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The
tick escaped from Tom, presently, and crossed the equator. Joe harassed
him awhile, and then he got away and crossed back again. This change of
base occurred often. While one boy was worrying the tick with absorbing
interest, the other would look on with interest as strong, the two heads
bowed together over the slate, and the two souls dead to all things else.
At last luck seemed to settle and abide with Joe. The tick tried this,
that, and the other course, and got as excited and as anxious as the boys
themselves, but time and again just as he would have victory in his very
grasp, so to speak, and Tom's fingers would be twitching to begin, Joe's
pin would deftly head him off, and keep possession. At last Tom could
stand it no longer. The temptation was too strong. So he reached out and
lent a hand with his pin. Joe was angry in a moment. Said he:
"Tom,
you let him alone."
"I
only just want to stir him up a little, Joe."
"No,
sir, it ain't fair; you just let him alone."
"Blame
it, I ain't going to stir him much."
"Let
him alone, I tell you."
"I
won't!"
"You
shall -- he's on my side of the line."
"Look
here, Joe Harper, whose is that tick?"
"I
don't care whose tick he is -- he's on my side of the line, and you
sha'n't touch him."
"Well,
I'll just bet I will, though. He's my tick and I'll do what I blame please
with him, or die!"
A
tremendous whack came down on Tom's shoulders, and its duplicate on Joe's;
and for the space of two minutes the dust continued to fly from the two
jackets and the whole school to enjoy it. The boys had been too absorbed
to notice the hush that had stolen upon the school awhile before when the
master came tiptoeing down the room and stood over them. He had
contemplated a good part of the performance before he contributed his bit
of variety to it.
When
school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky Thatcher, and whispered in her
ear:
"Put
on your bonnet and let on you're going home; and when you get to the
corner, give the rest of 'em the slip, and turn down through the lane and
come back. I'll go the other way and come it over 'em the same way."
So
the one went off with one group of scholars, and the other with another.
In a little while the two met at the bottom of the lane, and when they
reached the school they had it all to themselves. Then they sat together,
with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the pencil and held her hand
in his, guiding it, and so created another surprising house. When the
interest in art began to wane, the two fell to talking. Tom was swimming
in bliss. He said:
"Do
you love rats?"
"No!
I hate them!"
"Well,
I do, too -- LIVE ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round your head
with a string."
"No,
I don't care for rats much, anyway. What I like is chewing-gum."
"Oh,
I should say so! I wish I had some now."
"Do
you? I've got some. I'll let you chew it awhile, but you must give it back
to me."
That
was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled their legs
against the bench in excess of contentment.
"Was
you ever at a circus?" said Tom.
"Yes,
and my pa's going to take me again some time, if I'm good."
"I
been to the circus three or four times -- lots of times. Church ain't
shucks to a circus. There's things going on at a circus all the time. I'm
going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up."
"Oh,
are you! That will be nice. They're so lovely, all spotted up."
"Yes,
that's so. And they get slathers of money -- most a dollar a day, Ben
Rogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?"
"What's
that?"
"Why,
engaged to be married."
"No."
"Would
you like to?"
"I
reckon so. I don't know. What is it like?"
"Like?
Why it ain't like anything. You only just tell a boy you won't ever have
anybody but him, ever ever ever, and then you kiss and that's all. Anybody
can do it."
"Kiss?
What do you kiss for?"
"Why,
that, you know, is to -- well, they always do that."
"Everybody?"
"Why,
yes, everybody that's in love with each other. Do you remember what I
wrote on the slate?"
"Ye
-- yes."
"What
was it?"
"I
sha'n't tell you."
"Shall
I tell YOU?"
"Ye
-- yes -- but some other time."
"No,
now."
"No,
not now -- to-morrow."
"Oh,
no, NOW. Please, Becky -- I'll whisper it, I'll whisper it ever so
easy."
Becky
hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm about her
waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth close to her
ear. And then he added:
"Now
you whisper it to me -- just the same."
She
resisted, for a while, and then said:
"You
turn your face away so you can't see, and then I will. But you mustn't
ever tell anybody -- WILL you, Tom? Now you won't, WILL you?"
"No,
indeed, indeed I won't. Now, Becky."
He
turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breath stirred his
curls and whispered, "I -- love -- you!"
Then
she sprang away and ran around and around the desks and benches, with Tom
after her, and took refuge in a corner at last, with her little white
apron to her face. Tom clasped her about her neck and pleaded:
"Now,
Becky, it's all done -- all over but the kiss. Don't you be afraid of that
-- it ain't anything at all. Please, Becky." And he tugged at her
apron and the hands.
By
and by she gave up, and let her hands drop; her face, all glowing with the
struggle, came up and submitted. Tom kissed the red lips and said:
"Now
it's all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you ain't ever to
love anybody but me, and you ain't ever to marry anybody but me, ever
never and forever. Will you?"
"No,
I'll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I'll never marry anybody but you
-- and you ain't to ever marry anybody but me, either."
"Certainly.
Of course. That's PART of it. And always coming to school or when we're
going home, you're to walk with me, when there ain't anybody looking --
and you choose me and I choose you at parties, because that's the way you
do when you're engaged."
"It's
so nice. I never heard of it before."
"Oh,
it's ever so gay! Why, me and Amy Lawrence --" The big eyes told Tom his blunder and he stopped, confused.
"Oh,
Tom! Then I ain't the first you've ever been engaged to!"
The
child began to cry. Tom said:
"Oh,
don't cry, Becky, I don't care for her any more."
"Yes,
you do, Tom -- you know you do."
Tom
tried to put his arm about her neck, but she pushed him away and turned
her face to the wall, and went on crying. Tom tried again, with soothing
words in his mouth, and was repulsed again. Then his pride was up, and he
strode away and went outside. He stood about, restless and uneasy, for a
while, glancing at the door, every now and then, hoping she would repent
and come to find him. But she did not. Then he began to feel badly and
fear that he was in the wrong. It was a hard struggle with him to make new
advances, now, but he nerved himself to it and entered. She was still
standing back there in the corner, sobbing, with her face to the wall.
Tom's heart smote him. He went to her and stood a moment, not knowing
exactly how to proceed. Then he said hesitatingly:
"Becky,
I -- I don't care for anybody but you."
No
reply -- but sobs.
"Becky"
-- pleadingly. "Becky, won't you say something?"
More
sobs.
Tom
got out his chiefest jewel, a brass knob from the top of an andiron, and
passed it around her so that she could see it, and said:
"Please,
Becky, won't you take it?"
She
struck it to the floor. Then Tom marched out of the house and over the
hills and far away, to return to school no more that day. Presently Becky
began to suspect. She ran to the door; he was not in sight; she flew
around to the play-yard; he was not there. Then she called:
"Tom!
Come back, Tom!"
She
listened intently, but there was no answer. She had no companions but
silence and loneliness. So she sat down to cry again and upbraid herself;
and by this time the scholars began to gather again, and she had to hide
her griefs and still her broken heart and take up the cross of a long,
dreary, aching afternoon, with none among the strangers about her to
exchange sorrows with.
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