湯姆歷險記Chapter 17 海盜們?yōu)樽约核驮?，教堂現(xiàn)真相

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
   
      
        Chapter 17
      
      
        
            
      
   
    BUT there was no hilarity in the little town that same tranquil Saturday
    afternoon. The Harpers, and Aunt Polly's family, were being put into mourning, with great
    grief and many tears. An unusual quiet possessed the village, although it was ordinarily
    quiet enough, in all conscience. The villagers conducted their concerns with an absent
    air, and talked little; but they sighed often. The Saturday holiday seemed a burden to the
    children. They had no heart in their sports, and gradually gave them up.

    In the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the deserted schoolhouse
    yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found nothing there to comfort her. She
    soliloquized:

    "Oh, if I only had a brass andiron-knob again! But I haven't got anything now to
    remember him by." And she choked back a little sob.

    Presently she stopped, and said to herself:

    "It was right here. Oh, if it was to do over again, I wouldn't say that -- I
    wouldn't say it for the whole world. But he's gone now; I'll never, never, never see him
    any more."

    This thought broke her down, and she wandered away, with tears rolling down her cheeks.
    Then quite a group of boys and girls -- playmates of Tom's and Joe's -- came by, and stood
    looking over the paling fence and talking in reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so the
    last time they saw him, and how Joe said this and that small trifle (pregnant with awful
    prophecy, as they could easily see now!) -- and each speaker pointed out the exact spot
    where the lost lads stood at the time, and then added something like "and I was
    a-standing just so -- just as I am now, and as if you was him -- I was as close as that --
    and he smiled, just this way -- and then something seemed to go all over me, like --
    awful, you know -- and I never thought what it meant, of course, but I can see now!"

    Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, and many claimed
    that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more or less tampered with by the witness;
    and when it was ultimately decided who DID see the departed last, and exchanged the last
    words with them, the lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of sacred importance, and
    were gaped at and envied by all the rest. One poor chap, who had no other grandeur to
    offer, said with tolerably manifest pride in the remembrance:

    "Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me once."

    But that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say that, and so that
    cheapened the distinction too much. The group loitered away, still recalling memories of
    the lost heroes, in awed voices.

    When the Sunday-school hour was finished, the next morning, the bell began to toll,
    instead of ringing in the usual way. It was a very still Sabbath, and the mournful sound
    seemed in keeping with the musing hush that lay upon nature. The villagers began to
    gather, loitering a moment in the vestibule to converse in whispers about the sad event.
    But there was no whispering in the house; only the funereal rustling of dresses as the
    women gathered to their seats disturbed the silence there. None could remember when the
    little church had been so full before. There was finally a waiting pause, an expectant
    dumbness, and then Aunt Polly entered, followed by Sid and Mary, and they by the Harper
    family, all in deep black, and the whole congregation, the old minister as well, rose
    reverently and stood until the mourners were seated in the front pew. There was another
    communing silence, broken at intervals by muffled sobs, and then the minister spread his
    hands abroad and prayed. A moving hymn was sung, and the text followed: "I am the
    Resurrection and the Life."

    As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the graces, the winning
    ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that every soul there, thinking he recognized
    these pictures, felt a pang in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to
    them always before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor boys.
    The minister related many a touching incident in the lives of the departed, too, which
    illustrated their sweet, generous natures, and the people could easily see, now, how noble
    and beautiful those episodes were, and remembered with grief that at the time they
    occurred they had seemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the cowhide. The congregation
    became more and more moved, as the pathetic tale went on, till at last the whole company
    broke down and joined the weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the preacher
    himself giving way to his feelings, and crying in the pulpit.

    There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment later the church door
    creaked; the minister raised his streaming eyes above his handkerchief, and stood
    transfixed! First one and then another pair of eyes followed the minister's, and then
    almost with one impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came
    marching up the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of drooping rags,
    sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in the unused gallery listening to
    their own funeral sermon!

    Aunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw themselves upon their restored ones, smothered
    them with kisses and poured out thanksgivings, while poor Huck stood abashed and
    uncomfortable, not knowing exactly what to do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming
    eyes. He wavered, and started to slink away, but Tom seized him and said:

    "Aunt Polly, it ain't fair. Somebody's got to be glad to see Huck."

    "And so they shall. I'm glad to see him, poor motherless thing!" And the
    loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one thing capable of making him
    more uncomfortable than he was before.

    Suddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice: "Praise God from whom all
    blessings flow -- sing! -- and put your hearts in it!"

    And they did. Old Hundred swelled up with a triumphant burst, and while it shook the
    rafters Tom Sawyer the Pirate looked around upon the envying juveniles about him and
    confessed in his heart that this was the proudest moment of his life.

    As the "sold" congregation trooped out they said they would almost be willing
    to be made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like that once more.

    Tom got more cuffs and kisses that day -- according to Aunt Polly's varying moods --
    than he had earned before in a year; and he hardly knew which expressed the most
    gratefulness to God and affection for himself.