The Adventures of Tom Sawyer By Mark Twain. Format: Global Grey free PDF, epub, Kindle ebook. Pages (PDF): Publication Date: Download PDF. The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never looked. Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer () is a book for readers of all ages. Most readers pick it up young and enjoy it, but too few come back to it later .
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By Mark Twain Finn is drawn from life; Tom Sawyer also, but not from an You TOM!' No answer. The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over. Tom Sawyer is made of three real boys. My book is for boys MARK TWAIN in the State of Tom did not go to school and he had a very happy afternoon. He. Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer depicts the life of an imaginative, troublesome boy in the American West of the s. The novel is.
THIS time. There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight. But of course you'd druther WORK—wouldn't you? He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom's vitals. But I bet you I'll lam Sid for that. Chapter 1. Twain, Mark.
He was boat and captain and engine—bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own hurricane—deck giving the orders and executing them:. Stop the labboard! Come ahead on the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow! Get out that head—line! Come—out with your spring—line—what're you about there! Take a turn round that stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now—let her go! Done with the engines, sir! Tom went on whitewashing—paid no attention to the steamboat.
Ben stared a moment and then said: YOU'RE up a stump, ain't you! No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:. Don't you wish you could? But of course you'd druther WORK—wouldn't you?
Course you would! Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day? That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth—stepped back to note the effect—added a touch here and there—criticised the effect again—Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed.
Presently he said:. You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about this fence—right here on the street, you know —but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and SHE wouldn't. Yes, she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done. Oh come, now—lemme just try. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen to it—". Now lemme try.
Say—I'll give you the core of my apple. Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents.
There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite, in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with—and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty—stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth.
He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews—harp, a piece of blue bottle—glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire—crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass doorknob, a dog—collar—but no dog—the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange—peel, and a dilapidated old window sash. He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while—plenty of company —and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it!
If he hadn't run out of whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village. Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it—namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain.
If he had been a great and wise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have comprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to do, and that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And this would help him to understand why constructing artificial flowers or performing on a tread—mill is work, while rolling ten—pins or climbing Mont Blanc is only amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England who drive four—horse passenger—coaches twenty or thirty miles on a daily line, in the summer, because the privilege costs them considerable money; but if they were offered wages for the service, that would turn it into work and then they would resign.
The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place in his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to report. Authors Books Genres Collections Readability. Additional Information Year Published: English Country of Origin: United States of America Source: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
Hartford, CT: American Publishing Co. Flesch—Kincaid Level: The embedded audio player requires a modern internet browser. It's jam—that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you didn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch. The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger.
The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board—fence, and disappeared over it. Ain't he played me tricks enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time? But old fools is the biggest fools there is.
Can't learn an old dog new tricks, as the saying is.
But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days, and how is a body to know what's coming? He 'pears to know just how long he can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make out to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down again and I can't hit him a lick.
I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and that's the Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child, as the Good Book says. I'm a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I know. He's full of the Old Scratch, but laws—a—me! Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and every time I hit him my old heart most breaks. Well—a—well, man that is born of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says, and I reckon it's so.
It's mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else, and I've GOT to do some of my duty by him, or I'll be the ruination of the child. Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next—day's wood and split the kindlings before supper—at least he was there in time to tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three—fourths of the work.
Tom's younger brother or rather half—brother Sid was already through with his part of the work picking up chips , for he was a quiet boy, and had no adventurous, troublesome ways. While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity offered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and very deep—for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like many other simple—hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she was endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she loved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low cunning.
Said she:. A bit of a scare shot through Tom—a touch of uncomfortable suspicion. He searched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. So he said:. But in spite of her, Tom knew where the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:.
Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of circumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new inspiration:. Unbutton your jacket! The trouble vanished out of Tom's face.
He opened his jacket. His shirt collar was securely sewed. Well, go 'long with you. I'd made sure you'd played hookey and been a—swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom.
I reckon you're a kind of a singed cat, as the saying is—better'n you look. THIS time. She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.
In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into the lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them—one needle carried white thread and the other black. He said:.
Confound it! I wish to geeminy she'd stick to one or t'other—I can't keep the run of 'em. But I bet you I'll lam Sid for that. I'll learn him! He was not the Model Boy of the village.
He knew the model boy very well though—and loathed him. Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles.
Not because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a man's are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore them down and drove them out of his mind for the time—just as men's misfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises.
This new interest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired from a negro, and he was suffering to practise it undisturbed. It consisted in a peculiar bird—like turn, a sort of liquid warble, produced by touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short intervals in the midst of the music—the reader probably remembers how to do it, if he has ever been a boy.
Diligence and attention soon gave him the knack of it, and he strode down the street with his mouth full of harmony and his soul full of gratitude. He felt much as an astronomer feels who has discovered a new planet—no doubt, as far as strong, deep, unalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with the boy, not the astronomer. The summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom checked his whistle. A stranger was before him—a boy a shade larger than himself.
A new—comer of any age or either sex was an impressive curiosity in the poor little shabby village of St. This boy was well dressed, too—well dressed on a week—day. This was simply astounding.
His cap was a dainty thing, his close—buttoned blue cloth roundabout was new and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes on—and it was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of ribbon. He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom's vitals. The more Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose at his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to him to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other moved—but only sidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all the time.
Finally Tom said:. I could lick you with one hand tied behind me, if I wanted to. I dare you to knock it off—and anybody that'll take a dare will suck eggs. Why don't you DO it?