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The dreadful secret of the murder was a chronic misery. It was a very cancer for permanency and pain.

Then came the measles.

During two long weeks Tom lay a prisoner, dead to the world and its happenings.

He was very ill, he was interested in nothing.

When he got upon his feet at last and moved feebly downtown, a melancholy change had come over everything and every creature.

There had been a "revival," and everybody had "got religion," not only the adults, but even the boys and girls.

Tom went about, hoping against hope for the sight of one blessed sinful face, but disappointment crossed him everywhere.

He found Joe Harper studying a Testament, and turned sadly away from the depressing spectacle.

He sought Ben Rogers, and found him visiting the poor with a basket of tracts.

He hunted up Jim Hollis, who called his attention to the precious blessing of his late measles as a warning.

Every boy he encountered added another ton to his depression; and when, in desperation, he flew for refuge at last to the bosom of Huckleberry Finn and was received with a Scriptural quotation, his heart broke and he crept home and to bed realizing that he alone of all the town was lost, forever and forever.

And that night there came on a terrific storm, with driving rain, awful claps of thunder and blinding sheets of lightning.

He covered his head with the bedclothes and waited in a horror of suspense for his doom; for he had not the shadow of a doubt that all this hubbub was about him.

He believed he had taxed the forbearance of the powers above to the extremity of endurance and that this was the result.

It might have seemed to him a waste of pomp and ammunition to kill a bug with a battery of artillery, but there seemed nothing incongruous about the getting up such an expensive thunderstorm as this to knock the turf from under an insect like himself.

By and by the tempest spent itself and died without accomplishing its object. The boy's first impulse was to be grateful, and reform. His second was to wait-for there might not be any more storms.

The next day the doctors were back; Tom had relapsed.

The three weeks he spent on his back this time seemed an entire age.

When he got abroad at last he was hardly grateful that he had been spared, remembering how lonely was his estate, how companionless and forlorn he was.

He drifted listlessly down the street and found Jim Hollis acting as judge in a juvenile court that was trying a cat for murder, in the presence of her victim, a bird.

He found Joe Harper and Huck Finn up an alley eating a stolen melon.

Poor lads! they-like Tom-had suffered a relapse.

CHAPTER XXIII

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