CHAPTER XIX
TOM arrived at home in a dreary mood, and the first thing his aunt saidto him showed him that he had brought his sorrows to an unpromisingmarket:
"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 an oldsofty, expecting I'm going to make her believe all that rubbage aboutthat dream, when lo and behold you she'd found out from Joe that you wasover here and heard all the talk we had that night. Tom, I don't knowwhat is to become of a boy that will act like that. It makes me feel sobad to think you could let me go to Sereny Harper and make such a foolof 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 anything tosay 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 yourown selfishness. 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. I didn't,honest. And besides, I didn't come over here to laugh at you thatnight."
"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 got allfull of the idea of our coming and hiding in the church, and I couldn'tsomehow bear to spoil it. So I just put the bark back in my pocket andkept 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 tenderness dawnedin 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 hopethe Lord--I _know_ the Lord will forgive him, because it was suchgood-heartedness 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 put outher hand to take the garment again, and twice she refrained. Once moreshe ventured, and this time she fortified herself with the thought:"It's a good lie--it's a good lie--I won't let it grieve me." So shesought the jacket pocket. A moment later she was reading Tom's piece ofbark through flowing tears and saying: "I could forgive the boy, now, ifhe'd committed a million sins!"