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He could not help it.

And it maddened him to see, as he thought he saw, that Becky Thatcher never once suspected that he was even in the land of the living.

But she did see, nevertheless; and she knew she was winning her fight, too, and was glad to see him suffer as she had suffered.

Amy's happy prattle became intolerable.

Tom hinted at things he had to attend to; things that must be done; and time was fleeting.

But in vain-the girl chirped on.

Tom thought, "Oh, hang her, ain't I ever going to get rid of her?" At last he must be attending to those things-and she said artlessly that she would be "around" when school let out.

And he hastened away, hating her for it.

"Any other boy!" Tom thought, grating his teeth.

"Any boy in the whole town but that Saint Louis smarty that thinks he dresses so fine and is aristocracy! Oh, all right, I licked you the first day you ever saw this town, mister, and I'll lick you again! You just wait till I catch you out! I'll just take and-"

And he went through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy-pummelling the air, and kicking and gouging. "Oh, you do, do you? You holler 'nough, do you? Now, then, let that learn you!" And so the imaginary flogging was finished to his satisfaction.

Tom fled home at noon.

His conscience could not endure any more of Amy's grateful happiness, and his jealousy could bear no more of the other distress.

Becky resumed her picture inspections with Alfred, but as the minutes dragged along and no Tom came to suffer, her triumph began to cloud and she lost interest; gravity and absentmindedness followed, and then melancholy; two or three times she pricked up her ear at a footstep, but it was a false hope; no Tom came.

At last she grew entirely miserable and wished she hadn't carried it so far.

When poor Alfred, seeing that he was losing her, he did not know how, kept exclaiming: "Oh, here's a jolly one! look at this!" she lost patience at last, and said, "Oh, don't bother me! I don't care for them!" and burst into tears, and got up and walked away.

Alfred dropped alongside and was going to try to comfort her, but she said:

"Go away and leave me alone, can't you! I hate you!"

So the boy halted, wondering what he could have done-for she had said she would look at pictures all through the nooning-and she walked on, crying.

Then Alfred went musing into the deserted schoolhouse.

He was humiliated and angry.

He easily guessed his way to the truth-the girl had simply made a convenience of him to vent her spite upon Tom Sawyer.

He was far from hating Tom the less when this thought occurred to him.

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