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Retrieved January 26, , from http: Next The embedded audio player requires a modern internet browser. You should visit Browse Happy and update your internet browser today! THE two boys flew on and on, toward the village, speechless with horror. They glanced backward over their shoulders from time to time, apprehensively, as if they feared they might be followed. Every stump that started up in their path seemed a man and an enemy, and made them catch their breath; and as they sped by some outlying cottages that lay near the village, the barking of the aroused watch—dogs seemed to give wings to their feet.
They gained steadily on it, and at last, breast to breast, they burst through the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in the sheltering shadows beyond. By and by their pulses slowed down, and Tom whispered: How can he tell?
He had liquor in him; I could see that; and besides, he always has. He says so, his own self.
But if a man was dead sober, I reckon maybe that whack might fetch him; I dono. It was deep, and dark, and awful; the hour, the circumstances, the surroundings, were in keeping with it.
He picked up a clean pine shingle that lay in the moonlight, took a little fragment of "red keel" out of his pocket, got the moon on his work, and painfully scrawled these lines, emphasizing each slow down—stroke by clamping his tongue between his teeth, and letting up the pressure on the up—strokes.
He at once took a pin from his lapel and was going to prick his flesh, but Tom said: It might have verdigrease on it. In time, after many squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials, using the ball of his little finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry how to make an H and an F, and the oath was complete. They buried the shingle close to the wall, with some dismal ceremonies and incantations, and the fetters that bound their tongues were considered to be locked and the key thrown away.
A figure crept stealthily through a break in the other end of the ruined building, now, but they did not notice it. Presently a dog set up a long, lugubrious howl just outside—within ten feet of them. The boys clasped each other suddenly, in an agony of fright. His whisper was hardly audible when he said: Who does he mean?
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I been so wicked. But I, like a fool, never thought. Oh, this is bully, you know. NOW who can he mean? Tom pricked up his ears.
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But presently the temptation rose up strong again and the boys agreed to try, with the understanding that they would take to their heels if the snoring stopped.
So they went tiptoeing stealthily down, the one behind the other. When they had got to within five steps of the snorer, Tom stepped on a stick, and it broke with a sharp snap. The man moaned, writhed a little, and his face came into the moonlight. It was Muff Potter. They tiptoed out, through the broken weather—boarding, and stopped at a little distance to exchange a parting word. That long, lugubrious howl rose on the night air again! When Tom crept in at his bedroom window the night was almost spent.
He undressed with excessive caution, and fell asleep congratulating himself that nobody knew of his escapade. He was not aware that the gently—snoring Sid was awake, and had been so for an hour. When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone.
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There was a late look in the light, a late sense in the atmosphere. Why had he not been called—persecuted till he was up, as usual? The thought filled him with bodings. Within five minutes he was dressed and down—stairs, feeling sore and drowsy.
The family were still at table, but they had finished breakfast. He sat down and tried to seem gay, but it was up—hill work; it roused no smile, no response, and he lapsed into silence and let his heart sink down to the depths.
After breakfast his aunt took him aside, and Tom almost brightened in the hope that he was going to be flogged; but it was not so. His aunt wept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old heart so; and finally told him to go on, and ruin himself and bring her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try any more.
He cried, he pleaded for forgiveness, promised to reform over and over again, and then received his dismissal, feeling that he had won but an imperfect forgiveness and established but a feeble confidence. He moped to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging, along with Joe Harper, for playing hookey the day before, with the air of one whose heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead to trifles.
Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on his desk and his jaws in his hands, and stared at the wall with the stony stare of suffering that has reached the limit and can no further go. His elbow was pressing against some hard substance. After a long time he slowly and sadly changed his position, and took up this object with a sigh. It was in a paper. A long, lingering, colossal sigh followed, and his heart broke.
It was his brass andiron knob!