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THERE was something about Aunt Polly's manner, when she kissed Tom, that swept away his low spirits and made him lighthearted and happy again.

He started to school and had the luck of coming upon Becky Thatcher at the head of Meadow Lane.

His mood always determined his manner.

Without a moment's hesitation he ran to her and said:

"I acted mighty mean today, Becky, and I'm so sorry. I won't ever, ever do that way again, as long as ever I live-please make up, won't you?"

The girl stopped and looked him scornfully in the face:

"I'll thank you to keep yourself to yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer. I'll never speak to you again."

She tossed her head and passed on.

Tom was so stunned that he had not even presence of mind enough to say "Who cares, Miss Smarty?" until the right time to say it had gone by.

So he said nothing.

But he was in a fine rage, nevertheless.

He moped into the schoolyard wishing she were a boy, and imagining how he would trounce her if she were.

He presently encountered her and delivered a stinging remark as he passed.

She hurled one in return, and the angry breach was complete.

It seemed to Becky, in her hot resentment, that she could hardly wait for school to "take in," she was so impatient to see Tom flogged for the injured spelling-book.

If she had had any lingering notion of exposing Alfred Temple, Tom's offensive fling had driven it entirely away.

Poor girl, she did not know how fast she was nearing trouble herself.

The master, Mr. Dobbins, had reached middle age with an unsatisfied ambition.

The darling of his desires was, to be a doctor, but poverty had decreed that he should be nothing higher than a village schoolmaster.

Every day he took a mysterious book out of his desk and absorbed himself in it at times when no classes were reciting.

He kept that book under lock and key.

There was not an urchin in school but was perishing to have a glimpse of it, but the chance never came.

CHAPTER XX

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