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The Tribute to John McCain
by Emily John Digital Marketing Service Provider Tom disappeared under the bed just in time. He lay and “breathed” himself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch his aunt’s foot.“But as I was saying,” said Aunt Polly, “he warn’t bad, so to say – only mischeevous. Only just giddy, and harum-scarum, you know. He warn’t any more responsible than a colt. He never meant any harm, and he was the best-hearted boy that ever was –“ and she began to cry.
“It was just so with my Joe – always full of his devilment, and up to every kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he could be—and laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for taking the cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out myself because it was sour, and I never to see him again in the world, never, never, never, poor abused boy!” And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if her heart would break.
“I hope Tom’s better off where he is,” said Sid. “But if he’d been better in some ways—“
“Sid!” Tom felt the glare of the old lady’s eye, though he could not see it. “Not a word against my Tom, now that he’s gone! God’ll take care of him—never you trouble yourself, sir. Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don’t know how to give him up! I don’t know how to give him up! He was such a comfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me, ‘most.”
“The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away—blessed by the name of the Lord! But it’s so hard! Only last Saturday my Joe busted a firecracker right under my nose and I knocked him sprawling. Little did I know then how soon—Oh, if it was to do over again I’d hug him and bless him for it.”
“Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just exactly how you feel. No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took and filled the cat full of Pain-killer, and I did think the cretur would tear the house down, And God forgive me, I cracked Tom’s head with my thimble, poor boy, poor dead boy. But he’s out of his troubles now. And the last words I ever heard him say was to reproach—“
But this memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke entirely down. Tom was snuffling now, himself—and more in pity of himself than anybody else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a kindly word for him from time to time. He began to have a nobler opinion of himself than ever before. Still, he was sufficiently touched by his aunt’s grief to long to rush out from under the bed and overwhelm her with joy—and the theatrical gorgeousness of the thing appealed strongly to his nature, too, but he resisted the temptation and lay still.
He went on listening and gathered by odds and ends that it was conjectured at first the boys had got drowned while taking a swim. Then the small raft had been missed. Next, certain boys said the missing lads had promised that the village should “hear something” soon. The wise-heads had “put this and that together” and decided that the lads had gone off on the raft and would turn up at the next town below, presently. But toward noon the raft had been found, lodged against the Missouri shore some five or six miles below the village—and then hope perished. They must be drowned, else hunger would have driven them home by nightfall, if not sooner. It was believed that the search for the bodies had been a fruitless effort merely because the drowning must have occurred in mid-channel, since the boys, being good swimmers, would otherwise have escaped to shore. This was Wednesday night. If the bodies continued missing until Sunday, all hope would be given over, and the funerals would be preached on that morning.
Tom shuddered.
Mrs. Harper gave a sobbing good night and turned to go. Then with a mutual impulse the two bereaved women flung themselves into each other’s arms and had a good consoling cry, and then parted. Aunt Polly was tender far beyond her wont, in her good night to Sid and Mary. Sid snuffled a bit and Mary went off crying with all her heart.
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.
“Tom Sawyer” by Mark Twain
https://www.douglascoulteralternativeviews.com/blog/the-tribute-to-john-mccain
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About Emily John 
Digital Marketing Service Provider
167 connections, 5 recommendations, 745 honor points.Joined APSense since, December 29th, 2018, From New York, United States.
Created on May 2nd 2020 06:21. Viewed 134 times.
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