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- 7725
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- 2026-01-28T02:35:49.962Z
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- text
- and took charge of the patient. She said she would do her best by him,
because, whether he was good, bad, or indifferent, he was the Lord’s,
and nothing that was the Lord’s was a thing to be neglected. The
Welshman said Huck had good spots in him, and the widow said:
“You can depend on it. That’s the Lord’s mark. He don’t leave it off.
He never does. Puts it somewhere on every creature that comes from his
hands.”
Early in the forenoon parties of jaded men began to straggle into the
village, but the strongest of the citizens continued searching. All the
news that could be gained was that remotenesses of the cavern were being
ransacked that had never been visited before; that every corner and
crevice was going to be thoroughly searched; that wherever one wandered
through the maze of passages, lights were to be seen flitting hither
and thither in the distance, and shoutings and pistol-shots sent their
hollow reverberations to the ear down the sombre aisles. In one place,
far from the section usually traversed by tourists, the names “BECKY &
TOM” had been found traced upon the rocky wall with candle-smoke, and
near at hand a grease-soiled bit of ribbon. Mrs. Thatcher recognized the
ribbon and cried over it. She said it was the last relic she should ever
have of her child; and that no other memorial of her could ever be so
precious, because this one parted latest from the living body before the
awful death came. Some said that now and then, in the cave, a far-away
speck of light would glimmer, and then a glorious shout would burst
forth and a score of men go trooping down the echoing aisle—and then a
sickening disappointment always followed; the children were not there;
it was only a searcher’s light.
Three dreadful days and nights dragged their tedious hours along, and
the village sank into a hopeless stupor. No one had heart for anything.
The accidental discovery, just made, that the proprietor of the
Temperance Tavern kept liquor on his premises, scarcely fluttered the
public pulse, tremendous as the fact was. In a lucid interval, Huck
feebly led up to the subject of taverns, and finally asked—dimly
dreading the worst—if anything had been discovered at the Temperance
Tavern since he had been ill.
“Yes,” said the widow.
Huck started up in bed, wild-eyed:
“What? What was it?”
“Liquor!—and the place has been shut up. Lie down, child—what a turn you
did give me!”
“Only tell me just one thing—only just one—please! Was it Tom Sawyer
that found it?”
The widow burst into tears. “Hush, hush, child, hush! I’ve told you
before, you must _not_ talk. You are very, very sick!”
Then nothing but liquor had been found; there would have been a great
powwow if it had been the gold. So the treasure was gone forever—gone
forever! But what could she be crying about? Curious that she should
cry.
These thoughts worked their dim way through Huck’s mind, and under the
weariness they gave him he fell asleep. The widow said to herself:
“There—he’s asleep, poor wreck. Tom Sawyer find it! Pity but somebody
could find Tom Sawyer! Ah, there ain’t many left, now, that’s got hope
enough, or strength enough, either, to go on searching.”
- title
- Chunk 5