose it, but I have never heard that you can similarly prevent misfortune after you happen to kill a spider.

Trembling all over, I sat down again on a chair and took out a pipe for myself, intending to smoke. The house was dead silent now, and there was no way the widow could find out about my trick. But then, after a long time, I heard a clock somewhere far away in the city begin to beat: boom, boom, boom ... They struck twelve times, and then everything again calmed down and even seemed to be quieter than before. Shortly after, I heard a branch crackle down in the darkness in the thicket of trees, and, holding my breath, I began to listen. Immediately after that, a cat’s meow was heard from there: “Meow-meow! ..” “Well, that’s all right,” I said to myself and immediately answered in turn: “Meow-meow! in a gentle tone, put out the candle, climbed out of the window onto the roof of the shed, slowly rolled down it, jumped to the ground and made his way into the thicket of trees. There, indeed, I saw Tom Sawyer waiting for me.

Chapter II

Tom and I happily escape Jim. — Jim. - Tom Sawyer's gang. - Deep plans.

We tiptoed between the trees, heading towards the far end of the garden, ducking so that the branches wouldn't catch on our heads. Passing by the kitchen, I stumbled on the root of a tree and fell, and, of course, made a small fraction of the noise. We lay down on the ground and lay perfectly still. Jim, Watson's tall negro, was sitting just in the doorway, on the threshold. We could distinguish it quite clearly, as a candle was burning in the kitchen. He stood up, stretched out his neck, listened in silence for a minute, and then asked:

- Who's there?!

Getting no answer, he began to listen again, and then he tiptoed out of the kitchen and stopped right in the gap between me and Tom. We were so close to him that we almost touched him. For several minutes, which seemed to me very long, not a single sound was heard, and yet all three of us almost touched each other. Just at this time, I itched near the ankle, but I did not dare to scratch it. After that, I had a terrible itching near my ear, and then on my back, just between my shoulders. It seemed to me that I would simply die if I decided to hold out any longer. By the way, I happened to notice this property more than once after myself: as soon as you are in a decent society or at a funeral, you try to sleep, not feeling a particular desire to do so - in short, every time when itching is completely inopportune, you will certainly feel the urge to this in almost a thousand places. Soon, however, Jim broke the silence and asked:

– Who are you? Where are you?! Rip the dog of my cats, if I haven't heard something like that here! OK! I already know what I'll do! I'll sit right here and listen until I hear something again.

Sitting down on the path so that he was just between me and Tom, he leaned against a tree and spread his legs wide, as a result of which one of them almost grazed my leg. Then my nose began to itch to the point that tears came to my eyes, but I still did not dare to itch; then something began to tickle me inside my nose, and finally, right under my nose, above my lip. I really don't know how I managed to restrain myself and lie still. This unfortunate state lasted for six or seven minutes, but those minutes seemed like an eternity to me. I itched in eleven different places; I felt that I could not endure a single minute more, and so I clenched my teeth and decided to try my luck. Just at that moment, Jim began to breathe heavily, and immediately after that he began to snore. I was not slow then to calm down and come to a normal state. Tom gave me a signal, champing his lips slightly, and we crawled further on all fours. When we crawled back about ten feet, Tom whispered to me that it would not be bad to tie Jim to a tree for fun, but I categorically refused, explaining that a negro could wake up and raise such a cry that would wake the whole house, and then my absence would be revealed. It suddenly occurred to Tom that he had taken too few candles with him, and therefore he expressed a desire to go into the kitchen and borrow there. I advised him to refrain from such an attempt, as Jim might wake up in the meantime and go there too. Tom wanted, however, to accomplish some risky feat at all costs. He and I, therefore, crept quietly into the kitchen and obtained three candles there, in payment for which Tom laid five cents on the table. Then we left the kitchen, and I really wanted to get out of there, but I couldn’t cope with my friend. He crawled back on all fours to where Jim slept to play some trick on the Negro. I waited impatiently for him, and it seemed to me that he was very slow, since there was dead silence all around.

Immediately after Tom's return, we continued our way along the path, rounded the garden fence, and gradually climbed the steep slope of the hill to the very top. Tom told me at the same time that he took off Jim's hat and hung it on a branch of the same tree under which the negro slept. Jim stirred slightly, but did not wake up. Afterward, Jim claimed that the witches had bewitched him, driven him into a state of insanity and rode him all over the state, and then sat him again under a tree and, to remove all doubt, hung his hat on a bough. The next day, repeating this story, Jim added that the witches had taken him to New Orleans, and after that, with each new retelling, he expanded the area of ​​his wanderings more and more. In the end, it turned out that the witches rode him all over the world, tortured him almost to death, and brutally kneaded his back. It is clear that Jim was terribly proud of this. It got to the point that he almost did not honor other blacks with his attention. They sometimes came several miles away to listen to his adventures, and he began to enjoy extraordinary respect and honor among them. Completely alien Negroes sometimes stood near the fence, gaping, and looked at Jim, as if at some kind of miracle. When it gets dark, the Negroes, sitting near the fire in the kitchen, always talk among themselves about sorcerers and witches. If anyone had such a conversation and tried to prove himself to be a knowledgeable person in this part, Jim had only to come in and say: “Um, do you know anything about magic?” - and the talkative negro, as if someone had clogged his throat with a cork, immediately fell silent, and then slowly faded into the back rows. Jim drilled a hole in a nickel and, having threaded a string through it, wore the coin constantly around his neck, explaining that this was a talisman handed down by the devil himself, who announced that he could cure all diseases and, if necessary, call sorcerers and witches. To do this, it was necessary to utter only a small spell, which he kept, of course, a secret. Negroes came from all over the neighborhood to Jim and gave him everything they had just to look at this nickel, but under no circumstances agreed to touch it, knowing that it had been in the hands of the devil himself. Jim, as a servant, fell into complete disrepair: to such an extent he became arrogant and vain after he personally saw the devil and carried witches on his back.

Climbing to the very top of the hill behind Mrs. Douglas's house, we looked around the village below, and noticed three or four lights flickering in the windows of houses where there were probably sick people. The stars above us shone even brighter than these lights, and below, behind the village, flowed a river, a mile wide, majestic and calm. Coming down the hill, we found Joe Harper, Ben Rogers, and two or three other boys waiting for us in an old abandoned leather hut. Untying the boat, we got into it and went down the river, about two and a half English miles, to a deep depression on the upland bank.

Having moored there, we went ashore and reached a place overgrown with bushes. Tom took an oath from all the boys not to reveal his secret, and then led us through the thickest thicket to a cave located in a hill. There we lit candles and crawled on our hands and knees for about a hundred and fifty paces through a low, narrow passage. Then this underground corridor became higher, so that it was possible to walk already standing. Tom began to look into its various side passages. Soon he bent down and disappeared into the wall, where no one else would have noticed the existence of the hole. We had to make our way several dozen steps again along a narrow corridor, and then we entered a fairly large room, hazy, damp and cold. There we stopped, and Tom addressed us with the following statement: “Now we will form a gang of robbers, which will be called Tom Sawyer's gang. Anyone who wants to join her must swear allegiance to their comrades and sign this oath with their own blood! Tom took out of his pocket a sheet of paper on which the oath was written and read it aloud to us. Each boy took an oath to stand behind the gang and never reveal its secrets. If someone insults a boy belonging to a gang, the offender and his family must immediately be put to death by that of the robbers to whom this will be prescribed by the chieftain. The one who has received such an order is forbidden to eat and sleep until he has killed the intended victims and carved on their chests the cross that was supposed to serve as the conventional distinguishing mark of Tom Sawyer's gang. Persons who did not belong to the gang were forbidden to use this brand. The perpetrator was prosecuted for the first time, and in case of repetition he was sentenced to death. If any of the members of the gang dared to divulge its secrets once, a terrible fate awaited him. The oathbreaker would first have his throat cut, and then his corpse would be burned and his ashes scattered to the wind, his name would be blotted out with his own blood from the list of robbers, and he would never be remembered again, except with the most terrible curses. Best of all, it was recognized not to remember the traitor at all and to betray his name to eternal oblivion.

We all really liked this formula of the oath, and we asked Tom, did he really come up with such a wonderful thing? He frankly admitted that something belonged to him personally, but most of it was borrowed from books that described the exploits of land and sea robbers. According to him, every decent band of robbers certainly had their own oath.

It occurred to some of us that it would be nice to massacre the whole family of a boy who cheated on a gang. Tom recognized this idea as brilliant and immediately made an appropriate addition to the sworn list in pencil. Then Ben Rogers remarked:

- Well, here, for example, Huck Finn, who has no family! How would we apply this clause to him?

“Why, he has a father,” objected Tom Sawyer.

- Let's suppose that it is so, but now you won't find his father even with dogs. Before, he used to lie drunk with pigs in the tannery, but for about a year now there has not been a word or a breath about him.

A heated debate flared up on this controversial issue. They wanted to exclude me from the list of candidates for robbers, referring to the absence of a family or in general a person who, in the event of my betrayal, could be slaughtered, as a result of which I seemed to be in a more advantageous position than the rest of the gang. No one could think of a way out of this situation, we were all at a loss and kept silent. I was about to burst into tears, when suddenly a happy thought flashed through me: I offered Miss Watson as a surety for myself.

- If I decide to change, it will be possible to kill her!

All at once exclaimed joyfully:

- Of course, you can! Everything, then, is now in order! Huck can join the gang!

Each of us pricked his finger with a pin in order to get blood for his signature, and out of illiteracy I put a cross on the sworn sheet.

- Well, what will our gang do for a living? asked Ben Rogers.

“Only robbery and murder,” answered Tom Sawyer.

What are we going to break? Houses, barnyards or...

“We don’t want to do things like this!” This would not be robbery, but simply robbery; we are not robbers, but real robbers, knights of the high road. We will put on masks, stop stagecoaches and carriages, kill passers-by and take away their money and watches.

“Is it really necessary to kill?”

- Of course, it is necessary. This is considered the best way to deal with passers-by. Some authorities hold a different opinion on this matter, but the majority find it most appropriate to kill, and end in the water. However, it will be possible to bring some travelers here to the cave and keep them here until they pay off.

“How will they pay off when we take everything from them?”

“I don’t know, but that’s just the way it is with robbers. I've read about the ransom in books, and we should take it to the board.

- What will we be guided by when we do not understand what is the matter?

– You never know what we do not understand, but still we must be guided. After all, I told you that it is written in books. Would you really like to step back from the printed text and make such a mess that you won’t even clear up later?

- All this is good for you to say, Tom Sawyer, but still it is not clear how the captives will buy off from us when they have not a penny left for their souls? What are we going to do with them anyway? In what sense, I would like to know, is the word "pay off" to be understood?

“Probably in an allegorical sense. We will probably keep them in our cave until they die a natural death.

- Well, that's what I understand! That will probably be okay. So it would be possible to declare from the very beginning that we will keep them here until they pay off with death. Nothing to say, bitter will be their fate when they run out of everything to eat and they are convinced of the futility of trying to escape from here!

“Strange things you say, Ben Rogers!” Is it possible to run away when there will be a sentry here, ready to shoot them as soon as they lift a finger.

- Clockwork!!! This was just not enough! Do any of us have to sit all night without sleep just to watch them! That would be pure nonsense! Why not take a good club and force them to pay off with it as soon as they get here?

“You can’t, because there’s nothing about it in the books!” The whole question of Ben Rogers is whether we should follow the rules or just act randomly. After all, those who wrote the books knew, I hope, exactly how to act? Of course, you and I could not teach them anything, on the contrary, we should learn from them. Therefore, sir, we will treat the prisoners as it should be - in print.

- Well, okay, I agree to everything, but, no joke, it seems a little inappropriate to me. Well, shall we also kill women?

“Ah, Ben Rogers, if I were such an ignorant person, I still wouldn’t ask such wild questions!” Is it possible to kill women?! No, sorry, there is nothing like that in any book. The women are brought here to the cave and treated with disgusting politeness, so that in the end they fall in love with us and show no more desire to return home.

- Well, well, let them live! But I just don't want to do things like that. Our cave will be filled with such a lot of all kinds of women and good fellows, awaiting ransom, that there will be no place left for the robbers themselves. However, continue, Mr. Ataman, I do not intend to object to you.

Young Tommy Barnes had fallen asleep by then. When we woke him up, he fell into a very bad mood, burst into tears, announced that he wanted to go home to his mother and did not want to be a robber anymore.

The whole gang began to laugh at him and call him a crybaby. This annoyed him, and he announced that on returning home, the first thing he would do was reveal all the secrets of our gang. Tom Smart gave the little one five cents to calm him down, and said that now we would all go home, and next week we would get together to rob the glory and, no doubt, we would kill a lot of people then.

Ben Rogers explained that he was only allowed to leave the house on Sundays, and expressed his wish that the gang would go on a loot the next first Sunday. All the other robbers admitted, however, that on holidays it was a sin to engage in such matters. Thus the issue was settled. We agreed to meet once more and fix the day of our first exit onto the main road as soon as possible. Then, with due observance of all the required formalities, we chose Tom Sawyer as the chief chieftain and Joe Harper as his deputy to our gang, and returned home.

Just before dawn I climbed onto the roof of the shed and climbed back out the window of my room. My new dress was all soiled and smeared with clay, and I myself was tired like the last dog.