MONDAY morning found Tom Sawyer miserable. Monday morning always found him so -- because it began another week's slow suffering in school. He generally began that day with wishing he had had no intervening holiday, it made the going into captivity and fetters again so much more odious.

Tom lay thinking. Presently it occurred to him that he wished he was sick; then he could stay home from school. Here was a vague possibility. He canvassed his system. No ailment was found, and he investigated again. This time he thought he could detect colicky symptoms, and he began to encourage them with considerable hope. But they soon grew feeble, and presently died wholly away. He reflected further. Suddenly he discovered something. One of his upper front teeth was loose. This was lucky; he was about to begin to groan, as a "starter," as he called it, when it occurred to him that if he came into court with that argument, his aunt would pull it out, and that would hurt. So he thought he would hold the tooth in reserve for the present, and seek further. Nothing offered for some little time, and then he remembered hearing the doctor tell about a certain thing that laid up a patient for two or three weeks and threatened to make him lose a finger. So the boy eagerly drew his sore toe from under the sheet and held it up for inspection. But now he did not know the necessary symptoms. However, it seemed well worth while to chance it, so he fell to groaning with considerable spirit.

But Sid slept on unconscious.

Tom groaned louder, and fancied that he began to feel pain in the toe.

No result from Sid.

Tom was panting with his exertions by this time. He took a rest and then swelled himself up and fetched a succession of admirable groans.

Sid snored on.

Tom was aggravated. He said, "Sid, Sid!" and shook him. This course worked well, and Tom began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then brought himself up on his elbow with a snort, and began to stare at Tom. Tom went on groaning. Sid said:

"Tom! Say, Tom!" [No response.] "Here, Tom! Tom! What is the matter, Tom?" And he shook him and looked in his face anxiously.

Tom moaned out:

"Oh, don't, Sid. Don't joggle me."

"Why, what's the matter, Tom? I must call auntie."

"No -- never mind. It'll be over by and by, maybe. Don't call anybody."

"But I must! don't groan so, Tom, it's awful. How long you been this way?"

"Hours. Ouch! Oh, don't stir so, Sid, you'll kill me."

"Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner ? Oh, Tom, don't! It makes my flesh crawl to hear you. Tom, what is the matter?"

"I forgive you everything, Sid. [Groan.] Everything you've ever done to me. When I'm gone --"

"Oh, Tom, you ain't dying, are you? Don't, Tom -- oh, don't. Maybe --"

"I forgive everybody, Sid. [Groan.] Tell 'em so, Sid. And Sid, you give my window-sash and my cat with one eye to that new girl that's come to town, and tell her --"

But Sid had snatched his clothes and gone. Tom was suffering in reality, now, so handsomely was his imagination working, and so his groans had gathered quite a genuine tone.

Sid flew down-stairs and said:

"Oh, Aunt Polly, come! Tom's dying!"

"Dying!"

"Yes'm. Don't wait -- come quick!"

"Rubbage! I don't believe it!"

But she fled up-stairs, nevertheless, with Sid and Mary at her heels. And her face grew white, too, and her lip trembled. When she reached the bedside she gasped out:

"You, Tom! Tom, what's the matter with you?"

"Oh, auntie, I'm --"

"What's the matter with you -- what is the matter with you, child?"

"Oh, auntie, my sore toe's mortified!"

The old lady sank down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried a little, then did both together. This restored her and she said:

"Tom, what a turn you did give me. Now you shut up that nonsense and climb out of this."

The groans ceased and the pain vanished from the toe. The boy felt a little foolish, and he said:

"Aunt Polly, it seemed mortified, and it hurt so I never minded my tooth at all."

"Your tooth, indeed! What's the matter with your tooth?"

"One of them's loose, and it aches perfectly awful."

"There, there, now, don't begin that groaning again. Open your mouth. Well -- your tooth is loose, but you're not going to die about that. Mary, get me a silk thread, and a chunk of fire out of the kitchen."

Tom said:

"Oh, please, auntie, don't pull it out. It don't hurt any more. I wish I may never stir if it does. Please don't, auntie. I don't want to stay home from school."

"Oh, you don't, don't you? So all this row was because you thought you'd get to stay home from school and go a-fishing? Tom, Tom, I love you so, and you seem to try every way you can to break my old heart with your outrageousness." By this time the dental instruments were ready. The old lady made one end of the silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a loop and tied the other to the bedpost. Then she seized the chunk of fire and suddenly thrust it almost into the boy's face. The tooth hung dangling by the bedpost, now.

But all trials bring their compensations. As Tom wended to school after breakfast, he was the envy of every boy he met because the gap in his upper row of teeth enabled him to expectorate in a new and admirable way. He gathered quite a following of lads interested in the exhibition; and one that had cut his finger and had been a centre of fascination and homage up to this time, now found himself suddenly without an adherent, and shorn of his glory. His heart was heavy, and he said with a disdain which he did not feel that it wasn't anything to spit like Tom Sawyer; but another boy said, "Sour grapes!" and he wandered away a dismantled hero.

Shortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village, Huckleberry Finn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was cordially hated and dreaded by all the mothers of the town, because he was idle and lawless and vulgar and bad -- and because all their children admired him so, and delighted in his forbidden society, and wished they dared to be like him. Tom was like the rest of the respectable boys, in that he envied Huckleberry his gaudy outcast condition, and was under strict orders not to play with him. So he played with him every time he got a chance. Huckleberry was always dressed in the cast-off clothes of full-grown men, and they were in perennial bloom and fluttering with rags. His hat was a vast ruin with a wide crescent lopped out of its brim; his coat, when he wore one, hung nearly to his heels and had the rearward buttons far down the back; but one suspender supported his trousers; the seat of the trousers bagged low and contained nothing, the fringed legs dragged in the dirt when not rolled up.

Huckleberry came and went, at his own free will. He slept on doorsteps in fine weather and in empty hogsheads in wet; he did not have to go to school or to church, or call any being master or obey anybody; he could go fishing or swimming when and where he chose, and stay as long as it suited him; nobody forbade him to fight; he could sit up as late as he pleased; he was always the first boy that went barefoot in the spring and the last to resume leather in the fall; he never had to wash, nor put on clean clothes; he could swear wonderfully. In a word, everything that goes to make life precious that boy had. So thought every harassed, hampered, respectable boy in St. Petersburg.

Tom hailed the romantic outcast:

"Hello, Huckleberry!"

"Hello yourself, and see how you like it."

"What's that you got?"

"Dead cat."

"Lemme see him, Huck. My, he's pretty stiff. Where'd you get him ?"

"Bought him off'n a boy."

"What did you give?"

"I give a blue ticket and a bladder that I got at the slaughter-house."

"Where'd you get the blue ticket?"

"Bought it off'n Ben Rogers two weeks ago for a hoop-stick."

"Say -- what is dead cats good for, Huck?"

"Good for? Cure warts with."

"No! Is that so? I know something that's better."

"I bet you don't. What is it?"

"Why, spunk-water."

"Spunk-water! I wouldn't give a dern for spunk-water."

"You wouldn't, wouldn't you? D'you ever try it?"

"No, I hain't. But Bob Tanner did."

"Who told you so!"

"Why, he told Jeff Thatcher, and Jeff told Johnny Baker, and Johnny told Jim Hollis, and Jim told Ben Rogers, and Ben told a nigger, and the nigger told me. There now!"

"Well, what of it? They'll all lie. Leastways all but the nigger. I don't know him. But I never see a nigger that wouldn't lie. Shucks! Now you tell me how Bob Tanner done it, Huck."

"Why, he took and dipped his hand in a rotten stump where the rain-water was."

"In the daytime?"

"Certainly."

"With his face to the stump?"

"Yes. Least I reckon so."

"Did he say anything?"

"I don't reckon he did. I don't know."

"Aha! Talk about trying to cure warts with spunk-water such a blame fool way as that! Why, that ain't a-going to do any good. You got to go all by yourself, to the middle of the woods, where you know there's a spunk-water stump, and just as it's midnight you back up against the stump and jam your hand in and say:

'Barley-corn, barley-corn, injun-meal shorts, Spunk-water, spunk-water, swaller these warts,'

and then walk away quick, eleven steps, with your eyes shut, and then turn around three times and walk home without speaking to anybody. Because if you speak the charm's busted."

"Well, that sounds like a good way; but that ain't the way Bob Tanner done."

"No, sir, you can bet he didn't, becuz he's the wartiest boy in this town; and he wouldn't have a wart on him if he'd knowed how to work spunk-water. I've took off thousands of warts off of my hands that way, Huck. I play with frogs so much that I've always got considerable many warts. Sometimes I take 'em off with a bean."

"Yes, bean's good. I've done that."

"Have you? What's your way?"

"You take and split the bean, and cut the wart so as to get some blood, and then you put the blood on one piece of the bean and take and dig a hole and bury it 'bout midnight at the crossroads in the dark of the moon, and then you burn up the rest of the bean. You see that piece that's got the blood on it will keep drawing and drawing, trying to fetch the other piece to it, and so that helps the blood to draw the wart, and pretty soon off she comes."

"Yes, that's it, Huck -- that's it; though when you're burying it if you say 'Down bean; off wart; come no more to bother me!' it's better. That's the way Joe Harper does, and he's been nearly to Coonville and most everywheres. But say -- how do you cure 'em with dead cats?"

"Why, you take your cat and go and get in the graveyard 'long about midnight when somebody that was wicked has been buried; and when it's midnight a devil will come, or maybe two or three, but you can't see 'em, you can only hear something like the wind, or maybe hear 'em talk; and when they're taking that feller away, you heave your cat after 'em and say, 'Devil follow corpse, cat follow devil, warts follow cat, I'm done with ye!' That'll fetch any wart."

"Sounds right. D'you ever try it, Huck?"

"No, but old Mother Hopkins told me."

"Well, I reckon it's so, then. Becuz they say she's a witch."

"Say! Why, Tom, I KNOW she is. She witched pap. Pap says so his own self. He come along one day, and he see she was a-witching him, so he took up a rock, and if she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her. Well, that very night he rolled off'n a shed wher' he was a layin drunk, and broke his arm."

"Why, that's awful. How did he know she was a-witching him?"

"Lord, pap can tell, easy. Pap says when they keep looking at you right stiddy, they're a-witching you. Specially if they mumble. Becuz when they mumble they're saying the Lord's Prayer backards."

"Say, Hucky, when you going to try the cat?"

"To-night. I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to-night."

"But they buried him Saturday. Didn't they get him Saturday night?"

"Why, how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight? -- and then it's Sunday. Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I don't reckon."

"I never thought of that. That's so. Lemme go with you?"

"Of course -- if you ain't afeard."

"Afeard! 'Tain't likely. Will you meow?"

"Yes -- and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kep' me a-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says 'Dern that cat!' and so I hove a brick through his window -- but don't you tell."

"I won't. I couldn't meow that night, becuz auntie was watching me, but I'll meow this time. Say -- what's that?"

"Nothing but a tick."

"Where'd you get him?"

"Out in the woods."

"What'll you take for him?"

"I don't know. I don't want to sell him."

"All right. It's a mighty small tick, anyway."

"Oh, anybody can run a tick down that don't belong to them. I'm satisfied with it. It's a good enough tick for me."

"Sho, there's ticks a plenty. I could have a thousand of 'em if I wanted to."

"Well, why don't you? Becuz you know mighty well you can't. This is a pretty early tick, I reckon. It's the first one I've seen this year."

"Say, Huck -- I'll give you my tooth for him."

"Less see it."

Tom got out a bit of paper and carefully unrolled it. Huckleberry viewed it wistfully. The temptation was very strong. At last he said:

"Is it genuwyne?"

Tom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.

"Well, all right," said Huckleberry, "it's a trade."

Tom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been the pinchbug's prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier than before.

When Tom reached the little isolated frame schoolhouse, he strode in briskly, with the manner of one who had come with all honest speed. He hung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with business-like alacrity. The master, throned on high in his great splint-bottom arm-chair, was dozing, lulled by the drowsy hum of study. The interruption roused him.

"Thomas Sawyer!"

Tom knew that when his name was pronounced in full, it meant trouble.

"Sir!"

"Come up here. Now, sir, why are you late again, as usual?"

Tom was about to take refuge in a lie, when he saw two long tails of yellow hair hanging down a back that he recognized by the electric sympathy of love; and by that form was the only vacant place on the girls' side of the school-house. He instantly said:

"I STOPPED TO TALK WITH HUCKLEBERRY FINN!"

The master's pulse stood still, and he stared helplessly. The buzz of study ceased. The pupils wondered if this foolhardy boy had lost his mind. The master said:

"You -- you did what?"

"Stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn."

There was no mistaking the words.

"Thomas Sawyer, this is the most astounding confession I have ever listened to. No mere ferule will answer for this offence. Take off your jacket."

The master's arm performed until it was tired and the stock of switches notably diminished. Then the order followed:

"Now, sir, go and sit with the girls! And let this be a warning to you."

The titter that rippled around the room appeared to abash the boy, but in reality that result was caused rather more by his worshipful awe of his unknown idol and the dread pleasure that lay in his high good fortune. He sat down upon the end of the pine bench and the girl hitched herself away from him with a toss of her head. Nudges and winks and whispers traversed the room, but Tom sat still, with his arms upon the long, low desk before him, and seemed to study his book.

By and by attention ceased from him, and the accustomed school murmur rose upon the dull air once more. Presently the boy began to steal furtive glances at the girl. She observed it, "made a mouth" at him and gave him the back of her head for the space of a minute. When she cautiously faced around again, a peach lay before her. She thrust it away. Tom gently put it back. She thrust it away again, but with less animosity. Tom patiently returned it to its place. Then she let it remain. Tom scrawled on his slate, "Please take it -- I got more." The girl glanced at the words, but made no sign. Now the boy began to draw something on the slate, hiding his work with his left hand. For a time the girl refused to notice; but her human curiosity presently began to manifest itself by hardly perceptible signs. The boy worked on, apparently unconscious. The girl made a sort of non-committal attempt to see, but the boy did not betray that he was aware of it. At last she gave in and hesitatingly whispered:

"Let me see it."

Tom partly uncovered a dismal caricature of a house with two gable ends to it and a corkscrew of smoke issuing from the chimney. Then the girl's interest began to fasten itself upon the work and she forgot everything else. When it was finished, she gazed a moment, then whispered:

"It's nice -- make a man."

The artist erected a man in the front yard, that resembled a derrick. He could have stepped over the house; but the girl was not hypercritical; she was satisfied with the monster, and whispered:

"It's a beautiful man -- now make me coming along."

Tom drew an hour-glass with a full moon and straw limbs to it and armed the spreading fingers with a portentous fan. The girl said:

"It's ever so nice -- I wish I could draw."

"It's easy," whispered Tom, "I'll learn you."

"Oh, will you? When?"

"At noon. Do you go home to dinner?"

"I'll stay if you will."

"Good -- that's a whack. What's your name?"

"Becky Thatcher. What's yours? Oh, I know. It's Thomas Sawyer."

"That's the name they lick me by. I'm Tom when I'm good. You call me Tom, will you?"

"Yes."

Now Tom began to scrawl something on the slate, hiding the words from the girl. But she was not backward this time. She begged to see. Tom said:

"Oh, it ain't anything."

"Yes it is."

"No it ain't. You don't want to see."

"Yes I do, indeed I do. Please let me."

"You'll tell."

"No I won't -- deed and deed and double deed won't."

"You won't tell anybody at all? Ever, as long as you live?"

"No, I won't ever tell anybody. Now let me."

"Oh, you don't want to see!"

"Now that you treat me so, I will see." And she put her small hand upon his and a little scuffle ensued, Tom pretending to resist in earnest but letting his hand slip by degrees till these words were revealed: "I love you."

"Oh, you bad thing!" And she hit his hand a smart rap, but reddened and looked pleased, nevertheless.

Just at this juncture the boy felt a slow, fateful grip closing on his ear, and a steady lifting impulse. In that vise he was borne across the house and deposited in his own seat, under a peppering fire of giggles from the whole school. Then the master stood over him during a few awful moments, and finally moved away to his throne without saying a word. But although Tom's ear tingled, his heart was jubilant.

As the school quieted down Tom made an honest effort to study, but the turmoil within him was too great. In turn he took his place in the reading class and made a botch of it; then in the geography class and turned lakes into mountains, mountains into rivers, and rivers into continents, till chaos was come again; then in the spelling class, and got "turned down," by a succession of mere baby words, till he brought up at the foot and yielded up the pewter medal which he had worn with ostentation for months

星期一早晨，汤姆·索亚很难受。这个时候汤姆向来是很难受的——因为又一个漫长而
难熬的星期开始了。他在这一天总是想要是没有这个休息日夹在中间倒也好些，有了那一
天，他感到再到学校里去犹如去坐牢、去受罪，这使他觉得十分厌恶。
    汤姆躺在那想着。突然一个念头在脑子里一闪，他希望他生病；这样，他就能待在家里
不去上学了。这倒是有可能。他把自己浑身上下仔细地检查了一下，没有发现什么毛病。他
又查找了一番，这次他以为可以找出肚子疼的理由，并且满心希望地让疼痛发作。可是不久
他就泄了气，根本没有一点疼痛的迹象。于是他又动起脑筋来，突然，他发现目标了。他的
上排门牙有一颗松了劲。他真是太运气了；他正打算开始呻吟，用他的话说这叫“开场
白”，这时他猛然想起如果他提出这个理由来应付的话，他姨妈就会当真把这颗牙拔出来，
那将偷鸡不成反蚀一把米。所以他想暂时先留着这颗牙，再另找毛病。找了一段时间，他没
找到什么毛病，后来他想起曾听医生说过有一种病能让病人躺两三个星期，而且弄不好会烂
掉一只手指头。于是这孩子急忙把他那只肿痛的脚趾头从被子里搬出来，举起来仔细察看。
可是，他又不清楚那种病有些什么病症。不管怎么说，试还是值得一试的，于是他煞有介事
地开始呻吟起来。
    可是希德仍然睡着，一点反应都没有。汤姆呻吟得更响了，而且感到他的脚真地痛起来。
    希德还是一动不动。
    汤姆因为呻吟得太吃力，累得喘着粗气。他停了一会，重新鼓起劲头，发出一连串绝妙
的呻吟声。
    希德还在酣睡。
    汤姆来火了。他喊道：“希德，希德！”边喊边推推他。这一招果然很有效，于是汤姆
又开始呻吟起来。希德打着呵欠，伸伸懒腰，用胳膊肘支起身子时又喷了一下鼻子，然后瞪
起双眼看着汤姆。汤姆还在叫唤，希德就问：
    “汤姆！嘿，汤姆！”（汤姆没搭腔。）“怎么啦，汤姆！汤姆！你怎么啦，汤姆？”
他推了推汤姆，焦急地看着他的脸。
    汤姆呻吟着说：
    “啊，希德，不要这样，不要推我。”
    “嘿，汤姆，你怎么啦？我得去叫姨妈来。”
    “不——不要紧。这也许慢慢会过去的，不用叫任何人来。”
    “我一定要去叫！不要再这样叫唤了，怪让人害怕的。你这么难受有多久了？”
    “好几个小时了，哎唷！希德，不要推我，你想要我的命啊！”
    “汤姆，你为什么不早点叫醒我？哦，汤姆，不要叫唤了！
    听你这么叫我身上都起鸡皮疙瘩。汤姆，哪儿不舒服？”
    “希德，我什么事情都原谅你（呻吟）。你对我所干的一切事情我都不怪罪你。我死了
以后……”
    “喔，汤姆，你不会死的，别这样，汤姆——啊，别这样。也许……”
    “希德，我原谅所有的人（呻吟）。希德，请你转告他们吧。希德，你把我那个窗户框
子和那只独眼小猫给那个新搬来的姑娘吧，你对她说……”
    可是希德早就抓起衣服跑出去了。这时候汤姆真地感到很难受了，没想到想象力竟起了
这么大的作用，于是他的呻吟声就装得像真的一样了。
    希德飞快地跑下楼，边跑边喊道：
    “波莉姨妈，快来呀！汤姆要死了！”
    “要死了？！”
    “是的，姨妈。来不及了，快上来！”
    “瞎讲！我不相信！”
    可是她还是赶快地跑上楼去，希德和玛丽紧跟在后面。这时她脸色也白了，嘴唇直颤
动。来到床边后，她喘着气问：
    “是你，汤姆！汤姆，你哪里不舒服啊？”
    “哦，姨妈，我——”
    “你哪里不舒服——孩子，你到底怎么啦？”
    “哦，姨妈，我那只肿痛的脚趾头发炎了！”
    老太太一屁股坐在椅子上，笑了一会，又哭了一阵，然后又连哭带笑。等到她终于恢复
了常态，她说：“汤姆，你真地把我吓坏了。好了，闭上嘴巴，别再胡扯八道了，快起床
吧。”
    呻吟声停了，脚趾的疼痛也立刻消失了。这孩子觉得有点不好意思，于是他说：
    “波莉姨妈，脚趾头看着真像是发炎了，痛得我把牙齿的事忘得一干二净。”
    “你的牙齿，真是怪事！牙齿又怎么啦？”
    “有一颗牙松动了，而且的确痛得难受。”
    “得了，得了，你可别再叫唤了。张开嘴，不错——你的一颗牙齿真地松动了，不过你
绝不会痛死的。玛丽，拿根丝线给我，再到厨房去弄块烧红的火炭来。”
    汤姆说：
    “啊，姨妈，请你手下留情。现在牙不痛了。要是再痛，我也不叫唤了。姨妈，请您别
拔啦。我不想呆在家里逃学了。”
    “哦，你不逃学了，是吗？原来你这么大叫大闹，为的就是你以为这样就可以呆在家
里，不去上学去钓鱼呀？汤姆呀，汤姆，我这么爱你，可是你好像尽耍花招来气我，想断送
我这条老命呀。”这时候，拔牙的准备已经做好了。老太太把丝线的一头打了活结，牢牢地
系在汤姆的那颗牙上，另一头系在床柱上。然后她拿起那块烧红的火炭，猛地朝汤姆脸面伸
过去，差点碰到他的脸。结果，那颗牙就晃来晃去吊在床柱上了。
    可是有所失就有所得。当汤姆吃过早饭去上学的时候，在路上遇到的每个孩子都羡慕
他，因为他上排牙齿的缺口能够使他用一种新的方法吐唾沫。一大群孩子们跟在他后面，对
他这种表演很感兴趣。有一个割破手指的孩子，大家都敬佩他，围着他转，现在忽然没有人
追随他了，不免大失光彩。他的心情很沉重，可是他却鄙夷地说，像汤姆·索亚那样吐唾
沫，算不了什么稀罕，可是他心里并不真地这么认为，另外有个孩子说：“酸葡萄！”于是
他就成了一位落荒而逃的英雄。
    不久汤姆遇到了村子里坏孩子哈克贝利·费恩，他是本镇一个酒鬼的儿子。全镇所有的
母亲们对哈克贝利都深恶痛绝而又十分畏惧：他游手好闲、无法无天，而且既下流又没教养
——再加上所有的孩子却又都非常羡慕他。虽然大人们都不允许他们和他接触，他们却乐于
和他玩耍，还希望自己也敢学他那样。和其他许多体面的孩子们一样，汤姆很羡慕哈克贝利
那种逍遥自在的流浪儿生活，可是也被严厉地告知：不许和他玩。所以，他每每一有机会就
和他混在一起。哈克贝利经常穿着大人们丢弃不要的旧衣服，总是满身开花，破布乱飘。他
的帽子很大很破，边上有一块月牙形的帽边子耷拉着。他要是穿着上装的话，那上装就差不
多拖到他的脚后跟，背后的两排并齐的扣子一直扣到屁股；裤子却只有一根吊带；裤子裆部
像个空空的口袋似地垂得很低。裤腿没有卷起的时候，毛了边的下半截就在灰土里拖来拖去。
    哈克贝利来去很自由，全凭自己高兴。天气晴朗的时候，他就睡在门口台阶上；下雨
时，就睡到大空桶里。他不用去上学也不必去做礼拜，不必叫谁老师，也不用服从谁；他可
以随时随地去钓鱼，去游泳，而且想呆多长间就呆多长时间；也没有人管住他打架；晚上他
高兴熬夜到什么时候就熬到什么时候；春天他总是第一个光着脚，到了秋天却是最后一个穿
上鞋；他从来不用洗脸，也不用穿干净衣服；他可以随便骂人，而且特别会骂。总而言之，
一切充分享受生活的事情，这孩子都拥有了。圣彼德堡镇的那些受折磨、受拘束的体面孩子
们个个都是这么想的。
    汤姆向那个浪漫的流浪儿招呼道：
    “你好啊，哈克贝利！”
    “你也好啊，喜欢这玩意吧。”
    “你得了什么宝贝？”
    “一只死猫。”
    “哈克，让我瞅瞅。嗐，这家伙倒是硬帮帮的，你从哪弄来的？”
    “从一个孩子那儿买来的。”
    “拿什么换的？”
    “我给他一张蓝色票和一只从屠宰厂那儿弄来的尿泡。”
    “你的蓝票是从哪儿弄来的？”
    “两星期前用一根推铁环的棍子和贝恩·罗杰换的。”
    “我说——哈克，死猫能有什么用？”
    “有什么用？可以治疣子。”
    “不会吧！你说能治吗？我知道有个更好的药方子。”
    “我敢打赌你不知道。是什么方子？”
    “不就是仙水吗。”
    “仙水！我看仙水一文钱不值？”
    “你说一文钱不值，是不是？你试过吗？”
    “没有试过。可是鲍勃·唐纳试过。”
    “你怎么知道的？”
    “噢，他告诉杰夫·撒切尔，杰夫又告诉江尼·贝克，江尼又告诉吉姆·赫利斯，吉姆
又告诉本·罗杰，罗杰又告诉了一个黑人，那黑人又告诉了我。这不，我就知道了。”
    “得，你知道又有什么？他们都在撒谎，那个黑人可能除外。我不认识他，不过我从来
也没见过有哪个黑人不撒谎的。呸！那么哈克你说说鲍勃·唐纳怎么试的吧。”
    “噢，他的手伸进一个腐烂的老树桩子里去蘸里面的雨水。”
    “在白天干的吗？”
    “那还用说。”
    “脸对着树桩吗？”
    “对呀。至少我是这么合计的。”
    “他没说什么？”
    “我估计没有。我不清楚。”
    “啊！用那样糊涂蛋的方法还谈什么仙水治疣子！哎，那根本就行不通。你必须独自一
个人到树林中间，找到那个有仙水的树桩，等到正值半夜时分，你背对着树桩，把手塞进
去，嘴里要念：‘麦粒麦粒，还有玉米粉，仙水仙水，治好这疣子。’念完之后，就闭着眼
睛，立刻走开，走十一步，然后转三圈，不要和任何人讲话径直回家。如果你一讲话，那符
咒就不灵了。”
    “哼，这听起来倒像是好办法；不过鲍勃·唐纳不是这样做的。”
    “嘿，尊敬的伙计，他当然没有这样做，所以他是这个镇上疣子长得最多的一个。他要
是晓得怎么使用仙水，那他身上就会一个疣子都没有了。哈克，用那个办法我已经治好手上
无数个疣子。我老爱玩青蛙，所以我老是长出许许多多的疣子。有时候我就拿蚕豆来治它
们。”
    “是的，蚕豆是不错。我也这样治过。”
    “是吗？你是怎么做的？”
    “拿一个蚕豆把它掰成两片，再把疣子弄破，弄出点血来，然后你把血涂在蚕豆的一片
上，趁着半夜三更没有月亮的时候，找个岔路口，挖个坑把这片蚕豆埋到地下，再把另外半
片烧掉。你看有血的那半片蚕豆不停地在吸啊吸啊，想把另外那半片吸过去，这样有助于用
血去吸疣子，过不多久，疣子就掉了。”
    “对，就是这样干的，哈克——就是这样。当然你埋蚕豆的时候，你要说：‘埋下蚕
豆，消掉疣子，不要再来烦我！’这会更好些的。乔·哈帕就是这样做的，他差不多到过康
维尔，还有许多别的地方哩。可是话说回来，用死猫怎么治疣子呢？”
    ‘唉，你拿着死猫等半夜坏蛋被埋时，到坟地去；魔鬼都是半夜行动，说不准三两成
群，不过你看不见他们，但能听到他们走路的声音，或许还能听到他们的谈话。他们带那坏
蛋到阴曹地府时，你往他们后面扔死猫还要念道：‘鬼跟尸跑，
    猫跟鬼跑，疣子跟着猫，我和疣子一刀两断了！’这样保管什么疣子都治好。”
    “这听起来倒是蛮有道理。哈克，你试过没有？”
    “没有。不过霍普金斯老太婆跟我说过。”
    “是啊，她可能说过。因为人们说她是个巫婆。”
    “可不是吗，汤姆，这我知道。她迷惑过我爹。这是我爹亲口说的。有一天，他走过
来，见她要迷惑他，就捡起一块大石头，要不是她躲闪得及时，他就砸中她了。可是也就在
当天夜里，他喝醉了酒，躺在一个小木屋顶上，不知怎么就摔下来，摔断了一只胳膊。”
    “哎呀，真不幸。他是怎么知道她要迷惑他的呢？”
    “哦，我的老天爷！我爹一眼就看出来了。我爹说她们直勾勾地盯着你时，就是要迷惑
你，特别是当嘴里还念着咒时，就更不用说了。这时，她们把圣经的祷文倒过来念。”
“嘿，我说哈克，你打算什么时候去试着用这猫治疣子？”
    “今天夜里。我猜他们会去弄霍斯·威廉斯这老家伙。”
    “可是他不是星期六被埋了吗？他们星期六夜里没来把他弄走吗？”
    “嘿，瞧你说的！他们的咒语午夜后怎么能起作用呢？午夜一过那可就是星期天了。我
猜想，真是星期天鬼是不怎么四处游荡的。”
    “我从来没有想到这一点。是这么回事呀。让我和你一起去，好吗？”
    “当然好了——只要你不害怕就行。”
    “害怕！那还不至于。你来学猫叫好吗？”
    “好。如果我叫了，你也回应一声。上一回，你让我老在那学猫咪呜咪呜的，后来黑斯
这老头就冲我扔石头，还说‘去他妈的瘟猫！’所以我拿砖头砸了他家窗户。不过，你不要
讲出去。”
    “我不会说的。那天晚上我姨妈一直在盯住我，我怎么能学猫叫呢。但是这一回我会咪
呜的。嘿，那是什么？”
    “只是个扁虱罢了。”
    “在哪搞到的？”
    “在外面的树林里。”
    “拿什么东西跟你换它，你才干？”
    “我不知道。我不想把它卖掉。”
    “那就算了。你瞧你这只扁虱，这么小哩。”
    “哦，吃不到葡萄就说葡萄酸。我对它倒是挺满意的。对我来说，这扁虱够好的了。”
    “哼，扁虱多得是。我要是想要的话，一千个我也能搞到。”
    “喂，得了吧，那你搞来给我看看呀。你是抓不到的。我认为这是个较早的扁虱，是我
今年见到的头一个。”
    “那么，哈克，我用我的牙齿跟你换扁虱吧。”
    “让我瞧瞧。”
    汤姆拿出一个小纸包，小心翼翼地打开它。哈克贝利望眼欲穿。这诱惑大大了。最后，
他说：
    “这是真牙齿吗？”
    汤姆翻起嘴唇，给他看缺口。
    “哼，那好吧。”哈克贝利说，“换就换吧。”
    汤姆把扁虱装进前几天囚禁大钳甲虫的那个雷管筒子里后，他们就分手了，各自都感觉
比以前富有了许多。
    汤姆来到那座孤零零的小木框校舍的时候，他迈着轻松愉快的步伐，好像是老老实实来
上学的样子，大步走进教室。他把帽子挂在钉子上，一本正经地边忙边坐到他的座位上。他
的老师正高高地坐在他那把大细藤条扶手椅上，听着催眠的读书声，正打着盹。汤姆进来把
他吵醒了。
    “托马斯·索亚！”
    汤姆晓得老师要是叫他全名，那麻烦事就来了。
    “到，老师！”
    “过来，我问你。好家伙，你为什么迟到了，总是这样？”
    汤姆正要撒个谎来蒙混过关，这时他看到一个人的背上垂下两条长长的金黄色辫子，他
为之一惊。一股爱情的暖流使他立刻认出了那女孩子。女生坐的那一边，正好只有她身旁空
着一个位子。他立刻说：
    “我路上和哈克贝利·费恩讲话耽搁了！”
    老师气得脉搏都要停止跳动了，他无可奈何地瞪着眼睛望着汤姆。乱哄哄的读书声也停
止了。学生们都很纳闷，这个莽撞的家伙是不是脑子有毛病。老师说：
    “你，你干了什么？”
    “路上和哈克贝利·费恩讲话耽搁了。”
    他说得一清二楚。
    “托马斯·索亚，这可是我听到的最叫人吃惊的坦白交待了。你犯了这样大的错误，光
用戒尺不能解决问题。把上衣脱掉！”
    老师直打得胳膊发累，戒鞭有明显磨损时才住手。之后他命令道：
    “去吧！去和姑娘们坐在一块，这对你算是一次警告。”
    教室里到处都是窃窃私语声，似乎是这让汤姆脸红。但实际上，他脸红是因为崇拜那位
素不相识的女孩，还有幸能和她同桌。他在松木板凳的一头坐下来，那女孩子一仰头，身子
往另一头移了移。大家相互推推胳膊，眨眨眼睛，低声耳语。但是汤姆却正襟危坐，两只胳
膊放在既长又矮的书桌上，好像在看书学习。
    渐渐地，大家的注意力不再集中在汤姆身上，学校里惯有的低沉的读书声重新在那沉闷
的空气中响起。这时汤姆偷偷地瞥了那女孩几次。她注意到了，“朝他做了鬼脸”之后有一
分钟光景，她都用后脑勺冲着他。等她慢慢地转过脸来时，有一个桃子摆在了她的面前。她
把桃子推开，汤姆又轻轻地把它放回去。她又把桃子推开，不过这次态度缓和了些。汤姆耐
心地把它又放回原处。这一回她没有再拒绝了。汤姆在他的写字板上写了几个字：“请你收
下吧，我多得是哩。”那女孩瞥了瞥这些字，仍是一动也不动。于是汤姆就用左手挡住写字
板，开始在上面画着图画。有好一阵子，那女孩坚决不去看他作画，可是在好奇心的驱使
下，她开始动摇了。汤姆继续画着，好像不知道那回事。那女孩想看，但态度不明朗，可是
这男孩还是不动声色，装作没看见。最后她让了步，犹犹豫豫小声说道：
    “让我看看吧。”
    汤姆略微挪开左手，石板上画的是座房子，画得既不好又模模糊糊，两个山墙头，还有
一缕炊烟从烟囱里袅袅升起。可是姑娘的兴趣被吸引住了，于是，她把一切都抛到了九霄云
外。画画好的时候，她盯着看了一会，然后低声说：
    “画得真好——再画一个人上去。”
    于是，这位“画家”就在前院里画了一个人，他拔地而起，那形状有点像一架人字起重
机，他一大步就可以跨过房子。可是这姑娘并不在乎这一点。她对这个大怪物很满意。她低
声说：
    “这个人画得真好看，再画就画我，画成正走过来的样子。”
    汤姆就画了个水漏或沙漏（均可作计时器用），加上一轮满月，四肢像草扎似的，硬梆
梆的，张开的手指拿着一把大得可怕的扇子。
    姑娘说：
    “画得太好了。我要是会画就好了。”
    “这容易，”汤姆低声说道，“跟我学。”
    “啊，你愿意吗？什么时候教我？”
    “中午。你回家吃午饭吗？”
    “如果你教我，我就留在这里。”
    “好，那太好不过了。你叫什么名字？”
    “贝基·撒切尔，你叫什么？哦，我知道，你叫托马斯·索亚。”
    “他们揍我时，就叫我这个名字。我表现好的时候叫做汤姆。你叫我汤姆，好吗？”
    “好的。”
    这时候，汤姆又在写字板上写着什么字，还用手挡住不让那姑娘看见。这一回她不像以
前了。她请求汤姆给她看。汤姆说：
    “啊，没什么好看的。”
    “不，一定有好看的。”
    “真的没什么好看的。再说，你也不爱看这个。”
    “我要看，我真的要看。请让我看一看。”
    “你会说出去的。”
    “不会，决不会，百分之一百二十地不会。”
    “跟任何人你都不会说吗？永远不说，一辈子不说？”
    “是的，我不会告诉任何人，现在让我看吧。”
    “啊，你真想看吗！”
    “既然你这样待我，我就一定要看！”于是她把小手儿按在他手上，两个人争了一会
儿，汤姆假装拼命捂着不让她看的样子，可是手渐渐移开，露出了三个字：“我爱你。”
    “啊，你坏蛋！”她用力打了他的手，脸虽然红了，但心里却乐滋滋的。
    就在这时，汤姆觉得有人慢慢地抓住他的耳杂，渐渐往上提起。这一抓非同小同，让汤
姆挣脱不掉。就这样，在一片尖刻的咯咯笑声中他被钳着耳杂，从教室这边拉到那边自己的
座位上。接着老师在他身旁站了一会，教室里肃然起敬，然后他则一言不发，回到了自己的
宝座上。汤姆虽然感到耳朵很疼，但心里却是甜蜜蜜的。
    班里静下来时，汤姆动起真格来要好好学习，可是内心却不能平静下来。结果朗读时，
他读得别别扭扭；而在地理课上，他把湖泊当成山脉，一切都被他“恢复”到了原始混沌状
态；上拼写课时，一连串最简单的字弄得他“翻了船”，结果成绩在全班垫了底，他只好把
戴在身上、风光了好几个月的那枚奖章退给了老师