Chapter 30

14 min

As the earliest suspicion of dawn appeared on Sunday morning, Huck came groping up the hill and rapped gently at the old Welshman’s door. The inmates were asleep, but it was a sleep that was set on a hair-trigger, on account of the exciting episode of the night. A call came from a window:

At the first hint of dawn on Sunday morning, Huck felt his way up the hill. He knocked gently at the old Welshman’s door. The people inside were asleep, but the excitement of the night had left them ready to wake at any sound. Someone called from a window:

“Who’s there!”

Huck’s scared voice answered in a low tone:

Huck answered quietly in a scared voice:

“Please let me in! It’s only Huck Finn!”

“Please let me in! It’s just Huck Finn!”

“It’s a name that can open this door night or day, lad!—and welcome!”

“That name can open this door day or night, son! And you’ll always be welcome!”

These were strange words to the vagabond boy’s ears, and the pleasantest he had ever heard. He could not recollect that the closing word had ever been applied in his case before. The door was quickly unlocked, and he entered. Huck was given a seat and the old man and his brace of tall sons speedily dressed themselves.

These words sounded strange to the wandering boy, but they were the kindest he had ever heard. He could not remember anyone ever using the last word to describe him before. The door was quickly unlocked, and he went in. Huck was given a seat, and the old man and his two tall sons quickly got dressed.

“Now, my boy, I hope you’re good and hungry, because breakfast will be ready as soon as the sun’s up, and we’ll have a piping hot one, too—make yourself easy about that! I and the boys hoped you’d turn up and stop here last night.”

“Now, my boy, I hope you’re good and hungry, because breakfast will be ready as soon as the sun’s up. And we’ll have a piping hot breakfast, too. Don’t you worry about that! I and the boys hoped you’d show up and stay here last night.”

“I was awful scared,” said Huck, “and I run. I took out when the pistols went off, and I didn’t stop for three mile. I’ve come now becuz I wanted to know about it, you know; and I come before daylight becuz I didn’t want to run across them devils, even if they was dead.”

“I was awful scared,” said Huck, “and I run. I took out when the pistols went off, and I didn’t stop for three mile. I’ve come now because I wanted to know about it, you know. And I come before daylight because I didn’t want to run across them devils, even if they was dead.”

“Well, poor chap, you do look as if you’d had a hard night of it—but there’s a bed here for you when you’ve had your breakfast. No, they ain’t dead, lad—we are sorry enough for that. You see we knew right where to put our hands on them, by your description; so we crept along on tiptoe till we got within fifteen feet of them—dark as a cellar that sumach path was—and just then I found I was going to sneeze. It was the meanest kind of luck! I tried to keep it back, but no use—’twas bound to come, and it did come! I was in the lead with my pistol raised, and when the sneeze started those scoundrels a-rustling to get out of the path, I sung out, ‘Fire boys!’ and blazed away at the place where the rustling was. So did the boys. But they were off in a jiffy, those villains, and we after them, down through the woods. I judge we never touched them. They fired a shot apiece as they started, but their bullets whizzed by and didn’t do us any harm. As soon as we lost the sound of their feet we quit chasing, and went down and stirred up the constables. They got a posse together, and went off to guard the river bank, and as soon as it is light the sheriff and a gang are going to beat up the woods. My boys will be with them presently. I wish we had some sort of description of those rascals—’twould help a good deal. But you couldn’t see what they were like, in the dark, lad, I suppose?”

“Well, poor chap, you do look as if you’d had a hard night. But there’s a bed here for you when you’ve had your breakfast. No, they ain’t dead, lad, and we’re sorry enough about that. You see, from your description, we knew right where to find them. So we crept along on tiptoe till we got within fifteen feet of them. That path through the sumac was dark as a cellar. And just then I felt a sneeze coming on. It was the worst kind of luck! I tried to hold it back, but no use. It was bound to come, and it did come! I was in the lead with my pistol raised. When the sneeze sent those scoundrels scrambling out of the path, I shouted, ‘Fire, boys!’ I fired at the place where the rustling came from. So did the boys. But those villains were off in a flash, and we chased them down through the woods. I reckon we never hit them. They each fired a shot as they started running, but their bullets whizzed by and didn’t hurt us. As soon as we couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore, we stopped chasing them and went down to alert the constables. The constables gathered a posse and went off to guard the riverbank. As soon as it’s light, the sheriff and a group of men are going to search the woods. My boys will be joining them shortly. I wish we had some sort of description of those rascals. It would help a good deal. But you couldn’t see what they looked like in the dark, lad, I suppose?”

“Oh yes; I saw them downtown and follered them.”

“Oh yes, I saw them downtown and followed them.”

“Splendid! Describe them—describe them, my boy!”

“Wonderful! Describe them! Describe them, my boy!”

“One’s the old deaf and dumb Spaniard that’s ben around here once or twice, and t’other’s a mean-looking, ragged—”

“One's the old Spaniard who can't hear or speak. He's been around here once or twice, and the other's a mean-looking, ragged...”

“That’s enough, lad, we know the men! Happened on them in the woods back of the widow’s one day, and they slunk away. Off with you, boys, and tell the sheriff—get your breakfast tomorrow morning!”

“That’s enough, boy, we know the men! Ran into them in the woods behind the widow’s house one day, and they sneaked away. Go on, boys, and tell the sheriff. Get your breakfast tomorrow morning!”

The Welshman’s sons departed at once. As they were leaving the room Huck sprang up and exclaimed:

The Welshman’s sons left at once. As they were leaving the room, Huck jumped up and cried out:

“Oh, please don’t tell _any_body it was me that blowed on them! Oh, please!”

“Oh, please don’t tell _any_body it was me that told on them! Oh, please!”

“All right if you say it, Huck, but you ought to have the credit of what you did.”

“All right, if you say so, Huck. But you should get the credit for what you did.”

“Oh no, no! Please don’t tell!”

When the young men were gone, the old Welshman said:

After the young men left, the old Welshman said:

“They won’t tell—and I won’t. But why don’t you want it known?”

“They won’t tell, and I won’t either. But why don’t you want anyone to know?”

Huck would not explain, further than to say that he already knew too much about one of those men and would not have the man know that he knew anything against him for the whole world—he would be killed for knowing it, sure.

Huck would only say that he already knew too much about one of those men. He wouldn't let the man find out he knew anything against him, not for anything in the world. He was sure he'd be killed for knowing it.

The old man promised secrecy once more, and said:

The old man promised once again to keep the secret, and said:

“How did you come to follow these fellows, lad? Were they looking suspicious?”

“How did you end up following these men, son? Did they look suspicious?”

Huck was silent while he framed a duly cautious reply. Then he said:

Huck stayed silent while he thought of a suitably cautious reply. Then he said:

“Well, you see, I’m a kind of a hard lot,—least everybody says so, and I don’t see nothing agin it—and sometimes I can’t sleep much, on account of thinking about it and sort of trying to strike out a new way of doing. That was the way of it last night. I couldn’t sleep, and so I come along upstreet ’bout midnight, a-turning it all over, and when I got to that old shackly brick store by the Temperance Tavern, I backed up agin the wall to have another think. Well, just then along comes these two chaps slipping along close by me, with something under their arm, and I reckoned they’d stole it. One was a-smoking, and t’other one wanted a light; so they stopped right before me and the cigars lit up their faces and I see that the big one was the deaf and dumb Spaniard, by his white whiskers and the patch on his eye, and t’other one was a rusty, ragged-looking devil.”

“Well, you see, I’m kind of a hard lot. Least everybody says so, and I don’t see nothing against it. And sometimes I can’t sleep much because I’m thinking about it and sort of trying to find a new way of doing things. That was how it was last night. I couldn’t sleep, and so I come along up the street about midnight, turning it all over in my mind. When I got to that old run-down brick store by the Temperance Tavern, I backed up against the wall to think some more. Well, just then along comes these two chaps, slipping along close by me, with something under their arm. I reckoned they’d stole it. One was smoking, and the other one wanted a light. So they stopped right before me, and the cigars lit up their faces. I see that the big one was the Spaniard who was deaf and couldn’t speak. I knew him by his white whiskers and the patch on his eye. And the other one was a shabby, ragged-looking devil.”

“Could you see the rags by the light of the cigars?”

“Could you see the rags in the glow of the cigars?”

This staggered Huck for a moment. Then he said:

This stunned Huck for a moment. Then he said:

“Well, I don’t know—but somehow it seems as if I did.”

“Well, I don’t know, but somehow it feels as if I did.”

“Then they went on, and you—”

“Then they went on, and you...”

“Follered ’em—yes. That was it. I wanted to see what was up—they sneaked along so. I dogged ’em to the widder’s stile, and stood in the dark and heard the ragged one beg for the widder, and the Spaniard swear he’d spile her looks just as I told you and your two—”

“Followed them, yes. That was it. I wanted to see what was up, they sneaked along so. I followed them to the widow’s stile and stood in the dark. I heard the ragged one plead for the widow, and the Spaniard swear he’d ruin her looks. Just as I told you and your two...”

“What! The deaf and dumb man said all that!”

“What! The deaf and nonspeaking man said all that!”

Huck had made another terrible mistake! He was trying his best to keep the old man from getting the faintest hint of who the Spaniard might be, and yet his tongue seemed determined to get him into trouble in spite of all he could do. He made several efforts to creep out of his scrape, but the old man’s eye was upon him and he made blunder after blunder. Presently the Welshman said:

Huck had made another terrible mistake! He was trying his best not to give the old man the slightest clue who the Spaniard might be. Yet his tongue seemed determined to get him into trouble, no matter what he did. He tried several times to talk his way out of trouble. But the old man kept watching him, and he made one mistake after another. Soon the Welshman said:

“My boy, don’t be afraid of me. I wouldn’t hurt a hair of your head for all the world. No—I’d protect you—I’d protect you. This Spaniard is not deaf and dumb; you’ve let that slip without intending it; you can’t cover that up now. You know something about that Spaniard that you want to keep dark. Now trust me—tell me what it is, and trust me—I won’t betray you.”

“My boy, don’t be afraid of me. I wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head for anything in the world. No, I’d protect you. I’d protect you. This Spaniard isn’t deaf or unable to speak. You let that slip without meaning to, and you can’t hide it now. You know something about that Spaniard that you want to keep secret. Now trust me. Tell me what you know, and trust me. I won’t betray you.”

Huck looked into the old man’s honest eyes a moment, then bent over and whispered in his ear:

Huck looked into the old man’s honest eyes for a moment. Then he bent over and whispered in his ear:

“’Tain’t a Spaniard—it’s Injun Joe!”

“It ain't a Spaniard. It's Injun Joe!”

The Welshman almost jumped out of his chair. In a moment he said:

The Welshman almost jumped out of his chair. A moment later, he said:

“It’s all plain enough, now. When you talked about notching ears and slitting noses I judged that that was your own embellishment, because white men don’t take that sort of revenge. But an Injun! That’s a different matter altogether.”

“It’s all clear now. When you talked about cutting notches in ears and slitting noses, I thought you’d added those details yourself. That’s because white men don’t take that kind of revenge. But an Injun! That’s a completely different matter.”

During breakfast the talk went on, and in the course of it the old man said that the last thing which he and his sons had done, before going to bed, was to get a lantern and examine the stile and its vicinity for marks of blood. They found none, but captured a bulky bundle of—

The conversation continued over breakfast. The old man said the last thing he and his sons had done before bed was get a lantern. They had checked the stile and the area around it for bloodstains. They found none, but captured a bulky bundle of...

“Of what?”

If the words had been lightning they could not have leaped with a more stunning suddenness from Huck’s blanched lips. His eyes were staring wide, now, and his breath suspended—waiting for the answer. The Welshman started—stared in return—three seconds—five seconds—ten—then replied:

If the words had been lightning, they could not have burst from Huck’s pale lips with more shocking suddenness. His eyes were wide now, and he held his breath, waiting for the answer. The Welshman jumped, then stared back. Three seconds passed, five seconds, ten. Then he replied:

“Of burglar’s tools. Why, what’s the matter with you?”

Huck sank back, panting gently, but deeply, unutterably grateful. The Welshman eyed him gravely, curiously—and presently said:

Huck sank back, panting softly, but more grateful than words could express. The Welshman looked at him seriously and curiously, then said:

“Yes, burglar’s tools. That appears to relieve you a good deal. But what did give you that turn? What were you expecting we’d found?”

“Yes, burglar’s tools. You seem very relieved to hear that. But what startled you so much? What were you expecting we’d found?”

Huck was in a close place—the inquiring eye was upon him—he would have given anything for material for a plausible answer—nothing suggested itself—the inquiring eye was boring deeper and deeper—a senseless reply offered—there was no time to weigh it, so at a venture he uttered it—feebly:

Huck was in a tight spot. The questioning gaze was fixed on him. He would have given anything for a believable answer, but nothing came to mind. The gaze seemed to bore deeper and deeper into him. A foolish answer came to mind. There was no time to think it over, so he took a chance and said it weakly:

“Sunday-school books, maybe.”

“Sunday school books, maybe.”

Poor Huck was too distressed to smile, but the old man laughed loud and joyously, shook up the details of his anatomy from head to foot, and ended by saying that such a laugh was money in a man’s pocket, because it cut down the doctor’s bill like everything. Then he added:

Poor Huck was too upset to smile, but the old man laughed loudly and joyfully, shaking from head to toe. He finished by saying that a laugh like that was money in a man’s pocket. It cut his doctor’s bills dramatically. Then he added:

“Poor old chap, you’re white and jaded—you ain’t well a bit—no wonder you’re a little flighty and off your balance. But you’ll come out of it. Rest and sleep will fetch you out all right, I hope.”

“Poor old fellow, you’re pale and worn out. You ain’t well at all. No wonder you’re a little confused and not quite yourself. But you’ll get better. Rest and sleep will help you recover, I hope.”

Huck was irritated to think he had been such a goose and betrayed such a suspicious excitement, for he had dropped the idea that the parcel brought from the tavern was the treasure, as soon as he had heard the talk at the widow’s stile. He had only thought it was not the treasure, however—he had not known that it wasn’t—and so the suggestion of a captured bundle was too much for his self-possession. But on the whole he felt glad the little episode had happened, for now he knew beyond all question that that bundle was not the bundle, and so his mind was at rest and exceedingly comfortable. In fact, everything seemed to be drifting just in the right direction, now; the treasure must be still in No. 2, the men would be captured and jailed that day, and he and Tom could seize the gold that night without any trouble or any fear of interruption.

Huck was annoyed with himself for being such a fool and showing enough excitement to make people suspicious. He had stopped thinking the package from the tavern was the treasure after hearing the talk at the widow’s gate. But he had only thought it wasn’t the treasure. He hadn’t known for sure. So the mention of a seized bundle had made him lose his composure. Still, on the whole, he was glad the little incident had happened. Now he knew beyond all doubt that this bundle was not the bundle. So his mind was at rest, and he felt perfectly comfortable. In fact, everything seemed to be going just right now. The treasure must still be in No. 2. The men would be caught and jailed that day. Then he and Tom could grab the gold that night without any trouble or fear of being interrupted.

Just as breakfast was completed there was a knock at the door. Huck jumped for a hiding-place, for he had no mind to be connected even remotely with the late event. The Welshman admitted several ladies and gentlemen, among them the Widow Douglas, and noticed that groups of citizens were climbing up the hill—to stare at the stile. So the news had spread. The Welshman had to tell the story of the night to the visitors. The widow’s gratitude for her preservation was outspoken.

Just as breakfast ended, there was a knock at the door. Huck darted into hiding because he wanted no connection, even a remote one, to what had happened the night before. The Welshman let in several visitors, including the Widow Douglas. He noticed groups of townspeople climbing the hill to stare at the steps over the fence. So the news had spread. The Welshman had to tell the visitors the story of the night. The widow openly expressed her gratitude for being saved.

“Don’t say a word about it, madam. There’s another that you’re more beholden to than you are to me and my boys, maybe, but he don’t allow me to tell his name. We wouldn’t have been there but for him.”

“Don’t say a word about it, madam. There’s someone else you may owe more to than you do to me and my boys. But he don’t allow me to give his name. We wouldn’t have been there without him.”

Of course this excited a curiosity so vast that it almost belittled the main matter—but the Welshman allowed it to eat into the vitals of his visitors, and through them be transmitted to the whole town, for he refused to part with his secret. When all else had been learned, the widow said:

Of course, this stirred up such intense curiosity that it almost made the main matter seem unimportant. But the Welshman let that curiosity eat away at his visitors and spread through them to the whole town. He refused to reveal his secret. When they had learned everything else, the widow said:

“I went to sleep reading in bed and slept straight through all that noise. Why didn’t you come and wake me?”

“I fell asleep while reading in bed and slept straight through all that noise. Why didn’t you come and wake me?”

“We judged it warn’t worth while. Those fellows warn’t likely to come again—they hadn’t any tools left to work with, and what was the use of waking you up and scaring you to death? My three negro men stood guard at your house all the rest of the night. They’ve just come back.”

“We figured it wasn't worth it. Those fellows weren't likely to come again because they had no tools left to work with. And what was the use of waking you up and scaring you to death? My three Black men stood guard at your house for the rest of the night. They've just come back.”

More visitors came, and the story had to be told and retold for a couple of hours more.

More visitors came, and the story had to be told over and over for another couple of hours.

There was no Sabbath-school during day-school vacation, but everybody was early at church. The stirring event was well canvassed. News came that not a sign of the two villains had been yet discovered. When the sermon was finished, Judge Thatcher’s wife dropped alongside of Mrs. Harper as she moved down the aisle with the crowd and said:

There was no Sunday school during the school vacation, but everyone arrived early at church. The exciting event was thoroughly discussed. News came that no sign of the two villains had yet been found. After the sermon, Mrs. Harper walked down the aisle with the crowd. Judge Thatcher’s wife came up beside her and said:

“Is my Becky going to sleep all day? I just expected she would be tired to death.”

“Is my Becky going to sleep all day? I expected she’d be completely exhausted.”

“Your Becky?”

“Yes,” with a startled look—“didn’t she stay with you last night?”

“Yes,” the speaker said with a startled look. “Didn’t she stay with you last night?”

“Why, no.”

Mrs. Thatcher turned pale, and sank into a pew, just as Aunt Polly, talking briskly with a friend, passed by. Aunt Polly said:

Mrs. Thatcher turned pale and sank into a pew just as Aunt Polly passed by. Aunt Polly was talking briskly with a friend. She said:

“Goodmorning, Mrs. Thatcher. Goodmorning, Mrs. Harper. I’ve got a boy that’s turned up missing. I reckon my Tom stayed at your house last night—one of you. And now he’s afraid to come to church. I’ve got to settle with him.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Thatcher. Good morning, Mrs. Harper. I’ve got a boy who’s gone missing. I reckon my Tom stayed at one of your houses last night. And now he’s afraid to come to church. I’ve got to deal with him.”

Mrs. Thatcher shook her head feebly and turned paler than ever.

Mrs. Thatcher shook her head weakly and grew even paler.

“He didn’t stay with us,” said Mrs. Harper, beginning to look uneasy. A marked anxiety came into Aunt Polly’s face.

“He didn’t stay with us,” said Mrs. Harper, starting to look uneasy. Aunt Polly’s face filled with worry.

“Joe Harper, have you seen my Tom this morning?”

“No’m.”

“No, ma’am.”

“When did you see him last?”

“When did you last see him?”

Joe tried to remember, but was not sure he could say. The people had stopped moving out of church. Whispers passed along, and a boding uneasiness took possession of every countenance. Children were anxiously questioned, and young teachers. They all said they had not noticed whether Tom and Becky were on board the ferryboat on the homeward trip; it was dark; no one thought of inquiring if any one was missing. One young man finally blurted out his fear that they were still in the cave! Mrs. Thatcher swooned away. Aunt Polly fell to crying and wringing her hands.

Joe tried to remember, but he wasn't sure he could say. People had stopped on their way out of church. Whispers spread, and a sense of dread showed on every face. People anxiously questioned the children and young teachers. All said they hadn't noticed whether Tom and Becky were aboard the ferryboat on the trip home. It was dark, and no one had thought to ask if anyone was missing. One young man finally blurted out his fear that Tom and Becky were still in the cave! Mrs. Thatcher fainted. Aunt Polly began crying and wringing her hands.

The alarm swept from lip to lip, from group to group, from street to street, and within five minutes the bells were wildly clanging and the whole town was up! The Cardiff Hill episode sank into instant insignificance, the burglars were forgotten, horses were saddled, skiffs were manned, the ferryboat ordered out, and before the horror was half an hour old, two hundred men were pouring down highroad and river toward the cave.

The alarm spread from person to person, group to group, and street to street. Within five minutes, bells were clanging wildly, and the whole town was up! The Cardiff Hill incident suddenly seemed unimportant. The burglars were forgotten. Horses were saddled, crews took their places in small boats, and the ferryboat was ordered out. Less than half an hour after the horrifying news broke, two hundred men were rushing toward the cave by road and river.

All the long afternoon the village seemed empty and dead. Many women visited Aunt Polly and Mrs. Thatcher and tried to comfort them. They cried with them, too, and that was still better than words. All the tedious night the town waited for news; but when the morning dawned at last, all the word that came was, “Send more candles—and send food.” Mrs. Thatcher was almost crazed; and Aunt Polly, also. Judge Thatcher sent messages of hope and encouragement from the cave, but they conveyed no real cheer.

All through the long afternoon, the village seemed empty and dead. Many women visited Aunt Polly and Mrs. Thatcher and tried to comfort them. The women cried with them, too, and those shared tears were even better than words. All through the long, weary night, the town waited for news. But when morning finally came, the only word was, “Send more candles, and send food.” Mrs. Thatcher was almost out of her mind, and so was Aunt Polly. Judge Thatcher sent messages of hope and encouragement from the cave, but those messages brought no real comfort.

The old Welshman came home toward daylight, spattered with candle-grease, smeared with clay, and almost worn out. He found Huck still in the bed that had been provided for him, and delirious with fever. The physicians were all at the cave, so the Widow Douglas came and took charge of the patient. She said she would do her best by him, because, whether he was good, bad, or indifferent, he was the Lord’s, and nothing that was the Lord’s was a thing to be neglected. The Welshman said Huck had good spots in him, and the widow said:

The old Welshman came home near dawn, spattered with candle wax, smeared with clay, and almost worn out. He found Huck still in the bed provided for him, confused and raving with fever. The doctors were all at the cave, so the Widow Douglas came and took charge of caring for Huck. She said she would do her best for him because, whether he was good, bad, or neither, he belonged to the Lord. No one who belonged to the Lord should be neglected. The Welshman said Huck had some good in him, and the widow said:

“You can depend on it. That’s the Lord’s mark. He don’t leave it off. He never does. Puts it somewhere on every creature that comes from his hands.”

“You can depend on it. That’s the Lord’s mark. He don’t leave it off. He never does. Puts it somewhere on every creature he makes.”

Early in the forenoon parties of jaded men began to straggle into the village, but the strongest of the citizens continued searching. All the news that could be gained was that remotenesses of the cavern were being ransacked that had never been visited before; that every corner and crevice was going to be thoroughly searched; that wherever one wandered through the maze of passages, lights were to be seen flitting hither and thither in the distance, and shoutings and pistol-shots sent their hollow reverberations to the ear down the sombre aisles. In one place, far from the section usually traversed by tourists, the names “BECKY & TOM” had been found traced upon the rocky wall with candle-smoke, and near at hand a grease-soiled bit of ribbon. Mrs. Thatcher recognized the ribbon and cried over it. She said it was the last relic she should ever have of her child; and that no other memorial of her could ever be so precious, because this one parted latest from the living body before the awful death came. Some said that now and then, in the cave, a far-away speck of light would glimmer, and then a glorious shout would burst forth and a score of men go trooping down the echoing aisle—and then a sickening disappointment always followed; the children were not there; it was only a searcher’s light.

Early that morning, groups of exhausted men began drifting back into the village, but the strongest townspeople kept searching. The only news was that searchers were scouring distant parts of the cave where no one had ever been before. Every corner and crack would be thoroughly searched. Wherever anyone went in the maze of passages, lights could be seen moving here and there in the distance. Shouts and pistol shots echoed hollowly down the dark passages. In one spot, far from the area tourists usually visited, someone had found the names “BECKY & TOM” on the rocky wall. The names had been written with candle smoke. Nearby lay a grease-stained scrap of ribbon. Mrs. Thatcher recognized the ribbon and wept over it. She said it was the last keepsake she would ever have of her child. No other reminder of her daughter could ever be as precious. This ribbon had been the last thing to leave her child's living body before that terrible death came. Some said that now and then, a distant speck of light would glimmer in the cave. Then a joyful shout would ring out, and twenty men would rush down the echoing passage. But crushing disappointment always followed. The children were not there. It was only a searcher's light.

Three dreadful days and nights dragged their tedious hours along, and the village sank into a hopeless stupor. No one had heart for anything. The accidental discovery, just made, that the proprietor of the Temperance Tavern kept liquor on his premises, scarcely fluttered the public pulse, tremendous as the fact was. In a lucid interval, Huck feebly led up to the subject of taverns, and finally asked—dimly dreading the worst—if anything had been discovered at the Temperance Tavern since he had been ill.

Three dreadful days and nights dragged slowly by, and the village sank into a hopeless daze. No one had the heart to do anything. People had just discovered by accident that the owner of the Temperance Tavern kept liquor on the premises. Even this shocking discovery barely stirred the village. During a moment when he could think clearly, Huck weakly steered the conversation toward taverns. Finally, with a vague fear of the worst, he asked if anything had been discovered at the Temperance Tavern since he fell ill.

“Yes,” said the widow.

“Yes,” the widow said.

Huck started up in bed, wild-eyed:

Huck jolted upright in bed, wild-eyed:

“What? What was it?”

“Liquor!—and the place has been shut up. Lie down, child—what a turn you did give me!”

“Liquor! And the place has been closed up. Lie down, child. You gave me such a fright!”

“Only tell me just one thing—only just one—please! Was it Tom Sawyer that found it?”

“Just tell me one thing, just one, please! Was it Tom Sawyer who found it?”

The widow burst into tears. “Hush, hush, child, hush! I’ve told you before, you must not talk. You are very, very sick!”

The widow burst into tears. “Quiet, quiet, child, quiet! I’ve told you before, you must not talk. You’re very, very sick!”

Then nothing but liquor had been found; there would have been a great powwow if it had been the gold. So the treasure was gone forever—gone forever! But what could she be crying about? Curious that she should cry.

So only liquor had been found. There would have been a huge fuss if the gold had been found. So the treasure was gone forever. Gone forever! But what could she be crying about? Strange that she should cry.

These thoughts worked their dim way through Huck’s mind, and under the weariness they gave him he fell asleep. The widow said to herself:

These thoughts passed vaguely through Huck’s mind. They wore him out, and he fell asleep. The widow said to herself:

“There—he’s asleep, poor wreck. Tom Sawyer find it! Pity but somebody could find Tom Sawyer! Ah, there ain’t many left, now, that’s got hope enough, or strength enough, either, to go on searching.”

“There, he’s asleep, poor wreck. Tom Sawyer find it! If only somebody could find Tom Sawyer! Ah, there ain’t many left now that’s got enough hope to keep searching, or enough strength either.”