Приключения Тома Сойера / The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
Шрифт:
The visitors were given the seat of honor [13] . They were from Constantinople, twelve miles away—so they had travelled, and seen the world. Jeff Thatcher, Tom’s classmate, immediately went forward, to be familiar with the great man and be envied by the school.
Mr. Walters tried to show how good he was at teaching. There was one thing that could make his success complete. It was a chance to call an excellent pupil and award him or her with a Bible. He asked the class if anyone had ten yellow tickets. Several pupils had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough.
13
the seat of honor –
And now at this moment, when hope was almost dead, Tom Sawyer came forward with nine yellow tickets, nine red tickets, and ten blue ones, and demanded a Bible. This was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky [14] . Mr. Walters was shocked, because he had never expected that Tom could win a prize; but he was glad that there was a prize-winner in his class at that moment. Immediately Tom became a school hero. All the boys were all eaten up with envy [15] , especially those who had exchanged their tickets with Tom.
14
This was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky – Это был гром среди ясного неба (пословица)
15
were all eaten up with envy – все мальчики умирали от зависти (очень сильно завидовали)
Amy Lawrence was proud and glad, and she tried to make Tom see it in her face—but he wouldn’t look. She wondered; next a dim suspicion came; she watched; and then her heart broke, and she was jealous, and angry, and the tears came and she hated everybody, and Tom most of all.
The teacher gave Tom the prize. But Mr. Walter knew that there was some mystery here. He doubted that the boy knew a dozen verses, not to speak of two thousand.
Tom was introduced to the Judge; but he couldn’t speak, his breath would hardly come, his heart beat fast—partly because of the awful greatness of the man, but mainly because he was her parent. The Judge put his hand on Tom’s head and called him a fine little man, and asked him what his name was. The boy stammered, gasped, and got it out:
“Tom.”
“Oh, no, not Tom—it is—”
“Thomas.”
“Ah, that’s it. I thought there was more to it, maybe. That’s very well. But you’ve another one I daresay, and you’ll tell it to me, won’t you?”
“Tell the gentleman your other name, Thomas,” said Walters, “and say sir. You mustn’t forget your manners.”
“Thomas Sawyer—sir.”
“That’s it! That’s a good boy. Fine boy. Fine, manly little fellow. Two thousand verses is a great many—very, very great many. And you never can be sorry for the trouble you took to learn them; for knowledge is worth more than anything there is in the world; it’s what makes great men and good men; you’ll be a great man and a good man yourself, some day, Thomas, and then you’ll look back and say, It’s all owing to the precious Sunday-school privileges of my boyhood—it’s all owing to my dear teachers— who encouraged me, and watched over me, and gave me a beautiful Bible—a splendid elegant Bible—to keep and have it all for my own, always! That is what you will say, Thomas—and you wouldn’t take any money for those two thousand verses—no indeed you wouldn’t. And now you wouldn’t mind telling me and this lady some of the things you’ve learned—no, I know you wouldn’t—for we are proud of little boys that learn. Now, no doubt you know the names of all the twelve disciples. Won’t you tell us the names of the first two that were appointed?”
Tom was tugging at a button-hole and looking sheepish. He blushed, now, and his eyes fell. Mr. Walters’ heart sank within him. He said to himself, it is not possible that the boy can answer the simplest question—why did the Judge ask him? Yet he felt obliged to speak up and say:
“Answer the gentleman, Thomas—don’t be afraid.”
Tom was silent.
“Now I know you’ll tell me,” said the lady. “The names of the first two disciples were—”
“DAVID AND GOLIAH!” [16]
16
David and Goliah –
Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.
Chapter V
About half-past ten the bell of the small church began to ring, and people began to gather for the morning sermon. The Sunday-school children distributed themselves around the room and occupied pews with their parents. Aunt Polly came, and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her—Tom was sitting next to the aisle, as far away as from the open window and the seductive outside summer scenes as possible. The crowd filed up the aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who had seen better days; the mayor and his wife; the widow Douglass, fair, smart, and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and well-to-do, her hill mansion the only palace in the town; the bent and venerable Major and Mrs. Ward; lawyer Riverson, and so on. Last of all came the Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful care of his mother as if she were made of glass. He always brought his mother to church, and was the pride of all the matrons. The boys all hated him, he was so good.
When the congregation was fully assembled, the bell rang once more, and then a solemn hush fell upon the church which was only broken by the whispering of the choir in the gallery. The choir always whispered all through service.
The minister read out the hymn, with a relish, in a peculiar style which was much admired in that part of the country. His voice began on a medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached a certain point, where it bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost word and then plunged down as if from a spring-board:
Shall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow’ry beds of ease,
Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro’ blood– y seas?
He was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church “sociables” he was always called upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies would lift up their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps, and shake their heads, as much as to say, “Words cannot express it; it is too beautiful, TOO beautiful for this mortal earth.”
After the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into a bulletin-board, and read off “notices” of meetings and societies and things.
And now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went into details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the President; for the officers of the Government; and so on and so forth. Amen.
There was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat down.
Tom did not enjoy the prayer, he only endured it—if he even did that much. In the midst of the prayer a fly had lit on the back of the pew in front of him and tortured him by calmly rubbing its hands together, embracing its head with its arms, and polishing it so vigorously that it seemed to almost part company with the body; scraping its wings with its hind legs and smoothing them to its body as if they had been coat-tails. Tom’s hands itched to grab for it but he did not dare—he believed he would be instantly destroyed if he did such a thing while the prayer was going on. But with the closing sentence his hand began to curve and steal forward; and the instant the “Amen” was out the fly was a prisoner of war. His aunt however saw it and made him let it go.