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- 2026-01-28T02:26:48.194Z
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- 4216
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- CHAPTER XV
A few minutes later Tom was in the shoal water of the bar, wading toward
the Illinois shore. Before the depth reached his middle he was halfway
over; the current would permit no more wading, now, so he struck out
confidently to swim the remaining hundred yards. He swam quartering
upstream, but still was swept downward rather faster than he had
expected. However, he reached the shore finally, and drifted along till
he found a low place and drew himself out. He put his hand on his jacket
pocket, found his piece of bark safe, and then struck through the woods,
following the shore, with streaming garments. Shortly before ten
o’clock he came out into an open place opposite the village, and saw the
ferryboat lying in the shadow of the trees and the high bank. Everything
was quiet under the blinking stars. He crept down the bank, watching
with all his eyes, slipped into the water, swam three or four strokes
and climbed into the skiff that did “yawl” duty at the boat’s stern. He
laid himself down under the thwarts and waited, panting.
Presently the cracked bell tapped and a voice gave the order to “cast
off.” A minute or two later the skiff’s head was standing high up,
against the boat’s swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy in
his success, for he knew it was the boat’s last trip for the night. At
the end of a long twelve or fifteen minutes the wheels stopped, and
Tom slipped overboard and swam ashore in the dusk, landing fifty yards
downstream, out of danger of possible stragglers.
He flew along unfrequented alleys, and shortly found himself at his
aunt’s back fence. He climbed over, approached the “ell,” and looked
in at the sitting-room window, for a light was burning there. There
sat Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper’s mother, grouped together,
talking. They were by the bed, and the bed was between them and the
door. Tom went to the door and began to softly lift the latch; then
he pressed gently and the door yielded a crack; he continued pushing
cautiously, and quaking every time it creaked, till he judged he might
squeeze through on his knees; so he put his head through and began,
warily.
“What makes the candle blow so?” said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up. “Why,
that door’s open, I believe. Why, of course it is. No end of strange
things now. Go ’long and shut it, Sid.”
Tom disappeared under the bed just in time. He lay and “breathed”
himself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch his
aunt’s foot.
“But as I was saying,” said Aunt Polly, “he warn’t _bad_, so to say—only
misch_ee_vous. Only just giddy, and harum-scarum, you know. He warn’t
any more responsible than a colt. _He_ never meant any harm, and he was
the best-hearted boy that ever was”—and she began to cry.
“It was just so with my Joe—always full of his devilment, and up to
every kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he
could be—and laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for taking
that cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out myself because
it was sour, and I never to see him again in this world, never, never,
never, poor abused boy!” And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if her heart would
break.
“I hope Tom’s better off where he is,” said Sid, “but if he’d been
better in some ways—”
“_Sid!_” Tom felt the glare of the old lady’s eye, though he could not
see it. “Not a word against my Tom, now that he’s gone! God’ll take care
of _him_—never you trouble _your_self, sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don’t
know how to give him up! I don’t know how to give him up! He was such a
comfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me, ’most.”
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