CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (continued)

Pretty soon she made the cold chills streak all down my back, because she says: “But here we’re a running on this way, and you hain’t told me a word about Sis, nor any of them. Now I’ll rest my works a little, and you start up yourn; just tell me everything-tell me all about ‘m all-every one of ‘m; and how they are, and what they’re doing, and what they told you to tell me; and every last thing you can think of.” Well, I see I was up a stump-and up it good. Providence had stood by me this fur, all right, but I was hard and tight aground, now, I see it warn’t a bit of use to try to go ahead-I’d got to throw up my hand. So I says to myself, here’s another place where I got to resk the truth. I opened my mouth to begin; but she grabbed me and hustled me in behind the bed, and says: “Here he comes! stick your head down lower-there, that’ll do; you can’t be seen, now. Don’t you let on you’re here. I’ll play a joke on him. Children, don’t you say a word.” I see I was in a fix, now. But it warn’t no use to worry; there warn’t nothing to do but just hold still, and try and be ready to stand from under when the lightning struck.

I had just one little glimpse of the old gentleman when he come in, then the bed hid him. Mrs. Phelps she jumps for him and says: “Has he come?” “No,” says her husband.

“Good-ness gracious!” she says, “what in the world can have become of him?” “I can’t imagine,” says the old gentleman; “and I must say, it makes me dreadful uneasy.” “Uneasy!” she says, “I’m ready to go distracted! He must a come; and you’ve missed him along the road. I know it’s so-something tells me so.” “Why Sally, I couldn’t miss him along the road-you know that.” “But oh, dear, dear, what will Sis say! He must a come! You must a missed him. He-” “Oh, don’t distress me any more’n I’m already distressed. I don’t know what in the world to make of it. I’m at my wit’s end, and I don’t mind acknowledging’t I’m right down scared. But there’s no hope that he’s come; for he couldn’t come and me miss him. Sally, it’s terrible-just terrible-something’s happened to the boat, sure!” “Why, Silas! Look yonder!- up the road!-ain’t that somebody coming?” He sprung to the window at the head of the bed, and that gave Mrs. Phelps the chance she wanted. She stooped down quick, at the foot of the bed, and give me a pull, and out I come; and when he turned back from the window, there she stood, a-beaming and a-smiling like a house afire, and I standing pretty meek and sweaty alongside. The old gentleman stared, and says: “Why, who’s that?” “Who do you reckon ‘t is?” “I haint no idea. Who is it?” “It’s Tom Sawyer!” By jings, I most slumped through the floor. But there warn’t no time to swap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on shaking; and all the time, how the woman did dance around and laugh and cry; and then how they both did fire off questions about Sid, and Mary, and the rest of the tribe.

But if they was joyful, it warn’t nothing to what I was; for it was like being born again, I was so glad to find out who I was. Well, they froze to me for two hours; and at last when my chin was so tired it couldn’t hardly go, any more, I had told them more about my family-I mean the Sawyer family-than ever happened to any six Sawyer families. And I explained all about how we blowed out a cylinder-head at the mouth of White River and it took us three days to fix it.

Which was all right, and worked first rate; because they didn’t know but what it would take three days to fix it. If I’d a called it a bolt-head it would a done just as well.

Now I was feeling pretty comfortable all down one side, and pretty uncomfortable all up the other. Being Tom Sawyer was easy and comfortable; and it stayed easy and comfortable till by-and-by I hear a steamboat coughing along down the river-then I says to myself, spose Tom Sawyer come down on that boat?- and spose he steps in here, any minute, and sings out my name before I can throw him a wink to keep quiet? Well, I couldn’t have it that way-it wouldn’t do at all. I must go up the road and waylay him. So I told the folks I reckoned I would go up to the town and fetch down my baggage. The old gentleman was for going along with me, but I said no, I could drive the horse myself, and I druther he wouldn’t take no trouble about me.

Table of Contents | MonkeyNotes | Barron's Booknotes