CHAPTER XIX
TOM arrived at home in a dreary mood, and the first thing his auntsaid to him showed him that he had brought his sorrows to anunpromising market:
"Tom, I've a notion to skin you alive!"
"Auntie, what have I done?"
"Well, you've done enough. Here I go over to Sereny Harper, like anold softy, expecting I'm going to make her believe all that rubbageabout that dream, when lo and behold you she'd found out from Joe thatyou was over here and heard all the talk we had that night. Tom, Idon't know what is to become of a boy that will act like that. It makesme feel so bad to think you could let me go to Sereny Harper and makesuch a fool of myself and never say a word."
This was a new aspect of the thing. His smartness of the morning hadseemed to Tom a good joke before, and very ingenious. It merely lookedmean and shabby now. He hung his head and could not think of anythingto say for a moment. Then he said:
"Auntie, I wish I hadn't done it--but I didn't think."
"Oh, child, you never think. You never think of anything but your ownselfishness. You could think to come all the way over here fromJackson's Island in the night to laugh at our troubles, and you couldthink to fool me with a lie about a dream; but you couldn't ever thinkto pity us and save us from sorrow."
"Auntie, I know now it was mean, but I didn't mean to be mean. Ididn't, honest. And besides, I didn't come over here to laugh at youthat night."
"What did you come for, then?"
"It was to tell you not to be uneasy about us, because we hadn't gotdrownded."
"Tom, Tom, I would be the thankfullest soul in this world if I couldbelieve you ever had as good a thought as that, but you know you neverdid--and I know it, Tom."
"Indeed and 'deed I did, auntie--I wish I may never stir if I didn't."
"Oh, Tom, don't lie--don't do it. It only makes things a hundred timesworse."
"It ain't a lie, auntie; it's the truth. I wanted to keep you fromgrieving--that was all that made me come."
"I'd give the whole world to believe that--it would cover up a powerof sins, Tom. I'd 'most be glad you'd run off and acted so bad. But itain't reasonable; because, why didn't you tell me, child?"
"Why, you see, when you got to talking about the funeral, I just gotall full of the idea of our coming and hiding in the church, and Icouldn't somehow bear to spoil it. So I just put the bark back in mypocket and kept mum."
"What bark?"
"The bark I had wrote on to tell you we'd gone pirating. I wish, now,you'd waked up when I kissed you--I do, honest."
The hard lines in his aunt's face relaxed and a sudden tendernessdawned in her eyes.
"DID you kiss me, Tom?"
"Why, yes, I did."
"Are you sure you did, Tom?"
"Why, yes, I did, auntie--certain sure."
"What did you kiss me for, Tom?"
"Because I loved you so, and you laid there moaning and I was so sorry."
The words sounded like truth. The old lady could not hide a tremor inher voice when she said:
"Kiss me again, Tom!--and be off with you to school, now, and don'tbother me any more."
The moment he was gone, she ran to a closet and got out the ruin of ajacket which Tom had gone pirating in. Then she stopped, with it in herhand, and said to herself:
"No, I don't dare. Poor boy, I reckon he's lied about it--but it's ablessed, blessed lie, there's such a comfort come from it. I hope theLord--I KNOW the Lord will forgive him, because it was suchgoodheartedness in him to tell it. But I don't want to find out it's alie. I won't look."
She put the jacket away, and stood by musing a minute. Twice she putout her hand to take the garment again, and twice she refrained. Oncemore she ventured, and this time she fortified herself with thethought: "It's a good lie--it's a good lie--I won't let it grieve me."So she sought the jacket pocket. A moment later she was reading Tom'spiece of bark through flowing tears and saying: "I could forgive theboy, now, if he'd committed a million sins!"