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Aunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so appealingly, and with such measureless love in her words and her old trembling voice, that he was weltering in tears again, long before she was through.

He had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making broken-hearted ejaculations from time to time, tossing unrestfully, and turning over.

But at last she was still, only moaning a little in her sleep.

Now the boy stole out, rose gradually by the bedside, shaded the candle-light with his hand, and stood regarding her.

His heart was full of pity for her.

He took out his sycamore scroll and placed it by the candle.

But something occurred to him, and he lingered considering.

His face lighted with a happy solution of his thought; he put the bark hastily in his pocket.

Then he bent over and kissed the faded lips, and straightway made his stealthy exit, latching the door behind him.

He threaded his way back to the ferry landing, found nobody at large there, and walked boldly on board the boat, for he knew she was tenantless except that there was a watchman, who always turned in and slept like a graven image.

He untied the skiff at the stern, slipped into it, and was soon rowing cautiously upstream.

When he had pulled a mile above the village, he started quartering across and bent himself stoutly to his work.

He hit the landing on the other side neatly, for this was a familiar bit of work to him.

He was moved to capture the skiff, arguing that it might be considered a ship and therefore legitimate prey for a pirate, but he knew a thorough search would be made for it and that might end in revelations.

So he stepped ashore and entered the woods.

He sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meanwhile to keep awake, and then started warily down the home-stretch.

The night was far spent.

It was broad daylight before he found himself fairly abreast the island bar.

He rested again until the sun was well up and gilding the great river with its splendor, and then he plunged into the stream.

A little later he paused, dripping, upon the threshold of the camp, and heard Joe say:

"No, Tom's true-blue, Huck, and he'll come back. He won't desert. He knows that would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for that sort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?"

"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?"

"Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he ain't back here to breakfast."

"Which he is!" exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic effect, stepping grandly into camp.

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