Chapter 33

16 min

Within a few minutes the news had spread, and a dozen skiff-loads of men were on their way to McDougal’s cave, and the ferryboat, well filled with passengers, soon followed. Tom Sawyer was in the skiff that bore Judge Thatcher.

Within minutes, the news had spread, and a dozen small boats full of men were heading to McDougal’s cave. The ferryboat, carrying plenty of passengers, soon followed. Tom Sawyer was in the small boat carrying Judge Thatcher.

When the cave door was unlocked, a sorrowful sight presented itself in the dim twilight of the place. Injun Joe lay stretched upon the ground, dead, with his face close to the crack of the door, as if his longing eyes had been fixed, to the latest moment, upon the light and the cheer of the free world outside. Tom was touched, for he knew by his own experience how this wretch had suffered. His pity was moved, but nevertheless he felt an abounding sense of relief and security, now, which revealed to him in a degree which he had not fully appreciated before how vast a weight of dread had been lying upon him since the day he lifted his voice against this bloody-minded outcast.

When the cave door was unlocked, a sad sight appeared in the dim light inside. Injun Joe lay stretched out on the ground, dead, his face close to the crack in the door. It was as if his longing eyes had stayed fixed on the light and joy of the free world outside, right to the end. Tom was moved, because he knew from his own experience how this wretched man had suffered. But despite his pity, he now felt an overwhelming sense of relief and safety. That relief made him realize more fully than ever what a great weight of fear he had been carrying. The fear had weighed on him since the day he spoke out against this murderous outcast.

Injun Joe’s bowie-knife lay close by, its blade broken in two. The great foundation-beam of the door had been chipped and hacked through, with tedious labor; useless labor, too, it was, for the native rock formed a sill outside it, and upon that stubborn material the knife had wrought no effect; the only damage done was to the knife itself. But if there had been no stony obstruction there the labor would have been useless still, for if the beam had been wholly cut away Injun Joe could not have squeezed his body under the door, and he knew it. So he had only hacked that place in order to be doing something—in order to pass the weary time—in order to employ his tortured faculties. Ordinarily one could find half a dozen bits of candle stuck around in the crevices of this vestibule, left there by tourists; but there were none now. The prisoner had searched them out and eaten them. He had also contrived to catch a few bats, and these, also, he had eaten, leaving only their claws. The poor unfortunate had starved to death. In one place, near at hand, a stalagmite had been slowly growing up from the ground for ages, builded by the water-drip from a stalactite overhead. The captive had broken off the stalagmite, and upon the stump had placed a stone, wherein he had scooped a shallow hollow to catch the precious drop that fell once in every three minutes with the dreary regularity of a clock-tick—a dessertspoonful once in four and twenty hours. That drop was falling when the Pyramids were new; when Troy fell; when the foundations of Rome were laid; when Christ was crucified; when the Conqueror created the British empire; when Columbus sailed; when the massacre at Lexington was “news.”

Injun Joe’s bowie knife lay nearby, its blade broken in two. He had chipped and hacked through the thick beam at the bottom of the door with long, tedious effort. The effort was useless, too, because solid rock formed a sill outside the beam. The knife had made no mark on that stubborn rock. The only damage was to the knife itself. But even without the rock in the way, the work would still have been useless. Even if he had cut the beam away completely, Injun Joe could not have squeezed under the door. And he knew it. So he had hacked at the beam only to have something to do. He needed to pass the weary hours and keep his tormented mind busy. Usually, tourists left half a dozen candle stubs tucked into cracks around this entrance chamber. But now there were none. The prisoner had found and eaten them all. He had also managed to catch a few bats and eaten those too, leaving only their claws. The poor man had starved to death. Nearby, a stalagmite had been slowly rising from the ground for ages. Water dripping from a stalactite overhead had built it up. The captive had broken off the stalagmite and placed a stone on the stump. He had scooped a shallow hollow into the stone to catch the precious drops. One drop fell every three minutes, with the bleak regularity of a ticking clock. In twenty-four hours, the drops amounted to a dessertspoonful. That drop was falling when the Pyramids were new. It was falling when Troy fell, when Rome’s foundations were laid, and when Christ was crucified. It was falling when the Conqueror created the British empire, when Columbus sailed, and when the massacre at Lexington was “news.”

It is falling now; it will still be falling when all these things shall have sunk down the afternoon of history, and the twilight of tradition, and been swallowed up in the thick night of oblivion. Has everything a purpose and a mission? Did this drop fall patiently during five thousand years to be ready for this flitting human insect’s need? and has it another important object to accomplish ten thousand years to come? No matter. It is many and many a year since the hapless half-breed scooped out the stone to catch the priceless drops, but to this day the tourist stares longest at that pathetic stone and that slow-dropping water when he comes to see the wonders of McDougal’s cave. Injun Joe’s cup stands first in the list of the cavern’s marvels; even “Aladdin’s Palace” cannot rival it.

The water is falling now. It will still be falling when all these things have faded into history’s afternoon, then tradition’s twilight. It will keep falling after they have vanished into the deep night of being forgotten. Does everything have a purpose and a mission? Did this drop fall patiently for five thousand years to be ready for this short-lived human insect’s need? And does it have another important task to carry out ten thousand years from now? No matter. Many, many years have passed since the unfortunate mixed-race man hollowed out the stone to catch the priceless drops. But even today, tourists visiting the wonders of McDougal’s cave stare longest at that pitiful stone and the slowly dripping water. Injun Joe’s cup tops the list of the cave’s wonders. Even “Aladdin’s Palace” cannot rival it.

Injun Joe was buried near the mouth of the cave; and people flocked there in boats and wagons from the towns and from all the farms and hamlets for seven miles around; they brought their children, and all sorts of provisions, and confessed that they had had almost as satisfactory a time at the funeral as they could have had at the hanging.

Injun Joe was buried near the entrance to the cave. People flocked there in boats and wagons from the towns, farms, and villages within seven miles. They brought their children and all kinds of food and supplies. They admitted they had enjoyed the funeral almost as much as they would have enjoyed the hanging.

This funeral stopped the further growth of one thing—the petition to the governor for Injun Joe’s pardon. The petition had been largely signed; many tearful and eloquent meetings had been held, and a committee of sappy women been appointed to go in deep mourning and wail around the governor, and implore him to be a merciful ass and trample his duty under foot. Injun Joe was believed to have killed five citizens of the village, but what of that? If he had been Satan himself there would have been plenty of weaklings ready to scribble their names to a pardon-petition, and drip a tear on it from their permanently impaired and leaky water-works.

This funeral put an end to one growing effort: the petition asking the governor to pardon Injun Joe. Many people had signed the petition. Many tearful, eloquent meetings had been held. A committee of sentimental women had been appointed to dress in deep mourning and weep before the governor. They would beg him to be a merciful fool and trample on his duty. Injun Joe was believed to have killed five people in the village, but what did that matter? Even if he had been Satan himself, plenty of weaklings would have gladly scribbled their names on a pardon petition. They would even have dripped a tear onto it from their permanently broken, leaky tear ducts.

The morning after the funeral Tom took Huck to a private place to have an important talk. Huck had learned all about Tom’s adventure from the Welshman and the Widow Douglas, by this time, but Tom said he reckoned there was one thing they had not told him; that thing was what he wanted to talk about now. Huck’s face saddened. He said:

The morning after the funeral, Tom took Huck somewhere private for an important talk. By then, Huck had heard all about Tom’s adventure from the Welshman and the Widow Douglas. But Tom said he figured there was one thing they had not told Huck. That was what Tom wanted to talk about now. Huck’s face grew sad. He said:

“I know what it is. You got into No. 2 and never found anything but whiskey. Nobody told me it was you; but I just knowed it must ’a’ ben you, soon as I heard ’bout that whiskey business; and I knowed you hadn’t got the money becuz you’d ’a’ got at me some way or other and told me even if you was mum to everybody else. Tom, something’s always told me we’d never get holt of that swag.”

“I know what it is. You got into No. 2 and never found anything but whiskey. Nobody told me it was you. But I just knowed it must have been you as soon as I heard about that whiskey business. And I knowed you hadn’t got the money, because you’d have found some way to get to me and tell me. Even if you was mum to everybody else, you’d have told me. Tom, something’s always told me we’d never get hold of that swag.”

“Why, Huck, I never told on that tavern-keeper. You know his tavern was all right the Saturday I went to the picnic. Don’t you remember you was to watch there that night?”

“Why, Huck, I never told on that tavern owner. You know his tavern was all right the Saturday I went to the picnic. Don’t you remember you was supposed to keep watch there that night?”

“Oh yes! Why, it seems ’bout a year ago. It was that very night that I follered Injun Joe to the widder’s.”

“Oh yes! Why, it seems about a year ago. It was that very night that I followed Injun Joe to the widow’s.”

“You followed him?”

“Yes—but you keep mum. I reckon Injun Joe’s left friends behind him, and I don’t want ’em souring on me and doing me mean tricks. If it hadn’t ben for me he’d be down in Texas now, all right.”

“Yes, but you keep quiet. I reckon Injun Joe’s left friends behind him. And I don’t want them turning against me and playing mean tricks on me. If it hadn’t been for me, he’d be down in Texas now, all right.”

Then Huck told his entire adventure in confidence to Tom, who had only heard of the Welshman’s part of it before.

Then Huck privately told Tom his whole adventure. Until then, Tom had only heard about the Welshman’s part in it.

“Well,” said Huck, presently, coming back to the main question, “whoever nipped the whiskey in No. 2, nipped the money, too, I reckon—anyways it’s a goner for us, Tom.”

“Well,” Huck said after a moment, returning to the main question, “whoever stole the whiskey in No. 2 stole the money too, I reckon. Anyways, the money’s gone for us, Tom.”

“Huck, that money wasn’t ever in No. 2!”

“What!” Huck searched his comrade’s face keenly. “Tom, have you got on the track of that money again?”

“What!” Huck studied his friend’s face closely. “Tom, have you found a lead on that money again?”

“Huck, it’s in the cave!”

Huck’s eyes blazed.

“Say it again, Tom.”

“The money’s in the cave!”

“Tom—honest injun, now—is it fun, or earnest?”

“Tom, honest injun now, is it a joke, or is it serious?”

“Earnest, Huck—just as earnest as ever I was in my life. Will you go in there with me and help get it out?”

“I'm serious, Huck. Just as serious as I've ever been in my life. Will you go in there with me and help get it out?”

“I bet I will! I will if it’s where we can blaze our way to it and not get lost.”

“I bet I will! I will if it’s somewhere we can mark a trail to and not get lost.”

“Huck, we can do that without the least little bit of trouble in the world.”

“Huck, we can do that without the slightest bit of trouble.”

“Good as wheat! What makes you think the money’s—”

“Great! What makes you think the money’s...”

“Huck, you just wait till we get in there. If we don’t find it I’ll agree to give you my drum and every thing I’ve got in the world. I will, by jings.”

“Huck, you just wait till we get in there. If we don’t find it, I’ll give you my drum and everything else I own. I will, by gosh.”

“All right—it’s a whiz. When do you say?”

“All right. That sounds great. When do you want to do it?”

“Right now, if you say it. Are you strong enough?”

“Right now, if you say so. Are you strong enough?”

“Is it far in the cave? I ben on my pins a little, three or four days, now, but I can’t walk more’n a mile, Tom—least I don’t think I could.”

“Is it far into the cave? I been on my feet a little for three or four days now. But I can’t walk more than a mile, Tom. At least I don’t think I could.”

“It’s about five mile into there the way anybody but me would go, Huck, but there’s a mighty short cut that they don’t anybody but me know about. Huck, I’ll take you right to it in a skiff. I’ll float the skiff down there, and I’ll pull it back again all by myself. You needn’t ever turn your hand over.”

“It’s about five mile in there the way anybody but me would go, Huck. But there’s a mighty short cut that they don’t anybody but me know about. Huck, I’ll take you right to it in a small boat. I’ll float the boat down there, and I’ll row it back again all by myself. You needn’t ever lift a finger.”

“Less start right off, Tom.”

“Let’s start right off, Tom.”

“All right. We want some bread and meat, and our pipes, and a little bag or two, and two or three kite-strings, and some of these new-fangled things they call lucifer matches. I tell you, many’s the time I wished I had some when I was in there before.”

“All right. We want some bread and meat, our pipes, and a small bag or two. We also want two or three kite strings and some of those new things they call matches. I tell you, many’s the time I wished I had some matches when I was in there before.”

A trifle after noon the boys borrowed a small skiff from a citizen who was absent, and got under way at once. When they were several miles below “Cave Hollow,” Tom said:

A little after noon, the boys borrowed a small boat from a townsman who was away. They set off at once. When they were several miles downstream from “Cave Hollow,” Tom said:

“Now you see this bluff here looks all alike all the way down from the cave hollow—no houses, no wood-yards, bushes all alike. But do you see that white place up yonder where there’s been a landslide? Well, that’s one of my marks. We’ll get ashore, now.”

“Now you see this bluff here looks all alike all the way down from the hollow by the cave. No houses, no lumber yards, and the bushes all look alike. But do you see that white patch up there where there’s been a landslide? Well, that’s one of my landmarks. We’ll go ashore now.”

They landed.

“Now, Huck, where we’re a-standing you could touch that hole I got out of with a fishing-pole. See if you can find it.”

“Now, Huck, from where we're standing, you could use a fishing pole to touch the hole I got out of. See if you can find it.”

Huck searched all the place about, and found nothing. Tom proudly marched into a thick clump of sumach bushes and said:

Huck searched the whole area and found nothing. Tom proudly marched into a thick clump of sumac bushes and said:

“Here you are! Look at it, Huck; it’s the snuggest hole in this country. You just keep mum about it. All along I’ve been wanting to be a robber, but I knew I’d got to have a thing like this, and where to run across it was the bother. We’ve got it now, and we’ll keep it quiet, only we’ll let Joe Harper and Ben Rogers in—because of course there’s got to be a Gang, or else there wouldn’t be any style about it. Tom Sawyer’s Gang—it sounds splendid, don’t it, Huck?”

“Here you are! Look at it, Huck. It’s the coziest hideout in this country. You just keep quiet about it. All along I’ve been wanting to be a robber, but I knew I’d got to have a place like this. The trouble was finding one. We’ve got it now, and we’ll keep it secret. Only we’ll let Joe Harper and Ben Rogers in on it, because of course there’s got to be a Gang. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be any style to it. Tom Sawyer’s Gang. It sounds splendid, don’t it, Huck?”

“Well, it just does, Tom. And who’ll we rob?”

“Well, it just does, Tom. And who will we rob?”

“Oh, most anybody. Waylay people—that’s mostly the way.”

“Oh, most anybody. Ambush people. That’s mostly how it’s done.”

“And kill them?”

“No, not always. Hive them in the cave till they raise a ransom.”

“No, not always. Keep them in the cave until they raise the ransom money.”

“What’s a ransom?”

“Money. You make them raise all they can, off’n their friends; and after you’ve kept them a year, if it ain’t raised then you kill them. That’s the general way. Only you don’t kill the women. You shut up the women, but you don’t kill them. They’re always beautiful and rich, and awfully scared. You take their watches and things, but you always take your hat off and talk polite. They ain’t anybody as polite as robbers—you’ll see that in any book. Well, the women get to loving you, and after they’ve been in the cave a week or two weeks they stop crying and after that you couldn’t get them to leave. If you drove them out they’d turn right around and come back. It’s so in all the books.”

“Money. You make them raise all they can, off of their friends. And after you’ve kept them a year, if it ain’t raised, then you kill them. That’s the general way. Only you don’t kill the women. You shut up the women, but you don’t kill them. They’re always beautiful and rich, and awfully scared. You take their watches and things, but you always take your hat off and talk polite. They ain’t anybody as polite as robbers. You’ll see that in any book. Well, the women get to loving you, and after they’ve been in the cave a week or two weeks, they stop crying, and after that you couldn’t get them to leave. If you drove them out, they’d turn right around and come back. It’s so in all the books.”

“Why, it’s real bully, Tom. I believe it’s better’n to be a pirate.”

“Why, it’s real great, Tom. I believe it’s better than to be a pirate.”

“Yes, it’s better in some ways, because it’s close to home and circuses and all that.”

“Yes, it’s better in some ways because it’s close to home and circuses and all that.”

By this time everything was ready and the boys entered the hole, Tom in the lead. They toiled their way to the farther end of the tunnel, then made their spliced kite-strings fast and moved on. A few steps brought them to the spring, and Tom felt a shudder quiver all through him. He showed Huck the fragment of candle-wick perched on a lump of clay against the wall, and described how he and Becky had watched the flame struggle and expire.

By now everything was ready, and the boys entered the hole with Tom in the lead. They struggled to the far end of the tunnel, then secured their joined kite strings and moved on. A few steps brought them to the spring, and Tom felt a shudder run through his whole body. He showed Huck the scrap of candlewick sitting on a lump of clay against the wall. He described how he and Becky had watched the flame struggle and go out.

The boys began to quiet down to whispers, now, for the stillness and gloom of the place oppressed their spirits. They went on, and presently entered and followed Tom’s other corridor until they reached the “jumping-off place.” The candles revealed the fact that it was not really a precipice, but only a steep clay hill twenty or thirty feet high. Tom whispered:

The boys began to lower their voices to whispers, for the silence and gloom of the place weighed on them. They went on and soon entered Tom’s other corridor, following it until they reached the “jumping-off place.” By candlelight, they saw that it was not really a cliff, but only a steep clay hill. The hill was twenty or thirty feet high. Tom whispered:

“Now I’ll show you something, Huck.”

He held his candle aloft and said:

He held his candle up high and said:

“Look as far around the corner as you can. Do you see that? There—on the big rock over yonder—done with candle-smoke.”

“Look as far around the corner as you can. Do you see that? There, on the big rock over there, made with candle smoke.”

“Tom, it’s a cross!”

“Now where’s your Number Two? ‘under the cross,’ hey? Right yonder’s where I saw Injun Joe poke up his candle, Huck!”

“Now where’s your Number Two? ‘under the cross,’ huh? Right over there’s where I saw Injun Joe raise his candle, Huck!”

Huck stared at the mystic sign awhile, and then said with a shaky voice:

Huck stared at the mysterious sign for a while, then said in a shaky voice:

“Tom, less git out of here!”

“Tom, let's get out of here!”

“What! and leave the treasure?”

“What! And leave the treasure?”

“Yes—leave it. Injun Joe’s ghost is round about there, certain.”

“Yes, leave it. Injun Joe’s ghost is around there, for sure.”

“No it ain’t, Huck, no it ain’t. It would ha’nt the place where he died—away out at the mouth of the cave—five mile from here.”

“No it ain’t, Huck, no it ain’t. It would haunt the place where he died. That’s way out at the mouth of the cave, five mile from here.”

“No, Tom, it wouldn’t. It would hang round the money. I know the ways of ghosts, and so do you.”

“No, Tom, it wouldn’t. It would hang around the money. I know how ghosts behave, and so do you.”

Tom began to fear that Huck was right. Misgivings gathered in his mind. But presently an idea occurred to him—

Tom began to fear that Huck was right. His doubts grew. But soon an idea came to him.

“Lookyhere, Huck, what fools we’re making of ourselves! Injun Joe’s ghost ain’t a going to come around where there’s a cross!”

“Look here, Huck, what fools we’re making of ourselves! Injun Joe’s ghost ain’t going to come around where there’s a cross!”

The point was well taken. It had its effect.

The point was a good one. It had an effect.

“Tom, I didn’t think of that. But that’s so. It’s luck for us, that cross is. I reckon we’ll climb down there and have a hunt for that box.”

Tom went first, cutting rude steps in the clay hill as he descended. Huck followed. Four avenues opened out of the small cavern which the great rock stood in. The boys examined three of them with no result. They found a small recess in the one nearest the base of the rock, with a pallet of blankets spread down in it; also an old suspender, some bacon rind, and the well-gnawed bones of two or three fowls. But there was no moneybox. The lads searched and researched this place, but in vain. Tom said:

Tom went first, cutting rough steps into the clay hillside as he climbed down. Huck followed. Four passages led out of the small cavern where the huge rock stood. The boys searched three of them but found nothing. In the passage nearest the base of the rock, they found a small recess with blankets spread out for bedding. There was also an old suspender, some bacon rind, and the well-gnawed bones of two or three chickens. But there was no moneybox. The boys searched the spot again and again, but found nothing. Tom said:

“He said under the cross. Well, this comes nearest to being under the cross. It can’t be under the rock itself, because that sets solid on the ground.”

They searched everywhere once more, and then sat down discouraged. Huck could suggest nothing. By-and-by Tom said:

They searched everywhere once more, then sat down, discouraged. Huck had no suggestions. After a while, Tom said:

“Lookyhere, Huck, there’s footprints and some candle-grease on the clay about one side of this rock, but not on the other sides. Now, what’s that for? I bet you the money is under the rock. I’m going to dig in the clay.”

“Look here, Huck, there’s footprints and some candle wax on the clay on one side of this rock. But there’s none on the other sides. Now, why is that? I bet you the money is under the rock. I’m going to dig in the clay.”

“That ain’t no bad notion, Tom!” said Huck with animation.

“That ain’t no bad notion, Tom!” Huck said excitedly.

Tom’s “real Barlow” was out at once, and he had not dug four inches before he struck wood.

Tom pulled out his “real Barlow” knife at once. He hadn't dug four inches before he hit wood.

“Hey, Huck!—you hear that?”

“Hey, Huck! You hear that?”

Huck began to dig and scratch now. Some boards were soon uncovered and removed. They had concealed a natural chasm which led under the rock. Tom got into this and held his candle as far under the rock as he could, but said he could not see to the end of the rift. He proposed to explore. He stooped and passed under; the narrow way descended gradually. He followed its winding course, first to the right, then to the left, Huck at his heels. Tom turned a short curve, by-and-by, and exclaimed:

Huck now began to dig and scrape. Soon they uncovered some boards and removed them. The boards had hidden a natural crack leading under the rock. Tom climbed into the crack and held his candle as far under the rock as he could. But he said he could not see the end of the opening. He suggested exploring it. He ducked down and went under the rock. The narrow passage sloped gently downward. He followed its winding path, first to the right, then to the left, with Huck close behind. After a while, Tom rounded a sharp bend and exclaimed:

“My goodness, Huck, lookyhere!”

“My goodness, Huck, look here!”

It was the treasure-box, sure enough, occupying a snug little cavern, along with an empty powder-keg, a couple of guns in leather cases, two or three pairs of old moccasins, a leather belt, and some other rubbish well soaked with the water-drip.

Sure enough, it was the treasure box, tucked into a snug little cave. Beside it were an empty gunpowder keg and a couple of guns in leather cases. There were also two or three pairs of old moccasins, a leather belt, and some other junk soaked by dripping water.

“Got it at last!” said Huck, ploughing among the tarnished coins with his hand. “My, but we’re rich, Tom!”

“Got it at last!” said Huck, digging his hand through the tarnished coins. “My, but we’re rich, Tom!”

“Huck, I always reckoned we’d get it. It’s just too good to believe, but we have got it, sure! Say—let’s not fool around here. Let’s snake it out. Lemme see if I can lift the box.”

“Huck, I always reckoned we’d get it. It’s just too good to believe, but we have got it for sure! Say, let’s not fool around here. Let’s get it out. Let me see if I can lift the box.”

It weighed about fifty pounds. Tom could lift it, after an awkward fashion, but could not carry it conveniently.

It weighed about fifty pounds. Tom could lift it awkwardly, but he couldn't carry it easily.

“I thought so,” he said; “They carried it like it was heavy, that day at the ha’nted house. I noticed that. I reckon I was right to think of fetching the little bags along.”

“I thought so,” he said. “They carried it like it was heavy that day at the haunted house. I noticed that. I reckon I was right to think of bringing the little bags along.”

The money was soon in the bags and the boys took it up to the cross rock.

The money was soon in the bags, and the boys carried it up to the cross rock.

“Now less fetch the guns and things,” said Huck.

“Now let's fetch the guns and things,” said Huck.

“No, Huck—leave them there. They’re just the tricks to have when we go to robbing. We’ll keep them there all the time, and we’ll hold our orgies there, too. It’s an awful snug place for orgies.”

“No, Huck, leave them there. They’re just the things we’ll need when we go robbing. We’ll keep them there all the time, and we’ll have our wild parties there, too. It’s a really cozy place for wild parties.”

“What orgies?”

“What wild parties?”

“I dono. But robbers always have orgies, and of course we’ve got to have them, too. Come along, Huck, we’ve been in here a long time. It’s getting late, I reckon. I’m hungry, too. We’ll eat and smoke when we get to the skiff.”

“I don’t know. But robbers always have wild parties, and of course we’ve got to have them, too. Come along, Huck. We’ve been in here a long time. It’s getting late, I reckon. I’m hungry, too. We’ll eat and smoke when we get to the boat.”

They presently emerged into the clump of sumach bushes, looked warily out, found the coast clear, and were soon lunching and smoking in the skiff. As the sun dipped toward the horizon they pushed out and got under way. Tom skimmed up the shore through the long twilight, chatting cheerily with Huck, and landed shortly after dark.

They soon came out into the clump of sumac bushes and looked around cautiously. The coast was clear, and soon they were eating lunch and smoking in the small boat. As the sun sank toward the horizon, they pushed off and set out. Tom glided along the shore through the long twilight, chatting cheerfully with Huck. He landed shortly after dark.

“Now, Huck,” said Tom, “we’ll hide the money in the loft of the widow’s woodshed, and I’ll come up in the morning and we’ll count it and divide, and then we’ll hunt up a place out in the woods for it where it will be safe. Just you lay quiet here and watch the stuff till I run and hook Benny Taylor’s little wagon; I won’t be gone a minute.”

“Now, Huck,” said Tom, “we’ll hide the money in the loft of the widow’s woodshed, and I’ll come up in the morning and we’ll count it and divide it. Then we’ll hunt up a place out in the woods for it where it will be safe. Just you lay quiet here and watch the stuff till I run and swipe Benny Taylor’s little wagon. I won’t be gone a minute.”

He disappeared, and presently returned with the wagon, put the two small sacks into it, threw some old rags on top of them, and started off, dragging his cargo behind him. When the boys reached the Welshman’s house, they stopped to rest. Just as they were about to move on, the Welshman stepped out and said:

He disappeared and soon returned with the wagon. He put the two small sacks in it and threw some old rags over them. Then he set off, pulling his load behind him. When the boys reached the Welshman’s house, they stopped to rest. Just as they were about to move on, the Welshman stepped out and said:

“Hallo, who’s that?”

“Hey, who’s that?”

“Huck and Tom Sawyer.”

“Good! Come along with me, boys, you are keeping everybody waiting. Here—hurry up, trot ahead—I’ll haul the wagon for you. Why, it’s not as light as it might be. Got bricks in it?—or old metal?”

“Good! Come along with me, boys, you’re keeping everybody waiting. Here, hurry up, trot on ahead. I’ll haul the wagon for you. Why, it’s not as light as it might be. Got bricks in it? Or old metal?”

“Old metal,” said Tom.

“Old metal,” Tom said.

“I judged so; the boys in this town will take more trouble and fool away more time hunting up six bits’ worth of old iron to sell to the foundry than they would to make twice the money at regular work. But that’s human nature—hurry along, hurry along!”

“I figured so. The boys in this town will hunt down seventy-five cents’ worth of scrap iron to sell to the foundry. They'll waste more time and take more trouble doing that than they would earning twice as much at regular work. But that’s human nature. Hurry along, hurry along!”

The boys wanted to know what the hurry was about.

The boys wanted to know what the rush was about.

“Never mind; you’ll see, when we get to the Widow Douglas’.”

“Never mind. You’ll see when we get to the Widow Douglas’ house.”

Huck said with some apprehension—for he was long used to being falsely accused:

Huck said a little nervously, because he had long been used to being falsely accused:

“Mr. Jones, we haven’t been doing nothing.”

The Welshman laughed.

“Well, I don’t know, Huck, my boy. I don’t know about that. Ain’t you and the widow good friends?”

“Yes. Well, she’s ben good friends to me, anyway.”

“Yes. Well, she’s been good friends to me, anyway.”

“All right, then. What do you want to be afraid for?”

“All right, then. Why are you afraid?”

This question was not entirely answered in Huck’s slow mind before he found himself pushed, along with Tom, into Mrs. Douglas’ drawing-room. Mr. Jones left the wagon near the door and followed.

Huck’s slow mind had not quite worked out the answer to this question. Before he could finish, he found himself pushed into Mrs. Douglas’ living room along with Tom. Mr. Jones left the wagon near the door and followed them in.

The place was grandly lighted, and everybody that was of any consequence in the village was there. The Thatchers were there, the Harpers, the Rogerses, Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, the minister, the editor, and a great many more, and all dressed in their best. The widow received the boys as heartily as any one could well receive two such looking beings. They were covered with clay and candle-grease. Aunt Polly blushed crimson with humiliation, and frowned and shook her head at Tom. Nobody suffered half as much as the two boys did, however. Mr. Jones said:

The place was brilliantly lit, and everyone of any importance in the village was there. The Thatchers, the Harpers, and the Rogerses were there. So were Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, the minister, the editor, and many more, all dressed in their best. The widow welcomed the boys as warmly as anyone could welcome two people looking like that. They were covered in clay and candle wax. Aunt Polly turned bright red with embarrassment, frowning and shaking her head at Tom. Still, nobody suffered half as much as the two boys did. Mr. Jones said:

“Tom wasn’t at home, yet, so I gave him up; but I stumbled on him and Huck right at my door, and so I just brought them along in a hurry.”

“Tom wasn’t home yet, so I gave up looking for him. But I ran into him and Huck right at my door, so I quickly brought them along.”

“And you did just right,” said the widow. “Come with me, boys.”

“And you did exactly the right thing,” said the widow. “Come with me, boys.”

She took them to a bedchamber and said:

She took them to a bedroom and said:

“Now wash and dress yourselves. Here are two new suits of clothes—shirts, socks, everything complete. They’re Huck’s—no, no thanks, Huck—Mr. Jones bought one and I the other. But they’ll fit both of you. Get into them. We’ll wait—come down when you are slicked up enough.”

“Now wash up and get dressed. Here are two new sets of clothes, complete with shirts, socks, and everything else. They’re Huck’s. No, no thanks, Huck. Mr. Jones bought one set and I bought the other. But the clothes will fit both of you. Put them on. We’ll wait. Come down when you’re cleaned up enough.”

Then she left.