CHAPTER I. AN INVITATION FOR TOM
AND HUCK
WELL, it was the next spring
after me and Tom Sawyer set our old nigger Jim free, the time he
was chained up for a runaway slave down there on Tom's uncle
Silas's farm in Arkansaw. The frost was working out of the ground,
and out of the air, too, and it was getting closer and closer onto
barefoot time every day; and next it would be marble time, and next
mumbletypeg, and next tops and hoops, and next kites, and then
right away it would be summer and going in a-swimming. It just
makes a boy homesick to look ahead like that and see how far off
summer is. Yes, and it sets him to sighing and saddening around,
and there's something the matter with him, he don't know what. But
anyway, he gets out by himself and mopes and thinks; and mostly he
hunts for a lonesome place high up on the hill in the edge of the
woods, and sets there and looks away off on the big Mississippi
down there a-reaching miles and miles around the points where the
timber looks smoky and dim it's so far off and still, and
everything's so solemn it seems like everybody you've loved is dead
and gone, and you 'most wish you was dead and gone too, and done
with it all.
Don't you know what that is? It's
spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got
it, you want—oh, you don't quite know what it is you DO want, but
it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! It seems to
you that mainly what you want is to get away; get away from the
same old
tedious things you're so used to
seeing and so tired of, and set something new. That is the idea;
you want to go and be a wanderer; you want to go wandering far away
to strange countries where everything is mysterious and wonderful
and romantic. And if you can't do that, you'll put up with
considerable less; you'll go anywhere you CAN go, just so as to get
away, and be thankful of the chance, too.
Well, me and Tom Sawyer had the
spring fever, and had it bad, too; but it warn't any use to think
about Tom trying to get away, because, as he said, his Aunt Polly
wouldn't let him quit school and go traipsing off somers wasting
time; so we was pretty blue. We was setting on the front steps one
day about sundown talking this way, when out comes his aunt Polly
with a letter in her hand and says:
"Tom, I reckon you've got to pack
up and go down to Arkansaw—your aunt Sally wants you."
I 'most jumped out of my skin for
joy. I reckoned Tom would fly at his aunt and hug her head off; but
if you believe me he set there like a rock, and never said a word.
It made me fit to cry to see him act so foolish, with such a noble
chance as this opening up. Why, we might lose it if he didn't speak
up and show he was thankful and grateful. But he set there and
studied and studied till I was that distressed I didn't know what
to do; then he says, very ca'm, and I could a shot him for
it:
"Well," he says, "I'm right down
sorry, Aunt Polly, but I reckon I got to be excused—for the
present."
His aunt Polly was knocked so
stupid and so mad at the cold impudence of it that she couldn't say
a word for as much as a half a minute, and this gave me a chance to
nudge Tom and whisper:
"Ain't you got any sense?
Sp'iling such a noble chance as this and throwing it away?"
But he warn't disturbed. He
mumbled back:
"Huck Finn, do you want me to let
her SEE how bad I want to go? Why, she'd begin to doubt, right
away, and imagine a lot of sicknesses and dangers and objections,
and first you know she'd take it all back. You lemme alone; I
reckon I know how to work her."
Now I never would 'a' thought of
that. But he was right. Tom Sawyer was always right—the levelest
head I ever see, and always AT himself and ready for anything you
might spring on him. By this time his aunt Polly was all straight
again, and she let fly. She says:
"You'll be excused! YOU will!
Well, I never heard the like of it in all my days! The idea of you
talking like that to ME! Now take yourself off and pack your
traps; and if I hear another word
out of you about what you'll be excused from and what you won't, I
lay I'LL excuse you—with a hickory!"
She hit his head a thump with her
thimble as we dodged by, and he let on to be whimpering as we
struck for the stairs. Up in his room he hugged me, he was so out
of his head for gladness because he was going traveling. And he
says:
"Before we get away she'll wish
she hadn't let me go, but she won't know any way to get around it
now. After what she's said, her pride won't let her take it
back."
Tom was packed in ten minutes,
all except what his aunt and Mary would finish up for him; then we
waited ten more for her to get cooled down and sweet and gentle
again; for Tom said it took her ten minutes to unruffle in times
when half of her feathers was up, but twenty when they was all up,
and this was one of the times when they was all up. Then we went
down, being in a sweat to know what the letter said.
She was setting there in a brown
study, with it laying in her lap. We set down, and she says:
"They're in considerable trouble
down there, and they think you and Huck'll be a kind of diversion
for them—'comfort,' they say. Much of that they'll get out of you
and Huck Finn, I reckon. There's a neighbor named Brace Dunlap
that's been wanting to marry their Benny for three months, and at
last they told him point blank and once for all, he COULDN'T; so he
has soured on them, and they're worried about it. I reckon he's
somebody they think they better be on the good side of, for they've
tried to please him by hiring his no-account brother to help on the
farm when they can't hardly afford it, and don't want him around
anyhow. Who are the Dunlaps?"