The Adventures of Tom Sawyer Illustrated

There was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat down. Theboy whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer, he only endured it-ifhe even did that much. He was restive all through it; he kept tally of the details ofthe prayer, unconsciously-for he was not listening, but he knew the ground of old,and the clergyman's regular route over it-and when a little trifle of new matterwas interlarded, his ear detected it and his whole nature resented it; he consideredadditions unfair, and scoundrelly. In the midst of the prayer a fly had lit on the backof the pew in front of him and tortured his spirit by calmly rubbing its handstogether, embracing its head with its arms, and polishing it so vigorously that itseemed to almost part company with the body, and the slender thread of a neck wasexposed to view; scraping its wings with its hind legs and smoothing them to itsbody as if they had been coat-tails; going through its whole toilet as tranquilly as ifit knew it was perfectly safe. As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's hands itchedto grab for it they did not dare-he believed his soul would be instantly destroyedif he did such a thing while the prayer was going on. But with the closing sentencehis hand began to curve and steal forward; and the instant the "Amen" was out thefly was a prisoner of war. His aunt detected the act and made him let it go.The minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through anargument that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod-and yet it was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and brimstone and thinned thepredestined elect down to a company so small as to be hardly worth the saving.Tom counted the pages of the sermon; after church he always knew how manypages there had been, but he seldom knew anything else about the discourse.However, this time he was really interested for a little while. The minister made agrand and moving picture of the assembling together of the world's hosts at themillennium when the lion and the lamb should lie down together and a little childshould lead them. But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of the great spectacle werelost upon the boy; he only thought of the conspicuousness of the principal characterbefore the on-looking nations; his face lit with the thought, and he said to himselfthat he wished he could be that child, if it was a tame lion. Now he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed. Presentlyhe bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out. It was a large black beetlewith formidable jaws-a "pinchbug," he called it. It was in a percussion-cap box.The first thing the beetle did was to take him by the finger. A natural fillipfollowed, the beetle went floundering into the aisle and lit on its back, and the hurtfinger went into the boy's mouth. The beetle lay there working its helpless legs,unable to turn over. Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out of his reach.Other people uninterested in the sermon found relief in the beetle, and they eyed ittoo. Presently a vagrant poodle dog came idling along, sad at heart, lazy with thesummer softness and the quiet, weary of captivity, sighing for change. He spied thebeetle; the drooping tail lifted and wagged. He surveyed the prize; walked aroundit; smelt at it from a safe distance; walked around it again; grew bolder, and took acloser smell; then lifted his lip and made a gingerly snatch at it, just missing it;made another, and another; began to enjoy the diversion; subsided to his stomachwith the beetle between his paws, and continued his experiments; grew weary atlast, and then indifferent and absent-minded. His head nodded, and little by littlehis chin descended and touched the enemy, who seized it.