things he could conceive of, and keeping a furtive
eye out, all the while, to see if Becky Thatcher was
noticing. But she seemed to be unconscious of
it all; she never looked. Could it be possible
that she was not aware that he was there? He
carried his exploits to her immediate vicinity; came
war-whooping around, snatched a boy’s cap, hurled
it to the roof of the schoolhouse, broke through a
group of boys, tumbling them in every direction, and
fell sprawling, himself, under Becky’s nose,
almost upsetting her—and she turned, with
her nose in the air, and he heard her say: “Mf!
some people think they’re mighty smart—always
showing off!”
Tom’s cheeks burned. He gathered himself
up and sneaked off, crushed and crestfallen.
Tom’s mind was made up now. He was
gloomy and desperate. He was a forsaken, friendless
boy, he said; nobody loved him; when they found out
what they had driven him to, perhaps they would be
sorry; he had tried to do right and get along, but
they would not let him; since nothing would do them
but to be rid of him, let it be so; and let them blame
him for the consequences—why shouldn’t
they? What right had the friendless to complain?
Yes, they had forced him to it at last: he would
lead a life of crime. There was no choice.
By this time he was far down Meadow Lane, and the
bell for school to “take up” tinkled faintly
upon his ear. He sobbed, now, to think he should
never, never hear that old familiar sound any more—it
was very hard, but it was forced on him; since he
was driven out into the cold world, he must submit—but
he forgave them. Then the sobs came thick and
fast.
Just at this point he met his soul’s sworn comrade,
Joe Harper —hard-eyed, and with evidently
a great and dismal purpose in his heart. Plainly
here were “two souls with but a single thought.”
Tom, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, began to blubber
out something about a resolution to escape from hard
usage and lack of sympathy at home by roaming abroad
into the great world never to return; and ended by
hoping that Joe would not forget him.
But it transpired that this was a request which Joe
had just been going to make of Tom, and had come to
hunt him up for that purpose. His mother had
whipped him for drinking some cream which he had never
tasted and knew nothing about; it was plain that she
was tired of him and wished him to go; if she felt
that way, there was nothing for him to do but succumb;
he hoped she would be happy, and never regret having
driven her poor boy out into the unfeeling world to
suffer and die.
As the two boys walked sorrowing along, they made
a new compact to stand by each other and be brothers
and never separate till death relieved them of their
troubles. Then they began to lay their plans.
Joe was for being a hermit, and living on crusts in
a remote cave, and dying, some time, of cold and want
and grief; but after listening to Tom, he conceded
that there were some conspicuous advantages about a
life of crime, and so he consented to be a pirate.
