湯姆歷險(xiǎn)記Chapter 20 心連心，湯姆代人受過(guò)

Chapter 20
      
      
        
            
      
   
    THERE was something about Aunt Polly's manner, when she kissed Tom, that swept
    away his low spirits and made him lighthearted and happy again. He started to school and
    had the luck of coming upon Becky Thatcher at the head of Meadow Lane. His mood always
    determined his manner. Without a moment's hesitation he ran to her and said:

    "I acted mighty mean to-day, Becky, and I'm so sorry. I won't ever, ever do that
    way again, as long as ever I live -- please make up, won't you?"

    The girl stopped and looked him scornfully in the face:

    "I'll thank you to keep yourself to yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer. I'll never speak
    to you again."

    She tossed her head and passed on. Tom was so stunned that he had not even presence of
    mind enough to say "Who cares, Miss Smarty?" until the right time to say it had
    gone by. So he said nothing. But he was in a fine rage, nevertheless. He moped into the
    schoolyard wishing she were a boy, and imagining how he would trounce her if she were. He
    presently encountered her and delivered a stinging remark as he passed. She hurled one in
    return, and the angry breach was complete. It seemed to Becky, in her hot resentment, that
    she could hardly wait for school to "take in," she was so impatient to see Tom
    flogged for the injured spelling-book. If she had had any lingering notion of exposing
    Alfred Temple, Tom's offensive fling had driven it entirely away.

    Poor girl, she did not know how fast she was nearing trouble herself. The master, Mr.
    Dobbins, had reached middle age with an unsatisfied ambition. The darling of his desires
    was, to be a doctor, but poverty had decreed that he should be nothing higher than a
    village schoolmaster. Every day he took a mysterious book out of his desk and absorbed
    himself in it at times when no classes were reciting. He kept that book under lock and
    key. There was not an urchin in school but was perishing to have a glimpse of it, but the
    chance never came. Every boy and girl had a theory about the nature of that book; but no
    two theories were alike, and there was no way of getting at the facts in the case. Now, as
    Becky was passing by the desk, which stood near the door, she noticed that the key was in
    the lock! It was a precious moment. She glanced around; found herself alone, and the next
    instant she had the book in her hands. The title-page -- Professor Somebody's Anatomy --
    carried no information to her mind; so she began to turn the leaves. She came at once upon
    a handsomely engraved and colored frontispiece -- a human figure, stark naked. At that
    moment a shadow fell on the page and Tom Sawyer stepped in at the door and caught a
    glimpse of the picture. Becky snatched at the book to close it, and had the hard luck to
    tear the pictured page half down the middle. She thrust the volume into the desk, turned
    the key, and burst out crying with shame and vexation.

    "Tom Sawyer, you are just as mean as you can be, to sneak up on a person and look
    at what they're looking at."

    "How could I know you was looking at anything?"

    "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom Sawyer; you know you're going to tell on
    me, and oh, what shall I do, what shall I do! I'll be whipped, and I never was whipped in
    school."

    Then she stamped her little foot and said:

    "Be so mean if you want to! I know something that's going to happen. You just wait
    and you'll see! Hateful, hateful, hateful!" -- and she flung out of the house with a
    new explosion of crying.

    Tom stood still, rather flustered by this onslaught. Presently he said to himself:

    "What a curious kind of a fool a girl is! Never been licked in school! Shucks!
    What's a licking! That's just like a girl -- they're so thin-skinned and chicken-hearted.
    Well, of course I ain't going to tell old Dobbins on this little fool, because there's
    other ways of getting even on her, that ain't so mean; but what of it? Old Dobbins will
    ask who it was tore his book. Nobody'll answer. Then he'll do just the way he always does
    -- ask first one and then t'other, and when he comes to the right girl he'll know it,
    without any telling. Girls' faces always tell on them. They ain't got any backbone. She'll
    get licked. Well, it's a kind of a tight place for Becky Thatcher, because there ain't any
    way out of it." Tom conned the thing a moment longer, and then added: "All
    right, though; she'd like to see me in just such a fix -- let her sweat it out!"

    Tom joined the mob of skylarking scholars outside. In a few moments the master arrived
    and school "took in." Tom did not feel a strong interest in his studies. Every
    time he stole a glance at the girls' side of the room Becky's face troubled him.
    Considering all things, he did not want to pity her, and yet it was all he could do to
    help it. He could get up no exultation that was really worthy the name. Presently the
    spelling-book discovery was made, and Tom's mind was entirely full of his own matters for
    a while after that. Becky roused up from her lethargy of distress and showed good interest
    in the proceedings. She did not expect that Tom could get out of his trouble by denying
    that he spilt the ink on the book himself; and she was right. The denial only seemed to
    make the thing worse for Tom. Becky supposed she would be glad of that, and she tried to
    believe she was glad of it, but she found she was not certain. When the worst came to the
    worst, she had an impulse to get up and tell on Alfred Temple, but she made an effort and
    forced herself to keep still -- because, said she to herself, "he'll tell about me
    tearing the picture sure. I wouldn't say a word, not to save his life!"

    Tom took his whipping and went back to his seat not at all broken-hearted, for he
    thought it was possible that he had unknowingly upset the ink on the spelling-book
    himself, in some skylarking bout -- he had denied it for form's sake and because it was
    custom, and had stuck to the denial from principle.

    A whole hour drifted by, the master sat nodding in his throne, the air was drowsy with
    the hum of study. By and by, Mr. Dobbins straightened himself up, yawned, then unlocked
    his desk, and reached for his book, but seemed undecided whether to take it out or leave
    it. Most of the pupils glanced up languidly, but there were two among them that watched
    his movements with intent eyes. Mr. Dobbins fingered his book absently for a while, then
    took it out and settled himself in his chair to read! Tom shot a glance at Becky. He had
    seen a hunted and helpless rabbit look as she did, with a gun levelled at its head.
    Instantly he forgot his quarrel with her. Quick -- something must be done! done in a
    flash, too! But the very imminence of the emergency paralyzed his invention. Good! -- he
    had an inspiration! He would run and snatch the book, spring through the door and fly. But
    his resolution shook for one little instant, and the chance was lost -- the master opened
    the volume. If Tom only had the wasted opportunity back again! Too late. There was no help
    for Becky now, he said. The next moment the master faced the school. Every eye sank under
    his gaze. There was that in it which smote even the innocent with fear. There was silence
    while one might count ten -- the master was gathering his wrath. Then he spoke: "Who
    tore this book?"

    There was not a sound. One could have heard a pin drop. The stillness continued; the
    master searched face after face for signs of guilt.

    "Benjamin Rogers, did you tear this book?"

    A denial. Another pause.

    "Joseph Harper, did you?"

    Another denial. Tom's uneasiness grew more and more intense under the slow torture of
    these proceedings. The master scanned the ranks of boys -- considered a while, then turned
    to the girls:

    "Amy Lawrence?"

    A shake of the head.

    "Gracie Miller?"

    The same sign.

    "Susan Harper, did you do this?"

    Another negative. The next girl was Becky Thatcher. Tom was trembling from head to foot
    with excitement and a sense of the hopelessness of the situation.

    "Rebecca Thatcher" [Tom glanced at her face -- it was white with terror] --
    "did you tear -- no, look me in the face" [her hands rose in appeal] --
    "did you tear this book?"

    A thought shot like lightning through Tom's brain. He sprang to his feet and shouted --
    "I done it!"

    The school stared in perplexity at this incredible folly. Tom stood a moment, to gather
    his dismembered faculties; and when he stepped forward to go to his punishment the
    surprise, the gratitude, the adoration that shone upon him out of poor Becky's eyes seemed
    pay enough for a hundred floggings. Inspired by the splendor of his own act, he took
    without an outcry the most merciless flaying that even Mr. Dobbins had ever administered;
    and also received with indifference the added cruelty of a command to remain two hours
    after school should be dismissed -- for he knew who would wait for him outside till his
    captivity was done, and not count the tedious time as loss, either.

    Tom went to bed that night planning vengeance against Alfred Temple; for with shame and
    repentance Becky had told him all, not forgetting her own treachery; but even the longing
    for vengeance had to give way, soon, to pleasanter musings, and he fell asleep at last
    with Becky's latest words lingering dreamily in his ear --

    "Tom, how could you be so noble!"