Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the fourth chapter of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

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Today we'll be continuing The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.

Chapter Four the sun rose upon a tranquil world and beamed down upon the peaceful village like a benediction.

Breakfast over Aunt Polly had family worship.

It began with a prayer built from the ground up of solid courses of scriptural quotations welded together with a thin mortar of originality.

And from the summit of this she delivered a grim chapter of the Mosaic Law, as from Sinai.

Then Tom girded up his loin, so to speak, and went to work to get his verses.

Sid had learned his lesson days before.

Tom bent all his energies to the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the Sermon on the Mount because he could find no verses that were shorter.

At the end of an hour, Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson, but no more, for his mind was traversing the whole field of human thought, and his hands were busy with distracting recreations.

Mary took his book to hear him recite, and he tried to find his way through the fog.

Blessed are the poor.

Yes, poor.

Blessed are the poor in spirit.

In spirit.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they they theirs for theirs.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they that mourn, for they for they sh.

I don't know what it is shall, oh, shall for they shall shall mourn a, a blessed are they that shall not they that shall mourn for they shall shall what?

Why don't you tell me, Mary?

What do you want to be so mean for?

Oh, Tom, you poor, thick headed thing.

I'm not teasing you.

I wouldn't do that.

You must go and learn it again.

Don't you be discouraged, Tom.

You'll manage it.

And if you do, I'll give you something ever so nice.

There now.

That's a good boy.

All right, what is it, Mary?

Tell me what it is.

Never you mind, Tom.

You know if I say it's nice, it is nice.

You bet.

That's so, Mary.

All right, I'll tackle it again.

And he did tackle it again.

And under the double pressure of curiosity and perspective gain, he did it with such spirit that he accomplished a shining success.

Mary gave him a brand new Barlow knife worth twelve and a half cents, and the convulsion of delight that swept his system shook him to his foundations.

True, the knife would not cut anything, but it was a sure enough Barlow, and there was inconceivable grandeur in that.

Now, where the Western boys ever got the idea that such a weapon could possibly be counterfeited to its injury is an imposing mystery and will always remain so.

Perhaps Tom contrived to scarify the cupboard with it and was arranging to begin on the bureau when he was called off to dress for Sunday school.

Mary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went outside the door and set the basin on a little bench there.

Then he dipped the soap in the water and laid it down, turned up his sleeves, poured out the water on the ground gently, and then entered the kitchen and began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the door.

But Mary removed the towel and said now, ain't you ashamed, Tom?

You mustn't be so bad water won't hurt you.

Tom was a trifle disconcerted.

The basin was refilled, and this time he stood over it a little while, gathering resolution, took in a big breath and began.

When he entered the kitchen presently with both eyes shut and groping for the towel with his hands, an honorable testimony of suds and water was dripping from his face.

But when he emerged from the towel he was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped short at his chin and his jaws like a mask.

Below and beyond this line there was a dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread downward in front and backward around his neck.

Mary took him in hand, and when she was done with him, he was a man and a brother without distinction of color, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed and its short curls wrought into a dainty and symmetrical general effect.

He privately smoothed out the curls with labor and difficulty and plastered his hair close down to his head, for he held curls to be effeminate and his own filled his life with bitterness.

Then Mary got out a suit of clothing that had been used only on Sundays during two years.

They were simply called his other Clothes, and so by that we know the size of his wardrobe.

The girl put him to rights after he addressed himself.

She buttoned his neat roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt collar down over his shoulders, brushed him off, and crowned him with a speckled straw hat.

He now looked exceedingly improved and uncomfortable.

He was fully as uncomfortable as he looked, for there was a restraint about whole clothes and cleanliness that galled him.

He hoped that Mary would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted.

She coated them thoroughly with tallow, as was the custom, and brought them out.

He lost his temper and said he was always being made to do everything he didn't want to do, but Mary said persuasively, Please, Tom, that's a good boy.

So he got into the shoes snarling.

Mary was soon ready, and the three children set out for Sunday school, a place that Tom hated with his whole heart.

But Sid and Mary were fond of it.

Sabbath school hours were from nine to 10:30, and then church service.

Two of the children always remained for the sermon voluntarily, and the other always remained two for stronger reasons.

The church's high backed uncushioned pews would seed about 300 persons.

The edifice was but a small plane affair with a sort of pine board tree box on top of it for a steeple.

At the door, Tom dropped back a step and accosted a Sunday dressed comrade.

Say, Billy, got a Y'all or ticket?

Yes.

What do you take her for?

What do you give?

Piece of licorice and a fish hook.

Let's see them.

Tom exhibited they were satisfactory, and the property changed hands.

Then Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets and some small trifle or other for a couple of blue ones.

He waylaid other boys as they came and went on buying tickets of various colors ten or 15 minutes longer.

He entered the church now with a swarm of clean and noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat, and started a quarrel with the first boy that came handy.

The teacher, a grave elderly man, interfered, then turned his back a moment, and Tom pulled a boy's hair in the next bench and was absorbed in his book when the boy turned around, stuck a pin in another boy presently in order to hear him say Ouch.

And got a new reprimand from his teacher.

Tom's whole class were of a pattern restless, noisy and troublesome.

When they came to recite their lessons, not one of them knew his verses perfectly, but had to be prompted all along.

However, they worried through, and each got his reward in small blue tickets, each with a passage of Scripture on it.

Each blue ticket was pay for two verses of the recitation.

Ten blue tickets equal to red one and could be exchanged for it.

Ten red tickets equal to yellow one.

For ten yellow tickets, the superintendent gave a very plainly bound Bible worth $0.40 in those easy times to the pupil.

How many of my readers would have the industry and application to memorize 2000 verses, even for a door Bible?

And yet Mary had acquired two Bibles in this way.

It was the patient work of two years, and a boy of German parentage had won four or five.

He once recited 3000 verses without stopping, but the strain upon his mental faculties was too great, and he was little better than an idiot.

From that day forth, a grievous misfortune for the school, for on great occasions before company, the superintendent, as Tom expressed it, had always made this boy come out and spread himself.

Only the older pupils managed to keep their tickets and stick to their tedious work long enough to get a Bible.

And so the delivery of one of these prizes was a rare and noteworthy circumstance.

A successful pupil was so great and conspicuous for that day that on the spot every scholar's heart was fired with a fresh ambition that often lasted a couple of weeks.

It is possible that Tom's mental stomach had never really hungered for one of those prizes, but unquestionably, his entire being had for many a day longed for the glory and the eClad that came with it.

In due course, the superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit with a closed hymn book in his hand and his forefinger inserted between its leaves and commanded attention.

When a Sunday school superintendent makes his customary little speech, a hymn book in the hand is as necessary as is the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of a singer who stands forward on the platform and sings a solo at a concert.

Though why is a mystery, for neither the hymn book nor the sheet of music is ever referred to by the sufferer.

The superintendent was a slim creature of 35, with a sandy goatee and short sandy hair.

He wore a stiff standing collar whose upper edge almost reached his ears and whose sharp points curved forward, rest the corners of his mouth, a fence that compelled a straight lookout ahead, and a turning of the whole body when a side view was required.

His chin was propped on a spreading crevat, which was as broad and as long as a banknote and had fringed ends.

His boot toes were turned sharply up in the fashion of the day, like sleigh runners, an effect patiently and laboriously produced by the young men sitting with their toes pressed against a wall for hours together.

Mr.

Walters was very earnest of mean and very sincere and honest at heart, and he held sacred things and places in such reverence and so separated them from worldly matters that unconsciously to himself his Sunday school voice had acquired a peculiar intonation which was wholly absent.

On weekdays he began after this fashion.

Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty as you can and give me all your attention for a minute or two.

There.

That is it.

That is the way good little boys and girls should do.

I see one little girl who's looking out of the window.

I'm afraid she thinks I'm out of there somewhere, perhaps up in one of the trees making a speech to the little birds.

A positive titter.

I want to tell you how good it makes me feel to see so many bright, clean faces assembled in a place like this learning to do right and be good and so forth and so on.

It is not necessary to set down the rest of the oration.

It was of a pattern which does not vary and so it is familiar to us all.

The latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of fights and other recreations among certain of the bad boys and by fidgetings and whisperings that extended far and wide washing even to the bases of isolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary.

But now every sound ceased suddenly with the subsistence of Mr.

Walter's voice, and the conclusion of the speech was received with a burst of silent gratitude.

A good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which was more or less rare the entrance of visitors lawyer Thatcher, accompanied by a very feeble and aged man.

A fine, portly, middle aged gentleman with iron gray hair and a dignified lady who was doubtless the latter's wife.

The lady was leading a child.

Tom had been so restless and full of chaffings and repinings conscious smitten too.

He could not meet Amy Lawrence's eye.

He could not brook her loving gaze.

But when he saw this small newcomer his soul was all ablaze with bliss in a moment.

The next moment he was showing off with all his might cuffing boys, pulling hair, making faces.

In a word, using every art that seemed likely to fascinate a girl and win her applause.

His exaltation had but one alloy the memory of his humiliation in this angel's garden.

And that record in sand was fast washing out under the waves of happiness that were sweeping over it.

Now, visitors were given the highest seat of honor and as soon as Mr.

Walter's speech was finished he introduced them to the school.

The middle aged man turned out to be a prodigious personage, no less a one than the county judge, altogether the most august creation these children had ever looked upon.

And they wondered what kind of material he was made of.

And they half wanted to hear him roar and were half afraid he might too.

He was from Constantinople, 12 miles away.

So he had traveled and seen the world.

These very eyes had looked upon the county courthouse, which was said to have a tin roof.

The awe which these reflections inspired was attested by the impressive silence and the ranks of staring eyes.

This was the great Judge Thatcher, brother of their own lawyer.

Jeff Thatcher immediately went forward to be familiar with the great man and be envied by the school.

It would have been music to his soul to hear the whisperings.

Look at him, Jim.

He's going up there.

Say, look, he's going to shake hands with him.

He is shaking hands with him by jeans.

Don't you wish he was, Jeff?

Mr.

Walters fell to showing off with all sorts of official bustlings and activities giving orders, delivering judgments, discharging directions, here, there, everywhere he could find a target.

The librarian showed off running hither and thither with his arms full of books and making a deal of the splutter and fuss that insect authority delights in.

The young lady teachers showed off bending sweetly over pupils that were lately being boxed, lifting pretty warning fingers at bad little boys and patting good ones lovingly.

The young gentleman teachers showed off with small scoldings and other little displays of authority and fine attention to discipline.

And most of the teachers of both sexes found business up at the library by the pulpit.

And it was business that frequently had to be done over again two or three times with much seeming vexation.

The little girl showed off in various ways and the little boy showed off with such diligence that the air was thick with paper wads and the murmur of scufflings.

And above it all, the great man sat and beamed a majestic judicial smile upon all the house and warmed himself in the sun of his own grandeur.

For he was showing off, too.

There was only one thing wanting to make Mr.

Walter's ecstasy complete and that was a chance to deliver a Bible prize and exhibit a prodigy.

Several pupils had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough.

He had been around among the star pupils inquiring.

He would have given worlds now to have that German lad back again with a sound mind.

And now, at this moment when hope was 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.

Walters was not expecting an application from this source for the next ten years, but there was no getting around it.

Here were the certified checks, and they were good for their face.

Tom was therefore elevated to a place with the judge and the other elect.

And the great news was announced from headquarters.

It was the most stunning surprise of the decade and so profound was the sensation that it lifted the new hero up to the judicial one's altitude.

And the school had two marvels to gaze upon in place of one.

The boys were all eaten up with envy.

But those that suffered the bitterest pangs were those who perceived too late that they themselves had contributed to this hatred splendor by trading tickets to Tom for the wealth he had amassed in selling whitewashing privileges.

These despised themselves as being the dupes of a wily fraud, a guileful snake in the grass.

The prize was delivered to Tom with as much effusion as the superintendent could pump up under the circumstances.

But it lacked somewhat of the true gosh for the poor fellow's instinct taught him there was a mystery here that could not well bear the light.

Perhaps it was simply preposterous that this boy had warehoused 2000 sheaves of scriptural wisdom on his premises.

A dozen would strain his capacity.

Without a doubt.

Amy Lawrence was proud and glad and she tried to make Tom see it in her face but he wouldn't look.

She wondered.

Then she was just a grain troubled.

Next, a dim suspicion came and went, came again.

She watched a furtive glance told her worlds.

And then her heart broke and she was jealous and angry and the tears came and she hated everybody.

Tom most of all, she thought.

Tom was introduced to the judge, but his tongue was tied.

His breath would hardly come.

His heart quaked partly because of the awful greatness of the man but mainly because he was her parent.

He would have liked to fall down and worship him if it were in the dark.

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.

That's it.

I thought there was more to it.

Maybe.

That's very well.

But you have another one, I dare say.

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.

2000 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 someday, 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 that taught me to learn.

It's all owing to the good superintendent 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.

It's all owing to right bringing up.

That is what you'll say, Thomas.

And you wouldn't take any money for those 2000 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 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?

Thomas.

Tugging at a buttonhole and looked cheapish.

He blushed now and his eyes fell.

Mr.

Walter's 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 still hung fire.

Now I know you will tell me, said the lady.

The names of the first two disciples were David and Goliath.

Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of the Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

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