Kabanata Kabanata 17 · CHAPTER XVII. Memories of the Lost Heroes—The Point in Tom’s Secret

. CHAPTER XVII. Memories of the Lost Heroes—The Point in Tom’s Secret

But there was no hilarity in the little town that same tranquil Saturday

afternoon. The Harpers, and Aunt Polly’s family, were being put into

mourning, with great grief and many tears. An unusual quiet possessed

the village, although it was ordinarily quiet enough, in all conscience.

The villagers conducted their concerns with an absent air, and talked

little; but they sighed often. The Saturday holiday seemed a burden to

the children. They had no heart in their sports, and gradually gave them

up.

In the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the deserted

schoolhouse yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found nothing

there to comfort her. She soliloquized:

“Oh, if I only had a brass andiron-knob again! But I haven’t got

anything now to remember him by.” And she choked back a little sob.

Presently she stopped, and said to herself:

“It was right here. Oh, if it was to do over again, I wouldn’t say

that—I wouldn’t say it for the whole world. But he’s gone now; I’ll

never, never, never see him any more.”

This thought broke her down, and she wandered away, with tears rolling

down her cheeks. Then quite a group of boys and girls—playmates of Tom’s

and Joe’s—came by, and stood looking over the paling fence and talking

in reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so the last time they saw

him, and how Joe said this and that small trifle (pregnant with awful

prophecy, as they could easily see now!)—and each speaker pointed out

the exact spot where the lost lads stood at the time, and then added

something like “and I was a-standing just so—just as I am now, and as if

you was him—I was as close as that—and he smiled, just this way—and then

something seemed to go all over me, like—awful, you know—and I never

thought what it meant, of course, but I can see now!”

Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, and

many claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more or

less tampered with by the witness; and when it was ultimately decided

who _did_ see the departed last, and exchanged the last words with them,

the lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of sacred importance,

and were gaped at and envied by all the rest. One poor chap, who had

no other grandeur to offer, said with tolerably manifest pride in the

remembrance:

“Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me once.”

But that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say that,

and so that cheapened the distinction too much. The group loitered away,

still recalling memories of the lost heroes, in awed voices.

When the Sunday-school hour was finished, the next morning, the bell

began to toll, instead of ringing in the usual way. It was a very still

Sabbath, and the mournful sound seemed in keeping with the musing hush

that lay upon nature. The villagers began to gather, loitering a moment

in the vestibule to converse in whispers about the sad event. But there

was no whispering in the house; only the funereal rustling of dresses

as the women gathered to their seats disturbed the silence there. None

could remember when the little church had been so full before. There

was finally a waiting pause, an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly

entered, followed by Sid and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all in

deep black, and the whole congregation, the old minister as well, rose

reverently and stood until the mourners were seated in the front pew.

There was another communing silence, broken at intervals by muffled

sobs, and then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed. A moving

hymn was sung, and the text followed: “I am the Resurrection and the

Life.”

As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the

graces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that

every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang

in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always

before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor

boys. The minister related many a touching incident in the lives of the

departed, too, which illustrated their sweet, generous natures, and the

people could easily see, now, how noble and beautiful those episodes

were, and remembered with grief that at the time they occurred they had

seemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the cowhide. The congregation

became more and more moved, as the pathetic tale went on, till at last

the whole company broke down and joined the weeping mourners in a chorus

of anguished sobs, the preacher himself giving way to his feelings, and

crying in the pulpit.

There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment later

the church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming eyes above

his handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First one and then another pair

of eyes followed the minister’s, and then almost with one impulse the

congregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came marching up

the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of drooping rags,

sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in the unused gallery

listening to their own funeral sermon!

Aunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw themselves upon their restored

ones, smothered them with kisses and poured out thanksgivings, while

poor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not knowing exactly what

to do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming eyes. He wavered, and

started to slink away, but Tom seized him and said:

“Aunt Polly, it ain’t fair. Somebody’s got to be glad to see Huck.”

“And so they shall. I’m glad to see him, poor motherless thing!” And

the loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one thing

capable of making him more uncomfortable than he was before.

Suddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice: “Praise God from

whom all blessings flow—_sing_!—and put your hearts in it!”

And they did. Old Hundred swelled up with a triumphant burst, and

while it shook the rafters Tom Sawyer the Pirate looked around upon the

envying juveniles about him and confessed in his heart that this was the

proudest moment of his life.

As the “sold” congregation trooped out they said they would almost be

willing to be made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like that

once more.

Tom got more cuffs and kisses that day—according to Aunt Polly’s varying

moods—than he had earned before in a year; and he hardly knew which

expressed the most gratefulness to God and affection for himself.