[
  {
    "path": "Makefile",
    "content": "# This is the Makefile helping you submit the labs.  \n# Just create 6.824/api.key with your API key in it, \n# and submit your lab with the following command: \n#     $ make [lab1|lab2a|lab2b|lab2c|lab3a|lab3b|lab4a|lab4b]\n\nLABS=\" lab1 lab2a lab2b lab2c lab3a lab3b lab4a lab4b \"\n\n%:\n\t@echo \"Preparing $@-handin.tar.gz\"\n\t@echo \"Checking for committed temporary files...\"\n\t@if git ls-files | grep -E 'mrtmp|mrinput' > /dev/null; then \\\n\t\techo \"\" ; \\\n\t\techo \"OBS! You have committed some large temporary files:\" ; \\\n\t\techo \"\" ; \\\n\t\tgit ls-files | grep -E 'mrtmp|mrinput' | sed 's/^/\\t/' ; \\\n\t\techo \"\" ; \\\n\t\techo \"Follow the instructions at http://stackoverflow.com/a/308684/472927\" ; \\\n\t\techo \"to remove them, and then run make again.\" ; \\\n\t\techo \"\" ; \\\n\t\texit 1 ; \\\n\tfi\n\t@if echo $(LABS) | grep -q \" $@ \" ; then \\\n\t\techo \"Tarring up your submission...\" ; \\\n\t\ttar cvzf $@-handin.tar.gz \\\n\t\t\t\"--exclude=src/main/pg-*.txt\" \\\n\t\t\t\"--exclude=src/main/diskvd\" \\\n\t\t\t\"--exclude=src/mapreduce/824-mrinput-*.txt\" \\\n\t\t\t\"--exclude=mrtmp.*\" \\\n\t\t\t\"--exclude=src/main/diff.out\" \\\n\t\t\tMakefile src; \\\n\t\tif ! test -e api.key ; then \\\n\t\t\techo \"Missing $(PWD)/api.key. Please create the file with your key in it or submit the $@-handin.tar.gz via the web interface.\"; \\\n\t\telse \\\n\t\t\techo \"Are you sure you want to submit $@? Enter 'yes' to continue:\"; \\\n\t\t\tread line; \\\n\t\t\tif test \"$$line\" != \"yes\" ; then echo \"Giving up submission\"; exit; fi; \\\n\t\t\tif test `stat -c \"%s\" \"$@-handin.tar.gz\" 2>/dev/null || stat -f \"%z\" \"$@-handin.tar.gz\"` -ge 20971520 ; then echo \"File exceeds 20MB.\"; exit; fi; \\\n\t\t\tmv api.key api.key.fix ; \\\n\t\t\tcat api.key.fix | tr -d '\\n' > api.key ; \\\n\t\t\trm api.key.fix ; \\\n\t\t\tcurl -F file=@$@-handin.tar.gz -F \"key=<api.key\" \\\n\t\t\thttps://6824.scripts.mit.edu/2018/handin.py/upload > /dev/null || { \\\n\t\t\t\techo ; \\\n\t\t\t\techo \"Submit seems to have failed.\"; \\\n\t\t\t\techo \"Please upload the tarball manually on the submission website.\"; } \\\n\t\tfi; \\\n\telse \\\n\t\techo \"Bad target $@. Usage: make [$(LABS)]\"; \\\n\tfi\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "README.md",
    "content": "# mit6.824 Distributed Systems\n\nSpring 2020. Implemented with Go 1.10.\n\n[https://pdos.csail.mit.edu/6.824/schedule.html](https://pdos.csail.mit.edu/6.824/schedule.html)\n\n### What is 6.824 about?\n\n6.824 is a core 12-unit graduate subject with lectures, readings, programming labs, an optional project, a mid-term exam, and a final exam. It will present abstractions and implementation techniques for engineering distributed systems. Major topics include fault tolerance, replication, and consistency. Much of the class consists of studying and discussing case studies of distributed systems.\n\n### Lab\n\n- Lab 1: MapReduce\n- Lab 2: replication for fault-tolerance using Raft\n- Lab 3: fault-tolerant key/value store\n- Lab 4: sharded key/value store\n\n### Set up\n\n1. Install golang, and setup golang environment variables and directories. Click [here](https://github.com/golang/go/wiki/SettingGOPATH) to learn it.\n\n2. Setup the labs.\n```shell\ncd $GOPATH\ngit clone https://github.com/isdanni/mit6.824.git\ncd mit6.824\nexport GOPATH=$GOPATH:$(pwd)\n```\n\n### Notes\n\nTne source code also contains `/kvpaxos`, the implementation of consensus algorithm [paxos](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paxos_(computer_science));\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "lab/lab1 MapReduce.md",
    "content": "# 6.824 Lab 1: MapReduce\n\nIn this lab you'll build a **MapReduce library** as an introduction to programming in Go and to building fault tolerant distributed systems. In the first part you will write a simple MapReduce program. In the second part you will write a Master that hands out tasks to MapReduce workers, and handles failures of workers. The interface to the library and the approach to fault tolerance is similar to the one described in the original [MapReduce paper](http://static.googleusercontent.com/media/research.google.com/en//archive/mapreduce-osdi04.pdf).\n\n### Software \n\nYou'll implement this lab (and all the labs) in Go. The Go web site contains lots of tutorial information which you may want to look at. We will grade your labs using Go version 1.9; you should use 1.9 too, though we don't know of any problems with other versions.\n\nThe labs are designed to run on **Athena Linux machines** with x86 or x86_64 architecture; `uname -a` should mention `i386 GNU/Linux` or `i686 GNU/Linux` or `x86_64 GNU/Linux`. You can log into a public Athena host with `ssh athena.dialup.mit.edu`. You may get lucky and find that the labs work in other environments, for example on some laptop Linux or OSX installations.\n\nWe supply you with parts of a MapReduce implementation that supports both **distributed** and **non-distributed** operation (just the boring bits). You'll fetch the initial lab software with git (a version control system). To learn more about git, look at the Pro Git book or the git user's manual, or, if you are already familiar with other version control systems, you may find this CS-oriented overview of git useful.\n\nThese Athena commands will give you access to git and Go:\n\n```shell\nathena$ add git\nathena$ setup ggo_v1.9\n```\n\nThe URL for the course git repository is [git://g.csail.mit.edu/6.824-golabs-2018](git://g.csail.mit.edu/6.824-golabs-2018). To install the files in your directory, you need to clone the course repository, by running the commands below.\n\n```shell\n$ git clone git://g.csail.mit.edu/6.824-golabs-2018 6.824\n$ cd 6.824\n$ ls\nMakefile src\n```\n\nGit allows you to keep track of the changes you make to the code. For example, if you want to checkpoint your progress, you can commit your changes by running:\n\n`$ git commit -am 'partial solution to lab 1'`\n\nThe Map/Reduce implementation we give you has support for **two modes of operation**, **sequential** and **distributed**. In the former, the map and reduce tasks are executed one at a time: first, the first map task is executed to completion, then the second, then the third, etc. When all the map tasks have finished, the first reduce task is run, then the second, etc. This mode, while not very fast, is useful for debugging. The distributed mode runs many worker threads that first **execute map tasks in parallel, and then reduce tasks**. This is much faster, but also harder to implement and debug.\n\n### Preamble: Getting familiar with the source\n\nThe mapreduce package provides a simple Map/Reduce library (in the mapreduce directory). Applications should normally call `Distributed()` [located in `master.go`] to start a job, but may instead call `Sequential()` [also in master.go] to get a sequential execution for debugging.\n\nThe code executes a job as follows:\n\n1. The application provides a number of input files, a map function, a reduce function, and the number of reduce tasks (`nReduce`).\n\n2. A master is created with this knowledge. It starts an RPC server (see `master_rpc.go`), and waits for workers to register (using the RPC call `Register()` [defined in master.go]). As tasks become available (in steps 4 and 5), `schedule()` [schedule.go] decides how to assign those tasks to workers, and how to handle worker failures.\n\n3. The master considers each input file to be one map task, and calls `doMap()` [common_map.go] **at least once for each map task**. It does so either directly (when using `Sequential()`) or by issuing the `DoTask` RPC to a worker [worker.go]. Each call to doMap() reads the appropriate file, calls the map function on that file's contents, and writes the resulting key/value pairs to `nReduce` intermediate files. `doMap()` hashes each key to pick the intermediate file and thus the reduce task that will process the key. There will be `nMap` x `nReduce` files after all map tasks are done. Each file name contains **a prefix**, the **map task number**, and the **reduce task number**. If there are two map tasks and three reduce tasks, the map tasks will create these six intermediate files:\n\n```\nmrtmp.xxx-0-0\nmrtmp.xxx-0-1\nmrtmp.xxx-0-2\nmrtmp.xxx-1-0\nmrtmp.xxx-1-1\nmrtmp.xxx-1-2\n```\n\n**Each worker must be able to read files written by any other worker, as well as the input files**. Real deployments use distributed storage systems such as `GFS` to allow this access even though workers run on different machines. In this lab you'll run all the workers on the same machine, and use the local file system.\n\n4. The master next calls `doReduce()` [common_reduce.go] at least once for each reduce task. As with doMap(), it does so either directly or through a worker. The doReduce() for reduce task r collects the r'th intermediate file from each map task, and calls the reduce function for each key that appears in those files. The reduce tasks produce nReduce result files.\n\n5. The master calls `mr.merge()` [master_splitmerge.go], which merges all the nReduce files produced by the previous step into a single output.\n\n6. The master sends a Shutdown RPC to each of its workers, and then shuts down its own RPC server.\n\n\n> **Note**: Over the course of the following exercises, you will have to write/modify `doMap`, `doReduce`, and `schedule` yourself. These are located in `common_map.go`, `common_reduce.go`, and `schedule.go` respectively. You will also have to write the map and reduce functions in ../`main/wc.go`.\n\nYou should not need to modify any other files, but reading them might be useful in order to understand how the other methods fit into the overall architecture of the system.\n\n### Part I: Map/Reduce input and output\n\nThe Map/Reduce implementation you are given is missing some pieces. Before you can write your first Map/Reduce function pair, you will need to fix the sequential implementation. In particular, the code we give you is missing two crucial pieces: the function that **divides up the output of a map task**, and the function that **gathers all the inputs for a reduce task**. These tasks are carried out by the `doMap()` function in `common_map.go`, and the `doReduce()` function in `common_reduce.go` respectively. The comments in those files should point you in the right direction.\n\nTo help you determine if you have correctly implemented doMap() and doReduce(), we have provided you with a Go test suite that checks the correctness of your implementation. These tests are implemented in the file `test_test.go`. To run the tests for the sequential implementation that you have now fixed, run:\n\n```shell\n$ cd 6.824\n$ export \"GOPATH=$PWD\"  # go needs $GOPATH to be set to the project's working directory\n$ cd \"$GOPATH/src/mapreduce\"\n$ go test -run Sequential\nok  mapreduce\t2.694s\n```\n\n> You receive full credit for this part if your software passes the Sequential tests (as run by the command above) when we run your software on our machines.\n\nIf the output did not show ok next to the tests, your implementation has a bug in it. To give more verbose output, set `debugEnabled = true` in `common.go`, and add `-v` to the test command above. You will get much more output along the lines of:\n\n```shell\n$ env \"GOPATH=$PWD/../../\" go test -v -run Sequential\n=== RUN   TestSequentialSingle\nmaster: Starting Map/Reduce task test\nMerge: read mrtmp.test-res-0\nmaster: Map/Reduce task completed\n--- PASS: TestSequentialSingle (1.34s)\n=== RUN   TestSequentialMany\nmaster: Starting Map/Reduce task test\nMerge: read mrtmp.test-res-0\nMerge: read mrtmp.test-res-1\nMerge: read mrtmp.test-res-2\nmaster: Map/Reduce task completed\n--- PASS: TestSequentialMany (1.33s)\nPASS\nok  \tmapreduce\t2.672s\n```\n\n### Part II: Single-worker word count\n\nNow you will implement word count — a simple Map/Reduce example. Look in main/wc.go; you'll find empty mapF() and reduceF() functions. Your job is to insert code so that wc.go reports the number of occurrences of each word in its input. A word is any contiguous sequence of letters, as determined by unicode.IsLetter.\n\nThere are some input files with pathnames of the form `pg-*.txt` in `~/6.824/src/main`, downloaded from Project Gutenberg. Here's how to run wc with the input files:\n\n```shell\n$ cd 6.824\n$ export \"GOPATH=$PWD\"\n$ cd \"$GOPATH/src/main\"\n$ go run wc.go master sequential pg-*.txt\n# command-line-arguments\n./wc.go:14: missing return at end of function\n./wc.go:21: missing return at end of function\n```"
  },
  {
    "path": "lab/lab2 Raft.md",
    "content": "# 6.824 Lab 2: Raft\n\n> 6.824 - Spring 2018\n\n### Introduction\n\nThis is the first in a series of labs in which you'll build a **fault-tolerant key/value storage system**. In this lab you'll implement Raft, a replicated state machine protocol. In the next lab you'll build a key/value service on top of Raft. Then you will “shard” your service over multiple replicated state machines for higher performance.\n\nA replicated service achieves fault tolerance by storing complete copies of its state (i.e., data) on multiple replica servers. Replication allows the service to continue operating even if some of its servers experience failures (crashes or a broken or flaky network). The challenge is that failures may cause the replicas to hold differing copies of the data.\n\nRaft manages a service's state replicas, and in particular it helps the service sort out what the correct state is after failures. Raft implements a replicated state machine. It organizes client requests into a sequence, called the log, and ensures that all the replicas agree on the contents of the log. Each replica executes the client requests in the log in the order they appear in the log, applying those requests to the replica's local copy of the service's state. Since all the live replicas see the same log contents, they all execute the same requests in the same order, and thus continue to have identical service state. If a server fails but later recovers, Raft takes care of bringing its log up to date. Raft will continue to operate as long as at least a majority of the servers are alive and can talk to each other. If there is no such majority, Raft will make no progress, but will pick up where it left off as soon as a majority can communicate again.\n\nIn this lab you'll implement Raft as a Go object type with associated methods, meant to be used as a module in a larger service. A set of Raft instances talk to each other with RPC to maintain replicated logs. Your Raft interface will support an indefinite sequence of numbered commands, also called log entries. The entries are numbered with index numbers. The log entry with a given index will eventually be committed. At that point, your Raft should send the log entry to the larger service for it to execute.\n\nYour Raft instances are only allowed to interact using RPC. For example, different Raft instances are not allowed to share Go variables. Your code should not use files at all.\n\nYou should consult the extended Raft paper and the Raft lecture notes. You may find it useful to look at this illustration of the Raft protocol, a guide to Raft implementation written for 6.824 students in 2016, and advice about locking and structure for concurrency. For a wider perspective, have a look at Paxos, Chubby, Paxos Made Live, Spanner, Zookeeper, Harp, Viewstamped Replication, and Bolosky et al.\n\nIn this lab you'll implement most of the Raft design described in the extended paper, including saving persistent state and reading it after a node fails and then restarts. You will not implement cluster membership changes (Section 6) or log compaction / snapshotting (Section 7).\n\nStart early. Although the amount of code isn't large, getting it to work correctly will be challenging.\nRead and understand the extended Raft paper and the Raft lecture notes before you start. Your implementation should follow the paper's description closely, particularly Figure 2, since that's what the tests expect.\nThis lab is due in three parts. You must submit each part on the corresponding due date. This lab does not involve a lot of code, but concurrency makes it challenging to debug; start each part early.\n\n```shell\n$ cd ~/6.824\n$ git pull\n...\n$ cd src/raft\n$ GOPATH=~/6.824\n$ export GOPATH\n$ go test\nTest (2A): initial election ...\n--- FAIL: TestInitialElection2A (5.04s)\n        config.go:305: expected one leader, got none\nTest (2A): election after network failure ...\n--- FAIL: TestReElection2A (5.03s)\n        config.go:305: expected one leader, got none\n...\n$\n```"
  },
  {
    "path": "lab/lab3 Paxos-based KV Service.md",
    "content": "# 6.824 Lab 3: Paxos-based Key/Value Service\n>Part A Due: Fri Feb 27 11:59pm\n> Part B Due: Fri Mar 13 11:59pm\n\n### Introduction\n\nYour Lab 2 depends on a single master view server to pick the primary. If the view server is not available (crashes or has network problems), then your key/value service won't work, even if both primary and backup are available. It also has the less critical defect that it copes with a server (primary or backup) that's briefly unavailable (e.g. due to a lost packet) by either blocking or declaring it dead; the latter is very expensive because it requires a complete key/value database transfer.\n\nIn this lab you'll fix the above problems by using Paxos to manage the replication of a key/value store. You won't have anything corresponding to a master view server. Instead, a set of replicas will process all client requests in the same order, using Paxos to agree on the order. Paxos will get the agreement right even if some of the replicas are unavailable, or have unreliable network connections, or even if subsets of the replicas are isolated in their own network partitions. As long as Paxos can assemble a majority of replicas, it can process client operations. Replicas that were not in the majority can catch up later by asking Paxos for operations that they missed.\n\nYour system will consist of the following players: clients, kvpaxos servers, and Paxos peers. Clients send Put(), Append(), and Get() RPCs to key/value servers (called kvpaxos servers). A client can send an RPC to any of the kvpaxos servers, and should retry by sending to a different server if there's a failure. Each kvpaxos server contains a replica of the key/value database; handlers for client Get() and Put()/Append() RPCs; and a Paxos peer. Paxos takes the form of a library that is included in each kvpaxos server. A kvpaxos server talks to its local Paxos peer (via method calls). The different Paxos peers talk to each other via RPC to achieve agreement on each operation.\n\nYour Paxos library's interface supports an indefinite sequence of agreement \"instances\". The instances are numbered with sequence numbers. Each instance is either \"decided\" or not yet decided. A decided instance has a value. If an instance is decided, then all the Paxos peers that are aware that it is decided will agree on the same value for that instance. The Paxos library interface allows kvpaxos to suggest a value for an instance, and to find out whether an instance has been decided and (if so) what that instance's value is.\n\nYour kvpaxos servers will use Paxos to agree on the order in which client Put()s, Append()s, and Get()s execute. Each time a kvpaxos server receives a Put()/Append()/Get() RPC, it will use Paxos to cause some Paxos instance's value to be a description of that operation. That instance's sequence number determines when the operation executes relative to other operations. In order to find the value to be returned by a Get(), kvpaxos should first apply all Put()s and Append()s that are ordered before the Get() to its key/value database.\n\nYou should think of kvpaxos as using Paxos to implement a \"log\" of Put/Append/Get operations. That is, each Paxos instance is a log element, and the order of operations in the log is the order in which all kvpaxos servers will apply the operations to their key/value databases. Paxos will ensure that the kvpaxos servers agree on this order.\n\nOnly RPC may be used for interaction between clients and servers, between different servers, and between different clients. For example, different instances of your server are not allowed to share Go variables or files.\n\nYour Paxos-based key/value storage system will have some limitations that would need to be fixed in order for it to be a serious system. It won't cope with crashes, since it stores neither the key/value database nor the Paxos state on disk. It requires the set of servers to be fixed, so one cannot replace old servers. Finally, it is slow: many Paxos messages are exchanged for each client operation. All of these problems can be fixed.\n\nYou should consult the Paxos lecture notes and the Paxos assigned reading. For a wider perspective, have a look at Chubby, Paxos Made Live, Spanner, Zookeeper, Harp, Viewstamped Replication, and Bolosky et al.\n\n### Collaboration Policy\nYou must write all the code you hand in for 6.824, except for code that we give you as part of the assignment. You are not allowed to look at anyone else's solution, and you are not allowed to look at code from previous years. You may discuss the assignments with other students, but you may not look at or copy each others' code. Please do not publish your code or make it available to future 6.824 students -- for example, please do not make your code visible on github.\n\n### Software\nDo a git pull to get the latest lab software. We supply you with new skeleton code and new tests in src/paxos and src/kvpaxos.\n\n```shell\n$ add 6.824\n$ cd ~/6.824\n$ git pull\n...\n$ cd src/paxos\n$ go test\nSingle proposer: --- FAIL: TestBasic (5.02 seconds)\n        test_test.go:48: too few decided; seq=0 ndecided=0 wanted=3\nForgetting: --- FAIL: TestForget (5.03 seconds) \n        test_test.go:48: too few decided; seq=0 ndecided=0 wanted=6\n...\n$\n```\n\nIgnore the huge number of \"has wrong number of ins\" and \"type Paxos has no exported methods\" errors.\n\n### Part A: Paxos\n\nFirst you'll implement a Paxos library. `paxos.go` contains descriptions of the methods you must implement. When you're done, you should pass all the tests in the paxos directory (after ignoring Go's many complaints):\n\n```shell\n$ cd ~/6.824/src/paxos\n$ go test\nTest: Single proposer ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Many proposers, same value ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Many proposers, different values ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Out-of-order instances ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Deaf proposer ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Forgetting ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Lots of forgetting ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Paxos frees forgotten instance memory ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Many instances ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Minority proposal ignored ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Many instances, unreliable RPC ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: No decision if partitioned ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Decision in majority partition ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: All agree after full heal ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: One peer switches partitions ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: One peer switches partitions, unreliable ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Many requests, changing partitions ...\n  ... Passed\nPASS\nok      paxos   59.523s\n$\n```\n\nYour implementation must support this interface:\n\n```\n  px = paxos.Make(peers []string, me int)\n  px.Start(seq int, v interface{}) // start agreement on new instance\n  px.Status(seq int) (fate Fate, v interface{}) // get info about an instance\n  px.Done(seq int) // ok to forget all instances <= seq\n  px.Max() int // highest instance seq known, or -1\n  px.Min() int // instances before this have been forgotten\n```\n\nAn application calls Make(peers,me) to create a Paxos peer. The peers argument contains the ports of all the peers (including this one), and the me argument is the index of this peer in the peers array. Start(seq,v) asks Paxos to start agreement on instance seq, with proposed value v; Start() should return immediately, without waiting for agreement to complete. The application calls Status(seq) to find out whether the Paxos peer thinks the instance has reached agreement, and if so what the agreed value is. Status() should consult the local Paxos peer's state and return immediately; it should not communicate with other peers. The application may call Status() for old instances (but see the discussion of Done() below).\n\nYour implementation should be able to make progress on agreement for multiple instances at the same time. That is, if application peers call Start() with different sequence numbers at about the same time, your implementation should run the Paxos protocol concurrently for all of them. You should not wait for agreement to complete for instance i before starting the protocol for instance i+1. Each instance should have its own separate execution of the Paxos protocol.\n\nA long-running Paxos-based server must forget about instances that are no longer needed, and free the memory storing information about those instances. An instance is needed if the application still wants to be able to call Status() for that instance, or if another Paxos peer may not yet have reached agreement on that instance. Your Paxos should implement freeing of instances in the following way. When a particular peer application will no longer need to call Status() for any instance <= x, it should call Done(x). That Paxos peer can't yet discard the instances, since some other Paxos peer might not yet have agreed to the instance. So each Paxos peer should tell each other peer the highest Done argument supplied by its local application. Each Paxos peer will then have a Done value from each other peer. It should find the minimum, and discard all instances with sequence numbers <= that minimum. The Min() method returns this minimum sequence number plus one.\n\nIt's OK for your Paxos to piggyback the Done value in the agreement protocol packets; that is, it's OK for peer P1 to only learn P2's latest Done value the next time that P2 sends an agreement message to P1. If Start() is called with a sequence number less than Min(), the Start() call should be ignored. If Status() is called with a sequence number less than Min(), Status() should return Forgotten.\n\nHere is the Paxos pseudo-code (for a single instance) from the lecture:\n\n\nproposer(v):\n  while not decided:\n    choose n, unique and higher than any n seen so far\n    send prepare(n) to all servers including self\n    if prepare_ok(n, n_a, v_a) from majority:\n      v' = v_a with highest n_a; choose own v otherwise\n      send accept(n, v') to all\n      if accept_ok(n) from majority:\n        send decided(v') to all\n\nacceptor's state:\n  n_p (highest prepare seen)\n  n_a, v_a (highest accept seen)\n\nacceptor's prepare(n) handler:\n  if n > n_p\n    n_p = n\n    reply prepare_ok(n, n_a, v_a)\n  else\n    reply prepare_reject\n\nacceptor's accept(n, v) handler:\n  if n >= n_p\n    n_p = n\n    n_a = n\n    v_a = v\n    reply accept_ok(n)\n  else\n    reply accept_reject\nHere's a reasonable plan of attack:\n\nAdd elements to the Paxos struct in paxos.go to hold the state you'll need, according to the lecture pseudo-code. You'll need to define a struct to hold information about each agreement instance.\nDefine RPC argument/reply type(s) for Paxos protocol messages, based on the lecture pseudo-code. The RPCs must include the sequence number for the agreement instance to which they refer. Remember the field names in the RPC structures must start with capital letters.\nWrite a proposer function that drives the Paxos protocol for an instance, and RPC handlers that implement acceptors. Start a proposer function in its own thread for each instance, as needed (e.g. in Start()).\nAt this point you should be able to pass the first few tests.\nNow implement forgetting.\nHint: more than one Paxos instance may be executing at a given time, and they may be Start()ed and/or decided out of order (e.g. seq 10 may be decided before seq 5).\n\nHint: in order to pass tests assuming unreliable network, your paxos should call the local acceptor through a function call rather than RPC.\n\nHint: remember that multiple application peers may call Start() on the same instance, perhaps with different proposed values. An application may even call Start() for an instance that has already been decided.\n\nHint: think about how your paxos will forget (discard) information about old instances before you start writing code. Each Paxos peer will need to store instance information in some data structure that allows individual instance records to be deleted (so that the Go garbage collector can free / re-use the memory).\n\nHint: you do not need to write code to handle the situation where a Paxos peer needs to re-start after a crash. If one of your Paxos peers crashes, it will never be re-started.\n\nHint: have each Paxos peer start a thread per un-decided instance whose job is to eventually drive the instance to agreement, by acting as a proposer.\n\nHint: a single Paxos peer may be acting simultaneously as acceptor and proposer for the same instance. Keep these two activities as separate as possible.\n\nHint: a proposer needs a way to choose a higher proposal number than any seen so far. This is a reasonable exception to the rule that proposer and acceptor should be separate. It may also be useful for the propose RPC handler to return the highest known proposal number if it rejects an RPC, to help the caller pick a higher one next time. The px.me value will be different in each Paxos peer, so you can use px.me to help ensure that proposal numbers are unique.\n\nHint: figure out the minimum number of messages Paxos should use when reaching agreement in non-failure cases and make your implementation use that minimum.\n\nHint: the tester calls Kill() when it wants your Paxos to shut down; Kill() sets px.dead. You should call px.isdead() in any loops you have that might run for a while, and break out of the loop if px.isdead() is true. It's particularly important to do this any in any long-running threads you create.\n\nPart B: Paxos-based Key/Value Server\nNow you'll build kvpaxos, a fault-tolerant key/value storage system. You'll modify kvpaxos/client.go, kvpaxos/common.go, and kvpaxos/server.go.\nYour kvpaxos replicas should stay identical; the only exception is that some replicas may lag others if they are not reachable. If a replica isn't reachable for a while, but then starts being reachable, it should eventually catch up (learn about operations that it missed).\n\nYour kvpaxos client code should try different replicas it knows about until one responds. A kvpaxos replica that is part of a majority of replicas that can all reach each other should be able to serve client requests.\n\nYour storage system must provide sequential consistency to applications that use its client interface. That is, completed application calls to the Clerk.Get(), Clerk.Put(), and Clerk.Append() methods in kvpaxos/client.go must appear to have affected all replicas in the same order and have at-most-once semantics. A Clerk.Get() should see the value written by the most recent Clerk.Put() or Clerk.Append() (in that order) to the same key. One consequence of this is that you must ensure that each application call to Clerk.Put() or Clerk.Append() must appear in that order just once (i.e., write the key/value database just once), even though internally your client.go may have to send RPCs multiple times until it finds a kvpaxos server replica that replies.\n\nHere's a reasonable plan:\n\nFill in the Op struct in server.go with the \"value\" information that kvpaxos will use Paxos to agree on, for each client request. Op field names must start with capital letters. You should use Op structs as the agreed-on values -- for example, you should pass Op structs to Paxos Start(). Go's RPC can marshall/unmarshall Op structs; the call to gob.Register() in StartServer() teaches it how.\nImplement the PutAppend() handler in server.go. It should enter a Put or Append Op in the Paxos log (i.e., use Paxos to allocate a Paxos instance, whose value includes the key and value (so that other kvpaxoses know about the Put() or Append())). An Append Paxos log entry should contain the Append's arguments, but not the resulting value, since the result might be large.\nImplement a Get() handler. It should enter a Get Op in the Paxos log, and then \"interpret\" the the log before that point to make sure its key/value database reflects all recent Put()s.\nAdd code to cope with duplicate client requests, including situations where the client sends a request to one kvpaxos replica, times out waiting for a reply, and re-sends the request to a different replica. The client request should execute just once. Please make sure that your scheme for duplicate detection frees server memory quickly, for example by having the client tell the servers which RPCs it has heard a reply for. It's OK to piggyback this information on the next client request.\nHint: your server should try to assign the next available Paxos instance (sequence number) to each incoming client RPC. However, some other kvpaxos replica may also be trying to use that instance for a different client's operation. So the kvpaxos server has to be prepared to try different instances.\n\nHint: your kvpaxos servers should not directly communicate; they should only interact with each other through the Paxos log.\n\nHint: as in Lab 2, you will need to uniquely identify client operations to ensure that they execute just once. Also as in Lab 2, you can assume that each clerk has only one outstanding Put, Get, or Append.\n\nHint: a kvpaxos server should not complete a Get() RPC if it is not part of a majority (so that it does not serve stale data). This means that each Get() (as well as each Put() and Append()) must involve Paxos agreement.\n\nHint: don't forget to call the Paxos Done() method when a kvpaxos has processed an instance and will no longer need it or any previous instance.\n\nHint: your code will need to wait for Paxos instances to complete agreement. The only way to do this is to periodically call Status(), sleeping between calls. How long to sleep? A good plan is to check quickly at first, and then more slowly:\n\n  to := 10 * time.Millisecond\n  for {\n    status, _ := kv.px.Status(seq)\n    if status == paxos.Decided{\n      ...\n      return \n    }\n    time.Sleep(to)\n    if to < 10 * time.Second {\n      to *= 2\n    }\n  }\nHint: if one of your kvpaxos servers falls behind (i.e. did not participate in the agreement for some instance), it will later need to find out what (if anything) was agree to. A reasonable way to to this is to call Start(), which will either discover the previously agreed-to value, or cause agreement to happen. Think about what value would be reasonable to pass to Start() in this situation.\n\nHint: When the test fails, check for gob error (e.g. \"rpc: writing response: gob: type not registered for interface ...\") in the log because go doesn't consider the error fatal, although it is fatal for the lab.\n\nHandin procedure\nSubmit your code via the class's submission website, located here:\n\nhttps://6824.scripts.mit.edu:444/submit/handin.py/\n\nYou may use your MIT Certificate or request an API key via email to log in for the first time. Your API key (XXX) is displayed once you logged in, which can be used to upload lab3 from the console as follows. For part A:\n\n$ cd ~/6.824\n$ echo XXX > api.key\n$ make lab3a\nAnd for part B:\n$ cd ~/6.824\n$ echo XXX > api.key\n$ make lab3b\nYou can check the submission website to check if your submission is successful.\nYou will receive full credit if your software passes the test_test.go tests when we run your software on our machines. We will use the timestamp of your last submission for the purpose of calculating late days.\n\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "lab/lab4 shared key value service.md",
    "content": "# 6.824 Lab 4: Sharded Key/Value Service\n\n\n### Introduction\n\n\nIn this lab you'll build a **key/value storage system** that \"shards,\" or partitions, the keys over a set of replica groups. A shard is a subset of the key/value pairs; for example, all the keys starting with \"a\" might be one shard, all the keys starting with \"b\" another, etc. The reason for sharding is performance. Each replica group handles puts and gets for just a few of the shards, and the groups operate in parallel; thus total system throughput (puts and gets per unit time) increases in proportion to the number of groups.\n\nYour sharded key/value store will have two main components. First, a set of replica groups. Each replica group is responsible for a subset of the shards. A replica consists of a handful of servers that use Paxos to replicate the group's shard. The second component is the \"shard master\". The shard master decides which replica group should serve each shard; this information is called the configuration. The configuration changes over time. Clients consult the shard master in order to find the replica group for a key, and replica groups consult the master in order to find out what shards to serve. There is a single shard master for the whole system, implemented as a fault-tolerant service using Paxos.\n\nA sharded storage system must be able to shift shards among replica groups. One reason is that some groups may become more loaded than others, so that shards need to be moved to balance the load. Another reason is that replica groups may join and leave the system: new replica groups may be added to increase capacity, or existing replica groups may be taken offline for repair or retirement.\n\nThe main challenge in this lab will be handling reconfiguration in the replica groups. Within a single replica group, all group members must agree on when a reconfiguration occurs relative to client Put/Append/Get requests. For example, a Put may arrive at about the same time as a reconfiguration that causes the replica group to stop being responsible for the shard holding the Put's key. All replicas in the group must agree on whether the Put occurred before or after the reconfiguration. If before, the Put should take effect and the new owner of the shard will see its effect; if after, the Put won't take effect and client must re-try at the new owner. The recommended approach is to have each replica group use Paxos to log not just the sequence of Puts, Appends, and Gets but also the sequence of reconfigurations.\n\nReconfiguration also requires interaction among the replica groups. For example, in configuration 10 group G1 may be responsible for shard S1. In configuration 11, group G2 may be responsible for shard S1. During the reconfiguration from 10 to 11, G1 must send the contents of shard S1 (the key/value pairs) to G2.\n\nYou will need to ensure that at most one replica group is serving requests for each shard. Luckily it is reasonable to assume that each replica group is always available, because each group uses Paxos for replication and thus can tolerate some network and server failures. As a result, your design can rely on one group to actively hand off responsibility to another group during reconfiguration. This is simpler than the situation in primary/backup replication (Lab 2), where the old primary is often not reachable and may still think it is primary.\n\nOnly RPC may be used for interaction between clients and servers, between different servers, and between different clients. For example, different instances of your server are not allowed to share Go variables or files.\n\nThis lab's general architecture (a configuration service and a set of replica groups) is patterned at a high level on a number of systems: Flat Datacenter Storage, BigTable, Spanner, FAWN, Apache HBase, Rosebud, and many others. These systems differ in many details from this lab, though, and are also typically more sophisticated and capable. For example, your lab lacks persistent storage for key/value pairs and for the Paxos log; it sends more messages than required per Paxos agreement; it cannot evolve the sets of peers in each Paxos group; its data and query models are very simple; and handoff of shards is slow and doesn't allow concurrent client access.\n\n\n### Part A: The Shard Master\n\n```shell\n$ cd ~/6.824/src/shardmaster\n$ go test\nTest: Basic leave/join ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Historical queries ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Move ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Concurrent leave/join ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Minimal transfers after joins ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Minimal transfers after leaves ...\n  ... Passed\nTest: Concurrent leave/join, failure ...\n  ... Passed\nPASS\nok      shardmaster     11.200s\n$\n```\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "lecture/l01 mapreduce/l01.txt",
    "content": "6.824 2018 Lecture 1: Introduction\n\n6.824: Distributed Systems Engineering\n\nWhat is a distributed system?\n  multiple cooperating computers\n  storage for big web sites, MapReduce, peer-to-peer sharing, &c\n  lots of critical infrastructure is distributed\n\nWhy distributed?\n  to organize physically separate entities\n  to achieve security via isolation\n  to tolerate faults via replication\n  to scale up throughput via parallel CPUs/mem/disk/net\n\nBut:\n  complex: many concurrent parts\n  must cope with partial failure\n  tricky to realize performance potential\n\nWhy take this course?\n  interesting -- hard problems, powerful solutions\n  used by real systems -- driven by the rise of big Web sites\n  active research area -- lots of progress + big unsolved problems\n  hands-on -- you'll build serious systems in the labs\n\nCOURSE STRUCTURE\n\nhttp://pdos.csail.mit.edu/6.824\n\nCourse staff:\n  Malte Schwarzkopf, lecturer\n  Robert Morris, lecturer\n  Deepti Raghavan, TA\n  Edward Park, TA\n  Erik Nguyen, TA\n  Anish Athalye, TA\n\nCourse components:\n  lectures\n  readings\n  two exams\n  labs\n  final project (optional)\n  TA office hours\n  piazza for announcements and lab help\n\nLectures:\n  big ideas, paper discussion, and labs\n\nReadings:\n  research papers, some classic, some new\n  the papers illustrate key ideas and important details\n  many lectures focus on the papers\n  please read papers before class!\n  each paper has a short question for you to answer\n  and you must send us a question you have about the paper\n  submit question&answer by midnight the night before\n\nExams:\n  Mid-term exam in class\n  Final exam during finals week\n\nLab goals:\n  deeper understanding of some important techniques\n  experience with distributed programming\n  first lab is due a week from Friday\n  one per week after that for a while\n\nLab 1: MapReduce\nLab 2: replication for fault-tolerance using Raft\nLab 3: fault-tolerant key/value store\nLab 4: sharded key/value store\n\nOptional final project at the end, in groups of 2 or 3.\n  The final project substitutes for Lab 4.\n  You think of a project and clear it with us.\n  Code, short write-up, short demo on last day.\n\nLab grades depend on how many test cases you pass\n  we give you the tests, so you know whether you'll do well\n  careful: if it often passes, but sometimes fails,\n    chances are it will fail when we run it\n\nDebugging the labs can be time-consuming\n  start early\n  come to TA office hours\n  ask questions on Piazza\n\nMAIN TOPICS\n\nThis is a course about infrastructure, to be used by applications.\n  About abstractions that hide distribution from applications.\n  Three big kinds of abstraction:\n    Storage.\n    Communication.\n    Computation.\n  [diagram: users, application servers, storage servers]\n\nA couple of topics come up repeatedly.\n\nTopic: implementation\n  RPC, threads, concurrency control.\n\nTopic: performance\n  The dream: scalable throughput.\n    Nx servers -> Nx total throughput via parallel CPU, disk, net.\n    So handling more load only requires buying more computers.\n  Scaling gets harder as N grows:\n    Load im-balance, stragglers.\n    Non-parallelizable code: initialization, interaction.\n    Bottlenecks from shared resources, e.g. network.\n  Note that some performance problems aren't easily attacked by scaling\n    e.g. decreasing response time for a single user request\n    might require programmer effort rather than just more computers\n\nTopic: fault tolerance\n  1000s of servers, complex net -> always something broken\n  We'd like to hide these failures from the application.\n  We often want:\n    Availability -- app can make progress despite failures\n    Durability -- app will come back to life when failures are repaired\n  Big idea: replicated servers.\n    If one server crashes, client can proceed using the other(s).\n\nTopic: consistency\n  General-purpose infrastructure needs well-defined behavior.\n    E.g. \"Get(k) yields the value from the most recent Put(k,v).\"\n  Achieving good behavior is hard!\n    \"Replica\" servers are hard to keep identical.\n    Clients may crash midway through multi-step update.\n    Servers crash at awkward moments, e.g. after executing but before replying.\n    Network may make live servers look dead; risk of \"split brain\".\n  Consistency and performance are enemies.\n    Consistency requires communication, e.g. to get latest Put().\n    \"Strong consistency\" often leads to slow systems.\n    High performance often imposes \"weak consistency\" on applications.\n  People have pursued many design points in this spectrum.\n\nCASE STUDY: MapReduce\n\nLet's talk about MapReduce (MR) as a case study\n  MR is a good illustration of 6.824's main topics\n  and is the focus of Lab 1\n\nMapReduce overview\n  context: multi-hour computations on multi-terabyte data-sets\n    e.g. analysis of graph structure of crawled web pages\n    only practical with 1000s of computers\n    often not developed by distributed systems experts\n    distribution can be very painful, e.g. coping with failure\n  overall goal: non-specialist programmers can easily split\n    data processing over many servers with reasonable efficiency.\n  programmer defines Map and Reduce functions\n    sequential code; often fairly simple\n  MR runs the functions on 1000s of machines with huge inputs\n    and hides details of distribution\n\nAbstract view of MapReduce\n  input is divided into M files\n  [diagram: maps generate rows of K-V pairs, reduces consume columns]\n  Input1 -> Map -> a,1 b,1 c,1\n  Input2 -> Map ->     b,1\n  Input3 -> Map -> a,1     c,1\n                    |   |   |\n                    |   |   -> Reduce -> c,2\n                    |   -----> Reduce -> b,2\n                    ---------> Reduce -> a,2\n  MR calls Map() for each input file, produces set of k2,v2\n    \"intermediate\" data\n    each Map() call is a \"task\"\n  MR gathers all intermediate v2's for a given k2,\n    and passes them to a Reduce call\n  final output is set of <k2,v3> pairs from Reduce()\n    stored in R output files\n  [diagram: MapReduce API --\n   map(k1, v1) -> list(k2, v2)\n   reduce(k2, list(v2) -> list(k2, v3)]\n\nExample: word count\n  input is thousands of text files\n  Map(k, v)\n    split v into words\n    for each word w\n      emit(w, \"1\")\n  Reduce(k, v)\n    emit(len(v))\n\nMapReduce hides many painful details:\n  starting s/w on servers\n  tracking which tasks are done\n  data movement\n  recovering from failures\n\nMapReduce scales well:\n  N computers gets you Nx throughput.\n    Assuming M and R are >= N (i.e., lots of input files and map output keys).\n    Maps()s can run in parallel, since they don't interact.\n    Same for Reduce()s.\n    The only interaction is via the \"shuffle\" in between maps and reduces.\n  So you can get more throughput by buying more computers.\n    Rather than special-purpose efficient parallelizations of each application.\n    Computers are cheaper than programmers!\n\nWhat will likely limit the performance?\n  We care since that's the thing to optimize.\n  CPU? memory? disk? network?\n  In 2004 authors were limited by \"network cross-section bandwidth\".\n    [diagram: servers, tree of network switches]\n    Note all data goes over network, during Map->Reduce shuffle.\n    Paper's root switch: 100 to 200 gigabits/second\n    1800 machines, so 55 megabits/second/machine.\n    Small, e.g. much less than disk (~50-100 MB/s at the time) or RAM speed.\n  So they cared about minimizing movement of data over the network.\n    (Datacenter networks are much faster today.)\n\nMore details (paper's Figure 1):\n  master: gives tasks to workers; remembers where intermediate output is\n  M Map tasks, R Reduce tasks\n  input stored in GFS, 3 copies of each Map input file\n  all computers run both GFS and MR workers\n  many more input tasks than workers\n  master gives a Map task to each worker\n    hands out new tasks as old ones finish\n  Map worker hashes intermediate keys into R partitions, on local disk\n  Q: What's a good data structure for implementing this?\n  no Reduce calls until all Maps are finished\n  master tells Reducers to fetch intermediate data partitions from Map workers\n  Reduce workers write final output to GFS (one file per Reduce task)\n\nHow does detailed design reduce effect of slow network?\n  Map input is read from GFS replica on local disk, not over network.\n  Intermediate data goes over network just once.\n    Map worker writes to local disk, not GFS.\n  Intermediate data partitioned into files holding many keys.\n    Q: Why not stream the records to the reducer (via TCP) as they are being\n       produced by the mappers?\n\nHow do they get good load balance?\n  Critical to scaling -- bad for N-1 servers to wait for 1 to finish.\n  But some tasks likely take longer than others.\n  [diagram: packing variable-length tasks into workers]\n  Solution: many more tasks than workers.\n    Master hands out new tasks to workers who finish previous tasks.\n    So no task is so big it dominates completion time (hopefully).\n    So faster servers do more work than slower ones, finish abt the same time.\n\nWhat about fault tolerance?\n  I.e. what if a server crashes during a MR job?\n  Hiding failures is a huge part of ease of programming!\n  Q: Why not re-start the whole job from the beginning?\n  MR re-runs just the failed Map()s and Reduce()s.\n    MR requires them to be pure functions:\n      they don't keep state across calls,\n      they don't read or write files other than expected MR inputs/outputs,\n      there's no hidden communication among tasks.\n    So re-execution yields the same output.\n  The requirement for pure functions is a major limitation of\n    MR compared to other parallel programming schemes.\n    But it's critical to MR's simplicity.\n\nDetails of worker crash recovery:\n  * Map worker crashes:\n    master sees worker no longer responds to pings\n    crashed worker's intermediate Map output is lost\n      but is likely needed by every Reduce task!\n    master re-runs, spreads tasks over other GFS replicas of input.\n    some Reduce workers may already have read failed worker's intermediate data.\n      here we depend on functional and deterministic Map()!\n    master need not re-run Map if Reduces have fetched all intermediate data\n      though then a Reduce crash would then force re-execution of failed Map\n  * Reduce worker crashes.\n    finshed tasks are OK -- stored in GFS, with replicas.\n    master re-starts worker's unfinished tasks on other workers.\n  * Reduce worker crashes in the middle of writing its output.\n    GFS has atomic rename that prevents output from being visible until complete.\n    so it's safe for the master to re-run the Reduce tasks somewhere else.\n\nOther failures/problems:\n  * What if the master gives two workers the same Map() task?\n    perhaps the master incorrectly thinks one worker died.\n    it will tell Reduce workers about only one of them.\n  * What if the master gives two workers the same Reduce() task?\n    they will both try to write the same output file on GFS!\n    atomic GFS rename prevents mixing; one complete file will be visible.\n  * What if a single worker is very slow -- a \"straggler\"?\n    perhaps due to flakey hardware.\n    master starts a second copy of last few tasks.\n  * What if a worker computes incorrect output, due to broken h/w or s/w?\n    too bad! MR assumes \"fail-stop\" CPUs and software.\n  * What if the master crashes?\n    recover from check-point, or give up on job\n\nFor what applications *doesn't* MapReduce work well?\n  Not everything fits the map/shuffle/reduce pattern.\n  Small data, since overheads are high. E.g. not web site back-end.\n  Small updates to big data, e.g. add a few documents to a big index\n  Unpredictable reads (neither Map nor Reduce can choose input)\n  Multiple shuffles, e.g. page-rank (can use multiple MR but not very efficient)\n  More flexible systems allow these, but more complex model.\n\nHow might a real-world web company use MapReduce?\n  \"CatBook\", a new company running a social network for cats; needs to:\n  1) build a search index, so people can find other peoples' cats\n  2) analyze popularity of different cats, to decide advertising value\n  3) detect dogs and remove their profiles\n  Can use MapReduce for all these purposes!\n  - run large batch jobs over all profiles every night\n  1) build inverted index: map(profile text) -> (word, cat_id)\n                           reduce(word, list(cat_id) -> list(word, list(cat_id))\n  2) count profile visits: map(web logs) -> (cat_id, \"1\")\n                           reduce(cat_id, list(\"1\")) -> list(cat_id, count)\n  3) filter profiles: map(profile image) -> img analysis -> (cat_id, \"dog!\")\n                      reduce(cat_id, list(\"dog!\")) -> list(cat_id)\n\nConclusion\n  MapReduce single-handedly made big cluster computation popular.\n  - Not the most efficient or flexible.\n  + Scales well.\n  + Easy to program -- failures and data movement are hidden.\n  These were good trade-offs in practice.\n  We'll see some more advanced successors later in the course.\n  Have fun with the lab!"
  },
  {
    "path": "lecture/l02 PRC_threads_crawler_kv/PRC_Threads.md",
    "content": "# 6.824 2018 Lecture 2: Infrastructure: RPC and threads\n\nMost commonly-asked question: \n\n### Why Go?\n  6.824 used C++ for many years. C++ worked out well but students **spent time tracking down pointer** and **alloc/free bugs** and there's **no very satisfactory C++ RPC package**\n  \n  Go is a bit better than C++ for us:\n    - good support for concurrency (goroutines, channels, &c)\n    - good support for RPC\n    - garbage-collected (no use after freeing problems)\n    - type safe\n    - threads + GC is particularly attractive!\n  \n  We like programming in Go: relatively simple and traditional\n  After the tutorial, use https://golang.org/doc/effective_go.html\n  Russ Cox will give a guest lecture March 8th.\n\n### Why threads?\n\nThreads are a **useful structuring tool**; Go calls them **goroutines**; everyone else calls them threads; they can be tricky\n\n- They express concurrency, which shows up naturally in distributed systems I/O concurrency:\n- While waiting for a response from another server, process next request\n- Multicore: Threads run in parallel on several cores\n\nThread = \"thread of execution\"\n  - threads allow one program to (logically) execute many things at once\n  - the threads share memory\n  - each thread includes some per-thread state:\n    - program counter, registers, stack\n\nHow many threads in a program?\n  - Sometimes driven by **structure**\n    - e.g. one thread per client, one for background tasks\n  - Sometimes driven by desire for **multi-core parallelism**\n    - so one active thread per core\n    - the Go runtime automatically schedules runnable goroutines on available cores\n  - Sometimes driven by desire for **I/O concurrency**\n    the number is determined by latency and capacity\n    keep increasing until throughput stops growing\n  Go threads are pretty cheap\n    100s or 1000s are fine, but maybe not millions\n    Creating a thread is more expensive than a method call\n    \nThreading challenges:\n  sharing data \n    one thread reads data that another thread is changing?\n    e.g. two threads do count = count + 1\n    this is a \"race\" -- and is usually a bug\n    -> use Mutexes (or other synchronization)\n    -> or avoid sharing\n  coordination between threads\n    how to wait for all Map threads to finish?\n    -> use Go channels or WaitGroup\n  granularity of concurrency\n    coarse-grained -> simple, but little concurrency/parallelism\n    fine-grained -> more concurrency, more races and deadlocks\n\nWhat is a crawler?\n  goal is to fetch all web pages, e.g. to feed to an indexer\n  web pages form a graph\n  multiple links to each page\n  graph has cycles\n\nCrawler challenges\n  Arrange for I/O concurrency\n    Fetch many URLs at the same time\n    To increase URLs fetched per second\n    Since network latency is much more of a limit than network capacity\n  Fetch each URL only *once*\n    avoid wasting network bandwidth\n    be nice to remote servers\n    => Need to remember which URLs visited \n  Know when finished\n    \nCrawler solutions [crawler.go link on schedule page]\n\nSerial crawler:\n  the \"fetched\" map avoids repeats, breaks cycles\n  it's a single map, passed by reference to recursive calls\n  but: fetches only one page at a time\n\nConcurrentMutex crawler:\n  Creates a thread for each page fetch\n    Many concurrent fetches, higher fetch rate\n  The threads share the fetched map\n  Why the Mutex (== lock)?\n    Without the lock:\n      Two web pages contain links to the same URL\n      Two threads simultaneouly fetch those two pages\n      T1 checks fetched[url], T2 checks fetched[url]\n      Both see that url hasn't been fetched\n      Both fetch, which is wrong\n    Simultaneous read and write (or write+write) is a \"race\"\n      And often indicates a bug\n      The bug may show up only for unlucky thread interleavings\n    What will happen if I comment out the Lock()/Unlock() calls?\n      go run crawler.go\n      go run -race crawler.go\n    The lock causes the check and update to be atomic\n  How does it decide it is done?\n    sync.WaitGroup\n    implicitly waits for children to finish recursive fetches\n\nConcurrentChannel crawler\n  a Go channel:\n    a channel is an object; there can be many of them\n      ch := make(chan int)\n    a channel lets one thread send an object to another thread\n    ch <- x\n      the sender waits until some goroutine receives\n    y := <- ch\n      for y := range ch\n      a receiver waits until some goroutine sends\n    so you can use a channel to both communicate and synchronize\n    several threads can send and receive on a channel\n    remember: sender blocks until the receiver receives!\n      may be dangerous to hold a lock while sending...\n  ConcurrentChannel master()\n    master() creates a worker goroutine to fetch each page\n    worker() sends URLs on a channel\n      multiple workers send on the single channel\n    master() reads URLs from the channel\n    [diagram: master, channel, workers]\n  No need to lock the fetched map, because it isn't shared!\n  Is there any shared data?\n    The channel\n    The slices and strings sent on the channel\n    The arguments master() passes to worker()\n\nWhen to use sharing and locks, versus channels?\n  Most problems can be solved in either style\n  What makes the most sense depends on how the programmer thinks\n    state -- sharing and locks\n    communication -- channels\n    waiting for events -- channels\n  Use Go's race detector:\n    https://golang.org/doc/articles/race_detector.html\n    go test -race \n\nRemote Procedure Call (RPC)\n  a key piece of distributed system machinery; all the labs use RPC\n  goal: easy-to-program client/server communication\n\nRPC message diagram:\n  Client             Server\n    request--->\n       <---response\n\nRPC tries to mimic local fn call:\n  Client:\n    z = fn(x, y)\n  Server:\n    fn(x, y) {\n      compute\n      return z\n    }\n  Rarely this simple in practice...\n\nSoftware structure\n  client app         handlers\n    stubs           dispatcher\n   RPC lib           RPC lib\n     net  ------------ net\n\nGo example: kv.go link on schedule page\n  A toy key/value storage server -- Put(key,value), Get(key)->value\n  Uses Go's RPC library\n  Common:\n    You have to declare Args and Reply struct for each RPC type\n  Client:\n    connect()'s Dial() creates a TCP connection to the server\n    Call() asks the RPC library to perform the call\n      you specify server function name, arguments, place to put reply\n      library marshalls args, sends request, waits, unmarshally reply\n      return value from Call() indicates whether it got a reply\n      usually you'll also have a reply.Err indicating service-level failure\n  Server:\n    Go requires you to declare an object with methods as RPC handlers\n    You then register that object with the RPC library\n    You accept TCP connections, give them to RPC library\n    The RPC library\n      reads each request\n      creates a new goroutine for this request\n      unmarshalls request\n      calls the named method (dispatch)\n      marshalls reply\n      writes reply on TCP connection\n    The server's Get() and Put() handlers\n      Must lock, since RPC library creates per-request goroutines\n      read args; modify reply\n \nA few details:\n  Binding: how does client know who to talk to?\n    For Go's RPC, server name/port is an argument to Dial\n    Big systems have some kind of name or configuration server\n  Marshalling: format data into packets\n    Go's RPC library can pass strings, arrays, objects, maps, &c\n    Go passes pointers by copying (server can't directly use client pointer)\n    Cannot pass channels or functions\n\nRPC problem: what to do about failures?\n  e.g. lost packet, broken network, slow server, crashed server\n\nWhat does a failure look like to the client RPC library?\n  Client never sees a response from the server\n  Client does *not* know if the server saw the request!\n    Maybe server never saw the request\n    Maybe server executed, crashed just before sending reply\n    Maybe server executed, but network died just before delivering reply\n  [diagram of lost reply]\n\nSimplest failure-handling scheme: \"best effort\"\n  Call() waits for response for a while\n  If none arrives, re-send the request\n  Do this a few times\n  Then give up and return an error\n\nQ: is \"best effort\" easy for applications to cope with?\n\nA particularly bad situation:\n  client executes\n    Put(\"k\", 10);\n    Put(\"k\", 20);\n  both succeed\n  what will Get(\"k\") yield?\n  [diagram, timeout, re-send, original arrives late]\n\nQ: is best effort ever OK?\n   read-only operations\n   operations that do nothing if repeated\n     e.g. DB checks if record has already been inserted\n\nBetter RPC behavior: \"at most once\"\n  idea: server RPC code detects duplicate requests\n    returns previous reply instead of re-running handler\n  Q: how to detect a duplicate request?\n  client includes unique ID (XID) with each request\n    uses same XID for re-send\n  server:\n    if seen[xid]:\n      r = old[xid]\n    else\n      r = handler()\n      old[xid] = r\n      seen[xid] = true\n\nsome at-most-once complexities\n  this will come up in lab 3\n  how to ensure XID is unique?\n    big random number?\n    combine unique client ID (ip address?) with sequence #?\n  server must eventually discard info about old RPCs\n    when is discard safe?\n    idea:\n      each client has a unique ID (perhaps a big random number)\n      per-client RPC sequence numbers\n      client includes \"seen all replies <= X\" with every RPC\n      much like TCP sequence #s and acks\n    or only allow client one outstanding RPC at a time\n      arrival of seq+1 allows server to discard all <= seq\n  how to handle dup req while original is still executing?\n    server doesn't know reply yet\n    idea: \"pending\" flag per executing RPC; wait or ignore\n\nWhat if an at-most-once server crashes and re-starts?\n  if at-most-once duplicate info in memory, server will forget\n    and accept duplicate requests after re-start\n  maybe it should write the duplicate info to disk\n  maybe replica server should also replicate duplicate info\n\nGo RPC is a simple form of \"at-most-once\"\n  open TCP connection\n  write request to TCP connection\n  Go RPC never re-sends a request\n    So server won't see duplicate requests\n  Go RPC code returns an error if it doesn't get a reply\n    perhaps after a timeout (from TCP)\n    perhaps server didn't see request\n    perhaps server processed request but server/net failed before reply came back\n\nWhat about \"exactly once\"?\n  unbounded retries plus duplicate detection plus fault-tolerant service\n  Lab 3"
  },
  {
    "path": "lecture/l02 PRC_threads_crawler_kv/crawler.go",
    "content": "package main\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"sync\"\n)\n\n//\n// Several solutions to the crawler exercise from the Go tutorial\n// https://tour.golang.org/concurrency/10\n//\n\n//\n// Serial crawler\n//\n\nfunc Serial(url string, fetcher Fetcher, fetched map[string]bool) {\n\tif fetched[url] {\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\tfetched[url] = true\n\turls, err := fetcher.Fetch(url)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\tfor _, u := range urls {\n\t\tSerial(u, fetcher, fetched)\n\t}\n\treturn\n}\n\n//\n// Concurrent crawler with shared state and Mutex\n//\n\ntype fetchState struct {\n\tmu      sync.Mutex\n\tfetched map[string]bool\n}\n\nfunc ConcurrentMutex(url string, fetcher Fetcher, f *fetchState) {\n\tf.mu.Lock()\n\tif f.fetched[url] {\n\t\tf.mu.Unlock()\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\tf.fetched[url] = true\n\tf.mu.Unlock()\n\n\turls, err := fetcher.Fetch(url)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\tvar done sync.WaitGroup\n\tfor _, u := range urls {\n\t\tdone.Add(1)\n\t\tgo func(u string) {\n\t\t\tdefer done.Done()\n\t\t\tConcurrentMutex(u, fetcher, f)\n\t\t}(u)\n\t}\n\tdone.Wait()\n\treturn\n}\n\nfunc makeState() *fetchState {\n\tf := &fetchState{}\n\tf.fetched = make(map[string]bool)\n\treturn f\n}\n\n//\n// Concurrent crawler with channels\n//\n\nfunc worker(url string, ch chan []string, fetcher Fetcher) {\n\turls, err := fetcher.Fetch(url)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tch <- []string{}\n\t} else {\n\t\tch <- urls\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc master(ch chan []string, fetcher Fetcher) {\n\tn := 1\n\tfetched := make(map[string]bool)\n\tfor urls := range ch {\n\t\tfor _, u := range urls {\n\t\t\tif fetched[u] == false {\n\t\t\t\tfetched[u] = true\n\t\t\t\tn += 1\n\t\t\t\tgo worker(u, ch, fetcher)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tn -= 1\n\t\tif n == 0 {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc ConcurrentChannel(url string, fetcher Fetcher) {\n\tch := make(chan []string)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tch <- []string{url}\n\t}()\n\tmaster(ch, fetcher)\n}\n\n//\n// main\n//\n\nfunc main() {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"=== Serial===\\n\")\n\tSerial(\"http://golang.org/\", fetcher, make(map[string]bool))\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"=== ConcurrentMutex ===\\n\")\n\tConcurrentMutex(\"http://golang.org/\", fetcher, makeState())\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"=== ConcurrentChannel ===\\n\")\n\tConcurrentChannel(\"http://golang.org/\", fetcher)\n}\n\n//\n// Fetcher\n//\n\ntype Fetcher interface {\n\t// Fetch returns a slice of URLs found on the page.\n\tFetch(url string) (urls []string, err error)\n}\n\n// fakeFetcher is Fetcher that returns canned results.\ntype fakeFetcher map[string]*fakeResult\n\ntype fakeResult struct {\n\tbody string\n\turls []string\n}\n\nfunc (f fakeFetcher) Fetch(url string) ([]string, error) {\n\tif res, ok := f[url]; ok {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"found:   %s\\n\", url)\n\t\treturn res.urls, nil\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"missing: %s\\n\", url)\n\treturn nil, fmt.Errorf(\"not found: %s\", url)\n}\n\n// fetcher is a populated fakeFetcher.\nvar fetcher = fakeFetcher{\n\t\"http://golang.org/\": &fakeResult{\n\t\t\"The Go Programming Language\",\n\t\t[]string{\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/pkg/\",\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/cmd/\",\n\t\t},\n\t},\n\t\"http://golang.org/pkg/\": &fakeResult{\n\t\t\"Packages\",\n\t\t[]string{\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/\",\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/cmd/\",\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/pkg/fmt/\",\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/pkg/os/\",\n\t\t},\n\t},\n\t\"http://golang.org/pkg/fmt/\": &fakeResult{\n\t\t\"Package fmt\",\n\t\t[]string{\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/\",\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/pkg/\",\n\t\t},\n\t},\n\t\"http://golang.org/pkg/os/\": &fakeResult{\n\t\t\"Package os\",\n\t\t[]string{\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/\",\n\t\t\t\"http://golang.org/pkg/\",\n\t\t},\n\t},\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "lecture/l02 PRC_threads_crawler_kv/kv.go",
    "content": "package main\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"log\"\n\t\"net\"\n\t\"net/rpc\"\n\t\"sync\"\n)\n\n//\n// RPC request/reply definitions\n//\n\nconst (\n\tOK       = \"OK\"\n\tErrNoKey = \"ErrNoKey\"\n)\n\ntype Err string\n\ntype PutArgs struct {\n\tKey   string\n\tValue string\n}\n\ntype PutReply struct {\n\tErr Err\n}\n\ntype GetArgs struct {\n\tKey string\n}\n\ntype GetReply struct {\n\tErr   Err\n\tValue string\n}\n\n//\n// Client\n//\n\nfunc connect() *rpc.Client {\n\tclient, err := rpc.Dial(\"tcp\", \":1234\")\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"dialing:\", err)\n\t}\n\treturn client\n}\n\nfunc get(key string) string {\n\tclient := connect()\n\targs := GetArgs{\"subject\"}\n\treply := GetReply{}\n\terr := client.Call(\"KV.Get\", &args, &reply)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"error:\", err)\n\t}\n\tclient.Close()\n\treturn reply.Value\n}\n\nfunc put(key string, val string) {\n\tclient := connect()\n\targs := PutArgs{\"subject\", \"6.824\"}\n\treply := PutReply{}\n\terr := client.Call(\"KV.Put\", &args, &reply)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"error:\", err)\n\t}\n\tclient.Close()\n}\n\n//\n// Server\n//\n\ntype KV struct {\n\tmu   sync.Mutex\n\tdata map[string]string\n}\n\nfunc server() {\n\tkv := new(KV)\n\tkv.data = map[string]string{}\n\trpcs := rpc.NewServer()\n\trpcs.Register(kv)\n\tl, e := net.Listen(\"tcp\", \":1234\")\n\tif e != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"listen error:\", e)\n\t}\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor {\n\t\t\tconn, err := l.Accept()\n\t\t\tif err == nil {\n\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tl.Close()\n\t}()\n}\n\nfunc (kv *KV) Get(args *GetArgs, reply *GetReply) error {\n\tkv.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer kv.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tval, ok := kv.data[args.Key]\n\tif ok {\n\t\treply.Err = OK\n\t\treply.Value = val\n\t} else {\n\t\treply.Err = ErrNoKey\n\t\treply.Value = \"\"\n\t}\n\treturn nil\n}\n\nfunc (kv *KV) Put(args *PutArgs, reply *PutReply) error {\n\tkv.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer kv.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tkv.data[args.Key] = args.Value\n\treply.Err = OK\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n//\n// main\n//\n\nfunc main() {\n\tserver()\n\n\tput(\"subject\", \"6.824\")\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Put(subject, 6.824) done\\n\")\n\tfmt.Printf(\"get(subject) -> %s\\n\", get(\"subject\"))\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "lecture/l03 GFS/GFS.md",
    "content": "# 6.824 2018 Lecture 3: GFS\n\n[The Google File System - Sanjay Ghemawat, Howard Gobioff, and Shun-Tak Leung SOSP 2003](https://storage.googleapis.com/pub-tools-public-publication-data/pdf/035fc972c796d33122033a0614bc94cff1527999.pdf)\n\n### Why are we reading this paper?\n  - the file system used for map/reducemain themes of 6.824 show up in this paper.\n    - trading consistency for simplicity and performance\n    - motivation for subsequent designs\n  - good systems paper -- details from apps all the way to network\n    - performance, fault-tolerance, consistency\n  influential\n    - many other systems use GFS (e.g., Bigtable, Spanner @ Google)\n    - HDFS (Hadoop Distributed File System) based on GFS\n\n### What is consistency?\n  - A correctness condition\n  - Important but difficult to achieve when data is replicated\n    - especially when application access it concurrently\n    - [diagram: simple example, single machine]\n    - if an application writes, what will a later read observe?\n      - what if the read is from a different application?\n    - but with replication, each write must also happen on other machines\n    - [diagram: two more machines, reads and writes go across]\n    - Clearly we have a problem here.\n\n##### Weak consistency\n    read() may return stale data  --- not the result of the most recent write\n  \n##### Strong consistency\n    read() always returns the data from the most recent write()\n  \n##### General tension between these:\n\n- strong consistency is easy for application writers\n- strong consistency is bad for performance\n- weak consistency has good performance and is easy to scale to many servers\n- weak consistency is complex to reason about\n  Many trade-offs give rise to different correctness conditions\n    These are called \"consistency models\"\n    First peek today; will show up in almost every paper we read this term\n\n##### \"Ideal\" consistency model\n  Let's go back to the single-machine case;  Would be nice if a replicated FS behaved like a non-replicated file system\n    [diagram: many clients on the same machine accessing files on single disk]\n  If one application writes, later reads will observe that write\n  What if two application concurrently write to the same file?\n    Q: what happens on a single machine?\n    In file systems often undefined  --- file may have some mixed content\n  What if two application concurrently write to the same directory\n    Q: what happens on a single machine?\n    One goes first, the other goes second (use locking)\n\n##### Challenges to achieving ideal consistency\n  - Concurrency -- as we just saw; plus there are many disks in reality\n  - Machine failures -- any operation can fail to complete\n  - Network partitions -- may not be able to reach every machine/disk\n  - Why are these challenges difficult to overcome?\n    - Requires communication between clients and servers\n    - May cost performance\n    - Protocols can become complex --- see next week\n    - Difficult to implement system correctly\n    - Many systems in 6.824 don't provide ideal\n      - GFS is one example\n\n##### GFS goals:\n  With so many machines, failures are common\n    must tolerate\n    assume a machine fails once per year\n    w/ 1000 machines, ~3 will fail per day.\n  High-performance: many concurrent readers and writers\n    Map/Reduce jobs read and store final result in GFS\n    Note: *not* the temporary, intermediate files\n  Use network efficiently: save bandwidth\n  These challenges difficult combine with \"ideal\" consistency\n\nHigh-level design / Reads\n  [Figure 1 diagram, master + chunkservers]\n  Master stores directories, files, names, open/read/write\n    But not POSIX\n  100s of Linux chunk servers with disks\n    store 64MB chunks (an ordinary Linux file for each chunk)\n    each chunk replicated on three servers\n    Q: Besides availability of data, what does 3x replication give us?\n       load balancing for reads to hot files\n       affinity\n    Q: why not just store one copy of each file on a RAID'd disk?\n       RAID isn't commodity\n       Want fault-tolerance for whole machine; not just storage device\n    Q: why are the chunks so big?\n       amortizes overheads, reduces state size in the master\n  GFS master server knows directory hierarchy\n    for directory, wht files are in it\n    for file, knows chunk servers for each 64 MB\n    master keeps state in memory\n      64 bytes of metadata per each chunk\n    master has private recoverable database for metadata\n      operation log flushed to disk\n      occasional asynchronous compression info checkpoint\n      N.B.: != the application checkpointing in §2.7.2\n      master can recovery quickly from power failure\n    shadow masters that lag a little behind master\n      can be promoted to master\n  Client read:\n    send file name and chunk index to master\n    master replies with set of servers that have that chunk\n      response includes version # of chunk\n      clients cache that information\n    ask nearest chunk server\n      checks version #\n      if version # is wrong, re-contact master\n\n##### Writes\n  [Figure 2-style diagram with file offset sequence]\n  Random client write to existing file\n    client asks master for chunk locations + primary\n    master responds with chunk servers, version #, and who is primary\n      primary has (or gets) 60s lease\n    client computes chain of replicas based on network topology\n    client sends data to first replica, which forwards to others\n      pipelines network use, distributes load\n    replicas ack data receipt\n    client tells primary to write\n      primary assign sequence number and writes\n      then tells other replicas to write\n      once all done, ack to client\n    what if there's another concurrent client writing to the same place?\n      client 2 get sequenced after client 1, overwrites data\n      now client 2 writes again, this time gets sequenced first (C1 may be slow)\n      writes, but then client 1 comes and overwrites\n      => all replicas have same data (= consistent), but mix parts from C1/C2\n         (= NOT defined)\n  Client append (not record append)\n    same deal, but may put parts from C1 and C2 in any order\n    consistent, but not defined\n    or, if just one client writes, no problem -- both consistent and defined\n\n##### Record append\n  Client record append\n    client asks master for chunk locations\n    client pushes data to replicas, but specifies no offset\n    client contacts primary when data is on all chunk servers\n      primary assigns sequence number\n      primary checks if append fits into chunk\n        if not, pad until chunk boundary\n      primary picks offset for append\n      primary applies change locally\n      primary forwards request to replicas\n      let's saw R3 fails mid-way through applying the write\n      primary detects error, tells client to try again\n    client retries after contacting master\n      master has perhaps brought up R4 in the meantime (or R3 came back)\n      one replica now has a gap in the byte sequence, so can't just append\n      pad to next available offset across all replicas\n      primary and secondaries apply writes\n      primary responds to client after receiving acks from all replicas\n\n##### Housekeeping\n  Master can appoint new primary if master doesn't refresh lease\n  Master replicates chunks if number replicas drop below some number\n  Master rebalances replicas\n\n##### Failures\n  Chunk servers are easy to replace\n    failure may cause some clients to retry (& duplicate records)\n  Master: down -> GFS is unavailable\n    shadow master can serve read-only operations, which may return stale data\n    Q: Why not write operations?\n\t  split-brain syndrome (see next lecture)\n\n##### Does GFS achieve \"ideal\" consistency?\n  Two cases: directories and files\n  Directories: yes, but...\n    Yes: strong consistency (only one copy)\n    But: master not always available & scalability limit\n  Files: not always\n    Mutations with atomic appends\n\t  record can be duplicated at two offsets\n    while other replicas may have a hole at one offset\n    Mutations without atomic append\n      data of several clients maybe intermingled\n      if you care, use atomic append or a temporary file and atomically rename\n  An \"unlucky\" client can read stale data for short period of time\n    A failed mutation leaves chunks inconsistent\n      The primary chunk server updated chunk\n      But then failed and the replicas are out of date\n    A client may read an not-up-to-date chunk\n    When client refreshes lease it will learn about new version #\n\nAuthors claims weak consistency is not a big problems for apps\n  Most file updates are append-only updates\n    Application can use UID in append records to detect duplicates\n    Application may just read less data (but not stale data)\n  Application can use temporary files and atomic rename\n\n##### Performance (Figure 3)\n  huge aggregate throughput for read (3 copies, striping)\n    125 MB/sec in aggregate\n    Close to saturating network\n  writes to different files lower than possible maximum\n    authors blame their network stack\n    it causes delays in propagating chunks from one replica to next\n  concurrent appends to single file\n    limited by the server that stores last chunk\n  numbers and specifics have changed a lot in 15 years!\n\n### Summary\n  case study of performance, fault-tolerance, consistency\n    specialized for MapReduce applications\n  what works well in GFS?\n    huge sequential reads and writes\n    appends\n    huge throughput (3 copies, striping)\n    fault tolerance of data (3 copies)\n  what less well in GFS?\n    fault-tolerance of master\n    small files (master a bottleneck)\n    clients may see stale data\n    appends maybe duplicated\n\n### References\n  http://queue.acm.org/detail.cfm?id=1594206  (discussion of gfs evolution)\n  http://highscalability.com/blog/2010/9/11/googles-colossus-makes-search-real-time-by-dumping-mapreduce.html"
  },
  {
    "path": "lecture/l04 more_primary_backup/FDS.md",
    "content": "# 6.824 2014 Lecture 4: FDS Case Study\n\n[Flat Datacenter Storage\nNightingale, Elson, Fan, Hofmann, Howell, Suzue\nOSDI 2012](https://www.usenix.org/system/files/conference/osdi12/osdi12-final-75.pdf)\n    \n### why are we looking at this paper?\n  Lab 2 wants to be like this when it grows up though details are all different\n  - fantastic performance -- world record cluster sort\n  - good systems paper -- details from apps all the way to network\n\n### what is FDS?\n  a **cluster storage system**\n  - stores giant blobs -- 128-bit ID, multi-megabyte content\n  - clients and servers connected by network with high bisection bandwidth for big-data processing (like MapReduce)\n  - cluster of 1000s of computers processing data in parallel\n\n### high-level design -- a common pattern\n  - lots of clients\n  - lots of storage servers (\"tractservers\")\n  - partition the data\n  - master (\"metadata server\") controls partitioning\n  - replica groups for reliability\n\n### why is this high-level design useful?\n  - 1000s of disks of space -> store giant blobs, or many big blobs\n  - 1000s of servers/disks/arms of parallel throughput\n  - can expand over time -- reconfiguration\n  - large pool of storage servers for instant replacement after failure\n\n### motivating app: MapReduce-style sort \n  - a mapper reads its split 1/Mth of the input file (e.g., a tract)\n    map emits a <key, record> for each record in split\n    map partitions keys among R intermediate files  (M*R intermediate files in total)\n  a reducer reads 1 of R intermediate files produced by each mapper\n    reads M intermediate files (of 1/R size)\n    sorts its input\n    produces 1/Rth of the final sorted output file  (R blobs)\n  FDS sort\n     FDS sort does not store the intermediate files in FDS\n     a client is both a mapper and reducer\n     FDS sort is not locality-aware\n        in mapreduce, master schedules workers on machine that are close to the data\n        e.g.,  in same cluster\n     later versions of FDS sort uses more fine-grained work assignment\n       e.g., mapper doesn't get 1/N of the input file but something smaller\n       deals better with stragglers   \n    \n### The Abstract's main claims are about performance.\n   They set the world-record for disk-to-disk sorting in 2012 for MinuteSort\n      1,033 disks and 256 computers (136 tract servers, 120 clients)\n      1,401 Gbyte in 59.4s\n\n### Q: does the abstract's 2 GByte/sec per client seem impressive?\n   - how fast can you read a file from Athena AFS? (abt 10 MB/sec)\n   - how fast can you read a typical hard drive?\n   - how fast can typical networks move data?\n\n### Q: abstract claims recover from lost disk (92 GB) in 6.2 seconds\n   - that's 15 GByte / sec\n   - impressive?\n   - how is that even possible? that's 30x the speed of a disk!\n   - who might care about this metric?\n\n### what should we want to know from the paper?\n  - API?\n  - layout?\n  - finding data?\n  - add a server?\n  - replication?\n  - failure handling?\n  - failure model?\n  - consistent reads/writes? (i.e. does a read see latest write?)\n  - config mgr failure handling?\n  - good performance?\n  - useful for apps?\n\n* API\n  Figure 1\n  128-bit blob IDs\n  blobs have a length\n  only whole-tract read and write -- 8 MB\n\nQ: why are 128-bit blob IDs a nice interface?\n   why not file names?\n\nQ: why do 8 MB tracts make sense?\n   (Figure 3...)\n\nQ: what kinds of client applications is the API aimed at?\n   and not aimed at?\n\n* Layout: how do they spread data over the servers?\n  Section 2.2\n  break each blob into 8 MB tracts\n  TLT maintained by metadata server\n    has n entries\n    for blob b and tract t, i = (hash(b) + t) mod n\n    TLT[i] contains list of tractservers w/ copy of the tract\n  clients and servers all have copies of the latest TLT table\n\nExample four-entry TLT with no replication:\n  0: S1\n  1: S2\n  2: S3\n  3: S4\n  suppose hash(27) = 2\n  then the tracts of blob 27 are laid out:\n  S1: 2 6\n  S2: 3 7\n  S3: 0 4 8\n  S4: 1 5 ...\n  FDS is \"striping\" blobs over servers at tract granularity\n\nQ: why have tracts at all? why not store each blob on just one server?\n   what kinds of apps will benefit from striping?\n   what kinds of apps won't?\n\nQ: how fast will a client be able to read a single tract?\n\nQ: where does the abstract's single-client 2 GB number come from?\n\nQ: why not the UNIX i-node approach?\n   store an array per blob, indexed by tract #, yielding tractserver\n   so you could make per-tract placement decisions\n     e.g. write new tract to most lightly loaded server\n\nQ: why not hash(b + t)?\n\nQ: how many TLT entries should there be?\n   how about n = number of tractservers?\n   why do they claim this works badly? Section 2.2\n\nThe system needs to choose server pairs (or triplets &c) to put in TLT entries\n   For replication\n   Section 3.3\n\nQ: how about\n   0: S1 S2\n   1: S2 S1\n   2: S3 S4\n   3: S4 S3\n   ...\n   Why is this a bad idea?\n   How long will repair take?\n   What are the risks if two servers fail?\n\nQ: why is the paper's n^2 scheme better?\n   TLT with n^2 entries, with every server pair occuring once\n   0: S1 S2\n   1: S1 S3\n   2: S1 S4\n   3: S2 S1\n   4: S2 S3\n   5: S2 S4\n   ...\n   How long will repair take?\n   What are the risks if two servers fail?\n\nQ: why do they actually use a minimum replication level of 3?\n   same n^2 table as before, third server is randomly chosen\n   What effect on repair time?\n   What effect on two servers failing?\n   What if three disks fail?\n\n* Adding a tractserver\n  To increase the amount of disk space / parallel throughput\n  Metadata server picks some random TLT entries\n  Substitutes new server for an existing server in those TLT entries\n  \n* How do they maintain n^2 plus one arrangement as servers leave join?\n  Unclear.\n\nQ: how long will adding a tractserver take?\n\nQ: what about client writes while tracts are being transferred?\n   receiving tractserver may have copies from client(s) and from old srvr\n   how does it know which is newest?\n\nQ: what if a client reads/writes but has an old tract table?\n  \n* Replication\n  A writing client sends a copy to each tractserver in the TLT.\n  A reading client asks one tractserver.\n\nQ: why don't they send writes through a primary?\n\nQ: what problems are they likely to have because of lack of primary?\n   why weren't these problems show-stoppers?\n\n* What happens after a tractserver fails?\n  Metadata server stops getting heartbeat RPCs\n  Picks random replacement for each TLT entry failed server was in\n  New TLT gets a new version number\n  Replacement servers fetch copies\n\nExample of the tracts each server holds:\n  S1: 0 4 8 ...\n  S2: 0 1 ...\n  S3: 4 3 ...\n  S4: 8 2 ...\n\nQ: why not just pick one replacement server?\n\nQ: how long will it take to copy all the tracts?\n\nQ: if a tractserver's net breaks and is then repaired, might srvr serve old data?\n\nQ: if a server crashes and reboots with disk intact, can contents be used?\n   e.g. if it only missed a few writes?\n   3.2.1's \"partial failure recovery\"\n   but won't it have already been replaced?\n   how to know what writes it missed?\n\nQ: when is it better to use 3.2.1's partial failure recovery?\n\n* What happens when the metadata server crashes?\n\nQ: while metadata server is down, can the system proceed?\n\nQ: is there a backup metadata server?\n\nQ: how does rebooted metadata server get a copy of the TLT?\n\nQ: does their scheme seem correct?\n   how does the metadata server know it has heard from all tractservers?\n   how does it know all tractservers were up to date?\n\n* Random issues\n\nQ: is the metadata server likely to be a bottleneck?\n\nQ: why do they need the scrubber application mentioned in 2.3?\n   why don't they delete the tracts when the blob is deleted?\n   can a blob be written after it is deleted?\n\n* Performance\n\nQ: how do we know we're seeing \"good\" performance?\n   what's the best you can expect?\n\nQ: limiting resource for 2 GB / second single-client?\n\nQ: Figure 4a: why starts low? why goes up? why levels off?\n   why does it level off at that particular performance?\n\nQ: Figure 4b shows random r/w as fast as sequential (Figure 4a).\n   is this what you'd expect?\n\nQ: why are writes slower than reads with replication in Figure 4c?\n\nQ: where does the 92 GB in 6.2 seconds come from?\n   Table 1, 4th column\n   that's 15 GB / second, both read and written\n   1000 disks, triple replicated, 128 servers?\n   what's the limiting resource? disk? cpu? net?\n\n##### How big is each sort bucket?\n  i.e. is the sort of each bucket in-memory?\n  1400 GB total\n  128 compute servers\n  between 12 and 96 GB of RAM each\n  hmm, say 50 on average, so total RAM may be 6400 GB\n  thus sort of each bucket is in memory, does not write passes to FDS\n  thus total time is just four transfers of 1400 GB\n    client limit: 128 * 2 GB/s = 256 GB / sec\n    disk limit: 1000 * 50 MB/s = 50 GB / sec\n  thus bottleneck is likely to be disk throughput"
  },
  {
    "path": "lecture/l06 fault tolerance raft/raft.md",
    "content": "# 6.824 2020 Lecture 6: Raft (1)\n\n> this lecture\n>  today: Raft elections and log handling(Lab 2A, 2B)\n> next: Raft persistence, client\n> behavior, snapshots (Lab 2C, Lab 3)\n\na pattern in the fault-tolerant systems we've seen\n  * MR replicates computation but relies on a single master to organize\n  * GFS replicates data but relies on the master to pick primaries\n  * VMware FT replicates service but relies on test-and-set to pick primary\n  all rely on a single entity to make critical decisions\n    nice: decisions by a single entity avoid split brain\n\n### how coulds split brain arise, and why is it damaging?\n  suppose we're replicating a test-and-set service\n    the client request sets the state to 1, server replies w/ previous state\n    only one client should get a reply with \"0\" !!!\n    it's a lock, only one requester should get it\n  [C1, C2, S1, S2]\n  suppose client C1 can contact replica S1, but not replica S2\n  should C1 proceed with just replica S1?\n  if S2 has really crashed, C1 *must* proceed without S2,\n    otherwise the service doesn't tolerate faults!\n  if S2 is up but network prevents C1 from contacting S2,\n    C1 should *not* proceed without S2,\n    since S2 might be alive and serving client C2\n  with this setup, we're faced with a nasty choice:\n    either no ability to tolerate faults, despite replication, or\n    the possibility of incorrect operation due to split brain\n\nthe problem: computers cannot distinguish \"server crashed\" vs \"network broken\"\n  the symptom is the same: no response to a query over the network\n  the bad situation is often called \"network partition\":\n    C1 can talk to S1, C2 can talk to S2,\n    but C1+S1 see no responses from C2+S2\n  this difficulty seemed insurmountable for a long time\n  seemed to require outside agent (a human) to decide when to cut over\n    or a single perfectly reliable server (FT's test-and-set server)\n    or a perfectly reliable network (so \"no response\" == \"crashed\")\n  BUT these are all single points of failure -- not desirable\n  can one do better?\n\nThe big insight for coping w/ partition: majority vote\n  require an odd number of servers, e.g. 3\n  agreement from a majority is required to do anything -- 2 out of 3\n  why does majority help avoid split brain?\n    at most one partition can have a majority\n    breaks the symmetry we saw with just two servers\n  note: majority is out of all servers, not just out of live ones\n  more generally 2f+1 can tolerate f failed servers\n    since the remaining f+1 is a majority of 2f+1\n    if more than f fail (or can't be contacted), no progress\n  often called \"quorum\" systems\n\na key property of majorities is that any two must intersect\n  e.g. successive majorities for Raft leader election must overlap\n  and the intersection can convey information about previous decisions\n\nTwo partition-tolerant replication schemes were invented around 1990,\n  Paxos and View-Stamped Replication\n  in the last 15 years this technology has seen a lot of real-world use\n  the Raft paper is a good introduction to modern techniques\n\n### topic: Raft overview\n\nstate machine replication with Raft -- Lab 3 as example:\n  [diagram: clients, 3 replicas, k/v layer + state, raft layer + logs]\n  Raft is a library included in each replica\n\ntime diagram of one client command\n  [C, L, F1, F2]\n  client sends Put/Get \"command\" to k/v layer in leader\n  leader adds command to log\n  leader sends AppendEntries RPCs to followers\n  followers add command to log\n  leader waits for replies from a bare majority (including itself)\n  entry is \"committed\" if a majority put it in their logs\n    committed means won't be forgotten even if failures\n    majority -> will be seen by the next leader's vote requests\n  leader executes command, replies to client\n  leader \"piggybacks\" commit info in next AppendEntries\n  followers execute entry once leader says it's committed\n\n### why the logs?\n  the service keeps the state machine state, e.g. key/value DB\n    why isn't that enough?\n  the log orders the commands\n    to help replicas agree on a single execution order\n    to help the leader ensure followers have identical logs\n  the log stores tentative commands until committed\n  the log stores commands in case leader must re-send to followers\n  the log stores commands persistently for replay after reboot\n\n### are the servers' logs exact replicas of each other?\n  no: some replicas may lag\n  no: we'll see that they can temporarily have different entries\n  the good news:\n    they'll eventually converge to be identical\n    the commit mechanism ensures servers only execute stable entries\n  \n### lab 2 Raft interface\n  rf.Start(command) (index, term, isleader)\n    Lab 3 k/v server's Put()/Get() RPC handlers call Start()\n    Start() only makes sense on the leader\n    starts Raft agreement on a new log entry\n      add to leader's log\n      leader sends out AppendEntries RPCs\n      Start() returns w/o waiting for RPC replies\n      k/v layer's Put()/Get() must wait for commit, on applyCh\n    agreement might fail if server loses leadership before committing \n      then the command is likely lost, client must re-send\n    isleader: false if this server isn't the leader, client should try another\n    term: currentTerm, to help caller detect if leader is later demoted\n    index: log entry to watch to see if the command was committed\n  ApplyMsg, with Index and Command\n    each peer sends an ApplyMsg on applyCh for each committed entry\n    each peer's local service code executes, updates local replica state\n    leader sends reply to waiting client RPC\n\n### there are two main parts to Raft's design:\n  electing a new leader\n  ensuring identical logs despite failures\n\n# topic: leader election (Lab 2A)\n\n### why a leader?\n  ensures all replicas execute the same commands, in the same order\n  (some designs, e.g. Paxos, don't have a leader)\n\n### Raft numbers the sequence of leaders\n  new leader -> new term\n  a term has at most one leader; might have no leader\n  the numbering helps servers follow latest leader, not superseded leader\n\n### when does a Raft peer start a leader election?\n  when it doesn't hear from current leader for an \"election timeout\"\n  increments local currentTerm, tries to collect votes\n  note: this can lead to un-needed elections; that's slow but safe\n  note: old leader may still be alive and think it is the leader\n\n### how to ensure at most one leader in a term?\n  (Figure 2 RequestVote RPC and Rules for Servers)\n  leader must get \"yes\" votes from a majority of servers\n  each server can cast only one vote per term\n    if candidate, votes for itself\n    if not a candidate, votes for first that asks (within Figure 2 rules)\n  at most one server can get majority of votes for a given term\n    -> at most one leader even if network partition\n    -> election can succeed even if some servers have failed\n\n### how does a server learn about newly elected leader?\n  new leader sees yes votes from majority\n  others see AppendEntries heart-beats with a higher term number\n    i.e. from the new leader\n  the heart-beats suppress any new election\n\n### an election may not succeed for two reasons:\n  * less than a majority of servers are reachable\n  * simultaneous candidates split the vote, none gets majority\n\n### what happens if an election doesn't succeed?\n  **another timeout** (no heartbeat), a new election (and new term)\n  higher term takes precedence, candidates for older terms quit\n\n### how does Raft avoid split votes?\n  each server picks a random election timeout\n  [diagram of times at which servers' timeouts expire]\n  randomness breaks symmetry among the servers\n    one will choose lowest random delay\n  hopefully enough time to elect before next timeout expires\n  others will see new leader's AppendEntries heartbeats and \n    not become candidates\n  randomized delays are a common pattern in network protocols\n\n### how to choose the election timeout?\n  * at least a few heartbeat intervals (in case network drops a heartbeat)\n    to avoid needless elections, which waste time\n  * random part long enough to let one candidate succeed before next starts\n  * short enough to react quickly to failure, avoid long pauses\n  * short enough to allow a few re-tries before tester gets upset\n    tester requires election to complete in 5 seconds or less\n\n### what if old leader isn't aware a new leader is elected?\n  perhaps old leader didn't see election messages\n  perhaps old leader is in a minority network partition\n  new leader means a majority of servers have incremented currentTerm\n    so old leader (w/ old term) can't get majority for AppendEntries\n    so old leader won't commit or execute any new log entries\n    thus no split brain\n    but a minority may accept old server's AppendEntries\n      so logs may diverge at end of old term\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "lecture/l07 fault tolerance raft2/raft2.md",
    "content": "#### 6.824 2020 Lecture 7: Raft (2)\n\n*** topic: the Raft log (Lab 2B)\n\nas long as the leader stays up:\n  clients only interact with the leader\n  clients can't see follower states or logs\n\nthings get interesting when changing leaders\n  e.g. after the old leader fails\n  how to change leaders without anomalies?\n    diverging replicas, missing operations, repeated operations, &c\n\n### what do we want to ensure?\n  if any server executes a given command in a log entry,\n    then no server executes something else for that log entry\n  (Figure 3's State Machine Safety)\n  why? if the servers disagree on the operations, then a\n    change of leader might change the client-visible state,\n    which violates our goal of mimicing a single server.\n  example:\n    S1: put(k1,v1) | put(k1,v2) \n    S2: put(k1,v1) | put(k2,x) \n    can't allow both to execute their 2nd log entries!\n\n### how can logs disagree after a crash?\n  a leader crashes before sending last AppendEntries to all\n    S1: 3\n    S2: 3 3\n    S3: 3 3\n  worse: logs might have different commands in same entry!\n    after a series of leader crashes, e.g.\n        10 11 12 13  <- log entry #\n    S1:  3\n    S2:  3  3  4\n    S3:  3  3  5\n\n### Raft forces agreement by having followers adopt new leader's log\n  example:\n  S3 is chosen as new leader for term 6\n  S3 sends an AppendEntries with entry 13\n     prevLogIndex=12\n     prevLogTerm=5\n  S2 replies false (AppendEntries step 2)\n  S3 decrements nextIndex[S2] to 12\n  S3 sends AppendEntries w/ entries 12+13, prevLogIndex=11, prevLogTerm=3\n  S2 deletes its entry 12 (AppendEntries step 3)\n  similar story for S1, but S3 has to back up one farther\n\n### the result of roll-back:\n  each live follower deletes tail of log that differs from leader\n  then each live follower accepts leader's entries after that point\n  now followers' logs are identical to leader's log\n\n### Q: why was it OK to forget about S2's index=12 term=4 entry?\n\ncould new leader roll back *committed* entries from end of previous term?\n  i.e. could a committed entry be missing from the new leader's log?\n  this would be a disaster -- old leader might have already said \"yes\" to a client\n  so: Raft needs to ensure elected leader has all committed log entries\n\n### why not elect the server with the longest log as leader?\n  example:\n    S1: 5 6 7\n    S2: 5 8\n    S3: 5 8\n  first, could this scenario happen? how?\n    S1 leader in term 6; crash+reboot; leader in term 7; crash and stay down\n      both times it crashed after only appending to its own log\n    Q: after S1 crashes in term 7, why won't S2/S3 choose 6 as next term?\n    next term will be 8, since at least one of S2/S3 learned of 7 while voting\n    S2 leader in term 8, only S2+S3 alive, then crash\n  all peers reboot\n  who should be next leader?\n    S1 has longest log, but entry 8 could have committed !!!\n    so new leader can only be one of S2 or S3\n    i.e. the rule cannot be simply \"longest log\"\n\nend of 5.4.1 explains the \"election restriction\"\n  RequestVote handler only votes for candidate who is \"at least as up to date\":\n    candidate has higher term in last log entry, or\n    candidate has same last term and same length or longer log\n  so:\n    S2 and S3 won't vote for S1\n    S2 and S3 will vote for each other\n  so only S2 or S3 can be leader, will force S1 to discard 6,7\n    ok since 6,7 not on majority -> not committed -> reply never sent to clients\n    -> clients will resend the discarded commands\n\nthe point:\n  \"at least as up to date\" rule ensures new leader's log contains\n    all potentially committed entries\n  so new leader won't roll back any committed operation\n\nThe Question (from last lecture)\n  figure 7, top server is dead; which can be elected?\n\ndepending on who is elected leader in Figure 7, different entries\n  will end up committed or discarded\n  some will always remain committed: 111445566\n    they *could* have been committed + executed + replied to\n  some will certainly be discarded: f's 2 and 3; e's last 4,4\n  c's 6,6 and d's 7,7 may be discarded OR committed\n\n### how to roll back quickly\n  the Figure 2 design backs up one entry per RPC -- slow!\n  lab tester may require faster roll-back\n  paper outlines a scheme towards end of Section 5.3\n    no details; here's my guess; better schemes are possible\n```\n      Case 1      Case 2       Case 3\n  S1: 4 5 5       4 4 4        4\n  S2: 4 6 6 6 or  4 6 6 6  or  4 6 6 6\n```\n\nS2 is leader for term 6, S1 comes back to life, S2 sends AE for last 6; AE has prevLogTerm=6\n  \nrejection from S1 includes:\n- XTerm:  term in the conflicting entry (if any)\n- XIndex: index of first entry with that term (if any)\nXLen: log length\n\n\n```\n  Case 1 (leader doesn't have XTerm):\n    nextIndex = XIndex\n  Case 2 (leader has XTerm):\n    nextIndex = leader's last entry for XTerm\n  Case 3 (follower's log is too short):\n    nextIndex = XLen\n```\n\n# topic: persistence (Lab 2C)\n\nwhat would we like to happen after a server crashes?\n  Raft can continue with one missing server\n    but failed server must be repaired soon to avoid dipping below a majority\n  two strategies:\n  * replace with a fresh (empty) server\n    requires transfer of entire log (or snapshot) to new server (slow)\n    we *must* support this, in case failure is permanent\n  * or reboot crashed server, re-join with state intact, catch up\n    requires state that persists across crashes\n    we *must* support this, for simultaneous power failure\n  let's talk about the second strategy -- persistence\n\n### if a server crashes and restarts, what must Raft remember?\n  Figure 2 lists \"persistent state\":\n    log[], currentTerm, votedFor\n  a Raft server can only re-join after restart if these are intact\n  thus it must save them to non-volatile storage\n    non-volatile = disk, SSD, battery-backed RAM, &c\n    save after each change -- many points in code\n    or before sending any RPC or RPC reply\n  ##### why log[]?\n    if a server was in leader's majority for committing an entry,\n      must remember entry despite reboot, so any future leader is\n      guaranteed to see the committed log entry\n  ##### why votedFor?\n    to prevent a client from voting for one candidate, then reboot,\n      then vote for a different candidate in the same (or older!) term\n    could lead to two leaders for the same term\n  ##### why currentTerm?\n    to ensure terms only increase, so each term has at most one leader\n    to detect RPCs from stale leaders and candidates\n\nsome Raft state is volatile\n  commitIndex, lastApplied, next/matchIndex[]\n  why is it OK not to save these?\n\npersistence is often the bottleneck for performance\n  a hard disk write takes 10 ms, SSD write takes 0.1 ms\n  so persistence limits us to 100 to 10,000 ops/second\n  (the other potential bottleneck is RPC, which takes << 1 ms on a LAN)\n  lots of tricks to cope with slowness of persistence:\n    batch many new log entries per disk write\n    persist to battery-backed RAM, not disk\n\n##### how does the service (e.g. k/v server) recover its state after a crash+reboot?\n  easy approach: start with empty state, re-play Raft's entire persisted log\n    lastApplied is volatile and starts at zero, so you may need no extra code!\n    this is what Figure 2 does\n  but re-play will be too slow for a long-lived system\n  faster: use Raft snapshot and replay just the tail of the log\n\n# topic: log compaction and Snapshots (Lab 3B)\n\nproblem:\n  log will get to be huge -- much larger than state-machine state!\n  will take a long time to re-play on reboot or send to a new server\n\nluckily:\n  a server doesn't need *both* the complete log *and* the service state\n    the executed part of the log is captured in the state\n    clients only see the state, not the log\n  service state usually much smaller, so let's keep just that\n\nwhat entries *can't* a server discard?\n  un-executed entries -- not yet reflected in the state\n  un-committed entries -- might be part of leader's majority\n\nsolution: service periodically creates persistent \"snapshot\"\n  [diagram: service state, snapshot on disk, raft log (same in mem and disk)]\n  copy of service state as of execution of a specific log entry\n    e.g. k/v table\n  service writes snapshot to persistent storage (disk)\n    snapshot includes index of last included log entry\n  service tells Raft it is snapshotted through some log index\n  Raft discards log before that index\n  a server can create a snapshot and discard prefix of log at any time\n    e.g. when log grows too long\n\n### what happens on crash+restart?\n  service reads snapshot from disk\n  Raft reads persisted log from disk\n  service tells Raft to set lastApplied to last included index\n    to avoid re-applying already-applied log entries\n\nproblem: what if follower's log ends before leader's log starts?\n  because follower was offline and leader discarded early part of log\n  nextIndex[i] will back up to start of leader's log\n  so leader can't repair that follower with AppendEntries RPCs\n  thus the InstallSnapshot RPC\n\nphilosophical note:\n  state is often equivalent to operation history\n  you can often choose which one to store or communicate\n  we'll see examples of this duality later in the course\n\npractical notes:\n  Raft's snapshot scheme is reasonable if the state is small\n  for a big DB, e.g. if replicating gigabytes of data, not so good\n    slow to create and write to disk\n  perhaps service data should live on disk in a B-Tree\n    no need to explicitly snapshot, since on disk already\n  dealing with lagging replicas is hard, though\n    leader should save the log for a while\n    or remember which parts of state have been updated\n\n### linearizability\n\nwe need a definition of \"correct\" for Lab 3 &c\n  how should clients expect Put and Get to behave?\n  often called a consistency contract\n  helps us reason about how to handle complex situations correctly\n    e.g. concurrency, replicas, failures, RPC retransmission,\n         leader changes, optimizations\n  we'll see many consistency definitions in 6.824\n\n\"linearizability\" is the most common and intuitive definition\n  formalizes behavior expected of a single server (\"strong\" consistency)\n\nlinearizability definition:\n  an execution history is linearizable if\n    one can find a total order of all operations,\n    that matches real-time (for non-overlapping ops), and\n    in which each read sees the value from the\n    write preceding it in the order.\n\na history is a record of client operations, each with\n  arguments, return value, time of start, time completed\n\nexample history 1:\n  |-Wx1-| |-Wx2-|\n    |---Rx2---|\n      |-Rx1-|\n\"Wx1\" means \"write value 1 to record x\"\n\"Rx1\" means \"a read of record x yielded value 1\"\ndraw the constraint arrows:\n  the order obeys value constraints (W -> R)\n  the order obeys real-time constraints (Wx1 -> Wx2)\nthis order satisfies the constraints:\n  Wx1 Rx1 Wx2 Rx2\n  so the history is linearizable\n\nnote: the definition is based on external behavior\n  so we can apply it without having to know how service works\nnote: histories explicitly incorporates concurrency in the form of\n  overlapping operations (ops don't occur at a point in time), thus good\n  match for how distributed systems operate.\n\nexample history 2:\n  |-Wx1-| |-Wx2-|\n    |--Rx2--|\n              |-Rx1-|\ndraw the constraint arrows:\n  Wx1 before Wx2 (time)\n  Wx2 before Rx2 (value)\n  Rx2 before Rx1 (time)\n  Rx1 before Wx2 (value)\nthere's a cycle -- so it cannot be turned into a linear order. so this\nhistory is not linearizable. (it would be linearizable w/o Rx2, even\nthough Rx1 overlaps with Wx2.)\n\nexample history 3:\n|--Wx0--|  |--Wx1--|\n            |--Wx2--|\n        |-Rx2-| |-Rx1-|\norder: Wx0 Wx2 Rx2 Wx1 Rx1\nso the history linearizable.\nso:\n  the service can pick either order for concurrent writes.\n  e.g. Raft placing concurrent ops in the log.\n\nexample history 4:\n|--Wx0--|  |--Wx1--|\n            |--Wx2--|\nC1:     |-Rx2-| |-Rx1-|\nC2:     |-Rx1-| |-Rx2-|\nwhat are the constraints?\n  Wx2 then C1:Rx2 (value)\n  C1:Rx2 then Wx1 (value)\n  Wx1 then C2:Rx1 (value)\n  C2:Rx1 then Wx2 (value)\n  a cycle! so not linearizable.\nso:\n  service can choose either order for concurrent writes\n  but all clients must see the writes in the same order\n  this is important when we have replicas or caches\n    they have to all agree on the order in which operations occur\n\nexample history 5:\n|-Wx1-|\n        |-Wx2-|\n                |-Rx1-|\nconstraints:\n  Wx2 before Rx1 (time)\n  Rx1 before Wx2 (value)\n  (or: time constraints mean only possible order is Wx1 Wx2 Rx1)\nthere's a cycle; not linearizable\nso:\n  reads must return fresh data: stale values aren't linearizable\n  even if the reader doesn't know about the write\n    the time rule requires reads to yield the latest data\n  linearzability forbids many situations:\n    split brain (two active leaders)\n    forgetting committed writes after a reboot\n    reading from lagging replicas\n\nexample history 6:\nsuppose clients re-send requests if they don't get a reply\nin case it was the response that was lost:\n  leader remembers client requests it has already seen\n  if sees duplicate, replies with saved response from first execution\nbut this may yield a saved value from long ago -- a stale value!\nwhat does linearizabilty say?\nC1: |-Wx3-|          |-Wx4-|\nC2:          |-Rx3-------------|\norder: Wx3 Rx3 Wx4\nso: returning the old saved value 3 is correct\n\nYou may find this page useful:\nhttps://www.anishathalye.com/2017/06/04/testing-distributed-systems-for-linearizability/\n\n*** duplicate RPC detection (Lab 3)\n\nWhat should a client do if a Put or Get RPC times out?\n  i.e. Call() returns false\n  if server is dead, or request dropped: re-send\n  if server executed, but request lost: re-send is dangerous\n\nproblem:\n  these two cases look the same to the client (no reply)\n  if already executed, client still needs the result\n\nidea: duplicate RPC detection\n  let's have the k/v service detect duplicate client requests\n  client picks an ID for each request, sends in RPC\n    same ID in re-sends of same RPC\n  k/v service maintains table indexed by ID\n  makes an entry for each RPC\n    record value after executing\n  if 2nd RPC arrives with the same ID, it's a duplicate\n    generate reply from the value in the table\n\ndesign puzzles:\n  when (if ever) can we delete table entries?\n  if new leader takes over, how does it get the duplicate table?\n  if server crashes, how does it restore its table?\n\nidea to keep the duplicate table small\n  one table entry per client, rather than one per RPC\n  each client has only one RPC outstanding at a time\n  each client numbers RPCs sequentially\n  when server receives client RPC #10,\n    it can forget about client's lower entries\n    since this means client won't ever re-send older RPCs\n\nsome details:\n  each client needs a unique client ID -- perhaps a 64-bit random number\n  client sends client ID and seq # in every RPC\n    repeats seq # if it re-sends\n  duplicate table in k/v service indexed by client ID\n    contains just seq #, and value if already executed\n  RPC handler first checks table, only Start()s if seq # > table entry\n  each log entry must include client ID, seq #\n  when operation appears on applyCh\n    update the seq # and value in the client's table entry\n    wake up the waiting RPC handler (if any)\n\nwhat if a duplicate request arrives before the original executes?\n  could just call Start() (again)\n  it will probably appear twice in the log (same client ID, same seq #)\n  when cmd appears on applyCh, don't execute if table says already seen\n\nhow does a new leader get the duplicate table?\n  all replicas should update their duplicate tables as they execute\n  so the information is already there if they become leader\n\nif server crashes how does it restore its table?\n  if no snapshots, replay of log will populate the table\n  if snapshots, snapshot must contain a copy of the table\n\nbut wait!\n  the k/v server is now returning old values from the duplicate table\n  what if the reply value in the table is stale?\n  is that OK?\n\nexample:\n  C1           C2\n  --           --\n  put(x,10)\n               first send of get(x), 10 reply dropped\n  put(x,20)\n               re-sends get(x), gets 10 from table, not 20\n\nwhat does linearizabilty say?\nC1: |-Wx10-|          |-Wx20-|\nC2:          |-Rx10-------------|\norder: Wx10 Rx10 Wx20\nso: returning the remembered value 10 is correct\n\n*** read-only operations (end of Section 8)\n\nQ: does the Raft leader have to commit read-only operations in\n   the log before replying? e.g. Get(key)?\n\nthat is, could the leader respond immediately to a Get() using\n  the current content of its key/value table?\n\nA: no, not with the scheme in Figure 2 or in the labs.\n   suppose S1 thinks it is the leader, and receives a Get(k).\n   it might have recently lost an election, but not realize,\n   due to lost network packets.\n   the new leader, say S2, might have processed Put()s for the key,\n   so that the value in S1's key/value table is stale.\n   serving stale data is not linearizable; it's split-brain.\n   \nso: Figure 2 requires Get()s to be committed into the log.\n    if the leader is able to commit a Get(), then (at that point\n    in the log) it is still the leader. in the case of S1\n    above, which unknowingly lost leadership, it won't be\n    able to get the majority of positive AppendEntries replies\n    required to commit the Get(), so it won't reply to the client.\n\nbut: many applications are read-heavy. committing Get()s\n  takes time. is there any way to avoid commit\n  for read-only operations? this is a huge consideration in\n  practical systems.\n\nidea: leases\n  modify the Raft protocol as follows\n  define a lease period, e.g. 5 seconds\n  after each time the leader gets an AppendEntries majority,\n    it is entitled to respond to read-only requests for\n    a lease period without commiting read-only requests\n    to the log, i.e. without sending AppendEntries.\n  a new leader cannot execute Put()s until previous lease period\n    has expired\n  so followers keep track of the last time they responded\n    to an AppendEntries, and tell the new leader (in the\n    RequestVote reply).\n  result: faster read-only operations, still linearizable.\n\nnote: for the Labs, you should commit Get()s into the log;\n      don't implement leases.\n\nin practice, people are often (but not always) willing to live with stale\n  data in return for higher performance"
  },
  {
    "path": "lecture/l08 zookeeper/zookeeper.md",
    "content": "# 6.824 2020 Lecture 8: Zookeeper Case Study\n\nReading: \"ZooKeeper: wait-free coordination for internet-scale systems\", Patrick\nHunt, Mahadev Konar, Flavio P. Junqueira, Benjamin Reed.  Proceedings of the 2010\nUSENIX Annual Technical Conference.\n\n### What questions does this paper shed light on?\n  * Can we have coordination as a stand-alone general-purpose service?\n    What should the API look like?\n    How can other distributed applications use it?\n  * We paid lots of money for Nx replica servers.\n    Can we get Nx performance from them?\n\nFirst, performance.\n  For now, view ZooKeeper as some service replicated with a Raft-like scheme.\n  Much like Lab 3.\n  [clients, leader/state/log, followers/state/log]\n\nDoes this replication arrangement get faster as we add more servers?\n  Assume a busy system, lots of active clients.\n  Writes probably get slower with more replicas!\n    Since leader must send each write to growing # of followers.\n  What about reads?\n\n### Q: Can replicas serve read-only client requests form their local state?\n   Without involving the leader or other replicas?\n   Then total read capacity would be O(# servers), not O(1)!\n\nQ: Would reads from followers be linearizable?\n   Would reads always yield fresh data?\n   No:\n     Replica may not be in majority, so may not have seen a completed write.\n     Replica may not yet have seen a commit for a completed write.\n     Replica may be entirely cut off from the leader (same as above).\n   Linearizability forbids stale reads!\n\n### Q: What if a client reads from an up-to-date replica, then a lagging replica?\n   It may see data values go *backwards* in time! Also forbidden.\n\n##### Raft and Lab 3 avoid these problems.\n  Clients have to send reads to the leader.\n  So Lab 3 reads are linearizable.\n  But no opportunity to divide the read load over the followers.\n  \n##### How does ZooKeeper skin this cat?\n  By changing the definition of correctness!\n  It allows reads to yield stale data.\n  But otherwise preserves order.\n\n##### Ordering guarantees (Section 2.3)\n  * Linearizable writes\n    clients send writes to the leader\n    the leader chooses an order, numbered by \"zxid\"\n    sends to replicas, which all execute in zxid order\n    this is just like the labs\n  * FIFO client order\n    each client specifies an order for its operations (reads AND writes)\n    writes:\n      writes appear in the write order in client-specified order\n      this is the business about the \"ready\" file in 2.3\n    reads:\n      each read executes at a particular point in the write order\n      a client's successive reads execute at non-decreasing points in the order\n      a client's read executes after all previous writes by that client\n        a server may block a client's read to wait for previous write, or sync()\n\n##### Why does this make sense?\n  I.e. why OK for reads to return stale data?\n       why OK for client 1 to see new data, then client 2 sees older data?\n\nAt a high level:\n  not as painful for programmers as it may seem\n  very helpful for read performance!\n\nWhy is ZooKeeper useful despite loose consistency?\n  sync() causes subsequent client reads to see preceding writes.\n    useful when a read must see latest data\n  Writes are well-behaved, e.g. exclusive test-and-set operations\n    writes really do execute in order, on latest data.\n  Read order rules ensure \"read your own writes\".\n  Read order rules help reasoning.\n    e.g. if read sees \"ready\" file, subsequent reads see previous writes.\n         (Section 2.3)\n         Write order:      Read order:\n         delete(\"ready\")\n         write f1\n         write f2\n         create(\"ready\")\n                           exists(\"ready\")\n                           read f1\n                           read f2\n         even if client switches servers!\n    e.g. watch triggered by a write delivered before reads from subsequent writes.\n         Write order:      Read order:\n                           exists(\"ready\", watch=true)\n                           read f1\n         delete(\"ready\")\n         write f1\n         write f2\n                           read f2\n\nA few consequences:\n  Leader must preserve client write order across leader failure.\n  Replicas must enforce \"a client's reads never go backwards in zxid order\"\n    despite replica failure.\n  Client must track highest zxid it has read\n    to help ensure next read doesn't go backwards\n    even if sent to a different replica\n\nOther performance tricks in ZooKeeper:\n  Clients can send async writes to leader (async = don't have to wait).\n  Leader batches up many requests to reduce net and disk-write overhead.\n    Assumes lots of active clients.\n  Fuzzy snapshots (and idempotent updates) so snapshot doesn't stop writes.\n\nIs the resulting performance good?\n  Table 1\n  High read throughput -- and goes up with number of servers!\n  Lower write throughput -- and goes down with number of servers!\n  21,000 writes/second is pretty good!\n    Maybe limited by time to persist log to hard drives.\n    But still MUCH higher than 10 milliseconds per disk write -- batching.\n\nThe other big ZooKeeper topic: a general-purpose coordination service.\n  This is about the API and how it can help distributed s/w coordinate.\n  It is not clear what such an API should look like!\n\n### What do we mean by coordination as a service?\n  Example: VMware-FT's test-and-set server\n    If one replica can't talk to the other, grabs t-a-s lock, becomes sole server\n    Must be exclusive to avoid two primaries (e.g. if network partition)\n    Must be fault-tolerant\n  Example: GFS (more speculative)\n    Perhaps agreement on which meta-data replica should be master\n    Perhaps recording list of chunk servers, which chunks, who is primary\n  Other examples: MapReduce, YMB, Crawler, etc.\n    Who is the master; lists of workers; division of labor; status of tasks\n  A general-purpose service would save much effort!\n\n### Could we use a Lab 3 key/value store as a generic coordination service?\n  For example, to choose new GFS master if multiple replicas want to take over?\n  perhaps\n    Put(\"master\", my IP address)\n    if Get(\"master\") == my IP address:\n      act as master\n  problem: a racing Put() may execute after the Get()\n    2nd Put() overwrites first, so two masters, oops\n    Put() and Get() are not a good API for mutual exclusion!\n  problem: what to do if master fails?\n    perhaps master repeatedly Put()s a fresh timestamp?\n    lots of polling...\n  problem: clients need to know when master changes\n    periodic Get()s?\n    lots of polling...\n\n### Zookeeper API overview (Figure 1)\n  the state: a file-system-like tree of znodes\n  file names, file content, directories, path names\n  typical use: configuration info in znodes\n    set of machines that participate in the application\n    which machine is the primary\n  each znode has a version number\n  types of znodes:\n    regular\n    ephemeral\n    sequential: name + seqno\n\n### Operations on znodes (Section 2.2)\n  create(path, data, flags)\n    exclusive -- only first create indicates success\n  delete(path, version)\n    if znode.version = version, then delete\n  exists(path, watch)\n    watch=true means also send notification if path is later created/deleted\n  getData(path, watch)\n  setData(path, data, version)\n    if znode.version = version, then update\n  getChildren(path, watch)\n  sync()\n    sync then read ensures writes before sync are visible to same client's read\n    client could instead submit a write\n\nZooKeeper API well tuned to synchronization:\n  + exclusive file creation; exactly one concurrent create returns success\n  + getData()/setData(x, version) supports mini-transactions\n  + sessions automate actions when clients fail (e.g. release lock on failure)\n  + sequential files create order among multiple clients\n  + watches -- avoid polling\n\nExample: add one to a number stored in a ZooKeeper znode\n  what if the read returns stale data?\n    write will write the wrong value!\n  what if another client concurrently updates?\n    will one of the increments be lost?\n  while true:\n    x, v := getData(\"f\")\n    if setData(x + 1, version=v):\n      break\n  this is a \"mini-transaction\"\n    effect is atomic read-modify-write\n  lots of variants, e.g. test-and-set for VMware-FT\n\nExample: Simple Locks (Section 2.4)\n  acquire():\n    while true:\n      if create(\"lf\", ephemeral=true), success\n      if exists(\"lf\", watch=true)\n        wait for notification\n\n  release(): (voluntarily or session timeout)\n    delete(\"lf\")\n\n  Q: what if lock released just as loser calls exists()?\n\n### Example: Locks without Herd Effect\n  (look at pseudo-code in paper, Section 2.4, page 6)\n  1. create a \"sequential\" file\n  2. list files\n  3. if no lower-numbered, lock is acquired!\n  4. if exists(next-lower-numbered, watch=true)\n  5.   wait for event...\n  6. goto 2\n\n  Q: could a lower-numbered file be created between steps 2 and 3?\n  Q: can watch fire before it is the client's turn?\n  A: yes\n     lock-10 <- current lock holder\n     lock-11 <- next one\n     lock-12 <- my request\n\n     if client that created lock-11 dies before it gets the lock, the\n     watch will fire but it isn't my turn yet.\n\n### Using these locks\n  - Different from single-machine thread locks!\n    If lock holder fails, system automatically releases locks.\n    So locks are not really enforcing atomicity of other activities.\n    To make writes atomic, use \"ready\" trick or mini-transactions.\n  - Useful for master/leader election.\n    New leader must inspect state and clean up.\n  - Or soft locks, for performance but not correctness\n    e.g. only one worker does each Map or Reduce task (but OK if done twice)\n    e.g. a URL crawled by only one worker (but OK if done twice)\n\n### ZooKeeper is a successful design.\n  see ZooKeeper's Wikipedia page for a list of projects that use it\n  Rarely eliminates all the complexity from distribution.\n    e.g. GFS master still needs to replicate file meta-data.\n    e.g. GFS primary has its own plan for replicating chunks.\n  \n  But does bite off a bunch of common cases:\n    Master election.\n    Persistent master state (if state is small).\n    Who is the current master? (name service).\n    Worker registration.\n    Work queues.\n  \n### Topics not covered:\n- persistence\n- details of batching and pipelining for performance\n- fuzzy snapshots\n- idempotent operations\n- duplicate client request detection\n\n### References:\n  https://zookeeper.apache.org/doc/r3.4.8/api/org/apache/zookeeper/ZooKeeper.html\n  ZAB: http://dl.acm.org/citation.cfm?id=2056409\n  https://zookeeper.apache.org/\n  https://cs.brown.edu/~mph/Herlihy91/p124-herlihy.pdf  (wait free, universal\n  objects, etc.)\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/diskv/client.go",
    "content": "package diskv\n\nimport \"shardmaster\"\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"math/big\"\n\ntype Clerk struct {\n\tmu     sync.Mutex // one RPC at a time\n\tsm     *shardmaster.Clerk\n\tconfig shardmaster.Config\n\t// You'll have to modify Clerk.\n}\n\nfunc nrand() int64 {\n\tmax := big.NewInt(int64(1) << 62)\n\tbigx, _ := rand.Int(rand.Reader, max)\n\tx := bigx.Int64()\n\treturn x\n}\n\nfunc MakeClerk(shardmasters []string) *Clerk {\n\tck := new(Clerk)\n\tck.sm = shardmaster.MakeClerk(shardmasters)\n\t// You'll have to modify MakeClerk.\n\treturn ck\n}\n\n//\n// call() sends an RPC to the rpcname handler on server srv\n// with arguments args, waits for the reply, and leaves the\n// reply in reply. the reply argument should be a pointer\n// to a reply structure.\n//\n// the return value is true if the server responded, and false\n// if call() was not able to contact the server. in particular,\n// the reply's contents are only valid if call() returned true.\n//\n// you should assume that call() will return an\n// error after a while if the server is dead.\n// don't provide your own time-out mechanism.\n//\n// please use call() to send all RPCs, in client.go and server.go.\n// please don't change this function.\n//\nfunc call(srv string, rpcname string,\n\targs interface{}, reply interface{}) bool {\n\tc, errx := rpc.Dial(\"unix\", srv)\n\tif errx != nil {\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n\tdefer c.Close()\n\n\terr := c.Call(rpcname, args, reply)\n\tif err == nil {\n\t\treturn true\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Println(err)\n\treturn false\n}\n\n//\n// which shard is a key in?\n// please use this function,\n// and please do not change it.\n//\nfunc key2shard(key string) int {\n\tshard := 0\n\tif len(key) > 0 {\n\t\tshard = int(key[0])\n\t}\n\tshard %= shardmaster.NShards\n\treturn shard\n}\n\n//\n// fetch the current value for a key.\n// returns \"\" if the key does not exist.\n// keeps trying forever in the face of all other errors.\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Get(key string) string {\n\tck.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer ck.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t// You'll have to modify Get().\n\n\tfor {\n\t\tshard := key2shard(key)\n\n\t\tgid := ck.config.Shards[shard]\n\n\t\tservers, ok := ck.config.Groups[gid]\n\n\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t// try each server in the shard's replication group.\n\t\t\tfor _, srv := range servers {\n\t\t\t\targs := &GetArgs{}\n\t\t\t\targs.Key = key\n\t\t\t\tvar reply GetReply\n\t\t\t\tok := call(srv, \"DisKV.Get\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\tif ok && (reply.Err == OK || reply.Err == ErrNoKey) {\n\t\t\t\t\treturn reply.Value\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tif ok && (reply.Err == ErrWrongGroup) {\n\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\t\t// ask master for a new configuration.\n\t\tck.config = ck.sm.Query(-1)\n\t}\n}\n\n// send a Put or Append request.\nfunc (ck *Clerk) PutAppend(key string, value string, op string) {\n\tck.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer ck.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t// You'll have to modify PutAppend().\n\n\tfor {\n\t\tshard := key2shard(key)\n\n\t\tgid := ck.config.Shards[shard]\n\n\t\tservers, ok := ck.config.Groups[gid]\n\n\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t// try each server in the shard's replication group.\n\t\t\tfor _, srv := range servers {\n\t\t\t\targs := &PutAppendArgs{}\n\t\t\t\targs.Key = key\n\t\t\t\targs.Value = value\n\t\t\t\targs.Op = op\n\t\t\t\tvar reply PutAppendReply\n\t\t\t\tok := call(srv, \"DisKV.PutAppend\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\tif ok && reply.Err == OK {\n\t\t\t\t\treturn\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tif ok && (reply.Err == ErrWrongGroup) {\n\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\t\t// ask master for a new configuration.\n\t\tck.config = ck.sm.Query(-1)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Put(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Put\")\n}\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Append(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Append\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/diskv/common.go",
    "content": "package diskv\n\n//\n// Sharded key/value server.\n// Lots of replica groups, each running op-at-a-time paxos.\n// Shardmaster decides which group serves each shard.\n// Shardmaster may change shard assignment from time to time.\n//\n// You will have to modify these definitions.\n//\n\nconst (\n\tOK            = \"OK\"\n\tErrNoKey      = \"ErrNoKey\"\n\tErrWrongGroup = \"ErrWrongGroup\"\n)\n\ntype Err string\n\ntype PutAppendArgs struct {\n\tKey   string\n\tValue string\n\tOp    string // \"Put\" or \"Append\"\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n\t// Field names must start with capital letters,\n\t// otherwise RPC will break.\n\n}\n\ntype PutAppendReply struct {\n\tErr Err\n}\n\ntype GetArgs struct {\n\tKey string\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n}\n\ntype GetReply struct {\n\tErr   Err\n\tValue string\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/diskv/dist_test.go",
    "content": "package shardkv\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"os\"\n\t\"shardmaster\"\n\t\"strconv\"\n)\n\nfunc port(tag string, host int) string {\n\ts := \"/var/tmp/824-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getuid()) + \"/\"\n\tos.Mkdir(s, 0777)\n\ts += \"skv-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getpid()) + \"-\"\n\ts += tag + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(host)\n\treturn s\n}\n\n// predict value that would result from an Append\nfunc NextValue(prev string, val string) string {\n\treturn prev + val\n}\n\nfunc mcleanup(sma []*shardmaster.ShardMaster) {\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(sma); i++ {\n\t\tif sma[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tsma[i].Kill()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc TestConcurretnUnreliable(t *tetsing.T) {\n\tfmt.Print(\"Test: Concurrent Put/Get/Move (unreliable) ...\\n\")\n\tdoConcurrent(t, true)\n\tfmt.Println(\"Concurrent Feature completed!\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/diskv/server.go",
    "content": "package diskv\n\nimport \"net\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"paxos\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"syscall\"\nimport \"encoding/gob\"\nimport \"encoding/base32\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"shardmaster\"\nimport \"io/ioutil\"\nimport \"strconv\"\n\nconst Debug = 0\n\nfunc DPrintf(format string, a ...interface{}) (n int, err error) {\n\tif Debug > 0 {\n\t\tlog.Printf(format, a...)\n\t}\n\treturn\n}\n\ntype Op struct {\n\t// Your definitions here.\n}\n\ntype DisKV struct {\n\tmu         sync.Mutex\n\tl          net.Listener\n\tme         int\n\tdead       int32 // for testing\n\tunreliable int32 // for testing\n\tsm         *shardmaster.Clerk\n\tpx         *paxos.Paxos\n\tdir        string // each replica has its own data directory\n\n\tgid int64 // my replica group ID\n\n\t// Your definitions here.\n}\n\n//\n// these are handy functions that might be useful\n// for reading and writing key/value files, and\n// for reading and writing entire shards.\n// puts the key files for each shard in a separate\n// directory.\n//\n\nfunc (kv *DisKV) shardDir(shard int) string {\n\td := kv.dir + \"/shard-\" + strconv.Itoa(shard) + \"/\"\n\t// create directory if needed.\n\t_, err := os.Stat(d)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tif err := os.Mkdir(d, 0777); err != nil {\n\t\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"Mkdir(%v): %v\", d, err)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn d\n}\n\n// cannot use keys in file names directly, since\n// they might contain troublesome characters like /.\n// base32-encode the key to get a file name.\n// base32 rather than base64 b/c Mac has case-insensitive\n// file names.\nfunc (kv *DisKV) encodeKey(key string) string {\n\treturn base32.StdEncoding.EncodeToString([]byte(key))\n}\n\nfunc (kv *DisKV) decodeKey(filename string) (string, error) {\n\tkey, err := base32.StdEncoding.DecodeString(filename)\n\treturn string(key), err\n}\n\n// read the content of a key's file.\nfunc (kv *DisKV) fileGet(shard int, key string) (string, error) {\n\tfullname := kv.shardDir(shard) + \"/key-\" + kv.encodeKey(key)\n\tcontent, err := ioutil.ReadFile(fullname)\n\treturn string(content), err\n}\n\n// replace the content of a key's file.\n// uses rename() to make the replacement atomic with\n// respect to crashes.\nfunc (kv *DisKV) filePut(shard int, key string, content string) error {\n\tfullname := kv.shardDir(shard) + \"/key-\" + kv.encodeKey(key)\n\ttempname := kv.shardDir(shard) + \"/temp-\" + kv.encodeKey(key)\n\tif err := ioutil.WriteFile(tempname, []byte(content), 0666); err != nil {\n\t\treturn err\n\t}\n\tif err := os.Rename(tempname, fullname); err != nil {\n\t\treturn err\n\t}\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n// return content of every key file in a given shard.\nfunc (kv *DisKV) fileReadShard(shard int) map[string]string {\n\tm := map[string]string{}\n\td := kv.shardDir(shard)\n\tfiles, err := ioutil.ReadDir(d)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"fileReadShard could not read %v: %v\", d, err)\n\t}\n\tfor _, fi := range files {\n\t\tn1 := fi.Name()\n\t\tif n1[0:4] == \"key-\" {\n\t\t\tkey, err := kv.decodeKey(n1[4:])\n\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"fileReadShard bad file name %v: %v\", n1, err)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcontent, err := kv.fileGet(shard, key)\n\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"fileReadShard fileGet failed for %v: %v\", key, err)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tm[key] = content\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn m\n}\n\n// replace an entire shard directory.\nfunc (kv *DisKV) fileReplaceShard(shard int, m map[string]string) {\n\td := kv.shardDir(shard)\n\tos.RemoveAll(d) // remove all existing files from shard.\n\tfor k, v := range m {\n\t\tkv.filePut(shard, k, v)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (kv *DisKV) Get(args *GetArgs, reply *GetReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n// RPC handler for client Put and Append requests\nfunc (kv *DisKV) PutAppend(args *PutAppendArgs, reply *PutAppendReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n//\n// Ask the shardmaster if there's a new configuration;\n// if so, re-configure.\n//\nfunc (kv *DisKV) tick() {\n\t// Your code here.\n}\n\n// tell the server to shut itself down.\n// please don't change these two functions.\nfunc (kv *DisKV) kill() {\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&kv.dead, 1)\n\tkv.l.Close()\n\tkv.px.Kill()\n}\n\n// call this to find out if the server is dead.\nfunc (kv *DisKV) isdead() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&kv.dead) != 0\n}\n\n// please do not change these two functions.\nfunc (kv *DisKV) Setunreliable(what bool) {\n\tif what {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&kv.unreliable, 1)\n\t} else {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&kv.unreliable, 0)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (kv *DisKV) isunreliable() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&kv.unreliable) != 0\n}\n\n//\n// Start a shardkv server.\n// gid is the ID of the server's replica group.\n// shardmasters[] contains the ports of the\n//   servers that implement the shardmaster.\n// servers[] contains the ports of the servers\n//   in this replica group.\n// Me is the index of this server in servers[].\n// dir is the directory name under which this\n//   replica should store all its files.\n//   each replica is passed a different directory.\n// restart is false the very first time this server\n//   is started, and true to indicate a re-start\n//   after a crash or after a crash with disk loss.\n//\nfunc StartServer(gid int64, shardmasters []string,\n\tservers []string, me int, dir string, restart bool) *DisKV {\n\n\tkv := new(DisKV)\n\tkv.me = me\n\tkv.gid = gid\n\tkv.sm = shardmaster.MakeClerk(shardmasters)\n\tkv.dir = dir\n\n\t// Your initialization code here.\n\t// Don't call Join().\n\n\t// log.SetOutput(ioutil.Discard)\n\n\tgob.Register(Op{})\n\n\trpcs := rpc.NewServer()\n\trpcs.Register(kv)\n\n\tkv.px = paxos.Make(servers, me, rpcs)\n\n\t// log.SetOutput(os.Stdout)\n\n\tos.Remove(servers[me])\n\tl, e := net.Listen(\"unix\", servers[me])\n\tif e != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"listen error: \", e)\n\t}\n\tkv.l = l\n\n\t// please do not change any of the following code,\n\t// or do anything to subvert it.\n\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor kv.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\tconn, err := kv.l.Accept()\n\t\t\tif err == nil && kv.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tif kv.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// discard the request.\n\t\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t\t} else if kv.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 200 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// process the request but force discard of reply.\n\t\t\t\t\tc1 := conn.(*net.UnixConn)\n\t\t\t\t\tf, _ := c1.File()\n\t\t\t\t\terr := syscall.Shutdown(int(f.Fd()), syscall.SHUT_WR)\n\t\t\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"shutdown: %v\\n\", err)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else if err == nil {\n\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif err != nil && kv.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"DisKV(%v) accept: %v\\n\", me, err.Error())\n\t\t\t\tkv.kill()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor kv.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\tkv.tick()\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(250 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\treturn kv\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/diskv/test.go",
    "content": "package diskv\n\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"shardmaster\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"strconv\"\nimport \"strings\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"os/exec\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"io/ioutil\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport crand \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"encoding/base64\"\nimport \"path/filepath\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\n\ntype tServer struct {\n\tp       *os.Process\n\tport    string // this replica's port name\n\tdir     string // directory for persistent data\n\tstarted bool   // has started at least once already\n}\n\n// information about the servers of one replica group.\ntype tGroup struct {\n\tgid     int64\n\tservers []*tServer\n}\n\n// information about all the servers of a k/v cluster.\ntype tCluster struct {\n\tt           *testing.T\n\tdir         string\n\tunreliable  bool\n\tmasters     []*shardmaster.ShardMaster\n\tmck         *shardmaster.Clerk\n\tmasterports []string\n\tgroups      []*tGroup\n}\n\nfunc randstring(n int) string {\n\tb := make([]byte, 2*n)\n\tcrand.Read(b)\n\ts := base64.URLEncoding.EncodeToString(b)\n\treturn s[0:n]\n}\n\nfunc (tc *tCluster) newport() string {\n\treturn tc.dir + randstring(12)\n}\n\n//\n// start a k/v replica server process.\n// use separate process, rather than thread, so we\n// can kill a replica unexpectedly.\n// ../main/diskvd\n//\nfunc (tc *tCluster) start1(gi int, si int) {\n\targs := []string{\"../main/diskvd\"}\n\n\tattr := &os.ProcAttr{}\n\tin, err := os.Open(\"/dev/null\")\n\tattr.Files = make([]*os.File, 3)\n\tattr.Files[0] = in\n\tattr.Files[1] = os.Stdout\n\tattr.Files[2] = os.Stderr\n\n\tg := tc.groups[gi]\n\ts := g.servers[si]\n\n\targs = append(args, \"-g\")\n\targs = append(args, strconv.FormatInt(g.gid, 10))\n\tfor _, m := range tc.masterports {\n\t\targs = append(args, \"-m\")\n\t\targs = append(args, m)\n\t}\n\tfor _, sx := range g.servers {\n\t\targs = append(args, \"-s\")\n\t\targs = append(args, sx.port)\n\t}\n\targs = append(args, \"-i\")\n\targs = append(args, strconv.Itoa(si))\n\targs = append(args, \"-u\")\n\targs = append(args, strconv.FormatBool(tc.unreliable))\n\targs = append(args, \"-d\")\n\targs = append(args, s.dir)\n\targs = append(args, \"-r\")\n\targs = append(args, strconv.FormatBool(s.started)) // re-start?\n\n\tp, err := os.StartProcess(args[0], args, attr)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\ttc.t.Fatalf(\"StartProcess(%v): %v\\n\", args[0], err)\n\t}\n\n\ts.p = p\n\ts.started = true\n}\n\nfunc (tc *tCluster) kill1(gi int, si int, deletefiles bool) {\n\tg := tc.groups[gi]\n\ts := g.servers[si]\n\tif s.p != nil {\n\t\ts.p.Kill()\n\t\ts.p.Wait()\n\t\ts.p = nil\n\t}\n\tif deletefiles {\n\t\tif err := os.RemoveAll(s.dir); err != nil {\n\t\t\ttc.t.Fatalf(\"RemoveAll\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tos.Mkdir(s.dir, 0777)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (tc *tCluster) cleanup() {\n\tfor gi := 0; gi < len(tc.groups); gi++ {\n\t\tg := tc.groups[gi]\n\t\tfor si := 0; si < len(g.servers); si++ {\n\t\t\ttc.kill1(gi, si, false)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(tc.masters); i++ {\n\t\tif tc.masters[i] != nil {\n\t\t\ttc.masters[i].Kill()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// this RemoveAll, along with the directory naming\n\t// policy in setup(), means that you can't run\n\t// concurrent tests. the reason is to avoid accumulating\n\t// lots of stuff in /var/tmp on Athena.\n\tos.RemoveAll(tc.dir)\n}\n\nfunc (tc *tCluster) shardclerk() *shardmaster.Clerk {\n\treturn shardmaster.MakeClerk(tc.masterports)\n}\n\nfunc (tc *tCluster) clerk() *Clerk {\n\treturn MakeClerk(tc.masterports)\n}\n\nfunc (tc *tCluster) join(gi int) {\n\tports := []string{}\n\tfor _, s := range tc.groups[gi].servers {\n\t\tports = append(ports, s.port)\n\t}\n\ttc.mck.Join(tc.groups[gi].gid, ports)\n}\n\nfunc (tc *tCluster) leave(gi int) {\n\ttc.mck.Leave(tc.groups[gi].gid)\n}\n\n// how many total bytes of file space in use?\nfunc (tc *tCluster) space() int64 {\n\tvar bytes int64 = 0\n\tff := func(_ string, info os.FileInfo, err error) error {\n\t\tif err == nil && info.Mode().IsDir() == false {\n\t\t\tbytes += info.Size()\n\t\t}\n\t\treturn nil\n\t}\n\tfilepath.Walk(tc.dir, ff)\n\treturn bytes\n}\n\nfunc setup(t *testing.T, tag string, ngroups int, nreplicas int, unreliable bool) *tCluster {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\t// compile ../main/diskvd.go\n\t// cmd := exec.Command(\"go\", \"build\", \"-race\", \"diskvd.go\")\n\tcmd := exec.Command(\"go\", \"build\", \"diskvd.go\")\n\tcmd.Dir = \"../main\"\n\tcmd.Stdout = os.Stdout\n\tcmd.Stderr = os.Stderr\n\tif err := cmd.Run(); err != nil {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"could not compile ../main/diskvd.go: %v\", err)\n\t}\n\n\tconst nmasters = 3\n\n\ttc := &tCluster{}\n\ttc.t = t\n\ttc.unreliable = unreliable\n\n\ttc.dir = \"/var/tmp/824-\"\n\ttc.dir += strconv.Itoa(os.Getuid()) + \"/\"\n\tos.Mkdir(tc.dir, 0777)\n\ttc.dir += \"lab5-\" + tag + \"/\"\n\tos.RemoveAll(tc.dir)\n\tos.Mkdir(tc.dir, 0777)\n\n\ttc.masters = make([]*shardmaster.ShardMaster, nmasters)\n\ttc.masterports = make([]string, nmasters)\n\tfor i := 0; i < nmasters; i++ {\n\t\ttc.masterports[i] = tc.newport()\n\t}\n\tlog.SetOutput(ioutil.Discard) // suppress method errors &c\n\tfor i := 0; i < nmasters; i++ {\n\t\ttc.masters[i] = shardmaster.StartServer(tc.masterports, i)\n\t}\n\tlog.SetOutput(os.Stdout) // re-enable error output.\n\ttc.mck = tc.shardclerk()\n\n\ttc.groups = make([]*tGroup, ngroups)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < ngroups; i++ {\n\t\tg := &tGroup{}\n\t\ttc.groups[i] = g\n\t\tg.gid = int64(i + 100)\n\t\tg.servers = make([]*tServer, nreplicas)\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < nreplicas; j++ {\n\t\t\tg.servers[j] = &tServer{}\n\t\t\tg.servers[j].port = tc.newport()\n\t\t\tg.servers[j].dir = tc.dir + randstring(12)\n\t\t\tif err := os.Mkdir(g.servers[j].dir, 0777); err != nil {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Mkdir(%v): %v\", g.servers[j].dir, err)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < nreplicas; j++ {\n\t\t\ttc.start1(i, j)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// return smh, gids, ha, sa, clean\n\treturn tc\n}\n\n//\n// these tests are the same as in Lab 4.\n//\n\nfunc Test4Basic(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"basic\", 3, 3, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Basic Join/Leave (lab4) ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\n\tck.Put(\"a\", \"x\")\n\tck.Append(\"a\", \"b\")\n\tif ck.Get(\"a\") != \"xb\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value\")\n\t}\n\n\tkeys := make([]string, 10)\n\tvals := make([]string, len(keys))\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(keys); i++ {\n\t\tkeys[i] = strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\tvals[i] = strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\tck.Put(keys[i], vals[i])\n\t}\n\n\t// are keys still there after joins?\n\tfor gi := 1; gi < len(tc.groups); gi++ {\n\t\ttc.join(gi)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < len(keys); i++ {\n\t\t\tv := ck.Get(keys[i])\n\t\t\tif v != vals[i] {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"joining; wrong value; g=%v k=%v wanted=%v got=%v\",\n\t\t\t\t\tgi, keys[i], vals[i], v)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tvals[i] = strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\t\tck.Put(keys[i], vals[i])\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// are keys still there after leaves?\n\tfor gi := 0; gi < len(tc.groups)-1; gi++ {\n\t\ttc.leave(gi)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < len(keys); i++ {\n\t\t\tv := ck.Get(keys[i])\n\t\t\tif v != vals[i] {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"leaving; wrong value; g=%v k=%v wanted=%v got=%v\",\n\t\t\t\t\tgi, keys[i], vals[i], v)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tvals[i] = strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\t\tck.Put(keys[i], vals[i])\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc Test4Move(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"move\", 3, 3, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Shards really move (lab4) ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\n\t// insert one key per shard\n\tfor i := 0; i < shardmaster.NShards; i++ {\n\t\tck.Put(string('0'+i), string('0'+i))\n\t}\n\n\t// add group 1.\n\ttc.join(1)\n\ttime.Sleep(5 * time.Second)\n\n\t// check that keys are still there.\n\tfor i := 0; i < shardmaster.NShards; i++ {\n\t\tif ck.Get(string('0'+i)) != string('0'+i) {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"missing key/value\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// remove sockets from group 0.\n\tfor _, s := range tc.groups[0].servers {\n\t\tos.Remove(s.port)\n\t}\n\n\tcount := int32(0)\n\tvar mu sync.Mutex\n\tfor i := 0; i < shardmaster.NShards; i++ {\n\t\tgo func(me int) {\n\t\t\tmyck := tc.clerk()\n\t\t\tv := myck.Get(string('0' + me))\n\t\t\tif v == string('0'+me) {\n\t\t\t\tmu.Lock()\n\t\t\t\tatomic.AddInt32(&count, 1)\n\t\t\t\tmu.Unlock()\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get(%v) yielded %v\\n\", me, v)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}(i)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(10 * time.Second)\n\n\tccc := atomic.LoadInt32(&count)\n\tif ccc > shardmaster.NShards/3 && ccc < 2*(shardmaster.NShards/3) {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\t} else {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"%v keys worked after killing 1/2 of groups; wanted %v\",\n\t\t\tccc, shardmaster.NShards/2)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc Test4Limp(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"limp\", 3, 3, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Reconfiguration with some dead replicas (lab4) ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\n\tck.Put(\"a\", \"b\")\n\tif ck.Get(\"a\") != \"b\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"got wrong value\")\n\t}\n\n\t// kill one server from each replica group.\n\tfor gi := 0; gi < len(tc.groups); gi++ {\n\t\tsa := tc.groups[gi].servers\n\t\ttc.kill1(gi, rand.Int()%len(sa), false)\n\t}\n\n\tkeys := make([]string, 10)\n\tvals := make([]string, len(keys))\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(keys); i++ {\n\t\tkeys[i] = strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\tvals[i] = strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\tck.Put(keys[i], vals[i])\n\t}\n\n\t// are keys still there after joins?\n\tfor gi := 1; gi < len(tc.groups); gi++ {\n\t\ttc.join(gi)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < len(keys); i++ {\n\t\t\tv := ck.Get(keys[i])\n\t\t\tif v != vals[i] {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"joining; wrong value; g=%v k=%v wanted=%v got=%v\",\n\t\t\t\t\tgi, keys[i], vals[i], v)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tvals[i] = strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\t\tck.Put(keys[i], vals[i])\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// are keys still there after leaves?\n\tfor gi := 0; gi < len(tc.groups)-1; gi++ {\n\t\ttc.leave(gi)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\t\tg := tc.groups[gi]\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < len(g.servers); i++ {\n\t\t\ttc.kill1(gi, i, false)\n\t\t}\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < len(keys); i++ {\n\t\t\tv := ck.Get(keys[i])\n\t\t\tif v != vals[i] {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"leaving; wrong value; g=%v k=%v wanted=%v got=%v\",\n\t\t\t\t\tg, keys[i], vals[i], v)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tvals[i] = strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\t\tck.Put(keys[i], vals[i])\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc doConcurrent(t *testing.T, unreliable bool) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"concurrent-\"+strconv.FormatBool(unreliable), 3, 3, unreliable)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(tc.groups); i++ {\n\t\ttc.join(i)\n\t}\n\n\tconst npara = 11\n\tvar ca [npara]chan bool\n\tfor i := 0; i < npara; i++ {\n\t\tca[i] = make(chan bool)\n\t\tgo func(me int) {\n\t\t\tok := true\n\t\t\tdefer func() { ca[me] <- ok }()\n\t\t\tck := tc.clerk()\n\t\t\tmymck := tc.shardclerk()\n\t\t\tkey := strconv.Itoa(me)\n\t\t\tlast := \"\"\n\t\t\tfor iters := 0; iters < 3; iters++ {\n\t\t\t\tnv := strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\t\t\tck.Append(key, nv)\n\t\t\t\tlast = last + nv\n\t\t\t\tv := ck.Get(key)\n\t\t\t\tif v != last {\n\t\t\t\t\tok = false\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get(%v) expected %v got %v\\n\", key, last, v)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\n\t\t\t\tgi := rand.Int() % len(tc.groups)\n\t\t\t\tgid := tc.groups[gi].gid\n\t\t\t\tmymck.Move(rand.Int()%shardmaster.NShards, gid)\n\n\t\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(rand.Int()%30) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}(i)\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npara; i++ {\n\t\tx := <-ca[i]\n\t\tif x == false {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"something is wrong\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc Test4Concurrent(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent Put/Get/Move (lab4) ...\\n\")\n\tdoConcurrent(t, false)\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc Test4ConcurrentUnreliable(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent Put/Get/Move (unreliable) (lab4) ...\\n\")\n\tdoConcurrent(t, true)\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// the rest of the tests are lab5-specific.\n//\n\n//\n// do the servers write k/v pairs to disk, so that they\n// are still available after kill+restart?\n//\nfunc Test5BasicPersistence(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"basicpersistence\", 1, 3, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Basic Persistence ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\n\tck.Append(\"a\", \"x\")\n\tck.Append(\"a\", \"y\")\n\tif ck.Get(\"a\") != \"xy\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value\")\n\t}\n\n\t// kill all servers in all groups.\n\tfor gi, g := range tc.groups {\n\t\tfor si, _ := range g.servers {\n\t\t\ttc.kill1(gi, si, false)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// check that requests are not executed.\n\tch := make(chan string)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tck1 := tc.clerk()\n\t\tv := ck1.Get(\"a\")\n\t\tch <- v\n\t}()\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-ch:\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get should not have succeeded after killing all servers.\")\n\tcase <-time.After(3 * time.Second):\n\t\t// this is what we hope for.\n\t}\n\n\t// restart all servers, check that they recover the data.\n\tfor gi, g := range tc.groups {\n\t\tfor si, _ := range g.servers {\n\t\t\ttc.start1(gi, si)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\tck.Append(\"a\", \"z\")\n\tv := ck.Get(\"a\")\n\tif v != \"xyz\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value %v after restart\", v)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// if server S1 is dead for a bit, and others accept operations,\n// do they bring S1 up to date correctly after it restarts?\n//\nfunc Test5OneRestart(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"onerestart\", 1, 3, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: One server restarts ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\tg0 := tc.groups[0]\n\n\tk1 := randstring(10)\n\tk1v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Append(k1, k1v)\n\n\tk2 := randstring(10)\n\tk2v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(g0.servers); i++ {\n\t\tk1x := ck.Get(k1)\n\t\tif k1x != k1v {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k1, i=%v, wanted=%v, got=%v\", i, k1v, k1x)\n\t\t}\n\t\tk2x := ck.Get(k2)\n\t\tif k2x != k2v {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k2\")\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttc.kill1(0, i, false)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\n\t\tz := randstring(10)\n\t\tk1v += z\n\t\tck.Append(k1, z)\n\n\t\tk2v = randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\n\t\ttc.start1(0, i)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\t}\n\n\tif ck.Get(k1) != k1v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k1\")\n\t}\n\tif ck.Get(k2) != k2v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k2\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// check that the persistent state isn't too big.\n//\nfunc Test5DiskUse(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"diskuse\", 1, 3, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Servers don't use too much disk space ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\tg0 := tc.groups[0]\n\n\tk1 := randstring(10)\n\tk1v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Append(k1, k1v)\n\n\tk2 := randstring(10)\n\tk2v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\n\tk3 := randstring(10)\n\tk3v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Put(k3, k3v)\n\n\tk4 := randstring(10)\n\tk4v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Append(k4, k4v)\n\n\tn := 100 + (rand.Int() % 20)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tk2v = randstring(1000)\n\t\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\t\tx := randstring(1)\n\t\tck.Append(k3, x)\n\t\tk3v += x\n\t\tck.Get(k4)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tk2v = randstring(1000)\n\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tx := randstring(1)\n\tck.Append(k3, x)\n\tk3v += x\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tck.Get(k4)\n\n\t// let all the replicas tick().\n\ttime.Sleep(2100 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\tmax := int64(20 * 1000)\n\n\t{\n\t\tnb := tc.space()\n\t\tif nb > max {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"using too many bytes on disk (%v)\", nb)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(g0.servers); i++ {\n\t\ttc.kill1(0, i, false)\n\t}\n\n\t{\n\t\tnb := tc.space()\n\t\tif nb > max {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"using too many bytes on disk (%v > %v)\", nb, max)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(g0.servers); i++ {\n\t\ttc.start1(0, i)\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\n\tif ck.Get(k1) != k1v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k1\")\n\t}\n\tif ck.Get(k2) != k2v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k2\")\n\t}\n\tif ck.Get(k3) != k3v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k3\")\n\t}\n\n\t{\n\t\tnb := tc.space()\n\t\tif nb > max {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"using too many bytes on disk (%v > %v)\", nb, max)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// check that the persistent state isn't too big for Appends.\n//\nfunc Test5AppendUse(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"appenduse\", 1, 3, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Servers don't use too much disk space for Appends ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\tg0 := tc.groups[0]\n\n\tk1 := randstring(10)\n\tk1v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Append(k1, k1v)\n\n\tk2 := randstring(10)\n\tk2v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\n\tk3 := randstring(10)\n\tk3v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Put(k3, k3v)\n\n\tk4 := randstring(10)\n\tk4v := randstring(10)\n\tck.Append(k4, k4v)\n\n\tn := 100 + (rand.Int() % 20)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tk2v = randstring(1000)\n\t\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\t\tx := randstring(1000)\n\t\tck.Append(k3, x)\n\t\tk3v += x\n\t\tck.Get(k4)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tk2v = randstring(1000)\n\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tx := randstring(1)\n\tck.Append(k3, x)\n\tk3v += x\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tck.Get(k4)\n\n\t// let all the replicas tick().\n\ttime.Sleep(2100 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\tmax := int64(3*n*1000) + 20000\n\n\t{\n\t\tnb := tc.space()\n\t\tif nb > max {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"using too many bytes on disk (%v > %v)\", nb, max)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(g0.servers); i++ {\n\t\ttc.kill1(0, i, false)\n\t}\n\n\t{\n\t\tnb := tc.space()\n\t\tif nb > max {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"using too many bytes on disk (%v > %v)\", nb, max)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(g0.servers); i++ {\n\t\ttc.start1(0, i)\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\n\tif ck.Get(k3) != k3v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k3\")\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tif ck.Get(k2) != k2v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k2\")\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(1100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tif ck.Get(k1) != k1v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k1\")\n\t}\n\n\t{\n\t\tnb := tc.space()\n\t\tif nb > max {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"using too many bytes on disk (%v > %v)\", nb, max)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// recovery if a single replica loses disk content.\n//\nfunc Test5OneLostDisk(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"onelostdisk\", 1, 3, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: One server loses disk and restarts ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\tg0 := tc.groups[0]\n\n\tk1 := randstring(10)\n\tk1v := \"\"\n\tk2 := randstring(10)\n\tk2v := \"\"\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 7+(rand.Int()%7); i++ {\n\t\tx := randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Append(k1, x)\n\t\tk1v += x\n\t\tk2v = randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(300 * time.Millisecond)\n\tck.Get(k1)\n\ttime.Sleep(300 * time.Millisecond)\n\tck.Get(k2)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(g0.servers); i++ {\n\t\tk1x := ck.Get(k1)\n\t\tif k1x != k1v {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k1, i=%v, wanted=%v, got=%v\", i, k1v, k1x)\n\t\t}\n\t\tk2x := ck.Get(k2)\n\t\tif k2x != k2v {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k2\")\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttc.kill1(0, i, true)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tz := randstring(10)\n\t\t\tk1v += z\n\t\t\tck.Append(k1, z)\n\n\t\t\tk2v = randstring(10)\n\t\t\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttc.start1(0, i)\n\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tz := randstring(10)\n\t\t\tk1v += z\n\t\t\tck.Append(k1, z)\n\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(10 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t\tz = randstring(10)\n\t\t\tk1v += z\n\t\t\tck.Append(k1, z)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\t}\n\n\tif ck.Get(k1) != k1v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k1\")\n\t}\n\tif ck.Get(k2) != k2v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k2\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// one disk lost while another replica is merely down.\n//\nfunc Test5OneLostOneDown(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"onelostonedown\", 1, 5, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: One server down, another loses disk ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\tg0 := tc.groups[0]\n\n\tk1 := randstring(10)\n\tk1v := \"\"\n\tk2 := randstring(10)\n\tk2v := \"\"\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 7+(rand.Int()%7); i++ {\n\t\tx := randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Append(k1, x)\n\t\tk1v += x\n\t\tk2v = randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(300 * time.Millisecond)\n\tck.Get(k1)\n\ttime.Sleep(300 * time.Millisecond)\n\tck.Get(k2)\n\n\ttc.kill1(0, 0, false)\n\n\tfor i := 1; i < len(g0.servers); i++ {\n\t\tk1x := ck.Get(k1)\n\t\tif k1x != k1v {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k1, i=%v, wanted=%v, got=%v\", i, k1v, k1x)\n\t\t}\n\t\tk2x := ck.Get(k2)\n\t\tif k2x != k2v {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k2\")\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttc.kill1(0, i, true)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tz := randstring(10)\n\t\t\tk1v += z\n\t\t\tck.Append(k1, z)\n\n\t\t\tk2v = randstring(10)\n\t\t\tck.Put(k2, k2v)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttc.start1(0, i)\n\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tz := randstring(10)\n\t\t\tk1v += z\n\t\t\tck.Append(k1, z)\n\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(10 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t\tz = randstring(10)\n\t\t\tk1v += z\n\t\t\tck.Append(k1, z)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\t}\n\n\tif ck.Get(k1) != k1v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k1\")\n\t}\n\tif ck.Get(k2) != k2v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k2\")\n\t}\n\n\ttc.start1(0, 0)\n\tck.Put(\"a\", \"b\")\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\tck.Put(\"a\", \"c\")\n\tif ck.Get(k1) != k1v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k1\")\n\t}\n\tif ck.Get(k2) != k2v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value for k2\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n// check that all known appends are present in a value,\n// and are in order for each concurrent client.\nfunc checkAppends(t *testing.T, v string, counts []int) {\n\tnclients := len(counts)\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\tlastoff := -1\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < counts[i]; j++ {\n\t\t\twanted := \"x \" + strconv.Itoa(i) + \" \" + strconv.Itoa(j) + \" y\"\n\t\t\toff := strings.Index(v, wanted)\n\t\t\tif off < 0 {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"missing element %v %v in Append result\", i, j)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\toff1 := strings.LastIndex(v, wanted)\n\t\t\tif off1 != off {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"duplicate element %v %v in Append result\", i, j)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif off <= lastoff {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong order for element in Append result\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tlastoff = off\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc doConcurrentCrash(t *testing.T, unreliable bool) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"concurrentcrash\", 1, 3, unreliable)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\n\tk1 := randstring(10)\n\tck.Put(k1, \"\")\n\n\tstop := int32(0)\n\n\tff := func(me int, ch chan int) {\n\t\tret := -1\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- ret }()\n\t\tmyck := tc.clerk()\n\t\tn := 0\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&stop) == 0 || n < 5 {\n\t\t\tmyck.Append(k1, \"x \"+strconv.Itoa(me)+\" \"+strconv.Itoa(n)+\" y\")\n\t\t\tn++\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(200 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t\tret = n\n\t}\n\n\tncli := 5\n\tcha := []chan int{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < ncli; i++ {\n\t\tcha = append(cha, make(chan int))\n\t\tgo ff(i, cha[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\ttc.kill1(0, i%3, false)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1000 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\tck.Get(k1)\n\t\ttc.start1(0, i%3)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(3000 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\tif unreliable {\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(5000 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t\tck.Get(k1)\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\ttc.kill1(0, i%3, true)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1000 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\tck.Get(k1)\n\t\ttc.start1(0, i%3)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(3000 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\tif unreliable {\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(5000 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t\tck.Get(k1)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&stop, 1)\n\n\tcounts := []int{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < ncli; i++ {\n\t\tn := <-cha[i]\n\t\tif n < 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatal(\"client failed\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tcounts = append(counts, n)\n\t}\n\n\tvx := ck.Get(k1)\n\tcheckAppends(t, vx, counts)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\ttc.kill1(0, i, false)\n\t\tif ck.Get(k1) != vx {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"mismatch\")\n\t\t}\n\t\ttc.start1(0, i)\n\t\tif ck.Get(k1) != vx {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"mismatch\")\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(3000 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\tif unreliable {\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(5000 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t\tif ck.Get(k1) != vx {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"mismatch\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc Test5ConcurrentCrashReliable(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent Append and Crash ...\\n\")\n\tdoConcurrentCrash(t, false)\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// Append() at same time as crash.\n//\nfunc Test5Simultaneous(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"simultaneous\", 1, 3, true)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Simultaneous Append and Crash ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\n\tk1 := randstring(10)\n\tck.Put(k1, \"\")\n\n\tch := make(chan int)\n\n\tff := func(x int) {\n\t\tret := -1\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- ret }()\n\t\tmyck := tc.clerk()\n\t\tmyck.Append(k1, \"x \"+strconv.Itoa(0)+\" \"+strconv.Itoa(x)+\" y\")\n\t\tret = 1\n\t}\n\n\tcounts := []int{0}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 50; i++ {\n\t\tgo ff(i)\n\n\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(rand.Int()%200) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 500 {\n\t\t\ttc.kill1(0, i%3, false)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\ttc.kill1(0, i%3, true)\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1000 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\tvx := ck.Get(k1)\n\t\tcheckAppends(t, vx, counts)\n\t\ttc.start1(0, i%3)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(2200 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\t\tz := <-ch\n\t\tif z != 1 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Append thread failed\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tcounts[0] += z\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// recovery with mixture of lost disks and simple reboot.\n// does a replica that loses its disk wait for majority?\n//\nfunc Test5RejoinMix1(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"rejoinmix1\", 1, 5, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: replica waits correctly after disk loss ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\n\tk1 := randstring(10)\n\tk1v := \"\"\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 7+(rand.Int()%7); i++ {\n\t\tx := randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Append(k1, x)\n\t\tk1v += x\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(300 * time.Millisecond)\n\tck.Get(k1)\n\n\ttc.kill1(0, 0, false)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 2; i++ {\n\t\tx := randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Append(k1, x)\n\t\tk1v += x\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(300 * time.Millisecond)\n\tck.Get(k1)\n\ttime.Sleep(300 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\ttc.kill1(0, 1, true)\n\ttc.kill1(0, 2, true)\n\n\ttc.kill1(0, 3, false)\n\ttc.kill1(0, 4, false)\n\n\ttc.start1(0, 0)\n\ttc.start1(0, 1)\n\ttc.start1(0, 2)\n\ttime.Sleep(300 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\t// check that requests are not executed.\n\tch := make(chan string)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tck1 := tc.clerk()\n\t\tv := ck1.Get(k1)\n\t\tch <- v\n\t}()\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-ch:\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get should not have succeeded.\")\n\tcase <-time.After(3 * time.Second):\n\t\t// this is what we hope for.\n\t}\n\n\ttc.start1(0, 3)\n\ttc.start1(0, 4)\n\n\t{\n\t\tx := randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Append(k1, x)\n\t\tk1v += x\n\t}\n\n\tv := ck.Get(k1)\n\tif v != k1v {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get returned wrong value\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// does a replica that loses its state avoid\n// changing its mind about Paxos agreements?\n//\nfunc Test5RejoinMix3(t *testing.T) {\n\ttc := setup(t, \"rejoinmix3\", 1, 5, false)\n\tdefer tc.cleanup()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: replica Paxos resumes correctly after disk loss ...\\n\")\n\n\ttc.join(0)\n\tck := tc.clerk()\n\n\tk1 := randstring(10)\n\tk1v := \"\"\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 7+(rand.Int()%7); i++ {\n\t\tx := randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Append(k1, x)\n\t\tk1v += x\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(300 * time.Millisecond)\n\tck.Get(k1)\n\n\t// kill R1, R2.\n\ttc.kill1(0, 1, false)\n\ttc.kill1(0, 2, false)\n\n\t// R0, R3, and R4 are up.\n\tfor i := 0; i < 100+(rand.Int()%7); i++ {\n\t\tx := randstring(10)\n\t\tck.Append(k1, x)\n\t\tk1v += x\n\t}\n\n\t// kill R0, lose disk.\n\ttc.kill1(0, 0, true)\n\n\ttime.Sleep(50 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\t// restart R1, R2, R0.\n\ttc.start1(0, 1)\n\ttc.start1(0, 2)\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Millisecond)\n\ttc.start1(0, 0)\n\n\tchx := make(chan bool)\n\tx1 := randstring(10)\n\tx2 := randstring(10)\n\tgo func() { ck.Append(k1, x1); chx <- true }()\n\ttime.Sleep(10 * time.Millisecond)\n\tgo func() { ck.Append(k1, x2); chx <- true }()\n\n\t<-chx\n\t<-chx\n\n\txv := ck.Get(k1)\n\tif xv == k1v+x1+x2 || xv == k1v+x2+x1 {\n\t\t// ok\n\t} else {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/kvpaxos/client.go",
    "content": "package kvpaxos\n\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"math/big\"\n\nimport \"fmt\"\n\ntype Clerk struct {\n\tservers []string\n}\n\nfunc nrand() int64 {\n\tmax := big.NewInt(int64(1) << 62)\n\tbigx, _ := rand.Int(rand.Reader, max)\n\tx := bigx.Int64()\n\treturn x\n}\n\nfunc MakeClerk(servers []string) *Clerk {\n\tck := new(Clerk)\n\tck.servers = servers\n\t// You'll have to add code here.\n\treturn ck\n}\n\n//\n// call() sends an RPC to the rpcname handler on server srv\n// with arguments args, waits for the reply, and leaves the\n// reply in reply. the reply argument should be a pointer\n// to a reply structure.\n//\n// the return value is true if the server responded, and false\n// if call() was not able to contact the server. in particular,\n// the reply's contents are only valid if call() returned true.\n//\n// you should assume that call() will return an\n// error after a while if the server is dead.\n// don't provide your own time-out mechanism.\n//\n// please use call() to send all RPCs, in client.go and server.go.\n// please don't change this function.\n//\nfunc call(srv string, rpcname string,\n\targs interface{}, reply interface{}) bool {\n\tc, errx := rpc.Dial(\"unix\", srv)\n\tif errx != nil {\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n\tdefer c.Close()\n\n\terr := c.Call(rpcname, args, reply)\n\tif err == nil {\n\t\treturn true\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Println(err)\n\treturn false\n}\n\n//\n// fetch the current value for a key.\n// returns \"\" if the key does not exist.\n// keeps trying forever in the face of all other errors.\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Get(key string) string {\n\t// You will have to modify this function.\n\targs := &GetArgs{Key: key, Id: nrand()}\n\tvar reply GetReply\n\tfor i := 0; ; {\n\t\tif ok := call(ck.servers[i], \"KVPaxos.Get\", args, &reply); ok && (reply.Err == OK || reply.Err == ErrNoKey) {\n\t\t\treturn reply.Value\n\t\t}\n\t\ti++\n\t\ti %= len(ck.servers)\n\t}\n\treturn \"\"\n}\n\n//\n// shared by Put and Append.\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) PutAppend(key string, value string, op string) {\n\t// You will have to modify this function.\n\targs := &PutAppendArgs{Key: key, Value: value, Op: op, Id: nrand()}\n\tvar reply PutAppendReply\n\tfor i := 0; ; {\n\t\tif ok := call(ck.servers[i], \"KVPaxos.PutAppend\", args, &reply); ok && reply.Err == OK {\n\t\t\treturn\n\t\t}\n\t\ti++\n\t\ti %= len(ck.servers)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Put(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Put\")\n}\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Append(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Append\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/kvpaxos/common.go",
    "content": "package kvpaxos\n\nconst (\n\tOK           = \"OK\"\n\tErrNoKey     = \"ErrNoKey\"\n\tErrPending   = \"ErrPending\"\n\tErrForgotten = \"ErrForgotten\"\n)\n\nconst (\n\tGet    = \"Get\"\n\tPut    = \"Put\"\n\tAppend = \"Append\"\n)\n\ntype Err string\n\n// Put or Append\ntype PutAppendArgs struct {\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n\tKey   string\n\tValue string\n\tOp    string // \"Put\" or \"Append\"\n\tId    int64\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n\t// Field names must start with capital letters,\n\t// otherwise RPC will break.\n}\n\ntype PutAppendReply struct {\n\tErr Err\n}\n\ntype GetArgs struct {\n\tKey string\n\tId  int64\n}\n\ntype GetReply struct {\n\tErr   Err\n\tValue string\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/kvpaxos/server.go",
    "content": "package kvpaxos\n\nimport \"net\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"paxos\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"syscall\"\nimport \"encoding/gob\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\n\nimport \"time\"\n\nconst Debug = 0\n\nfunc DPrintf(format string, a ...interface{}) (n int, err error) {\n\tif Debug > 0 {\n\t\tlog.Printf(format, a...)\n\t}\n\treturn\n}\n\ntype Op struct {\n\t// Your definitions here.\n\t// Field names must start with capital letters,\n\t// otherwise RPC will break.\n\tOpName string\n\tKey    string\n\tValue  string\n\tId     int64\n}\n\ntype KVPaxos struct {\n\tmu         sync.Mutex\n\tl          net.Listener\n\tme         int\n\tdead       int32 // for testing\n\tunreliable int32 // for testing\n\tpx         *paxos.Paxos\n\n\t// Your definitions here.\n\tcontent map[string]string\n\tseq     int // seq for next req\n\thistory map[int64]bool\n}\n\nfunc (kv *KVPaxos) apply(op *Op) {\n\tswitch op.OpName {\n\tcase Put:\n\t\tkv.content[op.Key] = op.Value\n\tcase Append:\n\t\tkv.content[op.Key] += op.Value\n\tdefault:\n\t\t// nothing\n\t}\n\t// Inject the GET value into the history,\n\t// the Write op can be recorded without value for dedup.\n\tkv.history[op.Id] = true\n\treturn\n}\n\n// Try to decide the op in one of the paxos instance\n// increase the seq until decide the op that we want,\n// and apply the chosen value to the kv store.\nfunc (kv *KVPaxos) TryDecide(op Op) (Err, string) {\n\t// TODO concurrency optimization\n\tkv.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer kv.mu.Unlock()\n\tif _, ok := kv.history[op.Id]; ok {\n\t\tif op.OpName == Get {\n\t\t\treturn OK, kv.content[op.Key]\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\treturn OK, \"\"\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tchosen := false\n\tfor !chosen {\n\t\ttimeout := 0 * time.Millisecond\n\t\tsleep_interval := 10 * time.Millisecond\n\t\tkv.px.Start(kv.seq, op)\n\tINNER:\n\t\tfor {\n\t\t\tfate, v := kv.px.Status(kv.seq)\n\t\t\tswitch fate {\n\t\t\tcase paxos.Decided:\n\t\t\t\t{\n\t\t\t\t\t_op := v.(Op)\n\t\t\t\t\tkv.px.Done(kv.seq)\n\t\t\t\t\tkv.apply(&_op)\n\t\t\t\t\tkv.seq++\n\t\t\t\t\tif _op.Id == op.Id {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tif _op.OpName == Get {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tif v, ok := kv.content[op.Key]; ok {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\treturn OK, v\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\treturn ErrNoKey, \"\"\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\t\t// for put/append operation\n\t\t\t\t\t\tchosen = true\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\tbreak INNER\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcase paxos.Pending:\n\t\t\t\t{\n\t\t\t\t\tif timeout > 10*time.Second {\n\t\t\t\t\t\treturn ErrPending, \"\"\n\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\ttime.Sleep(sleep_interval)\n\t\t\t\t\t\ttimeout += sleep_interval\n\t\t\t\t\t\tsleep_interval *= 2\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tdefault:\n\t\t\t\t// Forgotten, do nothing for impossibility\n\t\t\t\treturn ErrForgotten, \"\"\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn OK, \"\"\n}\n\nfunc (kv *KVPaxos) Get(args *GetArgs, reply *GetReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\top := Op{OpName: Get, Key: args.Key, Value: \"\", Id: args.Id}\n\treply.Err, reply.Value = kv.TryDecide(op)\n\treturn nil\n}\n\nfunc (kv *KVPaxos) PutAppend(args *PutAppendArgs, reply *PutAppendReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\top := Op{OpName: args.Op, Key: args.Key, Value: args.Value, Id: args.Id}\n\treply.Err, _ = kv.TryDecide(op)\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n// tell the server to shut itself down.\n// please do not change these two functions.\nfunc (kv *KVPaxos) kill() {\n\tDPrintf(\"Kill(%d): die\\n\", kv.me)\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&kv.dead, 1)\n\tkv.l.Close()\n\tkv.px.Kill()\n}\n\n// call this to find out if the server is dead.\nfunc (kv *KVPaxos) isdead() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&kv.dead) != 0\n}\n\n// please do not change these two functions.\nfunc (kv *KVPaxos) setunreliable(what bool) {\n\tif what {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&kv.unreliable, 1)\n\t} else {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&kv.unreliable, 0)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (kv *KVPaxos) isunreliable() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&kv.unreliable) != 0\n}\n\n//\n// servers[] contains the ports of the set of\n// servers that will cooperate via Paxos to\n// form the fault-tolerant key/value service.\n// me is the index of the current server in servers[].\n//\nfunc StartServer(servers []string, me int) *KVPaxos {\n\t// call gob.Register on structures you want\n\t// Go's RPC library to marshall/unmarshall.\n\tgob.Register(Op{})\n\n\tkv := new(KVPaxos)\n\tkv.me = me\n\n\t// Your initialization code here.\n\tkv.content = make(map[string]string)\n\tkv.history = make(map[int64]bool)\n\tkv.seq = 0\n\n\trpcs := rpc.NewServer()\n\trpcs.Register(kv)\n\n\tkv.px = paxos.Make(servers, me, rpcs)\n\n\tos.Remove(servers[me])\n\tl, e := net.Listen(\"unix\", servers[me])\n\tif e != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"listen error: \", e)\n\t}\n\tkv.l = l\n\n\t// please do not change any of the following code,\n\t// or do anything to subvert it.\n\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor kv.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\tconn, err := kv.l.Accept()\n\t\t\tif err == nil && kv.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tif kv.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// discard the request.\n\t\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t\t} else if kv.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 200 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// process the request but force discard of reply.\n\t\t\t\t\tc1 := conn.(*net.UnixConn)\n\t\t\t\t\tf, _ := c1.File()\n\t\t\t\t\terr := syscall.Shutdown(int(f.Fd()), syscall.SHUT_WR)\n\t\t\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"shutdown: %v\\n\", err)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else if err == nil {\n\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif err != nil && kv.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"KVPaxos(%v) accept: %v\\n\", me, err.Error())\n\t\t\t\tkv.kill()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\treturn kv\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/kvpaxos/test.go",
    "content": "package kvpaxos\n\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"strconv\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"strings\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\n\n\nfunc check(t *testing.T, ck *Clerk, key string, value string) {\n\tv := ck.Get(key)\n\tif v != value {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get(%v) -> %v, expected %v\", key, v, value)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc port(tag string, host int) string {\n\ts := \"/var/tmp/824-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getuid()) + \"/\"\n\tos.Mkdir(s, 0777)\n\ts += \"kv-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getpid()) + \"-\"\n\ts += tag + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(host)\n\treturn s\n}\n\nfunc cleanup(kva []*KVPaxos) {\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(kva); i++ {\n\t\tif kva[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tkva[i].kill()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n// predict effect of Append(k, val) \n// if old value is prev.\nfunc NextValue(prev string, val string) string {\n\treturn prev + val\n}\n\nfunc TestBasic(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tvar kva []*KVPaxos = make([]*KVPaxos, nservers)\n\tvar kvh []string = make([]string, nservers)\n\tdefer cleanup(kva)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tkvh[i] = port(\"basic\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tkva[i] = StartServer(kvh, i)\n\t}\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(kvh)\n\tvar cka [nservers]*Clerk\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tcka[i] = MakeClerk([]string{kvh[i]})\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Basic put/append/get ...\\n\")\n\n\tck.Append(\"app\", \"x\")\n\tck.Append(\"app\", \"y\")\n\tcheck(t, ck, \"app\", \"xy\")\n\n\tck.Put(\"a\", \"aa\")\n\tcheck(t, ck, \"a\", \"aa\")\n\n\tcka[1].Put(\"a\", \"aaa\")\n\n\tcheck(t, cka[2], \"a\", \"aaa\")\n\tcheck(t, cka[1], \"a\", \"aaa\")\n\tcheck(t, ck, \"a\", \"aaa\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent clients ...\\n\")\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 20; iters++ {\n\t\tconst npara = 15\n\t\tvar ca [npara]chan bool\n\t\tfor nth := 0; nth < npara; nth++ {\n\t\t\tca[nth] = make(chan bool)\n\t\t\tgo func(me int) {\n\t\t\t\tdefer func() { ca[me] <- true }()\n\t\t\t\tci := (rand.Int() % nservers)\n\t\t\t\tmyck := MakeClerk([]string{kvh[ci]})\n\t\t\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 500 {\n\t\t\t\t\tmyck.Put(\"b\", strconv.Itoa(rand.Int()))\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tmyck.Get(\"b\")\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}(nth)\n\t\t}\n\t\tfor nth := 0; nth < npara; nth++ {\n\t\t\t<-ca[nth]\n\t\t}\n\t\tvar va [nservers]string\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\tva[i] = cka[i].Get(\"b\")\n\t\t\tif va[i] != va[0] {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"mismatch\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n}\n\nfunc TestDone(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tvar kva []*KVPaxos = make([]*KVPaxos, nservers)\n\tvar kvh []string = make([]string, nservers)\n\tdefer cleanup(kva)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tkvh[i] = port(\"done\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tkva[i] = StartServer(kvh, i)\n\t}\n\tck := MakeClerk(kvh)\n\tvar cka [nservers]*Clerk\n\tfor pi := 0; pi < nservers; pi++ {\n\t\tcka[pi] = MakeClerk([]string{kvh[pi]})\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: server frees Paxos log memory...\\n\")\n\n\tck.Put(\"a\", \"aa\")\n\tcheck(t, ck, \"a\", \"aa\")\n\n\truntime.GC()\n\tvar m0 runtime.MemStats\n\truntime.ReadMemStats(&m0)\n\t// rtm's m0.Alloc is 2 MB\n\n\tsz := 1000000\n\titems := 10\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 2; iters++ {\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < items; i++ {\n\t\t\tkey := strconv.Itoa(i)\n\t\t\tvalue := make([]byte, sz)\n\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(value); j++ {\n\t\t\t\tvalue[j] = byte((rand.Int() % 100) + 1)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tck.Put(key, string(value))\n\t\t\tcheck(t, cka[i%nservers], key, string(value))\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// Put and Get to each of the replicas, in case\n\t// the Done information is piggybacked on\n\t// the Paxos proposer messages.\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 2; iters++ {\n\t\tfor pi := 0; pi < nservers; pi++ {\n\t\t\tcka[pi].Put(\"a\", \"aa\")\n\t\t\tcheck(t, cka[pi], \"a\", \"aa\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\n\truntime.GC()\n\tvar m1 runtime.MemStats\n\truntime.ReadMemStats(&m1)\n\t// rtm's m1.Alloc is 45 MB\n\n\t// fmt.Printf(\"  Memory: before %v, after %v\\n\", m0.Alloc, m1.Alloc)\n\n\tallowed := m0.Alloc + uint64(nservers*items*sz*2)\n\tif m1.Alloc > allowed {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Memory use did not shrink enough (Used: %v, allowed: %v).\\n\", m1.Alloc, allowed)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc pp(tag string, src int, dst int) string {\n\ts := \"/var/tmp/824-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getuid()) + \"/\"\n\ts += \"kv-\" + tag + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getpid()) + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(src) + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(dst)\n\treturn s\n}\n\nfunc cleanpp(tag string, n int) {\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < n; j++ {\n\t\t\tij := pp(tag, i, j)\n\t\t\tos.Remove(ij)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc part(t *testing.T, tag string, npaxos int, p1 []int, p2 []int, p3 []int) {\n\tcleanpp(tag, npaxos)\n\n\tpa := [][]int{p1, p2, p3}\n\tfor pi := 0; pi < len(pa); pi++ {\n\t\tp := pa[pi]\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < len(p); i++ {\n\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(p); j++ {\n\t\t\t\tij := pp(tag, p[i], p[j])\n\t\t\t\tpj := port(tag, p[j])\n\t\t\t\terr := os.Link(pj, ij)\n\t\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"os.Link(%v, %v): %v\\n\", pj, ij, err)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc TestPartition(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"partition\"\n\tconst nservers = 5\n\tvar kva []*KVPaxos = make([]*KVPaxos, nservers)\n\tdefer cleanup(kva)\n\tdefer cleanpp(tag, nservers)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tvar kvh []string = make([]string, nservers)\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < nservers; j++ {\n\t\t\tif j == i {\n\t\t\t\tkvh[j] = port(tag, i)\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tkvh[j] = pp(tag, i, j)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tkva[i] = StartServer(kvh, i)\n\t}\n\tdefer part(t, tag, nservers, []int{}, []int{}, []int{})\n\n\tvar cka [nservers]*Clerk\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tcka[i] = MakeClerk([]string{port(tag, i)})\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: No partition ...\\n\")\n\n\tpart(t, tag, nservers, []int{0, 1, 2, 3, 4}, []int{}, []int{})\n\tcka[0].Put(\"1\", \"12\")\n\tcka[2].Put(\"1\", \"13\")\n\tcheck(t, cka[3], \"1\", \"13\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Progress in majority ...\\n\")\n\n\tpart(t, tag, nservers, []int{2, 3, 4}, []int{0, 1}, []int{})\n\tcka[2].Put(\"1\", \"14\")\n\tcheck(t, cka[4], \"1\", \"14\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: No progress in minority ...\\n\")\n\n\tdone0 := make(chan bool)\n\tdone1 := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tcka[0].Put(\"1\", \"15\")\n\t\tdone0 <- true\n\t}()\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tcka[1].Get(\"1\")\n\t\tdone1 <- true\n\t}()\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-done0:\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Put in minority completed\")\n\tcase <-done1:\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get in minority completed\")\n\tcase <-time.After(time.Second):\n\t}\n\n\tcheck(t, cka[4], \"1\", \"14\")\n\tcka[3].Put(\"1\", \"16\")\n\tcheck(t, cka[4], \"1\", \"16\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Completion after heal ...\\n\")\n\n\tpart(t, tag, nservers, []int{0, 2, 3, 4}, []int{1}, []int{})\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-done0:\n\tcase <-time.After(30 * 100 * time.Millisecond):\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Put did not complete\")\n\t}\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-done1:\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get in minority completed\")\n\tdefault:\n\t}\n\n\tcheck(t, cka[4], \"1\", \"15\")\n\tcheck(t, cka[0], \"1\", \"15\")\n\n\tpart(t, tag, nservers, []int{0, 1, 2}, []int{3, 4}, []int{})\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-done1:\n\tcase <-time.After(100 * 100 * time.Millisecond):\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get did not complete\")\n\t}\n\n\tcheck(t, cka[1], \"1\", \"15\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc randclerk(kvh []string) *Clerk {\n\tsa := make([]string, len(kvh))\n\tcopy(sa, kvh)\n\tfor i := range sa {\n\t\tj := rand.Intn(i + 1)\n\t\tsa[i], sa[j] = sa[j], sa[i]\n\t}\n\treturn MakeClerk(sa)\n}\n\n// check that all known appends are present in a value,\n// and are in order for each concurrent client.\nfunc checkAppends(t *testing.T, v string, counts []int) {\n\tnclients := len(counts)\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\tlastoff := -1\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < counts[i]; j++ {\n\t\t\twanted := \"x \" + strconv.Itoa(i) + \" \" + strconv.Itoa(j) + \" y\"\n\t\t\toff := strings.Index(v, wanted)\n\t\t\tif off < 0 {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"missing element in Append result\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\toff1 := strings.LastIndex(v, wanted)\n\t\t\tif off1 != off {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"duplicate element in Append result\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif off <= lastoff {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong order for element in Append result\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tlastoff = off\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc TestUnreliable(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tvar kva []*KVPaxos = make([]*KVPaxos, nservers)\n\tvar kvh []string = make([]string, nservers)\n\tdefer cleanup(kva)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tkvh[i] = port(\"un\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tkva[i] = StartServer(kvh, i)\n\t\tkva[i].setunreliable(true)\n\t}\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(kvh)\n\tvar cka [nservers]*Clerk\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tcka[i] = MakeClerk([]string{kvh[i]})\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Basic put/get, unreliable ...\\n\")\n\n\tck.Put(\"a\", \"aa\")\n\tcheck(t, ck, \"a\", \"aa\")\n\n\tcka[1].Put(\"a\", \"aaa\")\n\n\tcheck(t, cka[2], \"a\", \"aaa\")\n\tcheck(t, cka[1], \"a\", \"aaa\")\n\tcheck(t, ck, \"a\", \"aaa\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Sequence of puts, unreliable ...\\n\")\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 6; iters++ {\n\t\tconst ncli = 5\n\t\tvar ca [ncli]chan bool\n\t\tfor cli := 0; cli < ncli; cli++ {\n\t\t\tca[cli] = make(chan bool)\n\t\t\tgo func(me int) {\n\t\t\t\tok := false\n\t\t\t\tdefer func() { ca[me] <- ok }()\n\t\t\t\tmyck := randclerk(kvh)\n\t\t\t\tkey := strconv.Itoa(me)\n\t\t\t\tvv := myck.Get(key)\n\t\t\t\tmyck.Append(key, \"0\")\n\t\t\t\tvv = NextValue(vv, \"0\")\n\t\t\t\tmyck.Append(key, \"1\")\n\t\t\t\tvv = NextValue(vv, \"1\")\n\t\t\t\tmyck.Append(key, \"2\")\n\t\t\t\tvv = NextValue(vv, \"2\")\n\t\t\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t\t\tif myck.Get(key) != vv {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value\")\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tif myck.Get(key) != vv {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value\")\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tok = true\n\t\t\t}(cli)\n\t\t}\n\t\tfor cli := 0; cli < ncli; cli++ {\n\t\t\tx := <-ca[cli]\n\t\t\tif x == false {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"failure\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent clients, unreliable ...\\n\")\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 20; iters++ {\n\t\tconst ncli = 15\n\t\tvar ca [ncli]chan bool\n\t\tfor cli := 0; cli < ncli; cli++ {\n\t\t\tca[cli] = make(chan bool)\n\t\t\tgo func(me int) {\n\t\t\t\tdefer func() { ca[me] <- true }()\n\t\t\t\tmyck := randclerk(kvh)\n\t\t\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 500 {\n\t\t\t\t\tmyck.Put(\"b\", strconv.Itoa(rand.Int()))\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tmyck.Get(\"b\")\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}(cli)\n\t\t}\n\t\tfor cli := 0; cli < ncli; cli++ {\n\t\t\t<-ca[cli]\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tvar va [nservers]string\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\tva[i] = cka[i].Get(\"b\")\n\t\t\tif va[i] != va[0] {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"mismatch; 0 got %v, %v got %v\", va[0], i, va[i])\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent Append to same key, unreliable ...\\n\")\n\n\tck.Put(\"k\", \"\")\n\n\tff := func(me int, ch chan int) {\n\t\tret := -1\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- ret }()\n\t\tmyck := randclerk(kvh)\n\t\tn := 0\n\t\tfor n < 5 {\n\t\t\tmyck.Append(\"k\", \"x \"+strconv.Itoa(me)+\" \"+strconv.Itoa(n)+\" y\")\n\t\t\tn++\n\t\t}\n\t\tret = n\n\t}\n\n\tncli := 5\n\tcha := []chan int{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < ncli; i++ {\n\t\tcha = append(cha, make(chan int))\n\t\tgo ff(i, cha[i])\n\t}\n\n\tcounts := []int{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < ncli; i++ {\n\t\tn := <-cha[i]\n\t\tif n < 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatal(\"client failed\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tcounts = append(counts, n)\n\t}\n\n\tvx := ck.Get(\"k\")\n\tcheckAppends(t, vx, counts)\n\n\t{\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\tvi := cka[i].Get(\"k\")\n\t\t\tif vi != vx {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"mismatch; 0 got %v, %v got %v\", vx, i, vi)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n}\n\nfunc TestHole(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Tolerates holes in paxos sequence ...\\n\")\n\n\ttag := \"hole\"\n\tconst nservers = 5\n\tvar kva []*KVPaxos = make([]*KVPaxos, nservers)\n\tdefer cleanup(kva)\n\tdefer cleanpp(tag, nservers)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tvar kvh []string = make([]string, nservers)\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < nservers; j++ {\n\t\t\tif j == i {\n\t\t\t\tkvh[j] = port(tag, i)\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tkvh[j] = pp(tag, i, j)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tkva[i] = StartServer(kvh, i)\n\t}\n\tdefer part(t, tag, nservers, []int{}, []int{}, []int{})\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 5; iters++ {\n\t\tpart(t, tag, nservers, []int{0, 1, 2, 3, 4}, []int{}, []int{})\n\n\t\tck2 := MakeClerk([]string{port(tag, 2)})\n\t\tck2.Put(\"q\", \"q\")\n\n\t\tdone := int32(0)\n\t\tconst nclients = 10\n\t\tvar ca [nclients]chan bool\n\t\tfor xcli := 0; xcli < nclients; xcli++ {\n\t\t\tca[xcli] = make(chan bool)\n\t\t\tgo func(cli int) {\n\t\t\t\tok := false\n\t\t\t\tdefer func() { ca[cli] <- ok }()\n\t\t\t\tvar cka [nservers]*Clerk\n\t\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\t\t\tcka[i] = MakeClerk([]string{port(tag, i)})\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tkey := strconv.Itoa(cli)\n\t\t\t\tlast := \"\"\n\t\t\t\tcka[0].Put(key, last)\n\t\t\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\t\t\tci := (rand.Int() % 2)\n\t\t\t\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 500 {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tnv := strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\t\t\t\t\tcka[ci].Put(key, nv)\n\t\t\t\t\t\tlast = nv\n\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tv := cka[ci].Get(key)\n\t\t\t\t\t\tif v != last {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"%v: wrong value, key %v, wanted %v, got %v\",\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tcli, key, last, v)\n\t\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tok = true\n\t\t\t}(xcli)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\ttime.Sleep(3 * time.Second)\n\n\t\tpart(t, tag, nservers, []int{2, 3, 4}, []int{0, 1}, []int{})\n\n\t\t// can majority partition make progress even though\n\t\t// minority servers were interrupted in the middle of\n\t\t// paxos agreements?\n\t\tcheck(t, ck2, \"q\", \"q\")\n\t\tck2.Put(\"q\", \"qq\")\n\t\tcheck(t, ck2, \"q\", \"qq\")\n\n\t\t// restore network, wait for all threads to exit.\n\t\tpart(t, tag, nservers, []int{0, 1, 2, 3, 4}, []int{}, []int{})\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\t\tok := true\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\t\tz := <-ca[i]\n\t\t\tok = ok && z\n\t\t}\n\t\tif ok == false {\n\t\t\tt.Fatal(\"something is wrong\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tcheck(t, ck2, \"q\", \"qq\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestManyPartition(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Many clients, changing partitions ...\\n\")\n\n\ttag := \"many\"\n\tconst nservers = 5\n\tvar kva []*KVPaxos = make([]*KVPaxos, nservers)\n\tdefer cleanup(kva)\n\tdefer cleanpp(tag, nservers)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tvar kvh []string = make([]string, nservers)\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < nservers; j++ {\n\t\t\tif j == i {\n\t\t\t\tkvh[j] = port(tag, i)\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tkvh[j] = pp(tag, i, j)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tkva[i] = StartServer(kvh, i)\n\t\tkva[i].setunreliable(true)\n\t}\n\tdefer part(t, tag, nservers, []int{}, []int{}, []int{})\n\tpart(t, tag, nservers, []int{0, 1, 2, 3, 4}, []int{}, []int{})\n\n\tdone := int32(0)\n\n\t// re-partition periodically\n\tch1 := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tdefer func() { ch1 <- true }()\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\tvar a [nservers]int\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\t\ta[i] = (rand.Int() % 3)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tpa := make([][]int, 3)\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tpa[i] = make([]int, 0)\n\t\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < nservers; j++ {\n\t\t\t\t\tif a[j] == i {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tpa[i] = append(pa[i], j)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tpart(t, tag, nservers, pa[0], pa[1], pa[2])\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(rand.Int63()%200) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\tconst nclients = 10\n\tvar ca [nclients]chan bool\n\tfor xcli := 0; xcli < nclients; xcli++ {\n\t\tca[xcli] = make(chan bool)\n\t\tgo func(cli int) {\n\t\t\tok := false\n\t\t\tdefer func() { ca[cli] <- ok }()\n\t\t\tsa := make([]string, nservers)\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tsa[i] = port(tag, i)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tfor i := range sa {\n\t\t\t\tj := rand.Intn(i + 1)\n\t\t\t\tsa[i], sa[j] = sa[j], sa[i]\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tmyck := MakeClerk(sa)\n\t\t\tkey := strconv.Itoa(cli)\n\t\t\tlast := \"\"\n\t\t\tmyck.Put(key, last)\n\t\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 500 {\n\t\t\t\t\tnv := strconv.Itoa(rand.Int())\n\t\t\t\t\tmyck.Append(key, nv)\n\t\t\t\t\tlast = NextValue(last, nv)\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tv := myck.Get(key)\n\t\t\t\t\tif v != last {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"%v: get wrong value, key %v, wanted %v, got %v\",\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tcli, key, last, v)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tok = true\n\t\t}(xcli)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(20 * time.Second)\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\t<-ch1\n\tpart(t, tag, nservers, []int{0, 1, 2, 3, 4}, []int{}, []int{})\n\n\tok := true\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\tz := <-ca[i]\n\t\tok = ok && z\n\t}\n\n\tif ok {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/kvraft/client.go",
    "content": "package raftkv\n\nimport \"labrpc\"\nimport \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"math/big\"\n\n\ntype Clerk struct {\n\tservers []*labrpc.ClientEnd\n\t// You will have to modify this struct.\n}\n\nfunc nrand() int64 {\n\tmax := big.NewInt(int64(1) << 62)\n\tbigx, _ := rand.Int(rand.Reader, max)\n\tx := bigx.Int64()\n\treturn x\n}\n\nfunc MakeClerk(servers []*labrpc.ClientEnd) *Clerk {\n\tck := new(Clerk)\n\tck.servers = servers\n\t// You'll have to add code here.\n\treturn ck\n}\n\n//\n// fetch the current value for a key.\n// returns \"\" if the key does not exist.\n// keeps trying forever in the face of all other errors.\n//\n// you can send an RPC with code like this:\n// ok := ck.servers[i].Call(\"KVServer.Get\", &args, &reply)\n//\n// the types of args and reply (including whether they are pointers)\n// must match the declared types of the RPC handler function's\n// arguments. and reply must be passed as a pointer.\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Get(key string) string {\n\n\t// You will have to modify this function.\n\treturn \"\"\n}\n\n//\n// shared by Put and Append.\n//\n// you can send an RPC with code like this:\n// ok := ck.servers[i].Call(\"KVServer.PutAppend\", &args, &reply)\n//\n// the types of args and reply (including whether they are pointers)\n// must match the declared types of the RPC handler function's\n// arguments. and reply must be passed as a pointer.\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) PutAppend(key string, value string, op string) {\n\t// You will have to modify this function.\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Put(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Put\")\n}\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Append(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Append\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/kvraft/common.go",
    "content": "package raftkv\n\nconst (\n\tOK       = \"OK\"\n\tErrNoKey = \"ErrNoKey\"\n)\n\ntype Err string\n\n// Put or Append\ntype PutAppendArgs struct {\n\tKey   string\n\tValue string\n\tOp    string // \"Put\" or \"Append\"\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n\t// Field names must start with capital letters,\n\t// otherwise RPC will break.\n}\n\ntype PutAppendReply struct {\n\tWrongLeader bool\n\tErr         Err\n}\n\ntype GetArgs struct {\n\tKey string\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n}\n\ntype GetReply struct {\n\tWrongLeader bool\n\tErr         Err\n\tValue       string\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/kvraft/config.go",
    "content": "package raftkv\n\nimport \"labrpc\"\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"os\"\n\n// import \"log\"\nimport crand \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"math/big\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"encoding/base64\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"raft\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\n\nfunc randstring(n int) string {\n\tb := make([]byte, 2*n)\n\tcrand.Read(b)\n\ts := base64.URLEncoding.EncodeToString(b)\n\treturn s[0:n]\n}\n\nfunc makeSeed() int64 {\n\tmax := big.NewInt(int64(1) << 62)\n\tbigx, _ := crand.Int(crand.Reader, max)\n\tx := bigx.Int64()\n\treturn x\n}\n\n// Randomize server handles\nfunc random_handles(kvh []*labrpc.ClientEnd) []*labrpc.ClientEnd {\n\tsa := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, len(kvh))\n\tcopy(sa, kvh)\n\tfor i := range sa {\n\t\tj := rand.Intn(i + 1)\n\t\tsa[i], sa[j] = sa[j], sa[i]\n\t}\n\treturn sa\n}\n\ntype config struct {\n\tmu           sync.Mutex\n\tt            *testing.T\n\tnet          *labrpc.Network\n\tn            int\n\tkvservers    []*KVServer\n\tsaved        []*raft.Persister\n\tendnames     [][]string // names of each server's sending ClientEnds\n\tclerks       map[*Clerk][]string\n\tnextClientId int\n\tmaxraftstate int\n\tstart        time.Time // time at which make_config() was called\n\t// begin()/end() statistics\n\tt0    time.Time // time at which test_test.go called cfg.begin()\n\trpcs0 int       // rpcTotal() at start of test\n\tops   int32     // number of clerk get/put/append method calls\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) checkTimeout() {\n\t// enforce a two minute real-time limit on each test\n\tif !cfg.t.Failed() && time.Since(cfg.start) > 120*time.Second {\n\t\tcfg.t.Fatal(\"test took longer than 120 seconds\")\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) cleanup() {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(cfg.kvservers); i++ {\n\t\tif cfg.kvservers[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tcfg.kvservers[i].Kill()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tcfg.net.Cleanup()\n\tcfg.checkTimeout()\n}\n\n// Maximum log size across all servers\nfunc (cfg *config) LogSize() int {\n\tlogsize := 0\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tn := cfg.saved[i].RaftStateSize()\n\t\tif n > logsize {\n\t\t\tlogsize = n\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn logsize\n}\n\n// Maximum snapshot size across all servers\nfunc (cfg *config) SnapshotSize() int {\n\tsnapshotsize := 0\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tn := cfg.saved[i].SnapshotSize()\n\t\tif n > snapshotsize {\n\t\t\tsnapshotsize = n\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn snapshotsize\n}\n\n// attach server i to servers listed in to\n// caller must hold cfg.mu\nfunc (cfg *config) connectUnlocked(i int, to []int) {\n\t// log.Printf(\"connect peer %d to %v\\n\", i, to)\n\n\t// outgoing socket files\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(to); j++ {\n\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[i][to[j]]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, true)\n\t}\n\n\t// incoming socket files\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(to); j++ {\n\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[to[j]][i]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, true)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) connect(i int, to []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tcfg.connectUnlocked(i, to)\n}\n\n// detach server i from the servers listed in from\n// caller must hold cfg.mu\nfunc (cfg *config) disconnectUnlocked(i int, from []int) {\n\t// log.Printf(\"disconnect peer %d from %v\\n\", i, from)\n\n\t// outgoing socket files\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(from); j++ {\n\t\tif cfg.endnames[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[i][from[j]]\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, false)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// incoming socket files\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(from); j++ {\n\t\tif cfg.endnames[j] != nil {\n\t\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[from[j]][i]\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, false)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) disconnect(i int, from []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tcfg.disconnectUnlocked(i, from)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) All() []int {\n\tall := make([]int, cfg.n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tall[i] = i\n\t}\n\treturn all\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) ConnectAll() {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.connectUnlocked(i, cfg.All())\n\t}\n}\n\n// Sets up 2 partitions with connectivity between servers in each  partition.\nfunc (cfg *config) partition(p1 []int, p2 []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\t// log.Printf(\"partition servers into: %v %v\\n\", p1, p2)\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(p1); i++ {\n\t\tcfg.disconnectUnlocked(p1[i], p2)\n\t\tcfg.connectUnlocked(p1[i], p1)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(p2); i++ {\n\t\tcfg.disconnectUnlocked(p2[i], p1)\n\t\tcfg.connectUnlocked(p2[i], p2)\n\t}\n}\n\n// Create a clerk with clerk specific server names.\n// Give it connections to all of the servers, but for\n// now enable only connections to servers in to[].\nfunc (cfg *config) makeClient(to []int) *Clerk {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t// a fresh set of ClientEnds.\n\tends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.n)\n\tendnames := make([]string, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tendnames[j] = randstring(20)\n\t\tends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(endnames[j])\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(endnames[j], j)\n\t}\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(random_handles(ends))\n\tcfg.clerks[ck] = endnames\n\tcfg.nextClientId++\n\tcfg.ConnectClientUnlocked(ck, to)\n\treturn ck\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) deleteClient(ck *Clerk) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tv := cfg.clerks[ck]\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(v); i++ {\n\t\tos.Remove(v[i])\n\t}\n\tdelete(cfg.clerks, ck)\n}\n\n// caller should hold cfg.mu\nfunc (cfg *config) ConnectClientUnlocked(ck *Clerk, to []int) {\n\t// log.Printf(\"ConnectClient %v to %v\\n\", ck, to)\n\tendnames := cfg.clerks[ck]\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(to); j++ {\n\t\ts := endnames[to[j]]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(s, true)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) ConnectClient(ck *Clerk, to []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tcfg.ConnectClientUnlocked(ck, to)\n}\n\n// caller should hold cfg.mu\nfunc (cfg *config) DisconnectClientUnlocked(ck *Clerk, from []int) {\n\t// log.Printf(\"DisconnectClient %v from %v\\n\", ck, from)\n\tendnames := cfg.clerks[ck]\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(from); j++ {\n\t\ts := endnames[from[j]]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(s, false)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) DisconnectClient(ck *Clerk, from []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tcfg.DisconnectClientUnlocked(ck, from)\n}\n\n// Shutdown a server by isolating it\nfunc (cfg *config) ShutdownServer(i int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tcfg.disconnectUnlocked(i, cfg.All())\n\n\t// disable client connections to the server.\n\t// it's important to do this before creating\n\t// the new Persister in saved[i], to avoid\n\t// the possibility of the server returning a\n\t// positive reply to an Append but persisting\n\t// the result in the superseded Persister.\n\tcfg.net.DeleteServer(i)\n\n\t// a fresh persister, in case old instance\n\t// continues to update the Persister.\n\t// but copy old persister's content so that we always\n\t// pass Make() the last persisted state.\n\tif cfg.saved[i] != nil {\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = cfg.saved[i].Copy()\n\t}\n\n\tkv := cfg.kvservers[i]\n\tif kv != nil {\n\t\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\t\tkv.Kill()\n\t\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\t\tcfg.kvservers[i] = nil\n\t}\n}\n\n// If restart servers, first call ShutdownServer\nfunc (cfg *config) StartServer(i int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\n\t// a fresh set of outgoing ClientEnd names.\n\tcfg.endnames[i] = make([]string, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tcfg.endnames[i][j] = randstring(20)\n\t}\n\n\t// a fresh set of ClientEnds.\n\tends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(cfg.endnames[i][j])\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(cfg.endnames[i][j], j)\n\t}\n\n\t// a fresh persister, so old instance doesn't overwrite\n\t// new instance's persisted state.\n\t// give the fresh persister a copy of the old persister's\n\t// state, so that the spec is that we pass StartKVServer()\n\t// the last persisted state.\n\tif cfg.saved[i] != nil {\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = cfg.saved[i].Copy()\n\t} else {\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = raft.MakePersister()\n\t}\n\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tcfg.kvservers[i] = StartKVServer(ends, i, cfg.saved[i], cfg.maxraftstate)\n\n\tkvsvc := labrpc.MakeService(cfg.kvservers[i])\n\trfsvc := labrpc.MakeService(cfg.kvservers[i].rf)\n\tsrv := labrpc.MakeServer()\n\tsrv.AddService(kvsvc)\n\tsrv.AddService(rfsvc)\n\tcfg.net.AddServer(i, srv)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) Leader() (bool, int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\t_, is_leader := cfg.kvservers[i].rf.GetState()\n\t\tif is_leader {\n\t\t\treturn true, i\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn false, 0\n}\n\n// Partition servers into 2 groups and put current leader in minority\nfunc (cfg *config) make_partition() ([]int, []int) {\n\t_, l := cfg.Leader()\n\tp1 := make([]int, cfg.n/2+1)\n\tp2 := make([]int, cfg.n/2)\n\tj := 0\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tif i != l {\n\t\t\tif j < len(p1) {\n\t\t\t\tp1[j] = i\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tp2[j-len(p1)] = i\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tj++\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tp2[len(p2)-1] = l\n\treturn p1, p2\n}\n\nvar ncpu_once sync.Once\n\nfunc make_config(t *testing.T, n int, unreliable bool, maxraftstate int) *config {\n\tncpu_once.Do(func() {\n\t\tif runtime.NumCPU() < 2 {\n\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"warning: only one CPU, which may conceal locking bugs\\n\")\n\t\t}\n\t\trand.Seed(makeSeed())\n\t})\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\tcfg := &config{}\n\tcfg.t = t\n\tcfg.net = labrpc.MakeNetwork()\n\tcfg.n = n\n\tcfg.kvservers = make([]*KVServer, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.saved = make([]*raft.Persister, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.endnames = make([][]string, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.clerks = make(map[*Clerk][]string)\n\tcfg.nextClientId = cfg.n + 1000 // client ids start 1000 above the highest serverid\n\tcfg.maxraftstate = maxraftstate\n\tcfg.start = time.Now()\n\n\t// create a full set of KV servers.\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.StartServer(i)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.ConnectAll()\n\n\tcfg.net.Reliable(!unreliable)\n\n\treturn cfg\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) rpcTotal() int {\n\treturn cfg.net.GetTotalCount()\n}\n\n// start a Test.\n// print the Test message.\n// e.g. cfg.begin(\"Test (2B): RPC counts aren't too high\")\nfunc (cfg *config) begin(description string) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"%s ...\\n\", description)\n\tcfg.t0 = time.Now()\n\tcfg.rpcs0 = cfg.rpcTotal()\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&cfg.ops, 0)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) op() {\n\tatomic.AddInt32(&cfg.ops, 1)\n}\n\n// end a Test -- the fact that we got here means there\n// was no failure.\n// print the Passed message,\n// and some performance numbers.\nfunc (cfg *config) end() {\n\tcfg.checkTimeout()\n\tif cfg.t.Failed() == false {\n\t\tt := time.Since(cfg.t0).Seconds()  // real time\n\t\tnpeers := cfg.n                    // number of Raft peers\n\t\tnrpc := cfg.rpcTotal() - cfg.rpcs0 // number of RPC sends\n\t\tops := atomic.LoadInt32(&cfg.ops)  //  number of clerk get/put/append calls\n\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed --\")\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"  %4.1f  %d %5d %4d\\n\", t, npeers, nrpc, ops)\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/kvraft/server.go",
    "content": "package raftkv\n\nimport (\n\t\"labgob\"\n\t\"labrpc\"\n\t\"log\"\n\t\"raft\"\n\t\"sync\"\n)\n\nconst Debug = 0\n\nfunc DPrintf(format string, a ...interface{}) (n int, err error) {\n\tif Debug > 0 {\n\t\tlog.Printf(format, a...)\n\t}\n\treturn\n}\n\n\ntype Op struct {\n\t// Your definitions here.\n\t// Field names must start with capital letters,\n\t// otherwise RPC will break.\n}\n\ntype KVServer struct {\n\tmu      sync.Mutex\n\tme      int\n\trf      *raft.Raft\n\tapplyCh chan raft.ApplyMsg\n\n\tmaxraftstate int // snapshot if log grows this big\n\n\t// Your definitions here.\n}\n\n\nfunc (kv *KVServer) Get(args *GetArgs, reply *GetReply) {\n\t// Your code here.\n}\n\nfunc (kv *KVServer) PutAppend(args *PutAppendArgs, reply *PutAppendReply) {\n\t// Your code here.\n}\n\n//\n// the tester calls Kill() when a KVServer instance won't\n// be needed again. you are not required to do anything\n// in Kill(), but it might be convenient to (for example)\n// turn off debug output from this instance.\n//\nfunc (kv *KVServer) Kill() {\n\tkv.rf.Kill()\n\t// Your code here, if desired.\n}\n\n//\n// servers[] contains the ports of the set of\n// servers that will cooperate via Raft to\n// form the fault-tolerant key/value service.\n// me is the index of the current server in servers[].\n// the k/v server should store snapshots through the underlying Raft\n// implementation, which should call persister.SaveStateAndSnapshot() to\n// atomically save the Raft state along with the snapshot.\n// the k/v server should snapshot when Raft's saved state exceeds maxraftstate bytes,\n// in order to allow Raft to garbage-collect its log. if maxraftstate is -1,\n// you don't need to snapshot.\n// StartKVServer() must return quickly, so it should start goroutines\n// for any long-running work.\n//\nfunc StartKVServer(servers []*labrpc.ClientEnd, me int, persister *raft.Persister, maxraftstate int) *KVServer {\n\t// call labgob.Register on structures you want\n\t// Go's RPC library to marshall/unmarshall.\n\tlabgob.Register(Op{})\n\n\tkv := new(KVServer)\n\tkv.me = me\n\tkv.maxraftstate = maxraftstate\n\n\t// You may need initialization code here.\n\n\tkv.applyCh = make(chan raft.ApplyMsg)\n\tkv.rf = raft.Make(servers, me, persister, kv.applyCh)\n\n\t// You may need initialization code here.\n\n\treturn kv\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/kvraft/test.go",
    "content": "package raftkv\n\nimport \"linearizability\"\n\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"strconv\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"strings\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\n\n// The tester generously allows solutions to complete elections in one second\n// (much more than the paper's range of timeouts).\nconst electionTimeout = 1 * time.Second\n\nconst linearizabilityCheckTimeout = 1 * time.Second\n\n// get/put/putappend that keep counts\nfunc Get(cfg *config, ck *Clerk, key string) string {\n\tv := ck.Get(key)\n\tcfg.op()\n\treturn v\n}\n\nfunc Put(cfg *config, ck *Clerk, key string, value string) {\n\tck.Put(key, value)\n\tcfg.op()\n}\n\nfunc Append(cfg *config, ck *Clerk, key string, value string) {\n\tck.Append(key, value)\n\tcfg.op()\n}\n\nfunc check(cfg *config, t *testing.T, ck *Clerk, key string, value string) {\n\tv := Get(cfg, ck, key)\n\tif v != value {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get(%v): expected:\\n%v\\nreceived:\\n%v\", key, value, v)\n\t}\n}\n\n// a client runs the function f and then signals it is done\nfunc run_client(t *testing.T, cfg *config, me int, ca chan bool, fn func(me int, ck *Clerk, t *testing.T)) {\n\tok := false\n\tdefer func() { ca <- ok }()\n\tck := cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\tfn(me, ck, t)\n\tok = true\n\tcfg.deleteClient(ck)\n}\n\n// spawn ncli clients and wait until they are all done\nfunc spawn_clients_and_wait(t *testing.T, cfg *config, ncli int, fn func(me int, ck *Clerk, t *testing.T)) {\n\tca := make([]chan bool, ncli)\n\tfor cli := 0; cli < ncli; cli++ {\n\t\tca[cli] = make(chan bool)\n\t\tgo run_client(t, cfg, cli, ca[cli], fn)\n\t}\n\t// log.Printf(\"spawn_clients_and_wait: waiting for clients\")\n\tfor cli := 0; cli < ncli; cli++ {\n\t\tok := <-ca[cli]\n\t\t// log.Printf(\"spawn_clients_and_wait: client %d is done\\n\", cli)\n\t\tif ok == false {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"failure\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n// predict effect of Append(k, val) if old value is prev.\nfunc NextValue(prev string, val string) string {\n\treturn prev + val\n}\n\n// check that for a specific client all known appends are present in a value,\n// and in order\nfunc checkClntAppends(t *testing.T, clnt int, v string, count int) {\n\tlastoff := -1\n\tfor j := 0; j < count; j++ {\n\t\twanted := \"x \" + strconv.Itoa(clnt) + \" \" + strconv.Itoa(j) + \" y\"\n\t\toff := strings.Index(v, wanted)\n\t\tif off < 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"%v missing element %v in Append result %v\", clnt, wanted, v)\n\t\t}\n\t\toff1 := strings.LastIndex(v, wanted)\n\t\tif off1 != off {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"duplicate element %v in Append result\", wanted)\n\t\t}\n\t\tif off <= lastoff {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong order for element %v in Append result\", wanted)\n\t\t}\n\t\tlastoff = off\n\t}\n}\n\n// check that all known appends are present in a value,\n// and are in order for each concurrent client.\nfunc checkConcurrentAppends(t *testing.T, v string, counts []int) {\n\tnclients := len(counts)\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\tlastoff := -1\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < counts[i]; j++ {\n\t\t\twanted := \"x \" + strconv.Itoa(i) + \" \" + strconv.Itoa(j) + \" y\"\n\t\t\toff := strings.Index(v, wanted)\n\t\t\tif off < 0 {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"%v missing element %v in Append result %v\", i, wanted, v)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\toff1 := strings.LastIndex(v, wanted)\n\t\t\tif off1 != off {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"duplicate element %v in Append result\", wanted)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif off <= lastoff {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong order for element %v in Append result\", wanted)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tlastoff = off\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n// repartition the servers periodically\nfunc partitioner(t *testing.T, cfg *config, ch chan bool, done *int32) {\n\tdefer func() { ch <- true }()\n\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(done) == 0 {\n\t\ta := make([]int, cfg.n)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\t\ta[i] = (rand.Int() % 2)\n\t\t}\n\t\tpa := make([][]int, 2)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < 2; i++ {\n\t\t\tpa[i] = make([]int, 0)\n\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\t\t\tif a[j] == i {\n\t\t\t\t\tpa[i] = append(pa[i], j)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tcfg.partition(pa[0], pa[1])\n\t\ttime.Sleep(electionTimeout + time.Duration(rand.Int63()%200)*time.Millisecond)\n\t}\n}\n\n// Basic test is as follows: one or more clients submitting Append/Get\n// operations to set of servers for some period of time.  After the period is\n// over, test checks that all appended values are present and in order for a\n// particular key.  If unreliable is set, RPCs may fail.  If crash is set, the\n// servers crash after the period is over and restart.  If partitions is set,\n// the test repartitions the network concurrently with the clients and servers. If\n// maxraftstate is a positive number, the size of the state for Raft (i.e., log\n// size) shouldn't exceed 2*maxraftstate.\nfunc GenericTest(t *testing.T, part string, nclients int, unreliable bool, crash bool, partitions bool, maxraftstate int) {\n\n\ttitle := \"Test: \"\n\tif unreliable {\n\t\t// the network drops RPC requests and replies.\n\t\ttitle = title + \"unreliable net, \"\n\t}\n\tif crash {\n\t\t// peers re-start, and thus persistence must work.\n\t\ttitle = title + \"restarts, \"\n\t}\n\tif partitions {\n\t\t// the network may partition\n\t\ttitle = title + \"partitions, \"\n\t}\n\tif maxraftstate != -1 {\n\t\ttitle = title + \"snapshots, \"\n\t}\n\tif nclients > 1 {\n\t\ttitle = title + \"many clients\"\n\t} else {\n\t\ttitle = title + \"one client\"\n\t}\n\ttitle = title + \" (\" + part + \")\" // 3A or 3B\n\n\tconst nservers = 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, nservers, unreliable, maxraftstate)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(title)\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\n\tdone_partitioner := int32(0)\n\tdone_clients := int32(0)\n\tch_partitioner := make(chan bool)\n\tclnts := make([]chan int, nclients)\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\tclnts[i] = make(chan int)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\t// log.Printf(\"Iteration %v\\n\", i)\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done_clients, 0)\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done_partitioner, 0)\n\t\tgo spawn_clients_and_wait(t, cfg, nclients, func(cli int, myck *Clerk, t *testing.T) {\n\t\t\tj := 0\n\t\t\tdefer func() {\n\t\t\t\tclnts[cli] <- j\n\t\t\t}()\n\t\t\tlast := \"\"\n\t\t\tkey := strconv.Itoa(cli)\n\t\t\tPut(cfg, myck, key, last)\n\t\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done_clients) == 0 {\n\t\t\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 500 {\n\t\t\t\t\tnv := \"x \" + strconv.Itoa(cli) + \" \" + strconv.Itoa(j) + \" y\"\n\t\t\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"%d: client new append %v\\n\", cli, nv)\n\t\t\t\t\tAppend(cfg, myck, key, nv)\n\t\t\t\t\tlast = NextValue(last, nv)\n\t\t\t\t\tj++\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"%d: client new get %v\\n\", cli, key)\n\t\t\t\t\tv := Get(cfg, myck, key)\n\t\t\t\t\tif v != last {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"get wrong value, key %v, wanted:\\n%v\\n, got\\n%v\\n\", key, last, v)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t})\n\n\t\tif partitions {\n\t\t\t// Allow the clients to perform some operations without interruption\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\t\t\tgo partitioner(t, cfg, ch_partitioner, &done_partitioner)\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(5 * time.Second)\n\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done_clients, 1)     // tell clients to quit\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done_partitioner, 1) // tell partitioner to quit\n\n\t\tif partitions {\n\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"wait for partitioner\\n\")\n\t\t\t<-ch_partitioner\n\t\t\t// reconnect network and submit a request. A client may\n\t\t\t// have submitted a request in a minority.  That request\n\t\t\t// won't return until that server discovers a new term\n\t\t\t// has started.\n\t\t\tcfg.ConnectAll()\n\t\t\t// wait for a while so that we have a new term\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(electionTimeout)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif crash {\n\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"shutdown servers\\n\")\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.ShutdownServer(i)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t// Wait for a while for servers to shutdown, since\n\t\t\t// shutdown isn't a real crash and isn't instantaneous\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(electionTimeout)\n\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"restart servers\\n\")\n\t\t\t// crash and re-start all\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.StartServer(i)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcfg.ConnectAll()\n\t\t}\n\n\t\t// log.Printf(\"wait for clients\\n\")\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"read from clients %d\\n\", i)\n\t\t\tj := <-clnts[i]\n\t\t\t// if j < 10 {\n\t\t\t// \tlog.Printf(\"Warning: client %d managed to perform only %d put operations in 1 sec?\\n\", i, j)\n\t\t\t// }\n\t\t\tkey := strconv.Itoa(i)\n\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"Check %v for client %d\\n\", j, i)\n\t\t\tv := Get(cfg, ck, key)\n\t\t\tcheckClntAppends(t, i, v, j)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif maxraftstate > 0 {\n\t\t\t// Check maximum after the servers have processed all client\n\t\t\t// requests and had time to checkpoint.\n\t\t\tif cfg.LogSize() > 2*maxraftstate {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"logs were not trimmed (%v > 2*%v)\", cfg.LogSize(), maxraftstate)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\n// similar to GenericTest, but with clients doing random operations (and using a\n// linearizability checker)\nfunc GenericTestLinearizability(t *testing.T, part string, nclients int, nservers int, unreliable bool, crash bool, partitions bool, maxraftstate int) {\n\n\ttitle := \"Test: \"\n\tif unreliable {\n\t\t// the network drops RPC requests and replies.\n\t\ttitle = title + \"unreliable net, \"\n\t}\n\tif crash {\n\t\t// peers re-start, and thus persistence must work.\n\t\ttitle = title + \"restarts, \"\n\t}\n\tif partitions {\n\t\t// the network may partition\n\t\ttitle = title + \"partitions, \"\n\t}\n\tif maxraftstate != -1 {\n\t\ttitle = title + \"snapshots, \"\n\t}\n\tif nclients > 1 {\n\t\ttitle = title + \"many clients\"\n\t} else {\n\t\ttitle = title + \"one client\"\n\t}\n\ttitle = title + \", linearizability checks (\" + part + \")\" // 3A or 3B\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, nservers, unreliable, maxraftstate)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(title)\n\n\tbegin := time.Now()\n\tvar operations []linearizability.Operation\n\tvar opMu sync.Mutex\n\n\tdone_partitioner := int32(0)\n\tdone_clients := int32(0)\n\tch_partitioner := make(chan bool)\n\tclnts := make([]chan int, nclients)\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\tclnts[i] = make(chan int)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\t// log.Printf(\"Iteration %v\\n\", i)\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done_clients, 0)\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done_partitioner, 0)\n\t\tgo spawn_clients_and_wait(t, cfg, nclients, func(cli int, myck *Clerk, t *testing.T) {\n\t\t\tj := 0\n\t\t\tdefer func() {\n\t\t\t\tclnts[cli] <- j\n\t\t\t}()\n\t\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done_clients) == 0 {\n\t\t\t\tkey := strconv.Itoa(rand.Int() % nclients)\n\t\t\t\tnv := \"x \" + strconv.Itoa(cli) + \" \" + strconv.Itoa(j) + \" y\"\n\t\t\t\tvar inp linearizability.KvInput\n\t\t\t\tvar out linearizability.KvOutput\n\t\t\t\tstart := int64(time.Since(begin))\n\t\t\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 500 {\n\t\t\t\t\tAppend(cfg, myck, key, nv)\n\t\t\t\t\tinp = linearizability.KvInput{Op: 2, Key: key, Value: nv}\n\t\t\t\t\tj++\n\t\t\t\t} else if (rand.Int() % 1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\t\t\tPut(cfg, myck, key, nv)\n\t\t\t\t\tinp = linearizability.KvInput{Op: 1, Key: key, Value: nv}\n\t\t\t\t\tj++\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tv := Get(cfg, myck, key)\n\t\t\t\t\tinp = linearizability.KvInput{Op: 0, Key: key}\n\t\t\t\t\tout = linearizability.KvOutput{Value: v}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tend := int64(time.Since(begin))\n\t\t\t\top := linearizability.Operation{Input: inp, Call: start, Output: out, Return: end}\n\t\t\t\topMu.Lock()\n\t\t\t\toperations = append(operations, op)\n\t\t\t\topMu.Unlock()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t})\n\n\t\tif partitions {\n\t\t\t// Allow the clients to perform some operations without interruption\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\t\t\tgo partitioner(t, cfg, ch_partitioner, &done_partitioner)\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(5 * time.Second)\n\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done_clients, 1)     // tell clients to quit\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done_partitioner, 1) // tell partitioner to quit\n\n\t\tif partitions {\n\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"wait for partitioner\\n\")\n\t\t\t<-ch_partitioner\n\t\t\t// reconnect network and submit a request. A client may\n\t\t\t// have submitted a request in a minority.  That request\n\t\t\t// won't return until that server discovers a new term\n\t\t\t// has started.\n\t\t\tcfg.ConnectAll()\n\t\t\t// wait for a while so that we have a new term\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(electionTimeout)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif crash {\n\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"shutdown servers\\n\")\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.ShutdownServer(i)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t// Wait for a while for servers to shutdown, since\n\t\t\t// shutdown isn't a real crash and isn't instantaneous\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(electionTimeout)\n\t\t\t// log.Printf(\"restart servers\\n\")\n\t\t\t// crash and re-start all\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.StartServer(i)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcfg.ConnectAll()\n\t\t}\n\n\t\t// wait for clients.\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\t\t<-clnts[i]\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif maxraftstate > 0 {\n\t\t\t// Check maximum after the servers have processed all client\n\t\t\t// requests and had time to checkpoint.\n\t\t\tif cfg.LogSize() > 2*maxraftstate {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"logs were not trimmed (%v > 2*%v)\", cfg.LogSize(), maxraftstate)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.end()\n\n\t// log.Printf(\"Checking linearizability of %d operations\", len(operations))\n\t// start := time.Now()\n\tok := linearizability.CheckOperationsTimeout(linearizability.KvModel(), operations, linearizabilityCheckTimeout)\n\t// dur := time.Since(start)\n\t// log.Printf(\"Linearizability check done in %s; result: %t\", time.Since(start).String(), ok)\n\tif !ok {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"history is not linearizable\")\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc TestBasic3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: one client (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 1, false, false, false, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestConcurrent3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: many clients (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 5, false, false, false, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestUnreliable3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: unreliable net, many clients (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 5, true, false, false, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestUnreliableOneKey3A(t *testing.T) {\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, nservers, true, -1)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test: concurrent append to same key, unreliable (3A)\")\n\n\tPut(cfg, ck, \"k\", \"\")\n\n\tconst nclient = 5\n\tconst upto = 10\n\tspawn_clients_and_wait(t, cfg, nclient, func(me int, myck *Clerk, t *testing.T) {\n\t\tn := 0\n\t\tfor n < upto {\n\t\t\tAppend(cfg, myck, \"k\", \"x \"+strconv.Itoa(me)+\" \"+strconv.Itoa(n)+\" y\")\n\t\t\tn++\n\t\t}\n\t})\n\n\tvar counts []int\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclient; i++ {\n\t\tcounts = append(counts, upto)\n\t}\n\n\tvx := Get(cfg, ck, \"k\")\n\tcheckConcurrentAppends(t, vx, counts)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\n// Submit a request in the minority partition and check that the requests\n// doesn't go through until the partition heals.  The leader in the original\n// network ends up in the minority partition.\nfunc TestOnePartition3A(t *testing.T) {\n\tconst nservers = 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, nservers, false, -1)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\tck := cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\n\tPut(cfg, ck, \"1\", \"13\")\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test: progress in majority (3A)\")\n\n\tp1, p2 := cfg.make_partition()\n\tcfg.partition(p1, p2)\n\n\tckp1 := cfg.makeClient(p1)  // connect ckp1 to p1\n\tckp2a := cfg.makeClient(p2) // connect ckp2a to p2\n\tckp2b := cfg.makeClient(p2) // connect ckp2b to p2\n\n\tPut(cfg, ckp1, \"1\", \"14\")\n\tcheck(cfg, t, ckp1, \"1\", \"14\")\n\n\tcfg.end()\n\n\tdone0 := make(chan bool)\n\tdone1 := make(chan bool)\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test: no progress in minority (3A)\")\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tPut(cfg, ckp2a, \"1\", \"15\")\n\t\tdone0 <- true\n\t}()\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tGet(cfg, ckp2b, \"1\") // different clerk in p2\n\t\tdone1 <- true\n\t}()\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-done0:\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Put in minority completed\")\n\tcase <-done1:\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get in minority completed\")\n\tcase <-time.After(time.Second):\n\t}\n\n\tcheck(cfg, t, ckp1, \"1\", \"14\")\n\tPut(cfg, ckp1, \"1\", \"16\")\n\tcheck(cfg, t, ckp1, \"1\", \"16\")\n\n\tcfg.end()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test: completion after heal (3A)\")\n\n\tcfg.ConnectAll()\n\tcfg.ConnectClient(ckp2a, cfg.All())\n\tcfg.ConnectClient(ckp2b, cfg.All())\n\n\ttime.Sleep(electionTimeout)\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-done0:\n\tcase <-time.After(30 * 100 * time.Millisecond):\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Put did not complete\")\n\t}\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-done1:\n\tcase <-time.After(30 * 100 * time.Millisecond):\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get did not complete\")\n\tdefault:\n\t}\n\n\tcheck(cfg, t, ck, \"1\", \"15\")\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestManyPartitionsOneClient3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: partitions, one client (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 1, false, false, true, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestManyPartitionsManyClients3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: partitions, many clients (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 5, false, false, true, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestPersistOneClient3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: restarts, one client (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 1, false, true, false, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestPersistConcurrent3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: restarts, many clients (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 5, false, true, false, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestPersistConcurrentUnreliable3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: unreliable net, restarts, many clients (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 5, true, true, false, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestPersistPartition3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: restarts, partitions, many clients (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 5, false, true, true, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestPersistPartitionUnreliable3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: unreliable net, restarts, partitions, many clients (3A) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3A\", 5, true, true, true, -1)\n}\n\nfunc TestPersistPartitionUnreliableLinearizable3A(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: unreliable net, restarts, partitions, linearizability checks (3A) ...\n\tGenericTestLinearizability(t, \"3A\", 15, 7, true, true, true, -1)\n}\n\n//\n// if one server falls behind, then rejoins, does it\n// recover by using the InstallSnapshot RPC?\n// also checks that majority discards committed log entries\n// even if minority doesn't respond.\n//\nfunc TestSnapshotRPC3B(t *testing.T) {\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tmaxraftstate := 1000\n\tcfg := make_config(t, nservers, false, maxraftstate)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test: InstallSnapshot RPC (3B)\")\n\n\tPut(cfg, ck, \"a\", \"A\")\n\tcheck(cfg, t, ck, \"a\", \"A\")\n\n\t// a bunch of puts into the majority partition.\n\tcfg.partition([]int{0, 1}, []int{2})\n\t{\n\t\tck1 := cfg.makeClient([]int{0, 1})\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < 50; i++ {\n\t\t\tPut(cfg, ck1, strconv.Itoa(i), strconv.Itoa(i))\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(electionTimeout)\n\t\tPut(cfg, ck1, \"b\", \"B\")\n\t}\n\n\t// check that the majority partition has thrown away\n\t// most of its log entries.\n\tif cfg.LogSize() > 2*maxraftstate {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"logs were not trimmed (%v > 2*%v)\", cfg.LogSize(), maxraftstate)\n\t}\n\n\t// now make group that requires participation of\n\t// lagging server, so that it has to catch up.\n\tcfg.partition([]int{0, 2}, []int{1})\n\t{\n\t\tck1 := cfg.makeClient([]int{0, 2})\n\t\tPut(cfg, ck1, \"c\", \"C\")\n\t\tPut(cfg, ck1, \"d\", \"D\")\n\t\tcheck(cfg, t, ck1, \"a\", \"A\")\n\t\tcheck(cfg, t, ck1, \"b\", \"B\")\n\t\tcheck(cfg, t, ck1, \"1\", \"1\")\n\t\tcheck(cfg, t, ck1, \"49\", \"49\")\n\t}\n\n\t// now everybody\n\tcfg.partition([]int{0, 1, 2}, []int{})\n\n\tPut(cfg, ck, \"e\", \"E\")\n\tcheck(cfg, t, ck, \"c\", \"C\")\n\tcheck(cfg, t, ck, \"e\", \"E\")\n\tcheck(cfg, t, ck, \"1\", \"1\")\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\n// are the snapshots not too huge? 500 bytes is a generous bound for the\n// operations we're doing here.\nfunc TestSnapshotSize3B(t *testing.T) {\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tmaxraftstate := 1000\n\tmaxsnapshotstate := 500\n\tcfg := make_config(t, nservers, false, maxraftstate)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test: snapshot size is reasonable (3B)\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 200; i++ {\n\t\tPut(cfg, ck, \"x\", \"0\")\n\t\tcheck(cfg, t, ck, \"x\", \"0\")\n\t\tPut(cfg, ck, \"x\", \"1\")\n\t\tcheck(cfg, t, ck, \"x\", \"1\")\n\t}\n\n\t// check that servers have thrown away most of their log entries\n\tif cfg.LogSize() > 2*maxraftstate {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"logs were not trimmed (%v > 2*%v)\", cfg.LogSize(), maxraftstate)\n\t}\n\n\t// check that the snapshots are not unreasonably large\n\tif cfg.SnapshotSize() > maxsnapshotstate {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"snapshot too large (%v > %v)\", cfg.SnapshotSize(), maxsnapshotstate)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestSnapshotRecover3B(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: restarts, snapshots, one client (3B) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3B\", 1, false, true, false, 1000)\n}\n\nfunc TestSnapshotRecoverManyClients3B(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: restarts, snapshots, many clients (3B) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3B\", 20, false, true, false, 1000)\n}\n\nfunc TestSnapshotUnreliable3B(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: unreliable net, snapshots, many clients (3B) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3B\", 5, true, false, false, 1000)\n}\n\nfunc TestSnapshotUnreliableRecover3B(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: unreliable net, restarts, snapshots, many clients (3B) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3B\", 5, true, true, false, 1000)\n}\n\nfunc TestSnapshotUnreliableRecoverConcurrentPartition3B(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: unreliable net, restarts, partitions, snapshots, many clients (3B) ...\n\tGenericTest(t, \"3B\", 5, true, true, true, 1000)\n}\n\nfunc TestSnapshotUnreliableRecoverConcurrentPartitionLinearizable3B(t *testing.T) {\n\t// Test: unreliable net, restarts, partitions, snapshots, linearizability checks (3B) ...\n\tGenericTestLinearizability(t, \"3B\", 15, 7, true, true, true, 1000)\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/labgob/labgob.go",
    "content": "package labgob\n\n//\n// trying to send non-capitalized fields over RPC produces a range of\n// misbehavior, including both mysterious incorrect computation and\n// outright crashes. so this wrapper around Go's encoding/gob warns\n// about non-capitalized field names.\n//\n\nimport \"encoding/gob\"\nimport \"io\"\nimport \"reflect\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"unicode\"\nimport \"unicode/utf8\"\n\nvar mu sync.Mutex\nvar errorCount int // for TestCapital\nvar checked map[reflect.Type]bool\n\ntype LabEncoder struct {\n\tgob *gob.Encoder\n}\n\nfunc NewEncoder(w io.Writer) *LabEncoder {\n\tenc := &LabEncoder{}\n\tenc.gob = gob.NewEncoder(w)\n\treturn enc\n}\n\nfunc (enc *LabEncoder) Encode(e interface{}) error {\n\tcheckValue(e)\n\treturn enc.gob.Encode(e)\n}\n\nfunc (enc *LabEncoder) EncodeValue(value reflect.Value) error {\n\tcheckValue(value.Interface())\n\treturn enc.gob.EncodeValue(value)\n}\n\ntype LabDecoder struct {\n\tgob *gob.Decoder\n}\n\nfunc NewDecoder(r io.Reader) *LabDecoder {\n\tdec := &LabDecoder{}\n\tdec.gob = gob.NewDecoder(r)\n\treturn dec\n}\n\nfunc (dec *LabDecoder) Decode(e interface{}) error {\n\tcheckValue(e)\n\tcheckDefault(e)\n\treturn dec.gob.Decode(e)\n}\n\nfunc Register(value interface{}) {\n\tcheckValue(value)\n\tgob.Register(value)\n}\n\nfunc RegisterName(name string, value interface{}) {\n\tcheckValue(value)\n\tgob.RegisterName(name, value)\n}\n\nfunc checkValue(value interface{}) {\n\tcheckType(reflect.TypeOf(value))\n}\n\nfunc checkType(t reflect.Type) {\n\tk := t.Kind()\n\n\tmu.Lock()\n\t// only complain once, and avoid recursion.\n\tif checked == nil {\n\t\tchecked = map[reflect.Type]bool{}\n\t}\n\tif checked[t] {\n\t\tmu.Unlock()\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\tchecked[t] = true\n\tmu.Unlock()\n\n\tswitch k {\n\tcase reflect.Struct:\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < t.NumField(); i++ {\n\t\t\tf := t.Field(i)\n\t\t\trune, _ := utf8.DecodeRuneInString(f.Name)\n\t\t\tif unicode.IsUpper(rune) == false {\n\t\t\t\t// ta da\n\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"labgob error: lower-case field %v of %v in RPC or persist/snapshot will break your Raft\\n\",\n\t\t\t\t\tf.Name, t.Name())\n\t\t\t\tmu.Lock()\n\t\t\t\terrorCount += 1\n\t\t\t\tmu.Unlock()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcheckType(f.Type)\n\t\t}\n\t\treturn\n\tcase reflect.Slice, reflect.Array, reflect.Ptr:\n\t\tcheckType(t.Elem())\n\t\treturn\n\tcase reflect.Map:\n\t\tcheckType(t.Elem())\n\t\tcheckType(t.Key())\n\t\treturn\n\tdefault:\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// warn if the value contains non-default values,\n// as it would if one sent an RPC but the reply\n// struct was already modified. if the RPC reply\n// contains default values, GOB won't overwrite\n// the non-default value.\n//\nfunc checkDefault(value interface{}) {\n\tif value == nil {\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\tcheckDefault1(reflect.ValueOf(value), 1, \"\")\n}\n\nfunc checkDefault1(value reflect.Value, depth int, name string) {\n\tif depth > 3 {\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\n\tt := value.Type()\n\tk := t.Kind()\n\n\tswitch k {\n\tcase reflect.Struct:\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < t.NumField(); i++ {\n\t\t\tvv := value.Field(i)\n\t\t\tname1 := t.Field(i).Name\n\t\t\tif name != \"\" {\n\t\t\t\tname1 = name + \".\" + name1\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcheckDefault1(vv, depth+1, name1)\n\t\t}\n\t\treturn\n\tcase reflect.Ptr:\n\t\tif value.IsNil() {\n\t\t\treturn\n\t\t}\n\t\tcheckDefault1(value.Elem(), depth+1, name)\n\t\treturn\n\tcase reflect.Bool,\n\t\treflect.Int, reflect.Int8, reflect.Int16, reflect.Int32, reflect.Int64,\n\t\treflect.Uint, reflect.Uint8, reflect.Uint16, reflect.Uint32, reflect.Uint64,\n\t\treflect.Uintptr, reflect.Float32, reflect.Float64,\n\t\treflect.String:\n\t\tif reflect.DeepEqual(reflect.Zero(t).Interface(), value.Interface()) == false {\n\t\t\tmu.Lock()\n\t\t\tif errorCount < 1 {\n\t\t\t\twhat := name\n\t\t\t\tif what == \"\" {\n\t\t\t\t\twhat = t.Name()\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t// this warning typically arises if code re-uses the same RPC reply\n\t\t\t\t// variable for multiple RPC calls, or if code restores persisted\n\t\t\t\t// state into variable that already have non-default values.\n\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"labgob warning: Decoding into a non-default variable/field %v may not work\\n\",\n\t\t\t\t\twhat)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\terrorCount += 1\n\t\t\tmu.Unlock()\n\t\t}\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/labgob/test_test.go",
    "content": "package labgob\n\nimport \"testing\"\n\nimport \"bytes\"\n\ntype T1 struct {\n\tT1int0    int\n\tT1int1    int\n\tT1string0 string\n\tT1string1 string\n}\n\ntype T2 struct {\n\tT2slice []T1\n\tT2map   map[int]*T1\n\tT2t3    interface{}\n}\n\ntype T3 struct {\n\tT3int999 int\n}\n\n//\n// test that we didn't break GOB.\n//\nfunc TestGOB(t *testing.T) {\n\te0 := errorCount\n\n\tw := new(bytes.Buffer)\n\n\tRegister(T3{})\n\n\t{\n\t\tx0 := 0\n\t\tx1 := 1\n\t\tt1 := T1{}\n\t\tt1.T1int1 = 1\n\t\tt1.T1string1 = \"6.824\"\n\t\tt2 := T2{}\n\t\tt2.T2slice = []T1{T1{}, t1}\n\t\tt2.T2map = map[int]*T1{}\n\t\tt2.T2map[99] = &T1{1, 2, \"x\", \"y\"}\n\t\tt2.T2t3 = T3{999}\n\n\t\te := NewEncoder(w)\n\t\te.Encode(x0)\n\t\te.Encode(x1)\n\t\te.Encode(t1)\n\t\te.Encode(t2)\n\t}\n\tdata := w.Bytes()\n\n\t{\n\t\tvar x0 int\n\t\tvar x1 int\n\t\tvar t1 T1\n\t\tvar t2 T2\n\n\t\tr := bytes.NewBuffer(data)\n\t\td := NewDecoder(r)\n\t\tif d.Decode(&x0) != nil ||\n\t\t\td.Decode(&x1) != nil ||\n\t\t\td.Decode(&t1) != nil ||\n\t\t\td.Decode(&t2) != nil {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Decode failed\")\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif x0 != 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong x0 %v\\n\", x0)\n\t\t}\n\t\tif x1 != 1 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong x1 %v\\n\", x1)\n\t\t}\n\t\tif t1.T1int0 != 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong t1.T1int0 %v\\n\", t1.T1int0)\n\t\t}\n\t\tif t1.T1int1 != 1 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong t1.T1int1 %v\\n\", t1.T1int1)\n\t\t}\n\t\tif t1.T1string0 != \"\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong t1.T1string0 %v\\n\", t1.T1string0)\n\t\t}\n\t\tif t1.T1string1 != \"6.824\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong t1.T1string1 %v\\n\", t1.T1string1)\n\t\t}\n\t\tif len(t2.T2slice) != 2 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong t2.T2slice len %v\\n\", len(t2.T2slice))\n\t\t}\n\t\tif t2.T2slice[1].T1int1 != 1 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong slice value\\n\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tif len(t2.T2map) != 1 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong t2.T2map len %v\\n\", len(t2.T2map))\n\t\t}\n\t\tif t2.T2map[99].T1string1 != \"y\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong map value\\n\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tt3 := (t2.T2t3).(T3)\n\t\tif t3.T3int999 != 999 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong t2.T2t3.T3int999\\n\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tif errorCount != e0 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"there were errors, but should not have been\")\n\t}\n}\n\ntype T4 struct {\n\tYes int\n\tno  int\n}\n\n//\n// make sure we check capitalization\n// labgob prints one warning during this test.\n//\nfunc TestCapital(t *testing.T) {\n\te0 := errorCount\n\n\tv := []map[*T4]int{}\n\n\tw := new(bytes.Buffer)\n\te := NewEncoder(w)\n\te.Encode(v)\n\tdata := w.Bytes()\n\n\tvar v1 []map[T4]int\n\tr := bytes.NewBuffer(data)\n\td := NewDecoder(r)\n\td.Decode(&v1)\n\n\tif errorCount != e0+1 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"failed to warn about lower-case field\")\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// check that we warn when someone sends a default value over\n// RPC but the target into which we're decoding holds a non-default\n// value, which GOB seems not to overwrite as you'd expect.\n//\n// labgob does not print a warning.\n//\nfunc TestDefault(t *testing.T) {\n\te0 := errorCount\n\n\ttype DD struct {\n\t\tX int\n\t}\n\n\t// send a default value...\n\tdd1 := DD{}\n\n\tw := new(bytes.Buffer)\n\te := NewEncoder(w)\n\te.Encode(dd1)\n\tdata := w.Bytes()\n\n\t// and receive it into memory that already\n\t// holds non-default values.\n\treply := DD{99}\n\n\tr := bytes.NewBuffer(data)\n\td := NewDecoder(r)\n\td.Decode(&reply)\n\n\tif errorCount != e0+1 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"failed to warn about decoding into non-default value\")\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/labrpc/labrpc.go",
    "content": "package labrpc\n\n//\n// channel-based RPC, for 824 labs.\n//\n// simulates a network that can lose requests, lose replies,\n// delay messages, and entirely disconnect particular hosts.\n//\n// we will use the original labrpc.go to test your code for grading.\n// so, while you can modify this code to help you debug, please\n// test against the original before submitting.\n//\n// adapted from Go net/rpc/server.go.\n//\n// sends labgob-encoded values to ensure that RPCs\n// don't include references to program objects.\n//\n// net := MakeNetwork() -- holds network, clients, servers.\n// end := net.MakeEnd(endname) -- create a client end-point, to talk to one server.\n// net.AddServer(servername, server) -- adds a named server to network.\n// net.DeleteServer(servername) -- eliminate the named server.\n// net.Connect(endname, servername) -- connect a client to a server.\n// net.Enable(endname, enabled) -- enable/disable a client.\n// net.Reliable(bool) -- false means drop/delay messages\n//\n// end.Call(\"Raft.AppendEntries\", &args, &reply) -- send an RPC, wait for reply.\n// the \"Raft\" is the name of the server struct to be called.\n// the \"AppendEntries\" is the name of the method to be called.\n// Call() returns true to indicate that the server executed the request\n// and the reply is valid.\n// Call() returns false if the network lost the request or reply\n// or the server is down.\n// It is OK to have multiple Call()s in progress at the same time on the\n// same ClientEnd.\n// Concurrent calls to Call() may be delivered to the server out of order,\n// since the network may re-order messages.\n// Call() is guaranteed to return (perhaps after a delay) *except* if the\n// handler function on the server side does not return.\n// the server RPC handler function must declare its args and reply arguments\n// as pointers, so that their types exactly match the types of the arguments\n// to Call().\n//\n// srv := MakeServer()\n// srv.AddService(svc) -- a server can have multiple services, e.g. Raft and k/v\n//   pass srv to net.AddServer()\n//\n// svc := MakeService(receiverObject) -- obj's methods will handle RPCs\n//   much like Go's rpcs.Register()\n//   pass svc to srv.AddService()\n//\n\nimport \"labgob\"\nimport \"bytes\"\nimport \"reflect\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"strings\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\n\ntype reqMsg struct {\n\tendname  interface{} // name of sending ClientEnd\n\tsvcMeth  string      // e.g. \"Raft.AppendEntries\"\n\targsType reflect.Type\n\targs     []byte\n\treplyCh  chan replyMsg\n}\n\ntype replyMsg struct {\n\tok    bool\n\treply []byte\n}\n\ntype ClientEnd struct {\n\tendname interface{}   // this end-point's name\n\tch      chan reqMsg   // copy of Network.endCh\n\tdone    chan struct{} // closed when Network is cleaned up\n}\n\n// send an RPC, wait for the reply.\n// the return value indicates success; false means that\n// no reply was received from the server.\nfunc (e *ClientEnd) Call(svcMeth string, args interface{}, reply interface{}) bool {\n\treq := reqMsg{}\n\treq.endname = e.endname\n\treq.svcMeth = svcMeth\n\treq.argsType = reflect.TypeOf(args)\n\treq.replyCh = make(chan replyMsg)\n\n\tqb := new(bytes.Buffer)\n\tqe := labgob.NewEncoder(qb)\n\tqe.Encode(args)\n\treq.args = qb.Bytes()\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase e.ch <- req:\n\t\t// ok\n\tcase <-e.done:\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n\n\trep := <-req.replyCh\n\tif rep.ok {\n\t\trb := bytes.NewBuffer(rep.reply)\n\t\trd := labgob.NewDecoder(rb)\n\t\tif err := rd.Decode(reply); err != nil {\n\t\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"ClientEnd.Call(): decode reply: %v\\n\", err)\n\t\t}\n\t\treturn true\n\t} else {\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n}\n\ntype Network struct {\n\tmu             sync.Mutex\n\treliable       bool\n\tlongDelays     bool                        // pause a long time on send on disabled connection\n\tlongReordering bool                        // sometimes delay replies a long time\n\tends           map[interface{}]*ClientEnd  // ends, by name\n\tenabled        map[interface{}]bool        // by end name\n\tservers        map[interface{}]*Server     // servers, by name\n\tconnections    map[interface{}]interface{} // endname -> servername\n\tendCh          chan reqMsg\n\tdone           chan struct{} // closed when Network is cleaned up\n\tcount          int32         // total RPC count, for statistics\n}\n\nfunc MakeNetwork() *Network {\n\trn := &Network{}\n\trn.reliable = true\n\trn.ends = map[interface{}]*ClientEnd{}\n\trn.enabled = map[interface{}]bool{}\n\trn.servers = map[interface{}]*Server{}\n\trn.connections = map[interface{}](interface{}){}\n\trn.endCh = make(chan reqMsg)\n\trn.done = make(chan struct{})\n\n\t// single goroutine to handle all ClientEnd.Call()s\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor {\n\t\t\tselect {\n\t\t\tcase xreq := <-rn.endCh:\n\t\t\t\tatomic.AddInt32(&rn.count, 1)\n\t\t\t\tgo rn.ProcessReq(xreq)\n\t\t\tcase <-rn.done:\n\t\t\t\treturn\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\treturn rn\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) Cleanup() {\n\tclose(rn.done)\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) Reliable(yes bool) {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\trn.reliable = yes\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) LongReordering(yes bool) {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\trn.longReordering = yes\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) LongDelays(yes bool) {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\trn.longDelays = yes\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) ReadEndnameInfo(endname interface{}) (enabled bool,\n\tservername interface{}, server *Server, reliable bool, longreordering bool,\n) {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tenabled = rn.enabled[endname]\n\tservername = rn.connections[endname]\n\tif servername != nil {\n\t\tserver = rn.servers[servername]\n\t}\n\treliable = rn.reliable\n\tlongreordering = rn.longReordering\n\treturn\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) IsServerDead(endname interface{}, servername interface{}, server *Server) bool {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tif rn.enabled[endname] == false || rn.servers[servername] != server {\n\t\treturn true\n\t}\n\treturn false\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) ProcessReq(req reqMsg) {\n\tenabled, servername, server, reliable, longreordering := rn.ReadEndnameInfo(req.endname)\n\n\tif enabled && servername != nil && server != nil {\n\t\tif reliable == false {\n\t\t\t// short delay\n\t\t\tms := (rand.Int() % 27)\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(ms) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif reliable == false && (rand.Int()%1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\treq.replyCh <- replyMsg{false, nil}\n\t\t\treturn\n\t\t}\n\n\t\t// execute the request (call the RPC handler).\n\t\t// in a separate thread so that we can periodically check\n\t\t// if the server has been killed and the RPC should get a\n\t\t// failure reply.\n\t\tech := make(chan replyMsg)\n\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\tr := server.dispatch(req)\n\t\t\tech <- r\n\t\t}()\n\n\t\t// wait for handler to return,\n\t\t// but stop waiting if DeleteServer() has been called,\n\t\t// and return an error.\n\t\tvar reply replyMsg\n\t\treplyOK := false\n\t\tserverDead := false\n\t\tfor replyOK == false && serverDead == false {\n\t\t\tselect {\n\t\t\tcase reply = <-ech:\n\t\t\t\treplyOK = true\n\t\t\tcase <-time.After(100 * time.Millisecond):\n\t\t\t\tserverDead = rn.IsServerDead(req.endname, servername, server)\n\t\t\t\tif serverDead {\n\t\t\t\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<-ech // drain channel to let the goroutine created earlier terminate\n\t\t\t\t\t}()\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\t// do not reply if DeleteServer() has been called, i.e.\n\t\t// the server has been killed. this is needed to avoid\n\t\t// situation in which a client gets a positive reply\n\t\t// to an Append, but the server persisted the update\n\t\t// into the old Persister. config.go is careful to call\n\t\t// DeleteServer() before superseding the Persister.\n\t\tserverDead = rn.IsServerDead(req.endname, servername, server)\n\n\t\tif replyOK == false || serverDead == true {\n\t\t\t// server was killed while we were waiting; return error.\n\t\t\treq.replyCh <- replyMsg{false, nil}\n\t\t} else if reliable == false && (rand.Int()%1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\t// drop the reply, return as if timeout\n\t\t\treq.replyCh <- replyMsg{false, nil}\n\t\t} else if longreordering == true && rand.Intn(900) < 600 {\n\t\t\t// delay the response for a while\n\t\t\tms := 200 + rand.Intn(1+rand.Intn(2000))\n\t\t\t// Russ points out that this timer arrangement will decrease\n\t\t\t// the number of goroutines, so that the race\n\t\t\t// detector is less likely to get upset.\n\t\t\ttime.AfterFunc(time.Duration(ms)*time.Millisecond, func() {\n\t\t\t\treq.replyCh <- reply\n\t\t\t})\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\treq.replyCh <- reply\n\t\t}\n\t} else {\n\t\t// simulate no reply and eventual timeout.\n\t\tms := 0\n\t\tif rn.longDelays {\n\t\t\t// let Raft tests check that leader doesn't send\n\t\t\t// RPCs synchronously.\n\t\t\tms = (rand.Int() % 7000)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t// many kv tests require the client to try each\n\t\t\t// server in fairly rapid succession.\n\t\t\tms = (rand.Int() % 100)\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.AfterFunc(time.Duration(ms)*time.Millisecond, func() {\n\t\t\treq.replyCh <- replyMsg{false, nil}\n\t\t})\n\t}\n\n}\n\n// create a client end-point.\n// start the thread that listens and delivers.\nfunc (rn *Network) MakeEnd(endname interface{}) *ClientEnd {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tif _, ok := rn.ends[endname]; ok {\n\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"MakeEnd: %v already exists\\n\", endname)\n\t}\n\n\te := &ClientEnd{}\n\te.endname = endname\n\te.ch = rn.endCh\n\te.done = rn.done\n\trn.ends[endname] = e\n\trn.enabled[endname] = false\n\trn.connections[endname] = nil\n\n\treturn e\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) AddServer(servername interface{}, rs *Server) {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\trn.servers[servername] = rs\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) DeleteServer(servername interface{}) {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\trn.servers[servername] = nil\n}\n\n// connect a ClientEnd to a server.\n// a ClientEnd can only be connected once in its lifetime.\nfunc (rn *Network) Connect(endname interface{}, servername interface{}) {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\trn.connections[endname] = servername\n}\n\n// enable/disable a ClientEnd.\nfunc (rn *Network) Enable(endname interface{}, enabled bool) {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\trn.enabled[endname] = enabled\n}\n\n// get a server's count of incoming RPCs.\nfunc (rn *Network) GetCount(servername interface{}) int {\n\trn.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rn.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tsvr := rn.servers[servername]\n\treturn svr.GetCount()\n}\n\nfunc (rn *Network) GetTotalCount() int {\n\tx := atomic.LoadInt32(&rn.count)\n\treturn int(x)\n}\n\n//\n// a server is a collection of services, all sharing\n// the same rpc dispatcher. so that e.g. both a Raft\n// and a k/v server can listen to the same rpc endpoint.\n//\ntype Server struct {\n\tmu       sync.Mutex\n\tservices map[string]*Service\n\tcount    int // incoming RPCs\n}\n\nfunc MakeServer() *Server {\n\trs := &Server{}\n\trs.services = map[string]*Service{}\n\treturn rs\n}\n\nfunc (rs *Server) AddService(svc *Service) {\n\trs.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rs.mu.Unlock()\n\trs.services[svc.name] = svc\n}\n\nfunc (rs *Server) dispatch(req reqMsg) replyMsg {\n\trs.mu.Lock()\n\n\trs.count += 1\n\n\t// split Raft.AppendEntries into service and method\n\tdot := strings.LastIndex(req.svcMeth, \".\")\n\tserviceName := req.svcMeth[:dot]\n\tmethodName := req.svcMeth[dot+1:]\n\n\tservice, ok := rs.services[serviceName]\n\n\trs.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tif ok {\n\t\treturn service.dispatch(methodName, req)\n\t} else {\n\t\tchoices := []string{}\n\t\tfor k, _ := range rs.services {\n\t\t\tchoices = append(choices, k)\n\t\t}\n\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"labrpc.Server.dispatch(): unknown service %v in %v.%v; expecting one of %v\\n\",\n\t\t\tserviceName, serviceName, methodName, choices)\n\t\treturn replyMsg{false, nil}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (rs *Server) GetCount() int {\n\trs.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer rs.mu.Unlock()\n\treturn rs.count\n}\n\n// an object with methods that can be called via RPC.\n// a single server may have more than one Service.\ntype Service struct {\n\tname    string\n\trcvr    reflect.Value\n\ttyp     reflect.Type\n\tmethods map[string]reflect.Method\n}\n\nfunc MakeService(rcvr interface{}) *Service {\n\tsvc := &Service{}\n\tsvc.typ = reflect.TypeOf(rcvr)\n\tsvc.rcvr = reflect.ValueOf(rcvr)\n\tsvc.name = reflect.Indirect(svc.rcvr).Type().Name()\n\tsvc.methods = map[string]reflect.Method{}\n\n\tfor m := 0; m < svc.typ.NumMethod(); m++ {\n\t\tmethod := svc.typ.Method(m)\n\t\tmtype := method.Type\n\t\tmname := method.Name\n\n\t\t//fmt.Printf(\"%v pp %v ni %v 1k %v 2k %v no %v\\n\",\n\t\t//\tmname, method.PkgPath, mtype.NumIn(), mtype.In(1).Kind(), mtype.In(2).Kind(), mtype.NumOut())\n\n\t\tif method.PkgPath != \"\" || // capitalized?\n\t\t\tmtype.NumIn() != 3 ||\n\t\t\t//mtype.In(1).Kind() != reflect.Ptr ||\n\t\t\tmtype.In(2).Kind() != reflect.Ptr ||\n\t\t\tmtype.NumOut() != 0 {\n\t\t\t// the method is not suitable for a handler\n\t\t\t//fmt.Printf(\"bad method: %v\\n\", mname)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t// the method looks like a handler\n\t\t\tsvc.methods[mname] = method\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\treturn svc\n}\n\nfunc (svc *Service) dispatch(methname string, req reqMsg) replyMsg {\n\tif method, ok := svc.methods[methname]; ok {\n\t\t// prepare space into which to read the argument.\n\t\t// the Value's type will be a pointer to req.argsType.\n\t\targs := reflect.New(req.argsType)\n\n\t\t// decode the argument.\n\t\tab := bytes.NewBuffer(req.args)\n\t\tad := labgob.NewDecoder(ab)\n\t\tad.Decode(args.Interface())\n\n\t\t// allocate space for the reply.\n\t\treplyType := method.Type.In(2)\n\t\treplyType = replyType.Elem()\n\t\treplyv := reflect.New(replyType)\n\n\t\t// call the method.\n\t\tfunction := method.Func\n\t\tfunction.Call([]reflect.Value{svc.rcvr, args.Elem(), replyv})\n\n\t\t// encode the reply.\n\t\trb := new(bytes.Buffer)\n\t\tre := labgob.NewEncoder(rb)\n\t\tre.EncodeValue(replyv)\n\n\t\treturn replyMsg{true, rb.Bytes()}\n\t} else {\n\t\tchoices := []string{}\n\t\tfor k, _ := range svc.methods {\n\t\t\tchoices = append(choices, k)\n\t\t}\n\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"labrpc.Service.dispatch(): unknown method %v in %v; expecting one of %v\\n\",\n\t\t\tmethname, req.svcMeth, choices)\n\t\treturn replyMsg{false, nil}\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/labrpc/test_test.go",
    "content": "package labrpc\n\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"strconv\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\ntype JunkArgs struct {\n\tX int\n}\ntype JunkReply struct {\n\tX string\n}\n\ntype JunkServer struct {\n\tmu   sync.Mutex\n\tlog1 []string\n\tlog2 []int\n}\n\nfunc (js *JunkServer) Handler1(args string, reply *int) {\n\tjs.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer js.mu.Unlock()\n\tjs.log1 = append(js.log1, args)\n\t*reply, _ = strconv.Atoi(args)\n}\n\nfunc (js *JunkServer) Handler2(args int, reply *string) {\n\tjs.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer js.mu.Unlock()\n\tjs.log2 = append(js.log2, args)\n\t*reply = \"handler2-\" + strconv.Itoa(args)\n}\n\nfunc (js *JunkServer) Handler3(args int, reply *int) {\n\tjs.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer js.mu.Unlock()\n\ttime.Sleep(20 * time.Second)\n\t*reply = -args\n}\n\n// args is a pointer\nfunc (js *JunkServer) Handler4(args *JunkArgs, reply *JunkReply) {\n\treply.X = \"pointer\"\n}\n\n// args is a not pointer\nfunc (js *JunkServer) Handler5(args JunkArgs, reply *JunkReply) {\n\treply.X = \"no pointer\"\n}\n\nfunc TestBasic(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\n\te := rn.MakeEnd(\"end1-99\")\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(\"server99\", rs)\n\n\trn.Connect(\"end1-99\", \"server99\")\n\trn.Enable(\"end1-99\", true)\n\n\t{\n\t\treply := \"\"\n\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler2\", 111, &reply)\n\t\tif reply != \"handler2-111\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply from Handler2\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t{\n\t\treply := 0\n\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler1\", \"9099\", &reply)\n\t\tif reply != 9099 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply from Handler1\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc TestTypes(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\n\te := rn.MakeEnd(\"end1-99\")\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(\"server99\", rs)\n\n\trn.Connect(\"end1-99\", \"server99\")\n\trn.Enable(\"end1-99\", true)\n\n\t{\n\t\tvar args JunkArgs\n\t\tvar reply JunkReply\n\t\t// args must match type (pointer or not) of handler.\n\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler4\", &args, &reply)\n\t\tif reply.X != \"pointer\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply from Handler4\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t{\n\t\tvar args JunkArgs\n\t\tvar reply JunkReply\n\t\t// args must match type (pointer or not) of handler.\n\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler5\", args, &reply)\n\t\tif reply.X != \"no pointer\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply from Handler5\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// does net.Enable(endname, false) really disconnect a client?\n//\nfunc TestDisconnect(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\n\te := rn.MakeEnd(\"end1-99\")\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(\"server99\", rs)\n\n\trn.Connect(\"end1-99\", \"server99\")\n\n\t{\n\t\treply := \"\"\n\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler2\", 111, &reply)\n\t\tif reply != \"\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"unexpected reply from Handler2\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\trn.Enable(\"end1-99\", true)\n\n\t{\n\t\treply := 0\n\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler1\", \"9099\", &reply)\n\t\tif reply != 9099 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply from Handler1\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// test net.GetCount()\n//\nfunc TestCounts(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\n\te := rn.MakeEnd(\"end1-99\")\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(99, rs)\n\n\trn.Connect(\"end1-99\", 99)\n\trn.Enable(\"end1-99\", true)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 17; i++ {\n\t\treply := \"\"\n\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler2\", i, &reply)\n\t\twanted := \"handler2-\" + strconv.Itoa(i)\n\t\tif reply != wanted {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply %v from Handler1, expecting %v\", reply, wanted)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tn := rn.GetCount(99)\n\tif n != 17 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong GetCount() %v, expected 17\\n\", n)\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// test RPCs from concurrent ClientEnds\n//\nfunc TestConcurrentMany(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(1000, rs)\n\n\tch := make(chan int)\n\n\tnclients := 20\n\tnrpcs := 10\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < nclients; ii++ {\n\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\tn := 0\n\t\t\tdefer func() { ch <- n }()\n\n\t\t\te := rn.MakeEnd(i)\n\t\t\trn.Connect(i, 1000)\n\t\t\trn.Enable(i, true)\n\n\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < nrpcs; j++ {\n\t\t\t\targ := i*100 + j\n\t\t\t\treply := \"\"\n\t\t\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler2\", arg, &reply)\n\t\t\t\twanted := \"handler2-\" + strconv.Itoa(arg)\n\t\t\t\tif reply != wanted {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply %v from Handler1, expecting %v\", reply, wanted)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tn += 1\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}(ii)\n\t}\n\n\ttotal := 0\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < nclients; ii++ {\n\t\tx := <-ch\n\t\ttotal += x\n\t}\n\n\tif total != nclients*nrpcs {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong number of RPCs completed, got %v, expected %v\", total, nclients*nrpcs)\n\t}\n\n\tn := rn.GetCount(1000)\n\tif n != total {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong GetCount() %v, expected %v\\n\", n, total)\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// test unreliable\n//\nfunc TestUnreliable(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\trn.Reliable(false)\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(1000, rs)\n\n\tch := make(chan int)\n\n\tnclients := 300\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < nclients; ii++ {\n\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\tn := 0\n\t\t\tdefer func() { ch <- n }()\n\n\t\t\te := rn.MakeEnd(i)\n\t\t\trn.Connect(i, 1000)\n\t\t\trn.Enable(i, true)\n\n\t\t\targ := i * 100\n\t\t\treply := \"\"\n\t\t\tok := e.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler2\", arg, &reply)\n\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\twanted := \"handler2-\" + strconv.Itoa(arg)\n\t\t\t\tif reply != wanted {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply %v from Handler1, expecting %v\", reply, wanted)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tn += 1\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}(ii)\n\t}\n\n\ttotal := 0\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < nclients; ii++ {\n\t\tx := <-ch\n\t\ttotal += x\n\t}\n\n\tif total == nclients || total == 0 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"all RPCs succeeded despite unreliable\")\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// test concurrent RPCs from a single ClientEnd\n//\nfunc TestConcurrentOne(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(1000, rs)\n\n\te := rn.MakeEnd(\"c\")\n\trn.Connect(\"c\", 1000)\n\trn.Enable(\"c\", true)\n\n\tch := make(chan int)\n\n\tnrpcs := 20\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < nrpcs; ii++ {\n\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\tn := 0\n\t\t\tdefer func() { ch <- n }()\n\n\t\t\targ := 100 + i\n\t\t\treply := \"\"\n\t\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler2\", arg, &reply)\n\t\t\twanted := \"handler2-\" + strconv.Itoa(arg)\n\t\t\tif reply != wanted {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply %v from Handler2, expecting %v\", reply, wanted)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tn += 1\n\t\t}(ii)\n\t}\n\n\ttotal := 0\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < nrpcs; ii++ {\n\t\tx := <-ch\n\t\ttotal += x\n\t}\n\n\tif total != nrpcs {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong number of RPCs completed, got %v, expected %v\", total, nrpcs)\n\t}\n\n\tjs.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer js.mu.Unlock()\n\tif len(js.log2) != nrpcs {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong number of RPCs delivered\")\n\t}\n\n\tn := rn.GetCount(1000)\n\tif n != total {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong GetCount() %v, expected %v\\n\", n, total)\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// regression: an RPC that's delayed during Enabled=false\n// should not delay subsequent RPCs (e.g. after Enabled=true).\n//\nfunc TestRegression1(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(1000, rs)\n\n\te := rn.MakeEnd(\"c\")\n\trn.Connect(\"c\", 1000)\n\n\t// start some RPCs while the ClientEnd is disabled.\n\t// they'll be delayed.\n\trn.Enable(\"c\", false)\n\tch := make(chan bool)\n\tnrpcs := 20\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < nrpcs; ii++ {\n\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\tok := false\n\t\t\tdefer func() { ch <- ok }()\n\n\t\t\targ := 100 + i\n\t\t\treply := \"\"\n\t\t\t// this call ought to return false.\n\t\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler2\", arg, &reply)\n\t\t\tok = true\n\t\t}(ii)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\t// now enable the ClientEnd and check that an RPC completes quickly.\n\tt0 := time.Now()\n\trn.Enable(\"c\", true)\n\t{\n\t\targ := 99\n\t\treply := \"\"\n\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler2\", arg, &reply)\n\t\twanted := \"handler2-\" + strconv.Itoa(arg)\n\t\tif reply != wanted {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply %v from Handler2, expecting %v\", reply, wanted)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tdur := time.Since(t0).Seconds()\n\n\tif dur > 0.03 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"RPC took too long (%v) after Enable\", dur)\n\t}\n\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < nrpcs; ii++ {\n\t\t<-ch\n\t}\n\n\tjs.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer js.mu.Unlock()\n\tif len(js.log2) != 1 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong number (%v) of RPCs delivered, expected 1\", len(js.log2))\n\t}\n\n\tn := rn.GetCount(1000)\n\tif n != 1 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong GetCount() %v, expected %v\\n\", n, 1)\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// if an RPC is stuck in a server, and the server\n// is killed with DeleteServer(), does the RPC\n// get un-stuck?\n//\nfunc TestKilled(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\n\te := rn.MakeEnd(\"end1-99\")\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(\"server99\", rs)\n\n\trn.Connect(\"end1-99\", \"server99\")\n\trn.Enable(\"end1-99\", true)\n\n\tdoneCh := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\treply := 0\n\t\tok := e.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler3\", 99, &reply)\n\t\tdoneCh <- ok\n\t}()\n\n\ttime.Sleep(1000 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-doneCh:\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Handler3 should not have returned yet\")\n\tcase <-time.After(100 * time.Millisecond):\n\t}\n\n\trn.DeleteServer(\"server99\")\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase x := <-doneCh:\n\t\tif x != false {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Handler3 returned successfully despite DeleteServer()\")\n\t\t}\n\tcase <-time.After(100 * time.Millisecond):\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Handler3 should return after DeleteServer()\")\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc TestBenchmark(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\trn := MakeNetwork()\n\tdefer rn.Cleanup()\n\n\te := rn.MakeEnd(\"end1-99\")\n\n\tjs := &JunkServer{}\n\tsvc := MakeService(js)\n\n\trs := MakeServer()\n\trs.AddService(svc)\n\trn.AddServer(\"server99\", rs)\n\n\trn.Connect(\"end1-99\", \"server99\")\n\trn.Enable(\"end1-99\", true)\n\n\tt0 := time.Now()\n\tn := 100000\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < n; iters++ {\n\t\treply := \"\"\n\t\te.Call(\"JunkServer.Handler2\", 111, &reply)\n\t\tif reply != \"handler2-111\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong reply from Handler2\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"%v for %v\\n\", time.Since(t0), n)\n\t// march 2016, rtm laptop, 22 microseconds per RPC\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/linearizability/bitset.go",
    "content": "package linearizability\n\ntype bitset []uint64\n\n// data layout:\n// bits 0-63 are in data[0], the next are in data[1], etc.\n\nfunc newBitset(bits uint) bitset {\n\textra := uint(0)\n\tif bits%64 != 0 {\n\t\textra = 1\n\t}\n\tchunks := bits/64 + extra\n\treturn bitset(make([]uint64, chunks))\n}\n\nfunc (b bitset) clone() bitset {\n\tdataCopy := make([]uint64, len(b))\n\tcopy(dataCopy, b)\n\treturn bitset(dataCopy)\n}\n\nfunc bitsetIndex(pos uint) (uint, uint) {\n\treturn pos / 64, pos % 64\n}\n\nfunc (b bitset) set(pos uint) bitset {\n\tmajor, minor := bitsetIndex(pos)\n\tb[major] |= (1 << minor)\n\treturn b\n}\n\nfunc (b bitset) clear(pos uint) bitset {\n\tmajor, minor := bitsetIndex(pos)\n\tb[major] &^= (1 << minor)\n\treturn b\n}\n\nfunc (b bitset) get(pos uint) bool {\n\tmajor, minor := bitsetIndex(pos)\n\treturn b[major]&(1<<minor) != 0\n}\n\nfunc (b bitset) popcnt() uint {\n\ttotal := uint(0)\n\tfor _, v := range b {\n\t\tv = (v & 0x5555555555555555) + ((v & 0xAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA) >> 1)\n\t\tv = (v & 0x3333333333333333) + ((v & 0xCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC) >> 2)\n\t\tv = (v & 0x0F0F0F0F0F0F0F0F) + ((v & 0xF0F0F0F0F0F0F0F0) >> 4)\n\t\tv *= 0x0101010101010101\n\t\ttotal += uint((v >> 56) & 0xFF)\n\t}\n\treturn total\n}\n\nfunc (b bitset) hash() uint64 {\n\thash := uint64(b.popcnt())\n\tfor _, v := range b {\n\t\thash ^= v\n\t}\n\treturn hash\n}\n\nfunc (b bitset) equals(b2 bitset) bool {\n\tif len(b) != len(b2) {\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n\tfor i := range b {\n\t\tif b[i] != b2[i] {\n\t\t\treturn false\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn true\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/linearizability/linearizability.go",
    "content": "package linearizability\n\nimport (\n\t\"sort\"\n\t\"sync/atomic\"\n\t\"time\"\n)\n\ntype entryKind bool\n\nconst (\n\tcallEntry   entryKind = false\n\treturnEntry           = true\n)\n\ntype entry struct {\n\tkind  entryKind\n\tvalue interface{}\n\tid    uint\n\ttime  int64\n}\n\ntype byTime []entry\n\nfunc (a byTime) Len() int {\n\treturn len(a)\n}\n\nfunc (a byTime) Swap(i, j int) {\n\ta[i], a[j] = a[j], a[i]\n}\n\nfunc (a byTime) Less(i, j int) bool {\n\treturn a[i].time < a[j].time\n}\n\nfunc makeEntries(history []Operation) []entry {\n\tvar entries []entry = nil\n\tid := uint(0)\n\tfor _, elem := range history {\n\t\tentries = append(entries, entry{\n\t\t\tcallEntry, elem.Input, id, elem.Call})\n\t\tentries = append(entries, entry{\n\t\t\treturnEntry, elem.Output, id, elem.Return})\n\t\tid++\n\t}\n\tsort.Sort(byTime(entries))\n\treturn entries\n}\n\ntype node struct {\n\tvalue interface{}\n\tmatch *node // call if match is nil, otherwise return\n\tid    uint\n\tnext  *node\n\tprev  *node\n}\n\nfunc insertBefore(n *node, mark *node) *node {\n\tif mark != nil {\n\t\tbeforeMark := mark.prev\n\t\tmark.prev = n\n\t\tn.next = mark\n\t\tif beforeMark != nil {\n\t\t\tn.prev = beforeMark\n\t\t\tbeforeMark.next = n\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn n\n}\n\nfunc length(n *node) uint {\n\tl := uint(0)\n\tfor n != nil {\n\t\tn = n.next\n\t\tl++\n\t}\n\treturn l\n}\n\nfunc renumber(events []Event) []Event {\n\tvar e []Event\n\tm := make(map[uint]uint) // renumbering\n\tid := uint(0)\n\tfor _, v := range events {\n\t\tif r, ok := m[v.Id]; ok {\n\t\t\te = append(e, Event{v.Kind, v.Value, r})\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\te = append(e, Event{v.Kind, v.Value, id})\n\t\t\tm[v.Id] = id\n\t\t\tid++\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn e\n}\n\nfunc convertEntries(events []Event) []entry {\n\tvar entries []entry\n\tfor _, elem := range events {\n\t\tkind := callEntry\n\t\tif elem.Kind == ReturnEvent {\n\t\t\tkind = returnEntry\n\t\t}\n\t\tentries = append(entries, entry{kind, elem.Value, elem.Id, -1})\n\t}\n\treturn entries\n}\n\nfunc makeLinkedEntries(entries []entry) *node {\n\tvar root *node = nil\n\tmatch := make(map[uint]*node)\n\tfor i := len(entries) - 1; i >= 0; i-- {\n\t\telem := entries[i]\n\t\tif elem.kind == returnEntry {\n\t\t\tentry := &node{value: elem.value, match: nil, id: elem.id}\n\t\t\tmatch[elem.id] = entry\n\t\t\tinsertBefore(entry, root)\n\t\t\troot = entry\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tentry := &node{value: elem.value, match: match[elem.id], id: elem.id}\n\t\t\tinsertBefore(entry, root)\n\t\t\troot = entry\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn root\n}\n\ntype cacheEntry struct {\n\tlinearized bitset\n\tstate      interface{}\n}\n\nfunc cacheContains(model Model, cache map[uint64][]cacheEntry, entry cacheEntry) bool {\n\tfor _, elem := range cache[entry.linearized.hash()] {\n\t\tif entry.linearized.equals(elem.linearized) && model.Equal(entry.state, elem.state) {\n\t\t\treturn true\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn false\n}\n\ntype callsEntry struct {\n\tentry *node\n\tstate interface{}\n}\n\nfunc lift(entry *node) {\n\tentry.prev.next = entry.next\n\tentry.next.prev = entry.prev\n\tmatch := entry.match\n\tmatch.prev.next = match.next\n\tif match.next != nil {\n\t\tmatch.next.prev = match.prev\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc unlift(entry *node) {\n\tmatch := entry.match\n\tmatch.prev.next = match\n\tif match.next != nil {\n\t\tmatch.next.prev = match\n\t}\n\tentry.prev.next = entry\n\tentry.next.prev = entry\n}\n\nfunc checkSingle(model Model, subhistory *node, kill *int32) bool {\n\tn := length(subhistory) / 2\n\tlinearized := newBitset(n)\n\tcache := make(map[uint64][]cacheEntry) // map from hash to cache entry\n\tvar calls []callsEntry\n\n\tstate := model.Init()\n\theadEntry := insertBefore(&node{value: nil, match: nil, id: ^uint(0)}, subhistory)\n\tentry := subhistory\n\tfor headEntry.next != nil {\n\t\tif atomic.LoadInt32(kill) != 0 {\n\t\t\treturn false\n\t\t}\n\t\tif entry.match != nil {\n\t\t\tmatching := entry.match // the return entry\n\t\t\tok, newState := model.Step(state, entry.value, matching.value)\n\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\tnewLinearized := linearized.clone().set(entry.id)\n\t\t\t\tnewCacheEntry := cacheEntry{newLinearized, newState}\n\t\t\t\tif !cacheContains(model, cache, newCacheEntry) {\n\t\t\t\t\thash := newLinearized.hash()\n\t\t\t\t\tcache[hash] = append(cache[hash], newCacheEntry)\n\t\t\t\t\tcalls = append(calls, callsEntry{entry, state})\n\t\t\t\t\tstate = newState\n\t\t\t\t\tlinearized.set(entry.id)\n\t\t\t\t\tlift(entry)\n\t\t\t\t\tentry = headEntry.next\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tentry = entry.next\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tentry = entry.next\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tif len(calls) == 0 {\n\t\t\t\treturn false\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcallsTop := calls[len(calls)-1]\n\t\t\tentry = callsTop.entry\n\t\t\tstate = callsTop.state\n\t\t\tlinearized.clear(entry.id)\n\t\t\tcalls = calls[:len(calls)-1]\n\t\t\tunlift(entry)\n\t\t\tentry = entry.next\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn true\n}\n\nfunc fillDefault(model Model) Model {\n\tif model.Partition == nil {\n\t\tmodel.Partition = NoPartition\n\t}\n\tif model.PartitionEvent == nil {\n\t\tmodel.PartitionEvent = NoPartitionEvent\n\t}\n\tif model.Equal == nil {\n\t\tmodel.Equal = ShallowEqual\n\t}\n\treturn model\n}\n\nfunc CheckOperations(model Model, history []Operation) bool {\n\treturn CheckOperationsTimeout(model, history, 0)\n}\n\n// timeout = 0 means no timeout\n// if this operation times out, then a false positive is possible\nfunc CheckOperationsTimeout(model Model, history []Operation, timeout time.Duration) bool {\n\tmodel = fillDefault(model)\n\tpartitions := model.Partition(history)\n\tok := true\n\tresults := make(chan bool)\n\tkill := int32(0)\n\tfor _, subhistory := range partitions {\n\t\tl := makeLinkedEntries(makeEntries(subhistory))\n\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\tresults <- checkSingle(model, l, &kill)\n\t\t}()\n\t}\n\tvar timeoutChan <-chan time.Time\n\tif timeout > 0 {\n\t\ttimeoutChan = time.After(timeout)\n\t}\n\tcount := 0\nloop:\n\tfor {\n\t\tselect {\n\t\tcase result := <-results:\n\t\t\tok = ok && result\n\t\t\tif !ok {\n\t\t\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&kill, 1)\n\t\t\t\tbreak loop\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcount++\n\t\t\tif count >= len(partitions) {\n\t\t\t\tbreak loop\n\t\t\t}\n\t\tcase <-timeoutChan:\n\t\t\tbreak loop // if we time out, we might get a false positive\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn ok\n}\n\nfunc CheckEvents(model Model, history []Event) bool {\n\treturn CheckEventsTimeout(model, history, 0)\n}\n\n// timeout = 0 means no timeout\n// if this operation times out, then a false positive is possible\nfunc CheckEventsTimeout(model Model, history []Event, timeout time.Duration) bool {\n\tmodel = fillDefault(model)\n\tpartitions := model.PartitionEvent(history)\n\tok := true\n\tresults := make(chan bool)\n\tkill := int32(0)\n\tfor _, subhistory := range partitions {\n\t\tl := makeLinkedEntries(convertEntries(renumber(subhistory)))\n\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\tresults <- checkSingle(model, l, &kill)\n\t\t}()\n\t}\n\tvar timeoutChan <-chan time.Time\n\tif timeout > 0 {\n\t\ttimeoutChan = time.After(timeout)\n\t}\n\tcount := 0\nloop:\n\tfor {\n\t\tselect {\n\t\tcase result := <-results:\n\t\t\tok = ok && result\n\t\t\tif !ok {\n\t\t\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&kill, 1)\n\t\t\t\tbreak loop\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcount++\n\t\t\tif count >= len(partitions) {\n\t\t\t\tbreak loop\n\t\t\t}\n\t\tcase <-timeoutChan:\n\t\t\tbreak loop // if we time out, we might get a false positive\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn ok\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/linearizability/model.go",
    "content": "package linearizability\n\ntype Operation struct {\n\tInput  interface{}\n\tCall   int64 // invocation time\n\tOutput interface{}\n\tReturn int64 // response time\n}\n\ntype EventKind bool\n\nconst (\n\tCallEvent   EventKind = false\n\tReturnEvent EventKind = true\n)\n\ntype Event struct {\n\tKind  EventKind\n\tValue interface{}\n\tId    uint\n}\n\ntype Model struct {\n\t// Partition functions, such that a history is linearizable if an only\n\t// if each partition is linearizable. If you don't want to implement\n\t// this, you can always use the `NoPartition` functions implemented\n\t// below.\n\tPartition      func(history []Operation) [][]Operation\n\tPartitionEvent func(history []Event) [][]Event\n\t// Initial state of the system.\n\tInit func() interface{}\n\t// Step function for the system. Returns whether or not the system\n\t// could take this step with the given inputs and outputs and also\n\t// returns the new state. This should not mutate the existing state.\n\tStep func(state interface{}, input interface{}, output interface{}) (bool, interface{})\n\t// Equality on states. If you are using a simple data type for states,\n\t// you can use the `ShallowEqual` function implemented below.\n\tEqual func(state1, state2 interface{}) bool\n}\n\nfunc NoPartition(history []Operation) [][]Operation {\n\treturn [][]Operation{history}\n}\n\nfunc NoPartitionEvent(history []Event) [][]Event {\n\treturn [][]Event{history}\n}\n\nfunc ShallowEqual(state1, state2 interface{}) bool {\n\treturn state1 == state2\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/linearizability/models.go",
    "content": "package linearizability\n\n// kv model\n\ntype KvInput struct {\n\tOp uint8 // 0 => get, 1 => put, 2 => append\n\tKey string\n\tValue string\n}\n\ntype KvOutput struct {\n\tValue string\n}\n\nfunc KvModel() Model {\n    return Model {\n        Partition: func(history []Operation) [][]Operation {\n            m := make(map[string][]Operation)\n            for _, v := range history {\n                key := v.Input.(KvInput).Key\n                m[key] = append(m[key], v)\n            }\n            var ret [][]Operation\n            for _, v := range m {\n                ret = append(ret, v)\n            }\n            return ret\n        },\n        Init: func() interface{} {\n            // note: we are modeling a single key's value here;\n            // we're partitioning by key, so this is okay\n            return \"\"\n        },\n        Step: func(state, input, output interface{}) (bool, interface{}) {\n            inp := input.(KvInput)\n            out := output.(KvOutput)\n            st := state.(string)\n            if inp.Op == 0 {\n                // get\n                return out.Value == st, state\n            } else if inp.Op == 1 {\n                // put\n                return true, inp.Value\n            } else {\n                // append\n                return true, (st + inp.Value)\n            }\n        },\n        Equal: ShallowEqual,\n    }\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/diskvd.go",
    "content": "package main\n\n//\n// start a diskvd server. it's a member of some replica\n// group, which has other members, and it needs to know\n// how to talk to the members of the shardmaster service.\n// used by ../diskv/test_test.go\n//\n// arguments:\n//   -g groupid\n//   -m masterport1 -m masterport2 ...\n//   -s replicaport1 -s replicaport2 ...\n//   -i my-index-in-server-port-list\n//   -u unreliable\n//   -d directory\n//   -r restart\n\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"diskv\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"strconv\"\nimport \"runtime\"\n\nfunc usage() {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Usage: diskvd -g gid -m master... -s server... -i my-index -d dir\\n\")\n\tos.Exit(1)\n}\n\nfunc main() {\n\tvar gid int64 = -1     // my replica group ID\n\tmasters := []string{}  // ports of shardmasters\n\treplicas := []string{} // ports of servers in my replica group\n\tme := -1               // my index in replicas[]\n\tunreliable := false\n\tdir := \"\" // store persistent data here\n\trestart := false\n\n\tfor i := 1; i+1 < len(os.Args); i += 2 {\n\t\ta0 := os.Args[i]\n\t\ta1 := os.Args[i+1]\n\t\tif a0 == \"-g\" {\n\t\t\tgid, _ = strconv.ParseInt(a1, 10, 64)\n\t\t} else if a0 == \"-m\" {\n\t\t\tmasters = append(masters, a1)\n\t\t} else if a0 == \"-s\" {\n\t\t\treplicas = append(replicas, a1)\n\t\t} else if a0 == \"-i\" {\n\t\t\tme, _ = strconv.Atoi(a1)\n\t\t} else if a0 == \"-u\" {\n\t\t\tunreliable, _ = strconv.ParseBool(a1)\n\t\t} else if a0 == \"-d\" {\n\t\t\tdir = a1\n\t\t} else if a0 == \"-r\" {\n\t\t\trestart, _ = strconv.ParseBool(a1)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tusage()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tif gid < 0 || me < 0 || len(masters) < 1 || me >= len(replicas) || dir == \"\" {\n\t\tusage()\n\t}\n\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tsrv := diskv.StartServer(gid, masters, replicas, me, dir, restart)\n\tsrv.Setunreliable(unreliable)\n\n\t// for safety, force quit after 10 minutes.\n\ttime.Sleep(10 * 60 * time.Second)\n\tmep, _ := os.FindProcess(os.Getpid())\n\tmep.Kill()\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/ii.go",
    "content": "package main\n\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"mapreduce\"\n\n// The mapping function is called once for each piece of the input.\n// In this framework, the key is the name of the file that is being processed,\n// and the value is the file's contents. The return value should be a slice of\n// key/value pairs, each represented by a mapreduce.KeyValue.\nfunc mapF(document string, value string) (res []mapreduce.KeyValue) {\n\t// Your code here (Part V).\n}\n\n// The reduce function is called once for each key generated by Map, with a\n// list of that key's string value (merged across all inputs). The return value\n// should be a single output value for that key.\nfunc reduceF(key string, values []string) string {\n\t// Your code here (Part V).\n}\n\n// Can be run in 3 ways:\n// 1) Sequential (e.g., go run wc.go master sequential x1.txt .. xN.txt)\n// 2) Master (e.g., go run wc.go master localhost:7777 x1.txt .. xN.txt)\n// 3) Worker (e.g., go run wc.go worker localhost:7777 localhost:7778 &)\nfunc main() {\n\tif len(os.Args) < 4 {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"%s: see usage comments in file\\n\", os.Args[0])\n\t} else if os.Args[1] == \"master\" {\n\t\tvar mr *mapreduce.Master\n\t\tif os.Args[2] == \"sequential\" {\n\t\t\tmr = mapreduce.Sequential(\"iiseq\", os.Args[3:], 3, mapF, reduceF)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tmr = mapreduce.Distributed(\"iiseq\", os.Args[3:], 3, os.Args[2])\n\t\t}\n\t\tmr.Wait()\n\t} else {\n\t\tmapreduce.RunWorker(os.Args[2], os.Args[3], mapF, reduceF, 100, nil)\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/lockc.go",
    "content": "package main\n\n//\n// see comments in lockd.go\n//\n\nimport \"lockservice\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\nfunc usage() {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Usage: lockc -l|-u primaryport backupport lockname\\n\")\n\tos.Exit(1)\n}\n\nfunc main() {\n\tif len(os.Args) == 5 {\n\t\tck := lockservice.MakeClerk(os.Args[2], os.Args[3])\n\t\tvar ok bool\n\t\tif os.Args[1] == \"-l\" {\n\t\t\tok = ck.Lock(os.Args[4])\n\t\t} else if os.Args[1] == \"-u\" {\n\t\t\tok = ck.Unlock(os.Args[4])\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tusage()\n\t\t}\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"reply: %v\\n\", ok)\n\t} else {\n\t\tusage()\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/lockd.go",
    "content": "package main\n\n// export GOPATH=~/6.824\n// go build lockd.go\n// go build lockc.go\n// ./lockd -p a b &\n// ./lockd -b a b &\n// ./lockc -l a b lx\n// ./lockc -u a b lx\n//\n// on Athena, use /tmp/myname-a and /tmp/myname-b\n// instead of a and b.\n\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"lockservice\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\nfunc main() {\n\tif len(os.Args) == 4 && os.Args[1] == \"-p\" {\n\t\tlockservice.StartServer(os.Args[2], os.Args[3], true)\n\t} else if len(os.Args) == 4 && os.Args[1] == \"-b\" {\n\t\tlockservice.StartServer(os.Args[2], os.Args[3], false)\n\t} else {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"Usage: lockd -p|-b primaryport backupport\\n\")\n\t\tos.Exit(1)\n\t}\n\tfor {\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Second)\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/mr-challenge.txt",
    "content": "www: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\nyear: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\nyears: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\nyesterday: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\nyet: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\nyou: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\nyoung: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\nyour: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\nyourself: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\nzip: 8 pg-being_ernest.txt,pg-dorian_gray.txt,pg-frankenstein.txt,pg-grimm.txt,pg-huckleberry_finn.txt,pg-metamorphosis.txt,pg-sherlock_holmes.txt,pg-tom_sawyer.txt\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/mr-testout.txt",
    "content": "that: 7871\nit: 7987\nin: 8415\nwas: 8578\na: 13382\nof: 13536\nI: 14296\nto: 16079\nand: 23612\nthe: 29748\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/pbc.go",
    "content": "package main\n\n//\n// pbservice client application\n//\n// export GOPATH=~/6.824\n// go build viewd.go\n// go build pbd.go\n// go build pbc.go\n// ./viewd /tmp/rtm-v &\n// ./pbd /tmp/rtm-v /tmp/rtm-1 &\n// ./pbd /tmp/rtm-v /tmp/rtm-2 &\n// ./pbc /tmp/rtm-v key1 value1\n// ./pbc /tmp/rtm-v key1\n//\n// change \"rtm\" to your user name.\n// start the pbd programs in separate windows and kill\n// and restart them to exercise fault tolerance.\n//\n\nimport \"pbservice\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\nfunc usage() {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Usage: pbc viewport key\\n\")\n\tfmt.Printf(\"       pbc viewport key value\\n\")\n\tos.Exit(1)\n}\n\nfunc main() {\n\tif len(os.Args) == 3 {\n\t\t// get\n\t\tck := pbservice.MakeClerk(os.Args[1], \"\")\n\t\tv := ck.Get(os.Args[2])\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"%v\\n\", v)\n\t} else if len(os.Args) == 4 {\n\t\t// put\n\t\tck := pbservice.MakeClerk(os.Args[1], \"\")\n\t\tck.Put(os.Args[2], os.Args[3])\n\t} else {\n\t\tusage()\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/pbd.go",
    "content": "package main\n\n//\n// see directions in pbc.go\n//\n\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"pbservice\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\nfunc main() {\n\tif len(os.Args) != 3 {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"Usage: pbd viewport myport\\n\")\n\t\tos.Exit(1)\n\t}\n\n\tpbservice.StartServer(os.Args[1], os.Args[2])\n\n\tfor {\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Second)\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/pg-being_ernest.txt",
    "content": "The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Importance of Being Earnest, by Oscar\nWilde\n\n\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org\n\n\n\n\n\nTitle: The Importance of Being Earnest\n       A Trivial Comedy for Serious People\n\n\nAuthor: Oscar Wilde\n\n\n\nRelease Date: August 29, 2006  [eBook #844]\n\nLanguage: English\n\nCharacter set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)\n\n\n***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST***\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscribed from the 1915 Methuen & Co. Ltd. edition by David Price,\nemail ccx074@pglaf.org\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Importance of Being Earnest\nA Trivial Comedy for Serious People\n\n\nTHE PERSONS IN THE PLAY\n\n\nJohn Worthing, J.P.\nAlgernon Moncrieff\nRev. Canon Chasuble, D.D.\nMerriman, Butler\nLane, Manservant\nLady Bracknell\nHon. Gwendolen Fairfax\nCecily Cardew\nMiss Prism, Governess\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCENES OF THE PLAY\n\n\nACT I.  Algernon Moncrieff's Flat in Half-Moon Street, W.\n\nACT II.  The Garden at the Manor House, Woolton.\n\nACT III.  Drawing-Room at the Manor House, Woolton.\n\nTIME: The Present.\n\n\n\n\nLONDON: ST. JAMES'S THEATRE\n\n\nLessee and Manager: Mr. George Alexander\n\nFebruary 14th, 1895\n\n* * * * *\n\nJohn Worthing, J.P.: Mr. George Alexander.\nAlgernon Moncrieff: Mr. Allen Aynesworth.\nRev. Canon Chasuble, D.D.: Mr. H. H. Vincent.\nMerriman: Mr. Frank Dyall.\nLane: Mr. F. Kinsey Peile.\nLady Bracknell: Miss Rose Leclercq.\nHon. Gwendolen Fairfax: Miss Irene Vanbrugh.\nCecily Cardew: Miss Evelyn Millard.\nMiss Prism: Mrs. George Canninge.\n\n\n\n\nFIRST ACT\n\n\nSCENE\n\n\nMorning-room in Algernon's flat in Half-Moon Street.  The room is\nluxuriously and artistically furnished.  The sound of a piano is heard in\nthe adjoining room.\n\n[Lane is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music has\nceased, Algernon enters.]\n\nAlgernon.  Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?\n\nLane.  I didn't think it polite to listen, sir.\n\nAlgernon.  I'm sorry for that, for your sake.  I don't play\naccurately--any one can play accurately--but I play with wonderful\nexpression.  As far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte.  I\nkeep science for Life.\n\nLane.  Yes, sir.\n\nAlgernon.  And, speaking of the science of Life, have you got the\ncucumber sandwiches cut for Lady Bracknell?\n\nLane.  Yes, sir.  [Hands them on a salver.]\n\nAlgernon.  [Inspects them, takes two, and sits down on the sofa.]  Oh! . . .\nby the way, Lane, I see from your book that on Thursday night, when\nLord Shoreman and Mr. Worthing were dining with me, eight bottles of\nchampagne are entered as having been consumed.\n\nLane.  Yes, sir; eight bottles and a pint.\n\nAlgernon.  Why is it that at a bachelor's establishment the servants\ninvariably drink the champagne?  I ask merely for information.\n\nLane.  I attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir.  I have\noften observed that in married households the champagne is rarely of a\nfirst-rate brand.\n\nAlgernon.  Good heavens!  Is marriage so demoralising as that?\n\nLane.  I believe it _is_ a very pleasant state, sir.  I have had very\nlittle experience of it myself up to the present.  I have only been\nmarried once.  That was in consequence of a misunderstanding between\nmyself and a young person.\n\nAlgernon.  [Languidly_._]  I don't know that I am much interested in your\nfamily life, Lane.\n\nLane.  No, sir; it is not a very interesting subject.  I never think of\nit myself.\n\nAlgernon.  Very natural, I am sure.  That will do, Lane, thank you.\n\nLane.  Thank you, sir.  [Lane goes out.]\n\nAlgernon.  Lane's views on marriage seem somewhat lax.  Really, if the\nlower orders don't set us a good example, what on earth is the use of\nthem?  They seem, as a class, to have absolutely no sense of moral\nresponsibility.\n\n[Enter Lane.]\n\nLane.  Mr. Ernest Worthing.\n\n[Enter Jack.]\n\n[Lane goes out_._]\n\nAlgernon.  How are you, my dear Ernest?  What brings you up to town?\n\nJack.  Oh, pleasure, pleasure!  What else should bring one anywhere?\nEating as usual, I see, Algy!\n\nAlgernon.  [Stiffly_._]  I believe it is customary in good society to\ntake some slight refreshment at five o'clock.  Where have you been since\nlast Thursday?\n\nJack.  [Sitting down on the sofa.]  In the country.\n\nAlgernon.  What on earth do you do there?\n\nJack.  [Pulling off his gloves_._]  When one is in town one amuses\noneself.  When one is in the country one amuses other people.  It is\nexcessively boring.\n\nAlgernon.  And who are the people you amuse?\n\nJack.  [Airily_._]  Oh, neighbours, neighbours.\n\nAlgernon.  Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire?\n\nJack.  Perfectly horrid!  Never speak to one of them.\n\nAlgernon.  How immensely you must amuse them!  [Goes over and takes\nsandwich.]  By the way, Shropshire is your county, is it not?\n\nJack.  Eh?  Shropshire?  Yes, of course.  Hallo!  Why all these cups?  Why\ncucumber sandwiches?  Why such reckless extravagance in one so young?  Who\nis coming to tea?\n\nAlgernon.  Oh! merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen.\n\nJack.  How perfectly delightful!\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, that is all very well; but I am afraid Aunt Augusta won't\nquite approve of your being here.\n\nJack.  May I ask why?\n\nAlgernon.  My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is perfectly\ndisgraceful.  It is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen flirts with you.\n\nJack.  I am in love with Gwendolen.  I have come up to town expressly to\npropose to her.\n\nAlgernon.  I thought you had come up for pleasure? . . . I call that\nbusiness.\n\nJack.  How utterly unromantic you are!\n\nAlgernon.  I really don't see anything romantic in proposing.  It is very\nromantic to be in love.  But there is nothing romantic about a definite\nproposal.  Why, one may be accepted.  One usually is, I believe.  Then\nthe excitement is all over.  The very essence of romance is uncertainty.\nIf ever I get married, I'll certainly try to forget the fact.\n\nJack.  I have no doubt about that, dear Algy.  The Divorce Court was\nspecially invented for people whose memories are so curiously\nconstituted.\n\nAlgernon.  Oh! there is no use speculating on that subject.  Divorces are\nmade in Heaven--[Jack puts out his hand to take a sandwich.  Algernon at\nonce interferes.]  Please don't touch the cucumber sandwiches.  They are\nordered specially for Aunt Augusta.  [Takes one and eats it.]\n\nJack.  Well, you have been eating them all the time.\n\nAlgernon.  That is quite a different matter.  She is my aunt.  [Takes\nplate from below.]  Have some bread and butter.  The bread and butter is\nfor Gwendolen.  Gwendolen is devoted to bread and butter.\n\nJack.  [Advancing to table and helping himself.]  And very good bread and\nbutter it is too.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, my dear fellow, you need not eat as if you were going to\neat it all.  You behave as if you were married to her already.  You are\nnot married to her already, and I don't think you ever will be.\n\nJack.  Why on earth do you say that?\n\nAlgernon.  Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they flirt\nwith.  Girls don't think it right.\n\nJack.  Oh, that is nonsense!\n\nAlgernon.  It isn't.  It is a great truth.  It accounts for the\nextraordinary number of bachelors that one sees all over the place.  In\nthe second place, I don't give my consent.\n\nJack.  Your consent!\n\nAlgernon.  My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my first cousin.  And before I\nallow you to marry her, you will have to clear up the whole question of\nCecily.  [Rings bell.]\n\nJack.  Cecily!  What on earth do you mean?  What do you mean, Algy, by\nCecily!  I don't know any one of the name of Cecily.\n\n[Enter Lane.]\n\nAlgernon.  Bring me that cigarette case Mr. Worthing left in the smoking-\nroom the last time he dined here.\n\nLane.  Yes, sir.  [Lane goes out.]\n\nJack.  Do you mean to say you have had my cigarette case all this time?  I\nwish to goodness you had let me know.  I have been writing frantic\nletters to Scotland Yard about it.  I was very nearly offering a large\nreward.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, I wish you would offer one.  I happen to be more than\nusually hard up.\n\nJack.  There is no good offering a large reward now that the thing is\nfound.\n\n[Enter Lane with the cigarette case on a salver.  Algernon takes it at\nonce.  Lane goes out.]\n\nAlgernon.  I think that is rather mean of you, Ernest, I must say.  [Opens\ncase and examines it.]  However, it makes no matter, for, now that I look\nat the inscription inside, I find that the thing isn't yours after all.\n\nJack.  Of course it's mine.  [Moving to him.]  You have seen me with it a\nhundred times, and you have no right whatsoever to read what is written\ninside.  It is a very ungentlemanly thing to read a private cigarette\ncase.\n\nAlgernon.  Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one\nshould read and what one shouldn't.  More than half of modern culture\ndepends on what one shouldn't read.\n\nJack.  I am quite aware of the fact, and I don't propose to discuss\nmodern culture.  It isn't the sort of thing one should talk of in\nprivate.  I simply want my cigarette case back.\n\nAlgernon.  Yes; but this isn't your cigarette case.  This cigarette case\nis a present from some one of the name of Cecily, and you said you didn't\nknow any one of that name.\n\nJack.  Well, if you want to know, Cecily happens to be my aunt.\n\nAlgernon.  Your aunt!\n\nJack.  Yes.  Charming old lady she is, too.  Lives at Tunbridge Wells.\nJust give it back to me, Algy.\n\nAlgernon.  [Retreating to back of sofa.]  But why does she call herself\nlittle Cecily if she is your aunt and lives at Tunbridge Wells?\n[Reading.]  'From little Cecily with her fondest love.'\n\nJack.  [Moving to sofa and kneeling upon it.]  My dear fellow, what on\nearth is there in that?  Some aunts are tall, some aunts are not tall.\nThat is a matter that surely an aunt may be allowed to decide for\nherself.  You seem to think that every aunt should be exactly like your\naunt!  That is absurd!  For Heaven's sake give me back my cigarette case.\n[Follows Algernon round the room.]\n\nAlgernon.  Yes.  But why does your aunt call you her uncle?  'From little\nCecily, with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack.'  There is no\nobjection, I admit, to an aunt being a small aunt, but why an aunt, no\nmatter what her size may be, should call her own nephew her uncle, I\ncan't quite make out.  Besides, your name isn't Jack at all; it is\nErnest.\n\nJack.  It isn't Ernest; it's Jack.\n\nAlgernon.  You have always told me it was Ernest.  I have introduced you\nto every one as Ernest.  You answer to the name of Ernest.  You look as\nif your name was Ernest.  You are the most earnest-looking person I ever\nsaw in my life.  It is perfectly absurd your saying that your name isn't\nErnest.  It's on your cards.  Here is one of them.  [Taking it from\ncase.]  'Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The Albany.'  I'll keep this as a\nproof that your name is Ernest if ever you attempt to deny it to me, or\nto Gwendolen, or to any one else.  [Puts the card in his pocket.]\n\nJack.  Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and the\ncigarette case was given to me in the country.\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, but that does not account for the fact that your small\nAunt Cecily, who lives at Tunbridge Wells, calls you her dear uncle.\nCome, old boy, you had much better have the thing out at once.\n\nJack.  My dear Algy, you talk exactly as if you were a dentist.  It is\nvery vulgar to talk like a dentist when one isn't a dentist.  It produces\na false impression.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, that is exactly what dentists always do.  Now, go on!\nTell me the whole thing.  I may mention that I have always suspected you\nof being a confirmed and secret Bunburyist; and I am quite sure of it\nnow.\n\nJack.  Bunburyist? What on earth do you mean by a Bunburyist?\n\nAlgernon.  I'll reveal to you the meaning of that incomparable expression\nas soon as you are kind enough to inform me why you are Ernest in town\nand Jack in the country.\n\nJack.  Well, produce my cigarette case first.\n\nAlgernon.  Here it is.  [Hands cigarette case.]  Now produce your\nexplanation, and pray make it improbable.  [Sits on sofa.]\n\nJack.  My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my explanation\nat all.  In fact it's perfectly ordinary.  Old Mr. Thomas Cardew, who\nadopted me when I was a little boy, made me in his will guardian to his\ngrand-daughter, Miss Cecily Cardew.  Cecily, who addresses me as her\nuncle from motives of respect that you could not possibly appreciate,\nlives at my place in the country under the charge of her admirable\ngoverness, Miss Prism.\n\nAlgernon.  Where is that place in the country, by the way?\n\nJack.  That is nothing to you, dear boy.  You are not going to be invited\n. . . I may tell you candidly that the place is not in Shropshire.\n\nAlgernon.  I suspected that, my dear fellow!  I have Bunburyed all over\nShropshire on two separate occasions.  Now, go on.  Why are you Ernest in\ntown and Jack in the country?\n\nJack.  My dear Algy, I don't know whether you will be able to understand\nmy real motives.  You are hardly serious enough.  When one is placed in\nthe position of guardian, one has to adopt a very high moral tone on all\nsubjects.  It's one's duty to do so.  And as a high moral tone can hardly\nbe said to conduce very much to either one's health or one's happiness,\nin order to get up to town I have always pretended to have a younger\nbrother of the name of Ernest, who lives in the Albany, and gets into the\nmost dreadful scrapes.  That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth pure and\nsimple.\n\nAlgernon.  The truth is rarely pure and never simple.  Modern life would\nbe very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a complete\nimpossibility!\n\nJack.  That wouldn't be at all a bad thing.\n\nAlgernon.  Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow.  Don't\ntry it.  You should leave that to people who haven't been at a\nUniversity.  They do it so well in the daily papers.  What you really are\nis a Bunburyist.  I was quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist.  You\nare one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.\n\nJack.  What on earth do you mean?\n\nAlgernon.  You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest,\nin order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like.  I\nhave invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order\nthat I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose.  Bunbury\nis perfectly invaluable.  If it wasn't for Bunbury's extraordinary bad\nhealth, for instance, I wouldn't be able to dine with you at Willis's to-\nnight, for I have been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than a\nweek.\n\nJack.  I haven't asked you to dine with me anywhere to-night.\n\nAlgernon.  I know.  You are absurdly careless about sending out\ninvitations.  It is very foolish of you.  Nothing annoys people so much\nas not receiving invitations.\n\nJack.  You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.\n\nAlgernon.  I haven't the smallest intention of doing anything of the\nkind.  To begin with, I dined there on Monday, and once a week is quite\nenough to dine with one's own relations.  In the second place, whenever I\ndo dine there I am always treated as a member of the family, and sent\ndown with either no woman at all, or two.  In the third place, I know\nperfectly well whom she will place me next to, to-night.  She will place\nme next Mary Farquhar, who always flirts with her own husband across the\ndinner-table.  That is not very pleasant.  Indeed, it is not even decent\n. . . and that sort of thing is enormously on the increase.  The amount\nof women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly\nscandalous.  It looks so bad.  It is simply washing one's clean linen in\npublic.  Besides, now that I know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I\nnaturally want to talk to you about Bunburying.  I want to tell you the\nrules.\n\nJack.  I'm not a Bunburyist at all.  If Gwendolen accepts me, I am going\nto kill my brother, indeed I think I'll kill him in any case.  Cecily is\na little too much interested in him.  It is rather a bore.  So I am going\nto get rid of Ernest.  And I strongly advise you to do the same with Mr.\n. . . with your invalid friend who has the absurd name.\n\nAlgernon.  Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you ever\nget married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will be very\nglad to know Bunbury.  A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a\nvery tedious time of it.\n\nJack.  That is nonsense.  If I marry a charming girl like Gwendolen, and\nshe is the only girl I ever saw in my life that I would marry, I\ncertainly won't want to know Bunbury.\n\nAlgernon.  Then your wife will.  You don't seem to realise, that in\nmarried life three is company and two is none.\n\nJack.  [Sententiously.]  That, my dear young friend, is the theory that\nthe corrupt French Drama has been propounding for the last fifty years.\n\nAlgernon.  Yes; and that the happy English home has proved in half the\ntime.\n\nJack.  For heaven's sake, don't try to be cynical.  It's perfectly easy\nto be cynical.\n\nAlgernon.  My dear fellow, it isn't easy to be anything nowadays.  There's\nsuch a lot of beastly competition about.  [The sound of an electric bell\nis heard.]  Ah! that must be Aunt Augusta.  Only relatives, or creditors,\never ring in that Wagnerian manner.  Now, if I get her out of the way for\nten minutes, so that you can have an opportunity for proposing to\nGwendolen, may I dine with you to-night at Willis's?\n\nJack.  I suppose so, if you want to.\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, but you must be serious about it.  I hate people who are\nnot serious about meals.  It is so shallow of them.\n\n[Enter Lane.]\n\nLane.  Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax.\n\n[Algernon goes forward to meet them.  Enter Lady Bracknell and\nGwendolen.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  Good afternoon, dear Algernon, I hope you are behaving\nvery well.\n\nAlgernon.  I'm feeling very well, Aunt Augusta.\n\nLady Bracknell.  That's not quite the same thing.  In fact the two things\nrarely go together.  [Sees Jack and bows to him with icy coldness.]\n\nAlgernon.  [To Gwendolen.]  Dear me, you are smart!\n\nGwendolen.  I am always smart!  Am I not, Mr. Worthing?\n\nJack.  You're quite perfect, Miss Fairfax.\n\nGwendolen.  Oh! I hope I am not that.  It would leave no room for\ndevelopments, and I intend to develop in many directions.  [Gwendolen and\nJack sit down together in the corner.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  I'm sorry if we are a little late, Algernon, but I was\nobliged to call on dear Lady Harbury.  I hadn't been there since her poor\nhusband's death.  I never saw a woman so altered; she looks quite twenty\nyears younger.  And now I'll have a cup of tea, and one of those nice\ncucumber sandwiches you promised me.\n\nAlgernon.  Certainly, Aunt Augusta.  [Goes over to tea-table.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  Won't you come and sit here, Gwendolen?\n\nGwendolen.  Thanks, mamma, I'm quite comfortable where I am.\n\nAlgernon.  [Picking up empty plate in horror.]  Good heavens!  Lane!  Why\nare there no cucumber sandwiches?  I ordered them specially.\n\nLane.  [Gravely.]  There were no cucumbers in the market this morning,\nsir.  I went down twice.\n\nAlgernon.  No cucumbers!\n\nLane.  No, sir.  Not even for ready money.\n\nAlgernon.  That will do, Lane, thank you.\n\nLane.  Thank you, sir.  [Goes out.]\n\nAlgernon.  I am greatly distressed, Aunt Augusta, about there being no\ncucumbers, not even for ready money.\n\nLady Bracknell.  It really makes no matter, Algernon.  I had some\ncrumpets with Lady Harbury, who seems to me to be living entirely for\npleasure now.\n\nAlgernon.  I hear her hair has turned quite gold from grief.\n\nLady Bracknell.  It certainly has changed its colour.  From what cause I,\nof course, cannot say.  [Algernon crosses and hands tea.]  Thank you.\nI've quite a treat for you to-night, Algernon.  I am going to send you\ndown with Mary Farquhar.  She is such a nice woman, and so attentive to\nher husband.  It's delightful to watch them.\n\nAlgernon.  I am afraid, Aunt Augusta, I shall have to give up the\npleasure of dining with you to-night after all.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Frowning.]  I hope not, Algernon.  It would put my\ntable completely out.  Your uncle would have to dine upstairs.\nFortunately he is accustomed to that.\n\nAlgernon.  It is a great bore, and, I need hardly say, a terrible\ndisappointment to me, but the fact is I have just had a telegram to say\nthat my poor friend Bunbury is very ill again.  [Exchanges glances with\nJack.]  They seem to think I should be with him.\n\nLady Bracknell.  It is very strange.  This Mr. Bunbury seems to suffer\nfrom curiously bad health.\n\nAlgernon.  Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time\nthat Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die.\nThis shilly-shallying with the question is absurd.  Nor do I in any way\napprove of the modern sympathy with invalids.  I consider it morbid.\nIllness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others.  Health\nis the primary duty of life.  I am always telling that to your poor\nuncle, but he never seems to take much notice . . . as far as any\nimprovement in his ailment goes.  I should be much obliged if you would\nask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough not to have a relapse on\nSaturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for me.  It is my last\nreception, and one wants something that will encourage conversation,\nparticularly at the end of the season when every one has practically said\nwhatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably not much.\n\nAlgernon.  I'll speak to Bunbury, Aunt Augusta, if he is still conscious,\nand I think I can promise you he'll be all right by Saturday.  Of course\nthe music is a great difficulty.  You see, if one plays good music,\npeople don't listen, and if one plays bad music people don't talk.  But\nI'll run over the programme I've drawn out, if you will kindly come into\nthe next room for a moment.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Thank you, Algernon.  It is very thoughtful of you.\n[Rising, and following Algernon.]  I'm sure the programme will be\ndelightful, after a few expurgations.  French songs I cannot possibly\nallow.  People always seem to think that they are improper, and either\nlook shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse.  But German\nsounds a thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe is so.\nGwendolen, you will accompany me.\n\nGwendolen.  Certainly, mamma.\n\n[Lady Bracknell and Algernon go into the music-room, Gwendolen remains\nbehind.]\n\nJack.  Charming day it has been, Miss Fairfax.\n\nGwendolen.  Pray don't talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing.\nWhenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain\nthat they mean something else.  And that makes me so nervous.\n\nJack.  I do mean something else.\n\nGwendolen.  I thought so.  In fact, I am never wrong.\n\nJack.  And I would like to be allowed to take advantage of Lady\nBracknell's temporary absence . . .\n\nGwendolen.  I would certainly advise you to do so.  Mamma has a way of\ncoming back suddenly into a room that I have often had to speak to her\nabout.\n\nJack.  [Nervously.]  Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I have admired\nyou more than any girl . . . I have ever met since . . . I met you.\n\nGwendolen.  Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact.  And I often wish\nthat in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative.  For me you\nhave always had an irresistible fascination.  Even before I met you I was\nfar from indifferent to you.  [Jack looks at her in amazement.]  We live,\nas I hope you know, Mr. Worthing, in an age of ideals.  The fact is\nconstantly mentioned in the more expensive monthly magazines, and has\nreached the provincial pulpits, I am told; and my ideal has always been\nto love some one of the name of Ernest.  There is something in that name\nthat inspires absolute confidence.  The moment Algernon first mentioned\nto me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love\nyou.\n\nJack.  You really love me, Gwendolen?\n\nGwendolen.  Passionately!\n\nJack.  Darling!  You don't know how happy you've made me.\n\nGwendolen.  My own Ernest!\n\nJack.  But you don't really mean to say that you couldn't love me if my\nname wasn't Ernest?\n\nGwendolen.  But your name is Ernest.\n\nJack.  Yes, I know it is.  But supposing it was something else?  Do you\nmean to say you couldn't love me then?\n\nGwendolen.  [Glibly.]  Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical speculation,\nand like most metaphysical speculations has very little reference at all\nto the actual facts of real life, as we know them.\n\nJack.  Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don't much care\nabout the name of Ernest . . . I don't think the name suits me at all.\n\nGwendolen.  It suits you perfectly.  It is a divine name.  It has a music\nof its own.  It produces vibrations.\n\nJack.  Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there are lots of\nother much nicer names.  I think Jack, for instance, a charming name.\n\nGwendolen.  Jack? . . . No, there is very little music in the name Jack,\nif any at all, indeed.  It does not thrill.  It produces absolutely no\nvibrations . . . I have known several Jacks, and they all, without\nexception, were more than usually plain.  Besides, Jack is a notorious\ndomesticity for John!  And I pity any woman who is married to a man\ncalled John.  She would probably never be allowed to know the entrancing\npleasure of a single moment's solitude.  The only really safe name is\nErnest.\n\nJack.  Gwendolen, I must get christened at once--I mean we must get\nmarried at once.  There is no time to be lost.\n\nGwendolen.  Married, Mr. Worthing?\n\nJack.  [Astounded.]  Well . . . surely.  You know that I love you, and\nyou led me to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were not absolutely\nindifferent to me.\n\nGwendolen.  I adore you.  But you haven't proposed to me yet.  Nothing\nhas been said at all about marriage.  The subject has not even been\ntouched on.\n\nJack.  Well . . . may I propose to you now?\n\nGwendolen.  I think it would be an admirable opportunity.  And to spare\nyou any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think it only fair to\ntell you quite frankly before-hand that I am fully determined to accept\nyou.\n\nJack.  Gwendolen!\n\nGwendolen.  Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you got to say to me?\n\nJack.  You know what I have got to say to you.\n\nGwendolen.  Yes, but you don't say it.\n\nJack.  Gwendolen, will you marry me?  [Goes on his knees.]\n\nGwendolen.  Of course I will, darling.  How long you have been about it!\nI am afraid you have had very little experience in how to propose.\n\nJack.  My own one, I have never loved any one in the world but you.\n\nGwendolen.  Yes, but men often propose for practice.  I know my brother\nGerald does.  All my girl-friends tell me so.  What wonderfully blue eyes\nyou have, Ernest!  They are quite, quite, blue.  I hope you will always\nlook at me just like that, especially when there are other people\npresent.  [Enter Lady Bracknell.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  Mr. Worthing!  Rise, sir, from this semi-recumbent\nposture.  It is most indecorous.\n\nGwendolen.  Mamma!  [He tries to rise; she restrains him.]  I must beg\nyou to retire.  This is no place for you.  Besides, Mr. Worthing has not\nquite finished yet.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Finished what, may I ask?\n\nGwendolen.  I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, mamma.  [They rise together.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  Pardon me, you are not engaged to any one.  When you do\nbecome engaged to some one, I, or your father, should his health permit\nhim, will inform you of the fact.  An engagement should come on a young\ngirl as a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be.  It is\nhardly a matter that she could be allowed to arrange for herself . . .\nAnd now I have a few questions to put to you, Mr. Worthing.  While I am\nmaking these inquiries, you, Gwendolen, will wait for me below in the\ncarriage.\n\nGwendolen.  [Reproachfully.]  Mamma!\n\nLady Bracknell.  In the carriage, Gwendolen!  [Gwendolen goes to the\ndoor.  She and Jack blow kisses to each other behind Lady Bracknell's\nback.  Lady Bracknell looks vaguely about as if she could not understand\nwhat the noise was.  Finally turns round.]  Gwendolen, the carriage!\n\nGwendolen.  Yes, mamma.  [Goes out, looking back at Jack.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Sitting down.]  You can take a seat, Mr. Worthing.\n\n[Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil.]\n\nJack.  Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Pencil and note-book in hand.]  I feel bound to tell\nyou that you are not down on my list of eligible young men, although I\nhave the same list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has.  We work together,\nin fact.  However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your\nanswers be what a really affectionate mother requires.  Do you smoke?\n\nJack.  Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.\n\nLady Bracknell.  I am glad to hear it.  A man should always have an\noccupation of some kind.  There are far too many idle men in London as it\nis.  How old are you?\n\nJack.  Twenty-nine.\n\nLady Bracknell.  A very good age to be married at.  I have always been of\nopinion that a man who desires to get married should know either\neverything or nothing.  Which do you know?\n\nJack.  [After some hesitation.]  I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.\n\nLady Bracknell.  I am pleased to hear it.  I do not approve of anything\nthat tampers with natural ignorance.  Ignorance is like a delicate exotic\nfruit; touch it and the bloom is gone.  The whole theory of modern\neducation is radically unsound.  Fortunately in England, at any rate,\neducation produces no effect whatsoever.  If it did, it would prove a\nserious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of\nviolence in Grosvenor Square.  What is your income?\n\nJack.  Between seven and eight thousand a year.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Makes a note in her book.]  In land, or in investments?\n\nJack.  In investments, chiefly.\n\nLady Bracknell.  That is satisfactory.  What between the duties expected\nof one during one's lifetime, and the duties exacted from one after one's\ndeath, land has ceased to be either a profit or a pleasure.  It gives one\nposition, and prevents one from keeping it up.  That's all that can be\nsaid about land.\n\nJack.  I have a country house with some land, of course, attached to it,\nabout fifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I don't depend on that for my\nreal income.  In fact, as far as I can make out, the poachers are the\nonly people who make anything out of it.\n\nLady Bracknell.  A country house!  How many bedrooms?  Well, that point\ncan be cleared up afterwards.  You have a town house, I hope?  A girl\nwith a simple, unspoiled nature, like Gwendolen, could hardly be expected\nto reside in the country.\n\nJack.  Well, I own a house in Belgrave Square, but it is let by the year\nto Lady Bloxham.  Of course, I can get it back whenever I like, at six\nmonths' notice.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Lady Bloxham?  I don't know her.\n\nJack.  Oh, she goes about very little.  She is a lady considerably\nadvanced in years.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee of respectability of\ncharacter.  What number in Belgrave Square?\n\nJack.  149.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Shaking her head.]  The unfashionable side.  I thought\nthere was something.  However, that could easily be altered.\n\nJack.  Do you mean the fashion, or the side?\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Sternly.]  Both, if necessary, I presume.  What are\nyour politics?\n\nJack.  Well, I am afraid I really have none.  I am a Liberal Unionist.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Oh, they count as Tories.  They dine with us.  Or come\nin the evening, at any rate.  Now to minor matters.  Are your parents\nliving?\n\nJack.  I have lost both my parents.\n\nLady Bracknell.  To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a\nmisfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.  Who was your father?\nHe was evidently a man of some wealth.  Was he born in what the Radical\npapers call the purple of commerce, or did he rise from the ranks of the\naristocracy?\n\nJack.  I am afraid I really don't know.  The fact is, Lady Bracknell, I\nsaid I had lost my parents.  It would be nearer the truth to say that my\nparents seem to have lost me . . . I don't actually know who I am by\nbirth.  I was . . . well, I was found.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Found!\n\nJack.  The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, an old gentleman of a very charitable\nand kindly disposition, found me, and gave me the name of Worthing,\nbecause he happened to have a first-class ticket for Worthing in his\npocket at the time.  Worthing is a place in Sussex.  It is a seaside\nresort.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Where did the charitable gentleman who had a first-class\nticket for this seaside resort find you?\n\nJack.  [Gravely.]  In a hand-bag.\n\nLady Bracknell.  A hand-bag?\n\nJack.  [Very seriously.]  Yes, Lady Bracknell.  I was in a hand-bag--a\nsomewhat large, black leather hand-bag, with handles to it--an ordinary\nhand-bag in fact.\n\nLady Bracknell.  In what locality did this Mr. James, or Thomas, Cardew\ncome across this ordinary hand-bag?\n\nJack.  In the cloak-room at Victoria Station.  It was given to him in\nmistake for his own.\n\nLady Bracknell.  The cloak-room at Victoria Station?\n\nJack.  Yes.  The Brighton line.\n\nLady Bracknell.  The line is immaterial.  Mr. Worthing, I confess I feel\nsomewhat bewildered by what you have just told me.  To be born, or at any\nrate bred, in a hand-bag, whether it had handles or not, seems to me to\ndisplay a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life that reminds\none of the worst excesses of the French Revolution.  And I presume you\nknow what that unfortunate movement led to?  As for the particular\nlocality in which the hand-bag was found, a cloak-room at a railway\nstation might serve to conceal a social indiscretion--has probably,\nindeed, been used for that purpose before now--but it could hardly be\nregarded as an assured basis for a recognised position in good society.\n\nJack.  May I ask you then what you would advise me to do?  I need hardly\nsay I would do anything in the world to ensure Gwendolen's happiness.\n\nLady Bracknell.  I would strongly advise you, Mr. Worthing, to try and\nacquire some relations as soon as possible, and to make a definite effort\nto produce at any rate one parent, of either sex, before the season is\nquite over.\n\nJack.  Well, I don't see how I could possibly manage to do that.  I can\nproduce the hand-bag at any moment.  It is in my dressing-room at home.  I\nreally think that should satisfy you, Lady Bracknell.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Me, sir!  What has it to do with me?  You can hardly\nimagine that I and Lord Bracknell would dream of allowing our only\ndaughter--a girl brought up with the utmost care--to marry into a cloak-\nroom, and form an alliance with a parcel?  Good morning, Mr. Worthing!\n\n[Lady Bracknell sweeps out in majestic indignation.]\n\nJack.  Good morning!  [Algernon, from the other room, strikes up the\nWedding March.  Jack looks perfectly furious, and goes to the door.]  For\ngoodness' sake don't play that ghastly tune, Algy.  How idiotic you are!\n\n[The music stops and Algernon enters cheerily.]\n\nAlgernon.  Didn't it go off all right, old boy?  You don't mean to say\nGwendolen refused you?  I know it is a way she has.  She is always\nrefusing people.  I think it is most ill-natured of her.\n\nJack.  Oh, Gwendolen is as right as a trivet.  As far as she is\nconcerned, we are engaged.  Her mother is perfectly unbearable.  Never\nmet such a Gorgon . . . I don't really know what a Gorgon is like, but I\nam quite sure that Lady Bracknell is one.  In any case, she is a monster,\nwithout being a myth, which is rather unfair . . . I beg your pardon,\nAlgy, I suppose I shouldn't talk about your own aunt in that way before\nyou.\n\nAlgernon.  My dear boy, I love hearing my relations abused.  It is the\nonly thing that makes me put up with them at all.  Relations are simply a\ntedious pack of people, who haven't got the remotest knowledge of how to\nlive, nor the smallest instinct about when to die.\n\nJack.  Oh, that is nonsense!\n\nAlgernon.  It isn't!\n\nJack.  Well, I won't argue about the matter.  You always want to argue\nabout things.\n\nAlgernon.  That is exactly what things were originally made for.\n\nJack.  Upon my word, if I thought that, I'd shoot myself . . . [A pause.]\nYou don't think there is any chance of Gwendolen becoming like her mother\nin about a hundred and fifty years, do you, Algy?\n\nAlgernon.  All women become like their mothers.  That is their tragedy.\nNo man does.  That's his.\n\nJack.  Is that clever?\n\nAlgernon.  It is perfectly phrased! and quite as true as any observation\nin civilised life should be.\n\nJack.  I am sick to death of cleverness.  Everybody is clever nowadays.\nYou can't go anywhere without meeting clever people.  The thing has\nbecome an absolute public nuisance.  I wish to goodness we had a few\nfools left.\n\nAlgernon.  We have.\n\nJack.  I should extremely like to meet them.  What do they talk about?\n\nAlgernon.  The fools?  Oh! about the clever people, of course.\n\nJack.  What fools!\n\nAlgernon.  By the way, did you tell Gwendolen the truth about your being\nErnest in town, and Jack in the country?\n\nJack.  [In a very patronising manner.]  My dear fellow, the truth isn't\nquite the sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet, refined girl.  What\nextraordinary ideas you have about the way to behave to a woman!\n\nAlgernon.  The only way to behave to a woman is to make love to her, if\nshe is pretty, and to some one else, if she is plain.\n\nJack.  Oh, that is nonsense.\n\nAlgernon.  What about your brother?  What about the profligate Ernest?\n\nJack.  Oh, before the end of the week I shall have got rid of him.  I'll\nsay he died in Paris of apoplexy.  Lots of people die of apoplexy, quite\nsuddenly, don't they?\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, but it's hereditary, my dear fellow.  It's a sort of\nthing that runs in families.  You had much better say a severe chill.\n\nJack.  You are sure a severe chill isn't hereditary, or anything of that\nkind?\n\nAlgernon.  Of course it isn't!\n\nJack.  Very well, then.  My poor brother Ernest to carried off suddenly,\nin Paris, by a severe chill.  That gets rid of him.\n\nAlgernon.  But I thought you said that . . . Miss Cardew was a little too\nmuch interested in your poor brother Ernest?  Won't she feel his loss a\ngood deal?\n\nJack.  Oh, that is all right.  Cecily is not a silly romantic girl, I am\nglad to say.  She has got a capital appetite, goes long walks, and pays\nno attention at all to her lessons.\n\nAlgernon.  I would rather like to see Cecily.\n\nJack.  I will take very good care you never do.  She is excessively\npretty, and she is only just eighteen.\n\nAlgernon.  Have you told Gwendolen yet that you have an excessively\npretty ward who is only just eighteen?\n\nJack.  Oh! one doesn't blurt these things out to people.  Cecily and\nGwendolen are perfectly certain to be extremely great friends.  I'll bet\nyou anything you like that half an hour after they have met, they will be\ncalling each other sister.\n\nAlgernon.  Women only do that when they have called each other a lot of\nother things first.  Now, my dear boy, if we want to get a good table at\nWillis's, we really must go and dress.  Do you know it is nearly seven?\n\nJack.  [Irritably.]  Oh!  It always is nearly seven.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, I'm hungry.\n\nJack.  I never knew you when you weren't . . .\n\nAlgernon.  What shall we do after dinner?  Go to a theatre?\n\nJack.  Oh no!  I loathe listening.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, let us go to the Club?\n\nJack.  Oh, no!  I hate talking.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, we might trot round to the Empire at ten?\n\nJack.  Oh, no!  I can't bear looking at things.  It is so silly.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, what shall we do?\n\nJack.  Nothing!\n\nAlgernon.  It is awfully hard work doing nothing.  However, I don't mind\nhard work where there is no definite object of any kind.\n\n[Enter Lane.]\n\nLane.  Miss Fairfax.\n\n[Enter Gwendolen.  Lane goes out.]\n\nAlgernon.  Gwendolen, upon my word!\n\nGwendolen.  Algy, kindly turn your back.  I have something very\nparticular to say to Mr. Worthing.\n\nAlgernon.  Really, Gwendolen, I don't think I can allow this at all.\n\nGwendolen.  Algy, you always adopt a strictly immoral attitude towards\nlife.  You are not quite old enough to do that.  [Algernon retires to the\nfireplace.]\n\nJack.  My own darling!\n\nGwendolen.  Ernest, we may never be married.  From the expression on\nmamma's face I fear we never shall.  Few parents nowadays pay any regard\nto what their children say to them.  The old-fashioned respect for the\nyoung is fast dying out.  Whatever influence I ever had over mamma, I\nlost at the age of three.  But although she may prevent us from becoming\nman and wife, and I may marry some one else, and marry often, nothing\nthat she can possibly do can alter my eternal devotion to you.\n\nJack.  Dear Gwendolen!\n\nGwendolen.  The story of your romantic origin, as related to me by mamma,\nwith unpleasing comments, has naturally stirred the deeper fibres of my\nnature.  Your Christian name has an irresistible fascination.  The\nsimplicity of your character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible to\nme.  Your town address at the Albany I have.  What is your address in the\ncountry?\n\nJack.  The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.\n\n[Algernon, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, and\nwrites the address on his shirt-cuff.  Then picks up the Railway Guide.]\n\nGwendolen.  There is a good postal service, I suppose?  It may be\nnecessary to do something desperate.  That of course will require serious\nconsideration.  I will communicate with you daily.\n\nJack.  My own one!\n\nGwendolen.  How long do you remain in town?\n\nJack.  Till Monday.\n\nGwendolen.  Good!  Algy, you may turn round now.\n\nAlgernon.  Thanks, I've turned round already.\n\nGwendolen.  You may also ring the bell.\n\nJack.  You will let me see you to your carriage, my own darling?\n\nGwendolen.  Certainly.\n\nJack.  [To Lane, who now enters.]  I will see Miss Fairfax out.\n\nLane.  Yes, sir.  [Jack and Gwendolen go off.]\n\n[Lane presents several letters on a salver to Algernon.  It is to be\nsurmised that they are bills, as Algernon, after looking at the\nenvelopes, tears them up.]\n\nAlgernon.  A glass of sherry, Lane.\n\nLane.  Yes, sir.\n\nAlgernon.  To-morrow, Lane, I'm going Bunburying.\n\nLane.  Yes, sir.\n\nAlgernon.  I shall probably not be back till Monday.  You can put up my\ndress clothes, my smoking jacket, and all the Bunbury suits . . .\n\nLane.  Yes, sir.  [Handing sherry.]\n\nAlgernon.  I hope to-morrow will be a fine day, Lane.\n\nLane.  It never is, sir.\n\nAlgernon.  Lane, you're a perfect pessimist.\n\nLane.  I do my best to give satisfaction, sir.\n\n[Enter Jack.  Lane goes off.]\n\nJack.  There's a sensible, intellectual girl! the only girl I ever cared\nfor in my life.  [Algernon is laughing immoderately.]  What on earth are\nyou so amused at?\n\nAlgernon.  Oh, I'm a little anxious about poor Bunbury, that is all.\n\nJack.  If you don't take care, your friend Bunbury will get you into a\nserious scrape some day.\n\nAlgernon.  I love scrapes.  They are the only things that are never\nserious.\n\nJack.  Oh, that's nonsense, Algy.  You never talk anything but nonsense.\n\nAlgernon.  Nobody ever does.\n\n[Jack looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room.  Algernon lights a\ncigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles.]\n\nACT DROP\n\n\n\n\nSECOND ACT\n\n\nSCENE\n\n\nGarden at the Manor House.  A flight of grey stone steps leads up to the\nhouse.  The garden, an old-fashioned one, full of roses.  Time of year,\nJuly.  Basket chairs, and a table covered with books, are set under a\nlarge yew-tree.\n\n[Miss Prism discovered seated at the table.  Cecily is at the back\nwatering flowers.]\n\nMiss Prism.  [Calling.]  Cecily, Cecily!  Surely such a utilitarian\noccupation as the watering of flowers is rather Moulton's duty than\nyours?  Especially at a moment when intellectual pleasures await you.\nYour German grammar is on the table.  Pray open it at page fifteen.  We\nwill repeat yesterday's lesson.\n\nCecily.  [Coming over very slowly.]  But I don't like German.  It isn't\nat all a becoming language.  I know perfectly well that I look quite\nplain after my German lesson.\n\nMiss Prism.  Child, you know how anxious your guardian is that you should\nimprove yourself in every way.  He laid particular stress on your German,\nas he was leaving for town yesterday.  Indeed, he always lays stress on\nyour German when he is leaving for town.\n\nCecily.  Dear Uncle Jack is so very serious!  Sometimes he is so serious\nthat I think he cannot be quite well.\n\nMiss Prism.  [Drawing herself up.]  Your guardian enjoys the best of\nhealth, and his gravity of demeanour is especially to be commended in one\nso comparatively young as he is.  I know no one who has a higher sense of\nduty and responsibility.\n\nCecily.  I suppose that is why he often looks a little bored when we\nthree are together.\n\nMiss Prism.  Cecily!  I am surprised at you.  Mr. Worthing has many\ntroubles in his life.  Idle merriment and triviality would be out of\nplace in his conversation.  You must remember his constant anxiety about\nthat unfortunate young man his brother.\n\nCecily.  I wish Uncle Jack would allow that unfortunate young man, his\nbrother, to come down here sometimes.  We might have a good influence\nover him, Miss Prism.  I am sure you certainly would.  You know German,\nand geology, and things of that kind influence a man very much.  [Cecily\nbegins to write in her diary.]\n\nMiss Prism.  [Shaking her head.]  I do not think that even I could\nproduce any effect on a character that according to his own brother's\nadmission is irretrievably weak and vacillating.  Indeed I am not sure\nthat I would desire to reclaim him.  I am not in favour of this modern\nmania for turning bad people into good people at a moment's notice.  As a\nman sows so let him reap.  You must put away your diary, Cecily.  I\nreally don't see why you should keep a diary at all.\n\nCecily.  I keep a diary in order to enter the wonderful secrets of my\nlife.  If I didn't write them down, I should probably forget all about\nthem.\n\nMiss Prism.  Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that we all carry about\nwith us.\n\nCecily.  Yes, but it usually chronicles the things that have never\nhappened, and couldn't possibly have happened.  I believe that Memory is\nresponsible for nearly all the three-volume novels that Mudie sends us.\n\nMiss Prism.  Do not speak slightingly of the three-volume novel, Cecily.\nI wrote one myself in earlier days.\n\nCecily.  Did you really, Miss Prism?  How wonderfully clever you are!  I\nhope it did not end happily?  I don't like novels that end happily.  They\ndepress me so much.\n\nMiss Prism.  The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily.  That is what\nFiction means.\n\nCecily.  I suppose so.  But it seems very unfair.  And was your novel\never published?\n\nMiss Prism.  Alas! no.  The manuscript unfortunately was abandoned.\n[Cecily starts.]  I use the word in the sense of lost or mislaid.  To\nyour work, child, these speculations are profitless.\n\nCecily.  [Smiling.]  But I see dear Dr. Chasuble coming up through the\ngarden.\n\nMiss Prism.  [Rising and advancing.]  Dr. Chasuble!  This is indeed a\npleasure.\n\n[Enter Canon Chasuble.]\n\nChasuble.  And how are we this morning?  Miss Prism, you are, I trust,\nwell?\n\nCecily.  Miss Prism has just been complaining of a slight headache.  I\nthink it would do her so much good to have a short stroll with you in the\nPark, Dr. Chasuble.\n\nMiss Prism.  Cecily, I have not mentioned anything about a headache.\n\nCecily.  No, dear Miss Prism, I know that, but I felt instinctively that\nyou had a headache.  Indeed I was thinking about that, and not about my\nGerman lesson, when the Rector came in.\n\nChasuble.  I hope, Cecily, you are not inattentive.\n\nCecily.  Oh, I am afraid I am.\n\nChasuble.  That is strange.  Were I fortunate enough to be Miss Prism's\npupil, I would hang upon her lips.  [Miss Prism glares.]  I spoke\nmetaphorically.--My metaphor was drawn from bees.  Ahem!  Mr. Worthing, I\nsuppose, has not returned from town yet?\n\nMiss Prism.  We do not expect him till Monday afternoon.\n\nChasuble.  Ah yes, he usually likes to spend his Sunday in London.  He is\nnot one of those whose sole aim is enjoyment, as, by all accounts, that\nunfortunate young man his brother seems to be.  But I must not disturb\nEgeria and her pupil any longer.\n\nMiss Prism.  Egeria?  My name is Laetitia, Doctor.\n\nChasuble.  [Bowing.]  A classical allusion merely, drawn from the Pagan\nauthors.  I shall see you both no doubt at Evensong?\n\nMiss Prism.  I think, dear Doctor, I will have a stroll with you.  I find\nI have a headache after all, and a walk might do it good.\n\nChasuble.  With pleasure, Miss Prism, with pleasure.  We might go as far\nas the schools and back.\n\nMiss Prism.  That would be delightful.  Cecily, you will read your\nPolitical Economy in my absence.  The chapter on the Fall of the Rupee\nyou may omit.  It is somewhat too sensational.  Even these metallic\nproblems have their melodramatic side.\n\n[Goes down the garden with Dr. Chasuble.]\n\nCecily.  [Picks up books and throws them back on table.]  Horrid\nPolitical Economy!  Horrid Geography!  Horrid, horrid German!\n\n[Enter Merriman with a card on a salver.]\n\nMerriman.  Mr. Ernest Worthing has just driven over from the station.  He\nhas brought his luggage with him.\n\nCecily.  [Takes the card and reads it.]  'Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The\nAlbany, W.'  Uncle Jack's brother!  Did you tell him Mr. Worthing was in\ntown?\n\nMerriman.  Yes, Miss.  He seemed very much disappointed.  I mentioned\nthat you and Miss Prism were in the garden.  He said he was anxious to\nspeak to you privately for a moment.\n\nCecily.  Ask Mr. Ernest Worthing to come here.  I suppose you had better\ntalk to the housekeeper about a room for him.\n\nMerriman.  Yes, Miss.\n\n[Merriman goes off.]\n\nCecily.  I have never met any really wicked person before.  I feel rather\nfrightened.  I am so afraid he will look just like every one else.\n\n[Enter Algernon, very gay and debonnair.]  He does!\n\nAlgernon.  [Raising his hat.]  You are my little cousin Cecily, I'm sure.\n\nCecily.  You are under some strange mistake.  I am not little.  In fact,\nI believe I am more than usually tall for my age.  [Algernon is rather\ntaken aback.]  But I am your cousin Cecily.  You, I see from your card,\nare Uncle Jack's brother, my cousin Ernest, my wicked cousin Ernest.\n\nAlgernon.  Oh! I am not really wicked at all, cousin Cecily.  You mustn't\nthink that I am wicked.\n\nCecily.  If you are not, then you have certainly been deceiving us all in\na very inexcusable manner.  I hope you have not been leading a double\nlife, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time.  That\nwould be hypocrisy.\n\nAlgernon.  [Looks at her in amazement.]  Oh!  Of course I have been\nrather reckless.\n\nCecily.  I am glad to hear it.\n\nAlgernon.  In fact, now you mention the subject, I have been very bad in\nmy own small way.\n\nCecily.  I don't think you should be so proud of that, though I am sure\nit must have been very pleasant.\n\nAlgernon.  It is much pleasanter being here with you.\n\nCecily.  I can't understand how you are here at all.  Uncle Jack won't be\nback till Monday afternoon.\n\nAlgernon.  That is a great disappointment.  I am obliged to go up by the\nfirst train on Monday morning.  I have a business appointment that I am\nanxious . . . to miss?\n\nCecily.  Couldn't you miss it anywhere but in London?\n\nAlgernon.  No: the appointment is in London.\n\nCecily.  Well, I know, of course, how important it is not to keep a\nbusiness engagement, if one wants to retain any sense of the beauty of\nlife, but still I think you had better wait till Uncle Jack arrives.  I\nknow he wants to speak to you about your emigrating.\n\nAlgernon.  About my what?\n\nCecily.  Your emigrating.  He has gone up to buy your outfit.\n\nAlgernon.  I certainly wouldn't let Jack buy my outfit.  He has no taste\nin neckties at all.\n\nCecily.  I don't think you will require neckties.  Uncle Jack is sending\nyou to Australia.\n\nAlgernon.  Australia!  I'd sooner die.\n\nCecily.  Well, he said at dinner on Wednesday night, that you would have\nto choose between this world, the next world, and Australia.\n\nAlgernon.  Oh, well!  The accounts I have received of Australia and the\nnext world, are not particularly encouraging.  This world is good enough\nfor me, cousin Cecily.\n\nCecily.  Yes, but are you good enough for it?\n\nAlgernon.  I'm afraid I'm not that.  That is why I want you to reform me.\nYou might make that your mission, if you don't mind, cousin Cecily.\n\nCecily.  I'm afraid I've no time, this afternoon.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, would you mind my reforming myself this afternoon?\n\nCecily.  It is rather Quixotic of you.  But I think you should try.\n\nAlgernon.  I will.  I feel better already.\n\nCecily.  You are looking a little worse.\n\nAlgernon.  That is because I am hungry.\n\nCecily.  How thoughtless of me.  I should have remembered that when one\nis going to lead an entirely new life, one requires regular and wholesome\nmeals.  Won't you come in?\n\nAlgernon.  Thank you.  Might I have a buttonhole first?  I never have any\nappetite unless I have a buttonhole first.\n\nCecily.  A Marechal Niel?  [Picks up scissors.]\n\nAlgernon.  No, I'd sooner have a pink rose.\n\nCecily.  Why?  [Cuts a flower.]\n\nAlgernon.  Because you are like a pink rose, Cousin Cecily.\n\nCecily.  I don't think it can be right for you to talk to me like that.\nMiss Prism never says such things to me.\n\nAlgernon.  Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted old lady.  [Cecily puts the\nrose in his buttonhole.]  You are the prettiest girl I ever saw.\n\nCecily.  Miss Prism says that all good looks are a snare.\n\nAlgernon.  They are a snare that every sensible man would like to be\ncaught in.\n\nCecily.  Oh, I don't think I would care to catch a sensible man.  I\nshouldn't know what to talk to him about.\n\n[They pass into the house.  Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return.]\n\nMiss Prism.  You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble.  You should get\nmarried.  A misanthrope I can understand--a womanthrope, never!\n\nChasuble.  [With a scholar's shudder.]  Believe me, I do not deserve so\nneologistic a phrase.  The precept as well as the practice of the\nPrimitive Church was distinctly against matrimony.\n\nMiss Prism.  [Sententiously.]  That is obviously the reason why the\nPrimitive Church has not lasted up to the present day.  And you do not\nseem to realise, dear Doctor, that by persistently remaining single, a\nman converts himself into a permanent public temptation.  Men should be\nmore careful; this very celibacy leads weaker vessels astray.\n\nChasuble.  But is a man not equally attractive when married?\n\nMiss Prism.  No married man is ever attractive except to his wife.\n\nChasuble.  And often, I've been told, not even to her.\n\nMiss Prism.  That depends on the intellectual sympathies of the woman.\nMaturity can always be depended on.  Ripeness can be trusted.  Young\nwomen are green.  [Dr. Chasuble starts.]  I spoke horticulturally.  My\nmetaphor was drawn from fruits.  But where is Cecily?\n\nChasuble.  Perhaps she followed us to the schools.\n\n[Enter Jack slowly from the back of the garden.  He is dressed in the\ndeepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves.]\n\nMiss Prism.  Mr. Worthing!\n\nChasuble.  Mr. Worthing?\n\nMiss Prism.  This is indeed a surprise.  We did not look for you till\nMonday afternoon.\n\nJack.  [Shakes Miss Prism's hand in a tragic manner.]  I have returned\nsooner than I expected.  Dr. Chasuble, I hope you are well?\n\nChasuble.  Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb of woe does not betoken\nsome terrible calamity?\n\nJack.  My brother.\n\nMiss Prism.  More shameful debts and extravagance?\n\nChasuble.  Still leading his life of pleasure?\n\nJack.  [Shaking his head.]  Dead!\n\nChasuble.  Your brother Ernest dead?\n\nJack.  Quite dead.\n\nMiss Prism.  What a lesson for him!  I trust he will profit by it.\n\nChasuble.  Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolence.  You have at\nleast the consolation of knowing that you were always the most generous\nand forgiving of brothers.\n\nJack.  Poor Ernest!  He had many faults, but it is a sad, sad blow.\n\nChasuble.  Very sad indeed.  Were you with him at the end?\n\nJack.  No.  He died abroad; in Paris, in fact.  I had a telegram last\nnight from the manager of the Grand Hotel.\n\nChasuble.  Was the cause of death mentioned?\n\nJack.  A severe chill, it seems.\n\nMiss Prism.  As a man sows, so shall he reap.\n\nChasuble.  [Raising his hand.]  Charity, dear Miss Prism, charity!  None\nof us are perfect.  I myself am peculiarly susceptible to draughts.  Will\nthe interment take place here?\n\nJack.  No.  He seems to have expressed a desire to be buried in Paris.\n\nChasuble.  In Paris!  [Shakes his head.]  I fear that hardly points to\nany very serious state of mind at the last.  You would no doubt wish me\nto make some slight allusion to this tragic domestic affliction next\nSunday.  [Jack presses his hand convulsively.]  My sermon on the meaning\nof the manna in the wilderness can be adapted to almost any occasion,\njoyful, or, as in the present case, distressing.  [All sigh.]  I have\npreached it at harvest celebrations, christenings, confirmations, on days\nof humiliation and festal days.  The last time I delivered it was in the\nCathedral, as a charity sermon on behalf of the Society for the\nPrevention of Discontent among the Upper Orders.  The Bishop, who was\npresent, was much struck by some of the analogies I drew.\n\nJack.  Ah! that reminds me, you mentioned christenings I think, Dr.\nChasuble?  I suppose you know how to christen all right?  [Dr. Chasuble\nlooks astounded.]  I mean, of course, you are continually christening,\naren't you?\n\nMiss Prism.  It is, I regret to say, one of the Rector's most constant\nduties in this parish.  I have often spoken to the poorer classes on the\nsubject.  But they don't seem to know what thrift is.\n\nChasuble.  But is there any particular infant in whom you are interested,\nMr. Worthing?  Your brother was, I believe, unmarried, was he not?\n\nJack.  Oh yes.\n\nMiss Prism.  [Bitterly.]  People who live entirely for pleasure usually\nare.\n\nJack.  But it is not for any child, dear Doctor.  I am very fond of\nchildren.  No! the fact is, I would like to be christened myself, this\nafternoon, if you have nothing better to do.\n\nChasuble.  But surely, Mr. Worthing, you have been christened already?\n\nJack.  I don't remember anything about it.\n\nChasuble.  But have you any grave doubts on the subject?\n\nJack.  I certainly intend to have.  Of course I don't know if the thing\nwould bother you in any way, or if you think I am a little too old now.\n\nChasuble.  Not at all.  The sprinkling, and, indeed, the immersion of\nadults is a perfectly canonical practice.\n\nJack.  Immersion!\n\nChasuble.  You need have no apprehensions.  Sprinkling is all that is\nnecessary, or indeed I think advisable.  Our weather is so changeable.  At\nwhat hour would you wish the ceremony performed?\n\nJack.  Oh, I might trot round about five if that would suit you.\n\nChasuble.  Perfectly, perfectly!  In fact I have two similar ceremonies\nto perform at that time.  A case of twins that occurred recently in one\nof the outlying cottages on your own estate.  Poor Jenkins the carter, a\nmost hard-working man.\n\nJack.  Oh!  I don't see much fun in being christened along with other\nbabies.  It would be childish.  Would half-past five do?\n\nChasuble.  Admirably!  Admirably!  [Takes out watch.]  And now, dear Mr.\nWorthing, I will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow.  I would\nmerely beg you not to be too much bowed down by grief.  What seem to us\nbitter trials are often blessings in disguise.\n\nMiss Prism.  This seems to me a blessing of an extremely obvious kind.\n\n[Enter Cecily from the house.]\n\nCecily.  Uncle Jack!  Oh, I am pleased to see you back.  But what horrid\nclothes you have got on!  Do go and change them.\n\nMiss Prism.  Cecily!\n\nChasuble.  My child! my child!  [Cecily goes towards Jack; he kisses her\nbrow in a melancholy manner.]\n\nCecily.  What is the matter, Uncle Jack?  Do look happy!  You look as if\nyou had toothache, and I have got such a surprise for you.  Who do you\nthink is in the dining-room?  Your brother!\n\nJack.  Who?\n\nCecily.  Your brother Ernest.  He arrived about half an hour ago.\n\nJack.  What nonsense!  I haven't got a brother.\n\nCecily.  Oh, don't say that.  However badly he may have behaved to you in\nthe past he is still your brother.  You couldn't be so heartless as to\ndisown him.  I'll tell him to come out.  And you will shake hands with\nhim, won't you, Uncle Jack?  [Runs back into the house.]\n\nChasuble.  These are very joyful tidings.\n\nMiss Prism.  After we had all been resigned to his loss, his sudden\nreturn seems to me peculiarly distressing.\n\nJack.  My brother is in the dining-room?  I don't know what it all means.\nI think it is perfectly absurd.\n\n[Enter Algernon and Cecily hand in hand.  They come slowly up to Jack.]\n\nJack.  Good heavens!  [Motions Algernon away.]\n\nAlgernon.  Brother John, I have come down from town to tell you that I am\nvery sorry for all the trouble I have given you, and that I intend to\nlead a better life in the future.  [Jack glares at him and does not take\nhis hand.]\n\nCecily.  Uncle Jack, you are not going to refuse your own brother's hand?\n\nJack.  Nothing will induce me to take his hand.  I think his coming down\nhere disgraceful.  He knows perfectly well why.\n\nCecily.  Uncle Jack, do be nice.  There is some good in every one.  Ernest\nhas just been telling me about his poor invalid friend Mr. Bunbury whom\nhe goes to visit so often.  And surely there must be much good in one who\nis kind to an invalid, and leaves the pleasures of London to sit by a bed\nof pain.\n\nJack.  Oh! he has been talking about Bunbury, has he?\n\nCecily.  Yes, he has told me all about poor Mr. Bunbury, and his terrible\nstate of health.\n\nJack.  Bunbury!  Well, I won't have him talk to you about Bunbury or\nabout anything else.  It is enough to drive one perfectly frantic.\n\nAlgernon.  Of course I admit that the faults were all on my side.  But I\nmust say that I think that Brother John's coldness to me is peculiarly\npainful.  I expected a more enthusiastic welcome, especially considering\nit is the first time I have come here.\n\nCecily.  Uncle Jack, if you don't shake hands with Ernest I will never\nforgive you.\n\nJack.  Never forgive me?\n\nCecily.  Never, never, never!\n\nJack.  Well, this is the last time I shall ever do it.  [Shakes with\nAlgernon and glares.]\n\nChasuble.  It's pleasant, is it not, to see so perfect a reconciliation?\nI think we might leave the two brothers together.\n\nMiss Prism.  Cecily, you will come with us.\n\nCecily.  Certainly, Miss Prism.  My little task of reconciliation is\nover.\n\nChasuble.  You have done a beautiful action to-day, dear child.\n\nMiss Prism.  We must not be premature in our judgments.\n\nCecily.  I feel very happy.  [They all go off except Jack and Algernon.]\n\nJack.  You young scoundrel, Algy, you must get out of this place as soon\nas possible.  I don't allow any Bunburying here.\n\n[Enter Merriman.]\n\nMerriman.  I have put Mr. Ernest's things in the room next to yours, sir.\nI suppose that is all right?\n\nJack.  What?\n\nMerriman.  Mr. Ernest's luggage, sir.  I have unpacked it and put it in\nthe room next to your own.\n\nJack.  His luggage?\n\nMerriman.  Yes, sir.  Three portmanteaus, a dressing-case, two hat-boxes,\nand a large luncheon-basket.\n\nAlgernon.  I am afraid I can't stay more than a week this time.\n\nJack.  Merriman, order the dog-cart at once.  Mr. Ernest has been\nsuddenly called back to town.\n\nMerriman.  Yes, sir.  [Goes back into the house.]\n\nAlgernon.  What a fearful liar you are, Jack.  I have not been called\nback to town at all.\n\nJack.  Yes, you have.\n\nAlgernon.  I haven't heard any one call me.\n\nJack.  Your duty as a gentleman calls you back.\n\nAlgernon.  My duty as a gentleman has never interfered with my pleasures\nin the smallest degree.\n\nJack.  I can quite understand that.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, Cecily is a darling.\n\nJack.  You are not to talk of Miss Cardew like that.  I don't like it.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, I don't like your clothes.  You look perfectly\nridiculous in them.  Why on earth don't you go up and change?  It is\nperfectly childish to be in deep mourning for a man who is actually\nstaying for a whole week with you in your house as a guest.  I call it\ngrotesque.\n\nJack.  You are certainly not staying with me for a whole week as a guest\nor anything else.  You have got to leave . . . by the four-five train.\n\nAlgernon.  I certainly won't leave you so long as you are in mourning.  It\nwould be most unfriendly.  If I were in mourning you would stay with me,\nI suppose.  I should think it very unkind if you didn't.\n\nJack.  Well, will you go if I change my clothes?\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, if you are not too long.  I never saw anybody take so\nlong to dress, and with such little result.\n\nJack.  Well, at any rate, that is better than being always over-dressed\nas you are.\n\nAlgernon.  If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it\nby being always immensely over-educated.\n\nJack.  Your vanity is ridiculous, your conduct an outrage, and your\npresence in my garden utterly absurd.  However, you have got to catch the\nfour-five, and I hope you will have a pleasant journey back to town.  This\nBunburying, as you call it, has not been a great success for you.\n\n[Goes into the house.]\n\nAlgernon.  I think it has been a great success.  I'm in love with Cecily,\nand that is everything.\n\n[Enter Cecily at the back of the garden.  She picks up the can and begins\nto water the flowers.]  But I must see her before I go, and make\narrangements for another Bunbury.  Ah, there she is.\n\nCecily.  Oh, I merely came back to water the roses.  I thought you were\nwith Uncle Jack.\n\nAlgernon.  He's gone to order the dog-cart for me.\n\nCecily.  Oh, is he going to take you for a nice drive?\n\nAlgernon.  He's going to send me away.\n\nCecily.  Then have we got to part?\n\nAlgernon.  I am afraid so.  It's a very painful parting.\n\nCecily.  It is always painful to part from people whom one has known for\na very brief space of time.  The absence of old friends one can endure\nwith equanimity.  But even a momentary separation from anyone to whom one\nhas just been introduced is almost unbearable.\n\nAlgernon.  Thank you.\n\n[Enter Merriman.]\n\nMerriman.  The dog-cart is at the door, sir.  [Algernon looks appealingly\nat Cecily.]\n\nCecily.  It can wait, Merriman for . . . five minutes.\n\nMerriman.  Yes, Miss.  [Exit Merriman.]\n\nAlgernon.  I hope, Cecily, I shall not offend you if I state quite\nfrankly and openly that you seem to me to be in every way the visible\npersonification of absolute perfection.\n\nCecily.  I think your frankness does you great credit, Ernest.  If you\nwill allow me, I will copy your remarks into my diary.  [Goes over to\ntable and begins writing in diary.]\n\nAlgernon.  Do you really keep a diary?  I'd give anything to look at it.\nMay I?\n\nCecily.  Oh no.  [Puts her hand over it.]  You see, it is simply a very\nyoung girl's record of her own thoughts and impressions, and consequently\nmeant for publication.  When it appears in volume form I hope you will\norder a copy.  But pray, Ernest, don't stop.  I delight in taking down\nfrom dictation.  I have reached 'absolute perfection'.  You can go on.  I\nam quite ready for more.\n\nAlgernon.  [Somewhat taken aback.]  Ahem!  Ahem!\n\nCecily.  Oh, don't cough, Ernest.  When one is dictating one should speak\nfluently and not cough.  Besides, I don't know how to spell a cough.\n[Writes as Algernon speaks.]\n\nAlgernon.  [Speaking very rapidly.]  Cecily, ever since I first looked\nupon your wonderful and incomparable beauty, I have dared to love you\nwildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.\n\nCecily.  I don't think that you should tell me that you love me wildly,\npassionately, devotedly, hopelessly.  Hopelessly doesn't seem to make\nmuch sense, does it?\n\nAlgernon.  Cecily!\n\n[Enter Merriman.]\n\nMerriman.  The dog-cart is waiting, sir.\n\nAlgernon.  Tell it to come round next week, at the same hour.\n\nMerriman.  [Looks at Cecily, who makes no sign.]  Yes, sir.\n\n[Merriman retires.]\n\nCecily.  Uncle Jack would be very much annoyed if he knew you were\nstaying on till next week, at the same hour.\n\nAlgernon.  Oh, I don't care about Jack.  I don't care for anybody in the\nwhole world but you.  I love you, Cecily.  You will marry me, won't you?\n\nCecily.  You silly boy!  Of course.  Why, we have been engaged for the\nlast three months.\n\nAlgernon.  For the last three months?\n\nCecily.  Yes, it will be exactly three months on Thursday.\n\nAlgernon.  But how did we become engaged?\n\nCecily.  Well, ever since dear Uncle Jack first confessed to us that he\nhad a younger brother who was very wicked and bad, you of course have\nformed the chief topic of conversation between myself and Miss Prism.  And\nof course a man who is much talked about is always very attractive.  One\nfeels there must be something in him, after all.  I daresay it was\nfoolish of me, but I fell in love with you, Ernest.\n\nAlgernon.  Darling!  And when was the engagement actually settled?\n\nCecily.  On the 14th of February last.  Worn out by your entire ignorance\nof my existence, I determined to end the matter one way or the other, and\nafter a long struggle with myself I accepted you under this dear old tree\nhere.  The next day I bought this little ring in your name, and this is\nthe little bangle with the true lover's knot I promised you always to\nwear.\n\nAlgernon.  Did I give you this?  It's very pretty, isn't it?\n\nCecily.  Yes, you've wonderfully good taste, Ernest.  It's the excuse\nI've always given for your leading such a bad life.  And this is the box\nin which I keep all your dear letters.  [Kneels at table, opens box, and\nproduces letters tied up with blue ribbon.]\n\nAlgernon.  My letters!  But, my own sweet Cecily, I have never written\nyou any letters.\n\nCecily.  You need hardly remind me of that, Ernest.  I remember only too\nwell that I was forced to write your letters for you.  I wrote always\nthree times a week, and sometimes oftener.\n\nAlgernon.  Oh, do let me read them, Cecily?\n\nCecily.  Oh, I couldn't possibly.  They would make you far too conceited.\n[Replaces box.]  The three you wrote me after I had broken off the\nengagement are so beautiful, and so badly spelled, that even now I can\nhardly read them without crying a little.\n\nAlgernon.  But was our engagement ever broken off?\n\nCecily.  Of course it was.  On the 22nd of last March.  You can see the\nentry if you like. [Shows diary.]  'To-day I broke off my engagement with\nErnest.  I feel it is better to do so.  The weather still continues\ncharming.'\n\nAlgernon.  But why on earth did you break it off?  What had I done?  I\nhad done nothing at all.  Cecily, I am very much hurt indeed to hear you\nbroke it off.  Particularly when the weather was so charming.\n\nCecily.  It would hardly have been a really serious engagement if it\nhadn't been broken off at least once.  But I forgave you before the week\nwas out.\n\nAlgernon.  [Crossing to her, and kneeling.]  What a perfect angel you\nare, Cecily.\n\nCecily.  You dear romantic boy.  [He kisses her, she puts her fingers\nthrough his hair.]  I hope your hair curls naturally, does it?\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, darling, with a little help from others.\n\nCecily.  I am so glad.\n\nAlgernon.  You'll never break off our engagement again, Cecily?\n\nCecily.  I don't think I could break it off now that I have actually met\nyou.  Besides, of course, there is the question of your name.\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, of course.  [Nervously.]\n\nCecily.  You must not laugh at me, darling, but it had always been a\ngirlish dream of mine to love some one whose name was Ernest.  [Algernon\nrises, Cecily also.]  There is something in that name that seems to\ninspire absolute confidence.  I pity any poor married woman whose husband\nis not called Ernest.\n\nAlgernon.  But, my dear child, do you mean to say you could not love me\nif I had some other name?\n\nCecily.  But what name?\n\nAlgernon.  Oh, any name you like--Algernon--for instance . . .\n\nCecily.  But I don't like the name of Algernon.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, my own dear, sweet, loving little darling, I really\ncan't see why you should object to the name of Algernon.  It is not at\nall a bad name.  In fact, it is rather an aristocratic name.  Half of the\nchaps who get into the Bankruptcy Court are called Algernon.  But\nseriously, Cecily . . . [Moving to her] . . . if my name was Algy,\ncouldn't you love me?\n\nCecily.  [Rising.]  I might respect you, Ernest, I might admire your\ncharacter, but I fear that I should not be able to give you my undivided\nattention.\n\nAlgernon.  Ahem!  Cecily!  [Picking up hat.]  Your Rector here is, I\nsuppose, thoroughly experienced in the practice of all the rites and\nceremonials of the Church?\n\nCecily.  Oh, yes.  Dr. Chasuble is a most learned man.  He has never\nwritten a single book, so you can imagine how much he knows.\n\nAlgernon.  I must see him at once on a most important christening--I mean\non most important business.\n\nCecily.  Oh!\n\nAlgernon.  I shan't be away more than half an hour.\n\nCecily.  Considering that we have been engaged since February the 14th,\nand that I only met you to-day for the first time, I think it is rather\nhard that you should leave me for so long a period as half an hour.\nCouldn't you make it twenty minutes?\n\nAlgernon.  I'll be back in no time.\n\n[Kisses her and rushes down the garden.]\n\nCecily.  What an impetuous boy he is!  I like his hair so much.  I must\nenter his proposal in my diary.\n\n[Enter Merriman.]\n\nMerriman.  A Miss Fairfax has just called to see Mr. Worthing.  On very\nimportant business, Miss Fairfax states.\n\nCecily.  Isn't Mr. Worthing in his library?\n\nMerriman.  Mr. Worthing went over in the direction of the Rectory some\ntime ago.\n\nCecily.  Pray ask the lady to come out here; Mr. Worthing is sure to be\nback soon.  And you can bring tea.\n\nMerriman.  Yes, Miss.  [Goes out.]\n\nCecily.  Miss Fairfax!  I suppose one of the many good elderly women who\nare associated with Uncle Jack in some of his philanthropic work in\nLondon.  I don't quite like women who are interested in philanthropic\nwork.  I think it is so forward of them.\n\n[Enter Merriman.]\n\nMerriman.  Miss Fairfax.\n\n[Enter Gwendolen.]\n\n[Exit Merriman.]\n\nCecily.  [Advancing to meet her.]  Pray let me introduce myself to you.\nMy name is Cecily Cardew.\n\nGwendolen.  Cecily Cardew?  [Moving to her and shaking hands.]  What a\nvery sweet name!  Something tells me that we are going to be great\nfriends.  I like you already more than I can say.  My first impressions\nof people are never wrong.\n\nCecily.  How nice of you to like me so much after we have known each\nother such a comparatively short time.  Pray sit down.\n\nGwendolen.  [Still standing up.]  I may call you Cecily, may I not?\n\nCecily.  With pleasure!\n\nGwendolen.  And you will always call me Gwendolen, won't you?\n\nCecily.  If you wish.\n\nGwendolen.  Then that is all quite settled, is it not?\n\nCecily.  I hope so.  [A pause.  They both sit down together.]\n\nGwendolen.  Perhaps this might be a favourable opportunity for my\nmentioning who I am.  My father is Lord Bracknell.  You have never heard\nof papa, I suppose?\n\nCecily.  I don't think so.\n\nGwendolen.  Outside the family circle, papa, I am glad to say, is\nentirely unknown.  I think that is quite as it should be.  The home seems\nto me to be the proper sphere for the man.  And certainly once a man\nbegins to neglect his domestic duties he becomes painfully effeminate,\ndoes he not?  And I don't like that.  It makes men so very attractive.\nCecily, mamma, whose views on education are remarkably strict, has\nbrought me up to be extremely short-sighted; it is part of her system; so\ndo you mind my looking at you through my glasses?\n\nCecily.  Oh! not at all, Gwendolen.  I am very fond of being looked at.\n\nGwendolen.  [After examining Cecily carefully through a lorgnette.]  You\nare here on a short visit, I suppose.\n\nCecily.  Oh no!  I live here.\n\nGwendolen.  [Severely.]  Really?  Your mother, no doubt, or some female\nrelative of advanced years, resides here also?\n\nCecily.  Oh no!  I have no mother, nor, in fact, any relations.\n\nGwendolen.  Indeed?\n\nCecily.  My dear guardian, with the assistance of Miss Prism, has the\narduous task of looking after me.\n\nGwendolen.  Your guardian?\n\nCecily.  Yes, I am Mr. Worthing's ward.\n\nGwendolen.  Oh!  It is strange he never mentioned to me that he had a\nward.  How secretive of him!  He grows more interesting hourly.  I am not\nsure, however, that the news inspires me with feelings of unmixed\ndelight.  [Rising and going to her.]  I am very fond of you, Cecily; I\nhave liked you ever since I met you!  But I am bound to state that now\nthat I know that you are Mr. Worthing's ward, I cannot help expressing a\nwish you were--well, just a little older than you seem to be--and not\nquite so very alluring in appearance.  In fact, if I may speak candidly--\n\nCecily.  Pray do!  I think that whenever one has anything unpleasant to\nsay, one should always be quite candid.\n\nGwendolen.  Well, to speak with perfect candour, Cecily, I wish that you\nwere fully forty-two, and more than usually plain for your age.  Ernest\nhas a strong upright nature.  He is the very soul of truth and honour.\nDisloyalty would be as impossible to him as deception.  But even men of\nthe noblest possible moral character are extremely susceptible to the\ninfluence of the physical charms of others.  Modern, no less than Ancient\nHistory, supplies us with many most painful examples of what I refer to.\nIf it were not so, indeed, History would be quite unreadable.\n\nCecily.  I beg your pardon, Gwendolen, did you say Ernest?\n\nGwendolen.  Yes.\n\nCecily.  Oh, but it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is my guardian.  It is\nhis brother--his elder brother.\n\nGwendolen.  [Sitting down again.]  Ernest never mentioned to me that he\nhad a brother.\n\nCecily.  I am sorry to say they have not been on good terms for a long\ntime.\n\nGwendolen.  Ah! that accounts for it.  And now that I think of it I have\nnever heard any man mention his brother.  The subject seems distasteful\nto most men.  Cecily, you have lifted a load from my mind.  I was growing\nalmost anxious.  It would have been terrible if any cloud had come across\na friendship like ours, would it not?  Of course you are quite, quite\nsure that it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is your guardian?\n\nCecily.  Quite sure.  [A pause.]  In fact, I am going to be his.\n\nGwendolen.  [Inquiringly.]  I beg your pardon?\n\nCecily.  [Rather shy and confidingly.]  Dearest Gwendolen, there is no\nreason why I should make a secret of it to you.  Our little county\nnewspaper is sure to chronicle the fact next week.  Mr. Ernest Worthing\nand I are engaged to be married.\n\nGwendolen.  [Quite politely, rising.]  My darling Cecily, I think there\nmust be some slight error.  Mr. Ernest Worthing is engaged to me.  The\nannouncement will appear in the _Morning Post_ on Saturday at the latest.\n\nCecily.  [Very politely, rising.]  I am afraid you must be under some\nmisconception.  Ernest proposed to me exactly ten minutes ago.  [Shows\ndiary.]\n\nGwendolen.  [Examines diary through her lorgnettte carefully.]  It is\ncertainly very curious, for he asked me to be his wife yesterday\nafternoon at 5.30.  If you would care to verify the incident, pray do so.\n[Produces diary of her own.]  I never travel without my diary.  One\nshould always have something sensational to read in the train.  I am so\nsorry, dear Cecily, if it is any disappointment to you, but I am afraid I\nhave the prior claim.\n\nCecily.  It would distress me more than I can tell you, dear Gwendolen,\nif it caused you any mental or physical anguish, but I feel bound to\npoint out that since Ernest proposed to you he clearly has changed his\nmind.\n\nGwendolen.  [Meditatively.]  If the poor fellow has been entrapped into\nany foolish promise I shall consider it my duty to rescue him at once,\nand with a firm hand.\n\nCecily.  [Thoughtfully and sadly.]  Whatever unfortunate entanglement my\ndear boy may have got into, I will never reproach him with it after we\nare married.\n\nGwendolen.  Do you allude to me, Miss Cardew, as an entanglement?  You\nare presumptuous.  On an occasion of this kind it becomes more than a\nmoral duty to speak one's mind.  It becomes a pleasure.\n\nCecily.  Do you suggest, Miss Fairfax, that I entrapped Ernest into an\nengagement?  How dare you?  This is no time for wearing the shallow mask\nof manners.  When I see a spade I call it a spade.\n\nGwendolen.  [Satirically.]  I am glad to say that I have never seen a\nspade.  It is obvious that our social spheres have been widely different.\n\n[Enter Merriman, followed by the footman.  He carries a salver, table\ncloth, and plate stand.  Cecily is about to retort.  The presence of the\nservants exercises a restraining influence, under which both girls\nchafe.]\n\nMerriman.  Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss?\n\nCecily.  [Sternly, in a calm voice.]  Yes, as usual.  [Merriman begins to\nclear table and lay cloth.  A long pause.  Cecily and Gwendolen glare at\neach other.]\n\nGwendolen.  Are there many interesting walks in the vicinity, Miss\nCardew?\n\nCecily.  Oh! yes! a great many.  From the top of one of the hills quite\nclose one can see five counties.\n\nGwendolen.  Five counties!  I don't think I should like that; I hate\ncrowds.\n\nCecily.  [Sweetly.]  I suppose that is why you live in town?  [Gwendolen\nbites her lip, and beats her foot nervously with her parasol.]\n\nGwendolen.  [Looking round.]  Quite a well-kept garden this is, Miss\nCardew.\n\nCecily.  So glad you like it, Miss Fairfax.\n\nGwendolen.  I had no idea there were any flowers in the country.\n\nCecily.  Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, as people are in\nLondon.\n\nGwendolen.  Personally I cannot understand how anybody manages to exist\nin the country, if anybody who is anybody does.  The country always bores\nme to death.\n\nCecily.  Ah!  This is what the newspapers call agricultural depression,\nis it not?  I believe the aristocracy are suffering very much from it\njust at present.  It is almost an epidemic amongst them, I have been\ntold.  May I offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax?\n\nGwendolen.  [With elaborate politeness.]  Thank you.  [Aside.]  Detestable\ngirl!  But I require tea!\n\nCecily.  [Sweetly.]  Sugar?\n\nGwendolen.  [Superciliously.]  No, thank you.  Sugar is not fashionable\nany more. [Cecily looks angrily at her, takes up the tongs and puts four\nlumps of sugar into the cup.]\n\nCecily.  [Severely.]  Cake or bread and butter?\n\nGwendolen.  [In a bored manner.]  Bread and butter, please.  Cake is\nrarely seen at the best houses nowadays.\n\nCecily.  [Cuts a very large slice of cake, and puts it on the tray.]  Hand\nthat to Miss Fairfax.\n\n[Merriman does so, and goes out with footman.  Gwendolen drinks the tea\nand makes a grimace.  Puts down cup at once, reaches out her hand to the\nbread and butter, looks at it, and finds it is cake.  Rises in\nindignation.]\n\nGwendolen.  You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and though I\nasked most distinctly for bread and butter, you have given me cake.  I am\nknown for the gentleness of my disposition, and the extraordinary\nsweetness of my nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too far.\n\nCecily.  [Rising.]  To save my poor, innocent, trusting boy from the\nmachinations of any other girl there are no lengths to which I would not\ngo.\n\nGwendolen.  From the moment I saw you I distrusted you.  I felt that you\nwere false and deceitful.  I am never deceived in such matters.  My first\nimpressions of people are invariably right.\n\nCecily.  It seems to me, Miss Fairfax, that I am trespassing on your\nvaluable time.  No doubt you have many other calls of a similar character\nto make in the neighbourhood.\n\n[Enter Jack.]\n\nGwendolen.  [Catching sight of him.]  Ernest!  My own Ernest!\n\nJack.  Gwendolen!  Darling!  [Offers to kiss her.]\n\nGwendolen.  [Draws back.]  A moment!  May I ask if you are engaged to be\nmarried to this young lady?  [Points to Cecily.]\n\nJack.  [Laughing.]  To dear little Cecily!  Of course not!  What could\nhave put such an idea into your pretty little head?\n\nGwendolen.  Thank you.  You may!  [Offers her cheek.]\n\nCecily.  [Very sweetly.]  I knew there must be some misunderstanding,\nMiss Fairfax.  The gentleman whose arm is at present round your waist is\nmy guardian, Mr. John Worthing.\n\nGwendolen.  I beg your pardon?\n\nCecily.  This is Uncle Jack.\n\nGwendolen.  [Receding.]  Jack!  Oh!\n\n[Enter Algernon.]\n\nCecily.  Here is Ernest.\n\nAlgernon.  [Goes straight over to Cecily without noticing any one else.]\nMy own love!  [Offers to kiss her.]\n\nCecily.  [Drawing back.]  A moment, Ernest!  May I ask you--are you\nengaged to be married to this young lady?\n\nAlgernon.  [Looking round.]  To what young lady?  Good heavens!\nGwendolen!\n\nCecily.  Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen.\n\nAlgernon.  [Laughing.]  Of course not!  What could have put such an idea\ninto your pretty little head?\n\nCecily.  Thank you.  [Presenting her cheek to be kissed.]  You may.\n[Algernon kisses her.]\n\nGwendolen.  I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew.  The\ngentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon Moncrieff.\n\nCecily.  [Breaking away from Algernon.]  Algernon Moncrieff!  Oh!  [The\ntwo girls move towards each other and put their arms round each other's\nwaists as if for protection.]\n\nCecily.  Are you called Algernon?\n\nAlgernon.  I cannot deny it.\n\nCecily.  Oh!\n\nGwendolen.  Is your name really John?\n\nJack.  [Standing rather proudly.]  I could deny it if I liked.  I could\ndeny anything if I liked.  But my name certainly is John.  It has been\nJohn for years.\n\nCecily.  [To Gwendolen.]  A gross deception has been practised on both of\nus.\n\nGwendolen.  My poor wounded Cecily!\n\nCecily.  My sweet wronged Gwendolen!\n\nGwendolen.  [Slowly and seriously.]  You will call me sister, will you\nnot?  [They embrace.  Jack and Algernon groan and walk up and down.]\n\nCecily.  [Rather brightly.]  There is just one question I would like to\nbe allowed to ask my guardian.\n\nGwendolen.  An admirable idea!  Mr. Worthing, there is just one question\nI would like to be permitted to put to you.  Where is your brother\nErnest?  We are both engaged to be married to your brother Ernest, so it\nis a matter of some importance to us to know where your brother Ernest is\nat present.\n\nJack.  [Slowly and hesitatingly.]  Gwendolen--Cecily--it is very painful\nfor me to be forced to speak the truth.  It is the first time in my life\nthat I have ever been reduced to such a painful position, and I am really\nquite inexperienced in doing anything of the kind.  However, I will tell\nyou quite frankly that I have no brother Ernest.  I have no brother at\nall.  I never had a brother in my life, and I certainly have not the\nsmallest intention of ever having one in the future.\n\nCecily.  [Surprised.]  No brother at all?\n\nJack.  [Cheerily.]  None!\n\nGwendolen.  [Severely.]  Had you never a brother of any kind?\n\nJack.  [Pleasantly.]  Never.  Not even of any kind.\n\nGwendolen.  I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily, that neither of us is\nengaged to be married to any one.\n\nCecily.  It is not a very pleasant position for a young girl suddenly to\nfind herself in.  Is it?\n\nGwendolen.  Let us go into the house.  They will hardly venture to come\nafter us there.\n\nCecily.  No, men are so cowardly, aren't they?\n\n[They retire into the house with scornful looks.]\n\nJack.  This ghastly state of things is what you call Bunburying, I\nsuppose?\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunbury it is.  The most\nwonderful Bunbury I have ever had in my life.\n\nJack.  Well, you've no right whatsoever to Bunbury here.\n\nAlgernon.  That is absurd.  One has a right to Bunbury anywhere one\nchooses.  Every serious Bunburyist knows that.\n\nJack.  Serious Bunburyist!  Good heavens!\n\nAlgernon.  Well, one must be serious about something, if one wants to\nhave any amusement in life.  I happen to be serious about Bunburying.\nWhat on earth you are serious about I haven't got the remotest idea.\nAbout everything, I should fancy.  You have such an absolutely trivial\nnature.\n\nJack.  Well, the only small satisfaction I have in the whole of this\nwretched business is that your friend Bunbury is quite exploded.  You\nwon't be able to run down to the country quite so often as you used to\ndo, dear Algy.  And a very good thing too.\n\nAlgernon.  Your brother is a little off colour, isn't he, dear Jack?  You\nwon't be able to disappear to London quite so frequently as your wicked\ncustom was.  And not a bad thing either.\n\nJack.  As for your conduct towards Miss Cardew, I must say that your\ntaking in a sweet, simple, innocent girl like that is quite inexcusable.\nTo say nothing of the fact that she is my ward.\n\nAlgernon.  I can see no possible defence at all for your deceiving a\nbrilliant, clever, thoroughly experienced young lady like Miss Fairfax.\nTo say nothing of the fact that she is my cousin.\n\nJack.  I wanted to be engaged to Gwendolen, that is all.  I love her.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, I simply wanted to be engaged to Cecily.  I adore her.\n\nJack.  There is certainly no chance of your marrying Miss Cardew.\n\nAlgernon.  I don't think there is much likelihood, Jack, of you and Miss\nFairfax being united.\n\nJack.  Well, that is no business of yours.\n\nAlgernon.  If it was my business, I wouldn't talk about it.  [Begins to\neat muffins.]  It is very vulgar to talk about one's business.  Only\npeople like stock-brokers do that, and then merely at dinner parties.\n\nJack.  How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this\nhorrible trouble, I can't make out.  You seem to me to be perfectly\nheartless.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, I can't eat muffins in an agitated manner.  The butter\nwould probably get on my cuffs.  One should always eat muffins quite\ncalmly.  It is the only way to eat them.\n\nJack.  I say it's perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all, under\nthe circumstances.\n\nAlgernon.  When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that consoles\nme.  Indeed, when I am in really great trouble, as any one who knows me\nintimately will tell you, I refuse everything except food and drink.  At\nthe present moment I am eating muffins because I am unhappy.  Besides, I\nam particularly fond of muffins.  [Rising.]\n\nJack.  [Rising.]  Well, that is no reason why you should eat them all in\nthat greedy way. [Takes muffins from Algernon.]\n\nAlgernon.  [Offering tea-cake.]  I wish you would have tea-cake instead.\nI don't like tea-cake.\n\nJack.  Good heavens!  I suppose a man may eat his own muffins in his own\ngarden.\n\nAlgernon.  But you have just said it was perfectly heartless to eat\nmuffins.\n\nJack.  I said it was perfectly heartless of you, under the circumstances.\nThat is a very different thing.\n\nAlgernon.  That may be.  But the muffins are the same.  [He seizes the\nmuffin-dish from Jack.]\n\nJack.  Algy, I wish to goodness you would go.\n\nAlgernon.  You can't possibly ask me to go without having some dinner.\nIt's absurd.  I never go without my dinner.  No one ever does, except\nvegetarians and people like that.  Besides I have just made arrangements\nwith Dr. Chasuble to be christened at a quarter to six under the name of\nErnest.\n\nJack.  My dear fellow, the sooner you give up that nonsense the better.  I\nmade arrangements this morning with Dr. Chasuble to be christened myself\nat 5.30, and I naturally will take the name of Ernest.  Gwendolen would\nwish it.  We can't both be christened Ernest.  It's absurd.  Besides, I\nhave a perfect right to be christened if I like.  There is no evidence at\nall that I have ever been christened by anybody.  I should think it\nextremely probable I never was, and so does Dr. Chasuble.  It is entirely\ndifferent in your case.  You have been christened already.\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, but I have not been christened for years.\n\nJack.  Yes, but you have been christened.  That is the important thing.\n\nAlgernon.  Quite so.  So I know my constitution can stand it.  If you are\nnot quite sure about your ever having been christened, I must say I think\nit rather dangerous your venturing on it now.  It might make you very\nunwell.  You can hardly have forgotten that some one very closely\nconnected with you was very nearly carried off this week in Paris by a\nsevere chill.\n\nJack.  Yes, but you said yourself that a severe chill was not hereditary.\n\nAlgernon.  It usen't to be, I know--but I daresay it is now.  Science is\nalways making wonderful improvements in things.\n\nJack.  [Picking up the muffin-dish.]  Oh, that is nonsense; you are\nalways talking nonsense.\n\nAlgernon.  Jack, you are at the muffins again!  I wish you wouldn't.\nThere are only two left.  [Takes them.]  I told you I was particularly\nfond of muffins.\n\nJack.  But I hate tea-cake.\n\nAlgernon.  Why on earth then do you allow tea-cake to be served up for\nyour guests?  What ideas you have of hospitality!\n\nJack.  Algernon!  I have already told you to go.  I don't want you here.\nWhy don't you go!\n\nAlgernon.  I haven't quite finished my tea yet! and there is still one\nmuffin left.  [Jack groans, and sinks into a chair.  Algernon still\ncontinues eating.]\n\nACT DROP\n\n\n\n\nTHIRD ACT\n\n\nSCENE\n\n\nMorning-room at the Manor House.\n\n[Gwendolen and Cecily are at the window, looking out into the garden.]\n\nGwendolen.  The fact that they did not follow us at once into the house,\nas any one else would have done, seems to me to show that they have some\nsense of shame left.\n\nCecily.  They have been eating muffins.  That looks like repentance.\n\nGwendolen.  [After a pause.]  They don't seem to notice us at all.\nCouldn't you cough?\n\nCecily.  But I haven't got a cough.\n\nGwendolen.  They're looking at us.  What effrontery!\n\nCecily.  They're approaching.  That's very forward of them.\n\nGwendolen.  Let us preserve a dignified silence.\n\nCecily.  Certainly.  It's the only thing to do now.  [Enter Jack followed\nby Algernon.  They whistle some dreadful popular air from a British\nOpera.]\n\nGwendolen.  This dignified silence seems to produce an unpleasant effect.\n\nCecily.  A most distasteful one.\n\nGwendolen.  But we will not be the first to speak.\n\nCecily.  Certainly not.\n\nGwendolen.  Mr. Worthing, I have something very particular to ask you.\nMuch depends on your reply.\n\nCecily.  Gwendolen, your common sense is invaluable.  Mr. Moncrieff,\nkindly answer me the following question.  Why did you pretend to be my\nguardian's brother?\n\nAlgernon.  In order that I might have an opportunity of meeting you.\n\nCecily.  [To Gwendolen.]  That certainly seems a satisfactory\nexplanation, does it not?\n\nGwendolen.  Yes, dear, if you can believe him.\n\nCecily.  I don't.  But that does not affect the wonderful beauty of his\nanswer.\n\nGwendolen.  True.  In matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity\nis the vital thing.  Mr. Worthing, what explanation can you offer to me\nfor pretending to have a brother?  Was it in order that you might have an\nopportunity of coming up to town to see me as often as possible?\n\nJack.  Can you doubt it, Miss Fairfax?\n\nGwendolen.  I have the gravest doubts upon the subject.  But I intend to\ncrush them.  This is not the moment for German scepticism.  [Moving to\nCecily.]  Their explanations appear to be quite satisfactory, especially\nMr. Worthing's.  That seems to me to have the stamp of truth upon it.\n\nCecily.  I am more than content with what Mr. Moncrieff said.  His voice\nalone inspires one with absolute credulity.\n\nGwendolen.  Then you think we should forgive them?\n\nCecily.  Yes.  I mean no.\n\nGwendolen.  True!  I had forgotten.  There are principles at stake that\none cannot surrender.  Which of us should tell them?  The task is not a\npleasant one.\n\nCecily.  Could we not both speak at the same time?\n\nGwendolen.  An excellent idea!  I nearly always speak at the same time as\nother people.  Will you take the time from me?\n\nCecily.  Certainly.  [Gwendolen beats time with uplifted finger.]\n\nGwendolen and Cecily [Speaking together.]  Your Christian names are still\nan insuperable barrier.  That is all!\n\nJack and Algernon [Speaking together.]  Our Christian names!  Is that\nall?  But we are going to be christened this afternoon.\n\nGwendolen.  [To Jack.]  For my sake you are prepared to do this terrible\nthing?\n\nJack.  I am.\n\nCecily.  [To Algernon.]  To please me you are ready to face this fearful\nordeal?\n\nAlgernon.  I am!\n\nGwendolen.  How absurd to talk of the equality of the sexes!  Where\nquestions of self-sacrifice are concerned, men are infinitely beyond us.\n\nJack.  We are.  [Clasps hands with Algernon.]\n\nCecily.  They have moments of physical courage of which we women know\nabsolutely nothing.\n\nGwendolen.  [To Jack.]  Darling!\n\nAlgernon.  [To Cecily.]  Darling!  [They fall into each other's arms.]\n\n[Enter Merriman.  When he enters he coughs loudly, seeing the situation.]\n\nMerriman.  Ahem!  Ahem!  Lady Bracknell!\n\nJack.  Good heavens!\n\n[Enter Lady Bracknell.  The couples separate in alarm.  Exit Merriman.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  Gwendolen!  What does this mean?\n\nGwendolen.  Merely that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Worthing,\nmamma.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Come here.  Sit down.  Sit down immediately.  Hesitation\nof any kind is a sign of mental decay in the young, of physical weakness\nin the old.  [Turns to Jack.]  Apprised, sir, of my daughter's sudden\nflight by her trusty maid, whose confidence I purchased by means of a\nsmall coin, I followed her at once by a luggage train.  Her unhappy\nfather is, I am glad to say, under the impression that she is attending a\nmore than usually lengthy lecture by the University Extension Scheme on\nthe Influence of a permanent income on Thought.  I do not propose to\nundeceive him.  Indeed I have never undeceived him on any question.  I\nwould consider it wrong.  But of course, you will clearly understand that\nall communication between yourself and my daughter must cease immediately\nfrom this moment.  On this point, as indeed on all points, I am firm.\n\nJack.  I am engaged to be married to Gwendolen Lady Bracknell!\n\nLady Bracknell.  You are nothing of the kind, sir.  And now, as regards\nAlgernon! . . . Algernon!\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, Aunt Augusta.\n\nLady Bracknell.  May I ask if it is in this house that your invalid\nfriend Mr. Bunbury resides?\n\nAlgernon.  [Stammering.]  Oh!  No!  Bunbury doesn't live here.  Bunbury\nis somewhere else at present.  In fact, Bunbury is dead.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Dead!  When did Mr. Bunbury die?  His death must have\nbeen extremely sudden.\n\nAlgernon.  [Airily.]  Oh!  I killed Bunbury this afternoon.  I mean poor\nBunbury died this afternoon.\n\nLady Bracknell.  What did he die of?\n\nAlgernon.  Bunbury?  Oh, he was quite exploded.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Exploded!  Was he the victim of a revolutionary outrage?\nI was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in social legislation.  If\nso, he is well punished for his morbidity.\n\nAlgernon.  My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out!  The doctors\nfound out that Bunbury could not live, that is what I mean--so Bunbury\ndied.\n\nLady Bracknell.  He seems to have had great confidence in the opinion of\nhis physicians.  I am glad, however, that he made up his mind at the last\nto some definite course of action, and acted under proper medical advice.\nAnd now that we have finally got rid of this Mr. Bunbury, may I ask, Mr.\nWorthing, who is that young person whose hand my nephew Algernon is now\nholding in what seems to me a peculiarly unnecessary manner?\n\nJack.  That lady is Miss Cecily Cardew, my ward.  [Lady Bracknell bows\ncoldly to Cecily.]\n\nAlgernon.  I am engaged to be married to Cecily, Aunt Augusta.\n\nLady Bracknell.  I beg your pardon?\n\nCecily.  Mr. Moncrieff and I are engaged to be married, Lady Bracknell.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [With a shiver, crossing to the sofa and sitting down.]\nI do not know whether there is anything peculiarly exciting in the air of\nthis particular part of Hertfordshire, but the number of engagements that\ngo on seems to me considerably above the proper average that statistics\nhave laid down for our guidance.  I think some preliminary inquiry on my\npart would not be out of place.  Mr. Worthing, is Miss Cardew at all\nconnected with any of the larger railway stations in London?  I merely\ndesire information.  Until yesterday I had no idea that there were any\nfamilies or persons whose origin was a Terminus.  [Jack looks perfectly\nfurious, but restrains himself.]\n\nJack.  [In a clear, cold voice.]  Miss Cardew is the grand-daughter of\nthe late Mr. Thomas Cardew of 149 Belgrave Square, S.W.; Gervase Park,\nDorking, Surrey; and the Sporran, Fifeshire, N.B.\n\nLady Bracknell.  That sounds not unsatisfactory.  Three addresses always\ninspire confidence, even in tradesmen.  But what proof have I of their\nauthenticity?\n\nJack.  I have carefully preserved the Court Guides of the period.  They\nare open to your inspection, Lady Bracknell.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Grimly.]  I have known strange errors in that\npublication.\n\nJack.  Miss Cardew's family solicitors are Messrs. Markby, Markby, and\nMarkby.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Markby, Markby, and Markby?  A firm of the very highest\nposition in their profession.  Indeed I am told that one of the Mr.\nMarkby's is occasionally to be seen at dinner parties.  So far I am\nsatisfied.\n\nJack.  [Very irritably.]  How extremely kind of you, Lady Bracknell!  I\nhave also in my possession, you will be pleased to hear, certificates of\nMiss Cardew's birth, baptism, whooping cough, registration, vaccination,\nconfirmation, and the measles; both the German and the English variety.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Ah! A life crowded with incident, I see; though perhaps\nsomewhat too exciting for a young girl.  I am not myself in favour of\npremature experiences.  [Rises, looks at her watch.]  Gwendolen! the time\napproaches for our departure.  We have not a moment to lose.  As a matter\nof form, Mr. Worthing, I had better ask you if Miss Cardew has any little\nfortune?\n\nJack.  Oh! about a hundred and thirty thousand pounds in the Funds.  That\nis all.  Goodbye, Lady Bracknell.  So pleased to have seen you.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Sitting down again.]  A moment, Mr. Worthing.  A\nhundred and thirty thousand pounds!  And in the Funds!  Miss Cardew seems\nto me a most attractive young lady, now that I look at her.  Few girls of\nthe present day have any really solid qualities, any of the qualities\nthat last, and improve with time.  We live, I regret to say, in an age of\nsurfaces.  [To Cecily.]  Come over here, dear.  [Cecily goes across.]\nPretty child! your dress is sadly simple, and your hair seems almost as\nNature might have left it.  But we can soon alter all that.  A thoroughly\nexperienced French maid produces a really marvellous result in a very\nbrief space of time.  I remember recommending one to young Lady Lancing,\nand after three months her own husband did not know her.\n\nJack.  And after six months nobody knew her.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Glares at Jack for a few moments.  Then bends, with a\npractised smile, to Cecily.]  Kindly turn round, sweet child.  [Cecily\nturns completely round.]  No, the side view is what I want.  [Cecily\npresents her profile.]  Yes, quite as I expected.  There are distinct\nsocial possibilities in your profile.  The two weak points in our age are\nits want of principle and its want of profile.  The chin a little higher,\ndear.  Style largely depends on the way the chin is worn.  They are worn\nvery high, just at present.  Algernon!\n\nAlgernon.  Yes, Aunt Augusta!\n\nLady Bracknell.  There are distinct social possibilities in Miss Cardew's\nprofile.\n\nAlgernon.  Cecily is the sweetest, dearest, prettiest girl in the whole\nworld.  And I don't care twopence about social possibilities.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Never speak disrespectfully of Society, Algernon.  Only\npeople who can't get into it do that.  [To Cecily.]  Dear child, of\ncourse you know that Algernon has nothing but his debts to depend upon.\nBut I do not approve of mercenary marriages.  When I married Lord\nBracknell I had no fortune of any kind.  But I never dreamed for a moment\nof allowing that to stand in my way.  Well, I suppose I must give my\nconsent.\n\nAlgernon.  Thank you, Aunt Augusta.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Cecily, you may kiss me!\n\nCecily.  [Kisses her.]  Thank you, Lady Bracknell.\n\nLady Bracknell.  You may also address me as Aunt Augusta for the future.\n\nCecily.  Thank you, Aunt Augusta.\n\nLady Bracknell.  The marriage, I think, had better take place quite soon.\n\nAlgernon.  Thank you, Aunt Augusta.\n\nCecily.  Thank you, Aunt Augusta.\n\nLady Bracknell.  To speak frankly, I am not in favour of long\nengagements.  They give people the opportunity of finding out each\nother's character before marriage, which I think is never advisable.\n\nJack.  I beg your pardon for interrupting you, Lady Bracknell, but this\nengagement is quite out of the question.  I am Miss Cardew's guardian,\nand she cannot marry without my consent until she comes of age.  That\nconsent I absolutely decline to give.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Upon what grounds may I ask?  Algernon is an extremely,\nI may almost say an ostentatiously, eligible young man.  He has nothing,\nbut he looks everything.  What more can one desire?\n\nJack.  It pains me very much to have to speak frankly to you, Lady\nBracknell, about your nephew, but the fact is that I do not approve at\nall of his moral character.  I suspect him of being untruthful.  [Algernon\nand Cecily look at him in indignant amazement.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  Untruthful!  My nephew Algernon?  Impossible!  He is an\nOxonian.\n\nJack.  I fear there can be no possible doubt about the matter.  This\nafternoon during my temporary absence in London on an important question\nof romance, he obtained admission to my house by means of the false\npretence of being my brother.  Under an assumed name he drank, I've just\nbeen informed by my butler, an entire pint bottle of my Perrier-Jouet,\nBrut, '89; wine I was specially reserving for myself.  Continuing his\ndisgraceful deception, he succeeded in the course of the afternoon in\nalienating the affections of my only ward.  He subsequently stayed to\ntea, and devoured every single muffin.  And what makes his conduct all\nthe more heartless is, that he was perfectly well aware from the first\nthat I have no brother, that I never had a brother, and that I don't\nintend to have a brother, not even of any kind.  I distinctly told him so\nmyself yesterday afternoon.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Ahem!  Mr. Worthing, after careful consideration I have\ndecided entirely to overlook my nephew's conduct to you.\n\nJack.  That is very generous of you, Lady Bracknell.  My own decision,\nhowever, is unalterable.  I decline to give my consent.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [To Cecily.]  Come here, sweet child.  [Cecily goes\nover.]  How old are you, dear?\n\nCecily.  Well, I am really only eighteen, but I always admit to twenty\nwhen I go to evening parties.\n\nLady Bracknell.  You are perfectly right in making some slight\nalteration.  Indeed, no woman should ever be quite accurate about her\nage.  It looks so calculating . . . [In a meditative manner.]  Eighteen,\nbut admitting to twenty at evening parties.  Well, it will not be very\nlong before you are of age and free from the restraints of tutelage.  So\nI don't think your guardian's consent is, after all, a matter of any\nimportance.\n\nJack.  Pray excuse me, Lady Bracknell, for interrupting you again, but it\nis only fair to tell you that according to the terms of her grandfather's\nwill Miss Cardew does not come legally of age till she is thirty-five.\n\nLady Bracknell.  That does not seem to me to be a grave objection.  Thirty-\nfive is a very attractive age.  London society is full of women of the\nvery highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-\nfive for years.  Lady Dumbleton is an instance in point.  To my own\nknowledge she has been thirty-five ever since she arrived at the age of\nforty, which was many years ago now.  I see no reason why our dear Cecily\nshould not be even still more attractive at the age you mention than she\nis at present.  There will be a large accumulation of property.\n\nCecily.  Algy, could you wait for me till I was thirty-five?\n\nAlgernon.  Of course I could, Cecily.  You know I could.\n\nCecily.  Yes, I felt it instinctively, but I couldn't wait all that time.\nI hate waiting even five minutes for anybody.  It always makes me rather\ncross.  I am not punctual myself, I know, but I do like punctuality in\nothers, and waiting, even to be married, is quite out of the question.\n\nAlgernon.  Then what is to be done, Cecily?\n\nCecily.  I don't know, Mr. Moncrieff.\n\nLady Bracknell.  My dear Mr. Worthing, as Miss Cardew states positively\nthat she cannot wait till she is thirty-five--a remark which I am bound\nto say seems to me to show a somewhat impatient nature--I would beg of\nyou to reconsider your decision.\n\nJack.  But my dear Lady Bracknell, the matter is entirely in your own\nhands.  The moment you consent to my marriage with Gwendolen, I will most\ngladly allow your nephew to form an alliance with my ward.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Rising and drawing herself up.]  You must be quite\naware that what you propose is out of the question.\n\nJack.  Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward\nto.\n\nLady Bracknell.  That is not the destiny I propose for Gwendolen.\nAlgernon, of course, can choose for himself.  [Pulls out her watch.]\nCome, dear, [Gwendolen rises] we have already missed five, if not six,\ntrains.  To miss any more might expose us to comment on the platform.\n\n[Enter Dr. Chasuble.]\n\nChasuble.  Everything is quite ready for the christenings.\n\nLady Bracknell.  The christenings, sir!  Is not that somewhat premature?\n\nChasuble.  [Looking rather puzzled, and pointing to Jack and Algernon.]\nBoth these gentlemen have expressed a desire for immediate baptism.\n\nLady Bracknell.  At their age?  The idea is grotesque and irreligious!\nAlgernon, I forbid you to be baptized.  I will not hear of such excesses.\nLord Bracknell would be highly displeased if he learned that that was the\nway in which you wasted your time and money.\n\nChasuble.  Am I to understand then that there are to be no christenings\nat all this afternoon?\n\nJack.  I don't think that, as things are now, it would be of much\npractical value to either of us, Dr. Chasuble.\n\nChasuble.  I am grieved to hear such sentiments from you, Mr. Worthing.\nThey savour of the heretical views of the Anabaptists, views that I have\ncompletely refuted in four of my unpublished sermons.  However, as your\npresent mood seems to be one peculiarly secular, I will return to the\nchurch at once.  Indeed, I have just been informed by the pew-opener that\nfor the last hour and a half Miss Prism has been waiting for me in the\nvestry.\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Starting.]  Miss Prism!  Did I hear you mention a Miss\nPrism?\n\nChasuble.  Yes, Lady Bracknell.  I am on my way to join her.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Pray allow me to detain you for a moment.  This matter\nmay prove to be one of vital importance to Lord Bracknell and myself.  Is\nthis Miss Prism a female of repellent aspect, remotely connected with\neducation?\n\nChasuble.  [Somewhat indignantly.]  She is the most cultivated of ladies,\nand the very picture of respectability.\n\nLady Bracknell.  It is obviously the same person.  May I ask what\nposition she holds in your household?\n\nChasuble.  [Severely.]  I am a celibate, madam.\n\nJack.  [Interposing.]  Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell, has been for the last\nthree years Miss Cardew's esteemed governess and valued companion.\n\nLady Bracknell.  In spite of what I hear of her, I must see her at once.\nLet her be sent for.\n\nChasuble.  [Looking off.]  She approaches; she is nigh.\n\n[Enter Miss Prism hurriedly.]\n\nMiss Prism.  I was told you expected me in the vestry, dear Canon.  I\nhave been waiting for you there for an hour and three-quarters.  [Catches\nsight of Lady Bracknell, who has fixed her with a stony glare.  Miss\nPrism grows pale and quails.  She looks anxiously round as if desirous to\nescape.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  [In a severe, judicial voice.]  Prism!  [Miss Prism bows\nher head in shame.]  Come here, Prism!  [Miss Prism approaches in a\nhumble manner.]  Prism!  Where is that baby?  [General consternation.  The\nCanon starts back in horror.  Algernon and Jack pretend to be anxious to\nshield Cecily and Gwendolen from hearing the details of a terrible public\nscandal.]  Twenty-eight years ago, Prism, you left Lord Bracknell's\nhouse, Number 104, Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge of a perambulator\nthat contained a baby of the male sex.  You never returned.  A few weeks\nlater, through the elaborate investigations of the Metropolitan police,\nthe perambulator was discovered at midnight, standing by itself in a\nremote corner of Bayswater.  It contained the manuscript of a\nthree-volume novel of more than usually revolting sentimentality.  [Miss\nPrism starts in involuntary indignation.]  But the baby was not there!\n[Every one looks at Miss Prism.]  Prism!  Where is that baby?  [A pause.]\n\nMiss Prism.  Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame that I do not know.  I\nonly wish I did.  The plain facts of the case are these.  On the morning\nof the day you mention, a day that is for ever branded on my memory, I\nprepared as usual to take the baby out in its perambulator.  I had also\nwith me a somewhat old, but capacious hand-bag in which I had intended to\nplace the manuscript of a work of fiction that I had written during my\nfew unoccupied hours.  In a moment of mental abstraction, for which I\nnever can forgive myself, I deposited the manuscript in the basinette,\nand placed the baby in the hand-bag.\n\nJack.  [Who has been listening attentively.]  But where did you deposit\nthe hand-bag?\n\nMiss Prism.  Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.\n\nJack.  Miss Prism, this is a matter of no small importance to me.  I\ninsist on knowing where you deposited the hand-bag that contained that\ninfant.\n\nMiss Prism.  I left it in the cloak-room of one of the larger railway\nstations in London.\n\nJack.  What railway station?\n\nMiss Prism.  [Quite crushed.]  Victoria.  The Brighton line.  [Sinks into\na chair.]\n\nJack.  I must retire to my room for a moment.  Gwendolen, wait here for\nme.\n\nGwendolen.  If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my\nlife.  [Exit Jack in great excitement.]\n\nChasuble.  What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?\n\nLady Bracknell.  I dare not even suspect, Dr. Chasuble.  I need hardly\ntell you that in families of high position strange coincidences are not\nsupposed to occur.  They are hardly considered the thing.\n\n[Noises heard overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about.  Every\none looks up.]\n\nCecily.  Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated.\n\nChasuble.  Your guardian has a very emotional nature.\n\nLady Bracknell.  This noise is extremely unpleasant.  It sounds as if he\nwas having an argument.  I dislike arguments of any kind.  They are\nalways vulgar, and often convincing.\n\nChasuble.  [Looking up.]  It has stopped now.  [The noise is redoubled.]\n\nLady Bracknell.  I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.\n\nGwendolen.  This suspense is terrible.  I hope it will last.  [Enter Jack\nwith a hand-bag of black leather in his hand.]\n\nJack.  [Rushing over to Miss Prism.]  Is this the hand-bag, Miss Prism?\nExamine it carefully before you speak.  The happiness of more than one\nlife depends on your answer.\n\nMiss Prism.  [Calmly.]  It seems to be mine.  Yes, here is the injury it\nreceived through the upsetting of a Gower Street omnibus in younger and\nhappier days.  Here is the stain on the lining caused by the explosion of\na temperance beverage, an incident that occurred at Leamington.  And\nhere, on the lock, are my initials.  I had forgotten that in an\nextravagant mood I had had them placed there.  The bag is undoubtedly\nmine.  I am delighted to have it so unexpectedly restored to me.  It has\nbeen a great inconvenience being without it all these years.\n\nJack.  [In a pathetic voice.]  Miss Prism, more is restored to you than\nthis hand-bag.  I was the baby you placed in it.\n\nMiss Prism.  [Amazed.]  You?\n\nJack.  [Embracing her.]  Yes . . . mother!\n\nMiss Prism.  [Recoiling in indignant astonishment.]  Mr. Worthing!  I am\nunmarried!\n\nJack.  Unmarried!  I do not deny that is a serious blow.  But after all,\nwho has the right to cast a stone against one who has suffered?  Cannot\nrepentance wipe out an act of folly?  Why should there be one law for\nmen, and another for women?  Mother, I forgive you.  [Tries to embrace\nher again.]\n\nMiss Prism.  [Still more indignant.]  Mr. Worthing, there is some error.\n[Pointing to Lady Bracknell.]  There is the lady who can tell you who you\nreally are.\n\nJack.  [After a pause.]  Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem inquisitive, but\nwould you kindly inform me who I am?\n\nLady Bracknell.  I am afraid that the news I have to give you will not\naltogether please you.  You are the son of my poor sister, Mrs.\nMoncrieff, and consequently Algernon's elder brother.\n\nJack.  Algy's elder brother!  Then I have a brother after all.  I knew I\nhad a brother!  I always said I had a brother!  Cecily,--how could you\nhave ever doubted that I had a brother?  [Seizes hold of Algernon.]  Dr.\nChasuble, my unfortunate brother.  Miss Prism, my unfortunate brother.\nGwendolen, my unfortunate brother.  Algy, you young scoundrel, you will\nhave to treat me with more respect in the future.  You have never behaved\nto me like a brother in all your life.\n\nAlgernon.  Well, not till to-day, old boy, I admit.  I did my best,\nhowever, though I was out of practice.\n\n[Shakes hands.]\n\nGwendolen.  [To Jack.]  My own!  But what own are you?  What is your\nChristian name, now that you have become some one else?\n\nJack.  Good heavens! . . . I had quite forgotten that point.  Your\ndecision on the subject of my name is irrevocable, I suppose?\n\nGwendolen.  I never change, except in my affections.\n\nCecily.  What a noble nature you have, Gwendolen!\n\nJack.  Then the question had better be cleared up at once.  Aunt Augusta,\na moment.  At the time when Miss Prism left me in the hand-bag, had I\nbeen christened already?\n\nLady Bracknell.  Every luxury that money could buy, including\nchristening, had been lavished on you by your fond and doting parents.\n\nJack.  Then I was christened!  That is settled.  Now, what name was I\ngiven?  Let me know the worst.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Being the eldest son you were naturally christened after\nyour father.\n\nJack.  [Irritably.]  Yes, but what was my father's Christian name?\n\nLady Bracknell.  [Meditatively.]  I cannot at the present moment recall\nwhat the General's Christian name was.  But I have no doubt he had one.\nHe was eccentric, I admit.  But only in later years.  And that was the\nresult of the Indian climate, and marriage, and indigestion, and other\nthings of that kind.\n\nJack.  Algy!  Can't you recollect what our father's Christian name was?\n\nAlgernon.  My dear boy, we were never even on speaking terms.  He died\nbefore I was a year old.\n\nJack.  His name would appear in the Army Lists of the period, I suppose,\nAunt Augusta?\n\nLady Bracknell.  The General was essentially a man of peace, except in\nhis domestic life.  But I have no doubt his name would appear in any\nmilitary directory.\n\nJack.  The Army Lists of the last forty years are here.  These delightful\nrecords should have been my constant study.  [Rushes to bookcase and\ntears the books out.]  M. Generals . . . Mallam, Maxbohm, Magley, what\nghastly names they have--Markby, Migsby, Mobbs, Moncrieff!  Lieutenant\n1840, Captain, Lieutenant-Colonel, Colonel, General 1869, Christian\nnames, Ernest John.  [Puts book very quietly down and speaks quite\ncalmly.]  I always told you, Gwendolen, my name was Ernest, didn't I?\nWell, it is Ernest after all.  I mean it naturally is Ernest.\n\nLady Bracknell.  Yes, I remember now that the General was called Ernest,\nI knew I had some particular reason for disliking the name.\n\nGwendolen.  Ernest!  My own Ernest!  I felt from the first that you could\nhave no other name!\n\nJack.  Gwendolen, it is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly\nthat all his life he has been speaking nothing but the truth.  Can you\nforgive me?\n\nGwendolen.  I can.  For I feel that you are sure to change.\n\nJack.  My own one!\n\nChasuble.  [To Miss Prism.]  Laetitia!  [Embraces her]\n\nMiss Prism.  [Enthusiastically.]  Frederick!  At last!\n\nAlgernon.  Cecily!  [Embraces her.]  At last!\n\nJack.  Gwendolen!  [Embraces her.]  At last!\n\nLady Bracknell.  My nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of\ntriviality.\n\nJack.  On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I've now realised for the first\ntime in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.\n\nTABLEAU\n\n\n\n***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST***\n\n\n******* This file should be named 844.txt or 844.zip *******\n\n\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\nhttp://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/4/844\n\n\n\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\nwill be renamed.\n\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  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  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/pg-dorian_gray.txt",
    "content": "The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde\n\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net\n\n\nTitle: The Picture of Dorian Gray\n\nAuthor: Oscar Wilde\n\nRelease Date: June 9, 2008 [EBook #174]\n[This file last updated on July 2, 2011]\n[This file last updated on July 23, 2014]\n\n\nLanguage: English\n\n\n*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY ***\n\n\n\n\nProduced by Judith Boss.  HTML version by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Picture of Dorian Gray\n\nby\n\nOscar Wilde\n\n\n\n\nTHE PREFACE\n\nThe artist is the creator of beautiful things.  To reveal art and\nconceal the artist is art's aim.  The critic is he who can translate\ninto another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful\nthings.\n\nThe highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.\nThose who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without\nbeing charming.  This is a fault.\n\nThose who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the\ncultivated.  For these there is hope.  They are the elect to whom\nbeautiful things mean only beauty.\n\nThere is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.  Books are well\nwritten, or badly written.  That is all.\n\nThe nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing\nhis own face in a glass.\n\nThe nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban\nnot seeing his own face in a glass.  The moral life of man forms part\nof the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists\nin the perfect use of an imperfect medium.  No artist desires to prove\nanything.  Even things that are true can be proved.  No artist has\nethical sympathies.  An ethical sympathy in an artist is an\nunpardonable mannerism of style.  No artist is ever morbid.  The artist\ncan express everything.  Thought and language are to the artist\ninstruments of an art.  Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for\nan art.  From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is\nthe art of the musician.  From the point of view of feeling, the\nactor's craft is the type.  All art is at once surface and symbol.\nThose who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.  Those who read\nthe symbol do so at their peril.  It is the spectator, and not life,\nthat art really mirrors.  Diversity of opinion about a work of art\nshows that the work is new, complex, and vital.  When critics disagree,\nthe artist is in accord with himself.  We can forgive a man for making\na useful thing as long as he does not admire it.  The only excuse for\nmaking a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.\n\n               All art is quite useless.\n\n                            OSCAR WILDE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 1\n\nThe studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light\nsummer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through\nthe open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate\nperfume of the pink-flowering thorn.\n\nFrom the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was\nlying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry\nWotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured\nblossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to\nbear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then\nthe fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long\ntussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window,\nproducing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of\nthose pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of\nan art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of\nswiftness and motion.  The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their\nway through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous\ninsistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine,\nseemed to make the stillness more oppressive.  The dim roar of London\nwas like the bourdon note of a distant organ.\n\nIn the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the\nfull-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty,\nand in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist\nhimself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago\ncaused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many\nstrange conjectures.\n\nAs the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so\nskilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his\nface, and seemed about to linger there.  But he suddenly started up,\nand closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he\nsought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he\nfeared he might awake.\n\n\"It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done,\" said\nLord Henry languidly.  \"You must certainly send it next year to the\nGrosvenor.  The Academy is too large and too vulgar.  Whenever I have\ngone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been\nable to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that\nI have not been able to see the people, which was worse.  The Grosvenor\nis really the only place.\"\n\n\"I don't think I shall send it anywhere,\" he answered, tossing his head\nback in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at\nOxford.  \"No, I won't send it anywhere.\"\n\nLord Henry elevated his eyebrows and looked at him in amazement through\nthe thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls\nfrom his heavy, opium-tainted cigarette.  \"Not send it anywhere?  My\ndear fellow, why?  Have you any reason?  What odd chaps you painters\nare!  You do anything in the world to gain a reputation.  As soon as\nyou have one, you seem to want to throw it away.  It is silly of you,\nfor there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about,\nand that is not being talked about.  A portrait like this would set you\nfar above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite\njealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion.\"\n\n\"I know you will laugh at me,\" he replied, \"but I really can't exhibit\nit.  I have put too much of myself into it.\"\n\nLord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed.\n\n\"Yes, I knew you would; but it is quite true, all the same.\"\n\n\"Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn't know you\nwere so vain; and I really can't see any resemblance between you, with\nyour rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young\nAdonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves. Why,\nmy dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you--well, of course you have an\nintellectual expression and all that.  But beauty, real beauty, ends\nwhere an intellectual expression begins.  Intellect is in itself a mode\nof exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face.  The moment one\nsits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something\nhorrid.  Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions.\nHow perfectly hideous they are!  Except, of course, in the Church.  But\nthen in the Church they don't think.  A bishop keeps on saying at the\nage of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen,\nand as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful.\nYour mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but\nwhose picture really fascinates me, never thinks.  I feel quite sure of\nthat.  He is some brainless beautiful creature who should be always\nhere in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in\nsummer when we want something to chill our intelligence.  Don't flatter\nyourself, Basil:  you are not in the least like him.\"\n\n\"You don't understand me, Harry,\" answered the artist.  \"Of course I am\nnot like him.  I know that perfectly well.  Indeed, I should be sorry\nto look like him.  You shrug your shoulders?  I am telling you the\ntruth.  There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual\ndistinction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the\nfaltering steps of kings.  It is better not to be different from one's\nfellows.  The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world.\nThey can sit at their ease and gape at the play.  If they know nothing\nof victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat.  They\nlive as we all should live--undisturbed, indifferent, and without\ndisquiet.  They neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it\nfrom alien hands.  Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they\nare--my art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray's good looks--we\nshall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.\"\n\n\"Dorian Gray?  Is that his name?\" asked Lord Henry, walking across the\nstudio towards Basil Hallward.\n\n\"Yes, that is his name.  I didn't intend to tell it to you.\"\n\n\"But why not?\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't explain.  When I like people immensely, I never tell their\nnames to any one.  It is like surrendering a part of them.  I have\ngrown to love secrecy.  It seems to be the one thing that can make\nmodern life mysterious or marvellous to us.  The commonest thing is\ndelightful if one only hides it.  When I leave town now I never tell my\npeople where I am going.  If I did, I would lose all my pleasure.  It\nis a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great\ndeal of romance into one's life.  I suppose you think me awfully\nfoolish about it?\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" answered Lord Henry, \"not at all, my dear Basil.  You\nseem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of marriage is that\nit makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.  I\nnever know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing.\nWhen we meet--we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go\ndown to the Duke's--we tell each other the most absurd stories with the\nmost serious faces.  My wife is very good at it--much better, in fact,\nthan I am.  She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do.\nBut when she does find me out, she makes no row at all.  I sometimes\nwish she would; but she merely laughs at me.\"\n\n\"I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry,\" said Basil\nHallward, strolling towards the door that led into the garden.  \"I\nbelieve that you are really a very good husband, but that you are\nthoroughly ashamed of your own virtues.  You are an extraordinary\nfellow.  You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing.\nYour cynicism is simply a pose.\"\n\n\"Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know,\"\ncried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men went out into the\ngarden together and ensconced themselves on a long bamboo seat that\nstood in the shade of a tall laurel bush.  The sunlight slipped over\nthe polished leaves.  In the grass, white daisies were tremulous.\n\nAfter a pause, Lord Henry pulled out his watch.  \"I am afraid I must be\ngoing, Basil,\" he murmured, \"and before I go, I insist on your\nanswering a question I put to you some time ago.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" said the painter, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.\n\n\"You know quite well.\"\n\n\"I do not, Harry.\"\n\n\"Well, I will tell you what it is.  I want you to explain to me why you\nwon't exhibit Dorian Gray's picture.  I want the real reason.\"\n\n\"I told you the real reason.\"\n\n\"No, you did not.  You said it was because there was too much of\nyourself in it.  Now, that is childish.\"\n\n\"Harry,\" said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, \"every\nportrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not\nof the sitter.  The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion.  It is\nnot he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on\nthe coloured canvas, reveals himself.  The reason I will not exhibit\nthis picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of\nmy own soul.\"\n\nLord Henry laughed.  \"And what is that?\" he asked.\n\n\"I will tell you,\" said Hallward; but an expression of perplexity came\nover his face.\n\n\"I am all expectation, Basil,\" continued his companion, glancing at him.\n\n\"Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry,\" answered the painter;\n\"and I am afraid you will hardly understand it.  Perhaps you will\nhardly believe it.\"\n\nLord Henry smiled, and leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy from\nthe grass and examined it.  \"I am quite sure I shall understand it,\" he\nreplied, gazing intently at the little golden, white-feathered disk,\n\"and as for believing things, I can believe anything, provided that it\nis quite incredible.\"\n\nThe wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy\nlilac-blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro in the\nlanguid air.  A grasshopper began to chirrup by the wall, and like a\nblue thread a long thin dragon-fly floated past on its brown gauze\nwings.  Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward's heart\nbeating, and wondered what was coming.\n\n\"The story is simply this,\" said the painter after some time.  \"Two\nmonths ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon's. You know we poor\nartists have to show ourselves in society from time to time, just to\nremind the public that we are not savages.  With an evening coat and a\nwhite tie, as you told me once, anybody, even a stock-broker, can gain\na reputation for being civilized.  Well, after I had been in the room\nabout ten minutes, talking to huge overdressed dowagers and tedious\nacademicians, I suddenly became conscious that some one was looking at\nme.  I turned half-way round and saw Dorian Gray for the first time.\nWhen our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale.  A curious sensation\nof terror came over me.  I knew that I had come face to face with some\none whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to\ndo so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art\nitself.  I did not want any external influence in my life.  You know\nyourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature.  I have always been my\nown master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray.\nThen--but I don't know how to explain it to you.  Something seemed to\ntell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life.  I had\na strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and\nexquisite sorrows.  I grew afraid and turned to quit the room.  It was\nnot conscience that made me do so:  it was a sort of cowardice.  I take\nno credit to myself for trying to escape.\"\n\n\"Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil.\nConscience is the trade-name of the firm.  That is all.\"\n\n\"I don't believe that, Harry, and I don't believe you do either.\nHowever, whatever was my motive--and it may have been pride, for I used\nto be very proud--I certainly struggled to the door.  There, of course,\nI stumbled against Lady Brandon.  'You are not going to run away so\nsoon, Mr. Hallward?' she screamed out.  You know her curiously shrill\nvoice?\"\n\n\"Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty,\" said Lord Henry,\npulling the daisy to bits with his long nervous fingers.\n\n\"I could not get rid of her.  She brought me up to royalties, and\npeople with stars and garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras\nand parrot noses.  She spoke of me as her dearest friend.  I had only\nmet her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me.  I\nbelieve some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at\nleast had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the\nnineteenth-century standard of immortality.  Suddenly I found myself\nface to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely\nstirred me.  We were quite close, almost touching.  Our eyes met again.\nIt was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him.\nPerhaps it was not so reckless, after all.  It was simply inevitable.\nWe would have spoken to each other without any introduction.  I am sure\nof that.  Dorian told me so afterwards.  He, too, felt that we were\ndestined to know each other.\"\n\n\"And how did Lady Brandon describe this wonderful young man?\" asked his\ncompanion.  \"I know she goes in for giving a rapid _precis_ of all her\nguests.  I remember her bringing me up to a truculent and red-faced old\ngentleman covered all over with orders and ribbons, and hissing into my\near, in a tragic whisper which must have been perfectly audible to\neverybody in the room, the most astounding details.  I simply fled.  I\nlike to find out people for myself.  But Lady Brandon treats her guests\nexactly as an auctioneer treats his goods.  She either explains them\nentirely away, or tells one everything about them except what one wants\nto know.\"\n\n\"Poor Lady Brandon!  You are hard on her, Harry!\" said Hallward\nlistlessly.\n\n\"My dear fellow, she tried to found a _salon_, and only succeeded in\nopening a restaurant.  How could I admire her?  But tell me, what did\nshe say about Mr. Dorian Gray?\"\n\n\"Oh, something like, 'Charming boy--poor dear mother and I absolutely\ninseparable.  Quite forget what he does--afraid he--doesn't do\nanything--oh, yes, plays the piano--or is it the violin, dear Mr.\nGray?'  Neither of us could help laughing, and we became friends at\nonce.\"\n\n\"Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is far\nthe best ending for one,\" said the young lord, plucking another daisy.\n\nHallward shook his head.  \"You don't understand what friendship is,\nHarry,\" he murmured--\"or what enmity is, for that matter.  You like\nevery one; that is to say, you are indifferent to every one.\"\n\n\"How horribly unjust of you!\" cried Lord Henry, tilting his hat back\nand looking up at the little clouds that, like ravelled skeins of\nglossy white silk, were drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the\nsummer sky.  \"Yes; horribly unjust of you.  I make a great difference\nbetween people.  I choose my friends for their good looks, my\nacquaintances for their good characters, and my enemies for their good\nintellects.  A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.\nI have not got one who is a fool.  They are all men of some\nintellectual power, and consequently they all appreciate me.  Is that\nvery vain of me?  I think it is rather vain.\"\n\n\"I should think it was, Harry.  But according to your category I must\nbe merely an acquaintance.\"\n\n\"My dear old Basil, you are much more than an acquaintance.\"\n\n\"And much less than a friend.  A sort of brother, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Oh, brothers!  I don't care for brothers.  My elder brother won't die,\nand my younger brothers seem never to do anything else.\"\n\n\"Harry!\" exclaimed Hallward, frowning.\n\n\"My dear fellow, I am not quite serious.  But I can't help detesting my\nrelations.  I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand\nother people having the same faults as ourselves.  I quite sympathize\nwith the rage of the English democracy against what they call the vices\nof the upper orders.  The masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and\nimmorality should be their own special property, and that if any one of\nus makes an ass of himself, he is poaching on their preserves.  When\npoor Southwark got into the divorce court, their indignation was quite\nmagnificent.  And yet I don't suppose that ten per cent of the\nproletariat live correctly.\"\n\n\"I don't agree with a single word that you have said, and, what is\nmore, Harry, I feel sure you don't either.\"\n\nLord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard and tapped the toe of his\npatent-leather boot with a tasselled ebony cane.  \"How English you are\nBasil!  That is the second time you have made that observation.  If one\nputs forward an idea to a true Englishman--always a rash thing to\ndo--he never dreams of considering whether the idea is right or wrong.\nThe only thing he considers of any importance is whether one believes\nit oneself.  Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do\nwith the sincerity of the man who expresses it.  Indeed, the\nprobabilities are that the more insincere the man is, the more purely\nintellectual will the idea be, as in that case it will not be coloured\nby either his wants, his desires, or his prejudices.  However, I don't\npropose to discuss politics, sociology, or metaphysics with you.  I\nlike persons better than principles, and I like persons with no\nprinciples better than anything else in the world.  Tell me more about\nMr. Dorian Gray.  How often do you see him?\"\n\n\"Every day.  I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day.  He is\nabsolutely necessary to me.\"\n\n\"How extraordinary!  I thought you would never care for anything but\nyour art.\"\n\n\"He is all my art to me now,\" said the painter gravely.  \"I sometimes\nthink, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the\nworld's history.  The first is the appearance of a new medium for art,\nand the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also.\nWhat the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of\nAntinous was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will\nsome day be to me.  It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from\nhim, sketch from him.  Of course, I have done all that.  But he is much\nmore to me than a model or a sitter.  I won't tell you that I am\ndissatisfied with what I have done of him, or that his beauty is such\nthat art cannot express it.  There is nothing that art cannot express,\nand I know that the work I have done, since I met Dorian Gray, is good\nwork, is the best work of my life.  But in some curious way--I wonder\nwill you understand me?--his personality has suggested to me an\nentirely new manner in art, an entirely new mode of style.  I see\nthings differently, I think of them differently.  I can now recreate\nlife in a way that was hidden from me before.  'A dream of form in days\nof thought'--who is it who says that?  I forget; but it is what Dorian\nGray has been to me.  The merely visible presence of this lad--for he\nseems to me little more than a lad, though he is really over\ntwenty--his merely visible presence--ah!  I wonder can you realize all\nthat that means?  Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of a fresh\nschool, a school that is to have in it all the passion of the romantic\nspirit, all the perfection of the spirit that is Greek.  The harmony of\nsoul and body--how much that is!  We in our madness have separated the\ntwo, and have invented a realism that is vulgar, an ideality that is\nvoid.  Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me!  You remember\nthat landscape of mine, for which Agnew offered me such a huge price\nbut which I would not part with?  It is one of the best things I have\never done.  And why is it so?  Because, while I was painting it, Dorian\nGray sat beside me.  Some subtle influence passed from him to me, and\nfor the first time in my life I saw in the plain woodland the wonder I\nhad always looked for and always missed.\"\n\n\"Basil, this is extraordinary!  I must see Dorian Gray.\"\n\nHallward got up from the seat and walked up and down the garden.  After\nsome time he came back.  \"Harry,\" he said, \"Dorian Gray is to me simply\na motive in art.  You might see nothing in him.  I see everything in\nhim.  He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is\nthere.  He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner.  I find\nhim in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of\ncertain colours.  That is all.\"\n\n\"Then why won't you exhibit his portrait?\" asked Lord Henry.\n\n\"Because, without intending it, I have put into it some expression of\nall this curious artistic idolatry, of which, of course, I have never\ncared to speak to him.  He knows nothing about it.  He shall never know\nanything about it.  But the world might guess it, and I will not bare\nmy soul to their shallow prying eyes.  My heart shall never be put\nunder their microscope.  There is too much of myself in the thing,\nHarry--too much of myself!\"\n\n\"Poets are not so scrupulous as you are.  They know how useful passion\nis for publication.  Nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions.\"\n\n\"I hate them for it,\" cried Hallward.  \"An artist should create\nbeautiful things, but should put nothing of his own life into them.  We\nlive in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of\nautobiography.  We have lost the abstract sense of beauty.  Some day I\nwill show the world what it is; and for that reason the world shall\nnever see my portrait of Dorian Gray.\"\n\n\"I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won't argue with you.  It is only\nthe intellectually lost who ever argue.  Tell me, is Dorian Gray very\nfond of you?\"\n\nThe painter considered for a few moments.  \"He likes me,\" he answered\nafter a pause; \"I know he likes me.  Of course I flatter him\ndreadfully.  I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I\nknow I shall be sorry for having said.  As a rule, he is charming to\nme, and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things.  Now and\nthen, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real\ndelight in giving me pain.  Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away\nmy whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put\nin his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a\nsummer's day.\"\n\n\"Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger,\" murmured Lord Henry.\n\"Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will.  It is a sad thing to think\nof, but there is no doubt that genius lasts longer than beauty.  That\naccounts for the fact that we all take such pains to over-educate\nourselves.  In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have\nsomething that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and\nfacts, in the silly hope of keeping our place.  The thoroughly\nwell-informed man--that is the modern ideal.  And the mind of the\nthoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing.  It is like a\n_bric-a-brac_ shop, all monsters and dust, with everything priced above\nits proper value.  I think you will tire first, all the same.  Some day\nyou will look at your friend, and he will seem to you to be a little\nout of drawing, or you won't like his tone of colour, or something.\nYou will bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriously think\nthat he has behaved very badly to you.  The next time he calls, you\nwill be perfectly cold and indifferent.  It will be a great pity, for\nit will alter you.  What you have told me is quite a romance, a romance\nof art one might call it, and the worst of having a romance of any kind\nis that it leaves one so unromantic.\"\n\n\"Harry, don't talk like that.  As long as I live, the personality of\nDorian Gray will dominate me.  You can't feel what I feel.  You change\ntoo often.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it.  Those who are\nfaithful know only the trivial side of love: it is the faithless who\nknow love's tragedies.\"  And Lord Henry struck a light on a dainty\nsilver case and began to smoke a cigarette with a self-conscious and\nsatisfied air, as if he had summed up the world in a phrase.  There was\na rustle of chirruping sparrows in the green lacquer leaves of the ivy,\nand the blue cloud-shadows chased themselves across the grass like\nswallows.  How pleasant it was in the garden!  And how delightful other\npeople's emotions were!--much more delightful than their ideas, it\nseemed to him.  One's own soul, and the passions of one's\nfriends--those were the fascinating things in life.  He pictured to\nhimself with silent amusement the tedious luncheon that he had missed\nby staying so long with Basil Hallward.  Had he gone to his aunt's, he\nwould have been sure to have met Lord Goodbody there, and the whole\nconversation would have been about the feeding of the poor and the\nnecessity for model lodging-houses. Each class would have preached the\nimportance of those virtues, for whose exercise there was no necessity\nin their own lives.  The rich would have spoken on the value of thrift,\nand the idle grown eloquent over the dignity of labour.  It was\ncharming to have escaped all that!  As he thought of his aunt, an idea\nseemed to strike him.  He turned to Hallward and said, \"My dear fellow,\nI have just remembered.\"\n\n\"Remembered what, Harry?\"\n\n\"Where I heard the name of Dorian Gray.\"\n\n\"Where was it?\" asked Hallward, with a slight frown.\n\n\"Don't look so angry, Basil.  It was at my aunt, Lady Agatha's.  She\ntold me she had discovered a wonderful young man who was going to help\nher in the East End, and that his name was Dorian Gray.  I am bound to\nstate that she never told me he was good-looking. Women have no\nappreciation of good looks; at least, good women have not.  She said\nthat he was very earnest and had a beautiful nature.  I at once\npictured to myself a creature with spectacles and lank hair, horribly\nfreckled, and tramping about on huge feet.  I wish I had known it was\nyour friend.\"\n\n\"I am very glad you didn't, Harry.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I don't want you to meet him.\"\n\n\"You don't want me to meet him?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Mr. Dorian Gray is in the studio, sir,\" said the butler, coming into\nthe garden.\n\n\"You must introduce me now,\" cried Lord Henry, laughing.\n\nThe painter turned to his servant, who stood blinking in the sunlight.\n\"Ask Mr. Gray to wait, Parker:  I shall be in in a few moments.\" The\nman bowed and went up the walk.\n\nThen he looked at Lord Henry.  \"Dorian Gray is my dearest friend,\" he\nsaid.  \"He has a simple and a beautiful nature.  Your aunt was quite\nright in what she said of him.  Don't spoil him.  Don't try to\ninfluence him.  Your influence would be bad.  The world is wide, and\nhas many marvellous people in it.  Don't take away from me the one\nperson who gives to my art whatever charm it possesses:  my life as an\nartist depends on him.  Mind, Harry, I trust you.\"  He spoke very\nslowly, and the words seemed wrung out of him almost against his will.\n\n\"What nonsense you talk!\" said Lord Henry, smiling, and taking Hallward\nby the arm, he almost led him into the house.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 2\n\nAs they entered they saw Dorian Gray.  He was seated at the piano, with\nhis back to them, turning over the pages of a volume of Schumann's\n\"Forest Scenes.\"  \"You must lend me these, Basil,\" he cried.  \"I want\nto learn them.  They are perfectly charming.\"\n\n\"That entirely depends on how you sit to-day, Dorian.\"\n\n\"Oh, I am tired of sitting, and I don't want a life-sized portrait of\nmyself,\" answered the lad, swinging round on the music-stool in a\nwilful, petulant manner.  When he caught sight of Lord Henry, a faint\nblush coloured his cheeks for a moment, and he started up.  \"I beg your\npardon, Basil, but I didn't know you had any one with you.\"\n\n\"This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian, an old Oxford friend of mine.  I\nhave just been telling him what a capital sitter you were, and now you\nhave spoiled everything.\"\n\n\"You have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Gray,\" said Lord\nHenry, stepping forward and extending his hand.  \"My aunt has often\nspoken to me about you.  You are one of her favourites, and, I am\nafraid, one of her victims also.\"\n\n\"I am in Lady Agatha's black books at present,\" answered Dorian with a\nfunny look of penitence.  \"I promised to go to a club in Whitechapel\nwith her last Tuesday, and I really forgot all about it.  We were to\nhave played a duet together--three duets, I believe.  I don't know what\nshe will say to me.  I am far too frightened to call.\"\n\n\"Oh, I will make your peace with my aunt.  She is quite devoted to you.\nAnd I don't think it really matters about your not being there.  The\naudience probably thought it was a duet.  When Aunt Agatha sits down to\nthe piano, she makes quite enough noise for two people.\"\n\n\"That is very horrid to her, and not very nice to me,\" answered Dorian,\nlaughing.\n\nLord Henry looked at him.  Yes, he was certainly wonderfully handsome,\nwith his finely curved scarlet lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp\ngold hair.  There was something in his face that made one trust him at\nonce.  All the candour of youth was there, as well as all youth's\npassionate purity.  One felt that he had kept himself unspotted from\nthe world.  No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him.\n\n\"You are too charming to go in for philanthropy, Mr. Gray--far too\ncharming.\" And Lord Henry flung himself down on the divan and opened\nhis cigarette-case.\n\nThe painter had been busy mixing his colours and getting his brushes\nready.  He was looking worried, and when he heard Lord Henry's last\nremark, he glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then said,\n\"Harry, I want to finish this picture to-day. Would you think it\nawfully rude of me if I asked you to go away?\"\n\nLord Henry smiled and looked at Dorian Gray.  \"Am I to go, Mr. Gray?\"\nhe asked.\n\n\"Oh, please don't, Lord Henry.  I see that Basil is in one of his sulky\nmoods, and I can't bear him when he sulks.  Besides, I want you to tell\nme why I should not go in for philanthropy.\"\n\n\"I don't know that I shall tell you that, Mr. Gray.  It is so tedious a\nsubject that one would have to talk seriously about it.  But I\ncertainly shall not run away, now that you have asked me to stop.  You\ndon't really mind, Basil, do you?  You have often told me that you\nliked your sitters to have some one to chat to.\"\n\nHallward bit his lip.  \"If Dorian wishes it, of course you must stay.\nDorian's whims are laws to everybody, except himself.\"\n\nLord Henry took up his hat and gloves.  \"You are very pressing, Basil,\nbut I am afraid I must go.  I have promised to meet a man at the\nOrleans.  Good-bye, Mr. Gray.  Come and see me some afternoon in Curzon\nStreet.  I am nearly always at home at five o'clock. Write to me when\nyou are coming.  I should be sorry to miss you.\"\n\n\"Basil,\" cried Dorian Gray, \"if Lord Henry Wotton goes, I shall go,\ntoo.  You never open your lips while you are painting, and it is\nhorribly dull standing on a platform and trying to look pleasant.  Ask\nhim to stay.  I insist upon it.\"\n\n\"Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me,\" said Hallward,\ngazing intently at his picture.  \"It is quite true, I never talk when I\nam working, and never listen either, and it must be dreadfully tedious\nfor my unfortunate sitters.  I beg you to stay.\"\n\n\"But what about my man at the Orleans?\"\n\nThe painter laughed.  \"I don't think there will be any difficulty about\nthat.  Sit down again, Harry.  And now, Dorian, get up on the platform,\nand don't move about too much, or pay any attention to what Lord Henry\nsays.  He has a very bad influence over all his friends, with the\nsingle exception of myself.\"\n\nDorian Gray stepped up on the dais with the air of a young Greek\nmartyr, and made a little _moue_ of discontent to Lord Henry, to whom he\nhad rather taken a fancy.  He was so unlike Basil.  They made a\ndelightful contrast.  And he had such a beautiful voice.  After a few\nmoments he said to him, \"Have you really a very bad influence, Lord\nHenry?  As bad as Basil says?\"\n\n\"There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray.  All influence\nis immoral--immoral from the scientific point of view.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because to influence a person is to give him one's own soul.  He does\nnot think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions.  His\nvirtues are not real to him.  His sins, if there are such things as\nsins, are borrowed.  He becomes an echo of some one else's music, an\nactor of a part that has not been written for him.  The aim of life is\nself-development. To realize one's nature perfectly--that is what each\nof us is here for.  People are afraid of themselves, nowadays.  They\nhave forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to\none's self.  Of course, they are charitable.  They feed the hungry and\nclothe the beggar.  But their own souls starve, and are naked.  Courage\nhas gone out of our race.  Perhaps we never really had it.  The terror\nof society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is\nthe secret of religion--these are the two things that govern us.  And\nyet--\"\n\n\"Just turn your head a little more to the right, Dorian, like a good\nboy,\" said the painter, deep in his work and conscious only that a look\nhad come into the lad's face that he had never seen there before.\n\n\"And yet,\" continued Lord Henry, in his low, musical voice, and with\nthat graceful wave of the hand that was always so characteristic of\nhim, and that he had even in his Eton days, \"I believe that if one man\nwere to live out his life fully and completely, were to give form to\nevery feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream--I\nbelieve that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we\nwould forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to the\nHellenic ideal--to something finer, richer than the Hellenic ideal, it\nmay be.  But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself.  The\nmutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the self-denial\nthat mars our lives.  We are punished for our refusals.  Every impulse\nthat we strive to strangle broods in the mind and poisons us.  The body\nsins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of\npurification.  Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure,\nor the luxury of a regret.  The only way to get rid of a temptation is\nto yield to it.  Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for\nthe things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its\nmonstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.  It has been said that\nthe great events of the world take place in the brain.  It is in the\nbrain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place\nalso.  You, Mr. Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your\nrose-white boyhood, you have had passions that have made you afraid,\nthoughts that have filled you with terror, day-dreams and sleeping\ndreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek with shame--\"\n\n\"Stop!\" faltered Dorian Gray, \"stop! you bewilder me.  I don't know\nwhat to say.  There is some answer to you, but I cannot find it.  Don't\nspeak.  Let me think.  Or, rather, let me try not to think.\"\n\nFor nearly ten minutes he stood there, motionless, with parted lips and\neyes strangely bright.  He was dimly conscious that entirely fresh\ninfluences were at work within him.  Yet they seemed to him to have\ncome really from himself.  The few words that Basil's friend had said\nto him--words spoken by chance, no doubt, and with wilful paradox in\nthem--had touched some secret chord that had never been touched before,\nbut that he felt was now vibrating and throbbing to curious pulses.\n\nMusic had stirred him like that.  Music had troubled him many times.\nBut music was not articulate.  It was not a new world, but rather\nanother chaos, that it created in us.  Words!  Mere words!  How\nterrible they were!  How clear, and vivid, and cruel!  One could not\nescape from them.  And yet what a subtle magic there was in them!  They\nseemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to\nhave a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lute.  Mere\nwords!  Was there anything so real as words?\n\nYes; there had been things in his boyhood that he had not understood.\nHe understood them now.  Life suddenly became fiery-coloured to him.\nIt seemed to him that he had been walking in fire.  Why had he not\nknown it?\n\nWith his subtle smile, Lord Henry watched him.  He knew the precise\npsychological moment when to say nothing.  He felt intensely\ninterested.  He was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had\nproduced, and, remembering a book that he had read when he was sixteen,\na book which had revealed to him much that he had not known before, he\nwondered whether Dorian Gray was passing through a similar experience.\nHe had merely shot an arrow into the air.  Had it hit the mark?  How\nfascinating the lad was!\n\nHallward painted away with that marvellous bold touch of his, that had\nthe true refinement and perfect delicacy that in art, at any rate comes\nonly from strength.  He was unconscious of the silence.\n\n\"Basil, I am tired of standing,\" cried Dorian Gray suddenly.  \"I must\ngo out and sit in the garden.  The air is stifling here.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I am so sorry.  When I am painting, I can't think of\nanything else.  But you never sat better.  You were perfectly still.\nAnd I have caught the effect I wanted--the half-parted lips and the\nbright look in the eyes.  I don't know what Harry has been saying to\nyou, but he has certainly made you have the most wonderful expression.\nI suppose he has been paying you compliments.  You mustn't believe a\nword that he says.\"\n\n\"He has certainly not been paying me compliments.  Perhaps that is the\nreason that I don't believe anything he has told me.\"\n\n\"You know you believe it all,\" said Lord Henry, looking at him with his\ndreamy languorous eyes.  \"I will go out to the garden with you.  It is\nhorribly hot in the studio.  Basil, let us have something iced to\ndrink, something with strawberries in it.\"\n\n\"Certainly, Harry.  Just touch the bell, and when Parker comes I will\ntell him what you want.  I have got to work up this background, so I\nwill join you later on.  Don't keep Dorian too long.  I have never been\nin better form for painting than I am to-day. This is going to be my\nmasterpiece.  It is my masterpiece as it stands.\"\n\nLord Henry went out to the garden and found Dorian Gray burying his\nface in the great cool lilac-blossoms, feverishly drinking in their\nperfume as if it had been wine.  He came close to him and put his hand\nupon his shoulder.  \"You are quite right to do that,\" he murmured.\n\"Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the\nsenses but the soul.\"\n\nThe lad started and drew back.  He was bareheaded, and the leaves had\ntossed his rebellious curls and tangled all their gilded threads.\nThere was a look of fear in his eyes, such as people have when they are\nsuddenly awakened.  His finely chiselled nostrils quivered, and some\nhidden nerve shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling.\n\n\"Yes,\" continued Lord Henry, \"that is one of the great secrets of\nlife--to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means\nof the soul.  You are a wonderful creation.  You know more than you\nthink you know, just as you know less than you want to know.\"\n\nDorian Gray frowned and turned his head away.  He could not help liking\nthe tall, graceful young man who was standing by him.  His romantic,\nolive-coloured face and worn expression interested him.  There was\nsomething in his low languid voice that was absolutely fascinating.\nHis cool, white, flowerlike hands, even, had a curious charm.  They\nmoved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language of their\nown.  But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid.  Why had\nit been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself?  He had known\nBasil Hallward for months, but the friendship between them had never\naltered him.  Suddenly there had come some one across his life who\nseemed to have disclosed to him life's mystery.  And, yet, what was\nthere to be afraid of?  He was not a schoolboy or a girl.  It was\nabsurd to be frightened.\n\n\"Let us go and sit in the shade,\" said Lord Henry.  \"Parker has brought\nout the drinks, and if you stay any longer in this glare, you will be\nquite spoiled, and Basil will never paint you again.  You really must\nnot allow yourself to become sunburnt.  It would be unbecoming.\"\n\n\"What can it matter?\" cried Dorian Gray, laughing, as he sat down on\nthe seat at the end of the garden.\n\n\"It should matter everything to you, Mr. Gray.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because you have the most marvellous youth, and youth is the one thing\nworth having.\"\n\n\"I don't feel that, Lord Henry.\"\n\n\"No, you don't feel it now.  Some day, when you are old and wrinkled\nand ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and\npassion branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you\nwill feel it terribly.  Now, wherever you go, you charm the world.\nWill it always be so? ... You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr.\nGray.  Don't frown.  You have.  And beauty is a form of genius--is\nhigher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation.  It is of the\ngreat facts of the world, like sunlight, or spring-time, or the\nreflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon.  It\ncannot be questioned.  It has its divine right of sovereignty.  It\nmakes princes of those who have it.  You smile?  Ah! when you have lost\nit you won't smile.... People say sometimes that beauty is only\nsuperficial.  That may be so, but at least it is not so superficial as\nthought is.  To me, beauty is the wonder of wonders.  It is only\nshallow people who do not judge by appearances.  The true mystery of\nthe world is the visible, not the invisible.... Yes, Mr. Gray, the\ngods have been good to you.  But what the gods give they quickly take\naway.  You have only a few years in which to live really, perfectly,\nand fully.  When your youth goes, your beauty will go with it, and then\nyou will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you, or\nhave to content yourself with those mean triumphs that the memory of\nyour past will make more bitter than defeats.  Every month as it wanes\nbrings you nearer to something dreadful.  Time is jealous of you, and\nwars against your lilies and your roses.  You will become sallow, and\nhollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed.  You will suffer horribly.... Ah!\nrealize your youth while you have it.  Don't squander the gold of your\ndays, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless failure,\nor giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar.\nThese are the sickly aims, the false ideals, of our age.  Live!  Live\nthe wonderful life that is in you!  Let nothing be lost upon you.  Be\nalways searching for new sensations.  Be afraid of nothing.... A new\nHedonism--that is what our century wants.  You might be its visible\nsymbol.  With your personality there is nothing you could not do.  The\nworld belongs to you for a season.... The moment I met you I saw that\nyou were quite unconscious of what you really are, of what you really\nmight be.  There was so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must\ntell you something about yourself.  I thought how tragic it would be if\nyou were wasted.  For there is such a little time that your youth will\nlast--such a little time.  The common hill-flowers wither, but they\nblossom again.  The laburnum will be as yellow next June as it is now.\nIn a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and year after\nyear the green night of its leaves will hold its purple stars.  But we\nnever get back our youth.  The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty\nbecomes sluggish.  Our limbs fail, our senses rot.  We degenerate into\nhideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were\ntoo much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the\ncourage to yield to.  Youth!  Youth!  There is absolutely nothing in\nthe world but youth!\"\n\nDorian Gray listened, open-eyed and wondering.  The spray of lilac fell\nfrom his hand upon the gravel.  A furry bee came and buzzed round it\nfor a moment.  Then it began to scramble all over the oval stellated\nglobe of the tiny blossoms.  He watched it with that strange interest\nin trivial things that we try to develop when things of high import\nmake us afraid, or when we are stirred by some new emotion for which we\ncannot find expression, or when some thought that terrifies us lays\nsudden siege to the brain and calls on us to yield.  After a time the\nbee flew away.  He saw it creeping into the stained trumpet of a Tyrian\nconvolvulus.  The flower seemed to quiver, and then swayed gently to\nand fro.\n\nSuddenly the painter appeared at the door of the studio and made\nstaccato signs for them to come in.  They turned to each other and\nsmiled.\n\n\"I am waiting,\" he cried.  \"Do come in.  The light is quite perfect,\nand you can bring your drinks.\"\n\nThey rose up and sauntered down the walk together.  Two green-and-white\nbutterflies fluttered past them, and in the pear-tree at the corner of\nthe garden a thrush began to sing.\n\n\"You are glad you have met me, Mr. Gray,\" said Lord Henry, looking at\nhim.\n\n\"Yes, I am glad now.  I wonder shall I always be glad?\"\n\n\"Always!  That is a dreadful word.  It makes me shudder when I hear it.\nWomen are so fond of using it.  They spoil every romance by trying to\nmake it last for ever.  It is a meaningless word, too.  The only\ndifference between a caprice and a lifelong passion is that the caprice\nlasts a little longer.\"\n\nAs they entered the studio, Dorian Gray put his hand upon Lord Henry's\narm.  \"In that case, let our friendship be a caprice,\" he murmured,\nflushing at his own boldness, then stepped up on the platform and\nresumed his pose.\n\nLord Henry flung himself into a large wicker arm-chair and watched him.\nThe sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made the only sound that\nbroke the stillness, except when, now and then, Hallward stepped back\nto look at his work from a distance.  In the slanting beams that\nstreamed through the open doorway the dust danced and was golden.  The\nheavy scent of the roses seemed to brood over everything.\n\nAfter about a quarter of an hour Hallward stopped painting, looked for\na long time at Dorian Gray, and then for a long time at the picture,\nbiting the end of one of his huge brushes and frowning.  \"It is quite\nfinished,\" he cried at last, and stooping down he wrote his name in\nlong vermilion letters on the left-hand corner of the canvas.\n\nLord Henry came over and examined the picture.  It was certainly a\nwonderful work of art, and a wonderful likeness as well.\n\n\"My dear fellow, I congratulate you most warmly,\" he said.  \"It is the\nfinest portrait of modern times.  Mr. Gray, come over and look at\nyourself.\"\n\nThe lad started, as if awakened from some dream.\n\n\"Is it really finished?\" he murmured, stepping down from the platform.\n\n\"Quite finished,\" said the painter.  \"And you have sat splendidly\nto-day. I am awfully obliged to you.\"\n\n\"That is entirely due to me,\" broke in Lord Henry.  \"Isn't it, Mr.\nGray?\"\n\nDorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in front of his picture\nand turned towards it.  When he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks\nflushed for a moment with pleasure.  A look of joy came into his eyes,\nas if he had recognized himself for the first time.  He stood there\nmotionless and in wonder, dimly conscious that Hallward was speaking to\nhim, but not catching the meaning of his words.  The sense of his own\nbeauty came on him like a revelation.  He had never felt it before.\nBasil Hallward's compliments had seemed to him to be merely the\ncharming exaggeration of friendship.  He had listened to them, laughed\nat them, forgotten them.  They had not influenced his nature.  Then had\ncome Lord Henry Wotton with his strange panegyric on youth, his\nterrible warning of its brevity.  That had stirred him at the time, and\nnow, as he stood gazing at the shadow of his own loveliness, the full\nreality of the description flashed across him.  Yes, there would be a\nday when his face would be wrinkled and wizen, his eyes dim and\ncolourless, the grace of his figure broken and deformed.  The scarlet\nwould pass away from his lips and the gold steal from his hair.  The\nlife that was to make his soul would mar his body.  He would become\ndreadful, hideous, and uncouth.\n\nAs he thought of it, a sharp pang of pain struck through him like a\nknife and made each delicate fibre of his nature quiver.  His eyes\ndeepened into amethyst, and across them came a mist of tears.  He felt\nas if a hand of ice had been laid upon his heart.\n\n\"Don't you like it?\" cried Hallward at last, stung a little by the\nlad's silence, not understanding what it meant.\n\n\"Of course he likes it,\" said Lord Henry.  \"Who wouldn't like it?  It\nis one of the greatest things in modern art.  I will give you anything\nyou like to ask for it.  I must have it.\"\n\n\"It is not my property, Harry.\"\n\n\"Whose property is it?\"\n\n\"Dorian's, of course,\" answered the painter.\n\n\"He is a very lucky fellow.\"\n\n\"How sad it is!\" murmured Dorian Gray with his eyes still fixed upon\nhis own portrait.  \"How sad it is!  I shall grow old, and horrible, and\ndreadful.  But this picture will remain always young.  It will never be\nolder than this particular day of June.... If it were only the other\nway!  If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was\nto grow old!  For that--for that--I would give everything!  Yes, there\nis nothing in the whole world I would not give!  I would give my soul\nfor that!\"\n\n\"You would hardly care for such an arrangement, Basil,\" cried Lord\nHenry, laughing.  \"It would be rather hard lines on your work.\"\n\n\"I should object very strongly, Harry,\" said Hallward.\n\nDorian Gray turned and looked at him.  \"I believe you would, Basil.\nYou like your art better than your friends.  I am no more to you than a\ngreen bronze figure.  Hardly as much, I dare say.\"\n\nThe painter stared in amazement.  It was so unlike Dorian to speak like\nthat.  What had happened?  He seemed quite angry.  His face was flushed\nand his cheeks burning.\n\n\"Yes,\" he continued, \"I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your\nsilver Faun.  You will like them always.  How long will you like me?\nTill I have my first wrinkle, I suppose.  I know, now, that when one\nloses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything.\nYour picture has taught me that.  Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly right.\nYouth is the only thing worth having.  When I find that I am growing\nold, I shall kill myself.\"\n\nHallward turned pale and caught his hand.  \"Dorian!  Dorian!\" he cried,\n\"don't talk like that.  I have never had such a friend as you, and I\nshall never have such another.  You are not jealous of material things,\nare you?--you who are finer than any of them!\"\n\n\"I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die.  I am jealous of\nthe portrait you have painted of me.  Why should it keep what I must\nlose?  Every moment that passes takes something from me and gives\nsomething to it.  Oh, if it were only the other way!  If the picture\ncould change, and I could be always what I am now!  Why did you paint\nit?  It will mock me some day--mock me horribly!\"  The hot tears welled\ninto his eyes; he tore his hand away and, flinging himself on the\ndivan, he buried his face in the cushions, as though he was praying.\n\n\"This is your doing, Harry,\" said the painter bitterly.\n\nLord Henry shrugged his shoulders.  \"It is the real Dorian Gray--that\nis all.\"\n\n\"It is not.\"\n\n\"If it is not, what have I to do with it?\"\n\n\"You should have gone away when I asked you,\" he muttered.\n\n\"I stayed when you asked me,\" was Lord Henry's answer.\n\n\"Harry, I can't quarrel with my two best friends at once, but between\nyou both you have made me hate the finest piece of work I have ever\ndone, and I will destroy it.  What is it but canvas and colour?  I will\nnot let it come across our three lives and mar them.\"\n\nDorian Gray lifted his golden head from the pillow, and with pallid\nface and tear-stained eyes, looked at him as he walked over to the deal\npainting-table that was set beneath the high curtained window.  What\nwas he doing there?  His fingers were straying about among the litter\nof tin tubes and dry brushes, seeking for something.  Yes, it was for\nthe long palette-knife, with its thin blade of lithe steel.  He had\nfound it at last.  He was going to rip up the canvas.\n\nWith a stifled sob the lad leaped from the couch, and, rushing over to\nHallward, tore the knife out of his hand, and flung it to the end of\nthe studio.  \"Don't, Basil, don't!\" he cried.  \"It would be murder!\"\n\n\"I am glad you appreciate my work at last, Dorian,\" said the painter\ncoldly when he had recovered from his surprise.  \"I never thought you\nwould.\"\n\n\"Appreciate it?  I am in love with it, Basil.  It is part of myself.  I\nfeel that.\"\n\n\"Well, as soon as you are dry, you shall be varnished, and framed, and\nsent home.  Then you can do what you like with yourself.\" And he walked\nacross the room and rang the bell for tea.  \"You will have tea, of\ncourse, Dorian?  And so will you, Harry?  Or do you object to such\nsimple pleasures?\"\n\n\"I adore simple pleasures,\" said Lord Henry.  \"They are the last refuge\nof the complex.  But I don't like scenes, except on the stage.  What\nabsurd fellows you are, both of you!  I wonder who it was defined man\nas a rational animal.  It was the most premature definition ever given.\nMan is many things, but he is not rational.  I am glad he is not, after\nall--though I wish you chaps would not squabble over the picture.  You\nhad much better let me have it, Basil.  This silly boy doesn't really\nwant it, and I really do.\"\n\n\"If you let any one have it but me, Basil, I shall never forgive you!\"\ncried Dorian Gray; \"and I don't allow people to call me a silly boy.\"\n\n\"You know the picture is yours, Dorian.  I gave it to you before it\nexisted.\"\n\n\"And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. Gray, and that you\ndon't really object to being reminded that you are extremely young.\"\n\n\"I should have objected very strongly this morning, Lord Henry.\"\n\n\"Ah! this morning!  You have lived since then.\"\n\nThere came a knock at the door, and the butler entered with a laden\ntea-tray and set it down upon a small Japanese table.  There was a\nrattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn.\nTwo globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page.  Dorian Gray\nwent over and poured out the tea.  The two men sauntered languidly to\nthe table and examined what was under the covers.\n\n\"Let us go to the theatre to-night,\" said Lord Henry.  \"There is sure\nto be something on, somewhere.  I have promised to dine at White's, but\nit is only with an old friend, so I can send him a wire to say that I\nam ill, or that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a\nsubsequent engagement.  I think that would be a rather nice excuse:  it\nwould have all the surprise of candour.\"\n\n\"It is such a bore putting on one's dress-clothes,\" muttered Hallward.\n\"And, when one has them on, they are so horrid.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Lord Henry dreamily, \"the costume of the nineteenth\ncentury is detestable.  It is so sombre, so depressing.  Sin is the\nonly real colour-element left in modern life.\"\n\n\"You really must not say things like that before Dorian, Harry.\"\n\n\"Before which Dorian?  The one who is pouring out tea for us, or the\none in the picture?\"\n\n\"Before either.\"\n\n\"I should like to come to the theatre with you, Lord Henry,\" said the\nlad.\n\n\"Then you shall come; and you will come, too, Basil, won't you?\"\n\n\"I can't, really.  I would sooner not.  I have a lot of work to do.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you and I will go alone, Mr. Gray.\"\n\n\"I should like that awfully.\"\n\nThe painter bit his lip and walked over, cup in hand, to the picture.\n\"I shall stay with the real Dorian,\" he said, sadly.\n\n\"Is it the real Dorian?\" cried the original of the portrait, strolling\nacross to him.  \"Am I really like that?\"\n\n\"Yes; you are just like that.\"\n\n\"How wonderful, Basil!\"\n\n\"At least you are like it in appearance.  But it will never alter,\"\nsighed Hallward.  \"That is something.\"\n\n\"What a fuss people make about fidelity!\" exclaimed Lord Henry.  \"Why,\neven in love it is purely a question for physiology.  It has nothing to\ndo with our own will.  Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old\nmen want to be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say.\"\n\n\"Don't go to the theatre to-night, Dorian,\" said Hallward.  \"Stop and\ndine with me.\"\n\n\"I can't, Basil.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because I have promised Lord Henry Wotton to go with him.\"\n\n\"He won't like you the better for keeping your promises.  He always\nbreaks his own.  I beg you not to go.\"\n\nDorian Gray laughed and shook his head.\n\n\"I entreat you.\"\n\nThe lad hesitated, and looked over at Lord Henry, who was watching them\nfrom the tea-table with an amused smile.\n\n\"I must go, Basil,\" he answered.\n\n\"Very well,\" said Hallward, and he went over and laid down his cup on\nthe tray.  \"It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had\nbetter lose no time.  Good-bye, Harry.  Good-bye, Dorian.  Come and see\nme soon.  Come to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"You won't forget?\"\n\n\"No, of course not,\" cried Dorian.\n\n\"And ... Harry!\"\n\n\"Yes, Basil?\"\n\n\"Remember what I asked you, when we were in the garden this morning.\"\n\n\"I have forgotten it.\"\n\n\"I trust you.\"\n\n\"I wish I could trust myself,\" said Lord Henry, laughing.  \"Come, Mr.\nGray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own place.\nGood-bye, Basil.  It has been a most interesting afternoon.\"\n\nAs the door closed behind them, the painter flung himself down on a\nsofa, and a look of pain came into his face.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 3\n\nAt half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton strolled from Curzon\nStreet over to the Albany to call on his uncle, Lord Fermor, a genial\nif somewhat rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside world called\nselfish because it derived no particular benefit from him, but who was\nconsidered generous by Society as he fed the people who amused him.\nHis father had been our ambassador at Madrid when Isabella was young\nand Prim unthought of, but had retired from the diplomatic service in a\ncapricious moment of annoyance on not being offered the Embassy at\nParis, a post to which he considered that he was fully entitled by\nreason of his birth, his indolence, the good English of his dispatches,\nand his inordinate passion for pleasure.  The son, who had been his\nfather's secretary, had resigned along with his chief, somewhat\nfoolishly as was thought at the time, and on succeeding some months\nlater to the title, had set himself to the serious study of the great\naristocratic art of doing absolutely nothing.  He had two large town\nhouses, but preferred to live in chambers as it was less trouble, and\ntook most of his meals at his club.  He paid some attention to the\nmanagement of his collieries in the Midland counties, excusing himself\nfor this taint of industry on the ground that the one advantage of\nhaving coal was that it enabled a gentleman to afford the decency of\nburning wood on his own hearth.  In politics he was a Tory, except when\nthe Tories were in office, during which period he roundly abused them\nfor being a pack of Radicals.  He was a hero to his valet, who bullied\nhim, and a terror to most of his relations, whom he bullied in turn.\nOnly England could have produced him, and he always said that the\ncountry was going to the dogs.  His principles were out of date, but\nthere was a good deal to be said for his prejudices.\n\nWhen Lord Henry entered the room, he found his uncle sitting in a rough\nshooting-coat, smoking a cheroot and grumbling over _The Times_.  \"Well,\nHarry,\" said the old gentleman, \"what brings you out so early?  I\nthought you dandies never got up till two, and were not visible till\nfive.\"\n\n\"Pure family affection, I assure you, Uncle George.  I want to get\nsomething out of you.\"\n\n\"Money, I suppose,\" said Lord Fermor, making a wry face.  \"Well, sit\ndown and tell me all about it.  Young people, nowadays, imagine that\nmoney is everything.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" murmured Lord Henry, settling his button-hole in his coat; \"and\nwhen they grow older they know it.  But I don't want money.  It is only\npeople who pay their bills who want that, Uncle George, and I never pay\nmine.  Credit is the capital of a younger son, and one lives charmingly\nupon it.  Besides, I always deal with Dartmoor's tradesmen, and\nconsequently they never bother me.  What I want is information:  not\nuseful information, of course; useless information.\"\n\n\"Well, I can tell you anything that is in an English Blue Book, Harry,\nalthough those fellows nowadays write a lot of nonsense.  When I was in\nthe Diplomatic, things were much better.  But I hear they let them in\nnow by examination.  What can you expect?  Examinations, sir, are pure\nhumbug from beginning to end.  If a man is a gentleman, he knows quite\nenough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him.\"\n\n\"Mr. Dorian Gray does not belong to Blue Books, Uncle George,\" said\nLord Henry languidly.\n\n\"Mr. Dorian Gray?  Who is he?\" asked Lord Fermor, knitting his bushy\nwhite eyebrows.\n\n\"That is what I have come to learn, Uncle George.  Or rather, I know\nwho he is.  He is the last Lord Kelso's grandson.  His mother was a\nDevereux, Lady Margaret Devereux.  I want you to tell me about his\nmother.  What was she like?  Whom did she marry?  You have known nearly\neverybody in your time, so you might have known her.  I am very much\ninterested in Mr. Gray at present.  I have only just met him.\"\n\n\"Kelso's grandson!\" echoed the old gentleman.  \"Kelso's grandson! ...\nOf course.... I knew his mother intimately.  I believe I was at her\nchristening.  She was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, Margaret\nDevereux, and made all the men frantic by running away with a penniless\nyoung fellow--a mere nobody, sir, a subaltern in a foot regiment, or\nsomething of that kind.  Certainly.  I remember the whole thing as if\nit happened yesterday.  The poor chap was killed in a duel at Spa a few\nmonths after the marriage.  There was an ugly story about it.  They\nsaid Kelso got some rascally adventurer, some Belgian brute, to insult\nhis son-in-law in public--paid him, sir, to do it, paid him--and that\nthe fellow spitted his man as if he had been a pigeon.  The thing was\nhushed up, but, egad, Kelso ate his chop alone at the club for some\ntime afterwards.  He brought his daughter back with him, I was told,\nand she never spoke to him again.  Oh, yes; it was a bad business.  The\ngirl died, too, died within a year.  So she left a son, did she?  I had\nforgotten that.  What sort of boy is he?  If he is like his mother, he\nmust be a good-looking chap.\"\n\n\"He is very good-looking,\" assented Lord Henry.\n\n\"I hope he will fall into proper hands,\" continued the old man.  \"He\nshould have a pot of money waiting for him if Kelso did the right thing\nby him.  His mother had money, too.  All the Selby property came to\nher, through her grandfather.  Her grandfather hated Kelso, thought him\na mean dog.  He was, too.  Came to Madrid once when I was there.  Egad,\nI was ashamed of him.  The Queen used to ask me about the English noble\nwho was always quarrelling with the cabmen about their fares.  They\nmade quite a story of it.  I didn't dare show my face at Court for a\nmonth.  I hope he treated his grandson better than he did the jarvies.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" answered Lord Henry.  \"I fancy that the boy will be\nwell off.  He is not of age yet.  He has Selby, I know.  He told me so.\nAnd ... his mother was very beautiful?\"\n\n\"Margaret Devereux was one of the loveliest creatures I ever saw,\nHarry.  What on earth induced her to behave as she did, I never could\nunderstand.  She could have married anybody she chose.  Carlington was\nmad after her.  She was romantic, though.  All the women of that family\nwere.  The men were a poor lot, but, egad! the women were wonderful.\nCarlington went on his knees to her.  Told me so himself.  She laughed\nat him, and there wasn't a girl in London at the time who wasn't after\nhim.  And by the way, Harry, talking about silly marriages, what is\nthis humbug your father tells me about Dartmoor wanting to marry an\nAmerican?  Ain't English girls good enough for him?\"\n\n\"It is rather fashionable to marry Americans just now, Uncle George.\"\n\n\"I'll back English women against the world, Harry,\" said Lord Fermor,\nstriking the table with his fist.\n\n\"The betting is on the Americans.\"\n\n\"They don't last, I am told,\" muttered his uncle.\n\n\"A long engagement exhausts them, but they are capital at a\nsteeplechase.  They take things flying.  I don't think Dartmoor has a\nchance.\"\n\n\"Who are her people?\" grumbled the old gentleman.  \"Has she got any?\"\n\nLord Henry shook his head.  \"American girls are as clever at concealing\ntheir parents, as English women are at concealing their past,\" he said,\nrising to go.\n\n\"They are pork-packers, I suppose?\"\n\n\"I hope so, Uncle George, for Dartmoor's sake.  I am told that\npork-packing is the most lucrative profession in America, after\npolitics.\"\n\n\"Is she pretty?\"\n\n\"She behaves as if she was beautiful.  Most American women do.  It is\nthe secret of their charm.\"\n\n\"Why can't these American women stay in their own country?  They are\nalways telling us that it is the paradise for women.\"\n\n\"It is.  That is the reason why, like Eve, they are so excessively\nanxious to get out of it,\" said Lord Henry.  \"Good-bye, Uncle George.\nI shall be late for lunch, if I stop any longer.  Thanks for giving me\nthe information I wanted.  I always like to know everything about my\nnew friends, and nothing about my old ones.\"\n\n\"Where are you lunching, Harry?\"\n\n\"At Aunt Agatha's. I have asked myself and Mr. Gray.  He is her latest\n_protege_.\"\n\n\"Humph! tell your Aunt Agatha, Harry, not to bother me any more with\nher charity appeals.  I am sick of them.  Why, the good woman thinks\nthat I have nothing to do but to write cheques for her silly fads.\"\n\n\"All right, Uncle George, I'll tell her, but it won't have any effect.\nPhilanthropic people lose all sense of humanity.  It is their\ndistinguishing characteristic.\"\n\nThe old gentleman growled approvingly and rang the bell for his\nservant.  Lord Henry passed up the low arcade into Burlington Street\nand turned his steps in the direction of Berkeley Square.\n\nSo that was the story of Dorian Gray's parentage.  Crudely as it had\nbeen told to him, it had yet stirred him by its suggestion of a\nstrange, almost modern romance.  A beautiful woman risking everything\nfor a mad passion.  A few wild weeks of happiness cut short by a\nhideous, treacherous crime.  Months of voiceless agony, and then a\nchild born in pain.  The mother snatched away by death, the boy left to\nsolitude and the tyranny of an old and loveless man.  Yes; it was an\ninteresting background.  It posed the lad, made him more perfect, as it\nwere.  Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something\ntragic.  Worlds had to be in travail, that the meanest flower might\nblow.... And how charming he had been at dinner the night before, as\nwith startled eyes and lips parted in frightened pleasure he had sat\nopposite to him at the club, the red candleshades staining to a richer\nrose the wakening wonder of his face.  Talking to him was like playing\nupon an exquisite violin.  He answered to every touch and thrill of the\nbow.... There was something terribly enthralling in the exercise of\ninfluence.  No other activity was like it.  To project one's soul into\nsome gracious form, and let it tarry there for a moment; to hear one's\nown intellectual views echoed back to one with all the added music of\npassion and youth; to convey one's temperament into another as though\nit were a subtle fluid or a strange perfume: there was a real joy in\nthat--perhaps the most satisfying joy left to us in an age so limited\nand vulgar as our own, an age grossly carnal in its pleasures, and\ngrossly common in its aims.... He was a marvellous type, too, this lad,\nwhom by so curious a chance he had met in Basil's studio, or could be\nfashioned into a marvellous type, at any rate.  Grace was his, and the\nwhite purity of boyhood, and beauty such as old Greek marbles kept for\nus.  There was nothing that one could not do with him.  He could be\nmade a Titan or a toy.  What a pity it was that such beauty was\ndestined to fade! ...  And Basil?  From a psychological point of view,\nhow interesting he was!  The new manner in art, the fresh mode of\nlooking at life, suggested so strangely by the merely visible presence\nof one who was unconscious of it all; the silent spirit that dwelt in\ndim woodland, and walked unseen in open field, suddenly showing\nherself, Dryadlike and not afraid, because in his soul who sought for\nher there had been wakened that wonderful vision to which alone are\nwonderful things revealed; the mere shapes and patterns of things\nbecoming, as it were, refined, and gaining a kind of symbolical value,\nas though they were themselves patterns of some other and more perfect\nform whose shadow they made real:  how strange it all was!  He\nremembered something like it in history.  Was it not Plato, that artist\nin thought, who had first analyzed it?  Was it not Buonarotti who had\ncarved it in the coloured marbles of a sonnet-sequence? But in our own\ncentury it was strange.... Yes; he would try to be to Dorian Gray\nwhat, without knowing it, the lad was to the painter who had fashioned\nthe wonderful portrait.  He would seek to dominate him--had already,\nindeed, half done so.  He would make that wonderful spirit his own.\nThere was something fascinating in this son of love and death.\n\nSuddenly he stopped and glanced up at the houses.  He found that he had\npassed his aunt's some distance, and, smiling to himself, turned back.\nWhen he entered the somewhat sombre hall, the butler told him that they\nhad gone in to lunch.  He gave one of the footmen his hat and stick and\npassed into the dining-room.\n\n\"Late as usual, Harry,\" cried his aunt, shaking her head at him.\n\nHe invented a facile excuse, and having taken the vacant seat next to\nher, looked round to see who was there.  Dorian bowed to him shyly from\nthe end of the table, a flush of pleasure stealing into his cheek.\nOpposite was the Duchess of Harley, a lady of admirable good-nature and\ngood temper, much liked by every one who knew her, and of those ample\narchitectural proportions that in women who are not duchesses are\ndescribed by contemporary historians as stoutness.  Next to her sat, on\nher right, Sir Thomas Burdon, a Radical member of Parliament, who\nfollowed his leader in public life and in private life followed the\nbest cooks, dining with the Tories and thinking with the Liberals, in\naccordance with a wise and well-known rule.  The post on her left was\noccupied by Mr. Erskine of Treadley, an old gentleman of considerable\ncharm and culture, who had fallen, however, into bad habits of silence,\nhaving, as he explained once to Lady Agatha, said everything that he\nhad to say before he was thirty.  His own neighbour was Mrs. Vandeleur,\none of his aunt's oldest friends, a perfect saint amongst women, but so\ndreadfully dowdy that she reminded one of a badly bound hymn-book.\nFortunately for him she had on the other side Lord Faudel, a most\nintelligent middle-aged mediocrity, as bald as a ministerial statement\nin the House of Commons, with whom she was conversing in that intensely\nearnest manner which is the one unpardonable error, as he remarked once\nhimself, that all really good people fall into, and from which none of\nthem ever quite escape.\n\n\"We are talking about poor Dartmoor, Lord Henry,\" cried the duchess,\nnodding pleasantly to him across the table.  \"Do you think he will\nreally marry this fascinating young person?\"\n\n\"I believe she has made up her mind to propose to him, Duchess.\"\n\n\"How dreadful!\" exclaimed Lady Agatha.  \"Really, some one should\ninterfere.\"\n\n\"I am told, on excellent authority, that her father keeps an American\ndry-goods store,\" said Sir Thomas Burdon, looking supercilious.\n\n\"My uncle has already suggested pork-packing, Sir Thomas.\"\n\n\"Dry-goods! What are American dry-goods?\" asked the duchess, raising\nher large hands in wonder and accentuating the verb.\n\n\"American novels,\" answered Lord Henry, helping himself to some quail.\n\nThe duchess looked puzzled.\n\n\"Don't mind him, my dear,\" whispered Lady Agatha.  \"He never means\nanything that he says.\"\n\n\"When America was discovered,\" said the Radical member--and he began to\ngive some wearisome facts.  Like all people who try to exhaust a\nsubject, he exhausted his listeners.  The duchess sighed and exercised\nher privilege of interruption.  \"I wish to goodness it never had been\ndiscovered at all!\" she exclaimed.  \"Really, our girls have no chance\nnowadays.  It is most unfair.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, after all, America never has been discovered,\" said Mr.\nErskine; \"I myself would say that it had merely been detected.\"\n\n\"Oh! but I have seen specimens of the inhabitants,\" answered the\nduchess vaguely.  \"I must confess that most of them are extremely\npretty.  And they dress well, too.  They get all their dresses in\nParis.  I wish I could afford to do the same.\"\n\n\"They say that when good Americans die they go to Paris,\" chuckled Sir\nThomas, who had a large wardrobe of Humour's cast-off clothes.\n\n\"Really!  And where do bad Americans go to when they die?\" inquired the\nduchess.\n\n\"They go to America,\" murmured Lord Henry.\n\nSir Thomas frowned.  \"I am afraid that your nephew is prejudiced\nagainst that great country,\" he said to Lady Agatha.  \"I have travelled\nall over it in cars provided by the directors, who, in such matters,\nare extremely civil.  I assure you that it is an education to visit it.\"\n\n\"But must we really see Chicago in order to be educated?\" asked Mr.\nErskine plaintively.  \"I don't feel up to the journey.\"\n\nSir Thomas waved his hand.  \"Mr. Erskine of Treadley has the world on\nhis shelves. We practical men like to see things, not to read about\nthem. The Americans are an extremely interesting people. They are\nabsolutely reasonable. I think that is their distinguishing\ncharacteristic. Yes, Mr. Erskine, an absolutely reasonable people. I\nassure you there is no nonsense about the Americans.\"\n\n\"How dreadful!\" cried Lord Henry.  \"I can stand brute force, but brute\nreason is quite unbearable.  There is something unfair about its use.\nIt is hitting below the intellect.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you,\" said Sir Thomas, growing rather red.\n\n\"I do, Lord Henry,\" murmured Mr. Erskine, with a smile.\n\n\"Paradoxes are all very well in their way....\" rejoined the baronet.\n\n\"Was that a paradox?\" asked Mr. Erskine.  \"I did not think so.  Perhaps\nit was.  Well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth.  To test\nreality we must see it on the tight rope.  When the verities become\nacrobats, we can judge them.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Lady Agatha, \"how you men argue!  I am sure I never can\nmake out what you are talking about.  Oh!  Harry, I am quite vexed with\nyou.  Why do you try to persuade our nice Mr. Dorian Gray to give up\nthe East End?  I assure you he would be quite invaluable.  They would\nlove his playing.\"\n\n\"I want him to play to me,\" cried Lord Henry, smiling, and he looked\ndown the table and caught a bright answering glance.\n\n\"But they are so unhappy in Whitechapel,\" continued Lady Agatha.\n\n\"I can sympathize with everything except suffering,\" said Lord Henry,\nshrugging his shoulders.  \"I cannot sympathize with that.  It is too\nugly, too horrible, too distressing.  There is something terribly\nmorbid in the modern sympathy with pain.  One should sympathize with\nthe colour, the beauty, the joy of life.  The less said about life's\nsores, the better.\"\n\n\"Still, the East End is a very important problem,\" remarked Sir Thomas\nwith a grave shake of the head.\n\n\"Quite so,\" answered the young lord.  \"It is the problem of slavery,\nand we try to solve it by amusing the slaves.\"\n\nThe politician looked at him keenly.  \"What change do you propose,\nthen?\" he asked.\n\nLord Henry laughed.  \"I don't desire to change anything in England\nexcept the weather,\" he answered.  \"I am quite content with philosophic\ncontemplation.  But, as the nineteenth century has gone bankrupt\nthrough an over-expenditure of sympathy, I would suggest that we should\nappeal to science to put us straight.  The advantage of the emotions is\nthat they lead us astray, and the advantage of science is that it is\nnot emotional.\"\n\n\"But we have such grave responsibilities,\" ventured Mrs. Vandeleur\ntimidly.\n\n\"Terribly grave,\" echoed Lady Agatha.\n\nLord Henry looked over at Mr. Erskine.  \"Humanity takes itself too\nseriously.  It is the world's original sin.  If the caveman had known\nhow to laugh, history would have been different.\"\n\n\"You are really very comforting,\" warbled the duchess.  \"I have always\nfelt rather guilty when I came to see your dear aunt, for I take no\ninterest at all in the East End.  For the future I shall be able to\nlook her in the face without a blush.\"\n\n\"A blush is very becoming, Duchess,\" remarked Lord Henry.\n\n\"Only when one is young,\" she answered.  \"When an old woman like myself\nblushes, it is a very bad sign.  Ah!  Lord Henry, I wish you would tell\nme how to become young again.\"\n\nHe thought for a moment.  \"Can you remember any great error that you\ncommitted in your early days, Duchess?\" he asked, looking at her across\nthe table.\n\n\"A great many, I fear,\" she cried.\n\n\"Then commit them over again,\" he said gravely.  \"To get back one's\nyouth, one has merely to repeat one's follies.\"\n\n\"A delightful theory!\" she exclaimed.  \"I must put it into practice.\"\n\n\"A dangerous theory!\" came from Sir Thomas's tight lips.  Lady Agatha\nshook her head, but could not help being amused.  Mr. Erskine listened.\n\n\"Yes,\" he continued, \"that is one of the great secrets of life.\nNowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and\ndiscover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are\none's mistakes.\"\n\nA laugh ran round the table.\n\nHe played with the idea and grew wilful; tossed it into the air and\ntransformed it; let it escape and recaptured it; made it iridescent\nwith fancy and winged it with paradox.  The praise of folly, as he went\non, soared into a philosophy, and philosophy herself became young, and\ncatching the mad music of pleasure, wearing, one might fancy, her\nwine-stained robe and wreath of ivy, danced like a Bacchante over the\nhills of life, and mocked the slow Silenus for being sober.  Facts fled\nbefore her like frightened forest things.  Her white feet trod the huge\npress at which wise Omar sits, till the seething grape-juice rose round\nher bare limbs in waves of purple bubbles, or crawled in red foam over\nthe vat's black, dripping, sloping sides.  It was an extraordinary\nimprovisation.  He felt that the eyes of Dorian Gray were fixed on him,\nand the consciousness that amongst his audience there was one whose\ntemperament he wished to fascinate seemed to give his wit keenness and\nto lend colour to his imagination.  He was brilliant, fantastic,\nirresponsible.  He charmed his listeners out of themselves, and they\nfollowed his pipe, laughing.  Dorian Gray never took his gaze off him,\nbut sat like one under a spell, smiles chasing each other over his lips\nand wonder growing grave in his darkening eyes.\n\nAt last, liveried in the costume of the age, reality entered the room\nin the shape of a servant to tell the duchess that her carriage was\nwaiting.  She wrung her hands in mock despair.  \"How annoying!\" she\ncried.  \"I must go.  I have to call for my husband at the club, to take\nhim to some absurd meeting at Willis's Rooms, where he is going to be\nin the chair.  If I am late he is sure to be furious, and I couldn't\nhave a scene in this bonnet.  It is far too fragile.  A harsh word\nwould ruin it.  No, I must go, dear Agatha.  Good-bye, Lord Henry, you\nare quite delightful and dreadfully demoralizing.  I am sure I don't\nknow what to say about your views.  You must come and dine with us some\nnight.  Tuesday?  Are you disengaged Tuesday?\"\n\n\"For you I would throw over anybody, Duchess,\" said Lord Henry with a\nbow.\n\n\"Ah! that is very nice, and very wrong of you,\" she cried; \"so mind you\ncome\"; and she swept out of the room, followed by Lady Agatha and the\nother ladies.\n\nWhen Lord Henry had sat down again, Mr. Erskine moved round, and taking\na chair close to him, placed his hand upon his arm.\n\n\"You talk books away,\" he said; \"why don't you write one?\"\n\n\"I am too fond of reading books to care to write them, Mr. Erskine.  I\nshould like to write a novel certainly, a novel that would be as lovely\nas a Persian carpet and as unreal.  But there is no literary public in\nEngland for anything except newspapers, primers, and encyclopaedias.\nOf all people in the world the English have the least sense of the\nbeauty of literature.\"\n\n\"I fear you are right,\" answered Mr. Erskine.  \"I myself used to have\nliterary ambitions, but I gave them up long ago.  And now, my dear\nyoung friend, if you will allow me to call you so, may I ask if you\nreally meant all that you said to us at lunch?\"\n\n\"I quite forget what I said,\" smiled Lord Henry.  \"Was it all very bad?\"\n\n\"Very bad indeed.  In fact I consider you extremely dangerous, and if\nanything happens to our good duchess, we shall all look on you as being\nprimarily responsible.  But I should like to talk to you about life.\nThe generation into which I was born was tedious.  Some day, when you\nare tired of London, come down to Treadley and expound to me your\nphilosophy of pleasure over some admirable Burgundy I am fortunate\nenough to possess.\"\n\n\"I shall be charmed.  A visit to Treadley would be a great privilege.\nIt has a perfect host, and a perfect library.\"\n\n\"You will complete it,\" answered the old gentleman with a courteous\nbow.  \"And now I must bid good-bye to your excellent aunt.  I am due at\nthe Athenaeum.  It is the hour when we sleep there.\"\n\n\"All of you, Mr. Erskine?\"\n\n\"Forty of us, in forty arm-chairs. We are practising for an English\nAcademy of Letters.\"\n\nLord Henry laughed and rose.  \"I am going to the park,\" he cried.\n\nAs he was passing out of the door, Dorian Gray touched him on the arm.\n\"Let me come with you,\" he murmured.\n\n\"But I thought you had promised Basil Hallward to go and see him,\"\nanswered Lord Henry.\n\n\"I would sooner come with you; yes, I feel I must come with you.  Do\nlet me.  And you will promise to talk to me all the time?  No one talks\nso wonderfully as you do.\"\n\n\"Ah!  I have talked quite enough for to-day,\" said Lord Henry, smiling.\n\"All I want now is to look at life.  You may come and look at it with\nme, if you care to.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 4\n\nOne afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was reclining in a luxurious\narm-chair, in the little library of Lord Henry's house in Mayfair.  It\nwas, in its way, a very charming room, with its high panelled\nwainscoting of olive-stained oak, its cream-coloured frieze and ceiling\nof raised plasterwork, and its brickdust felt carpet strewn with silk,\nlong-fringed Persian rugs.  On a tiny satinwood table stood a statuette\nby Clodion, and beside it lay a copy of Les Cent Nouvelles, bound for\nMargaret of Valois by Clovis Eve and powdered with the gilt daisies\nthat Queen had selected for her device.  Some large blue china jars and\nparrot-tulips were ranged on the mantelshelf, and through the small\nleaded panes of the window streamed the apricot-coloured light of a\nsummer day in London.\n\nLord Henry had not yet come in.  He was always late on principle, his\nprinciple being that punctuality is the thief of time.  So the lad was\nlooking rather sulky, as with listless fingers he turned over the pages\nof an elaborately illustrated edition of Manon Lescaut that he had\nfound in one of the book-cases. The formal monotonous ticking of the\nLouis Quatorze clock annoyed him.  Once or twice he thought of going\naway.\n\nAt last he heard a step outside, and the door opened.  \"How late you\nare, Harry!\" he murmured.\n\n\"I am afraid it is not Harry, Mr. Gray,\" answered a shrill voice.\n\nHe glanced quickly round and rose to his feet.  \"I beg your pardon.  I\nthought--\"\n\n\"You thought it was my husband.  It is only his wife.  You must let me\nintroduce myself.  I know you quite well by your photographs.  I think\nmy husband has got seventeen of them.\"\n\n\"Not seventeen, Lady Henry?\"\n\n\"Well, eighteen, then.  And I saw you with him the other night at the\nopera.\"  She laughed nervously as she spoke, and watched him with her\nvague forget-me-not eyes.  She was a curious woman, whose dresses\nalways looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a\ntempest.  She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion\nwas never returned, she had kept all her illusions.  She tried to look\npicturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy.  Her name was\nVictoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to church.\n\n\"That was at Lohengrin, Lady Henry, I think?\"\n\n\"Yes; it was at dear Lohengrin.  I like Wagner's music better than\nanybody's. It is so loud that one can talk the whole time without other\npeople hearing what one says.  That is a great advantage, don't you\nthink so, Mr. Gray?\"\n\nThe same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin lips, and her\nfingers began to play with a long tortoise-shell paper-knife.\n\nDorian smiled and shook his head:  \"I am afraid I don't think so, Lady\nHenry.  I never talk during music--at least, during good music.  If one\nhears bad music, it is one's duty to drown it in conversation.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is one of Harry's views, isn't it, Mr. Gray?  I always hear\nHarry's views from his friends.  It is the only way I get to know of\nthem.  But you must not think I don't like good music.  I adore it, but\nI am afraid of it.  It makes me too romantic.  I have simply worshipped\npianists--two at a time, sometimes, Harry tells me.  I don't know what\nit is about them.  Perhaps it is that they are foreigners.  They all\nare, ain't they?  Even those that are born in England become foreigners\nafter a time, don't they?  It is so clever of them, and such a\ncompliment to art.  Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn't it?  You have\nnever been to any of my parties, have you, Mr. Gray?  You must come.  I\ncan't afford orchids, but I spare no expense in foreigners.  They make\none's rooms look so picturesque.  But here is Harry!  Harry, I came in\nto look for you, to ask you something--I forget what it was--and I\nfound Mr. Gray here.  We have had such a pleasant chat about music.  We\nhave quite the same ideas.  No; I think our ideas are quite different.\nBut he has been most pleasant.  I am so glad I've seen him.\"\n\n\"I am charmed, my love, quite charmed,\" said Lord Henry, elevating his\ndark, crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at them both with an amused\nsmile.  \"So sorry I am late, Dorian.  I went to look after a piece of\nold brocade in Wardour Street and had to bargain for hours for it.\nNowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing.\"\n\n\"I am afraid I must be going,\" exclaimed Lady Henry, breaking an\nawkward silence with her silly sudden laugh.  \"I have promised to drive\nwith the duchess.  Good-bye, Mr. Gray.  Good-bye, Harry.  You are\ndining out, I suppose?  So am I. Perhaps I shall see you at Lady\nThornbury's.\"\n\n\"I dare say, my dear,\" said Lord Henry, shutting the door behind her\nas, looking like a bird of paradise that had been out all night in the\nrain, she flitted out of the room, leaving a faint odour of\nfrangipanni.  Then he lit a cigarette and flung himself down on the\nsofa.\n\n\"Never marry a woman with straw-coloured hair, Dorian,\" he said after a\nfew puffs.\n\n\"Why, Harry?\"\n\n\"Because they are so sentimental.\"\n\n\"But I like sentimental people.\"\n\n\"Never marry at all, Dorian.  Men marry because they are tired; women,\nbecause they are curious:  both are disappointed.\"\n\n\"I don't think I am likely to marry, Harry.  I am too much in love.\nThat is one of your aphorisms.  I am putting it into practice, as I do\neverything that you say.\"\n\n\"Who are you in love with?\" asked Lord Henry after a pause.\n\n\"With an actress,\" said Dorian Gray, blushing.\n\nLord Henry shrugged his shoulders.  \"That is a rather commonplace\n_debut_.\"\n\n\"You would not say so if you saw her, Harry.\"\n\n\"Who is she?\"\n\n\"Her name is Sibyl Vane.\"\n\n\"Never heard of her.\"\n\n\"No one has.  People will some day, however.  She is a genius.\"\n\n\"My dear boy, no woman is a genius.  Women are a decorative sex.  They\nnever have anything to say, but they say it charmingly.  Women\nrepresent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men represent the\ntriumph of mind over morals.\"\n\n\"Harry, how can you?\"\n\n\"My dear Dorian, it is quite true.  I am analysing women at present, so\nI ought to know.  The subject is not so abstruse as I thought it was.\nI find that, ultimately, there are only two kinds of women, the plain\nand the coloured.  The plain women are very useful.  If you want to\ngain a reputation for respectability, you have merely to take them down\nto supper.  The other women are very charming.  They commit one\nmistake, however.  They paint in order to try and look young.  Our\ngrandmothers painted in order to try and talk brilliantly.  _Rouge_ and\n_esprit_ used to go together.  That is all over now.  As long as a woman\ncan look ten years younger than her own daughter, she is perfectly\nsatisfied.  As for conversation, there are only five women in London\nworth talking to, and two of these can't be admitted into decent\nsociety.  However, tell me about your genius.  How long have you known\nher?\"\n\n\"Ah!  Harry, your views terrify me.\"\n\n\"Never mind that.  How long have you known her?\"\n\n\"About three weeks.\"\n\n\"And where did you come across her?\"\n\n\"I will tell you, Harry, but you mustn't be unsympathetic about it.\nAfter all, it never would have happened if I had not met you.  You\nfilled me with a wild desire to know everything about life.  For days\nafter I met you, something seemed to throb in my veins.  As I lounged\nin the park, or strolled down Piccadilly, I used to look at every one\nwho passed me and wonder, with a mad curiosity, what sort of lives they\nled.  Some of them fascinated me.  Others filled me with terror.  There\nwas an exquisite poison in the air.  I had a passion for sensations....\nWell, one evening about seven o'clock, I determined to go out in search\nof some adventure.  I felt that this grey monstrous London of ours,\nwith its myriads of people, its sordid sinners, and its splendid sins,\nas you once phrased it, must have something in store for me.  I fancied\na thousand things.  The mere danger gave me a sense of delight.  I\nremembered what you had said to me on that wonderful evening when we\nfirst dined together, about the search for beauty being the real secret\nof life.  I don't know what I expected, but I went out and wandered\neastward, soon losing my way in a labyrinth of grimy streets and black\ngrassless squares.  About half-past eight I passed by an absurd little\ntheatre, with great flaring gas-jets and gaudy play-bills.  A hideous\nJew, in the most amazing waistcoat I ever beheld in my life, was\nstanding at the entrance, smoking a vile cigar.  He had greasy\nringlets, and an enormous diamond blazed in the centre of a soiled\nshirt. 'Have a box, my Lord?' he said, when he saw me, and he took off\nhis hat with an air of gorgeous servility.  There was something about\nhim, Harry, that amused me.  He was such a monster.  You will laugh at\nme, I know, but I really went in and paid a whole guinea for the\nstage-box. To the present day I can't make out why I did so; and yet if\nI hadn't--my dear Harry, if I hadn't--I should have missed the greatest\nromance of my life.  I see you are laughing.  It is horrid of you!\"\n\n\"I am not laughing, Dorian; at least I am not laughing at you.  But you\nshould not say the greatest romance of your life.  You should say the\nfirst romance of your life.  You will always be loved, and you will\nalways be in love with love.  A _grande passion_ is the privilege of\npeople who have nothing to do.  That is the one use of the idle classes\nof a country.  Don't be afraid.  There are exquisite things in store\nfor you.  This is merely the beginning.\"\n\n\"Do you think my nature so shallow?\" cried Dorian Gray angrily.\n\n\"No; I think your nature so deep.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"My dear boy, the people who love only once in their lives are really\nthe shallow people.  What they call their loyalty, and their fidelity,\nI call either the lethargy of custom or their lack of imagination.\nFaithfulness is to the emotional life what consistency is to the life\nof the intellect--simply a confession of failure.  Faithfulness!  I\nmust analyse it some day.  The passion for property is in it.  There\nare many things that we would throw away if we were not afraid that\nothers might pick them up.  But I don't want to interrupt you.  Go on\nwith your story.\"\n\n\"Well, I found myself seated in a horrid little private box, with a\nvulgar drop-scene staring me in the face.  I looked out from behind the\ncurtain and surveyed the house.  It was a tawdry affair, all Cupids and\ncornucopias, like a third-rate wedding-cake. The gallery and pit were\nfairly full, but the two rows of dingy stalls were quite empty, and\nthere was hardly a person in what I suppose they called the\ndress-circle.  Women went about with oranges and ginger-beer, and there\nwas a terrible consumption of nuts going on.\"\n\n\"It must have been just like the palmy days of the British drama.\"\n\n\"Just like, I should fancy, and very depressing.  I began to wonder\nwhat on earth I should do when I caught sight of the play-bill.  What\ndo you think the play was, Harry?\"\n\n\"I should think 'The Idiot Boy', or 'Dumb but Innocent'.  Our fathers\nused to like that sort of piece, I believe.  The longer I live, Dorian,\nthe more keenly I feel that whatever was good enough for our fathers is\nnot good enough for us.  In art, as in politics, _les grandperes ont\ntoujours tort_.\"\n\n\"This play was good enough for us, Harry.  It was Romeo and Juliet.  I\nmust admit that I was rather annoyed at the idea of seeing Shakespeare\ndone in such a wretched hole of a place.  Still, I felt interested, in\na sort of way.  At any rate, I determined to wait for the first act.\nThere was a dreadful orchestra, presided over by a young Hebrew who sat\nat a cracked piano, that nearly drove me away, but at last the\ndrop-scene was drawn up and the play began.  Romeo was a stout elderly\ngentleman, with corked eyebrows, a husky tragedy voice, and a figure\nlike a beer-barrel. Mercutio was almost as bad.  He was played by the\nlow-comedian, who had introduced gags of his own and was on most\nfriendly terms with the pit.  They were both as grotesque as the\nscenery, and that looked as if it had come out of a country-booth. But\nJuliet!  Harry, imagine a girl, hardly seventeen years of age, with a\nlittle, flowerlike face, a small Greek head with plaited coils of\ndark-brown hair, eyes that were violet wells of passion, lips that were\nlike the petals of a rose.  She was the loveliest thing I had ever seen\nin my life.  You said to me once that pathos left you unmoved, but that\nbeauty, mere beauty, could fill your eyes with tears.  I tell you,\nHarry, I could hardly see this girl for the mist of tears that came\nacross me.  And her voice--I never heard such a voice.  It was very low\nat first, with deep mellow notes that seemed to fall singly upon one's\near.  Then it became a little louder, and sounded like a flute or a\ndistant hautboy.  In the garden-scene it had all the tremulous ecstasy\nthat one hears just before dawn when nightingales are singing.  There\nwere moments, later on, when it had the wild passion of violins.  You\nknow how a voice can stir one.  Your voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane\nare two things that I shall never forget.  When I close my eyes, I hear\nthem, and each of them says something different.  I don't know which to\nfollow.  Why should I not love her?  Harry, I do love her.  She is\neverything to me in life.  Night after night I go to see her play.  One\nevening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imogen.  I have\nseen her die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking the poison from\nher lover's lips.  I have watched her wandering through the forest of\nArden, disguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap.\nShe has been mad, and has come into the presence of a guilty king, and\ngiven him rue to wear and bitter herbs to taste of.  She has been\ninnocent, and the black hands of jealousy have crushed her reedlike\nthroat.  I have seen her in every age and in every costume.  Ordinary\nwomen never appeal to one's imagination.  They are limited to their\ncentury.  No glamour ever transfigures them.  One knows their minds as\neasily as one knows their bonnets.  One can always find them.  There is\nno mystery in any of them.  They ride in the park in the morning and\nchatter at tea-parties in the afternoon.  They have their stereotyped\nsmile and their fashionable manner.  They are quite obvious.  But an\nactress!  How different an actress is!  Harry! why didn't you tell me\nthat the only thing worth loving is an actress?\"\n\n\"Because I have loved so many of them, Dorian.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, horrid people with dyed hair and painted faces.\"\n\n\"Don't run down dyed hair and painted faces.  There is an extraordinary\ncharm in them, sometimes,\" said Lord Henry.\n\n\"I wish now I had not told you about Sibyl Vane.\"\n\n\"You could not have helped telling me, Dorian.  All through your life\nyou will tell me everything you do.\"\n\n\"Yes, Harry, I believe that is true.  I cannot help telling you things.\nYou have a curious influence over me.  If I ever did a crime, I would\ncome and confess it to you.  You would understand me.\"\n\n\"People like you--the wilful sunbeams of life--don't commit crimes,\nDorian.  But I am much obliged for the compliment, all the same.  And\nnow tell me--reach me the matches, like a good boy--thanks--what are\nyour actual relations with Sibyl Vane?\"\n\nDorian Gray leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks and burning eyes.\n\"Harry!  Sibyl Vane is sacred!\"\n\n\"It is only the sacred things that are worth touching, Dorian,\" said\nLord Henry, with a strange touch of pathos in his voice.  \"But why\nshould you be annoyed?  I suppose she will belong to you some day.\nWhen one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one\nalways ends by deceiving others.  That is what the world calls a\nromance.  You know her, at any rate, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Of course I know her.  On the first night I was at the theatre, the\nhorrid old Jew came round to the box after the performance was over and\noffered to take me behind the scenes and introduce me to her.  I was\nfurious with him, and told him that Juliet had been dead for hundreds\nof years and that her body was lying in a marble tomb in Verona.  I\nthink, from his blank look of amazement, that he was under the\nimpression that I had taken too much champagne, or something.\"\n\n\"I am not surprised.\"\n\n\"Then he asked me if I wrote for any of the newspapers.  I told him I\nnever even read them.  He seemed terribly disappointed at that, and\nconfided to me that all the dramatic critics were in a conspiracy\nagainst him, and that they were every one of them to be bought.\"\n\n\"I should not wonder if he was quite right there.  But, on the other\nhand, judging from their appearance, most of them cannot be at all\nexpensive.\"\n\n\"Well, he seemed to think they were beyond his means,\" laughed Dorian.\n\"By this time, however, the lights were being put out in the theatre,\nand I had to go.  He wanted me to try some cigars that he strongly\nrecommended.  I declined.  The next night, of course, I arrived at the\nplace again.  When he saw me, he made me a low bow and assured me that\nI was a munificent patron of art.  He was a most offensive brute,\nthough he had an extraordinary passion for Shakespeare.  He told me\nonce, with an air of pride, that his five bankruptcies were entirely\ndue to 'The Bard,' as he insisted on calling him.  He seemed to think\nit a distinction.\"\n\n\"It was a distinction, my dear Dorian--a great distinction.  Most\npeople become bankrupt through having invested too heavily in the prose\nof life.  To have ruined one's self over poetry is an honour.  But when\ndid you first speak to Miss Sibyl Vane?\"\n\n\"The third night.  She had been playing Rosalind.  I could not help\ngoing round.  I had thrown her some flowers, and she had looked at\nme--at least I fancied that she had.  The old Jew was persistent.  He\nseemed determined to take me behind, so I consented.  It was curious my\nnot wanting to know her, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"No; I don't think so.\"\n\n\"My dear Harry, why?\"\n\n\"I will tell you some other time.  Now I want to know about the girl.\"\n\n\"Sibyl?  Oh, she was so shy and so gentle.  There is something of a\nchild about her.  Her eyes opened wide in exquisite wonder when I told\nher what I thought of her performance, and she seemed quite unconscious\nof her power.  I think we were both rather nervous.  The old Jew stood\ngrinning at the doorway of the dusty greenroom, making elaborate\nspeeches about us both, while we stood looking at each other like\nchildren.  He would insist on calling me 'My Lord,' so I had to assure\nSibyl that I was not anything of the kind.  She said quite simply to\nme, 'You look more like a prince.  I must call you Prince Charming.'\"\n\n\"Upon my word, Dorian, Miss Sibyl knows how to pay compliments.\"\n\n\"You don't understand her, Harry.  She regarded me merely as a person\nin a play.  She knows nothing of life.  She lives with her mother, a\nfaded tired woman who played Lady Capulet in a sort of magenta\ndressing-wrapper on the first night, and looks as if she had seen\nbetter days.\"\n\n\"I know that look.  It depresses me,\" murmured Lord Henry, examining\nhis rings.\n\n\"The Jew wanted to tell me her history, but I said it did not interest\nme.\"\n\n\"You were quite right.  There is always something infinitely mean about\nother people's tragedies.\"\n\n\"Sibyl is the only thing I care about.  What is it to me where she came\nfrom?  From her little head to her little feet, she is absolutely and\nentirely divine.  Every night of my life I go to see her act, and every\nnight she is more marvellous.\"\n\n\"That is the reason, I suppose, that you never dine with me now.  I\nthought you must have some curious romance on hand.  You have; but it\nis not quite what I expected.\"\n\n\"My dear Harry, we either lunch or sup together every day, and I have\nbeen to the opera with you several times,\" said Dorian, opening his\nblue eyes in wonder.\n\n\"You always come dreadfully late.\"\n\n\"Well, I can't help going to see Sibyl play,\" he cried, \"even if it is\nonly for a single act.  I get hungry for her presence; and when I think\nof the wonderful soul that is hidden away in that little ivory body, I\nam filled with awe.\"\n\n\"You can dine with me to-night, Dorian, can't you?\"\n\nHe shook his head.  \"To-night she is Imogen,\" he answered, \"and\nto-morrow night she will be Juliet.\"\n\n\"When is she Sibyl Vane?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"I congratulate you.\"\n\n\"How horrid you are!  She is all the great heroines of the world in\none.  She is more than an individual.  You laugh, but I tell you she\nhas genius.  I love her, and I must make her love me.  You, who know\nall the secrets of life, tell me how to charm Sibyl Vane to love me!  I\nwant to make Romeo jealous.  I want the dead lovers of the world to\nhear our laughter and grow sad.  I want a breath of our passion to stir\ntheir dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain.  My God,\nHarry, how I worship her!\"  He was walking up and down the room as he\nspoke.  Hectic spots of red burned on his cheeks.  He was terribly\nexcited.\n\nLord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure.  How different\nhe was now from the shy frightened boy he had met in Basil Hallward's\nstudio!  His nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of\nscarlet flame.  Out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and\ndesire had come to meet it on the way.\n\n\"And what do you propose to do?\" said Lord Henry at last.\n\n\"I want you and Basil to come with me some night and see her act.  I\nhave not the slightest fear of the result.  You are certain to\nacknowledge her genius.  Then we must get her out of the Jew's hands.\nShe is bound to him for three years--at least for two years and eight\nmonths--from the present time.  I shall have to pay him something, of\ncourse.  When all that is settled, I shall take a West End theatre and\nbring her out properly.  She will make the world as mad as she has made\nme.\"\n\n\"That would be impossible, my dear boy.\"\n\n\"Yes, she will.  She has not merely art, consummate art-instinct, in\nher, but she has personality also; and you have often told me that it\nis personalities, not principles, that move the age.\"\n\n\"Well, what night shall we go?\"\n\n\"Let me see.  To-day is Tuesday.  Let us fix to-morrow. She plays\nJuliet to-morrow.\"\n\n\"All right.  The Bristol at eight o'clock; and I will get Basil.\"\n\n\"Not eight, Harry, please.  Half-past six.  We must be there before the\ncurtain rises.  You must see her in the first act, where she meets\nRomeo.\"\n\n\"Half-past six!  What an hour!  It will be like having a meat-tea, or\nreading an English novel.  It must be seven.  No gentleman dines before\nseven.  Shall you see Basil between this and then?  Or shall I write to\nhim?\"\n\n\"Dear Basil!  I have not laid eyes on him for a week.  It is rather\nhorrid of me, as he has sent me my portrait in the most wonderful\nframe, specially designed by himself, and, though I am a little jealous\nof the picture for being a whole month younger than I am, I must admit\nthat I delight in it.  Perhaps you had better write to him.  I don't\nwant to see him alone.  He says things that annoy me.  He gives me good\nadvice.\"\n\nLord Henry smiled.  \"People are very fond of giving away what they need\nmost themselves.  It is what I call the depth of generosity.\"\n\n\"Oh, Basil is the best of fellows, but he seems to me to be just a bit\nof a Philistine.  Since I have known you, Harry, I have discovered\nthat.\"\n\n\"Basil, my dear boy, puts everything that is charming in him into his\nwork.  The consequence is that he has nothing left for life but his\nprejudices, his principles, and his common sense.  The only artists I\nhave ever known who are personally delightful are bad artists.  Good\nartists exist simply in what they make, and consequently are perfectly\nuninteresting in what they are.  A great poet, a really great poet, is\nthe most unpoetical of all creatures.  But inferior poets are\nabsolutely fascinating.  The worse their rhymes are, the more\npicturesque they look.  The mere fact of having published a book of\nsecond-rate sonnets makes a man quite irresistible.  He lives the\npoetry that he cannot write.  The others write the poetry that they\ndare not realize.\"\n\n\"I wonder is that really so, Harry?\" said Dorian Gray, putting some\nperfume on his handkerchief out of a large, gold-topped bottle that\nstood on the table.  \"It must be, if you say it.  And now I am off.\nImogen is waiting for me.  Don't forget about to-morrow. Good-bye.\"\n\nAs he left the room, Lord Henry's heavy eyelids drooped, and he began\nto think.  Certainly few people had ever interested him so much as\nDorian Gray, and yet the lad's mad adoration of some one else caused\nhim not the slightest pang of annoyance or jealousy.  He was pleased by\nit.  It made him a more interesting study.  He had been always\nenthralled by the methods of natural science, but the ordinary\nsubject-matter of that science had seemed to him trivial and of no\nimport.  And so he had begun by vivisecting himself, as he had ended by\nvivisecting others.  Human life--that appeared to him the one thing\nworth investigating.  Compared to it there was nothing else of any\nvalue.  It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible of\npain and pleasure, one could not wear over one's face a mask of glass,\nnor keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling the brain and making the\nimagination turbid with monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams.  There\nwere poisons so subtle that to know their properties one had to sicken\nof them.  There were maladies so strange that one had to pass through\nthem if one sought to understand their nature.  And, yet, what a great\nreward one received!  How wonderful the whole world became to one!  To\nnote the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life\nof the intellect--to observe where they met, and where they separated,\nat what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at\ndiscord--there was a delight in that!  What matter what the cost was?\nOne could never pay too high a price for any sensation.\n\nHe was conscious--and the thought brought a gleam of pleasure into his\nbrown agate eyes--that it was through certain words of his, musical\nwords said with musical utterance, that Dorian Gray's soul had turned\nto this white girl and bowed in worship before her.  To a large extent\nthe lad was his own creation.  He had made him premature.  That was\nsomething.  Ordinary people waited till life disclosed to them its\nsecrets, but to the few, to the elect, the mysteries of life were\nrevealed before the veil was drawn away.  Sometimes this was the effect\nof art, and chiefly of the art of literature, which dealt immediately\nwith the passions and the intellect.  But now and then a complex\npersonality took the place and assumed the office of art, was indeed,\nin its way, a real work of art, life having its elaborate masterpieces,\njust as poetry has, or sculpture, or painting.\n\nYes, the lad was premature.  He was gathering his harvest while it was\nyet spring.  The pulse and passion of youth were in him, but he was\nbecoming self-conscious. It was delightful to watch him.  With his\nbeautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at.\nIt was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end.  He was like\none of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem\nto be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir one's sense of beauty,\nand whose wounds are like red roses.\n\nSoul and body, body and soul--how mysterious they were!  There was\nanimalism in the soul, and the body had its moments of spirituality.\nThe senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade.  Who could\nsay where the fleshly impulse ceased, or the psychical impulse began?\nHow shallow were the arbitrary definitions of ordinary psychologists!\nAnd yet how difficult to decide between the claims of the various\nschools!  Was the soul a shadow seated in the house of sin?  Or was the\nbody really in the soul, as Giordano Bruno thought?  The separation of\nspirit from matter was a mystery, and the union of spirit with matter\nwas a mystery also.\n\nHe began to wonder whether we could ever make psychology so absolute a\nscience that each little spring of life would be revealed to us.  As it\nwas, we always misunderstood ourselves and rarely understood others.\nExperience was of no ethical value.  It was merely the name men gave to\ntheir mistakes.  Moralists had, as a rule, regarded it as a mode of\nwarning, had claimed for it a certain ethical efficacy in the formation\nof character, had praised it as something that taught us what to follow\nand showed us what to avoid.  But there was no motive power in\nexperience.  It was as little of an active cause as conscience itself.\nAll that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same\nas our past, and that the sin we had done once, and with loathing, we\nwould do many times, and with joy.\n\nIt was clear to him that the experimental method was the only method by\nwhich one could arrive at any scientific analysis of the passions; and\ncertainly Dorian Gray was a subject made to his hand, and seemed to\npromise rich and fruitful results.  His sudden mad love for Sibyl Vane\nwas a psychological phenomenon of no small interest.  There was no\ndoubt that curiosity had much to do with it, curiosity and the desire\nfor new experiences, yet it was not a simple, but rather a very complex\npassion.  What there was in it of the purely sensuous instinct of\nboyhood had been transformed by the workings of the imagination,\nchanged into something that seemed to the lad himself to be remote from\nsense, and was for that very reason all the more dangerous.  It was the\npassions about whose origin we deceived ourselves that tyrannized most\nstrongly over us.  Our weakest motives were those of whose nature we\nwere conscious.  It often happened that when we thought we were\nexperimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves.\n\nWhile Lord Henry sat dreaming on these things, a knock came to the\ndoor, and his valet entered and reminded him it was time to dress for\ndinner.  He got up and looked out into the street.  The sunset had\nsmitten into scarlet gold the upper windows of the houses opposite.\nThe panes glowed like plates of heated metal.  The sky above was like a\nfaded rose.  He thought of his friend's young fiery-coloured life and\nwondered how it was all going to end.\n\nWhen he arrived home, about half-past twelve o'clock, he saw a telegram\nlying on the hall table.  He opened it and found it was from Dorian\nGray.  It was to tell him that he was engaged to be married to Sibyl\nVane.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 5\n\n\"Mother, Mother, I am so happy!\" whispered the girl, burying her face\nin the lap of the faded, tired-looking woman who, with back turned to\nthe shrill intrusive light, was sitting in the one arm-chair that their\ndingy sitting-room contained.  \"I am so happy!\" she repeated, \"and you\nmust be happy, too!\"\n\nMrs. Vane winced and put her thin, bismuth-whitened hands on her\ndaughter's head.  \"Happy!\" she echoed, \"I am only happy, Sibyl, when I\nsee you act.  You must not think of anything but your acting.  Mr.\nIsaacs has been very good to us, and we owe him money.\"\n\nThe girl looked up and pouted.  \"Money, Mother?\" she cried, \"what does\nmoney matter?  Love is more than money.\"\n\n\"Mr. Isaacs has advanced us fifty pounds to pay off our debts and to\nget a proper outfit for James.  You must not forget that, Sibyl.  Fifty\npounds is a very large sum.  Mr. Isaacs has been most considerate.\"\n\n\"He is not a gentleman, Mother, and I hate the way he talks to me,\"\nsaid the girl, rising to her feet and going over to the window.\n\n\"I don't know how we could manage without him,\" answered the elder\nwoman querulously.\n\nSibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed.  \"We don't want him any more,\nMother.  Prince Charming rules life for us now.\" Then she paused.  A\nrose shook in her blood and shadowed her cheeks.  Quick breath parted\nthe petals of her lips.  They trembled.  Some southern wind of passion\nswept over her and stirred the dainty folds of her dress.  \"I love\nhim,\" she said simply.\n\n\"Foolish child! foolish child!\" was the parrot-phrase flung in answer.\nThe waving of crooked, false-jewelled fingers gave grotesqueness to the\nwords.\n\nThe girl laughed again.  The joy of a caged bird was in her voice.  Her\neyes caught the melody and echoed it in radiance, then closed for a\nmoment, as though to hide their secret.  When they opened, the mist of\na dream had passed across them.\n\nThin-lipped wisdom spoke at her from the worn chair, hinted at\nprudence, quoted from that book of cowardice whose author apes the name\nof common sense.  She did not listen.  She was free in her prison of\npassion.  Her prince, Prince Charming, was with her.  She had called on\nmemory to remake him.  She had sent her soul to search for him, and it\nhad brought him back.  His kiss burned again upon her mouth.  Her\neyelids were warm with his breath.\n\nThen wisdom altered its method and spoke of espial and discovery.  This\nyoung man might be rich.  If so, marriage should be thought of.\nAgainst the shell of her ear broke the waves of worldly cunning.  The\narrows of craft shot by her.  She saw the thin lips moving, and smiled.\n\nSuddenly she felt the need to speak.  The wordy silence troubled her.\n\"Mother, Mother,\" she cried, \"why does he love me so much?  I know why\nI love him.  I love him because he is like what love himself should be.\nBut what does he see in me?  I am not worthy of him.  And yet--why, I\ncannot tell--though I feel so much beneath him, I don't feel humble.  I\nfeel proud, terribly proud.  Mother, did you love my father as I love\nPrince Charming?\"\n\nThe elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse powder that daubed her\ncheeks, and her dry lips twitched with a spasm of pain.  Sybil rushed\nto her, flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her.  \"Forgive me,\nMother.  I know it pains you to talk about our father.  But it only\npains you because you loved him so much.  Don't look so sad.  I am as\nhappy to-day as you were twenty years ago.  Ah! let me be happy for\never!\"\n\n\"My child, you are far too young to think of falling in love.  Besides,\nwhat do you know of this young man?  You don't even know his name.  The\nwhole thing is most inconvenient, and really, when James is going away\nto Australia, and I have so much to think of, I must say that you\nshould have shown more consideration.  However, as I said before, if he\nis rich ...\"\n\n\"Ah!  Mother, Mother, let me be happy!\"\n\nMrs. Vane glanced at her, and with one of those false theatrical\ngestures that so often become a mode of second nature to a\nstage-player, clasped her in her arms.  At this moment, the door opened\nand a young lad with rough brown hair came into the room.  He was\nthick-set of figure, and his hands and feet were large and somewhat\nclumsy in movement.  He was not so finely bred as his sister.  One\nwould hardly have guessed the close relationship that existed between\nthem.  Mrs. Vane fixed her eyes on him and intensified her smile.  She\nmentally elevated her son to the dignity of an audience.  She felt sure\nthat the _tableau_ was interesting.\n\n\"You might keep some of your kisses for me, Sibyl, I think,\" said the\nlad with a good-natured grumble.\n\n\"Ah! but you don't like being kissed, Jim,\" she cried.  \"You are a\ndreadful old bear.\"  And she ran across the room and hugged him.\n\nJames Vane looked into his sister's face with tenderness.  \"I want you\nto come out with me for a walk, Sibyl.  I don't suppose I shall ever\nsee this horrid London again.  I am sure I don't want to.\"\n\n\"My son, don't say such dreadful things,\" murmured Mrs. Vane, taking up\na tawdry theatrical dress, with a sigh, and beginning to patch it.  She\nfelt a little disappointed that he had not joined the group.  It would\nhave increased the theatrical picturesqueness of the situation.\n\n\"Why not, Mother?  I mean it.\"\n\n\"You pain me, my son.  I trust you will return from Australia in a\nposition of affluence.  I believe there is no society of any kind in\nthe Colonies--nothing that I would call society--so when you have made\nyour fortune, you must come back and assert yourself in London.\"\n\n\"Society!\" muttered the lad.  \"I don't want to know anything about\nthat.  I should like to make some money to take you and Sibyl off the\nstage.  I hate it.\"\n\n\"Oh, Jim!\" said Sibyl, laughing, \"how unkind of you!  But are you\nreally going for a walk with me?  That will be nice!  I was afraid you\nwere going to say good-bye to some of your friends--to Tom Hardy, who\ngave you that hideous pipe, or Ned Langton, who makes fun of you for\nsmoking it.  It is very sweet of you to let me have your last\nafternoon.  Where shall we go?  Let us go to the park.\"\n\n\"I am too shabby,\" he answered, frowning.  \"Only swell people go to the\npark.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, Jim,\" she whispered, stroking the sleeve of his coat.\n\nHe hesitated for a moment.  \"Very well,\" he said at last, \"but don't be\ntoo long dressing.\"  She danced out of the door.  One could hear her\nsinging as she ran upstairs.  Her little feet pattered overhead.\n\nHe walked up and down the room two or three times.  Then he turned to\nthe still figure in the chair.  \"Mother, are my things ready?\" he asked.\n\n\"Quite ready, James,\" she answered, keeping her eyes on her work.  For\nsome months past she had felt ill at ease when she was alone with this\nrough stern son of hers.  Her shallow secret nature was troubled when\ntheir eyes met.  She used to wonder if he suspected anything.  The\nsilence, for he made no other observation, became intolerable to her.\nShe began to complain.  Women defend themselves by attacking, just as\nthey attack by sudden and strange surrenders.  \"I hope you will be\ncontented, James, with your sea-faring life,\" she said.  \"You must\nremember that it is your own choice.  You might have entered a\nsolicitor's office.  Solicitors are a very respectable class, and in\nthe country often dine with the best families.\"\n\n\"I hate offices, and I hate clerks,\" he replied.  \"But you are quite\nright.  I have chosen my own life.  All I say is, watch over Sibyl.\nDon't let her come to any harm.  Mother, you must watch over her.\"\n\n\"James, you really talk very strangely.  Of course I watch over Sibyl.\"\n\n\"I hear a gentleman comes every night to the theatre and goes behind to\ntalk to her.  Is that right?  What about that?\"\n\n\"You are speaking about things you don't understand, James.  In the\nprofession we are accustomed to receive a great deal of most gratifying\nattention.  I myself used to receive many bouquets at one time.  That\nwas when acting was really understood.  As for Sibyl, I do not know at\npresent whether her attachment is serious or not.  But there is no\ndoubt that the young man in question is a perfect gentleman.  He is\nalways most polite to me.  Besides, he has the appearance of being\nrich, and the flowers he sends are lovely.\"\n\n\"You don't know his name, though,\" said the lad harshly.\n\n\"No,\" answered his mother with a placid expression in her face.  \"He\nhas not yet revealed his real name.  I think it is quite romantic of\nhim.  He is probably a member of the aristocracy.\"\n\nJames Vane bit his lip.  \"Watch over Sibyl, Mother,\" he cried, \"watch\nover her.\"\n\n\"My son, you distress me very much.  Sibyl is always under my special\ncare.  Of course, if this gentleman is wealthy, there is no reason why\nshe should not contract an alliance with him.  I trust he is one of the\naristocracy.  He has all the appearance of it, I must say.  It might be\na most brilliant marriage for Sibyl.  They would make a charming\ncouple.  His good looks are really quite remarkable; everybody notices\nthem.\"\n\nThe lad muttered something to himself and drummed on the window-pane\nwith his coarse fingers.  He had just turned round to say something\nwhen the door opened and Sibyl ran in.\n\n\"How serious you both are!\" she cried.  \"What is the matter?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" he answered.  \"I suppose one must be serious sometimes.\nGood-bye, Mother; I will have my dinner at five o'clock. Everything is\npacked, except my shirts, so you need not trouble.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, my son,\" she answered with a bow of strained stateliness.\n\nShe was extremely annoyed at the tone he had adopted with her, and\nthere was something in his look that had made her feel afraid.\n\n\"Kiss me, Mother,\" said the girl.  Her flowerlike lips touched the\nwithered cheek and warmed its frost.\n\n\"My child! my child!\" cried Mrs. Vane, looking up to the ceiling in\nsearch of an imaginary gallery.\n\n\"Come, Sibyl,\" said her brother impatiently.  He hated his mother's\naffectations.\n\nThey went out into the flickering, wind-blown sunlight and strolled\ndown the dreary Euston Road.  The passersby glanced in wonder at the\nsullen heavy youth who, in coarse, ill-fitting clothes, was in the\ncompany of such a graceful, refined-looking girl.  He was like a common\ngardener walking with a rose.\n\nJim frowned from time to time when he caught the inquisitive glance of\nsome stranger.  He had that dislike of being stared at, which comes on\ngeniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace.  Sibyl,\nhowever, was quite unconscious of the effect she was producing.  Her\nlove was trembling in laughter on her lips.  She was thinking of Prince\nCharming, and, that she might think of him all the more, she did not\ntalk of him, but prattled on about the ship in which Jim was going to\nsail, about the gold he was certain to find, about the wonderful\nheiress whose life he was to save from the wicked, red-shirted\nbushrangers.  For he was not to remain a sailor, or a supercargo, or\nwhatever he was going to be.  Oh, no!  A sailor's existence was\ndreadful.  Fancy being cooped up in a horrid ship, with the hoarse,\nhump-backed waves trying to get in, and a black wind blowing the masts\ndown and tearing the sails into long screaming ribands!  He was to\nleave the vessel at Melbourne, bid a polite good-bye to the captain,\nand go off at once to the gold-fields. Before a week was over he was to\ncome across a large nugget of pure gold, the largest nugget that had\never been discovered, and bring it down to the coast in a waggon\nguarded by six mounted policemen.  The bushrangers were to attack them\nthree times, and be defeated with immense slaughter.  Or, no.  He was\nnot to go to the gold-fields at all.  They were horrid places, where\nmen got intoxicated, and shot each other in bar-rooms, and used bad\nlanguage.  He was to be a nice sheep-farmer, and one evening, as he was\nriding home, he was to see the beautiful heiress being carried off by a\nrobber on a black horse, and give chase, and rescue her.  Of course,\nshe would fall in love with him, and he with her, and they would get\nmarried, and come home, and live in an immense house in London.  Yes,\nthere were delightful things in store for him.  But he must be very\ngood, and not lose his temper, or spend his money foolishly.  She was\nonly a year older than he was, but she knew so much more of life.  He\nmust be sure, also, to write to her by every mail, and to say his\nprayers each night before he went to sleep.  God was very good, and\nwould watch over him.  She would pray for him, too, and in a few years\nhe would come back quite rich and happy.\n\nThe lad listened sulkily to her and made no answer.  He was heart-sick\nat leaving home.\n\nYet it was not this alone that made him gloomy and morose.\nInexperienced though he was, he had still a strong sense of the danger\nof Sibyl's position.  This young dandy who was making love to her could\nmean her no good.  He was a gentleman, and he hated him for that, hated\nhim through some curious race-instinct for which he could not account,\nand which for that reason was all the more dominant within him.  He was\nconscious also of the shallowness and vanity of his mother's nature,\nand in that saw infinite peril for Sibyl and Sibyl's happiness.\nChildren begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge\nthem; sometimes they forgive them.\n\nHis mother!  He had something on his mind to ask of her, something that\nhe had brooded on for many months of silence.  A chance phrase that he\nhad heard at the theatre, a whispered sneer that had reached his ears\none night as he waited at the stage-door, had set loose a train of\nhorrible thoughts.  He remembered it as if it had been the lash of a\nhunting-crop across his face.  His brows knit together into a wedge-like\nfurrow, and with a twitch of pain he bit his underlip.\n\n\"You are not listening to a word I am saying, Jim,\" cried Sibyl, \"and I\nam making the most delightful plans for your future.  Do say something.\"\n\n\"What do you want me to say?\"\n\n\"Oh! that you will be a good boy and not forget us,\" she answered,\nsmiling at him.\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders.  \"You are more likely to forget me than I am\nto forget you, Sibyl.\"\n\nShe flushed.  \"What do you mean, Jim?\" she asked.\n\n\"You have a new friend, I hear.  Who is he?  Why have you not told me\nabout him?  He means you no good.\"\n\n\"Stop, Jim!\" she exclaimed.  \"You must not say anything against him.  I\nlove him.\"\n\n\"Why, you don't even know his name,\" answered the lad.  \"Who is he?  I\nhave a right to know.\"\n\n\"He is called Prince Charming.  Don't you like the name.  Oh! you silly\nboy! you should never forget it.  If you only saw him, you would think\nhim the most wonderful person in the world.  Some day you will meet\nhim--when you come back from Australia.  You will like him so much.\nEverybody likes him, and I ... love him.  I wish you could come to the\ntheatre to-night. He is going to be there, and I am to play Juliet.\nOh! how I shall play it!  Fancy, Jim, to be in love and play Juliet!\nTo have him sitting there!  To play for his delight!  I am afraid I may\nfrighten the company, frighten or enthrall them.  To be in love is to\nsurpass one's self.  Poor dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting 'genius'\nto his loafers at the bar.  He has preached me as a dogma; to-night he\nwill announce me as a revelation.  I feel it.  And it is all his, his\nonly, Prince Charming, my wonderful lover, my god of graces.  But I am\npoor beside him.  Poor?  What does that matter?  When poverty creeps in\nat the door, love flies in through the window.  Our proverbs want\nrewriting.  They were made in winter, and it is summer now; spring-time\nfor me, I think, a very dance of blossoms in blue skies.\"\n\n\"He is a gentleman,\" said the lad sullenly.\n\n\"A prince!\" she cried musically.  \"What more do you want?\"\n\n\"He wants to enslave you.\"\n\n\"I shudder at the thought of being free.\"\n\n\"I want you to beware of him.\"\n\n\"To see him is to worship him; to know him is to trust him.\"\n\n\"Sibyl, you are mad about him.\"\n\nShe laughed and took his arm.  \"You dear old Jim, you talk as if you\nwere a hundred.  Some day you will be in love yourself.  Then you will\nknow what it is.  Don't look so sulky.  Surely you should be glad to\nthink that, though you are going away, you leave me happier than I have\never been before.  Life has been hard for us both, terribly hard and\ndifficult.  But it will be different now.  You are going to a new\nworld, and I have found one.  Here are two chairs; let us sit down and\nsee the smart people go by.\"\n\nThey took their seats amidst a crowd of watchers.  The tulip-beds\nacross the road flamed like throbbing rings of fire.  A white\ndust--tremulous cloud of orris-root it seemed--hung in the panting air.\nThe brightly coloured parasols danced and dipped like monstrous\nbutterflies.\n\nShe made her brother talk of himself, his hopes, his prospects.  He\nspoke slowly and with effort.  They passed words to each other as\nplayers at a game pass counters.  Sibyl felt oppressed.  She could not\ncommunicate her joy.  A faint smile curving that sullen mouth was all\nthe echo she could win.  After some time she became silent.  Suddenly\nshe caught a glimpse of golden hair and laughing lips, and in an open\ncarriage with two ladies Dorian Gray drove past.\n\nShe started to her feet.  \"There he is!\" she cried.\n\n\"Who?\" said Jim Vane.\n\n\"Prince Charming,\" she answered, looking after the victoria.\n\nHe jumped up and seized her roughly by the arm.  \"Show him to me.\nWhich is he?  Point him out.  I must see him!\" he exclaimed; but at\nthat moment the Duke of Berwick's four-in-hand came between, and when\nit had left the space clear, the carriage had swept out of the park.\n\n\"He is gone,\" murmured Sibyl sadly.  \"I wish you had seen him.\"\n\n\"I wish I had, for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does\nyou any wrong, I shall kill him.\"\n\nShe looked at him in horror.  He repeated his words.  They cut the air\nlike a dagger.  The people round began to gape.  A lady standing close\nto her tittered.\n\n\"Come away, Jim; come away,\" she whispered.  He followed her doggedly\nas she passed through the crowd.  He felt glad at what he had said.\n\nWhen they reached the Achilles Statue, she turned round.  There was\npity in her eyes that became laughter on her lips.  She shook her head\nat him.  \"You are foolish, Jim, utterly foolish; a bad-tempered boy,\nthat is all.  How can you say such horrible things?  You don't know\nwhat you are talking about.  You are simply jealous and unkind.  Ah!  I\nwish you would fall in love.  Love makes people good, and what you said\nwas wicked.\"\n\n\"I am sixteen,\" he answered, \"and I know what I am about.  Mother is no\nhelp to you.  She doesn't understand how to look after you.  I wish now\nthat I was not going to Australia at all.  I have a great mind to chuck\nthe whole thing up.  I would, if my articles hadn't been signed.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't be so serious, Jim.  You are like one of the heroes of those\nsilly melodramas Mother used to be so fond of acting in.  I am not\ngoing to quarrel with you.  I have seen him, and oh! to see him is\nperfect happiness.  We won't quarrel.  I know you would never harm any\none I love, would you?\"\n\n\"Not as long as you love him, I suppose,\" was the sullen answer.\n\n\"I shall love him for ever!\" she cried.\n\n\"And he?\"\n\n\"For ever, too!\"\n\n\"He had better.\"\n\nShe shrank from him.  Then she laughed and put her hand on his arm.  He\nwas merely a boy.\n\nAt the Marble Arch they hailed an omnibus, which left them close to\ntheir shabby home in the Euston Road.  It was after five o'clock, and\nSibyl had to lie down for a couple of hours before acting.  Jim\ninsisted that she should do so.  He said that he would sooner part with\nher when their mother was not present.  She would be sure to make a\nscene, and he detested scenes of every kind.\n\nIn Sybil's own room they parted.  There was jealousy in the lad's\nheart, and a fierce murderous hatred of the stranger who, as it seemed\nto him, had come between them.  Yet, when her arms were flung round his\nneck, and her fingers strayed through his hair, he softened and kissed\nher with real affection.  There were tears in his eyes as he went\ndownstairs.\n\nHis mother was waiting for him below.  She grumbled at his\nunpunctuality, as he entered.  He made no answer, but sat down to his\nmeagre meal.  The flies buzzed round the table and crawled over the\nstained cloth.  Through the rumble of omnibuses, and the clatter of\nstreet-cabs, he could hear the droning voice devouring each minute that\nwas left to him.\n\nAfter some time, he thrust away his plate and put his head in his\nhands.  He felt that he had a right to know.  It should have been told\nto him before, if it was as he suspected.  Leaden with fear, his mother\nwatched him.  Words dropped mechanically from her lips.  A tattered\nlace handkerchief twitched in her fingers.  When the clock struck six,\nhe got up and went to the door.  Then he turned back and looked at her.\nTheir eyes met.  In hers he saw a wild appeal for mercy.  It enraged\nhim.\n\n\"Mother, I have something to ask you,\" he said.  Her eyes wandered\nvaguely about the room.  She made no answer.  \"Tell me the truth.  I\nhave a right to know.  Were you married to my father?\"\n\nShe heaved a deep sigh.  It was a sigh of relief.  The terrible moment,\nthe moment that night and day, for weeks and months, she had dreaded,\nhad come at last, and yet she felt no terror.  Indeed, in some measure\nit was a disappointment to her.  The vulgar directness of the question\ncalled for a direct answer.  The situation had not been gradually led\nup to.  It was crude.  It reminded her of a bad rehearsal.\n\n\"No,\" she answered, wondering at the harsh simplicity of life.\n\n\"My father was a scoundrel then!\" cried the lad, clenching his fists.\n\nShe shook her head.  \"I knew he was not free.  We loved each other very\nmuch.  If he had lived, he would have made provision for us.  Don't\nspeak against him, my son.  He was your father, and a gentleman.\nIndeed, he was highly connected.\"\n\nAn oath broke from his lips.  \"I don't care for myself,\" he exclaimed,\n\"but don't let Sibyl.... It is a gentleman, isn't it, who is in love\nwith her, or says he is?  Highly connected, too, I suppose.\"\n\nFor a moment a hideous sense of humiliation came over the woman.  Her\nhead drooped.  She wiped her eyes with shaking hands.  \"Sibyl has a\nmother,\" she murmured; \"I had none.\"\n\nThe lad was touched.  He went towards her, and stooping down, he kissed\nher.  \"I am sorry if I have pained you by asking about my father,\" he\nsaid, \"but I could not help it.  I must go now.  Good-bye. Don't forget\nthat you will have only one child now to look after, and believe me\nthat if this man wrongs my sister, I will find out who he is, track him\ndown, and kill him like a dog.  I swear it.\"\n\nThe exaggerated folly of the threat, the passionate gesture that\naccompanied it, the mad melodramatic words, made life seem more vivid\nto her.  She was familiar with the atmosphere.  She breathed more\nfreely, and for the first time for many months she really admired her\nson.  She would have liked to have continued the scene on the same\nemotional scale, but he cut her short.  Trunks had to be carried down\nand mufflers looked for.  The lodging-house drudge bustled in and out.\nThere was the bargaining with the cabman.  The moment was lost in\nvulgar details.  It was with a renewed feeling of disappointment that\nshe waved the tattered lace handkerchief from the window, as her son\ndrove away.  She was conscious that a great opportunity had been\nwasted.  She consoled herself by telling Sibyl how desolate she felt\nher life would be, now that she had only one child to look after.  She\nremembered the phrase.  It had pleased her.  Of the threat she said\nnothing.  It was vividly and dramatically expressed.  She felt that\nthey would all laugh at it some day.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 6\n\n\"I suppose you have heard the news, Basil?\" said Lord Henry that\nevening as Hallward was shown into a little private room at the Bristol\nwhere dinner had been laid for three.\n\n\"No, Harry,\" answered the artist, giving his hat and coat to the bowing\nwaiter.  \"What is it?  Nothing about politics, I hope!  They don't\ninterest me.  There is hardly a single person in the House of Commons\nworth painting, though many of them would be the better for a little\nwhitewashing.\"\n\n\"Dorian Gray is engaged to be married,\" said Lord Henry, watching him\nas he spoke.\n\nHallward started and then frowned.  \"Dorian engaged to be married!\" he\ncried.  \"Impossible!\"\n\n\"It is perfectly true.\"\n\n\"To whom?\"\n\n\"To some little actress or other.\"\n\n\"I can't believe it.  Dorian is far too sensible.\"\n\n\"Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear\nBasil.\"\n\n\"Marriage is hardly a thing that one can do now and then, Harry.\"\n\n\"Except in America,\" rejoined Lord Henry languidly.  \"But I didn't say\nhe was married.  I said he was engaged to be married.  There is a great\ndifference.  I have a distinct remembrance of being married, but I have\nno recollection at all of being engaged.  I am inclined to think that I\nnever was engaged.\"\n\n\"But think of Dorian's birth, and position, and wealth.  It would be\nabsurd for him to marry so much beneath him.\"\n\n\"If you want to make him marry this girl, tell him that, Basil.  He is\nsure to do it, then.  Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it\nis always from the noblest motives.\"\n\n\"I hope the girl is good, Harry.  I don't want to see Dorian tied to\nsome vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his\nintellect.\"\n\n\"Oh, she is better than good--she is beautiful,\" murmured Lord Henry,\nsipping a glass of vermouth and orange-bitters. \"Dorian says she is\nbeautiful, and he is not often wrong about things of that kind.  Your\nportrait of him has quickened his appreciation of the personal\nappearance of other people.  It has had that excellent effect, amongst\nothers.  We are to see her to-night, if that boy doesn't forget his\nappointment.\"\n\n\"Are you serious?\"\n\n\"Quite serious, Basil.  I should be miserable if I thought I should\never be more serious than I am at the present moment.\"\n\n\"But do you approve of it, Harry?\" asked the painter, walking up and\ndown the room and biting his lip.  \"You can't approve of it, possibly.\nIt is some silly infatuation.\"\n\n\"I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now.  It is an absurd\nattitude to take towards life.  We are not sent into the world to air\nour moral prejudices.  I never take any notice of what common people\nsay, and I never interfere with what charming people do.  If a\npersonality fascinates me, whatever mode of expression that personality\nselects is absolutely delightful to me.  Dorian Gray falls in love with\na beautiful girl who acts Juliet, and proposes to marry her.  Why not?\nIf he wedded Messalina, he would be none the less interesting.  You\nknow I am not a champion of marriage.  The real drawback to marriage is\nthat it makes one unselfish.  And unselfish people are colourless.\nThey lack individuality.  Still, there are certain temperaments that\nmarriage makes more complex.  They retain their egotism, and add to it\nmany other egos.  They are forced to have more than one life.  They\nbecome more highly organized, and to be highly organized is, I should\nfancy, the object of man's existence.  Besides, every experience is of\nvalue, and whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an\nexperience.  I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife,\npassionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly become\nfascinated by some one else.  He would be a wonderful study.\"\n\n\"You don't mean a single word of all that, Harry; you know you don't.\nIf Dorian Gray's life were spoiled, no one would be sorrier than\nyourself.  You are much better than you pretend to be.\"\n\nLord Henry laughed.  \"The reason we all like to think so well of others\nis that we are all afraid for ourselves.  The basis of optimism is\nsheer terror.  We think that we are generous because we credit our\nneighbour with the possession of those virtues that are likely to be a\nbenefit to us.  We praise the banker that we may overdraw our account,\nand find good qualities in the highwayman in the hope that he may spare\nour pockets.  I mean everything that I have said.  I have the greatest\ncontempt for optimism.  As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but\none whose growth is arrested.  If you want to mar a nature, you have\nmerely to reform it.  As for marriage, of course that would be silly,\nbut there are other and more interesting bonds between men and women.\nI will certainly encourage them.  They have the charm of being\nfashionable.  But here is Dorian himself.  He will tell you more than I\ncan.\"\n\n\"My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you must both congratulate me!\" said the\nlad, throwing off his evening cape with its satin-lined wings and\nshaking each of his friends by the hand in turn.  \"I have never been so\nhappy.  Of course, it is sudden--all really delightful things are.  And\nyet it seems to me to be the one thing I have been looking for all my\nlife.\" He was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and looked\nextraordinarily handsome.\n\n\"I hope you will always be very happy, Dorian,\" said Hallward, \"but I\ndon't quite forgive you for not having let me know of your engagement.\nYou let Harry know.\"\n\n\"And I don't forgive you for being late for dinner,\" broke in Lord\nHenry, putting his hand on the lad's shoulder and smiling as he spoke.\n\"Come, let us sit down and try what the new _chef_ here is like, and then\nyou will tell us how it all came about.\"\n\n\"There is really not much to tell,\" cried Dorian as they took their\nseats at the small round table.  \"What happened was simply this.  After\nI left you yesterday evening, Harry, I dressed, had some dinner at that\nlittle Italian restaurant in Rupert Street you introduced me to, and\nwent down at eight o'clock to the theatre.  Sibyl was playing Rosalind.\nOf course, the scenery was dreadful and the Orlando absurd.  But Sibyl!\nYou should have seen her!  When she came on in her boy's clothes, she\nwas perfectly wonderful.  She wore a moss-coloured velvet jerkin with\ncinnamon sleeves, slim, brown, cross-gartered hose, a dainty little\ngreen cap with a hawk's feather caught in a jewel, and a hooded cloak\nlined with dull red.  She had never seemed to me more exquisite.  She\nhad all the delicate grace of that Tanagra figurine that you have in\nyour studio, Basil.  Her hair clustered round her face like dark leaves\nround a pale rose.  As for her acting--well, you shall see her\nto-night. She is simply a born artist.  I sat in the dingy box\nabsolutely enthralled.  I forgot that I was in London and in the\nnineteenth century.  I was away with my love in a forest that no man\nhad ever seen.  After the performance was over, I went behind and spoke\nto her.  As we were sitting together, suddenly there came into her eyes\na look that I had never seen there before.  My lips moved towards hers.\nWe kissed each other.  I can't describe to you what I felt at that\nmoment.  It seemed to me that all my life had been narrowed to one\nperfect point of rose-coloured joy.  She trembled all over and shook\nlike a white narcissus.  Then she flung herself on her knees and kissed\nmy hands.  I feel that I should not tell you all this, but I can't help\nit.  Of course, our engagement is a dead secret.  She has not even told\nher own mother.  I don't know what my guardians will say.  Lord Radley\nis sure to be furious.  I don't care.  I shall be of age in less than a\nyear, and then I can do what I like.  I have been right, Basil, haven't\nI, to take my love out of poetry and to find my wife in Shakespeare's\nplays?  Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their\nsecret in my ear.  I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and\nkissed Juliet on the mouth.\"\n\n\"Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right,\" said Hallward slowly.\n\n\"Have you seen her to-day?\" asked Lord Henry.\n\nDorian Gray shook his head.  \"I left her in the forest of Arden; I\nshall find her in an orchard in Verona.\"\n\nLord Henry sipped his champagne in a meditative manner.  \"At what\nparticular point did you mention the word marriage, Dorian?  And what\ndid she say in answer?  Perhaps you forgot all about it.\"\n\n\"My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a business transaction, and I did\nnot make any formal proposal.  I told her that I loved her, and she\nsaid she was not worthy to be my wife.  Not worthy!  Why, the whole\nworld is nothing to me compared with her.\"\n\n\"Women are wonderfully practical,\" murmured Lord Henry, \"much more\npractical than we are.  In situations of that kind we often forget to\nsay anything about marriage, and they always remind us.\"\n\nHallward laid his hand upon his arm.  \"Don't, Harry.  You have annoyed\nDorian.  He is not like other men.  He would never bring misery upon\nany one.  His nature is too fine for that.\"\n\nLord Henry looked across the table.  \"Dorian is never annoyed with me,\"\nhe answered.  \"I asked the question for the best reason possible, for\nthe only reason, indeed, that excuses one for asking any\nquestion--simple curiosity.  I have a theory that it is always the\nwomen who propose to us, and not we who propose to the women.  Except,\nof course, in middle-class life.  But then the middle classes are not\nmodern.\"\n\nDorian Gray laughed, and tossed his head.  \"You are quite incorrigible,\nHarry; but I don't mind.  It is impossible to be angry with you.  When\nyou see Sibyl Vane, you will feel that the man who could wrong her\nwould be a beast, a beast without a heart.  I cannot understand how any\none can wish to shame the thing he loves.  I love Sibyl Vane.  I want\nto place her on a pedestal of gold and to see the world worship the\nwoman who is mine.  What is marriage?  An irrevocable vow.  You mock at\nit for that.  Ah! don't mock.  It is an irrevocable vow that I want to\ntake.  Her trust makes me faithful, her belief makes me good.  When I\nam with her, I regret all that you have taught me.  I become different\nfrom what you have known me to be.  I am changed, and the mere touch of\nSibyl Vane's hand makes me forget you and all your wrong, fascinating,\npoisonous, delightful theories.\"\n\n\"And those are ...?\" asked Lord Henry, helping himself to some salad.\n\n\"Oh, your theories about life, your theories about love, your theories\nabout pleasure.  All your theories, in fact, Harry.\"\n\n\"Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about,\" he answered\nin his slow melodious voice.  \"But I am afraid I cannot claim my theory\nas my own.  It belongs to Nature, not to me.  Pleasure is Nature's\ntest, her sign of approval.  When we are happy, we are always good, but\nwhen we are good, we are not always happy.\"\n\n\"Ah! but what do you mean by good?\" cried Basil Hallward.\n\n\"Yes,\" echoed Dorian, leaning back in his chair and looking at Lord\nHenry over the heavy clusters of purple-lipped irises that stood in the\ncentre of the table, \"what do you mean by good, Harry?\"\n\n\"To be good is to be in harmony with one's self,\" he replied, touching\nthe thin stem of his glass with his pale, fine-pointed fingers.\n\"Discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others.  One's own\nlife--that is the important thing.  As for the lives of one's\nneighbours, if one wishes to be a prig or a Puritan, one can flaunt\none's moral views about them, but they are not one's concern.  Besides,\nindividualism has really the higher aim.  Modern morality consists in\naccepting the standard of one's age.  I consider that for any man of\nculture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest\nimmorality.\"\n\n\"But, surely, if one lives merely for one's self, Harry, one pays a\nterrible price for doing so?\" suggested the painter.\n\n\"Yes, we are overcharged for everything nowadays.  I should fancy that\nthe real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford nothing but\nself-denial. Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege\nof the rich.\"\n\n\"One has to pay in other ways but money.\"\n\n\"What sort of ways, Basil?\"\n\n\"Oh!  I should fancy in remorse, in suffering, in ... well, in the\nconsciousness of degradation.\"\n\nLord Henry shrugged his shoulders.  \"My dear fellow, mediaeval art is\ncharming, but mediaeval emotions are out of date.  One can use them in\nfiction, of course.  But then the only things that one can use in\nfiction are the things that one has ceased to use in fact.  Believe me,\nno civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever\nknows what a pleasure is.\"\n\n\"I know what pleasure is,\" cried Dorian Gray.  \"It is to adore some\none.\"\n\n\"That is certainly better than being adored,\" he answered, toying with\nsome fruits.  \"Being adored is a nuisance.  Women treat us just as\nhumanity treats its gods.  They worship us, and are always bothering us\nto do something for them.\"\n\n\"I should have said that whatever they ask for they had first given to\nus,\" murmured the lad gravely.  \"They create love in our natures.  They\nhave a right to demand it back.\"\n\n\"That is quite true, Dorian,\" cried Hallward.\n\n\"Nothing is ever quite true,\" said Lord Henry.\n\n\"This is,\" interrupted Dorian.  \"You must admit, Harry, that women give\nto men the very gold of their lives.\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" he sighed, \"but they invariably want it back in such very\nsmall change.  That is the worry.  Women, as some witty Frenchman once\nput it, inspire us with the desire to do masterpieces and always\nprevent us from carrying them out.\"\n\n\"Harry, you are dreadful!  I don't know why I like you so much.\"\n\n\"You will always like me, Dorian,\" he replied.  \"Will you have some\ncoffee, you fellows?  Waiter, bring coffee, and _fine-champagne_, and\nsome cigarettes.  No, don't mind the cigarettes--I have some.  Basil, I\ncan't allow you to smoke cigars.  You must have a cigarette.  A\ncigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure.  It is exquisite,\nand it leaves one unsatisfied.  What more can one want?  Yes, Dorian,\nyou will always be fond of me.  I represent to you all the sins you\nhave never had the courage to commit.\"\n\n\"What nonsense you talk, Harry!\" cried the lad, taking a light from a\nfire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had placed on the table.\n\"Let us go down to the theatre.  When Sibyl comes on the stage you will\nhave a new ideal of life.  She will represent something to you that you\nhave never known.\"\n\n\"I have known everything,\" said Lord Henry, with a tired look in his\neyes, \"but I am always ready for a new emotion.  I am afraid, however,\nthat, for me at any rate, there is no such thing.  Still, your\nwonderful girl may thrill me.  I love acting.  It is so much more real\nthan life.  Let us go.  Dorian, you will come with me.  I am so sorry,\nBasil, but there is only room for two in the brougham.  You must follow\nus in a hansom.\"\n\nThey got up and put on their coats, sipping their coffee standing.  The\npainter was silent and preoccupied.  There was a gloom over him.  He\ncould not bear this marriage, and yet it seemed to him to be better\nthan many other things that might have happened.  After a few minutes,\nthey all passed downstairs.  He drove off by himself, as had been\narranged, and watched the flashing lights of the little brougham in\nfront of him.  A strange sense of loss came over him.  He felt that\nDorian Gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the\npast.  Life had come between them.... His eyes darkened, and the\ncrowded flaring streets became blurred to his eyes.  When the cab drew\nup at the theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown years older.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 7\n\nFor some reason or other, the house was crowded that night, and the fat\nJew manager who met them at the door was beaming from ear to ear with\nan oily tremulous smile.  He escorted them to their box with a sort of\npompous humility, waving his fat jewelled hands and talking at the top\nof his voice.  Dorian Gray loathed him more than ever.  He felt as if\nhe had come to look for Miranda and had been met by Caliban.  Lord\nHenry, upon the other hand, rather liked him.  At least he declared he\ndid, and insisted on shaking him by the hand and assuring him that he\nwas proud to meet a man who had discovered a real genius and gone\nbankrupt over a poet.  Hallward amused himself with watching the faces\nin the pit.  The heat was terribly oppressive, and the huge sunlight\nflamed like a monstrous dahlia with petals of yellow fire.  The youths\nin the gallery had taken off their coats and waistcoats and hung them\nover the side.  They talked to each other across the theatre and shared\ntheir oranges with the tawdry girls who sat beside them.  Some women\nwere laughing in the pit.  Their voices were horribly shrill and\ndiscordant.  The sound of the popping of corks came from the bar.\n\n\"What a place to find one's divinity in!\" said Lord Henry.\n\n\"Yes!\" answered Dorian Gray.  \"It was here I found her, and she is\ndivine beyond all living things.  When she acts, you will forget\neverything.  These common rough people, with their coarse faces and\nbrutal gestures, become quite different when she is on the stage.  They\nsit silently and watch her.  They weep and laugh as she wills them to\ndo.  She makes them as responsive as a violin.  She spiritualizes them,\nand one feels that they are of the same flesh and blood as one's self.\"\n\n\"The same flesh and blood as one's self!  Oh, I hope not!\" exclaimed\nLord Henry, who was scanning the occupants of the gallery through his\nopera-glass.\n\n\"Don't pay any attention to him, Dorian,\" said the painter.  \"I\nunderstand what you mean, and I believe in this girl.  Any one you love\nmust be marvellous, and any girl who has the effect you describe must\nbe fine and noble.  To spiritualize one's age--that is something worth\ndoing.  If this girl can give a soul to those who have lived without\none, if she can create the sense of beauty in people whose lives have\nbeen sordid and ugly, if she can strip them of their selfishness and\nlend them tears for sorrows that are not their own, she is worthy of\nall your adoration, worthy of the adoration of the world.  This\nmarriage is quite right.  I did not think so at first, but I admit it\nnow.  The gods made Sibyl Vane for you.  Without her you would have\nbeen incomplete.\"\n\n\"Thanks, Basil,\" answered Dorian Gray, pressing his hand.  \"I knew that\nyou would understand me.  Harry is so cynical, he terrifies me.  But\nhere is the orchestra.  It is quite dreadful, but it only lasts for\nabout five minutes.  Then the curtain rises, and you will see the girl\nto whom I am going to give all my life, to whom I have given everything\nthat is good in me.\"\n\nA quarter of an hour afterwards, amidst an extraordinary turmoil of\napplause, Sibyl Vane stepped on to the stage.  Yes, she was certainly\nlovely to look at--one of the loveliest creatures, Lord Henry thought,\nthat he had ever seen.  There was something of the fawn in her shy\ngrace and startled eyes.  A faint blush, like the shadow of a rose in a\nmirror of silver, came to her cheeks as she glanced at the crowded\nenthusiastic house.  She stepped back a few paces and her lips seemed\nto tremble.  Basil Hallward leaped to his feet and began to applaud.\nMotionless, and as one in a dream, sat Dorian Gray, gazing at her.\nLord Henry peered through his glasses, murmuring, \"Charming! charming!\"\n\nThe scene was the hall of Capulet's house, and Romeo in his pilgrim's\ndress had entered with Mercutio and his other friends.  The band, such\nas it was, struck up a few bars of music, and the dance began.  Through\nthe crowd of ungainly, shabbily dressed actors, Sibyl Vane moved like a\ncreature from a finer world.  Her body swayed, while she danced, as a\nplant sways in the water.  The curves of her throat were the curves of\na white lily.  Her hands seemed to be made of cool ivory.\n\nYet she was curiously listless.  She showed no sign of joy when her\neyes rested on Romeo.  The few words she had to speak--\n\n    Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,\n        Which mannerly devotion shows in this;\n    For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,\n        And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss--\n\nwith the brief dialogue that follows, were spoken in a thoroughly\nartificial manner.  The voice was exquisite, but from the point of view\nof tone it was absolutely false.  It was wrong in colour.  It took away\nall the life from the verse.  It made the passion unreal.\n\nDorian Gray grew pale as he watched her.  He was puzzled and anxious.\nNeither of his friends dared to say anything to him.  She seemed to\nthem to be absolutely incompetent.  They were horribly disappointed.\n\nYet they felt that the true test of any Juliet is the balcony scene of\nthe second act.  They waited for that.  If she failed there, there was\nnothing in her.\n\nShe looked charming as she came out in the moonlight.  That could not\nbe denied.  But the staginess of her acting was unbearable, and grew\nworse as she went on.  Her gestures became absurdly artificial.  She\noveremphasized everything that she had to say.  The beautiful passage--\n\n    Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face,\n    Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek\n    For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night--\n\nwas declaimed with the painful precision of a schoolgirl who has been\ntaught to recite by some second-rate professor of elocution. When she\nleaned over the balcony and came to those wonderful lines--\n\n        Although I joy in thee,\n    I have no joy of this contract to-night:\n    It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;\n    Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be\n    Ere one can say, \"It lightens.\"  Sweet, good-night!\n    This bud of love by summer's ripening breath\n    May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet--\n\nshe spoke the words as though they conveyed no meaning to her. It was\nnot nervousness. Indeed, so far from being nervous, she was absolutely\nself-contained. It was simply bad art. She was a complete failure.\n\nEven the common uneducated audience of the pit and gallery lost their\ninterest in the play. They got restless, and began to talk loudly and\nto whistle. The Jew manager, who was standing at the back of the\ndress-circle, stamped and swore with rage. The only person unmoved was\nthe girl herself.\n\nWhen the second act was over, there came a storm of hisses, and Lord\nHenry got up from his chair and put on his coat.  \"She is quite\nbeautiful, Dorian,\" he said, \"but she can't act.  Let us go.\"\n\n\"I am going to see the play through,\" answered the lad, in a hard\nbitter voice.  \"I am awfully sorry that I have made you waste an\nevening, Harry.  I apologize to you both.\"\n\n\"My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was ill,\" interrupted\nHallward.  \"We will come some other night.\"\n\n\"I wish she were ill,\" he rejoined.  \"But she seems to me to be simply\ncallous and cold.  She has entirely altered.  Last night she was a\ngreat artist.  This evening she is merely a commonplace mediocre\nactress.\"\n\n\"Don't talk like that about any one you love, Dorian.  Love is a more\nwonderful thing than art.\"\n\n\"They are both simply forms of imitation,\" remarked Lord Henry.  \"But\ndo let us go.  Dorian, you must not stay here any longer.  It is not\ngood for one's morals to see bad acting.  Besides, I don't suppose you\nwill want your wife to act, so what does it matter if she plays Juliet\nlike a wooden doll?  She is very lovely, and if she knows as little\nabout life as she does about acting, she will be a delightful\nexperience.  There are only two kinds of people who are really\nfascinating--people who know absolutely everything, and people who know\nabsolutely nothing.  Good heavens, my dear boy, don't look so tragic!\nThe secret of remaining young is never to have an emotion that is\nunbecoming.  Come to the club with Basil and myself.  We will smoke\ncigarettes and drink to the beauty of Sibyl Vane.  She is beautiful.\nWhat more can you want?\"\n\n\"Go away, Harry,\" cried the lad.  \"I want to be alone.  Basil, you must\ngo.  Ah! can't you see that my heart is breaking?\"  The hot tears came\nto his eyes.  His lips trembled, and rushing to the back of the box, he\nleaned up against the wall, hiding his face in his hands.\n\n\"Let us go, Basil,\" said Lord Henry with a strange tenderness in his\nvoice, and the two young men passed out together.\n\nA few moments afterwards the footlights flared up and the curtain rose\non the third act.  Dorian Gray went back to his seat.  He looked pale,\nand proud, and indifferent.  The play dragged on, and seemed\ninterminable.  Half of the audience went out, tramping in heavy boots\nand laughing.  The whole thing was a _fiasco_.  The last act was played\nto almost empty benches.  The curtain went down on a titter and some\ngroans.\n\nAs soon as it was over, Dorian Gray rushed behind the scenes into the\ngreenroom.  The girl was standing there alone, with a look of triumph\non her face.  Her eyes were lit with an exquisite fire.  There was a\nradiance about her.  Her parted lips were smiling over some secret of\ntheir own.\n\nWhen he entered, she looked at him, and an expression of infinite joy\ncame over her.  \"How badly I acted to-night, Dorian!\" she cried.\n\n\"Horribly!\" he answered, gazing at her in amazement.  \"Horribly!  It\nwas dreadful.  Are you ill?  You have no idea what it was.  You have no\nidea what I suffered.\"\n\nThe girl smiled.  \"Dorian,\" she answered, lingering over his name with\nlong-drawn music in her voice, as though it were sweeter than honey to\nthe red petals of her mouth.  \"Dorian, you should have understood.  But\nyou understand now, don't you?\"\n\n\"Understand what?\" he asked, angrily.\n\n\"Why I was so bad to-night. Why I shall always be bad.  Why I shall\nnever act well again.\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders.  \"You are ill, I suppose.  When you are ill\nyou shouldn't act.  You make yourself ridiculous.  My friends were\nbored.  I was bored.\"\n\nShe seemed not to listen to him.  She was transfigured with joy.  An\necstasy of happiness dominated her.\n\n\"Dorian, Dorian,\" she cried, \"before I knew you, acting was the one\nreality of my life.  It was only in the theatre that I lived.  I\nthought that it was all true.  I was Rosalind one night and Portia the\nother.  The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of Cordelia\nwere mine also.  I believed in everything.  The common people who acted\nwith me seemed to me to be godlike.  The painted scenes were my world.\nI knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real.  You came--oh, my\nbeautiful love!--and you freed my soul from prison.  You taught me what\nreality really is.  To-night, for the first time in my life, I saw\nthrough the hollowness, the sham, the silliness of the empty pageant in\nwhich I had always played.  To-night, for the first time, I became\nconscious that the Romeo was hideous, and old, and painted, that the\nmoonlight in the orchard was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and\nthat the words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words, were not\nwhat I wanted to say.  You had brought me something higher, something\nof which all art is but a reflection.  You had made me understand what\nlove really is.  My love!  My love!  Prince Charming!  Prince of life!\nI have grown sick of shadows.  You are more to me than all art can ever\nbe.  What have I to do with the puppets of a play?  When I came on\nto-night, I could not understand how it was that everything had gone\nfrom me.  I thought that I was going to be wonderful.  I found that I\ncould do nothing.  Suddenly it dawned on my soul what it all meant.\nThe knowledge was exquisite to me.  I heard them hissing, and I smiled.\nWhat could they know of love such as ours?  Take me away, Dorian--take\nme away with you, where we can be quite alone.  I hate the stage.  I\nmight mimic a passion that I do not feel, but I cannot mimic one that\nburns me like fire.  Oh, Dorian, Dorian, you understand now what it\nsignifies?  Even if I could do it, it would be profanation for me to\nplay at being in love.  You have made me see that.\"\n\nHe flung himself down on the sofa and turned away his face.  \"You have\nkilled my love,\" he muttered.\n\nShe looked at him in wonder and laughed.  He made no answer.  She came\nacross to him, and with her little fingers stroked his hair.  She knelt\ndown and pressed his hands to her lips.  He drew them away, and a\nshudder ran through him.\n\nThen he leaped up and went to the door.  \"Yes,\" he cried, \"you have\nkilled my love.  You used to stir my imagination.  Now you don't even\nstir my curiosity.  You simply produce no effect.  I loved you because\nyou were marvellous, because you had genius and intellect, because you\nrealized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the\nshadows of art.  You have thrown it all away.  You are shallow and\nstupid.  My God! how mad I was to love you!  What a fool I have been!\nYou are nothing to me now.  I will never see you again.  I will never\nthink of you.  I will never mention your name.  You don't know what you\nwere to me, once.  Why, once ... Oh, I can't bear to think of it!  I\nwish I had never laid eyes upon you!  You have spoiled the romance of\nmy life.  How little you can know of love, if you say it mars your art!\nWithout your art, you are nothing.  I would have made you famous,\nsplendid, magnificent.  The world would have worshipped you, and you\nwould have borne my name.  What are you now?  A third-rate actress with\na pretty face.\"\n\nThe girl grew white, and trembled.  She clenched her hands together,\nand her voice seemed to catch in her throat.  \"You are not serious,\nDorian?\" she murmured.  \"You are acting.\"\n\n\"Acting!  I leave that to you.  You do it so well,\" he answered\nbitterly.\n\nShe rose from her knees and, with a piteous expression of pain in her\nface, came across the room to him.  She put her hand upon his arm and\nlooked into his eyes.  He thrust her back.  \"Don't touch me!\" he cried.\n\nA low moan broke from her, and she flung herself at his feet and lay\nthere like a trampled flower.  \"Dorian, Dorian, don't leave me!\" she\nwhispered.  \"I am so sorry I didn't act well.  I was thinking of you\nall the time.  But I will try--indeed, I will try.  It came so suddenly\nacross me, my love for you.  I think I should never have known it if\nyou had not kissed me--if we had not kissed each other.  Kiss me again,\nmy love.  Don't go away from me.  I couldn't bear it.  Oh! don't go\naway from me.  My brother ... No; never mind.  He didn't mean it.  He\nwas in jest.... But you, oh! can't you forgive me for to-night? I will\nwork so hard and try to improve.  Don't be cruel to me, because I love\nyou better than anything in the world.  After all, it is only once that\nI have not pleased you.  But you are quite right, Dorian.  I should\nhave shown myself more of an artist.  It was foolish of me, and yet I\ncouldn't help it.  Oh, don't leave me, don't leave me.\" A fit of\npassionate sobbing choked her.  She crouched on the floor like a\nwounded thing, and Dorian Gray, with his beautiful eyes, looked down at\nher, and his chiselled lips curled in exquisite disdain.  There is\nalways something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has\nceased to love.  Sibyl Vane seemed to him to be absurdly melodramatic.\nHer tears and sobs annoyed him.\n\n\"I am going,\" he said at last in his calm clear voice.  \"I don't wish\nto be unkind, but I can't see you again.  You have disappointed me.\"\n\nShe wept silently, and made no answer, but crept nearer.  Her little\nhands stretched blindly out, and appeared to be seeking for him.  He\nturned on his heel and left the room.  In a few moments he was out of\nthe theatre.\n\nWhere he went to he hardly knew.  He remembered wandering through dimly\nlit streets, past gaunt, black-shadowed archways and evil-looking\nhouses.  Women with hoarse voices and harsh laughter had called after\nhim.  Drunkards had reeled by, cursing and chattering to themselves\nlike monstrous apes.  He had seen grotesque children huddled upon\ndoor-steps, and heard shrieks and oaths from gloomy courts.\n\nAs the dawn was just breaking, he found himself close to Covent Garden.\nThe darkness lifted, and, flushed with faint fires, the sky hollowed\nitself into a perfect pearl.  Huge carts filled with nodding lilies\nrumbled slowly down the polished empty street.  The air was heavy with\nthe perfume of the flowers, and their beauty seemed to bring him an\nanodyne for his pain.  He followed into the market and watched the men\nunloading their waggons.  A white-smocked carter offered him some\ncherries.  He thanked him, wondered why he refused to accept any money\nfor them, and began to eat them listlessly.  They had been plucked at\nmidnight, and the coldness of the moon had entered into them.  A long\nline of boys carrying crates of striped tulips, and of yellow and red\nroses, defiled in front of him, threading their way through the huge,\njade-green piles of vegetables.  Under the portico, with its grey,\nsun-bleached pillars, loitered a troop of draggled bareheaded girls,\nwaiting for the auction to be over.  Others crowded round the swinging\ndoors of the coffee-house in the piazza.  The heavy cart-horses slipped\nand stamped upon the rough stones, shaking their bells and trappings.\nSome of the drivers were lying asleep on a pile of sacks.  Iris-necked\nand pink-footed, the pigeons ran about picking up seeds.\n\nAfter a little while, he hailed a hansom and drove home.  For a few\nmoments he loitered upon the doorstep, looking round at the silent\nsquare, with its blank, close-shuttered windows and its staring blinds.\nThe sky was pure opal now, and the roofs of the houses glistened like\nsilver against it.  From some chimney opposite a thin wreath of smoke\nwas rising.  It curled, a violet riband, through the nacre-coloured air.\n\nIn the huge gilt Venetian lantern, spoil of some Doge's barge, that\nhung from the ceiling of the great, oak-panelled hall of entrance,\nlights were still burning from three flickering jets: thin blue petals\nof flame they seemed, rimmed with white fire.  He turned them out and,\nhaving thrown his hat and cape on the table, passed through the library\ntowards the door of his bedroom, a large octagonal chamber on the\nground floor that, in his new-born feeling for luxury, he had just had\ndecorated for himself and hung with some curious Renaissance tapestries\nthat had been discovered stored in a disused attic at Selby Royal.  As\nhe was turning the handle of the door, his eye fell upon the portrait\nBasil Hallward had painted of him.  He started back as if in surprise.\nThen he went on into his own room, looking somewhat puzzled.  After he\nhad taken the button-hole out of his coat, he seemed to hesitate.\nFinally, he came back, went over to the picture, and examined it.  In\nthe dim arrested light that struggled through the cream-coloured silk\nblinds, the face appeared to him to be a little changed.  The\nexpression looked different.  One would have said that there was a\ntouch of cruelty in the mouth.  It was certainly strange.\n\nHe turned round and, walking to the window, drew up the blind.  The\nbright dawn flooded the room and swept the fantastic shadows into dusky\ncorners, where they lay shuddering.  But the strange expression that he\nhad noticed in the face of the portrait seemed to linger there, to be\nmore intensified even.  The quivering ardent sunlight showed him the\nlines of cruelty round the mouth as clearly as if he had been looking\ninto a mirror after he had done some dreadful thing.\n\nHe winced and, taking up from the table an oval glass framed in ivory\nCupids, one of Lord Henry's many presents to him, glanced hurriedly\ninto its polished depths.  No line like that warped his red lips.  What\ndid it mean?\n\nHe rubbed his eyes, and came close to the picture, and examined it\nagain.  There were no signs of any change when he looked into the\nactual painting, and yet there was no doubt that the whole expression\nhad altered.  It was not a mere fancy of his own.  The thing was\nhorribly apparent.\n\nHe threw himself into a chair and began to think.  Suddenly there\nflashed across his mind what he had said in Basil Hallward's studio the\nday the picture had been finished.  Yes, he remembered it perfectly.\nHe had uttered a mad wish that he himself might remain young, and the\nportrait grow old; that his own beauty might be untarnished, and the\nface on the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his sins; that\nthe painted image might be seared with the lines of suffering and\nthought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness\nof his then just conscious boyhood.  Surely his wish had not been\nfulfilled?  Such things were impossible.  It seemed monstrous even to\nthink of them.  And, yet, there was the picture before him, with the\ntouch of cruelty in the mouth.\n\nCruelty!  Had he been cruel?  It was the girl's fault, not his.  He had\ndreamed of her as a great artist, had given his love to her because he\nhad thought her great.  Then she had disappointed him.  She had been\nshallow and unworthy.  And, yet, a feeling of infinite regret came over\nhim, as he thought of her lying at his feet sobbing like a little\nchild.  He remembered with what callousness he had watched her.  Why\nhad he been made like that?  Why had such a soul been given to him?\nBut he had suffered also.  During the three terrible hours that the\nplay had lasted, he had lived centuries of pain, aeon upon aeon of\ntorture.  His life was well worth hers.  She had marred him for a\nmoment, if he had wounded her for an age.  Besides, women were better\nsuited to bear sorrow than men.  They lived on their emotions.  They\nonly thought of their emotions.  When they took lovers, it was merely\nto have some one with whom they could have scenes.  Lord Henry had told\nhim that, and Lord Henry knew what women were.  Why should he trouble\nabout Sibyl Vane?  She was nothing to him now.\n\nBut the picture?  What was he to say of that?  It held the secret of\nhis life, and told his story.  It had taught him to love his own\nbeauty.  Would it teach him to loathe his own soul?  Would he ever look\nat it again?\n\nNo; it was merely an illusion wrought on the troubled senses.  The\nhorrible night that he had passed had left phantoms behind it.\nSuddenly there had fallen upon his brain that tiny scarlet speck that\nmakes men mad.  The picture had not changed.  It was folly to think so.\n\nYet it was watching him, with its beautiful marred face and its cruel\nsmile.  Its bright hair gleamed in the early sunlight.  Its blue eyes\nmet his own.  A sense of infinite pity, not for himself, but for the\npainted image of himself, came over him.  It had altered already, and\nwould alter more.  Its gold would wither into grey.  Its red and white\nroses would die.  For every sin that he committed, a stain would fleck\nand wreck its fairness.  But he would not sin.  The picture, changed or\nunchanged, would be to him the visible emblem of conscience.  He would\nresist temptation.  He would not see Lord Henry any more--would not, at\nany rate, listen to those subtle poisonous theories that in Basil\nHallward's garden had first stirred within him the passion for\nimpossible things.  He would go back to Sibyl Vane, make her amends,\nmarry her, try to love her again.  Yes, it was his duty to do so.  She\nmust have suffered more than he had.  Poor child!  He had been selfish\nand cruel to her.  The fascination that she had exercised over him\nwould return.  They would be happy together.  His life with her would\nbe beautiful and pure.\n\nHe got up from his chair and drew a large screen right in front of the\nportrait, shuddering as he glanced at it.  \"How horrible!\" he murmured\nto himself, and he walked across to the window and opened it.  When he\nstepped out on to the grass, he drew a deep breath.  The fresh morning\nair seemed to drive away all his sombre passions.  He thought only of\nSibyl.  A faint echo of his love came back to him.  He repeated her\nname over and over again.  The birds that were singing in the\ndew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 8\n\nIt was long past noon when he awoke.  His valet had crept several times\non tiptoe into the room to see if he was stirring, and had wondered\nwhat made his young master sleep so late.  Finally his bell sounded,\nand Victor came in softly with a cup of tea, and a pile of letters, on\na small tray of old Sevres china, and drew back the olive-satin\ncurtains, with their shimmering blue lining, that hung in front of the\nthree tall windows.\n\n\"Monsieur has well slept this morning,\" he said, smiling.\n\n\"What o'clock is it, Victor?\" asked Dorian Gray drowsily.\n\n\"One hour and a quarter, Monsieur.\"\n\nHow late it was!  He sat up, and having sipped some tea, turned over\nhis letters.  One of them was from Lord Henry, and had been brought by\nhand that morning.  He hesitated for a moment, and then put it aside.\nThe others he opened listlessly.  They contained the usual collection\nof cards, invitations to dinner, tickets for private views, programmes\nof charity concerts, and the like that are showered on fashionable\nyoung men every morning during the season.  There was a rather heavy\nbill for a chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet-set that he had not yet\nhad the courage to send on to his guardians, who were extremely\nold-fashioned people and did not realize that we live in an age when\nunnecessary things are our only necessities; and there were several\nvery courteously worded communications from Jermyn Street money-lenders\noffering to advance any sum of money at a moment's notice and at the\nmost reasonable rates of interest.\n\nAfter about ten minutes he got up, and throwing on an elaborate\ndressing-gown of silk-embroidered cashmere wool, passed into the\nonyx-paved bathroom.  The cool water refreshed him after his long\nsleep.  He seemed to have forgotten all that he had gone through.  A\ndim sense of having taken part in some strange tragedy came to him once\nor twice, but there was the unreality of a dream about it.\n\nAs soon as he was dressed, he went into the library and sat down to a\nlight French breakfast that had been laid out for him on a small round\ntable close to the open window.  It was an exquisite day.  The warm air\nseemed laden with spices.  A bee flew in and buzzed round the\nblue-dragon bowl that, filled with sulphur-yellow roses, stood before\nhim.  He felt perfectly happy.\n\nSuddenly his eye fell on the screen that he had placed in front of the\nportrait, and he started.\n\n\"Too cold for Monsieur?\" asked his valet, putting an omelette on the\ntable.  \"I shut the window?\"\n\nDorian shook his head.  \"I am not cold,\" he murmured.\n\nWas it all true?  Had the portrait really changed?  Or had it been\nsimply his own imagination that had made him see a look of evil where\nthere had been a look of joy?  Surely a painted canvas could not alter?\nThe thing was absurd.  It would serve as a tale to tell Basil some day.\nIt would make him smile.\n\nAnd, yet, how vivid was his recollection of the whole thing!  First in\nthe dim twilight, and then in the bright dawn, he had seen the touch of\ncruelty round the warped lips.  He almost dreaded his valet leaving the\nroom.  He knew that when he was alone he would have to examine the\nportrait.  He was afraid of certainty.  When the coffee and cigarettes\nhad been brought and the man turned to go, he felt a wild desire to\ntell him to remain.  As the door was closing behind him, he called him\nback.  The man stood waiting for his orders.  Dorian looked at him for\na moment.  \"I am not at home to any one, Victor,\" he said with a sigh.\nThe man bowed and retired.\n\nThen he rose from the table, lit a cigarette, and flung himself down on\na luxuriously cushioned couch that stood facing the screen.  The screen\nwas an old one, of gilt Spanish leather, stamped and wrought with a\nrather florid Louis-Quatorze pattern.  He scanned it curiously,\nwondering if ever before it had concealed the secret of a man's life.\n\nShould he move it aside, after all?  Why not let it stay there?  What\nwas the use of knowing? If the thing was true, it was terrible.  If it\nwas not true, why trouble about it?  But what if, by some fate or\ndeadlier chance, eyes other than his spied behind and saw the horrible\nchange?  What should he do if Basil Hallward came and asked to look at\nhis own picture?  Basil would be sure to do that.  No; the thing had to\nbe examined, and at once.  Anything would be better than this dreadful\nstate of doubt.\n\nHe got up and locked both doors.  At least he would be alone when he\nlooked upon the mask of his shame.  Then he drew the screen aside and\nsaw himself face to face.  It was perfectly true.  The portrait had\naltered.\n\nAs he often remembered afterwards, and always with no small wonder, he\nfound himself at first gazing at the portrait with a feeling of almost\nscientific interest.  That such a change should have taken place was\nincredible to him.  And yet it was a fact.  Was there some subtle\naffinity between the chemical atoms that shaped themselves into form\nand colour on the canvas and the soul that was within him?  Could it be\nthat what that soul thought, they realized?--that what it dreamed, they\nmade true?  Or was there some other, more terrible reason?  He\nshuddered, and felt afraid, and, going back to the couch, lay there,\ngazing at the picture in sickened horror.\n\nOne thing, however, he felt that it had done for him.  It had made him\nconscious how unjust, how cruel, he had been to Sibyl Vane.  It was not\ntoo late to make reparation for that.  She could still be his wife.\nHis unreal and selfish love would yield to some higher influence, would\nbe transformed into some nobler passion, and the portrait that Basil\nHallward had painted of him would be a guide to him through life, would\nbe to him what holiness is to some, and conscience to others, and the\nfear of God to us all.  There were opiates for remorse, drugs that\ncould lull the moral sense to sleep.  But here was a visible symbol of\nthe degradation of sin.  Here was an ever-present sign of the ruin men\nbrought upon their souls.\n\nThree o'clock struck, and four, and the half-hour rang its double\nchime, but Dorian Gray did not stir.  He was trying to gather up the\nscarlet threads of life and to weave them into a pattern; to find his\nway through the sanguine labyrinth of passion through which he was\nwandering.  He did not know what to do, or what to think.  Finally, he\nwent over to the table and wrote a passionate letter to the girl he had\nloved, imploring her forgiveness and accusing himself of madness.  He\ncovered page after page with wild words of sorrow and wilder words of\npain.  There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we\nfeel that no one else has a right to blame us.  It is the confession,\nnot the priest, that gives us absolution.  When Dorian had finished the\nletter, he felt that he had been forgiven.\n\nSuddenly there came a knock to the door, and he heard Lord Henry's\nvoice outside.  \"My dear boy, I must see you.  Let me in at once.  I\ncan't bear your shutting yourself up like this.\"\n\nHe made no answer at first, but remained quite still.  The knocking\nstill continued and grew louder.  Yes, it was better to let Lord Henry\nin, and to explain to him the new life he was going to lead, to quarrel\nwith him if it became necessary to quarrel, to part if parting was\ninevitable.  He jumped up, drew the screen hastily across the picture,\nand unlocked the door.\n\n\"I am so sorry for it all, Dorian,\" said Lord Henry as he entered.\n\"But you must not think too much about it.\"\n\n\"Do you mean about Sibyl Vane?\" asked the lad.\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" answered Lord Henry, sinking into a chair and slowly\npulling off his yellow gloves.  \"It is dreadful, from one point of\nview, but it was not your fault.  Tell me, did you go behind and see\nher, after the play was over?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I felt sure you had.  Did you make a scene with her?\"\n\n\"I was brutal, Harry--perfectly brutal.  But it is all right now.  I am\nnot sorry for anything that has happened.  It has taught me to know\nmyself better.\"\n\n\"Ah, Dorian, I am so glad you take it in that way!  I was afraid I\nwould find you plunged in remorse and tearing that nice curly hair of\nyours.\"\n\n\"I have got through all that,\" said Dorian, shaking his head and\nsmiling.  \"I am perfectly happy now.  I know what conscience is, to\nbegin with.  It is not what you told me it was.  It is the divinest\nthing in us.  Don't sneer at it, Harry, any more--at least not before\nme.  I want to be good.  I can't bear the idea of my soul being\nhideous.\"\n\n\"A very charming artistic basis for ethics, Dorian!  I congratulate you\non it.  But how are you going to begin?\"\n\n\"By marrying Sibyl Vane.\"\n\n\"Marrying Sibyl Vane!\" cried Lord Henry, standing up and looking at him\nin perplexed amazement.  \"But, my dear Dorian--\"\n\n\"Yes, Harry, I know what you are going to say.  Something dreadful\nabout marriage.  Don't say it.  Don't ever say things of that kind to\nme again.  Two days ago I asked Sibyl to marry me.  I am not going to\nbreak my word to her.  She is to be my wife.\"\n\n\"Your wife!  Dorian! ... Didn't you get my letter?  I wrote to you this\nmorning, and sent the note down by my own man.\"\n\n\"Your letter?  Oh, yes, I remember.  I have not read it yet, Harry.  I\nwas afraid there might be something in it that I wouldn't like.  You\ncut life to pieces with your epigrams.\"\n\n\"You know nothing then?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nLord Henry walked across the room, and sitting down by Dorian Gray,\ntook both his hands in his own and held them tightly.  \"Dorian,\" he\nsaid, \"my letter--don't be frightened--was to tell you that Sibyl Vane\nis dead.\"\n\nA cry of pain broke from the lad's lips, and he leaped to his feet,\ntearing his hands away from Lord Henry's grasp.  \"Dead!  Sibyl dead!\nIt is not true!  It is a horrible lie!  How dare you say it?\"\n\n\"It is quite true, Dorian,\" said Lord Henry, gravely.  \"It is in all\nthe morning papers.  I wrote down to you to ask you not to see any one\ntill I came.  There will have to be an inquest, of course, and you must\nnot be mixed up in it.  Things like that make a man fashionable in\nParis.  But in London people are so prejudiced.  Here, one should never\nmake one's _debut_ with a scandal.  One should reserve that to give an\ninterest to one's old age.  I suppose they don't know your name at the\ntheatre?  If they don't, it is all right.  Did any one see you going\nround to her room?  That is an important point.\"\n\nDorian did not answer for a few moments.  He was dazed with horror.\nFinally he stammered, in a stifled voice, \"Harry, did you say an\ninquest?  What did you mean by that?  Did Sibyl--? Oh, Harry, I can't\nbear it!  But be quick.  Tell me everything at once.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt it was not an accident, Dorian, though it must be put\nin that way to the public.  It seems that as she was leaving the\ntheatre with her mother, about half-past twelve or so, she said she had\nforgotten something upstairs.  They waited some time for her, but she\ndid not come down again.  They ultimately found her lying dead on the\nfloor of her dressing-room. She had swallowed something by mistake,\nsome dreadful thing they use at theatres.  I don't know what it was,\nbut it had either prussic acid or white lead in it.  I should fancy it\nwas prussic acid, as she seems to have died instantaneously.\"\n\n\"Harry, Harry, it is terrible!\" cried the lad.\n\n\"Yes; it is very tragic, of course, but you must not get yourself mixed\nup in it.  I see by _The Standard_ that she was seventeen.  I should have\nthought she was almost younger than that.  She looked such a child, and\nseemed to know so little about acting.  Dorian, you mustn't let this\nthing get on your nerves.  You must come and dine with me, and\nafterwards we will look in at the opera.  It is a Patti night, and\neverybody will be there.  You can come to my sister's box.  She has got\nsome smart women with her.\"\n\n\"So I have murdered Sibyl Vane,\" said Dorian Gray, half to himself,\n\"murdered her as surely as if I had cut her little throat with a knife.\nYet the roses are not less lovely for all that.  The birds sing just as\nhappily in my garden.  And to-night I am to dine with you, and then go\non to the opera, and sup somewhere, I suppose, afterwards.  How\nextraordinarily dramatic life is!  If I had read all this in a book,\nHarry, I think I would have wept over it.  Somehow, now that it has\nhappened actually, and to me, it seems far too wonderful for tears.\nHere is the first passionate love-letter I have ever written in my\nlife.  Strange, that my first passionate love-letter should have been\naddressed to a dead girl.  Can they feel, I wonder, those white silent\npeople we call the dead?  Sibyl!  Can she feel, or know, or listen?\nOh, Harry, how I loved her once!  It seems years ago to me now.  She\nwas everything to me.  Then came that dreadful night--was it really\nonly last night?--when she played so badly, and my heart almost broke.\nShe explained it all to me.  It was terribly pathetic.  But I was not\nmoved a bit.  I thought her shallow.  Suddenly something happened that\nmade me afraid.  I can't tell you what it was, but it was terrible.  I\nsaid I would go back to her.  I felt I had done wrong.  And now she is\ndead.  My God!  My God!  Harry, what shall I do?  You don't know the\ndanger I am in, and there is nothing to keep me straight.  She would\nhave done that for me.  She had no right to kill herself.  It was\nselfish of her.\"\n\n\"My dear Dorian,\" answered Lord Henry, taking a cigarette from his case\nand producing a gold-latten matchbox, \"the only way a woman can ever\nreform a man is by boring him so completely that he loses all possible\ninterest in life.  If you had married this girl, you would have been\nwretched.  Of course, you would have treated her kindly.  One can\nalways be kind to people about whom one cares nothing.  But she would\nhave soon found out that you were absolutely indifferent to her.  And\nwhen a woman finds that out about her husband, she either becomes\ndreadfully dowdy, or wears very smart bonnets that some other woman's\nhusband has to pay for.  I say nothing about the social mistake, which\nwould have been abject--which, of course, I would not have allowed--but\nI assure you that in any case the whole thing would have been an\nabsolute failure.\"\n\n\"I suppose it would,\" muttered the lad, walking up and down the room\nand looking horribly pale.  \"But I thought it was my duty.  It is not\nmy fault that this terrible tragedy has prevented my doing what was\nright.  I remember your saying once that there is a fatality about good\nresolutions--that they are always made too late.  Mine certainly were.\"\n\n\"Good resolutions are useless attempts to interfere with scientific\nlaws.  Their origin is pure vanity.  Their result is absolutely _nil_.\nThey give us, now and then, some of those luxurious sterile emotions\nthat have a certain charm for the weak.  That is all that can be said\nfor them.  They are simply cheques that men draw on a bank where they\nhave no account.\"\n\n\"Harry,\" cried Dorian Gray, coming over and sitting down beside him,\n\"why is it that I cannot feel this tragedy as much as I want to?  I\ndon't think I am heartless.  Do you?\"\n\n\"You have done too many foolish things during the last fortnight to be\nentitled to give yourself that name, Dorian,\" answered Lord Henry with\nhis sweet melancholy smile.\n\nThe lad frowned.  \"I don't like that explanation, Harry,\" he rejoined,\n\"but I am glad you don't think I am heartless.  I am nothing of the\nkind.  I know I am not.  And yet I must admit that this thing that has\nhappened does not affect me as it should.  It seems to me to be simply\nlike a wonderful ending to a wonderful play.  It has all the terrible\nbeauty of a Greek tragedy, a tragedy in which I took a great part, but\nby which I have not been wounded.\"\n\n\"It is an interesting question,\" said Lord Henry, who found an\nexquisite pleasure in playing on the lad's unconscious egotism, \"an\nextremely interesting question.  I fancy that the true explanation is\nthis:  It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such\nan inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their\nabsolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack\nof style.  They affect us just as vulgarity affects us.  They give us\nan impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that.\nSometimes, however, a tragedy that possesses artistic elements of\nbeauty crosses our lives.  If these elements of beauty are real, the\nwhole thing simply appeals to our sense of dramatic effect.  Suddenly\nwe find that we are no longer the actors, but the spectators of the\nplay.  Or rather we are both.  We watch ourselves, and the mere wonder\nof the spectacle enthralls us.  In the present case, what is it that\nhas really happened?  Some one has killed herself for love of you.  I\nwish that I had ever had such an experience.  It would have made me in\nlove with love for the rest of my life.  The people who have adored\nme--there have not been very many, but there have been some--have\nalways insisted on living on, long after I had ceased to care for them,\nor they to care for me.  They have become stout and tedious, and when I\nmeet them, they go in at once for reminiscences.  That awful memory of\nwoman!  What a fearful thing it is!  And what an utter intellectual\nstagnation it reveals!  One should absorb the colour of life, but one\nshould never remember its details.  Details are always vulgar.\"\n\n\"I must sow poppies in my garden,\" sighed Dorian.\n\n\"There is no necessity,\" rejoined his companion.  \"Life has always\npoppies in her hands.  Of course, now and then things linger.  I once\nwore nothing but violets all through one season, as a form of artistic\nmourning for a romance that would not die.  Ultimately, however, it did\ndie.  I forget what killed it.  I think it was her proposing to\nsacrifice the whole world for me.  That is always a dreadful moment.\nIt fills one with the terror of eternity.  Well--would you believe\nit?--a week ago, at Lady Hampshire's, I found myself seated at dinner\nnext the lady in question, and she insisted on going over the whole\nthing again, and digging up the past, and raking up the future.  I had\nburied my romance in a bed of asphodel.  She dragged it out again and\nassured me that I had spoiled her life.  I am bound to state that she\nate an enormous dinner, so I did not feel any anxiety.  But what a lack\nof taste she showed!  The one charm of the past is that it is the past.\nBut women never know when the curtain has fallen.  They always want a\nsixth act, and as soon as the interest of the play is entirely over,\nthey propose to continue it.  If they were allowed their own way, every\ncomedy would have a tragic ending, and every tragedy would culminate in\na farce.  They are charmingly artificial, but they have no sense of\nart.  You are more fortunate than I am.  I assure you, Dorian, that not\none of the women I have known would have done for me what Sibyl Vane\ndid for you.  Ordinary women always console themselves.  Some of them\ndo it by going in for sentimental colours.  Never trust a woman who\nwears mauve, whatever her age may be, or a woman over thirty-five who\nis fond of pink ribbons.  It always means that they have a history.\nOthers find a great consolation in suddenly discovering the good\nqualities of their husbands.  They flaunt their conjugal felicity in\none's face, as if it were the most fascinating of sins.  Religion\nconsoles some.  Its mysteries have all the charm of a flirtation, a\nwoman once told me, and I can quite understand it.  Besides, nothing\nmakes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner.  Conscience makes\negotists of us all.  Yes; there is really no end to the consolations\nthat women find in modern life.  Indeed, I have not mentioned the most\nimportant one.\"\n\n\"What is that, Harry?\" said the lad listlessly.\n\n\"Oh, the obvious consolation.  Taking some one else's admirer when one\nloses one's own.  In good society that always whitewashes a woman.  But\nreally, Dorian, how different Sibyl Vane must have been from all the\nwomen one meets!  There is something to me quite beautiful about her\ndeath.  I am glad I am living in a century when such wonders happen.\nThey make one believe in the reality of the things we all play with,\nsuch as romance, passion, and love.\"\n\n\"I was terribly cruel to her.  You forget that.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that women appreciate cruelty, downright cruelty, more\nthan anything else.  They have wonderfully primitive instincts.  We\nhave emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for their\nmasters, all the same.  They love being dominated.  I am sure you were\nsplendid.  I have never seen you really and absolutely angry, but I can\nfancy how delightful you looked.  And, after all, you said something to\nme the day before yesterday that seemed to me at the time to be merely\nfanciful, but that I see now was absolutely true, and it holds the key\nto everything.\"\n\n\"What was that, Harry?\"\n\n\"You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of\nromance--that she was Desdemona one night, and Ophelia the other; that\nif she died as Juliet, she came to life as Imogen.\"\n\n\"She will never come to life again now,\" muttered the lad, burying his\nface in his hands.\n\n\"No, she will never come to life.  She has played her last part.  But\nyou must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing-room simply\nas a strange lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy, as a wonderful\nscene from Webster, or Ford, or Cyril Tourneur.  The girl never really\nlived, and so she has never really died.  To you at least she was\nalways a dream, a phantom that flitted through Shakespeare's plays and\nleft them lovelier for its presence, a reed through which Shakespeare's\nmusic sounded richer and more full of joy.  The moment she touched\nactual life, she marred it, and it marred her, and so she passed away.\nMourn for Ophelia, if you like.  Put ashes on your head because\nCordelia was strangled.  Cry out against Heaven because the daughter of\nBrabantio died.  But don't waste your tears over Sibyl Vane.  She was\nless real than they are.\"\n\nThere was a silence.  The evening darkened in the room.  Noiselessly,\nand with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the garden.  The\ncolours faded wearily out of things.\n\nAfter some time Dorian Gray looked up.  \"You have explained me to\nmyself, Harry,\" he murmured with something of a sigh of relief.  \"I\nfelt all that you have said, but somehow I was afraid of it, and I\ncould not express it to myself.  How well you know me!  But we will not\ntalk again of what has happened.  It has been a marvellous experience.\nThat is all.  I wonder if life has still in store for me anything as\nmarvellous.\"\n\n\"Life has everything in store for you, Dorian.  There is nothing that\nyou, with your extraordinary good looks, will not be able to do.\"\n\n\"But suppose, Harry, I became haggard, and old, and wrinkled?  What\nthen?\"\n\n\"Ah, then,\" said Lord Henry, rising to go, \"then, my dear Dorian, you\nwould have to fight for your victories.  As it is, they are brought to\nyou.  No, you must keep your good looks.  We live in an age that reads\ntoo much to be wise, and that thinks too much to be beautiful.  We\ncannot spare you.  And now you had better dress and drive down to the\nclub.  We are rather late, as it is.\"\n\n\"I think I shall join you at the opera, Harry.  I feel too tired to eat\nanything.  What is the number of your sister's box?\"\n\n\"Twenty-seven, I believe.  It is on the grand tier.  You will see her\nname on the door.  But I am sorry you won't come and dine.\"\n\n\"I don't feel up to it,\" said Dorian listlessly.  \"But I am awfully\nobliged to you for all that you have said to me.  You are certainly my\nbest friend.  No one has ever understood me as you have.\"\n\n\"We are only at the beginning of our friendship, Dorian,\" answered Lord\nHenry, shaking him by the hand.  \"Good-bye. I shall see you before\nnine-thirty, I hope.  Remember, Patti is singing.\"\n\nAs he closed the door behind him, Dorian Gray touched the bell, and in\na few minutes Victor appeared with the lamps and drew the blinds down.\nHe waited impatiently for him to go.  The man seemed to take an\ninterminable time over everything.\n\nAs soon as he had left, he rushed to the screen and drew it back.  No;\nthere was no further change in the picture.  It had received the news\nof Sibyl Vane's death before he had known of it himself.  It was\nconscious of the events of life as they occurred.  The vicious cruelty\nthat marred the fine lines of the mouth had, no doubt, appeared at the\nvery moment that the girl had drunk the poison, whatever it was.  Or\nwas it indifferent to results?  Did it merely take cognizance of what\npassed within the soul?  He wondered, and hoped that some day he would\nsee the change taking place before his very eyes, shuddering as he\nhoped it.\n\nPoor Sibyl!  What a romance it had all been!  She had often mimicked\ndeath on the stage.  Then Death himself had touched her and taken her\nwith him.  How had she played that dreadful last scene?  Had she cursed\nhim, as she died?  No; she had died for love of him, and love would\nalways be a sacrament to him now.  She had atoned for everything by the\nsacrifice she had made of her life.  He would not think any more of\nwhat she had made him go through, on that horrible night at the\ntheatre.  When he thought of her, it would be as a wonderful tragic\nfigure sent on to the world's stage to show the supreme reality of\nlove.  A wonderful tragic figure?  Tears came to his eyes as he\nremembered her childlike look, and winsome fanciful ways, and shy\ntremulous grace.  He brushed them away hastily and looked again at the\npicture.\n\nHe felt that the time had really come for making his choice.  Or had\nhis choice already been made?  Yes, life had decided that for\nhim--life, and his own infinite curiosity about life.  Eternal youth,\ninfinite passion, pleasures subtle and secret, wild joys and wilder\nsins--he was to have all these things.  The portrait was to bear the\nburden of his shame: that was all.\n\nA feeling of pain crept over him as he thought of the desecration that\nwas in store for the fair face on the canvas.  Once, in boyish mockery\nof Narcissus, he had kissed, or feigned to kiss, those painted lips\nthat now smiled so cruelly at him.  Morning after morning he had sat\nbefore the portrait wondering at its beauty, almost enamoured of it, as\nit seemed to him at times.  Was it to alter now with every mood to\nwhich he yielded?  Was it to become a monstrous and loathsome thing, to\nbe hidden away in a locked room, to be shut out from the sunlight that\nhad so often touched to brighter gold the waving wonder of its hair?\nThe pity of it! the pity of it!\n\nFor a moment, he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy that\nexisted between him and the picture might cease.  It had changed in\nanswer to a prayer; perhaps in answer to a prayer it might remain\nunchanged.  And yet, who, that knew anything about life, would\nsurrender the chance of remaining always young, however fantastic that\nchance might be, or with what fateful consequences it might be fraught?\nBesides, was it really under his control?  Had it indeed been prayer\nthat had produced the substitution?  Might there not be some curious\nscientific reason for it all?  If thought could exercise its influence\nupon a living organism, might not thought exercise an influence upon\ndead and inorganic things?  Nay, without thought or conscious desire,\nmight not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with our moods\nand passions, atom calling to atom in secret love or strange affinity?\nBut the reason was of no importance.  He would never again tempt by a\nprayer any terrible power.  If the picture was to alter, it was to\nalter.  That was all.  Why inquire too closely into it?\n\nFor there would be a real pleasure in watching it.  He would be able to\nfollow his mind into its secret places.  This portrait would be to him\nthe most magical of mirrors.  As it had revealed to him his own body,\nso it would reveal to him his own soul.  And when winter came upon it,\nhe would still be standing where spring trembles on the verge of\nsummer.  When the blood crept from its face, and left behind a pallid\nmask of chalk with leaden eyes, he would keep the glamour of boyhood.\nNot one blossom of his loveliness would ever fade.  Not one pulse of\nhis life would ever weaken.  Like the gods of the Greeks, he would be\nstrong, and fleet, and joyous.  What did it matter what happened to the\ncoloured image on the canvas?  He would be safe.  That was everything.\n\nHe drew the screen back into its former place in front of the picture,\nsmiling as he did so, and passed into his bedroom, where his valet was\nalready waiting for him.  An hour later he was at the opera, and Lord\nHenry was leaning over his chair.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 9\n\nAs he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward was shown\ninto the room.\n\n\"I am so glad I have found you, Dorian,\" he said gravely.  \"I called\nlast night, and they told me you were at the opera.  Of course, I knew\nthat was impossible.  But I wish you had left word where you had really\ngone to.  I passed a dreadful evening, half afraid that one tragedy\nmight be followed by another.  I think you might have telegraphed for\nme when you heard of it first.  I read of it quite by chance in a late\nedition of _The Globe_ that I picked up at the club.  I came here at once\nand was miserable at not finding you.  I can't tell you how\nheart-broken I am about the whole thing.  I know what you must suffer.\nBut where were you?  Did you go down and see the girl's mother?  For a\nmoment I thought of following you there.  They gave the address in the\npaper.  Somewhere in the Euston Road, isn't it?  But I was afraid of\nintruding upon a sorrow that I could not lighten.  Poor woman!  What a\nstate she must be in!  And her only child, too!  What did she say about\nit all?\"\n\n\"My dear Basil, how do I know?\" murmured Dorian Gray, sipping some\npale-yellow wine from a delicate, gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass\nand looking dreadfully bored.  \"I was at the opera.  You should have\ncome on there.  I met Lady Gwendolen, Harry's sister, for the first\ntime.  We were in her box.  She is perfectly charming; and Patti sang\ndivinely.  Don't talk about horrid subjects.  If one doesn't talk about\na thing, it has never happened.  It is simply expression, as Harry\nsays, that gives reality to things.  I may mention that she was not the\nwoman's only child.  There is a son, a charming fellow, I believe.  But\nhe is not on the stage.  He is a sailor, or something.  And now, tell\nme about yourself and what you are painting.\"\n\n\"You went to the opera?\" said Hallward, speaking very slowly and with a\nstrained touch of pain in his voice.  \"You went to the opera while\nSibyl Vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging?  You can talk to me\nof other women being charming, and of Patti singing divinely, before\nthe girl you loved has even the quiet of a grave to sleep in?  Why,\nman, there are horrors in store for that little white body of hers!\"\n\n\"Stop, Basil!  I won't hear it!\" cried Dorian, leaping to his feet.\n\"You must not tell me about things.  What is done is done.  What is\npast is past.\"\n\n\"You call yesterday the past?\"\n\n\"What has the actual lapse of time got to do with it?  It is only\nshallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion.  A man who\nis master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a\npleasure.  I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions.  I want to\nuse them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.\"\n\n\"Dorian, this is horrible!  Something has changed you completely.  You\nlook exactly the same wonderful boy who, day after day, used to come\ndown to my studio to sit for his picture.  But you were simple,\nnatural, and affectionate then.  You were the most unspoiled creature\nin the whole world.  Now, I don't know what has come over you.  You\ntalk as if you had no heart, no pity in you.  It is all Harry's\ninfluence.  I see that.\"\n\nThe lad flushed up and, going to the window, looked out for a few\nmoments on the green, flickering, sun-lashed garden.  \"I owe a great\ndeal to Harry, Basil,\" he said at last, \"more than I owe to you.  You\nonly taught me to be vain.\"\n\n\"Well, I am punished for that, Dorian--or shall be some day.\"\n\n\"I don't know what you mean, Basil,\" he exclaimed, turning round.  \"I\ndon't know what you want.  What do you want?\"\n\n\"I want the Dorian Gray I used to paint,\" said the artist sadly.\n\n\"Basil,\" said the lad, going over to him and putting his hand on his\nshoulder, \"you have come too late.  Yesterday, when I heard that Sibyl\nVane had killed herself--\"\n\n\"Killed herself!  Good heavens! is there no doubt about that?\" cried\nHallward, looking up at him with an expression of horror.\n\n\"My dear Basil!  Surely you don't think it was a vulgar accident?  Of\ncourse she killed herself.\"\n\nThe elder man buried his face in his hands.  \"How fearful,\" he\nmuttered, and a shudder ran through him.\n\n\"No,\" said Dorian Gray, \"there is nothing fearful about it.  It is one\nof the great romantic tragedies of the age.  As a rule, people who act\nlead the most commonplace lives.  They are good husbands, or faithful\nwives, or something tedious.  You know what I mean--middle-class virtue\nand all that kind of thing.  How different Sibyl was!  She lived her\nfinest tragedy.  She was always a heroine.  The last night she\nplayed--the night you saw her--she acted badly because she had known\nthe reality of love.  When she knew its unreality, she died, as Juliet\nmight have died.  She passed again into the sphere of art.  There is\nsomething of the martyr about her.  Her death has all the pathetic\nuselessness of martyrdom, all its wasted beauty.  But, as I was saying,\nyou must not think I have not suffered.  If you had come in yesterday\nat a particular moment--about half-past five, perhaps, or a quarter to\nsix--you would have found me in tears.  Even Harry, who was here, who\nbrought me the news, in fact, had no idea what I was going through.  I\nsuffered immensely.  Then it passed away.  I cannot repeat an emotion.\nNo one can, except sentimentalists.  And you are awfully unjust, Basil.\nYou come down here to console me.  That is charming of you.  You find\nme consoled, and you are furious.  How like a sympathetic person!  You\nremind me of a story Harry told me about a certain philanthropist who\nspent twenty years of his life in trying to get some grievance\nredressed, or some unjust law altered--I forget exactly what it was.\nFinally he succeeded, and nothing could exceed his disappointment.  He\nhad absolutely nothing to do, almost died of _ennui_, and became a\nconfirmed misanthrope.  And besides, my dear old Basil, if you really\nwant to console me, teach me rather to forget what has happened, or to\nsee it from a proper artistic point of view.  Was it not Gautier who\nused to write about _la consolation des arts_?  I remember picking up a\nlittle vellum-covered book in your studio one day and chancing on that\ndelightful phrase.  Well, I am not like that young man you told me of\nwhen we were down at Marlow together, the young man who used to say\nthat yellow satin could console one for all the miseries of life.  I\nlove beautiful things that one can touch and handle.  Old brocades,\ngreen bronzes, lacquer-work, carved ivories, exquisite surroundings,\nluxury, pomp--there is much to be got from all these.  But the artistic\ntemperament that they create, or at any rate reveal, is still more to\nme.  To become the spectator of one's own life, as Harry says, is to\nescape the suffering of life.  I know you are surprised at my talking\nto you like this.  You have not realized how I have developed.  I was a\nschoolboy when you knew me.  I am a man now.  I have new passions, new\nthoughts, new ideas.  I am different, but you must not like me less.  I\nam changed, but you must always be my friend.  Of course, I am very\nfond of Harry.  But I know that you are better than he is.  You are not\nstronger--you are too much afraid of life--but you are better.  And how\nhappy we used to be together!  Don't leave me, Basil, and don't quarrel\nwith me.  I am what I am.  There is nothing more to be said.\"\n\nThe painter felt strangely moved.  The lad was infinitely dear to him,\nand his personality had been the great turning point in his art.  He\ncould not bear the idea of reproaching him any more.  After all, his\nindifference was probably merely a mood that would pass away.  There\nwas so much in him that was good, so much in him that was noble.\n\n\"Well, Dorian,\" he said at length, with a sad smile, \"I won't speak to\nyou again about this horrible thing, after to-day.  I only trust your\nname won't be mentioned in connection with it.  The inquest is to take\nplace this afternoon.  Have they summoned you?\"\n\nDorian shook his head, and a look of annoyance passed over his face at\nthe mention of the word \"inquest.\"  There was something so crude and\nvulgar about everything of the kind.  \"They don't know my name,\" he\nanswered.\n\n\"But surely she did?\"\n\n\"Only my Christian name, and that I am quite sure she never mentioned\nto any one.  She told me once that they were all rather curious to\nlearn who I was, and that she invariably told them my name was Prince\nCharming.  It was pretty of her.  You must do me a drawing of Sibyl,\nBasil.  I should like to have something more of her than the memory of\na few kisses and some broken pathetic words.\"\n\n\"I will try and do something, Dorian, if it would please you.  But you\nmust come and sit to me yourself again.  I can't get on without you.\"\n\n\"I can never sit to you again, Basil.  It is impossible!\" he exclaimed,\nstarting back.\n\nThe painter stared at him.  \"My dear boy, what nonsense!\" he cried.\n\"Do you mean to say you don't like what I did of you?  Where is it?\nWhy have you pulled the screen in front of it?  Let me look at it.  It\nis the best thing I have ever done.  Do take the screen away, Dorian.\nIt is simply disgraceful of your servant hiding my work like that.  I\nfelt the room looked different as I came in.\"\n\n\"My servant has nothing to do with it, Basil.  You don't imagine I let\nhim arrange my room for me?  He settles my flowers for me\nsometimes--that is all.  No; I did it myself.  The light was too strong\non the portrait.\"\n\n\"Too strong!  Surely not, my dear fellow?  It is an admirable place for\nit.  Let me see it.\"  And Hallward walked towards the corner of the\nroom.\n\nA cry of terror broke from Dorian Gray's lips, and he rushed between\nthe painter and the screen.  \"Basil,\" he said, looking very pale, \"you\nmust not look at it.  I don't wish you to.\"\n\n\"Not look at my own work!  You are not serious.  Why shouldn't I look\nat it?\" exclaimed Hallward, laughing.\n\n\"If you try to look at it, Basil, on my word of honour I will never\nspeak to you again as long as I live.  I am quite serious.  I don't\noffer any explanation, and you are not to ask for any.  But, remember,\nif you touch this screen, everything is over between us.\"\n\nHallward was thunderstruck.  He looked at Dorian Gray in absolute\namazement.  He had never seen him like this before.  The lad was\nactually pallid with rage.  His hands were clenched, and the pupils of\nhis eyes were like disks of blue fire.  He was trembling all over.\n\n\"Dorian!\"\n\n\"Don't speak!\"\n\n\"But what is the matter?  Of course I won't look at it if you don't\nwant me to,\" he said, rather coldly, turning on his heel and going over\ntowards the window.  \"But, really, it seems rather absurd that I\nshouldn't see my own work, especially as I am going to exhibit it in\nParis in the autumn.  I shall probably have to give it another coat of\nvarnish before that, so I must see it some day, and why not to-day?\"\n\n\"To exhibit it!  You want to exhibit it?\" exclaimed Dorian Gray, a\nstrange sense of terror creeping over him.  Was the world going to be\nshown his secret?  Were people to gape at the mystery of his life?\nThat was impossible.  Something--he did not know what--had to be done\nat once.\n\n\"Yes; I don't suppose you will object to that.  Georges Petit is going\nto collect all my best pictures for a special exhibition in the Rue de\nSeze, which will open the first week in October.  The portrait will\nonly be away a month.  I should think you could easily spare it for\nthat time.  In fact, you are sure to be out of town.  And if you keep\nit always behind a screen, you can't care much about it.\"\n\nDorian Gray passed his hand over his forehead.  There were beads of\nperspiration there.  He felt that he was on the brink of a horrible\ndanger.  \"You told me a month ago that you would never exhibit it,\" he\ncried.  \"Why have you changed your mind?  You people who go in for\nbeing consistent have just as many moods as others have.  The only\ndifference is that your moods are rather meaningless.  You can't have\nforgotten that you assured me most solemnly that nothing in the world\nwould induce you to send it to any exhibition.  You told Harry exactly\nthe same thing.\" He stopped suddenly, and a gleam of light came into\nhis eyes.  He remembered that Lord Henry had said to him once, half\nseriously and half in jest, \"If you want to have a strange quarter of\nan hour, get Basil to tell you why he won't exhibit your picture.  He\ntold me why he wouldn't, and it was a revelation to me.\"  Yes, perhaps\nBasil, too, had his secret.  He would ask him and try.\n\n\"Basil,\" he said, coming over quite close and looking him straight in\nthe face, \"we have each of us a secret.  Let me know yours, and I shall\ntell you mine.  What was your reason for refusing to exhibit my\npicture?\"\n\nThe painter shuddered in spite of himself.  \"Dorian, if I told you, you\nmight like me less than you do, and you would certainly laugh at me.  I\ncould not bear your doing either of those two things.  If you wish me\nnever to look at your picture again, I am content.  I have always you\nto look at.  If you wish the best work I have ever done to be hidden\nfrom the world, I am satisfied.  Your friendship is dearer to me than\nany fame or reputation.\"\n\n\"No, Basil, you must tell me,\" insisted Dorian Gray.  \"I think I have a\nright to know.\"  His feeling of terror had passed away, and curiosity\nhad taken its place.  He was determined to find out Basil Hallward's\nmystery.\n\n\"Let us sit down, Dorian,\" said the painter, looking troubled.  \"Let us\nsit down.  And just answer me one question.  Have you noticed in the\npicture something curious?--something that probably at first did not\nstrike you, but that revealed itself to you suddenly?\"\n\n\"Basil!\" cried the lad, clutching the arms of his chair with trembling\nhands and gazing at him with wild startled eyes.\n\n\"I see you did.  Don't speak.  Wait till you hear what I have to say.\nDorian, from the moment I met you, your personality had the most\nextraordinary influence over me.  I was dominated, soul, brain, and\npower, by you.  You became to me the visible incarnation of that unseen\nideal whose memory haunts us artists like an exquisite dream.  I\nworshipped you.  I grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke.  I\nwanted to have you all to myself.  I was only happy when I was with\nyou.  When you were away from me, you were still present in my art....\nOf course, I never let you know anything about this.  It would have\nbeen impossible.  You would not have understood it.  I hardly\nunderstood it myself.  I only knew that I had seen perfection face to\nface, and that the world had become wonderful to my eyes--too\nwonderful, perhaps, for in such mad worships there is peril, the peril\nof losing them, no less than the peril of keeping them....  Weeks and\nweeks went on, and I grew more and more absorbed in you.  Then came a\nnew development.  I had drawn you as Paris in dainty armour, and as\nAdonis with huntsman's cloak and polished boar-spear. Crowned with\nheavy lotus-blossoms you had sat on the prow of Adrian's barge, gazing\nacross the green turbid Nile.  You had leaned over the still pool of\nsome Greek woodland and seen in the water's silent silver the marvel of\nyour own face.  And it had all been what art should be--unconscious,\nideal, and remote.  One day, a fatal day I sometimes think, I\ndetermined to paint a wonderful portrait of you as you actually are,\nnot in the costume of dead ages, but in your own dress and in your own\ntime.  Whether it was the realism of the method, or the mere wonder of\nyour own personality, thus directly presented to me without mist or\nveil, I cannot tell.  But I know that as I worked at it, every flake\nand film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret.  I grew afraid\nthat others would know of my idolatry.  I felt, Dorian, that I had told\ntoo much, that I had put too much of myself into it.  Then it was that\nI resolved never to allow the picture to be exhibited.  You were a\nlittle annoyed; but then you did not realize all that it meant to me.\nHarry, to whom I talked about it, laughed at me.  But I did not mind\nthat.  When the picture was finished, and I sat alone with it, I felt\nthat I was right.... Well, after a few days the thing left my studio,\nand as soon as I had got rid of the intolerable fascination of its\npresence, it seemed to me that I had been foolish in imagining that I\nhad seen anything in it, more than that you were extremely good-looking\nand that I could paint.  Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a\nmistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really\nshown in the work one creates.  Art is always more abstract than we\nfancy.  Form and colour tell us of form and colour--that is all.  It\noften seems to me that art conceals the artist far more completely than\nit ever reveals him.  And so when I got this offer from Paris, I\ndetermined to make your portrait the principal thing in my exhibition.\nIt never occurred to me that you would refuse.  I see now that you were\nright.  The picture cannot be shown.  You must not be angry with me,\nDorian, for what I have told you.  As I said to Harry, once, you are\nmade to be worshipped.\"\n\nDorian Gray drew a long breath.  The colour came back to his cheeks,\nand a smile played about his lips.  The peril was over.  He was safe\nfor the time.  Yet he could not help feeling infinite pity for the\npainter who had just made this strange confession to him, and wondered\nif he himself would ever be so dominated by the personality of a\nfriend.  Lord Henry had the charm of being very dangerous.  But that\nwas all.  He was too clever and too cynical to be really fond of.\nWould there ever be some one who would fill him with a strange\nidolatry?  Was that one of the things that life had in store?\n\n\"It is extraordinary to me, Dorian,\" said Hallward, \"that you should\nhave seen this in the portrait.  Did you really see it?\"\n\n\"I saw something in it,\" he answered, \"something that seemed to me very\ncurious.\"\n\n\"Well, you don't mind my looking at the thing now?\"\n\nDorian shook his head.  \"You must not ask me that, Basil.  I could not\npossibly let you stand in front of that picture.\"\n\n\"You will some day, surely?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps you are right.  And now good-bye, Dorian.  You have been\nthe one person in my life who has really influenced my art.  Whatever I\nhave done that is good, I owe to you.  Ah! you don't know what it cost\nme to tell you all that I have told you.\"\n\n\"My dear Basil,\" said Dorian, \"what have you told me?  Simply that you\nfelt that you admired me too much.  That is not even a compliment.\"\n\n\"It was not intended as a compliment.  It was a confession.  Now that I\nhave made it, something seems to have gone out of me.  Perhaps one\nshould never put one's worship into words.\"\n\n\"It was a very disappointing confession.\"\n\n\"Why, what did you expect, Dorian?  You didn't see anything else in the\npicture, did you?  There was nothing else to see?\"\n\n\"No; there was nothing else to see.  Why do you ask?  But you mustn't\ntalk about worship.  It is foolish.  You and I are friends, Basil, and\nwe must always remain so.\"\n\n\"You have got Harry,\" said the painter sadly.\n\n\"Oh, Harry!\" cried the lad, with a ripple of laughter.  \"Harry spends\nhis days in saying what is incredible and his evenings in doing what is\nimprobable.  Just the sort of life I would like to lead.  But still I\ndon't think I would go to Harry if I were in trouble.  I would sooner\ngo to you, Basil.\"\n\n\"You will sit to me again?\"\n\n\"Impossible!\"\n\n\"You spoil my life as an artist by refusing, Dorian.  No man comes\nacross two ideal things.  Few come across one.\"\n\n\"I can't explain it to you, Basil, but I must never sit to you again.\nThere is something fatal about a portrait.  It has a life of its own.\nI will come and have tea with you.  That will be just as pleasant.\"\n\n\"Pleasanter for you, I am afraid,\" murmured Hallward regretfully.  \"And\nnow good-bye. I am sorry you won't let me look at the picture once\nagain.  But that can't be helped.  I quite understand what you feel\nabout it.\"\n\nAs he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself.  Poor Basil!  How\nlittle he knew of the true reason!  And how strange it was that,\ninstead of having been forced to reveal his own secret, he had\nsucceeded, almost by chance, in wresting a secret from his friend!  How\nmuch that strange confession explained to him!  The painter's absurd\nfits of jealousy, his wild devotion, his extravagant panegyrics, his\ncurious reticences--he understood them all now, and he felt sorry.\nThere seemed to him to be something tragic in a friendship so coloured\nby romance.\n\nHe sighed and touched the bell.  The portrait must be hidden away at\nall costs.  He could not run such a risk of discovery again.  It had\nbeen mad of him to have allowed the thing to remain, even for an hour,\nin a room to which any of his friends had access.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 10\n\nWhen his servant entered, he looked at him steadfastly and wondered if\nhe had thought of peering behind the screen.  The man was quite\nimpassive and waited for his orders.  Dorian lit a cigarette and walked\nover to the glass and glanced into it.  He could see the reflection of\nVictor's face perfectly.  It was like a placid mask of servility.\nThere was nothing to be afraid of, there.  Yet he thought it best to be\non his guard.\n\nSpeaking very slowly, he told him to tell the house-keeper that he\nwanted to see her, and then to go to the frame-maker and ask him to\nsend two of his men round at once.  It seemed to him that as the man\nleft the room his eyes wandered in the direction of the screen.  Or was\nthat merely his own fancy?\n\nAfter a few moments, in her black silk dress, with old-fashioned thread\nmittens on her wrinkled hands, Mrs. Leaf bustled into the library.  He\nasked her for the key of the schoolroom.\n\n\"The old schoolroom, Mr. Dorian?\" she exclaimed.  \"Why, it is full of\ndust.  I must get it arranged and put straight before you go into it.\nIt is not fit for you to see, sir.  It is not, indeed.\"\n\n\"I don't want it put straight, Leaf.  I only want the key.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, you'll be covered with cobwebs if you go into it.  Why, it\nhasn't been opened for nearly five years--not since his lordship died.\"\n\nHe winced at the mention of his grandfather.  He had hateful memories\nof him.  \"That does not matter,\" he answered.  \"I simply want to see\nthe place--that is all.  Give me the key.\"\n\n\"And here is the key, sir,\" said the old lady, going over the contents\nof her bunch with tremulously uncertain hands.  \"Here is the key.  I'll\nhave it off the bunch in a moment.  But you don't think of living up\nthere, sir, and you so comfortable here?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" he cried petulantly.  \"Thank you, Leaf.  That will do.\"\n\nShe lingered for a few moments, and was garrulous over some detail of\nthe household.  He sighed and told her to manage things as she thought\nbest.  She left the room, wreathed in smiles.\n\nAs the door closed, Dorian put the key in his pocket and looked round\nthe room.  His eye fell on a large, purple satin coverlet heavily\nembroidered with gold, a splendid piece of late seventeenth-century\nVenetian work that his grandfather had found in a convent near Bologna.\nYes, that would serve to wrap the dreadful thing in.  It had perhaps\nserved often as a pall for the dead.  Now it was to hide something that\nhad a corruption of its own, worse than the corruption of death\nitself--something that would breed horrors and yet would never die.\nWhat the worm was to the corpse, his sins would be to the painted image\non the canvas.  They would mar its beauty and eat away its grace.  They\nwould defile it and make it shameful.  And yet the thing would still\nlive on.  It would be always alive.\n\nHe shuddered, and for a moment he regretted that he had not told Basil\nthe true reason why he had wished to hide the picture away.  Basil\nwould have helped him to resist Lord Henry's influence, and the still\nmore poisonous influences that came from his own temperament.  The love\nthat he bore him--for it was really love--had nothing in it that was\nnot noble and intellectual.  It was not that mere physical admiration\nof beauty that is born of the senses and that dies when the senses\ntire.  It was such love as Michelangelo had known, and Montaigne, and\nWinckelmann, and Shakespeare himself.  Yes, Basil could have saved him.\nBut it was too late now.  The past could always be annihilated.\nRegret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that.  But the future was\ninevitable.  There were passions in him that would find their terrible\noutlet, dreams that would make the shadow of their evil real.\n\nHe took up from the couch the great purple-and-gold texture that\ncovered it, and, holding it in his hands, passed behind the screen.\nWas the face on the canvas viler than before?  It seemed to him that it\nwas unchanged, and yet his loathing of it was intensified.  Gold hair,\nblue eyes, and rose-red lips--they all were there.  It was simply the\nexpression that had altered.  That was horrible in its cruelty.\nCompared to what he saw in it of censure or rebuke, how shallow Basil's\nreproaches about Sibyl Vane had been!--how shallow, and of what little\naccount!  His own soul was looking out at him from the canvas and\ncalling him to judgement.  A look of pain came across him, and he flung\nthe rich pall over the picture.  As he did so, a knock came to the\ndoor.  He passed out as his servant entered.\n\n\"The persons are here, Monsieur.\"\n\nHe felt that the man must be got rid of at once.  He must not be\nallowed to know where the picture was being taken to.  There was\nsomething sly about him, and he had thoughtful, treacherous eyes.\nSitting down at the writing-table he scribbled a note to Lord Henry,\nasking him to send him round something to read and reminding him that\nthey were to meet at eight-fifteen that evening.\n\n\"Wait for an answer,\" he said, handing it to him, \"and show the men in\nhere.\"\n\nIn two or three minutes there was another knock, and Mr. Hubbard\nhimself, the celebrated frame-maker of South Audley Street, came in\nwith a somewhat rough-looking young assistant.  Mr. Hubbard was a\nflorid, red-whiskered little man, whose admiration for art was\nconsiderably tempered by the inveterate impecuniosity of most of the\nartists who dealt with him.  As a rule, he never left his shop.  He\nwaited for people to come to him.  But he always made an exception in\nfavour of Dorian Gray.  There was something about Dorian that charmed\neverybody.  It was a pleasure even to see him.\n\n\"What can I do for you, Mr. Gray?\" he said, rubbing his fat freckled\nhands.  \"I thought I would do myself the honour of coming round in\nperson.  I have just got a beauty of a frame, sir.  Picked it up at a\nsale.  Old Florentine.  Came from Fonthill, I believe.  Admirably\nsuited for a religious subject, Mr. Gray.\"\n\n\"I am so sorry you have given yourself the trouble of coming round, Mr.\nHubbard.  I shall certainly drop in and look at the frame--though I\ndon't go in much at present for religious art--but to-day I only want a\npicture carried to the top of the house for me.  It is rather heavy, so\nI thought I would ask you to lend me a couple of your men.\"\n\n\"No trouble at all, Mr. Gray.  I am delighted to be of any service to\nyou.  Which is the work of art, sir?\"\n\n\"This,\" replied Dorian, moving the screen back.  \"Can you move it,\ncovering and all, just as it is?  I don't want it to get scratched\ngoing upstairs.\"\n\n\"There will be no difficulty, sir,\" said the genial frame-maker,\nbeginning, with the aid of his assistant, to unhook the picture from\nthe long brass chains by which it was suspended.  \"And, now, where\nshall we carry it to, Mr. Gray?\"\n\n\"I will show you the way, Mr. Hubbard, if you will kindly follow me.\nOr perhaps you had better go in front.  I am afraid it is right at the\ntop of the house.  We will go up by the front staircase, as it is\nwider.\"\n\nHe held the door open for them, and they passed out into the hall and\nbegan the ascent.  The elaborate character of the frame had made the\npicture extremely bulky, and now and then, in spite of the obsequious\nprotests of Mr. Hubbard, who had the true tradesman's spirited dislike\nof seeing a gentleman doing anything useful, Dorian put his hand to it\nso as to help them.\n\n\"Something of a load to carry, sir,\" gasped the little man when they\nreached the top landing.  And he wiped his shiny forehead.\n\n\"I am afraid it is rather heavy,\" murmured Dorian as he unlocked the\ndoor that opened into the room that was to keep for him the curious\nsecret of his life and hide his soul from the eyes of men.\n\nHe had not entered the place for more than four years--not, indeed,\nsince he had used it first as a play-room when he was a child, and then\nas a study when he grew somewhat older.  It was a large,\nwell-proportioned room, which had been specially built by the last Lord\nKelso for the use of the little grandson whom, for his strange likeness\nto his mother, and also for other reasons, he had always hated and\ndesired to keep at a distance.  It appeared to Dorian to have but\nlittle changed.  There was the huge Italian _cassone_, with its\nfantastically painted panels and its tarnished gilt mouldings, in which\nhe had so often hidden himself as a boy.  There the satinwood book-case\nfilled with his dog-eared schoolbooks.  On the wall behind it was\nhanging the same ragged Flemish tapestry where a faded king and queen\nwere playing chess in a garden, while a company of hawkers rode by,\ncarrying hooded birds on their gauntleted wrists.  How well he\nremembered it all!  Every moment of his lonely childhood came back to\nhim as he looked round.  He recalled the stainless purity of his boyish\nlife, and it seemed horrible to him that it was here the fatal portrait\nwas to be hidden away.  How little he had thought, in those dead days,\nof all that was in store for him!\n\nBut there was no other place in the house so secure from prying eyes as\nthis.  He had the key, and no one else could enter it.  Beneath its\npurple pall, the face painted on the canvas could grow bestial, sodden,\nand unclean.  What did it matter?  No one could see it.  He himself\nwould not see it.  Why should he watch the hideous corruption of his\nsoul?  He kept his youth--that was enough.  And, besides, might not\nhis nature grow finer, after all?  There was no reason that the future\nshould be so full of shame.  Some love might come across his life, and\npurify him, and shield him from those sins that seemed to be already\nstirring in spirit and in flesh--those curious unpictured sins whose\nvery mystery lent them their subtlety and their charm.  Perhaps, some\nday, the cruel look would have passed away from the scarlet sensitive\nmouth, and he might show to the world Basil Hallward's masterpiece.\n\nNo; that was impossible.  Hour by hour, and week by week, the thing\nupon the canvas was growing old.  It might escape the hideousness of\nsin, but the hideousness of age was in store for it.  The cheeks would\nbecome hollow or flaccid.  Yellow crow's feet would creep round the\nfading eyes and make them horrible.  The hair would lose its\nbrightness, the mouth would gape or droop, would be foolish or gross,\nas the mouths of old men are.  There would be the wrinkled throat, the\ncold, blue-veined hands, the twisted body, that he remembered in the\ngrandfather who had been so stern to him in his boyhood.  The picture\nhad to be concealed.  There was no help for it.\n\n\"Bring it in, Mr. Hubbard, please,\" he said, wearily, turning round.\n\"I am sorry I kept you so long.  I was thinking of something else.\"\n\n\"Always glad to have a rest, Mr. Gray,\" answered the frame-maker, who\nwas still gasping for breath.  \"Where shall we put it, sir?\"\n\n\"Oh, anywhere.  Here:  this will do.  I don't want to have it hung up.\nJust lean it against the wall.  Thanks.\"\n\n\"Might one look at the work of art, sir?\"\n\nDorian started.  \"It would not interest you, Mr. Hubbard,\" he said,\nkeeping his eye on the man.  He felt ready to leap upon him and fling\nhim to the ground if he dared to lift the gorgeous hanging that\nconcealed the secret of his life.  \"I shan't trouble you any more now.\nI am much obliged for your kindness in coming round.\"\n\n\"Not at all, not at all, Mr. Gray.  Ever ready to do anything for you,\nsir.\" And Mr. Hubbard tramped downstairs, followed by the assistant,\nwho glanced back at Dorian with a look of shy wonder in his rough\nuncomely face.  He had never seen any one so marvellous.\n\nWhen the sound of their footsteps had died away, Dorian locked the door\nand put the key in his pocket.  He felt safe now.  No one would ever\nlook upon the horrible thing.  No eye but his would ever see his shame.\n\nOn reaching the library, he found that it was just after five o'clock\nand that the tea had been already brought up.  On a little table of\ndark perfumed wood thickly incrusted with nacre, a present from Lady\nRadley, his guardian's wife, a pretty professional invalid who had\nspent the preceding winter in Cairo, was lying a note from Lord Henry,\nand beside it was a book bound in yellow paper, the cover slightly torn\nand the edges soiled.  A copy of the third edition of _The St. James's\nGazette_ had been placed on the tea-tray. It was evident that Victor had\nreturned.  He wondered if he had met the men in the hall as they were\nleaving the house and had wormed out of them what they had been doing.\nHe would be sure to miss the picture--had no doubt missed it already,\nwhile he had been laying the tea-things. The screen had not been set\nback, and a blank space was visible on the wall.  Perhaps some night he\nmight find him creeping upstairs and trying to force the door of the\nroom.  It was a horrible thing to have a spy in one's house.  He had\nheard of rich men who had been blackmailed all their lives by some\nservant who had read a letter, or overheard a conversation, or picked\nup a card with an address, or found beneath a pillow a withered flower\nor a shred of crumpled lace.\n\nHe sighed, and having poured himself out some tea, opened Lord Henry's\nnote.  It was simply to say that he sent him round the evening paper,\nand a book that might interest him, and that he would be at the club at\neight-fifteen. He opened _The St. James's_ languidly, and looked through\nit.  A red pencil-mark on the fifth page caught his eye.  It drew\nattention to the following paragraph:\n\n\nINQUEST ON AN ACTRESS.--An inquest was held this morning at the Bell\nTavern, Hoxton Road, by Mr. Danby, the District Coroner, on the body of\nSibyl Vane, a young actress recently engaged at the Royal Theatre,\nHolborn.  A verdict of death by misadventure was returned.\nConsiderable sympathy was expressed for the mother of the deceased, who\nwas greatly affected during the giving of her own evidence, and that of\nDr. Birrell, who had made the post-mortem examination of the deceased.\n\n\nHe frowned, and tearing the paper in two, went across the room and\nflung the pieces away.  How ugly it all was!  And how horribly real\nugliness made things!  He felt a little annoyed with Lord Henry for\nhaving sent him the report.  And it was certainly stupid of him to have\nmarked it with red pencil.  Victor might have read it.  The man knew\nmore than enough English for that.\n\nPerhaps he had read it and had begun to suspect something.  And, yet,\nwhat did it matter?  What had Dorian Gray to do with Sibyl Vane's\ndeath?  There was nothing to fear.  Dorian Gray had not killed her.\n\nHis eye fell on the yellow book that Lord Henry had sent him.  What was\nit, he wondered.  He went towards the little, pearl-coloured octagonal\nstand that had always looked to him like the work of some strange\nEgyptian bees that wrought in silver, and taking up the volume, flung\nhimself into an arm-chair and began to turn over the leaves.  After a\nfew minutes he became absorbed.  It was the strangest book that he had\never read.  It seemed to him that in exquisite raiment, and to the\ndelicate sound of flutes, the sins of the world were passing in dumb\nshow before him.  Things that he had dimly dreamed of were suddenly\nmade real to him.  Things of which he had never dreamed were gradually\nrevealed.\n\nIt was a novel without a plot and with only one character, being,\nindeed, simply a psychological study of a certain young Parisian who\nspent his life trying to realize in the nineteenth century all the\npassions and modes of thought that belonged to every century except his\nown, and to sum up, as it were, in himself the various moods through\nwhich the world-spirit had ever passed, loving for their mere\nartificiality those renunciations that men have unwisely called virtue,\nas much as those natural rebellions that wise men still call sin.  The\nstyle in which it was written was that curious jewelled style, vivid\nand obscure at once, full of _argot_ and of archaisms, of technical\nexpressions and of elaborate paraphrases, that characterizes the work\nof some of the finest artists of the French school of _Symbolistes_.\nThere were in it metaphors as monstrous as orchids and as subtle in\ncolour.  The life of the senses was described in the terms of mystical\nphilosophy.  One hardly knew at times whether one was reading the\nspiritual ecstasies of some mediaeval saint or the morbid confessions\nof a modern sinner.  It was a poisonous book.  The heavy odour of\nincense seemed to cling about its pages and to trouble the brain.  The\nmere cadence of the sentences, the subtle monotony of their music, so\nfull as it was of complex refrains and movements elaborately repeated,\nproduced in the mind of the lad, as he passed from chapter to chapter,\na form of reverie, a malady of dreaming, that made him unconscious of\nthe falling day and creeping shadows.\n\nCloudless, and pierced by one solitary star, a copper-green sky gleamed\nthrough the windows.  He read on by its wan light till he could read no\nmore.  Then, after his valet had reminded him several times of the\nlateness of the hour, he got up, and going into the next room, placed\nthe book on the little Florentine table that always stood at his\nbedside and began to dress for dinner.\n\nIt was almost nine o'clock before he reached the club, where he found\nLord Henry sitting alone, in the morning-room, looking very much bored.\n\n\"I am so sorry, Harry,\" he cried, \"but really it is entirely your\nfault.  That book you sent me so fascinated me that I forgot how the\ntime was going.\"\n\n\"Yes, I thought you would like it,\" replied his host, rising from his\nchair.\n\n\"I didn't say I liked it, Harry.  I said it fascinated me.  There is a\ngreat difference.\"\n\n\"Ah, you have discovered that?\" murmured Lord Henry.  And they passed\ninto the dining-room.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 11\n\nFor years, Dorian Gray could not free himself from the influence of\nthis book.  Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he never\nsought to free himself from it.  He procured from Paris no less than\nnine large-paper copies of the first edition, and had them bound in\ndifferent colours, so that they might suit his various moods and the\nchanging fancies of a nature over which he seemed, at times, to have\nalmost entirely lost control.  The hero, the wonderful young Parisian\nin whom the romantic and the scientific temperaments were so strangely\nblended, became to him a kind of prefiguring type of himself.  And,\nindeed, the whole book seemed to him to contain the story of his own\nlife, written before he had lived it.\n\nIn one point he was more fortunate than the novel's fantastic hero.  He\nnever knew--never, indeed, had any cause to know--that somewhat\ngrotesque dread of mirrors, and polished metal surfaces, and still\nwater which came upon the young Parisian so early in his life, and was\noccasioned by the sudden decay of a beau that had once, apparently,\nbeen so remarkable.  It was with an almost cruel joy--and perhaps in\nnearly every joy, as certainly in every pleasure, cruelty has its\nplace--that he used to read the latter part of the book, with its\nreally tragic, if somewhat overemphasized, account of the sorrow and\ndespair of one who had himself lost what in others, and the world, he\nhad most dearly valued.\n\nFor the wonderful beauty that had so fascinated Basil Hallward, and\nmany others besides him, seemed never to leave him.  Even those who had\nheard the most evil things against him--and from time to time strange\nrumours about his mode of life crept through London and became the\nchatter of the clubs--could not believe anything to his dishonour when\nthey saw him.  He had always the look of one who had kept himself\nunspotted from the world.  Men who talked grossly became silent when\nDorian Gray entered the room.  There was something in the purity of his\nface that rebuked them.  His mere presence seemed to recall to them the\nmemory of the innocence that they had tarnished.  They wondered how one\nso charming and graceful as he was could have escaped the stain of an\nage that was at once sordid and sensual.\n\nOften, on returning home from one of those mysterious and prolonged\nabsences that gave rise to such strange conjecture among those who were\nhis friends, or thought that they were so, he himself would creep\nupstairs to the locked room, open the door with the key that never left\nhim now, and stand, with a mirror, in front of the portrait that Basil\nHallward had painted of him, looking now at the evil and aging face on\nthe canvas, and now at the fair young face that laughed back at him\nfrom the polished glass.  The very sharpness of the contrast used to\nquicken his sense of pleasure.  He grew more and more enamoured of his\nown beauty, more and more interested in the corruption of his own soul.\nHe would examine with minute care, and sometimes with a monstrous and\nterrible delight, the hideous lines that seared the wrinkling forehead\nor crawled around the heavy sensual mouth, wondering sometimes which\nwere the more horrible, the signs of sin or the signs of age.  He would\nplace his white hands beside the coarse bloated hands of the picture,\nand smile.  He mocked the misshapen body and the failing limbs.\n\nThere were moments, indeed, at night, when, lying sleepless in his own\ndelicately scented chamber, or in the sordid room of the little\nill-famed tavern near the docks which, under an assumed name and in\ndisguise, it was his habit to frequent, he would think of the ruin he\nhad brought upon his soul with a pity that was all the more poignant\nbecause it was purely selfish.  But moments such as these were rare.\nThat curiosity about life which Lord Henry had first stirred in him, as\nthey sat together in the garden of their friend, seemed to increase\nwith gratification.  The more he knew, the more he desired to know.  He\nhad mad hungers that grew more ravenous as he fed them.\n\nYet he was not really reckless, at any rate in his relations to\nsociety.  Once or twice every month during the winter, and on each\nWednesday evening while the season lasted, he would throw open to the\nworld his beautiful house and have the most celebrated musicians of the\nday to charm his guests with the wonders of their art.  His little\ndinners, in the settling of which Lord Henry always assisted him, were\nnoted as much for the careful selection and placing of those invited,\nas for the exquisite taste shown in the decoration of the table, with\nits subtle symphonic arrangements of exotic flowers, and embroidered\ncloths, and antique plate of gold and silver.  Indeed, there were many,\nespecially among the very young men, who saw, or fancied that they saw,\nin Dorian Gray the true realization of a type of which they had often\ndreamed in Eton or Oxford days, a type that was to combine something of\nthe real culture of the scholar with all the grace and distinction and\nperfect manner of a citizen of the world.  To them he seemed to be of\nthe company of those whom Dante describes as having sought to \"make\nthemselves perfect by the worship of beauty.\"  Like Gautier, he was one\nfor whom \"the visible world existed.\"\n\nAnd, certainly, to him life itself was the first, the greatest, of the\narts, and for it all the other arts seemed to be but a preparation.\nFashion, by which what is really fantastic becomes for a moment\nuniversal, and dandyism, which, in its own way, is an attempt to assert\nthe absolute modernity of beauty, had, of course, their fascination for\nhim.  His mode of dressing, and the particular styles that from time to\ntime he affected, had their marked influence on the young exquisites of\nthe Mayfair balls and Pall Mall club windows, who copied him in\neverything that he did, and tried to reproduce the accidental charm of\nhis graceful, though to him only half-serious, fopperies.\n\nFor, while he was but too ready to accept the position that was almost\nimmediately offered to him on his coming of age, and found, indeed, a\nsubtle pleasure in the thought that he might really become to the\nLondon of his own day what to imperial Neronian Rome the author of the\nSatyricon once had been, yet in his inmost heart he desired to be\nsomething more than a mere _arbiter elegantiarum_, to be consulted on the\nwearing of a jewel, or the knotting of a necktie, or the conduct of a\ncane.  He sought to elaborate some new scheme of life that would have\nits reasoned philosophy and its ordered principles, and find in the\nspiritualizing of the senses its highest realization.\n\nThe worship of the senses has often, and with much justice, been\ndecried, men feeling a natural instinct of terror about passions and\nsensations that seem stronger than themselves, and that they are\nconscious of sharing with the less highly organized forms of existence.\nBut it appeared to Dorian Gray that the true nature of the senses had\nnever been understood, and that they had remained savage and animal\nmerely because the world had sought to starve them into submission or\nto kill them by pain, instead of aiming at making them elements of a\nnew spirituality, of which a fine instinct for beauty was to be the\ndominant characteristic.  As he looked back upon man moving through\nhistory, he was haunted by a feeling of loss.  So much had been\nsurrendered! and to such little purpose!  There had been mad wilful\nrejections, monstrous forms of self-torture and self-denial, whose\norigin was fear and whose result was a degradation infinitely more\nterrible than that fancied degradation from which, in their ignorance,\nthey had sought to escape; Nature, in her wonderful irony, driving out\nthe anchorite to feed with the wild animals of the desert and giving to\nthe hermit the beasts of the field as his companions.\n\nYes:  there was to be, as Lord Henry had prophesied, a new Hedonism\nthat was to recreate life and to save it from that harsh uncomely\npuritanism that is having, in our own day, its curious revival.  It was\nto have its service of the intellect, certainly, yet it was never to\naccept any theory or system that would involve the sacrifice of any\nmode of passionate experience.  Its aim, indeed, was to be experience\nitself, and not the fruits of experience, sweet or bitter as they might\nbe.  Of the asceticism that deadens the senses, as of the vulgar\nprofligacy that dulls them, it was to know nothing.  But it was to\nteach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of a life that is\nitself but a moment.\n\nThere are few of us who have not sometimes wakened before dawn, either\nafter one of those dreamless nights that make us almost enamoured of\ndeath, or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy, when through\nthe chambers of the brain sweep phantoms more terrible than reality\nitself, and instinct with that vivid life that lurks in all grotesques,\nand that lends to Gothic art its enduring vitality, this art being, one\nmight fancy, especially the art of those whose minds have been troubled\nwith the malady of reverie.  Gradually white fingers creep through the\ncurtains, and they appear to tremble.  In black fantastic shapes, dumb\nshadows crawl into the corners of the room and crouch there.  Outside,\nthere is the stirring of birds among the leaves, or the sound of men\ngoing forth to their work, or the sigh and sob of the wind coming down\nfrom the hills and wandering round the silent house, as though it\nfeared to wake the sleepers and yet must needs call forth sleep from\nher purple cave.  Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by\ndegrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we\nwatch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern.  The wan\nmirrors get back their mimic life.  The flameless tapers stand where we\nhad left them, and beside them lies the half-cut book that we had been\nstudying, or the wired flower that we had worn at the ball, or the\nletter that we had been afraid to read, or that we had read too often.\nNothing seems to us changed.  Out of the unreal shadows of the night\ncomes back the real life that we had known.  We have to resume it where\nwe had left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the\nnecessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of\nstereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it may be, that our eyelids\nmight open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in\nthe darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh\nshapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in\nwhich the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate,\nin no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance even of\njoy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain.\n\nIt was the creation of such worlds as these that seemed to Dorian Gray\nto be the true object, or amongst the true objects, of life; and in his\nsearch for sensations that would be at once new and delightful, and\npossess that element of strangeness that is so essential to romance, he\nwould often adopt certain modes of thought that he knew to be really\nalien to his nature, abandon himself to their subtle influences, and\nthen, having, as it were, caught their colour and satisfied his\nintellectual curiosity, leave them with that curious indifference that\nis not incompatible with a real ardour of temperament, and that,\nindeed, according to certain modern psychologists, is often a condition\nof it.\n\nIt was rumoured of him once that he was about to join the Roman\nCatholic communion, and certainly the Roman ritual had always a great\nattraction for him.  The daily sacrifice, more awful really than all\nthe sacrifices of the antique world, stirred him as much by its superb\nrejection of the evidence of the senses as by the primitive simplicity\nof its elements and the eternal pathos of the human tragedy that it\nsought to symbolize.  He loved to kneel down on the cold marble\npavement and watch the priest, in his stiff flowered dalmatic, slowly\nand with white hands moving aside the veil of the tabernacle, or\nraising aloft the jewelled, lantern-shaped monstrance with that pallid\nwafer that at times, one would fain think, is indeed the \"_panis\ncaelestis_,\" the bread of angels, or, robed in the garments of the\nPassion of Christ, breaking the Host into the chalice and smiting his\nbreast for his sins.  The fuming censers that the grave boys, in their\nlace and scarlet, tossed into the air like great gilt flowers had their\nsubtle fascination for him.  As he passed out, he used to look with\nwonder at the black confessionals and long to sit in the dim shadow of\none of them and listen to men and women whispering through the worn\ngrating the true story of their lives.\n\nBut he never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual\ndevelopment by any formal acceptance of creed or system, or of\nmistaking, for a house in which to live, an inn that is but suitable\nfor the sojourn of a night, or for a few hours of a night in which\nthere are no stars and the moon is in travail.  Mysticism, with its\nmarvellous power of making common things strange to us, and the subtle\nantinomianism that always seems to accompany it, moved him for a\nseason; and for a season he inclined to the materialistic doctrines of\nthe _Darwinismus_ movement in Germany, and found a curious pleasure in\ntracing the thoughts and passions of men to some pearly cell in the\nbrain, or some white nerve in the body, delighting in the conception of\nthe absolute dependence of the spirit on certain physical conditions,\nmorbid or healthy, normal or diseased.  Yet, as has been said of him\nbefore, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance\ncompared with life itself.  He felt keenly conscious of how barren all\nintellectual speculation is when separated from action and experiment.\nHe knew that the senses, no less than the soul, have their spiritual\nmysteries to reveal.\n\nAnd so he would now study perfumes and the secrets of their\nmanufacture, distilling heavily scented oils and burning odorous gums\nfrom the East.  He saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not\nits counterpart in the sensuous life, and set himself to discover their\ntrue relations, wondering what there was in frankincense that made one\nmystical, and in ambergris that stirred one's passions, and in violets\nthat woke the memory of dead romances, and in musk that troubled the\nbrain, and in champak that stained the imagination; and seeking often\nto elaborate a real psychology of perfumes, and to estimate the several\ninfluences of sweet-smelling roots and scented, pollen-laden flowers;\nof aromatic balms and of dark and fragrant woods; of spikenard, that\nsickens; of hovenia, that makes men mad; and of aloes, that are said to\nbe able to expel melancholy from the soul.\n\nAt another time he devoted himself entirely to music, and in a long\nlatticed room, with a vermilion-and-gold ceiling and walls of\nolive-green lacquer, he used to give curious concerts in which mad\ngipsies tore wild music from little zithers, or grave, yellow-shawled\nTunisians plucked at the strained strings of monstrous lutes, while\ngrinning Negroes beat monotonously upon copper drums and, crouching\nupon scarlet mats, slim turbaned Indians blew through long pipes of\nreed or brass and charmed--or feigned to charm--great hooded snakes and\nhorrible horned adders.  The harsh intervals and shrill discords of\nbarbaric music stirred him at times when Schubert's grace, and Chopin's\nbeautiful sorrows, and the mighty harmonies of Beethoven himself, fell\nunheeded on his ear.  He collected together from all parts of the world\nthe strangest instruments that could be found, either in the tombs of\ndead nations or among the few savage tribes that have survived contact\nwith Western civilizations, and loved to touch and try them.  He had\nthe mysterious _juruparis_ of the Rio Negro Indians, that women are not\nallowed to look at and that even youths may not see till they have been\nsubjected to fasting and scourging, and the earthen jars of the\nPeruvians that have the shrill cries of birds, and flutes of human\nbones such as Alfonso de Ovalle heard in Chile, and the sonorous green\njaspers that are found near Cuzco and give forth a note of singular\nsweetness.  He had painted gourds filled with pebbles that rattled when\nthey were shaken; the long _clarin_ of the Mexicans, into which the\nperformer does not blow, but through which he inhales the air; the\nharsh _ture_ of the Amazon tribes, that is sounded by the sentinels who\nsit all day long in high trees, and can be heard, it is said, at a\ndistance of three leagues; the _teponaztli_, that has two vibrating\ntongues of wood and is beaten with sticks that are smeared with an\nelastic gum obtained from the milky juice of plants; the _yotl_-bells of\nthe Aztecs, that are hung in clusters like grapes; and a huge\ncylindrical drum, covered with the skins of great serpents, like the\none that Bernal Diaz saw when he went with Cortes into the Mexican\ntemple, and of whose doleful sound he has left us so vivid a\ndescription.  The fantastic character of these instruments fascinated\nhim, and he felt a curious delight in the thought that art, like\nNature, has her monsters, things of bestial shape and with hideous\nvoices.  Yet, after some time, he wearied of them, and would sit in his\nbox at the opera, either alone or with Lord Henry, listening in rapt\npleasure to \"Tannhauser\" and seeing in the prelude to that great work\nof art a presentation of the tragedy of his own soul.\n\nOn one occasion he took up the study of jewels, and appeared at a\ncostume ball as Anne de Joyeuse, Admiral of France, in a dress covered\nwith five hundred and sixty pearls.  This taste enthralled him for\nyears, and, indeed, may be said never to have left him.  He would often\nspend a whole day settling and resettling in their cases the various\nstones that he had collected, such as the olive-green chrysoberyl that\nturns red by lamplight, the cymophane with its wirelike line of silver,\nthe pistachio-coloured peridot, rose-pink and wine-yellow topazes,\ncarbuncles of fiery scarlet with tremulous, four-rayed stars, flame-red\ncinnamon-stones, orange and violet spinels, and amethysts with their\nalternate layers of ruby and sapphire.  He loved the red gold of the\nsunstone, and the moonstone's pearly whiteness, and the broken rainbow\nof the milky opal.  He procured from Amsterdam three emeralds of\nextraordinary size and richness of colour, and had a turquoise _de la\nvieille roche_ that was the envy of all the connoisseurs.\n\nHe discovered wonderful stories, also, about jewels.  In Alphonso's\nClericalis Disciplina a serpent was mentioned with eyes of real\njacinth, and in the romantic history of Alexander, the Conqueror of\nEmathia was said to have found in the vale of Jordan snakes \"with\ncollars of real emeralds growing on their backs.\" There was a gem in\nthe brain of the dragon, Philostratus told us, and \"by the exhibition\nof golden letters and a scarlet robe\" the monster could be thrown into\na magical sleep and slain.  According to the great alchemist, Pierre de\nBoniface, the diamond rendered a man invisible, and the agate of India\nmade him eloquent.  The cornelian appeased anger, and the hyacinth\nprovoked sleep, and the amethyst drove away the fumes of wine.  The\ngarnet cast out demons, and the hydropicus deprived the moon of her\ncolour.  The selenite waxed and waned with the moon, and the meloceus,\nthat discovers thieves, could be affected only by the blood of kids.\nLeonardus Camillus had seen a white stone taken from the brain of a\nnewly killed toad, that was a certain antidote against poison.  The\nbezoar, that was found in the heart of the Arabian deer, was a charm\nthat could cure the plague.  In the nests of Arabian birds was the\naspilates, that, according to Democritus, kept the wearer from any\ndanger by fire.\n\nThe King of Ceilan rode through his city with a large ruby in his hand,\nas the ceremony of his coronation.  The gates of the palace of John the\nPriest were \"made of sardius, with the horn of the horned snake\ninwrought, so that no man might bring poison within.\" Over the gable\nwere \"two golden apples, in which were two carbuncles,\" so that the\ngold might shine by day and the carbuncles by night.  In Lodge's\nstrange romance 'A Margarite of America', it was stated that in the\nchamber of the queen one could behold \"all the chaste ladies of the\nworld, inchased out of silver, looking through fair mirrours of\nchrysolites, carbuncles, sapphires, and greene emeraults.\" Marco Polo\nhad seen the inhabitants of Zipangu place rose-coloured pearls in the\nmouths of the dead.  A sea-monster had been enamoured of the pearl that\nthe diver brought to King Perozes, and had slain the thief, and mourned\nfor seven moons over its loss.  When the Huns lured the king into the\ngreat pit, he flung it away--Procopius tells the story--nor was it ever\nfound again, though the Emperor Anastasius offered five hundred-weight\nof gold pieces for it.  The King of Malabar had shown to a certain\nVenetian a rosary of three hundred and four pearls, one for every god\nthat he worshipped.\n\nWhen the Duke de Valentinois, son of Alexander VI, visited Louis XII of\nFrance, his horse was loaded with gold leaves, according to Brantome,\nand his cap had double rows of rubies that threw out a great light.\nCharles of England had ridden in stirrups hung with four hundred and\ntwenty-one diamonds.  Richard II had a coat, valued at thirty thousand\nmarks, which was covered with balas rubies.  Hall described Henry VIII,\non his way to the Tower previous to his coronation, as wearing \"a\njacket of raised gold, the placard embroidered with diamonds and other\nrich stones, and a great bauderike about his neck of large balasses.\"\nThe favourites of James I wore ear-rings of emeralds set in gold\nfiligrane.  Edward II gave to Piers Gaveston a suit of red-gold armour\nstudded with jacinths, a collar of gold roses set with\nturquoise-stones, and a skull-cap _parseme_ with pearls.  Henry II wore\njewelled gloves reaching to the elbow, and had a hawk-glove sewn with\ntwelve rubies and fifty-two great orients.  The ducal hat of Charles\nthe Rash, the last Duke of Burgundy of his race, was hung with\npear-shaped pearls and studded with sapphires.\n\nHow exquisite life had once been!  How gorgeous in its pomp and\ndecoration!  Even to read of the luxury of the dead was wonderful.\n\nThen he turned his attention to embroideries and to the tapestries that\nperformed the office of frescoes in the chill rooms of the northern\nnations of Europe.  As he investigated the subject--and he always had\nan extraordinary faculty of becoming absolutely absorbed for the moment\nin whatever he took up--he was almost saddened by the reflection of the\nruin that time brought on beautiful and wonderful things.  He, at any\nrate, had escaped that.  Summer followed summer, and the yellow\njonquils bloomed and died many times, and nights of horror repeated the\nstory of their shame, but he was unchanged.  No winter marred his face\nor stained his flowerlike bloom.  How different it was with material\nthings!  Where had they passed to?  Where was the great crocus-coloured\nrobe, on which the gods fought against the giants, that had been worked\nby brown girls for the pleasure of Athena?  Where the huge velarium\nthat Nero had stretched across the Colosseum at Rome, that Titan sail\nof purple on which was represented the starry sky, and Apollo driving a\nchariot drawn by white, gilt-reined steeds?  He longed to see the\ncurious table-napkins wrought for the Priest of the Sun, on which were\ndisplayed all the dainties and viands that could be wanted for a feast;\nthe mortuary cloth of King Chilperic, with its three hundred golden\nbees; the fantastic robes that excited the indignation of the Bishop of\nPontus and were figured with \"lions, panthers, bears, dogs, forests,\nrocks, hunters--all, in fact, that a painter can copy from nature\"; and\nthe coat that Charles of Orleans once wore, on the sleeves of which\nwere embroidered the verses of a song beginning \"_Madame, je suis tout\njoyeux_,\" the musical accompaniment of the words being wrought in gold\nthread, and each note, of square shape in those days, formed with four\npearls.  He read of the room that was prepared at the palace at Rheims\nfor the use of Queen Joan of Burgundy and was decorated with \"thirteen\nhundred and twenty-one parrots, made in broidery, and blazoned with the\nking's arms, and five hundred and sixty-one butterflies, whose wings\nwere similarly ornamented with the arms of the queen, the whole worked\nin gold.\"  Catherine de Medicis had a mourning-bed made for her of\nblack velvet powdered with crescents and suns.  Its curtains were of\ndamask, with leafy wreaths and garlands, figured upon a gold and silver\nground, and fringed along the edges with broideries of pearls, and it\nstood in a room hung with rows of the queen's devices in cut black\nvelvet upon cloth of silver.  Louis XIV had gold embroidered caryatides\nfifteen feet high in his apartment.  The state bed of Sobieski, King of\nPoland, was made of Smyrna gold brocade embroidered in turquoises with\nverses from the Koran.  Its supports were of silver gilt, beautifully\nchased, and profusely set with enamelled and jewelled medallions.  It\nhad been taken from the Turkish camp before Vienna, and the standard of\nMohammed had stood beneath the tremulous gilt of its canopy.\n\nAnd so, for a whole year, he sought to accumulate the most exquisite\nspecimens that he could find of textile and embroidered work, getting\nthe dainty Delhi muslins, finely wrought with gold-thread palmates and\nstitched over with iridescent beetles' wings; the Dacca gauzes, that\nfrom their transparency are known in the East as \"woven air,\" and\n\"running water,\" and \"evening dew\"; strange figured cloths from Java;\nelaborate yellow Chinese hangings; books bound in tawny satins or fair\nblue silks and wrought with _fleurs-de-lis_, birds and images; veils of\n_lacis_ worked in Hungary point; Sicilian brocades and stiff Spanish\nvelvets; Georgian work, with its gilt coins, and Japanese _Foukousas_,\nwith their green-toned golds and their marvellously plumaged birds.\n\nHe had a special passion, also, for ecclesiastical vestments, as indeed\nhe had for everything connected with the service of the Church.  In the\nlong cedar chests that lined the west gallery of his house, he had\nstored away many rare and beautiful specimens of what is really the\nraiment of the Bride of Christ, who must wear purple and jewels and\nfine linen that she may hide the pallid macerated body that is worn by\nthe suffering that she seeks for and wounded by self-inflicted pain.\nHe possessed a gorgeous cope of crimson silk and gold-thread damask,\nfigured with a repeating pattern of golden pomegranates set in\nsix-petalled formal blossoms, beyond which on either side was the\npine-apple device wrought in seed-pearls. The orphreys were divided\ninto panels representing scenes from the life of the Virgin, and the\ncoronation of the Virgin was figured in coloured silks upon the hood.\nThis was Italian work of the fifteenth century.  Another cope was of\ngreen velvet, embroidered with heart-shaped groups of acanthus-leaves,\nfrom which spread long-stemmed white blossoms, the details of which\nwere picked out with silver thread and coloured crystals.  The morse\nbore a seraph's head in gold-thread raised work.  The orphreys were\nwoven in a diaper of red and gold silk, and were starred with\nmedallions of many saints and martyrs, among whom was St. Sebastian.\nHe had chasubles, also, of amber-coloured silk, and blue silk and gold\nbrocade, and yellow silk damask and cloth of gold, figured with\nrepresentations of the Passion and Crucifixion of Christ, and\nembroidered with lions and peacocks and other emblems; dalmatics of\nwhite satin and pink silk damask, decorated with tulips and dolphins\nand _fleurs-de-lis_; altar frontals of crimson velvet and blue linen; and\nmany corporals, chalice-veils, and sudaria.  In the mystic offices to\nwhich such things were put, there was something that quickened his\nimagination.\n\nFor these treasures, and everything that he collected in his lovely\nhouse, were to be to him means of forgetfulness, modes by which he\ncould escape, for a season, from the fear that seemed to him at times\nto be almost too great to be borne.  Upon the walls of the lonely\nlocked room where he had spent so much of his boyhood, he had hung with\nhis own hands the terrible portrait whose changing features showed him\nthe real degradation of his life, and in front of it had draped the\npurple-and-gold pall as a curtain.  For weeks he would not go there,\nwould forget the hideous painted thing, and get back his light heart,\nhis wonderful joyousness, his passionate absorption in mere existence.\nThen, suddenly, some night he would creep out of the house, go down to\ndreadful places near Blue Gate Fields, and stay there, day after day,\nuntil he was driven away.  On his return he would sit in front of the\npicture, sometimes loathing it and himself, but filled, at other\ntimes, with that pride of individualism that is half the\nfascination of sin, and smiling with secret pleasure at the misshapen\nshadow that had to bear the burden that should have been his own.\n\nAfter a few years he could not endure to be long out of England, and\ngave up the villa that he had shared at Trouville with Lord Henry, as\nwell as the little white walled-in house at Algiers where they had more\nthan once spent the winter.  He hated to be separated from the picture\nthat was such a part of his life, and was also afraid that during his\nabsence some one might gain access to the room, in spite of the\nelaborate bars that he had caused to be placed upon the door.\n\nHe was quite conscious that this would tell them nothing.  It was true\nthat the portrait still preserved, under all the foulness and ugliness\nof the face, its marked likeness to himself; but what could they learn\nfrom that?  He would laugh at any one who tried to taunt him.  He had\nnot painted it.  What was it to him how vile and full of shame it\nlooked?  Even if he told them, would they believe it?\n\nYet he was afraid.  Sometimes when he was down at his great house in\nNottinghamshire, entertaining the fashionable young men of his own rank\nwho were his chief companions, and astounding the county by the wanton\nluxury and gorgeous splendour of his mode of life, he would suddenly\nleave his guests and rush back to town to see that the door had not\nbeen tampered with and that the picture was still there.  What if it\nshould be stolen?  The mere thought made him cold with horror.  Surely\nthe world would know his secret then.  Perhaps the world already\nsuspected it.\n\nFor, while he fascinated many, there were not a few who distrusted him.\nHe was very nearly blackballed at a West End club of which his birth\nand social position fully entitled him to become a member, and it was\nsaid that on one occasion, when he was brought by a friend into the\nsmoking-room of the Churchill, the Duke of Berwick and another\ngentleman got up in a marked manner and went out.  Curious stories\nbecame current about him after he had passed his twenty-fifth year.  It\nwas rumoured that he had been seen brawling with foreign sailors in a\nlow den in the distant parts of Whitechapel, and that he consorted with\nthieves and coiners and knew the mysteries of their trade.  His\nextraordinary absences became notorious, and, when he used to reappear\nagain in society, men would whisper to each other in corners, or pass\nhim with a sneer, or look at him with cold searching eyes, as though\nthey were determined to discover his secret.\n\nOf such insolences and attempted slights he, of course, took no notice,\nand in the opinion of most people his frank debonair manner, his\ncharming boyish smile, and the infinite grace of that wonderful youth\nthat seemed never to leave him, were in themselves a sufficient answer\nto the calumnies, for so they termed them, that were circulated about\nhim.  It was remarked, however, that some of those who had been most\nintimate with him appeared, after a time, to shun him.  Women who had\nwildly adored him, and for his sake had braved all social censure and\nset convention at defiance, were seen to grow pallid with shame or\nhorror if Dorian Gray entered the room.\n\nYet these whispered scandals only increased in the eyes of many his\nstrange and dangerous charm.  His great wealth was a certain element of\nsecurity.  Society--civilized society, at least--is never very ready to\nbelieve anything to the detriment of those who are both rich and\nfascinating.  It feels instinctively that manners are of more\nimportance than morals, and, in its opinion, the highest respectability\nis of much less value than the possession of a good _chef_.  And, after\nall, it is a very poor consolation to be told that the man who has\ngiven one a bad dinner, or poor wine, is irreproachable in his private\nlife.  Even the cardinal virtues cannot atone for half-cold _entrees_, as\nLord Henry remarked once, in a discussion on the subject, and there is\npossibly a good deal to be said for his view.  For the canons of good\nsociety are, or should be, the same as the canons of art.  Form is\nabsolutely essential to it.  It should have the dignity of a ceremony,\nas well as its unreality, and should combine the insincere character of\na romantic play with the wit and beauty that make such plays delightful\nto us.  Is insincerity such a terrible thing?  I think not.  It is\nmerely a method by which we can multiply our personalities.\n\nSuch, at any rate, was Dorian Gray's opinion.  He used to wonder at the\nshallow psychology of those who conceive the ego in man as a thing\nsimple, permanent, reliable, and of one essence.  To him, man was a\nbeing with myriad lives and myriad sensations, a complex multiform\ncreature that bore within itself strange legacies of thought and\npassion, and whose very flesh was tainted with the monstrous maladies\nof the dead.  He loved to stroll through the gaunt cold picture-gallery\nof his country house and look at the various portraits of those whose\nblood flowed in his veins.  Here was Philip Herbert, described by\nFrancis Osborne, in his Memoires on the Reigns of Queen Elizabeth and\nKing James, as one who was \"caressed by the Court for his handsome\nface, which kept him not long company.\"  Was it young Herbert's life\nthat he sometimes led?  Had some strange poisonous germ crept from body\nto body till it had reached his own?  Was it some dim sense of that\nruined grace that had made him so suddenly, and almost without cause,\ngive utterance, in Basil Hallward's studio, to the mad prayer that had\nso changed his life?  Here, in gold-embroidered red doublet, jewelled\nsurcoat, and gilt-edged ruff and wristbands, stood Sir Anthony Sherard,\nwith his silver-and-black armour piled at his feet.  What had this\nman's legacy been?  Had the lover of Giovanna of Naples bequeathed him\nsome inheritance of sin and shame?  Were his own actions merely the\ndreams that the dead man had not dared to realize?  Here, from the\nfading canvas, smiled Lady Elizabeth Devereux, in her gauze hood, pearl\nstomacher, and pink slashed sleeves.  A flower was in her right hand,\nand her left clasped an enamelled collar of white and damask roses.  On\na table by her side lay a mandolin and an apple.  There were large\ngreen rosettes upon her little pointed shoes.  He knew her life, and\nthe strange stories that were told about her lovers.  Had he something\nof her temperament in him?  These oval, heavy-lidded eyes seemed to\nlook curiously at him.  What of George Willoughby, with his powdered\nhair and fantastic patches?  How evil he looked!  The face was\nsaturnine and swarthy, and the sensual lips seemed to be twisted with\ndisdain.  Delicate lace ruffles fell over the lean yellow hands that\nwere so overladen with rings.  He had been a macaroni of the eighteenth\ncentury, and the friend, in his youth, of Lord Ferrars.  What of the\nsecond Lord Beckenham, the companion of the Prince Regent in his\nwildest days, and one of the witnesses at the secret marriage with Mrs.\nFitzherbert?  How proud and handsome he was, with his chestnut curls\nand insolent pose!  What passions had he bequeathed?  The world had\nlooked upon him as infamous.  He had led the orgies at Carlton House.\nThe star of the Garter glittered upon his breast.  Beside him hung the\nportrait of his wife, a pallid, thin-lipped woman in black.  Her blood,\nalso, stirred within him.  How curious it all seemed!  And his mother\nwith her Lady Hamilton face and her moist, wine-dashed lips--he knew\nwhat he had got from her.  He had got from her his beauty, and his\npassion for the beauty of others.  She laughed at him in her loose\nBacchante dress.  There were vine leaves in her hair.  The purple\nspilled from the cup she was holding.  The carnations of the painting\nhad withered, but the eyes were still wonderful in their depth and\nbrilliancy of colour.  They seemed to follow him wherever he went.\n\nYet one had ancestors in literature as well as in one's own race,\nnearer perhaps in type and temperament, many of them, and certainly\nwith an influence of which one was more absolutely conscious.  There\nwere times when it appeared to Dorian Gray that the whole of history\nwas merely the record of his own life, not as he had lived it in act\nand circumstance, but as his imagination had created it for him, as it\nhad been in his brain and in his passions.  He felt that he had known\nthem all, those strange terrible figures that had passed across the\nstage of the world and made sin so marvellous and evil so full of\nsubtlety.  It seemed to him that in some mysterious way their lives had\nbeen his own.\n\nThe hero of the wonderful novel that had so influenced his life had\nhimself known this curious fancy.  In the seventh chapter he tells how,\ncrowned with laurel, lest lightning might strike him, he had sat, as\nTiberius, in a garden at Capri, reading the shameful books of\nElephantis, while dwarfs and peacocks strutted round him and the\nflute-player mocked the swinger of the censer; and, as Caligula, had\ncaroused with the green-shirted jockeys in their stables and supped in\nan ivory manger with a jewel-frontleted horse; and, as Domitian, had\nwandered through a corridor lined with marble mirrors, looking round\nwith haggard eyes for the reflection of the dagger that was to end his\ndays, and sick with that ennui, that terrible _taedium vitae_, that comes\non those to whom life denies nothing; and had peered through a clear\nemerald at the red shambles of the circus and then, in a litter of\npearl and purple drawn by silver-shod mules, been carried through the\nStreet of Pomegranates to a House of Gold and heard men cry on Nero\nCaesar as he passed by; and, as Elagabalus, had painted his face with\ncolours, and plied the distaff among the women, and brought the Moon\nfrom Carthage and given her in mystic marriage to the Sun.\n\nOver and over again Dorian used to read this fantastic chapter, and the\ntwo chapters immediately following, in which, as in some curious\ntapestries or cunningly wrought enamels, were pictured the awful and\nbeautiful forms of those whom vice and blood and weariness had made\nmonstrous or mad:  Filippo, Duke of Milan, who slew his wife and\npainted her lips with a scarlet poison that her lover might suck death\nfrom the dead thing he fondled; Pietro Barbi, the Venetian, known as\nPaul the Second, who sought in his vanity to assume the title of\nFormosus, and whose tiara, valued at two hundred thousand florins, was\nbought at the price of a terrible sin; Gian Maria Visconti, who used\nhounds to chase living men and whose murdered body was covered with\nroses by a harlot who had loved him; the Borgia on his white horse,\nwith Fratricide riding beside him and his mantle stained with the blood\nof Perotto; Pietro Riario, the young Cardinal Archbishop of Florence,\nchild and minion of Sixtus IV, whose beauty was equalled only by his\ndebauchery, and who received Leonora of Aragon in a pavilion of white\nand crimson silk, filled with nymphs and centaurs, and gilded a boy\nthat he might serve at the feast as Ganymede or Hylas; Ezzelin, whose\nmelancholy could be cured only by the spectacle of death, and who had a\npassion for red blood, as other men have for red wine--the son of the\nFiend, as was reported, and one who had cheated his father at dice when\ngambling with him for his own soul; Giambattista Cibo, who in mockery\ntook the name of Innocent and into whose torpid veins the blood of\nthree lads was infused by a Jewish doctor; Sigismondo Malatesta, the\nlover of Isotta and the lord of Rimini, whose effigy was burned at Rome\nas the enemy of God and man, who strangled Polyssena with a napkin, and\ngave poison to Ginevra d'Este in a cup of emerald, and in honour of a\nshameful passion built a pagan church for Christian worship; Charles\nVI, who had so wildly adored his brother's wife that a leper had warned\nhim of the insanity that was coming on him, and who, when his brain had\nsickened and grown strange, could only be soothed by Saracen cards\npainted with the images of love and death and madness; and, in his\ntrimmed jerkin and jewelled cap and acanthuslike curls, Grifonetto\nBaglioni, who slew Astorre with his bride, and Simonetto with his page,\nand whose comeliness was such that, as he lay dying in the yellow\npiazza of Perugia, those who had hated him could not choose but weep,\nand Atalanta, who had cursed him, blessed him.\n\nThere was a horrible fascination in them all.  He saw them at night,\nand they troubled his imagination in the day.  The Renaissance knew of\nstrange manners of poisoning--poisoning by a helmet and a lighted\ntorch, by an embroidered glove and a jewelled fan, by a gilded pomander\nand by an amber chain.  Dorian Gray had been poisoned by a book.  There\nwere moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he\ncould realize his conception of the beautiful.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 12\n\nIt was on the ninth of November, the eve of his own thirty-eighth\nbirthday, as he often remembered afterwards.\n\nHe was walking home about eleven o'clock from Lord Henry's, where he\nhad been dining, and was wrapped in heavy furs, as the night was cold\nand foggy.  At the corner of Grosvenor Square and South Audley Street,\na man passed him in the mist, walking very fast and with the collar of\nhis grey ulster turned up.  He had a bag in his hand.  Dorian\nrecognized him.  It was Basil Hallward.  A strange sense of fear, for\nwhich he could not account, came over him.  He made no sign of\nrecognition and went on quickly in the direction of his own house.\n\nBut Hallward had seen him.  Dorian heard him first stopping on the\npavement and then hurrying after him.  In a few moments, his hand was\non his arm.\n\n\"Dorian!  What an extraordinary piece of luck!  I have been waiting for\nyou in your library ever since nine o'clock. Finally I took pity on\nyour tired servant and told him to go to bed, as he let me out.  I am\noff to Paris by the midnight train, and I particularly wanted to see\nyou before I left.  I thought it was you, or rather your fur coat, as\nyou passed me.  But I wasn't quite sure.  Didn't you recognize me?\"\n\n\"In this fog, my dear Basil?  Why, I can't even recognize Grosvenor\nSquare.  I believe my house is somewhere about here, but I don't feel\nat all certain about it.  I am sorry you are going away, as I have not\nseen you for ages.  But I suppose you will be back soon?\"\n\n\"No:  I am going to be out of England for six months.  I intend to take\na studio in Paris and shut myself up till I have finished a great\npicture I have in my head.  However, it wasn't about myself I wanted to\ntalk.  Here we are at your door.  Let me come in for a moment.  I have\nsomething to say to you.\"\n\n\"I shall be charmed.  But won't you miss your train?\" said Dorian Gray\nlanguidly as he passed up the steps and opened the door with his\nlatch-key.\n\nThe lamplight struggled out through the fog, and Hallward looked at his\nwatch.  \"I have heaps of time,\" he answered.  \"The train doesn't go\ntill twelve-fifteen, and it is only just eleven.  In fact, I was on my\nway to the club to look for you, when I met you.  You see, I shan't\nhave any delay about luggage, as I have sent on my heavy things.  All I\nhave with me is in this bag, and I can easily get to Victoria in twenty\nminutes.\"\n\nDorian looked at him and smiled.  \"What a way for a fashionable painter\nto travel!  A Gladstone bag and an ulster!  Come in, or the fog will\nget into the house.  And mind you don't talk about anything serious.\nNothing is serious nowadays.  At least nothing should be.\"\n\nHallward shook his head, as he entered, and followed Dorian into the\nlibrary.  There was a bright wood fire blazing in the large open\nhearth.  The lamps were lit, and an open Dutch silver spirit-case\nstood, with some siphons of soda-water and large cut-glass tumblers, on\na little marqueterie table.\n\n\"You see your servant made me quite at home, Dorian.  He gave me\neverything I wanted, including your best gold-tipped cigarettes.  He is\na most hospitable creature.  I like him much better than the Frenchman\nyou used to have.  What has become of the Frenchman, by the bye?\"\n\nDorian shrugged his shoulders.  \"I believe he married Lady Radley's\nmaid, and has established her in Paris as an English dressmaker.\nAnglomania is very fashionable over there now, I hear.  It seems silly\nof the French, doesn't it?  But--do you know?--he was not at all a bad\nservant.  I never liked him, but I had nothing to complain about.  One\noften imagines things that are quite absurd.  He was really very\ndevoted to me and seemed quite sorry when he went away.  Have another\nbrandy-and-soda? Or would you like hock-and-seltzer? I always take\nhock-and-seltzer myself.  There is sure to be some in the next room.\"\n\n\"Thanks, I won't have anything more,\" said the painter, taking his cap\nand coat off and throwing them on the bag that he had placed in the\ncorner.  \"And now, my dear fellow, I want to speak to you seriously.\nDon't frown like that.  You make it so much more difficult for me.\"\n\n\"What is it all about?\" cried Dorian in his petulant way, flinging\nhimself down on the sofa.  \"I hope it is not about myself.  I am tired\nof myself to-night. I should like to be somebody else.\"\n\n\"It is about yourself,\" answered Hallward in his grave deep voice, \"and\nI must say it to you.  I shall only keep you half an hour.\"\n\nDorian sighed and lit a cigarette.  \"Half an hour!\" he murmured.\n\n\"It is not much to ask of you, Dorian, and it is entirely for your own\nsake that I am speaking.  I think it right that you should know that\nthe most dreadful things are being said against you in London.\"\n\n\"I don't wish to know anything about them.  I love scandals about other\npeople, but scandals about myself don't interest me.  They have not got\nthe charm of novelty.\"\n\n\"They must interest you, Dorian.  Every gentleman is interested in his\ngood name.  You don't want people to talk of you as something vile and\ndegraded.  Of course, you have your position, and your wealth, and all\nthat kind of thing.  But position and wealth are not everything.  Mind\nyou, I don't believe these rumours at all.  At least, I can't believe\nthem when I see you.  Sin is a thing that writes itself across a man's\nface.  It cannot be concealed.  People talk sometimes of secret vices.\nThere are no such things.  If a wretched man has a vice, it shows\nitself in the lines of his mouth, the droop of his eyelids, the\nmoulding of his hands even.  Somebody--I won't mention his name, but\nyou know him--came to me last year to have his portrait done.  I had\nnever seen him before, and had never heard anything about him at the\ntime, though I have heard a good deal since.  He offered an extravagant\nprice.  I refused him.  There was something in the shape of his fingers\nthat I hated.  I know now that I was quite right in what I fancied\nabout him.  His life is dreadful.  But you, Dorian, with your pure,\nbright, innocent face, and your marvellous untroubled youth--I can't\nbelieve anything against you.  And yet I see you very seldom, and you\nnever come down to the studio now, and when I am away from you, and I\nhear all these hideous things that people are whispering about you, I\ndon't know what to say.  Why is it, Dorian, that a man like the Duke of\nBerwick leaves the room of a club when you enter it?  Why is it that so\nmany gentlemen in London will neither go to your house or invite you to\ntheirs?  You used to be a friend of Lord Staveley.  I met him at dinner\nlast week.  Your name happened to come up in conversation, in\nconnection with the miniatures you have lent to the exhibition at the\nDudley.  Staveley curled his lip and said that you might have the most\nartistic tastes, but that you were a man whom no pure-minded girl\nshould be allowed to know, and whom no chaste woman should sit in the\nsame room with.  I reminded him that I was a friend of yours, and asked\nhim what he meant.  He told me.  He told me right out before everybody.\nIt was horrible!  Why is your friendship so fatal to young men?  There\nwas that wretched boy in the Guards who committed suicide.  You were\nhis great friend.  There was Sir Henry Ashton, who had to leave England\nwith a tarnished name.  You and he were inseparable.  What about Adrian\nSingleton and his dreadful end?  What about Lord Kent's only son and\nhis career?  I met his father yesterday in St. James's Street.  He\nseemed broken with shame and sorrow.  What about the young Duke of\nPerth?  What sort of life has he got now?  What gentleman would\nassociate with him?\"\n\n\"Stop, Basil.  You are talking about things of which you know nothing,\"\nsaid Dorian Gray, biting his lip, and with a note of infinite contempt\nin his voice.  \"You ask me why Berwick leaves a room when I enter it.\nIt is because I know everything about his life, not because he knows\nanything about mine.  With such blood as he has in his veins, how could\nhis record be clean?  You ask me about Henry Ashton and young Perth.\nDid I teach the one his vices, and the other his debauchery?  If Kent's\nsilly son takes his wife from the streets, what is that to me?  If\nAdrian Singleton writes his friend's name across a bill, am I his\nkeeper?  I know how people chatter in England.  The middle classes air\ntheir moral prejudices over their gross dinner-tables, and whisper\nabout what they call the profligacies of their betters in order to try\nand pretend that they are in smart society and on intimate terms with\nthe people they slander.  In this country, it is enough for a man to\nhave distinction and brains for every common tongue to wag against him.\nAnd what sort of lives do these people, who pose as being moral, lead\nthemselves?  My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land\nof the hypocrite.\"\n\n\"Dorian,\" cried Hallward, \"that is not the question.  England is bad\nenough I know, and English society is all wrong.  That is the reason\nwhy I want you to be fine.  You have not been fine.  One has a right to\njudge of a man by the effect he has over his friends.  Yours seem to\nlose all sense of honour, of goodness, of purity.  You have filled them\nwith a madness for pleasure.  They have gone down into the depths.  You\nled them there.  Yes:  you led them there, and yet you can smile, as\nyou are smiling now.  And there is worse behind.  I know you and Harry\nare inseparable.  Surely for that reason, if for none other, you should\nnot have made his sister's name a by-word.\"\n\n\"Take care, Basil.  You go too far.\"\n\n\"I must speak, and you must listen.  You shall listen.  When you met\nLady Gwendolen, not a breath of scandal had ever touched her.  Is there\na single decent woman in London now who would drive with her in the\npark?  Why, even her children are not allowed to live with her.  Then\nthere are other stories--stories that you have been seen creeping at\ndawn out of dreadful houses and slinking in disguise into the foulest\ndens in London.  Are they true?  Can they be true?  When I first heard\nthem, I laughed.  I hear them now, and they make me shudder.  What\nabout your country-house and the life that is led there?  Dorian, you\ndon't know what is said about you.  I won't tell you that I don't want\nto preach to you.  I remember Harry saying once that every man who\nturned himself into an amateur curate for the moment always began by\nsaying that, and then proceeded to break his word.  I do want to preach\nto you.  I want you to lead such a life as will make the world respect\nyou.  I want you to have a clean name and a fair record.  I want you to\nget rid of the dreadful people you associate with.  Don't shrug your\nshoulders like that.  Don't be so indifferent.  You have a wonderful\ninfluence.  Let it be for good, not for evil.  They say that you\ncorrupt every one with whom you become intimate, and that it is quite\nsufficient for you to enter a house for shame of some kind to follow\nafter.  I don't know whether it is so or not.  How should I know?  But\nit is said of you.  I am told things that it seems impossible to doubt.\nLord Gloucester was one of my greatest friends at Oxford.  He showed me\na letter that his wife had written to him when she was dying alone in\nher villa at Mentone.  Your name was implicated in the most terrible\nconfession I ever read.  I told him that it was absurd--that I knew you\nthoroughly and that you were incapable of anything of the kind.  Know\nyou?  I wonder do I know you?  Before I could answer that, I should\nhave to see your soul.\"\n\n\"To see my soul!\" muttered Dorian Gray, starting up from the sofa and\nturning almost white from fear.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Hallward gravely, and with deep-toned sorrow in his\nvoice, \"to see your soul.  But only God can do that.\"\n\nA bitter laugh of mockery broke from the lips of the younger man.  \"You\nshall see it yourself, to-night!\" he cried, seizing a lamp from the\ntable.  \"Come:  it is your own handiwork.  Why shouldn't you look at\nit?  You can tell the world all about it afterwards, if you choose.\nNobody would believe you.  If they did believe you, they would like me\nall the better for it.  I know the age better than you do, though you\nwill prate about it so tediously.  Come, I tell you.  You have\nchattered enough about corruption.  Now you shall look on it face to\nface.\"\n\nThere was the madness of pride in every word he uttered.  He stamped\nhis foot upon the ground in his boyish insolent manner.  He felt a\nterrible joy at the thought that some one else was to share his secret,\nand that the man who had painted the portrait that was the origin of\nall his shame was to be burdened for the rest of his life with the\nhideous memory of what he had done.\n\n\"Yes,\" he continued, coming closer to him and looking steadfastly into\nhis stern eyes, \"I shall show you my soul.  You shall see the thing\nthat you fancy only God can see.\"\n\nHallward started back.  \"This is blasphemy, Dorian!\" he cried.  \"You\nmust not say things like that.  They are horrible, and they don't mean\nanything.\"\n\n\"You think so?\"  He laughed again.\n\n\"I know so.  As for what I said to you to-night, I said it for your\ngood.  You know I have been always a stanch friend to you.\"\n\n\"Don't touch me.  Finish what you have to say.\"\n\nA twisted flash of pain shot across the painter's face.  He paused for\na moment, and a wild feeling of pity came over him.  After all, what\nright had he to pry into the life of Dorian Gray?  If he had done a\ntithe of what was rumoured about him, how much he must have suffered!\nThen he straightened himself up, and walked over to the fire-place, and\nstood there, looking at the burning logs with their frostlike ashes and\ntheir throbbing cores of flame.\n\n\"I am waiting, Basil,\" said the young man in a hard clear voice.\n\nHe turned round.  \"What I have to say is this,\" he cried.  \"You must\ngive me some answer to these horrible charges that are made against\nyou.  If you tell me that they are absolutely untrue from beginning to\nend, I shall believe you.  Deny them, Dorian, deny them!  Can't you see\nwhat I am going through?  My God! don't tell me that you are bad, and\ncorrupt, and shameful.\"\n\nDorian Gray smiled.  There was a curl of contempt in his lips.  \"Come\nupstairs, Basil,\" he said quietly.  \"I keep a diary of my life from day\nto day, and it never leaves the room in which it is written.  I shall\nshow it to you if you come with me.\"\n\n\"I shall come with you, Dorian, if you wish it.  I see I have missed my\ntrain.  That makes no matter.  I can go to-morrow. But don't ask me to\nread anything to-night. All I want is a plain answer to my question.\"\n\n\"That shall be given to you upstairs.  I could not give it here.  You\nwill not have to read long.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 13\n\nHe passed out of the room and began the ascent, Basil Hallward\nfollowing close behind.  They walked softly, as men do instinctively at\nnight.  The lamp cast fantastic shadows on the wall and staircase.  A\nrising wind made some of the windows rattle.\n\nWhen they reached the top landing, Dorian set the lamp down on the\nfloor, and taking out the key, turned it in the lock.  \"You insist on\nknowing, Basil?\" he asked in a low voice.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I am delighted,\" he answered, smiling.  Then he added, somewhat\nharshly, \"You are the one man in the world who is entitled to know\neverything about me.  You have had more to do with my life than you\nthink\"; and, taking up the lamp, he opened the door and went in.  A\ncold current of air passed them, and the light shot up for a moment in\na flame of murky orange.  He shuddered.  \"Shut the door behind you,\" he\nwhispered, as he placed the lamp on the table.\n\nHallward glanced round him with a puzzled expression.  The room looked\nas if it had not been lived in for years.  A faded Flemish tapestry, a\ncurtained picture, an old Italian _cassone_, and an almost empty\nbook-case--that was all that it seemed to contain, besides a chair and\na table.  As Dorian Gray was lighting a half-burned candle that was\nstanding on the mantelshelf, he saw that the whole place was covered\nwith dust and that the carpet was in holes.  A mouse ran scuffling\nbehind the wainscoting.  There was a damp odour of mildew.\n\n\"So you think that it is only God who sees the soul, Basil?  Draw that\ncurtain back, and you will see mine.\"\n\nThe voice that spoke was cold and cruel.  \"You are mad, Dorian, or\nplaying a part,\" muttered Hallward, frowning.\n\n\"You won't? Then I must do it myself,\" said the young man, and he tore\nthe curtain from its rod and flung it on the ground.\n\nAn exclamation of horror broke from the painter's lips as he saw in the\ndim light the hideous face on the canvas grinning at him.  There was\nsomething in its expression that filled him with disgust and loathing.\nGood heavens! it was Dorian Gray's own face that he was looking at!\nThe horror, whatever it was, had not yet entirely spoiled that\nmarvellous beauty.  There was still some gold in the thinning hair and\nsome scarlet on the sensual mouth.  The sodden eyes had kept something\nof the loveliness of their blue, the noble curves had not yet\ncompletely passed away from chiselled nostrils and from plastic throat.\nYes, it was Dorian himself.  But who had done it?  He seemed to\nrecognize his own brushwork, and the frame was his own design.  The\nidea was monstrous, yet he felt afraid.  He seized the lighted candle,\nand held it to the picture.  In the left-hand corner was his own name,\ntraced in long letters of bright vermilion.\n\nIt was some foul parody, some infamous ignoble satire.  He had never\ndone that.  Still, it was his own picture.  He knew it, and he felt as\nif his blood had changed in a moment from fire to sluggish ice.  His\nown picture!  What did it mean?  Why had it altered?  He turned and\nlooked at Dorian Gray with the eyes of a sick man.  His mouth twitched,\nand his parched tongue seemed unable to articulate.  He passed his hand\nacross his forehead.  It was dank with clammy sweat.\n\nThe young man was leaning against the mantelshelf, watching him with\nthat strange expression that one sees on the faces of those who are\nabsorbed in a play when some great artist is acting.  There was neither\nreal sorrow in it nor real joy.  There was simply the passion of the\nspectator, with perhaps a flicker of triumph in his eyes.  He had taken\nthe flower out of his coat, and was smelling it, or pretending to do so.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" cried Hallward, at last.  His own voice sounded\nshrill and curious in his ears.\n\n\"Years ago, when I was a boy,\" said Dorian Gray, crushing the flower in\nhis hand, \"you met me, flattered me, and taught me to be vain of my\ngood looks.  One day you introduced me to a friend of yours, who\nexplained to me the wonder of youth, and you finished a portrait of me\nthat revealed to me the wonder of beauty.  In a mad moment that, even\nnow, I don't know whether I regret or not, I made a wish, perhaps you\nwould call it a prayer....\"\n\n\"I remember it!  Oh, how well I remember it!  No! the thing is\nimpossible.  The room is damp.  Mildew has got into the canvas.  The\npaints I used had some wretched mineral poison in them.  I tell you the\nthing is impossible.\"\n\n\"Ah, what is impossible?\" murmured the young man, going over to the\nwindow and leaning his forehead against the cold, mist-stained glass.\n\n\"You told me you had destroyed it.\"\n\n\"I was wrong.  It has destroyed me.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it is my picture.\"\n\n\"Can't you see your ideal in it?\" said Dorian bitterly.\n\n\"My ideal, as you call it...\"\n\n\"As you called it.\"\n\n\"There was nothing evil in it, nothing shameful.  You were to me such\nan ideal as I shall never meet again.  This is the face of a satyr.\"\n\n\"It is the face of my soul.\"\n\n\"Christ! what a thing I must have worshipped!  It has the eyes of a\ndevil.\"\n\n\"Each of us has heaven and hell in him, Basil,\" cried Dorian with a\nwild gesture of despair.\n\nHallward turned again to the portrait and gazed at it.  \"My God!  If it\nis true,\" he exclaimed, \"and this is what you have done with your life,\nwhy, you must be worse even than those who talk against you fancy you\nto be!\" He held the light up again to the canvas and examined it.  The\nsurface seemed to be quite undisturbed and as he had left it.  It was\nfrom within, apparently, that the foulness and horror had come.\nThrough some strange quickening of inner life the leprosies of sin were\nslowly eating the thing away.  The rotting of a corpse in a watery\ngrave was not so fearful.\n\nHis hand shook, and the candle fell from its socket on the floor and\nlay there sputtering.  He placed his foot on it and put it out.  Then\nhe flung himself into the rickety chair that was standing by the table\nand buried his face in his hands.\n\n\"Good God, Dorian, what a lesson!  What an awful lesson!\" There was no\nanswer, but he could hear the young man sobbing at the window.  \"Pray,\nDorian, pray,\" he murmured.  \"What is it that one was taught to say in\none's boyhood?  'Lead us not into temptation.  Forgive us our sins.\nWash away our iniquities.'  Let us say that together.  The prayer of\nyour pride has been answered.  The prayer of your repentance will be\nanswered also.  I worshipped you too much.  I am punished for it.  You\nworshipped yourself too much.  We are both punished.\"\n\nDorian Gray turned slowly around and looked at him with tear-dimmed\neyes.  \"It is too late, Basil,\" he faltered.\n\n\"It is never too late, Dorian.  Let us kneel down and try if we cannot\nremember a prayer.  Isn't there a verse somewhere, 'Though your sins be\nas scarlet, yet I will make them as white as snow'?\"\n\n\"Those words mean nothing to me now.\"\n\n\"Hush!  Don't say that.  You have done enough evil in your life.  My\nGod!  Don't you see that accursed thing leering at us?\"\n\nDorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable\nfeeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had\nbeen suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his\near by those grinning lips.  The mad passions of a hunted animal\nstirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table,\nmore than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything.  He glanced\nwildly around.  Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest\nthat faced him.  His eye fell on it.  He knew what it was.  It was a\nknife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord,\nand had forgotten to take away with him.  He moved slowly towards it,\npassing Hallward as he did so.  As soon as he got behind him, he seized\nit and turned round.  Hallward stirred in his chair as if he was going\nto rise.  He rushed at him and dug the knife into the great vein that\nis behind the ear, crushing the man's head down on the table and\nstabbing again and again.\n\nThere was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking\nwith blood.  Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively,\nwaving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air.  He stabbed him\ntwice more, but the man did not move.  Something began to trickle on\nthe floor.  He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down.  Then\nhe threw the knife on the table, and listened.\n\nHe could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet.  He\nopened the door and went out on the landing.  The house was absolutely\nquiet.  No one was about.  For a few seconds he stood bending over the\nbalustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness.\nThen he took out the key and returned to the room, locking himself in\nas he did so.\n\nThe thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with\nbowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms.  Had it not been\nfor the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool that was\nslowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was\nsimply asleep.\n\nHow quickly it had all been done!  He felt strangely calm, and walking\nover to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony.  The wind\nhad blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock's\ntail, starred with myriads of golden eyes.  He looked down and saw the\npoliceman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on\nthe doors of the silent houses.  The crimson spot of a prowling hansom\ngleamed at the corner and then vanished.  A woman in a fluttering shawl\nwas creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went.  Now and\nthen she stopped and peered back.  Once, she began to sing in a hoarse\nvoice.  The policeman strolled over and said something to her.  She\nstumbled away, laughing.  A bitter blast swept across the square.  The\ngas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their\nblack iron branches to and fro.  He shivered and went back, closing the\nwindow behind him.\n\nHaving reached the door, he turned the key and opened it.  He did not\neven glance at the murdered man.  He felt that the secret of the whole\nthing was not to realize the situation.  The friend who had painted the\nfatal portrait to which all his misery had been due had gone out of his\nlife.  That was enough.\n\nThen he remembered the lamp.  It was a rather curious one of Moorish\nworkmanship, made of dull silver inlaid with arabesques of burnished\nsteel, and studded with coarse turquoises.  Perhaps it might be missed\nby his servant, and questions would be asked.  He hesitated for a\nmoment, then he turned back and took it from the table.  He could not\nhelp seeing the dead thing.  How still it was!  How horribly white the\nlong hands looked!  It was like a dreadful wax image.\n\nHaving locked the door behind him, he crept quietly downstairs.  The\nwoodwork creaked and seemed to cry out as if in pain.  He stopped\nseveral times and waited.  No:  everything was still.  It was merely\nthe sound of his own footsteps.\n\nWhen he reached the library, he saw the bag and coat in the corner.\nThey must be hidden away somewhere.  He unlocked a secret press that\nwas in the wainscoting, a press in which he kept his own curious\ndisguises, and put them into it.  He could easily burn them afterwards.\nThen he pulled out his watch.  It was twenty minutes to two.\n\nHe sat down and began to think.  Every year--every month, almost--men\nwere strangled in England for what he had done.  There had been a\nmadness of murder in the air.  Some red star had come too close to the\nearth.... And yet, what evidence was there against him?  Basil Hallward\nhad left the house at eleven.  No one had seen him come in again.  Most\nof the servants were at Selby Royal.  His valet had gone to bed....\nParis!  Yes.  It was to Paris that Basil had gone, and by the midnight\ntrain, as he had intended.  With his curious reserved habits, it would\nbe months before any suspicions would be roused.  Months!  Everything\ncould be destroyed long before then.\n\nA sudden thought struck him.  He put on his fur coat and hat and went\nout into the hall.  There he paused, hearing the slow heavy tread of\nthe policeman on the pavement outside and seeing the flash of the\nbull's-eye reflected in the window.  He waited and held his breath.\n\nAfter a few moments he drew back the latch and slipped out, shutting\nthe door very gently behind him.  Then he began ringing the bell.  In\nabout five minutes his valet appeared, half-dressed and looking very\ndrowsy.\n\n\"I am sorry to have had to wake you up, Francis,\" he said, stepping in;\n\"but I had forgotten my latch-key. What time is it?\"\n\n\"Ten minutes past two, sir,\" answered the man, looking at the clock and\nblinking.\n\n\"Ten minutes past two?  How horribly late!  You must wake me at nine\nto-morrow. I have some work to do.\"\n\n\"All right, sir.\"\n\n\"Did any one call this evening?\"\n\n\"Mr. Hallward, sir.  He stayed here till eleven, and then he went away\nto catch his train.\"\n\n\"Oh!  I am sorry I didn't see him.  Did he leave any message?\"\n\n\"No, sir, except that he would write to you from Paris, if he did not\nfind you at the club.\"\n\n\"That will do, Francis.  Don't forget to call me at nine to-morrow.\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\nThe man shambled down the passage in his slippers.\n\nDorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the table and passed into the\nlibrary.  For a quarter of an hour he walked up and down the room,\nbiting his lip and thinking.  Then he took down the Blue Book from one\nof the shelves and began to turn over the leaves.  \"Alan Campbell, 152,\nHertford Street, Mayfair.\"  Yes; that was the man he wanted.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 14\n\nAt nine o'clock the next morning his servant came in with a cup of\nchocolate on a tray and opened the shutters.  Dorian was sleeping quite\npeacefully, lying on his right side, with one hand underneath his\ncheek.  He looked like a boy who had been tired out with play, or study.\n\nThe man had to touch him twice on the shoulder before he woke, and as\nhe opened his eyes a faint smile passed across his lips, as though he\nhad been lost in some delightful dream.  Yet he had not dreamed at all.\nHis night had been untroubled by any images of pleasure or of pain.\nBut youth smiles without any reason.  It is one of its chiefest charms.\n\nHe turned round, and leaning upon his elbow, began to sip his\nchocolate.  The mellow November sun came streaming into the room.  The\nsky was bright, and there was a genial warmth in the air.  It was\nalmost like a morning in May.\n\nGradually the events of the preceding night crept with silent,\nblood-stained feet into his brain and reconstructed themselves there\nwith terrible distinctness.  He winced at the memory of all that he had\nsuffered, and for a moment the same curious feeling of loathing for\nBasil Hallward that had made him kill him as he sat in the chair came\nback to him, and he grew cold with passion.  The dead man was still\nsitting there, too, and in the sunlight now.  How horrible that was!\nSuch hideous things were for the darkness, not for the day.\n\nHe felt that if he brooded on what he had gone through he would sicken\nor grow mad.  There were sins whose fascination was more in the memory\nthan in the doing of them, strange triumphs that gratified the pride\nmore than the passions, and gave to the intellect a quickened sense of\njoy, greater than any joy they brought, or could ever bring, to the\nsenses.  But this was not one of them.  It was a thing to be driven out\nof the mind, to be drugged with poppies, to be strangled lest it might\nstrangle one itself.\n\nWhen the half-hour struck, he passed his hand across his forehead, and\nthen got up hastily and dressed himself with even more than his usual\ncare, giving a good deal of attention to the choice of his necktie and\nscarf-pin and changing his rings more than once.  He spent a long time\nalso over breakfast, tasting the various dishes, talking to his valet\nabout some new liveries that he was thinking of getting made for the\nservants at Selby, and going through his correspondence.  At some of\nthe letters, he smiled.  Three of them bored him.  One he read several\ntimes over and then tore up with a slight look of annoyance in his\nface.  \"That awful thing, a woman's memory!\" as Lord Henry had once\nsaid.\n\nAfter he had drunk his cup of black coffee, he wiped his lips slowly\nwith a napkin, motioned to his servant to wait, and going over to the\ntable, sat down and wrote two letters.  One he put in his pocket, the\nother he handed to the valet.\n\n\"Take this round to 152, Hertford Street, Francis, and if Mr. Campbell\nis out of town, get his address.\"\n\nAs soon as he was alone, he lit a cigarette and began sketching upon a\npiece of paper, drawing first flowers and bits of architecture, and\nthen human faces.  Suddenly he remarked that every face that he drew\nseemed to have a fantastic likeness to Basil Hallward.  He frowned, and\ngetting up, went over to the book-case and took out a volume at hazard.\nHe was determined that he would not think about what had happened until\nit became absolutely necessary that he should do so.\n\nWhen he had stretched himself on the sofa, he looked at the title-page\nof the book.  It was Gautier's Emaux et Camees, Charpentier's\nJapanese-paper edition, with the Jacquemart etching.  The binding was\nof citron-green leather, with a design of gilt trellis-work and dotted\npomegranates.  It had been given to him by Adrian Singleton.  As he\nturned over the pages, his eye fell on the poem about the hand of\nLacenaire, the cold yellow hand \"_du supplice encore mal lavee_,\" with\nits downy red hairs and its \"_doigts de faune_.\"  He glanced at his own\nwhite taper fingers, shuddering slightly in spite of himself, and\npassed on, till he came to those lovely stanzas upon Venice:\n\n     Sur une gamme chromatique,\n       Le sein de peries ruisselant,\n     La Venus de l'Adriatique\n       Sort de l'eau son corps rose et blanc.\n\n     Les domes, sur l'azur des ondes\n       Suivant la phrase au pur contour,\n     S'enflent comme des gorges rondes\n       Que souleve un soupir d'amour.\n\n     L'esquif aborde et me depose,\n       Jetant son amarre au pilier,\n     Devant une facade rose,\n       Sur le marbre d'un escalier.\n\n\nHow exquisite they were!  As one read them, one seemed to be floating\ndown the green water-ways of the pink and pearl city, seated in a black\ngondola with silver prow and trailing curtains.  The mere lines looked\nto him like those straight lines of turquoise-blue that follow one as\none pushes out to the Lido.  The sudden flashes of colour reminded him\nof the gleam of the opal-and-iris-throated birds that flutter round the\ntall honeycombed Campanile, or stalk, with such stately grace, through\nthe dim, dust-stained arcades.  Leaning back with half-closed eyes, he\nkept saying over and over to himself:\n\n     \"Devant une facade rose,\n        Sur le marbre d'un escalier.\"\n\nThe whole of Venice was in those two lines.  He remembered the autumn\nthat he had passed there, and a wonderful love that had stirred him to\nmad delightful follies.  There was romance in every place.  But Venice,\nlike Oxford, had kept the background for romance, and, to the true\nromantic, background was everything, or almost everything.  Basil had\nbeen with him part of the time, and had gone wild over Tintoret.  Poor\nBasil!  What a horrible way for a man to die!\n\nHe sighed, and took up the volume again, and tried to forget.  He read\nof the swallows that fly in and out of the little _cafe_ at Smyrna where\nthe Hadjis sit counting their amber beads and the turbaned merchants\nsmoke their long tasselled pipes and talk gravely to each other; he\nread of the Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde that weeps tears of\ngranite in its lonely sunless exile and longs to be back by the hot,\nlotus-covered Nile, where there are Sphinxes, and rose-red ibises, and\nwhite vultures with gilded claws, and crocodiles with small beryl eyes\nthat crawl over the green steaming mud; he began to brood over those\nverses which, drawing music from kiss-stained marble, tell of that\ncurious statue that Gautier compares to a contralto voice, the \"_monstre\ncharmant_\" that couches in the porphyry-room of the Louvre.  But after a\ntime the book fell from his hand.  He grew nervous, and a horrible fit\nof terror came over him.  What if Alan Campbell should be out of\nEngland?  Days would elapse before he could come back.  Perhaps he\nmight refuse to come.  What could he do then?  Every moment was of\nvital importance.\n\nThey had been great friends once, five years before--almost\ninseparable, indeed.  Then the intimacy had come suddenly to an end.\nWhen they met in society now, it was only Dorian Gray who smiled:  Alan\nCampbell never did.\n\nHe was an extremely clever young man, though he had no real\nappreciation of the visible arts, and whatever little sense of the\nbeauty of poetry he possessed he had gained entirely from Dorian.  His\ndominant intellectual passion was for science.  At Cambridge he had\nspent a great deal of his time working in the laboratory, and had taken\na good class in the Natural Science Tripos of his year.  Indeed, he was\nstill devoted to the study of chemistry, and had a laboratory of his\nown in which he used to shut himself up all day long, greatly to the\nannoyance of his mother, who had set her heart on his standing for\nParliament and had a vague idea that a chemist was a person who made up\nprescriptions.  He was an excellent musician, however, as well, and\nplayed both the violin and the piano better than most amateurs.  In\nfact, it was music that had first brought him and Dorian Gray\ntogether--music and that indefinable attraction that Dorian seemed to\nbe able to exercise whenever he wished--and, indeed, exercised often\nwithout being conscious of it.  They had met at Lady Berkshire's the\nnight that Rubinstein played there, and after that used to be always\nseen together at the opera and wherever good music was going on.  For\neighteen months their intimacy lasted.  Campbell was always either at\nSelby Royal or in Grosvenor Square.  To him, as to many others, Dorian\nGray was the type of everything that is wonderful and fascinating in\nlife.  Whether or not a quarrel had taken place between them no one\never knew.  But suddenly people remarked that they scarcely spoke when\nthey met and that Campbell seemed always to go away early from any\nparty at which Dorian Gray was present.  He had changed, too--was\nstrangely melancholy at times, appeared almost to dislike hearing\nmusic, and would never himself play, giving as his excuse, when he was\ncalled upon, that he was so absorbed in science that he had no time\nleft in which to practise.  And this was certainly true.  Every day he\nseemed to become more interested in biology, and his name appeared once\nor twice in some of the scientific reviews in connection with certain\ncurious experiments.\n\nThis was the man Dorian Gray was waiting for.  Every second he kept\nglancing at the clock.  As the minutes went by he became horribly\nagitated.  At last he got up and began to pace up and down the room,\nlooking like a beautiful caged thing.  He took long stealthy strides.\nHis hands were curiously cold.\n\nThe suspense became unbearable.  Time seemed to him to be crawling with\nfeet of lead, while he by monstrous winds was being swept towards the\njagged edge of some black cleft of precipice.  He knew what was waiting\nfor him there; saw it, indeed, and, shuddering, crushed with dank hands\nhis burning lids as though he would have robbed the very brain of sight\nand driven the eyeballs back into their cave.  It was useless.  The\nbrain had its own food on which it battened, and the imagination, made\ngrotesque by terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by pain,\ndanced like some foul puppet on a stand and grinned through moving\nmasks.  Then, suddenly, time stopped for him.  Yes:  that blind,\nslow-breathing thing crawled no more, and horrible thoughts, time being\ndead, raced nimbly on in front, and dragged a hideous future from its\ngrave, and showed it to him.  He stared at it.  Its very horror made\nhim stone.\n\nAt last the door opened and his servant entered.  He turned glazed eyes\nupon him.\n\n\"Mr. Campbell, sir,\" said the man.\n\nA sigh of relief broke from his parched lips, and the colour came back\nto his cheeks.\n\n\"Ask him to come in at once, Francis.\"  He felt that he was himself\nagain.  His mood of cowardice had passed away.\n\nThe man bowed and retired.  In a few moments, Alan Campbell walked in,\nlooking very stern and rather pale, his pallor being intensified by his\ncoal-black hair and dark eyebrows.\n\n\"Alan!  This is kind of you.  I thank you for coming.\"\n\n\"I had intended never to enter your house again, Gray.  But you said it\nwas a matter of life and death.\"  His voice was hard and cold.  He\nspoke with slow deliberation.  There was a look of contempt in the\nsteady searching gaze that he turned on Dorian.  He kept his hands in\nthe pockets of his Astrakhan coat, and seemed not to have noticed the\ngesture with which he had been greeted.\n\n\"Yes:  it is a matter of life and death, Alan, and to more than one\nperson.  Sit down.\"\n\nCampbell took a chair by the table, and Dorian sat opposite to him.\nThe two men's eyes met.  In Dorian's there was infinite pity.  He knew\nthat what he was going to do was dreadful.\n\nAfter a strained moment of silence, he leaned across and said, very\nquietly, but watching the effect of each word upon the face of him he\nhad sent for, \"Alan, in a locked room at the top of this house, a room\nto which nobody but myself has access, a dead man is seated at a table.\nHe has been dead ten hours now.  Don't stir, and don't look at me like\nthat.  Who the man is, why he died, how he died, are matters that do\nnot concern you.  What you have to do is this--\"\n\n\"Stop, Gray.  I don't want to know anything further.  Whether what you\nhave told me is true or not true doesn't concern me.  I entirely\ndecline to be mixed up in your life.  Keep your horrible secrets to\nyourself.  They don't interest me any more.\"\n\n\"Alan, they will have to interest you.  This one will have to interest\nyou.  I am awfully sorry for you, Alan.  But I can't help myself.  You\nare the one man who is able to save me.  I am forced to bring you into\nthe matter.  I have no option.  Alan, you are scientific.  You know\nabout chemistry and things of that kind.  You have made experiments.\nWhat you have got to do is to destroy the thing that is upstairs--to\ndestroy it so that not a vestige of it will be left.  Nobody saw this\nperson come into the house.  Indeed, at the present moment he is\nsupposed to be in Paris.  He will not be missed for months.  When he is\nmissed, there must be no trace of him found here.  You, Alan, you must\nchange him, and everything that belongs to him, into a handful of ashes\nthat I may scatter in the air.\"\n\n\"You are mad, Dorian.\"\n\n\"Ah!  I was waiting for you to call me Dorian.\"\n\n\"You are mad, I tell you--mad to imagine that I would raise a finger to\nhelp you, mad to make this monstrous confession.  I will have nothing\nto do with this matter, whatever it is.  Do you think I am going to\nperil my reputation for you?  What is it to me what devil's work you\nare up to?\"\n\n\"It was suicide, Alan.\"\n\n\"I am glad of that.  But who drove him to it?  You, I should fancy.\"\n\n\"Do you still refuse to do this for me?\"\n\n\"Of course I refuse.  I will have absolutely nothing to do with it.  I\ndon't care what shame comes on you.  You deserve it all.  I should not\nbe sorry to see you disgraced, publicly disgraced.  How dare you ask\nme, of all men in the world, to mix myself up in this horror?  I should\nhave thought you knew more about people's characters.  Your friend Lord\nHenry Wotton can't have taught you much about psychology, whatever else\nhe has taught you.  Nothing will induce me to stir a step to help you.\nYou have come to the wrong man.  Go to some of your friends.  Don't\ncome to me.\"\n\n\"Alan, it was murder.  I killed him.  You don't know what he had made\nme suffer.  Whatever my life is, he had more to do with the making or\nthe marring of it than poor Harry has had.  He may not have intended\nit, the result was the same.\"\n\n\"Murder!  Good God, Dorian, is that what you have come to?  I shall not\ninform upon you.  It is not my business.  Besides, without my stirring\nin the matter, you are certain to be arrested.  Nobody ever commits a\ncrime without doing something stupid.  But I will have nothing to do\nwith it.\"\n\n\"You must have something to do with it.  Wait, wait a moment; listen to\nme.  Only listen, Alan.  All I ask of you is to perform a certain\nscientific experiment.  You go to hospitals and dead-houses, and the\nhorrors that you do there don't affect you.  If in some hideous\ndissecting-room or fetid laboratory you found this man lying on a\nleaden table with red gutters scooped out in it for the blood to flow\nthrough, you would simply look upon him as an admirable subject.  You\nwould not turn a hair.  You would not believe that you were doing\nanything wrong.  On the contrary, you would probably feel that you were\nbenefiting the human race, or increasing the sum of knowledge in the\nworld, or gratifying intellectual curiosity, or something of that kind.\nWhat I want you to do is merely what you have often done before.\nIndeed, to destroy a body must be far less horrible than what you are\naccustomed to work at.  And, remember, it is the only piece of evidence\nagainst me.  If it is discovered, I am lost; and it is sure to be\ndiscovered unless you help me.\"\n\n\"I have no desire to help you.  You forget that.  I am simply\nindifferent to the whole thing.  It has nothing to do with me.\"\n\n\"Alan, I entreat you.  Think of the position I am in.  Just before you\ncame I almost fainted with terror.  You may know terror yourself some\nday.  No! don't think of that.  Look at the matter purely from the\nscientific point of view.  You don't inquire where the dead things on\nwhich you experiment come from.  Don't inquire now.  I have told you\ntoo much as it is.  But I beg of you to do this.  We were friends once,\nAlan.\"\n\n\"Don't speak about those days, Dorian--they are dead.\"\n\n\"The dead linger sometimes.  The man upstairs will not go away.  He is\nsitting at the table with bowed head and outstretched arms.  Alan!\nAlan!  If you don't come to my assistance, I am ruined.  Why, they will\nhang me, Alan!  Don't you understand?  They will hang me for what I\nhave done.\"\n\n\"There is no good in prolonging this scene.  I absolutely refuse to do\nanything in the matter.  It is insane of you to ask me.\"\n\n\"You refuse?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I entreat you, Alan.\"\n\n\"It is useless.\"\n\nThe same look of pity came into Dorian Gray's eyes.  Then he stretched\nout his hand, took a piece of paper, and wrote something on it.  He\nread it over twice, folded it carefully, and pushed it across the\ntable.  Having done this, he got up and went over to the window.\n\nCampbell looked at him in surprise, and then took up the paper, and\nopened it.  As he read it, his face became ghastly pale and he fell\nback in his chair.  A horrible sense of sickness came over him.  He\nfelt as if his heart was beating itself to death in some empty hollow.\n\nAfter two or three minutes of terrible silence, Dorian turned round and\ncame and stood behind him, putting his hand upon his shoulder.\n\n\"I am so sorry for you, Alan,\" he murmured, \"but you leave me no\nalternative.  I have a letter written already.  Here it is.  You see\nthe address.  If you don't help me, I must send it.  If you don't help\nme, I will send it.  You know what the result will be.  But you are\ngoing to help me.  It is impossible for you to refuse now.  I tried to\nspare you.  You will do me the justice to admit that.  You were stern,\nharsh, offensive.  You treated me as no man has ever dared to treat\nme--no living man, at any rate.  I bore it all.  Now it is for me to\ndictate terms.\"\n\nCampbell buried his face in his hands, and a shudder passed through him.\n\n\"Yes, it is my turn to dictate terms, Alan.  You know what they are.\nThe thing is quite simple.  Come, don't work yourself into this fever.\nThe thing has to be done.  Face it, and do it.\"\n\nA groan broke from Campbell's lips and he shivered all over.  The\nticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to him to be dividing\ntime into separate atoms of agony, each of which was too terrible to be\nborne.  He felt as if an iron ring was being slowly tightened round his\nforehead, as if the disgrace with which he was threatened had already\ncome upon him.  The hand upon his shoulder weighed like a hand of lead.\nIt was intolerable.  It seemed to crush him.\n\n\"Come, Alan, you must decide at once.\"\n\n\"I cannot do it,\" he said, mechanically, as though words could alter\nthings.\n\n\"You must.  You have no choice.  Don't delay.\"\n\nHe hesitated a moment.  \"Is there a fire in the room upstairs?\"\n\n\"Yes, there is a gas-fire with asbestos.\"\n\n\"I shall have to go home and get some things from the laboratory.\"\n\n\"No, Alan, you must not leave the house.  Write out on a sheet of\nnotepaper what you want and my servant will take a cab and bring the\nthings back to you.\"\n\nCampbell scrawled a few lines, blotted them, and addressed an envelope\nto his assistant.  Dorian took the note up and read it carefully.  Then\nhe rang the bell and gave it to his valet, with orders to return as\nsoon as possible and to bring the things with him.\n\nAs the hall door shut, Campbell started nervously, and having got up\nfrom the chair, went over to the chimney-piece. He was shivering with a\nkind of ague.  For nearly twenty minutes, neither of the men spoke.  A\nfly buzzed noisily about the room, and the ticking of the clock was\nlike the beat of a hammer.\n\nAs the chime struck one, Campbell turned round, and looking at Dorian\nGray, saw that his eyes were filled with tears.  There was something in\nthe purity and refinement of that sad face that seemed to enrage him.\n\"You are infamous, absolutely infamous!\" he muttered.\n\n\"Hush, Alan.  You have saved my life,\" said Dorian.\n\n\"Your life?  Good heavens! what a life that is!  You have gone from\ncorruption to corruption, and now you have culminated in crime.  In\ndoing what I am going to do--what you force me to do--it is not of your\nlife that I am thinking.\"\n\n\"Ah, Alan,\" murmured Dorian with a sigh, \"I wish you had a thousandth\npart of the pity for me that I have for you.\" He turned away as he\nspoke and stood looking out at the garden.  Campbell made no answer.\n\nAfter about ten minutes a knock came to the door, and the servant\nentered, carrying a large mahogany chest of chemicals, with a long coil\nof steel and platinum wire and two rather curiously shaped iron clamps.\n\n\"Shall I leave the things here, sir?\" he asked Campbell.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dorian.  \"And I am afraid, Francis, that I have another\nerrand for you.  What is the name of the man at Richmond who supplies\nSelby with orchids?\"\n\n\"Harden, sir.\"\n\n\"Yes--Harden.  You must go down to Richmond at once, see Harden\npersonally, and tell him to send twice as many orchids as I ordered,\nand to have as few white ones as possible.  In fact, I don't want any\nwhite ones.  It is a lovely day, Francis, and Richmond is a very pretty\nplace--otherwise I wouldn't bother you about it.\"\n\n\"No trouble, sir.  At what time shall I be back?\"\n\nDorian looked at Campbell.  \"How long will your experiment take, Alan?\"\nhe said in a calm indifferent voice.  The presence of a third person in\nthe room seemed to give him extraordinary courage.\n\nCampbell frowned and bit his lip.  \"It will take about five hours,\" he\nanswered.\n\n\"It will be time enough, then, if you are back at half-past seven,\nFrancis.  Or stay:  just leave my things out for dressing.  You can\nhave the evening to yourself.  I am not dining at home, so I shall not\nwant you.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" said the man, leaving the room.\n\n\"Now, Alan, there is not a moment to be lost.  How heavy this chest is!\nI'll take it for you.  You bring the other things.\"  He spoke rapidly\nand in an authoritative manner.  Campbell felt dominated by him.  They\nleft the room together.\n\nWhen they reached the top landing, Dorian took out the key and turned\nit in the lock.  Then he stopped, and a troubled look came into his\neyes.  He shuddered.  \"I don't think I can go in, Alan,\" he murmured.\n\n\"It is nothing to me.  I don't require you,\" said Campbell coldly.\n\nDorian half opened the door.  As he did so, he saw the face of his\nportrait leering in the sunlight.  On the floor in front of it the torn\ncurtain was lying.  He remembered that the night before he had\nforgotten, for the first time in his life, to hide the fatal canvas,\nand was about to rush forward, when he drew back with a shudder.\n\nWhat was that loathsome red dew that gleamed, wet and glistening, on\none of the hands, as though the canvas had sweated blood?  How horrible\nit was!--more horrible, it seemed to him for the moment, than the\nsilent thing that he knew was stretched across the table, the thing\nwhose grotesque misshapen shadow on the spotted carpet showed him that\nit had not stirred, but was still there, as he had left it.\n\nHe heaved a deep breath, opened the door a little wider, and with\nhalf-closed eyes and averted head, walked quickly in, determined that\nhe would not look even once upon the dead man.  Then, stooping down and\ntaking up the gold-and-purple hanging, he flung it right over the\npicture.\n\nThere he stopped, feeling afraid to turn round, and his eyes fixed\nthemselves on the intricacies of the pattern before him.  He heard\nCampbell bringing in the heavy chest, and the irons, and the other\nthings that he had required for his dreadful work.  He began to wonder\nif he and Basil Hallward had ever met, and, if so, what they had\nthought of each other.\n\n\"Leave me now,\" said a stern voice behind him.\n\nHe turned and hurried out, just conscious that the dead man had been\nthrust back into the chair and that Campbell was gazing into a\nglistening yellow face.  As he was going downstairs, he heard the key\nbeing turned in the lock.\n\nIt was long after seven when Campbell came back into the library.  He\nwas pale, but absolutely calm.  \"I have done what you asked me to do,\"\nhe muttered. \"And now, good-bye. Let us never see each other again.\"\n\n\"You have saved me from ruin, Alan.  I cannot forget that,\" said Dorian\nsimply.\n\nAs soon as Campbell had left, he went upstairs.  There was a horrible\nsmell of nitric acid in the room.  But the thing that had been sitting\nat the table was gone.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 15\n\nThat evening, at eight-thirty, exquisitely dressed and wearing a large\nbutton-hole of Parma violets, Dorian Gray was ushered into Lady\nNarborough's drawing-room by bowing servants.  His forehead was\nthrobbing with maddened nerves, and he felt wildly excited, but his\nmanner as he bent over his hostess's hand was as easy and graceful as\never.  Perhaps one never seems so much at one's ease as when one has to\nplay a part.  Certainly no one looking at Dorian Gray that night could\nhave believed that he had passed through a tragedy as horrible as any\ntragedy of our age.  Those finely shaped fingers could never have\nclutched a knife for sin, nor those smiling lips have cried out on God\nand goodness.  He himself could not help wondering at the calm of his\ndemeanour, and for a moment felt keenly the terrible pleasure of a\ndouble life.\n\nIt was a small party, got up rather in a hurry by Lady Narborough, who\nwas a very clever woman with what Lord Henry used to describe as the\nremains of really remarkable ugliness.  She had proved an excellent\nwife to one of our most tedious ambassadors, and having buried her\nhusband properly in a marble mausoleum, which she had herself designed,\nand married off her daughters to some rich, rather elderly men, she\ndevoted herself now to the pleasures of French fiction, French cookery,\nand French _esprit_ when she could get it.\n\nDorian was one of her especial favourites, and she always told him that\nshe was extremely glad she had not met him in early life.  \"I know, my\ndear, I should have fallen madly in love with you,\" she used to say,\n\"and thrown my bonnet right over the mills for your sake.  It is most\nfortunate that you were not thought of at the time.  As it was, our\nbonnets were so unbecoming, and the mills were so occupied in trying to\nraise the wind, that I never had even a flirtation with anybody.\nHowever, that was all Narborough's fault.  He was dreadfully\nshort-sighted, and there is no pleasure in taking in a husband who\nnever sees anything.\"\n\nHer guests this evening were rather tedious.  The fact was, as she\nexplained to Dorian, behind a very shabby fan, one of her married\ndaughters had come up quite suddenly to stay with her, and, to make\nmatters worse, had actually brought her husband with her.  \"I think it\nis most unkind of her, my dear,\" she whispered.  \"Of course I go and\nstay with them every summer after I come from Homburg, but then an old\nwoman like me must have fresh air sometimes, and besides, I really wake\nthem up.  You don't know what an existence they lead down there.  It is\npure unadulterated country life.  They get up early, because they have\nso much to do, and go to bed early, because they have so little to\nthink about.  There has not been a scandal in the neighbourhood since\nthe time of Queen Elizabeth, and consequently they all fall asleep\nafter dinner.  You shan't sit next either of them.  You shall sit by me\nand amuse me.\"\n\nDorian murmured a graceful compliment and looked round the room.  Yes:\nit was certainly a tedious party.  Two of the people he had never seen\nbefore, and the others consisted of Ernest Harrowden, one of those\nmiddle-aged mediocrities so common in London clubs who have no enemies,\nbut are thoroughly disliked by their friends; Lady Ruxton, an\noverdressed woman of forty-seven, with a hooked nose, who was always\ntrying to get herself compromised, but was so peculiarly plain that to\nher great disappointment no one would ever believe anything against\nher; Mrs. Erlynne, a pushing nobody, with a delightful lisp and\nVenetian-red hair; Lady Alice Chapman, his hostess's daughter, a dowdy\ndull girl, with one of those characteristic British faces that, once\nseen, are never remembered; and her husband, a red-cheeked,\nwhite-whiskered creature who, like so many of his class, was under the\nimpression that inordinate joviality can atone for an entire lack of\nideas.\n\nHe was rather sorry he had come, till Lady Narborough, looking at the\ngreat ormolu gilt clock that sprawled in gaudy curves on the\nmauve-draped mantelshelf, exclaimed:  \"How horrid of Henry Wotton to be\nso late!  I sent round to him this morning on chance and he promised\nfaithfully not to disappoint me.\"\n\nIt was some consolation that Harry was to be there, and when the door\nopened and he heard his slow musical voice lending charm to some\ninsincere apology, he ceased to feel bored.\n\nBut at dinner he could not eat anything.  Plate after plate went away\nuntasted.  Lady Narborough kept scolding him for what she called \"an\ninsult to poor Adolphe, who invented the _menu_ specially for you,\" and\nnow and then Lord Henry looked across at him, wondering at his silence\nand abstracted manner.  From time to time the butler filled his glass\nwith champagne.  He drank eagerly, and his thirst seemed to increase.\n\n\"Dorian,\" said Lord Henry at last, as the _chaud-froid_ was being handed\nround, \"what is the matter with you to-night? You are quite out of\nsorts.\"\n\n\"I believe he is in love,\" cried Lady Narborough, \"and that he is\nafraid to tell me for fear I should be jealous.  He is quite right.  I\ncertainly should.\"\n\n\"Dear Lady Narborough,\" murmured Dorian, smiling, \"I have not been in\nlove for a whole week--not, in fact, since Madame de Ferrol left town.\"\n\n\"How you men can fall in love with that woman!\" exclaimed the old lady.\n\"I really cannot understand it.\"\n\n\"It is simply because she remembers you when you were a little girl,\nLady Narborough,\" said Lord Henry.  \"She is the one link between us and\nyour short frocks.\"\n\n\"She does not remember my short frocks at all, Lord Henry.  But I\nremember her very well at Vienna thirty years ago, and how _decolletee_\nshe was then.\"\n\n\"She is still _decolletee_,\" he answered, taking an olive in his long\nfingers; \"and when she is in a very smart gown she looks like an\n_edition de luxe_ of a bad French novel.  She is really wonderful, and\nfull of surprises.  Her capacity for family affection is extraordinary.\nWhen her third husband died, her hair turned quite gold from grief.\"\n\n\"How can you, Harry!\" cried Dorian.\n\n\"It is a most romantic explanation,\" laughed the hostess.  \"But her\nthird husband, Lord Henry!  You don't mean to say Ferrol is the fourth?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Lady Narborough.\"\n\n\"I don't believe a word of it.\"\n\n\"Well, ask Mr. Gray.  He is one of her most intimate friends.\"\n\n\"Is it true, Mr. Gray?\"\n\n\"She assures me so, Lady Narborough,\" said Dorian.  \"I asked her\nwhether, like Marguerite de Navarre, she had their hearts embalmed and\nhung at her girdle.  She told me she didn't, because none of them had\nhad any hearts at all.\"\n\n\"Four husbands!  Upon my word that is _trop de zele_.\"\n\n\"_Trop d'audace_, I tell her,\" said Dorian.\n\n\"Oh! she is audacious enough for anything, my dear.  And what is Ferrol\nlike?  I don't know him.\"\n\n\"The husbands of very beautiful women belong to the criminal classes,\"\nsaid Lord Henry, sipping his wine.\n\nLady Narborough hit him with her fan.  \"Lord Henry, I am not at all\nsurprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked.\"\n\n\"But what world says that?\" asked Lord Henry, elevating his eyebrows.\n\"It can only be the next world.  This world and I are on excellent\nterms.\"\n\n\"Everybody I know says you are very wicked,\" cried the old lady,\nshaking her head.\n\nLord Henry looked serious for some moments.  \"It is perfectly\nmonstrous,\" he said, at last, \"the way people go about nowadays saying\nthings against one behind one's back that are absolutely and entirely\ntrue.\"\n\n\"Isn't he incorrigible?\" cried Dorian, leaning forward in his chair.\n\n\"I hope so,\" said his hostess, laughing.  \"But really, if you all\nworship Madame de Ferrol in this ridiculous way, I shall have to marry\nagain so as to be in the fashion.\"\n\n\"You will never marry again, Lady Narborough,\" broke in Lord Henry.\n\"You were far too happy.  When a woman marries again, it is because she\ndetested her first husband.  When a man marries again, it is because he\nadored his first wife.  Women try their luck; men risk theirs.\"\n\n\"Narborough wasn't perfect,\" cried the old lady.\n\n\"If he had been, you would not have loved him, my dear lady,\" was the\nrejoinder.  \"Women love us for our defects.  If we have enough of them,\nthey will forgive us everything, even our intellects.  You will never\nask me to dinner again after saying this, I am afraid, Lady Narborough,\nbut it is quite true.\"\n\n\"Of course it is true, Lord Henry.  If we women did not love you for\nyour defects, where would you all be?  Not one of you would ever be\nmarried.  You would be a set of unfortunate bachelors.  Not, however,\nthat that would alter you much.  Nowadays all the married men live like\nbachelors, and all the bachelors like married men.\"\n\n\"_Fin de siecle_,\" murmured Lord Henry.\n\n\"_Fin du globe_,\" answered his hostess.\n\n\"I wish it were _fin du globe_,\" said Dorian with a sigh.  \"Life is a\ngreat disappointment.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear,\" cried Lady Narborough, putting on her gloves, \"don't\ntell me that you have exhausted life.  When a man says that one knows\nthat life has exhausted him.  Lord Henry is very wicked, and I\nsometimes wish that I had been; but you are made to be good--you look\nso good.  I must find you a nice wife.  Lord Henry, don't you think\nthat Mr. Gray should get married?\"\n\n\"I am always telling him so, Lady Narborough,\" said Lord Henry with a\nbow.\n\n\"Well, we must look out for a suitable match for him.  I shall go\nthrough Debrett carefully to-night and draw out a list of all the\neligible young ladies.\"\n\n\"With their ages, Lady Narborough?\" asked Dorian.\n\n\"Of course, with their ages, slightly edited.  But nothing must be done\nin a hurry.  I want it to be what _The Morning Post_ calls a suitable\nalliance, and I want you both to be happy.\"\n\n\"What nonsense people talk about happy marriages!\" exclaimed Lord\nHenry.  \"A man can be happy with any woman, as long as he does not love\nher.\"\n\n\"Ah! what a cynic you are!\" cried the old lady, pushing back her chair\nand nodding to Lady Ruxton.  \"You must come and dine with me soon\nagain.  You are really an admirable tonic, much better than what Sir\nAndrew prescribes for me.  You must tell me what people you would like\nto meet, though.  I want it to be a delightful gathering.\"\n\n\"I like men who have a future and women who have a past,\" he answered.\n\"Or do you think that would make it a petticoat party?\"\n\n\"I fear so,\" she said, laughing, as she stood up.  \"A thousand pardons,\nmy dear Lady Ruxton,\" she added, \"I didn't see you hadn't finished your\ncigarette.\"\n\n\"Never mind, Lady Narborough.  I smoke a great deal too much.  I am\ngoing to limit myself, for the future.\"\n\n\"Pray don't, Lady Ruxton,\" said Lord Henry.  \"Moderation is a fatal\nthing.  Enough is as bad as a meal.  More than enough is as good as a\nfeast.\"\n\nLady Ruxton glanced at him curiously.  \"You must come and explain that\nto me some afternoon, Lord Henry.  It sounds a fascinating theory,\" she\nmurmured, as she swept out of the room.\n\n\"Now, mind you don't stay too long over your politics and scandal,\"\ncried Lady Narborough from the door.  \"If you do, we are sure to\nsquabble upstairs.\"\n\nThe men laughed, and Mr. Chapman got up solemnly from the foot of the\ntable and came up to the top.  Dorian Gray changed his seat and went\nand sat by Lord Henry.  Mr. Chapman began to talk in a loud voice about\nthe situation in the House of Commons.  He guffawed at his adversaries.\nThe word _doctrinaire_--word full of terror to the British\nmind--reappeared from time to time between his explosions.  An\nalliterative prefix served as an ornament of oratory.  He hoisted the\nUnion Jack on the pinnacles of thought.  The inherited stupidity of the\nrace--sound English common sense he jovially termed it--was shown to be\nthe proper bulwark for society.\n\nA smile curved Lord Henry's lips, and he turned round and looked at\nDorian.\n\n\"Are you better, my dear fellow?\" he asked.  \"You seemed rather out of\nsorts at dinner.\"\n\n\"I am quite well, Harry.  I am tired.  That is all.\"\n\n\"You were charming last night.  The little duchess is quite devoted to\nyou.  She tells me she is going down to Selby.\"\n\n\"She has promised to come on the twentieth.\"\n\n\"Is Monmouth to be there, too?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, Harry.\"\n\n\"He bores me dreadfully, almost as much as he bores her.  She is very\nclever, too clever for a woman.  She lacks the indefinable charm of\nweakness.  It is the feet of clay that make the gold of the image\nprecious.  Her feet are very pretty, but they are not feet of clay.\nWhite porcelain feet, if you like.  They have been through the fire,\nand what fire does not destroy, it hardens.  She has had experiences.\"\n\n\"How long has she been married?\" asked Dorian.\n\n\"An eternity, she tells me.  I believe, according to the peerage, it is\nten years, but ten years with Monmouth must have been like eternity,\nwith time thrown in.  Who else is coming?\"\n\n\"Oh, the Willoughbys, Lord Rugby and his wife, our hostess, Geoffrey\nClouston, the usual set.  I have asked Lord Grotrian.\"\n\n\"I like him,\" said Lord Henry.  \"A great many people don't, but I find\nhim charming.  He atones for being occasionally somewhat overdressed by\nbeing always absolutely over-educated. He is a very modern type.\"\n\n\"I don't know if he will be able to come, Harry.  He may have to go to\nMonte Carlo with his father.\"\n\n\"Ah! what a nuisance people's people are!  Try and make him come.  By\nthe way, Dorian, you ran off very early last night.  You left before\neleven.  What did you do afterwards?  Did you go straight home?\"\n\nDorian glanced at him hurriedly and frowned.\n\n\"No, Harry,\" he said at last, \"I did not get home till nearly three.\"\n\n\"Did you go to the club?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered.  Then he bit his lip.  \"No, I don't mean that.  I\ndidn't go to the club.  I walked about.  I forget what I did.... How\ninquisitive you are, Harry!  You always want to know what one has been\ndoing.  I always want to forget what I have been doing.  I came in at\nhalf-past two, if you wish to know the exact time.  I had left my\nlatch-key at home, and my servant had to let me in.  If you want any\ncorroborative evidence on the subject, you can ask him.\"\n\nLord Henry shrugged his shoulders.  \"My dear fellow, as if I cared!\nLet us go up to the drawing-room. No sherry, thank you, Mr. Chapman.\nSomething has happened to you, Dorian.  Tell me what it is.  You are\nnot yourself to-night.\"\n\n\"Don't mind me, Harry.  I am irritable, and out of temper.  I shall\ncome round and see you to-morrow, or next day.  Make my excuses to Lady\nNarborough.  I shan't go upstairs.  I shall go home.  I must go home.\"\n\n\"All right, Dorian.  I dare say I shall see you to-morrow at tea-time.\nThe duchess is coming.\"\n\n\"I will try to be there, Harry,\" he said, leaving the room.  As he\ndrove back to his own house, he was conscious that the sense of terror\nhe thought he had strangled had come back to him.  Lord Henry's casual\nquestioning had made him lose his nerve for the moment, and he wanted\nhis nerve still.  Things that were dangerous had to be destroyed.  He\nwinced.  He hated the idea of even touching them.\n\nYet it had to be done.  He realized that, and when he had locked the\ndoor of his library, he opened the secret press into which he had\nthrust Basil Hallward's coat and bag.  A huge fire was blazing.  He\npiled another log on it.  The smell of the singeing clothes and burning\nleather was horrible.  It took him three-quarters of an hour to consume\neverything.  At the end he felt faint and sick, and having lit some\nAlgerian pastilles in a pierced copper brazier, he bathed his hands and\nforehead with a cool musk-scented vinegar.\n\nSuddenly he started.  His eyes grew strangely bright, and he gnawed\nnervously at his underlip.  Between two of the windows stood a large\nFlorentine cabinet, made out of ebony and inlaid with ivory and blue\nlapis.  He watched it as though it were a thing that could fascinate\nand make afraid, as though it held something that he longed for and yet\nalmost loathed.  His breath quickened.  A mad craving came over him.\nHe lit a cigarette and then threw it away.  His eyelids drooped till\nthe long fringed lashes almost touched his cheek.  But he still watched\nthe cabinet.  At last he got up from the sofa on which he had been\nlying, went over to it, and having unlocked it, touched some hidden\nspring.  A triangular drawer passed slowly out.  His fingers moved\ninstinctively towards it, dipped in, and closed on something.  It was a\nsmall Chinese box of black and gold-dust lacquer, elaborately wrought,\nthe sides patterned with curved waves, and the silken cords hung with\nround crystals and tasselled in plaited metal threads.  He opened it.\nInside was a green paste, waxy in lustre, the odour curiously heavy and\npersistent.\n\nHe hesitated for some moments, with a strangely immobile smile upon his\nface.  Then shivering, though the atmosphere of the room was terribly\nhot, he drew himself up and glanced at the clock.  It was twenty\nminutes to twelve.  He put the box back, shutting the cabinet doors as\nhe did so, and went into his bedroom.\n\nAs midnight was striking bronze blows upon the dusky air, Dorian Gray,\ndressed commonly, and with a muffler wrapped round his throat, crept\nquietly out of his house.  In Bond Street he found a hansom with a good\nhorse.  He hailed it and in a low voice gave the driver an address.\n\nThe man shook his head.  \"It is too far for me,\" he muttered.\n\n\"Here is a sovereign for you,\" said Dorian.  \"You shall have another if\nyou drive fast.\"\n\n\"All right, sir,\" answered the man, \"you will be there in an hour,\" and\nafter his fare had got in he turned his horse round and drove rapidly\ntowards the river.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 16\n\nA cold rain began to fall, and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly\nin the dripping mist.  The public-houses were just closing, and dim men\nand women were clustering in broken groups round their doors.  From\nsome of the bars came the sound of horrible laughter.  In others,\ndrunkards brawled and screamed.\n\nLying back in the hansom, with his hat pulled over his forehead, Dorian\nGray watched with listless eyes the sordid shame of the great city, and\nnow and then he repeated to himself the words that Lord Henry had said\nto him on the first day they had met, \"To cure the soul by means of the\nsenses, and the senses by means of the soul.\"  Yes, that was the\nsecret.  He had often tried it, and would try it again now.  There were\nopium dens where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the\nmemory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were\nnew.\n\nThe moon hung low in the sky like a yellow skull.  From time to time a\nhuge misshapen cloud stretched a long arm across and hid it.  The\ngas-lamps grew fewer, and the streets more narrow and gloomy.  Once the\nman lost his way and had to drive back half a mile.  A steam rose from\nthe horse as it splashed up the puddles.  The sidewindows of the hansom\nwere clogged with a grey-flannel mist.\n\n\"To cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means of\nthe soul!\"  How the words rang in his ears!  His soul, certainly, was\nsick to death.  Was it true that the senses could cure it?  Innocent\nblood had been spilled.  What could atone for that?  Ah! for that there\nwas no atonement; but though forgiveness was impossible, forgetfulness\nwas possible still, and he was determined to forget, to stamp the thing\nout, to crush it as one would crush the adder that had stung one.\nIndeed, what right had Basil to have spoken to him as he had done?  Who\nhad made him a judge over others?  He had said things that were\ndreadful, horrible, not to be endured.\n\nOn and on plodded the hansom, going slower, it seemed to him, at each\nstep.  He thrust up the trap and called to the man to drive faster.\nThe hideous hunger for opium began to gnaw at him.  His throat burned\nand his delicate hands twitched nervously together.  He struck at the\nhorse madly with his stick.  The driver laughed and whipped up.  He\nlaughed in answer, and the man was silent.\n\nThe way seemed interminable, and the streets like the black web of some\nsprawling spider.  The monotony became unbearable, and as the mist\nthickened, he felt afraid.\n\nThen they passed by lonely brickfields.  The fog was lighter here, and\nhe could see the strange, bottle-shaped kilns with their orange,\nfanlike tongues of fire.  A dog barked as they went by, and far away in\nthe darkness some wandering sea-gull screamed.  The horse stumbled in a\nrut, then swerved aside and broke into a gallop.\n\nAfter some time they left the clay road and rattled again over\nrough-paven streets.  Most of the windows were dark, but now and then\nfantastic shadows were silhouetted against some lamplit blind.  He\nwatched them curiously.  They moved like monstrous marionettes and made\ngestures like live things.  He hated them.  A dull rage was in his\nheart.  As they turned a corner, a woman yelled something at them from\nan open door, and two men ran after the hansom for about a hundred\nyards.  The driver beat at them with his whip.\n\nIt is said that passion makes one think in a circle.  Certainly with\nhideous iteration the bitten lips of Dorian Gray shaped and reshaped\nthose subtle words that dealt with soul and sense, till he had found in\nthem the full expression, as it were, of his mood, and justified, by\nintellectual approval, passions that without such justification would\nstill have dominated his temper.  From cell to cell of his brain crept\nthe one thought; and the wild desire to live, most terrible of all\nman's appetites, quickened into force each trembling nerve and fibre.\nUgliness that had once been hateful to him because it made things real,\nbecame dear to him now for that very reason.  Ugliness was the one\nreality.  The coarse brawl, the loathsome den, the crude violence of\ndisordered life, the very vileness of thief and outcast, were more\nvivid, in their intense actuality of impression, than all the gracious\nshapes of art, the dreamy shadows of song.  They were what he needed\nfor forgetfulness.  In three days he would be free.\n\nSuddenly the man drew up with a jerk at the top of a dark lane.  Over\nthe low roofs and jagged chimney-stacks of the houses rose the black\nmasts of ships.  Wreaths of white mist clung like ghostly sails to the\nyards.\n\n\"Somewhere about here, sir, ain't it?\" he asked huskily through the\ntrap.\n\nDorian started and peered round.  \"This will do,\" he answered, and\nhaving got out hastily and given the driver the extra fare he had\npromised him, he walked quickly in the direction of the quay.  Here and\nthere a lantern gleamed at the stern of some huge merchantman.  The\nlight shook and splintered in the puddles.  A red glare came from an\noutward-bound steamer that was coaling.  The slimy pavement looked like\na wet mackintosh.\n\nHe hurried on towards the left, glancing back now and then to see if he\nwas being followed.  In about seven or eight minutes he reached a small\nshabby house that was wedged in between two gaunt factories.  In one of\nthe top-windows stood a lamp.  He stopped and gave a peculiar knock.\n\nAfter a little time he heard steps in the passage and the chain being\nunhooked.  The door opened quietly, and he went in without saying a\nword to the squat misshapen figure that flattened itself into the\nshadow as he passed.  At the end of the hall hung a tattered green\ncurtain that swayed and shook in the gusty wind which had followed him\nin from the street.  He dragged it aside and entered a long low room\nwhich looked as if it had once been a third-rate dancing-saloon. Shrill\nflaring gas-jets, dulled and distorted in the fly-blown mirrors that\nfaced them, were ranged round the walls.  Greasy reflectors of ribbed\ntin backed them, making quivering disks of light.  The floor was\ncovered with ochre-coloured sawdust, trampled here and there into mud,\nand stained with dark rings of spilled liquor.  Some Malays were\ncrouching by a little charcoal stove, playing with bone counters and\nshowing their white teeth as they chattered.  In one corner, with his\nhead buried in his arms, a sailor sprawled over a table, and by the\ntawdrily painted bar that ran across one complete side stood two\nhaggard women, mocking an old man who was brushing the sleeves of his\ncoat with an expression of disgust.  \"He thinks he's got red ants on\nhim,\" laughed one of them, as Dorian passed by.  The man looked at her\nin terror and began to whimper.\n\nAt the end of the room there was a little staircase, leading to a\ndarkened chamber.  As Dorian hurried up its three rickety steps, the\nheavy odour of opium met him.  He heaved a deep breath, and his\nnostrils quivered with pleasure.  When he entered, a young man with\nsmooth yellow hair, who was bending over a lamp lighting a long thin\npipe, looked up at him and nodded in a hesitating manner.\n\n\"You here, Adrian?\" muttered Dorian.\n\n\"Where else should I be?\" he answered, listlessly.  \"None of the chaps\nwill speak to me now.\"\n\n\"I thought you had left England.\"\n\n\"Darlington is not going to do anything.  My brother paid the bill at\nlast.  George doesn't speak to me either.... I don't care,\" he added\nwith a sigh.  \"As long as one has this stuff, one doesn't want friends.\nI think I have had too many friends.\"\n\nDorian winced and looked round at the grotesque things that lay in such\nfantastic postures on the ragged mattresses.  The twisted limbs, the\ngaping mouths, the staring lustreless eyes, fascinated him.  He knew in\nwhat strange heavens they were suffering, and what dull hells were\nteaching them the secret of some new joy.  They were better off than he\nwas.  He was prisoned in thought.  Memory, like a horrible malady, was\neating his soul away.  From time to time he seemed to see the eyes of\nBasil Hallward looking at him.  Yet he felt he could not stay.  The\npresence of Adrian Singleton troubled him.  He wanted to be where no\none would know who he was.  He wanted to escape from himself.\n\n\"I am going on to the other place,\" he said after a pause.\n\n\"On the wharf?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That mad-cat is sure to be there.  They won't have her in this place\nnow.\"\n\nDorian shrugged his shoulders.  \"I am sick of women who love one.\nWomen who hate one are much more interesting.  Besides, the stuff is\nbetter.\"\n\n\"Much the same.\"\n\n\"I like it better.  Come and have something to drink.  I must have\nsomething.\"\n\n\"I don't want anything,\" murmured the young man.\n\n\"Never mind.\"\n\nAdrian Singleton rose up wearily and followed Dorian to the bar.  A\nhalf-caste, in a ragged turban and a shabby ulster, grinned a hideous\ngreeting as he thrust a bottle of brandy and two tumblers in front of\nthem.  The women sidled up and began to chatter.  Dorian turned his\nback on them and said something in a low voice to Adrian Singleton.\n\nA crooked smile, like a Malay crease, writhed across the face of one of\nthe women.  \"We are very proud to-night,\" she sneered.\n\n\"For God's sake don't talk to me,\" cried Dorian, stamping his foot on\nthe ground.  \"What do you want?  Money?  Here it is.  Don't ever talk\nto me again.\"\n\nTwo red sparks flashed for a moment in the woman's sodden eyes, then\nflickered out and left them dull and glazed.  She tossed her head and\nraked the coins off the counter with greedy fingers.  Her companion\nwatched her enviously.\n\n\"It's no use,\" sighed Adrian Singleton.  \"I don't care to go back.\nWhat does it matter?  I am quite happy here.\"\n\n\"You will write to me if you want anything, won't you?\" said Dorian,\nafter a pause.\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"Good night, then.\"\n\n\"Good night,\" answered the young man, passing up the steps and wiping\nhis parched mouth with a handkerchief.\n\nDorian walked to the door with a look of pain in his face.  As he drew\nthe curtain aside, a hideous laugh broke from the painted lips of the\nwoman who had taken his money.  \"There goes the devil's bargain!\" she\nhiccoughed, in a hoarse voice.\n\n\"Curse you!\" he answered, \"don't call me that.\"\n\nShe snapped her fingers.  \"Prince Charming is what you like to be\ncalled, ain't it?\" she yelled after him.\n\nThe drowsy sailor leaped to his feet as she spoke, and looked wildly\nround.  The sound of the shutting of the hall door fell on his ear.  He\nrushed out as if in pursuit.\n\nDorian Gray hurried along the quay through the drizzling rain.  His\nmeeting with Adrian Singleton had strangely moved him, and he wondered\nif the ruin of that young life was really to be laid at his door, as\nBasil Hallward had said to him with such infamy of insult.  He bit his\nlip, and for a few seconds his eyes grew sad.  Yet, after all, what did\nit matter to him?  One's days were too brief to take the burden of\nanother's errors on one's shoulders.  Each man lived his own life and\npaid his own price for living it.  The only pity was one had to pay so\noften for a single fault.  One had to pay over and over again, indeed.\nIn her dealings with man, destiny never closed her accounts.\n\nThere are moments, psychologists tell us, when the passion for sin, or\nfor what the world calls sin, so dominates a nature that every fibre of\nthe body, as every cell of the brain, seems to be instinct with fearful\nimpulses.  Men and women at such moments lose the freedom of their\nwill.  They move to their terrible end as automatons move.  Choice is\ntaken from them, and conscience is either killed, or, if it lives at\nall, lives but to give rebellion its fascination and disobedience its\ncharm.  For all sins, as theologians weary not of reminding us, are\nsins of disobedience.  When that high spirit, that morning star of\nevil, fell from heaven, it was as a rebel that he fell.\n\nCallous, concentrated on evil, with stained mind, and soul hungry for\nrebellion, Dorian Gray hastened on, quickening his step as he went, but\nas he darted aside into a dim archway, that had served him often as a\nshort cut to the ill-famed place where he was going, he felt himself\nsuddenly seized from behind, and before he had time to defend himself,\nhe was thrust back against the wall, with a brutal hand round his\nthroat.\n\nHe struggled madly for life, and by a terrible effort wrenched the\ntightening fingers away.  In a second he heard the click of a revolver,\nand saw the gleam of a polished barrel, pointing straight at his head,\nand the dusky form of a short, thick-set man facing him.\n\n\"What do you want?\" he gasped.\n\n\"Keep quiet,\" said the man.  \"If you stir, I shoot you.\"\n\n\"You are mad.  What have I done to you?\"\n\n\"You wrecked the life of Sibyl Vane,\" was the answer, \"and Sibyl Vane\nwas my sister.  She killed herself.  I know it.  Her death is at your\ndoor.  I swore I would kill you in return.  For years I have sought\nyou.  I had no clue, no trace.  The two people who could have described\nyou were dead.  I knew nothing of you but the pet name she used to call\nyou.  I heard it to-night by chance.  Make your peace with God, for\nto-night you are going to die.\"\n\nDorian Gray grew sick with fear.  \"I never knew her,\" he stammered.  \"I\nnever heard of her.  You are mad.\"\n\n\"You had better confess your sin, for as sure as I am James Vane, you\nare going to die.\"  There was a horrible moment.  Dorian did not know\nwhat to say or do.  \"Down on your knees!\" growled the man.  \"I give you\none minute to make your peace--no more.  I go on board to-night for\nIndia, and I must do my job first.  One minute.  That's all.\"\n\nDorian's arms fell to his side.  Paralysed with terror, he did not know\nwhat to do.  Suddenly a wild hope flashed across his brain.  \"Stop,\" he\ncried.  \"How long ago is it since your sister died?  Quick, tell me!\"\n\n\"Eighteen years,\" said the man.  \"Why do you ask me?  What do years\nmatter?\"\n\n\"Eighteen years,\" laughed Dorian Gray, with a touch of triumph in his\nvoice.  \"Eighteen years!  Set me under the lamp and look at my face!\"\n\nJames Vane hesitated for a moment, not understanding what was meant.\nThen he seized Dorian Gray and dragged him from the archway.\n\nDim and wavering as was the wind-blown light, yet it served to show him\nthe hideous error, as it seemed, into which he had fallen, for the face\nof the man he had sought to kill had all the bloom of boyhood, all the\nunstained purity of youth.  He seemed little more than a lad of twenty\nsummers, hardly older, if older indeed at all, than his sister had been\nwhen they had parted so many years ago.  It was obvious that this was\nnot the man who had destroyed her life.\n\nHe loosened his hold and reeled back.  \"My God! my God!\" he cried, \"and\nI would have murdered you!\"\n\nDorian Gray drew a long breath.  \"You have been on the brink of\ncommitting a terrible crime, my man,\" he said, looking at him sternly.\n\"Let this be a warning to you not to take vengeance into your own\nhands.\"\n\n\"Forgive me, sir,\" muttered James Vane.  \"I was deceived.  A chance\nword I heard in that damned den set me on the wrong track.\"\n\n\"You had better go home and put that pistol away, or you may get into\ntrouble,\" said Dorian, turning on his heel and going slowly down the\nstreet.\n\nJames Vane stood on the pavement in horror.  He was trembling from head\nto foot.  After a little while, a black shadow that had been creeping\nalong the dripping wall moved out into the light and came close to him\nwith stealthy footsteps.  He felt a hand laid on his arm and looked\nround with a start.  It was one of the women who had been drinking at\nthe bar.\n\n\"Why didn't you kill him?\" she hissed out, putting haggard face quite\nclose to his.  \"I knew you were following him when you rushed out from\nDaly's. You fool!  You should have killed him.  He has lots of money,\nand he's as bad as bad.\"\n\n\"He is not the man I am looking for,\" he answered, \"and I want no man's\nmoney.  I want a man's life.  The man whose life I want must be nearly\nforty now.  This one is little more than a boy.  Thank God, I have not\ngot his blood upon my hands.\"\n\nThe woman gave a bitter laugh.  \"Little more than a boy!\" she sneered.\n\"Why, man, it's nigh on eighteen years since Prince Charming made me\nwhat I am.\"\n\n\"You lie!\" cried James Vane.\n\nShe raised her hand up to heaven.  \"Before God I am telling the truth,\"\nshe cried.\n\n\"Before God?\"\n\n\"Strike me dumb if it ain't so.  He is the worst one that comes here.\nThey say he has sold himself to the devil for a pretty face.  It's nigh\non eighteen years since I met him.  He hasn't changed much since then.\nI have, though,\" she added, with a sickly leer.\n\n\"You swear this?\"\n\n\"I swear it,\" came in hoarse echo from her flat mouth.  \"But don't give\nme away to him,\" she whined; \"I am afraid of him.  Let me have some\nmoney for my night's lodging.\"\n\nHe broke from her with an oath and rushed to the corner of the street,\nbut Dorian Gray had disappeared.  When he looked back, the woman had\nvanished also.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 17\n\nA week later Dorian Gray was sitting in the conservatory at Selby\nRoyal, talking to the pretty Duchess of Monmouth, who with her husband,\na jaded-looking man of sixty, was amongst his guests.  It was tea-time,\nand the mellow light of the huge, lace-covered lamp that stood on the\ntable lit up the delicate china and hammered silver of the service at\nwhich the duchess was presiding.  Her white hands were moving daintily\namong the cups, and her full red lips were smiling at something that\nDorian had whispered to her.  Lord Henry was lying back in a\nsilk-draped wicker chair, looking at them.  On a peach-coloured divan\nsat Lady Narborough, pretending to listen to the duke's description of\nthe last Brazilian beetle that he had added to his collection.  Three\nyoung men in elaborate smoking-suits were handing tea-cakes to some of\nthe women.  The house-party consisted of twelve people, and there were\nmore expected to arrive on the next day.\n\n\"What are you two talking about?\" said Lord Henry, strolling over to\nthe table and putting his cup down.  \"I hope Dorian has told you about\nmy plan for rechristening everything, Gladys.  It is a delightful idea.\"\n\n\"But I don't want to be rechristened, Harry,\" rejoined the duchess,\nlooking up at him with her wonderful eyes.  \"I am quite satisfied with\nmy own name, and I am sure Mr. Gray should be satisfied with his.\"\n\n\"My dear Gladys, I would not alter either name for the world.  They are\nboth perfect.  I was thinking chiefly of flowers.  Yesterday I cut an\norchid, for my button-hole. It was a marvellous spotted thing, as\neffective as the seven deadly sins.  In a thoughtless moment I asked\none of the gardeners what it was called.  He told me it was a fine\nspecimen of _Robinsoniana_, or something dreadful of that kind.  It is a\nsad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to\nthings.  Names are everything.  I never quarrel with actions.  My one\nquarrel is with words.  That is the reason I hate vulgar realism in\nliterature.  The man who could call a spade a spade should be compelled\nto use one.  It is the only thing he is fit for.\"\n\n\"Then what should we call you, Harry?\" she asked.\n\n\"His name is Prince Paradox,\" said Dorian.\n\n\"I recognize him in a flash,\" exclaimed the duchess.\n\n\"I won't hear of it,\" laughed Lord Henry, sinking into a chair.  \"From\na label there is no escape!  I refuse the title.\"\n\n\"Royalties may not abdicate,\" fell as a warning from pretty lips.\n\n\"You wish me to defend my throne, then?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I give the truths of to-morrow.\"\n\n\"I prefer the mistakes of to-day,\" she answered.\n\n\"You disarm me, Gladys,\" he cried, catching the wilfulness of her mood.\n\n\"Of your shield, Harry, not of your spear.\"\n\n\"I never tilt against beauty,\" he said, with a wave of his hand.\n\n\"That is your error, Harry, believe me.  You value beauty far too much.\"\n\n\"How can you say that?  I admit that I think that it is better to be\nbeautiful than to be good.  But on the other hand, no one is more ready\nthan I am to acknowledge that it is better to be good than to be ugly.\"\n\n\"Ugliness is one of the seven deadly sins, then?\" cried the duchess.\n\"What becomes of your simile about the orchid?\"\n\n\"Ugliness is one of the seven deadly virtues, Gladys.  You, as a good\nTory, must not underrate them.  Beer, the Bible, and the seven deadly\nvirtues have made our England what she is.\"\n\n\"You don't like your country, then?\" she asked.\n\n\"I live in it.\"\n\n\"That you may censure it the better.\"\n\n\"Would you have me take the verdict of Europe on it?\" he inquired.\n\n\"What do they say of us?\"\n\n\"That Tartuffe has emigrated to England and opened a shop.\"\n\n\"Is that yours, Harry?\"\n\n\"I give it to you.\"\n\n\"I could not use it.  It is too true.\"\n\n\"You need not be afraid.  Our countrymen never recognize a description.\"\n\n\"They are practical.\"\n\n\"They are more cunning than practical.  When they make up their ledger,\nthey balance stupidity by wealth, and vice by hypocrisy.\"\n\n\"Still, we have done great things.\"\n\n\"Great things have been thrust on us, Gladys.\"\n\n\"We have carried their burden.\"\n\n\"Only as far as the Stock Exchange.\"\n\nShe shook her head.  \"I believe in the race,\" she cried.\n\n\"It represents the survival of the pushing.\"\n\n\"It has development.\"\n\n\"Decay fascinates me more.\"\n\n\"What of art?\" she asked.\n\n\"It is a malady.\"\n\n\"Love?\"\n\n\"An illusion.\"\n\n\"Religion?\"\n\n\"The fashionable substitute for belief.\"\n\n\"You are a sceptic.\"\n\n\"Never!  Scepticism is the beginning of faith.\"\n\n\"What are you?\"\n\n\"To define is to limit.\"\n\n\"Give me a clue.\"\n\n\"Threads snap.  You would lose your way in the labyrinth.\"\n\n\"You bewilder me.  Let us talk of some one else.\"\n\n\"Our host is a delightful topic.  Years ago he was christened Prince\nCharming.\"\n\n\"Ah! don't remind me of that,\" cried Dorian Gray.\n\n\"Our host is rather horrid this evening,\" answered the duchess,\ncolouring.  \"I believe he thinks that Monmouth married me on purely\nscientific principles as the best specimen he could find of a modern\nbutterfly.\"\n\n\"Well, I hope he won't stick pins into you, Duchess,\" laughed Dorian.\n\n\"Oh! my maid does that already, Mr. Gray, when she is annoyed with me.\"\n\n\"And what does she get annoyed with you about, Duchess?\"\n\n\"For the most trivial things, Mr. Gray, I assure you.  Usually because\nI come in at ten minutes to nine and tell her that I must be dressed by\nhalf-past eight.\"\n\n\"How unreasonable of her!  You should give her warning.\"\n\n\"I daren't, Mr. Gray.  Why, she invents hats for me.  You remember the\none I wore at Lady Hilstone's garden-party?  You don't, but it is nice\nof you to pretend that you do.  Well, she made it out of nothing.  All\ngood hats are made out of nothing.\"\n\n\"Like all good reputations, Gladys,\" interrupted Lord Henry.  \"Every\neffect that one produces gives one an enemy.  To be popular one must be\na mediocrity.\"\n\n\"Not with women,\" said the duchess, shaking her head; \"and women rule\nthe world.  I assure you we can't bear mediocrities.  We women, as some\none says, love with our ears, just as you men love with your eyes, if\nyou ever love at all.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that we never do anything else,\" murmured Dorian.\n\n\"Ah! then, you never really love, Mr. Gray,\" answered the duchess with\nmock sadness.\n\n\"My dear Gladys!\" cried Lord Henry.  \"How can you say that?  Romance\nlives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art.\nBesides, each time that one loves is the only time one has ever loved.\nDifference of object does not alter singleness of passion.  It merely\nintensifies it.  We can have in life but one great experience at best,\nand the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as\npossible.\"\n\n\"Even when one has been wounded by it, Harry?\" asked the duchess after\na pause.\n\n\"Especially when one has been wounded by it,\" answered Lord Henry.\n\nThe duchess turned and looked at Dorian Gray with a curious expression\nin her eyes.  \"What do you say to that, Mr. Gray?\" she inquired.\n\nDorian hesitated for a moment.  Then he threw his head back and\nlaughed.  \"I always agree with Harry, Duchess.\"\n\n\"Even when he is wrong?\"\n\n\"Harry is never wrong, Duchess.\"\n\n\"And does his philosophy make you happy?\"\n\n\"I have never searched for happiness.  Who wants happiness?  I have\nsearched for pleasure.\"\n\n\"And found it, Mr. Gray?\"\n\n\"Often.  Too often.\"\n\nThe duchess sighed.  \"I am searching for peace,\" she said, \"and if I\ndon't go and dress, I shall have none this evening.\"\n\n\"Let me get you some orchids, Duchess,\" cried Dorian, starting to his\nfeet and walking down the conservatory.\n\n\"You are flirting disgracefully with him,\" said Lord Henry to his\ncousin.  \"You had better take care.  He is very fascinating.\"\n\n\"If he were not, there would be no battle.\"\n\n\"Greek meets Greek, then?\"\n\n\"I am on the side of the Trojans.  They fought for a woman.\"\n\n\"They were defeated.\"\n\n\"There are worse things than capture,\" she answered.\n\n\"You gallop with a loose rein.\"\n\n\"Pace gives life,\" was the _riposte_.\n\n\"I shall write it in my diary to-night.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"That a burnt child loves the fire.\"\n\n\"I am not even singed.  My wings are untouched.\"\n\n\"You use them for everything, except flight.\"\n\n\"Courage has passed from men to women.  It is a new experience for us.\"\n\n\"You have a rival.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\nHe laughed.  \"Lady Narborough,\" he whispered.  \"She perfectly adores\nhim.\"\n\n\"You fill me with apprehension.  The appeal to antiquity is fatal to us\nwho are romanticists.\"\n\n\"Romanticists!  You have all the methods of science.\"\n\n\"Men have educated us.\"\n\n\"But not explained you.\"\n\n\"Describe us as a sex,\" was her challenge.\n\n\"Sphinxes without secrets.\"\n\nShe looked at him, smiling.  \"How long Mr. Gray is!\" she said.  \"Let us\ngo and help him.  I have not yet told him the colour of my frock.\"\n\n\"Ah! you must suit your frock to his flowers, Gladys.\"\n\n\"That would be a premature surrender.\"\n\n\"Romantic art begins with its climax.\"\n\n\"I must keep an opportunity for retreat.\"\n\n\"In the Parthian manner?\"\n\n\"They found safety in the desert.  I could not do that.\"\n\n\"Women are not always allowed a choice,\" he answered, but hardly had he\nfinished the sentence before from the far end of the conservatory came\na stifled groan, followed by the dull sound of a heavy fall.  Everybody\nstarted up.  The duchess stood motionless in horror.  And with fear in\nhis eyes, Lord Henry rushed through the flapping palms to find Dorian\nGray lying face downwards on the tiled floor in a deathlike swoon.\n\nHe was carried at once into the blue drawing-room and laid upon one of\nthe sofas.  After a short time, he came to himself and looked round\nwith a dazed expression.\n\n\"What has happened?\" he asked.  \"Oh!  I remember.  Am I safe here,\nHarry?\" He began to tremble.\n\n\"My dear Dorian,\" answered Lord Henry, \"you merely fainted.  That was\nall.  You must have overtired yourself.  You had better not come down\nto dinner.  I will take your place.\"\n\n\"No, I will come down,\" he said, struggling to his feet.  \"I would\nrather come down.  I must not be alone.\"\n\nHe went to his room and dressed.  There was a wild recklessness of\ngaiety in his manner as he sat at table, but now and then a thrill of\nterror ran through him when he remembered that, pressed against the\nwindow of the conservatory, like a white handkerchief, he had seen the\nface of James Vane watching him.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 18\n\nThe next day he did not leave the house, and, indeed, spent most of the\ntime in his own room, sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet\nindifferent to life itself.  The consciousness of being hunted, snared,\ntracked down, had begun to dominate him.  If the tapestry did but\ntremble in the wind, he shook.  The dead leaves that were blown against\nthe leaded panes seemed to him like his own wasted resolutions and wild\nregrets.  When he closed his eyes, he saw again the sailor's face\npeering through the mist-stained glass, and horror seemed once more to\nlay its hand upon his heart.\n\nBut perhaps it had been only his fancy that had called vengeance out of\nthe night and set the hideous shapes of punishment before him.  Actual\nlife was chaos, but there was something terribly logical in the\nimagination.  It was the imagination that set remorse to dog the feet\nof sin.  It was the imagination that made each crime bear its misshapen\nbrood.  In the common world of fact the wicked were not punished, nor\nthe good rewarded.  Success was given to the strong, failure thrust\nupon the weak.  That was all.  Besides, had any stranger been prowling\nround the house, he would have been seen by the servants or the\nkeepers.  Had any foot-marks been found on the flower-beds, the\ngardeners would have reported it.  Yes, it had been merely fancy.\nSibyl Vane's brother had not come back to kill him.  He had sailed away\nin his ship to founder in some winter sea.  From him, at any rate, he\nwas safe.  Why, the man did not know who he was, could not know who he\nwas.  The mask of youth had saved him.\n\nAnd yet if it had been merely an illusion, how terrible it was to think\nthat conscience could raise such fearful phantoms, and give them\nvisible form, and make them move before one!  What sort of life would\nhis be if, day and night, shadows of his crime were to peer at him from\nsilent corners, to mock him from secret places, to whisper in his ear\nas he sat at the feast, to wake him with icy fingers as he lay asleep!\nAs the thought crept through his brain, he grew pale with terror, and\nthe air seemed to him to have become suddenly colder.  Oh! in what a\nwild hour of madness he had killed his friend!  How ghastly the mere\nmemory of the scene!  He saw it all again.  Each hideous detail came\nback to him with added horror.  Out of the black cave of time, terrible\nand swathed in scarlet, rose the image of his sin.  When Lord Henry\ncame in at six o'clock, he found him crying as one whose heart will\nbreak.\n\nIt was not till the third day that he ventured to go out.  There was\nsomething in the clear, pine-scented air of that winter morning that\nseemed to bring him back his joyousness and his ardour for life.  But\nit was not merely the physical conditions of environment that had\ncaused the change.  His own nature had revolted against the excess of\nanguish that had sought to maim and mar the perfection of its calm.\nWith subtle and finely wrought temperaments it is always so.  Their\nstrong passions must either bruise or bend.  They either slay the man,\nor themselves die.  Shallow sorrows and shallow loves live on.  The\nloves and sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plenitude.\nBesides, he had convinced himself that he had been the victim of a\nterror-stricken imagination, and looked back now on his fears with\nsomething of pity and not a little of contempt.\n\nAfter breakfast, he walked with the duchess for an hour in the garden\nand then drove across the park to join the shooting-party. The crisp\nfrost lay like salt upon the grass.  The sky was an inverted cup of\nblue metal.  A thin film of ice bordered the flat, reed-grown lake.\n\nAt the corner of the pine-wood he caught sight of Sir Geoffrey\nClouston, the duchess's brother, jerking two spent cartridges out of\nhis gun.  He jumped from the cart, and having told the groom to take\nthe mare home, made his way towards his guest through the withered\nbracken and rough undergrowth.\n\n\"Have you had good sport, Geoffrey?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not very good, Dorian.  I think most of the birds have gone to the\nopen.  I dare say it will be better after lunch, when we get to new\nground.\"\n\nDorian strolled along by his side.  The keen aromatic air, the brown\nand red lights that glimmered in the wood, the hoarse cries of the\nbeaters ringing out from time to time, and the sharp snaps of the guns\nthat followed, fascinated him and filled him with a sense of delightful\nfreedom.  He was dominated by the carelessness of happiness, by the\nhigh indifference of joy.\n\nSuddenly from a lumpy tussock of old grass some twenty yards in front\nof them, with black-tipped ears erect and long hinder limbs throwing it\nforward, started a hare.  It bolted for a thicket of alders.  Sir\nGeoffrey put his gun to his shoulder, but there was something in the\nanimal's grace of movement that strangely charmed Dorian Gray, and he\ncried out at once, \"Don't shoot it, Geoffrey.  Let it live.\"\n\n\"What nonsense, Dorian!\" laughed his companion, and as the hare bounded\ninto the thicket, he fired.  There were two cries heard, the cry of a\nhare in pain, which is dreadful, the cry of a man in agony, which is\nworse.\n\n\"Good heavens!  I have hit a beater!\" exclaimed Sir Geoffrey.  \"What an\nass the man was to get in front of the guns!  Stop shooting there!\" he\ncalled out at the top of his voice.  \"A man is hurt.\"\n\nThe head-keeper came running up with a stick in his hand.\n\n\"Where, sir?  Where is he?\" he shouted.  At the same time, the firing\nceased along the line.\n\n\"Here,\" answered Sir Geoffrey angrily, hurrying towards the thicket.\n\"Why on earth don't you keep your men back?  Spoiled my shooting for\nthe day.\"\n\nDorian watched them as they plunged into the alder-clump, brushing the\nlithe swinging branches aside.  In a few moments they emerged, dragging\na body after them into the sunlight.  He turned away in horror.  It\nseemed to him that misfortune followed wherever he went.  He heard Sir\nGeoffrey ask if the man was really dead, and the affirmative answer of\nthe keeper.  The wood seemed to him to have become suddenly alive with\nfaces.  There was the trampling of myriad feet and the low buzz of\nvoices.  A great copper-breasted pheasant came beating through the\nboughs overhead.\n\nAfter a few moments--that were to him, in his perturbed state, like\nendless hours of pain--he felt a hand laid on his shoulder.  He started\nand looked round.\n\n\"Dorian,\" said Lord Henry, \"I had better tell them that the shooting is\nstopped for to-day. It would not look well to go on.\"\n\n\"I wish it were stopped for ever, Harry,\" he answered bitterly.  \"The\nwhole thing is hideous and cruel.  Is the man ...?\"\n\nHe could not finish the sentence.\n\n\"I am afraid so,\" rejoined Lord Henry.  \"He got the whole charge of\nshot in his chest.  He must have died almost instantaneously.  Come;\nlet us go home.\"\n\nThey walked side by side in the direction of the avenue for nearly\nfifty yards without speaking.  Then Dorian looked at Lord Henry and\nsaid, with a heavy sigh, \"It is a bad omen, Harry, a very bad omen.\"\n\n\"What is?\" asked Lord Henry.  \"Oh! this accident, I suppose.  My dear\nfellow, it can't be helped.  It was the man's own fault.  Why did he\nget in front of the guns?  Besides, it is nothing to us.  It is rather\nawkward for Geoffrey, of course.  It does not do to pepper beaters.  It\nmakes people think that one is a wild shot.  And Geoffrey is not; he\nshoots very straight.  But there is no use talking about the matter.\"\n\nDorian shook his head.  \"It is a bad omen, Harry.  I feel as if\nsomething horrible were going to happen to some of us.  To myself,\nperhaps,\" he added, passing his hand over his eyes, with a gesture of\npain.\n\nThe elder man laughed.  \"The only horrible thing in the world is _ennui_,\nDorian.  That is the one sin for which there is no forgiveness.  But we\nare not likely to suffer from it unless these fellows keep chattering\nabout this thing at dinner.  I must tell them that the subject is to be\ntabooed.  As for omens, there is no such thing as an omen.  Destiny\ndoes not send us heralds.  She is too wise or too cruel for that.\nBesides, what on earth could happen to you, Dorian?  You have\neverything in the world that a man can want.  There is no one who would\nnot be delighted to change places with you.\"\n\n\"There is no one with whom I would not change places, Harry.  Don't\nlaugh like that.  I am telling you the truth.  The wretched peasant who\nhas just died is better off than I am.  I have no terror of death.  It\nis the coming of death that terrifies me.  Its monstrous wings seem to\nwheel in the leaden air around me.  Good heavens! don't you see a man\nmoving behind the trees there, watching me, waiting for me?\"\n\nLord Henry looked in the direction in which the trembling gloved hand\nwas pointing.  \"Yes,\" he said, smiling, \"I see the gardener waiting for\nyou.  I suppose he wants to ask you what flowers you wish to have on\nthe table to-night. How absurdly nervous you are, my dear fellow!  You\nmust come and see my doctor, when we get back to town.\"\n\nDorian heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the gardener approaching.  The\nman touched his hat, glanced for a moment at Lord Henry in a hesitating\nmanner, and then produced a letter, which he handed to his master.\n\"Her Grace told me to wait for an answer,\" he murmured.\n\nDorian put the letter into his pocket.  \"Tell her Grace that I am\ncoming in,\" he said, coldly.  The man turned round and went rapidly in\nthe direction of the house.\n\n\"How fond women are of doing dangerous things!\" laughed Lord Henry.\n\"It is one of the qualities in them that I admire most.  A woman will\nflirt with anybody in the world as long as other people are looking on.\"\n\n\"How fond you are of saying dangerous things, Harry!  In the present\ninstance, you are quite astray.  I like the duchess very much, but I\ndon't love her.\"\n\n\"And the duchess loves you very much, but she likes you less, so you\nare excellently matched.\"\n\n\"You are talking scandal, Harry, and there is never any basis for\nscandal.\"\n\n\"The basis of every scandal is an immoral certainty,\" said Lord Henry,\nlighting a cigarette.\n\n\"You would sacrifice anybody, Harry, for the sake of an epigram.\"\n\n\"The world goes to the altar of its own accord,\" was the answer.\n\n\"I wish I could love,\" cried Dorian Gray with a deep note of pathos in\nhis voice.  \"But I seem to have lost the passion and forgotten the\ndesire.  I am too much concentrated on myself.  My own personality has\nbecome a burden to me.  I want to escape, to go away, to forget.  It\nwas silly of me to come down here at all.  I think I shall send a wire\nto Harvey to have the yacht got ready.  On a yacht one is safe.\"\n\n\"Safe from what, Dorian?  You are in some trouble.  Why not tell me\nwhat it is?  You know I would help you.\"\n\n\"I can't tell you, Harry,\" he answered sadly.  \"And I dare say it is\nonly a fancy of mine.  This unfortunate accident has upset me.  I have\na horrible presentiment that something of the kind may happen to me.\"\n\n\"What nonsense!\"\n\n\"I hope it is, but I can't help feeling it.  Ah! here is the duchess,\nlooking like Artemis in a tailor-made gown.  You see we have come back,\nDuchess.\"\n\n\"I have heard all about it, Mr. Gray,\" she answered.  \"Poor Geoffrey is\nterribly upset.  And it seems that you asked him not to shoot the hare.\nHow curious!\"\n\n\"Yes, it was very curious.  I don't know what made me say it.  Some\nwhim, I suppose.  It looked the loveliest of little live things.  But I\nam sorry they told you about the man.  It is a hideous subject.\"\n\n\"It is an annoying subject,\" broke in Lord Henry.  \"It has no\npsychological value at all.  Now if Geoffrey had done the thing on\npurpose, how interesting he would be!  I should like to know some one\nwho had committed a real murder.\"\n\n\"How horrid of you, Harry!\" cried the duchess.  \"Isn't it, Mr. Gray?\nHarry, Mr. Gray is ill again.  He is going to faint.\"\n\nDorian drew himself up with an effort and smiled.  \"It is nothing,\nDuchess,\" he murmured; \"my nerves are dreadfully out of order.  That is\nall.  I am afraid I walked too far this morning.  I didn't hear what\nHarry said.  Was it very bad?  You must tell me some other time.  I\nthink I must go and lie down.  You will excuse me, won't you?\"\n\nThey had reached the great flight of steps that led from the\nconservatory on to the terrace.  As the glass door closed behind\nDorian, Lord Henry turned and looked at the duchess with his slumberous\neyes.  \"Are you very much in love with him?\" he asked.\n\nShe did not answer for some time, but stood gazing at the landscape.\n\"I wish I knew,\" she said at last.\n\nHe shook his head.  \"Knowledge would be fatal.  It is the uncertainty\nthat charms one.  A mist makes things wonderful.\"\n\n\"One may lose one's way.\"\n\n\"All ways end at the same point, my dear Gladys.\"\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\n\"Disillusion.\"\n\n\"It was my _debut_ in life,\" she sighed.\n\n\"It came to you crowned.\"\n\n\"I am tired of strawberry leaves.\"\n\n\"They become you.\"\n\n\"Only in public.\"\n\n\"You would miss them,\" said Lord Henry.\n\n\"I will not part with a petal.\"\n\n\"Monmouth has ears.\"\n\n\"Old age is dull of hearing.\"\n\n\"Has he never been jealous?\"\n\n\"I wish he had been.\"\n\nHe glanced about as if in search of something.  \"What are you looking\nfor?\" she inquired.\n\n\"The button from your foil,\" he answered.  \"You have dropped it.\"\n\nShe laughed.  \"I have still the mask.\"\n\n\"It makes your eyes lovelier,\" was his reply.\n\nShe laughed again.  Her teeth showed like white seeds in a scarlet\nfruit.\n\nUpstairs, in his own room, Dorian Gray was lying on a sofa, with terror\nin every tingling fibre of his body.  Life had suddenly become too\nhideous a burden for him to bear.  The dreadful death of the unlucky\nbeater, shot in the thicket like a wild animal, had seemed to him to\npre-figure death for himself also.  He had nearly swooned at what Lord\nHenry had said in a chance mood of cynical jesting.\n\nAt five o'clock he rang his bell for his servant and gave him orders to\npack his things for the night-express to town, and to have the brougham\nat the door by eight-thirty. He was determined not to sleep another\nnight at Selby Royal.  It was an ill-omened place.  Death walked there\nin the sunlight.  The grass of the forest had been spotted with blood.\n\nThen he wrote a note to Lord Henry, telling him that he was going up to\ntown to consult his doctor and asking him to entertain his guests in\nhis absence.  As he was putting it into the envelope, a knock came to\nthe door, and his valet informed him that the head-keeper wished to see\nhim.  He frowned and bit his lip.  \"Send him in,\" he muttered, after\nsome moments' hesitation.\n\nAs soon as the man entered, Dorian pulled his chequebook out of a\ndrawer and spread it out before him.\n\n\"I suppose you have come about the unfortunate accident of this\nmorning, Thornton?\" he said, taking up a pen.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" answered the gamekeeper.\n\n\"Was the poor fellow married?  Had he any people dependent on him?\"\nasked Dorian, looking bored.  \"If so, I should not like them to be left\nin want, and will send them any sum of money you may think necessary.\"\n\n\"We don't know who he is, sir.  That is what I took the liberty of\ncoming to you about.\"\n\n\"Don't know who he is?\" said Dorian, listlessly.  \"What do you mean?\nWasn't he one of your men?\"\n\n\"No, sir.  Never saw him before.  Seems like a sailor, sir.\"\n\nThe pen dropped from Dorian Gray's hand, and he felt as if his heart\nhad suddenly stopped beating.  \"A sailor?\" he cried out.  \"Did you say\na sailor?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.  He looks as if he had been a sort of sailor; tattooed on\nboth arms, and that kind of thing.\"\n\n\"Was there anything found on him?\" said Dorian, leaning forward and\nlooking at the man with startled eyes.  \"Anything that would tell his\nname?\"\n\n\"Some money, sir--not much, and a six-shooter. There was no name of any\nkind.  A decent-looking man, sir, but rough-like. A sort of sailor we\nthink.\"\n\nDorian started to his feet.  A terrible hope fluttered past him.  He\nclutched at it madly.  \"Where is the body?\" he exclaimed.  \"Quick!  I\nmust see it at once.\"\n\n\"It is in an empty stable in the Home Farm, sir.  The folk don't like\nto have that sort of thing in their houses.  They say a corpse brings\nbad luck.\"\n\n\"The Home Farm!  Go there at once and meet me.  Tell one of the grooms\nto bring my horse round.  No. Never mind.  I'll go to the stables\nmyself.  It will save time.\"\n\nIn less than a quarter of an hour, Dorian Gray was galloping down the\nlong avenue as hard as he could go.  The trees seemed to sweep past him\nin spectral procession, and wild shadows to fling themselves across his\npath.  Once the mare swerved at a white gate-post and nearly threw him.\nHe lashed her across the neck with his crop.  She cleft the dusky air\nlike an arrow.  The stones flew from her hoofs.\n\nAt last he reached the Home Farm.  Two men were loitering in the yard.\nHe leaped from the saddle and threw the reins to one of them.  In the\nfarthest stable a light was glimmering.  Something seemed to tell him\nthat the body was there, and he hurried to the door and put his hand\nupon the latch.\n\nThere he paused for a moment, feeling that he was on the brink of a\ndiscovery that would either make or mar his life.  Then he thrust the\ndoor open and entered.\n\nOn a heap of sacking in the far corner was lying the dead body of a man\ndressed in a coarse shirt and a pair of blue trousers.  A spotted\nhandkerchief had been placed over the face.  A coarse candle, stuck in\na bottle, sputtered beside it.\n\nDorian Gray shuddered.  He felt that his could not be the hand to take\nthe handkerchief away, and called out to one of the farm-servants to\ncome to him.\n\n\"Take that thing off the face.  I wish to see it,\" he said, clutching\nat the door-post for support.\n\nWhen the farm-servant had done so, he stepped forward.  A cry of joy\nbroke from his lips.  The man who had been shot in the thicket was\nJames Vane.\n\nHe stood there for some minutes looking at the dead body.  As he rode\nhome, his eyes were full of tears, for he knew he was safe.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 19\n\n\"There is no use your telling me that you are going to be good,\" cried\nLord Henry, dipping his white fingers into a red copper bowl filled\nwith rose-water. \"You are quite perfect.  Pray, don't change.\"\n\nDorian Gray shook his head.  \"No, Harry, I have done too many dreadful\nthings in my life.  I am not going to do any more.  I began my good\nactions yesterday.\"\n\n\"Where were you yesterday?\"\n\n\"In the country, Harry.  I was staying at a little inn by myself.\"\n\n\"My dear boy,\" said Lord Henry, smiling, \"anybody can be good in the\ncountry.  There are no temptations there.  That is the reason why\npeople who live out of town are so absolutely uncivilized.\nCivilization is not by any means an easy thing to attain to.  There are\nonly two ways by which man can reach it.  One is by being cultured, the\nother by being corrupt.  Country people have no opportunity of being\neither, so they stagnate.\"\n\n\"Culture and corruption,\" echoed Dorian.  \"I have known something of\nboth.  It seems terrible to me now that they should ever be found\ntogether.  For I have a new ideal, Harry.  I am going to alter.  I\nthink I have altered.\"\n\n\"You have not yet told me what your good action was.  Or did you say\nyou had done more than one?\" asked his companion as he spilled into his\nplate a little crimson pyramid of seeded strawberries and, through a\nperforated, shell-shaped spoon, snowed white sugar upon them.\n\n\"I can tell you, Harry.  It is not a story I could tell to any one\nelse.  I spared somebody.  It sounds vain, but you understand what I\nmean.  She was quite beautiful and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane.  I\nthink it was that which first attracted me to her.  You remember Sibyl,\ndon't you?  How long ago that seems!  Well, Hetty was not one of our\nown class, of course.  She was simply a girl in a village.  But I\nreally loved her.  I am quite sure that I loved her.  All during this\nwonderful May that we have been having, I used to run down and see her\ntwo or three times a week.  Yesterday she met me in a little orchard.\nThe apple-blossoms kept tumbling down on her hair, and she was\nlaughing.  We were to have gone away together this morning at dawn.\nSuddenly I determined to leave her as flowerlike as I had found her.\"\n\n\"I should think the novelty of the emotion must have given you a thrill\nof real pleasure, Dorian,\" interrupted Lord Henry.  \"But I can finish\nyour idyll for you.  You gave her good advice and broke her heart.\nThat was the beginning of your reformation.\"\n\n\"Harry, you are horrible!  You mustn't say these dreadful things.\nHetty's heart is not broken.  Of course, she cried and all that.  But\nthere is no disgrace upon her.  She can live, like Perdita, in her\ngarden of mint and marigold.\"\n\n\"And weep over a faithless Florizel,\" said Lord Henry, laughing, as he\nleaned back in his chair.  \"My dear Dorian, you have the most curiously\nboyish moods.  Do you think this girl will ever be really content now\nwith any one of her own rank?  I suppose she will be married some day\nto a rough carter or a grinning ploughman.  Well, the fact of having\nmet you, and loved you, will teach her to despise her husband, and she\nwill be wretched.  From a moral point of view, I cannot say that I\nthink much of your great renunciation.  Even as a beginning, it is\npoor.  Besides, how do you know that Hetty isn't floating at the\npresent moment in some starlit mill-pond, with lovely water-lilies\nround her, like Ophelia?\"\n\n\"I can't bear this, Harry!  You mock at everything, and then suggest\nthe most serious tragedies.  I am sorry I told you now.  I don't care\nwhat you say to me.  I know I was right in acting as I did.  Poor\nHetty!  As I rode past the farm this morning, I saw her white face at\nthe window, like a spray of jasmine.  Don't let us talk about it any\nmore, and don't try to persuade me that the first good action I have\ndone for years, the first little bit of self-sacrifice I have ever\nknown, is really a sort of sin.  I want to be better.  I am going to be\nbetter.  Tell me something about yourself.  What is going on in town?\nI have not been to the club for days.\"\n\n\"The people are still discussing poor Basil's disappearance.\"\n\n\"I should have thought they had got tired of that by this time,\" said\nDorian, pouring himself out some wine and frowning slightly.\n\n\"My dear boy, they have only been talking about it for six weeks, and\nthe British public are really not equal to the mental strain of having\nmore than one topic every three months.  They have been very fortunate\nlately, however.  They have had my own divorce-case and Alan Campbell's\nsuicide.  Now they have got the mysterious disappearance of an artist.\nScotland Yard still insists that the man in the grey ulster who left\nfor Paris by the midnight train on the ninth of November was poor\nBasil, and the French police declare that Basil never arrived in Paris\nat all.  I suppose in about a fortnight we shall be told that he has\nbeen seen in San Francisco.  It is an odd thing, but every one who\ndisappears is said to be seen at San Francisco.  It must be a\ndelightful city, and possess all the attractions of the next world.\"\n\n\"What do you think has happened to Basil?\" asked Dorian, holding up his\nBurgundy against the light and wondering how it was that he could\ndiscuss the matter so calmly.\n\n\"I have not the slightest idea.  If Basil chooses to hide himself, it\nis no business of mine.  If he is dead, I don't want to think about\nhim.  Death is the only thing that ever terrifies me.  I hate it.\"\n\n\"Why?\" said the younger man wearily.\n\n\"Because,\" said Lord Henry, passing beneath his nostrils the gilt\ntrellis of an open vinaigrette box, \"one can survive everything\nnowadays except that.  Death and vulgarity are the only two facts in\nthe nineteenth century that one cannot explain away.  Let us have our\ncoffee in the music-room, Dorian.  You must play Chopin to me.  The man\nwith whom my wife ran away played Chopin exquisitely.  Poor Victoria!\nI was very fond of her.  The house is rather lonely without her.  Of\ncourse, married life is merely a habit, a bad habit.  But then one\nregrets the loss even of one's worst habits.  Perhaps one regrets them\nthe most.  They are such an essential part of one's personality.\"\n\nDorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and passing into the next\nroom, sat down to the piano and let his fingers stray across the white\nand black ivory of the keys.  After the coffee had been brought in, he\nstopped, and looking over at Lord Henry, said, \"Harry, did it ever\noccur to you that Basil was murdered?\"\n\nLord Henry yawned.  \"Basil was very popular, and always wore a\nWaterbury watch.  Why should he have been murdered?  He was not clever\nenough to have enemies.  Of course, he had a wonderful genius for\npainting.  But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as\npossible.  Basil was really rather dull.  He only interested me once,\nand that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration\nfor you and that you were the dominant motive of his art.\"\n\n\"I was very fond of Basil,\" said Dorian with a note of sadness in his\nvoice.  \"But don't people say that he was murdered?\"\n\n\"Oh, some of the papers do.  It does not seem to me to be at all\nprobable.  I know there are dreadful places in Paris, but Basil was not\nthe sort of man to have gone to them.  He had no curiosity.  It was his\nchief defect.\"\n\n\"What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?\"\nsaid the younger man.  He watched him intently after he had spoken.\n\n\"I would say, my dear fellow, that you were posing for a character that\ndoesn't suit you.  All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime.\nIt is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder.  I am sorry if I hurt\nyour vanity by saying so, but I assure you it is true.  Crime belongs\nexclusively to the lower orders.  I don't blame them in the smallest\ndegree.  I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us,\nsimply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations.\"\n\n\"A method of procuring sensations?  Do you think, then, that a man who\nhas once committed a murder could possibly do the same crime again?\nDon't tell me that.\"\n\n\"Oh! anything becomes a pleasure if one does it too often,\" cried Lord\nHenry, laughing.  \"That is one of the most important secrets of life.\nI should fancy, however, that murder is always a mistake.  One should\nnever do anything that one cannot talk about after dinner.  But let us\npass from poor Basil.  I wish I could believe that he had come to such\na really romantic end as you suggest, but I can't. I dare say he fell\ninto the Seine off an omnibus and that the conductor hushed up the\nscandal.  Yes:  I should fancy that was his end.  I see him lying now\non his back under those dull-green waters, with the heavy barges\nfloating over him and long weeds catching in his hair.  Do you know, I\ndon't think he would have done much more good work.  During the last\nten years his painting had gone off very much.\"\n\nDorian heaved a sigh, and Lord Henry strolled across the room and began\nto stroke the head of a curious Java parrot, a large, grey-plumaged\nbird with pink crest and tail, that was balancing itself upon a bamboo\nperch.  As his pointed fingers touched it, it dropped the white scurf\nof crinkled lids over black, glasslike eyes and began to sway backwards\nand forwards.\n\n\"Yes,\" he continued, turning round and taking his handkerchief out of\nhis pocket; \"his painting had quite gone off.  It seemed to me to have\nlost something.  It had lost an ideal.  When you and he ceased to be\ngreat friends, he ceased to be a great artist.  What was it separated\nyou?  I suppose he bored you.  If so, he never forgave you.  It's a\nhabit bores have.  By the way, what has become of that wonderful\nportrait he did of you?  I don't think I have ever seen it since he\nfinished it.  Oh!  I remember your telling me years ago that you had\nsent it down to Selby, and that it had got mislaid or stolen on the\nway.  You never got it back?  What a pity! it was really a\nmasterpiece.  I remember I wanted to buy it.  I wish I had now.  It\nbelonged to Basil's best period.  Since then, his work was that curious\nmixture of bad painting and good intentions that always entitles a man\nto be called a representative British artist.  Did you advertise for\nit?  You should.\"\n\n\"I forget,\" said Dorian.  \"I suppose I did.  But I never really liked\nit.  I am sorry I sat for it.  The memory of the thing is hateful to\nme.  Why do you talk of it?  It used to remind me of those curious\nlines in some play--Hamlet, I think--how do they run?--\n\n    \"Like the painting of a sorrow,\n     A face without a heart.\"\n\nYes:  that is what it was like.\"\n\nLord Henry laughed.  \"If a man treats life artistically, his brain is\nhis heart,\" he answered, sinking into an arm-chair.\n\nDorian Gray shook his head and struck some soft chords on the piano.\n\"'Like the painting of a sorrow,'\" he repeated, \"'a face without a\nheart.'\"\n\nThe elder man lay back and looked at him with half-closed eyes.  \"By\nthe way, Dorian,\" he said after a pause, \"'what does it profit a man if\nhe gain the whole world and lose--how does the quotation run?--his own\nsoul'?\"\n\nThe music jarred, and Dorian Gray started and stared at his friend.\n\"Why do you ask me that, Harry?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" said Lord Henry, elevating his eyebrows in surprise,\n\"I asked you because I thought you might be able to give me an answer.\nThat is all.  I was going through the park last Sunday, and close by\nthe Marble Arch there stood a little crowd of shabby-looking people\nlistening to some vulgar street-preacher. As I passed by, I heard the\nman yelling out that question to his audience.  It struck me as being\nrather dramatic.  London is very rich in curious effects of that kind.\nA wet Sunday, an uncouth Christian in a mackintosh, a ring of sickly\nwhite faces under a broken roof of dripping umbrellas, and a wonderful\nphrase flung into the air by shrill hysterical lips--it was really very\ngood in its way, quite a suggestion.  I thought of telling the prophet\nthat art had a soul, but that man had not.  I am afraid, however, he\nwould not have understood me.\"\n\n\"Don't, Harry.  The soul is a terrible reality.  It can be bought, and\nsold, and bartered away.  It can be poisoned, or made perfect.  There\nis a soul in each one of us.  I know it.\"\n\n\"Do you feel quite sure of that, Dorian?\"\n\n\"Quite sure.\"\n\n\"Ah! then it must be an illusion.  The things one feels absolutely\ncertain about are never true.  That is the fatality of faith, and the\nlesson of romance.  How grave you are!  Don't be so serious.  What have\nyou or I to do with the superstitions of our age?  No:  we have given\nup our belief in the soul.  Play me something.  Play me a nocturne,\nDorian, and, as you play, tell me, in a low voice, how you have kept\nyour youth.  You must have some secret.  I am only ten years older than\nyou are, and I am wrinkled, and worn, and yellow.  You are really\nwonderful, Dorian.  You have never looked more charming than you do\nto-night. You remind me of the day I saw you first.  You were rather\ncheeky, very shy, and absolutely extraordinary.  You have changed, of\ncourse, but not in appearance.  I wish you would tell me your secret.\nTo get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take\nexercise, get up early, or be respectable.  Youth!  There is nothing\nlike it.  It's absurd to talk of the ignorance of youth.  The only\npeople to whose opinions I listen now with any respect are people much\nyounger than myself.  They seem in front of me.  Life has revealed to\nthem her latest wonder.  As for the aged, I always contradict the aged.\nI do it on principle.  If you ask them their opinion on something that\nhappened yesterday, they solemnly give you the opinions current in\n1820, when people wore high stocks, believed in everything, and knew\nabsolutely nothing.  How lovely that thing you are playing is!  I\nwonder, did Chopin write it at Majorca, with the sea weeping round the\nvilla and the salt spray dashing against the panes?  It is marvellously\nromantic.  What a blessing it is that there is one art left to us that\nis not imitative!  Don't stop.  I want music to-night. It seems to me\nthat you are the young Apollo and that I am Marsyas listening to you.\nI have sorrows, Dorian, of my own, that even you know nothing of.  The\ntragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young.  I am\namazed sometimes at my own sincerity.  Ah, Dorian, how happy you are!\nWhat an exquisite life you have had!  You have drunk deeply of\neverything.  You have crushed the grapes against your palate.  Nothing\nhas been hidden from you.  And it has all been to you no more than the\nsound of music.  It has not marred you.  You are still the same.\"\n\n\"I am not the same, Harry.\"\n\n\"Yes, you are the same.  I wonder what the rest of your life will be.\nDon't spoil it by renunciations.  At present you are a perfect type.\nDon't make yourself incomplete.  You are quite flawless now.  You need\nnot shake your head:  you know you are.  Besides, Dorian, don't deceive\nyourself.  Life is not governed by will or intention.  Life is a\nquestion of nerves, and fibres, and slowly built-up cells in which\nthought hides itself and passion has its dreams.  You may fancy\nyourself safe and think yourself strong.  But a chance tone of colour\nin a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once\nloved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten\npoem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music\nthat you had ceased to play--I tell you, Dorian, that it is on things\nlike these that our lives depend.  Browning writes about that\nsomewhere; but our own senses will imagine them for us.  There are\nmoments when the odour of _lilas blanc_ passes suddenly across me, and I\nhave to live the strangest month of my life over again.  I wish I could\nchange places with you, Dorian.  The world has cried out against us\nboth, but it has always worshipped you.  It always will worship you.\nYou are the type of what the age is searching for, and what it is\nafraid it has found.  I am so glad that you have never done anything,\nnever carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything\noutside of yourself!  Life has been your art.  You have set yourself to\nmusic.  Your days are your sonnets.\"\n\nDorian rose up from the piano and passed his hand through his hair.\n\"Yes, life has been exquisite,\" he murmured, \"but I am not going to\nhave the same life, Harry.  And you must not say these extravagant\nthings to me.  You don't know everything about me.  I think that if you\ndid, even you would turn from me.  You laugh.  Don't laugh.\"\n\n\"Why have you stopped playing, Dorian?  Go back and give me the\nnocturne over again.  Look at that great, honey-coloured moon that\nhangs in the dusky air.  She is waiting for you to charm her, and if\nyou play she will come closer to the earth.  You won't?  Let us go to\nthe club, then.  It has been a charming evening, and we must end it\ncharmingly.  There is some one at White's who wants immensely to know\nyou--young Lord Poole, Bournemouth's eldest son.  He has already copied\nyour neckties, and has begged me to introduce him to you.  He is quite\ndelightful and rather reminds me of you.\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" said Dorian with a sad look in his eyes.  \"But I am tired\nto-night, Harry.  I shan't go to the club.  It is nearly eleven, and I\nwant to go to bed early.\"\n\n\"Do stay.  You have never played so well as to-night. There was\nsomething in your touch that was wonderful.  It had more expression\nthan I had ever heard from it before.\"\n\n\"It is because I am going to be good,\" he answered, smiling.  \"I am a\nlittle changed already.\"\n\n\"You cannot change to me, Dorian,\" said Lord Henry.  \"You and I will\nalways be friends.\"\n\n\"Yet you poisoned me with a book once.  I should not forgive that.\nHarry, promise me that you will never lend that book to any one.  It\ndoes harm.\"\n\n\"My dear boy, you are really beginning to moralize.  You will soon be\ngoing about like the converted, and the revivalist, warning people\nagainst all the sins of which you have grown tired.  You are much too\ndelightful to do that.  Besides, it is no use.  You and I are what we\nare, and will be what we will be.  As for being poisoned by a book,\nthere is no such thing as that.  Art has no influence upon action.  It\nannihilates the desire to act.  It is superbly sterile.  The books that\nthe world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame.\nThat is all.  But we won't discuss literature.  Come round to-morrow. I\nam going to ride at eleven.  We might go together, and I will take you\nto lunch afterwards with Lady Branksome.  She is a charming woman, and\nwants to consult you about some tapestries she is thinking of buying.\nMind you come.  Or shall we lunch with our little duchess?  She says\nshe never sees you now.  Perhaps you are tired of Gladys?  I thought\nyou would be.  Her clever tongue gets on one's nerves.  Well, in any\ncase, be here at eleven.\"\n\n\"Must I really come, Harry?\"\n\n\"Certainly.  The park is quite lovely now.  I don't think there have\nbeen such lilacs since the year I met you.\"\n\n\"Very well.  I shall be here at eleven,\" said Dorian.  \"Good night,\nHarry.\"  As he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment, as if he\nhad something more to say.  Then he sighed and went out.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 20\n\nIt was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm and\ndid not even put his silk scarf round his throat.  As he strolled home,\nsmoking his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him.  He\nheard one of them whisper to the other, \"That is Dorian Gray.\" He\nremembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared\nat, or talked about.  He was tired of hearing his own name now.  Half\nthe charm of the little village where he had been so often lately was\nthat no one knew who he was.  He had often told the girl whom he had\nlured to love him that he was poor, and she had believed him.  He had\ntold her once that he was wicked, and she had laughed at him and\nanswered that wicked people were always very old and very ugly.  What a\nlaugh she had!--just like a thrush singing.  And how pretty she had\nbeen in her cotton dresses and her large hats!  She knew nothing, but\nshe had everything that he had lost.\n\nWhen he reached home, he found his servant waiting up for him.  He sent\nhim to bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in the library, and\nbegan to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had said to him.\n\nWas it really true that one could never change?  He felt a wild longing\nfor the unstained purity of his boyhood--his rose-white boyhood, as\nLord Henry had once called it.  He knew that he had tarnished himself,\nfilled his mind with corruption and given horror to his fancy; that he\nhad been an evil influence to others, and had experienced a terrible\njoy in being so; and that of the lives that had crossed his own, it had\nbeen the fairest and the most full of promise that he had brought to\nshame.  But was it all irretrievable?  Was there no hope for him?\n\nAh! in what a monstrous moment of pride and passion he had prayed that\nthe portrait should bear the burden of his days, and he keep the\nunsullied splendour of eternal youth!  All his failure had been due to\nthat.  Better for him that each sin of his life had brought its sure\nswift penalty along with it.  There was purification in punishment.\nNot \"Forgive us our sins\" but \"Smite us for our iniquities\" should be\nthe prayer of man to a most just God.\n\nThe curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had given to him, so many\nyears ago now, was standing on the table, and the white-limbed Cupids\nlaughed round it as of old.  He took it up, as he had done on that\nnight of horror when he had first noted the change in the fatal\npicture, and with wild, tear-dimmed eyes looked into its polished\nshield.  Once, some one who had terribly loved him had written to him a\nmad letter, ending with these idolatrous words: \"The world is changed\nbecause you are made of ivory and gold.  The curves of your lips\nrewrite history.\"  The phrases came back to his memory, and he repeated\nthem over and over to himself.  Then he loathed his own beauty, and\nflinging the mirror on the floor, crushed it into silver splinters\nbeneath his heel.  It was his beauty that had ruined him, his beauty\nand the youth that he had prayed for.  But for those two things, his\nlife might have been free from stain.  His beauty had been to him but a\nmask, his youth but a mockery.  What was youth at best?  A green, an\nunripe time, a time of shallow moods, and sickly thoughts.  Why had he\nworn its livery?  Youth had spoiled him.\n\nIt was better not to think of the past.  Nothing could alter that.  It\nwas of himself, and of his own future, that he had to think.  James\nVane was hidden in a nameless grave in Selby churchyard.  Alan Campbell\nhad shot himself one night in his laboratory, but had not revealed the\nsecret that he had been forced to know.  The excitement, such as it\nwas, over Basil Hallward's disappearance would soon pass away.  It was\nalready waning.  He was perfectly safe there.  Nor, indeed, was it the\ndeath of Basil Hallward that weighed most upon his mind.  It was the\nliving death of his own soul that troubled him.  Basil had painted the\nportrait that had marred his life.  He could not forgive him that.  It\nwas the portrait that had done everything.  Basil had said things to\nhim that were unbearable, and that he had yet borne with patience.  The\nmurder had been simply the madness of a moment.  As for Alan Campbell,\nhis suicide had been his own act.  He had chosen to do it.  It was\nnothing to him.\n\nA new life!  That was what he wanted.  That was what he was waiting\nfor.  Surely he had begun it already.  He had spared one innocent\nthing, at any rate.  He would never again tempt innocence.  He would be\ngood.\n\nAs he thought of Hetty Merton, he began to wonder if the portrait in\nthe locked room had changed.  Surely it was not still so horrible as it\nhad been?  Perhaps if his life became pure, he would be able to expel\nevery sign of evil passion from the face.  Perhaps the signs of evil\nhad already gone away.  He would go and look.\n\nHe took the lamp from the table and crept upstairs.  As he unbarred the\ndoor, a smile of joy flitted across his strangely young-looking face\nand lingered for a moment about his lips.  Yes, he would be good, and\nthe hideous thing that he had hidden away would no longer be a terror\nto him.  He felt as if the load had been lifted from him already.\n\nHe went in quietly, locking the door behind him, as was his custom, and\ndragged the purple hanging from the portrait.  A cry of pain and\nindignation broke from him.  He could see no change, save that in the\neyes there was a look of cunning and in the mouth the curved wrinkle of\nthe hypocrite.  The thing was still loathsome--more loathsome, if\npossible, than before--and the scarlet dew that spotted the hand seemed\nbrighter, and more like blood newly spilled.  Then he trembled.  Had it\nbeen merely vanity that had made him do his one good deed?  Or the\ndesire for a new sensation, as Lord Henry had hinted, with his mocking\nlaugh?  Or that passion to act a part that sometimes makes us do things\nfiner than we are ourselves?  Or, perhaps, all these?  And why was the\nred stain larger than it had been?  It seemed to have crept like a\nhorrible disease over the wrinkled fingers.  There was blood on the\npainted feet, as though the thing had dripped--blood even on the hand\nthat had not held the knife.  Confess?  Did it mean that he was to\nconfess?  To give himself up and be put to death?  He laughed.  He felt\nthat the idea was monstrous.  Besides, even if he did confess, who\nwould believe him?  There was no trace of the murdered man anywhere.\nEverything belonging to him had been destroyed.  He himself had burned\nwhat had been below-stairs. The world would simply say that he was mad.\nThey would shut him up if he persisted in his story.... Yet it was\nhis duty to confess, to suffer public shame, and to make public\natonement.  There was a God who called upon men to tell their sins to\nearth as well as to heaven.  Nothing that he could do would cleanse him\ntill he had told his own sin.  His sin?  He shrugged his shoulders.\nThe death of Basil Hallward seemed very little to him.  He was thinking\nof Hetty Merton.  For it was an unjust mirror, this mirror of his soul\nthat he was looking at.  Vanity?  Curiosity?  Hypocrisy?  Had there\nbeen nothing more in his renunciation than that?  There had been\nsomething more.  At least he thought so.  But who could tell? ... No.\nThere had been nothing more.  Through vanity he had spared her.  In\nhypocrisy he had worn the mask of goodness.  For curiosity's sake he\nhad tried the denial of self.  He recognized that now.\n\nBut this murder--was it to dog him all his life?  Was he always to be\nburdened by his past?  Was he really to confess?  Never.  There was\nonly one bit of evidence left against him.  The picture itself--that\nwas evidence.  He would destroy it.  Why had he kept it so long?  Once\nit had given him pleasure to watch it changing and growing old.  Of\nlate he had felt no such pleasure.  It had kept him awake at night.\nWhen he had been away, he had been filled with terror lest other eyes\nshould look upon it.  It had brought melancholy across his passions.\nIts mere memory had marred many moments of joy.  It had been like\nconscience to him.  Yes, it had been conscience.  He would destroy it.\n\nHe looked round and saw the knife that had stabbed Basil Hallward.  He\nhad cleaned it many times, till there was no stain left upon it.  It\nwas bright, and glistened.  As it had killed the painter, so it would\nkill the painter's work, and all that that meant.  It would kill the\npast, and when that was dead, he would be free.  It would kill this\nmonstrous soul-life, and without its hideous warnings, he would be at\npeace.  He seized the thing, and stabbed the picture with it.\n\nThere was a cry heard, and a crash.  The cry was so horrible in its\nagony that the frightened servants woke and crept out of their rooms.\nTwo gentlemen, who were passing in the square below, stopped and looked\nup at the great house.  They walked on till they met a policeman and\nbrought him back.  The man rang the bell several times, but there was\nno answer.  Except for a light in one of the top windows, the house was\nall dark.  After a time, he went away and stood in an adjoining portico\nand watched.\n\n\"Whose house is that, Constable?\" asked the elder of the two gentlemen.\n\n\"Mr. Dorian Gray's, sir,\" answered the policeman.\n\nThey looked at each other, as they walked away, and sneered.  One of\nthem was Sir Henry Ashton's uncle.\n\nInside, in the servants' part of the house, the half-clad domestics\nwere talking in low whispers to each other.  Old Mrs. Leaf was crying\nand wringing her hands.  Francis was as pale as death.\n\nAfter about a quarter of an hour, he got the coachman and one of the\nfootmen and crept upstairs.  They knocked, but there was no reply.\nThey called out.  Everything was still.  Finally, after vainly trying\nto force the door, they got on the roof and dropped down on to the\nbalcony.  The windows yielded easily--their bolts were old.\n\nWhen they entered, they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait\nof their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his\nexquisite youth and beauty.  Lying on the floor was a dead man, in\nevening dress, with a knife in his heart.  He was withered, wrinkled,\nand loathsome of visage.  It was not till they had examined the rings\nthat they recognized who it was.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde\n\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY ***\n\n***** This file should be named 174.txt or 174.zip *****\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\n        http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/174/\n\nProduced by Judith Boss.  HTML version by Al Haines.\n\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\nwill be renamed.\n\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  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  },
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    "path": "src/main/pg-frankenstein.txt",
    "content": "Project Gutenberg's Frankenstein, by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley\n\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net\n\n\nTitle: Frankenstein\n       or The Modern Prometheus\n\nAuthor: Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley\n\nRelease Date: June 17, 2008 [EBook #84]\n\nLanguage: English\n\n\n*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANKENSTEIN ***\n\n\n\n\nProduced by Judith Boss, Christy Phillips, Lynn Hanninen,\nand David Meltzer. HTML version by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFrankenstein,\n\nor the Modern Prometheus\n\n\nby\n\nMary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley\n\n\n\n\nLetter 1\n\n\nSt. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17--\n\nTO Mrs. Saville, England\n\nYou will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the\ncommencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil\nforebodings.  I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure\nmy dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success\nof my undertaking.\n\nI am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of\nPetersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which\nbraces my nerves and fills me with delight.  Do you understand this\nfeeling?  This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards\nwhich I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes.\nInspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent\nand vivid.  I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of\nfrost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the\nregion of beauty and delight.  There, Margaret, the sun is forever\nvisible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a\nperpetual splendour.  There--for with your leave, my sister, I will put\nsome trust in preceding navigators--there snow and frost are banished;\nand, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in\nwonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable\nglobe.  Its productions and features may be without example, as the\nphenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered\nsolitudes.  What may not be expected in a country of eternal light?  I\nmay there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle and may\nregulate a thousand celestial observations that require only this\nvoyage to render their seeming eccentricities consistent forever.  I\nshall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world\nnever before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by\nthe foot of man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient to\nconquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence this\nlaborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little\nboat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery up his\nnative river. But supposing all these conjectures to be false, you\ncannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all\nmankind, to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the pole\nto those countries, to reach which at present so many months are\nrequisite; or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at\nall possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine.\n\nThese reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my\nletter, and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me\nto heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquillize the mind as\na steady purpose--a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual\neye.  This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early years. I\nhave read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages which have\nbeen made in the prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean\nthrough the seas which surround the pole.  You may remember that a\nhistory of all the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the\nwhole of our good Uncle Thomas' library.  My education was neglected,\nyet I was passionately fond of reading.  These volumes were my study\nday and night, and my familiarity with them increased that regret which\nI had felt, as a child, on learning that my father's dying injunction\nhad forbidden my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life.\n\nThese visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets\nwhose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven.  I also\nbecame a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation;\nI imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the\nnames of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated.  You are well\nacquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment.\nBut just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my\nthoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.\n\nSix years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking.  I\ncan, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this\ngreat enterprise.  I commenced by inuring my body to hardship.  I\naccompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea;\nI voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep; I often\nworked harder than the common sailors during the day and devoted my\nnights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and those\nbranches of physical science from which a naval adventurer might derive\nthe greatest practical advantage.  Twice I actually hired myself as an\nunder-mate in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I\nmust own I felt a little proud when my captain offered me the second\ndignity in the vessel and entreated me to remain with the greatest\nearnestness, so valuable did he consider my services.  And now, dear\nMargaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose?  My life\nmight have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to\nevery enticement that wealth placed in my path.  Oh, that some\nencouraging voice would answer in the affirmative!  My courage and my\nresolution is firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often\ndepressed.  I am about to proceed on a long and difficult voyage, the\nemergencies of which will demand all my fortitude:  I am required not\nonly to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own,\nwhen theirs are failing.\n\nThis is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia.  They fly\nquickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in\nmy opinion, far more agreeable than that of an English stagecoach.  The\ncold is not excessive, if you are wrapped in furs--a dress which I have\nalready adopted, for there is a great difference between walking the\ndeck and remaining seated motionless for hours, when no exercise\nprevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins.  I have no\nambition to lose my life on the post-road between St. Petersburgh and\nArchangel. I shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three\nweeks; and my intention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be\ndone by paying the insurance for the owner, and to engage as many\nsailors as I think necessary among those who are accustomed to the\nwhale-fishing.  I do not intend to sail until the month of June; and\nwhen shall I return?  Ah, dear sister, how can I answer this question?\nIf I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years, will pass before you\nand I may meet.  If I fail, you will see me again soon, or never.\nFarewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down blessings on\nyou, and save me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude for\nall your love and kindness.\n\nYour affectionate brother,\n  R. Walton\n\n\n\nLetter 2\n\n\nArchangel, 28th March, 17--\n\nTo Mrs. Saville, England\n\nHow slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow!\nYet a second step is taken towards my enterprise.  I have hired a\nvessel and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have\nalready engaged appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainly\npossessed of dauntless courage.\n\nBut I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy, and\nthe absence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil, I\nhave no friend, Margaret:  when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of\nsuccess, there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by\ndisappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I\nshall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but that is a poor\nmedium for the communication of feeling.  I desire the company of a man\nwho could sympathize with me, whose eyes would reply to mine. You may\ndeem me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel the want of a\nfriend.  I have no one near me, gentle yet courageous, possessed of a\ncultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose tastes are like my\nown, to approve or amend my plans.  How would such a friend repair the\nfaults of your poor brother!  I am too ardent in execution and too\nimpatient of difficulties.  But it is a still greater evil to me that I\nam self-educated:  for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wild\non a common and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas' books of voyages. At\nthat age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own\ncountry; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to derive\nits most important benefits from such a conviction that I perceived the\nnecessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my\nnative country.  Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more\nilliterate than many schoolboys of fifteen.  It is true that I have\nthought more and that my daydreams are more extended and magnificent,\nbut they want (as the painters call it) KEEPING; and I greatly need a\nfriend who would have sense enough not to despise me as romantic, and\naffection enough for me to endeavour to regulate my mind.  Well, these\nare useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on the wide\nocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen.  Yet\nsome feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in\nthese rugged bosoms.  My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of\nwonderful courage and enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory, or\nrather, to word my phrase more characteristically, of advancement in\nhis profession.  He is an Englishman, and in the midst of national and\nprofessional prejudices, unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the\nnoblest endowments of humanity.  I first became acquainted with him on\nboard a whale vessel; finding that he was unemployed in this city, I\neasily engaged him to assist in my enterprise.  The master is a person\nof an excellent disposition and is remarkable in the ship for his\ngentleness and the mildness of his discipline.  This circumstance,\nadded to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, made me very\ndesirous to engage him.  A youth passed in solitude, my best years\nspent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the\ngroundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste\nto the usual brutality exercised on board ship:  I have never believed\nit to be necessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his\nkindliness of heart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his\ncrew, I felt myself peculiarly fortunate in being able to secure his\nservices.  I heard of him first in rather a romantic manner, from a\nlady who owes to him the happiness of her life.  This, briefly, is his\nstory.  Some years ago he loved a young Russian lady of moderate\nfortune, and having amassed a considerable sum in prize-money, the\nfather of the girl consented to the match.  He saw his mistress once\nbefore the destined ceremony; but she was bathed in tears, and throwing\nherself at his feet, entreated him to spare her, confessing at the same\ntime that she loved another, but that he was poor, and that her father\nwould never consent to the union.  My generous friend reassured the\nsuppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover, instantly\nabandoned his pursuit.  He had already bought a farm with his money, on\nwhich he had designed to pass the remainder of his life; but he\nbestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains of his\nprize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited the young\nwoman's father to consent to her marriage with her lover.  But the old\nman decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my friend,\nwho, when he found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor\nreturned until he heard that his former mistress was married according\nto her inclinations.  \"What a noble fellow!\" you will exclaim.  He is\nso; but then he is wholly uneducated:  he is as silent as a Turk, and a\nkind of ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his\nconduct the more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy\nwhich otherwise he would command.\n\nYet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can\nconceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am\nwavering in my resolutions.  Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage\nis only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation.  The\nwinter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well, and it\nis considered as a remarkably early season, so that perhaps I may sail\nsooner than I expected.  I shall do nothing rashly:  you know me\nsufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the\nsafety of others is committed to my care.\n\nI cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my\nundertaking.  It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of\nthe trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which\nI am preparing to depart.  I am going to unexplored regions, to \"the\nland of mist and snow,\" but I shall kill no albatross; therefore do not\nbe alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as worn and\nwoeful as the \"Ancient Mariner.\"  You will smile at my allusion, but I\nwill disclose a secret.  I have often attributed my attachment to, my\npassionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that\nproduction of the most imaginative of modern poets.  There is something\nat work in my soul which I do not understand.  I am practically\nindustrious--painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and\nlabour--but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief\nin the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out\nof the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited\nregions I am about to explore. But to return to dearer considerations.\nShall I meet you again, after having traversed immense seas, and\nreturned by the most southern cape of Africa or America?  I dare not\nexpect such success, yet I cannot bear to look on the reverse of the\npicture.  Continue for the present to write to me by every opportunity:\nI may receive your letters on some occasions when I need them most to\nsupport my spirits.  I love you very tenderly.  Remember me with\naffection, should you never hear from me again.\n\nYour affectionate brother,\n  Robert Walton\n\n\n\nLetter 3\n\n\n\nJuly 7th, 17--\n\nTo Mrs. Saville, England\n\nMy dear Sister,\n\nI write a few lines in haste to say that I am safe--and well advanced\non my voyage.  This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on\nits homeward voyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not\nsee my native land, perhaps, for many years.  I am, however, in good\nspirits:  my men are bold and apparently firm of purpose, nor do the\nfloating sheets of ice that continually pass us, indicating the dangers\nof the region towards which we are advancing, appear to dismay them. We\nhave already reached a very high latitude; but it is the height of\nsummer, and although not so warm as in England, the southern gales,\nwhich blow us speedily towards those shores which I so ardently desire\nto attain, breathe a degree of renovating warmth which I had not\nexpected.\n\nNo incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in a\nletter.  One or two stiff gales and the springing of a leak are\naccidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record, and\nI shall be well content if nothing worse happen to us during our voyage.\n\nAdieu, my dear Margaret.  Be assured that for my own sake, as well as\nyours, I will not rashly encounter danger.  I will be cool,\npersevering, and prudent.\n\nBut success SHALL crown my endeavours.  Wherefore not?  Thus far I have\ngone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars\nthemselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph.  Why not\nstill proceed over the untamed yet obedient element?  What can stop the\ndetermined heart and resolved will of man?\n\nMy swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus.  But I must\nfinish.  Heaven bless my beloved sister!\n\nR.W.\n\n\n\nLetter 4\n\n\n\nAugust 5th, 17--\n\nTo Mrs. Saville, England\n\nSo strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear\nrecording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before\nthese papers can come into your possession.\n\nLast Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed\nin the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room in which\nshe floated.  Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we\nwere compassed round by a very thick fog.  We accordingly lay to,\nhoping that some change would take place in the atmosphere and weather.\n\nAbout two o'clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out\nin every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to\nhave no end.  Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to\ngrow watchful with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly\nattracted our attention and diverted our solicitude from our own\nsituation.  We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by\ndogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile; a\nbeing which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature,\nsat in the sledge and guided the dogs.  We watched the rapid progress\nof the traveller with our telescopes until he was lost among the\ndistant inequalities of the ice.  This appearance excited our\nunqualified wonder.  We were, as we believed, many hundred miles from\nany land; but this apparition seemed to denote that it was not, in\nreality, so distant as we had supposed.  Shut in, however, by ice, it\nwas impossible to follow his track, which we had observed with the\ngreatest attention.  About two hours after this occurrence we heard the\nground sea, and before night the ice broke and freed our ship.  We,\nhowever, lay to until the morning, fearing to encounter in the dark\nthose large loose masses which float about after the breaking up of the\nice.  I profited of this time to rest for a few hours.\n\nIn the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck and\nfound all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently\ntalking to someone in the sea.  It was, in fact, a sledge, like that we\nhad seen before, which had drifted towards us in the night on a large\nfragment of ice.  Only one dog remained alive; but there was a human\nbeing within it whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel.\nHe was not, as the other traveller seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of\nsome undiscovered island, but a European.  When I appeared on deck the\nmaster said, \"Here is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish\non the open sea.\"\n\nOn perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a\nforeign accent.  \"Before I come on board your vessel,\" said he, \"will\nyou have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?\"\n\nYou may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed\nto me from a man on the brink of destruction and to whom I should have\nsupposed that my vessel would have been a resource which he would not\nhave exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can afford.  I\nreplied, however, that we were on a voyage of discovery towards the\nnorthern pole.\n\nUpon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on board.\nGood God!  Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for\nhis safety, your surprise would have been boundless.  His limbs were\nnearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and\nsuffering.  I never saw a man in so wretched a condition.  We attempted\nto carry him into the cabin, but as soon as he had quitted the fresh\nair he fainted.  We accordingly brought him back to the deck and\nrestored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy and forcing him to\nswallow a small quantity.  As soon as he showed signs of life we\nwrapped him up in blankets and placed him near the chimney of the\nkitchen stove.  By slow degrees he recovered and ate a little soup,\nwhich restored him wonderfully.\n\nTwo days passed in this manner before he was able to speak, and I often\nfeared that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding.  When he\nhad in some measure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin and\nattended on him as much as my duty would permit.  I never saw a more\ninteresting creature:  his eyes have generally an expression of\nwildness, and even madness, but there are moments when, if anyone\nperforms an act of kindness towards him or does him any the most\ntrifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with\na beam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled.  But he\nis generally melancholy and despairing, and sometimes he gnashes his\nteeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes that oppresses him.\n\nWhen my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep off\nthe men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I would not\nallow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body\nand mind whose restoration evidently depended upon entire repose.\nOnce, however, the lieutenant asked why he had come so far upon the ice\nin so strange a vehicle.\n\nHis countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom, and\nhe replied, \"To seek one who fled from me.\"\n\n\"And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up we\nsaw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.\"\n\nThis aroused the stranger's attention, and he asked a multitude of\nquestions concerning the route which the demon, as he called him, had\npursued.  Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said, \"I have,\ndoubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of these good\npeople; but you are too considerate to make inquiries.\"\n\n\"Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to\ntrouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine.\"\n\n\"And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you have\nbenevolently restored me to life.\"\n\nSoon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of the\nice had destroyed the other sledge.  I replied that I could not answer\nwith any degree of certainty, for the ice had not broken until near\nmidnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place of safety\nbefore that time; but of this I could not judge.  From this time a new\nspirit of life animated the decaying frame of the stranger.  He\nmanifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck to watch for the\nsledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in\nthe cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness of the\natmosphere.  I have promised that someone should watch for him and give\nhim instant notice if any new object should appear in sight.\n\nSuch is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the\npresent day.  The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very\nsilent and appears uneasy when anyone except myself enters his cabin.\nYet his manners are so conciliating and gentle that the sailors are all\ninterested in him, although they have had very little communication\nwith him.  For my own part, I begin to love him as a brother, and his\nconstant and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion.  He must\nhave been a noble creature in his better days, being even now in wreck\nso attractive and amiable.  I said in one of my letters, my dear\nMargaret, that I should find no friend on the wide ocean; yet I have\nfound a man who, before his spirit had been broken by misery, I should\nhave been happy to have possessed as the brother of my heart.\n\nI shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals,\nshould I have any fresh incidents to record.\n\n\nAugust 13th, 17--\n\nMy affection for my guest increases every day.  He excites at once my\nadmiration and my pity to an astonishing degree.  How can I see so\nnoble a creature destroyed by misery without feeling the most poignant\ngrief?  He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and\nwhen he speaks, although his words are culled with the choicest art,\nyet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.  He is now much\nrecovered from his illness and is continually on the deck, apparently\nwatching for the sledge that preceded his own.  Yet, although unhappy,\nhe is not so utterly occupied by his own misery but that he interests\nhimself deeply in the projects of others.  He has frequently conversed\nwith me on mine, which I have communicated to him without disguise.  He\nentered attentively into all my arguments in favour of my eventual\nsuccess and into every minute detail of the measures I had taken to\nsecure it.  I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced to use\nthe language of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my\nsoul and to say, with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I\nwould sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the\nfurtherance of my enterprise.  One man's life or death were but a small\nprice to pay for the acquirement of the knowledge which I sought, for\nthe dominion I should acquire and transmit over the elemental foes of\nour race.  As I spoke, a dark gloom spread over my listener's\ncountenance.  At first I perceived that he tried to suppress his\nemotion; he placed his hands before his eyes, and my voice quivered and\nfailed me as I beheld tears trickle fast from between his fingers; a\ngroan burst from his heaving breast.  I paused; at length he spoke, in\nbroken accents:  \"Unhappy man!  Do you share my madness?  Have you\ndrunk also of the intoxicating draught?  Hear me; let me reveal my\ntale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!\"\n\nSuch words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the\nparoxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened\npowers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation were\nnecessary to restore his composure.  Having conquered the violence of\nhis feelings, he appeared to despise himself for being the slave of\npassion; and quelling the dark tyranny of despair, he led me again to\nconverse concerning myself personally.  He asked me the history of my\nearlier years.  The tale was quickly told, but it awakened various\ntrains of reflection.  I spoke of my desire of finding a friend, of my\nthirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than had ever\nfallen to my lot, and expressed my conviction that a man could boast of\nlittle happiness who did not enjoy this blessing.  \"I agree with you,\"\nreplied the stranger; \"we are unfashioned creatures, but half made up,\nif one wiser, better, dearer than ourselves--such a friend ought to\nbe--do not lend his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I\nonce had a friend, the most noble of human creatures, and am entitled,\ntherefore, to judge respecting friendship.  You have hope, and the\nworld before you, and have no cause for despair.  But I--I have lost\neverything and cannot begin life anew.\"\n\nAs he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm, settled\ngrief that touched me to the heart.  But he was silent and presently\nretired to his cabin.\n\nEven broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he\ndoes the beauties of nature.  The starry sky, the sea, and every sight\nafforded by these wonderful regions seem still to have the power of\nelevating his soul from earth.  Such a man has a double existence:  he\nmay suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments, yet when he\nhas retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has a\nhalo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.\n\nWill you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine\nwanderer?  You would not if you saw him.  You have been tutored and\nrefined by books and retirement from the world, and you are therefore\nsomewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit to\nappreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man.  Sometimes I\nhave endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he possesses that\nelevates him so immeasurably above any other person I ever knew.  I\nbelieve it to be an intuitive discernment, a quick but never-failing\npower of judgment, a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled\nfor clearness and precision; add to this a facility of expression and a\nvoice whose varied intonations are soul-subduing music.\n\n\nAugust 19, 17--\n\nYesterday the stranger said to me, \"You may easily perceive, Captain\nWalton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes.  I had\ndetermined at one time that the memory of these evils should die with\nme, but you have won me to alter my determination.  You seek for\nknowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the\ngratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine\nhas been.  I do not know that the relation of my disasters will be\nuseful to you; yet, when I reflect that you are pursuing the same\ncourse, exposing yourself to the same dangers which have rendered me\nwhat I am, I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one\nthat may direct you if you succeed in your undertaking and console you\nin case of failure.  Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually\ndeemed marvellous.  Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might\nfear to encounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things\nwill appear possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would\nprovoke the laughter of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers\nof nature; nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series\ninternal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is composed.\"\n\nYou may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered\ncommunication, yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by\na recital of his misfortunes.  I felt the greatest eagerness to hear\nthe promised narrative, partly from curiosity and partly from a strong\ndesire to ameliorate his fate if it were in my power.  I expressed\nthese feelings in my answer.\n\n\"I thank you,\" he replied, \"for your sympathy, but it is useless; my\nfate is nearly fulfilled.  I wait but for one event, and then I shall\nrepose in peace.  I understand your feeling,\" continued he, perceiving\nthat I wished to interrupt him; \"but you are mistaken, my friend, if\nthus you will allow me to name you; nothing can alter my destiny;\nlisten to my history, and you will perceive how irrevocably it is\ndetermined.\"\n\nHe then told me that he would commence his narrative the next day when\nI should be at leisure.  This promise drew from me the warmest thanks.\nI have resolved every night, when I am not imperatively occupied by my\nduties, to record, as nearly as possible in his own words, what he has\nrelated during the day.  If I should be engaged, I will at least make\nnotes.  This manuscript will doubtless afford you the greatest\npleasure; but to me, who know him, and who hear it from his own\nlips--with what interest and sympathy shall I read it in some future\nday!  Even now, as I commence my task, his full-toned voice swells in\nmy ears; his lustrous eyes dwell on me with all their melancholy\nsweetness; I see his thin hand raised in animation, while the\nlineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul within.\n\nStrange and harrowing must be his story, frightful the storm which\nembraced the gallant vessel on its course and wrecked it--thus!\n\n\n\nChapter 1\n\nI am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most\ndistinguished of that republic.  My ancestors had been for many years\ncounsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public\nsituations with honour and reputation.  He was respected by all who\nknew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public\nbusiness.  He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the\naffairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his\nmarrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a\nhusband and the father of a family.\n\nAs the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot\nrefrain from relating them.  One of his most intimate friends was a\nmerchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous\nmischances, into poverty.  This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a\nproud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty\nand oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been\ndistinguished for his rank and magnificence.  Having paid his debts,\ntherefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his\ndaughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in\nwretchedness.  My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and\nwas deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances.\nHe bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct\nso little worthy of the affection that united them.  He lost no time in\nendeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin\nthe world again through his credit and assistance.\n\nBeaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten\nmonths before my father discovered his abode.  Overjoyed at this\ndiscovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street\nnear the Reuss.  But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed\nhim.  Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of\nhis fortunes, but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for\nsome months, and in the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable\nemployment in a merchant's house.  The interval was, consequently, spent\nin inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had\nleisure for reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind\nthat at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable\nof any exertion.\n\nHis daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw\nwith despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that\nthere was no other prospect of support.  But Caroline Beaufort\npossessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support\nher in her adversity.  She procured plain work; she plaited straw and\nby various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to\nsupport life.\n\nSeveral months passed in this manner.  Her father grew worse; her time\nwas more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence\ndecreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving\nher an orphan and a beggar.  This last blow overcame her, and she knelt\nby Beaufort's coffin weeping bitterly, when my father entered the\nchamber.  He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who\ncommitted herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he\nconducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of a\nrelation.  Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.\n\nThere was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but\nthis circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted\naffection.  There was a sense of justice in my father's upright mind\nwhich rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love\nstrongly.  Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the\nlate-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set\na greater value on tried worth.  There was a show of gratitude and\nworship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the\ndoting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her\nvirtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing\nher for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace\nto his behaviour to her.  Everything was made to yield to her wishes\nand her convenience.  He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is\nsheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her\nwith all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and\nbenevolent mind.  Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto\nconstant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through.  During\nthe two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had\ngradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after\ntheir union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change\nof scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders,\nas a restorative for her weakened frame.\n\nFrom Italy they visited Germany and France.  I, their eldest child, was\nborn at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles.  I\nremained for several years their only child.  Much as they were\nattached to each other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of\naffection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me.  My mother's\ntender caresses and my father's smile of benevolent pleasure while\nregarding me are my first recollections.  I was their plaything and\ntheir idol, and something better--their child, the innocent and\nhelpless creature bestowed on them by heaven, whom to bring up to good,\nand whose future lot it was in their hands to direct to happiness or\nmisery, according as they fulfilled their duties towards me.  With this\ndeep consciousness of what they owed towards the being to which they\nhad given life, added to the active spirit of tenderness that animated\nboth, it may be imagined that while during every hour of my infant life\nI received a lesson of patience, of charity, and of self-control, I was\nso guided by a silken cord that all seemed but one train of enjoyment\nto me. For a long time I was their only care.  My mother had much\ndesired to have a daughter, but I continued their single offspring.\nWhen I was about five years old, while making an excursion beyond the\nfrontiers of Italy, they passed a week on the shores of the Lake of\nComo.  Their benevolent disposition often made them enter the cottages\nof the poor.  This, to my mother, was more than a duty; it was a\nnecessity, a passion--remembering what she had suffered, and how she\nhad been relieved--for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the\nafflicted.  During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a\nvale attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the\nnumber of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in\nits worst shape.  One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan,\nmy mother, accompanied by me, visited this abode.  She found a peasant\nand his wife, hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing\na scanty meal to five hungry babes.  Among these there was one which\nattracted my mother far above all the rest.  She appeared of a\ndifferent stock.  The four others were dark-eyed, hardy little\nvagrants; this child was thin and very fair.  Her hair was the\nbrightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed\nto set a crown of distinction on her head.  Her brow was clear and\nample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of her\nface so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold\nher without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being\nheaven-sent, and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features. The\npeasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and\nadmiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history.  She\nwas not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman.  Her mother\nwas a German and had died on giving her birth.  The infant had been\nplaced with these good people to nurse:  they were better off then.\nThey had not been long married, and their eldest child was but just\nborn.  The father of their charge was one of those Italians nursed in\nthe memory of the antique glory of Italy--one among the schiavi ognor\nfrementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty of his country.  He\nbecame the victim of its weakness.  Whether he had died or still\nlingered in the dungeons of Austria was not known.  His property was\nconfiscated; his child became an orphan and a beggar.  She continued\nwith her foster parents and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a\ngarden rose among dark-leaved brambles.  When my father returned from\nMilan, he found playing with me in the hall of our villa a child fairer\nthan pictured cherub--a creature who seemed to shed radiance from her\nlooks and whose form and motions were lighter than the chamois of the\nhills.  The apparition was soon explained.  With his permission my\nmother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their charge to her.\nThey were fond of the sweet orphan.  Her presence had seemed a blessing\nto them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want\nwhen Providence afforded her such powerful protection.  They consulted\ntheir village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza became\nthe inmate of my parents' house--my more than sister--the beautiful and\nadored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.\n\nEveryone loved Elizabeth.  The passionate and almost reverential\nattachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my\npride and my delight.  On the evening previous to her being brought to\nmy home, my mother had said playfully, \"I have a pretty present for my\nVictor--tomorrow he shall have it.\"  And when, on the morrow, she\npresented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish\nseriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth\nas mine--mine to protect, love, and cherish.  All praises bestowed on\nher I received as made to a possession of my own.  We called each other\nfamiliarly by the name of cousin.  No word, no expression could body\nforth the kind of relation in which she stood to me--my more than\nsister, since till death she was to be mine only.\n\n\n\nChapter 2\n\nWe were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in\nour ages.  I need not say that we were strangers to any species of\ndisunion or dispute.  Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and\nthe diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us\nnearer together.  Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated\ndisposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense\napplication and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge.\nShe busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets;\nand in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss home\n--the sublime shapes of the mountains, the changes of the seasons,\ntempest and calm, the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of\nour Alpine summers--she found ample scope for admiration and delight.\nWhile my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the\nmagnificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their\ncauses.  The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine.\nCuriosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature,\ngladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me, are among the\nearliest sensations I can remember.\n\nOn the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave\nup entirely their wandering life and fixed themselves in their native\ncountry.  We possessed a house in Geneva, and a campagne on Belrive,\nthe eastern shore of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a\nleague from the city.  We resided principally in the latter, and the\nlives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion.  It was my\ntemper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently to a few.  I was\nindifferent, therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united\nmyself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them.  Henry\nClerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva.  He was a boy of singular\ntalent and fancy.  He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger for\nits own sake.  He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance.  He\ncomposed heroic songs and began to write many a tale of enchantment and\nknightly adventure.  He tried to make us act plays and to enter into\nmasquerades, in which the characters were drawn from the heroes of\nRoncesvalles, of the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous\ntrain who shed their blood to redeem the holy sepulchre from the hands\nof the infidels.\n\nNo human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself.  My\nparents were possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence.\nWe felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot according to\ntheir caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights\nwhich we enjoyed.  When I mingled with other families I distinctly\ndiscerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted\nthe development of filial love.\n\nMy temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some\nlaw in my temperature they were turned not towards childish pursuits\nbut to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things\nindiscriminately.  I confess that neither the structure of languages,\nnor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states\npossessed attractions for me.  It was the secrets of heaven and earth\nthat I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of\nthings or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man\nthat occupied me, still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical,\nor in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world.\n\nMeanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral\nrelations of things.  The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes,\nand the actions of men were his theme; and his hope and his dream was\nto become one among those whose names are recorded in story as the\ngallant and adventurous benefactors of our species.  The saintly soul\nof Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home.\nHer sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of\nher celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us.  She was\nthe living spirit of love to soften and attract; I might have become\nsullen in my study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that\nshe was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness.  And\nClerval--could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval?  Yet\nhe might not have been so perfectly humane, so thoughtful in his\ngenerosity, so full of kindness and tenderness amidst his passion for\nadventurous exploit, had she not unfolded to him the real loveliness of\nbeneficence and made the doing good the end and aim of his soaring\nambition.\n\nI feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of\nchildhood, before misfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright\nvisions of extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon\nself.  Besides, in drawing the picture of my early days, I also record\nthose events which led, by insensible steps, to my after tale of\nmisery, for when I would account to myself for the birth of that\npassion which afterwards ruled my destiny I find it arise, like a\nmountain river, from ignoble and almost forgotten sources; but,\nswelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent which, in its course,\nhas swept away all my hopes and joys.  Natural philosophy is the genius\nthat has regulated my fate; I desire, therefore, in this narration, to\nstate those facts which led to my predilection for that science.  When\nI was thirteen years of age we all went on a party of pleasure to the\nbaths near Thonon; the inclemency of the weather obliged us to remain a\nday confined to the inn.  In this house I chanced to find a volume of\nthe works of Cornelius Agrippa.  I opened it with apathy; the theory\nwhich he attempts to demonstrate and the wonderful facts which he\nrelates soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm.  A new light seemed\nto dawn upon my mind, and bounding with joy, I communicated my\ndiscovery to my father.  My father looked carelessly at the title page\nof my book and said, \"Ah!  Cornelius Agrippa!  My dear Victor, do not\nwaste your time upon this; it is sad trash.\"\n\nIf, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to\nme that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded and that a\nmodern system of science had been introduced which possessed much\ngreater powers than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were\nchimerical, while those of the former were real and practical, under\nsuch circumstances I should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside and\nhave contented my imagination, warmed as it was, by returning with\ngreater ardour to my former studies.  It is even possible that the\ntrain of my ideas would never have received the fatal impulse that led\nto my ruin.  But the cursory glance my father had taken of my volume by\nno means assured me that he was acquainted with its contents, and I\ncontinued to read with the greatest avidity.  When I returned home my\nfirst care was to procure the whole works of this author, and\nafterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus.  I read and studied the\nwild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me\ntreasures known to few besides myself.  I have described myself as\nalways having been imbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the\nsecrets of nature.  In spite of the intense labour and wonderful\ndiscoveries of modern philosophers, I always came from my studies\ndiscontented and unsatisfied.  Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed\nthat he felt like a child picking up shells beside the great and\nunexplored ocean of truth.  Those of his successors in each branch of\nnatural philosophy with whom I was acquainted appeared even to my boy's\napprehensions as tyros engaged in the same pursuit.\n\nThe untaught peasant beheld the elements around him and was acquainted\nwith their practical uses.  The most learned philosopher knew little\nmore.  He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal\nlineaments were still a wonder and a mystery.  He might dissect,\nanatomize, and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes\nin their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him.  I\nhad gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep\nhuman beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and\nignorantly I had repined.\n\nBut here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and\nknew more.  I took their word for all that they averred, and I became\ntheir disciple.  It may appear strange that such should arise in the\neighteenth century; but while I followed the routine of education in\nthe schools of Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self-taught with\nregard to my favourite studies.  My father was not scientific, and I\nwas left to struggle with a child's blindness, added to a student's\nthirst for knowledge.  Under the guidance of my new preceptors I\nentered with the greatest diligence into the search of the\nphilosopher's stone and the elixir of life; but the latter soon\nobtained my undivided attention.  Wealth was an inferior object, but\nwhat glory would attend the discovery if I could banish disease from\nthe human frame and render man invulnerable to any but a violent death!\nNor were these my only visions.  The raising of ghosts or devils was a\npromise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of\nwhich I most eagerly sought; and if my incantations were always\nunsuccessful, I attributed the failure rather to my own inexperience\nand mistake than to a want of skill or fidelity in my instructors.  And\nthus for a time I was occupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an\nunadept, a thousand contradictory theories and floundering desperately\nin a very slough of multifarious knowledge, guided by an ardent\nimagination and childish reasoning, till an accident again changed the\ncurrent of my ideas.  When I was about fifteen years old we had retired\nto our house near Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and\nterrible thunderstorm.  It advanced from behind the mountains of Jura,\nand the thunder burst at once with frightful loudness from various\nquarters of the heavens.  I remained, while the storm lasted, watching\nits progress with curiosity and delight.  As I stood at the door, on a\nsudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an old and beautiful oak\nwhich stood about twenty yards from our house; and so soon as the\ndazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing remained\nbut a blasted stump.  When we visited it the next morning, we found the\ntree shattered in a singular manner.  It was not splintered by the\nshock, but entirely reduced to thin ribbons of wood.  I never beheld\nanything so utterly destroyed.\n\nBefore this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of\nelectricity.  On this occasion a man of great research in natural\nphilosophy was with us, and excited by this catastrophe, he entered on\nthe explanation of a theory which he had formed on the subject of\nelectricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing to me.\nAll that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa,\nAlbertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by\nsome fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my\naccustomed studies.  It seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever\nbe known.  All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew\ndespicable.  By one of those caprices of the mind which we are perhaps\nmost subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former\noccupations, set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed\nand abortive creation, and entertained the greatest disdain for a\nwould-be science which could never even step within the threshold of\nreal knowledge.  In this mood of mind I betook myself to the\nmathematics and the branches of study appertaining to that science as\nbeing built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration.\n\nThus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments\nare we bound to prosperity or ruin.  When I look back, it seems to me\nas if this almost miraculous change of inclination and will was the\nimmediate suggestion of the guardian angel of my life--the last effort\nmade by the spirit of preservation to avert the storm that was even\nthen hanging in the stars and ready to envelop me.  Her victory was\nannounced by an unusual tranquillity and gladness of soul which\nfollowed the relinquishing of my ancient and latterly tormenting\nstudies.  It was thus that I was to be taught to associate evil with\ntheir prosecution, happiness with their disregard.\n\nIt was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual.\nDestiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and\nterrible destruction.\n\n\n\nChapter 3\n\nWhen I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I\nshould become a student at the university of Ingolstadt.  I had\nhitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my father thought it\nnecessary for the completion of my education that I should be made\nacquainted with other customs than those of my native country.  My\ndeparture was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day\nresolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life\noccurred--an omen, as it were, of my future misery.  Elizabeth had\ncaught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and she was in the\ngreatest danger.  During her illness many arguments had been urged to\npersuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her.  She had at\nfirst yielded to our entreaties, but when she heard that the life of\nher favourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She\nattended her sickbed; her watchful attentions triumphed over the\nmalignity of the distemper--Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences\nof this imprudence were fatal to her preserver.  On the third day my\nmother sickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming\nsymptoms, and the looks of her medical attendants prognosticated the\nworst event.  On her deathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best\nof women did not desert her.  She joined the hands of Elizabeth and\nmyself.  \"My children,\" she said, \"my firmest hopes of future happiness\nwere placed on the prospect of your union.  This expectation will now\nbe the consolation of your father.  Elizabeth, my love, you must supply\nmy place to my younger children.  Alas!  I regret that I am taken from\nyou; and, happy and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you\nall?  But these are not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to\nresign myself cheerfully to death and will indulge a hope of meeting\nyou in another world.\"\n\nShe died calmly, and her countenance expressed affection even in death.\nI need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent\nby that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the\nsoul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance.  It is so\nlong before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day\nand whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed\nforever--that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been\nextinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear\ncan be hushed, never more to be heard.  These are the reflections of\nthe first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the\nevil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences.  Yet from whom has\nnot that rude hand rent away some dear connection?  And why should I\ndescribe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel?  The time at\nlength arrives when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and\nthe smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a\nsacrilege, is not banished.  My mother was dead, but we had still\nduties which we ought to perform; we must continue our course with the\nrest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remains whom the\nspoiler has not seized.\n\nMy departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events,\nwas now again determined upon.  I obtained from my father a respite of\nsome weeks.  It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose,\nakin to death, of the house of mourning and to rush into the thick of\nlife.  I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me.  I was\nunwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above\nall, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled.\n\nShe indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the comforter to us all.\nShe looked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and\nzeal.  She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call\nher uncle and cousins.  Never was she so enchanting as at this time,\nwhen she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us.\nShe forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget.\n\nThe day of my departure at length arrived.  Clerval spent the last\nevening with us.  He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit\nhim to accompany me and to become my fellow student, but in vain.  His\nfather was a narrow-minded trader and saw idleness and ruin in the\naspirations and ambition of his son.  Henry deeply felt the misfortune\nof being debarred from a liberal education.  He said little, but when\nhe spoke I read in his kindling eye and in his animated glance a\nrestrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable details\nof commerce.\n\nWe sat late.  We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor\npersuade ourselves to say the word \"Farewell!\"  It was said, and we\nretired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the\nother was deceived; but when at morning's dawn I descended to the\ncarriage which was to convey me away, they were all there--my father\nagain to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to\nrenew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last\nfeminine attentions on her playmate and friend.\n\nI threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged\nin the most melancholy reflections.  I, who had ever been surrounded by\namiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow\nmutual pleasure--I was now alone.  In the university whither I was\ngoing I must form my own friends and be my own protector.  My life had\nhitherto been remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me\ninvincible repugnance to new countenances.  I loved my brothers,\nElizabeth, and Clerval; these were \"old familiar faces,\" but I believed\nmyself totally unfitted for the company of strangers.  Such were my\nreflections as I commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits\nand hopes rose.  I ardently desired the acquisition of knowledge.  I\nhad often, when at home, thought it hard to remain during my youth\ncooped up in one place and had longed to enter the world and take my\nstation among other human beings.  Now my desires were complied with,\nand it would, indeed, have been folly to repent.\n\nI had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my\njourney to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing.  At length the\nhigh white steeple of the town met my eyes.  I alighted and was\nconducted to my solitary apartment to spend the evening as I pleased.\n\nThe next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a\nvisit to some of the principal professors.  Chance--or rather the evil\ninfluence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway\nover me from the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my father's\ndoor--led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy.  He\nwas an uncouth man, but deeply imbued in the secrets of his science. He\nasked me several questions concerning my progress in the different\nbranches of science appertaining to natural philosophy.  I replied\ncarelessly, and partly in contempt, mentioned the names of my\nalchemists as the principal authors I had studied.  The professor\nstared.  \"Have you,\" he said, \"really spent your time in studying such\nnonsense?\"\n\nI replied in the affirmative.  \"Every minute,\" continued M. Krempe with\nwarmth, \"every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly\nand entirely lost.  You have burdened your memory with exploded systems\nand useless names.  Good God!  In what desert land have you lived,\nwhere no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies which you\nhave so greedily imbibed are a thousand years old and as musty as they\nare ancient?  I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific\nage, to find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus.  My dear\nsir, you must begin your studies entirely anew.\"\n\nSo saying, he stepped aside and wrote down a list of several books\ntreating of natural philosophy which he desired me to procure, and\ndismissed me after mentioning that in the beginning of the following\nweek he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural\nphilosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow\nprofessor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he\nomitted.\n\nI returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long\nconsidered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I\nreturned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any\nshape.  M. Krempe was a little squat man with a gruff voice and a\nrepulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in\nfavour of his pursuits.  In rather a too philosophical and connected a\nstrain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come\nto concerning them in my early years.  As a child I had not been\ncontent with the results promised by the modern professors of natural\nscience.  With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my\nextreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the\nsteps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the\ndiscoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists.\nBesides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy.\nIt was very different when the masters of the science sought\nimmortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now\nthe scene was changed.  The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit\nitself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in\nscience was chiefly founded.  I was required to exchange chimeras of\nboundless grandeur for realities of little worth.\n\nSuch were my reflections during the first two or three days of my\nresidence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming\nacquainted with the localities and the principal residents in my new\nabode.  But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information\nwhich M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures.  And although I\ncould not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow deliver\nsentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what he had said of M.\nWaldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto been out of town.\n\nPartly from curiosity and partly from idleness, I went into the\nlecturing room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after.  This professor\nwas very unlike his colleague.  He appeared about fifty years of age,\nbut with an aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey\nhairs covered his temples, but those at the back of his head were\nnearly black.  His person was short but remarkably erect and his voice\nthe sweetest I had ever heard.  He began his lecture by a\nrecapitulation of the history of chemistry and the various improvements\nmade by different men of learning, pronouncing with fervour the names\nof the most distinguished discoverers.  He then took a cursory view of\nthe present state of the science and explained many of its elementary\nterms.  After having made a few preparatory experiments, he concluded\nwith a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall\nnever forget:  \"The ancient teachers of this science,\" said he,\n\"promised impossibilities and performed nothing.  The modern masters\npromise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted and\nthat the elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers, whose\nhands seem only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the\nmicroscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles.  They penetrate\ninto the recesses of nature and show how she works in her\nhiding-places.  They ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how\nthe blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe.  They have\nacquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders\nof heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with\nits own shadows.\"\n\nSuch were the professor's words--rather let me say such the words of\nthe fate--enounced to destroy me.  As he went on I felt as if my soul\nwere grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were\ntouched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was\nsounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception,\none purpose.  So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of\nFrankenstein--more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps\nalready marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and\nunfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.\n\nI closed not my eyes that night.  My internal being was in a state of\ninsurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I\nhad no power to produce it.  By degrees, after the morning's dawn,\nsleep came.  I awoke, and my yesternight's thoughts were as a dream.\nThere only remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies and to\ndevote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess a\nnatural talent.  On the same day I paid M. Waldman a visit.  His\nmanners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public,\nfor there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture which in\nhis own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness.  I\ngave him pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had\ngiven to his fellow professor.  He heard with attention the little\nnarration concerning my studies and smiled at the names of Cornelius\nAgrippa and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had\nexhibited. He said that \"These were men to whose indefatigable zeal\nmodern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their\nknowledge.  They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names\nand arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in a\ngreat degree had been the instruments of bringing to light.  The\nlabours of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever\nfail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.\"  I\nlistened to his statement, which was delivered without any presumption\nor affectation, and then added that his lecture had removed my\nprejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured\nterms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his\ninstructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have\nmade me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended\nlabours.  I requested his advice concerning the books I ought to\nprocure.\n\n\"I am happy,\" said M. Waldman, \"to have gained a disciple; and if your\napplication equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success.\nChemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the greatest\nimprovements have been and may be made; it is on that account that I\nhave made it my peculiar study; but at the same time, I have not\nneglected the other branches of science.  A man would make but a very\nsorry chemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge\nalone.  If your wish is to become really a man of science and not\nmerely a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every\nbranch of natural philosophy, including mathematics.\"  He then took me\ninto his laboratory and explained to me the uses of his various\nmachines, instructing me as to what I ought to procure and promising me\nthe use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in the\nscience not to derange their mechanism.  He also gave me the list of\nbooks which I had requested, and I took my leave.\n\nThus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny.\n\n\n\nChapter 4\n\nFrom this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, in the\nmost comprehensive sense of the term, became nearly my sole occupation.\nI read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination,\nwhich modern inquirers have written on these subjects.  I attended the\nlectures and cultivated the acquaintance of the men of science of the\nuniversity, and I found even in M. Krempe a great deal of sound sense\nand real information, combined, it is true, with a repulsive\nphysiognomy and manners, but not on that account the less valuable.  In\nM. Waldman I found a true friend.  His gentleness was never tinged by\ndogmatism, and his instructions were given with an air of frankness and\ngood nature that banished every idea of pedantry.  In a thousand ways\nhe smoothed for me the path of knowledge and made the most abstruse\ninquiries clear and facile to my apprehension.  My application was at\nfirst fluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength as I proceeded and\nsoon became so ardent and eager that the stars often disappeared in the\nlight of morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory.\n\nAs I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my progress\nwas rapid.  My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the students, and\nmy proficiency that of the masters.  Professor Krempe often asked me,\nwith a sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa went on, whilst M. Waldman\nexpressed the most heartfelt exultation in my progress.  Two years\npassed in this manner, during which I paid no visit to Geneva, but was\nengaged, heart and soul, in the pursuit of some discoveries which I\nhoped to make.  None but those who have experienced them can conceive\nof the enticements of science.  In other studies you go as far as\nothers have gone before you, and there is nothing more to know; but in\na scientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder.\nA mind of moderate capacity which closely pursues one study must\ninfallibly arrive at great proficiency in that study; and I, who\ncontinually sought the attainment of one object of pursuit and was\nsolely wrapped up in this, improved so rapidly that at the end of two\nyears I made some discoveries in the improvement of some chemical\ninstruments, which procured me great esteem and admiration at the\nuniversity.  When I had arrived at this point and had become as well\nacquainted with the theory and practice of natural philosophy as\ndepended on the lessons of any of the professors at Ingolstadt, my\nresidence there being no longer conducive to my improvements, I thought\nof returning to my friends and my native town, when an incident\nhappened that protracted my stay.\n\nOne of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted my attention was\nthe structure of the human frame, and, indeed, any animal endued with\nlife.  Whence, I often asked myself, did the principle of life proceed?\nIt was a bold question, and one which has ever been considered as a\nmystery; yet with how many things are we upon the brink of becoming\nacquainted, if cowardice or carelessness did not restrain our\ninquiries.  I revolved these circumstances in my mind and determined\nthenceforth to apply myself more particularly to those branches of\nnatural philosophy which relate to physiology.  Unless I had been\nanimated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm, my application to this\nstudy would have been irksome and almost intolerable.  To examine the\ncauses of life, we must first have recourse to death.  I became\nacquainted with the science of anatomy, but this was not sufficient; I\nmust also observe the natural decay and corruption of the human body.\nIn my education my father had taken the greatest precautions that my\nmind should be impressed with no supernatural horrors.  I do not ever\nremember to have trembled at a tale of superstition or to have feared\nthe apparition of a spirit.  Darkness had no effect upon my fancy, and\na churchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of\nlife, which, from being the seat of beauty and strength, had become\nfood for the worm.  Now I was led to examine the cause and progress of\nthis decay and forced to spend days and nights in vaults and\ncharnel-houses.  My attention was fixed upon every object the most\ninsupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings.  I saw how the\nfine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of\ndeath succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm\ninherited the wonders of the eye and brain.  I paused, examining and\nanalysing all the minutiae of causation, as exemplified in the change\nfrom life to death, and death to life, until from the midst of this\ndarkness a sudden light broke in upon me--a light so brilliant and\nwondrous, yet so simple, that while I became dizzy with the immensity\nof the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised that among so\nmany men of genius who had directed their inquiries towards the same\nscience, that I alone should be reserved to discover so astonishing a\nsecret.\n\nRemember, I am not recording the vision of a madman.  The sun does not\nmore certainly shine in the heavens than that which I now affirm is\ntrue.  Some miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of the\ndiscovery were distinct and probable.  After days and nights of\nincredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of\ngeneration and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing\nanimation upon lifeless matter.\n\nThe astonishment which I had at first experienced on this discovery\nsoon gave place to delight and rapture.  After so much time spent in\npainful labour, to arrive at once at the summit of my desires was the\nmost gratifying consummation of my toils.  But this discovery was so\ngreat and overwhelming that all the steps by which I had been\nprogressively led to it were obliterated, and I beheld only the result.\nWhat had been the study and desire of the wisest men since the creation\nof the world was now within my grasp.  Not that, like a magic scene, it\nall opened upon me at once:  the information I had obtained was of a\nnature rather to direct my endeavours so soon as I should point them\ntowards the object of my search than to exhibit that object already\naccomplished.  I was like the Arabian who had been buried with the dead\nand found a passage to life, aided only by one glimmering and seemingly\nineffectual light.\n\nI see by your eagerness and the wonder and hope which your eyes\nexpress, my friend, that you expect to be informed of the secret with\nwhich I am acquainted; that cannot be; listen patiently until the end\nof my story, and you will easily perceive why I am reserved upon that\nsubject.  I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then was,\nto your destruction and infallible misery.  Learn from me, if not by my\nprecepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of\nknowledge and how much happier that man is who believes his native town\nto be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature\nwill allow.\n\nWhen I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated\na long time concerning the manner in which I should employ it.\nAlthough I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to\nprepare a frame for the reception of it, with all its intricacies of\nfibres, muscles, and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable\ndifficulty and labour.  I doubted at first whether I should attempt the\ncreation of a being like myself, or one of simpler organization; but my\nimagination was too much exalted by my first success to permit me to\ndoubt of my ability to give life to an animal as complex and wonderful\nas man.  The materials at present within my command hardly appeared\nadequate to so arduous an undertaking, but I doubted not that I should\nultimately succeed.  I prepared myself for a multitude of reverses; my\noperations might be incessantly baffled, and at last my work be\nimperfect, yet when I considered the improvement which every day takes\nplace in science and mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my present\nattempts would at least lay the foundations of future success.  Nor\ncould I consider the magnitude and complexity of my plan as any\nargument of its impracticability.  It was with these feelings that I\nbegan the creation of a human being.  As the minuteness of the parts\nformed a great hindrance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to my first\nintention, to make the being of a gigantic stature, that is to say,\nabout eight feet in height, and proportionably large.  After having\nformed this determination and having spent some months in successfully\ncollecting and arranging my materials, I began.\n\nNo one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like\na hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success.  Life and death\nappeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and\npour a torrent of light into our dark world.  A new species would bless\nme as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would\nowe their being to me.  No father could claim the gratitude of his\nchild so completely as I should deserve theirs.  Pursuing these\nreflections, I thought that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless\nmatter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible)\nrenew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.\n\nThese thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my undertaking\nwith unremitting ardour.  My cheek had grown pale with study, and my\nperson had become emaciated with confinement.  Sometimes, on the very\nbrink of certainty, I failed; yet still I clung to the hope which the\nnext day or the next hour might realize.  One secret which I alone\npossessed was the hope to which I had dedicated myself; and the moon\ngazed on my midnight labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless\neagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding-places.  Who shall conceive\nthe horrors of my secret toil as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps\nof the grave or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless\nclay?  My limbs now tremble, and my eyes swim with the remembrance; but\nthen a resistless and almost frantic impulse urged me forward; I seemed\nto have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit.  It was\nindeed but a passing trance, that only made me feel with renewed\nacuteness so soon as, the unnatural stimulus ceasing to operate, I had\nreturned to my old habits.  I collected bones from charnel-houses and\ndisturbed, with profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human\nframe.  In a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house,\nand separated from all the other apartments by a gallery and staircase,\nI kept my workshop of filthy creation; my eyeballs were starting from\ntheir sockets in attending to the details of my employment.  The\ndissecting room and the slaughter-house furnished many of my materials;\nand often did my human nature turn with loathing from my occupation,\nwhilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually increased, I\nbrought my work near to a conclusion.\n\nThe summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in\none pursuit.  It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields\nbestow a more plentiful harvest or the vines yield a more luxuriant\nvintage, but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature.  And the\nsame feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also\nto forget those friends who were so many miles absent, and whom I had\nnot seen for so long a time.  I knew my silence disquieted them, and I\nwell remembered the words of my father:  \"I know that while you are\npleased with yourself you will think of us with affection, and we shall\nhear regularly from you.  You must pardon me if I regard any\ninterruption in your correspondence as a proof that your other duties\nare equally neglected.\"\n\nI knew well therefore what would be my father's feelings, but I could\nnot tear my thoughts from my employment, loathsome in itself, but which\nhad taken an irresistible hold of my imagination.  I wished, as it\nwere, to procrastinate all that related to my feelings of affection\nuntil the great object, which swallowed up every habit of my nature,\nshould be completed.\n\nI then thought that my father would be unjust if he ascribed my neglect\nto vice or faultiness on my part, but I am now convinced that he was\njustified in conceiving that I should not be altogether free from\nblame.  A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and\npeaceful mind and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to\ndisturb his tranquillity.  I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge\nis an exception to this rule.  If the study to which you apply yourself\nhas a tendency to weaken your affections and to destroy your taste for\nthose simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that\nstudy is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human\nmind.  If this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit\nwhatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic\naffections, Greece had not been enslaved, Caesar would have spared his\ncountry, America would have been discovered more gradually, and the\nempires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed.\n\nBut I forget that I am moralizing in the most interesting part of my\ntale, and your looks remind me to proceed.  My father made no reproach\nin his letters and only took notice of my silence by inquiring into my\noccupations more particularly than before.  Winter, spring, and summer\npassed away during my labours; but I did not watch the blossom or the\nexpanding leaves--sights which before always yielded me supreme\ndelight--so deeply was I engrossed in my occupation.  The leaves of\nthat year had withered before my work drew near to a close, and now\nevery day showed me more plainly how well I had succeeded.  But my\nenthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, and I appeared rather like one\ndoomed by slavery to toil in the mines, or any other unwholesome trade\nthan an artist occupied by his favourite employment.  Every night I was\noppressed by a slow fever, and I became nervous to a most painful\ndegree; the fall of a leaf startled me, and I shunned my fellow\ncreatures as if I had been guilty of a crime.  Sometimes I grew alarmed\nat the wreck I perceived that I had become; the energy of my purpose\nalone sustained me:  my labours would soon end, and I believed that\nexercise and amusement would then drive away incipient disease; and I\npromised myself both of these when my creation should be complete.\n\n\n\nChapter 5\n\nIt was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment\nof my toils.  With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I\ncollected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a\nspark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet.  It was\nalready one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the\npanes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the\nhalf-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature\nopen; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.\n\nHow can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate\nthe wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to\nform?  His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as\nbeautiful.  Beautiful!  Great God!  His yellow skin scarcely covered\nthe work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous\nblack, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these\nluxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes,\nthat seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which\nthey were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.\n\nThe different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings\nof human nature.  I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole\npurpose of infusing life into an inanimate body.  For this I had\ndeprived myself of rest and health.  I had desired it with an ardour\nthat far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty\nof the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my\nheart.  Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I\nrushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my\nbed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep.  At length lassitude\nsucceeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the\nbed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness.\nBut it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest\ndreams.  I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in\nthe streets of Ingolstadt.  Delighted and surprised, I embraced her,\nbut as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with\nthe hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I\nheld the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her\nform, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel.\nI started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my\nteeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and\nyellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window\nshutters, I beheld the wretch--the miserable monster whom I had\ncreated.  He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they\nmay be called, were fixed on me.  His jaws opened, and he muttered some\ninarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks.  He might have\nspoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to\ndetain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs.  I took refuge in the\ncourtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained\nduring the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest\nagitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if\nit were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I\nhad so miserably given life.\n\nOh!  No mortal could support the horror of that countenance.  A mummy\nagain endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch.  I\nhad gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those\nmuscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing\nsuch as even Dante could not have conceived.\n\nI passed the night wretchedly.  Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and\nhardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly\nsank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness.  Mingled with\nthis horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had\nbeen my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a\nhell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!\n\nMorning, dismal and wet, at length dawned and discovered to my\nsleepless and aching eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple\nand clock, which indicated the sixth hour.  The porter opened the gates\nof the court, which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into\nthe streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the\nwretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my\nview.  I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited, but\nfelt impelled to hurry on, although drenched by the rain which poured\nfrom a black and comfortless sky.\n\nI continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavouring by\nbodily exercise to ease the load that weighed upon my mind.  I\ntraversed the streets without any clear conception of where I was or\nwhat I was doing.  My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear, and I\nhurried on with irregular steps, not daring to look about me:\n\n\n  Like one who, on a lonely road,\n  Doth walk in fear and dread,\n  And, having once turned round, walks on,\n  And turns no more his head;\n  Because he knows a frightful fiend\n  Doth close behind him tread.\n\n  [Coleridge's \"Ancient Mariner.\"]\n\n\nContinuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the\nvarious diligences and carriages usually stopped.  Here I paused, I\nknew not why; but I remained some minutes with my eyes fixed on a coach\nthat was coming towards me from the other end of the street.  As it\ndrew nearer I observed that it was the Swiss diligence; it stopped just\nwhere I was standing, and on the door being opened, I perceived Henry\nClerval, who, on seeing me, instantly sprung out.  \"My dear\nFrankenstein,\" exclaimed he, \"how glad I am to see you!  How fortunate\nthat you should be here at the very moment of my alighting!\"\n\nNothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval; his presence brought\nback to my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all those scenes of home\nso dear to my recollection.  I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot\nmy horror and misfortune; I felt suddenly, and for the first time\nduring many months, calm and serene joy.  I welcomed my friend,\ntherefore, in the most cordial manner, and we walked towards my\ncollege.  Clerval continued talking for some time about our mutual\nfriends and his own good fortune in being permitted to come to\nIngolstadt.  \"You may easily believe,\" said he, \"how great was the\ndifficulty to persuade my father that all necessary knowledge was not\ncomprised in the noble art of book-keeping; and, indeed, I believe I\nleft him incredulous to the last, for his constant answer to my\nunwearied entreaties was the same as that of the Dutch schoolmaster in\nThe Vicar of Wakefield:  'I have ten thousand florins a year without\nGreek, I eat heartily without Greek.'  But his affection for me at\nlength overcame his dislike of learning, and he has permitted me to\nundertake a voyage of discovery to the land of knowledge.\"\n\n\"It gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left\nmy father, brothers, and Elizabeth.\"\n\n\"Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from\nyou so seldom.  By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their\naccount myself.  But, my dear Frankenstein,\" continued he, stopping\nshort and gazing full in my face, \"I did not before remark how very ill\nyou appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been watching for\nseveral nights.\"\n\n\"You have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one\noccupation that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see;\nbut I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an\nend and that I am at length free.\"\n\nI trembled excessively; I could not endure to think of, and far less to\nallude to, the occurrences of the preceding night.  I walked with a\nquick pace, and we soon arrived at my college.  I then reflected, and\nthe thought made me shiver, that the creature whom I had left in my\napartment might still be there, alive and walking about.  I dreaded to\nbehold this monster, but I feared still more that Henry should see him.\nEntreating him, therefore, to remain a few minutes at the bottom of the\nstairs, I darted up towards my own room.  My hand was already on the\nlock of the door before I recollected myself.  I then paused, and a\ncold shivering came over me.  I threw the door forcibly open, as\nchildren are accustomed to do when they expect a spectre to stand in\nwaiting for them on the other side; but nothing appeared.  I stepped\nfearfully in:  the apartment was empty, and my bedroom was also freed\nfrom its hideous guest.  I could hardly believe that so great a good\nfortune could have befallen me, but when I became assured that my enemy\nhad indeed fled, I clapped my hands for joy and ran down to Clerval.\n\nWe ascended into my room, and the servant presently brought breakfast;\nbut I was unable to contain myself.  It was not joy only that possessed\nme; I felt my flesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse\nbeat rapidly.  I was unable to remain for a single instant in the same\nplace; I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud.\nClerval at first attributed my unusual spirits to joy on his arrival,\nbut when he observed me more attentively, he saw a wildness in my eyes\nfor which he could not account, and my loud, unrestrained, heartless\nlaughter frightened and astonished him.\n\n\"My dear Victor,\" cried he, \"what, for God's sake, is the matter?  Do\nnot laugh in that manner.  How ill you are!  What is the cause of all\nthis?\"\n\n\"Do not ask me,\" cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I\nthought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; \"HE can tell.\nOh, save me!  Save me!\"  I imagined that the monster seized me; I\nstruggled furiously and fell down in a fit.\n\nPoor Clerval!  What must have been his feelings?  A meeting, which he\nanticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness.  But I\nwas not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not\nrecover my senses for a long, long time.\n\nThis was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for\nseveral months.  During all that time Henry was my only nurse.  I\nafterwards learned that, knowing my father's advanced age and unfitness\nfor so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make\nElizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my\ndisorder.  He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive\nnurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he\ndid not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest\naction that he could towards them.\n\nBut I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the unbounded and\nunremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life.\nThe form of the monster on whom I had bestowed existence was forever\nbefore my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him.  Doubtless my\nwords surprised Henry; he at first believed them to be the wanderings\nof my disturbed imagination, but the pertinacity with which I\ncontinually recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder\nindeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.\n\nBy very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed and\ngrieved my friend, I recovered.  I remember the first time I became\ncapable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I\nperceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared and that the young\nbuds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window.  It was\na divine spring, and the season contributed greatly to my\nconvalescence.  I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in\nmy bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as\ncheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion.\n\n\"Dearest Clerval,\" exclaimed I, \"how kind, how very good you are to me.\nThis whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you promised\nyourself, has been consumed in my sick room.  How shall I ever repay\nyou?  I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I\nhave been the occasion, but you will forgive me.\"\n\n\"You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get\nwell as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I\nmay speak to you on one subject, may I not?\"\n\nI trembled.  One subject!  What could it be?  Could he allude to an\nobject on whom I dared not even think?  \"Compose yourself,\" said\nClerval, who observed my change of colour, \"I will not mention it if it\nagitates you; but your father and cousin would be very happy if they\nreceived a letter from you in your own handwriting.  They hardly know\nhow ill you have been and are uneasy at your long silence.\"\n\n\"Is that all, my dear Henry?  How could you suppose that my first\nthought would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and\nwho are so deserving of my love?\"\n\n\"If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad to\nsee a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from\nyour cousin, I believe.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 6\n\nClerval then put the following letter into my hands.  It was from my\nown Elizabeth:\n\n\"My dearest Cousin,\n\n\"You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear\nkind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account.  You are\nforbidden to write--to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor,\nis necessary to calm our apprehensions.  For a long time I have thought\nthat each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have\nrestrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt.  I have\nprevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so\nlong a journey, yet how often have I regretted not being able to\nperform it myself!  I figure to myself that the task of attending on\nyour sickbed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never\nguess your wishes nor minister to them with the care and affection of\nyour poor cousin.  Yet that is over now:  Clerval writes that indeed\nyou are getting better.  I eagerly hope that you will confirm this\nintelligence soon in your own handwriting.\n\n\"Get well--and return to us.  You will find a happy, cheerful home and\nfriends who love you dearly.  Your father's health is vigorous, and he\nasks but to see you, but to be assured that you are well; and not a\ncare will ever cloud his benevolent countenance.  How pleased you would\nbe to remark the improvement of our Ernest!  He is now sixteen and full\nof activity and spirit.  He is desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter\ninto foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his\nelder brother returns to us.  My uncle is not pleased with the idea of\na military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your\npowers of application.  He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his\ntime is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the\nlake.  I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point\nand permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.\n\n\"Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken\nplace since you left us.  The blue lake and snow-clad mountains--they\nnever change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are\nregulated by the same immutable laws.  My trifling occupations take up\nmy time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing\nnone but happy, kind faces around me.  Since you left us, but one\nchange has taken place in our little household.  Do you remember on\nwhat occasion Justine Moritz entered our family?  Probably you do not;\nI will relate her history, therefore in a few words.  Madame Moritz,\nher mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the\nthird.  This girl had always been the favourite of her father, but\nthrough a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and\nafter the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill.  My aunt observed\nthis, and when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother\nto allow her to live at our house.  The republican institutions of our\ncountry have produced simpler and happier manners than those which\nprevail in the great monarchies that surround it.  Hence there is less\ndistinction between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the\nlower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are\nmore refined and moral.  A servant in Geneva does not mean the same\nthing as a servant in France and England.  Justine, thus received in\nour family, learned the duties of a servant, a condition which, in our\nfortunate country, does not include the idea of ignorance and a\nsacrifice of the dignity of a human being.\n\n\"Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I\nrecollect you once remarked that if you were in an ill humour, one\nglance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that\nAriosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica--she looked so\nfrank-hearted and happy.  My aunt conceived a great attachment for her,\nby which she was induced to give her an education superior to that\nwhich she had at first intended.  This benefit was fully repaid;\nJustine was the most grateful little creature in the world:  I do not\nmean that she made any professions I never heard one pass her lips, but\nyou could see by her eyes that she almost adored her protectress.\nAlthough her disposition was gay and in many respects inconsiderate,\nyet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of my aunt.  She\nthought her the model of all excellence and endeavoured to imitate her\nphraseology and manners, so that even now she often reminds me of her.\n\n\"When my dearest aunt died every one was too much occupied in their own\ngrief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness\nwith the most anxious affection.  Poor Justine was very ill; but other\ntrials were reserved for her.\n\n\"One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the\nexception of her neglected daughter, was left childless.  The\nconscience of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the\ndeaths of her favourites was a judgement from heaven to chastise her\npartiality.  She was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor\nconfirmed the idea which she had conceived.  Accordingly, a few months\nafter your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her\nrepentant mother.  Poor girl!  She wept when she quitted our house; she\nwas much altered since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness\nand a winning mildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable\nfor vivacity.  Nor was her residence at her mother's house of a nature\nto restore her gaiety.  The poor woman was very vacillating in her\nrepentance.  She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness,\nbut much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of her\nbrothers and sister.  Perpetual fretting at length threw Madame Moritz\ninto a decline, which at first increased her irritability, but she is\nnow at peace for ever.  She died on the first approach of cold weather,\nat the beginning of this last winter.  Justine has just returned to us;\nand I assure you I love her tenderly.  She is very clever and gentle,\nand extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her mien and her\nexpression continually remind me of my dear aunt.\n\n\"I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling\nWilliam.  I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with\nsweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair.  When he\nsmiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with\nhealth.  He has already had one or two little WIVES, but Louisa Biron\nis his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age.\n\n\"Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little\ngossip concerning the good people of Geneva.  The pretty Miss Mansfield\nhas already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching\nmarriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq.  Her ugly\nsister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your\nfavourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes\nsince the departure of Clerval from Geneva.  But he has already\nrecovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a\nlively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier.  She is a widow, and much\nolder than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with\neverybody.\n\n\"I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety\nreturns upon me as I conclude.  Write, dearest Victor,--one line--one\nword will be a blessing to us.  Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his\nkindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely\ngrateful.  Adieu!  my cousin; take care of your self; and, I entreat\nyou, write!\n\n\"Elizabeth Lavenza.\n\n\"Geneva, March 18, 17--.\"\n\n\n\"Dear, dear Elizabeth!\" I exclaimed, when I had read her letter:  \"I\nwill write instantly and relieve them from the anxiety they must feel.\"\nI wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but my convalescence\nhad commenced, and proceeded regularly.  In another fortnight I was\nable to leave my chamber.\n\nOne of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the\nseveral professors of the university.  In doing this, I underwent a\nkind of rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind had\nsustained.  Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the\nbeginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even\nto the name of natural philosophy.  When I was otherwise quite restored\nto health, the sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony\nof my nervous symptoms.  Henry saw this, and had removed all my\napparatus from my view.  He had also changed my apartment; for he\nperceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had\npreviously been my laboratory.  But these cares of Clerval were made of\nno avail when I visited the professors.  M. Waldman inflicted torture\nwhen he praised, with kindness and warmth, the astonishing progress I\nhad made in the sciences.  He soon perceived that I disliked the\nsubject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed my feelings to\nmodesty, and changed the subject from my improvement, to the science\nitself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me out.  What\ncould I do?  He meant to please, and he tormented me.  I felt as if he\nhad placed carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which\nwere to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and cruel death.  I\nwrithed under his words, yet dared not exhibit the pain I felt.\nClerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick in discerning the\nsensations of others, declined the subject, alleging, in excuse, his\ntotal ignorance; and the conversation took a more general turn.  I\nthanked my friend from my heart, but I did not speak.  I saw plainly\nthat he was surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from\nme; and although I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence\nthat knew no bounds, yet I could never persuade myself to confide in\nhim that event which was so often present to my recollection, but which\nI feared the detail to another would only impress more deeply.\n\nM. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of\nalmost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me\neven more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman.  \"D--n\nthe fellow!\" cried he; \"why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has outstript\nus all.  Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true.  A\nyoungster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as\nfirmly as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the\nuniversity; and if he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of\ncountenance.--Ay, ay,\" continued he, observing my face expressive of\nsuffering, \"M. Frankenstein is modest; an excellent quality in a young\nman.  Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M.\nClerval:  I was myself when young; but that wears out in a very short\ntime.\"\n\nM. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned\nthe conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.\n\nClerval had never sympathized in my tastes for natural science; and his\nliterary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me.  He\ncame to the university with the design of making himself complete\nmaster of the oriental languages, and thus he should open a field for\nthe plan of life he had marked out for himself.  Resolved to pursue no\ninglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as affording\nscope for his spirit of enterprise.  The Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit\nlanguages engaged his attention, and I was easily induced to enter on\nthe same studies.  Idleness had ever been irksome to me, and now that I\nwished to fly from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt\ngreat relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not\nonly instruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists.  I\ndid not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for\nI did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary\namusement.  I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well\nrepaid my labours.  Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy\nelevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the authors of\nany other country.  When you read their writings, life appears to\nconsist in a warm sun and a garden of roses,--in the smiles and frowns\nof a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart.  How\ndifferent from the manly and heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!\n\nSummer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was\nfixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several\naccidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable,\nand my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring.  I felt this\ndelay very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town and my beloved\nfriends.  My return had only been delayed so long, from an\nunwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had become\nacquainted with any of its inhabitants.  The winter, however, was spent\ncheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came\nits beauty compensated for its dilatoriness.\n\nThe month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily\nwhich was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a\npedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a\npersonal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited.  I acceded\nwith pleasure to this proposition:  I was fond of exercise, and Clerval\nhad always been my favourite companion in the ramble of this nature\nthat I had taken among the scenes of my native country.\n\nWe passed a fortnight in these perambulations:  my health and spirits\nhad long been restored, and they gained additional strength from the\nsalubrious air I breathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and\nthe conversation of my friend.  Study had before secluded me from the\nintercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but\nClerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught\nme to love the aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children.\nExcellent friend!  how sincerely you did love me, and endeavour to\nelevate my mind until it was on a level with your own.  A selfish\npursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and\naffection warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature\nwho, a few years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care.\nWhen happy, inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most\ndelightful sensations.  A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with\necstasy.  The present season was indeed divine; the flowers of spring\nbloomed in the hedges, while those of summer were already in bud.  I\nwas undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed\nupon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an\ninvincible burden.\n\nHenry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings:\nhe exerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that\nfilled his soul.  The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly\nastonishing:  his conversation was full of imagination; and very often,\nin imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of\nwonderful fancy and passion.  At other times he repeated my favourite\npoems, or drew me out into arguments, which he supported with great\ningenuity.  We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon:  the\npeasants were dancing, and every one we met appeared gay and happy.  My\nown spirits were high, and I bounded along with feelings of unbridled\njoy and hilarity.\n\n\n\nChapter 7\n\nOn my return, I found the following letter from my father:--\n\n\n\"My dear Victor,\n\n\"You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of\nyour return to us; and I was at first tempted to write only a few\nlines, merely mentioning the day on which I should expect you.  But\nthat would be a cruel kindness, and I dare not do it.  What would be\nyour surprise, my son, when you expected a happy and glad welcome, to\nbehold, on the contrary, tears and wretchedness?  And how, Victor, can\nI relate our misfortune?  Absence cannot have rendered you callous to\nour joys and griefs; and how shall I inflict pain on my long absent\nson?  I wish to prepare you for the woeful news, but I know it is\nimpossible; even now your eye skims over the page to seek the words\nwhich are to convey to you the horrible tidings.\n\n\"William is dead!--that sweet child, whose smiles delighted and warmed\nmy heart, who was so gentle, yet so gay!  Victor, he is murdered!\n\n\"I will not attempt to console you; but will simply relate the\ncircumstances of the transaction.\n\n\"Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and your two brothers, went to\nwalk in Plainpalais.  The evening was warm and serene, and we prolonged\nour walk farther than usual.  It was already dusk before we thought of\nreturning; and then we discovered that William and Ernest, who had gone\non before, were not to be found.  We accordingly rested on a seat until\nthey should return.  Presently Ernest came, and enquired if we had seen\nhis brother; he said, that he had been playing with him, that William\nhad run away to hide himself, and that he vainly sought for him, and\nafterwards waited for a long time, but that he did not return.\n\n\"This account rather alarmed us, and we continued to search for him\nuntil night fell, when Elizabeth conjectured that he might have\nreturned to the house.  He was not there.  We returned again, with\ntorches; for I could not rest, when I thought that my sweet boy had\nlost himself, and was exposed to all the damps and dews of night;\nElizabeth also suffered extreme anguish.  About five in the morning I\ndiscovered my lovely boy, whom the night before I had seen blooming and\nactive in health, stretched on the grass livid and motionless; the\nprint of the murder's finger was on his neck.\n\n\"He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible in my\ncountenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth.  She was very earnest to\nsee the corpse.  At first I attempted to prevent her but she persisted,\nand entering the room where it lay, hastily examined the neck of the\nvictim, and clasping her hands exclaimed, 'O God!  I have murdered my\ndarling child!'\n\n\"She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty.  When she again\nlived, it was only to weep and sigh.  She told me, that that same\nevening William had teased her to let him wear a very valuable\nminiature that she possessed of your mother.  This picture is gone, and\nwas doubtless the temptation which urged the murderer to the deed.  We\nhave no trace of him at present, although our exertions to discover him\nare unremitted; but they will not restore my beloved William!\n\n\"Come, dearest Victor; you alone can console Elizabeth.  She weeps\ncontinually, and accuses herself unjustly as the cause of his death;\nher words pierce my heart.  We are all unhappy; but will not that be an\nadditional motive for you, my son, to return and be our comforter?\nYour dear mother!  Alas, Victor!  I now say, Thank God she did not live\nto witness the cruel, miserable death of her youngest darling!\n\n\"Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin,\nbut with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of\nfestering, the wounds of our minds.  Enter the house of mourning, my\nfriend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not\nwith hatred for your enemies.\n\n               \"Your affectionate and afflicted father,\n                              \"Alphonse Frankenstein.\n\n\n\n\"Geneva, May 12th, 17--.\"\n\nClerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was\nsurprised to observe the despair that succeeded the joy I at first\nexpressed on receiving new from my friends.  I threw the letter on the\ntable, and covered my face with my hands.\n\n\"My dear Frankenstein,\" exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me weep with\nbitterness, \"are you always to be unhappy?  My dear friend, what has\nhappened?\"\n\nI motioned him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the\nroom in the extremest agitation.  Tears also gushed from the eyes of\nClerval, as he read the account of my misfortune.\n\n\"I can offer you no consolation, my friend,\" said he; \"your disaster is\nirreparable.  What do you intend to do?\"\n\n\"To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses.\"\n\nDuring our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation;\nhe could only express his heartfelt sympathy.  \"Poor William!\" said he,\n\"dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother!  Who that had\nseen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his\nuntimely loss!  To die so miserably; to feel the murderer's grasp!  How\nmuch more a murdered that could destroy radiant innocence!  Poor little\nfellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but\nhe is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever.\nA sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain.  He can no longer\nbe a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable\nsurvivors.\"\n\nClerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words\nimpressed themselves on my mind and I remembered them afterwards in\nsolitude.  But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a\ncabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend.\n\nMy journey was very melancholy.  At first I wished to hurry on, for I\nlonged to console and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends;\nbut when I drew near my native town, I slackened my progress.  I could\nhardly sustain the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind.  I\npassed through scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen\nfor nearly six years.  How altered every thing might be during that\ntime!  One sudden and desolating change had taken place; but a thousand\nlittle circumstances might have by degrees worked other alterations,\nwhich, although they were done more tranquilly, might not be the less\ndecisive.  Fear overcame me; I dared no advance, dreading a thousand\nnameless evils that made me tremble, although I was unable to define\nthem.  I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind.\nI contemplated the lake:  the waters were placid; all around was calm;\nand the snowy mountains, 'the palaces of nature,' were not changed.  By\ndegrees the calm and heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my\njourney towards Geneva.\n\nThe road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I\napproached my native town.  I discovered more distinctly the black\nsides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc.  I wept like a\nchild.  \"Dear mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your\nwanderer?  Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and\nplacid.  Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?\"\n\nI fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on\nthese preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative\nhappiness, and I think of them with pleasure.  My country, my beloved\ncountry! who but a native can tell the delight I took in again\nbeholding thy streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely\nlake!\n\nYet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me.  Night\nalso closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I\nfelt still more gloomily.  The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of\nevil, and I foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most\nwretched of human beings.  Alas!  I prophesied truly, and failed only\nin one single circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and\ndreaded, I did not conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was\ndestined to endure.  It was completely dark when I arrived in the\nenvirons of Geneva; the gates of the town were already shut; and I was\nobliged to pass the night at Secheron, a village at the distance of\nhalf a league from the city.  The sky was serene; and, as I was unable\nto rest, I resolved to visit the spot where my poor William had been\nmurdered.  As I could not pass through the town, I was obliged to cross\nthe lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais.  During this short voyage\nI saw the lightning playing on the summit of Mont Blanc in the most\nbeautiful figures.  The storm appeared to approach rapidly, and, on\nlanding, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its progress.  It\nadvanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain coming\nslowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased.\n\nI quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm\nincreased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash\nover my head.  It was echoed from Saleve, the Juras, and the Alps of\nSavoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the\nlake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire; then for an instant\nevery thing seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered itself\nfrom the preceding flash.  The storm, as is often the case in\nSwitzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens.  The\nmost violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over the part of the\nlake which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of\nCopet.  Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another\ndarkened and sometimes disclosed the Mole, a peaked mountain to the\neast of the lake.\n\nWhile I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on\nwith a hasty step.  This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I\nclasped my hands, and exclaimed aloud, \"William, dear angel! this is\nthy funeral, this thy dirge!\" As I said these words, I perceived in the\ngloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I\nstood fixed, gazing intently:  I could not be mistaken.  A flash of\nlightning illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to\nme; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect more hideous\nthan belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch,\nthe filthy daemon, to whom I had given life.  What did he there?  Could\nhe be (I shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother?  No\nsooner did that idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of\nits truth; my teeth chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree\nfor support.  The figure passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom.\n\nNothing in human shape could have destroyed the fair child.  HE was the\nmurderer!  I could not doubt it.  The mere presence of the idea was an\nirresistible proof of the fact.  I thought of pursuing the devil; but\nit would have been in vain, for another flash discovered him to me\nhanging among the rocks of the nearly perpendicular ascent of Mont\nSaleve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the south.  He soon reached\nthe summit, and disappeared.\n\nI remained motionless.  The thunder ceased; but the rain still\ncontinued, and the scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness.  I\nrevolved in my mind the events which I had until now sought to forget:\nthe whole train of my progress toward the creation; the appearance of\nthe works of my own hands at my bedside; its departure.  Two years had\nnow nearly elapsed since the night on which he first received life; and\nwas this his first crime?  Alas!  I had turned loose into the world a\ndepraved wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; had he not\nmurdered my brother?\n\nNo one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the remainder of the\nnight, which I spent, cold and wet, in the open air.  But I did not\nfeel the inconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in\nscenes of evil and despair.  I considered the being whom I had cast\namong mankind, and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes\nof horror, such as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light\nof my own vampire, my own spirit let loose from the grave, and forced\nto destroy all that was dear to me.\n\nDay dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town.  The gates were\nopen, and I hastened to my father's house.  My first thought was to\ndiscover what I knew of the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be\nmade.  But I paused when I reflected on the story that I had to tell. A\nbeing whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met me at\nmidnight among the precipices of an inaccessible mountain.  I\nremembered also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at\nthe time that I dated my creation, and which would give an air of\ndelirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable.  I well knew that\nif any other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have\nlooked upon it as the ravings of insanity.  Besides, the strange nature\nof the animal would elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited\nas to persuade my relatives to commence it.  And then of what use would\nbe pursuit?  Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the\noverhanging sides of Mont Saleve?  These reflections determined me, and\nI resolved to remain silent.\n\nIt was about five in the morning when I entered my father's house.  I\ntold the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library\nto attend their usual hour of rising.\n\nSix years had elapsed, passed in a dream but for one indelible trace,\nand I stood in the same place where I had last embraced my father\nbefore my departure for Ingolstadt.  Beloved and venerable parent!  He\nstill remained to me.  I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood\nover the mantel-piece.  It was an historical subject, painted at my\nfather's desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of\ndespair, kneeling by the coffin of her dead father.  Her garb was\nrustic, and her cheek pale; but there was an air of dignity and beauty,\nthat hardly permitted the sentiment of pity.  Below this picture was a\nminiature of William; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it.  While\nI was thus engaged, Ernest entered:  he had heard me arrive, and\nhastened to welcome me:  \"Welcome, my dearest Victor,\" said he.  \"Ah! I\nwish you had come three months ago, and then you would have found us\nall joyous and delighted.  You come to us now to share a misery which\nnothing can alleviate; yet your presence will, I hope, revive our\nfather, who seems sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions\nwill induce poor Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting\nself-accusations.--Poor William! he was our darling and our pride!\"\n\nTears, unrestrained, fell from my brother's eyes; a sense of mortal\nagony crept over my frame.  Before, I had only imagined the\nwretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and\na not less terrible, disaster.  I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more\nminutely concerning my father, and here I named my cousin.\n\n\"She most of all,\" said Ernest, \"requires consolation; she accused\nherself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her\nvery wretched.  But since the murderer has been discovered--\"\n\n\"The murderer discovered!  Good God! how can that be? who could attempt\nto pursue him?  It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the\nwinds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw.  I saw him too; he\nwas free last night!\"\n\n\"I do not know what you mean,\" replied my brother, in accents of\nwonder, \"but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery.  No\none would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth will not be\nconvinced, notwithstanding all the evidence.  Indeed, who would credit\nthat Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, and fond of all the family,\ncould suddenly become so capable of so frightful, so appalling a crime?\"\n\n\"Justine Moritz!  Poor, poor girl, is she the accused?  But it is\nwrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?\"\n\n\"No one did at first; but several circumstances came out, that have\nalmost forced conviction upon us; and her own behaviour has been so\nconfused, as to add to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear,\nleaves no hope for doubt.  But she will be tried today, and you will\nthen hear all.\"\n\nHe then related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William\nhad been discovered, Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her\nbed for several days.  During this interval, one of the servants,\nhappening to examine the apparel she had worn on the night of the\nmurder, had discovered in her pocket the picture of my mother, which\nhad been judged to be the temptation of the murderer.  The servant\ninstantly showed it to one of the others, who, without saying a word to\nany of the family, went to a magistrate; and, upon their deposition,\nJustine was apprehended.  On being charged with the fact, the poor girl\nconfirmed the suspicion in a great measure by her extreme confusion of\nmanner.\n\nThis was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith; and I replied\nearnestly, \"You are all mistaken; I know the murderer.  Justine, poor,\ngood Justine, is innocent.\"\n\nAt that instant my father entered.  I saw unhappiness deeply impressed\non his countenance, but he endeavoured to welcome me cheerfully; and,\nafter we had exchanged our mournful greeting, would have introduced\nsome other topic than that of our disaster, had not Ernest exclaimed,\n\"Good God, papa!  Victor says that he knows who was the murderer of\npoor William.\"\n\n\"We do also, unfortunately,\" replied my father, \"for indeed I had\nrather have been for ever ignorant than have discovered so much\ndepravity and ungratitude in one I valued so highly.\"\n\n\"My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent.\"\n\n\"If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty.  She is to be\ntried today, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be acquitted.\"\n\nThis speech calmed me.  I was firmly convinced in my own mind that\nJustine, and indeed every human being, was guiltless of this murder.  I\nhad no fear, therefore, that any circumstantial evidence could be\nbrought forward strong enough to convict her.  My tale was not one to\nannounce publicly; its astounding horror would be looked upon as\nmadness by the vulgar.  Did any one indeed exist, except I, the\ncreator, who would believe, unless his senses convinced him, in the\nexistence of the living monument of presumption and rash ignorance\nwhich I had let loose upon the world?\n\nWe were soon joined by Elizabeth.  Time had altered her since I last\nbeheld her; it had endowed her with loveliness surpassing the beauty of\nher childish years.  There was the same candour, the same vivacity, but\nit was allied to an expression more full of sensibility and intellect.\nShe welcomed me with the greatest affection.  \"Your arrival, my dear\ncousin,\" said she, \"fills me with hope.  You perhaps will find some\nmeans to justify my poor guiltless Justine.  Alas! who is safe, if she\nbe convicted of crime?  I rely on her innocence as certainly as I do\nupon my own.  Our misfortune is doubly hard to us; we have not only\nlost that lovely darling boy, but this poor girl, whom I sincerely\nlove, is to be torn away by even a worse fate.  If she is condemned, I\nnever shall know joy more.  But she will not, I am sure she will not;\nand then I shall be happy again, even after the sad death of my little\nWilliam.\"\n\n\"She is innocent, my Elizabeth,\" said I, \"and that shall be proved;\nfear nothing, but let your spirits be cheered by the assurance of her\nacquittal.\"\n\n\"How kind and generous you are! every one else believes in her guilt,\nand that made me wretched, for I knew that it was impossible:  and to\nsee every one else prejudiced in so deadly a manner rendered me\nhopeless and despairing.\"  She wept.\n\n\"Dearest niece,\" said my father, \"dry your tears.  If she is, as you\nbelieve, innocent, rely on the justice of our laws, and the activity\nwith which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of partiality.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 8\n\nWe passed a few sad hours until eleven o'clock, when the trial was to\ncommence.  My father and the rest of the family being obliged to attend\nas witnesses, I accompanied them to the court.  During the whole of\nthis wretched mockery of justice I suffered living torture.  It was to\nbe decided whether the result of my curiosity and lawless devices would\ncause the death of two of my fellow beings:  one a smiling babe full of\ninnocence and joy, the other far more dreadfully murdered, with every\naggravation of infamy that could make the murder memorable in horror.\nJustine also was a girl of merit and possessed qualities which promised\nto render her life happy; now all was to be obliterated in an\nignominious grave, and I the cause!  A thousand times rather would I\nhave confessed myself guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine, but I\nwas absent when it was committed, and such a declaration would have\nbeen considered as the ravings of a madman and would not have\nexculpated her who suffered through me.\n\nThe appearance of Justine was calm.  She was dressed in mourning, and\nher countenance, always engaging, was rendered, by the solemnity of her\nfeelings, exquisitely beautiful.  Yet she appeared confident in\ninnocence and did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by\nthousands, for all the kindness which her beauty might otherwise have\nexcited was obliterated in the minds of the spectators by the\nimagination of the enormity she was supposed to have committed.  She\nwas tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently constrained; and as\nher confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, she\nworked up her mind to an appearance of courage.  When she entered the\ncourt she threw her eyes round it and quickly discovered where we were\nseated.  A tear seemed to dim her eye when she saw us, but she quickly\nrecovered herself, and a look of sorrowful affection seemed to attest\nher utter guiltlessness.\n\nThe trial began, and after the advocate against her had stated the\ncharge, several witnesses were called.  Several strange facts combined\nagainst her, which might have staggered anyone who had not such proof\nof her innocence as I had.  She had been out the whole of the night on\nwhich the murder had been committed and towards morning had been\nperceived by a market-woman not far from the spot where the body of the\nmurdered child had been afterwards found.  The woman asked her what she\ndid there, but she looked very strangely and only returned a confused\nand unintelligible answer.  She returned to the house about eight\no'clock, and when one inquired where she had passed the night, she\nreplied that she had been looking for the child and demanded earnestly\nif anything had been heard concerning him.  When shown the body, she\nfell into violent hysterics and kept her bed for several days.  The\npicture was then produced which the servant had found in her pocket;\nand when Elizabeth, in a faltering voice, proved that it was the same\nwhich, an hour before the child had been missed, she had placed round\nhis neck, a murmur of horror and indignation filled the court.\n\nJustine was called on for her defence.  As the trial had proceeded, her\ncountenance had altered.  Surprise, horror, and misery were strongly\nexpressed.  Sometimes she struggled with her tears, but when she was\ndesired to plead, she collected her powers and spoke in an audible\nalthough variable voice.\n\n\"God knows,\" she said, \"how entirely I am innocent.  But I do not\npretend that my protestations should acquit me; I rest my innocence on\na plain and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced\nagainst me, and I hope the character I have always borne will incline\nmy judges to a favourable interpretation where any circumstance appears\ndoubtful or suspicious.\"\n\nShe then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed\nthe evening of the night on which the murder had been committed at the\nhouse of an aunt at Chene, a village situated at about a league from\nGeneva.  On her return, at about nine o'clock, she met a man who asked\nher if she had seen anything of the child who was lost.  She was\nalarmed by this account and passed several hours in looking for him,\nwhen the gates of Geneva were shut, and she was forced to remain\nseveral hours of the night in a barn belonging to a cottage, being\nunwilling to call up the inhabitants, to whom she was well known.  Most\nof the night she spent here watching; towards morning she believed that\nshe slept for a few minutes; some steps disturbed her, and she awoke.\nIt was dawn, and she quitted her asylum, that she might again endeavour\nto find my brother.  If she had gone near the spot where his body lay,\nit was without her knowledge.  That she had been bewildered when\nquestioned by the market-woman was not surprising, since she had passed\na sleepless night and the fate of poor William was yet uncertain.\nConcerning the picture she could give no account.\n\n\"I know,\" continued the unhappy victim, \"how heavily and fatally this\none circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of explaining\nit; and when I have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left to\nconjecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have been\nplaced in my pocket.  But here also I am checked.  I believe that I\nhave no enemy on earth, and none surely would have been so wicked as to\ndestroy me wantonly.  Did the murderer place it there?  I know of no\nopportunity afforded him for so doing; or, if I had, why should he have\nstolen the jewel, to part with it again so soon?\n\n\"I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for\nhope.  I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my\ncharacter, and if their testimony shall not overweigh my supposed\nguilt, I must be condemned, although I would pledge my salvation on my\ninnocence.\"\n\nSeveral witnesses were called who had known her for many years, and\nthey spoke well of her; but fear and hatred of the crime of which they\nsupposed her guilty rendered them timorous and unwilling to come\nforward.  Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent\ndispositions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the accused,\nwhen, although violently agitated, she desired permission to address\nthe court.\n\n\"I am,\" said she, \"the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or\nrather his sister, for I was educated by and have lived with his\nparents ever since and even long before his birth.  It may therefore be\njudged indecent in me to come forward on this occasion, but when I see\na fellow creature about to perish through the cowardice of her\npretended friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that I may say what I\nknow of her character.  I am well acquainted with the accused.  I have\nlived in the same house with her, at one time for five and at another\nfor nearly two years.  During all that period she appeared to me the\nmost amiable and benevolent of human creatures.  She nursed Madame\nFrankenstein, my aunt, in her last illness, with the greatest affection\nand care and afterwards attended her own mother during a tedious\nillness, in a manner that excited the admiration of all who knew her,\nafter which she again lived in my uncle's house, where she was beloved\nby all the family.  She was warmly attached to the child who is now\ndead and acted towards him like a most affectionate mother.  For my own\npart, I do not hesitate to say that, notwithstanding all the evidence\nproduced against her, I believe and rely on her perfect innocence.  She\nhad no temptation for such an action; as to the bauble on which the\nchief proof rests, if she had earnestly desired it, I should have\nwillingly given it to her, so much do I esteem and value her.\"\n\nA murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth's simple and powerful\nappeal, but it was excited by her generous interference, and not in\nfavour of poor Justine, on whom the public indignation was turned with\nrenewed violence, charging her with the blackest ingratitude.  She\nherself wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer.  My own\nagitation and anguish was extreme during the whole trial.  I believed\nin her innocence; I knew it.  Could the demon who had (I did not for a\nminute doubt) murdered my brother also in his hellish sport have\nbetrayed the innocent to death and ignominy?  I could not sustain the\nhorror of my situation, and when I perceived that the popular voice and\nthe countenances of the judges had already condemned my unhappy victim,\nI rushed out of the court in agony.  The tortures of the accused did\nnot equal mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of\nremorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold.\n\nI passed a night of unmingled wretchedness.  In the morning I went to\nthe court; my lips and throat were parched.  I dared not ask the fatal\nquestion, but I was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my\nvisit.  The ballots had been thrown; they were all black, and Justine\nwas condemned.\n\nI cannot pretend to describe what I then felt.  I had before\nexperienced sensations of horror, and I have endeavoured to bestow upon\nthem adequate expressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the\nheart-sickening despair that I then endured.  The person to whom I\naddressed myself added that Justine had already confessed her guilt.\n\"That evidence,\" he observed, \"was hardly required in so glaring a\ncase, but I am glad of it, and, indeed, none of our judges like to\ncondemn a criminal upon circumstantial evidence, be it ever so\ndecisive.\"\n\nThis was strange and unexpected intelligence; what could it mean?  Had\nmy eyes deceived me?  And was I really as mad as the whole world would\nbelieve me to be if I disclosed the object of my suspicions?  I\nhastened to return home, and Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result.\n\n\"My cousin,\" replied I, \"it is decided as you may have expected; all\njudges had rather that ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty\nshould escape.  But she has confessed.\"\n\nThis was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness\nupon Justine's innocence.  \"Alas!\" said she.  \"How shall I ever again\nbelieve in human goodness?  Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my\nsister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray?\nHer mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and yet she\nhas committed a murder.\"\n\nSoon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a desire to see\nmy cousin.  My father wished her not to go but said that he left it to\nher own judgment and feelings to decide.  \"Yes,\" said Elizabeth, \"I\nwill go, although she is guilty; and you, Victor, shall accompany me; I\ncannot go alone.\"  The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet I\ncould not refuse.  We entered the gloomy prison chamber and beheld\nJustine sitting on some straw at the farther end; her hands were\nmanacled, and her head rested on her knees.  She rose on seeing us\nenter, and when we were left alone with her, she threw herself at the\nfeet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly.  My cousin wept also.\n\n\"Oh, Justine!\" said she.  \"Why did you rob me of my last consolation?\nI relied on your innocence, and although I was then very wretched, I\nwas not so miserable as I am now.\"\n\n\"And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked?  Do you also\njoin with my enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer?\" Her\nvoice was suffocated with sobs.\n\n\"Rise, my poor girl,\" said Elizabeth; \"why do you kneel, if you are\ninnocent?  I am not one of your enemies, I believed you guiltless,\nnotwithstanding every evidence, until I heard that you had yourself\ndeclared your guilt.  That report, you say, is false; and be assured,\ndear Justine, that nothing can shake my confidence in you for a moment,\nbut your own confession.\"\n\n\"I did confess, but I confessed a lie.  I confessed, that I might\nobtain absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than\nall my other sins.  The God of heaven forgive me!  Ever since I was\ncondemned, my confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced,\nuntil I almost began to think that I was the monster that he said I\nwas.  He threatened excommunication and hell fire in my last moments if\nI continued obdurate.  Dear lady, I had none to support me; all looked\non me as a wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition.  What could I do?\nIn an evil hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only am I truly\nmiserable.\"\n\nShe paused, weeping, and then continued, \"I thought with horror, my\nsweet lady, that you should believe your Justine, whom your blessed\naunt had so highly honoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable\nof a crime which none but the devil himself could have perpetrated.\nDear William! dearest blessed child!  I soon shall see you again in\nheaven, where we shall all be happy; and that consoles me, going as I\nam to suffer ignominy and death.\"\n\n\"Oh, Justine!  Forgive me for having for one moment distrusted you.\nWhy did you confess?  But do not mourn, dear girl.  Do not fear.  I\nwill proclaim, I will prove your innocence.  I will melt the stony\nhearts of your enemies by my tears and prayers.  You shall not die!\nYou, my playfellow, my companion, my sister, perish on the scaffold!\nNo!  No!  I never could survive so horrible a misfortune.\"\n\nJustine shook her head mournfully.  \"I do not fear to die,\" she said;\n\"that pang is past.  God raises my weakness and gives me courage to\nendure the worst.  I leave a sad and bitter world; and if you remember\nme and think of me as of one unjustly condemned, I am resigned to the\nfate awaiting me.  Learn from me, dear lady, to submit in patience to\nthe will of heaven!\"\n\nDuring this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison room,\nwhere I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me.  Despair!\nWho dared talk of that?  The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass\nthe awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such\ndeep and bitter agony.  I gnashed my teeth and ground them together,\nuttering a groan that came from my inmost soul.  Justine started.  When\nshe saw who it was, she approached me and said, \"Dear sir, you are very\nkind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?\"\n\nI could not answer.  \"No, Justine,\" said Elizabeth; \"he is more\nconvinced of your innocence than I was, for even when he heard that you\nhad confessed, he did not credit it.\"\n\n\"I truly thank him.  In these last moments I feel the sincerest\ngratitude towards those who think of me with kindness.  How sweet is\nthe affection of others to such a wretch as I am!  It removes more than\nhalf my misfortune, and I feel as if I could die in peace now that my\ninnocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin.\"\n\nThus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself.  She indeed\ngained the resignation she desired.  But I, the true murderer, felt the\nnever-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or\nconsolation.  Elizabeth also wept and was unhappy, but hers also was\nthe misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair\nmoon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish its brightness.  Anguish and\ndespair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within\nme which nothing could extinguish.  We stayed several hours with\nJustine, and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear\nherself away.  \"I wish,\" cried she, \"that I were to die with you; I\ncannot live in this world of misery.\"\n\nJustine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty\nrepressed her bitter tears.  She embraced Elizabeth and said in a voice\nof half-suppressed emotion, \"Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth,\nmy beloved and only friend; may heaven, in its bounty, bless and\npreserve you; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever\nsuffer!  Live, and be happy, and make others so.\"\n\nAnd on the morrow Justine died.  Elizabeth's heart-rending eloquence\nfailed to move the judges from their settled conviction in the\ncriminality of the saintly sufferer.  My passionate and indignant\nappeals were lost upon them.  And when I received their cold answers\nand heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning of these men, my purposed\navowal died away on my lips.  Thus I might proclaim myself a madman,\nbut not revoke the sentence passed upon my wretched victim.  She\nperished on the scaffold as a murderess!\n\nFrom the tortures of my own heart, I turned to contemplate the deep and\nvoiceless grief of my Elizabeth.  This also was my doing!  And my\nfather's woe, and the desolation of that late so smiling home all was\nthe work of my thrice-accursed hands!  Ye weep, unhappy ones, but these\nare not your last tears!  Again shall you raise the funeral wail, and\nthe sound of your lamentations shall again and again be heard!\nFrankenstein, your son, your kinsman, your early, much-loved friend; he\nwho would spend each vital drop of blood for your sakes, who has no\nthought nor sense of joy except as it is mirrored also in your dear\ncountenances, who would fill the air with blessings and spend his life\nin serving you--he bids you weep, to shed countless tears; happy beyond\nhis hopes, if thus inexorable fate be satisfied, and if the destruction\npause before the peace of the grave have succeeded to your sad torments!\n\nThus spoke my prophetic soul, as, torn by remorse, horror, and despair,\nI beheld those I loved spend vain sorrow upon the graves of William and\nJustine, the first hapless victims to my unhallowed arts.\n\n\n\nChapter 9\n\nNothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have\nbeen worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of\ninaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope\nand fear.  Justine died, she rested, and I was alive.  The blood flowed\nfreely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my\nheart which nothing could remove.  Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered\nlike an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond\ndescription horrible, and more, much more (I persuaded myself) was yet\nbehind.  Yet my heart overflowed with kindness and the love of virtue.\nI had begun life with benevolent intentions and thirsted for the moment\nwhen I should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow\nbeings.  Now all was blasted; instead of that serenity of conscience\nwhich allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and\nfrom thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and\nthe sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures\nsuch as no language can describe.\n\nThis state of mind preyed upon my health, which had perhaps never\nentirely recovered from the first shock it had sustained.  I shunned\nthe face of man; all sound of joy or complacency was torture to me;\nsolitude was my only consolation--deep, dark, deathlike solitude.\n\nMy father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my\ndisposition and habits and endeavoured by arguments deduced from the\nfeelings of his serene conscience and guiltless life to inspire me with\nfortitude and awaken in me the courage to dispel the dark cloud which\nbrooded over me.  \"Do you think, Victor,\" said he, \"that I do not\nsuffer also?  No one could love a child more than I loved your\nbrother\"--tears came into his eyes as he spoke--\"but is it not a duty\nto the survivors that we should refrain from augmenting their\nunhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief?  It is also a duty\nowed to yourself, for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or\nenjoyment, or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no\nman is fit for society.\"\n\nThis advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I\nshould have been the first to hide my grief and console my friends if\nremorse had not mingled its bitterness, and terror its alarm, with my\nother sensations.  Now I could only answer my father with a look of\ndespair and endeavour to hide myself from his view.\n\nAbout this time we retired to our house at Belrive.  This change was\nparticularly agreeable to me.  The shutting of the gates regularly at\nten o'clock and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that\nhour had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome\nto me.  I was now free.  Often, after the rest of the family had\nretired for the night, I took the boat and passed many hours upon the\nwater.  Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and\nsometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to\npursue its own course and gave way to my own miserable reflections.  I\nwas often tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only\nunquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and\nheavenly--if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and\ninterrupted croaking was heard only when I approached the shore--often,\nI say, I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters\nmight close over me and my calamities forever.  But I was restrained,\nwhen I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly\nloved, and whose existence was bound up in mine.  I thought also of my\nfather and surviving brother; should I by my base desertion leave them\nexposed and unprotected to the malice of the fiend whom I had let loose\namong them?\n\nAt these moments I wept bitterly and wished that peace would revisit my\nmind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness.  But that\ncould not be.  Remorse extinguished every hope.  I had been the author\nof unalterable evils, and I lived in daily fear lest the monster whom I\nhad created should perpetrate some new wickedness.  I had an obscure\nfeeling that all was not over and that he would still commit some\nsignal crime, which by its enormity should almost efface the\nrecollection of the past.  There was always scope for fear so long as\nanything I loved remained behind.  My abhorrence of this fiend cannot\nbe conceived.  When I thought of him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became\ninflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so\nthoughtlessly bestowed.  When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my\nhatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation.  I would have made a\npilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I when there have\nprecipitated him to their base.  I wished to see him again, that I\nmight wreak the utmost extent of abhorrence on his head and avenge the\ndeaths of William and Justine.  Our house was the house of mourning. My\nfather's health was deeply shaken by the horror of the recent events.\nElizabeth was sad and desponding; she no longer took delight in her\nordinary occupations; all pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the\ndead; eternal woe and tears she then thought was the just tribute she\nshould pay to innocence so blasted and destroyed.  She was no longer\nthat happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks\nof the lake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects.  The first\nof those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited\nher, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest smiles.\n\n\"When I reflect, my dear cousin,\" said she, \"on the miserable death of\nJustine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before\nappeared to me.  Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and\ninjustice that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient\ndays or imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to\nreason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men\nappear to me as monsters thirsting for each other's blood.  Yet I am\ncertainly unjust.  Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty; and\nif she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly\nshe would have been the most depraved of human creatures.  For the sake\nof a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend,\na child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if\nit had been her own!  I could not consent to the death of any human\nbeing, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to\nremain in the society of men.  But she was innocent.  I know, I feel\nshe was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that confirms me.\nAlas!  Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can\nassure themselves of certain happiness?  I feel as if I were walking on\nthe edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding and\nendeavouring to plunge me into the abyss.  William and Justine were\nassassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free,\nand perhaps respected.  But even if I were condemned to suffer on the\nscaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a\nwretch.\"\n\nI listened to this discourse with the extremest agony.  I, not in deed,\nbut in effect, was the true murderer.  Elizabeth read my anguish in my\ncountenance, and kindly taking my hand, said, \"My dearest friend, you\nmust calm yourself.  These events have affected me, God knows how\ndeeply; but I am not so wretched as you are.  There is an expression of\ndespair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me\ntremble.  Dear Victor, banish these dark passions.  Remember the\nfriends around you, who centre all their hopes in you.  Have we lost\nthe power of rendering you happy?  Ah!  While we love, while we are\ntrue to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native\ncountry, we may reap every tranquil blessing--what can disturb our\npeace?\"\n\nAnd could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every\nother gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my\nheart?  Even as she spoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at\nthat very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her.\n\nThus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of\nheaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were\nineffectual.  I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial\ninfluence could penetrate.  The wounded deer dragging its fainting\nlimbs to some untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had\npierced it, and to die, was but a type of me.\n\nSometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me, but\nsometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily\nexercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable\nsensations.  It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left\nmy home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine valleys, sought\nin the magnificence, the eternity of such scenes, to forget myself and\nmy ephemeral, because human, sorrows.  My wanderings were directed\ntowards the valley of Chamounix.  I had visited it frequently during my\nboyhood.  Six years had passed since then:  _I_ was a wreck, but nought\nhad changed in those savage and enduring scenes.\n\nI performed the first part of my journey on horseback.  I afterwards\nhired a mule, as the more sure-footed and least liable to receive\ninjury on these rugged roads.  The weather was fine; it was about the\nmiddle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of\nJustine, that miserable epoch from which I dated all my woe.  The\nweight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in\nthe ravine of Arve.  The immense mountains and precipices that overhung\nme on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and\nthe dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty as\nOmnipotence--and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less\nalmighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here\ndisplayed in their most terrific guise.  Still, as I ascended higher,\nthe valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character.\nRuined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains, the\nimpetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from\namong the trees formed a scene of singular beauty.  But it was\naugmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and\nshining pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another\nearth, the habitations of another race of beings.\n\nI passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine, which the river\nforms, opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that\noverhangs it.  Soon after, I entered the valley of Chamounix.  This\nvalley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and\npicturesque as that of Servox, through which I had just passed.  The\nhigh and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries, but I saw no\nmore ruined castles and fertile fields.  Immense glaciers approached\nthe road; I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche and\nmarked the smoke of its passage.  Mont Blanc, the supreme and\nmagnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding aiguilles,\nand its tremendous dome overlooked the valley.\n\nA tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this\njourney.  Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and\nrecognized, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the\nlighthearted gaiety of boyhood.  The very winds whispered in soothing\naccents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more.  Then again the\nkindly influence ceased to act--I found myself fettered again to grief\nand indulging in all the misery of reflection.  Then I spurred on my\nanimal, striving so to forget the world, my fears, and more than all,\nmyself--or, in a more desperate fashion, I alighted and threw myself on\nthe grass, weighed down by horror and despair.\n\nAt length I arrived at the village of Chamounix.  Exhaustion succeeded\nto the extreme fatigue both of body and of mind which I had endured.\nFor a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid\nlightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of\nthe Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath.  The same lulling sounds\nacted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head\nupon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed\nthe giver of oblivion.\n\n\n\nChapter 10\n\nI spent the following day roaming through the valley.  I stood beside\nthe sources of the Arveiron, which take their rise in a glacier, that\nwith slow pace is advancing down from the summit of the hills to\nbarricade the valley.  The abrupt sides of vast mountains were before\nme; the icy wall of the glacier overhung me; a few shattered pines were\nscattered around; and the solemn silence of this glorious\npresence-chamber of imperial nature was broken only by the brawling\nwaves or the fall of some vast fragment, the thunder sound of the\navalanche or the cracking, reverberated along the mountains, of the\naccumulated ice, which, through the silent working of immutable laws,\nwas ever and anon rent and torn, as if it had been but a plaything in\ntheir hands.  These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the\ngreatest consolation that I was capable of receiving.  They elevated me\nfrom all littleness of feeling, and although they did not remove my\ngrief, they subdued and tranquillized it.  In some degree, also, they\ndiverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the\nlast month.  I retired to rest at night; my slumbers, as it were,\nwaited on and ministered to by the assemblance of grand shapes which I\nhad contemplated during the day.  They congregated round me; the\nunstained snowy mountain-top, the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods,\nand ragged bare ravine, the eagle, soaring amidst the clouds--they all\ngathered round me and bade me be at peace.\n\nWhere had they fled when the next morning I awoke?  All of\nsoul-inspiriting fled with sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every\nthought.  The rain was pouring in torrents, and thick mists hid the\nsummits of the mountains, so that I even saw not the faces of those\nmighty friends.  Still I would penetrate their misty veil and seek them\nin their cloudy retreats.  What were rain and storm to me?  My mule was\nbrought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit of\nMontanvert.  I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous\nand ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it.\nIt had then filled me with a sublime ecstasy that gave wings to the\nsoul and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy.\nThe sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the\neffect of solemnizing my mind and causing me to forget the passing\ncares of life.  I determined to go without a guide, for I was well\nacquainted with the path, and the presence of another would destroy the\nsolitary grandeur of the scene.\n\nThe ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short\nwindings, which enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the\nmountain.  It is a scene terrifically desolate.  In a thousand spots\nthe traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie\nbroken and strewed on the ground, some entirely destroyed, others bent,\nleaning upon the jutting rocks of the mountain or transversely upon\nother trees.  The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines\nof snow, down which stones continually roll from above; one of them is\nparticularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even speaking\nin a loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to draw\ndestruction upon the head of the speaker.  The pines are not tall or\nluxuriant, but they are sombre and add an air of severity to the scene.\nI looked on the valley beneath; vast mists were rising from the rivers\nwhich ran through it and curling in thick wreaths around the opposite\nmountains, whose summits were hid in the uniform clouds, while rain\npoured from the dark sky and added to the melancholy impression I\nreceived from the objects around me.  Alas!  Why does man boast of\nsensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders\nthem more necessary beings.  If our impulses were confined to hunger,\nthirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by\nevery wind that blows and a chance word or scene that that word may\nconvey to us.\n\n\n  We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.\n   We rise; one wand'ring thought pollutes the day.\n  We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,\n   Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;\n  It is the same:  for, be it joy or sorrow,\n   The path of its departure still is free.\n  Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;\n   Nought may endure but mutability!\n\n\nIt was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent.  For some\ntime I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice.  A mist covered\nboth that and the surrounding mountains.  Presently a breeze dissipated\nthe cloud, and I descended upon the glacier.  The surface is very\nuneven, rising like the waves of a troubled sea, descending low, and\ninterspersed by rifts that sink deep.  The field of ice is almost a\nleague in width, but I spent nearly two hours in crossing it.  The\nopposite mountain is a bare perpendicular rock.  From the side where I\nnow stood Montanvert was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league;\nand above it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty.  I remained in a recess\nof the rock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene.  The sea,\nor rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains,\nwhose aerial summits hung over its recesses.  Their icy and glittering\npeaks shone in the sunlight over the clouds.  My heart, which was\nbefore sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy; I exclaimed,\n\"Wandering spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your narrow\nbeds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion,\naway from the joys of life.\"\n\nAs I said this I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance,\nadvancing towards me with superhuman speed.  He bounded over the\ncrevices in the ice, among which I had walked with caution; his\nstature, also, as he approached, seemed to exceed that of man.  I was\ntroubled; a mist came over my eyes, and I felt a faintness seize me,\nbut I was quickly restored by the cold gale of the mountains.  I\nperceived, as the shape came nearer (sight tremendous and abhorred!)\nthat it was the wretch whom I had created.  I trembled with rage and\nhorror, resolving to wait his approach and then close with him in\nmortal combat.  He approached; his countenance bespoke bitter anguish,\ncombined with disdain and malignity, while its unearthly ugliness\nrendered it almost too horrible for human eyes.  But I scarcely\nobserved this; rage and hatred had at first deprived me of utterance,\nand I recovered only to overwhelm him with words expressive of furious\ndetestation and contempt.\n\n\"Devil,\" I exclaimed, \"do you dare approach me?  And do not you fear\nthe fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head?  Begone,\nvile insect!  Or rather, stay, that I may trample you to dust!  And,\noh!  That I could, with the extinction of your miserable existence,\nrestore those victims whom you have so diabolically murdered!\"\n\n\"I expected this reception,\" said the daemon.  \"All men hate the\nwretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all\nliving things!  Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature,\nto whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of\none of us.  You purpose to kill me.  How dare you sport thus with life?\nDo your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of\nmankind.  If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and\nyou at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it\nbe satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.\"\n\n\"Abhorred monster!  Fiend that thou art!  The tortures of hell are too\nmild a vengeance for thy crimes.  Wretched devil!  You reproach me with\nyour creation, come on, then, that I may extinguish the spark which I\nso negligently bestowed.\"\n\nMy rage was without bounds; I sprang on him, impelled by all the\nfeelings which can arm one being against the existence of another.\n\nHe easily eluded me and said,\n\n\"Be calm!  I entreat you to hear me before you give vent to your hatred\non my devoted head.  Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to\nincrease my misery?  Life, although it may only be an accumulation of\nanguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.  Remember, thou hast made\nme more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine, my\njoints more supple.  But I will not be tempted to set myself in\nopposition to thee.  I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and\ndocile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part,\nthe which thou owest me.  Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every\nother and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy\nclemency and affection, is most due.  Remember that I am thy creature;\nI ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou\ndrivest from joy for no misdeed.  Everywhere I see bliss, from which I\nalone am irrevocably excluded.  I was benevolent and good; misery made\nme a fiend.  Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.\"\n\n\"Begone!  I will not hear you.  There can be no community between you\nand me; we are enemies.  Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight,\nin which one must fall.\"\n\n\"How can I move thee?  Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a\nfavourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and\ncompassion?  Believe me, Frankenstein, I was benevolent; my soul glowed\nwith love and humanity; but am I not alone, miserably alone?  You, my\ncreator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow creatures,\nwho owe me nothing?  They spurn and hate me.  The desert mountains and\ndreary glaciers are my refuge.  I have wandered here many days; the\ncaves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the\nonly one which man does not grudge.  These bleak skies I hail, for they\nare kinder to me than your fellow beings.  If the multitude of mankind\nknew of my existence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for\nmy destruction.  Shall I not then hate them who abhor me?  I will keep\nno terms with my enemies.  I am miserable, and they shall share my\nwretchedness.  Yet it is in your power to recompense me, and deliver\nthem from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great, that\nnot only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be\nswallowed up in the whirlwinds of its rage.  Let your compassion be\nmoved, and do not disdain me.  Listen to my tale; when you have heard\nthat, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve.\nBut hear me.  The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they\nare, to speak in their own defence before they are condemned.  Listen\nto me, Frankenstein.  You accuse me of murder, and yet you would, with\na satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature.  Oh, praise the\neternal justice of man!  Yet I ask you not to spare me; listen to me,\nand then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of your hands.\"\n\n\"Why do you call to my remembrance,\" I rejoined, \"circumstances of\nwhich I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and\nauthor?  Cursed be the day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw\nlight!  Cursed (although I curse myself) be the hands that formed you!\nYou have made me wretched beyond expression.  You have left me no power\nto consider whether I am just to you or not.  Begone!  Relieve me from\nthe sight of your detested form.\"\n\n\"Thus I relieve thee, my creator,\" he said, and placed his hated hands\nbefore my eyes, which I flung from me with violence; \"thus I take from\nthee a sight which you abhor.  Still thou canst listen to me and grant\nme thy compassion.  By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this\nfrom you.  Hear my tale; it is long and strange, and the temperature of\nthis place is not fitting to your fine sensations; come to the hut upon\nthe mountain.  The sun is yet high in the heavens; before it descends\nto hide itself behind your snowy precipices and illuminate another\nworld, you will have heard my story and can decide.  On you it rests,\nwhether I quit forever the neighbourhood of man and lead a harmless\nlife, or become the scourge of your fellow creatures and the author of\nyour own speedy ruin.\"\n\nAs he said this he led the way across the ice; I followed.  My heart\nwas full, and I did not answer him, but as I proceeded, I weighed the\nvarious arguments that he had used and determined at least to listen to\nhis tale.  I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my\nresolution.  I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my\nbrother, and I eagerly sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion.\nFor the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards\nhis creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I\ncomplained of his wickedness.  These motives urged me to comply with\nhis demand.  We crossed the ice, therefore, and ascended the opposite\nrock.  The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend; we\nentered the hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy\nheart and depressed spirits.  But I consented to listen, and seating\nmyself by the fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus began\nhis tale.\n\n\n\nChapter 11\n\n\"It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original era of\nmy being; all the events of that period appear confused and indistinct.\nA strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard,\nand smelt at the same time; and it was, indeed, a long time before I\nlearned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses.  By\ndegrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so that I\nwas obliged to shut my eyes.  Darkness then came over me and troubled\nme, but hardly had I felt this when, by opening my eyes, as I now\nsuppose, the light poured in upon me again.  I walked and, I believe,\ndescended, but I presently found a great alteration in my sensations.\nBefore, dark and opaque bodies had surrounded me, impervious to my\ntouch or sight; but I now found that I could wander on at liberty, with\nno obstacles which I could not either surmount or avoid.  The light\nbecame more and more oppressive to me, and the heat wearying me as I\nwalked, I sought a place where I could receive shade.  This was the\nforest near Ingolstadt; and here I lay by the side of a brook resting\nfrom my fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger and thirst.  This\nroused me from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some berries which I\nfound hanging on the trees or lying on the ground.  I slaked my thirst\nat the brook, and then lying down, was overcome by sleep.\n\n\"It was dark when I awoke; I felt cold also, and half frightened, as it\nwere, instinctively, finding myself so desolate.  Before I had quitted\nyour apartment, on a sensation of cold, I had covered myself with some\nclothes, but these were insufficient to secure me from the dews of\nnight.  I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch; I knew, and could\ndistinguish, nothing; but feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat\ndown and wept.\n\n\"Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens and gave me a sensation of\npleasure.  I started up and beheld a radiant form rise from among the\ntrees.  [The moon]  I gazed with a kind of wonder.  It moved slowly,\nbut it enlightened my path, and I again went out in search of berries.\nI was still cold when under one of the trees I found a huge cloak, with\nwhich I covered myself, and sat down upon the ground.  No distinct\nideas occupied my mind; all was confused.  I felt light, and hunger,\nand thirst, and darkness; innumerable sounds rang in my ears, and on\nall sides various scents saluted me; the only object that I could\ndistinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with\npleasure.\n\n\"Several changes of day and night passed, and the orb of night had\ngreatly lessened, when I began to distinguish my sensations from each\nother.  I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with\ndrink and the trees that shaded me with their foliage.  I was delighted\nwhen I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my\nears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had\noften intercepted the light from my eyes.  I began also to observe,\nwith greater accuracy, the forms that surrounded me and to perceive the\nboundaries of the radiant roof of light which canopied me.  Sometimes I\ntried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds but was unable.\nSometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the\nuncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into\nsilence again.\n\n\"The moon had disappeared from the night, and again, with a lessened\nform, showed itself, while I still remained in the forest.  My\nsensations had by this time become distinct, and my mind received every\nday additional ideas.  My eyes became accustomed to the light and to\nperceive objects in their right forms; I distinguished the insect from\nthe herb, and by degrees, one herb from another.  I found that the\nsparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst those of the blackbird and\nthrush were sweet and enticing.\n\n\"One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been\nleft by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the\nwarmth I experienced from it.  In my joy I thrust my hand into the live\nembers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain.  How strange,\nI thought, that the same cause should produce such opposite effects!  I\nexamined the materials of the fire, and to my joy found it to be\ncomposed of wood.  I quickly collected some branches, but they were wet\nand would not burn.  I was pained at this and sat still watching the\noperation of the fire.  The wet wood which I had placed near the heat\ndried and itself became inflamed.  I reflected on this, and by touching\nthe various branches, I discovered the cause and busied myself in\ncollecting a great quantity of wood, that I might dry it and have a\nplentiful supply of fire.  When night came on and brought sleep with\nit, I was in the greatest fear lest my fire should be extinguished.  I\ncovered it carefully with dry wood and leaves and placed wet branches\nupon it; and then, spreading my cloak, I lay on the ground and sank\ninto sleep.\n\n\"It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was to visit the fire.\nI uncovered it, and a gentle breeze quickly fanned it into a flame.  I\nobserved this also and contrived a fan of branches, which roused the\nembers when they were nearly extinguished.  When night came again I\nfound, with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as heat and that\nthe discovery of this element was useful to me in my food, for I found\nsome of the offals that the travellers had left had been roasted, and\ntasted much more savoury than the berries I gathered from the trees.  I\ntried, therefore, to dress my food in the same manner, placing it on\nthe live embers.  I found that the berries were spoiled by this\noperation, and the nuts and roots much improved.\n\n\"Food, however, became scarce, and I often spent the whole day\nsearching in vain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of hunger. When\nI found this, I resolved to quit the place that I had hitherto\ninhabited, to seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be\nmore easily satisfied.  In this emigration I exceedingly lamented the\nloss of the fire which I had obtained through accident and knew not how\nto reproduce it.  I gave several hours to the serious consideration of\nthis difficulty, but I was obliged to relinquish all attempt to supply\nit, and wrapping myself up in my cloak, I struck across the wood\ntowards the setting sun.  I passed three days in these rambles and at\nlength discovered the open country.  A great fall of snow had taken\nplace the night before, and the fields were of one uniform white; the\nappearance was disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold\ndamp substance that covered the ground.\n\n\"It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and\nshelter; at length I perceived a small hut, on a rising ground, which\nhad doubtless been built for the convenience of some shepherd.  This\nwas a new sight to me, and I examined the structure with great\ncuriosity.  Finding the door open, I entered.  An old man sat in it,\nnear a fire, over which he was preparing his breakfast.  He turned on\nhearing a noise, and perceiving me, shrieked loudly, and quitting the\nhut, ran across the fields with a speed of which his debilitated form\nhardly appeared capable.  His appearance, different from any I had ever\nbefore seen, and his flight somewhat surprised me.  But I was enchanted\nby the appearance of the hut; here the snow and rain could not\npenetrate; the ground was dry; and it presented to me then as exquisite\nand divine a retreat as Pandemonium appeared to the demons of hell\nafter their sufferings in the lake of fire.  I greedily devoured the\nremnants of the shepherd's breakfast, which consisted of bread, cheese,\nmilk, and wine; the latter, however, I did not like.  Then, overcome by\nfatigue, I lay down among some straw and fell asleep.\n\n\"It was noon when I awoke, and allured by the warmth of the sun, which\nshone brightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my\ntravels; and, depositing the remains of the peasant's breakfast in a\nwallet I found, I proceeded across the fields for several hours, until\nat sunset I arrived at a village.  How miraculous did this appear!  The\nhuts, the neater cottages, and stately houses engaged my admiration by\nturns.  The vegetables in the gardens, the milk and cheese that I saw\nplaced at the windows of some of the cottages, allured my appetite. One\nof the best of these I entered, but I had hardly placed my foot within\nthe door before the children shrieked, and one of the women fainted.\nThe whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me, until,\ngrievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of missile weapons, I\nescaped to the open country and fearfully took refuge in a low hovel,\nquite bare, and making a wretched appearance after the palaces I had\nbeheld in the village.  This hovel however, joined a cottage of a neat\nand pleasant appearance, but after my late dearly bought experience, I\ndared not enter it.  My place of refuge was constructed of wood, but so\nlow that I could with difficulty sit upright in it.  No wood, however,\nwas placed on the earth, which formed the floor, but it was dry; and\nalthough the wind entered it by innumerable chinks, I found it an\nagreeable asylum from the snow and rain.\n\n\"Here, then, I retreated and lay down happy to have found a shelter,\nhowever miserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more\nfrom the barbarity of man.  As soon as morning dawned I crept from my\nkennel, that I might view the adjacent cottage and discover if I could\nremain in the habitation I had found.  It was situated against the back\nof the cottage and surrounded on the sides which were exposed by a pig\nsty and a clear pool of water.  One part was open, and by that I had\ncrept in; but now I covered every crevice by which I might be perceived\nwith stones and wood, yet in such a manner that I might move them on\noccasion to pass out; all the light I enjoyed came through the sty, and\nthat was sufficient for me.\n\n\"Having thus arranged my dwelling and carpeted it with clean straw, I\nretired, for I saw the figure of a man at a distance, and I remembered\ntoo well my treatment the night before to trust myself in his power.  I\nhad first, however, provided for my sustenance for that day by a loaf\nof coarse bread, which I purloined, and a cup with which I could drink\nmore conveniently than from my hand of the pure water which flowed by\nmy retreat.  The floor was a little raised, so that it was kept\nperfectly dry, and by its vicinity to the chimney of the cottage it was\ntolerably warm.\n\n\"Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel until\nsomething should occur which might alter my determination.  It was\nindeed a paradise compared to the bleak forest, my former residence,\nthe rain-dropping branches, and dank earth.  I ate my breakfast with\npleasure and was about to remove a plank to procure myself a little\nwater when I heard a step, and looking through a small chink, I beheld\na young creature, with a pail on her head, passing before my hovel. The\ngirl was young and of gentle demeanour, unlike what I have since found\ncottagers and farmhouse servants to be.  Yet she was meanly dressed, a\ncoarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being her only garb; her fair\nhair was plaited but not adorned:  she looked patient yet sad.  I lost\nsight of her, and in about a quarter of an hour she returned bearing\nthe pail, which was now partly filled with milk.  As she walked along,\nseemingly incommoded by the burden, a young man met her, whose\ncountenance expressed a deeper despondence.  Uttering a few sounds with\nan air of melancholy, he took the pail from her head and bore it to the\ncottage himself.  She followed, and they disappeared.  Presently I saw\nthe young man again, with some tools in his hand, cross the field\nbehind the cottage; and the girl was also busied, sometimes in the\nhouse and sometimes in the yard.\n\n\"On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the windows of the\ncottage had formerly occupied a part of it, but the panes had been\nfilled up with wood. In one of these was a small and almost\nimperceptible chink through which the eye could just penetrate.\nThrough this crevice a small room was visible, whitewashed and clean\nbut very bare of furniture. In one corner, near a small fire, sat an\nold man, leaning his head on his hands in a disconsolate attitude. The\nyoung girl was occupied in arranging the cottage; but presently she\ntook something out of a drawer, which employed her hands, and she sat\ndown beside the old man, who, taking up an instrument, began to play\nand to produce sounds sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the\nnightingale. It was a lovely sight, even to me, poor wretch who had\nnever beheld aught beautiful before. The silver hair and benevolent\ncountenance of the aged cottager won my reverence, while the gentle\nmanners of the girl enticed my love. He played a sweet mournful air\nwhich I perceived drew tears from the eyes of his amiable companion, of\nwhich the old man took no notice, until she sobbed audibly; he then\npronounced a few sounds, and the fair creature, leaving her work, knelt\nat his feet. He raised her and smiled with such kindness and affection\nthat I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature; they were\na mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I had never before experienced,\neither from hunger or cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the\nwindow, unable to bear these emotions.\n\n\"Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on his shoulders a\nload of wood.  The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of\nhis burden, and taking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on\nthe fire; then she and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage,\nand he showed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese.  She seemed\npleased and went into the garden for some roots and plants, which she\nplaced in water, and then upon the fire.  She afterwards continued her\nwork, whilst the young man went into the garden and appeared busily\nemployed in digging and pulling up roots.  After he had been employed\nthus about an hour, the young woman joined him and they entered the\ncottage together.\n\n\"The old man had, in the meantime, been pensive, but on the appearance\nof his companions he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down to\neat.  The meal was quickly dispatched.  The young woman was again\noccupied in arranging the cottage, the old man walked before the\ncottage in the sun for a few minutes, leaning on the arm of the youth.\nNothing could exceed in beauty the contrast between these two excellent\ncreatures.  One was old, with silver hairs and a countenance beaming\nwith benevolence and love; the younger was slight and graceful in his\nfigure, and his features were moulded with the finest symmetry, yet his\neyes and attitude expressed the utmost sadness and despondency.  The\nold man returned to the cottage, and the youth, with tools different\nfrom those he had used in the morning, directed his steps across the\nfields.\n\n\"Night quickly shut in, but to my extreme wonder, I found that the\ncottagers had a means of prolonging light by the use of tapers, and was\ndelighted to find that the setting of the sun did not put an end to the\npleasure I experienced in watching my human neighbours.  In the evening\nthe young girl and her companion were employed in various occupations\nwhich I did not understand; and the old man again took up the\ninstrument which produced the divine sounds that had enchanted me in\nthe morning.  So soon as he had finished, the youth began, not to play,\nbut to utter sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling the\nharmony of the old man's instrument nor the songs of the birds; I since\nfound that he read aloud, but at that time I knew nothing of the\nscience of words or letters.\n\n\"The family, after having been thus occupied for a short time,\nextinguished their lights and retired, as I conjectured, to rest.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 12\n\n\"I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep.  I thought of the\noccurrences of the day.  What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners\nof these people, and I longed to join them, but dared not.  I\nremembered too well the treatment I had suffered the night before from\nthe barbarous villagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I\nmight hereafter think it right to pursue, that for the present I would\nremain quietly in my hovel, watching and endeavouring to discover the\nmotives which influenced their actions.\n\n\"The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun.  The young woman\narranged the cottage and prepared the food, and the youth departed\nafter the first meal.\n\n\"This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it.\nThe young man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in\nvarious laborious occupations within.  The old man, whom I soon\nperceived to be blind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument or\nin contemplation.  Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the\nyounger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion.  They\nperformed towards him every little office of affection and duty with\ngentleness, and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.\n\n\"They were not entirely happy.  The young man and his companion often\nwent apart and appeared to weep.  I saw no cause for their unhappiness,\nbut I was deeply affected by it.  If such lovely creatures were\nmiserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,\nshould be wretched.  Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy?  They\npossessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes) and every\nluxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill and delicious viands\nwhen hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,\nthey enjoyed one another's company and speech, interchanging each day\nlooks of affection and kindness.  What did their tears imply?  Did they\nreally express pain?  I was at first unable to solve these questions,\nbut perpetual attention and time explained to me many appearances which\nwere at first enigmatic.\n\n\"A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of\nthe uneasiness of this amiable family:  it was poverty, and they\nsuffered that evil in a very distressing degree.  Their nourishment\nconsisted entirely of the vegetables of their garden and the milk of\none cow, which gave very little during the winter, when its masters\ncould scarcely procure food to support it.  They often, I believe,\nsuffered the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially the two\nyounger cottagers, for several times they placed food before the old\nman when they reserved none for themselves.\n\n\"This trait of kindness moved me sensibly.  I had been accustomed,\nduring the night, to steal a part of their store for my own\nconsumption, but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on\nthe cottagers, I abstained and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and\nroots which I gathered from a neighbouring wood.\n\n\"I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist\ntheir labours.  I found that the youth spent a great part of each day\nin collecting wood for the family fire, and during the night I often\ntook his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home\nfiring sufficient for the consumption of several days.\n\n\"I remember, the first time that I did this, the young woman, when she\nopened the door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a\ngreat pile of wood on the outside.  She uttered some words in a loud\nvoice, and the youth joined her, who also expressed surprise.  I\nobserved, with pleasure, that he did not go to the forest that day, but\nspent it in repairing the cottage and cultivating the garden.\n\n\"By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment.  I found that\nthese people possessed a method of communicating their experience and\nfeelings to one another by articulate sounds.  I perceived that the\nwords they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or\nsadness, in the minds and countenances of the hearers.  This was indeed\na godlike science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it.\nBut I was baffled in every attempt I made for this purpose.  Their\npronunciation was quick, and the words they uttered, not having any\napparent connection with visible objects, I was unable to discover any\nclue by which I could unravel the mystery of their reference.  By great\napplication, however, and after having remained during the space of\nseveral revolutions of the moon in my hovel, I discovered the names\nthat were given to some of the most familiar objects of discourse; I\nlearned and applied the words, 'fire,' 'milk,' 'bread,' and 'wood.'  I\nlearned also the names of the cottagers themselves.  The youth and his\ncompanion had each of them several names, but the old man had only one,\nwhich was 'father.' The girl was called 'sister' or 'Agatha,' and the\nyouth 'Felix,' 'brother,' or 'son.'  I cannot describe the delight I\nfelt when I learned the ideas appropriated to each of these sounds and\nwas able to pronounce them.  I distinguished several other words\nwithout being able as yet to understand or apply them, such as 'good,'\n'dearest,' 'unhappy.'\n\n\"I spent the winter in this manner.  The gentle manners and beauty of\nthe cottagers greatly endeared them to me; when they were unhappy, I\nfelt depressed; when they rejoiced, I sympathized in their joys.  I saw\nfew human beings besides them, and if any other happened to enter the\ncottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the\nsuperior accomplishments of my friends.  The old man, I could perceive,\noften endeavoured to encourage his children, as sometimes I found that\nhe called them, to cast off their melancholy.  He would talk in a\ncheerful accent, with an expression of goodness that bestowed pleasure\neven upon me.  Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes filled\nwith tears, which she endeavoured to wipe away unperceived; but I\ngenerally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful after\nhaving listened to the exhortations of her father.  It was not thus\nwith Felix.  He was always the saddest of the group, and even to my\nunpractised senses, he appeared to have suffered more deeply than his\nfriends.  But if his countenance was more sorrowful, his voice was more\ncheerful than that of his sister, especially when he addressed the old\nman.\n\n\"I could mention innumerable instances which, although slight, marked\nthe dispositions of these amiable cottagers.  In the midst of poverty\nand want, Felix carried with pleasure to his sister the first little\nwhite flower that peeped out from beneath the snowy ground.  Early in\nthe morning, before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that\nobstructed her path to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and\nbrought the wood from the outhouse, where, to his perpetual\nastonishment, he found his store always replenished by an invisible\nhand.  In the day, I believe, he worked sometimes for a neighbouring\nfarmer, because he often went forth and did not return until dinner,\nyet brought no wood with him.  At other times he worked in the garden,\nbut as there was little to do in the frosty season, he read to the old\nman and Agatha.\n\n\"This reading had puzzled me extremely at first, but by degrees I\ndiscovered that he uttered many of the same sounds when he read as when\nhe talked.  I conjectured, therefore, that he found on the paper signs\nfor speech which he understood, and I ardently longed to comprehend\nthese also; but how was that possible when I did not even understand\nthe sounds for which they stood as signs?  I improved, however,\nsensibly in this science, but not sufficiently to follow up any kind of\nconversation, although I applied my whole mind to the endeavour, for I\neasily perceived that, although I eagerly longed to discover myself to\nthe cottagers, I ought not to make the attempt until I had first become\nmaster of their language, which knowledge might enable me to make them\noverlook the deformity of my figure, for with this also the contrast\nperpetually presented to my eyes had made me acquainted.\n\n\"I had admired the perfect forms of my cottagers--their grace, beauty,\nand delicate complexions; but how was I terrified when I viewed myself\nin a transparent pool!  At first I started back, unable to believe that\nit was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became\nfully convinced that I was in reality the monster that I am, I was\nfilled with the bitterest sensations of despondence and mortification.\nAlas!  I did not yet entirely know the fatal effects of this miserable\ndeformity.\n\n\"As the sun became warmer and the light of day longer, the snow\nvanished, and I beheld the bare trees and the black earth.  From this\ntime Felix was more employed, and the heart-moving indications of\nimpending famine disappeared.  Their food, as I afterwards found, was\ncoarse, but it was wholesome; and they procured a sufficiency of it.\nSeveral new kinds of plants sprang up in the garden, which they\ndressed; and these signs of comfort increased daily as the season\nadvanced.\n\n\"The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at noon, when it did\nnot rain, as I found it was called when the heavens poured forth its\nwaters.  This frequently took place, but a high wind quickly dried the\nearth, and the season became far more pleasant than it had been.\n\n\"My mode of life in my hovel was uniform.  During the morning I\nattended the motions of the cottagers, and when they were dispersed in\nvarious occupations, I slept; the remainder of the day was spent in\nobserving my friends.  When they had retired to rest, if there was any\nmoon or the night was star-light, I went into the woods and collected\nmy own food and fuel for the cottage.  When I returned, as often as it\nwas necessary, I cleared their path from the snow and performed those\noffices that I had seen done by Felix.  I afterwards found that these\nlabours, performed by an invisible hand, greatly astonished them; and\nonce or twice I heard them, on these occasions, utter the words 'good\nspirit,' 'wonderful'; but I did not then understand the signification\nof these terms.\n\n\"My thoughts now became more active, and I longed to discover the\nmotives and feelings of these lovely creatures; I was inquisitive to\nknow why Felix appeared so miserable and Agatha so sad.  I thought\n(foolish wretch!) that it might be in my power to restore happiness to\nthese deserving people.  When I slept or was absent, the forms of the\nvenerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the excellent Felix\nflitted before me.  I looked upon them as superior beings who would be\nthe arbiters of my future destiny.  I formed in my imagination a\nthousand pictures of presenting myself to them, and their reception of\nme.  I imagined that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentle\ndemeanour and conciliating words, I should first win their favour and\nafterwards their love.\n\n\"These thoughts exhilarated me and led me to apply with fresh ardour to\nthe acquiring the art of language.  My organs were indeed harsh, but\nsupple; and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their\ntones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease.\nIt was as the ass and the lap-dog; yet surely the gentle ass whose\nintentions were affectionate, although his manners were rude, deserved\nbetter treatment than blows and execration.\n\n\"The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring greatly altered the\naspect of the earth.  Men who before this change seemed to have been\nhid in caves dispersed themselves and were employed in various arts of\ncultivation.  The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and the leaves\nbegan to bud forth on the trees.  Happy, happy earth!  Fit habitation\nfor gods, which, so short a time before, was bleak, damp, and\nunwholesome.  My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of\nnature; the past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil,\nand the future gilded by bright rays of hope and anticipations of joy.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 13\n\n\"I now hasten to the more moving part of my story.  I shall relate\nevents that impressed me with feelings which, from what I had been,\nhave made me what I am.\n\n\"Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine and the skies\ncloudless.  It surprised me that what before was desert and gloomy\nshould now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure.  My\nsenses were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight and\na thousand sights of beauty.\n\n\"It was on one of these days, when my cottagers periodically rested\nfrom labour--the old man played on his guitar, and the children\nlistened to him--that I observed the countenance of Felix was\nmelancholy beyond expression; he sighed frequently, and once his father\npaused in his music, and I conjectured by his manner that he inquired\nthe cause of his son's sorrow.  Felix replied in a cheerful accent, and\nthe old man was recommencing his music when someone tapped at the door.\n\n\"It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a country-man as a guide.\nThe lady was dressed in a dark suit and covered with a thick black\nveil.  Agatha asked a question, to which the stranger only replied by\npronouncing, in a sweet accent, the name of Felix.  Her voice was\nmusical but unlike that of either of my friends.  On hearing this word,\nFelix came up hastily to the lady, who, when she saw him, threw up her\nveil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty and expression.  Her\nhair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided; her eyes were\ndark, but gentle, although animated; her features of a regular\nproportion, and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek tinged with\na lovely pink.\n\n\"Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her, every trait of\nsorrow vanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of\necstatic joy, of which I could hardly have believed it capable; his\neyes sparkled, as his cheek flushed with pleasure; and at that moment I\nthought him as beautiful as the stranger.  She appeared affected by\ndifferent feelings; wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes, she held\nout her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously and called her, as\nwell as I could distinguish, his sweet Arabian.  She did not appear to\nunderstand him, but smiled.  He assisted her to dismount, and\ndismissing her guide, conducted her into the cottage.  Some\nconversation took place between him and his father, and the young\nstranger knelt at the old man's feet and would have kissed his hand,\nbut he raised her and embraced her affectionately.\n\n\"I soon perceived that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds\nand appeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood\nby nor herself understood the cottagers.  They made many signs which I\ndid not comprehend, but I saw that her presence diffused gladness\nthrough the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the\nmorning mists.  Felix seemed peculiarly happy and with smiles of\ndelight welcomed his Arabian.  Agatha, the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed\nthe hands of the lovely stranger, and pointing to her brother, made\nsigns which appeared to me to mean that he had been sorrowful until she\ncame.  Some hours passed thus, while they, by their countenances,\nexpressed joy, the cause of which I did not comprehend.  Presently I\nfound, by the frequent recurrence of some sound which the stranger\nrepeated after them, that she was endeavouring to learn their language;\nand the idea instantly occurred to me that I should make use of the\nsame instructions to the same end.  The stranger learned about twenty\nwords at the first lesson; most of them, indeed, were those which I had\nbefore understood, but I profited by the others.\n\n\"As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian retired early.  When they\nseparated Felix kissed the hand of the stranger and said, 'Good night\nsweet Safie.'  He sat up much longer, conversing with his father, and\nby the frequent repetition of her name I conjectured that their lovely\nguest was the subject of their conversation.  I ardently desired to\nunderstand them, and bent every faculty towards that purpose, but found\nit utterly impossible.\n\n\"The next morning Felix went out to his work, and after the usual\noccupations of Agatha were finished, the Arabian sat at the feet of the\nold man, and taking his guitar, played some airs so entrancingly\nbeautiful that they at once drew tears of sorrow and delight from my\neyes.  She sang, and her voice flowed in a rich cadence, swelling or\ndying away like a nightingale of the woods.\n\n\"When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha, who at first\ndeclined it.  She played a simple air, and her voice accompanied it in\nsweet accents, but unlike the wondrous strain of the stranger.  The old\nman appeared enraptured and said some words which Agatha endeavoured to\nexplain to Safie, and by which he appeared to wish to express that she\nbestowed on him the greatest delight by her music.\n\n\"The days now passed as peaceably as before, with the sole alteration\nthat joy had taken place of sadness in the countenances of my friends.\nSafie was always gay and happy; she and I improved rapidly in the\nknowledge of language, so that in two months I began to comprehend most\nof the words uttered by my protectors.\n\n\"In the meanwhile also the black ground was covered with herbage, and\nthe green banks interspersed with innumerable flowers, sweet to the\nscent and the eyes, stars of pale radiance among the moonlight woods;\nthe sun became warmer, the nights clear and balmy; and my nocturnal\nrambles were an extreme pleasure to me, although they were considerably\nshortened by the late setting and early rising of the sun, for I never\nventured abroad during daylight, fearful of meeting with the same\ntreatment I had formerly endured in the first village which I entered.\n\n\"My days were spent in close attention, that I might more speedily\nmaster the language; and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than\nthe Arabian, who understood very little and conversed in broken\naccents, whilst I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that\nwas spoken.\n\n\"While I improved in speech, I also learned the science of letters as\nit was taught to the stranger, and this opened before me a wide field\nfor wonder and delight.\n\n\"The book from which Felix instructed Safie was Volney's Ruins of\nEmpires.  I should not have understood the purport of this book had not\nFelix, in reading it, given very minute explanations.  He had chosen\nthis work, he said, because the declamatory style was framed in\nimitation of the Eastern authors.  Through this work I obtained a\ncursory knowledge of history and a view of the several empires at\npresent existing in the world; it gave me an insight into the manners,\ngovernments, and religions of the different nations of the earth.  I\nheard of the slothful Asiatics, of the stupendous genius and mental\nactivity of the Grecians, of the wars and wonderful virtue of the early\nRomans--of their subsequent degenerating--of the decline of that mighty\nempire, of chivalry, Christianity, and kings.  I heard of the discovery\nof the American hemisphere and wept with Safie over the hapless fate of\nits original inhabitants.\n\n\"These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange feelings.  Was\nman, indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so\nvicious and base?  He appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil\nprinciple and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and\ngodlike.  To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour\nthat can befall a sensitive being; to be base and vicious, as many on\nrecord have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more\nabject than that of the blind mole or harmless worm.  For a long time I\ncould not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or\neven why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of\nvice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased and I turned away with disgust and\nloathing.\n\n\"Every conversation of the cottagers now opened new wonders to me.\nWhile I listened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the\nArabian, the strange system of human society was explained to me.  I\nheard of the division of property, of immense wealth and squalid\npoverty, of rank, descent, and noble blood.\n\n\"The words induced me to turn towards myself.  I learned that the\npossessions most esteemed by your fellow creatures were high and\nunsullied descent united with riches.  A man might be respected with\nonly one of these advantages, but without either he was considered,\nexcept in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to\nwaste his powers for the profits of the chosen few!  And what was I? Of\nmy creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knew that I\npossessed no money, no friends, no kind of property.  I was, besides,\nendued with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even\nof the same nature as man.  I was more agile than they and could\nsubsist upon coarser diet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with\nless injury to my frame; my stature far exceeded theirs.  When I looked\naround I saw and heard of none like me.  Was I, then, a monster, a blot\nupon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned?\n\n\"I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted\nupon me; I tried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with\nknowledge.  Oh, that I had forever remained in my native wood, nor\nknown nor felt beyond the sensations of hunger, thirst, and heat!\n\n\"Of what a strange nature is knowledge!  It clings to the mind when it\nhas once seized on it like a lichen on the rock.  I wished sometimes to\nshake off all thought and feeling, but I learned that there was but one\nmeans to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death--a state\nwhich I feared yet did not understand.  I admired virtue and good\nfeelings and loved the gentle manners and amiable qualities of my\ncottagers, but I was shut out from intercourse with them, except\nthrough means which I obtained by stealth, when I was unseen and\nunknown, and which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of\nbecoming one among my fellows.  The gentle words of Agatha and  the\nanimated smiles of the charming Arabian were not for me.  The mild\nexhortations of the old man and the lively conversation of the loved\nFelix were not for me. Miserable, unhappy wretch!\n\n\"Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply.  I heard of the\ndifference of sexes, and the birth and growth of children, how the\nfather doted on the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the\nolder child, how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapped up\nin the precious charge, how the mind of youth expanded and gained\nknowledge, of brother, sister, and all the various relationships which\nbind one human being to another in mutual bonds.\n\n\"But where were my friends and relations?  No father had watched my\ninfant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if\nthey had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I\ndistinguished nothing.  From my earliest remembrance I had been as I\nthen was in height and proportion.  I had never yet seen a being\nresembling me or who claimed any intercourse with me.  What was I?  The\nquestion again recurred, to be answered only with groans.\n\n\"I will soon explain to what these feelings tended, but allow me now to\nreturn to the cottagers, whose story excited in me such various\nfeelings of indignation, delight, and wonder, but which all terminated\nin additional love and reverence for my protectors (for so I loved, in\nan innocent, half-painful self-deceit, to call them).\"\n\n\n\nChapter 14\n\n\"Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends.  It was\none which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding\nas it did a number of circumstances, each interesting and wonderful to\none so utterly inexperienced as I was.\n\n\"The name of the old man was De Lacey.  He was descended from a good\nfamily in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence,\nrespected by his superiors and beloved by his equals.  His son was bred\nin the service of his country, and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the\nhighest distinction.  A few months before my arrival they had lived in\na large and luxurious city called Paris, surrounded by friends and\npossessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or\ntaste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford.\n\n\"The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin.  He was a\nTurkish merchant and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some\nreason which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government.\nHe was seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from\nConstantinople to join him.  He was tried and condemned to death.  The\ninjustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant;\nand it was judged that his religion and wealth rather than the crime\nalleged against him had been the cause of his condemnation.\n\n\"Felix had accidentally been present at the trial; his horror and\nindignation were uncontrollable when he heard the decision of the\ncourt.  He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him and then\nlooked around for the means.  After many fruitless attempts to gain\nadmittance to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an\nunguarded part of the building, which lighted the dungeon of the\nunfortunate Muhammadan, who, loaded with chains, waited in despair the\nexecution of the barbarous sentence.  Felix visited the grate at night\nand made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favour.  The Turk,\namazed and delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deliverer\nby promises of reward and wealth.  Felix rejected his offers with\ncontempt, yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who was allowed to visit\nher father and who by her gestures expressed her lively gratitude, the\nyouth could not help owning to his own mind that the captive possessed\na treasure which would fully reward his toil and hazard.\n\n\"The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made\non the heart of Felix and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in\nhis interests by the promise of her hand in marriage so soon as he\nshould be conveyed to a place of safety.  Felix was too delicate to\naccept this offer, yet he looked forward to the probability of the\nevent as to the consummation of his happiness.\n\n\"During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for\nthe escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several\nletters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to\nexpress her thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old\nman, a servant of her father who understood French.  She thanked him in\nthe most ardent terms for his intended services towards her parent, and\nat the same time she gently deplored her own fate.\n\n\"I have copies of these letters, for I found means, during my residence\nin the hovel, to procure the implements of writing; and the letters\nwere often in the hands of Felix or Agatha.  Before I depart I will\ngive them to you; they will prove the truth of my tale; but at present,\nas the sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat\nthe substance of them to you.\n\n\"Safie related that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a\nslave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of\nthe father of Safie, who married her.  The young girl spoke in high and\nenthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom, spurned the\nbondage to which she was now reduced.  She instructed her daughter in\nthe tenets of her religion and taught her to aspire to higher powers of\nintellect and an independence of spirit forbidden to the female\nfollowers of Muhammad.  This lady died, but her lessons were indelibly\nimpressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of again\nreturning to Asia and being immured within the walls of a harem,\nallowed only to occupy herself with infantile amusements, ill-suited to\nthe temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble\nemulation for virtue.  The prospect of marrying a Christian and\nremaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in\nsociety was enchanting to her.\n\n\"The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed, but on the night\nprevious to it he quitted his prison and before morning was distant\nmany leagues from Paris.  Felix had procured passports in the name of\nhis father, sister, and himself.  He had previously communicated his\nplan to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under\nthe pretence of a journey and concealed himself, with his daughter, in\nan obscure part of Paris.\n\n\"Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons and across Mont\nCenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable\nopportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions.\n\n\"Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his\ndeparture, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she\nshould be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in\nexpectation of that event; and in the meantime he enjoyed the society\nof the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest\naffection.  They conversed with one another through the means of an\ninterpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie\nsang to him the divine airs of her native country.\n\n\"The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place and encouraged the hopes\nof the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other\nplans.  He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a\nChristian, but he feared the resentment of Felix if he should appear\nlukewarm, for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer\nif he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they\ninhabited.  He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled\nto prolong the deceit until it might be no longer necessary, and\nsecretly to take his daughter with him when he departed.  His plans\nwere facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris.\n\n\"The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their\nvictim and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer.  The\nplot of Felix was quickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were\nthrown into prison.  The news reached Felix and roused him from his\ndream of pleasure.  His blind and aged father and his gentle sister lay\nin a noisome dungeon while he enjoyed the free air and the society of\nher whom he loved.  This idea was torture to him.  He quickly arranged\nwith the Turk that if the latter should find a favourable opportunity\nfor escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a\nboarder at a convent at Leghorn; and then, quitting the lovely Arabian,\nhe hastened to Paris and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the\nlaw, hoping to free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.\n\n\"He did not succeed.  They remained confined for five months before the\ntrial took place, the result of which deprived them of their fortune\nand condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country.\n\n\"They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany, where I\ndiscovered them.  Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for\nwhom he and his family endured such unheard-of oppression, on\ndiscovering that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and ruin,\nbecame a traitor to good feeling and honour and had quitted Italy with\nhis daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money to aid him,\nas he said, in some plan of future maintenance.\n\n\"Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix and rendered\nhim, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family.  He could\nhave endured poverty, and while this distress had been the meed of his\nvirtue, he gloried in it; but the ingratitude of the Turk and the loss\nof his beloved Safie were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable.  The\narrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul.\n\n\"When the news reached Leghorn that Felix was deprived of his wealth\nand rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her\nlover, but to prepare to return to her native country.  The generous\nnature of Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to\nexpostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his\ntyrannical mandate.\n\n\"A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter's apartment and told\nher hastily that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn\nhad been divulged and that he should speedily be delivered up to the\nFrench government; he had consequently hired a vessel to convey him to\nConstantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours.  He\nintended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential\nservant, to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his\nproperty, which had not yet arrived at Leghorn.\n\n\"When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it\nwould become her to pursue in this emergency.  A residence in Turkey\nwas abhorrent to her; her religion and her feelings were alike averse\nto it.  By some papers of her father which fell into her hands she\nheard of the exile of her lover and learnt the name of the spot where\nhe then resided.  She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her\ndetermination.  Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her and a\nsum of money, she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn,\nbut who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for\nGermany.\n\n\"She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage\nof De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill.  Safie nursed her\nwith the most devoted affection, but the poor girl died, and the\nArabian was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country\nand utterly ignorant of the customs of the world.  She fell, however,\ninto good hands.  The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for\nwhich they were bound, and after her death the woman of the house in\nwhich they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at\nthe cottage of her lover.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 15\n\n\"Such was the history of my beloved cottagers.  It impressed me deeply.\nI learned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire\ntheir virtues and to deprecate the vices of mankind.\n\n\"As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and\ngenerosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to\nbecome an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities\nwere called forth and displayed.  But in giving an account of the\nprogress of my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred\nin the beginning of the month of August of the same year.\n\n\"One night during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood where I\ncollected my own food and brought home firing for my protectors, I\nfound on the ground a leathern portmanteau containing several articles\nof dress and some books.  I eagerly seized the prize and returned with\nit to my hovel.  Fortunately the books were written in the language,\nthe elements of which I had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of\nParadise Lost, a volume of Plutarch's Lives, and the Sorrows of Werter.\nThe possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight; I now\ncontinually studied and exercised my mind upon these histories, whilst\nmy friends were employed in their ordinary occupations.\n\n\"I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books.  They produced\nin me an infinity of new images and feelings, that sometimes raised me\nto ecstasy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection.  In\nthe Sorrows of Werter, besides the interest of its simple and affecting\nstory, so many opinions are canvassed and so many lights thrown upon\nwhat had hitherto been to me obscure subjects that I found in it a\nnever-ending source of speculation and astonishment.  The gentle and\ndomestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and\nfeelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded\nwell with my experience among my protectors and with the wants which\nwere forever alive in my own bosom.  But I thought Werter himself a\nmore divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character\ncontained no pretension, but it sank deep.  The disquisitions upon\ndeath and suicide were calculated to fill  me with wonder.  I did not\npretend to enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards\nthe opinions of the hero, whose extinction I wept, without precisely\nunderstanding it.\n\n\"As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and\ncondition.  I found myself similar yet at the same time strangely\nunlike to the beings concerning whom I read and to whose conversation I\nwas a listener.  I sympathized with and partly understood them, but I\nwas unformed in mind; I was dependent on none and related to none.\n'The path of my departure was free,' and there was none to lament my\nannihilation.  My person was hideous and my stature gigantic.  What did\nthis mean?  Who was I?  What was I?  Whence did I come?  What was my\ndestination?  These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to\nsolve them.\n\n\"The volume of Plutarch's Lives which I possessed contained the\nhistories of the first founders of the ancient republics.  This book\nhad a far different effect upon me from the Sorrows of Werter.  I\nlearned from Werter's imaginations despondency and gloom, but Plutarch\ntaught me high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my\nown reflections, to admire and love the heroes of past ages.  Many\nthings I read surpassed my understanding and experience.  I had a very\nconfused knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers,\nand boundless seas.  But I was perfectly unacquainted with towns and\nlarge assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the\nonly school in which I had studied human nature, but this book\ndeveloped new and mightier scenes of action.  I read of men concerned\nin public affairs, governing or massacring their species.  I felt the\ngreatest ardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as\nfar as I understood the signification of those terms, relative as they\nwere, as I applied them, to pleasure and pain alone.  Induced by these\nfeelings, I was of course led to admire peaceable lawgivers, Numa,\nSolon, and Lycurgus, in preference to Romulus and Theseus.  The\npatriarchal lives of my protectors caused these impressions to take a\nfirm hold on my mind; perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had\nbeen made by a young soldier, burning for glory and slaughter, I should\nhave been imbued with different sensations.\n\n\"But Paradise Lost excited different and far deeper emotions.  I read\nit, as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as\na true history.  It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the\npicture of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of\nexciting.  I often referred the several situations, as their similarity\nstruck me, to my own.  Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to\nany other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine\nin every other respect.  He had come forth from the hands of God a\nperfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of\nhis Creator; he was allowed to converse with and acquire knowledge from\nbeings of a superior nature, but I was wretched, helpless, and alone.\nMany times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, for\noften, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter\ngall of envy rose within me.\n\n\"Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings.  Soon\nafter my arrival in the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of\nthe dress which I had taken from your laboratory.  At first I had\nneglected them, but now that I was able to decipher the characters in\nwhich they were written, I began to study them with diligence.  It was\nyour journal of the four months that preceded my creation.  You\nminutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress\nof your work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic\noccurrences.  You doubtless recollect these papers.  Here they are.\nEverything is related in them which bears reference to my accursed\norigin; the whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances\nwhich produced it is set in view; the minutest description of my odious\nand loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own\nhorrors and rendered mine indelible.  I sickened as I read.  'Hateful\nday when I received life!' I exclaimed in agony.  'Accursed creator!\nWhy did you form a monster so hideous that even YOU turned from me in\ndisgust?  God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own\nimage; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the\nvery resemblance.  Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire\nand encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.'\n\n\"These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude;\nbut when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and\nbenevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should\nbecome acquainted with my admiration of their virtues they  would\ncompassionate me and overlook my personal deformity.  Could they turn\nfrom their door one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion\nand friendship?  I resolved, at least, not to despair, but in every way\nto fit myself for an interview with them which would decide my fate.  I\npostponed this attempt for some months longer, for the importance\nattached to its success inspired me with a dread lest I should fail.\nBesides, I found that my understanding improved so much with every\nday's experience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking\nuntil a few more months should have added to my sagacity.\n\n\"Several changes, in the meantime, took place in the cottage.  The\npresence of Safie diffused happiness among its inhabitants, and I also\nfound that a greater degree of plenty reigned there.  Felix and Agatha\nspent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in\ntheir labours by servants.  They did not appear rich, but they were\ncontented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while\nmine became every day more tumultuous.  Increase of knowledge only\ndiscovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was.  I\ncherished hope, it is true, but it vanished when I beheld my person\nreflected in water or my shadow in the moonshine, even as that frail\nimage and that inconstant shade.\n\n\"I endeavoured to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial\nwhich in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my\nthoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and\ndared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathizing with my\nfeelings and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed\nsmiles of consolation.  But it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my\nsorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone.  I remembered Adam's\nsupplication to his Creator.  But where was mine?  He had abandoned me,\nand in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him.\n\n\"Autumn passed thus.  I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay\nand fall, and nature again assume the barren and bleak appearance it\nhad worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon.  Yet I did\nnot heed the bleakness of the weather; I was better fitted by my\nconformation for the endurance of cold than heat.  But my chief\ndelights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay\napparel of summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention\ntowards the cottagers.  Their happiness was not decreased by the\nabsence of summer.  They loved and sympathized with one another; and\ntheir joys, depending on each other, were not interrupted by the\ncasualties that took place around them.  The more I saw of them, the\ngreater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness; my\nheart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures; to see\ntheir sweet looks directed towards me with affection was the utmost\nlimit of my ambition.  I dared not think that they would turn them from\nme with disdain and horror.  The poor that stopped at their door were\nnever driven away.  I asked, it is true, for greater treasures than a\nlittle food or rest:  I required kindness and sympathy; but I did not\nbelieve myself utterly unworthy of it.\n\n\"The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken\nplace since I awoke into life.  My attention at this time was solely\ndirected towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my\nprotectors.  I revolved many projects, but that on which I finally\nfixed was to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone.\nI had sagacity enough to discover that the unnatural hideousness of my\nperson was the chief object of horror with those who had formerly\nbeheld me.  My voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it; I\nthought, therefore, that if in the absence of his children I could gain\nthe good will and mediation of the old De Lacey, I might by his means\nbe tolerated by my younger protectors.\n\n\"One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground\nand diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Safie, Agatha,\nand Felix departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own\ndesire, was left alone in the cottage.  When his children had departed,\nhe took up his guitar and played several mournful but sweet airs, more\nsweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before.  At first his\ncountenance was illuminated with pleasure, but as he continued,\nthoughtfulness and sadness succeeded; at length, laying aside the\ninstrument, he sat absorbed in reflection.\n\n\"My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial, which\nwould decide my hopes or realize my fears.  The servants were gone to a\nneighbouring fair.  All was silent in and around the cottage; it was an\nexcellent opportunity; yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my\nlimbs failed me and I sank to the ground.  Again I rose, and exerting\nall the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had\nplaced before my hovel to conceal my retreat.  The fresh air revived\nme, and with renewed determination I approached the door of their\ncottage.\n\n\"I knocked.  'Who is there?' said the old man.  'Come in.'\n\n\"I entered.  'Pardon this intrusion,' said I; 'I am a traveller in want\nof a little rest; you would greatly oblige me if you would allow me to\nremain a few minutes before the fire.'\n\n\"'Enter,' said De Lacey, 'and I will try in what manner I can to\nrelieve your wants; but, unfortunately, my children are from home, and\nas I am blind, I am afraid I shall find it difficult to procure food\nfor you.'\n\n\"'Do not trouble yourself, my kind host; I have food; it is warmth and\nrest only that I need.'\n\n\"I sat down, and a silence ensued.  I knew that every minute was\nprecious to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence\nthe interview, when the old man addressed me.  'By your language,\nstranger, I suppose you are my countryman; are you French?'\n\n\"'No; but I was educated by a French family and understand that\nlanguage only.  I am now going to claim the protection of some friends,\nwhom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.'\n\n\"'Are they Germans?'\n\n\"'No, they are French.  But let us change the subject.  I am an\nunfortunate and deserted creature, I look around and I have no relation\nor friend upon earth.  These amiable people to whom I go have never\nseen me and know little of me.  I am full of fears, for if I fail\nthere, I am an outcast in the world forever.'\n\n\"'Do not despair.  To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate, but\nthe hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are\nfull of brotherly love and charity.  Rely, therefore, on your hopes;\nand if these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.'\n\n\"'They are kind--they are the most excellent creatures in the world;\nbut, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me.  I have good\ndispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless and in some degree\nbeneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they\nought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable\nmonster.'\n\n\"'That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot\nyou undeceive them?'\n\n\"'I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I\nfeel so many overwhelming terrors.  I tenderly love these friends; I\nhave, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily\nkindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and\nit is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.'\n\n\"'Where do these friends reside?'\n\n\"'Near this spot.'\n\n\"The old man paused and then continued, 'If you will unreservedly\nconfide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in\nundeceiving them.  I am blind and cannot judge of your countenance, but\nthere is something in your words which persuades me that you are\nsincere.  I am poor and an exile, but it will afford me true pleasure\nto be in any way serviceable to a human creature.'\n\n\"'Excellent man!  I thank you and accept your generous offer.  You\nraise me from the dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your aid,\nI shall not be driven from the society and sympathy of your fellow\ncreatures.'\n\n\"'Heaven forbid!  Even if you were really criminal, for that can only\ndrive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue.  I also am\nunfortunate; I and my family have been condemned, although innocent;\njudge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes.'\n\n\"'How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor?  From your lips\nfirst have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me; I shall\nbe forever grateful; and your present humanity assures me of success\nwith those friends whom I am on the point of meeting.'\n\n\"'May I know the names and residence of those friends?'\n\n\"I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to\nrob me of or bestow happiness on me forever.  I struggled vainly for\nfirmness sufficient to answer him, but the effort destroyed all my\nremaining strength; I sank on the chair and sobbed aloud.  At that\nmoment I heard the steps of my younger protectors.  I had not a moment\nto lose, but seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, 'Now is the\ntime!  Save and protect me!  You and your family are the friends whom I\nseek.  Do not you desert me in the hour of trial!'\n\n\"'Great God!' exclaimed the old man.  'Who are you?'\n\n\"At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix, Safie, and\nAgatha entered.  Who can describe their horror and consternation on\nbeholding me?  Agatha fainted, and Safie, unable to attend to her\nfriend, rushed out of the cottage.  Felix darted forward, and with\nsupernatural force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung, in\na transport of fury, he dashed me to the ground and struck me violently\nwith a stick.  I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends\nthe antelope.  But my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness, and\nI refrained.  I saw him on the point of repeating his blow, when,\novercome by pain and anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general\ntumult escaped unperceived to my hovel.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 16\n\n\"Cursed, cursed creator!  Why did I live?  Why, in that instant, did I\nnot extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly\nbestowed?  I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my\nfeelings were those of rage and revenge.  I could with pleasure have\ndestroyed the cottage and its inhabitants and have glutted myself with\ntheir shrieks and misery.\n\n\"When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and\nnow, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my\nanguish in fearful howlings.  I was like a wild beast that had broken\nthe toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging\nthrough the wood with a stag-like swiftness.  Oh!  What a miserable\nnight I passed!  The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees\nwaved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird\nburst forth amidst the universal stillness.  All, save I, were at rest\nor in enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me, and\nfinding myself unsympathized with, wished to tear up the trees, spread\nhavoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed\nthe ruin.\n\n\"But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became\nfatigued with excess of bodily exertion and sank on the damp grass in\nthe sick impotence of despair.  There was none among the myriads of men\nthat existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness\ntowards my enemies?  No; from that moment I declared everlasting war\nagainst the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me\nand sent me forth to this insupportable misery.\n\n\"The sun rose; I heard the voices of men and knew that it was\nimpossible to return to my retreat during that day.  Accordingly I hid\nmyself in some thick underwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours\nto reflection on my situation.\n\n\"The pleasant sunshine and the pure air of day restored me to some\ndegree of tranquillity; and when I considered what had passed at the\ncottage, I could not help believing that I had been too hasty in my\nconclusions.  I had certainly acted imprudently.  It was apparent that\nmy conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and  I was a\nfool in having exposed my person to the horror of his children.  I\nought to have familiarized the old De Lacey to me, and by degrees to\nhave discovered myself to the rest of his family, when they should have\nbeen  prepared for my approach.  But I did not believe my errors to be\nirretrievable, and after much consideration I resolved to return to the\ncottage, seek the old man, and by my representations win him to my\nparty.\n\n\"These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I sank into a profound\nsleep; but the fever of my blood did not allow me to be visited by\npeaceful dreams.  The horrible scene of the preceding day was forever\nacting before my eyes; the females were flying and the enraged Felix\ntearing me from his father's feet.  I awoke exhausted, and finding that\nit was already night, I crept forth from my hiding-place, and went in\nsearch of food.\n\n\"When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps towards the\nwell-known path that conducted to the cottage.  All there was at peace.\nI crept into my hovel and remained in silent expectation of the\naccustomed hour when the family arose.  That hour passed, the sun\nmounted high in the heavens, but the cottagers did not appear.  I\ntrembled violently, apprehending some dreadful misfortune.  The inside\nof the cottage was dark, and I heard no motion; I cannot describe the\nagony of this suspense.\n\n\"Presently two countrymen passed by, but pausing near the cottage, they\nentered into conversation, using violent gesticulations; but I did not\nunderstand what they said, as they spoke the language of the country,\nwhich differed from that of my protectors.  Soon after, however, Felix\napproached with another man; I was surprised, as I knew that he had not\nquitted the cottage that morning, and waited anxiously to discover from\nhis discourse the meaning of these unusual appearances.\n\n\"'Do you consider,' said his companion to him, 'that you will be\nobliged to pay three months' rent and to lose the produce of your\ngarden?  I do not wish to take any unfair advantage, and I beg\ntherefore that you will take some days to consider of your\ndetermination.'\n\n\"'It is utterly useless,' replied Felix; 'we can never again inhabit\nyour cottage.  The life of my father is in the greatest danger, owing\nto the dreadful circumstance that I have related.  My wife and my\nsister will never recover from their horror.  I entreat you not to\nreason with me any more.  Take possession of your tenement and let me\nfly from this place.'\n\n\"Felix trembled violently as he said this.  He and his companion\nentered the cottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then\ndeparted.  I never saw any of the family of De Lacey more.\n\n\"I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel in a state of\nutter and stupid despair.  My protectors had departed and had broken\nthe only link that held me to the world.  For the first time the\nfeelings of revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to\ncontrol them, but allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I\nbent my mind towards injury and death.  When I thought of my friends,\nof the mild voice of De Lacey, the gentle eyes of Agatha, and the\nexquisite beauty of the Arabian, these thoughts vanished and a gush of\ntears somewhat soothed me.  But again when I reflected that they had\nspurned and deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger, and unable to\ninjure anything human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects.  As\nnight advanced I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage,\nand after having destroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden,\nI waited with forced impatience until the moon had sunk to commence my\noperations.\n\n\"As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the woods and quickly\ndispersed the clouds that had loitered in the heavens; the blast tore\nalong like a mighty avalanche and produced a kind of insanity in my\nspirits that burst all bounds of reason and reflection.  I lighted the\ndry branch of a tree and danced with fury around the devoted cottage,\nmy eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge of which the moon\nnearly touched.  A part of its orb was at length hid, and I waved my\nbrand; it sank, and with a loud scream I fired the straw, and heath,\nand bushes, which I had collected.  The wind fanned the fire, and the\ncottage was quickly enveloped by the flames, which clung to it and\nlicked it with their forked and destroying tongues.\n\n\"As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could save any part of\nthe habitation, I quitted the scene and sought for refuge in the woods.\n\n\"And now, with the world before me, whither should I bend my steps?  I\nresolved to fly far from the scene of my misfortunes; but to me, hated\nand despised, every country must be equally horrible.  At length the\nthought of you crossed my mind.  I learned from your papers that you\nwere my father, my creator; and to whom could I apply with more fitness\nthan to him who had given me life?  Among the lessons that Felix had\nbestowed upon Safie, geography had not been omitted; I had learned from\nthese the relative situations of the different countries of the earth.\nYou had mentioned Geneva as the name of your native town, and towards\nthis place I resolved to proceed.\n\n\"But how was I to direct myself?  I knew that I must travel in a\nsouthwesterly direction to reach my destination, but the sun was my\nonly guide.  I did not know the names of the towns that I was to pass\nthrough, nor could I ask information from a single human being; but I\ndid not despair.  From you only could I hope for succour, although\ntowards you I felt no sentiment but that of hatred.  Unfeeling,\nheartless creator!  You had endowed me with perceptions and passions\nand then cast me abroad an object for the scorn and horror of mankind.\nBut on you only had I any claim for pity and redress, and from you I\ndetermined to seek that justice which I vainly attempted to gain from\nany other being that wore the human form.\n\n\"My travels were long and the sufferings I endured intense.  It was\nlate in autumn when I quitted the district where I had so long resided.\nI travelled only at night, fearful of encountering the visage of a\nhuman being.  Nature decayed around me, and the sun became heatless;\nrain and snow poured around me; mighty rivers were frozen; the surface\nof the earth was hard and chill, and bare, and I found no shelter.  Oh,\nearth!  How often did I imprecate curses on the cause of my being!  The\nmildness of my nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall\nand bitterness.  The nearer I approached to your habitation, the more\ndeeply did I feel the spirit of revenge enkindled in my heart.  Snow\nfell, and the waters were hardened, but I rested not.  A few incidents\nnow and then directed me, and I possessed a map of the country; but I\noften wandered wide from my path.  The agony of my feelings allowed me\nno respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could\nnot extract its food; but a circumstance that happened when I arrived\non the confines of Switzerland, when the sun had recovered its warmth\nand the earth again began to look green, confirmed in an especial\nmanner the bitterness and horror of my feelings.\n\n\"I generally rested during the day and travelled only when I was\nsecured by night from the view of man.  One morning, however, finding\nthat my path lay through a deep wood, I ventured to continue my journey\nafter the sun had risen; the day, which was one of the first of spring,\ncheered even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the balminess of\nthe air.  I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long\nappeared dead, revive within me.  Half surprised by the novelty of\nthese sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them, and\nforgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy.  Soft tears\nagain bedewed my cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes with\nthankfulness towards the blessed sun, which bestowed such joy upon me.\n\n\"I continued to wind among the paths of the wood, until I came to its\nboundary, which was skirted by a deep and rapid river, into which many\nof the trees bent their branches, now budding with the fresh spring.\nHere I paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I heard\nthe sound of voices, that induced me to conceal myself under the shade\nof a cypress.  I was scarcely hid when a young girl came running\ntowards the spot where I was concealed, laughing, as if she ran from\nsomeone in sport.  She continued her course along the precipitous sides\nof the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, and she fell into the\nrapid stream.  I rushed from my hiding-place and with extreme labour,\nfrom the force of the current, saved her and dragged her to shore.  She\nwas senseless, and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore\nanimation, when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic,\nwho was probably the person from whom she had playfully fled.  On\nseeing me, he darted towards me, and tearing the girl from my arms,\nhastened towards the deeper parts of the wood.  I followed speedily, I\nhardly knew why; but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun,\nwhich he carried, at my body and fired.  I sank to the ground, and my\ninjurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood.\n\n\"This was then the reward of my benevolence!  I had saved a human being\nfrom destruction, and as a recompense I now writhed under the miserable\npain of a wound which shattered the flesh and bone.  The feelings of\nkindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments\nbefore gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth.  Inflamed by\npain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind.  But the\nagony of my wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted.\n\n\"For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to\ncure the wound which I had received.  The ball had entered my shoulder,\nand I knew not whether it had remained there or passed through; at any\nrate I had no means of extracting it.  My sufferings were augmented\nalso by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude of their\ninfliction.  My daily vows rose for revenge--a deep and deadly revenge,\nsuch as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had\nendured.\n\n\"After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey.  The\nlabours I endured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or\ngentle breezes of spring; all joy was but a mockery which insulted my\ndesolate state and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for\nthe enjoyment of pleasure.\n\n\"But my toils now drew near a close, and in two months from this time I\nreached the environs of Geneva.\n\n\"It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a hiding-place among\nthe fields that surround it to meditate in what manner I should apply\nto you.  I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger and far too unhappy to\nenjoy the gentle breezes of evening or the prospect of the sun setting\nbehind the stupendous mountains of Jura.\n\n\"At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection,\nwhich was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful child, who came\nrunning into the recess I had chosen, with all the sportiveness of\ninfancy.  Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me that this\nlittle creature was unprejudiced and had lived too short a time to have\nimbibed a horror of deformity.  If, therefore, I could seize him and\neducate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in\nthis peopled earth.\n\n\"Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed and drew him\ntowards me.  As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before\nhis eyes and uttered a shrill scream; I drew his hand forcibly from his\nface and said, 'Child, what is the meaning of this?  I do not intend to\nhurt you; listen to me.'\n\n\"He struggled violently.  'Let me go,' he cried; 'monster!  Ugly\nwretch!  You wish to eat me and tear me to pieces.  You are an ogre.\nLet me go, or I will tell my papa.'\n\n\"'Boy, you will never see your father again; you must come with me.'\n\n\"'Hideous monster!  Let me go.  My papa is a syndic--he is M.\nFrankenstein--he will punish you.  You dare not keep me.'\n\n\"'Frankenstein! you belong then to my enemy--to him towards whom I have\nsworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.'\n\n\"The child still struggled and loaded me with epithets which carried\ndespair to my heart; I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a\nmoment he lay dead at my feet.\n\n\"I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish\ntriumph; clapping my hands, I exclaimed, 'I too can create desolation;\nmy enemy is not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and\na thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him.'\n\n\"As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his\nbreast.  I took it; it was a portrait of a most lovely woman.  In spite\nof my malignity, it softened and attracted me.  For a few moments I\ngazed with delight on her dark eyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her\nlovely lips; but presently my rage returned; I remembered that I was\nforever deprived of the delights that such beautiful creatures could\nbestow and that she whose resemblance I contemplated would, in\nregarding me, have changed that air of divine benignity to one\nexpressive of disgust and affright.\n\n\"Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage?  I only\nwonder that at that moment, instead of venting my sensations in\nexclamations and agony, I did not rush among mankind and perish in the\nattempt to destroy them.\n\n\"While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had\ncommitted the murder, and seeking a more secluded hiding-place, I\nentered a barn which had appeared to me to be empty.  A woman was\nsleeping on some straw; she was young, not indeed so beautiful as her\nwhose portrait I held, but of an agreeable aspect and blooming in the\nloveliness of youth and health.  Here, I thought, is one of those whose\njoy-imparting smiles are bestowed on all but me.  And then I bent over\nher and whispered, 'Awake, fairest, thy lover is near--he who would\ngive his life but to obtain one look of affection from thine eyes; my\nbeloved, awake!'\n\n\"The sleeper stirred; a thrill of terror ran through me.  Should she\nindeed awake, and see me, and curse me, and denounce the murderer? Thus\nwould she assuredly act if her darkened eyes opened and she beheld me.\nThe thought was madness; it stirred the fiend within me--not I, but\nshe, shall suffer; the murder I have committed because I am forever\nrobbed of all that she could give me, she shall atone.  The crime had\nits source in her; be hers the punishment!  Thanks to the lessons of\nFelix and the sanguinary laws of man, I had learned now to work\nmischief.  I bent over her and placed the portrait securely in one of\nthe folds of her dress.  She moved again, and I fled.\n\n\"For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place,\nsometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world and\nits miseries forever.  At length I wandered towards these mountains,\nand have ranged through their immense recesses, consumed by a burning\npassion which you alone can gratify.  We may not part until you have\npromised to comply with my requisition.  I am alone and miserable; man\nwill not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself\nwould not deny herself to me.  My companion must be of the same species\nand have the same defects.  This being you must create.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 17\n\nThe being finished speaking and fixed his looks upon me in the\nexpectation of a reply.  But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to\narrange my ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his\nproposition.  He continued,\n\n\"You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the\ninterchange of those sympathies necessary for my being.  This you alone\ncan do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to\nconcede.\"\n\nThe latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had\ndied away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and\nas he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within\nme.\n\n\"I do refuse it,\" I replied; \"and no torture shall ever extort a\nconsent from me.  You may render me the most miserable of men, but you\nshall never make me base in my own eyes.  Shall I create another like\nyourself, whose joint wickedness might desolate the world.  Begone!  I\nhave answered you; you may torture me, but I will never consent.\"\n\n\"You are in the wrong,\" replied the fiend; \"and instead of threatening,\nI am content to reason with you.  I am malicious because I am\nmiserable.  Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind?  You, my\ncreator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell\nme why I should pity man more than he pities me?  You would not call it\nmurder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and\ndestroy my frame, the work of your own hands.  Shall I respect man when\nhe condemns me?  Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness,\nand instead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears\nof gratitude at his acceptance.  But that cannot be; the human senses\nare insurmountable barriers to our union.  Yet mine shall not be the\nsubmission of abject slavery.  I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot\ninspire love, I will cause fear, and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy,\nbecause my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred.  Have a care; I\nwill work at your destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart,\nso that you shall curse the hour of your birth.\"\n\nA fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled\ninto contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently\nhe calmed himself and proceeded--\n\n\"I intended to reason.  This passion is detrimental to me, for you do\nnot reflect that YOU are the cause of its excess.  If any being felt\nemotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and\na hundredfold; for that one creature's sake I would make peace with the\nwhole kind!  But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be\nrealized.  What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a\ncreature of another sex, but as hideous as myself; the gratification is\nsmall, but it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me.  It\nis true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that\naccount we shall be more attached to one another.  Our lives will not\nbe happy, but they will be harmless and free from the misery I now\nfeel.  Oh!  My creator, make me happy; let me feel gratitude towards\nyou for one benefit!  Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some\nexisting thing; do not deny me my request!\"\n\nI was moved.  I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences\nof my consent, but I felt that there was some justice in his argument.\nHis tale and the feelings he now expressed proved him to be a creature\nof fine sensations, and did I not as his maker owe him all the portion\nof happiness that it was in my power to bestow?  He saw my change of\nfeeling and continued,\n\n\"If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see\nus again; I will go to the vast wilds of South America.  My food is not\nthat of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite;\nacorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment.  My companion will\nbe of the same nature as myself and will be content with the same fare.\nWe shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on\nman and will ripen our food.  The picture I present to you is peaceful\nand human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the\nwantonness of power and cruelty.  Pitiless as you have been towards me,\nI now see compassion in your eyes; let me seize the favourable moment\nand persuade you to promise what I so ardently desire.\"\n\n\"You propose,\" replied I, \"to fly from the habitations of man, to dwell\nin those wilds where the beasts of the field will be your only\ncompanions.  How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man,\npersevere in this exile?  You will return and again seek their\nkindness, and you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions\nwill be renewed, and you will then have a companion to aid you in the\ntask of destruction.  This may not be; cease to argue the point, for I\ncannot consent.\"\n\n\"How inconstant are your feelings!  But a moment ago you were moved by\nmy representations, and why do you again harden yourself to my\ncomplaints?  I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you\nthat made me, that with the companion you bestow I will quit the\nneighbourhood of man and dwell, as it may chance, in the most savage of\nplaces.  My evil passions will have fled, for I shall meet with\nsympathy!  My life will flow quietly away, and in my dying moments I\nshall not curse my maker.\"\n\nHis words had a strange effect upon me.  I compassionated him and\nsometimes felt a wish to console him, but when I looked upon him, when\nI saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened and my\nfeelings were altered to those of horror and hatred.  I tried to stifle\nthese sensations; I thought that as I could not sympathize with him, I\nhad no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which\nwas yet in my power to bestow.\n\n\"You swear,\" I said, \"to be harmless; but have you not already shown a\ndegree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust you?  May not\neven this be a feint that will increase your triumph by affording a\nwider scope for your revenge?\"\n\n\"How is this?  I must not be trifled with, and I demand an answer.  If\nI have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion;\nthe love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall\nbecome a thing of whose existence everyone will be ignorant.  My vices\nare the children of a forced solitude that I abhor, and my virtues will\nnecessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal.  I shall feel\nthe affections of a sensitive being and become linked to the chain of\nexistence and events from which I am now excluded.\"\n\nI paused some time to reflect on all he had related and the various\narguments which he had employed.  I thought of the promise of virtues\nwhich he had displayed on the opening of his existence and the\nsubsequent blight of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which\nhis protectors had manifested towards him.  His power and threats were\nnot omitted in my calculations; a creature who could exist in the ice\ncaves of the glaciers and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of\ninaccessible precipices was a being possessing faculties it would be\nvain to cope with.  After a long pause of reflection I concluded that\nthe justice due both to him and my fellow creatures demanded of me that\nI should comply with his request.  Turning to him, therefore, I said,\n\n\"I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe forever,\nand every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall\ndeliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile.\"\n\n\"I swear,\" he cried, \"by the sun, and by the blue sky of heaven, and by\nthe fire of love that burns my heart, that if you grant my prayer,\nwhile they exist you shall never behold me again.  Depart to your home\nand commence your labours; I shall watch their progress with\nunutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall\nappear.\"\n\nSaying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in\nmy sentiments.  I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than\nthe flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the\nsea of ice.\n\nHis tale had occupied the whole day, and the sun was upon the verge of\nthe horizon when he departed.  I knew that I ought to hasten my descent\ntowards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my\nheart was heavy, and my steps slow.  The labour of winding among the\nlittle paths of the mountain and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced\nperplexed me, occupied as I was by the emotions which the occurrences\nof the day had produced.  Night was far advanced when I came to the\nhalfway resting-place and seated myself beside the fountain.  The stars\nshone at intervals as the clouds passed from over them; the dark pines\nrose before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the\nground; it was a scene of wonderful solemnity and stirred strange\nthoughts within me.  I wept bitterly, and clasping my hands in agony, I\nexclaimed, \"Oh!  Stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock\nme; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as\nnought; but if not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness.\"\n\nThese were wild and miserable thoughts, but I cannot describe to you\nhow the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me and how I\nlistened to every blast of wind as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its\nway to consume me.\n\nMorning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; I took no\nrest, but returned immediately to Geneva.  Even in my own heart I could\ngive no expression to my sensations--they weighed on me with a\nmountain's weight and their excess destroyed my agony beneath them.\nThus I returned home, and entering the house, presented myself to the\nfamily.  My haggard and wild appearance awoke intense alarm, but I\nanswered no question, scarcely did I speak.  I felt as if I were placed\nunder a ban--as if I had no right to claim their sympathies--as if\nnever more might I enjoy companionship with them.  Yet even thus I\nloved them to adoration; and to save them, I resolved to dedicate\nmyself to my most abhorred task.  The prospect of such an occupation\nmade every other circumstance of existence pass before me like a dream,\nand that thought only had to me the reality of life.\n\n\n\nChapter 18\n\nDay after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and\nI could not collect the courage to recommence my work.  I feared the\nvengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my\nrepugnance to the task which was enjoined me.  I found that I could not\ncompose a female without again devoting several months to profound\nstudy and laborious disquisition.  I had heard of some discoveries\nhaving been made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was\nmaterial to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my\nfather's consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to\nevery pretence of delay and shrank from taking the first step in an\nundertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear less absolute to\nme.  A change indeed had taken place in me; my health, which had\nhitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when\nunchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably.  My\nfather saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts\ntowards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy,\nwhich every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring\nblackness overcast the approaching sunshine.  At these moments I took\nrefuge in the most perfect solitude.  I passed whole days on the lake\nalone in a little boat, watching the clouds and listening to the\nrippling of the waves, silent and listless.  But the fresh air and\nbright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of composure, and\non my return I met the salutations of my friends with a readier smile\nand a more cheerful heart.\n\nIt was after my return from one of these rambles that my father,\ncalling me aside, thus addressed me,\n\n\"I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former\npleasures and seem to be returning to yourself.  And yet you are still\nunhappy and still avoid our society.  For some time I was lost in\nconjecture as to the cause of this, but yesterday an idea struck me,\nand if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it.  Reserve on such a\npoint would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all.\"\n\nI trembled violently at his exordium, and my father continued--\"I\nconfess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage\nwith our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic comfort and the stay\nof my declining years.  You were attached to each other from your\nearliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions\nand tastes, entirely suited to one another.  But so blind is the\nexperience of man that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my\nplan may have entirely destroyed it.  You, perhaps, regard her as your\nsister, without any wish that she might become your wife.  Nay, you may\nhave met with another whom you may love; and considering yourself as\nbound in honour to Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant\nmisery which you appear to feel.\"\n\n\"My dear father, reassure yourself.  I love my cousin tenderly and\nsincerely.  I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my\nwarmest admiration and affection.  My future hopes and prospects are\nentirely bound up in the expectation of our union.\"\n\n\"The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear Victor,\ngives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced.  If you\nfeel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast\na gloom over us.  But it is this gloom which appears to have taken so\nstrong a hold of your mind that I wish to dissipate.  Tell me,\ntherefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnization of the\nmarriage.  We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us\nfrom that everyday tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You\nare younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent\nfortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future\nplans of honour and utility that you may have formed.  Do not suppose,\nhowever, that I wish to dictate happiness to you or that a delay on\nyour part would cause me any serious uneasiness.  Interpret my words\nwith candour and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and\nsincerity.\"\n\nI listened to my father in silence and remained for some time incapable\nof offering any reply.  I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of\nthoughts and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion.  Alas!  To me\nthe idea of an immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror and\ndismay.  I was bound by a solemn promise which I had not yet fulfilled\nand dared not break, or if I did, what manifold miseries might not\nimpend over me and my devoted family!  Could I enter into a festival\nwith this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck and bowing me to the\nground?  I must perform my engagement and let the monster depart with\nhis mate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from\nwhich I expected peace.\n\nI remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to\nEngland or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers\nof that country whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable\nuse to me in my present undertaking.  The latter method of obtaining\nthe desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory; besides, I\nhad an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my\nloathsome task in my father's house while in habits of familiar\nintercourse with those I loved.  I knew that a thousand fearful\naccidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to\nthrill all connected with me with horror.  I was aware also that I\nshould often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the\nharrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my\nunearthly occupation.  I must absent myself from all I loved while thus\nemployed.  Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be\nrestored to my family in peace and happiness.  My promise fulfilled,\nthe monster would depart forever.  Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some\naccident might meanwhile occur to destroy him and put an end to my\nslavery forever.\n\nThese feelings dictated my answer to my father.  I expressed a wish to\nvisit England, but concealing the true reasons of this request, I\nclothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I\nurged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to\ncomply.  After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy that\nresembled madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find\nthat I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey,\nand he hoped that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my\nreturn, have restored me entirely to myself.\n\nThe duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or\nat most a year, was the period contemplated.  One paternal kind\nprecaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion.  Without\npreviously communicating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth,\narranged that Clerval should join me at Strasbourg.  This interfered\nwith the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task; yet at the\ncommencement of my journey the presence of my friend could in no way be\nan impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many\nhours of lonely, maddening reflection.  Nay, Henry might stand between\nme and the intrusion of my foe.  If I were alone, would he not at times\nforce his abhorred presence on me to remind me of my task or to\ncontemplate its progress?\n\nTo England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that my union\nwith Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return.  My father's\nage rendered him extremely averse to delay.  For myself, there was one\nreward I promised myself from my detested toils--one consolation for my\nunparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect of that day when,\nenfranchised from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth and\nforget the past in my union with her.\n\nI now made arrangements for my journey, but one feeling haunted me\nwhich filled me with fear and agitation.  During my absence I should\nleave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy and\nunprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my\ndeparture.  But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go, and\nwould he not accompany me to England?  This imagination was dreadful in\nitself, but soothing inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends.\nI was agonized with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of\nthis might happen.  But through the whole period during which I was the\nslave of my creature I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of\nthe moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend\nwould follow me and exempt my family from the danger of his\nmachinations.\n\nIt was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native\ncountry.  My journey had been my own suggestion, and Elizabeth\ntherefore acquiesced, but she was filled with disquiet at the idea of\nmy suffering, away from her, the inroads of misery and grief.  It had\nbeen her care which provided me a companion in Clerval--and yet a man\nis blind to a thousand minute circumstances which call forth a woman's\nsedulous attention.  She longed to bid me hasten my return; a thousand\nconflicting emotions rendered her mute as she bade me a tearful, silent\nfarewell.\n\nI threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly\nknowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around.\nI remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on\nit, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with\nme.  Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful\nand majestic scenes, but my eyes were fixed and unobserving.  I could\nonly think of the bourne of my travels and the work which was to occupy\nme whilst they endured.\n\nAfter some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed\nmany leagues, I arrived at Strasbourg, where I waited two days for\nClerval.  He came.  Alas, how great was the contrast between us!  He\nwas alive to every new scene, joyful when he saw the beauties of the\nsetting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise and recommence a new\nday.  He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape and\nthe appearances of the sky.  \"This is what it is to live,\" he cried;\n\"how I enjoy existence!  But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are\nyou desponding and sorrowful!\" In truth, I was occupied by gloomy\nthoughts and neither saw the descent of the evening star nor the golden\nsunrise reflected in the Rhine.  And you, my friend, would be far more\namused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an\neye of feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections.  I, a\nmiserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to\nenjoyment.\n\nWe had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasbourg to\nRotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London.  During this\nvoyage we passed many willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns.\nWe stayed a day at Mannheim, and on the fifth from our departure from\nStrasbourg, arrived at Mainz.  The course of the Rhine below Mainz\nbecomes much more picturesque.  The river descends rapidly and winds\nbetween hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms.  We saw\nmany ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by\nblack woods, high and inaccessible.  This part of the Rhine, indeed,\npresents a singularly variegated landscape.  In one spot you view\nrugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with\nthe dark Rhine rushing beneath; and on the sudden turn of a promontory,\nflourishing vineyards with green sloping banks and a meandering river\nand populous towns occupy the scene.\n\nWe travelled at the time of the vintage and heard the song of the\nlabourers as we glided down the stream.  Even I, depressed in mind, and\nmy spirits continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased.\nI lay at the bottom of the boat, and as I gazed on the cloudless blue\nsky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a\nstranger.  And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of\nHenry?  He felt as if he had been transported to fairy-land and enjoyed\na happiness seldom tasted by man.  \"I have seen,\" he said, \"the most\nbeautiful scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne\nand Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to\nthe water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a\ngloomy and mournful appearance were it not for the most verdant islands\nthat believe the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake\nagitated by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water and\ngave you an idea of what the water-spout must be on the great ocean;\nand the waves dash with fury the base of the mountain, where the priest\nand his mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche and where their dying\nvoices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind;\nI have seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud; but this\ncountry, Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders.  The mountains\nof Switzerland are more majestic and strange, but there is a charm in\nthe banks of this divine river that I never before saw equalled.  Look\nat that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the\nisland, almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and\nnow that group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that\nvillage half hid in the recess of the mountain.  Oh, surely the spirit\nthat inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man\nthan those who pile the glacier or retire to the inaccessible peaks of\nthe mountains of our own country.\" Clerval!  Beloved friend!  Even now\nit delights me to record your words and to dwell on the praise of which\nyou are so eminently deserving.  He was a being formed in the \"very\npoetry of nature.\" His wild and enthusiastic imagination was chastened\nby the sensibility of his heart.  His soul overflowed with ardent\naffections, and his friendship was of that devoted and wondrous nature\nthat the world-minded teach us to look for only in the imagination. But\neven human sympathies were not sufficient to satisfy his eager mind.\nThe scenery of external nature, which others regard only with\nadmiration, he loved with ardour:--\n\n\n     ----The sounding cataract\n     Haunted him like a passion:  the tall rock,\n     The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,\n     Their colours and their forms, were then to him\n     An appetite; a feeling, and a love,\n     That had no need of a remoter charm,\n     By thought supplied, or any interest\n     Unborrow'd from the eye.\n\n                    [Wordsworth's \"Tintern Abbey\".]\n\n\nAnd where does he now exist?  Is this gentle and lovely being lost\nforever?  Has this mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful\nand magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the\nlife of its creator;--has this mind perished?  Does it now only exist\nin my memory?  No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and\nbeaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and\nconsoles your unhappy friend.\n\nPardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight\ntribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart,\noverflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates.  I will\nproceed with my tale.\n\nBeyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved\nto post the remainder of our way, for the wind was contrary and the\nstream of the river was too gentle to aid us.  Our journey here lost\nthe interest arising from beautiful scenery, but we arrived in a few\ndays at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England.  It was on a\nclear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw the\nwhite cliffs of Britain.  The banks of the Thames presented a new\nscene; they were flat but fertile, and almost every town was marked by\nthe remembrance of some story.  We saw Tilbury Fort and remembered the\nSpanish Armada, Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich--places which I had\nheard of even in my country.\n\nAt length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul's towering\nabove all, and the Tower famed in English history.\n\n\n\nChapter 19\n\nLondon was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several\nmonths in this wonderful and celebrated city.  Clerval desired the\nintercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this\ntime, but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally\noccupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the\ncompletion of my promise and quickly availed myself of the letters of\nintroduction that I had brought with me, addressed to the most\ndistinguished natural philosophers.\n\nIf this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness,\nit would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure.  But a blight had\ncome over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of\nthe information they might give me on the subject in which my interest\nwas so terribly profound.  Company was irksome to me; when alone, I\ncould fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of\nHenry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory\npeace.  But busy, uninteresting, joyous faces brought back despair to\nmy heart.  I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my\nfellow men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and\nJustine, and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled\nmy soul with anguish.\n\nBut in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive\nand anxious to gain experience and instruction.  The difference of\nmanners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of\ninstruction and amusement.  He was also pursuing an object he had long\nhad in view.  His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had\nin his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had\ntaken of its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of\nEuropean colonization and trade.  In Britain only could he further the\nexecution of his plan.  He was forever busy, and the only check to his\nenjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind.  I tried to conceal this\nas much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures\nnatural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by\nany care or bitter recollection.  I often refused to accompany him,\nalleging another engagement, that I might remain alone.  I now also\nbegan to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this\nwas to me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling\non the head.  Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme\nanguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips\nto quiver, and my heart to palpitate.\n\nAfter passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person\nin Scotland who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva.  He mentioned\nthe beauties of his native country and asked us if those were not\nsufficient allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north\nas Perth, where he resided.  Clerval eagerly desired to accept this\ninvitation, and I, although I abhorred society, wished to view again\nmountains and streams and all the wondrous works with which Nature\nadorns her chosen dwelling-places.  We had arrived in England at the\nbeginning of October, and it was now February.  We accordingly\ndetermined to commence our journey towards the north at the expiration\nof another month.  In this expedition we did not intend to follow the\ngreat road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford, Matlock, and the\nCumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of this tour\nabout the end of July.  I packed up my chemical instruments and the\nmaterials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some\nobscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.\n\nWe quitted London on the 27th of March and remained a few days at\nWindsor, rambling in its beautiful forest.  This was a new scene to us\nmountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of\nstately deer were all novelties to us.\n\nFrom thence we proceeded to Oxford.  As we entered this city our minds\nwere filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted\nthere more than a century and a half before.  It was here that Charles\nI. had collected his forces.  This city had remained faithful to him,\nafter the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of\nParliament and liberty.  The memory of that unfortunate king and his\ncompanions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, his queen, and\nson, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city which they\nmight be supposed to have inhabited.  The spirit of elder days found a\ndwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps.  If these\nfeelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of\nthe city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration.\nThe colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost\nmagnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows\nof exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters,\nwhich reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and\ndomes, embosomed among aged trees.\n\nI enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the\nmemory of the past and the anticipation of the future.  I was formed\nfor peaceful happiness.  During my youthful days discontent never\nvisited my mind, and if I was ever overcome by ennui, the sight of what\nis beautiful in nature or the study of what is excellent and sublime in\nthe productions of man could always interest my heart and communicate\nelasticity to my spirits.  But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has\nentered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what\nI shall soon cease to be--a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity,\npitiable to others and intolerable to myself.\n\nWe passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs\nand endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most\nanimating epoch of English history.  Our little voyages of discovery\nwere often prolonged by the successive objects that presented\nthemselves.  We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the\nfield on which that patriot fell.  For a moment my soul was elevated\nfrom its debasing and miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas\nof liberty and self sacrifice of which these sights were the monuments\nand the remembrancers.  For an instant I dared to shake off my chains\nand look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten\ninto my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my\nmiserable self.\n\nWe left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next\nplace of rest.  The country in the neighbourhood of this village\nresembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but\neverything is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of\ndistant white Alps which always attend on the piny mountains of my\nnative country.  We visited the wondrous cave and the little cabinets\nof natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same\nmanner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix.  The latter name\nmade me tremble when pronounced by Henry, and I hastened to quit\nMatlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated.\n\nFrom Derby, still journeying northwards, we passed two months in\nCumberland and Westmorland.  I could now almost fancy myself among the\nSwiss mountains.  The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the\nnorthern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the\nrocky streams were all familiar and dear sights to me.  Here also we\nmade some acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into\nhappiness.  The delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than\nmine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found\nin his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could have\nimagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his\ninferiors.  \"I could pass my life here,\" said he to me; \"and among\nthese mountains I should scarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine.\"\n\nBut he found that a traveller's life is one that includes much pain\namidst its enjoyments.  His feelings are forever on the stretch; and\nwhen he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit\nthat on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again\nengages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.\n\nWe had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland\nand conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants when the period\nof our appointment with our Scotch friend approached, and we left them\nto travel on.  For my own part I was not sorry.  I had now neglected my\npromise for some time, and I feared the effects of the daemon's\ndisappointment.  He might remain in Switzerland and wreak his vengeance\non my relatives.  This idea pursued me and tormented me at every moment\nfrom which I might otherwise have snatched repose and peace.  I waited\nfor my letters with feverish impatience; if they were delayed I was\nmiserable and overcome by a thousand fears; and when they arrived and I\nsaw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to\nread and ascertain my fate.  Sometimes I thought that the fiend\nfollowed me and might expedite my remissness by murdering my companion.\nWhen these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for a moment,\nbut followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the fancied rage of\nhis destroyer.  I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the\nconsciousness of which haunted me.  I was guiltless, but I had indeed\ndrawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of crime.\n\nI visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might\nhave interested the most unfortunate being.  Clerval did not like it so\nwell as Oxford, for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing\nto him.  But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh,\nits romantic castle and its environs, the most delightful in the world,\nArthur's Seat, St. Bernard's Well, and the Pentland Hills compensated\nhim for the change and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But\nI was impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.\n\nWe left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrew's, and\nalong the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us.\nBut I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers or enter into\ntheir feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and\naccordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland\nalone.  \"Do you,\" said I, \"enjoy yourself, and let this be our\nrendezvous.  I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with\nmy motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for a short\ntime; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more\ncongenial to your own temper.\"\n\nHenry wished to dissuade me, but seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to\nremonstrate.  He entreated me to write often.  \"I had rather be with\nyou,\" he said, \"in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch\npeople, whom I do not know; hasten, then, my dear  friend, to return,\nthat I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in\nyour absence.\"\n\nHaving parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of\nScotland and finish my work in solitude.  I did not doubt but that the\nmonster followed me and would discover himself to me when I should have\nfinished, that he might receive his companion.  With this resolution I\ntraversed the northern highlands and fixed on one of the remotest of\nthe Orkneys as the scene of my labours.  It was a place fitted for such\na work, being hardly more than a rock whose high sides were continually\nbeaten upon by the waves.  The soil was barren, scarcely affording\npasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its inhabitants,\nwhich consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs gave\ntokens of their miserable fare.  Vegetables and bread, when they\nindulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured\nfrom the mainland, which was about five miles distant.\n\nOn the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of\nthese was vacant when I arrived.  This I hired.  It contained but two\nrooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable\npenury.  The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the\ndoor was off its hinges.  I ordered it to be repaired, bought some\nfurniture, and took possession, an incident which would doubtless have\noccasioned some surprise had not all the senses of the cottagers been\nbenumbed by want and squalid poverty.  As it was, I lived ungazed at\nand unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes\nwhich I gave, so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations\nof men.\n\nIn this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening,\nwhen the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea to\nlisten to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet.  It was a\nmonotonous yet ever-changing scene.  I thought of Switzerland; it was\nfar different from this desolate and appalling landscape.  Its hills\nare covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the\nplains.  Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky, and when\ntroubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively\ninfant when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.\n\nIn this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived, but\nas I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and\nirksome to me.  Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my\nlaboratory for several days, and at other times I toiled day and night\nin order to complete my work.  It was, indeed, a filthy process in\nwhich I was engaged.  During my first experiment, a kind of\nenthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my\nmind was intently fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes\nwere shut to the horror of my proceedings.  But now I went to it in\ncold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.\n\nThus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in\na solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from\nthe actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I\ngrew restless and nervous.  Every moment I feared to meet my\npersecutor.  Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing\nto raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much\ndreaded to behold.  I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow\ncreatures lest when alone he should come to claim his companion.\n\nIn the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably\nadvanced.  I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager\nhope, which I dared not trust myself to question but which was\nintermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken\nin my bosom.\n\n\n\nChapter 20\n\nI sat one evening in my laboratory; the sun had set, and the moon was\njust rising from the sea; I had not sufficient light for my employment,\nand I remained idle, in a pause of consideration of whether I should\nleave my labour for the night or hasten its conclusion by an\nunremitting attention to it.  As I sat, a train of reflection occurred\nto me which led me to consider the effects of what I was now doing.\nThree years before, I was engaged in the same manner and had created a\nfiend whose unparalleled barbarity had desolated my heart and filled it\nforever with the bitterest remorse.  I was now about to form another\nbeing of whose dispositions I was alike ignorant; she might become ten\nthousand times more malignant than her mate and delight, for its own\nsake, in murder and wretchedness.  He had sworn to quit the\nneighbourhood of man and hide himself in deserts, but she had not; and\nshe, who in all probability was to become a thinking and reasoning\nanimal, might refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation.\nThey might even hate each other; the creature who already lived loathed\nhis own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence for\nit when it came before his eyes in the female form?  She also might\nturn with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might\nquit him, and he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation\nof being deserted by one of his own species.  Even if they were to\nleave Europe and inhabit the deserts of the new world, yet one of the\nfirst results of those sympathies for which the daemon thirsted would\nbe children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth\nwho might make the very existence of the species of man a condition\nprecarious and full of terror.  Had I right, for my own benefit, to\ninflict this curse upon everlasting generations?  I had before been\nmoved by the sophisms of the being I had created; I had been struck\nsenseless by his fiendish threats; but now, for the first time, the\nwickedness of my promise burst upon me; I shuddered to think that\nfuture ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness had not\nhesitated to buy its own peace at the price, perhaps, of the existence\nof the whole human race.\n\nI trembled and my heart failed within me, when, on looking up, I saw by\nthe light of the moon the daemon at the casement.  A ghastly grin\nwrinkled his lips as he gazed on me, where I sat fulfilling the task\nwhich he had allotted to me.  Yes, he had followed me in my travels; he\nhad loitered in forests, hid himself in caves, or taken refuge in wide\nand desert heaths; and he now came to mark my progress and claim the\nfulfilment of my promise.\n\nAs I looked on him, his countenance expressed the utmost extent of\nmalice and treachery.  I thought with a sensation of madness on my\npromise of creating another like to him, and trembling with passion,\ntore to pieces the thing on which I was engaged.  The wretch saw me\ndestroy the creature on whose future existence he depended for\nhappiness, and with a howl of devilish despair and revenge, withdrew.\n\nI left the room, and locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own\nheart never to resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, I\nsought my own apartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate\nthe gloom and relieve me from the sickening oppression of the most\nterrible reveries.\n\nSeveral hours passed, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea;\nit was almost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature\nreposed under the eye of the quiet moon.  A few fishing vessels alone\nspecked the water, and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound\nof voices as the fishermen called to one another.  I felt the silence,\nalthough I was hardly conscious of its extreme profundity, until my ear\nwas suddenly arrested by the paddling of oars near the shore, and a\nperson landed close to my house.\n\nIn a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door, as if some one\nendeavoured to open it softly.  I trembled from head to foot; I felt a\npresentiment of who it was and wished to rouse one of the peasants who\ndwelt in a cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the\nsensation of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you\nin vain endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and was rooted to\nthe spot. Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage;\nthe door opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded appeared.\n\nShutting the door, he approached me and said in a smothered voice, \"You\nhave destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you intend?\nDo you dare to break your promise?  I have endured toil and misery; I\nleft Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among\nits willow islands and over the summits of its hills.  I have dwelt\nmany months in the heaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland.\nI have endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare\ndestroy my hopes?\"\n\n\"Begone!  I do break my promise; never will I create another like\nyourself, equal in deformity and wickedness.\"\n\n\"Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself\nunworthy of my condescension.  Remember that I have power; you believe\nyourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of\nday will be hateful to you.  You are my creator, but I am your master;\nobey!\"\n\n\"The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period of your power is\narrived.  Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but\nthey confirm me in a determination of not creating you a companion in\nvice.  Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a daemon whose\ndelight is in death and wretchedness?  Begone!  I am firm, and your\nwords will only exasperate my rage.\"\n\nThe monster saw my determination in my face and gnashed his teeth in\nthe impotence of anger.  \"Shall each man,\" cried he, \"find a wife for\nhis bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone?  I had\nfeelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn.\nMan!  You may hate, but beware!  Your hours will pass in dread and\nmisery, and soon the bolt  will fall which must ravish from you your\nhappiness forever.  Are you to be happy while I grovel in the intensity\nof my wretchedness?  You can blast my other passions, but revenge\nremains--revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food!  I may die, but\nfirst you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on\nyour misery.  Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful.  I will\nwatch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom.\nMan, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict.\"\n\n\"Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice.\nI have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend\nbeneath words.  Leave me; I am inexorable.\"\n\n\"It is well.  I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your\nwedding-night.\"\n\nI started forward and exclaimed, \"Villain!  Before you sign my\ndeath-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe.\"\n\nI would have seized him, but he eluded me and quitted the house with\nprecipitation.  In a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot\nacross the waters with an arrowy swiftness and was soon lost amidst the\nwaves.\n\nAll was again silent, but his words rang in my ears.  I burned with\nrage to pursue the murderer of my peace and precipitate him into the\nocean.  I walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my\nimagination conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me.  Why\nhad I not followed him and closed with him in mortal strife?  But I had\nsuffered him to depart, and he had directed his course towards the\nmainland.  I shuddered to think who might be the next victim sacrificed\nto his insatiate revenge.  And then I thought again of his words--\"I\nWILL BE WITH YOU ON YOUR WEDDING-NIGHT.\"  That, then, was the period\nfixed for the fulfilment of my destiny.  In that hour I should die and\nat once satisfy and extinguish his malice.  The prospect did not move\nme to fear; yet when I thought of my beloved Elizabeth, of her tears\nand endless sorrow, when she should find her lover so barbarously\nsnatched from her, tears, the first I had shed for many months,\nstreamed from my eyes, and I resolved not to fall before my enemy\nwithout a bitter struggle.\n\nThe night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean; my feelings\nbecame calmer, if it may be called calmness when the violence of rage\nsinks into the depths of despair.  I left the house, the horrid scene\nof the last night's contention, and walked on the beach of the sea,\nwhich I almost regarded as an insuperable barrier between me and my\nfellow creatures; nay, a wish that such should prove the fact stole\nacross me.\n\nI desired that I might pass my life on that barren rock, wearily, it is\ntrue, but uninterrupted by any sudden shock of misery.  If I returned,\nit was to be sacrificed or to see those whom I most loved die under the\ngrasp of a daemon whom I had myself created.\n\nI walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from all it\nloved and miserable in the separation.  When it became noon, and the\nsun rose higher, I lay down on the grass and was overpowered by a deep\nsleep.  I had been awake the whole of the preceding night, my nerves\nwere agitated, and my eyes inflamed by watching and misery.  The sleep\ninto which I now sank refreshed me; and when I awoke, I again felt as\nif I belonged to a race of human beings like myself, and I began to\nreflect upon what had passed with greater composure; yet still the\nwords of the fiend rang in my ears like a death-knell; they appeared\nlike a dream, yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.\n\nThe sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my\nappetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a\nfishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet;\nit contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval entreating me to\njoin him.  He said that he was wearing away his time fruitlessly where\nhe was, that letters from the friends he had formed in London desired\nhis return to complete the negotiation they had entered into for his\nIndian enterprise.  He could not any longer delay his departure; but as\nhis journey to London might be followed, even sooner than he now\nconjectured, by his longer voyage, he entreated me to bestow as much of\nmy society on him as I could spare.  He besought me, therefore, to\nleave my solitary isle and to meet him at Perth, that we might proceed\nsouthwards together.  This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and\nI determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days.  Yet,\nbefore I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I shuddered to\nreflect; I must pack up my chemical instruments, and for that purpose I\nmust enter the room which had been the scene of my odious work, and I\nmust handle those utensils the sight of which was sickening to me. The\nnext morning, at daybreak, I summoned sufficient courage and unlocked\nthe door of my laboratory.  The remains of the half-finished creature,\nwhom I had destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost felt as\nif I had mangled the living flesh of a human being.  I paused to\ncollect myself and then entered the chamber.  With trembling hand I\nconveyed the instruments out of the room, but I reflected that I ought\nnot to leave the relics of my work to excite the horror and suspicion\nof the peasants; and I accordingly put them into a basket, with a great\nquantity of stones, and laying them up, determined to throw them into\nthe sea that very night; and in the meantime I sat upon the beach,\nemployed in cleaning and arranging my chemical apparatus.\n\nNothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place\nin my feelings since the night of the appearance of the daemon.  I had\nbefore regarded my promise with a gloomy despair as a thing that, with\nwhatever consequences, must be fulfilled; but I now felt as if a film\nhad been taken from before my eyes and that I for the first time saw\nclearly.  The idea of renewing my labours did not for one instant occur\nto me; the threat I had heard weighed on my thoughts, but I did not\nreflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it.  I had resolved in\nmy own mind that to create another like the fiend I had first made\nwould be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness, and I\nbanished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different\nconclusion.\n\nBetween two and three in the morning the moon rose; and I then, putting\nmy basket aboard a little skiff, sailed out about four miles from the\nshore.  The scene was perfectly solitary; a few boats were returning\ntowards land, but I sailed away from them.  I felt as if I was about\nthe commission of a dreadful crime and avoided with shuddering anxiety\nany encounter with my fellow creatures.  At one time the moon, which\nhad before been clear, was suddenly overspread by a thick cloud, and I\ntook advantage of the moment of darkness and cast my basket into the\nsea; I listened to the gurgling sound as it sank and then sailed away\nfrom the spot.  The sky became clouded, but the air was pure, although\nchilled by the northeast breeze that was then rising.  But it refreshed\nme and filled me with such agreeable sensations that I resolved to\nprolong my stay on the water, and fixing the rudder in a direct\nposition, stretched myself at the bottom of the boat.  Clouds hid the\nmoon, everything was obscure, and I heard only the sound of the boat as\nits keel cut through the waves; the murmur lulled me, and in a short\ntime I slept soundly. I do not know how long I remained in this\nsituation, but when I awoke I found that the sun had already mounted\nconsiderably.  The wind was high, and the waves continually threatened\nthe safety of my little skiff.  I found that the wind was northeast and\nmust have driven me far from the coast from which I had embarked.  I\nendeavoured to change my course but quickly found that if I again made\nthe attempt the boat would be instantly filled with water.  Thus\nsituated, my only resource was to drive before the wind.  I confess\nthat I felt a few sensations of terror.  I had no compass with me and\nwas so slenderly acquainted with the geography of this part of the\nworld that the sun was of little benefit to me.  I might be driven into\nthe wide Atlantic and feel all the tortures of starvation or be\nswallowed up in the immeasurable waters that roared and buffeted around\nme.  I had already been out many hours and felt the torment of a\nburning thirst, a prelude to my other sufferings.  I looked on the\nheavens, which were covered by clouds that flew before the wind, only\nto be replaced by others; I looked upon the sea; it was to be my grave.\n\"Fiend,\" I exclaimed, \"your task is already fulfilled!\"  I thought of\nElizabeth, of my father, and of Clerval--all left behind, on whom the\nmonster might satisfy his sanguinary and merciless passions.  This idea\nplunged me into a reverie so despairing and frightful that even now,\nwhen the scene is on the point of closing before me forever, I shudder\nto reflect on it.\n\nSome hours passed thus; but by degrees, as the sun declined towards the\nhorizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze and the sea became\nfree from breakers.  But these gave place to a heavy swell; I felt sick\nand hardly able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high\nland towards the south.\n\nAlmost spent, as I was, by fatigue and the dreadful suspense I endured\nfor several hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of\nwarm joy to my heart, and tears gushed from my eyes.\n\nHow mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we\nhave of life even in the excess of misery!  I constructed another sail\nwith a part of my dress and eagerly steered my course towards the land.\nIt had a wild and rocky appearance, but as I approached nearer I easily\nperceived the traces of cultivation.  I saw vessels near the shore and\nfound myself suddenly transported back to the neighbourhood of\ncivilized man.  I carefully traced the windings of the land and hailed\na steeple which I at length saw issuing from behind a small promontory.\nAs I was in a state of extreme debility, I resolved to sail directly\ntowards the town, as a place where I could most easily procure\nnourishment.  Fortunately I had money with me.\n\nAs I turned the promontory I perceived a small neat town and a good\nharbour, which I entered, my heart bounding with joy at my unexpected\nescape.\n\nAs I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails, several\npeople crowded towards the spot.  They seemed much surprised at my\nappearance, but instead of offering me any assistance, whispered\ntogether with gestures that at any other time might have produced in me\na slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that they\nspoke English, and I therefore addressed them in that language.  \"My\ngood friends,\" said I, \"will you be so kind as to tell me the name of\nthis town and inform me where I am?\"\n\n\"You will know that soon enough,\" replied a man with a hoarse voice.\n\"Maybe you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste,\nbut you will not be consulted as to your quarters, I promise you.\"\n\nI was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a\nstranger, and I was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and\nangry countenances of his companions.  \"Why do you answer me so\nroughly?\"  I replied.  \"Surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to\nreceive strangers so inhospitably.\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" said the man, \"what the custom of the English may be,\nbut it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains.\" While this strange\ndialogue continued, I perceived the crowd rapidly increase.  Their\nfaces expressed a mixture of curiosity and anger, which annoyed  and in\nsome degree alarmed me.\n\nI inquired the way to the inn, but no one replied.  I then moved\nforward, and a murmuring sound arose from the crowd as they followed\nand surrounded me, when an ill-looking man approaching tapped me on the\nshoulder and said, \"Come, sir, you must follow me to Mr. Kirwin's to\ngive an account of yourself.\"\n\n\"Who is Mr. Kirwin?  Why am I to give an account of myself?  Is not\nthis a free country?\"\n\n\"Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks.  Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate,\nand you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was\nfound murdered here last night.\"\n\nThis answer startled me, but I presently recovered myself.  I was\ninnocent; that could easily be proved; accordingly I followed my\nconductor in silence and was led to one of the best houses in the town.\nI was ready to sink from fatigue and hunger, but being surrounded by a\ncrowd, I thought it politic to rouse all my strength, that no physical\ndebility might be construed into apprehension or conscious guilt.\nLittle did I then expect the calamity that was in a few moments to\noverwhelm me and extinguish in horror and despair all fear of ignominy\nor death. I must pause here, for it requires all my fortitude to recall\nthe memory of the frightful events which I am about to relate, in\nproper detail, to my recollection.\n\n\n\nChapter 21\n\nI was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate, an old\nbenevolent man with calm and mild manners.  He looked upon me, however,\nwith some degree of severity, and then, turning towards my conductors,\nhe asked who appeared as witnesses on this occasion.\n\nAbout half a dozen men came forward; and, one being selected by the\nmagistrate, he deposed that he had been out fishing the night before\nwith his son and brother-in-law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten\no'clock, they observed a strong northerly blast rising, and they\naccordingly put in for port.  It was a very dark night, as the moon had\nnot yet risen; they did not land at the harbour, but, as they had been\naccustomed, at a creek about two miles below.  He walked on first,\ncarrying a part of the fishing tackle, and his companions followed him\nat some distance.\n\nAs he was proceeding along the sands, he struck his foot against\nsomething and fell at his length on the ground. His companions came up\nto assist him, and by the light of their lantern they found that he had\nfallen on the body of a man, who was to all appearance dead.  Their\nfirst supposition was that it was the corpse of some person who had\nbeen drowned and was thrown on shore by the waves, but on examination\nthey found that the clothes were not wet and even that the body was not\nthen cold.  They instantly carried it to the cottage of an old woman\nnear the spot and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore it to life.  It\nappeared to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty years of\nage.  He had apparently been strangled, for there was no sign of any\nviolence except the black mark of fingers on his neck.\n\nThe first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me, but\nwhen the mark of the fingers was mentioned I remembered the murder of\nmy brother and felt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled, and a\nmist came over my eyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair for\nsupport.  The magistrate observed me with a keen eye and of course drew\nan unfavourable augury from my manner.\n\nThe son confirmed his father's account, but when Daniel Nugent was\ncalled he swore positively that just before the fall of his companion,\nhe saw a boat, with a single man in it, at a short distance from the\nshore; and as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars, it was\nthe same boat in which I had just landed.  A woman deposed that she\nlived near the beach and was standing at the door of her cottage,\nwaiting for the return of the fishermen, about an hour before she heard\nof the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat with only one man in\nit push off from that part of the shore where the corpse was afterwards\nfound.\n\nAnother woman confirmed the account of the fishermen having brought the\nbody into her house; it was not cold.  They put it into a bed and\nrubbed it, and Daniel went to the town for an apothecary, but life was\nquite gone.\n\nSeveral other men were examined concerning my landing, and they agreed\nthat, with the strong north wind that had arisen during the night, it\nwas very probable that I had beaten about for many hours and had been\nobliged to return nearly to the same spot from which I had departed.\nBesides, they observed that it appeared that I had brought the body\nfrom another place, and it was likely that as I did not appear to know\nthe shore, I might have put into the harbour ignorant of the distance\nof the town of ---- from the place where I had deposited the corpse.\n\nMr. Kirwin, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken\ninto the room where the body lay for interment, that it might be\nobserved what effect the sight of it would produce upon me.  This idea\nwas probably suggested by the extreme agitation I had exhibited when\nthe mode of the murder had been described.  I was accordingly\nconducted, by the magistrate and several other persons, to the inn.  I\ncould not help being struck by the strange coincidences that had taken\nplace during this eventful night; but, knowing that I had been\nconversing with several persons in the island I had inhabited about the\ntime that the body had been found, I was perfectly tranquil as to the\nconsequences of the affair.  I entered the room where the corpse lay\nand was led up to the coffin.  How can I describe my sensations on\nbeholding it?  I feel yet parched with horror, nor can I reflect on\nthat terrible moment without shuddering and agony.  The examination,\nthe presence of the magistrate and witnesses, passed like a dream from\nmy memory when I saw the lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched\nbefore me.  I gasped for breath, and throwing myself on the body, I\nexclaimed, \"Have my murderous machinations deprived you also, my\ndearest Henry, of life?  Two I have already destroyed; other victims\nawait their destiny; but you, Clerval, my friend, my benefactor--\"\n\nThe human frame could no longer support the agonies that I endured, and\nI was carried out of the room in strong convulsions.  A fever succeeded\nto this.  I lay for two months on the point of death; my ravings, as I\nafterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the murderer of\nWilliam, of Justine, and of Clerval.  Sometimes I entreated my\nattendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by whom I was\ntormented; and at others I felt the fingers of the monster already\ngrasping my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror.\nFortunately, as I spoke my native language, Mr. Kirwin alone understood\nme; but my gestures and bitter cries were sufficient to affright the\nother witnesses.  Why did I not die?  More miserable than man ever was\nbefore, why did I not sink into forgetfulness and rest?  Death snatches\naway many blooming children, the only hopes of their doting parents;\nhow many brides and youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of\nhealth and hope, and the next a prey for worms and the decay of the\ntomb!  Of what materials was I made that I could thus resist so many\nshocks, which, like the turning of the wheel, continually renewed the\ntorture?\n\nBut I was doomed to live and in two months found myself as awaking from\na dream, in a prison, stretched on a wretched bed, surrounded by\njailers, turnkeys, bolts, and all the miserable apparatus of a dungeon.\nIt was morning, I remember, when I thus awoke to understanding; I had\nforgotten the particulars of what had happened and only felt as if some\ngreat misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed me; but when I looked around\nand saw the barred windows and the squalidness of the room in which I\nwas, all flashed across my memory and I groaned bitterly.\n\nThis sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in a chair beside\nme.  She was a hired nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys, and her\ncountenance expressed all those bad qualities which often characterize\nthat class.  The lines of her face were hard and rude, like that of\npersons accustomed to see without sympathizing in sights of misery. Her\ntone expressed her entire indifference; she addressed me in English,\nand the voice struck me as one that I had heard during my sufferings.\n\"Are you better now, sir?\" said she.\n\nI replied in the same language, with a feeble voice, \"I believe I am;\nbut if it be all true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am\nstill alive to feel this misery and horror.\"\n\n\"For that matter,\" replied the old woman, \"if you mean about the\ngentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you\nwere dead, for I fancy it will go hard with you!  However, that's none\nof my business; I am sent to nurse you and get you well; I do my duty\nwith a safe conscience; it were well if everybody did the same.\"\n\nI turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a\nspeech to a person just saved, on the very edge of death; but I felt\nlanguid and unable to reflect on all that had passed.  The whole series\nof my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it\nwere all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force\nof reality.\n\nAs the images that floated before me became more distinct, I grew\nfeverish; a darkness pressed around me; no one was near me who soothed\nme with the gentle voice of love; no dear hand supported me.  The\nphysician came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared\nthem for me; but utter carelessness was visible in the first, and the\nexpression of brutality was strongly marked in the visage of the\nsecond.  Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer but the\nhangman who would gain his fee?\n\nThese were my first reflections, but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had\nshown me extreme kindness.  He had caused the best room in the prison\nto be prepared for me (wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who\nhad provided a physician and a nurse.  It is true, he seldom came to\nsee me, for although he ardently desired to relieve the sufferings of\nevery human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and\nmiserable ravings of a murderer.  He came, therefore, sometimes to see\nthat I was not neglected, but his visits were short and with long\nintervals.  One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated in\na chair, my eyes half open and my cheeks livid like those in death.  I\nwas overcome by gloom and misery and often reflected I had better seek\ndeath than desire to remain in a world which to me was replete with\nwretchedness.  At one time I considered whether I should not declare\nmyself guilty and suffer the penalty of the law, less innocent than\npoor Justine had been.  Such were my thoughts when the door of my\napartment was opened and Mr. Kirwin entered.  His countenance expressed\nsympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to mine and addressed me\nin French, \"I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do\nanything to make you more comfortable?\"\n\n\"I thank you, but all that you mention is nothing to me; on the whole\nearth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.\"\n\n\"I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to\none borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune.  But you will, I\nhope, soon quit this melancholy abode, for doubtless evidence can\neasily be brought to free you from the criminal charge.\"\n\n\"That is my least concern; I am, by a course of strange events, become\nthe most miserable of mortals.  Persecuted and tortured as I am and\nhave been, can death be any evil to me?\"\n\n\"Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonizing than the\nstrange chances that have lately occurred.  You were thrown, by some\nsurprising accident, on this shore, renowned for its hospitality,\nseized immediately, and charged with murder.  The first sight that was\npresented to your eyes was the body of your friend, murdered in so\nunaccountable a manner and placed, as it were, by some fiend across\nyour path.\"\n\nAs Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation I endured on\nthis retrospect of my sufferings, I also felt considerable surprise at\nthe knowledge he seemed to possess concerning me.  I suppose some\nastonishment was exhibited in my countenance, for Mr. Kirwin hastened\nto say, \"Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that\nwere on your person were brought me, and I examined them that I might\ndiscover some trace by which I could send to your relations an account\nof your misfortune and illness. I found several letters, and, among\nothers, one which I discovered from its commencement to be from your\nfather.  I instantly wrote to Geneva; nearly two months have elapsed\nsince the departure of my letter.  But you are ill; even now you\ntremble; you are unfit for agitation of any kind.\"\n\n\"This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event;\ntell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am\nnow to lament?\"\n\n\"Your family is perfectly well,\" said Mr. Kirwin with gentleness; \"and\nsomeone, a friend, is come to visit you.\"\n\nI know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it\ninstantly darted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my\nmisery and taunt me with the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for\nme to comply with his hellish desires.  I put my hand before my eyes,\nand cried out in agony, \"Oh! Take him away!  I cannot see him; for\nGod's sake, do not let him enter!\"\n\nMr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled countenance.  He could not help\nregarding my exclamation as a presumption of my guilt and said in\nrather a severe tone, \"I should have thought, young man, that the\npresence of your father would have been welcome instead of inspiring\nsuch violent repugnance.\"\n\n\"My father!\" cried I, while every feature and every muscle was relaxed\nfrom anguish to pleasure.  \"Is my father indeed come?  How kind, how\nvery kind!  But where is he, why does he not hasten to me?\"\n\nMy change of manner surprised and pleased the magistrate; perhaps he\nthought that my former exclamation was a momentary return of delirium,\nand now he instantly resumed his former benevolence.  He rose and\nquitted the room with my nurse, and in a moment my father entered it.\n\nNothing, at this moment, could have given me greater pleasure than the\narrival of my father.  I stretched out my hand to him and cried, \"Are\nyou, then, safe--and Elizabeth--and Ernest?\" My father calmed me with\nassurances of their welfare and endeavoured, by dwelling on these\nsubjects so interesting to my heart, to raise my desponding spirits;\nbut he soon felt that a prison cannot be the abode of cheerfulness.\n\n\"What a place is this that you inhabit, my son!\" said he, looking\nmournfully at the barred windows and wretched appearance of the room.\n\"You travelled to seek happiness, but a fatality seems to pursue you.\nAnd poor Clerval--\"\n\nThe name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was an agitation too\ngreat to be endured in my weak state; I shed tears.  \"Alas!  Yes, my\nfather,\" replied I; \"some destiny of the most horrible kind hangs over\nme, and I must live to fulfil it, or surely I should have died on the\ncoffin of Henry.\"\n\nWe were not allowed to converse for any length of time, for the\nprecarious state of my health rendered every precaution necessary that\ncould ensure tranquillity.  Mr. Kirwin came in and insisted that my\nstrength should not be exhausted by too much exertion.  But the\nappearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I\ngradually recovered my health.\n\nAs my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black\nmelancholy that nothing could dissipate.  The image of Clerval was\nforever before me, ghastly and murdered.  More than once the agitation\ninto which these reflections threw me made my friends dread a dangerous\nrelapse.  Alas!  Why did they preserve so miserable and detested a\nlife?  It was surely that I might fulfil my destiny, which is now\ndrawing to a close.  Soon, oh, very soon, will death extinguish these\nthrobbings and relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears\nme to the dust; and, in executing the award of justice, I shall also\nsink to rest.  Then the appearance of death was distant, although the\nwish was ever present to my thoughts; and I often sat for hours\nmotionless and speechless, wishing for some mighty revolution that\nmight bury me and my destroyer in its ruins.\n\nThe season of the assizes approached.  I had already been three months\nin prison, and although I was still weak and in continual danger of a\nrelapse, I was obliged to travel nearly a hundred miles to the country\ntown where the court was held.  Mr. Kirwin charged himself with every\ncare of collecting witnesses and arranging my defence.  I was spared\nthe disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as the case was not\nbrought before the court that decides on life and death.  The grand\njury rejected the bill, on its being proved that I was on the Orkney\nIslands at the hour the body of my friend was found; and a fortnight\nafter my removal I was liberated from prison.\n\nMy father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a\ncriminal charge, that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh\natmosphere and permitted to return to my native country.  I did not\nparticipate in these feelings, for to me the walls of a dungeon or a\npalace were alike hateful.  The cup of life was poisoned forever, and\nalthough the sun shone upon me, as upon the happy and gay of heart, I\nsaw around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by\nno light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me.  Sometimes\nthey were the expressive eyes of Henry, languishing in death, the dark\norbs nearly covered by the lids and the long black lashes that fringed\nthem; sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of the monster, as I\nfirst saw them in my chamber at Ingolstadt.\n\nMy father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection.  He talked\nof Geneva, which I should soon visit, of Elizabeth and Ernest; but\nthese words only drew deep groans from me.  Sometimes, indeed, I felt a\nwish for happiness and thought with melancholy delight of my beloved\ncousin or longed, with a devouring maladie du pays, to see once more\nthe blue lake and rapid Rhone, that had been so dear to me in early\nchildhood; but my general state of feeling was a torpor in which a\nprison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature; and\nthese fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish and\ndespair.  At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the\nexistence I loathed, and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance\nto restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence.\n\nYet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which finally\ntriumphed over my selfish despair.  It was necessary that I should\nreturn without delay to Geneva, there to watch over the lives of those\nI so fondly loved and to lie in wait for the murderer, that if any\nchance led me to the place of his concealment, or if he dared again to\nblast me by his presence, I might, with unfailing aim, put an end to\nthe existence of the monstrous image which  I had endued with the\nmockery of a soul still more monstrous.  My father still desired to\ndelay our departure, fearful that I could not sustain the fatigues of a\njourney, for I was a shattered wreck--the shadow of a human being.  My\nstrength was gone.  I was a mere skeleton, and fever night and day\npreyed upon my wasted frame.  Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland\nwith such inquietude and impatience, my father thought it best to\nyield.  We took our passage on board a vessel bound for Havre-de-Grace\nand sailed with a fair wind from the Irish shores.  It was midnight.  I\nlay on the deck looking at the stars and listening to the dashing of\nthe waves.  I hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my sight, and\nmy pulse beat with a feverish joy when I reflected that I should soon\nsee Geneva.  The past appeared to me in the light of a frightful dream;\nyet the vessel in which I was, the wind that blew me from the detested\nshore of Ireland, and the sea which surrounded me told me too forcibly\nthat I was deceived by no vision and that Clerval, my friend and\ndearest companion, had fallen a victim to me and the monster of my\ncreation.  I repassed, in my memory, my whole life--my quiet happiness\nwhile residing with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my\ndeparture for Ingolstadt.  I remembered, shuddering, the mad enthusiasm\nthat hurried me on to the creation of my hideous enemy, and I called to\nmind the night in which he first lived.  I was unable to pursue the\ntrain of thought; a thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept\nbitterly.  Ever since my recovery from the fever I had been in the\ncustom of taking every night a small quantity of laudanum, for it was\nby means of this drug only that I was enabled to gain the rest\nnecessary for the preservation of life.  Oppressed by the recollection\nof my various misfortunes, I now swallowed double my usual quantity and\nsoon slept profoundly.  But sleep did not afford me respite from\nthought and misery; my dreams presented a thousand objects that scared\nme.  Towards morning I was possessed by a kind of nightmare; I felt the\nfiend's grasp in my neck and could not free myself from it; groans and\ncries rang in my ears.  My father, who was watching over me, perceiving\nmy restlessness, awoke me; the dashing waves were around, the cloudy\nsky above, the fiend was not here: a sense of security, a feeling that\na truce was established between the present hour and the irresistible,\ndisastrous future imparted to me a kind of calm forgetfulness, of which\nthe human mind is by its structure peculiarly susceptible.\n\n\n\nChapter 22\n\nThe voyage came to an end.  We landed, and proceeded to Paris.  I soon\nfound that I had overtaxed my strength and that I must repose before I\ncould continue my journey.  My father's care and attentions were\nindefatigable, but he did not know the origin of my sufferings and\nsought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill.  He wished me to\nseek amusement in society.  I abhorred the face of man.  Oh, not\nabhorred!  They were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt\nattracted even to the most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an\nangelic nature and celestial mechanism.  But I felt that I had no right\nto share their intercourse.  I had unchained an enemy among them whose\njoy it was to shed their blood and to revel in their groans.  How they\nwould, each and all, abhor me and hunt me from the world did they know\nmy unhallowed acts and the crimes which had their source in me!\n\nMy father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society and strove by\nvarious arguments to banish my despair.  Sometimes he thought that I\nfelt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of\nmurder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.\n\n\"Alas!  My father,\" said I, \"how little do you know me.  Human beings,\ntheir feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such a wretch\nas I felt pride.  Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I,\nand she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause\nof this--I murdered her.  William, Justine, and Henry--they all died by\nmy hands.\"\n\nMy father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same\nassertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an\nexplanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring\nof delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had\npresented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I\npreserved in my convalescence.\n\nI avoided explanation and maintained a continual silence concerning the\nwretch I had created.  I had a persuasion that I should be supposed\nmad, and this in itself would forever have chained my tongue.  But,\nbesides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill\nmy hearer with consternation and make fear and unnatural horror the\ninmates of his breast.  I checked, therefore, my impatient thirst for\nsympathy and was silent when I would have given the world to have\nconfided the fatal secret.  Yet, still, words like those I have\nrecorded would burst uncontrollably from me.  I could offer no\nexplanation of them, but their truth in part relieved the burden of my\nmysterious woe.  Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression\nof unbounded wonder, \"My dearest Victor, what infatuation is this?  My\ndear son, I entreat you never to make such an assertion again.\"\n\n\"I am not mad,\" I cried energetically; \"the sun and the heavens, who\nhave viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth.  I am the\nassassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations.\nA thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have\nsaved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not\nsacrifice the whole human race.\"\n\nThe conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were\nderanged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation and\nendeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts.  He wished as much as\npossible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in\nIreland and never alluded to them or suffered me to speak of my\nmisfortunes.\n\nAs time passed away I became more calm; misery had her dwelling in my\nheart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my own\ncrimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of them.  By the utmost\nself-violence I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, which\nsometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world, and my manners\nwere calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journey\nto the sea of ice.  A few days before we left Paris on our way to\nSwitzerland, I received the following letter from Elizabeth:\n\n\n\"My dear Friend,\n\n\"It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle\ndated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may\nhope to see you in less than a fortnight.  My poor cousin, how much you\nmust have suffered!  I expect to see you looking even more ill than\nwhen you quitted Geneva.  This winter has been passed most miserably,\ntortured as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in\nyour countenance and to find that your heart is not totally void of\ncomfort and tranquillity.\n\n\"Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable\na year ago, even perhaps augmented by time.  I would not disturb you at\nthis period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you, but a\nconversation that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders\nsome explanation necessary before we meet.   Explanation!  You may\npossibly say, What can Elizabeth have to explain?  If you really say\nthis, my questions are answered and all my doubts satisfied.  But you\nare distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread and yet be\npleased with this explanation; and in a probability of this being the\ncase, I dare not any longer postpone writing what, during your absence,\nI have often wished to express to you but have never had the courage to\nbegin.\n\n\"You well know, Victor, that our union had been the favourite plan of\nyour parents ever since our infancy.  We were told this when young, and\ntaught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take\nplace.  We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I\nbelieve, dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older. But\nas brother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards each\nother without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our\ncase?  Tell me, dearest Victor.  Answer me, I conjure you by our mutual\nhappiness, with simple truth--Do you not love another?\n\n\"You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life at\nIngolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last\nautumn so unhappy, flying to solitude from the society of every\ncreature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our\nconnection and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes of\nyour parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations.\nBut this is false reasoning.  I confess to you, my friend, that I love\nyou and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant\nfriend and companion.   But it is your happiness I desire as well as my\nown when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally\nmiserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice.  Even now\nI weep to think that, borne down as you are by the cruellest\nmisfortunes, you may stifle, by the word 'honour,' all hope of that\nlove and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself.  I, who\nhave so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries\ntenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes.  Ah! Victor, be assured\nthat your cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be\nmade miserable by this supposition.  Be happy, my friend; and if you\nobey me in this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth\nwill have the power to interrupt my tranquillity.\n\n\"Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer tomorrow, or the\nnext day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain.  My uncle\nwill send me news of your health, and if I see but one smile on your\nlips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I\nshall need no other happiness.\n\n                                                \"Elizabeth Lavenza\n\n\n    \"Geneva, May 18th, 17--\"\n\n\nThis letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the\nthreat of the fiend--\"I WILL BE WITH YOU ON YOUR WEDDING-NIGHT!\" Such\nwas my sentence, and on that night would the daemon employ every art to\ndestroy me and tear me from the glimpse of happiness which promised\npartly to console my sufferings.  On that night he had determined to\nconsummate his crimes by my death.  Well, be it so; a deadly struggle\nwould then assuredly take place, in which if he were victorious I\nshould be at peace and his power over me be at an end.  If he were\nvanquished, I should be a free man.  Alas!  What freedom?  Such as the\npeasant enjoys when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his\ncottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless,\npenniless, and alone, but free. Such would be my liberty except that in\nmy Elizabeth I possessed a treasure, alas, balanced by those horrors of\nremorse and guilt which would pursue me until death.\n\nSweet and beloved Elizabeth!  I read and reread her letter, and some\nsoftened feelings stole into my heart and dared to whisper paradisiacal\ndreams of love and joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the\nangel's arm bared to drive me from all hope.  Yet I would die to make\nher happy.  If the monster executed his threat, death was inevitable;\nyet, again, I considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate.  My\ndestruction might indeed arrive a few months sooner, but if my torturer\nshould suspect that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would\nsurely find other and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge.\n\nHe had vowed TO BE WITH ME ON MY WEDDING-NIGHT, yet he did not consider\nthat threat as binding him to peace in the meantime, for as if to show\nme that he was not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval\nimmediately after the enunciation of his threats.  I resolved,\ntherefore, that if my immediate union with my cousin would conduce\neither to hers or my father's happiness, my adversary's designs against\nmy life should not retard it a single hour.\n\nIn this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth.  My letter was calm and\naffectionate.  \"I fear, my beloved girl,\" I said, \"little happiness\nremains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in\nyou.  Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life\nand my endeavours for contentment.  I have one secret, Elizabeth, a\ndreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with\nhorror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only\nwonder that I survive what I have endured.  I will confide this tale of\nmisery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place,\nfor, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us.  But\nuntil then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it.  This I most\nearnestly entreat, and I know you will comply.\"\n\nIn about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth's letter we returned to\nGeneva.  The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection, yet tears were\nin her eyes as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish  cheeks.  I\nsaw a change in her also.  She was thinner and had lost much of that\nheavenly vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness and\nsoft looks of compassion made her a more fit companion for one blasted\nand miserable as I was.  The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not\nendure.  Memory brought madness with it, and when I thought of what had\npassed, a real insanity possessed me; sometimes I was furious and burnt\nwith rage, sometimes low and despondent.  I neither spoke nor looked at\nanyone, but sat motionless, bewildered by the multitude of miseries\nthat overcame me.\n\nElizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle\nvoice would soothe me when transported by passion and inspire me with\nhuman feelings when sunk in torpor.  She wept with me and for me.  When\nreason returned, she would remonstrate and endeavour to inspire me with\nresignation.  Ah!  It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but\nfor the guilty there is no peace.  The agonies of remorse poison the\nluxury there is otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of\ngrief.  Soon after my arrival my father spoke of my immediate marriage\nwith Elizabeth.  I remained silent.\n\n\"Have you, then, some other attachment?\"\n\n\"None on earth.  I love Elizabeth and look forward to our union with\ndelight.  Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate\nmyself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin.\"\n\n\"My dear Victor, do not speak thus.  Heavy misfortunes have befallen\nus, but let us only cling closer to what remains and transfer our love\nfor those whom we have lost to those who yet live.  Our circle will be\nsmall but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune.\nAnd when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of\ncare will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly\ndeprived.\"\n\nSuch were the lessons of my father.  But to me the remembrance of the\nthreat returned; nor can you wonder that, omnipotent as the fiend had\nyet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him as\ninvincible, and that when he had pronounced the words \"I SHALL BE WITH\nYOU ON YOUR WEDDING-NIGHT,\" I should regard the threatened fate as\nunavoidable.  But death was no evil to me if the loss of Elizabeth were\nbalanced with it, and I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful\ncountenance, agreed with my father that if my cousin would consent, the\nceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined,\nthe seal to my fate.\n\nGreat God!  If for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish\nintention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself\nforever from my native country and wandered a friendless outcast over\nthe earth than have consented to this miserable marriage.  But, as if\npossessed of magic powers, the monster had blinded me to his real\nintentions; and when I thought that I had prepared only my own death, I\nhastened that of a far dearer victim.\n\nAs the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from\ncowardice or a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me.  But\nI concealed my feelings by an appearance of hilarity that brought\nsmiles and joy to the countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the\never-watchful and nicer eye of Elizabeth.  She looked forward to our\nunion with placid contentment, not unmingled with a little fear, which\npast misfortunes had impressed, that what now appeared certain and\ntangible happiness might soon dissipate into an airy dream and leave no\ntrace but deep and everlasting regret.  Preparations were made for the\nevent, congratulatory visits were received, and all wore a smiling\nappearance.  I shut up, as well as I could, in my own heart the anxiety\nthat preyed there and entered with seeming earnestness into the plans\nof my father, although they might only serve as the decorations of my\ntragedy.  Through my father's exertions a part of the inheritance of\nElizabeth had been restored to her by the Austrian government.  A small\npossession on the shores of Como belonged to her.  It was agreed that,\nimmediately after our union, we should proceed to Villa Lavenza and\nspend our first days of happiness beside the beautiful lake near which\nit stood.\n\nIn the meantime I took every precaution to defend my person in case the\nfiend should openly attack me.  I carried pistols and a dagger\nconstantly about me and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice, and\nby these means gained a greater degree of tranquillity.  Indeed, as the\nperiod approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to be\nregarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped for\nin my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty as the day fixed\nfor its solemnization drew nearer and I heard it continually spoken of\nas an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent.\n\nElizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly to\ncalm her mind.  But on the day that was to fulfil my wishes and my\ndestiny, she was melancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her;\nand perhaps also she thought of the dreadful secret which I had\npromised to reveal to her on the following day.  My father was in the\nmeantime overjoyed and in the bustle of preparation only recognized in\nthe melancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride.\n\nAfter the ceremony was performed a large party assembled at my\nfather's, but it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should commence our\njourney by water, sleeping that night at Evian and continuing our\nvoyage on the following day.  The day was fair, the wind favourable;\nall smiled on our nuptial embarkation.\n\nThose were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the\nfeeling of happiness.  We passed rapidly along; the sun was hot, but we\nwere sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy while we enjoyed the\nbeauty of the scene, sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw\nMont Saleve, the pleasant banks of Montalegre, and at a distance,\nsurmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blanc and the assemblage of snowy\nmountains that in vain endeavour to emulate her; sometimes coasting the\nopposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to the\nambition that would quit its native country, and an almost\ninsurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it.\n\nI took the hand of Elizabeth.  \"You are sorrowful, my love.  Ah!  If\nyou knew what I have suffered and what I may yet endure, you would\nendeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair that this\none day at least permits me to enjoy.\"\n\n\"Be happy, my dear Victor,\" replied Elizabeth; \"there is, I hope,\nnothing to distress you; and be assured that if a lively joy is not\npainted in my face, my heart is contented.  Something whispers to me\nnot to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us, but I\nwill not listen to such a sinister voice.  Observe how fast we move\nalong and how the clouds, which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise\nabove the dome of Mont Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more\ninteresting.  Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in\nthe clear waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at\nthe bottom.  What a divine day!  How happy and serene all nature\nappears!\"\n\nThus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and mine from all\nreflection upon melancholy subjects.  But her temper was fluctuating;\njoy for a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place\nto distraction and reverie.\n\nThe sun sank lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance and\nobserved its path through the chasms of the higher and the glens of the\nlower hills.  The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approached\nthe amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary.  The\nspire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it and the range\nof mountain above mountain by which it was overhung.\n\nThe wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity,\nsank at sunset to a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water\nand caused a pleasant motion among the trees as we approached the\nshore, from which it wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and\nhay.  The sun sank beneath the horizon as we landed, and as I touched\nthe shore I felt those cares and fears revive which soon were to clasp\nme and cling to me forever.\n\n\n\nChapter 23\n\nIt was eight o'clock when we landed; we walked for a short time on the\nshore, enjoying the transitory light, and then retired to the inn and\ncontemplated the lovely scene of waters, woods, and mountains, obscured\nin darkness, yet still displaying their black outlines.\n\nThe wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with great violence\nin the west.  The moon had reached her summit in the heavens and was\nbeginning to descend; the clouds swept across it swifter than the\nflight of the vulture and dimmed her rays, while the lake reflected the\nscene of the busy heavens, rendered still busier by the restless waves\nthat were beginning to rise.  Suddenly a heavy storm of rain descended.\n\nI had been calm during the day, but so soon as night obscured the\nshapes of objects, a thousand fears arose in my mind.  I was anxious\nand watchful, while my right hand grasped a pistol which was hidden in\nmy bosom; every sound terrified me, but I resolved that I would sell my\nlife dearly and not shrink from the conflict until my own life or that\nof my adversary was extinguished.  Elizabeth observed my agitation for\nsome time in timid and fearful silence, but there was something in my\nglance which communicated terror to her, and trembling, she asked,\n\"What is it that agitates you, my dear Victor?  What is it you fear?\"\n\n\"Oh!  Peace, peace, my love,\" replied I; \"this night, and all will be\nsafe; but this night is dreadful, very dreadful.\"\n\nI passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how\nfearful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife,\nand I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her\nuntil I had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.\n\nShe left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages\nof the house and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to\nmy adversary.  But I discovered no trace of him and was beginning to\nconjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the\nexecution of his menaces when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful\nscream.  It came from the room into which Elizabeth had retired.  As I\nheard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the\nmotion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood\ntrickling in my veins and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This\nstate lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed\ninto the room.  Great God!  Why did I not then expire!  Why am I here\nto relate the destruction of the best hope and the purest creature on\nearth?  She was there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed,\nher head hanging down and her pale and distorted features half covered\nby her hair.  Everywhere I turn I see the same figure--her bloodless\narms and relaxed form flung by the murderer on its bridal bier.  Could\nI behold this and live?  Alas!  Life is obstinate and clings closest\nwhere it is most hated.  For a moment only did I lose recollection; I\nfell senseless on the ground.\n\nWhen I recovered I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn;\ntheir countenances expressed a breathless terror, but the horror of\nothers appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that\noppressed me.  I escaped from them to the room where lay the body of\nElizabeth, my love, my wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy.  She\nhad been moved from the posture in which I had first beheld her, and\nnow, as she lay, her head upon her arm and a handkerchief thrown across\nher face and neck, I might have supposed her asleep. I rushed towards\nher and embraced her with ardour, but the deadly languor and coldness\nof the limbs told me that what I now held in my arms had ceased to be\nthe Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished.  The murderous mark of\nthe fiend's grasp was on her neck, and the breath had ceased to issue\nfrom her lips.  While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I\nhappened to look up.  The windows of the room had before been darkened,\nand I felt a kind of panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon\nilluminate the chamber.  The shutters had been thrown back, and with a\nsensation of horror not to be described, I saw at the open window a\nfigure the most hideous and abhorred.  A grin was on the face of the\nmonster; he seemed to jeer, as with his fiendish finger he pointed\ntowards the corpse of my wife.  I rushed towards the window, and\ndrawing a pistol from my bosom, fired; but he eluded me, leaped from\nhis station, and running with the swiftness of lightning, plunged into\nthe lake.\n\nThe report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to\nthe spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with\nboats; nets were cast, but in vain.  After passing several hours, we\nreturned hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a\nform conjured up by my fancy.  After having landed, they proceeded to\nsearch the country, parties going in different directions among the\nwoods and vines.\n\nI attempted to accompany them and proceeded a short distance from the\nhouse, but my head whirled round, my steps were like those of a drunken\nman, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my\neyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever.  In this state I\nwas carried back and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had\nhappened; my eyes wandered round the room as if to seek something that\nI had lost.\n\nAfter an interval I arose, and as if by instinct, crawled into the room\nwhere the corpse of my beloved lay.  There were women weeping around; I\nhung over it and joined my sad tears to theirs; all this time no\ndistinct idea presented itself to my mind, but my thoughts rambled to\nvarious subjects, reflecting confusedly on my misfortunes and their\ncause.  I was bewildered, in a cloud of wonder and horror.  The death\nof William, the execution of Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly\nof my wife; even at that moment I knew not that my only remaining\nfriends were safe from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now\nmight be writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his\nfeet.  This idea made me shudder and recalled me to action.  I started\nup and resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed.\n\nThere were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but\nthe wind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents.  However, it\nwas hardly morning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night.  I\nhired men to row and took an oar myself, for I had always experienced\nrelief from mental torment in bodily exercise.  But the overflowing\nmisery I now felt, and the excess of agitation that I endured rendered\nme incapable of any exertion.  I threw down the oar, and leaning my\nhead upon my hands, gave way to every gloomy idea that arose.  If I\nlooked up, I saw scenes which were familiar to me in my happier time\nand which I had contemplated but the day before in the company of her\nwho was now but a shadow and a recollection.  Tears streamed from my\neyes.  The rain had ceased for a moment, and I saw the fish play in the\nwaters as they had done a few hours before; they had then been observed\nby Elizabeth.  Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and\nsudden change.  The sun might shine or the clouds might lower, but\nnothing could appear to me as it had done the day before.  A fiend had\nsnatched from me every hope of future happiness; no creature had ever\nbeen so miserable as I was; so frightful an event is single in the\nhistory of man. But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed\nthis last overwhelming event?  Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have\nreached their acme, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to\nyou.  Know that, one by one, my friends were snatched away; I was left\ndesolate.  My own strength is exhausted, and I must tell, in a few\nwords, what remains of my hideous narration. I arrived at Geneva.  My\nfather and Ernest yet lived, but the former sunk under the tidings that\nI bore.  I see him now, excellent and venerable old man!  His eyes\nwandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their\ndelight--his Elizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he doted on with\nall that affection which a man feels, who in the decline of life,\nhaving few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain.\nCursed, cursed be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs and\ndoomed him to waste in wretchedness!  He could not live under the\nhorrors that were accumulated around him; the springs of existence\nsuddenly gave way; he was unable to rise from his bed, and in a few\ndays he died in my arms.\n\nWhat then became of me?  I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and\ndarkness were the only objects that pressed upon me.  Sometimes,\nindeed, I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales\nwith the friends of my youth, but I awoke and found myself in a\ndungeon.  Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear\nconception of my miseries and situation and was then released from my\nprison.  For they had called me mad, and during many months, as I\nunderstood, a solitary cell had been my habitation.\n\nLiberty, however, had been a useless gift to me, had I not, as I\nawakened to reason, at the same time awakened to revenge.  As the\nmemory of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect on their\ncause--the monster whom I had created, the miserable daemon whom I had\nsent abroad into the world for my destruction.  I was possessed by a\nmaddening rage when I thought of him, and desired and ardently prayed\nthat I might have him within my grasp to wreak a great and signal\nrevenge on his cursed head.\n\nNor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes; I began to\nreflect on the best means of securing him; and for this purpose, about\na month after my release, I repaired to a criminal judge in the town\nand told him that I had an accusation to make, that I knew the\ndestroyer of my family, and that I required him to exert his whole\nauthority for the apprehension of the murderer.  The magistrate\nlistened to me with attention and kindness.\n\n\"Be assured, sir,\" said he, \"no pains or exertions on my part shall be\nspared to discover the villain.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" replied I; \"listen, therefore, to the deposition that I\nhave to make.  It is indeed a tale so strange that I should fear you\nwould not credit it were there not something in truth which, however\nwonderful, forces conviction.  The story is too connected to be\nmistaken for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood.\" My manner as\nI thus addressed him was impressive but calm; I had formed in my own\nheart a resolution to pursue my destroyer to death, and this purpose\nquieted my agony and for an interval reconciled me to life.  I now\nrelated my history briefly but with firmness and precision, marking the\ndates with accuracy and never deviating into invective or exclamation.\n\nThe magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I\ncontinued he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes\nshudder with horror; at others a lively surprise, unmingled with\ndisbelief, was painted on his countenance.  When I had concluded my\nnarration I said, \"This is the being whom I accuse and for whose\nseizure and punishment I call upon you to exert your whole power.  It\nis your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that your feelings\nas a man will not revolt from the execution of those functions on this\noccasion.\"  This address caused a considerable change in the\nphysiognomy of my own auditor.  He had heard my story with that half\nkind of belief that is given to a tale of spirits and supernatural\nevents; but when he was called upon to act officially in consequence,\nthe whole tide of his incredulity returned.  He, however, answered\nmildly, \"I would willingly afford you every aid in your pursuit, but\nthe creature of whom you speak appears to have powers which would put\nall my exertions to defiance.  Who can follow an animal which can\ntraverse the sea of ice and inhabit caves and dens where no man would\nventure to intrude?  Besides, some months have elapsed since the\ncommission of his crimes, and no one can conjecture to what place he\nhas wandered or what region he may now inhabit.\"\n\n\"I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which I inhabit, and if he\nhas indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois\nand destroyed as a beast of prey.  But I perceive your thoughts; you do\nnot credit my narrative and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the\npunishment which is his desert.\" As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes;\nthe magistrate was intimidated.  \"You are mistaken,\" said he.  \"I will\nexert myself, and if it is in my power to seize the monster, be assured\nthat he shall suffer punishment proportionate to his crimes.  But I\nfear, from what you have yourself described to be his properties, that\nthis will prove impracticable; and thus, while every proper measure is\npursued, you should make up your mind to disappointment.\"\n\n\"That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail.  My\nrevenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I\nconfess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul.  My rage\nis unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned\nloose upon society, still exists.  You refuse my just demand; I have\nbut one resource, and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to\nhis destruction.\"\n\nI trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy\nin my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness\nwhich the martyrs of old are said to have possessed.  But to a Genevan\nmagistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of\ndevotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of\nmadness.  He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child and\nreverted to my tale as the effects of delirium.\n\n\"Man,\" I cried, \"how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom!  Cease;\nyou know not what it is you say.\"\n\nI broke from the house angry and disturbed and retired to meditate on\nsome other mode of action.\n\n\n\nChapter 24\n\nMy present situation was one in which all voluntary thought was\nswallowed up and lost.  I was hurried away by fury; revenge alone\nendowed me with strength and composure; it moulded my feelings and\nallowed me to be calculating and calm at periods when otherwise\ndelirium or death would have been my portion.\n\nMy first resolution was to quit Geneva forever; my country, which, when\nI was happy and beloved, was dear to me, now, in my adversity, became\nhateful.  I provided myself with a sum of money, together with a few\njewels which had belonged to my mother, and departed.  And now my\nwanderings began which are to cease but with life.  I have traversed a\nvast portion of the earth and have endured all the hardships which\ntravellers in deserts and barbarous countries are wont to meet.  How I\nhave lived I hardly know; many times have I stretched my failing limbs\nupon the sandy plain and prayed for death.  But revenge kept me alive;\nI dared not die and leave my adversary in being.\n\nWhen I quitted Geneva my first labour was to gain some clue by which I\nmight trace the steps of my fiendish enemy.  But my plan was unsettled,\nand I wandered many hours round the confines of the town, uncertain\nwhat path I should pursue.  As night approached I found myself at the\nentrance of the cemetery where William, Elizabeth, and my father\nreposed.  I entered it and approached the tomb which marked their\ngraves.  Everything was silent except the leaves of the trees, which\nwere gently agitated by the wind; the night was nearly dark, and the\nscene would have been solemn and affecting even to an uninterested\nobserver.  The spirits of the departed seemed to flit around and to\ncast a shadow, which was felt but not seen, around the head of the\nmourner.\n\nThe deep grief which this scene had at first excited quickly gave way\nto rage and despair.  They were dead, and I lived; their murderer also\nlived, and to destroy him I must drag out my weary existence.  I knelt\non the grass and kissed the earth and with quivering lips exclaimed,\n\"By the sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near\nme, by the deep and eternal grief that I feel, I swear; and by thee, O\nNight, and the spirits that preside over thee, to pursue the daemon who\ncaused this misery, until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict.  For\nthis purpose I will preserve my life; to execute this dear revenge will\nI again behold the sun and tread the green herbage of earth, which\notherwise should vanish from my eyes forever.  And I call on you,\nspirits of the dead, and on you, wandering ministers of vengeance, to\naid and conduct me in my work.  Let the cursed and hellish monster\ndrink deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now torments me.\"  I\nhad begun my adjuration with solemnity and an awe which almost assured\nme that the shades of my murdered friends heard and approved my\ndevotion, but the furies possessed me as I concluded, and rage choked\nmy utterance.\n\nI was answered through the stillness of night by a loud and fiendish\nlaugh.  It rang on my ears long and heavily; the mountains re-echoed\nit, and I felt as if all hell surrounded me with mockery and laughter.\nSurely in that moment I should have been possessed by frenzy and have\ndestroyed my miserable existence but that my vow was heard and that I\nwas reserved for vengeance.  The laughter died away, when a well-known\nand abhorred voice, apparently close to my ear, addressed me in an\naudible whisper, \"I am satisfied, miserable wretch!  You have\ndetermined to live, and I am satisfied.\"\n\nI darted towards the spot from which the sound proceeded, but the devil\neluded my grasp.  Suddenly the broad disk of the moon arose and shone\nfull upon his ghastly and distorted shape as he fled with more than\nmortal speed.\n\nI pursued him, and for many months this has been my task.  Guided by a\nslight clue, I followed the windings of the Rhone, but vainly.  The\nblue Mediterranean appeared, and by a strange chance, I saw the fiend\nenter by night and hide himself in a vessel bound for the Black Sea.  I\ntook my passage in the same ship, but he escaped, I know not how.\n\nAmidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia, although he still evaded me, I\nhave ever followed in his track.  Sometimes the peasants, scared by\nthis horrid apparition, informed me of his path; sometimes he himself,\nwho feared that if I lost all trace of him I should despair and die,\nleft some mark to guide me.  The snows descended on my head, and I saw\nthe print of his huge step on the white plain.  To you first entering\non life, to whom care is new and agony unknown, how can you understand\nwhat I have felt and still feel?  Cold, want, and fatigue were the\nleast pains which I was destined to endure; I was cursed by some devil\nand carried about with me my eternal hell; yet still a spirit of good\nfollowed and directed my steps and when I most murmured would suddenly\nextricate me from seemingly insurmountable difficulties.  Sometimes,\nwhen nature, overcome by hunger, sank under the exhaustion, a repast\nwas prepared for me in the desert that restored and inspirited me.  The\nfare was, indeed, coarse, such as the peasants of the country ate, but\nI will not doubt that it was set there by the spirits that I had\ninvoked to aid me.  Often, when all was dry, the heavens cloudless, and\nI was parched by thirst, a slight cloud would bedim the sky, shed the\nfew drops that revived me, and vanish.\n\nI followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers; but the daemon\ngenerally avoided these, as it was here that the population of the\ncountry chiefly collected.  In other places human beings were seldom\nseen, and I generally subsisted on the wild animals that crossed my\npath.  I had money with me and gained the friendship of the villagers\nby distributing it; or I brought with me some food that I had killed,\nwhich, after taking a small part, I always presented to those who had\nprovided me with fire and utensils for cooking.\n\nMy life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was during\nsleep alone that I could taste joy.  O blessed sleep!  Often, when most\nmiserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams lulled me even to rapture.\nThe spirits that guarded me had provided these moments, or rather\nhours, of happiness that I might retain strength to fulfil my\npilgrimage.  Deprived of this respite, I should have sunk under my\nhardships.  During the day I was sustained and inspirited by the hope\nof night, for in sleep I saw my friends, my wife, and my beloved\ncountry; again I saw the benevolent countenance of my father, heard the\nsilver tones of my Elizabeth's voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying\nhealth and youth.  Often, when wearied by a toilsome march, I persuaded\nmyself that I was dreaming until night should come and that I should\nthen enjoy reality in the arms of my dearest friends.  What agonizing\nfondness did I feel for them!  How did I cling to their dear forms, as\nsometimes they haunted even my waking hours, and persuade myself that\nthey still lived!  At such moments vengeance, that burned within me,\ndied in my heart, and I pursued my path towards the destruction of the\ndaemon more as a task enjoined by heaven, as the mechanical impulse of\nsome power of which I was unconscious, than as the ardent desire of my\nsoul.  What his feelings were whom I pursued I cannot know.  Sometimes,\nindeed, he left marks in writing on the barks of the trees or cut in\nstone that guided me and instigated my fury.  \"My reign is not yet\nover\"--these words were legible in one of these inscriptions--\"you\nlive, and my power is complete.  Follow me; I seek the everlasting ices\nof the north, where you will feel the misery of cold and frost, to\nwhich I am impassive.  You will find near this place, if you follow not\ntoo tardily, a dead hare; eat and be refreshed.  Come on, my enemy; we\nhave yet to wrestle for our lives, but many hard and miserable hours\nmust you endure until that period shall arrive.\"\n\nScoffing devil!  Again do I vow vengeance; again do I devote thee,\nmiserable fiend, to torture and death.  Never will I give up my search\nuntil he or I perish; and then with what ecstasy shall I join my\nElizabeth and my departed friends, who even now prepare for me the\nreward of my tedious toil and horrible pilgrimage!\n\nAs I still pursued my journey to the northward, the snows thickened and\nthe cold increased in a degree almost too severe to support.  The\npeasants were shut up in their hovels, and only a few of the most hardy\nventured forth to seize the animals whom starvation had forced from\ntheir hiding-places to seek for prey.  The rivers were covered with\nice, and no fish could be procured; and thus I was cut off from my\nchief article of maintenance.  The triumph of my enemy increased with\nthe difficulty of my labours.  One inscription that he left was in\nthese words:  \"Prepare!  Your toils only begin; wrap yourself in furs\nand provide food, for we shall soon enter upon a journey where your\nsufferings will satisfy my everlasting hatred.\"\n\nMy courage and perseverance were invigorated by these scoffing words; I\nresolved not to fail in my purpose, and calling on heaven to support\nme, I continued with unabated fervour to traverse immense deserts,\nuntil the ocean appeared at a distance and formed the utmost boundary\nof the horizon.  Oh!  How unlike it was to the blue seasons of the\nsouth!  Covered with ice, it was only to be distinguished from land by\nits superior wildness and ruggedness.  The Greeks wept for joy when\nthey beheld the Mediterranean from the hills of Asia, and hailed with\nrapture the boundary of their toils.  I did not weep, but I knelt down\nand with a full heart thanked my guiding spirit for conducting me in\nsafety to the place where I hoped, notwithstanding my adversary's gibe,\nto meet and grapple with him.\n\nSome weeks before this period I had procured a sledge and dogs and thus\ntraversed the snows with inconceivable speed.  I know not whether the\nfiend possessed the same advantages, but I found that, as before I had\ndaily lost ground in the pursuit, I now gained on him, so much so that\nwhen I first saw the ocean he was but one day's journey in advance, and\nI hoped to intercept him before he should reach the beach.  With new\ncourage, therefore, I pressed on, and in two days arrived at a wretched\nhamlet on the seashore.  I inquired of the inhabitants concerning the\nfiend and gained accurate information.  A gigantic monster, they said,\nhad arrived the night before, armed with a gun and many pistols,\nputting to flight the inhabitants of a solitary cottage through fear of\nhis terrific appearance.  He had carried off their store of winter\nfood, and placing it in a sledge, to draw which he had seized on a\nnumerous drove of trained dogs, he had harnessed them, and the same\nnight, to the joy of the horror-struck villagers, had pursued his\njourney across the sea in a direction that led to no land; and they\nconjectured that he must speedily be destroyed by the breaking of the\nice or frozen by the eternal  frosts.\n\nOn hearing this information I suffered a temporary access of despair.\nHe had escaped me, and I must commence a destructive and almost endless\njourney across the mountainous ices of the ocean, amidst cold that few\nof the inhabitants could long endure and which I, the native of a\ngenial and sunny climate, could not hope to survive.  Yet at the idea\nthat the fiend should live and be triumphant, my rage and vengeance\nreturned, and like a mighty tide, overwhelmed every other feeling.\nAfter a slight repose, during which the spirits of the dead hovered\nround and instigated me to toil and revenge, I prepared for my journey.\nI exchanged my land-sledge for one fashioned for the inequalities of\nthe frozen ocean, and purchasing a plentiful stock of provisions, I\ndeparted from land.\n\nI cannot guess how many days have passed since then, but I have endured\nmisery which nothing but the eternal sentiment of a just retribution\nburning within my heart could have enabled me to support.  Immense and\nrugged mountains of ice often barred up my passage, and I often heard\nthe thunder of the ground sea, which threatened my destruction.  But\nagain the frost came and made the paths of the sea secure.\n\nBy the quantity of provision which I had consumed, I should guess that\nI had passed three weeks in this journey; and the continual protraction\nof hope, returning back upon the heart, often wrung bitter drops of\ndespondency and grief from my eyes.  Despair had indeed almost secured\nher prey, and I should soon have sunk beneath this misery.  Once, after\nthe poor animals that conveyed me had with incredible toil gained the\nsummit of a sloping ice mountain, and one, sinking under his fatigue,\ndied, I viewed the expanse before me with anguish, when suddenly my eye\ncaught a dark speck upon the dusky plain.  I strained my sight to\ndiscover what it could be and uttered a wild cry of ecstasy when I\ndistinguished a sledge and the distorted proportions of a well-known\nform within.  Oh!  With what a burning gush did hope revisit my heart!\nWarm tears filled my eyes, which I hastily wiped away, that they might\nnot intercept the view I had of the daemon; but still my sight was\ndimmed by the burning drops, until, giving way to the emotions that\noppressed me, I wept aloud.\n\nBut this was not the time for delay; I disencumbered the dogs of their\ndead companion, gave them a plentiful portion of food, and after an\nhour's rest, which was absolutely necessary, and yet which was bitterly\nirksome to me, I continued my route.  The sledge was still visible, nor\ndid I again lose sight of it except at the moments when for a short\ntime some ice-rock concealed it with its intervening crags.  I indeed\nperceptibly gained on it, and when, after nearly two days' journey, I\nbeheld my enemy at no more than a mile distant, my heart bounded within\nme.\n\nBut now, when I appeared almost within grasp of my foe, my hopes were\nsuddenly extinguished, and I lost all trace of him more utterly than I\nhad ever done before.  A ground sea was heard; the thunder of its\nprogress, as the waters rolled and swelled beneath me, became every\nmoment more ominous and terrific.  I pressed on, but in vain.  The wind\narose; the sea roared; and, as with the mighty shock of an earthquake,\nit split and cracked with a tremendous and overwhelming sound.  The\nwork was soon finished; in a few minutes a tumultuous sea rolled\nbetween me and my enemy, and I was left drifting on a scattered piece\nof ice that was continually lessening and thus preparing for me a\nhideous death.  In this manner many appalling hours passed; several of\nmy dogs died, and I myself was about to sink under the accumulation of\ndistress when I saw your vessel riding at anchor and holding forth to\nme hopes of succour and life.  I had no conception that vessels ever\ncame so far north and was astounded at the sight.  I quickly destroyed\npart of my sledge to construct oars, and by these means was enabled,\nwith infinite fatigue, to move my ice raft in the direction of your\nship.  I had determined, if you were going southwards, still to trust\nmyself to the mercy of the seas rather than abandon my purpose.  I\nhoped to induce you to grant me a boat with which I could pursue my\nenemy.  But your direction was northwards.  You took me on board when\nmy vigour was exhausted, and I should soon have sunk under my\nmultiplied hardships into a death which I still dread, for my task is\nunfulfilled.\n\nOh!  When will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the daemon, allow\nme the rest I so much desire; or must I die, and he yet live?  If I do,\nswear to me, Walton, that he shall not escape, that you will seek him\nand satisfy my vengeance in his death.  And do I dare to ask of you to\nundertake my pilgrimage, to endure the hardships that I have undergone?\nNo; I am not so selfish.  Yet, when I am dead, if he should appear, if\nthe ministers of vengeance should conduct him to you, swear that he\nshall not live--swear that he shall not triumph over my accumulated\nwoes and survive to add to the list of his dark crimes.  He is eloquent\nand persuasive, and once his words had even power over my heart; but\ntrust him not.  His soul is as hellish as his form, full of treachery\nand fiend-like malice.  Hear him not; call on the names of William,\nJustine, Clerval, Elizabeth, my father, and of the wretched Victor, and\nthrust your sword into his heart.  I will hover near and direct the\nsteel aright.\n\n\n               Walton, in continuation.\n\n\n\n                                                August 26th, 17--\n\n\nYou have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do you not\nfeel your blood congeal with horror, like that which even now curdles\nmine?  Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, he could not continue his\ntale; at others, his voice broken, yet piercing, uttered with\ndifficulty the words so replete with anguish.  His fine and lovely eyes\nwere now lighted up with indignation, now subdued to downcast sorrow\nand quenched in infinite wretchedness.  Sometimes he commanded his\ncountenance and tones and related the most horrible incidents with a\ntranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like a\nvolcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression\nof the wildest rage as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor.\n\nHis tale is connected and told with an appearance of the simplest\ntruth, yet I own to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he\nshowed me, and the apparition of the monster seen from our ship,\nbrought to me a greater conviction of the truth of his narrative than\nhis asseverations, however earnest and connected.  Such a monster has,\nthen, really existence!  I cannot doubt it, yet I am lost in surprise\nand admiration.  Sometimes I endeavoured to gain from Frankenstein the\nparticulars of his creature's formation, but on this point he was\nimpenetrable. \"Are you mad, my friend?\" said he.  \"Or whither does your\nsenseless curiosity lead you?  Would you also create for yourself and\nthe world a demoniacal enemy?  Peace, peace!  Learn my miseries and do\nnot seek to increase your own.\"  Frankenstein discovered that I made\nnotes concerning his history; he asked to see them and then himself\ncorrected and augmented them in many places, but principally in giving\nthe life and spirit to the conversations he held with his enemy. \"Since\nyou have preserved my narration,\" said he, \"I would not that a\nmutilated one should go down to posterity.\"\n\nThus has a week passed away, while I have listened to the strangest\ntale that ever imagination formed.  My thoughts and every feeling of my\nsoul have been drunk up by the interest for my guest which this tale\nand his own elevated and gentle manners have created.  I wish to soothe\nhim, yet can I counsel one so infinitely miserable, so destitute of\nevery hope of consolation, to live?  Oh, no!  The only joy that he can\nnow know will be when he composes his shattered spirit to peace and\ndeath.  Yet he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and\ndelirium; he believes that when in dreams he holds converse with his\nfriends and derives from that communion consolation for his miseries or\nexcitements to his vengeance, that they are not the creations of his\nfancy, but the beings themselves who visit him from the regions of a\nremote world.  This faith gives a solemnity to his reveries that render\nthem to me almost as imposing and interesting as truth.\n\nOur conversations are not always confined to his own history and\nmisfortunes.  On every point of general literature he displays\nunbounded knowledge and a quick and piercing apprehension.  His\neloquence is forcible and touching; nor can I hear him, when he relates\na pathetic incident or endeavours to move the passions of pity or love,\nwithout tears.  What a glorious creature must he have been in the days\nof his prosperity, when he is thus noble and godlike in ruin!  He seems\nto feel his own worth and the greatness of his fall.\n\n\"When younger,\" said he, \"I believed myself destined for some great\nenterprise.  My feelings are profound, but I possessed a  coolness of\njudgment that fitted me for illustrious achievements.  This sentiment\nof the worth of my nature supported me when others would have been\noppressed, for I deemed it criminal to throw away in useless grief\nthose talents that might be useful to my fellow creatures.  When I\nreflected on the work I had completed, no less a one than the creation\nof a sensitive and rational animal, I could not rank myself with the\nherd of common projectors.  But this thought, which supported me in the\ncommencement of my career, now serves only to plunge me lower in the\ndust.  All my speculations and hopes are as nothing, and like the\narchangel who aspired to omnipotence, I am chained in an eternal hell.\nMy imagination was vivid, yet my powers of analysis and application\nwere intense; by the union of these qualities I conceived the idea and\nexecuted the creation of a man.  Even now I cannot recollect without\npassion my reveries while the work was incomplete.  I trod heaven in my\nthoughts, now exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea of their\neffects.  From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a lofty\nambition; but how am I sunk!  Oh!  My friend, if you had known me as I\nonce was, you would not recognize me in this state of degradation.\nDespondency rarely visited my heart; a high destiny seemed to bear me\non, until I fell, never, never again to rise.\"  Must I then lose this\nadmirable being?  I have longed for a friend; I have sought one who\nwould sympathize with and love me.  Behold, on these desert seas I have\nfound such a one, but I fear I have gained him only to know his value\nand lose him.  I would reconcile him to life, but he repulses the idea.\n\n\"I thank you, Walton,\" he said, \"for your kind intentions towards so\nmiserable a wretch; but when you speak of new ties and fresh\naffections, think you that any can replace those who are gone?  Can any\nman be to me as Clerval was, or any woman another Elizabeth?  Even\nwhere the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence,\nthe companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our\nminds which hardly any later friend can obtain.  They know our\ninfantine dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified,\nare never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more\ncertain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives.  A sister or a\nbrother can never, unless indeed such symptoms have been shown early,\nsuspect the other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend,\nhowever strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be\ncontemplated with suspicion.  But I enjoyed friends, dear not only\nthrough habit and association, but from their own merits; and wherever\nI am, the soothing voice of my Elizabeth and the conversation of\nClerval will be ever whispered in my ear. They are dead, and but one\nfeeling in such a solitude can persuade me to preserve my life.  If I\nwere engaged in any high undertaking or design, fraught with extensive\nutility to my fellow creatures, then could I live to fulfil it.  But\nsuch is not my destiny; I must pursue and destroy the being to whom I\ngave existence; then my lot on earth will be fulfilled and I may die.\"\n\n\n\n\nSeptember 2nd\n\nMy beloved Sister,\n\nI write to you, encompassed by peril and ignorant whether I am ever\ndoomed to see again dear England and the dearer friends that inhabit\nit.  I am surrounded by mountains of ice which admit of no escape and\nthreaten every moment to crush my vessel.  The brave fellows whom I\nhave persuaded to be my companions look towards me for aid, but I have\nnone to bestow.  There is something terribly appalling in our\nsituation, yet my courage and hopes do not desert me.  Yet it is\nterrible to reflect that the lives of all these men are endangered\nthrough me.  If we are lost, my mad schemes are the cause.\n\nAnd what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind?  You will not hear\nof my destruction, and you will anxiously await my return.  Years will\npass, and you will have visitings of despair and yet be tortured by\nhope.  Oh!  My beloved sister, the sickening failing of your heart-felt\nexpectations is, in prospect, more terrible to me than my own death.\n\nBut you have a husband and lovely children; you may be happy.  Heaven\nbless you and make you so!\n\nMy unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion.  He\nendeavours to fill me with hope and talks as if life were a possession\nwhich he valued.  He reminds me how often the same accidents have\nhappened to other navigators who have attempted this sea, and in spite\nof myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries.  Even the sailors feel\nthe power of his eloquence; when he speaks, they no longer despair; he\nrouses their energies, and while they hear his voice they believe these\nvast mountains of ice are mole-hills which will vanish before the\nresolutions of man.  These feelings are transitory; each day of\nexpectation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny\ncaused by this despair.\n\n\n\nSeptember 5th\n\n\nA scene has just passed of such uncommon interest that, although it is\nhighly probable that these papers may never reach you, yet I cannot\nforbear recording it.\n\nWe are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent danger\nof being crushed in their conflict.  The cold is excessive, and many of\nmy unfortunate comrades have already found a grave amidst this scene of\ndesolation.  Frankenstein has daily declined in health; a feverish fire\nstill glimmers in his eyes, but he is exhausted, and when suddenly\nroused to any exertion, he speedily sinks again into apparent\nlifelessness.\n\nI mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a mutiny.\nThis morning, as I sat watching the wan countenance of my friend--his\neyes half closed and his limbs hanging listlessly--I was roused by half\na dozen of the sailors, who demanded admission into the cabin.  They\nentered, and their leader addressed me.  He told me that he and his\ncompanions had been chosen by the other sailors to come in deputation\nto me to make me a requisition which, in justice, I could not refuse.\nWe were immured in ice and should probably never escape, but they\nfeared that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate and a free\npassage be opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage and\nlead them into fresh dangers, after they might happily have surmounted\nthis.  They insisted, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn\npromise that if the vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my\ncourse southwards.\n\nThis speech troubled me.  I had not despaired, nor had I yet conceived\nthe idea of returning if set free.  Yet could I, in justice, or even in\npossibility, refuse this demand?  I hesitated before I answered, when\nFrankenstein, who had at first been silent, and indeed appeared hardly\nto have force enough to attend, now roused himself; his eyes sparkled,\nand his cheeks flushed with momentary vigour.  Turning towards the men,\nhe said, \"What do you mean?  What do you demand of your captain?  Are\nyou, then, so easily turned from your design?  Did you not call this a\nglorious expedition?\n\n\"And wherefore was it glorious?  Not because the way was smooth and\nplacid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and\nterror, because at every new incident your fortitude was to be called\nforth and your courage exhibited, because danger and death surrounded\nit, and these you were to brave and overcome.  For this was it a\nglorious, for this was it an honourable undertaking.  You were\nhereafter to be hailed as the benefactors of your species, your names\nadored as belonging to brave men who encountered death for honour and\nthe benefit of mankind. And now, behold, with the first imagination of\ndanger, or, if you will, the first mighty and terrific trial of your\ncourage, you shrink away and are content to be handed down as men who\nhad not strength enough to endure cold and peril; and so, poor souls,\nthey were chilly and returned to their warm firesides.  Why, that\nrequires not this preparation; ye need not have come thus far and\ndragged your captain to the shame of a defeat merely to prove\nyourselves cowards.  Oh!  Be men, or be more than men.  Be steady to\nyour purposes and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as\nyour hearts may be; it is mutable and cannot withstand you if you say\nthat it shall not.  Do not return to your families with the stigma of\ndisgrace marked on your brows.  Return as heroes who have fought and\nconquered and who know not what it is to turn their backs on the foe.\"\nHe spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings\nexpressed in his speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and\nheroism, that can you wonder that these men were moved?  They looked at\none another and were unable to reply.  I spoke; I told them to retire\nand consider of what had been said, that I would not lead them farther\nnorth if they strenuously desired the contrary, but that I hoped that,\nwith reflection, their courage would return.  They retired and I turned\ntowards my friend, but he was sunk in languor and almost deprived of\nlife.\n\nHow all this will terminate, I know not, but I had rather die than\nreturn shamefully, my purpose unfulfilled.  Yet I fear such will be my\nfate; the men, unsupported by ideas of glory and honour, can never\nwillingly continue to endure their present hardships.\n\n\n\nSeptember 7th\n\n\nThe die is cast; I have consented to return if we are not destroyed.\nThus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision; I come back\nignorant and disappointed.  It requires more philosophy than I possess\nto bear this injustice with patience.\n\n\n\nSeptember 12th\n\n\nIt is past; I am returning to England.  I have lost my hopes of utility\nand glory; I have lost my friend.  But I will endeavour to detail these\nbitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and while I am wafted\ntowards England and towards you, I will not despond.\n\nSeptember 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were\nheard at a distance as the islands split and cracked in every\ndirection.  We were in the most imminent peril, but as we could only\nremain passive, my chief attention was occupied by my unfortunate guest\nwhose illness increased in such a degree that he was entirely confined\nto his bed.  The ice cracked behind us and was driven with force\ntowards the north; a breeze sprang from the west, and on the 11th the\npassage towards the south became perfectly free.  When the sailors saw\nthis and that their return to their native country was apparently\nassured, a shout of tumultuous joy broke from them, loud and\nlong-continued.  Frankenstein, who was dozing, awoke and asked the\ncause of the tumult.  \"They shout,\" I said, \"because they will soon\nreturn to England.\"\n\n\"Do you, then, really return?\"\n\n\"Alas!  Yes; I cannot withstand their demands.  I cannot lead them\nunwillingly to danger, and I must return.\"\n\n\"Do so, if you will; but I will not.  You may give up your purpose, but\nmine is assigned to me by heaven, and I dare not.  I am weak, but\nsurely the spirits who assist my vengeance will endow me with\nsufficient strength.\"  Saying this, he endeavoured to spring from the\nbed, but the exertion was too great for him; he fell back and fainted.\n\nIt was long before he was restored, and I often thought that life was\nentirely extinct.  At length he opened his eyes; he breathed with\ndifficulty and was unable to speak.  The surgeon gave him a composing\ndraught and ordered us to leave him undisturbed. In the meantime he\ntold me that my friend had certainly not many hours to live.\n\nHis sentence was pronounced, and I could only grieve and be patient.  I\nsat by his bed, watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he\nslept; but presently he called to me in a feeble voice, and bidding me\ncome near, said, \"Alas!  The strength I relied on is gone; I feel that\nI shall soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still be in\nbeing.  Think not, Walton, that in the last moments of my existence I\nfeel that burning hatred and ardent desire of revenge I once expressed;\nbut I feel myself justified in desiring the death of my adversary.\nDuring these last days I have been occupied in examining my past\nconduct; nor do I find it blamable.  In a fit of enthusiastic madness I\ncreated a rational creature and was bound towards him to assure, as far\nas was in my power, his happiness and well-being.\n\n\"This was my duty, but there was another still paramount to that.  My\nduties towards the beings of my own species had greater claims to my\nattention because they included a greater proportion of happiness or\nmisery.  Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right in refusing, to\ncreate a companion for the first creature.  He showed unparalleled\nmalignity and selfishness in evil; he destroyed my friends; he devoted\nto destruction beings who possessed exquisite sensations, happiness,\nand wisdom; nor do I know where this thirst for vengeance may end.\nMiserable himself that he may render no other wretched, he ought to\ndie.  The task of his destruction was mine, but I have failed.  When\nactuated by selfish and vicious motives, I asked you to undertake my\nunfinished work, and I renew this request now, when I am only induced\nby reason and virtue.\n\n\"Yet I cannot ask you to renounce your country and friends to fulfil\nthis task; and now that you are returning to England, you will have\nlittle chance of meeting with him.  But the consideration of these\npoints, and the well balancing of what you may esteem your duties, I\nleave to you; my judgment and ideas are already disturbed by the near\napproach of death.  I dare not ask you to do what I think right, for I\nmay still be misled by passion.\n\n\"That he should live to be an instrument of mischief disturbs me; in\nother respects, this hour, when I momentarily expect my release, is the\nonly happy one which I have enjoyed for several years.  The forms of\nthe beloved dead flit before me, and I hasten to their arms.  Farewell,\nWalton!  Seek happiness in tranquillity and avoid ambition, even if it\nbe only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in\nscience and discoveries.  Yet why do I say this?  I have myself been\nblasted in these hopes, yet another may succeed.\"\n\nHis voice became fainter as he spoke, and at length, exhausted by his\neffort, he sank into silence.  About half an hour afterwards he\nattempted again to speak but was unable; he pressed my hand feebly, and\nhis eyes closed forever, while the irradiation of a gentle smile passed\naway from his lips.\n\nMargaret, what comment can I make on the untimely extinction of this\nglorious spirit?  What can I say that will enable you to understand the\ndepth of my sorrow?  All that I should express would be inadequate and\nfeeble.  My tears flow; my mind is overshadowed by a cloud of\ndisappointment.  But I journey towards England, and I may there find\nconsolation.\n\nI am interrupted.  What do these sounds portend?  It is midnight; the\nbreeze blows fairly, and the watch on deck scarcely stir.  Again there\nis a sound as of a human voice, but hoarser; it comes from the cabin\nwhere the remains of Frankenstein still lie.  I must arise and examine.\nGood night, my sister.\n\nGreat God! what a scene has just taken place!  I am yet dizzy with the\nremembrance of it.  I hardly know whether I shall have the power to\ndetail it; yet the tale which I have recorded would be incomplete\nwithout this final and wonderful catastrophe. I entered the cabin where\nlay the remains of my ill-fated and admirable friend.  Over him hung a\nform which I cannot find words to describe--gigantic in stature, yet\nuncouth and distorted in its proportions.  As he hung over the coffin,\nhis face was concealed by long locks of ragged hair; but one vast hand\nwas extended, in colour and apparent texture like that of a mummy. When\nhe heard the sound of my approach, he ceased to utter exclamations of\ngrief and horror and sprung towards the window.  Never did I behold a\nvision so horrible as his face, of such loathsome yet appalling\nhideousness.  I shut my eyes involuntarily and endeavoured to recollect\nwhat were my duties with regard to this destroyer.  I called on him to\nstay.\n\nHe paused, looking on me with wonder, and again turning towards the\nlifeless form of his creator, he seemed to forget my presence, and\nevery feature and gesture seemed instigated by the wildest rage of some\nuncontrollable passion.\n\n\"That is also my victim!\" he exclaimed.  \"In his murder my crimes are\nconsummated; the miserable series of my being is wound to its close!\nOh, Frankenstein!  Generous and self-devoted being!  What does it avail\nthat I now ask thee to pardon me?  I, who irretrievably destroyed thee\nby destroying all thou lovedst.  Alas!  He is cold, he cannot answer\nme.\" His voice seemed suffocated, and my first impulses, which had\nsuggested to me the duty of obeying the dying request of my friend in\ndestroying his enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and\ncompassion.  I approached this tremendous being; I dared not again\nraise my eyes to his face, there was something so scaring and unearthly\nin his ugliness.  I attempted to speak, but the words died away on my\nlips.  The monster continued to utter wild and incoherent\nself-reproaches.  At length I gathered resolution to address him in a\npause of the tempest of his passion.\n\n\"Your repentance,\" I said, \"is now superfluous. If you had listened to\nthe voice of conscience and heeded the stings of remorse before you had\nurged your diabolical vengeance to this extremity, Frankenstein would\nyet have lived.\"\n\n\"And do you dream?\" said the daemon.  \"Do you think that I was then\ndead to agony and remorse?  He,\" he continued, pointing to the corpse,\n\"he suffered not in the consummation of the deed. Oh!  Not the\nten-thousandth portion of the anguish that was mine during the\nlingering detail of its execution.  A frightful selfishness hurried me\non, while my heart was poisoned with remorse.  Think you that the\ngroans of Clerval were music to my ears?  My heart was fashioned to be\nsusceptible of love and sympathy, and when wrenched by misery to vice\nand hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without\ntorture such as you cannot even imagine.\n\n\"After the murder of Clerval I returned to Switzerland, heart-broken\nand overcome.  I pitied Frankenstein; my pity amounted to horror; I\nabhorred myself.  But when I discovered that he, the author at once of\nmy existence and of its unspeakable torments, dared to hope for\nhappiness, that while he accumulated wretchedness and despair upon me\nhe sought his own enjoyment in feelings and passions from the\nindulgence of which I was forever barred, then impotent envy and bitter\nindignation filled me with an insatiable thirst for vengeance.  I\nrecollected my threat and resolved that it should be accomplished.  I\nknew that I was preparing for myself a deadly torture, but I was the\nslave, not the master, of an impulse which I detested yet could not\ndisobey.  Yet when she died!  Nay, then I was not miserable.  I had\ncast off all feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot in the excess of my\ndespair.  Evil thenceforth became my good.  Urged thus far, I had no\nchoice but to adapt my nature to an element which I had willingly\nchosen.  The completion of my demoniacal design became an insatiable\npassion.  And now it is ended; there is my last victim!\"\n\nI was at first touched by the expressions of his misery; yet, when I\ncalled to mind what Frankenstein had said of his powers of eloquence\nand persuasion, and when I again cast my eyes on the lifeless form of\nmy friend, indignation was rekindled within me.  \"Wretch!\" I said.  \"It\nis well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you have\nmade.  You throw a torch into a pile of buildings, and when they are\nconsumed, you sit among the ruins and lament the fall.  Hypocritical\nfiend!  If he whom you mourn still lived, still would he be the object,\nagain would he become the prey, of your accursed vengeance.  It is not\npity that you feel; you lament only because the victim of your\nmalignity is withdrawn from your power.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is not thus--not thus,\" interrupted the being.  \"Yet such must\nbe the impression conveyed to you by what appears to be the purport of\nmy actions.  Yet I seek not a fellow feeling in my misery.  No sympathy\nmay I ever find.  When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue,\nthe feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being\noverflowed, that I wished to be participated.  But now that virtue has\nbecome to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into\nbitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy?  I am\ncontent to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure; when I die, I\nam well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory.\nOnce my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of\nenjoyment.  Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my\noutward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was\ncapable of unfolding.  I was nourished with high thoughts of honour and\ndevotion.  But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No\nguilt, no mischief, no malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to\nmine.  When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot\nbelieve that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled\nwith sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of\ngoodness.  But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant\ndevil.  Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates\nin his desolation; I am alone.\n\n\"You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my\ncrimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them\nhe could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I endured\nwasting in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I did\nnot satisfy my own desires. They were forever ardent and craving; still\nI desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned.  Was there no\ninjustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all\nhumankind sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix, who drove his\nfriend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic\nwho sought to destroy the saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuous\nand immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an\nabortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now my\nblood boils at the recollection of this injustice.\n\n\"But it is true that I am a wretch.  I have murdered the lovely and the\nhelpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept and grasped to\ndeath his throat who never injured me or any other living thing.  I\nhave devoted my creator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of\nlove and admiration among men, to misery; I have pursued him even to\nthat irremediable ruin.\n\n\"There he lies, white and cold in death.  You hate me, but your\nabhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself.  I look on the\nhands which executed the deed; I think on the heart in which the\nimagination of it was conceived and long for the moment when these\nhands will meet my eyes, when that imagination will haunt my thoughts\nno more.\n\n\"Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief.  My work\nis nearly complete.  Neither yours nor any man's death is needed to\nconsummate the series of my being and accomplish that which must be\ndone, but it requires my own.  Do not think that I shall be slow to\nperform this sacrifice.  I shall quit your vessel on the ice raft which\nbrought me thither and shall seek the most northern extremity of the\nglobe; I shall collect my funeral pile and consume to ashes this\nmiserable frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curious\nand unhallowed wretch who would create such another as I have been.  I\nshall die.  I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me or\nbe the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet unquenched.  He is dead who\ncalled me into being; and when I shall be no more, the very remembrance\nof us both will speedily vanish.  I shall no longer see the sun or\nstars or feel the winds play on my cheeks.\n\n\"Light, feeling, and sense will pass away; and in this condition must I\nfind my happiness.  Some years ago, when the images which this world\naffords first opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer\nand heard the rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and\nthese were all to me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only\nconsolation.  Polluted by crimes and torn by the bitterest remorse,\nwhere can I find rest but in death?\n\n\"Farewell!  I leave you, and in you the last of humankind whom these\neyes will ever behold. Farewell, Frankenstein! If thou wert yet alive\nand yet cherished a desire of revenge against me, it would be better\nsatiated in my life than in my destruction. But it was not so; thou\ndidst seek my extinction, that I might not cause greater wretchedness;\nand if yet, in some mode unknown to me, thou hadst not ceased to think\nand feel, thou wouldst not desire against me a vengeance greater than\nthat which I feel. Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to\nthine, for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my\nwounds until death shall close them forever.\n\n\"But soon,\" he cried with sad and solemn enthusiasm, \"I shall die, and\nwhat I now feel be no longer felt.  Soon these burning miseries will be\nextinct.  I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and exult in the\nagony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will\nfade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds.  My spirit\nwill sleep in peace, or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus.\nFarewell.\"\n\nHe sprang from the cabin window as he said this, upon the ice raft\nwhich lay close to the vessel.  He was soon borne away by the waves and\nlost in darkness and distance.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Frankenstein, by\nMary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley\n\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANKENSTEIN ***\n\n***** This file should be named 84.txt or 84.zip *****\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\n        http://www.gutenberg.org/8/84/\n\nProduced by Judith Boss, Christy Phillips, Lynn Hanninen,\nand David Meltzer. HTML version by Al Haines.\n\n\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\nwill be renamed.\n\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  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  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/pg-grimm.txt",
    "content": "The Project Gutenberg EBook of Grimms' Fairy Tales, by The Brothers Grimm\n\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org\n\n\nTitle: Grimms' Fairy Tales\n\nAuthor: The Brothers Grimm\n\nTranslator: Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes\n\nPosting Date: December 14, 2008 [EBook #2591]\nRelease Date: April, 2001\n\nLanguage: English\n\n\n*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRIMMS' FAIRY TALES ***\n\n\n\n\nProduced by Emma Dudding, John Bickers, and Dagny\n\n\n\n\n\nFAIRY TALES\n\nBy The Brothers Grimm\n\n\n\nPREPARER'S NOTE\n\n     The text is based on translations from\n     the Grimms' Kinder und Hausmarchen by\n     Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n\n     THE GOLDEN BIRD\n     HANS IN LUCK\n     JORINDA AND JORINDEL\n     THE TRAVELLING MUSICIANS\n     OLD SULTAN\n     THE STRAW, THE COAL, AND THE BEAN\n     BRIAR ROSE\n     THE DOG AND THE SPARROW\n     THE TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES\n     THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE\n     THE WILLOW-WREN AND THE BEAR\n     THE FROG-PRINCE\n     CAT AND MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP\n     THE GOOSE-GIRL\n     THE ADVENTURES OF CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET\n       1. HOW THEY WENT TO THE MOUNTAINS TO EAT NUTS\n       2. HOW CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET WENT TO VISIT MR KORBES\n     RAPUNZEL\n     FUNDEVOGEL\n     THE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR\n     HANSEL AND GRETEL\n     THE MOUSE, THE BIRD, AND THE SAUSAGE\n     MOTHER HOLLE\n     LITTLE RED-CAP [LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD]\n     THE ROBBER BRIDEGROOM\n     TOM THUMB\n     RUMPELSTILTSKIN\n     CLEVER GRETEL\n     THE OLD MAN AND HIS GRANDSON\n     THE LITTLE PEASANT\n     FREDERICK AND CATHERINE\n     SWEETHEART ROLAND\n     SNOWDROP\n     THE PINK\n     CLEVER ELSIE\n     THE MISER IN THE BUSH\n     ASHPUTTEL\n     THE WHITE SNAKE\n     THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS\n     THE QUEEN BEE\n     THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER\n     THE JUNIPER-TREE\n     the juniper-tree.\n     THE TURNIP\n     CLEVER HANS\n     THE THREE LANGUAGES\n     THE FOX AND THE CAT\n     THE FOUR CLEVER BROTHERS\n     LILY AND THE LION\n     THE FOX AND THE HORSE\n     THE BLUE LIGHT\n     THE RAVEN\n     THE GOLDEN GOOSE\n     THE WATER OF LIFE\n     THE TWELVE HUNTSMEN\n     THE KING OF THE GOLDEN MOUNTAIN\n     DOCTOR KNOWALL\n     THE SEVEN RAVENS\n     THE WEDDING OF MRS FOX\n     FIRST STORY\n     SECOND STORY\n     THE SALAD\n     THE STORY OF THE YOUTH WHO WENT FORTH TO LEARN WHAT FEAR WAS\n     KING GRISLY-BEARD\n     IRON HANS\n     CAT-SKIN\n     SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROTHERS GRIMM FAIRY TALES\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN BIRD\n\nA certain king had a beautiful garden, and in the garden stood a tree\nwhich bore golden apples. These apples were always counted, and about\nthe time when they began to grow ripe it was found that every night one\nof them was gone. The king became very angry at this, and ordered the\ngardener to keep watch all night under the tree. The gardener set his\neldest son to watch; but about twelve o'clock he fell asleep, and in\nthe morning another of the apples was missing. Then the second son was\nordered to watch; and at midnight he too fell asleep, and in the morning\nanother apple was gone. Then the third son offered to keep watch; but\nthe gardener at first would not let him, for fear some harm should come\nto him: however, at last he consented, and the young man laid himself\nunder the tree to watch. As the clock struck twelve he heard a rustling\nnoise in the air, and a bird came flying that was of pure gold; and as\nit was snapping at one of the apples with its beak, the gardener's son\njumped up and shot an arrow at it. But the arrow did the bird no harm;\nonly it dropped a golden feather from its tail, and then flew away.\nThe golden feather was brought to the king in the morning, and all the\ncouncil was called together. Everyone agreed that it was worth more than\nall the wealth of the kingdom: but the king said, 'One feather is of no\nuse to me, I must have the whole bird.'\n\nThen the gardener's eldest son set out and thought to find the golden\nbird very easily; and when he had gone but a little way, he came to a\nwood, and by the side of the wood he saw a fox sitting; so he took his\nbow and made ready to shoot at it. Then the fox said, 'Do not shoot me,\nfor I will give you good counsel; I know what your business is, and\nthat you want to find the golden bird. You will reach a village in the\nevening; and when you get there, you will see two inns opposite to each\nother, one of which is very pleasant and beautiful to look at: go not in\nthere, but rest for the night in the other, though it may appear to you\nto be very poor and mean.' But the son thought to himself, 'What can\nsuch a beast as this know about the matter?' So he shot his arrow at\nthe fox; but he missed it, and it set up its tail above its back and\nran into the wood. Then he went his way, and in the evening came to\nthe village where the two inns were; and in one of these were people\nsinging, and dancing, and feasting; but the other looked very dirty,\nand poor. 'I should be very silly,' said he, 'if I went to that shabby\nhouse, and left this charming place'; so he went into the smart house,\nand ate and drank at his ease, and forgot the bird, and his country too.\n\nTime passed on; and as the eldest son did not come back, and no tidings\nwere heard of him, the second son set out, and the same thing happened\nto him. He met the fox, who gave him the good advice: but when he came\nto the two inns, his eldest brother was standing at the window where\nthe merrymaking was, and called to him to come in; and he could not\nwithstand the temptation, but went in, and forgot the golden bird and\nhis country in the same manner.\n\nTime passed on again, and the youngest son too wished to set out into\nthe wide world to seek for the golden bird; but his father would not\nlisten to it for a long while, for he was very fond of his son, and\nwas afraid that some ill luck might happen to him also, and prevent his\ncoming back. However, at last it was agreed he should go, for he would\nnot rest at home; and as he came to the wood, he met the fox, and heard\nthe same good counsel. But he was thankful to the fox, and did not\nattempt his life as his brothers had done; so the fox said, 'Sit upon my\ntail, and you will travel faster.' So he sat down, and the fox began to\nrun, and away they went over stock and stone so quick that their hair\nwhistled in the wind.\n\nWhen they came to the village, the son followed the fox's counsel, and\nwithout looking about him went to the shabby inn and rested there all\nnight at his ease. In the morning came the fox again and met him as he\nwas beginning his journey, and said, 'Go straight forward, till you come\nto a castle, before which lie a whole troop of soldiers fast asleep and\nsnoring: take no notice of them, but go into the castle and pass on and\non till you come to a room, where the golden bird sits in a wooden cage;\nclose by it stands a beautiful golden cage; but do not try to take the\nbird out of the shabby cage and put it into the handsome one, otherwise\nyou will repent it.' Then the fox stretched out his tail again, and the\nyoung man sat himself down, and away they went over stock and stone till\ntheir hair whistled in the wind.\n\nBefore the castle gate all was as the fox had said: so the son went in\nand found the chamber where the golden bird hung in a wooden cage, and\nbelow stood the golden cage, and the three golden apples that had been\nlost were lying close by it. Then thought he to himself, 'It will be a\nvery droll thing to bring away such a fine bird in this shabby cage'; so\nhe opened the door and took hold of it and put it into the golden cage.\nBut the bird set up such a loud scream that all the soldiers awoke, and\nthey took him prisoner and carried him before the king. The next morning\nthe court sat to judge him; and when all was heard, it sentenced him to\ndie, unless he should bring the king the golden horse which could run as\nswiftly as the wind; and if he did this, he was to have the golden bird\ngiven him for his own.\n\nSo he set out once more on his journey, sighing, and in great despair,\nwhen on a sudden his friend the fox met him, and said, 'You see now\nwhat has happened on account of your not listening to my counsel. I will\nstill, however, tell you how to find the golden horse, if you will do as\nI bid you. You must go straight on till you come to the castle where the\nhorse stands in his stall: by his side will lie the groom fast asleep\nand snoring: take away the horse quietly, but be sure to put the old\nleathern saddle upon him, and not the golden one that is close by it.'\nThen the son sat down on the fox's tail, and away they went over stock\nand stone till their hair whistled in the wind.\n\nAll went right, and the groom lay snoring with his hand upon the golden\nsaddle. But when the son looked at the horse, he thought it a great pity\nto put the leathern saddle upon it. 'I will give him the good one,'\nsaid he; 'I am sure he deserves it.' As he took up the golden saddle the\ngroom awoke and cried out so loud, that all the guards ran in and took\nhim prisoner, and in the morning he was again brought before the court\nto be judged, and was sentenced to die. But it was agreed, that, if he\ncould bring thither the beautiful princess, he should live, and have the\nbird and the horse given him for his own.\n\nThen he went his way very sorrowful; but the old fox came and said, 'Why\ndid not you listen to me? If you had, you would have carried away\nboth the bird and the horse; yet will I once more give you counsel. Go\nstraight on, and in the evening you will arrive at a castle. At twelve\no'clock at night the princess goes to the bathing-house: go up to her\nand give her a kiss, and she will let you lead her away; but take care\nyou do not suffer her to go and take leave of her father and mother.'\nThen the fox stretched out his tail, and so away they went over stock\nand stone till their hair whistled again.\n\nAs they came to the castle, all was as the fox had said, and at twelve\no'clock the young man met the princess going to the bath and gave her the\nkiss, and she agreed to run away with him, but begged with many tears\nthat he would let her take leave of her father. At first he refused,\nbut she wept still more and more, and fell at his feet, till at last\nhe consented; but the moment she came to her father's house the guards\nawoke and he was taken prisoner again.\n\nThen he was brought before the king, and the king said, 'You shall never\nhave my daughter unless in eight days you dig away the hill that stops\nthe view from my window.' Now this hill was so big that the whole world\ncould not take it away: and when he had worked for seven days, and had\ndone very little, the fox came and said. 'Lie down and go to sleep; I\nwill work for you.' And in the morning he awoke and the hill was gone;\nso he went merrily to the king, and told him that now that it was\nremoved he must give him the princess.\n\nThen the king was obliged to keep his word, and away went the young man\nand the princess; and the fox came and said to him, 'We will have all\nthree, the princess, the horse, and the bird.' 'Ah!' said the young man,\n'that would be a great thing, but how can you contrive it?'\n\n'If you will only listen,' said the fox, 'it can be done. When you come\nto the king, and he asks for the beautiful princess, you must say, \"Here\nshe is!\" Then he will be very joyful; and you will mount the golden\nhorse that they are to give you, and put out your hand to take leave of\nthem; but shake hands with the princess last. Then lift her quickly on\nto the horse behind you; clap your spurs to his side, and gallop away as\nfast as you can.'\n\nAll went right: then the fox said, 'When you come to the castle where\nthe bird is, I will stay with the princess at the door, and you will\nride in and speak to the king; and when he sees that it is the right\nhorse, he will bring out the bird; but you must sit still, and say that\nyou want to look at it, to see whether it is the true golden bird; and\nwhen you get it into your hand, ride away.'\n\nThis, too, happened as the fox said; they carried off the bird, the\nprincess mounted again, and they rode on to a great wood. Then the fox\ncame, and said, 'Pray kill me, and cut off my head and my feet.' But the\nyoung man refused to do it: so the fox said, 'I will at any rate give\nyou good counsel: beware of two things; ransom no one from the gallows,\nand sit down by the side of no river.' Then away he went. 'Well,'\nthought the young man, 'it is no hard matter to keep that advice.'\n\nHe rode on with the princess, till at last he came to the village where\nhe had left his two brothers. And there he heard a great noise and\nuproar; and when he asked what was the matter, the people said, 'Two men\nare going to be hanged.' As he came nearer, he saw that the two men were\nhis brothers, who had turned robbers; so he said, 'Cannot they in any\nway be saved?' But the people said 'No,' unless he would bestow all his\nmoney upon the rascals and buy their liberty. Then he did not stay to\nthink about the matter, but paid what was asked, and his brothers were\ngiven up, and went on with him towards their home.\n\nAnd as they came to the wood where the fox first met them, it was so\ncool and pleasant that the two brothers said, 'Let us sit down by the\nside of the river, and rest a while, to eat and drink.' So he said,\n'Yes,' and forgot the fox's counsel, and sat down on the side of the\nriver; and while he suspected nothing, they came behind, and threw him\ndown the bank, and took the princess, the horse, and the bird, and went\nhome to the king their master, and said. 'All this have we won by our\nlabour.' Then there was great rejoicing made; but the horse would not\neat, the bird would not sing, and the princess wept.\n\nThe youngest son fell to the bottom of the river's bed: luckily it was\nnearly dry, but his bones were almost broken, and the bank was so steep\nthat he could find no way to get out. Then the old fox came once more,\nand scolded him for not following his advice; otherwise no evil would\nhave befallen him: 'Yet,' said he, 'I cannot leave you here, so lay hold\nof my tail and hold fast.' Then he pulled him out of the river, and said\nto him, as he got upon the bank, 'Your brothers have set watch to kill\nyou, if they find you in the kingdom.' So he dressed himself as a poor\nman, and came secretly to the king's court, and was scarcely within the\ndoors when the horse began to eat, and the bird to sing, and the princess\nleft off weeping. Then he went to the king, and told him all his\nbrothers' roguery; and they were seized and punished, and he had the\nprincess given to him again; and after the king's death he was heir to\nhis kingdom.\n\nA long while after, he went to walk one day in the wood, and the old fox\nmet him, and besought him with tears in his eyes to kill him, and cut\noff his head and feet. And at last he did so, and in a moment the\nfox was changed into a man, and turned out to be the brother of the\nprincess, who had been lost a great many many years.\n\n\n\n\nHANS IN LUCK\n\nSome men are born to good luck: all they do or try to do comes\nright--all that falls to them is so much gain--all their geese are\nswans--all their cards are trumps--toss them which way you will, they\nwill always, like poor puss, alight upon their legs, and only move on so\nmuch the faster. The world may very likely not always think of them as\nthey think of themselves, but what care they for the world? what can it\nknow about the matter?\n\nOne of these lucky beings was neighbour Hans. Seven long years he had\nworked hard for his master. At last he said, 'Master, my time is up; I\nmust go home and see my poor mother once more: so pray pay me my wages\nand let me go.' And the master said, 'You have been a faithful and good\nservant, Hans, so your pay shall be handsome.' Then he gave him a lump\nof silver as big as his head.\n\nHans took out his pocket-handkerchief, put the piece of silver into it,\nthrew it over his shoulder, and jogged off on his road homewards. As he\nwent lazily on, dragging one foot after another, a man came in sight,\ntrotting gaily along on a capital horse. 'Ah!' said Hans aloud, 'what a\nfine thing it is to ride on horseback! There he sits as easy and happy\nas if he was at home, in the chair by his fireside; he trips against no\nstones, saves shoe-leather, and gets on he hardly knows how.' Hans did\nnot speak so softly but the horseman heard it all, and said, 'Well,\nfriend, why do you go on foot then?' 'Ah!' said he, 'I have this load to\ncarry: to be sure it is silver, but it is so heavy that I can't hold up\nmy head, and you must know it hurts my shoulder sadly.' 'What do you say\nof making an exchange?' said the horseman. 'I will give you my horse,\nand you shall give me the silver; which will save you a great deal of\ntrouble in carrying such a heavy load about with you.' 'With all my\nheart,' said Hans: 'but as you are so kind to me, I must tell you one\nthing--you will have a weary task to draw that silver about with you.'\nHowever, the horseman got off, took the silver, helped Hans up, gave him\nthe bridle into one hand and the whip into the other, and said, 'When\nyou want to go very fast, smack your lips loudly together, and cry\n\"Jip!\"'\n\nHans was delighted as he sat on the horse, drew himself up, squared his\nelbows, turned out his toes, cracked his whip, and rode merrily off, one\nminute whistling a merry tune, and another singing,\n\n 'No care and no sorrow,\n  A fig for the morrow!\n  We'll laugh and be merry,\n  Sing neigh down derry!'\n\nAfter a time he thought he should like to go a little faster, so he\nsmacked his lips and cried 'Jip!' Away went the horse full gallop; and\nbefore Hans knew what he was about, he was thrown off, and lay on his\nback by the road-side. His horse would have ran off, if a shepherd who\nwas coming by, driving a cow, had not stopped it. Hans soon came to\nhimself, and got upon his legs again, sadly vexed, and said to the\nshepherd, 'This riding is no joke, when a man has the luck to get upon\na beast like this that stumbles and flings him off as if it would break\nhis neck. However, I'm off now once for all: I like your cow now a great\ndeal better than this smart beast that played me this trick, and has\nspoiled my best coat, you see, in this puddle; which, by the by, smells\nnot very like a nosegay. One can walk along at one's leisure behind that\ncow--keep good company, and have milk, butter, and cheese, every day,\ninto the bargain. What would I give to have such a prize!' 'Well,' said\nthe shepherd, 'if you are so fond of her, I will change my cow for your\nhorse; I like to do good to my neighbours, even though I lose by it\nmyself.' 'Done!' said Hans, merrily. 'What a noble heart that good man\nhas!' thought he. Then the shepherd jumped upon the horse, wished Hans\nand the cow good morning, and away he rode.\n\nHans brushed his coat, wiped his face and hands, rested a while, and\nthen drove off his cow quietly, and thought his bargain a very lucky\none. 'If I have only a piece of bread (and I certainly shall always be\nable to get that), I can, whenever I like, eat my butter and cheese with\nit; and when I am thirsty I can milk my cow and drink the milk: and what\ncan I wish for more?' When he came to an inn, he halted, ate up all his\nbread, and gave away his last penny for a glass of beer. When he had\nrested himself he set off again, driving his cow towards his mother's\nvillage. But the heat grew greater as soon as noon came on, till at\nlast, as he found himself on a wide heath that would take him more than\nan hour to cross, he began to be so hot and parched that his tongue\nclave to the roof of his mouth. 'I can find a cure for this,' thought\nhe; 'now I will milk my cow and quench my thirst': so he tied her to the\nstump of a tree, and held his leathern cap to milk into; but not a drop\nwas to be had. Who would have thought that this cow, which was to bring\nhim milk and butter and cheese, was all that time utterly dry? Hans had\nnot thought of looking to that.\n\nWhile he was trying his luck in milking, and managing the matter very\nclumsily, the uneasy beast began to think him very troublesome; and at\nlast gave him such a kick on the head as knocked him down; and there he\nlay a long while senseless. Luckily a butcher soon came by, driving a\npig in a wheelbarrow. 'What is the matter with you, my man?' said the\nbutcher, as he helped him up. Hans told him what had happened, how he\nwas dry, and wanted to milk his cow, but found the cow was dry too. Then\nthe butcher gave him a flask of ale, saying, 'There, drink and refresh\nyourself; your cow will give you no milk: don't you see she is an old\nbeast, good for nothing but the slaughter-house?' 'Alas, alas!' said\nHans, 'who would have thought it? What a shame to take my horse, and\ngive me only a dry cow! If I kill her, what will she be good for? I hate\ncow-beef; it is not tender enough for me. If it were a pig now--like\nthat fat gentleman you are driving along at his ease--one could do\nsomething with it; it would at any rate make sausages.' 'Well,' said\nthe butcher, 'I don't like to say no, when one is asked to do a kind,\nneighbourly thing. To please you I will change, and give you my fine fat\npig for the cow.' 'Heaven reward you for your kindness and self-denial!'\nsaid Hans, as he gave the butcher the cow; and taking the pig off the\nwheel-barrow, drove it away, holding it by the string that was tied to\nits leg.\n\nSo on he jogged, and all seemed now to go right with him: he had met\nwith some misfortunes, to be sure; but he was now well repaid for all.\nHow could it be otherwise with such a travelling companion as he had at\nlast got?\n\nThe next man he met was a countryman carrying a fine white goose. The\ncountryman stopped to ask what was o'clock; this led to further chat;\nand Hans told him all his luck, how he had so many good bargains, and\nhow all the world went gay and smiling with him. The countryman then\nbegan to tell his tale, and said he was going to take the goose to a\nchristening. 'Feel,' said he, 'how heavy it is, and yet it is only eight\nweeks old. Whoever roasts and eats it will find plenty of fat upon it,\nit has lived so well!' 'You're right,' said Hans, as he weighed it in\nhis hand; 'but if you talk of fat, my pig is no trifle.' Meantime the\ncountryman began to look grave, and shook his head. 'Hark ye!' said he,\n'my worthy friend, you seem a good sort of fellow, so I can't help doing\nyou a kind turn. Your pig may get you into a scrape. In the village I\njust came from, the squire has had a pig stolen out of his sty. I was\ndreadfully afraid when I saw you that you had got the squire's pig. If\nyou have, and they catch you, it will be a bad job for you. The least\nthey will do will be to throw you into the horse-pond. Can you swim?'\n\nPoor Hans was sadly frightened. 'Good man,' cried he, 'pray get me out\nof this scrape. I know nothing of where the pig was either bred or born;\nbut he may have been the squire's for aught I can tell: you know this\ncountry better than I do, take my pig and give me the goose.' 'I ought\nto have something into the bargain,' said the countryman; 'give a fat\ngoose for a pig, indeed! 'Tis not everyone would do so much for you as\nthat. However, I will not be hard upon you, as you are in trouble.' Then\nhe took the string in his hand, and drove off the pig by a side path;\nwhile Hans went on the way homewards free from care. 'After all,'\nthought he, 'that chap is pretty well taken in. I don't care whose pig\nit is, but wherever it came from it has been a very good friend to me. I\nhave much the best of the bargain. First there will be a capital roast;\nthen the fat will find me in goose-grease for six months; and then there\nare all the beautiful white feathers. I will put them into my pillow,\nand then I am sure I shall sleep soundly without rocking. How happy my\nmother will be! Talk of a pig, indeed! Give me a fine fat goose.'\n\nAs he came to the next village, he saw a scissor-grinder with his wheel,\nworking and singing,\n\n 'O'er hill and o'er dale\n  So happy I roam,\n  Work light and live well,\n  All the world is my home;\n  Then who so blythe, so merry as I?'\n\nHans stood looking on for a while, and at last said, 'You must be well\noff, master grinder! you seem so happy at your work.' 'Yes,' said the\nother, 'mine is a golden trade; a good grinder never puts his hand\ninto his pocket without finding money in it--but where did you get that\nbeautiful goose?' 'I did not buy it, I gave a pig for it.' 'And where\ndid you get the pig?' 'I gave a cow for it.' 'And the cow?' 'I gave a\nhorse for it.' 'And the horse?' 'I gave a lump of silver as big as my\nhead for it.' 'And the silver?' 'Oh! I worked hard for that seven long\nyears.' 'You have thriven well in the world hitherto,' said the grinder,\n'now if you could find money in your pocket whenever you put your hand\nin it, your fortune would be made.' 'Very true: but how is that to be\nmanaged?' 'How? Why, you must turn grinder like myself,' said the other;\n'you only want a grindstone; the rest will come of itself. Here is one\nthat is but little the worse for wear: I would not ask more than the\nvalue of your goose for it--will you buy?' 'How can you ask?' said\nHans; 'I should be the happiest man in the world, if I could have money\nwhenever I put my hand in my pocket: what could I want more? there's\nthe goose.' 'Now,' said the grinder, as he gave him a common rough stone\nthat lay by his side, 'this is a most capital stone; do but work it well\nenough, and you can make an old nail cut with it.'\n\nHans took the stone, and went his way with a light heart: his eyes\nsparkled for joy, and he said to himself, 'Surely I must have been born\nin a lucky hour; everything I could want or wish for comes of itself.\nPeople are so kind; they seem really to think I do them a favour in\nletting them make me rich, and giving me good bargains.'\n\nMeantime he began to be tired, and hungry too, for he had given away his\nlast penny in his joy at getting the cow.\n\nAt last he could go no farther, for the stone tired him sadly: and he\ndragged himself to the side of a river, that he might take a drink of\nwater, and rest a while. So he laid the stone carefully by his side on\nthe bank: but, as he stooped down to drink, he forgot it, pushed it a\nlittle, and down it rolled, plump into the stream.\n\nFor a while he watched it sinking in the deep clear water; then sprang\nup and danced for joy, and again fell upon his knees and thanked Heaven,\nwith tears in his eyes, for its kindness in taking away his only plague,\nthe ugly heavy stone.\n\n'How happy am I!' cried he; 'nobody was ever so lucky as I.' Then up he\ngot with a light heart, free from all his troubles, and walked on till\nhe reached his mother's house, and told her how very easy the road to\ngood luck was.\n\n\n\n\nJORINDA AND JORINDEL\n\nThere was once an old castle, that stood in the middle of a deep gloomy\nwood, and in the castle lived an old fairy. Now this fairy could take\nany shape she pleased. All the day long she flew about in the form of\nan owl, or crept about the country like a cat; but at night she always\nbecame an old woman again. When any young man came within a hundred\npaces of her castle, he became quite fixed, and could not move a step\ntill she came and set him free; which she would not do till he had given\nher his word never to come there again: but when any pretty maiden came\nwithin that space she was changed into a bird, and the fairy put her\ninto a cage, and hung her up in a chamber in the castle. There were\nseven hundred of these cages hanging in the castle, and all with\nbeautiful birds in them.\n\nNow there was once a maiden whose name was Jorinda. She was prettier\nthan all the pretty girls that ever were seen before, and a shepherd\nlad, whose name was Jorindel, was very fond of her, and they were soon\nto be married. One day they went to walk in the wood, that they might be\nalone; and Jorindel said, 'We must take care that we don't go too near\nto the fairy's castle.' It was a beautiful evening; the last rays of the\nsetting sun shone bright through the long stems of the trees upon\nthe green underwood beneath, and the turtle-doves sang from the tall\nbirches.\n\nJorinda sat down to gaze upon the sun; Jorindel sat by her side; and\nboth felt sad, they knew not why; but it seemed as if they were to be\nparted from one another for ever. They had wandered a long way; and when\nthey looked to see which way they should go home, they found themselves\nat a loss to know what path to take.\n\nThe sun was setting fast, and already half of its circle had sunk behind\nthe hill: Jorindel on a sudden looked behind him, and saw through the\nbushes that they had, without knowing it, sat down close under the old\nwalls of the castle. Then he shrank for fear, turned pale, and trembled.\nJorinda was just singing,\n\n 'The ring-dove sang from the willow spray,\n  Well-a-day! Well-a-day!\n  He mourn'd for the fate of his darling mate,\n  Well-a-day!'\n\nwhen her song stopped suddenly. Jorindel turned to see the reason, and\nbeheld his Jorinda changed into a nightingale, so that her song ended\nwith a mournful _jug, jug_. An owl with fiery eyes flew three times\nround them, and three times screamed:\n\n 'Tu whu! Tu whu! Tu whu!'\n\nJorindel could not move; he stood fixed as a stone, and could neither\nweep, nor speak, nor stir hand or foot. And now the sun went quite down;\nthe gloomy night came; the owl flew into a bush; and a moment after the\nold fairy came forth pale and meagre, with staring eyes, and a nose and\nchin that almost met one another.\n\nShe mumbled something to herself, seized the nightingale, and went away\nwith it in her hand. Poor Jorindel saw the nightingale was gone--but\nwhat could he do? He could not speak, he could not move from the spot\nwhere he stood. At last the fairy came back and sang with a hoarse\nvoice:\n\n 'Till the prisoner is fast,\n  And her doom is cast,\n  There stay! Oh, stay!\n  When the charm is around her,\n  And the spell has bound her,\n  Hie away! away!'\n\nOn a sudden Jorindel found himself free. Then he fell on his knees\nbefore the fairy, and prayed her to give him back his dear Jorinda: but\nshe laughed at him, and said he should never see her again; then she\nwent her way.\n\nHe prayed, he wept, he sorrowed, but all in vain. 'Alas!' he said, 'what\nwill become of me?' He could not go back to his own home, so he went to\na strange village, and employed himself in keeping sheep. Many a time\ndid he walk round and round as near to the hated castle as he dared go,\nbut all in vain; he heard or saw nothing of Jorinda.\n\nAt last he dreamt one night that he found a beautiful purple flower,\nand that in the middle of it lay a costly pearl; and he dreamt that he\nplucked the flower, and went with it in his hand into the castle, and\nthat everything he touched with it was disenchanted, and that there he\nfound his Jorinda again.\n\nIn the morning when he awoke, he began to search over hill and dale for\nthis pretty flower; and eight long days he sought for it in vain: but\non the ninth day, early in the morning, he found the beautiful purple\nflower; and in the middle of it was a large dewdrop, as big as a costly\npearl. Then he plucked the flower, and set out and travelled day and\nnight, till he came again to the castle.\n\nHe walked nearer than a hundred paces to it, and yet he did not become\nfixed as before, but found that he could go quite close up to the door.\nJorindel was very glad indeed to see this. Then he touched the door with\nthe flower, and it sprang open; so that he went in through the court,\nand listened when he heard so many birds singing. At last he came to the\nchamber where the fairy sat, with the seven hundred birds singing in\nthe seven hundred cages. When she saw Jorindel she was very angry, and\nscreamed with rage; but she could not come within two yards of him, for\nthe flower he held in his hand was his safeguard. He looked around at\nthe birds, but alas! there were many, many nightingales, and how then\nshould he find out which was his Jorinda? While he was thinking what to\ndo, he saw the fairy had taken down one of the cages, and was making the\nbest of her way off through the door. He ran or flew after her, touched\nthe cage with the flower, and Jorinda stood before him, and threw her\narms round his neck looking as beautiful as ever, as beautiful as when\nthey walked together in the wood.\n\nThen he touched all the other birds with the flower, so that they all\ntook their old forms again; and he took Jorinda home, where they were\nmarried, and lived happily together many years: and so did a good many\nother lads, whose maidens had been forced to sing in the old fairy's\ncages by themselves, much longer than they liked.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRAVELLING MUSICIANS\n\nAn honest farmer had once an ass that had been a faithful servant to him\na great many years, but was now growing old and every day more and more\nunfit for work. His master therefore was tired of keeping him and\nbegan to think of putting an end to him; but the ass, who saw that some\nmischief was in the wind, took himself slyly off, and began his journey\ntowards the great city, 'For there,' thought he, 'I may turn musician.'\n\nAfter he had travelled a little way, he spied a dog lying by the\nroadside and panting as if he were tired. 'What makes you pant so, my\nfriend?' said the ass. 'Alas!' said the dog, 'my master was going to\nknock me on the head, because I am old and weak, and can no longer make\nmyself useful to him in hunting; so I ran away; but what can I do to\nearn my livelihood?' 'Hark ye!' said the ass, 'I am going to the great\ncity to turn musician: suppose you go with me, and try what you can\ndo in the same way?' The dog said he was willing, and they jogged on\ntogether.\n\nThey had not gone far before they saw a cat sitting in the middle of the\nroad and making a most rueful face. 'Pray, my good lady,' said the ass,\n'what's the matter with you? You look quite out of spirits!' 'Ah, me!'\nsaid the cat, 'how can one be in good spirits when one's life is in\ndanger? Because I am beginning to grow old, and had rather lie at my\nease by the fire than run about the house after the mice, my mistress\nlaid hold of me, and was going to drown me; and though I have been lucky\nenough to get away from her, I do not know what I am to live upon.'\n'Oh,' said the ass, 'by all means go with us to the great city; you are\na good night singer, and may make your fortune as a musician.' The cat\nwas pleased with the thought, and joined the party.\n\nSoon afterwards, as they were passing by a farmyard, they saw a cock\nperched upon a gate, and screaming out with all his might and main.\n'Bravo!' said the ass; 'upon my word, you make a famous noise; pray what\nis all this about?' 'Why,' said the cock, 'I was just now saying that\nwe should have fine weather for our washing-day, and yet my mistress and\nthe cook don't thank me for my pains, but threaten to cut off my\nhead tomorrow, and make broth of me for the guests that are coming\non Sunday!' 'Heaven forbid!' said the ass, 'come with us Master\nChanticleer; it will be better, at any rate, than staying here to have\nyour head cut off! Besides, who knows? If we care to sing in tune, we\nmay get up some kind of a concert; so come along with us.' 'With all my\nheart,' said the cock: so they all four went on jollily together.\n\nThey could not, however, reach the great city the first day; so when\nnight came on, they went into a wood to sleep. The ass and the dog laid\nthemselves down under a great tree, and the cat climbed up into the\nbranches; while the cock, thinking that the higher he sat the safer he\nshould be, flew up to the very top of the tree, and then, according to\nhis custom, before he went to sleep, looked out on all sides of him to\nsee that everything was well. In doing this, he saw afar off something\nbright and shining and calling to his companions said, 'There must be a\nhouse no great way off, for I see a light.' 'If that be the case,' said\nthe ass, 'we had better change our quarters, for our lodging is not the\nbest in the world!' 'Besides,' added the dog, 'I should not be the\nworse for a bone or two, or a bit of meat.' So they walked off together\ntowards the spot where Chanticleer had seen the light, and as they drew\nnear it became larger and brighter, till they at last came close to a\nhouse in which a gang of robbers lived.\n\nThe ass, being the tallest of the company, marched up to the window and\npeeped in. 'Well, Donkey,' said Chanticleer, 'what do you see?' 'What\ndo I see?' replied the ass. 'Why, I see a table spread with all kinds of\ngood things, and robbers sitting round it making merry.' 'That would\nbe a noble lodging for us,' said the cock. 'Yes,' said the ass, 'if we\ncould only get in'; so they consulted together how they should contrive\nto get the robbers out; and at last they hit upon a plan. The ass placed\nhimself upright on his hind legs, with his forefeet resting against the\nwindow; the dog got upon his back; the cat scrambled up to the dog's\nshoulders, and the cock flew up and sat upon the cat's head. When\nall was ready a signal was given, and they began their music. The ass\nbrayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed, and the cock screamed; and then\nthey all broke through the window at once, and came tumbling into\nthe room, amongst the broken glass, with a most hideous clatter! The\nrobbers, who had been not a little frightened by the opening concert,\nhad now no doubt that some frightful hobgoblin had broken in upon them,\nand scampered away as fast as they could.\n\nThe coast once clear, our travellers soon sat down and dispatched what\nthe robbers had left, with as much eagerness as if they had not expected\nto eat again for a month. As soon as they had satisfied themselves, they\nput out the lights, and each once more sought out a resting-place to\nhis own liking. The donkey laid himself down upon a heap of straw in\nthe yard, the dog stretched himself upon a mat behind the door, the\ncat rolled herself up on the hearth before the warm ashes, and the\ncock perched upon a beam on the top of the house; and, as they were all\nrather tired with their journey, they soon fell asleep.\n\nBut about midnight, when the robbers saw from afar that the lights were\nout and that all seemed quiet, they began to think that they had been in\ntoo great a hurry to run away; and one of them, who was bolder than\nthe rest, went to see what was going on. Finding everything still, he\nmarched into the kitchen, and groped about till he found a match in\norder to light a candle; and then, espying the glittering fiery eyes of\nthe cat, he mistook them for live coals, and held the match to them to\nlight it. But the cat, not understanding this joke, sprang at his face,\nand spat, and scratched at him. This frightened him dreadfully, and away\nhe ran to the back door; but there the dog jumped up and bit him in the\nleg; and as he was crossing over the yard the ass kicked him; and the\ncock, who had been awakened by the noise, crowed with all his might. At\nthis the robber ran back as fast as he could to his comrades, and told\nthe captain how a horrid witch had got into the house, and had spat at\nhim and scratched his face with her long bony fingers; how a man with a\nknife in his hand had hidden himself behind the door, and stabbed him\nin the leg; how a black monster stood in the yard and struck him with a\nclub, and how the devil had sat upon the top of the house and cried out,\n'Throw the rascal up here!' After this the robbers never dared to go\nback to the house; but the musicians were so pleased with their quarters\nthat they took up their abode there; and there they are, I dare say, at\nthis very day.\n\n\n\n\nOLD SULTAN\n\nA shepherd had a faithful dog, called Sultan, who was grown very old,\nand had lost all his teeth. And one day when the shepherd and his wife\nwere standing together before the house the shepherd said, 'I will shoot\nold Sultan tomorrow morning, for he is of no use now.' But his wife\nsaid, 'Pray let the poor faithful creature live; he has served us well a\ngreat many years, and we ought to give him a livelihood for the rest of\nhis days.' 'But what can we do with him?' said the shepherd, 'he has not\na tooth in his head, and the thieves don't care for him at all; to\nbe sure he has served us, but then he did it to earn his livelihood;\ntomorrow shall be his last day, depend upon it.'\n\nPoor Sultan, who was lying close by them, heard all that the shepherd\nand his wife said to one another, and was very much frightened to think\ntomorrow would be his last day; so in the evening he went to his good\nfriend the wolf, who lived in the wood, and told him all his sorrows,\nand how his master meant to kill him in the morning. 'Make yourself\neasy,' said the wolf, 'I will give you some good advice. Your master,\nyou know, goes out every morning very early with his wife into the\nfield; and they take their little child with them, and lay it down\nbehind the hedge in the shade while they are at work. Now do you lie\ndown close by the child, and pretend to be watching it, and I will come\nout of the wood and run away with it; you must run after me as fast as\nyou can, and I will let it drop; then you may carry it back, and they\nwill think you have saved their child, and will be so thankful to you\nthat they will take care of you as long as you live.' The dog liked this\nplan very well; and accordingly so it was managed. The wolf ran with the\nchild a little way; the shepherd and his wife screamed out; but Sultan\nsoon overtook him, and carried the poor little thing back to his master\nand mistress. Then the shepherd patted him on the head, and said, 'Old\nSultan has saved our child from the wolf, and therefore he shall live\nand be well taken care of, and have plenty to eat. Wife, go home, and\ngive him a good dinner, and let him have my old cushion to sleep on\nas long as he lives.' So from this time forward Sultan had all that he\ncould wish for.\n\nSoon afterwards the wolf came and wished him joy, and said, 'Now, my\ngood fellow, you must tell no tales, but turn your head the other way\nwhen I want to taste one of the old shepherd's fine fat sheep.' 'No,'\nsaid the Sultan; 'I will be true to my master.' However, the wolf\nthought he was in joke, and came one night to get a dainty morsel. But\nSultan had told his master what the wolf meant to do; so he laid wait\nfor him behind the barn door, and when the wolf was busy looking out for\na good fat sheep, he had a stout cudgel laid about his back, that combed\nhis locks for him finely.\n\nThen the wolf was very angry, and called Sultan 'an old rogue,' and\nswore he would have his revenge. So the next morning the wolf sent the\nboar to challenge Sultan to come into the wood to fight the matter. Now\nSultan had nobody he could ask to be his second but the shepherd's old\nthree-legged cat; so he took her with him, and as the poor thing limped\nalong with some trouble, she stuck up her tail straight in the air.\n\nThe wolf and the wild boar were first on the ground; and when they\nespied their enemies coming, and saw the cat's long tail standing\nstraight in the air, they thought she was carrying a sword for Sultan to\nfight with; and every time she limped, they thought she was picking up\na stone to throw at them; so they said they should not like this way of\nfighting, and the boar lay down behind a bush, and the wolf jumped\nup into a tree. Sultan and the cat soon came up, and looked about and\nwondered that no one was there. The boar, however, had not quite hidden\nhimself, for his ears stuck out of the bush; and when he shook one of\nthem a little, the cat, seeing something move, and thinking it was a\nmouse, sprang upon it, and bit and scratched it, so that the boar jumped\nup and grunted, and ran away, roaring out, 'Look up in the tree, there\nsits the one who is to blame.' So they looked up, and espied the wolf\nsitting amongst the branches; and they called him a cowardly rascal,\nand would not suffer him to come down till he was heartily ashamed of\nhimself, and had promised to be good friends again with old Sultan.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STRAW, THE COAL, AND THE BEAN\n\nIn a village dwelt a poor old woman, who had gathered together a dish\nof beans and wanted to cook them. So she made a fire on her hearth, and\nthat it might burn the quicker, she lighted it with a handful of straw.\nWhen she was emptying the beans into the pan, one dropped without her\nobserving it, and lay on the ground beside a straw, and soon afterwards\na burning coal from the fire leapt down to the two. Then the straw\nbegan and said: 'Dear friends, from whence do you come here?' The coal\nreplied: 'I fortunately sprang out of the fire, and if I had not escaped\nby sheer force, my death would have been certain,--I should have been\nburnt to ashes.' The bean said: 'I too have escaped with a whole skin,\nbut if the old woman had got me into the pan, I should have been made\ninto broth without any mercy, like my comrades.' 'And would a better\nfate have fallen to my lot?' said the straw. 'The old woman has\ndestroyed all my brethren in fire and smoke; she seized sixty of them at\nonce, and took their lives. I luckily slipped through her fingers.'\n\n'But what are we to do now?' said the coal.\n\n'I think,' answered the bean, 'that as we have so fortunately escaped\ndeath, we should keep together like good companions, and lest a new\nmischance should overtake us here, we should go away together, and\nrepair to a foreign country.'\n\nThe proposition pleased the two others, and they set out on their way\ntogether. Soon, however, they came to a little brook, and as there was\nno bridge or foot-plank, they did not know how they were to get over\nit. The straw hit on a good idea, and said: 'I will lay myself straight\nacross, and then you can walk over on me as on a bridge.' The straw\ntherefore stretched itself from one bank to the other, and the coal,\nwho was of an impetuous disposition, tripped quite boldly on to the\nnewly-built bridge. But when she had reached the middle, and heard the\nwater rushing beneath her, she was after all, afraid, and stood still,\nand ventured no farther. The straw, however, began to burn, broke in\ntwo pieces, and fell into the stream. The coal slipped after her, hissed\nwhen she got into the water, and breathed her last. The bean, who had\nprudently stayed behind on the shore, could not but laugh at the event,\nwas unable to stop, and laughed so heartily that she burst. It would\nhave been all over with her, likewise, if, by good fortune, a tailor who\nwas travelling in search of work, had not sat down to rest by the brook.\nAs he had a compassionate heart he pulled out his needle and thread,\nand sewed her together. The bean thanked him most prettily, but as the\ntailor used black thread, all beans since then have a black seam.\n\n\n\n\nBRIAR ROSE\n\nA king and queen once upon a time reigned in a country a great way off,\nwhere there were in those days fairies. Now this king and queen had\nplenty of money, and plenty of fine clothes to wear, and plenty of\ngood things to eat and drink, and a coach to ride out in every day: but\nthough they had been married many years they had no children, and this\ngrieved them very much indeed. But one day as the queen was walking\nby the side of the river, at the bottom of the garden, she saw a poor\nlittle fish, that had thrown itself out of the water, and lay gasping\nand nearly dead on the bank. Then the queen took pity on the little\nfish, and threw it back again into the river; and before it swam away\nit lifted its head out of the water and said, 'I know what your wish is,\nand it shall be fulfilled, in return for your kindness to me--you will\nsoon have a daughter.' What the little fish had foretold soon came to\npass; and the queen had a little girl, so very beautiful that the king\ncould not cease looking on it for joy, and said he would hold a great\nfeast and make merry, and show the child to all the land. So he asked\nhis kinsmen, and nobles, and friends, and neighbours. But the queen\nsaid, 'I will have the fairies also, that they might be kind and good\nto our little daughter.' Now there were thirteen fairies in the kingdom;\nbut as the king and queen had only twelve golden dishes for them to eat\nout of, they were forced to leave one of the fairies without asking her.\nSo twelve fairies came, each with a high red cap on her head, and red\nshoes with high heels on her feet, and a long white wand in her hand:\nand after the feast was over they gathered round in a ring and gave all\ntheir best gifts to the little princess. One gave her goodness, another\nbeauty, another riches, and so on till she had all that was good in the\nworld.\n\nJust as eleven of them had done blessing her, a great noise was heard in\nthe courtyard, and word was brought that the thirteenth fairy was\ncome, with a black cap on her head, and black shoes on her feet, and a\nbroomstick in her hand: and presently up she came into the dining-hall.\nNow, as she had not been asked to the feast she was very angry, and\nscolded the king and queen very much, and set to work to take her\nrevenge. So she cried out, 'The king's daughter shall, in her fifteenth\nyear, be wounded by a spindle, and fall down dead.' Then the twelfth of\nthe friendly fairies, who had not yet given her gift, came forward, and\nsaid that the evil wish must be fulfilled, but that she could soften its\nmischief; so her gift was, that the king's daughter, when the spindle\nwounded her, should not really die, but should only fall asleep for a\nhundred years.\n\nHowever, the king hoped still to save his dear child altogether from\nthe threatened evil; so he ordered that all the spindles in the kingdom\nshould be bought up and burnt. But all the gifts of the first eleven\nfairies were in the meantime fulfilled; for the princess was so\nbeautiful, and well behaved, and good, and wise, that everyone who knew\nher loved her.\n\nIt happened that, on the very day she was fifteen years old, the king\nand queen were not at home, and she was left alone in the palace. So she\nroved about by herself, and looked at all the rooms and chambers, till\nat last she came to an old tower, to which there was a narrow staircase\nending with a little door. In the door there was a golden key, and when\nshe turned it the door sprang open, and there sat an old lady spinning\naway very busily. 'Why, how now, good mother,' said the princess; 'what\nare you doing there?' 'Spinning,' said the old lady, and nodded her\nhead, humming a tune, while buzz! went the wheel. 'How prettily that\nlittle thing turns round!' said the princess, and took the spindle\nand began to try and spin. But scarcely had she touched it, before the\nfairy's prophecy was fulfilled; the spindle wounded her, and she fell\ndown lifeless on the ground.\n\nHowever, she was not dead, but had only fallen into a deep sleep; and\nthe king and the queen, who had just come home, and all their court,\nfell asleep too; and the horses slept in the stables, and the dogs in\nthe court, the pigeons on the house-top, and the very flies slept upon\nthe walls. Even the fire on the hearth left off blazing, and went to\nsleep; the jack stopped, and the spit that was turning about with a\ngoose upon it for the king's dinner stood still; and the cook, who was\nat that moment pulling the kitchen-boy by the hair to give him a box\non the ear for something he had done amiss, let him go, and both fell\nasleep; the butler, who was slyly tasting the ale, fell asleep with the\njug at his lips: and thus everything stood still, and slept soundly.\n\nA large hedge of thorns soon grew round the palace, and every year it\nbecame higher and thicker; till at last the old palace was surrounded\nand hidden, so that not even the roof or the chimneys could be seen. But\nthere went a report through all the land of the beautiful sleeping Briar\nRose (for so the king's daughter was called): so that, from time to\ntime, several kings' sons came, and tried to break through the thicket\ninto the palace. This, however, none of them could ever do; for the\nthorns and bushes laid hold of them, as it were with hands; and there\nthey stuck fast, and died wretchedly.\n\nAfter many, many years there came a king's son into that land: and an\nold man told him the story of the thicket of thorns; and how a beautiful\npalace stood behind it, and how a wonderful princess, called Briar Rose,\nlay in it asleep, with all her court. He told, too, how he had heard\nfrom his grandfather that many, many princes had come, and had tried to\nbreak through the thicket, but that they had all stuck fast in it, and\ndied. Then the young prince said, 'All this shall not frighten me; I\nwill go and see this Briar Rose.' The old man tried to hinder him, but\nhe was bent upon going.\n\nNow that very day the hundred years were ended; and as the prince came\nto the thicket he saw nothing but beautiful flowering shrubs, through\nwhich he went with ease, and they shut in after him as thick as ever.\nThen he came at last to the palace, and there in the court lay the dogs\nasleep; and the horses were standing in the stables; and on the roof sat\nthe pigeons fast asleep, with their heads under their wings. And when he\ncame into the palace, the flies were sleeping on the walls; the spit\nwas standing still; the butler had the jug of ale at his lips, going\nto drink a draught; the maid sat with a fowl in her lap ready to be\nplucked; and the cook in the kitchen was still holding up her hand, as\nif she was going to beat the boy.\n\nThen he went on still farther, and all was so still that he could hear\nevery breath he drew; till at last he came to the old tower, and opened\nthe door of the little room in which Briar Rose was; and there she lay,\nfast asleep on a couch by the window. She looked so beautiful that he\ncould not take his eyes off her, so he stooped down and gave her a kiss.\nBut the moment he kissed her she opened her eyes and awoke, and smiled\nupon him; and they went out together; and soon the king and queen also\nawoke, and all the court, and gazed on each other with great wonder.\nAnd the horses shook themselves, and the dogs jumped up and barked; the\npigeons took their heads from under their wings, and looked about and\nflew into the fields; the flies on the walls buzzed again; the fire in\nthe kitchen blazed up; round went the jack, and round went the spit,\nwith the goose for the king's dinner upon it; the butler finished his\ndraught of ale; the maid went on plucking the fowl; and the cook gave\nthe boy the box on his ear.\n\nAnd then the prince and Briar Rose were married, and the wedding feast\nwas given; and they lived happily together all their lives long.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DOG AND THE SPARROW\n\nA shepherd's dog had a master who took no care of him, but often let him\nsuffer the greatest hunger. At last he could bear it no longer; so he\ntook to his heels, and off he ran in a very sad and sorrowful mood.\nOn the road he met a sparrow that said to him, 'Why are you so sad,\nmy friend?' 'Because,' said the dog, 'I am very very hungry, and have\nnothing to eat.' 'If that be all,' answered the sparrow, 'come with me\ninto the next town, and I will soon find you plenty of food.' So on they\nwent together into the town: and as they passed by a butcher's shop,\nthe sparrow said to the dog, 'Stand there a little while till I peck you\ndown a piece of meat.' So the sparrow perched upon the shelf: and having\nfirst looked carefully about her to see if anyone was watching her, she\npecked and scratched at a steak that lay upon the edge of the shelf,\ntill at last down it fell. Then the dog snapped it up, and scrambled\naway with it into a corner, where he soon ate it all up. 'Well,' said\nthe sparrow, 'you shall have some more if you will; so come with me to\nthe next shop, and I will peck you down another steak.' When the dog had\neaten this too, the sparrow said to him, 'Well, my good friend, have you\nhad enough now?' 'I have had plenty of meat,' answered he, 'but I should\nlike to have a piece of bread to eat after it.' 'Come with me then,'\nsaid the sparrow, 'and you shall soon have that too.' So she took him\nto a baker's shop, and pecked at two rolls that lay in the window, till\nthey fell down: and as the dog still wished for more, she took him to\nanother shop and pecked down some more for him. When that was eaten, the\nsparrow asked him whether he had had enough now. 'Yes,' said he; 'and\nnow let us take a walk a little way out of the town.' So they both went\nout upon the high road; but as the weather was warm, they had not gone\nfar before the dog said, 'I am very much tired--I should like to take a\nnap.' 'Very well,' answered the sparrow, 'do so, and in the meantime\nI will perch upon that bush.' So the dog stretched himself out on the\nroad, and fell fast asleep. Whilst he slept, there came by a carter with\na cart drawn by three horses, and loaded with two casks of wine. The\nsparrow, seeing that the carter did not turn out of the way, but would\ngo on in the track in which the dog lay, so as to drive over him, called\nout, 'Stop! stop! Mr Carter, or it shall be the worse for you.' But the\ncarter, grumbling to himself, 'You make it the worse for me, indeed!\nwhat can you do?' cracked his whip, and drove his cart over the poor\ndog, so that the wheels crushed him to death. 'There,' cried the\nsparrow, 'thou cruel villain, thou hast killed my friend the dog. Now\nmind what I say. This deed of thine shall cost thee all thou art worth.'\n'Do your worst, and welcome,' said the brute, 'what harm can you do me?'\nand passed on. But the sparrow crept under the tilt of the cart, and\npecked at the bung of one of the casks till she loosened it; and then\nall the wine ran out, without the carter seeing it. At last he looked\nround, and saw that the cart was dripping, and the cask quite empty.\n'What an unlucky wretch I am!' cried he. 'Not wretch enough yet!' said\nthe sparrow, as she alighted upon the head of one of the horses, and\npecked at him till he reared up and kicked. When the carter saw this,\nhe drew out his hatchet and aimed a blow at the sparrow, meaning to kill\nher; but she flew away, and the blow fell upon the poor horse's head\nwith such force, that he fell down dead. 'Unlucky wretch that I am!'\ncried he. 'Not wretch enough yet!' said the sparrow. And as the carter\nwent on with the other two horses, she again crept under the tilt of the\ncart, and pecked out the bung of the second cask, so that all the wine\nran out. When the carter saw this, he again cried out, 'Miserable wretch\nthat I am!' But the sparrow answered, 'Not wretch enough yet!' and\nperched on the head of the second horse, and pecked at him too. The\ncarter ran up and struck at her again with his hatchet; but away she\nflew, and the blow fell upon the second horse and killed him on the\nspot. 'Unlucky wretch that I am!' said he. 'Not wretch enough yet!' said\nthe sparrow; and perching upon the third horse, she began to peck him\ntoo. The carter was mad with fury; and without looking about him, or\ncaring what he was about, struck again at the sparrow; but killed his\nthird horse as he done the other two. 'Alas! miserable wretch that I\nam!' cried he. 'Not wretch enough yet!' answered the sparrow as she flew\naway; 'now will I plague and punish thee at thy own house.' The\ncarter was forced at last to leave his cart behind him, and to go home\noverflowing with rage and vexation. 'Alas!' said he to his wife, 'what\nill luck has befallen me!--my wine is all spilt, and my horses all three\ndead.' 'Alas! husband,' replied she, 'and a wicked bird has come into\nthe house, and has brought with her all the birds in the world, I am\nsure, and they have fallen upon our corn in the loft, and are eating it\nup at such a rate!' Away ran the husband upstairs, and saw thousands of\nbirds sitting upon the floor eating up his corn, with the sparrow in the\nmidst of them. 'Unlucky wretch that I am!' cried the carter; for he saw\nthat the corn was almost all gone. 'Not wretch enough yet!' said the\nsparrow; 'thy cruelty shall cost thee thy life yet!' and away she flew.\n\nThe carter seeing that he had thus lost all that he had, went down\ninto his kitchen; and was still not sorry for what he had done, but sat\nhimself angrily and sulkily in the chimney corner. But the sparrow sat\non the outside of the window, and cried 'Carter! thy cruelty shall cost\nthee thy life!' With that he jumped up in a rage, seized his hatchet,\nand threw it at the sparrow; but it missed her, and only broke the\nwindow. The sparrow now hopped in, perched upon the window-seat, and\ncried, 'Carter! it shall cost thee thy life!' Then he became mad and\nblind with rage, and struck the window-seat with such force that he\ncleft it in two: and as the sparrow flew from place to place, the carter\nand his wife were so furious, that they broke all their furniture,\nglasses, chairs, benches, the table, and at last the walls, without\ntouching the bird at all. In the end, however, they caught her: and the\nwife said, 'Shall I kill her at once?' 'No,' cried he, 'that is letting\nher off too easily: she shall die a much more cruel death; I will eat\nher.' But the sparrow began to flutter about, and stretch out her neck\nand cried, 'Carter! it shall cost thee thy life yet!' With that he\ncould wait no longer: so he gave his wife the hatchet, and cried, 'Wife,\nstrike at the bird and kill her in my hand.' And the wife struck; but\nshe missed her aim, and hit her husband on the head so that he fell down\ndead, and the sparrow flew quietly home to her nest.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES\n\nThere was a king who had twelve beautiful daughters. They slept in\ntwelve beds all in one room; and when they went to bed, the doors were\nshut and locked up; but every morning their shoes were found to be quite\nworn through as if they had been danced in all night; and yet nobody\ncould find out how it happened, or where they had been.\n\nThen the king made it known to all the land, that if any person could\ndiscover the secret, and find out where it was that the princesses\ndanced in the night, he should have the one he liked best for his\nwife, and should be king after his death; but whoever tried and did not\nsucceed, after three days and nights, should be put to death.\n\nA king's son soon came. He was well entertained, and in the evening was\ntaken to the chamber next to the one where the princesses lay in their\ntwelve beds. There he was to sit and watch where they went to dance;\nand, in order that nothing might pass without his hearing it, the door\nof his chamber was left open. But the king's son soon fell asleep; and\nwhen he awoke in the morning he found that the princesses had all been\ndancing, for the soles of their shoes were full of holes. The same thing\nhappened the second and third night: so the king ordered his head to be\ncut off. After him came several others; but they had all the same luck,\nand all lost their lives in the same manner.\n\nNow it chanced that an old soldier, who had been wounded in battle\nand could fight no longer, passed through the country where this king\nreigned: and as he was travelling through a wood, he met an old woman,\nwho asked him where he was going. 'I hardly know where I am going, or\nwhat I had better do,' said the soldier; 'but I think I should like very\nwell to find out where it is that the princesses dance, and then in time\nI might be a king.' 'Well,' said the old dame, 'that is no very hard\ntask: only take care not to drink any of the wine which one of the\nprincesses will bring to you in the evening; and as soon as she leaves\nyou pretend to be fast asleep.'\n\nThen she gave him a cloak, and said, 'As soon as you put that on\nyou will become invisible, and you will then be able to follow the\nprincesses wherever they go.' When the soldier heard all this good\ncounsel, he determined to try his luck: so he went to the king, and said\nhe was willing to undertake the task.\n\nHe was as well received as the others had been, and the king ordered\nfine royal robes to be given him; and when the evening came he was led\nto the outer chamber. Just as he was going to lie down, the eldest of\nthe princesses brought him a cup of wine; but the soldier threw it all\naway secretly, taking care not to drink a drop. Then he laid himself\ndown on his bed, and in a little while began to snore very loud as if\nhe was fast asleep. When the twelve princesses heard this they laughed\nheartily; and the eldest said, 'This fellow too might have done a wiser\nthing than lose his life in this way!' Then they rose up and opened\ntheir drawers and boxes, and took out all their fine clothes, and\ndressed themselves at the glass, and skipped about as if they were eager\nto begin dancing. But the youngest said, 'I don't know how it is, while\nyou are so happy I feel very uneasy; I am sure some mischance will\nbefall us.' 'You simpleton,' said the eldest, 'you are always afraid;\nhave you forgotten how many kings' sons have already watched in vain?\nAnd as for this soldier, even if I had not given him his sleeping\ndraught, he would have slept soundly enough.'\n\nWhen they were all ready, they went and looked at the soldier; but he\nsnored on, and did not stir hand or foot: so they thought they were\nquite safe; and the eldest went up to her own bed and clapped her hands,\nand the bed sank into the floor and a trap-door flew open. The soldier\nsaw them going down through the trap-door one after another, the eldest\nleading the way; and thinking he had no time to lose, he jumped up, put\non the cloak which the old woman had given him, and followed them;\nbut in the middle of the stairs he trod on the gown of the youngest\nprincess, and she cried out to her sisters, 'All is not right; someone\ntook hold of my gown.' 'You silly creature!' said the eldest, 'it is\nnothing but a nail in the wall.' Then down they all went, and at the\nbottom they found themselves in a most delightful grove of trees; and\nthe leaves were all of silver, and glittered and sparkled beautifully.\nThe soldier wished to take away some token of the place; so he broke\noff a little branch, and there came a loud noise from the tree. Then the\nyoungest daughter said again, 'I am sure all is not right--did not you\nhear that noise? That never happened before.' But the eldest said, 'It\nis only our princes, who are shouting for joy at our approach.'\n\nThen they came to another grove of trees, where all the leaves were of\ngold; and afterwards to a third, where the leaves were all glittering\ndiamonds. And the soldier broke a branch from each; and every time there\nwas a loud noise, which made the youngest sister tremble with fear; but\nthe eldest still said, it was only the princes, who were crying for joy.\nSo they went on till they came to a great lake; and at the side of the\nlake there lay twelve little boats with twelve handsome princes in them,\nwho seemed to be waiting there for the princesses.\n\nOne of the princesses went into each boat, and the soldier stepped into\nthe same boat with the youngest. As they were rowing over the lake, the\nprince who was in the boat with the youngest princess and the soldier\nsaid, 'I do not know why it is, but though I am rowing with all my might\nwe do not get on so fast as usual, and I am quite tired: the boat\nseems very heavy today.' 'It is only the heat of the weather,' said the\nprincess: 'I feel it very warm too.'\n\nOn the other side of the lake stood a fine illuminated castle, from\nwhich came the merry music of horns and trumpets. There they all landed,\nand went into the castle, and each prince danced with his princess; and\nthe soldier, who was all the time invisible, danced with them too; and\nwhen any of the princesses had a cup of wine set by her, he drank it\nall up, so that when she put the cup to her mouth it was empty. At this,\ntoo, the youngest sister was terribly frightened, but the eldest always\nsilenced her. They danced on till three o'clock in the morning, and then\nall their shoes were worn out, so that they were obliged to leave off.\nThe princes rowed them back again over the lake (but this time the\nsoldier placed himself in the boat with the eldest princess); and on the\nopposite shore they took leave of each other, the princesses promising\nto come again the next night.\n\nWhen they came to the stairs, the soldier ran on before the princesses,\nand laid himself down; and as the twelve sisters slowly came up very\nmuch tired, they heard him snoring in his bed; so they said, 'Now all\nis quite safe'; then they undressed themselves, put away their fine\nclothes, pulled off their shoes, and went to bed. In the morning the\nsoldier said nothing about what had happened, but determined to see more\nof this strange adventure, and went again the second and third night;\nand every thing happened just as before; the princesses danced each time\ntill their shoes were worn to pieces, and then returned home. However,\non the third night the soldier carried away one of the golden cups as a\ntoken of where he had been.\n\nAs soon as the time came when he was to declare the secret, he was taken\nbefore the king with the three branches and the golden cup; and the\ntwelve princesses stood listening behind the door to hear what he would\nsay. And when the king asked him. 'Where do my twelve daughters dance at\nnight?' he answered, 'With twelve princes in a castle under ground.' And\nthen he told the king all that had happened, and showed him the three\nbranches and the golden cup which he had brought with him. Then the king\ncalled for the princesses, and asked them whether what the soldier said\nwas true: and when they saw that they were discovered, and that it was\nof no use to deny what had happened, they confessed it all. And the king\nasked the soldier which of them he would choose for his wife; and he\nanswered, 'I am not very young, so I will have the eldest.'--And they\nwere married that very day, and the soldier was chosen to be the king's\nheir.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE\n\nThere was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a pigsty, close\nby the seaside. The fisherman used to go out all day long a-fishing; and\none day, as he sat on the shore with his rod, looking at the sparkling\nwaves and watching his line, all on a sudden his float was dragged away\ndeep into the water: and in drawing it up he pulled out a great fish.\nBut the fish said, 'Pray let me live! I am not a real fish; I am an\nenchanted prince: put me in the water again, and let me go!' 'Oh, ho!'\nsaid the man, 'you need not make so many words about the matter; I will\nhave nothing to do with a fish that can talk: so swim away, sir, as soon\nas you please!' Then he put him back into the water, and the fish darted\nstraight down to the bottom, and left a long streak of blood behind him\non the wave.\n\nWhen the fisherman went home to his wife in the pigsty, he told her how\nhe had caught a great fish, and how it had told him it was an enchanted\nprince, and how, on hearing it speak, he had let it go again. 'Did not\nyou ask it for anything?' said the wife, 'we live very wretchedly here,\nin this nasty dirty pigsty; do go back and tell the fish we want a snug\nlittle cottage.'\n\nThe fisherman did not much like the business: however, he went to the\nseashore; and when he came back there the water looked all yellow and\ngreen. And he stood at the water's edge, and said:\n\n 'O man of the sea!\n  Hearken to me!\n  My wife Ilsabill\n  Will have her own will,\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\n\nThen the fish came swimming to him, and said, 'Well, what is her will?\nWhat does your wife want?' 'Ah!' said the fisherman, 'she says that when\nI had caught you, I ought to have asked you for something before I let\nyou go; she does not like living any longer in the pigsty, and wants\na snug little cottage.' 'Go home, then,' said the fish; 'she is in the\ncottage already!' So the man went home, and saw his wife standing at the\ndoor of a nice trim little cottage. 'Come in, come in!' said she; 'is\nnot this much better than the filthy pigsty we had?' And there was a\nparlour, and a bedchamber, and a kitchen; and behind the cottage there\nwas a little garden, planted with all sorts of flowers and fruits; and\nthere was a courtyard behind, full of ducks and chickens. 'Ah!' said the\nfisherman, 'how happily we shall live now!' 'We will try to do so, at\nleast,' said his wife.\n\nEverything went right for a week or two, and then Dame Ilsabill said,\n'Husband, there is not near room enough for us in this cottage; the\ncourtyard and the garden are a great deal too small; I should like to\nhave a large stone castle to live in: go to the fish again and tell him\nto give us a castle.' 'Wife,' said the fisherman, 'I don't like to go to\nhim again, for perhaps he will be angry; we ought to be easy with this\npretty cottage to live in.' 'Nonsense!' said the wife; 'he will do it\nvery willingly, I know; go along and try!'\n\nThe fisherman went, but his heart was very heavy: and when he came to\nthe sea, it looked blue and gloomy, though it was very calm; and he went\nclose to the edge of the waves, and said:\n\n 'O man of the sea!\n  Hearken to me!\n  My wife Ilsabill\n  Will have her own will,\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\n\n'Well, what does she want now?' said the fish. 'Ah!' said the man,\ndolefully, 'my wife wants to live in a stone castle.' 'Go home, then,'\nsaid the fish; 'she is standing at the gate of it already.' So away went\nthe fisherman, and found his wife standing before the gate of a great\ncastle. 'See,' said she, 'is not this grand?' With that they went into\nthe castle together, and found a great many servants there, and the\nrooms all richly furnished, and full of golden chairs and tables; and\nbehind the castle was a garden, and around it was a park half a\nmile long, full of sheep, and goats, and hares, and deer; and in the\ncourtyard were stables and cow-houses. 'Well,' said the man, 'now we\nwill live cheerful and happy in this beautiful castle for the rest of\nour lives.' 'Perhaps we may,' said the wife; 'but let us sleep upon it,\nbefore we make up our minds to that.' So they went to bed.\n\nThe next morning when Dame Ilsabill awoke it was broad daylight, and\nshe jogged the fisherman with her elbow, and said, 'Get up, husband,\nand bestir yourself, for we must be king of all the land.' 'Wife, wife,'\nsaid the man, 'why should we wish to be the king? I will not be king.'\n'Then I will,' said she. 'But, wife,' said the fisherman, 'how can you\nbe king--the fish cannot make you a king?' 'Husband,' said she, 'say\nno more about it, but go and try! I will be king.' So the man went away\nquite sorrowful to think that his wife should want to be king. This time\nthe sea looked a dark grey colour, and was overspread with curling waves\nand the ridges of foam as he cried out:\n\n 'O man of the sea!\n  Hearken to me!\n  My wife Ilsabill\n  Will have her own will,\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\n\n'Well, what would she have now?' said the fish. 'Alas!' said the poor\nman, 'my wife wants to be king.' 'Go home,' said the fish; 'she is king\nalready.'\n\nThen the fisherman went home; and as he came close to the palace he saw\na troop of soldiers, and heard the sound of drums and trumpets. And when\nhe went in he saw his wife sitting on a throne of gold and diamonds,\nwith a golden crown upon her head; and on each side of her stood six\nfair maidens, each a head taller than the other. 'Well, wife,' said the\nfisherman, 'are you king?' 'Yes,' said she, 'I am king.' And when he had\nlooked at her for a long time, he said, 'Ah, wife! what a fine thing it\nis to be king! Now we shall never have anything more to wish for as long\nas we live.' 'I don't know how that may be,' said she; 'never is a long\ntime. I am king, it is true; but I begin to be tired of that, and I\nthink I should like to be emperor.' 'Alas, wife! why should you wish to\nbe emperor?' said the fisherman. 'Husband,' said she, 'go to the fish!\nI say I will be emperor.' 'Ah, wife!' replied the fisherman, 'the fish\ncannot make an emperor, I am sure, and I should not like to ask him for\nsuch a thing.' 'I am king,' said Ilsabill, 'and you are my slave; so go\nat once!'\n\nSo the fisherman was forced to go; and he muttered as he went along,\n'This will come to no good, it is too much to ask; the fish will be\ntired at last, and then we shall be sorry for what we have done.' He\nsoon came to the seashore; and the water was quite black and muddy, and\na mighty whirlwind blew over the waves and rolled them about, but he\nwent as near as he could to the water's brink, and said:\n\n 'O man of the sea!\n  Hearken to me!\n  My wife Ilsabill\n  Will have her own will,\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\n\n'What would she have now?' said the fish. 'Ah!' said the fisherman,\n'she wants to be emperor.' 'Go home,' said the fish; 'she is emperor\nalready.'\n\nSo he went home again; and as he came near he saw his wife Ilsabill\nsitting on a very lofty throne made of solid gold, with a great crown on\nher head full two yards high; and on each side of her stood her guards\nand attendants in a row, each one smaller than the other, from the\ntallest giant down to a little dwarf no bigger than my finger. And\nbefore her stood princes, and dukes, and earls: and the fisherman went\nup to her and said, 'Wife, are you emperor?' 'Yes,' said she, 'I am\nemperor.' 'Ah!' said the man, as he gazed upon her, 'what a fine thing\nit is to be emperor!' 'Husband,' said she, 'why should we stop at being\nemperor? I will be pope next.' 'O wife, wife!' said he, 'how can you be\npope? there is but one pope at a time in Christendom.' 'Husband,' said\nshe, 'I will be pope this very day.' 'But,' replied the husband, 'the\nfish cannot make you pope.' 'What nonsense!' said she; 'if he can make\nan emperor, he can make a pope: go and try him.'\n\nSo the fisherman went. But when he came to the shore the wind was raging\nand the sea was tossed up and down in boiling waves, and the ships were\nin trouble, and rolled fearfully upon the tops of the billows. In the\nmiddle of the heavens there was a little piece of blue sky, but towards\nthe south all was red, as if a dreadful storm was rising. At this sight\nthe fisherman was dreadfully frightened, and he trembled so that his\nknees knocked together: but still he went down near to the shore, and\nsaid:\n\n 'O man of the sea!\n  Hearken to me!\n  My wife Ilsabill\n  Will have her own will,\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\n\n'What does she want now?' said the fish. 'Ah!' said the fisherman, 'my\nwife wants to be pope.' 'Go home,' said the fish; 'she is pope already.'\n\nThen the fisherman went home, and found Ilsabill sitting on a throne\nthat was two miles high. And she had three great crowns on her head, and\naround her stood all the pomp and power of the Church. And on each side\nof her were two rows of burning lights, of all sizes, the greatest as\nlarge as the highest and biggest tower in the world, and the least no\nlarger than a small rushlight. 'Wife,' said the fisherman, as he looked\nat all this greatness, 'are you pope?' 'Yes,' said she, 'I am pope.'\n'Well, wife,' replied he, 'it is a grand thing to be pope; and now\nyou must be easy, for you can be nothing greater.' 'I will think about\nthat,' said the wife. Then they went to bed: but Dame Ilsabill could not\nsleep all night for thinking what she should be next. At last, as she\nwas dropping asleep, morning broke, and the sun rose. 'Ha!' thought she,\nas she woke up and looked at it through the window, 'after all I cannot\nprevent the sun rising.' At this thought she was very angry, and wakened\nher husband, and said, 'Husband, go to the fish and tell him I must\nbe lord of the sun and moon.' The fisherman was half asleep, but the\nthought frightened him so much that he started and fell out of bed.\n'Alas, wife!' said he, 'cannot you be easy with being pope?' 'No,'\nsaid she, 'I am very uneasy as long as the sun and moon rise without my\nleave. Go to the fish at once!'\n\nThen the man went shivering with fear; and as he was going down to\nthe shore a dreadful storm arose, so that the trees and the very rocks\nshook. And all the heavens became black with stormy clouds, and the\nlightnings played, and the thunders rolled; and you might have seen in\nthe sea great black waves, swelling up like mountains with crowns of\nwhite foam upon their heads. And the fisherman crept towards the sea,\nand cried out, as well as he could:\n\n 'O man of the sea!\n  Hearken to me!\n  My wife Ilsabill\n  Will have her own will,\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\n\n'What does she want now?' said the fish. 'Ah!' said he, 'she wants to\nbe lord of the sun and moon.' 'Go home,' said the fish, 'to your pigsty\nagain.'\n\nAnd there they live to this very day.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WILLOW-WREN AND THE BEAR\n\nOnce in summer-time the bear and the wolf were walking in the forest,\nand the bear heard a bird singing so beautifully that he said: 'Brother\nwolf, what bird is it that sings so well?' 'That is the King of birds,'\nsaid the wolf, 'before whom we must bow down.' In reality the bird was\nthe willow-wren. 'IF that's the case,' said the bear, 'I should very\nmuch like to see his royal palace; come, take me thither.' 'That is not\ndone quite as you seem to think,' said the wolf; 'you must wait until\nthe Queen comes,' Soon afterwards, the Queen arrived with some food in\nher beak, and the lord King came too, and they began to feed their young\nones. The bear would have liked to go at once, but the wolf held him\nback by the sleeve, and said: 'No, you must wait until the lord and lady\nQueen have gone away again.' So they took stock of the hole where the\nnest lay, and trotted away. The bear, however, could not rest until he\nhad seen the royal palace, and when a short time had passed, went to it\nagain. The King and Queen had just flown out, so he peeped in and saw\nfive or six young ones lying there. 'Is that the royal palace?' cried\nthe bear; 'it is a wretched palace, and you are not King's children, you\nare disreputable children!' When the young wrens heard that, they were\nfrightfully angry, and screamed: 'No, that we are not! Our parents are\nhonest people! Bear, you will have to pay for that!'\n\nThe bear and the wolf grew uneasy, and turned back and went into their\nholes. The young willow-wrens, however, continued to cry and scream, and\nwhen their parents again brought food they said: 'We will not so much as\ntouch one fly's leg, no, not if we were dying of hunger, until you have\nsettled whether we are respectable children or not; the bear has been\nhere and has insulted us!' Then the old King said: 'Be easy, he shall\nbe punished,' and he at once flew with the Queen to the bear's cave, and\ncalled in: 'Old Growler, why have you insulted my children? You shall\nsuffer for it--we will punish you by a bloody war.' Thus war was\nannounced to the Bear, and all four-footed animals were summoned to take\npart in it, oxen, asses, cows, deer, and every other animal the earth\ncontained. And the willow-wren summoned everything which flew in the\nair, not only birds, large and small, but midges, and hornets, bees and\nflies had to come.\n\nWhen the time came for the war to begin, the willow-wren sent out spies\nto discover who was the enemy's commander-in-chief. The gnat, who was\nthe most crafty, flew into the forest where the enemy was assembled,\nand hid herself beneath a leaf of the tree where the password was to be\nannounced. There stood the bear, and he called the fox before him\nand said: 'Fox, you are the most cunning of all animals, you shall be\ngeneral and lead us.' 'Good,' said the fox, 'but what signal shall we\nagree upon?' No one knew that, so the fox said: 'I have a fine long\nbushy tail, which almost looks like a plume of red feathers. When I lift\nmy tail up quite high, all is going well, and you must charge; but if I\nlet it hang down, run away as fast as you can.' When the gnat had heard\nthat, she flew away again, and revealed everything, down to the minutest\ndetail, to the willow-wren. When day broke, and the battle was to begin,\nall the four-footed animals came running up with such a noise that the\nearth trembled. The willow-wren with his army also came flying through\nthe air with such a humming, and whirring, and swarming that every one\nwas uneasy and afraid, and on both sides they advanced against each\nother. But the willow-wren sent down the hornet, with orders to settle\nbeneath the fox's tail, and sting with all his might. When the fox felt\nthe first string, he started so that he lifted one leg, from pain, but\nhe bore it, and still kept his tail high in the air; at the second\nsting, he was forced to put it down for a moment; at the third, he could\nhold out no longer, screamed, and put his tail between his legs. When\nthe animals saw that, they thought all was lost, and began to flee, each\ninto his hole, and the birds had won the battle.\n\nThen the King and Queen flew home to their children and cried:\n'Children, rejoice, eat and drink to your heart's content, we have won\nthe battle!' But the young wrens said: 'We will not eat yet, the bear\nmust come to the nest, and beg for pardon and say that we are honourable\nchildren, before we will do that.' Then the willow-wren flew to the\nbear's hole and cried: 'Growler, you are to come to the nest to my\nchildren, and beg their pardon, or else every rib of your body shall\nbe broken.' So the bear crept thither in the greatest fear, and begged\ntheir pardon. And now at last the young wrens were satisfied, and sat\ndown together and ate and drank, and made merry till quite late into the\nnight.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FROG-PRINCE\n\nOne fine evening a young princess put on her bonnet and clogs, and went\nout to take a walk by herself in a wood; and when she came to a cool\nspring of water, that rose in the midst of it, she sat herself down\nto rest a while. Now she had a golden ball in her hand, which was her\nfavourite plaything; and she was always tossing it up into the air, and\ncatching it again as it fell. After a time she threw it up so high that\nshe missed catching it as it fell; and the ball bounded away, and rolled\nalong upon the ground, till at last it fell down into the spring. The\nprincess looked into the spring after her ball, but it was very deep, so\ndeep that she could not see the bottom of it. Then she began to bewail\nher loss, and said, 'Alas! if I could only get my ball again, I would\ngive all my fine clothes and jewels, and everything that I have in the\nworld.'\n\nWhilst she was speaking, a frog put its head out of the water, and said,\n'Princess, why do you weep so bitterly?' 'Alas!' said she, 'what can you\ndo for me, you nasty frog? My golden ball has fallen into the spring.'\nThe frog said, 'I want not your pearls, and jewels, and fine clothes;\nbut if you will love me, and let me live with you and eat from off\nyour golden plate, and sleep upon your bed, I will bring you your ball\nagain.' 'What nonsense,' thought the princess, 'this silly frog is\ntalking! He can never even get out of the spring to visit me, though\nhe may be able to get my ball for me, and therefore I will tell him he\nshall have what he asks.' So she said to the frog, 'Well, if you will\nbring me my ball, I will do all you ask.' Then the frog put his head\ndown, and dived deep under the water; and after a little while he came\nup again, with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the edge of the\nspring. As soon as the young princess saw her ball, she ran to pick\nit up; and she was so overjoyed to have it in her hand again, that she\nnever thought of the frog, but ran home with it as fast as she could.\nThe frog called after her, 'Stay, princess, and take me with you as you\nsaid,' But she did not stop to hear a word.\n\nThe next day, just as the princess had sat down to dinner, she heard a\nstrange noise--tap, tap--plash, plash--as if something was coming up the\nmarble staircase: and soon afterwards there was a gentle knock at the\ndoor, and a little voice cried out and said:\n\n 'Open the door, my princess dear,\n  Open the door to thy true love here!\n  And mind the words that thou and I said\n  By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'\n\nThen the princess ran to the door and opened it, and there she saw\nthe frog, whom she had quite forgotten. At this sight she was sadly\nfrightened, and shutting the door as fast as she could came back to her\nseat. The king, her father, seeing that something had frightened her,\nasked her what was the matter. 'There is a nasty frog,' said she, 'at\nthe door, that lifted my ball for me out of the spring this morning: I\ntold him that he should live with me here, thinking that he could never\nget out of the spring; but there he is at the door, and he wants to come\nin.'\n\nWhile she was speaking the frog knocked again at the door, and said:\n\n 'Open the door, my princess dear,\n  Open the door to thy true love here!\n  And mind the words that thou and I said\n  By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'\n\nThen the king said to the young princess, 'As you have given your word\nyou must keep it; so go and let him in.' She did so, and the frog hopped\ninto the room, and then straight on--tap, tap--plash, plash--from the\nbottom of the room to the top, till he came up close to the table where\nthe princess sat. 'Pray lift me upon chair,' said he to the princess,\n'and let me sit next to you.' As soon as she had done this, the frog\nsaid, 'Put your plate nearer to me, that I may eat out of it.' This\nshe did, and when he had eaten as much as he could, he said, 'Now I am\ntired; carry me upstairs, and put me into your bed.' And the princess,\nthough very unwilling, took him up in her hand, and put him upon the\npillow of her own bed, where he slept all night long. As soon as it was\nlight he jumped up, hopped downstairs, and went out of the house.\n'Now, then,' thought the princess, 'at last he is gone, and I shall be\ntroubled with him no more.'\n\nBut she was mistaken; for when night came again she heard the same\ntapping at the door; and the frog came once more, and said:\n\n 'Open the door, my princess dear,\n  Open the door to thy true love here!\n  And mind the words that thou and I said\n  By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'\n\nAnd when the princess opened the door the frog came in, and slept upon\nher pillow as before, till the morning broke. And the third night he did\nthe same. But when the princess awoke on the following morning she was\nastonished to see, instead of the frog, a handsome prince, gazing on her\nwith the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, and standing at the head\nof her bed.\n\nHe told her that he had been enchanted by a spiteful fairy, who had\nchanged him into a frog; and that he had been fated so to abide till\nsome princess should take him out of the spring, and let him eat from\nher plate, and sleep upon her bed for three nights. 'You,' said the\nprince, 'have broken his cruel charm, and now I have nothing to wish for\nbut that you should go with me into my father's kingdom, where I will\nmarry you, and love you as long as you live.'\n\nThe young princess, you may be sure, was not long in saying 'Yes' to\nall this; and as they spoke a gay coach drove up, with eight beautiful\nhorses, decked with plumes of feathers and a golden harness; and behind\nthe coach rode the prince's servant, faithful Heinrich, who had bewailed\nthe misfortunes of his dear master during his enchantment so long and so\nbitterly, that his heart had well-nigh burst.\n\nThey then took leave of the king, and got into the coach with eight\nhorses, and all set out, full of joy and merriment, for the prince's\nkingdom, which they reached safely; and there they lived happily a great\nmany years.\n\n\n\n\nCAT AND MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP\n\nA certain cat had made the acquaintance of a mouse, and had said so much\nto her about the great love and friendship she felt for her, that at\nlength the mouse agreed that they should live and keep house together.\n'But we must make a provision for winter, or else we shall suffer\nfrom hunger,' said the cat; 'and you, little mouse, cannot venture\neverywhere, or you will be caught in a trap some day.' The good advice\nwas followed, and a pot of fat was bought, but they did not know where\nto put it. At length, after much consideration, the cat said: 'I know no\nplace where it will be better stored up than in the church, for no one\ndares take anything away from there. We will set it beneath the altar,\nand not touch it until we are really in need of it.' So the pot was\nplaced in safety, but it was not long before the cat had a great\nyearning for it, and said to the mouse: 'I want to tell you something,\nlittle mouse; my cousin has brought a little son into the world, and has\nasked me to be godmother; he is white with brown spots, and I am to hold\nhim over the font at the christening. Let me go out today, and you look\nafter the house by yourself.' 'Yes, yes,' answered the mouse, 'by all\nmeans go, and if you get anything very good to eat, think of me. I\nshould like a drop of sweet red christening wine myself.' All this,\nhowever, was untrue; the cat had no cousin, and had not been asked to\nbe godmother. She went straight to the church, stole to the pot of fat,\nbegan to lick at it, and licked the top of the fat off. Then she took a\nwalk upon the roofs of the town, looked out for opportunities, and then\nstretched herself in the sun, and licked her lips whenever she thought\nof the pot of fat, and not until it was evening did she return home.\n'Well, here you are again,' said the mouse, 'no doubt you have had a\nmerry day.' 'All went off well,' answered the cat. 'What name did they\ngive the child?' 'Top off!' said the cat quite coolly. 'Top off!' cried\nthe mouse, 'that is a very odd and uncommon name, is it a usual one in\nyour family?' 'What does that matter,' said the cat, 'it is no worse\nthan Crumb-stealer, as your godchildren are called.'\n\nBefore long the cat was seized by another fit of yearning. She said to\nthe mouse: 'You must do me a favour, and once more manage the house for\na day alone. I am again asked to be godmother, and, as the child has a\nwhite ring round its neck, I cannot refuse.' The good mouse consented,\nbut the cat crept behind the town walls to the church, and devoured\nhalf the pot of fat. 'Nothing ever seems so good as what one keeps to\noneself,' said she, and was quite satisfied with her day's work. When\nshe went home the mouse inquired: 'And what was the child christened?'\n'Half-done,' answered the cat. 'Half-done! What are you saying? I\nnever heard the name in my life, I'll wager anything it is not in the\ncalendar!'\n\nThe cat's mouth soon began to water for some more licking. 'All good\nthings go in threes,' said she, 'I am asked to stand godmother again.\nThe child is quite black, only it has white paws, but with that\nexception, it has not a single white hair on its whole body; this only\nhappens once every few years, you will let me go, won't you?' 'Top-off!\nHalf-done!' answered the mouse, 'they are such odd names, they make me\nvery thoughtful.' 'You sit at home,' said the cat, 'in your dark-grey\nfur coat and long tail, and are filled with fancies, that's because\nyou do not go out in the daytime.' During the cat's absence the mouse\ncleaned the house, and put it in order, but the greedy cat entirely\nemptied the pot of fat. 'When everything is eaten up one has some\npeace,' said she to herself, and well filled and fat she did not return\nhome till night. The mouse at once asked what name had been given to\nthe third child. 'It will not please you more than the others,' said the\ncat. 'He is called All-gone.' 'All-gone,' cried the mouse 'that is the\nmost suspicious name of all! I have never seen it in print. All-gone;\nwhat can that mean?' and she shook her head, curled herself up, and lay\ndown to sleep.\n\nFrom this time forth no one invited the cat to be godmother, but\nwhen the winter had come and there was no longer anything to be found\noutside, the mouse thought of their provision, and said: 'Come, cat,\nwe will go to our pot of fat which we have stored up for ourselves--we\nshall enjoy that.' 'Yes,' answered the cat, 'you will enjoy it as much\nas you would enjoy sticking that dainty tongue of yours out of the\nwindow.' They set out on their way, but when they arrived, the pot of\nfat certainly was still in its place, but it was empty. 'Alas!' said the\nmouse, 'now I see what has happened, now it comes to light! You are a true\nfriend! You have devoured all when you were standing godmother. First\ntop off, then half-done, then--' 'Will you hold your tongue,' cried the\ncat, 'one word more, and I will eat you too.' 'All-gone' was already on\nthe poor mouse's lips; scarcely had she spoken it before the cat sprang\non her, seized her, and swallowed her down. Verily, that is the way of\nthe world.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOOSE-GIRL\n\nThe king of a great land died, and left his queen to take care of their\nonly child. This child was a daughter, who was very beautiful; and her\nmother loved her dearly, and was very kind to her. And there was a good\nfairy too, who was fond of the princess, and helped her mother to watch\nover her. When she grew up, she was betrothed to a prince who lived a\ngreat way off; and as the time drew near for her to be married, she\ngot ready to set off on her journey to his country. Then the queen her\nmother, packed up a great many costly things; jewels, and gold, and\nsilver; trinkets, fine dresses, and in short everything that became a\nroyal bride. And she gave her a waiting-maid to ride with her, and give\nher into the bridegroom's hands; and each had a horse for the journey.\nNow the princess's horse was the fairy's gift, and it was called Falada,\nand could speak.\n\nWhen the time came for them to set out, the fairy went into her\nbed-chamber, and took a little knife, and cut off a lock of her hair,\nand gave it to the princess, and said, 'Take care of it, dear child; for\nit is a charm that may be of use to you on the road.' Then they all took\na sorrowful leave of the princess; and she put the lock of hair into\nher bosom, got upon her horse, and set off on her journey to her\nbridegroom's kingdom.\n\nOne day, as they were riding along by a brook, the princess began to\nfeel very thirsty: and she said to her maid, 'Pray get down, and fetch\nme some water in my golden cup out of yonder brook, for I want to\ndrink.' 'Nay,' said the maid, 'if you are thirsty, get off yourself, and\nstoop down by the water and drink; I shall not be your waiting-maid any\nlonger.' Then she was so thirsty that she got down, and knelt over the\nlittle brook, and drank; for she was frightened, and dared not bring out\nher golden cup; and she wept and said, 'Alas! what will become of me?'\nAnd the lock answered her, and said:\n\n 'Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\n\nBut the princess was very gentle and meek, so she said nothing to her\nmaid's ill behaviour, but got upon her horse again.\n\nThen all rode farther on their journey, till the day grew so warm, and\nthe sun so scorching, that the bride began to feel very thirsty again;\nand at last, when they came to a river, she forgot her maid's rude\nspeech, and said, 'Pray get down, and fetch me some water to drink in\nmy golden cup.' But the maid answered her, and even spoke more haughtily\nthan before: 'Drink if you will, but I shall not be your waiting-maid.'\nThen the princess was so thirsty that she got off her horse, and lay\ndown, and held her head over the running stream, and cried and said,\n'What will become of me?' And the lock of hair answered her again:\n\n 'Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\n\nAnd as she leaned down to drink, the lock of hair fell from her bosom,\nand floated away with the water. Now she was so frightened that she did\nnot see it; but her maid saw it, and was very glad, for she knew the\ncharm; and she saw that the poor bride would be in her power, now that\nshe had lost the hair. So when the bride had done drinking, and would\nhave got upon Falada again, the maid said, 'I shall ride upon Falada,\nand you may have my horse instead'; so she was forced to give up her\nhorse, and soon afterwards to take off her royal clothes and put on her\nmaid's shabby ones.\n\nAt last, as they drew near the end of their journey, this treacherous\nservant threatened to kill her mistress if she ever told anyone what had\nhappened. But Falada saw it all, and marked it well.\n\nThen the waiting-maid got upon Falada, and the real bride rode upon the\nother horse, and they went on in this way till at last they came to the\nroyal court. There was great joy at their coming, and the prince flew to\nmeet them, and lifted the maid from her horse, thinking she was the one\nwho was to be his wife; and she was led upstairs to the royal chamber;\nbut the true princess was told to stay in the court below.\n\nNow the old king happened just then to have nothing else to do; so he\namused himself by sitting at his kitchen window, looking at what was\ngoing on; and he saw her in the courtyard. As she looked very pretty,\nand too delicate for a waiting-maid, he went up into the royal chamber\nto ask the bride who it was she had brought with her, that was thus left\nstanding in the court below. 'I brought her with me for the sake of her\ncompany on the road,' said she; 'pray give the girl some work to do,\nthat she may not be idle.' The old king could not for some time think\nof any work for her to do; but at last he said, 'I have a lad who takes\ncare of my geese; she may go and help him.' Now the name of this lad,\nthat the real bride was to help in watching the king's geese, was\nCurdken.\n\nBut the false bride said to the prince, 'Dear husband, pray do me one\npiece of kindness.' 'That I will,' said the prince. 'Then tell one of\nyour slaughterers to cut off the head of the horse I rode upon, for it\nwas very unruly, and plagued me sadly on the road'; but the truth was,\nshe was very much afraid lest Falada should some day or other speak, and\ntell all she had done to the princess. She carried her point, and the\nfaithful Falada was killed; but when the true princess heard of it, she\nwept, and begged the man to nail up Falada's head against a large\ndark gate of the city, through which she had to pass every morning\nand evening, that there she might still see him sometimes. Then the\nslaughterer said he would do as she wished; and cut off the head, and\nnailed it up under the dark gate.\n\nEarly the next morning, as she and Curdken went out through the gate,\nshe said sorrowfully:\n\n 'Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!'\n\nand the head answered:\n\n 'Bride, bride, there thou gangest!\n  Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\n\nThen they went out of the city, and drove the geese on. And when she\ncame to the meadow, she sat down upon a bank there, and let down her\nwaving locks of hair, which were all of pure silver; and when Curdken\nsaw it glitter in the sun, he ran up, and would have pulled some of the\nlocks out, but she cried:\n\n 'Blow, breezes, blow!\n  Let Curdken's hat go!\n  Blow, breezes, blow!\n  Let him after it go!\n  O'er hills, dales, and rocks,\n  Away be it whirl'd\n  Till the silvery locks\n  Are all comb'd and curl'd!\n\nThen there came a wind, so strong that it blew off Curdken's hat; and\naway it flew over the hills: and he was forced to turn and run after\nit; till, by the time he came back, she had done combing and curling her\nhair, and had put it up again safe. Then he was very angry and sulky,\nand would not speak to her at all; but they watched the geese until it\ngrew dark in the evening, and then drove them homewards.\n\nThe next morning, as they were going through the dark gate, the poor\ngirl looked up at Falada's head, and cried:\n\n 'Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!'\n\nand the head answered:\n\n 'Bride, bride, there thou gangest!\n  Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\n\nThen she drove on the geese, and sat down again in the meadow, and began\nto comb out her hair as before; and Curdken ran up to her, and wanted to\ntake hold of it; but she cried out quickly:\n\n 'Blow, breezes, blow!\n  Let Curdken's hat go!\n  Blow, breezes, blow!\n  Let him after it go!\n  O'er hills, dales, and rocks,\n  Away be it whirl'd\n  Till the silvery locks\n  Are all comb'd and curl'd!\n\nThen the wind came and blew away his hat; and off it flew a great way,\nover the hills and far away, so that he had to run after it; and when\nhe came back she had bound up her hair again, and all was safe. So they\nwatched the geese till it grew dark.\n\nIn the evening, after they came home, Curdken went to the old king, and\nsaid, 'I cannot have that strange girl to help me to keep the geese any\nlonger.' 'Why?' said the king. 'Because, instead of doing any good, she\ndoes nothing but tease me all day long.' Then the king made him tell him\nwhat had happened. And Curdken said, 'When we go in the morning through\nthe dark gate with our flock of geese, she cries and talks with the head\nof a horse that hangs upon the wall, and says:\n\n 'Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!'\n\nand the head answers:\n\n 'Bride, bride, there thou gangest!\n  Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\n\nAnd Curdken went on telling the king what had happened upon the meadow\nwhere the geese fed; how his hat was blown away; and how he was forced\nto run after it, and to leave his flock of geese to themselves. But the\nold king told the boy to go out again the next day: and when morning\ncame, he placed himself behind the dark gate, and heard how she spoke\nto Falada, and how Falada answered. Then he went into the field, and\nhid himself in a bush by the meadow's side; and he soon saw with his own\neyes how they drove the flock of geese; and how, after a little time,\nshe let down her hair that glittered in the sun. And then he heard her\nsay:\n\n 'Blow, breezes, blow!\n  Let Curdken's hat go!\n  Blow, breezes, blow!\n  Let him after it go!\n  O'er hills, dales, and rocks,\n  Away be it whirl'd\n  Till the silvery locks\n  Are all comb'd and curl'd!\n\nAnd soon came a gale of wind, and carried away Curdken's hat, and away\nwent Curdken after it, while the girl went on combing and curling her\nhair. All this the old king saw: so he went home without being seen; and\nwhen the little goose-girl came back in the evening he called her aside,\nand asked her why she did so: but she burst into tears, and said, 'That\nI must not tell you or any man, or I shall lose my life.'\n\nBut the old king begged so hard, that she had no peace till she had told\nhim all the tale, from beginning to end, word for word. And it was very\nlucky for her that she did so, for when she had done the king ordered\nroyal clothes to be put upon her, and gazed on her with wonder, she was\nso beautiful. Then he called his son and told him that he had only a\nfalse bride; for that she was merely a waiting-maid, while the true\nbride stood by. And the young king rejoiced when he saw her beauty, and\nheard how meek and patient she had been; and without saying anything to\nthe false bride, the king ordered a great feast to be got ready for all\nhis court. The bridegroom sat at the top, with the false princess on one\nside, and the true one on the other; but nobody knew her again, for her\nbeauty was quite dazzling to their eyes; and she did not seem at all\nlike the little goose-girl, now that she had her brilliant dress on.\n\nWhen they had eaten and drank, and were very merry, the old king said\nhe would tell them a tale. So he began, and told all the story of the\nprincess, as if it was one that he had once heard; and he asked the\ntrue waiting-maid what she thought ought to be done to anyone who would\nbehave thus. 'Nothing better,' said this false bride, 'than that she\nshould be thrown into a cask stuck round with sharp nails, and that\ntwo white horses should be put to it, and should drag it from street to\nstreet till she was dead.' 'Thou art she!' said the old king; 'and as\nthou has judged thyself, so shall it be done to thee.' And the young\nking was then married to his true wife, and they reigned over the\nkingdom in peace and happiness all their lives; and the good fairy came\nto see them, and restored the faithful Falada to life again.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET\n\n\n1. HOW THEY WENT TO THE MOUNTAINS TO EAT NUTS\n\n'The nuts are quite ripe now,' said Chanticleer to his wife Partlet,\n'suppose we go together to the mountains, and eat as many as we can,\nbefore the squirrel takes them all away.' 'With all my heart,' said\nPartlet, 'let us go and make a holiday of it together.'\n\nSo they went to the mountains; and as it was a lovely day, they stayed\nthere till the evening. Now, whether it was that they had eaten so many\nnuts that they could not walk, or whether they were lazy and would not,\nI do not know: however, they took it into their heads that it did not\nbecome them to go home on foot. So Chanticleer began to build a little\ncarriage of nutshells: and when it was finished, Partlet jumped into\nit and sat down, and bid Chanticleer harness himself to it and draw her\nhome. 'That's a good joke!' said Chanticleer; 'no, that will never do;\nI had rather by half walk home; I'll sit on the box and be coachman,\nif you like, but I'll not draw.' While this was passing, a duck came\nquacking up and cried out, 'You thieving vagabonds, what business have\nyou in my grounds? I'll give it you well for your insolence!' and upon\nthat she fell upon Chanticleer most lustily. But Chanticleer was no\ncoward, and returned the duck's blows with his sharp spurs so fiercely\nthat she soon began to cry out for mercy; which was only granted her\nupon condition that she would draw the carriage home for them. This she\nagreed to do; and Chanticleer got upon the box, and drove, crying, 'Now,\nduck, get on as fast as you can.' And away they went at a pretty good\npace.\n\nAfter they had travelled along a little way, they met a needle and a pin\nwalking together along the road: and the needle cried out, 'Stop, stop!'\nand said it was so dark that they could hardly find their way, and such\ndirty walking they could not get on at all: he told them that he and his\nfriend, the pin, had been at a public-house a few miles off, and had sat\ndrinking till they had forgotten how late it was; he begged therefore\nthat the travellers would be so kind as to give them a lift in their\ncarriage. Chanticleer observing that they were but thin fellows, and not\nlikely to take up much room, told them they might ride, but made them\npromise not to dirty the wheels of the carriage in getting in, nor to\ntread on Partlet's toes.\n\nLate at night they arrived at an inn; and as it was bad travelling in\nthe dark, and the duck seemed much tired, and waddled about a good\ndeal from one side to the other, they made up their minds to fix their\nquarters there: but the landlord at first was unwilling, and said his\nhouse was full, thinking they might not be very respectable company:\nhowever, they spoke civilly to him, and gave him the egg which Partlet\nhad laid by the way, and said they would give him the duck, who was in\nthe habit of laying one every day: so at last he let them come in, and\nthey bespoke a handsome supper, and spent the evening very jollily.\n\nEarly in the morning, before it was quite light, and when nobody was\nstirring in the inn, Chanticleer awakened his wife, and, fetching the\negg, they pecked a hole in it, ate it up, and threw the shells into the\nfireplace: they then went to the pin and needle, who were fast asleep,\nand seizing them by the heads, stuck one into the landlord's easy chair\nand the other into his handkerchief; and, having done this, they crept\naway as softly as possible. However, the duck, who slept in the open\nair in the yard, heard them coming, and jumping into the brook which ran\nclose by the inn, soon swam out of their reach.\n\nAn hour or two afterwards the landlord got up, and took his handkerchief\nto wipe his face, but the pin ran into him and pricked him: then he\nwalked into the kitchen to light his pipe at the fire, but when he\nstirred it up the eggshells flew into his eyes, and almost blinded him.\n'Bless me!' said he, 'all the world seems to have a design against my\nhead this morning': and so saying, he threw himself sulkily into his\neasy chair; but, oh dear! the needle ran into him; and this time the\npain was not in his head. He now flew into a very great passion, and,\nsuspecting the company who had come in the night before, he went to look\nafter them, but they were all off; so he swore that he never again\nwould take in such a troop of vagabonds, who ate a great deal, paid no\nreckoning, and gave him nothing for his trouble but their apish tricks.\n\n\n2. HOW CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET WENT TO VISIT MR KORBES\n\nAnother day, Chanticleer and Partlet wished to ride out together;\nso Chanticleer built a handsome carriage with four red wheels, and\nharnessed six mice to it; and then he and Partlet got into the carriage,\nand away they drove. Soon afterwards a cat met them, and said, 'Where\nare you going?' And Chanticleer replied,\n\n 'All on our way\n  A visit to pay\n  To Mr Korbes, the fox, today.'\n\nThen the cat said, 'Take me with you,' Chanticleer said, 'With all my\nheart: get up behind, and be sure you do not fall off.'\n\n 'Take care of this handsome coach of mine,\n  Nor dirty my pretty red wheels so fine!\n  Now, mice, be ready,\n  And, wheels, run steady!\n  For we are going a visit to pay\n  To Mr Korbes, the fox, today.'\n\nSoon after came up a millstone, an egg, a duck, and a pin; and\nChanticleer gave them all leave to get into the carriage and go with\nthem.\n\nWhen they arrived at Mr Korbes's house, he was not at home; so the mice\ndrew the carriage into the coach-house, Chanticleer and Partlet flew\nupon a beam, the cat sat down in the fireplace, the duck got into\nthe washing cistern, the pin stuck himself into the bed pillow, the\nmillstone laid himself over the house door, and the egg rolled himself\nup in the towel.\n\nWhen Mr Korbes came home, he went to the fireplace to make a fire; but\nthe cat threw all the ashes in his eyes: so he ran to the kitchen to\nwash himself; but there the duck splashed all the water in his face; and\nwhen he tried to wipe himself, the egg broke to pieces in the towel all\nover his face and eyes. Then he was very angry, and went without his\nsupper to bed; but when he laid his head on the pillow, the pin ran into\nhis cheek: at this he became quite furious, and, jumping up, would have\nrun out of the house; but when he came to the door, the millstone fell\ndown on his head, and killed him on the spot.\n\n\n3. HOW PARTLET DIED AND WAS BURIED, AND HOW CHANTICLEER DIED OF GRIEF\n\nAnother day Chanticleer and Partlet agreed to go again to the mountains\nto eat nuts; and it was settled that all the nuts which they found\nshould be shared equally between them. Now Partlet found a very large\nnut; but she said nothing about it to Chanticleer, and kept it all to\nherself: however, it was so big that she could not swallow it, and it\nstuck in her throat. Then she was in a great fright, and cried out to\nChanticleer, 'Pray run as fast as you can, and fetch me some water, or I\nshall be choked.' Chanticleer ran as fast as he could to the river, and\nsaid, 'River, give me some water, for Partlet lies in the mountain, and\nwill be choked by a great nut.' The river said, 'Run first to the bride,\nand ask her for a silken cord to draw up the water.' Chanticleer ran to\nthe bride, and said, 'Bride, you must give me a silken cord, for then\nthe river will give me water, and the water I will carry to Partlet, who\nlies on the mountain, and will be choked by a great nut.' But the bride\nsaid, 'Run first, and bring me my garland that is hanging on a willow\nin the garden.' Then Chanticleer ran to the garden, and took the garland\nfrom the bough where it hung, and brought it to the bride; and then\nthe bride gave him the silken cord, and he took the silken cord to\nthe river, and the river gave him water, and he carried the water to\nPartlet; but in the meantime she was choked by the great nut, and lay\nquite dead, and never moved any more.\n\nThen Chanticleer was very sorry, and cried bitterly; and all the beasts\ncame and wept with him over poor Partlet. And six mice built a little\nhearse to carry her to her grave; and when it was ready they harnessed\nthemselves before it, and Chanticleer drove them. On the way they\nmet the fox. 'Where are you going, Chanticleer?' said he. 'To bury my\nPartlet,' said the other. 'May I go with you?' said the fox. 'Yes; but\nyou must get up behind, or my horses will not be able to draw you.' Then\nthe fox got up behind; and presently the wolf, the bear, the goat, and\nall the beasts of the wood, came and climbed upon the hearse.\n\nSo on they went till they came to a rapid stream. 'How shall we get\nover?' said Chanticleer. Then said a straw, 'I will lay myself across,\nand you may pass over upon me.' But as the mice were going over, the\nstraw slipped away and fell into the water, and the six mice all fell in\nand were drowned. What was to be done? Then a large log of wood came\nand said, 'I am big enough; I will lay myself across the stream, and you\nshall pass over upon me.' So he laid himself down; but they managed\nso clumsily, that the log of wood fell in and was carried away by the\nstream. Then a stone, who saw what had happened, came up and kindly\noffered to help poor Chanticleer by laying himself across the stream;\nand this time he got safely to the other side with the hearse, and\nmanaged to get Partlet out of it; but the fox and the other mourners,\nwho were sitting behind, were too heavy, and fell back into the water\nand were all carried away by the stream and drowned.\n\nThus Chanticleer was left alone with his dead Partlet; and having dug\na grave for her, he laid her in it, and made a little hillock over her.\nThen he sat down by the grave, and wept and mourned, till at last he\ndied too; and so all were dead.\n\n\n\n\nRAPUNZEL\n\nThere were once a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a\nchild. At length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her desire.\nThese people had a little window at the back of their house from which\na splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful\nflowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no\none dared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had\ngreat power and was dreaded by all the world. One day the woman was\nstanding by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a\nbed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion (rapunzel), and it\nlooked so fresh and green that she longed for it, she quite pined away,\nand began to look pale and miserable. Then her husband was alarmed, and\nasked: 'What ails you, dear wife?' 'Ah,' she replied, 'if I can't eat\nsome of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our house, I shall\ndie.' The man, who loved her, thought: 'Sooner than let your wife die,\nbring her some of the rampion yourself, let it cost what it will.'\nAt twilight, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the\nenchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to his\nwife. She at once made herself a salad of it, and ate it greedily. It\ntasted so good to her--so very good, that the next day she longed for it\nthree times as much as before. If he was to have any rest, her husband\nmust once more descend into the garden. In the gloom of evening\ntherefore, he let himself down again; but when he had clambered down the\nwall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the enchantress standing before\nhim. 'How can you dare,' said she with angry look, 'descend into my\ngarden and steal my rampion like a thief? You shall suffer for it!'\n'Ah,' answered he, 'let mercy take the place of justice, I only made\nup my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion from the\nwindow, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died if she\nhad not got some to eat.' Then the enchantress allowed her anger to be\nsoftened, and said to him: 'If the case be as you say, I will allow\nyou to take away with you as much rampion as you will, only I make one\ncondition, you must give me the child which your wife will bring into\nthe world; it shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a\nmother.' The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the\nwoman was brought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the\nchild the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her.\n\nRapunzel grew into the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was\ntwelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay in\na forest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was a\nlittle window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself\nbeneath it and cried:\n\n 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,\n  Let down your hair to me.'\n\nRapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she\nheard the voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses,\nwound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair\nfell twenty ells down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.\n\nAfter a year or two, it came to pass that the king's son rode through\nthe forest and passed by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so\ncharming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in her\nsolitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The king's\nson wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower,\nbut none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply\ntouched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest and\nlistened to it. Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw\nthat an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried:\n\n 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,\n  Let down your hair to me.'\n\nThen Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress\nclimbed up to her. 'If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I too\nwill try my fortune,' said he, and the next day when it began to grow\ndark, he went to the tower and cried:\n\n 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,\n  Let down your hair to me.'\n\nImmediately the hair fell down and the king's son climbed up.\n\nAt first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man, such as her eyes\nhad never yet beheld, came to her; but the king's son began to talk to\nher quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred\nthat it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her.\nThen Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take\nhim for her husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she\nthought: 'He will love me more than old Dame Gothel does'; and she said\nyes, and laid her hand in his. She said: 'I will willingly go away with\nyou, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk\nevery time that you come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when\nthat is ready I will descend, and you will take me on your horse.' They\nagreed that until that time he should come to her every evening, for the\nold woman came by day. The enchantress remarked nothing of this, until\nonce Rapunzel said to her: 'Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that\nyou are so much heavier for me to draw up than the young king's son--he\nis with me in a moment.' 'Ah! you wicked child,' cried the enchantress.\n'What do I hear you say! I thought I had separated you from all\nthe world, and yet you have deceived me!' In her anger she clutched\nRapunzel's beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand,\nseized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snap, they were cut\noff, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. And she was so pitiless\nthat she took poor Rapunzel into a desert where she had to live in great\ngrief and misery.\n\nOn the same day that she cast out Rapunzel, however, the enchantress\nfastened the braids of hair, which she had cut off, to the hook of the\nwindow, and when the king's son came and cried:\n\n 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,\n  Let down your hair to me.'\n\nshe let the hair down. The king's son ascended, but instead of finding\nhis dearest Rapunzel, he found the enchantress, who gazed at him with\nwicked and venomous looks. 'Aha!' she cried mockingly, 'you would fetch\nyour dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest;\nthe cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is\nlost to you; you will never see her again.' The king's son was beside\nhimself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He\nescaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his\neyes. Then he wandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but\nroots and berries, and did naught but lament and weep over the loss of\nhis dearest wife. Thus he roamed about in misery for some years, and at\nlength came to the desert where Rapunzel, with the twins to which she\nhad given birth, a boy and a girl, lived in wretchedness. He heard a\nvoice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards it, and\nwhen he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and wept. Two\nof her tears wetted his eyes and they grew clear again, and he could\nsee with them as before. He led her to his kingdom where he was\njoyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy and\ncontented.\n\n\n\n\nFUNDEVOGEL\n\nThere was once a forester who went into the forest to hunt, and as\nhe entered it he heard a sound of screaming as if a little child were\nthere. He followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree, and at\nthe top of this a little child was sitting, for the mother had fallen\nasleep under the tree with the child, and a bird of prey had seen it in\nher arms, had flown down, snatched it away, and set it on the high tree.\n\nThe forester climbed up, brought the child down, and thought to himself:\n'You will take him home with you, and bring him up with your Lina.' He\ntook it home, therefore, and the two children grew up together. And the\none, which he had found on a tree was called Fundevogel, because a bird\nhad carried it away. Fundevogel and Lina loved each other so dearly that\nwhen they did not see each other they were sad.\n\nNow the forester had an old cook, who one evening took two pails and\nbegan to fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out\nto the spring. Lina saw this and said, 'Listen, old Sanna, why are you\nfetching so much water?' 'If you will never repeat it to anyone, I will\ntell you why.' So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to anyone,\nand then the cook said: 'Early tomorrow morning, when the forester\nis out hunting, I will heat the water, and when it is boiling in the\nkettle, I will throw in Fundevogel, and will boil him in it.'\n\nEarly next morning the forester got up and went out hunting, and when he\nwas gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to Fundevogel:\n'If you will never leave me, I too will never leave you.' Fundevogel\nsaid: 'Neither now, nor ever will I leave you.' Then said Lina: 'Then\nwill I tell you. Last night, old Sanna carried so many buckets of water\ninto the house that I asked her why she was doing that, and she said\nthat if I would promise not to tell anyone, and she said that early\ntomorrow morning when father was out hunting, she would set the kettle\nfull of water, throw you into it and boil you; but we will get up\nquickly, dress ourselves, and go away together.'\n\nThe two children therefore got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went\naway. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook went into the\nbedroom to fetch Fundevogel and throw him into it. But when she came in,\nand went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was terribly\nalarmed, and she said to herself: 'What shall I say now when the\nforester comes home and sees that the children are gone? They must be\nfollowed instantly to get them back again.'\n\nThen the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and\novertake the children. The children, however, were sitting outside the\nforest, and when they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina\nsaid to Fundevogel: 'Never leave me, and I will never leave you.'\nFundevogel said: 'Neither now, nor ever.' Then said Lina: 'Do you become\na rose-tree, and I the rose upon it.' When the three servants came to\nthe forest, nothing was there but a rose-tree and one rose on it, but\nthe children were nowhere. Then said they: 'There is nothing to be done\nhere,' and they went home and told the cook that they had seen nothing\nin the forest but a little rose-bush with one rose on it. Then the\nold cook scolded and said: 'You simpletons, you should have cut the\nrose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and brought it home with\nyou; go, and do it at once.' They had therefore to go out and look for\nthe second time. The children, however, saw them coming from a distance.\nThen Lina said: 'Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never leave\nyou.' Fundevogel said: 'Neither now; nor ever.' Said Lina: 'Then do you\nbecome a church, and I'll be the chandelier in it.' So when the three\nservants came, nothing was there but a church, with a chandelier in\nit. They said therefore to each other: 'What can we do here, let us go\nhome.' When they got home, the cook asked if they had not found them;\nso they said no, they had found nothing but a church, and there was a\nchandelier in it. And the cook scolded them and said: 'You fools! why\ndid you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the chandelier home\nwith you?' And now the old cook herself got on her legs, and went with\nthe three servants in pursuit of the children. The children, however,\nsaw from afar that the three servants were coming, and the cook waddling\nafter them. Then said Lina: 'Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will\nnever leave you.' Then said Fundevogel: 'Neither now, nor ever.'\nSaid Lina: 'Be a fishpond, and I will be the duck upon it.' The cook,\nhowever, came up to them, and when she saw the pond she lay down by it,\nand was about to drink it up. But the duck swam quickly to her, seized\nher head in its beak and drew her into the water, and there the old\nwitch had to drown. Then the children went home together, and were\nheartily delighted, and if they have not died, they are living still.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR\n\nOne summer's morning a little tailor was sitting on his table by the\nwindow; he was in good spirits, and sewed with all his might. Then came\na peasant woman down the street crying: 'Good jams, cheap! Good jams,\ncheap!' This rang pleasantly in the tailor's ears; he stretched his\ndelicate head out of the window, and called: 'Come up here, dear woman;\nhere you will get rid of your goods.' The woman came up the three steps\nto the tailor with her heavy basket, and he made her unpack all the pots\nfor him. He inspected each one, lifted it up, put his nose to it, and\nat length said: 'The jam seems to me to be good, so weigh me out four\nounces, dear woman, and if it is a quarter of a pound that is of no\nconsequence.' The woman who had hoped to find a good sale, gave him\nwhat he desired, but went away quite angry and grumbling. 'Now, this jam\nshall be blessed by God,' cried the little tailor, 'and give me health\nand strength'; so he brought the bread out of the cupboard, cut himself\na piece right across the loaf and spread the jam over it. 'This won't\ntaste bitter,' said he, 'but I will just finish the jacket before I\ntake a bite.' He laid the bread near him, sewed on, and in his joy, made\nbigger and bigger stitches. In the meantime the smell of the sweet jam\nrose to where the flies were sitting in great numbers, and they were\nattracted and descended on it in hosts. 'Hi! who invited you?' said the\nlittle tailor, and drove the unbidden guests away. The flies, however,\nwho understood no German, would not be turned away, but came back\nagain in ever-increasing companies. The little tailor at last lost all\npatience, and drew a piece of cloth from the hole under his work-table,\nand saying: 'Wait, and I will give it to you,' struck it mercilessly on\nthem. When he drew it away and counted, there lay before him no fewer\nthan seven, dead and with legs stretched out. 'Are you a fellow of that\nsort?' said he, and could not help admiring his own bravery. 'The whole\ntown shall know of this!' And the little tailor hastened to cut himself\na girdle, stitched it, and embroidered on it in large letters: 'Seven at\none stroke!' 'What, the town!' he continued, 'the whole world shall hear\nof it!' and his heart wagged with joy like a lamb's tail. The tailor\nput on the girdle, and resolved to go forth into the world, because he\nthought his workshop was too small for his valour. Before he went away,\nhe sought about in the house to see if there was anything which he could\ntake with him; however, he found nothing but an old cheese, and that\nhe put in his pocket. In front of the door he observed a bird which\nhad caught itself in the thicket. It had to go into his pocket with the\ncheese. Now he took to the road boldly, and as he was light and nimble,\nhe felt no fatigue. The road led him up a mountain, and when he had\nreached the highest point of it, there sat a powerful giant looking\npeacefully about him. The little tailor went bravely up, spoke to him,\nand said: 'Good day, comrade, so you are sitting there overlooking the\nwide-spread world! I am just on my way thither, and want to try my luck.\nHave you any inclination to go with me?' The giant looked contemptuously\nat the tailor, and said: 'You ragamuffin! You miserable creature!'\n\n'Oh, indeed?' answered the little tailor, and unbuttoned his coat, and\nshowed the giant the girdle, 'there may you read what kind of a man I\nam!' The giant read: 'Seven at one stroke,' and thought that they had\nbeen men whom the tailor had killed, and began to feel a little respect\nfor the tiny fellow. Nevertheless, he wished to try him first, and took\na stone in his hand and squeezed it together so that water dropped out\nof it. 'Do that likewise,' said the giant, 'if you have strength.' 'Is\nthat all?' said the tailor, 'that is child's play with us!' and put his\nhand into his pocket, brought out the soft cheese, and pressed it until\nthe liquid ran out of it. 'Faith,' said he, 'that was a little better,\nwasn't it?' The giant did not know what to say, and could not believe it\nof the little man. Then the giant picked up a stone and threw it so high\nthat the eye could scarcely follow it. 'Now, little mite of a man, do\nthat likewise,' 'Well thrown,' said the tailor, 'but after all the stone\ncame down to earth again; I will throw you one which shall never come\nback at all,' and he put his hand into his pocket, took out the bird,\nand threw it into the air. The bird, delighted with its liberty,\nrose, flew away and did not come back. 'How does that shot please you,\ncomrade?' asked the tailor. 'You can certainly throw,' said the giant,\n'but now we will see if you are able to carry anything properly.' He\ntook the little tailor to a mighty oak tree which lay there felled on\nthe ground, and said: 'If you are strong enough, help me to carry the\ntree out of the forest.' 'Readily,' answered the little man; 'take you\nthe trunk on your shoulders, and I will raise up the branches and twigs;\nafter all, they are the heaviest.' The giant took the trunk on his\nshoulder, but the tailor seated himself on a branch, and the giant, who\ncould not look round, had to carry away the whole tree, and the little\ntailor into the bargain: he behind, was quite merry and happy, and\nwhistled the song: 'Three tailors rode forth from the gate,' as if\ncarrying the tree were child's play. The giant, after he had dragged the\nheavy burden part of the way, could go no further, and cried: 'Hark\nyou, I shall have to let the tree fall!' The tailor sprang nimbly down,\nseized the tree with both arms as if he had been carrying it, and said\nto the giant: 'You are such a great fellow, and yet cannot even carry\nthe tree!'\n\nThey went on together, and as they passed a cherry-tree, the giant laid\nhold of the top of the tree where the ripest fruit was hanging, bent it\ndown, gave it into the tailor's hand, and bade him eat. But the little\ntailor was much too weak to hold the tree, and when the giant let it go,\nit sprang back again, and the tailor was tossed into the air with it.\nWhen he had fallen down again without injury, the giant said: 'What is\nthis? Have you not strength enough to hold the weak twig?' 'There is no\nlack of strength,' answered the little tailor. 'Do you think that could\nbe anything to a man who has struck down seven at one blow? I leapt over\nthe tree because the huntsmen are shooting down there in the thicket.\nJump as I did, if you can do it.' The giant made the attempt but he\ncould not get over the tree, and remained hanging in the branches, so\nthat in this also the tailor kept the upper hand.\n\nThe giant said: 'If you are such a valiant fellow, come with me into our\ncavern and spend the night with us.' The little tailor was willing, and\nfollowed him. When they went into the cave, other giants were sitting\nthere by the fire, and each of them had a roasted sheep in his hand and\nwas eating it. The little tailor looked round and thought: 'It is much\nmore spacious here than in my workshop.' The giant showed him a bed, and\nsaid he was to lie down in it and sleep. The bed, however, was too\nbig for the little tailor; he did not lie down in it, but crept into\na corner. When it was midnight, and the giant thought that the little\ntailor was lying in a sound sleep, he got up, took a great iron bar,\ncut through the bed with one blow, and thought he had finished off the\ngrasshopper for good. With the earliest dawn the giants went into the\nforest, and had quite forgotten the little tailor, when all at once he\nwalked up to them quite merrily and boldly. The giants were terrified,\nthey were afraid that he would strike them all dead, and ran away in a\ngreat hurry.\n\nThe little tailor went onwards, always following his own pointed nose.\nAfter he had walked for a long time, he came to the courtyard of a royal\npalace, and as he felt weary, he lay down on the grass and fell asleep.\nWhilst he lay there, the people came and inspected him on all sides, and\nread on his girdle: 'Seven at one stroke.' 'Ah!' said they, 'what does\nthe great warrior want here in the midst of peace? He must be a mighty\nlord.' They went and announced him to the king, and gave it as their\nopinion that if war should break out, this would be a weighty and useful\nman who ought on no account to be allowed to depart. The counsel pleased\nthe king, and he sent one of his courtiers to the little tailor to offer\nhim military service when he awoke. The ambassador remained standing by\nthe sleeper, waited until he stretched his limbs and opened his eyes,\nand then conveyed to him this proposal. 'For this very reason have\nI come here,' the tailor replied, 'I am ready to enter the king's\nservice.' He was therefore honourably received, and a special dwelling\nwas assigned him.\n\nThe soldiers, however, were set against the little tailor, and wished\nhim a thousand miles away. 'What is to be the end of this?' they said\namong themselves. 'If we quarrel with him, and he strikes about him,\nseven of us will fall at every blow; not one of us can stand against\nhim.' They came therefore to a decision, betook themselves in a body to\nthe king, and begged for their dismissal. 'We are not prepared,' said\nthey, 'to stay with a man who kills seven at one stroke.' The king was\nsorry that for the sake of one he should lose all his faithful servants,\nwished that he had never set eyes on the tailor, and would willingly\nhave been rid of him again. But he did not venture to give him his\ndismissal, for he dreaded lest he should strike him and all his people\ndead, and place himself on the royal throne. He thought about it for a\nlong time, and at last found good counsel. He sent to the little tailor\nand caused him to be informed that as he was a great warrior, he had one\nrequest to make to him. In a forest of his country lived two giants,\nwho caused great mischief with their robbing, murdering, ravaging,\nand burning, and no one could approach them without putting himself in\ndanger of death. If the tailor conquered and killed these two giants, he\nwould give him his only daughter to wife, and half of his kingdom as a\ndowry, likewise one hundred horsemen should go with him to assist him.\n'That would indeed be a fine thing for a man like me!' thought the\nlittle tailor. 'One is not offered a beautiful princess and half a\nkingdom every day of one's life!' 'Oh, yes,' he replied, 'I will soon\nsubdue the giants, and do not require the help of the hundred horsemen\nto do it; he who can hit seven with one blow has no need to be afraid of\ntwo.'\n\nThe little tailor went forth, and the hundred horsemen followed him.\nWhen he came to the outskirts of the forest, he said to his followers:\n'Just stay waiting here, I alone will soon finish off the giants.' Then\nhe bounded into the forest and looked about right and left. After a\nwhile he perceived both giants. They lay sleeping under a tree, and\nsnored so that the branches waved up and down. The little tailor, not\nidle, gathered two pocketsful of stones, and with these climbed up the\ntree. When he was halfway up, he slipped down by a branch, until he sat\njust above the sleepers, and then let one stone after another fall on\nthe breast of one of the giants. For a long time the giant felt nothing,\nbut at last he awoke, pushed his comrade, and said: 'Why are you\nknocking me?' 'You must be dreaming,' said the other, 'I am not knocking\nyou.' They laid themselves down to sleep again, and then the tailor\nthrew a stone down on the second. 'What is the meaning of this?' cried\nthe other 'Why are you pelting me?' 'I am not pelting you,' answered\nthe first, growling. They disputed about it for a time, but as they were\nweary they let the matter rest, and their eyes closed once more. The\nlittle tailor began his game again, picked out the biggest stone, and\nthrew it with all his might on the breast of the first giant. 'That\nis too bad!' cried he, and sprang up like a madman, and pushed his\ncompanion against the tree until it shook. The other paid him back in\nthe same coin, and they got into such a rage that they tore up trees and\nbelaboured each other so long, that at last they both fell down dead on\nthe ground at the same time. Then the little tailor leapt down. 'It is\na lucky thing,' said he, 'that they did not tear up the tree on which\nI was sitting, or I should have had to sprint on to another like a\nsquirrel; but we tailors are nimble.' He drew out his sword and gave\neach of them a couple of thrusts in the breast, and then went out to the\nhorsemen and said: 'The work is done; I have finished both of them\noff, but it was hard work! They tore up trees in their sore need, and\ndefended themselves with them, but all that is to no purpose when a man\nlike myself comes, who can kill seven at one blow.' 'But are you not\nwounded?' asked the horsemen. 'You need not concern yourself about\nthat,' answered the tailor, 'they have not bent one hair of mine.' The\nhorsemen would not believe him, and rode into the forest; there they\nfound the giants swimming in their blood, and all round about lay the\ntorn-up trees.\n\nThe little tailor demanded of the king the promised reward; he, however,\nrepented of his promise, and again bethought himself how he could get\nrid of the hero. 'Before you receive my daughter, and the half of my\nkingdom,' said he to him, 'you must perform one more heroic deed. In\nthe forest roams a unicorn which does great harm, and you must catch\nit first.' 'I fear one unicorn still less than two giants. Seven at one\nblow, is my kind of affair.' He took a rope and an axe with him, went\nforth into the forest, and again bade those who were sent with him to\nwait outside. He had not long to seek. The unicorn soon came towards\nhim, and rushed directly on the tailor, as if it would gore him with its\nhorn without more ado. 'Softly, softly; it can't be done as quickly as\nthat,' said he, and stood still and waited until the animal was quite\nclose, and then sprang nimbly behind the tree. The unicorn ran against\nthe tree with all its strength, and stuck its horn so fast in the trunk\nthat it had not the strength enough to draw it out again, and thus it\nwas caught. 'Now, I have got the bird,' said the tailor, and came out\nfrom behind the tree and put the rope round its neck, and then with his\naxe he hewed the horn out of the tree, and when all was ready he led the\nbeast away and took it to the king.\n\nThe king still would not give him the promised reward, and made a third\ndemand. Before the wedding the tailor was to catch him a wild boar that\nmade great havoc in the forest, and the huntsmen should give him their\nhelp. 'Willingly,' said the tailor, 'that is child's play!' He did not\ntake the huntsmen with him into the forest, and they were well pleased\nthat he did not, for the wild boar had several times received them in\nsuch a manner that they had no inclination to lie in wait for him. When\nthe boar perceived the tailor, it ran on him with foaming mouth and\nwhetted tusks, and was about to throw him to the ground, but the hero\nfled and sprang into a chapel which was near and up to the window at\nonce, and in one bound out again. The boar ran after him, but the tailor\nran round outside and shut the door behind it, and then the raging\nbeast, which was much too heavy and awkward to leap out of the window,\nwas caught. The little tailor called the huntsmen thither that they\nmight see the prisoner with their own eyes. The hero, however, went to\nthe king, who was now, whether he liked it or not, obliged to keep his\npromise, and gave his daughter and the half of his kingdom. Had he known\nthat it was no warlike hero, but a little tailor who was standing before\nhim, it would have gone to his heart still more than it did. The wedding\nwas held with great magnificence and small joy, and out of a tailor a\nking was made.\n\nAfter some time the young queen heard her husband say in his dreams at\nnight: 'Boy, make me the doublet, and patch the pantaloons, or else I\nwill rap the yard-measure over your ears.' Then she discovered in what\nstate of life the young lord had been born, and next morning complained\nof her wrongs to her father, and begged him to help her to get rid of\nher husband, who was nothing else but a tailor. The king comforted her\nand said: 'Leave your bedroom door open this night, and my servants\nshall stand outside, and when he has fallen asleep shall go in, bind\nhim, and take him on board a ship which shall carry him into the wide\nworld.' The woman was satisfied with this; but the king's armour-bearer,\nwho had heard all, was friendly with the young lord, and informed him of\nthe whole plot. 'I'll put a screw into that business,' said the little\ntailor. At night he went to bed with his wife at the usual time, and\nwhen she thought that he had fallen asleep, she got up, opened the door,\nand then lay down again. The little tailor, who was only pretending to\nbe asleep, began to cry out in a clear voice: 'Boy, make me the doublet\nand patch me the pantaloons, or I will rap the yard-measure over your\nears. I smote seven at one blow. I killed two giants, I brought away one\nunicorn, and caught a wild boar, and am I to fear those who are standing\noutside the room.' When these men heard the tailor speaking thus, they\nwere overcome by a great dread, and ran as if the wild huntsman were\nbehind them, and none of them would venture anything further against\nhim. So the little tailor was and remained a king to the end of his\nlife.\n\n\n\n\nHANSEL AND GRETEL\n\nHard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his\ntwo children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel. He had\nlittle to bite and to break, and once when great dearth fell on the\nland, he could no longer procure even daily bread. Now when he thought\nover this by night in his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety, he\ngroaned and said to his wife: 'What is to become of us? How are we\nto feed our poor children, when we no longer have anything even for\nourselves?' 'I'll tell you what, husband,' answered the woman, 'early\ntomorrow morning we will take the children out into the forest to where\nit is the thickest; there we will light a fire for them, and give each\nof them one more piece of bread, and then we will go to our work and\nleave them alone. They will not find the way home again, and we shall be\nrid of them.' 'No, wife,' said the man, 'I will not do that; how can I\nbear to leave my children alone in the forest?--the wild animals would\nsoon come and tear them to pieces.' 'O, you fool!' said she, 'then we\nmust all four die of hunger, you may as well plane the planks for our\ncoffins,' and she left him no peace until he consented. 'But I feel very\nsorry for the poor children, all the same,' said the man.\n\nThe two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had\nheard what their stepmother had said to their father. Gretel wept\nbitter tears, and said to Hansel: 'Now all is over with us.' 'Be quiet,\nGretel,' said Hansel, 'do not distress yourself, I will soon find a way\nto help us.' And when the old folks had fallen asleep, he got up, put\non his little coat, opened the door below, and crept outside. The moon\nshone brightly, and the white pebbles which lay in front of the house\nglittered like real silver pennies. Hansel stooped and stuffed the\nlittle pocket of his coat with as many as he could get in. Then he went\nback and said to Gretel: 'Be comforted, dear little sister, and sleep in\npeace, God will not forsake us,' and he lay down again in his bed. When\nday dawned, but before the sun had risen, the woman came and awoke the\ntwo children, saying: 'Get up, you sluggards! we are going into the\nforest to fetch wood.' She gave each a little piece of bread, and said:\n'There is something for your dinner, but do not eat it up before then,\nfor you will get nothing else.' Gretel took the bread under her apron,\nas Hansel had the pebbles in his pocket. Then they all set out together\non the way to the forest. When they had walked a short time, Hansel\nstood still and peeped back at the house, and did so again and again.\nHis father said: 'Hansel, what are you looking at there and staying\nbehind for? Pay attention, and do not forget how to use your legs.' 'Ah,\nfather,' said Hansel, 'I am looking at my little white cat, which is\nsitting up on the roof, and wants to say goodbye to me.' The wife said:\n'Fool, that is not your little cat, that is the morning sun which is\nshining on the chimneys.' Hansel, however, had not been looking back at\nthe cat, but had been constantly throwing one of the white pebble-stones\nout of his pocket on the road.\n\nWhen they had reached the middle of the forest, the father said: 'Now,\nchildren, pile up some wood, and I will light a fire that you may not\nbe cold.' Hansel and Gretel gathered brushwood together, as high as a\nlittle hill. The brushwood was lighted, and when the flames were burning\nvery high, the woman said: 'Now, children, lay yourselves down by the\nfire and rest, we will go into the forest and cut some wood. When we\nhave done, we will come back and fetch you away.'\n\nHansel and Gretel sat by the fire, and when noon came, each ate a little\npiece of bread, and as they heard the strokes of the wood-axe they\nbelieved that their father was near. It was not the axe, however, but\na branch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind was\nblowing backwards and forwards. And as they had been sitting such a long\ntime, their eyes closed with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep. When\nat last they awoke, it was already dark night. Gretel began to cry and\nsaid: 'How are we to get out of the forest now?' But Hansel comforted\nher and said: 'Just wait a little, until the moon has risen, and then we\nwill soon find the way.' And when the full moon had risen, Hansel took\nhis little sister by the hand, and followed the pebbles which shone like\nnewly-coined silver pieces, and showed them the way.\n\nThey walked the whole night long, and by break of day came once more\nto their father's house. They knocked at the door, and when the woman\nopened it and saw that it was Hansel and Gretel, she said: 'You naughty\nchildren, why have you slept so long in the forest?--we thought you were\nnever coming back at all!' The father, however, rejoiced, for it had cut\nhim to the heart to leave them behind alone.\n\nNot long afterwards, there was once more great dearth throughout the\nland, and the children heard their mother saying at night to their\nfather: 'Everything is eaten again, we have one half loaf left, and that\nis the end. The children must go, we will take them farther into the\nwood, so that they will not find their way out again; there is no other\nmeans of saving ourselves!' The man's heart was heavy, and he thought:\n'It would be better for you to share the last mouthful with your\nchildren.' The woman, however, would listen to nothing that he had to\nsay, but scolded and reproached him. He who says A must say B, likewise,\nand as he had yielded the first time, he had to do so a second time\nalso.\n\nThe children, however, were still awake and had heard the conversation.\nWhen the old folks were asleep, Hansel again got up, and wanted to go\nout and pick up pebbles as he had done before, but the woman had locked\nthe door, and Hansel could not get out. Nevertheless he comforted his\nlittle sister, and said: 'Do not cry, Gretel, go to sleep quietly, the\ngood God will help us.'\n\nEarly in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their\nbeds. Their piece of bread was given to them, but it was still smaller\nthan the time before. On the way into the forest Hansel crumbled his\nin his pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground.\n'Hansel, why do you stop and look round?' said the father, 'go on.' 'I\nam looking back at my little pigeon which is sitting on the roof, and\nwants to say goodbye to me,' answered Hansel. 'Fool!' said the woman,\n'that is not your little pigeon, that is the morning sun that is shining\non the chimney.' Hansel, however little by little, threw all the crumbs\non the path.\n\nThe woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had\nnever in their lives been before. Then a great fire was again made, and\nthe mother said: 'Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired\nyou may sleep a little; we are going into the forest to cut wood, and in\nthe evening when we are done, we will come and fetch you away.' When\nit was noon, Gretel shared her piece of bread with Hansel, who had\nscattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep and evening passed, but\nno one came to the poor children. They did not awake until it was dark\nnight, and Hansel comforted his little sister and said: 'Just wait,\nGretel, until the moon rises, and then we shall see the crumbs of bread\nwhich I have strewn about, they will show us our way home again.' When\nthe moon came they set out, but they found no crumbs, for the many\nthousands of birds which fly about in the woods and fields had picked\nthem all up. Hansel said to Gretel: 'We shall soon find the way,' but\nthey did not find it. They walked the whole night and all the next day\ntoo from morning till evening, but they did not get out of the forest,\nand were very hungry, for they had nothing to eat but two or three\nberries, which grew on the ground. And as they were so weary that their\nlegs would carry them no longer, they lay down beneath a tree and fell\nasleep.\n\nIt was now three mornings since they had left their father's house. They\nbegan to walk again, but they always came deeper into the forest, and if\nhelp did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness. When it\nwas mid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough,\nwhich sang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to it. And\nwhen its song was over, it spread its wings and flew away before them,\nand they followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of\nwhich it alighted; and when they approached the little house they saw\nthat it was built of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows\nwere of clear sugar. 'We will set to work on that,' said Hansel, 'and\nhave a good meal. I will eat a bit of the roof, and you Gretel, can eat\nsome of the window, it will taste sweet.' Hansel reached up above, and\nbroke off a little of the roof to try how it tasted, and Gretel leant\nagainst the window and nibbled at the panes. Then a soft voice cried\nfrom the parlour:\n\n 'Nibble, nibble, gnaw,\n  Who is nibbling at my little house?'\n\nThe children answered:\n\n 'The wind, the wind,\n  The heaven-born wind,'\n\nand went on eating without disturbing themselves. Hansel, who liked the\ntaste of the roof, tore down a great piece of it, and Gretel pushed out\nthe whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed herself with\nit. Suddenly the door opened, and a woman as old as the hills, who\nsupported herself on crutches, came creeping out. Hansel and Gretel were\nso terribly frightened that they let fall what they had in their\nhands. The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said: 'Oh, you dear\nchildren, who has brought you here? do come in, and stay with me. No\nharm shall happen to you.' She took them both by the hand, and led them\ninto her little house. Then good food was set before them, milk and\npancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts. Afterwards two pretty little\nbeds were covered with clean white linen, and Hansel and Gretel lay down\nin them, and thought they were in heaven.\n\nThe old woman had only pretended to be so kind; she was in reality\na wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the\nlittle house of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell\ninto her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast\nday with her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have\na keen scent like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near.\nWhen Hansel and Gretel came into her neighbourhood, she laughed with\nmalice, and said mockingly: 'I have them, they shall not escape me\nagain!' Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was\nalready up, and when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so\npretty, with their plump and rosy cheeks she muttered to herself: 'That\nwill be a dainty mouthful!' Then she seized Hansel with her shrivelled\nhand, carried him into a little stable, and locked him in behind a\ngrated door. Scream as he might, it would not help him. Then she went to\nGretel, shook her till she awoke, and cried: 'Get up, lazy thing, fetch\nsome water, and cook something good for your brother, he is in the\nstable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him.'\nGretel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain, for she was\nforced to do what the wicked witch commanded.\n\nAnd now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing\nbut crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable, and\ncried: 'Hansel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you will soon\nbe fat.' Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and\nthe old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought it was\nHansel's finger, and was astonished that there was no way of fattening\nhim. When four weeks had gone by, and Hansel still remained thin, she\nwas seized with impatience and would not wait any longer. 'Now, then,\nGretel,' she cried to the girl, 'stir yourself, and bring some water.\nLet Hansel be fat or lean, tomorrow I will kill him, and cook him.' Ah,\nhow the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the water,\nand how her tears did flow down her cheeks! 'Dear God, do help us,' she\ncried. 'If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should\nat any rate have died together.' 'Just keep your noise to yourself,'\nsaid the old woman, 'it won't help you at all.'\n\nEarly in the morning, Gretel had to go out and hang up the cauldron with\nthe water, and light the fire. 'We will bake first,' said the old woman,\n'I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough.' She pushed poor\nGretel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were already darting.\n'Creep in,' said the witch, 'and see if it is properly heated, so that\nwe can put the bread in.' And once Gretel was inside, she intended to\nshut the oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her, too.\nBut Gretel saw what she had in mind, and said: 'I do not know how I am\nto do it; how do I get in?' 'Silly goose,' said the old woman. 'The door\nis big enough; just look, I can get in myself!' and she crept up and\nthrust her head into the oven. Then Gretel gave her a push that drove\nher far into it, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh! then\nshe began to howl quite horribly, but Gretel ran away and the godless\nwitch was miserably burnt to death.\n\nGretel, however, ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable,\nand cried: 'Hansel, we are saved! The old witch is dead!' Then Hansel\nsprang like a bird from its cage when the door is opened. How they did\nrejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other! And\nas they had no longer any need to fear her, they went into the witch's\nhouse, and in every corner there stood chests full of pearls and jewels.\n'These are far better than pebbles!' said Hansel, and thrust into his\npockets whatever could be got in, and Gretel said: 'I, too, will take\nsomething home with me,' and filled her pinafore full. 'But now we must\nbe off,' said Hansel, 'that we may get out of the witch's forest.'\n\nWhen they had walked for two hours, they came to a great stretch of\nwater. 'We cannot cross,' said Hansel, 'I see no foot-plank, and no\nbridge.' 'And there is also no ferry,' answered Gretel, 'but a white\nduck is swimming there: if I ask her, she will help us over.' Then she\ncried:\n\n 'Little duck, little duck, dost thou see,\n  Hansel and Gretel are waiting for thee?\n  There's never a plank, or bridge in sight,\n  Take us across on thy back so white.'\n\nThe duck came to them, and Hansel seated himself on its back, and told\nhis sister to sit by him. 'No,' replied Gretel, 'that will be too heavy\nfor the little duck; she shall take us across, one after the other.' The\ngood little duck did so, and when they were once safely across and had\nwalked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more familiar\nto them, and at length they saw from afar their father's house. Then\nthey began to run, rushed into the parlour, and threw themselves round\ntheir father's neck. The man had not known one happy hour since he had\nleft the children in the forest; the woman, however, was dead. Gretel\nemptied her pinafore until pearls and precious stones ran about the\nroom, and Hansel threw one handful after another out of his pocket to\nadd to them. Then all anxiety was at an end, and they lived together\nin perfect happiness. My tale is done, there runs a mouse; whosoever\ncatches it, may make himself a big fur cap out of it.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOUSE, THE BIRD, AND THE SAUSAGE\n\nOnce upon a time, a mouse, a bird, and a sausage, entered into\npartnership and set up house together. For a long time all went well;\nthey lived in great comfort, and prospered so far as to be able to add\nconsiderably to their stores. The bird's duty was to fly daily into the\nwood and bring in fuel; the mouse fetched the water, and the sausage saw\nto the cooking.\n\nWhen people are too well off they always begin to long for something\nnew. And so it came to pass, that the bird, while out one day, met a\nfellow bird, to whom he boastfully expatiated on the excellence of his\nhousehold arrangements. But the other bird sneered at him for being a\npoor simpleton, who did all the hard work, while the other two stayed\nat home and had a good time of it. For, when the mouse had made the fire\nand fetched in the water, she could retire into her little room and rest\nuntil it was time to set the table. The sausage had only to watch the\npot to see that the food was properly cooked, and when it was near\ndinner-time, he just threw himself into the broth, or rolled in and out\namong the vegetables three or four times, and there they were, buttered,\nand salted, and ready to be served. Then, when the bird came home and\nhad laid aside his burden, they sat down to table, and when they had\nfinished their meal, they could sleep their fill till the following\nmorning: and that was really a very delightful life.\n\nInfluenced by those remarks, the bird next morning refused to bring in\nthe wood, telling the others that he had been their servant long enough,\nand had been a fool into the bargain, and that it was now time to make a\nchange, and to try some other way of arranging the work. Beg and pray\nas the mouse and the sausage might, it was of no use; the bird remained\nmaster of the situation, and the venture had to be made. They therefore\ndrew lots, and it fell to the sausage to bring in the wood, to the mouse\nto cook, and to the bird to fetch the water.\n\nAnd now what happened? The sausage started in search of wood, the bird\nmade the fire, and the mouse put on the pot, and then these two waited\ntill the sausage returned with the fuel for the following day. But the\nsausage remained so long away, that they became uneasy, and the bird\nflew out to meet him. He had not flown far, however, when he came across\na dog who, having met the sausage, had regarded him as his legitimate\nbooty, and so seized and swallowed him. The bird complained to the dog\nof this bare-faced robbery, but nothing he said was of any avail, for\nthe dog answered that he found false credentials on the sausage, and\nthat was the reason his life had been forfeited.\n\nHe picked up the wood, and flew sadly home, and told the mouse all he\nhad seen and heard. They were both very unhappy, but agreed to make the\nbest of things and to remain with one another.\n\nSo now the bird set the table, and the mouse looked after the food and,\nwishing to prepare it in the same way as the sausage, by rolling in and\nout among the vegetables to salt and butter them, she jumped into the\npot; but she stopped short long before she reached the bottom, having\nalready parted not only with her skin and hair, but also with life.\n\nPresently the bird came in and wanted to serve up the dinner, but he\ncould nowhere see the cook. In his alarm and flurry, he threw the wood\nhere and there about the floor, called and searched, but no cook was to\nbe found. Then some of the wood that had been carelessly thrown down,\ncaught fire and began to blaze. The bird hastened to fetch some water,\nbut his pail fell into the well, and he after it, and as he was unable\nto recover himself, he was drowned.\n\n\n\n\nMOTHER HOLLE\n\nOnce upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters; one of them\nwas beautiful and industrious, the other ugly and lazy. The mother,\nhowever, loved the ugly and lazy one best, because she was her own\ndaughter, and so the other, who was only her stepdaughter, was made\nto do all the work of the house, and was quite the Cinderella of the\nfamily. Her stepmother sent her out every day to sit by the well in\nthe high road, there to spin until she made her fingers bleed. Now it\nchanced one day that some blood fell on to the spindle, and as the girl\nstopped over the well to wash it off, the spindle suddenly sprang out\nof her hand and fell into the well. She ran home crying to tell of her\nmisfortune, but her stepmother spoke harshly to her, and after giving\nher a violent scolding, said unkindly, 'As you have let the spindle fall\ninto the well you may go yourself and fetch it out.'\n\nThe girl went back to the well not knowing what to do, and at last in\nher distress she jumped into the water after the spindle.\n\nShe remembered nothing more until she awoke and found herself in a\nbeautiful meadow, full of sunshine, and with countless flowers blooming\nin every direction.\n\nShe walked over the meadow, and presently she came upon a baker's oven\nfull of bread, and the loaves cried out to her, 'Take us out, take us\nout, or alas! we shall be burnt to a cinder; we were baked through long\nago.' So she took the bread-shovel and drew them all out.\n\nShe went on a little farther, till she came to a tree full of apples.\n'Shake me, shake me, I pray,' cried the tree; 'my apples, one and all,\nare ripe.' So she shook the tree, and the apples came falling down upon\nher like rain; but she continued shaking until there was not a single\napple left upon it. Then she carefully gathered the apples together in a\nheap and walked on again.\n\nThe next thing she came to was a little house, and there she saw an old\nwoman looking out, with such large teeth, that she was terrified, and\nturned to run away. But the old woman called after her, 'What are you\nafraid of, dear child? Stay with me; if you will do the work of my house\nproperly for me, I will make you very happy. You must be very careful,\nhowever, to make my bed in the right way, for I wish you always to shake\nit thoroughly, so that the feathers fly about; then they say, down there\nin the world, that it is snowing; for I am Mother Holle.' The old woman\nspoke so kindly, that the girl summoned up courage and agreed to enter\ninto her service.\n\nShe took care to do everything according to the old woman's bidding and\nevery time she made the bed she shook it with all her might, so that the\nfeathers flew about like so many snowflakes. The old woman was as good\nas her word: she never spoke angrily to her, and gave her roast and\nboiled meats every day.\n\nSo she stayed on with Mother Holle for some time, and then she began\nto grow unhappy. She could not at first tell why she felt sad, but she\nbecame conscious at last of great longing to go home; then she knew she\nwas homesick, although she was a thousand times better off with Mother\nHolle than with her mother and sister. After waiting awhile, she went\nto Mother Holle and said, 'I am so homesick, that I cannot stay with\nyou any longer, for although I am so happy here, I must return to my own\npeople.'\n\nThen Mother Holle said, 'I am pleased that you should want to go back\nto your own people, and as you have served me so well and faithfully, I\nwill take you home myself.'\n\nThereupon she led the girl by the hand up to a broad gateway. The gate\nwas opened, and as the girl passed through, a shower of gold fell upon\nher, and the gold clung to her, so that she was covered with it from\nhead to foot.\n\n'That is a reward for your industry,' said Mother Holle, and as she\nspoke she handed her the spindle which she had dropped into the well.\n\nThe gate was then closed, and the girl found herself back in the old\nworld close to her mother's house. As she entered the courtyard, the\ncock who was perched on the well, called out:\n\n 'Cock-a-doodle-doo!\n  Your golden daughter's come back to you.'\n\nThen she went in to her mother and sister, and as she was so richly\ncovered with gold, they gave her a warm welcome. She related to them\nall that had happened, and when the mother heard how she had come by her\ngreat riches, she thought she should like her ugly, lazy daughter to go\nand try her fortune. So she made the sister go and sit by the well\nand spin, and the girl pricked her finger and thrust her hand into a\nthorn-bush, so that she might drop some blood on to the spindle; then\nshe threw it into the well, and jumped in herself.\n\nLike her sister she awoke in the beautiful meadow, and walked over it\ntill she came to the oven. 'Take us out, take us out, or alas! we shall\nbe burnt to a cinder; we were baked through long ago,' cried the loaves\nas before. But the lazy girl answered, 'Do you think I am going to dirty\nmy hands for you?' and walked on.\n\nPresently she came to the apple-tree. 'Shake me, shake me, I pray; my\napples, one and all, are ripe,' it cried. But she only answered, 'A nice\nthing to ask me to do, one of the apples might fall on my head,' and\npassed on.\n\nAt last she came to Mother Holle's house, and as she had heard all about\nthe large teeth from her sister, she was not afraid of them, and engaged\nherself without delay to the old woman.\n\nThe first day she was very obedient and industrious, and exerted herself\nto please Mother Holle, for she thought of the gold she should get in\nreturn. The next day, however, she began to dawdle over her work, and\nthe third day she was more idle still; then she began to lie in bed in\nthe mornings and refused to get up. Worse still, she neglected to\nmake the old woman's bed properly, and forgot to shake it so that the\nfeathers might fly about. So Mother Holle very soon got tired of her,\nand told her she might go. The lazy girl was delighted at this, and\nthought to herself, 'The gold will soon be mine.' Mother Holle led her,\nas she had led her sister, to the broad gateway; but as she was passing\nthrough, instead of the shower of gold, a great bucketful of pitch came\npouring over her.\n\n'That is in return for your services,' said the old woman, and she shut\nthe gate.\n\nSo the lazy girl had to go home covered with pitch, and the cock on the\nwell called out as she saw her:\n\n 'Cock-a-doodle-doo!\n  Your dirty daughter's come back to you.'\n\nBut, try what she would, she could not get the pitch off and it stuck to\nher as long as she lived.\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE RED-CAP [LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD]\n\nOnce upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone\nwho looked at her, but most of all by her grandmother, and there was\nnothing that she would not have given to the child. Once she gave her a\nlittle cap of red velvet, which suited her so well that she would never\nwear anything else; so she was always called 'Little Red-Cap.'\n\nOne day her mother said to her: 'Come, Little Red-Cap, here is a piece\nof cake and a bottle of wine; take them to your grandmother, she is ill\nand weak, and they will do her good. Set out before it gets hot, and\nwhen you are going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path,\nor you may fall and break the bottle, and then your grandmother will\nget nothing; and when you go into her room, don't forget to say, \"Good\nmorning\", and don't peep into every corner before you do it.'\n\n'I will take great care,' said Little Red-Cap to her mother, and gave\nher hand on it.\n\nThe grandmother lived out in the wood, half a league from the village,\nand just as Little Red-Cap entered the wood, a wolf met her. Red-Cap\ndid not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of\nhim.\n\n'Good day, Little Red-Cap,' said he.\n\n'Thank you kindly, wolf.'\n\n'Whither away so early, Little Red-Cap?'\n\n'To my grandmother's.'\n\n'What have you got in your apron?'\n\n'Cake and wine; yesterday was baking-day, so poor sick grandmother is to\nhave something good, to make her stronger.'\n\n'Where does your grandmother live, Little Red-Cap?'\n\n'A good quarter of a league farther on in the wood; her house stands\nunder the three large oak-trees, the nut-trees are just below; you\nsurely must know it,' replied Little Red-Cap.\n\nThe wolf thought to himself: 'What a tender young creature! what a nice\nplump mouthful--she will be better to eat than the old woman. I must\nact craftily, so as to catch both.' So he walked for a short time by\nthe side of Little Red-Cap, and then he said: 'See, Little Red-Cap, how\npretty the flowers are about here--why do you not look round? I believe,\ntoo, that you do not hear how sweetly the little birds are singing; you\nwalk gravely along as if you were going to school, while everything else\nout here in the wood is merry.'\n\nLittle Red-Cap raised her eyes, and when she saw the sunbeams dancing\nhere and there through the trees, and pretty flowers growing everywhere,\nshe thought: 'Suppose I take grandmother a fresh nosegay; that would\nplease her too. It is so early in the day that I shall still get there\nin good time'; and so she ran from the path into the wood to look for\nflowers. And whenever she had picked one, she fancied that she saw a\nstill prettier one farther on, and ran after it, and so got deeper and\ndeeper into the wood.\n\nMeanwhile the wolf ran straight to the grandmother's house and knocked\nat the door.\n\n'Who is there?'\n\n'Little Red-Cap,' replied the wolf. 'She is bringing cake and wine; open\nthe door.'\n\n'Lift the latch,' called out the grandmother, 'I am too weak, and cannot\nget up.'\n\nThe wolf lifted the latch, the door sprang open, and without saying a\nword he went straight to the grandmother's bed, and devoured her. Then\nhe put on her clothes, dressed himself in her cap laid himself in bed\nand drew the curtains.\n\nLittle Red-Cap, however, had been running about picking flowers,\nand when she had gathered so many that she could carry no more, she\nremembered her grandmother, and set out on the way to her.\n\nShe was surprised to find the cottage-door standing open, and when she\nwent into the room, she had such a strange feeling that she said to\nherself: 'Oh dear! how uneasy I feel today, and at other times I like\nbeing with grandmother so much.' She called out: 'Good morning,' but\nreceived no answer; so she went to the bed and drew back the curtains.\nThere lay her grandmother with her cap pulled far over her face, and\nlooking very strange.\n\n'Oh! grandmother,' she said, 'what big ears you have!'\n\n'The better to hear you with, my child,' was the reply.\n\n'But, grandmother, what big eyes you have!' she said.\n\n'The better to see you with, my dear.'\n\n'But, grandmother, what large hands you have!'\n\n'The better to hug you with.'\n\n'Oh! but, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have!'\n\n'The better to eat you with!'\n\nAnd scarcely had the wolf said this, than with one bound he was out of\nbed and swallowed up Red-Cap.\n\nWhen the wolf had appeased his appetite, he lay down again in the bed,\nfell asleep and began to snore very loud. The huntsman was just passing\nthe house, and thought to himself: 'How the old woman is snoring! I must\njust see if she wants anything.' So he went into the room, and when he\ncame to the bed, he saw that the wolf was lying in it. 'Do I find you\nhere, you old sinner!' said he. 'I have long sought you!' Then just as\nhe was going to fire at him, it occurred to him that the wolf might have\ndevoured the grandmother, and that she might still be saved, so he did\nnot fire, but took a pair of scissors, and began to cut open the stomach\nof the sleeping wolf. When he had made two snips, he saw the little\nRed-Cap shining, and then he made two snips more, and the little girl\nsprang out, crying: 'Ah, how frightened I have been! How dark it was\ninside the wolf'; and after that the aged grandmother came out alive\nalso, but scarcely able to breathe. Red-Cap, however, quickly fetched\ngreat stones with which they filled the wolf's belly, and when he awoke,\nhe wanted to run away, but the stones were so heavy that he collapsed at\nonce, and fell dead.\n\nThen all three were delighted. The huntsman drew off the wolf's skin and\nwent home with it; the grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine which\nRed-Cap had brought, and revived, but Red-Cap thought to herself: 'As\nlong as I live, I will never by myself leave the path, to run into the\nwood, when my mother has forbidden me to do so.'\n\n\n\n\nIt also related that once when Red-Cap was again taking cakes to the old\ngrandmother, another wolf spoke to her, and tried to entice her from the\npath. Red-Cap, however, was on her guard, and went straight forward on\nher way, and told her grandmother that she had met the wolf, and that he\nhad said 'good morning' to her, but with such a wicked look in his eyes,\nthat if they had not been on the public road she was certain he would\nhave eaten her up. 'Well,' said the grandmother, 'we will shut the door,\nthat he may not come in.' Soon afterwards the wolf knocked, and cried:\n'Open the door, grandmother, I am Little Red-Cap, and am bringing you\nsome cakes.' But they did not speak, or open the door, so the grey-beard\nstole twice or thrice round the house, and at last jumped on the roof,\nintending to wait until Red-Cap went home in the evening, and then to\nsteal after her and devour her in the darkness. But the grandmother\nsaw what was in his thoughts. In front of the house was a great stone\ntrough, so she said to the child: 'Take the pail, Red-Cap; I made some\nsausages yesterday, so carry the water in which I boiled them to the\ntrough.' Red-Cap carried until the great trough was quite full. Then the\nsmell of the sausages reached the wolf, and he sniffed and peeped down,\nand at last stretched out his neck so far that he could no longer keep\nhis footing and began to slip, and slipped down from the roof straight\ninto the great trough, and was drowned. But Red-Cap went joyously home,\nand no one ever did anything to harm her again.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROBBER BRIDEGROOM\n\nThere was once a miller who had one beautiful daughter, and as she was\ngrown up, he was anxious that she should be well married and provided\nfor. He said to himself, 'I will give her to the first suitable man who\ncomes and asks for her hand.' Not long after a suitor appeared, and as\nhe appeared to be very rich and the miller could see nothing in him with\nwhich to find fault, he betrothed his daughter to him. But the girl did\nnot care for the man as a girl ought to care for her betrothed husband.\nShe did not feel that she could trust him, and she could not look at him\nnor think of him without an inward shudder. One day he said to her, 'You\nhave not yet paid me a visit, although we have been betrothed for some\ntime.' 'I do not know where your house is,' she answered. 'My house is\nout there in the dark forest,' he said. She tried to excuse herself by\nsaying that she would not be able to find the way thither. Her betrothed\nonly replied, 'You must come and see me next Sunday; I have already\ninvited guests for that day, and that you may not mistake the way, I\nwill strew ashes along the path.'\n\nWhen Sunday came, and it was time for the girl to start, a feeling of\ndread came over her which she could not explain, and that she might\nbe able to find her path again, she filled her pockets with peas and\nlentils to sprinkle on the ground as she went along. On reaching the\nentrance to the forest she found the path strewed with ashes, and these\nshe followed, throwing down some peas on either side of her at every\nstep she took. She walked the whole day until she came to the deepest,\ndarkest part of the forest. There she saw a lonely house, looking so\ngrim and mysterious, that it did not please her at all. She stepped\ninside, but not a soul was to be seen, and a great silence reigned\nthroughout. Suddenly a voice cried:\n\n 'Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,\n  Linger not in this murderers' lair.'\n\nThe girl looked up and saw that the voice came from a bird hanging in a\ncage on the wall. Again it cried:\n\n 'Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,\n  Linger not in this murderers' lair.'\n\nThe girl passed on, going from room to room of the house, but they were\nall empty, and still she saw no one. At last she came to the cellar,\nand there sat a very, very old woman, who could not keep her head from\nshaking. 'Can you tell me,' asked the girl, 'if my betrothed husband\nlives here?'\n\n'Ah, you poor child,' answered the old woman, 'what a place for you to\ncome to! This is a murderers' den. You think yourself a promised bride,\nand that your marriage will soon take place, but it is with death that\nyou will keep your marriage feast. Look, do you see that large cauldron\nof water which I am obliged to keep on the fire! As soon as they have\nyou in their power they will kill you without mercy, and cook and eat\nyou, for they are eaters of men. If I did not take pity on you and save\nyou, you would be lost.'\n\nThereupon the old woman led her behind a large cask, which quite hid her\nfrom view. 'Keep as still as a mouse,' she said; 'do not move or speak,\nor it will be all over with you. Tonight, when the robbers are\nall asleep, we will flee together. I have long been waiting for an\nopportunity to escape.'\n\nThe words were hardly out of her mouth when the godless crew returned,\ndragging another young girl along with them. They were all drunk, and\npaid no heed to her cries and lamentations. They gave her wine to drink,\nthree glasses full, one of white wine, one of red, and one of yellow,\nand with that her heart gave way and she died. Then they tore off her\ndainty clothing, laid her on a table, and cut her beautiful body into\npieces, and sprinkled salt upon it.\n\nThe poor betrothed girl crouched trembling and shuddering behind the\ncask, for she saw what a terrible fate had been intended for her by\nthe robbers. One of them now noticed a gold ring still remaining on\nthe little finger of the murdered girl, and as he could not draw it off\neasily, he took a hatchet and cut off the finger; but the finger sprang\ninto the air, and fell behind the cask into the lap of the girl who was\nhiding there. The robber took a light and began looking for it, but he\ncould not find it. 'Have you looked behind the large cask?' said one of\nthe others. But the old woman called out, 'Come and eat your suppers,\nand let the thing be till tomorrow; the finger won't run away.'\n\n'The old woman is right,' said the robbers, and they ceased looking for\nthe finger and sat down.\n\nThe old woman then mixed a sleeping draught with their wine, and before\nlong they were all lying on the floor of the cellar, fast asleep and\nsnoring. As soon as the girl was assured of this, she came from behind\nthe cask. She was obliged to step over the bodies of the sleepers, who\nwere lying close together, and every moment she was filled with renewed\ndread lest she should awaken them. But God helped her, so that she\npassed safely over them, and then she and the old woman went upstairs,\nopened the door, and hastened as fast as they could from the murderers'\nden. They found the ashes scattered by the wind, but the peas and\nlentils had sprouted, and grown sufficiently above the ground, to guide\nthem in the moonlight along the path. All night long they walked, and it\nwas morning before they reached the mill. Then the girl told her father\nall that had happened.\n\nThe day came that had been fixed for the marriage. The bridegroom\narrived and also a large company of guests, for the miller had taken\ncare to invite all his friends and relations. As they sat at the feast,\neach guest in turn was asked to tell a tale; the bride sat still and did\nnot say a word.\n\n'And you, my love,' said the bridegroom, turning to her, 'is there no\ntale you know? Tell us something.'\n\n'I will tell you a dream, then,' said the bride. 'I went alone through a\nforest and came at last to a house; not a soul could I find within, but\na bird that was hanging in a cage on the wall cried:\n\n 'Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,\n  Linger not in this murderers' lair.'\n\nand again a second time it said these words.'\n\n'My darling, this is only a dream.'\n\n'I went on through the house from room to room, but they were all empty,\nand everything was so grim and mysterious. At last I went down to the\ncellar, and there sat a very, very old woman, who could not keep her\nhead still. I asked her if my betrothed lived here, and she answered,\n\"Ah, you poor child, you are come to a murderers' den; your betrothed\ndoes indeed live here, but he will kill you without mercy and afterwards\ncook and eat you.\"'\n\n'My darling, this is only a dream.'\n\n'The old woman hid me behind a large cask, and scarcely had she done\nthis when the robbers returned home, dragging a young girl along with\nthem. They gave her three kinds of wine to drink, white, red, and\nyellow, and with that she died.'\n\n'My darling, this is only a dream.'\n\n'Then they tore off her dainty clothing, and cut her beautiful body into\npieces and sprinkled salt upon it.'\n\n'My darling, this is only a dream.'\n\n'And one of the robbers saw that there was a gold ring still left on her\nfinger, and as it was difficult to draw off, he took a hatchet and cut\noff her finger; but the finger sprang into the air and fell behind the\ngreat cask into my lap. And here is the finger with the ring.' And\nwith these words the bride drew forth the finger and shewed it to the\nassembled guests.\n\nThe bridegroom, who during this recital had grown deadly pale, up and\ntried to escape, but the guests seized him and held him fast. They\ndelivered him up to justice, and he and all his murderous band were\ncondemned to death for their wicked deeds.\n\n\n\n\nTOM THUMB\n\nA poor woodman sat in his cottage one night, smoking his pipe by the\nfireside, while his wife sat by his side spinning. 'How lonely it is,\nwife,' said he, as he puffed out a long curl of smoke, 'for you and me\nto sit here by ourselves, without any children to play about and amuse\nus while other people seem so happy and merry with their children!'\n'What you say is very true,' said the wife, sighing, and turning round\nher wheel; 'how happy should I be if I had but one child! If it were\never so small--nay, if it were no bigger than my thumb--I should be very\nhappy, and love it dearly.' Now--odd as you may think it--it came to\npass that this good woman's wish was fulfilled, just in the very way she\nhad wished it; for, not long afterwards, she had a little boy, who was\nquite healthy and strong, but was not much bigger than my thumb. So\nthey said, 'Well, we cannot say we have not got what we wished for, and,\nlittle as he is, we will love him dearly.' And they called him Thomas\nThumb.\n\nThey gave him plenty of food, yet for all they could do he never grew\nbigger, but kept just the same size as he had been when he was born.\nStill, his eyes were sharp and sparkling, and he soon showed himself to\nbe a clever little fellow, who always knew well what he was about.\n\nOne day, as the woodman was getting ready to go into the wood to cut\nfuel, he said, 'I wish I had someone to bring the cart after me, for I\nwant to make haste.' 'Oh, father,' cried Tom, 'I will take care of that;\nthe cart shall be in the wood by the time you want it.' Then the woodman\nlaughed, and said, 'How can that be? you cannot reach up to the horse's\nbridle.' 'Never mind that, father,' said Tom; 'if my mother will only\nharness the horse, I will get into his ear and tell him which way to\ngo.' 'Well,' said the father, 'we will try for once.'\n\nWhen the time came the mother harnessed the horse to the cart, and put\nTom into his ear; and as he sat there the little man told the beast how\nto go, crying out, 'Go on!' and 'Stop!' as he wanted: and thus the horse\nwent on just as well as if the woodman had driven it himself into the\nwood. It happened that as the horse was going a little too fast, and Tom\nwas calling out, 'Gently! gently!' two strangers came up. 'What an odd\nthing that is!' said one: 'there is a cart going along, and I hear a\ncarter talking to the horse, but yet I can see no one.' 'That is queer,\nindeed,' said the other; 'let us follow the cart, and see where it\ngoes.' So they went on into the wood, till at last they came to the\nplace where the woodman was. Then Tom Thumb, seeing his father, cried\nout, 'See, father, here I am with the cart, all right and safe! now take\nme down!' So his father took hold of the horse with one hand, and with\nthe other took his son out of the horse's ear, and put him down upon a\nstraw, where he sat as merry as you please.\n\nThe two strangers were all this time looking on, and did not know what\nto say for wonder. At last one took the other aside, and said, 'That\nlittle urchin will make our fortune, if we can get him, and carry him\nabout from town to town as a show; we must buy him.' So they went up to\nthe woodman, and asked him what he would take for the little man. 'He\nwill be better off,' said they, 'with us than with you.' 'I won't sell\nhim at all,' said the father; 'my own flesh and blood is dearer to me\nthan all the silver and gold in the world.' But Tom, hearing of the\nbargain they wanted to make, crept up his father's coat to his shoulder\nand whispered in his ear, 'Take the money, father, and let them have me;\nI'll soon come back to you.'\n\nSo the woodman at last said he would sell Tom to the strangers for a\nlarge piece of gold, and they paid the price. 'Where would you like to\nsit?' said one of them. 'Oh, put me on the rim of your hat; that will be\na nice gallery for me; I can walk about there and see the country as we\ngo along.' So they did as he wished; and when Tom had taken leave of his\nfather they took him away with them.\n\nThey journeyed on till it began to be dusky, and then the little man\nsaid, 'Let me get down, I'm tired.' So the man took off his hat, and\nput him down on a clod of earth, in a ploughed field by the side of the\nroad. But Tom ran about amongst the furrows, and at last slipped into\nan old mouse-hole. 'Good night, my masters!' said he, 'I'm off! mind and\nlook sharp after me the next time.' Then they ran at once to the place,\nand poked the ends of their sticks into the mouse-hole, but all in vain;\nTom only crawled farther and farther in; and at last it became quite\ndark, so that they were forced to go their way without their prize, as\nsulky as could be.\n\nWhen Tom found they were gone, he came out of his hiding-place. 'What\ndangerous walking it is,' said he, 'in this ploughed field! If I were to\nfall from one of these great clods, I should undoubtedly break my neck.'\nAt last, by good luck, he found a large empty snail-shell. 'This is\nlucky,' said he, 'I can sleep here very well'; and in he crept.\n\nJust as he was falling asleep, he heard two men passing by, chatting\ntogether; and one said to the other, 'How can we rob that rich parson's\nhouse of his silver and gold?' 'I'll tell you!' cried Tom. 'What noise\nwas that?' said the thief, frightened; 'I'm sure I heard someone speak.'\nThey stood still listening, and Tom said, 'Take me with you, and I'll\nsoon show you how to get the parson's money.' 'But where are you?' said\nthey. 'Look about on the ground,' answered he, 'and listen where the\nsound comes from.' At last the thieves found him out, and lifted him\nup in their hands. 'You little urchin!' they said, 'what can you do for\nus?' 'Why, I can get between the iron window-bars of the parson's house,\nand throw you out whatever you want.' 'That's a good thought,' said the\nthieves; 'come along, we shall see what you can do.'\n\nWhen they came to the parson's house, Tom slipped through the\nwindow-bars into the room, and then called out as loud as he could bawl,\n'Will you have all that is here?' At this the thieves were frightened,\nand said, 'Softly, softly! Speak low, that you may not awaken anybody.'\nBut Tom seemed as if he did not understand them, and bawled out again,\n'How much will you have? Shall I throw it all out?' Now the cook lay in\nthe next room; and hearing a noise she raised herself up in her bed and\nlistened. Meantime the thieves were frightened, and ran off a little\nway; but at last they plucked up their hearts, and said, 'The little\nurchin is only trying to make fools of us.' So they came back and\nwhispered softly to him, saying, 'Now let us have no more of your\nroguish jokes; but throw us out some of the money.' Then Tom called out\nas loud as he could, 'Very well! hold your hands! here it comes.'\n\nThe cook heard this quite plain, so she sprang out of bed, and ran to\nopen the door. The thieves ran off as if a wolf was at their tails: and\nthe maid, having groped about and found nothing, went away for a light.\nBy the time she came back, Tom had slipped off into the barn; and when\nshe had looked about and searched every hole and corner, and found\nnobody, she went to bed, thinking she must have been dreaming with her\neyes open.\n\nThe little man crawled about in the hay-loft, and at last found a snug\nplace to finish his night's rest in; so he laid himself down, meaning\nto sleep till daylight, and then find his way home to his father and\nmother. But alas! how woefully he was undone! what crosses and sorrows\nhappen to us all in this world! The cook got up early, before daybreak,\nto feed the cows; and going straight to the hay-loft, carried away\na large bundle of hay, with the little man in the middle of it, fast\nasleep. He still, however, slept on, and did not awake till he found\nhimself in the mouth of the cow; for the cook had put the hay into the\ncow's rick, and the cow had taken Tom up in a mouthful of it. 'Good\nlack-a-day!' said he, 'how came I to tumble into the mill?' But he soon\nfound out where he really was; and was forced to have all his wits about\nhim, that he might not get between the cow's teeth, and so be crushed to\ndeath. At last down he went into her stomach. 'It is rather dark,' said\nhe; 'they forgot to build windows in this room to let the sun in; a\ncandle would be no bad thing.'\n\nThough he made the best of his bad luck, he did not like his quarters at\nall; and the worst of it was, that more and more hay was always coming\ndown, and the space left for him became smaller and smaller. At last he\ncried out as loud as he could, 'Don't bring me any more hay! Don't bring\nme any more hay!'\n\nThe maid happened to be just then milking the cow; and hearing someone\nspeak, but seeing nobody, and yet being quite sure it was the same voice\nthat she had heard in the night, she was so frightened that she fell off\nher stool, and overset the milk-pail. As soon as she could pick herself\nup out of the dirt, she ran off as fast as she could to her master the\nparson, and said, 'Sir, sir, the cow is talking!' But the parson\nsaid, 'Woman, thou art surely mad!' However, he went with her into the\ncow-house, to try and see what was the matter.\n\nScarcely had they set foot on the threshold, when Tom called out, 'Don't\nbring me any more hay!' Then the parson himself was frightened; and\nthinking the cow was surely bewitched, told his man to kill her on the\nspot. So the cow was killed, and cut up; and the stomach, in which Tom\nlay, was thrown out upon a dunghill.\n\nTom soon set himself to work to get out, which was not a very easy\ntask; but at last, just as he had made room to get his head out, fresh\nill-luck befell him. A hungry wolf sprang out, and swallowed up the\nwhole stomach, with Tom in it, at one gulp, and ran away.\n\nTom, however, was still not disheartened; and thinking the wolf would\nnot dislike having some chat with him as he was going along, he called\nout, 'My good friend, I can show you a famous treat.' 'Where's that?'\nsaid the wolf. 'In such and such a house,' said Tom, describing his own\nfather's house. 'You can crawl through the drain into the kitchen and\nthen into the pantry, and there you will find cakes, ham, beef, cold\nchicken, roast pig, apple-dumplings, and everything that your heart can\nwish.'\n\nThe wolf did not want to be asked twice; so that very night he went to\nthe house and crawled through the drain into the kitchen, and then into\nthe pantry, and ate and drank there to his heart's content. As soon as\nhe had had enough he wanted to get away; but he had eaten so much that\nhe could not go out by the same way he came in.\n\nThis was just what Tom had reckoned upon; and now he began to set up a\ngreat shout, making all the noise he could. 'Will you be easy?' said the\nwolf; 'you'll awaken everybody in the house if you make such a clatter.'\n'What's that to me?' said the little man; 'you have had your frolic, now\nI've a mind to be merry myself'; and he began, singing and shouting as\nloud as he could.\n\nThe woodman and his wife, being awakened by the noise, peeped through\na crack in the door; but when they saw a wolf was there, you may well\nsuppose that they were sadly frightened; and the woodman ran for his\naxe, and gave his wife a scythe. 'Do you stay behind,' said the woodman,\n'and when I have knocked him on the head you must rip him up with the\nscythe.' Tom heard all this, and cried out, 'Father, father! I am here,\nthe wolf has swallowed me.' And his father said, 'Heaven be praised! we\nhave found our dear child again'; and he told his wife not to use the\nscythe for fear she should hurt him. Then he aimed a great blow, and\nstruck the wolf on the head, and killed him on the spot! and when he was\ndead they cut open his body, and set Tommy free. 'Ah!' said the father,\n'what fears we have had for you!' 'Yes, father,' answered he; 'I have\ntravelled all over the world, I think, in one way or other, since we\nparted; and now I am very glad to come home and get fresh air again.'\n'Why, where have you been?' said his father. 'I have been in a\nmouse-hole--and in a snail-shell--and down a cow's throat--and in the\nwolf's belly; and yet here I am again, safe and sound.'\n\n'Well,' said they, 'you are come back, and we will not sell you again\nfor all the riches in the world.'\n\nThen they hugged and kissed their dear little son, and gave him plenty\nto eat and drink, for he was very hungry; and then they fetched new\nclothes for him, for his old ones had been quite spoiled on his journey.\nSo Master Thumb stayed at home with his father and mother, in peace; for\nthough he had been so great a traveller, and had done and seen so many\nfine things, and was fond enough of telling the whole story, he always\nagreed that, after all, there's no place like HOME!\n\n\n\n\nRUMPELSTILTSKIN\n\nBy the side of a wood, in a country a long way off, ran a fine stream\nof water; and upon the stream there stood a mill. The miller's house was\nclose by, and the miller, you must know, had a very beautiful daughter.\nShe was, moreover, very shrewd and clever; and the miller was so proud\nof her, that he one day told the king of the land, who used to come and\nhunt in the wood, that his daughter could spin gold out of straw. Now\nthis king was very fond of money; and when he heard the miller's boast\nhis greediness was raised, and he sent for the girl to be brought before\nhim. Then he led her to a chamber in his palace where there was a great\nheap of straw, and gave her a spinning-wheel, and said, 'All this must\nbe spun into gold before morning, as you love your life.' It was in vain\nthat the poor maiden said that it was only a silly boast of her father,\nfor that she could do no such thing as spin straw into gold: the chamber\ndoor was locked, and she was left alone.\n\nShe sat down in one corner of the room, and began to bewail her hard\nfate; when on a sudden the door opened, and a droll-looking little man\nhobbled in, and said, 'Good morrow to you, my good lass; what are you\nweeping for?' 'Alas!' said she, 'I must spin this straw into gold, and\nI know not how.' 'What will you give me,' said the hobgoblin, 'to do it\nfor you?' 'My necklace,' replied the maiden. He took her at her word,\nand sat himself down to the wheel, and whistled and sang:\n\n 'Round about, round about,\n    Lo and behold!\n  Reel away, reel away,\n    Straw into gold!'\n\nAnd round about the wheel went merrily; the work was quickly done, and\nthe straw was all spun into gold.\n\nWhen the king came and saw this, he was greatly astonished and pleased;\nbut his heart grew still more greedy of gain, and he shut up the poor\nmiller's daughter again with a fresh task. Then she knew not what to do,\nand sat down once more to weep; but the dwarf soon opened the door, and\nsaid, 'What will you give me to do your task?' 'The ring on my finger,'\nsaid she. So her little friend took the ring, and began to work at the\nwheel again, and whistled and sang:\n\n 'Round about, round about,\n    Lo and behold!\n  Reel away, reel away,\n    Straw into gold!'\n\ntill, long before morning, all was done again.\n\nThe king was greatly delighted to see all this glittering treasure;\nbut still he had not enough: so he took the miller's daughter to a yet\nlarger heap, and said, 'All this must be spun tonight; and if it is,\nyou shall be my queen.' As soon as she was alone that dwarf came in, and\nsaid, 'What will you give me to spin gold for you this third time?'\n'I have nothing left,' said she. 'Then say you will give me,' said\nthe little man, 'the first little child that you may have when you are\nqueen.' 'That may never be,' thought the miller's daughter: and as she\nknew no other way to get her task done, she said she would do what he\nasked. Round went the wheel again to the old song, and the manikin once\nmore spun the heap into gold. The king came in the morning, and, finding\nall he wanted, was forced to keep his word; so he married the miller's\ndaughter, and she really became queen.\n\nAt the birth of her first little child she was very glad, and forgot the\ndwarf, and what she had said. But one day he came into her room, where\nshe was sitting playing with her baby, and put her in mind of it. Then\nshe grieved sorely at her misfortune, and said she would give him all\nthe wealth of the kingdom if he would let her off, but in vain; till at\nlast her tears softened him, and he said, 'I will give you three days'\ngrace, and if during that time you tell me my name, you shall keep your\nchild.'\n\nNow the queen lay awake all night, thinking of all the odd names that\nshe had ever heard; and she sent messengers all over the land to find\nout new ones. The next day the little man came, and she began with\nTIMOTHY, ICHABOD, BENJAMIN, JEREMIAH, and all the names she could\nremember; but to all and each of them he said, 'Madam, that is not my\nname.'\n\nThe second day she began with all the comical names she could hear of,\nBANDY-LEGS, HUNCHBACK, CROOK-SHANKS, and so on; but the little gentleman\nstill said to every one of them, 'Madam, that is not my name.'\n\nThe third day one of the messengers came back, and said, 'I have\ntravelled two days without hearing of any other names; but yesterday, as\nI was climbing a high hill, among the trees of the forest where the fox\nand the hare bid each other good night, I saw a little hut; and before\nthe hut burnt a fire; and round about the fire a funny little dwarf was\ndancing upon one leg, and singing:\n\n \"Merrily the feast I'll make.\n  Today I'll brew, tomorrow bake;\n  Merrily I'll dance and sing,\n  For next day will a stranger bring.\n  Little does my lady dream\n  Rumpelstiltskin is my name!\"\n\nWhen the queen heard this she jumped for joy, and as soon as her little\nfriend came she sat down upon her throne, and called all her court round\nto enjoy the fun; and the nurse stood by her side with the baby in her\narms, as if it was quite ready to be given up. Then the little man began\nto chuckle at the thought of having the poor child, to take home with\nhim to his hut in the woods; and he cried out, 'Now, lady, what is my\nname?' 'Is it JOHN?' asked she. 'No, madam!' 'Is it TOM?' 'No, madam!'\n'Is it JEMMY?' 'It is not.' 'Can your name be RUMPELSTILTSKIN?' said the\nlady slyly. 'Some witch told you that!--some witch told you that!' cried\nthe little man, and dashed his right foot in a rage so deep into the\nfloor, that he was forced to lay hold of it with both hands to pull it\nout.\n\nThen he made the best of his way off, while the nurse laughed and the\nbaby crowed; and all the court jeered at him for having had so much\ntrouble for nothing, and said, 'We wish you a very good morning, and a\nmerry feast, Mr RUMPLESTILTSKIN!'\n\n\n\n\nCLEVER GRETEL\n\nThere was once a cook named Gretel, who wore shoes with red heels, and\nwhen she walked out with them on, she turned herself this way and that,\nwas quite happy and thought: 'You certainly are a pretty girl!' And when\nshe came home she drank, in her gladness of heart, a draught of wine,\nand as wine excites a desire to eat, she tasted the best of whatever she\nwas cooking until she was satisfied, and said: 'The cook must know what\nthe food is like.'\n\nIt came to pass that the master one day said to her: 'Gretel, there is a\nguest coming this evening; prepare me two fowls very daintily.' 'I will\nsee to it, master,' answered Gretel. She killed two fowls, scalded them,\nplucked them, put them on the spit, and towards evening set them before\nthe fire, that they might roast. The fowls began to turn brown, and were\nnearly ready, but the guest had not yet arrived. Then Gretel called out\nto her master: 'If the guest does not come, I must take the fowls away\nfrom the fire, but it will be a sin and a shame if they are not eaten\nthe moment they are at their juiciest.' The master said: 'I will run\nmyself, and fetch the guest.' When the master had turned his back,\nGretel laid the spit with the fowls on one side, and thought: 'Standing\nso long by the fire there, makes one sweat and thirsty; who knows\nwhen they will come? Meanwhile, I will run into the cellar, and take a\ndrink.' She ran down, set a jug, said: 'God bless it for you, Gretel,'\nand took a good drink, and thought that wine should flow on, and should\nnot be interrupted, and took yet another hearty draught.\n\nThen she went and put the fowls down again to the fire, basted them,\nand drove the spit merrily round. But as the roast meat smelt so good,\nGretel thought: 'Something might be wrong, it ought to be tasted!'\nShe touched it with her finger, and said: 'Ah! how good fowls are! It\ncertainly is a sin and a shame that they are not eaten at the right\ntime!' She ran to the window, to see if the master was not coming with\nhis guest, but she saw no one, and went back to the fowls and thought:\n'One of the wings is burning! I had better take it off and eat it.'\nSo she cut it off, ate it, and enjoyed it, and when she had done, she\nthought: 'The other must go down too, or else master will observe that\nsomething is missing.' When the two wings were eaten, she went and\nlooked for her master, and did not see him. It suddenly occurred to\nher: 'Who knows? They are perhaps not coming at all, and have turned in\nsomewhere.' Then she said: 'Well, Gretel, enjoy yourself, one fowl has\nbeen cut into, take another drink, and eat it up entirely; when it is\neaten you will have some peace, why should God's good gifts be spoilt?'\nSo she ran into the cellar again, took an enormous drink and ate up the\none chicken in great glee. When one of the chickens was swallowed down,\nand still her master did not come, Gretel looked at the other and said:\n'What one is, the other should be likewise, the two go together; what's\nright for the one is right for the other; I think if I were to take\nanother draught it would do me no harm.' So she took another hearty\ndrink, and let the second chicken follow the first.\n\nWhile she was making the most of it, her master came and cried: 'Hurry\nup, Gretel, the guest is coming directly after me!' 'Yes, sir, I will\nsoon serve up,' answered Gretel. Meantime the master looked to see that\nthe table was properly laid, and took the great knife, wherewith he was\ngoing to carve the chickens, and sharpened it on the steps. Presently\nthe guest came, and knocked politely and courteously at the house-door.\nGretel ran, and looked to see who was there, and when she saw the guest,\nshe put her finger to her lips and said: 'Hush! hush! go away as quickly\nas you can, if my master catches you it will be the worse for you; he\ncertainly did ask you to supper, but his intention is to cut off your\ntwo ears. Just listen how he is sharpening the knife for it!' The guest\nheard the sharpening, and hurried down the steps again as fast as he\ncould. Gretel was not idle; she ran screaming to her master, and cried:\n'You have invited a fine guest!' 'Why, Gretel? What do you mean by\nthat?' 'Yes,' said she, 'he has taken the chickens which I was just\ngoing to serve up, off the dish, and has run away with them!' 'That's a\nnice trick!' said her master, and lamented the fine chickens. 'If he had\nbut left me one, so that something remained for me to eat.' He called to\nhim to stop, but the guest pretended not to hear. Then he ran after him\nwith the knife still in his hand, crying: 'Just one, just one,' meaning\nthat the guest should leave him just one chicken, and not take both. The\nguest, however, thought no otherwise than that he was to give up one of\nhis ears, and ran as if fire were burning under him, in order to take\nthem both with him.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD MAN AND HIS GRANDSON\n\nThere was once a very old man, whose eyes had become dim, his ears dull\nof hearing, his knees trembled, and when he sat at table he could hardly\nhold the spoon, and spilt the broth upon the table-cloth or let it run\nout of his mouth. His son and his son's wife were disgusted at this, so\nthe old grandfather at last had to sit in the corner behind the stove,\nand they gave him his food in an earthenware bowl, and not even enough\nof it. And he used to look towards the table with his eyes full of\ntears. Once, too, his trembling hands could not hold the bowl, and it\nfell to the ground and broke. The young wife scolded him, but he said\nnothing and only sighed. Then they brought him a wooden bowl for a few\nhalf-pence, out of which he had to eat.\n\nThey were once sitting thus when the little grandson of four years old\nbegan to gather together some bits of wood upon the ground. 'What are\nyou doing there?' asked the father. 'I am making a little trough,'\nanswered the child, 'for father and mother to eat out of when I am big.'\n\nThe man and his wife looked at each other for a while, and presently\nbegan to cry. Then they took the old grandfather to the table, and\nhenceforth always let him eat with them, and likewise said nothing if he\ndid spill a little of anything.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE PEASANT\n\nThere was a certain village wherein no one lived but really rich\npeasants, and just one poor one, whom they called the little peasant. He\nhad not even so much as a cow, and still less money to buy one, and\nyet he and his wife did so wish to have one. One day he said to her:\n'Listen, I have a good idea, there is our gossip the carpenter, he shall\nmake us a wooden calf, and paint it brown, so that it looks like any\nother, and in time it will certainly get big and be a cow.' the woman\nalso liked the idea, and their gossip the carpenter cut and planed\nthe calf, and painted it as it ought to be, and made it with its head\nhanging down as if it were eating.\n\nNext morning when the cows were being driven out, the little peasant\ncalled the cow-herd in and said: 'Look, I have a little calf there,\nbut it is still small and has to be carried.' The cow-herd said: 'All\nright,' and took it in his arms and carried it to the pasture, and set\nit among the grass. The little calf always remained standing like one\nwhich was eating, and the cow-herd said: 'It will soon run by itself,\njust look how it eats already!' At night when he was going to drive the\nherd home again, he said to the calf: 'If you can stand there and eat\nyour fill, you can also go on your four legs; I don't care to drag you\nhome again in my arms.' But the little peasant stood at his door, and\nwaited for his little calf, and when the cow-herd drove the cows through\nthe village, and the calf was missing, he inquired where it was. The\ncow-herd answered: 'It is still standing out there eating. It would not\nstop and come with us.' But the little peasant said: 'Oh, but I must\nhave my beast back again.' Then they went back to the meadow together,\nbut someone had stolen the calf, and it was gone. The cow-herd said: 'It\nmust have run away.' The peasant, however, said: 'Don't tell me\nthat,' and led the cow-herd before the mayor, who for his carelessness\ncondemned him to give the peasant a cow for the calf which had run away.\n\nAnd now the little peasant and his wife had the cow for which they had\nso long wished, and they were heartily glad, but they had no food for\nit, and could give it nothing to eat, so it soon had to be killed. They\nsalted the flesh, and the peasant went into the town and wanted to sell\nthe skin there, so that he might buy a new calf with the proceeds. On\nthe way he passed by a mill, and there sat a raven with broken wings,\nand out of pity he took him and wrapped him in the skin. But as the\nweather grew so bad and there was a storm of rain and wind, he could\ngo no farther, and turned back to the mill and begged for shelter. The\nmiller's wife was alone in the house, and said to the peasant: 'Lay\nyourself on the straw there,' and gave him a slice of bread and cheese.\nThe peasant ate it, and lay down with his skin beside him, and the woman\nthought: 'He is tired and has gone to sleep.' In the meantime came the\nparson; the miller's wife received him well, and said: 'My husband is\nout, so we will have a feast.' The peasant listened, and when he heard\nthem talk about feasting he was vexed that he had been forced to make\nshift with a slice of bread and cheese. Then the woman served up four\ndifferent things, roast meat, salad, cakes, and wine.\n\nJust as they were about to sit down and eat, there was a knocking\noutside. The woman said: 'Oh, heavens! It is my husband!' she quickly\nhid the roast meat inside the tiled stove, the wine under the pillow,\nthe salad on the bed, the cakes under it, and the parson in the closet\non the porch. Then she opened the door for her husband, and said: 'Thank\nheaven, you are back again! There is such a storm, it looks as if the\nworld were coming to an end.' The miller saw the peasant lying on the\nstraw, and asked, 'What is that fellow doing there?' 'Ah,' said the\nwife, 'the poor knave came in the storm and rain, and begged for\nshelter, so I gave him a bit of bread and cheese, and showed him where\nthe straw was.' The man said: 'I have no objection, but be quick and get\nme something to eat.' The woman said: 'But I have nothing but bread and\ncheese.' 'I am contented with anything,' replied the husband, 'so far as\nI am concerned, bread and cheese will do,' and looked at the peasant and\nsaid: 'Come and eat some more with me.' The peasant did not require to\nbe invited twice, but got up and ate. After this the miller saw the skin\nin which the raven was, lying on the ground, and asked: 'What have you\nthere?' The peasant answered: 'I have a soothsayer inside it.' 'Can\nhe foretell anything to me?' said the miller. 'Why not?' answered\nthe peasant: 'but he only says four things, and the fifth he keeps to\nhimself.' The miller was curious, and said: 'Let him foretell something\nfor once.' Then the peasant pinched the raven's head, so that he croaked\nand made a noise like krr, krr. The miller said: 'What did he say?' The\npeasant answered: 'In the first place, he says that there is some wine\nhidden under the pillow.' 'Bless me!' cried the miller, and went there\nand found the wine. 'Now go on,' said he. The peasant made the raven\ncroak again, and said: 'In the second place, he says that there is some\nroast meat in the tiled stove.' 'Upon my word!' cried the miller, and\nwent thither, and found the roast meat. The peasant made the raven\nprophesy still more, and said: 'Thirdly, he says that there is some\nsalad on the bed.' 'That would be a fine thing!' cried the miller, and\nwent there and found the salad. At last the peasant pinched the raven\nonce more till he croaked, and said: 'Fourthly, he says that there\nare some cakes under the bed.' 'That would be a fine thing!' cried the\nmiller, and looked there, and found the cakes.\n\nAnd now the two sat down to the table together, but the miller's wife\nwas frightened to death, and went to bed and took all the keys with\nher. The miller would have liked much to know the fifth, but the little\npeasant said: 'First, we will quickly eat the four things, for the fifth\nis something bad.' So they ate, and after that they bargained how much\nthe miller was to give for the fifth prophecy, until they agreed on\nthree hundred talers. Then the peasant once more pinched the raven's\nhead till he croaked loudly. The miller asked: 'What did he say?' The\npeasant replied: 'He says that the Devil is hiding outside there in\nthe closet on the porch.' The miller said: 'The Devil must go out,' and\nopened the house-door; then the woman was forced to give up the keys,\nand the peasant unlocked the closet. The parson ran out as fast as he\ncould, and the miller said: 'It was true; I saw the black rascal with my\nown eyes.' The peasant, however, made off next morning by daybreak with\nthe three hundred talers.\n\nAt home the small peasant gradually launched out; he built a beautiful\nhouse, and the peasants said: 'The small peasant has certainly been to\nthe place where golden snow falls, and people carry the gold home in\nshovels.' Then the small peasant was brought before the mayor, and\nbidden to say from whence his wealth came. He answered: 'I sold my cow's\nskin in the town, for three hundred talers.' When the peasants heard\nthat, they too wished to enjoy this great profit, and ran home, killed\nall their cows, and stripped off their skins in order to sell them in\nthe town to the greatest advantage. The mayor, however, said: 'But my\nservant must go first.' When she came to the merchant in the town, he\ndid not give her more than two talers for a skin, and when the others\ncame, he did not give them so much, and said: 'What can I do with all\nthese skins?'\n\nThen the peasants were vexed that the small peasant should have thus\noutwitted them, wanted to take vengeance on him, and accused him of this\ntreachery before the mayor. The innocent little peasant was unanimously\nsentenced to death, and was to be rolled into the water, in a barrel\npierced full of holes. He was led forth, and a priest was brought who\nwas to say a mass for his soul. The others were all obliged to retire to\na distance, and when the peasant looked at the priest, he recognized the\nman who had been with the miller's wife. He said to him: 'I set you free\nfrom the closet, set me free from the barrel.' At this same moment up\ncame, with a flock of sheep, the very shepherd whom the peasant knew had\nlong been wishing to be mayor, so he cried with all his might: 'No, I\nwill not do it; if the whole world insists on it, I will not do it!' The\nshepherd hearing that, came up to him, and asked: 'What are you about?\nWhat is it that you will not do?' The peasant said: 'They want to make\nme mayor, if I will but put myself in the barrel, but I will not do it.'\nThe shepherd said: 'If nothing more than that is needful in order to be\nmayor, I would get into the barrel at once.' The peasant said: 'If you\nwill get in, you will be mayor.' The shepherd was willing, and got in,\nand the peasant shut the top down on him; then he took the shepherd's\nflock for himself, and drove it away. The parson went to the crowd,\nand declared that the mass had been said. Then they came and rolled the\nbarrel towards the water. When the barrel began to roll, the shepherd\ncried: 'I am quite willing to be mayor.' They believed no otherwise than\nthat it was the peasant who was saying this, and answered: 'That is\nwhat we intend, but first you shall look about you a little down below\nthere,' and they rolled the barrel down into the water.\n\nAfter that the peasants went home, and as they were entering the\nvillage, the small peasant also came quietly in, driving a flock of\nsheep and looking quite contented. Then the peasants were astonished,\nand said: 'Peasant, from whence do you come? Have you come out of the\nwater?' 'Yes, truly,' replied the peasant, 'I sank deep, deep down,\nuntil at last I got to the bottom; I pushed the bottom out of the\nbarrel, and crept out, and there were pretty meadows on which a number\nof lambs were feeding, and from thence I brought this flock away with\nme.' Said the peasants: 'Are there any more there?' 'Oh, yes,' said he,\n'more than I could want.' Then the peasants made up their minds that\nthey too would fetch some sheep for themselves, a flock apiece, but the\nmayor said: 'I come first.' So they went to the water together, and just\nthen there were some of the small fleecy clouds in the blue sky, which\nare called little lambs, and they were reflected in the water, whereupon\nthe peasants cried: 'We already see the sheep down below!' The mayor\npressed forward and said: 'I will go down first, and look about me, and\nif things promise well I'll call you.' So he jumped in; splash! went\nthe water; it sounded as if he were calling them, and the whole crowd\nplunged in after him as one man. Then the entire village was dead, and\nthe small peasant, as sole heir, became a rich man.\n\n\n\n\nFREDERICK AND CATHERINE\n\nThere was once a man called Frederick: he had a wife whose name was\nCatherine, and they had not long been married. One day Frederick said.\n'Kate! I am going to work in the fields; when I come back I shall be\nhungry so let me have something nice cooked, and a good draught of ale.'\n'Very well,' said she, 'it shall all be ready.' When dinner-time drew\nnigh, Catherine took a nice steak, which was all the meat she had, and\nput it on the fire to fry. The steak soon began to look brown, and to\ncrackle in the pan; and Catherine stood by with a fork and turned it:\nthen she said to herself, 'The steak is almost ready, I may as well go\nto the cellar for the ale.' So she left the pan on the fire and took a\nlarge jug and went into the cellar and tapped the ale cask. The beer ran\ninto the jug and Catherine stood looking on. At last it popped into her\nhead, 'The dog is not shut up--he may be running away with the steak;\nthat's well thought of.' So up she ran from the cellar; and sure enough\nthe rascally cur had got the steak in his mouth, and was making off with\nit.\n\nAway ran Catherine, and away ran the dog across the field: but he ran\nfaster than she, and stuck close to the steak. 'It's all gone, and \"what\ncan't be cured must be endured\",' said Catherine. So she turned round;\nand as she had run a good way and was tired, she walked home leisurely\nto cool herself.\n\nNow all this time the ale was running too, for Catherine had not turned\nthe cock; and when the jug was full the liquor ran upon the floor till\nthe cask was empty. When she got to the cellar stairs she saw what had\nhappened. 'My stars!' said she, 'what shall I do to keep Frederick from\nseeing all this slopping about?' So she thought a while; and at last\nremembered that there was a sack of fine meal bought at the last fair,\nand that if she sprinkled this over the floor it would suck up the ale\nnicely. 'What a lucky thing,' said she, 'that we kept that meal! we have\nnow a good use for it.' So away she went for it: but she managed to set\nit down just upon the great jug full of beer, and upset it; and thus\nall the ale that had been saved was set swimming on the floor also. 'Ah!\nwell,' said she, 'when one goes another may as well follow.' Then she\nstrewed the meal all about the cellar, and was quite pleased with her\ncleverness, and said, 'How very neat and clean it looks!'\n\nAt noon Frederick came home. 'Now, wife,' cried he, 'what have you for\ndinner?' 'O Frederick!' answered she, 'I was cooking you a steak; but\nwhile I went down to draw the ale, the dog ran away with it; and while\nI ran after him, the ale ran out; and when I went to dry up the ale\nwith the sack of meal that we got at the fair, I upset the jug: but the\ncellar is now quite dry, and looks so clean!' 'Kate, Kate,' said he,\n'how could you do all this?' Why did you leave the steak to fry, and the\nale to run, and then spoil all the meal?' 'Why, Frederick,' said she, 'I\ndid not know I was doing wrong; you should have told me before.'\n\nThe husband thought to himself, 'If my wife manages matters thus, I must\nlook sharp myself.' Now he had a good deal of gold in the house: so he\nsaid to Catherine, 'What pretty yellow buttons these are! I shall put\nthem into a box and bury them in the garden; but take care that you\nnever go near or meddle with them.' 'No, Frederick,' said she, 'that\nI never will.' As soon as he was gone, there came by some pedlars with\nearthenware plates and dishes, and they asked her whether she would buy.\n'Oh dear me, I should like to buy very much, but I have no money: if\nyou had any use for yellow buttons, I might deal with you.' 'Yellow\nbuttons!' said they: 'let us have a look at them.' 'Go into the garden\nand dig where I tell you, and you will find the yellow buttons: I dare\nnot go myself.' So the rogues went: and when they found what these\nyellow buttons were, they took them all away, and left her plenty of\nplates and dishes. Then she set them all about the house for a show:\nand when Frederick came back, he cried out, 'Kate, what have you been\ndoing?' 'See,' said she, 'I have bought all these with your yellow\nbuttons: but I did not touch them myself; the pedlars went themselves\nand dug them up.' 'Wife, wife,' said Frederick, 'what a pretty piece of\nwork you have made! those yellow buttons were all my money: how came you\nto do such a thing?' 'Why,' answered she, 'I did not know there was any\nharm in it; you should have told me.'\n\nCatherine stood musing for a while, and at last said to her husband,\n'Hark ye, Frederick, we will soon get the gold back: let us run after\nthe thieves.' 'Well, we will try,' answered he; 'but take some butter\nand cheese with you, that we may have something to eat by the way.'\n'Very well,' said she; and they set out: and as Frederick walked the\nfastest, he left his wife some way behind. 'It does not matter,' thought\nshe: 'when we turn back, I shall be so much nearer home than he.'\n\nPresently she came to the top of a hill, down the side of which there\nwas a road so narrow that the cart wheels always chafed the trees\non each side as they passed. 'Ah, see now,' said she, 'how they have\nbruised and wounded those poor trees; they will never get well.' So she\ntook pity on them, and made use of the butter to grease them all, so\nthat the wheels might not hurt them so much. While she was doing this\nkind office one of her cheeses fell out of the basket, and rolled down\nthe hill. Catherine looked, but could not see where it had gone; so she\nsaid, 'Well, I suppose the other will go the same way and find you; he\nhas younger legs than I have.' Then she rolled the other cheese after\nit; and away it went, nobody knows where, down the hill. But she said\nshe supposed that they knew the road, and would follow her, and she\ncould not stay there all day waiting for them.\n\nAt last she overtook Frederick, who desired her to give him something to\neat. Then she gave him the dry bread. 'Where are the butter and cheese?'\nsaid he. 'Oh!' answered she, 'I used the butter to grease those poor\ntrees that the wheels chafed so: and one of the cheeses ran away so I\nsent the other after it to find it, and I suppose they are both on\nthe road together somewhere.' 'What a goose you are to do such silly\nthings!' said the husband. 'How can you say so?' said she; 'I am sure\nyou never told me not.'\n\nThey ate the dry bread together; and Frederick said, 'Kate, I hope you\nlocked the door safe when you came away.' 'No,' answered she, 'you did\nnot tell me.' 'Then go home, and do it now before we go any farther,'\nsaid Frederick, 'and bring with you something to eat.'\n\nCatherine did as he told her, and thought to herself by the way,\n'Frederick wants something to eat; but I don't think he is very fond of\nbutter and cheese: I'll bring him a bag of fine nuts, and the vinegar,\nfor I have often seen him take some.'\n\nWhen she reached home, she bolted the back door, but the front door she\ntook off the hinges, and said, 'Frederick told me to lock the door, but\nsurely it can nowhere be so safe if I take it with me.' So she took\nher time by the way; and when she overtook her husband she cried\nout, 'There, Frederick, there is the door itself, you may watch it as\ncarefully as you please.' 'Alas! alas!' said he, 'what a clever wife I\nhave! I sent you to make the house fast, and you take the door away, so\nthat everybody may go in and out as they please--however, as you have\nbrought the door, you shall carry it about with you for your pains.'\n'Very well,' answered she, 'I'll carry the door; but I'll not carry the\nnuts and vinegar bottle also--that would be too much of a load; so if\nyou please, I'll fasten them to the door.'\n\nFrederick of course made no objection to that plan, and they set off\ninto the wood to look for the thieves; but they could not find them: and\nwhen it grew dark, they climbed up into a tree to spend the night there.\nScarcely were they up, than who should come by but the very rogues they\nwere looking for. They were in truth great rascals, and belonged to that\nclass of people who find things before they are lost; they were tired;\nso they sat down and made a fire under the very tree where Frederick and\nCatherine were. Frederick slipped down on the other side, and picked up\nsome stones. Then he climbed up again, and tried to hit the thieves on\nthe head with them: but they only said, 'It must be near morning, for\nthe wind shakes the fir-apples down.'\n\nCatherine, who had the door on her shoulder, began to be very tired;\nbut she thought it was the nuts upon it that were so heavy: so she said\nsoftly, 'Frederick, I must let the nuts go.' 'No,' answered he, 'not\nnow, they will discover us.' 'I can't help that: they must go.' 'Well,\nthen, make haste and throw them down, if you will.' Then away rattled\nthe nuts down among the boughs and one of the thieves cried, 'Bless me,\nit is hailing.'\n\nA little while after, Catherine thought the door was still very heavy:\nso she whispered to Frederick, 'I must throw the vinegar down.' 'Pray\ndon't,' answered he, 'it will discover us.' 'I can't help that,' said\nshe, 'go it must.' So she poured all the vinegar down; and the thieves\nsaid, 'What a heavy dew there is!'\n\nAt last it popped into Catherine's head that it was the door itself that\nwas so heavy all the time: so she whispered, 'Frederick, I must throw\nthe door down soon.' But he begged and prayed her not to do so, for he\nwas sure it would betray them. 'Here goes, however,' said she: and down\nwent the door with such a clatter upon the thieves, that they cried\nout 'Murder!' and not knowing what was coming, ran away as fast as they\ncould, and left all the gold. So when Frederick and Catherine came down,\nthere they found all their money safe and sound.\n\n\n\n\nSWEETHEART ROLAND\n\nThere was once upon a time a woman who was a real witch and had two\ndaughters, one ugly and wicked, and this one she loved because she was\nher own daughter, and one beautiful and good, and this one she hated,\nbecause she was her stepdaughter. The stepdaughter once had a pretty\napron, which the other fancied so much that she became envious, and\ntold her mother that she must and would have that apron. 'Be quiet, my\nchild,' said the old woman, 'and you shall have it. Your stepsister has\nlong deserved death; tonight when she is asleep I will come and cut her\nhead off. Only be careful that you are at the far side of the bed, and\npush her well to the front.' It would have been all over with the poor\ngirl if she had not just then been standing in a corner, and heard\neverything. All day long she dared not go out of doors, and when bedtime\nhad come, the witch's daughter got into bed first, so as to lie at the\nfar side, but when she was asleep, the other pushed her gently to the\nfront, and took for herself the place at the back, close by the wall. In\nthe night, the old woman came creeping in, she held an axe in her right\nhand, and felt with her left to see if anyone were lying at the outside,\nand then she grasped the axe with both hands, and cut her own child's\nhead off.\n\nWhen she had gone away, the girl got up and went to her sweetheart, who\nwas called Roland, and knocked at his door. When he came out, she said\nto him: 'Listen, dearest Roland, we must fly in all haste; my stepmother\nwanted to kill me, but has struck her own child. When daylight comes,\nand she sees what she has done, we shall be lost.' 'But,' said Roland,\n'I counsel you first to take away her magic wand, or we cannot escape\nif she pursues us.' The maiden fetched the magic wand, and she took the\ndead girl's head and dropped three drops of blood on the ground, one in\nfront of the bed, one in the kitchen, and one on the stairs. Then she\nhurried away with her lover.\n\nWhen the old witch got up next morning, she called her daughter, and\nwanted to give her the apron, but she did not come. Then the witch\ncried: 'Where are you?' 'Here, on the stairs, I am sweeping,' answered\nthe first drop of blood. The old woman went out, but saw no one on the\nstairs, and cried again: 'Where are you?' 'Here in the kitchen, I am\nwarming myself,' cried the second drop of blood. She went into the\nkitchen, but found no one. Then she cried again: 'Where are you?' 'Ah,\nhere in the bed, I am sleeping,' cried the third drop of blood. She went\ninto the room to the bed. What did she see there? Her own child,\nwhose head she had cut off, bathed in her blood. The witch fell into\na passion, sprang to the window, and as she could look forth quite far\ninto the world, she perceived her stepdaughter hurrying away with her\nsweetheart Roland. 'That shall not help you,' cried she, 'even if you\nhave got a long way off, you shall still not escape me.' She put on her\nmany-league boots, in which she covered an hour's walk at every step,\nand it was not long before she overtook them. The girl, however, when\nshe saw the old woman striding towards her, changed, with her magic\nwand, her sweetheart Roland into a lake, and herself into a duck\nswimming in the middle of it. The witch placed herself on the shore,\nthrew breadcrumbs in, and went to endless trouble to entice the duck;\nbut the duck did not let herself be enticed, and the old woman had to\ngo home at night as she had come. At this the girl and her sweetheart\nRoland resumed their natural shapes again, and they walked on the whole\nnight until daybreak. Then the maiden changed herself into a beautiful\nflower which stood in the midst of a briar hedge, and her sweetheart\nRoland into a fiddler. It was not long before the witch came striding up\ntowards them, and said to the musician: 'Dear musician, may I pluck that\nbeautiful flower for myself?' 'Oh, yes,' he replied, 'I will play to\nyou while you do it.' As she was hastily creeping into the hedge and was\njust going to pluck the flower, knowing perfectly well who the flower\nwas, he began to play, and whether she would or not, she was forced\nto dance, for it was a magical dance. The faster he played, the more\nviolent springs was she forced to make, and the thorns tore her clothes\nfrom her body, and pricked her and wounded her till she bled, and as he\ndid not stop, she had to dance till she lay dead on the ground.\n\nAs they were now set free, Roland said: 'Now I will go to my father and\narrange for the wedding.' 'Then in the meantime I will stay here and\nwait for you,' said the girl, 'and that no one may recognize me, I will\nchange myself into a red stone landmark.' Then Roland went away, and the\ngirl stood like a red landmark in the field and waited for her beloved.\nBut when Roland got home, he fell into the snares of another, who so\nfascinated him that he forgot the maiden. The poor girl remained there a\nlong time, but at length, as he did not return at all, she was sad, and\nchanged herself into a flower, and thought: 'Someone will surely come\nthis way, and trample me down.'\n\nIt befell, however, that a shepherd kept his sheep in the field and saw\nthe flower, and as it was so pretty, plucked it, took it with him, and\nlaid it away in his chest. From that time forth, strange things happened\nin the shepherd's house. When he arose in the morning, all the work was\nalready done, the room was swept, the table and benches cleaned, the\nfire in the hearth was lighted, and the water was fetched, and at noon,\nwhen he came home, the table was laid, and a good dinner served. He\ncould not conceive how this came to pass, for he never saw a human being\nin his house, and no one could have concealed himself in it. He was\ncertainly pleased with this good attendance, but still at last he was so\nafraid that he went to a wise woman and asked for her advice. The wise\nwoman said: 'There is some enchantment behind it, listen very early some\nmorning if anything is moving in the room, and if you see anything, no\nmatter what it is, throw a white cloth over it, and then the magic will\nbe stopped.'\n\nThe shepherd did as she bade him, and next morning just as day dawned,\nhe saw the chest open, and the flower come out. Swiftly he\nsprang towards it, and threw a white cloth over it. Instantly the\ntransformation came to an end, and a beautiful girl stood before him,\nwho admitted to him that she had been the flower, and that up to this\ntime she had attended to his house-keeping. She told him her story,\nand as she pleased him he asked her if she would marry him, but she\nanswered: 'No,' for she wanted to remain faithful to her sweetheart\nRoland, although he had deserted her. Nevertheless, she promised not to\ngo away, but to continue keeping house for the shepherd.\n\nAnd now the time drew near when Roland's wedding was to be celebrated,\nand then, according to an old custom in the country, it was announced\nthat all the girls were to be present at it, and sing in honour of the\nbridal pair. When the faithful maiden heard of this, she grew so sad\nthat she thought her heart would break, and she would not go thither,\nbut the other girls came and took her. When it came to her turn to sing,\nshe stepped back, until at last she was the only one left, and then she\ncould not refuse. But when she began her song, and it reached Roland's\nears, he sprang up and cried: 'I know the voice, that is the true\nbride, I will have no other!' Everything he had forgotten, and which had\nvanished from his mind, had suddenly come home again to his heart. Then\nthe faithful maiden held her wedding with her sweetheart Roland, and\ngrief came to an end and joy began.\n\n\n\n\nSNOWDROP\n\nIt was the middle of winter, when the broad flakes of snow were falling\naround, that the queen of a country many thousand miles off sat working\nat her window. The frame of the window was made of fine black ebony, and\nas she sat looking out upon the snow, she pricked her finger, and three\ndrops of blood fell upon it. Then she gazed thoughtfully upon the red\ndrops that sprinkled the white snow, and said, 'Would that my little\ndaughter may be as white as that snow, as red as that blood, and as\nblack as this ebony windowframe!' And so the little girl really did grow\nup; her skin was as white as snow, her cheeks as rosy as the blood, and\nher hair as black as ebony; and she was called Snowdrop.\n\nBut this queen died; and the king soon married another wife, who became\nqueen, and was very beautiful, but so vain that she could not bear\nto think that anyone could be handsomer than she was. She had a fairy\nlooking-glass, to which she used to go, and then she would gaze upon\nherself in it, and say:\n\n 'Tell me, glass, tell me true!\n  Of all the ladies in the land,\n  Who is fairest, tell me, who?'\n\nAnd the glass had always answered:\n\n 'Thou, queen, art the fairest in all the land.'\n\nBut Snowdrop grew more and more beautiful; and when she was seven years\nold she was as bright as the day, and fairer than the queen herself.\nThen the glass one day answered the queen, when she went to look in it\nas usual:\n\n 'Thou, queen, art fair, and beauteous to see,\n  But Snowdrop is lovelier far than thee!'\n\nWhen she heard this she turned pale with rage and envy, and called to\none of her servants, and said, 'Take Snowdrop away into the wide wood,\nthat I may never see her any more.' Then the servant led her away; but\nhis heart melted when Snowdrop begged him to spare her life, and he\nsaid, 'I will not hurt you, thou pretty child.' So he left her by\nherself; and though he thought it most likely that the wild beasts would\ntear her in pieces, he felt as if a great weight were taken off his\nheart when he had made up his mind not to kill her but to leave her to\nher fate, with the chance of someone finding and saving her.\n\nThen poor Snowdrop wandered along through the wood in great fear; and\nthe wild beasts roared about her, but none did her any harm. In the\nevening she came to a cottage among the hills, and went in to rest, for\nher little feet would carry her no further. Everything was spruce and\nneat in the cottage: on the table was spread a white cloth, and there\nwere seven little plates, seven little loaves, and seven little glasses\nwith wine in them; and seven knives and forks laid in order; and by\nthe wall stood seven little beds. As she was very hungry, she picked\na little piece of each loaf and drank a very little wine out of each\nglass; and after that she thought she would lie down and rest. So she\ntried all the little beds; but one was too long, and another was too\nshort, till at last the seventh suited her: and there she laid herself\ndown and went to sleep.\n\nBy and by in came the masters of the cottage. Now they were seven little\ndwarfs, that lived among the mountains, and dug and searched for gold.\nThey lighted up their seven lamps, and saw at once that all was not\nright. The first said, 'Who has been sitting on my stool?' The second,\n'Who has been eating off my plate?' The third, 'Who has been picking my\nbread?' The fourth, 'Who has been meddling with my spoon?' The fifth,\n'Who has been handling my fork?' The sixth, 'Who has been cutting with\nmy knife?' The seventh, 'Who has been drinking my wine?' Then the first\nlooked round and said, 'Who has been lying on my bed?' And the rest came\nrunning to him, and everyone cried out that somebody had been upon his\nbed. But the seventh saw Snowdrop, and called all his brethren to come\nand see her; and they cried out with wonder and astonishment and brought\ntheir lamps to look at her, and said, 'Good heavens! what a lovely child\nshe is!' And they were very glad to see her, and took care not to wake\nher; and the seventh dwarf slept an hour with each of the other dwarfs\nin turn, till the night was gone.\n\nIn the morning Snowdrop told them all her story; and they pitied her,\nand said if she would keep all things in order, and cook and wash and\nknit and spin for them, she might stay where she was, and they would\ntake good care of her. Then they went out all day long to their work,\nseeking for gold and silver in the mountains: but Snowdrop was left at\nhome; and they warned her, and said, 'The queen will soon find out where\nyou are, so take care and let no one in.'\n\nBut the queen, now that she thought Snowdrop was dead, believed that she\nmust be the handsomest lady in the land; and she went to her glass and\nsaid:\n\n 'Tell me, glass, tell me true!\n  Of all the ladies in the land,\n  Who is fairest, tell me, who?'\n\nAnd the glass answered:\n\n 'Thou, queen, art the fairest in all this land:\n  But over the hills, in the greenwood shade,\n  Where the seven dwarfs their dwelling have made,\n  There Snowdrop is hiding her head; and she\n  Is lovelier far, O queen! than thee.'\n\nThen the queen was very much frightened; for she knew that the glass\nalways spoke the truth, and was sure that the servant had betrayed her.\nAnd she could not bear to think that anyone lived who was more beautiful\nthan she was; so she dressed herself up as an old pedlar, and went\nher way over the hills, to the place where the dwarfs dwelt. Then she\nknocked at the door, and cried, 'Fine wares to sell!' Snowdrop looked\nout at the window, and said, 'Good day, good woman! what have you to\nsell?' 'Good wares, fine wares,' said she; 'laces and bobbins of all\ncolours.' 'I will let the old lady in; she seems to be a very good\nsort of body,' thought Snowdrop, as she ran down and unbolted the door.\n'Bless me!' said the old woman, 'how badly your stays are laced! Let me\nlace them up with one of my nice new laces.' Snowdrop did not dream of\nany mischief; so she stood before the old woman; but she set to work\nso nimbly, and pulled the lace so tight, that Snowdrop's breath was\nstopped, and she fell down as if she were dead. 'There's an end to all\nthy beauty,' said the spiteful queen, and went away home.\n\nIn the evening the seven dwarfs came home; and I need not say how\ngrieved they were to see their faithful Snowdrop stretched out upon the\nground, as if she was quite dead. However, they lifted her up, and when\nthey found what ailed her, they cut the lace; and in a little time she\nbegan to breathe, and very soon came to life again. Then they said, 'The\nold woman was the queen herself; take care another time, and let no one\nin when we are away.'\n\nWhen the queen got home, she went straight to her glass, and spoke to it\nas before; but to her great grief it still said:\n\n 'Thou, queen, art the fairest in all this land:\n  But over the hills, in the greenwood shade,\n  Where the seven dwarfs their dwelling have made,\n  There Snowdrop is hiding her head; and she\n  Is lovelier far, O queen! than thee.'\n\nThen the blood ran cold in her heart with spite and malice, to see that\nSnowdrop still lived; and she dressed herself up again, but in quite\nanother dress from the one she wore before, and took with her a poisoned\ncomb. When she reached the dwarfs' cottage, she knocked at the door, and\ncried, 'Fine wares to sell!' But Snowdrop said, 'I dare not let anyone\nin.' Then the queen said, 'Only look at my beautiful combs!' and gave\nher the poisoned one. And it looked so pretty, that she took it up and\nput it into her hair to try it; but the moment it touched her head,\nthe poison was so powerful that she fell down senseless. 'There you may\nlie,' said the queen, and went her way. But by good luck the dwarfs\ncame in very early that evening; and when they saw Snowdrop lying on\nthe ground, they thought what had happened, and soon found the poisoned\ncomb. And when they took it away she got well, and told them all that\nhad passed; and they warned her once more not to open the door to\nanyone.\n\nMeantime the queen went home to her glass, and shook with rage when she\nread the very same answer as before; and she said, 'Snowdrop shall die,\nif it cost me my life.' So she went by herself into her chamber, and got\nready a poisoned apple: the outside looked very rosy and tempting, but\nwhoever tasted it was sure to die. Then she dressed herself up as a\npeasant's wife, and travelled over the hills to the dwarfs' cottage,\nand knocked at the door; but Snowdrop put her head out of the window and\nsaid, 'I dare not let anyone in, for the dwarfs have told me not.' 'Do\nas you please,' said the old woman, 'but at any rate take this pretty\napple; I will give it you.' 'No,' said Snowdrop, 'I dare not take it.'\n'You silly girl!' answered the other, 'what are you afraid of? Do you\nthink it is poisoned? Come! do you eat one part, and I will eat the\nother.' Now the apple was so made up that one side was good, though the\nother side was poisoned. Then Snowdrop was much tempted to taste, for\nthe apple looked so very nice; and when she saw the old woman eat, she\ncould wait no longer. But she had scarcely put the piece into her mouth,\nwhen she fell down dead upon the ground. 'This time nothing will save\nthee,' said the queen; and she went home to her glass, and at last it\nsaid:\n\n 'Thou, queen, art the fairest of all the fair.'\n\nAnd then her wicked heart was glad, and as happy as such a heart could\nbe.\n\nWhen evening came, and the dwarfs had gone home, they found Snowdrop\nlying on the ground: no breath came from her lips, and they were afraid\nthat she was quite dead. They lifted her up, and combed her hair, and\nwashed her face with wine and water; but all was in vain, for the little\ngirl seemed quite dead. So they laid her down upon a bier, and all seven\nwatched and bewailed her three whole days; and then they thought they\nwould bury her: but her cheeks were still rosy; and her face looked just\nas it did while she was alive; so they said, 'We will never bury her in\nthe cold ground.' And they made a coffin of glass, so that they might\nstill look at her, and wrote upon it in golden letters what her name\nwas, and that she was a king's daughter. And the coffin was set among\nthe hills, and one of the dwarfs always sat by it and watched. And the\nbirds of the air came too, and bemoaned Snowdrop; and first of all came\nan owl, and then a raven, and at last a dove, and sat by her side.\n\nAnd thus Snowdrop lay for a long, long time, and still only looked as\nthough she was asleep; for she was even now as white as snow, and as red\nas blood, and as black as ebony. At last a prince came and called at the\ndwarfs' house; and he saw Snowdrop, and read what was written in golden\nletters. Then he offered the dwarfs money, and prayed and besought them\nto let him take her away; but they said, 'We will not part with her for\nall the gold in the world.' At last, however, they had pity on him, and\ngave him the coffin; but the moment he lifted it up to carry it home\nwith him, the piece of apple fell from between her lips, and Snowdrop\nawoke, and said, 'Where am I?' And the prince said, 'Thou art quite safe\nwith me.'\n\nThen he told her all that had happened, and said, 'I love you far better\nthan all the world; so come with me to my father's palace, and you shall\nbe my wife.' And Snowdrop consented, and went home with the prince;\nand everything was got ready with great pomp and splendour for their\nwedding.\n\nTo the feast was asked, among the rest, Snowdrop's old enemy the queen;\nand as she was dressing herself in fine rich clothes, she looked in the\nglass and said:\n\n 'Tell me, glass, tell me true!\n  Of all the ladies in the land,\n  Who is fairest, tell me, who?'\n\nAnd the glass answered:\n\n 'Thou, lady, art loveliest here, I ween;\n  But lovelier far is the new-made queen.'\n\nWhen she heard this she started with rage; but her envy and curiosity\nwere so great, that she could not help setting out to see the bride. And\nwhen she got there, and saw that it was no other than Snowdrop, who, as\nshe thought, had been dead a long while, she choked with rage, and fell\ndown and died: but Snowdrop and the prince lived and reigned happily\nover that land many, many years; and sometimes they went up into the\nmountains, and paid a visit to the little dwarfs, who had been so kind\nto Snowdrop in her time of need.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PINK\n\nThere was once upon a time a queen to whom God had given no children.\nEvery morning she went into the garden and prayed to God in heaven to\nbestow on her a son or a daughter. Then an angel from heaven came to her\nand said: 'Be at rest, you shall have a son with the power of wishing,\nso that whatsoever in the world he wishes for, that shall he have.' Then\nshe went to the king, and told him the joyful tidings, and when the time\nwas come she gave birth to a son, and the king was filled with gladness.\n\nEvery morning she went with the child to the garden where the wild\nbeasts were kept, and washed herself there in a clear stream. It\nhappened once when the child was a little older, that it was lying in\nher arms and she fell asleep. Then came the old cook, who knew that the\nchild had the power of wishing, and stole it away, and he took a hen,\nand cut it in pieces, and dropped some of its blood on the queen's apron\nand on her dress. Then he carried the child away to a secret place,\nwhere a nurse was obliged to suckle it, and he ran to the king and\naccused the queen of having allowed her child to be taken from her by\nthe wild beasts. When the king saw the blood on her apron, he believed\nthis, fell into such a passion that he ordered a high tower to be built,\nin which neither sun nor moon could be seen and had his wife put into\nit, and walled up. Here she was to stay for seven years without meat\nor drink, and die of hunger. But God sent two angels from heaven in the\nshape of white doves, which flew to her twice a day, and carried her\nfood until the seven years were over.\n\nThe cook, however, thought to himself: 'If the child has the power of\nwishing, and I am here, he might very easily get me into trouble.' So\nhe left the palace and went to the boy, who was already big enough to\nspeak, and said to him: 'Wish for a beautiful palace for yourself with\na garden, and all else that pertains to it.' Scarcely were the words out\nof the boy's mouth, when everything was there that he had wished for.\nAfter a while the cook said to him: 'It is not well for you to be so\nalone, wish for a pretty girl as a companion.' Then the king's son\nwished for one, and she immediately stood before him, and was more\nbeautiful than any painter could have painted her. The two played\ntogether, and loved each other with all their hearts, and the old cook\nwent out hunting like a nobleman. The thought occurred to him, however,\nthat the king's son might some day wish to be with his father, and thus\nbring him into great peril. So he went out and took the maiden aside,\nand said: 'Tonight when the boy is asleep, go to his bed and plunge this\nknife into his heart, and bring me his heart and tongue, and if you do\nnot do it, you shall lose your life.' Thereupon he went away, and when\nhe returned next day she had not done it, and said: 'Why should I shed\nthe blood of an innocent boy who has never harmed anyone?' The cook once\nmore said: 'If you do not do it, it shall cost you your own life.' When\nhe had gone away, she had a little hind brought to her, and ordered her\nto be killed, and took her heart and tongue, and laid them on a plate,\nand when she saw the old man coming, she said to the boy: 'Lie down in\nyour bed, and draw the clothes over you.' Then the wicked wretch came in\nand said: 'Where are the boy's heart and tongue?' The girl reached the\nplate to him, but the king's son threw off the quilt, and said: 'You old\nsinner, why did you want to kill me? Now will I pronounce thy sentence.\nYou shall become a black poodle and have a gold collar round your neck,\nand shall eat burning coals, till the flames burst forth from your\nthroat.' And when he had spoken these words, the old man was changed\ninto a poodle dog, and had a gold collar round his neck, and the cooks\nwere ordered to bring up some live coals, and these he ate, until the\nflames broke forth from his throat. The king's son remained there a\nshort while longer, and he thought of his mother, and wondered if she\nwere still alive. At length he said to the maiden: 'I will go home to my\nown country; if you will go with me, I will provide for you.' 'Ah,'\nshe replied, 'the way is so long, and what shall I do in a strange land\nwhere I am unknown?' As she did not seem quite willing, and as they\ncould not be parted from each other, he wished that she might be changed\ninto a beautiful pink, and took her with him. Then he went away to his\nown country, and the poodle had to run after him. He went to the tower\nin which his mother was confined, and as it was so high, he wished for\na ladder which would reach up to the very top. Then he mounted up and\nlooked inside, and cried: 'Beloved mother, Lady Queen, are you still\nalive, or are you dead?' She answered: 'I have just eaten, and am still\nsatisfied,' for she thought the angels were there. Said he: 'I am your\ndear son, whom the wild beasts were said to have torn from your arms;\nbut I am alive still, and will soon set you free.' Then he descended\nagain, and went to his father, and caused himself to be announced as a\nstrange huntsman, and asked if he could offer him service. The king said\nyes, if he was skilful and could get game for him, he should come to\nhim, but that deer had never taken up their quarters in any part of the\ndistrict or country. Then the huntsman promised to procure as much game\nfor him as he could possibly use at the royal table. So he summoned all\nthe huntsmen together, and bade them go out into the forest with him.\nAnd he went with them and made them form a great circle, open at one end\nwhere he stationed himself, and began to wish. Two hundred deer and more\ncame running inside the circle at once, and the huntsmen shot them.\nThen they were all placed on sixty country carts, and driven home to the\nking, and for once he was able to deck his table with game, after having\nhad none at all for years.\n\nNow the king felt great joy at this, and commanded that his entire\nhousehold should eat with him next day, and made a great feast. When\nthey were all assembled together, he said to the huntsman: 'As you are\nso clever, you shall sit by me.' He replied: 'Lord King, your majesty\nmust excuse me, I am a poor huntsman.' But the king insisted on it,\nand said: 'You shall sit by me,' until he did it. Whilst he was sitting\nthere, he thought of his dearest mother, and wished that one of the\nking's principal servants would begin to speak of her, and would ask how\nit was faring with the queen in the tower, and if she were alive still,\nor had perished. Hardly had he formed the wish than the marshal began,\nand said: 'Your majesty, we live joyously here, but how is the queen\nliving in the tower? Is she still alive, or has she died?' But the king\nreplied: 'She let my dear son be torn to pieces by wild beasts; I will\nnot have her named.' Then the huntsman arose and said: 'Gracious lord\nfather she is alive still, and I am her son, and I was not carried away\nby wild beasts, but by that wretch the old cook, who tore me from her\narms when she was asleep, and sprinkled her apron with the blood of a\nchicken.' Thereupon he took the dog with the golden collar, and said:\n'That is the wretch!' and caused live coals to be brought, and these the\ndog was compelled to devour before the sight of all, until flames burst\nforth from its throat. On this the huntsman asked the king if he would\nlike to see the dog in his true shape, and wished him back into the form\nof the cook, in the which he stood immediately, with his white apron,\nand his knife by his side. When the king saw him he fell into a passion,\nand ordered him to be cast into the deepest dungeon. Then the huntsman\nspoke further and said: 'Father, will you see the maiden who brought me\nup so tenderly and who was afterwards to murder me, but did not do it,\nthough her own life depended on it?' The king replied: 'Yes, I would\nlike to see her.' The son said: 'Most gracious father, I will show her\nto you in the form of a beautiful flower,' and he thrust his hand into\nhis pocket and brought forth the pink, and placed it on the royal table,\nand it was so beautiful that the king had never seen one to equal it.\nThen the son said: 'Now will I show her to you in her own form,' and\nwished that she might become a maiden, and she stood there looking so\nbeautiful that no painter could have made her look more so.\n\nAnd the king sent two waiting-maids and two attendants into the tower,\nto fetch the queen and bring her to the royal table. But when she was\nled in she ate nothing, and said: 'The gracious and merciful God who has\nsupported me in the tower, will soon set me free.' She lived three days\nmore, and then died happily, and when she was buried, the two white\ndoves which had brought her food to the tower, and were angels of\nheaven, followed her body and seated themselves on her grave. The aged\nking ordered the cook to be torn in four pieces, but grief consumed the\nking's own heart, and he soon died. His son married the beautiful maiden\nwhom he had brought with him as a flower in his pocket, and whether they\nare still alive or not, is known to God.\n\n\n\n\nCLEVER ELSIE\n\nThere was once a man who had a daughter who was called Clever Elsie. And\nwhen she had grown up her father said: 'We will get her married.' 'Yes,'\nsaid the mother, 'if only someone would come who would have her.' At\nlength a man came from a distance and wooed her, who was called Hans;\nbut he stipulated that Clever Elsie should be really smart. 'Oh,' said\nthe father, 'she has plenty of good sense'; and the mother said: 'Oh,\nshe can see the wind coming up the street, and hear the flies coughing.'\n'Well,' said Hans, 'if she is not really smart, I won't have her.' When\nthey were sitting at dinner and had eaten, the mother said: 'Elsie, go\ninto the cellar and fetch some beer.' Then Clever Elsie took the pitcher\nfrom the wall, went into the cellar, and tapped the lid briskly as she\nwent, so that the time might not appear long. When she was below she\nfetched herself a chair, and set it before the barrel so that she had\nno need to stoop, and did not hurt her back or do herself any unexpected\ninjury. Then she placed the can before her, and turned the tap, and\nwhile the beer was running she would not let her eyes be idle, but\nlooked up at the wall, and after much peering here and there, saw a\npick-axe exactly above her, which the masons had accidentally left\nthere.\n\nThen Clever Elsie began to weep and said: 'If I get Hans, and we have\na child, and he grows big, and we send him into the cellar here to draw\nbeer, then the pick-axe will fall on his head and kill him.' Then she\nsat and wept and screamed with all the strength of her body, over the\nmisfortune which lay before her. Those upstairs waited for the drink,\nbut Clever Elsie still did not come. Then the woman said to the servant:\n'Just go down into the cellar and see where Elsie is.' The maid went and\nfound her sitting in front of the barrel, screaming loudly. 'Elsie why\ndo you weep?' asked the maid. 'Ah,' she answered, 'have I not reason to\nweep? If I get Hans, and we have a child, and he grows big, and has to\ndraw beer here, the pick-axe will perhaps fall on his head, and kill\nhim.' Then said the maid: 'What a clever Elsie we have!' and sat down\nbeside her and began loudly to weep over the misfortune. After a while,\nas the maid did not come back, and those upstairs were thirsty for the\nbeer, the man said to the boy: 'Just go down into the cellar and see\nwhere Elsie and the girl are.' The boy went down, and there sat Clever\nElsie and the girl both weeping together. Then he asked: 'Why are you\nweeping?' 'Ah,' said Elsie, 'have I not reason to weep? If I get Hans,\nand we have a child, and he grows big, and has to draw beer here, the\npick-axe will fall on his head and kill him.' Then said the boy: 'What\na clever Elsie we have!' and sat down by her, and likewise began to\nhowl loudly. Upstairs they waited for the boy, but as he still did not\nreturn, the man said to the woman: 'Just go down into the cellar and see\nwhere Elsie is!' The woman went down, and found all three in the midst\nof their lamentations, and inquired what was the cause; then Elsie told\nher also that her future child was to be killed by the pick-axe, when it\ngrew big and had to draw beer, and the pick-axe fell down. Then said the\nmother likewise: 'What a clever Elsie we have!' and sat down and wept\nwith them. The man upstairs waited a short time, but as his wife did not\ncome back and his thirst grew ever greater, he said: 'I must go into the\ncellar myself and see where Elsie is.' But when he got into the cellar,\nand they were all sitting together crying, and he heard the reason, and\nthat Elsie's child was the cause, and the Elsie might perhaps bring one\ninto the world some day, and that he might be killed by the pick-axe, if\nhe should happen to be sitting beneath it, drawing beer just at the very\ntime when it fell down, he cried: 'Oh, what a clever Elsie!' and sat\ndown, and likewise wept with them. The bridegroom stayed upstairs alone\nfor a long time; then as no one would come back he thought: 'They must be\nwaiting for me below: I too must go there and see what they are about.'\nWhen he got down, the five of them were sitting screaming and lamenting\nquite piteously, each out-doing the other. 'What misfortune has happened\nthen?' asked he. 'Ah, dear Hans,' said Elsie, 'if we marry each other\nand have a child, and he is big, and we perhaps send him here to draw\nsomething to drink, then the pick-axe which has been left up there might\ndash his brains out if it were to fall down, so have we not reason to\nweep?' 'Come,' said Hans, 'more understanding than that is not needed\nfor my household, as you are such a clever Elsie, I will have you,' and\nseized her hand, took her upstairs with him, and married her.\n\nAfter Hans had had her some time, he said: 'Wife, I am going out to work\nand earn some money for us; go into the field and cut the corn that we\nmay have some bread.' 'Yes, dear Hans, I will do that.' After Hans had\ngone away, she cooked herself some good broth and took it into the field\nwith her. When she came to the field she said to herself: 'What shall I\ndo; shall I cut first, or shall I eat first? Oh, I will eat first.' Then\nshe drank her cup of broth and when she was fully satisfied, she once\nmore said: 'What shall I do? Shall I cut first, or shall I sleep first?\nI will sleep first.' Then she lay down among the corn and fell asleep.\nHans had been at home for a long time, but Elsie did not come; then said\nhe: 'What a clever Elsie I have; she is so industrious that she does not\neven come home to eat.' But when evening came and she still stayed away,\nHans went out to see what she had cut, but nothing was cut, and she\nwas lying among the corn asleep. Then Hans hastened home and brought\na fowler's net with little bells and hung it round about her, and she\nstill went on sleeping. Then he ran home, shut the house-door, and sat\ndown in his chair and worked. At length, when it was quite dark, Clever\nElsie awoke and when she got up there was a jingling all round about\nher, and the bells rang at each step which she took. Then she was\nalarmed, and became uncertain whether she really was Clever Elsie or\nnot, and said: 'Is it I, or is it not I?' But she knew not what answer\nto make to this, and stood for a time in doubt; at length she thought:\n'I will go home and ask if it be I, or if it be not I, they will be sure\nto know.' She ran to the door of her own house, but it was shut; then\nshe knocked at the window and cried: 'Hans, is Elsie within?' 'Yes,'\nanswered Hans, 'she is within.' Hereupon she was terrified, and said:\n'Ah, heavens! Then it is not I,' and went to another door; but when the\npeople heard the jingling of the bells they would not open it, and she\ncould get in nowhere. Then she ran out of the village, and no one has\nseen her since.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MISER IN THE BUSH\n\nA farmer had a faithful and diligent servant, who had worked hard for\nhim three years, without having been paid any wages. At last it came\ninto the man's head that he would not go on thus without pay any longer;\nso he went to his master, and said, 'I have worked hard for you a long\ntime, I will trust to you to give me what I deserve to have for my\ntrouble.' The farmer was a sad miser, and knew that his man was very\nsimple-hearted; so he took out threepence, and gave him for every year's\nservice a penny. The poor fellow thought it was a great deal of money to\nhave, and said to himself, 'Why should I work hard, and live here on bad\nfare any longer? I can now travel into the wide world, and make myself\nmerry.' With that he put his money into his purse, and set out, roaming\nover hill and valley.\n\nAs he jogged along over the fields, singing and dancing, a little dwarf\nmet him, and asked him what made him so merry. 'Why, what should make\nme down-hearted?' said he; 'I am sound in health and rich in purse, what\nshould I care for? I have saved up my three years' earnings and have it\nall safe in my pocket.' 'How much may it come to?' said the little man.\n'Full threepence,' replied the countryman. 'I wish you would give them\nto me,' said the other; 'I am very poor.' Then the man pitied him, and\ngave him all he had; and the little dwarf said in return, 'As you have\nsuch a kind honest heart, I will grant you three wishes--one for every\npenny; so choose whatever you like.' Then the countryman rejoiced at\nhis good luck, and said, 'I like many things better than money: first, I\nwill have a bow that will bring down everything I shoot at; secondly,\na fiddle that will set everyone dancing that hears me play upon it; and\nthirdly, I should like that everyone should grant what I ask.' The dwarf\nsaid he should have his three wishes; so he gave him the bow and fiddle,\nand went his way.\n\nOur honest friend journeyed on his way too; and if he was merry before,\nhe was now ten times more so. He had not gone far before he met an old\nmiser: close by them stood a tree, and on the topmost twig sat a thrush\nsinging away most joyfully. 'Oh, what a pretty bird!' said the miser; 'I\nwould give a great deal of money to have such a one.' 'If that's all,'\nsaid the countryman, 'I will soon bring it down.' Then he took up his\nbow, and down fell the thrush into the bushes at the foot of the tree.\nThe miser crept into the bush to find it; but directly he had got into\nthe middle, his companion took up his fiddle and played away, and the\nmiser began to dance and spring about, capering higher and higher in\nthe air. The thorns soon began to tear his clothes till they all hung\nin rags about him, and he himself was all scratched and wounded, so that\nthe blood ran down. 'Oh, for heaven's sake!' cried the miser, 'Master!\nmaster! pray let the fiddle alone. What have I done to deserve this?'\n'Thou hast shaved many a poor soul close enough,' said the other; 'thou\nart only meeting thy reward': so he played up another tune. Then the\nmiser began to beg and promise, and offered money for his liberty; but\nhe did not come up to the musician's price for some time, and he danced\nhim along brisker and brisker, and the miser bid higher and higher, till\nat last he offered a round hundred of florins that he had in his purse,\nand had just gained by cheating some poor fellow. When the countryman\nsaw so much money, he said, 'I will agree to your proposal.' So he took\nthe purse, put up his fiddle, and travelled on very pleased with his\nbargain.\n\nMeanwhile the miser crept out of the bush half-naked and in a piteous\nplight, and began to ponder how he should take his revenge, and serve\nhis late companion some trick. At last he went to the judge, and\ncomplained that a rascal had robbed him of his money, and beaten him\ninto the bargain; and that the fellow who did it carried a bow at his\nback and a fiddle hung round his neck. Then the judge sent out his\nofficers to bring up the accused wherever they should find him; and he\nwas soon caught and brought up to be tried.\n\nThe miser began to tell his tale, and said he had been robbed of\nhis money. 'No, you gave it me for playing a tune to you.' said the\ncountryman; but the judge told him that was not likely, and cut the\nmatter short by ordering him off to the gallows.\n\nSo away he was taken; but as he stood on the steps he said, 'My Lord\nJudge, grant me one last request.' 'Anything but thy life,' replied the\nother. 'No,' said he, 'I do not ask my life; only to let me play upon\nmy fiddle for the last time.' The miser cried out, 'Oh, no! no! for\nheaven's sake don't listen to him! don't listen to him!' But the judge\nsaid, 'It is only this once, he will soon have done.' The fact was, he\ncould not refuse the request, on account of the dwarf's third gift.\n\nThen the miser said, 'Bind me fast, bind me fast, for pity's sake.' But\nthe countryman seized his fiddle, and struck up a tune, and at the first\nnote judge, clerks, and jailer were in motion; all began capering, and\nno one could hold the miser. At the second note the hangman let his\nprisoner go, and danced also, and by the time he had played the first\nbar of the tune, all were dancing together--judge, court, and miser, and\nall the people who had followed to look on. At first the thing was merry\nand pleasant enough; but when it had gone on a while, and there seemed\nto be no end of playing or dancing, they began to cry out, and beg him\nto leave off; but he stopped not a whit the more for their entreaties,\ntill the judge not only gave him his life, but promised to return him\nthe hundred florins.\n\nThen he called to the miser, and said, 'Tell us now, you vagabond, where\nyou got that gold, or I shall play on for your amusement only,' 'I stole\nit,' said the miser in the presence of all the people; 'I acknowledge\nthat I stole it, and that you earned it fairly.' Then the countryman\nstopped his fiddle, and left the miser to take his place at the gallows.\n\n\n\n\nASHPUTTEL\n\nThe wife of a rich man fell sick; and when she felt that her end drew\nnigh, she called her only daughter to her bed-side, and said, 'Always be\na good girl, and I will look down from heaven and watch over you.' Soon\nafterwards she shut her eyes and died, and was buried in the garden;\nand the little girl went every day to her grave and wept, and was always\ngood and kind to all about her. And the snow fell and spread a beautiful\nwhite covering over the grave; but by the time the spring came, and the\nsun had melted it away again, her father had married another wife. This\nnew wife had two daughters of her own, that she brought home with her;\nthey were fair in face but foul at heart, and it was now a sorry time\nfor the poor little girl. 'What does the good-for-nothing want in the\nparlour?' said they; 'they who would eat bread should first earn it;\naway with the kitchen-maid!' Then they took away her fine clothes, and\ngave her an old grey frock to put on, and laughed at her, and turned her\ninto the kitchen.\n\nThere she was forced to do hard work; to rise early before daylight, to\nbring the water, to make the fire, to cook and to wash. Besides that,\nthe sisters plagued her in all sorts of ways, and laughed at her. In the\nevening when she was tired, she had no bed to lie down on, but was made\nto lie by the hearth among the ashes; and as this, of course, made her\nalways dusty and dirty, they called her Ashputtel.\n\nIt happened once that the father was going to the fair, and asked his\nwife's daughters what he should bring them. 'Fine clothes,' said the\nfirst; 'Pearls and diamonds,' cried the second. 'Now, child,' said he\nto his own daughter, 'what will you have?' 'The first twig, dear\nfather, that brushes against your hat when you turn your face to come\nhomewards,' said she. Then he bought for the first two the fine clothes\nand pearls and diamonds they had asked for: and on his way home, as he\nrode through a green copse, a hazel twig brushed against him, and almost\npushed off his hat: so he broke it off and brought it away; and when he\ngot home he gave it to his daughter. Then she took it, and went to\nher mother's grave and planted it there; and cried so much that it was\nwatered with her tears; and there it grew and became a fine tree. Three\ntimes every day she went to it and cried; and soon a little bird came\nand built its nest upon the tree, and talked with her, and watched over\nher, and brought her whatever she wished for.\n\nNow it happened that the king of that land held a feast, which was to\nlast three days; and out of those who came to it his son was to choose\na bride for himself. Ashputtel's two sisters were asked to come; so they\ncalled her up, and said, 'Now, comb our hair, brush our shoes, and tie\nour sashes for us, for we are going to dance at the king's feast.'\nThen she did as she was told; but when all was done she could not help\ncrying, for she thought to herself, she should so have liked to have\ngone with them to the ball; and at last she begged her mother very hard\nto let her go. 'You, Ashputtel!' said she; 'you who have nothing to\nwear, no clothes at all, and who cannot even dance--you want to go to\nthe ball? And when she kept on begging, she said at last, to get rid of\nher, 'I will throw this dishful of peas into the ash-heap, and if in\ntwo hours' time you have picked them all out, you shall go to the feast\ntoo.'\n\nThen she threw the peas down among the ashes, but the little maiden ran\nout at the back door into the garden, and cried out:\n\n 'Hither, hither, through the sky,\n  Turtle-doves and linnets, fly!\n  Blackbird, thrush, and chaffinch gay,\n  Hither, hither, haste away!\n  One and all come help me, quick!\n  Haste ye, haste ye!--pick, pick, pick!'\n\nThen first came two white doves, flying in at the kitchen window; next\ncame two turtle-doves; and after them came all the little birds under\nheaven, chirping and fluttering in: and they flew down into the ashes.\nAnd the little doves stooped their heads down and set to work, pick,\npick, pick; and then the others began to pick, pick, pick: and among\nthem all they soon picked out all the good grain, and put it into a dish\nbut left the ashes. Long before the end of the hour the work was quite\ndone, and all flew out again at the windows.\n\nThen Ashputtel brought the dish to her mother, overjoyed at the thought\nthat now she should go to the ball. But the mother said, 'No, no! you\nslut, you have no clothes, and cannot dance; you shall not go.' And when\nAshputtel begged very hard to go, she said, 'If you can in one hour's\ntime pick two of those dishes of peas out of the ashes, you shall go\ntoo.' And thus she thought she should at least get rid of her. So she\nshook two dishes of peas into the ashes.\n\nBut the little maiden went out into the garden at the back of the house,\nand cried out as before:\n\n 'Hither, hither, through the sky,\n  Turtle-doves and linnets, fly!\n  Blackbird, thrush, and chaffinch gay,\n  Hither, hither, haste away!\n  One and all come help me, quick!\n  Haste ye, haste ye!--pick, pick, pick!'\n\nThen first came two white doves in at the kitchen window; next came two\nturtle-doves; and after them came all the little birds under heaven,\nchirping and hopping about. And they flew down into the ashes; and the\nlittle doves put their heads down and set to work, pick, pick, pick; and\nthen the others began pick, pick, pick; and they put all the good grain\ninto the dishes, and left all the ashes. Before half an hour's time all\nwas done, and out they flew again. And then Ashputtel took the dishes to\nher mother, rejoicing to think that she should now go to the ball.\nBut her mother said, 'It is all of no use, you cannot go; you have no\nclothes, and cannot dance, and you would only put us to shame': and off\nshe went with her two daughters to the ball.\n\nNow when all were gone, and nobody left at home, Ashputtel went\nsorrowfully and sat down under the hazel-tree, and cried out:\n\n 'Shake, shake, hazel-tree,\n  Gold and silver over me!'\n\nThen her friend the bird flew out of the tree, and brought a gold and\nsilver dress for her, and slippers of spangled silk; and she put them\non, and followed her sisters to the feast. But they did not know her,\nand thought it must be some strange princess, she looked so fine and\nbeautiful in her rich clothes; and they never once thought of Ashputtel,\ntaking it for granted that she was safe at home in the dirt.\n\nThe king's son soon came up to her, and took her by the hand and danced\nwith her, and no one else: and he never left her hand; but when anyone\nelse came to ask her to dance, he said, 'This lady is dancing with me.'\n\nThus they danced till a late hour of the night; and then she wanted to\ngo home: and the king's son said, 'I shall go and take care of you to\nyour home'; for he wanted to see where the beautiful maiden lived. But\nshe slipped away from him, unawares, and ran off towards home; and as\nthe prince followed her, she jumped up into the pigeon-house and shut\nthe door. Then he waited till her father came home, and told him that\nthe unknown maiden, who had been at the feast, had hid herself in the\npigeon-house. But when they had broken open the door they found no one\nwithin; and as they came back into the house, Ashputtel was lying, as\nshe always did, in her dirty frock by the ashes, and her dim little\nlamp was burning in the chimney. For she had run as quickly as she could\nthrough the pigeon-house and on to the hazel-tree, and had there taken\noff her beautiful clothes, and put them beneath the tree, that the bird\nmight carry them away, and had lain down again amid the ashes in her\nlittle grey frock.\n\nThe next day when the feast was again held, and her father, mother, and\nsisters were gone, Ashputtel went to the hazel-tree, and said:\n\n 'Shake, shake, hazel-tree,\n  Gold and silver over me!'\n\nAnd the bird came and brought a still finer dress than the one she\nhad worn the day before. And when she came in it to the ball, everyone\nwondered at her beauty: but the king's son, who was waiting for her,\ntook her by the hand, and danced with her; and when anyone asked her to\ndance, he said as before, 'This lady is dancing with me.'\n\nWhen night came she wanted to go home; and the king's son followed here\nas before, that he might see into what house she went: but she sprang\naway from him all at once into the garden behind her father's house.\nIn this garden stood a fine large pear-tree full of ripe fruit; and\nAshputtel, not knowing where to hide herself, jumped up into it without\nbeing seen. Then the king's son lost sight of her, and could not find\nout where she was gone, but waited till her father came home, and said\nto him, 'The unknown lady who danced with me has slipped away, and I\nthink she must have sprung into the pear-tree.' The father thought to\nhimself, 'Can it be Ashputtel?' So he had an axe brought; and they cut\ndown the tree, but found no one upon it. And when they came back into\nthe kitchen, there lay Ashputtel among the ashes; for she had slipped\ndown on the other side of the tree, and carried her beautiful clothes\nback to the bird at the hazel-tree, and then put on her little grey\nfrock.\n\nThe third day, when her father and mother and sisters were gone, she\nwent again into the garden, and said:\n\n 'Shake, shake, hazel-tree,\n  Gold and silver over me!'\n\nThen her kind friend the bird brought a dress still finer than the\nformer one, and slippers which were all of gold: so that when she came\nto the feast no one knew what to say, for wonder at her beauty: and the\nking's son danced with nobody but her; and when anyone else asked her to\ndance, he said, 'This lady is _my_ partner, sir.'\n\nWhen night came she wanted to go home; and the king's son would go with\nher, and said to himself, 'I will not lose her this time'; but, however,\nshe again slipped away from him, though in such a hurry that she dropped\nher left golden slipper upon the stairs.\n\nThe prince took the shoe, and went the next day to the king his father,\nand said, 'I will take for my wife the lady that this golden slipper\nfits.' Then both the sisters were overjoyed to hear it; for they\nhad beautiful feet, and had no doubt that they could wear the golden\nslipper. The eldest went first into the room where the slipper was, and\nwanted to try it on, and the mother stood by. But her great toe could\nnot go into it, and the shoe was altogether much too small for her. Then\nthe mother gave her a knife, and said, 'Never mind, cut it off; when you\nare queen you will not care about toes; you will not want to walk.' So\nthe silly girl cut off her great toe, and thus squeezed on the shoe,\nand went to the king's son. Then he took her for his bride, and set her\nbeside him on his horse, and rode away with her homewards.\n\nBut on their way home they had to pass by the hazel-tree that Ashputtel\nhad planted; and on the branch sat a little dove singing:\n\n 'Back again! back again! look to the shoe!\n  The shoe is too small, and not made for you!\n  Prince! prince! look again for thy bride,\n  For she's not the true one that sits by thy side.'\n\nThen the prince got down and looked at her foot; and he saw, by the\nblood that streamed from it, what a trick she had played him. So he\nturned his horse round, and brought the false bride back to her home,\nand said, 'This is not the right bride; let the other sister try and put\non the slipper.' Then she went into the room and got her foot into the\nshoe, all but the heel, which was too large. But her mother squeezed it\nin till the blood came, and took her to the king's son: and he set her\nas his bride by his side on his horse, and rode away with her.\n\nBut when they came to the hazel-tree the little dove sat there still,\nand sang:\n\n 'Back again! back again! look to the shoe!\n  The shoe is too small, and not made for you!\n  Prince! prince! look again for thy bride,\n  For she's not the true one that sits by thy side.'\n\nThen he looked down, and saw that the blood streamed so much from the\nshoe, that her white stockings were quite red. So he turned his horse\nand brought her also back again. 'This is not the true bride,' said he\nto the father; 'have you no other daughters?' 'No,' said he; 'there is\nonly a little dirty Ashputtel here, the child of my first wife; I am\nsure she cannot be the bride.' The prince told him to send her. But the\nmother said, 'No, no, she is much too dirty; she will not dare to show\nherself.' However, the prince would have her come; and she first washed\nher face and hands, and then went in and curtsied to him, and he reached\nher the golden slipper. Then she took her clumsy shoe off her left foot,\nand put on the golden slipper; and it fitted her as if it had been made\nfor her. And when he drew near and looked at her face he knew her, and\nsaid, 'This is the right bride.' But the mother and both the sisters\nwere frightened, and turned pale with anger as he took Ashputtel on his\nhorse, and rode away with her. And when they came to the hazel-tree, the\nwhite dove sang:\n\n 'Home! home! look at the shoe!\n  Princess! the shoe was made for you!\n  Prince! prince! take home thy bride,\n  For she is the true one that sits by thy side!'\n\nAnd when the dove had done its song, it came flying, and perched upon\nher right shoulder, and so went home with her.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHITE SNAKE\n\nA long time ago there lived a king who was famed for his wisdom through\nall the land. Nothing was hidden from him, and it seemed as if news of\nthe most secret things was brought to him through the air. But he had a\nstrange custom; every day after dinner, when the table was cleared,\nand no one else was present, a trusty servant had to bring him one more\ndish. It was covered, however, and even the servant did not know what\nwas in it, neither did anyone know, for the king never took off the\ncover to eat of it until he was quite alone.\n\nThis had gone on for a long time, when one day the servant, who took\naway the dish, was overcome with such curiosity that he could not help\ncarrying the dish into his room. When he had carefully locked the door,\nhe lifted up the cover, and saw a white snake lying on the dish. But\nwhen he saw it he could not deny himself the pleasure of tasting it,\nso he cut of a little bit and put it into his mouth. No sooner had it\ntouched his tongue than he heard a strange whispering of little voices\noutside his window. He went and listened, and then noticed that it was\nthe sparrows who were chattering together, and telling one another of\nall kinds of things which they had seen in the fields and woods. Eating\nthe snake had given him power of understanding the language of animals.\n\nNow it so happened that on this very day the queen lost her most\nbeautiful ring, and suspicion of having stolen it fell upon this trusty\nservant, who was allowed to go everywhere. The king ordered the man to\nbe brought before him, and threatened with angry words that unless he\ncould before the morrow point out the thief, he himself should be looked\nupon as guilty and executed. In vain he declared his innocence; he was\ndismissed with no better answer.\n\nIn his trouble and fear he went down into the courtyard and took thought\nhow to help himself out of his trouble. Now some ducks were sitting\ntogether quietly by a brook and taking their rest; and, whilst they\nwere making their feathers smooth with their bills, they were having a\nconfidential conversation together. The servant stood by and listened.\nThey were telling one another of all the places where they had been\nwaddling about all the morning, and what good food they had found; and\none said in a pitiful tone: 'Something lies heavy on my stomach; as\nI was eating in haste I swallowed a ring which lay under the queen's\nwindow.' The servant at once seized her by the neck, carried her to the\nkitchen, and said to the cook: 'Here is a fine duck; pray, kill her.'\n'Yes,' said the cook, and weighed her in his hand; 'she has spared\nno trouble to fatten herself, and has been waiting to be roasted long\nenough.' So he cut off her head, and as she was being dressed for the\nspit, the queen's ring was found inside her.\n\nThe servant could now easily prove his innocence; and the king, to make\namends for the wrong, allowed him to ask a favour, and promised him\nthe best place in the court that he could wish for. The servant refused\neverything, and only asked for a horse and some money for travelling, as\nhe had a mind to see the world and go about a little. When his request\nwas granted he set out on his way, and one day came to a pond, where he\nsaw three fishes caught in the reeds and gasping for water. Now, though\nit is said that fishes are dumb, he heard them lamenting that they must\nperish so miserably, and, as he had a kind heart, he got off his\nhorse and put the three prisoners back into the water. They leapt with\ndelight, put out their heads, and cried to him: 'We will remember you\nand repay you for saving us!'\n\nHe rode on, and after a while it seemed to him that he heard a voice in\nthe sand at his feet. He listened, and heard an ant-king complain: 'Why\ncannot folks, with their clumsy beasts, keep off our bodies? That stupid\nhorse, with his heavy hoofs, has been treading down my people without\nmercy!' So he turned on to a side path and the ant-king cried out to\nhim: 'We will remember you--one good turn deserves another!'\n\nThe path led him into a wood, and there he saw two old ravens standing\nby their nest, and throwing out their young ones. 'Out with you, you\nidle, good-for-nothing creatures!' cried they; 'we cannot find food for\nyou any longer; you are big enough, and can provide for yourselves.'\nBut the poor young ravens lay upon the ground, flapping their wings, and\ncrying: 'Oh, what helpless chicks we are! We must shift for ourselves,\nand yet we cannot fly! What can we do, but lie here and starve?' So the\ngood young fellow alighted and killed his horse with his sword, and gave\nit to them for food. Then they came hopping up to it, satisfied their\nhunger, and cried: 'We will remember you--one good turn deserves\nanother!'\n\nAnd now he had to use his own legs, and when he had walked a long\nway, he came to a large city. There was a great noise and crowd in\nthe streets, and a man rode up on horseback, crying aloud: 'The king's\ndaughter wants a husband; but whoever seeks her hand must perform a hard\ntask, and if he does not succeed he will forfeit his life.' Many had\nalready made the attempt, but in vain; nevertheless when the youth\nsaw the king's daughter he was so overcome by her great beauty that he\nforgot all danger, went before the king, and declared himself a suitor.\n\nSo he was led out to the sea, and a gold ring was thrown into it, before\nhis eyes; then the king ordered him to fetch this ring up from the\nbottom of the sea, and added: 'If you come up again without it you will\nbe thrown in again and again until you perish amid the waves.' All the\npeople grieved for the handsome youth; then they went away, leaving him\nalone by the sea.\n\nHe stood on the shore and considered what he should do, when suddenly\nhe saw three fishes come swimming towards him, and they were the very\nfishes whose lives he had saved. The one in the middle held a mussel in\nits mouth, which it laid on the shore at the youth's feet, and when he\nhad taken it up and opened it, there lay the gold ring in the shell.\nFull of joy he took it to the king and expected that he would grant him\nthe promised reward.\n\nBut when the proud princess perceived that he was not her equal in\nbirth, she scorned him, and required him first to perform another\ntask. She went down into the garden and strewed with her own hands ten\nsacksful of millet-seed on the grass; then she said: 'Tomorrow morning\nbefore sunrise these must be picked up, and not a single grain be\nwanting.'\n\nThe youth sat down in the garden and considered how it might be possible\nto perform this task, but he could think of nothing, and there he sat\nsorrowfully awaiting the break of day, when he should be led to death.\nBut as soon as the first rays of the sun shone into the garden he saw\nall the ten sacks standing side by side, quite full, and not a single\ngrain was missing. The ant-king had come in the night with thousands\nand thousands of ants, and the grateful creatures had by great industry\npicked up all the millet-seed and gathered them into the sacks.\n\nPresently the king's daughter herself came down into the garden, and was\namazed to see that the young man had done the task she had given him.\nBut she could not yet conquer her proud heart, and said: 'Although he\nhas performed both the tasks, he shall not be my husband until he had\nbrought me an apple from the Tree of Life.' The youth did not know where\nthe Tree of Life stood, but he set out, and would have gone on for ever,\nas long as his legs would carry him, though he had no hope of finding\nit. After he had wandered through three kingdoms, he came one evening to\na wood, and lay down under a tree to sleep. But he heard a rustling in\nthe branches, and a golden apple fell into his hand. At the same time\nthree ravens flew down to him, perched themselves upon his knee, and\nsaid: 'We are the three young ravens whom you saved from starving; when\nwe had grown big, and heard that you were seeking the Golden Apple,\nwe flew over the sea to the end of the world, where the Tree of Life\nstands, and have brought you the apple.' The youth, full of joy, set out\nhomewards, and took the Golden Apple to the king's beautiful daughter,\nwho had now no more excuses left to make. They cut the Apple of Life in\ntwo and ate it together; and then her heart became full of love for him,\nand they lived in undisturbed happiness to a great age.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS\n\nThere was once upon a time an old goat who had seven little kids, and\nloved them with all the love of a mother for her children. One day she\nwanted to go into the forest and fetch some food. So she called all\nseven to her and said: 'Dear children, I have to go into the forest,\nbe on your guard against the wolf; if he comes in, he will devour you\nall--skin, hair, and everything. The wretch often disguises himself, but\nyou will know him at once by his rough voice and his black feet.' The\nkids said: 'Dear mother, we will take good care of ourselves; you may go\naway without any anxiety.' Then the old one bleated, and went on her way\nwith an easy mind.\n\nIt was not long before someone knocked at the house-door and called:\n'Open the door, dear children; your mother is here, and has brought\nsomething back with her for each of you.' But the little kids knew that\nit was the wolf, by the rough voice. 'We will not open the door,' cried\nthey, 'you are not our mother. She has a soft, pleasant voice, but\nyour voice is rough; you are the wolf!' Then the wolf went away to a\nshopkeeper and bought himself a great lump of chalk, ate this and made\nhis voice soft with it. Then he came back, knocked at the door of the\nhouse, and called: 'Open the door, dear children, your mother is here\nand has brought something back with her for each of you.' But the wolf\nhad laid his black paws against the window, and the children saw them\nand cried: 'We will not open the door, our mother has not black feet\nlike you: you are the wolf!' Then the wolf ran to a baker and said: 'I\nhave hurt my feet, rub some dough over them for me.' And when the baker\nhad rubbed his feet over, he ran to the miller and said: 'Strew some\nwhite meal over my feet for me.' The miller thought to himself: 'The\nwolf wants to deceive someone,' and refused; but the wolf said: 'If you\nwill not do it, I will devour you.' Then the miller was afraid, and made\nhis paws white for him. Truly, this is the way of mankind.\n\nSo now the wretch went for the third time to the house-door, knocked at\nit and said: 'Open the door for me, children, your dear little mother\nhas come home, and has brought every one of you something back from the\nforest with her.' The little kids cried: 'First show us your paws that\nwe may know if you are our dear little mother.' Then he put his paws\nin through the window and when the kids saw that they were white, they\nbelieved that all he said was true, and opened the door. But who should\ncome in but the wolf! They were terrified and wanted to hide themselves.\nOne sprang under the table, the second into the bed, the third into the\nstove, the fourth into the kitchen, the fifth into the cupboard, the\nsixth under the washing-bowl, and the seventh into the clock-case. But\nthe wolf found them all, and used no great ceremony; one after the\nother he swallowed them down his throat. The youngest, who was in\nthe clock-case, was the only one he did not find. When the wolf had\nsatisfied his appetite he took himself off, laid himself down under a\ntree in the green meadow outside, and began to sleep. Soon afterwards\nthe old goat came home again from the forest. Ah! what a sight she saw\nthere! The house-door stood wide open. The table, chairs, and benches\nwere thrown down, the washing-bowl lay broken to pieces, and the quilts\nand pillows were pulled off the bed. She sought her children, but they\nwere nowhere to be found. She called them one after another by name, but\nno one answered. At last, when she came to the youngest, a soft voice\ncried: 'Dear mother, I am in the clock-case.' She took the kid out, and\nit told her that the wolf had come and had eaten all the others. Then\nyou may imagine how she wept over her poor children.\n\nAt length in her grief she went out, and the youngest kid ran with her.\nWhen they came to the meadow, there lay the wolf by the tree and snored\nso loud that the branches shook. She looked at him on every side and\nsaw that something was moving and struggling in his gorged belly. 'Ah,\nheavens,' she said, 'is it possible that my poor children whom he has\nswallowed down for his supper, can be still alive?' Then the kid had to\nrun home and fetch scissors, and a needle and thread, and the goat cut\nopen the monster's stomach, and hardly had she made one cut, than one\nlittle kid thrust its head out, and when she had cut farther, all six\nsprang out one after another, and were all still alive, and had suffered\nno injury whatever, for in his greediness the monster had swallowed them\ndown whole. What rejoicing there was! They embraced their dear mother,\nand jumped like a tailor at his wedding. The mother, however, said: 'Now\ngo and look for some big stones, and we will fill the wicked beast's\nstomach with them while he is still asleep.' Then the seven kids dragged\nthe stones thither with all speed, and put as many of them into this\nstomach as they could get in; and the mother sewed him up again in the\ngreatest haste, so that he was not aware of anything and never once\nstirred.\n\nWhen the wolf at length had had his fill of sleep, he got on his legs,\nand as the stones in his stomach made him very thirsty, he wanted to\ngo to a well to drink. But when he began to walk and to move about, the\nstones in his stomach knocked against each other and rattled. Then cried\nhe:\n\n 'What rumbles and tumbles\n  Against my poor bones?\n  I thought 'twas six kids,\n  But it feels like big stones.'\n\nAnd when he got to the well and stooped over the water to drink, the\nheavy stones made him fall in, and he drowned miserably. When the seven\nkids saw that, they came running to the spot and cried aloud: 'The wolf\nis dead! The wolf is dead!' and danced for joy round about the well with\ntheir mother.\n\n\n\n\nTHE QUEEN BEE\n\nTwo kings' sons once upon a time went into the world to seek their\nfortunes; but they soon fell into a wasteful foolish way of living, so\nthat they could not return home again. Then their brother, who was a\nlittle insignificant dwarf, went out to seek for his brothers: but when\nhe had found them they only laughed at him, to think that he, who was so\nyoung and simple, should try to travel through the world, when they, who\nwere so much wiser, had been unable to get on. However, they all set\nout on their journey together, and came at last to an ant-hill. The two\nelder brothers would have pulled it down, in order to see how the poor\nants in their fright would run about and carry off their eggs. But the\nlittle dwarf said, 'Let the poor things enjoy themselves, I will not\nsuffer you to trouble them.'\n\nSo on they went, and came to a lake where many many ducks were swimming\nabout. The two brothers wanted to catch two, and roast them. But the\ndwarf said, 'Let the poor things enjoy themselves, you shall not kill\nthem.' Next they came to a bees'-nest in a hollow tree, and there was\nso much honey that it ran down the trunk; and the two brothers wanted to\nlight a fire under the tree and kill the bees, so as to get their honey.\nBut the dwarf held them back, and said, 'Let the pretty insects enjoy\nthemselves, I cannot let you burn them.'\n\nAt length the three brothers came to a castle: and as they passed by the\nstables they saw fine horses standing there, but all were of marble, and\nno man was to be seen. Then they went through all the rooms, till they\ncame to a door on which were three locks: but in the middle of the door\nwas a wicket, so that they could look into the next room. There they saw\na little grey old man sitting at a table; and they called to him once or\ntwice, but he did not hear: however, they called a third time, and then\nhe rose and came out to them.\n\nHe said nothing, but took hold of them and led them to a beautiful\ntable covered with all sorts of good things: and when they had eaten and\ndrunk, he showed each of them to a bed-chamber.\n\nThe next morning he came to the eldest and took him to a marble table,\nwhere there were three tablets, containing an account of the means by\nwhich the castle might be disenchanted. The first tablet said: 'In the\nwood, under the moss, lie the thousand pearls belonging to the king's\ndaughter; they must all be found: and if one be missing by set of sun,\nhe who seeks them will be turned into marble.'\n\nThe eldest brother set out, and sought for the pearls the whole day:\nbut the evening came, and he had not found the first hundred: so he was\nturned into stone as the tablet had foretold.\n\nThe next day the second brother undertook the task; but he succeeded no\nbetter than the first; for he could only find the second hundred of the\npearls; and therefore he too was turned into stone.\n\nAt last came the little dwarf's turn; and he looked in the moss; but it\nwas so hard to find the pearls, and the job was so tiresome!--so he sat\ndown upon a stone and cried. And as he sat there, the king of the ants\n(whose life he had saved) came to help him, with five thousand ants; and\nit was not long before they had found all the pearls and laid them in a\nheap.\n\nThe second tablet said: 'The key of the princess's bed-chamber must be\nfished up out of the lake.' And as the dwarf came to the brink of it,\nhe saw the two ducks whose lives he had saved swimming about; and they\ndived down and soon brought in the key from the bottom.\n\nThe third task was the hardest. It was to choose out the youngest and\nthe best of the king's three daughters. Now they were all beautiful, and\nall exactly alike: but he was told that the eldest had eaten a piece of\nsugar, the next some sweet syrup, and the youngest a spoonful of honey;\nso he was to guess which it was that had eaten the honey.\n\nThen came the queen of the bees, who had been saved by the little dwarf\nfrom the fire, and she tried the lips of all three; but at last she sat\nupon the lips of the one that had eaten the honey: and so the dwarf knew\nwhich was the youngest. Thus the spell was broken, and all who had been\nturned into stones awoke, and took their proper forms. And the dwarf\nmarried the youngest and the best of the princesses, and was king after\nher father's death; but his two brothers married the other two sisters.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER\n\nThere was once a shoemaker, who worked very hard and was very honest:\nbut still he could not earn enough to live upon; and at last all he\nhad in the world was gone, save just leather enough to make one pair of\nshoes.\n\nThen he cut his leather out, all ready to make up the next day, meaning\nto rise early in the morning to his work. His conscience was clear and\nhis heart light amidst all his troubles; so he went peaceably to bed,\nleft all his cares to Heaven, and soon fell asleep. In the morning after\nhe had said his prayers, he sat himself down to his work; when, to his\ngreat wonder, there stood the shoes all ready made, upon the table. The\ngood man knew not what to say or think at such an odd thing happening.\nHe looked at the workmanship; there was not one false stitch in the\nwhole job; all was so neat and true, that it was quite a masterpiece.\n\nThe same day a customer came in, and the shoes suited him so well that\nhe willingly paid a price higher than usual for them; and the poor\nshoemaker, with the money, bought leather enough to make two pairs more.\nIn the evening he cut out the work, and went to bed early, that he might\nget up and begin betimes next day; but he was saved all the trouble, for\nwhen he got up in the morning the work was done ready to his hand. Soon\nin came buyers, who paid him handsomely for his goods, so that he bought\nleather enough for four pair more. He cut out the work again overnight\nand found it done in the morning, as before; and so it went on for some\ntime: what was got ready in the evening was always done by daybreak, and\nthe good man soon became thriving and well off again.\n\nOne evening, about Christmas-time, as he and his wife were sitting over\nthe fire chatting together, he said to her, 'I should like to sit up and\nwatch tonight, that we may see who it is that comes and does my work for\nme.' The wife liked the thought; so they left a light burning, and hid\nthemselves in a corner of the room, behind a curtain that was hung up\nthere, and watched what would happen.\n\nAs soon as it was midnight, there came in two little naked dwarfs; and\nthey sat themselves upon the shoemaker's bench, took up all the work\nthat was cut out, and began to ply with their little fingers, stitching\nand rapping and tapping away at such a rate, that the shoemaker was all\nwonder, and could not take his eyes off them. And on they went, till the\njob was quite done, and the shoes stood ready for use upon the table.\nThis was long before daybreak; and then they bustled away as quick as\nlightning.\n\nThe next day the wife said to the shoemaker. 'These little wights have\nmade us rich, and we ought to be thankful to them, and do them a good\nturn if we can. I am quite sorry to see them run about as they do; and\nindeed it is not very decent, for they have nothing upon their backs to\nkeep off the cold. I'll tell you what, I will make each of them a shirt,\nand a coat and waistcoat, and a pair of pantaloons into the bargain; and\ndo you make each of them a little pair of shoes.'\n\nThe thought pleased the good cobbler very much; and one evening, when\nall the things were ready, they laid them on the table, instead of the\nwork that they used to cut out, and then went and hid themselves, to\nwatch what the little elves would do.\n\nAbout midnight in they came, dancing and skipping, hopped round the\nroom, and then went to sit down to their work as usual; but when they\nsaw the clothes lying for them, they laughed and chuckled, and seemed\nmightily delighted.\n\nThen they dressed themselves in the twinkling of an eye, and danced and\ncapered and sprang about, as merry as could be; till at last they danced\nout at the door, and away over the green.\n\nThe good couple saw them no more; but everything went well with them\nfrom that time forward, as long as they lived.\n\n\n\n\nTHE JUNIPER-TREE\n\nLong, long ago, some two thousand years or so, there lived a rich\nman with a good and beautiful wife. They loved each other dearly, but\nsorrowed much that they had no children. So greatly did they desire\nto have one, that the wife prayed for it day and night, but still they\nremained childless.\n\nIn front of the house there was a court, in which grew a juniper-tree.\nOne winter's day the wife stood under the tree to peel some apples, and\nas she was peeling them, she cut her finger, and the blood fell on the\nsnow. 'Ah,' sighed the woman heavily, 'if I had but a child, as red as\nblood and as white as snow,' and as she spoke the words, her heart grew\nlight within her, and it seemed to her that her wish was granted, and\nshe returned to the house feeling glad and comforted. A month passed,\nand the snow had all disappeared; then another month went by, and all\nthe earth was green. So the months followed one another, and first the\ntrees budded in the woods, and soon the green branches grew thickly\nintertwined, and then the blossoms began to fall. Once again the wife\nstood under the juniper-tree, and it was so full of sweet scent that her\nheart leaped for joy, and she was so overcome with her happiness, that\nshe fell on her knees. Presently the fruit became round and firm, and\nshe was glad and at peace; but when they were fully ripe she picked the\nberries and ate eagerly of them, and then she grew sad and ill. A little\nwhile later she called her husband, and said to him, weeping. 'If I\ndie, bury me under the juniper-tree.' Then she felt comforted and happy\nagain, and before another month had passed she had a little child, and\nwhen she saw that it was as white as snow and as red as blood, her joy\nwas so great that she died.\n\nHer husband buried her under the juniper-tree, and wept bitterly for\nher. By degrees, however, his sorrow grew less, and although at times he\nstill grieved over his loss, he was able to go about as usual, and later\non he married again.\n\nHe now had a little daughter born to him; the child of his first wife\nwas a boy, who was as red as blood and as white as snow. The mother\nloved her daughter very much, and when she looked at her and then looked\nat the boy, it pierced her heart to think that he would always stand in\nthe way of her own child, and she was continually thinking how she could\nget the whole of the property for her. This evil thought took possession\nof her more and more, and made her behave very unkindly to the boy. She\ndrove him from place to place with cuffings and buffetings, so that the\npoor child went about in fear, and had no peace from the time he left\nschool to the time he went back.\n\nOne day the little daughter came running to her mother in the\nstore-room, and said, 'Mother, give me an apple.' 'Yes, my child,' said\nthe wife, and she gave her a beautiful apple out of the chest; the chest\nhad a very heavy lid and a large iron lock.\n\n'Mother,' said the little daughter again, 'may not brother have one\ntoo?' The mother was angry at this, but she answered, 'Yes, when he\ncomes out of school.'\n\nJust then she looked out of the window and saw him coming, and it seemed\nas if an evil spirit entered into her, for she snatched the apple out\nof her little daughter's hand, and said, 'You shall not have one before\nyour brother.' She threw the apple into the chest and shut it to. The\nlittle boy now came in, and the evil spirit in the wife made her say\nkindly to him, 'My son, will you have an apple?' but she gave him a\nwicked look. 'Mother,' said the boy, 'how dreadful you look! Yes, give\nme an apple.' The thought came to her that she would kill him. 'Come\nwith me,' she said, and she lifted up the lid of the chest; 'take one\nout for yourself.' And as he bent over to do so, the evil spirit urged\nher, and crash! down went the lid, and off went the little boy's head.\nThen she was overwhelmed with fear at the thought of what she had done.\n'If only I can prevent anyone knowing that I did it,' she thought. So\nshe went upstairs to her room, and took a white handkerchief out of\nher top drawer; then she set the boy's head again on his shoulders, and\nbound it with the handkerchief so that nothing could be seen, and placed\nhim on a chair by the door with an apple in his hand.\n\nSoon after this, little Marleen came up to her mother who was stirring\na pot of boiling water over the fire, and said, 'Mother, brother is\nsitting by the door with an apple in his hand, and he looks so pale;\nand when I asked him to give me the apple, he did not answer, and that\nfrightened me.'\n\n'Go to him again,' said her mother, 'and if he does not answer, give him\na box on the ear.' So little Marleen went, and said, 'Brother, give me\nthat apple,' but he did not say a word; then she gave him a box on the\near, and his head rolled off. She was so terrified at this, that she ran\ncrying and screaming to her mother. 'Oh!' she said, 'I have knocked off\nbrother's head,' and then she wept and wept, and nothing would stop her.\n\n'What have you done!' said her mother, 'but no one must know about it,\nso you must keep silence; what is done can't be undone; we will make\nhim into puddings.' And she took the little boy and cut him up, made him\ninto puddings, and put him in the pot. But Marleen stood looking on,\nand wept and wept, and her tears fell into the pot, so that there was no\nneed of salt.\n\nPresently the father came home and sat down to his dinner; he asked,\n'Where is my son?' The mother said nothing, but gave him a large dish of\nblack pudding, and Marleen still wept without ceasing.\n\nThe father again asked, 'Where is my son?'\n\n'Oh,' answered the wife, 'he is gone into the country to his mother's\ngreat uncle; he is going to stay there some time.'\n\n'What has he gone there for, and he never even said goodbye to me!'\n\n'Well, he likes being there, and he told me he should be away quite six\nweeks; he is well looked after there.'\n\n'I feel very unhappy about it,' said the husband, 'in case it should not\nbe all right, and he ought to have said goodbye to me.'\n\nWith this he went on with his dinner, and said, 'Little Marleen, why do\nyou weep? Brother will soon be back.' Then he asked his wife for more\npudding, and as he ate, he threw the bones under the table.\n\nLittle Marleen went upstairs and took her best silk handkerchief out of\nher bottom drawer, and in it she wrapped all the bones from under the\ntable and carried them outside, and all the time she did nothing but\nweep. Then she laid them in the green grass under the juniper-tree, and\nshe had no sooner done so, then all her sadness seemed to leave her,\nand she wept no more. And now the juniper-tree began to move, and the\nbranches waved backwards and forwards, first away from one another, and\nthen together again, as it might be someone clapping their hands for\njoy. After this a mist came round the tree, and in the midst of it there\nwas a burning as of fire, and out of the fire there flew a beautiful\nbird, that rose high into the air, singing magnificently, and when it\ncould no more be seen, the juniper-tree stood there as before, and the\nsilk handkerchief and the bones were gone.\n\nLittle Marleen now felt as lighthearted and happy as if her brother were\nstill alive, and she went back to the house and sat down cheerfully to\nthe table and ate.\n\nThe bird flew away and alighted on the house of a goldsmith and began to\nsing:\n\n 'My mother killed her little son;\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\n  My sister loved me best of all;\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\n  And took my bones that they might lie\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\n\nThe goldsmith was in his workshop making a gold chain, when he heard the\nsong of the bird on his roof. He thought it so beautiful that he got\nup and ran out, and as he crossed the threshold he lost one of his\nslippers. But he ran on into the middle of the street, with a slipper on\none foot and a sock on the other; he still had on his apron, and still\nheld the gold chain and the pincers in his hands, and so he stood gazing\nup at the bird, while the sun came shining brightly down on the street.\n\n'Bird,' he said, 'how beautifully you sing! Sing me that song again.'\n\n'Nay,' said the bird, 'I do not sing twice for nothing. Give that gold\nchain, and I will sing it you again.'\n\n'Here is the chain, take it,' said the goldsmith. 'Only sing me that\nagain.'\n\nThe bird flew down and took the gold chain in his right claw, and then\nhe alighted again in front of the goldsmith and sang:\n\n 'My mother killed her little son;\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\n  My sister loved me best of all;\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\n  And took my bones that they might lie\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\n\nThen he flew away, and settled on the roof of a shoemaker's house and\nsang:\n\n 'My mother killed her little son;\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\n  My sister loved me best of all;\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\n  And took my bones that they might lie\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\n\nThe shoemaker heard him, and he jumped up and ran out in his\nshirt-sleeves, and stood looking up at the bird on the roof with his\nhand over his eyes to keep himself from being blinded by the sun.\n\n'Bird,' he said, 'how beautifully you sing!' Then he called through the\ndoor to his wife: 'Wife, come out; here is a bird, come and look at it\nand hear how beautifully it sings.' Then he called his daughter and the\nchildren, then the apprentices, girls and boys, and they all ran up the\nstreet to look at the bird, and saw how splendid it was with its red\nand green feathers, and its neck like burnished gold, and eyes like two\nbright stars in its head.\n\n'Bird,' said the shoemaker, 'sing me that song again.'\n\n'Nay,' answered the bird, 'I do not sing twice for nothing; you must\ngive me something.'\n\n'Wife,' said the man, 'go into the garret; on the upper shelf you will\nsee a pair of red shoes; bring them to me.' The wife went in and fetched\nthe shoes.\n\n'There, bird,' said the shoemaker, 'now sing me that song again.'\n\nThe bird flew down and took the red shoes in his left claw, and then he\nwent back to the roof and sang:\n\n 'My mother killed her little son;\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\n  My sister loved me best of all;\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\n  And took my bones that they might lie\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\n\nWhen he had finished, he flew away. He had the chain in his right claw\nand the shoes in his left, and he flew right away to a mill, and the\nmill went 'Click clack, click clack, click clack.' Inside the mill were\ntwenty of the miller's men hewing a stone, and as they went 'Hick hack,\nhick hack, hick hack,' the mill went 'Click clack, click clack, click\nclack.'\n\nThe bird settled on a lime-tree in front of the mill and sang:\n\n 'My mother killed her little son;\n\nthen one of the men left off,\n\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\n\ntwo more men left off and listened,\n\n  My sister loved me best of all;\n\nthen four more left off,\n\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\n  And took my bones that they might lie\n\nnow there were only eight at work,\n\n  Underneath\n\nAnd now only five,\n\n  the juniper-tree.\n\nAnd now only one,\n\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\n\nthen he looked up and the last one had left off work.\n\n'Bird,' he said, 'what a beautiful song that is you sing! Let me hear it\ntoo; sing it again.'\n\n'Nay,' answered the bird, 'I do not sing twice for nothing; give me that\nmillstone, and I will sing it again.'\n\n'If it belonged to me alone,' said the man, 'you should have it.'\n\n'Yes, yes,' said the others: 'if he will sing again, he can have it.'\n\nThe bird came down, and all the twenty millers set to and lifted up the\nstone with a beam; then the bird put his head through the hole and took\nthe stone round his neck like a collar, and flew back with it to the\ntree and sang--\n\n 'My mother killed her little son;\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\n  My sister loved me best of all;\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\n  And took my bones that they might lie\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\n\nAnd when he had finished his song, he spread his wings, and with the\nchain in his right claw, the shoes in his left, and the millstone round\nhis neck, he flew right away to his father's house.\n\nThe father, the mother, and little Marleen were having their dinner.\n\n'How lighthearted I feel,' said the father, 'so pleased and cheerful.'\n\n'And I,' said the mother, 'I feel so uneasy, as if a heavy thunderstorm\nwere coming.'\n\nBut little Marleen sat and wept and wept.\n\nThen the bird came flying towards the house and settled on the roof.\n\n'I do feel so happy,' said the father, 'and how beautifully the sun\nshines; I feel just as if I were going to see an old friend again.'\n\n'Ah!' said the wife, 'and I am so full of distress and uneasiness that\nmy teeth chatter, and I feel as if there were a fire in my veins,' and\nshe tore open her dress; and all the while little Marleen sat in the\ncorner and wept, and the plate on her knees was wet with her tears.\n\nThe bird now flew to the juniper-tree and began singing:\n\n 'My mother killed her little son;\n\nthe mother shut her eyes and her ears, that she might see and hear\nnothing, but there was a roaring sound in her ears like that of a\nviolent storm, and in her eyes a burning and flashing like lightning:\n\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\n\n'Look, mother,' said the man, 'at the beautiful bird that is singing so\nmagnificently; and how warm and bright the sun is, and what a delicious\nscent of spice in the air!'\n\n  My sister loved me best of all;\n\nthen little Marleen laid her head down on her knees and sobbed.\n\n'I must go outside and see the bird nearer,' said the man.\n\n'Ah, do not go!' cried the wife. 'I feel as if the whole house were in\nflames!'\n\nBut the man went out and looked at the bird.\n\n She laid her kerchief over me,\n And took my bones that they might lie\n Underneath the juniper-tree\n Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\n\nWith that the bird let fall the gold chain, and it fell just round the\nman's neck, so that it fitted him exactly.\n\nHe went inside, and said, 'See, what a splendid bird that is; he has\ngiven me this beautiful gold chain, and looks so beautiful himself.'\n\nBut the wife was in such fear and trouble, that she fell on the floor,\nand her cap fell from her head.\n\nThen the bird began again:\n\n 'My mother killed her little son;\n\n'Ah me!' cried the wife, 'if I were but a thousand feet beneath the\nearth, that I might not hear that song.'\n\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\n\nthen the woman fell down again as if dead.\n\n  My sister loved me best of all;\n\n'Well,' said little Marleen, 'I will go out too and see if the bird will\ngive me anything.'\n\nSo she went out.\n\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\n  And took my bones that they might lie\n\nand he threw down the shoes to her,\n\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\n\nAnd she now felt quite happy and lighthearted; she put on the shoes and\ndanced and jumped about in them. 'I was so miserable,' she said, 'when I\ncame out, but that has all passed away; that is indeed a splendid bird,\nand he has given me a pair of red shoes.'\n\nThe wife sprang up, with her hair standing out from her head like flames\nof fire. 'Then I will go out too,' she said, 'and see if it will lighten\nmy misery, for I feel as if the world were coming to an end.'\n\nBut as she crossed the threshold, crash! the bird threw the millstone\ndown on her head, and she was crushed to death.\n\nThe father and little Marleen heard the sound and ran out, but they only\nsaw mist and flame and fire rising from the spot, and when these had\npassed, there stood the little brother, and he took the father and\nlittle Marleen by the hand; then they all three rejoiced, and went\ninside together and sat down to their dinners and ate.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TURNIP\n\nThere were two brothers who were both soldiers; the one was rich and\nthe other poor. The poor man thought he would try to better himself; so,\npulling off his red coat, he became a gardener, and dug his ground well,\nand sowed turnips.\n\nWhen the seed came up, there was one plant bigger than all the rest; and\nit kept getting larger and larger, and seemed as if it would never cease\ngrowing; so that it might have been called the prince of turnips for\nthere never was such a one seen before, and never will again. At last it\nwas so big that it filled a cart, and two oxen could hardly draw it; and\nthe gardener knew not what in the world to do with it, nor whether it\nwould be a blessing or a curse to him. One day he said to himself, 'What\nshall I do with it? if I sell it, it will bring no more than another;\nand for eating, the little turnips are better than this; the best thing\nperhaps is to carry it and give it to the king as a mark of respect.'\n\nThen he yoked his oxen, and drew the turnip to the court, and gave it\nto the king. 'What a wonderful thing!' said the king; 'I have seen many\nstrange things, but such a monster as this I never saw. Where did you\nget the seed? or is it only your good luck? If so, you are a true child\nof fortune.' 'Ah, no!' answered the gardener, 'I am no child of fortune;\nI am a poor soldier, who never could get enough to live upon; so I\nlaid aside my red coat, and set to work, tilling the ground. I have a\nbrother, who is rich, and your majesty knows him well, and all the world\nknows him; but because I am poor, everybody forgets me.'\n\nThe king then took pity on him, and said, 'You shall be poor no\nlonger. I will give you so much that you shall be even richer than your\nbrother.' Then he gave him gold and lands and flocks, and made him so\nrich that his brother's fortune could not at all be compared with his.\n\nWhen the brother heard of all this, and how a turnip had made the\ngardener so rich, he envied him sorely, and bethought himself how he\ncould contrive to get the same good fortune for himself. However, he\ndetermined to manage more cleverly than his brother, and got together a\nrich present of gold and fine horses for the king; and thought he must\nhave a much larger gift in return; for if his brother had received so\nmuch for only a turnip, what must his present be worth?\n\nThe king took the gift very graciously, and said he knew not what to\ngive in return more valuable and wonderful than the great turnip; so\nthe soldier was forced to put it into a cart, and drag it home with him.\nWhen he reached home, he knew not upon whom to vent his rage and spite;\nand at length wicked thoughts came into his head, and he resolved to\nkill his brother.\n\nSo he hired some villains to murder him; and having shown them where to\nlie in ambush, he went to his brother, and said, 'Dear brother, I have\nfound a hidden treasure; let us go and dig it up, and share it between\nus.' The other had no suspicions of his roguery: so they went out\ntogether, and as they were travelling along, the murderers rushed out\nupon him, bound him, and were going to hang him on a tree.\n\nBut whilst they were getting all ready, they heard the trampling of a\nhorse at a distance, which so frightened them that they pushed their\nprisoner neck and shoulders together into a sack, and swung him up by a\ncord to the tree, where they left him dangling, and ran away. Meantime\nhe worked and worked away, till he made a hole large enough to put out\nhis head.\n\nWhen the horseman came up, he proved to be a student, a merry fellow,\nwho was journeying along on his nag, and singing as he went. As soon as\nthe man in the sack saw him passing under the tree, he cried out, 'Good\nmorning! good morning to thee, my friend!' The student looked about\neverywhere; and seeing no one, and not knowing where the voice came\nfrom, cried out, 'Who calls me?'\n\nThen the man in the tree answered, 'Lift up thine eyes, for behold here\nI sit in the sack of wisdom; here have I, in a short time, learned great\nand wondrous things. Compared to this seat, all the learning of the\nschools is as empty air. A little longer, and I shall know all that man\ncan know, and shall come forth wiser than the wisest of mankind. Here\nI discern the signs and motions of the heavens and the stars; the laws\nthat control the winds; the number of the sands on the seashore; the\nhealing of the sick; the virtues of all simples, of birds, and of\nprecious stones. Wert thou but once here, my friend, though wouldst feel\nand own the power of knowledge.\n\nThe student listened to all this and wondered much; at last he said,\n'Blessed be the day and hour when I found you; cannot you contrive to\nlet me into the sack for a little while?' Then the other answered, as if\nvery unwillingly, 'A little space I may allow thee to sit here, if thou\nwilt reward me well and entreat me kindly; but thou must tarry yet an\nhour below, till I have learnt some little matters that are yet unknown\nto me.'\n\nSo the student sat himself down and waited a while; but the time hung\nheavy upon him, and he begged earnestly that he might ascend forthwith,\nfor his thirst for knowledge was great. Then the other pretended to give\nway, and said, 'Thou must let the sack of wisdom descend, by untying\nyonder cord, and then thou shalt enter.' So the student let him down,\nopened the sack, and set him free. 'Now then,' cried he, 'let me ascend\nquickly.' As he began to put himself into the sack heels first, 'Wait a\nwhile,' said the gardener, 'that is not the way.' Then he pushed him\nin head first, tied up the sack, and soon swung up the searcher after\nwisdom dangling in the air. 'How is it with thee, friend?' said he,\n'dost thou not feel that wisdom comes unto thee? Rest there in peace,\ntill thou art a wiser man than thou wert.'\n\nSo saying, he trotted off on the student's nag, and left the poor fellow\nto gather wisdom till somebody should come and let him down.\n\n\n\n\nCLEVER HANS\n\nThe mother of Hans said: 'Whither away, Hans?' Hans answered: 'To\nGretel.' 'Behave well, Hans.' 'Oh, I'll behave well. Goodbye, mother.'\n'Goodbye, Hans.' Hans comes to Gretel. 'Good day, Gretel.' 'Good day,\nHans. What do you bring that is good?' 'I bring nothing, I want to have\nsomething given me.' Gretel presents Hans with a needle, Hans says:\n'Goodbye, Gretel.' 'Goodbye, Hans.'\n\nHans takes the needle, sticks it into a hay-cart, and follows the cart\nhome. 'Good evening, mother.' 'Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?'\n'With Gretel.' 'What did you take her?' 'Took nothing; had something\ngiven me.' 'What did Gretel give you?' 'Gave me a needle.' 'Where is the\nneedle, Hans?' 'Stuck in the hay-cart.' 'That was ill done, Hans. You\nshould have stuck the needle in your sleeve.' 'Never mind, I'll do\nbetter next time.'\n\n'Whither away, Hans?' 'To Gretel, mother.' 'Behave well, Hans.' 'Oh,\nI'll behave well. Goodbye, mother.' 'Goodbye, Hans.' Hans comes to\nGretel. 'Good day, Gretel.' 'Good day, Hans. What do you bring that is\ngood?' 'I bring nothing. I want to have something given to me.' Gretel\npresents Hans with a knife. 'Goodbye, Gretel.' 'Goodbye, Hans.' Hans\ntakes the knife, sticks it in his sleeve, and goes home. 'Good evening,\nmother.' 'Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?' 'With Gretel.' What\ndid you take her?' 'Took her nothing, she gave me something.' 'What did\nGretel give you?' 'Gave me a knife.' 'Where is the knife, Hans?' 'Stuck\nin my sleeve.' 'That's ill done, Hans, you should have put the knife in\nyour pocket.' 'Never mind, will do better next time.'\n\n'Whither away, Hans?' 'To Gretel, mother.' 'Behave well, Hans.' 'Oh,\nI'll behave well. Goodbye, mother.' 'Goodbye, Hans.' Hans comes to\nGretel. 'Good day, Gretel.' 'Good day, Hans. What good thing do you\nbring?' 'I bring nothing, I want something given me.' Gretel presents\nHans with a young goat. 'Goodbye, Gretel.' 'Goodbye, Hans.' Hans takes\nthe goat, ties its legs, and puts it in his pocket. When he gets home it\nis suffocated. 'Good evening, mother.' 'Good evening, Hans. Where have\nyou been?' 'With Gretel.' 'What did you take her?' 'Took nothing, she\ngave me something.' 'What did Gretel give you?' 'She gave me a goat.'\n'Where is the goat, Hans?' 'Put it in my pocket.' 'That was ill done,\nHans, you should have put a rope round the goat's neck.' 'Never mind,\nwill do better next time.'\n\n'Whither away, Hans?' 'To Gretel, mother.' 'Behave well, Hans.' 'Oh,\nI'll behave well. Goodbye, mother.' 'Goodbye, Hans.' Hans comes to\nGretel. 'Good day, Gretel.' 'Good day, Hans. What good thing do you\nbring?' 'I bring nothing, I want something given me.' Gretel presents\nHans with a piece of bacon. 'Goodbye, Gretel.' 'Goodbye, Hans.'\n\nHans takes the bacon, ties it to a rope, and drags it away behind him.\nThe dogs come and devour the bacon. When he gets home, he has the rope\nin his hand, and there is no longer anything hanging on to it. 'Good\nevening, mother.' 'Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?' 'With\nGretel.' 'What did you take her?' 'I took her nothing, she gave me\nsomething.' 'What did Gretel give you?' 'Gave me a bit of bacon.' 'Where\nis the bacon, Hans?' 'I tied it to a rope, brought it home, dogs took\nit.' 'That was ill done, Hans, you should have carried the bacon on your\nhead.' 'Never mind, will do better next time.'\n\n'Whither away, Hans?' 'To Gretel, mother.' 'Behave well, Hans.' 'I'll\nbehave well. Goodbye, mother.' 'Goodbye, Hans.' Hans comes to Gretel.\n'Good day, Gretel.' 'Good day, Hans, What good thing do you bring?' 'I\nbring nothing, but would have something given.' Gretel presents Hans\nwith a calf. 'Goodbye, Gretel.' 'Goodbye, Hans.'\n\nHans takes the calf, puts it on his head, and the calf kicks his face.\n'Good evening, mother.' 'Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?' 'With\nGretel.' 'What did you take her?' 'I took nothing, but had something\ngiven me.' 'What did Gretel give you?' 'A calf.' 'Where have you the\ncalf, Hans?' 'I set it on my head and it kicked my face.' 'That was\nill done, Hans, you should have led the calf, and put it in the stall.'\n'Never mind, will do better next time.'\n\n'Whither away, Hans?' 'To Gretel, mother.' 'Behave well, Hans.' 'I'll\nbehave well. Goodbye, mother.' 'Goodbye, Hans.'\n\nHans comes to Gretel. 'Good day, Gretel.' 'Good day, Hans. What good\nthing do you bring?' 'I bring nothing, but would have something given.'\nGretel says to Hans: 'I will go with you.'\n\nHans takes Gretel, ties her to a rope, leads her to the rack, and binds\nher fast. Then Hans goes to his mother. 'Good evening, mother.' 'Good\nevening, Hans. Where have you been?' 'With Gretel.' 'What did you take\nher?' 'I took her nothing.' 'What did Gretel give you?' 'She gave me\nnothing, she came with me.' 'Where have you left Gretel?' 'I led her by\nthe rope, tied her to the rack, and scattered some grass for her.' 'That\nwas ill done, Hans, you should have cast friendly eyes on her.' 'Never\nmind, will do better.'\n\nHans went into the stable, cut out all the calves' and sheep's eyes,\nand threw them in Gretel's face. Then Gretel became angry, tore herself\nloose and ran away, and was no longer the bride of Hans.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE LANGUAGES\n\nAn aged count once lived in Switzerland, who had an only son, but he\nwas stupid, and could learn nothing. Then said the father: 'Hark you,\nmy son, try as I will I can get nothing into your head. You must go from\nhence, I will give you into the care of a celebrated master, who shall\nsee what he can do with you.' The youth was sent into a strange town,\nand remained a whole year with the master. At the end of this time,\nhe came home again, and his father asked: 'Now, my son, what have you\nlearnt?' 'Father, I have learnt what the dogs say when they bark.' 'Lord\nhave mercy on us!' cried the father; 'is that all you have learnt? I\nwill send you into another town, to another master.' The youth was taken\nthither, and stayed a year with this master likewise. When he came back\nthe father again asked: 'My son, what have you learnt?' He answered:\n'Father, I have learnt what the birds say.' Then the father fell into a\nrage and said: 'Oh, you lost man, you have spent the precious time and\nlearnt nothing; are you not ashamed to appear before my eyes? I will\nsend you to a third master, but if you learn nothing this time also, I\nwill no longer be your father.' The youth remained a whole year with the\nthird master also, and when he came home again, and his father inquired:\n'My son, what have you learnt?' he answered: 'Dear father, I have this\nyear learnt what the frogs croak.' Then the father fell into the most\nfurious anger, sprang up, called his people thither, and said: 'This man\nis no longer my son, I drive him forth, and command you to take him\nout into the forest, and kill him.' They took him forth, but when they\nshould have killed him, they could not do it for pity, and let him go,\nand they cut the eyes and tongue out of a deer that they might carry\nthem to the old man as a token.\n\nThe youth wandered on, and after some time came to a fortress where he\nbegged for a night's lodging. 'Yes,' said the lord of the castle, 'if\nyou will pass the night down there in the old tower, go thither; but I\nwarn you, it is at the peril of your life, for it is full of wild dogs,\nwhich bark and howl without stopping, and at certain hours a man has to\nbe given to them, whom they at once devour.' The whole district was in\nsorrow and dismay because of them, and yet no one could do anything to\nstop this. The youth, however, was without fear, and said: 'Just let me\ngo down to the barking dogs, and give me something that I can throw to\nthem; they will do nothing to harm me.' As he himself would have it so,\nthey gave him some food for the wild animals, and led him down to the\ntower. When he went inside, the dogs did not bark at him, but wagged\ntheir tails quite amicably around him, ate what he set before them, and\ndid not hurt one hair of his head. Next morning, to the astonishment of\neveryone, he came out again safe and unharmed, and said to the lord of\nthe castle: 'The dogs have revealed to me, in their own language, why\nthey dwell there, and bring evil on the land. They are bewitched, and\nare obliged to watch over a great treasure which is below in the tower,\nand they can have no rest until it is taken away, and I have likewise\nlearnt, from their discourse, how that is to be done.' Then all who\nheard this rejoiced, and the lord of the castle said he would adopt him\nas a son if he accomplished it successfully. He went down again, and\nas he knew what he had to do, he did it thoroughly, and brought a chest\nfull of gold out with him. The howling of the wild dogs was henceforth\nheard no more; they had disappeared, and the country was freed from the\ntrouble.\n\nAfter some time he took it in his head that he would travel to Rome. On\nthe way he passed by a marsh, in which a number of frogs were sitting\ncroaking. He listened to them, and when he became aware of what they\nwere saying, he grew very thoughtful and sad. At last he arrived in\nRome, where the Pope had just died, and there was great doubt among\nthe cardinals as to whom they should appoint as his successor. They at\nlength agreed that the person should be chosen as pope who should be\ndistinguished by some divine and miraculous token. And just as that was\ndecided on, the young count entered into the church, and suddenly two\nsnow-white doves flew on his shoulders and remained sitting there. The\necclesiastics recognized therein the token from above, and asked him on\nthe spot if he would be pope. He was undecided, and knew not if he were\nworthy of this, but the doves counselled him to do it, and at length he\nsaid yes. Then was he anointed and consecrated, and thus was fulfilled\nwhat he had heard from the frogs on his way, which had so affected him,\nthat he was to be his Holiness the Pope. Then he had to sing a mass, and\ndid not know one word of it, but the two doves sat continually on his\nshoulders, and said it all in his ear.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOX AND THE CAT\n\nIt happened that the cat met the fox in a forest, and as she thought to\nherself: 'He is clever and full of experience, and much esteemed in the\nworld,' she spoke to him in a friendly way. 'Good day, dear Mr Fox,\nhow are you? How is all with you? How are you getting on in these hard\ntimes?' The fox, full of all kinds of arrogance, looked at the cat from\nhead to foot, and for a long time did not know whether he would give\nany answer or not. At last he said: 'Oh, you wretched beard-cleaner, you\npiebald fool, you hungry mouse-hunter, what can you be thinking of? Have\nyou the cheek to ask how I am getting on? What have you learnt? How\nmany arts do you understand?' 'I understand but one,' replied the\ncat, modestly. 'What art is that?' asked the fox. 'When the hounds are\nfollowing me, I can spring into a tree and save myself.' 'Is that all?'\nsaid the fox. 'I am master of a hundred arts, and have into the bargain\na sackful of cunning. You make me sorry for you; come with me, I will\nteach you how people get away from the hounds.' Just then came a hunter\nwith four dogs. The cat sprang nimbly up a tree, and sat down at the top\nof it, where the branches and foliage quite concealed her. 'Open your\nsack, Mr Fox, open your sack,' cried the cat to him, but the dogs had\nalready seized him, and were holding him fast. 'Ah, Mr Fox,' cried the\ncat. 'You with your hundred arts are left in the lurch! Had you been\nable to climb like me, you would not have lost your life.'\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOUR CLEVER BROTHERS\n\n'Dear children,' said a poor man to his four sons, 'I have nothing to\ngive you; you must go out into the wide world and try your luck. Begin\nby learning some craft or another, and see how you can get on.' So the\nfour brothers took their walking-sticks in their hands, and their little\nbundles on their shoulders, and after bidding their father goodbye, went\nall out at the gate together. When they had got on some way they came\nto four crossways, each leading to a different country. Then the eldest\nsaid, 'Here we must part; but this day four years we will come back\nto this spot, and in the meantime each must try what he can do for\nhimself.'\n\nSo each brother went his way; and as the eldest was hastening on a man\nmet him, and asked him where he was going, and what he wanted. 'I am\ngoing to try my luck in the world, and should like to begin by learning\nsome art or trade,' answered he. 'Then,' said the man, 'go with me, and\nI will teach you to become the cunningest thief that ever was.' 'No,'\nsaid the other, 'that is not an honest calling, and what can one look\nto earn by it in the end but the gallows?' 'Oh!' said the man, 'you need\nnot fear the gallows; for I will only teach you to steal what will be\nfair game: I meddle with nothing but what no one else can get or care\nanything about, and where no one can find you out.' So the young man\nagreed to follow his trade, and he soon showed himself so clever, that\nnothing could escape him that he had once set his mind upon.\n\nThe second brother also met a man, who, when he found out what he was\nsetting out upon, asked him what craft he meant to follow. 'I do not\nknow yet,' said he. 'Then come with me, and be a star-gazer. It is a\nnoble art, for nothing can be hidden from you, when once you understand\nthe stars.' The plan pleased him much, and he soon became such a skilful\nstar-gazer, that when he had served out his time, and wanted to leave\nhis master, he gave him a glass, and said, 'With this you can see all\nthat is passing in the sky and on earth, and nothing can be hidden from\nyou.'\n\nThe third brother met a huntsman, who took him with him, and taught him\nso well all that belonged to hunting, that he became very clever in the\ncraft of the woods; and when he left his master he gave him a bow, and\nsaid, 'Whatever you shoot at with this bow you will be sure to hit.'\n\nThe youngest brother likewise met a man who asked him what he wished to\ndo. 'Would not you like,' said he, 'to be a tailor?' 'Oh, no!' said\nthe young man; 'sitting cross-legged from morning to night, working\nbackwards and forwards with a needle and goose, will never suit me.'\n'Oh!' answered the man, 'that is not my sort of tailoring; come with me,\nand you will learn quite another kind of craft from that.' Not knowing\nwhat better to do, he came into the plan, and learnt tailoring from the\nbeginning; and when he left his master, he gave him a needle, and said,\n'You can sew anything with this, be it as soft as an egg or as hard as\nsteel; and the joint will be so fine that no seam will be seen.'\n\nAfter the space of four years, at the time agreed upon, the four\nbrothers met at the four cross-roads; and having welcomed each other,\nset off towards their father's home, where they told him all that had\nhappened to them, and how each had learned some craft.\n\nThen, one day, as they were sitting before the house under a very high\ntree, the father said, 'I should like to try what each of you can do in\nthis way.' So he looked up, and said to the second son, 'At the top of\nthis tree there is a chaffinch's nest; tell me how many eggs there are\nin it.' The star-gazer took his glass, looked up, and said, 'Five.'\n'Now,' said the father to the eldest son, 'take away the eggs without\nletting the bird that is sitting upon them and hatching them know\nanything of what you are doing.' So the cunning thief climbed up the\ntree, and brought away to his father the five eggs from under the bird;\nand it never saw or felt what he was doing, but kept sitting on at its\nease. Then the father took the eggs, and put one on each corner of the\ntable, and the fifth in the middle, and said to the huntsman, 'Cut all\nthe eggs in two pieces at one shot.' The huntsman took up his bow, and\nat one shot struck all the five eggs as his father wished.\n\n'Now comes your turn,' said he to the young tailor; 'sew the eggs and\nthe young birds in them together again, so neatly that the shot shall\nhave done them no harm.' Then the tailor took his needle, and sewed the\neggs as he was told; and when he had done, the thief was sent to take\nthem back to the nest, and put them under the bird without its knowing\nit. Then she went on sitting, and hatched them: and in a few days they\ncrawled out, and had only a little red streak across their necks, where\nthe tailor had sewn them together.\n\n'Well done, sons!' said the old man; 'you have made good use of your\ntime, and learnt something worth the knowing; but I am sure I do not\nknow which ought to have the prize. Oh, that a time might soon come for\nyou to turn your skill to some account!'\n\nNot long after this there was a great bustle in the country; for the\nking's daughter had been carried off by a mighty dragon, and the king\nmourned over his loss day and night, and made it known that whoever\nbrought her back to him should have her for a wife. Then the four\nbrothers said to each other, 'Here is a chance for us; let us try\nwhat we can do.' And they agreed to see whether they could not set the\nprincess free. 'I will soon find out where she is, however,' said the\nstar-gazer, as he looked through his glass; and he soon cried out, 'I\nsee her afar off, sitting upon a rock in the sea, and I can spy the\ndragon close by, guarding her.' Then he went to the king, and asked for\na ship for himself and his brothers; and they sailed together over the\nsea, till they came to the right place. There they found the princess\nsitting, as the star-gazer had said, on the rock; and the dragon was\nlying asleep, with his head upon her lap. 'I dare not shoot at him,'\nsaid the huntsman, 'for I should kill the beautiful young lady also.'\n'Then I will try my skill,' said the thief, and went and stole her away\nfrom under the dragon, so quietly and gently that the beast did not know\nit, but went on snoring.\n\nThen away they hastened with her full of joy in their boat towards the\nship; but soon came the dragon roaring behind them through the air; for\nhe awoke and missed the princess. But when he got over the boat, and\nwanted to pounce upon them and carry off the princess, the huntsman took\nup his bow and shot him straight through the heart so that he fell down\ndead. They were still not safe; for he was such a great beast that in\nhis fall he overset the boat, and they had to swim in the open sea\nupon a few planks. So the tailor took his needle, and with a few large\nstitches put some of the planks together; and he sat down upon these,\nand sailed about and gathered up all pieces of the boat; and then tacked\nthem together so quickly that the boat was soon ready, and they then\nreached the ship and got home safe.\n\nWhen they had brought home the princess to her father, there was great\nrejoicing; and he said to the four brothers, 'One of you shall marry\nher, but you must settle amongst yourselves which it is to be.' Then\nthere arose a quarrel between them; and the star-gazer said, 'If I had\nnot found the princess out, all your skill would have been of no use;\ntherefore she ought to be mine.' 'Your seeing her would have been of\nno use,' said the thief, 'if I had not taken her away from the dragon;\ntherefore she ought to be mine.' 'No, she is mine,' said the huntsman;\n'for if I had not killed the dragon, he would, after all, have torn you\nand the princess into pieces.' 'And if I had not sewn the boat together\nagain,' said the tailor, 'you would all have been drowned, therefore she\nis mine.' Then the king put in a word, and said, 'Each of you is right;\nand as all cannot have the young lady, the best way is for neither of\nyou to have her: for the truth is, there is somebody she likes a great\ndeal better. But to make up for your loss, I will give each of you, as a\nreward for his skill, half a kingdom.' So the brothers agreed that this\nplan would be much better than either quarrelling or marrying a lady who\nhad no mind to have them. And the king then gave to each half a kingdom,\nas he had said; and they lived very happily the rest of their days, and\ntook good care of their father; and somebody took better care of the\nyoung lady, than to let either the dragon or one of the craftsmen have\nher again.\n\n\n\n\nLILY AND THE LION\n\nA merchant, who had three daughters, was once setting out upon a\njourney; but before he went he asked each daughter what gift he should\nbring back for her. The eldest wished for pearls; the second for jewels;\nbut the third, who was called Lily, said, 'Dear father, bring me a\nrose.' Now it was no easy task to find a rose, for it was the middle\nof winter; yet as she was his prettiest daughter, and was very fond of\nflowers, her father said he would try what he could do. So he kissed all\nthree, and bid them goodbye.\n\nAnd when the time came for him to go home, he had bought pearls and\njewels for the two eldest, but he had sought everywhere in vain for the\nrose; and when he went into any garden and asked for such a thing, the\npeople laughed at him, and asked him whether he thought roses grew in\nsnow. This grieved him very much, for Lily was his dearest child; and as\nhe was journeying home, thinking what he should bring her, he came to a\nfine castle; and around the castle was a garden, in one half of which it\nseemed to be summer-time and in the other half winter. On one side the\nfinest flowers were in full bloom, and on the other everything looked\ndreary and buried in the snow. 'A lucky hit!' said he, as he called to\nhis servant, and told him to go to a beautiful bed of roses that was\nthere, and bring him away one of the finest flowers.\n\nThis done, they were riding away well pleased, when up sprang a fierce\nlion, and roared out, 'Whoever has stolen my roses shall be eaten up\nalive!' Then the man said, 'I knew not that the garden belonged to you;\ncan nothing save my life?' 'No!' said the lion, 'nothing, unless you\nundertake to give me whatever meets you on your return home; if you\nagree to this, I will give you your life, and the rose too for your\ndaughter.' But the man was unwilling to do so and said, 'It may be my\nyoungest daughter, who loves me most, and always runs to meet me when\nI go home.' Then the servant was greatly frightened, and said, 'It may\nperhaps be only a cat or a dog.' And at last the man yielded with a\nheavy heart, and took the rose; and said he would give the lion whatever\nshould meet him first on his return.\n\nAnd as he came near home, it was Lily, his youngest and dearest\ndaughter, that met him; she came running, and kissed him, and welcomed\nhim home; and when she saw that he had brought her the rose, she was\nstill more glad. But her father began to be very sorrowful, and to weep,\nsaying, 'Alas, my dearest child! I have bought this flower at a high\nprice, for I have said I would give you to a wild lion; and when he has\nyou, he will tear you in pieces, and eat you.' Then he told her all that\nhad happened, and said she should not go, let what would happen.\n\nBut she comforted him, and said, 'Dear father, the word you have given\nmust be kept; I will go to the lion, and soothe him: perhaps he will let\nme come safe home again.'\n\nThe next morning she asked the way she was to go, and took leave of her\nfather, and went forth with a bold heart into the wood. But the lion was\nan enchanted prince. By day he and all his court were lions, but in the\nevening they took their right forms again. And when Lily came to the\ncastle, he welcomed her so courteously that she agreed to marry him. The\nwedding-feast was held, and they lived happily together a long time. The\nprince was only to be seen as soon as evening came, and then he held his\ncourt; but every morning he left his bride, and went away by himself,\nshe knew not whither, till the night came again.\n\nAfter some time he said to her, 'Tomorrow there will be a great feast in\nyour father's house, for your eldest sister is to be married; and if\nyou wish to go and visit her my lions shall lead you thither.' Then she\nrejoiced much at the thoughts of seeing her father once more, and set\nout with the lions; and everyone was overjoyed to see her, for they had\nthought her dead long since. But she told them how happy she was, and\nstayed till the feast was over, and then went back to the wood.\n\nHer second sister was soon after married, and when Lily was asked to\ngo to the wedding, she said to the prince, 'I will not go alone this\ntime--you must go with me.' But he would not, and said that it would be\na very hazardous thing; for if the least ray of the torch-light should\nfall upon him his enchantment would become still worse, for he should be\nchanged into a dove, and be forced to wander about the world for seven\nlong years. However, she gave him no rest, and said she would take care\nno light should fall upon him. So at last they set out together, and\ntook with them their little child; and she chose a large hall with thick\nwalls for him to sit in while the wedding-torches were lighted; but,\nunluckily, no one saw that there was a crack in the door. Then the\nwedding was held with great pomp, but as the train came from the church,\nand passed with the torches before the hall, a very small ray of light\nfell upon the prince. In a moment he disappeared, and when his wife came\nin and looked for him, she found only a white dove; and it said to her,\n'Seven years must I fly up and down over the face of the earth, but\nevery now and then I will let fall a white feather, that will show you\nthe way I am going; follow it, and at last you may overtake and set me\nfree.'\n\nThis said, he flew out at the door, and poor Lily followed; and every\nnow and then a white feather fell, and showed her the way she was to\njourney. Thus she went roving on through the wide world, and looked\nneither to the right hand nor to the left, nor took any rest, for seven\nyears. Then she began to be glad, and thought to herself that the time\nwas fast coming when all her troubles should end; yet repose was still\nfar off, for one day as she was travelling on she missed the white\nfeather, and when she lifted up her eyes she could nowhere see the dove.\n'Now,' thought she to herself, 'no aid of man can be of use to me.' So\nshe went to the sun and said, 'Thou shinest everywhere, on the hill's\ntop and the valley's depth--hast thou anywhere seen my white dove?'\n'No,' said the sun, 'I have not seen it; but I will give thee a\ncasket--open it when thy hour of need comes.'\n\nSo she thanked the sun, and went on her way till eventide; and when\nthe moon arose, she cried unto it, and said, 'Thou shinest through the\nnight, over field and grove--hast thou nowhere seen my white dove?'\n'No,' said the moon, 'I cannot help thee but I will give thee an\negg--break it when need comes.'\n\nThen she thanked the moon, and went on till the night-wind blew; and she\nraised up her voice to it, and said, 'Thou blowest through every tree\nand under every leaf--hast thou not seen my white dove?' 'No,' said the\nnight-wind, 'but I will ask three other winds; perhaps they have seen\nit.' Then the east wind and the west wind came, and said they too had\nnot seen it, but the south wind said, 'I have seen the white dove--he\nhas fled to the Red Sea, and is changed once more into a lion, for the\nseven years are passed away, and there he is fighting with a dragon;\nand the dragon is an enchanted princess, who seeks to separate him from\nyou.' Then the night-wind said, 'I will give thee counsel. Go to the\nRed Sea; on the right shore stand many rods--count them, and when thou\ncomest to the eleventh, break it off, and smite the dragon with it; and\nso the lion will have the victory, and both of them will appear to you\nin their own forms. Then look round and thou wilt see a griffin, winged\nlike bird, sitting by the Red Sea; jump on to his back with thy beloved\none as quickly as possible, and he will carry you over the waters to\nyour home. I will also give thee this nut,' continued the night-wind.\n'When you are half-way over, throw it down, and out of the waters will\nimmediately spring up a high nut-tree on which the griffin will be able\nto rest, otherwise he would not have the strength to bear you the whole\nway; if, therefore, thou dost forget to throw down the nut, he will let\nyou both fall into the sea.'\n\nSo our poor wanderer went forth, and found all as the night-wind had\nsaid; and she plucked the eleventh rod, and smote the dragon, and the\nlion forthwith became a prince, and the dragon a princess again. But\nno sooner was the princess released from the spell, than she seized\nthe prince by the arm and sprang on to the griffin's back, and went off\ncarrying the prince away with her.\n\nThus the unhappy traveller was again forsaken and forlorn; but she\ntook heart and said, 'As far as the wind blows, and so long as the cock\ncrows, I will journey on, till I find him once again.' She went on for\na long, long way, till at length she came to the castle whither the\nprincess had carried the prince; and there was a feast got ready, and\nshe heard that the wedding was about to be held. 'Heaven aid me now!'\nsaid she; and she took the casket that the sun had given her, and found\nthat within it lay a dress as dazzling as the sun itself. So she put it\non, and went into the palace, and all the people gazed upon her; and\nthe dress pleased the bride so much that she asked whether it was to be\nsold. 'Not for gold and silver.' said she, 'but for flesh and blood.'\nThe princess asked what she meant, and she said, 'Let me speak with the\nbridegroom this night in his chamber, and I will give thee the dress.'\nAt last the princess agreed, but she told her chamberlain to give the\nprince a sleeping draught, that he might not hear or see her. When\nevening came, and the prince had fallen asleep, she was led into\nhis chamber, and she sat herself down at his feet, and said: 'I have\nfollowed thee seven years. I have been to the sun, the moon, and the\nnight-wind, to seek thee, and at last I have helped thee to overcome\nthe dragon. Wilt thou then forget me quite?' But the prince all the time\nslept so soundly, that her voice only passed over him, and seemed like\nthe whistling of the wind among the fir-trees.\n\nThen poor Lily was led away, and forced to give up the golden dress; and\nwhen she saw that there was no help for her, she went out into a meadow,\nand sat herself down and wept. But as she sat she bethought herself of\nthe egg that the moon had given her; and when she broke it, there ran\nout a hen and twelve chickens of pure gold, that played about, and then\nnestled under the old one's wings, so as to form the most beautiful\nsight in the world. And she rose up and drove them before her, till the\nbride saw them from her window, and was so pleased that she came forth\nand asked her if she would sell the brood. 'Not for gold or silver, but\nfor flesh and blood: let me again this evening speak with the bridegroom\nin his chamber, and I will give thee the whole brood.'\n\nThen the princess thought to betray her as before, and agreed to\nwhat she asked: but when the prince went to his chamber he asked\nthe chamberlain why the wind had whistled so in the night. And the\nchamberlain told him all--how he had given him a sleeping draught, and\nhow a poor maiden had come and spoken to him in his chamber, and was\nto come again that night. Then the prince took care to throw away the\nsleeping draught; and when Lily came and began again to tell him what\nwoes had befallen her, and how faithful and true to him she had been,\nhe knew his beloved wife's voice, and sprang up, and said, 'You have\nawakened me as from a dream, for the strange princess had thrown a spell\naround me, so that I had altogether forgotten you; but Heaven hath sent\nyou to me in a lucky hour.'\n\nAnd they stole away out of the palace by night unawares, and seated\nthemselves on the griffin, who flew back with them over the Red Sea.\nWhen they were half-way across Lily let the nut fall into the water,\nand immediately a large nut-tree arose from the sea, whereon the griffin\nrested for a while, and then carried them safely home. There they found\ntheir child, now grown up to be comely and fair; and after all their\ntroubles they lived happily together to the end of their days.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOX AND THE HORSE\n\nA farmer had a horse that had been an excellent faithful servant to\nhim: but he was now grown too old to work; so the farmer would give him\nnothing more to eat, and said, 'I want you no longer, so take yourself\noff out of my stable; I shall not take you back again until you are\nstronger than a lion.' Then he opened the door and turned him adrift.\n\nThe poor horse was very melancholy, and wandered up and down in the\nwood, seeking some little shelter from the cold wind and rain. Presently\na fox met him: 'What's the matter, my friend?' said he, 'why do you hang\ndown your head and look so lonely and woe-begone?' 'Ah!' replied the\nhorse, 'justice and avarice never dwell in one house; my master has\nforgotten all that I have done for him so many years, and because I\ncan no longer work he has turned me adrift, and says unless I become\nstronger than a lion he will not take me back again; what chance can I\nhave of that? he knows I have none, or he would not talk so.'\n\nHowever, the fox bid him be of good cheer, and said, 'I will help you;\nlie down there, stretch yourself out quite stiff, and pretend to be\ndead.' The horse did as he was told, and the fox went straight to the\nlion who lived in a cave close by, and said to him, 'A little way off\nlies a dead horse; come with me and you may make an excellent meal of\nhis carcase.' The lion was greatly pleased, and set off immediately; and\nwhen they came to the horse, the fox said, 'You will not be able to eat\nhim comfortably here; I'll tell you what--I will tie you fast to\nhis tail, and then you can draw him to your den, and eat him at your\nleisure.'\n\nThis advice pleased the lion, so he laid himself down quietly for the\nfox to make him fast to the horse. But the fox managed to tie his legs\ntogether and bound all so hard and fast that with all his strength he\ncould not set himself free. When the work was done, the fox clapped the\nhorse on the shoulder, and said, 'Jip! Dobbin! Jip!' Then up he sprang,\nand moved off, dragging the lion behind him. The beast began to roar\nand bellow, till all the birds of the wood flew away for fright; but the\nhorse let him sing on, and made his way quietly over the fields to his\nmaster's house.\n\n'Here he is, master,' said he, 'I have got the better of him': and when\nthe farmer saw his old servant, his heart relented, and he said. 'Thou\nshalt stay in thy stable and be well taken care of.' And so the poor old\nhorse had plenty to eat, and lived--till he died.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLUE LIGHT\n\nThere was once upon a time a soldier who for many years had served the\nking faithfully, but when the war came to an end could serve no longer\nbecause of the many wounds which he had received. The king said to him:\n'You may return to your home, I need you no longer, and you will not\nreceive any more money, for he only receives wages who renders me\nservice for them.' Then the soldier did not know how to earn a living,\nwent away greatly troubled, and walked the whole day, until in the\nevening he entered a forest. When darkness came on, he saw a light,\nwhich he went up to, and came to a house wherein lived a witch. 'Do give\nme one night's lodging, and a little to eat and drink,' said he to\nher, 'or I shall starve.' 'Oho!' she answered, 'who gives anything to a\nrun-away soldier? Yet will I be compassionate, and take you in, if you\nwill do what I wish.' 'What do you wish?' said the soldier. 'That you\nshould dig all round my garden for me, tomorrow.' The soldier consented,\nand next day laboured with all his strength, but could not finish it by\nthe evening. 'I see well enough,' said the witch, 'that you can do no\nmore today, but I will keep you yet another night, in payment for\nwhich you must tomorrow chop me a load of wood, and chop it small.' The\nsoldier spent the whole day in doing it, and in the evening the witch\nproposed that he should stay one night more. 'Tomorrow, you shall only\ndo me a very trifling piece of work. Behind my house, there is an old\ndry well, into which my light has fallen, it burns blue, and never goes\nout, and you shall bring it up again.' Next day the old woman took him\nto the well, and let him down in a basket. He found the blue light, and\nmade her a signal to draw him up again. She did draw him up, but when he\ncame near the edge, she stretched down her hand and wanted to take the\nblue light away from him. 'No,' said he, perceiving her evil intention,\n'I will not give you the light until I am standing with both feet upon\nthe ground.' The witch fell into a passion, let him fall again into the\nwell, and went away.\n\nThe poor soldier fell without injury on the moist ground, and the blue\nlight went on burning, but of what use was that to him? He saw very well\nthat he could not escape death. He sat for a while very sorrowfully,\nthen suddenly he felt in his pocket and found his tobacco pipe, which\nwas still half full. 'This shall be my last pleasure,' thought he,\npulled it out, lit it at the blue light and began to smoke. When the\nsmoke had circled about the cavern, suddenly a little black dwarf stood\nbefore him, and said: 'Lord, what are your commands?' 'What my commands\nare?' replied the soldier, quite astonished. 'I must do everything you\nbid me,' said the little man. 'Good,' said the soldier; 'then in the\nfirst place help me out of this well.' The little man took him by the\nhand, and led him through an underground passage, but he did not forget\nto take the blue light with him. On the way the dwarf showed him the\ntreasures which the witch had collected and hidden there, and the\nsoldier took as much gold as he could carry. When he was above, he said\nto the little man: 'Now go and bind the old witch, and carry her before\nthe judge.' In a short time she came by like the wind, riding on a wild\ntom-cat and screaming frightfully. Nor was it long before the little man\nreappeared. 'It is all done,' said he, 'and the witch is already hanging\non the gallows. What further commands has my lord?' inquired the dwarf.\n'At this moment, none,' answered the soldier; 'you can return home, only\nbe at hand immediately, if I summon you.' 'Nothing more is needed than\nthat you should light your pipe at the blue light, and I will appear\nbefore you at once.' Thereupon he vanished from his sight.\n\nThe soldier returned to the town from which he came. He went to the\nbest inn, ordered himself handsome clothes, and then bade the landlord\nfurnish him a room as handsome as possible. When it was ready and the\nsoldier had taken possession of it, he summoned the little black manikin\nand said: 'I have served the king faithfully, but he has dismissed me,\nand left me to hunger, and now I want to take my revenge.' 'What am I to\ndo?' asked the little man. 'Late at night, when the king's daughter is\nin bed, bring her here in her sleep, she shall do servant's work for\nme.' The manikin said: 'That is an easy thing for me to do, but a very\ndangerous thing for you, for if it is discovered, you will fare ill.'\nWhen twelve o'clock had struck, the door sprang open, and the manikin\ncarried in the princess. 'Aha! are you there?' cried the soldier, 'get\nto your work at once! Fetch the broom and sweep the chamber.' When\nshe had done this, he ordered her to come to his chair, and then he\nstretched out his feet and said: 'Pull off my boots,' and then he\nthrew them in her face, and made her pick them up again, and clean\nand brighten them. She, however, did everything he bade her, without\nopposition, silently and with half-shut eyes. When the first cock\ncrowed, the manikin carried her back to the royal palace, and laid her\nin her bed.\n\nNext morning when the princess arose she went to her father, and told\nhim that she had had a very strange dream. 'I was carried through the\nstreets with the rapidity of lightning,' said she, 'and taken into a\nsoldier's room, and I had to wait upon him like a servant, sweep his\nroom, clean his boots, and do all kinds of menial work. It was only a\ndream, and yet I am just as tired as if I really had done everything.'\n'The dream may have been true,' said the king. 'I will give you a piece\nof advice. Fill your pocket full of peas, and make a small hole in the\npocket, and then if you are carried away again, they will fall out and\nleave a track in the streets.' But unseen by the king, the manikin was\nstanding beside him when he said that, and heard all. At night when\nthe sleeping princess was again carried through the streets, some peas\ncertainly did fall out of her pocket, but they made no track, for the\ncrafty manikin had just before scattered peas in every street there\nwas. And again the princess was compelled to do servant's work until\ncock-crow.\n\nNext morning the king sent his people out to seek the track, but it was\nall in vain, for in every street poor children were sitting, picking up\npeas, and saying: 'It must have rained peas, last night.' 'We must think\nof something else,' said the king; 'keep your shoes on when you go to\nbed, and before you come back from the place where you are taken, hide\none of them there, I will soon contrive to find it.' The black manikin\nheard this plot, and at night when the soldier again ordered him to\nbring the princess, revealed it to him, and told him that he knew of no\nexpedient to counteract this stratagem, and that if the shoe were found\nin the soldier's house it would go badly with him. 'Do what I bid you,'\nreplied the soldier, and again this third night the princess was obliged\nto work like a servant, but before she went away, she hid her shoe under\nthe bed.\n\nNext morning the king had the entire town searched for his daughter's\nshoe. It was found at the soldier's, and the soldier himself, who at the\nentreaty of the dwarf had gone outside the gate, was soon brought back,\nand thrown into prison. In his flight he had forgotten the most valuable\nthings he had, the blue light and the gold, and had only one ducat in\nhis pocket. And now loaded with chains, he was standing at the window of\nhis dungeon, when he chanced to see one of his comrades passing by. The\nsoldier tapped at the pane of glass, and when this man came up, said to\nhim: 'Be so kind as to fetch me the small bundle I have left lying in\nthe inn, and I will give you a ducat for doing it.' His comrade ran\nthither and brought him what he wanted. As soon as the soldier was alone\nagain, he lighted his pipe and summoned the black manikin. 'Have no\nfear,' said the latter to his master. 'Go wheresoever they take you, and\nlet them do what they will, only take the blue light with you.' Next day\nthe soldier was tried, and though he had done nothing wicked, the judge\ncondemned him to death. When he was led forth to die, he begged a last\nfavour of the king. 'What is it?' asked the king. 'That I may smoke one\nmore pipe on my way.' 'You may smoke three,' answered the king, 'but do\nnot imagine that I will spare your life.' Then the soldier pulled out\nhis pipe and lighted it at the blue light, and as soon as a few wreaths\nof smoke had ascended, the manikin was there with a small cudgel in his\nhand, and said: 'What does my lord command?' 'Strike down to earth that\nfalse judge there, and his constable, and spare not the king who has\ntreated me so ill.' Then the manikin fell on them like lightning,\ndarting this way and that way, and whosoever was so much as touched by\nhis cudgel fell to earth, and did not venture to stir again. The king\nwas terrified; he threw himself on the soldier's mercy, and merely to\nbe allowed to live at all, gave him his kingdom for his own, and his\ndaughter to wife.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RAVEN\n\nThere was once a queen who had a little daughter, still too young to run\nalone. One day the child was very troublesome, and the mother could not\nquiet it, do what she would. She grew impatient, and seeing the ravens\nflying round the castle, she opened the window, and said: 'I wish you\nwere a raven and would fly away, then I should have a little peace.'\nScarcely were the words out of her mouth, when the child in her arms was\nturned into a raven, and flew away from her through the open window. The\nbird took its flight to a dark wood and remained there for a long time,\nand meanwhile the parents could hear nothing of their child.\n\nLong after this, a man was making his way through the wood when he heard\na raven calling, and he followed the sound of the voice. As he drew\nnear, the raven said, 'I am by birth a king's daughter, but am now under\nthe spell of some enchantment; you can, however, set me free.' 'What\nam I to do?' he asked. She replied, 'Go farther into the wood until you\ncome to a house, wherein lives an old woman; she will offer you food and\ndrink, but you must not take of either; if you do, you will fall into\na deep sleep, and will not be able to help me. In the garden behind the\nhouse is a large tan-heap, and on that you must stand and watch for me.\nI shall drive there in my carriage at two o'clock in the afternoon for\nthree successive days; the first day it will be drawn by four white, the\nsecond by four chestnut, and the last by four black horses; but if you\nfail to keep awake and I find you sleeping, I shall not be set free.'\n\nThe man promised to do all that she wished, but the raven said, 'Alas! I\nknow even now that you will take something from the woman and be unable\nto save me.' The man assured her again that he would on no account touch\na thing to eat or drink.\n\nWhen he came to the house and went inside, the old woman met him, and\nsaid, 'Poor man! how tired you are! Come in and rest and let me give you\nsomething to eat and drink.'\n\n'No,' answered the man, 'I will neither eat not drink.'\n\nBut she would not leave him alone, and urged him saying, 'If you will\nnot eat anything, at least you might take a draught of wine; one drink\ncounts for nothing,' and at last he allowed himself to be persuaded, and\ndrank.\n\nAs it drew towards the appointed hour, he went outside into the garden\nand mounted the tan-heap to await the raven. Suddenly a feeling of\nfatigue came over him, and unable to resist it, he lay down for a little\nwhile, fully determined, however, to keep awake; but in another minute\nhis eyes closed of their own accord, and he fell into such a deep sleep,\nthat all the noises in the world would not have awakened him. At two\no'clock the raven came driving along, drawn by her four white horses;\nbut even before she reached the spot, she said to herself, sighing, 'I\nknow he has fallen asleep.' When she entered the garden, there she found\nhim as she had feared, lying on the tan-heap, fast asleep. She got out\nof her carriage and went to him; she called him and shook him, but it\nwas all in vain, he still continued sleeping.\n\nThe next day at noon, the old woman came to him again with food and\ndrink which he at first refused. At last, overcome by her persistent\nentreaties that he would take something, he lifted the glass and drank\nagain.\n\nTowards two o'clock he went into the garden and on to the tan-heap to\nwatch for the raven. He had not been there long before he began to feel\nso tired that his limbs seemed hardly able to support him, and he could\nnot stand upright any longer; so again he lay down and fell fast asleep.\nAs the raven drove along her four chestnut horses, she said sorrowfully\nto herself, 'I know he has fallen asleep.' She went as before to look\nfor him, but he slept, and it was impossible to awaken him.\n\nThe following day the old woman said to him, 'What is this? You are not\neating or drinking anything, do you want to kill yourself?'\n\nHe answered, 'I may not and will not either eat or drink.'\n\nBut she put down the dish of food and the glass of wine in front of him,\nand when he smelt the wine, he was unable to resist the temptation, and\ntook a deep draught.\n\nWhen the hour came round again he went as usual on to the tan-heap in\nthe garden to await the king's daughter, but he felt even more overcome\nwith weariness than on the two previous days, and throwing himself down,\nhe slept like a log. At two o'clock the raven could be seen approaching,\nand this time her coachman and everything about her, as well as her\nhorses, were black.\n\nShe was sadder than ever as she drove along, and said mournfully, 'I\nknow he has fallen asleep, and will not be able to set me free.' She\nfound him sleeping heavily, and all her efforts to awaken him were of no\navail. Then she placed beside him a loaf, and some meat, and a flask\nof wine, of such a kind, that however much he took of them, they would\nnever grow less. After that she drew a gold ring, on which her name was\nengraved, off her finger, and put it upon one of his. Finally, she laid\na letter near him, in which, after giving him particulars of the food\nand drink she had left for him, she finished with the following words:\n'I see that as long as you remain here you will never be able to set me\nfree; if, however, you still wish to do so, come to the golden castle\nof Stromberg; this is well within your power to accomplish.' She then\nreturned to her carriage and drove to the golden castle of Stromberg.\n\nWhen the man awoke and found that he had been sleeping, he was grieved\nat heart, and said, 'She has no doubt been here and driven away again,\nand it is now too late for me to save her.' Then his eyes fell on the\nthings which were lying beside him; he read the letter, and knew from it\nall that had happened. He rose up without delay, eager to start on his\nway and to reach the castle of Stromberg, but he had no idea in which\ndirection he ought to go. He travelled about a long time in search of it\nand came at last to a dark forest, through which he went on walking for\nfourteen days and still could not find a way out. Once more the night\ncame on, and worn out he lay down under a bush and fell asleep. Again\nthe next day he pursued his way through the forest, and that evening,\nthinking to rest again, he lay down as before, but he heard such a\nhowling and wailing that he found it impossible to sleep. He waited till\nit was darker and people had begun to light up their houses, and then\nseeing a little glimmer ahead of him, he went towards it.\n\nHe found that the light came from a house which looked smaller than\nit really was, from the contrast of its height with that of an immense\ngiant who stood in front of it. He thought to himself, 'If the giant\nsees me going in, my life will not be worth much.' However, after a\nwhile he summoned up courage and went forward. When the giant saw him,\nhe called out, 'It is lucky for that you have come, for I have not had\nanything to eat for a long time. I can have you now for my supper.' 'I\nwould rather you let that alone,' said the man, 'for I do not willingly\ngive myself up to be eaten; if you are wanting food I have enough to\nsatisfy your hunger.' 'If that is so,' replied the giant, 'I will leave\nyou in peace; I only thought of eating you because I had nothing else.'\n\nSo they went indoors together and sat down, and the man brought out the\nbread, meat, and wine, which although he had eaten and drunk of them,\nwere still unconsumed. The giant was pleased with the good cheer, and\nate and drank to his heart's content. When he had finished his supper\nthe man asked him if he could direct him to the castle of Stromberg.\nThe giant said, 'I will look on my map; on it are marked all the towns,\nvillages, and houses.' So he fetched his map, and looked for the castle,\nbut could not find it. 'Never mind,' he said, 'I have larger maps\nupstairs in the cupboard, we will look on those,' but they searched in\nvain, for the castle was not marked even on these. The man now thought\nhe should like to continue his journey, but the giant begged him to\nremain for a day or two longer until the return of his brother, who was\naway in search of provisions. When the brother came home, they asked him\nabout the castle of Stromberg, and he told them he would look on his own\nmaps as soon as he had eaten and appeased his hunger. Accordingly, when\nhe had finished his supper, they all went up together to his room and\nlooked through his maps, but the castle was not to be found. Then he\nfetched other older maps, and they went on looking for the castle until\nat last they found it, but it was many thousand miles away. 'How shall I\nbe able to get there?' asked the man. 'I have two hours to spare,' said\nthe giant, 'and I will carry you into the neighbourhood of the castle; I\nmust then return to look after the child who is in our care.'\n\nThe giant, thereupon, carried the man to within about a hundred leagues\nof the castle, where he left him, saying, 'You will be able to walk the\nremainder of the way yourself.' The man journeyed on day and night\ntill he reached the golden castle of Stromberg. He found it situated,\nhowever, on a glass mountain, and looking up from the foot he saw the\nenchanted maiden drive round her castle and then go inside. He was\noverjoyed to see her, and longed to get to the top of the mountain, but\nthe sides were so slippery that every time he attempted to climb he\nfell back again. When he saw that it was impossible to reach her, he was\ngreatly grieved, and said to himself, 'I will remain here and wait for\nher,' so he built himself a little hut, and there he sat and watched for\na whole year, and every day he saw the king's daughter driving round her\ncastle, but still was unable to get nearer to her.\n\nLooking out from his hut one day he saw three robbers fighting and he\ncalled out to them, 'God be with you.' They stopped when they heard the\ncall, but looking round and seeing nobody, they went on again with their\nfighting, which now became more furious. 'God be with you,' he cried\nagain, and again they paused and looked about, but seeing no one went\nback to their fighting. A third time he called out, 'God be with you,'\nand then thinking he should like to know the cause of dispute between\nthe three men, he went out and asked them why they were fighting so\nangrily with one another. One of them said that he had found a stick,\nand that he had but to strike it against any door through which he\nwished to pass, and it immediately flew open. Another told him that he\nhad found a cloak which rendered its wearer invisible; and the third had\ncaught a horse which would carry its rider over any obstacle, and even\nup the glass mountain. They had been unable to decide whether they\nwould keep together and have the things in common, or whether they would\nseparate. On hearing this, the man said, 'I will give you something in\nexchange for those three things; not money, for that I have not got,\nbut something that is of far more value. I must first, however, prove\nwhether all you have told me about your three things is true.' The\nrobbers, therefore, made him get on the horse, and handed him the stick\nand the cloak, and when he had put this round him he was no longer\nvisible. Then he fell upon them with the stick and beat them one after\nanother, crying, 'There, you idle vagabonds, you have got what you\ndeserve; are you satisfied now!'\n\nAfter this he rode up the glass mountain. When he reached the gate of\nthe castle, he found it closed, but he gave it a blow with his stick,\nand it flew wide open at once and he passed through. He mounted the\nsteps and entered the room where the maiden was sitting, with a golden\ngoblet full of wine in front of her. She could not see him for he still\nwore his cloak. He took the ring which she had given him off his finger,\nand threw it into the goblet, so that it rang as it touched the bottom.\n'That is my own ring,' she exclaimed, 'and if that is so the man must\nalso be here who is coming to set me free.'\n\nShe sought for him about the castle, but could find him nowhere.\nMeanwhile he had gone outside again and mounted his horse and thrown off\nthe cloak. When therefore she came to the castle gate she saw him, and\ncried aloud for joy. Then he dismounted and took her in his arms; and\nshe kissed him, and said, 'Now you have indeed set me free, and tomorrow\nwe will celebrate our marriage.'\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN GOOSE\n\nThere was a man who had three sons, the youngest of whom was called\nDummling,[*] and was despised, mocked, and sneered at on every occasion.\n\nIt happened that the eldest wanted to go into the forest to hew wood,\nand before he went his mother gave him a beautiful sweet cake and a\nbottle of wine in order that he might not suffer from hunger or thirst.\n\nWhen he entered the forest he met a little grey-haired old man who bade\nhim good day, and said: 'Do give me a piece of cake out of your pocket,\nand let me have a draught of your wine; I am so hungry and thirsty.' But\nthe clever son answered: 'If I give you my cake and wine, I shall have\nnone for myself; be off with you,' and he left the little man standing\nand went on.\n\nBut when he began to hew down a tree, it was not long before he made a\nfalse stroke, and the axe cut him in the arm, so that he had to go home\nand have it bound up. And this was the little grey man's doing.\n\nAfter this the second son went into the forest, and his mother gave him,\nlike the eldest, a cake and a bottle of wine. The little old grey man\nmet him likewise, and asked him for a piece of cake and a drink of wine.\nBut the second son, too, said sensibly enough: 'What I give you will be\ntaken away from myself; be off!' and he left the little man standing and\nwent on. His punishment, however, was not delayed; when he had made a\nfew blows at the tree he struck himself in the leg, so that he had to be\ncarried home.\n\nThen Dummling said: 'Father, do let me go and cut wood.' The father\nanswered: 'Your brothers have hurt themselves with it, leave it alone,\nyou do not understand anything about it.' But Dummling begged so long\nthat at last he said: 'Just go then, you will get wiser by hurting\nyourself.' His mother gave him a cake made with water and baked in the\ncinders, and with it a bottle of sour beer.\n\nWhen he came to the forest the little old grey man met him likewise,\nand greeting him, said: 'Give me a piece of your cake and a drink out\nof your bottle; I am so hungry and thirsty.' Dummling answered: 'I have\nonly cinder-cake and sour beer; if that pleases you, we will sit\ndown and eat.' So they sat down, and when Dummling pulled out his\ncinder-cake, it was a fine sweet cake, and the sour beer had become good\nwine. So they ate and drank, and after that the little man said: 'Since\nyou have a good heart, and are willing to divide what you have, I will\ngive you good luck. There stands an old tree, cut it down, and you will\nfind something at the roots.' Then the little man took leave of him.\n\nDummling went and cut down the tree, and when it fell there was a goose\nsitting in the roots with feathers of pure gold. He lifted her up, and\ntaking her with him, went to an inn where he thought he would stay the\nnight. Now the host had three daughters, who saw the goose and were\ncurious to know what such a wonderful bird might be, and would have\nliked to have one of its golden feathers.\n\nThe eldest thought: 'I shall soon find an opportunity of pulling out a\nfeather,' and as soon as Dummling had gone out she seized the goose by\nthe wing, but her finger and hand remained sticking fast to it.\n\nThe second came soon afterwards, thinking only of how she might get a\nfeather for herself, but she had scarcely touched her sister than she\nwas held fast.\n\nAt last the third also came with the like intent, and the others\nscreamed out: 'Keep away; for goodness' sake keep away!' But she did\nnot understand why she was to keep away. 'The others are there,' she\nthought, 'I may as well be there too,' and ran to them; but as soon as\nshe had touched her sister, she remained sticking fast to her. So they\nhad to spend the night with the goose.\n\nThe next morning Dummling took the goose under his arm and set out,\nwithout troubling himself about the three girls who were hanging on to\nit. They were obliged to run after him continually, now left, now right,\nwherever his legs took him.\n\nIn the middle of the fields the parson met them, and when he saw the\nprocession he said: 'For shame, you good-for-nothing girls, why are you\nrunning across the fields after this young man? Is that seemly?' At the\nsame time he seized the youngest by the hand in order to pull her away,\nbut as soon as he touched her he likewise stuck fast, and was himself\nobliged to run behind.\n\nBefore long the sexton came by and saw his master, the parson, running\nbehind three girls. He was astonished at this and called out: 'Hi!\nyour reverence, whither away so quickly? Do not forget that we have a\nchristening today!' and running after him he took him by the sleeve, but\nwas also held fast to it.\n\nWhilst the five were trotting thus one behind the other, two labourers\ncame with their hoes from the fields; the parson called out to them\nand begged that they would set him and the sexton free. But they had\nscarcely touched the sexton when they were held fast, and now there were\nseven of them running behind Dummling and the goose.\n\nSoon afterwards he came to a city, where a king ruled who had a daughter\nwho was so serious that no one could make her laugh. So he had put forth\na decree that whosoever should be able to make her laugh should marry\nher. When Dummling heard this, he went with his goose and all her train\nbefore the king's daughter, and as soon as she saw the seven people\nrunning on and on, one behind the other, she began to laugh quite\nloudly, and as if she would never stop. Thereupon Dummling asked to have\nher for his wife; but the king did not like the son-in-law, and made all\nmanner of excuses and said he must first produce a man who could drink\na cellarful of wine. Dummling thought of the little grey man, who could\ncertainly help him; so he went into the forest, and in the same place\nwhere he had felled the tree, he saw a man sitting, who had a very\nsorrowful face. Dummling asked him what he was taking to heart so\nsorely, and he answered: 'I have such a great thirst and cannot quench\nit; cold water I cannot stand, a barrel of wine I have just emptied, but\nthat to me is like a drop on a hot stone!'\n\n'There, I can help you,' said Dummling, 'just come with me and you shall\nbe satisfied.'\n\nHe led him into the king's cellar, and the man bent over the huge\nbarrels, and drank and drank till his loins hurt, and before the day was\nout he had emptied all the barrels. Then Dummling asked once more\nfor his bride, but the king was vexed that such an ugly fellow, whom\neveryone called Dummling, should take away his daughter, and he made a\nnew condition; he must first find a man who could eat a whole mountain\nof bread. Dummling did not think long, but went straight into the\nforest, where in the same place there sat a man who was tying up his\nbody with a strap, and making an awful face, and saying: 'I have eaten a\nwhole ovenful of rolls, but what good is that when one has such a hunger\nas I? My stomach remains empty, and I must tie myself up if I am not to\ndie of hunger.'\n\nAt this Dummling was glad, and said: 'Get up and come with me; you shall\neat yourself full.' He led him to the king's palace where all the\nflour in the whole Kingdom was collected, and from it he caused a huge\nmountain of bread to be baked. The man from the forest stood before it,\nbegan to eat, and by the end of one day the whole mountain had vanished.\nThen Dummling for the third time asked for his bride; but the king again\nsought a way out, and ordered a ship which could sail on land and on\nwater. 'As soon as you come sailing back in it,' said he, 'you shall\nhave my daughter for wife.'\n\nDummling went straight into the forest, and there sat the little grey\nman to whom he had given his cake. When he heard what Dummling wanted,\nhe said: 'Since you have given me to eat and to drink, I will give you\nthe ship; and I do all this because you once were kind to me.' Then he\ngave him the ship which could sail on land and water, and when the king\nsaw that, he could no longer prevent him from having his daughter. The\nwedding was celebrated, and after the king's death, Dummling inherited\nhis kingdom and lived for a long time contentedly with his wife.\n\n     [*] Simpleton\n\n\n\n\nTHE WATER OF LIFE\n\nLong before you or I were born, there reigned, in a country a great way\noff, a king who had three sons. This king once fell very ill--so ill\nthat nobody thought he could live. His sons were very much grieved\nat their father's sickness; and as they were walking together very\nmournfully in the garden of the palace, a little old man met them and\nasked what was the matter. They told him that their father was very ill,\nand that they were afraid nothing could save him. 'I know what would,'\nsaid the little old man; 'it is the Water of Life. If he could have a\ndraught of it he would be well again; but it is very hard to get.' Then\nthe eldest son said, 'I will soon find it': and he went to the sick\nking, and begged that he might go in search of the Water of Life, as\nit was the only thing that could save him. 'No,' said the king. 'I had\nrather die than place you in such great danger as you must meet with in\nyour journey.' But he begged so hard that the king let him go; and the\nprince thought to himself, 'If I bring my father this water, he will\nmake me sole heir to his kingdom.'\n\nThen he set out: and when he had gone on his way some time he came to a\ndeep valley, overhung with rocks and woods; and as he looked around, he\nsaw standing above him on one of the rocks a little ugly dwarf, with a\nsugarloaf cap and a scarlet cloak; and the dwarf called to him and said,\n'Prince, whither so fast?' 'What is that to thee, you ugly imp?' said\nthe prince haughtily, and rode on.\n\nBut the dwarf was enraged at his behaviour, and laid a fairy spell\nof ill-luck upon him; so that as he rode on the mountain pass became\nnarrower and narrower, and at last the way was so straitened that he\ncould not go to step forward: and when he thought to have turned his\nhorse round and go back the way he came, he heard a loud laugh ringing\nround him, and found that the path was closed behind him, so that he was\nshut in all round. He next tried to get off his horse and make his way\non foot, but again the laugh rang in his ears, and he found himself\nunable to move a step, and thus he was forced to abide spellbound.\n\nMeantime the old king was lingering on in daily hope of his son's\nreturn, till at last the second son said, 'Father, I will go in search\nof the Water of Life.' For he thought to himself, 'My brother is surely\ndead, and the kingdom will fall to me if I find the water.' The king was\nat first very unwilling to let him go, but at last yielded to his wish.\nSo he set out and followed the same road which his brother had done,\nand met with the same elf, who stopped him at the same spot in the\nmountains, saying, as before, 'Prince, prince, whither so fast?' 'Mind\nyour own affairs, busybody!' said the prince scornfully, and rode on.\n\nBut the dwarf put the same spell upon him as he put on his elder\nbrother, and he, too, was at last obliged to take up his abode in the\nheart of the mountains. Thus it is with proud silly people, who think\nthemselves above everyone else, and are too proud to ask or take advice.\n\nWhen the second prince had thus been gone a long time, the youngest son\nsaid he would go and search for the Water of Life, and trusted he should\nsoon be able to make his father well again. So he set out, and the dwarf\nmet him too at the same spot in the valley, among the mountains, and\nsaid, 'Prince, whither so fast?' And the prince said, 'I am going in\nsearch of the Water of Life, because my father is ill, and like to die:\ncan you help me? Pray be kind, and aid me if you can!' 'Do you know\nwhere it is to be found?' asked the dwarf. 'No,' said the prince, 'I do\nnot. Pray tell me if you know.' 'Then as you have spoken to me kindly,\nand are wise enough to seek for advice, I will tell you how and where to\ngo. The water you seek springs from a well in an enchanted castle; and,\nthat you may be able to reach it in safety, I will give you an iron wand\nand two little loaves of bread; strike the iron door of the castle three\ntimes with the wand, and it will open: two hungry lions will be lying\ndown inside gaping for their prey, but if you throw them the bread they\nwill let you pass; then hasten on to the well, and take some of the\nWater of Life before the clock strikes twelve; for if you tarry longer\nthe door will shut upon you for ever.'\n\nThen the prince thanked his little friend with the scarlet cloak for his\nfriendly aid, and took the wand and the bread, and went travelling on\nand on, over sea and over land, till he came to his journey's end, and\nfound everything to be as the dwarf had told him. The door flew open at\nthe third stroke of the wand, and when the lions were quieted he went on\nthrough the castle and came at length to a beautiful hall. Around it he\nsaw several knights sitting in a trance; then he pulled off their rings\nand put them on his own fingers. In another room he saw on a table a\nsword and a loaf of bread, which he also took. Further on he came to a\nroom where a beautiful young lady sat upon a couch; and she welcomed him\njoyfully, and said, if he would set her free from the spell that bound\nher, the kingdom should be his, if he would come back in a year and\nmarry her. Then she told him that the well that held the Water of Life\nwas in the palace gardens; and bade him make haste, and draw what he\nwanted before the clock struck twelve.\n\nHe walked on; and as he walked through beautiful gardens he came to a\ndelightful shady spot in which stood a couch; and he thought to himself,\nas he felt tired, that he would rest himself for a while, and gaze on\nthe lovely scenes around him. So he laid himself down, and sleep\nfell upon him unawares, so that he did not wake up till the clock was\nstriking a quarter to twelve. Then he sprang from the couch dreadfully\nfrightened, ran to the well, filled a cup that was standing by him full\nof water, and hastened to get away in time. Just as he was going out of\nthe iron door it struck twelve, and the door fell so quickly upon him\nthat it snapped off a piece of his heel.\n\nWhen he found himself safe, he was overjoyed to think that he had got\nthe Water of Life; and as he was going on his way homewards, he passed\nby the little dwarf, who, when he saw the sword and the loaf, said, 'You\nhave made a noble prize; with the sword you can at a blow slay whole\narmies, and the bread will never fail you.' Then the prince thought\nto himself, 'I cannot go home to my father without my brothers'; so he\nsaid, 'My dear friend, cannot you tell me where my two brothers are, who\nset out in search of the Water of Life before me, and never came back?'\n'I have shut them up by a charm between two mountains,' said the dwarf,\n'because they were proud and ill-behaved, and scorned to ask advice.'\nThe prince begged so hard for his brothers, that the dwarf at last set\nthem free, though unwillingly, saying, 'Beware of them, for they have\nbad hearts.' Their brother, however, was greatly rejoiced to see them,\nand told them all that had happened to him; how he had found the Water\nof Life, and had taken a cup full of it; and how he had set a beautiful\nprincess free from a spell that bound her; and how she had engaged to\nwait a whole year, and then to marry him, and to give him the kingdom.\n\nThen they all three rode on together, and on their way home came to a\ncountry that was laid waste by war and a dreadful famine, so that it was\nfeared all must die for want. But the prince gave the king of the land\nthe bread, and all his kingdom ate of it. And he lent the king the\nwonderful sword, and he slew the enemy's army with it; and thus the\nkingdom was once more in peace and plenty. In the same manner he\nbefriended two other countries through which they passed on their way.\n\nWhen they came to the sea, they got into a ship and during their voyage\nthe two eldest said to themselves, 'Our brother has got the water which\nwe could not find, therefore our father will forsake us and give him the\nkingdom, which is our right'; so they were full of envy and revenge, and\nagreed together how they could ruin him. Then they waited till he was\nfast asleep, and poured the Water of Life out of the cup, and took it\nfor themselves, giving him bitter sea-water instead.\n\nWhen they came to their journey's end, the youngest son brought his cup\nto the sick king, that he might drink and be healed. Scarcely, however,\nhad he tasted the bitter sea-water when he became worse even than he was\nbefore; and then both the elder sons came in, and blamed the youngest\nfor what they had done; and said that he wanted to poison their father,\nbut that they had found the Water of Life, and had brought it with them.\nHe no sooner began to drink of what they brought him, than he felt his\nsickness leave him, and was as strong and well as in his younger days.\nThen they went to their brother, and laughed at him, and said, 'Well,\nbrother, you found the Water of Life, did you? You have had the trouble\nand we shall have the reward. Pray, with all your cleverness, why did\nnot you manage to keep your eyes open? Next year one of us will take\naway your beautiful princess, if you do not take care. You had better\nsay nothing about this to our father, for he does not believe a word you\nsay; and if you tell tales, you shall lose your life into the bargain:\nbut be quiet, and we will let you off.'\n\nThe old king was still very angry with his youngest son, and thought\nthat he really meant to have taken away his life; so he called his court\ntogether, and asked what should be done, and all agreed that he ought to\nbe put to death. The prince knew nothing of what was going on, till one\nday, when the king's chief huntsmen went a-hunting with him, and they\nwere alone in the wood together, the huntsman looked so sorrowful that\nthe prince said, 'My friend, what is the matter with you?' 'I cannot and\ndare not tell you,' said he. But the prince begged very hard, and said,\n'Only tell me what it is, and do not think I shall be angry, for I will\nforgive you.' 'Alas!' said the huntsman; 'the king has ordered me to\nshoot you.' The prince started at this, and said, 'Let me live, and I\nwill change dresses with you; you shall take my royal coat to show to my\nfather, and do you give me your shabby one.' 'With all my heart,' said\nthe huntsman; 'I am sure I shall be glad to save you, for I could not\nhave shot you.' Then he took the prince's coat, and gave him the shabby\none, and went away through the wood.\n\nSome time after, three grand embassies came to the old king's court,\nwith rich gifts of gold and precious stones for his youngest son; now\nall these were sent from the three kings to whom he had lent his sword\nand loaf of bread, in order to rid them of their enemy and feed their\npeople. This touched the old king's heart, and he thought his son might\nstill be guiltless, and said to his court, 'O that my son were still\nalive! how it grieves me that I had him killed!' 'He is still alive,'\nsaid the huntsman; 'and I am glad that I had pity on him, but let him\ngo in peace, and brought home his royal coat.' At this the king was\noverwhelmed with joy, and made it known throughout all his kingdom, that\nif his son would come back to his court he would forgive him.\n\nMeanwhile the princess was eagerly waiting till her deliverer should\ncome back; and had a road made leading up to her palace all of shining\ngold; and told her courtiers that whoever came on horseback, and rode\nstraight up to the gate upon it, was her true lover; and that they must\nlet him in: but whoever rode on one side of it, they must be sure was\nnot the right one; and that they must send him away at once.\n\nThe time soon came, when the eldest brother thought that he would make\nhaste to go to the princess, and say that he was the one who had set\nher free, and that he should have her for his wife, and the kingdom with\nher. As he came before the palace and saw the golden road, he stopped to\nlook at it, and he thought to himself, 'It is a pity to ride upon this\nbeautiful road'; so he turned aside and rode on the right-hand side of\nit. But when he came to the gate, the guards, who had seen the road\nhe took, said to him, he could not be what he said he was, and must go\nabout his business.\n\nThe second prince set out soon afterwards on the same errand; and when\nhe came to the golden road, and his horse had set one foot upon it,\nhe stopped to look at it, and thought it very beautiful, and said to\nhimself, 'What a pity it is that anything should tread here!' Then he\ntoo turned aside and rode on the left side of it. But when he came to\nthe gate the guards said he was not the true prince, and that he too\nmust go away about his business; and away he went.\n\nNow when the full year was come round, the third brother left the forest\nin which he had lain hid for fear of his father's anger, and set out in\nsearch of his betrothed bride. So he journeyed on, thinking of her all\nthe way, and rode so quickly that he did not even see what the road was\nmade of, but went with his horse straight over it; and as he came to the\ngate it flew open, and the princess welcomed him with joy, and said\nhe was her deliverer, and should now be her husband and lord of the\nkingdom. When the first joy at their meeting was over, the princess told\nhim she had heard of his father having forgiven him, and of his wish to\nhave him home again: so, before his wedding with the princess, he went\nto visit his father, taking her with him. Then he told him everything;\nhow his brothers had cheated and robbed him, and yet that he had borne\nall those wrongs for the love of his father. And the old king was very\nangry, and wanted to punish his wicked sons; but they made their escape,\nand got into a ship and sailed away over the wide sea, and where they\nwent to nobody knew and nobody cared.\n\nAnd now the old king gathered together his court, and asked all his\nkingdom to come and celebrate the wedding of his son and the princess.\nAnd young and old, noble and squire, gentle and simple, came at once\non the summons; and among the rest came the friendly dwarf, with the\nsugarloaf hat, and a new scarlet cloak.\n\n  And the wedding was held, and the merry bells run.\n  And all the good people they danced and they sung,\n  And feasted and frolick'd I can't tell how long.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWELVE HUNTSMEN\n\nThere was once a king's son who had a bride whom he loved very much. And\nwhen he was sitting beside her and very happy, news came that his father\nlay sick unto death, and desired to see him once again before his end.\nThen he said to his beloved: 'I must now go and leave you, I give you\na ring as a remembrance of me. When I am king, I will return and fetch\nyou.' So he rode away, and when he reached his father, the latter was\ndangerously ill, and near his death. He said to him: 'Dear son, I wished\nto see you once again before my end, promise me to marry as I wish,' and\nhe named a certain king's daughter who was to be his wife. The son was\nin such trouble that he did not think what he was doing, and said: 'Yes,\ndear father, your will shall be done,' and thereupon the king shut his\neyes, and died.\n\nWhen therefore the son had been proclaimed king, and the time of\nmourning was over, he was forced to keep the promise which he had given\nhis father, and caused the king's daughter to be asked in marriage, and\nshe was promised to him. His first betrothed heard of this, and fretted\nso much about his faithfulness that she nearly died. Then her father\nsaid to her: 'Dearest child, why are you so sad? You shall have\nwhatsoever you will.' She thought for a moment and said: 'Dear father,\nI wish for eleven girls exactly like myself in face, figure, and size.'\nThe father said: 'If it be possible, your desire shall be fulfilled,'\nand he caused a search to be made in his whole kingdom, until eleven\nyoung maidens were found who exactly resembled his daughter in face,\nfigure, and size.\n\nWhen they came to the king's daughter, she had twelve suits of\nhuntsmen's clothes made, all alike, and the eleven maidens had to put\non the huntsmen's clothes, and she herself put on the twelfth suit.\nThereupon she took her leave of her father, and rode away with them,\nand rode to the court of her former betrothed, whom she loved so dearly.\nThen she asked if he required any huntsmen, and if he would take all of\nthem into his service. The king looked at her and did not know her, but\nas they were such handsome fellows, he said: 'Yes,' and that he would\nwillingly take them, and now they were the king's twelve huntsmen.\n\nThe king, however, had a lion which was a wondrous animal, for he knew\nall concealed and secret things. It came to pass that one evening he\nsaid to the king: 'You think you have twelve huntsmen?' 'Yes,' said the\nking, 'they are twelve huntsmen.' The lion continued: 'You are mistaken,\nthey are twelve girls.' The king said: 'That cannot be true! How\nwill you prove that to me?' 'Oh, just let some peas be strewn in the\nante-chamber,' answered the lion, 'and then you will soon see. Men have\na firm step, and when they walk over peas none of them stir, but girls\ntrip and skip, and drag their feet, and the peas roll about.' The king\nwas well pleased with the counsel, and caused the peas to be strewn.\n\nThere was, however, a servant of the king's who favoured the huntsmen,\nand when he heard that they were going to be put to this test he went to\nthem and repeated everything, and said: 'The lion wants to make the king\nbelieve that you are girls.' Then the king's daughter thanked him, and\nsaid to her maidens: 'Show some strength, and step firmly on the peas.'\nSo next morning when the king had the twelve huntsmen called before\nhim, and they came into the ante-chamber where the peas were lying, they\nstepped so firmly on them, and had such a strong, sure walk, that not\none of the peas either rolled or stirred. Then they went away again,\nand the king said to the lion: 'You have lied to me, they walk just like\nmen.' The lion said: 'They have been informed that they were going to\nbe put to the test, and have assumed some strength. Just let twelve\nspinning-wheels be brought into the ante-chamber, and they will go to\nthem and be pleased with them, and that is what no man would do.'\nThe king liked the advice, and had the spinning-wheels placed in the\nante-chamber.\n\nBut the servant, who was well disposed to the huntsmen, went to them,\nand disclosed the project. So when they were alone the king's daughter\nsaid to her eleven girls: 'Show some constraint, and do not look round\nat the spinning-wheels.' And next morning when the king had his twelve\nhuntsmen summoned, they went through the ante-chamber, and never once\nlooked at the spinning-wheels. Then the king again said to the lion:\n'You have deceived me, they are men, for they have not looked at the\nspinning-wheels.' The lion replied: 'They have restrained themselves.'\nThe king, however, would no longer believe the lion.\n\nThe twelve huntsmen always followed the king to the chase, and his\nliking for them continually increased. Now it came to pass that\nonce when they were out hunting, news came that the king's bride was\napproaching. When the true bride heard that, it hurt her so much that\nher heart was almost broken, and she fell fainting to the ground. The\nking thought something had happened to his dear huntsman, ran up to him,\nwanted to help him, and drew his glove off. Then he saw the ring which\nhe had given to his first bride, and when he looked in her face he\nrecognized her. Then his heart was so touched that he kissed her, and\nwhen she opened her eyes he said: 'You are mine, and I am yours, and\nno one in the world can alter that.' He sent a messenger to the other\nbride, and entreated her to return to her own kingdom, for he had a wife\nalready, and someone who had just found an old key did not require a new\none. Thereupon the wedding was celebrated, and the lion was again taken\ninto favour, because, after all, he had told the truth.\n\n\n\n\nTHE KING OF THE GOLDEN MOUNTAIN\n\nThere was once a merchant who had only one child, a son, that was very\nyoung, and barely able to run alone. He had two richly laden ships then\nmaking a voyage upon the seas, in which he had embarked all his wealth,\nin the hope of making great gains, when the news came that both were\nlost. Thus from being a rich man he became all at once so very poor that\nnothing was left to him but one small plot of land; and there he often\nwent in an evening to take his walk, and ease his mind of a little of\nhis trouble.\n\nOne day, as he was roaming along in a brown study, thinking with no\ngreat comfort on what he had been and what he now was, and was like\nto be, all on a sudden there stood before him a little, rough-looking,\nblack dwarf. 'Prithee, friend, why so sorrowful?' said he to the\nmerchant; 'what is it you take so deeply to heart?' 'If you would do me\nany good I would willingly tell you,' said the merchant. 'Who knows but\nI may?' said the little man: 'tell me what ails you, and perhaps you\nwill find I may be of some use.' Then the merchant told him how all his\nwealth was gone to the bottom of the sea, and how he had nothing left\nbut that little plot of land. 'Oh, trouble not yourself about that,'\nsaid the dwarf; 'only undertake to bring me here, twelve years hence,\nwhatever meets you first on your going home, and I will give you as much\nas you please.' The merchant thought this was no great thing to ask;\nthat it would most likely be his dog or his cat, or something of that\nsort, but forgot his little boy Heinel; so he agreed to the bargain, and\nsigned and sealed the bond to do what was asked of him.\n\nBut as he drew near home, his little boy was so glad to see him that he\ncrept behind him, and laid fast hold of his legs, and looked up in\nhis face and laughed. Then the father started, trembling with fear and\nhorror, and saw what it was that he had bound himself to do; but as no\ngold was come, he made himself easy by thinking that it was only a joke\nthat the dwarf was playing him, and that, at any rate, when the money\ncame, he should see the bearer, and would not take it in.\n\nAbout a month afterwards he went upstairs into a lumber-room to look\nfor some old iron, that he might sell it and raise a little money; and\nthere, instead of his iron, he saw a large pile of gold lying on the\nfloor. At the sight of this he was overjoyed, and forgetting all about\nhis son, went into trade again, and became a richer merchant than\nbefore.\n\nMeantime little Heinel grew up, and as the end of the twelve years drew\nnear the merchant began to call to mind his bond, and became very sad\nand thoughtful; so that care and sorrow were written upon his face. The\nboy one day asked what was the matter, but his father would not tell for\nsome time; at last, however, he said that he had, without knowing it,\nsold him for gold to a little, ugly-looking, black dwarf, and that the\ntwelve years were coming round when he must keep his word. Then Heinel\nsaid, 'Father, give yourself very little trouble about that; I shall be\ntoo much for the little man.'\n\nWhen the time came, the father and son went out together to the place\nagreed upon: and the son drew a circle on the ground, and set himself\nand his father in the middle of it. The little black dwarf soon came,\nand walked round and round about the circle, but could not find any way\nto get into it, and he either could not, or dared not, jump over it. At\nlast the boy said to him. 'Have you anything to say to us, my friend, or\nwhat do you want?' Now Heinel had found a friend in a good fairy, that\nwas fond of him, and had told him what to do; for this fairy knew what\ngood luck was in store for him. 'Have you brought me what you said you\nwould?' said the dwarf to the merchant. The old man held his tongue, but\nHeinel said again, 'What do you want here?' The dwarf said, 'I come to\ntalk with your father, not with you.' 'You have cheated and taken in my\nfather,' said the son; 'pray give him up his bond at once.' 'Fair and\nsoftly,' said the little old man; 'right is right; I have paid my money,\nand your father has had it, and spent it; so be so good as to let me\nhave what I paid it for.' 'You must have my consent to that first,' said\nHeinel, 'so please to step in here, and let us talk it over.' The old\nman grinned, and showed his teeth, as if he should have been very glad\nto get into the circle if he could. Then at last, after a long talk,\nthey came to terms. Heinel agreed that his father must give him up, and\nthat so far the dwarf should have his way: but, on the other hand, the\nfairy had told Heinel what fortune was in store for him, if he followed\nhis own course; and he did not choose to be given up to his hump-backed\nfriend, who seemed so anxious for his company.\n\nSo, to make a sort of drawn battle of the matter, it was settled that\nHeinel should be put into an open boat, that lay on the sea-shore hard\nby; that the father should push him off with his own hand, and that he\nshould thus be set adrift, and left to the bad or good luck of wind and\nweather. Then he took leave of his father, and set himself in the boat,\nbut before it got far off a wave struck it, and it fell with one side\nlow in the water, so the merchant thought that poor Heinel was lost, and\nwent home very sorrowful, while the dwarf went his way, thinking that at\nany rate he had had his revenge.\n\nThe boat, however, did not sink, for the good fairy took care of her\nfriend, and soon raised the boat up again, and it went safely on. The\nyoung man sat safe within, till at length it ran ashore upon an unknown\nland. As he jumped upon the shore he saw before him a beautiful castle\nbut empty and dreary within, for it was enchanted. 'Here,' said he to\nhimself, 'must I find the prize the good fairy told me of.' So he once\nmore searched the whole palace through, till at last he found a white\nsnake, lying coiled up on a cushion in one of the chambers.\n\nNow the white snake was an enchanted princess; and she was very glad\nto see him, and said, 'Are you at last come to set me free? Twelve\nlong years have I waited here for the fairy to bring you hither as she\npromised, for you alone can save me. This night twelve men will come:\ntheir faces will be black, and they will be dressed in chain armour.\nThey will ask what you do here, but give no answer; and let them do\nwhat they will--beat, whip, pinch, prick, or torment you--bear all; only\nspeak not a word, and at twelve o'clock they must go away. The second\nnight twelve others will come: and the third night twenty-four, who\nwill even cut off your head; but at the twelfth hour of that night their\npower is gone, and I shall be free, and will come and bring you the\nWater of Life, and will wash you with it, and bring you back to life\nand health.' And all came to pass as she had said; Heinel bore all, and\nspoke not a word; and the third night the princess came, and fell on his\nneck and kissed him. Joy and gladness burst forth throughout the castle,\nthe wedding was celebrated, and he was crowned king of the Golden\nMountain.\n\nThey lived together very happily, and the queen had a son. And thus\neight years had passed over their heads, when the king thought of his\nfather; and he began to long to see him once again. But the queen was\nagainst his going, and said, 'I know well that misfortunes will come\nupon us if you go.' However, he gave her no rest till she agreed. At his\ngoing away she gave him a wishing-ring, and said, 'Take this ring, and\nput it on your finger; whatever you wish it will bring you; only promise\nnever to make use of it to bring me hence to your father's house.' Then\nhe said he would do what she asked, and put the ring on his finger, and\nwished himself near the town where his father lived.\n\nHeinel found himself at the gates in a moment; but the guards would\nnot let him go in, because he was so strangely clad. So he went up to a\nneighbouring hill, where a shepherd dwelt, and borrowed his old frock,\nand thus passed unknown into the town. When he came to his father's\nhouse, he said he was his son; but the merchant would not believe him,\nand said he had had but one son, his poor Heinel, who he knew was long\nsince dead: and as he was only dressed like a poor shepherd, he would\nnot even give him anything to eat. The king, however, still vowed that\nhe was his son, and said, 'Is there no mark by which you would know me\nif I am really your son?' 'Yes,' said his mother, 'our Heinel had a mark\nlike a raspberry on his right arm.' Then he showed them the mark, and\nthey knew that what he had said was true.\n\nHe next told them how he was king of the Golden Mountain, and was\nmarried to a princess, and had a son seven years old. But the merchant\nsaid, 'that can never be true; he must be a fine king truly who travels\nabout in a shepherd's frock!' At this the son was vexed; and forgetting\nhis word, turned his ring, and wished for his queen and son. In an\ninstant they stood before him; but the queen wept, and said he had\nbroken his word, and bad luck would follow. He did all he could to\nsoothe her, and she at last seemed to be appeased; but she was not so in\ntruth, and was only thinking how she should punish him.\n\nOne day he took her to walk with him out of the town, and showed her\nthe spot where the boat was set adrift upon the wide waters. Then he sat\nhimself down, and said, 'I am very much tired; sit by me, I will rest my\nhead in your lap, and sleep a while.' As soon as he had fallen asleep,\nhowever, she drew the ring from his finger, and crept softly away, and\nwished herself and her son at home in their kingdom. And when he awoke\nhe found himself alone, and saw that the ring was gone from his finger.\n'I can never go back to my father's house,' said he; 'they would say I\nam a sorcerer: I will journey forth into the world, till I come again to\nmy kingdom.'\n\nSo saying he set out and travelled till he came to a hill, where three\ngiants were sharing their father's goods; and as they saw him pass they\ncried out and said, 'Little men have sharp wits; he shall part the goods\nbetween us.' Now there was a sword that cut off an enemy's head whenever\nthe wearer gave the words, 'Heads off!'; a cloak that made the owner\ninvisible, or gave him any form he pleased; and a pair of boots that\ncarried the wearer wherever he wished. Heinel said they must first let\nhim try these wonderful things, then he might know how to set a value\nupon them. Then they gave him the cloak, and he wished himself a fly,\nand in a moment he was a fly. 'The cloak is very well,' said he: 'now\ngive me the sword.' 'No,' said they; 'not unless you undertake not to\nsay, \"Heads off!\" for if you do we are all dead men.' So they gave it\nhim, charging him to try it on a tree. He next asked for the boots also;\nand the moment he had all three in his power, he wished himself at\nthe Golden Mountain; and there he was at once. So the giants were left\nbehind with no goods to share or quarrel about.\n\nAs Heinel came near his castle he heard the sound of merry music; and\nthe people around told him that his queen was about to marry another\nhusband. Then he threw his cloak around him, and passed through the\ncastle hall, and placed himself by the side of the queen, where no one\nsaw him. But when anything to eat was put upon her plate, he took it\naway and ate it himself; and when a glass of wine was handed to her, he\ntook it and drank it; and thus, though they kept on giving her meat and\ndrink, her plate and cup were always empty.\n\nUpon this, fear and remorse came over her, and she went into her chamber\nalone, and sat there weeping; and he followed her there. 'Alas!' said\nshe to herself, 'was I not once set free? Why then does this enchantment\nstill seem to bind me?'\n\n'False and fickle one!' said he. 'One indeed came who set thee free, and\nhe is now near thee again; but how have you used him? Ought he to\nhave had such treatment from thee?' Then he went out and sent away the\ncompany, and said the wedding was at an end, for that he was come back\nto the kingdom. But the princes, peers, and great men mocked at him.\nHowever, he would enter into no parley with them, but only asked them\nif they would go in peace or not. Then they turned upon him and tried\nto seize him; but he drew his sword. 'Heads Off!' cried he; and with the\nword the traitors' heads fell before him, and Heinel was once more king\nof the Golden Mountain.\n\n\n\n\nDOCTOR KNOWALL\n\nThere was once upon a time a poor peasant called Crabb, who drove with\ntwo oxen a load of wood to the town, and sold it to a doctor for two\ntalers. When the money was being counted out to him, it so happened that\nthe doctor was sitting at table, and when the peasant saw how well he\nate and drank, his heart desired what he saw, and would willingly\nhave been a doctor too. So he remained standing a while, and at length\ninquired if he too could not be a doctor. 'Oh, yes,' said the doctor,\n'that is soon managed.' 'What must I do?' asked the peasant. 'In the\nfirst place buy yourself an A B C book of the kind which has a cock on\nthe frontispiece; in the second, turn your cart and your two oxen into\nmoney, and get yourself some clothes, and whatsoever else pertains to\nmedicine; thirdly, have a sign painted for yourself with the words: \"I\nam Doctor Knowall,\" and have that nailed up above your house-door.' The\npeasant did everything that he had been told to do. When he had doctored\npeople awhile, but not long, a rich and great lord had some money\nstolen. Then he was told about Doctor Knowall who lived in such and such\na village, and must know what had become of the money. So the lord had\nthe horses harnessed to his carriage, drove out to the village, and\nasked Crabb if he were Doctor Knowall. Yes, he was, he said. Then he was\nto go with him and bring back the stolen money. 'Oh, yes, but Grete, my\nwife, must go too.' The lord was willing, and let both of them have a\nseat in the carriage, and they all drove away together. When they came\nto the nobleman's castle, the table was spread, and Crabb was told to\nsit down and eat. 'Yes, but my wife, Grete, too,' said he, and he seated\nhimself with her at the table. And when the first servant came with a\ndish of delicate fare, the peasant nudged his wife, and said: 'Grete,\nthat was the first,' meaning that was the servant who brought the first\ndish. The servant, however, thought he intended by that to say: 'That is\nthe first thief,' and as he actually was so, he was terrified, and said\nto his comrade outside: 'The doctor knows all: we shall fare ill, he\nsaid I was the first.' The second did not want to go in at all, but was\nforced. So when he went in with his dish, the peasant nudged his wife,\nand said: 'Grete, that is the second.' This servant was equally alarmed,\nand he got out as fast as he could. The third fared no better, for the\npeasant again said: 'Grete, that is the third.' The fourth had to carry\nin a dish that was covered, and the lord told the doctor that he was to\nshow his skill, and guess what was beneath the cover. Actually, there\nwere crabs. The doctor looked at the dish, had no idea what to say, and\ncried: 'Ah, poor Crabb.' When the lord heard that, he cried: 'There! he\nknows it; he must also know who has the money!'\n\nOn this the servants looked terribly uneasy, and made a sign to the\ndoctor that they wished him to step outside for a moment. When therefore\nhe went out, all four of them confessed to him that they had stolen\nthe money, and said that they would willingly restore it and give him a\nheavy sum into the bargain, if he would not denounce them, for if he\ndid they would be hanged. They led him to the spot where the money was\nconcealed. With this the doctor was satisfied, and returned to the hall,\nsat down to the table, and said: 'My lord, now will I search in my book\nwhere the gold is hidden.' The fifth servant, however, crept into the\nstove to hear if the doctor knew still more. But the doctor sat still\nand opened his A B C book, turned the pages backwards and forwards, and\nlooked for the cock. As he could not find it immediately he said: 'I\nknow you are there, so you had better come out!' Then the fellow in the\nstove thought that the doctor meant him, and full of terror, sprang out,\ncrying: 'That man knows everything!' Then Doctor Knowall showed the lord\nwhere the money was, but did not say who had stolen it, and received\nfrom both sides much money in reward, and became a renowned man.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEVEN RAVENS\n\nThere was once a man who had seven sons, and last of all one daughter.\nAlthough the little girl was very pretty, she was so weak and small that\nthey thought she could not live; but they said she should at once be\nchristened.\n\nSo the father sent one of his sons in haste to the spring to get some\nwater, but the other six ran with him. Each wanted to be first at\ndrawing the water, and so they were in such a hurry that all let their\npitchers fall into the well, and they stood very foolishly looking at\none another, and did not know what to do, for none dared go home. In the\nmeantime the father was uneasy, and could not tell what made the\nyoung men stay so long. 'Surely,' said he, 'the whole seven must have\nforgotten themselves over some game of play'; and when he had waited\nstill longer and they yet did not come, he flew into a rage and wished\nthem all turned into ravens. Scarcely had he spoken these words when he\nheard a croaking over his head, and looked up and saw seven ravens as\nblack as coal flying round and round. Sorry as he was to see his wish\nso fulfilled, he did not know how what was done could be undone, and\ncomforted himself as well as he could for the loss of his seven sons\nwith his dear little daughter, who soon became stronger and every day\nmore beautiful.\n\nFor a long time she did not know that she had ever had any brothers; for\nher father and mother took care not to speak of them before her: but one\nday by chance she heard the people about her speak of them. 'Yes,' said\nthey, 'she is beautiful indeed, but still 'tis a pity that her brothers\nshould have been lost for her sake.' Then she was much grieved, and went\nto her father and mother, and asked if she had any brothers, and what\nhad become of them. So they dared no longer hide the truth from her, but\nsaid it was the will of Heaven, and that her birth was only the innocent\ncause of it; but the little girl mourned sadly about it every day, and\nthought herself bound to do all she could to bring her brothers back;\nand she had neither rest nor ease, till at length one day she stole\naway, and set out into the wide world to find her brothers, wherever\nthey might be, and free them, whatever it might cost her.\n\nShe took nothing with her but a little ring which her father and mother\nhad given her, a loaf of bread in case she should be hungry, a little\npitcher of water in case she should be thirsty, and a little stool\nto rest upon when she should be weary. Thus she went on and on, and\njourneyed till she came to the world's end; then she came to the sun,\nbut the sun looked much too hot and fiery; so she ran away quickly to\nthe moon, but the moon was cold and chilly, and said, 'I smell flesh\nand blood this way!' so she took herself away in a hurry and came to the\nstars, and the stars were friendly and kind to her, and each star sat\nupon his own little stool; but the morning star rose up and gave her a\nlittle piece of wood, and said, 'If you have not this little piece of\nwood, you cannot unlock the castle that stands on the glass-mountain,\nand there your brothers live.' The little girl took the piece of wood,\nrolled it up in a little cloth, and went on again until she came to the\nglass-mountain, and found the door shut. Then she felt for the little\npiece of wood; but when she unwrapped the cloth it was not there, and\nshe saw she had lost the gift of the good stars. What was to be done?\nShe wanted to save her brothers, and had no key of the castle of the\nglass-mountain; so this faithful little sister took a knife out of her\npocket and cut off her little finger, that was just the size of the\npiece of wood she had lost, and put it in the door and opened it.\n\nAs she went in, a little dwarf came up to her, and said, 'What are you\nseeking for?' 'I seek for my brothers, the seven ravens,' answered she.\nThen the dwarf said, 'My masters are not at home; but if you will wait\ntill they come, pray step in.' Now the little dwarf was getting their\ndinner ready, and he brought their food upon seven little plates, and\ntheir drink in seven little glasses, and set them upon the table, and\nout of each little plate their sister ate a small piece, and out of each\nlittle glass she drank a small drop; but she let the ring that she had\nbrought with her fall into the last glass.\n\nOn a sudden she heard a fluttering and croaking in the air, and the\ndwarf said, 'Here come my masters.' When they came in, they wanted to\neat and drink, and looked for their little plates and glasses. Then said\none after the other,\n\n'Who has eaten from my little plate? And who has been drinking out of my\nlittle glass?'\n\n 'Caw! Caw! well I ween\n  Mortal lips have this way been.'\n\nWhen the seventh came to the bottom of his glass, and found there the\nring, he looked at it, and knew that it was his father's and mother's,\nand said, 'O that our little sister would but come! then we should be\nfree.' When the little girl heard this (for she stood behind the door\nall the time and listened), she ran forward, and in an instant all\nthe ravens took their right form again; and all hugged and kissed each\nother, and went merrily home.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WEDDING OF MRS FOX\n\n\nFIRST STORY\n\nThere was once upon a time an old fox with nine tails, who believed that\nhis wife was not faithful to him, and wished to put her to the test. He\nstretched himself out under the bench, did not move a limb, and behaved\nas if he were stone dead. Mrs Fox went up to her room, shut herself in,\nand her maid, Miss Cat, sat by the fire, and did the cooking. When it\nbecame known that the old fox was dead, suitors presented themselves.\nThe maid heard someone standing at the house-door, knocking. She went\nand opened it, and it was a young fox, who said:\n\n 'What may you be about, Miss Cat?\n  Do you sleep or do you wake?'\n\nShe answered:\n\n 'I am not sleeping, I am waking,\n  Would you know what I am making?\n  I am boiling warm beer with butter,\n  Will you be my guest for supper?'\n\n'No, thank you, miss,' said the fox, 'what is Mrs Fox doing?' The maid\nreplied:\n\n 'She is sitting in her room,\n  Moaning in her gloom,\n  Weeping her little eyes quite red,\n  Because old Mr Fox is dead.'\n\n'Do just tell her, miss, that a young fox is here, who would like to woo\nher.' 'Certainly, young sir.'\n\n  The cat goes up the stairs trip, trap,\n  The door she knocks at tap, tap, tap,\n 'Mistress Fox, are you inside?'\n 'Oh, yes, my little cat,' she cried.\n 'A wooer he stands at the door out there.'\n 'What does he look like, my dear?'\n\n'Has he nine as beautiful tails as the late Mr Fox?' 'Oh, no,' answered\nthe cat, 'he has only one.' 'Then I will not have him.'\n\nMiss Cat went downstairs and sent the wooer away. Soon afterwards there\nwas another knock, and another fox was at the door who wished to woo Mrs\nFox. He had two tails, but he did not fare better than the first. After\nthis still more came, each with one tail more than the other, but they\nwere all turned away, until at last one came who had nine tails, like\nold Mr Fox. When the widow heard that, she said joyfully to the cat:\n\n 'Now open the gates and doors all wide,\n  And carry old Mr Fox outside.'\n\nBut just as the wedding was going to be solemnized, old Mr Fox stirred\nunder the bench, and cudgelled all the rabble, and drove them and Mrs\nFox out of the house.\n\n\nSECOND STORY\n\nWhen old Mr Fox was dead, the wolf came as a suitor, and knocked at the\ndoor, and the cat who was servant to Mrs Fox, opened it for him. The\nwolf greeted her, and said:\n\n 'Good day, Mrs Cat of Kehrewit,\n  How comes it that alone you sit?\n  What are you making good?'\n\nThe cat replied:\n\n 'In milk I'm breaking bread so sweet,\n  Will you be my guest, and eat?'\n\n'No, thank you, Mrs Cat,' answered the wolf. 'Is Mrs Fox not at home?'\n\nThe cat said:\n\n 'She sits upstairs in her room,\n  Bewailing her sorrowful doom,\n  Bewailing her trouble so sore,\n  For old Mr Fox is no more.'\n\nThe wolf answered:\n\n 'If she's in want of a husband now,\n  Then will it please her to step below?'\n  The cat runs quickly up the stair,\n  And lets her tail fly here and there,\n  Until she comes to the parlour door.\n  With her five gold rings at the door she knocks:\n 'Are you within, good Mistress Fox?\n  If you're in want of a husband now,\n  Then will it please you to step below?\n\nMrs Fox asked: 'Has the gentleman red stockings on, and has he a pointed\nmouth?' 'No,' answered the cat. 'Then he won't do for me.'\n\nWhen the wolf was gone, came a dog, a stag, a hare, a bear, a lion, and\nall the beasts of the forest, one after the other. But one of the good\nqualities which old Mr Fox had possessed, was always lacking, and the\ncat had continually to send the suitors away. At length came a young\nfox. Then Mrs Fox said: 'Has the gentleman red stockings on, and has a\nlittle pointed mouth?' 'Yes,' said the cat, 'he has.' 'Then let him come\nupstairs,' said Mrs Fox, and ordered the servant to prepare the wedding\nfeast.\n\n 'Sweep me the room as clean as you can,\n  Up with the window, fling out my old man!\n  For many a fine fat mouse he brought,\n  Yet of his wife he never thought,\n  But ate up every one he caught.'\n\nThen the wedding was solemnized with young Mr Fox, and there was much\nrejoicing and dancing; and if they have not left off, they are dancing\nstill.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SALAD\n\nAs a merry young huntsman was once going briskly along through a wood,\nthere came up a little old woman, and said to him, 'Good day, good day;\nyou seem merry enough, but I am hungry and thirsty; do pray give me\nsomething to eat.' The huntsman took pity on her, and put his hand in\nhis pocket and gave her what he had. Then he wanted to go his way; but\nshe took hold of him, and said, 'Listen, my friend, to what I am going\nto tell you; I will reward you for your kindness; go your way, and after\na little time you will come to a tree where you will see nine birds\nsitting on a cloak. Shoot into the midst of them, and one will fall down\ndead: the cloak will fall too; take it, it is a wishing-cloak, and when\nyou wear it you will find yourself at any place where you may wish to\nbe. Cut open the dead bird, take out its heart and keep it, and you will\nfind a piece of gold under your pillow every morning when you rise. It\nis the bird's heart that will bring you this good luck.'\n\nThe huntsman thanked her, and thought to himself, 'If all this does\nhappen, it will be a fine thing for me.' When he had gone a hundred\nsteps or so, he heard a screaming and chirping in the branches over him,\nand looked up and saw a flock of birds pulling a cloak with their bills\nand feet; screaming, fighting, and tugging at each other as if\neach wished to have it himself. 'Well,' said the huntsman, 'this is\nwonderful; this happens just as the old woman said'; then he shot into\nthe midst of them so that their feathers flew all about. Off went the\nflock chattering away; but one fell down dead, and the cloak with it.\nThen the huntsman did as the old woman told him, cut open the bird, took\nout the heart, and carried the cloak home with him.\n\nThe next morning when he awoke he lifted up his pillow, and there lay\nthe piece of gold glittering underneath; the same happened next day, and\nindeed every day when he arose. He heaped up a great deal of gold, and\nat last thought to himself, 'Of what use is this gold to me whilst I am\nat home? I will go out into the world and look about me.'\n\nThen he took leave of his friends, and hung his bag and bow about his\nneck, and went his way. It so happened that his road one day led through\na thick wood, at the end of which was a large castle in a green meadow,\nand at one of the windows stood an old woman with a very beautiful young\nlady by her side looking about them. Now the old woman was a witch, and\nsaid to the young lady, 'There is a young man coming out of the wood who\ncarries a wonderful prize; we must get it away from him, my dear child,\nfor it is more fit for us than for him. He has a bird's heart that\nbrings a piece of gold under his pillow every morning.' Meantime the\nhuntsman came nearer and looked at the lady, and said to himself, 'I\nhave been travelling so long that I should like to go into this castle\nand rest myself, for I have money enough to pay for anything I want';\nbut the real reason was, that he wanted to see more of the beautiful\nlady. Then he went into the house, and was welcomed kindly; and it was\nnot long before he was so much in love that he thought of nothing else\nbut looking at the lady's eyes, and doing everything that she wished.\nThen the old woman said, 'Now is the time for getting the bird's heart.'\nSo the lady stole it away, and he never found any more gold under his\npillow, for it lay now under the young lady's, and the old woman took it\naway every morning; but he was so much in love that he never missed his\nprize.\n\n'Well,' said the old witch, 'we have got the bird's heart, but not the\nwishing-cloak yet, and that we must also get.' 'Let us leave him that,'\nsaid the young lady; 'he has already lost his wealth.' Then the witch\nwas very angry, and said, 'Such a cloak is a very rare and wonderful\nthing, and I must and will have it.' So she did as the old woman told\nher, and set herself at the window, and looked about the country and\nseemed very sorrowful; then the huntsman said, 'What makes you so sad?'\n'Alas! dear sir,' said she, 'yonder lies the granite rock where all the\ncostly diamonds grow, and I want so much to go there, that whenever I\nthink of it I cannot help being sorrowful, for who can reach it? only\nthe birds and the flies--man cannot.' 'If that's all your grief,' said\nthe huntsman, 'I'll take you there with all my heart'; so he drew her under\nhis cloak, and the moment he wished to be on the granite mountain they\nwere both there. The diamonds glittered so on all sides that they were\ndelighted with the sight and picked up the finest. But the old witch\nmade a deep sleep come upon him, and he said to the young lady, 'Let us\nsit down and rest ourselves a little, I am so tired that I cannot stand\nany longer.' So they sat down, and he laid his head in her lap and\nfell asleep; and whilst he was sleeping on she took the cloak from\nhis shoulders, hung it on her own, picked up the diamonds, and wished\nherself home again.\n\nWhen he awoke and found that his lady had tricked him, and left him\nalone on the wild rock, he said, 'Alas! what roguery there is in the\nworld!' and there he sat in great grief and fear, not knowing what to\ndo. Now this rock belonged to fierce giants who lived upon it; and as\nhe saw three of them striding about, he thought to himself, 'I can only\nsave myself by feigning to be asleep'; so he laid himself down as if he\nwere in a sound sleep. When the giants came up to him, the first pushed\nhim with his foot, and said, 'What worm is this that lies here curled\nup?' 'Tread upon him and kill him,' said the second. 'It's not worth the\ntrouble,' said the third; 'let him live, he'll go climbing higher up the\nmountain, and some cloud will come rolling and carry him away.' And they\npassed on. But the huntsman had heard all they said; and as soon as they\nwere gone, he climbed to the top of the mountain, and when he had sat\nthere a short time a cloud came rolling around him, and caught him in a\nwhirlwind and bore him along for some time, till it settled in a garden,\nand he fell quite gently to the ground amongst the greens and cabbages.\n\nThen he looked around him, and said, 'I wish I had something to eat, if\nnot I shall be worse off than before; for here I see neither apples\nnor pears, nor any kind of fruits, nothing but vegetables.' At last he\nthought to himself, 'I can eat salad, it will refresh and strengthen\nme.' So he picked out a fine head and ate of it; but scarcely had he\nswallowed two bites when he felt himself quite changed, and saw with\nhorror that he was turned into an ass. However, he still felt very\nhungry, and the salad tasted very nice; so he ate on till he came\nto another kind of salad, and scarcely had he tasted it when he felt\nanother change come over him, and soon saw that he was lucky enough to\nhave found his old shape again.\n\nThen he laid himself down and slept off a little of his weariness; and\nwhen he awoke the next morning he broke off a head both of the good and\nthe bad salad, and thought to himself, 'This will help me to my fortune\nagain, and enable me to pay off some folks for their treachery.' So he\nwent away to try and find the castle of his friends; and after wandering\nabout a few days he luckily found it. Then he stained his face all over\nbrown, so that even his mother would not have known him, and went into\nthe castle and asked for a lodging; 'I am so tired,' said he, 'that I\ncan go no farther.' 'Countryman,' said the witch, 'who are you? and what\nis your business?' 'I am,' said he, 'a messenger sent by the king to\nfind the finest salad that grows under the sun. I have been lucky\nenough to find it, and have brought it with me; but the heat of the sun\nscorches so that it begins to wither, and I don't know that I can carry\nit farther.'\n\nWhen the witch and the young lady heard of his beautiful salad, they\nlonged to taste it, and said, 'Dear countryman, let us just taste it.'\n'To be sure,' answered he; 'I have two heads of it with me, and will\ngive you one'; so he opened his bag and gave them the bad. Then the\nwitch herself took it into the kitchen to be dressed; and when it was\nready she could not wait till it was carried up, but took a few leaves\nimmediately and put them in her mouth, and scarcely were they swallowed\nwhen she lost her own form and ran braying down into the court in the\nform of an ass. Now the servant-maid came into the kitchen, and seeing\nthe salad ready, was going to carry it up; but on the way she too felt a\nwish to taste it as the old woman had done, and ate some leaves; so she\nalso was turned into an ass and ran after the other, letting the dish\nwith the salad fall on the ground. The messenger sat all this time with\nthe beautiful young lady, and as nobody came with the salad and she\nlonged to taste it, she said, 'I don't know where the salad can be.'\nThen he thought something must have happened, and said, 'I will go\ninto the kitchen and see.' And as he went he saw two asses in the court\nrunning about, and the salad lying on the ground. 'All right!' said\nhe; 'those two have had their share.' Then he took up the rest of\nthe leaves, laid them on the dish and brought them to the young lady,\nsaying, 'I bring you the dish myself that you may not wait any longer.'\nSo she ate of it, and like the others ran off into the court braying\naway.\n\nThen the huntsman washed his face and went into the court that they\nmight know him. 'Now you shall be paid for your roguery,' said he; and\ntied them all three to a rope and took them along with him till he\ncame to a mill and knocked at the window. 'What's the matter?' said the\nmiller. 'I have three tiresome beasts here,' said the other; 'if you\nwill take them, give them food and room, and treat them as I tell you,\nI will pay you whatever you ask.' 'With all my heart,' said the miller;\n'but how shall I treat them?' Then the huntsman said, 'Give the old\none stripes three times a day and hay once; give the next (who was\nthe servant-maid) stripes once a day and hay three times; and give\nthe youngest (who was the beautiful lady) hay three times a day and\nno stripes': for he could not find it in his heart to have her beaten.\nAfter this he went back to the castle, where he found everything he\nwanted.\n\nSome days after, the miller came to him and told him that the old ass\nwas dead; 'The other two,' said he, 'are alive and eat, but are so\nsorrowful that they cannot last long.' Then the huntsman pitied them,\nand told the miller to drive them back to him, and when they came, he\ngave them some of the good salad to eat. And the beautiful young lady\nfell upon her knees before him, and said, 'O dearest huntsman! forgive\nme all the ill I have done you; my mother forced me to it, it was\nagainst my will, for I always loved you very much. Your wishing-cloak\nhangs up in the closet, and as for the bird's heart, I will give it you\ntoo.' But he said, 'Keep it, it will be just the same thing, for I mean\nto make you my wife.' So they were married, and lived together very\nhappily till they died.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE YOUTH WHO WENT FORTH TO LEARN WHAT FEAR WAS\n\nA certain father had two sons, the elder of who was smart and sensible,\nand could do everything, but the younger was stupid and could neither\nlearn nor understand anything, and when people saw him they said:\n'There's a fellow who will give his father some trouble!' When anything\nhad to be done, it was always the elder who was forced to do it; but\nif his father bade him fetch anything when it was late, or in the\nnight-time, and the way led through the churchyard, or any other dismal\nplace, he answered: 'Oh, no father, I'll not go there, it makes me\nshudder!' for he was afraid. Or when stories were told by the fire at\nnight which made the flesh creep, the listeners sometimes said: 'Oh,\nit makes us shudder!' The younger sat in a corner and listened with\nthe rest of them, and could not imagine what they could mean. 'They are\nalways saying: \"It makes me shudder, it makes me shudder!\" It does not\nmake me shudder,' thought he. 'That, too, must be an art of which I\nunderstand nothing!'\n\nNow it came to pass that his father said to him one day: 'Hearken to me,\nyou fellow in the corner there, you are growing tall and strong, and you\ntoo must learn something by which you can earn your bread. Look how your\nbrother works, but you do not even earn your salt.' 'Well, father,' he\nreplied, 'I am quite willing to learn something--indeed, if it could but\nbe managed, I should like to learn how to shudder. I don't understand\nthat at all yet.' The elder brother smiled when he heard that, and\nthought to himself: 'Goodness, what a blockhead that brother of mine is!\nHe will never be good for anything as long as he lives! He who wants to\nbe a sickle must bend himself betimes.'\n\nThe father sighed, and answered him: 'You shall soon learn what it is to\nshudder, but you will not earn your bread by that.'\n\nSoon after this the sexton came to the house on a visit, and the father\nbewailed his trouble, and told him how his younger son was so backward\nin every respect that he knew nothing and learnt nothing. 'Just think,'\nsaid he, 'when I asked him how he was going to earn his bread, he\nactually wanted to learn to shudder.' 'If that be all,' replied the\nsexton, 'he can learn that with me. Send him to me, and I will soon\npolish him.' The father was glad to do it, for he thought: 'It will\ntrain the boy a little.' The sexton therefore took him into his house,\nand he had to ring the church bell. After a day or two, the sexton awoke\nhim at midnight, and bade him arise and go up into the church tower and\nring the bell. 'You shall soon learn what shuddering is,' thought he,\nand secretly went there before him; and when the boy was at the top of\nthe tower and turned round, and was just going to take hold of the bell\nrope, he saw a white figure standing on the stairs opposite the sounding\nhole. 'Who is there?' cried he, but the figure made no reply, and did\nnot move or stir. 'Give an answer,' cried the boy, 'or take yourself\noff, you have no business here at night.'\n\nThe sexton, however, remained standing motionless that the boy might\nthink he was a ghost. The boy cried a second time: 'What do you want\nhere?--speak if you are an honest fellow, or I will throw you down the\nsteps!' The sexton thought: 'He can't mean to be as bad as his words,'\nuttered no sound and stood as if he were made of stone. Then the boy\ncalled to him for the third time, and as that was also to no purpose,\nhe ran against him and pushed the ghost down the stairs, so that it fell\ndown the ten steps and remained lying there in a corner. Thereupon he\nrang the bell, went home, and without saying a word went to bed, and\nfell asleep. The sexton's wife waited a long time for her husband, but\nhe did not come back. At length she became uneasy, and wakened the boy,\nand asked: 'Do you know where my husband is? He climbed up the tower\nbefore you did.' 'No, I don't know,' replied the boy, 'but someone was\nstanding by the sounding hole on the other side of the steps, and as he\nwould neither gave an answer nor go away, I took him for a scoundrel,\nand threw him downstairs. Just go there and you will see if it was he.\nI should be sorry if it were.' The woman ran away and found her husband,\nwho was lying moaning in the corner, and had broken his leg.\n\nShe carried him down, and then with loud screams she hastened to the\nboy's father, 'Your boy,' cried she, 'has been the cause of a great\nmisfortune! He has thrown my husband down the steps so that he broke his\nleg. Take the good-for-nothing fellow out of our house.' The father was\nterrified, and ran thither and scolded the boy. 'What wicked tricks\nare these?' said he. 'The devil must have put them into your head.'\n'Father,' he replied, 'do listen to me. I am quite innocent. He was\nstanding there by night like one intent on doing evil. I did not know\nwho it was, and I entreated him three times either to speak or to go\naway.' 'Ah,' said the father, 'I have nothing but unhappiness with you.\nGo out of my sight. I will see you no more.'\n\n'Yes, father, right willingly, wait only until it is day. Then will I\ngo forth and learn how to shudder, and then I shall, at any rate,\nunderstand one art which will support me.' 'Learn what you will,' spoke\nthe father, 'it is all the same to me. Here are fifty talers for you.\nTake these and go into the wide world, and tell no one from whence you\ncome, and who is your father, for I have reason to be ashamed of you.'\n'Yes, father, it shall be as you will. If you desire nothing more than\nthat, I can easily keep it in mind.'\n\nWhen the day dawned, therefore, the boy put his fifty talers into his\npocket, and went forth on the great highway, and continually said to\nhimself: 'If I could but shudder! If I could but shudder!' Then a man\napproached who heard this conversation which the youth was holding with\nhimself, and when they had walked a little farther to where they could\nsee the gallows, the man said to him: 'Look, there is the tree where\nseven men have married the ropemaker's daughter, and are now learning\nhow to fly. Sit down beneath it, and wait till night comes, and you will\nsoon learn how to shudder.' 'If that is all that is wanted,' answered\nthe youth, 'it is easily done; but if I learn how to shudder as fast as\nthat, you shall have my fifty talers. Just come back to me early in the\nmorning.' Then the youth went to the gallows, sat down beneath it, and\nwaited till evening came. And as he was cold, he lighted himself a fire,\nbut at midnight the wind blew so sharply that in spite of his fire, he\ncould not get warm. And as the wind knocked the hanged men against each\nother, and they moved backwards and forwards, he thought to himself:\n'If you shiver below by the fire, how those up above must freeze and\nsuffer!' And as he felt pity for them, he raised the ladder, and climbed\nup, unbound one of them after the other, and brought down all seven.\nThen he stoked the fire, blew it, and set them all round it to warm\nthemselves. But they sat there and did not stir, and the fire caught\ntheir clothes. So he said: 'Take care, or I will hang you up again.' The\ndead men, however, did not hear, but were quite silent, and let their\nrags go on burning. At this he grew angry, and said: 'If you will not\ntake care, I cannot help you, I will not be burnt with you,' and he hung\nthem up again each in his turn. Then he sat down by his fire and fell\nasleep, and the next morning the man came to him and wanted to have\nthe fifty talers, and said: 'Well do you know how to shudder?' 'No,'\nanswered he, 'how should I know? Those fellows up there did not open\ntheir mouths, and were so stupid that they let the few old rags which\nthey had on their bodies get burnt.' Then the man saw that he would not\nget the fifty talers that day, and went away saying: 'Such a youth has\nnever come my way before.'\n\nThe youth likewise went his way, and once more began to mutter to\nhimself: 'Ah, if I could but shudder! Ah, if I could but shudder!' A\nwaggoner who was striding behind him heard this and asked: 'Who are\nyou?' 'I don't know,' answered the youth. Then the waggoner asked: 'From\nwhence do you come?' 'I know not.' 'Who is your father?' 'That I may\nnot tell you.' 'What is it that you are always muttering between your\nteeth?' 'Ah,' replied the youth, 'I do so wish I could shudder, but\nno one can teach me how.' 'Enough of your foolish chatter,' said the\nwaggoner. 'Come, go with me, I will see about a place for you.' The\nyouth went with the waggoner, and in the evening they arrived at an inn\nwhere they wished to pass the night. Then at the entrance of the parlour\nthe youth again said quite loudly: 'If I could but shudder! If I could\nbut shudder!' The host who heard this, laughed and said: 'If that is\nyour desire, there ought to be a good opportunity for you here.' 'Ah,\nbe silent,' said the hostess, 'so many prying persons have already lost\ntheir lives, it would be a pity and a shame if such beautiful eyes as\nthese should never see the daylight again.'\n\nBut the youth said: 'However difficult it may be, I will learn it. For\nthis purpose indeed have I journeyed forth.' He let the host have\nno rest, until the latter told him, that not far from thence stood a\nhaunted castle where anyone could very easily learn what shuddering was,\nif he would but watch in it for three nights. The king had promised that\nhe who would venture should have his daughter to wife, and she was the\nmost beautiful maiden the sun shone on. Likewise in the castle lay great\ntreasures, which were guarded by evil spirits, and these treasures would\nthen be freed, and would make a poor man rich enough. Already many men\nhad gone into the castle, but as yet none had come out again. Then the\nyouth went next morning to the king, and said: 'If it be allowed, I will\nwillingly watch three nights in the haunted castle.'\n\nThe king looked at him, and as the youth pleased him, he said: 'You may\nask for three things to take into the castle with you, but they must\nbe things without life.' Then he answered: 'Then I ask for a fire, a\nturning lathe, and a cutting-board with the knife.'\n\nThe king had these things carried into the castle for him during the\nday. When night was drawing near, the youth went up and made himself\na bright fire in one of the rooms, placed the cutting-board and knife\nbeside it, and seated himself by the turning-lathe. 'Ah, if I could\nbut shudder!' said he, 'but I shall not learn it here either.' Towards\nmidnight he was about to poke his fire, and as he was blowing it,\nsomething cried suddenly from one corner: 'Au, miau! how cold we are!'\n'You fools!' cried he, 'what are you crying about? If you are cold, come\nand take a seat by the fire and warm yourselves.' And when he had said\nthat, two great black cats came with one tremendous leap and sat down\non each side of him, and looked savagely at him with their fiery\neyes. After a short time, when they had warmed themselves, they said:\n'Comrade, shall we have a game of cards?' 'Why not?' he replied, 'but\njust show me your paws.' Then they stretched out their claws. 'Oh,' said\nhe, 'what long nails you have! Wait, I must first cut them for you.'\nThereupon he seized them by the throats, put them on the cutting-board\nand screwed their feet fast. 'I have looked at your fingers,' said he,\n'and my fancy for card-playing has gone,' and he struck them dead and\nthrew them out into the water. But when he had made away with these two,\nand was about to sit down again by his fire, out from every hole and\ncorner came black cats and black dogs with red-hot chains, and more\nand more of them came until he could no longer move, and they yelled\nhorribly, and got on his fire, pulled it to pieces, and tried to put\nit out. He watched them for a while quietly, but at last when they were\ngoing too far, he seized his cutting-knife, and cried: 'Away with you,\nvermin,' and began to cut them down. Some of them ran away, the others\nhe killed, and threw out into the fish-pond. When he came back he fanned\nthe embers of his fire again and warmed himself. And as he thus sat, his\neyes would keep open no longer, and he felt a desire to sleep. Then he\nlooked round and saw a great bed in the corner. 'That is the very thing\nfor me,' said he, and got into it. When he was just going to shut his\neyes, however, the bed began to move of its own accord, and went over\nthe whole of the castle. 'That's right,' said he, 'but go faster.' Then\nthe bed rolled on as if six horses were harnessed to it, up and down,\nover thresholds and stairs, but suddenly hop, hop, it turned over upside\ndown, and lay on him like a mountain. But he threw quilts and pillows up\nin the air, got out and said: 'Now anyone who likes, may drive,' and\nlay down by his fire, and slept till it was day. In the morning the king\ncame, and when he saw him lying there on the ground, he thought the evil\nspirits had killed him and he was dead. Then said he: 'After all it is a\npity,--for so handsome a man.' The youth heard it, got up, and said: 'It\nhas not come to that yet.' Then the king was astonished, but very glad,\nand asked how he had fared. 'Very well indeed,' answered he; 'one\nnight is past, the two others will pass likewise.' Then he went to the\ninnkeeper, who opened his eyes very wide, and said: 'I never expected to\nsee you alive again! Have you learnt how to shudder yet?' 'No,' said he,\n'it is all in vain. If someone would but tell me!'\n\nThe second night he again went up into the old castle, sat down by the\nfire, and once more began his old song: 'If I could but shudder!' When\nmidnight came, an uproar and noise of tumbling about was heard; at\nfirst it was low, but it grew louder and louder. Then it was quiet for\na while, and at length with a loud scream, half a man came down the\nchimney and fell before him. 'Hullo!' cried he, 'another half belongs\nto this. This is not enough!' Then the uproar began again, there was a\nroaring and howling, and the other half fell down likewise. 'Wait,' said\nhe, 'I will just stoke up the fire a little for you.' When he had done\nthat and looked round again, the two pieces were joined together, and a\nhideous man was sitting in his place. 'That is no part of our bargain,'\nsaid the youth, 'the bench is mine.' The man wanted to push him away;\nthe youth, however, would not allow that, but thrust him off with all\nhis strength, and seated himself again in his own place. Then still more\nmen fell down, one after the other; they brought nine dead men's legs\nand two skulls, and set them up and played at nine-pins with them. The\nyouth also wanted to play and said: 'Listen you, can I join you?' 'Yes,\nif you have any money.' 'Money enough,' replied he, 'but your balls are\nnot quite round.' Then he took the skulls and put them in the lathe and\nturned them till they were round. 'There, now they will roll better!'\nsaid he. 'Hurrah! now we'll have fun!' He played with them and lost some\nof his money, but when it struck twelve, everything vanished from his\nsight. He lay down and quietly fell asleep. Next morning the king came\nto inquire after him. 'How has it fared with you this time?' asked he.\n'I have been playing at nine-pins,' he answered, 'and have lost a couple\nof farthings.' 'Have you not shuddered then?' 'What?' said he, 'I have\nhad a wonderful time! If I did but know what it was to shudder!'\n\nThe third night he sat down again on his bench and said quite sadly:\n'If I could but shudder.' When it grew late, six tall men came in and\nbrought a coffin. Then he said: 'Ha, ha, that is certainly my little\ncousin, who died only a few days ago,' and he beckoned with his finger,\nand cried: 'Come, little cousin, come.' They placed the coffin on the\nground, but he went to it and took the lid off, and a dead man lay\ntherein. He felt his face, but it was cold as ice. 'Wait,' said he, 'I\nwill warm you a little,' and went to the fire and warmed his hand and\nlaid it on the dead man's face, but he remained cold. Then he took him\nout, and sat down by the fire and laid him on his breast and rubbed his\narms that the blood might circulate again. As this also did no good, he\nthought to himself: 'When two people lie in bed together, they warm each\nother,' and carried him to the bed, covered him over and lay down by\nhim. After a short time the dead man became warm too, and began to move.\nThen said the youth, 'See, little cousin, have I not warmed you?' The\ndead man, however, got up and cried: 'Now will I strangle you.'\n\n'What!' said he, 'is that the way you thank me? You shall at once go\ninto your coffin again,' and he took him up, threw him into it, and shut\nthe lid. Then came the six men and carried him away again. 'I cannot\nmanage to shudder,' said he. 'I shall never learn it here as long as I\nlive.'\n\nThen a man entered who was taller than all others, and looked terrible.\nHe was old, however, and had a long white beard. 'You wretch,' cried he,\n'you shall soon learn what it is to shudder, for you shall die.' 'Not so\nfast,' replied the youth. 'If I am to die, I shall have to have a say\nin it.' 'I will soon seize you,' said the fiend. 'Softly, softly, do not\ntalk so big. I am as strong as you are, and perhaps even stronger.'\n'We shall see,' said the old man. 'If you are stronger, I will let you\ngo--come, we will try.' Then he led him by dark passages to a smith's\nforge, took an axe, and with one blow struck an anvil into the ground.\n'I can do better than that,' said the youth, and went to the other\nanvil. The old man placed himself near and wanted to look on, and his\nwhite beard hung down. Then the youth seized the axe, split the anvil\nwith one blow, and in it caught the old man's beard. 'Now I have you,'\nsaid the youth. 'Now it is your turn to die.' Then he seized an iron bar\nand beat the old man till he moaned and entreated him to stop, when he\nwould give him great riches. The youth drew out the axe and let him go.\nThe old man led him back into the castle, and in a cellar showed him\nthree chests full of gold. 'Of these,' said he, 'one part is for the\npoor, the other for the king, the third yours.' In the meantime it\nstruck twelve, and the spirit disappeared, so that the youth stood in\ndarkness. 'I shall still be able to find my way out,' said he, and felt\nabout, found the way into the room, and slept there by his fire.\nNext morning the king came and said: 'Now you must have learnt what\nshuddering is?' 'No,' he answered; 'what can it be? My dead cousin was\nhere, and a bearded man came and showed me a great deal of money down\nbelow, but no one told me what it was to shudder.' 'Then,' said the\nking, 'you have saved the castle, and shall marry my daughter.' 'That\nis all very well,' said he, 'but still I do not know what it is to\nshudder!'\n\nThen the gold was brought up and the wedding celebrated; but howsoever\nmuch the young king loved his wife, and however happy he was, he still\nsaid always: 'If I could but shudder--if I could but shudder.' And this\nat last angered her. Her waiting-maid said: 'I will find a cure for him;\nhe shall soon learn what it is to shudder.' She went out to the stream\nwhich flowed through the garden, and had a whole bucketful of gudgeons\nbrought to her. At night when the young king was sleeping, his wife was\nto draw the clothes off him and empty the bucket full of cold water\nwith the gudgeons in it over him, so that the little fishes would\nsprawl about him. Then he woke up and cried: 'Oh, what makes me shudder\nso?--what makes me shudder so, dear wife? Ah! now I know what it is to\nshudder!'\n\n\n\n\nKING GRISLY-BEARD\n\nA great king of a land far away in the East had a daughter who was very\nbeautiful, but so proud, and haughty, and conceited, that none of the\nprinces who came to ask her in marriage was good enough for her, and she\nonly made sport of them.\n\nOnce upon a time the king held a great feast, and asked thither all\nher suitors; and they all sat in a row, ranged according to their\nrank--kings, and princes, and dukes, and earls, and counts, and barons,\nand knights. Then the princess came in, and as she passed by them she\nhad something spiteful to say to every one. The first was too fat: 'He's\nas round as a tub,' said she. The next was too tall: 'What a maypole!'\nsaid she. The next was too short: 'What a dumpling!' said she. The\nfourth was too pale, and she called him 'Wallface.' The fifth was too\nred, so she called him 'Coxcomb.' The sixth was not straight enough;\nso she said he was like a green stick, that had been laid to dry over\na baker's oven. And thus she had some joke to crack upon every one: but\nshe laughed more than all at a good king who was there. 'Look at\nhim,' said she; 'his beard is like an old mop; he shall be called\nGrisly-beard.' So the king got the nickname of Grisly-beard.\n\nBut the old king was very angry when he saw how his daughter behaved,\nand how she ill-treated all his guests; and he vowed that, willing or\nunwilling, she should marry the first man, be he prince or beggar, that\ncame to the door.\n\nTwo days after there came by a travelling fiddler, who began to play\nunder the window and beg alms; and when the king heard him, he said,\n'Let him come in.' So they brought in a dirty-looking fellow; and when\nhe had sung before the king and the princess, he begged a boon. Then the\nking said, 'You have sung so well, that I will give you my daughter for\nyour wife.' The princess begged and prayed; but the king said, 'I have\nsworn to give you to the first comer, and I will keep my word.' So words\nand tears were of no avail; the parson was sent for, and she was married\nto the fiddler. When this was over the king said, 'Now get ready to\ngo--you must not stay here--you must travel on with your husband.'\n\nThen the fiddler went his way, and took her with him, and they soon came\nto a great wood. 'Pray,' said she, 'whose is this wood?' 'It belongs\nto King Grisly-beard,' answered he; 'hadst thou taken him, all had been\nthine.' 'Ah! unlucky wretch that I am!' sighed she; 'would that I had\nmarried King Grisly-beard!' Next they came to some fine meadows. 'Whose\nare these beautiful green meadows?' said she. 'They belong to King\nGrisly-beard, hadst thou taken him, they had all been thine.' 'Ah!\nunlucky wretch that I am!' said she; 'would that I had married King\nGrisly-beard!'\n\nThen they came to a great city. 'Whose is this noble city?' said she.\n'It belongs to King Grisly-beard; hadst thou taken him, it had all been\nthine.' 'Ah! wretch that I am!' sighed she; 'why did I not marry King\nGrisly-beard?' 'That is no business of mine,' said the fiddler: 'why\nshould you wish for another husband? Am not I good enough for you?'\n\nAt last they came to a small cottage. 'What a paltry place!' said she;\n'to whom does that little dirty hole belong?' Then the fiddler said,\n'That is your and my house, where we are to live.' 'Where are your\nservants?' cried she. 'What do we want with servants?' said he; 'you\nmust do for yourself whatever is to be done. Now make the fire, and put\non water and cook my supper, for I am very tired.' But the princess knew\nnothing of making fires and cooking, and the fiddler was forced to help\nher. When they had eaten a very scanty meal they went to bed; but the\nfiddler called her up very early in the morning to clean the house. Thus\nthey lived for two days: and when they had eaten up all there was in the\ncottage, the man said, 'Wife, we can't go on thus, spending money and\nearning nothing. You must learn to weave baskets.' Then he went out and\ncut willows, and brought them home, and she began to weave; but it made\nher fingers very sore. 'I see this work won't do,' said he: 'try and\nspin; perhaps you will do that better.' So she sat down and tried to\nspin; but the threads cut her tender fingers till the blood ran. 'See\nnow,' said the fiddler, 'you are good for nothing; you can do no work:\nwhat a bargain I have got! However, I'll try and set up a trade in pots\nand pans, and you shall stand in the market and sell them.' 'Alas!'\nsighed she, 'if any of my father's court should pass by and see me\nstanding in the market, how they will laugh at me!'\n\nBut her husband did not care for that, and said she must work, if she\ndid not wish to die of hunger. At first the trade went well; for many\npeople, seeing such a beautiful woman, went to buy her wares, and paid\ntheir money without thinking of taking away the goods. They lived on\nthis as long as it lasted; and then her husband bought a fresh lot of\nware, and she sat herself down with it in the corner of the market; but\na drunken soldier soon came by, and rode his horse against her stall,\nand broke all her goods into a thousand pieces. Then she began to cry,\nand knew not what to do. 'Ah! what will become of me?' said she; 'what\nwill my husband say?' So she ran home and told him all. 'Who would\nhave thought you would have been so silly,' said he, 'as to put an\nearthenware stall in the corner of the market, where everybody passes?\nbut let us have no more crying; I see you are not fit for this sort of\nwork, so I have been to the king's palace, and asked if they did not\nwant a kitchen-maid; and they say they will take you, and there you will\nhave plenty to eat.'\n\nThus the princess became a kitchen-maid, and helped the cook to do all\nthe dirtiest work; but she was allowed to carry home some of the meat\nthat was left, and on this they lived.\n\nShe had not been there long before she heard that the king's eldest son\nwas passing by, going to be married; and she went to one of the windows\nand looked out. Everything was ready, and all the pomp and brightness of\nthe court was there. Then she bitterly grieved for the pride and folly\nwhich had brought her so low. And the servants gave her some of the rich\nmeats, which she put into her basket to take home.\n\nAll on a sudden, as she was going out, in came the king's son in golden\nclothes; and when he saw a beautiful woman at the door, he took her\nby the hand, and said she should be his partner in the dance; but she\ntrembled for fear, for she saw that it was King Grisly-beard, who was\nmaking sport of her. However, he kept fast hold, and led her in; and the\ncover of the basket came off, so that the meats in it fell about. Then\neverybody laughed and jeered at her; and she was so abashed, that she\nwished herself a thousand feet deep in the earth. She sprang to the\ndoor to run away; but on the steps King Grisly-beard overtook her, and\nbrought her back and said, 'Fear me not! I am the fiddler who has lived\nwith you in the hut. I brought you there because I really loved you. I\nam also the soldier that overset your stall. I have done all this only\nto cure you of your silly pride, and to show you the folly of your\nill-treatment of me. Now all is over: you have learnt wisdom, and it is\ntime to hold our marriage feast.'\n\nThen the chamberlains came and brought her the most beautiful robes; and\nher father and his whole court were there already, and welcomed her home\non her marriage. Joy was in every face and every heart. The feast was\ngrand; they danced and sang; all were merry; and I only wish that you\nand I had been of the party.\n\n\n\n\nIRON HANS\n\nThere was once upon a time a king who had a great forest near his\npalace, full of all kinds of wild animals. One day he sent out a\nhuntsman to shoot him a roe, but he did not come back. 'Perhaps some\naccident has befallen him,' said the king, and the next day he sent out\ntwo more huntsmen who were to search for him, but they too stayed away.\nThen on the third day, he sent for all his huntsmen, and said: 'Scour\nthe whole forest through, and do not give up until you have found all\nthree.' But of these also, none came home again, none were seen again.\nFrom that time forth, no one would any longer venture into the forest,\nand it lay there in deep stillness and solitude, and nothing was seen\nof it, but sometimes an eagle or a hawk flying over it. This lasted for\nmany years, when an unknown huntsman announced himself to the king as\nseeking a situation, and offered to go into the dangerous forest. The\nking, however, would not give his consent, and said: 'It is not safe in\nthere; I fear it would fare with you no better than with the others,\nand you would never come out again.' The huntsman replied: 'Lord, I will\nventure it at my own risk, of fear I know nothing.'\n\nThe huntsman therefore betook himself with his dog to the forest. It was\nnot long before the dog fell in with some game on the way, and wanted to\npursue it; but hardly had the dog run two steps when it stood before a\ndeep pool, could go no farther, and a naked arm stretched itself out of\nthe water, seized it, and drew it under. When the huntsman saw that, he\nwent back and fetched three men to come with buckets and bale out the\nwater. When they could see to the bottom there lay a wild man whose body\nwas brown like rusty iron, and whose hair hung over his face down to his\nknees. They bound him with cords, and led him away to the castle. There\nwas great astonishment over the wild man; the king, however, had him put\nin an iron cage in his courtyard, and forbade the door to be opened\non pain of death, and the queen herself was to take the key into her\nkeeping. And from this time forth everyone could again go into the\nforest with safety.\n\nThe king had a son of eight years, who was once playing in the\ncourtyard, and while he was playing, his golden ball fell into the cage.\nThe boy ran thither and said: 'Give me my ball out.' 'Not till you have\nopened the door for me,' answered the man. 'No,' said the boy, 'I will\nnot do that; the king has forbidden it,' and ran away. The next day he\nagain went and asked for his ball; the wild man said: 'Open my door,'\nbut the boy would not. On the third day the king had ridden out hunting,\nand the boy went once more and said: 'I cannot open the door even if I\nwished, for I have not the key.' Then the wild man said: 'It lies under\nyour mother's pillow, you can get it there.' The boy, who wanted to have\nhis ball back, cast all thought to the winds, and brought the key. The\ndoor opened with difficulty, and the boy pinched his fingers. When it\nwas open the wild man stepped out, gave him the golden ball, and hurried\naway. The boy had become afraid; he called and cried after him: 'Oh,\nwild man, do not go away, or I shall be beaten!' The wild man turned\nback, took him up, set him on his shoulder, and went with hasty steps\ninto the forest. When the king came home, he observed the empty cage,\nand asked the queen how that had happened. She knew nothing about it,\nand sought the key, but it was gone. She called the boy, but no one\nanswered. The king sent out people to seek for him in the fields, but\nthey did not find him. Then he could easily guess what had happened, and\nmuch grief reigned in the royal court.\n\nWhen the wild man had once more reached the dark forest, he took the boy\ndown from his shoulder, and said to him: 'You will never see your father\nand mother again, but I will keep you with me, for you have set me free,\nand I have compassion on you. If you do all I bid you, you shall fare\nwell. Of treasure and gold have I enough, and more than anyone in the\nworld.' He made a bed of moss for the boy on which he slept, and the\nnext morning the man took him to a well, and said: 'Behold, the gold\nwell is as bright and clear as crystal, you shall sit beside it, and\ntake care that nothing falls into it, or it will be polluted. I will\ncome every evening to see if you have obeyed my order.' The boy placed\nhimself by the brink of the well, and often saw a golden fish or a\ngolden snake show itself therein, and took care that nothing fell in.\nAs he was thus sitting, his finger hurt him so violently that he\ninvoluntarily put it in the water. He drew it quickly out again, but saw\nthat it was quite gilded, and whatsoever pains he took to wash the gold\noff again, all was to no purpose. In the evening Iron Hans came back,\nlooked at the boy, and said: 'What has happened to the well?' 'Nothing\nnothing,' he answered, and held his finger behind his back, that the\nman might not see it. But he said: 'You have dipped your finger into\nthe water, this time it may pass, but take care you do not again let\nanything go in.' By daybreak the boy was already sitting by the well and\nwatching it. His finger hurt him again and he passed it over his head,\nand then unhappily a hair fell down into the well. He took it quickly\nout, but it was already quite gilded. Iron Hans came, and already knew\nwhat had happened. 'You have let a hair fall into the well,' said he.\n'I will allow you to watch by it once more, but if this happens for the\nthird time then the well is polluted and you can no longer remain with\nme.'\n\nOn the third day, the boy sat by the well, and did not stir his finger,\nhowever much it hurt him. But the time was long to him, and he looked at\nthe reflection of his face on the surface of the water. And as he\nstill bent down more and more while he was doing so, and trying to look\nstraight into the eyes, his long hair fell down from his shoulders into\nthe water. He raised himself up quickly, but the whole of the hair of\nhis head was already golden and shone like the sun. You can imagine how\nterrified the poor boy was! He took his pocket-handkerchief and tied it\nround his head, in order that the man might not see it. When he came he\nalready knew everything, and said: 'Take the handkerchief off.' Then the\ngolden hair streamed forth, and let the boy excuse himself as he might,\nit was of no use. 'You have not stood the trial and can stay here no\nlonger. Go forth into the world, there you will learn what poverty is.\nBut as you have not a bad heart, and as I mean well by you, there is\none thing I will grant you; if you fall into any difficulty, come to the\nforest and cry: \"Iron Hans,\" and then I will come and help you. My\npower is great, greater than you think, and I have gold and silver in\nabundance.'\n\nThen the king's son left the forest, and walked by beaten and unbeaten\npaths ever onwards until at length he reached a great city. There he\nlooked for work, but could find none, and he learnt nothing by which he\ncould help himself. At length he went to the palace, and asked if they\nwould take him in. The people about court did not at all know what use\nthey could make of him, but they liked him, and told him to stay. At\nlength the cook took him into his service, and said he might carry wood\nand water, and rake the cinders together. Once when it so happened that\nno one else was at hand, the cook ordered him to carry the food to the\nroyal table, but as he did not like to let his golden hair be seen, he\nkept his little cap on. Such a thing as that had never yet come under\nthe king's notice, and he said: 'When you come to the royal table you\nmust take your hat off.' He answered: 'Ah, Lord, I cannot; I have a bad\nsore place on my head.' Then the king had the cook called before him\nand scolded him, and asked how he could take such a boy as that into his\nservice; and that he was to send him away at once. The cook, however,\nhad pity on him, and exchanged him for the gardener's boy.\n\nAnd now the boy had to plant and water the garden, hoe and dig, and bear\nthe wind and bad weather. Once in summer when he was working alone in\nthe garden, the day was so warm he took his little cap off that the air\nmight cool him. As the sun shone on his hair it glittered and flashed so\nthat the rays fell into the bedroom of the king's daughter, and up she\nsprang to see what that could be. Then she saw the boy, and cried to\nhim: 'Boy, bring me a wreath of flowers.' He put his cap on with all\nhaste, and gathered wild field-flowers and bound them together. When he\nwas ascending the stairs with them, the gardener met him, and said: 'How\ncan you take the king's daughter a garland of such common flowers? Go\nquickly, and get another, and seek out the prettiest and rarest.' 'Oh,\nno,' replied the boy, 'the wild ones have more scent, and will please\nher better.' When he got into the room, the king's daughter said: 'Take\nyour cap off, it is not seemly to keep it on in my presence.' He again\nsaid: 'I may not, I have a sore head.' She, however, caught at his\ncap and pulled it off, and then his golden hair rolled down on his\nshoulders, and it was splendid to behold. He wanted to run out, but she\nheld him by the arm, and gave him a handful of ducats. With these he\ndeparted, but he cared nothing for the gold pieces. He took them to the\ngardener, and said: 'I present them to your children, they can play with\nthem.' The following day the king's daughter again called to him that he\nwas to bring her a wreath of field-flowers, and then he went in with it,\nshe instantly snatched at his cap, and wanted to take it away from him,\nbut he held it fast with both hands. She again gave him a handful of\nducats, but he would not keep them, and gave them to the gardener for\nplaythings for his children. On the third day things went just the\nsame; she could not get his cap away from him, and he would not have her\nmoney.\n\nNot long afterwards, the country was overrun by war. The king gathered\ntogether his people, and did not know whether or not he could offer any\nopposition to the enemy, who was superior in strength and had a mighty\narmy. Then said the gardener's boy: 'I am grown up, and will go to the\nwars also, only give me a horse.' The others laughed, and said: 'Seek\none for yourself when we are gone, we will leave one behind us in the\nstable for you.' When they had gone forth, he went into the stable, and\nled the horse out; it was lame of one foot, and limped hobblety jib,\nhobblety jib; nevertheless he mounted it, and rode away to the dark\nforest. When he came to the outskirts, he called 'Iron Hans' three\ntimes so loudly that it echoed through the trees. Thereupon the wild man\nappeared immediately, and said: 'What do you desire?' 'I want a strong\nsteed, for I am going to the wars.' 'That you shall have, and still more\nthan you ask for.' Then the wild man went back into the forest, and it\nwas not long before a stable-boy came out of it, who led a horse that\nsnorted with its nostrils, and could hardly be restrained, and behind\nthem followed a great troop of warriors entirely equipped in iron, and\ntheir swords flashed in the sun. The youth made over his three-legged\nhorse to the stable-boy, mounted the other, and rode at the head of the\nsoldiers. When he got near the battlefield a great part of the king's\nmen had already fallen, and little was wanting to make the rest give\nway. Then the youth galloped thither with his iron soldiers, broke like\na hurricane over the enemy, and beat down all who opposed him. They\nbegan to flee, but the youth pursued, and never stopped, until there\nwas not a single man left. Instead of returning to the king, however, he\nconducted his troop by byways back to the forest, and called forth Iron\nHans. 'What do you desire?' asked the wild man. 'Take back your horse\nand your troops, and give me my three-legged horse again.' All that he\nasked was done, and soon he was riding on his three-legged horse. When\nthe king returned to his palace, his daughter went to meet him, and\nwished him joy of his victory. 'I am not the one who carried away the\nvictory,' said he, 'but a strange knight who came to my assistance with\nhis soldiers.' The daughter wanted to hear who the strange knight was,\nbut the king did not know, and said: 'He followed the enemy, and I did\nnot see him again.' She inquired of the gardener where his boy was, but\nhe smiled, and said: 'He has just come home on his three-legged horse,\nand the others have been mocking him, and crying: \"Here comes our\nhobblety jib back again!\" They asked, too: \"Under what hedge have you\nbeen lying sleeping all the time?\" So he said: \"I did the best of all,\nand it would have gone badly without me.\" And then he was still more\nridiculed.'\n\nThe king said to his daughter: 'I will proclaim a great feast that shall\nlast for three days, and you shall throw a golden apple. Perhaps the\nunknown man will show himself.' When the feast was announced, the youth\nwent out to the forest, and called Iron Hans. 'What do you desire?'\nasked he. 'That I may catch the king's daughter's golden apple.' 'It is\nas safe as if you had it already,' said Iron Hans. 'You shall likewise\nhave a suit of red armour for the occasion, and ride on a spirited\nchestnut-horse.' When the day came, the youth galloped to the spot, took\nhis place amongst the knights, and was recognized by no one. The king's\ndaughter came forward, and threw a golden apple to the knights, but none\nof them caught it but he, only as soon as he had it he galloped away.\n\nOn the second day Iron Hans equipped him as a white knight, and gave him\na white horse. Again he was the only one who caught the apple, and\nhe did not linger an instant, but galloped off with it. The king grew\nangry, and said: 'That is not allowed; he must appear before me and tell\nhis name.' He gave the order that if the knight who caught the apple,\nshould go away again they should pursue him, and if he would not come\nback willingly, they were to cut him down and stab him.\n\nOn the third day, he received from Iron Hans a suit of black armour and\na black horse, and again he caught the apple. But when he was riding off\nwith it, the king's attendants pursued him, and one of them got so near\nhim that he wounded the youth's leg with the point of his sword. The\nyouth nevertheless escaped from them, but his horse leapt so violently\nthat the helmet fell from the youth's head, and they could see that he\nhad golden hair. They rode back and announced this to the king.\n\nThe following day the king's daughter asked the gardener about his\nboy. 'He is at work in the garden; the queer creature has been at the\nfestival too, and only came home yesterday evening; he has likewise\nshown my children three golden apples which he has won.'\n\nThe king had him summoned into his presence, and he came and again had\nhis little cap on his head. But the king's daughter went up to him and\ntook it off, and then his golden hair fell down over his shoulders, and\nhe was so handsome that all were amazed. 'Are you the knight who came\nevery day to the festival, always in different colours, and who caught\nthe three golden apples?' asked the king. 'Yes,' answered he, 'and here\nthe apples are,' and he took them out of his pocket, and returned them\nto the king. 'If you desire further proof, you may see the wound which\nyour people gave me when they followed me. But I am likewise the knight\nwho helped you to your victory over your enemies.' 'If you can perform\nsuch deeds as that, you are no gardener's boy; tell me, who is your\nfather?' 'My father is a mighty king, and gold have I in plenty as great\nas I require.' 'I well see,' said the king, 'that I owe my thanks to\nyou; can I do anything to please you?' 'Yes,' answered he, 'that indeed\nyou can. Give me your daughter to wife.' The maiden laughed, and said:\n'He does not stand much on ceremony, but I have already seen by his\ngolden hair that he was no gardener's boy,' and then she went and\nkissed him. His father and mother came to the wedding, and were in great\ndelight, for they had given up all hope of ever seeing their dear\nson again. And as they were sitting at the marriage-feast, the music\nsuddenly stopped, the doors opened, and a stately king came in with a\ngreat retinue. He went up to the youth, embraced him and said: 'I am\nIron Hans, and was by enchantment a wild man, but you have set me free;\nall the treasures which I possess, shall be your property.'\n\n\n\n\nCAT-SKIN\n\nThere was once a king, whose queen had hair of the purest gold, and was\nso beautiful that her match was not to be met with on the whole face of\nthe earth. But this beautiful queen fell ill, and when she felt that her\nend drew near she called the king to her and said, 'Promise me that you\nwill never marry again, unless you meet with a wife who is as beautiful\nas I am, and who has golden hair like mine.' Then when the king in his\ngrief promised all she asked, she shut her eyes and died. But the king\nwas not to be comforted, and for a long time never thought of taking\nanother wife. At last, however, his wise men said, 'this will not do;\nthe king must marry again, that we may have a queen.' So messengers were\nsent far and wide, to seek for a bride as beautiful as the late queen.\nBut there was no princess in the world so beautiful; and if there had\nbeen, still there was not one to be found who had golden hair. So the\nmessengers came home, and had had all their trouble for nothing.\n\nNow the king had a daughter, who was just as beautiful as her mother,\nand had the same golden hair. And when she was grown up, the king looked\nat her and saw that she was just like this late queen: then he said to\nhis courtiers, 'May I not marry my daughter? She is the very image of my\ndead wife: unless I have her, I shall not find any bride upon the whole\nearth, and you say there must be a queen.' When the courtiers heard this\nthey were shocked, and said, 'Heaven forbid that a father should marry\nhis daughter! Out of so great a sin no good can come.' And his daughter\nwas also shocked, but hoped the king would soon give up such thoughts;\nso she said to him, 'Before I marry anyone I must have three dresses:\none must be of gold, like the sun; another must be of shining silver,\nlike the moon; and a third must be dazzling as the stars: besides this,\nI want a mantle of a thousand different kinds of fur put together, to\nwhich every beast in the kingdom must give a part of his skin.' And thus\nshe thought he would think of the matter no more. But the king made the\nmost skilful workmen in his kingdom weave the three dresses: one golden,\nlike the sun; another silvery, like the moon; and a third sparkling,\nlike the stars: and his hunters were told to hunt out all the beasts in\nhis kingdom, and to take the finest fur out of their skins: and thus a\nmantle of a thousand furs was made.\n\nWhen all were ready, the king sent them to her; but she got up in the\nnight when all were asleep, and took three of her trinkets, a golden\nring, a golden necklace, and a golden brooch, and packed the three\ndresses--of the sun, the moon, and the stars--up in a nutshell, and\nwrapped herself up in the mantle made of all sorts of fur, and besmeared\nher face and hands with soot. Then she threw herself upon Heaven for\nhelp in her need, and went away, and journeyed on the whole night, till\nat last she came to a large wood. As she was very tired, she sat herself\ndown in the hollow of a tree and soon fell asleep: and there she slept\non till it was midday.\n\nNow as the king to whom the wood belonged was hunting in it, his dogs\ncame to the tree, and began to snuff about, and run round and round, and\nbark. 'Look sharp!' said the king to the huntsmen, 'and see what sort\nof game lies there.' And the huntsmen went up to the tree, and when they\ncame back again said, 'In the hollow tree there lies a most wonderful\nbeast, such as we never saw before; its skin seems to be of a thousand\nkinds of fur, but there it lies fast asleep.' 'See,' said the king, 'if\nyou can catch it alive, and we will take it with us.' So the huntsmen\ntook it up, and the maiden awoke and was greatly frightened, and said,\n'I am a poor child that has neither father nor mother left; have pity on\nme and take me with you.' Then they said, 'Yes, Miss Cat-skin, you will\ndo for the kitchen; you can sweep up the ashes, and do things of that\nsort.' So they put her into the coach, and took her home to the king's\npalace. Then they showed her a little corner under the staircase, where\nno light of day ever peeped in, and said, 'Cat-skin, you may lie and\nsleep there.' And she was sent into the kitchen, and made to fetch wood\nand water, to blow the fire, pluck the poultry, pick the herbs, sift the\nashes, and do all the dirty work.\n\nThus Cat-skin lived for a long time very sorrowfully. 'Ah! pretty\nprincess!' thought she, 'what will now become of thee?' But it happened\none day that a feast was to be held in the king's castle, so she said to\nthe cook, 'May I go up a little while and see what is going on? I will\ntake care and stand behind the door.' And the cook said, 'Yes, you may\ngo, but be back again in half an hour's time, to rake out the ashes.'\nThen she took her little lamp, and went into her cabin, and took off the\nfur skin, and washed the soot from off her face and hands, so that her\nbeauty shone forth like the sun from behind the clouds. She next opened\nher nutshell, and brought out of it the dress that shone like the sun,\nand so went to the feast. Everyone made way for her, for nobody knew\nher, and they thought she could be no less than a king's daughter. But\nthe king came up to her, and held out his hand and danced with her; and\nhe thought in his heart, 'I never saw any one half so beautiful.'\n\nWhen the dance was at an end she curtsied; and when the king looked\nround for her, she was gone, no one knew wither. The guards that stood\nat the castle gate were called in: but they had seen no one. The truth\nwas, that she had run into her little cabin, pulled off her dress,\nblackened her face and hands, put on the fur-skin cloak, and was\nCat-skin again. When she went into the kitchen to her work, and began\nto rake the ashes, the cook said, 'Let that alone till the morning, and\nheat the king's soup; I should like to run up now and give a peep: but\ntake care you don't let a hair fall into it, or you will run a chance of\nnever eating again.'\n\nAs soon as the cook went away, Cat-skin heated the king's soup, and\ntoasted a slice of bread first, as nicely as ever she could; and when it\nwas ready, she went and looked in the cabin for her little golden ring,\nand put it into the dish in which the soup was. When the dance was over,\nthe king ordered his soup to be brought in; and it pleased him so well,\nthat he thought he had never tasted any so good before. At the bottom\nhe saw a gold ring lying; and as he could not make out how it had got\nthere, he ordered the cook to be sent for. The cook was frightened when\nhe heard the order, and said to Cat-skin, 'You must have let a hair fall\ninto the soup; if it be so, you will have a good beating.' Then he went\nbefore the king, and he asked him who had cooked the soup. 'I did,'\nanswered the cook. But the king said, 'That is not true; it was better\ndone than you could do it.' Then he answered, 'To tell the truth I did\nnot cook it, but Cat-skin did.' 'Then let Cat-skin come up,' said the\nking: and when she came he said to her, 'Who are you?' 'I am a poor\nchild,' said she, 'that has lost both father and mother.' 'How came you\nin my palace?' asked he. 'I am good for nothing,' said she, 'but to be\nscullion-girl, and to have boots and shoes thrown at my head.' 'But how\ndid you get the ring that was in the soup?' asked the king. Then she\nwould not own that she knew anything about the ring; so the king sent\nher away again about her business.\n\nAfter a time there was another feast, and Cat-skin asked the cook to let\nher go up and see it as before. 'Yes,' said he, 'but come again in half\nan hour, and cook the king the soup that he likes so much.' Then she\nran to her little cabin, washed herself quickly, and took her dress\nout which was silvery as the moon, and put it on; and when she went in,\nlooking like a king's daughter, the king went up to her, and rejoiced at\nseeing her again, and when the dance began he danced with her. After the\ndance was at an end she managed to slip out, so slyly that the king did\nnot see where she was gone; but she sprang into her little cabin, and\nmade herself into Cat-skin again, and went into the kitchen to cook the\nsoup. Whilst the cook was above stairs, she got the golden necklace and\ndropped it into the soup; then it was brought to the king, who ate it,\nand it pleased him as well as before; so he sent for the cook, who\nwas again forced to tell him that Cat-skin had cooked it. Cat-skin was\nbrought again before the king, but she still told him that she was only\nfit to have boots and shoes thrown at her head.\n\nBut when the king had ordered a feast to be got ready for the third\ntime, it happened just the same as before. 'You must be a witch,\nCat-skin,' said the cook; 'for you always put something into your soup,\nso that it pleases the king better than mine.' However, he let her go up\nas before. Then she put on her dress which sparkled like the stars, and\nwent into the ball-room in it; and the king danced with her again, and\nthought she had never looked so beautiful as she did then. So whilst\nhe was dancing with her, he put a gold ring on her finger without her\nseeing it, and ordered that the dance should be kept up a long time.\nWhen it was at an end, he would have held her fast by the hand, but she\nslipped away, and sprang so quickly through the crowd that he lost sight\nof her: and she ran as fast as she could into her little cabin under\nthe stairs. But this time she kept away too long, and stayed beyond the\nhalf-hour; so she had not time to take off her fine dress, and threw her\nfur mantle over it, and in her haste did not blacken herself all over\nwith soot, but left one of her fingers white.\n\nThen she ran into the kitchen, and cooked the king's soup; and as soon\nas the cook was gone, she put the golden brooch into the dish. When the\nking got to the bottom, he ordered Cat-skin to be called once more, and\nsoon saw the white finger, and the ring that he had put on it whilst\nthey were dancing: so he seized her hand, and kept fast hold of it, and\nwhen she wanted to loose herself and spring away, the fur cloak fell off\na little on one side, and the starry dress sparkled underneath it.\n\nThen he got hold of the fur and tore it off, and her golden hair and\nbeautiful form were seen, and she could no longer hide herself: so she\nwashed the soot and ashes from her face, and showed herself to be the\nmost beautiful princess upon the face of the earth. But the king said,\n'You are my beloved bride, and we will never more be parted from each\nother.' And the wedding feast was held, and a merry day it was, as ever\nwas heard of or seen in that country, or indeed in any other.\n\n\n\n\nSNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED\n\nThere was once a poor widow who lived in a lonely cottage. In front of\nthe cottage was a garden wherein stood two rose-trees, one of which bore\nwhite and the other red roses. She had two children who were like the\ntwo rose-trees, and one was called Snow-white, and the other Rose-red.\nThey were as good and happy, as busy and cheerful as ever two children\nin the world were, only Snow-white was more quiet and gentle than\nRose-red. Rose-red liked better to run about in the meadows and fields\nseeking flowers and catching butterflies; but Snow-white sat at home\nwith her mother, and helped her with her housework, or read to her when\nthere was nothing to do.\n\nThe two children were so fond of one another that they always held each\nother by the hand when they went out together, and when Snow-white said:\n'We will not leave each other,' Rose-red answered: 'Never so long as we\nlive,' and their mother would add: 'What one has she must share with the\nother.'\n\nThey often ran about the forest alone and gathered red berries, and no\nbeasts did them any harm, but came close to them trustfully. The little\nhare would eat a cabbage-leaf out of their hands, the roe grazed by\ntheir side, the stag leapt merrily by them, and the birds sat still upon\nthe boughs, and sang whatever they knew.\n\nNo mishap overtook them; if they had stayed too late in the forest, and\nnight came on, they laid themselves down near one another upon the moss,\nand slept until morning came, and their mother knew this and did not\nworry on their account.\n\nOnce when they had spent the night in the wood and the dawn had roused\nthem, they saw a beautiful child in a shining white dress sitting near\ntheir bed. He got up and looked quite kindly at them, but said nothing\nand went into the forest. And when they looked round they found that\nthey had been sleeping quite close to a precipice, and would certainly\nhave fallen into it in the darkness if they had gone only a few paces\nfurther. And their mother told them that it must have been the angel who\nwatches over good children.\n\nSnow-white and Rose-red kept their mother's little cottage so neat that\nit was a pleasure to look inside it. In the summer Rose-red took care\nof the house, and every morning laid a wreath of flowers by her mother's\nbed before she awoke, in which was a rose from each tree. In the winter\nSnow-white lit the fire and hung the kettle on the hob. The kettle\nwas of brass and shone like gold, so brightly was it polished. In the\nevening, when the snowflakes fell, the mother said: 'Go, Snow-white, and\nbolt the door,' and then they sat round the hearth, and the mother took\nher spectacles and read aloud out of a large book, and the two girls\nlistened as they sat and spun. And close by them lay a lamb upon the\nfloor, and behind them upon a perch sat a white dove with its head\nhidden beneath its wings.\n\nOne evening, as they were thus sitting comfortably together, someone\nknocked at the door as if he wished to be let in. The mother said:\n'Quick, Rose-red, open the door, it must be a traveller who is seeking\nshelter.' Rose-red went and pushed back the bolt, thinking that it was a\npoor man, but it was not; it was a bear that stretched his broad, black\nhead within the door.\n\nRose-red screamed and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered,\nand Snow-white hid herself behind her mother's bed. But the bear began\nto speak and said: 'Do not be afraid, I will do you no harm! I am\nhalf-frozen, and only want to warm myself a little beside you.'\n\n'Poor bear,' said the mother, 'lie down by the fire, only take care that\nyou do not burn your coat.' Then she cried: 'Snow-white, Rose-red, come\nout, the bear will do you no harm, he means well.' So they both came\nout, and by-and-by the lamb and dove came nearer, and were not afraid\nof him. The bear said: 'Here, children, knock the snow out of my coat a\nlittle'; so they brought the broom and swept the bear's hide clean;\nand he stretched himself by the fire and growled contentedly and\ncomfortably. It was not long before they grew quite at home, and played\ntricks with their clumsy guest. They tugged his hair with their hands,\nput their feet upon his back and rolled him about, or they took a\nhazel-switch and beat him, and when he growled they laughed. But the\nbear took it all in good part, only when they were too rough he called\nout: 'Leave me alive, children,\n\n  Snow-white, Rose-red,\n  Will you beat your wooer dead?'\n\nWhen it was bed-time, and the others went to bed, the mother said to the\nbear: 'You can lie there by the hearth, and then you will be safe from\nthe cold and the bad weather.' As soon as day dawned the two children\nlet him out, and he trotted across the snow into the forest.\n\nHenceforth the bear came every evening at the same time, laid himself\ndown by the hearth, and let the children amuse themselves with him as\nmuch as they liked; and they got so used to him that the doors were\nnever fastened until their black friend had arrived.\n\nWhen spring had come and all outside was green, the bear said one\nmorning to Snow-white: 'Now I must go away, and cannot come back for the\nwhole summer.' 'Where are you going, then, dear bear?' asked Snow-white.\n'I must go into the forest and guard my treasures from the wicked\ndwarfs. In the winter, when the earth is frozen hard, they are obliged\nto stay below and cannot work their way through; but now, when the sun\nhas thawed and warmed the earth, they break through it, and come out to\npry and steal; and what once gets into their hands, and in their caves,\ndoes not easily see daylight again.'\n\nSnow-white was quite sorry at his departure, and as she unbolted the\ndoor for him, and the bear was hurrying out, he caught against the bolt\nand a piece of his hairy coat was torn off, and it seemed to Snow-white\nas if she had seen gold shining through it, but she was not sure about\nit. The bear ran away quickly, and was soon out of sight behind the\ntrees.\n\nA short time afterwards the mother sent her children into the forest\nto get firewood. There they found a big tree which lay felled on the\nground, and close by the trunk something was jumping backwards and\nforwards in the grass, but they could not make out what it was. When\nthey came nearer they saw a dwarf with an old withered face and a\nsnow-white beard a yard long. The end of the beard was caught in a\ncrevice of the tree, and the little fellow was jumping about like a dog\ntied to a rope, and did not know what to do.\n\nHe glared at the girls with his fiery red eyes and cried: 'Why do you\nstand there? Can you not come here and help me?' 'What are you up to,\nlittle man?' asked Rose-red. 'You stupid, prying goose!' answered the\ndwarf: 'I was going to split the tree to get a little wood for cooking.\nThe little bit of food that we people get is immediately burnt up with\nheavy logs; we do not swallow so much as you coarse, greedy folk. I had\njust driven the wedge safely in, and everything was going as I wished;\nbut the cursed wedge was too smooth and suddenly sprang out, and the\ntree closed so quickly that I could not pull out my beautiful white\nbeard; so now it is tight and I cannot get away, and the silly, sleek,\nmilk-faced things laugh! Ugh! how odious you are!'\n\nThe children tried very hard, but they could not pull the beard out, it\nwas caught too fast. 'I will run and fetch someone,' said Rose-red. 'You\nsenseless goose!' snarled the dwarf; 'why should you fetch someone? You\nare already two too many for me; can you not think of something better?'\n'Don't be impatient,' said Snow-white, 'I will help you,' and she pulled\nher scissors out of her pocket, and cut off the end of the beard.\n\nAs soon as the dwarf felt himself free he laid hold of a bag which lay\namongst the roots of the tree, and which was full of gold, and lifted it\nup, grumbling to himself: 'Uncouth people, to cut off a piece of my fine\nbeard. Bad luck to you!' and then he swung the bag upon his back, and\nwent off without even once looking at the children.\n\nSome time afterwards Snow-white and Rose-red went to catch a dish\nof fish. As they came near the brook they saw something like a large\ngrasshopper jumping towards the water, as if it were going to leap in.\nThey ran to it and found it was the dwarf. 'Where are you going?' said\nRose-red; 'you surely don't want to go into the water?' 'I am not such\na fool!' cried the dwarf; 'don't you see that the accursed fish wants\nto pull me in?' The little man had been sitting there fishing, and\nunluckily the wind had tangled up his beard with the fishing-line; a\nmoment later a big fish made a bite and the feeble creature had not\nstrength to pull it out; the fish kept the upper hand and pulled the\ndwarf towards him. He held on to all the reeds and rushes, but it was of\nlittle good, for he was forced to follow the movements of the fish, and\nwas in urgent danger of being dragged into the water.\n\nThe girls came just in time; they held him fast and tried to free his\nbeard from the line, but all in vain, beard and line were entangled fast\ntogether. There was nothing to do but to bring out the scissors and cut\nthe beard, whereby a small part of it was lost. When the dwarf saw that\nhe screamed out: 'Is that civil, you toadstool, to disfigure a man's\nface? Was it not enough to clip off the end of my beard? Now you have\ncut off the best part of it. I cannot let myself be seen by my people.\nI wish you had been made to run the soles off your shoes!' Then he took\nout a sack of pearls which lay in the rushes, and without another word\nhe dragged it away and disappeared behind a stone.\n\nIt happened that soon afterwards the mother sent the two children to the\ntown to buy needles and thread, and laces and ribbons. The road led them\nacross a heath upon which huge pieces of rock lay strewn about. There\nthey noticed a large bird hovering in the air, flying slowly round and\nround above them; it sank lower and lower, and at last settled near a\nrock not far away. Immediately they heard a loud, piteous cry. They ran\nup and saw with horror that the eagle had seized their old acquaintance\nthe dwarf, and was going to carry him off.\n\nThe children, full of pity, at once took tight hold of the little man,\nand pulled against the eagle so long that at last he let his booty go.\nAs soon as the dwarf had recovered from his first fright he cried\nwith his shrill voice: 'Could you not have done it more carefully! You\ndragged at my brown coat so that it is all torn and full of holes, you\nclumsy creatures!' Then he took up a sack full of precious stones, and\nslipped away again under the rock into his hole. The girls, who by\nthis time were used to his ingratitude, went on their way and did their\nbusiness in town.\n\nAs they crossed the heath again on their way home they surprised the\ndwarf, who had emptied out his bag of precious stones in a clean spot,\nand had not thought that anyone would come there so late. The evening\nsun shone upon the brilliant stones; they glittered and sparkled with\nall colours so beautifully that the children stood still and stared\nat them. 'Why do you stand gaping there?' cried the dwarf, and his\nashen-grey face became copper-red with rage. He was still cursing when a\nloud growling was heard, and a black bear came trotting towards them out\nof the forest. The dwarf sprang up in a fright, but he could not reach\nhis cave, for the bear was already close. Then in the dread of his heart\nhe cried: 'Dear Mr Bear, spare me, I will give you all my treasures;\nlook, the beautiful jewels lying there! Grant me my life; what do you\nwant with such a slender little fellow as I? you would not feel me\nbetween your teeth. Come, take these two wicked girls, they are tender\nmorsels for you, fat as young quails; for mercy's sake eat them!' The\nbear took no heed of his words, but gave the wicked creature a single\nblow with his paw, and he did not move again.\n\nThe girls had run away, but the bear called to them: 'Snow-white and\nRose-red, do not be afraid; wait, I will come with you.' Then they\nrecognized his voice and waited, and when he came up to them suddenly\nhis bearskin fell off, and he stood there a handsome man, clothed all in\ngold. 'I am a king's son,' he said, 'and I was bewitched by that wicked\ndwarf, who had stolen my treasures; I have had to run about the forest\nas a savage bear until I was freed by his death. Now he has got his\nwell-deserved punishment.\n\nSnow-white was married to him, and Rose-red to his brother, and they\ndivided between them the great treasure which the dwarf had gathered\ntogether in his cave. The old mother lived peacefully and happily with\nher children for many years. She took the two rose-trees with her, and\nthey stood before her window, and every year bore the most beautiful\nroses, white and red.\n\n\n*****\n\n\nThe Brothers Grimm, Jacob (1785-1863) and Wilhelm (1786-1859), were born\nin Hanau, near Frankfurt, in the German state of Hesse. Throughout\ntheir lives they remained close friends, and both studied law at Marburg\nUniversity. Jacob was a pioneer in the study of German philology,\nand although Wilhelm's work was hampered by poor health the brothers\ncollaborated in the creation of a German dictionary, not completed until\na century after their deaths. But they were best (and universally) known\nfor the collection of over two hundred folk tales they made from oral\nsources and published in two volumes of 'Nursery and Household Tales' in\n1812 and 1814. Although their intention was to preserve such material as\npart of German cultural and literary history, and their collection was\nfirst published with scholarly notes and no illustration, the tales soon\ncame into the possession of young readers. This was in part due to Edgar\nTaylor, who made the first English translation in 1823, selecting about\nfifty stories 'with the amusement of some young friends principally in\nview.' They have been an essential ingredient of children's reading ever\nsince.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Grimms' Fairy Tales, by The Brothers Grimm\n\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRIMMS' FAIRY TALES ***\n\n***** This file should be named 2591.txt or 2591.zip *****\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\n        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/9/2591/\n\nProduced by Emma Dudding, John Bickers, and Dagny\n\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\nwill be renamed.\n\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  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  },
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    "path": "src/main/pg-huckleberry_finn.txt",
    "content": "\n\nThe Project Gutenberg EBook of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Complete\nby Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)\n\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost\nno restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use\nit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this\neBook or online at www.gutenberg.net\n\nTitle: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Complete\n\nAuthor: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)\n\nRelease Date: August 20, 2006 [EBook #76]\n\nLast Updated: April 18, 2015]\n\nLanguage: English\n\n\n*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUCKLEBERRY FINN ***\n\nProduced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nADVENTURES\n\nOF\n\nHUCKLEBERRY FINN\n\n(Tom Sawyer's Comrade)\n\nBy Mark Twain\n\nComplete\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\nCHAPTER I. Civilizing Huck.--Miss Watson.--Tom Sawyer Waits.\n\nCHAPTER II. The Boys Escape Jim.--Torn Sawyer's Gang.--Deep-laid Plans.\n\nCHAPTER III. A Good Going-over.--Grace Triumphant.--\"One of Tom Sawyers's\nLies\".\n\nCHAPTER IV. Huck and the Judge.--Superstition.\n\nCHAPTER V. Huck's Father.--The Fond Parent.--Reform.\n\nCHAPTER VI. He Went for Judge Thatcher.--Huck Decided to Leave.--Political\nEconomy.--Thrashing Around.\n\nCHAPTER VII. Laying for Him.--Locked in the Cabin.--Sinking the\nBody.--Resting.\n\nCHAPTER VIII. Sleeping in the Woods.--Raising the Dead.--Exploring the\nIsland.--Finding Jim.--Jim's Escape.--Signs.--Balum.\n\nCHAPTER IX. The Cave.--The Floating House.\n\nCHAPTER X. The Find.--Old Hank Bunker.--In Disguise.\n\nCHAPTER XI. Huck and the Woman.--The Search.--Prevarication.--Going to\nGoshen.\n\nCHAPTER XII. Slow Navigation.--Borrowing Things.--Boarding the Wreck.--The\nPlotters.--Hunting for the Boat.\n\nCHAPTER XIII. Escaping from the Wreck.--The Watchman.--Sinking.\n\nCHAPTER XIV. A General Good Time.--The Harem.--French.\n\nCHAPTER XV. Huck Loses the Raft.--In the Fog.--Huck Finds the Raft.--Trash.\n\nCHAPTER XVI. Expectation.--A White Lie.--Floating Currency.--Running by\nCairo.--Swimming Ashore.\n\nCHAPTER XVII. An Evening Call.--The Farm in Arkansaw.--Interior\nDecorations.--Stephen Dowling Bots.--Poetical Effusions.\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. Col. Grangerford.--Aristocracy.--Feuds.--The\nTestament.--Recovering the Raft.--The Wood--pile.--Pork and Cabbage.\n\nCHAPTER XIX. Tying Up Day--times.--An Astronomical Theory.--Running a\nTemperance Revival.--The Duke of Bridgewater.--The Troubles of Royalty.\n\nCHAPTER XX. Huck Explains.--Laying Out a Campaign.--Working the\nCamp--meeting.--A Pirate at the Camp--meeting.--The Duke as a Printer.\n\nCHAPTER XXI. Sword Exercise.--Hamlet's Soliloquy.--They Loafed Around\nTown.--A Lazy Town.--Old Boggs.--Dead.\n\nCHAPTER XXII. Sherburn.--Attending the Circus.--Intoxication in the\nRing.--The Thrilling Tragedy.\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. Sold.--Royal Comparisons.--Jim Gets Home-sick.\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. Jim in Royal Robes.--They Take a Passenger.--Getting\nInformation.--Family Grief.\n\nCHAPTER XXV. Is It Them?--Singing the \"Doxologer.\"--Awful Square--Funeral\nOrgies.--A Bad Investment .\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. A Pious King.--The King's Clergy.--She Asked His\nPardon.--Hiding in the Room.--Huck Takes the Money.\n\nCHAPTER XXVII. The Funeral.--Satisfying Curiosity.--Suspicious of\nHuck,--Quick Sales and Small.\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII. The Trip to England.--\"The Brute!\"--Mary Jane Decides to\nLeave.--Huck Parting with Mary Jane.--Mumps.--The Opposition Line.\n\nCHAPTER XXIX. Contested Relationship.--The King Explains the Loss.--A\nQuestion of Handwriting.--Digging up the Corpse.--Huck Escapes.\n\nCHAPTER XXX. The King Went for Him.--A Royal Row.--Powerful Mellow.\n\nCHAPTER XXXI. Ominous Plans.--News from Jim.--Old Recollections.--A Sheep\nStory.--Valuable Information.\n\nCHAPTER XXXII. Still and Sunday--like.--Mistaken Identity.--Up a Stump.--In\na Dilemma.\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII. A Nigger Stealer.--Southern Hospitality.--A Pretty Long\nBlessing.--Tar and Feathers.\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV. The Hut by the Ash Hopper.--Outrageous.--Climbing the\nLightning Rod.--Troubled with Witches.\n\nCHAPTER XXXV. Escaping Properly.--Dark Schemes.--Discrimination in\nStealing.--A Deep Hole.\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI. The Lightning Rod.--His Level Best.--A Bequest to\nPosterity.--A High Figure.\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII. The Last Shirt.--Mooning Around.--Sailing Orders.--The\nWitch Pie.\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII. The Coat of Arms.--A Skilled Superintendent.--Unpleasant\nGlory.--A Tearful Subject.\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX. Rats.--Lively Bed--fellows.--The Straw Dummy.\n\nCHAPTER XL. Fishing.--The Vigilance Committee.--A Lively Run.--Jim Advises\na Doctor.\n\nCHAPTER XLI. The Doctor.--Uncle Silas.--Sister Hotchkiss.--Aunt Sally in\nTrouble.\n\nCHAPTER XLII. Tom Sawyer Wounded.--The Doctor's Story.--Tom\nConfesses.--Aunt Polly Arrives.--Hand Out Them Letters    .\n\nCHAPTER THE LAST. Out of Bondage.--Paying the Captive.--Yours Truly, Huck\nFinn.\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS.\n\nThe Widows\n\nMoses and the \"Bulrushers\"\n\nMiss Watson\n\nHuck Stealing Away\n\nThey Tip-toed Along\n\nJim\n\nTom Sawyer's Band of Robbers  \n\nHuck Creeps into his Window\n\nMiss Watson's Lecture\n\nThe Robbers Dispersed\n\nRubbing the Lamp\n\n! ! ! !\n\nJudge Thatcher surprised\n\nJim Listening\n\n\"Pap\"\n\nHuck and his Father\n\nReforming the Drunkard\n\nFalling from Grace\n\nThe Widows\n\nMoses and the \"Bulrushers\"\n\nMiss Watson\n\nHuck Stealing Away\n\nThey Tip-toed Along\n\nJim\n\nTom Sawyer's Band of Robbers  \n\nHuck Creeps into his Window\n\nMiss Watson's Lecture\n\nThe Robbers Dispersed\n\nRubbing the Lamp\n\n! ! ! !\n\nJudge Thatcher surprised\n\nJim Listening\n\n\"Pap\"\n\nHuck and his Father\n\nReforming the Drunkard\n\nFalling from Grace\n\nGetting out of the Way\n\nSolid Comfort\n\nThinking it Over\n\nRaising a Howl\n\n\"Git Up\"\n\nThe Shanty\n\nShooting the Pig\n\nTaking a Rest\n\nIn the Woods\n\nWatching the Boat\n\nDiscovering the Camp Fire\n\nJim and the Ghost\n\nMisto Bradish's Nigger\n\nExploring the Cave\n\nIn the Cave\n\nJim sees a Dead Man\n\nThey Found Eight Dollars\n\nJim and the Snake\n\nOld Hank Bunker\n\n\"A Fair Fit\"\n\n\"Come In\"\n\n\"Him and another Man\"\n\nShe puts up a Snack\n\n\"Hump Yourself\"\n\nOn the Raft\n\nHe sometimes Lifted a Chicken\n\n\"Please don't, Bill\"\n\n\"It ain't Good Morals\"\n\n\"Oh! Lordy, Lordy!\"\n\nIn a Fix\n\n\"Hello, What's Up?\"\n\nThe Wreck\n\nWe turned in and Slept\n\nTurning over the Truck\n\nSolomon and his Million Wives\n\nThe story of \"Sollermun\"\n\n\"We Would Sell the Raft\"\n\nAmong the Snags\n\nAsleep on the Raft\n\n\"Something being Raftsman\"\n\n\"Boy, that's a Lie\"\n\n\"Here I is, Huck\"\n\nClimbing up the Bank\n\n\"Who's There?\"\n\n\"Buck\"\n\n\"It made Her look Spidery\"\n\n\"They got him out and emptied Him\"  \n\nThe House\n\nCol. Grangerford\n\nYoung Harney Shepherdson\n\nMiss Charlotte\n\n\"And asked me if I Liked Her\"\n\n\"Behind the Wood-pile\"\n\nHiding Day-times\n\n\"And Dogs a-Coming\"\n\n\"By rights I am a Duke!\"\n\n\"I am the Late Dauphin\"\n\nTail Piece\n\nOn the Raft\n\nThe King as Juliet\n\n\"Courting on the Sly\"\n\n\"A Pirate for Thirty Years\"\n\nAnother little Job\n\nPractizing\n\nHamlet's Soliloquy\n\n\"Gimme a Chaw\"\n\nA Little Monthly Drunk\n\nThe Death of Boggs\n\nSherburn steps out\n\nA Dead Head\n\nHe shed Seventeen Suits\n\nTragedy\n\nTheir Pockets Bulged\n\nHenry the Eighth in Boston Harbor\n\nHarmless\n\nAdolphus\n\nHe fairly emptied that Young Fellow\n\n\"Alas, our Poor Brother\"\n\n\"You Bet it is\"\n\nLeaking\n\nMaking up the \"Deffisit\"\n\nGoing for him\n\nThe Doctor\n\nThe Bag of Money\n\nThe Cubby\n\nSupper with the Hare-Lip\n\nHonest Injun\n\nThe Duke looks under the Bed\n\nHuck takes the Money\n\nA Crack in the Dining-room Door\n\nThe Undertaker\n\n\"He had a Rat!\"\n\n\"Was you in my Room?\"\n\nJawing\n\nIn Trouble\n\nIndignation\n\nHow to Find Them\n\nHe Wrote\n\nHannah with the Mumps\n\nThe Auction\n\nThe True Brothers\n\nThe Doctor leads Huck\n\nThe Duke Wrote\n\n\"Gentlemen, Gentlemen!\"\n\n\"Jim Lit Out\"\n\nThe King shakes Huck\n\nThe Duke went for Him\n\nSpanish Moss\n\n\"Who Nailed Him?\"\n\nThinking\n\nHe gave him Ten Cents\n\nStriking for the Back Country\n\nStill and Sunday-like\n\nShe hugged him tight\n\n\"Who do you reckon it is?\"\n\n\"It was Tom Sawyer\"\n\n\"Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?\"\n\nA pretty long Blessing\n\nTraveling By Rail\n\nVittles\n\nA Simple Job\n\nWitches\n\nGetting Wood\n\nOne of the Best Authorities\n\nThe Breakfast-Horn\n\nSmouching the Knives\n\nGoing down the Lightning-Rod\n\nStealing spoons\n\nTom advises a Witch Pie\n\nThe Rubbage-Pile\n\n\"Missus, dey's a Sheet Gone\"\n\nIn a Tearing Way\n\nOne of his Ancestors\n\nJim's Coat of Arms\n\nA Tough Job\n\nButtons on their Tails\n\nIrrigation\n\nKeeping off Dull Times\n\nSawdust Diet\n\nTrouble is Brewing\n\nFishing\n\nEvery one had a Gun\n\nTom caught on a Splinter\n\nJim advises a Doctor\n\nThe Doctor\n\nUncle Silas in Danger\n\nOld Mrs. Hotchkiss\n\nAunt Sally talks to Huck\n\nTom Sawyer wounded\n\nThe Doctor speaks for Jim\n\nTom rose square up in Bed\n\n\"Hand out them Letters\"\n\nOut of Bondage\n\nTom's Liberality\n\nYours Truly\n\n\n\n\nEXPLANATORY\n\nIN this book a number of dialects are used, to wit:  the Missouri negro\ndialect; the extremest form of the backwoods Southwestern dialect; the\nordinary \"Pike County\" dialect; and four modified varieties of this\nlast. The shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by\nguesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and\nsupport of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech.\n\nI make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers\nwould suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and\nnot succeeding.\n\nTHE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nHUCKLEBERRY FINN\n\nScene:  The Mississippi Valley Time:  Forty to fifty years ago\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nYOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The\nAdventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter.  That book was made\nby Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly.  There was things\nwhich he stretched, but mainly he told the truth.  That is nothing.  I\nnever seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt\nPolly, or the widow, or maybe Mary.  Aunt Polly--Tom's Aunt Polly, she\nis--and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which\nis mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.\n\nNow the way that the book winds up is this:  Tom and me found the money\nthat the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich.  We got six\nthousand dollars apiece--all gold.  It was an awful sight of money when\nit was piled up.  Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out\nat interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year\nround--more than a body could tell what to do with.  The Widow Douglas\nshe took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was\nrough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular\nand decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand\nit no longer I lit out.  I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead\nagain, and was free and satisfied.  But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and\nsaid he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I\nwould go back to the widow and be respectable.  So I went back.\n\nThe widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she\ncalled me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by\nit. She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing but\nsweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up.  Well, then, the old thing\ncommenced again.  The widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come\nto time. When you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but\nyou had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little\nover the victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with\nthem,--that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself.  In a\nbarrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the\njuice kind of swaps around, and the things go better.\n\nAfter supper she got out her book and learned me about Moses and the\nBulrushers, and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and\nby she let it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so\nthen I didn't care no more about him, because I don't take no stock in\ndead people.\n\nPretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me.  But she\nwouldn't.  She said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and I must\ntry to not do it any more.  That is just the way with some people.  They\nget down on a thing when they don't know nothing about it.  Here she was\na-bothering about Moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody,\nbeing gone, you see, yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a\nthing that had some good in it.  And she took snuff, too; of course that\nwas all right, because she done it herself.\n\nHer sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on,\nhad just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a\nspelling-book. She worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then\nthe widow made her ease up.  I couldn't stood it much longer.  Then for\nan hour it was deadly dull, and I was fidgety.  Miss Watson would say,\n\"Don't put your feet up there, Huckleberry;\" and \"Don't scrunch up\nlike that, Huckleberry--set up straight;\" and pretty soon she would\nsay, \"Don't gap and stretch like that, Huckleberry--why don't you try to\nbehave?\"  Then she told me all about the bad place, and I said I wished\nI was there. She got mad then, but I didn't mean no harm.  All I wanted\nwas to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn't particular.\n She said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldn't say it for\nthe whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place.\n Well, I couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so I\nmade up my mind I wouldn't try for it.  But I never said so, because it\nwould only make trouble, and wouldn't do no good.\n\nNow she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good\nplace.  She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all\nday long with a harp and sing, forever and ever.  So I didn't think\nmuch of it. But I never said so.  I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer\nwould go there, and she said not by a considerable sight.  I was glad\nabout that, because I wanted him and me to be together.\n\nMiss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome.\n By and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then\neverybody was off to bed.  I went up to my room with a piece of candle,\nand put it on the table.  Then I set down in a chair by the window and\ntried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use.  I felt\nso lonesome I most wished I was dead.  The stars were shining, and the\nleaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away\noff, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a\ndog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying\nto whisper something to me, and I couldn't make out what it was, and so\nit made the cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods I heard\nthat kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about\nsomething that's on its mind and can't make itself understood, and so\ncan't rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night\ngrieving.  I got so down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some\ncompany.  Pretty soon a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I\nflipped it off and it lit in the candle; and before I could budge it\nwas all shriveled up.  I didn't need anybody to tell me that that was\nan awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so I was scared\nand most shook the clothes off of me. I got up and turned around in my\ntracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then I tied\nup a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away.  But\nI hadn't no confidence.  You do that when you've lost a horseshoe that\nyou've found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadn't ever\nheard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you'd killed\na spider.\n\nI set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke;\nfor the house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn't\nknow. Well, after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town\ngo boom--boom--boom--twelve licks; and all still again--stiller than\never. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the\ntrees--something was a stirring.  I set still and listened.  Directly I\ncould just barely hear a \"me-yow! me-yow!\" down there.  That was good!\n Says I, \"me-yow! me-yow!\" as soft as I could, and then I put out the\nlight and scrambled out of the window on to the shed.  Then I slipped\ndown to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough,\nthere was Tom Sawyer waiting for me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nWE went tiptoeing along a path amongst the trees back towards the end of\nthe widow's garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldn't scrape our\nheads. When we was passing by the kitchen I fell over a root and made\na noise.  We scrouched down and laid still.  Miss Watson's big nigger,\nnamed Jim, was setting in the kitchen door; we could see him pretty\nclear, because there was a light behind him.  He got up and stretched\nhis neck out about a minute, listening.  Then he says:\n\n\"Who dah?\"\n\nHe listened some more; then he come tiptoeing down and stood right\nbetween us; we could a touched him, nearly.  Well, likely it was\nminutes and minutes that there warn't a sound, and we all there so close\ntogether.  There was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but I\ndasn't scratch it; and then my ear begun to itch; and next my back,\nright between my shoulders.  Seemed like I'd die if I couldn't scratch.\n Well, I've noticed that thing plenty times since.  If you are with\nthe quality, or at a funeral, or trying to go to sleep when you ain't\nsleepy--if you are anywheres where it won't do for you to scratch, why\nyou will itch all over in upwards of a thousand places. Pretty soon Jim\nsays:\n\n\"Say, who is you?  Whar is you?  Dog my cats ef I didn' hear sumf'n.\nWell, I know what I's gwyne to do:  I's gwyne to set down here and\nlisten tell I hears it agin.\"\n\nSo he set down on the ground betwixt me and Tom.  He leaned his back up\nagainst a tree, and stretched his legs out till one of them most touched\none of mine.  My nose begun to itch.  It itched till the tears come into\nmy eyes.  But I dasn't scratch.  Then it begun to itch on the inside.\nNext I got to itching underneath.  I didn't know how I was going to set\nstill. This miserableness went on as much as six or seven minutes; but\nit seemed a sight longer than that.  I was itching in eleven different\nplaces now.  I reckoned I couldn't stand it more'n a minute longer,\nbut I set my teeth hard and got ready to try.  Just then Jim begun\nto breathe heavy; next he begun to snore--and then I was pretty soon\ncomfortable again.\n\nTom he made a sign to me--kind of a little noise with his mouth--and we\nwent creeping away on our hands and knees.  When we was ten foot off Tom\nwhispered to me, and wanted to tie Jim to the tree for fun.  But I said\nno; he might wake and make a disturbance, and then they'd find out I\nwarn't in. Then Tom said he hadn't got candles enough, and he would slip\nin the kitchen and get some more.  I didn't want him to try.  I said Jim\nmight wake up and come.  But Tom wanted to resk it; so we slid in there\nand got three candles, and Tom laid five cents on the table for pay.\nThen we got out, and I was in a sweat to get away; but nothing would do\nTom but he must crawl to where Jim was, on his hands and knees, and play\nsomething on him.  I waited, and it seemed a good while, everything was\nso still and lonesome.\n\nAs soon as Tom was back we cut along the path, around the garden fence,\nand by and by fetched up on the steep top of the hill the other side of\nthe house.  Tom said he slipped Jim's hat off of his head and hung it\non a limb right over him, and Jim stirred a little, but he didn't wake.\nAfterwards Jim said the witches be witched him and put him in a trance,\nand rode him all over the State, and then set him under the trees again,\nand hung his hat on a limb to show who done it.  And next time Jim told\nit he said they rode him down to New Orleans; and, after that, every\ntime he told it he spread it more and more, till by and by he said they\nrode him all over the world, and tired him most to death, and his back\nwas all over saddle-boils.  Jim was monstrous proud about it, and he\ngot so he wouldn't hardly notice the other niggers.  Niggers would come\nmiles to hear Jim tell about it, and he was more looked up to than any\nnigger in that country.  Strange niggers would stand with their mouths\nopen and look him all over, same as if he was a wonder.  Niggers is\nalways talking about witches in the dark by the kitchen fire; but\nwhenever one was talking and letting on to know all about such things,\nJim would happen in and say, \"Hm!  What you know 'bout witches?\" and\nthat nigger was corked up and had to take a back seat.  Jim always kept\nthat five-center piece round his neck with a string, and said it was a\ncharm the devil give to him with his own hands, and told him he could\ncure anybody with it and fetch witches whenever he wanted to just by\nsaying something to it; but he never told what it was he said to it.\n Niggers would come from all around there and give Jim anything they\nhad, just for a sight of that five-center piece; but they wouldn't touch\nit, because the devil had had his hands on it.  Jim was most ruined for\na servant, because he got stuck up on account of having seen the devil\nand been rode by witches.\n\nWell, when Tom and me got to the edge of the hilltop we looked away down\ninto the village and could see three or four lights twinkling, where\nthere was sick folks, maybe; and the stars over us was sparkling ever\nso fine; and down by the village was the river, a whole mile broad, and\nawful still and grand.  We went down the hill and found Jo Harper and\nBen Rogers, and two or three more of the boys, hid in the old tanyard.\n So we unhitched a skiff and pulled down the river two mile and a half,\nto the big scar on the hillside, and went ashore.\n\nWe went to a clump of bushes, and Tom made everybody swear to keep the\nsecret, and then showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest\npart of the bushes.  Then we lit the candles, and crawled in on our\nhands and knees.  We went about two hundred yards, and then the cave\nopened up. Tom poked about amongst the passages, and pretty soon ducked\nunder a wall where you wouldn't a noticed that there was a hole.  We\nwent along a narrow place and got into a kind of room, all damp and\nsweaty and cold, and there we stopped.  Tom says:\n\n\"Now, we'll start this band of robbers and call it Tom Sawyer's Gang.\nEverybody that wants to join has got to take an oath, and write his name\nin blood.\"\n\nEverybody was willing.  So Tom got out a sheet of paper that he had\nwrote the oath on, and read it.  It swore every boy to stick to the\nband, and never tell any of the secrets; and if anybody done anything to\nany boy in the band, whichever boy was ordered to kill that person and\nhis family must do it, and he mustn't eat and he mustn't sleep till he\nhad killed them and hacked a cross in their breasts, which was the sign\nof the band. And nobody that didn't belong to the band could use that\nmark, and if he did he must be sued; and if he done it again he must be\nkilled.  And if anybody that belonged to the band told the secrets, he\nmust have his throat cut, and then have his carcass burnt up and the\nashes scattered all around, and his name blotted off of the list with\nblood and never mentioned again by the gang, but have a curse put on it\nand be forgot forever.\n\nEverybody said it was a real beautiful oath, and asked Tom if he got\nit out of his own head.  He said, some of it, but the rest was out of\npirate-books and robber-books, and every gang that was high-toned had\nit.\n\nSome thought it would be good to kill the _families_ of boys that told\nthe secrets.  Tom said it was a good idea, so he took a pencil and wrote\nit in. Then Ben Rogers says:\n\n\"Here's Huck Finn, he hain't got no family; what you going to do 'bout\nhim?\"\n\n\"Well, hain't he got a father?\" says Tom Sawyer.\n\n\"Yes, he's got a father, but you can't never find him these days.  He\nused to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard, but he hain't been seen\nin these parts for a year or more.\"\n\nThey talked it over, and they was going to rule me out, because they\nsaid every boy must have a family or somebody to kill, or else it\nwouldn't be fair and square for the others.  Well, nobody could think of\nanything to do--everybody was stumped, and set still.  I was most ready\nto cry; but all at once I thought of a way, and so I offered them Miss\nWatson--they could kill her.  Everybody said:\n\n\"Oh, she'll do.  That's all right.  Huck can come in.\"\n\nThen they all stuck a pin in their fingers to get blood to sign with,\nand I made my mark on the paper.\n\n\"Now,\" says Ben Rogers, \"what's the line of business of this Gang?\"\n\n\"Nothing only robbery and murder,\" Tom said.\n\n\"But who are we going to rob?--houses, or cattle, or--\"\n\n\"Stuff! stealing cattle and such things ain't robbery; it's burglary,\"\nsays Tom Sawyer.  \"We ain't burglars.  That ain't no sort of style.  We\nare highwaymen.  We stop stages and carriages on the road, with masks\non, and kill the people and take their watches and money.\"\n\n\"Must we always kill the people?\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly.  It's best.  Some authorities think different, but\nmostly it's considered best to kill them--except some that you bring to\nthe cave here, and keep them till they're ransomed.\"\n\n\"Ransomed?  What's that?\"\n\n\"I don't know.  But that's what they do.  I've seen it in books; and so\nof course that's what we've got to do.\"\n\n\"But how can we do it if we don't know what it is?\"\n\n\"Why, blame it all, we've _got_ to do it.  Don't I tell you it's in the\nbooks?  Do you want to go to doing different from what's in the books,\nand get things all muddled up?\"\n\n\"Oh, that's all very fine to _say_, Tom Sawyer, but how in the nation\nare these fellows going to be ransomed if we don't know how to do it\nto them?--that's the thing I want to get at.  Now, what do you reckon it\nis?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know.  But per'aps if we keep them till they're ransomed,\nit means that we keep them till they're dead.\"\n\n\"Now, that's something _like_.  That'll answer.  Why couldn't you said\nthat before?  We'll keep them till they're ransomed to death; and a\nbothersome lot they'll be, too--eating up everything, and always trying\nto get loose.\"\n\n\"How you talk, Ben Rogers.  How can they get loose when there's a guard\nover them, ready to shoot them down if they move a peg?\"\n\n\"A guard!  Well, that _is_ good.  So somebody's got to set up all night\nand never get any sleep, just so as to watch them.  I think that's\nfoolishness. Why can't a body take a club and ransom them as soon as\nthey get here?\"\n\n\"Because it ain't in the books so--that's why.  Now, Ben Rogers, do you\nwant to do things regular, or don't you?--that's the idea.  Don't you\nreckon that the people that made the books knows what's the correct\nthing to do?  Do you reckon _you_ can learn 'em anything?  Not by a good\ndeal. No, sir, we'll just go on and ransom them in the regular way.\"\n\n\"All right.  I don't mind; but I say it's a fool way, anyhow.  Say, do\nwe kill the women, too?\"\n\n\"Well, Ben Rogers, if I was as ignorant as you I wouldn't let on.  Kill\nthe women?  No; nobody ever saw anything in the books like that.  You\nfetch them to the cave, and you're always as polite as pie to them;\nand by and by they fall in love with you, and never want to go home any\nmore.\"\n\n\"Well, if that's the way I'm agreed, but I don't take no stock in it.\nMighty soon we'll have the cave so cluttered up with women, and fellows\nwaiting to be ransomed, that there won't be no place for the robbers.\nBut go ahead, I ain't got nothing to say.\"\n\nLittle Tommy Barnes was asleep now, and when they waked him up he was\nscared, and cried, and said he wanted to go home to his ma, and didn't\nwant to be a robber any more.\n\nSo they all made fun of him, and called him cry-baby, and that made him\nmad, and he said he would go straight and tell all the secrets.  But\nTom give him five cents to keep quiet, and said we would all go home and\nmeet next week, and rob somebody and kill some people.\n\nBen Rogers said he couldn't get out much, only Sundays, and so he wanted\nto begin next Sunday; but all the boys said it would be wicked to do it\non Sunday, and that settled the thing.  They agreed to get together and\nfix a day as soon as they could, and then we elected Tom Sawyer first\ncaptain and Jo Harper second captain of the Gang, and so started home.\n\nI clumb up the shed and crept into my window just before day was\nbreaking. My new clothes was all greased up and clayey, and I was\ndog-tired.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nWELL, I got a good going-over in the morning from old Miss Watson on\naccount of my clothes; but the widow she didn't scold, but only cleaned\noff the grease and clay, and looked so sorry that I thought I would\nbehave awhile if I could.  Then Miss Watson she took me in the closet\nand prayed, but nothing come of it.  She told me to pray every day, and\nwhatever I asked for I would get it.  But it warn't so.  I tried it.\nOnce I got a fish-line, but no hooks.  It warn't any good to me without\nhooks.  I tried for the hooks three or four times, but somehow I\ncouldn't make it work.  By and by, one day, I asked Miss Watson to\ntry for me, but she said I was a fool.  She never told me why, and I\ncouldn't make it out no way.\n\nI set down one time back in the woods, and had a long think about it.\n I says to myself, if a body can get anything they pray for, why don't\nDeacon Winn get back the money he lost on pork?  Why can't the widow get\nback her silver snuffbox that was stole?  Why can't Miss Watson fat up?\nNo, says I to my self, there ain't nothing in it.  I went and told the\nwidow about it, and she said the thing a body could get by praying for\nit was \"spiritual gifts.\"  This was too many for me, but she told me\nwhat she meant--I must help other people, and do everything I could for\nother people, and look out for them all the time, and never think about\nmyself. This was including Miss Watson, as I took it.  I went out in the\nwoods and turned it over in my mind a long time, but I couldn't see no\nadvantage about it--except for the other people; so at last I reckoned\nI wouldn't worry about it any more, but just let it go.  Sometimes the\nwidow would take me one side and talk about Providence in a way to make\na body's mouth water; but maybe next day Miss Watson would take hold\nand knock it all down again.  I judged I could see that there was two\nProvidences, and a poor chap would stand considerable show with the\nwidow's Providence, but if Miss Watson's got him there warn't no help\nfor him any more.  I thought it all out, and reckoned I would belong\nto the widow's if he wanted me, though I couldn't make out how he was\na-going to be any better off then than what he was before, seeing I was\nso ignorant, and so kind of low-down and ornery.\n\nPap he hadn't been seen for more than a year, and that was comfortable\nfor me; I didn't want to see him no more.  He used to always whale me\nwhen he was sober and could get his hands on me; though I used to take\nto the woods most of the time when he was around.  Well, about this time\nhe was found in the river drownded, about twelve mile above town, so\npeople said.  They judged it was him, anyway; said this drownded man was\njust his size, and was ragged, and had uncommon long hair, which was all\nlike pap; but they couldn't make nothing out of the face, because it had\nbeen in the water so long it warn't much like a face at all.  They said\nhe was floating on his back in the water.  They took him and buried him\non the bank.  But I warn't comfortable long, because I happened to think\nof something.  I knowed mighty well that a drownded man don't float on\nhis back, but on his face.  So I knowed, then, that this warn't pap, but\na woman dressed up in a man's clothes.  So I was uncomfortable again.\n I judged the old man would turn up again by and by, though I wished he\nwouldn't.\n\nWe played robber now and then about a month, and then I resigned.  All\nthe boys did.  We hadn't robbed nobody, hadn't killed any people, but\nonly just pretended.  We used to hop out of the woods and go charging\ndown on hog-drivers and women in carts taking garden stuff to market,\nbut we never hived any of them.  Tom Sawyer called the hogs \"ingots,\"\nand he called the turnips and stuff \"julery,\" and we would go to the\ncave and powwow over what we had done, and how many people we had killed\nand marked.  But I couldn't see no profit in it.  One time Tom sent a\nboy to run about town with a blazing stick, which he called a slogan\n(which was the sign for the Gang to get together), and then he said he\nhad got secret news by his spies that next day a whole parcel of Spanish\nmerchants and rich A-rabs was going to camp in Cave Hollow with two\nhundred elephants, and six hundred camels, and over a thousand \"sumter\"\nmules, all loaded down with di'monds, and they didn't have only a guard\nof four hundred soldiers, and so we would lay in ambuscade, as he called\nit, and kill the lot and scoop the things.  He said we must slick up\nour swords and guns, and get ready.  He never could go after even a\nturnip-cart but he must have the swords and guns all scoured up for it,\nthough they was only lath and broomsticks, and you might scour at them\ntill you rotted, and then they warn't worth a mouthful of ashes more\nthan what they was before.  I didn't believe we could lick such a crowd\nof Spaniards and A-rabs, but I wanted to see the camels and elephants,\nso I was on hand next day, Saturday, in the ambuscade; and when we got\nthe word we rushed out of the woods and down the hill.  But there warn't\nno Spaniards and A-rabs, and there warn't no camels nor no elephants.\n It warn't anything but a Sunday-school picnic, and only a primer-class\nat that.  We busted it up, and chased the children up the hollow; but we\nnever got anything but some doughnuts and jam, though Ben Rogers got\na rag doll, and Jo Harper got a hymn-book and a tract; and then the\nteacher charged in, and made us drop everything and cut.\n\n I didn't see no di'monds, and I told Tom Sawyer so.  He said there was\nloads of them there, anyway; and he said there was A-rabs there, too,\nand elephants and things.  I said, why couldn't we see them, then?  He\nsaid if I warn't so ignorant, but had read a book called Don Quixote, I\nwould know without asking.  He said it was all done by enchantment.  He\nsaid there was hundreds of soldiers there, and elephants and treasure,\nand so on, but we had enemies which he called magicians; and they had\nturned the whole thing into an infant Sunday-school, just out of spite.\n I said, all right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the\nmagicians.  Tom Sawyer said I was a numskull.\n\n\"Why,\" said he, \"a magician could call up a lot of genies, and they\nwould hash you up like nothing before you could say Jack Robinson.  They\nare as tall as a tree and as big around as a church.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I says, \"s'pose we got some genies to help _us_--can't we lick\nthe other crowd then?\"\n\n\"How you going to get them?\"\n\n\"I don't know.  How do _they_ get them?\"\n\n\"Why, they rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring, and then the genies\ncome tearing in, with the thunder and lightning a-ripping around and the\nsmoke a-rolling, and everything they're told to do they up and do it.\n They don't think nothing of pulling a shot-tower up by the roots, and\nbelting a Sunday-school superintendent over the head with it--or any\nother man.\"\n\n\"Who makes them tear around so?\"\n\n\"Why, whoever rubs the lamp or the ring.  They belong to whoever rubs\nthe lamp or the ring, and they've got to do whatever he says.  If he\ntells them to build a palace forty miles long out of di'monds, and fill\nit full of chewing-gum, or whatever you want, and fetch an emperor's\ndaughter from China for you to marry, they've got to do it--and they've\ngot to do it before sun-up next morning, too.  And more:  they've got\nto waltz that palace around over the country wherever you want it, you\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says I, \"I think they are a pack of flat-heads for not keeping\nthe palace themselves 'stead of fooling them away like that.  And what's\nmore--if I was one of them I would see a man in Jericho before I would\ndrop my business and come to him for the rubbing of an old tin lamp.\"\n\n\"How you talk, Huck Finn.  Why, you'd _have_ to come when he rubbed it,\nwhether you wanted to or not.\"\n\n\"What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church?  All right, then;\nI _would_ come; but I lay I'd make that man climb the highest tree there\nwas in the country.\"\n\n\"Shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, Huck Finn.  You don't seem to\nknow anything, somehow--perfect saphead.\"\n\nI thought all this over for two or three days, and then I reckoned I\nwould see if there was anything in it.  I got an old tin lamp and an\niron ring, and went out in the woods and rubbed and rubbed till I sweat\nlike an Injun, calculating to build a palace and sell it; but it warn't\nno use, none of the genies come.  So then I judged that all that stuff\nwas only just one of Tom Sawyer's lies.  I reckoned he believed in the\nA-rabs and the elephants, but as for me I think different.  It had all\nthe marks of a Sunday-school.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nWELL, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter\nnow. I had been to school most all the time and could spell and read and\nwrite just a little, and could say the multiplication table up to six\ntimes seven is thirty-five, and I don't reckon I could ever get any\nfurther than that if I was to live forever.  I don't take no stock in\nmathematics, anyway.\n\nAt first I hated the school, but by and by I got so I could stand it.\nWhenever I got uncommon tired I played hookey, and the hiding I got next\nday done me good and cheered me up.  So the longer I went to school the\neasier it got to be.  I was getting sort of used to the widow's ways,\ntoo, and they warn't so raspy on me.  Living in a house and sleeping in\na bed pulled on me pretty tight mostly, but before the cold weather I\nused to slide out and sleep in the woods sometimes, and so that was a\nrest to me.  I liked the old ways best, but I was getting so I liked the\nnew ones, too, a little bit. The widow said I was coming along slow but\nsure, and doing very satisfactory.  She said she warn't ashamed of me.\n\nOne morning I happened to turn over the salt-cellar at breakfast.\n I reached for some of it as quick as I could to throw over my left\nshoulder and keep off the bad luck, but Miss Watson was in ahead of me,\nand crossed me off. She says, \"Take your hands away, Huckleberry; what\na mess you are always making!\"  The widow put in a good word for me, but\nthat warn't going to keep off the bad luck, I knowed that well enough.\n I started out, after breakfast, feeling worried and shaky, and\nwondering where it was going to fall on me, and what it was going to be.\n There is ways to keep off some kinds of bad luck, but this wasn't one\nof them kind; so I never tried to do anything, but just poked along\nlow-spirited and on the watch-out.\n\nI went down to the front garden and clumb over the stile where you go\nthrough the high board fence.  There was an inch of new snow on the\nground, and I seen somebody's tracks.  They had come up from the quarry\nand stood around the stile a while, and then went on around the garden\nfence.  It was funny they hadn't come in, after standing around so.  I\ncouldn't make it out.  It was very curious, somehow.  I was going to\nfollow around, but I stooped down to look at the tracks first.  I didn't\nnotice anything at first, but next I did.  There was a cross in the left\nboot-heel made with big nails, to keep off the devil.\n\nI was up in a second and shinning down the hill.  I looked over my\nshoulder every now and then, but I didn't see nobody.  I was at Judge\nThatcher's as quick as I could get there.  He said:\n\n\"Why, my boy, you are all out of breath.  Did you come for your\ninterest?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" I says; \"is there some for me?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last night--over a hundred and fifty\ndollars.  Quite a fortune for you.  You had better let me invest it\nalong with your six thousand, because if you take it you'll spend it.\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" I says, \"I don't want to spend it.  I don't want it at\nall--nor the six thousand, nuther.  I want you to take it; I want to give\nit to you--the six thousand and all.\"\n\nHe looked surprised.  He couldn't seem to make it out.  He says:\n\n\"Why, what can you mean, my boy?\"\n\nI says, \"Don't you ask me no questions about it, please.  You'll take\nit--won't you?\"\n\nHe says:\n\n\"Well, I'm puzzled.  Is something the matter?\"\n\n\"Please take it,\" says I, \"and don't ask me nothing--then I won't have to\ntell no lies.\"\n\nHe studied a while, and then he says:\n\n\"Oho-o!  I think I see.  You want to _sell_ all your property to me--not\ngive it.  That's the correct idea.\"\n\nThen he wrote something on a paper and read it over, and says:\n\n\"There; you see it says 'for a consideration.'  That means I have bought\nit of you and paid you for it.  Here's a dollar for you.  Now you sign\nit.\"\n\nSo I signed it, and left.\n\nMiss Watson's nigger, Jim, had a hair-ball as big as your fist, which\nhad been took out of the fourth stomach of an ox, and he used to do\nmagic with it.  He said there was a spirit inside of it, and it knowed\neverything.  So I went to him that night and told him pap was here\nagain, for I found his tracks in the snow.  What I wanted to know was,\nwhat he was going to do, and was he going to stay?  Jim got out his\nhair-ball and said something over it, and then he held it up and dropped\nit on the floor.  It fell pretty solid, and only rolled about an inch.\n Jim tried it again, and then another time, and it acted just the same.\n Jim got down on his knees, and put his ear against it and listened.\n But it warn't no use; he said it wouldn't talk. He said sometimes it\nwouldn't talk without money.  I told him I had an old slick counterfeit\nquarter that warn't no good because the brass showed through the silver\na little, and it wouldn't pass nohow, even if the brass didn't show,\nbecause it was so slick it felt greasy, and so that would tell on it\nevery time.  (I reckoned I wouldn't say nothing about the dollar I got\nfrom the judge.) I said it was pretty bad money, but maybe the hair-ball\nwould take it, because maybe it wouldn't know the difference.  Jim smelt\nit and bit it and rubbed it, and said he would manage so the hair-ball\nwould think it was good.  He said he would split open a raw Irish potato\nand stick the quarter in between and keep it there all night, and next\nmorning you couldn't see no brass, and it wouldn't feel greasy no more,\nand so anybody in town would take it in a minute, let alone a hair-ball.\n Well, I knowed a potato would do that before, but I had forgot it.\n\nJim put the quarter under the hair-ball, and got down and listened\nagain. This time he said the hair-ball was all right.  He said it\nwould tell my whole fortune if I wanted it to.  I says, go on.  So the\nhair-ball talked to Jim, and Jim told it to me.  He says:\n\n\"Yo' ole father doan' know yit what he's a-gwyne to do.  Sometimes he\nspec he'll go 'way, en den agin he spec he'll stay.  De bes' way is to\nres' easy en let de ole man take his own way.  Dey's two angels hoverin'\nroun' 'bout him.  One uv 'em is white en shiny, en t'other one is black.\nDe white one gits him to go right a little while, den de black one sail\nin en bust it all up.  A body can't tell yit which one gwyne to fetch\nhim at de las'.  But you is all right.  You gwyne to have considable\ntrouble in yo' life, en considable joy.  Sometimes you gwyne to git\nhurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you's gwyne\nto git well agin.  Dey's two gals flyin' 'bout you in yo' life.  One\nuv 'em's light en t'other one is dark. One is rich en t'other is po'.\n You's gwyne to marry de po' one fust en de rich one by en by.  You\nwants to keep 'way fum de water as much as you kin, en don't run no\nresk, 'kase it's down in de bills dat you's gwyne to git hung.\"\n\nWhen I lit my candle and went up to my room that night there sat pap his\nown self!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nI had shut the door to.  Then I turned around and there he was.  I used\nto be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much.  I reckoned I\nwas scared now, too; but in a minute I see I was mistaken--that is, after\nthe first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort of hitched, he being\nso unexpected; but right away after I see I warn't scared of him worth\nbothring about.\n\nHe was most fifty, and he looked it.  His hair was long and tangled and\ngreasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through\nlike he was behind vines.  It was all black, no gray; so was his long,\nmixed-up whiskers.  There warn't no color in his face, where his face\nshowed; it was white; not like another man's white, but a white to make\na body sick, a white to make a body's flesh crawl--a tree-toad white, a\nfish-belly white.  As for his clothes--just rags, that was all.  He had\none ankle resting on t'other knee; the boot on that foot was busted, and\ntwo of his toes stuck through, and he worked them now and then.  His hat\nwas laying on the floor--an old black slouch with the top caved in, like\na lid.\n\nI stood a-looking at him; he set there a-looking at me, with his chair\ntilted back a little.  I set the candle down.  I noticed the window was\nup; so he had clumb in by the shed.  He kept a-looking me all over.  By\nand by he says:\n\n\"Starchy clothes--very.  You think you're a good deal of a big-bug,\n_don't_ you?\"\n\n\"Maybe I am, maybe I ain't,\" I says.\n\n\"Don't you give me none o' your lip,\" says he.  \"You've put on\nconsiderable many frills since I been away.  I'll take you down a peg\nbefore I get done with you.  You're educated, too, they say--can read and\nwrite.  You think you're better'n your father, now, don't you, because\nhe can't?  _I'll_ take it out of you.  Who told you you might meddle\nwith such hifalut'n foolishness, hey?--who told you you could?\"\n\n\"The widow.  She told me.\"\n\n\"The widow, hey?--and who told the widow she could put in her shovel\nabout a thing that ain't none of her business?\"\n\n\"Nobody never told her.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll learn her how to meddle.  And looky here--you drop that\nschool, you hear?  I'll learn people to bring up a boy to put on airs\nover his own father and let on to be better'n what _he_ is.  You lemme\ncatch you fooling around that school again, you hear?  Your mother\ncouldn't read, and she couldn't write, nuther, before she died.  None\nof the family couldn't before _they_ died.  I can't; and here you're\na-swelling yourself up like this.  I ain't the man to stand it--you hear?\nSay, lemme hear you read.\"\n\nI took up a book and begun something about General Washington and the\nwars. When I'd read about a half a minute, he fetched the book a whack\nwith his hand and knocked it across the house.  He says:\n\n\"It's so.  You can do it.  I had my doubts when you told me.  Now looky\nhere; you stop that putting on frills.  I won't have it.  I'll lay for\nyou, my smarty; and if I catch you about that school I'll tan you good.\nFirst you know you'll get religion, too.  I never see such a son.\"\n\nHe took up a little blue and yaller picture of some cows and a boy, and\nsays:\n\n\"What's this?\"\n\n\"It's something they give me for learning my lessons good.\"\n\nHe tore it up, and says:\n\n\"I'll give you something better--I'll give you a cowhide.\"\n\nHe set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, and then he says:\n\n\"_Ain't_ you a sweet-scented dandy, though?  A bed; and bedclothes; and\na look'n'-glass; and a piece of carpet on the floor--and your own father\ngot to sleep with the hogs in the tanyard.  I never see such a son.  I\nbet I'll take some o' these frills out o' you before I'm done with you.\nWhy, there ain't no end to your airs--they say you're rich.  Hey?--how's\nthat?\"\n\n\"They lie--that's how.\"\n\n\"Looky here--mind how you talk to me; I'm a-standing about all I can\nstand now--so don't gimme no sass.  I've been in town two days, and I\nhain't heard nothing but about you bein' rich.  I heard about it\naway down the river, too.  That's why I come.  You git me that money\nto-morrow--I want it.\"\n\n\"I hain't got no money.\"\n\n\"It's a lie.  Judge Thatcher's got it.  You git it.  I want it.\"\n\n\"I hain't got no money, I tell you.  You ask Judge Thatcher; he'll tell\nyou the same.\"\n\n\"All right.  I'll ask him; and I'll make him pungle, too, or I'll know\nthe reason why.  Say, how much you got in your pocket?  I want it.\"\n\n\"I hain't got only a dollar, and I want that to--\"\n\n\"It don't make no difference what you want it for--you just shell it\nout.\"\n\nHe took it and bit it to see if it was good, and then he said he was\ngoing down town to get some whisky; said he hadn't had a drink all day.\nWhen he had got out on the shed he put his head in again, and cussed\nme for putting on frills and trying to be better than him; and when I\nreckoned he was gone he come back and put his head in again, and told me\nto mind about that school, because he was going to lay for me and lick\nme if I didn't drop that.\n\nNext day he was drunk, and he went to Judge Thatcher's and bullyragged\nhim, and tried to make him give up the money; but he couldn't, and then\nhe swore he'd make the law force him.\n\nThe judge and the widow went to law to get the court to take me away\nfrom him and let one of them be my guardian; but it was a new judge that\nhad just come, and he didn't know the old man; so he said courts mustn't\ninterfere and separate families if they could help it; said he'd druther\nnot take a child away from its father.  So Judge Thatcher and the widow\nhad to quit on the business.\n\nThat pleased the old man till he couldn't rest.  He said he'd cowhide\nme till I was black and blue if I didn't raise some money for him.  I\nborrowed three dollars from Judge Thatcher, and pap took it and got\ndrunk, and went a-blowing around and cussing and whooping and carrying\non; and he kept it up all over town, with a tin pan, till most midnight;\nthen they jailed him, and next day they had him before court, and jailed\nhim again for a week.  But he said _he_ was satisfied; said he was boss\nof his son, and he'd make it warm for _him_.\n\nWhen he got out the new judge said he was a-going to make a man of him.\nSo he took him to his own house, and dressed him up clean and nice, and\nhad him to breakfast and dinner and supper with the family, and was just\nold pie to him, so to speak.  And after supper he talked to him about\ntemperance and such things till the old man cried, and said he'd been\na fool, and fooled away his life; but now he was a-going to turn over\na new leaf and be a man nobody wouldn't be ashamed of, and he hoped the\njudge would help him and not look down on him.  The judge said he could\nhug him for them words; so he cried, and his wife she cried again; pap\nsaid he'd been a man that had always been misunderstood before, and the\njudge said he believed it.  The old man said that what a man wanted\nthat was down was sympathy, and the judge said it was so; so they cried\nagain.  And when it was bedtime the old man rose up and held out his\nhand, and says:\n\n\"Look at it, gentlemen and ladies all; take a-hold of it; shake it.\nThere's a hand that was the hand of a hog; but it ain't so no more; it's\nthe hand of a man that's started in on a new life, and'll die before\nhe'll go back.  You mark them words--don't forget I said them.  It's a\nclean hand now; shake it--don't be afeard.\"\n\nSo they shook it, one after the other, all around, and cried.  The\njudge's wife she kissed it.  Then the old man he signed a pledge--made\nhis mark. The judge said it was the holiest time on record, or something\nlike that. Then they tucked the old man into a beautiful room, which was\nthe spare room, and in the night some time he got powerful thirsty and\nclumb out on to the porch-roof and slid down a stanchion and traded his\nnew coat for a jug of forty-rod, and clumb back again and had a good old\ntime; and towards daylight he crawled out again, drunk as a fiddler, and\nrolled off the porch and broke his left arm in two places, and was most\nfroze to death when somebody found him after sun-up.  And when they come\nto look at that spare room they had to take soundings before they could\nnavigate it.\n\nThe judge he felt kind of sore.  He said he reckoned a body could reform\nthe old man with a shotgun, maybe, but he didn't know no other way.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nWELL, pretty soon the old man was up and around again, and then he went\nfor Judge Thatcher in the courts to make him give up that money, and he\nwent for me, too, for not stopping school.  He catched me a couple of\ntimes and thrashed me, but I went to school just the same, and dodged\nhim or outrun him most of the time.  I didn't want to go to school much\nbefore, but I reckoned I'd go now to spite pap.  That law trial was a\nslow business--appeared like they warn't ever going to get started on it;\nso every now and then I'd borrow two or three dollars off of the judge\nfor him, to keep from getting a cowhiding.  Every time he got money he\ngot drunk; and every time he got drunk he raised Cain around town; and\nevery time he raised Cain he got jailed.  He was just suited--this kind\nof thing was right in his line.\n\nHe got to hanging around the widow's too much and so she told him at\nlast that if he didn't quit using around there she would make trouble\nfor him. Well, _wasn't_ he mad?  He said he would show who was Huck\nFinn's boss.  So he watched out for me one day in the spring, and\ncatched me, and took me up the river about three mile in a skiff, and\ncrossed over to the Illinois shore where it was woody and there warn't\nno houses but an old log hut in a place where the timber was so thick\nyou couldn't find it if you didn't know where it was.\n\nHe kept me with him all the time, and I never got a chance to run off.\nWe lived in that old cabin, and he always locked the door and put the\nkey under his head nights.  He had a gun which he had stole, I reckon,\nand we fished and hunted, and that was what we lived on.  Every little\nwhile he locked me in and went down to the store, three miles, to the\nferry, and traded fish and game for whisky, and fetched it home and got\ndrunk and had a good time, and licked me.  The widow she found out where\nI was by and by, and she sent a man over to try to get hold of me; but\npap drove him off with the gun, and it warn't long after that till I was\nused to being where I was, and liked it--all but the cowhide part.\n\nIt was kind of lazy and jolly, laying off comfortable all day, smoking\nand fishing, and no books nor study.  Two months or more run along, and\nmy clothes got to be all rags and dirt, and I didn't see how I'd ever\ngot to like it so well at the widow's, where you had to wash, and eat on\na plate, and comb up, and go to bed and get up regular, and be forever\nbothering over a book, and have old Miss Watson pecking at you all the\ntime.  I didn't want to go back no more.  I had stopped cussing, because\nthe widow didn't like it; but now I took to it again because pap hadn't\nno objections.  It was pretty good times up in the woods there, take it\nall around.\n\nBut by and by pap got too handy with his hick'ry, and I couldn't stand\nit. I was all over welts.  He got to going away so much, too, and\nlocking me in.  Once he locked me in and was gone three days.  It was\ndreadful lonesome.  I judged he had got drownded, and I wasn't ever\ngoing to get out any more.  I was scared.  I made up my mind I would fix\nup some way to leave there.  I had tried to get out of that cabin many\na time, but I couldn't find no way.  There warn't a window to it big\nenough for a dog to get through.  I couldn't get up the chimbly; it\nwas too narrow.  The door was thick, solid oak slabs.  Pap was pretty\ncareful not to leave a knife or anything in the cabin when he was away;\nI reckon I had hunted the place over as much as a hundred times; well, I\nwas most all the time at it, because it was about the only way to put in\nthe time.  But this time I found something at last; I found an old rusty\nwood-saw without any handle; it was laid in between a rafter and the\nclapboards of the roof. I greased it up and went to work.  There was an\nold horse-blanket nailed against the logs at the far end of the cabin\nbehind the table, to keep the wind from blowing through the chinks and\nputting the candle out.  I got under the table and raised the blanket,\nand went to work to saw a section of the big bottom log out--big enough\nto let me through.  Well, it was a good long job, but I was getting\ntowards the end of it when I heard pap's gun in the woods.  I got rid of\nthe signs of my work, and dropped the blanket and hid my saw, and pretty\nsoon pap come in.\n\nPap warn't in a good humor--so he was his natural self.  He said he was\ndown town, and everything was going wrong.  His lawyer said he reckoned\nhe would win his lawsuit and get the money if they ever got started on\nthe trial; but then there was ways to put it off a long time, and Judge\nThatcher knowed how to do it. And he said people allowed there'd be\nanother trial to get me away from him and give me to the widow for my\nguardian, and they guessed it would win this time.  This shook me up\nconsiderable, because I didn't want to go back to the widow's any more\nand be so cramped up and sivilized, as they called it.  Then the old man\ngot to cussing, and cussed everything and everybody he could think of,\nand then cussed them all over again to make sure he hadn't skipped any,\nand after that he polished off with a kind of a general cuss all round,\nincluding a considerable parcel of people which he didn't know the names\nof, and so called them what's-his-name when he got to them, and went\nright along with his cussing.\n\nHe said he would like to see the widow get me.  He said he would watch\nout, and if they tried to come any such game on him he knowed of a place\nsix or seven mile off to stow me in, where they might hunt till they\ndropped and they couldn't find me.  That made me pretty uneasy again,\nbut only for a minute; I reckoned I wouldn't stay on hand till he got\nthat chance.\n\nThe old man made me go to the skiff and fetch the things he had\ngot. There was a fifty-pound sack of corn meal, and a side of bacon,\nammunition, and a four-gallon jug of whisky, and an old book and two\nnewspapers for wadding, besides some tow.  I toted up a load, and went\nback and set down on the bow of the skiff to rest.  I thought it all\nover, and I reckoned I would walk off with the gun and some lines, and\ntake to the woods when I run away.  I guessed I wouldn't stay in one\nplace, but just tramp right across the country, mostly night times, and\nhunt and fish to keep alive, and so get so far away that the old man nor\nthe widow couldn't ever find me any more.  I judged I would saw out and\nleave that night if pap got drunk enough, and I reckoned he would.  I\ngot so full of it I didn't notice how long I was staying till the old\nman hollered and asked me whether I was asleep or drownded.\n\nI got the things all up to the cabin, and then it was about dark.  While\nI was cooking supper the old man took a swig or two and got sort of\nwarmed up, and went to ripping again.  He had been drunk over in town,\nand laid in the gutter all night, and he was a sight to look at.  A body\nwould a thought he was Adam--he was just all mud.  Whenever his liquor\nbegun to work he most always went for the govment, this time he says:\n\n\"Call this a govment! why, just look at it and see what it's like.\nHere's the law a-standing ready to take a man's son away from him--a\nman's own son, which he has had all the trouble and all the anxiety\nand all the expense of raising.  Yes, just as that man has got that\nson raised at last, and ready to go to work and begin to do suthin' for\n_him_ and give him a rest, the law up and goes for him.  And they call\n_that_ govment!  That ain't all, nuther.  The law backs that old Judge\nThatcher up and helps him to keep me out o' my property.  Here's what\nthe law does:  The law takes a man worth six thousand dollars and\nup'ards, and jams him into an old trap of a cabin like this, and lets\nhim go round in clothes that ain't fitten for a hog. They call that\ngovment!  A man can't get his rights in a govment like this. Sometimes\nI've a mighty notion to just leave the country for good and all. Yes,\nand I _told_ 'em so; I told old Thatcher so to his face.  Lots of 'em\nheard me, and can tell what I said.  Says I, for two cents I'd leave the\nblamed country and never come a-near it agin.  Them's the very words.  I\nsays look at my hat--if you call it a hat--but the lid raises up and the\nrest of it goes down till it's below my chin, and then it ain't rightly\na hat at all, but more like my head was shoved up through a jint o'\nstove-pipe.  Look at it, says I--such a hat for me to wear--one of the\nwealthiest men in this town if I could git my rights.\n\n\"Oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful.  Why, looky here.\nThere was a free nigger there from Ohio--a mulatter, most as white as\na white man.  He had the whitest shirt on you ever see, too, and the\nshiniest hat; and there ain't a man in that town that's got as fine\nclothes as what he had; and he had a gold watch and chain, and a\nsilver-headed cane--the awfulest old gray-headed nabob in the State.  And\nwhat do you think?  They said he was a p'fessor in a college, and could\ntalk all kinds of languages, and knowed everything.  And that ain't the\nwust. They said he could _vote_ when he was at home.  Well, that let me\nout. Thinks I, what is the country a-coming to?  It was 'lection day,\nand I was just about to go and vote myself if I warn't too drunk to get\nthere; but when they told me there was a State in this country where\nthey'd let that nigger vote, I drawed out.  I says I'll never vote agin.\n Them's the very words I said; they all heard me; and the country may\nrot for all me--I'll never vote agin as long as I live.  And to see the\ncool way of that nigger--why, he wouldn't a give me the road if I hadn't\nshoved him out o' the way.  I says to the people, why ain't this nigger\nput up at auction and sold?--that's what I want to know.  And what do you\nreckon they said? Why, they said he couldn't be sold till he'd been in\nthe State six months, and he hadn't been there that long yet.  There,\nnow--that's a specimen.  They call that a govment that can't sell a free\nnigger till he's been in the State six months.  Here's a govment that\ncalls itself a govment, and lets on to be a govment, and thinks it is a\ngovment, and yet's got to set stock-still for six whole months before\nit can take a hold of a prowling, thieving, infernal, white-shirted free\nnigger, and--\"\n\nPap was agoing on so he never noticed where his old limber legs was\ntaking him to, so he went head over heels over the tub of salt pork and\nbarked both shins, and the rest of his speech was all the hottest kind\nof language--mostly hove at the nigger and the govment, though he give\nthe tub some, too, all along, here and there.  He hopped around the\ncabin considerable, first on one leg and then on the other, holding\nfirst one shin and then the other one, and at last he let out with his\nleft foot all of a sudden and fetched the tub a rattling kick.  But it\nwarn't good judgment, because that was the boot that had a couple of his\ntoes leaking out of the front end of it; so now he raised a howl that\nfairly made a body's hair raise, and down he went in the dirt, and\nrolled there, and held his toes; and the cussing he done then laid over\nanything he had ever done previous.  He said so his own self afterwards.\n He had heard old Sowberry Hagan in his best days, and he said it laid\nover him, too; but I reckon that was sort of piling it on, maybe.\n\nAfter supper pap took the jug, and said he had enough whisky there\nfor two drunks and one delirium tremens.  That was always his word.  I\njudged he would be blind drunk in about an hour, and then I would steal\nthe key, or saw myself out, one or t'other.  He drank and drank, and\ntumbled down on his blankets by and by; but luck didn't run my way.\n He didn't go sound asleep, but was uneasy.  He groaned and moaned and\nthrashed around this way and that for a long time.  At last I got so\nsleepy I couldn't keep my eyes open all I could do, and so before I\nknowed what I was about I was sound asleep, and the candle burning.\n\nI don't know how long I was asleep, but all of a sudden there was an\nawful scream and I was up.  There was pap looking wild, and skipping\naround every which way and yelling about snakes.  He said they was\ncrawling up his legs; and then he would give a jump and scream, and say\none had bit him on the cheek--but I couldn't see no snakes.  He started\nand run round and round the cabin, hollering \"Take him off! take him\noff! he's biting me on the neck!\"  I never see a man look so wild in the\neyes. Pretty soon he was all fagged out, and fell down panting; then he\nrolled over and over wonderful fast, kicking things every which way,\nand striking and grabbing at the air with his hands, and screaming and\nsaying there was devils a-hold of him.  He wore out by and by, and laid\nstill a while, moaning.  Then he laid stiller, and didn't make a sound.\n I could hear the owls and the wolves away off in the woods, and it\nseemed terrible still.  He was laying over by the corner. By and by he\nraised up part way and listened, with his head to one side.  He says,\nvery low:\n\n\"Tramp--tramp--tramp; that's the dead; tramp--tramp--tramp; they're coming\nafter me; but I won't go.  Oh, they're here! don't touch me--don't! hands\noff--they're cold; let go.  Oh, let a poor devil alone!\"\n\nThen he went down on all fours and crawled off, begging them to let him\nalone, and he rolled himself up in his blanket and wallowed in under the\nold pine table, still a-begging; and then he went to crying.  I could\nhear him through the blanket.\n\nBy and by he rolled out and jumped up on his feet looking wild, and he\nsee me and went for me.  He chased me round and round the place with a\nclasp-knife, calling me the Angel of Death, and saying he would kill me,\nand then I couldn't come for him no more.  I begged, and told him I\nwas only Huck; but he laughed _such_ a screechy laugh, and roared and\ncussed, and kept on chasing me up.  Once when I turned short and\ndodged under his arm he made a grab and got me by the jacket between my\nshoulders, and I thought I was gone; but I slid out of the jacket quick\nas lightning, and saved myself. Pretty soon he was all tired out, and\ndropped down with his back against the door, and said he would rest a\nminute and then kill me. He put his knife under him, and said he would\nsleep and get strong, and then he would see who was who.\n\nSo he dozed off pretty soon.  By and by I got the old split-bottom chair\nand clumb up as easy as I could, not to make any noise, and got down the\ngun.  I slipped the ramrod down it to make sure it was loaded, then I\nlaid it across the turnip barrel, pointing towards pap, and set down\nbehind it to wait for him to stir.  And how slow and still the time did\ndrag along.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\"GIT up!  What you 'bout?\"\n\nI opened my eyes and looked around, trying to make out where I was.  It\nwas after sun-up, and I had been sound asleep.  Pap was standing over me\nlooking sour and sick, too.  He says:\n\n\"What you doin' with this gun?\"\n\nI judged he didn't know nothing about what he had been doing, so I says:\n\n\"Somebody tried to get in, so I was laying for him.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you roust me out?\"\n\n\"Well, I tried to, but I couldn't; I couldn't budge you.\"\n\n\"Well, all right.  Don't stand there palavering all day, but out with\nyou and see if there's a fish on the lines for breakfast.  I'll be along\nin a minute.\"\n\nHe unlocked the door, and I cleared out up the river-bank.  I noticed\nsome pieces of limbs and such things floating down, and a sprinkling of\nbark; so I knowed the river had begun to rise.  I reckoned I would have\ngreat times now if I was over at the town.  The June rise used to be\nalways luck for me; because as soon as that rise begins here comes\ncordwood floating down, and pieces of log rafts--sometimes a dozen logs\ntogether; so all you have to do is to catch them and sell them to the\nwood-yards and the sawmill.\n\nI went along up the bank with one eye out for pap and t'other one out\nfor what the rise might fetch along.  Well, all at once here comes a\ncanoe; just a beauty, too, about thirteen or fourteen foot long, riding\nhigh like a duck.  I shot head-first off of the bank like a frog,\nclothes and all on, and struck out for the canoe.  I just expected\nthere'd be somebody laying down in it, because people often done that\nto fool folks, and when a chap had pulled a skiff out most to it they'd\nraise up and laugh at him.  But it warn't so this time.  It was a\ndrift-canoe sure enough, and I clumb in and paddled her ashore.  Thinks\nI, the old man will be glad when he sees this--she's worth ten dollars.\n But when I got to shore pap wasn't in sight yet, and as I was running\nher into a little creek like a gully, all hung over with vines and\nwillows, I struck another idea:  I judged I'd hide her good, and then,\n'stead of taking to the woods when I run off, I'd go down the river\nabout fifty mile and camp in one place for good, and not have such a\nrough time tramping on foot.\n\nIt was pretty close to the shanty, and I thought I heard the old man\ncoming all the time; but I got her hid; and then I out and looked around\na bunch of willows, and there was the old man down the path a piece just\ndrawing a bead on a bird with his gun.  So he hadn't seen anything.\n\nWhen he got along I was hard at it taking up a \"trot\" line.  He abused\nme a little for being so slow; but I told him I fell in the river, and\nthat was what made me so long.  I knowed he would see I was wet, and\nthen he would be asking questions.  We got five catfish off the lines\nand went home.\n\nWhile we laid off after breakfast to sleep up, both of us being about\nwore out, I got to thinking that if I could fix up some way to keep pap\nand the widow from trying to follow me, it would be a certainer thing\nthan trusting to luck to get far enough off before they missed me; you\nsee, all kinds of things might happen.  Well, I didn't see no way for a\nwhile, but by and by pap raised up a minute to drink another barrel of\nwater, and he says:\n\n\"Another time a man comes a-prowling round here you roust me out, you\nhear? That man warn't here for no good.  I'd a shot him.  Next time you\nroust me out, you hear?\"\n\nThen he dropped down and went to sleep again; but what he had been\nsaying give me the very idea I wanted.  I says to myself, I can fix it\nnow so nobody won't think of following me.\n\nAbout twelve o'clock we turned out and went along up the bank.  The\nriver was coming up pretty fast, and lots of driftwood going by on the\nrise. By and by along comes part of a log raft--nine logs fast together.\n We went out with the skiff and towed it ashore.  Then we had dinner.\nAnybody but pap would a waited and seen the day through, so as to catch\nmore stuff; but that warn't pap's style.  Nine logs was enough for one\ntime; he must shove right over to town and sell.  So he locked me in and\ntook the skiff, and started off towing the raft about half-past three.\n I judged he wouldn't come back that night.  I waited till I reckoned he\nhad got a good start; then I out with my saw, and went to work on that\nlog again.  Before he was t'other side of the river I was out of the\nhole; him and his raft was just a speck on the water away off yonder.\n\nI took the sack of corn meal and took it to where the canoe was hid, and\nshoved the vines and branches apart and put it in; then I done the same\nwith the side of bacon; then the whisky-jug.  I took all the coffee and\nsugar there was, and all the ammunition; I took the wadding; I took the\nbucket and gourd; I took a dipper and a tin cup, and my old saw and two\nblankets, and the skillet and the coffee-pot.  I took fish-lines and\nmatches and other things--everything that was worth a cent.  I cleaned\nout the place.  I wanted an axe, but there wasn't any, only the one out\nat the woodpile, and I knowed why I was going to leave that.  I fetched\nout the gun, and now I was done.\n\nI had wore the ground a good deal crawling out of the hole and dragging\nout so many things.  So I fixed that as good as I could from the outside\nby scattering dust on the place, which covered up the smoothness and the\nsawdust.  Then I fixed the piece of log back into its place, and put two\nrocks under it and one against it to hold it there, for it was bent up\nat that place and didn't quite touch ground.  If you stood four or five\nfoot away and didn't know it was sawed, you wouldn't never notice\nit; and besides, this was the back of the cabin, and it warn't likely\nanybody would go fooling around there.\n\nIt was all grass clear to the canoe, so I hadn't left a track.  I\nfollowed around to see.  I stood on the bank and looked out over the\nriver.  All safe.  So I took the gun and went up a piece into the woods,\nand was hunting around for some birds when I see a wild pig; hogs soon\nwent wild in them bottoms after they had got away from the prairie\nfarms. I shot this fellow and took him into camp.\n\nI took the axe and smashed in the door.  I beat it and hacked it\nconsiderable a-doing it.  I fetched the pig in, and took him back nearly\nto the table and hacked into his throat with the axe, and laid him down\non the ground to bleed; I say ground because it was ground--hard packed,\nand no boards.  Well, next I took an old sack and put a lot of big rocks\nin it--all I could drag--and I started it from the pig, and dragged it to\nthe door and through the woods down to the river and dumped it in, and\ndown it sunk, out of sight.  You could easy see that something had been\ndragged over the ground.  I did wish Tom Sawyer was there; I knowed he\nwould take an interest in this kind of business, and throw in the fancy\ntouches.  Nobody could spread himself like Tom Sawyer in such a thing as\nthat.\n\nWell, last I pulled out some of my hair, and blooded the axe good, and\nstuck it on the back side, and slung the axe in the corner.  Then I\ntook up the pig and held him to my breast with my jacket (so he couldn't\ndrip) till I got a good piece below the house and then dumped him into\nthe river.  Now I thought of something else.  So I went and got the bag\nof meal and my old saw out of the canoe, and fetched them to the house.\n I took the bag to where it used to stand, and ripped a hole in the\nbottom of it with the saw, for there warn't no knives and forks on the\nplace--pap done everything with his clasp-knife about the cooking.  Then\nI carried the sack about a hundred yards across the grass and through\nthe willows east of the house, to a shallow lake that was five mile wide\nand full of rushes--and ducks too, you might say, in the season.  There\nwas a slough or a creek leading out of it on the other side that went\nmiles away, I don't know where, but it didn't go to the river.  The meal\nsifted out and made a little track all the way to the lake.  I dropped\npap's whetstone there too, so as to look like it had been done by\naccident. Then I tied up the rip in the meal sack with a string, so it\nwouldn't leak no more, and took it and my saw to the canoe again.\n\nIt was about dark now; so I dropped the canoe down the river under some\nwillows that hung over the bank, and waited for the moon to rise.  I\nmade fast to a willow; then I took a bite to eat, and by and by laid\ndown in the canoe to smoke a pipe and lay out a plan.  I says to myself,\nthey'll follow the track of that sackful of rocks to the shore and then\ndrag the river for me.  And they'll follow that meal track to the lake\nand go browsing down the creek that leads out of it to find the robbers\nthat killed me and took the things.  They won't ever hunt the river for\nanything but my dead carcass. They'll soon get tired of that, and won't\nbother no more about me.  All right; I can stop anywhere I want to.\nJackson's Island is good enough for me; I know that island pretty well,\nand nobody ever comes there.  And then I can paddle over to town nights,\nand slink around and pick up things I want. Jackson's Island's the\nplace.\n\nI was pretty tired, and the first thing I knowed I was asleep.  When\nI woke up I didn't know where I was for a minute.  I set up and looked\naround, a little scared.  Then I remembered.  The river looked miles and\nmiles across.  The moon was so bright I could a counted the drift logs\nthat went a-slipping along, black and still, hundreds of yards out from\nshore. Everything was dead quiet, and it looked late, and _smelt_ late.\nYou know what I mean--I don't know the words to put it in.\n\nI took a good gap and a stretch, and was just going to unhitch and start\nwhen I heard a sound away over the water.  I listened.  Pretty soon I\nmade it out.  It was that dull kind of a regular sound that comes from\noars working in rowlocks when it's a still night.  I peeped out through\nthe willow branches, and there it was--a skiff, away across the water.\n I couldn't tell how many was in it.  It kept a-coming, and when it was\nabreast of me I see there warn't but one man in it.  Think's I, maybe\nit's pap, though I warn't expecting him.  He dropped below me with the\ncurrent, and by and by he came a-swinging up shore in the easy water,\nand he went by so close I could a reached out the gun and touched him.\n Well, it _was_ pap, sure enough--and sober, too, by the way he laid his\noars.\n\nI didn't lose no time.  The next minute I was a-spinning down stream\nsoft but quick in the shade of the bank.  I made two mile and a half,\nand then struck out a quarter of a mile or more towards the middle of\nthe river, because pretty soon I would be passing the ferry landing, and\npeople might see me and hail me.  I got out amongst the driftwood, and\nthen laid down in the bottom of the canoe and let her float.\n\n I laid there, and had a good rest and a smoke out of my pipe, looking\naway into the sky; not a cloud in it.  The sky looks ever so deep when\nyou lay down on your back in the moonshine; I never knowed it before.\n And how far a body can hear on the water such nights!  I heard people\ntalking at the ferry landing. I heard what they said, too--every word\nof it.  One man said it was getting towards the long days and the short\nnights now.  T'other one said _this_ warn't one of the short ones, he\nreckoned--and then they laughed, and he said it over again, and they\nlaughed again; then they waked up another fellow and told him, and\nlaughed, but he didn't laugh; he ripped out something brisk, and said\nlet him alone.  The first fellow said he 'lowed to tell it to his\nold woman--she would think it was pretty good; but he said that warn't\nnothing to some things he had said in his time. I heard one man say it\nwas nearly three o'clock, and he hoped daylight wouldn't wait more than\nabout a week longer.  After that the talk got further and further away,\nand I couldn't make out the words any more; but I could hear the mumble,\nand now and then a laugh, too, but it seemed a long ways off.\n\nI was away below the ferry now.  I rose up, and there was Jackson's\nIsland, about two mile and a half down stream, heavy timbered and\nstanding up out of the middle of the river, big and dark and solid, like\na steamboat without any lights.  There warn't any signs of the bar at\nthe head--it was all under water now.\n\nIt didn't take me long to get there.  I shot past the head at a ripping\nrate, the current was so swift, and then I got into the dead water and\nlanded on the side towards the Illinois shore.  I run the canoe into\na deep dent in the bank that I knowed about; I had to part the willow\nbranches to get in; and when I made fast nobody could a seen the canoe\nfrom the outside.\n\nI went up and set down on a log at the head of the island, and looked\nout on the big river and the black driftwood and away over to the town,\nthree mile away, where there was three or four lights twinkling.  A\nmonstrous big lumber-raft was about a mile up stream, coming along down,\nwith a lantern in the middle of it.  I watched it come creeping down,\nand when it was most abreast of where I stood I heard a man say, \"Stern\noars, there! heave her head to stabboard!\"  I heard that just as plain\nas if the man was by my side.\n\nThere was a little gray in the sky now; so I stepped into the woods, and\nlaid down for a nap before breakfast.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE sun was up so high when I waked that I judged it was after eight\no'clock.  I laid there in the grass and the cool shade thinking about\nthings, and feeling rested and ruther comfortable and satisfied.  I\ncould see the sun out at one or two holes, but mostly it was big trees\nall about, and gloomy in there amongst them.  There was freckled places\non the ground where the light sifted down through the leaves, and the\nfreckled places swapped about a little, showing there was a little\nbreeze up there.  A couple of squirrels set on a limb and jabbered at me\nvery friendly.\n\nI was powerful lazy and comfortable--didn't want to get up and cook\nbreakfast.  Well, I was dozing off again when I thinks I hears a deep\nsound of \"boom!\" away up the river.  I rouses up, and rests on my elbow\nand listens; pretty soon I hears it again.  I hopped up, and went and\nlooked out at a hole in the leaves, and I see a bunch of smoke laying\non the water a long ways up--about abreast the ferry.  And there was the\nferryboat full of people floating along down.  I knowed what was the\nmatter now.  \"Boom!\" I see the white smoke squirt out of the ferryboat's\nside.  You see, they was firing cannon over the water, trying to make my\ncarcass come to the top.\n\nI was pretty hungry, but it warn't going to do for me to start a fire,\nbecause they might see the smoke.  So I set there and watched the\ncannon-smoke and listened to the boom.  The river was a mile wide there,\nand it always looks pretty on a summer morning--so I was having a good\nenough time seeing them hunt for my remainders if I only had a bite to\neat. Well, then I happened to think how they always put quicksilver in\nloaves of bread and float them off, because they always go right to the\ndrownded carcass and stop there.  So, says I, I'll keep a lookout, and\nif any of them's floating around after me I'll give them a show.  I\nchanged to the Illinois edge of the island to see what luck I could\nhave, and I warn't disappointed.  A big double loaf come along, and I\nmost got it with a long stick, but my foot slipped and she floated out\nfurther.  Of course I was where the current set in the closest to the\nshore--I knowed enough for that.  But by and by along comes another one,\nand this time I won.  I took out the plug and shook out the little dab\nof quicksilver, and set my teeth in.  It was \"baker's bread\"--what the\nquality eat; none of your low-down corn-pone.\n\nI got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there on a log, munching\nthe bread and watching the ferry-boat, and very well satisfied.  And\nthen something struck me.  I says, now I reckon the widow or the parson\nor somebody prayed that this bread would find me, and here it has gone\nand done it.  So there ain't no doubt but there is something in that\nthing--that is, there's something in it when a body like the widow or the\nparson prays, but it don't work for me, and I reckon it don't work for\nonly just the right kind.\n\nI lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on watching.  The\nferryboat was floating with the current, and I allowed I'd have a chance\nto see who was aboard when she come along, because she would come in\nclose, where the bread did.  When she'd got pretty well along down\ntowards me, I put out my pipe and went to where I fished out the bread,\nand laid down behind a log on the bank in a little open place.  Where\nthe log forked I could peep through.\n\nBy and by she come along, and she drifted in so close that they could\na run out a plank and walked ashore.  Most everybody was on the boat.\n Pap, and Judge Thatcher, and Bessie Thatcher, and Jo Harper, and Tom\nSawyer, and his old Aunt Polly, and Sid and Mary, and plenty more.\n Everybody was talking about the murder, but the captain broke in and\nsays:\n\n\"Look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest here, and maybe he's\nwashed ashore and got tangled amongst the brush at the water's edge.  I\nhope so, anyway.\"\n\nI didn't hope so.  They all crowded up and leaned over the rails, nearly\nin my face, and kept still, watching with all their might.  I could see\nthem first-rate, but they couldn't see me.  Then the captain sung out:\n\n\"Stand away!\" and the cannon let off such a blast right before me that\nit made me deef with the noise and pretty near blind with the smoke, and\nI judged I was gone.  If they'd a had some bullets in, I reckon they'd\na got the corpse they was after.  Well, I see I warn't hurt, thanks to\ngoodness. The boat floated on and went out of sight around the shoulder\nof the island.  I could hear the booming now and then, further and\nfurther off, and by and by, after an hour, I didn't hear it no more.\n The island was three mile long.  I judged they had got to the foot, and\nwas giving it up.  But they didn't yet a while.  They turned around\nthe foot of the island and started up the channel on the Missouri side,\nunder steam, and booming once in a while as they went.  I crossed over\nto that side and watched them. When they got abreast the head of the\nisland they quit shooting and dropped over to the Missouri shore and\nwent home to the town.\n\nI knowed I was all right now.  Nobody else would come a-hunting after\nme. I got my traps out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the thick\nwoods.  I made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things\nunder so the rain couldn't get at them.  I catched a catfish and haggled\nhim open with my saw, and towards sundown I started my camp fire and had\nsupper.  Then I set out a line to catch some fish for breakfast.\n\nWhen it was dark I set by my camp fire smoking, and feeling pretty well\nsatisfied; but by and by it got sort of lonesome, and so I went and set\non the bank and listened to the current swashing along, and counted the\nstars and drift logs and rafts that come down, and then went to bed;\nthere ain't no better way to put in time when you are lonesome; you\ncan't stay so, you soon get over it.\n\nAnd so for three days and nights.  No difference--just the same thing.\nBut the next day I went exploring around down through the island.  I was\nboss of it; it all belonged to me, so to say, and I wanted to know\nall about it; but mainly I wanted to put in the time.  I found plenty\nstrawberries, ripe and prime; and green summer grapes, and green\nrazberries; and the green blackberries was just beginning to show.  They\nwould all come handy by and by, I judged.\n\nWell, I went fooling along in the deep woods till I judged I warn't\nfar from the foot of the island.  I had my gun along, but I hadn't shot\nnothing; it was for protection; thought I would kill some game nigh\nhome. About this time I mighty near stepped on a good-sized snake,\nand it went sliding off through the grass and flowers, and I after\nit, trying to get a shot at it. I clipped along, and all of a sudden I\nbounded right on to the ashes of a camp fire that was still smoking.\n\nMy heart jumped up amongst my lungs.  I never waited for to look\nfurther, but uncocked my gun and went sneaking back on my tiptoes as\nfast as ever I could.  Every now and then I stopped a second amongst the\nthick leaves and listened, but my breath come so hard I couldn't hear\nnothing else.  I slunk along another piece further, then listened again;\nand so on, and so on.  If I see a stump, I took it for a man; if I trod\non a stick and broke it, it made me feel like a person had cut one of my\nbreaths in two and I only got half, and the short half, too.\n\nWhen I got to camp I warn't feeling very brash, there warn't much sand\nin my craw; but I says, this ain't no time to be fooling around.  So I\ngot all my traps into my canoe again so as to have them out of sight,\nand I put out the fire and scattered the ashes around to look like an\nold last year's camp, and then clumb a tree.\n\nI reckon I was up in the tree two hours; but I didn't see nothing,\nI didn't hear nothing--I only _thought_ I heard and seen as much as a\nthousand things.  Well, I couldn't stay up there forever; so at last I\ngot down, but I kept in the thick woods and on the lookout all the\ntime. All I could get to eat was berries and what was left over from\nbreakfast.\n\nBy the time it was night I was pretty hungry.  So when it was good\nand dark I slid out from shore before moonrise and paddled over to the\nIllinois bank--about a quarter of a mile.  I went out in the woods and\ncooked a supper, and I had about made up my mind I would stay there\nall night when I hear a _plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk_, and says\nto myself, horses coming; and next I hear people's voices.  I got\neverything into the canoe as quick as I could, and then went creeping\nthrough the woods to see what I could find out.  I hadn't got far when I\nhear a man say:\n\n\"We better camp here if we can find a good place; the horses is about\nbeat out.  Let's look around.\"\n\nI didn't wait, but shoved out and paddled away easy.  I tied up in the\nold place, and reckoned I would sleep in the canoe.\n\nI didn't sleep much.  I couldn't, somehow, for thinking.  And every time\nI waked up I thought somebody had me by the neck.  So the sleep didn't\ndo me no good.  By and by I says to myself, I can't live this way; I'm\na-going to find out who it is that's here on the island with me; I'll\nfind it out or bust.  Well, I felt better right off.\n\nSo I took my paddle and slid out from shore just a step or two, and\nthen let the canoe drop along down amongst the shadows.  The moon was\nshining, and outside of the shadows it made it most as light as day.\n I poked along well on to an hour, everything still as rocks and sound\nasleep. Well, by this time I was most down to the foot of the island.  A\nlittle ripply, cool breeze begun to blow, and that was as good as saying\nthe night was about done.  I give her a turn with the paddle and brung\nher nose to shore; then I got my gun and slipped out and into the edge\nof the woods.  I sat down there on a log, and looked out through the\nleaves.  I see the moon go off watch, and the darkness begin to blanket\nthe river. But in a little while I see a pale streak over the treetops,\nand knowed the day was coming.  So I took my gun and slipped off towards\nwhere I had run across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two\nto listen.  But I hadn't no luck somehow; I couldn't seem to find the\nplace.  But by and by, sure enough, I catched a glimpse of fire away\nthrough the trees.  I went for it, cautious and slow.  By and by I was\nclose enough to have a look, and there laid a man on the ground.  It\nmost give me the fan-tods. He had a blanket around his head, and his\nhead was nearly in the fire.  I set there behind a clump of bushes, in\nabout six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him steady.  It was getting\ngray daylight now.  Pretty soon he gapped and stretched himself and hove\noff the blanket, and it was Miss Watson's Jim!  I bet I was glad to see\nhim.  I says:\n\n\"Hello, Jim!\" and skipped out.\n\nHe bounced up and stared at me wild.  Then he drops down on his knees,\nand puts his hands together and says:\n\n\"Doan' hurt me--don't!  I hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'.  I alwuz\nliked dead people, en done all I could for 'em.  You go en git in de\nriver agin, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at 'uz\nawluz yo' fren'.\"\n\nWell, I warn't long making him understand I warn't dead.  I was ever so\nglad to see Jim.  I warn't lonesome now.  I told him I warn't afraid of\n_him_ telling the people where I was.  I talked along, but he only set\nthere and looked at me; never said nothing.  Then I says:\n\n\"It's good daylight.  Le's get breakfast.  Make up your camp fire good.\"\n\n\"What's de use er makin' up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich\ntruck? But you got a gun, hain't you?  Den we kin git sumfn better den\nstrawbries.\"\n\n\"Strawberries and such truck,\" I says.  \"Is that what you live on?\"\n\n\"I couldn' git nuffn else,\" he says.\n\n\"Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?\"\n\n\"I come heah de night arter you's killed.\"\n\n\"What, all that time?\"\n\n\"Yes--indeedy.\"\n\n\"And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?\"\n\n\"No, sah--nuffn else.\"\n\n\"Well, you must be most starved, ain't you?\"\n\n\"I reck'n I could eat a hoss.  I think I could. How long you ben on de\nislan'?\"\n\n\"Since the night I got killed.\"\n\n\"No!  W'y, what has you lived on?  But you got a gun.  Oh, yes, you got\na gun.  Dat's good.  Now you kill sumfn en I'll make up de fire.\"\n\nSo we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in\na grassy open place amongst the trees, I fetched meal and bacon and\ncoffee, and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the\nnigger was set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done\nwith witchcraft. I catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned him\nwith his knife, and fried him.\n\nWhen breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking hot.\nJim laid it in with all his might, for he was most about starved.  Then\nwhen we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied.  By and by\nJim says:\n\n\"But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat 'uz killed in dat shanty ef it\nwarn't you?\"\n\nThen I told him the whole thing, and he said it was smart.  He said Tom\nSawyer couldn't get up no better plan than what I had.  Then I says:\n\n\"How do you come to be here, Jim, and how'd you get here?\"\n\nHe looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for a minute.  Then he\nsays:\n\n\"Maybe I better not tell.\"\n\n\"Why, Jim?\"\n\n\"Well, dey's reasons.  But you wouldn' tell on me ef I uz to tell you,\nwould you, Huck?\"\n\n\"Blamed if I would, Jim.\"\n\n\"Well, I b'lieve you, Huck.  I--_I run off_.\"\n\n\"Jim!\"\n\n\"But mind, you said you wouldn' tell--you know you said you wouldn' tell,\nHuck.\"\n\n\"Well, I did.  I said I wouldn't, and I'll stick to it.  Honest _injun_,\nI will.  People would call me a low-down Abolitionist and despise me for\nkeeping mum--but that don't make no difference.  I ain't a-going to tell,\nand I ain't a-going back there, anyways.  So, now, le's know all about\nit.\"\n\n\"Well, you see, it 'uz dis way.  Ole missus--dat's Miss Watson--she pecks\non me all de time, en treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she\nwouldn' sell me down to Orleans.  But I noticed dey wuz a nigger trader\nroun' de place considable lately, en I begin to git oneasy.  Well, one\nnight I creeps to de do' pooty late, en de do' warn't quite shet, en I\nhear old missus tell de widder she gwyne to sell me down to Orleans, but\nshe didn' want to, but she could git eight hund'd dollars for me, en it\n'uz sich a big stack o' money she couldn' resis'.  De widder she try to\ngit her to say she wouldn' do it, but I never waited to hear de res'.  I\nlit out mighty quick, I tell you.\n\n\"I tuck out en shin down de hill, en 'spec to steal a skift 'long de\nsho' som'ers 'bove de town, but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so I hid\nin de ole tumble-down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for everybody to\ngo 'way. Well, I wuz dah all night.  Dey wuz somebody roun' all de time.\n 'Long 'bout six in de mawnin' skifts begin to go by, en 'bout eight er\nnine every skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout how yo' pap come over\nto de town en say you's killed.  Dese las' skifts wuz full o' ladies en\ngenlmen a-goin' over for to see de place.  Sometimes dey'd pull up at\nde sho' en take a res' b'fo' dey started acrost, so by de talk I got to\nknow all 'bout de killin'.  I 'uz powerful sorry you's killed, Huck, but\nI ain't no mo' now.\n\n\"I laid dah under de shavin's all day.  I 'uz hungry, but I warn't\nafeard; bekase I knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin' to start to\nde camp-meet'n' right arter breakfas' en be gone all day, en dey knows\nI goes off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so dey wouldn' 'spec to see me\nroun' de place, en so dey wouldn' miss me tell arter dark in de evenin'.\nDe yuther servants wouldn' miss me, kase dey'd shin out en take holiday\nsoon as de ole folks 'uz out'n de way.\n\n\"Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de river road, en went 'bout two\nmile er more to whah dey warn't no houses.  I'd made up my mine 'bout\nwhat I's agwyne to do.  You see, ef I kep' on tryin' to git away afoot,\nde dogs 'ud track me; ef I stole a skift to cross over, dey'd miss dat\nskift, you see, en dey'd know 'bout whah I'd lan' on de yuther side, en\nwhah to pick up my track.  So I says, a raff is what I's arter; it doan'\n_make_ no track.\n\n\"I see a light a-comin' roun' de p'int bymeby, so I wade' in en shove'\na log ahead o' me en swum more'n half way acrost de river, en got in\n'mongst de drift-wood, en kep' my head down low, en kinder swum agin de\ncurrent tell de raff come along.  Den I swum to de stern uv it en tuck\na-holt.  It clouded up en 'uz pooty dark for a little while.  So I clumb\nup en laid down on de planks.  De men 'uz all 'way yonder in de middle,\nwhah de lantern wuz.  De river wuz a-risin', en dey wuz a good current;\nso I reck'n'd 'at by fo' in de mawnin' I'd be twenty-five mile down de\nriver, en den I'd slip in jis b'fo' daylight en swim asho', en take to\nde woods on de Illinois side.\n\n\"But I didn' have no luck.  When we 'uz mos' down to de head er de\nislan' a man begin to come aft wid de lantern, I see it warn't no use\nfer to wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'.  Well, I\nhad a notion I could lan' mos' anywhers, but I couldn't--bank too bluff.\n I 'uz mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' I found' a good place.  I went\ninto de woods en jedged I wouldn' fool wid raffs no mo', long as dey\nmove de lantern roun' so.  I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some\nmatches in my cap, en dey warn't wet, so I 'uz all right.\"\n\n\"And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all this time?  Why\ndidn't you get mud-turkles?\"\n\n\"How you gwyne to git 'm?  You can't slip up on um en grab um; en how's\na body gwyne to hit um wid a rock?  How could a body do it in de night?\n En I warn't gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime.\"\n\n\"Well, that's so.  You've had to keep in the woods all the time, of\ncourse. Did you hear 'em shooting the cannon?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.  I knowed dey was arter you.  I see um go by heah--watched um\nthoo de bushes.\"\n\nSome young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and\nlighting. Jim said it was a sign it was going to rain.  He said it was\na sign when young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was the\nsame way when young birds done it.  I was going to catch some of them,\nbut Jim wouldn't let me.  He said it was death.  He said his father laid\nmighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his old granny\nsaid his father would die, and he did.\n\nAnd Jim said you mustn't count the things you are going to cook for\ndinner, because that would bring bad luck.  The same if you shook the\ntable-cloth after sundown.  And he said if a man owned a beehive\nand that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next\nmorning, or else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die.\n Jim said bees wouldn't sting idiots; but I didn't believe that, because\nI had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn't sting me.\n\nI had heard about some of these things before, but not all of them.  Jim\nknowed all kinds of signs.  He said he knowed most everything.  I said\nit looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so I asked\nhim if there warn't any good-luck signs.  He says:\n\n\"Mighty few--an' _dey_ ain't no use to a body.  What you want to know\nwhen good luck's a-comin' for?  Want to keep it off?\"  And he said:  \"Ef\nyou's got hairy arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's agwyne\nto be rich. Well, dey's some use in a sign like dat, 'kase it's so fur\nahead. You see, maybe you's got to be po' a long time fust, en so you\nmight git discourage' en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by de sign dat\nyou gwyne to be rich bymeby.\"\n\n\"Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?\"\n\n\"What's de use to ax dat question?  Don't you see I has?\"\n\n\"Well, are you rich?\"\n\n\"No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich agin.  Wunst I had\nfoteen dollars, but I tuck to specalat'n', en got busted out.\"\n\n\"What did you speculate in, Jim?\"\n\n\"Well, fust I tackled stock.\"\n\n\"What kind of stock?\"\n\n\"Why, live stock--cattle, you know.  I put ten dollars in a cow.  But\nI ain' gwyne to resk no mo' money in stock.  De cow up 'n' died on my\nhan's.\"\n\n\"So you lost the ten dollars.\"\n\n\"No, I didn't lose it all.  I on'y los' 'bout nine of it.  I sole de\nhide en taller for a dollar en ten cents.\"\n\n\"You had five dollars and ten cents left.  Did you speculate any more?\"\n\n\"Yes.  You know that one-laigged nigger dat b'longs to old Misto\nBradish? Well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar\nwould git fo' dollars mo' at de en' er de year.  Well, all de niggers\nwent in, but dey didn't have much.  I wuz de on'y one dat had much.  So\nI stuck out for mo' dan fo' dollars, en I said 'f I didn' git it I'd\nstart a bank mysef. Well, o' course dat nigger want' to keep me out er\nde business, bekase he says dey warn't business 'nough for two banks, so\nhe say I could put in my five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at de en'\ner de year.\n\n\"So I done it.  Den I reck'n'd I'd inves' de thirty-five dollars right\noff en keep things a-movin'.  Dey wuz a nigger name' Bob, dat had\nketched a wood-flat, en his marster didn' know it; en I bought it off'n\nhim en told him to take de thirty-five dollars when de en' er de\nyear come; but somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex day de\none-laigged nigger say de bank's busted.  So dey didn' none uv us git no\nmoney.\"\n\n\"What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?\"\n\n\"Well, I 'uz gwyne to spen' it, but I had a dream, en de dream tole me\nto give it to a nigger name' Balum--Balum's Ass dey call him for short;\nhe's one er dem chuckleheads, you know.  But he's lucky, dey say, en I\nsee I warn't lucky.  De dream say let Balum inves' de ten cents en he'd\nmake a raise for me.  Well, Balum he tuck de money, en when he wuz in\nchurch he hear de preacher say dat whoever give to de po' len' to de\nLord, en boun' to git his money back a hund'd times.  So Balum he tuck\nen give de ten cents to de po', en laid low to see what wuz gwyne to\ncome of it.\"\n\n\"Well, what did come of it, Jim?\"\n\n\"Nuffn never come of it.  I couldn' manage to k'leck dat money no way;\nen Balum he couldn'.  I ain' gwyne to len' no mo' money 'dout I see de\nsecurity.  Boun' to git yo' money back a hund'd times, de preacher says!\nEf I could git de ten _cents_ back, I'd call it squah, en be glad er de\nchanst.\"\n\n\"Well, it's all right anyway, Jim, long as you're going to be rich again\nsome time or other.\"\n\n\"Yes; en I's rich now, come to look at it.  I owns mysef, en I's wuth\neight hund'd dollars.  I wisht I had de money, I wouldn' want no mo'.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nI wanted to go and look at a place right about the middle of the island\nthat I'd found when I was exploring; so we started and soon got to it,\nbecause the island was only three miles long and a quarter of a mile\nwide.\n\nThis place was a tolerable long, steep hill or ridge about forty foot\nhigh. We had a rough time getting to the top, the sides was so steep and\nthe bushes so thick.  We tramped and clumb around all over it, and by\nand by found a good big cavern in the rock, most up to the top on the\nside towards Illinois.  The cavern was as big as two or three rooms\nbunched together, and Jim could stand up straight in it.  It was cool in\nthere. Jim was for putting our traps in there right away, but I said we\ndidn't want to be climbing up and down there all the time.\n\nJim said if we had the canoe hid in a good place, and had all the traps\nin the cavern, we could rush there if anybody was to come to the island,\nand they would never find us without dogs.  And, besides, he said them\nlittle birds had said it was going to rain, and did I want the things to\nget wet?\n\nSo we went back and got the canoe, and paddled up abreast the cavern,\nand lugged all the traps up there.  Then we hunted up a place close by\nto hide the canoe in, amongst the thick willows.  We took some fish off\nof the lines and set them again, and begun to get ready for dinner.\n\nThe door of the cavern was big enough to roll a hogshead in, and on one\nside of the door the floor stuck out a little bit, and was flat and a\ngood place to build a fire on.  So we built it there and cooked dinner.\n\nWe spread the blankets inside for a carpet, and eat our dinner in there.\nWe put all the other things handy at the back of the cavern.  Pretty\nsoon it darkened up, and begun to thunder and lighten; so the birds was\nright about it.  Directly it begun to rain, and it rained like all fury,\ntoo, and I never see the wind blow so.  It was one of these regular\nsummer storms.  It would get so dark that it looked all blue-black\noutside, and lovely; and the rain would thrash along by so thick that\nthe trees off a little ways looked dim and spider-webby; and here would\ncome a blast of wind that would bend the trees down and turn up the\npale underside of the leaves; and then a perfect ripper of a gust would\nfollow along and set the branches to tossing their arms as if they\nwas just wild; and next, when it was just about the bluest and\nblackest--_FST_! it was as bright as glory, and you'd have a little\nglimpse of tree-tops a-plunging about away off yonder in the storm,\nhundreds of yards further than you could see before; dark as sin again\nin a second, and now you'd hear the thunder let go with an awful crash,\nand then go rumbling, grumbling, tumbling, down the sky towards the\nunder side of the world, like rolling empty barrels down stairs--where\nit's long stairs and they bounce a good deal, you know.\n\n\"Jim, this is nice,\" I says.  \"I wouldn't want to be nowhere else but\nhere. Pass me along another hunk of fish and some hot corn-bread.\"\n\n\"Well, you wouldn't a ben here 'f it hadn't a ben for Jim.  You'd a ben\ndown dah in de woods widout any dinner, en gittn' mos' drownded, too;\ndat you would, honey.  Chickens knows when it's gwyne to rain, en so do\nde birds, chile.\"\n\nThe river went on raising and raising for ten or twelve days, till at\nlast it was over the banks.  The water was three or four foot deep on\nthe island in the low places and on the Illinois bottom.  On that side\nit was a good many miles wide, but on the Missouri side it was the same\nold distance across--a half a mile--because the Missouri shore was just a\nwall of high bluffs.\n\nDaytimes we paddled all over the island in the canoe, It was mighty cool\nand shady in the deep woods, even if the sun was blazing outside.  We\nwent winding in and out amongst the trees, and sometimes the vines hung\nso thick we had to back away and go some other way.  Well, on every old\nbroken-down tree you could see rabbits and snakes and such things; and\nwhen the island had been overflowed a day or two they got so tame, on\naccount of being hungry, that you could paddle right up and put your\nhand on them if you wanted to; but not the snakes and turtles--they would\nslide off in the water.  The ridge our cavern was in was full of them.\nWe could a had pets enough if we'd wanted them.\n\nOne night we catched a little section of a lumber raft--nice pine planks.\nIt was twelve foot wide and about fifteen or sixteen foot long, and\nthe top stood above water six or seven inches--a solid, level floor.  We\ncould see saw-logs go by in the daylight sometimes, but we let them go;\nwe didn't show ourselves in daylight.\n\nAnother night when we was up at the head of the island, just before\ndaylight, here comes a frame-house down, on the west side.  She was\na two-story, and tilted over considerable.  We paddled out and got\naboard--clumb in at an upstairs window.  But it was too dark to see yet,\nso we made the canoe fast and set in her to wait for daylight.\n\nThe light begun to come before we got to the foot of the island.  Then\nwe looked in at the window.  We could make out a bed, and a table, and\ntwo old chairs, and lots of things around about on the floor, and there\nwas clothes hanging against the wall.  There was something laying on the\nfloor in the far corner that looked like a man.  So Jim says:\n\n\"Hello, you!\"\n\nBut it didn't budge.  So I hollered again, and then Jim says:\n\n\"De man ain't asleep--he's dead.  You hold still--I'll go en see.\"\n\nHe went, and bent down and looked, and says:\n\n\"It's a dead man.  Yes, indeedy; naked, too.  He's ben shot in de back.\nI reck'n he's ben dead two er three days.  Come in, Huck, but doan' look\nat his face--it's too gashly.\"\n\nI didn't look at him at all.  Jim throwed some old rags over him, but\nhe needn't done it; I didn't want to see him.  There was heaps of old\ngreasy cards scattered around over the floor, and old whisky bottles,\nand a couple of masks made out of black cloth; and all over the walls\nwas the ignorantest kind of words and pictures made with charcoal.\n There was two old dirty calico dresses, and a sun-bonnet, and some\nwomen's underclothes hanging against the wall, and some men's clothing,\ntoo.  We put the lot into the canoe--it might come good.  There was a\nboy's old speckled straw hat on the floor; I took that, too.  And there\nwas a bottle that had had milk in it, and it had a rag stopper for a\nbaby to suck.  We would a took the bottle, but it was broke.  There was\na seedy old chest, and an old hair trunk with the hinges broke.  They\nstood open, but there warn't nothing left in them that was any account.\n The way things was scattered about we reckoned the people left in a\nhurry, and warn't fixed so as to carry off most of their stuff.\n\nWe got an old tin lantern, and a butcher-knife without any handle, and\na bran-new Barlow knife worth two bits in any store, and a lot of tallow\ncandles, and a tin candlestick, and a gourd, and a tin cup, and a ratty\nold bedquilt off the bed, and a reticule with needles and pins and\nbeeswax and buttons and thread and all such truck in it, and a hatchet\nand some nails, and a fishline as thick as my little finger with some\nmonstrous hooks on it, and a roll of buckskin, and a leather dog-collar,\nand a horseshoe, and some vials of medicine that didn't have no label\non them; and just as we was leaving I found a tolerable good curry-comb,\nand Jim he found a ratty old fiddle-bow, and a wooden leg.  The straps\nwas broke off of it, but, barring that, it was a good enough leg, though\nit was too long for me and not long enough for Jim, and we couldn't find\nthe other one, though we hunted all around.\n\nAnd so, take it all around, we made a good haul.  When we was ready to\nshove off we was a quarter of a mile below the island, and it was pretty\nbroad day; so I made Jim lay down in the canoe and cover up with the\nquilt, because if he set up people could tell he was a nigger a good\nways off.  I paddled over to the Illinois shore, and drifted down most\na half a mile doing it.  I crept up the dead water under the bank, and\nhadn't no accidents and didn't see nobody.  We got home all safe.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nAFTER breakfast I wanted to talk about the dead man and guess out how he\ncome to be killed, but Jim didn't want to.  He said it would fetch bad\nluck; and besides, he said, he might come and ha'nt us; he said a man\nthat warn't buried was more likely to go a-ha'nting around than one\nthat was planted and comfortable.  That sounded pretty reasonable, so\nI didn't say no more; but I couldn't keep from studying over it and\nwishing I knowed who shot the man, and what they done it for.\n\nWe rummaged the clothes we'd got, and found eight dollars in silver\nsewed up in the lining of an old blanket overcoat.  Jim said he reckoned\nthe people in that house stole the coat, because if they'd a knowed the\nmoney was there they wouldn't a left it.  I said I reckoned they killed\nhim, too; but Jim didn't want to talk about that.  I says:\n\n\"Now you think it's bad luck; but what did you say when I fetched in the\nsnake-skin that I found on the top of the ridge day before yesterday?\nYou said it was the worst bad luck in the world to touch a snake-skin\nwith my hands.  Well, here's your bad luck!  We've raked in all this\ntruck and eight dollars besides.  I wish we could have some bad luck\nlike this every day, Jim.\"\n\n\"Never you mind, honey, never you mind.  Don't you git too peart.  It's\na-comin'.  Mind I tell you, it's a-comin'.\"\n\nIt did come, too.  It was a Tuesday that we had that talk.  Well, after\ndinner Friday we was laying around in the grass at the upper end of the\nridge, and got out of tobacco.  I went to the cavern to get some, and\nfound a rattlesnake in there.  I killed him, and curled him up on the\nfoot of Jim's blanket, ever so natural, thinking there'd be some fun\nwhen Jim found him there.  Well, by night I forgot all about the snake,\nand when Jim flung himself down on the blanket while I struck a light\nthe snake's mate was there, and bit him.\n\nHe jumped up yelling, and the first thing the light showed was the\nvarmint curled up and ready for another spring.  I laid him out in a\nsecond with a stick, and Jim grabbed pap's whisky-jug and begun to pour\nit down.\n\nHe was barefooted, and the snake bit him right on the heel.  That all\ncomes of my being such a fool as to not remember that wherever you leave\na dead snake its mate always comes there and curls around it.  Jim told\nme to chop off the snake's head and throw it away, and then skin the\nbody and roast a piece of it.  I done it, and he eat it and said it\nwould help cure him. He made me take off the rattles and tie them around\nhis wrist, too.  He said that that would help.  Then I slid out quiet\nand throwed the snakes clear away amongst the bushes; for I warn't going\nto let Jim find out it was all my fault, not if I could help it.\n\nJim sucked and sucked at the jug, and now and then he got out of his\nhead and pitched around and yelled; but every time he come to himself he\nwent to sucking at the jug again.  His foot swelled up pretty big, and\nso did his leg; but by and by the drunk begun to come, and so I judged\nhe was all right; but I'd druther been bit with a snake than pap's\nwhisky.\n\nJim was laid up for four days and nights.  Then the swelling was all\ngone and he was around again.  I made up my mind I wouldn't ever take\na-holt of a snake-skin again with my hands, now that I see what had come\nof it. Jim said he reckoned I would believe him next time.  And he said\nthat handling a snake-skin was such awful bad luck that maybe we hadn't\ngot to the end of it yet.  He said he druther see the new moon over his\nleft shoulder as much as a thousand times than take up a snake-skin\nin his hand.  Well, I was getting to feel that way myself, though I've\nalways reckoned that looking at the new moon over your left shoulder is\none of the carelessest and foolishest things a body can do.  Old Hank\nBunker done it once, and bragged about it; and in less than two years he\ngot drunk and fell off of the shot-tower, and spread himself out so\nthat he was just a kind of a layer, as you may say; and they slid him\nedgeways between two barn doors for a coffin, and buried him so, so\nthey say, but I didn't see it.  Pap told me.  But anyway it all come of\nlooking at the moon that way, like a fool.\n\nWell, the days went along, and the river went down between its banks\nagain; and about the first thing we done was to bait one of the big\nhooks with a skinned rabbit and set it and catch a catfish that was\nas big as a man, being six foot two inches long, and weighed over two\nhundred pounds. We couldn't handle him, of course; he would a flung us\ninto Illinois.  We just set there and watched him rip and tear around\ntill he drownded.  We found a brass button in his stomach and a round\nball, and lots of rubbage.  We split the ball open with the hatchet,\nand there was a spool in it.  Jim said he'd had it there a long time, to\ncoat it over so and make a ball of it.  It was as big a fish as was ever\ncatched in the Mississippi, I reckon.  Jim said he hadn't ever seen\na bigger one.  He would a been worth a good deal over at the village.\n They peddle out such a fish as that by the pound in the market-house\nthere; everybody buys some of him; his meat's as white as snow and makes\na good fry.\n\nNext morning I said it was getting slow and dull, and I wanted to get a\nstirring up some way.  I said I reckoned I would slip over the river and\nfind out what was going on.  Jim liked that notion; but he said I\nmust go in the dark and look sharp.  Then he studied it over and said,\ncouldn't I put on some of them old things and dress up like a girl?\n That was a good notion, too.  So we shortened up one of the calico\ngowns, and I turned up my trouser-legs to my knees and got into it.  Jim\nhitched it behind with the hooks, and it was a fair fit.  I put on the\nsun-bonnet and tied it under my chin, and then for a body to look in\nand see my face was like looking down a joint of stove-pipe.  Jim said\nnobody would know me, even in the daytime, hardly.  I practiced around\nall day to get the hang of the things, and by and by I could do pretty\nwell in them, only Jim said I didn't walk like a girl; and he said\nI must quit pulling up my gown to get at my britches-pocket.  I took\nnotice, and done better.\n\nI started up the Illinois shore in the canoe just after dark.\n\nI started across to the town from a little below the ferry-landing, and\nthe drift of the current fetched me in at the bottom of the town.  I\ntied up and started along the bank.  There was a light burning in a\nlittle shanty that hadn't been lived in for a long time, and I wondered\nwho had took up quarters there.  I slipped up and peeped in at the\nwindow.  There was a woman about forty year old in there knitting by\na candle that was on a pine table.  I didn't know her face; she was a\nstranger, for you couldn't start a face in that town that I didn't know.\n Now this was lucky, because I was weakening; I was getting afraid I had\ncome; people might know my voice and find me out.  But if this woman had\nbeen in such a little town two days she could tell me all I wanted to\nknow; so I knocked at the door, and made up my mind I wouldn't forget I\nwas a girl.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\"COME in,\" says the woman, and I did.  She says:  \"Take a cheer.\"\n\nI done it.  She looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says:\n\n\"What might your name be?\"\n\n\"Sarah Williams.\"\n\n\"Where 'bouts do you live?  In this neighborhood?'\n\n\"No'm.  In Hookerville, seven mile below.  I've walked all the way and\nI'm all tired out.\"\n\n\"Hungry, too, I reckon.  I'll find you something.\"\n\n\"No'm, I ain't hungry.  I was so hungry I had to stop two miles below\nhere at a farm; so I ain't hungry no more.  It's what makes me so late.\nMy mother's down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come to\ntell my uncle Abner Moore.  He lives at the upper end of the town, she\nsays.  I hain't ever been here before.  Do you know him?\"\n\n\"No; but I don't know everybody yet.  I haven't lived here quite two\nweeks. It's a considerable ways to the upper end of the town.  You\nbetter stay here all night.  Take off your bonnet.\"\n\n\"No,\" I says; \"I'll rest a while, I reckon, and go on.  I ain't afeared\nof the dark.\"\n\nShe said she wouldn't let me go by myself, but her husband would be in\nby and by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she'd send him along with me.\nThen she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up\nthe river, and her relations down the river, and about how much better\noff they used to was, and how they didn't know but they'd made a mistake\ncoming to our town, instead of letting well alone--and so on and so on,\ntill I was afeard I had made a mistake coming to her to find out what\nwas going on in the town; but by and by she dropped on to pap and the\nmurder, and then I was pretty willing to let her clatter right along.\n She told about me and Tom Sawyer finding the six thousand dollars (only\nshe got it ten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what\na hard lot I was, and at last she got down to where I was murdered.  I\nsays:\n\n\"Who done it?  We've heard considerable about these goings on down in\nHookerville, but we don't know who 'twas that killed Huck Finn.\"\n\n\"Well, I reckon there's a right smart chance of people _here_ that'd\nlike to know who killed him.  Some think old Finn done it himself.\"\n\n\"No--is that so?\"\n\n\"Most everybody thought it at first.  He'll never know how nigh he come\nto getting lynched.  But before night they changed around and judged it\nwas done by a runaway nigger named Jim.\"\n\n\"Why _he_--\"\n\nI stopped.  I reckoned I better keep still.  She run on, and never\nnoticed I had put in at all:\n\n\"The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was killed.  So there's a\nreward out for him--three hundred dollars.  And there's a reward out for\nold Finn, too--two hundred dollars.  You see, he come to town the\nmorning after the murder, and told about it, and was out with 'em on the\nferryboat hunt, and right away after he up and left.  Before night they\nwanted to lynch him, but he was gone, you see.  Well, next day they\nfound out the nigger was gone; they found out he hadn't ben seen sence\nten o'clock the night the murder was done.  So then they put it on him,\nyou see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old Finn,\nand went boo-hooing to Judge Thatcher to get money to hunt for the\nnigger all over Illinois with. The judge gave him some, and that evening\nhe got drunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mighty\nhard-looking strangers, and then went off with them.  Well, he hain't\ncome back sence, and they ain't looking for him back till this thing\nblows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and\nfixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he'd get\nHuck's money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit.\n People do say he warn't any too good to do it.  Oh, he's sly, I reckon.\n If he don't come back for a year he'll be all right.  You can't prove\nanything on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and\nhe'll walk in Huck's money as easy as nothing.\"\n\n\"Yes, I reckon so, 'm.  I don't see nothing in the way of it.  Has\neverybody quit thinking the nigger done it?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, not everybody.  A good many thinks he done it.  But they'll get\nthe nigger pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare it out of him.\"\n\n\"Why, are they after him yet?\"\n\n\"Well, you're innocent, ain't you!  Does three hundred dollars lay\naround every day for people to pick up?  Some folks think the nigger\nain't far from here.  I'm one of them--but I hain't talked it around.  A\nfew days ago I was talking with an old couple that lives next door in\nthe log shanty, and they happened to say hardly anybody ever goes to\nthat island over yonder that they call Jackson's Island.  Don't anybody\nlive there? says I. No, nobody, says they.  I didn't say any more, but\nI done some thinking.  I was pretty near certain I'd seen smoke over\nthere, about the head of the island, a day or two before that, so I says\nto myself, like as not that nigger's hiding over there; anyway, says\nI, it's worth the trouble to give the place a hunt.  I hain't seen any\nsmoke sence, so I reckon maybe he's gone, if it was him; but husband's\ngoing over to see--him and another man.  He was gone up the river; but he\ngot back to-day, and I told him as soon as he got here two hours ago.\"\n\nI had got so uneasy I couldn't set still.  I had to do something with my\nhands; so I took up a needle off of the table and went to threading\nit. My hands shook, and I was making a bad job of it.  When the woman\nstopped talking I looked up, and she was looking at me pretty curious\nand smiling a little.  I put down the needle and thread, and let on to\nbe interested--and I was, too--and says:\n\n\"Three hundred dollars is a power of money.  I wish my mother could get\nit. Is your husband going over there to-night?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.  He went up-town with the man I was telling you of, to get a\nboat and see if they could borrow another gun.  They'll go over after\nmidnight.\"\n\n\"Couldn't they see better if they was to wait till daytime?\"\n\n\"Yes.  And couldn't the nigger see better, too?  After midnight he'll\nlikely be asleep, and they can slip around through the woods and hunt up\nhis camp fire all the better for the dark, if he's got one.\"\n\n\"I didn't think of that.\"\n\nThe woman kept looking at me pretty curious, and I didn't feel a bit\ncomfortable.  Pretty soon she says,\n\n\"What did you say your name was, honey?\"\n\n\"M--Mary Williams.\"\n\nSomehow it didn't seem to me that I said it was Mary before, so I didn't\nlook up--seemed to me I said it was Sarah; so I felt sort of cornered,\nand was afeared maybe I was looking it, too.  I wished the woman would\nsay something more; the longer she set still the uneasier I was.  But\nnow she says:\n\n\"Honey, I thought you said it was Sarah when you first come in?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes'm, I did.  Sarah Mary Williams.  Sarah's my first name.  Some\ncalls me Sarah, some calls me Mary.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's the way of it?\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\nI was feeling better then, but I wished I was out of there, anyway.  I\ncouldn't look up yet.\n\nWell, the woman fell to talking about how hard times was, and how poor\nthey had to live, and how the rats was as free as if they owned the\nplace, and so forth and so on, and then I got easy again.  She was right\nabout the rats. You'd see one stick his nose out of a hole in the corner\nevery little while.  She said she had to have things handy to throw at\nthem when she was alone, or they wouldn't give her no peace.  She showed\nme a bar of lead twisted up into a knot, and said she was a good shot\nwith it generly, but she'd wrenched her arm a day or two ago, and didn't\nknow whether she could throw true now.  But she watched for a chance,\nand directly banged away at a rat; but she missed him wide, and said\n\"Ouch!\" it hurt her arm so.  Then she told me to try for the next one.\n I wanted to be getting away before the old man got back, but of course\nI didn't let on.  I got the thing, and the first rat that showed his\nnose I let drive, and if he'd a stayed where he was he'd a been a\ntolerable sick rat.  She said that was first-rate, and she reckoned I\nwould hive the next one.  She went and got the lump of lead and fetched\nit back, and brought along a hank of yarn which she wanted me to help\nher with.  I held up my two hands and she put the hank over them, and\nwent on talking about her and her husband's matters.  But she broke off\nto say:\n\n\"Keep your eye on the rats.  You better have the lead in your lap,\nhandy.\"\n\nSo she dropped the lump into my lap just at that moment, and I clapped\nmy legs together on it and she went on talking.  But only about a\nminute. Then she took off the hank and looked me straight in the face,\nand very pleasant, and says:\n\n\"Come, now, what's your real name?\"\n\n\"Wh--what, mum?\"\n\n\"What's your real name?  Is it Bill, or Tom, or Bob?--or what is it?\"\n\nI reckon I shook like a leaf, and I didn't know hardly what to do.  But\nI says:\n\n\"Please to don't poke fun at a poor girl like me, mum.  If I'm in the\nway here, I'll--\"\n\n\"No, you won't.  Set down and stay where you are.  I ain't going to hurt\nyou, and I ain't going to tell on you, nuther.  You just tell me your\nsecret, and trust me.  I'll keep it; and, what's more, I'll help\nyou. So'll my old man if you want him to.  You see, you're a runaway\n'prentice, that's all.  It ain't anything.  There ain't no harm in it.\nYou've been treated bad, and you made up your mind to cut.  Bless you,\nchild, I wouldn't tell on you.  Tell me all about it now, that's a good\nboy.\"\n\nSo I said it wouldn't be no use to try to play it any longer, and I\nwould just make a clean breast and tell her everything, but she musn't\ngo back on her promise.  Then I told her my father and mother was dead,\nand the law had bound me out to a mean old farmer in the country thirty\nmile back from the river, and he treated me so bad I couldn't stand it\nno longer; he went away to be gone a couple of days, and so I took my\nchance and stole some of his daughter's old clothes and cleared out, and\nI had been three nights coming the thirty miles.  I traveled nights,\nand hid daytimes and slept, and the bag of bread and meat I carried from\nhome lasted me all the way, and I had a-plenty.  I said I believed my\nuncle Abner Moore would take care of me, and so that was why I struck\nout for this town of Goshen.\n\n\"Goshen, child?  This ain't Goshen.  This is St. Petersburg.  Goshen's\nten mile further up the river.  Who told you this was Goshen?\"\n\n\"Why, a man I met at daybreak this morning, just as I was going to turn\ninto the woods for my regular sleep.  He told me when the roads forked I\nmust take the right hand, and five mile would fetch me to Goshen.\"\n\n\"He was drunk, I reckon.  He told you just exactly wrong.\"\n\n\"Well, he did act like he was drunk, but it ain't no matter now.  I got\nto be moving along.  I'll fetch Goshen before daylight.\"\n\n\"Hold on a minute.  I'll put you up a snack to eat.  You might want it.\"\n\nSo she put me up a snack, and says:\n\n\"Say, when a cow's laying down, which end of her gets up first?  Answer\nup prompt now--don't stop to study over it.  Which end gets up first?\"\n\n\"The hind end, mum.\"\n\n\"Well, then, a horse?\"\n\n\"The for'rard end, mum.\"\n\n\"Which side of a tree does the moss grow on?\"\n\n\"North side.\"\n\n\"If fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how many of them eats with\ntheir heads pointed the same direction?\"\n\n\"The whole fifteen, mum.\"\n\n\"Well, I reckon you _have_ lived in the country.  I thought maybe you\nwas trying to hocus me again.  What's your real name, now?\"\n\n\"George Peters, mum.\"\n\n\"Well, try to remember it, George.  Don't forget and tell me it's\nElexander before you go, and then get out by saying it's George\nElexander when I catch you.  And don't go about women in that old\ncalico.  You do a girl tolerable poor, but you might fool men, maybe.\n Bless you, child, when you set out to thread a needle don't hold the\nthread still and fetch the needle up to it; hold the needle still and\npoke the thread at it; that's the way a woman most always does, but a\nman always does t'other way.  And when you throw at a rat or anything,\nhitch yourself up a tiptoe and fetch your hand up over your head as\nawkward as you can, and miss your rat about six or seven foot. Throw\nstiff-armed from the shoulder, like there was a pivot there for it to\nturn on, like a girl; not from the wrist and elbow, with your arm out\nto one side, like a boy.  And, mind you, when a girl tries to catch\nanything in her lap she throws her knees apart; she don't clap them\ntogether, the way you did when you catched the lump of lead.  Why, I\nspotted you for a boy when you was threading the needle; and I contrived\nthe other things just to make certain.  Now trot along to your uncle,\nSarah Mary Williams George Elexander Peters, and if you get into trouble\nyou send word to Mrs. Judith Loftus, which is me, and I'll do what I can\nto get you out of it.  Keep the river road all the way, and next time\nyou tramp take shoes and socks with you. The river road's a rocky one,\nand your feet'll be in a condition when you get to Goshen, I reckon.\"\n\nI went up the bank about fifty yards, and then I doubled on my tracks\nand slipped back to where my canoe was, a good piece below the house.  I\njumped in, and was off in a hurry.  I went up-stream far enough to\nmake the head of the island, and then started across.  I took off the\nsun-bonnet, for I didn't want no blinders on then.  When I was about the\nmiddle I heard the clock begin to strike, so I stops and listens; the\nsound come faint over the water but clear--eleven.  When I struck the\nhead of the island I never waited to blow, though I was most winded, but\nI shoved right into the timber where my old camp used to be, and started\na good fire there on a high and dry spot.\n\nThen I jumped in the canoe and dug out for our place, a mile and a half\nbelow, as hard as I could go.  I landed, and slopped through the timber\nand up the ridge and into the cavern.  There Jim laid, sound asleep on\nthe ground.  I roused him out and says:\n\n\"Git up and hump yourself, Jim!  There ain't a minute to lose.  They're\nafter us!\"\n\nJim never asked no questions, he never said a word; but the way he\nworked for the next half an hour showed about how he was scared.  By\nthat time everything we had in the world was on our raft, and she was\nready to be shoved out from the willow cove where she was hid.  We\nput out the camp fire at the cavern the first thing, and didn't show a\ncandle outside after that.\n\nI took the canoe out from the shore a little piece, and took a look;\nbut if there was a boat around I couldn't see it, for stars and shadows\nain't good to see by.  Then we got out the raft and slipped along down\nin the shade, past the foot of the island dead still--never saying a\nword.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nIT must a been close on to one o'clock when we got below the island at\nlast, and the raft did seem to go mighty slow.  If a boat was to come\nalong we was going to take to the canoe and break for the Illinois\nshore; and it was well a boat didn't come, for we hadn't ever thought to\nput the gun in the canoe, or a fishing-line, or anything to eat.  We\nwas in ruther too much of a sweat to think of so many things.  It warn't\ngood judgment to put _everything_ on the raft.\n\nIf the men went to the island I just expect they found the camp fire I\nbuilt, and watched it all night for Jim to come.  Anyways, they stayed\naway from us, and if my building the fire never fooled them it warn't no\nfault of mine.  I played it as low down on them as I could.\n\nWhen the first streak of day began to show we tied up to a towhead in a\nbig bend on the Illinois side, and hacked off cottonwood branches with\nthe hatchet, and covered up the raft with them so she looked like there\nhad been a cave-in in the bank there.  A tow-head is a sandbar that has\ncottonwoods on it as thick as harrow-teeth.\n\nWe had mountains on the Missouri shore and heavy timber on the Illinois\nside, and the channel was down the Missouri shore at that place, so we\nwarn't afraid of anybody running across us.  We laid there all day,\nand watched the rafts and steamboats spin down the Missouri shore, and\nup-bound steamboats fight the big river in the middle.  I told Jim all\nabout the time I had jabbering with that woman; and Jim said she was\na smart one, and if she was to start after us herself she wouldn't set\ndown and watch a camp fire--no, sir, she'd fetch a dog.  Well, then, I\nsaid, why couldn't she tell her husband to fetch a dog?  Jim said he\nbet she did think of it by the time the men was ready to start, and he\nbelieved they must a gone up-town to get a dog and so they lost all that\ntime, or else we wouldn't be here on a towhead sixteen or seventeen mile\nbelow the village--no, indeedy, we would be in that same old town again.\n So I said I didn't care what was the reason they didn't get us as long\nas they didn't.\n\nWhen it was beginning to come on dark we poked our heads out of the\ncottonwood thicket, and looked up and down and across; nothing in sight;\nso Jim took up some of the top planks of the raft and built a snug\nwigwam to get under in blazing weather and rainy, and to keep the things\ndry. Jim made a floor for the wigwam, and raised it a foot or more above\nthe level of the raft, so now the blankets and all the traps was out of\nreach of steamboat waves.  Right in the middle of the wigwam we made a\nlayer of dirt about five or six inches deep with a frame around it for\nto hold it to its place; this was to build a fire on in sloppy weather\nor chilly; the wigwam would keep it from being seen.  We made an extra\nsteering-oar, too, because one of the others might get broke on a snag\nor something. We fixed up a short forked stick to hang the old lantern\non, because we must always light the lantern whenever we see a steamboat\ncoming down-stream, to keep from getting run over; but we wouldn't have\nto light it for up-stream boats unless we see we was in what they call\na \"crossing\"; for the river was pretty high yet, very low banks being\nstill a little under water; so up-bound boats didn't always run the\nchannel, but hunted easy water.\n\nThis second night we run between seven and eight hours, with a current\nthat was making over four mile an hour.  We catched fish and talked,\nand we took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness.  It was kind of\nsolemn, drifting down the big, still river, laying on our backs looking\nup at the stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it\nwarn't often that we laughed--only a little kind of a low chuckle.  We\nhad mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to\nus at all--that night, nor the next, nor the next.\n\nEvery night we passed towns, some of them away up on black hillsides,\nnothing but just a shiny bed of lights; not a house could you see.  The\nfifth night we passed St. Louis, and it was like the whole world lit up.\nIn St. Petersburg they used to say there was twenty or thirty thousand\npeople in St. Louis, but I never believed it till I see that wonderful\nspread of lights at two o'clock that still night.  There warn't a sound\nthere; everybody was asleep.\n\nEvery night now I used to slip ashore towards ten o'clock at some little\nvillage, and buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or other\nstuff to eat; and sometimes I lifted a chicken that warn't roosting\ncomfortable, and took him along.  Pap always said, take a chicken when\nyou get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easy\nfind somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot.  I never see\npap when he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used to\nsay, anyway.\n\nMornings before daylight I slipped into cornfields and borrowed a\nwatermelon, or a mushmelon, or a punkin, or some new corn, or things of\nthat kind.  Pap always said it warn't no harm to borrow things if you\nwas meaning to pay them back some time; but the widow said it warn't\nanything but a soft name for stealing, and no decent body would do it.\n Jim said he reckoned the widow was partly right and pap was partly\nright; so the best way would be for us to pick out two or three things\nfrom the list and say we wouldn't borrow them any more--then he reckoned\nit wouldn't be no harm to borrow the others.  So we talked it over all\none night, drifting along down the river, trying to make up our minds\nwhether to drop the watermelons, or the cantelopes, or the mushmelons,\nor what.  But towards daylight we got it all settled satisfactory, and\nconcluded to drop crabapples and p'simmons.  We warn't feeling just\nright before that, but it was all comfortable now.  I was glad the way\nit come out, too, because crabapples ain't ever good, and the p'simmons\nwouldn't be ripe for two or three months yet.\n\nWe shot a water-fowl now and then that got up too early in the morning\nor didn't go to bed early enough in the evening.  Take it all round, we\nlived pretty high.\n\nThe fifth night below St. Louis we had a big storm after midnight, with\na power of thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in a solid\nsheet. We stayed in the wigwam and let the raft take care of itself.\nWhen the lightning glared out we could see a big straight river ahead,\nand high, rocky bluffs on both sides.  By and by says I, \"Hel-_lo_, Jim,\nlooky yonder!\" It was a steamboat that had killed herself on a rock.\n We was drifting straight down for her.  The lightning showed her very\ndistinct.  She was leaning over, with part of her upper deck above\nwater, and you could see every little chimbly-guy clean and clear, and a\nchair by the big bell, with an old slouch hat hanging on the back of it,\nwhen the flashes come.\n\nWell, it being away in the night and stormy, and all so mysterious-like,\nI felt just the way any other boy would a felt when I see that wreck\nlaying there so mournful and lonesome in the middle of the river.  I\nwanted to get aboard of her and slink around a little, and see what\nthere was there.  So I says:\n\n\"Le's land on her, Jim.\"\n\nBut Jim was dead against it at first.  He says:\n\n\"I doan' want to go fool'n 'long er no wrack.  We's doin' blame' well,\nen we better let blame' well alone, as de good book says.  Like as not\ndey's a watchman on dat wrack.\"\n\n\"Watchman your grandmother,\" I says; \"there ain't nothing to watch but\nthe texas and the pilot-house; and do you reckon anybody's going to resk\nhis life for a texas and a pilot-house such a night as this, when\nit's likely to break up and wash off down the river any minute?\"  Jim\ncouldn't say nothing to that, so he didn't try.  \"And besides,\" I says,\n\"we might borrow something worth having out of the captain's stateroom.\n Seegars, I bet you--and cost five cents apiece, solid cash.  Steamboat\ncaptains is always rich, and get sixty dollars a month, and _they_ don't\ncare a cent what a thing costs, you know, long as they want it.  Stick a\ncandle in your pocket; I can't rest, Jim, till we give her a rummaging.\n Do you reckon Tom Sawyer would ever go by this thing?  Not for pie, he\nwouldn't. He'd call it an adventure--that's what he'd call it; and he'd\nland on that wreck if it was his last act.  And wouldn't he throw style\ninto it?--wouldn't he spread himself, nor nothing?  Why, you'd think it\nwas Christopher C'lumbus discovering Kingdom-Come.  I wish Tom Sawyer\n_was_ here.\"\n\nJim he grumbled a little, but give in.  He said we mustn't talk any more\nthan we could help, and then talk mighty low.  The lightning showed us\nthe wreck again just in time, and we fetched the stabboard derrick, and\nmade fast there.\n\nThe deck was high out here.  We went sneaking down the slope of it to\nlabboard, in the dark, towards the texas, feeling our way slow with our\nfeet, and spreading our hands out to fend off the guys, for it was so\ndark we couldn't see no sign of them.  Pretty soon we struck the forward\nend of the skylight, and clumb on to it; and the next step fetched us in\nfront of the captain's door, which was open, and by Jimminy, away down\nthrough the texas-hall we see a light! and all in the same second we\nseem to hear low voices in yonder!\n\nJim whispered and said he was feeling powerful sick, and told me to come\nalong.  I says, all right, and was going to start for the raft; but just\nthen I heard a voice wail out and say:\n\n\"Oh, please don't, boys; I swear I won't ever tell!\"\n\nAnother voice said, pretty loud:\n\n\"It's a lie, Jim Turner.  You've acted this way before.  You always want\nmore'n your share of the truck, and you've always got it, too, because\nyou've swore 't if you didn't you'd tell.  But this time you've said\nit jest one time too many.  You're the meanest, treacherousest hound in\nthis country.\"\n\nBy this time Jim was gone for the raft.  I was just a-biling with\ncuriosity; and I says to myself, Tom Sawyer wouldn't back out now,\nand so I won't either; I'm a-going to see what's going on here.  So I\ndropped on my hands and knees in the little passage, and crept aft\nin the dark till there warn't but one stateroom betwixt me and the\ncross-hall of the texas.  Then in there I see a man stretched on the\nfloor and tied hand and foot, and two men standing over him, and one\nof them had a dim lantern in his hand, and the other one had a pistol.\n This one kept pointing the pistol at the man's head on the floor, and\nsaying:\n\n\"I'd _like_ to!  And I orter, too--a mean skunk!\"\n\nThe man on the floor would shrivel up and say, \"Oh, please don't, Bill;\nI hain't ever goin' to tell.\"\n\nAnd every time he said that the man with the lantern would laugh and\nsay:\n\n\"'Deed you _ain't!_  You never said no truer thing 'n that, you bet\nyou.\" And once he said:  \"Hear him beg! and yit if we hadn't got the\nbest of him and tied him he'd a killed us both.  And what _for_?  Jist\nfor noth'n. Jist because we stood on our _rights_--that's what for.  But\nI lay you ain't a-goin' to threaten nobody any more, Jim Turner.  Put\n_up_ that pistol, Bill.\"\n\nBill says:\n\n\"I don't want to, Jake Packard.  I'm for killin' him--and didn't he kill\nold Hatfield jist the same way--and don't he deserve it?\"\n\n\"But I don't _want_ him killed, and I've got my reasons for it.\"\n\n\"Bless yo' heart for them words, Jake Packard!  I'll never forgit you\nlong's I live!\" says the man on the floor, sort of blubbering.\n\nPackard didn't take no notice of that, but hung up his lantern on a nail\nand started towards where I was there in the dark, and motioned Bill\nto come.  I crawfished as fast as I could about two yards, but the boat\nslanted so that I couldn't make very good time; so to keep from getting\nrun over and catched I crawled into a stateroom on the upper side.\n The man came a-pawing along in the dark, and when Packard got to my\nstateroom, he says:\n\n\"Here--come in here.\"\n\nAnd in he come, and Bill after him.  But before they got in I was up\nin the upper berth, cornered, and sorry I come.  Then they stood there,\nwith their hands on the ledge of the berth, and talked.  I couldn't see\nthem, but I could tell where they was by the whisky they'd been having.\n I was glad I didn't drink whisky; but it wouldn't made much difference\nanyway, because most of the time they couldn't a treed me because I\ndidn't breathe.  I was too scared.  And, besides, a body _couldn't_\nbreathe and hear such talk.  They talked low and earnest.  Bill wanted\nto kill Turner.  He says:\n\n\"He's said he'll tell, and he will.  If we was to give both our shares\nto him _now_ it wouldn't make no difference after the row and the way\nwe've served him.  Shore's you're born, he'll turn State's evidence; now\nyou hear _me_.  I'm for putting him out of his troubles.\"\n\n\"So'm I,\" says Packard, very quiet.\n\n\"Blame it, I'd sorter begun to think you wasn't.  Well, then, that's all\nright.  Le's go and do it.\"\n\n\"Hold on a minute; I hain't had my say yit.  You listen to me.\nShooting's good, but there's quieter ways if the thing's _got_ to be\ndone. But what I say is this:  it ain't good sense to go court'n around\nafter a halter if you can git at what you're up to in some way that's\njist as good and at the same time don't bring you into no resks.  Ain't\nthat so?\"\n\n\"You bet it is.  But how you goin' to manage it this time?\"\n\n\"Well, my idea is this:  we'll rustle around and gather up whatever\npickins we've overlooked in the staterooms, and shove for shore and hide\nthe truck. Then we'll wait.  Now I say it ain't a-goin' to be more'n two\nhours befo' this wrack breaks up and washes off down the river.  See?\nHe'll be drownded, and won't have nobody to blame for it but his own\nself.  I reckon that's a considerble sight better 'n killin' of him.\n I'm unfavorable to killin' a man as long as you can git aroun' it; it\nain't good sense, it ain't good morals.  Ain't I right?\"\n\n\"Yes, I reck'n you are.  But s'pose she _don't_ break up and wash off?\"\n\n\"Well, we can wait the two hours anyway and see, can't we?\"\n\n\"All right, then; come along.\"\n\nSo they started, and I lit out, all in a cold sweat, and scrambled\nforward. It was dark as pitch there; but I said, in a kind of a coarse\nwhisper, \"Jim!\" and he answered up, right at my elbow, with a sort of a\nmoan, and I says:\n\n\"Quick, Jim, it ain't no time for fooling around and moaning; there's a\ngang of murderers in yonder, and if we don't hunt up their boat and set\nher drifting down the river so these fellows can't get away from the\nwreck there's one of 'em going to be in a bad fix.  But if we find their\nboat we can put _all_ of 'em in a bad fix--for the sheriff 'll get 'em.\nQuick--hurry!  I'll hunt the labboard side, you hunt the stabboard. You\nstart at the raft, and--\"\n\n\"Oh, my lordy, lordy!  _raf'_?  Dey ain' no raf' no mo'; she done broke\nloose en gone I--en here we is!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nWELL, I catched my breath and most fainted.  Shut up on a wreck with\nsuch a gang as that!  But it warn't no time to be sentimentering.  We'd\n_got_ to find that boat now--had to have it for ourselves.  So we went\na-quaking and shaking down the stabboard side, and slow work it was,\ntoo--seemed a week before we got to the stern.  No sign of a boat.  Jim\nsaid he didn't believe he could go any further--so scared he hadn't\nhardly any strength left, he said.  But I said, come on, if we get left\non this wreck we are in a fix, sure.  So on we prowled again.  We struck\nfor the stern of the texas, and found it, and then scrabbled along\nforwards on the skylight, hanging on from shutter to shutter, for the\nedge of the skylight was in the water.  When we got pretty close to the\ncross-hall door there was the skiff, sure enough!  I could just barely\nsee her.  I felt ever so thankful.  In another second I would a been\naboard of her, but just then the door opened.  One of the men stuck his\nhead out only about a couple of foot from me, and I thought I was gone;\nbut he jerked it in again, and says:\n\n\"Heave that blame lantern out o' sight, Bill!\"\n\nHe flung a bag of something into the boat, and then got in himself and\nset down.  It was Packard.  Then Bill _he_ come out and got in.  Packard\nsays, in a low voice:\n\n\"All ready--shove off!\"\n\nI couldn't hardly hang on to the shutters, I was so weak.  But Bill\nsays:\n\n\"Hold on--'d you go through him?\"\n\n\"No.  Didn't you?\"\n\n\"No.  So he's got his share o' the cash yet.\"\n\n\"Well, then, come along; no use to take truck and leave money.\"\n\n\"Say, won't he suspicion what we're up to?\"\n\n\"Maybe he won't.  But we got to have it anyway. Come along.\"\n\nSo they got out and went in.\n\nThe door slammed to because it was on the careened side; and in a half\nsecond I was in the boat, and Jim come tumbling after me.  I out with my\nknife and cut the rope, and away we went!\n\nWe didn't touch an oar, and we didn't speak nor whisper, nor hardly even\nbreathe.  We went gliding swift along, dead silent, past the tip of the\npaddle-box, and past the stern; then in a second or two more we was a\nhundred yards below the wreck, and the darkness soaked her up, every\nlast sign of her, and we was safe, and knowed it.\n\nWhen we was three or four hundred yards down-stream we see the lantern\nshow like a little spark at the texas door for a second, and we knowed\nby that that the rascals had missed their boat, and was beginning to\nunderstand that they was in just as much trouble now as Jim Turner was.\n\nThen Jim manned the oars, and we took out after our raft.  Now was the\nfirst time that I begun to worry about the men--I reckon I hadn't\nhad time to before.  I begun to think how dreadful it was, even for\nmurderers, to be in such a fix.  I says to myself, there ain't no\ntelling but I might come to be a murderer myself yet, and then how would\nI like it?  So says I to Jim:\n\n\"The first light we see we'll land a hundred yards below it or above\nit, in a place where it's a good hiding-place for you and the skiff, and\nthen I'll go and fix up some kind of a yarn, and get somebody to go for\nthat gang and get them out of their scrape, so they can be hung when\ntheir time comes.\"\n\nBut that idea was a failure; for pretty soon it begun to storm again,\nand this time worse than ever.  The rain poured down, and never a light\nshowed; everybody in bed, I reckon.  We boomed along down the river,\nwatching for lights and watching for our raft.  After a long time the\nrain let up, but the clouds stayed, and the lightning kept whimpering,\nand by and by a flash showed us a black thing ahead, floating, and we\nmade for it.\n\nIt was the raft, and mighty glad was we to get aboard of it again.  We\nseen a light now away down to the right, on shore.  So I said I would\ngo for it. The skiff was half full of plunder which that gang had stole\nthere on the wreck.  We hustled it on to the raft in a pile, and I told\nJim to float along down, and show a light when he judged he had gone\nabout two mile, and keep it burning till I come; then I manned my oars\nand shoved for the light.  As I got down towards it three or four more\nshowed--up on a hillside.  It was a village.  I closed in above the shore\nlight, and laid on my oars and floated.  As I went by I see it was a\nlantern hanging on the jackstaff of a double-hull ferryboat.  I skimmed\naround for the watchman, a-wondering whereabouts he slept; and by and\nby I found him roosting on the bitts forward, with his head down between\nhis knees.  I gave his shoulder two or three little shoves, and begun to\ncry.\n\nHe stirred up in a kind of a startlish way; but when he see it was only\nme he took a good gap and stretch, and then he says:\n\n\"Hello, what's up?  Don't cry, bub.  What's the trouble?\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"Pap, and mam, and sis, and--\"\n\nThen I broke down.  He says:\n\n\"Oh, dang it now, _don't_ take on so; we all has to have our troubles,\nand this 'n 'll come out all right.  What's the matter with 'em?\"\n\n\"They're--they're--are you the watchman of the boat?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he says, kind of pretty-well-satisfied like.  \"I'm the captain\nand the owner and the mate and the pilot and watchman and head\ndeck-hand; and sometimes I'm the freight and passengers.  I ain't as\nrich as old Jim Hornback, and I can't be so blame' generous and good\nto Tom, Dick, and Harry as what he is, and slam around money the way he\ndoes; but I've told him a many a time 't I wouldn't trade places with\nhim; for, says I, a sailor's life's the life for me, and I'm derned if\n_I'd_ live two mile out o' town, where there ain't nothing ever goin'\non, not for all his spondulicks and as much more on top of it.  Says I--\"\n\nI broke in and says:\n\n\"They're in an awful peck of trouble, and--\"\n\n\"_Who_ is?\"\n\n\"Why, pap and mam and sis and Miss Hooker; and if you'd take your\nferryboat and go up there--\"\n\n\"Up where?  Where are they?\"\n\n\"On the wreck.\"\n\n\"What wreck?\"\n\n\"Why, there ain't but one.\"\n\n\"What, you don't mean the Walter Scott?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Good land! what are they doin' _there_, for gracious sakes?\"\n\n\"Well, they didn't go there a-purpose.\"\n\n\"I bet they didn't!  Why, great goodness, there ain't no chance for 'em\nif they don't git off mighty quick!  Why, how in the nation did they\never git into such a scrape?\"\n\n\"Easy enough.  Miss Hooker was a-visiting up there to the town--\"\n\n\"Yes, Booth's Landing--go on.\"\n\n\"She was a-visiting there at Booth's Landing, and just in the edge of\nthe evening she started over with her nigger woman in the horse-ferry\nto stay all night at her friend's house, Miss What-you-may-call-her I\ndisremember her name--and they lost their steering-oar, and swung\naround and went a-floating down, stern first, about two mile, and\nsaddle-baggsed on the wreck, and the ferryman and the nigger woman and\nthe horses was all lost, but Miss Hooker she made a grab and got aboard\nthe wreck.  Well, about an hour after dark we come along down in our\ntrading-scow, and it was so dark we didn't notice the wreck till we was\nright on it; and so _we_ saddle-baggsed; but all of us was saved but\nBill Whipple--and oh, he _was_ the best cretur!--I most wish 't it had\nbeen me, I do.\"\n\n\"My George!  It's the beatenest thing I ever struck.  And _then_ what\ndid you all do?\"\n\n\"Well, we hollered and took on, but it's so wide there we couldn't\nmake nobody hear.  So pap said somebody got to get ashore and get help\nsomehow. I was the only one that could swim, so I made a dash for it,\nand Miss Hooker she said if I didn't strike help sooner, come here and\nhunt up her uncle, and he'd fix the thing.  I made the land about a mile\nbelow, and been fooling along ever since, trying to get people to do\nsomething, but they said, 'What, in such a night and such a current?\nThere ain't no sense in it; go for the steam ferry.'  Now if you'll go\nand--\"\n\n\"By Jackson, I'd _like_ to, and, blame it, I don't know but I will; but\nwho in the dingnation's a-going' to _pay_ for it?  Do you reckon your\npap--\"\n\n\"Why _that's_ all right.  Miss Hooker she tole me, _particular_, that\nher uncle Hornback--\"\n\n\"Great guns! is _he_ her uncle?  Looky here, you break for that light\nover yonder-way, and turn out west when you git there, and about a\nquarter of a mile out you'll come to the tavern; tell 'em to dart you\nout to Jim Hornback's, and he'll foot the bill.  And don't you fool\naround any, because he'll want to know the news.  Tell him I'll have\nhis niece all safe before he can get to town.  Hump yourself, now; I'm\na-going up around the corner here to roust out my engineer.\"\n\nI struck for the light, but as soon as he turned the corner I went back\nand got into my skiff and bailed her out, and then pulled up shore in\nthe easy water about six hundred yards, and tucked myself in among\nsome woodboats; for I couldn't rest easy till I could see the ferryboat\nstart. But take it all around, I was feeling ruther comfortable on\naccounts of taking all this trouble for that gang, for not many would\na done it.  I wished the widow knowed about it.  I judged she would be\nproud of me for helping these rapscallions, because rapscallions and\ndead beats is the kind the widow and good people takes the most interest\nin.\n\nWell, before long here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, sliding along\ndown! A kind of cold shiver went through me, and then I struck out for\nher.  She was very deep, and I see in a minute there warn't much chance\nfor anybody being alive in her.  I pulled all around her and hollered\na little, but there wasn't any answer; all dead still.  I felt a little\nbit heavy-hearted about the gang, but not much, for I reckoned if they\ncould stand it I could.\n\nThen here comes the ferryboat; so I shoved for the middle of the river\non a long down-stream slant; and when I judged I was out of eye-reach\nI laid on my oars, and looked back and see her go and smell around the\nwreck for Miss Hooker's remainders, because the captain would know her\nuncle Hornback would want them; and then pretty soon the ferryboat give\nit up and went for the shore, and I laid into my work and went a-booming\ndown the river.\n\nIt did seem a powerful long time before Jim's light showed up; and when\nit did show it looked like it was a thousand mile off.  By the time I\ngot there the sky was beginning to get a little gray in the east; so we\nstruck for an island, and hid the raft, and sunk the skiff, and turned\nin and slept like dead people.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nBY and by, when we got up, we turned over the truck the gang had stole\noff of the wreck, and found boots, and blankets, and clothes, and all\nsorts of other things, and a lot of books, and a spyglass, and three\nboxes of seegars.  We hadn't ever been this rich before in neither of\nour lives.  The seegars was prime.  We laid off all the afternoon in the\nwoods talking, and me reading the books, and having a general good\ntime. I told Jim all about what happened inside the wreck and at the\nferryboat, and I said these kinds of things was adventures; but he said\nhe didn't want no more adventures.  He said that when I went in the\ntexas and he crawled back to get on the raft and found her gone he\nnearly died, because he judged it was all up with _him_ anyway it could\nbe fixed; for if he didn't get saved he would get drownded; and if he\ndid get saved, whoever saved him would send him back home so as to get\nthe reward, and then Miss Watson would sell him South, sure.  Well, he\nwas right; he was most always right; he had an uncommon level head for a\nnigger.\n\nI read considerable to Jim about kings and dukes and earls and such, and\nhow gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called each\nother your majesty, and your grace, and your lordship, and so on, 'stead\nof mister; and Jim's eyes bugged out, and he was interested.  He says:\n\n\"I didn' know dey was so many un um.  I hain't hearn 'bout none un um,\nskasely, but ole King Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat's in a\npack er k'yards.  How much do a king git?\"\n\n\"Get?\"  I says; \"why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they want\nit; they can have just as much as they want; everything belongs to\nthem.\"\n\n\"_Ain'_ dat gay?  En what dey got to do, Huck?\"\n\n\"_They_ don't do nothing!  Why, how you talk! They just set around.\"\n\n\"No; is dat so?\"\n\n\"Of course it is.  They just set around--except, maybe, when there's a\nwar; then they go to the war.  But other times they just lazy around; or\ngo hawking--just hawking and sp--Sh!--d' you hear a noise?\"\n\nWe skipped out and looked; but it warn't nothing but the flutter of a\nsteamboat's wheel away down, coming around the point; so we come back.\n\n\"Yes,\" says I, \"and other times, when things is dull, they fuss with the\nparlyment; and if everybody don't go just so he whacks their heads off.\nBut mostly they hang round the harem.\"\n\n\"Roun' de which?\"\n\n\"Harem.\"\n\n\"What's de harem?\"\n\n\"The place where he keeps his wives.  Don't you know about the harem?\nSolomon had one; he had about a million wives.\"\n\n\"Why, yes, dat's so; I--I'd done forgot it.  A harem's a bo'd'n-house, I\nreck'n.  Mos' likely dey has rackety times in de nussery.  En I reck'n\nde wives quarrels considable; en dat 'crease de racket.  Yit dey say\nSollermun de wises' man dat ever live'.  I doan' take no stock in\ndat. Bekase why: would a wise man want to live in de mids' er sich a\nblim-blammin' all de time?  No--'deed he wouldn't.  A wise man 'ud take\nen buil' a biler-factry; en den he could shet _down_ de biler-factry\nwhen he want to res'.\"\n\n\"Well, but he _was_ the wisest man, anyway; because the widow she told\nme so, her own self.\"\n\n\"I doan k'yer what de widder say, he _warn't_ no wise man nuther.  He\nhad some er de dad-fetchedes' ways I ever see.  Does you know 'bout dat\nchile dat he 'uz gwyne to chop in two?\"\n\n\"Yes, the widow told me all about it.\"\n\n\"_Well_, den!  Warn' dat de beatenes' notion in de worl'?  You jes'\ntake en look at it a minute.  Dah's de stump, dah--dat's one er de women;\nheah's you--dat's de yuther one; I's Sollermun; en dish yer dollar bill's\nde chile.  Bofe un you claims it.  What does I do?  Does I shin aroun'\nmongs' de neighbors en fine out which un you de bill _do_ b'long to, en\nhan' it over to de right one, all safe en soun', de way dat anybody dat\nhad any gumption would?  No; I take en whack de bill in _two_, en give\nhalf un it to you, en de yuther half to de yuther woman.  Dat's de way\nSollermun was gwyne to do wid de chile.  Now I want to ast you:  what's\nde use er dat half a bill?--can't buy noth'n wid it.  En what use is a\nhalf a chile?  I wouldn' give a dern for a million un um.\"\n\n\"But hang it, Jim, you've clean missed the point--blame it, you've missed\nit a thousand mile.\"\n\n\"Who?  Me?  Go 'long.  Doan' talk to me 'bout yo' pints.  I reck'n I\nknows sense when I sees it; en dey ain' no sense in sich doin's as\ndat. De 'spute warn't 'bout a half a chile, de 'spute was 'bout a whole\nchile; en de man dat think he kin settle a 'spute 'bout a whole chile\nwid a half a chile doan' know enough to come in out'n de rain.  Doan'\ntalk to me 'bout Sollermun, Huck, I knows him by de back.\"\n\n\"But I tell you you don't get the point.\"\n\n\"Blame de point!  I reck'n I knows what I knows.  En mine you, de _real_\npint is down furder--it's down deeper.  It lays in de way Sollermun was\nraised.  You take a man dat's got on'y one or two chillen; is dat man\ngwyne to be waseful o' chillen?  No, he ain't; he can't 'ford it.  _He_\nknow how to value 'em.  But you take a man dat's got 'bout five million\nchillen runnin' roun' de house, en it's diffunt.  _He_ as soon chop a\nchile in two as a cat. Dey's plenty mo'.  A chile er two, mo' er less,\nwarn't no consekens to Sollermun, dad fatch him!\"\n\nI never see such a nigger.  If he got a notion in his head once, there\nwarn't no getting it out again.  He was the most down on Solomon of\nany nigger I ever see.  So I went to talking about other kings, and let\nSolomon slide.  I told about Louis Sixteenth that got his head cut off\nin France long time ago; and about his little boy the dolphin, that\nwould a been a king, but they took and shut him up in jail, and some say\nhe died there.\n\n\"Po' little chap.\"\n\n\"But some says he got out and got away, and come to America.\"\n\n\"Dat's good!  But he'll be pooty lonesome--dey ain' no kings here, is\ndey, Huck?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Den he cain't git no situation.  What he gwyne to do?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know.  Some of them gets on the police, and some of them\nlearns people how to talk French.\"\n\n\"Why, Huck, doan' de French people talk de same way we does?\"\n\n\"_No_, Jim; you couldn't understand a word they said--not a single word.\"\n\n\"Well, now, I be ding-busted!  How do dat come?\"\n\n\"I don't know; but it's so.  I got some of their jabber out of a book.\nS'pose a man was to come to you and say Polly-voo-franzy--what would you\nthink?\"\n\n\"I wouldn' think nuff'n; I'd take en bust him over de head--dat is, if he\nwarn't white.  I wouldn't 'low no nigger to call me dat.\"\n\n\"Shucks, it ain't calling you anything.  It's only saying, do you know\nhow to talk French?\"\n\n\"Well, den, why couldn't he _say_ it?\"\n\n\"Why, he _is_ a-saying it.  That's a Frenchman's _way_ of saying it.\"\n\n\"Well, it's a blame ridicklous way, en I doan' want to hear no mo' 'bout\nit.  Dey ain' no sense in it.\"\n\n\"Looky here, Jim; does a cat talk like we do?\"\n\n\"No, a cat don't.\"\n\n\"Well, does a cow?\"\n\n\"No, a cow don't, nuther.\"\n\n\"Does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like a cat?\"\n\n\"No, dey don't.\"\n\n\"It's natural and right for 'em to talk different from each other, ain't\nit?\"\n\n\"Course.\"\n\n\"And ain't it natural and right for a cat and a cow to talk different\nfrom _us_?\"\n\n\"Why, mos' sholy it is.\"\n\n\"Well, then, why ain't it natural and right for a _Frenchman_ to talk\ndifferent from us?  You answer me that.\"\n\n\"Is a cat a man, Huck?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, den, dey ain't no sense in a cat talkin' like a man.  Is a cow a\nman?--er is a cow a cat?\"\n\n\"No, she ain't either of them.\"\n\n\"Well, den, she ain't got no business to talk like either one er the\nyuther of 'em.  Is a Frenchman a man?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"_Well_, den!  Dad blame it, why doan' he _talk_ like a man?  You answer\nme _dat_!\"\n\nI see it warn't no use wasting words--you can't learn a nigger to argue.\nSo I quit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nWE judged that three nights more would fetch us to Cairo, at the bottom\nof Illinois, where the Ohio River comes in, and that was what we was\nafter.  We would sell the raft and get on a steamboat and go way up the\nOhio amongst the free States, and then be out of trouble.\n\nWell, the second night a fog begun to come on, and we made for a towhead\nto tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when I paddled\nahead in the canoe, with the line to make fast, there warn't anything\nbut little saplings to tie to.  I passed the line around one of them\nright on the edge of the cut bank, but there was a stiff current, and\nthe raft come booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and\naway she went.  I see the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and\nscared I couldn't budge for most a half a minute it seemed to me--and\nthen there warn't no raft in sight; you couldn't see twenty yards.  I\njumped into the canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle\nand set her back a stroke.  But she didn't come.  I was in such a hurry\nI hadn't untied her.  I got up and tried to untie her, but I was so\nexcited my hands shook so I couldn't hardly do anything with them.\n\nAs soon as I got started I took out after the raft, hot and heavy, right\ndown the towhead.  That was all right as far as it went, but the towhead\nwarn't sixty yards long, and the minute I flew by the foot of it I shot\nout into the solid white fog, and hadn't no more idea which way I was\ngoing than a dead man.\n\nThinks I, it won't do to paddle; first I know I'll run into the bank\nor a towhead or something; I got to set still and float, and yet it's\nmighty fidgety business to have to hold your hands still at such a time.\n I whooped and listened.  Away down there somewheres I hears a small\nwhoop, and up comes my spirits.  I went tearing after it, listening\nsharp to hear it again.  The next time it come I see I warn't heading\nfor it, but heading away to the right of it.  And the next time I was\nheading away to the left of it--and not gaining on it much either, for\nI was flying around, this way and that and t'other, but it was going\nstraight ahead all the time.\n\nI did wish the fool would think to beat a tin pan, and beat it all the\ntime, but he never did, and it was the still places between the whoops\nthat was making the trouble for me.  Well, I fought along, and directly\nI hears the whoop _behind_ me.  I was tangled good now.  That was\nsomebody else's whoop, or else I was turned around.\n\nI throwed the paddle down.  I heard the whoop again; it was behind me\nyet, but in a different place; it kept coming, and kept changing its\nplace, and I kept answering, till by and by it was in front of me again,\nand I knowed the current had swung the canoe's head down-stream, and I\nwas all right if that was Jim and not some other raftsman hollering.\n I couldn't tell nothing about voices in a fog, for nothing don't look\nnatural nor sound natural in a fog.\n\nThe whooping went on, and in about a minute I come a-booming down on a\ncut bank with smoky ghosts of big trees on it, and the current throwed\nme off to the left and shot by, amongst a lot of snags that fairly\nroared, the currrent was tearing by them so swift.\n\nIn another second or two it was solid white and still again.  I set\nperfectly still then, listening to my heart thump, and I reckon I didn't\ndraw a breath while it thumped a hundred.\n\nI just give up then.  I knowed what the matter was.  That cut bank\nwas an island, and Jim had gone down t'other side of it.  It warn't no\ntowhead that you could float by in ten minutes.  It had the big timber\nof a regular island; it might be five or six miles long and more than\nhalf a mile wide.\n\nI kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, I reckon.  I\nwas floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don't\never think of that.  No, you _feel_ like you are laying dead still on\nthe water; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don't think to\nyourself how fast _you're_ going, but you catch your breath and think,\nmy! how that snag's tearing along.  If you think it ain't dismal and\nlonesome out in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it\nonce--you'll see.\n\nNext, for about a half an hour, I whoops now and then; at last I hears\nthe answer a long ways off, and tries to follow it, but I couldn't do\nit, and directly I judged I'd got into a nest of towheads, for I had\nlittle dim glimpses of them on both sides of me--sometimes just a narrow\nchannel between, and some that I couldn't see I knowed was there because\nI'd hear the wash of the current against the old dead brush and trash\nthat hung over the banks.  Well, I warn't long loosing the whoops down\namongst the towheads; and I only tried to chase them a little while,\nanyway, because it was worse than chasing a Jack-o'-lantern.  You never\nknowed a sound dodge around so, and swap places so quick and so much.\n\nI had to claw away from the bank pretty lively four or five times, to\nkeep from knocking the islands out of the river; and so I judged the\nraft must be butting into the bank every now and then, or else it would\nget further ahead and clear out of hearing--it was floating a little\nfaster than what I was.\n\nWell, I seemed to be in the open river again by and by, but I couldn't\nhear no sign of a whoop nowheres.  I reckoned Jim had fetched up on a\nsnag, maybe, and it was all up with him.  I was good and tired, so I\nlaid down in the canoe and said I wouldn't bother no more.  I didn't\nwant to go to sleep, of course; but I was so sleepy I couldn't help it;\nso I thought I would take jest one little cat-nap.\n\nBut I reckon it was more than a cat-nap, for when I waked up the stars\nwas shining bright, the fog was all gone, and I was spinning down a\nbig bend stern first.  First I didn't know where I was; I thought I was\ndreaming; and when things began to come back to me they seemed to come\nup dim out of last week.\n\nIt was a monstrous big river here, with the tallest and the thickest\nkind of timber on both banks; just a solid wall, as well as I could see\nby the stars.  I looked away down-stream, and seen a black speck on the\nwater. I took after it; but when I got to it it warn't nothing but a\ncouple of sawlogs made fast together.  Then I see another speck, and\nchased that; then another, and this time I was right.  It was the raft.\n\nWhen I got to it Jim was setting there with his head down between his\nknees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar.  The\nother oar was smashed off, and the raft was littered up with leaves and\nbranches and dirt.  So she'd had a rough time.\n\nI made fast and laid down under Jim's nose on the raft, and began to\ngap, and stretch my fists out against Jim, and says:\n\n\"Hello, Jim, have I been asleep?  Why didn't you stir me up?\"\n\n\"Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck?  En you ain' dead--you ain'\ndrownded--you's back agin?  It's too good for true, honey, it's too good\nfor true. Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o' you.  No, you ain'\ndead! you's back agin, 'live en soun', jis de same ole Huck--de same ole\nHuck, thanks to goodness!\"\n\n\"What's the matter with you, Jim?  You been a-drinking?\"\n\n\"Drinkin'?  Has I ben a-drinkin'?  Has I had a chance to be a-drinkin'?\"\n\n\"Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?\"\n\n\"How does I talk wild?\"\n\n\"_How_?  Why, hain't you been talking about my coming back, and all that\nstuff, as if I'd been gone away?\"\n\n\"Huck--Huck Finn, you look me in de eye; look me in de eye.  _Hain't_ you\nben gone away?\"\n\n\"Gone away?  Why, what in the nation do you mean?  I hain't been gone\nanywheres.  Where would I go to?\"\n\n\"Well, looky here, boss, dey's sumf'n wrong, dey is.  Is I _me_, or who\n_is_ I? Is I heah, or whah _is_ I?  Now dat's what I wants to know.\"\n\n\"Well, I think you're here, plain enough, but I think you're a\ntangle-headed old fool, Jim.\"\n\n\"I is, is I?  Well, you answer me dis:  Didn't you tote out de line in\nde canoe fer to make fas' to de tow-head?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't.  What tow-head?  I hain't see no tow-head.\"\n\n\"You hain't seen no towhead?  Looky here, didn't de line pull loose en\nde raf' go a-hummin' down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in\nde fog?\"\n\n\"What fog?\"\n\n\"Why, de fog!--de fog dat's been aroun' all night.  En didn't you whoop,\nen didn't I whoop, tell we got mix' up in de islands en one un us got\nlos' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah\nhe wuz? En didn't I bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a turrible\ntime en mos' git drownded?  Now ain' dat so, boss--ain't it so?  You\nanswer me dat.\"\n\n\"Well, this is too many for me, Jim.  I hain't seen no fog, nor no\nislands, nor no troubles, nor nothing.  I been setting here talking with\nyou all night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago, and I reckon\nI done the same.  You couldn't a got drunk in that time, so of course\nyou've been dreaming.\"\n\n\"Dad fetch it, how is I gwyne to dream all dat in ten minutes?\"\n\n\"Well, hang it all, you did dream it, because there didn't any of it\nhappen.\"\n\n\"But, Huck, it's all jis' as plain to me as--\"\n\n\"It don't make no difference how plain it is; there ain't nothing in it.\nI know, because I've been here all the time.\"\n\nJim didn't say nothing for about five minutes, but set there studying\nover it.  Then he says:\n\n\"Well, den, I reck'n I did dream it, Huck; but dog my cats ef it ain't\nde powerfullest dream I ever see.  En I hain't ever had no dream b'fo'\ndat's tired me like dis one.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, that's all right, because a dream does tire a body like\neverything sometimes.  But this one was a staving dream; tell me all\nabout it, Jim.\"\n\nSo Jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as\nit happened, only he painted it up considerable.  Then he said he must\nstart in and \"'terpret\" it, because it was sent for a warning.  He said\nthe first towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but\nthe current was another man that would get us away from him.  The whoops\nwas warnings that would come to us every now and then, and if we didn't\ntry hard to make out to understand them they'd just take us into bad\nluck, 'stead of keeping us out of it.  The lot of towheads was troubles\nwe was going to get into with quarrelsome people and all kinds of mean\nfolks, but if we minded our business and didn't talk back and aggravate\nthem, we would pull through and get out of the fog and into the big\nclear river, which was the free States, and wouldn't have no more\ntrouble.\n\nIt had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on to the raft, but it\nwas clearing up again now.\n\n\"Oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim,\" I\nsays; \"but what does _these_ things stand for?\"\n\nIt was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar.  You\ncould see them first-rate now.\n\nJim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash\nagain.  He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he\ncouldn't seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place\nagain right away.  But when he did get the thing straightened around he\nlooked at me steady without ever smiling, and says:\n\n\"What do dey stan' for?  I'se gwyne to tell you.  When I got all wore\nout wid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz\nmos' broke bekase you wuz los', en I didn' k'yer no' mo' what become\ner me en de raf'.  En when I wake up en fine you back agin, all safe\nen soun', de tears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo'\nfoot, I's so thankful. En all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could\nmake a fool uv ole Jim wid a lie.  Dat truck dah is _trash_; en trash\nis what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em\nashamed.\"\n\nThen he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in there without\nsaying anything but that.  But that was enough.  It made me feel so mean\nI could almost kissed _his_ foot to get him to take it back.\n\nIt was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go and humble\nmyself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn't ever sorry for it\nafterwards, neither.  I didn't do him no more mean tricks, and I\nwouldn't done that one if I'd a knowed it would make him feel that way.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nWE slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a\nmonstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession.  She had\nfour long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty\nmen, likely.  She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open\ncamp fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end.  There was a\npower of style about her.  It _amounted_ to something being a raftsman\non such a craft as that.\n\nWe went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got\nhot.  The river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on\nboth sides; you couldn't see a break in it hardly ever, or a light.  We\ntalked about Cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to\nit.  I said likely we wouldn't, because I had heard say there warn't but\nabout a dozen houses there, and if they didn't happen to have them lit\nup, how was we going to know we was passing a town?  Jim said if the two\nbig rivers joined together there, that would show.  But I said maybe\nwe might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the\nsame old river again. That disturbed Jim--and me too.  So the question\nwas, what to do?  I said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed,\nand tell them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and\nwas a green hand at the business, and wanted to know how far it was to\nCairo.  Jim thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and\nwaited.\n\nThere warn't nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town, and\nnot pass it without seeing it.  He said he'd be mighty sure to see it,\nbecause he'd be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it\nhe'd be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom.  Every\nlittle while he jumps up and says:\n\n\"Dah she is?\"\n\nBut it warn't.  It was Jack-o'-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set\ndown again, and went to watching, same as before.  Jim said it made him\nall over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom.  Well, I can\ntell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him,\nbecause I begun to get it through my head that he _was_ most free--and\nwho was to blame for it?  Why, _me_.  I couldn't get that out of my\nconscience, no how nor no way. It got to troubling me so I couldn't\nrest; I couldn't stay still in one place.  It hadn't ever come home to\nme before, what this thing was that I was doing.  But now it did; and it\nstayed with me, and scorched me more and more.  I tried to make out to\nmyself that I warn't to blame, because I didn't run Jim off from his\nrightful owner; but it warn't no use, conscience up and says, every\ntime, \"But you knowed he was running for his freedom, and you could a\npaddled ashore and told somebody.\"  That was so--I couldn't get around\nthat noway.  That was where it pinched.  Conscience says to me, \"What\nhad poor Miss Watson done to you that you could see her nigger go off\nright under your eyes and never say one single word?  What did that poor\nold woman do to you that you could treat her so mean?  Why, she tried to\nlearn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to\nbe good to you every way she knowed how.  _That's_ what she done.\"\n\nI got to feeling so mean and so miserable I most wished I was dead.  I\nfidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and Jim was\nfidgeting up and down past me.  We neither of us could keep still.\n Every time he danced around and says, \"Dah's Cairo!\" it went through me\nlike a shot, and I thought if it _was_ Cairo I reckoned I would die of\nmiserableness.\n\nJim talked out loud all the time while I was talking to myself.  He was\nsaying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free State he\nwould go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he\ngot enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to\nwhere Miss Watson lived; and then they would both work to buy the\ntwo children, and if their master wouldn't sell them, they'd get an\nAb'litionist to go and steal them.\n\nIt most froze me to hear such talk.  He wouldn't ever dared to talk such\ntalk in his life before.  Just see what a difference it made in him the\nminute he judged he was about free.  It was according to the old saying,\n\"Give a nigger an inch and he'll take an ell.\"  Thinks I, this is what\ncomes of my not thinking.  Here was this nigger, which I had as good\nas helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would\nsteal his children--children that belonged to a man I didn't even know; a\nman that hadn't ever done me no harm.\n\nI was sorry to hear Jim say that, it was such a lowering of him.  My\nconscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I says\nto it, \"Let up on me--it ain't too late yet--I'll paddle ashore at the\nfirst light and tell.\"  I felt easy and happy and light as a feather\nright off.  All my troubles was gone.  I went to looking out sharp for a\nlight, and sort of singing to myself.  By and by one showed.  Jim sings\nout:\n\n\"We's safe, Huck, we's safe!  Jump up and crack yo' heels!  Dat's de\ngood ole Cairo at las', I jis knows it!\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"I'll take the canoe and go and see, Jim.  It mightn't be, you know.\"\n\nHe jumped and got the canoe ready, and put his old coat in the bottom\nfor me to set on, and give me the paddle; and as I shoved off, he says:\n\n\"Pooty soon I'll be a-shout'n' for joy, en I'll say, it's all on\naccounts o' Huck; I's a free man, en I couldn't ever ben free ef it\nhadn' ben for Huck; Huck done it.  Jim won't ever forgit you, Huck;\nyou's de bes' fren' Jim's ever had; en you's de _only_ fren' ole Jim's\ngot now.\"\n\nI was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says\nthis, it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me.  I went along\nslow then, and I warn't right down certain whether I was glad I started\nor whether I warn't.  When I was fifty yards off, Jim says:\n\n\"Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on'y white genlman dat ever kep' his\npromise to ole Jim.\"\n\nWell, I just felt sick.  But I says, I _got_ to do it--I can't get _out_\nof it.  Right then along comes a skiff with two men in it with guns, and\nthey stopped and I stopped.  One of them says:\n\n\"What's that yonder?\"\n\n\"A piece of a raft,\" I says.\n\n\"Do you belong on it?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Any men on it?\"\n\n\"Only one, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, there's five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head\nof the bend.  Is your man white or black?\"\n\nI didn't answer up prompt.  I tried to, but the words wouldn't come. I\ntried for a second or two to brace up and out with it, but I warn't man\nenough--hadn't the spunk of a rabbit.  I see I was weakening; so I just\ngive up trying, and up and says:\n\n\"He's white.\"\n\n\"I reckon we'll go and see for ourselves.\"\n\n\"I wish you would,\" says I, \"because it's pap that's there, and maybe\nyou'd help me tow the raft ashore where the light is.  He's sick--and so\nis mam and Mary Ann.\"\n\n\"Oh, the devil! we're in a hurry, boy.  But I s'pose we've got to.\n Come, buckle to your paddle, and let's get along.\"\n\nI buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars.  When we had made a\nstroke or two, I says:\n\n\"Pap'll be mighty much obleeged to you, I can tell you.  Everybody goes\naway when I want them to help me tow the raft ashore, and I can't do it\nby myself.\"\n\n\"Well, that's infernal mean.  Odd, too.  Say, boy, what's the matter\nwith your father?\"\n\n\"It's the--a--the--well, it ain't anything much.\"\n\nThey stopped pulling.  It warn't but a mighty little ways to the raft\nnow. One says:\n\n\"Boy, that's a lie.  What _is_ the matter with your pap?  Answer up\nsquare now, and it'll be the better for you.\"\n\n\"I will, sir, I will, honest--but don't leave us, please.  It's\nthe--the--Gentlemen, if you'll only pull ahead, and let me heave you the\nheadline, you won't have to come a-near the raft--please do.\"\n\n\"Set her back, John, set her back!\" says one.  They backed water.  \"Keep\naway, boy--keep to looard.  Confound it, I just expect the wind has\nblowed it to us.  Your pap's got the small-pox, and you know it precious\nwell.  Why didn't you come out and say so?  Do you want to spread it all\nover?\"\n\n\"Well,\" says I, a-blubbering, \"I've told everybody before, and they just\nwent away and left us.\"\n\n\"Poor devil, there's something in that.  We are right down sorry for\nyou, but we--well, hang it, we don't want the small-pox, you see.  Look\nhere, I'll tell you what to do.  Don't you try to land by yourself, or\nyou'll smash everything to pieces.  You float along down about twenty\nmiles, and you'll come to a town on the left-hand side of the river.  It\nwill be long after sun-up then, and when you ask for help you tell them\nyour folks are all down with chills and fever.  Don't be a fool again,\nand let people guess what is the matter.  Now we're trying to do you a\nkindness; so you just put twenty miles between us, that's a good boy.\n It wouldn't do any good to land yonder where the light is--it's only a\nwood-yard. Say, I reckon your father's poor, and I'm bound to say he's\nin pretty hard luck.  Here, I'll put a twenty-dollar gold piece on this\nboard, and you get it when it floats by.  I feel mighty mean to leave\nyou; but my kingdom! it won't do to fool with small-pox, don't you see?\"\n\n\"Hold on, Parker,\" says the other man, \"here's a twenty to put on the\nboard for me.  Good-bye, boy; you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you'll\nbe all right.\"\n\n\"That's so, my boy--good-bye, good-bye.  If you see any runaway niggers\nyou get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, sir,\" says I; \"I won't let no runaway niggers get by me if I\ncan help it.\"\n\nThey went off and I got aboard the raft, feeling bad and low, because I\nknowed very well I had done wrong, and I see it warn't no use for me\nto try to learn to do right; a body that don't get _started_ right when\nhe's little ain't got no show--when the pinch comes there ain't nothing\nto back him up and keep him to his work, and so he gets beat.  Then I\nthought a minute, and says to myself, hold on; s'pose you'd a done right\nand give Jim up, would you felt better than what you do now?  No, says\nI, I'd feel bad--I'd feel just the same way I do now.  Well, then, says\nI, what's the use you learning to do right when it's troublesome to do\nright and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same?\n I was stuck.  I couldn't answer that.  So I reckoned I wouldn't bother\nno more about it, but after this always do whichever come handiest at\nthe time.\n\nI went into the wigwam; Jim warn't there.  I looked all around; he\nwarn't anywhere.  I says:\n\n\"Jim!\"\n\n\"Here I is, Huck.  Is dey out o' sight yit?  Don't talk loud.\"\n\nHe was in the river under the stern oar, with just his nose out.  I told\nhim they were out of sight, so he come aboard.  He says:\n\n\"I was a-listenin' to all de talk, en I slips into de river en was gwyne\nto shove for sho' if dey come aboard.  Den I was gwyne to swim to de\nraf' agin when dey was gone.  But lawsy, how you did fool 'em, Huck!\n Dat _wuz_ de smartes' dodge!  I tell you, chile, I'spec it save' ole\nJim--ole Jim ain't going to forgit you for dat, honey.\"\n\nThen we talked about the money.  It was a pretty good raise--twenty\ndollars apiece.  Jim said we could take deck passage on a steamboat\nnow, and the money would last us as far as we wanted to go in the free\nStates. He said twenty mile more warn't far for the raft to go, but he\nwished we was already there.\n\nTowards daybreak we tied up, and Jim was mighty particular about hiding\nthe raft good.  Then he worked all day fixing things in bundles, and\ngetting all ready to quit rafting.\n\nThat night about ten we hove in sight of the lights of a town away down\nin a left-hand bend.\n\nI went off in the canoe to ask about it.  Pretty soon I found a man out\nin the river with a skiff, setting a trot-line.  I ranged up and says:\n\n\"Mister, is that town Cairo?\"\n\n\"Cairo? no.  You must be a blame' fool.\"\n\n\"What town is it, mister?\"\n\n\"If you want to know, go and find out.  If you stay here botherin'\naround me for about a half a minute longer you'll get something you\nwon't want.\"\n\nI paddled to the raft.  Jim was awful disappointed, but I said never\nmind, Cairo would be the next place, I reckoned.\n\nWe passed another town before daylight, and I was going out again; but\nit was high ground, so I didn't go.  No high ground about Cairo, Jim\nsaid. I had forgot it.  We laid up for the day on a towhead tolerable\nclose to the left-hand bank.  I begun to suspicion something.  So did\nJim.  I says:\n\n\"Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that night.\"\n\nHe says:\n\n\"Doan' le's talk about it, Huck.  Po' niggers can't have no luck.  I\nawluz 'spected dat rattlesnake-skin warn't done wid its work.\"\n\n\"I wish I'd never seen that snake-skin, Jim--I do wish I'd never laid\neyes on it.\"\n\n\"It ain't yo' fault, Huck; you didn' know.  Don't you blame yo'self\n'bout it.\"\n\nWhen it was daylight, here was the clear Ohio water inshore, sure\nenough, and outside was the old regular Muddy!  So it was all up with\nCairo.\n\nWe talked it all over.  It wouldn't do to take to the shore; we couldn't\ntake the raft up the stream, of course.  There warn't no way but to wait\nfor dark, and start back in the canoe and take the chances.  So we slept\nall day amongst the cottonwood thicket, so as to be fresh for the work,\nand when we went back to the raft about dark the canoe was gone!\n\nWe didn't say a word for a good while.  There warn't anything to\nsay.  We both knowed well enough it was some more work of the\nrattlesnake-skin; so what was the use to talk about it?  It would only\nlook like we was finding fault, and that would be bound to fetch more\nbad luck--and keep on fetching it, too, till we knowed enough to keep\nstill.\n\nBy and by we talked about what we better do, and found there warn't no\nway but just to go along down with the raft till we got a chance to buy\na canoe to go back in.  We warn't going to borrow it when there warn't\nanybody around, the way pap would do, for that might set people after\nus.\n\nSo we shoved out after dark on the raft.\n\nAnybody that don't believe yet that it's foolishness to handle a\nsnake-skin, after all that that snake-skin done for us, will believe it\nnow if they read on and see what more it done for us.\n\nThe place to buy canoes is off of rafts laying up at shore.  But we\ndidn't see no rafts laying up; so we went along during three hours and\nmore.  Well, the night got gray and ruther thick, which is the next\nmeanest thing to fog.  You can't tell the shape of the river, and you\ncan't see no distance. It got to be very late and still, and then along\ncomes a steamboat up the river.  We lit the lantern, and judged she\nwould see it.  Up-stream boats didn't generly come close to us; they\ngo out and follow the bars and hunt for easy water under the reefs; but\nnights like this they bull right up the channel against the whole river.\n\nWe could hear her pounding along, but we didn't see her good till she\nwas close.  She aimed right for us.  Often they do that and try to see\nhow close they can come without touching; sometimes the wheel bites off\na sweep, and then the pilot sticks his head out and laughs, and thinks\nhe's mighty smart.  Well, here she comes, and we said she was going to\ntry and shave us; but she didn't seem to be sheering off a bit.  She\nwas a big one, and she was coming in a hurry, too, looking like a black\ncloud with rows of glow-worms around it; but all of a sudden she bulged\nout, big and scary, with a long row of wide-open furnace doors shining\nlike red-hot teeth, and her monstrous bows and guards hanging right\nover us.  There was a yell at us, and a jingling of bells to stop the\nengines, a powwow of cussing, and whistling of steam--and as Jim went\noverboard on one side and I on the other, she come smashing straight\nthrough the raft.\n\nI dived--and I aimed to find the bottom, too, for a thirty-foot wheel\nhad got to go over me, and I wanted it to have plenty of room.  I could\nalways stay under water a minute; this time I reckon I stayed under a\nminute and a half.  Then I bounced for the top in a hurry, for I was\nnearly busting.  I popped out to my armpits and blowed the water out of\nmy nose, and puffed a bit.  Of course there was a booming current; and\nof course that boat started her engines again ten seconds after she\nstopped them, for they never cared much for raftsmen; so now she was\nchurning along up the river, out of sight in the thick weather, though I\ncould hear her.\n\nI sung out for Jim about a dozen times, but I didn't get any answer;\nso I grabbed a plank that touched me while I was \"treading water,\" and\nstruck out for shore, shoving it ahead of me.  But I made out to see\nthat the drift of the current was towards the left-hand shore, which\nmeant that I was in a crossing; so I changed off and went that way.\n\nIt was one of these long, slanting, two-mile crossings; so I was a good\nlong time in getting over.  I made a safe landing, and clumb up the\nbank. I couldn't see but a little ways, but I went poking along over\nrough ground for a quarter of a mile or more, and then I run across a\nbig old-fashioned double log-house before I noticed it.  I was going to\nrush by and get away, but a lot of dogs jumped out and went to howling\nand barking at me, and I knowed better than to move another peg.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nIN about a minute somebody spoke out of a window without putting his\nhead out, and says:\n\n\"Be done, boys!  Who's there?\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"It's me.\"\n\n\"Who's me?\"\n\n\"George Jackson, sir.\"\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"I don't want nothing, sir.  I only want to go along by, but the dogs\nwon't let me.\"\n\n\"What are you prowling around here this time of night for--hey?\"\n\n\"I warn't prowling around, sir, I fell overboard off of the steamboat.\"\n\n\"Oh, you did, did you?  Strike a light there, somebody.  What did you\nsay your name was?\"\n\n\"George Jackson, sir.  I'm only a boy.\"\n\n\"Look here, if you're telling the truth you needn't be afraid--nobody'll\nhurt you.  But don't try to budge; stand right where you are.  Rouse out\nBob and Tom, some of you, and fetch the guns.  George Jackson, is there\nanybody with you?\"\n\n\"No, sir, nobody.\"\n\nI heard the people stirring around in the house now, and see a light.\nThe man sung out:\n\n\"Snatch that light away, Betsy, you old fool--ain't you got any sense?\nPut it on the floor behind the front door.  Bob, if you and Tom are\nready, take your places.\"\n\n\"All ready.\"\n\n\"Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?\"\n\n\"No, sir; I never heard of them.\"\n\n\"Well, that may be so, and it mayn't.  Now, all ready.  Step forward,\nGeorge Jackson.  And mind, don't you hurry--come mighty slow.  If there's\nanybody with you, let him keep back--if he shows himself he'll be shot.\nCome along now.  Come slow; push the door open yourself--just enough to\nsqueeze in, d' you hear?\"\n\nI didn't hurry; I couldn't if I'd a wanted to.  I took one slow step at\na time and there warn't a sound, only I thought I could hear my heart.\n The dogs were as still as the humans, but they followed a little behind\nme. When I got to the three log doorsteps I heard them unlocking and\nunbarring and unbolting.  I put my hand on the door and pushed it a\nlittle and a little more till somebody said, \"There, that's enough--put\nyour head in.\" I done it, but I judged they would take it off.\n\nThe candle was on the floor, and there they all was, looking at me, and\nme at them, for about a quarter of a minute:  Three big men with guns\npointed at me, which made me wince, I tell you; the oldest, gray\nand about sixty, the other two thirty or more--all of them fine and\nhandsome--and the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her two\nyoung women which I couldn't see right well.  The old gentleman says:\n\n\"There; I reckon it's all right.  Come in.\"\n\nAs soon as I was in the old gentleman he locked the door and barred it\nand bolted it, and told the young men to come in with their guns, and\nthey all went in a big parlor that had a new rag carpet on the floor,\nand got together in a corner that was out of the range of the front\nwindows--there warn't none on the side.  They held the candle, and took a\ngood look at me, and all said, \"Why, _he_ ain't a Shepherdson--no, there\nain't any Shepherdson about him.\"  Then the old man said he hoped I\nwouldn't mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by\nit--it was only to make sure.  So he didn't pry into my pockets, but only\nfelt outside with his hands, and said it was all right.  He told me to\nmake myself easy and at home, and tell all about myself; but the old\nlady says:\n\n\"Why, bless you, Saul, the poor thing's as wet as he can be; and don't\nyou reckon it may be he's hungry?\"\n\n\"True for you, Rachel--I forgot.\"\n\nSo the old lady says:\n\n\"Betsy\" (this was a nigger woman), \"you fly around and get him something\nto eat as quick as you can, poor thing; and one of you girls go and wake\nup Buck and tell him--oh, here he is himself.  Buck, take this little\nstranger and get the wet clothes off from him and dress him up in some\nof yours that's dry.\"\n\nBuck looked about as old as me--thirteen or fourteen or along there,\nthough he was a little bigger than me.  He hadn't on anything but a\nshirt, and he was very frowzy-headed.  He came in gaping and digging one\nfist into his eyes, and he was dragging a gun along with the other one.\nHe says:\n\n\"Ain't they no Shepherdsons around?\"\n\nThey said, no, 'twas a false alarm.\n\n\"Well,\" he says, \"if they'd a ben some, I reckon I'd a got one.\"\n\nThey all laughed, and Bob says:\n\n\"Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, you've been so slow in\ncoming.\"\n\n\"Well, nobody come after me, and it ain't right I'm always kept down; I\ndon't get no show.\"\n\n\"Never mind, Buck, my boy,\" says the old man, \"you'll have show enough,\nall in good time, don't you fret about that.  Go 'long with you now, and\ndo as your mother told you.\"\n\nWhen we got up-stairs to his room he got me a coarse shirt and a\nroundabout and pants of his, and I put them on.  While I was at it he\nasked me what my name was, but before I could tell him he started to\ntell me about a bluejay and a young rabbit he had catched in the woods\nday before yesterday, and he asked me where Moses was when the candle\nwent out.  I said I didn't know; I hadn't heard about it before, no way.\n\n\"Well, guess,\" he says.\n\n\"How'm I going to guess,\" says I, \"when I never heard tell of it\nbefore?\"\n\n\"But you can guess, can't you?  It's just as easy.\"\n\n\"_Which_ candle?\"  I says.\n\n\"Why, any candle,\" he says.\n\n\"I don't know where he was,\" says I; \"where was he?\"\n\n\"Why, he was in the _dark_!  That's where he was!\"\n\n\"Well, if you knowed where he was, what did you ask me for?\"\n\n\"Why, blame it, it's a riddle, don't you see?  Say, how long are you\ngoing to stay here?  You got to stay always.  We can just have booming\ntimes--they don't have no school now.  Do you own a dog?  I've got a\ndog--and he'll go in the river and bring out chips that you throw in.  Do\nyou like to comb up Sundays, and all that kind of foolishness?  You bet\nI don't, but ma she makes me.  Confound these ole britches!  I reckon\nI'd better put 'em on, but I'd ruther not, it's so warm.  Are you all\nready? All right.  Come along, old hoss.\"\n\nCold corn-pone, cold corn-beef, butter and buttermilk--that is what they\nhad for me down there, and there ain't nothing better that ever I've\ncome across yet.  Buck and his ma and all of them smoked cob pipes,\nexcept the nigger woman, which was gone, and the two young women.  They\nall smoked and talked, and I eat and talked.  The young women had\nquilts around them, and their hair down their backs.  They all asked me\nquestions, and I told them how pap and me and all the family was living\non a little farm down at the bottom of Arkansaw, and my sister Mary Ann\nrun off and got married and never was heard of no more, and Bill went\nto hunt them and he warn't heard of no more, and Tom and Mort died,\nand then there warn't nobody but just me and pap left, and he was just\ntrimmed down to nothing, on account of his troubles; so when he died\nI took what there was left, because the farm didn't belong to us, and\nstarted up the river, deck passage, and fell overboard; and that was how\nI come to be here.  So they said I could have a home there as long as I\nwanted it.  Then it was most daylight and everybody went to bed, and I\nwent to bed with Buck, and when I waked up in the morning, drat it all,\nI had forgot what my name was. So I laid there about an hour trying to\nthink, and when Buck waked up I says:\n\n\"Can you spell, Buck?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he says.\n\n\"I bet you can't spell my name,\" says I.\n\n\"I bet you what you dare I can,\" says he.\n\n\"All right,\" says I, \"go ahead.\"\n\n\"G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n--there now,\" he says.\n\n\"Well,\" says I, \"you done it, but I didn't think you could.  It ain't no\nslouch of a name to spell--right off without studying.\"\n\nI set it down, private, because somebody might want _me_ to spell it\nnext, and so I wanted to be handy with it and rattle it off like I was\nused to it.\n\nIt was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house, too.  I hadn't\nseen no house out in the country before that was so nice and had so much\nstyle.  It didn't have an iron latch on the front door, nor a wooden one\nwith a buckskin string, but a brass knob to turn, the same as houses in\ntown. There warn't no bed in the parlor, nor a sign of a bed; but heaps\nof parlors in towns has beds in them.  There was a big fireplace that\nwas bricked on the bottom, and the bricks was kept clean and red by\npouring water on them and scrubbing them with another brick; sometimes\nthey wash them over with red water-paint that they call Spanish-brown,\nsame as they do in town.  They had big brass dog-irons that could hold\nup a saw-log. There was a clock on the middle of the mantelpiece, with\na picture of a town painted on the bottom half of the glass front, and\na round place in the middle of it for the sun, and you could see the\npendulum swinging behind it.  It was beautiful to hear that clock tick;\nand sometimes when one of these peddlers had been along and scoured her\nup and got her in good shape, she would start in and strike a hundred\nand fifty before she got tuckered out.  They wouldn't took any money for\nher.\n\nWell, there was a big outlandish parrot on each side of the clock,\nmade out of something like chalk, and painted up gaudy.  By one of the\nparrots was a cat made of crockery, and a crockery dog by the other;\nand when you pressed down on them they squeaked, but didn't open\ntheir mouths nor look different nor interested.  They squeaked through\nunderneath.  There was a couple of big wild-turkey-wing fans spread out\nbehind those things.  On the table in the middle of the room was a kind\nof a lovely crockery basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and\ngrapes piled up in it, which was much redder and yellower and prettier\nthan real ones is, but they warn't real because you could see where\npieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk, or whatever it\nwas, underneath.\n\nThis table had a cover made out of beautiful oilcloth, with a red and\nblue spread-eagle painted on it, and a painted border all around.  It\ncome all the way from Philadelphia, they said.  There was some books,\ntoo, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table.  One was a\nbig family Bible full of pictures.  One was Pilgrim's Progress, about a\nman that left his family, it didn't say why.  I read considerable in it\nnow and then.  The statements was interesting, but tough.  Another was\nFriendship's Offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but I didn't\nread the poetry.  Another was Henry Clay's Speeches, and another was Dr.\nGunn's Family Medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body\nwas sick or dead.  There was a hymn book, and a lot of other books.  And\nthere was nice split-bottom chairs, and perfectly sound, too--not bagged\ndown in the middle and busted, like an old basket.\n\nThey had pictures hung on the walls--mainly Washingtons and Lafayettes,\nand battles, and Highland Marys, and one called \"Signing the\nDeclaration.\" There was some that they called crayons, which one of the\ndaughters which was dead made her own self when she was only\nfifteen years old.  They was different from any pictures I ever see\nbefore--blacker, mostly, than is common.  One was a woman in a slim black\ndress, belted small under the armpits, with bulges like a cabbage in\nthe middle of the sleeves, and a large black scoop-shovel bonnet with\na black veil, and white slim ankles crossed about with black tape, and\nvery wee black slippers, like a chisel, and she was leaning pensive on a\ntombstone on her right elbow, under a weeping willow, and her other hand\nhanging down her side holding a white handkerchief and a reticule,\nand underneath the picture it said \"Shall I Never See Thee More Alas.\"\n Another one was a young lady with her hair all combed up straight\nto the top of her head, and knotted there in front of a comb like a\nchair-back, and she was crying into a handkerchief and had a dead bird\nlaying on its back in her other hand with its heels up, and underneath\nthe picture it said \"I Shall Never Hear Thy Sweet Chirrup More Alas.\"\n There was one where a young lady was at a window looking up at the\nmoon, and tears running down her cheeks; and she had an open letter in\none hand with black sealing wax showing on one edge of it, and she was\nmashing a locket with a chain to it against her mouth, and underneath\nthe picture it said \"And Art Thou Gone Yes Thou Art Gone Alas.\"  These\nwas all nice pictures, I reckon, but I didn't somehow seem to take\nto them, because if ever I was down a little they always give me the\nfan-tods.  Everybody was sorry she died, because she had laid out a lot\nmore of these pictures to do, and a body could see by what she had done\nwhat they had lost.  But I reckoned that with her disposition she was\nhaving a better time in the graveyard.  She was at work on what they\nsaid was her greatest picture when she took sick, and every day and\nevery night it was her prayer to be allowed to live till she got it\ndone, but she never got the chance.  It was a picture of a young woman\nin a long white gown, standing on the rail of a bridge all ready to jump\noff, with her hair all down her back, and looking up to the moon, with\nthe tears running down her face, and she had two arms folded across her\nbreast, and two arms stretched out in front, and two more reaching up\ntowards the moon--and the idea was to see which pair would look best,\nand then scratch out all the other arms; but, as I was saying, she died\nbefore she got her mind made up, and now they kept this picture over the\nhead of the bed in her room, and every time her birthday come they hung\nflowers on it.  Other times it was hid with a little curtain.  The young\nwoman in the picture had a kind of a nice sweet face, but there was so\nmany arms it made her look too spidery, seemed to me.\n\nThis young girl kept a scrap-book when she was alive, and used to paste\nobituaries and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the\nPresbyterian Observer, and write poetry after them out of her own head.\nIt was very good poetry. This is what she wrote about a boy by the name\nof Stephen Dowling Bots that fell down a well and was drownded:\n\nODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC'D\n\nAnd did young Stephen sicken,    And did young Stephen die? And did the\nsad hearts thicken,    And did the mourners cry?\n\nNo; such was not the fate of    Young Stephen Dowling Bots; Though sad\nhearts round him thickened,    'Twas not from sickness' shots.\n\nNo whooping-cough did rack his frame,    Nor measles drear with spots;\nNot these impaired the sacred name    Of Stephen Dowling Bots.\n\nDespised love struck not with woe    That head of curly knots, Nor\nstomach troubles laid him low,    Young Stephen Dowling Bots.\n\nO no. Then list with tearful eye,    Whilst I his fate do tell. His soul\ndid from this cold world fly    By falling down a well.\n\nThey got him out and emptied him;    Alas it was too late; His spirit\nwas gone for to sport aloft    In the realms of the good and great.\n\nIf Emmeline Grangerford could make poetry like that before she was\nfourteen, there ain't no telling what she could a done by and by.  Buck\nsaid she could rattle off poetry like nothing.  She didn't ever have to\nstop to think.  He said she would slap down a line, and if she couldn't\nfind anything to rhyme with it would just scratch it out and slap down\nanother one, and go ahead. She warn't particular; she could write about\nanything you choose to give her to write about just so it was sadful.\nEvery time a man died, or a woman died, or a child died, she would be on\nhand with her \"tribute\" before he was cold.  She called them tributes.\nThe neighbors said it was the doctor first, then Emmeline, then the\nundertaker--the undertaker never got in ahead of Emmeline but once, and\nthen she hung fire on a rhyme for the dead person's name, which was\nWhistler.  She warn't ever the same after that; she never complained,\nbut she kinder pined away and did not live long.  Poor thing, many's the\ntime I made myself go up to the little room that used to be hers and get\nout her poor old scrap-book and read in it when her pictures had been\naggravating me and I had soured on her a little.  I liked all that\nfamily, dead ones and all, and warn't going to let anything come between\nus.  Poor Emmeline made poetry about all the dead people when she was\nalive, and it didn't seem right that there warn't nobody to make some\nabout her now she was gone; so I tried to sweat out a verse or two\nmyself, but I couldn't seem to make it go somehow.  They kept Emmeline's\nroom trim and nice, and all the things fixed in it just the way she\nliked to have them when she was alive, and nobody ever slept there.\n The old lady took care of the room herself, though there was plenty\nof niggers, and she sewed there a good deal and read her Bible there\nmostly.\n\nWell, as I was saying about the parlor, there was beautiful curtains on\nthe windows:  white, with pictures painted on them of castles with vines\nall down the walls, and cattle coming down to drink.  There was a little\nold piano, too, that had tin pans in it, I reckon, and nothing was ever\nso lovely as to hear the young ladies sing \"The Last Link is Broken\"\nand play \"The Battle of Prague\" on it.  The walls of all the rooms was\nplastered, and most had carpets on the floors, and the whole house was\nwhitewashed on the outside.\n\nIt was a double house, and the big open place betwixt them was roofed\nand floored, and sometimes the table was set there in the middle of the\nday, and it was a cool, comfortable place.  Nothing couldn't be better.\n And warn't the cooking good, and just bushels of it too!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nCOL.  Grangerford was a gentleman, you see.  He was a gentleman all\nover; and so was his family.  He was well born, as the saying is, and\nthat's worth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the Widow Douglas\nsaid, and nobody ever denied that she was of the first aristocracy\nin our town; and pap he always said it, too, though he warn't no more\nquality than a mudcat himself.  Col.  Grangerford was very tall and\nvery slim, and had a darkish-paly complexion, not a sign of red in it\nanywheres; he was clean shaved every morning all over his thin face, and\nhe had the thinnest kind of lips, and the thinnest kind of nostrils, and\na high nose, and heavy eyebrows, and the blackest kind of eyes, sunk so\ndeep back that they seemed like they was looking out of caverns at\nyou, as you may say.  His forehead was high, and his hair was black and\nstraight and hung to his shoulders. His hands was long and thin, and\nevery day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head\nto foot made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it;\nand on Sundays he wore a blue tail-coat with brass buttons on it.  He\ncarried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it.  There warn't no\nfrivolishness about him, not a bit, and he warn't ever loud.  He was\nas kind as he could be--you could feel that, you know, and so you had\nconfidence.  Sometimes he smiled, and it was good to see; but when he\nstraightened himself up like a liberty-pole, and the lightning begun to\nflicker out from under his eyebrows, you wanted to climb a tree first,\nand find out what the matter was afterwards.  He didn't ever have to\ntell anybody to mind their manners--everybody was always good-mannered\nwhere he was.  Everybody loved to have him around, too; he was sunshine\nmost always--I mean he made it seem like good weather.  When he turned\ninto a cloudbank it was awful dark for half a minute, and that was\nenough; there wouldn't nothing go wrong again for a week.\n\nWhen him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family got\nup out of their chairs and give them good-day, and didn't set down again\ntill they had set down.  Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboard where\nthe decanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, and\nhe held it in his hand and waited till Tom's and Bob's was mixed, and\nthen they bowed and said, \"Our duty to you, sir, and madam;\" and _they_\nbowed the least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank,\nall three, and Bob and Tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar and\nthe mite of whisky or apple brandy in the bottom of their tumblers, and\ngive it to me and Buck, and we drank to the old people too.\n\nBob was the oldest and Tom next--tall, beautiful men with very broad\nshoulders and brown faces, and long black hair and black eyes.  They\ndressed in white linen from head to foot, like the old gentleman, and\nwore broad Panama hats.\n\nThen there was Miss Charlotte; she was twenty-five, and tall and proud\nand grand, but as good as she could be when she warn't stirred up; but\nwhen she was she had a look that would make you wilt in your tracks,\nlike her father.  She was beautiful.\n\nSo was her sister, Miss Sophia, but it was a different kind.  She was\ngentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty.\n\nEach person had their own nigger to wait on them--Buck too.  My nigger\nhad a monstrous easy time, because I warn't used to having anybody do\nanything for me, but Buck's was on the jump most of the time.\n\nThis was all there was of the family now, but there used to be\nmore--three sons; they got killed; and Emmeline that died.\n\nThe old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred niggers.\nSometimes a stack of people would come there, horseback, from ten or\nfifteen mile around, and stay five or six days, and have such junketings\nround about and on the river, and dances and picnics in the woods\ndaytimes, and balls at the house nights.  These people was mostly\nkinfolks of the family.  The men brought their guns with them.  It was a\nhandsome lot of quality, I tell you.\n\nThere was another clan of aristocracy around there--five or six\nfamilies--mostly of the name of Shepherdson.  They was as high-toned\nand well born and rich and grand as the tribe of Grangerfords.  The\nShepherdsons and Grangerfords used the same steamboat landing, which was\nabout two mile above our house; so sometimes when I went up there with a\nlot of our folks I used to see a lot of the Shepherdsons there on their\nfine horses.\n\nOne day Buck and me was away out in the woods hunting, and heard a horse\ncoming.  We was crossing the road.  Buck says:\n\n\"Quick!  Jump for the woods!\"\n\nWe done it, and then peeped down the woods through the leaves.  Pretty\nsoon a splendid young man come galloping down the road, setting his\nhorse easy and looking like a soldier.  He had his gun across his\npommel.  I had seen him before.  It was young Harney Shepherdson.  I\nheard Buck's gun go off at my ear, and Harney's hat tumbled off from his\nhead.  He grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was\nhid.  But we didn't wait.  We started through the woods on a run.  The\nwoods warn't thick, so I looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet,\nand twice I seen Harney cover Buck with his gun; and then he rode away\nthe way he come--to get his hat, I reckon, but I couldn't see.  We never\nstopped running till we got home.  The old gentleman's eyes blazed a\nminute--'twas pleasure, mainly, I judged--then his face sort of smoothed\ndown, and he says, kind of gentle:\n\n\"I don't like that shooting from behind a bush.  Why didn't you step\ninto the road, my boy?\"\n\n\"The Shepherdsons don't, father.  They always take advantage.\"\n\nMiss Charlotte she held her head up like a queen while Buck was telling\nhis tale, and her nostrils spread and her eyes snapped.  The two young\nmen looked dark, but never said nothing.  Miss Sophia she turned pale,\nbut the color come back when she found the man warn't hurt.\n\nSoon as I could get Buck down by the corn-cribs under the trees by\nourselves, I says:\n\n\"Did you want to kill him, Buck?\"\n\n\"Well, I bet I did.\"\n\n\"What did he do to you?\"\n\n\"Him?  He never done nothing to me.\"\n\n\"Well, then, what did you want to kill him for?\"\n\n\"Why, nothing--only it's on account of the feud.\"\n\n\"What's a feud?\"\n\n\"Why, where was you raised?  Don't you know what a feud is?\"\n\n\"Never heard of it before--tell me about it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says Buck, \"a feud is this way:  A man has a quarrel with\nanother man, and kills him; then that other man's brother kills _him_;\nthen the other brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then the\n_cousins_ chip in--and by and by everybody's killed off, and there ain't\nno more feud.  But it's kind of slow, and takes a long time.\"\n\n\"Has this one been going on long, Buck?\"\n\n\"Well, I should _reckon_!  It started thirty year ago, or som'ers along\nthere.  There was trouble 'bout something, and then a lawsuit to settle\nit; and the suit went agin one of the men, and so he up and shot the\nman that won the suit--which he would naturally do, of course.  Anybody\nwould.\"\n\n\"What was the trouble about, Buck?--land?\"\n\n\"I reckon maybe--I don't know.\"\n\n\"Well, who done the shooting?  Was it a Grangerford or a Shepherdson?\"\n\n\"Laws, how do I know?  It was so long ago.\"\n\n\"Don't anybody know?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, pa knows, I reckon, and some of the other old people; but they\ndon't know now what the row was about in the first place.\"\n\n\"Has there been many killed, Buck?\"\n\n\"Yes; right smart chance of funerals.  But they don't always kill.  Pa's\ngot a few buckshot in him; but he don't mind it 'cuz he don't weigh\nmuch, anyway.  Bob's been carved up some with a bowie, and Tom's been\nhurt once or twice.\"\n\n\"Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?\"\n\n\"Yes; we got one and they got one.  'Bout three months ago my cousin\nBud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other side\nof the river, and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame'\nfoolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behind\nhim, and sees old Baldy Shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gun in\nhis hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead of jumping\noff and taking to the brush, Bud 'lowed he could out-run him; so they\nhad it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all\nthe time; so at last Bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and faced\naround so as to have the bullet holes in front, you know, and the old\nman he rode up and shot him down.  But he didn't git much chance to\nenjoy his luck, for inside of a week our folks laid _him_ out.\"\n\n\"I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck.\"\n\n\"I reckon he _warn't_ a coward.  Not by a blame' sight.  There ain't a\ncoward amongst them Shepherdsons--not a one.  And there ain't no cowards\namongst the Grangerfords either.  Why, that old man kep' up his end in a\nfight one day for half an hour against three Grangerfords, and come\nout winner.  They was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horse and got\nbehind a little woodpile, and kep' his horse before him to stop the\nbullets; but the Grangerfords stayed on their horses and capered around\nthe old man, and peppered away at him, and he peppered away at them.\n Him and his horse both went home pretty leaky and crippled, but the\nGrangerfords had to be _fetched_ home--and one of 'em was dead, and\nanother died the next day.  No, sir; if a body's out hunting for cowards\nhe don't want to fool away any time amongst them Shepherdsons, becuz\nthey don't breed any of that _kind_.\"\n\nNext Sunday we all went to church, about three mile, everybody\na-horseback. The men took their guns along, so did Buck, and kept\nthem between their knees or stood them handy against the wall.  The\nShepherdsons done the same.  It was pretty ornery preaching--all about\nbrotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was\na good sermon, and they all talked it over going home, and had such\na powerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace and\npreforeordestination, and I don't know what all, that it did seem to me\nto be one of the roughest Sundays I had run across yet.\n\nAbout an hour after dinner everybody was dozing around, some in their\nchairs and some in their rooms, and it got to be pretty dull.  Buck and\na dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep.  I went up\nto our room, and judged I would take a nap myself.  I found that sweet\nMiss Sophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, and she took\nme in her room and shut the door very soft, and asked me if I liked her,\nand I said I did; and she asked me if I would do something for her and\nnot tell anybody, and I said I would.  Then she said she'd forgot her\nTestament, and left it in the seat at church between two other books,\nand would I slip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her, and not say\nnothing to nobody.  I said I would. So I slid out and slipped off up the\nroad, and there warn't anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two,\nfor there warn't any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floor\nin summer-time because it's cool.  If you notice, most folks don't go to\nchurch only when they've got to; but a hog is different.\n\nSays I to myself, something's up; it ain't natural for a girl to be in\nsuch a sweat about a Testament.  So I give it a shake, and out drops a\nlittle piece of paper with \"HALF-PAST TWO\" wrote on it with a pencil.  I\nransacked it, but couldn't find anything else.  I couldn't make anything\nout of that, so I put the paper in the book again, and when I got home\nand upstairs there was Miss Sophia in her door waiting for me.  She\npulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the Testament till\nshe found the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; and\nbefore a body could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, and\nsaid I was the best boy in the world, and not to tell anybody.  She was\nmighty red in the face for a minute, and her eyes lighted up, and it\nmade her powerful pretty.  I was a good deal astonished, but when I got\nmy breath I asked her what the paper was about, and she asked me if I\nhad read it, and I said no, and she asked me if I could read writing,\nand I told her \"no, only coarse-hand,\" and then she said the paper\nwarn't anything but a book-mark to keep her place, and I might go and\nplay now.\n\nI went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soon\nI noticed that my nigger was following along behind.  When we was out\nof sight of the house he looked back and around a second, and then comes\na-running, and says:\n\n\"Mars Jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp I'll show you a whole\nstack o' water-moccasins.\"\n\nThinks I, that's mighty curious; he said that yesterday.  He oughter\nknow a body don't love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting for\nthem. What is he up to, anyway?  So I says:\n\n\"All right; trot ahead.\"\n\nI followed a half a mile; then he struck out over the swamp, and waded\nankle deep as much as another half-mile.  We come to a little flat piece\nof land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines,\nand he says:\n\n\"You shove right in dah jist a few steps, Mars Jawge; dah's whah dey is.\nI's seed 'm befo'; I don't k'yer to see 'em no mo'.\"\n\nThen he slopped right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hid\nhim.  I poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patch\nas big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man laying\nthere asleep--and, by jings, it was my old Jim!\n\nI waked him up, and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to\nhim to see me again, but it warn't.  He nearly cried he was so glad, but\nhe warn't surprised.  Said he swum along behind me that night, and heard\nme yell every time, but dasn't answer, because he didn't want nobody to\npick _him_ up and take him into slavery again.  Says he:\n\n\"I got hurt a little, en couldn't swim fas', so I wuz a considable ways\nbehine you towards de las'; when you landed I reck'ned I could ketch\nup wid you on de lan' 'dout havin' to shout at you, but when I see dat\nhouse I begin to go slow.  I 'uz off too fur to hear what dey say to\nyou--I wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet agin I knowed\nyou's in de house, so I struck out for de woods to wait for day.  Early\nin de mawnin' some er de niggers come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey\ntuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can't track me on accounts\no' de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how\nyou's a-gitt'n along.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you tell my Jack to fetch me here sooner, Jim?\"\n\n\"Well, 'twarn't no use to 'sturb you, Huck, tell we could do sumfn--but\nwe's all right now.  I ben a-buyin' pots en pans en vittles, as I got a\nchanst, en a-patchin' up de raf' nights when--\"\n\n\"_What_ raft, Jim?\"\n\n\"Our ole raf'.\"\n\n\"You mean to say our old raft warn't smashed all to flinders?\"\n\n\"No, she warn't.  She was tore up a good deal--one en' of her was; but\ndey warn't no great harm done, on'y our traps was mos' all los'.  Ef we\nhadn' dive' so deep en swum so fur under water, en de night hadn' ben\nso dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin'\nis, we'd a seed de raf'.  But it's jis' as well we didn't, 'kase now\nshe's all fixed up agin mos' as good as new, en we's got a new lot o'\nstuff, in de place o' what 'uz los'.\"\n\n\"Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, Jim--did you catch her?\"\n\n\"How I gwyne to ketch her en I out in de woods?  No; some er de niggers\nfoun' her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben', en dey hid her in a\ncrick 'mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin' 'bout which un 'um\nshe b'long to de mos' dat I come to heah 'bout it pooty soon, so I ups\nen settles de trouble by tellin' 'um she don't b'long to none uv um, but\nto you en me; en I ast 'm if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman's\npropaty, en git a hid'n for it?  Den I gin 'm ten cents apiece, en dey\n'uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo' raf's 'ud come along en\nmake 'm rich agin. Dey's mighty good to me, dese niggers is, en whatever\nI wants 'm to do fur me I doan' have to ast 'm twice, honey.  Dat Jack's\na good nigger, en pooty smart.\"\n\n\"Yes, he is.  He ain't ever told me you was here; told me to come, and\nhe'd show me a lot of water-moccasins.  If anything happens _he_ ain't\nmixed up in it.  He can say he never seen us together, and it 'll be the\ntruth.\"\n\nI don't want to talk much about the next day.  I reckon I'll cut it\npretty short.  I waked up about dawn, and was a-going to turn over and\ngo to sleep again when I noticed how still it was--didn't seem to be\nanybody stirring.  That warn't usual.  Next I noticed that Buck was\nup and gone. Well, I gets up, a-wondering, and goes down stairs--nobody\naround; everything as still as a mouse.  Just the same outside.  Thinks\nI, what does it mean?  Down by the wood-pile I comes across my Jack, and\nsays:\n\n\"What's it all about?\"\n\nSays he:\n\n\"Don't you know, Mars Jawge?\"\n\n\"No,\" says I, \"I don't.\"\n\n\"Well, den, Miss Sophia's run off! 'deed she has.  She run off in de\nnight some time--nobody don't know jis' when; run off to get married\nto dat young Harney Shepherdson, you know--leastways, so dey 'spec.  De\nfambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour ago--maybe a little mo'--en' I\n_tell_ you dey warn't no time los'.  Sich another hurryin' up guns\nen hosses _you_ never see!  De women folks has gone for to stir up de\nrelations, en ole Mars Saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up de\nriver road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him 'fo' he kin\ngit acrost de river wid Miss Sophia.  I reck'n dey's gwyne to be mighty\nrough times.\"\n\n\"Buck went off 'thout waking me up.\"\n\n\"Well, I reck'n he _did_!  Dey warn't gwyne to mix you up in it.\n Mars Buck he loaded up his gun en 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch home a\nShepherdson or bust. Well, dey'll be plenty un 'm dah, I reck'n, en you\nbet you he'll fetch one ef he gits a chanst.\"\n\nI took up the river road as hard as I could put.  By and by I begin to\nhear guns a good ways off.  When I come in sight of the log store and\nthe woodpile where the steamboats lands I worked along under the trees\nand brush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into the\nforks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched.  There was a\nwood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first I\nwas going to hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier I didn't.\n\nThere was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the open\nplace before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at\na couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the\nsteamboat landing; but they couldn't come it.  Every time one of them\nshowed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at.  The\ntwo boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch\nboth ways.\n\nBy and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling.  They started\nriding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steady\nbead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle.  All\nthe men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started\nto carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the\nrun.  They got half way to the tree I was in before the men noticed.\nThen the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out after\nthem.  They gained on the boys, but it didn't do no good, the boys had\ntoo good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree,\nand slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again.\nOne of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young chap about\nnineteen years old.\n\nThe men ripped around awhile, and then rode away.  As soon as they was\nout of sight I sung out to Buck and told him.  He didn't know what\nto make of my voice coming out of the tree at first.  He was awful\nsurprised.  He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the\nmen come in sight again; said they was up to some devilment or\nother--wouldn't be gone long.  I wished I was out of that tree, but I\ndasn't come down.  Buck begun to cry and rip, and 'lowed that him and\nhis cousin Joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for this\nday yet.  He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two\nor three of the enemy.  Said the Shepherdsons laid for them in\nambush.  Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their\nrelations--the Shepherdsons was too strong for them.  I asked him what\nwas become of young Harney and Miss Sophia.  He said they'd got across\nthe river and was safe.  I was glad of that; but the way Buck did take\non because he didn't manage to kill Harney that day he shot at him--I\nhain't ever heard anything like it.\n\nAll of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns--the men had\nslipped around through the woods and come in from behind without their\nhorses!  The boys jumped for the river--both of them hurt--and as they\nswum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them and\nsinging out, \"Kill them, kill them!\"  It made me so sick I most fell out\nof the tree.  I ain't a-going to tell _all_ that happened--it would make\nme sick again if I was to do that.  I wished I hadn't ever come ashore\nthat night to see such things.  I ain't ever going to get shut of\nthem--lots of times I dream about them.\n\nI stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down.\nSometimes I heard guns away off in the woods; and twice I seen little\ngangs of men gallop past the log store with guns; so I reckoned the\ntrouble was still a-going on.  I was mighty downhearted; so I made up my\nmind I wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because I reckoned I\nwas to blame, somehow. I judged that that piece of paper meant that Miss\nSophia was to meet Harney somewheres at half-past two and run off; and\nI judged I ought to told her father about that paper and the curious way\nshe acted, and then maybe he would a locked her up, and this awful mess\nwouldn't ever happened.\n\nWhen I got down out of the tree I crept along down the river bank a\npiece, and found the two bodies laying in the edge of the water, and\ntugged at them till I got them ashore; then I covered up their faces,\nand got away as quick as I could.  I cried a little when I was covering\nup Buck's face, for he was mighty good to me.\n\nIt was just dark now.  I never went near the house, but struck through\nthe woods and made for the swamp.  Jim warn't on his island, so I\ntramped off in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows,\nred-hot to jump aboard and get out of that awful country.  The raft was\ngone!  My souls, but I was scared!  I couldn't get my breath for most\na minute. Then I raised a yell.  A voice not twenty-five foot from me\nsays:\n\n\"Good lan'! is dat you, honey?  Doan' make no noise.\"\n\nIt was Jim's voice--nothing ever sounded so good before.  I run along the\nbank a piece and got aboard, and Jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he was\nso glad to see me.  He says:\n\n\"Laws bless you, chile, I 'uz right down sho' you's dead agin.  Jack's\nbeen heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot, kase you didn' come home no\nmo'; so I's jes' dis minute a startin' de raf' down towards de mouf er\nde crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as Jack\ncomes agin en tells me for certain you _is_ dead.  Lawsy, I's mighty\nglad to git you back again, honey.\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"All right--that's mighty good; they won't find me, and they'll think\nI've been killed, and floated down the river--there's something up there\nthat 'll help them think so--so don't you lose no time, Jim, but just\nshove off for the big water as fast as ever you can.\"\n\nI never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out in\nthe middle of the Mississippi.  Then we hung up our signal lantern, and\njudged that we was free and safe once more.  I hadn't had a bite to eat\nsince yesterday, so Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk,\nand pork and cabbage and greens--there ain't nothing in the world so good\nwhen it's cooked right--and whilst I eat my supper we talked and had a\ngood time.  I was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, and so was\nJim to get away from the swamp.  We said there warn't no home like a\nraft, after all.  Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a\nraft don't.  You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nTWO or three days and nights went by; I reckon I might say they swum by,\nthey slid along so quiet and smooth and lovely.  Here is the way we put\nin the time.  It was a monstrous big river down there--sometimes a mile\nand a half wide; we run nights, and laid up and hid daytimes; soon as\nnight was most gone we stopped navigating and tied up--nearly always\nin the dead water under a towhead; and then cut young cottonwoods and\nwillows, and hid the raft with them.  Then we set out the lines.  Next\nwe slid into the river and had a swim, so as to freshen up and cool\noff; then we set down on the sandy bottom where the water was about knee\ndeep, and watched the daylight come.  Not a sound anywheres--perfectly\nstill--just like the whole world was asleep, only sometimes the bullfrogs\na-cluttering, maybe.  The first thing to see, looking away over the\nwater, was a kind of dull line--that was the woods on t'other side; you\ncouldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more\npaleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and\nwarn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots\ndrifting along ever so far away--trading scows, and such things; and\nlong black streaks--rafts; sometimes you could hear a sweep screaking; or\njumbled up voices, it was so still, and sounds come so far; and by and\nby you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the\nstreak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it\nand makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off\nof the water, and the east reddens up, and the river, and you make out a\nlog-cabin in the edge of the woods, away on the bank on t'other side of\nthe river, being a woodyard, likely, and piled by them cheats so you can\nthrow a dog through it anywheres; then the nice breeze springs up, and\ncomes fanning you from over there, so cool and fresh and sweet to smell\non account of the woods and the flowers; but sometimes not that way,\nbecause they've left dead fish laying around, gars and such, and they\ndo get pretty rank; and next you've got the full day, and everything\nsmiling in the sun, and the song-birds just going it!\n\nA little smoke couldn't be noticed now, so we would take some fish off\nof the lines and cook up a hot breakfast.  And afterwards we would watch\nthe lonesomeness of the river, and kind of lazy along, and by and by\nlazy off to sleep.  Wake up by and by, and look to see what done it, and\nmaybe see a steamboat coughing along up-stream, so far off towards the\nother side you couldn't tell nothing about her only whether she was\na stern-wheel or side-wheel; then for about an hour there wouldn't be\nnothing to hear nor nothing to see--just solid lonesomeness.  Next\nyou'd see a raft sliding by, away off yonder, and maybe a galoot on it\nchopping, because they're most always doing it on a raft; you'd see the\naxe flash and come down--you don't hear nothing; you see that axe go\nup again, and by the time it's above the man's head then you hear the\n_k'chunk_!--it had took all that time to come over the water.  So we\nwould put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness.  Once\nthere was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating\ntin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them.  A scow or a\nraft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and\nlaughing--heard them plain; but we couldn't see no sign of them; it made\nyou feel crawly; it was like spirits carrying on that way in the air.\n Jim said he believed it was spirits; but I says:\n\n\"No; spirits wouldn't say, 'Dern the dern fog.'\"\n\nSoon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the\nmiddle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted\nher to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and\ntalked about all kinds of things--we was always naked, day and night,\nwhenever the mosquitoes would let us--the new clothes Buck's folks made\nfor me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I didn't go much on\nclothes, nohow.\n\nSometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest\ntime. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe\na spark--which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water\nyou could see a spark or two--on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe\nyou could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts.\nIt's lovely to live on a raft.  We had the sky up there, all speckled\nwith stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and\ndiscuss about whether they was made or only just happened.  Jim he\nallowed they was made, but I allowed they happened; I judged it would\nhave took too long to _make_ so many.  Jim said the moon could a _laid_\nthem; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I didn't say nothing\nagainst it, because I've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it\ncould be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them\nstreak down.  Jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the\nnest.\n\nOnce or twice of a night we would see a steamboat slipping along in the\ndark, and now and then she would belch a whole world of sparks up out\nof her chimbleys, and they would rain down in the river and look awful\npretty; then she would turn a corner and her lights would wink out and\nher powwow shut off and leave the river still again; and by and by her\nwaves would get to us, a long time after she was gone, and joggle the\nraft a bit, and after that you wouldn't hear nothing for you couldn't\ntell how long, except maybe frogs or something.\n\nAfter midnight the people on shore went to bed, and then for two or\nthree hours the shores was black--no more sparks in the cabin windows.\n These sparks was our clock--the first one that showed again meant\nmorning was coming, so we hunted a place to hide and tie up right away.\n\nOne morning about daybreak I found a canoe and crossed over a chute to\nthe main shore--it was only two hundred yards--and paddled about a mile\nup a crick amongst the cypress woods, to see if I couldn't get some\nberries. Just as I was passing a place where a kind of a cowpath crossed\nthe crick, here comes a couple of men tearing up the path as tight as\nthey could foot it.  I thought I was a goner, for whenever anybody was\nafter anybody I judged it was _me_--or maybe Jim.  I was about to dig out\nfrom there in a hurry, but they was pretty close to me then, and sung\nout and begged me to save their lives--said they hadn't been doing\nnothing, and was being chased for it--said there was men and dogs\na-coming.  They wanted to jump right in, but I says:\n\n\"Don't you do it.  I don't hear the dogs and horses yet; you've got time\nto crowd through the brush and get up the crick a little ways; then you\ntake to the water and wade down to me and get in--that'll throw the dogs\noff the scent.\"\n\nThey done it, and soon as they was aboard I lit out for our towhead,\nand in about five or ten minutes we heard the dogs and the men away off,\nshouting. We heard them come along towards the crick, but couldn't\nsee them; they seemed to stop and fool around a while; then, as we got\nfurther and further away all the time, we couldn't hardly hear them at\nall; by the time we had left a mile of woods behind us and struck the\nriver, everything was quiet, and we paddled over to the towhead and hid\nin the cottonwoods and was safe.\n\nOne of these fellows was about seventy or upwards, and had a bald head\nand very gray whiskers.  He had an old battered-up slouch hat on, and\na greasy blue woollen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans britches stuffed\ninto his boot-tops, and home-knit galluses--no, he only had one.  He had\nan old long-tailed blue jeans coat with slick brass buttons flung over\nhis arm, and both of them had big, fat, ratty-looking carpet-bags.\n\nThe other fellow was about thirty, and dressed about as ornery.  After\nbreakfast we all laid off and talked, and the first thing that come out\nwas that these chaps didn't know one another.\n\n\"What got you into trouble?\" says the baldhead to t'other chap.\n\n\"Well, I'd been selling an article to take the tartar off the teeth--and\nit does take it off, too, and generly the enamel along with it--but I\nstayed about one night longer than I ought to, and was just in the act\nof sliding out when I ran across you on the trail this side of town, and\nyou told me they were coming, and begged me to help you to get off.  So\nI told you I was expecting trouble myself, and would scatter out _with_\nyou. That's the whole yarn--what's yourn?\n\n\"Well, I'd ben a-running' a little temperance revival thar 'bout a week,\nand was the pet of the women folks, big and little, for I was makin' it\nmighty warm for the rummies, I _tell_ you, and takin' as much as five\nor six dollars a night--ten cents a head, children and niggers free--and\nbusiness a-growin' all the time, when somehow or another a little report\ngot around last night that I had a way of puttin' in my time with a\nprivate jug on the sly.  A nigger rousted me out this mornin', and told\nme the people was getherin' on the quiet with their dogs and horses, and\nthey'd be along pretty soon and give me 'bout half an hour's start,\nand then run me down if they could; and if they got me they'd tar\nand feather me and ride me on a rail, sure.  I didn't wait for no\nbreakfast--I warn't hungry.\"\n\n\"Old man,\" said the young one, \"I reckon we might double-team it\ntogether; what do you think?\"\n\n\"I ain't undisposed.  What's your line--mainly?\"\n\n\"Jour printer by trade; do a little in patent medicines;\ntheater-actor--tragedy, you know; take a turn to mesmerism and phrenology\nwhen there's a chance; teach singing-geography school for a change;\nsling a lecture sometimes--oh, I do lots of things--most anything that\ncomes handy, so it ain't work.  What's your lay?\"\n\n\"I've done considerble in the doctoring way in my time.  Layin' on o'\nhands is my best holt--for cancer and paralysis, and sich things; and I\nk'n tell a fortune pretty good when I've got somebody along to find out\nthe facts for me.  Preachin's my line, too, and workin' camp-meetin's,\nand missionaryin' around.\"\n\nNobody never said anything for a while; then the young man hove a sigh\nand says:\n\n\"Alas!\"\n\n\"What 're you alassin' about?\" says the bald-head.\n\n\"To think I should have lived to be leading such a life, and be degraded\ndown into such company.\"  And he begun to wipe the corner of his eye\nwith a rag.\n\n\"Dern your skin, ain't the company good enough for you?\" says the\nbaldhead, pretty pert and uppish.\n\n\"Yes, it _is_ good enough for me; it's as good as I deserve; for who\nfetched me so low when I was so high?  I did myself.  I don't blame\n_you_, gentlemen--far from it; I don't blame anybody.  I deserve it\nall.  Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I know--there's a grave\nsomewhere for me. The world may go on just as it's always done, and take\neverything from me--loved ones, property, everything; but it can't take\nthat. Some day I'll lie down in it and forget it all, and my poor broken\nheart will be at rest.\"  He went on a-wiping.\n\n\"Drot your pore broken heart,\" says the baldhead; \"what are you heaving\nyour pore broken heart at _us_ f'r?  _we_ hain't done nothing.\"\n\n\"No, I know you haven't.  I ain't blaming you, gentlemen.  I brought\nmyself down--yes, I did it myself.  It's right I should suffer--perfectly\nright--I don't make any moan.\"\n\n\"Brought you down from whar?  Whar was you brought down from?\"\n\n\"Ah, you would not believe me; the world never believes--let it pass--'tis\nno matter.  The secret of my birth--\"\n\n\"The secret of your birth!  Do you mean to say--\"\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" says the young man, very solemn, \"I will reveal it to you,\nfor I feel I may have confidence in you.  By rights I am a duke!\"\n\nJim's eyes bugged out when he heard that; and I reckon mine did, too.\nThen the baldhead says:  \"No! you can't mean it?\"\n\n\"Yes.  My great-grandfather, eldest son of the Duke of Bridgewater, fled\nto this country about the end of the last century, to breathe the pure\nair of freedom; married here, and died, leaving a son, his own father\ndying about the same time.  The second son of the late duke seized the\ntitles and estates--the infant real duke was ignored.  I am the lineal\ndescendant of that infant--I am the rightful Duke of Bridgewater; and\nhere am I, forlorn, torn from my high estate, hunted of men, despised\nby the cold world, ragged, worn, heart-broken, and degraded to the\ncompanionship of felons on a raft!\"\n\nJim pitied him ever so much, and so did I. We tried to comfort him, but\nhe said it warn't much use, he couldn't be much comforted; said if we\nwas a mind to acknowledge him, that would do him more good than most\nanything else; so we said we would, if he would tell us how.  He said we\nought to bow when we spoke to him, and say \"Your Grace,\" or \"My Lord,\"\nor \"Your Lordship\"--and he wouldn't mind it if we called him plain\n\"Bridgewater,\" which, he said, was a title anyway, and not a name; and\none of us ought to wait on him at dinner, and do any little thing for\nhim he wanted done.\n\nWell, that was all easy, so we done it.  All through dinner Jim stood\naround and waited on him, and says, \"Will yo' Grace have some o' dis or\nsome o' dat?\" and so on, and a body could see it was mighty pleasing to\nhim.\n\nBut the old man got pretty silent by and by--didn't have much to say, and\ndidn't look pretty comfortable over all that petting that was going on\naround that duke.  He seemed to have something on his mind.  So, along\nin the afternoon, he says:\n\n\"Looky here, Bilgewater,\" he says, \"I'm nation sorry for you, but you\nain't the only person that's had troubles like that.\"\n\n\"No?\"\n\n\"No you ain't.  You ain't the only person that's ben snaked down\nwrongfully out'n a high place.\"\n\n\"Alas!\"\n\n\"No, you ain't the only person that's had a secret of his birth.\"  And,\nby jings, _he_ begins to cry.\n\n\"Hold!  What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Bilgewater, kin I trust you?\" says the old man, still sort of sobbing.\n\n\"To the bitter death!\"  He took the old man by the hand and squeezed it,\nand says, \"That secret of your being:  speak!\"\n\n\"Bilgewater, I am the late Dauphin!\"\n\nYou bet you, Jim and me stared this time.  Then the duke says:\n\n\"You are what?\"\n\n\"Yes, my friend, it is too true--your eyes is lookin' at this very moment\non the pore disappeared Dauphin, Looy the Seventeen, son of Looy the\nSixteen and Marry Antonette.\"\n\n\"You!  At your age!  No!  You mean you're the late Charlemagne; you must\nbe six or seven hundred years old, at the very least.\"\n\n\"Trouble has done it, Bilgewater, trouble has done it; trouble has brung\nthese gray hairs and this premature balditude.  Yes, gentlemen, you\nsee before you, in blue jeans and misery, the wanderin', exiled,\ntrampled-on, and sufferin' rightful King of France.\"\n\nWell, he cried and took on so that me and Jim didn't know hardly what to\ndo, we was so sorry--and so glad and proud we'd got him with us, too.\n So we set in, like we done before with the duke, and tried to comfort\n_him_. But he said it warn't no use, nothing but to be dead and done\nwith it all could do him any good; though he said it often made him feel\neasier and better for a while if people treated him according to his\nrights, and got down on one knee to speak to him, and always called him\n\"Your Majesty,\" and waited on him first at meals, and didn't set down\nin his presence till he asked them. So Jim and me set to majestying him,\nand doing this and that and t'other for him, and standing up till he\ntold us we might set down.  This done him heaps of good, and so he\ngot cheerful and comfortable.  But the duke kind of soured on him, and\ndidn't look a bit satisfied with the way things was going; still,\nthe king acted real friendly towards him, and said the duke's\ngreat-grandfather and all the other Dukes of Bilgewater was a good\ndeal thought of by _his_ father, and was allowed to come to the palace\nconsiderable; but the duke stayed huffy a good while, till by and by the\nking says:\n\n\"Like as not we got to be together a blamed long time on this h-yer\nraft, Bilgewater, and so what's the use o' your bein' sour?  It 'll only\nmake things oncomfortable.  It ain't my fault I warn't born a duke,\nit ain't your fault you warn't born a king--so what's the use to worry?\n Make the best o' things the way you find 'em, says I--that's my motto.\n This ain't no bad thing that we've struck here--plenty grub and an easy\nlife--come, give us your hand, duke, and le's all be friends.\"\n\nThe duke done it, and Jim and me was pretty glad to see it.  It took\naway all the uncomfortableness and we felt mighty good over it, because\nit would a been a miserable business to have any unfriendliness on the\nraft; for what you want, above all things, on a raft, is for everybody\nto be satisfied, and feel right and kind towards the others.\n\nIt didn't take me long to make up my mind that these liars warn't no\nkings nor dukes at all, but just low-down humbugs and frauds.  But I\nnever said nothing, never let on; kept it to myself; it's the best way;\nthen you don't have no quarrels, and don't get into no trouble.  If they\nwanted us to call them kings and dukes, I hadn't no objections, 'long as\nit would keep peace in the family; and it warn't no use to tell Jim, so\nI didn't tell him.  If I never learnt nothing else out of pap, I learnt\nthat the best way to get along with his kind of people is to let them\nhave their own way.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nTHEY asked us considerable many questions; wanted to know what we\ncovered up the raft that way for, and laid by in the daytime instead of\nrunning--was Jim a runaway nigger?  Says I:\n\n\"Goodness sakes! would a runaway nigger run _south_?\"\n\nNo, they allowed he wouldn't.  I had to account for things some way, so\nI says:\n\n\"My folks was living in Pike County, in Missouri, where I was born, and\nthey all died off but me and pa and my brother Ike.  Pa, he 'lowed\nhe'd break up and go down and live with Uncle Ben, who's got a little\none-horse place on the river, forty-four mile below Orleans.  Pa was\npretty poor, and had some debts; so when he'd squared up there warn't\nnothing left but sixteen dollars and our nigger, Jim.  That warn't\nenough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck passage nor no other way.\n Well, when the river rose pa had a streak of luck one day; he ketched\nthis piece of a raft; so we reckoned we'd go down to Orleans on it.\n Pa's luck didn't hold out; a steamboat run over the forrard corner of\nthe raft one night, and we all went overboard and dove under the wheel;\nJim and me come up all right, but pa was drunk, and Ike was only four\nyears old, so they never come up no more.  Well, for the next day or\ntwo we had considerable trouble, because people was always coming out in\nskiffs and trying to take Jim away from me, saying they believed he was\na runaway nigger.  We don't run daytimes no more now; nights they don't\nbother us.\"\n\nThe duke says:\n\n\"Leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can run in the daytime if we\nwant to.  I'll think the thing over--I'll invent a plan that'll fix it.\nWe'll let it alone for to-day, because of course we don't want to go by\nthat town yonder in daylight--it mightn't be healthy.\"\n\nTowards night it begun to darken up and look like rain; the heat\nlightning was squirting around low down in the sky, and the leaves was\nbeginning to shiver--it was going to be pretty ugly, it was easy to see\nthat.  So the duke and the king went to overhauling our wigwam, to see\nwhat the beds was like.  My bed was a straw tick better than Jim's,\nwhich was a corn-shuck tick; there's always cobs around about in a shuck\ntick, and they poke into you and hurt; and when you roll over the dry\nshucks sound like you was rolling over in a pile of dead leaves; it\nmakes such a rustling that you wake up.  Well, the duke allowed he would\ntake my bed; but the king allowed he wouldn't.  He says:\n\n\"I should a reckoned the difference in rank would a sejested to you that\na corn-shuck bed warn't just fitten for me to sleep on.  Your Grace 'll\ntake the shuck bed yourself.\"\n\nJim and me was in a sweat again for a minute, being afraid there was\ngoing to be some more trouble amongst them; so we was pretty glad when\nthe duke says:\n\n\"'Tis my fate to be always ground into the mire under the iron heel of\noppression.  Misfortune has broken my once haughty spirit; I yield, I\nsubmit; 'tis my fate.  I am alone in the world--let me suffer; can bear\nit.\"\n\nWe got away as soon as it was good and dark.  The king told us to stand\nwell out towards the middle of the river, and not show a light till we\ngot a long ways below the town.  We come in sight of the little bunch of\nlights by and by--that was the town, you know--and slid by, about a half\na mile out, all right.  When we was three-quarters of a mile below we\nhoisted up our signal lantern; and about ten o'clock it come on to rain\nand blow and thunder and lighten like everything; so the king told us\nto both stay on watch till the weather got better; then him and the duke\ncrawled into the wigwam and turned in for the night.  It was my watch\nbelow till twelve, but I wouldn't a turned in anyway if I'd had a bed,\nbecause a body don't see such a storm as that every day in the week, not\nby a long sight.  My souls, how the wind did scream along!  And every\nsecond or two there'd come a glare that lit up the white-caps for a half\na mile around, and you'd see the islands looking dusty through the rain,\nand the trees thrashing around in the wind; then comes a H-WHACK!--bum!\nbum! bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bum--and the thunder would go rumbling\nand grumbling away, and quit--and then RIP comes another flash and\nanother sockdolager.  The waves most washed me off the raft sometimes,\nbut I hadn't any clothes on, and didn't mind.  We didn't have no trouble\nabout snags; the lightning was glaring and flittering around so constant\nthat we could see them plenty soon enough to throw her head this way or\nthat and miss them.\n\nI had the middle watch, you know, but I was pretty sleepy by that time,\nso Jim he said he would stand the first half of it for me; he was always\nmighty good that way, Jim was.  I crawled into the wigwam, but the king\nand the duke had their legs sprawled around so there warn't no show for\nme; so I laid outside--I didn't mind the rain, because it was warm, and\nthe waves warn't running so high now.  About two they come up again,\nthough, and Jim was going to call me; but he changed his mind, because\nhe reckoned they warn't high enough yet to do any harm; but he was\nmistaken about that, for pretty soon all of a sudden along comes a\nregular ripper and washed me overboard.  It most killed Jim a-laughing.\n He was the easiest nigger to laugh that ever was, anyway.\n\nI took the watch, and Jim he laid down and snored away; and by and by\nthe storm let up for good and all; and the first cabin-light that showed\nI rousted him out, and we slid the raft into hiding quarters for the\nday.\n\nThe king got out an old ratty deck of cards after breakfast, and him\nand the duke played seven-up a while, five cents a game.  Then they got\ntired of it, and allowed they would \"lay out a campaign,\" as they called\nit. The duke went down into his carpet-bag, and fetched up a lot of\nlittle printed bills and read them out loud.  One bill said, \"The\ncelebrated Dr. Armand de Montalban, of Paris,\" would \"lecture on the\nScience of Phrenology\" at such and such a place, on the blank day of\nblank, at ten cents admission, and \"furnish charts of character at\ntwenty-five cents apiece.\"  The duke said that was _him_.  In another\nbill he was the \"world-renowned Shakespearian tragedian, Garrick the\nYounger, of Drury Lane, London.\"  In other bills he had a lot of other\nnames and done other wonderful things, like finding water and gold with\na \"divining-rod,\" \"dissipating witch spells,\" and so on.  By and by he\nsays:\n\n\"But the histrionic muse is the darling.  Have you ever trod the boards,\nRoyalty?\"\n\n\"No,\" says the king.\n\n\"You shall, then, before you're three days older, Fallen Grandeur,\" says\nthe duke.  \"The first good town we come to we'll hire a hall and do the\nsword fight in Richard III. and the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet.\nHow does that strike you?\"\n\n\"I'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay, Bilgewater; but, you\nsee, I don't know nothing about play-actin', and hain't ever seen much\nof it.  I was too small when pap used to have 'em at the palace.  Do you\nreckon you can learn me?\"\n\n\"Easy!\"\n\n\"All right.  I'm jist a-freezn' for something fresh, anyway.  Le's\ncommence right away.\"\n\nSo the duke he told him all about who Romeo was and who Juliet was, and\nsaid he was used to being Romeo, so the king could be Juliet.\n\n\"But if Juliet's such a young gal, duke, my peeled head and my white\nwhiskers is goin' to look oncommon odd on her, maybe.\"\n\n\"No, don't you worry; these country jakes won't ever think of that.\nBesides, you know, you'll be in costume, and that makes all the\ndifference in the world; Juliet's in a balcony, enjoying the moonlight\nbefore she goes to bed, and she's got on her night-gown and her ruffled\nnightcap.  Here are the costumes for the parts.\"\n\nHe got out two or three curtain-calico suits, which he said was\nmeedyevil armor for Richard III. and t'other chap, and a long white\ncotton nightshirt and a ruffled nightcap to match.  The king was\nsatisfied; so the duke got out his book and read the parts over in the\nmost splendid spread-eagle way, prancing around and acting at the same\ntime, to show how it had got to be done; then he give the book to the\nking and told him to get his part by heart.\n\nThere was a little one-horse town about three mile down the bend, and\nafter dinner the duke said he had ciphered out his idea about how to run\nin daylight without it being dangersome for Jim; so he allowed he would\ngo down to the town and fix that thing.  The king allowed he would go,\ntoo, and see if he couldn't strike something.  We was out of coffee, so\nJim said I better go along with them in the canoe and get some.\n\nWhen we got there there warn't nobody stirring; streets empty, and\nperfectly dead and still, like Sunday.  We found a sick nigger sunning\nhimself in a back yard, and he said everybody that warn't too young or\ntoo sick or too old was gone to camp-meeting, about two mile back in the\nwoods.  The king got the directions, and allowed he'd go and work that\ncamp-meeting for all it was worth, and I might go, too.\n\nThe duke said what he was after was a printing-office.  We found it;\na little bit of a concern, up over a carpenter shop--carpenters and\nprinters all gone to the meeting, and no doors locked.  It was a dirty,\nlittered-up place, and had ink marks, and handbills with pictures of\nhorses and runaway niggers on them, all over the walls.  The duke shed\nhis coat and said he was all right now.  So me and the king lit out for\nthe camp-meeting.\n\nWe got there in about a half an hour fairly dripping, for it was a most\nawful hot day.  There was as much as a thousand people there from\ntwenty mile around.  The woods was full of teams and wagons, hitched\neverywheres, feeding out of the wagon-troughs and stomping to keep\noff the flies.  There was sheds made out of poles and roofed over with\nbranches, where they had lemonade and gingerbread to sell, and piles of\nwatermelons and green corn and such-like truck.\n\nThe preaching was going on under the same kinds of sheds, only they was\nbigger and held crowds of people.  The benches was made out of outside\nslabs of logs, with holes bored in the round side to drive sticks into\nfor legs. They didn't have no backs.  The preachers had high platforms\nto stand on at one end of the sheds.  The women had on sun-bonnets;\nand some had linsey-woolsey frocks, some gingham ones, and a few of the\nyoung ones had on calico.  Some of the young men was barefooted, and\nsome of the children didn't have on any clothes but just a tow-linen\nshirt.  Some of the old women was knitting, and some of the young folks\nwas courting on the sly.\n\nThe first shed we come to the preacher was lining out a hymn.  He lined\nout two lines, everybody sung it, and it was kind of grand to hear it,\nthere was so many of them and they done it in such a rousing way; then\nhe lined out two more for them to sing--and so on.  The people woke up\nmore and more, and sung louder and louder; and towards the end some\nbegun to groan, and some begun to shout.  Then the preacher begun to\npreach, and begun in earnest, too; and went weaving first to one side of\nthe platform and then the other, and then a-leaning down over the front\nof it, with his arms and his body going all the time, and shouting his\nwords out with all his might; and every now and then he would hold up\nhis Bible and spread it open, and kind of pass it around this way and\nthat, shouting, \"It's the brazen serpent in the wilderness!  Look upon\nit and live!\"  And people would shout out, \"Glory!--A-a-_men_!\"  And so\nhe went on, and the people groaning and crying and saying amen:\n\n\"Oh, come to the mourners' bench! come, black with sin! (_Amen_!) come,\nsick and sore! (_Amen_!) come, lame and halt and blind! (_Amen_!) come,\npore and needy, sunk in shame! (_A-A-Men_!) come, all that's worn and\nsoiled and suffering!--come with a broken spirit! come with a contrite\nheart! come in your rags and sin and dirt! the waters that cleanse\nis free, the door of heaven stands open--oh, enter in and be at rest!\"\n(_A-A-Men_!  _Glory, Glory Hallelujah!_)\n\nAnd so on.  You couldn't make out what the preacher said any more, on\naccount of the shouting and crying.  Folks got up everywheres in the\ncrowd, and worked their way just by main strength to the mourners'\nbench, with the tears running down their faces; and when all the\nmourners had got up there to the front benches in a crowd, they sung and\nshouted and flung themselves down on the straw, just crazy and wild.\n\nWell, the first I knowed the king got a-going, and you could hear him\nover everybody; and next he went a-charging up on to the platform, and\nthe preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and he done it.  He\ntold them he was a pirate--been a pirate for thirty years out in the\nIndian Ocean--and his crew was thinned out considerable last spring in\na fight, and he was home now to take out some fresh men, and thanks to\ngoodness he'd been robbed last night and put ashore off of a steamboat\nwithout a cent, and he was glad of it; it was the blessedest thing that\never happened to him, because he was a changed man now, and happy for\nthe first time in his life; and, poor as he was, he was going to start\nright off and work his way back to the Indian Ocean, and put in the rest\nof his life trying to turn the pirates into the true path; for he could\ndo it better than anybody else, being acquainted with all pirate crews\nin that ocean; and though it would take him a long time to get there\nwithout money, he would get there anyway, and every time he convinced\na pirate he would say to him, \"Don't you thank me, don't you give me no\ncredit; it all belongs to them dear people in Pokeville camp-meeting,\nnatural brothers and benefactors of the race, and that dear preacher\nthere, the truest friend a pirate ever had!\"\n\nAnd then he busted into tears, and so did everybody.  Then somebody\nsings out, \"Take up a collection for him, take up a collection!\"  Well,\na half a dozen made a jump to do it, but somebody sings out, \"Let _him_\npass the hat around!\"  Then everybody said it, the preacher too.\n\nSo the king went all through the crowd with his hat swabbing his eyes,\nand blessing the people and praising them and thanking them for being\nso good to the poor pirates away off there; and every little while the\nprettiest kind of girls, with the tears running down their cheeks, would\nup and ask him would he let them kiss him for to remember him by; and he\nalways done it; and some of them he hugged and kissed as many as five or\nsix times--and he was invited to stay a week; and everybody wanted him to\nlive in their houses, and said they'd think it was an honor; but he said\nas this was the last day of the camp-meeting he couldn't do no good, and\nbesides he was in a sweat to get to the Indian Ocean right off and go to\nwork on the pirates.\n\nWhen we got back to the raft and he come to count up he found he had\ncollected eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents.  And then he had\nfetched away a three-gallon jug of whisky, too, that he found under a\nwagon when he was starting home through the woods.  The king said,\ntake it all around, it laid over any day he'd ever put in in the\nmissionarying line.  He said it warn't no use talking, heathens don't\namount to shucks alongside of pirates to work a camp-meeting with.\n\nThe duke was thinking _he'd_ been doing pretty well till the king come\nto show up, but after that he didn't think so so much.  He had set\nup and printed off two little jobs for farmers in that\nprinting-office--horse bills--and took the money, four dollars.  And he\nhad got in ten dollars' worth of advertisements for the paper, which he\nsaid he would put in for four dollars if they would pay in advance--so\nthey done it. The price of the paper was two dollars a year, but he took\nin three subscriptions for half a dollar apiece on condition of them\npaying him in advance; they were going to pay in cordwood and onions as\nusual, but he said he had just bought the concern and knocked down the\nprice as low as he could afford it, and was going to run it for cash.\n He set up a little piece of poetry, which he made, himself, out of\nhis own head--three verses--kind of sweet and saddish--the name of it was,\n\"Yes, crush, cold world, this breaking heart\"--and he left that all set\nup and ready to print in the paper, and didn't charge nothing for it.\n Well, he took in nine dollars and a half, and said he'd done a pretty\nsquare day's work for it.\n\nThen he showed us another little job he'd printed and hadn't charged\nfor, because it was for us.  It had a picture of a runaway nigger with\na bundle on a stick over his shoulder, and \"$200 reward\" under it.  The\nreading was all about Jim, and just described him to a dot.  It said\nhe run away from St. Jacques' plantation, forty mile below New Orleans,\nlast winter, and likely went north, and whoever would catch him and send\nhim back he could have the reward and expenses.\n\n\"Now,\" says the duke, \"after to-night we can run in the daytime if we\nwant to.  Whenever we see anybody coming we can tie Jim hand and foot\nwith a rope, and lay him in the wigwam and show this handbill and say we\ncaptured him up the river, and were too poor to travel on a steamboat,\nso we got this little raft on credit from our friends and are going down\nto get the reward.  Handcuffs and chains would look still better on Jim,\nbut it wouldn't go well with the story of us being so poor.  Too much\nlike jewelry.  Ropes are the correct thing--we must preserve the unities,\nas we say on the boards.\"\n\nWe all said the duke was pretty smart, and there couldn't be no trouble\nabout running daytimes.  We judged we could make miles enough that night\nto get out of the reach of the powwow we reckoned the duke's work in\nthe printing office was going to make in that little town; then we could\nboom right along if we wanted to.\n\nWe laid low and kept still, and never shoved out till nearly ten\no'clock; then we slid by, pretty wide away from the town, and didn't\nhoist our lantern till we was clear out of sight of it.\n\nWhen Jim called me to take the watch at four in the morning, he says:\n\n\"Huck, does you reck'n we gwyne to run acrost any mo' kings on dis\ntrip?\"\n\n\"No,\" I says, \"I reckon not.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says he, \"dat's all right, den.  I doan' mine one er two kings,\nbut dat's enough.  Dis one's powerful drunk, en de duke ain' much\nbetter.\"\n\nI found Jim had been trying to get him to talk French, so he could hear\nwhat it was like; but he said he had been in this country so long, and\nhad so much trouble, he'd forgot it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nIT was after sun-up now, but we went right on and didn't tie up.  The\nking and the duke turned out by and by looking pretty rusty; but after\nthey'd jumped overboard and took a swim it chippered them up a good\ndeal. After breakfast the king he took a seat on the corner of the raft,\nand pulled off his boots and rolled up his britches, and let his legs\ndangle in the water, so as to be comfortable, and lit his pipe, and went\nto getting his Romeo and Juliet by heart.  When he had got it pretty\ngood him and the duke begun to practice it together.  The duke had to\nlearn him over and over again how to say every speech; and he made him\nsigh, and put his hand on his heart, and after a while he said he done\nit pretty well; \"only,\" he says, \"you mustn't bellow out _Romeo_!\nthat way, like a bull--you must say it soft and sick and languishy,\nso--R-o-o-meo! that is the idea; for Juliet's a dear sweet mere child of\na girl, you know, and she doesn't bray like a jackass.\"\n\nWell, next they got out a couple of long swords that the duke made out\nof oak laths, and begun to practice the sword fight--the duke called\nhimself Richard III.; and the way they laid on and pranced around\nthe raft was grand to see.  But by and by the king tripped and fell\noverboard, and after that they took a rest, and had a talk about all\nkinds of adventures they'd had in other times along the river.\n\nAfter dinner the duke says:\n\n\"Well, Capet, we'll want to make this a first-class show, you know, so\nI guess we'll add a little more to it.  We want a little something to\nanswer encores with, anyway.\"\n\n\"What's onkores, Bilgewater?\"\n\nThe duke told him, and then says:\n\n\"I'll answer by doing the Highland fling or the sailor's hornpipe; and\nyou--well, let me see--oh, I've got it--you can do Hamlet's soliloquy.\"\n\n\"Hamlet's which?\"\n\n\"Hamlet's soliloquy, you know; the most celebrated thing in Shakespeare.\nAh, it's sublime, sublime!  Always fetches the house.  I haven't got\nit in the book--I've only got one volume--but I reckon I can piece it out\nfrom memory.  I'll just walk up and down a minute, and see if I can call\nit back from recollection's vaults.\"\n\nSo he went to marching up and down, thinking, and frowning horrible\nevery now and then; then he would hoist up his eyebrows; next he would\nsqueeze his hand on his forehead and stagger back and kind of moan; next\nhe would sigh, and next he'd let on to drop a tear.  It was beautiful\nto see him. By and by he got it.  He told us to give attention.  Then\nhe strikes a most noble attitude, with one leg shoved forwards, and his\narms stretched away up, and his head tilted back, looking up at the sky;\nand then he begins to rip and rave and grit his teeth; and after that,\nall through his speech, he howled, and spread around, and swelled up his\nchest, and just knocked the spots out of any acting ever I see before.\n This is the speech--I learned it, easy enough, while he was learning it\nto the king:\n\nTo be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin That makes calamity of\nso long life; For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come\nto Dunsinane, But that the fear of something after death Murders the\ninnocent sleep, Great nature's second course, And makes us rather sling\nthe arrows of outrageous fortune Than fly to others that we know not of.\nThere's the respect must give us pause: Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I\nwould thou couldst; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The\noppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The law's delay, and the\nquietus which his pangs might take. In the dead waste and middle of the\nnight, when churchyards yawn In customary suits of solemn black, But\nthat the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns,\nBreathes forth contagion on the world, And thus the native hue of\nresolution, like the poor cat i' the adage, Is sicklied o'er with care.\nAnd all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops, With this\nregard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. 'Tis a\nconsummation devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the fair Ophelia: Ope\nnot thy ponderous and marble jaws. But get thee to a nunnery&mdash;go!\n\nWell, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so he\ncould do it first rate. It seemed like he was just born for it; and when\nhe had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he\nwould rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off.\n\nThe first chance we got, the duke he had some show bills printed; and\nafter that, for two or three days as we floated along, the raft was a\nmost uncommon lively place, for there warn't nothing but sword-fighting\nand rehearsing--as the duke called it--going on all the time. One morning,\nwhen we was pretty well down the State of Arkansaw, we come in sight\nof a little one-horse town in a big bend; so we tied up about\nthree-quarters of a mile above it, in the mouth of a crick which was\nshut in like a tunnel by the cypress trees, and all of us but Jim took\nthe canoe and went down there to see if there was any chance in that\nplace for our show.\n\nWe struck it mighty lucky; there was going to be a circus there that\nafternoon, and the country people was already beginning to come in, in\nall kinds of old shackly wagons, and on horses. The circus would leave\nbefore night, so our show would have a pretty good chance. The duke he\nhired the court house, and we went around and stuck up our bills. They\nread like this:\n\nShaksperean Revival!!!\n\nWonderful Attraction!\n\nFor One Night Only! The world renowned tragedians,\n\nDavid Garrick the younger, of Drury Lane Theatre, London,\n\nand\n\nEdmund Kean the elder, of the Royal Haymarket Theatre, Whitechapel,\nPudding Lane, Piccadilly, London, and the Royal Continental Theatres, in\ntheir sublime Shaksperean Spectacle entitled The Balcony Scene in\n\nRomeo and Juliet!!!\n\nRomeo...................................... Mr. Garrick.\n\nJuliet..................................... Mr. Kean.\n\nAssisted by the whole strength of the company!\n\nNew costumes, new scenery, new appointments!\n\nAlso:\n\nThe thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling Broad-sword conflict In\nRichard III.!!!\n\nRichard III................................ Mr. Garrick.\n\nRichmond................................... Mr. Kean.\n\nalso:\n\n(by special request,)\n\nHamlet's Immortal Soliloquy!!\n\nBy the Illustrious Kean!\n\nDone by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris!\n\nFor One Night Only,\n\nOn account of imperative European engagements!\n\nAdmission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.\n\nThen we went loafing around the town. The stores and houses was most all\nold shackly dried-up frame concerns that hadn't ever been painted; they\nwas set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of\nreach of the water when the river was overflowed. The houses had little\ngardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly anything in\nthem but jimpson weeds, and sunflowers, and ash-piles, and old curled-up\nboots and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and played-out\ntin-ware. The fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on\nat different times; and they leaned every which-way, and had gates that\ndidn't generly have but one hinge--a leather one. Some of the fences\nhad been whitewashed, some time or another, but the duke said it was in\nClumbus's time, like enough. There was generly hogs in the garden, and\npeople driving them out.\n\nAll the stores was along one street.  They had white domestic awnings in\nfront, and the country people hitched their horses to the awning-posts.\nThere was empty drygoods boxes under the awnings, and loafers roosting\non them all day long, whittling them with their Barlow knives; and\nchawing tobacco, and gaping and yawning and stretching--a mighty ornery\nlot. They generly had on yellow straw hats most as wide as an umbrella,\nbut didn't wear no coats nor waistcoats, they called one another Bill,\nand Buck, and Hank, and Joe, and Andy, and talked lazy and drawly, and\nused considerable many cuss words.  There was as many as one loafer\nleaning up against every awning-post, and he most always had his hands\nin his britches-pockets, except when he fetched them out to lend a chaw\nof tobacco or scratch.  What a body was hearing amongst them all the\ntime was:\n\n\"Gimme a chaw 'v tobacker, Hank.\"\n\n\"Cain't; I hain't got but one chaw left.  Ask Bill.\"\n\nMaybe Bill he gives him a chaw; maybe he lies and says he ain't got\nnone. Some of them kinds of loafers never has a cent in the world, nor a\nchaw of tobacco of their own.  They get all their chawing by borrowing;\nthey say to a fellow, \"I wisht you'd len' me a chaw, Jack, I jist this\nminute give Ben Thompson the last chaw I had\"--which is a lie pretty\nmuch everytime; it don't fool nobody but a stranger; but Jack ain't no\nstranger, so he says:\n\n\"_You_ give him a chaw, did you?  So did your sister's cat's\ngrandmother. You pay me back the chaws you've awready borry'd off'n me,\nLafe Buckner, then I'll loan you one or two ton of it, and won't charge\nyou no back intrust, nuther.\"\n\n\"Well, I _did_ pay you back some of it wunst.\"\n\n\"Yes, you did--'bout six chaws.  You borry'd store tobacker and paid back\nnigger-head.\"\n\nStore tobacco is flat black plug, but these fellows mostly chaws the\nnatural leaf twisted.  When they borrow a chaw they don't generly cut it\noff with a knife, but set the plug in between their teeth, and gnaw with\ntheir teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till they get it in\ntwo; then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks mournful at it\nwhen it's handed back, and says, sarcastic:\n\n\"Here, gimme the _chaw_, and you take the _plug_.\"\n\nAll the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn't nothing else _but_\nmud--mud as black as tar and nigh about a foot deep in some places,\nand two or three inches deep in _all_ the places.  The hogs loafed and\ngrunted around everywheres.  You'd see a muddy sow and a litter of pigs\ncome lazying along the street and whollop herself right down in the way,\nwhere folks had to walk around her, and she'd stretch out and shut her\neyes and wave her ears whilst the pigs was milking her, and look as\nhappy as if she was on salary. And pretty soon you'd hear a loafer\nsing out, \"Hi!  _so_ boy! sick him, Tige!\" and away the sow would go,\nsquealing most horrible, with a dog or two swinging to each ear, and\nthree or four dozen more a-coming; and then you would see all the\nloafers get up and watch the thing out of sight, and laugh at the fun\nand look grateful for the noise.  Then they'd settle back again till\nthere was a dog fight.  There couldn't anything wake them up all over,\nand make them happy all over, like a dog fight--unless it might be\nputting turpentine on a stray dog and setting fire to him, or tying a\ntin pan to his tail and see him run himself to death.\n\nOn the river front some of the houses was sticking out over the bank,\nand they was bowed and bent, and about ready to tumble in. The people\nhad moved out of them.  The bank was caved away under one corner of some\nothers, and that corner was hanging over.  People lived in them yet, but\nit was dangersome, because sometimes a strip of land as wide as a house\ncaves in at a time.  Sometimes a belt of land a quarter of a mile deep\nwill start in and cave along and cave along till it all caves into the\nriver in one summer. Such a town as that has to be always moving back,\nand back, and back, because the river's always gnawing at it.\n\nThe nearer it got to noon that day the thicker and thicker was the\nwagons and horses in the streets, and more coming all the time.\n Families fetched their dinners with them from the country, and eat them\nin the wagons.  There was considerable whisky drinking going on, and I\nseen three fights.  By and by somebody sings out:\n\n\"Here comes old Boggs!--in from the country for his little old monthly\ndrunk; here he comes, boys!\"\n\nAll the loafers looked glad; I reckoned they was used to having fun out\nof Boggs.  One of them says:\n\n\"Wonder who he's a-gwyne to chaw up this time.  If he'd a-chawed up all\nthe men he's ben a-gwyne to chaw up in the last twenty year he'd have\nconsiderable ruputation now.\"\n\nAnother one says, \"I wisht old Boggs 'd threaten me, 'cuz then I'd know\nI warn't gwyne to die for a thousan' year.\"\n\nBoggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping and yelling like an\nInjun, and singing out:\n\n\"Cler the track, thar.  I'm on the waw-path, and the price uv coffins is\na-gwyne to raise.\"\n\nHe was drunk, and weaving about in his saddle; he was over fifty year\nold, and had a very red face.  Everybody yelled at him and laughed at\nhim and sassed him, and he sassed back, and said he'd attend to them and\nlay them out in their regular turns, but he couldn't wait now because\nhe'd come to town to kill old Colonel Sherburn, and his motto was, \"Meat\nfirst, and spoon vittles to top off on.\"\n\nHe see me, and rode up and says:\n\n\"Whar'd you come f'm, boy?  You prepared to die?\"\n\nThen he rode on.  I was scared, but a man says:\n\n\"He don't mean nothing; he's always a-carryin' on like that when he's\ndrunk.  He's the best naturedest old fool in Arkansaw--never hurt nobody,\ndrunk nor sober.\"\n\nBoggs rode up before the biggest store in town, and bent his head down\nso he could see under the curtain of the awning and yells:\n\n\"Come out here, Sherburn! Come out and meet the man you've swindled.\nYou're the houn' I'm after, and I'm a-gwyne to have you, too!\"\n\nAnd so he went on, calling Sherburn everything he could lay his tongue\nto, and the whole street packed with people listening and laughing and\ngoing on.  By and by a proud-looking man about fifty-five--and he was a\nheap the best dressed man in that town, too--steps out of the store, and\nthe crowd drops back on each side to let him come.  He says to Boggs,\nmighty ca'm and slow--he says:\n\n\"I'm tired of this, but I'll endure it till one o'clock.  Till one\no'clock, mind--no longer.  If you open your mouth against me only once\nafter that time you can't travel so far but I will find you.\"\n\nThen he turns and goes in.  The crowd looked mighty sober; nobody\nstirred, and there warn't no more laughing.  Boggs rode off\nblackguarding Sherburn as loud as he could yell, all down the street;\nand pretty soon back he comes and stops before the store, still keeping\nit up.  Some men crowded around him and tried to get him to shut up,\nbut he wouldn't; they told him it would be one o'clock in about fifteen\nminutes, and so he _must_ go home--he must go right away.  But it didn't\ndo no good.  He cussed away with all his might, and throwed his hat down\nin the mud and rode over it, and pretty soon away he went a-raging down\nthe street again, with his gray hair a-flying. Everybody that could get\na chance at him tried their best to coax him off of his horse so they\ncould lock him up and get him sober; but it warn't no use--up the street\nhe would tear again, and give Sherburn another cussing.  By and by\nsomebody says:\n\n\"Go for his daughter!--quick, go for his daughter; sometimes he'll listen\nto her.  If anybody can persuade him, she can.\"\n\nSo somebody started on a run.  I walked down street a ways and stopped.\nIn about five or ten minutes here comes Boggs again, but not on his\nhorse.  He was a-reeling across the street towards me, bare-headed, with\na friend on both sides of him a-holt of his arms and hurrying him along.\nHe was quiet, and looked uneasy; and he warn't hanging back any, but was\ndoing some of the hurrying himself.  Somebody sings out:\n\n\"Boggs!\"\n\nI looked over there to see who said it, and it was that Colonel\nSherburn. He was standing perfectly still in the street, and had a\npistol raised in his right hand--not aiming it, but holding it out with\nthe barrel tilted up towards the sky.  The same second I see a young\ngirl coming on the run, and two men with her.  Boggs and the men turned\nround to see who called him, and when they see the pistol the men\njumped to one side, and the pistol-barrel come down slow and steady to\na level--both barrels cocked. Boggs throws up both of his hands and says,\n\"O Lord, don't shoot!\"  Bang! goes the first shot, and he staggers back,\nclawing at the air--bang! goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards\non to the ground, heavy and solid, with his arms spread out.  That young\ngirl screamed out and comes rushing, and down she throws herself on her\nfather, crying, and saying, \"Oh, he's killed him, he's killed him!\"  The\ncrowd closed up around them, and shouldered and jammed one another, with\ntheir necks stretched, trying to see, and people on the inside trying to\nshove them back and shouting, \"Back, back! give him air, give him air!\"\n\nColonel Sherburn he tossed his pistol on to the ground, and turned\naround on his heels and walked off.\n\nThey took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just\nthe same, and the whole town following, and I rushed and got a good\nplace at the window, where I was close to him and could see in.  They\nlaid him on the floor and put one large Bible under his head, and opened\nanother one and spread it on his breast; but they tore open his shirt\nfirst, and I seen where one of the bullets went in.  He made about a\ndozen long gasps, his breast lifting the Bible up when he drawed in his\nbreath, and letting it down again when he breathed it out--and after that\nhe laid still; he was dead.  Then they pulled his daughter away from\nhim, screaming and crying, and took her off.  She was about sixteen, and\nvery sweet and gentle looking, but awful pale and scared.\n\nWell, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and scrouging and\npushing and shoving to get at the window and have a look, but people\nthat had the places wouldn't give them up, and folks behind them was\nsaying all the time, \"Say, now, you've looked enough, you fellows;\n'tain't right and 'tain't fair for you to stay thar all the time, and\nnever give nobody a chance; other folks has their rights as well as\nyou.\"\n\nThere was considerable jawing back, so I slid out, thinking maybe\nthere was going to be trouble.  The streets was full, and everybody was\nexcited. Everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened,\nand there was a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows,\nstretching their necks and listening.  One long, lanky man, with long\nhair and a big white fur stovepipe hat on the back of his head, and a\ncrooked-handled cane, marked out the places on the ground where Boggs\nstood and where Sherburn stood, and the people following him around from\none place to t'other and watching everything he done, and bobbing their\nheads to show they understood, and stooping a little and resting their\nhands on their thighs to watch him mark the places on the ground with\nhis cane; and then he stood up straight and stiff where Sherburn had\nstood, frowning and having his hat-brim down over his eyes, and sung\nout, \"Boggs!\" and then fetched his cane down slow to a level, and says\n\"Bang!\" staggered backwards, says \"Bang!\" again, and fell down flat on\nhis back. The people that had seen the thing said he done it perfect;\nsaid it was just exactly the way it all happened.  Then as much as a\ndozen people got out their bottles and treated him.\n\nWell, by and by somebody said Sherburn ought to be lynched.  In about a\nminute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and yelling, and\nsnatching down every clothes-line they come to to do the hanging with.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nTHEY swarmed up towards Sherburn's house, a-whooping and raging like\nInjuns, and everything had to clear the way or get run over and tromped\nto mush, and it was awful to see.  Children was heeling it ahead of the\nmob, screaming and trying to get out of the way; and every window along\nthe road was full of women's heads, and there was nigger boys in every\ntree, and bucks and wenches looking over every fence; and as soon as the\nmob would get nearly to them they would break and skaddle back out of\nreach.  Lots of the women and girls was crying and taking on, scared\nmost to death.\n\nThey swarmed up in front of Sherburn's palings as thick as they could\njam together, and you couldn't hear yourself think for the noise.  It\nwas a little twenty-foot yard.  Some sung out \"Tear down the fence! tear\ndown the fence!\"  Then there was a racket of ripping and tearing and\nsmashing, and down she goes, and the front wall of the crowd begins to\nroll in like a wave.\n\nJust then Sherburn steps out on to the roof of his little front porch,\nwith a double-barrel gun in his hand, and takes his stand, perfectly\nca'm and deliberate, not saying a word.  The racket stopped, and the\nwave sucked back.\n\nSherburn never said a word--just stood there, looking down.  The\nstillness was awful creepy and uncomfortable.  Sherburn run his eye slow\nalong the crowd; and wherever it struck the people tried a little to\nout-gaze him, but they couldn't; they dropped their eyes and looked\nsneaky. Then pretty soon Sherburn sort of laughed; not the pleasant\nkind, but the kind that makes you feel like when you are eating bread\nthat's got sand in it.\n\nThen he says, slow and scornful:\n\n\"The idea of _you_ lynching anybody!  It's amusing.  The idea of you\nthinking you had pluck enough to lynch a _man_!  Because you're brave\nenough to tar and feather poor friendless cast-out women that come along\nhere, did that make you think you had grit enough to lay your hands on a\n_man_?  Why, a _man's_ safe in the hands of ten thousand of your kind--as\nlong as it's daytime and you're not behind him.\n\n\"Do I know you?  I know you clear through. I was born and raised in the\nSouth, and I've lived in the North; so I know the average all around.\nThe average man's a coward.  In the North he lets anybody walk over him\nthat wants to, and goes home and prays for a humble spirit to bear it.\nIn the South one man all by himself, has stopped a stage full of men\nin the daytime, and robbed the lot.  Your newspapers call you a\nbrave people so much that you think you are braver than any other\npeople--whereas you're just _as_ brave, and no braver.  Why don't your\njuries hang murderers?  Because they're afraid the man's friends will\nshoot them in the back, in the dark--and it's just what they _would_ do.\n\n\"So they always acquit; and then a _man_ goes in the night, with a\nhundred masked cowards at his back and lynches the rascal.  Your mistake\nis, that you didn't bring a man with you; that's one mistake, and the\nother is that you didn't come in the dark and fetch your masks.  You\nbrought _part_ of a man--Buck Harkness, there--and if you hadn't had him\nto start you, you'd a taken it out in blowing.\n\n\"You didn't want to come.  The average man don't like trouble and\ndanger. _You_ don't like trouble and danger.  But if only _half_ a\nman--like Buck Harkness, there--shouts 'Lynch him! lynch him!' you're\nafraid to back down--afraid you'll be found out to be what you\nare--_cowards_--and so you raise a yell, and hang yourselves on to that\nhalf-a-man's coat-tail, and come raging up here, swearing what big\nthings you're going to do. The pitifulest thing out is a mob; that's\nwhat an army is--a mob; they don't fight with courage that's born in\nthem, but with courage that's borrowed from their mass, and from their\nofficers.  But a mob without any _man_ at the head of it is _beneath_\npitifulness.  Now the thing for _you_ to do is to droop your tails and\ngo home and crawl in a hole.  If any real lynching's going to be done it\nwill be done in the dark, Southern fashion; and when they come they'll\nbring their masks, and fetch a _man_ along.  Now _leave_--and take your\nhalf-a-man with you\"--tossing his gun up across his left arm and cocking\nit when he says this.\n\nThe crowd washed back sudden, and then broke all apart, and went tearing\noff every which way, and Buck Harkness he heeled it after them, looking\ntolerable cheap.  I could a stayed if I wanted to, but I didn't want to.\n\nI went to the circus and loafed around the back side till the watchman\nwent by, and then dived in under the tent.  I had my twenty-dollar gold\npiece and some other money, but I reckoned I better save it, because\nthere ain't no telling how soon you are going to need it, away from\nhome and amongst strangers that way.  You can't be too careful.  I ain't\nopposed to spending money on circuses when there ain't no other way, but\nthere ain't no use in _wasting_ it on them.\n\nIt was a real bully circus.  It was the splendidest sight that ever was\nwhen they all come riding in, two and two, a gentleman and lady, side\nby side, the men just in their drawers and undershirts, and no shoes\nnor stirrups, and resting their hands on their thighs easy and\ncomfortable--there must a been twenty of them--and every lady with a\nlovely complexion, and perfectly beautiful, and looking just like a gang\nof real sure-enough queens, and dressed in clothes that cost millions of\ndollars, and just littered with diamonds.  It was a powerful fine sight;\nI never see anything so lovely.  And then one by one they got up\nand stood, and went a-weaving around the ring so gentle and wavy and\ngraceful, the men looking ever so tall and airy and straight, with their\nheads bobbing and skimming along, away up there under the tent-roof, and\nevery lady's rose-leafy dress flapping soft and silky around her hips,\nand she looking like the most loveliest parasol.\n\nAnd then faster and faster they went, all of them dancing, first one\nfoot out in the air and then the other, the horses leaning more and\nmore, and the ringmaster going round and round the center-pole, cracking\nhis whip and shouting \"Hi!--hi!\" and the clown cracking jokes behind\nhim; and by and by all hands dropped the reins, and every lady put her\nknuckles on her hips and every gentleman folded his arms, and then how\nthe horses did lean over and hump themselves!  And so one after the\nother they all skipped off into the ring, and made the sweetest bow I\never see, and then scampered out, and everybody clapped their hands and\nwent just about wild.\n\nWell, all through the circus they done the most astonishing things; and\nall the time that clown carried on so it most killed the people.  The\nringmaster couldn't ever say a word to him but he was back at him quick\nas a wink with the funniest things a body ever said; and how he ever\n_could_ think of so many of them, and so sudden and so pat, was what I\ncouldn't noway understand. Why, I couldn't a thought of them in a year.\nAnd by and by a drunk man tried to get into the ring--said he wanted to\nride; said he could ride as well as anybody that ever was.  They argued\nand tried to keep him out, but he wouldn't listen, and the whole show\ncome to a standstill.  Then the people begun to holler at him and make\nfun of him, and that made him mad, and he begun to rip and tear; so that\nstirred up the people, and a lot of men begun to pile down off of the\nbenches and swarm towards the ring, saying, \"Knock him down! throw him\nout!\" and one or two women begun to scream.  So, then, the ringmaster\nhe made a little speech, and said he hoped there wouldn't be no\ndisturbance, and if the man would promise he wouldn't make no more\ntrouble he would let him ride if he thought he could stay on the horse.\n So everybody laughed and said all right, and the man got on. The minute\nhe was on, the horse begun to rip and tear and jump and cavort around,\nwith two circus men hanging on to his bridle trying to hold him, and the\ndrunk man hanging on to his neck, and his heels flying in the air every\njump, and the whole crowd of people standing up shouting and laughing\ntill tears rolled down.  And at last, sure enough, all the circus men\ncould do, the horse broke loose, and away he went like the very nation,\nround and round the ring, with that sot laying down on him and hanging\nto his neck, with first one leg hanging most to the ground on one side,\nand then t'other one on t'other side, and the people just crazy.  It\nwarn't funny to me, though; I was all of a tremble to see his danger.\n But pretty soon he struggled up astraddle and grabbed the bridle,\na-reeling this way and that; and the next minute he sprung up and\ndropped the bridle and stood! and the horse a-going like a house afire\ntoo.  He just stood up there, a-sailing around as easy and comfortable\nas if he warn't ever drunk in his life--and then he begun to pull off his\nclothes and sling them.  He shed them so thick they kind of clogged up\nthe air, and altogether he shed seventeen suits. And, then, there he\nwas, slim and handsome, and dressed the gaudiest and prettiest you\never saw, and he lit into that horse with his whip and made him fairly\nhum--and finally skipped off, and made his bow and danced off to\nthe dressing-room, and everybody just a-howling with pleasure and\nastonishment.\n\nThen the ringmaster he see how he had been fooled, and he _was_ the\nsickest ringmaster you ever see, I reckon.  Why, it was one of his own\nmen!  He had got up that joke all out of his own head, and never let on\nto nobody. Well, I felt sheepish enough to be took in so, but I wouldn't\na been in that ringmaster's place, not for a thousand dollars.  I don't\nknow; there may be bullier circuses than what that one was, but I\nnever struck them yet. Anyways, it was plenty good enough for _me_; and\nwherever I run across it, it can have all of _my_ custom every time.\n\nWell, that night we had _our_ show; but there warn't only about twelve\npeople there--just enough to pay expenses.  And they laughed all the\ntime, and that made the duke mad; and everybody left, anyway, before\nthe show was over, but one boy which was asleep.  So the duke said these\nArkansaw lunkheads couldn't come up to Shakespeare; what they wanted\nwas low comedy--and maybe something ruther worse than low comedy, he\nreckoned.  He said he could size their style.  So next morning he got\nsome big sheets of wrapping paper and some black paint, and drawed off\nsome handbills, and stuck them up all over the village.  The bills said:\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nWELL, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage and\na curtain and a row of candles for footlights; and that night the house\nwas jam full of men in no time.  When the place couldn't hold no more,\nthe duke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come on\nto the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech,\nand praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest one\nthat ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and about\nEdmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the main principal part in it;\nand at last when he'd got everybody's expectations up high enough, he\nrolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-prancing\nout on all fours, naked; and he was painted all over,\nring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as a\nrainbow.  And--but never mind the rest of his outfit; it was just wild,\nbut it was awful funny. The people most killed themselves laughing; and\nwhen the king got done capering and capered off behind the scenes, they\nroared and clapped and stormed and haw-hawed till he come back and done\nit over again, and after that they made him do it another time. Well, it\nwould make a cow laugh to see the shines that old idiot cut.\n\nThen the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, and says\nthe great tragedy will be performed only two nights more, on accounts of\npressing London engagements, where the seats is all sold already for it\nin Drury Lane; and then he makes them another bow, and says if he has\nsucceeded in pleasing them and instructing them, he will be deeply\nobleeged if they will mention it to their friends and get them to come\nand see it.\n\nTwenty people sings out:\n\n\"What, is it over?  Is that _all_?\"\n\nThe duke says yes.  Then there was a fine time.  Everybody sings\nout, \"Sold!\" and rose up mad, and was a-going for that stage and them\ntragedians.  But a big, fine looking man jumps up on a bench and shouts:\n\n\"Hold on!  Just a word, gentlemen.\"  They stopped to listen.  \"We are\nsold--mighty badly sold.  But we don't want to be the laughing stock of\nthis whole town, I reckon, and never hear the last of this thing as long\nas we live.  _No_.  What we want is to go out of here quiet, and talk\nthis show up, and sell the _rest_ of the town!  Then we'll all be in the\nsame boat.  Ain't that sensible?\" (\"You bet it is!--the jedge is right!\"\neverybody sings out.) \"All right, then--not a word about any sell.  Go\nalong home, and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy.\"\n\nNext day you couldn't hear nothing around that town but how splendid\nthat show was.  House was jammed again that night, and we sold this\ncrowd the same way.  When me and the king and the duke got home to the\nraft we all had a supper; and by and by, about midnight, they made Jim\nand me back her out and float her down the middle of the river, and\nfetch her in and hide her about two mile below town.\n\nThe third night the house was crammed again--and they warn't new-comers\nthis time, but people that was at the show the other two nights.  I\nstood by the duke at the door, and I see that every man that went in had\nhis pockets bulging, or something muffled up under his coat--and I see it\nwarn't no perfumery, neither, not by a long sight.  I smelt sickly eggs\nby the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things; and if I know the\nsigns of a dead cat being around, and I bet I do, there was sixty-four\nof them went in.  I shoved in there for a minute, but it was too various\nfor me; I couldn't stand it.  Well, when the place couldn't hold no more\npeople the duke he give a fellow a quarter and told him to tend door\nfor him a minute, and then he started around for the stage door, I after\nhim; but the minute we turned the corner and was in the dark he says:\n\n\"Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for the\nraft like the dickens was after you!\"\n\nI done it, and he done the same.  We struck the raft at the same time,\nand in less than two seconds we was gliding down stream, all dark and\nstill, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a\nword. I reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with the\naudience, but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under\nthe wigwam, and says:\n\n\"Well, how'd the old thing pan out this time, duke?\"  He hadn't been\nup-town at all.\n\nWe never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village.\nThen we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairly\nlaughed their bones loose over the way they'd served them people.  The\nduke says:\n\n\"Greenhorns, flatheads!  I knew the first house would keep mum and let\nthe rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they'd lay for us the\nthird night, and consider it was _their_ turn now.  Well, it _is_ their\nturn, and I'd give something to know how much they'd take for it.  I\n_would_ just like to know how they're putting in their opportunity.\n They can turn it into a picnic if they want to--they brought plenty\nprovisions.\"\n\nThem rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in that\nthree nights.  I never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like that\nbefore.  By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says:\n\n\"Don't it s'prise you de way dem kings carries on, Huck?\"\n\n\"No,\" I says, \"it don't.\"\n\n\"Why don't it, Huck?\"\n\n\"Well, it don't, because it's in the breed.  I reckon they're all\nalike.\"\n\n\"But, Huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat's jist what\ndey is; dey's reglar rapscallions.\"\n\n\"Well, that's what I'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as\nfur as I can make out.\"\n\n\"Is dat so?\"\n\n\"You read about them once--you'll see.  Look at Henry the Eight; this 'n\n's a Sunday-school Superintendent to _him_.  And look at Charles Second,\nand Louis Fourteen, and Louis Fifteen, and James Second, and Edward\nSecond, and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all them Saxon\nheptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise Cain.  My,\nyou ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom.  He _was_ a\nblossom.  He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her head\nnext morning.  And he would do it just as indifferent as if he was\nordering up eggs.  'Fetch up Nell Gwynn,' he says.  They fetch her up.\nNext morning, 'Chop off her head!'  And they chop it off.  'Fetch up\nJane Shore,' he says; and up she comes, Next morning, 'Chop off her\nhead'--and they chop it off.  'Ring up Fair Rosamun.'  Fair Rosamun\nanswers the bell.  Next morning, 'Chop off her head.'  And he made every\none of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he had\nhogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in a\nbook, and called it Domesday Book--which was a good name and stated the\ncase.  You don't know kings, Jim, but I know them; and this old rip\nof ourn is one of the cleanest I've struck in history.  Well, Henry he\ntakes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this country. How\ndoes he go at it--give notice?--give the country a show?  No.  All of a\nsudden he heaves all the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and whacks\nout a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on.  That was\n_his_ style--he never give anybody a chance.  He had suspicions of his\nfather, the Duke of Wellington.  Well, what did he do?  Ask him to show\nup?  No--drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat.  S'pose people\nleft money laying around where he was--what did he do?  He collared it.\n S'pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn't set\ndown there and see that he done it--what did he do?  He always done the\nother thing. S'pose he opened his mouth--what then?  If he didn't shut it\nup powerful quick he'd lose a lie every time.  That's the kind of a bug\nHenry was; and if we'd a had him along 'stead of our kings he'd a fooled\nthat town a heap worse than ourn done.  I don't say that ourn is lambs,\nbecause they ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they\nain't nothing to _that_ old ram, anyway.  All I say is, kings is kings,\nand you got to make allowances.  Take them all around, they're a mighty\nornery lot. It's the way they're raised.\"\n\n\"But dis one do _smell_ so like de nation, Huck.\"\n\n\"Well, they all do, Jim.  We can't help the way a king smells; history\ndon't tell no way.\"\n\n\"Now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man in some ways.\"\n\n\"Yes, a duke's different.  But not very different.  This one's\na middling hard lot for a duke.  When he's drunk there ain't no\nnear-sighted man could tell him from a king.\"\n\n\"Well, anyways, I doan' hanker for no mo' un um, Huck.  Dese is all I\nkin stan'.\"\n\n\"It's the way I feel, too, Jim.  But we've got them on our hands, and we\ngot to remember what they are, and make allowances.  Sometimes I wish we\ncould hear of a country that's out of kings.\"\n\nWhat was the use to tell Jim these warn't real kings and dukes?  It\nwouldn't a done no good; and, besides, it was just as I said:  you\ncouldn't tell them from the real kind.\n\nI went to sleep, and Jim didn't call me when it was my turn.  He often\ndone that.  When I waked up just at daybreak he was sitting there with\nhis head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to himself.  I\ndidn't take notice nor let on.  I knowed what it was about.  He was\nthinking about his wife and his children, away up yonder, and he was low\nand homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before in his\nlife; and I do believe he cared just as much for his people as white\nfolks does for their'n.  It don't seem natural, but I reckon it's so.\n He was often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judged I\nwas asleep, and saying, \"Po' little 'Lizabeth! po' little Johnny! it's\nmighty hard; I spec' I ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', no mo'!\"  He\nwas a mighty good nigger, Jim was.\n\nBut this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and young\nones; and by and by he says:\n\n\"What makes me feel so bad dis time 'uz bekase I hear sumpn over yonder\non de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time\nI treat my little 'Lizabeth so ornery.  She warn't on'y 'bout fo' year\nole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but\nshe got well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en I says to her, I\nsays:\n\n\"'Shet de do'.'\n\n\"She never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me.  It make me\nmad; en I says agin, mighty loud, I says:\n\n\"'Doan' you hear me?  Shet de do'!'\n\n\"She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up.  I was a-bilin'!  I says:\n\n\"'I lay I _make_ you mine!'\n\n\"En wid dat I fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlin'.\nDen I went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten minutes; en when\nI come back dah was dat do' a-stannin' open _yit_, en dat chile stannin'\nmos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tears runnin' down.\n My, but I _wuz_ mad!  I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' den--it was a\ndo' dat open innerds--jis' den, 'long come de wind en slam it to, behine\nde chile, ker-BLAM!--en my lan', de chile never move'!  My breff mos'\nhop outer me; en I feel so--so--I doan' know HOW I feel.  I crope out,\nall a-tremblin', en crope aroun' en open de do' easy en slow, en poke my\nhead in behine de chile, sof' en still, en all uv a sudden I says POW!\njis' as loud as I could yell.  _She never budge!_  Oh, Huck, I bust out\na-cryin' en grab her up in my arms, en say, 'Oh, de po' little thing!\n De Lord God Amighty fogive po' ole Jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive\nhisself as long's he live!'  Oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumb\ndeef en dumb--en I'd ben a-treat'n her so!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nNEXT day, towards night, we laid up under a little willow towhead out in\nthe middle, where there was a village on each side of the river, and the\nduke and the king begun to lay out a plan for working them towns.  Jim\nhe spoke to the duke, and said he hoped it wouldn't take but a few\nhours, because it got mighty heavy and tiresome to him when he had to\nlay all day in the wigwam tied with the rope.  You see, when we left him\nall alone we had to tie him, because if anybody happened on to him all\nby himself and not tied it wouldn't look much like he was a runaway\nnigger, you know. So the duke said it _was_ kind of hard to have to lay\nroped all day, and he'd cipher out some way to get around it.\n\nHe was uncommon bright, the duke was, and he soon struck it.  He dressed\nJim up in King Lear's outfit--it was a long curtain-calico gown, and a\nwhite horse-hair wig and whiskers; and then he took his theater paint\nand painted Jim's face and hands and ears and neck all over a dead,\ndull, solid blue, like a man that's been drownded nine days.  Blamed if\nhe warn't the horriblest looking outrage I ever see.  Then the duke took\nand wrote out a sign on a shingle so:\n\nSick Arab--but harmless when not out of his head.\n\nAnd he nailed that shingle to a lath, and stood the lath up four or five\nfoot in front of the wigwam.  Jim was satisfied.  He said it was a sight\nbetter than lying tied a couple of years every day, and trembling all\nover every time there was a sound.  The duke told him to make himself\nfree and easy, and if anybody ever come meddling around, he must hop\nout of the wigwam, and carry on a little, and fetch a howl or two like\na wild beast, and he reckoned they would light out and leave him alone.\n Which was sound enough judgment; but you take the average man, and he\nwouldn't wait for him to howl.  Why, he didn't only look like he was\ndead, he looked considerable more than that.\n\nThese rapscallions wanted to try the Nonesuch again, because there was\nso much money in it, but they judged it wouldn't be safe, because maybe\nthe news might a worked along down by this time.  They couldn't hit no\nproject that suited exactly; so at last the duke said he reckoned he'd\nlay off and work his brains an hour or two and see if he couldn't put up\nsomething on the Arkansaw village; and the king he allowed he would drop\nover to t'other village without any plan, but just trust in Providence\nto lead him the profitable way--meaning the devil, I reckon.  We had all\nbought store clothes where we stopped last; and now the king put his'n\non, and he told me to put mine on.  I done it, of course.  The king's\nduds was all black, and he did look real swell and starchy.  I never\nknowed how clothes could change a body before.  Why, before, he looked\nlike the orneriest old rip that ever was; but now, when he'd take off\nhis new white beaver and make a bow and do a smile, he looked that grand\nand good and pious that you'd say he had walked right out of the ark,\nand maybe was old Leviticus himself.  Jim cleaned up the canoe, and I\ngot my paddle ready.  There was a big steamboat laying at the shore away\nup under the point, about three mile above the town--been there a couple\nof hours, taking on freight.  Says the king:\n\n\"Seein' how I'm dressed, I reckon maybe I better arrive down from St.\nLouis or Cincinnati, or some other big place.  Go for the steamboat,\nHuckleberry; we'll come down to the village on her.\"\n\nI didn't have to be ordered twice to go and take a steamboat ride.\n I fetched the shore a half a mile above the village, and then went\nscooting along the bluff bank in the easy water.  Pretty soon we come to\na nice innocent-looking young country jake setting on a log swabbing the\nsweat off of his face, for it was powerful warm weather; and he had a\ncouple of big carpet-bags by him.\n\n\"Run her nose in shore,\" says the king.  I done it.  \"Wher' you bound\nfor, young man?\"\n\n\"For the steamboat; going to Orleans.\"\n\n\"Git aboard,\" says the king.  \"Hold on a minute, my servant 'll he'p you\nwith them bags.  Jump out and he'p the gentleman, Adolphus\"--meaning me,\nI see.\n\nI done so, and then we all three started on again.  The young chap was\nmighty thankful; said it was tough work toting his baggage such weather.\nHe asked the king where he was going, and the king told him he'd come\ndown the river and landed at the other village this morning, and now he\nwas going up a few mile to see an old friend on a farm up there.  The\nyoung fellow says:\n\n\"When I first see you I says to myself, 'It's Mr. Wilks, sure, and he\ncome mighty near getting here in time.'  But then I says again, 'No, I\nreckon it ain't him, or else he wouldn't be paddling up the river.'  You\n_ain't_ him, are you?\"\n\n\"No, my name's Blodgett--Elexander Blodgett--_Reverend_ Elexander\nBlodgett, I s'pose I must say, as I'm one o' the Lord's poor servants.\n But still I'm jist as able to be sorry for Mr. Wilks for not arriving\nin time, all the same, if he's missed anything by it--which I hope he\nhasn't.\"\n\n\"Well, he don't miss any property by it, because he'll get that all\nright; but he's missed seeing his brother Peter die--which he mayn't\nmind, nobody can tell as to that--but his brother would a give anything\nin this world to see _him_ before he died; never talked about nothing\nelse all these three weeks; hadn't seen him since they was boys\ntogether--and hadn't ever seen his brother William at all--that's the deef\nand dumb one--William ain't more than thirty or thirty-five.  Peter and\nGeorge were the only ones that come out here; George was the married\nbrother; him and his wife both died last year.  Harvey and William's the\nonly ones that's left now; and, as I was saying, they haven't got here\nin time.\"\n\n\"Did anybody send 'em word?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; a month or two ago, when Peter was first took; because Peter\nsaid then that he sorter felt like he warn't going to get well this\ntime. You see, he was pretty old, and George's g'yirls was too young to\nbe much company for him, except Mary Jane, the red-headed one; and so he\nwas kinder lonesome after George and his wife died, and didn't seem\nto care much to live.  He most desperately wanted to see Harvey--and\nWilliam, too, for that matter--because he was one of them kind that can't\nbear to make a will.  He left a letter behind for Harvey, and said he'd\ntold in it where his money was hid, and how he wanted the rest of the\nproperty divided up so George's g'yirls would be all right--for George\ndidn't leave nothing.  And that letter was all they could get him to put\na pen to.\"\n\n\"Why do you reckon Harvey don't come?  Wher' does he live?\"\n\n\"Oh, he lives in England--Sheffield--preaches there--hasn't ever been in\nthis country.  He hasn't had any too much time--and besides he mightn't a\ngot the letter at all, you know.\"\n\n\"Too bad, too bad he couldn't a lived to see his brothers, poor soul.\nYou going to Orleans, you say?\"\n\n\"Yes, but that ain't only a part of it.  I'm going in a ship, next\nWednesday, for Ryo Janeero, where my uncle lives.\"\n\n\"It's a pretty long journey.  But it'll be lovely; wisht I was a-going.\nIs Mary Jane the oldest?  How old is the others?\"\n\n\"Mary Jane's nineteen, Susan's fifteen, and Joanna's about\nfourteen--that's the one that gives herself to good works and has a\nhare-lip.\"\n\n\"Poor things! to be left alone in the cold world so.\"\n\n\"Well, they could be worse off.  Old Peter had friends, and they\nain't going to let them come to no harm.  There's Hobson, the Babtis'\npreacher; and Deacon Lot Hovey, and Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford,\nand Levi Bell, the lawyer; and Dr. Robinson, and their wives, and the\nwidow Bartley, and--well, there's a lot of them; but these are the ones\nthat Peter was thickest with, and used to write about sometimes, when\nhe wrote home; so Harvey 'll know where to look for friends when he gets\nhere.\"\n\nWell, the old man went on asking questions till he just fairly emptied\nthat young fellow.  Blamed if he didn't inquire about everybody and\neverything in that blessed town, and all about the Wilkses; and about\nPeter's business--which was a tanner; and about George's--which was a\ncarpenter; and about Harvey's--which was a dissentering minister; and so\non, and so on.  Then he says:\n\n\"What did you want to walk all the way up to the steamboat for?\"\n\n\"Because she's a big Orleans boat, and I was afeard she mightn't stop\nthere.  When they're deep they won't stop for a hail.  A Cincinnati boat\nwill, but this is a St. Louis one.\"\n\n\"Was Peter Wilks well off?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, pretty well off.  He had houses and land, and it's reckoned he\nleft three or four thousand in cash hid up som'ers.\"\n\n\"When did you say he died?\"\n\n\"I didn't say, but it was last night.\"\n\n\"Funeral to-morrow, likely?\"\n\n\"Yes, 'bout the middle of the day.\"\n\n\"Well, it's all terrible sad; but we've all got to go, one time or\nanother. So what we want to do is to be prepared; then we're all right.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, it's the best way.  Ma used to always say that.\"\n\nWhen we struck the boat she was about done loading, and pretty soon she\ngot off.  The king never said nothing about going aboard, so I lost\nmy ride, after all.  When the boat was gone the king made me paddle up\nanother mile to a lonesome place, and then he got ashore and says:\n\n\"Now hustle back, right off, and fetch the duke up here, and the new\ncarpet-bags.  And if he's gone over to t'other side, go over there and\ngit him.  And tell him to git himself up regardless.  Shove along, now.\"\n\nI see what _he_ was up to; but I never said nothing, of course.  When\nI got back with the duke we hid the canoe, and then they set down on a\nlog, and the king told him everything, just like the young fellow had\nsaid it--every last word of it.  And all the time he was a-doing it he\ntried to talk like an Englishman; and he done it pretty well, too, for\na slouch. I can't imitate him, and so I ain't a-going to try to; but he\nreally done it pretty good.  Then he says:\n\n\"How are you on the deef and dumb, Bilgewater?\"\n\nThe duke said, leave him alone for that; said he had played a deef\nand dumb person on the histronic boards.  So then they waited for a\nsteamboat.\n\nAbout the middle of the afternoon a couple of little boats come along,\nbut they didn't come from high enough up the river; but at last there\nwas a big one, and they hailed her.  She sent out her yawl, and we went\naboard, and she was from Cincinnati; and when they found we only wanted\nto go four or five mile they was booming mad, and gave us a cussing, and\nsaid they wouldn't land us.  But the king was ca'm.  He says:\n\n\"If gentlemen kin afford to pay a dollar a mile apiece to be took on and\nput off in a yawl, a steamboat kin afford to carry 'em, can't it?\"\n\nSo they softened down and said it was all right; and when we got to the\nvillage they yawled us ashore.  About two dozen men flocked down when\nthey see the yawl a-coming, and when the king says:\n\n\"Kin any of you gentlemen tell me wher' Mr. Peter Wilks lives?\" they\ngive a glance at one another, and nodded their heads, as much as to say,\n\"What d' I tell you?\"  Then one of them says, kind of soft and gentle:\n\n\"I'm sorry sir, but the best we can do is to tell you where he _did_\nlive yesterday evening.\"\n\nSudden as winking the ornery old cretur went an to smash, and fell up\nagainst the man, and put his chin on his shoulder, and cried down his\nback, and says:\n\n\"Alas, alas, our poor brother--gone, and we never got to see him; oh,\nit's too, too hard!\"\n\nThen he turns around, blubbering, and makes a lot of idiotic signs to\nthe duke on his hands, and blamed if he didn't drop a carpet-bag and\nbust out a-crying.  If they warn't the beatenest lot, them two frauds,\nthat ever I struck.\n\nWell, the men gathered around and sympathized with them, and said all\nsorts of kind things to them, and carried their carpet-bags up the hill\nfor them, and let them lean on them and cry, and told the king all about\nhis brother's last moments, and the king he told it all over again on\nhis hands to the duke, and both of them took on about that dead tanner\nlike they'd lost the twelve disciples.  Well, if ever I struck anything\nlike it, I'm a nigger. It was enough to make a body ashamed of the human\nrace.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nTHE news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people\ntearing down on the run from every which way, some of them putting on\ntheir coats as they come.  Pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd,\nand the noise of the tramping was like a soldier march.  The windows and\ndooryards was full; and every minute somebody would say, over a fence:\n\n\"Is it _them_?\"\n\nAnd somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say:\n\n\"You bet it is.\"\n\nWhen we got to the house the street in front of it was packed, and the\nthree girls was standing in the door.  Mary Jane _was_ red-headed, but\nthat don't make no difference, she was most awful beautiful, and her\nface and her eyes was all lit up like glory, she was so glad her uncles\nwas come. The king he spread his arms, and Mary Jane she jumped for\nthem, and the hare-lip jumped for the duke, and there they had it!\n Everybody most, leastways women, cried for joy to see them meet again\nat last and have such good times.\n\nThen the king he hunched the duke private--I see him do it--and then he\nlooked around and see the coffin, over in the corner on two chairs; so\nthen him and the duke, with a hand across each other's shoulder, and\nt'other hand to their eyes, walked slow and solemn over there, everybody\ndropping back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopping,\npeople saying \"Sh!\" and all the men taking their hats off and drooping\ntheir heads, so you could a heard a pin fall.  And when they got there\nthey bent over and looked in the coffin, and took one sight, and then\nthey bust out a-crying so you could a heard them to Orleans, most; and\nthen they put their arms around each other's necks, and hung their chins\nover each other's shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four,\nI never see two men leak the way they done.  And, mind you, everybody\nwas doing the same; and the place was that damp I never see anything\nlike it. Then one of them got on one side of the coffin, and t'other on\nt'other side, and they kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the\ncoffin, and let on to pray all to themselves.  Well, when it come\nto that it worked the crowd like you never see anything like it, and\neverybody broke down and went to sobbing right out loud--the poor girls,\ntoo; and every woman, nearly, went up to the girls, without saying a\nword, and kissed them, solemn, on the forehead, and then put their hand\non their head, and looked up towards the sky, with the tears running\ndown, and then busted out and went off sobbing and swabbing, and give\nthe next woman a show.  I never see anything so disgusting.\n\nWell, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and\nworks himself up and slobbers out a speech, all full of tears and\nflapdoodle about its being a sore trial for him and his poor brother\nto lose the diseased, and to miss seeing diseased alive after the long\njourney of four thousand mile, but it's a trial that's sweetened and\nsanctified to us by this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he\nthanks them out of his heart and out of his brother's heart, because out\nof their mouths they can't, words being too weak and cold, and all that\nkind of rot and slush, till it was just sickening; and then he blubbers\nout a pious goody-goody Amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying\nfit to bust.\n\nAnd the minute the words were out of his mouth somebody over in the\ncrowd struck up the doxolojer, and everybody joined in with all their\nmight, and it just warmed you up and made you feel as good as church\nletting out. Music is a good thing; and after all that soul-butter and\nhogwash I never see it freshen up things so, and sound so honest and\nbully.\n\nThen the king begins to work his jaw again, and says how him and his\nnieces would be glad if a few of the main principal friends of the\nfamily would take supper here with them this evening, and help set up\nwith the ashes of the diseased; and says if his poor brother laying\nyonder could speak he knows who he would name, for they was names that\nwas very dear to him, and mentioned often in his letters; and so he will\nname the same, to wit, as follows, vizz.:--Rev. Mr. Hobson, and Deacon\nLot Hovey, and Mr. Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, and\nDr. Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley.\n\nRev. Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting\ntogether--that is, I mean the doctor was shipping a sick man to t'other\nworld, and the preacher was pinting him right.  Lawyer Bell was away up\nto Louisville on business.  But the rest was on hand, and so they all\ncome and shook hands with the king and thanked him and talked to him;\nand then they shook hands with the duke and didn't say nothing, but just\nkept a-smiling and bobbing their heads like a passel of sapheads whilst\nhe made all sorts of signs with his hands and said \"Goo-goo--goo-goo-goo\"\nall the time, like a baby that can't talk.\n\nSo the king he blattered along, and managed to inquire about pretty\nmuch everybody and dog in town, by his name, and mentioned all sorts\nof little things that happened one time or another in the town, or to\nGeorge's family, or to Peter.  And he always let on that Peter wrote him\nthe things; but that was a lie:  he got every blessed one of them out of\nthat young flathead that we canoed up to the steamboat.\n\nThen Mary Jane she fetched the letter her father left behind, and the\nking he read it out loud and cried over it.  It give the dwelling-house\nand three thousand dollars, gold, to the girls; and it give the tanyard\n(which was doing a good business), along with some other houses and\nland (worth about seven thousand), and three thousand dollars in gold\nto Harvey and William, and told where the six thousand cash was hid down\ncellar.  So these two frauds said they'd go and fetch it up, and have\neverything square and above-board; and told me to come with a candle.\n We shut the cellar door behind us, and when they found the bag\nthey spilt it out on the floor, and it was a lovely sight, all them\nyaller-boys.  My, the way the king's eyes did shine!  He slaps the duke\non the shoulder and says:\n\n\"Oh, _this_ ain't bully nor noth'n!  Oh, no, I reckon not!  Why,\n_bully_, it beats the Nonesuch, _don't_ it?\"\n\nThe duke allowed it did.  They pawed the yaller-boys, and sifted them\nthrough their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor; and the\nking says:\n\n\"It ain't no use talkin'; bein' brothers to a rich dead man and\nrepresentatives of furrin heirs that's got left is the line for you and\nme, Bilge.  Thish yer comes of trust'n to Providence.  It's the best\nway, in the long run.  I've tried 'em all, and ther' ain't no better\nway.\"\n\nMost everybody would a been satisfied with the pile, and took it on\ntrust; but no, they must count it.  So they counts it, and it comes out\nfour hundred and fifteen dollars short.  Says the king:\n\n\"Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen\ndollars?\"\n\nThey worried over that awhile, and ransacked all around for it.  Then\nthe duke says:\n\n\"Well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistake--I reckon\nthat's the way of it.  The best way's to let it go, and keep still about\nit.  We can spare it.\"\n\n\"Oh, shucks, yes, we can _spare_ it.  I don't k'yer noth'n 'bout\nthat--it's the _count_ I'm thinkin' about.  We want to be awful square\nand open and above-board here, you know.  We want to lug this h-yer\nmoney up stairs and count it before everybody--then ther' ain't noth'n\nsuspicious.  But when the dead man says ther's six thous'n dollars, you\nknow, we don't want to--\"\n\n\"Hold on,\" says the duke.  \"Le's make up the deffisit,\" and he begun to\nhaul out yaller-boys out of his pocket.\n\n\"It's a most amaz'n' good idea, duke--you _have_ got a rattlin' clever\nhead on you,\" says the king.  \"Blest if the old Nonesuch ain't a heppin'\nus out agin,\" and _he_ begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them\nup.\n\nIt most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear.\n\n\"Say,\" says the duke, \"I got another idea.  Le's go up stairs and count\nthis money, and then take and _give it to the girls_.\"\n\n\"Good land, duke, lemme hug you!  It's the most dazzling idea 'at ever a\nman struck.  You have cert'nly got the most astonishin' head I ever see.\nOh, this is the boss dodge, ther' ain't no mistake 'bout it.  Let 'em\nfetch along their suspicions now if they want to--this 'll lay 'em out.\"\n\nWhen we got up-stairs everybody gethered around the table, and the king\nhe counted it and stacked it up, three hundred dollars in a pile--twenty\nelegant little piles.  Everybody looked hungry at it, and licked their\nchops.  Then they raked it into the bag again, and I see the king begin\nto swell himself up for another speech.  He says:\n\n\"Friends all, my poor brother that lays yonder has done generous by\nthem that's left behind in the vale of sorrers.  He has done generous by\nthese yer poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left\nfatherless and motherless.  Yes, and we that knowed him knows that he\nwould a done _more_ generous by 'em if he hadn't ben afeard o' woundin'\nhis dear William and me.  Now, _wouldn't_ he?  Ther' ain't no question\n'bout it in _my_ mind.  Well, then, what kind o' brothers would it be\nthat 'd stand in his way at sech a time?  And what kind o' uncles would\nit be that 'd rob--yes, _rob_--sech poor sweet lambs as these 'at he loved\nso at sech a time?  If I know William--and I _think_ I do--he--well, I'll\njest ask him.\" He turns around and begins to make a lot of signs to\nthe duke with his hands, and the duke he looks at him stupid and\nleather-headed a while; then all of a sudden he seems to catch his\nmeaning, and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy,\nand hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up.  Then the king says,\n\"I knowed it; I reckon _that 'll_ convince anybody the way _he_ feels\nabout it.  Here, Mary Jane, Susan, Joanner, take the money--take it\n_all_.  It's the gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful.\"\n\nMary Jane she went for him, Susan and the hare-lip went for the\nduke, and then such another hugging and kissing I never see yet.  And\neverybody crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the\nhands off of them frauds, saying all the time:\n\n\"You _dear_ good souls!--how _lovely_!--how _could_ you!\"\n\nWell, then, pretty soon all hands got to talking about the diseased\nagain, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and\nbefore long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside,\nand stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody\nsaying anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was\nall busy listening.  The king was saying--in the middle of something he'd\nstarted in on--\n\n\"--they bein' partickler friends o' the diseased.  That's why they're\ninvited here this evenin'; but tomorrow we want _all_ to come--everybody;\nfor he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's fitten that\nhis funeral orgies sh'd be public.\"\n\nAnd so he went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and\nevery little while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke\nhe couldn't stand it no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper,\n\"_Obsequies_, you old fool,\" and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and\nreaching it over people's heads to him.  The king he reads it and puts\nit in his pocket, and says:\n\n\"Poor William, afflicted as he is, his _heart's_ aluz right.  Asks me\nto invite everybody to come to the funeral--wants me to make 'em all\nwelcome.  But he needn't a worried--it was jest what I was at.\"\n\nThen he weaves along again, perfectly ca'm, and goes to dropping in his\nfuneral orgies again every now and then, just like he done before.  And\nwhen he done it the third time he says:\n\n\"I say orgies, not because it's the common term, because it\nain't--obsequies bein' the common term--but because orgies is the right\nterm. Obsequies ain't used in England no more now--it's gone out.  We\nsay orgies now in England.  Orgies is better, because it means the thing\nyou're after more exact.  It's a word that's made up out'n the Greek\n_orgo_, outside, open, abroad; and the Hebrew _jeesum_, to plant, cover\nup; hence in_ter._  So, you see, funeral orgies is an open er public\nfuneral.\"\n\nHe was the _worst_ I ever struck.  Well, the iron-jawed man he laughed\nright in his face.  Everybody was shocked.  Everybody says, \"Why,\n_doctor_!\" and Abner Shackleford says:\n\n\"Why, Robinson, hain't you heard the news?  This is Harvey Wilks.\"\n\nThe king he smiled eager, and shoved out his flapper, and says:\n\n\"Is it my poor brother's dear good friend and physician?  I--\"\n\n\"Keep your hands off of me!\" says the doctor.  \"_You_ talk like an\nEnglishman, _don't_ you?  It's the worst imitation I ever heard.  _You_\nPeter Wilks's brother!  You're a fraud, that's what you are!\"\n\nWell, how they all took on!  They crowded around the doctor and tried to\nquiet him down, and tried to explain to him and tell him how Harvey 'd\nshowed in forty ways that he _was_ Harvey, and knowed everybody by name,\nand the names of the very dogs, and begged and _begged_ him not to hurt\nHarvey's feelings and the poor girl's feelings, and all that.  But it\nwarn't no use; he stormed right along, and said any man that pretended\nto be an Englishman and couldn't imitate the lingo no better than what\nhe did was a fraud and a liar.  The poor girls was hanging to the king\nand crying; and all of a sudden the doctor ups and turns on _them_.  He\nsays:\n\n\"I was your father's friend, and I'm your friend; and I warn you as a\nfriend, and an honest one that wants to protect you and keep you out of\nharm and trouble, to turn your backs on that scoundrel and have nothing\nto do with him, the ignorant tramp, with his idiotic Greek and Hebrew,\nas he calls it.  He is the thinnest kind of an impostor--has come here\nwith a lot of empty names and facts which he picked up somewheres, and\nyou take them for _proofs_, and are helped to fool yourselves by these\nfoolish friends here, who ought to know better.  Mary Jane Wilks, you\nknow me for your friend, and for your unselfish friend, too.  Now listen\nto me; turn this pitiful rascal out--I _beg_ you to do it.  Will you?\"\n\nMary Jane straightened herself up, and my, but she was handsome!  She\nsays:\n\n\"_Here_ is my answer.\"  She hove up the bag of money and put it in the\nking's hands, and says, \"Take this six thousand dollars, and invest for\nme and my sisters any way you want to, and don't give us no receipt for\nit.\"\n\nThen she put her arm around the king on one side, and Susan and the\nhare-lip done the same on the other.  Everybody clapped their hands and\nstomped on the floor like a perfect storm, whilst the king held up his\nhead and smiled proud.  The doctor says:\n\n\"All right; I wash _my_ hands of the matter.  But I warn you all that a\ntime 's coming when you're going to feel sick whenever you think of this\nday.\" And away he went.\n\n\"All right, doctor,\" says the king, kinder mocking him; \"we'll try and\nget 'em to send for you;\" which made them all laugh, and they said it\nwas a prime good hit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nWELL, when they was all gone the king he asks Mary Jane how they was off\nfor spare rooms, and she said she had one spare room, which would do for\nUncle William, and she'd give her own room to Uncle Harvey, which was\na little bigger, and she would turn into the room with her sisters and\nsleep on a cot; and up garret was a little cubby, with a pallet in it.\nThe king said the cubby would do for his valley--meaning me.\n\nSo Mary Jane took us up, and she showed them their rooms, which was\nplain but nice.  She said she'd have her frocks and a lot of other traps\ntook out of her room if they was in Uncle Harvey's way, but he said\nthey warn't.  The frocks was hung along the wall, and before them was\na curtain made out of calico that hung down to the floor.  There was an\nold hair trunk in one corner, and a guitar-box in another, and all sorts\nof little knickknacks and jimcracks around, like girls brisken up a room\nwith.  The king said it was all the more homely and more pleasanter for\nthese fixings, and so don't disturb them.  The duke's room was pretty\nsmall, but plenty good enough, and so was my cubby.\n\nThat night they had a big supper, and all them men and women was there,\nand I stood behind the king and the duke's chairs and waited on them,\nand the niggers waited on the rest.  Mary Jane she set at the head of\nthe table, with Susan alongside of her, and said how bad the biscuits\nwas, and how mean the preserves was, and how ornery and tough the fried\nchickens was--and all that kind of rot, the way women always do for to\nforce out compliments; and the people all knowed everything was tiptop,\nand said so--said \"How _do_ you get biscuits to brown so nice?\" and\n\"Where, for the land's sake, _did_ you get these amaz'n pickles?\" and\nall that kind of humbug talky-talk, just the way people always does at a\nsupper, you know.\n\nAnd when it was all done me and the hare-lip had supper in the kitchen\noff of the leavings, whilst the others was helping the niggers clean up\nthe things.  The hare-lip she got to pumping me about England, and blest\nif I didn't think the ice was getting mighty thin sometimes.  She says:\n\n\"Did you ever see the king?\"\n\n\"Who?  William Fourth?  Well, I bet I have--he goes to our church.\"  I\nknowed he was dead years ago, but I never let on.  So when I says he\ngoes to our church, she says:\n\n\"What--regular?\"\n\n\"Yes--regular.  His pew's right over opposite ourn--on t'other side the\npulpit.\"\n\n\"I thought he lived in London?\"\n\n\"Well, he does.  Where _would_ he live?\"\n\n\"But I thought _you_ lived in Sheffield?\"\n\nI see I was up a stump.  I had to let on to get choked with a chicken\nbone, so as to get time to think how to get down again.  Then I says:\n\n\"I mean he goes to our church regular when he's in Sheffield.  That's\nonly in the summer time, when he comes there to take the sea baths.\"\n\n\"Why, how you talk--Sheffield ain't on the sea.\"\n\n\"Well, who said it was?\"\n\n\"Why, you did.\"\n\n\"I _didn't_ nuther.\"\n\n\"You did!\"\n\n\"I didn't.\"\n\n\"You did.\"\n\n\"I never said nothing of the kind.\"\n\n\"Well, what _did_ you say, then?\"\n\n\"Said he come to take the sea _baths_--that's what I said.\"\n\n\"Well, then, how's he going to take the sea baths if it ain't on the\nsea?\"\n\n\"Looky here,\" I says; \"did you ever see any Congress-water?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, did you have to go to Congress to get it?\"\n\n\"Why, no.\"\n\n\"Well, neither does William Fourth have to go to the sea to get a sea\nbath.\"\n\n\"How does he get it, then?\"\n\n\"Gets it the way people down here gets Congress-water--in barrels.  There\nin the palace at Sheffield they've got furnaces, and he wants his water\nhot.  They can't bile that amount of water away off there at the sea.\nThey haven't got no conveniences for it.\"\n\n\"Oh, I see, now.  You might a said that in the first place and saved\ntime.\"\n\nWhen she said that I see I was out of the woods again, and so I was\ncomfortable and glad.  Next, she says:\n\n\"Do you go to church, too?\"\n\n\"Yes--regular.\"\n\n\"Where do you set?\"\n\n\"Why, in our pew.\"\n\n\"_Whose_ pew?\"\n\n\"Why, _ourn_--your Uncle Harvey's.\"\n\n\"His'n?  What does _he_ want with a pew?\"\n\n\"Wants it to set in.  What did you _reckon_ he wanted with it?\"\n\n\"Why, I thought he'd be in the pulpit.\"\n\nRot him, I forgot he was a preacher.  I see I was up a stump again, so I\nplayed another chicken bone and got another think.  Then I says:\n\n\"Blame it, do you suppose there ain't but one preacher to a church?\"\n\n\"Why, what do they want with more?\"\n\n\"What!--to preach before a king?  I never did see such a girl as you.\nThey don't have no less than seventeen.\"\n\n\"Seventeen!  My land!  Why, I wouldn't set out such a string as that,\nnot if I _never_ got to glory.  It must take 'em a week.\"\n\n\"Shucks, they don't _all_ of 'em preach the same day--only _one_ of 'em.\"\n\n\"Well, then, what does the rest of 'em do?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing much.  Loll around, pass the plate--and one thing or\nanother.  But mainly they don't do nothing.\"\n\n\"Well, then, what are they _for_?\"\n\n\"Why, they're for _style_.  Don't you know nothing?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't _want_ to know no such foolishness as that.  How is\nservants treated in England?  Do they treat 'em better 'n we treat our\nniggers?\"\n\n\"_No_!  A servant ain't nobody there.  They treat them worse than dogs.\"\n\n\"Don't they give 'em holidays, the way we do, Christmas and New Year's\nweek, and Fourth of July?\"\n\n\"Oh, just listen!  A body could tell _you_ hain't ever been to England\nby that.  Why, Hare-l--why, Joanna, they never see a holiday from year's\nend to year's end; never go to the circus, nor theater, nor nigger\nshows, nor nowheres.\"\n\n\"Nor church?\"\n\n\"Nor church.\"\n\n\"But _you_ always went to church.\"\n\nWell, I was gone up again.  I forgot I was the old man's servant.  But\nnext minute I whirled in on a kind of an explanation how a valley was\ndifferent from a common servant and _had_ to go to church whether he\nwanted to or not, and set with the family, on account of its being the\nlaw.  But I didn't do it pretty good, and when I got done I see she\nwarn't satisfied.  She says:\n\n\"Honest injun, now, hain't you been telling me a lot of lies?\"\n\n\"Honest injun,\" says I.\n\n\"None of it at all?\"\n\n\"None of it at all.  Not a lie in it,\" says I.\n\n\"Lay your hand on this book and say it.\"\n\nI see it warn't nothing but a dictionary, so I laid my hand on it and\nsaid it.  So then she looked a little better satisfied, and says:\n\n\"Well, then, I'll believe some of it; but I hope to gracious if I'll\nbelieve the rest.\"\n\n\"What is it you won't believe, Joe?\" says Mary Jane, stepping in with\nSusan behind her.  \"It ain't right nor kind for you to talk so to him,\nand him a stranger and so far from his people.  How would you like to be\ntreated so?\"\n\n\"That's always your way, Maim--always sailing in to help somebody before\nthey're hurt.  I hain't done nothing to him.  He's told some stretchers,\nI reckon, and I said I wouldn't swallow it all; and that's every bit\nand grain I _did_ say.  I reckon he can stand a little thing like that,\ncan't he?\"\n\n\"I don't care whether 'twas little or whether 'twas big; he's here in\nour house and a stranger, and it wasn't good of you to say it.  If you\nwas in his place it would make you feel ashamed; and so you oughtn't to\nsay a thing to another person that will make _them_ feel ashamed.\"\n\n\"Why, Mam, he said--\"\n\n\"It don't make no difference what he _said_--that ain't the thing.  The\nthing is for you to treat him _kind_, and not be saying things to make\nhim remember he ain't in his own country and amongst his own folks.\"\n\nI says to myself, _this_ is a girl that I'm letting that old reptile rob\nher of her money!\n\nThen Susan _she_ waltzed in; and if you'll believe me, she did give\nHare-lip hark from the tomb!\n\nSays I to myself, and this is _another_ one that I'm letting him rob her\nof her money!\n\nThen Mary Jane she took another inning, and went in sweet and lovely\nagain--which was her way; but when she got done there warn't hardly\nanything left o' poor Hare-lip.  So she hollered.\n\n\"All right, then,\" says the other girls; \"you just ask his pardon.\"\n\nShe done it, too; and she done it beautiful.  She done it so beautiful\nit was good to hear; and I wished I could tell her a thousand lies, so\nshe could do it again.\n\nI says to myself, this is _another_ one that I'm letting him rob her of\nher money.  And when she got through they all jest laid theirselves\nout to make me feel at home and know I was amongst friends.  I felt so\nornery and low down and mean that I says to myself, my mind's made up;\nI'll hive that money for them or bust.\n\nSo then I lit out--for bed, I said, meaning some time or another.  When\nI got by myself I went to thinking the thing over.  I says to myself,\nshall I go to that doctor, private, and blow on these frauds?  No--that\nwon't do. He might tell who told him; then the king and the duke would\nmake it warm for me.  Shall I go, private, and tell Mary Jane?  No--I\ndasn't do it. Her face would give them a hint, sure; they've got the\nmoney, and they'd slide right out and get away with it.  If she was to\nfetch in help I'd get mixed up in the business before it was done with,\nI judge.  No; there ain't no good way but one.  I got to steal that\nmoney, somehow; and I got to steal it some way that they won't suspicion\nthat I done it. They've got a good thing here, and they ain't a-going\nto leave till they've played this family and this town for all they're\nworth, so I'll find a chance time enough. I'll steal it and hide it; and\nby and by, when I'm away down the river, I'll write a letter and tell\nMary Jane where it's hid.  But I better hive it tonight if I can,\nbecause the doctor maybe hasn't let up as much as he lets on he has; he\nmight scare them out of here yet.\n\nSo, thinks I, I'll go and search them rooms.  Upstairs the hall was\ndark, but I found the duke's room, and started to paw around it with\nmy hands; but I recollected it wouldn't be much like the king to let\nanybody else take care of that money but his own self; so then I went to\nhis room and begun to paw around there.  But I see I couldn't do nothing\nwithout a candle, and I dasn't light one, of course.  So I judged I'd\ngot to do the other thing--lay for them and eavesdrop.  About that time\nI hears their footsteps coming, and was going to skip under the bed; I\nreached for it, but it wasn't where I thought it would be; but I touched\nthe curtain that hid Mary Jane's frocks, so I jumped in behind that and\nsnuggled in amongst the gowns, and stood there perfectly still.\n\nThey come in and shut the door; and the first thing the duke done was to\nget down and look under the bed.  Then I was glad I hadn't found the bed\nwhen I wanted it.  And yet, you know, it's kind of natural to hide under\nthe bed when you are up to anything private.  They sets down then, and\nthe king says:\n\n\"Well, what is it?  And cut it middlin' short, because it's better for\nus to be down there a-whoopin' up the mournin' than up here givin' 'em a\nchance to talk us over.\"\n\n\"Well, this is it, Capet.  I ain't easy; I ain't comfortable.  That\ndoctor lays on my mind.  I wanted to know your plans.  I've got a\nnotion, and I think it's a sound one.\"\n\n\"What is it, duke?\"\n\n\"That we better glide out of this before three in the morning, and clip\nit down the river with what we've got.  Specially, seeing we got it so\neasy--_given_ back to us, flung at our heads, as you may say, when of\ncourse we allowed to have to steal it back.  I'm for knocking off and\nlighting out.\"\n\nThat made me feel pretty bad.  About an hour or two ago it would a been\na little different, but now it made me feel bad and disappointed, The\nking rips out and says:\n\n\"What!  And not sell out the rest o' the property?  March off like\na passel of fools and leave eight or nine thous'n' dollars' worth o'\nproperty layin' around jest sufferin' to be scooped in?--and all good,\nsalable stuff, too.\"\n\nThe duke he grumbled; said the bag of gold was enough, and he didn't\nwant to go no deeper--didn't want to rob a lot of orphans of _everything_\nthey had.\n\n\"Why, how you talk!\" says the king.  \"We sha'n't rob 'em of nothing at\nall but jest this money.  The people that _buys_ the property is the\nsuff'rers; because as soon 's it's found out 'at we didn't own it--which\nwon't be long after we've slid--the sale won't be valid, and it 'll all\ngo back to the estate.  These yer orphans 'll git their house back agin,\nand that's enough for _them_; they're young and spry, and k'n easy\nearn a livin'.  _they_ ain't a-goin to suffer.  Why, jest think--there's\nthous'n's and thous'n's that ain't nigh so well off.  Bless you, _they_\nain't got noth'n' to complain of.\"\n\nWell, the king he talked him blind; so at last he give in, and said all\nright, but said he believed it was blamed foolishness to stay, and that\ndoctor hanging over them.  But the king says:\n\n\"Cuss the doctor!  What do we k'yer for _him_?  Hain't we got all the\nfools in town on our side?  And ain't that a big enough majority in any\ntown?\"\n\nSo they got ready to go down stairs again.  The duke says:\n\n\"I don't think we put that money in a good place.\"\n\nThat cheered me up.  I'd begun to think I warn't going to get a hint of\nno kind to help me.  The king says:\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because Mary Jane 'll be in mourning from this out; and first you know\nthe nigger that does up the rooms will get an order to box these duds\nup and put 'em away; and do you reckon a nigger can run across money and\nnot borrow some of it?\"\n\n\"Your head's level agin, duke,\" says the king; and he comes a-fumbling\nunder the curtain two or three foot from where I was.  I stuck tight to\nthe wall and kept mighty still, though quivery; and I wondered what them\nfellows would say to me if they catched me; and I tried to think what\nI'd better do if they did catch me.  But the king he got the bag before\nI could think more than about a half a thought, and he never suspicioned\nI was around.  They took and shoved the bag through a rip in the straw\ntick that was under the feather-bed, and crammed it in a foot or two\namongst the straw and said it was all right now, because a nigger only\nmakes up the feather-bed, and don't turn over the straw tick only about\ntwice a year, and so it warn't in no danger of getting stole now.\n\nBut I knowed better.  I had it out of there before they was half-way\ndown stairs.  I groped along up to my cubby, and hid it there till I\ncould get a chance to do better.  I judged I better hide it outside\nof the house somewheres, because if they missed it they would give the\nhouse a good ransacking:  I knowed that very well.  Then I turned in,\nwith my clothes all on; but I couldn't a gone to sleep if I'd a wanted\nto, I was in such a sweat to get through with the business.  By and by I\nheard the king and the duke come up; so I rolled off my pallet and laid\nwith my chin at the top of my ladder, and waited to see if anything was\ngoing to happen.  But nothing did.\n\nSo I held on till all the late sounds had quit and the early ones hadn't\nbegun yet; and then I slipped down the ladder.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nI crept to their doors and listened; they was snoring.  So I tiptoed\nalong, and got down stairs all right.  There warn't a sound anywheres.\n I peeped through a crack of the dining-room door, and see the men that\nwas watching the corpse all sound asleep on their chairs.  The door\nwas open into the parlor, where the corpse was laying, and there was a\ncandle in both rooms. I passed along, and the parlor door was open; but\nI see there warn't nobody in there but the remainders of Peter; so I\nshoved on by; but the front door was locked, and the key wasn't there.\n Just then I heard somebody coming down the stairs, back behind me.  I\nrun in the parlor and took a swift look around, and the only place I\nsee to hide the bag was in the coffin.  The lid was shoved along about\na foot, showing the dead man's face down in there, with a wet cloth over\nit, and his shroud on.  I tucked the money-bag in under the lid, just\ndown beyond where his hands was crossed, which made me creep, they was\nso cold, and then I run back across the room and in behind the door.\n\nThe person coming was Mary Jane.  She went to the coffin, very soft, and\nkneeled down and looked in; then she put up her handkerchief, and I see\nshe begun to cry, though I couldn't hear her, and her back was to me.  I\nslid out, and as I passed the dining-room I thought I'd make sure them\nwatchers hadn't seen me; so I looked through the crack, and everything\nwas all right.  They hadn't stirred.\n\nI slipped up to bed, feeling ruther blue, on accounts of the thing\nplaying out that way after I had took so much trouble and run so much\nresk about it.  Says I, if it could stay where it is, all right; because\nwhen we get down the river a hundred mile or two I could write back to\nMary Jane, and she could dig him up again and get it; but that ain't the\nthing that's going to happen; the thing that's going to happen is, the\nmoney 'll be found when they come to screw on the lid.  Then the king\n'll get it again, and it 'll be a long day before he gives anybody\nanother chance to smouch it from him. Of course I _wanted_ to slide\ndown and get it out of there, but I dasn't try it.  Every minute it was\ngetting earlier now, and pretty soon some of them watchers would begin\nto stir, and I might get catched--catched with six thousand dollars in my\nhands that nobody hadn't hired me to take care of.  I don't wish to be\nmixed up in no such business as that, I says to myself.\n\nWhen I got down stairs in the morning the parlor was shut up, and the\nwatchers was gone.  There warn't nobody around but the family and the\nwidow Bartley and our tribe.  I watched their faces to see if anything\nhad been happening, but I couldn't tell.\n\nTowards the middle of the day the undertaker come with his man, and they\nset the coffin in the middle of the room on a couple of chairs, and then\nset all our chairs in rows, and borrowed more from the neighbors till\nthe hall and the parlor and the dining-room was full.  I see the coffin\nlid was the way it was before, but I dasn't go to look in under it, with\nfolks around.\n\nThen the people begun to flock in, and the beats and the girls took\nseats in the front row at the head of the coffin, and for a half an hour\nthe people filed around slow, in single rank, and looked down at the\ndead man's face a minute, and some dropped in a tear, and it was\nall very still and solemn, only the girls and the beats holding\nhandkerchiefs to their eyes and keeping their heads bent, and sobbing a\nlittle.  There warn't no other sound but the scraping of the feet on\nthe floor and blowing noses--because people always blows them more at a\nfuneral than they do at other places except church.\n\nWhen the place was packed full the undertaker he slid around in his\nblack gloves with his softy soothering ways, putting on the last\ntouches, and getting people and things all ship-shape and comfortable,\nand making no more sound than a cat.  He never spoke; he moved people\naround, he squeezed in late ones, he opened up passageways, and done\nit with nods, and signs with his hands.  Then he took his place over\nagainst the wall. He was the softest, glidingest, stealthiest man I ever\nsee; and there warn't no more smile to him than there is to a ham.\n\nThey had borrowed a melodeum--a sick one; and when everything was ready\na young woman set down and worked it, and it was pretty skreeky and\ncolicky, and everybody joined in and sung, and Peter was the only one\nthat had a good thing, according to my notion.  Then the Reverend Hobson\nopened up, slow and solemn, and begun to talk; and straight off the most\noutrageous row busted out in the cellar a body ever heard; it was only\none dog, but he made a most powerful racket, and he kept it up right\nalong; the parson he had to stand there, over the coffin, and wait--you\ncouldn't hear yourself think.  It was right down awkward, and nobody\ndidn't seem to know what to do.  But pretty soon they see that\nlong-legged undertaker make a sign to the preacher as much as to say,\n\"Don't you worry--just depend on me.\"  Then he stooped down and begun\nto glide along the wall, just his shoulders showing over the people's\nheads.  So he glided along, and the powwow and racket getting more and\nmore outrageous all the time; and at last, when he had gone around two\nsides of the room, he disappears down cellar.  Then in about two seconds\nwe heard a whack, and the dog he finished up with a most amazing howl or\ntwo, and then everything was dead still, and the parson begun his solemn\ntalk where he left off.  In a minute or two here comes this undertaker's\nback and shoulders gliding along the wall again; and so he glided and\nglided around three sides of the room, and then rose up, and shaded his\nmouth with his hands, and stretched his neck out towards the preacher,\nover the people's heads, and says, in a kind of a coarse whisper, \"_He\nhad a rat_!\"  Then he drooped down and glided along the wall again to\nhis place.  You could see it was a great satisfaction to the people,\nbecause naturally they wanted to know.  A little thing like that don't\ncost nothing, and it's just the little things that makes a man to be\nlooked up to and liked.  There warn't no more popular man in town than\nwhat that undertaker was.\n\nWell, the funeral sermon was very good, but pison long and tiresome; and\nthen the king he shoved in and got off some of his usual rubbage, and\nat last the job was through, and the undertaker begun to sneak up on the\ncoffin with his screw-driver.  I was in a sweat then, and watched him\npretty keen. But he never meddled at all; just slid the lid along as\nsoft as mush, and screwed it down tight and fast.  So there I was!  I\ndidn't know whether the money was in there or not.  So, says I, s'pose\nsomebody has hogged that bag on the sly?--now how do I know whether\nto write to Mary Jane or not? S'pose she dug him up and didn't find\nnothing, what would she think of me? Blame it, I says, I might get\nhunted up and jailed; I'd better lay low and keep dark, and not write at\nall; the thing's awful mixed now; trying to better it, I've worsened it\na hundred times, and I wish to goodness I'd just let it alone, dad fetch\nthe whole business!\n\nThey buried him, and we come back home, and I went to watching faces\nagain--I couldn't help it, and I couldn't rest easy.  But nothing come of\nit; the faces didn't tell me nothing.\n\nThe king he visited around in the evening, and sweetened everybody up,\nand made himself ever so friendly; and he give out the idea that his\ncongregation over in England would be in a sweat about him, so he must\nhurry and settle up the estate right away and leave for home.  He was\nvery sorry he was so pushed, and so was everybody; they wished he could\nstay longer, but they said they could see it couldn't be done.  And he\nsaid of course him and William would take the girls home with them; and\nthat pleased everybody too, because then the girls would be well fixed\nand amongst their own relations; and it pleased the girls, too--tickled\nthem so they clean forgot they ever had a trouble in the world; and told\nhim to sell out as quick as he wanted to, they would be ready.  Them\npoor things was that glad and happy it made my heart ache to see them\ngetting fooled and lied to so, but I didn't see no safe way for me to\nchip in and change the general tune.\n\nWell, blamed if the king didn't bill the house and the niggers and all\nthe property for auction straight off--sale two days after the funeral;\nbut anybody could buy private beforehand if they wanted to.\n\nSo the next day after the funeral, along about noon-time, the girls' joy\ngot the first jolt.  A couple of nigger traders come along, and the king\nsold them the niggers reasonable, for three-day drafts as they called\nit, and away they went, the two sons up the river to Memphis, and their\nmother down the river to Orleans.  I thought them poor girls and them\nniggers would break their hearts for grief; they cried around each\nother, and took on so it most made me down sick to see it.  The girls\nsaid they hadn't ever dreamed of seeing the family separated or sold\naway from the town.  I can't ever get it out of my memory, the sight of\nthem poor miserable girls and niggers hanging around each other's necks\nand crying; and I reckon I couldn't a stood it all, but would a had\nto bust out and tell on our gang if I hadn't knowed the sale warn't no\naccount and the niggers would be back home in a week or two.\n\nThe thing made a big stir in the town, too, and a good many come out\nflatfooted and said it was scandalous to separate the mother and the\nchildren that way.  It injured the frauds some; but the old fool he\nbulled right along, spite of all the duke could say or do, and I tell\nyou the duke was powerful uneasy.\n\nNext day was auction day.  About broad day in the morning the king and\nthe duke come up in the garret and woke me up, and I see by their look\nthat there was trouble.  The king says:\n\n\"Was you in my room night before last?\"\n\n\"No, your majesty\"--which was the way I always called him when nobody but\nour gang warn't around.\n\n\"Was you in there yisterday er last night?\"\n\n\"No, your majesty.\"\n\n\"Honor bright, now--no lies.\"\n\n\"Honor bright, your majesty, I'm telling you the truth.  I hain't been\na-near your room since Miss Mary Jane took you and the duke and showed\nit to you.\"\n\nThe duke says:\n\n\"Have you seen anybody else go in there?\"\n\n\"No, your grace, not as I remember, I believe.\"\n\n\"Stop and think.\"\n\nI studied awhile and see my chance; then I says:\n\n\"Well, I see the niggers go in there several times.\"\n\nBoth of them gave a little jump, and looked like they hadn't ever\nexpected it, and then like they _had_.  Then the duke says:\n\n\"What, all of them?\"\n\n\"No--leastways, not all at once--that is, I don't think I ever see them\nall come _out_ at once but just one time.\"\n\n\"Hello!  When was that?\"\n\n\"It was the day we had the funeral.  In the morning.  It warn't early,\nbecause I overslept.  I was just starting down the ladder, and I see\nthem.\"\n\n\"Well, go on, _go_ on!  What did they do?  How'd they act?\"\n\n\"They didn't do nothing.  And they didn't act anyway much, as fur as I\nsee. They tiptoed away; so I seen, easy enough, that they'd shoved in\nthere to do up your majesty's room, or something, s'posing you was up;\nand found you _warn't_ up, and so they was hoping to slide out of the\nway of trouble without waking you up, if they hadn't already waked you\nup.\"\n\n\"Great guns, _this_ is a go!\" says the king; and both of them looked\npretty sick and tolerable silly.  They stood there a-thinking and\nscratching their heads a minute, and the duke he bust into a kind of a\nlittle raspy chuckle, and says:\n\n\"It does beat all how neat the niggers played their hand.  They let on\nto be _sorry_ they was going out of this region!  And I believed they\n_was_ sorry, and so did you, and so did everybody.  Don't ever tell _me_\nany more that a nigger ain't got any histrionic talent.  Why, the way\nthey played that thing it would fool _anybody_.  In my opinion, there's\na fortune in 'em.  If I had capital and a theater, I wouldn't want a\nbetter lay-out than that--and here we've gone and sold 'em for a song.\n Yes, and ain't privileged to sing the song yet.  Say, where _is_ that\nsong--that draft?\"\n\n\"In the bank for to be collected.  Where _would_ it be?\"\n\n\"Well, _that's_ all right then, thank goodness.\"\n\nSays I, kind of timid-like:\n\n\"Is something gone wrong?\"\n\nThe king whirls on me and rips out:\n\n\"None o' your business!  You keep your head shet, and mind y'r own\naffairs--if you got any.  Long as you're in this town don't you forgit\n_that_--you hear?\"  Then he says to the duke, \"We got to jest swaller it\nand say noth'n':  mum's the word for _us_.\"\n\nAs they was starting down the ladder the duke he chuckles again, and\nsays:\n\n\"Quick sales _and_ small profits!  It's a good business--yes.\"\n\nThe king snarls around on him and says:\n\n\"I was trying to do for the best in sellin' 'em out so quick.  If the\nprofits has turned out to be none, lackin' considable, and none to\ncarry, is it my fault any more'n it's yourn?\"\n\n\"Well, _they'd_ be in this house yet and we _wouldn't_ if I could a got\nmy advice listened to.\"\n\nThe king sassed back as much as was safe for him, and then swapped\naround and lit into _me_ again.  He give me down the banks for not\ncoming and _telling_ him I see the niggers come out of his room acting\nthat way--said any fool would a _knowed_ something was up.  And then\nwaltzed in and cussed _himself_ awhile, and said it all come of him not\nlaying late and taking his natural rest that morning, and he'd be\nblamed if he'd ever do it again.  So they went off a-jawing; and I felt\ndreadful glad I'd worked it all off on to the niggers, and yet hadn't\ndone the niggers no harm by it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nBY and by it was getting-up time.  So I come down the ladder and started\nfor down-stairs; but as I come to the girls' room the door was open, and\nI see Mary Jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she'd\nbeen packing things in it--getting ready to go to England.  But she\nhad stopped now with a folded gown in her lap, and had her face in her\nhands, crying.  I felt awful bad to see it; of course anybody would.  I\nwent in there and says:\n\n\"Miss Mary Jane, you can't a-bear to see people in trouble, and I\ncan't--most always.  Tell me about it.\"\n\nSo she done it.  And it was the niggers--I just expected it.  She said\nthe beautiful trip to England was most about spoiled for her; she didn't\nknow _how_ she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the mother and\nthe children warn't ever going to see each other no more--and then busted\nout bitterer than ever, and flung up her hands, and says:\n\n\"Oh, dear, dear, to think they ain't _ever_ going to see each other any\nmore!\"\n\n\"But they _will_--and inside of two weeks--and I _know_ it!\" says I.\n\nLaws, it was out before I could think!  And before I could budge she\nthrows her arms around my neck and told me to say it _again_, say it\n_again_, say it _again_!\n\nI see I had spoke too sudden and said too much, and was in a close\nplace. I asked her to let me think a minute; and she set there, very\nimpatient and excited and handsome, but looking kind of happy and\neased-up, like a person that's had a tooth pulled out.  So I went to\nstudying it out.  I says to myself, I reckon a body that ups and tells\nthe truth when he is in a tight place is taking considerable many resks,\nthough I ain't had no experience, and can't say for certain; but it\nlooks so to me, anyway; and yet here's a case where I'm blest if it\ndon't look to me like the truth is better and actuly _safer_ than a lie.\n I must lay it by in my mind, and think it over some time or other, it's\nso kind of strange and unregular. I never see nothing like it.  Well, I\nsays to myself at last, I'm a-going to chance it; I'll up and tell the\ntruth this time, though it does seem most like setting down on a kag of\npowder and touching it off just to see where you'll go to. Then I says:\n\n\"Miss Mary Jane, is there any place out of town a little ways where you\ncould go and stay three or four days?\"\n\n\"Yes; Mr. Lothrop's.  Why?\"\n\n\"Never mind why yet.  If I'll tell you how I know the niggers will see\neach other again inside of two weeks--here in this house--and _prove_ how\nI know it--will you go to Mr. Lothrop's and stay four days?\"\n\n\"Four days!\" she says; \"I'll stay a year!\"\n\n\"All right,\" I says, \"I don't want nothing more out of _you_ than just\nyour word--I druther have it than another man's kiss-the-Bible.\"  She\nsmiled and reddened up very sweet, and I says, \"If you don't mind it,\nI'll shut the door--and bolt it.\"\n\nThen I come back and set down again, and says:\n\n\"Don't you holler.  Just set still and take it like a man.  I got to\ntell the truth, and you want to brace up, Miss Mary, because it's a\nbad kind, and going to be hard to take, but there ain't no help for\nit.  These uncles of yourn ain't no uncles at all; they're a couple of\nfrauds--regular dead-beats.  There, now we're over the worst of it, you\ncan stand the rest middling easy.\"\n\nIt jolted her up like everything, of course; but I was over the shoal\nwater now, so I went right along, her eyes a-blazing higher and higher\nall the time, and told her every blame thing, from where we first struck\nthat young fool going up to the steamboat, clear through to where she\nflung herself on to the king's breast at the front door and he kissed\nher sixteen or seventeen times--and then up she jumps, with her face\nafire like sunset, and says:\n\n\"The brute!  Come, don't waste a minute--not a _second_--we'll have them\ntarred and feathered, and flung in the river!\"\n\nSays I:\n\n\"Cert'nly.  But do you mean _before_ you go to Mr. Lothrop's, or--\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she says, \"what am I _thinking_ about!\" she says, and set right\ndown again.  \"Don't mind what I said--please don't--you _won't,_ now,\n_will_ you?\" Laying her silky hand on mine in that kind of a way that\nI said I would die first.  \"I never thought, I was so stirred up,\" she\nsays; \"now go on, and I won't do so any more.  You tell me what to do,\nand whatever you say I'll do it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I says, \"it's a rough gang, them two frauds, and I'm fixed so\nI got to travel with them a while longer, whether I want to or not--I\ndruther not tell you why; and if you was to blow on them this town would\nget me out of their claws, and I'd be all right; but there'd be another\nperson that you don't know about who'd be in big trouble.  Well, we\ngot to save _him_, hain't we?  Of course.  Well, then, we won't blow on\nthem.\"\n\nSaying them words put a good idea in my head.  I see how maybe I could\nget me and Jim rid of the frauds; get them jailed here, and then leave.\nBut I didn't want to run the raft in the daytime without anybody aboard\nto answer questions but me; so I didn't want the plan to begin working\ntill pretty late to-night.  I says:\n\n\"Miss Mary Jane, I'll tell you what we'll do, and you won't have to stay\nat Mr. Lothrop's so long, nuther.  How fur is it?\"\n\n\"A little short of four miles--right out in the country, back here.\"\n\n\"Well, that 'll answer.  Now you go along out there, and lay low\ntill nine or half-past to-night, and then get them to fetch you home\nagain--tell them you've thought of something.  If you get here before\neleven put a candle in this window, and if I don't turn up wait _till_\neleven, and _then_ if I don't turn up it means I'm gone, and out of the\nway, and safe. Then you come out and spread the news around, and get\nthese beats jailed.\"\n\n\"Good,\" she says, \"I'll do it.\"\n\n\"And if it just happens so that I don't get away, but get took up along\nwith them, you must up and say I told you the whole thing beforehand,\nand you must stand by me all you can.\"\n\n\"Stand by you! indeed I will.  They sha'n't touch a hair of your head!\"\nshe says, and I see her nostrils spread and her eyes snap when she said\nit, too.\n\n\"If I get away I sha'n't be here,\" I says, \"to prove these rapscallions\nain't your uncles, and I couldn't do it if I _was_ here.  I could swear\nthey was beats and bummers, that's all, though that's worth something.\nWell, there's others can do that better than what I can, and they're\npeople that ain't going to be doubted as quick as I'd be.  I'll tell you\nhow to find them.  Gimme a pencil and a piece of paper.  There--'Royal\nNonesuch, Bricksville.'  Put it away, and don't lose it.  When the\ncourt wants to find out something about these two, let them send up to\nBricksville and say they've got the men that played the Royal Nonesuch,\nand ask for some witnesses--why, you'll have that entire town down here\nbefore you can hardly wink, Miss Mary.  And they'll come a-biling, too.\"\n\nI judged we had got everything fixed about right now.  So I says:\n\n\"Just let the auction go right along, and don't worry.  Nobody don't\nhave to pay for the things they buy till a whole day after the auction\non accounts of the short notice, and they ain't going out of this till\nthey get that money; and the way we've fixed it the sale ain't going to\ncount, and they ain't going to get no money.  It's just like the way\nit was with the niggers--it warn't no sale, and the niggers will be\nback before long.  Why, they can't collect the money for the _niggers_\nyet--they're in the worst kind of a fix, Miss Mary.\"\n\n\"Well,\" she says, \"I'll run down to breakfast now, and then I'll start\nstraight for Mr. Lothrop's.\"\n\n\"'Deed, _that_ ain't the ticket, Miss Mary Jane,\" I says, \"by no manner\nof means; go _before_ breakfast.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all for, Miss Mary?\"\n\n\"Well, I never thought--and come to think, I don't know.  What was it?\"\n\n\"Why, it's because you ain't one of these leather-face people.  I don't\nwant no better book than what your face is.  A body can set down and\nread it off like coarse print.  Do you reckon you can go and face your\nuncles when they come to kiss you good-morning, and never--\"\n\n\"There, there, don't!  Yes, I'll go before breakfast--I'll be glad to.\nAnd leave my sisters with them?\"\n\n\"Yes; never mind about them.  They've got to stand it yet a while.  They\nmight suspicion something if all of you was to go.  I don't want you to\nsee them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was\nto ask how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something.\n No, you go right along, Miss Mary Jane, and I'll fix it with all of\nthem. I'll tell Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and say\nyou've went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or\nto see a friend, and you'll be back to-night or early in the morning.\"\n\n\"Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won't have my love given to\nthem.\"\n\n\"Well, then, it sha'n't be.\"  It was well enough to tell _her_ so--no\nharm in it.  It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's\nthe little things that smooths people's roads the most, down here below;\nit would make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing.  Then\nI says:  \"There's one more thing--that bag of money.\"\n\n\"Well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think\n_how_ they got it.\"\n\n\"No, you're out, there.  They hain't got it.\"\n\n\"Why, who's got it?\"\n\n\"I wish I knowed, but I don't.  I _had_ it, because I stole it from\nthem; and I stole it to give to you; and I know where I hid it, but I'm\nafraid it ain't there no more.  I'm awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I'm\njust as sorry as I can be; but I done the best I could; I did honest.  I\ncome nigh getting caught, and I had to shove it into the first place I\ncome to, and run--and it warn't a good place.\"\n\n\"Oh, stop blaming yourself--it's too bad to do it, and I won't allow\nit--you couldn't help it; it wasn't your fault.  Where did you hide it?\"\n\nI didn't want to set her to thinking about her troubles again; and I\ncouldn't seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see that\ncorpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach.  So\nfor a minute I didn't say nothing; then I says:\n\n\"I'd ruther not _tell_ you where I put it, Miss Mary Jane, if you don't\nmind letting me off; but I'll write it for you on a piece of paper, and\nyou can read it along the road to Mr. Lothrop's, if you want to.  Do you\nreckon that 'll do?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\"\n\nSo I wrote:  \"I put it in the coffin.  It was in there when you was\ncrying there, away in the night.  I was behind the door, and I was\nmighty sorry for you, Miss Mary Jane.\"\n\nIt made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all by\nherself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her own\nroof, shaming her and robbing her; and when I folded it up and give it\nto her I see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by the\nhand, hard, and says:\n\n\"_Good_-bye.  I'm going to do everything just as you've told me; and if\nI don't ever see you again, I sha'n't ever forget you and I'll think of\nyou a many and a many a time, and I'll _pray_ for you, too!\"--and she was\ngone.\n\nPray for me!  I reckoned if she knowed me she'd take a job that was more\nnearer her size.  But I bet she done it, just the same--she was just that\nkind.  She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the notion--there\nwarn't no back-down to her, I judge.  You may say what you want to, but\nin my opinion she had more sand in her than any girl I ever see; in\nmy opinion she was just full of sand.  It sounds like flattery, but it\nain't no flattery.  And when it comes to beauty--and goodness, too--she\nlays over them all.  I hain't ever seen her since that time that I see\nher go out of that door; no, I hain't ever seen her since, but I reckon\nI've thought of her a many and a many a million times, and of her saying\nshe would pray for me; and if ever I'd a thought it would do any good\nfor me to pray for _her_, blamed if I wouldn't a done it or bust.\n\nWell, Mary Jane she lit out the back way, I reckon; because nobody see\nher go.  When I struck Susan and the hare-lip, I says:\n\n\"What's the name of them people over on t'other side of the river that\nyou all goes to see sometimes?\"\n\nThey says:\n\n\"There's several; but it's the Proctors, mainly.\"\n\n\"That's the name,\" I says; \"I most forgot it.  Well, Miss Mary Jane she\ntold me to tell you she's gone over there in a dreadful hurry--one of\nthem's sick.\"\n\n\"Which one?\"\n\n\"I don't know; leastways, I kinder forget; but I thinks it's--\"\n\n\"Sakes alive, I hope it ain't _Hanner_?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry to say it,\" I says, \"but Hanner's the very one.\"\n\n\"My goodness, and she so well only last week!  Is she took bad?\"\n\n\"It ain't no name for it.  They set up with her all night, Miss Mary\nJane said, and they don't think she'll last many hours.\"\n\n\"Only think of that, now!  What's the matter with her?\"\n\nI couldn't think of anything reasonable, right off that way, so I says:\n\n\"Mumps.\"\n\n\"Mumps your granny!  They don't set up with people that's got the\nmumps.\"\n\n\"They don't, don't they?  You better bet they do with _these_ mumps.\n These mumps is different.  It's a new kind, Miss Mary Jane said.\"\n\n\"How's it a new kind?\"\n\n\"Because it's mixed up with other things.\"\n\n\"What other things?\"\n\n\"Well, measles, and whooping-cough, and erysiplas, and consumption, and\nyaller janders, and brain-fever, and I don't know what all.\"\n\n\"My land!  And they call it the _mumps_?\"\n\n\"That's what Miss Mary Jane said.\"\n\n\"Well, what in the nation do they call it the _mumps_ for?\"\n\n\"Why, because it _is_ the mumps.  That's what it starts with.\"\n\n\"Well, ther' ain't no sense in it.  A body might stump his toe, and take\npison, and fall down the well, and break his neck, and bust his brains\nout, and somebody come along and ask what killed him, and some numskull\nup and say, 'Why, he stumped his _toe_.'  Would ther' be any sense\nin that? _No_.  And ther' ain't no sense in _this_, nuther.  Is it\nketching?\"\n\n\"Is it _ketching_?  Why, how you talk.  Is a _harrow_ catching--in the\ndark? If you don't hitch on to one tooth, you're bound to on another,\nain't you? And you can't get away with that tooth without fetching the\nwhole harrow along, can you?  Well, these kind of mumps is a kind of a\nharrow, as you may say--and it ain't no slouch of a harrow, nuther, you\ncome to get it hitched on good.\"\n\n\"Well, it's awful, I think,\" says the hare-lip.  \"I'll go to Uncle\nHarvey and--\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" I says, \"I _would_.  Of _course_ I would.  I wouldn't lose no\ntime.\"\n\n\"Well, why wouldn't you?\"\n\n\"Just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see.  Hain't your uncles\nobleegd to get along home to England as fast as they can?  And do you\nreckon they'd be mean enough to go off and leave you to go all that\njourney by yourselves?  _you_ know they'll wait for you.  So fur, so\ngood. Your uncle Harvey's a preacher, ain't he?  Very well, then; is a\n_preacher_ going to deceive a steamboat clerk? is he going to deceive\na _ship clerk?_--so as to get them to let Miss Mary Jane go aboard?  Now\n_you_ know he ain't.  What _will_ he do, then?  Why, he'll say, 'It's a\ngreat pity, but my church matters has got to get along the best way they\ncan; for my niece has been exposed to the dreadful pluribus-unum mumps,\nand so it's my bounden duty to set down here and wait the three months\nit takes to show on her if she's got it.'  But never mind, if you think\nit's best to tell your uncle Harvey--\"\n\n\"Shucks, and stay fooling around here when we could all be having good\ntimes in England whilst we was waiting to find out whether Mary Jane's\ngot it or not?  Why, you talk like a muggins.\"\n\n\"Well, anyway, maybe you'd better tell some of the neighbors.\"\n\n\"Listen at that, now.  You do beat all for natural stupidness.  Can't\nyou _see_ that _they'd_ go and tell?  Ther' ain't no way but just to not\ntell anybody at _all_.\"\n\n\"Well, maybe you're right--yes, I judge you _are_ right.\"\n\n\"But I reckon we ought to tell Uncle Harvey she's gone out a while,\nanyway, so he won't be uneasy about her?\"\n\n\"Yes, Miss Mary Jane she wanted you to do that.  She says, 'Tell them to\ngive Uncle Harvey and William my love and a kiss, and say I've run over\nthe river to see Mr.'--Mr.--what _is_ the name of that rich family your\nuncle Peter used to think so much of?--I mean the one that--\"\n\n\"Why, you must mean the Apthorps, ain't it?\"\n\n\"Of course; bother them kind of names, a body can't ever seem to\nremember them, half the time, somehow.  Yes, she said, say she has run\nover for to ask the Apthorps to be sure and come to the auction and buy\nthis house, because she allowed her uncle Peter would ruther they had\nit than anybody else; and she's going to stick to them till they say\nthey'll come, and then, if she ain't too tired, she's coming home; and\nif she is, she'll be home in the morning anyway.  She said, don't say\nnothing about the Proctors, but only about the Apthorps--which 'll be\nperfectly true, because she is going there to speak about their buying\nthe house; I know it, because she told me so herself.\"\n\n\"All right,\" they said, and cleared out to lay for their uncles, and\ngive them the love and the kisses, and tell them the message.\n\nEverything was all right now.  The girls wouldn't say nothing because\nthey wanted to go to England; and the king and the duke would ruther\nMary Jane was off working for the auction than around in reach of\nDoctor Robinson.  I felt very good; I judged I had done it pretty neat--I\nreckoned Tom Sawyer couldn't a done it no neater himself.  Of course he\nwould a throwed more style into it, but I can't do that very handy, not\nbeing brung up to it.\n\nWell, they held the auction in the public square, along towards the end\nof the afternoon, and it strung along, and strung along, and the old man\nhe was on hand and looking his level pisonest, up there longside of the\nauctioneer, and chipping in a little Scripture now and then, or a little\ngoody-goody saying of some kind, and the duke he was around goo-gooing\nfor sympathy all he knowed how, and just spreading himself generly.\n\nBut by and by the thing dragged through, and everything was\nsold--everything but a little old trifling lot in the graveyard.  So\nthey'd got to work that off--I never see such a girafft as the king was\nfor wanting to swallow _everything_.  Well, whilst they was at it a\nsteamboat landed, and in about two minutes up comes a crowd a-whooping\nand yelling and laughing and carrying on, and singing out:\n\n\"_Here's_ your opposition line! here's your two sets o' heirs to old\nPeter Wilks--and you pays your money and you takes your choice!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nTHEY was fetching a very nice-looking old gentleman along, and a\nnice-looking younger one, with his right arm in a sling.  And, my souls,\nhow the people yelled and laughed, and kept it up.  But I didn't see no\njoke about it, and I judged it would strain the duke and the king some\nto see any.  I reckoned they'd turn pale.  But no, nary a pale did\n_they_ turn. The duke he never let on he suspicioned what was up, but\njust went a goo-gooing around, happy and satisfied, like a jug that's\ngoogling out buttermilk; and as for the king, he just gazed and gazed\ndown sorrowful on them new-comers like it give him the stomach-ache in\nhis very heart to think there could be such frauds and rascals in the\nworld.  Oh, he done it admirable.  Lots of the principal people\ngethered around the king, to let him see they was on his side.  That old\ngentleman that had just come looked all puzzled to death.  Pretty\nsoon he begun to speak, and I see straight off he pronounced _like_ an\nEnglishman--not the king's way, though the king's _was_ pretty good for\nan imitation.  I can't give the old gent's words, nor I can't imitate\nhim; but he turned around to the crowd, and says, about like this:\n\n\"This is a surprise to me which I wasn't looking for; and I'll\nacknowledge, candid and frank, I ain't very well fixed to meet it and\nanswer it; for my brother and me has had misfortunes; he's broke his\narm, and our baggage got put off at a town above here last night in the\nnight by a mistake.  I am Peter Wilks' brother Harvey, and this is his\nbrother William, which can't hear nor speak--and can't even make signs to\namount to much, now't he's only got one hand to work them with.  We are\nwho we say we are; and in a day or two, when I get the baggage, I can\nprove it. But up till then I won't say nothing more, but go to the hotel\nand wait.\"\n\nSo him and the new dummy started off; and the king he laughs, and\nblethers out:\n\n\"Broke his arm--_very_ likely, _ain't_ it?--and very convenient, too,\nfor a fraud that's got to make signs, and ain't learnt how.  Lost\ntheir baggage! That's _mighty_ good!--and mighty ingenious--under the\n_circumstances_!\"\n\nSo he laughed again; and so did everybody else, except three or four,\nor maybe half a dozen.  One of these was that doctor; another one was\na sharp-looking gentleman, with a carpet-bag of the old-fashioned kind\nmade out of carpet-stuff, that had just come off of the steamboat and\nwas talking to him in a low voice, and glancing towards the king now and\nthen and nodding their heads--it was Levi Bell, the lawyer that was gone\nup to Louisville; and another one was a big rough husky that come along\nand listened to all the old gentleman said, and was listening to the\nking now. And when the king got done this husky up and says:\n\n\"Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when'd you come to this\ntown?\"\n\n\"The day before the funeral, friend,\" says the king.\n\n\"But what time o' day?\"\n\n\"In the evenin'--'bout an hour er two before sundown.\"\n\n\"_How'd_ you come?\"\n\n\"I come down on the Susan Powell from Cincinnati.\"\n\n\"Well, then, how'd you come to be up at the Pint in the _mornin_'--in a\ncanoe?\"\n\n\"I warn't up at the Pint in the mornin'.\"\n\n\"It's a lie.\"\n\nSeveral of them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to an\nold man and a preacher.\n\n\"Preacher be hanged, he's a fraud and a liar.  He was up at the Pint\nthat mornin'.  I live up there, don't I?  Well, I was up there, and\nhe was up there.  I see him there.  He come in a canoe, along with Tim\nCollins and a boy.\"\n\nThe doctor he up and says:\n\n\"Would you know the boy again if you was to see him, Hines?\"\n\n\"I reckon I would, but I don't know.  Why, yonder he is, now.  I know\nhim perfectly easy.\"\n\nIt was me he pointed at.  The doctor says:\n\n\"Neighbors, I don't know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but if\n_these_ two ain't frauds, I am an idiot, that's all.  I think it's our\nduty to see that they don't get away from here till we've looked into\nthis thing. Come along, Hines; come along, the rest of you.  We'll take\nthese fellows to the tavern and affront them with t'other couple, and I\nreckon we'll find out _something_ before we get through.\"\n\nIt was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king's friends; so\nwe all started.  It was about sundown.  The doctor he led me along by\nthe hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let go my hand.\n\nWe all got in a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and\nfetched in the new couple.  First, the doctor says:\n\n\"I don't wish to be too hard on these two men, but I think they're\nfrauds, and they may have complices that we don't know nothing about.\n If they have, won't the complices get away with that bag of gold Peter\nWilks left?  It ain't unlikely.  If these men ain't frauds, they won't\nobject to sending for that money and letting us keep it till they prove\nthey're all right--ain't that so?\"\n\nEverybody agreed to that.  So I judged they had our gang in a pretty\ntight place right at the outstart.  But the king he only looked\nsorrowful, and says:\n\n\"Gentlemen, I wish the money was there, for I ain't got no disposition\nto throw anything in the way of a fair, open, out-and-out investigation\no' this misable business; but, alas, the money ain't there; you k'n send\nand see, if you want to.\"\n\n\"Where is it, then?\"\n\n\"Well, when my niece give it to me to keep for her I took and hid it\ninside o' the straw tick o' my bed, not wishin' to bank it for the few\ndays we'd be here, and considerin' the bed a safe place, we not bein'\nused to niggers, and suppos'n' 'em honest, like servants in England.\n The niggers stole it the very next mornin' after I had went down\nstairs; and when I sold 'em I hadn't missed the money yit, so they got\nclean away with it.  My servant here k'n tell you 'bout it, gentlemen.\"\n\nThe doctor and several said \"Shucks!\" and I see nobody didn't altogether\nbelieve him.  One man asked me if I see the niggers steal it.  I said\nno, but I see them sneaking out of the room and hustling away, and I\nnever thought nothing, only I reckoned they was afraid they had waked up\nmy master and was trying to get away before he made trouble with them.\n That was all they asked me.  Then the doctor whirls on me and says:\n\n\"Are _you_ English, too?\"\n\nI says yes; and him and some others laughed, and said, \"Stuff!\"\n\nWell, then they sailed in on the general investigation, and there we had\nit, up and down, hour in, hour out, and nobody never said a word about\nsupper, nor ever seemed to think about it--and so they kept it up, and\nkept it up; and it _was_ the worst mixed-up thing you ever see.  They\nmade the king tell his yarn, and they made the old gentleman tell his'n;\nand anybody but a lot of prejudiced chuckleheads would a _seen_ that the\nold gentleman was spinning truth and t'other one lies.  And by and by\nthey had me up to tell what I knowed.  The king he give me a left-handed\nlook out of the corner of his eye, and so I knowed enough to talk on the\nright side.  I begun to tell about Sheffield, and how we lived there,\nand all about the English Wilkses, and so on; but I didn't get pretty\nfur till the doctor begun to laugh; and Levi Bell, the lawyer, says:\n\n\"Set down, my boy; I wouldn't strain myself if I was you.  I reckon\nyou ain't used to lying, it don't seem to come handy; what you want is\npractice.  You do it pretty awkward.\"\n\nI didn't care nothing for the compliment, but I was glad to be let off,\nanyway.\n\nThe doctor he started to say something, and turns and says:\n\n\"If you'd been in town at first, Levi Bell--\" The king broke in and\nreached out his hand, and says:\n\n\"Why, is this my poor dead brother's old friend that he's wrote so often\nabout?\"\n\nThe lawyer and him shook hands, and the lawyer smiled and looked\npleased, and they talked right along awhile, and then got to one side\nand talked low; and at last the lawyer speaks up and says:\n\n\"That 'll fix it.  I'll take the order and send it, along with your\nbrother's, and then they'll know it's all right.\"\n\nSo they got some paper and a pen, and the king he set down and twisted\nhis head to one side, and chawed his tongue, and scrawled off something;\nand then they give the pen to the duke--and then for the first time the\nduke looked sick.  But he took the pen and wrote.  So then the lawyer\nturns to the new old gentleman and says:\n\n\"You and your brother please write a line or two and sign your names.\"\n\nThe old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn't read it.  The lawyer looked\npowerful astonished, and says:\n\n\"Well, it beats _me_\"--and snaked a lot of old letters out of his pocket,\nand examined them, and then examined the old man's writing, and then\n_them_ again; and then says:  \"These old letters is from Harvey Wilks;\nand here's _these_ two handwritings, and anybody can see they didn't\nwrite them\" (the king and the duke looked sold and foolish, I tell\nyou, to see how the lawyer had took them in), \"and here's _this_ old\ngentleman's hand writing, and anybody can tell, easy enough, _he_ didn't\nwrite them--fact is, the scratches he makes ain't properly _writing_ at\nall.  Now, here's some letters from--\"\n\nThe new old gentleman says:\n\n\"If you please, let me explain.  Nobody can read my hand but my brother\nthere--so he copies for me.  It's _his_ hand you've got there, not mine.\"\n\n\"_Well_!\" says the lawyer, \"this _is_ a state of things.  I've got some\nof William's letters, too; so if you'll get him to write a line or so we\ncan com--\"\n\n\"He _can't_ write with his left hand,\" says the old gentleman.  \"If he\ncould use his right hand, you would see that he wrote his own letters\nand mine too.  Look at both, please--they're by the same hand.\"\n\nThe lawyer done it, and says:\n\n\"I believe it's so--and if it ain't so, there's a heap stronger\nresemblance than I'd noticed before, anyway.  Well, well, well!  I\nthought we was right on the track of a solution, but it's gone to grass,\npartly.  But anyway, one thing is proved--_these_ two ain't either of 'em\nWilkses\"--and he wagged his head towards the king and the duke.\n\nWell, what do you think?  That muleheaded old fool wouldn't give in\n_then_! Indeed he wouldn't.  Said it warn't no fair test.  Said his\nbrother William was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn't tried\nto write--_he_ see William was going to play one of his jokes the minute\nhe put the pen to paper.  And so he warmed up and went warbling and\nwarbling right along till he was actuly beginning to believe what he was\nsaying _himself_; but pretty soon the new gentleman broke in, and says:\n\n\"I've thought of something.  Is there anybody here that helped to lay\nout my br--helped to lay out the late Peter Wilks for burying?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" says somebody, \"me and Ab Turner done it.  We're both here.\"\n\nThen the old man turns towards the king, and says:\n\n\"Perhaps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?\"\n\nBlamed if the king didn't have to brace up mighty quick, or he'd a\nsqushed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took\nhim so sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to make\nmost _anybody_ sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that without any\nnotice, because how was _he_ going to know what was tattooed on the man?\n He whitened a little; he couldn't help it; and it was mighty still in\nthere, and everybody bending a little forwards and gazing at him.  Says\nI to myself, _now_ he'll throw up the sponge--there ain't no more use.\n Well, did he?  A body can't hardly believe it, but he didn't.  I reckon\nhe thought he'd keep the thing up till he tired them people out, so\nthey'd thin out, and him and the duke could break loose and get away.\n Anyway, he set there, and pretty soon he begun to smile, and says:\n\n\"Mf!  It's a _very_ tough question, _ain't_ it!  _yes_, sir, I k'n\ntell you what's tattooed on his breast.  It's jest a small, thin, blue\narrow--that's what it is; and if you don't look clost, you can't see it.\n _now_ what do you say--hey?\"\n\nWell, I never see anything like that old blister for clean out-and-out\ncheek.\n\nThe new old gentleman turns brisk towards Ab Turner and his pard, and\nhis eye lights up like he judged he'd got the king _this_ time, and\nsays:\n\n\"There--you've heard what he said!  Was there any such mark on Peter\nWilks' breast?\"\n\nBoth of them spoke up and says:\n\n\"We didn't see no such mark.\"\n\n\"Good!\" says the old gentleman.  \"Now, what you _did_ see on his breast\nwas a small dim P, and a B (which is an initial he dropped when he was\nyoung), and a W, with dashes between them, so:  P--B--W\"--and he marked\nthem that way on a piece of paper.  \"Come, ain't that what you saw?\"\n\nBoth of them spoke up again, and says:\n\n\"No, we _didn't_.  We never seen any marks at all.\"\n\nWell, everybody _was_ in a state of mind now, and they sings out:\n\n\"The whole _bilin_' of 'm 's frauds!  Le's duck 'em! le's drown 'em!\nle's ride 'em on a rail!\" and everybody was whooping at once, and there\nwas a rattling powwow.  But the lawyer he jumps on the table and yells,\nand says:\n\n\"Gentlemen--gentle_men!_  Hear me just a word--just a _single_ word--if you\n_please_!  There's one way yet--let's go and dig up the corpse and look.\"\n\nThat took them.\n\n\"Hooray!\" they all shouted, and was starting right off; but the lawyer\nand the doctor sung out:\n\n\"Hold on, hold on!  Collar all these four men and the boy, and fetch\n_them_ along, too!\"\n\n\"We'll do it!\" they all shouted; \"and if we don't find them marks we'll\nlynch the whole gang!\"\n\nI _was_ scared, now, I tell you.  But there warn't no getting away, you\nknow. They gripped us all, and marched us right along, straight for the\ngraveyard, which was a mile and a half down the river, and the whole\ntown at our heels, for we made noise enough, and it was only nine in the\nevening.\n\nAs we went by our house I wished I hadn't sent Mary Jane out of town;\nbecause now if I could tip her the wink she'd light out and save me, and\nblow on our dead-beats.\n\nWell, we swarmed along down the river road, just carrying on like\nwildcats; and to make it more scary the sky was darking up, and the\nlightning beginning to wink and flitter, and the wind to shiver amongst\nthe leaves. This was the most awful trouble and most dangersome I ever\nwas in; and I was kinder stunned; everything was going so different from\nwhat I had allowed for; stead of being fixed so I could take my own time\nif I wanted to, and see all the fun, and have Mary Jane at my back to\nsave me and set me free when the close-fit come, here was nothing in the\nworld betwixt me and sudden death but just them tattoo-marks.  If they\ndidn't find them--\n\nI couldn't bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn't think\nabout nothing else.  It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful\ntime to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the\nwrist--Hines--and a body might as well try to give Goliar the slip.  He\ndragged me right along, he was so excited, and I had to run to keep up.\n\nWhen they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it\nlike an overflow.  And when they got to the grave they found they had\nabout a hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn't\nthought to fetch a lantern.  But they sailed into digging anyway by the\nflicker of the lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a\nmile off, to borrow one.\n\nSo they dug and dug like everything; and it got awful dark, and the rain\nstarted, and the wind swished and swushed along, and the lightning come\nbrisker and brisker, and the thunder boomed; but them people never took\nno notice of it, they was so full of this business; and one minute\nyou could see everything and every face in that big crowd, and the\nshovelfuls of dirt sailing up out of the grave, and the next second the\ndark wiped it all out, and you couldn't see nothing at all.\n\nAt last they got out the coffin and begun to unscrew the lid, and then\nsuch another crowding and shouldering and shoving as there was, to\nscrouge in and get a sight, you never see; and in the dark, that way, it\nwas awful.  Hines he hurt my wrist dreadful pulling and tugging so,\nand I reckon he clean forgot I was in the world, he was so excited and\npanting.\n\nAll of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice of white glare,\nand somebody sings out:\n\n\"By the living jingo, here's the bag of gold on his breast!\"\n\nHines let out a whoop, like everybody else, and dropped my wrist and\ngive a big surge to bust his way in and get a look, and the way I lit\nout and shinned for the road in the dark there ain't nobody can tell.\n\nI had the road all to myself, and I fairly flew--leastways, I had it all\nto myself except the solid dark, and the now-and-then glares, and the\nbuzzing of the rain, and the thrashing of the wind, and the splitting of\nthe thunder; and sure as you are born I did clip it along!\n\nWhen I struck the town I see there warn't nobody out in the storm, so\nI never hunted for no back streets, but humped it straight through the\nmain one; and when I begun to get towards our house I aimed my eye and\nset it. No light there; the house all dark--which made me feel sorry and\ndisappointed, I didn't know why.  But at last, just as I was sailing by,\n_flash_ comes the light in Mary Jane's window! and my heart swelled up\nsudden, like to bust; and the same second the house and all was behind\nme in the dark, and wasn't ever going to be before me no more in this\nworld. She _was_ the best girl I ever see, and had the most sand.\n\nThe minute I was far enough above the town to see I could make the\ntowhead, I begun to look sharp for a boat to borrow, and the first\ntime the lightning showed me one that wasn't chained I snatched it and\nshoved. It was a canoe, and warn't fastened with nothing but a rope.\n The towhead was a rattling big distance off, away out there in the\nmiddle of the river, but I didn't lose no time; and when I struck the\nraft at last I was so fagged I would a just laid down to blow and gasp\nif I could afforded it.  But I didn't.  As I sprung aboard I sung out:\n\n\"Out with you, Jim, and set her loose!  Glory be to goodness, we're shut\nof them!\"\n\nJim lit out, and was a-coming for me with both arms spread, he was so\nfull of joy; but when I glimpsed him in the lightning my heart shot up\nin my mouth and I went overboard backwards; for I forgot he was old King\nLear and a drownded A-rab all in one, and it most scared the livers and\nlights out of me.  But Jim fished me out, and was going to hug me and\nbless me, and so on, he was so glad I was back and we was shut of the\nking and the duke, but I says:\n\n\"Not now; have it for breakfast, have it for breakfast!  Cut loose and\nlet her slide!\"\n\nSo in two seconds away we went a-sliding down the river, and it _did_\nseem so good to be free again and all by ourselves on the big river, and\nnobody to bother us.  I had to skip around a bit, and jump up and crack\nmy heels a few times--I couldn't help it; but about the third crack\nI noticed a sound that I knowed mighty well, and held my breath and\nlistened and waited; and sure enough, when the next flash busted out\nover the water, here they come!--and just a-laying to their oars and\nmaking their skiff hum!  It was the king and the duke.\n\nSo I wilted right down on to the planks then, and give up; and it was\nall I could do to keep from crying.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nWHEN they got aboard the king went for me, and shook me by the collar,\nand says:\n\n\"Tryin' to give us the slip, was ye, you pup!  Tired of our company,\nhey?\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"No, your majesty, we warn't--_please_ don't, your majesty!\"\n\n\"Quick, then, and tell us what _was_ your idea, or I'll shake the\ninsides out o' you!\"\n\n\"Honest, I'll tell you everything just as it happened, your majesty.\n The man that had a-holt of me was very good to me, and kept saying he\nhad a boy about as big as me that died last year, and he was sorry\nto see a boy in such a dangerous fix; and when they was all took by\nsurprise by finding the gold, and made a rush for the coffin, he lets go\nof me and whispers, 'Heel it now, or they'll hang ye, sure!' and I lit\nout.  It didn't seem no good for _me_ to stay--I couldn't do nothing,\nand I didn't want to be hung if I could get away.  So I never stopped\nrunning till I found the canoe; and when I got here I told Jim to hurry,\nor they'd catch me and hang me yet, and said I was afeard you and the\nduke wasn't alive now, and I was awful sorry, and so was Jim, and was\nawful glad when we see you coming; you may ask Jim if I didn't.\"\n\nJim said it was so; and the king told him to shut up, and said, \"Oh,\nyes, it's _mighty_ likely!\" and shook me up again, and said he reckoned\nhe'd drownd me.  But the duke says:\n\n\"Leggo the boy, you old idiot!  Would _you_ a done any different?  Did\nyou inquire around for _him_ when you got loose?  I don't remember it.\"\n\nSo the king let go of me, and begun to cuss that town and everybody in\nit. But the duke says:\n\n\"You better a blame' sight give _yourself_ a good cussing, for you're\nthe one that's entitled to it most.  You hain't done a thing from the\nstart that had any sense in it, except coming out so cool and cheeky\nwith that imaginary blue-arrow mark.  That _was_ bright--it was right\ndown bully; and it was the thing that saved us.  For if it hadn't been\nfor that they'd a jailed us till them Englishmen's baggage come--and\nthen--the penitentiary, you bet! But that trick took 'em to the\ngraveyard, and the gold done us a still bigger kindness; for if the\nexcited fools hadn't let go all holts and made that rush to get a\nlook we'd a slept in our cravats to-night--cravats warranted to _wear_,\ntoo--longer than _we'd_ need 'em.\"\n\nThey was still a minute--thinking; then the king says, kind of\nabsent-minded like:\n\n\"Mf!  And we reckoned the _niggers_ stole it!\"\n\nThat made me squirm!\n\n\"Yes,\" says the duke, kinder slow and deliberate and sarcastic, \"_we_\ndid.\"\n\nAfter about a half a minute the king drawls out:\n\n\"Leastways, I did.\"\n\nThe duke says, the same way:\n\n\"On the contrary, I did.\"\n\nThe king kind of ruffles up, and says:\n\n\"Looky here, Bilgewater, what'r you referrin' to?\"\n\nThe duke says, pretty brisk:\n\n\"When it comes to that, maybe you'll let me ask, what was _you_\nreferring to?\"\n\n\"Shucks!\" says the king, very sarcastic; \"but I don't know--maybe you was\nasleep, and didn't know what you was about.\"\n\nThe duke bristles up now, and says:\n\n\"Oh, let _up_ on this cussed nonsense; do you take me for a blame' fool?\nDon't you reckon I know who hid that money in that coffin?\"\n\n\"_Yes_, sir!  I know you _do_ know, because you done it yourself!\"\n\n\"It's a lie!\"--and the duke went for him.  The king sings out:\n\n\"Take y'r hands off!--leggo my throat!--I take it all back!\"\n\nThe duke says:\n\n\"Well, you just own up, first, that you _did_ hide that money there,\nintending to give me the slip one of these days, and come back and dig\nit up, and have it all to yourself.\"\n\n\"Wait jest a minute, duke--answer me this one question, honest and fair;\nif you didn't put the money there, say it, and I'll b'lieve you, and\ntake back everything I said.\"\n\n\"You old scoundrel, I didn't, and you know I didn't.  There, now!\"\n\n\"Well, then, I b'lieve you.  But answer me only jest this one more--now\n_don't_ git mad; didn't you have it in your mind to hook the money and\nhide it?\"\n\nThe duke never said nothing for a little bit; then he says:\n\n\"Well, I don't care if I _did_, I didn't _do_ it, anyway.  But you not\nonly had it in mind to do it, but you _done_ it.\"\n\n\"I wisht I never die if I done it, duke, and that's honest.  I won't say\nI warn't goin' to do it, because I _was_; but you--I mean somebody--got in\nahead o' me.\"\n\n\"It's a lie!  You done it, and you got to _say_ you done it, or--\"\n\nThe king began to gurgle, and then he gasps out:\n\n\"'Nough!--I _own up!_\"\n\nI was very glad to hear him say that; it made me feel much more easier\nthan what I was feeling before.  So the duke took his hands off and\nsays:\n\n\"If you ever deny it again I'll drown you.  It's _well_ for you to set\nthere and blubber like a baby--it's fitten for you, after the way\nyou've acted. I never see such an old ostrich for wanting to gobble\neverything--and I a-trusting you all the time, like you was my own\nfather.  You ought to been ashamed of yourself to stand by and hear it\nsaddled on to a lot of poor niggers, and you never say a word for 'em.\n It makes me feel ridiculous to think I was soft enough to _believe_\nthat rubbage.  Cuss you, I can see now why you was so anxious to make\nup the deffisit--you wanted to get what money I'd got out of the Nonesuch\nand one thing or another, and scoop it _all_!\"\n\nThe king says, timid, and still a-snuffling:\n\n\"Why, duke, it was you that said make up the deffisit; it warn't me.\"\n\n\"Dry up!  I don't want to hear no more out of you!\" says the duke.  \"And\n_now_ you see what you GOT by it.  They've got all their own money back,\nand all of _ourn_ but a shekel or two _besides_.  G'long to bed, and\ndon't you deffersit _me_ no more deffersits, long 's _you_ live!\"\n\nSo the king sneaked into the wigwam and took to his bottle for comfort,\nand before long the duke tackled HIS bottle; and so in about a half an\nhour they was as thick as thieves again, and the tighter they got the\nlovinger they got, and went off a-snoring in each other's arms.  They\nboth got powerful mellow, but I noticed the king didn't get mellow\nenough to forget to remember to not deny about hiding the money-bag\nagain.  That made me feel easy and satisfied.  Of course when they got\nto snoring we had a long gabble, and I told Jim everything.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nWE dasn't stop again at any town for days and days; kept right along\ndown the river.  We was down south in the warm weather now, and a mighty\nlong ways from home.  We begun to come to trees with Spanish moss on\nthem, hanging down from the limbs like long, gray beards.  It was the\nfirst I ever see it growing, and it made the woods look solemn and\ndismal.  So now the frauds reckoned they was out of danger, and they\nbegun to work the villages again.\n\nFirst they done a lecture on temperance; but they didn't make enough\nfor them both to get drunk on.  Then in another village they started\na dancing-school; but they didn't know no more how to dance than a\nkangaroo does; so the first prance they made the general public jumped\nin and pranced them out of town.  Another time they tried to go at\nyellocution; but they didn't yellocute long till the audience got up and\ngive them a solid good cussing, and made them skip out.  They tackled\nmissionarying, and mesmerizing, and doctoring, and telling fortunes, and\na little of everything; but they couldn't seem to have no luck.  So at\nlast they got just about dead broke, and laid around the raft as she\nfloated along, thinking and thinking, and never saying nothing, by the\nhalf a day at a time, and dreadful blue and desperate.\n\nAnd at last they took a change and begun to lay their heads together in\nthe wigwam and talk low and confidential two or three hours at a time.\nJim and me got uneasy.  We didn't like the look of it.  We judged they\nwas studying up some kind of worse deviltry than ever.  We turned it\nover and over, and at last we made up our minds they was going to break\ninto somebody's house or store, or was going into the counterfeit-money\nbusiness, or something. So then we was pretty scared, and made up an\nagreement that we wouldn't have nothing in the world to do with such\nactions, and if we ever got the least show we would give them the cold\nshake and clear out and leave them behind. Well, early one morning we\nhid the raft in a good, safe place about two mile below a little bit of\na shabby village named Pikesville, and the king he went ashore and told\nus all to stay hid whilst he went up to town and smelt around to see\nif anybody had got any wind of the Royal Nonesuch there yet. (\"House to\nrob, you _mean_,\" says I to myself; \"and when you get through robbing it\nyou'll come back here and wonder what has become of me and Jim and the\nraft--and you'll have to take it out in wondering.\") And he said if he\nwarn't back by midday the duke and me would know it was all right, and\nwe was to come along.\n\nSo we stayed where we was.  The duke he fretted and sweated around, and\nwas in a mighty sour way.  He scolded us for everything, and we couldn't\nseem to do nothing right; he found fault with every little thing.\nSomething was a-brewing, sure.  I was good and glad when midday come\nand no king; we could have a change, anyway--and maybe a chance for _the_\nchange on top of it.  So me and the duke went up to the village, and\nhunted around there for the king, and by and by we found him in the\nback room of a little low doggery, very tight, and a lot of loafers\nbullyragging him for sport, and he a-cussing and a-threatening with all\nhis might, and so tight he couldn't walk, and couldn't do nothing to\nthem.  The duke he begun to abuse him for an old fool, and the king\nbegun to sass back, and the minute they was fairly at it I lit out and\nshook the reefs out of my hind legs, and spun down the river road like\na deer, for I see our chance; and I made up my mind that it would be a\nlong day before they ever see me and Jim again.  I got down there all\nout of breath but loaded up with joy, and sung out:\n\n\"Set her loose, Jim! we're all right now!\"\n\nBut there warn't no answer, and nobody come out of the wigwam.  Jim was\ngone!  I set up a shout--and then another--and then another one; and run\nthis way and that in the woods, whooping and screeching; but it warn't\nno use--old Jim was gone.  Then I set down and cried; I couldn't help\nit. But I couldn't set still long.  Pretty soon I went out on the road,\ntrying to think what I better do, and I run across a boy walking, and\nasked him if he'd seen a strange nigger dressed so and so, and he says:\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Whereabouts?\" says I.\n\n\"Down to Silas Phelps' place, two mile below here.  He's a runaway\nnigger, and they've got him.  Was you looking for him?\"\n\n\"You bet I ain't!  I run across him in the woods about an hour or two\nago, and he said if I hollered he'd cut my livers out--and told me to lay\ndown and stay where I was; and I done it.  Been there ever since; afeard\nto come out.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he says, \"you needn't be afeard no more, becuz they've got him.\nHe run off f'm down South, som'ers.\"\n\n\"It's a good job they got him.\"\n\n\"Well, I _reckon_!  There's two hunderd dollars reward on him.  It's\nlike picking up money out'n the road.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is--and I could a had it if I'd been big enough; I see him\n_first_. Who nailed him?\"\n\n\"It was an old fellow--a stranger--and he sold out his chance in him for\nforty dollars, becuz he's got to go up the river and can't wait.  Think\no' that, now!  You bet _I'd_ wait, if it was seven year.\"\n\n\"That's me, every time,\" says I.  \"But maybe his chance ain't worth\nno more than that, if he'll sell it so cheap.  Maybe there's something\nain't straight about it.\"\n\n\"But it _is_, though--straight as a string.  I see the handbill myself.\n It tells all about him, to a dot--paints him like a picture, and tells\nthe plantation he's frum, below Newr_leans_.  No-sirree-_bob_, they\nain't no trouble 'bout _that_ speculation, you bet you.  Say, gimme a\nchaw tobacker, won't ye?\"\n\nI didn't have none, so he left.  I went to the raft, and set down in the\nwigwam to think.  But I couldn't come to nothing.  I thought till I wore\nmy head sore, but I couldn't see no way out of the trouble.  After all\nthis long journey, and after all we'd done for them scoundrels, here it\nwas all come to nothing, everything all busted up and ruined, because\nthey could have the heart to serve Jim such a trick as that, and make\nhim a slave again all his life, and amongst strangers, too, for forty\ndirty dollars.\n\nOnce I said to myself it would be a thousand times better for Jim to\nbe a slave at home where his family was, as long as he'd _got_ to be a\nslave, and so I'd better write a letter to Tom Sawyer and tell him to\ntell Miss Watson where he was.  But I soon give up that notion for two\nthings: she'd be mad and disgusted at his rascality and ungratefulness\nfor leaving her, and so she'd sell him straight down the river again;\nand if she didn't, everybody naturally despises an ungrateful nigger,\nand they'd make Jim feel it all the time, and so he'd feel ornery and\ndisgraced. And then think of _me_!  It would get all around that Huck\nFinn helped a nigger to get his freedom; and if I was ever to see\nanybody from that town again I'd be ready to get down and lick his boots\nfor shame.  That's just the way:  a person does a low-down thing, and\nthen he don't want to take no consequences of it. Thinks as long as he\ncan hide it, it ain't no disgrace.  That was my fix exactly. The more I\nstudied about this the more my conscience went to grinding me, and the\nmore wicked and low-down and ornery I got to feeling. And at last, when\nit hit me all of a sudden that here was the plain hand of Providence\nslapping me in the face and letting me know my wickedness was being\nwatched all the time from up there in heaven, whilst I was stealing a\npoor old woman's nigger that hadn't ever done me no harm, and now was\nshowing me there's One that's always on the lookout, and ain't a-going\nto allow no such miserable doings to go only just so fur and no further,\nI most dropped in my tracks I was so scared.  Well, I tried the best I\ncould to kinder soften it up somehow for myself by saying I was brung\nup wicked, and so I warn't so much to blame; but something inside of me\nkept saying, \"There was the Sunday-school, you could a gone to it; and\nif you'd a done it they'd a learnt you there that people that acts as\nI'd been acting about that nigger goes to everlasting fire.\"\n\nIt made me shiver.  And I about made up my mind to pray, and see if I\ncouldn't try to quit being the kind of a boy I was and be better.  So\nI kneeled down.  But the words wouldn't come.  Why wouldn't they?  It\nwarn't no use to try and hide it from Him.  Nor from _me_, neither.  I\nknowed very well why they wouldn't come.  It was because my heart warn't\nright; it was because I warn't square; it was because I was playing\ndouble.  I was letting _on_ to give up sin, but away inside of me I was\nholding on to the biggest one of all.  I was trying to make my mouth\n_say_ I would do the right thing and the clean thing, and go and write\nto that nigger's owner and tell where he was; but deep down in me I\nknowed it was a lie, and He knowed it.  You can't pray a lie--I found\nthat out.\n\nSo I was full of trouble, full as I could be; and didn't know what to\ndo. At last I had an idea; and I says, I'll go and write the letter--and\nthen see if I can pray.  Why, it was astonishing, the way I felt as\nlight as a feather right straight off, and my troubles all gone.  So I\ngot a piece of paper and a pencil, all glad and excited, and set down\nand wrote:\n\nMiss Watson, your runaway nigger Jim is down here two mile below\nPikesville, and Mr. Phelps has got him and he will give him up for the\nreward if you send.\n\n_Huck Finn._\n\nI felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever\nfelt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now.  But I didn't do it\nstraight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking--thinking\nhow good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost\nand going to hell.  And went on thinking.  And got to thinking over our\ntrip down the river; and I see Jim before me all the time:  in the day\nand in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we\na-floating along, talking and singing and laughing.  But somehow I\ncouldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the\nother kind.  I'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, 'stead of\ncalling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when\nI come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp,\nup there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call\nme honey, and pet me and do everything he could think of for me, and how\ngood he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling\nthe men we had small-pox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was\nthe best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the _only_ one he's\ngot now; and then I happened to look around and see that paper.\n\nIt was a close place.  I took it up, and held it in my hand.  I was\na-trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and\nI knowed it.  I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then\nsays to myself:\n\n\"All right, then, I'll _go_ to hell\"--and tore it up.\n\nIt was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said.  And I let\nthem stay said; and never thought no more about reforming.  I shoved the\nwhole thing out of my head, and said I would take up wickedness again,\nwhich was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn't.  And\nfor a starter I would go to work and steal Jim out of slavery again;\nand if I could think up anything worse, I would do that, too; because as\nlong as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog.\n\nThen I set to thinking over how to get at it, and turned over some\nconsiderable many ways in my mind; and at last fixed up a plan that\nsuited me.  So then I took the bearings of a woody island that was down\nthe river a piece, and as soon as it was fairly dark I crept out with my\nraft and went for it, and hid it there, and then turned in.  I slept the\nnight through, and got up before it was light, and had my breakfast,\nand put on my store clothes, and tied up some others and one thing or\nanother in a bundle, and took the canoe and cleared for shore.  I landed\nbelow where I judged was Phelps's place, and hid my bundle in the woods,\nand then filled up the canoe with water, and loaded rocks into her and\nsunk her where I could find her again when I wanted her, about a quarter\nof a mile below a little steam sawmill that was on the bank.\n\nThen I struck up the road, and when I passed the mill I see a sign on\nit, \"Phelps's Sawmill,\" and when I come to the farm-houses, two or\nthree hundred yards further along, I kept my eyes peeled, but didn't\nsee nobody around, though it was good daylight now.  But I didn't mind,\nbecause I didn't want to see nobody just yet--I only wanted to get the\nlay of the land. According to my plan, I was going to turn up there from\nthe village, not from below.  So I just took a look, and shoved along,\nstraight for town. Well, the very first man I see when I got there was\nthe duke.  He was sticking up a bill for the Royal Nonesuch--three-night\nperformance--like that other time.  They had the cheek, them frauds!  I\nwas right on him before I could shirk.  He looked astonished, and says:\n\n\"Hel-_lo_!  Where'd _you_ come from?\"  Then he says, kind of glad and\neager, \"Where's the raft?--got her in a good place?\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"Why, that's just what I was going to ask your grace.\"\n\nThen he didn't look so joyful, and says:\n\n\"What was your idea for asking _me_?\" he says.\n\n\"Well,\" I says, \"when I see the king in that doggery yesterday I says\nto myself, we can't get him home for hours, till he's soberer; so I went\na-loafing around town to put in the time and wait.  A man up and offered\nme ten cents to help him pull a skiff over the river and back to fetch\na sheep, and so I went along; but when we was dragging him to the boat,\nand the man left me a-holt of the rope and went behind him to shove him\nalong, he was too strong for me and jerked loose and run, and we after\nhim.  We didn't have no dog, and so we had to chase him all over the\ncountry till we tired him out.  We never got him till dark; then we\nfetched him over, and I started down for the raft.  When I got there and\nsee it was gone, I says to myself, 'They've got into trouble and had to\nleave; and they've took my nigger, which is the only nigger I've got in\nthe world, and now I'm in a strange country, and ain't got no property\nno more, nor nothing, and no way to make my living;' so I set down and\ncried.  I slept in the woods all night.  But what _did_ become of the\nraft, then?--and Jim--poor Jim!\"\n\n\"Blamed if I know--that is, what's become of the raft.  That old fool had\nmade a trade and got forty dollars, and when we found him in the doggery\nthe loafers had matched half-dollars with him and got every cent but\nwhat he'd spent for whisky; and when I got him home late last night and\nfound the raft gone, we said, 'That little rascal has stole our raft and\nshook us, and run off down the river.'\"\n\n\"I wouldn't shake my _nigger_, would I?--the only nigger I had in the\nworld, and the only property.\"\n\n\"We never thought of that.  Fact is, I reckon we'd come to consider him\n_our_ nigger; yes, we did consider him so--goodness knows we had trouble\nenough for him.  So when we see the raft was gone and we flat broke,\nthere warn't anything for it but to try the Royal Nonesuch another\nshake. And I've pegged along ever since, dry as a powder-horn.  Where's\nthat ten cents? Give it here.\"\n\nI had considerable money, so I give him ten cents, but begged him to\nspend it for something to eat, and give me some, because it was all the\nmoney I had, and I hadn't had nothing to eat since yesterday.  He never\nsaid nothing.  The next minute he whirls on me and says:\n\n\"Do you reckon that nigger would blow on us?  We'd skin him if he done\nthat!\"\n\n\"How can he blow?  Hain't he run off?\"\n\n\"No!  That old fool sold him, and never divided with me, and the money's\ngone.\"\n\n\"_Sold_ him?\"  I says, and begun to cry; \"why, he was _my_ nigger, and\nthat was my money.  Where is he?--I want my nigger.\"\n\n\"Well, you can't _get_ your nigger, that's all--so dry up your\nblubbering. Looky here--do you think _you'd_ venture to blow on us?\n Blamed if I think I'd trust you.  Why, if you _was_ to blow on us--\"\n\nHe stopped, but I never see the duke look so ugly out of his eyes\nbefore. I went on a-whimpering, and says:\n\n\"I don't want to blow on nobody; and I ain't got no time to blow, nohow.\nI got to turn out and find my nigger.\"\n\nHe looked kinder bothered, and stood there with his bills fluttering on\nhis arm, thinking, and wrinkling up his forehead.  At last he says:\n\n\"I'll tell you something.  We got to be here three days.  If you'll\npromise you won't blow, and won't let the nigger blow, I'll tell you\nwhere to find him.\"\n\nSo I promised, and he says:\n\n\"A farmer by the name of Silas Ph--\" and then he stopped.  You see, he\nstarted to tell me the truth; but when he stopped that way, and begun to\nstudy and think again, I reckoned he was changing his mind.  And so he\nwas. He wouldn't trust me; he wanted to make sure of having me out of\nthe way the whole three days.  So pretty soon he says:\n\n\"The man that bought him is named Abram Foster--Abram G. Foster--and he\nlives forty mile back here in the country, on the road to Lafayette.\"\n\n\"All right,\" I says, \"I can walk it in three days.  And I'll start this\nvery afternoon.\"\n\n\"No you wont, you'll start _now_; and don't you lose any time about it,\nneither, nor do any gabbling by the way.  Just keep a tight tongue in\nyour head and move right along, and then you won't get into trouble with\n_us_, d'ye hear?\"\n\nThat was the order I wanted, and that was the one I played for.  I\nwanted to be left free to work my plans.\n\n\"So clear out,\" he says; \"and you can tell Mr. Foster whatever you want\nto. Maybe you can get him to believe that Jim _is_ your nigger--some\nidiots don't require documents--leastways I've heard there's such down\nSouth here.  And when you tell him the handbill and the reward's bogus,\nmaybe he'll believe you when you explain to him what the idea was for\ngetting 'em out.  Go 'long now, and tell him anything you want to; but\nmind you don't work your jaw any _between_ here and there.\"\n\nSo I left, and struck for the back country.  I didn't look around, but I\nkinder felt like he was watching me.  But I knowed I could tire him out\nat that.  I went straight out in the country as much as a mile before\nI stopped; then I doubled back through the woods towards Phelps'.  I\nreckoned I better start in on my plan straight off without fooling\naround, because I wanted to stop Jim's mouth till these fellows could\nget away.  I didn't want no trouble with their kind.  I'd seen all I\nwanted to of them, and wanted to get entirely shut of them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nWHEN I got there it was all still and Sunday-like, and hot and sunshiny;\nthe hands was gone to the fields; and there was them kind of faint\ndronings of bugs and flies in the air that makes it seem so lonesome and\nlike everybody's dead and gone; and if a breeze fans along and quivers\nthe leaves it makes you feel mournful, because you feel like it's\nspirits whispering--spirits that's been dead ever so many years--and you\nalways think they're talking about _you_.  As a general thing it makes a\nbody wish _he_ was dead, too, and done with it all.\n\nPhelps' was one of these little one-horse cotton plantations, and they\nall look alike.  A rail fence round a two-acre yard; a stile made out\nof logs sawed off and up-ended in steps, like barrels of a different\nlength, to climb over the fence with, and for the women to stand on when\nthey are going to jump on to a horse; some sickly grass-patches in the\nbig yard, but mostly it was bare and smooth, like an old hat with the\nnap rubbed off; big double log-house for the white folks--hewed logs,\nwith the chinks stopped up with mud or mortar, and these mud-stripes\nbeen whitewashed some time or another; round-log kitchen, with a big\nbroad, open but roofed passage joining it to the house; log smoke-house\nback of the kitchen; three little log nigger-cabins in a row t'other\nside the smoke-house; one little hut all by itself away down against\nthe back fence, and some outbuildings down a piece the other side;\nash-hopper and big kettle to bile soap in by the little hut; bench by\nthe kitchen door, with bucket of water and a gourd; hound asleep there\nin the sun; more hounds asleep round about; about three shade trees away\noff in a corner; some currant bushes and gooseberry bushes in one place\nby the fence; outside of the fence a garden and a watermelon patch; then\nthe cotton fields begins, and after the fields the woods.\n\nI went around and clumb over the back stile by the ash-hopper, and\nstarted for the kitchen.  When I got a little ways I heard the dim hum\nof a spinning-wheel wailing along up and sinking along down again;\nand then I knowed for certain I wished I was dead--for that _is_ the\nlonesomest sound in the whole world.\n\nI went right along, not fixing up any particular plan, but just trusting\nto Providence to put the right words in my mouth when the time come; for\nI'd noticed that Providence always did put the right words in my mouth\nif I left it alone.\n\nWhen I got half-way, first one hound and then another got up and went\nfor me, and of course I stopped and faced them, and kept still.  And\nsuch another powwow as they made!  In a quarter of a minute I was a kind\nof a hub of a wheel, as you may say--spokes made out of dogs--circle of\nfifteen of them packed together around me, with their necks and noses\nstretched up towards me, a-barking and howling; and more a-coming; you\ncould see them sailing over fences and around corners from everywheres.\n\nA nigger woman come tearing out of the kitchen with a rolling-pin in her\nhand, singing out, \"Begone _you_ Tige! you Spot! begone sah!\" and she\nfetched first one and then another of them a clip and sent them howling,\nand then the rest followed; and the next second half of them come back,\nwagging their tails around me, and making friends with me.  There ain't\nno harm in a hound, nohow.\n\nAnd behind the woman comes a little nigger girl and two little nigger\nboys without anything on but tow-linen shirts, and they hung on to their\nmother's gown, and peeped out from behind her at me, bashful, the way\nthey always do.  And here comes the white woman running from the house,\nabout forty-five or fifty year old, bareheaded, and her spinning-stick\nin her hand; and behind her comes her little white children, acting the\nsame way the little niggers was doing.  She was smiling all over so she\ncould hardly stand--and says:\n\n\"It's _you_, at last!--_ain't_ it?\"\n\nI out with a \"Yes'm\" before I thought.\n\nShe grabbed me and hugged me tight; and then gripped me by both hands\nand shook and shook; and the tears come in her eyes, and run down over;\nand she couldn't seem to hug and shake enough, and kept saying, \"You\ndon't look as much like your mother as I reckoned you would; but law\nsakes, I don't care for that, I'm so glad to see you!  Dear, dear, it\ndoes seem like I could eat you up!  Children, it's your cousin Tom!--tell\nhim howdy.\"\n\nBut they ducked their heads, and put their fingers in their mouths, and\nhid behind her.  So she run on:\n\n\"Lize, hurry up and get him a hot breakfast right away--or did you get\nyour breakfast on the boat?\"\n\nI said I had got it on the boat.  So then she started for the house,\nleading me by the hand, and the children tagging after.  When we got\nthere she set me down in a split-bottomed chair, and set herself down on\na little low stool in front of me, holding both of my hands, and says:\n\n\"Now I can have a _good_ look at you; and, laws-a-me, I've been hungry\nfor it a many and a many a time, all these long years, and it's come\nat last! We been expecting you a couple of days and more.  What kep'\nyou?--boat get aground?\"\n\n\"Yes'm--she--\"\n\n\"Don't say yes'm--say Aunt Sally.  Where'd she get aground?\"\n\nI didn't rightly know what to say, because I didn't know whether the\nboat would be coming up the river or down.  But I go a good deal on\ninstinct; and my instinct said she would be coming up--from down towards\nOrleans. That didn't help me much, though; for I didn't know the names\nof bars down that way.  I see I'd got to invent a bar, or forget the\nname of the one we got aground on--or--Now I struck an idea, and fetched\nit out:\n\n\"It warn't the grounding--that didn't keep us back but a little.  We\nblowed out a cylinder-head.\"\n\n\"Good gracious! anybody hurt?\"\n\n\"No'm.  Killed a nigger.\"\n\n\"Well, it's lucky; because sometimes people do get hurt.  Two years ago\nlast Christmas your uncle Silas was coming up from Newrleans on the old\nLally Rook, and she blowed out a cylinder-head and crippled a man.  And\nI think he died afterwards.  He was a Baptist.  Your uncle Silas knowed\na family in Baton Rouge that knowed his people very well.  Yes, I\nremember now, he _did_ die.  Mortification set in, and they had to\namputate him. But it didn't save him.  Yes, it was mortification--that\nwas it.  He turned blue all over, and died in the hope of a glorious\nresurrection. They say he was a sight to look at.  Your uncle's been up\nto the town every day to fetch you. And he's gone again, not more'n an\nhour ago; he'll be back any minute now. You must a met him on the road,\ndidn't you?--oldish man, with a--\"\n\n\"No, I didn't see nobody, Aunt Sally.  The boat landed just at daylight,\nand I left my baggage on the wharf-boat and went looking around the town\nand out a piece in the country, to put in the time and not get here too\nsoon; and so I come down the back way.\"\n\n\"Who'd you give the baggage to?\"\n\n\"Nobody.\"\n\n\"Why, child, it 'll be stole!\"\n\n\"Not where I hid it I reckon it won't,\" I says.\n\n\"How'd you get your breakfast so early on the boat?\"\n\nIt was kinder thin ice, but I says:\n\n\"The captain see me standing around, and told me I better have something\nto eat before I went ashore; so he took me in the texas to the officers'\nlunch, and give me all I wanted.\"\n\nI was getting so uneasy I couldn't listen good.  I had my mind on the\nchildren all the time; I wanted to get them out to one side and pump\nthem a little, and find out who I was.  But I couldn't get no show, Mrs.\nPhelps kept it up and run on so.  Pretty soon she made the cold chills\nstreak all down my back, because she says:\n\n\"But here we're a-running on this way, and you hain't told me a word\nabout Sis, nor any of them.  Now I'll rest my works a little, and you\nstart up yourn; just tell me _everything_--tell me all about 'm all every\none of 'm; and how they are, and what they're doing, and what they told\nyou to tell me; and every last thing you can think of.\"\n\nWell, I see I was up a stump--and up it good.  Providence had stood by\nme this fur all right, but I was hard and tight aground now.  I see it\nwarn't a bit of use to try to go ahead--I'd got to throw up my hand.  So\nI says to myself, here's another place where I got to resk the truth.\n I opened my mouth to begin; but she grabbed me and hustled me in behind\nthe bed, and says:\n\n\"Here he comes!  Stick your head down lower--there, that'll do; you can't\nbe seen now.  Don't you let on you're here.  I'll play a joke on him.\nChildren, don't you say a word.\"\n\nI see I was in a fix now.  But it warn't no use to worry; there warn't\nnothing to do but just hold still, and try and be ready to stand from\nunder when the lightning struck.\n\nI had just one little glimpse of the old gentleman when he come in; then\nthe bed hid him.  Mrs. Phelps she jumps for him, and says:\n\n\"Has he come?\"\n\n\"No,\" says her husband.\n\n\"Good-_ness_ gracious!\" she says, \"what in the warld can have become of\nhim?\"\n\n\"I can't imagine,\" says the old gentleman; \"and I must say it makes me\ndreadful uneasy.\"\n\n\"Uneasy!\" she says; \"I'm ready to go distracted!  He _must_ a come; and\nyou've missed him along the road.  I _know_ it's so--something tells me\nso.\"\n\n\"Why, Sally, I _couldn't_ miss him along the road--_you_ know that.\"\n\n\"But oh, dear, dear, what _will_ Sis say!  He must a come!  You must a\nmissed him.  He--\"\n\n\"Oh, don't distress me any more'n I'm already distressed.  I don't know\nwhat in the world to make of it.  I'm at my wit's end, and I don't mind\nacknowledging 't I'm right down scared.  But there's no hope that he's\ncome; for he _couldn't_ come and me miss him.  Sally, it's terrible--just\nterrible--something's happened to the boat, sure!\"\n\n\"Why, Silas!  Look yonder!--up the road!--ain't that somebody coming?\"\n\nHe sprung to the window at the head of the bed, and that give Mrs.\nPhelps the chance she wanted.  She stooped down quick at the foot of the\nbed and give me a pull, and out I come; and when he turned back from the\nwindow there she stood, a-beaming and a-smiling like a house afire, and\nI standing pretty meek and sweaty alongside.  The old gentleman stared,\nand says:\n\n\"Why, who's that?\"\n\n\"Who do you reckon 't is?\"\n\n\"I hain't no idea.  Who _is_ it?\"\n\n\"It's _Tom Sawyer!_\"\n\nBy jings, I most slumped through the floor!  But there warn't no time to\nswap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on\nshaking; and all the time how the woman did dance around and laugh and\ncry; and then how they both did fire off questions about Sid, and Mary,\nand the rest of the tribe.\n\nBut if they was joyful, it warn't nothing to what I was; for it was like\nbeing born again, I was so glad to find out who I was.  Well, they froze\nto me for two hours; and at last, when my chin was so tired it couldn't\nhardly go any more, I had told them more about my family--I mean the\nSawyer family--than ever happened to any six Sawyer families.  And I\nexplained all about how we blowed out a cylinder-head at the mouth of\nWhite River, and it took us three days to fix it.  Which was all right,\nand worked first-rate; because _they_ didn't know but what it would take\nthree days to fix it.  If I'd a called it a bolthead it would a done\njust as well.\n\nNow I was feeling pretty comfortable all down one side, and pretty\nuncomfortable all up the other.  Being Tom Sawyer was easy and\ncomfortable, and it stayed easy and comfortable till by and by I hear a\nsteamboat coughing along down the river.  Then I says to myself, s'pose\nTom Sawyer comes down on that boat?  And s'pose he steps in here any\nminute, and sings out my name before I can throw him a wink to keep\nquiet?\n\nWell, I couldn't _have_ it that way; it wouldn't do at all.  I must go\nup the road and waylay him.  So I told the folks I reckoned I would go\nup to the town and fetch down my baggage.  The old gentleman was for\ngoing along with me, but I said no, I could drive the horse myself, and\nI druther he wouldn't take no trouble about me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nSO I started for town in the wagon, and when I was half-way I see a\nwagon coming, and sure enough it was Tom Sawyer, and I stopped and\nwaited till he come along.  I says \"Hold on!\" and it stopped alongside,\nand his mouth opened up like a trunk, and stayed so; and he swallowed\ntwo or three times like a person that's got a dry throat, and then says:\n\n\"I hain't ever done you no harm.  You know that.  So, then, what you\nwant to come back and ha'nt _me_ for?\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"I hain't come back--I hain't been _gone_.\"\n\nWhen he heard my voice it righted him up some, but he warn't quite\nsatisfied yet.  He says:\n\n\"Don't you play nothing on me, because I wouldn't on you.  Honest injun\nnow, you ain't a ghost?\"\n\n\"Honest injun, I ain't,\" I says.\n\n\"Well--I--I--well, that ought to settle it, of course; but I can't somehow\nseem to understand it no way.  Looky here, warn't you ever murdered _at\nall?_\"\n\n\"No.  I warn't ever murdered at all--I played it on them.  You come in\nhere and feel of me if you don't believe me.\"\n\nSo he done it; and it satisfied him; and he was that glad to see me\nagain he didn't know what to do.  And he wanted to know all about it\nright off, because it was a grand adventure, and mysterious, and so it\nhit him where he lived.  But I said, leave it alone till by and by; and\ntold his driver to wait, and we drove off a little piece, and I told\nhim the kind of a fix I was in, and what did he reckon we better do?  He\nsaid, let him alone a minute, and don't disturb him.  So he thought and\nthought, and pretty soon he says:\n\n\"It's all right; I've got it.  Take my trunk in your wagon, and let on\nit's your'n; and you turn back and fool along slow, so as to get to the\nhouse about the time you ought to; and I'll go towards town a piece, and\ntake a fresh start, and get there a quarter or a half an hour after you;\nand you needn't let on to know me at first.\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"All right; but wait a minute.  There's one more thing--a thing that\n_nobody_ don't know but me.  And that is, there's a nigger here that\nI'm a-trying to steal out of slavery, and his name is _Jim_--old Miss\nWatson's Jim.\"\n\nHe says:\n\n\"What!  Why, Jim is--\"\n\nHe stopped and went to studying.  I says:\n\n\"I know what you'll say.  You'll say it's dirty, low-down business; but\nwhat if it is?  I'm low down; and I'm a-going to steal him, and I want\nyou keep mum and not let on.  Will you?\"\n\nHis eye lit up, and he says:\n\n\"I'll _help_ you steal him!\"\n\nWell, I let go all holts then, like I was shot.  It was the most\nastonishing speech I ever heard--and I'm bound to say Tom Sawyer fell\nconsiderable in my estimation.  Only I couldn't believe it.  Tom Sawyer\na _nigger-stealer!_\n\n\"Oh, shucks!\"  I says; \"you're joking.\"\n\n\"I ain't joking, either.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" I says, \"joking or no joking, if you hear anything said\nabout a runaway nigger, don't forget to remember that _you_ don't know\nnothing about him, and I don't know nothing about him.\"\n\nThen we took the trunk and put it in my wagon, and he drove off his\nway and I drove mine.  But of course I forgot all about driving slow on\naccounts of being glad and full of thinking; so I got home a heap too\nquick for that length of a trip.  The old gentleman was at the door, and\nhe says:\n\n\"Why, this is wonderful!  Whoever would a thought it was in that mare\nto do it?  I wish we'd a timed her.  And she hain't sweated a hair--not\na hair. It's wonderful.  Why, I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for that\nhorse now--I wouldn't, honest; and yet I'd a sold her for fifteen before,\nand thought 'twas all she was worth.\"\n\nThat's all he said.  He was the innocentest, best old soul I ever see.\nBut it warn't surprising; because he warn't only just a farmer, he was\na preacher, too, and had a little one-horse log church down back of the\nplantation, which he built it himself at his own expense, for a church\nand schoolhouse, and never charged nothing for his preaching, and it was\nworth it, too.  There was plenty other farmer-preachers like that, and\ndone the same way, down South.\n\nIn about half an hour Tom's wagon drove up to the front stile, and Aunt\nSally she see it through the window, because it was only about fifty\nyards, and says:\n\n\"Why, there's somebody come!  I wonder who 'tis?  Why, I do believe it's\na stranger.  Jimmy\" (that's one of the children) \"run and tell Lize to\nput on another plate for dinner.\"\n\nEverybody made a rush for the front door, because, of course, a stranger\ndon't come _every_ year, and so he lays over the yaller-fever, for\ninterest, when he does come.  Tom was over the stile and starting for\nthe house; the wagon was spinning up the road for the village, and we\nwas all bunched in the front door.  Tom had his store clothes on, and an\naudience--and that was always nuts for Tom Sawyer.  In them circumstances\nit warn't no trouble to him to throw in an amount of style that was\nsuitable.  He warn't a boy to meeky along up that yard like a sheep; no,\nhe come ca'm and important, like the ram.  When he got a-front of us he\nlifts his hat ever so gracious and dainty, like it was the lid of a box\nthat had butterflies asleep in it and he didn't want to disturb them,\nand says:\n\n\"Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?\"\n\n\"No, my boy,\" says the old gentleman, \"I'm sorry to say 't your driver\nhas deceived you; Nichols's place is down a matter of three mile more.\nCome in, come in.\"\n\nTom he took a look back over his shoulder, and says, \"Too late--he's out\nof sight.\"\n\n\"Yes, he's gone, my son, and you must come in and eat your dinner with\nus; and then we'll hitch up and take you down to Nichols's.\"\n\n\"Oh, I _can't_ make you so much trouble; I couldn't think of it.  I'll\nwalk--I don't mind the distance.\"\n\n\"But we won't _let_ you walk--it wouldn't be Southern hospitality to do\nit. Come right in.\"\n\n\"Oh, _do_,\" says Aunt Sally; \"it ain't a bit of trouble to us, not a\nbit in the world.  You must stay.  It's a long, dusty three mile, and\nwe can't let you walk.  And, besides, I've already told 'em to put on\nanother plate when I see you coming; so you mustn't disappoint us.  Come\nright in and make yourself at home.\"\n\nSo Tom he thanked them very hearty and handsome, and let himself be\npersuaded, and come in; and when he was in he said he was a stranger\nfrom Hicksville, Ohio, and his name was William Thompson--and he made\nanother bow.\n\nWell, he run on, and on, and on, making up stuff about Hicksville and\neverybody in it he could invent, and I getting a little nervious, and\nwondering how this was going to help me out of my scrape; and at last,\nstill talking along, he reached over and kissed Aunt Sally right on the\nmouth, and then settled back again in his chair comfortable, and was\ngoing on talking; but she jumped up and wiped it off with the back of\nher hand, and says:\n\n\"You owdacious puppy!\"\n\nHe looked kind of hurt, and says:\n\n\"I'm surprised at you, m'am.\"\n\n\"You're s'rp--Why, what do you reckon I am?  I've a good notion to take\nand--Say, what do you mean by kissing me?\"\n\nHe looked kind of humble, and says:\n\n\"I didn't mean nothing, m'am.  I didn't mean no harm.  I--I--thought you'd\nlike it.\"\n\n\"Why, you born fool!\"  She took up the spinning stick, and it looked\nlike it was all she could do to keep from giving him a crack with it.\n \"What made you think I'd like it?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know.  Only, they--they--told me you would.\"\n\n\"_They_ told you I would.  Whoever told you's _another_ lunatic.  I\nnever heard the beat of it.  Who's _they_?\"\n\n\"Why, everybody.  They all said so, m'am.\"\n\nIt was all she could do to hold in; and her eyes snapped, and her\nfingers worked like she wanted to scratch him; and she says:\n\n\"Who's 'everybody'?  Out with their names, or ther'll be an idiot\nshort.\"\n\nHe got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his hat, and says:\n\n\"I'm sorry, and I warn't expecting it.  They told me to.  They all told\nme to.  They all said, kiss her; and said she'd like it.  They all said\nit--every one of them.  But I'm sorry, m'am, and I won't do it no more--I\nwon't, honest.\"\n\n\"You won't, won't you?  Well, I sh'd _reckon_ you won't!\"\n\n\"No'm, I'm honest about it; I won't ever do it again--till you ask me.\"\n\n\"Till I _ask_ you!  Well, I never see the beat of it in my born days!\n I lay you'll be the Methusalem-numskull of creation before ever I ask\nyou--or the likes of you.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he says, \"it does surprise me so.  I can't make it out, somehow.\nThey said you would, and I thought you would.  But--\" He stopped and\nlooked around slow, like he wished he could run across a friendly eye\nsomewheres, and fetched up on the old gentleman's, and says, \"Didn't\n_you_ think she'd like me to kiss her, sir?\"\n\n\"Why, no; I--I--well, no, I b'lieve I didn't.\"\n\nThen he looks on around the same way to me, and says:\n\n\"Tom, didn't _you_ think Aunt Sally 'd open out her arms and say, 'Sid\nSawyer--'\"\n\n\"My land!\" she says, breaking in and jumping for him, \"you impudent\nyoung rascal, to fool a body so--\" and was going to hug him, but he\nfended her off, and says:\n\n\"No, not till you've asked me first.\"\n\nSo she didn't lose no time, but asked him; and hugged him and kissed\nhim over and over again, and then turned him over to the old man, and he\ntook what was left.  And after they got a little quiet again she says:\n\n\"Why, dear me, I never see such a surprise.  We warn't looking for _you_\nat all, but only Tom.  Sis never wrote to me about anybody coming but\nhim.\"\n\n\"It's because it warn't _intended_ for any of us to come but Tom,\" he\nsays; \"but I begged and begged, and at the last minute she let me\ncome, too; so, coming down the river, me and Tom thought it would be a\nfirst-rate surprise for him to come here to the house first, and for me\nto by and by tag along and drop in, and let on to be a stranger.  But it\nwas a mistake, Aunt Sally.  This ain't no healthy place for a stranger\nto come.\"\n\n\"No--not impudent whelps, Sid.  You ought to had your jaws boxed; I\nhain't been so put out since I don't know when.  But I don't care, I\ndon't mind the terms--I'd be willing to stand a thousand such jokes to\nhave you here. Well, to think of that performance!  I don't deny it, I\nwas most putrified with astonishment when you give me that smack.\"\n\nWe had dinner out in that broad open passage betwixt the house and\nthe kitchen; and there was things enough on that table for seven\nfamilies--and all hot, too; none of your flabby, tough meat that's laid\nin a cupboard in a damp cellar all night and tastes like a hunk of\nold cold cannibal in the morning.  Uncle Silas he asked a pretty long\nblessing over it, but it was worth it; and it didn't cool it a bit,\nneither, the way I've seen them kind of interruptions do lots of times.\n There was a considerable good deal of talk all the afternoon, and me\nand Tom was on the lookout all the time; but it warn't no use, they\ndidn't happen to say nothing about any runaway nigger, and we was afraid\nto try to work up to it.  But at supper, at night, one of the little\nboys says:\n\n\"Pa, mayn't Tom and Sid and me go to the show?\"\n\n\"No,\" says the old man, \"I reckon there ain't going to be any; and you\ncouldn't go if there was; because the runaway nigger told Burton and\nme all about that scandalous show, and Burton said he would tell the\npeople; so I reckon they've drove the owdacious loafers out of town\nbefore this time.\"\n\nSo there it was!--but I couldn't help it.  Tom and me was to sleep in the\nsame room and bed; so, being tired, we bid good-night and went up to\nbed right after supper, and clumb out of the window and down the\nlightning-rod, and shoved for the town; for I didn't believe anybody was\ngoing to give the king and the duke a hint, and so if I didn't hurry up\nand give them one they'd get into trouble sure.\n\nOn the road Tom he told me all about how it was reckoned I was murdered,\nand how pap disappeared pretty soon, and didn't come back no more, and\nwhat a stir there was when Jim run away; and I told Tom all about our\nRoyal Nonesuch rapscallions, and as much of the raft voyage as I had\ntime to; and as we struck into the town and up through the the middle of\nit--it was as much as half-after eight, then--here comes a raging rush of\npeople with torches, and an awful whooping and yelling, and banging tin\npans and blowing horns; and we jumped to one side to let them go by;\nand as they went by I see they had the king and the duke astraddle of a\nrail--that is, I knowed it _was_ the king and the duke, though they was\nall over tar and feathers, and didn't look like nothing in the\nworld that was human--just looked like a couple of monstrous big\nsoldier-plumes.  Well, it made me sick to see it; and I was sorry for\nthem poor pitiful rascals, it seemed like I couldn't ever feel any\nhardness against them any more in the world.  It was a dreadful thing to\nsee.  Human beings _can_ be awful cruel to one another.\n\nWe see we was too late--couldn't do no good.  We asked some stragglers\nabout it, and they said everybody went to the show looking very\ninnocent; and laid low and kept dark till the poor old king was in the\nmiddle of his cavortings on the stage; then somebody give a signal, and\nthe house rose up and went for them.\n\nSo we poked along back home, and I warn't feeling so brash as I was\nbefore, but kind of ornery, and humble, and to blame, somehow--though\nI hadn't done nothing.  But that's always the way; it don't make no\ndifference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain't\ngot no sense, and just goes for him anyway.  If I had a yaller dog that\ndidn't know no more than a person's conscience does I would pison him.\nIt takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides, and yet\nain't no good, nohow.  Tom Sawyer he says the same.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\nWE stopped talking, and got to thinking.  By and by Tom says:\n\n\"Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not think of it before!  I bet I\nknow where Jim is.\"\n\n\"No!  Where?\"\n\n\"In that hut down by the ash-hopper.  Why, looky here.  When we was at\ndinner, didn't you see a nigger man go in there with some vittles?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What did you think the vittles was for?\"\n\n\"For a dog.\"\n\n\"So 'd I. Well, it wasn't for a dog.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because part of it was watermelon.\"\n\n\"So it was--I noticed it.  Well, it does beat all that I never thought\nabout a dog not eating watermelon.  It shows how a body can see and\ndon't see at the same time.\"\n\n\"Well, the nigger unlocked the padlock when he went in, and he locked it\nagain when he came out.  He fetched uncle a key about the time we got up\nfrom table--same key, I bet.  Watermelon shows man, lock shows prisoner;\nand it ain't likely there's two prisoners on such a little plantation,\nand where the people's all so kind and good.  Jim's the prisoner.  All\nright--I'm glad we found it out detective fashion; I wouldn't give shucks\nfor any other way.  Now you work your mind, and study out a plan to\nsteal Jim, and I will study out one, too; and we'll take the one we like\nthe best.\"\n\nWhat a head for just a boy to have!  If I had Tom Sawyer's head I\nwouldn't trade it off to be a duke, nor mate of a steamboat, nor clown\nin a circus, nor nothing I can think of.  I went to thinking out a plan,\nbut only just to be doing something; I knowed very well where the right\nplan was going to come from.  Pretty soon Tom says:\n\n\"Ready?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I says.\n\n\"All right--bring it out.\"\n\n\"My plan is this,\" I says.  \"We can easy find out if it's Jim in there.\nThen get up my canoe to-morrow night, and fetch my raft over from the\nisland.  Then the first dark night that comes steal the key out of the\nold man's britches after he goes to bed, and shove off down the river\non the raft with Jim, hiding daytimes and running nights, the way me and\nJim used to do before.  Wouldn't that plan work?\"\n\n\"_Work_?  Why, cert'nly it would work, like rats a-fighting.  But it's\ntoo blame' simple; there ain't nothing _to_ it.  What's the good of a\nplan that ain't no more trouble than that?  It's as mild as goose-milk.\n Why, Huck, it wouldn't make no more talk than breaking into a soap\nfactory.\"\n\nI never said nothing, because I warn't expecting nothing different; but\nI knowed mighty well that whenever he got _his_ plan ready it wouldn't\nhave none of them objections to it.\n\nAnd it didn't.  He told me what it was, and I see in a minute it was\nworth fifteen of mine for style, and would make Jim just as free a man\nas mine would, and maybe get us all killed besides.  So I was satisfied,\nand said we would waltz in on it.  I needn't tell what it was here,\nbecause I knowed it wouldn't stay the way, it was.  I knowed he would be\nchanging it around every which way as we went along, and heaving in new\nbullinesses wherever he got a chance.  And that is what he done.\n\nWell, one thing was dead sure, and that was that Tom Sawyer was in\nearnest, and was actuly going to help steal that nigger out of slavery.\nThat was the thing that was too many for me.  Here was a boy that was\nrespectable and well brung up; and had a character to lose; and folks at\nhome that had characters; and he was bright and not leather-headed; and\nknowing and not ignorant; and not mean, but kind; and yet here he was,\nwithout any more pride, or rightness, or feeling, than to stoop to\nthis business, and make himself a shame, and his family a shame,\nbefore everybody.  I _couldn't_ understand it no way at all.  It was\noutrageous, and I knowed I ought to just up and tell him so; and so be\nhis true friend, and let him quit the thing right where he was and save\nhimself. And I _did_ start to tell him; but he shut me up, and says:\n\n\"Don't you reckon I know what I'm about?  Don't I generly know what I'm\nabout?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Didn't I _say_ I was going to help steal the nigger?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"_Well_, then.\"\n\nThat's all he said, and that's all I said.  It warn't no use to say any\nmore; because when he said he'd do a thing, he always done it.  But I\ncouldn't make out how he was willing to go into this thing; so I just\nlet it go, and never bothered no more about it.  If he was bound to have\nit so, I couldn't help it.\n\nWhen we got home the house was all dark and still; so we went on down to\nthe hut by the ash-hopper for to examine it.  We went through the yard\nso as to see what the hounds would do.  They knowed us, and didn't make\nno more noise than country dogs is always doing when anything comes by\nin the night.  When we got to the cabin we took a look at the front and\nthe two sides; and on the side I warn't acquainted with--which was the\nnorth side--we found a square window-hole, up tolerable high, with just\none stout board nailed across it.  I says:\n\n\"Here's the ticket.  This hole's big enough for Jim to get through if we\nwrench off the board.\"\n\nTom says:\n\n\"It's as simple as tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row, and as easy as\nplaying hooky.  I should _hope_ we can find a way that's a little more\ncomplicated than _that_, Huck Finn.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" I says, \"how 'll it do to saw him out, the way I done\nbefore I was murdered that time?\"\n\n\"That's more _like_,\" he says.  \"It's real mysterious, and troublesome,\nand good,\" he says; \"but I bet we can find a way that's twice as long.\n There ain't no hurry; le's keep on looking around.\"\n\nBetwixt the hut and the fence, on the back side, was a lean-to that\njoined the hut at the eaves, and was made out of plank.  It was as long\nas the hut, but narrow--only about six foot wide.  The door to it was at\nthe south end, and was padlocked.  Tom he went to the soap-kettle and\nsearched around, and fetched back the iron thing they lift the lid with;\nso he took it and prized out one of the staples.  The chain fell down,\nand we opened the door and went in, and shut it, and struck a match,\nand see the shed was only built against a cabin and hadn't no connection\nwith it; and there warn't no floor to the shed, nor nothing in it but\nsome old rusty played-out hoes and spades and picks and a crippled plow.\n The match went out, and so did we, and shoved in the staple again, and\nthe door was locked as good as ever. Tom was joyful.  He says;\n\n\"Now we're all right.  We'll _dig_ him out.  It 'll take about a week!\"\n\nThen we started for the house, and I went in the back door--you only have\nto pull a buckskin latch-string, they don't fasten the doors--but that\nwarn't romantical enough for Tom Sawyer; no way would do him but he must\nclimb up the lightning-rod.  But after he got up half way about three\ntimes, and missed fire and fell every time, and the last time most\nbusted his brains out, he thought he'd got to give it up; but after he\nwas rested he allowed he would give her one more turn for luck, and this\ntime he made the trip.\n\nIn the morning we was up at break of day, and down to the nigger cabins\nto pet the dogs and make friends with the nigger that fed Jim--if it\n_was_ Jim that was being fed.  The niggers was just getting through\nbreakfast and starting for the fields; and Jim's nigger was piling up\na tin pan with bread and meat and things; and whilst the others was\nleaving, the key come from the house.\n\nThis nigger had a good-natured, chuckle-headed face, and his wool was\nall tied up in little bunches with thread.  That was to keep witches\noff.  He said the witches was pestering him awful these nights, and\nmaking him see all kinds of strange things, and hear all kinds of\nstrange words and noises, and he didn't believe he was ever witched so\nlong before in his life.  He got so worked up, and got to running on so\nabout his troubles, he forgot all about what he'd been a-going to do.\n So Tom says:\n\n\"What's the vittles for?  Going to feed the dogs?\"\n\nThe nigger kind of smiled around gradually over his face, like when you\nheave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says:\n\n\"Yes, Mars Sid, A dog.  Cur'us dog, too.  Does you want to go en look at\n'im?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nI hunched Tom, and whispers:\n\n\"You going, right here in the daybreak?  _that_ warn't the plan.\"\n\n\"No, it warn't; but it's the plan _now_.\"\n\nSo, drat him, we went along, but I didn't like it much.  When we got in\nwe couldn't hardly see anything, it was so dark; but Jim was there, sure\nenough, and could see us; and he sings out:\n\n\"Why, _Huck_!  En good _lan_'! ain' dat Misto Tom?\"\n\nI just knowed how it would be; I just expected it.  I didn't know\nnothing to do; and if I had I couldn't a done it, because that nigger\nbusted in and says:\n\n\"Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?\"\n\nWe could see pretty well now.  Tom he looked at the nigger, steady and\nkind of wondering, and says:\n\n\"Does _who_ know us?\"\n\n\"Why, dis-yer runaway nigger.\"\n\n\"I don't reckon he does; but what put that into your head?\"\n\n\"What _put_ it dar?  Didn' he jis' dis minute sing out like he knowed\nyou?\"\n\nTom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way:\n\n\"Well, that's mighty curious.  _Who_ sung out? _when_ did he sing out?\n _what_ did he sing out?\" And turns to me, perfectly ca'm, and says,\n\"Did _you_ hear anybody sing out?\"\n\nOf course there warn't nothing to be said but the one thing; so I says:\n\n\"No; I ain't heard nobody say nothing.\"\n\nThen he turns to Jim, and looks him over like he never see him before,\nand says:\n\n\"Did you sing out?\"\n\n\"No, sah,\" says Jim; \"I hain't said nothing, sah.\"\n\n\"Not a word?\"\n\n\"No, sah, I hain't said a word.\"\n\n\"Did you ever see us before?\"\n\n\"No, sah; not as I knows on.\"\n\nSo Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and distressed, and\nsays, kind of severe:\n\n\"What do you reckon's the matter with you, anyway?  What made you think\nsomebody sung out?\"\n\n\"Oh, it's de dad-blame' witches, sah, en I wisht I was dead, I do.\n Dey's awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos' kill me, dey sk'yers me so.\n Please to don't tell nobody 'bout it sah, er ole Mars Silas he'll scole\nme; 'kase he say dey _ain't_ no witches.  I jis' wish to goodness he was\nheah now--_den_ what would he say!  I jis' bet he couldn' fine no way to\ngit aroun' it _dis_ time.  But it's awluz jis' so; people dat's _sot_,\nstays sot; dey won't look into noth'n'en fine it out f'r deyselves, en\nwhen _you_ fine it out en tell um 'bout it, dey doan' b'lieve you.\"\n\nTom give him a dime, and said we wouldn't tell nobody; and told him to\nbuy some more thread to tie up his wool with; and then looks at Jim, and\nsays:\n\n\"I wonder if Uncle Silas is going to hang this nigger.  If I was to\ncatch a nigger that was ungrateful enough to run away, I wouldn't give\nhim up, I'd hang him.\"  And whilst the nigger stepped to the door to\nlook at the dime and bite it to see if it was good, he whispers to Jim\nand says:\n\n\"Don't ever let on to know us.  And if you hear any digging going on\nnights, it's us; we're going to set you free.\"\n\nJim only had time to grab us by the hand and squeeze it; then the nigger\ncome back, and we said we'd come again some time if the nigger wanted\nus to; and he said he would, more particular if it was dark, because the\nwitches went for him mostly in the dark, and it was good to have folks\naround then.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\nIT would be most an hour yet till breakfast, so we left and struck down\ninto the woods; because Tom said we got to have _some_ light to see how\nto dig by, and a lantern makes too much, and might get us into trouble;\nwhat we must have was a lot of them rotten chunks that's called\nfox-fire, and just makes a soft kind of a glow when you lay them in a\ndark place.  We fetched an armful and hid it in the weeds, and set down\nto rest, and Tom says, kind of dissatisfied:\n\n\"Blame it, this whole thing is just as easy and awkward as it can be.\nAnd so it makes it so rotten difficult to get up a difficult plan.\n There ain't no watchman to be drugged--now there _ought_ to be a\nwatchman.  There ain't even a dog to give a sleeping-mixture to.  And\nthere's Jim chained by one leg, with a ten-foot chain, to the leg of his\nbed:  why, all you got to do is to lift up the bedstead and slip off\nthe chain.  And Uncle Silas he trusts everybody; sends the key to the\npunkin-headed nigger, and don't send nobody to watch the nigger.  Jim\ncould a got out of that window-hole before this, only there wouldn't be\nno use trying to travel with a ten-foot chain on his leg.  Why, drat it,\nHuck, it's the stupidest arrangement I ever see. You got to invent _all_\nthe difficulties.  Well, we can't help it; we got to do the best we can\nwith the materials we've got. Anyhow, there's one thing--there's more\nhonor in getting him out through a lot of difficulties and dangers,\nwhere there warn't one of them furnished to you by the people who it was\ntheir duty to furnish them, and you had to contrive them all out of your\nown head.  Now look at just that one thing of the lantern.  When you\ncome down to the cold facts, we simply got to _let on_ that a lantern's\nresky.  Why, we could work with a torchlight procession if we wanted to,\nI believe.  Now, whilst I think of it, we got to hunt up something to\nmake a saw out of the first chance we get.\"\n\n\"What do we want of a saw?\"\n\n\"What do we _want_ of it?  Hain't we got to saw the leg of Jim's bed\noff, so as to get the chain loose?\"\n\n\"Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain\noff.\"\n\n\"Well, if that ain't just like you, Huck Finn.  You _can_ get up the\ninfant-schooliest ways of going at a thing.  Why, hain't you ever read\nany books at all?--Baron Trenck, nor Casanova, nor Benvenuto Chelleeny,\nnor Henri IV., nor none of them heroes?  Who ever heard of getting a\nprisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as that?  No; the way all the\nbest authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just\nso, and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and\ngrease around the sawed place so the very keenest seneskal can't see\nno sign of it's being sawed, and thinks the bed-leg is perfectly sound.\nThen, the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she goes; slip\noff your chain, and there you are.  Nothing to do but hitch your\nrope ladder to the battlements, shin down it, break your leg in the\nmoat--because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too short, you know--and\nthere's your horses and your trusty vassles, and they scoop you up and\nfling you across a saddle, and away you go to your native Langudoc, or\nNavarre, or wherever it is. It's gaudy, Huck.  I wish there was a moat\nto this cabin. If we get time, the night of the escape, we'll dig one.\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"What do we want of a moat when we're going to snake him out from under\nthe cabin?\"\n\nBut he never heard me.  He had forgot me and everything else.  He had\nhis chin in his hand, thinking.  Pretty soon he sighs and shakes his\nhead; then sighs again, and says:\n\n\"No, it wouldn't do--there ain't necessity enough for it.\"\n\n\"For what?\"  I says.\n\n\"Why, to saw Jim's leg off,\" he says.\n\n\"Good land!\"  I says; \"why, there ain't _no_ necessity for it.  And what\nwould you want to saw his leg off for, anyway?\"\n\n\"Well, some of the best authorities has done it.  They couldn't get the\nchain off, so they just cut their hand off and shoved.  And a leg would\nbe better still.  But we got to let that go.  There ain't necessity\nenough in this case; and, besides, Jim's a nigger, and wouldn't\nunderstand the reasons for it, and how it's the custom in Europe; so\nwe'll let it go.  But there's one thing--he can have a rope ladder; we\ncan tear up our sheets and make him a rope ladder easy enough.  And we\ncan send it to him in a pie; it's mostly done that way.  And I've et\nworse pies.\"\n\n\"Why, Tom Sawyer, how you talk,\" I says; \"Jim ain't got no use for a\nrope ladder.\"\n\n\"He _has_ got use for it.  How _you_ talk, you better say; you don't\nknow nothing about it.  He's _got_ to have a rope ladder; they all do.\"\n\n\"What in the nation can he _do_ with it?\"\n\n\"_Do_ with it?  He can hide it in his bed, can't he?\"  That's what they\nall do; and _he's_ got to, too.  Huck, you don't ever seem to want to do\nanything that's regular; you want to be starting something fresh all the\ntime. S'pose he _don't_ do nothing with it? ain't it there in his bed,\nfor a clew, after he's gone? and don't you reckon they'll want clews?\n Of course they will.  And you wouldn't leave them any?  That would be a\n_pretty_ howdy-do, _wouldn't_ it!  I never heard of such a thing.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I says, \"if it's in the regulations, and he's got to have\nit, all right, let him have it; because I don't wish to go back on no\nregulations; but there's one thing, Tom Sawyer--if we go to tearing up\nour sheets to make Jim a rope ladder, we're going to get into trouble\nwith Aunt Sally, just as sure as you're born.  Now, the way I look at\nit, a hickry-bark ladder don't cost nothing, and don't waste nothing,\nand is just as good to load up a pie with, and hide in a straw tick,\nas any rag ladder you can start; and as for Jim, he ain't had no\nexperience, and so he don't care what kind of a--\"\n\n\"Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, if I was as ignorant as you I'd keep\nstill--that's what I'D do.  Who ever heard of a state prisoner escaping\nby a hickry-bark ladder?  Why, it's perfectly ridiculous.\"\n\n\"Well, all right, Tom, fix it your own way; but if you'll take my\nadvice, you'll let me borrow a sheet off of the clothesline.\"\n\nHe said that would do.  And that gave him another idea, and he says:\n\n\"Borrow a shirt, too.\"\n\n\"What do we want of a shirt, Tom?\"\n\n\"Want it for Jim to keep a journal on.\"\n\n\"Journal your granny--_Jim_ can't write.\"\n\n\"S'pose he _can't_ write--he can make marks on the shirt, can't he, if\nwe make him a pen out of an old pewter spoon or a piece of an old iron\nbarrel-hoop?\"\n\n\"Why, Tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose and make him a better\none; and quicker, too.\"\n\n\"_Prisoners_ don't have geese running around the donjon-keep to pull\npens out of, you muggins.  They _always_ make their pens out of the\nhardest, toughest, troublesomest piece of old brass candlestick or\nsomething like that they can get their hands on; and it takes them weeks\nand weeks and months and months to file it out, too, because they've got\nto do it by rubbing it on the wall.  _They_ wouldn't use a goose-quill\nif they had it. It ain't regular.\"\n\n\"Well, then, what'll we make him the ink out of?\"\n\n\"Many makes it out of iron-rust and tears; but that's the common sort\nand women; the best authorities uses their own blood.  Jim can do that;\nand when he wants to send any little common ordinary mysterious message\nto let the world know where he's captivated, he can write it on the\nbottom of a tin plate with a fork and throw it out of the window.  The\nIron Mask always done that, and it's a blame' good way, too.\"\n\n\"Jim ain't got no tin plates.  They feed him in a pan.\"\n\n\"That ain't nothing; we can get him some.\"\n\n\"Can't nobody _read_ his plates.\"\n\n\"That ain't got anything to _do_ with it, Huck Finn.  All _he's_ got to\ndo is to write on the plate and throw it out.  You don't _have_ to be\nable to read it. Why, half the time you can't read anything a prisoner\nwrites on a tin plate, or anywhere else.\"\n\n\"Well, then, what's the sense in wasting the plates?\"\n\n\"Why, blame it all, it ain't the _prisoner's_ plates.\"\n\n\"But it's _somebody's_ plates, ain't it?\"\n\n\"Well, spos'n it is?  What does the _prisoner_ care whose--\"\n\nHe broke off there, because we heard the breakfast-horn blowing.  So we\ncleared out for the house.\n\nAlong during the morning I borrowed a sheet and a white shirt off of the\nclothes-line; and I found an old sack and put them in it, and we went\ndown and got the fox-fire, and put that in too.  I called it borrowing,\nbecause that was what pap always called it; but Tom said it warn't\nborrowing, it was stealing.  He said we was representing prisoners; and\nprisoners don't care how they get a thing so they get it, and nobody\ndon't blame them for it, either.  It ain't no crime in a prisoner to\nsteal the thing he needs to get away with, Tom said; it's his right; and\nso, as long as we was representing a prisoner, we had a perfect right to\nsteal anything on this place we had the least use for to get ourselves\nout of prison with.  He said if we warn't prisoners it would be a very\ndifferent thing, and nobody but a mean, ornery person would steal when\nhe warn't a prisoner.  So we allowed we would steal everything there was\nthat come handy.  And yet he made a mighty fuss, one day, after that,\nwhen I stole a watermelon out of the nigger-patch and eat it; and he\nmade me go and give the niggers a dime without telling them what it\nwas for. Tom said that what he meant was, we could steal anything we\n_needed_. Well, I says, I needed the watermelon.  But he said I didn't\nneed it to get out of prison with; there's where the difference was.\n He said if I'd a wanted it to hide a knife in, and smuggle it to Jim\nto kill the seneskal with, it would a been all right.  So I let it go at\nthat, though I couldn't see no advantage in my representing a prisoner\nif I got to set down and chaw over a lot of gold-leaf distinctions like\nthat every time I see a chance to hog a watermelon.\n\nWell, as I was saying, we waited that morning till everybody was settled\ndown to business, and nobody in sight around the yard; then Tom he\ncarried the sack into the lean-to whilst I stood off a piece to keep\nwatch.  By and by he come out, and we went and set down on the woodpile\nto talk.  He says:\n\n\"Everything's all right now except tools; and that's easy fixed.\"\n\n\"Tools?\"  I says.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Tools for what?\"\n\n\"Why, to dig with.  We ain't a-going to _gnaw_ him out, are we?\"\n\n\"Ain't them old crippled picks and things in there good enough to dig a\nnigger out with?\"  I says.\n\nHe turns on me, looking pitying enough to make a body cry, and says:\n\n\"Huck Finn, did you _ever_ hear of a prisoner having picks and shovels,\nand all the modern conveniences in his wardrobe to dig himself out with?\n Now I want to ask you--if you got any reasonableness in you at all--what\nkind of a show would _that_ give him to be a hero?  Why, they might as\nwell lend him the key and done with it.  Picks and shovels--why, they\nwouldn't furnish 'em to a king.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" I says, \"if we don't want the picks and shovels, what do\nwe want?\"\n\n\"A couple of case-knives.\"\n\n\"To dig the foundations out from under that cabin with?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Confound it, it's foolish, Tom.\"\n\n\"It don't make no difference how foolish it is, it's the _right_ way--and\nit's the regular way.  And there ain't no _other_ way, that ever I heard\nof, and I've read all the books that gives any information about these\nthings. They always dig out with a case-knife--and not through dirt, mind\nyou; generly it's through solid rock.  And it takes them weeks and weeks\nand weeks, and for ever and ever.  Why, look at one of them prisoners in\nthe bottom dungeon of the Castle Deef, in the harbor of Marseilles, that\ndug himself out that way; how long was _he_ at it, you reckon?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Well, guess.\"\n\n\"I don't know.  A month and a half.\"\n\n\"_Thirty-seven year_--and he come out in China.  _That's_ the kind.  I\nwish the bottom of _this_ fortress was solid rock.\"\n\n\"_Jim_ don't know nobody in China.\"\n\n\"What's _that_ got to do with it?  Neither did that other fellow.  But\nyou're always a-wandering off on a side issue.  Why can't you stick to\nthe main point?\"\n\n\"All right--I don't care where he comes out, so he _comes_ out; and Jim\ndon't, either, I reckon.  But there's one thing, anyway--Jim's too old to\nbe dug out with a case-knife.  He won't last.\"\n\n\"Yes he will _last_, too.  You don't reckon it's going to take\nthirty-seven years to dig out through a _dirt_ foundation, do you?\"\n\n\"How long will it take, Tom?\"\n\n\"Well, we can't resk being as long as we ought to, because it mayn't\ntake very long for Uncle Silas to hear from down there by New Orleans.\n He'll hear Jim ain't from there.  Then his next move will be to\nadvertise Jim, or something like that.  So we can't resk being as long\ndigging him out as we ought to.  By rights I reckon we ought to be\na couple of years; but we can't.  Things being so uncertain, what I\nrecommend is this:  that we really dig right in, as quick as we can;\nand after that, we can _let on_, to ourselves, that we was at it\nthirty-seven years.  Then we can snatch him out and rush him away the\nfirst time there's an alarm.  Yes, I reckon that 'll be the best way.\"\n\n\"Now, there's _sense_ in that,\" I says.  \"Letting on don't cost nothing;\nletting on ain't no trouble; and if it's any object, I don't mind\nletting on we was at it a hundred and fifty year.  It wouldn't strain\nme none, after I got my hand in.  So I'll mosey along now, and smouch a\ncouple of case-knives.\"\n\n\"Smouch three,\" he says; \"we want one to make a saw out of.\"\n\n\"Tom, if it ain't unregular and irreligious to sejest it,\" I says,\n\"there's an old rusty saw-blade around yonder sticking under the\nweather-boarding behind the smoke-house.\"\n\nHe looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and says:\n\n\"It ain't no use to try to learn you nothing, Huck.  Run along and\nsmouch the knives--three of them.\"  So I done it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI.\n\nAS soon as we reckoned everybody was asleep that night we went down the\nlightning-rod, and shut ourselves up in the lean-to, and got out our\npile of fox-fire, and went to work.  We cleared everything out of the\nway, about four or five foot along the middle of the bottom log.  Tom\nsaid he was right behind Jim's bed now, and we'd dig in under it, and\nwhen we got through there couldn't nobody in the cabin ever know there\nwas any hole there, because Jim's counter-pin hung down most to the\nground, and you'd have to raise it up and look under to see the hole.\n So we dug and dug with the case-knives till most midnight; and then\nwe was dog-tired, and our hands was blistered, and yet you couldn't see\nwe'd done anything hardly.  At last I says:\n\n\"This ain't no thirty-seven year job; this is a thirty-eight year job,\nTom Sawyer.\"\n\nHe never said nothing.  But he sighed, and pretty soon he stopped\ndigging, and then for a good little while I knowed that he was thinking.\nThen he says:\n\n\"It ain't no use, Huck, it ain't a-going to work.  If we was prisoners\nit would, because then we'd have as many years as we wanted, and no\nhurry; and we wouldn't get but a few minutes to dig, every day, while\nthey was changing watches, and so our hands wouldn't get blistered, and\nwe could keep it up right along, year in and year out, and do it right,\nand the way it ought to be done.  But _we_ can't fool along; we got to\nrush; we ain't got no time to spare.  If we was to put in another\nnight this way we'd have to knock off for a week to let our hands get\nwell--couldn't touch a case-knife with them sooner.\"\n\n\"Well, then, what we going to do, Tom?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you.  It ain't right, and it ain't moral, and I wouldn't like\nit to get out; but there ain't only just the one way:  we got to dig him\nout with the picks, and _let on_ it's case-knives.\"\n\n\"_Now_ you're _talking_!\"  I says; \"your head gets leveler and leveler\nall the time, Tom Sawyer,\" I says.  \"Picks is the thing, moral or no\nmoral; and as for me, I don't care shucks for the morality of it, nohow.\n When I start in to steal a nigger, or a watermelon, or a Sunday-school\nbook, I ain't no ways particular how it's done so it's done.  What I\nwant is my nigger; or what I want is my watermelon; or what I want is my\nSunday-school book; and if a pick's the handiest thing, that's the thing\nI'm a-going to dig that nigger or that watermelon or that Sunday-school\nbook out with; and I don't give a dead rat what the authorities thinks\nabout it nuther.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he says, \"there's excuse for picks and letting-on in a case like\nthis; if it warn't so, I wouldn't approve of it, nor I wouldn't stand by\nand see the rules broke--because right is right, and wrong is wrong,\nand a body ain't got no business doing wrong when he ain't ignorant and\nknows better.  It might answer for _you_ to dig Jim out with a pick,\n_without_ any letting on, because you don't know no better; but it\nwouldn't for me, because I do know better.  Gimme a case-knife.\"\n\nHe had his own by him, but I handed him mine.  He flung it down, and\nsays:\n\n\"Gimme a _case-knife_.\"\n\nI didn't know just what to do--but then I thought.  I scratched around\namongst the old tools, and got a pickaxe and give it to him, and he took\nit and went to work, and never said a word.\n\nHe was always just that particular.  Full of principle.\n\nSo then I got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about,\nand made the fur fly.  We stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as\nlong as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for\nit. When I got up stairs I looked out at the window and see Tom doing\nhis level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn't come it, his\nhands was so sore.  At last he says:\n\n\"It ain't no use, it can't be done.  What you reckon I better do?  Can't\nyou think of no way?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I says, \"but I reckon it ain't regular.  Come up the stairs, and\nlet on it's a lightning-rod.\"\n\nSo he done it.\n\nNext day Tom stole a pewter spoon and a brass candlestick in the house,\nfor to make some pens for Jim out of, and six tallow candles; and I\nhung around the nigger cabins and laid for a chance, and stole three tin\nplates.  Tom says it wasn't enough; but I said nobody wouldn't ever see\nthe plates that Jim throwed out, because they'd fall in the dog-fennel\nand jimpson weeds under the window-hole--then we could tote them back and\nhe could use them over again.  So Tom was satisfied.  Then he says:\n\n\"Now, the thing to study out is, how to get the things to Jim.\"\n\n\"Take them in through the hole,\" I says, \"when we get it done.\"\n\nHe only just looked scornful, and said something about nobody ever heard\nof such an idiotic idea, and then he went to studying.  By and by he\nsaid he had ciphered out two or three ways, but there warn't no need to\ndecide on any of them yet.  Said we'd got to post Jim first.\n\nThat night we went down the lightning-rod a little after ten, and took\none of the candles along, and listened under the window-hole, and heard\nJim snoring; so we pitched it in, and it didn't wake him.  Then we\nwhirled in with the pick and shovel, and in about two hours and a half\nthe job was done.  We crept in under Jim's bed and into the cabin, and\npawed around and found the candle and lit it, and stood over Jim awhile,\nand found him looking hearty and healthy, and then we woke him up gentle\nand gradual.  He was so glad to see us he most cried; and called us\nhoney, and all the pet names he could think of; and was for having us\nhunt up a cold-chisel to cut the chain off of his leg with right away,\nand clearing out without losing any time.  But Tom he showed him how\nunregular it would be, and set down and told him all about our plans,\nand how we could alter them in a minute any time there was an alarm; and\nnot to be the least afraid, because we would see he got away, _sure_.\n So Jim he said it was all right, and we set there and talked over old\ntimes awhile, and then Tom asked a lot of questions, and when Jim told\nhim Uncle Silas come in every day or two to pray with him, and Aunt\nSally come in to see if he was comfortable and had plenty to eat, and\nboth of them was kind as they could be, Tom says:\n\n\"_Now_ I know how to fix it.  We'll send you some things by them.\"\n\nI said, \"Don't do nothing of the kind; it's one of the most jackass\nideas I ever struck;\" but he never paid no attention to me; went right\non.  It was his way when he'd got his plans set.\n\nSo he told Jim how we'd have to smuggle in the rope-ladder pie and other\nlarge things by Nat, the nigger that fed him, and he must be on the\nlookout, and not be surprised, and not let Nat see him open them; and\nwe would put small things in uncle's coat-pockets and he must steal them\nout; and we would tie things to aunt's apron-strings or put them in her\napron-pocket, if we got a chance; and told him what they would be and\nwhat they was for.  And told him how to keep a journal on the shirt with\nhis blood, and all that. He told him everything.  Jim he couldn't see\nno sense in the most of it, but he allowed we was white folks and knowed\nbetter than him; so he was satisfied, and said he would do it all just\nas Tom said.\n\nJim had plenty corn-cob pipes and tobacco; so we had a right down good\nsociable time; then we crawled out through the hole, and so home to\nbed, with hands that looked like they'd been chawed.  Tom was in high\nspirits. He said it was the best fun he ever had in his life, and the\nmost intellectural; and said if he only could see his way to it we would\nkeep it up all the rest of our lives and leave Jim to our children to\nget out; for he believed Jim would come to like it better and better the\nmore he got used to it.  He said that in that way it could be strung out\nto as much as eighty year, and would be the best time on record.  And he\nsaid it would make us all celebrated that had a hand in it.\n\nIn the morning we went out to the woodpile and chopped up the brass\ncandlestick into handy sizes, and Tom put them and the pewter spoon in\nhis pocket.  Then we went to the nigger cabins, and while I got Nat's\nnotice off, Tom shoved a piece of candlestick into the middle of a\ncorn-pone that was in Jim's pan, and we went along with Nat to see how\nit would work, and it just worked noble; when Jim bit into it it most\nmashed all his teeth out; and there warn't ever anything could a worked\nbetter. Tom said so himself. Jim he never let on but what it was only\njust a piece of rock or something like that that's always getting into\nbread, you know; but after that he never bit into nothing but what he\njabbed his fork into it in three or four places first.\n\nAnd whilst we was a-standing there in the dimmish light, here comes a\ncouple of the hounds bulging in from under Jim's bed; and they kept on\npiling in till there was eleven of them, and there warn't hardly room\nin there to get your breath.  By jings, we forgot to fasten that lean-to\ndoor!  The nigger Nat he only just hollered \"Witches\" once, and keeled\nover on to the floor amongst the dogs, and begun to groan like he was\ndying.  Tom jerked the door open and flung out a slab of Jim's meat,\nand the dogs went for it, and in two seconds he was out himself and back\nagain and shut the door, and I knowed he'd fixed the other door too.\nThen he went to work on the nigger, coaxing him and petting him, and\nasking him if he'd been imagining he saw something again.  He raised up,\nand blinked his eyes around, and says:\n\n\"Mars Sid, you'll say I's a fool, but if I didn't b'lieve I see most a\nmillion dogs, er devils, er some'n, I wisht I may die right heah in dese\ntracks.  I did, mos' sholy.  Mars Sid, I _felt_ um--I _felt_ um, sah; dey\nwas all over me.  Dad fetch it, I jis' wisht I could git my han's on one\ner dem witches jis' wunst--on'y jis' wunst--it's all I'd ast.  But mos'ly\nI wisht dey'd lemme 'lone, I does.\"\n\nTom says:\n\n\"Well, I tell you what I think.  What makes them come here just at this\nrunaway nigger's breakfast-time?  It's because they're hungry; that's\nthe reason.  You make them a witch pie; that's the thing for _you_ to\ndo.\"\n\n\"But my lan', Mars Sid, how's I gwyne to make 'm a witch pie?  I doan'\nknow how to make it.  I hain't ever hearn er sich a thing b'fo'.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I'll have to make it myself.\"\n\n\"Will you do it, honey?--will you?  I'll wusshup de groun' und' yo' foot,\nI will!\"\n\n\"All right, I'll do it, seeing it's you, and you've been good to us and\nshowed us the runaway nigger.  But you got to be mighty careful.  When\nwe come around, you turn your back; and then whatever we've put in the\npan, don't you let on you see it at all.  And don't you look when Jim\nunloads the pan--something might happen, I don't know what.  And above\nall, don't you _handle_ the witch-things.\"\n\n\"_Hannel 'M_, Mars Sid?  What _is_ you a-talkin' 'bout?  I wouldn'\nlay de weight er my finger on um, not f'r ten hund'd thous'n billion\ndollars, I wouldn't.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII.\n\nTHAT was all fixed.  So then we went away and went to the rubbage-pile\nin the back yard, where they keep the old boots, and rags, and pieces\nof bottles, and wore-out tin things, and all such truck, and scratched\naround and found an old tin washpan, and stopped up the holes as well as\nwe could, to bake the pie in, and took it down cellar and stole it full\nof flour and started for breakfast, and found a couple of shingle-nails\nthat Tom said would be handy for a prisoner to scrabble his name and\nsorrows on the dungeon walls with, and dropped one of them in Aunt\nSally's apron-pocket which was hanging on a chair, and t'other we stuck\nin the band of Uncle Silas's hat, which was on the bureau, because we\nheard the children say their pa and ma was going to the runaway nigger's\nhouse this morning, and then went to breakfast, and Tom dropped the\npewter spoon in Uncle Silas's coat-pocket, and Aunt Sally wasn't come\nyet, so we had to wait a little while.\n\nAnd when she come she was hot and red and cross, and couldn't hardly\nwait for the blessing; and then she went to sluicing out coffee with one\nhand and cracking the handiest child's head with her thimble with the\nother, and says:\n\n\"I've hunted high and I've hunted low, and it does beat all what _has_\nbecome of your other shirt.\"\n\nMy heart fell down amongst my lungs and livers and things, and a hard\npiece of corn-crust started down my throat after it and got met on the\nroad with a cough, and was shot across the table, and took one of the\nchildren in the eye and curled him up like a fishing-worm, and let a cry\nout of him the size of a warwhoop, and Tom he turned kinder blue around\nthe gills, and it all amounted to a considerable state of things for\nabout a quarter of a minute or as much as that, and I would a sold out\nfor half price if there was a bidder.  But after that we was all right\nagain--it was the sudden surprise of it that knocked us so kind of cold.\nUncle Silas he says:\n\n\"It's most uncommon curious, I can't understand it.  I know perfectly\nwell I took it _off_, because--\"\n\n\"Because you hain't got but one _on_.  Just _listen_ at the man!  I know\nyou took it off, and know it by a better way than your wool-gethering\nmemory, too, because it was on the clo's-line yesterday--I see it there\nmyself. But it's gone, that's the long and the short of it, and you'll\njust have to change to a red flann'l one till I can get time to make a\nnew one. And it 'll be the third I've made in two years.  It just keeps\na body on the jump to keep you in shirts; and whatever you do manage to\n_do_ with 'm all is more'n I can make out.  A body 'd think you _would_\nlearn to take some sort of care of 'em at your time of life.\"\n\n\"I know it, Sally, and I do try all I can.  But it oughtn't to be\naltogether my fault, because, you know, I don't see them nor have\nnothing to do with them except when they're on me; and I don't believe\nI've ever lost one of them _off_ of me.\"\n\n\"Well, it ain't _your_ fault if you haven't, Silas; you'd a done it\nif you could, I reckon.  And the shirt ain't all that's gone, nuther.\n Ther's a spoon gone; and _that_ ain't all.  There was ten, and now\nther's only nine. The calf got the shirt, I reckon, but the calf never\ntook the spoon, _that's_ certain.\"\n\n\"Why, what else is gone, Sally?\"\n\n\"Ther's six _candles_ gone--that's what.  The rats could a got the\ncandles, and I reckon they did; I wonder they don't walk off with the\nwhole place, the way you're always going to stop their holes and don't\ndo it; and if they warn't fools they'd sleep in your hair, Silas--_you'd_\nnever find it out; but you can't lay the _spoon_ on the rats, and that I\nknow.\"\n\n\"Well, Sally, I'm in fault, and I acknowledge it; I've been remiss; but\nI won't let to-morrow go by without stopping up them holes.\"\n\n\"Oh, I wouldn't hurry; next year 'll do.  Matilda Angelina Araminta\n_Phelps!_\"\n\nWhack comes the thimble, and the child snatches her claws out of the\nsugar-bowl without fooling around any.  Just then the nigger woman steps\non to the passage, and says:\n\n\"Missus, dey's a sheet gone.\"\n\n\"A _sheet_ gone!  Well, for the land's sake!\"\n\n\"I'll stop up them holes to-day,\" says Uncle Silas, looking sorrowful.\n\n\"Oh, _do_ shet up!--s'pose the rats took the _sheet_?  _where's_ it gone,\nLize?\"\n\n\"Clah to goodness I hain't no notion, Miss' Sally.  She wuz on de\nclo'sline yistiddy, but she done gone:  she ain' dah no mo' now.\"\n\n\"I reckon the world _is_ coming to an end.  I _never_ see the beat of it\nin all my born days.  A shirt, and a sheet, and a spoon, and six can--\"\n\n\"Missus,\" comes a young yaller wench, \"dey's a brass cannelstick\nmiss'n.\"\n\n\"Cler out from here, you hussy, er I'll take a skillet to ye!\"\n\nWell, she was just a-biling.  I begun to lay for a chance; I reckoned\nI would sneak out and go for the woods till the weather moderated.  She\nkept a-raging right along, running her insurrection all by herself, and\neverybody else mighty meek and quiet; and at last Uncle Silas, looking\nkind of foolish, fishes up that spoon out of his pocket.  She stopped,\nwith her mouth open and her hands up; and as for me, I wished I was in\nJeruslem or somewheres. But not long, because she says:\n\n\"It's _just_ as I expected.  So you had it in your pocket all the time;\nand like as not you've got the other things there, too.  How'd it get\nthere?\"\n\n\"I reely don't know, Sally,\" he says, kind of apologizing, \"or you know\nI would tell.  I was a-studying over my text in Acts Seventeen before\nbreakfast, and I reckon I put it in there, not noticing, meaning to put\nmy Testament in, and it must be so, because my Testament ain't in; but\nI'll go and see; and if the Testament is where I had it, I'll know I\ndidn't put it in, and that will show that I laid the Testament down and\ntook up the spoon, and--\"\n\n\"Oh, for the land's sake!  Give a body a rest!  Go 'long now, the whole\nkit and biling of ye; and don't come nigh me again till I've got back my\npeace of mind.\"\n\nI'D a heard her if she'd a said it to herself, let alone speaking it\nout; and I'd a got up and obeyed her if I'd a been dead.  As we was\npassing through the setting-room the old man he took up his hat, and the\nshingle-nail fell out on the floor, and he just merely picked it up and\nlaid it on the mantel-shelf, and never said nothing, and went out.  Tom\nsee him do it, and remembered about the spoon, and says:\n\n\"Well, it ain't no use to send things by _him_ no more, he ain't\nreliable.\" Then he says:  \"But he done us a good turn with the spoon,\nanyway, without knowing it, and so we'll go and do him one without _him_\nknowing it--stop up his rat-holes.\"\n\nThere was a noble good lot of them down cellar, and it took us a whole\nhour, but we done the job tight and good and shipshape.  Then we heard\nsteps on the stairs, and blowed out our light and hid; and here comes\nthe old man, with a candle in one hand and a bundle of stuff in t'other,\nlooking as absent-minded as year before last.  He went a mooning around,\nfirst to one rat-hole and then another, till he'd been to them all.\n Then he stood about five minutes, picking tallow-drip off of his candle\nand thinking.  Then he turns off slow and dreamy towards the stairs,\nsaying:\n\n\"Well, for the life of me I can't remember when I done it.  I could\nshow her now that I warn't to blame on account of the rats.  But never\nmind--let it go.  I reckon it wouldn't do no good.\"\n\nAnd so he went on a-mumbling up stairs, and then we left.  He was a\nmighty nice old man.  And always is.\n\nTom was a good deal bothered about what to do for a spoon, but he said\nwe'd got to have it; so he took a think.  When he had ciphered it out\nhe told me how we was to do; then we went and waited around the\nspoon-basket till we see Aunt Sally coming, and then Tom went to\ncounting the spoons and laying them out to one side, and I slid one of\nthem up my sleeve, and Tom says:\n\n\"Why, Aunt Sally, there ain't but nine spoons _yet_.\"\n\nShe says:\n\n\"Go 'long to your play, and don't bother me.  I know better, I counted\n'm myself.\"\n\n\"Well, I've counted them twice, Aunty, and I can't make but nine.\"\n\nShe looked out of all patience, but of course she come to count--anybody\nwould.\n\n\"I declare to gracious ther' _ain't_ but nine!\" she says.  \"Why, what in\nthe world--plague _take_ the things, I'll count 'm again.\"\n\nSo I slipped back the one I had, and when she got done counting, she\nsays:\n\n\"Hang the troublesome rubbage, ther's _ten_ now!\" and she looked huffy\nand bothered both.  But Tom says:\n\n\"Why, Aunty, I don't think there's ten.\"\n\n\"You numskull, didn't you see me _count 'm?_\"\n\n\"I know, but--\"\n\n\"Well, I'll count 'm _again_.\"\n\nSo I smouched one, and they come out nine, same as the other time.\n Well, she _was_ in a tearing way--just a-trembling all over, she was so\nmad.  But she counted and counted till she got that addled she'd start\nto count in the basket for a spoon sometimes; and so, three times they\ncome out right, and three times they come out wrong.  Then she grabbed\nup the basket and slammed it across the house and knocked the cat\ngalley-west; and she said cle'r out and let her have some peace, and if\nwe come bothering around her again betwixt that and dinner she'd skin\nus.  So we had the odd spoon, and dropped it in her apron-pocket whilst\nshe was a-giving us our sailing orders, and Jim got it all right, along\nwith her shingle nail, before noon.  We was very well satisfied with\nthis business, and Tom allowed it was worth twice the trouble it took,\nbecause he said _now_ she couldn't ever count them spoons twice alike\nagain to save her life; and wouldn't believe she'd counted them right if\nshe _did_; and said that after she'd about counted her head off for the\nnext three days he judged she'd give it up and offer to kill anybody\nthat wanted her to ever count them any more.\n\nSo we put the sheet back on the line that night, and stole one out of\nher closet; and kept on putting it back and stealing it again for a\ncouple of days till she didn't know how many sheets she had any more,\nand she didn't _care_, and warn't a-going to bullyrag the rest of her\nsoul out about it, and wouldn't count them again not to save her life;\nshe druther die first.\n\nSo we was all right now, as to the shirt and the sheet and the spoon\nand the candles, by the help of the calf and the rats and the mixed-up\ncounting; and as to the candlestick, it warn't no consequence, it would\nblow over by and by.\n\nBut that pie was a job; we had no end of trouble with that pie.  We\nfixed it up away down in the woods, and cooked it there; and we got it\ndone at last, and very satisfactory, too; but not all in one day; and we\nhad to use up three wash-pans full of flour before we got through, and\nwe got burnt pretty much all over, in places, and eyes put out with\nthe smoke; because, you see, we didn't want nothing but a crust, and we\ncouldn't prop it up right, and she would always cave in.  But of course\nwe thought of the right way at last--which was to cook the ladder, too,\nin the pie.  So then we laid in with Jim the second night, and tore\nup the sheet all in little strings and twisted them together, and long\nbefore daylight we had a lovely rope that you could a hung a person\nwith.  We let on it took nine months to make it.\n\nAnd in the forenoon we took it down to the woods, but it wouldn't go\ninto the pie.  Being made of a whole sheet, that way, there was rope\nenough for forty pies if we'd a wanted them, and plenty left over\nfor soup, or sausage, or anything you choose.  We could a had a whole\ndinner.\n\nBut we didn't need it.  All we needed was just enough for the pie, and\nso we throwed the rest away.  We didn't cook none of the pies in the\nwash-pan--afraid the solder would melt; but Uncle Silas he had a noble\nbrass warming-pan which he thought considerable of, because it belonged\nto one of his ancesters with a long wooden handle that come over from\nEngland with William the Conqueror in the Mayflower or one of them early\nships and was hid away up garret with a lot of other old pots and things\nthat was valuable, not on account of being any account, because they\nwarn't, but on account of them being relicts, you know, and we snaked\nher out, private, and took her down there, but she failed on the first\npies, because we didn't know how, but she come up smiling on the last\none.  We took and lined her with dough, and set her in the coals, and\nloaded her up with rag rope, and put on a dough roof, and shut down the\nlid, and put hot embers on top, and stood off five foot, with the long\nhandle, cool and comfortable, and in fifteen minutes she turned out a\npie that was a satisfaction to look at. But the person that et it would\nwant to fetch a couple of kags of toothpicks along, for if that rope\nladder wouldn't cramp him down to business I don't know nothing what I'm\ntalking about, and lay him in enough stomach-ache to last him till next\ntime, too.\n\nNat didn't look when we put the witch pie in Jim's pan; and we put the\nthree tin plates in the bottom of the pan under the vittles; and so Jim\ngot everything all right, and as soon as he was by himself he busted\ninto the pie and hid the rope ladder inside of his straw tick,\nand scratched some marks on a tin plate and throwed it out of the\nwindow-hole.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII.\n\nMAKING them pens was a distressid tough job, and so was the saw; and Jim\nallowed the inscription was going to be the toughest of all.  That's the\none which the prisoner has to scrabble on the wall.  But he had to have\nit; Tom said he'd _got_ to; there warn't no case of a state prisoner not\nscrabbling his inscription to leave behind, and his coat of arms.\n\n\"Look at Lady Jane Grey,\" he says; \"look at Gilford Dudley; look at old\nNorthumberland!  Why, Huck, s'pose it _is_ considerble trouble?--what\nyou going to do?--how you going to get around it?  Jim's _got_ to do his\ninscription and coat of arms.  They all do.\"\n\nJim says:\n\n\"Why, Mars Tom, I hain't got no coat o' arm; I hain't got nuffn but dish\nyer ole shirt, en you knows I got to keep de journal on dat.\"\n\n\"Oh, you don't understand, Jim; a coat of arms is very different.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I says, \"Jim's right, anyway, when he says he ain't got no coat\nof arms, because he hain't.\"\n\n\"I reckon I knowed that,\" Tom says, \"but you bet he'll have one before\nhe goes out of this--because he's going out _right_, and there ain't\ngoing to be no flaws in his record.\"\n\nSo whilst me and Jim filed away at the pens on a brickbat apiece, Jim\na-making his'n out of the brass and I making mine out of the spoon,\nTom set to work to think out the coat of arms.  By and by he said he'd\nstruck so many good ones he didn't hardly know which to take, but there\nwas one which he reckoned he'd decide on.  He says:\n\n\"On the scutcheon we'll have a bend _or_ in the dexter base, a saltire\n_murrey_ in the fess, with a dog, couchant, for common charge, and under\nhis foot a chain embattled, for slavery, with a chevron _vert_ in a\nchief engrailed, and three invected lines on a field _azure_, with the\nnombril points rampant on a dancette indented; crest, a runaway nigger,\n_sable_, with his bundle over his shoulder on a bar sinister; and a\ncouple of gules for supporters, which is you and me; motto, _Maggiore\nFretta, Minore Otto._  Got it out of a book--means the more haste the\nless speed.\"\n\n\"Geewhillikins,\" I says, \"but what does the rest of it mean?\"\n\n\"We ain't got no time to bother over that,\" he says; \"we got to dig in\nlike all git-out.\"\n\n\"Well, anyway,\" I says, \"what's _some_ of it?  What's a fess?\"\n\n\"A fess--a fess is--_you_ don't need to know what a fess is.  I'll show\nhim how to make it when he gets to it.\"\n\n\"Shucks, Tom,\" I says, \"I think you might tell a person.  What's a bar\nsinister?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know.  But he's got to have it.  All the nobility does.\"\n\nThat was just his way.  If it didn't suit him to explain a thing to you,\nhe wouldn't do it.  You might pump at him a week, it wouldn't make no\ndifference.\n\nHe'd got all that coat of arms business fixed, so now he started in to\nfinish up the rest of that part of the work, which was to plan out a\nmournful inscription--said Jim got to have one, like they all done.  He\nmade up a lot, and wrote them out on a paper, and read them off, so:\n\n1.  Here a captive heart busted. 2.  Here a poor prisoner, forsook by\nthe world and friends, fretted his sorrowful life. 3.  Here a lonely\nheart broke, and a worn spirit went to its rest, after thirty-seven\nyears of solitary captivity. 4.  Here, homeless and friendless, after\nthirty-seven years of bitter captivity, perished a noble stranger,\nnatural son of Louis XIV.\n\nTom's voice trembled whilst he was reading them, and he most broke down.\nWhen he got done he couldn't no way make up his mind which one for Jim\nto scrabble on to the wall, they was all so good; but at last he allowed\nhe would let him scrabble them all on.  Jim said it would take him a\nyear to scrabble such a lot of truck on to the logs with a nail, and he\ndidn't know how to make letters, besides; but Tom said he would block\nthem out for him, and then he wouldn't have nothing to do but just\nfollow the lines.  Then pretty soon he says:\n\n\"Come to think, the logs ain't a-going to do; they don't have log walls\nin a dungeon:  we got to dig the inscriptions into a rock.  We'll fetch\na rock.\"\n\nJim said the rock was worse than the logs; he said it would take him\nsuch a pison long time to dig them into a rock he wouldn't ever get out.\n But Tom said he would let me help him do it.  Then he took a look to\nsee how me and Jim was getting along with the pens.  It was most pesky\ntedious hard work and slow, and didn't give my hands no show to get\nwell of the sores, and we didn't seem to make no headway, hardly; so Tom\nsays:\n\n\"I know how to fix it.  We got to have a rock for the coat of arms and\nmournful inscriptions, and we can kill two birds with that same rock.\nThere's a gaudy big grindstone down at the mill, and we'll smouch it,\nand carve the things on it, and file out the pens and the saw on it,\ntoo.\"\n\nIt warn't no slouch of an idea; and it warn't no slouch of a grindstone\nnuther; but we allowed we'd tackle it.  It warn't quite midnight yet,\nso we cleared out for the mill, leaving Jim at work.  We smouched the\ngrindstone, and set out to roll her home, but it was a most nation tough\njob. Sometimes, do what we could, we couldn't keep her from falling\nover, and she come mighty near mashing us every time.  Tom said she was\ngoing to get one of us, sure, before we got through.  We got her half\nway; and then we was plumb played out, and most drownded with sweat.  We\nsee it warn't no use; we got to go and fetch Jim. So he raised up his\nbed and slid the chain off of the bed-leg, and wrapt it round and round\nhis neck, and we crawled out through our hole and down there, and Jim\nand me laid into that grindstone and walked her along like nothing; and\nTom superintended.  He could out-superintend any boy I ever see.  He\nknowed how to do everything.\n\nOur hole was pretty big, but it warn't big enough to get the grindstone\nthrough; but Jim he took the pick and soon made it big enough.  Then Tom\nmarked out them things on it with the nail, and set Jim to work on them,\nwith the nail for a chisel and an iron bolt from the rubbage in the\nlean-to for a hammer, and told him to work till the rest of his candle\nquit on him, and then he could go to bed, and hide the grindstone under\nhis straw tick and sleep on it.  Then we helped him fix his chain back\non the bed-leg, and was ready for bed ourselves.  But Tom thought of\nsomething, and says:\n\n\"You got any spiders in here, Jim?\"\n\n\"No, sah, thanks to goodness I hain't, Mars Tom.\"\n\n\"All right, we'll get you some.\"\n\n\"But bless you, honey, I doan' _want_ none.  I's afeard un um.  I jis'\n's soon have rattlesnakes aroun'.\"\n\nTom thought a minute or two, and says:\n\n\"It's a good idea.  And I reckon it's been done.  It _must_ a been done;\nit stands to reason.  Yes, it's a prime good idea.  Where could you keep\nit?\"\n\n\"Keep what, Mars Tom?\"\n\n\"Why, a rattlesnake.\"\n\n\"De goodness gracious alive, Mars Tom!  Why, if dey was a rattlesnake to\ncome in heah I'd take en bust right out thoo dat log wall, I would, wid\nmy head.\"\n\n\"Why, Jim, you wouldn't be afraid of it after a little.  You could tame\nit.\"\n\n\"_Tame_ it!\"\n\n\"Yes--easy enough.  Every animal is grateful for kindness and petting,\nand they wouldn't _think_ of hurting a person that pets them.  Any book\nwill tell you that.  You try--that's all I ask; just try for two or three\ndays. Why, you can get him so, in a little while, that he'll love you;\nand sleep with you; and won't stay away from you a minute; and will let\nyou wrap him round your neck and put his head in your mouth.\"\n\n\"_Please_, Mars Tom--_doan_' talk so!  I can't _stan_' it!  He'd _let_\nme shove his head in my mouf--fer a favor, hain't it?  I lay he'd wait a\npow'ful long time 'fo' I _ast_ him.  En mo' en dat, I doan' _want_ him\nto sleep wid me.\"\n\n\"Jim, don't act so foolish.  A prisoner's _got_ to have some kind of a\ndumb pet, and if a rattlesnake hain't ever been tried, why, there's more\nglory to be gained in your being the first to ever try it than any other\nway you could ever think of to save your life.\"\n\n\"Why, Mars Tom, I doan' _want_ no sich glory.  Snake take 'n bite\nJim's chin off, den _whah_ is de glory?  No, sah, I doan' want no sich\ndoin's.\"\n\n\"Blame it, can't you _try_?  I only _want_ you to try--you needn't keep\nit up if it don't work.\"\n\n\"But de trouble all _done_ ef de snake bite me while I's a tryin' him.\nMars Tom, I's willin' to tackle mos' anything 'at ain't onreasonable,\nbut ef you en Huck fetches a rattlesnake in heah for me to tame, I's\ngwyne to _leave_, dat's _shore_.\"\n\n\"Well, then, let it go, let it go, if you're so bull-headed about it.\n We can get you some garter-snakes, and you can tie some buttons on\ntheir tails, and let on they're rattlesnakes, and I reckon that 'll have\nto do.\"\n\n\"I k'n stan' _dem_, Mars Tom, but blame' 'f I couldn' get along widout\num, I tell you dat.  I never knowed b'fo' 't was so much bother and\ntrouble to be a prisoner.\"\n\n\"Well, it _always_ is when it's done right.  You got any rats around\nhere?\"\n\n\"No, sah, I hain't seed none.\"\n\n\"Well, we'll get you some rats.\"\n\n\"Why, Mars Tom, I doan' _want_ no rats.  Dey's de dadblamedest creturs\nto 'sturb a body, en rustle roun' over 'im, en bite his feet, when he's\ntryin' to sleep, I ever see.  No, sah, gimme g'yarter-snakes, 'f I's\ngot to have 'm, but doan' gimme no rats; I hain' got no use f'r um,\nskasely.\"\n\n\"But, Jim, you _got_ to have 'em--they all do.  So don't make no more\nfuss about it.  Prisoners ain't ever without rats.  There ain't no\ninstance of it.  And they train them, and pet them, and learn them\ntricks, and they get to be as sociable as flies.  But you got to play\nmusic to them.  You got anything to play music on?\"\n\n\"I ain' got nuffn but a coase comb en a piece o' paper, en a juice-harp;\nbut I reck'n dey wouldn' take no stock in a juice-harp.\"\n\n\"Yes they would _they_ don't care what kind of music 'tis.  A\njews-harp's plenty good enough for a rat.  All animals like music--in a\nprison they dote on it.  Specially, painful music; and you can't get no\nother kind out of a jews-harp.  It always interests them; they come out\nto see what's the matter with you.  Yes, you're all right; you're fixed\nvery well.  You want to set on your bed nights before you go to sleep,\nand early in the mornings, and play your jews-harp; play 'The Last Link\nis Broken'--that's the thing that 'll scoop a rat quicker 'n anything\nelse; and when you've played about two minutes you'll see all the rats,\nand the snakes, and spiders, and things begin to feel worried about you,\nand come.  And they'll just fairly swarm over you, and have a noble good\ntime.\"\n\n\"Yes, _dey_ will, I reck'n, Mars Tom, but what kine er time is _Jim_\nhavin'? Blest if I kin see de pint.  But I'll do it ef I got to.  I\nreck'n I better keep de animals satisfied, en not have no trouble in de\nhouse.\"\n\nTom waited to think it over, and see if there wasn't nothing else; and\npretty soon he says:\n\n\"Oh, there's one thing I forgot.  Could you raise a flower here, do you\nreckon?\"\n\n\"I doan know but maybe I could, Mars Tom; but it's tolable dark in heah,\nen I ain' got no use f'r no flower, nohow, en she'd be a pow'ful sight\no' trouble.\"\n\n\"Well, you try it, anyway.  Some other prisoners has done it.\"\n\n\"One er dem big cat-tail-lookin' mullen-stalks would grow in heah, Mars\nTom, I reck'n, but she wouldn't be wuth half de trouble she'd coss.\"\n\n\"Don't you believe it.  We'll fetch you a little one and you plant it in\nthe corner over there, and raise it.  And don't call it mullen, call it\nPitchiola--that's its right name when it's in a prison.  And you want to\nwater it with your tears.\"\n\n\"Why, I got plenty spring water, Mars Tom.\"\n\n\"You don't _want_ spring water; you want to water it with your tears.\n It's the way they always do.\"\n\n\"Why, Mars Tom, I lay I kin raise one er dem mullen-stalks twyste wid\nspring water whiles another man's a _start'n_ one wid tears.\"\n\n\"That ain't the idea.  You _got_ to do it with tears.\"\n\n\"She'll die on my han's, Mars Tom, she sholy will; kase I doan' skasely\never cry.\"\n\nSo Tom was stumped.  But he studied it over, and then said Jim would\nhave to worry along the best he could with an onion.  He promised\nhe would go to the nigger cabins and drop one, private, in Jim's\ncoffee-pot, in the morning. Jim said he would \"jis' 's soon have\ntobacker in his coffee;\" and found so much fault with it, and with the\nwork and bother of raising the mullen, and jews-harping the rats, and\npetting and flattering up the snakes and spiders and things, on top of\nall the other work he had to do on pens, and inscriptions, and journals,\nand things, which made it more trouble and worry and responsibility to\nbe a prisoner than anything he ever undertook, that Tom most lost all\npatience with him; and said he was just loadened down with more gaudier\nchances than a prisoner ever had in the world to make a name for\nhimself, and yet he didn't know enough to appreciate them, and they was\njust about wasted on him.  So Jim he was sorry, and said he wouldn't\nbehave so no more, and then me and Tom shoved for bed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX.\n\nIN the morning we went up to the village and bought a wire rat-trap and\nfetched it down, and unstopped the best rat-hole, and in about an hour\nwe had fifteen of the bulliest kind of ones; and then we took it and put\nit in a safe place under Aunt Sally's bed.  But while we was gone for\nspiders little Thomas Franklin Benjamin Jefferson Elexander Phelps found\nit there, and opened the door of it to see if the rats would come out,\nand they did; and Aunt Sally she come in, and when we got back she was\na-standing on top of the bed raising Cain, and the rats was doing what\nthey could to keep off the dull times for her.  So she took and dusted\nus both with the hickry, and we was as much as two hours catching\nanother fifteen or sixteen, drat that meddlesome cub, and they warn't\nthe likeliest, nuther, because the first haul was the pick of the flock.\n I never see a likelier lot of rats than what that first haul was.\n\nWe got a splendid stock of sorted spiders, and bugs, and frogs, and\ncaterpillars, and one thing or another; and we like to got a hornet's\nnest, but we didn't.  The family was at home.  We didn't give it right\nup, but stayed with them as long as we could; because we allowed we'd\ntire them out or they'd got to tire us out, and they done it.  Then we\ngot allycumpain and rubbed on the places, and was pretty near all right\nagain, but couldn't set down convenient.  And so we went for the snakes,\nand grabbed a couple of dozen garters and house-snakes, and put them in\na bag, and put it in our room, and by that time it was supper-time, and\na rattling good honest day's work:  and hungry?--oh, no, I reckon not!\n And there warn't a blessed snake up there when we went back--we didn't\nhalf tie the sack, and they worked out somehow, and left.  But it didn't\nmatter much, because they was still on the premises somewheres.  So\nwe judged we could get some of them again.  No, there warn't no real\nscarcity of snakes about the house for a considerable spell.  You'd see\nthem dripping from the rafters and places every now and then; and they\ngenerly landed in your plate, or down the back of your neck, and most\nof the time where you didn't want them.  Well, they was handsome and\nstriped, and there warn't no harm in a million of them; but that never\nmade no difference to Aunt Sally; she despised snakes, be the breed what\nthey might, and she couldn't stand them no way you could fix it; and\nevery time one of them flopped down on her, it didn't make no difference\nwhat she was doing, she would just lay that work down and light out.  I\nnever see such a woman.  And you could hear her whoop to Jericho.  You\ncouldn't get her to take a-holt of one of them with the tongs.  And if\nshe turned over and found one in bed she would scramble out and lift a\nhowl that you would think the house was afire.  She disturbed the old\nman so that he said he could most wish there hadn't ever been no snakes\ncreated.  Why, after every last snake had been gone clear out of the\nhouse for as much as a week Aunt Sally warn't over it yet; she warn't\nnear over it; when she was setting thinking about something you could\ntouch her on the back of her neck with a feather and she would jump\nright out of her stockings.  It was very curious.  But Tom said all\nwomen was just so.  He said they was made that way for some reason or\nother.\n\nWe got a licking every time one of our snakes come in her way, and she\nallowed these lickings warn't nothing to what she would do if we ever\nloaded up the place again with them.  I didn't mind the lickings,\nbecause they didn't amount to nothing; but I minded the trouble we\nhad to lay in another lot.  But we got them laid in, and all the other\nthings; and you never see a cabin as blithesome as Jim's was when they'd\nall swarm out for music and go for him.  Jim didn't like the spiders,\nand the spiders didn't like Jim; and so they'd lay for him, and make it\nmighty warm for him.  And he said that between the rats and the snakes\nand the grindstone there warn't no room in bed for him, skasely; and\nwhen there was, a body couldn't sleep, it was so lively, and it was\nalways lively, he said, because _they_ never all slept at one time, but\ntook turn about, so when the snakes was asleep the rats was on deck, and\nwhen the rats turned in the snakes come on watch, so he always had one\ngang under him, in his way, and t'other gang having a circus over him,\nand if he got up to hunt a new place the spiders would take a chance at\nhim as he crossed over. He said if he ever got out this time he wouldn't\never be a prisoner again, not for a salary.\n\nWell, by the end of three weeks everything was in pretty good shape.\n The shirt was sent in early, in a pie, and every time a rat bit Jim he\nwould get up and write a little in his journal whilst the ink was fresh;\nthe pens was made, the inscriptions and so on was all carved on the\ngrindstone; the bed-leg was sawed in two, and we had et up the sawdust,\nand it give us a most amazing stomach-ache.  We reckoned we was all\ngoing to die, but didn't.  It was the most undigestible sawdust I ever\nsee; and Tom said the same.\n\nBut as I was saying, we'd got all the work done now, at last; and we was\nall pretty much fagged out, too, but mainly Jim.  The old man had wrote\na couple of times to the plantation below Orleans to come and get their\nrunaway nigger, but hadn't got no answer, because there warn't no such\nplantation; so he allowed he would advertise Jim in the St. Louis and\nNew Orleans papers; and when he mentioned the St. Louis ones it give me\nthe cold shivers, and I see we hadn't no time to lose. So Tom said, now\nfor the nonnamous letters.\n\n\"What's them?\"  I says.\n\n\"Warnings to the people that something is up.  Sometimes it's done one\nway, sometimes another.  But there's always somebody spying around that\ngives notice to the governor of the castle.  When Louis XVI. was going\nto light out of the Tooleries, a servant-girl done it.  It's a very good\nway, and so is the nonnamous letters.  We'll use them both.  And it's\nusual for the prisoner's mother to change clothes with him, and she\nstays in, and he slides out in her clothes.  We'll do that, too.\"\n\n\"But looky here, Tom, what do we want to _warn_ anybody for that\nsomething's up?  Let them find it out for themselves--it's their\nlookout.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know; but you can't depend on them.  It's the way they've acted\nfrom the very start--left us to do _everything_.  They're so confiding\nand mullet-headed they don't take notice of nothing at all.  So if we\ndon't _give_ them notice there won't be nobody nor nothing to interfere\nwith us, and so after all our hard work and trouble this escape 'll go\noff perfectly flat; won't amount to nothing--won't be nothing _to_ it.\"\n\n\"Well, as for me, Tom, that's the way I'd like.\"\n\n\"Shucks!\" he says, and looked disgusted.  So I says:\n\n\"But I ain't going to make no complaint.  Any way that suits you suits\nme. What you going to do about the servant-girl?\"\n\n\"You'll be her.  You slide in, in the middle of the night, and hook that\nyaller girl's frock.\"\n\n\"Why, Tom, that 'll make trouble next morning; because, of course, she\nprob'bly hain't got any but that one.\"\n\n\"I know; but you don't want it but fifteen minutes, to carry the\nnonnamous letter and shove it under the front door.\"\n\n\"All right, then, I'll do it; but I could carry it just as handy in my\nown togs.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't look like a servant-girl _then_, would you?\"\n\n\"No, but there won't be nobody to see what I look like, _anyway_.\"\n\n\"That ain't got nothing to do with it.  The thing for us to do is just\nto do our _duty_, and not worry about whether anybody _sees_ us do it or\nnot. Hain't you got no principle at all?\"\n\n\"All right, I ain't saying nothing; I'm the servant-girl.  Who's Jim's\nmother?\"\n\n\"I'm his mother.  I'll hook a gown from Aunt Sally.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you'll have to stay in the cabin when me and Jim leaves.\"\n\n\"Not much.  I'll stuff Jim's clothes full of straw and lay it on his bed\nto represent his mother in disguise, and Jim 'll take the nigger woman's\ngown off of me and wear it, and we'll all evade together.  When a\nprisoner of style escapes it's called an evasion.  It's always called\nso when a king escapes, f'rinstance.  And the same with a king's son;\nit don't make no difference whether he's a natural one or an unnatural\none.\"\n\nSo Tom he wrote the nonnamous letter, and I smouched the yaller wench's\nfrock that night, and put it on, and shoved it under the front door, the\nway Tom told me to.  It said:\n\nBeware.  Trouble is brewing.  Keep a sharp lookout. _Unknown_ _Friend_.\n\nNext night we stuck a picture, which Tom drawed in blood, of a skull and\ncrossbones on the front door; and next night another one of a coffin on\nthe back door.  I never see a family in such a sweat.  They couldn't a\nbeen worse scared if the place had a been full of ghosts laying for them\nbehind everything and under the beds and shivering through the air.  If\na door banged, Aunt Sally she jumped and said \"ouch!\" if anything fell,\nshe jumped and said \"ouch!\" if you happened to touch her, when she\nwarn't noticing, she done the same; she couldn't face noway and be\nsatisfied, because she allowed there was something behind her every\ntime--so she was always a-whirling around sudden, and saying \"ouch,\" and\nbefore she'd got two-thirds around she'd whirl back again, and say it\nagain; and she was afraid to go to bed, but she dasn't set up.  So the\nthing was working very well, Tom said; he said he never see a thing work\nmore satisfactory. He said it showed it was done right.\n\nSo he said, now for the grand bulge!  So the very next morning at the\nstreak of dawn we got another letter ready, and was wondering what we\nbetter do with it, because we heard them say at supper they was going\nto have a nigger on watch at both doors all night.  Tom he went down the\nlightning-rod to spy around; and the nigger at the back door was asleep,\nand he stuck it in the back of his neck and come back.  This letter\nsaid:\n\nDon't betray me, I wish to be your friend.  There is a desprate gang of\ncutthroats from over in the Indian Territory going to steal your runaway\nnigger to-night, and they have been trying to scare you so as you will\nstay in the house and not bother them.  I am one of the gang, but have\ngot religgion and wish to quit it and lead an honest life again, and\nwill betray the helish design. They will sneak down from northards,\nalong the fence, at midnight exact, with a false key, and go in the\nnigger's cabin to get him. I am to be off a piece and blow a tin horn\nif I see any danger; but stead of that I will _baa_ like a sheep soon as\nthey get in and not blow at all; then whilst they are getting his\nchains loose, you slip there and lock them in, and can kill them at your\nleasure.  Don't do anything but just the way I am telling you, if you do\nthey will suspicion something and raise whoop-jamboreehoo. I do not wish\nany reward but to know I have done the right thing. _Unknown Friend._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL.\n\nWE was feeling pretty good after breakfast, and took my canoe and went\nover the river a-fishing, with a lunch, and had a good time, and took a\nlook at the raft and found her all right, and got home late to supper,\nand found them in such a sweat and worry they didn't know which end they\nwas standing on, and made us go right off to bed the minute we was done\nsupper, and wouldn't tell us what the trouble was, and never let on a\nword about the new letter, but didn't need to, because we knowed as much\nabout it as anybody did, and as soon as we was half up stairs and her\nback was turned we slid for the cellar cupboard and loaded up a good\nlunch and took it up to our room and went to bed, and got up about\nhalf-past eleven, and Tom put on Aunt Sally's dress that he stole and\nwas going to start with the lunch, but says:\n\n\"Where's the butter?\"\n\n\"I laid out a hunk of it,\" I says, \"on a piece of a corn-pone.\"\n\n\"Well, you _left_ it laid out, then--it ain't here.\"\n\n\"We can get along without it,\" I says.\n\n\"We can get along _with_ it, too,\" he says; \"just you slide down cellar\nand fetch it.  And then mosey right down the lightning-rod and come\nalong. I'll go and stuff the straw into Jim's clothes to represent his\nmother in disguise, and be ready to _baa_ like a sheep and shove soon as\nyou get there.\"\n\nSo out he went, and down cellar went I. The hunk of butter, big as\na person's fist, was where I had left it, so I took up the slab of\ncorn-pone with it on, and blowed out my light, and started up stairs\nvery stealthy, and got up to the main floor all right, but here comes\nAunt Sally with a candle, and I clapped the truck in my hat, and clapped\nmy hat on my head, and the next second she see me; and she says:\n\n\"You been down cellar?\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\n\"What you been doing down there?\"\n\n\"Noth'n.\"\n\n\"_Noth'n!_\"\n\n\"No'm.\"\n\n\"Well, then, what possessed you to go down there this time of night?\"\n\n\"I don't know 'm.\"\n\n\"You don't _know_?  Don't answer me that way. Tom, I want to know what\nyou been _doing_ down there.\"\n\n\"I hain't been doing a single thing, Aunt Sally, I hope to gracious if I\nhave.\"\n\nI reckoned she'd let me go now, and as a generl thing she would; but I\ns'pose there was so many strange things going on she was just in a sweat\nabout every little thing that warn't yard-stick straight; so she says,\nvery decided:\n\n\"You just march into that setting-room and stay there till I come.  You\nbeen up to something you no business to, and I lay I'll find out what it\nis before I'M done with you.\"\n\nSo she went away as I opened the door and walked into the setting-room.\nMy, but there was a crowd there!  Fifteen farmers, and every one of them\nhad a gun.  I was most powerful sick, and slunk to a chair and set down.\nThey was setting around, some of them talking a little, in a low voice,\nand all of them fidgety and uneasy, but trying to look like they warn't;\nbut I knowed they was, because they was always taking off their hats,\nand putting them on, and scratching their heads, and changing their\nseats, and fumbling with their buttons.  I warn't easy myself, but I\ndidn't take my hat off, all the same.\n\nI did wish Aunt Sally would come, and get done with me, and lick me, if\nshe wanted to, and let me get away and tell Tom how we'd overdone this\nthing, and what a thundering hornet's-nest we'd got ourselves into, so\nwe could stop fooling around straight off, and clear out with Jim before\nthese rips got out of patience and come for us.\n\nAt last she come and begun to ask me questions, but I _couldn't_ answer\nthem straight, I didn't know which end of me was up; because these men\nwas in such a fidget now that some was wanting to start right NOW and\nlay for them desperadoes, and saying it warn't but a few minutes to\nmidnight; and others was trying to get them to hold on and wait for the\nsheep-signal; and here was Aunty pegging away at the questions, and\nme a-shaking all over and ready to sink down in my tracks I was\nthat scared; and the place getting hotter and hotter, and the butter\nbeginning to melt and run down my neck and behind my ears; and pretty\nsoon, when one of them says, \"I'M for going and getting in the cabin\n_first_ and right _now_, and catching them when they come,\" I most\ndropped; and a streak of butter come a-trickling down my forehead, and\nAunt Sally she see it, and turns white as a sheet, and says:\n\n\"For the land's sake, what _is_ the matter with the child?  He's got the\nbrain-fever as shore as you're born, and they're oozing out!\"\n\nAnd everybody runs to see, and she snatches off my hat, and out comes\nthe bread and what was left of the butter, and she grabbed me, and\nhugged me, and says:\n\n\"Oh, what a turn you did give me! and how glad and grateful I am it\nain't no worse; for luck's against us, and it never rains but it pours,\nand when I see that truck I thought we'd lost you, for I knowed by\nthe color and all it was just like your brains would be if--Dear,\ndear, whyd'nt you _tell_ me that was what you'd been down there for, I\nwouldn't a cared.  Now cler out to bed, and don't lemme see no more of\nyou till morning!\"\n\nI was up stairs in a second, and down the lightning-rod in another one,\nand shinning through the dark for the lean-to.  I couldn't hardly get my\nwords out, I was so anxious; but I told Tom as quick as I could we must\njump for it now, and not a minute to lose--the house full of men, yonder,\nwith guns!\n\nHis eyes just blazed; and he says:\n\n\"No!--is that so?  _ain't_ it bully!  Why, Huck, if it was to do over\nagain, I bet I could fetch two hundred!  If we could put it off till--\"\n\n\"Hurry!  _Hurry_!\"  I says.  \"Where's Jim?\"\n\n\"Right at your elbow; if you reach out your arm you can touch him.\n He's dressed, and everything's ready.  Now we'll slide out and give the\nsheep-signal.\"\n\nBut then we heard the tramp of men coming to the door, and heard them\nbegin to fumble with the pad-lock, and heard a man say:\n\n\"I _told_ you we'd be too soon; they haven't come--the door is locked.\nHere, I'll lock some of you into the cabin, and you lay for 'em in the\ndark and kill 'em when they come; and the rest scatter around a piece,\nand listen if you can hear 'em coming.\"\n\nSo in they come, but couldn't see us in the dark, and most trod on\nus whilst we was hustling to get under the bed.  But we got under all\nright, and out through the hole, swift but soft--Jim first, me next,\nand Tom last, which was according to Tom's orders.  Now we was in the\nlean-to, and heard trampings close by outside.  So we crept to the door,\nand Tom stopped us there and put his eye to the crack, but couldn't make\nout nothing, it was so dark; and whispered and said he would listen\nfor the steps to get further, and when he nudged us Jim must glide out\nfirst, and him last.  So he set his ear to the crack and listened, and\nlistened, and listened, and the steps a-scraping around out there all\nthe time; and at last he nudged us, and we slid out, and stooped down,\nnot breathing, and not making the least noise, and slipped stealthy\ntowards the fence in Injun file, and got to it all right, and me and Jim\nover it; but Tom's britches catched fast on a splinter on the top\nrail, and then he hear the steps coming, so he had to pull loose, which\nsnapped the splinter and made a noise; and as he dropped in our tracks\nand started somebody sings out:\n\n\"Who's that?  Answer, or I'll shoot!\"\n\nBut we didn't answer; we just unfurled our heels and shoved.  Then there\nwas a rush, and a _Bang, Bang, Bang!_ and the bullets fairly whizzed\naround us! We heard them sing out:\n\n\"Here they are!  They've broke for the river!  After 'em, boys, and turn\nloose the dogs!\"\n\nSo here they come, full tilt.  We could hear them because they wore\nboots and yelled, but we didn't wear no boots and didn't yell.  We was\nin the path to the mill; and when they got pretty close on to us we\ndodged into the bush and let them go by, and then dropped in behind\nthem.  They'd had all the dogs shut up, so they wouldn't scare off the\nrobbers; but by this time somebody had let them loose, and here they\ncome, making powwow enough for a million; but they was our dogs; so we\nstopped in our tracks till they catched up; and when they see it warn't\nnobody but us, and no excitement to offer them, they only just said\nhowdy, and tore right ahead towards the shouting and clattering; and\nthen we up-steam again, and whizzed along after them till we was nearly\nto the mill, and then struck up through the bush to where my canoe was\ntied, and hopped in and pulled for dear life towards the middle of the\nriver, but didn't make no more noise than we was obleeged to. Then we\nstruck out, easy and comfortable, for the island where my raft was; and\nwe could hear them yelling and barking at each other all up and down the\nbank, till we was so far away the sounds got dim and died out.  And when\nwe stepped on to the raft I says:\n\n\"_Now_, old Jim, you're a free man again, and I bet you won't ever be a\nslave no more.\"\n\n\"En a mighty good job it wuz, too, Huck.  It 'uz planned beautiful, en\nit 'uz done beautiful; en dey ain't _nobody_ kin git up a plan dat's mo'\nmixed-up en splendid den what dat one wuz.\"\n\nWe was all glad as we could be, but Tom was the gladdest of all because\nhe had a bullet in the calf of his leg.\n\nWhen me and Jim heard that we didn't feel so brash as what we did\nbefore. It was hurting him considerable, and bleeding; so we laid him in\nthe wigwam and tore up one of the duke's shirts for to bandage him, but\nhe says:\n\n\"Gimme the rags; I can do it myself.  Don't stop now; don't fool around\nhere, and the evasion booming along so handsome; man the sweeps, and set\nher loose!  Boys, we done it elegant!--'deed we did.  I wish _we'd_ a\nhad the handling of Louis XVI., there wouldn't a been no 'Son of Saint\nLouis, ascend to heaven!' wrote down in _his_ biography; no, sir, we'd\na whooped him over the _border_--that's what we'd a done with _him_--and\ndone it just as slick as nothing at all, too.  Man the sweeps--man the\nsweeps!\"\n\nBut me and Jim was consulting--and thinking.  And after we'd thought a\nminute, I says:\n\n\"Say it, Jim.\"\n\nSo he says:\n\n\"Well, den, dis is de way it look to me, Huck.  Ef it wuz _him_ dat 'uz\nbein' sot free, en one er de boys wuz to git shot, would he say, 'Go on\nen save me, nemmine 'bout a doctor f'r to save dis one?'  Is dat like\nMars Tom Sawyer?  Would he say dat?  You _bet_ he wouldn't!  _well_,\nden, is _Jim_ gywne to say it?  No, sah--I doan' budge a step out'n dis\nplace 'dout a _doctor_, not if it's forty year!\"\n\nI knowed he was white inside, and I reckoned he'd say what he did say--so\nit was all right now, and I told Tom I was a-going for a doctor.\n He raised considerable row about it, but me and Jim stuck to it and\nwouldn't budge; so he was for crawling out and setting the raft loose\nhimself; but we wouldn't let him.  Then he give us a piece of his mind,\nbut it didn't do no good.\n\nSo when he sees me getting the canoe ready, he says:\n\n\"Well, then, if you're bound to go, I'll tell you the way to do when you\nget to the village.  Shut the door and blindfold the doctor tight and\nfast, and make him swear to be silent as the grave, and put a purse\nfull of gold in his hand, and then take and lead him all around the\nback alleys and everywheres in the dark, and then fetch him here in the\ncanoe, in a roundabout way amongst the islands, and search him and take\nhis chalk away from him, and don't give it back to him till you get him\nback to the village, or else he will chalk this raft so he can find it\nagain. It's the way they all do.\"\n\nSo I said I would, and left, and Jim was to hide in the woods when he\nsee the doctor coming till he was gone again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI.\n\nTHE doctor was an old man; a very nice, kind-looking old man when I got\nhim up.  I told him me and my brother was over on Spanish Island hunting\nyesterday afternoon, and camped on a piece of a raft we found, and about\nmidnight he must a kicked his gun in his dreams, for it went off and\nshot him in the leg, and we wanted him to go over there and fix it and\nnot say nothing about it, nor let anybody know, because we wanted to\ncome home this evening and surprise the folks.\n\n\"Who is your folks?\" he says.\n\n\"The Phelpses, down yonder.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he says.  And after a minute, he says:\n\n\"How'd you say he got shot?\"\n\n\"He had a dream,\" I says, \"and it shot him.\"\n\n\"Singular dream,\" he says.\n\nSo he lit up his lantern, and got his saddle-bags, and we started.  But\nwhen he sees the canoe he didn't like the look of her--said she was big\nenough for one, but didn't look pretty safe for two.  I says:\n\n\"Oh, you needn't be afeard, sir, she carried the three of us easy\nenough.\"\n\n\"What three?\"\n\n\"Why, me and Sid, and--and--and _the guns_; that's what I mean.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he says.\n\nBut he put his foot on the gunnel and rocked her, and shook his head,\nand said he reckoned he'd look around for a bigger one.  But they was\nall locked and chained; so he took my canoe, and said for me to wait\ntill he come back, or I could hunt around further, or maybe I better\ngo down home and get them ready for the surprise if I wanted to.  But\nI said I didn't; so I told him just how to find the raft, and then he\nstarted.\n\nI struck an idea pretty soon.  I says to myself, spos'n he can't fix\nthat leg just in three shakes of a sheep's tail, as the saying is?\nspos'n it takes him three or four days?  What are we going to do?--lay\naround there till he lets the cat out of the bag?  No, sir; I know what\n_I'll_ do.  I'll wait, and when he comes back if he says he's got to\ngo any more I'll get down there, too, if I swim; and we'll take and tie\nhim, and keep him, and shove out down the river; and when Tom's done\nwith him we'll give him what it's worth, or all we got, and then let him\nget ashore.\n\nSo then I crept into a lumber-pile to get some sleep; and next time I\nwaked up the sun was away up over my head!  I shot out and went for the\ndoctor's house, but they told me he'd gone away in the night some time\nor other, and warn't back yet.  Well, thinks I, that looks powerful bad\nfor Tom, and I'll dig out for the island right off.  So away I shoved,\nand turned the corner, and nearly rammed my head into Uncle Silas's\nstomach! He says:\n\n\"Why, _Tom!_  Where you been all this time, you rascal?\"\n\n\"I hain't been nowheres,\" I says, \"only just hunting for the runaway\nnigger--me and Sid.\"\n\n\"Why, where ever did you go?\" he says.  \"Your aunt's been mighty\nuneasy.\"\n\n\"She needn't,\" I says, \"because we was all right.  We followed the men\nand the dogs, but they outrun us, and we lost them; but we thought we\nheard them on the water, so we got a canoe and took out after them and\ncrossed over, but couldn't find nothing of them; so we cruised along\nup-shore till we got kind of tired and beat out; and tied up the canoe\nand went to sleep, and never waked up till about an hour ago; then we\npaddled over here to hear the news, and Sid's at the post-office to see\nwhat he can hear, and I'm a-branching out to get something to eat for\nus, and then we're going home.\"\n\nSo then we went to the post-office to get \"Sid\"; but just as I\nsuspicioned, he warn't there; so the old man he got a letter out of the\noffice, and we waited awhile longer, but Sid didn't come; so the old man\nsaid, come along, let Sid foot it home, or canoe it, when he got done\nfooling around--but we would ride.  I couldn't get him to let me stay\nand wait for Sid; and he said there warn't no use in it, and I must come\nalong, and let Aunt Sally see we was all right.\n\nWhen we got home Aunt Sally was that glad to see me she laughed and\ncried both, and hugged me, and give me one of them lickings of hern that\ndon't amount to shucks, and said she'd serve Sid the same when he come.\n\nAnd the place was plum full of farmers and farmers' wives, to dinner;\nand such another clack a body never heard.  Old Mrs. Hotchkiss was the\nworst; her tongue was a-going all the time.  She says:\n\n\"Well, Sister Phelps, I've ransacked that-air cabin over, an' I b'lieve\nthe nigger was crazy.  I says to Sister Damrell--didn't I, Sister\nDamrell?--s'I, he's crazy, s'I--them's the very words I said.  You all\nhearn me: he's crazy, s'I; everything shows it, s'I.  Look at that-air\ngrindstone, s'I; want to tell _me_'t any cretur 't's in his right mind\n's a goin' to scrabble all them crazy things onto a grindstone, s'I?\n Here sich 'n' sich a person busted his heart; 'n' here so 'n' so\npegged along for thirty-seven year, 'n' all that--natcherl son o' Louis\nsomebody, 'n' sich everlast'n rubbage.  He's plumb crazy, s'I; it's what\nI says in the fust place, it's what I says in the middle, 'n' it's what\nI says last 'n' all the time--the nigger's crazy--crazy 's Nebokoodneezer,\ns'I.\"\n\n\"An' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, Sister Hotchkiss,\" says\nold Mrs. Damrell; \"what in the name o' goodness _could_ he ever want\nof--\"\n\n\"The very words I was a-sayin' no longer ago th'n this minute to Sister\nUtterback, 'n' she'll tell you so herself.  Sh-she, look at that-air rag\nladder, sh-she; 'n' s'I, yes, _look_ at it, s'I--what _could_ he a-wanted\nof it, s'I.  Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, sh-she--\"\n\n\"But how in the nation'd they ever _git_ that grindstone _in_ there,\n_anyway_? 'n' who dug that-air _hole_? 'n' who--\"\n\n\"My very _words_, Brer Penrod!  I was a-sayin'--pass that-air sasser o'\nm'lasses, won't ye?--I was a-sayin' to Sister Dunlap, jist this minute,\nhow _did_ they git that grindstone in there, s'I.  Without _help_, mind\nyou--'thout _help_!  _that's_ wher 'tis.  Don't tell _me_, s'I; there\n_wuz_ help, s'I; 'n' ther' wuz a _plenty_ help, too, s'I; ther's ben a\n_dozen_ a-helpin' that nigger, 'n' I lay I'd skin every last nigger on\nthis place but _I'd_ find out who done it, s'I; 'n' moreover, s'I--\"\n\n\"A _dozen_ says you!--_forty_ couldn't a done every thing that's been\ndone. Look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they've been\nmade; look at that bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a week's work for six men;\nlook at that nigger made out'n straw on the bed; and look at--\"\n\n\"You may _well_ say it, Brer Hightower!  It's jist as I was a-sayin'\nto Brer Phelps, his own self.  S'e, what do _you_ think of it, Sister\nHotchkiss, s'e? Think o' what, Brer Phelps, s'I?  Think o' that bed-leg\nsawed off that a way, s'e?  _think_ of it, s'I?  I lay it never sawed\n_itself_ off, s'I--somebody _sawed_ it, s'I; that's my opinion, take it\nor leave it, it mayn't be no 'count, s'I, but sich as 't is, it's my\nopinion, s'I, 'n' if any body k'n start a better one, s'I, let him _do_\nit, s'I, that's all.  I says to Sister Dunlap, s'I--\"\n\n\"Why, dog my cats, they must a ben a house-full o' niggers in there\nevery night for four weeks to a done all that work, Sister Phelps.  Look\nat that shirt--every last inch of it kivered over with secret African\nwrit'n done with blood!  Must a ben a raft uv 'm at it right along, all\nthe time, amost.  Why, I'd give two dollars to have it read to me; 'n'\nas for the niggers that wrote it, I 'low I'd take 'n' lash 'm t'll--\"\n\n\"People to _help_ him, Brother Marples!  Well, I reckon you'd _think_\nso if you'd a been in this house for a while back.  Why, they've stole\neverything they could lay their hands on--and we a-watching all the time,\nmind you. They stole that shirt right off o' the line! and as for that\nsheet they made the rag ladder out of, ther' ain't no telling how\nmany times they _didn't_ steal that; and flour, and candles, and\ncandlesticks, and spoons, and the old warming-pan, and most a thousand\nthings that I disremember now, and my new calico dress; and me and\nSilas and my Sid and Tom on the constant watch day _and_ night, as I was\na-telling you, and not a one of us could catch hide nor hair nor sight\nnor sound of them; and here at the last minute, lo and behold you, they\nslides right in under our noses and fools us, and not only fools _us_\nbut the Injun Territory robbers too, and actuly gets _away_ with that\nnigger safe and sound, and that with sixteen men and twenty-two dogs\nright on their very heels at that very time!  I tell you, it just bangs\nanything I ever _heard_ of. Why, _sperits_ couldn't a done better and\nbeen no smarter. And I reckon they must a _been_ sperits--because, _you_\nknow our dogs, and ther' ain't no better; well, them dogs never even got\non the _track_ of 'm once!  You explain _that_ to me if you can!--_any_\nof you!\"\n\n\"Well, it does beat--\"\n\n\"Laws alive, I never--\"\n\n\"So help me, I wouldn't a be--\"\n\n\"_House_-thieves as well as--\"\n\n\"Goodnessgracioussakes, I'd a ben afeard to live in sich a--\"\n\n\"'Fraid to _live_!--why, I was that scared I dasn't hardly go to bed, or\nget up, or lay down, or _set_ down, Sister Ridgeway.  Why, they'd steal\nthe very--why, goodness sakes, you can guess what kind of a fluster I was\nin by the time midnight come last night.  I hope to gracious if I warn't\nafraid they'd steal some o' the family!  I was just to that pass I\ndidn't have no reasoning faculties no more.  It looks foolish enough\n_now_, in the daytime; but I says to myself, there's my two poor boys\nasleep, 'way up stairs in that lonesome room, and I declare to goodness\nI was that uneasy 't I crep' up there and locked 'em in!  I _did_.  And\nanybody would. Because, you know, when you get scared that way, and it\nkeeps running on, and getting worse and worse all the time, and your\nwits gets to addling, and you get to doing all sorts o' wild things,\nand by and by you think to yourself, spos'n I was a boy, and was away up\nthere, and the door ain't locked, and you--\" She stopped, looking kind\nof wondering, and then she turned her head around slow, and when her eye\nlit on me--I got up and took a walk.\n\nSays I to myself, I can explain better how we come to not be in that\nroom this morning if I go out to one side and study over it a little.\n So I done it.  But I dasn't go fur, or she'd a sent for me.  And when\nit was late in the day the people all went, and then I come in and\ntold her the noise and shooting waked up me and \"Sid,\" and the door was\nlocked, and we wanted to see the fun, so we went down the lightning-rod,\nand both of us got hurt a little, and we didn't never want to try _that_\nno more.  And then I went on and told her all what I told Uncle Silas\nbefore; and then she said she'd forgive us, and maybe it was all right\nenough anyway, and about what a body might expect of boys, for all boys\nwas a pretty harum-scarum lot as fur as she could see; and so, as long\nas no harm hadn't come of it, she judged she better put in her time\nbeing grateful we was alive and well and she had us still, stead of\nfretting over what was past and done.  So then she kissed me, and patted\nme on the head, and dropped into a kind of a brown study; and pretty\nsoon jumps up, and says:\n\n\"Why, lawsamercy, it's most night, and Sid not come yet!  What _has_\nbecome of that boy?\"\n\nI see my chance; so I skips up and says:\n\n\"I'll run right up to town and get him,\" I says.\n\n\"No you won't,\" she says.  \"You'll stay right wher' you are; _one's_\nenough to be lost at a time.  If he ain't here to supper, your uncle 'll\ngo.\"\n\nWell, he warn't there to supper; so right after supper uncle went.\n\nHe come back about ten a little bit uneasy; hadn't run across Tom's\ntrack. Aunt Sally was a good _deal_ uneasy; but Uncle Silas he said\nthere warn't no occasion to be--boys will be boys, he said, and you'll\nsee this one turn up in the morning all sound and right.  So she had\nto be satisfied.  But she said she'd set up for him a while anyway, and\nkeep a light burning so he could see it.\n\nAnd then when I went up to bed she come up with me and fetched her\ncandle, and tucked me in, and mothered me so good I felt mean, and like\nI couldn't look her in the face; and she set down on the bed and talked\nwith me a long time, and said what a splendid boy Sid was, and didn't\nseem to want to ever stop talking about him; and kept asking me every\nnow and then if I reckoned he could a got lost, or hurt, or maybe\ndrownded, and might be laying at this minute somewheres suffering or\ndead, and she not by him to help him, and so the tears would drip down\nsilent, and I would tell her that Sid was all right, and would be home\nin the morning, sure; and she would squeeze my hand, or maybe kiss me,\nand tell me to say it again, and keep on saying it, because it done her\ngood, and she was in so much trouble.  And when she was going away she\nlooked down in my eyes so steady and gentle, and says:\n\n\"The door ain't going to be locked, Tom, and there's the window and\nthe rod; but you'll be good, _won't_ you?  And you won't go?  For _my_\nsake.\"\n\nLaws knows I _wanted_ to go bad enough to see about Tom, and was all\nintending to go; but after that I wouldn't a went, not for kingdoms.\n\nBut she was on my mind and Tom was on my mind, so I slept very restless.\nAnd twice I went down the rod away in the night, and slipped around\nfront, and see her setting there by her candle in the window with her\neyes towards the road and the tears in them; and I wished I could do\nsomething for her, but I couldn't, only to swear that I wouldn't never\ndo nothing to grieve her any more.  And the third time I waked up at\ndawn, and slid down, and she was there yet, and her candle was most out,\nand her old gray head was resting on her hand, and she was asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII.\n\nTHE old man was uptown again before breakfast, but couldn't get no\ntrack of Tom; and both of them set at the table thinking, and not saying\nnothing, and looking mournful, and their coffee getting cold, and not\neating anything. And by and by the old man says:\n\n\"Did I give you the letter?\"\n\n\"What letter?\"\n\n\"The one I got yesterday out of the post-office.\"\n\n\"No, you didn't give me no letter.\"\n\n\"Well, I must a forgot it.\"\n\nSo he rummaged his pockets, and then went off somewheres where he had\nlaid it down, and fetched it, and give it to her.  She says:\n\n\"Why, it's from St. Petersburg--it's from Sis.\"\n\nI allowed another walk would do me good; but I couldn't stir.  But\nbefore she could break it open she dropped it and run--for she see\nsomething. And so did I. It was Tom Sawyer on a mattress; and that old\ndoctor; and Jim, in _her_ calico dress, with his hands tied behind him;\nand a lot of people.  I hid the letter behind the first thing that come\nhandy, and rushed.  She flung herself at Tom, crying, and says:\n\n\"Oh, he's dead, he's dead, I know he's dead!\"\n\nAnd Tom he turned his head a little, and muttered something or other,\nwhich showed he warn't in his right mind; then she flung up her hands,\nand says:\n\n\"He's alive, thank God!  And that's enough!\" and she snatched a kiss of\nhim, and flew for the house to get the bed ready, and scattering orders\nright and left at the niggers and everybody else, as fast as her tongue\ncould go, every jump of the way.\n\nI followed the men to see what they was going to do with Jim; and the\nold doctor and Uncle Silas followed after Tom into the house.  The men\nwas very huffy, and some of them wanted to hang Jim for an example to\nall the other niggers around there, so they wouldn't be trying to run\naway like Jim done, and making such a raft of trouble, and keeping a\nwhole family scared most to death for days and nights.  But the others\nsaid, don't do it, it wouldn't answer at all; he ain't our nigger, and\nhis owner would turn up and make us pay for him, sure.  So that cooled\nthem down a little, because the people that's always the most anxious\nfor to hang a nigger that hain't done just right is always the very\nones that ain't the most anxious to pay for him when they've got their\nsatisfaction out of him.\n\nThey cussed Jim considerble, though, and give him a cuff or two side the\nhead once in a while, but Jim never said nothing, and he never let on to\nknow me, and they took him to the same cabin, and put his own clothes\non him, and chained him again, and not to no bed-leg this time, but to\na big staple drove into the bottom log, and chained his hands, too, and\nboth legs, and said he warn't to have nothing but bread and water to\neat after this till his owner come, or he was sold at auction because\nhe didn't come in a certain length of time, and filled up our hole, and\nsaid a couple of farmers with guns must stand watch around about the\ncabin every night, and a bulldog tied to the door in the daytime; and\nabout this time they was through with the job and was tapering off with\na kind of generl good-bye cussing, and then the old doctor comes and\ntakes a look, and says:\n\n\"Don't be no rougher on him than you're obleeged to, because he ain't\na bad nigger.  When I got to where I found the boy I see I couldn't cut\nthe bullet out without some help, and he warn't in no condition for\nme to leave to go and get help; and he got a little worse and a little\nworse, and after a long time he went out of his head, and wouldn't let\nme come a-nigh him any more, and said if I chalked his raft he'd kill\nme, and no end of wild foolishness like that, and I see I couldn't do\nanything at all with him; so I says, I got to have _help_ somehow; and\nthe minute I says it out crawls this nigger from somewheres and says\nhe'll help, and he done it, too, and done it very well.  Of course I\njudged he must be a runaway nigger, and there I _was_! and there I had\nto stick right straight along all the rest of the day and all night.  It\nwas a fix, I tell you! I had a couple of patients with the chills, and\nof course I'd of liked to run up to town and see them, but I dasn't,\nbecause the nigger might get away, and then I'd be to blame; and yet\nnever a skiff come close enough for me to hail.  So there I had to stick\nplumb until daylight this morning; and I never see a nigger that was a\nbetter nuss or faithfuller, and yet he was risking his freedom to do it,\nand was all tired out, too, and I see plain enough he'd been worked\nmain hard lately.  I liked the nigger for that; I tell you, gentlemen, a\nnigger like that is worth a thousand dollars--and kind treatment, too.  I\nhad everything I needed, and the boy was doing as well there as he\nwould a done at home--better, maybe, because it was so quiet; but there I\n_was_, with both of 'm on my hands, and there I had to stick till about\ndawn this morning; then some men in a skiff come by, and as good luck\nwould have it the nigger was setting by the pallet with his head propped\non his knees sound asleep; so I motioned them in quiet, and they slipped\nup on him and grabbed him and tied him before he knowed what he was\nabout, and we never had no trouble. And the boy being in a kind of a\nflighty sleep, too, we muffled the oars and hitched the raft on, and\ntowed her over very nice and quiet, and the nigger never made the least\nrow nor said a word from the start.  He ain't no bad nigger, gentlemen;\nthat's what I think about him.\"\n\nSomebody says:\n\n\"Well, it sounds very good, doctor, I'm obleeged to say.\"\n\nThen the others softened up a little, too, and I was mighty thankful\nto that old doctor for doing Jim that good turn; and I was glad it was\naccording to my judgment of him, too; because I thought he had a good\nheart in him and was a good man the first time I see him.  Then they\nall agreed that Jim had acted very well, and was deserving to have some\nnotice took of it, and reward.  So every one of them promised, right out\nand hearty, that they wouldn't cuss him no more.\n\nThen they come out and locked him up.  I hoped they was going to say he\ncould have one or two of the chains took off, because they was rotten\nheavy, or could have meat and greens with his bread and water; but they\ndidn't think of it, and I reckoned it warn't best for me to mix in, but\nI judged I'd get the doctor's yarn to Aunt Sally somehow or other as\nsoon as I'd got through the breakers that was laying just ahead of\nme--explanations, I mean, of how I forgot to mention about Sid being shot\nwhen I was telling how him and me put in that dratted night paddling\naround hunting the runaway nigger.\n\nBut I had plenty time.  Aunt Sally she stuck to the sick-room all day\nand all night, and every time I see Uncle Silas mooning around I dodged\nhim.\n\nNext morning I heard Tom was a good deal better, and they said Aunt\nSally was gone to get a nap.  So I slips to the sick-room, and if I\nfound him awake I reckoned we could put up a yarn for the family that\nwould wash. But he was sleeping, and sleeping very peaceful, too; and\npale, not fire-faced the way he was when he come.  So I set down and\nlaid for him to wake.  In about half an hour Aunt Sally comes gliding\nin, and there I was, up a stump again!  She motioned me to be still, and\nset down by me, and begun to whisper, and said we could all be joyful\nnow, because all the symptoms was first-rate, and he'd been sleeping\nlike that for ever so long, and looking better and peacefuller all the\ntime, and ten to one he'd wake up in his right mind.\n\nSo we set there watching, and by and by he stirs a bit, and opened his\neyes very natural, and takes a look, and says:\n\n\"Hello!--why, I'm at _home_!  How's that?  Where's the raft?\"\n\n\"It's all right,\" I says.\n\n\"And _Jim_?\"\n\n\"The same,\" I says, but couldn't say it pretty brash.  But he never\nnoticed, but says:\n\n\"Good!  Splendid!  _Now_ we're all right and safe! Did you tell Aunty?\"\n\nI was going to say yes; but she chipped in and says:  \"About what, Sid?\"\n\n\"Why, about the way the whole thing was done.\"\n\n\"What whole thing?\"\n\n\"Why, _the_ whole thing.  There ain't but one; how we set the runaway\nnigger free--me and Tom.\"\n\n\"Good land!  Set the run--What _is_ the child talking about!  Dear, dear,\nout of his head again!\"\n\n\"_No_, I ain't out of my _head_; I know all what I'm talking about.  We\n_did_ set him free--me and Tom.  We laid out to do it, and we _done_ it.\n And we done it elegant, too.\"  He'd got a start, and she never checked\nhim up, just set and stared and stared, and let him clip along, and\nI see it warn't no use for _me_ to put in.  \"Why, Aunty, it cost us a\npower of work--weeks of it--hours and hours, every night, whilst you was\nall asleep. And we had to steal candles, and the sheet, and the shirt,\nand your dress, and spoons, and tin plates, and case-knives, and the\nwarming-pan, and the grindstone, and flour, and just no end of things,\nand you can't think what work it was to make the saws, and pens, and\ninscriptions, and one thing or another, and you can't think _half_ the\nfun it was.  And we had to make up the pictures of coffins and things,\nand nonnamous letters from the robbers, and get up and down the\nlightning-rod, and dig the hole into the cabin, and made the rope ladder\nand send it in cooked up in a pie, and send in spoons and things to work\nwith in your apron pocket--\"\n\n\"Mercy sakes!\"\n\n\"--and load up the cabin with rats and snakes and so on, for company for\nJim; and then you kept Tom here so long with the butter in his hat that\nyou come near spiling the whole business, because the men come before\nwe was out of the cabin, and we had to rush, and they heard us and let\ndrive at us, and I got my share, and we dodged out of the path and let\nthem go by, and when the dogs come they warn't interested in us, but\nwent for the most noise, and we got our canoe, and made for the\nraft, and was all safe, and Jim was a free man, and we done it all by\nourselves, and _wasn't_ it bully, Aunty!\"\n\n\"Well, I never heard the likes of it in all my born days!  So it was\n_you_, you little rapscallions, that's been making all this trouble,\nand turned everybody's wits clean inside out and scared us all most to\ndeath.  I've as good a notion as ever I had in my life to take it out\no' you this very minute.  To think, here I've been, night after night,\na--_you_ just get well once, you young scamp, and I lay I'll tan the Old\nHarry out o' both o' ye!\"\n\nBut Tom, he _was_ so proud and joyful, he just _couldn't_ hold in,\nand his tongue just _went_ it--she a-chipping in, and spitting fire all\nalong, and both of them going it at once, like a cat convention; and she\nsays:\n\n\"_Well_, you get all the enjoyment you can out of it _now_, for mind I\ntell you if I catch you meddling with him again--\"\n\n\"Meddling with _who_?\"  Tom says, dropping his smile and looking\nsurprised.\n\n\"With _who_?  Why, the runaway nigger, of course.  Who'd you reckon?\"\n\nTom looks at me very grave, and says:\n\n\"Tom, didn't you just tell me he was all right?  Hasn't he got away?\"\n\n\"_Him_?\" says Aunt Sally; \"the runaway nigger?  'Deed he hasn't.\n They've got him back, safe and sound, and he's in that cabin again,\non bread and water, and loaded down with chains, till he's claimed or\nsold!\"\n\nTom rose square up in bed, with his eye hot, and his nostrils opening\nand shutting like gills, and sings out to me:\n\n\"They hain't no _right_ to shut him up!  SHOVE!--and don't you lose a\nminute.  Turn him loose! he ain't no slave; he's as free as any cretur\nthat walks this earth!\"\n\n\"What _does_ the child mean?\"\n\n\"I mean every word I _say_, Aunt Sally, and if somebody don't go, _I'll_\ngo. I've knowed him all his life, and so has Tom, there.  Old Miss\nWatson died two months ago, and she was ashamed she ever was going to\nsell him down the river, and _said_ so; and she set him free in her\nwill.\"\n\n\"Then what on earth did _you_ want to set him free for, seeing he was\nalready free?\"\n\n\"Well, that _is_ a question, I must say; and just like women!  Why,\nI wanted the _adventure_ of it; and I'd a waded neck-deep in blood\nto--goodness alive, _Aunt Polly!_\"\n\nIf she warn't standing right there, just inside the door, looking as\nsweet and contented as an angel half full of pie, I wish I may never!\n\nAunt Sally jumped for her, and most hugged the head off of her, and\ncried over her, and I found a good enough place for me under the bed,\nfor it was getting pretty sultry for us, seemed to me.  And I peeped\nout, and in a little while Tom's Aunt Polly shook herself loose and\nstood there looking across at Tom over her spectacles--kind of grinding\nhim into the earth, you know.  And then she says:\n\n\"Yes, you _better_ turn y'r head away--I would if I was you, Tom.\"\n\n\"Oh, deary me!\" says Aunt Sally; \"_Is_ he changed so?  Why, that ain't\n_Tom_, it's Sid; Tom's--Tom's--why, where is Tom?  He was here a minute\nago.\"\n\n\"You mean where's Huck _Finn_--that's what you mean!  I reckon I hain't\nraised such a scamp as my Tom all these years not to know him when I\n_see_ him.  That _would_ be a pretty howdy-do. Come out from under that\nbed, Huck Finn.\"\n\nSo I done it.  But not feeling brash.\n\nAunt Sally she was one of the mixed-upest-looking persons I ever\nsee--except one, and that was Uncle Silas, when he come in and they told\nit all to him.  It kind of made him drunk, as you may say, and he didn't\nknow nothing at all the rest of the day, and preached a prayer-meeting\nsermon that night that gave him a rattling ruputation, because the\noldest man in the world couldn't a understood it.  So Tom's Aunt Polly,\nshe told all about who I was, and what; and I had to up and tell how\nI was in such a tight place that when Mrs. Phelps took me for Tom\nSawyer--she chipped in and says, \"Oh, go on and call me Aunt Sally, I'm\nused to it now, and 'tain't no need to change\"--that when Aunt Sally took\nme for Tom Sawyer I had to stand it--there warn't no other way, and\nI knowed he wouldn't mind, because it would be nuts for him, being\na mystery, and he'd make an adventure out of it, and be perfectly\nsatisfied.  And so it turned out, and he let on to be Sid, and made\nthings as soft as he could for me.\n\nAnd his Aunt Polly she said Tom was right about old Miss Watson setting\nJim free in her will; and so, sure enough, Tom Sawyer had gone and took\nall that trouble and bother to set a free nigger free! and I couldn't\never understand before, until that minute and that talk, how he _could_\nhelp a body set a nigger free with his bringing-up.\n\nWell, Aunt Polly she said that when Aunt Sally wrote to her that Tom and\n_Sid_ had come all right and safe, she says to herself:\n\n\"Look at that, now!  I might have expected it, letting him go off that\nway without anybody to watch him.  So now I got to go and trapse all\nthe way down the river, eleven hundred mile, and find out what that\ncreetur's up to _this_ time, as long as I couldn't seem to get any\nanswer out of you about it.\"\n\n\"Why, I never heard nothing from you,\" says Aunt Sally.\n\n\"Well, I wonder!  Why, I wrote you twice to ask you what you could mean\nby Sid being here.\"\n\n\"Well, I never got 'em, Sis.\"\n\nAunt Polly she turns around slow and severe, and says:\n\n\"You, Tom!\"\n\n\"Well--_what_?\" he says, kind of pettish.\n\n\"Don't you what _me_, you impudent thing--hand out them letters.\"\n\n\"What letters?\"\n\n\"_Them_ letters.  I be bound, if I have to take a-holt of you I'll--\"\n\n\"They're in the trunk.  There, now.  And they're just the same as they\nwas when I got them out of the office.  I hain't looked into them, I\nhain't touched them.  But I knowed they'd make trouble, and I thought if\nyou warn't in no hurry, I'd--\"\n\n\"Well, you _do_ need skinning, there ain't no mistake about it.  And I\nwrote another one to tell you I was coming; and I s'pose he--\"\n\n\"No, it come yesterday; I hain't read it yet, but _it's_ all right, I've\ngot that one.\"\n\nI wanted to offer to bet two dollars she hadn't, but I reckoned maybe it\nwas just as safe to not to.  So I never said nothing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE LAST\n\nTHE first time I catched Tom private I asked him what was his idea, time\nof the evasion?--what it was he'd planned to do if the evasion worked all\nright and he managed to set a nigger free that was already free before?\nAnd he said, what he had planned in his head from the start, if we got\nJim out all safe, was for us to run him down the river on the raft, and\nhave adventures plumb to the mouth of the river, and then tell him about\nhis being free, and take him back up home on a steamboat, in style,\nand pay him for his lost time, and write word ahead and get out all\nthe niggers around, and have them waltz him into town with a torchlight\nprocession and a brass-band, and then he would be a hero, and so would\nwe.  But I reckoned it was about as well the way it was.\n\nWe had Jim out of the chains in no time, and when Aunt Polly and Uncle\nSilas and Aunt Sally found out how good he helped the doctor nurse Tom,\nthey made a heap of fuss over him, and fixed him up prime, and give him\nall he wanted to eat, and a good time, and nothing to do.  And we had\nhim up to the sick-room, and had a high talk; and Tom give Jim forty\ndollars for being prisoner for us so patient, and doing it up so good,\nand Jim was pleased most to death, and busted out, and says:\n\n\"Dah, now, Huck, what I tell you?--what I tell you up dah on Jackson\nislan'?  I _tole_ you I got a hairy breas', en what's de sign un it; en\nI _tole_ you I ben rich wunst, en gwineter to be rich _agin_; en it's\ncome true; en heah she is!  _dah_, now! doan' talk to _me_--signs is\n_signs_, mine I tell you; en I knowed jis' 's well 'at I 'uz gwineter be\nrich agin as I's a-stannin' heah dis minute!\"\n\nAnd then Tom he talked along and talked along, and says, le's all three\nslide out of here one of these nights and get an outfit, and go for\nhowling adventures amongst the Injuns, over in the Territory, for a\ncouple of weeks or two; and I says, all right, that suits me, but I\nain't got no money for to buy the outfit, and I reckon I couldn't get\nnone from home, because it's likely pap's been back before now, and got\nit all away from Judge Thatcher and drunk it up.\n\n\"No, he hain't,\" Tom says; \"it's all there yet--six thousand dollars\nand more; and your pap hain't ever been back since.  Hadn't when I come\naway, anyhow.\"\n\nJim says, kind of solemn:\n\n\"He ain't a-comin' back no mo', Huck.\"\n\nI says:\n\n\"Why, Jim?\"\n\n\"Nemmine why, Huck--but he ain't comin' back no mo.\"\n\nBut I kept at him; so at last he says:\n\n\"Doan' you 'member de house dat was float'n down de river, en dey wuz a\nman in dah, kivered up, en I went in en unkivered him and didn' let you\ncome in?  Well, den, you kin git yo' money when you wants it, kase dat\nwuz him.\"\n\nTom's most well now, and got his bullet around his neck on a watch-guard\nfor a watch, and is always seeing what time it is, and so there ain't\nnothing more to write about, and I am rotten glad of it, because if I'd\na knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn't a tackled it,\nand ain't a-going to no more.  But I reckon I got to light out for the\nTerritory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she's going to adopt me\nand sivilize me, and I can't stand it.  I been there before.\n\nTHE END. YOURS TRULY, _HUCK FINN_.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,\nComplete, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)\n\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUCKLEBERRY FINN ***\n\n***** This file should be named 76-h.htm or 76-h.zip ***** This and\nall associated files of various formats will be found in:\nhttp://www.gutenberg.net/7/76/\n\nProduced by David Widger. Previous editions produced by Ron Burkey and\nInternet Wiretap\n\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be\nrenamed.\n\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no one\nowns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and\nyou!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission\nand without paying copyright royalties. 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  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/pg-metamorphosis.txt",
    "content": "The Project Gutenberg EBook of Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka\nTranslated by David Wyllie.\n\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net\n\n** This is a COPYRIGHTED Project Gutenberg eBook, Details Below **\n**     Please follow the copyright guidelines in this file.     **\n\n\nTitle: Metamorphosis\n\nAuthor: Franz Kafka\n\nTranslator: David Wyllie\n\nRelease Date: August 16, 2005 [EBook #5200]\nFirst posted: May 13, 2002\nLast updated: May 20, 2012\n\nLanguage: English\n\n\n*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK METAMORPHOSIS ***\n\n\n\n\nCopyright (C) 2002 David Wyllie.\n\n\n\n\n\n  Metamorphosis\n  Franz Kafka\n\nTranslated by David Wyllie\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nOne morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found\nhimself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin.  He lay on\nhis armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could\nsee his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff\nsections.  The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready\nto slide off any moment.  His many legs, pitifully thin compared\nwith the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he\nlooked.\n\n\"What's happened to me?\" he thought.  It wasn't a dream.  His room,\na proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully\nbetween its four familiar walls.  A collection of textile samples\nlay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - and\nabove it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an\nillustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame.  It showed\na lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright,\nraising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm\ntowards the viewer.\n\nGregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather.\nDrops of rain could be heard hitting the pane, which made him feel\nquite sad.  \"How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all\nthis nonsense\", he thought, but that was something he was unable to\ndo because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his present\nstate couldn't get into that position.  However hard he threw\nhimself onto his right, he always rolled back to where he was.  He\nmust have tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes so that he\nwouldn't have to look at the floundering legs, and only stopped when\nhe began to feel a mild, dull pain there that he had never felt\nbefore.\n\n\"Oh, God\", he thought, \"what a strenuous career it is that I've\nchosen! Travelling day in and day out.  Doing business like this\ntakes much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on\ntop of that there's the curse of travelling, worries about making\ntrain connections, bad and irregular food, contact with different\npeople all the time so that you can never get to know anyone or\nbecome friendly with them.  It can all go to Hell!\"  He felt a\nslight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back\ntowards the headboard so that he could lift his head better; found\nwhere the itch was, and saw that it was covered with lots of little\nwhite spots which he didn't know what to make of; and when he tried\nto feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back\nbecause as soon as he touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder.\n\nHe slid back into his former position.  \"Getting up early all the\ntime\", he thought, \"it makes you stupid.  You've got to get enough\nsleep.  Other travelling salesmen live a life of luxury.  For\ninstance, whenever I go back to the guest house during the morning\nto copy out the contract, these gentlemen are always still sitting\nthere eating their breakfasts.  I ought to just try that with my\nboss; I'd get kicked out on the spot.  But who knows, maybe that\nwould be the best thing for me.  If I didn't have my parents to\nthink about I'd have given in my notice a long time ago, I'd have\ngone up to the boss and told him just what I think, tell him\neverything I would, let him know just what I feel.  He'd fall right\noff his desk! And it's a funny sort of business to be sitting up\nthere at your desk, talking down at your subordinates from up there,\nespecially when you have to go right up close because the boss is\nhard of hearing.  Well, there's still some hope; once I've got the\nmoney together to pay off my parents' debt to him - another five or\nsix years I suppose - that's definitely what I'll do.  That's when\nI'll make the big change.  First of all though, I've got to get up,\nmy train leaves at five.\"\n\nAnd he looked over at the alarm clock, ticking on the chest of\ndrawers.  \"God in Heaven!\" he thought.  It was half past six and the\nhands were quietly moving forwards, it was even later than half\npast, more like quarter to seven.  Had the alarm clock not rung? He\ncould see from the bed that it had been set for four o'clock as it\nshould have been; it certainly must have rung.  Yes, but was it\npossible to quietly sleep through that furniture-rattling noise?\nTrue, he had not slept peacefully, but probably all the more deeply\nbecause of that.  What should he do now? The next train went at\nseven; if he were to catch that he would have to rush like mad and\nthe collection of samples was still not packed, and he did not at\nall feel particularly fresh and lively.  And even if he did catch\nthe train he would not avoid his boss's anger as the office\nassistant would have been there to see the five o'clock train go, he\nwould have put in his report about Gregor's not being there a long\ntime ago.  The office assistant was the boss's man, spineless, and\nwith no understanding.  What about if he reported sick? But that\nwould be extremely strained and suspicious as in fifteen years of\nservice Gregor had never once yet been ill.  His boss would\ncertainly come round with the doctor from the medical insurance\ncompany, accuse his parents of having a lazy son, and accept the\ndoctor's recommendation not to make any claim as the doctor believed\nthat no-one was ever ill but that many were workshy.  And what's\nmore, would he have been entirely wrong in this case? Gregor did in\nfact, apart from excessive sleepiness after sleeping for so long,\nfeel completely well and even felt much hungrier than usual.\n\nHe was still hurriedly thinking all this through, unable to decide\nto get out of the bed, when the clock struck quarter to seven.\nThere was a cautious knock at the door near his head.  \"Gregor\",\nsomebody called - it was his mother - \"it's quarter to seven.\nDidn't you want to go somewhere?\"  That gentle voice! Gregor was\nshocked when he heard his own voice answering, it could hardly be\nrecognised as the voice he had had before.  As if from deep inside\nhim, there was a painful and uncontrollable squeaking mixed in with\nit, the words could be made out at first but then there was a sort\nof echo which made them unclear, leaving the hearer unsure whether\nhe had heard properly or not.  Gregor had wanted to give a full\nanswer and explain everything, but in the circumstances contented\nhimself with saying: \"Yes, mother, yes, thank-you, I'm getting up\nnow.\"  The change in Gregor's voice probably could not be noticed\noutside through the wooden door, as his mother was satisfied with\nthis explanation and shuffled away.  But this short conversation\nmade the other members of the family aware that Gregor, against\ntheir expectations was still at home, and soon his father came\nknocking at one of the side doors, gently, but with his fist.\n\"Gregor, Gregor\", he called, \"what's wrong?\"  And after a short\nwhile he called again with a warning deepness in his voice: \"Gregor!\nGregor!\"  At the other side door his sister came plaintively:\n\"Gregor? Aren't you well? Do you need anything?\"  Gregor answered to\nboth sides: \"I'm ready, now\", making an effort to remove all the\nstrangeness from his voice by enunciating very carefully and putting\nlong pauses between each, individual word.  His father went back to\nhis breakfast, but his sister whispered: \"Gregor, open the door, I\nbeg of you.\"  Gregor, however, had no thought of opening the door,\nand instead congratulated himself for his cautious habit, acquired\nfrom his travelling, of locking all doors at night even when he was\nat home.\n\nThe first thing he wanted to do was to get up in peace without being\ndisturbed, to get dressed, and most of all to have his breakfast.\nOnly then would he consider what to do next, as he was well aware\nthat he would not bring his thoughts to any sensible conclusions by\nlying in bed.  He remembered that he had often felt a slight pain in\nbed, perhaps caused by lying awkwardly, but that had always turned\nout to be pure imagination and he wondered how his imaginings would\nslowly resolve themselves today.  He did not have the slightest\ndoubt that the change in his voice was nothing more than the first\nsign of a serious cold, which was an occupational hazard for\ntravelling salesmen.\n\nIt was a simple matter to throw off the covers; he only had to blow\nhimself up a little and they fell off by themselves.  But it became\ndifficult after that, especially as he was so exceptionally broad.\nHe would have used his arms and his hands to push himself up; but\ninstead of them he only had all those little legs continuously\nmoving in different directions, and which he was moreover unable to\ncontrol.  If he wanted to bend one of them, then that was the first\none that would stretch itself out; and if he finally managed to do\nwhat he wanted with that leg, all the others seemed to be set free\nand would move about painfully.  \"This is something that can't be\ndone in bed\", Gregor said to himself, \"so don't keep trying to do\nit\".\n\nThe first thing he wanted to do was get the lower part of his body\nout of the bed, but he had never seen this lower part, and could not\nimagine what it looked like; it turned out to be too hard to move;\nit went so slowly; and finally, almost in a frenzy, when he\ncarelessly shoved himself forwards with all the force he could\ngather, he chose the wrong direction, hit hard against the lower\nbedpost, and learned from the burning pain he felt that the lower\npart of his body might well, at present, be the most sensitive.\n\nSo then he tried to get the top part of his body out of the bed\nfirst, carefully turning his head to the side.  This he managed\nquite easily, and despite its breadth and its weight, the bulk of\nhis body eventually followed slowly in the direction of the head.\nBut when he had at last got his head out of the bed and into the\nfresh air it occurred to him that if he let himself fall it would be\na miracle if his head were not injured, so he became afraid to carry\non pushing himself forward the same way.  And he could not knock\nhimself out now at any price; better to stay in bed than lose\nconsciousness.\n\nIt took just as much effort to get back to where he had been\nearlier, but when he lay there sighing, and was once more watching\nhis legs as they struggled against each other even harder than\nbefore, if that was possible, he could think of no way of bringing\npeace and order to this chaos.  He told himself once more that it\nwas not possible for him to stay in bed and that the most sensible\nthing to do would be to get free of it in whatever way he could at\nwhatever sacrifice.  At the same time, though, he did not forget to\nremind himself that calm consideration was much better than rushing\nto desperate conclusions.  At times like this he would direct his\neyes to the window and look out as clearly as he could, but\nunfortunately, even the other side of the narrow street was\nenveloped in morning fog and the view had little confidence or cheer\nto offer him.  \"Seven o'clock, already\", he said to himself when the\nclock struck again, \"seven o'clock, and there's still a fog like\nthis.\"  And he lay there quietly a while longer, breathing lightly\nas if he perhaps expected the total stillness to bring things back\nto their real and natural state.\n\nBut then he said to himself: \"Before it strikes quarter past seven\nI'll definitely have to have got properly out of bed.  And by then\nsomebody will have come round from work to ask what's happened to me\nas well, as they open up at work before seven o'clock.\"  And so he\nset himself to the task of swinging the entire length of his body\nout of the bed all at the same time.  If he succeeded in falling out\nof bed in this way and kept his head raised as he did so he could\nprobably avoid injuring it.  His back seemed to be quite hard, and\nprobably nothing would happen to it falling onto the carpet.  His\nmain concern was for the loud noise he was bound to make, and which\neven through all the doors would probably raise concern if not\nalarm.  But it was something that had to be risked.\n\nWhen Gregor was already sticking half way out of the bed - the new\nmethod was more of a game than an effort, all he had to do was rock\nback and forth - it occurred to him how simple everything would be\nif somebody came to help him.  Two strong people - he had his father\nand the maid in mind - would have been more than enough; they would\nonly have to push their arms under the dome of his back, peel him\naway from the bed, bend down with the load and then be patient and\ncareful as he swang over onto the floor, where, hopefully, the\nlittle legs would find a use.  Should he really call for help\nthough, even apart from the fact that all the doors were locked?\nDespite all the difficulty he was in, he could not suppress a smile\nat this thought.\n\nAfter a while he had already moved so far across that it would have\nbeen hard for him to keep his balance if he rocked too hard.  The\ntime was now ten past seven and he would have to make a final\ndecision very soon.  Then there was a ring at the door of the flat.\n\"That'll be someone from work\", he said to himself, and froze very\nstill, although his little legs only became all the more lively as\nthey danced around.  For a moment everything remained quiet.\n\"They're not opening the door\", Gregor said to himself, caught in\nsome nonsensical hope.  But then of course, the maid's firm steps\nwent to the door as ever and opened it.  Gregor only needed to hear\nthe visitor's first words of greeting and he knew who it was - the\nchief clerk himself.  Why did Gregor have to be the only one\ncondemned to work for a company where they immediately became highly\nsuspicious at the slightest shortcoming? Were all employees, every\none of them, louts, was there not one of them who was faithful and\ndevoted who would go so mad with pangs of conscience that he\ncouldn't get out of bed if he didn't spend at least a couple of\nhours in the morning on company business? Was it really not enough\nto let one of the trainees make enquiries - assuming enquiries were\neven necessary - did the chief clerk have to come himself, and did\nthey have to show the whole, innocent family that this was so\nsuspicious that only the chief clerk could be trusted to have the\nwisdom to investigate it? And more because these thoughts had made\nhim upset than through any proper decision, he swang himself with\nall his force out of the bed.  There was a loud thump, but it wasn't\nreally a loud noise.  His fall was softened a little by the carpet,\nand Gregor's back was also more elastic than he had thought, which\nmade the sound muffled and not too noticeable.  He had not held his\nhead carefully enough, though, and hit it as he fell; annoyed and in\npain, he turned it and rubbed it against the carpet.\n\n\"Something's fallen down in there\", said the chief clerk in the room\non the left.  Gregor tried to imagine whether something of the sort\nthat had happened to him today could ever happen to the chief clerk\ntoo; you had to concede that it was possible.  But as if in gruff\nreply to this question, the chief clerk's firm footsteps in his\nhighly polished boots could now be heard in the adjoining room.\nFrom the room on his right, Gregor's sister whispered to him to let\nhim know: \"Gregor, the chief clerk is here.\"  \"Yes, I know\", said\nGregor to himself; but without daring to raise his voice loud enough\nfor his sister to hear him.\n\n\"Gregor\", said his father now from the room to his left, \"the chief\nclerk has come round and wants to know why you didn't leave on the\nearly train.  We don't know what to say to him.  And anyway, he\nwants to speak to you personally.  So please open up this door.  I'm\nsure he'll be good enough to forgive the untidiness of your room.\"\nThen the chief clerk called \"Good morning,  Mr. Samsa\". \"He isn't\nwell\", said his mother to the chief clerk, while his father\ncontinued to speak through the door.  \"He isn't well, please believe\nme.  Why else would Gregor have missed a train! The lad only ever\nthinks about the business.  It nearly makes me cross the way he\nnever goes out in the evenings; he's been in town for a week now but\nstayed home every evening.  He sits with us in the kitchen and just\nreads the paper or studies train timetables.  His idea of relaxation\nis working with his fretsaw.  He's made a little frame, for\ninstance, it only took him two or three evenings, you'll be amazed\nhow nice it is; it's hanging up in his room; you'll see it as soon\nas Gregor opens the door.  Anyway, I'm glad you're here; we wouldn't\nhave been able to get Gregor to open the door by ourselves; he's so\nstubborn; and I'm sure he isn't well, he said this morning that he\nis, but he isn't.\"  \"I'll be there in a moment\", said Gregor slowly\nand thoughtfully, but without moving so that he would not miss any\nword of the conversation.  \"Well I can't think of any other way of\nexplaining it,  Mrs. Samsa\", said the chief clerk, \"I hope it's\nnothing serious.  But on the other hand, I must say that if we\npeople in commerce ever become slightly unwell then, fortunately or\nunfortunately as you like, we simply have to overcome it because of\nbusiness considerations.\"  \"Can the chief clerk come in to see you\nnow then?\", asked his father impatiently, knocking at the door\nagain.  \"No\", said Gregor.  In the room on his right there followed\na painful silence; in the room on his left his sister began to cry.\n\nSo why did his sister not go and join the others? She had probably\nonly just got up and had not even begun to get dressed.  And why was\nshe crying? Was it because he had not got up, and had not let the\nchief clerk in, because he was in danger of losing his job and if\nthat happened his boss would once more pursue their parents with the\nsame demands as before? There was no need to worry about things like\nthat yet.  Gregor was still there and had not the slightest\nintention of abandoning his family.  For the time being he just lay\nthere on the carpet, and no-one who knew the condition he was in\nwould seriously have expected him to let the chief clerk in.  It was\nonly a minor discourtesy, and a suitable excuse could easily be\nfound for it later on, it was not something for which Gregor could\nbe sacked on the spot.  And it seemed to Gregor much more sensible\nto leave him now in peace instead of disturbing him with talking at\nhim and crying.  But the others didn't know what was happening, they\nwere worried, that would excuse their behaviour.\n\nThe chief clerk now raised his voice, \"Mr. Samsa\", he called to him,\n\"what is wrong? You barricade yourself in your room, give us no more\nthan yes or no for an answer, you are causing serious and\nunnecessary concern to your parents and you fail - and I mention\nthis just by the way - you fail to carry out your business duties in\na way that is quite unheard of.  I'm speaking here on behalf of your\nparents and of your employer, and really must request a clear and\nimmediate explanation.  I am astonished, quite astonished.  I\nthought I knew you as a calm and sensible person, and now you\nsuddenly seem to be showing off with peculiar whims.  This morning,\nyour employer did suggest a possible reason for your failure to\nappear, it's true - it had to do with the money that was recently\nentrusted to you - but I came near to giving him my word of honour\nthat that could not be the right explanation.  But now that I see\nyour incomprehensible stubbornness I no longer feel any wish\nwhatsoever to intercede on your behalf.  And nor is your position\nall that secure.  I had originally intended to say all this to you\nin private, but since you cause me to waste my time here for no good\nreason I don't see why your parents should not also learn of it.\nYour turnover has been very unsatisfactory of late; I grant you that\nit's not the time of year to do especially good business, we\nrecognise that; but there simply is no time of year to do no\nbusiness at all,  Mr. Samsa, we cannot allow there to be.\"\n\n\"But Sir\", called Gregor, beside himself and forgetting all else in\nthe excitement, \"I'll open up immediately, just a moment.  I'm\nslightly unwell, an attack of dizziness, I haven't been able to get\nup.  I'm still in bed now.  I'm quite fresh again now, though.  I'm\njust getting out of bed.  Just a moment.  Be patient! It's not quite\nas easy as I'd thought.  I'm quite alright now, though.  It's\nshocking, what can suddenly happen to a person! I was quite alright\nlast night, my parents know about it, perhaps better than me, I had\na small symptom of it last night already.  They must have noticed\nit.  I don't know why I didn't let you know at work! But you always\nthink you can get over an illness without staying at home.  Please,\ndon't make my parents suffer! There's no basis for any of the\naccusations you're making; nobody's ever said a word to me about any\nof these things.  Maybe you haven't read the latest contracts I sent\nin.  I'll set off with the eight o'clock train, as well, these few\nhours of rest have given me strength.  You don't need to wait, sir;\nI'll be in the office soon after you, and please be so good as to\ntell that to the boss and recommend me to him!\"\n\nAnd while Gregor gushed out these words, hardly knowing what he was\nsaying, he made his way over to the chest of drawers - this was\neasily done, probably because of the practise he had already had in\nbed - where he now tried to get himself upright.  He really did want\nto open the door, really did want to let them see him and to speak\nwith the chief clerk; the others were being so insistent, and he was\ncurious to learn what they would say when they caught sight of him.\nIf they were shocked then it would no longer be Gregor's\nresponsibility and he could rest.  If, however, they took everything\ncalmly he would still have no reason to be upset, and if he hurried\nhe really could be at the station for eight o'clock.  The first few\ntimes he tried to climb up on the smooth chest of drawers he just\nslid down again, but he finally gave himself one last swing and\nstood there upright; the lower part of his body was in serious pain\nbut he no longer gave any attention to it.  Now he let himself fall\nagainst the back of a nearby chair and held tightly to the edges of\nit with his little legs.  By now he had also calmed down, and kept\nquiet so that he could listen to what the chief clerk was saying.\n\n\"Did you understand a word of all that?\" the chief clerk asked his\nparents, \"surely he's not trying to make fools of us\". \"Oh, God!\"\ncalled his mother, who was already in tears, \"he could be seriously\nill and we're making him suffer.  Grete! Grete!\" she then cried.\n\"Mother?\" his sister called from the other side.  They communicated\nacross Gregor's room.  \"You'll have to go for the doctor straight\naway.  Gregor is ill.  Quick, get the doctor.  Did you hear the way\nGregor spoke just now?\"  \"That was the voice of an animal\", said the\nchief clerk, with a calmness that was in contrast with his mother's\nscreams.  \"Anna! Anna!\" his father called into the kitchen through\nthe entrance hall, clapping his hands, \"get a locksmith here, now!\"\nAnd the two girls, their skirts swishing, immediately ran out\nthrough the hall, wrenching open the front door of the flat as they\nwent.  How had his sister managed to get dressed so quickly? There\nwas no sound of the door banging shut again; they must have left it\nopen;  people often do in homes where something awful has happened.\n\nGregor, in contrast, had become much calmer.  So they couldn't\nunderstand his words any more, although they seemed clear enough to\nhim, clearer than before - perhaps his ears had become used to the\nsound.  They had realised, though, that there was something wrong\nwith him, and were ready to help.  The first response to his\nsituation had been confident and wise, and that made him feel\nbetter.  He felt that he had been drawn back in among people, and\nfrom the doctor and the locksmith he expected great and surprising\nachievements - although he did not really distinguish one from the\nother.  Whatever was said next would be crucial, so, in order to\nmake his voice as clear as possible, he coughed a little, but taking\ncare to do this not too loudly as even this might well sound\ndifferent from the way that a human coughs and he was no longer sure\nhe could judge this for himself.  Meanwhile, it had become very\nquiet in the next room.  Perhaps his parents were sat at the table\nwhispering with the chief clerk, or perhaps they were all pressed\nagainst the door and listening.\n\nGregor slowly pushed his way over to the door with the chair.  Once\nthere he let go of it and threw himself onto the door, holding\nhimself upright against it using the adhesive on the tips of his\nlegs.  He rested there a little while to recover from the effort\ninvolved and then set himself to the task of turning the key in the\nlock with his mouth.  He seemed, unfortunately, to have no proper\nteeth - how was he, then, to grasp the key? - but the lack of teeth\nwas, of course, made up for with a very strong jaw; using the jaw,\nhe really was able to start the key turning, ignoring the fact that\nhe must have been causing some kind of damage as a brown fluid came\nfrom his mouth, flowed over the key and dripped onto the floor.\n\"Listen\", said the chief clerk in the next room, \"he's turning the\nkey.\"  Gregor was greatly encouraged by this; but they all should\nhave been calling to him, his father and his mother too: \"Well done,\nGregor\", they should have cried, \"keep at it, keep hold of the\nlock!\"  And with the idea that they were all excitedly following his\nefforts, he bit on the key with all his strength, paying no\nattention to the pain he was causing himself.  As the key turned\nround he turned around the lock with it, only holding himself\nupright with his mouth, and hung onto the key or pushed it down\nagain with the whole weight of his body as needed.  The clear sound\nof the lock as it snapped back was Gregor's sign that he could break\nhis concentration, and as he regained his breath he said to himself:\n\"So, I didn't need the locksmith after all\". Then he lay his head on\nthe handle of the door to open it completely.\n\nBecause he had to open the door in this way, it was already wide\nopen before he could be seen.  He had first to slowly turn himself\naround one of the double doors, and he had to do it very carefully\nif he did not want to fall flat on his back before entering the\nroom.  He was still occupied with this difficult movement, unable to\npay attention to anything else, when he heard the chief clerk\nexclaim a loud \"Oh!\", which sounded like the soughing of the wind.\nNow he also saw him - he was the nearest to the door - his hand\npressed against his open mouth and slowly retreating as if driven by\na steady and invisible force.  Gregor's mother, her hair still\ndishevelled from bed despite the chief clerk's being there, looked\nat his father.  Then she unfolded her arms, took two steps forward\ntowards Gregor and sank down onto the floor into her skirts that\nspread themselves out around her as her head disappeared down onto\nher breast.  His father looked hostile, and clenched his fists as if\nwanting to knock Gregor back into his room.  Then he looked\nuncertainly round the living room, covered his eyes with his hands\nand wept so that his powerful chest shook.\n\nSo Gregor did not go into the room, but leant against the inside of\nthe other door which was still held bolted in place.  In this way\nonly half of his body could be seen, along with his head above it\nwhich he leant over to one side as he peered out at the others.\nMeanwhile the day had become much lighter; part of the endless,\ngrey-black building on the other side of the street - which was a\nhospital - could be seen quite clearly with the austere and regular\nline of windows piercing its facade; the rain was still\nfalling, now throwing down large, individual droplets which hit the\nground one at a time.  The washing up from breakfast lay on the\ntable; there was so much of it because, for Gregor's father,\nbreakfast was the most important meal of the day and he would\nstretch it out for several hours as he sat reading a number of\ndifferent newspapers.  On the wall exactly opposite there was\nphotograph of Gregor when he was a lieutenant in the army, his sword\nin his hand and a carefree smile on his face as he called forth\nrespect for his uniform and bearing.  The door to the entrance hall\nwas open and as the front door of the flat was also open he could\nsee onto the landing and the stairs where they began their way down\nbelow.\n\n\"Now, then\", said Gregor, well aware that he was the only one to\nhave kept calm, \"I'll get dressed straight away now, pack up my\nsamples and set off.  Will you please just let me leave? You can\nsee\", he said to the chief clerk, \"that I'm not stubborn and I\nlike to do my job; being a commercial traveller is arduous but\nwithout travelling I couldn't earn my living.  So where are you\ngoing, in to the office? Yes? Will you report everything accurately,\nthen? It's quite possible for someone to be temporarily unable to\nwork, but that's just the right time to remember what's been\nachieved in the past and consider that later on, once the difficulty\nhas been removed, he will certainly work with all the more diligence\nand concentration.  You're well aware that I'm seriously in debt to\nour employer as well as having to look after my parents and my\nsister, so that I'm trapped in a difficult situation, but I will\nwork my way out of it again.  Please don't make things any harder\nfor me than they are already, and don't take sides against me at the\noffice.  I know that nobody likes the travellers.  They think we\nearn an enormous wage as well as having a soft time of it.  That's\njust prejudice but they have no particular reason to think better of\nit.  But you, sir, you have a better overview than the rest of the\nstaff, in fact, if I can say this in confidence, a better overview\nthan the boss himself - it's very easy for a businessman like him to\nmake mistakes about his employees and judge them more harshly than\nhe should.  And you're also well aware that we travellers spend\nalmost the whole year away from the office, so that we can very\neasily fall victim to gossip and chance and groundless complaints,\nand it's almost impossible to defend yourself from that sort of\nthing, we don't usually even hear about them, or if at all it's when\nwe arrive back home exhausted from a trip, and that's when we feel\nthe harmful effects of what's been going on without even knowing\nwhat caused them.  Please, don't go away, at least first say\nsomething to show that you grant that I'm at least partly right!\"\n\nBut the chief clerk had turned away as soon as Gregor had started to\nspeak, and, with protruding lips, only stared back at him over his\ntrembling shoulders as he left.  He did not keep still for a moment\nwhile Gregor was speaking, but moved steadily towards the door\nwithout taking his eyes off him.  He moved very gradually, as if\nthere had been some secret prohibition on leaving the room.  It was\nonly when he had reached the entrance hall that he made a sudden\nmovement, drew his foot from the living room, and rushed forward in\na panic.  In the hall, he stretched his right hand far out towards\nthe stairway as if out there, there were some supernatural force\nwaiting to save him.\n\nGregor realised that it was out of the question to let the chief\nclerk go away in this mood if his position in the firm was not to be\nput into extreme danger.  That was something his parents did not\nunderstand very well; over the years, they had become convinced that\nthis job would provide for Gregor for his entire life, and besides,\nthey had so much to worry about at present that they had lost sight\nof any thought for the future.  Gregor, though, did think about the\nfuture.  The chief clerk had to be held back, calmed down, convinced\nand finally won over; the future of Gregor and his family depended\non it! If only his sister were here! She was clever; she was already\nin tears while Gregor was still lying peacefully on his back.  And\nthe chief clerk was a lover of women, surely she could persuade him;\nshe would close the front door in the entrance hall and talk him out\nof his shocked state.  But his sister was not there, Gregor would\nhave to do the job himself.  And without considering that he still\nwas not familiar with how well he could move about in his present\nstate, or that his speech still might not - or probably would not -\nbe understood, he let go of the door; pushed himself through the\nopening; tried to reach the chief clerk on the landing who,\nridiculously, was holding on to the banister with both hands; but\nGregor fell immediately over and, with a little scream as he sought\nsomething to hold onto, landed on his numerous little legs.  Hardly\nhad that happened than, for the first time that day, he began to\nfeel alright with his body; the little legs had the solid ground\nunder them; to his pleasure, they did exactly as he told them; they\nwere even making the effort to carry him where he wanted to go; and\nhe was soon believing that all his sorrows would soon be finally at\nan end.  He held back the urge to move but swayed from side to side\nas he crouched there on the floor.  His mother was not far away in\nfront of him and seemed, at first, quite engrossed in herself, but\nthen she suddenly jumped up with her arms outstretched and her\nfingers spread shouting: \"Help, for pity's sake, Help!\"  The way she\nheld her head suggested she wanted to see Gregor better, but the\nunthinking way she was hurrying backwards showed that she did not;\nshe had forgotten that the table was behind her with all the\nbreakfast things on it; when she reached the table she sat quickly\ndown on it without knowing what she was doing; without even seeming\nto notice that the coffee pot had been knocked over and a gush of\ncoffee was pouring down onto the carpet.\n\n\"Mother, mother\", said Gregor gently, looking up at her.  He had\ncompletely forgotten the chief clerk for the moment, but could not\nhelp himself snapping in the air with his jaws at the sight of the\nflow of coffee.  That set his mother screaming anew, she fled from\nthe table and into the arms of his father as he rushed towards her.\nGregor, though, had no time to spare for his parents now; the chief\nclerk had already reached the stairs; with his chin on the banister,\nhe looked back for the last time.  Gregor made a run for him; he\nwanted to be sure of reaching him; the chief clerk must have\nexpected something, as he leapt down several steps at once and\ndisappeared; his shouts resounding all around the staircase.  The\nflight of the chief clerk seemed, unfortunately, to put Gregor's\nfather into a panic as well.  Until then he had been relatively self\ncontrolled, but now, instead of running after the chief clerk\nhimself, or at least not impeding Gregor as he ran after him,\nGregor's father seized the chief clerk's stick in his right hand\n(the chief clerk had left it behind on a chair, along with his hat\nand overcoat), picked up a large newspaper from the table with his\nleft, and used them to drive Gregor back into his room, stamping his\nfoot at him as he went.  Gregor's appeals to his father were of no\nhelp, his appeals were simply not understood, however much he humbly\nturned his head his father merely stamped his foot all the harder.\nAcross the room, despite the chilly weather, Gregor's mother had\npulled open a window, leant far out of it and pressed her hands to\nher face.  A strong draught of air flew in from the street towards\nthe stairway, the curtains flew up, the newspapers on the table\nfluttered and some of them were blown onto the floor.  Nothing would\nstop Gregor's father as he drove him back, making hissing noises at\nhim like a wild man.  Gregor had never had any practice in moving\nbackwards and was only able to go very slowly.  If Gregor had only\nbeen allowed to turn round he would have been back in his room\nstraight away, but he was afraid that if he took the time to do that\nhis father would become impatient, and there was the threat of a\nlethal blow to his back or head from the stick in his father's hand\nany moment.  Eventually, though, Gregor realised that he had no\nchoice as he saw, to his disgust, that he was quite incapable of\ngoing backwards in a straight line; so he began, as quickly as\npossible and with frequent anxious glances at his father, to turn\nhimself round.  It went very slowly, but perhaps his father was able\nto see his good intentions as he did nothing to hinder him, in fact\nnow and then he used the tip of his stick to give directions from a\ndistance as to which way to turn.  If only his father would stop\nthat unbearable hissing! It was making Gregor quite confused.  When\nhe had nearly finished turning round, still listening to that\nhissing, he made a mistake and turned himself back a little the way\nhe had just come.  He was pleased when he finally had his head in\nfront of the doorway, but then saw that it was too narrow, and his\nbody was too broad to get through it without further difficulty.  In\nhis present mood, it obviously did not occur to his father to open\nthe other of the double doors so that Gregor would have enough space\nto get through.  He was merely fixed on the idea that Gregor should\nbe got back into his room as quickly as possible.  Nor would he ever\nhave allowed Gregor the time to get himself upright as preparation\nfor getting through the doorway.  What he did, making more noise\nthan ever, was to drive Gregor forwards all the harder as if there\nhad been nothing in the way; it sounded to Gregor as if there was\nnow more than one father behind him; it was not a pleasant\nexperience, and Gregor pushed himself into the doorway without\nregard for what might happen.  One side of his body lifted itself,\nhe lay at an angle in the doorway, one flank scraped on the white\ndoor and was painfully injured, leaving vile brown flecks on it,\nsoon he was stuck fast and would not have been able to move at all\nby himself, the little legs along one side hung quivering in the air\nwhile those on the other side were pressed painfully against the\nground.  Then his father gave him a hefty shove from behind which\nreleased him from where he was held and sent him flying, and heavily\nbleeding, deep into his room.  The door was slammed shut with the\nstick, then, finally, all was quiet.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIt was not until it was getting dark that evening that Gregor awoke\nfrom his deep and coma-like sleep.  He would have woken soon\nafterwards anyway even if he hadn't been disturbed, as he had had\nenough sleep and felt fully rested.  But he had the impression that\nsome hurried steps and the sound of the door leading into the front\nroom being carefully shut had woken him.  The light from the\nelectric street lamps shone palely here and there onto the ceiling\nand tops of the furniture, but down below, where Gregor was, it was\ndark.  He pushed himself over to the door, feeling his way clumsily\nwith his antennae - of which he was now beginning to learn the value\n- in order to see what had been happening there.  The whole of his\nleft side seemed like one, painfully stretched scar,  and he limped\nbadly on his two rows of legs.  One of the legs had been badly\ninjured in the events of that morning - it was nearly a miracle that\nonly one of them had been - and dragged along lifelessly.\n\nIt was only when he had reached the door that he realised what it\nactually was that had drawn him over to it; it was the smell of\nsomething to eat.  By the door there was a dish filled with\nsweetened milk with little pieces of white bread floating in it.  He\nwas so pleased he almost laughed, as he was even hungrier than he\nhad been that morning, and immediately dipped his head into the\nmilk, nearly covering his eyes with it.  But he soon drew his head\nback again in disappointment; not only did the pain in his tender\nleft side make it difficult to eat the food - he was only able to\neat if his whole body worked together as a snuffling whole - but the\nmilk did not taste at all nice.  Milk like this was normally his\nfavourite drink, and his sister had certainly left it there for him\nbecause of that, but he turned, almost against his own will, away\nfrom the dish and crawled back into the centre of the room.\n\nThrough the crack in the door, Gregor could see that the gas had\nbeen lit in the living room.  His father at this time would normally\nbe sat with his evening paper, reading it out in a loud voice to\nGregor's mother, and sometimes to his sister, but there was now not\na sound to be heard.  Gregor's sister would often write and tell him\nabout this reading, but maybe his father had lost the habit in\nrecent times.  It was so quiet all around too, even though there\nmust have been somebody in the flat.  \"What a quiet life it is the\nfamily lead\", said Gregor to himself, and, gazing into the darkness,\nfelt a great pride that he was able to provide a life like that in\nsuch a nice home for his sister and parents.  But what now, if all\nthis peace and wealth and comfort should come to a horrible and\nfrightening end? That was something that Gregor did not want to\nthink about too much, so he started to move about, crawling up and\ndown the room.\n\nOnce during that long evening, the door on one side of the room was\nopened very slightly and hurriedly closed again; later on the door\non the other side did the same; it seemed that someone needed to\nenter the room but thought better of it.  Gregor went and waited\nimmediately by the door, resolved either to bring the timorous\nvisitor into the room in some way or at least to find out who it\nwas; but the door was opened no more that night and Gregor waited in\nvain.  The previous morning while the doors were locked everyone had\nwanted to get in there to him, but now, now that he had opened up\none of the doors and the other had clearly been unlocked some time\nduring the day, no-one came, and the keys were in the other sides.\n\nIt was not until late at night that the gaslight in the living room\nwas put out, and now it was easy to see that his parents and sister had\nstayed awake all that time, as they all could be distinctly heard as\nthey went away together on tip-toe.  It was clear that no-one would\ncome into Gregor's room any more until morning; that gave him plenty\nof time to think undisturbed about how he would have to re-arrange\nhis life.  For some reason, the tall, empty room where he was forced\nto remain made him feel uneasy as he lay there flat on the floor,\neven though he had been living in it for five years.  Hardly aware\nof what he was doing other than a slight feeling of shame, he\nhurried under the couch.  It pressed down on his back a little, and\nhe was no longer able to lift his head, but he nonetheless felt\nimmediately at ease and his only regret was that his body was too\nbroad to get it all underneath.\n\nHe spent the whole night there.  Some of the time he passed in a\nlight sleep, although he frequently woke from it in alarm because of\nhis hunger, and some of the time was spent in worries and vague\nhopes which, however, always led to the same conclusion: for the\ntime being he must remain calm, he must show patience and the\ngreatest consideration so that his family could bear the\nunpleasantness that he, in his present condition, was forced to\nimpose on them.\n\nGregor soon had the opportunity to test the strength of his\ndecisions, as early the next morning, almost before the night had\nended, his sister, nearly fully dressed, opened the door from the\nfront room and looked anxiously in.  She did not see him straight\naway, but when she did notice him under the couch - he had to be\nsomewhere, for God's sake, he couldn't have flown away - she was so\nshocked that she lost control of herself and slammed the door shut\nagain from outside.  But she seemed to regret her behaviour, as she\nopened the door again straight away and came in on tip-toe as if\nentering the room of someone seriously ill or even of a stranger.\nGregor had pushed his head forward, right to the edge of the couch,\nand watched her.  Would she notice that he had left the milk as it\nwas, realise that it was not from any lack of hunger and bring him\nin some other food that was more suitable? If she didn't do it\nherself he would rather go hungry than draw her attention to it,\nalthough he did feel a terrible urge to rush forward from under the\ncouch, throw himself at his sister's feet and beg her for something\ngood to eat.  However, his sister noticed the full dish immediately\nand looked at it and the few drops of milk splashed around it with\nsome surprise.  She immediately picked it up - using a rag,\nnot her bare hands - and carried it out.  Gregor was extremely\ncurious as to what she would bring in its place, imagining the\nwildest possibilities, but he never could have guessed what his\nsister, in her goodness, actually did bring.  In order to test his\ntaste, she brought him a whole selection of things, all spread out\non an old newspaper.  There were old, half-rotten vegetables; bones\nfrom the evening meal, covered in white sauce that had gone hard; a\nfew raisins and almonds; some cheese that Gregor had declared\ninedible two days before; a dry roll and some bread spread with\nbutter and salt.  As well as all that she had poured some water into\nthe dish, which had probably been permanently set aside for Gregor's\nuse, and placed it beside them.  Then, out of consideration for\nGregor's feelings, as she knew that he would not eat in front of\nher, she hurried out again and even turned the key in the lock so\nthat Gregor would know he could make things as comfortable for\nhimself as he liked.  Gregor's little legs whirred, at last he could\neat.  What's more, his injuries must already have completely healed\nas he found no difficulty in moving.  This amazed him, as more than\na month earlier he had cut his finger slightly with a knife, he\nthought of how his finger had still hurt the day before yesterday.\n\"Am I less sensitive than I used to be, then?\", he thought, and was\nalready sucking greedily at the cheese which had immediately, almost\ncompellingly, attracted him much more than the other foods on the\nnewspaper.  Quickly one after another, his eyes watering with\npleasure, he consumed the cheese, the vegetables and the sauce; the\nfresh foods, on the other hand, he didn't like at all, and even\ndragged the things he did want to eat a little way away from them\nbecause he couldn't stand the smell.  Long after he had finished\neating and lay lethargic in the same place, his sister slowly turned\nthe key in the lock as a sign to him that he should withdraw.  He\nwas immediately startled, although he had been half asleep, and he\nhurried back under the couch.  But he needed great self-control to\nstay there even for the short time that his sister was in the room,\nas eating so much food had rounded out his body a little and he\ncould hardly breathe in that narrow space.  Half suffocating, he\nwatched with bulging eyes as his sister unselfconsciously took a\nbroom and swept up the left-overs, mixing them in with the food he\nhad not even touched at all as if it could not be used any more.\nShe quickly dropped it all into a bin, closed it with its wooden\nlid, and carried everything out.  She had hardly turned her back\nbefore Gregor came out again from under the couch and stretched\nhimself.\n\nThis was how Gregor received his food each day now, once in the\nmorning while his parents and the maid were still asleep, and the\nsecond time after everyone had eaten their meal at midday as his\nparents would sleep for a little while then as well, and Gregor's\nsister would send the maid away on some errand.  Gregor's father and\nmother certainly did not want him to starve either, but perhaps it\nwould have been more than they could stand to have any more\nexperience of his feeding than being told about it, and perhaps his\nsister wanted to spare them what distress she could as they were\nindeed suffering enough.\n\nIt was impossible for Gregor to find out what they had told the\ndoctor and the locksmith that first morning to get them out of the\nflat.  As nobody could understand him, nobody, not even his sister,\nthought that he could understand them, so he had to be content to\nhear his sister's sighs and appeals to the saints as she moved about\nhis room.  It was only later, when she had become a little more used\nto everything - there was, of course, no question of her ever\nbecoming fully used to the situation - that Gregor would sometimes\ncatch a friendly comment, or at least a comment that could be\nconstrued as friendly.  \"He's enjoyed his dinner today\", she might\nsay when he had diligently cleared away all the food left for him,\nor if he left most of it, which slowly became more and more\nfrequent, she would often say, sadly, \"now everything's just been\nleft there again\".\n\nAlthough Gregor wasn't able to hear any news directly he did listen\nto much of what was said in the next rooms, and whenever he heard\nanyone speaking he would scurry straight to the appropriate door and\npress his whole body against it.  There was seldom any conversation,\nespecially at first, that was not about him in some way, even if\nonly in secret.  For two whole days, all the talk at every mealtime\nwas about what they should do now; but even between meals they spoke\nabout the same subject as there were always at least two members of\nthe family at home - nobody wanted to be at home by themselves and\nit was out of the question to leave the flat entirely empty.  And on\nthe very first day the maid had fallen to her knees and begged\nGregor's mother to let her go without delay.  It was not very clear\nhow much she knew of what had happened but she left within a quarter\nof an hour, tearfully thanking Gregor's mother for her dismissal as\nif she had done her an enormous service.  She even swore\nemphatically not to tell anyone the slightest about what had\nhappened, even though no-one had asked that of her.\n\nNow Gregor's sister also had to help his mother with the cooking;\nalthough that was not so much bother as no-one ate very much.\nGregor often heard how one of them would unsuccessfully urge another\nto eat, and receive no more answer than \"no thanks, I've had enough\"\nor something similar.  No-one drank very much either.  His sister\nwould sometimes ask his father whether he would like a beer, hoping\nfor the chance to go and fetch it herself.  When his father then\nsaid nothing she would add, so that he would not feel selfish, that\nshe could send the housekeeper for it, but then his father would\nclose the matter with a big, loud \"No\", and no more would be said.\n\nEven before the first day had come to an end, his father had\nexplained to Gregor's mother and sister what their finances and\nprospects were.  Now and then he stood up from the table and took\nsome receipt or document from the little cash box he had saved from\nhis business when it had collapsed five years earlier.  Gregor heard\nhow he opened the complicated lock and then closed it again after he\nhad taken the item he wanted.  What he heard his father say was some\nof the first good news that Gregor heard since he had first been\nincarcerated in his room.  He had thought that nothing at all\nremained from his father's business, at least he had never told him\nanything different, and Gregor had never asked him about it anyway.\nTheir business misfortune had reduced the family to a state of total\ndespair, and Gregor's only concern at that time had been to arrange\nthings so that they could all forget about it as quickly as\npossible.  So then he started working especially hard, with a fiery\nvigour that raised him from a junior salesman to a travelling\nrepresentative almost overnight, bringing with it the chance to earn\nmoney in quite different ways.  Gregor converted his success at work\nstraight into cash that he could lay on the table at home for the\nbenefit of his astonished and delighted family.  They had been good\ntimes and they had never come again, at least not with the same\nsplendour, even though Gregor had later earned so much that he was\nin a position to bear the costs of the whole family, and did bear\nthem.  They had even got used to it, both Gregor and the family,\nthey took the money with gratitude and he was glad to provide it,\nalthough there was no longer much warm affection given in return.\nGregor only remained close to his sister now.  Unlike him, she was\nvery fond of music and a gifted and expressive violinist, it was his\nsecret plan to send her to the conservatory next year even though it\nwould cause great expense that would have to be made up for in some\nother way.  During Gregor's short periods in town, conversation with\nhis sister would often turn to the conservatory but it was only ever\nmentioned as a lovely dream that could never be realised.  Their\nparents did not like to hear this innocent talk, but Gregor thought\nabout it quite hard and decided he would let them know what he\nplanned with a grand announcement of it on Christmas day.\n\nThat was the sort of totally pointless thing that went through his\nmind in his present state, pressed upright against the door and\nlistening.  There were times when he simply became too tired to\ncontinue listening, when his head would fall wearily against the\ndoor and he would pull it up again with a start, as even the\nslightest noise he caused would be heard next door and they would\nall go silent.  \"What's that he's doing now\", his father would say\nafter a while, clearly having gone over to the door, and only then\nwould the interrupted conversation slowly be taken up again.\n\nWhen explaining things, his father repeated himself several times,\npartly because it was a long time since he had been occupied with\nthese matters himself and partly because Gregor's mother did not\nunderstand everything the first time.  From these repeated explanations\nGregor learned, to his pleasure, that despite all their misfortunes\nthere was still some money available from the old days.  It was not\na lot, but it had not been touched in the meantime and some interest\nhad accumulated.  Besides that, they had not been using up all the\nmoney that Gregor had been bringing home every month, keeping only a\nlittle for himself, so that that, too, had been accumulating.\nBehind the door, Gregor nodded with enthusiasm in his pleasure at\nthis unexpected thrift and caution.  He could actually have used\nthis surplus money to reduce his father's debt to his boss, and the\nday when he could have freed himself from that job would have come\nmuch closer, but now it was certainly better the way his father had\ndone things.\n\nThis money, however, was certainly not enough to enable the family\nto live off the interest; it was enough to maintain them for,\nperhaps, one or two years, no more.  That's to say, it was money\nthat should not really be touched but set aside for emergencies;\nmoney to live on had to be earned.  His father was healthy but old,\nand lacking in self confidence.  During the five years that he had\nnot been working - the first holiday in a life that had been full of\nstrain and no success - he had put on a lot of weight and become\nvery slow and clumsy.  Would Gregor's elderly mother now have to go\nand earn money? She suffered from asthma and it was a strain for her\njust to move about the home, every other day would be spent\nstruggling for breath on the sofa by the open window.  Would his\nsister have to go and earn money? She was still a child of\nseventeen, her life up till then had been very enviable, consisting\nof wearing nice clothes, sleeping late, helping out in the business,\njoining in with a few modest pleasures and most of all playing the\nviolin.  Whenever they began to talk of the need to earn money,\nGregor would always first let go of the door and then throw himself\nonto the cool, leather sofa next to it, as he became quite hot with\nshame and regret.\n\nHe would often lie there the whole night through, not sleeping a\nwink but scratching at the leather for hours on end.  Or he might go\nto all the effort of pushing a chair to the window, climbing up onto\nthe sill and, propped up in the chair, leaning on the window to\nstare out of it.  He had used to feel a great sense of freedom from\ndoing this, but doing it now was obviously something more remembered\nthan experienced,  as what he actually saw in this way was becoming\nless distinct every day, even things that were quite near; he had\nused to curse the ever-present view of the hospital across the\nstreet, but now he could not see it at all, and if he had not known\nthat he lived in Charlottenstrasse, which was a quiet street despite\nbeing in the middle of the city, he could have thought that he was\nlooking out the window at a barren waste where the grey sky and the\ngrey earth mingled inseparably.  His observant sister only needed to\nnotice the chair twice before she would always push it back to its\nexact position by the window after she had tidied up the room, and\neven left the inner pane of the window open from then on.\n\nIf Gregor had only been able to speak to his sister and thank her\nfor all that she had to do for him it would have been easier for him\nto bear it; but as it was it caused him pain.  His sister,\nnaturally, tried as far as possible to pretend there was nothing\nburdensome about it, and the longer it went on, of course, the\nbetter she was able to do so, but as time went by Gregor was also\nable to see through it all so much better.  It had even become very\nunpleasant for him, now, whenever she entered the room.  No sooner\nhad she come in than she would quickly close the door as a\nprecaution so that no-one would have to suffer the view into\nGregor's room, then she would go straight to the window and pull it\nhurriedly open almost as if she were suffocating.  Even if it was\ncold, she would stay at the window breathing deeply for a little\nwhile.  She would alarm Gregor twice a day with this running about\nand noise making; he would stay under the couch shivering the whole\nwhile, knowing full well that she would certainly have liked to\nspare him this ordeal, but it was impossible for her to be in the\nsame room with him with the windows closed.\n\nOne day, about a month after Gregor's transformation when his sister\nno longer had any particular reason to be shocked at his appearance,\nshe came into the room a little earlier than usual and found him\nstill staring out the window, motionless, and just where he would be\nmost horrible.  In itself, his sister's not coming into the room\nwould have been no surprise for Gregor as it would have been\ndifficult for her to immediately open the window while he was still\nthere, but not only did she not come in, she went straight back and\nclosed the door behind her, a stranger would have thought he had\nthreatened her and tried to bite her.  Gregor went straight to hide\nhimself under the couch, of course, but he had to wait until midday\nbefore his sister came back and she seemed much more uneasy than\nusual.  It made him realise that she still found his appearance\nunbearable and would continue to do so, she probably even had to\novercome the urge to flee when she saw the little bit of him that\nprotruded from under the couch.  One day, in order to spare her even\nthis sight, he spent four hours carrying the bedsheet over to the\ncouch on his back and arranged it so that he was completely covered\nand his sister would not be able to see him even if she bent down.\nIf she did not think this sheet was necessary then all she had to do\nwas take it off again, as it was clear enough that it was no\npleasure for Gregor to cut himself off so completely.  She left the\nsheet where it was.  Gregor even thought he glimpsed a look of\ngratitude one time when he carefully looked out from under the sheet\nto see how his sister liked the new arrangement.\n\nFor the first fourteen days, Gregor's parents could not bring\nthemselves to come into the room to see him.  He would often hear\nthem say how they appreciated all the new work his sister was doing\neven though, before, they had seen her as a girl who was somewhat\nuseless and frequently been annoyed with her.  But now the two of\nthem, father and mother, would often both wait outside the door of\nGregor's room while his sister tidied up in there, and as soon as\nshe went out again she would have to tell them exactly how\neverything looked, what Gregor had eaten, how he had behaved this\ntime and whether, perhaps, any slight improvement could be seen.\nHis mother also wanted to go in and visit Gregor relatively soon but\nhis father and sister at first persuaded her against it.  Gregor\nlistened very closely to all this, and approved fully.  Later,\nthough, she had to be held back by force, which made her call out:\n\"Let me go and see Gregor, he is my unfortunate son! Can't you\nunderstand I have to see him?\", and Gregor would think to himself\nthat maybe it would be better if his mother came in, not every day\nof course, but one day a week, perhaps; she could understand\neverything much better than his sister who, for all her courage, was\nstill just a child after all, and really might not have had an\nadult's appreciation of the burdensome job she had taken on.\n\nGregor's wish to see his mother was soon realised.  Out of\nconsideration for his parents, Gregor wanted to avoid being seen at\nthe window during the day, the few square meters of the floor did\nnot give him much room to crawl about, it was hard to just lie\nquietly through the night, his food soon stopped giving him any\npleasure at all, and so, to entertain himself, he got into the habit\nof crawling up and down the walls and ceiling.  He was especially\nfond of hanging from the ceiling; it was quite different from lying\non the floor; he could breathe more freely; his body had a light\nswing to it; and up there, relaxed and almost happy, it might happen\nthat he would surprise even himself by letting go of the ceiling and\nlanding on the floor with a crash.  But now, of course, he had far\nbetter control of his body than before and, even with a fall as\ngreat as that, caused himself no damage.  Very soon his sister\nnoticed Gregor's new way of entertaining himself - he had, after\nall, left traces of the adhesive from his feet as he crawled about -\nand got it into her head to make it as easy as possible for him by\nremoving the furniture that got in his way, especially the chest of\ndrawers and the desk.  Now, this was not something that she would be\nable to do by herself; she did not dare to ask for help from her\nfather; the sixteen year old maid had carried on bravely since the\ncook had left but she certainly would not have helped in this, she\nhad even asked to be allowed to keep the kitchen locked at all times\nand never to have to open the door unless it was especially\nimportant; so his sister had no choice but to choose some time when\nGregor's father was not there and fetch his mother to help her.  As\nshe approached the room, Gregor could hear his mother express her\njoy, but once at the door she went silent.  First, of course, his\nsister came in and looked round to see that everything in the room\nwas alright; and only then did she let her mother enter.  Gregor had\nhurriedly pulled the sheet down lower over the couch and put more\nfolds into it so that everything really looked as if it had just\nbeen thrown down by chance.  Gregor also refrained, this time, from\nspying out from under the sheet; he gave up the chance to see his\nmother until later and was simply glad that she had come.  \"You can\ncome in, he can't be seen\", said his sister, obviously leading her\nin by the hand.  The old chest of drawers was too heavy for a pair\nof feeble women to be heaving about, but Gregor listened as they\npushed it from its place, his sister always taking on the heaviest\npart of the work for herself and ignoring her mother's warnings that\nshe would strain herself.  This lasted a very long time.  After\nlabouring at it for fifteen minutes or more his mother said it would\nbe better to leave the chest where it was, for one thing it was too\nheavy for them to get the job finished before Gregor's father got\nhome and leaving it in the middle of the room it would be in his way\neven more, and for another thing it wasn't even sure that taking the\nfurniture away would really be any help to him.  She thought just\nthe opposite; the sight of the bare walls saddened her right to her\nheart; and why wouldn't Gregor feel the same way about it, he'd been\nused to this furniture in his room for a long time and it would make\nhim feel abandoned to be in an empty room like that.  Then, quietly,\nalmost whispering as if wanting Gregor (whose whereabouts she did\nnot know) to hear not even the tone of her voice, as she was\nconvinced that he did not understand her words, she added \"and by\ntaking the furniture away, won't it seem like we're showing that\nwe've given up all hope of improvement and we're abandoning him to\ncope for himself? I think it'd be best to leave the room exactly the\nway it was before so that when Gregor comes back to us again he'll\nfind everything unchanged and he'll be able to forget the time in\nbetween all the easier\".\n\nHearing these words from his mother made Gregor realise that the\nlack of any direct human communication, along with the monotonous\nlife led by the family during these two months, must have made him\nconfused - he could think of no other way of explaining to himself\nwhy he had seriously wanted his room emptied out.  Had he really\nwanted to transform his room into a cave, a warm room fitted out\nwith the nice furniture he had inherited? That would have let him\ncrawl around unimpeded in any direction, but it would also have let\nhim quickly forget his past when he had still been human.  He had\ncome very close to forgetting, and it had only been the voice of his\nmother, unheard for so long, that had shaken him out of it.  Nothing\nshould be removed; everything had to stay; he could not do without\nthe good influence the furniture had on his condition; and if the\nfurniture made it difficult for him to crawl about mindlessly that\nwas not a loss but a great advantage.\n\nHis sister, unfortunately, did not agree; she had become used to the\nidea, not without reason, that she was Gregor's spokesman to his\nparents about the things that concerned him.  This meant that his\nmother's advice now was sufficient reason for her to insist on\nremoving not only the chest of drawers and the desk, as she had\nthought at first, but all the furniture apart from the all-important\ncouch.  It was more than childish perversity, of course, or the\nunexpected confidence she had recently acquired, that made her\ninsist; she had indeed noticed that Gregor needed a lot of room to\ncrawl about in, whereas the furniture, as far as anyone could see,\nwas of no use to him at all.  Girls of that age, though, do become\nenthusiastic about things and feel they must get their way whenever\nthey can.  Perhaps this was what tempted Grete to make Gregor's\nsituation seem even more shocking than it was so that she could do\neven more for him.  Grete would probably be the only one who would\ndare enter a room dominated by Gregor crawling about the bare walls\nby himself.\n\nSo she refused to let her mother dissuade her.  Gregor's mother\nalready looked uneasy in his room, she soon stopped speaking and\nhelped Gregor's sister to get the chest of drawers out with what\nstrength she had.  The chest of drawers was something that Gregor\ncould do without if he had to, but the writing desk had to stay.\nHardly had the two women pushed the chest of drawers, groaning, out\nof the room than Gregor poked his head out from under the couch to\nsee what he could do about it.  He meant to be as careful and\nconsiderate as he could, but, unfortunately, it was his mother who\ncame back first while Grete in the next room had her arms round the\nchest, pushing and pulling at it from side to side by herself\nwithout, of course, moving it an inch.  His mother was not used to\nthe sight of Gregor, he might have made her ill, so Gregor hurried\nbackwards to the far end of the couch.  In his startlement, though,\nhe was not able to prevent the sheet at its front from moving a\nlittle.  It was enough to attract his mother's attention.  She stood\nvery still, remained there a moment, and then went back out to\nGrete.\n\nGregor kept trying to assure himself that nothing unusual was\nhappening, it was just a few pieces of furniture being moved after\nall, but he soon had to admit that the women going to and fro, their\nlittle calls to each other, the scraping of the furniture on the\nfloor, all these things made him feel as if he were being assailed\nfrom all sides.  With his head and legs pulled in against him and\nhis body pressed to the floor, he was forced to admit to himself\nthat he could not stand all of this much longer.  They were emptying\nhis room out; taking away everything that was dear to him; they had\nalready taken out the chest containing his fretsaw and other tools;\nnow they threatened to remove the writing desk with its place\nclearly worn into the floor, the desk where he had done his homework\nas a business trainee, at high school, even while he had been at\ninfant school--he really could not wait any longer to see whether\nthe two women's intentions were good.  He had nearly forgotten they\nwere there anyway, as they were now too tired to say anything while\nthey worked and he could only hear their feet as they stepped\nheavily on the floor.\n\nSo, while the women were leant against the desk in the other room\ncatching their breath, he sallied out, changed direction four times\nnot knowing what he should save first before his attention was\nsuddenly caught by the picture on the wall - which was already\ndenuded of everything else that had been on it - of the lady dressed\nin copious fur.  He hurried up onto the picture and pressed himself\nagainst its glass, it held him firmly and felt good on his hot\nbelly.  This picture at least, now totally covered by Gregor, would\ncertainly be taken away by no-one.  He turned his head to face the\ndoor into the living room so that he could watch the women when they\ncame back.\n\nThey had not allowed themselves a long rest and came back quite\nsoon; Grete had put her arm around her mother and was nearly\ncarrying her.  \"What shall we take now, then?\", said Grete and\nlooked around.  Her eyes met those of Gregor on the wall.  Perhaps\nonly because her mother was there, she remained calm, bent her face\nto her so that she would not look round and said, albeit hurriedly\nand with a tremor in her voice: \"Come on, let's go back in the\nliving room for a while?\"  Gregor could see what Grete had in mind,\nshe wanted to take her mother somewhere safe and then chase him down\nfrom the wall.  Well, she could certainly try it! He sat unyielding\non his picture.  He would rather jump at Grete's face.\n\nBut Grete's words had made her mother quite worried, she stepped to\none side, saw the enormous brown patch against the flowers of the\nwallpaper, and before she even realised it was Gregor that she saw\nscreamed: \"Oh God, oh God!\"  Arms outstretched, she fell onto the\ncouch as if she had given up everything and stayed there immobile.\n\"Gregor!\" shouted his sister, glowering at him and shaking her fist.\n That was the first word she had spoken to him directly since his\ntransformation.  She ran into the other room to fetch some kind of\nsmelling salts to bring her mother out of her faint; Gregor wanted\nto help too - he could save his picture later, although he stuck\nfast to the glass and had to pull himself off by force; then he,\ntoo, ran into the next room as if he could advise his sister like in\nthe old days; but he had to just stand behind her doing nothing; she\nwas looking into various bottles, he startled her when she turned\nround; a bottle fell to the ground and broke; a splinter cut\nGregor's face, some kind of caustic medicine splashed all over him;\nnow, without delaying any longer, Grete took hold of all the bottles\nshe could and ran with them in to her mother; she slammed the door\nshut with her foot.  So now Gregor was shut out from his mother,\nwho, because of him, might be near to death; he could not open the\ndoor if he did not want to chase his sister away, and she had to\nstay with his mother; there was nothing for him to do but wait; and,\noppressed with anxiety and self-reproach, he began to crawl about,\nhe crawled over everything, walls, furniture, ceiling, and finally\nin his confusion as the whole room began to spin around him he fell\ndown into the middle of the dinner table.\n\nHe lay there for a while, numb and immobile, all around him it was\nquiet, maybe that was a good sign.  Then there was someone at the\ndoor.  The maid, of course, had locked herself in her kitchen so\nthat Grete would have to go and answer it.  His father had arrived\nhome.  \"What's happened?\" were his first words; Grete's appearance\nmust have made everything clear to him.  She answered him with\nsubdued voice, and openly pressed her face into his chest: \"Mother's\nfainted, but she's better now.  Gregor got out.\"  \"Just as I\nexpected\", said his father, \"just as I always said, but you women\nwouldn't listen, would you.\"  It was clear to Gregor that Grete had\nnot said enough and that his father took it to mean that something\nbad had happened, that he was responsible for some act of violence.\nThat meant Gregor would now have to try to calm his father, as he\ndid not have the time to explain things to him even if that had been\npossible.  So he fled to the door of his room and pressed himself\nagainst it so that his father, when he came in from the hall, could\nsee straight away that Gregor had the best intentions and would go\nback into his room without delay, that it would not be necessary to\ndrive him back but that they had only to open the door and he would\ndisappear.\n\nHis father, though, was not in the mood to notice subtleties like\nthat; \"Ah!\", he shouted as he came in, sounding as if he were both\nangry and glad at the same time.  Gregor drew his head back from the\ndoor and lifted it towards his father.  He really had not imagined\nhis father the way he stood there now; of late, with his new habit\nof crawling about, he had neglected to pay attention to what was\ngoing on the rest of the flat the way he had done before.  He really\nought to have expected things to have changed, but still, still, was\nthat really his father? The same tired man as used to be laying\nthere entombed in his bed when Gregor came back from his business\ntrips, who would receive him sitting in the armchair in his\nnightgown when he came back in the evenings; who was hardly even\nable to stand up but, as a sign of his pleasure, would just raise\nhis arms and who, on the couple of times a year when they went for a\nwalk together on a Sunday or public holiday wrapped up tightly in\nhis overcoat between Gregor and his mother, would always labour his\nway forward a little more slowly than them, who were already walking\nslowly for his sake; who would place his stick down carefully and,\nif he wanted to say something would invariably stop and gather his\ncompanions around him.  He was standing up straight enough now;\ndressed in a smart blue uniform with gold buttons, the sort worn by\nthe employees at the banking institute; above the high, stiff collar\nof the coat his strong double-chin emerged; under the bushy\neyebrows, his piercing, dark eyes looked out fresh and alert; his\nnormally unkempt white hair was combed down painfully close to his\nscalp.  He took his cap, with its gold monogram from, probably, some\nbank, and threw it in an arc right across the room onto the sofa,\nput his hands in his trouser pockets, pushing back the bottom of his\nlong uniform coat, and, with look of determination, walked towards\nGregor.  He probably did not even know himself what he had in mind,\nbut nonetheless lifted his feet unusually high.  Gregor was amazed\nat the enormous size of the soles of his boots, but wasted no time\nwith that - he knew full well, right from the first day of his new\nlife, that his father thought it necessary to always be extremely\nstrict with him.  And so he ran up to his father, stopped when his\nfather stopped, scurried forwards again when he moved, even\nslightly.  In this way they went round the room several times\nwithout anything decisive happening, without even giving the\nimpression of a chase as everything went so slowly.  Gregor remained\nall this time on the floor, largely because he feared his father\nmight see it as especially provoking if he fled onto the wall or\nceiling.  Whatever he did, Gregor had to admit that he certainly\nwould not be able to keep up this running about for long, as for\neach step his father took he had to carry out countless movements.\nHe became noticeably short of breath, even in his earlier life his\nlungs had not been very reliable.  Now, as he lurched about in his\nefforts to muster all the strength he could for running he could\nhardly keep his eyes open; his thoughts became too slow for him to\nthink of any other way of saving himself than running; he almost\nforgot that the walls were there for him to use although, here, they\nwere concealed behind carefully carved furniture full of notches and\nprotrusions - then, right beside him, lightly tossed, something flew\ndown and rolled in front of him.  It was an apple; then another one\nimmediately flew at him; Gregor froze in shock; there was no longer\nany point in running as his father had decided to bombard him.  He\nhad filled his pockets with fruit from the bowl on the sideboard and\nnow, without even taking the time for careful aim, threw one apple\nafter another.  These little, red apples rolled about on the floor,\nknocking into each other as if they had electric motors.  An apple\nthrown without much force glanced against Gregor's back and slid off\nwithout doing any harm.  Another one however, immediately following\nit, hit squarely and lodged in his back; Gregor wanted to drag\nhimself away, as if he could remove the surprising, the incredible\npain by changing his position; but he felt as if nailed to the spot\nand spread himself out, all his senses in confusion.  The last thing\nhe saw was the door of his room being pulled open, his sister was\nscreaming, his mother ran out in front of her in her blouse (as his\nsister had taken off some of her clothes after she had fainted to\nmake it easier for her to breathe), she ran to his father, her\nskirts unfastened and sliding one after another to the ground,\nstumbling over the skirts she pushed herself to his father, her arms\naround him, uniting herself with him totally - now Gregor lost his\nability to see anything - her hands behind his father's head begging\nhim to spare Gregor's life.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nNo-one dared to remove the apple lodged in Gregor's flesh, so it\nremained there as a visible reminder of his injury.  He had suffered\nit there for more than a month, and his condition seemed serious\nenough to remind even his father that Gregor, despite his current\nsad and revolting form, was a family member who could not be treated\nas an enemy.  On the contrary, as a family there was a duty to\nswallow any revulsion for him and to be patient, just to be patient.\n\nBecause of his injuries, Gregor had lost much of his mobility -\nprobably permanently.  He had been reduced to the condition of an\nancient invalid and it took him long, long minutes to crawl across\nhis room - crawling over the ceiling was out of the question - but\nthis deterioration in his condition was fully (in his opinion) made\nup for by the door to the living room being left open every evening.\n He got into the habit of closely watching it for one or two hours\nbefore it was opened and then, lying in the darkness of his room\nwhere he could not be seen from the living room, he could watch the\nfamily in the light of the dinner table and listen to their\nconversation - with everyone's permission, in a way, and thus quite\ndifferently from before.\n\nThey no longer held the lively conversations of earlier times, of\ncourse, the ones that Gregor always thought about with longing when\nhe was tired and getting into the damp bed in some small hotel room.\n All of them were usually very quiet nowadays.  Soon after dinner,\nhis father would go to sleep in his chair; his mother and sister\nwould urge each other to be quiet; his mother, bent deeply under the\nlamp, would sew fancy underwear for a fashion shop; his sister, who\nhad taken a sales job, learned shorthand and French in the evenings\nso that she might be able to get a better position later on.\nSometimes his father would wake up and say to Gregor's mother\n\"you're doing so much sewing again today!\", as if he did not know\nthat he had been dozing - and then he would go back to sleep again\nwhile mother and sister would exchange a tired grin.\n\nWith a kind of stubbornness, Gregor's father refused to take his\nuniform off even at home; while his nightgown hung unused on its peg\nGregor's father would slumber where he was, fully dressed, as if\nalways ready to serve and expecting to hear the voice of his\nsuperior even here.  The uniform had not been new to start with, but\nas a result of this it slowly became even shabbier despite the\nefforts of Gregor's mother and sister to look after it.  Gregor\nwould often spend the whole evening looking at all the stains on\nthis coat, with its gold buttons always kept polished and shiny,\nwhile the old man in it would sleep, highly uncomfortable but\npeaceful.\n\nAs soon as it struck ten, Gregor's mother would speak gently to his\nfather to wake him and try to persuade him to go to bed, as he\ncouldn't sleep properly where he was and he really had to get his\nsleep if he was to be up at six to get to work.  But since he had\nbeen in work he had become more obstinate and would always insist on\nstaying longer at the table, even though he regularly fell asleep\nand it was then harder than ever to persuade him to exchange the\nchair for his bed.  Then, however much mother and sister would\nimportune him with little reproaches and warnings he would keep\nslowly shaking his head for a quarter of an hour with his eyes\nclosed and refusing to get up.  Gregor's mother would tug at his\nsleeve, whisper endearments into his ear, Gregor's sister would\nleave her work to help her mother, but nothing would have any effect\non him.  He would just sink deeper into his chair.  Only when the\ntwo women took him under the arms he would abruptly open his eyes,\nlook at them one after the other and say: \"What a life! This is what\npeace I get in my old age!\"  And supported by the two women he would\nlift himself up carefully as if he were carrying the greatest load\nhimself, let the women take him to the door, send them off and carry\non by himself while Gregor's mother would throw down her needle and\nhis sister her pen so that they could run after his father and\ncontinue being of help to him.\n\nWho, in this tired and overworked family, would have had time to\ngive more attention to Gregor than was absolutely necessary? The\nhousehold budget became even smaller; so now the maid was dismissed;\nan enormous, thick-boned charwoman with white hair that flapped\naround her head came every morning and evening to do the heaviest\nwork; everything else was looked after by Gregor's mother on top of\nthe large amount of sewing work she did.  Gregor even learned,\nlistening to the evening conversation about what price they had\nhoped for, that several items of jewellery belonging to the family\nhad been sold, even though both mother and sister had been very fond\nof wearing them at functions and celebrations.  But the loudest\ncomplaint was that although the flat was much too big for their\npresent circumstances, they could not move out of it, there was no\nimaginable way of transferring Gregor to the new address.  He could\nsee quite well, though, that there were more reasons than\nconsideration for him that made it difficult for them to move, it\nwould have been quite easy to transport him in any suitable crate\nwith a few air holes in it; the main thing holding the family back\nfrom their decision to move was much more to do with their total\ndespair, and the thought that they had been struck with a misfortune\nunlike anything experienced by anyone else they knew or were related\nto.  They carried out absolutely everything that the world expects\nfrom poor people, Gregor's father brought bank employees their\nbreakfast, his mother sacrificed herself by washing clothes for\nstrangers, his sister ran back and forth behind her desk at the\nbehest of the customers, but they just did not have the strength to\ndo any more.  And the injury in Gregor's back began to hurt as much\nas when it was new.  After they had come back from taking his father\nto bed Gregor's mother and sister would now leave their work where\nit was and sit close together, cheek to cheek; his mother would\npoint to Gregor's room and say \"Close that door, Grete\", and then,\nwhen he was in the dark again, they would sit in the next room and\ntheir tears would mingle, or they would simply sit there staring\ndry-eyed at the table.\n\nGregor hardly slept at all, either night or day.  Sometimes he would\nthink of taking over the family's affairs, just like before, the\nnext time the door was opened; he had long forgotten about his boss\nand the chief clerk, but they would appear again in his thoughts,\nthe salesmen and the apprentices, that stupid teaboy, two or three\nfriends from other businesses, one of the chambermaids from a\nprovincial hotel, a tender memory that appeared and disappeared\nagain, a cashier from a hat shop for whom his attention had been\nserious but too slow, - all of them appeared to him, mixed together\nwith strangers and others he had forgotten, but instead of helping\nhim and his family they were all of them inaccessible, and he was\nglad when they disappeared.  Other times he was not at all in the\nmood to look after his family, he was filled with simple rage about\nthe lack of attention he was shown, and although he could think of\nnothing he would have wanted, he made plans of how he could get into\nthe pantry where he could take all the things he was entitled to,\neven if he was not hungry.  Gregor's sister no longer thought about\nhow she could please him but would hurriedly push some food or other\ninto his room with her foot before she rushed out to work in the\nmorning and at midday, and in the evening she would sweep it away\nagain with the broom, indifferent as to whether it had been eaten or\n- more often than not - had been left totally untouched.  She still\ncleared up the room in the evening, but now she could not have been\nany quicker about it.  Smears of dirt were left on the walls, here\nand there were little balls of dust and filth.  At first, Gregor\nwent into one of the worst of these places when his sister arrived\nas a reproach to her, but he could have stayed there for weeks\nwithout his sister doing anything about it; she could see the dirt\nas well as he could but she had simply decided to leave him to it.\nAt the same time she became touchy in a way that was quite new for\nher and which everyone in the family understood - cleaning up\nGregor's room was for her and her alone.  Gregor's mother did once\nthoroughly clean his room, and needed to use several bucketfuls of\nwater to do it - although that much dampness also made Gregor ill\nand he lay flat on the couch, bitter and immobile.  But his mother\nwas to be punished still more for what she had done, as hardly had\nhis sister arrived home in the evening than she noticed the change\nin Gregor's room and, highly aggrieved, ran back into the living\nroom where, despite her mothers raised and imploring hands, she\nbroke into convulsive tears.  Her father, of course, was startled\nout of his chair and the two parents looked on astonished and\nhelpless; then they, too, became agitated; Gregor's father, standing\nto the right of his mother, accused her of not leaving the cleaning\nof Gregor's room to his sister; from her left, Gregor's sister\nscreamed at her that she was never to clean Gregor's room again;\nwhile his mother tried to draw his father, who was beside himself\nwith anger, into the bedroom; his sister, quaking with tears,\nthumped on the table with her small fists; and Gregor hissed in\nanger that no-one had even thought of closing the door to save him\nthe sight of this and all its noise.\n\nGregor's sister was exhausted from going out to work, and looking\nafter Gregor as she had done before was even more work for her, but\neven so his mother ought certainly not to have taken her place.\nGregor, on the other hand, ought not to be neglected.  Now, though,\nthe charwoman was here.  This elderly widow, with a robust bone\nstructure that made her able to withstand the hardest of things in\nher long life, wasn't really repelled by Gregor.  Just by chance one\nday, rather than any real curiosity, she opened the door to Gregor's\nroom and found herself face to face with him.  He was taken totally\nby surprise, no-one was chasing him but he began to rush to and fro\nwhile she just stood there in amazement with her hands crossed in\nfront of her.  From then on she never failed to open the door\nslightly every evening and morning and look briefly in on him.  At\nfirst she would call to him as she did so with words that she\nprobably considered friendly, such as \"come on then, you old\ndung-beetle!\", or \"look at the old dung-beetle there!\"  Gregor never\nresponded to being spoken to in that way, but just remained where he\nwas without moving as if the door had never even been opened.  If\nonly they had told this charwoman to clean up his room every day\ninstead of letting her disturb him for no reason whenever she felt\nlike it! One day, early in the morning while a heavy rain struck the\nwindowpanes, perhaps indicating that spring was coming, she began to\nspeak to him in that way once again.  Gregor was so resentful of it\nthat he started to move toward her, he was slow and infirm, but it\nwas like a kind of attack.  Instead of being afraid, the charwoman\njust lifted up one of the chairs from near the door and stood there\nwith her mouth open, clearly intending not to close her mouth until\nthe chair in her hand had been slammed down into Gregor's back.\n\"Aren't you coming any closer, then?\", she asked when Gregor turned\nround again, and she calmly put the chair back in the corner.\n\nGregor had almost entirely stopped eating.  Only if he happened to\nfind himself next to the food that had been prepared for him he\nmight take some of it into his mouth to play with it, leave it there\na few hours and then, more often than not, spit it out again.  At\nfirst he thought it was distress at the state of his room that\nstopped him eating, but he had soon got used to the changes made\nthere.  They had got into the habit of putting things into this room\nthat they had no room for anywhere else, and there were now many\nsuch things as one of the rooms in the flat had been rented out to\nthree gentlemen.  These earnest gentlemen - all three of them had\nfull beards, as Gregor learned peering through the crack in the door\none day - were painfully insistent on things' being tidy.  This\nmeant not only in their own room but, since they had taken a room in\nthis establishment, in the entire flat and especially in the\nkitchen.  Unnecessary clutter was something they could not tolerate,\nespecially if it was dirty.  They had moreover brought most of their\nown furnishings and equipment with them.  For this reason, many\nthings had become superfluous which, although they could not be\nsold, the family did not wish to discard.  All these things found\ntheir way into Gregor's room.  The dustbins from the kitchen found\ntheir way in there too.  The charwoman was always in a hurry, and\nanything she couldn't use for the time being she would just chuck in\nthere.  He, fortunately, would usually see no more than the object\nand the hand that held it.  The woman most likely meant to fetch the\nthings back out again when she had time and the opportunity, or to\nthrow everything out in one go, but what actually happened was that\nthey were left where they landed when they had first been thrown\nunless Gregor made his way through the junk and moved it somewhere\nelse.  At first he moved it because, with no other room free where\nhe could crawl about, he was forced to, but later on he came to\nenjoy it although moving about in that way left him sad and tired to\ndeath and he would remain immobile for hours afterwards.\n\nThe gentlemen who rented the room would sometimes take their evening\nmeal at home in the living room that was used by everyone, and so\nthe door to this room was often kept closed in the evening.  But\nGregor found it easy to give up having the door open, he had, after\nall, often failed to make use of it when it was open and, without\nthe family having noticed it, lain in his room in its darkest\ncorner.  One time, though, the charwoman left the door to the living\nroom slightly open, and it remained open when the gentlemen who\nrented the room came in in the evening and the light was put on.\nThey sat up at the table where, formerly, Gregor had taken his meals\nwith his father and mother, they unfolded the serviettes and picked\nup their knives and forks.  Gregor's mother immediately appeared in\nthe doorway with a dish of meat and soon behind her came his sister\nwith a dish piled high with potatoes.  The food was steaming, and\nfilled the room with its smell.  The gentlemen bent over the dishes\nset in front of them as if they wanted to test the food before\neating it, and the gentleman in the middle, who seemed to count as\nan authority for the other two, did indeed cut off a piece of meat\nwhile it was still in its dish, clearly wishing to establish whether\nit was sufficiently cooked or whether it should be sent back to the\nkitchen.  It was to his satisfaction, and Gregor's mother and\nsister, who had been looking on anxiously, began to breathe again\nand smiled.\n\nThe family themselves ate in the kitchen.  Nonetheless, Gregor's\nfather came into the living room before he went into the kitchen,\nbowed once with his cap in his hand and did his round of the table.\nThe gentlemen stood as one, and mumbled something into their beards.\n Then, once they were alone, they ate in near perfect silence.  It\nseemed remarkable to Gregor that above all the various noises of\neating their chewing teeth could still be heard, as if they had\nwanted to show Gregor that you need teeth in order to eat and it was\nnot possible to perform anything with jaws that are toothless\nhowever nice they might be.  \"I'd like to eat something\", said\nGregor anxiously, \"but not anything like they're eating.  They do\nfeed themselves.  And here I am, dying!\"\n\nThroughout all this time, Gregor could not remember having heard the\nviolin being played, but this evening it began to be heard from the\nkitchen.  The three gentlemen had already finished their meal, the\none in the middle had produced a newspaper, given a page to each of\nthe others, and now they leant back in their chairs reading them and\nsmoking.  When the violin began playing they became attentive, stood\nup and went on tip-toe over to the door of the hallway where they\nstood pressed against each other.  Someone must have heard them in\nthe kitchen, as Gregor's father called out: \"Is the playing perhaps\nunpleasant for the gentlemen? We can stop it straight away.\"  \"On\nthe contrary\", said the middle gentleman, \"would the young lady not\nlike to come in and play for us here in the room, where it is, after\nall, much more cosy and comfortable?\"  \"Oh yes, we'd love to\",\ncalled back Gregor's father as if he had been the violin player\nhimself.  The gentlemen stepped back into the room and waited.\nGregor's father soon appeared with the music stand, his mother with\nthe music and his sister with the violin.  She calmly prepared\neverything for her to begin playing; his parents, who had never\nrented a room out before and therefore showed an exaggerated\ncourtesy towards the three gentlemen, did not even dare to sit on\ntheir own chairs; his father leant against the door with his right\nhand pushed in between two buttons on his uniform coat; his mother,\nthough, was offered a seat by one of the gentlemen and sat - leaving\nthe chair where the gentleman happened to have placed it - out of\nthe way in a corner.\n\nHis sister began to play; father and mother paid close attention,\none on each side, to the movements of her hands.  Drawn in by the\nplaying, Gregor had dared to come forward a little and already had\nhis head in the living room.  Before, he had taken great pride in\nhow considerate he was but now it hardly occurred to him that he had\nbecome so thoughtless about the others.  What's more, there was now\nall the more reason to keep himself hidden as he was covered in the\ndust that lay everywhere in his room and flew up at the slightest\nmovement; he carried threads, hairs, and remains of food about on\nhis back and sides; he was much too indifferent to everything now to\nlay on his back and wipe himself on the carpet like he had used to\ndo several times a day.  And despite this condition, he was not too\nshy to move forward a little onto the immaculate floor of the living\nroom.\n\nNo-one noticed him, though.  The family was totally preoccupied with\nthe violin playing; at first, the three gentlemen had put their\nhands in their pockets and come up far too close behind the music\nstand to look at all the notes being played, and they must have\ndisturbed Gregor's sister, but soon, in contrast with the family,\nthey  withdrew back to the window with their heads sunk and talking\nto each other at half volume, and they stayed by the window while\nGregor's father observed them anxiously.  It really now seemed very\nobvious that they had expected to hear some beautiful or\nentertaining violin playing but had been disappointed, that they had\nhad enough of the whole performance and it was only now out of\npoliteness that they allowed their peace to be disturbed.  It was\nespecially unnerving, the way they all blew the smoke from their\ncigarettes upwards from their mouth and noses.  Yet Gregor's sister\nwas playing so beautifully.  Her face was leant to one side,\nfollowing the lines of music with a careful and melancholy\nexpression.  Gregor crawled a little further forward, keeping his\nhead close to the ground so that he could meet her eyes if the\nchance came.  Was he an animal if music could captivate him so? It\nseemed to him that he was being shown the way to the unknown\nnourishment he had been yearning for.  He was determined to make his\nway forward to his sister and tug at her skirt to show her she might\ncome into his room with her violin, as no-one appreciated her\nplaying here as much as he would.  He never wanted to let her out of\nhis room, not while he lived, anyway; his shocking appearance\nshould, for once, be of some use to him; he wanted to be at every\ndoor of his room at once to hiss and spit at the attackers; his\nsister should not be forced to stay with him, though, but stay of\nher own free will; she would sit beside him on the couch with her\near bent down to him while he told her how he had always intended to\nsend her to the conservatory, how he would have told everyone about\nit last Christmas - had Christmas really come and gone already? - if\nthis misfortune hadn't got in the way, and refuse to let anyone\ndissuade him from it.  On hearing all this, his sister would break\nout in tears of emotion, and Gregor would climb up to her shoulder\nand kiss her neck, which, since she had been going out to work, she\nhad kept free without any necklace or collar.\n\n\"Mr. Samsa!\", shouted the middle gentleman to Gregor's father,\npointing, without wasting any more words, with his forefinger at\nGregor as he slowly moved forward.  The violin went silent, the\nmiddle of the three gentlemen first smiled at his two friends,\nshaking his head, and then looked back at Gregor.  His father seemed\nto think it more important to calm the three gentlemen before\ndriving Gregor out, even though they were not at all upset and\nseemed to think Gregor was more entertaining than the violin playing\nhad been.  He rushed up to them with his arms spread out and\nattempted to drive them back into their room at the same time as\ntrying to block their view of Gregor with his body.  Now they did\nbecome a little annoyed, and it was not clear whether it was his\nfather's behaviour that annoyed them or the dawning realisation that\nthey had had a neighbour like Gregor in the next room without\nknowing it.  They asked Gregor's father for explanations, raised\ntheir arms like he had, tugged excitedly at their beards and moved\nback towards their room only very slowly.  Meanwhile Gregor's sister\nhad overcome the despair she had fallen into when her playing was\nsuddenly interrupted.  She had let her hands drop and let violin and\nbow hang limply for a while but continued to look at the music as if\nstill playing, but then she suddenly pulled herself together, lay\nthe instrument on her mother's lap who still sat laboriously\nstruggling for breath where she was, and ran into the next room\nwhich, under pressure from her father, the three gentlemen were more\nquickly moving toward.  Under his sister's experienced hand, the\npillows and covers on the beds flew up and were put into order and\nshe had already finished making the beds and slipped out again\nbefore the three gentlemen had reached the room.  Gregor's father\nseemed so obsessed with what he was doing that he forgot all the\nrespect he owed to his tenants.  He urged them and pressed them\nuntil, when he was already at the door of the room, the middle of\nthe three gentlemen shouted like thunder and stamped his foot and\nthereby brought Gregor's father to a halt.  \"I declare here and\nnow\", he said, raising his hand and glancing at Gregor's mother and\nsister to gain their attention too, \"that with regard to the\nrepugnant conditions that prevail in this flat and with this family\"\n- here he looked briefly but decisively at the floor - \"I give\nimmediate notice on my room.  For the days that I have been living\nhere I will, of course, pay nothing at all, on the contrary I will\nconsider whether to proceed with some kind of action for damages\nfrom you, and believe me it would be very easy to set out the\ngrounds for such an action.\"  He was silent and looked straight\nahead as if waiting for something.  And indeed, his two friends\njoined in with the words: \"And we also give immediate notice.\"  With\nthat, he took hold of the door handle and slammed the door.\n\nGregor's father staggered back to his seat, feeling his way with his\nhands, and fell into it; it looked as if he was stretching himself\nout for his usual evening nap but from the uncontrolled way his head\nkept nodding it could be seen that he was not sleeping at all.\nThroughout all this, Gregor had lain still where the three gentlemen\nhad first seen him.  His disappointment at the failure of his plan,\nand perhaps also because he was weak from hunger, made it impossible\nfor him to move.  He was sure that everyone would turn on him any\nmoment, and he waited.  He was not even startled out of this state\nwhen the violin on his mother's lap fell from her trembling fingers\nand landed loudly on the floor.\n\n\"Father, Mother\", said his sister, hitting the table with her hand\nas introduction, \"we can't carry on like this.  Maybe you can't see\nit, but I can.  I don't want to call this monster my brother, all I\ncan say is: we have to try and get rid of it.  We've done all that's\nhumanly possible to look after it and be patient, I don't think\nanyone could accuse us of doing anything wrong.\"\n\n\"She's absolutely right\", said Gregor's father to himself.  His\nmother, who still had not had time to catch her breath, began to\ncough dully, her hand held out in front of her and a deranged\nexpression in her eyes.\n\nGregor's sister rushed to his mother and put her hand on her\nforehead.  Her words seemed to give Gregor's father some more\ndefinite ideas.  He sat upright, played with his uniform cap between\nthe plates left by the three gentlemen after their meal, and\noccasionally looked down at Gregor as he lay there immobile.\n\n\"We have to try and get rid of it\", said Gregor's sister, now\nspeaking only to her father, as her mother was too occupied with\ncoughing to listen, \"it'll be the death of both of you, I can see it\ncoming.  We can't all work as hard as we have to and then come home\nto be tortured like this, we can't endure it.  I can't endure it any\nmore.\"  And she broke out so heavily in tears that they flowed down\nthe face of her mother, and she wiped them away with mechanical hand\nmovements.\n\n\"My child\", said her father with sympathy and obvious understanding,\n\"what are we to do?\"\n\nHis sister just shrugged her shoulders as a sign of the helplessness\nand tears that had taken hold of her, displacing her earlier\ncertainty.\n\n\"If he could just understand us\", said his father almost as a\nquestion; his sister shook her hand vigorously through her tears as\na sign that of that there was no question.\n\n\"If he could just understand us\", repeated Gregor's father, closing\nhis eyes in acceptance of his sister's certainty that that was quite\nimpossible, \"then perhaps we could come to some kind of arrangement\nwith him.  But as it is ...\"\n\n\"It's got to go\", shouted his sister, \"that's the only way, Father.\nYou've got to get rid of the idea that that's Gregor.  We've only\nharmed ourselves by believing it for so long.  How can that be\nGregor? If it were Gregor he would have seen long ago that it's not\npossible for human beings to live with an animal like that and he\nwould have gone of his own free will.  We wouldn't have a brother\nany more, then, but we could carry on with our lives and remember\nhim with respect.  As it is this animal is persecuting us, it's\ndriven out our tenants, it obviously wants to take over the whole\nflat and force us to sleep on the streets.  Father, look, just\nlook\", she suddenly screamed, \"he's starting again!\"   In her alarm,\nwhich was totally beyond Gregor's comprehension, his sister even\nabandoned his mother as she pushed herself vigorously out of her\nchair as if more willing to sacrifice her own mother than stay\nanywhere near Gregor.  She rushed over to behind her father, who had\nbecome excited merely because she was and stood up half raising his\nhands in front of Gregor's sister as if to protect her.\n\nBut Gregor had had no intention of frightening anyone, least of all\nhis sister.  All he had done was begin to turn round so that he\ncould go back into his room, although that was in itself quite\nstartling as his pain-wracked condition meant that turning round\nrequired a great deal of effort and he was using his head to help\nhimself do it, repeatedly raising it and striking it against the\nfloor.  He stopped and looked round.  They seemed to have realised\nhis good intention and had only been alarmed briefly.  Now they all\nlooked at him in unhappy silence.  His mother lay in her chair with\nher legs stretched out and pressed against each other, her eyes\nnearly closed with exhaustion; his sister sat next to his father\nwith her arms around his neck.\n\n\"Maybe now they'll let me turn round\", thought Gregor and went back\nto work.  He could not help panting loudly with the effort and had\nsometimes to stop and take a rest.  No-one was making him rush any\nmore, everything was left up to him.  As soon as he had finally\nfinished turning round he began to move straight ahead.  He was\namazed at the great distance that separated him from his room, and\ncould not understand how he had covered that distance in his weak\nstate a little while before and almost without noticing it.  He\nconcentrated on crawling as fast as he could and hardly noticed that\nthere was not a word, not any cry, from his family to distract him.\nHe did not turn his head until he had reached the doorway.  He did\nnot turn it all the way round as he felt his neck becoming stiff,\nbut it was nonetheless enough to see that nothing behind him had\nchanged, only his sister had stood up.  With his last glance he saw\nthat his mother had now fallen completely asleep.\n\nHe was hardly inside his room before the door was hurriedly shut,\nbolted and locked.  The sudden noise behind Gregor so startled him\nthat his little legs collapsed under him.  It was his sister who had\nbeen in so much of a rush.  She had been standing there waiting and\nsprung forward lightly, Gregor had not heard her coming at all, and\nas she turned the key in the lock she said loudly to her parents \"At\nlast!\".\n\n\"What now, then?\", Gregor asked himself as he looked round in the\ndarkness.  He soon made the discovery that he could no longer move\nat all.  This was no surprise to him, it seemed rather that being\nable to actually move around on those spindly little legs until then\nwas unnatural.  He also felt relatively comfortable.  It is true\nthat his entire body was aching, but the pain seemed to be slowly\ngetting weaker and weaker and would finally disappear altogether.\nHe could already hardly feel the decayed apple in his back or the\ninflamed area around it, which was entirely covered in white dust.\nHe thought back of his family with emotion and love.  If it was\npossible, he felt that he must go away even more strongly than his\nsister.  He remained in this state of empty and peaceful rumination\nuntil he heard the clock tower strike three in the morning.  He\nwatched as it slowly began to get light everywhere outside the\nwindow too.  Then, without his willing it, his head sank down\ncompletely, and his last breath flowed weakly from his nostrils.\n\nWhen the cleaner came in early in the morning - they'd often asked\nher not to keep slamming the doors but with her strength and in her\nhurry she still did, so that everyone in the flat knew when she'd\narrived and from then on it was impossible to sleep in peace - she\nmade her usual brief look in on Gregor and at first found nothing\nspecial.  She thought he was laying there so still on purpose,\nplaying the martyr; she attributed all possible understanding to\nhim.  She happened to be holding the long broom in her hand, so she\ntried to tickle Gregor with it from the doorway.  When she had no\nsuccess with that she tried to make a nuisance of herself and poked\nat him a little, and only when she found she could shove him across\nthe floor with no resistance at all did she start to pay attention.\nShe soon realised what had really happened, opened her eyes wide,\nwhistled to herself, but did not waste time to yank open the bedroom\ndoors and shout loudly into the darkness of the bedrooms: \"Come and\n'ave a look at this, it's dead, just lying there, stone dead!\"\n\nMr. and  Mrs. Samsa sat upright there in their marriage bed and had\nto make an effort to get over the shock caused by the cleaner before\nthey could grasp what she was saying.  But then, each from his own\nside, they hurried out of bed.  Mr. Samsa threw the blanket over his\nshoulders,  Mrs. Samsa just came out in her nightdress; and that is\nhow they went into Gregor's room.  On the way they opened the door\nto the living room where Grete had been sleeping since the three\ngentlemen had moved in; she was fully dressed as if she had never\nbeen asleep, and the paleness of her face seemed to confirm this.\n\"Dead?\", asked  Mrs. Samsa, looking at the charwoman enquiringly,\neven though she could have checked for herself and could have known\nit even without checking.  \"That's what I said\",  replied the\ncleaner, and to prove it she gave Gregor's body another shove with\nthe broom, sending it sideways across the floor.  Mrs. Samsa made a\nmovement as if she wanted to hold back the broom, but did not\ncomplete it.  \"Now then\", said  Mr. Samsa, \"let's give thanks to God\nfor that\". He crossed himself, and the three women followed his\nexample.  Grete, who had not taken her eyes from the corpse, said:\n\"Just look how thin he was.  He didn't eat anything for so long.\nThe food came out again just the same as when it went in\". Gregor's\nbody was indeed completely dried up and flat, they had not seen it\nuntil then, but now he was not lifted up on his little legs, nor did\nhe do anything to make them look away.\n\n\"Grete, come with us in here for a little while\", said  Mrs. Samsa\nwith a pained smile, and Grete followed her parents into the bedroom\nbut not without looking back at the body.  The cleaner shut the door\nand opened the window wide.  Although it was still early in the\nmorning the fresh air had something of warmth mixed in with it.  It\nwas already the end of March, after all.\n\nThe three gentlemen stepped out of their room and looked round in\namazement for their breakfasts;  they had been forgotten about.\n\"Where is our breakfast?\", the middle gentleman asked the cleaner\nirritably.  She just put her finger on her lips and made a quick and\nsilent sign to the men that they might like to come into Gregor's\nroom.  They did so, and stood around Gregor's corpse with their\nhands in the pockets of their well-worn coats. It was now quite\nlight in the room.\n\nThen the door of the bedroom opened and  Mr. Samsa appeared in his\nuniform with his wife on one arm and his daughter on the other.  All\nof them had been crying a little; Grete now and then pressed her\nface against her father's arm.\n\n\"Leave my home.  Now!\", said  Mr. Samsa, indicating the door and\nwithout letting the women from him.  \"What do you mean?\", asked the\nmiddle of the three gentlemen somewhat disconcerted, and he smiled\nsweetly.  The other two held their hands behind their backs and\ncontinually rubbed them together in gleeful anticipation of a loud\nquarrel which could only end in their favour.  \"I mean just what I\nsaid\", answered  Mr. Samsa, and, with his two companions, went in a\nstraight line towards the man.  At first, he stood there still,\nlooking at the ground as if the contents of his head were\nrearranging themselves into new positions.  \"Alright, we'll go\nthen\", he said, and looked up at  Mr. Samsa as if he had been\nsuddenly overcome with humility and wanted permission again from\nMr. Samsa for his decision.  Mr. Samsa merely opened his eyes wide\nand briefly nodded to him several times.  At that, and without\ndelay, the man actually did take long strides into the front\nhallway; his two friends had stopped rubbing their hands some time\nbefore and had been listening to what was being said.  Now they\njumped off after their friend as if taken with a sudden fear that\nMr. Samsa might go into the hallway in front of them and break the\nconnection with their leader.  Once there, all three took their hats\nfrom the stand, took their sticks from the holder, bowed without a\nword and left the premises.  Mr. Samsa and the two women followed\nthem out onto the landing; but they had had no reason to mistrust\nthe men's intentions and as they leaned over the landing they saw how\nthe three gentlemen made slow but steady progress down the many\nsteps.  As they turned the corner on each floor they disappeared and\nwould reappear a few moments later; the further down they went, the\nmore that the Samsa family lost interest in them; when a butcher's\nboy, proud of posture with his tray on his head, passed them on his\nway up and came nearer than they were,  Mr. Samsa and the women came\naway from the landing and went, as if relieved, back into the flat.\n\nThey decided the best way to make use of that day was for relaxation\nand to go for a walk; not only had they earned a break from work but\nthey were in serious need of it.  So they sat at the table and wrote\nthree letters of excusal,  Mr. Samsa to his employers,  Mrs. Samsa\nto her contractor and Grete to her principal.  The cleaner came in\nwhile they were writing to tell them she was going, she'd finished\nher work for that morning.  The three of them at first just nodded\nwithout looking up from what they were writing, and it was only when\nthe cleaner still did not seem to want to leave that they looked up\nin irritation.  \"Well?\", asked  Mr. Samsa.  The charwoman stood in\nthe doorway with a smile on her face as if she had some tremendous\ngood news to report, but would only do it if she was clearly asked\nto.  The almost vertical little ostrich feather on her hat, which\nhad been a source of irritation to  Mr. Samsa all the time she had\nbeen working for them, swayed gently in all directions.  \"What is it\nyou want then?\", asked  Mrs. Samsa, whom the cleaner had the most\nrespect for.  \"Yes\", she answered, and broke into a friendly laugh\nthat made her unable to speak straight away, \"well then, that thing\nin there, you needn't worry about how you're going to get rid of it.\n That's all been sorted out.\"   Mrs. Samsa and Grete bent down over\ntheir letters as if intent on continuing with what they were\nwriting;  Mr. Samsa saw that the cleaner wanted to start describing\neverything in detail but, with outstretched hand, he made it quite\nclear that she was not to.  So, as she was prevented from telling\nthem all about it, she suddenly remembered what a hurry she was in\nand, clearly peeved, called out \"Cheerio then, everyone\", turned\nround sharply and left, slamming the door terribly as she went.\n\n\"Tonight she gets sacked\", said  Mr. Samsa, but he received no reply\nfrom either his wife or his daughter as the charwoman seemed to have\ndestroyed the peace they had only just gained.  They got up and went\nover to the window where they remained with their arms around each\nother.  Mr. Samsa twisted round in his chair to look at them and sat\nthere watching for a while.  Then he called out: \"Come here, then.\nLet's forget about all that old stuff, shall we.  Come and give me a\nbit of attention\". The two women immediately did as he said,\nhurrying over to him where they kissed him and hugged him and then\nthey quickly finished their letters.\n\nAfter that, the three of them left the flat together, which was\nsomething they had not done for months, and took the tram out to the\nopen country outside the town.  They had the tram, filled with warm\nsunshine, all to themselves.  Leant back comfortably on their seats,\nthey discussed their prospects and found that on closer examination\nthey were not at all bad - until then they had never asked each\nother about their work but all three had jobs which were very good\nand held particularly good promise for the future.  The greatest\nimprovement for the time being, of course, would be achieved quite\neasily by moving house; what they needed now was a flat that was\nsmaller and cheaper than the current one which had been chosen by\nGregor, one that was in a better location and, most of all, more\npractical.  All the time, Grete was becoming livelier.  With all the\nworry they had been having of late her cheeks had become pale, but,\nwhile they were talking,  Mr. and  Mrs. Samsa were struck, almost\nsimultaneously, with the thought of how their daughter was\nblossoming into a well built and beautiful young lady.  They became\nquieter.  Just from each other's glance and almost without knowing\nit they agreed that it would soon be time to find a good man for\nher.  And, as if in confirmation of their new dreams and good\nintentions, as soon as they reached their destination Grete was the\nfirst to get up and stretch out her young body.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka\nTranslated by David Wyllie.\n\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK METAMORPHOSIS ***\n\n***** This file should be named 5200.txt or 5200.zip *****\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\n        http://www.gutenberg.net/5/2/0/5200/\n\n\n\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\nwill be renamed.\n\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  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    "path": "src/main/pg-sherlock_holmes.txt",
    "content": "Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle\n\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net\n\n\nTitle: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes\n\nAuthor: Arthur Conan Doyle\n\nPosting Date: April 18, 2011 [EBook #1661]\nFirst Posted: November 29, 2002\n\nLanguage: English\n\n\n*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES ***\n\n\n\n\nProduced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer and Jose Menendez\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES\n\nby\n\nSIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE\n\n\n\n   I. A Scandal in Bohemia\n  II. The Red-headed League\n III. A Case of Identity\n  IV. The Boscombe Valley Mystery\n   V. The Five Orange Pips\n  VI. The Man with the Twisted Lip\n VII. The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle\nVIII. The Adventure of the Speckled Band\n  IX. The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb\n   X. The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor\n  XI. The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet\n XII. The Adventure of the Copper Beeches\n\n\n\n\nADVENTURE I. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA\n\nI.\n\nTo Sherlock Holmes she is always THE woman. I have seldom heard\nhim mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses\nand predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt\nany emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that\none particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but\nadmirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect\nreasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a\nlover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never\nspoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They\nwere admirable things for the observer--excellent for drawing the\nveil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner\nto admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely\nadjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which\nmight throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a\nsensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power\nlenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a\nnature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and\nthat woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable\nmemory.\n\nI had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us\naway from each other. My own complete happiness, and the\nhome-centred interests which rise up around the man who first\nfinds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to\nabsorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of\nsociety with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in\nBaker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from\nweek to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the\ndrug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still,\nas ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his\nimmense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in\nfollowing out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which\nhad been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time\nto time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons\nto Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up\nof the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee,\nand finally of the mission which he had accomplished so\ndelicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland.\nBeyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely\nshared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of\nmy former friend and companion.\n\nOne night--it was on the twentieth of March, 1888--I was\nreturning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to\ncivil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I\npassed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated\nin my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the\nStudy in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes\nagain, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers.\nHis rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw\nhis tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against\nthe blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head\nsunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who\nknew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their\nown story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his\ndrug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new\nproblem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which\nhad formerly been in part my own.\n\nHis manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I\nthink, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly\neye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars,\nand indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he\nstood before the fire and looked me over in his singular\nintrospective fashion.\n\n\"Wedlock suits you,\" he remarked. \"I think, Watson, that you have\nput on seven and a half pounds since I saw you.\"\n\n\"Seven!\" I answered.\n\n\"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more,\nI fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not\ntell me that you intended to go into harness.\"\n\n\"Then, how do you know?\"\n\n\"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting\nyourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and\ncareless servant girl?\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes,\" said I, \"this is too much. You would certainly\nhave been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true\nthat I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful\nmess, but as I have changed my clothes I can't imagine how you\ndeduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has\ngiven her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you work it\nout.\"\n\nHe chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands\ntogether.\n\n\"It is simplicity itself,\" said he; \"my eyes tell me that on the\ninside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it,\nthe leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they\nhave been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round\nthe edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it.\nHence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile\nweather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting\nspecimen of the London slavey. As to your practice, if a\ngentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black\nmark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge\non the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted\nhis stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce\nhim to be an active member of the medical profession.\"\n\nI could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his\nprocess of deduction. \"When I hear you give your reasons,\" I\nremarked, \"the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously\nsimple that I could easily do it myself, though at each\nsuccessive instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you\nexplain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good\nas yours.\"\n\n\"Quite so,\" he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing\nhimself down into an armchair. \"You see, but you do not observe.\nThe distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen\nthe steps which lead up from the hall to this room.\"\n\n\"Frequently.\"\n\n\"How often?\"\n\n\"Well, some hundreds of times.\"\n\n\"Then how many are there?\"\n\n\"How many? I don't know.\"\n\n\"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is\njust my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps,\nbecause I have both seen and observed. By-the-way, since you are\ninterested in these little problems, and since you are good\nenough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you\nmay be interested in this.\" He threw over a sheet of thick,\npink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon the table.\n\"It came by the last post,\" said he. \"Read it aloud.\"\n\nThe note was undated, and without either signature or address.\n\n\"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight\no'clock,\" it said, \"a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a\nmatter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of\nthe royal houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may\nsafely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which\ncan hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all\nquarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do\nnot take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask.\"\n\n\"This is indeed a mystery,\" I remarked. \"What do you imagine that\nit means?\"\n\n\"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before\none has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit\ntheories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself.\nWhat do you deduce from it?\"\n\nI carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was\nwritten.\n\n\"The man who wrote it was presumably well to do,\" I remarked,\nendeavouring to imitate my companion's processes. \"Such paper\ncould not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly\nstrong and stiff.\"\n\n\"Peculiar--that is the very word,\" said Holmes. \"It is not an\nEnglish paper at all. Hold it up to the light.\"\n\nI did so, and saw a large \"E\" with a small \"g,\" a \"P,\" and a\nlarge \"G\" with a small \"t\" woven into the texture of the paper.\n\n\"What do you make of that?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.\"\n\n\"Not at all. The 'G' with the small 't' stands for\n'Gesellschaft,' which is the German for 'Company.' It is a\ncustomary contraction like our 'Co.' 'P,' of course, stands for\n'Papier.' Now for the 'Eg.' Let us glance at our Continental\nGazetteer.\" He took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves.\n\"Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is in a German-speaking\ncountry--in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. 'Remarkable as being\nthe scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous\nglass-factories and paper-mills.' Ha, ha, my boy, what do you\nmake of that?\" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue\ntriumphant cloud from his cigarette.\n\n\"The paper was made in Bohemia,\" I said.\n\n\"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you\nnote the peculiar construction of the sentence--'This account of\nyou we have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman or Russian\ncould not have written that. It is the German who is so\nuncourteous to his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to discover\nwhat is wanted by this German who writes upon Bohemian paper and\nprefers wearing a mask to showing his face. And here he comes, if\nI am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts.\"\n\nAs he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and\ngrating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the\nbell. Holmes whistled.\n\n\"A pair, by the sound,\" said he. \"Yes,\" he continued, glancing\nout of the window. \"A nice little brougham and a pair of\nbeauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There's money in\nthis case, Watson, if there is nothing else.\"\n\n\"I think that I had better go, Holmes.\"\n\n\"Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my\nBoswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity\nto miss it.\"\n\n\"But your client--\"\n\n\"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he\ncomes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best\nattention.\"\n\nA slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and\nin the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there\nwas a loud and authoritative tap.\n\n\"Come in!\" said Holmes.\n\nA man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six\ninches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His\ndress was rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked\nupon as akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed\nacross the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while\nthe deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined\nwith flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch\nwhich consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended\nhalfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with\nrich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence\nwhich was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a\nbroad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper\npart of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black\nvizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment,\nfor his hand was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower\npart of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character,\nwith a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive\nof resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.\n\n\"You had my note?\" he asked with a deep harsh voice and a\nstrongly marked German accent. \"I told you that I would call.\" He\nlooked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to\naddress.\n\n\"Pray take a seat,\" said Holmes. \"This is my friend and\ncolleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me\nin my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?\"\n\n\"You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman.\nI understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour\nand discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most\nextreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate\nwith you alone.\"\n\nI rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me\nback into my chair. \"It is both, or none,\" said he. \"You may say\nbefore this gentleman anything which you may say to me.\"\n\nThe Count shrugged his broad shoulders. \"Then I must begin,\" said\nhe, \"by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at\nthe end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At\npresent it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it\nmay have an influence upon European history.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"And I.\"\n\n\"You will excuse this mask,\" continued our strange visitor. \"The\naugust person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to\nyou, and I may confess at once that the title by which I have\njust called myself is not exactly my own.\"\n\n\"I was aware of it,\" said Holmes dryly.\n\n\"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution\nhas to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense\nscandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of\nEurope. To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great House\nof Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia.\"\n\n\"I was also aware of that,\" murmured Holmes, settling himself\ndown in his armchair and closing his eyes.\n\nOur visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,\nlounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him\nas the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe.\nHolmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his\ngigantic client.\n\n\"If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,\" he\nremarked, \"I should be better able to advise you.\"\n\nThe man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in\nuncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he\ntore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. \"You\nare right,\" he cried; \"I am the King. Why should I attempt to\nconceal it?\"\n\n\"Why, indeed?\" murmured Holmes. \"Your Majesty had not spoken\nbefore I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich\nSigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and\nhereditary King of Bohemia.\"\n\n\"But you can understand,\" said our strange visitor, sitting down\nonce more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, \"you\ncan understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in\nmy own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not\nconfide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. I\nhave come incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting\nyou.\"\n\n\"Then, pray consult,\" said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.\n\n\"The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a\nlengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known\nadventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.\"\n\n\"Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,\" murmured Holmes without\nopening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of\ndocketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it\nwas difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not\nat once furnish information. In this case I found her biography\nsandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a\nstaff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-sea\nfishes.\n\n\"Let me see!\" said Holmes. \"Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year\n1858. Contralto--hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera\nof Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in\nLondon--quite so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled\nwith this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and\nis now desirous of getting those letters back.\"\n\n\"Precisely so. But how--\"\n\n\"Was there a secret marriage?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"No legal papers or certificates?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should\nproduce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is\nshe to prove their authenticity?\"\n\n\"There is the writing.\"\n\n\"Pooh, pooh! Forgery.\"\n\n\"My private note-paper.\"\n\n\"Stolen.\"\n\n\"My own seal.\"\n\n\"Imitated.\"\n\n\"My photograph.\"\n\n\"Bought.\"\n\n\"We were both in the photograph.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an\nindiscretion.\"\n\n\"I was mad--insane.\"\n\n\"You have compromised yourself seriously.\"\n\n\"I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now.\"\n\n\"It must be recovered.\"\n\n\"We have tried and failed.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought.\"\n\n\"She will not sell.\"\n\n\"Stolen, then.\"\n\n\"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked\nher house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice\nshe has been waylaid. There has been no result.\"\n\n\"No sign of it?\"\n\n\"Absolutely none.\"\n\nHolmes laughed. \"It is quite a pretty little problem,\" said he.\n\n\"But a very serious one to me,\" returned the King reproachfully.\n\n\"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the\nphotograph?\"\n\n\"To ruin me.\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"I am about to be married.\"\n\n\"So I have heard.\"\n\n\"To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the\nKing of Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her\nfamily. She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a\ndoubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end.\"\n\n\"And Irene Adler?\"\n\n\"Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I\nknow that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul\nof steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and\nthe mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry\nanother woman, there are no lengths to which she would not\ngo--none.\"\n\n\"You are sure that she has not sent it yet?\"\n\n\"I am sure.\"\n\n\"And why?\"\n\n\"Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the\nbetrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.\"\n\n\"Oh, then we have three days yet,\" said Holmes with a yawn. \"That\nis very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to\nlook into just at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in\nLondon for the present?\"\n\n\"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the\nCount Von Kramm.\"\n\n\"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress.\"\n\n\"Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety.\"\n\n\"Then, as to money?\"\n\n\"You have carte blanche.\"\n\n\"Absolutely?\"\n\n\"I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom\nto have that photograph.\"\n\n\"And for present expenses?\"\n\nThe King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak\nand laid it on the table.\n\n\"There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in\nnotes,\" he said.\n\nHolmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and\nhanded it to him.\n\n\"And Mademoiselle's address?\" he asked.\n\n\"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood.\"\n\nHolmes took a note of it. \"One other question,\" said he. \"Was the\nphotograph a cabinet?\"\n\n\"It was.\"\n\n\"Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon\nhave some good news for you. And good-night, Watson,\" he added,\nas the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. \"If\nyou will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three\no'clock I should like to chat this little matter over with you.\"\n\n\nII.\n\nAt three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had\nnot yet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the\nhouse shortly after eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down\nbeside the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him,\nhowever long he might be. I was already deeply interested in his\ninquiry, for, though it was surrounded by none of the grim and\nstrange features which were associated with the two crimes which\nI have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and the\nexalted station of his client gave it a character of its own.\nIndeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my\nfriend had on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of\na situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a\npleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the\nquick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most\ninextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable\nsuccess that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to\nenter into my head.\n\nIt was close upon four before the door opened, and a\ndrunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an\ninflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room.\nAccustomed as I was to my friend's amazing powers in the use of\ndisguises, I had to look three times before I was certain that it\nwas indeed he. With a nod he vanished into the bedroom, whence he\nemerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old.\nPutting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in\nfront of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes.\n\n\"Well, really!\" he cried, and then he choked and laughed again\nuntil he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the\nchair.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I\nemployed my morning, or what I ended by doing.\"\n\n\"I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the\nhabits, and perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler.\"\n\n\"Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you,\nhowever. I left the house a little after eight o'clock this\nmorning in the character of a groom out of work. There is a\nwonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of\nthem, and you will know all that there is to know. I soon found\nBriony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but\nbuilt out in front right up to the road, two stories. Chubb lock\nto the door. Large sitting-room on the right side, well\nfurnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those\npreposterous English window fasteners which a child could open.\nBehind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window\ncould be reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round\nit and examined it closely from every point of view, but without\nnoting anything else of interest.\n\n\"I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that\nthere was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the\ngarden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses,\nand received in exchange twopence, a glass of half and half, two\nfills of shag tobacco, and as much information as I could desire\nabout Miss Adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in\nthe neighbourhood in whom I was not in the least interested, but\nwhose biographies I was compelled to listen to.\"\n\n\"And what of Irene Adler?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. She is\nthe daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the\nSerpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts,\ndrives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for\ndinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings.\nHas only one male visitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark,\nhandsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day, and\noften twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple. See\nthe advantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had driven him\nhome a dozen times from Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him.\nWhen I had listened to all they had to tell, I began to walk up\nand down near Briony Lodge once more, and to think over my plan\nof campaign.\n\n\"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the\nmatter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the\nrelation between them, and what the object of his repeated\nvisits? Was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? If the\nformer, she had probably transferred the photograph to his\nkeeping. If the latter, it was less likely. On the issue of this\nquestion depended whether I should continue my work at Briony\nLodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman's chambers in the\nTemple. It was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my\ninquiry. I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to\nlet you see my little difficulties, if you are to understand the\nsituation.\"\n\n\"I am following you closely,\" I answered.\n\n\"I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab\ndrove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a\nremarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached--evidently\nthe man of whom I had heard. He appeared to be in a\ngreat hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the\nmaid who opened the door with the air of a man who was thoroughly\nat home.\n\n\"He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch\nglimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and\ndown, talking excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see\nnothing. Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than\nbefore. As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from\nhis pocket and looked at it earnestly, 'Drive like the devil,' he\nshouted, 'first to Gross & Hankey's in Regent Street, and then to\nthe Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if\nyou do it in twenty minutes!'\n\n\"Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do\nwell to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau,\nthe coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under\nhis ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of\nthe buckles. It hadn't pulled up before she shot out of the hall\ndoor and into it. I only caught a glimpse of her at the moment,\nbut she was a lovely woman, with a face that a man might die for.\n\n\"'The Church of St. Monica, John,' she cried, 'and half a\nsovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.'\n\n\"This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing\nwhether I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her\nlandau when a cab came through the street. The driver looked\ntwice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could\nobject. 'The Church of St. Monica,' said I, 'and half a sovereign\nif you reach it in twenty minutes.' It was twenty-five minutes to\ntwelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind.\n\n\"My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever drove faster, but the\nothers were there before us. The cab and the landau with their\nsteaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I paid\nthe man and hurried into the church. There was not a soul there\nsave the two whom I had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who\nseemed to be expostulating with them. They were all three\nstanding in a knot in front of the altar. I lounged up the side\naisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church.\nSuddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to\nme, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards\nme.\n\n\"'Thank God,' he cried. 'You'll do. Come! Come!'\n\n\"'What then?' I asked.\n\n\"'Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won't be legal.'\n\n\"I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was\nI found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear,\nand vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally\nassisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to\nGodfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and\nthere was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady\non the other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. It was\nthe most preposterous position in which I ever found myself in my\nlife, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing just\nnow. It seems that there had been some informality about their\nlicense, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them\nwithout a witness of some sort, and that my lucky appearance\nsaved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the streets in\nsearch of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I mean\nto wear it on my watch-chain in memory of the occasion.\"\n\n\"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs,\" said I; \"and what\nthen?\"\n\n\"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if\nthe pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate\nvery prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church\ndoor, however, they separated, he driving back to the Temple, and\nshe to her own house. 'I shall drive out in the park at five as\nusual,' she said as she left him. I heard no more. They drove\naway in different directions, and I went off to make my own\narrangements.\"\n\n\"Which are?\"\n\n\"Some cold beef and a glass of beer,\" he answered, ringing the\nbell. \"I have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to\nbe busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want\nyour co-operation.\"\n\n\"I shall be delighted.\"\n\n\"You don't mind breaking the law?\"\n\n\"Not in the least.\"\n\n\"Nor running a chance of arrest?\"\n\n\"Not in a good cause.\"\n\n\"Oh, the cause is excellent!\"\n\n\"Then I am your man.\"\n\n\"I was sure that I might rely on you.\"\n\n\"But what is it you wish?\"\n\n\"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to\nyou. Now,\" he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that\nour landlady had provided, \"I must discuss it while I eat, for I\nhave not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must\nbe on the scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns\nfrom her drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.\"\n\n\"And what then?\"\n\n\"You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to\noccur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You must\nnot interfere, come what may. You understand?\"\n\n\"I am to be neutral?\"\n\n\"To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small\nunpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being\nconveyed into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the\nsitting-room window will open. You are to station yourself close\nto that open window.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And when I raise my hand--so--you will throw into the room what\nI give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of\nfire. You quite follow me?\"\n\n\"Entirely.\"\n\n\"It is nothing very formidable,\" he said, taking a long cigar-shaped\nroll from his pocket. \"It is an ordinary plumber's smoke-rocket,\nfitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting.\nYour task is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire,\nit will be taken up by quite a number of people. You may then\nwalk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin you in ten\nminutes. I hope that I have made myself clear?\"\n\n\"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you,\nand at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry\nof fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street.\"\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\n\"Then you may entirely rely on me.\"\n\n\"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I\nprepare for the new role I have to play.\"\n\nHe disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in\nthe character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist\nclergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white\ntie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and\nbenevolent curiosity were such as Mr. John Hare alone could have\nequalled. It was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His\nexpression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every\nfresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as\nscience lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in\ncrime.\n\nIt was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still\nwanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in\nSerpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just\nbeing lighted as we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge,\nwaiting for the coming of its occupant. The house was just such\nas I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes' succinct description,\nbut the locality appeared to be less private than I expected. On\nthe contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighbourhood, it was\nremarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed men\nsmoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with his\nwheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and\nseveral well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with\ncigars in their mouths.\n\n\"You see,\" remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of\nthe house, \"this marriage rather simplifies matters. The\nphotograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are\nthat she would be as averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey\nNorton, as our client is to its coming to the eyes of his\nprincess. Now the question is, Where are we to find the\nphotograph?\"\n\n\"Where, indeed?\"\n\n\"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is\ncabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's\ndress. She knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid\nand searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We\nmay take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her.\"\n\n\"Where, then?\"\n\n\"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But\nI am inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive,\nand they like to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it\nover to anyone else? She could trust her own guardianship, but\nshe could not tell what indirect or political influence might be\nbrought to bear upon a business man. Besides, remember that she\nhad resolved to use it within a few days. It must be where she\ncan lay her hands upon it. It must be in her own house.\"\n\n\"But it has twice been burgled.\"\n\n\"Pshaw! They did not know how to look.\"\n\n\"But how will you look?\"\n\n\"I will not look.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"I will get her to show me.\"\n\n\"But she will refuse.\"\n\n\"She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is\nher carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter.\"\n\nAs he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage came round\nthe curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which\nrattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of\nthe loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in\nthe hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another\nloafer, who had rushed up with the same intention. A fierce\nquarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who\ntook sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder,\nwho was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck, and\nin an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was\nthe centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who\nstruck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes\ndashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but just as he reached\nher he gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood\nrunning freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to\ntheir heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while\na number of better-dressed people, who had watched the scuffle\nwithout taking part in it, crowded in to help the lady and to\nattend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her,\nhad hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her\nsuperb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking\nback into the street.\n\n\"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?\" she asked.\n\n\"He is dead,\" cried several voices.\n\n\"No, no, there's life in him!\" shouted another. \"But he'll be\ngone before you can get him to hospital.\"\n\n\"He's a brave fellow,\" said a woman. \"They would have had the\nlady's purse and watch if it hadn't been for him. They were a\ngang, and a rough one, too. Ah, he's breathing now.\"\n\n\"He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?\"\n\n\"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable\nsofa. This way, please!\"\n\nSlowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out\nin the principal room, while I still observed the proceedings\nfrom my post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the\nblinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay\nupon the couch. I do not know whether he was seized with\ncompunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but I\nknow that I never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life\nthan when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was\nconspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited\nupon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery\nto Holmes to draw back now from the part which he had intrusted\nto me. I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under\nmy ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring her. We are\nbut preventing her from injuring another.\n\nHolmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man\nwho is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the\nwindow. At the same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the\nsignal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of \"Fire!\" The\nword was no sooner out of my mouth than the whole crowd of\nspectators, well dressed and ill--gentlemen, ostlers, and\nservant-maids--joined in a general shriek of \"Fire!\" Thick clouds\nof smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. I\ncaught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voice\nof Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm.\nSlipping through the shouting crowd I made my way to the corner\nof the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my\nfriend's arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar.\nHe walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we\nhad turned down one of the quiet streets which lead towards the\nEdgeware Road.\n\n\"You did it very nicely, Doctor,\" he remarked. \"Nothing could\nhave been better. It is all right.\"\n\n\"You have the photograph?\"\n\n\"I know where it is.\"\n\n\"And how did you find out?\"\n\n\"She showed me, as I told you she would.\"\n\n\"I am still in the dark.\"\n\n\"I do not wish to make a mystery,\" said he, laughing. \"The matter\nwas perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the\nstreet was an accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening.\"\n\n\"I guessed as much.\"\n\n\"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in\nthe palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand\nto my face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick.\"\n\n\"That also I could fathom.\"\n\n\"Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else\ncould she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room\nwhich I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was\ndetermined to see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for\nair, they were compelled to open the window, and you had your\nchance.\"\n\n\"How did that help you?\"\n\n\"It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on\nfire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she\nvalues most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have\nmore than once taken advantage of it. In the case of the\nDarlington substitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in\nthe Arnsworth Castle business. A married woman grabs at her baby;\nan unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to\nme that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious\nto her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to secure it.\nThe alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were\nenough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The\nphotograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the\nright bell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I caught a\nglimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When I cried out that it\nwas a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed\nfrom the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose, and, making\nmy excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to\nattempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman had\ncome in, and as he was watching me narrowly it seemed safer to\nwait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all.\"\n\n\"And now?\" I asked.\n\n\"Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King\nto-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be\nshown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is\nprobable that when she comes she may find neither us nor the\nphotograph. It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain\nit with his own hands.\"\n\n\"And when will you call?\"\n\n\"At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall\nhave a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage\nmay mean a complete change in her life and habits. I must wire to\nthe King without delay.\"\n\nWe had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He was\nsearching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:\n\n\"Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes.\"\n\nThere were several people on the pavement at the time, but the\ngreeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had\nhurried by.\n\n\"I've heard that voice before,\" said Holmes, staring down the\ndimly lit street. \"Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have\nbeen.\"\n\n\nIII.\n\nI slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our\ntoast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed\ninto the room.\n\n\"You have really got it!\" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by\neither shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.\n\n\"Not yet.\"\n\n\"But you have hopes?\"\n\n\"I have hopes.\"\n\n\"Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone.\"\n\n\"We must have a cab.\"\n\n\"No, my brougham is waiting.\"\n\n\"Then that will simplify matters.\" We descended and started off\nonce more for Briony Lodge.\n\n\"Irene Adler is married,\" remarked Holmes.\n\n\"Married! When?\"\n\n\"Yesterday.\"\n\n\"But to whom?\"\n\n\"To an English lawyer named Norton.\"\n\n\"But she could not love him.\"\n\n\"I am in hopes that she does.\"\n\n\"And why in hopes?\"\n\n\"Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future\nannoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love your\nMajesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason\nwhy she should interfere with your Majesty's plan.\"\n\n\"It is true. And yet--Well! I wish she had been of my own\nstation! What a queen she would have made!\" He relapsed into a\nmoody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in\nSerpentine Avenue.\n\nThe door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood\nupon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped\nfrom the brougham.\n\n\"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?\" said she.\n\n\"I am Mr. Holmes,\" answered my companion, looking at her with a\nquestioning and rather startled gaze.\n\n\"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She\nleft this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing\nCross for the Continent.\"\n\n\"What!\" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and\nsurprise. \"Do you mean that she has left England?\"\n\n\"Never to return.\"\n\n\"And the papers?\" asked the King hoarsely. \"All is lost.\"\n\n\"We shall see.\" He pushed past the servant and rushed into the\ndrawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was\nscattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and\nopen drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before\nher flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small\nsliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a\nphotograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler\nherself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to\n\"Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for.\" My friend\ntore it open and we all three read it together. It was dated at\nmidnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:\n\n\"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,--You really did it very well. You\ntook me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a\nsuspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I\nbegan to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had\nbeen told that if the King employed an agent it would certainly\nbe you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this,\nyou made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became\nsuspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind\nold clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress\nmyself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage\nof the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to\nwatch you, ran up stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I call\nthem, and came down just as you departed.\n\n\"Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was\nreally an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and\nstarted for the Temple to see my husband.\n\n\"We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by\nso formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when\nyou call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in\npeace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may\ndo what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly\nwronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a\nweapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might\ntake in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to\npossess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\n\n                                      \"Very truly yours,\n                                   \"IRENE NORTON, nee ADLER.\"\n\n\"What a woman--oh, what a woman!\" cried the King of Bohemia, when\nwe had all three read this epistle. \"Did I not tell you how quick\nand resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen?\nIs it not a pity that she was not on my level?\"\n\n\"From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a\nvery different level to your Majesty,\" said Holmes coldly. \"I am\nsorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business\nto a more successful conclusion.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, my dear sir,\" cried the King; \"nothing could be\nmore successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The\nphotograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so.\"\n\n\"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can\nreward you. This ring--\" He slipped an emerald snake ring from\nhis finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.\n\n\"Your Majesty has something which I should value even more\nhighly,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"You have but to name it.\"\n\n\"This photograph!\"\n\nThe King stared at him in amazement.\n\n\"Irene's photograph!\" he cried. \"Certainly, if you wish it.\"\n\n\"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the\nmatter. I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning.\" He\nbowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the\nKing had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his\nchambers.\n\nAnd that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom\nof Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were\nbeaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the\ncleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And\nwhen he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her\nphotograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.\n\n\n\nADVENTURE II. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE\n\nI had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the\nautumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a\nvery stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair.\nWith an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when\nHolmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door\nbehind me.\n\n\"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear\nWatson,\" he said cordially.\n\n\"I was afraid that you were engaged.\"\n\n\"So I am. Very much so.\"\n\n\"Then I can wait in the next room.\"\n\n\"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and\nhelper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no\ndoubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also.\"\n\nThe stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of\ngreeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small\nfat-encircled eyes.\n\n\"Try the settee,\" said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and\nputting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in\njudicial moods. \"I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love\nof all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum\nroutine of everyday life. You have shown your relish for it by\nthe enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you\nwill excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own\nlittle adventures.\"\n\n\"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,\" I\nobserved.\n\n\"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we\nwent into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary\nSutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary\ncombinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more\ndaring than any effort of the imagination.\"\n\n\"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.\"\n\n\"You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my\nview, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you\nuntil your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to\nbe right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call\nupon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to\nbe one of the most singular which I have listened to for some\ntime. You have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique\nthings are very often connected not with the larger but with the\nsmaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for\ndoubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as I\nhave heard it is impossible for me to say whether the present\ncase is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is\ncertainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.\nPerhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to\nrecommence your narrative. I ask you not merely because my friend\nDr. Watson has not heard the opening part but also because the\npeculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every\npossible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some\nslight indication of the course of events, I am able to guide\nmyself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my\nmemory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the\nfacts are, to the best of my belief, unique.\"\n\nThe portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some\nlittle pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the\ninside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the\nadvertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paper\nflattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man and\nendeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the\nindications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.\n\nI did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor\nbore every mark of being an average commonplace British\ntradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy grey\nshepherd's check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat,\nunbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy\nAlbert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as\nan ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a\nwrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether,\nlook as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save\nhis blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and\ndiscontent upon his features.\n\nSherlock Holmes' quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook\nhis head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances.\n\"Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual\nlabour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has\nbeen in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of\nwriting lately, I can deduce nothing else.\"\n\nMr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger\nupon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.\n\n\"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr.\nHolmes?\" he asked. \"How did you know, for example, that I did\nmanual labour. It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's\ncarpenter.\"\n\n\"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger\nthan your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more\ndeveloped.\"\n\n\"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?\"\n\n\"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,\nespecially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you\nuse an arc-and-compass breastpin.\"\n\n\"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?\"\n\n\"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for\nfive inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the\nelbow where you rest it upon the desk?\"\n\n\"Well, but China?\"\n\n\"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right\nwrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small\nstudy of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature\nof the subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a\ndelicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I\nsee a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter\nbecomes even more simple.\"\n\nMr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. \"Well, I never!\" said he. \"I\nthought at first that you had done something clever, but I see\nthat there was nothing in it, after all.\"\n\n\"I begin to think, Watson,\" said Holmes, \"that I make a mistake\nin explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my\npoor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I\nam so candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have got it now,\" he answered with his thick red finger\nplanted halfway down the column. \"Here it is. This is what began\nit all. You just read it for yourself, sir.\"\n\nI took the paper from him and read as follows:\n\n\"TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late\nEzekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now\nanother vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a\nsalary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services. All\nred-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age\nof twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at\neleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7\nPope's Court, Fleet Street.\"\n\n\"What on earth does this mean?\" I ejaculated after I had twice\nread over the extraordinary announcement.\n\nHolmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when\nin high spirits. \"It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?\"\nsaid he. \"And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us\nall about yourself, your household, and the effect which this\nadvertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a note,\nDoctor, of the paper and the date.\"\n\n\"It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two months\nago.\"\n\n\"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?\"\n\n\"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes,\" said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; \"I have a small\npawnbroker's business at Coburg Square, near the City. It's not a\nvery large affair, and of late years it has not done more than\njust give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants,\nbut now I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him but\nthat he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the\nbusiness.\"\n\n\"What is the name of this obliging youth?\" asked Sherlock Holmes.\n\n\"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth,\neither. It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter\nassistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could better\nhimself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But, after\nall, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?\"\n\n\"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employe who\ncomes under the full market price. It is not a common experience\namong employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant is\nnot as remarkable as your advertisement.\"\n\n\"Oh, he has his faults, too,\" said Mr. Wilson. \"Never was such a\nfellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought\nto be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar\nlike a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his\nmain fault, but on the whole he's a good worker. There's no vice\nin him.\"\n\n\"He is still with you, I presume?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple\ncooking and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the\nhouse, for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very\nquietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads\nand pay our debts, if we do nothing more.\n\n\"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement.\nSpaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight\nweeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says:\n\n\"'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.'\n\n\"'Why that?' I asks.\n\n\"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of the\nRed-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who\ngets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than\nthere are men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end what\nto do with the money. If my hair would only change colour, here's\na nice little crib all ready for me to step into.'\n\n\"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a\nvery stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of\nmy having to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting\nmy foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what\nwas going on outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news.\n\n\"'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?' he\nasked with his eyes open.\n\n\"'Never.'\n\n\"'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one\nof the vacancies.'\n\n\"'And what are they worth?' I asked.\n\n\"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight,\nand it need not interfere very much with one's other\noccupations.'\n\n\"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears,\nfor the business has not been over-good for some years, and an\nextra couple of hundred would have been very handy.\n\n\"'Tell me all about it,' said I.\n\n\"'Well,' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for\nyourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address\nwhere you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out,\nthe League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah\nHopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself\nred-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men;\nso when he died it was found that he had left his enormous\nfortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the\ninterest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of\nthat colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to\ndo.'\n\n\"'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who\nwould apply.'\n\n\"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it is\nreally confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had\nstarted from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the\nold town a good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your\napplying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but\nreal bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr.\nWilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be\nworth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a\nfew hundred pounds.'\n\n\"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves,\nthat my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed\nto me that if there was to be any competition in the matter I\nstood as good a chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent\nSpaulding seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might\nprove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for\nthe day and to come right away with me. He was very willing to\nhave a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for\nthe address that was given us in the advertisement.\n\n\"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From\nnorth, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in\nhis hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement.\nFleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court\nlooked like a coster's orange barrow. I should not have thought\nthere were so many in the whole country as were brought together\nby that single advertisement. Every shade of colour they\nwere--straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay;\nbut, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real\nvivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I\nwould have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear\nof it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and\npulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up\nto the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream\nupon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back\ndejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found\nourselves in the office.\"\n\n\"Your experience has been a most entertaining one,\" remarked\nHolmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge\npinch of snuff. \"Pray continue your very interesting statement.\"\n\n\"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs\nand a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that\nwas even redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate\nas he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault in\nthem which would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem\nto be such a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn\ncame the little man was much more favourable to me than to any of\nthe others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he\nmight have a private word with us.\n\n\"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is\nwilling to fill a vacancy in the League.'\n\n\"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'He has\nevery requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so\nfine.' He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and\ngazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he\nplunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my\nsuccess.\n\n\"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will,\nhowever, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.'\nWith that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I\nyelled with the pain. 'There is water in your eyes,' said he as\nhe released me. 'I perceive that all is as it should be. But we\nhave to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and\nonce by paint. I could tell you tales of cobbler's wax which\nwould disgust you with human nature.' He stepped over to the\nwindow and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the\nvacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below,\nand the folk all trooped away in different directions until there\nwas not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the\nmanager.\n\n\"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of\nthe pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are\nyou a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?'\n\n\"I answered that I had not.\n\n\"His face fell immediately.\n\n\"'Dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I am\nsorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the\npropagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their\nmaintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a\nbachelor.'\n\n\"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was\nnot to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for\na few minutes he said that it would be all right.\n\n\"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be\nfatal, but we must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a\nhead of hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your\nnew duties?'\n\n\"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,'\nsaid I.\n\n\"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding.\n'I should be able to look after that for you.'\n\n\"'What would be the hours?' I asked.\n\n\"'Ten to two.'\n\n\"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr.\nHolmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just\nbefore pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in\nthe mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man,\nand that he would see to anything that turned up.\n\n\"'That would suit me very well,' said I. 'And the pay?'\n\n\"'Is 4 pounds a week.'\n\n\"'And the work?'\n\n\"'Is purely nominal.'\n\n\"'What do you call purely nominal?'\n\n\"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the\nbuilding, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole\nposition forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You\ndon't comply with the conditions if you budge from the office\nduring that time.'\n\n\"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,'\nsaid I.\n\n\"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross; 'neither sickness\nnor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose\nyour billet.'\n\n\"'And the work?'\n\n\"'Is to copy out the \"Encyclopaedia Britannica.\" There is the first\nvolume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and\nblotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be\nready to-morrow?'\n\n\"'Certainly,' I answered.\n\n\"'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you\nonce more on the important position which you have been fortunate\nenough to gain.' He bowed me out of the room and I went home with\nmy assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased\nat my own good fortune.\n\n\"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in\nlow spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the\nwhole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its\nobject might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past\nbelief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay\nsuch a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the\n'Encyclopaedia Britannica.' Vincent Spaulding did what he could to\ncheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the\nwhole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look\nat it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a\nquill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for\nPope's Court.\n\n\"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as\npossible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross\nwas there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off\nupon the letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from\ntime to time to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he\nbade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had\nwritten, and locked the door of the office after me.\n\n\"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the\nmanager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my\nweek's work. It was the same next week, and the same the week\nafter. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I\nleft at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only\nonce of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at\nall. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an\ninstant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet\nwas such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk\nthe loss of it.\n\n\"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about\nAbbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and\nhoped with diligence that I might get on to the B's before very\nlong. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly\nfilled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the whole\nbusiness came to an end.\"\n\n\"To an end?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as\nusual at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a\nlittle square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the\npanel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself.\"\n\nHe held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet\nof note-paper. It read in this fashion:\n\n                  THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE\n\n                           IS\n\n                        DISSOLVED.\n\n                     October 9, 1890.\n\nSherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the\nrueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so\ncompletely overtopped every other consideration that we both\nburst out into a roar of laughter.\n\n\"I cannot see that there is anything very funny,\" cried our\nclient, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. \"If you can\ndo nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from\nwhich he had half risen. \"I really wouldn't miss your case for\nthe world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you\nwill excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it.\nPray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the\ndoor?\"\n\n\"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called\nat the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything\nabout it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant\nliving on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me\nwhat had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had\nnever heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan\nRoss was. He answered that the name was new to him.\n\n\"'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'\n\n\"'What, the red-headed man?'\n\n\"'Yes.'\n\n\"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor\nand was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new\npremises were ready. He moved out yesterday.'\n\n\"'Where could I find him?'\n\n\"'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17\nKing Edward Street, near St. Paul's.'\n\n\"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was\na manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever\nheard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.\"\n\n\"And what did you do then?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my\nassistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say\nthat if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite\ngood enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place\nwithout a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough\nto give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right\naway to you.\"\n\n\"And you did very wisely,\" said Holmes. \"Your case is an\nexceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it.\nFrom what you have told me I think that it is possible that\ngraver issues hang from it than might at first sight appear.\"\n\n\"Grave enough!\" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. \"Why, I have lost four\npound a week.\"\n\n\"As far as you are personally concerned,\" remarked Holmes, \"I do\nnot see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary\nleague. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some\n30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have\ngained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You have\nlost nothing by them.\"\n\n\"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are,\nand what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a\nprank--upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it\ncost them two and thirty pounds.\"\n\n\"We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first,\none or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who\nfirst called your attention to the advertisement--how long had he\nbeen with you?\"\n\n\"About a month then.\"\n\n\"How did he come?\"\n\n\"In answer to an advertisement.\"\n\n\"Was he the only applicant?\"\n\n\"No, I had a dozen.\"\n\n\"Why did you pick him?\"\n\n\"Because he was handy and would come cheap.\"\n\n\"At half-wages, in fact.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?\"\n\n\"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,\nthough he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon\nhis forehead.\"\n\nHolmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. \"I thought\nas much,\" said he. \"Have you ever observed that his ears are\npierced for earrings?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he\nwas a lad.\"\n\n\"Hum!\" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. \"He is still\nwith you?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him.\"\n\n\"And has your business been attended to in your absence?\"\n\n\"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a\nmorning.\"\n\n\"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an\nopinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is\nSaturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.\"\n\n\"Well, Watson,\" said Holmes when our visitor had left us, \"what\ndo you make of it all?\"\n\n\"I make nothing of it,\" I answered frankly. \"It is a most\nmysterious business.\"\n\n\"As a rule,\" said Holmes, \"the more bizarre a thing is the less\nmysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless\ncrimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is\nthe most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this\nmatter.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do, then?\" I asked.\n\n\"To smoke,\" he answered. \"It is quite a three pipe problem, and I\nbeg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes.\" He curled\nhimself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his\nhawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his\nblack clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird.\nI had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and\nindeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his\nchair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put\nhis pipe down upon the mantelpiece.\n\n\"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon,\" he\nremarked. \"What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare\nyou for a few hours?\"\n\n\"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very\nabsorbing.\"\n\n\"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City\nfirst, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that\nthere is a good deal of German music on the programme, which is\nrather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is\nintrospective, and I want to introspect. Come along!\"\n\nWe travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short\nwalk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular\nstory which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky,\nlittle, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy\ntwo-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in\nenclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded\nlaurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and\nuncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with\n\"JABEZ WILSON\" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced\nthe place where our red-headed client carried on his business.\nSherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side\nand looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between\npuckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down\nagain to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally\nhe returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped vigorously\nupon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up\nto the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a\nbright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step\nin.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Holmes, \"I only wished to ask you how you would\ngo from here to the Strand.\"\n\n\"Third right, fourth left,\" answered the assistant promptly,\nclosing the door.\n\n\"Smart fellow, that,\" observed Holmes as we walked away. \"He is,\nin my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring\nI am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known\nsomething of him before.\"\n\n\"Evidently,\" said I, \"Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good\ndeal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you\ninquired your way merely in order that you might see him.\"\n\n\"Not him.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"The knees of his trousers.\"\n\n\"And what did you see?\"\n\n\"What I expected to see.\"\n\n\"Why did you beat the pavement?\"\n\n\"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We\nare spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg\nSquare. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.\"\n\nThe road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the\ncorner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a\ncontrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was\none of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City\nto the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense\nstream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward,\nwhile the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of\npedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we looked at the line\nof fine shops and stately business premises that they really\nabutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square\nwhich we had just quitted.\n\n\"Let me see,\" said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing\nalong the line, \"I should like just to remember the order of the\nhouses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of\nLondon. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little\nnewspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank,\nthe Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building\ndepot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now,\nDoctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. A\nsandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where\nall is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no\nred-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums.\"\n\nMy friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a\nvery capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All\nthe afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect\nhappiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the\nmusic, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes\nwere as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the\nrelentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was\npossible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature\nalternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and\nastuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction\nagainst the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally\npredominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from\nextreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was\nnever so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been\nlounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his\nblack-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase\nwould suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning\npower would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were\nunacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a\nman whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I saw him\nthat afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall I\nfelt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set\nhimself to hunt down.\n\n\"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor,\" he remarked as we\nemerged.\n\n\"Yes, it would be as well.\"\n\n\"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This\nbusiness at Coburg Square is serious.\"\n\n\"Why serious?\"\n\n\"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to\nbelieve that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being\nSaturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help\nto-night.\"\n\n\"At what time?\"\n\n\"Ten will be early enough.\"\n\n\"I shall be at Baker Street at ten.\"\n\n\"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger,\nso kindly put your army revolver in your pocket.\" He waved his\nhand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the\ncrowd.\n\nI trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was\nalways oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings\nwith Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had\nseen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that\nhe saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to\nhappen, while to me the whole business was still confused and\ngrotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought\nover it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed\ncopier of the \"Encyclopaedia\" down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg\nSquare, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me.\nWhat was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?\nWhere were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from\nHolmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a\nformidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I tried to\npuzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside\nuntil night should bring an explanation.\n\nIt was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my\nway across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker\nStreet. Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered\nthe passage I heard the sound of voices from above. On entering\nhis room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men,\none of whom I recognised as Peter Jones, the official police\nagent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a\nvery shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.\n\n\"Ha! Our party is complete,\" said Holmes, buttoning up his\npea-jacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack.\n\"Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me\nintroduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in\nto-night's adventure.\"\n\n\"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see,\" said Jones in\nhis consequential way. \"Our friend here is a wonderful man for\nstarting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do\nthe running down.\"\n\n\"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,\"\nobserved Mr. Merryweather gloomily.\n\n\"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir,\" said\nthe police agent loftily. \"He has his own little methods, which\nare, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical\nand fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It\nis not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of\nthe Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly\ncorrect than the official force.\"\n\n\"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right,\" said the\nstranger with deference. \"Still, I confess that I miss my rubber.\nIt is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I\nhave not had my rubber.\"\n\n\"I think you will find,\" said Sherlock Holmes, \"that you will\nplay for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and\nthat the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather,\nthe stake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it will\nbe the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands.\"\n\n\"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a\nyoung man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his\nprofession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than on\nany criminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young John\nClay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been\nto Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his fingers, and\nthough we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to\nfind the man himself. He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week,\nand be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next.\nI've been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him\nyet.\"\n\n\"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.\nI've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I\nagree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is\npast ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two\nwill take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the\nsecond.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive\nand lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in\nthe afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit\nstreets until we emerged into Farrington Street.\n\n\"We are close there now,\" my friend remarked. \"This fellow\nMerryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the\nmatter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is\nnot a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession.\nHe has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as\ntenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we\nare, and they are waiting for us.\"\n\nWe had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had\nfound ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and,\nfollowing the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a\nnarrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us.\nWithin there was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive\niron gate. This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding\nstone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. Mr.\nMerryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us\ndown a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a\nthird door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all\nround with crates and massive boxes.\n\n\"You are not very vulnerable from above,\" Holmes remarked as he\nheld up the lantern and gazed about him.\n\n\"Nor from below,\" said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon\nthe flags which lined the floor. \"Why, dear me, it sounds quite\nhollow!\" he remarked, looking up in surprise.\n\n\"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!\" said Holmes\nseverely. \"You have already imperilled the whole success of our\nexpedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit\ndown upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?\"\n\nThe solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a\nvery injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his\nknees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens,\nbegan to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few\nseconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again\nand put his glass in his pocket.\n\n\"We have at least an hour before us,\" he remarked, \"for they can\nhardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed.\nThen they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their\nwork the longer time they will have for their escape. We are at\npresent, Doctor--as no doubt you have divined--in the cellar of\nthe City branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr.\nMerryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to\nyou that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of\nLondon should take a considerable interest in this cellar at\npresent.\"\n\n\"It is our French gold,\" whispered the director. \"We have had\nseveral warnings that an attempt might be made upon it.\"\n\n\"Your French gold?\"\n\n\"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources\nand borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of\nFrance. It has become known that we have never had occasion to\nunpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The\ncrate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between\nlayers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much larger at\npresent than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the\ndirectors have had misgivings upon the subject.\"\n\n\"Which were very well justified,\" observed Holmes. \"And now it is\ntime that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an\nhour matters will come to a head. In the meantime Mr.\nMerryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern.\"\n\n\"And sit in the dark?\"\n\n\"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and\nI thought that, as we were a partie carree, you might have your\nrubber after all. But I see that the enemy's preparations have\ngone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And,\nfirst of all, we must choose our positions. These are daring men,\nand though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us\nsome harm unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate,\nand do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a\nlight upon them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no\ncompunction about shooting them down.\"\n\nI placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case\nbehind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front\nof his lantern and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute\ndarkness as I have never before experienced. The smell of hot\nmetal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready\nto flash out at a moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked\nup to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and\nsubduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the\nvault.\n\n\"They have but one retreat,\" whispered Holmes. \"That is back\nthrough the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have\ndone what I asked you, Jones?\"\n\n\"I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.\"\n\n\"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent\nand wait.\"\n\nWhat a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but\nan hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must\nhave almost gone and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs\nwere weary and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my\nnerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my\nhearing was so acute that I could not only hear the gentle\nbreathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper,\nheavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note\nof the bank director. From my position I could look over the case\nin the direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint\nof a light.\n\nAt first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then\nit lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then,\nwithout any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand\nappeared, a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the\ncentre of the little area of light. For a minute or more the\nhand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then\nit was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark\nagain save the single lurid spark which marked a chink between\nthe stones.\n\nIts disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending,\ntearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon\nits side and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed\nthe light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut,\nboyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand\non either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and\nwaist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In another\ninstant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after\nhim a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face\nand a shock of very red hair.\n\n\"It's all clear,\" he whispered. \"Have you the chisel and the\nbags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!\"\n\nSherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the\ncollar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of\nrending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed\nupon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes' hunting crop came\ndown on the man's wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone\nfloor.\n\n\"It's no use, John Clay,\" said Holmes blandly. \"You have no\nchance at all.\"\n\n\"So I see,\" the other answered with the utmost coolness. \"I fancy\nthat my pal is all right, though I see you have got his\ncoat-tails.\"\n\n\"There are three men waiting for him at the door,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I\nmust compliment you.\"\n\n\"And I you,\" Holmes answered. \"Your red-headed idea was very new\nand effective.\"\n\n\"You'll see your pal again presently,\" said Jones. \"He's quicker\nat climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the\nderbies.\"\n\n\"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,\"\nremarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists.\n\"You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have\nthe goodness, also, when you address me always to say 'sir' and\n'please.'\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Jones with a stare and a snigger. \"Well, would\nyou please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry\nyour Highness to the police-station?\"\n\n\"That is better,\" said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow\nto the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the\ndetective.\n\n\"Really, Mr. Holmes,\" said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them\nfrom the cellar, \"I do not know how the bank can thank you or\nrepay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated\nin the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts\nat bank robbery that have ever come within my experience.\"\n\n\"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr.\nJohn Clay,\" said Holmes. \"I have been at some small expense over\nthis matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond\nthat I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in\nmany ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of\nthe Red-headed League.\"\n\n\n\"You see, Watson,\" he explained in the early hours of the morning\nas we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, \"it\nwas perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible\nobject of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of\nthe League, and the copying of the 'Encyclopaedia,' must be to get\nthis not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of\nhours every day. It was a curious way of managing it, but,\nreally, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was\nno doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by the colour of his\naccomplice's hair. The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must draw\nhim, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands?\nThey put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporary\noffice, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it, and\ntogether they manage to secure his absence every morning in the\nweek. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come for\nhalf wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive\nfor securing the situation.\"\n\n\"But how could you guess what the motive was?\"\n\n\"Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a\nmere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The\nman's business was a small one, and there was nothing in his\nhouse which could account for such elaborate preparations, and\nsuch an expenditure as they were at. It must, then, be something\nout of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant's\nfondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the\ncellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clue. Then\nI made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I\nhad to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in\nLondon. He was doing something in the cellar--something which\ntook many hours a day for months on end. What could it be, once\nmore? I could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnel\nto some other building.\n\n\"So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I\nsurprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was\nascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind.\nIt was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the\nassistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had\nnever set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his\nface. His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have\nremarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of\nthose hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they\nwere burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and\nSuburban Bank abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that I\nhad solved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I\ncalled upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank\ndirectors, with the result that you have seen.\"\n\n\"And how could you tell that they would make their attempt\nto-night?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that\nthey cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--in other\nwords, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential\nthat they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the\nbullion might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than\nany other day, as it would give them two days for their escape.\nFor all these reasons I expected them to come to-night.\"\n\n\"You reasoned it out beautifully,\" I exclaimed in unfeigned\nadmiration. \"It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings\ntrue.\"\n\n\"It saved me from ennui,\" he answered, yawning. \"Alas! I already\nfeel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort\nto escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little\nproblems help me to do so.\"\n\n\"And you are a benefactor of the race,\" said I.\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders. \"Well, perhaps, after all, it is of\nsome little use,\" he remarked. \"'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvre\nc'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand.\"\n\n\n\nADVENTURE III. A CASE OF IDENTITY\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side\nof the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, \"life is infinitely\nstranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We\nwould not dare to conceive the things which are really mere\ncommonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window\nhand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the\nroofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the\nstrange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the\nwonderful chains of events, working through generations, and\nleading to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with\nits conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and\nunprofitable.\"\n\n\"And yet I am not convinced of it,\" I answered. \"The cases which\ncome to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and\nvulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to\nits extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed,\nneither fascinating nor artistic.\"\n\n\"A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a\nrealistic effect,\" remarked Holmes. \"This is wanting in the\npolice report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the\nplatitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an\nobserver contain the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend\nupon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace.\"\n\nI smiled and shook my head. \"I can quite understand your thinking\nso,\" I said. \"Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser\nand helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout\nthree continents, you are brought in contact with all that is\nstrange and bizarre. But here\"--I picked up the morning paper\nfrom the ground--\"let us put it to a practical test. Here is the\nfirst heading upon which I come. 'A husband's cruelty to his\nwife.' There is half a column of print, but I know without\nreading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of\ncourse, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the\nbruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of\nwriters could invent nothing more crude.\"\n\n\"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,\"\nsaid Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. \"This\nis the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged\nin clearing up some small points in connection with it. The\nhusband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the\nconduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of\nwinding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling\nthem at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely\nto occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a\npinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over\nyou in your example.\"\n\nHe held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in\nthe centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his\nhomely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon\nit.\n\n\"Ah,\" said he, \"I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks.\nIt is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my\nassistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers.\"\n\n\"And the ring?\" I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which\nsparkled upon his finger.\n\n\"It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in\nwhich I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it\neven to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of\nmy little problems.\"\n\n\"And have you any on hand just now?\" I asked with interest.\n\n\"Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of\ninterest. They are important, you understand, without being\ninteresting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in\nunimportant matters that there is a field for the observation,\nand for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the\ncharm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the\nsimpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is\nthe motive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter\nwhich has been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing\nwhich presents any features of interest. It is possible, however,\nthat I may have something better before very many minutes are\nover, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken.\"\n\nHe had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted\nblinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street.\nLooking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite\nthere stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck,\nand a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was\ntilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her\near. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous,\nhesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated\nbackward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove\nbuttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves\nthe bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp\nclang of the bell.\n\n\"I have seen those symptoms before,\" said Holmes, throwing his\ncigarette into the fire. \"Oscillation upon the pavement always\nmeans an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not sure\nthat the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet\neven here we may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously\nwronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom\nis a broken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is a love\nmatter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or\ngrieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts.\"\n\nAs he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons\nentered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself\nloomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed\nmerchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed\nher with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and,\nhaving closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked\nher over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was\npeculiar to him.\n\n\"Do you not find,\" he said, \"that with your short sight it is a\nlittle trying to do so much typewriting?\"\n\n\"I did at first,\" she answered, \"but now I know where the letters\nare without looking.\" Then, suddenly realising the full purport\nof his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear\nand astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. \"You've\nheard about me, Mr. Holmes,\" she cried, \"else how could you know\nall that?\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Holmes, laughing; \"it is my business to know\nthings. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others\noverlook. If not, why should you come to consult me?\"\n\n\"I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege,\nwhose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had\ngiven him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as\nmuch for me. I'm not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in\nmy own right, besides the little that I make by the machine, and\nI would give it all to know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\n\"Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?\" asked\nSherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to\nthe ceiling.\n\nAgain a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss\nMary Sutherland. \"Yes, I did bang out of the house,\" she said,\n\"for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr.\nWindibank--that is, my father--took it all. He would not go to\nthe police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he\nwould do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done,\nit made me mad, and I just on with my things and came right away\nto you.\"\n\n\"Your father,\" said Holmes, \"your stepfather, surely, since the\nname is different.\"\n\n\"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny,\ntoo, for he is only five years and two months older than myself.\"\n\n\"And your mother is alive?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr.\nHolmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and\na man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father\nwas a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy\nbusiness behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the\nforeman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the\nbusiness, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines.\nThey got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, which wasn't\nnear as much as father could have got if he had been alive.\"\n\nI had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this\nrambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he\nhad listened with the greatest concentration of attention.\n\n\"Your own little income,\" he asked, \"does it come out of the\nbusiness?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle\nNed in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per\ncent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can\nonly touch the interest.\"\n\n\"You interest me extremely,\" said Holmes. \"And since you draw so\nlarge a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the\nbargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in\nevery way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely\nupon an income of about 60 pounds.\"\n\n\"I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you\nunderstand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a\nburden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while\nI am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the\ntime. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it\nover to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I\nearn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can\noften do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day.\"\n\n\"You have made your position very clear to me,\" said Holmes.\n\"This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as\nfreely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your\nconnection with Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\nA flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked\nnervously at the fringe of her jacket. \"I met him first at the\ngasfitters' ball,\" she said. \"They used to send father tickets\nwhen he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and\nsent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He\nnever did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I\nwanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I\nwas set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to\nprevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all\nfather's friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing\nfit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much\nas taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing else would do,\nhe went off to France upon the business of the firm, but we went,\nmother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it\nwas there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" said Holmes, \"that when Mr. Windibank came back from\nFrance he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and\nshrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying\nanything to a woman, for she would have her way.\"\n\n\"I see. Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a\ngentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if\nwe had got home all safe, and after that we met him--that is to\nsay, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father\ncame back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the house\nany more.\"\n\n\"No?\"\n\n\"Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. He\nwouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to\nsay that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But\nthen, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to\nbegin with, and I had not got mine yet.\"\n\n\"But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see\nyou?\"\n\n\"Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer\nwrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each\nother until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he\nused to write every day. I took the letters in in the morning, so\nthere was no need for father to know.\"\n\n\"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that\nwe took. Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an office in\nLeadenhall Street--and--\"\n\n\"What office?\"\n\n\"That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don't know.\"\n\n\"Where did he live, then?\"\n\n\"He slept on the premises.\"\n\n\"And you don't know his address?\"\n\n\"No--except that it was Leadenhall Street.\"\n\n\"Where did you address your letters, then?\"\n\n\"To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called\nfor. He said that if they were sent to the office he would be\nchaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady,\nso I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn't\nhave that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to come\nfrom me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that the\nmachine had come between us. That will just show you how fond he\nwas of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would think\nof.\"\n\n\"It was most suggestive,\" said Holmes. \"It has long been an axiom\nof mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.\nCan you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel?\"\n\n\"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me\nin the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to\nbe conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his\nvoice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when he\nwas young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat,\nand a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. He was always\nwell dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just\nas mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare.\"\n\n\"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather,\nreturned to France?\"\n\n\"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we\nshould marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest\nand made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever\nhappened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quite\nright to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion.\nMother was all in his favour from the first and was even fonder\nof him than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the\nweek, I began to ask about father; but they both said never to\nmind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother\nsaid she would make it all right with him. I didn't quite like\nthat, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as\nhe was only a few years older than me; but I didn't want to do\nanything on the sly, so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the\ncompany has its French offices, but the letter came back to me on\nthe very morning of the wedding.\"\n\n\"It missed him, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived.\"\n\n\"Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for\nthe Friday. Was it to be in church?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour's, near\nKing's Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St.\nPancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were\ntwo of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a\nfour-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the\nstreet. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler\ndrove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and\nwhen the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one\nthere! The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become\nof him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was\nlast Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything\nsince then to throw any light upon what became of him.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,\" said\nHolmes.\n\n\"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all\nthe morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to\nbe true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to\nseparate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him,\nand that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. It seemed\nstrange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since\ngives a meaning to it.\"\n\n\"Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some\nunforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he\nwould not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw\nhappened.\"\n\n\"But you have no notion as to what it could have been?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"One more question. How did your mother take the matter?\"\n\n\"She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter\nagain.\"\n\n\"And your father? Did you tell him?\"\n\n\"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had\nhappened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said,\nwhat interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of\nthe church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my\nmoney, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him,\nthere might be some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about\nmoney and never would look at a shilling of mine. And yet, what\ncould have happened? And why could he not write? Oh, it drives me\nhalf-mad to think of it, and I can't sleep a wink at night.\" She\npulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob\nheavily into it.\n\n\"I shall glance into the case for you,\" said Holmes, rising, \"and\nI have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Let the\nweight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind\ndwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel\nvanish from your memory, as he has done from your life.\"\n\n\"Then you don't think I'll see him again?\"\n\n\"I fear not.\"\n\n\"Then what has happened to him?\"\n\n\"You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an\naccurate description of him and any letters of his which you can\nspare.\"\n\n\"I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle,\" said she.\n\"Here is the slip and here are four letters from him.\"\n\n\"Thank you. And your address?\"\n\n\"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell.\"\n\n\"Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your\nfather's place of business?\"\n\n\"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers\nof Fenchurch Street.\"\n\n\"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will\nleave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given\nyou. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it\nto affect your life.\"\n\n\"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be\ntrue to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back.\"\n\nFor all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was\nsomething noble in the simple faith of our visitor which\ncompelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon\nthe table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever\nshe might be summoned.\n\nSherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips\nstill pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him,\nand his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down\nfrom the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a\ncounsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with\nthe thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of\ninfinite languor in his face.\n\n\"Quite an interesting study, that maiden,\" he observed. \"I found\nher more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way,\nis rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you\nconsult my index, in Andover in '77, and there was something of\nthe sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however,\nthere were one or two details which were new to me. But the\nmaiden herself was most instructive.\"\n\n\"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite\ninvisible to me,\" I remarked.\n\n\"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to\nlook, and so you missed all that was important. I can never bring\nyou to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of\nthumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace.\nNow, what did you gather from that woman's appearance? Describe\nit.\"\n\n\"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a\nfeather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads\nsewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her\ndress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little\npurple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and\nwere worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn't\nobserve. She had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a\ngeneral air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable,\neasy-going way.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.\n\n\"'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have\nreally done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed\neverything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and\nyou have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to general\nimpressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My\nfirst glance is always at a woman's sleeve. In a man it is\nperhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you\nobserve, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most\nuseful material for showing traces. The double line a little\nabove the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table,\nwas beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type,\nleaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side\nof it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the\nbroadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her face, and,\nobserving the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I\nventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed\nto surprise her.\"\n\n\"It surprised me.\"\n\n\"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and\ninterested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots\nwhich she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were\nreally odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and\nthe other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower\nbuttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and\nfifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly\ndressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned,\nit is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry.\"\n\n\"And what else?\" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by\nmy friend's incisive reasoning.\n\n\"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving\nhome but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right\nglove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see\nthat both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had\nwritten in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been\nthis morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger.\nAll this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back\nto business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised\ndescription of Mr. Hosmer Angel?\"\n\nI held the little printed slip to the light.\n\n\"Missing,\" it said, \"on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman\nnamed Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height;\nstrongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in\nthe centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted\nglasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen,\nin black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert\nchain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over\nelastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office in\nLeadenhall Street. Anybody bringing--\"\n\n\"That will do,\" said Holmes. \"As to the letters,\" he continued,\nglancing over them, \"they are very commonplace. Absolutely no\nclue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There\nis one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike\nyou.\"\n\n\"They are typewritten,\" I remarked.\n\n\"Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the\nneat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date, you\nsee, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is\nrather vague. The point about the signature is very suggestive--in\nfact, we may call it conclusive.\"\n\n\"Of what?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it\nbears upon the case?\"\n\n\"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able\nto deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were\ninstituted.\"\n\n\"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters,\nwhich should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the\nother is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking\nhim whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow\nevening. It is just as well that we should do business with the\nmale relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the\nanswers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem\nupon the shelf for the interim.\"\n\nI had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers\nof reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that\nhe must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy\ndemeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he had\nbeen called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in\nthe case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler\nphotograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the\nSign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with\nthe Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle\nindeed which he could not unravel.\n\nI left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the\nconviction that when I came again on the next evening I would\nfind that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up\nto the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary\nSutherland.\n\nA professional case of great gravity was engaging my own\nattention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at\nthe bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six\no'clock that I found myself free and was able to spring into a\nhansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too\nlate to assist at the denouement of the little mystery. I found\nSherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin\nform curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable\narray of bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell\nof hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the\nchemical work which was so dear to him.\n\n\"Well, have you solved it?\" I asked as I entered.\n\n\"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta.\"\n\n\"No, no, the mystery!\" I cried.\n\n\"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon.\nThere was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said\nyesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback\nis that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel.\"\n\n\"Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss\nSutherland?\"\n\nThe question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet\nopened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the\npassage and a tap at the door.\n\n\"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank,\" said\nHolmes. \"He has written to me to say that he would be here at\nsix. Come in!\"\n\nThe man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some\nthirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a\nbland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and\npenetrating grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of\nus, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a\nslight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.\n\n\"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank,\" said Holmes. \"I think that\nthis typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an\nappointment with me for six o'clock?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not\nquite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland\nhas troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far\nbetter not to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite\nagainst my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable,\nimpulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily\ncontrolled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I\ndid not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the\nofficial police, but it is not pleasant to have a family\nmisfortune like this noised abroad. Besides, it is a useless\nexpense, for how could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" said Holmes quietly; \"I have every reason to\nbelieve that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\nMr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. \"I am\ndelighted to hear it,\" he said.\n\n\"It is a curious thing,\" remarked Holmes, \"that a typewriter has\nreally quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting. Unless\nthey are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some\nletters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one\nside. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that\nin every case there is some little slurring over of the 'e,' and\na slight defect in the tail of the 'r.' There are fourteen other\ncharacteristics, but those are the more obvious.\"\n\n\"We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office,\nand no doubt it is a little worn,\" our visitor answered, glancing\nkeenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.\n\n\"And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study,\nMr. Windibank,\" Holmes continued. \"I think of writing another\nlittle monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its\nrelation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some\nlittle attention. I have here four letters which purport to come\nfrom the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case, not\nonly are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you will\nobserve, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen\nother characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well.\"\n\nMr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. \"I\ncannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes,\"\nhe said. \"If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know\nwhen you have done it.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in\nthe door. \"I let you know, then, that I have caught him!\"\n\n\"What! where?\" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips\nand glancing about him like a rat in a trap.\n\n\"Oh, it won't do--really it won't,\" said Holmes suavely. \"There\nis no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too\ntransparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that\nit was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That's\nright! Sit down and let us talk it over.\"\n\nOur visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a\nglitter of moisture on his brow. \"It--it's not actionable,\" he\nstammered.\n\n\"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves,\nWindibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a\npetty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the\ncourse of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong.\"\n\nThe man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his\nbreast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up\non the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands\nin his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed,\nthan to us.\n\n\"The man married a woman very much older than himself for her\nmoney,\" said he, \"and he enjoyed the use of the money of the\ndaughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable\nsum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have\nmade a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it.\nThe daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate\nand warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with\nher fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would\nnot be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would\nmean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her\nstepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of\nkeeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of\npeople of her own age. But soon he found that that would not\nanswer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and\nfinally announced her positive intention of going to a certain\nball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an\nidea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the\nconnivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself,\ncovered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with\na moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice\ninto an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the\ngirl's short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off\nother lovers by making love himself.\"\n\n\"It was only a joke at first,\" groaned our visitor. \"We never\nthought that she would have been so carried away.\"\n\n\"Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was very\ndecidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that\nher stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery never\nfor an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by the\ngentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the\nloudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began\nto call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as\nfar as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There\nwere meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the\ngirl's affections from turning towards anyone else. But the\ndeception could not be kept up forever. These pretended journeys\nto France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was clearly to\nbring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it\nwould leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind and\nprevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to\ncome. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and\nhence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening\non the very morning of the wedding. James Windibank wished Miss\nSutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as to\nhis fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not\nlisten to another man. As far as the church door he brought her,\nand then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished\naway by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a\nfour-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was the chain of\nevents, Mr. Windibank!\"\n\nOur visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes\nhad been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold\nsneer upon his pale face.\n\n\"It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, \"but if you\nare so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is\nyou who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing\nactionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door\nlocked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal\nconstraint.\"\n\n\"The law cannot, as you say, touch you,\" said Holmes, unlocking\nand throwing open the door, \"yet there never was a man who\ndeserved punishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a\nfriend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove!\"\nhe continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon\nthe man's face, \"it is not part of my duties to my client, but\nhere's a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat\nmyself to--\" He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he\ncould grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs,\nthe heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see Mr.\nJames Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.\n\n\"There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!\" said Holmes, laughing, as he\nthrew himself down into his chair once more. \"That fellow will\nrise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and\nends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not\nentirely devoid of interest.\"\n\n\"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning,\" I\nremarked.\n\n\"Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr.\nHosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curious\nconduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really\nprofited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the\nstepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never together,\nbut that the one always appeared when the other was away, was\nsuggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice,\nwhich both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My\nsuspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in\ntypewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that his\nhandwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise even\nthe smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated facts,\ntogether with many minor ones, all pointed in the same\ndirection.\"\n\n\"And how did you verify them?\"\n\n\"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I\nknew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed\ndescription. I eliminated everything from it which could be the\nresult of a disguise--the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I\nsent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me\nwhether it answered to the description of any of their\ntravellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the\ntypewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business\naddress asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his\nreply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but\ncharacteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from\nWesthouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the\ndescription tallied in every respect with that of their employe,\nJames Windibank. Voila tout!\"\n\n\"And Miss Sutherland?\"\n\n\"If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old\nPersian saying, 'There is danger for him who taketh the tiger\ncub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.'\nThere is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much\nknowledge of the world.\"\n\n\n\nADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY\n\nWe were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the\nmaid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran\nin this way:\n\n\"Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from\nthe west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy.\nShall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect.\nLeave Paddington by the 11:15.\"\n\n\"What do you say, dear?\" said my wife, looking across at me.\n\"Will you go?\"\n\n\"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at\npresent.\"\n\n\"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking\na little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good,\nand you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases.\"\n\n\"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained\nthrough one of them,\" I answered. \"But if I am to go, I must pack\nat once, for I have only half an hour.\"\n\nMy experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the\neffect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were\nfew and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a\ncab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock\nHolmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt\nfigure made even gaunter and taller by his long grey\ntravelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.\n\n\"It is really very good of you to come, Watson,\" said he. \"It\nmakes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on\nwhom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless\nor else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall\nget the tickets.\"\n\nWe had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of\npapers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged\nand read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until\nwe were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a\ngigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.\n\n\"Have you heard anything of the case?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days.\"\n\n\"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just\nbeen looking through all the recent papers in order to master the\nparticulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those\nsimple cases which are so extremely difficult.\"\n\n\"That sounds a little paradoxical.\"\n\n\"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a\nclue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more\ndifficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they\nhave established a very serious case against the son of the\nmurdered man.\"\n\n\"It is a murder, then?\"\n\n\"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for\ngranted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into\nit. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have\nbeen able to understand it, in a very few words.\n\n\"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in\nHerefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a\nMr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned\nsome years ago to the old country. One of the farms which he\nheld, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was\nalso an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the\ncolonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to\nsettle down they should do so as near each other as possible.\nTurner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his\ntenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect\nequality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son,\na lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same\nage, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to have\navoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to\nhave led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of\nsport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the\nneighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.\nTurner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the\nleast. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the\nfamilies. Now for the facts.\n\n\"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at\nHatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the\nBoscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out\nof the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been\nout with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told\nthe man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of\nimportance to keep at three. From that appointment he never came\nback alive.\n\n\"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a\nmile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One\nwas an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was\nWilliam Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both\nthese witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The\ngame-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr.\nMcCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the\nsame way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, the\nfather was actually in sight at the time, and the son was\nfollowing him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard in\nthe evening of the tragedy that had occurred.\n\n\"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder,\nthe game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly\nwooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the\nedge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of\nthe lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the\nwoods picking flowers. She states that while she was there she\nsaw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr.\nMcCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a\nviolent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very\nstrong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his\nhand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by their\nviolence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached\nhome that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near\nBoscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to\nfight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came\nrunning up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead\nin the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He was\nmuch excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right\nhand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On\nfollowing him they found the dead body stretched out upon the\ngrass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated\nblows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such as\nmight very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son's\ngun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the\nbody. Under these circumstances the young man was instantly\narrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' having been returned\nat the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before the\nmagistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next\nAssizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out\nbefore the coroner and the police-court.\"\n\n\"I could hardly imagine a more damning case,\" I remarked. \"If\never circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so\nhere.\"\n\n\"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing,\" answered Holmes\nthoughtfully. \"It may seem to point very straight to one thing,\nbut if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it\npointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something\nentirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the case\nlooks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very\npossible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several people\nin the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the\ndaughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his\ninnocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect\nin connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in\nhis interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the\ncase to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are\nflying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly\ndigesting their breakfasts at home.\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" said I, \"that the facts are so obvious that you\nwill find little credit to be gained out of this case.\"\n\n\"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact,\" he\nanswered, laughing. \"Besides, we may chance to hit upon some\nother obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to\nMr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boasting\nwhen I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his theory by\nmeans which he is quite incapable of employing, or even of\nunderstanding. To take the first example to hand, I very clearly\nperceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand\nside, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have noted\neven so self-evident a thing as that.\"\n\n\"How on earth--\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness\nwhich characterises you. You shave every morning, and in this\nseason you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less\nand less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until\nit becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the\njaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated\nthan the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking\nat himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a\nresult. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and\ninference. Therein lies my metier, and it is just possible that\nit may be of some service in the investigation which lies before\nus. There are one or two minor points which were brought out in\nthe inquest, and which are worth considering.\"\n\n\"What are they?\"\n\n\"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after\nthe return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary\ninforming him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not\nsurprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.\nThis observation of his had the natural effect of removing any\ntraces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the\ncoroner's jury.\"\n\n\"It was a confession,\" I ejaculated.\n\n\"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence.\"\n\n\"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at\nleast a most suspicious remark.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" said Holmes, \"it is the brightest rift which I\ncan at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be,\nhe could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the\ncircumstances were very black against him. Had he appeared\nsurprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I\nshould have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such\nsurprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances,\nand yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. His\nfrank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent\nman, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and\nfirmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not\nunnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of\nhis father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day\nso far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and\neven, according to the little girl whose evidence is so\nimportant, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The\nself-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark\nappear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a\nguilty one.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Many men have been hanged on far slighter\nevidence,\" I remarked.\n\n\"So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged.\"\n\n\"What is the young man's own account of the matter?\"\n\n\"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters,\nthough there are one or two points in it which are suggestive.\nYou will find it here, and may read it for yourself.\"\n\nHe picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire\npaper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the\nparagraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own\nstatement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the\ncorner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this\nway:\n\n\"Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called\nand gave evidence as follows: 'I had been away from home for\nthree days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the\nmorning of last Monday, the 3rd. My father was absent from home at\nthe time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he\nhad driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after\nmy return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and,\nlooking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out\nof the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was\ngoing. I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of\nthe Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit\nwarren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw William\nCrowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but\nhe is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I had\nno idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yards\nfrom the pool I heard a cry of \"Cooee!\" which was a usual signal\nbetween my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found\nhim standing by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at\nseeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A\nconversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows,\nfor my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeing that his\npassion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned\ntowards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards,\nhowever, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me\nto run back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground,\nwith his head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in\nmy arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for\nsome minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-keeper,\nhis house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one\nnear my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by\nhis injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and\nforbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no\nactive enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.'\n\n\"The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before\nhe died?\n\n\"Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some\nallusion to a rat.\n\n\"The Coroner: What did you understand by that?\n\n\"Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was\ndelirious.\n\n\"The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father\nhad this final quarrel?\n\n\"Witness: I should prefer not to answer.\n\n\"The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.\n\n\"Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can\nassure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which\nfollowed.\n\n\"The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point\nout to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case\nconsiderably in any future proceedings which may arise.\n\n\"Witness: I must still refuse.\n\n\"The Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a common\nsignal between you and your father?\n\n\"Witness: It was.\n\n\"The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw\nyou, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?\n\n\"Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.\n\n\"A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions\nwhen you returned on hearing the cry and found your father\nfatally injured?\n\n\"Witness: Nothing definite.\n\n\"The Coroner: What do you mean?\n\n\"Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into\nthe open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet\nI have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay\nupon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be\nsomething grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps.\nWhen I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was\ngone.\n\n\"'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?'\n\n\"'Yes, it was gone.'\n\n\"'You cannot say what it was?'\n\n\"'No, I had a feeling something was there.'\n\n\"'How far from the body?'\n\n\"'A dozen yards or so.'\n\n\"'And how far from the edge of the wood?'\n\n\"'About the same.'\n\n\"'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen\nyards of it?'\n\n\"'Yes, but with my back towards it.'\n\n\"This concluded the examination of the witness.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said I as I glanced down the column, \"that the coroner\nin his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy.\nHe calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his\nfather having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his\nrefusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and\nhis singular account of his father's dying words. They are all,\nas he remarks, very much against the son.\"\n\nHolmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon\nthe cushioned seat. \"Both you and the coroner have been at some\npains,\" said he, \"to single out the very strongest points in the\nyoung man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately give him\ncredit for having too much imagination and too little? Too\nlittle, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would\ngive him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from\nhis own inner consciousness anything so outre as a dying\nreference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No,\nsir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what\nthis young man says is true, and we shall see whither that\nhypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and\nnot another word shall I say of this case until we are on the\nscene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be\nthere in twenty minutes.\"\n\nIt was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through\nthe beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn,\nfound ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A\nlean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for\nus upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and\nleather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic\nsurroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of\nScotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a\nroom had already been engaged for us.\n\n\"I have ordered a carriage,\" said Lestrade as we sat over a cup\nof tea. \"I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be\nhappy until you had been on the scene of the crime.\"\n\n\"It was very nice and complimentary of you,\" Holmes answered. \"It\nis entirely a question of barometric pressure.\"\n\nLestrade looked startled. \"I do not quite follow,\" he said.\n\n\"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud\nin the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need\nsmoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country\nhotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I\nshall use the carriage to-night.\"\n\nLestrade laughed indulgently. \"You have, no doubt, already formed\nyour conclusions from the newspapers,\" he said. \"The case is as\nplain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer\nit becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a\nvery positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your\nopinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing\nwhich you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my\nsoul! here is her carriage at the door.\"\n\nHe had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the\nmost lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her\nviolet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her\ncheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her\noverpowering excitement and concern.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!\" she cried, glancing from one to the\nother of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition,\nfastening upon my companion, \"I am so glad that you have come. I\nhave driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it.\nI know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it,\ntoo. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each\nother since we were little children, and I know his faults as no\none else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a\ncharge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.\"\n\n\"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner,\" said Sherlock Holmes.\n\"You may rely upon my doing all that I can.\"\n\n\"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion?\nDo you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself\nthink that he is innocent?\"\n\n\"I think that it is very probable.\"\n\n\"There, now!\" she cried, throwing back her head and looking\ndefiantly at Lestrade. \"You hear! He gives me hopes.\"\n\nLestrade shrugged his shoulders. \"I am afraid that my colleague\nhas been a little quick in forming his conclusions,\" he said.\n\n\"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did\nit. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the\nreason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because\nI was concerned in it.\"\n\n\"In what way?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had\nmany disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that\nthere should be a marriage between us. James and I have always\nloved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young\nand has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, he\nnaturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there\nwere quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them.\"\n\n\"And your father?\" asked Holmes. \"Was he in favour of such a\nunion?\"\n\n\"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in\nfavour of it.\" A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as\nHolmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.\n\n\"Thank you for this information,\" said he. \"May I see your father\nif I call to-morrow?\"\n\n\"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it.\"\n\n\"The doctor?\"\n\n\"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for\nyears back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken\nto his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his\nnervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive\nwho had known dad in the old days in Victoria.\"\n\n\"Ha! In Victoria! That is important.\"\n\n\"Yes, at the mines.\"\n\n\"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner\nmade his money.\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to\nme.\"\n\n\"You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you\nwill go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do\ntell him that I know him to be innocent.\"\n\n\"I will, Miss Turner.\"\n\n\"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if\nI leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking.\" She\nhurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we\nheard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.\n\n\"I am ashamed of you, Holmes,\" said Lestrade with dignity after a\nfew minutes' silence. \"Why should you raise up hopes which you\nare bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I\ncall it cruel.\"\n\n\"I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy,\" said\nHolmes. \"Have you an order to see him in prison?\"\n\n\"Yes, but only for you and me.\"\n\n\"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have\nstill time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?\"\n\n\"Ample.\"\n\n\"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very\nslow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours.\"\n\nI walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through\nthe streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel,\nwhere I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a\nyellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin,\nhowever, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were\ngroping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the\naction to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and\ngave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the\nday. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were\nabsolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely\nunforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between\nthe time when he parted from his father, and the moment when,\ndrawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was\nsomething terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the\nnature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts?\nI rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which\ncontained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's\ndeposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left\nparietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been\nshattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot\nupon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from\nbehind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when\nseen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it\ndid not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his\nback before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call\nHolmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying\nreference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be\ndelirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become\ndelirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how\nhe met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my\nbrains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident\nof the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the\nmurderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his\novercoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to\nreturn and to carry it away at the instant when the son was\nkneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What a\ntissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I\ndid not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith\nin Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose hope as long\nas every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young\nMcCarthy's innocence.\n\nIt was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone,\nfor Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.\n\n\"The glass still keeps very high,\" he remarked as he sat down.\n\"It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able\nto go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his\nvery best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not\nwish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young\nMcCarthy.\"\n\n\"And what did you learn from him?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Could he throw no light?\"\n\n\"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew\nwho had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced\nnow that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very\nquick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think,\nsound at heart.\"\n\n\"I cannot admire his taste,\" I remarked, \"if it is indeed a fact\nthat he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as\nthis Miss Turner.\"\n\n\"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,\ninsanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was\nonly a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away\nfive years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get\ninto the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a\nregistry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can\nimagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not\ndoing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows\nto be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort\nwhich made him throw his hands up into the air when his father,\nat their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss\nTurner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself,\nand his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would\nhave thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was with\nhis barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in\nBristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that\npoint. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however,\nfor the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious\ntrouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and\nhas written to him to say that she has a husband already in the\nBermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I\nthink that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all\nthat he has suffered.\"\n\n\"But if he is innocent, who has done it?\"\n\n\"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two\npoints. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with\nsomeone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his\nson, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would\nreturn. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry\n'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the\ncrucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk\nabout George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all\nminor matters until to-morrow.\"\n\nThere was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke\nbright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with\nthe carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe\nPool.\n\n\"There is serious news this morning,\" Lestrade observed. \"It is\nsaid that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is\ndespaired of.\"\n\n\"An elderly man, I presume?\" said Holmes.\n\n\"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life\nabroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This\nbusiness has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend\nof McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I\nhave learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free.\"\n\n\"Indeed! That is interesting,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody\nabout here speaks of his kindness to him.\"\n\n\"Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this\nMcCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have\nbeen under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of\nmarrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably,\nheiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner,\nas if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would\nfollow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself\nwas averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not\ndeduce something from that?\"\n\n\"We have got to the deductions and the inferences,\" said\nLestrade, winking at me. \"I find it hard enough to tackle facts,\nHolmes, without flying away after theories and fancies.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said Holmes demurely; \"you do find it very hard\nto tackle the facts.\"\n\n\"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it\ndifficult to get hold of,\" replied Lestrade with some warmth.\n\n\"And that is--\"\n\n\"That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that\nall theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine.\"\n\n\"Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog,\" said Holmes,\nlaughing. \"But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley\nFarm upon the left.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is it.\" It was a widespread, comfortable-looking\nbuilding, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches\nof lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless\nchimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight\nof this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door,\nwhen the maid, at Holmes' request, showed us the boots which her\nmaster wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the\nson's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured\nthese very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes\ndesired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed\nthe winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.\n\nSherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent\nas this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of\nBaker Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushed\nand darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines,\nwhile his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.\nHis face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips\ncompressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long,\nsinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal\nlust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated\nupon the matter before him that a question or remark fell\nunheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick,\nimpatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way\nalong the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of\nthe woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is\nall that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon\nthe path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either\nside. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and\nonce he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and\nI walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous,\nwhile I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the\nconviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a\ndefinite end.\n\nThe Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water\nsome fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the\nHatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner.\nAbove the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see\nthe red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich\nlandowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods\ngrew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass\ntwenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds\nwhich lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which\nthe body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground,\nthat I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the\nfall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager\nface and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read\nupon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking\nup a scent, and then turned upon my companion.\n\n\"What did you go into the pool for?\" he asked.\n\n\"I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon\nor other trace. But how on earth--\"\n\n\"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its\ninward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and\nthere it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all\nhave been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo\nand wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the\nlodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or\neight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of\nthe same feet.\" He drew out a lens and lay down upon his\nwaterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to\nhimself than to us. \"These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice he\nwas walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are\ndeeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his\nstory. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are\nthe father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It\nis the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this?\nHa, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite\nunusual boots! They come, they go, they come again--of course\nthat was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?\" He ran up\nand down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we\nwere well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a\ngreat beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced\nhis way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon\nhis face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he\nremained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks,\ngathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and\nexamining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of\nthe tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among\nthe moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then\nhe followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the\nhighroad, where all traces were lost.\n\n\"It has been a case of considerable interest,\" he remarked,\nreturning to his natural manner. \"I fancy that this grey house on\nthe right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a\nword with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done\nthat, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab,\nand I shall be with you presently.\"\n\nIt was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove\nback into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he\nhad picked up in the wood.\n\n\"This may interest you, Lestrade,\" he remarked, holding it out.\n\"The murder was done with it.\"\n\n\"I see no marks.\"\n\n\"There are none.\"\n\n\"How do you know, then?\"\n\n\"The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few\ndays. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It\ncorresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other\nweapon.\"\n\n\"And the murderer?\"\n\n\"Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears\nthick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian\ncigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his\npocket. There are several other indications, but these may be\nenough to aid us in our search.\"\n\nLestrade laughed. \"I am afraid that I am still a sceptic,\" he\nsaid. \"Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a\nhard-headed British jury.\"\n\n\"Nous verrons,\" answered Holmes calmly. \"You work your own\nmethod, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon,\nand shall probably return to London by the evening train.\"\n\n\"And leave your case unfinished?\"\n\n\"No, finished.\"\n\n\"But the mystery?\"\n\n\"It is solved.\"\n\n\"Who was the criminal, then?\"\n\n\"The gentleman I describe.\"\n\n\"But who is he?\"\n\n\"Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a\npopulous neighbourhood.\"\n\nLestrade shrugged his shoulders. \"I am a practical man,\" he said,\n\"and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking\nfor a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the\nlaughing-stock of Scotland Yard.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Holmes quietly. \"I have given you the chance.\nHere are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before\nI leave.\"\n\nHaving left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where\nwe found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in\nthought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds\nhimself in a perplexing position.\n\n\"Look here, Watson,\" he said when the cloth was cleared \"just sit\ndown in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don't\nknow quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a\ncigar and let me expound.\"\n\n \"Pray do so.\"\n\n\"Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about\nyoung McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly,\nalthough they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One\nwas the fact that his father should, according to his account,\ncry 'Cooee!' before seeing him. The other was his singular dying\nreference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but\nthat was all that caught the son's ear. Now from this double\npoint our research must commence, and we will begin it by\npresuming that what the lad says is absolutely true.\"\n\n\"What of this 'Cooee!' then?\"\n\n\"Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The\nson, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that\nhe was within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the\nattention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But\n'Cooee' is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used\nbetween Australians. There is a strong presumption that the\nperson whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was\nsomeone who had been in Australia.\"\n\n\"What of the rat, then?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened\nit out on the table. \"This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,\"\nhe said. \"I wired to Bristol for it last night.\" He put his hand\nover part of the map. \"What do you read?\"\n\n\"ARAT,\" I read.\n\n\"And now?\" He raised his hand.\n\n\"BALLARAT.\"\n\n\"Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his\nson only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter\nthe name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat.\"\n\n\"It is wonderful!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down\nconsiderably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point\nwhich, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a\ncertainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite\nconception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only\nbe approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could\nhardly wander.\"\n\n\"Quite so.\"\n\n\"Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the\nground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that\nimbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal.\"\n\n\"But how did you gain them?\"\n\n\"You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of\ntrifles.\"\n\n\"His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length\nof his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces.\"\n\n\"Yes, they were peculiar boots.\"\n\n\"But his lameness?\"\n\n\"The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than\nhis left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped--he\nwas lame.\"\n\n\"But his left-handedness.\"\n\n\"You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded\nby the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from\nimmediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can\nthat be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind\nthat tree during the interview between the father and son. He had\neven smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special\nknowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indian\ncigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and\nwritten a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different\nvarieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the\nash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss\nwhere he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety\nwhich are rolled in Rotterdam.\"\n\n\"And the cigar-holder?\"\n\n\"I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he\nused a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the\ncut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife.\"\n\n\"Holmes,\" I said, \"you have drawn a net round this man from which\nhe cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as\ntruly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the\ndirection in which all this points. The culprit is--\"\n\n\"Mr. John Turner,\" cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of\nour sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.\n\nThe man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His\nslow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of\ndecrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and\nhis enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual\nstrength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled\nhair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air\nof dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an\nashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were\ntinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that\nhe was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.\n\n\"Pray sit down on the sofa,\" said Holmes gently. \"You had my\nnote?\"\n\n\"Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to\nsee me here to avoid scandal.\"\n\n\"I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall.\"\n\n\"And why did you wish to see me?\" He looked across at my\ncompanion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question\nwas already answered.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. \"It\nis so. I know all about McCarthy.\"\n\nThe old man sank his face in his hands. \"God help me!\" he cried.\n\"But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you\nmy word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at\nthe Assizes.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear you say so,\" said Holmes gravely.\n\n\"I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It\nwould break her heart--it will break her heart when she hears\nthat I am arrested.\"\n\n\"It may not come to that,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter\nwho required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests.\nYoung McCarthy must be got off, however.\"\n\n\"I am a dying man,\" said old Turner. \"I have had diabetes for\nyears. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a\nmonth. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a gaol.\"\n\nHolmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand\nand a bundle of paper before him. \"Just tell us the truth,\" he\nsaid. \"I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson\nhere can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the\nlast extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall\nnot use it unless it is absolutely needed.\"\n\n\"It's as well,\" said the old man; \"it's a question whether I\nshall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I\nshould wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the\nthing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but\nwill not take me long to tell.\n\n\"You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil\nincarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of\nsuch a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years,\nand he has blasted my life. I'll tell you first how I came to be\nin his power.\n\n\"It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chap\nthen, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at\nanything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck\nwith my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you\nwould call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and\nwe had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time\nto time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings.\nBlack Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party\nis still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.\n\n\"One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and\nwe lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers\nand six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of\ntheir saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed,\nhowever, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of\nthe wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the\nLord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his\nwicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every\nfeature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made\nour way over to England without being suspected. There I parted\nfrom my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and\nrespectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in\nthe market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money,\nto make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too,\nand though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice.\nEven when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down\nthe right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned\nover a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was\ngoing well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.\n\n\"I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in\nRegent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his\nfoot.\n\n\"'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll be\nas good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, and\nyou can have the keeping of us. If you don't--it's a fine,\nlaw-abiding country is England, and there's always a policeman\nwithin hail.'\n\n\"Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking\nthem off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land\never since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness;\nturn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my\nelbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more\nafraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he\nwanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without\nquestion, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing\nwhich I could not give. He asked for Alice.\n\n\"His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was\nknown to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that\nhis lad should step into the whole property. But there I was\nfirm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that\nI had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that\nwas enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do\nhis worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses\nto talk it over.\n\n\"When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I\nsmoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone.\nBut as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in\nme seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my\ndaughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she\nwere a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I\nand all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a\nman as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and\na desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb,\nI knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl!\nBoth could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I\ndid it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned,\nI have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl\nshould be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more\nthan I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction\nthan if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought\nback his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I\nwas forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in\nmy flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that\noccurred.\"\n\n\"Well, it is not for me to judge you,\" said Holmes as the old man\nsigned the statement which had been drawn out. \"I pray that we\nmay never be exposed to such a temptation.\"\n\n\"I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?\"\n\n\"In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you\nwill soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the\nAssizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is\ncondemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be\nseen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or\ndead, shall be safe with us.\"\n\n\"Farewell, then,\" said the old man solemnly. \"Your own deathbeds,\nwhen they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace\nwhich you have given to mine.\" Tottering and shaking in all his\ngiant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.\n\n\"God help us!\" said Holmes after a long silence. \"Why does fate\nplay such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such\na case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say,\n'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.'\"\n\nJames McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a\nnumber of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and\nsubmitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven\nmonths after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is\nevery prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily\ntogether in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their\npast.\n\n\n\nADVENTURE V. THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS\n\nWhen I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes\ncases between the years '82 and '90, I am faced by so many which\npresent strange and interesting features that it is no easy\nmatter to know which to choose and which to leave. Some, however,\nhave already gained publicity through the papers, and others have\nnot offered a field for those peculiar qualities which my friend\npossessed in so high a degree, and which it is the object of\nthese papers to illustrate. Some, too, have baffled his\nanalytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without\nan ending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and\nhave their explanations founded rather upon conjecture and\nsurmise than on that absolute logical proof which was so dear to\nhim. There is, however, one of these last which was so remarkable\nin its details and so startling in its results that I am tempted\nto give some account of it in spite of the fact that there are\npoints in connection with it which never have been, and probably\nnever will be, entirely cleared up.\n\nThe year '87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater\nor less interest, of which I retain the records. Among my\nheadings under this one twelve months I find an account of the\nadventure of the Paradol Chamber, of the Amateur Mendicant\nSociety, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a\nfurniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the\nBritish barque \"Sophy Anderson\", of the singular adventures of the\nGrice Patersons in the island of Uffa, and finally of the\nCamberwell poisoning case. In the latter, as may be remembered,\nSherlock Holmes was able, by winding up the dead man's watch, to\nprove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that\ntherefore the deceased had gone to bed within that time--a\ndeduction which was of the greatest importance in clearing up the\ncase. All these I may sketch out at some future date, but none of\nthem present such singular features as the strange train of\ncircumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe.\n\nIt was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales\nhad set in with exceptional violence. All day the wind had\nscreamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that\neven here in the heart of great, hand-made London we were forced\nto raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and\nto recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which\nshriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like\nuntamed beasts in a cage. As evening drew in, the storm grew\nhigher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in\nthe chimney. Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the\nfireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while I at the\nother was deep in one of Clark Russell's fine sea-stories until\nthe howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text,\nand the splash of the rain to lengthen out into the long swash of\nthe sea waves. My wife was on a visit to her mother's, and for a\nfew days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker\nStreet.\n\n\"Why,\" said I, glancing up at my companion, \"that was surely the\nbell. Who could come to-night? Some friend of yours, perhaps?\"\n\n\"Except yourself I have none,\" he answered. \"I do not encourage\nvisitors.\"\n\n\"A client, then?\"\n\n\"If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less would bring a man out\non such a day and at such an hour. But I take it that it is more\nlikely to be some crony of the landlady's.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there\ncame a step in the passage and a tapping at the door. He\nstretched out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and\ntowards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit.\n\n\"Come in!\" said he.\n\nThe man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the\noutside, well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of\nrefinement and delicacy in his bearing. The streaming umbrella\nwhich he held in his hand, and his long shining waterproof told\nof the fierce weather through which he had come. He looked about\nhim anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and I could see that his\nface was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is\nweighed down with some great anxiety.\n\n\"I owe you an apology,\" he said, raising his golden pince-nez to\nhis eyes. \"I trust that I am not intruding. I fear that I have\nbrought some traces of the storm and rain into your snug\nchamber.\"\n\n\"Give me your coat and umbrella,\" said Holmes. \"They may rest\nhere on the hook and will be dry presently. You have come up from\nthe south-west, I see.\"\n\n\"Yes, from Horsham.\"\n\n\"That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps is\nquite distinctive.\"\n\n\"I have come for advice.\"\n\n\"That is easily got.\"\n\n\"And help.\"\n\n\"That is not always so easy.\"\n\n\"I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast\nhow you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal.\"\n\n\"Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards.\"\n\n\"He said that you could solve anything.\"\n\n\"He said too much.\"\n\n\"That you are never beaten.\"\n\n\"I have been beaten four times--three times by men, and once by a\nwoman.\"\n\n\"But what is that compared with the number of your successes?\"\n\n\"It is true that I have been generally successful.\"\n\n\"Then you may be so with me.\"\n\n\"I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me\nwith some details as to your case.\"\n\n\"It is no ordinary one.\"\n\n\"None of those which come to me are. I am the last court of\nappeal.\"\n\n\"And yet I question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you\nhave ever listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of\nevents than those which have happened in my own family.\"\n\n\"You fill me with interest,\" said Holmes. \"Pray give us the\nessential facts from the commencement, and I can afterwards\nquestion you as to those details which seem to me to be most\nimportant.\"\n\nThe young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out\ntowards the blaze.\n\n\"My name,\" said he, \"is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have,\nas far as I can understand, little to do with this awful\nbusiness. It is a hereditary matter; so in order to give you an\nidea of the facts, I must go back to the commencement of the\naffair.\n\n\"You must know that my grandfather had two sons--my uncle Elias\nand my father Joseph. My father had a small factory at Coventry,\nwhich he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. He\nwas a patentee of the Openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business\nmet with such success that he was able to sell it and to retire\nupon a handsome competence.\n\n\"My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man and\nbecame a planter in Florida, where he was reported to have done\nvery well. At the time of the war he fought in Jackson's army,\nand afterwards under Hood, where he rose to be a colonel. When\nLee laid down his arms my uncle returned to his plantation, where\nhe remained for three or four years. About 1869 or 1870 he came\nback to Europe and took a small estate in Sussex, near Horsham.\nHe had made a very considerable fortune in the States, and his\nreason for leaving them was his aversion to the negroes, and his\ndislike of the Republican policy in extending the franchise to\nthem. He was a singular man, fierce and quick-tempered, very\nfoul-mouthed when he was angry, and of a most retiring\ndisposition. During all the years that he lived at Horsham, I\ndoubt if ever he set foot in the town. He had a garden and two or\nthree fields round his house, and there he would take his\nexercise, though very often for weeks on end he would never leave\nhis room. He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very\nheavily, but he would see no society and did not want any\nfriends, not even his own brother.\n\n\"He didn't mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the\ntime when he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so. This\nwould be in the year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years\nin England. He begged my father to let me live with him and he\nwas very kind to me in his way. When he was sober he used to be\nfond of playing backgammon and draughts with me, and he would\nmake me his representative both with the servants and with the\ntradespeople, so that by the time that I was sixteen I was quite\nmaster of the house. I kept all the keys and could go where I\nliked and do what I liked, so long as I did not disturb him in\nhis privacy. There was one singular exception, however, for he\nhad a single room, a lumber-room up among the attics, which was\ninvariably locked, and which he would never permit either me or\nanyone else to enter. With a boy's curiosity I have peeped\nthrough the keyhole, but I was never able to see more than such a\ncollection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in such\na room.\n\n\"One day--it was in March, 1883--a letter with a foreign stamp\nlay upon the table in front of the colonel's plate. It was not a\ncommon thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were all\npaid in ready money, and he had no friends of any sort. 'From\nIndia!' said he as he took it up, 'Pondicherry postmark! What can\nthis be?' Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five little\ndried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate. I began to\nlaugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight\nof his face. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his\nskin the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he\nstill held in his trembling hand, 'K. K. K.!' he shrieked, and\nthen, 'My God, my God, my sins have overtaken me!'\n\n\"'What is it, uncle?' I cried.\n\n\"'Death,' said he, and rising from the table he retired to his\nroom, leaving me palpitating with horror. I took up the envelope\nand saw scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the\ngum, the letter K three times repeated. There was nothing else\nsave the five dried pips. What could be the reason of his\noverpowering terror? I left the breakfast-table, and as I\nascended the stair I met him coming down with an old rusty key,\nwhich must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small\nbrass box, like a cashbox, in the other.\n\n\"'They may do what they like, but I'll checkmate them still,'\nsaid he with an oath. 'Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my\nroom to-day, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.'\n\n\"I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to\nstep up to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the\ngrate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned\npaper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. As I\nglanced at the box I noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was\nprinted the treble K which I had read in the morning upon the\nenvelope.\n\n\"'I wish you, John,' said my uncle, 'to witness my will. I leave\nmy estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to\nmy brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to\nyou. If you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! If you find you\ncannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest\nenemy. I am sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can't\nsay what turn things are going to take. Kindly sign the paper\nwhere Mr. Fordham shows you.'\n\n\"I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with\nhim. The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest\nimpression upon me, and I pondered over it and turned it every\nway in my mind without being able to make anything of it. Yet I\ncould not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left\nbehind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed\nand nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. I\ncould see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever,\nand he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most of his\ntime he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the\ninside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy\nand would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a\nrevolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man,\nand that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by\nman or devil. When these hot fits were over, however, he would\nrush tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it behind him,\nlike a man who can brazen it out no longer against the terror\nwhich lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen\nhis face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it\nwere new raised from a basin.\n\n\"Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to\nabuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those\ndrunken sallies from which he never came back. We found him, when\nwe went to search for him, face downward in a little\ngreen-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. There\nwas no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep,\nso that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity,\nbrought in a verdict of 'suicide.' But I, who knew how he winced\nfrom the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself\nthat he had gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed,\nhowever, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and\nof some 14,000 pounds, which lay to his credit at the bank.\"\n\n\"One moment,\" Holmes interposed, \"your statement is, I foresee,\none of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me\nhave the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and\nthe date of his supposed suicide.\"\n\n\"The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weeks\nlater, upon the night of May 2nd.\"\n\n\"Thank you. Pray proceed.\"\n\n\"When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my\nrequest, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been\nalways locked up. We found the brass box there, although its\ncontents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover was a\npaper label, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and\n'Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register' written beneath.\nThese, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had\nbeen destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was\nnothing of much importance in the attic save a great many\nscattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle's life in\nAmerica. Some of them were of the war time and showed that he had\ndone his duty well and had borne the repute of a brave soldier.\nOthers were of a date during the reconstruction of the Southern\nstates, and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had\nevidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag\npoliticians who had been sent down from the North.\n\n\"Well, it was the beginning of '84 when my father came to live at\nHorsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the\nJanuary of '85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard my\nfather give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the\nbreakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened\nenvelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the\noutstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what\nhe called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked\nvery scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon\nhimself.\n\n\"'Why, what on earth does this mean, John?' he stammered.\n\n\"My heart had turned to lead. 'It is K. K. K.,' said I.\n\n\"He looked inside the envelope. 'So it is,' he cried. 'Here are\nthe very letters. But what is this written above them?'\n\n\"'Put the papers on the sundial,' I read, peeping over his\nshoulder.\n\n\"'What papers? What sundial?' he asked.\n\n\"'The sundial in the garden. There is no other,' said I; 'but the\npapers must be those that are destroyed.'\n\n\"'Pooh!' said he, gripping hard at his courage. 'We are in a\ncivilised land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind.\nWhere does the thing come from?'\n\n\"'From Dundee,' I answered, glancing at the postmark.\n\n\"'Some preposterous practical joke,' said he. 'What have I to do\nwith sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such\nnonsense.'\n\n\"'I should certainly speak to the police,' I said.\n\n\"'And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.'\n\n\"'Then let me do so?'\n\n\"'No, I forbid you. I won't have a fuss made about such\nnonsense.'\n\n\"It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate\nman. I went about, however, with a heart which was full of\nforebodings.\n\n\"On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went\nfrom home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is\nin command of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was glad\nthat he should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from\ndanger when he was away from home. In that, however, I was in\nerror. Upon the second day of his absence I received a telegram\nfrom the major, imploring me to come at once. My father had\nfallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the\nneighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. I\nhurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered\nhis consciousness. He had, as it appears, been returning from\nFareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him,\nand the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in\nbringing in a verdict of 'death from accidental causes.'\nCarefully as I examined every fact connected with his death, I\nwas unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of\nmurder. There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no\nrobbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads.\nAnd yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease,\nand that I was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been\nwoven round him.\n\n\"In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me\nwhy I did not dispose of it? I answer, because I was well\nconvinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an\nincident in my uncle's life, and that the danger would be as\npressing in one house as in another.\n\n\"It was in January, '85, that my poor father met his end, and two\nyears and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time\nI have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that\nthis curse had passed away from the family, and that it had ended\nwith the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon,\nhowever; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in\nwhich it had come upon my father.\"\n\nThe young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and\nturning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried\norange pips.\n\n\"This is the envelope,\" he continued. \"The postmark is\nLondon--eastern division. Within are the very words which were\nupon my father's last message: 'K. K. K.'; and then 'Put the\npapers on the sundial.'\"\n\n\"What have you done?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Nothing?\"\n\n\"To tell the truth\"--he sank his face into his thin, white\nhands--\"I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor\nrabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be in\nthe grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight\nand no precautions can guard against.\"\n\n\"Tut! tut!\" cried Sherlock Holmes. \"You must act, man, or you are\nlost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time for\ndespair.\"\n\n\"I have seen the police.\"\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\n\"But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced that\nthe inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all\npractical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really\naccidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with\nthe warnings.\"\n\nHolmes shook his clenched hands in the air. \"Incredible\nimbecility!\" he cried.\n\n\"They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in\nthe house with me.\"\n\n\"Has he come with you to-night?\"\n\n\"No. His orders were to stay in the house.\"\n\nAgain Holmes raved in the air.\n\n\"Why did you come to me,\" he cried, \"and, above all, why did you\nnot come at once?\"\n\n\"I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to Major\nPrendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come to\nyou.\"\n\n\"It is really two days since you had the letter. We should have\nacted before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than\nthat which you have placed before us--no suggestive detail which\nmight help us?\"\n\n\"There is one thing,\" said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat\npocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted\npaper, he laid it out upon the table. \"I have some remembrance,\"\nsaid he, \"that on the day when my uncle burned the papers I\nobserved that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the\nashes were of this particular colour. I found this single sheet\nupon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it\nmay be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from\namong the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond\nthe mention of pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think\nmyself that it is a page from some private diary. The writing is\nundoubtedly my uncle's.\"\n\nHolmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper,\nwhich showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from\na book. It was headed, \"March, 1869,\" and beneath were the\nfollowing enigmatical notices:\n\n\"4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.\n\n\"7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and\n      John Swain, of St. Augustine.\n\n\"9th. McCauley cleared.\n\n\"10th. John Swain cleared.\n\n\"12th. Visited Paramore. All well.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it\nto our visitor. \"And now you must on no account lose another\ninstant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told\nme. You must get home instantly and act.\"\n\n\"What shall I do?\"\n\n\"There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must\nput this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass\nbox which you have described. You must also put in a note to say\nthat all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that\nthis is the only one which remains. You must assert that in such\nwords as will carry conviction with them. Having done this, you\nmust at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Do\nyou understand?\"\n\n\"Entirely.\"\n\n\"Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I\nthink that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our\nweb to weave, while theirs is already woven. The first\nconsideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens\nyou. The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the\nguilty parties.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" said the young man, rising and pulling on his\novercoat. \"You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall\ncertainly do as you advise.\"\n\n\"Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in\nthe meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that\nyou are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. How do you\ngo back?\"\n\n\"By train from Waterloo.\"\n\n\"It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that\nyou may be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself too\nclosely.\"\n\n\"I am armed.\"\n\n\"That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case.\"\n\n\"I shall see you at Horsham, then?\"\n\n\"No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek\nit.\"\n\n\"Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news\nas to the box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every\nparticular.\" He shook hands with us and took his leave. Outside\nthe wind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered\nagainst the windows. This strange, wild story seemed to have come\nto us from amid the mad elements--blown in upon us like a sheet\nof sea-weed in a gale--and now to have been reabsorbed by them\nonce more.\n\nSherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk\nforward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he\nlit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue\nsmoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.\n\n\"I think, Watson,\" he remarked at last, \"that of all our cases we\nhave had none more fantastic than this.\"\n\n\"Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four.\"\n\n\"Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshaw seems\nto me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the\nSholtos.\"\n\n\"But have you,\" I asked, \"formed any definite conception as to\nwhat these perils are?\"\n\n\"There can be no question as to their nature,\" he answered.\n\n\"Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K., and why does he pursue\nthis unhappy family?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the\narms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. \"The ideal\nreasoner,\" he remarked, \"would, when he had once been shown a\nsingle fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the\nchain of events which led up to it but also all the results which\nwould follow from it. As Cuvier could correctly describe a whole\nanimal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who\nhas thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents\nshould be able to accurately state all the other ones, both\nbefore and after. We have not yet grasped the results which the\nreason alone can attain to. Problems may be solved in the study\nwhich have baffled all those who have sought a solution by the\naid of their senses. To carry the art, however, to its highest\npitch, it is necessary that the reasoner should be able to\nutilise all the facts which have come to his knowledge; and this\nin itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all\nknowledge, which, even in these days of free education and\nencyclopaedias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment. It is not so\nimpossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge\nwhich is likely to be useful to him in his work, and this I have\nendeavoured in my case to do. If I remember rightly, you on one\noccasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my limits\nin a very precise fashion.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I answered, laughing. \"It was a singular document.\nPhilosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I\nremember. Botany variable, geology profound as regards the\nmud-stains from any region within fifty miles of town, chemistry\neccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and crime\nrecords unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and\nself-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the\nmain points of my analysis.\"\n\nHolmes grinned at the last item. \"Well,\" he said, \"I say now, as\nI said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic\nstocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the\nrest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he\ncan get it if he wants it. Now, for such a case as the one which\nhas been submitted to us to-night, we need certainly to muster\nall our resources. Kindly hand me down the letter K of the\n'American Encyclopaedia' which stands upon the shelf beside you.\nThank you. Now let us consider the situation and see what may be\ndeduced from it. In the first place, we may start with a strong\npresumption that Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason for\nleaving America. Men at his time of life do not change all their\nhabits and exchange willingly the charming climate of Florida for\nthe lonely life of an English provincial town. His extreme love\nof solitude in England suggests the idea that he was in fear of\nsomeone or something, so we may assume as a working hypothesis\nthat it was fear of someone or something which drove him from\nAmerica. As to what it was he feared, we can only deduce that by\nconsidering the formidable letters which were received by himself\nand his successors. Did you remark the postmarks of those\nletters?\"\n\n\"The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the\nthird from London.\"\n\n\"From East London. What do you deduce from that?\"\n\n\"They are all seaports. That the writer was on board of a ship.\"\n\n\"Excellent. We have already a clue. There can be no doubt that\nthe probability--the strong probability--is that the writer was\non board of a ship. And now let us consider another point. In the\ncase of Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and\nits fulfilment, in Dundee it was only some three or four days.\nDoes that suggest anything?\"\n\n\"A greater distance to travel.\"\n\n\"But the letter had also a greater distance to come.\"\n\n\"Then I do not see the point.\"\n\n\"There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man\nor men are is a sailing-ship. It looks as if they always send\ntheir singular warning or token before them when starting upon\ntheir mission. You see how quickly the deed followed the sign\nwhen it came from Dundee. If they had come from Pondicherry in a\nsteamer they would have arrived almost as soon as their letter.\nBut, as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. I think that those\nseven weeks represented the difference between the mail-boat which\nbrought the letter and the sailing vessel which brought the\nwriter.\"\n\n\"It is possible.\"\n\n\"More than that. It is probable. And now you see the deadly\nurgency of this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to\ncaution. The blow has always fallen at the end of the time which\nit would take the senders to travel the distance. But this one\ncomes from London, and therefore we cannot count upon delay.\"\n\n\"Good God!\" I cried. \"What can it mean, this relentless\npersecution?\"\n\n\"The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital\nimportance to the person or persons in the sailing-ship. I think\nthat it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them.\nA single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way\nas to deceive a coroner's jury. There must have been several in\nit, and they must have been men of resource and determination.\nTheir papers they mean to have, be the holder of them who it may.\nIn this way you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of an\nindividual and becomes the badge of a society.\"\n\n\"But of what society?\"\n\n\"Have you never--\" said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and\nsinking his voice--\"have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?\"\n\n\"I never have.\"\n\nHolmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. \"Here it\nis,\" said he presently:\n\n\"'Ku Klux Klan. A name derived from the fanciful resemblance to\nthe sound produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secret\nsociety was formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the\nSouthern states after the Civil War, and it rapidly formed local\nbranches in different parts of the country, notably in Tennessee,\nLouisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Its power was\nused for political purposes, principally for the terrorising of\nthe negro voters and the murdering and driving from the country\nof those who were opposed to its views. Its outrages were usually\npreceded by a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic\nbut generally recognised shape--a sprig of oak-leaves in some\nparts, melon seeds or orange pips in others. On receiving this\nthe victim might either openly abjure his former ways, or might\nfly from the country. If he braved the matter out, death would\nunfailingly come upon him, and usually in some strange and\nunforeseen manner. So perfect was the organisation of the\nsociety, and so systematic its methods, that there is hardly a\ncase upon record where any man succeeded in braving it with\nimpunity, or in which any of its outrages were traced home to the\nperpetrators. For some years the organisation flourished in spite\nof the efforts of the United States government and of the better\nclasses of the community in the South. Eventually, in the year\n1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have\nbeen sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.'\n\n\"You will observe,\" said Holmes, laying down the volume, \"that\nthe sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the\ndisappearance of Openshaw from America with their papers. It may\nwell have been cause and effect. It is no wonder that he and his\nfamily have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track.\nYou can understand that this register and diary may implicate\nsome of the first men in the South, and that there may be many\nwho will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered.\"\n\n\"Then the page we have seen--\"\n\n\"Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I remember right, 'sent\nthe pips to A, B, and C'--that is, sent the society's warning to\nthem. Then there are successive entries that A and B cleared, or\nleft the country, and finally that C was visited, with, I fear, a\nsinister result for C. Well, I think, Doctor, that we may let\nsome light into this dark place, and I believe that the only\nchance young Openshaw has in the meantime is to do what I have\ntold him. There is nothing more to be said or to be done\nto-night, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for\nhalf an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable\nways of our fellow-men.\"\n\n\nIt had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a\nsubdued brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the\ngreat city. Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I came\ndown.\n\n\"You will excuse me for not waiting for you,\" said he; \"I have, I\nforesee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of\nyoung Openshaw's.\"\n\n\"What steps will you take?\" I asked.\n\n\"It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries.\nI may have to go down to Horsham, after all.\"\n\n\"You will not go there first?\"\n\n\"No, I shall commence with the City. Just ring the bell and the\nmaid will bring up your coffee.\"\n\nAs I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and\nglanced my eye over it. It rested upon a heading which sent a\nchill to my heart.\n\n\"Holmes,\" I cried, \"you are too late.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said he, laying down his cup, \"I feared as much. How was it\ndone?\" He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved.\n\n\"My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading 'Tragedy\nNear Waterloo Bridge.' Here is the account:\n\n\"Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the H\nDivision, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and\na splash in the water. The night, however, was extremely dark and\nstormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it\nwas quite impossible to effect a rescue. The alarm, however, was\ngiven, and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was\neventually recovered. It proved to be that of a young gentleman\nwhose name, as it appears from an envelope which was found in his\npocket, was John Openshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham.\nIt is conjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch\nthe last train from Waterloo Station, and that in his haste and\nthe extreme darkness he missed his path and walked over the edge\nof one of the small landing-places for river steamboats. The body\nexhibited no traces of violence, and there can be no doubt that\nthe deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate accident,\nwhich should have the effect of calling the attention of the\nauthorities to the condition of the riverside landing-stages.\"\n\nWe sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and\nshaken than I had ever seen him.\n\n\"That hurts my pride, Watson,\" he said at last. \"It is a petty\nfeeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal\nmatter with me now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set my\nhand upon this gang. That he should come to me for help, and that\nI should send him away to his death--!\" He sprang from his chair\nand paced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a\nflush upon his sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and\nunclasping of his long thin hands.\n\n\"They must be cunning devils,\" he exclaimed at last. \"How could\nthey have decoyed him down there? The Embankment is not on the\ndirect line to the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too\ncrowded, even on such a night, for their purpose. Well, Watson,\nwe shall see who will win in the long run. I am going out now!\"\n\n\"To the police?\"\n\n\"No; I shall be my own police. When I have spun the web they may\ntake the flies, but not before.\"\n\nAll day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in\nthe evening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes\nhad not come back yet. It was nearly ten o'clock before he\nentered, looking pale and worn. He walked up to the sideboard,\nand tearing a piece from the loaf he devoured it voraciously,\nwashing it down with a long draught of water.\n\n\"You are hungry,\" I remarked.\n\n\"Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since\nbreakfast.\"\n\n\"Nothing?\"\n\n\"Not a bite. I had no time to think of it.\"\n\n\"And how have you succeeded?\"\n\n\"Well.\"\n\n\"You have a clue?\"\n\n\"I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall not\nlong remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish\ntrade-mark upon them. It is well thought of!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nHe took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he\nsqueezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and\nthrust them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote\n\"S. H. for J. O.\" Then he sealed it and addressed it to \"Captain\nJames Calhoun, Barque 'Lone Star,' Savannah, Georgia.\"\n\n\"That will await him when he enters port,\" said he, chuckling.\n\"It may give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure a\nprecursor of his fate as Openshaw did before him.\"\n\n\"And who is this Captain Calhoun?\"\n\n\"The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first.\"\n\n\"How did you trace it, then?\"\n\nHe took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with\ndates and names.\n\n\"I have spent the whole day,\" said he, \"over Lloyd's registers\nand files of the old papers, following the future career of every\nvessel which touched at Pondicherry in January and February in\n'83. There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were\nreported there during those months. Of these, one, the 'Lone Star,'\ninstantly attracted my attention, since, although it was reported\nas having cleared from London, the name is that which is given to\none of the states of the Union.\"\n\n\"Texas, I think.\"\n\n\"I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must\nhave an American origin.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barque\n'Lone Star' was there in January, '85, my suspicion became a\ncertainty. I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present\nin the port of London.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"The 'Lone Star' had arrived here last week. I went down to the\nAlbert Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by\nthe early tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired\nto Gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and\nas the wind is easterly I have no doubt that she is now past the\nGoodwins and not very far from the Isle of Wight.\"\n\n\"What will you do, then?\"\n\n\"Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as I\nlearn, the only native-born Americans in the ship. The others are\nFinns and Germans. I know, also, that they were all three away\nfrom the ship last night. I had it from the stevedore who has\nbeen loading their cargo. By the time that their sailing-ship\nreaches Savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and\nthe cable will have informed the police of Savannah that these\nthree gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder.\"\n\nThere is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans,\nand the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the\norange pips which would show them that another, as cunning and as\nresolute as themselves, was upon their track. Very long and very\nsevere were the equinoctial gales that year. We waited long for\nnews of the \"Lone Star\" of Savannah, but none ever reached us. We\ndid at last hear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic a\nshattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the trough\nof a wave, with the letters \"L. S.\" carved upon it, and that is\nall which we shall ever know of the fate of the \"Lone Star.\"\n\n\n\nADVENTURE VI. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP\n\nIsa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal\nof the Theological College of St. George's, was much addicted to\nopium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some\nfoolish freak when he was at college; for having read De\nQuincey's description of his dreams and sensations, he had\ndrenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce the\nsame effects. He found, as so many more have done, that the\npractice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many\nyears he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of\nmingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. I can see\nhim now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point\npupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble\nman.\n\nOne night--it was in June, '89--there came a ring to my bell,\nabout the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the\nclock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work\ndown in her lap and made a little face of disappointment.\n\n\"A patient!\" said she. \"You'll have to go out.\"\n\nI groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.\n\nWe heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps\nupon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in\nsome dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.\n\n\"You will excuse my calling so late,\" she began, and then,\nsuddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms\nabout my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. \"Oh, I'm in\nsuch trouble!\" she cried; \"I do so want a little help.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said my wife, pulling up her veil, \"it is Kate Whitney.\nHow you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when\nyou came in.\"\n\n\"I didn't know what to do, so I came straight to you.\" That was\nalways the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds\nto a light-house.\n\n\"It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine\nand water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or\nshould you rather that I sent James off to bed?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no! I want the doctor's advice and help, too. It's about\nIsa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about\nhim!\"\n\nIt was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her\nhusband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend\nand school companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words\nas we could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it\npossible that we could bring him back to her?\n\nIt seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late\nhe had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the\nfarthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been\nconfined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and\nshattered, in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him\neight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the\ndregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the\neffects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar\nof Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could\nshe, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and\npluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him?\n\nThere was the case, and of course there was but one way out of\nit. Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second\nthought, why should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney's medical\nadviser, and as such I had influence over him. I could manage it\nbetter if I were alone. I promised her on my word that I would\nsend him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the\naddress which she had given me. And so in ten minutes I had left\nmy armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding\neastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at\nthe time, though the future only could show how strange it was to\nbe.\n\nBut there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my\nadventure. Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind the\nhigh wharves which line the north side of the river to the east\nof London Bridge. Between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached\nby a steep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the\nmouth of a cave, I found the den of which I was in search.\nOrdering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps, worn hollow in\nthe centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the\nlight of a flickering oil-lamp above the door I found the latch\nand made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the\nbrown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the\nforecastle of an emigrant ship.\n\nThrough the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying\nin strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads\nthrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a\ndark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black\nshadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright,\nnow faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of\nthe metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to\nthemselves, and others talked together in a strange, low,\nmonotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then\nsuddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own\nthoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbour. At\nthe farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside\nwhich on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old\nman, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon\nhis knees, staring into the fire.\n\nAs I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe\nfor me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.\n\n\"Thank you. I have not come to stay,\" said I. \"There is a friend\nof mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him.\"\n\nThere was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and\npeering through the gloom, I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and\nunkempt, staring out at me.\n\n\"My God! It's Watson,\" said he. He was in a pitiable state of\nreaction, with every nerve in a twitter. \"I say, Watson, what\no'clock is it?\"\n\n\"Nearly eleven.\"\n\n\"Of what day?\"\n\n\"Of Friday, June 19th.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What\nd'you want to frighten a chap for?\" He sank his face onto his\narms and began to sob in a high treble key.\n\n\"I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting\nthis two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!\"\n\n\"So I am. But you've got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here\na few hours, three pipes, four pipes--I forget how many. But I'll\ngo home with you. I wouldn't frighten Kate--poor little Kate.\nGive me your hand! Have you a cab?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have one waiting.\"\n\n\"Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I\nowe, Watson. I am all off colour. I can do nothing for myself.\"\n\nI walked down the narrow passage between the double row of\nsleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying\nfumes of the drug, and looking about for the manager. As I passed\nthe tall man who sat by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my\nskirt, and a low voice whispered, \"Walk past me, and then look\nback at me.\" The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. I\nglanced down. They could only have come from the old man at my\nside, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very\nwrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between\nhis knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his\nfingers. I took two steps forward and looked back. It took all my\nself-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of\nastonishment. He had turned his back so that none could see him\nbut I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull\neyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and\ngrinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He\nmade a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he\nturned his face half round to the company once more, subsided\ninto a doddering, loose-lipped senility.\n\n\"Holmes!\" I whispered, \"what on earth are you doing in this den?\"\n\n\"As low as you can,\" he answered; \"I have excellent ears. If you\nwould have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend\nof yours I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with\nyou.\"\n\n\"I have a cab outside.\"\n\n\"Then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust him, for he\nappears to be too limp to get into any mischief. I should\nrecommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to\nsay that you have thrown in your lot with me. If you will wait\noutside, I shall be with you in five minutes.\"\n\nIt was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes' requests, for\nthey were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with\nsuch a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney\nwas once confined in the cab my mission was practically\naccomplished; and for the rest, I could not wish anything better\nthan to be associated with my friend in one of those singular\nadventures which were the normal condition of his existence. In a\nfew minutes I had written my note, paid Whitney's bill, led him\nout to the cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. In a\nvery short time a decrepit figure had emerged from the opium den,\nand I was walking down the street with Sherlock Holmes. For two\nstreets he shuffled along with a bent back and an uncertain foot.\nThen, glancing quickly round, he straightened himself out and\nburst into a hearty fit of laughter.\n\n\"I suppose, Watson,\" said he, \"that you imagine that I have added\nopium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other little\nweaknesses on which you have favoured me with your medical\nviews.\"\n\n\"I was certainly surprised to find you there.\"\n\n\"But not more so than I to find you.\"\n\n\"I came to find a friend.\"\n\n\"And I to find an enemy.\"\n\n\"An enemy?\"\n\n\"Yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall I say, my natural\nprey. Briefly, Watson, I am in the midst of a very remarkable\ninquiry, and I have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent\nramblings of these sots, as I have done before now. Had I been\nrecognised in that den my life would not have been worth an\nhour's purchase; for I have used it before now for my own\npurposes, and the rascally Lascar who runs it has sworn to have\nvengeance upon me. There is a trap-door at the back of that\nbuilding, near the corner of Paul's Wharf, which could tell some\nstrange tales of what has passed through it upon the moonless\nnights.\"\n\n\"What! You do not mean bodies?\"\n\n\"Ay, bodies, Watson. We should be rich men if we had 1000 pounds\nfor every poor devil who has been done to death in that den. It\nis the vilest murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear that\nNeville St. Clair has entered it never to leave it more. But our\ntrap should be here.\" He put his two forefingers between his\nteeth and whistled shrilly--a signal which was answered by a\nsimilar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by the rattle\nof wheels and the clink of horses' hoofs.\n\n\"Now, Watson,\" said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through\nthe gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from\nits side lanterns. \"You'll come with me, won't you?\"\n\n\"If I can be of use.\"\n\n\"Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still\nmore so. My room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one.\"\n\n\"The Cedars?\"\n\n\"Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair's house. I am staying there while I\nconduct the inquiry.\"\n\n\"Where is it, then?\"\n\n\"Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile drive before us.\"\n\n\"But I am all in the dark.\"\n\n\"Of course you are. You'll know all about it presently. Jump up\nhere. All right, John; we shall not need you. Here's half a\ncrown. Look out for me to-morrow, about eleven. Give her her\nhead. So long, then!\"\n\nHe flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away through\nthe endless succession of sombre and deserted streets, which\nwidened gradually, until we were flying across a broad\nbalustraded bridge, with the murky river flowing sluggishly\nbeneath us. Beyond lay another dull wilderness of bricks and\nmortar, its silence broken only by the heavy, regular footfall of\nthe policeman, or the songs and shouts of some belated party of\nrevellers. A dull wrack was drifting slowly across the sky, and a\nstar or two twinkled dimly here and there through the rifts of\nthe clouds. Holmes drove in silence, with his head sunk upon his\nbreast, and the air of a man who is lost in thought, while I sat\nbeside him, curious to learn what this new quest might be which\nseemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break in\nupon the current of his thoughts. We had driven several miles,\nand were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of suburban\nvillas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit up\nhis pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that he\nis acting for the best.\n\n\"You have a grand gift of silence, Watson,\" said he. \"It makes\nyou quite invaluable as a companion. 'Pon my word, it is a great\nthing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are\nnot over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dear\nlittle woman to-night when she meets me at the door.\"\n\n\"You forget that I know nothing about it.\"\n\n\"I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before\nwe get to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can\nget nothing to go upon. There's plenty of thread, no doubt, but I\ncan't get the end of it into my hand. Now, I'll state the case\nclearly and concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see a\nspark where all is dark to me.\"\n\n\"Proceed, then.\"\n\n\"Some years ago--to be definite, in May, 1884--there came to Lee\na gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have\nplenty of money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very\nnicely, and lived generally in good style. By degrees he made\nfriends in the neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter\nof a local brewer, by whom he now has two children. He had no\noccupation, but was interested in several companies and went into\ntown as a rule in the morning, returning by the 5:14 from Cannon\nStreet every night. Mr. St. Clair is now thirty-seven years of\nage, is a man of temperate habits, a good husband, a very\naffectionate father, and a man who is popular with all who know\nhim. I may add that his whole debts at the present moment, as far\nas we have been able to ascertain, amount to 88 pounds 10s., while\nhe has 220 pounds standing to his credit in the Capital and\nCounties Bank. There is no reason, therefore, to think that money\ntroubles have been weighing upon his mind.\n\n\"Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier\nthan usual, remarking before he started that he had two important\ncommissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy\nhome a box of bricks. Now, by the merest chance, his wife\nreceived a telegram upon this same Monday, very shortly after his\ndeparture, to the effect that a small parcel of considerable\nvalue which she had been expecting was waiting for her at the\noffices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company. Now, if you are well up\nin your London, you will know that the office of the company is\nin Fresno Street, which branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where\nyou found me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch, started for\nthe City, did some shopping, proceeded to the company's office,\ngot her packet, and found herself at exactly 4:35 walking through\nSwandam Lane on her way back to the station. Have you followed me\nso far?\"\n\n\"It is very clear.\"\n\n\"If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St.\nClair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab,\nas she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself.\nWhile she was walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly\nheard an ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her\nhusband looking down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning\nto her from a second-floor window. The window was open, and she\ndistinctly saw his face, which she describes as being terribly\nagitated. He waved his hands frantically to her, and then\nvanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to her that\nhe had been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind.\nOne singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was that\nalthough he wore some dark coat, such as he had started to town\nin, he had on neither collar nor necktie.\n\n\"Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the\nsteps--for the house was none other than the opium den in which\nyou found me to-night--and running through the front room she\nattempted to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At\nthe foot of the stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of\nwhom I have spoken, who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who\nacts as assistant there, pushed her out into the street. Filled\nwith the most maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down the\nlane and, by rare good-fortune, met in Fresno Street a number of\nconstables with an inspector, all on their way to their beat. The\ninspector and two men accompanied her back, and in spite of the\ncontinued resistance of the proprietor, they made their way to\nthe room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been seen. There was no\nsign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that floor there was\nno one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who,\nit seems, made his home there. Both he and the Lascar stoutly\nswore that no one else had been in the front room during the\nafternoon. So determined was their denial that the inspector was\nstaggered, and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St. Clair had\nbeen deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box\nwhich lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell\na cascade of children's bricks. It was the toy which he had\npromised to bring home.\n\n\"This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple\nshowed, made the inspector realise that the matter was serious.\nThe rooms were carefully examined, and results all pointed to an\nabominable crime. The front room was plainly furnished as a\nsitting-room and led into a small bedroom, which looked out upon\nthe back of one of the wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroom\nwindow is a narrow strip, which is dry at low tide but is covered\nat high tide with at least four and a half feet of water. The\nbedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. On\nexamination traces of blood were to be seen upon the windowsill,\nand several scattered drops were visible upon the wooden floor of\nthe bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the front room were\nall the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the exception of\nhis coat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and his watch--all were\nthere. There were no signs of violence upon any of these\ngarments, and there were no other traces of Mr. Neville St.\nClair. Out of the window he must apparently have gone for no\nother exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon\nthe sill gave little promise that he could save himself by\nswimming, for the tide was at its very highest at the moment of\nthe tragedy.\n\n\"And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately\nimplicated in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of the\nvilest antecedents, but as, by Mrs. St. Clair's story, he was\nknown to have been at the foot of the stair within a very few\nseconds of her husband's appearance at the window, he could\nhardly have been more than an accessory to the crime. His defence\nwas one of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he had no\nknowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that he\ncould not account in any way for the presence of the missing\ngentleman's clothes.\n\n\"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who\nlives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was\ncertainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St.\nClair. His name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which\nis familiar to every man who goes much to the City. He is a\nprofessional beggar, though in order to avoid the police\nregulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. Some\nlittle distance down Threadneedle Street, upon the left-hand\nside, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the\nwall. Here it is that this creature takes his daily seat,\ncross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and as he\nis a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends into the\ngreasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. I\nhave watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought of\nmaking his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised\nat the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His\nappearance, you see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him\nwithout observing him. A shock of orange hair, a pale face\ndisfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its contraction, has\nturned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bulldog chin, and a\npair of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singular\ncontrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him out from amid\nthe common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for he\nis ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which may be\nthrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we now\nlearn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been\nthe last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest.\"\n\n\"But a cripple!\" said I. \"What could he have done single-handed\nagainst a man in the prime of life?\"\n\n\"He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in\nother respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man.\nSurely your medical experience would tell you, Watson, that\nweakness in one limb is often compensated for by exceptional\nstrength in the others.\"\n\n\"Pray continue your narrative.\"\n\n\"Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the\nwindow, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her\npresence could be of no help to them in their investigations.\nInspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful\nexamination of the premises, but without finding anything which\nthrew any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not\narresting Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes\nduring which he might have communicated with his friend the\nLascar, but this fault was soon remedied, and he was seized and\nsearched, without anything being found which could incriminate\nhim. There were, it is true, some blood-stains upon his right\nshirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his ring-finger, which had been\ncut near the nail, and explained that the bleeding came from\nthere, adding that he had been to the window not long before, and\nthat the stains which had been observed there came doubtless from\nthe same source. He denied strenuously having ever seen Mr.\nNeville St. Clair and swore that the presence of the clothes in\nhis room was as much a mystery to him as to the police. As to\nMrs. St. Clair's assertion that she had actually seen her husband\nat the window, he declared that she must have been either mad or\ndreaming. He was removed, loudly protesting, to the\npolice-station, while the inspector remained upon the premises in\nthe hope that the ebbing tide might afford some fresh clue.\n\n\"And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they\nhad feared to find. It was Neville St. Clair's coat, and not\nNeville St. Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. And\nwhat do you think they found in the pockets?\"\n\n\"I cannot imagine.\"\n\n\"No, I don't think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed with\npennies and half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It\nwas no wonder that it had not been swept away by the tide. But a\nhuman body is a different matter. There is a fierce eddy between\nthe wharf and the house. It seemed likely enough that the\nweighted coat had remained when the stripped body had been sucked\naway into the river.\"\n\n\"But I understand that all the other clothes were found in the\nroom. Would the body be dressed in a coat alone?\"\n\n\"No, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. Suppose\nthat this man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through the\nwindow, there is no human eye which could have seen the deed.\nWhat would he do then? It would of course instantly strike him\nthat he must get rid of the tell-tale garments. He would seize\nthe coat, then, and be in the act of throwing it out, when it\nwould occur to him that it would swim and not sink. He has little\ntime, for he has heard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried\nto force her way up, and perhaps he has already heard from his\nLascar confederate that the police are hurrying up the street.\nThere is not an instant to be lost. He rushes to some secret\nhoard, where he has accumulated the fruits of his beggary, and he\nstuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands into the\npockets to make sure of the coat's sinking. He throws it out, and\nwould have done the same with the other garments had not he heard\nthe rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the\nwindow when the police appeared.\"\n\n\"It certainly sounds feasible.\"\n\n\"Well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a\nbetter. Boone, as I have told you, was arrested and taken to the\nstation, but it could not be shown that there had ever before\nbeen anything against him. He had for years been known as a\nprofessional beggar, but his life appeared to have been a very\nquiet and innocent one. There the matter stands at present, and\nthe questions which have to be solved--what Neville St. Clair was\ndoing in the opium den, what happened to him when there, where is\nhe now, and what Hugh Boone had to do with his disappearance--are\nall as far from a solution as ever. I confess that I cannot\nrecall any case within my experience which looked at the first\nglance so simple and yet which presented such difficulties.\"\n\nWhile Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series of\nevents, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great\ntown until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and\nwe rattled along with a country hedge upon either side of us.\nJust as he finished, however, we drove through two scattered\nvillages, where a few lights still glimmered in the windows.\n\n\"We are on the outskirts of Lee,\" said my companion. \"We have\ntouched on three English counties in our short drive, starting in\nMiddlesex, passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent.\nSee that light among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside\nthat lamp sits a woman whose anxious ears have already, I have\nlittle doubt, caught the clink of our horse's feet.\"\n\n\"But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?\" I\nasked.\n\n\"Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here.\nMrs. St. Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and\nyou may rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for\nmy friend and colleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have\nno news of her husband. Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!\"\n\nWe had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its\nown grounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horse's head, and\nspringing down, I followed Holmes up the small, winding\ngravel-drive which led to the house. As we approached, the door\nflew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad\nin some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy\npink chiffon at her neck and wrists. She stood with her figure\noutlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one\nhalf-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head\nand face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing\nquestion.\n\n\"Well?\" she cried, \"well?\" And then, seeing that there were two\nof us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw\nthat my companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"No good news?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"No bad?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for you have\nhad a long day.\"\n\n\"This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use to\nme in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it\npossible for me to bring him out and associate him with this\ninvestigation.\"\n\n\"I am delighted to see you,\" said she, pressing my hand warmly.\n\"You will, I am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our\narrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so\nsuddenly upon us.\"\n\n\"My dear madam,\" said I, \"I am an old campaigner, and if I were\nnot I can very well see that no apology is needed. If I can be of\nany assistance, either to you or to my friend here, I shall be\nindeed happy.\"\n\n\"Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\" said the lady as we entered a\nwell-lit dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had\nbeen laid out, \"I should very much like to ask you one or two\nplain questions, to which I beg that you will give a plain\nanswer.\"\n\n\"Certainly, madam.\"\n\n\"Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, nor given\nto fainting. I simply wish to hear your real, real opinion.\"\n\n\"Upon what point?\"\n\n\"In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question.\n\"Frankly, now!\" she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking\nkeenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.\n\n\"Frankly, then, madam, I do not.\"\n\n\"You think that he is dead?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Murdered?\"\n\n\"I don't say that. Perhaps.\"\n\n\"And on what day did he meet his death?\"\n\n\"On Monday.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how\nit is that I have received a letter from him to-day.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been\ngalvanised.\n\n\"What!\" he roared.\n\n\"Yes, to-day.\" She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of\npaper in the air.\n\n\"May I see it?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\nHe snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out\nupon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I\nhad left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. The\nenvelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesend\npostmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the day\nbefore, for it was considerably after midnight.\n\n\"Coarse writing,\" murmured Holmes. \"Surely this is not your\nhusband's writing, madam.\"\n\n\"No, but the enclosure is.\"\n\n\"I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go\nand inquire as to the address.\"\n\n\"How can you tell that?\"\n\n\"The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried\nitself. The rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that\nblotting-paper has been used. If it had been written straight\noff, and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. This\nman has written the name, and there has then been a pause before\nhe wrote the address, which can only mean that he was not\nfamiliar with it. It is, of course, a trifle, but there is\nnothing so important as trifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha!\nthere has been an enclosure here!\"\n\n\"Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring.\"\n\n\"And you are sure that this is your husband's hand?\"\n\n\"One of his hands.\"\n\n\"One?\"\n\n\"His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very unlike his usual\nwriting, and yet I know it well.\"\n\n\"'Dearest do not be frightened. All will come well. There is a\nhuge error which it may take some little time to rectify.\nWait in patience.--NEVILLE.' Written in pencil upon the fly-leaf\nof a book, octavo size, no water-mark. Hum! Posted to-day in\nGravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. Ha! And the flap has been\ngummed, if I am not very much in error, by a person who had been\nchewing tobacco. And you have no doubt that it is your husband's\nhand, madam?\"\n\n\"None. Neville wrote those words.\"\n\n\"And they were posted to-day at Gravesend. Well, Mrs. St. Clair,\nthe clouds lighten, though I should not venture to say that the\ndanger is over.\"\n\n\"But he must be alive, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"Unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent.\nThe ring, after all, proves nothing. It may have been taken from\nhim.\"\n\n\"No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!\"\n\n\"Very well. It may, however, have been written on Monday and only\nposted to-day.\"\n\n\"That is possible.\"\n\n\"If so, much may have happened between.\"\n\n\"Oh, you must not discourage me, Mr. Holmes. I know that all is\nwell with him. There is so keen a sympathy between us that I\nshould know if evil came upon him. On the very day that I saw him\nlast he cut himself in the bedroom, and yet I in the dining-room\nrushed upstairs instantly with the utmost certainty that\nsomething had happened. Do you think that I would respond to such\na trifle and yet be ignorant of his death?\"\n\n\"I have seen too much not to know that the impression of a woman\nmay be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical\nreasoner. And in this letter you certainly have a very strong\npiece of evidence to corroborate your view. But if your husband\nis alive and able to write letters, why should he remain away\nfrom you?\"\n\n\"I cannot imagine. It is unthinkable.\"\n\n\"And on Monday he made no remarks before leaving you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And you were surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?\"\n\n\"Very much so.\"\n\n\"Was the window open?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then he might have called to you?\"\n\n\"He might.\"\n\n\"He only, as I understand, gave an inarticulate cry?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"A call for help, you thought?\"\n\n\"Yes. He waved his hands.\"\n\n\"But it might have been a cry of surprise. Astonishment at the\nunexpected sight of you might cause him to throw up his hands?\"\n\n\"It is possible.\"\n\n\"And you thought he was pulled back?\"\n\n\"He disappeared so suddenly.\"\n\n\"He might have leaped back. You did not see anyone else in the\nroom?\"\n\n\"No, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, and\nthe Lascar was at the foot of the stairs.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Your husband, as far as you could see, had his\nordinary clothes on?\"\n\n\"But without his collar or tie. I distinctly saw his bare\nthroat.\"\n\n\"Had he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. Those are the principal points about\nwhich I wished to be absolutely clear. We shall now have a little\nsupper and then retire, for we may have a very busy day\nto-morrow.\"\n\nA large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed at our\ndisposal, and I was quickly between the sheets, for I was weary\nafter my night of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however,\nwho, when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for\ndays, and even for a week, without rest, turning it over,\nrearranging his facts, looking at it from every point of view\nuntil he had either fathomed it or convinced himself that his\ndata were insufficient. It was soon evident to me that he was now\npreparing for an all-night sitting. He took off his coat and\nwaistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered\nabout the room collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from\nthe sofa and armchairs. With these he constructed a sort of\nEastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged, with\nan ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front\nof him. In the dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an\nold briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the\ncorner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him,\nsilent, motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set\naquiline features. So he sat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he\nsat when a sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and I found\nthe summer sun shining into the apartment. The pipe was still\nbetween his lips, the smoke still curled upward, and the room was\nfull of a dense tobacco haze, but nothing remained of the heap of\nshag which I had seen upon the previous night.\n\n\"Awake, Watson?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Game for a morning drive?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Then dress. No one is stirring yet, but I know where the\nstable-boy sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out.\" He\nchuckled to himself as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed\na different man to the sombre thinker of the previous night.\n\nAs I dressed I glanced at my watch. It was no wonder that no one\nwas stirring. It was twenty-five minutes past four. I had hardly\nfinished when Holmes returned with the news that the boy was\nputting in the horse.\n\n\"I want to test a little theory of mine,\" said he, pulling on his\nboots. \"I think, Watson, that you are now standing in the\npresence of one of the most absolute fools in Europe. I deserve\nto be kicked from here to Charing Cross. But I think I have the\nkey of the affair now.\"\n\n\"And where is it?\" I asked, smiling.\n\n\"In the bathroom,\" he answered. \"Oh, yes, I am not joking,\" he\ncontinued, seeing my look of incredulity. \"I have just been\nthere, and I have taken it out, and I have got it in this\nGladstone bag. Come on, my boy, and we shall see whether it will\nnot fit the lock.\"\n\nWe made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out into\nthe bright morning sunshine. In the road stood our horse and\ntrap, with the half-clad stable-boy waiting at the head. We both\nsprang in, and away we dashed down the London Road. A few country\ncarts were stirring, bearing in vegetables to the metropolis, but\nthe lines of villas on either side were as silent and lifeless as\nsome city in a dream.\n\n\"It has been in some points a singular case,\" said Holmes,\nflicking the horse on into a gallop. \"I confess that I have been\nas blind as a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late than\nnever to learn it at all.\"\n\nIn town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily\nfrom their windows as we drove through the streets of the Surrey\nside. Passing down the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed over the\nriver, and dashing up Wellington Street wheeled sharply to the\nright and found ourselves in Bow Street. Sherlock Holmes was well\nknown to the force, and the two constables at the door saluted\nhim. One of them held the horse's head while the other led us in.\n\n\"Who is on duty?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Inspector Bradstreet, sir.\"\n\n\"Ah, Bradstreet, how are you?\" A tall, stout official had come\ndown the stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged\njacket. \"I wish to have a quiet word with you, Bradstreet.\"\n\"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Step into my room here.\" It was a small,\noffice-like room, with a huge ledger upon the table, and a\ntelephone projecting from the wall. The inspector sat down at his\ndesk.\n\n\"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"I called about that beggarman, Boone--the one who was charged\nwith being concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St.\nClair, of Lee.\"\n\n\"Yes. He was brought up and remanded for further inquiries.\"\n\n\"So I heard. You have him here?\"\n\n\"In the cells.\"\n\n\"Is he quiet?\"\n\n\"Oh, he gives no trouble. But he is a dirty scoundrel.\"\n\n\"Dirty?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is all we can do to make him wash his hands, and his\nface is as black as a tinker's. Well, when once his case has been\nsettled, he will have a regular prison bath; and I think, if you\nsaw him, you would agree with me that he needed it.\"\n\n\"I should like to see him very much.\"\n\n\"Would you? That is easily done. Come this way. You can leave\nyour bag.\"\n\n\"No, I think that I'll take it.\"\n\n\"Very good. Come this way, if you please.\" He led us down a\npassage, opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and\nbrought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each\nside.\n\n\"The third on the right is his,\" said the inspector. \"Here it\nis!\" He quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door\nand glanced through.\n\n\"He is asleep,\" said he. \"You can see him very well.\"\n\nWe both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his\nface towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and\nheavily. He was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his\ncalling, with a coloured shirt protruding through the rent in his\ntattered coat. He was, as the inspector had said, extremely\ndirty, but the grime which covered his face could not conceal its\nrepulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scar ran right\nacross it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up\none side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a\nperpetual snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over\nhis eyes and forehead.\n\n\"He's a beauty, isn't he?\" said the inspector.\n\n\"He certainly needs a wash,\" remarked Holmes. \"I had an idea that\nhe might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me.\"\nHe opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my\nastonishment, a very large bath-sponge.\n\n\"He! he! You are a funny one,\" chuckled the inspector.\n\n\"Now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door very\nquietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable\nfigure.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know why not,\" said the inspector. \"He doesn't\nlook a credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?\" He slipped his\nkey into the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. The\nsleeper half turned, and then settled down once more into a deep\nslumber. Holmes stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge,\nand then rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the\nprisoner's face.\n\n\"Let me introduce you,\" he shouted, \"to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of\nLee, in the county of Kent.\"\n\nNever in my life have I seen such a sight. The man's face peeled\noff under the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the\ncoarse brown tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had\nseamed it across, and the twisted lip which had given the\nrepulsive sneer to the face! A twitch brought away the tangled\nred hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale,\nsad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned,\nrubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment.\nThen suddenly realising the exposure, he broke into a scream and\nthrew himself down with his face to the pillow.\n\n\"Great heavens!\" cried the inspector, \"it is, indeed, the missing\nman. I know him from the photograph.\"\n\nThe prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons\nhimself to his destiny. \"Be it so,\" said he. \"And pray what am I\ncharged with?\"\n\n\"With making away with Mr. Neville St.-- Oh, come, you can't be\ncharged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of\nit,\" said the inspector with a grin. \"Well, I have been\ntwenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake.\"\n\n\"If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime\nhas been committed, and that, therefore, I am illegally\ndetained.\"\n\n\"No crime, but a very great error has been committed,\" said\nHolmes. \"You would have done better to have trusted your wife.\"\n\n\"It was not the wife; it was the children,\" groaned the prisoner.\n\"God help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My\nGod! What an exposure! What can I do?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him\nkindly on the shoulder.\n\n\"If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up,\" said\nhe, \"of course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand,\nif you convince the police authorities that there is no possible\ncase against you, I do not know that there is any reason that the\ndetails should find their way into the papers. Inspector\nBradstreet would, I am sure, make notes upon anything which you\nmight tell us and submit it to the proper authorities. The case\nwould then never go into court at all.\"\n\n\"God bless you!\" cried the prisoner passionately. \"I would have\nendured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left\nmy miserable secret as a family blot to my children.\n\n\"You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was a\nschoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent\neducation. I travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and\nfinally became a reporter on an evening paper in London. One day\nmy editor wished to have a series of articles upon begging in the\nmetropolis, and I volunteered to supply them. There was the point\nfrom which all my adventures started. It was only by trying\nbegging as an amateur that I could get the facts upon which to\nbase my articles. When an actor I had, of course, learned all the\nsecrets of making up, and had been famous in the green-room for\nmy skill. I took advantage now of my attainments. I painted my\nface, and to make myself as pitiable as possible I made a good\nscar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist by the aid of a\nsmall slip of flesh-coloured plaster. Then with a red head of\nhair, and an appropriate dress, I took my station in the business\npart of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as a\nbeggar. For seven hours I plied my trade, and when I returned\nhome in the evening I found to my surprise that I had received no\nless than 26s. 4d.\n\n\"I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until,\nsome time later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ\nserved upon me for 25 pounds. I was at my wit's end where to get\nthe money, but a sudden idea came to me. I begged a fortnight's\ngrace from the creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers,\nand spent the time in begging in the City under my disguise. In\nten days I had the money and had paid the debt.\n\n\"Well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous\nwork at 2 pounds a week when I knew that I could earn as much in\na day by smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on\nthe ground, and sitting still. It was a long fight between my\npride and the money, but the dollars won at last, and I threw up\nreporting and sat day after day in the corner which I had first\nchosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pockets\nwith coppers. Only one man knew my secret. He was the keeper of a\nlow den in which I used to lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could\nevery morning emerge as a squalid beggar and in the evenings\ntransform myself into a well-dressed man about town. This fellow,\na Lascar, was well paid by me for his rooms, so that I knew that\nmy secret was safe in his possession.\n\n\"Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums of\nmoney. I do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London\ncould earn 700 pounds a year--which is less than my average\ntakings--but I had exceptional advantages in my power of making\nup, and also in a facility of repartee, which improved by\npractice and made me quite a recognised character in the City.\nAll day a stream of pennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me,\nand it was a very bad day in which I failed to take 2 pounds.\n\n\"As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in the\ncountry, and eventually married, without anyone having a\nsuspicion as to my real occupation. My dear wife knew that I had\nbusiness in the City. She little knew what.\n\n\"Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my\nroom above the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw,\nto my horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the\nstreet, with her eyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of\nsurprise, threw up my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my\nconfidant, the Lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone from\ncoming up to me. I heard her voice downstairs, but I knew that\nshe could not ascend. Swiftly I threw off my clothes, pulled on\nthose of a beggar, and put on my pigments and wig. Even a wife's\neyes could not pierce so complete a disguise. But then it\noccurred to me that there might be a search in the room, and that\nthe clothes might betray me. I threw open the window, reopening\nby my violence a small cut which I had inflicted upon myself in\nthe bedroom that morning. Then I seized my coat, which was\nweighted by the coppers which I had just transferred to it from\nthe leather bag in which I carried my takings. I hurled it out of\nthe window, and it disappeared into the Thames. The other clothes\nwould have followed, but at that moment there was a rush of\nconstables up the stair, and a few minutes after I found, rather,\nI confess, to my relief, that instead of being identified as Mr.\nNeville St. Clair, I was arrested as his murderer.\n\n\"I do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. I\nwas determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and\nhence my preference for a dirty face. Knowing that my wife would\nbe terribly anxious, I slipped off my ring and confided it to the\nLascar at a moment when no constable was watching me, together\nwith a hurried scrawl, telling her that she had no cause to\nfear.\"\n\n\"That note only reached her yesterday,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Good God! What a week she must have spent!\"\n\n\"The police have watched this Lascar,\" said Inspector Bradstreet,\n\"and I can quite understand that he might find it difficult to\npost a letter unobserved. Probably he handed it to some sailor\ncustomer of his, who forgot all about it for some days.\"\n\n\"That was it,\" said Holmes, nodding approvingly; \"I have no doubt\nof it. But have you never been prosecuted for begging?\"\n\n\"Many times; but what was a fine to me?\"\n\n\"It must stop here, however,\" said Bradstreet. \"If the police are\nto hush this thing up, there must be no more of Hugh Boone.\"\n\n\"I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take.\"\n\n\"In that case I think that it is probable that no further steps\nmay be taken. But if you are found again, then all must come out.\nI am sure, Mr. Holmes, that we are very much indebted to you for\nhaving cleared the matter up. I wish I knew how you reach your\nresults.\"\n\n\"I reached this one,\" said my friend, \"by sitting upon five\npillows and consuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that if\nwe drive to Baker Street we shall just be in time for breakfast.\"\n\n\n\nVII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE\n\nI had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second\nmorning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the\ncompliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a\npurple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the\nright, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly\nstudied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and\non the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable\nhard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several\nplaces. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair\nsuggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the\npurpose of examination.\n\n\"You are engaged,\" said I; \"perhaps I interrupt you.\"\n\n\"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss\nmy results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one\"--he jerked his\nthumb in the direction of the old hat--\"but there are points in\nconnection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest and\neven of instruction.\"\n\nI seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his\ncrackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows\nwere thick with the ice crystals. \"I suppose,\" I remarked, \"that,\nhomely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to\nit--that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of\nsome mystery and the punishment of some crime.\"\n\n\"No, no. No crime,\" said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. \"Only one of\nthose whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have\nfour million human beings all jostling each other within the\nspace of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so\ndense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events\nmay be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be\npresented which may be striking and bizarre without being\ncriminal. We have already had experience of such.\"\n\n\"So much so,\" I remarked, \"that of the last six cases which I\nhave added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any\nlegal crime.\"\n\n\"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adler\npapers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the\nadventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt\nthat this small matter will fall into the same innocent category.\nYou know Peterson, the commissionaire?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It is to him that this trophy belongs.\"\n\n\"It is his hat.\"\n\n\"No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will\nlook upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual\nproblem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon\nChristmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, I\nhave no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson's\nfire. The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmas\nmorning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was\nreturning from some small jollification and was making his way\nhomeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in\nthe gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and\ncarrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the\ncorner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this stranger\nand a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off the\nman's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and,\nswinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him.\nPeterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his\nassailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and\nseeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him,\ndropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the\nlabyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham\nCourt Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of\nPeterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of\nbattle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this\nbattered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose.\"\n\n\"Which surely he restored to their owner?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It is true that 'For\nMrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied to\nthe bird's left leg, and it is also true that the initials 'H.\nB.' are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are\nsome thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in\nthis city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any\none of them.\"\n\n\"What, then, did Peterson do?\"\n\n\"He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning,\nknowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me.\nThe goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs\nthat, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it\nshould be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carried\nit off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose,\nwhile I continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who\nlost his Christmas dinner.\"\n\n\"Did he not advertise?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?\"\n\n\"Only as much as we can deduce.\"\n\n\"From his hat?\"\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\n\"But you are joking. What can you gather from this old battered\nfelt?\"\n\n\"Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gather\nyourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn this\narticle?\"\n\nI took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather\nruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round\nshape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of\nred silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker's\nname; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials \"H. B.\" were\nscrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a\nhat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was\ncracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places,\nalthough there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the\ndiscoloured patches by smearing them with ink.\n\n\"I can see nothing,\" said I, handing it back to my friend.\n\n\"On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail,\nhowever, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in\ndrawing your inferences.\"\n\n\"Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?\"\n\nHe picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective\nfashion which was characteristic of him. \"It is perhaps less\nsuggestive than it might have been,\" he remarked, \"and yet there\nare a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others\nwhich represent at least a strong balance of probability. That\nthe man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the\nface of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the\nlast three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He\nhad foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a\nmoral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his\nfortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink,\nat work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that\nhis wife has ceased to love him.\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes!\"\n\n\"He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect,\" he\ncontinued, disregarding my remonstrance. \"He is a man who leads a\nsedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is\nmiddle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the\nlast few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are\nthe more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also,\nby the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid\non in his house.\"\n\n\"You are certainly joking, Holmes.\"\n\n\"Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you\nthese results, you are unable to see how they are attained?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I\nam unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that\nthis man was intellectual?\"\n\nFor answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right\nover the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. \"It is\na question of cubic capacity,\" said he; \"a man with so large a\nbrain must have something in it.\"\n\n\"The decline of his fortunes, then?\"\n\n\"This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge\ncame in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the\nband of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could\nafford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no\nhat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world.\"\n\n\"Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the\nforesight and the moral retrogression?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes laughed. \"Here is the foresight,\" said he putting\nhis finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer.\n\"They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a\nsign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his\nway to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see\nthat he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace\nit, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly,\nwhich is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other\nhand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the\nfelt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not\nentirely lost his self-respect.\"\n\n\"Your reasoning is certainly plausible.\"\n\n\"The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is\ngrizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses\nlime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the\nlower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of\nhair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all\nappear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of\nlime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey\ndust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house,\nshowing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while\nthe marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the\nwearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in\nthe best of training.\"\n\n\"But his wife--you said that she had ceased to love him.\"\n\n\"This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear\nWatson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, and\nwhen your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear\nthat you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife's\naffection.\"\n\n\"But he might be a bachelor.\"\n\n\"Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his\nwife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg.\"\n\n\"You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce\nthat the gas is not laid on in his house?\"\n\n\"One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I\nsee no less than five, I think that there can be little doubt\nthat the individual must be brought into frequent contact with\nburning tallow--walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in\none hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never\ngot tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you satisfied?\"\n\n\"Well, it is very ingenious,\" said I, laughing; \"but since, as\nyou said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm\ndone save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a\nwaste of energy.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew\nopen, and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment\nwith flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with\nastonishment.\n\n\"The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!\" he gasped.\n\n\"Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off\nthrough the kitchen window?\" Holmes twisted himself round upon\nthe sofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited face.\n\n\"See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!\" He held out\nhis hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly\nscintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but\nof such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric\npoint in the dark hollow of his hand.\n\nSherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. \"By Jove, Peterson!\" said\nhe, \"this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you\nhave got?\"\n\n\"A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though\nit were putty.\"\n\n\"It's more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone.\"\n\n\"Not the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle!\" I ejaculated.\n\n\"Precisely so. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I\nhave read the advertisement about it in The Times every day\nlately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be\nconjectured, but the reward offered of 1000 pounds is certainly\nnot within a twentieth part of the market price.\"\n\n\"A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!\" The commissionaire\nplumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other of us.\n\n\"That is the reward, and I have reason to know that there are\nsentimental considerations in the background which would induce\nthe Countess to part with half her fortune if she could but\nrecover the gem.\"\n\n\"It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan,\" I\nremarked.\n\n\"Precisely so, on December 22nd, just five days ago. John Horner,\na plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady's\njewel-case. The evidence against him was so strong that the case\nhas been referred to the Assizes. I have some account of the\nmatter here, I believe.\" He rummaged amid his newspapers,\nglancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out,\ndoubled it over, and read the following paragraph:\n\n\"Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, was\nbrought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst.,\nabstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar the\nvaluable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder,\nupper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect\nthat he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess\nof Morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he might\nsolder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. He had\nremained with Horner some little time, but had finally been\ncalled away. On returning, he found that Horner had disappeared,\nthat the bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco\ncasket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess was\naccustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the\ndressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner was\narrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found\neither upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to\nthe Countess, deposed to having heard Ryder's cry of dismay on\ndiscovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room,\nwhere she found matters as described by the last witness.\nInspector Bradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to the arrest\nof Horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence\nin the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for\nrobbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate\nrefused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to\nthe Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion\nduring the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was\ncarried out of court.\"\n\n\"Hum! So much for the police-court,\" said Holmes thoughtfully,\ntossing aside the paper. \"The question for us now to solve is the\nsequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to\nthe crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You\nsee, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much\nmore important and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone; the\nstone came from the goose, and the goose came from Mr. Henry\nBaker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other\ncharacteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must set\nourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and\nascertaining what part he has played in this little mystery. To\ndo this, we must try the simplest means first, and these lie\nundoubtedly in an advertisement in all the evening papers. If\nthis fail, I shall have recourse to other methods.\"\n\n\"What will you say?\"\n\n\"Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then: 'Found at\nthe corner of Goodge Street, a goose and a black felt hat. Mr.\nHenry Baker can have the same by applying at 6:30 this evening at\n221B, Baker Street.' That is clear and concise.\"\n\n\"Very. But will he see it?\"\n\n\"Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers, since, to a poor\nman, the loss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his\nmischance in breaking the window and by the approach of Peterson\nthat he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he must\nhave bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his\nbird. Then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him to\nsee it, for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to\nit. Here you are, Peterson, run down to the advertising agency\nand have this put in the evening papers.\"\n\n\"In which, sir?\"\n\n\"Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's, Evening News,\nStandard, Echo, and any others that occur to you.\"\n\n\"Very well, sir. And this stone?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you. And, I say,\nPeterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here\nwith me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place\nof the one which your family is now devouring.\"\n\nWhen the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone and\nheld it against the light. \"It's a bonny thing,\" said he. \"Just\nsee how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and\nfocus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's pet\nbaits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a\nbloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found\nin the banks of the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkable\nin having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is\nblue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it has\nalready a sinister history. There have been two murders, a\nvitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about\nfor the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal.\nWho would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the\ngallows and the prison? I'll lock it up in my strong box now and\ndrop a line to the Countess to say that we have it.\"\n\n\"Do you think that this man Horner is innocent?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell.\"\n\n\"Well, then, do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker, had\nanything to do with the matter?\"\n\n\"It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an\nabsolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he\nwas carrying was of considerably more value than if it were made\nof solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very simple\ntest if we have an answer to our advertisement.\"\n\n\"And you can do nothing until then?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"In that case I shall continue my professional round. But I shall\ncome back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I\nshould like to see the solution of so tangled a business.\"\n\n\"Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock, I\nbelieve. By the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps I\nought to ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop.\"\n\nI had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-past\nsix when I found myself in Baker Street once more. As I\napproached the house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a\ncoat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in the\nbright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as I\narrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together to\nHolmes' room.\n\n\"Mr. Henry Baker, I believe,\" said he, rising from his armchair\nand greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he\ncould so readily assume. \"Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr.\nBaker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your circulation is\nmore adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you have\njust come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr. Baker?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat.\"\n\nHe was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a\nbroad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of\ngrizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slight\ntremor of his extended hand, recalled Holmes' surmise as to his\nhabits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in\nfront, with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded\nfrom his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a\nslow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave the\nimpression generally of a man of learning and letters who had had\nill-usage at the hands of fortune.\n\n\"We have retained these things for some days,\" said Holmes,\n\"because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving your\naddress. I am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise.\"\n\nOur visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. \"Shillings have not\nbeen so plentiful with me as they once were,\" he remarked. \"I had\nno doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off\nboth my hat and the bird. I did not care to spend more money in a\nhopeless attempt at recovering them.\"\n\n\"Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to\neat it.\"\n\n\"To eat it!\" Our visitor half rose from his chair in his\nexcitement.\n\n\"Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not done so.\nBut I presume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is\nabout the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer your\npurpose equally well?\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly, certainly,\" answered Mr. Baker with a sigh of\nrelief.\n\n\"Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of\nyour own bird, so if you wish--\"\n\nThe man burst into a hearty laugh. \"They might be useful to me as\nrelics of my adventure,\" said he, \"but beyond that I can hardly\nsee what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance are\ngoing to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with your permission, I\nwill confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceive\nupon the sideboard.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug\nof his shoulders.\n\n\"There is your hat, then, and there your bird,\" said he. \"By the\nway, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other one\nfrom? I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a\nbetter grown goose.\"\n\n\"Certainly, sir,\" said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newly\ngained property under his arm. \"There are a few of us who\nfrequent the Alpha Inn, near the Museum--we are to be found in\nthe Museum itself during the day, you understand. This year our\ngood host, Windigate by name, instituted a goose club, by which,\non consideration of some few pence every week, we were each to\nreceive a bird at Christmas. My pence were duly paid, and the\nrest is familiar to you. I am much indebted to you, sir, for a\nScotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity.\" With\na comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and\nstrode off upon his way.\n\n\"So much for Mr. Henry Baker,\" said Holmes when he had closed the\ndoor behind him. \"It is quite certain that he knows nothing\nwhatever about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?\"\n\n\"Not particularly.\"\n\n\"Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow\nup this clue while it is still hot.\"\n\n\"By all means.\"\n\nIt was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped\ncravats about our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldly\nin a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out\ninto smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang out\ncrisply and loudly as we swung through the doctors' quarter,\nWimpole Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street into\nOxford Street. In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury at\nthe Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at the corner of one\nof the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed open\nthe door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from\nthe ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord.\n\n\"Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese,\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"My geese!\" The man seemed surprised.\n\n\"Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker,\nwho was a member of your goose club.\"\n\n\"Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them's not our geese.\"\n\n\"Indeed! Whose, then?\"\n\n\"Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden.\"\n\n\"Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?\"\n\n\"Breckinridge is his name.\"\n\n\"Ah! I don't know him. Well, here's your good health landlord,\nand prosperity to your house. Good-night.\"\n\n\"Now for Mr. Breckinridge,\" he continued, buttoning up his coat\nas we came out into the frosty air. \"Remember, Watson that though\nwe have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we\nhave at the other a man who will certainly get seven years' penal\nservitude unless we can establish his innocence. It is possible\nthat our inquiry may but confirm his guilt; but, in any case, we\nhave a line of investigation which has been missed by the police,\nand which a singular chance has placed in our hands. Let us\nfollow it out to the bitter end. Faces to the south, then, and\nquick march!\"\n\nWe passed across Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through a\nzigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest\nstalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor\na horsey-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers was\nhelping a boy to put up the shutters.\n\n\"Good-evening. It's a cold night,\" said Holmes.\n\nThe salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my\ncompanion.\n\n\"Sold out of geese, I see,\" continued Holmes, pointing at the\nbare slabs of marble.\n\n\"Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"That's no good.\"\n\n\"Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare.\"\n\n\"Ah, but I was recommended to you.\"\n\n\"Who by?\"\n\n\"The landlord of the Alpha.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen.\"\n\n\"Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get them from?\"\n\nTo my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the\nsalesman.\n\n\"Now, then, mister,\" said he, with his head cocked and his arms\nakimbo, \"what are you driving at? Let's have it straight, now.\"\n\n\"It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the\ngeese which you supplied to the Alpha.\"\n\n\"Well then, I shan't tell you. So now!\"\n\n\"Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don't know why you\nshould be so warm over such a trifle.\"\n\n\"Warm! You'd be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am.\nWhen I pay good money for a good article there should be an end\nof the business; but it's 'Where are the geese?' and 'Who did you\nsell the geese to?' and 'What will you take for the geese?' One\nwould think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the\nfuss that is made over them.\"\n\n\"Well, I have no connection with any other people who have been\nmaking inquiries,\" said Holmes carelessly. \"If you won't tell us\nthe bet is off, that is all. But I'm always ready to back my\nopinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that the\nbird I ate is country bred.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you've lost your fiver, for it's town bred,\" snapped\nthe salesman.\n\n\"It's nothing of the kind.\"\n\n\"I say it is.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it.\"\n\n\"D'you think you know more about fowls than I, who have handled\nthem ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that\nwent to the Alpha were town bred.\"\n\n\"You'll never persuade me to believe that.\"\n\n\"Will you bet, then?\"\n\n\"It's merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. But\nI'll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be\nobstinate.\"\n\nThe salesman chuckled grimly. \"Bring me the books, Bill,\" said\nhe.\n\nThe small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great\ngreasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging\nlamp.\n\n\"Now then, Mr. Cocksure,\" said the salesman, \"I thought that I\nwas out of geese, but before I finish you'll find that there is\nstill one left in my shop. You see this little book?\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"That's the list of the folk from whom I buy. D'you see? Well,\nthen, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers\nafter their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger.\nNow, then! You see this other page in red ink? Well, that is a\nlist of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Just\nread it out to me.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road--249,\" read Holmes.\n\n\"Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger.\"\n\nHolmes turned to the page indicated. \"Here you are, 'Mrs.\nOakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier.'\"\n\n\"Now, then, what's the last entry?\"\n\n\"'December 22nd. Twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.'\"\n\n\"Quite so. There you are. And underneath?\"\n\n\"'Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12s.'\"\n\n\"What have you to say now?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He drew a sovereign from\nhis pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the\nair of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards off\nhe stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless\nfashion which was peculiar to him.\n\n\"When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the 'Pink 'un'\nprotruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet,\"\nsaid he. \"I daresay that if I had put 100 pounds down in front of\nhim, that man would not have given me such complete information\nas was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on a\nwager. Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the end of our\nquest, and the only point which remains to be determined is\nwhether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, or\nwhether we should reserve it for to-morrow. It is clear from what\nthat surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves\nwho are anxious about the matter, and I should--\"\n\nHis remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke\nout from the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw a\nlittle rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle of\nyellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, while\nBreckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, was\nshaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.\n\n\"I've had enough of you and your geese,\" he shouted. \"I wish you\nwere all at the devil together. If you come pestering me any more\nwith your silly talk I'll set the dog at you. You bring Mrs.\nOakshott here and I'll answer her, but what have you to do with\nit? Did I buy the geese off you?\"\n\n\"No; but one of them was mine all the same,\" whined the little\nman.\n\n\"Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it.\"\n\n\"She told me to ask you.\"\n\n\"Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I've had\nenough of it. Get out of this!\" He rushed fiercely forward, and\nthe inquirer flitted away into the darkness.\n\n\"Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton Road,\" whispered Holmes.\n\"Come with me, and we will see what is to be made of this\nfellow.\" Striding through the scattered knots of people who\nlounged round the flaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook\nthe little man and touched him upon the shoulder. He sprang\nround, and I could see in the gas-light that every vestige of\ncolour had been driven from his face.\n\n\"Who are you, then? What do you want?\" he asked in a quavering\nvoice.\n\n\"You will excuse me,\" said Holmes blandly, \"but I could not help\noverhearing the questions which you put to the salesman just now.\nI think that I could be of assistance to you.\"\n\n\"You? Who are you? How could you know anything of the matter?\"\n\n\"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other\npeople don't know.\"\n\n\"But you can know nothing of this?\"\n\n\"Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavouring to\ntrace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton\nRoad, to a salesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr.\nWindigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his club, of which Mr.\nHenry Baker is a member.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet,\" cried\nthe little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers.\n\"I can hardly explain to you how interested I am in this matter.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. \"In that\ncase we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in this\nwind-swept market-place,\" said he. \"But pray tell me, before we\ngo farther, who it is that I have the pleasure of assisting.\"\n\nThe man hesitated for an instant. \"My name is John Robinson,\" he\nanswered with a sidelong glance.\n\n\"No, no; the real name,\" said Holmes sweetly. \"It is always\nawkward doing business with an alias.\"\n\nA flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. \"Well then,\"\nsaid he, \"my real name is James Ryder.\"\n\n\"Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray\nstep into the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you\neverything which you would wish to know.\"\n\nThe little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with\nhalf-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure\nwhether he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe.\nThen he stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back in\nthe sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said during\nour drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and\nthe claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervous\ntension within him.\n\n\"Here we are!\" said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room.\n\"The fire looks very seasonable in this weather. You look cold,\nMr. Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will just put on my\nslippers before we settle this little matter of yours. Now, then!\nYou want to know what became of those geese?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imagine in\nwhich you were interested--white, with a black bar across the\ntail.\"\n\nRyder quivered with emotion. \"Oh, sir,\" he cried, \"can you tell\nme where it went to?\"\n\n\"It came here.\"\n\n\"Here?\"\n\n\"Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don't wonder that\nyou should take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it was\ndead--the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that ever was seen.\nI have it here in my museum.\"\n\nOur visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece\nwith his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up\nthe blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold,\nbrilliant, many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring with a\ndrawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it.\n\n\"The game's up, Ryder,\" said Holmes quietly. \"Hold up, man, or\nyou'll be into the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair,\nWatson. He's not got blood enough to go in for felony with\nimpunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now he looks a little\nmore human. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!\"\n\nFor a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandy\nbrought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring\nwith frightened eyes at his accuser.\n\n\"I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which I\ncould possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me.\nStill, that little may as well be cleared up to make the case\ncomplete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of the\nCountess of Morcar's?\"\n\n\"It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it,\" said he in a\ncrackling voice.\n\n\"I see--her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of\nsudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has\nbeen for better men before you; but you were not very scrupulous\nin the means you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that there is the\nmaking of a very pretty villain in you. You knew that this man\nHorner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such matter\nbefore, and that suspicion would rest the more readily upon him.\nWhat did you do, then? You made some small job in my lady's\nroom--you and your confederate Cusack--and you managed that he\nshould be the man sent for. Then, when he had left, you rifled\nthe jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate man\narrested. You then--\"\n\nRyder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my\ncompanion's knees. \"For God's sake, have mercy!\" he shrieked.\n\"Think of my father! Of my mother! It would break their hearts. I\nnever went wrong before! I never will again. I swear it. I'll\nswear it on a Bible. Oh, don't bring it into court! For Christ's\nsake, don't!\"\n\n\"Get back into your chair!\" said Holmes sternly. \"It is very well\nto cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this\npoor Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing.\"\n\n\"I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the\ncharge against him will break down.\"\n\n\"Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a true account\nof the next act. How came the stone into the goose, and how came\nthe goose into the open market? Tell us the truth, for there lies\nyour only hope of safety.\"\n\nRyder passed his tongue over his parched lips. \"I will tell you\nit just as it happened, sir,\" said he. \"When Horner had been\narrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for me to get\naway with the stone at once, for I did not know at what moment\nthe police might not take it into their heads to search me and my\nroom. There was no place about the hotel where it would be safe.\nI went out, as if on some commission, and I made for my sister's\nhouse. She had married a man named Oakshott, and lived in Brixton\nRoad, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the way there\nevery man I met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective;\nand, for all that it was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down\nmy face before I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked me\nwhat was the matter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that I\nhad been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went\ninto the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would\nbe best to do.\n\n\"I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and\nhas just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met\nme, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how they\ncould get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be true to\nme, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up my mind\nto go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my\nconfidence. He would show me how to turn the stone into money.\nBut how to get to him in safety? I thought of the agonies I had\ngone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment be\nseized and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat\npocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at\nthe geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly\nan idea came into my head which showed me how I could beat the\nbest detective that ever lived.\n\n\"My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the\npick of her geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she\nwas always as good as her word. I would take my goose now, and in\nit I would carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed in\nthe yard, and behind this I drove one of the birds--a fine big\none, white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and prying its bill\nopen, I thrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger\ncould reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass\nalong its gullet and down into its crop. But the creature flapped\nand struggled, and out came my sister to know what was the\nmatter. As I turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and\nfluttered off among the others.\n\n\"'Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem?' says she.\n\n\"'Well,' said I, 'you said you'd give me one for Christmas, and I\nwas feeling which was the fattest.'\n\n\"'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for you--Jem's bird, we\ncall it. It's the big white one over yonder. There's twenty-six\nof them, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen\nfor the market.'\n\n\"'Thank you, Maggie,' says I; 'but if it is all the same to you,\nI'd rather have that one I was handling just now.'\n\n\"'The other is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and we\nfattened it expressly for you.'\n\n\"'Never mind. I'll have the other, and I'll take it now,' said I.\n\n\"'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'Which is it\nyou want, then?'\n\n\"'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the\nflock.'\n\n\"'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.'\n\n\"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird\nall the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was\na man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed\nuntil he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My\nheart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I\nknew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird,\nrushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back yard. There\nwas not a bird to be seen there.\n\n\"'Where are they all, Maggie?' I cried.\n\n\"'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.'\n\n\"'Which dealer's?'\n\n\"'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.'\n\n\"'But was there another with a barred tail?' I asked, 'the same\nas the one I chose?'\n\n\"'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never\ntell them apart.'\n\n\"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my\nfeet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the\nlot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they\nhad gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has always\nanswered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad.\nSometimes I think that I am myself. And now--and now I am myself\na branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which\nI sold my character. God help me! God help me!\" He burst into\nconvulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.\n\nThere was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and\nby the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes' finger-tips upon the\nedge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.\n\n\"Get out!\" said he.\n\n\"What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!\"\n\n\"No more words. Get out!\"\n\nAnd no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon\nthe stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running\nfootfalls from the street.\n\n\"After all, Watson,\" said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his\nclay pipe, \"I am not retained by the police to supply their\ndeficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing;\nbut this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must\ncollapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just\npossible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong\nagain; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now, and\nyou make him a gaol-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of\nforgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and\nwhimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you\nwill have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin\nanother investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief\nfeature.\"\n\n\n\nVIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND\n\nOn glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I\nhave during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend\nSherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number\nmerely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did\nrather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of\nwealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation\nwhich did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic.\nOf all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which\npresented more singular features than that which was associated\nwith the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran.\nThe events in question occurred in the early days of my\nassociation with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors\nin Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them\nupon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the\ntime, from which I have only been freed during the last month by\nthe untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It\nis perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I\nhave reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the\ndeath of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even\nmore terrible than the truth.\n\nIt was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to\nfind Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my\nbed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the\nmantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I\nblinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little\nresentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.\n\n\"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,\" said he, \"but it's the\ncommon lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she\nretorted upon me, and I on you.\"\n\n\"What is it, then--a fire?\"\n\n\"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a\nconsiderable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She\nis waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander\nabout the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock\nsleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is\nsomething very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it\nprove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to\nfollow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should\ncall you and give you the chance.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.\"\n\nI had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his\nprofessional investigations, and in admiring the rapid\ndeductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a\nlogical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were\nsubmitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in\na few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A\nlady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in\nthe window, rose as we entered.\n\n\"Good-morning, madam,\" said Holmes cheerily. \"My name is Sherlock\nHolmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson,\nbefore whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am\nglad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the\nfire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot\ncoffee, for I observe that you are shivering.\"\n\n\"It is not cold which makes me shiver,\" said the woman in a low\nvoice, changing her seat as requested.\n\n\"What, then?\"\n\n\"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror.\" She raised her veil as\nshe spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable\nstate of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless\nfrightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features\nand figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot\nwith premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard.\nSherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick,\nall-comprehensive glances.\n\n\"You must not fear,\" said he soothingly, bending forward and\npatting her forearm. \"We shall soon set matters right, I have no\ndoubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see.\"\n\n\"You know me, then?\"\n\n\"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm\nof your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had\na good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached\nthe station.\"\n\nThe lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my\ncompanion.\n\n\"There is no mystery, my dear madam,\" said he, smiling. \"The left\narm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven\nplaces. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a\ndog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you\nsit on the left-hand side of the driver.\"\n\n\"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,\" said\nshe. \"I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at\ntwenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I\ncan stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues.\nI have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me,\nand he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you,\nMr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you\nhelped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had\nyour address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me,\ntoo, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness\nwhich surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward\nyou for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be\nmarried, with the control of my own income, and then at least you\nshall not find me ungrateful.\"\n\nHolmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small\ncase-book, which he consulted.\n\n\"Farintosh,\" said he. \"Ah yes, I recall the case; it was\nconcerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time,\nWatson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote\nthe same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to\nreward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty\nto defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which\nsuits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us\neverything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the\nmatter.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" replied our visitor, \"the very horror of my situation\nlies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions\ndepend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to\nanother, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to\nlook for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it\nas the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can\nread it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have\nheard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold\nwickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid\nthe dangers which encompass me.\"\n\n\"I am all attention, madam.\"\n\n\"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who\nis the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in\nEngland, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of\nSurrey.\"\n\nHolmes nodded his head. \"The name is familiar to me,\" said he.\n\n\"The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the\nestates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north,\nand Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four\nsuccessive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition,\nand the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the\ndays of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground,\nand the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under\na heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence\nthere, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but\nhis only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to\nthe new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which\nenabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta,\nwhere, by his professional skill and his force of character, he\nestablished a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused\nby some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he\nbeat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital\nsentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and\nafterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.\n\n\"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner,\nthe young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery.\nMy sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old\nat the time of my mother's re-marriage. She had a considerable\nsum of money--not less than 1000 pounds a year--and this she\nbequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him,\nwith a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to\neach of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our return\nto England my mother died--she was killed eight years ago in a\nrailway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his\nattempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us\nto live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The\nmoney which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and\nthere seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.\n\n\"But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time.\nInstead of making friends and exchanging visits with our\nneighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of\nStoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in\nhis house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious\nquarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temper\napproaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the\nfamily, and in my stepfather's case it had, I believe, been\nintensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series of\ndisgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the\npolice-court, until at last he became the terror of the village,\nand the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of\nimmense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.\n\n\"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a\nstream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I\ncould gather together that I was able to avert another public\nexposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering gipsies,\nand he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few\nacres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate,\nand would accept in return the hospitality of their tents,\nwandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a\npassion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a\ncorrespondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon,\nwhich wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the\nvillagers almost as much as their master.\n\n\"You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I\nhad no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with\nus, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was\nbut thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already\nbegun to whiten, even as mine has.\"\n\n\"Your sister is dead, then?\"\n\n\"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish\nto speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I\nhave described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own\nage and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden\nsister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we\nwere occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady's\nhouse. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there\na half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. My\nstepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and\noffered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of\nthe day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event\noccurred which has deprived me of my only companion.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes\nclosed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his\nlids now and glanced across at his visitor.\n\n\"Pray be precise as to details,\" said he.\n\n\"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful\ntime is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have\nalready said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The\nbedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms\nbeing in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms\nthe first is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third\nmy own. There is no communication between them, but they all open\nout into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?\"\n\n\"Perfectly so.\"\n\n\"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That\nfatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we\nknew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled\nby the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom\nto smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where\nshe sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At\neleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door\nand looked back.\n\n\"'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistle\nin the dead of the night?'\n\n\"'Never,' said I.\n\n\"'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in\nyour sleep?'\n\n\"'Certainly not. But why?'\n\n\"'Because during the last few nights I have always, about three\nin the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper,\nand it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from--perhaps\nfrom the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would\njust ask you whether you had heard it.'\n\n\"'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the\nplantation.'\n\n\"'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you\ndid not hear it also.'\n\n\"'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.'\n\n\"'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She smiled\nback at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her\nkey turn in the lock.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Holmes. \"Was it your custom always to lock\nyourselves in at night?\"\n\n\"Always.\"\n\n\"And why?\"\n\n\"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah\nand a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were\nlocked.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement.\"\n\n\"I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending\nmisfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect,\nwere twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two\nsouls which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind\nwas howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing\nagainst the windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale,\nthere burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew\nthat it was my sister's voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a\nshawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door\nI seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and\na few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had\nfallen. As I ran down the passage, my sister's door was unlocked,\nand revolved slowly upon its hinges. I stared at it\nhorror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. By\nthe light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the\nopening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for\nhelp, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a\ndrunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that\nmoment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground.\nShe writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were\ndreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had not\nrecognised me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out\nin a voice which I shall never forget, 'Oh, my God! Helen! It was\nthe band! The speckled band!' There was something else which she\nwould fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the\nair in the direction of the doctor's room, but a fresh convulsion\nseized her and choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for\nmy stepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in his\ndressing-gown. When he reached my sister's side she was\nunconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent\nfor medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for\nshe slowly sank and died without having recovered her\nconsciousness. Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister.\"\n\n\"One moment,\" said Holmes, \"are you sure about this whistle and\nmetallic sound? Could you swear to it?\"\n\n\"That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is\nmy strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of\nthe gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have\nbeen deceived.\"\n\n\"Was your sister dressed?\"\n\n\"No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the\ncharred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box.\"\n\n\"Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when\nthe alarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions did\nthe coroner come to?\"\n\n\"He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott's\nconduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable\nto find any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that\nthe door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows\nwere blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars,\nwhich were secured every night. The walls were carefully sounded,\nand were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was\nalso thoroughly examined, with the same result. The chimney is\nwide, but is barred up by four large staples. It is certain,\ntherefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end.\nBesides, there were no marks of any violence upon her.\"\n\n\"How about poison?\"\n\n\"The doctors examined her for it, but without success.\"\n\n\"What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?\"\n\n\"It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock,\nthough what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine.\"\n\n\"Were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?\"\n\n\"Yes, there are nearly always some there.\"\n\n\"Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band--a\nspeckled band?\"\n\n\"Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of\ndelirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of\npeople, perhaps to these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not\nknow whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear\nover their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which\nshe used.\"\n\nHolmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied.\n\n\"These are very deep waters,\" said he; \"pray go on with your\nnarrative.\"\n\n\"Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until\nlately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend,\nwhom I have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask\nmy hand in marriage. His name is Armitage--Percy Armitage--the\nsecond son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My\nstepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to\nbe married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs\nwere started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom\nwall has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the\nchamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in\nwhich she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last\nnight, as I lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I\nsuddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which\nhad been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the\nlamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shaken to\ngo to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was\ndaylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which\nis opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on\nthis morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your\nadvice.\"\n\n\"You have done wisely,\" said my friend. \"But have you told me\nall?\"\n\n\"Yes, all.\"\n\n\"Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather.\"\n\n\"Why, what do you mean?\"\n\nFor answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which\nfringed the hand that lay upon our visitor's knee. Five little\nlivid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed\nupon the white wrist.\n\n\"You have been cruelly used,\" said Holmes.\n\nThe lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. \"He\nis a hard man,\" she said, \"and perhaps he hardly knows his own\nstrength.\"\n\nThere was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin\nupon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.\n\n\"This is a very deep business,\" he said at last. \"There are a\nthousand details which I should desire to know before I decide\nupon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If\nwe were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for\nus to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your\nstepfather?\"\n\n\"As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some\nmost important business. It is probable that he will be away all\nday, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a\nhousekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily\nget her out of the way.\"\n\n\"Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?\"\n\n\"By no means.\"\n\n\"Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?\"\n\n\"I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am\nin town. But I shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as to\nbe there in time for your coming.\"\n\n\"And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some\nsmall business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and\nbreakfast?\"\n\n\"No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have\nconfided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you\nagain this afternoon.\" She dropped her thick black veil over her\nface and glided from the room.\n\n\"And what do you think of it all, Watson?\" asked Sherlock Holmes,\nleaning back in his chair.\n\n\"It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business.\"\n\n\"Dark enough and sinister enough.\"\n\n\"Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls\nare sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable,\nthen her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her\nmysterious end.\"\n\n\"What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the\nvery peculiar words of the dying woman?\"\n\n\"I cannot think.\"\n\n\"When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of\na band of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor,\nthe fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has\nan interest in preventing his stepdaughter's marriage, the dying\nallusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stoner\nheard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of\nthose metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its\nplace, I think that there is good ground to think that the\nmystery may be cleared along those lines.\"\n\n\"But what, then, did the gipsies do?\"\n\n\"I cannot imagine.\"\n\n\"I see many objections to any such theory.\"\n\n\"And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going\nto Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are\nfatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of\nthe devil!\"\n\nThe ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that\nour door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had\nframed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar\nmixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a\nblack top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters,\nwith a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his\nhat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his\nbreadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face,\nseared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and\nmarked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other\nof us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin,\nfleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old\nbird of prey.\n\n\"Which of you is Holmes?\" asked this apparition.\n\n\"My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me,\" said my\ncompanion quietly.\n\n\"I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Doctor,\" said Holmes blandly. \"Pray take a seat.\"\n\n\"I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I\nhave traced her. What has she been saying to you?\"\n\n\"It is a little cold for the time of the year,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"What has she been saying to you?\" screamed the old man\nfuriously.\n\n\"But I have heard that the crocuses promise well,\" continued my\ncompanion imperturbably.\n\n\"Ha! You put me off, do you?\" said our new visitor, taking a step\nforward and shaking his hunting-crop. \"I know you, you scoundrel!\nI have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler.\"\n\nMy friend smiled.\n\n\"Holmes, the busybody!\"\n\nHis smile broadened.\n\n\"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!\"\n\nHolmes chuckled heartily. \"Your conversation is most\nentertaining,\" said he. \"When you go out close the door, for\nthere is a decided draught.\"\n\n\"I will go when I have said my say. Don't you dare to meddle with\nmy affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her!\nI am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here.\" He stepped\nswiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with\nhis huge brown hands.\n\n\"See that you keep yourself out of my grip,\" he snarled, and\nhurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the\nroom.\n\n\"He seems a very amiable person,\" said Holmes, laughing. \"I am\nnot quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him\nthat my grip was not much more feeble than his own.\" As he spoke\nhe picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort,\nstraightened it out again.\n\n\"Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official\ndetective force! This incident gives zest to our investigation,\nhowever, and I only trust that our little friend will not suffer\nfrom her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. And now,\nWatson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk\ndown to Doctors' Commons, where I hope to get some data which may\nhelp us in this matter.\"\n\n\nIt was nearly one o'clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his\nexcursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled\nover with notes and figures.\n\n\"I have seen the will of the deceased wife,\" said he. \"To\ndetermine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the\npresent prices of the investments with which it is concerned. The\ntotal income, which at the time of the wife's death was little\nshort of 1100 pounds, is now, through the fall in agricultural\nprices, not more than 750 pounds. Each daughter can claim an\nincome of 250 pounds, in case of marriage. It is evident,\ntherefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty would have\nhad a mere pittance, while even one of them would cripple him to\na very serious extent. My morning's work has not been wasted,\nsince it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for\nstanding in the way of anything of the sort. And now, Watson,\nthis is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is\naware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you\nare ready, we shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be\nvery much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your\npocket. An Eley's No. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen\nwho can twist steel pokers into knots. That and a tooth-brush\nare, I think, all that we need.\"\n\nAt Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for\nLeatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove\nfor four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a\nperfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the\nheavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out\ntheir first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant\nsmell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange\ncontrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this\nsinister quest upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in\nthe front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over\nhis eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the\ndeepest thought. Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the\nshoulder, and pointed over the meadows.\n\n\"Look there!\" said he.\n\nA heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope,\nthickening into a grove at the highest point. From amid the\nbranches there jutted out the grey gables and high roof-tree of a\nvery old mansion.\n\n\"Stoke Moran?\" said he.\n\n\"Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,\" remarked\nthe driver.\n\n\"There is some building going on there,\" said Holmes; \"that is\nwhere we are going.\"\n\n\"There's the village,\" said the driver, pointing to a cluster of\nroofs some distance to the left; \"but if you want to get to the\nhouse, you'll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by\nthe foot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is\nwalking.\"\n\n\"And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner,\" observed Holmes, shading\nhis eyes. \"Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest.\"\n\nWe got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way\nto Leatherhead.\n\n\"I thought it as well,\" said Holmes as we climbed the stile,\n\"that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or\non some definite business. It may stop his gossip.\nGood-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as\nour word.\"\n\nOur client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a\nface which spoke her joy. \"I have been waiting so eagerly for\nyou,\" she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. \"All has turned\nout splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely\nthat he will be back before evening.\"\n\n\"We have had the pleasure of making the doctor's acquaintance,\"\nsaid Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had\noccurred. Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" she cried, \"he has followed me, then.\"\n\n\"So it appears.\"\n\n\"He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What\nwill he say when he returns?\"\n\n\"He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone\nmore cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself\nup from him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to\nyour aunt's at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our\ntime, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to\nexamine.\"\n\nThe building was of grey, lichen-blotched stone, with a high\ncentral portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab,\nthrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows were\nbroken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly\ncaved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in little\nbetter repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern,\nand the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up\nfrom the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided.\nSome scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the\nstone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any\nworkmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and\ndown the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the\noutsides of the windows.\n\n\"This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep,\nthe centre one to your sister's, and the one next to the main\nbuilding to Dr. Roylott's chamber?\"\n\n\"Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one.\"\n\n\"Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does\nnot seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end\nwall.\"\n\n\"There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from\nmy room.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow\nwing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There\nare windows in it, of course?\"\n\n\"Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass\nthrough.\"\n\n\"As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were\nunapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness\nto go into your room and bar your shutters?\"\n\nMiss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination\nthrough the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the\nshutter open, but without success. There was no slit through\nwhich a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his\nlens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built\nfirmly into the massive masonry. \"Hum!\" said he, scratching his\nchin in some perplexity, \"my theory certainly presents some\ndifficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they were\nbolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon\nthe matter.\"\n\nA small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which\nthe three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third\nchamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss\nStoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her\nfate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a\ngaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A\nbrown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow\nwhite-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the\nleft-hand side of the window. These articles, with two small\nwicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save\nfor a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and\nthe panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old\nand discoloured that it may have dated from the original building\nof the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat\nsilent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down,\ntaking in every detail of the apartment.\n\n\"Where does that bell communicate with?\" he asked at last\npointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the\ntassel actually lying upon the pillow.\n\n\"It goes to the housekeeper's room.\"\n\n\"It looks newer than the other things?\"\n\n\"Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago.\"\n\n\"Your sister asked for it, I suppose?\"\n\n\"No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we\nwanted for ourselves.\"\n\n\"Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there.\nYou will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to\nthis floor.\" He threw himself down upon his face with his lens in\nhis hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining\nminutely the cracks between the boards. Then he did the same with\nthe wood-work with which the chamber was panelled. Finally he\nwalked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and\nin running his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the\nbell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.\n\n\"Why, it's a dummy,\" said he.\n\n\"Won't it ring?\"\n\n\"No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting.\nYou can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where\nthe little opening for the ventilator is.\"\n\n\"How very absurd! I never noticed that before.\"\n\n\"Very strange!\" muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. \"There are\none or two very singular points about this room. For example,\nwhat a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another\nroom, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated\nwith the outside air!\"\n\n\"That is also quite modern,\" said the lady.\n\n\"Done about the same time as the bell-rope?\" remarked Holmes.\n\n\"Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that\ntime.\"\n\n\"They seem to have been of a most interesting character--dummy\nbell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your\npermission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into\nthe inner apartment.\"\n\nDr. Grimesby Roylott's chamber was larger than that of his\nstep-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small\nwooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an\narmchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a\nround table, and a large iron safe were the principal things\nwhich met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each\nand all of them with the keenest interest.\n\n\"What's in here?\" he asked, tapping the safe.\n\n\"My stepfather's business papers.\"\n\n\"Oh! you have seen inside, then?\"\n\n\"Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of\npapers.\"\n\n\"There isn't a cat in it, for example?\"\n\n\"No. What a strange idea!\"\n\n\"Well, look at this!\" He took up a small saucer of milk which\nstood on the top of it.\n\n\"No; we don't keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a\nsaucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I\ndaresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine.\" He\nsquatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat\nof it with the greatest attention.\n\n\"Thank you. That is quite settled,\" said he, rising and putting\nhis lens in his pocket. \"Hullo! Here is something interesting!\"\n\nThe object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on\none corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself\nand tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.\n\n\"What do you make of that, Watson?\"\n\n\"It's a common enough lash. But I don't know why it should be\ntied.\"\n\n\"That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it's a wicked world,\nand when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst\nof all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and\nwith your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn.\"\n\nI had never seen my friend's face so grim or his brow so dark as\nit was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We\nhad walked several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss\nStoner nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he\nroused himself from his reverie.\n\n\"It is very essential, Miss Stoner,\" said he, \"that you should\nabsolutely follow my advice in every respect.\"\n\n\"I shall most certainly do so.\"\n\n\"The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may\ndepend upon your compliance.\"\n\n\"I assure you that I am in your hands.\"\n\n\"In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in\nyour room.\"\n\nBoth Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.\n\n\"Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the\nvillage inn over there?\"\n\n\"Yes, that is the Crown.\"\n\n\"Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a\nheadache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him\nretire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window,\nundo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then\nwithdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want\ninto the room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, in\nspite of the repairs, you could manage there for one night.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, easily.\"\n\n\"The rest you will leave in our hands.\"\n\n\"But what will you do?\"\n\n\"We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate\nthe cause of this noise which has disturbed you.\"\n\n\"I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind,\"\nsaid Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion's sleeve.\n\n\"Perhaps I have.\"\n\n\"Then, for pity's sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister's\ndeath.\"\n\n\"I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak.\"\n\n\"You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and\nif she died from some sudden fright.\"\n\n\"No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more\ntangible cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if\nDr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain.\nGood-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you,\nyou may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers\nthat threaten you.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and\nsitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and\nfrom our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and\nof the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw\nDr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside\nthe little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy had some\nslight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard\nthe hoarse roar of the doctor's voice and saw the fury with which\nhe shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a few\nminutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as\nthe lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.\n\n\"Do you know, Watson,\" said Holmes as we sat together in the\ngathering darkness, \"I have really some scruples as to taking you\nto-night. There is a distinct element of danger.\"\n\n\"Can I be of assistance?\"\n\n\"Your presence might be invaluable.\"\n\n\"Then I shall certainly come.\"\n\n\"It is very kind of you.\"\n\n\"You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms\nthan was visible to me.\"\n\n\"No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine\nthat you saw all that I did.\"\n\n\"I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose\nthat could answer I confess is more than I can imagine.\"\n\n\"You saw the ventilator, too?\"\n\n\"Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to\nhave a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a\nrat could hardly pass through.\"\n\n\"I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to\nStoke Moran.\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her\nsister could smell Dr. Roylott's cigar. Now, of course that\nsuggested at once that there must be a communication between the\ntwo rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would have been\nremarked upon at the coroner's inquiry. I deduced a ventilator.\"\n\n\"But what harm can there be in that?\"\n\n\"Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A\nventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the\nbed dies. Does not that strike you?\"\n\n\"I cannot as yet see any connection.\"\n\n\"Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened\nlike that before?\"\n\n\"I cannot say that I have.\"\n\n\"The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same\nrelative position to the ventilator and to the rope--or so we may\ncall it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull.\"\n\n\"Holmes,\" I cried, \"I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at.\nWe are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible\ncrime.\"\n\n\"Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong\nhe is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge.\nPalmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their profession.\nThis man strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall\nbe able to strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors enough\nbefore the night is over; for goodness' sake let us have a quiet\npipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something more\ncheerful.\"\n\n\nAbout nine o'clock the light among the trees was extinguished,\nand all was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours\npassed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of\neleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us.\n\n\"That is our signal,\" said Holmes, springing to his feet; \"it\ncomes from the middle window.\"\n\nAs we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord,\nexplaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance,\nand that it was possible that we might spend the night there. A\nmoment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing\nin our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us\nthrough the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.\n\nThere was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for\nunrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way\namong the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about\nto enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel\nbushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted\nchild, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and\nthen ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.\n\n\"My God!\" I whispered; \"did you see it?\"\n\nHolmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like\na vice upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low\nlaugh and put his lips to my ear.\n\n\"It is a nice household,\" he murmured. \"That is the baboon.\"\n\nI had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There\nwas a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders\nat any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind when,\nafter following Holmes' example and slipping off my shoes, I\nfound myself inside the bedroom. My companion noiselessly closed\nthe shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes\nround the room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. Then\ncreeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered\ninto my ear again so gently that it was all that I could do to\ndistinguish the words:\n\n\"The least sound would be fatal to our plans.\"\n\nI nodded to show that I had heard.\n\n\"We must sit without light. He would see it through the\nventilator.\"\n\nI nodded again.\n\n\"Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your\npistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of\nthe bed, and you in that chair.\"\n\nI took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.\n\nHolmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon\nthe bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the\nstump of a candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left\nin darkness.\n\nHow shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a\nsound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my\ncompanion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same\nstate of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut\noff the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.\n\nFrom outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at\nour very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that\nthe cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the\ndeep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of\nan hour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and\none and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for\nwhatever might befall.\n\nSuddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the\ndirection of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was\nsucceeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal.\nSomeone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle\nsound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the\nsmell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining ears.\nThen suddenly another sound became audible--a very gentle,\nsoothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping\ncontinually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes\nsprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with\nhis cane at the bell-pull.\n\n\"You see it, Watson?\" he yelled. \"You see it?\"\n\nBut I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I\nheard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my\nweary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which\nmy friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face\nwas deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had\nceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when\nsuddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most\nhorrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder\nand louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled\nin the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the\nvillage, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the\nsleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I\nstood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it\nhad died away into the silence from which it rose.\n\n\"What can it mean?\" I gasped.\n\n\"It means that it is all over,\" Holmes answered. \"And perhaps,\nafter all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will\nenter Dr. Roylott's room.\"\n\nWith a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the\ncorridor. Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply\nfrom within. Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his\nheels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.\n\nIt was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a\ndark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant\nbeam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar.\nBeside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott\nclad in a long grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding\nbeneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers.\nAcross his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we\nhad noticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward and his\neyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the\nceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with\nbrownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his\nhead. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.\n\n\"The band! the speckled band!\" whispered Holmes.\n\nI took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began\nto move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat\ndiamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.\n\n\"It is a swamp adder!\" cried Holmes; \"the deadliest snake in\nIndia. He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence\ndoes, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls\ninto the pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust this\ncreature back into its den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to\nsome place of shelter and let the county police know what has\nhappened.\"\n\nAs he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man's lap,\nand throwing the noose round the reptile's neck he drew it from\nits horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw it into\nthe iron safe, which he closed upon it.\n\nSuch are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of\nStoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a\nnarrative which has already run to too great a length by telling\nhow we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed\nher by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow,\nof how the slow process of official inquiry came to the\nconclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly\nplaying with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn\nof the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back\nnext day.\n\n\"I had,\" said he, \"come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which\nshows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from\ninsufficient data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of\nthe word 'band,' which was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to\nexplain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of\nby the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an\nentirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I instantly\nreconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me\nthat whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not\ncome either from the window or the door. My attention was\nspeedily drawn, as I have already remarked to you, to this\nventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The\ndiscovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to\nthe floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was\nthere as a bridge for something passing through the hole and\ncoming to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me,\nand when I coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was\nfurnished with a supply of creatures from India, I felt that I\nwas probably on the right track. The idea of using a form of\npoison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical\ntest was just such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless\nman who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity with which such\na poison would take effect would also, from his point of view, be\nan advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could\ndistinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where\nthe poison fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the\nwhistle. Of course he must recall the snake before the morning\nlight revealed it to the victim. He had trained it, probably by\nthe use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when summoned.\nHe would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he\nthought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down the\nrope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the\noccupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but\nsooner or later she must fall a victim.\n\n\"I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his\nroom. An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in\nthe habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary\nin order that he should reach the ventilator. The sight of the\nsafe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to\nfinally dispel any doubts which may have remained. The metallic\nclang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather\nhastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant.\nHaving once made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in\norder to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss\nas I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the\nlight and attacked it.\"\n\n\"With the result of driving it through the ventilator.\"\n\n\"And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master\nat the other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and\nroused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person\nit saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr.\nGrimesby Roylott's death, and I cannot say that it is likely to\nweigh very heavily upon my conscience.\"\n\n\n\nIX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGINEER'S THUMB\n\nOf all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr.\nSherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy,\nthere were only two which I was the means of introducing to his\nnotice--that of Mr. Hatherley's thumb, and that of Colonel\nWarburton's madness. Of these the latter may have afforded a\nfiner field for an acute and original observer, but the other was\nso strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that\nit may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it\ngave my friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of\nreasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. The story\nhas, I believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but,\nlike all such narratives, its effect is much less striking when\nset forth en bloc in a single half-column of print than when the\nfacts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears\ngradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads\non to the complete truth. At the time the circumstances made a\ndeep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly\nserved to weaken the effect.\n\nIt was in the summer of '89, not long after my marriage, that the\nevents occurred which I am now about to summarise. I had returned\nto civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker\nStreet rooms, although I continually visited him and occasionally\neven persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits so far as to come\nand visit us. My practice had steadily increased, and as I\nhappened to live at no very great distance from Paddington\nStation, I got a few patients from among the officials. One of\nthese, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was\nnever weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send\nme on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence.\n\nOne morning, at a little before seven o'clock, I was awakened by\nthe maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come\nfrom Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I\ndressed hurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases\nwere seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my\nold ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door\ntightly behind him.\n\n\"I've got him here,\" he whispered, jerking his thumb over his\nshoulder; \"he's all right.\"\n\n\"What is it, then?\" I asked, for his manner suggested that it was\nsome strange creature which he had caged up in my room.\n\n\"It's a new patient,\" he whispered. \"I thought I'd bring him\nround myself; then he couldn't slip away. There he is, all safe\nand sound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the\nsame as you.\" And off he went, this trusty tout, without even\ngiving me time to thank him.\n\nI entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the\ntable. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a\nsoft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of\nhis hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all\nover with bloodstains. He was young, not more than\nfive-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong, masculine face; but\nhe was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who\nwas suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his\nstrength of mind to control.\n\n\"I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor,\" said he, \"but I\nhave had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by\ntrain this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I\nmight find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me\nhere. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon\nthe side-table.\"\n\nI took it up and glanced at it. \"Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic\nengineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor).\" That was the name,\nstyle, and abode of my morning visitor. \"I regret that I have\nkept you waiting,\" said I, sitting down in my library-chair. \"You\nare fresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in itself\na monotonous occupation.\"\n\n\"Oh, my night could not be called monotonous,\" said he, and\nlaughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note,\nleaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical\ninstincts rose up against that laugh.\n\n\"Stop it!\" I cried; \"pull yourself together!\" and I poured out\nsome water from a caraffe.\n\nIt was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical\noutbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis\nis over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very\nweary and pale-looking.\n\n\"I have been making a fool of myself,\" he gasped.\n\n\"Not at all. Drink this.\" I dashed some brandy into the water,\nand the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.\n\n\"That's better!\" said he. \"And now, Doctor, perhaps you would\nkindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb\nused to be.\"\n\nHe unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even\nmy hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four\nprotruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the\nthumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right out from\nthe roots.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I cried, \"this is a terrible injury. It must have\nbled considerably.\"\n\n\"Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must\nhave been senseless for a long time. When I came to I found that\nit was still bleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchief very\ntightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig.\"\n\n\"Excellent! You should have been a surgeon.\"\n\n\"It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own\nprovince.\"\n\n\"This has been done,\" said I, examining the wound, \"by a very\nheavy and sharp instrument.\"\n\n\"A thing like a cleaver,\" said he.\n\n\"An accident, I presume?\"\n\n\"By no means.\"\n\n\"What! a murderous attack?\"\n\n\"Very murderous indeed.\"\n\n\"You horrify me.\"\n\nI sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered\nit over with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. He lay back\nwithout wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time.\n\n\"How is that?\" I asked when I had finished.\n\n\"Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a new man.\nI was very weak, but I have had a good deal to go through.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidently\ntrying to your nerves.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police;\nbut, between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing\nevidence of this wound of mine, I should be surprised if they\nbelieved my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and I\nhave not much in the way of proof with which to back it up; and,\neven if they believe me, the clues which I can give them are so\nvague that it is a question whether justice will be done.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" cried I, \"if it is anything in the nature of a problem\nwhich you desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you\nto come to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to the\nofficial police.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have heard of that fellow,\" answered my visitor, \"and I\nshould be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of\ncourse I must use the official police as well. Would you give me\nan introduction to him?\"\n\n\"I'll do better. I'll take you round to him myself.\"\n\n\"I should be immensely obliged to you.\"\n\n\"We'll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to\nhave a little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?\"\n\n\"Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story.\"\n\n\"Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in an\ninstant.\" I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my\nwife, and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my\nnew acquaintance to Baker Street.\n\nSherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his\nsitting-room in his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of The\nTimes and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed\nof all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day\nbefore, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the\nmantelpiece. He received us in his quietly genial fashion,\nordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal.\nWhen it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon the\nsofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of\nbrandy and water within his reach.\n\n\"It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one,\nMr. Hatherley,\" said he. \"Pray, lie down there and make yourself\nabsolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are\ntired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said my patient, \"but I have felt another man since\nthe doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has\ncompleted the cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable\ntime as possible, so I shall start at once upon my peculiar\nexperiences.\"\n\nHolmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded\nexpression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat\nopposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange story\nwhich our visitor detailed to us.\n\n\"You must know,\" said he, \"that I am an orphan and a bachelor,\nresiding alone in lodgings in London. By profession I am a\nhydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable experience of my\nwork during the seven years that I was apprenticed to Venner &\nMatheson, the well-known firm, of Greenwich. Two years ago,\nhaving served my time, and having also come into a fair sum of\nmoney through my poor father's death, I determined to start in\nbusiness for myself and took professional chambers in Victoria\nStreet.\n\n\"I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in\nbusiness a dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so.\nDuring two years I have had three consultations and one small\njob, and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought\nme. My gross takings amount to 27 pounds 10s. Every day, from\nnine in the morning until four in the afternoon, I waited in my\nlittle den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to\nbelieve that I should never have any practice at all.\n\n\"Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the\noffice, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who\nwished to see me upon business. He brought up a card, too, with\nthe name of 'Colonel Lysander Stark' engraved upon it. Close at\nhis heels came the colonel himself, a man rather over the middle\nsize, but of an exceeding thinness. I do not think that I have\never seen so thin a man. His whole face sharpened away into nose\nand chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense over\nhis outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be his\nnatural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his\nstep brisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly but neatly\ndressed, and his age, I should judge, would be nearer forty than\nthirty.\n\n\"'Mr. Hatherley?' said he, with something of a German accent.\n'You have been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man\nwho is not only proficient in his profession but is also discreet\nand capable of preserving a secret.'\n\n\"I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an\naddress. 'May I ask who it was who gave me so good a character?'\n\n\"'Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just\nat this moment. I have it from the same source that you are both\nan orphan and a bachelor and are residing alone in London.'\n\n\"'That is quite correct,' I answered; 'but you will excuse me if\nI say that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional\nqualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matter\nthat you wished to speak to me?'\n\n\"'Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all I say is really to\nthe point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolute\nsecrecy is quite essential--absolute secrecy, you understand, and\nof course we may expect that more from a man who is alone than\nfrom one who lives in the bosom of his family.'\n\n\"'If I promise to keep a secret,' said I, 'you may absolutely\ndepend upon my doing so.'\n\n\"He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me that I\nhad never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.\n\n\"'Do you promise, then?' said he at last.\n\n\"'Yes, I promise.'\n\n\"'Absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? No\nreference to the matter at all, either in word or writing?'\n\n\"'I have already given you my word.'\n\n\"'Very good.' He suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning\nacross the room he flung open the door. The passage outside was\nempty.\n\n\"'That's all right,' said he, coming back. 'I know that clerks are\nsometimes curious as to their master's affairs. Now we can talk\nin safety.' He drew up his chair very close to mine and began to\nstare at me again with the same questioning and thoughtful look.\n\n\"A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun\nto rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man.\nEven my dread of losing a client could not restrain me from\nshowing my impatience.\n\n\"'I beg that you will state your business, sir,' said I; 'my time\nis of value.' Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the\nwords came to my lips.\n\n\"'How would fifty guineas for a night's work suit you?' he asked.\n\n\"'Most admirably.'\n\n\"'I say a night's work, but an hour's would be nearer the mark. I\nsimply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which\nhas got out of gear. If you show us what is wrong we shall soon\nset it right ourselves. What do you think of such a commission as\nthat?'\n\n\"'The work appears to be light and the pay munificent.'\n\n\"'Precisely so. We shall want you to come to-night by the last\ntrain.'\n\n\"'Where to?'\n\n\"'To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders\nof Oxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a\ntrain from Paddington which would bring you there at about\n11:15.'\n\n\"'Very good.'\n\n\"'I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.'\n\n\"'There is a drive, then?'\n\n\"'Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is a good\nseven miles from Eyford Station.'\n\n\"'Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there\nwould be no chance of a train back. I should be compelled to stop\nthe night.'\n\n\"'Yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.'\n\n\"'That is very awkward. Could I not come at some more convenient\nhour?'\n\n\"'We have judged it best that you should come late. It is to\nrecompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a\nyoung and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the\nvery heads of your profession. Still, of course, if you would\nlike to draw out of the business, there is plenty of time to do\nso.'\n\n\"I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they\nwould be to me. 'Not at all,' said I, 'I shall be very happy to\naccommodate myself to your wishes. I should like, however, to\nunderstand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me to\ndo.'\n\n\"'Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which\nwe have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I\nhave no wish to commit you to anything without your having it all\nlaid before you. I suppose that we are absolutely safe from\neavesdroppers?'\n\n\"'Entirely.'\n\n\"'Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that\nfuller's-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found\nin one or two places in England?'\n\n\"'I have heard so.'\n\n\"'Some little time ago I bought a small place--a very small\nplace--within ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to\ndiscover that there was a deposit of fuller's-earth in one of my\nfields. On examining it, however, I found that this deposit was a\ncomparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two\nvery much larger ones upon the right and left--both of them,\nhowever, in the grounds of my neighbours. These good people were\nabsolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was\nquite as valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my\ninterest to buy their land before they discovered its true value,\nbut unfortunately I had no capital by which I could do this. I\ntook a few of my friends into the secret, however, and they\nsuggested that we should quietly and secretly work our own little\ndeposit and that in this way we should earn the money which would\nenable us to buy the neighbouring fields. This we have now been\ndoing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we\nerected a hydraulic press. This press, as I have already\nexplained, has got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the\nsubject. We guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it\nonce became known that we had hydraulic engineers coming to our\nlittle house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the facts\ncame out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these\nfields and carrying out our plans. That is why I have made you\npromise me that you will not tell a human being that you are\ngoing to Eyford to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?'\n\n\"'I quite follow you,' said I. 'The only point which I could not\nquite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press\nin excavating fuller's-earth, which, as I understand, is dug out\nlike gravel from a pit.'\n\n\"'Ah!' said he carelessly, 'we have our own process. We compress\nthe earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing\nwhat they are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken you fully\ninto my confidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and I have shown you how I\ntrust you.' He rose as he spoke. 'I shall expect you, then, at\nEyford at 11:15.'\n\n\"'I shall certainly be there.'\n\n\"'And not a word to a soul.' He looked at me with a last long,\nquestioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank\ngrasp, he hurried from the room.\n\n\"Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was very\nmuch astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission\nwhich had been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was\nglad, for the fee was at least tenfold what I should have asked\nhad I set a price upon my own services, and it was possible that\nthis order might lead to other ones. On the other hand, the face\nand manner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon\nme, and I could not think that his explanation of the\nfuller's-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my\ncoming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell\nanyone of my errand. However, I threw all fears to the winds, ate\na hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and started off, having\nobeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue.\n\n\"At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my station.\nHowever, I was in time for the last train to Eyford, and I\nreached the little dim-lit station after eleven o'clock. I was the\nonly passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the\nplatform save a single sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed\nout through the wicket gate, however, I found my acquaintance of\nthe morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side. Without a\nword he grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door\nof which was standing open. He drew up the windows on either\nside, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went as fast as the\nhorse could go.\"\n\n\"One horse?\" interjected Holmes.\n\n\"Yes, only one.\"\n\n\"Did you observe the colour?\"\n\n\"Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into the\ncarriage. It was a chestnut.\"\n\n\"Tired-looking or fresh?\"\n\n\"Oh, fresh and glossy.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray continue\nyour most interesting statement.\"\n\n\"Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. Colonel\nLysander Stark had said that it was only seven miles, but I\nshould think, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from the\ntime that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. He sat\nat my side in silence all the time, and I was aware, more than\nonce when I glanced in his direction, that he was looking at me\nwith great intensity. The country roads seem to be not very good\nin that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I\ntried to look out of the windows to see something of where we\nwere, but they were made of frosted glass, and I could make out\nnothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now\nand then I hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the\njourney, but the colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the\nconversation soon flagged. At last, however, the bumping of the\nroad was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive,\nand the carriage came to a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang\nout, and, as I followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch\nwhich gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right out of\nthe carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the\nmost fleeting glance of the front of the house. The instant that\nI had crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily behind us,\nand I heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage\ndrove away.\n\n\"It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled\nabout looking for matches and muttering under his breath.\nSuddenly a door opened at the other end of the passage, and a\nlong, golden bar of light shot out in our direction. It grew\nbroader, and a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she\nheld above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us.\nI could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which\nthe light shone upon her dark dress I knew that it was a rich\nmaterial. She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as\nthough asking a question, and when my companion answered in a\ngruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly\nfell from her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her, whispered\nsomething in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room\nfrom whence she had come, he walked towards me again with the\nlamp in his hand.\n\n\"'Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a\nfew minutes,' said he, throwing open another door. It was a\nquiet, little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the\ncentre, on which several German books were scattered. Colonel\nStark laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the\ndoor. 'I shall not keep you waiting an instant,' said he, and\nvanished into the darkness.\n\n\"I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my\nignorance of German I could see that two of them were treatises\non science, the others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked\nacross to the window, hoping that I might catch some glimpse of\nthe country-side, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded\nacross it. It was a wonderfully silent house. There was an old\nclock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise\neverything was deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began\nto steal over me. Who were these German people, and what were\nthey doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And\nwhere was the place? I was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was\nall I knew, but whether north, south, east, or west I had no\nidea. For that matter, Reading, and possibly other large towns,\nwere within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded,\nafter all. Yet it was quite certain, from the absolute stillness,\nthat we were in the country. I paced up and down the room,\nhumming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling\nthat I was thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee.\n\n\"Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the\nutter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman\nwas standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind\nher, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and\nbeautiful face. I could see at a glance that she was sick with\nfear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up one\nshaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few\nwhispered words of broken English at me, her eyes glancing back,\nlike those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her.\n\n\"'I would go,' said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to\nspeak calmly; 'I would go. I should not stay here. There is no\ngood for you to do.'\n\n\"'But, madam,' said I, 'I have not yet done what I came for. I\ncannot possibly leave until I have seen the machine.'\n\n\"'It is not worth your while to wait,' she went on. 'You can pass\nthrough the door; no one hinders.' And then, seeing that I smiled\nand shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and\nmade a step forward, with her hands wrung together. 'For the love\nof Heaven!' she whispered, 'get away from here before it is too\nlate!'\n\n\"But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to\nengage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I\nthought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of\nthe unpleasant night which seemed to be before me. Was it all to\ngo for nothing? Why should I slink away without having carried\nout my commission, and without the payment which was my due? This\nwoman might, for all I knew, be a monomaniac. With a stout\nbearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken me more than I\ncared to confess, I still shook my head and declared my intention\nof remaining where I was. She was about to renew her entreaties\nwhen a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps\nwas heard upon the stairs. She listened for an instant, threw up\nher hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and\nas noiselessly as she had come.\n\n\"The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark and a short thick man\nwith a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double\nchin, who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.\n\n\"'This is my secretary and manager,' said the colonel. 'By the\nway, I was under the impression that I left this door shut just\nnow. I fear that you have felt the draught.'\n\n\"'On the contrary,' said I, 'I opened the door myself because I\nfelt the room to be a little close.'\n\n\"He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. 'Perhaps we had\nbetter proceed to business, then,' said he. 'Mr. Ferguson and I\nwill take you up to see the machine.'\n\n\"'I had better put my hat on, I suppose.'\n\n\"'Oh, no, it is in the house.'\n\n\"'What, you dig fuller's-earth in the house?'\n\n\"'No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind that.\nAll we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us\nknow what is wrong with it.'\n\n\"We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the\nfat manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house,\nwith corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little\nlow doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the\ngenerations who had crossed them. There were no carpets and no\nsigns of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster\nwas peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in\ngreen, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an\nair as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of the\nlady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon\nmy two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent\nman, but I could see from the little that he said that he was at\nleast a fellow-countryman.\n\n\"Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which\nhe unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three\nof us could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside,\nand the colonel ushered me in.\n\n\"'We are now,' said he, 'actually within the hydraulic press, and\nit would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were\nto turn it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the\nend of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force of\nmany tons upon this metal floor. There are small lateral columns\nof water outside which receive the force, and which transmit and\nmultiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. The machine\ngoes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in the working\nof it, and it has lost a little of its force. Perhaps you will\nhave the goodness to look it over and to show us how we can set\nit right.'\n\n\"I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very\nthoroughly. It was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of\nexercising enormous pressure. When I passed outside, however, and\npressed down the levers which controlled it, I knew at once by\nthe whishing sound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed\na regurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders. An\nexamination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which was\nround the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to\nfill the socket along which it worked. This was clearly the cause\nof the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, who\nfollowed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical\nquestions as to how they should proceed to set it right. When I\nhad made it clear to them, I returned to the main chamber of the\nmachine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity.\nIt was obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller's-earth\nwas the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose\nthat so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a\npurpose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a\nlarge iron trough, and when I came to examine it I could see a\ncrust of metallic deposit all over it. I had stooped and was\nscraping at this to see exactly what it was when I heard a\nmuttered exclamation in German and saw the cadaverous face of the\ncolonel looking down at me.\n\n\"'What are you doing there?' he asked.\n\n\"I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as\nthat which he had told me. 'I was admiring your fuller's-earth,'\nsaid I; 'I think that I should be better able to advise you as to\nyour machine if I knew what the exact purpose was for which it\nwas used.'\n\n\"The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of\nmy speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in\nhis grey eyes.\n\n\"'Very well,' said he, 'you shall know all about the machine.' He\ntook a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key\nin the lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it\nwas quite secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks and\nshoves. 'Hullo!' I yelled. 'Hullo! Colonel! Let me out!'\n\n\"And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent my\nheart into my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the swish\nof the leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lamp\nstill stood upon the floor where I had placed it when examining\nthe trough. By its light I saw that the black ceiling was coming\ndown upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew better than\nmyself, with a force which must within a minute grind me to a\nshapeless pulp. I threw myself, screaming, against the door, and\ndragged with my nails at the lock. I implored the colonel to let\nme out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my\ncries. The ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with\nmy hand upraised I could feel its hard, rough surface. Then it\nflashed through my mind that the pain of my death would depend\nvery much upon the position in which I met it. If I lay on my\nface the weight would come upon my spine, and I shuddered to\nthink of that dreadful snap. Easier the other way, perhaps; and\nyet, had I the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly black\nshadow wavering down upon me? Already I was unable to stand\nerect, when my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope\nback to my heart.\n\n\"I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the\nwalls were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw\na thin line of yellow light between two of the boards, which\nbroadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. For\nan instant I could hardly believe that here was indeed a door\nwhich led away from death. The next instant I threw myself\nthrough, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel had\nclosed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few\nmoments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me\nhow narrow had been my escape.\n\n\"I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and\nI found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor,\nwhile a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand,\nwhile she held a candle in her right. It was the same good friend\nwhose warning I had so foolishly rejected.\n\n\"'Come! come!' she cried breathlessly. 'They will be here in a\nmoment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste\nthe so-precious time, but come!'\n\n\"This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to\nmy feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding\nstair. The latter led to another broad passage, and just as we\nreached it we heard the sound of running feet and the shouting of\ntwo voices, one answering the other from the floor on which  we\nwere and from the one beneath. My guide stopped and looked about\nher like one  who is at her wit's end. Then she threw open a door\nwhich led into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon\nwas shining brightly.\n\n\"'It is your only chance,' said she. 'It is high, but it may be\nthat you can jump it.'\n\n\"As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the\npassage, and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark\nrushing forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a\nbutcher's cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom,\nflung open the window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and\nwholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not be\nmore than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill, but I\nhesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed between\nmy saviour and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used,\nthen at any risks I was determined to go back to her assistance.\nThe thought had hardly flashed through my mind before he was at\nthe door, pushing his way past her; but she threw her arms round\nhim and tried to hold him back.\n\n\"'Fritz! Fritz!' she cried in English, 'remember your promise\nafter the last time. You said it should not be again. He will be\nsilent! Oh, he will be silent!'\n\n\"'You are mad, Elise!' he shouted, struggling to break away from\nher. 'You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let me\npass, I say!' He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the\nwindow, cut at me with his heavy weapon. I had let myself go, and\nwas hanging by the hands to the sill, when his blow fell. I was\nconscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and I fell into the\ngarden below.\n\n\"I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I picked myself up and\nrushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I\nunderstood that I was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly,\nhowever, as I ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me.\nI glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully, and\nthen, for the first time, saw that my thumb had been cut off and\nthat the blood was pouring from my wound. I endeavoured to tie my\nhandkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my\nears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint among the\nrose-bushes.\n\n\"How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have been\na very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was\nbreaking when I came to myself. My clothes were all sodden with\ndew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded\nthumb. The smarting of it recalled in an instant all the\nparticulars of my night's adventure, and I sprang to my feet with\nthe feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. But\nto my astonishment, when I came to look round me, neither house\nnor garden were to be seen. I had been lying in an angle of the\nhedge close by the highroad, and just a little lower down was a\nlong building, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be the\nvery station at which I had arrived upon the previous night. Were\nit not for the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed\nduring those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream.\n\n\"Half dazed, I went into the station and asked about the morning\ntrain. There would be one to Reading in less than an hour. The\nsame porter was on duty, I found, as had been there when I\narrived. I inquired of him whether he had ever heard of Colonel\nLysander Stark. The name was strange to him. Had he observed a\ncarriage the night before waiting for me? No, he had not. Was\nthere a police-station anywhere near? There was one about three\nmiles off.\n\n\"It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined\nto wait until I got back to town before telling my story to the\npolice. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I went first\nto have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to\nbring me along here. I put the case into your hands and shall do\nexactly what you advise.\"\n\nWe both sat in silence for some little time after listening to\nthis extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down\nfrom the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he\nplaced his cuttings.\n\n\"Here is an advertisement which will interest you,\" said he. \"It\nappeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this:\n'Lost, on the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged\ntwenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left his lodgings at ten\no'clock at night, and has not been heard of since. Was\ndressed in,' etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that\nthe colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried my patient. \"Then that explains what the\ngirl said.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and\ndesperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should\nstand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out\npirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well,\nevery moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall\ngo down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary to starting for\nEyford.\"\n\nSome three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train\ntogether, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village.\nThere were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector\nBradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself.\nBradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the\nseat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with Eyford\nfor its centre.\n\n\"There you are,\" said he. \"That circle is drawn at a radius of\nten miles from the village. The place we want must be somewhere\nnear that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir.\"\n\n\"It was an hour's good drive.\"\n\n\"And you think that they brought you back all that way when you\nwere unconscious?\"\n\n\"They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having\nbeen lifted and conveyed somewhere.\"\n\n\"What I cannot understand,\" said I, \"is why they should have\nspared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden.\nPerhaps the villain was softened by the woman's entreaties.\"\n\n\"I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face\nin my life.\"\n\n\"Oh, we shall soon clear up all that,\" said Bradstreet. \"Well, I\nhave drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon\nit the folk that we are in search of are to be found.\"\n\n\"I think I could lay my finger on it,\" said Holmes quietly.\n\n\"Really, now!\" cried the inspector, \"you have formed your\nopinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is\nsouth, for the country is more deserted there.\"\n\n\"And I say east,\" said my patient.\n\n\"I am for west,\" remarked the plain-clothes man. \"There are\nseveral quiet little villages up there.\"\n\n\"And I am for north,\" said I, \"because there are no hills there,\nand our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up\nany.\"\n\n\"Come,\" cried the inspector, laughing; \"it's a very pretty\ndiversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do\nyou give your casting vote to?\"\n\n\"You are all wrong.\"\n\n\"But we can't all be.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, you can. This is my point.\" He placed his finger in the\ncentre of the circle. \"This is where we shall find them.\"\n\n\"But the twelve-mile drive?\" gasped Hatherley.\n\n\"Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the\nhorse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that\nif it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?\"\n\n\"Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough,\" observed Bradstreet\nthoughtfully. \"Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature\nof this gang.\"\n\n\"None at all,\" said Holmes. \"They are coiners on a large scale,\nand have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the\nplace of silver.\"\n\n\"We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,\"\nsaid the inspector. \"They have been turning out half-crowns by\nthe thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could\nget no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that\nshowed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks to this\nlucky chance, I think that we have got them right enough.\"\n\nBut the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not\ndestined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into\nEyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed\nup from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and\nhung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.\n\n\"A house on fire?\" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off\nagain on its way.\n\n\"Yes, sir!\" said the station-master.\n\n\"When did it break out?\"\n\n\"I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse,\nand the whole place is in a blaze.\"\n\n\"Whose house is it?\"\n\n\"Dr. Becher's.\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" broke in the engineer, \"is Dr. Becher a German, very\nthin, with a long, sharp nose?\"\n\nThe station-master laughed heartily. \"No, sir, Dr. Becher is an\nEnglishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a\nbetter-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him,\na patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as\nif a little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm.\"\n\nThe station-master had not finished his speech before we were all\nhastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low\nhill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in\nfront of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in\nthe garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to\nkeep the flames under.\n\n\"That's it!\" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. \"There is\nthe gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That\nsecond window is the one that I jumped from.\"\n\n\"Well, at least,\" said Holmes, \"you have had your revenge upon\nthem. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which,\nwhen it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls,\nthough no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to\nobserve it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for\nyour friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are\na good hundred miles off by now.\"\n\nAnd Holmes' fears came to be realised, for from that day to this\nno word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the\nsinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a\npeasant had met a cart containing several people and some very\nbulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but\nthere all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes'\ningenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their\nwhereabouts.\n\nThe firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements\nwhich they had found within, and still more so by discovering a\nnewly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor.\nAbout sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and\nthey subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in,\nand the whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save\nsome twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of\nthe machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so\ndearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored\nin an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have\nexplained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been\nalready referred to.\n\nHow our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to\nthe spot where he recovered his senses might have remained\nforever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a\nvery plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by two\npersons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other\nunusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable that the\nsilent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous than his\ncompanion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out\nof the way of danger.\n\n\"Well,\" said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return\nonce more to London, \"it has been a pretty business for me! I\nhave lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what\nhave I gained?\"\n\n\"Experience,\" said Holmes, laughing. \"Indirectly it may be of\nvalue, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the\nreputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your\nexistence.\"\n\n\n\nX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR\n\nThe Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have\nlong ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles\nin which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have\neclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the\ngossips away from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to\nbelieve, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to\nthe general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a\nconsiderable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no\nmemoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of\nthis remarkable episode.\n\nIt was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I\nwas still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came\nhome from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table\nwaiting for him. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather\nhad taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and\nthe Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as\na relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence.\nWith my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had\nsurrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last,\nsaturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and\nlay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the\nenvelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend's\nnoble correspondent could be.\n\n\"Here is a very fashionable epistle,\" I remarked as he entered.\n\"Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a\nfish-monger and a tide-waiter.\"\n\n\"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety,\" he\nanswered, smiling, \"and the humbler are usually the more\ninteresting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social\nsummonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie.\"\n\nHe broke the seal and glanced over the contents.\n\n\"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all.\"\n\n\"Not social, then?\"\n\n\"No, distinctly professional.\"\n\n\"And from a noble client?\"\n\n\"One of the highest in England.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I congratulate you.\"\n\n\"I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my\nclient is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his\ncase. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be\nwanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the\npapers diligently of late, have you not?\"\n\n\"It looks like it,\" said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in\nthe corner. \"I have had nothing else to do.\"\n\n\"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I\nread nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The\nlatter is always instructive. But if you have followed recent\nevents so closely you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his\nwedding?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest.\"\n\n\"That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord\nSt. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn\nover these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter.\nThis is what he says:\n\n\"'MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:--Lord Backwater tells me that I\nmay place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I\nhave determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you\nin reference to the very painful event which has occurred in\nconnection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is\nacting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no\nobjection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that\nit might be of some assistance. I will call at four o'clock in\nthe afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that\ntime, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of\nparamount importance. Yours faithfully, ST. SIMON.'\n\n\"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen,\nand the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink\nupon the outer side of his right little finger,\" remarked Holmes\nas he folded up the epistle.\n\n\"He says four o'clock. It is three now. He will be here in an\nhour.\"\n\n\"Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon\nthe subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in\ntheir order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client\nis.\" He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of\nreference beside the mantelpiece. \"Here he is,\" said he, sitting\ndown and flattening it out upon his knee. \"'Lord Robert Walsingham\nde Vere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral.' Hum! 'Arms:\nAzure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846.'\nHe's forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was\nUnder-Secretary for the colonies in a late administration. The\nDuke, his father, was at one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs.\nThey inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and Tudor on\nthe distaff side. Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in\nall this. I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something\nmore solid.\"\n\n\"I have very little difficulty in finding what I want,\" said I,\n\"for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as\nremarkable. I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew\nthat you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the\nintrusion of other matters.\"\n\n\"Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square\nfurniture van. That is quite cleared up now--though, indeed, it\nwas obvious from the first. Pray give me the results of your\nnewspaper selections.\"\n\n\"Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal\ncolumn of the Morning Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks\nback: 'A marriage has been arranged,' it says, 'and will, if\nrumour is correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert\nSt. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty\nDoran, the only daughter of Aloysius Doran. Esq., of San\nFrancisco, Cal., U.S.A.' That is all.\"\n\n\"Terse and to the point,\" remarked Holmes, stretching his long,\nthin legs towards the fire.\n\n\"There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society\npapers of the same week. Ah, here it is: 'There will soon be a\ncall for protection in the marriage market, for the present\nfree-trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home\nproduct. One by one the management of the noble houses of Great\nBritain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across\nthe Atlantic. An important addition has been made during the last\nweek to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by\nthese charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself\nfor over twenty years proof against the little god's arrows, has\nnow definitely announced his approaching marriage with Miss Hatty\nDoran, the fascinating daughter of a California millionaire. Miss\nDoran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much\nattention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only child,\nand it is currently reported that her dowry will run to\nconsiderably over the six figures, with expectancies for the\nfuture. As it is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has\nbeen compelled to sell his pictures within the last few years,\nand as Lord St. Simon has no property of his own save the small\nestate of Birchmoor, it is obvious that the Californian heiress\nis not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable her to\nmake the easy and common transition from a Republican lady to a\nBritish peeress.'\"\n\n\"Anything else?\" asked Holmes, yawning.\n\n\"Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note in the Morning Post\nto say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it\nwould be at St. George's, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen\nintimate friends would be invited, and that the party would\nreturn to the furnished house at Lancaster Gate which has been\ntaken by Mr. Aloysius Doran. Two days later--that is, on\nWednesday last--there is a curt announcement that the wedding had\ntaken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord\nBackwater's place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices\nwhich appeared before the disappearance of the bride.\"\n\n\"Before the what?\" asked Holmes with a start.\n\n\"The vanishing of the lady.\"\n\n\"When did she vanish, then?\"\n\n\"At the wedding breakfast.\"\n\n\"Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be; quite\ndramatic, in fact.\"\n\n\"Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common.\"\n\n\"They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during\nthe honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt\nas this. Pray let me have the details.\"\n\n\"I warn you that they are very incomplete.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we may make them less so.\"\n\n\"Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a\nmorning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is\nheaded, 'Singular Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding':\n\n\"'The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into the\ngreatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which\nhave taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as\nshortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the\nprevious morning; but it is only now that it has been possible to\nconfirm the strange rumours which have been so persistently\nfloating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to hush\nthe matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it\nthat no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what\nis a common subject for conversation.\n\n\"'The ceremony, which was performed at St. George's, Hanover\nSquare, was a very quiet one, no one being present save the\nfather of the bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral,\nLord Backwater, Lord Eustace and Lady Clara St. Simon (the\nyounger brother and sister of the bridegroom), and Lady Alicia\nWhittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of\nMr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been\nprepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by a\nwoman, whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to\nforce her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging\nthat she had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only after a\npainful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler\nand the footman. The bride, who had fortunately entered the house\nbefore this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast\nwith the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and\nretired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused some\ncomment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid that\nshe had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an\nulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of the\nfootmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus\napparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress,\nbelieving her to be with the company. On ascertaining that his\ndaughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with\nthe bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with\nthe police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which\nwill probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very\nsingular business. Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing\nhad transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. There\nare rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the\npolice have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the\noriginal disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some\nother motive, she may have been concerned in the strange\ndisappearance of the bride.'\"\n\n\"And is that all?\"\n\n\"Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is\na suggestive one.\"\n\n\"And it is--\"\n\n\"That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance,\nhas actually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a\ndanseuse at the Allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom\nfor some years. There are no further particulars, and the whole\ncase is in your hands now--so far as it has been set forth in the\npublic press.\"\n\n\"And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would\nnot have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell,\nWatson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I\nhave no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not\ndream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness,\nif only as a check to my own memory.\"\n\n\"Lord Robert St. Simon,\" announced our page-boy, throwing open\nthe door. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face,\nhigh-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about\nthe mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose\npleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His\nmanner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue\nimpression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little\nbend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off\nhis very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin\nupon the top. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of\nfoppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat,\nyellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters.\nHe advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to\nright, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his\ngolden eyeglasses.\n\n\"Good-day, Lord St. Simon,\" said Holmes, rising and bowing. \"Pray\ntake the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr.\nWatson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this\nmatter over.\"\n\n\"A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine,\nMr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you\nhave already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir,\nthough I presume that they were hardly from the same class of\nsociety.\"\n\n\"No, I am descending.\"\n\n\"I beg pardon.\"\n\n\"My last client of the sort was a king.\"\n\n\"Oh, really! I had no idea. And which king?\"\n\n\"The King of Scandinavia.\"\n\n\"What! Had he lost his wife?\"\n\n\"You can understand,\" said Holmes suavely, \"that I extend to the\naffairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to\nyou in yours.\"\n\n\"Of course! Very right! very right! I'm sure I beg pardon. As to\nmy own case, I am ready to give you any information which may\nassist you in forming an opinion.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public\nprints, nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct--this\narticle, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride.\"\n\nLord St. Simon glanced over it. \"Yes, it is correct, as far as it\ngoes.\"\n\n\"But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could\noffer an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most\ndirectly by questioning you.\"\n\n\"Pray do so.\"\n\n\"When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?\"\n\n\"In San Francisco, a year ago.\"\n\n\"You were travelling in the States?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you become engaged then?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"But you were on a friendly footing?\"\n\n\"I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was\namused.\"\n\n\"Her father is very rich?\"\n\n\"He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope.\"\n\n\"And how did he make his money?\"\n\n\"In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold,\ninvested it, and came up by leaps and bounds.\"\n\n\"Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady's--your\nwife's character?\"\n\nThe nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down\ninto the fire. \"You see, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, \"my wife was\ntwenty before her father became a rich man. During that time she\nran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or\nmountains, so that her education has come from Nature rather than\nfrom the schoolmaster. She is what we call in England a tomboy,\nwith a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of\ntraditions. She is impetuous--volcanic, I was about to say. She\nis swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her\nresolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the\nname which I have the honour to bear\"--he gave a little stately\ncough--\"had not I thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I\nbelieve that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that\nanything dishonourable would be repugnant to her.\"\n\n\"Have you her photograph?\"\n\n\"I brought this with me.\" He opened a locket and showed us the\nfull face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an\nivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect\nof the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the\nexquisite mouth. Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he\nclosed the locket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon.\n\n\"The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed your\nacquaintance?\"\n\n\"Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. I\nmet her several times, became engaged to her, and have now\nmarried her.\"\n\n\"She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry?\"\n\n\"A fair dowry. Not more than is usual in my family.\"\n\n\"And this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a\nfait accompli?\"\n\n\"I really have made no inquiries on the subject.\"\n\n\"Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before the\nwedding?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Was she in good spirits?\"\n\n\"Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our\nfuture lives.\"\n\n\"Indeed! That is very interesting. And on the morning of the\nwedding?\"\n\n\"She was as bright as possible--at least until after the\nceremony.\"\n\n\"And did you observe any change in her then?\"\n\n\"Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the first signs that I had\never seen that her temper was just a little sharp. The incident\nhowever, was too trivial to relate and can have no possible\nbearing upon the case.\"\n\n\"Pray let us have it, for all that.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towards\nthe vestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it\nfell over into the pew. There was a moment's delay, but the\ngentleman in the pew handed it up to her again, and it did not\nappear to be the worse for the fall. Yet when I spoke to her of\nthe matter, she answered me abruptly; and in the carriage, on our\nway home, she seemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause.\"\n\n\"Indeed! You say that there was a gentleman in the pew. Some of\nthe general public were present, then?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. It is impossible to exclude them when the church is\nopen.\"\n\n\"This gentleman was not one of your wife's friends?\"\n\n\"No, no; I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a\ncommon-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance. But\nreally I think that we are wandering rather far from the point.\"\n\n\"Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the wedding in a less\ncheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do\non re-entering her father's house?\"\n\n\"I saw her in conversation with her maid.\"\n\n\"And who is her maid?\"\n\n\"Alice is her name. She is an American and came from California\nwith her.\"\n\n\"A confidential servant?\"\n\n\"A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed\nher to take great liberties. Still, of course, in America they\nlook upon these things in a different way.\"\n\n\"How long did she speak to this Alice?\"\n\n\"Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to think of.\"\n\n\"You did not overhear what they said?\"\n\n\"Lady St. Simon said something about 'jumping a claim.' She was\naccustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she\nmeant.\"\n\n\"American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your\nwife do when she finished speaking to her maid?\"\n\n\"She walked into the breakfast-room.\"\n\n\"On your arm?\"\n\n\"No, alone. She was very independent in little matters like that.\nThen, after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose\nhurriedly, muttered some words of apology, and left the room. She\nnever came back.\"\n\n\"But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to\nher room, covered her bride's dress with a long ulster, put on a\nbonnet, and went out.\"\n\n\"Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in\ncompany with Flora Millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who\nhad already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran's house that\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady,\nand your relations to her.\"\n\nLord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows.\n\"We have been on a friendly footing for some years--I may say on\na very friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have\nnot treated her ungenerously, and she had no just cause of\ncomplaint against me, but you know what women are, Mr. Holmes.\nFlora was a dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and\ndevotedly attached to me. She wrote me dreadful letters when she\nheard that I was about to be married, and, to tell the truth, the\nreason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that I\nfeared lest there might be a scandal in the church. She came to\nMr. Doran's door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to\npush her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my\nwife, and even threatening her, but I had foreseen the\npossibility of something of the sort, and I had two police\nfellows there in private clothes, who soon pushed her out again.\nShe was quiet when she saw that there was no good in making a\nrow.\"\n\n\"Did your wife hear all this?\"\n\n\"No, thank goodness, she did not.\"\n\n\"And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?\"\n\n\"Yes. That is what Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, looks upon as\nso serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid\nsome terrible trap for her.\"\n\n\"Well, it is a possible supposition.\"\n\n\"You think so, too?\"\n\n\"I did not say a probable one. But you do not yourself look upon\nthis as likely?\"\n\n\"I do not think Flora would hurt a fly.\"\n\n\"Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray\nwhat is your own theory as to what took place?\"\n\n\"Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. I\nhave given you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may\nsay that it has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of\nthis affair, the consciousness that she had made so immense a\nsocial stride, had the effect of causing some little nervous\ndisturbance in my wife.\"\n\n\"In short, that she had become suddenly deranged?\"\n\n\"Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back--I\nwill not say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to\nwithout success--I can hardly explain it in any other fashion.\"\n\n\"Well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis,\" said\nHolmes, smiling. \"And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I have\nnearly all my data. May I ask whether you were seated at the\nbreakfast-table so that you could see out of the window?\"\n\n\"We could see the other side of the road and the Park.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer.\nI shall communicate with you.\"\n\n\"Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem,\" said our\nclient, rising.\n\n\"I have solved it.\"\n\n\"Eh? What was that?\"\n\n\"I say that I have solved it.\"\n\n\"Where, then, is my wife?\"\n\n\"That is a detail which I shall speedily supply.\"\n\nLord St. Simon shook his head. \"I am afraid that it will take\nwiser heads than yours or mine,\" he remarked, and bowing in a\nstately, old-fashioned manner he departed.\n\n\"It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my head by putting\nit on a level with his own,\" said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. \"I\nthink that I shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after all\nthis cross-questioning. I had formed my conclusions as to the\ncase before our client came into the room.\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes!\"\n\n\"I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as I\nremarked before, which were quite as prompt. My whole examination\nserved to turn my conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantial\nevidence is occasionally very convincing, as when you find a\ntrout in the milk, to quote Thoreau's example.\"\n\n\"But I have heard all that you have heard.\"\n\n\"Without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases which\nserves me so well. There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some\nyears back, and something on very much the same lines at Munich\nthe year after the Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these\ncases--but, hullo, here is Lestrade! Good-afternoon, Lestrade!\nYou will find an extra tumbler upon the sideboard, and there are\ncigars in the box.\"\n\nThe official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat,\nwhich gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a\nblack canvas bag in his hand. With a short greeting he seated\nhimself and lit the cigar which had been offered to him.\n\n\"What's up, then?\" asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. \"You\nlook dissatisfied.\"\n\n\"And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal St. Simon marriage\ncase. I can make neither head nor tail of the business.\"\n\n\"Really! You surprise me.\"\n\n\"Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slip\nthrough my fingers. I have been at work upon it all day.\"\n\n\"And very wet it seems to have made you,\" said Holmes laying his\nhand upon the arm of the pea-jacket.\n\n\"Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine.\"\n\n\"In heaven's name, what for?\"\n\n\"In search of the body of Lady St. Simon.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.\n\n\"Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?\" he\nasked.\n\n\"Why? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in\nthe one as in the other.\"\n\nLestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. \"I suppose you\nknow all about it,\" he snarled.\n\n\"Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part in\nthe matter?\"\n\n\"I think it very unlikely.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found\nthis in it?\" He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the\nfloor a wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin\nshoes and a bride's wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked\nin water. \"There,\" said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the\ntop of the pile. \"There is a little nut for you to crack, Master\nHolmes.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed!\" said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air.\n\"You dragged them from the Serpentine?\"\n\n\"No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper.\nThey have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me\nthat if the clothes were there the body would not be far off.\"\n\n\"By the same brilliant reasoning, every man's body is to be found\nin the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope\nto arrive at through this?\"\n\n\"At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that you will find it difficult.\"\n\n\"Are you, indeed, now?\" cried Lestrade with some bitterness. \"I\nam afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your\ndeductions and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as\nmany minutes. This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar.\"\n\n\"And how?\"\n\n\"In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the\ncard-case is a note. And here is the very note.\" He slapped it\ndown upon the table in front of him. \"Listen to this: 'You will\nsee me when all is ready. Come at once. F.H.M.' Now my theory all\nalong has been that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora\nMillar, and that she, with confederates, no doubt, was\nresponsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her\ninitials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped\ninto her hand at the door and which lured her within their\nreach.\"\n\n\"Very good, Lestrade,\" said Holmes, laughing. \"You really are\nvery fine indeed. Let me see it.\" He took up the paper in a\nlistless way, but his attention instantly became riveted, and he\ngave a little cry of satisfaction. \"This is indeed important,\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"Ha! you find it so?\"\n\n\"Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly.\"\n\nLestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. \"Why,\" he\nshrieked, \"you're looking at the wrong side!\"\n\n\"On the contrary, this is the right side.\"\n\n\"The right side? You're mad! Here is the note written in pencil\nover here.\"\n\n\"And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel\nbill, which interests me deeply.\"\n\n\"There's nothing in it. I looked at it before,\" said Lestrade.\n\"'Oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s.\n6d., glass sherry, 8d.' I see nothing in that.\"\n\n\"Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to the\nnote, it is important also, or at least the initials are, so I\ncongratulate you again.\"\n\n\"I've wasted time enough,\" said Lestrade, rising. \"I believe in\nhard work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories.\nGood-day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom\nof the matter first.\" He gathered up the garments, thrust them\ninto the bag, and made for the door.\n\n\"Just one hint to you, Lestrade,\" drawled Holmes before his rival\nvanished; \"I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady\nSt. Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any\nsuch person.\"\n\nLestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me,\ntapped his forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and\nhurried away.\n\nHe had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put on\nhis overcoat. \"There is something in what the fellow says about\noutdoor work,\" he remarked, \"so I think, Watson, that I must\nleave you to your papers for a little.\"\n\nIt was after five o'clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had\nno time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a\nconfectioner's man with a very large flat box. This he unpacked\nwith the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, and\npresently, to my very great astonishment, a quite epicurean\nlittle cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble\nlodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold\nwoodcock, a pheasant, a pate de foie gras pie with a group of\nancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries,\nmy two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian\nNights, with no explanation save that the things had been paid\nfor and were ordered to this address.\n\nJust before nine o'clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the\nroom. His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his\neye which made me think that he had not been disappointed in his\nconclusions.\n\n\"They have laid the supper, then,\" he said, rubbing his hands.\n\n\"You seem to expect company. They have laid for five.\"\n\n\"Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in,\" said he. \"I\nam surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I\nfancy that I hear his step now upon the stairs.\"\n\nIt was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in,\ndangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very\nperturbed expression upon his aristocratic features.\n\n\"My messenger reached you, then?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure.\nHave you good authority for what you say?\"\n\n\"The best possible.\"\n\nLord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his\nforehead.\n\n\"What will the Duke say,\" he murmured, \"when he hears that one of\nthe family has been subjected to such humiliation?\"\n\n\"It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any\nhumiliation.\"\n\n\"Ah, you look on these things from another standpoint.\"\n\n\"I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can hardly see how the\nlady could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of\ndoing it was undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she\nhad no one to advise her at such a crisis.\"\n\n\"It was a slight, sir, a public slight,\" said Lord St. Simon,\ntapping his fingers upon the table.\n\n\"You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so\nunprecedented a position.\"\n\n\"I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have\nbeen shamefully used.\"\n\n\"I think that I heard a ring,\" said Holmes. \"Yes, there are steps\non the landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view\nof the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here\nwho may be more successful.\" He opened the door and ushered in a\nlady and gentleman. \"Lord St. Simon,\" said he \"allow me to\nintroduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Hay Moulton. The lady, I\nthink, you have already met.\"\n\nAt the sight of these newcomers our client had sprung from his\nseat and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand\nthrust into the breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended\ndignity. The lady had taken a quick step forward and had held out\nher hand to him, but he still refused to raise his eyes. It was\nas well for his resolution, perhaps, for her pleading face was\none which it was hard to resist.\n\n\"You're angry, Robert,\" said she. \"Well, I guess you have every\ncause to be.\"\n\n\"Pray make no apology to me,\" said Lord St. Simon bitterly.\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know that I have treated you real bad and that I\nshould have spoken to you before I went; but I was kind of\nrattled, and from the time when I saw Frank here again I just\ndidn't know what I was doing or saying. I only wonder I didn't\nfall down and do a faint right there before the altar.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave\nthe room while you explain this matter?\"\n\n\"If I may give an opinion,\" remarked the strange gentleman,\n\"we've had just a little too much secrecy over this business\nalready. For my part, I should like all Europe and America to\nhear the rights of it.\" He was a small, wiry, sunburnt man,\nclean-shaven, with a sharp face and alert manner.\n\n\"Then I'll tell our story right away,\" said the lady. \"Frank here\nand I met in '84, in McQuire's camp, near the Rockies, where pa\nwas working a claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I;\nbut then one day father struck a rich pocket and made a pile,\nwhile poor Frank here had a claim that petered out and came to\nnothing. The richer pa grew the poorer was Frank; so at last pa\nwouldn't hear of our engagement lasting any longer, and he took\nme away to 'Frisco. Frank wouldn't throw up his hand, though; so\nhe followed me there, and he saw me without pa knowing anything\nabout it. It would only have made him mad to know, so we just\nfixed it all up for ourselves. Frank said that he would go and\nmake his pile, too, and never come back to claim me until he had\nas much as pa. So then I promised to wait for him to the end of\ntime and pledged myself not to marry anyone else while he lived.\n'Why shouldn't we be married right away, then,' said he, 'and\nthen I will feel sure of you; and I won't claim to be your\nhusband until I come back?' Well, we talked it over, and he had\nfixed it all up so nicely, with a clergyman all ready in waiting,\nthat we just did it right there; and then Frank went off to seek\nhis fortune, and I went back to pa.\n\n\"The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and then\nhe went prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from New\nMexico. After that came a long newspaper story about how a\nminers' camp had been attacked by Apache Indians, and there was\nmy Frank's name among the killed. I fainted dead away, and I was\nvery sick for months after. Pa thought I had a decline and took\nme to half the doctors in 'Frisco. Not a word of news came for a\nyear and more, so that I never doubted that Frank was really\ndead. Then Lord St. Simon came to 'Frisco, and we came to London,\nand a marriage was arranged, and pa was very pleased, but I felt\nall the time that no man on this earth would ever take the place\nin my heart that had been given to my poor Frank.\n\n\"Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course I'd have done\nmy duty by him. We can't command our love, but we can our\nactions. I went to the altar with him with the intention to make\nhim just as good a wife as it was in me to be. But you may\nimagine what I felt when, just as I came to the altar rails, I\nglanced back and saw Frank standing and looking at me out of the\nfirst pew. I thought it was his ghost at first; but when I looked\nagain there he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, as\nif to ask me whether I were glad or sorry to see him. I wonder I\ndidn't drop. I know that everything was turning round, and the\nwords of the clergyman were just like the buzz of a bee in my\near. I didn't know what to do. Should I stop the service and make\na scene in the church? I glanced at him again, and he seemed to\nknow what I was thinking, for he raised his finger to his lips to\ntell me to be still. Then I saw him scribble on a piece of paper,\nand I knew that he was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on\nthe way out I dropped my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the\nnote into my hand when he returned me the flowers. It was only a\nline asking me to join him when he made the sign to me to do so.\nOf course I never doubted for a moment that my first duty was now\nto him, and I determined to do just whatever he might direct.\n\n\"When I got back I told my maid, who had known him in California,\nand had always been his friend. I ordered her to say nothing, but\nto get a few things packed and my ulster ready. I know I ought to\nhave spoken to Lord St. Simon, but it was dreadful hard before\nhis mother and all those great people. I just made up my mind to\nrun away and explain afterwards. I hadn't been at the table ten\nminutes before I saw Frank out of the window at the other side of\nthe road. He beckoned to me and then began walking into the Park.\nI slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. Some woman\ncame talking something or other about Lord St. Simon to\nme--seemed to me from the little I heard as if he had a little\nsecret of his own before marriage also--but I managed to get away\nfrom her and soon overtook Frank. We got into a cab together, and\naway we drove to some lodgings he had taken in Gordon Square, and\nthat was my true wedding after all those years of waiting. Frank\nhad been a prisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, came on to\n'Frisco, found that I had given him up for dead and had gone to\nEngland, followed me there, and had come upon me at last on the\nvery morning of my second wedding.\"\n\n\"I saw it in a paper,\" explained the American. \"It gave the name\nand the church but not where the lady lived.\"\n\n\"Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was all\nfor openness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if I\nshould like to vanish away and never see any of them again--just\nsending a line to pa, perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It\nwas awful to me to think of all those lords and ladies sitting\nround that breakfast-table and waiting for me to come back. So\nFrank took my wedding-clothes and things and made a bundle of\nthem, so that I should not be traced, and dropped them away\nsomewhere where no one could find them. It is likely that we\nshould have gone on to Paris to-morrow, only that this good\ngentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us this evening, though how\nhe found us is more than I can think, and he showed us very\nclearly and kindly that I was wrong and that Frank was right, and\nthat we should be putting ourselves in the wrong if we were so\nsecret. Then he offered to give us a chance of talking to Lord\nSt. Simon alone, and so we came right away round to his rooms at\nonce. Now, Robert, you have heard it all, and I am very sorry if\nI have given you pain, and I hope that you do not think very\nmeanly of me.\"\n\nLord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but\nhad listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this\nlong narrative.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" he said, \"but it is not my custom to discuss my most\nintimate personal affairs in this public manner.\"\n\n\"Then you won't forgive me? You won't shake hands before I go?\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure.\" He put out\nhis hand and coldly grasped that which she extended to him.\n\n\"I had hoped,\" suggested Holmes, \"that you would have joined us\nin a friendly supper.\"\n\n\"I think that there you ask a little too much,\" responded his\nLordship. \"I may be forced to acquiesce in these recent\ndevelopments, but I can hardly be expected to make merry over\nthem. I think that with your permission I will now wish you all a\nvery good-night.\" He included us all in a sweeping bow and\nstalked out of the room.\n\n\"Then I trust that you at least will honour me with your\ncompany,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"It is always a joy to meet an\nAmerican, Mr. Moulton, for I am one of those who believe that the\nfolly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-gone\nyears will not prevent our children from being some day citizens\nof the same world-wide country under a flag which shall be a\nquartering of the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes.\"\n\n\"The case has been an interesting one,\" remarked Holmes when our\nvisitors had left us, \"because it serves to show very clearly how\nsimple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sight\nseems to be almost inexplicable. Nothing could be more natural\nthan the sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and nothing\nstranger than the result when viewed, for instance, by Mr.\nLestrade of Scotland Yard.\"\n\n\"You were not yourself at fault at all, then?\"\n\n\"From the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that\nthe lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony,\nthe other that she had repented of it within a few minutes of\nreturning home. Obviously something had occurred during the\nmorning, then, to cause her to change her mind. What could that\nsomething be? She could not have spoken to anyone when she was\nout, for she had been in the company of the bridegroom. Had she\nseen someone, then? If she had, it must be someone from America\nbecause she had spent so short a time in this country that she\ncould hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence\nover her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change\nher plans so completely. You see we have already arrived, by a\nprocess of exclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an\nAmerican. Then who could this American be, and why should he\npossess so much influence over her? It might be a lover; it might\nbe a husband. Her young womanhood had, I knew, been spent in\nrough scenes and under strange conditions. So far I had got\nbefore I ever heard Lord St. Simon's narrative. When he told us\nof a man in a pew, of the change in the bride's manner, of so\ntransparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping of a\nbouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her very\nsignificant allusion to claim-jumping--which in miners' parlance\nmeans taking possession of that which another person has a prior\nclaim to--the whole situation became absolutely clear. She had\ngone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a\nprevious husband--the chances being in favour of the latter.\"\n\n\"And how in the world did you find them?\"\n\n\"It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held\ninformation in his hands the value of which he did not himself\nknow. The initials were, of course, of the highest importance,\nbut more valuable still was it to know that within a week he had\nsettled his bill at one of the most select London hotels.\"\n\n\"How did you deduce the select?\"\n\n\"By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence\nfor a glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive\nhotels. There are not many in London which charge at that rate.\nIn the second one which I visited in Northumberland Avenue, I\nlearned by an inspection of the book that Francis H. Moulton, an\nAmerican gentleman, had left only the day before, and on looking\nover the entries against him, I came upon the very items which I\nhad seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were to be forwarded\nto 226 Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and being fortunate\nenough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to give them\nsome paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be\nbetter in every way that they should make their position a little\nclearer both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in\nparticular. I invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, I\nmade him keep the appointment.\"\n\n\"But with no very good result,\" I remarked. \"His conduct was\ncertainly not very gracious.\"\n\n\"Ah, Watson,\" said Holmes, smiling, \"perhaps you would not be\nvery gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and\nwedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of\nfortune. I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully\nand thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in\nthe same position. Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for\nthe only problem we have still to solve is how to while away\nthese bleak autumnal evenings.\"\n\n\n\nXI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET\n\n\"Holmes,\" said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking\ndown the street, \"here is a madman coming along. It seems rather\nsad that his relatives should allow him to come out alone.\"\n\nMy friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands\nin the pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It\nwas a bright, crisp February morning, and the snow of the day\nbefore still lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the\nwintry sun. Down the centre of Baker Street it had been ploughed\ninto a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and\non the heaped-up edges of the foot-paths it still lay as white as\nwhen it fell. The grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but\nwas still dangerously slippery, so that there were fewer\npassengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction of the\nMetropolitan Station no one was coming save the single gentleman\nwhose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.\n\nHe was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a\nmassive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was\ndressed in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining\nhat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-grey trousers. Yet\nhis actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress\nand features, for he was running hard, with occasional little\nsprings, such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to\nset any tax upon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up and\ndown, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the most\nextraordinary contortions.\n\n\"What on earth can be the matter with him?\" I asked. \"He is\nlooking up at the numbers of the houses.\"\n\n\"I believe that he is coming here,\" said Holmes, rubbing his\nhands.\n\n\"Here?\"\n\n\"Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I\nthink that I recognise the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?\" As\nhe spoke, the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and\npulled at our bell until the whole house resounded with the\nclanging.\n\nA few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still\ngesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in\nhis eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and\npity. For a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his\nbody and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the\nextreme limits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing to his\nfeet, he beat his head against the wall with such force that we\nboth rushed upon him and tore him away to the centre of the room.\nSherlock Holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair and, sitting\nbeside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the easy,\nsoothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.\n\n\"You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?\" said he.\n\"You are fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have\nrecovered yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into\nany little problem which you may submit to me.\"\n\nThe man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting\nagainst his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his\nbrow, set his lips tight, and turned his face towards us.\n\n\"No doubt you think me mad?\" said he.\n\n\"I see that you have had some great trouble,\" responded Holmes.\n\n\"God knows I have!--a trouble which is enough to unseat my\nreason, so sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might\nhave faced, although I am a man whose character has never yet\nborne a stain. Private affliction also is the lot of every man;\nbut the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have\nbeen enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is not I alone.\nThe very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found\nout of this horrible affair.\"\n\n\"Pray compose yourself, sir,\" said Holmes, \"and let me have a\nclear account of who you are and what it is that has befallen\nyou.\"\n\n\"My name,\" answered our visitor, \"is probably familiar to your\nears. I am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder &\nStevenson, of Threadneedle Street.\"\n\nThe name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior\npartner in the second largest private banking concern in the City\nof London. What could have happened, then, to bring one of the\nforemost citizens of London to this most pitiable pass? We\nwaited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced\nhimself to tell his story.\n\n\"I feel that time is of value,\" said he; \"that is why I hastened\nhere when the police inspector suggested that I should secure\nyour co-operation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground and\nhurried from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this\nsnow. That is why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who\ntakes very little exercise. I feel better now, and I will put the\nfacts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as I can.\n\n\"It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking\nbusiness as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative\ninvestments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection\nand the number of our depositors. One of our most lucrative means\nof laying out money is in the shape of loans, where the security\nis unimpeachable. We have done a good deal in this direction\nduring the last few years, and there are many noble families to\nwhom we have advanced large sums upon the security of their\npictures, libraries, or plate.\n\n\"Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a\ncard was brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I\nsaw the name, for it was that of none other than--well, perhaps\neven to you I had better say no more than that it was a name\nwhich is a household word all over the earth--one of the highest,\nnoblest, most exalted names in England. I was overwhelmed by the\nhonour and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but he plunged\nat once into business with the air of a man who wishes to hurry\nquickly through a disagreeable task.\n\n\"'Mr. Holder,' said he, 'I have been informed that you are in the\nhabit of advancing money.'\n\n\"'The firm does so when the security is good.' I answered.\n\n\"'It is absolutely essential to me,' said he, 'that I should have\n50,000 pounds at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a\nsum ten times over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it\na matter of business and to carry out that business myself. In my\nposition you can readily understand that it is unwise to place\none's self under obligations.'\n\n\"'For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?' I asked.\n\n\"'Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most\ncertainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you\nthink it right to charge. But it is very essential to me that the\nmoney should be paid at once.'\n\n\"'I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my\nown private purse,' said I, 'were it not that the strain would be\nrather more than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to do\nit in the name of the firm, then in justice to my partner I must\ninsist that, even in your case, every businesslike precaution\nshould be taken.'\n\n\"'I should much prefer to have it so,' said he, raising up a\nsquare, black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair.\n'You have doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?'\n\n\"'One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,'\nsaid I.\n\n\"'Precisely.' He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft,\nflesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery\nwhich he had named. 'There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,' said\nhe, 'and the price of the gold chasing is incalculable. The\nlowest estimate would put the worth of the coronet at double the\nsum which I have asked. I am prepared to leave it with you as my\nsecurity.'\n\n\"I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some\nperplexity from it to my illustrious client.\n\n\"'You doubt its value?' he asked.\n\n\"'Not at all. I only doubt--'\n\n\"'The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at rest\nabout that. I should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely\ncertain that I should be able in four days to reclaim it. It is a\npure matter of form. Is the security sufficient?'\n\n\"'Ample.'\n\n\"'You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong proof\nof the confidence which I have in you, founded upon all that I\nhave heard of you. I rely upon you not only to be discreet and to\nrefrain from all gossip upon the matter but, above all, to\npreserve this coronet with every possible precaution because I\nneed not say that a great public scandal would be caused if any\nharm were to befall it. Any injury to it would be almost as\nserious as its complete loss, for there are no beryls in the\nworld to match these, and it would be impossible to replace them.\nI leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and I shall\ncall for it in person on Monday morning.'\n\n\"Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more but,\ncalling for my cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty 1000\npound notes. When I was alone once more, however, with the\nprecious case lying upon the table in front of me, I could not\nbut think with some misgivings of the immense responsibility\nwhich it entailed upon me. There could be no doubt that, as it\nwas a national possession, a horrible scandal would ensue if any\nmisfortune should occur to it. I already regretted having ever\nconsented to take charge of it. However, it was too late to alter\nthe matter now, so I locked it up in my private safe and turned\nonce more to my work.\n\n\"When evening came I felt that it would be an imprudence to leave\nso precious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers' safes had\nbeen forced before now, and why should not mine be? If so, how\nterrible would be the position in which I should find myself! I\ndetermined, therefore, that for the next few days I would always\ncarry the case backward and forward with me, so that it might\nnever be really out of my reach. With this intention, I called a\ncab and drove out to my house at Streatham, carrying the jewel\nwith me. I did not breathe freely until I had taken it upstairs\nand locked it in the bureau of my dressing-room.\n\n\"And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I wish you to\nthoroughly understand the situation. My groom and my page sleep\nout of the house, and may be set aside altogether. I have three\nmaid-servants who have been with me a number of years and whose\nabsolute reliability is quite above suspicion. Another, Lucy\nParr, the second waiting-maid, has only been in my service a few\nmonths. She came with an excellent character, however, and has\nalways given me satisfaction. She is a very pretty girl and has\nattracted admirers who have occasionally hung about the place.\nThat is the only drawback which we have found to her, but we\nbelieve her to be a thoroughly good girl in every way.\n\n\"So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that it\nwill not take me long to describe it. I am a widower and have an\nonly son, Arthur. He has been a disappointment to me, Mr.\nHolmes--a grievous disappointment. I have no doubt that I am\nmyself to blame. People tell me that I have spoiled him. Very\nlikely I have. When my dear wife died I felt that he was all I\nhad to love. I could not bear to see the smile fade even for a\nmoment from his face. I have never denied him a wish. Perhaps it\nwould have been better for both of us had I been sterner, but I\nmeant it for the best.\n\n\"It was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in my\nbusiness, but he was not of a business turn. He was wild,\nwayward, and, to speak the truth, I could not trust him in the\nhandling of large sums of money. When he was young he became a\nmember of an aristocratic club, and there, having charming\nmanners, he was soon the intimate of a number of men with long\npurses and expensive habits. He learned to play heavily at cards\nand to squander money on the turf, until he had again and again\nto come to me and implore me to give him an advance upon his\nallowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. He tried\nmore than once to break away from the dangerous company which he\nwas keeping, but each time the influence of his friend, Sir\nGeorge Burnwell, was enough to draw him back again.\n\n\"And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir George\nBurnwell should gain an influence over him, for he has frequently\nbrought him to my house, and I have found myself that I could\nhardly resist the fascination of his manner. He is older than\nArthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who had been\neverywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a man of\ngreat personal beauty. Yet when I think of him in cold blood, far\naway from the glamour of his presence, I am convinced from his\ncynical speech and the look which I have caught in his eyes that\nhe is one who should be deeply distrusted. So I think, and so,\ntoo, thinks my little Mary, who has a woman's quick insight into\ncharacter.\n\n\"And now there is only she to be described. She is my niece; but\nwhen my brother died five years ago and left her alone in the\nworld I adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my\ndaughter. She is a sunbeam in my house--sweet, loving, beautiful,\na wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet and\ngentle as a woman could be. She is my right hand. I do not know\nwhat I could do without her. In only one matter has she ever gone\nagainst my wishes. Twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for\nhe loves her devotedly, but each time she has refused him. I\nthink that if anyone could have drawn him into the right path it\nwould have been she, and that his marriage might have changed his\nwhole life; but now, alas! it is too late--forever too late!\n\n\"Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and\nI shall continue with my miserable story.\n\n\"When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after\ndinner, I told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precious\ntreasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name\nof my client. Lucy Parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, I am\nsure, left the room; but I cannot swear that the door was closed.\nMary and Arthur were much interested and wished to see the famous\ncoronet, but I thought it better not to disturb it.\n\n\"'Where have you put it?' asked Arthur.\n\n\"'In my own bureau.'\n\n\"'Well, I hope to goodness the house won't be burgled during the\nnight.' said he.\n\n\"'It is locked up,' I answered.\n\n\"'Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster I\nhave opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.'\n\n\"He often had a wild way of talking, so that I thought little of\nwhat he said. He followed me to my room, however, that night with\na very grave face.\n\n\"'Look here, dad,' said he with his eyes cast down, 'can you let\nme have 200 pounds?'\n\n\"'No, I cannot!' I answered sharply. 'I have been far too\ngenerous with you in money matters.'\n\n\"'You have been very kind,' said he, 'but I must have this money,\nor else I can never show my face inside the club again.'\n\n\"'And a very good thing, too!' I cried.\n\n\"'Yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured man,'\nsaid he. 'I could not bear the disgrace. I must raise the money\nin some way, and if you will not let me have it, then I must try\nother means.'\n\n\"I was very angry, for this was the third demand during the\nmonth. 'You shall not have a farthing from me,' I cried, on which\nhe bowed and left the room without another word.\n\n\"When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that my\ntreasure was safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go\nround the house to see that all was secure--a duty which I\nusually leave to Mary but which I thought it well to perform\nmyself that night. As I came down the stairs I saw Mary herself\nat the side window of the hall, which she closed and fastened as\nI approached.\n\n\"'Tell me, dad,' said she, looking, I thought, a little\ndisturbed, 'did you give Lucy, the maid, leave to go out\nto-night?'\n\n\"'Certainly not.'\n\n\"'She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt that she\nhas only been to the side gate to see someone, but I think that\nit is hardly safe and should be stopped.'\n\n\"'You must speak to her in the morning, or I will if you prefer\nit. Are you sure that everything is fastened?'\n\n\"'Quite sure, dad.'\n\n\"'Then, good-night.' I kissed her and went up to my bedroom\nagain, where I was soon asleep.\n\n\"I am endeavouring to tell you everything, Mr. Holmes, which may\nhave any bearing upon the case, but I beg that you will question\nme upon any point which I do not make clear.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid.\"\n\n\"I come to a part of my story now in which I should wish to be\nparticularly so. I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety\nin my mind tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual.\nAbout two in the morning, then, I was awakened by some sound in\nthe house. It had ceased ere I was wide awake, but it had left an\nimpression behind it as though a window had gently closed\nsomewhere. I lay listening with all my ears. Suddenly, to my\nhorror, there was a distinct sound of footsteps moving softly in\nthe next room. I slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear,\nand peeped round the corner of my dressing-room door.\n\n\"'Arthur!' I screamed, 'you villain! you thief! How dare you\ntouch that coronet?'\n\n\"The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy,\ndressed only in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the\nlight, holding the coronet in his hands. He appeared to be\nwrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. At my cry\nhe dropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. I\nsnatched it up and examined it. One of the gold corners, with\nthree of the beryls in it, was missing.\n\n\"'You blackguard!' I shouted, beside myself with rage. 'You have\ndestroyed it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are the\njewels which you have stolen?'\n\n\"'Stolen!' he cried.\n\n\"'Yes, thief!' I roared, shaking him by the shoulder.\n\n\"'There are none missing. There cannot be any missing,' said he.\n\n\"'There are three missing. And you know where they are. Must I\ncall you a liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying to\ntear off another piece?'\n\n\"'You have called me names enough,' said he, 'I will not stand it\nany longer. I shall not say another word about this business,\nsince you have chosen to insult me. I will leave your house in\nthe morning and make my own way in the world.'\n\n\"'You shall leave it in the hands of the police!' I cried\nhalf-mad with grief and rage. 'I shall have this matter probed to\nthe bottom.'\n\n\"'You shall learn nothing from me,' said he with a passion such\nas I should not have thought was in his nature. 'If you choose to\ncall the police, let the police find what they can.'\n\n\"By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised my\nvoice in my anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and,\nat the sight of the coronet and of Arthur's face, she read the\nwhole story and, with a scream, fell down senseless on the\nground. I sent the house-maid for the police and put the\ninvestigation into their hands at once. When the inspector and a\nconstable entered the house, Arthur, who had stood sullenly with\nhis arms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to charge\nhim with theft. I answered that it had ceased to be a private\nmatter, but had become a public one, since the ruined coronet was\nnational property. I was determined that the law should have its\nway in everything.\n\n\"'At least,' said he, 'you will not have me arrested at once. It\nwould be to your advantage as well as mine if I might leave the\nhouse for five minutes.'\n\n\"'That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what you\nhave stolen,' said I. And then, realising the dreadful position\nin which I was placed, I implored him to remember that not only\nmy honour but that of one who was far greater than I was at\nstake; and that he threatened to raise a scandal which would\nconvulse the nation. He might avert it all if he would but tell\nme what he had done with the three missing stones.\n\n\"'You may as well face the matter,' said I; 'you have been caught\nin the act, and no confession could make your guilt more heinous.\nIf you but make such reparation as is in your power, by telling\nus where the beryls are, all shall be forgiven and forgotten.'\n\n\"'Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,' he answered,\nturning away from me with a sneer. I saw that he was too hardened\nfor any words of mine to influence him. There was but one way for\nit. I called in the inspector and gave him into custody. A search\nwas made at once not only of his person but of his room and of\nevery portion of the house where he could possibly have concealed\nthe gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would the\nwretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and our\nthreats. This morning he was removed to a cell, and I, after\ngoing through all the police formalities, have hurried round to\nyou to implore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter.\nThe police have openly confessed that they can at present make\nnothing of it. You may go to any expense which you think\nnecessary. I have already offered a reward of 1000 pounds. My\nGod, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, my gems, and my son\nin one night. Oh, what shall I do!\"\n\nHe put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to\nand fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got\nbeyond words.\n\nSherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows\nknitted and his eyes fixed upon the fire.\n\n\"Do you receive much company?\" he asked.\n\n\"None save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of\nArthur's. Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. No\none else, I think.\"\n\n\"Do you go out much in society?\"\n\n\"Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care for\nit.\"\n\n\"That is unusual in a young girl.\"\n\n\"She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young. She\nis four-and-twenty.\"\n\n\"This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to\nher also.\"\n\n\"Terrible! She is even more affected than I.\"\n\n\"You have neither of you any doubt as to your son's guilt?\"\n\n\"How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with the coronet\nin his hands.\"\n\n\"I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder of\nthe coronet at all injured?\"\n\n\"Yes, it was twisted.\"\n\n\"Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to\nstraighten it?\"\n\n\"God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for me.\nBut it is too heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If\nhis purpose were innocent, why did he not say so?\"\n\n\"Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie?\nHis silence appears to me to cut both ways. There are several\nsingular points about the case. What did the police think of the\nnoise which awoke you from your sleep?\"\n\n\"They considered that it might be caused by Arthur's closing his\nbedroom door.\"\n\n\"A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his door\nso as to wake a household. What did they say, then, of the\ndisappearance of these gems?\"\n\n\"They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture\nin the hope of finding them.\"\n\n\"Have they thought of looking outside the house?\"\n\n\"Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole garden has\nalready been minutely examined.\"\n\n\"Now, my dear sir,\" said Holmes, \"is it not obvious to you now\nthat this matter really strikes very much deeper than either you\nor the police were at first inclined to think? It appeared to you\nto be a simple case; to me it seems exceedingly complex. Consider\nwhat is involved by your theory. You suppose that your son came\ndown from his bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-room,\nopened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke off by main\nforce a small portion of it, went off to some other place,\nconcealed three gems out of the thirty-nine, with such skill that\nnobody can find them, and then returned with the other thirty-six\ninto the room in which he exposed himself to the greatest danger\nof being discovered. I ask you now, is such a theory tenable?\"\n\n\"But what other is there?\" cried the banker with a gesture of\ndespair. \"If his motives were innocent, why does he not explain\nthem?\"\n\n\"It is our task to find that out,\" replied Holmes; \"so now, if\nyou please, Mr. Holder, we will set off for Streatham together,\nand devote an hour to glancing a little more closely into\ndetails.\"\n\nMy friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition,\nwhich I was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy\nwere deeply stirred by the story to which we had listened. I\nconfess that the guilt of the banker's son appeared to me to be\nas obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still I had such\nfaith in Holmes' judgment that I felt that there must be some\ngrounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfied with the accepted\nexplanation. He hardly spoke a word the whole way out to the\nsouthern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and his\nhat drawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. Our client\nappeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope\nwhich had been presented to him, and he even broke into a\ndesultory chat with me over his business affairs. A short railway\njourney and a shorter walk brought us to Fairbank, the modest\nresidence of the great financier.\n\nFairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing\nback a little from the road. A double carriage-sweep, with a\nsnow-clad lawn, stretched down in front to two large iron gates\nwhich closed the entrance. On the right side was a small wooden\nthicket, which led into a narrow path between two neat hedges\nstretching from the road to the kitchen door, and forming the\ntradesmen's entrance. On the left ran a lane which led to the\nstables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being a\npublic, though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us standing\nat the door and walked slowly all round the house, across the\nfront, down the tradesmen's path, and so round by the garden\nbehind into the stable lane. So long was he that Mr. Holder and I\nwent into the dining-room and waited by the fire until he should\nreturn. We were sitting there in silence when the door opened and\na young lady came in. She was rather above the middle height,\nslim, with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker against\nthe absolute pallor of her skin. I do not think that I have ever\nseen such deadly paleness in a woman's face. Her lips, too, were\nbloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying. As she swept\nsilently into the room she impressed me with a greater sense of\ngrief than the banker had done in the morning, and it was the\nmore striking in her as she was evidently a woman of strong\ncharacter, with immense capacity for self-restraint. Disregarding\nmy presence, she went straight to her uncle and passed her hand\nover his head with a sweet womanly caress.\n\n\"You have given orders that Arthur should be liberated, have you\nnot, dad?\" she asked.\n\n\"No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom.\"\n\n\"But I am so sure that he is innocent. You know what woman's\ninstincts are. I know that he has done no harm and that you will\nbe sorry for having acted so harshly.\"\n\n\"Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?\"\n\n\"Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you should\nsuspect him.\"\n\n\"How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him with\nthe coronet in his hand?\"\n\n\"Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do take\nmy word for it that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and say\nno more. It is so dreadful to think of our dear Arthur in\nprison!\"\n\n\"I shall never let it drop until the gems are found--never, Mary!\nYour affection for Arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences\nto me. Far from hushing the thing up, I have brought a gentleman\ndown from London to inquire more deeply into it.\"\n\n\"This gentleman?\" she asked, facing round to me.\n\n\"No, his friend. He wished us to leave him alone. He is round in\nthe stable lane now.\"\n\n\"The stable lane?\" She raised her dark eyebrows. \"What can he\nhope to find there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir,\nthat you will succeed in proving, what I feel sure is the truth,\nthat my cousin Arthur is innocent of this crime.\"\n\n\"I fully share your opinion, and I trust, with you, that we may\nprove it,\" returned Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the\nsnow from his shoes. \"I believe I have the honour of addressing\nMiss Mary Holder. Might I ask you a question or two?\"\n\n\"Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up.\"\n\n\"You heard nothing yourself last night?\"\n\n\"Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. I heard\nthat, and I came down.\"\n\n\"You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did you\nfasten all the windows?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Were they all fastened this morning?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarked\nto your uncle last night that she had been out to see him?\"\n\n\"Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and\nwho may have heard uncle's remarks about the coronet.\"\n\n\"I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell her\nsweetheart, and that the two may have planned the robbery.\"\n\n\"But what is the good of all these vague theories,\" cried the\nbanker impatiently, \"when I have told you that I saw Arthur with\nthe coronet in his hands?\"\n\n\"Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. About this\ngirl, Miss Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, I\npresume?\"\n\n\"Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the night I\nmet her slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom.\"\n\n\"Do you know him?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings our vegetables round.\nHis name is Francis Prosper.\"\n\n\"He stood,\" said Holmes, \"to the left of the door--that is to\nsay, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?\"\n\n\"Yes, he did.\"\n\n\"And he is a man with a wooden leg?\"\n\nSomething like fear sprang up in the young lady's expressive\nblack eyes. \"Why, you are like a magician,\" said she. \"How do you\nknow that?\" She smiled, but there was no answering smile in\nHolmes' thin, eager face.\n\n\"I should be very glad now to go upstairs,\" said he. \"I shall\nprobably wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps\nI had better take a look at the lower windows before I go up.\"\n\nHe walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at\nthe large one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane.\nThis he opened and made a very careful examination of the sill\nwith his powerful magnifying lens. \"Now we shall go upstairs,\"\nsaid he at last.\n\nThe banker's dressing-room was a plainly furnished little\nchamber, with a grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror.\nHolmes went to the bureau first and looked hard at the lock.\n\n\"Which key was used to open it?\" he asked.\n\n\"That which my son himself indicated--that of the cupboard of the\nlumber-room.\"\n\n\"Have you it here?\"\n\n\"That is it on the dressing-table.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.\n\n\"It is a noiseless lock,\" said he. \"It is no wonder that it did\nnot wake you. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We must\nhave a look at it.\" He opened the case, and taking out the diadem\nhe laid it upon the table. It was a magnificent specimen of the\njeweller's art, and the thirty-six stones were the finest that I\nhave ever seen. At one side of the coronet was a cracked edge,\nwhere a corner holding three gems had been torn away.\n\n\"Now, Mr. Holder,\" said Holmes, \"here is the corner which\ncorresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I\nbeg that you will break it off.\"\n\nThe banker recoiled in horror. \"I should not dream of trying,\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"Then I will.\" Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but\nwithout result. \"I feel it give a little,\" said he; \"but, though\nI am exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my\ntime to break it. An ordinary man could not do it. Now, what do\nyou think would happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There would\nbe a noise like a pistol shot. Do you tell me that all this\nhappened within a few yards of your bed and that you heard\nnothing of it?\"\n\n\"I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me.\"\n\n\"But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you think,\nMiss Holder?\"\n\n\"I confess that I still share my uncle's perplexity.\"\n\n\"Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?\"\n\n\"He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt.\"\n\n\"Thank you. We have certainly been favoured with extraordinary\nluck during this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault\nif we do not succeed in clearing the matter up. With your\npermission, Mr. Holder, I shall now continue my investigations\noutside.\"\n\nHe went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any\nunnecessary footmarks might make his task more difficult. For an\nhour or more he was at work, returning at last with his feet\nheavy with snow and his features as inscrutable as ever.\n\n\"I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr.\nHolder,\" said he; \"I can serve you best by returning to my\nrooms.\"\n\n\"But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell.\"\n\nThe banker wrung his hands. \"I shall never see them again!\" he\ncried. \"And my son? You give me hopes?\"\n\n\"My opinion is in no way altered.\"\n\n\"Then, for God's sake, what was this dark business which was\nacted in my house last night?\"\n\n\"If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrow\nmorning between nine and ten I shall be happy to do what I can to\nmake it clearer. I understand that you give me carte blanche to\nact for you, provided only that I get back the gems, and that you\nplace no limit on the sum I may draw.\"\n\n\"I would give my fortune to have them back.\"\n\n\"Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and then.\nGood-bye; it is just possible that I may have to come over here\nagain before evening.\"\n\nIt was obvious to me that my companion's mind was now made up\nabout the case, although what his conclusions were was more than\nI could even dimly imagine. Several times during our homeward\njourney I endeavoured to sound him upon the point, but he always\nglided away to some other topic, until at last I gave it over in\ndespair. It was not yet three when we found ourselves in our\nrooms once more. He hurried to his chamber and was down again in\na few minutes dressed as a common loafer. With his collar turned\nup, his shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots, he\nwas a perfect sample of the class.\n\n\"I think that this should do,\" said he, glancing into the glass\nabove the fireplace. \"I only wish that you could come with me,\nWatson, but I fear that it won't do. I may be on the trail in\nthis matter, or I may be following a will-o'-the-wisp, but I\nshall soon know which it is. I hope that I may be back in a few\nhours.\" He cut a slice of beef from the joint upon the sideboard,\nsandwiched it between two rounds of bread, and thrusting this\nrude meal into his pocket he started off upon his expedition.\n\nI had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in\nexcellent spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his\nhand. He chucked it down into a corner and helped himself to a\ncup of tea.\n\n\"I only looked in as I passed,\" said he. \"I am going right on.\"\n\n\"Where to?\"\n\n\"Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some time\nbefore I get back. Don't wait up for me in case I should be\nlate.\"\n\n\"How are you getting on?\"\n\n\"Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have been out to Streatham\nsince I saw you last, but I did not call at the house. It is a\nvery sweet little problem, and I would not have missed it for a\ngood deal. However, I must not sit gossiping here, but must get\nthese disreputable clothes off and return to my highly\nrespectable self.\"\n\nI could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for\nsatisfaction than his words alone would imply. His eyes twinkled,\nand there was even a touch of colour upon his sallow cheeks. He\nhastened upstairs, and a few minutes later I heard the slam of\nthe hall door, which told me that he was off once more upon his\ncongenial hunt.\n\nI waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so\nI retired to my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be away\nfor days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that\nhis lateness caused me no surprise. I do not know at what hour he\ncame in, but when I came down to breakfast in the morning there\nhe was with a cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the\nother, as fresh and trim as possible.\n\n\"You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson,\" said he, \"but\nyou remember that our client has rather an early appointment this\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Why, it is after nine now,\" I answered. \"I should not be\nsurprised if that were he. I thought I heard a ring.\"\n\nIt was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the\nchange which had come over him, for his face which was naturally\nof a broad and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in,\nwhile his hair seemed to me at least a shade whiter. He entered\nwith a weariness and lethargy which was even more painful than\nhis violence of the morning before, and he dropped heavily into\nthe armchair which I pushed forward for him.\n\n\"I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried,\" said\nhe. \"Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without\na care in the world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured\nage. One sorrow comes close upon the heels of another. My niece,\nMary, has deserted me.\"\n\n\"Deserted you?\"\n\n\"Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was\nempty, and a note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said to\nher last night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had\nmarried my boy all might have been well with him. Perhaps it was\nthoughtless of me to say so. It is to that remark that she refers\nin this note:\n\n\"'MY DEAREST UNCLE:--I feel that I have brought trouble upon you,\nand that if I had acted differently this terrible misfortune\nmight never have occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my\nmind, ever again be happy under your roof, and I feel that I must\nleave you forever. Do not worry about my future, for that is\nprovided for; and, above all, do not search for me, for it will\nbe fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. In life or in\ndeath, I am ever your loving,--MARY.'\n\n\"What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think it\npoints to suicide?\"\n\n\"No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible\nsolution. I trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of\nyour troubles.\"\n\n\"Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you have\nlearned something! Where are the gems?\"\n\n\"You would not think 1000 pounds apiece an excessive sum for\nthem?\"\n\n\"I would pay ten.\"\n\n\"That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the matter.\nAnd there is a little reward, I fancy. Have you your check-book?\nHere is a pen. Better make it out for 4000 pounds.\"\n\nWith a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmes\nwalked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of\ngold with three gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.\n\nWith a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.\n\n\"You have it!\" he gasped. \"I am saved! I am saved!\"\n\nThe reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and\nhe hugged his recovered gems to his bosom.\n\n\"There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder,\" said Sherlock\nHolmes rather sternly.\n\n\"Owe!\" He caught up a pen. \"Name the sum, and I will pay it.\"\n\n\"No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology to that\nnoble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I\nshould be proud to see my own son do, should I ever chance to\nhave one.\"\n\n\"Then it was not Arthur who took them?\"\n\n\"I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it was not.\"\n\n\"You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let him\nknow that the truth is known.\"\n\n\"He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an\ninterview with him, and finding that he would not tell me the\nstory, I told it to him, on which he had to confess that I was\nright and to add the very few details which were not yet quite\nclear to me. Your news of this morning, however, may open his\nlips.\"\n\n\"For heaven's sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary\nmystery!\"\n\n\"I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I reached\nit. And let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me\nto say and for you to hear: there has been an understanding\nbetween Sir George Burnwell and your niece Mary. They have now\nfled together.\"\n\n\"My Mary? Impossible!\"\n\n\"It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither\nyou nor your son knew the true character of this man when you\nadmitted him into your family circle. He is one of the most\ndangerous men in England--a ruined gambler, an absolutely\ndesperate villain, a man without heart or conscience. Your niece\nknew nothing of such men. When he breathed his vows to her, as he\nhad done to a hundred before her, she flattered herself that she\nalone had touched his heart. The devil knows best what he said,\nbut at least she became his tool and was in the habit of seeing\nhim nearly every evening.\"\n\n\"I cannot, and I will not, believe it!\" cried the banker with an\nashen face.\n\n\"I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night.\nYour niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room,\nslipped down and talked to her lover through the window which\nleads into the stable lane. His footmarks had pressed right\nthrough the snow, so long had he stood there. She told him of the\ncoronet. His wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he\nbent her to his will. I have no doubt that she loved you, but\nthere are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishes all\nother loves, and I think that she must have been one. She had\nhardly listened to his instructions when she saw you coming\ndownstairs, on which she closed the window rapidly and told you\nabout one of the servants' escapade with her wooden-legged lover,\nwhich was all perfectly true.\n\n\"Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but\nhe slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts.\nIn the middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his door,\nso he rose and, looking out, was surprised to see his cousin\nwalking very stealthily along the passage until she disappeared\ninto your dressing-room. Petrified with astonishment, the lad\nslipped on some clothes and waited there in the dark to see what\nwould come of this strange affair. Presently she emerged from the\nroom again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your son saw\nthat she carried the precious coronet in her hands. She passed\ndown the stairs, and he, thrilling with horror, ran along and\nslipped behind the curtain near your door, whence he could see\nwhat passed in the hall beneath. He saw her stealthily open the\nwindow, hand out the coronet to someone in the gloom, and then\nclosing it once more hurry back to her room, passing quite close\nto where he stood hid behind the curtain.\n\n\"As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action\nwithout a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But the\ninstant that she was gone he realised how crushing a misfortune\nthis would be for you, and how all-important it was to set it\nright. He rushed down, just as he was, in his bare feet, opened\nthe window, sprang out into the snow, and ran down the lane,\nwhere he could see a dark figure in the moonlight. Sir George\nBurnwell tried to get away, but Arthur caught him, and there was\na struggle between them, your lad tugging at one side of the\ncoronet, and his opponent at the other. In the scuffle, your son\nstruck Sir George and cut him over the eye. Then something\nsuddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he had the coronet\nin his hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended to your\nroom, and had just observed that the coronet had been twisted in\nthe struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when you\nappeared upon the scene.\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\" gasped the banker.\n\n\"You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when\nhe felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could not\nexplain the true state of affairs without betraying one who\ncertainly deserved little enough consideration at his hands. He\ntook the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her\nsecret.\"\n\n\"And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the\ncoronet,\" cried Mr. Holder. \"Oh, my God! what a blind fool I have\nbeen! And his asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes!\nThe dear fellow wanted to see if the missing piece were at the\nscene of the struggle. How cruelly I have misjudged him!\"\n\n\"When I arrived at the house,\" continued Holmes, \"I at once went\nvery carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in\nthe snow which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since\nthe evening before, and also that there had been a strong frost\nto preserve impressions. I passed along the tradesmen's path, but\nfound it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it,\nhowever, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood\nand talked with a man, whose round impressions on one side showed\nthat he had a wooden leg. I could even tell that they had been\ndisturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as was\nshown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while Wooden-leg had\nwaited a little, and then had gone away. I thought at the time\nthat this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had\nalready spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I passed\nround the garden without seeing anything more than random tracks,\nwhich I took to be the police; but when I got into the stable\nlane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in\nfront of me.\n\n\"There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second\ndouble line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked\nfeet. I was at once convinced from what you had told me that the\nlatter was your son. The first had walked both ways, but the\nother had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over\nthe depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed\nafter the other. I followed them up and found they led to the\nhall window, where Boots had worn all the snow away while\nwaiting. Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred\nyards or more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced round,\nwhere the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle,\nand, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me\nthat I was not mistaken. Boots had then run down the lane, and\nanother little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had been\nhurt. When he came to the highroad at the other end, I found that\nthe pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue.\n\n\"On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the\nsill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could\nat once see that someone had passed out. I could distinguish the\noutline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming\nin. I was then beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what\nhad occurred. A man had waited outside the window; someone had\nbrought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he had\npursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged\nat the coronet, their united strength causing injuries which\nneither alone could have effected. He had returned with the\nprize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent. So\nfar I was clear. The question now was, who was the man and who\nwas it brought him the coronet?\n\n\"It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the\nimpossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the\ntruth. Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down,\nso there only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were\nthe maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in\ntheir place? There could be no possible reason. As he loved his\ncousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he should\nretain her secret--the more so as the secret was a disgraceful\none. When I remembered that you had seen her at that window, and\nhow she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture\nbecame a certainty.\n\n\"And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently,\nfor who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must\nfeel to you? I knew that you went out little, and that your\ncircle of friends was a very limited one. But among them was Sir\nGeorge Burnwell. I had heard of him before as being a man of evil\nreputation among women. It must have been he who wore those boots\nand retained the missing gems. Even though he knew that Arthur\nhad discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was\nsafe, for the lad could not say a word without compromising his\nown family.\n\n\"Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took\nnext. I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house,\nmanaged to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that\nhis master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at\nthe expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of\nhis cast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down to Streatham and\nsaw that they exactly fitted the tracks.\"\n\n\"I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening,\"\nsaid Mr. Holder.\n\n\"Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home\nand changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to\nplay then, for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert\nscandal, and I knew that so astute a villain would see that our\nhands were tied in the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of\ncourse, he denied everything. But when I gave him every\nparticular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a\nlife-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I\nclapped a pistol to his head before he could strike. Then he\nbecame a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give\nhim a price for the stones he held--1000 pounds apiece. That\nbrought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why,\ndash it all!' said he, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the\nthree!' I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had\nthem, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I\nset to him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000\npounds apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all\nwas right, and eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after\nwhat I may call a really hard day's work.\"\n\n\"A day which has saved England from a great public scandal,\" said\nthe banker, rising. \"Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but\nyou shall not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your\nskill has indeed exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I\nmust fly to my dear boy to apologise to him for the wrong which I\nhave done him. As to what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my\nvery heart. Not even your skill can inform me where she is now.\"\n\n\"I think that we may safely say,\" returned Holmes, \"that she is\nwherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that\nwhatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than\nsufficient punishment.\"\n\n\n\nXII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES\n\n\"To the man who loves art for its own sake,\" remarked Sherlock\nHolmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily\nTelegraph, \"it is frequently in its least important and lowliest\nmanifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is\npleasant to me to observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped\nthis truth that in these little records of our cases which you\nhave been good enough to draw up, and, I am bound to say,\noccasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much\nto the many causes celebres and sensational trials in which I\nhave figured but rather to those incidents which may have been\ntrivial in themselves, but which have given room for those\nfaculties of deduction and of logical synthesis which I have made\nmy special province.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said I, smiling, \"I cannot quite hold myself absolved\nfrom the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my\nrecords.\"\n\n\"You have erred, perhaps,\" he observed, taking up a glowing\ncinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood\npipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a\ndisputatious rather than a meditative mood--\"you have erred\nperhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your\nstatements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing\nupon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is\nreally the only notable feature about the thing.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter,\"\nI remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism\nwhich I had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my\nfriend's singular character.\n\n\"No, it is not selfishness or conceit,\" said he, answering, as\nwas his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. \"If I claim full\njustice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing--a\nthing beyond myself. Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it\nis upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should\ndwell. You have degraded what should have been a course of\nlectures into a series of tales.\"\n\nIt was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after\nbreakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at\nBaker Street. A thick fog rolled down between the lines of\ndun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark,\nshapeless blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit\nand shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for\nthe table had not been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had been\nsilent all the morning, dipping continuously into the\nadvertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last,\nhaving apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very\nsweet temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings.\n\n\"At the same time,\" he remarked after a pause, during which he\nhad sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire,\n\"you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of\nthese cases which you have been so kind as to interest yourself\nin, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense,\nat all. The small matter in which I endeavoured to help the King\nof Bohemia, the singular experience of Miss Mary Sutherland, the\nproblem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and the\nincident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are\noutside the pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I\nfear that you may have bordered on the trivial.\"\n\n\"The end may have been so,\" I answered, \"but the methods I hold\nto have been novel and of interest.\"\n\n\"Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant\npublic, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a\ncompositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of\nanalysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are trivial, I cannot\nblame you, for the days of the great cases are past. Man, or at\nleast criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As\nto my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an\nagency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to\nyoung ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched\nbottom at last, however. This note I had this morning marks my\nzero-point, I fancy. Read it!\" He tossed a crumpled letter across\nto me.\n\nIt was dated from Montague Place upon the preceding evening, and\nran thus:\n\n\"DEAR MR. HOLMES:--I am very anxious to consult you as to whether\nI should or should not accept a situation which has been offered\nto me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if I\ndo not inconvenience you. Yours faithfully,\n                                               \"VIOLET HUNTER.\"\n\n\"Do you know the young lady?\" I asked.\n\n\"Not I.\"\n\n\"It is half-past ten now.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring.\"\n\n\"It may turn out to be of more interest than you think. You\nremember that the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to\nbe a mere whim at first, developed into a serious investigation.\nIt may be so in this case, also.\"\n\n\"Well, let us hope so. But our doubts will very soon be solved,\nfor here, unless I am much mistaken, is the person in question.\"\n\nAs he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room.\nShe was plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face,\nfreckled like a plover's egg, and with the brisk manner of a\nwoman who has had her own way to make in the world.\n\n\"You will excuse my troubling you, I am sure,\" said she, as my\ncompanion rose to greet her, \"but I have had a very strange\nexperience, and as I have no parents or relations of any sort\nfrom whom I could ask advice, I thought that perhaps you would be\nkind enough to tell me what I should do.\"\n\n\"Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do anything\nthat I can to serve you.\"\n\nI could see that Holmes was favourably impressed by the manner\nand speech of his new client. He looked her over in his searching\nfashion, and then composed himself, with his lids drooping and\nhis finger-tips together, to listen to her story.\n\n\"I have been a governess for five years,\" said she, \"in the\nfamily of Colonel Spence Munro, but two months ago the colonel\nreceived an appointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took his\nchildren over to America with him, so that I found myself without\na situation. I advertised, and I answered advertisements, but\nwithout success. At last the little money which I had saved began\nto run short, and I was at my wit's end as to what I should do.\n\n\"There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West End\ncalled Westaway's, and there I used to call about once a week in\norder to see whether anything had turned up which might suit me.\nWestaway was the name of the founder of the business, but it is\nreally managed by Miss Stoper. She sits in her own little office,\nand the ladies who are seeking employment wait in an anteroom,\nand are then shown in one by one, when she consults her ledgers\nand sees whether she has anything which would suit them.\n\n\"Well, when I called last week I was shown into the little office\nas usual, but I found that Miss Stoper was not alone. A\nprodigiously stout man with a very smiling face and a great heavy\nchin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his throat sat at\nher elbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very\nearnestly at the ladies who entered. As I came in he gave quite a\njump in his chair and turned quickly to Miss Stoper.\n\n\"'That will do,' said he; 'I could not ask for anything better.\nCapital! capital!' He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his\nhands together in the most genial fashion. He was such a\ncomfortable-looking man that it was quite a pleasure to look at\nhim.\n\n\"'You are looking for a situation, miss?' he asked.\n\n\"'Yes, sir.'\n\n\"'As governess?'\n\n\"'Yes, sir.'\n\n\"'And what salary do you ask?'\n\n\"'I had 4 pounds a month in my last place with Colonel Spence\nMunro.'\n\n\"'Oh, tut, tut! sweating--rank sweating!' he cried, throwing his\nfat hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling\npassion. 'How could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with\nsuch attractions and accomplishments?'\n\n\"'My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,' said I.\n'A little French, a little German, music, and drawing--'\n\n\"'Tut, tut!' he cried. 'This is all quite beside the question.\nThe point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportment\nof a lady? There it is in a nutshell. If you have not, you are\nnot fitted for the rearing of a child who may some day play a\nconsiderable part in the history of the country. But if you have\nwhy, then, how could any gentleman ask you to condescend to\naccept anything under the three figures? Your salary with me,\nmadam, would commence at 100 pounds a year.'\n\n\"You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was,\nsuch an offer seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman,\nhowever, seeing perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face,\nopened a pocket-book and took out a note.\n\n\"'It is also my custom,' said he, smiling in the most pleasant\nfashion until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid\nthe white creases of his face, 'to advance to my young ladies\nhalf their salary beforehand, so that they may meet any little\nexpenses of their journey and their wardrobe.'\n\n\"It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so\nthoughtful a man. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the\nadvance was a great convenience, and yet there was something\nunnatural about the whole transaction which made me wish to know\na little more before I quite committed myself.\n\n\"'May I ask where you live, sir?' said I.\n\n\"'Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, five miles\non the far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my\ndear young lady, and the dearest old country-house.'\n\n\"'And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would\nbe.'\n\n\"'One child--one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if\nyou could see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack!\nsmack! smack! Three gone before you could wink!' He leaned back\nin his chair and laughed his eyes into his head again.\n\n\"I was a little startled at the nature of the child's amusement,\nbut the father's laughter made me think that perhaps he was\njoking.\n\n\"'My sole duties, then,' I asked, 'are to take charge of a single\nchild?'\n\n\"'No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,' he\ncried. 'Your duty would be, as I am sure your good sense would\nsuggest, to obey any little commands my wife might give, provided\nalways that they were such commands as a lady might with\npropriety obey. You see no difficulty, heh?'\n\n\"'I should be happy to make myself useful.'\n\n\"'Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, you\nknow--faddy but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear any dress\nwhich we might give you, you would not object to our little whim.\nHeh?'\n\n\"'No,' said I, considerably astonished at his words.\n\n\"'Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to\nyou?'\n\n\"'Oh, no.'\n\n\"'Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?'\n\n\"I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr. Holmes,\nmy hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of\nchestnut. It has been considered artistic. I could not dream of\nsacrificing it in this offhand fashion.\n\n\"'I am afraid that that is quite impossible,' said I. He had been\nwatching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see a\nshadow pass over his face as I spoke.\n\n\"'I am afraid that it is quite essential,' said he. 'It is a\nlittle fancy of my wife's, and ladies' fancies, you know, madam,\nladies' fancies must be consulted. And so you won't cut your\nhair?'\n\n\"'No, sir, I really could not,' I answered firmly.\n\n\"'Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is a\npity, because in other respects you would really have done very\nnicely. In that case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more\nof your young ladies.'\n\n\"The manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers\nwithout a word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so\nmuch annoyance upon her face that I could not help suspecting\nthat she had lost a handsome commission through my refusal.\n\n\"'Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?' she asked.\n\n\"'If you please, Miss Stoper.'\n\n\"'Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the\nmost excellent offers in this fashion,' said she sharply. 'You\ncan hardly expect us to exert ourselves to find another such\nopening for you. Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.' She struck a gong\nupon the table, and I was shown out by the page.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and found\nlittle enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the\ntable, I began to ask myself whether I had not done a very\nfoolish thing. After all, if these people had strange fads and\nexpected obedience on the most extraordinary matters, they were\nat least ready to pay for their eccentricity. Very few\ngovernesses in England are getting 100 pounds a year. Besides,\nwhat use was my hair to me? Many people are improved by wearing\nit short and perhaps I should be among the number. Next day I was\ninclined to think that I had made a mistake, and by the day after\nI was sure of it. I had almost overcome my pride so far as to go\nback to the agency and inquire whether the place was still open\nwhen I received this letter from the gentleman himself. I have it\nhere and I will read it to you:\n\n                       \"'The Copper Beeches, near Winchester.\n\"'DEAR MISS HUNTER:--Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your\naddress, and I write from here to ask you whether you have\nreconsidered your decision. My wife is very anxious that you\nshould come, for she has been much attracted by my description of\nyou. We are willing to give 30 pounds a quarter, or 120 pounds a\nyear, so as to recompense you for any little inconvenience which\nour fads may cause you. They are not very exacting, after all. My\nwife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue and would\nlike you to wear such a dress indoors in the morning. You need\nnot, however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have one\nbelonging to my dear daughter Alice (now in Philadelphia), which\nwould, I should think, fit you very well. Then, as to sitting\nhere or there, or amusing yourself in any manner indicated, that\nneed cause you no inconvenience. As regards your hair, it is no\ndoubt a pity, especially as I could not help remarking its beauty\nduring our short interview, but I am afraid that I must remain\nfirm upon this point, and I only hope that the increased salary\nmay recompense you for the loss. Your duties, as far as the child\nis concerned, are very light. Now do try to come, and I shall\nmeet you with the dog-cart at Winchester. Let me know your train.\nYours faithfully, JEPHRO RUCASTLE.'\n\n\"That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes, and\nmy mind is made up that I will accept it. I thought, however,\nthat before taking the final step I should like to submit the\nwhole matter to your consideration.\"\n\n\"Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the\nquestion,\" said Holmes, smiling.\n\n\"But you would not advise me to refuse?\"\n\n\"I confess that it is not the situation which I should like to\nsee a sister of mine apply for.\"\n\n\"What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself\nformed some opinion?\"\n\n\"Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr.\nRucastle seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not\npossible that his wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the\nmatter quiet for fear she should be taken to an asylum, and that\nhe humours her fancies in every way in order to prevent an\noutbreak?\"\n\n\"That is a possible solution--in fact, as matters stand, it is\nthe most probable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a\nnice household for a young lady.\"\n\n\"But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!\"\n\n\"Well, yes, of course the pay is good--too good. That is what\nmakes me uneasy. Why should they give you 120 pounds a year, when\nthey could have their pick for 40 pounds? There must be some\nstrong reason behind.\"\n\n\"I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would\nunderstand afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so\nmuch stronger if I felt that you were at the back of me.\"\n\n\"Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you that\nyour little problem promises to be the most interesting which has\ncome my way for some months. There is something distinctly novel\nabout some of the features. If you should find yourself in doubt\nor in danger--\"\n\n\"Danger! What danger do you foresee?\"\n\nHolmes shook his head gravely. \"It would cease to be a danger if\nwe could define it,\" said he. \"But at any time, day or night, a\ntelegram would bring me down to your help.\"\n\n\"That is enough.\" She rose briskly from her chair with the\nanxiety all swept from her face. \"I shall go down to Hampshire\nquite easy in my mind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once,\nsacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for Winchester\nto-morrow.\" With a few grateful words to Holmes she bade us both\ngood-night and bustled off upon her way.\n\n\"At least,\" said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descending\nthe stairs, \"she seems to be a young lady who is very well able\nto take care of herself.\"\n\n\"And she would need to be,\" said Holmes gravely. \"I am much\nmistaken if we do not hear from her before many days are past.\"\n\nIt was not very long before my friend's prediction was fulfilled.\nA fortnight went by, during which I frequently found my thoughts\nturning in her direction and wondering what strange side-alley of\nhuman experience this lonely woman had strayed into. The unusual\nsalary, the curious conditions, the light duties, all pointed to\nsomething abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether\nthe man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond\nmy powers to determine. As to Holmes, I observed that he sat\nfrequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows and an\nabstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of his\nhand when I mentioned it. \"Data! data! data!\" he cried\nimpatiently. \"I can't make bricks without clay.\" And yet he would\nalways wind up by muttering that no sister of his should ever\nhave accepted such a situation.\n\nThe telegram which we eventually received came late one night\njust as I was thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling down\nto one of those all-night chemical researches which he frequently\nindulged in, when I would leave him stooping over a retort and a\ntest-tube at night and find him in the same position when I came\ndown to breakfast in the morning. He opened the yellow envelope,\nand then, glancing at the message, threw it across to me.\n\n\"Just look up the trains in Bradshaw,\" said he, and turned back\nto his chemical studies.\n\nThe summons was a brief and urgent one.\n\n\"Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday\nto-morrow,\" it said. \"Do come! I am at my wit's end.  HUNTER.\"\n\n\"Will you come with me?\" asked Holmes, glancing up.\n\n\"I should wish to.\"\n\n\"Just look it up, then.\"\n\n\"There is a train at half-past nine,\" said I, glancing over my\nBradshaw. \"It is due at Winchester at 11:30.\"\n\n\"That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my\nanalysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the\nmorning.\"\n\nBy eleven o'clock the next day we were well upon our way to the\nold English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers\nall the way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he\nthrew them down and began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal\nspring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white\nclouds drifting across from west to east. The sun was shining\nvery brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air,\nwhich set an edge to a man's energy. All over the countryside,\naway to the rolling hills around Aldershot, the little red and\ngrey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light\ngreen of the new foliage.\n\n\"Are they not fresh and beautiful?\" I cried with all the\nenthusiasm of a man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.\n\nBut Holmes shook his head gravely.\n\n\"Do you know, Watson,\" said he, \"that it is one of the curses of\na mind with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with\nreference to my own special subject. You look at these scattered\nhouses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them,\nand the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their\nisolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed\nthere.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I cried. \"Who would associate crime with these\ndear old homesteads?\"\n\n\"They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief,\nWatson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest\nalleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin\nthan does the smiling and beautiful countryside.\"\n\n\"You horrify me!\"\n\n\"But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion\ncan do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no\nlane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of\na drunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among\nthe neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever\nso close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is\nbut a step between the crime and the dock. But look at these\nlonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part\nwith poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the\ndeeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on,\nyear in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. Had this\nlady who appeals to us for help gone to live in Winchester, I\nshould never have had a fear for her. It is the five miles of\ncountry which makes the danger. Still, it is clear that she is\nnot personally threatened.\"\n\n\"No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can get away.\"\n\n\"Quite so. She has her freedom.\"\n\n\"What CAN be the matter, then? Can you suggest no explanation?\"\n\n\"I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would\ncover the facts as far as we know them. But which of these is\ncorrect can only be determined by the fresh information which we\nshall no doubt find waiting for us. Well, there is the tower of\nthe cathedral, and we shall soon learn all that Miss Hunter has\nto tell.\"\n\nThe Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no\ndistance from the station, and there we found the young lady\nwaiting for us. She had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch\nawaited us upon the table.\n\n\"I am so delighted that you have come,\" she said earnestly. \"It\nis so very kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I\nshould do. Your advice will be altogether invaluable to me.\"\n\n\"Pray tell us what has happened to you.\"\n\n\"I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr.\nRucastle to be back before three. I got his leave to come into\ntown this morning, though he little knew for what purpose.\"\n\n\"Let us have everything in its due order.\" Holmes thrust his long\nthin legs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen.\n\n\"In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole,\nwith no actual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is\nonly fair to them to say that. But I cannot understand them, and\nI am not easy in my mind about them.\"\n\n\"What can you not understand?\"\n\n\"Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just\nas it occurred. When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here and\ndrove me in his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he\nsaid, beautifully situated, but it is not beautiful in itself,\nfor it is a large square block of a house, whitewashed, but all\nstained and streaked with damp and bad weather. There are grounds\nround it, woods on three sides, and on the fourth a field which\nslopes down to the Southampton highroad, which curves past about\na hundred yards from the front door. This ground in front belongs\nto the house, but the woods all round are part of Lord\nSoutherton's preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately in\nfront of the hall door has given its name to the place.\n\n\"I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever,\nand was introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child.\nThere was no truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to\nus to be probable in your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is\nnot mad. I found her to be a silent, pale-faced woman, much\nyounger than her husband, not more than thirty, I should think,\nwhile he can hardly be less than forty-five. From their\nconversation I have gathered that they have been married about\nseven years, that he was a widower, and that his only child by\nthe first wife was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia. Mr.\nRucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left them\nwas that she had an unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. As\nthe daughter could not have been less than twenty, I can quite\nimagine that her position must have been uncomfortable with her\nfather's young wife.\n\n\"Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as\nin feature. She impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse.\nShe was a nonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionately\ndevoted both to her husband and to her little son. Her light grey\neyes wandered continually from one to the other, noting every\nlittle want and forestalling it if possible. He was kind to her\nalso in his bluff, boisterous fashion, and on the whole they\nseemed to be a happy couple. And yet she had some secret sorrow,\nthis woman. She would often be lost in deep thought, with the\nsaddest look upon her face. More than once I have surprised her\nin tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the disposition of\nher child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never met so\nutterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. He is small\nfor his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large.\nHis whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between\nsavage fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving\npain to any creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea\nof amusement, and he shows quite remarkable talent in planning\nthe capture of mice, little birds, and insects. But I would\nrather not talk about the creature, Mr. Holmes, and, indeed, he\nhas little to do with my story.\"\n\n\"I am glad of all details,\" remarked my friend, \"whether they\nseem to you to be relevant or not.\"\n\n\"I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one\nunpleasant thing about the house, which struck me at once, was\nthe appearance and conduct of the servants. There are only two, a\nman and his wife. Toller, for that is his name, is a rough,\nuncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual\nsmell of drink. Twice since I have been with them he has been\nquite drunk, and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it.\nHis wife is a very tall and strong woman with a sour face, as\nsilent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a most\nunpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in the\nnursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one\ncorner of the building.\n\n\"For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was\nvery quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after\nbreakfast and whispered something to her husband.\n\n\"'Oh, yes,' said he, turning to me, 'we are very much obliged to\nyou, Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut\nyour hair. I assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest\niota from your appearance. We shall now see how the electric-blue\ndress will become you. You will find it laid out upon the bed in\nyour room, and if you would be so good as to put it on we should\nboth be extremely obliged.'\n\n\"The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade\nof blue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it\nbore unmistakable signs of having been worn before. It could not\nhave been a better fit if I had been measured for it. Both Mr.\nand Mrs. Rucastle expressed a delight at the look of it, which\nseemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. They were waiting for\nme in the drawing-room, which is a very large room, stretching\nalong the entire front of the house, with three long windows\nreaching down to the floor. A chair had been placed close to the\ncentral window, with its back turned towards it. In this I was\nasked to sit, and then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and down on the\nother side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest\nstories that I have ever listened to. You cannot imagine how\ncomical he was, and I laughed until I was quite weary. Mrs.\nRucastle, however, who has evidently no sense of humour, never so\nmuch as smiled, but sat with her hands in her lap, and a sad,\nanxious look upon her face. After an hour or so, Mr. Rucastle\nsuddenly remarked that it was time to commence the duties of the\nday, and that I might change my dress and go to little Edward in\nthe nursery.\n\n\"Two days later this same performance was gone through under\nexactly similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I\nsat in the window, and again I laughed very heartily at the funny\nstories of which my employer had an immense repertoire, and which\nhe told inimitably. Then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and\nmoving my chair a little sideways, that my own shadow might not\nfall upon the page, he begged me to read aloud to him. I read for\nabout ten minutes, beginning in the heart of a chapter, and then\nsuddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he ordered me to cease and\nto change my dress.\n\n\"You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as to\nwhat the meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly\nbe. They were always very careful, I observed, to turn my face\naway from the window, so that I became consumed with the desire\nto see what was going on behind my back. At first it seemed to be\nimpossible, but I soon devised a means. My hand-mirror had been\nbroken, so a happy thought seized me, and I concealed a piece of\nthe glass in my handkerchief. On the next occasion, in the midst\nof my laughter, I put my handkerchief up to my eyes, and was able\nwith a little management to see all that there was behind me. I\nconfess that I was disappointed. There was nothing. At least that\nwas my first impression. At the second glance, however, I\nperceived that there was a man standing in the Southampton Road,\na small bearded man in a grey suit, who seemed to be looking in\nmy direction. The road is an important highway, and there are\nusually people there. This man, however, was leaning against the\nrailings which bordered our field and was looking earnestly up. I\nlowered my handkerchief and glanced at Mrs. Rucastle to find her\neyes fixed upon me with a most searching gaze. She said nothing,\nbut I am convinced that she had divined that I had a mirror in my\nhand and had seen what was behind me. She rose at once.\n\n\"'Jephro,' said she, 'there is an impertinent fellow upon the\nroad there who stares up at Miss Hunter.'\n\n\"'No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?' he asked.\n\n\"'No, I know no one in these parts.'\n\n\"'Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion to\nhim to go away.'\n\n\"'Surely it would be better to take no notice.'\n\n\"'No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn\nround and wave him away like that.'\n\n\"I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drew\ndown the blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have\nnot sat again in the window, nor have I worn the blue dress, nor\nseen the man in the road.\"\n\n\"Pray continue,\" said Holmes. \"Your narrative promises to be a\nmost interesting one.\"\n\n\"You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may\nprove to be little relation between the different incidents of\nwhich I speak. On the very first day that I was at the Copper\nBeeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to a small outhouse which stands\nnear the kitchen door. As we approached it I heard the sharp\nrattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving\nabout.\n\n\"'Look in here!' said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit between two\nplanks. 'Is he not a beauty?'\n\n\"I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a\nvague figure huddled up in the darkness.\n\n\"'Don't be frightened,' said my employer, laughing at the start\nwhich I had given. 'It's only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine,\nbut really old Toller, my groom, is the only man who can do\nanything with him. We feed him once a day, and not too much then,\nso that he is always as keen as mustard. Toller lets him loose\nevery night, and God help the trespasser whom he lays his fangs\nupon. For goodness' sake don't you ever on any pretext set your\nfoot over the threshold at night, for it's as much as your life\nis worth.'\n\n\"The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened to\nlook out of my bedroom window about two o'clock in the morning.\nIt was a beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the\nhouse was silvered over and almost as bright as day. I was\nstanding, rapt in the peaceful beauty of the scene, when I was\naware that something was moving under the shadow of the copper\nbeeches. As it emerged into the moonshine I saw what it was. It\nwas a giant dog, as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging\njowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting bones. It walked slowly\nacross the lawn and vanished into the shadow upon the other side.\nThat dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which I do not\nthink that any burglar could have done.\n\n\"And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had, as\nyou know, cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a\ngreat coil at the bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the\nchild was in bed, I began to amuse myself by examining the\nfurniture of my room and by rearranging my own little things.\nThere was an old chest of drawers in the room, the two upper ones\nempty and open, the lower one locked. I had filled the first two\nwith my linen, and as I had still much to pack away I was\nnaturally annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer. It\nstruck me that it might have been fastened by a mere oversight,\nso I took out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. The very\nfirst key fitted to perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There\nwas only one thing in it, but I am sure that you would never\nguess what it was. It was my coil of hair.\n\n\"I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint,\nand the same thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing\nobtruded itself upon me. How could my hair have been locked in\nthe drawer? With trembling hands I undid my trunk, turned out the\ncontents, and drew from the bottom my own hair. I laid the two\ntresses together, and I assure you that they were identical. Was\nit not extraordinary? Puzzle as I would, I could make nothing at\nall of what it meant. I returned the strange hair to the drawer,\nand I said nothing of the matter to the Rucastles as I felt that\nI had put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which they had\nlocked.\n\n\"I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes,\nand I soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head.\nThere was one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited\nat all. A door which faced that which led into the quarters of\nthe Tollers opened into this suite, but it was invariably locked.\nOne day, however, as I ascended the stair, I met Mr. Rucastle\ncoming out through this door, his keys in his hand, and a look on\nhis face which made him a very different person to the round,\njovial man to whom I was accustomed. His cheeks were red, his\nbrow was all crinkled with anger, and the veins stood out at his\ntemples with passion. He locked the door and hurried past me\nwithout a word or a look.\n\n\"This aroused my curiosity, so when I went out for a walk in the\ngrounds with my charge, I strolled round to the side from which I\ncould see the windows of this part of the house. There were four\nof them in a row, three of which were simply dirty, while the\nfourth was shuttered up. They were evidently all deserted. As I\nstrolled up and down, glancing at them occasionally, Mr. Rucastle\ncame out to me, looking as merry and jovial as ever.\n\n\"'Ah!' said he, 'you must not think me rude if I passed you\nwithout a word, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with\nbusiness matters.'\n\n\"I assured him that I was not offended. 'By the way,' said I,\n'you seem to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one\nof them has the shutters up.'\n\n\"He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled\nat my remark.\n\n\"'Photography is one of my hobbies,' said he. 'I have made my\ndark room up there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady we\nhave come upon. Who would have believed it? Who would have ever\nbelieved it?' He spoke in a jesting tone, but there was no jest\nin his eyes as he looked at me. I read suspicion there and\nannoyance, but no jest.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that there\nwas something about that suite of rooms which I was not to know,\nI was all on fire to go over them. It was not mere curiosity,\nthough I have my share of that. It was more a feeling of duty--a\nfeeling that some good might come from my penetrating to this\nplace. They talk of woman's instinct; perhaps it was woman's\ninstinct which gave me that feeling. At any rate, it was there,\nand I was keenly on the lookout for any chance to pass the\nforbidden door.\n\n\"It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell you that,\nbesides Mr. Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find something to\ndo in these deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying a large\nblack linen bag with him through the door. Recently he has been\ndrinking hard, and yesterday evening he was very drunk; and when\nI came upstairs there was the key in the door. I have no doubt at\nall that he had left it there. Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were both\ndownstairs, and the child was with them, so that I had an\nadmirable opportunity. I turned the key gently in the lock,\nopened the door, and slipped through.\n\n\"There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and\nuncarpeted, which turned at a right angle at the farther end.\nRound this corner were three doors in a line, the first and third\nof which were open. They each led into an empty room, dusty and\ncheerless, with two windows in the one and one in the other, so\nthick with dirt that the evening light glimmered dimly through\nthem. The centre door was closed, and across the outside of it\nhad been fastened one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked\nat one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at the other with\nstout cord. The door itself was locked as well, and the key was\nnot there. This barricaded door corresponded clearly with the\nshuttered window outside, and yet I could see by the glimmer from\nbeneath it that the room was not in darkness. Evidently there was\na skylight which let in light from above. As I stood in the\npassage gazing at the sinister door and wondering what secret it\nmight veil, I suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room\nand saw a shadow pass backward and forward against the little\nslit of dim light which shone out from under the door. A mad,\nunreasoning terror rose up in me at the sight, Mr. Holmes. My\noverstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and I turned and ran--ran\nas though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the\nskirt of my dress. I rushed down the passage, through the door,\nand straight into the arms of Mr. Rucastle, who was waiting\noutside.\n\n\"'So,' said he, smiling, 'it was you, then. I thought that it\nmust be when I saw the door open.'\n\n\"'Oh, I am so frightened!' I panted.\n\n\"'My dear young lady! my dear young lady!'--you cannot think how\ncaressing and soothing his manner was--'and what has frightened\nyou, my dear young lady?'\n\n\"But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I\nwas keenly on my guard against him.\n\n\"'I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,' I answered.\n'But it is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was\nfrightened and ran out again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still in\nthere!'\n\n\"'Only that?' said he, looking at me keenly.\n\n\"'Why, what did you think?' I asked.\n\n\"'Why do you think that I lock this door?'\n\n\"'I am sure that I do not know.'\n\n\"'It is to keep people out who have no business there. Do you\nsee?' He was still smiling in the most amiable manner.\n\n\"'I am sure if I had known--'\n\n\"'Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over\nthat threshold again'--here in an instant the smile hardened into\na grin of rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a\ndemon--'I'll throw you to the mastiff.'\n\n\"I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose that\nI must have rushed past him into my room. I remember nothing\nuntil I found myself lying on my bed trembling all over. Then I\nthought of you, Mr. Holmes. I could not live there longer without\nsome advice. I was frightened of the house, of the man, of the\nwoman, of the servants, even of the child. They were all horrible\nto me. If I could only bring you down all would be well. Of\ncourse I might have fled from the house, but my curiosity was\nalmost as strong as my fears. My mind was soon made up. I would\nsend you a wire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down to the\noffice, which is about half a mile from the house, and then\nreturned, feeling very much easier. A horrible doubt came into my\nmind as I approached the door lest the dog might be loose, but I\nremembered that Toller had drunk himself into a state of\ninsensibility that evening, and I knew that he was the only one\nin the household who had any influence with the savage creature,\nor who would venture to set him free. I slipped in in safety and\nlay awake half the night in my joy at the thought of seeing you.\nI had no difficulty in getting leave to come into Winchester this\nmorning, but I must be back before three o'clock, for Mr. and\nMrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all the\nevening, so that I must look after the child. Now I have told you\nall my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I should be very glad if you\ncould tell me what it all means, and, above all, what I should\ndo.\"\n\nHolmes and I had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story.\nMy friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in\nhis pockets, and an expression of the most profound gravity upon\nhis face.\n\n\"Is Toller still drunk?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could do\nnothing with him.\"\n\n\"That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?\"\n\n\"Yes, the wine-cellar.\"\n\n\"You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very\nbrave and sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could\nperform one more feat? I should not ask it of you if I did not\nthink you a quite exceptional woman.\"\n\n\"I will try. What is it?\"\n\n\"We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o'clock, my friend\nand I. The Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will,\nwe hope, be incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might\ngive the alarm. If you could send her into the cellar on some\nerrand, and then turn the key upon her, you would facilitate\nmatters immensely.\"\n\n\"I will do it.\"\n\n\"Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of\ncourse there is only one feasible explanation. You have been\nbrought there to personate someone, and the real person is\nimprisoned in this chamber. That is obvious. As to who this\nprisoner is, I have no doubt that it is the daughter, Miss Alice\nRucastle, if I remember right, who was said to have gone to\nAmerica. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height,\nfigure, and the colour of your hair. Hers had been cut off, very\npossibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of\ncourse, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance you\ncame upon her tresses. The man in the road was undoubtedly some\nfriend of hers--possibly her fiance--and no doubt, as you wore\nthe girl's dress and were so like her, he was convinced from your\nlaughter, whenever he saw you, and afterwards from your gesture,\nthat Miss Rucastle was perfectly happy, and that she no longer\ndesired his attentions. The dog is let loose at night to prevent\nhim from endeavouring to communicate with her. So much is fairly\nclear. The most serious point in the case is the disposition of\nthe child.\"\n\n\"What on earth has that to do with it?\" I ejaculated.\n\n\"My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining\nlight as to the tendencies of a child by the study of the\nparents. Don't you see that the converse is equally valid. I have\nfrequently gained my first real insight into the character of\nparents by studying their children. This child's disposition is\nabnormally cruel, merely for cruelty's sake, and whether he\nderives this from his smiling father, as I should suspect, or\nfrom his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in their\npower.\"\n\n\"I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes,\" cried our client. \"A\nthousand things come back to me which make me certain that you\nhave hit it. Oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing help to\nthis poor creature.\"\n\n\"We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning\nman. We can do nothing until seven o'clock. At that hour we shall\nbe with you, and it will not be long before we solve the\nmystery.\"\n\nWe were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we\nreached the Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside\npublic-house. The group of trees, with their dark leaves shining\nlike burnished metal in the light of the setting sun, were\nsufficient to mark the house even had Miss Hunter not been\nstanding smiling on the door-step.\n\n\"Have you managed it?\" asked Holmes.\n\nA loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. \"That is\nMrs. Toller in the cellar,\" said she. \"Her husband lies snoring\non the kitchen rug. Here are his keys, which are the duplicates\nof Mr. Rucastle's.\"\n\n\"You have done well indeed!\" cried Holmes with enthusiasm. \"Now\nlead the way, and we shall soon see the end of this black\nbusiness.\"\n\nWe passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a\npassage, and found ourselves in front of the barricade which Miss\nHunter had described. Holmes cut the cord and removed the\ntransverse bar. Then he tried the various keys in the lock, but\nwithout success. No sound came from within, and at the silence\nHolmes' face clouded over.\n\n\"I trust that we are not too late,\" said he. \"I think, Miss\nHunter, that we had better go in without you. Now, Watson, put\nyour shoulder to it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our\nway in.\"\n\nIt was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united\nstrength. Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There\nwas no furniture save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a\nbasketful of linen. The skylight above was open, and the prisoner\ngone.\n\n\"There has been some villainy here,\" said Holmes; \"this beauty\nhas guessed Miss Hunter's intentions and has carried his victim\noff.\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it.\" He\nswung himself up onto the roof. \"Ah, yes,\" he cried, \"here's the\nend of a long light ladder against the eaves. That is how he did\nit.\"\n\n\"But it is impossible,\" said Miss Hunter; \"the ladder was not\nthere when the Rucastles went away.\"\n\n\"He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever and\ndangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this were\nhe whose step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson, that it\nwould be as well for you to have your pistol ready.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at\nthe door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy\nstick in his hand. Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk against the\nwall at the sight of him, but Sherlock Holmes sprang forward and\nconfronted him.\n\n\"You villain!\" said he, \"where's your daughter?\"\n\nThe fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open\nskylight.\n\n\"It is for me to ask you that,\" he shrieked, \"you thieves! Spies\nand thieves! I have caught you, have I? You are in my power. I'll\nserve you!\" He turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he\ncould go.\n\n\"He's gone for the dog!\" cried Miss Hunter.\n\n\"I have my revolver,\" said I.\n\n\"Better close the front door,\" cried Holmes, and we all rushed\ndown the stairs together. We had hardly reached the hall when we\nheard the baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a\nhorrible worrying sound which it was dreadful to listen to. An\nelderly man with a red face and shaking limbs came staggering out\nat a side door.\n\n\"My God!\" he cried. \"Someone has loosed the dog. It's not been\nfed for two days. Quick, quick, or it'll be too late!\"\n\nHolmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, with\nToller hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, its\nblack muzzle buried in Rucastle's throat, while he writhed and\nscreamed upon the ground. Running up, I blew its brains out, and\nit fell over with its keen white teeth still meeting in the great\ncreases of his neck. With much labour we separated them and\ncarried him, living but horribly mangled, into the house. We laid\nhim upon the drawing-room sofa, and having dispatched the sobered\nToller to bear the news to his wife, I did what I could to\nrelieve his pain. We were all assembled round him when the door\nopened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room.\n\n\"Mrs. Toller!\" cried Miss Hunter.\n\n\"Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back before he\nwent up to you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn't let me know\nwhat you were planning, for I would have told you that your pains\nwere wasted.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said Holmes, looking keenly at her. \"It is clear that Mrs.\nToller knows more about this matter than anyone else.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know.\"\n\n\"Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several\npoints on which I must confess that I am still in the dark.\"\n\n\"I will soon make it clear to you,\" said she; \"and I'd have done\nso before now if I could ha' got out from the cellar. If there's\npolice-court business over this, you'll remember that I was the\none that stood your friend, and that I was Miss Alice's friend\ntoo.\n\n\"She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn't, from the time\nthat her father married again. She was slighted like and had no\nsay in anything, but it never really became bad for her until\nafter she met Mr. Fowler at a friend's house. As well as I could\nlearn, Miss Alice had rights of her own by will, but she was so\nquiet and patient, she was, that she never said a word about them\nbut just left everything in Mr. Rucastle's hands. He knew he was\nsafe with her; but when there was a chance of a husband coming\nforward, who would ask for all that the law would give him, then\nher father thought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted her to\nsign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use\nher money. When she wouldn't do it, he kept on worrying her until\nshe got brain-fever, and for six weeks was at death's door. Then\nshe got better at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her\nbeautiful hair cut off; but that didn't make no change in her\nyoung man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Holmes, \"I think that what you have been good enough\nto tell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce\nall that remains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took to this\nsystem of imprisonment?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid of\nthe disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler.\"\n\n\"That was it, sir.\"\n\n\"But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should\nbe, blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certain\narguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your\ninterests were the same as his.\"\n\n\"Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman,\" said\nMrs. Toller serenely.\n\n\"And in this way he managed that your good man should have no\nwant of drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment\nwhen your master had gone out.\"\n\n\"You have it, sir, just as it happened.\"\n\n\"I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller,\" said Holmes, \"for\nyou have certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. And\nhere comes the country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think,\nWatson, that we had best escort Miss Hunter back to Winchester,\nas it seems to me that our locus standi now is rather a\nquestionable one.\"\n\nAnd thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the\ncopper beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but\nwas always a broken man, kept alive solely through the care of\nhis devoted wife. They still live with their old servants, who\nprobably know so much of Rucastle's past life that he finds it\ndifficult to part from them. Mr. Fowler and Miss Rucastle were\nmarried, by special license, in Southampton the day after their\nflight, and he is now the holder of a government appointment in\nthe island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet Hunter, my friend\nHolmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further\ninterest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one\nof his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at\nWalsall, where I believe that she has met with considerable success.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by \nArthur Conan Doyle\n\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES ***\n\n***** This file should be named 1661-8.txt or 1661-8.zip *****\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\n        http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/6/1661/\n\nProduced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer and Jose Menendez\n\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\nwill be renamed.\n\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  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  {
    "path": "src/main/pg-tom_sawyer.txt",
    "content": "\nThe Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Complete by\nMark Twain (Samuel Clemens)\n\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost\nno restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use\nit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this\neBook or online at www.gutenberg.net\n\nTitle: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Complete\n\nAuthor: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)\n\nRelease Date: August 20, 2006 [EBook #74] Last updated: October 20, 2012\n\nLanguage: English\n\n\n*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SAWYER ***\n\nProduced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER\n\nBy Mark Twain\n\n(Samuel Langhorne Clemens)\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAPTER I. Y-o-u-u Tom-Aunt Polly Decides Upon her Duty--Tom Practices\nMusic--The Challenge--A Private Entrance\n\nCHAPTER II. Strong Temptations--Strategic Movements--The Innocents\nBeguiled\n\nCHAPTER III. Tom as a General--Triumph and Reward--Dismal\nFelicity--Commission and Omission\n\nCHAPTER IV. Mental Acrobatics--Attending Sunday--School--The\nSuperintendent--\"Showing off\"--Tom Lionized\n\nCHAPTER V. A Useful Minister--In Church--The Climax\n\nCHAPTER VI. Self-Examination--Dentistry--The Midnight Charm--Witches and\nDevils--Cautious Approaches--Happy Hours\n\nCHAPTER VII. A Treaty Entered Into--Early Lessons--A Mistake Made\n\nCHAPTER VIII. Tom Decides on his Course--Old Scenes Re-enacted\n\nCHAPTER IX. A Solemn Situation--Grave Subjects Introduced--Injun Joe\nExplains\n\nCHAPTER X. The Solemn Oath--Terror Brings Repentance--Mental Punishment\n\nCHAPTER XI. Muff Potter Comes Himself--Tom's Conscience at Work\n\nCHAPTER XII. Tom Shows his Generosity--Aunt Polly Weakens\n\nCHAPTER XIII. The Young Pirates--Going to the Rendezvous--The Camp--Fire\nTalk\n\nCHAPTER XIV. Camp-Life--A Sensation--Tom Steals Away from Camp\n\nCHAPTER XV. Tom Reconnoiters--Learns the Situation--Reports at Camp\n\nCHAPTER XVI. A Day's Amusements--Tom Reveals a Secret--The Pirates take a\nLesson--A Night Surprise--An Indian War\n\nCHAPTER XVII. Memories of the Lost Heroes--The Point in Tom's Secret\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. Tom's Feelings Investigated--Wonderful Dream--Becky\nThatcher Overshadowed--Tom Becomes Jealous--Black Revenge\n\nCHAPTER XIX. Tom Tells the Truth\n\nCHAPTER XX. Becky in a Dilemma--Tom's Nobility Asserts Itself\n\nCHAPTER XXI. Youthful Eloquence--Compositions by the Young Ladies--A\nLengthy Vision--The Boy's Vengeance Satisfied\n\nCHAPTER XXII. Tom's Confidence Betrayed--Expects Signal Punishment\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. Old Muff's Friends--Muff Potter in Court--Muff Potter\nSaved\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. Tom as the Village Hero--Days of Splendor and Nights of\nHorror--Pursuit of Injun Joe\n\nCHAPTER XXV. About Kings and Diamonds--Search for the Treasure--Dead\nPeople and Ghosts\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. The Haunted House--Sleepy Ghosts--A Box of Gold--Bitter Luck\n\nCHAPTER XXVII. Doubts to be Settled--The Young Detectives\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII. An Attempt at No. Two--Huck Mounts Guard\n\nCHAPTER XXIX. The Pic-nic--Huck on Injun Joe's Track--The \"Revenge\"\nJob--Aid for the Widow\n\nCHAPTER XXX. The Welchman Reports--Huck Under Fire--The Story Circulated\n--A New Sensation--Hope Giving Way to Despair\n\nCHAPTER XXXI. An Exploring Expedition--Trouble Commences--Lost in the\nCave--Total Darkness--Found but not Saved\n\nCHAPTER XXXII. Tom tells the Story of their Escape--Tom's Enemy in Safe\nQuarters\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII. The Fate of Injun Joe--Huck and Tom Compare Notes\n--An Expedition to the Cave--Protection Against Ghosts--\"An Awful Snug\nPlace\"--A Reception at the Widow Douglas's\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV. Springing a Secret--Mr. Jones' Surprise a Failure\n\nCHAPTER XXXV. A New Order of Things--Poor Huck--New Adventures Planned\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\nTom Sawyer\n\nTom at Home\n\nAunt Polly Beguiled\n\nA Good Opportunity\n\nWho's Afraid\n\nLate Home\n\nJim\n\n'Tendin' to Business\n\nAin't that Work?\n\nCat and Toys\n\nAmusement\n\nBecky Thatcher\n\nPaying Off\n\nAfter the Battle\n\n\"Showing Off\"\n\nNot Amiss\n\nMary\n\nTom Contemplating\n\nDampened Ardor\n\nYouth\n\nBoyhood\n\nUsing the \"Barlow\"\n\nThe Church\n\nNecessities\n\nTom as a Sunday-School Hero    \n\nThe Prize\n\nAt Church\n\nThe Model Boy\n\nThe Church Choir\n\nA Side Show\n\nResult of Playing in Church\n\nThe Pinch-Bug\n\nSid\n\nDentistry\n\nHuckleberry Finn\n\nMother Hopkins\n\nResult of Tom's Truthfulness\n\nTom as an Artist\n\nInterrupted Courtship\n\nThe Master\n\nVain Pleading\n\nTail Piece\n\nThe Grave in the Woods\n\nTom Meditates\n\nRobin Hood and his Foe\n\nDeath of Robin Hood\n\nMidnight\n\nTom's Mode of Egress\n\nTom's Effort at Prayer\n\nMuff Potter Outwitted\n\nThe Graveyard\n\nForewarnings\n\nDisturbing Muff's Sleep\n\nTom's Talk with his Aunt\n\nMuff Potter\n\nA Suspicious Incident\n\nInjun Joe's two Victims\n\nIn the Coils\n\nPeter\n\nAunt Polly seeks Information\n\nA General Good Time\n\nDemoralized\n\nJoe Harper\n\nOn Board Their First Prize\n\nThe Pirates Ashore\n\nWild Life\n\nThe Pirate's Bath\n\nThe Pleasant Stroll\n\nThe Search for the Drowned\n\nThe Mysterious Writing\n\nRiver View\n\nWhat Tom Saw\n\nTom Swims the River\n\nTaking Lessons\n\nThe Pirates' Egg Market\n\nTom Looking for Joe's Knife    \n\nThe Thunder Storm\n\nTerrible Slaughter\n\nThe Mourner\n\nTom's Proudest Moment\n\nAmy Lawrence\n\nTom tries to Remember\n\nThe Hero\n\nA Flirtation\n\nBecky Retaliates\n\nA Sudden Frost\n\nCounter-irritation\n\nAunt Polly\n\nTom justified\n\nThe Discovery\n\nCaught in the Act\n\nTom Astonishes the School\n\nLiterature\n\nTom Declaims\n\nExamination Evening\n\nOn Exhibition\n\nPrize Authors\n\nThe Master's Dilemma\n\nThe School House\n\nThe Cadet\n\nHappy for Two Days\n\nEnjoying the Vacation\n\nThe Stolen Melons\n\nThe Judge\n\nVisiting the Prisoner\n\nTom Swears\n\nThe Court Room\n\nThe Detective\n\nTom Dreams\n\nThe Treasure\n\nThe Private Conference\n\nA King; Poor Fellow!\n\nBusiness\n\nThe Ha'nted House\n\nInjun Joe\n\nThe Greatest and Best\n\nHidden Treasures Unearthed\n\nThe Boy's Salvation\n\nRoom No. 2\n\nThe Next Day's Conference\n\nTreasures\n\nUncle Jake\n\nBuck at Home\n\nThe Haunted Room\n\n\"Run for Your Life\"\n\nMcDougal's Cave\n\nInside the Cave\n\nHuck on Duty\n\nA Rousing Act\n\nTail Piece\n\nThe Welchman\n\nResult of a Sneeze\n\nCornered\n\nAlarming Discoveries\n\nTom and Becky stir up the Town\n\nTom's Marks\n\nHuck Questions the Widow\n\nVampires\n\nWonders of the Cave\n\nAttacked by Natives\n\nDespair\n\nThe Wedding Cake\n\nA New Terror\n\nDaylight\n\n\"Turn Out\" to Receive Tom and Becky\n\nThe Escape from the Cave\n\nFate of the Ragged Man\n\nThe Treasures Found\n\nCaught at Last\n\nDrop after Drop\n\nHaving a Good Time\n\nA Business Trip\n\n\"Got it at Last!\"\n\nTail Piece\n\nWidow Douglas\n\nTom Backs his Statement\n\nTail Piece\n\nHuck Transformed\n\nComfortable Once More\n\nHigh up in Society\n\nContentment\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nMost of the adventures recorded in this book really occurred; one or two\nwere experiences of my own, the rest those of boys who were schoolmates\nof mine. Huck Finn is drawn from life; Tom Sawyer also, but not from an\nindividual--he is a combination of the characteristics of three boys whom\nI knew, and therefore belongs to the composite order of architecture.\n\nThe odd superstitions touched upon were all prevalent among children and\nslaves in the West at the period of this story--that is to say, thirty or\nforty years ago.\n\nAlthough my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and\ngirls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account,\nfor part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what\nthey once were themselves, and of how they felt and thought and talked,\nand what queer enterprises they sometimes engaged in.\n\nTHE AUTHOR.\n\nHARTFORD, 1876.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\"TOM!\"\n\nNo answer.\n\n\"TOM!\"\n\nNo answer.\n\n\"What's gone with that boy,  I wonder? You TOM!\"\n\nNo answer.\n\nThe old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the\nroom; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or\nnever looked _through_ them for so small a thing as a boy; they were\nher state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for \"style,\" not\nservice--she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well.\nShe looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but\nstill loud enough for the furniture to hear:\n\n\"Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll--\"\n\nShe did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching\nunder the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the\npunches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.\n\n\"I never did see the beat of that boy!\"\n\nShe went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the\ntomato vines and \"jimpson\" weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So\nshe lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:\n\n\"Y-o-u-u TOM!\"\n\nThere was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize\na small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.\n\n\"There! I might 'a' thought of that closet. What you been doing in\nthere?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What _is_ that\ntruck?\"\n\n\"I don't know, aunt.\"\n\n\"Well, I know. It's jam--that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you\ndidn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch.\"\n\nThe switch hovered in the air--the peril was desperate--\n\n\"My! Look behind you, aunt!\"\n\nThe old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger.\nThe lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and\ndisappeared over it.\n\nHis aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle\nlaugh.\n\n\"Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything? Ain't he played me tricks\nenough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time? But old\nfools is the biggest fools there is. Can't learn an old dog new tricks,\nas the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days,\nand how is a body to know what's coming? He 'pears to know just how long\nhe can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make\nout to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down again and\nI can't hit him a lick. I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and that's\nthe Lord's truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child,\nas the Good Book says. I'm a laying up sin and suffering for us both,\nI know. He's full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he's my own\ndead sister's boy, poor thing, and I ain't got the heart to lash him,\nsomehow. Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and\nevery time I hit him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is\nborn of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture\nsays, and I reckon it's so. He'll play hookey this evening, * and [*\nSouthwestern for \"afternoon\"] I'll just be obleeged to make him work,\ntomorrow, to punish him. It's mighty hard to make him work Saturdays,\nwhen all the boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he\nhates anything else, and I've _got_ to do some of my duty by him, or\nI'll be the ruination of the child.\"\n\nTom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home\nbarely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day's wood\nand split the kindlings before supper--at least he was there in time\nto tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work.\nTom's younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through\nwith his part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy,\nand had no adventurous, trouble-some ways.\n\nWhile Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity\noffered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and\nvery deep--for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like\nmany other simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she\nwas endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she\nloved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low\ncunning. Said she:\n\n\"Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\n\"Powerful warm, warn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\n\"Didn't you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?\"\n\nA bit of a scare shot through Tom--a touch of uncomfortable suspicion. He\nsearched Aunt Polly's face, but it told him nothing. So he said:\n\n\"No'm--well, not very much.\"\n\nThe old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom's shirt, and said:\n\n\"But you ain't too warm now, though.\" And it flattered her to reflect\nthat she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing\nthat that was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew\nwhere the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:\n\n\"Some of us pumped on our heads--mine's damp yet. See?\"\n\nAunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of\ncircumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new\ninspiration:\n\n\"Tom, you didn't have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to\npump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!\"\n\nThe trouble vanished out of Tom's face. He opened his jacket. His shirt\ncollar was securely sewed.\n\n\"Bother! Well, go 'long with you. I'd made sure you'd played hookey\nand been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you're a kind of a\nsinged cat, as the saying is--better'n you look. _This_ time.\"\n\nShe was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom\nhad stumbled into obedient conduct for once.\n\nBut Sidney said:\n\n\"Well, now, if I didn't think you sewed his collar with white thread,\nbut it's black.\"\n\n\"Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!\"\n\nBut Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:\n\n\"Siddy, I'll lick you for that.\"\n\nIn a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into\nthe lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them--one needle\ncarried white thread and the other black. He said:\n\n\"She'd never noticed if it hadn't been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes\nshe sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to\ngee-miny she'd stick to one or t'other--I can't keep the run of 'em. But\nI bet you I'll lam Sid for that. I'll learn him!\"\n\nHe was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well\nthough--and loathed him.\n\nWithin two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles. Not\nbecause his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a\nman's are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore\nthem down and drove them out of his mind for the time--just as men's\nmisfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new\ninterest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired\nfrom a negro, and he was suffering to practise it un-disturbed. It\nconsisted in a peculiar bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble,\nproduced by touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short\nintervals in the midst of the music--the reader probably remembers how to\ndo it, if he has ever been a boy. Diligence and attention soon gave him\nthe knack of it, and he strode down the street with his mouth full of\nharmony and his soul full of gratitude. He felt much as an astronomer\nfeels who has discovered a new planet--no doubt, as far as strong, deep,\nunalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with the boy, not the\nastronomer.\n\nThe summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom\nchecked his whistle. A stranger was before him--a boy a shade larger\nthan himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an im-pressive\ncuriosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy\nwas well dressed, too--well dressed on a week-day. This was simply as\nastounding. His cap was a dainty thing, his close-buttoned blue cloth\nroundabout was new and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes\non--and it was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of\nribbon. He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom's vitals. The\nmore Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose\nat his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to\nhim to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other moved--but only\nsidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all the\ntime. Finally Tom said:\n\n\"I can lick you!\"\n\n\"I'd like to see you try it.\"\n\n\"Well, I can do it.\"\n\n\"No you can't, either.\"\n\n\"Yes I can.\"\n\n\"No you can't.\"\n\n\"I can.\"\n\n\"You can't.\"\n\n\"Can!\"\n\n\"Can't!\"\n\nAn uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:\n\n\"What's your name?\"\n\n\"'Tisn't any of your business, maybe.\"\n\n\"Well I 'low I'll _make_ it my business.\"\n\n\"Well why don't you?\"\n\n\"If you say much, I will.\"\n\n\"Much--much--_much_. There now.\"\n\n\"Oh, you think you're mighty smart, _don't_ you? I could lick you with\none hand tied behind me, if I wanted to.\"\n\n\"Well why don't you _do_ it? You _say_ you can do it.\"\n\n\"Well I _will_, if you fool with me.\"\n\n\"Oh yes--I've seen whole families in the same fix.\"\n\n\"Smarty! You think you're _some_, now, _don't_ you? Oh, what a hat!\"\n\n\"You can lump that hat if you don't like it. I dare you to knock it\noff--and anybody that'll take a dare will suck eggs.\"\n\n\"You're a liar!\"\n\n\"You're another.\"\n\n\"You're a fighting liar and dasn't take it up.\"\n\n\"Aw--take a walk!\"\n\n\"Say--if you give me much more of your sass I'll take and bounce a rock\noff'n your head.\"\n\n\"Oh, of _course_ you will.\"\n\n\"Well I _will_.\"\n\n\"Well why don't you _do_ it then? What do you keep _saying_ you will\nfor? Why don't you _do_ it? It's because you're afraid.\"\n\n\"I _ain't_ afraid.\"\n\n\"You are.\"\n\n\"I ain't.\"\n\n\"You are.\"\n\nAnother pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently\nthey were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:\n\n\"Get away from here!\"\n\n\"Go away yourself!\"\n\n\"I won't.\"\n\n\"I won't either.\"\n\nSo they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and both\nshoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with hate. But\nneither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and\nflushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:\n\n\"You're a coward and a pup. I'll tell my big brother on you, and he can\nthrash you with his little finger, and I'll make him do it, too.\"\n\n\"What do I care for your big brother? I've got a brother that's bigger\nthan he is--and what's more, he can throw him over that fence, too.\"\n[Both brothers were imaginary.]\n\n\"That's a lie.\"\n\n\"_Your_ saying so don't make it so.\"\n\nTom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:\n\n\"I dare you to step over that, and I'll lick you till you can't stand\nup. Anybody that'll take a dare will steal sheep.\"\n\nThe new boy stepped over promptly, and said:\n\n\"Now you said you'd do it, now let's see you do it.\"\n\n\"Don't you crowd me now; you better look out.\"\n\n\"Well, you _said_ you'd do it--why don't you do it?\"\n\n\"By jingo! for two cents I _will_ do it.\"\n\nThe new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out\nwith derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys\nwere rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and\nfor the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other's hair and\nclothes, punched and scratched each other's nose, and covered themselves\nwith dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the\nfog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him\nwith his fists. \"Holler 'nuff!\" said he.\n\nThe boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying--mainly from rage.\n\n\"Holler 'nuff!\"--and the pounding went on.\n\nAt last the stranger got out a smothered \"'Nuff!\" and Tom let him up and\nsaid:\n\n\"Now that'll learn you. Better look out who you're fooling with next\ntime.\"\n\nThe new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing,\nsnuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and\nthreatening what he would do to Tom the \"next time he caught him out.\"\nTo which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and\nas soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it\nand hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like\nan antelope. Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he\nlived. He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the\nenemy to come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the\nwindow and declined. At last the enemy's mother appeared, and called Tom\na bad, vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went away; but\nhe said he \"'lowed\" to \"lay\" for that boy.\n\nHe got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in\nat the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and\nwhen she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn his\nSaturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its\nfirmness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nSATURDAY morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and\nfresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if\nthe heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in\nevery face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom\nand the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond\nthe village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far\nenough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.\n\nTom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a\nlong-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and\na deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board\nfence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a\nburden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost\nplank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant\nwhitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed\nfence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at\nthe gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from\nthe town pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but\nnow it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at\nthe pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there\nwaiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting,\nskylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred\nand fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an\nhour--and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:\n\n\"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some.\"\n\nJim shook his head and said:\n\n\"Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis water\nan' not stop foolin' roun' wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars Tom gwine\nto ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long an' 'tend to my own\nbusiness--she 'lowed _she'd_ 'tend to de whitewashin'.\"\n\n\"Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's the way she always talks.\nGimme the bucket--I won't be gone only a a minute. _She_ won't ever\nknow.\"\n\n\"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n me.\n'Deed she would.\"\n\n\"_She_! She never licks anybody--whacks 'em over the head with her\nthimble--and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but\ntalk don't hurt--anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give you a\nmarvel. I'll give you a white alley!\"\n\nJim began to waver.\n\n\"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw.\"\n\n\"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful\n'fraid ole missis--\"\n\n\"And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe.\"\n\nJim was only human--this attraction was too much for him. He put down\nhis pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing\ninterest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he\nwas flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was\nwhitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with\na slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye.\n\nBut Tom's energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had\nplanned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys\nwould come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and\nthey would make a world of fun of him for having to work--the very\nthought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and\nexamined it--bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange\nof _work_, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour\nof pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and\ngave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless\nmoment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great,\nmagnificent inspiration.\n\nHe took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in\nsight presently--the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been\ndreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump--proof enough that his\nheart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and\ngiving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned\nding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As\nhe drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned\nfar over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp\nand circumstance--for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered\nhimself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and\nengine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own\nhurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them:\n\n\"Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!\" The headway ran almost out, and he\ndrew up slowly toward the sidewalk.\n\n\"Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!\" His arms straightened and stiffened\ndown his sides.\n\n\"Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow!\nChow!\" His right hand, mean-time, describing stately circles--for it was\nrepresenting a forty-foot wheel.\n\n\"Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!\"\nThe left hand began to describe circles.\n\n\"Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on\nthe stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling!\nChow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! _lively_ now! Come--out with\nyour spring-line--what're you about there! Take a turn round that stump\nwith the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now--let her go! Done with\nthe engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T! SH'T!\" (trying the\ngauge-cocks).\n\nTom went on whitewashing--paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared\na moment and then said: \"_Hi-Yi! You're_ up a stump, ain't you!\"\n\nNo answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then\nhe gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as\nbefore. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the\napple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:\n\n\"Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?\"\n\nTom wheeled suddenly and said:\n\n\"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing.\"\n\n\"Say--I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of\ncourse you'd druther _work_--wouldn't you? Course you would!\"\n\nTom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:\n\n\"What do you call work?\"\n\n\"Why, ain't _that_ work?\"\n\nTom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:\n\n\"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom\nSawyer.\"\n\n\"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you _like_ it?\"\n\nThe brush continued to move.\n\n\"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a\nchance to whitewash a fence every day?\"\n\nThat put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple.\nTom swept his brush daintily back and forth--stepped back to note the\neffect--added a touch here and there--criticised the effect again--Ben\nwatching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more\nabsorbed. Presently he said:\n\n\"Say, Tom, let _me_ whitewash a little.\"\n\nTom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:\n\n\"No--no--I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful\nparticular about this fence--right here on the street, you know--but if it\nwas the back fence I wouldn't mind and _she_ wouldn't. Yes, she's awful\nparticular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon\nthere ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it\nthe way it's got to be done.\"\n\n\"No--is that so? Oh come, now--lemme just try. Only just a little--I'd let\n_you_, if you was me, Tom.\"\n\n\"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly--well, Jim wanted to do\nit, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let\nSid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence\nand anything was to happen to it--\"\n\n\"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say--I'll give you\nthe core of my apple.\"\n\n\"Well, here--No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard--\"\n\n\"I'll give you _all_ of it!\"\n\nTom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his\nheart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the\nsun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by,\ndangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more\ninnocents. There was no lack of material; boys happened along every\nlittle while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time\nBen was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for\na kite, in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in\nfor a dead rat and a string to swing it with--and so on, and so on, hour\nafter hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a\npoor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in\nwealth. He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part\nof a jews-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool\ncannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a\nglass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles,\nsix fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass door-knob, a\ndog-collar--but no dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange-peel,\nand a dilapidated old window sash.\n\nHe had had a nice, good, idle time all the while--plenty of company--and\nthe fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of\nwhitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.\n\nTom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He\nhad discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it--namely,\nthat in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary\nto make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great and\nwise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have\ncomprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is _obliged_ to do,\nand that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And\nthis would help him to understand why constructing artificial flowers or\nperforming on a tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing\nMont Blanc is only amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England\nwho drive four-horse passenger-coaches twenty or thirty miles on a\ndaily line, in the summer, because the privilege costs them considerable\nmoney; but if they were offered wages for the service, that would turn\nit into work and then they would resign.\n\nThe boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place\nin his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to\nreport.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTOM presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an\nopen window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom,\nbreakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined. The balmy summer\nair, the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing\nmurmur of the bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her\nknitting--for she had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in her\nlap. Her spectacles were propped up on her gray head for safety. She had\nthought that of course Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered at\nseeing him place himself in her power again in this intrepid way. He\nsaid: \"Mayn't I go and play now, aunt?\"\n\n\"What, a'ready? How much have you done?\"\n\n\"It's all done, aunt.\"\n\n\"Tom, don't lie to me--I can't bear it.\"\n\n\"I ain't, aunt; it _is_ all done.\"\n\nAunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence. She went out to see for\nherself; and she would have been content to find twenty per cent. of\nTom's statement true. When she found the entire fence white-washed, and\nnot only whitewashed but elaborately coated and recoated, and even a\nstreak added to the ground, her astonishment was almost unspeakable. She\nsaid:\n\n\"Well, I never! There's no getting round it, you can work when you're a\nmind to, Tom.\" And then she diluted the compliment by adding, \"But it's\npowerful seldom you're a mind to, I'm bound to say. Well, go 'long and\nplay; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I'll tan you.\"\n\nShe was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took\nhim into the closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to him,\nalong with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor a treat\ntook to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort.\nAnd while she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he \"hooked\" a\ndoughnut.\n\nThen he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway\nthat led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were handy and\nthe air was full of them in a twinkling. They raged around Sid like a\nhail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her surprised faculties\nand sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken personal effect,\nand Tom was over the fence and gone. There was a gate, but as a general\nthing he was too crowded for time to make use of it. His soul was at\npeace, now that he had settled with Sid for calling attention to his\nblack thread and getting him into trouble.\n\nTom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by the\nback of his aunt's cow-stable. He presently got safely beyond the reach\nof capture and punishment, and hastened toward the public square of the\nvillage, where two \"military\" companies of boys had met for conflict,\naccording to previous appointment. Tom was General of one of these\narmies, Joe Harper (a bosom friend) General of the other. These two\ngreat commanders did not condescend to fight in person--that being better\nsuited to the still smaller fry--but sat together on an eminence\nand conducted the field operations by orders delivered through\naides-de-camp. Tom's army won a great victory, after a long and\nhard-fought battle. Then the dead were counted, prisoners exchanged,\nthe terms of the next disagreement agreed upon, and the day for the\nnecessary battle appointed; after which the armies fell into line and\nmarched away, and Tom turned homeward alone.\n\nAs he was passing by the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a new\ngirl in the garden--a lovely little blue-eyed creature with yellow\nhair plaited into two long-tails, white summer frock and embroidered\npan-talettes. The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a shot. A\ncertain Amy Lawrence vanished out of his heart and left not even a\nmemory of herself behind. He had thought he loved her to distraction;\nhe had regarded his passion as adoration; and behold it was only a poor\nlittle evanescent partiality. He had been months winning her; she had\nconfessed hardly a week ago; he had been the happiest and the proudest\nboy in the world only seven short days, and here in one instant of time\nshe had gone out of his heart like a casual stranger whose visit is\ndone.\n\nHe worshipped this new angel with furtive eye, till he saw that she had\ndiscovered him; then he pretended he did not know she was present, and\nbegan to \"show off\" in all sorts of absurd boyish ways, in order to win\nher admiration. He kept up this grotesque foolishness for some time;\nbut by-and-by, while he was in the midst of some dangerous gymnastic\nperformances, he glanced aside and saw that the little girl was wending\nher way toward the house. Tom came up to the fence and leaned on it,\ngrieving, and hoping she would tarry yet awhile longer. She halted a\nmoment on the steps and then moved toward the door. Tom heaved a great\nsigh as she put her foot on the threshold. But his face lit up,\nright away, for she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment before she\ndisappeared.\n\nThe boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower, and\nthen shaded his eyes with his hand and began to look down street as\nif he had discovered something of interest going on in that direction.\nPresently he picked up a straw and began trying to balance it on his\nnose, with his head tilted far back; and as he moved from side to side,\nin his efforts, he edged nearer and nearer toward the pansy; finally his\nbare foot rested upon it, his pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped\naway with the treasure and disappeared round the corner. But only for a\nminute--only while he could button the flower inside his jacket, next\nhis heart--or next his stomach, possibly, for he was not much posted in\nanatomy, and not hypercritical, anyway.\n\nHe returned, now, and hung about the fence till nightfall, \"showing\noff,\" as before; but the girl never exhibited herself again, though Tom\ncomforted himself a little with the hope that she had been near some\nwindow, meantime, and been aware of his attentions. Finally he strode\nhome reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.\n\nAll through supper his spirits were so high that his aunt wondered \"what\nhad got into the child.\" He took a good scolding about clodding Sid, and\ndid not seem to mind it in the least. He tried to steal sugar under his\naunt's very nose, and got his knuckles rapped for it. He said:\n\n\"Aunt, you don't whack Sid when he takes it.\"\n\n\"Well, Sid don't torment a body the way you do. You'd be always into\nthat sugar if I warn't watching you.\"\n\nPresently she stepped into the kitchen, and Sid, happy in his immunity,\nreached for the sugar-bowl--a sort of glorying over Tom which was\nwellnigh unbearable. But Sid's fingers slipped and the bowl dropped and\nbroke. Tom was in ecstasies. In such ecstasies that he even controlled\nhis tongue and was silent. He said to himself that he would not speak a\nword, even when his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly still till she\nasked who did the mischief; and then he would tell, and there would be\nnothing so good in the world as to see that pet model \"catch it.\" He was\nso brimful of exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old\nlady came back and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath\nfrom over her spectacles. He said to himself, \"Now it's coming!\" And the\nnext instant he was sprawling on the floor! The potent palm was uplifted\nto strike again when Tom cried out:\n\n\"Hold on, now, what 'er you belting _me_ for?--Sid broke it!\"\n\nAunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity. But when\nshe got her tongue again, she only said:\n\n\"Umf! Well, you didn't get a lick amiss, I reckon. You been into some\nother audacious mischief when I wasn't around, like enough.\"\n\nThen her conscience reproached her, and she yearned to say something\nkind and loving; but she judged that this would be construed into a\nconfession that she had been in the wrong, and discipline forbade that.\nSo she kept silence, and went about her affairs with a troubled heart.\nTom sulked in a corner and exalted his woes. He knew that in her heart\nhis aunt was on her knees to him, and he was morosely gratified by the\nconsciousness of it. He would hang out no signals, he would take notice\nof none. He knew that a yearning glance fell upon him, now and then,\nthrough a film of tears, but he refused recognition of it. He pictured\nhimself lying sick unto death and his aunt bending over him beseeching\none little forgiving word, but he would turn his face to the wall, and\ndie with that word unsaid. Ah, how would she feel then? And he pictured\nhimself brought home from the river, dead, with his curls all wet, and\nhis sore heart at rest. How she would throw herself upon him, and how\nher tears would fall like rain, and her lips pray God to give her back\nher boy and she would never, never abuse him any more! But he would\nlie there cold and white and make no sign--a poor little sufferer, whose\ngriefs were at an end. He so worked upon his feelings with the pathos of\nthese dreams, that he had to keep swallowing, he was so like to choke;\nand his eyes swam in a blur of water, which overflowed when he winked,\nand ran down and trickled from the end of his nose. And such a luxury to\nhim was this petting of his sorrows, that he could not bear to have any\nworldly cheeriness or any grating delight intrude upon it; it was too\nsacred for such contact; and so, presently, when his cousin Mary danced\nin, all alive with the joy of seeing home again after an age-long visit\nof one week to the country, he got up and moved in clouds and darkness\nout at one door as she brought song and sunshine in at the other.\n\nHe wandered far from the accustomed haunts of boys, and sought desolate\nplaces that were in harmony with his spirit. A log raft in the river\ninvited him, and he seated himself on its outer edge and contemplated\nthe dreary vastness of the stream, wishing, the while, that he could\nonly be drowned, all at once and unconsciously, without undergoing the\nuncomfortable routine devised by nature. Then he thought of his flower.\nHe got it out, rumpled and wilted, and it mightily increased his dismal\nfelicity. He wondered if she would pity him if she knew? Would she\ncry, and wish that she had a right to put her arms around his neck and\ncomfort him? Or would she turn coldly away like all the hollow world?\nThis picture brought such an agony of pleasurable suffering that he\nworked it over and over again in his mind and set it up in new and\nvaried lights, till he wore it threadbare. At last he rose up sighing\nand departed in the darkness.\n\nAbout half-past nine or ten o'clock he came along the deserted street to\nwhere the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; no sound fell upon\nhis listening ear; a candle was casting a dull glow upon the curtain\nof a second-story window. Was the sacred presence there? He climbed the\nfence, threaded his stealthy way through the plants, till he stood under\nthat window; he looked up at it long, and with emotion; then he laid him\ndown on the ground under it, disposing himself upon his back, with his\nhands clasped upon his breast and holding his poor wilted flower.\nAnd thus he would die--out in the cold world, with no shelter over his\nhomeless head, no friendly hand to wipe the death-damps from his brow,\nno loving face to bend pityingly over him when the great agony came. And\nthus _she_ would see him when she looked out upon the glad morning, and\noh! would she drop one little tear upon his poor, lifeless form, would\nshe heave one little sigh to see a bright young life so rudely blighted,\nso untimely cut down?\n\nThe window went up, a maid-servant's discordant voice profaned the holy\ncalm, and a deluge of water drenched the prone martyr's remains!\n\nThe strangling hero sprang up with a relieving snort. There was a whiz\nas of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, a sound\nas of shivering glass followed, and a small, vague form went over the\nfence and shot away in the gloom.\n\nNot long after, as Tom, all undressed for bed, was surveying his\ndrenched garments by the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up; but if he\nhad any dim idea of making any \"references to allusions,\" he thought\nbetter of it and held his peace, for there was danger in Tom's eye.\n\nTom turned in without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid made mental\nnote of the omission.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE sun rose upon a tranquil world, and beamed down upon the peaceful\nvillage like a benediction. Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had family\nworship: it began with a prayer built from the ground up of solid\ncourses of Scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin mortar of\noriginality; and from the summit of this she delivered a grim chapter of\nthe Mosaic Law, as from Sinai.\n\nThen Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and went to work to \"get\nhis verses.\" Sid had learned his lesson days before. Tom bent all his\nenergies to the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the\nSermon on the Mount, because he could find no verses that were shorter.\nAt the end of half an hour Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson,\nbut no more, for his mind was traversing the whole field of human\nthought, and his hands were busy with distracting recreations. Mary took\nhis book to hear him recite, and he tried to find his way through the\nfog:\n\n\"Blessed are the--a--a--\"\n\n\"Poor\"--\n\n\"Yes--poor; blessed are the poor--a--a--\"\n\n\"In spirit--\"\n\n\"In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they--they--\"\n\n\"_Theirs_--\"\n\n\"For _theirs_. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom\nof heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they--they--\"\n\n\"Sh--\"\n\n\"For they--a--\"\n\n\"S, H, A--\"\n\n\"For they S, H--Oh, I don't know what it is!\"\n\n\"_Shall_!\"\n\n\"Oh, _shall_! for they shall--for they shall--a--a--shall mourn--a--a--blessed\nare they that shall--they that--a--they that shall mourn, for they\nshall--a--shall _what_? Why don't you tell me, Mary?--what do you want to\nbe so mean for?\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not teasing you. I wouldn't\ndo that. You must go and learn it again. Don't you be discouraged, Tom,\nyou'll manage it--and if you do, I'll give you something ever so nice.\nThere, now, that's a good boy.\"\n\n\"All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is.\"\n\n\"Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it's nice, it is nice.\"\n\n\"You bet you that's so, Mary. All right, I'll tackle it again.\"\n\nAnd he did \"tackle it again\"--and under the double pressure of curiosity\nand prospective gain he did it with such spirit that he accomplished a\nshining success. Mary gave him a brand-new \"Barlow\" knife worth twelve\nand a half cents; and the convulsion of delight that swept his system\nshook him to his foundations. True, the knife would not cut anything,\nbut it was a \"sure-enough\" Barlow, and there was inconceivable grandeur\nin that--though where the Western boys ever got the idea that such a\nweapon could possibly be counterfeited to its injury is an imposing\nmystery and will always remain so, perhaps. Tom contrived to scarify the\ncupboard with it, and was arranging to begin on the bureau, when he was\ncalled off to dress for Sunday-school.\n\nMary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went\noutside the door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he\ndipped the soap in the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves;\npoured out the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the kitchen\nand began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the door. But\nMary removed the towel and said:\n\n\"Now ain't you ashamed, Tom. You mustn't be so bad. Water won't hurt\nyou.\"\n\nTom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time he\nstood over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big breath\nand began. When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes shut\nand groping for the towel with his hands, an honorable testimony of\nsuds and water was dripping from his face. But when he emerged from\nthe towel, he was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped\nshort at his chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and beyond this line\nthere was a dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread downward in\nfront and backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand, and when she\nwas done with him he was a man and a brother, without distinction of\ncolor, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls\nwrought into a dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He privately\nsmoothed out the curls, with labor and difficulty, and plastered his\nhair close down to his head; for he held curls to be effeminate, and his\nown filled his life with bitterness.] Then Mary got out a suit of his\nclothing that had been used only on Sundays during two years--they were\nsimply called his \"other clothes\"--and so by that we know the size of his\nwardrobe. The girl \"put him to rights\" after he had dressed himself;\nshe buttoned his neat roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt\ncollar down over his shoulders, brushed him off and crowned him with\nhis speckled straw hat. He now looked exceedingly improved and\nuncomfortable. He was fully as uncomfortable as he looked; for there\nwas a restraint about whole clothes and cleanliness that galled him. He\nhoped that Mary would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted; she\ncoated them thoroughly with tallow, as was the custom, and brought\nthem out. He lost his temper and said he was always being made to do\neverything he didn't want to do. But Mary said, persuasively:\n\n\"Please, Tom--that's a good boy.\"\n\nSo he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three\nchildren set out for Sunday-school--a place that Tom hated with his whole\nheart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.\n\nSabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past ten; and then church\nservice. Two of the children always remained for the sermon voluntarily,\nand the other always remained too--for stronger reasons. The church's\nhigh-backed, uncushioned pews would seat about three hundred persons;\nthe edifice was but a small, plain affair, with a sort of pine board\ntree-box on top of it for a steeple. At the door Tom dropped back a step\nand accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:\n\n\"Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What'll you take for her?\"\n\n\"What'll you give?\"\n\n\"Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook.\"\n\n\"Less see 'em.\"\n\nTom exhibited. They were satisfactory, and the property changed hands.\nThen Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets, and some\nsmall trifle or other for a couple of blue ones. He waylaid other\nboys as they came, and went on buying tickets of various colors ten\nor fifteen minutes longer. He entered the church, now, with a swarm\nof clean and noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started\na quarrel with the first boy that came handy. The teacher, a grave,\nelderly man, interfered; then turned his back a moment and Tom pulled a\nboy's hair in the next bench, and was absorbed in his book when the boy\nturned around; stuck a pin in another boy, presently, in order to hear\nhim say \"Ouch!\" and got a new reprimand from his teacher. Tom's whole\nclass were of a pattern--restless, noisy, and troublesome. When they came\nto recite their lessons, not one of them knew his verses perfectly, but\nhad to be prompted all along. However, they worried through, and each\ngot his reward--in small blue tickets, each with a passage of Scripture\non it; each blue ticket was pay for two verses of the recitation. Ten\nblue tickets equalled a red one, and could be exchanged for it; ten red\ntickets equalled a yellow one; for ten yellow tickets the superintendent\ngave a very plainly bound Bible (worth forty cents in those easy\ntimes) to the pupil. How many of my readers would have the industry and\napplication to memorize two thousand verses, even for a Dore Bible? And\nyet Mary had acquired two Bibles in this way--it was the patient work of\ntwo years--and a boy of German parentage had won four or five. He once\nrecited three thousand verses without stopping; but the strain upon his\nmental faculties was too great, and he was little better than an idiot\nfrom that day forth--a grievous misfortune for the school, for on great\noccasions, before company, the superintendent (as Tom expressed it)\nhad always made this boy come out and \"spread himself.\" Only the older\npupils managed to keep their tickets and stick to their tedious work\nlong enough to get a Bible, and so the delivery of one of these prizes\nwas a rare and noteworthy circumstance; the successful pupil was so\ngreat and conspicuous for that day that on the spot every scholar's\nheart was fired with a fresh ambition that often lasted a couple\nof weeks. It is possible that Tom's mental stomach had never really\nhungered for one of those prizes, but unquestionably his entire being\nhad for many a day longed for the glory and the eclat that came with it.\n\nIn due course the superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit, with\na closed hymn-book in his hand and his forefinger inserted between its\nleaves, and commanded attention. When a Sunday-school superintendent\nmakes his customary little speech, a hymn-book in the hand is as\nnecessary as is the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of a singer\nwho stands forward on the platform and sings a solo at a concert--though\nwhy, is a mystery: for neither the hymn-book nor the sheet of music\nis ever referred to by the sufferer. This superintendent was a slim\ncreature of thirty-five, with a sandy goatee and short sandy hair; he\nwore a stiff standing-collar whose upper edge almost reached his ears\nand whose sharp points curved forward abreast the corners of his mouth--a\nfence that compelled a straight lookout ahead, and a turning of the\nwhole body when a side view was required; his chin was propped on a\nspreading cravat which was as broad and as long as a bank-note, and had\nfringed ends; his boot toes were turned sharply up, in the fashion\nof the day, like sleigh-runners--an effect patiently and laboriously\nproduced by the young men by sitting with their toes pressed against a\nwall for hours together. Mr. Walters was very earnest of mien, and very\nsincere and honest at heart; and he held sacred things and places\nin such reverence, and so separated them from worldly matters, that\nunconsciously to himself his Sunday-school voice had acquired a peculiar\nintonation which was wholly absent on week-days. He began after this\nfashion:\n\n\"Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty as\nyou can and give me all your attention for a minute or two. There--that\nis it. That is the way good little boys and girls should do. I see one\nlittle girl who is looking out of the window--I am afraid she thinks I\nam out there somewhere--perhaps up in one of the trees making a speech\nto the little birds. [Applausive titter.] I want to tell you how good it\nmakes me feel to see so many bright, clean little faces assembled in a\nplace like this, learning to do right and be good.\" And so forth and so\non. It is not necessary to set down the rest of the oration. It was of a\npattern which does not vary, and so it is familiar to us all.\n\nThe latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of fights\nand other recreations among certain of the bad boys, and by fidgetings\nand whisperings that extended far and wide, washing even to the bases of\nisolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary. But now every sound\nceased suddenly, with the subsidence of Mr. Walters' voice, and the\nconclusion of the speech was received with a burst of silent gratitude.\n\nA good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which was\nmore or less rare--the entrance of visitors: lawyer Thatcher, accompanied\nby a very feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged gentleman\nwith iron-gray hair; and a dignified lady who was doubtless the latter's\nwife. The lady was leading a child. Tom had been restless and full of\nchafings and repinings; conscience-smitten, too--he could not meet Amy\nLawrence's eye, he could not brook her loving gaze. But when he saw this\nsmall newcomer his soul was all ablaze with bliss in a moment. The next\nmoment he was \"showing off\" with all his might--cuffing boys, pulling\nhair, making faces--in a word, using every art that seemed likely to\nfascinate a girl and win her applause. His exaltation had but one\nalloy--the memory of his humiliation in this angel's garden--and that\nrecord in sand was fast washing out, under the waves of happiness that\nwere sweeping over it now.\n\nThe visitors were given the highest seat of honor, and as soon as Mr.\nWalters' speech was finished, he introduced them to the school. The\nmiddle-aged man turned out to be a prodigious personage--no less a one\nthan the county judge--altogether the most august creation these children\nhad ever looked upon--and they wondered what kind of material he was made\nof--and they half wanted to hear him roar, and were half afraid he might,\ntoo. He was from Constantinople, twelve miles away--so he had travelled,\nand seen the world--these very eyes had looked upon the county\ncourt-house--which was said to have a tin roof. The awe which these\nreflections inspired was attested by the impressive silence and the\nranks of staring eyes. This was the great Judge Thatcher, brother of\ntheir own lawyer. Jeff Thatcher immediately went forward, to be familiar\nwith the great man and be envied by the school. It would have been music\nto his soul to hear the whisperings:\n\n\"Look at him, Jim! He's a going up there. Say--look! he's a going to\nshake hands with him--he _is_ shaking hands with him! By jings, don't you\nwish you was Jeff?\"\n\nMr. Walters fell to \"showing off,\" with all sorts of official bustlings\nand activities, giving orders, delivering judgments, discharging\ndirections here, there, everywhere that he could find a target. The\nlibrarian \"showed off\"--running hither and thither with his arms full of\nbooks and making a deal of the splutter and fuss that insect authority\ndelights in. The young lady teachers \"showed off\"--bending sweetly over\npupils that were lately being boxed, lifting pretty warning fingers\nat bad little boys and patting good ones lovingly. The young gentlemen\nteachers \"showed off\" with small scoldings and other little displays of\nauthority and fine attention to discipline--and most of the teachers, of\nboth sexes, found business up at the library, by the pulpit; and it was\nbusiness that frequently had to be done over again two or three times\n(with much seeming vexation). The little girls \"showed off\" in various\nways, and the little boys \"showed off\" with such diligence that the air\nwas thick with paper wads and the murmur of scufflings. And above it\nall the great man sat and beamed a majestic judicial smile upon all\nthe house, and warmed himself in the sun of his own grandeur--for he was\n\"showing off,\" too.\n\nThere was only one thing wanting to make Mr. Walters' ecstasy complete,\nand that was a chance to deliver a Bible-prize and exhibit a prodigy.\nSeveral pupils had a few yellow tickets, but none had enough--he had been\naround among the star pupils inquiring. He would have given worlds, now,\nto have that German lad back again with a sound mind.\n\nAnd now at this moment, when hope was dead, Tom Sawyer came forward with\nnine yellow tickets, nine red tickets, and ten blue ones, and demanded\na Bible. This was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. Walters was not\nexpecting an application from this source for the next ten years. But\nthere was no getting around it--here were the certified checks, and they\nwere good for their face. Tom was therefore elevated to a place with\nthe Judge and the other elect, and the great news was announced from\nheadquarters. It was the most stunning surprise of the decade, and\nso profound was the sensation that it lifted the new hero up to the\njudicial one's altitude, and the school had two marvels to gaze upon\nin place of one. The boys were all eaten up with envy--but those that\nsuffered the bitterest pangs were those who perceived too late that they\nthemselves had contributed to this hated splendor by trading tickets to\nTom for the wealth he had amassed in selling whitewashing privileges.\nThese despised themselves, as being the dupes of a wily fraud, a\nguileful snake in the grass.\n\nThe prize was delivered to Tom with as much effusion as the\nsuperintendent could pump up under the circumstances; but it lacked\nsomewhat of the true gush, for the poor fellow's instinct taught him\nthat there was a mystery here that could not well bear the light,\nperhaps; it was simply preposterous that this boy had warehoused two\nthousand sheaves of Scriptural wisdom on his premises--a dozen would\nstrain his capacity, without a doubt.\n\nAmy Lawrence was proud and glad, and she tried to make Tom see it in\nher face--but he wouldn't look. She wondered; then she was just a grain\ntroubled; next a dim suspicion came and went--came again; she watched;\na furtive glance told her worlds--and then her heart broke, and she was\njealous, and angry, and the tears came and she hated everybody. Tom most\nof all (she thought).\n\nTom was introduced to the Judge; but his tongue was tied, his breath\nwould hardly come, his heart quaked--partly because of the awful\ngreatness of the man, but mainly because he was her parent. He would\nhave liked to fall down and worship him, if it were in the dark. The\nJudge put his hand on Tom's head and called him a fine little man, and\nasked him what his name was. The boy stammered, gasped, and got it out:\n\n\"Tom.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, not Tom--it is--\"\n\n\"Thomas.\"\n\n\"Ah, that's it. I thought there was more to it, maybe. That's very well.\nBut you've another one I daresay, and you'll tell it to me, won't you?\"\n\n\"Tell the gentleman your other name, Thomas,\" said Walters, \"and say\nsir. You mustn't forget your manners.\"\n\n\"Thomas Sawyer--sir.\"\n\n\"That's it! That's a good boy. Fine boy. Fine, manly little fellow. Two\nthousand verses is a great many--very, very great many. And you never can\nbe sorry for the trouble you took to learn them; for knowledge is worth\nmore than anything there is in the world; it's what makes great men\nand good men; you'll be a great man and a good man yourself, some\nday, Thomas, and then you'll look back and say, It's all owing to the\nprecious Sunday-school privileges of my boyhood--it's all owing to\nmy dear teachers that taught me to learn--it's all owing to the good\nsuperintendent, who encouraged me, and watched over me, and gave me a\nbeautiful Bible--a splendid elegant Bible--to keep and have it all for my\nown, always--it's all owing to right bringing up! That is what you will\nsay, Thomas--and you wouldn't take any money for those two thousand\nverses--no indeed you wouldn't. And now you wouldn't mind telling me and\nthis lady some of the things you've learned--no, I know you wouldn't--for\nwe are proud of little boys that learn. Now, no doubt you know the names\nof all the twelve disciples. Won't you tell us the names of the first\ntwo that were appointed?\"\n\nTom was tugging at a button-hole and looking sheepish. He blushed,\nnow, and his eyes fell. Mr. Walters' heart sank within him. He said\nto himself, it is not possible that the boy can answer the simplest\nquestion--why _did_ the Judge ask him? Yet he felt obliged to speak up\nand say:\n\n\"Answer the gentleman, Thomas--don't be afraid.\"\n\nTom still hung fire.\n\n\"Now I know you'll tell me,\" said the lady. \"The names of the first two\ndisciples were--\"\n\n\"_David And Goliah!_\"\n\nLet us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nABOUT half-past ten the cracked bell of the small church began to ring,\nand presently the people began to gather for the morning sermon. The\nSunday-school children distributed themselves about the house and\noccupied pews with their parents, so as to be under supervision. Aunt\nPolly came, and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her--Tom being placed next\nthe aisle, in order that he might be as far away from the open window\nand the seductive outside summer scenes as possible. The crowd filed up\nthe aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who had seen better days;\nthe mayor and his wife--for they had a mayor there, among other\nunnecessaries; the justice of the peace; the widow Douglass, fair,\nsmart, and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and well-to-do, her hill\nmansion the only palace in the town, and the most hospitable and much\nthe most lavish in the matter of festivities that St. Petersburg could\nboast; the bent and venerable Major and Mrs. Ward; lawyer Riverson, the\nnew notable from a distance; next the belle of the village, followed by\na troop of lawn-clad and ribbon-decked young heart-breakers; then all\nthe young clerks in town in a body--for they had stood in the vestibule\nsucking their cane-heads, a circling wall of oiled and simpering\nadmirers, till the last girl had run their gantlet; and last of all came\nthe Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful care of his mother as\nif she were cut glass. He always brought his mother to church, and was\nthe pride of all the matrons. The boys all hated him, he was so\ngood. And besides, he had been \"thrown up to them\" so much. His\nwhite handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket behind, as usual on\nSundays--accidentally. Tom had no handkerchief, and he looked upon boys\nwho had as snobs.\n\nThe congregation being fully assembled, now, the bell rang once more,\nto warn laggards and stragglers, and then a solemn hush fell upon the\nchurch which was only broken by the tittering and whispering of the\nchoir in the gallery. The choir always tittered and whispered all\nthrough service. There was once a church choir that was not ill-bred,\nbut I have forgotten where it was, now. It was a great many years ago,\nand I can scarcely remember anything about it, but I think it was in\nsome foreign country.\n\nThe minister gave out the hymn, and read it through with a relish, in a\npeculiar style which was much admired in that part of the country. His\nvoice began on a medium key and climbed steadily up till it reached a\ncertain point, where it bore with strong emphasis upon the topmost word\nand then plunged down as if from a spring-board:\n\nShall I be car-ri-ed toe the skies, on flow'ry _beds_ of ease,\n\nWhilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro' _blood_-y seas?\n\nHe was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church \"sociables\" he was\nalways called upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies\nwould lift up their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps,\nand \"wall\" their eyes, and shake their heads, as much as to say, \"Words\ncannot express it; it is too beautiful, TOO beautiful for this mortal\nearth.\"\n\nAfter the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into\na bulletin-board, and read off \"notices\" of meetings and societies and\nthings till it seemed that the list would stretch out to the crack of\ndoom--a queer custom which is still kept up in America, even in cities,\naway here in this age of abundant newspapers. Often, the less there is\nto justify a traditional custom, the harder it is to get rid of it.\n\nAnd now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went\ninto details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the\nchurch; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself;\nfor the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United\nStates; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the\nPresident; for the officers of the Government; for poor sailors, tossed\nby stormy seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under the heel of\nEuropean monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the light\nand the good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to hear\nwithal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with\na supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace\nand favor, and be as seed sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a\ngrateful harvest of good. Amen.\n\nThere was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat down.\nThe boy whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer, he\nonly endured it--if he even did that much. He was restive all through it;\nhe kept tally of the details of the prayer, unconsciously--for he was not\nlistening, but he knew the ground of old, and the clergyman's regular\nroute over it--and when a little trifle of new matter was interlarded,\nhis ear detected it and his whole nature resented it; he considered\nadditions unfair, and scoundrelly. In the midst of the prayer a fly had\nlit on the back of the pew in front of him and tortured his spirit by\ncalmly rubbing its hands together, embracing its head with its arms, and\npolishing it so vigorously that it seemed to almost part company with\nthe body, and the slender thread of a neck was exposed to view; scraping\nits wings with its hind legs and smoothing them to its body as if they\nhad been coat-tails; going through its whole toilet as tranquilly as if\nit knew it was perfectly safe. As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's\nhands itched to grab for it they did not dare--he believed his soul would\nbe instantly destroyed if he did such a thing while the prayer was going\non. But with the closing sentence his hand began to curve and steal\nforward; and the instant the \"Amen\" was out the fly was a prisoner of\nwar. His aunt detected the act and made him let it go.\n\nThe minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through an\nargument that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod--and\nyet it was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and brimstone and\nthinned the predestined elect down to a company so small as to be hardly\nworth the saving. Tom counted the pages of the sermon; after church he\nalways knew how many pages there had been, but he seldom knew anything\nelse about the discourse. However, this time he was really interested\nfor a little while. The minister made a grand and moving picture of the\nassembling together of the world's hosts at the millennium when the lion\nand the lamb should lie down together and a little child should lead\nthem. But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of the great spectacle\nwere lost upon the boy; he only thought of the conspicuousness of the\nprincipal character before the on-looking nations; his face lit with the\nthought, and he said to himself that he wished he could be that child,\nif it was a tame lion.\n\nNow he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed.\nPresently he bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out. It was\na large black beetle with formidable jaws--a \"pinchbug,\" he called it. It\nwas in a percussion-cap box. The first thing the beetle did was to\ntake him by the finger. A natural fillip followed, the beetle went\nfloundering into the aisle and lit on its back, and the hurt finger went\ninto the boy's mouth. The beetle lay there working its helpless legs,\nunable to turn over. Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out\nof his reach. Other people uninterested in the sermon found relief in\nthe beetle, and they eyed it too. Presently a vagrant poodle dog came\nidling along, sad at heart, lazy with the summer softness and the\nquiet, weary of captivity, sighing for change. He spied the beetle; the\ndrooping tail lifted and wagged. He surveyed the prize; walked around\nit; smelt at it from a safe distance; walked around it again; grew\nbolder, and took a closer smell; then lifted his lip and made a gingerly\nsnatch at it, just missing it; made another, and another; began to enjoy\nthe diversion; subsided to his stomach with the beetle between his paws,\nand continued his experiments; grew weary at last, and then indifferent\nand absent-minded. His head nodded, and little by little his chin\ndescended and touched the enemy, who seized it. There was a sharp yelp,\na flirt of the poodle's head, and the beetle fell a couple of yards\naway, and lit on its back once more. The neighboring spectators\nshook with a gentle inward joy, several faces went behind fans and\nhand-kerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy. The dog looked foolish,\nand probably felt so; but there was resentment in his heart, too, and a\ncraving for revenge. So he went to the beetle and began a wary attack on\nit again; jumping at it from every point of a circle, lighting with his\nfore-paws within an inch of the creature, making even closer snatches at\nit with his teeth, and jerking his head till his ears flapped again. But\nhe grew tired once more, after a while; tried to amuse himself with a\nfly but found no relief; followed an ant around, with his nose close\nto the floor, and quickly wearied of that; yawned, sighed, forgot the\nbeetle entirely, and sat down on it. Then there was a wild yelp of agony\nand the poodle went sailing up the aisle; the yelps continued, and so\ndid the dog; he crossed the house in front of the altar; he flew\ndown the other aisle; he crossed before the doors; he clamored up the\nhome-stretch; his anguish grew with his progress, till presently he was\nbut a woolly comet moving in its orbit with the gleam and the speed of\nlight. At last the frantic sufferer sheered from its course, and sprang\ninto its master's lap; he flung it out of the window, and the voice of\ndistress quickly thinned away and died in the distance.\n\nBy this time the whole church was red-faced and suffocating with\nsuppressed laughter, and the sermon had come to a dead standstill.\nThe discourse was resumed presently, but it went lame and halting, all\npossibility of impressiveness being at an end; for even the gravest\nsentiments were constantly being received with a smothered burst of\nunholy mirth, under cover of some remote pew-back, as if the poor parson\nhad said a rarely facetious thing. It was a genuine relief to the whole\ncongregation when the ordeal was over and the benediction pronounced.\n\nTom Sawyer went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that there was\nsome satisfaction about divine service when there was a bit of variety\nin it. He had but one marring thought; he was willing that the dog\nshould play with his pinchbug, but he did not think it was upright in\nhim to carry it off.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nMONDAY morning found Tom Sawyer miserable. Monday morning always found\nhim so--because it began another week's slow suffering in school. He\ngenerally began that day with wishing he had had no intervening holiday,\nit made the going into captivity and fetters again so much more odious.\n\nTom lay thinking. Presently it occurred to him that he wished he was\nsick; then he could stay home from school. Here was a vague possibility.\nHe canvassed his system. No ailment was found, and he investigated\nagain. This time he thought he could detect colicky symptoms, and he\nbegan to encourage them with considerable hope. But they soon grew\nfeeble, and presently died wholly away. He reflected further. Suddenly\nhe discovered something. One of his upper front teeth was loose. This\nwas lucky; he was about to begin to groan, as a \"starter,\" as he\ncalled it, when it occurred to him that if he came into court with that\nargument, his aunt would pull it out, and that would hurt. So he thought\nhe would hold the tooth in reserve for the present, and seek further.\nNothing offered for some little time, and then he remembered hearing\nthe doctor tell about a certain thing that laid up a patient for two or\nthree weeks and threatened to make him lose a finger. So the boy eagerly\ndrew his sore toe from under the sheet and held it up for inspection.\nBut now he did not know the necessary symptoms. However, it seemed\nwell worth while to chance it, so he fell to groaning with considerable\nspirit.\n\nBut Sid slept on unconscious.\n\nTom groaned louder, and fancied that he began to feel pain in the toe.\n\nNo result from Sid.\n\nTom was panting with his exertions by this time. He took a rest and then\nswelled himself up and fetched a succession of admirable groans.\n\nSid snored on.\n\nTom was aggravated. He said, \"Sid, Sid!\" and shook him. This course\nworked well, and Tom began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then\nbrought himself up on his elbow with a snort, and began to stare at Tom.\nTom went on groaning. Sid said:\n\n\"Tom! Say, Tom!\" [No response.] \"Here, Tom! TOM! What is the matter,\nTom?\" And he shook him and looked in his face anxiously.\n\nTom moaned out:\n\n\"Oh, don't, Sid. Don't joggle me.\"\n\n\"Why, what's the matter, Tom? I must call auntie.\"\n\n\"No--never mind. It'll be over by and by, maybe. Don't call anybody.\"\n\n\"But I must! _Don't_ groan so, Tom, it's awful. How long you been this\nway?\"\n\n\"Hours. Ouch! Oh, don't stir so, Sid, you'll kill me.\"\n\n\"Tom, why didn't you wake me sooner? Oh, Tom, _don't!_ It makes my flesh\ncrawl to hear you. Tom, what is the matter?\"\n\n\"I forgive you everything, Sid. [Groan.] Everything you've ever done to\nme. When I'm gone--\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, you ain't dying, are you? Don't, Tom--oh, don't. Maybe--\"\n\n\"I forgive everybody, Sid. [Groan.] Tell 'em so, Sid. And Sid, you give\nmy window-sash and my cat with one eye to that new girl that's come to\ntown, and tell her--\"\n\nBut Sid had snatched his clothes and gone. Tom was suffering in reality,\nnow, so handsomely was his imagination working, and so his groans had\ngathered quite a genuine tone.\n\nSid flew downstairs and said:\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Polly, come! Tom's dying!\"\n\n\"Dying!\"\n\n\"Yes'm. Don't wait--come quick!\"\n\n\"Rubbage! I don't believe it!\"\n\nBut she fled upstairs, nevertheless, with Sid and Mary at her heels.\nAnd her face grew white, too, and her lip trembled. When she reached the\nbedside she gasped out:\n\n\"You, Tom! Tom, what's the matter with you?\"\n\n\"Oh, auntie, I'm--\"\n\n\"What's the matter with you--what is the matter with you, child?\"\n\n\"Oh, auntie, my sore toe's mortified!\"\n\nThe old lady sank down into a chair and laughed a little, then cried a\nlittle, then did both together. This restored her and she said:\n\n\"Tom, what a turn you did give me. Now you shut up that nonsense and\nclimb out of this.\"\n\nThe groans ceased and the pain vanished from the toe. The boy felt a\nlittle foolish, and he said:\n\n\"Aunt Polly, it _seemed_ mortified, and it hurt so I never minded my\ntooth at all.\"\n\n\"Your tooth, indeed! What's the matter with your tooth?\"\n\n\"One of them's loose, and it aches perfectly awful.\"\n\n\"There, there, now, don't begin that groaning again. Open your mouth.\nWell--your tooth _is_ loose, but you're not going to die about that.\nMary, get me a silk thread, and a chunk of fire out of the kitchen.\"\n\nTom said:\n\n\"Oh, please, auntie, don't pull it out. It don't hurt any more. I wish\nI may never stir if it does. Please don't, auntie. I don't want to stay\nhome from school.\"\n\n\"Oh, you don't, don't you? So all this row was because you thought you'd\nget to stay home from school and go a-fishing? Tom, Tom, I love you so,\nand you seem to try every way you can to break my old heart with your\noutrageousness.\" By this time the dental instruments were ready. The old\nlady made one end of the silk thread fast to Tom's tooth with a loop\nand tied the other to the bedpost. Then she seized the chunk of fire and\nsuddenly thrust it almost into the boy's face. The tooth hung dangling\nby the bedpost, now.\n\nBut all trials bring their compensations. As Tom wended to school after\nbreakfast, he was the envy of every boy he met because the gap in his\nupper row of teeth enabled him to expectorate in a new and admirable\nway. He gathered quite a following of lads interested in the exhibition;\nand one that had cut his finger and had been a centre of fascination and\nhomage up to this time, now found himself suddenly without an adherent,\nand shorn of his glory. His heart was heavy, and he said with a disdain\nwhich he did not feel that it wasn't anything to spit like Tom Sawyer;\nbut another boy said, \"Sour grapes!\" and he wandered away a dismantled\nhero.\n\nShortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village, Huckleberry\nFinn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was cordially hated and\ndreaded by all the mothers of the town, because he was idle and lawless\nand vulgar and bad--and because all their children admired him so, and\ndelighted in his forbidden society, and wished they dared to be like\nhim. Tom was like the rest of the respectable boys, in that he envied\nHuckleberry his gaudy outcast condition, and was under strict orders\nnot to play with him. So he played with him every time he got a chance.\nHuckleberry was always dressed in the cast-off clothes of full-grown\nmen, and they were in perennial bloom and fluttering with rags. His hat\nwas a vast ruin with a wide crescent lopped out of its brim; his coat,\nwhen he wore one, hung nearly to his heels and had the rearward buttons\nfar down the back; but one suspender supported his trousers; the seat of\nthe trousers bagged low and contained nothing, the fringed legs dragged\nin the dirt when not rolled up.\n\nHuckleberry came and went, at his own free will. He slept on doorsteps\nin fine weather and in empty hogsheads in wet; he did not have to go to\nschool or to church, or call any being master or obey anybody; he could\ngo fishing or swimming when and where he chose, and stay as long as it\nsuited him; nobody forbade him to fight; he could sit up as late as he\npleased; he was always the first boy that went barefoot in the spring\nand the last to resume leather in the fall; he never had to wash, nor\nput on clean clothes; he could swear wonderfully. In a word, everything\nthat goes to make life precious that boy had. So thought every harassed,\nhampered, respectable boy in St. Petersburg.\n\nTom hailed the romantic outcast:\n\n\"Hello, Huckleberry!\"\n\n\"Hello yourself, and see how you like it.\"\n\n\"What's that you got?\"\n\n\"Dead cat.\"\n\n\"Lemme see him, Huck. My, he's pretty stiff. Where'd you get him?\"\n\n\"Bought him off'n a boy.\"\n\n\"What did you give?\"\n\n\"I give a blue ticket and a bladder that I got at the slaughter-house.\"\n\n\"Where'd you get the blue ticket?\"\n\n\"Bought it off'n Ben Rogers two weeks ago for a hoop-stick.\"\n\n\"Say--what is dead cats good for, Huck?\"\n\n\"Good for? Cure warts with.\"\n\n\"No! Is that so? I know something that's better.\"\n\n\"I bet you don't. What is it?\"\n\n\"Why, spunk-water.\"\n\n\"Spunk-water! I wouldn't give a dern for spunk-water.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't, wouldn't you? D'you ever try it?\"\n\n\"No, I hain't. But Bob Tanner did.\"\n\n\"Who told you so!\"\n\n\"Why, he told Jeff Thatcher, and Jeff told Johnny Baker, and Johnny\ntold Jim Hollis, and Jim told Ben Rogers, and Ben told a nigger, and the\nnigger told me. There now!\"\n\n\"Well, what of it? They'll all lie. Leastways all but the nigger. I\ndon't know _him_. But I never see a nigger that _wouldn't_ lie. Shucks!\nNow you tell me how Bob Tanner done it, Huck.\"\n\n\"Why, he took and dipped his hand in a rotten stump where the rain-water\nwas.\"\n\n\"In the daytime?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"With his face to the stump?\"\n\n\"Yes. Least I reckon so.\"\n\n\"Did he say anything?\"\n\n\"I don't reckon he did. I don't know.\"\n\n\"Aha! Talk about trying to cure warts with spunk-water such a blame fool\nway as that! Why, that ain't a-going to do any good. You got to go all\nby yourself, to the middle of the woods, where you know there's a\nspunk-water stump, and just as it's midnight you back up against the stump\nand jam your hand in and say:\n\n'Barley-corn, barley-corn, injun-meal shorts, Spunk-water, spunk-water,\nswaller these warts,'\n\nand then walk away quick, eleven steps, with your eyes shut, and then\nturn around three times and walk home without speaking to anybody.\nBecause if you speak the charm's busted.\"\n\n\"Well, that sounds like a good way; but that ain't the way Bob Tanner\ndone.\"\n\n\"No, sir, you can bet he didn't, becuz he's the wartiest boy in this\ntown; and he wouldn't have a wart on him if he'd knowed how to work\nspunk-water. I've took off thousands of warts off of my hands that way,\nHuck. I play with frogs so much that I've always got considerable many\nwarts. Sometimes I take 'em off with a bean.\"\n\n\"Yes, bean's good. I've done that.\"\n\n\"Have you? What's your way?\"\n\n\"You take and split the bean, and cut the wart so as to get some blood,\nand then you put the blood on one piece of the bean and take and dig\na hole and bury it 'bout midnight at the crossroads in the dark of the\nmoon, and then you burn up the rest of the bean. You see that piece\nthat's got the blood on it will keep drawing and drawing, trying to\nfetch the other piece to it, and so that helps the blood to draw the\nwart, and pretty soon off she comes.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's it, Huck--that's it; though when you're burying it if you\nsay 'Down bean; off wart; come no more to bother me!' it's better.\nThat's the way Joe Harper does, and he's been nearly to Coonville and\nmost everywheres. But say--how do you cure 'em with dead cats?\"\n\n\"Why, you take your cat and go and get in the grave-yard 'long about\nmidnight when somebody that was wicked has been buried; and when it's\nmidnight a devil will come, or maybe two or three, but you can't see\n'em, you can only hear something like the wind, or maybe hear 'em talk;\nand when they're taking that feller away, you heave your cat after 'em\nand say, 'Devil follow corpse, cat follow devil, warts follow cat, I'm\ndone with ye!' That'll fetch _any_ wart.\"\n\n\"Sounds right. D'you ever try it, Huck?\"\n\n\"No, but old Mother Hopkins told me.\"\n\n\"Well, I reckon it's so, then. Becuz they say she's a witch.\"\n\n\"Say! Why, Tom, I _know_ she is. She witched pap. Pap says so his own\nself. He come along one day, and he see she was a-witching him, so he\ntook up a rock, and if she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her. Well, that\nvery night he rolled off'n a shed wher' he was a layin drunk, and broke\nhis arm.\"\n\n\"Why, that's awful. How did he know she was a-witching him?\"\n\n\"Lord, pap can tell, easy. Pap says when they keep looking at you right\nstiddy, they're a-witching you. Specially if they mumble. Becuz when\nthey mumble they're saying the Lord's Prayer backards.\"\n\n\"Say, Hucky, when you going to try the cat?\"\n\n\"To-night. I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to-night.\"\n\n\"But they buried him Saturday. Didn't they get him Saturday night?\"\n\n\"Why, how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight?--and\n_then_ it's Sunday. Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I don't\nreckon.\"\n\n\"I never thought of that. That's so. Lemme go with you?\"\n\n\"Of course--if you ain't afeard.\"\n\n\"Afeard! 'Tain't likely. Will you meow?\"\n\n\"Yes--and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kep' me\na-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says\n'Dern that cat!' and so I hove a brick through his window--but don't you\ntell.\"\n\n\"I won't. I couldn't meow that night, becuz auntie was watching me, but\nI'll meow this time. Say--what's that?\"\n\n\"Nothing but a tick.\"\n\n\"Where'd you get him?\"\n\n\"Out in the woods.\"\n\n\"What'll you take for him?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I don't want to sell him.\"\n\n\"All right. It's a mighty small tick, anyway.\"\n\n\"Oh, anybody can run a tick down that don't belong to them. I'm\nsatisfied with it. It's a good enough tick for me.\"\n\n\"Sho, there's ticks a plenty. I could have a thousand of 'em if I wanted\nto.\"\n\n\"Well, why don't you? Becuz you know mighty well you can't. This is a\npretty early tick, I reckon. It's the first one I've seen this year.\"\n\n\"Say, Huck--I'll give you my tooth for him.\"\n\n\"Less see it.\"\n\nTom got out a bit of paper and carefully unrolled it. Huckleberry viewed\nit wistfully. The temptation was very strong. At last he said:\n\n\"Is it genuwyne?\"\n\nTom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.\n\n\"Well, all right,\" said Huckleberry, \"it's a trade.\"\n\nTom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been the\npinchbug's prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier than\nbefore.\n\nWhen Tom reached the little isolated frame school-house, he strode in\nbriskly, with the manner of one who had come with all honest speed. He\nhung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with business-like\nalacrity. The master, throned on high in his great splint-bottom\narm-chair, was dozing, lulled by the drowsy hum of study. The\ninterruption roused him.\n\n\"Thomas Sawyer!\"\n\nTom knew that when his name was pronounced in full, it meant trouble.\n\n\"Sir!\"\n\n\"Come up here. Now, sir, why are you late again, as usual?\"\n\nTom was about to take refuge in a lie, when he saw two long tails of\nyellow hair hanging down a back that he recognized by the electric\nsympathy of love; and by that form was _the only vacant place_ on the\ngirls' side of the school-house. He instantly said:\n\n\"_I stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn!_\"\n\nThe master's pulse stood still, and he stared helplessly. The buzz of\nstudy ceased. The pupils wondered if this foolhardy boy had lost his\nmind. The master said:\n\n\"You--you did what?\"\n\n\"Stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn.\"\n\nThere was no mistaking the words.\n\n\"Thomas Sawyer, this is the most astounding confession I have ever\nlistened to. No mere ferule will answer for this offence. Take off your\njacket.\"\n\nThe master's arm performed until it was tired and the stock of switches\nnotably diminished. Then the order followed:\n\n\"Now, sir, go and sit with the girls! And let this be a warning to you.\"\n\nThe titter that rippled around the room appeared to abash the boy, but\nin reality that result was caused rather more by his worshipful awe\nof his unknown idol and the dread pleasure that lay in his high good\nfortune. He sat down upon the end of the pine bench and the girl hitched\nherself away from him with a toss of her head. Nudges and winks and\nwhispers traversed the room, but Tom sat still, with his arms upon the\nlong, low desk before him, and seemed to study his book.\n\nBy and by attention ceased from him, and the accustomed school murmur\nrose upon the dull air once more. Presently the boy began to steal\nfurtive glances at the girl. She observed it, \"made a mouth\" at him\nand gave him the back of her head for the space of a minute. When she\ncautiously faced around again, a peach lay before her. She thrust it\naway. Tom gently put it back. She thrust it away again, but with less\nanimosity. Tom patiently returned it to its place. Then she let it\nremain. Tom scrawled on his slate, \"Please take it--I got more.\" The\ngirl glanced at the words, but made no sign. Now the boy began to draw\nsomething on the slate, hiding his work with his left hand. For a time\nthe girl refused to notice; but her human curiosity presently began\nto manifest itself by hardly perceptible signs. The boy worked on,\napparently unconscious. The girl made a sort of non-committal attempt\nto see, but the boy did not betray that he was aware of it. At last she\ngave in and hesitatingly whispered:\n\n\"Let me see it.\"\n\nTom partly uncovered a dismal caricature of a house with two gable ends\nto it and a corkscrew of smoke issuing from the chimney. Then the girl's\ninterest began to fasten itself upon the work and she forgot everything\nelse. When it was finished, she gazed a moment, then whispered:\n\n\"It's nice--make a man.\"\n\nThe artist erected a man in the front yard, that resembled a derrick. He\ncould have stepped over the house; but the girl was not hypercritical;\nshe was satisfied with the monster, and whispered:\n\n\"It's a beautiful man--now make me coming along.\"\n\nTom drew an hour-glass with a full moon and straw limbs to it and armed\nthe spreading fingers with a portentous fan. The girl said:\n\n\"It's ever so nice--I wish I could draw.\"\n\n\"It's easy,\" whispered Tom, \"I'll learn you.\"\n\n\"Oh, will you? When?\"\n\n\"At noon. Do you go home to dinner?\"\n\n\"I'll stay if you will.\"\n\n\"Good--that's a whack. What's your name?\"\n\n\"Becky Thatcher. What's yours? Oh, I know. It's Thomas Sawyer.\"\n\n\"That's the name they lick me by. I'm Tom when I'm good. You call me\nTom, will you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nNow Tom began to scrawl something on the slate, hiding the words from\nthe girl. But she was not backward this time. She begged to see. Tom\nsaid:\n\n\"Oh, it ain't anything.\"\n\n\"Yes it is.\"\n\n\"No it ain't. You don't want to see.\"\n\n\"Yes I do, indeed I do. Please let me.\"\n\n\"You'll tell.\"\n\n\"No I won't--deed and deed and double deed won't.\"\n\n\"You won't tell anybody at all? Ever, as long as you live?\"\n\n\"No, I won't ever tell _any_body. Now let me.\"\n\n\"Oh, _you_ don't want to see!\"\n\n\"Now that you treat me so, I _will_ see.\" And she put her small hand\nupon his and a little scuffle ensued, Tom pretending to resist in\nearnest but letting his hand slip by degrees till these words were\nrevealed: \"_I love you_.\"\n\n\"Oh, you bad thing!\" And she hit his hand a smart rap, but reddened and\nlooked pleased, nevertheless.\n\nJust at this juncture the boy felt a slow, fateful grip closing on his\near, and a steady lifting impulse. In that wise he was borne across the\nhouse and deposited in his own seat, under a peppering fire of giggles\nfrom the whole school. Then the master stood over him during a few awful\nmoments, and finally moved away to his throne without saying a word. But\nalthough Tom's ear tingled, his heart was jubilant.\n\nAs the school quieted down Tom made an honest effort to study, but\nthe turmoil within him was too great. In turn he took his place in the\nreading class and made a botch of it; then in the geography class and\nturned lakes into mountains, mountains into rivers, and rivers into\ncontinents, till chaos was come again; then in the spelling class, and\ngot \"turned down,\" by a succession of mere baby words, till he brought\nup at the foot and yielded up the pewter medal which he had worn with\nostentation for months.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE harder Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book, the more his ideas\nwandered. So at last, with a sigh and a yawn, he gave it up. It seemed\nto him that the noon recess would never come. The air was utterly dead.\nThere was not a breath stirring. It was the sleepiest of sleepy days.\nThe drowsing murmur of the five and twenty studying scholars soothed\nthe soul like the spell that is in the murmur of bees. Away off in the\nflaming sunshine, Cardiff Hill lifted its soft green sides through a\nshimmering veil of heat, tinted with the purple of distance; a few birds\nfloated on lazy wing high in the air; no other living thing was visible\nbut some cows, and they were asleep. Tom's heart ached to be free, or\nelse to have something of interest to do to pass the dreary time.\nHis hand wandered into his pocket and his face lit up with a glow of\ngratitude that was prayer, though he did not know it. Then furtively\nthe percussion-cap box came out. He released the tick and put him on\nthe long flat desk. The creature probably glowed with a gratitude that\namounted to prayer, too, at this moment, but it was premature: for when\nhe started thankfully to travel off, Tom turned him aside with a pin and\nmade him take a new direction.\n\nTom's bosom friend sat next him, suffering just as Tom had been, and\nnow he was deeply and gratefully interested in this entertainment in\nan instant. This bosom friend was Joe Harper. The two boys were sworn\nfriends all the week, and embattled enemies on Saturdays. Joe took a\npin out of his lapel and began to assist in exercising the prisoner.\nThe sport grew in interest momently. Soon Tom said that they were\ninterfering with each other, and neither getting the fullest benefit\nof the tick. So he put Joe's slate on the desk and drew a line down the\nmiddle of it from top to bottom.\n\n\"Now,\" said he, \"as long as he is on your side you can stir him up and\nI'll let him alone; but if you let him get away and get on my side,\nyou're to leave him alone as long as I can keep him from crossing over.\"\n\n\"All right, go ahead; start him up.\"\n\nThe tick escaped from Tom, presently, and crossed the equator. Joe\nharassed him awhile, and then he got away and crossed back again. This\nchange of base occurred often. While one boy was worrying the tick with\nabsorbing interest, the other would look on with interest as strong, the\ntwo heads bowed together over the slate, and the two souls dead to all\nthings else. At last luck seemed to settle and abide with Joe. The\ntick tried this, that, and the other course, and got as excited and as\nanxious as the boys themselves, but time and again just as he would\nhave victory in his very grasp, so to speak, and Tom's fingers would\nbe twitching to begin, Joe's pin would deftly head him off, and keep\npossession. At last Tom could stand it no longer. The temptation was too\nstrong. So he reached out and lent a hand with his pin. Joe was angry in\na moment. Said he:\n\n\"Tom, you let him alone.\"\n\n\"I only just want to stir him up a little, Joe.\"\n\n\"No, sir, it ain't fair; you just let him alone.\"\n\n\"Blame it, I ain't going to stir him much.\"\n\n\"Let him alone, I tell you.\"\n\n\"I won't!\"\n\n\"You shall--he's on my side of the line.\"\n\n\"Look here, Joe Harper, whose is that tick?\"\n\n\"I don't care whose tick he is--he's on my side of the line, and you\nsha'n't touch him.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll just bet I will, though. He's my tick and I'll do what I\nblame please with him, or die!\"\n\nA tremendous whack came down on Tom's shoulders, and its duplicate on\nJoe's; and for the space of two minutes the dust continued to fly from\nthe two jackets and the whole school to enjoy it. The boys had been\ntoo absorbed to notice the hush that had stolen upon the school awhile\nbefore when the master came tiptoeing down the room and stood over them.\nHe had contemplated a good part of the performance before he contributed\nhis bit of variety to it.\n\nWhen school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky Thatcher, and whispered\nin her ear:\n\n\"Put on your bonnet and let on you're going home; and when you get to\nthe corner, give the rest of 'em the slip, and turn down through the\nlane and come back. I'll go the other way and come it over 'em the same\nway.\"\n\nSo the one went off with one group of scholars, and the other with\nanother. In a little while the two met at the bottom of the lane, and\nwhen they reached the school they had it all to themselves. Then they\nsat together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the pencil\nand held her hand in his, guiding it, and so created another surprising\nhouse. When the interest in art began to wane, the two fell to talking.\nTom was swimming in bliss. He said:\n\n\"Do you love rats?\"\n\n\"No! I hate them!\"\n\n\"Well, I do, too--_live_ ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round your\nhead with a string.\"\n\n\"No, I don't care for rats much, anyway. What I like is chewing-gum.\"\n\n\"Oh, I should say so! I wish I had some now.\"\n\n\"Do you? I've got some. I'll let you chew it awhile, but you must give\nit back to me.\"\n\nThat was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled their legs\nagainst the bench in excess of contentment.\n\n\"Was you ever at a circus?\" said Tom.\n\n\"Yes, and my pa's going to take me again some time, if I'm good.\"\n\n\"I been to the circus three or four times--lots of times. Church ain't\nshucks to a circus. There's things going on at a circus all the time.\nI'm going to be a clown in a circus when I grow up.\"\n\n\"Oh, are you! That will be nice. They're so lovely, all spotted up.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's so. And they get slathers of money--most a dollar a day, Ben\nRogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Why, engaged to be married.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Would you like to?\"\n\n\"I reckon so. I don't know. What is it like?\"\n\n\"Like? Why it ain't like anything. You only just tell a boy you won't\never have anybody but him, ever ever ever, and then you kiss and that's\nall. Anybody can do it.\"\n\n\"Kiss? What do you kiss for?\"\n\n\"Why, that, you know, is to--well, they always do that.\"\n\n\"Everybody?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, everybody that's in love with each other. Do you remember\nwhat I wrote on the slate?\"\n\n\"Ye--yes.\"\n\n\"What was it?\"\n\n\"I sha'n't tell you.\"\n\n\"Shall I tell _you_?\"\n\n\"Ye--yes--but some other time.\"\n\n\"No, now.\"\n\n\"No, not now--to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, _now_. Please, Becky--I'll whisper it, I'll whisper it ever so\neasy.\"\n\nBecky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm about\nher waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth close to\nher ear. And then he added:\n\n\"Now you whisper it to me--just the same.\"\n\nShe resisted, for a while, and then said:\n\n\"You turn your face away so you can't see, and then I will. But you\nmustn't ever tell anybody--_will_ you, Tom? Now you won't, _will_ you?\"\n\n\"No, indeed, indeed I won't. Now, Becky.\"\n\nHe turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breath stirred\nhis curls and whispered, \"I--love--you!\"\n\nThen she sprang away and ran around and around the desks and benches,\nwith Tom after her, and took refuge in a corner at last, with her little\nwhite apron to her face. Tom clasped her about her neck and pleaded:\n\n\"Now, Becky, it's all done--all over but the kiss. Don't you be afraid\nof that--it ain't anything at all. Please, Becky.\" And he tugged at her\napron and the hands.\n\nBy and by she gave up, and let her hands drop; her face, all glowing\nwith the struggle, came up and submitted. Tom kissed the red lips and\nsaid:\n\n\"Now it's all done, Becky. And always after this, you know, you ain't\never to love anybody but me, and you ain't ever to marry anybody but me,\never never and forever. Will you?\"\n\n\"No, I'll never love anybody but you, Tom, and I'll never marry anybody\nbut you--and you ain't to ever marry anybody but me, either.\"\n\n\"Certainly. Of course. That's _part_ of it. And always coming to school\nor when we're going home, you're to walk with me, when there ain't\nanybody looking--and you choose me and I choose you at parties, because\nthat's the way you do when you're engaged.\"\n\n\"It's so nice. I never heard of it before.\"\n\n\"Oh, it's ever so gay! Why, me and Amy Lawrence--\"\n\nThe big eyes told Tom his blunder and he stopped, confused.\n\n\"Oh, Tom! Then I ain't the first you've ever been engaged to!\"\n\nThe child began to cry. Tom said:\n\n\"Oh, don't cry, Becky, I don't care for her any more.\"\n\n\"Yes, you do, Tom--you know you do.\"\n\nTom tried to put his arm about her neck, but she pushed him away and\nturned her face to the wall, and went on crying. Tom tried again, with\nsoothing words in his mouth, and was repulsed again. Then his pride was\nup, and he strode away and went outside. He stood about, restless and\nuneasy, for a while, glancing at the door, every now and then, hoping\nshe would repent and come to find him. But she did not. Then he began\nto feel badly and fear that he was in the wrong. It was a hard struggle\nwith him to make new advances, now, but he nerved himself to it and\nentered. She was still standing back there in the corner, sobbing, with\nher face to the wall. Tom's heart smote him. He went to her and stood a\nmoment, not knowing exactly how to proceed. Then he said hesitatingly:\n\n\"Becky, I--I don't care for anybody but you.\"\n\nNo reply--but sobs.\n\n\"Becky\"--pleadingly. \"Becky, won't you say something?\"\n\nMore sobs.\n\nTom got out his chiefest jewel, a brass knob from the top of an andiron,\nand passed it around her so that she could see it, and said:\n\n\"Please, Becky, won't you take it?\"\n\nShe struck it to the floor. Then Tom marched out of the house and over\nthe hills and far away, to return to school no more that day. Presently\nBecky began to suspect. She ran to the door; he was not in sight; she\nflew around to the play-yard; he was not there. Then she called:\n\n\"Tom! Come back, Tom!\"\n\nShe listened intently, but there was no answer. She had no companions\nbut silence and loneliness. So she sat down to cry again and upbraid\nherself; and by this time the scholars began to gather again, and she\nhad to hide her griefs and still her broken heart and take up the cross\nof a long, dreary, aching afternoon, with none among the strangers about\nher to exchange sorrows with.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTOM dodged hither and thither through lanes until he was well out of the\ntrack of returning scholars, and then fell into a moody jog. He crossed\na small \"branch\" two or three times, because of a prevailing juvenile\nsuperstition that to cross water baffled pursuit. Half an hour later\nhe was disappearing behind the Douglas mansion on the summit of Cardiff\nHill, and the school-house was hardly distinguishable away off in the\nvalley behind him. He entered a dense wood, picked his pathless way to\nthe centre of it, and sat down on a mossy spot under a spreading oak.\nThere was not even a zephyr stirring; the dead noonday heat had even\nstilled the songs of the birds; nature lay in a trance that was broken\nby no sound but the occasional far-off hammering of a wood-pecker, and\nthis seemed to render the pervading silence and sense of loneliness the\nmore profound. The boy's soul was steeped in melancholy; his feelings\nwere in happy accord with his surroundings. He sat long with his elbows\non his knees and his chin in his hands, meditating. It seemed to him\nthat life was but a trouble, at best, and he more than half envied Jimmy\nHodges, so lately released; it must be very peaceful, he thought, to lie\nand slumber and dream forever and ever, with the wind whispering through\nthe trees and caressing the grass and the flowers over the grave, and\nnothing to bother and grieve about, ever any more. If he only had a\nclean Sunday-school record he could be willing to go, and be done with\nit all. Now as to this girl. What had he done? Nothing. He had meant\nthe best in the world, and been treated like a dog--like a very dog. She\nwould be sorry some day--maybe when it was too late. Ah, if he could only\ndie _temporarily_!\n\nBut the elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into one constrained\nshape long at a time. Tom presently began to drift insensibly back into\nthe concerns of this life again. What if he turned his back, now, and\ndisappeared mysteriously? What if he went away--ever so far away, into\nunknown countries beyond the seas--and never came back any more! How\nwould she feel then! The idea of being a clown recurred to him now, only\nto fill him with disgust. For frivolity and jokes and spotted tights\nwere an offense, when they intruded themselves upon a spirit that was\nexalted into the vague august realm of the romantic. No, he would be\na soldier, and return after long years, all war-worn and illustrious.\nNo--better still, he would join the Indians, and hunt buffaloes and go on\nthe warpath in the mountain ranges and the trackless great plains of the\nFar West, and away in the future come back a great chief, bristling with\nfeathers, hideous with paint, and prance into Sunday-school, some drowsy\nsummer morning, with a blood-curdling war-whoop, and sear the eyeballs\nof all his companions with unappeasable envy. But no, there was\nsomething gaudier even than this. He would be a pirate! That was it!\n_now_ his future lay plain before him, and glowing with unimaginable\nsplendor. How his name would fill the world, and make people shudder!\nHow gloriously he would go plowing the dancing seas, in his long, low,\nblack-hulled racer, the Spirit of the Storm, with his grisly flag flying\nat the fore! And at the zenith of his fame, how he would suddenly appear\nat the old village and stalk into church, brown and weather-beaten, in\nhis black velvet doublet and trunks, his great jack-boots, his crimson\nsash, his belt bristling with horse-pistols, his crime-rusted cutlass\nat his side, his slouch hat with waving plumes, his black flag unfurled,\nwith the skull and crossbones on it, and hear with swelling ecstasy\nthe whisperings, \"It's Tom Sawyer the Pirate!--the Black Avenger of the\nSpanish Main!\"\n\nYes, it was settled; his career was determined. He would run away from\nhome and enter upon it. He would start the very next morning. Therefore\nhe must now begin to get ready. He would collect his resources together.\nHe went to a rotten log near at hand and began to dig under one end of\nit with his Barlow knife. He soon struck wood that sounded hollow. He\nput his hand there and uttered this incantation impressively:\n\n\"What hasn't come here, come! What's here, stay here!\"\n\nThen he scraped away the dirt, and exposed a pine shingle. He took it\nup and disclosed a shapely little treasure-house whose bottom and sides\nwere of shingles. In it lay a marble. Tom's astonishment was bound-less!\nHe scratched his head with a perplexed air, and said:\n\n\"Well, that beats anything!\"\n\nThen he tossed the marble away pettishly, and stood cogitating. The\ntruth was, that a superstition of his had failed, here, which he and\nall his comrades had always looked upon as infallible. If you buried\na marble with certain necessary incantations, and left it alone a\nfortnight, and then opened the place with the incantation he had just\nused, you would find that all the marbles you had ever lost had gathered\nthemselves together there, meantime, no matter how widely they had been\nseparated. But now, this thing had actually and unquestionably failed.\nTom's whole structure of faith was shaken to its foundations. He had\nmany a time heard of this thing succeeding but never of its failing\nbefore. It did not occur to him that he had tried it several times\nbefore, himself, but could never find the hiding-places afterward. He\npuzzled over the matter some time, and finally decided that some witch\nhad interfered and broken the charm. He thought he would satisfy himself\non that point; so he searched around till he found a small sandy spot\nwith a little funnel-shaped depression in it. He laid himself down and\nput his mouth close to this depression and called--\n\n\"Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know! Doodle-bug,\ndoodle-bug, tell me what I want to know!\"\n\nThe sand began to work, and presently a small black bug appeared for a\nsecond and then darted under again in a fright.\n\n\"He dasn't tell! So it _was_ a witch that done it. I just knowed it.\"\n\nHe well knew the futility of trying to contend against witches, so he\ngave up discouraged. But it occurred to him that he might as well have\nthe marble he had just thrown away, and therefore he went and made a\npatient search for it. But he could not find it. Now he went back to his\ntreasure-house and carefully placed himself just as he had been standing\nwhen he tossed the marble away; then he took another marble from his\npocket and tossed it in the same way, saying:\n\n\"Brother, go find your brother!\"\n\nHe watched where it stopped, and went there and looked. But it must\nhave fallen short or gone too far; so he tried twice more. The last\nrepetition was successful. The two marbles lay within a foot of each\nother.\n\nJust here the blast of a toy tin trumpet came faintly down the green\naisles of the forest. Tom flung off his jacket and trousers, turned\na suspender into a belt, raked away some brush behind the rotten log,\ndisclosing a rude bow and arrow, a lath sword and a tin trumpet, and\nin a moment had seized these things and bounded away, barelegged,\nwith fluttering shirt. He presently halted under a great elm, blew an\nanswering blast, and then began to tiptoe and look warily out, this way\nand that. He said cautiously--to an imaginary company:\n\n\"Hold, my merry men! Keep hid till I blow.\"\n\nNow appeared Joe Harper, as airily clad and elaborately armed as Tom.\nTom called:\n\n\"Hold! Who comes here into Sherwood Forest without my pass?\"\n\n\"Guy of Guisborne wants no man's pass. Who art thou that--that--\"\n\n\"Dares to hold such language,\" said Tom, prompting--for they talked \"by\nthe book,\" from memory.\n\n\"Who art thou that dares to hold such language?\"\n\n\"I, indeed! I am Robin Hood, as thy caitiff carcase soon shall know.\"\n\n\"Then art thou indeed that famous outlaw? Right gladly will I dispute\nwith thee the passes of the merry wood. Have at thee!\"\n\nThey took their lath swords, dumped their other traps on the ground,\nstruck a fencing attitude, foot to foot, and began a grave, careful\ncombat, \"two up and two down.\" Presently Tom said:\n\n\"Now, if you've got the hang, go it lively!\"\n\nSo they \"went it lively,\" panting and perspiring with the work. By and\nby Tom shouted:\n\n\"Fall! fall! Why don't you fall?\"\n\n\"I sha'n't! Why don't you fall yourself? You're getting the worst of\nit.\"\n\n\"Why, that ain't anything. I can't fall; that ain't the way it is in the\nbook. The book says, 'Then with one back-handed stroke he slew poor Guy\nof Guisborne.' You're to turn around and let me hit you in the back.\"\n\nThere was no getting around the authorities, so Joe turned, received the\nwhack and fell.\n\n\"Now,\" said Joe, getting up, \"you got to let me kill _you_. That's\nfair.\"\n\n\"Why, I can't do that, it ain't in the book.\"\n\n\"Well, it's blamed mean--that's all.\"\n\n\"Well, say, Joe, you can be Friar Tuck or Much the miller's son, and lam\nme with a quarter-staff; or I'll be the Sheriff of Nottingham and you be\nRobin Hood a little while and kill me.\"\n\nThis was satisfactory, and so these adventures were carried out. Then\nTom became Robin Hood again, and was allowed by the treacherous nun to\nbleed his strength away through his neglected wound. And at last Joe,\nrepresenting a whole tribe of weeping outlaws, dragged him sadly forth,\ngave his bow into his feeble hands, and Tom said, \"Where this arrow\nfalls, there bury poor Robin Hood under the greenwood tree.\" Then he\nshot the arrow and fell back and would have died, but he lit on a nettle\nand sprang up too gaily for a corpse.\n\nThe boys dressed themselves, hid their accoutrements, and went off\ngrieving that there were no outlaws any more, and wondering what modern\ncivilization could claim to have done to compensate for their loss.\nThey said they would rather be outlaws a year in Sherwood Forest than\nPresident of the United States forever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nAT half-past nine, that night, Tom and Sid were sent to bed, as usual.\nThey said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay awake and\nwaited, in restless impatience. When it seemed to him that it must be\nnearly daylight, he heard the clock strike ten! This was despair. He\nwould have tossed and fidgeted, as his nerves demanded, but he was\nafraid he might wake Sid. So he lay still, and stared up into the dark.\nEverything was dismally still. By and by, out of the stillness, little,\nscarcely perceptible noises began to emphasize themselves. The ticking\nof the clock began to bring itself into notice. Old beams began to crack\nmysteriously. The stairs creaked faintly. Evidently spirits were abroad.\nA measured, muffled snore issued from Aunt Polly's chamber. And now the\ntiresome chirping of a cricket that no human ingenuity could locate,\nbegan. Next the ghastly ticking of a death-watch in the wall at the\nbed's head made Tom shudder--it meant that somebody's days were numbered.\nThen the howl of a far-off dog rose on the night air, and was answered\nby a fainter howl from a remoter distance. Tom was in an agony. At last\nhe was satisfied that time had ceased and eternity begun; he began to\ndoze, in spite of himself; the clock chimed eleven, but he did not hear\nit. And then there came, mingling with his half-formed dreams, a most\nmelancholy caterwauling. The raising of a neighboring window disturbed\nhim. A cry of \"Scat! you devil!\" and the crash of an empty bottle\nagainst the back of his aunt's woodshed brought him wide awake, and a\nsingle minute later he was dressed and out of the window and creeping\nalong the roof of the \"ell\" on all fours. He \"meow'd\" with caution once\nor twice, as he went; then jumped to the roof of the woodshed and thence\nto the ground. Huckleberry Finn was there, with his dead cat. The boys\nmoved off and disappeared in the gloom. At the end of half an hour they\nwere wading through the tall grass of the graveyard.\n\nIt was a graveyard of the old-fashioned Western kind. It was on a hill,\nabout a mile and a half from the village. It had a crazy board fence\naround it, which leaned inward in places, and outward the rest of the\ntime, but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over the\nwhole cemetery. All the old graves were sunken in, there was not a\ntombstone on the place; round-topped, worm-eaten boards staggered over\nthe graves, leaning for support and finding none. \"Sacred to the memory\nof\" So-and-So had been painted on them once, but it could no longer have\nbeen read, on the most of them, now, even if there had been light.\n\nA faint wind moaned through the trees, and Tom feared it might be the\nspirits of the dead, complaining at being disturbed. The boys talked\nlittle, and only under their breath, for the time and the place and the\npervading solemnity and silence oppressed their spirits. They found the\nsharp new heap they were seeking, and ensconced themselves within the\nprotection of three great elms that grew in a bunch within a few feet of\nthe grave.\n\nThen they waited in silence for what seemed a long time. The hooting of\na distant owl was all the sound that troubled the dead stillness. Tom's\nreflections grew oppressive. He must force some talk. So he said in a\nwhisper:\n\n\"Hucky, do you believe the dead people like it for us to be here?\"\n\nHuckleberry whispered:\n\n\"I wisht I knowed. It's awful solemn like, _ain't_ it?\"\n\n\"I bet it is.\"\n\nThere was a considerable pause, while the boys canvassed this matter\ninwardly. Then Tom whispered:\n\n\"Say, Hucky--do you reckon Hoss Williams hears us talking?\"\n\n\"O' course he does. Least his sperrit does.\"\n\nTom, after a pause:\n\n\"I wish I'd said Mister Williams. But I never meant any harm. Everybody\ncalls him Hoss.\"\n\n\"A body can't be too partic'lar how they talk 'bout these-yer dead\npeople, Tom.\"\n\nThis was a damper, and conversation died again.\n\nPresently Tom seized his comrade's arm and said:\n\n\"Sh!\"\n\n\"What is it, Tom?\" And the two clung together with beating hearts.\n\n\"Sh! There 'tis again! Didn't you hear it?\"\n\n\"I--\"\n\n\"There! Now you hear it.\"\n\n\"Lord, Tom, they're coming! They're coming, sure. What'll we do?\"\n\n\"I dono. Think they'll see us?\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, they can see in the dark, same as cats. I wisht I hadn't\ncome.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't be afeard. I don't believe they'll bother us. We ain't doing\nany harm. If we keep perfectly still, maybe they won't notice us at\nall.\"\n\n\"I'll try to, Tom, but, Lord, I'm all of a shiver.\"\n\n\"Listen!\"\n\nThe boys bent their heads together and scarcely breathed. A muffled\nsound of voices floated up from the far end of the graveyard.\n\n\"Look! See there!\" whispered Tom. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"It's devil-fire. Oh, Tom, this is awful.\"\n\nSome vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging an\nold-fashioned tin lantern that freckled the ground with innumerable\nlittle spangles of light. Presently Huckleberry whispered with a\nshudder:\n\n\"It's the devils sure enough. Three of 'em! Lordy, Tom, we're goners!\nCan you pray?\"\n\n\"I'll try, but don't you be afeard. They ain't going to hurt us. 'Now I\nlay me down to sleep, I--'\"\n\n\"Sh!\"\n\n\"What is it, Huck?\"\n\n\"They're _humans_! One of 'em is, anyway. One of 'em's old Muff Potter's\nvoice.\"\n\n\"No--'tain't so, is it?\"\n\n\"I bet I know it. Don't you stir nor budge. He ain't sharp enough to\nnotice us. Drunk, the same as usual, likely--blamed old rip!\"\n\n\"All right, I'll keep still. Now they're stuck. Can't find it. Here they\ncome again. Now they're hot. Cold again. Hot again. Red hot! They're\np'inted right, this time. Say, Huck, I know another o' them voices; it's\nInjun Joe.\"\n\n\"That's so--that murderin' half-breed! I'd druther they was devils a dern\nsight. What kin they be up to?\"\n\nThe whisper died wholly out, now, for the three men had reached the\ngrave and stood within a few feet of the boys' hiding-place.\n\n\"Here it is,\" said the third voice; and the owner of it held the lantern\nup and revealed the face of young Doctor Robinson.\n\nPotter and Injun Joe were carrying a handbarrow with a rope and a couple\nof shovels on it. They cast down their load and began to open the grave.\nThe doctor put the lantern at the head of the grave and came and sat\ndown with his back against one of the elm trees. He was so close the\nboys could have touched him.\n\n\"Hurry, men!\" he said, in a low voice; \"the moon might come out at any\nmoment.\"\n\nThey growled a response and went on digging. For some time there was no\nnoise but the grating sound of the spades discharging their freight of\nmould and gravel. It was very monotonous. Finally a spade struck upon\nthe coffin with a dull woody accent, and within another minute or two\nthe men had hoisted it out on the ground. They pried off the lid with\ntheir shovels, got out the body and dumped it rudely on the ground. The\nmoon drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the pallid face.\nThe barrow was got ready and the corpse placed on it, covered with a\nblanket, and bound to its place with the rope. Potter took out a large\nspring-knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and then said:\n\n\"Now the cussed thing's ready, Sawbones, and you'll just out with\nanother five, or here she stays.\"\n\n\"That's the talk!\" said Injun Joe.\n\n\"Look here, what does this mean?\" said the doctor. \"You required your\npay in advance, and I've paid you.\"\n\n\"Yes, and you done more than that,\" said Injun Joe, approaching the\ndoctor, who was now standing. \"Five years ago you drove me away from\nyour father's kitchen one night, when I come to ask for something to\neat, and you said I warn't there for any good; and when I swore I'd get\neven with you if it took a hundred years, your father had me jailed for\na vagrant. Did you think I'd forget? The Injun blood ain't in me for\nnothing. And now I've _got_ you, and you got to _settle_, you know!\"\n\nHe was threatening the doctor, with his fist in his face, by this time.\nThe doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian on the ground.\nPotter dropped his knife, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Here, now, don't you hit my pard!\" and the next moment he had grappled\nwith the doctor and the two were struggling with might and main,\ntrampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels. Injun Joe\nsprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion, snatched up Potter's\nknife, and went creeping, catlike and stooping, round and round about\nthe combatants, seeking an opportunity. All at once the doctor flung\nhimself free, seized the heavy headboard of Williams' grave and felled\nPotter to the earth with it--and in the same instant the half-breed saw\nhis chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the young man's breast. He\nreeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him with his blood, and in\nthe same moment the clouds blotted out the dreadful spectacle and the\ntwo frightened boys went speeding away in the dark.\n\nPresently, when the moon emerged again, Injun Joe was standing over the\ntwo forms, contemplating them. The doctor murmured inarticulately, gave\na long gasp or two and was still. The half-breed muttered:\n\n\"_That_ score is settled--damn you.\"\n\nThen he robbed the body. After which he put the fatal knife in Potter's\nopen right hand, and sat down on the dismantled coffin. Three--four--five\nminutes passed, and then Potter began to stir and moan. His hand closed\nupon the knife; he raised it, glanced at it, and let it fall, with a\nshudder. Then he sat up, pushing the body from him, and gazed at it, and\nthen around him, confusedly. His eyes met Joe's.\n\n\"Lord, how is this, Joe?\" he said.\n\n\"It's a dirty business,\" said Joe, without moving.\n\n\"What did you do it for?\"\n\n\"I! I never done it!\"\n\n\"Look here! That kind of talk won't wash.\"\n\nPotter trembled and grew white.\n\n\"I thought I'd got sober. I'd no business to drink to-night. But it's\nin my head yet--worse'n when we started here. I'm all in a muddle;\ncan't recollect anything of it, hardly. Tell me, Joe--_honest_, now,\nold feller--did I do it? Joe, I never meant to--'pon my soul and honor, I\nnever meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. Oh, it's awful--and him so\nyoung and promising.\"\n\n\"Why, you two was scuffling, and he fetched you one with the headboard\nand you fell flat; and then up you come, all reeling and staggering\nlike, and snatched the knife and jammed it into him, just as he fetched\nyou another awful clip--and here you've laid, as dead as a wedge til\nnow.\"\n\n\"Oh, I didn't know what I was a-doing. I wish I may die this minute if I\ndid. It was all on account of the whiskey and the excitement, I reckon.\nI never used a weepon in my life before, Joe. I've fought, but never\nwith weepons. They'll all say that. Joe, don't tell! Say you won't tell,\nJoe--that's a good feller. I always liked you, Joe, and stood up for you,\ntoo. Don't you remember? You _won't_ tell, _will_ you, Joe?\" And the\npoor creature dropped on his knees before the stolid murderer, and\nclasped his appealing hands.\n\n\"No, you've always been fair and square with me, Muff Potter, and I\nwon't go back on you. There, now, that's as fair as a man can say.\"\n\n\"Oh, Joe, you're an angel. I'll bless you for this the longest day I\nlive.\" And Potter began to cry.\n\n\"Come, now, that's enough of that. This ain't any time for blubbering.\nYou be off yonder way and I'll go this. Move, now, and don't leave any\ntracks behind you.\"\n\nPotter started on a trot that quickly increased to a run. The half-breed\nstood looking after him. He muttered:\n\n\"If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as he\nhad the look of being, he won't think of the knife till he's gone so\nfar he'll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by\nhimself--chicken-heart!\"\n\nTwo or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the\nlidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the\nmoon's. The stillness was complete again, too.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE two boys flew on and on, toward the village, speechless with\nhorror. They glanced backward over their shoulders from time to time,\napprehensively, as if they feared they might be followed. Every stump\nthat started up in their path seemed a man and an enemy, and made them\ncatch their breath; and as they sped by some outlying cottages that lay\nnear the village, the barking of the aroused watch-dogs seemed to give\nwings to their feet.\n\n\"If we can only get to the old tannery before we break down!\" whispered\nTom, in short catches between breaths. \"I can't stand it much longer.\"\n\nHuckleberry's hard pantings were his only reply, and the boys fixed\ntheir eyes on the goal of their hopes and bent to their work to win it.\nThey gained steadily on it, and at last, breast to breast, they burst\nthrough the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in the sheltering\nshadows beyond. By and by their pulses slowed down, and Tom whispered:\n\n\"Huckleberry, what do you reckon'll come of this?\"\n\n\"If Doctor Robinson dies, I reckon hanging'll come of it.\"\n\n\"Do you though?\"\n\n\"Why, I _know_ it, Tom.\"\n\nTom thought a while, then he said:\n\n\"Who'll tell? We?\"\n\n\"What are you talking about? S'pose something happened and Injun Joe\n_didn't_ hang? Why, he'd kill us some time or other, just as dead sure\nas we're a laying here.\"\n\n\"That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck.\"\n\n\"If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it, if he's fool enough. He's\ngenerally drunk enough.\"\n\nTom said nothing--went on thinking. Presently he whispered:\n\n\"Huck, Muff Potter don't know it. How can he tell?\"\n\n\"What's the reason he don't know it?\"\n\n\"Because he'd just got that whack when Injun Joe done it. D'you reckon\nhe could see anything? D'you reckon he knowed anything?\"\n\n\"By hokey, that's so, Tom!\"\n\n\"And besides, look-a-here--maybe that whack done for _him_!\"\n\n\"No, 'taint likely, Tom. He had liquor in him; I could see that; and\nbesides, he always has. Well, when pap's full, you might take and belt\nhim over the head with a church and you couldn't phase him. He says so,\nhis own self. So it's the same with Muff Potter, of course. But if a man\nwas dead sober, I reckon maybe that whack might fetch him; I dono.\"\n\nAfter another reflective silence, Tom said:\n\n\"Hucky, you sure you can keep mum?\"\n\n\"Tom, we _got_ to keep mum. You know that. That Injun devil wouldn't\nmake any more of drownding us than a couple of cats, if we was to squeak\n'bout this and they didn't hang him. Now, look-a-here, Tom, less take\nand swear to one another--that's what we got to do--swear to keep mum.\"\n\n\"I'm agreed. It's the best thing. Would you just hold hands and swear\nthat we--\"\n\n\"Oh no, that wouldn't do for this. That's good enough for little\nrubbishy common things--specially with gals, cuz _they_ go back on you\nanyway, and blab if they get in a huff--but there orter be writing 'bout\na big thing like this. And blood.\"\n\nTom's whole being applauded this idea. It was deep, and dark, and awful;\nthe hour, the circumstances, the surroundings, were in keeping with it.\nHe picked up a clean pine shingle that lay in the moon-light, took a\nlittle fragment of \"red keel\" out of his pocket, got the moon on\nhis work, and painfully scrawled these lines, emphasizing each slow\ndown-stroke by clamping his tongue between his teeth, and letting up the\npressure on the up-strokes. [See next page.]\n\n\"Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer swears they will keep mum about This and They\nwish They may Drop down dead in Their Tracks if They ever Tell and Rot.\"\n\nHuckleberry was filled with admiration of Tom's facility in writing, and\nthe sublimity of his language. He at once took a pin from his lapel and\nwas going to prick his flesh, but Tom said:\n\n\"Hold on! Don't do that. A pin's brass. It might have verdigrease on\nit.\"\n\n\"What's verdigrease?\"\n\n\"It's p'ison. That's what it is. You just swaller some of it once--you'll\nsee.\"\n\nSo Tom unwound the thread from one of his needles, and each boy pricked\nthe ball of his thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. In time, after\nmany squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials, using the ball of his\nlittle finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry how to make an H and\nan F, and the oath was complete. They buried the shingle close to the\nwall, with some dismal ceremonies and incantations, and the fetters\nthat bound their tongues were considered to be locked and the key thrown\naway.\n\nA figure crept stealthily through a break in the other end of the ruined\nbuilding, now, but they did not notice it.\n\n\"Tom,\" whispered Huckleberry, \"does this keep us from _ever_\ntelling--_always_?\"\n\n\"Of course it does. It don't make any difference _what_ happens, we got\nto keep mum. We'd drop down dead--don't _you_ know that?\"\n\n\"Yes, I reckon that's so.\"\n\nThey continued to whisper for some little time. Presently a dog set up\na long, lugubrious howl just outside--within ten feet of them. The boys\nclasped each other suddenly, in an agony of fright.\n\n\"Which of us does he mean?\" gasped Huckleberry.\n\n\"I dono--peep through the crack. Quick!\"\n\n\"No, _you_, Tom!\"\n\n\"I can't--I can't _do_ it, Huck!\"\n\n\"Please, Tom. There 'tis again!\"\n\n\"Oh, lordy, I'm thankful!\" whispered Tom. \"I know his voice. It's Bull\nHarbison.\" *\n\n[* If Mr. Harbison owned a slave named Bull, Tom would have spoken of\nhim as \"Harbison's Bull,\" but a son or a dog of that name was \"Bull\nHarbison.\"]\n\n\"Oh, that's good--I tell you, Tom, I was most scared to death; I'd a bet\nanything it was a _stray_ dog.\"\n\nThe dog howled again. The boys' hearts sank once more.\n\n\"Oh, my! that ain't no Bull Harbison!\" whispered Huckleberry. \"_Do_,\nTom!\"\n\nTom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put his eye to the crack. His\nwhisper was hardly audible when he said:\n\n\"Oh, Huck, _its a stray dog_!\"\n\n\"Quick, Tom, quick! Who does he mean?\"\n\n\"Huck, he must mean us both--we're right together.\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, I reckon we're goners. I reckon there ain't no mistake 'bout\nwhere _I'll_ go to. I been so wicked.\"\n\n\"Dad fetch it! This comes of playing hookey and doing everything a\nfeller's told _not_ to do. I might a been good, like Sid, if I'd a\ntried--but no, I wouldn't, of course. But if ever I get off this time,\nI lay I'll just _waller_ in Sunday-schools!\" And Tom began to snuffle a\nlittle.\n\n\"_You_ bad!\" and Huckleberry began to snuffle too. \"Consound it, Tom\nSawyer, you're just old pie, 'long-side o' what I am. Oh, _lordy_,\nlordy, lordy, I wisht I only had half your chance.\"\n\nTom choked off and whispered:\n\n\"Look, Hucky, look! He's got his _back_ to us!\"\n\nHucky looked, with joy in his heart.\n\n\"Well, he has, by jingoes! Did he before?\"\n\n\"Yes, he did. But I, like a fool, never thought. Oh, this is bully, you\nknow. _Now_ who can he mean?\"\n\nThe howling stopped. Tom pricked up his ears.\n\n\"Sh! What's that?\" he whispered.\n\n\"Sounds like--like hogs grunting. No--it's somebody snoring, Tom.\"\n\n\"That _is_ it! Where 'bouts is it, Huck?\"\n\n\"I bleeve it's down at 'tother end. Sounds so, anyway. Pap used to sleep\nthere, sometimes, 'long with the hogs, but laws bless you, he just lifts\nthings when _he_ snores. Besides, I reckon he ain't ever coming back to\nthis town any more.\"\n\nThe spirit of adventure rose in the boys' souls once more.\n\n\"Hucky, do you das't to go if I lead?\"\n\n\"I don't like to, much. Tom, s'pose it's Injun Joe!\"\n\nTom quailed. But presently the temptation rose up strong again and the\nboys agreed to try, with the understanding that they would take to their\nheels if the snoring stopped. So they went tiptoeing stealthily down,\nthe one behind the other. When they had got to within five steps of the\nsnorer, Tom stepped on a stick, and it broke with a sharp snap. The man\nmoaned, writhed a little, and his face came into the moonlight. It was\nMuff Potter. The boys' hearts had stood still, and their hopes too,\nwhen the man moved, but their fears passed away now. They tip-toed out,\nthrough the broken weather-boarding, and stopped at a little distance\nto exchange a parting word. That long, lugubrious howl rose on the night\nair again! They turned and saw the strange dog standing within a few\nfeet of where Potter was lying, and _facing_ Potter, with his nose\npointing heavenward.\n\n\"Oh, geeminy, it's _him_!\" exclaimed both boys, in a breath.\n\n\"Say, Tom--they say a stray dog come howling around Johnny Miller's\nhouse, 'bout midnight, as much as two weeks ago; and a whippoorwill come\nin and lit on the banisters and sung, the very same evening; and there\nain't anybody dead there yet.\"\n\n\"Well, I know that. And suppose there ain't. Didn't Gracie Miller fall\nin the kitchen fire and burn herself terrible the very next Saturday?\"\n\n\"Yes, but she ain't _dead_. And what's more, she's getting better, too.\"\n\n\"All right, you wait and see. She's a goner, just as dead sure as Muff\nPotter's a goner. That's what the niggers say, and they know all about\nthese kind of things, Huck.\"\n\nThen they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept in at his bedroom window\nthe night was almost spent. He undressed with excessive caution, and\nfell asleep congratulating himself that nobody knew of his escapade. He\nwas not aware that the gently-snoring Sid was awake, and had been so for\nan hour.\n\nWhen Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone. There was a late look in the\nlight, a late sense in the atmosphere. He was startled. Why had he not\nbeen called--persecuted till he was up, as usual? The thought filled\nhim with bodings. Within five minutes he was dressed and down-stairs,\nfeeling sore and drowsy. The family were still at table, but they had\nfinished breakfast. There was no voice of rebuke; but there were averted\neyes; there was a silence and an air of solemnity that struck a chill\nto the culprit's heart. He sat down and tried to seem gay, but it\nwas up-hill work; it roused no smile, no response, and he lapsed into\nsilence and let his heart sink down to the depths.\n\nAfter breakfast his aunt took him aside, and Tom almost brightened in\nthe hope that he was going to be flogged; but it was not so. His aunt\nwept over him and asked him how he could go and break her old heart so;\nand finally told him to go on, and ruin himself and bring her gray hairs\nwith sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try any more.\nThis was worse than a thousand whippings, and Tom's heart was sorer now\nthan his body. He cried, he pleaded for forgiveness, promised to reform\nover and over again, and then received his dismissal, feeling that\nhe had won but an imperfect forgiveness and established but a feeble\nconfidence.\n\nHe left the presence too miserable to even feel revengeful toward\nSid; and so the latter's prompt retreat through the back gate was\nunnecessary. He moped to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging,\nalong with Joe Harper, for playing hookey the day before, with the\nair of one whose heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead to\ntrifles. Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on his\ndesk and his jaws in his hands, and stared at the wall with the stony\nstare of suffering that has reached the limit and can no further go.\nHis elbow was pressing against some hard substance. After a long time\nhe slowly and sadly changed his position, and took up this object with\na sigh. It was in a paper. He unrolled it. A long, lingering, colossal\nsigh followed, and his heart broke. It was his brass andiron knob!\n\nThis final feather broke the camel's back.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nCLOSE upon the hour of noon the whole village was suddenly electrified\nwith the ghastly news. No need of the as yet un-dreamed-of telegraph;\nthe tale flew from man to man, from group to group, from house to house,\nwith little less than telegraphic speed. Of course the schoolmaster gave\nholi-day for that afternoon; the town would have thought strangely of\nhim if he had not.\n\nA gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had been\nrecognized by somebody as belonging to Muff Potter--so the story ran. And\nit was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter washing himself\nin the \"branch\" about one or two o'clock in the morning, and that Potter\nhad at once sneaked off--suspicious circumstances, especially the washing\nwhich was not a habit with Potter. It was also said that the town had\nbeen ransacked for this \"murderer\" (the public are not slow in the\nmatter of sifting evidence and arriving at a verdict), but that he\ncould not be found. Horsemen had departed down all the roads in every\ndirection, and the Sheriff \"was confident\" that he would be captured\nbefore night.\n\nAll the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heartbreak\nvanished and he joined the procession, not because he would not\na thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful,\nunaccountable fascination drew him on. Arrived at the dreadful place, he\nwormed his small body through the crowd and saw the dismal spectacle.\nIt seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody pinched\nhis arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's. Then both looked\nelsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed anything in their\nmutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent upon the grisly\nspectacle before them.\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" \"Poor young fellow!\" \"This ought to be a lesson to grave\nrobbers!\" \"Muff Potter'll hang for this if they catch him!\" This was the\ndrift of remark; and the minister said, \"It was a judgment; His hand is\nhere.\"\n\nNow Tom shivered from head to heel; for his eye fell upon the stolid\nface of Injun Joe. At this moment the crowd began to sway and struggle,\nand voices shouted, \"It's him! it's him! he's coming himself!\"\n\n\"Who? Who?\" from twenty voices.\n\n\"Muff Potter!\"\n\n\"Hallo, he's stopped!--Look out, he's turning! Don't let him get away!\"\n\nPeople in the branches of the trees over Tom's head said he wasn't\ntrying to get away--he only looked doubtful and perplexed.\n\n\"Infernal impudence!\" said a bystander; \"wanted to come and take a quiet\nlook at his work, I reckon--didn't expect any company.\"\n\nThe crowd fell apart, now, and the Sheriff came through, ostentatiously\nleading Potter by the arm. The poor fellow's face was haggard, and\nhis eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stood before the\nmurdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his face in his hands\nand burst into tears.\n\n\"I didn't do it, friends,\" he sobbed; \"'pon my word and honor I never\ndone it.\"\n\n\"Who's accused you?\" shouted a voice.\n\nThis shot seemed to carry home. Potter lifted his face and looked around\nhim with a pathetic hopelessness in his eyes. He saw Injun Joe, and\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Oh, Injun Joe, you promised me you'd never--\"\n\n\"Is that your knife?\" and it was thrust before him by the Sheriff.\n\nPotter would have fallen if they had not caught him and eased him to the\nground. Then he said:\n\n\"Something told me 't if I didn't come back and get--\" He shuddered; then\nwaved his nerveless hand with a vanquished gesture and said, \"Tell 'em,\nJoe, tell 'em--it ain't any use any more.\"\n\nThen Huckleberry and Tom stood dumb and staring, and heard the\nstony-hearted liar reel off his serene statement, they expecting every\nmoment that the clear sky would deliver God's lightnings upon his head,\nand wondering to see how long the stroke was delayed. And when he had\nfinished and still stood alive and whole, their wavering impulse to\nbreak their oath and save the poor betrayed prisoner's life faded and\nvanished away, for plainly this miscreant had sold himself to Satan and\nit would be fatal to meddle with the property of such a power as that.\n\n\"Why didn't you leave? What did you want to come here for?\" somebody\nsaid.\n\n\"I couldn't help it--I couldn't help it,\" Potter moaned. \"I wanted to\nrun away, but I couldn't seem to come anywhere but here.\" And he fell to\nsobbing again.\n\nInjun Joe repeated his statement, just as calmly, a few minutes\nafterward on the inquest, under oath; and the boys, seeing that the\nlightnings were still withheld, were confirmed in their belief that\nJoe had sold himself to the devil. He was now become, to them, the most\nbalefully interesting object they had ever looked upon, and they could\nnot take their fascinated eyes from his face.\n\nThey inwardly resolved to watch him nights, when opportunity should\noffer, in the hope of getting a glimpse of his dread master.\n\nInjun Joe helped to raise the body of the murdered man and put it in\na wagon for removal; and it was whispered through the shuddering\ncrowd that the wound bled a little! The boys thought that this happy\ncircumstance would turn suspicion in the right direction; but they were\ndisappointed, for more than one villager remarked:\n\n\"It was within three feet of Muff Potter when it done it.\"\n\nTom's fearful secret and gnawing conscience disturbed his sleep for as\nmuch as a week after this; and at breakfast one morning Sid said:\n\n\"Tom, you pitch around and talk in your sleep so much that you keep me\nawake half the time.\"\n\nTom blanched and dropped his eyes.\n\n\"It's a bad sign,\" said Aunt Polly, gravely. \"What you got on your mind,\nTom?\"\n\n\"Nothing. Nothing 't I know of.\" But the boy's hand shook so that he\nspilled his coffee.\n\n\"And you do talk such stuff,\" Sid said. \"Last night you said, 'It's\nblood, it's blood, that's what it is!' You said that over and over.\nAnd you said, 'Don't torment me so--I'll tell!' Tell _what_? What is it\nyou'll tell?\"\n\nEverything was swimming before Tom. There is no telling what might have\nhappened, now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt Polly's face\nand she came to Tom's relief without knowing it. She said:\n\n\"Sho! It's that dreadful murder. I dream about it most every night\nmyself. Sometimes I dream it's me that done it.\"\n\nMary said she had been affected much the same way. Sid seemed satisfied.\nTom got out of the presence as quick as he plausibly could, and after\nthat he complained of toothache for a week, and tied up his jaws every\nnight. He never knew that Sid lay nightly watching, and frequently\nslipped the bandage free and then leaned on his elbow listening a good\nwhile at a time, and afterward slipped the bandage back to its place\nagain. Tom's distress of mind wore off gradually and the toothache grew\nirksome and was discarded. If Sid really managed to make anything out of\nTom's disjointed mutterings, he kept it to himself.\n\nIt seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holding\ninquests on dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble present to his mind.\nSid noticed that Tom never was coroner at one of these inquiries,\nthough it had been his habit to take the lead in all new enterprises;\nhe noticed, too, that Tom never acted as a witness--and that was strange;\nand Sid did not overlook the fact that Tom even showed a marked aversion\nto these inquests, and always avoided them when he could. Sid marvelled,\nbut said nothing. However, even inquests went out of vogue at last, and\nceased to torture Tom's conscience.\n\nEvery day or two, during this time of sorrow, Tom watched his\nopportunity and went to the little grated jail-window and smuggled such\nsmall comforts through to the \"murderer\" as he could get hold of. The\njail was a trifling little brick den that stood in a marsh at the edge\nof the village, and no guards were afforded for it; indeed, it\nwas seldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease Tom's\nconscience.\n\nThe villagers had a strong desire to tar-and-feather Injun Joe and ride\nhim on a rail, for body-snatching, but so formidable was his character\nthat nobody could be found who was willing to take the lead in the\nmatter, so it was dropped. He had been careful to begin both of his\ninquest-statements with the fight, without confessing the grave-robbery\nthat preceded it; therefore it was deemed wisest not to try the case in\nthe courts at present.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nONE of the reasons why Tom's mind had drifted away from its secret\ntroubles was, that it had found a new and weighty matter to interest\nitself about. Becky Thatcher had stopped coming to school. Tom had\nstruggled with his pride a few days, and tried to \"whistle her down the\nwind,\" but failed. He began to find himself hanging around her father's\nhouse, nights, and feeling very miserable. She was ill. What if she\nshould die! There was distraction in the thought. He no longer took an\ninterest in war, nor even in piracy. The charm of life was gone; there\nwas nothing but dreariness left. He put his hoop away, and his bat;\nthere was no joy in them any more. His aunt was concerned. She began to\ntry all manner of remedies on him. She was one of those people who\nare infatuated with patent medicines and all new-fangled methods of\nproducing health or mending it. She was an inveterate experimenter in\nthese things. When something fresh in this line came out she was in a\nfever, right away, to try it; not on herself, for she was never ailing,\nbut on anybody else that came handy. She was a subscriber for all the\n\"Health\" periodicals and phrenological frauds; and the solemn ignorance\nthey were inflated with was breath to her nostrils. All the \"rot\" they\ncontained about ventilation, and how to go to bed, and how to get up,\nand what to eat, and what to drink, and how much exercise to take, and\nwhat frame of mind to keep one's self in, and what sort of clothing\nto wear, was all gospel to her, and she never observed that her\nhealth-journals of the current month customarily upset everything they\nhad recommended the month before. She was as simple-hearted and honest\nas the day was long, and so she was an easy victim. She gathered\ntogether her quack periodicals and her quack medicines, and thus armed\nwith death, went about on her pale horse, metaphorically speaking, with\n\"hell following after.\" But she never suspected that she was not an\nangel of healing and the balm of Gilead in disguise, to the suffering\nneighbors.\n\nThe water treatment was new, now, and Tom's low condition was a windfall\nto her. She had him out at daylight every morning, stood him up in the\nwood-shed and drowned him with a deluge of cold water; then she scrubbed\nhim down with a towel like a file, and so brought him to; then she\nrolled him up in a wet sheet and put him away under blankets till she\nsweated his soul clean and \"the yellow stains of it came through his\npores\"--as Tom said.\n\nYet notwithstanding all this, the boy grew more and more melancholy and\npale and dejected. She added hot baths, sitz baths, shower baths, and\nplunges. The boy remained as dismal as a hearse. She began to assist the\nwater with a slim oatmeal diet and blister-plasters. She calculated his\ncapacity as she would a jug's, and filled him up every day with quack\ncure-alls.\n\nTom had become indifferent to persecution by this time. This phase\nfilled the old lady's heart with consternation. This indifference must\nbe broken up at any cost. Now she heard of Pain-killer for the first\ntime. She ordered a lot at once. She tasted it and was filled with\ngratitude. It was simply fire in a liquid form. She dropped the water\ntreatment and everything else, and pinned her faith to Pain-killer.\nShe gave Tom a teaspoonful and watched with the deepest anxiety for the\nresult. Her troubles were instantly at rest, her soul at peace again;\nfor the \"indifference\" was broken up. The boy could not have shown a\nwilder, heartier interest, if she had built a fire under him.\n\nTom felt that it was time to wake up; this sort of life might be\nromantic enough, in his blighted condition, but it was getting to have\ntoo little sentiment and too much distracting variety about it. So he\nthought over various plans for relief, and finally hit upon that of\nprofessing to be fond of Pain-killer. He asked for it so often that he\nbecame a nuisance, and his aunt ended by telling him to help himself and\nquit bothering her. If it had been Sid, she would have had no misgivings\nto alloy her delight; but since it was Tom, she watched the bottle\nclandestinely. She found that the medicine did really diminish, but it\ndid not occur to her that the boy was mending the health of a crack in\nthe sitting-room floor with it.\n\nOne day Tom was in the act of dosing the crack when his aunt's yellow\ncat came along, purring, eyeing the teaspoon avariciously, and begging\nfor a taste. Tom said:\n\n\"Don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter.\"\n\nBut Peter signified that he did want it.\n\n\"You better make sure.\"\n\nPeter was sure.\n\n\"Now you've asked for it, and I'll give it to you, because there ain't\nanything mean about me; but if you find you don't like it, you mustn't\nblame anybody but your own self.\"\n\nPeter was agreeable. So Tom pried his mouth open and poured down\nthe Pain-killer. Peter sprang a couple of yards in the air, and then\ndelivered a war-whoop and set off round and round the room, banging\nagainst furniture, upsetting flower-pots, and making general havoc. Next\nhe rose on his hind feet and pranced around, in a frenzy of enjoyment,\nwith his head over his shoulder and his voice proclaiming his\nunappeasable happiness. Then he went tearing around the house again\nspreading chaos and destruction in his path. Aunt Polly entered in time\nto see him throw a few double summersets, deliver a final mighty hurrah,\nand sail through the open window, carrying the rest of the flower-pots\nwith him. The old lady stood petrified with astonishment, peering over\nher glasses; Tom lay on the floor expiring with laughter.\n\n\"Tom, what on earth ails that cat?\"\n\n\"I don't know, aunt,\" gasped the boy.\n\n\"Why, I never see anything like it. What did make him act so?\"\n\n\"Deed I don't know, Aunt Polly; cats always act so when they're having a\ngood time.\"\n\n\"They do, do they?\" There was something in the tone that made Tom\napprehensive.\n\n\"Yes'm. That is, I believe they do.\"\n\n\"You _do_?\"\n\n\"Yes'm.\"\n\nThe old lady was bending down, Tom watching, with interest emphasized\nby anxiety. Too late he divined her \"drift.\" The handle of the telltale\ntea-spoon was visible under the bed-valance. Aunt Polly took it, held it\nup. Tom winced, and dropped his eyes. Aunt Polly raised him by the usual\nhandle--his ear--and cracked his head soundly with her thimble.\n\n\"Now, sir, what did you want to treat that poor dumb beast so, for?\"\n\n\"I done it out of pity for him--because he hadn't any aunt.\"\n\n\"Hadn't any aunt!--you numskull. What has that got to do with it?\"\n\n\"Heaps. Because if he'd had one she'd a burnt him out herself! She'd a\nroasted his bowels out of him 'thout any more feeling than if he was a\nhuman!\"\n\nAunt Polly felt a sudden pang of remorse. This was putting the thing in\na new light; what was cruelty to a cat _might_ be cruelty to a boy, too.\nShe began to soften; she felt sorry. Her eyes watered a little, and she\nput her hand on Tom's head and said gently:\n\n\"I was meaning for the best, Tom. And, Tom, it _did_ do you good.\"\n\nTom looked up in her face with just a perceptible twinkle peeping\nthrough his gravity.\n\n\"I know you was meaning for the best, aunty, and so was I with Peter. It\ndone _him_ good, too. I never see him get around so since--\"\n\n\"Oh, go 'long with you, Tom, before you aggravate me again. And you try\nand see if you can't be a good boy, for once, and you needn't take any\nmore medicine.\"\n\nTom reached school ahead of time. It was noticed that this strange thing\nhad been occurring every day latterly. And now, as usual of late,\nhe hung about the gate of the schoolyard instead of playing with his\ncomrades. He was sick, he said, and he looked it. He tried to seem to\nbe looking everywhere but whither he really was looking--down the road.\nPresently Jeff Thatcher hove in sight, and Tom's face lighted; he gazed\na moment, and then turned sorrowfully away. When Jeff arrived, Tom\naccosted him; and \"led up\" warily to opportunities for remark about\nBecky, but the giddy lad never could see the bait. Tom watched and\nwatched, hoping whenever a frisking frock came in sight, and hating the\nowner of it as soon as he saw she was not the right one. At last frocks\nceased to appear, and he dropped hopelessly into the dumps; he entered\nthe empty schoolhouse and sat down to suffer. Then one more frock passed\nin at the gate, and Tom's heart gave a great bound. The next instant he\nwas out, and \"going on\" like an Indian; yelling, laughing, chasing boys,\njumping over the fence at risk of life and limb, throwing handsprings,\nstanding on his head--doing all the heroic things he could conceive of,\nand keeping a furtive eye out, all the while, to see if Becky Thatcher\nwas noticing. But she seemed to be unconscious of it all; she never\nlooked. Could it be possible that she was not aware that he was there?\nHe carried his exploits to her immediate vicinity; came war-whooping\naround, snatched a boy's cap, hurled it to the roof of the schoolhouse,\nbroke through a group of boys, tumbling them in every direction, and\nfell sprawling, himself, under Becky's nose, almost upsetting her--and\nshe turned, with her nose in the air, and he heard her say: \"Mf! some\npeople think they're mighty smart--always showing off!\"\n\nTom's cheeks burned. He gathered himself up and sneaked off, crushed and\ncrestfallen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTOM'S mind was made up now. He was gloomy and desperate. He was a\nforsaken, friendless boy, he said; nobody loved him; when they found out\nwhat they had driven him to, perhaps they would be sorry; he had tried\nto do right and get along, but they would not let him; since nothing\nwould do them but to be rid of him, let it be so; and let them blame\n_him_ for the consequences--why shouldn't they? What right had the\nfriendless to complain? Yes, they had forced him to it at last: he would\nlead a life of crime. There was no choice.\n\nBy this time he was far down Meadow Lane, and the bell for school to\n\"take up\" tinkled faintly upon his ear. He sobbed, now, to think he\nshould never, never hear that old familiar sound any more--it was very\nhard, but it was forced on him; since he was driven out into the cold\nworld, he must submit--but he forgave them. Then the sobs came thick and\nfast.\n\nJust at this point he met his soul's sworn comrade, Joe\nHarper--hard-eyed, and with evidently a great and dismal purpose in his\nheart. Plainly here were \"two souls with but a single thought.\" Tom,\nwiping his eyes with his sleeve, began to blubber out something about\na resolution to escape from hard usage and lack of sympathy at home by\nroaming abroad into the great world never to return; and ended by hoping\nthat Joe would not forget him.\n\nBut it transpired that this was a request which Joe had just been going\nto make of Tom, and had come to hunt him up for that purpose. His mother\nhad whipped him for drinking some cream which he had never tasted and\nknew nothing about; it was plain that she was tired of him and wished\nhim to go; if she felt that way, there was nothing for him to do but\nsuccumb; he hoped she would be happy, and never regret having driven her\npoor boy out into the unfeeling world to suffer and die.\n\nAs the two boys walked sorrowing along, they made a new compact to stand\nby each other and be brothers and never separate till death relieved\nthem of their troubles. Then they began to lay their plans. Joe was for\nbeing a hermit, and living on crusts in a remote cave, and dying,\nsome time, of cold and want and grief; but after listening to Tom, he\nconceded that there were some conspicuous advantages about a life of\ncrime, and so he consented to be a pirate.\n\nThree miles below St. Petersburg, at a point where the Mississippi River\nwas a trifle over a mile wide, there was a long, narrow, wooded island,\nwith a shallow bar at the head of it, and this offered well as a\nrendezvous. It was not inhabited; it lay far over toward the further\nshore, abreast a dense and almost wholly unpeopled forest. So Jackson's\nIsland was chosen. Who were to be the subjects of their piracies was a\nmatter that did not occur to them. Then they hunted up Huckleberry Finn,\nand he joined them promptly, for all careers were one to him; he was\nindifferent. They presently separated to meet at a lonely spot on the\nriver-bank two miles above the village at the favorite hour--which was\nmidnight. There was a small log raft there which they meant to capture.\nEach would bring hooks and lines, and such provision as he could steal\nin the most dark and mysterious way--as became outlaws. And before the\nafternoon was done, they had all managed to enjoy the sweet glory of\nspreading the fact that pretty soon the town would \"hear something.\" All\nwho got this vague hint were cautioned to \"be mum and wait.\"\n\nAbout midnight Tom arrived with a boiled ham and a few trifles,\nand stopped in a dense undergrowth on a small bluff overlooking the\nmeeting-place. It was starlight, and very still. The mighty river lay\nlike an ocean at rest. Tom listened a moment, but no sound disturbed the\nquiet. Then he gave a low, distinct whistle. It was answered from under\nthe bluff. Tom whistled twice more; these signals were answered in the\nsame way. Then a guarded voice said:\n\n\"Who goes there?\"\n\n\"Tom Sawyer, the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main. Name your names.\"\n\n\"Huck Finn the Red-Handed, and Joe Harper the Terror of the Seas.\" Tom\nhad furnished these titles, from his favorite literature.\n\n\"'Tis well. Give the countersign.\"\n\nTwo hoarse whispers delivered the same awful word simultaneously to the\nbrooding night:\n\n\"_Blood_!\"\n\nThen Tom tumbled his ham over the bluff and let himself down after it,\ntearing both skin and clothes to some extent in the effort. There was\nan easy, comfortable path along the shore under the bluff, but it lacked\nthe advantages of difficulty and danger so valued by a pirate.\n\nThe Terror of the Seas had brought a side of bacon, and had about worn\nhimself out with getting it there. Finn the Red-Handed had stolen a\nskillet and a quantity of half-cured leaf tobacco, and had also brought\na few corn-cobs to make pipes with. But none of the pirates smoked or\n\"chewed\" but himself. The Black Avenger of the Spanish Main said it\nwould never do to start without some fire. That was a wise thought;\nmatches were hardly known there in that day. They saw a fire smouldering\nupon a great raft a hundred yards above, and they went stealthily\nthither and helped themselves to a chunk. They made an imposing\nadventure of it, saying, \"Hist!\" every now and then, and suddenly\nhalting with finger on lip; moving with hands on imaginary dagger-hilts;\nand giving orders in dismal whispers that if \"the foe\" stirred, to \"let\nhim have it to the hilt,\" because \"dead men tell no tales.\" They knew\nwell enough that the raftsmen were all down at the village laying\nin stores or having a spree, but still that was no excuse for their\nconducting this thing in an unpiratical way.\n\nThey shoved off, presently, Tom in command, Huck at the after oar and\nJoe at the forward. Tom stood amidships, gloomy-browed, and with folded\narms, and gave his orders in a low, stern whisper:\n\n\"Luff, and bring her to the wind!\"\n\n\"Aye-aye, sir!\"\n\n\"Steady, steady-y-y-y!\"\n\n\"Steady it is, sir!\"\n\n\"Let her go off a point!\"\n\n\"Point it is, sir!\"\n\nAs the boys steadily and monotonously drove the raft toward mid-stream\nit was no doubt understood that these orders were given only for\n\"style,\" and were not intended to mean anything in particular.\n\n\"What sail's she carrying?\"\n\n\"Courses, tops'ls, and flying-jib, sir.\"\n\n\"Send the r'yals up! Lay out aloft, there, half a dozen of\nye--foretopmaststuns'l! Lively, now!\"\n\n\"Aye-aye, sir!\"\n\n\"Shake out that maintogalans'l! Sheets and braces! _now_ my hearties!\"\n\n\"Aye-aye, sir!\"\n\n\"Hellum-a-lee--hard a port! Stand by to meet her when she comes! Port,\nport! _Now_, men! With a will! Stead-y-y-y!\"\n\n\"Steady it is, sir!\"\n\nThe raft drew beyond the middle of the river; the boys pointed her head\nright, and then lay on their oars. The river was not high, so there was\nnot more than a two or three mile current. Hardly a word was said during\nthe next three-quarters of an hour. Now the raft was passing before\nthe distant town. Two or three glimmering lights showed where it lay,\npeacefully sleeping, beyond the vague vast sweep of star-gemmed water,\nunconscious of the tremendous event that was happening. The Black\nAvenger stood still with folded arms, \"looking his last\" upon the scene\nof his former joys and his later sufferings, and wishing \"she\" could see\nhim now, abroad on the wild sea, facing peril and death with dauntless\nheart, going to his doom with a grim smile on his lips. It was but\na small strain on his imagination to remove Jackson's Island beyond\neye-shot of the village, and so he \"looked his last\" with a broken and\nsatisfied heart. The other pirates were looking their last, too; and\nthey all looked so long that they came near letting the current drift\nthem out of the range of the island. But they discovered the danger in\ntime, and made shift to avert it. About two o'clock in the morning the\nraft grounded on the bar two hundred yards above the head of the island,\nand they waded back and forth until they had landed their freight. Part\nof the little raft's belongings consisted of an old sail, and this they\nspread over a nook in the bushes for a tent to shelter their provisions;\nbut they themselves would sleep in the open air in good weather, as\nbecame outlaws.\n\nThey built a fire against the side of a great log twenty or thirty steps\nwithin the sombre depths of the forest, and then cooked some bacon in\nthe frying-pan for supper, and used up half of the corn \"pone\" stock\nthey had brought. It seemed glorious sport to be feasting in that wild,\nfree way in the virgin forest of an unexplored and uninhabited island,\nfar from the haunts of men, and they said they never would return to\ncivilization. The climbing fire lit up their faces and threw its ruddy\nglare upon the pillared tree-trunks of their forest temple, and upon the\nvarnished foliage and festooning vines.\n\nWhen the last crisp slice of bacon was gone, and the last allowance\nof corn pone devoured, the boys stretched themselves out on the grass,\nfilled with contentment. They could have found a cooler place, but\nthey would not deny themselves such a romantic feature as the roasting\ncampfire.\n\n\"_Ain't_ it gay?\" said Joe.\n\n\"It's _nuts_!\" said Tom. \"What would the boys say if they could see us?\"\n\n\"Say? Well, they'd just die to be here--hey, Hucky!\"\n\n\"I reckon so,\" said Huckleberry; \"anyways, I'm suited. I don't want\nnothing better'n this. I don't ever get enough to eat, gen'ally--and here\nthey can't come and pick at a feller and bullyrag him so.\"\n\n\"It's just the life for me,\" said Tom. \"You don't have to get up,\nmornings, and you don't have to go to school, and wash, and all that\nblame foolishness. You see a pirate don't have to do _anything_, Joe,\nwhen he's ashore, but a hermit _he_ has to be praying considerable, and\nthen he don't have any fun, anyway, all by himself that way.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, that's so,\" said Joe, \"but I hadn't thought much about it, you\nknow. I'd a good deal rather be a pirate, now that I've tried it.\"\n\n\"You see,\" said Tom, \"people don't go much on hermits, nowadays, like\nthey used to in old times, but a pirate's always respected. And\na hermit's got to sleep on the hardest place he can find, and put\nsackcloth and ashes on his head, and stand out in the rain, and--\"\n\n\"What does he put sackcloth and ashes on his head for?\" inquired Huck.\n\n\"I dono. But they've _got_ to do it. Hermits always do. You'd have to do\nthat if you was a hermit.\"\n\n\"Dern'd if I would,\" said Huck.\n\n\"Well, what would you do?\"\n\n\"I dono. But I wouldn't do that.\"\n\n\"Why, Huck, you'd _have_ to. How'd you get around it?\"\n\n\"Why, I just wouldn't stand it. I'd run away.\"\n\n\"Run away! Well, you _would_ be a nice old slouch of a hermit. You'd be\na disgrace.\"\n\nThe Red-Handed made no response, being better employed. He had finished\ngouging out a cob, and now he fitted a weed stem to it, loaded it with\ntobacco, and was pressing a coal to the charge and blowing a cloud of\nfragrant smoke--he was in the full bloom of luxurious contentment. The\nother pirates envied him this majestic vice, and secretly resolved to\nacquire it shortly. Presently Huck said:\n\n\"What does pirates have to do?\"\n\nTom said:\n\n\"Oh, they have just a bully time--take ships and burn them, and get the\nmoney and bury it in awful places in their island where there's ghosts\nand things to watch it, and kill everybody in the ships--make 'em walk a\nplank.\"\n\n\"And they carry the women to the island,\" said Joe; \"they don't kill the\nwomen.\"\n\n\"No,\" assented Tom, \"they don't kill the women--they're too noble. And\nthe women's always beautiful, too.\n\n\"And don't they wear the bulliest clothes! Oh no! All gold and silver\nand di'monds,\" said Joe, with enthusiasm.\n\n\"Who?\" said Huck.\n\n\"Why, the pirates.\"\n\nHuck scanned his own clothing forlornly.\n\n\"I reckon I ain't dressed fitten for a pirate,\" said he, with a\nregretful pathos in his voice; \"but I ain't got none but these.\"\n\nBut the other boys told him the fine clothes would come fast enough,\nafter they should have begun their adventures. They made him understand\nthat his poor rags would do to begin with, though it was customary for\nwealthy pirates to start with a proper wardrobe.\n\nGradually their talk died out and drowsiness began to steal upon the\neyelids of the little waifs. The pipe dropped from the fingers of the\nRed-Handed, and he slept the sleep of the conscience-free and the weary.\nThe Terror of the Seas and the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main had\nmore difficulty in getting to sleep. They said their prayers inwardly,\nand lying down, since there was nobody there with authority to make them\nkneel and recite aloud; in truth, they had a mind not to say them at\nall, but they were afraid to proceed to such lengths as that, lest they\nmight call down a sudden and special thunderbolt from heaven. Then at\nonce they reached and hovered upon the imminent verge of sleep--but an\nintruder came, now, that would not \"down.\" It was conscience. They began\nto feel a vague fear that they had been doing wrong to run away; and\nnext they thought of the stolen meat, and then the real torture came.\nThey tried to argue it away by reminding conscience that they had\npurloined sweetmeats and apples scores of times; but conscience was not\nto be appeased by such thin plausibilities; it seemed to them, in the\nend, that there was no getting around the stubborn fact that taking\nsweetmeats was only \"hooking,\" while taking bacon and hams and such\nvaluables was plain simple stealing--and there was a command against that\nin the Bible. So they inwardly resolved that so long as they remained in\nthe business, their piracies should not again be sullied with the\ncrime of stealing. Then conscience granted a truce, and these curiously\ninconsistent pirates fell peacefully to sleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nWHEN Tom awoke in the morning, he wondered where he was. He sat up and\nrubbed his eyes and looked around. Then he comprehended. It was the cool\ngray dawn, and there was a delicious sense of repose and peace in the\ndeep pervading calm and silence of the woods. Not a leaf stirred; not\na sound obtruded upon great Nature's meditation. Beaded dewdrops stood\nupon the leaves and grasses. A white layer of ashes covered the fire,\nand a thin blue breath of smoke rose straight into the air. Joe and Huck\nstill slept.\n\nNow, far away in the woods a bird called; another answered; presently\nthe hammering of a woodpecker was heard. Gradually the cool dim gray\nof the morning whitened, and as gradually sounds multiplied and life\nmanifested itself. The marvel of Nature shaking off sleep and going\nto work unfolded itself to the musing boy. A little green worm came\ncrawling over a dewy leaf, lifting two-thirds of his body into the air\nfrom time to time and \"sniffing around,\" then proceeding again--for he\nwas measuring, Tom said; and when the worm approached him, of its own\naccord, he sat as still as a stone, with his hopes rising and falling,\nby turns, as the creature still came toward him or seemed inclined to\ngo elsewhere; and when at last it considered a painful moment with its\ncurved body in the air and then came decisively down upon Tom's leg and\nbegan a journey over him, his whole heart was glad--for that meant that\nhe was going to have a new suit of clothes--without the shadow of a\ndoubt a gaudy piratical uniform. Now a procession of ants appeared,\nfrom nowhere in particular, and went about their labors; one struggled\nmanfully by with a dead spider five times as big as itself in its arms,\nand lugged it straight up a tree-trunk. A brown spotted lady-bug climbed\nthe dizzy height of a grass blade, and Tom bent down close to it and\nsaid, \"Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home, your house is on fire, your\nchildren's alone,\" and she took wing and went off to see about it--which\ndid not surprise the boy, for he knew of old that this insect was\ncredulous about conflagrations, and he had practised upon its simplicity\nmore than once. A tumblebug came next, heaving sturdily at its ball, and\nTom touched the creature, to see it shut its legs against its body\nand pretend to be dead. The birds were fairly rioting by this time. A\ncatbird, the Northern mocker, lit in a tree over Tom's head, and trilled\nout her imitations of her neighbors in a rapture of enjoyment; then\na shrill jay swept down, a flash of blue flame, and stopped on a twig\nalmost within the boy's reach, cocked his head to one side and eyed the\nstrangers with a consuming curiosity; a gray squirrel and a big fellow\nof the \"fox\" kind came skurrying along, sitting up at intervals to\ninspect and chatter at the boys, for the wild things had probably never\nseen a human being before and scarcely knew whether to be afraid or not.\nAll Nature was wide awake and stirring, now; long lances of sunlight\npierced down through the dense foliage far and near, and a few\nbutterflies came fluttering upon the scene.\n\nTom stirred up the other pirates and they all clattered away with\na shout, and in a minute or two were stripped and chasing after and\ntumbling over each other in the shallow limpid water of the white\nsandbar. They felt no longing for the little village sleeping in the\ndistance beyond the majestic waste of water. A vagrant current or a\nslight rise in the river had carried off their raft, but this only\ngratified them, since its going was something like burning the bridge\nbetween them and civilization.\n\nThey came back to camp wonderfully refreshed, glad-hearted, and\nravenous; and they soon had the camp-fire blazing up again. Huck found a\nspring of clear cold water close by, and the boys made cups of broad oak\nor hickory leaves, and felt that water, sweetened with such a wildwood\ncharm as that, would be a good enough substitute for coffee. While Joe\nwas slicing bacon for breakfast, Tom and Huck asked him to hold on a\nminute; they stepped to a promising nook in the river-bank and threw in\ntheir lines; almost immediately they had reward. Joe had not had time\nto get impatient before they were back again with some handsome bass,\na couple of sun-perch and a small catfish--provisions enough for quite a\nfamily. They fried the fish with the bacon, and were astonished; for\nno fish had ever seemed so delicious before. They did not know that the\nquicker a fresh-water fish is on the fire after he is caught the better\nhe is; and they reflected little upon what a sauce open-air sleeping,\nopen-air exercise, bathing, and a large ingredient of hunger make, too.\n\nThey lay around in the shade, after breakfast, while Huck had a smoke,\nand then went off through the woods on an exploring expedition. They\ntramped gayly along, over decaying logs, through tangled underbrush,\namong solemn monarchs of the forest, hung from their crowns to the\nground with a drooping regalia of grape-vines. Now and then they came\nupon snug nooks carpeted with grass and jeweled with flowers.\n\nThey found plenty of things to be delighted with, but nothing to be\nastonished at. They discovered that the island was about three miles\nlong and a quarter of a mile wide, and that the shore it lay closest to\nwas only separated from it by a narrow channel hardly two hundred yards\nwide. They took a swim about every hour, so it was close upon the middle\nof the afternoon when they got back to camp. They were too hungry to\nstop to fish, but they fared sumptuously upon cold ham, and then threw\nthemselves down in the shade to talk. But the talk soon began to drag,\nand then died. The stillness, the solemnity that brooded in the woods,\nand the sense of loneliness, began to tell upon the spirits of the boys.\nThey fell to thinking. A sort of undefined longing crept upon them. This\ntook dim shape, presently--it was budding homesickness. Even Finn the\nRed-Handed was dreaming of his doorsteps and empty hogsheads. But they\nwere all ashamed of their weakness, and none was brave enough to speak\nhis thought.\n\nFor some time, now, the boys had been dully conscious of a peculiar\nsound in the distance, just as one sometimes is of the ticking of a\nclock which he takes no distinct note of. But now this mysterious sound\nbecame more pronounced, and forced a recognition. The boys started,\nglanced at each other, and then each assumed a listening attitude. There\nwas a long silence, profound and unbroken; then a deep, sullen boom came\nfloating down out of the distance.\n\n\"What is it!\" exclaimed Joe, under his breath.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Tom in a whisper.\n\n\"'Tain't thunder,\" said Huckleberry, in an awed tone, \"becuz thunder--\"\n\n\"Hark!\" said Tom. \"Listen--don't talk.\"\n\nThey waited a time that seemed an age, and then the same muffled boom\ntroubled the solemn hush.\n\n\"Let's go and see.\"\n\nThey sprang to their feet and hurried to the shore toward the town. They\nparted the bushes on the bank and peered out over the water. The little\nsteam ferry-boat was about a mile below the village, drifting with the\ncurrent. Her broad deck seemed crowded with people. There were a great\nmany skiffs rowing about or floating with the stream in the neighborhood\nof the ferryboat, but the boys could not determine what the men in\nthem were doing. Presently a great jet of white smoke burst from the\nferryboat's side, and as it expanded and rose in a lazy cloud, that same\ndull throb of sound was borne to the listeners again.\n\n\"I know now!\" exclaimed Tom; \"somebody's drownded!\"\n\n\"That's it!\" said Huck; \"they done that last summer, when Bill Turner\ngot drownded; they shoot a cannon over the water, and that makes\nhim come up to the top. Yes, and they take loaves of bread and put\nquicksilver in 'em and set 'em afloat, and wherever there's anybody\nthat's drownded, they'll float right there and stop.\"\n\n\"Yes, I've heard about that,\" said Joe. \"I wonder what makes the bread\ndo that.\"\n\n\"Oh, it ain't the bread, so much,\" said Tom; \"I reckon it's mostly what\nthey _say_ over it before they start it out.\"\n\n\"But they don't say anything over it,\" said Huck. \"I've seen 'em and\nthey don't.\"\n\n\"Well, that's funny,\" said Tom. \"But maybe they say it to themselves. Of\n_course_ they do. Anybody might know that.\"\n\nThe other boys agreed that there was reason in what Tom said, because\nan ignorant lump of bread, uninstructed by an incantation, could not\nbe expected to act very intelligently when set upon an errand of such\ngravity.\n\n\"By jings, I wish I was over there, now,\" said Joe.\n\n\"I do too\" said Huck \"I'd give heaps to know who it is.\"\n\nThe boys still listened and watched. Presently a revealing thought\nflashed through Tom's mind, and he exclaimed:\n\n\"Boys, I know who's drownded--it's us!\"\n\nThey felt like heroes in an instant. Here was a gorgeous triumph; they\nwere missed; they were mourned; hearts were breaking on their account;\ntears were being shed; accusing memories of unkindness to these poor\nlost lads were rising up, and unavailing regrets and remorse were being\nindulged; and best of all, the departed were the talk of the whole town,\nand the envy of all the boys, as far as this dazzling notoriety was\nconcerned. This was fine. It was worth while to be a pirate, after all.\n\nAs twilight drew on, the ferryboat went back to her accustomed business\nand the skiffs disappeared. The pirates returned to camp. They were\njubilant with vanity over their new grandeur and the illustrious trouble\nthey were making. They caught fish, cooked supper and ate it, and then\nfell to guessing at what the village was thinking and saying about them;\nand the pictures they drew of the public distress on their account were\ngratifying to look upon--from their point of view. But when the shadows\nof night closed them in, they gradually ceased to talk, and sat gazing\ninto the fire, with their minds evidently wandering elsewhere. The\nexcitement was gone, now, and Tom and Joe could not keep back thoughts\nof certain persons at home who were not enjoying this fine frolic as\nmuch as they were. Misgivings came; they grew troubled and unhappy; a\nsigh or two escaped, unawares. By and by Joe timidly ventured upon a\nroundabout \"feeler\" as to how the others might look upon a return to\ncivilization--not right now, but--\n\nTom withered him with derision! Huck, being uncommitted as yet, joined\nin with Tom, and the waverer quickly \"explained,\" and was glad to get\nout of the scrape with as little taint of chicken-hearted home-sickness\nclinging to his garments as he could. Mutiny was effectually laid to\nrest for the moment.\n\nAs the night deepened, Huck began to nod, and presently to snore.\nJoe followed next. Tom lay upon his elbow motionless, for some time,\nwatching the two intently. At last he got up cautiously, on his knees,\nand went searching among the grass and the flickering reflections flung\nby the campfire. He picked up and inspected several large semi-cylinders\nof the thin white bark of a sycamore, and finally chose two which seemed\nto suit him. Then he knelt by the fire and painfully wrote something\nupon each of these with his \"red keel\"; one he rolled up and put in his\njacket pocket, and the other he put in Joe's hat and removed it to a\nlittle distance from the owner. And he also put into the hat certain\nschoolboy treasures of almost inestimable value--among them a lump of\nchalk, an India-rubber ball, three fishhooks, and one of that kind\nof marbles known as a \"sure 'nough crystal.\" Then he tiptoed his way\ncautiously among the trees till he felt that he was out of hearing, and\nstraightway broke into a keen run in the direction of the sandbar.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nA few minutes later Tom was in the shoal water of the bar, wading toward\nthe Illinois shore. Before the depth reached his middle he was halfway\nover; the current would permit no more wading, now, so he struck out\nconfidently to swim the remaining hundred yards. He swam quartering\nupstream, but still was swept downward rather faster than he had\nexpected. However, he reached the shore finally, and drifted along till\nhe found a low place and drew himself out. He put his hand on his jacket\npocket, found his piece of bark safe, and then struck through the woods,\nfollowing the shore, with streaming garments. Shortly before ten\no'clock he came out into an open place opposite the village, and saw the\nferryboat lying in the shadow of the trees and the high bank. Everything\nwas quiet under the blinking stars. He crept down the bank, watching\nwith all his eyes, slipped into the water, swam three or four strokes\nand climbed into the skiff that did \"yawl\" duty at the boat's stern. He\nlaid himself down under the thwarts and waited, panting.\n\nPresently the cracked bell tapped and a voice gave the order to \"cast\noff.\" A minute or two later the skiff's head was standing high up,\nagainst the boat's swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy in\nhis success, for he knew it was the boat's last trip for the night. At\nthe end of a long twelve or fifteen minutes the wheels stopped, and\nTom slipped overboard and swam ashore in the dusk, landing fifty yards\ndownstream, out of danger of possible stragglers.\n\nHe flew along unfrequented alleys, and shortly found himself at his\naunt's back fence. He climbed over, approached the \"ell,\" and looked\nin at the sitting-room window, for a light was burning there. There\nsat Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother, grouped together,\ntalking. They were by the bed, and the bed was between them and the\ndoor. Tom went to the door and began to softly lift the latch; then\nhe pressed gently and the door yielded a crack; he continued pushing\ncautiously, and quaking every time it creaked, till he judged he might\nsqueeze through on his knees; so he put his head through and began,\nwarily.\n\n\"What makes the candle blow so?\" said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up. \"Why,\nthat door's open, I believe. Why, of course it is. No end of strange\nthings now. Go 'long and shut it, Sid.\"\n\nTom disappeared under the bed just in time. He lay and \"breathed\"\nhimself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch his\naunt's foot.\n\n\"But as I was saying,\" said Aunt Polly, \"he warn't _bad_, so to say--only\nmisch_ee_vous. Only just giddy, and harum-scarum, you know. He warn't\nany more responsible than a colt. _He_ never meant any harm, and he was\nthe best-hearted boy that ever was\"--and she began to cry.\n\n\"It was just so with my Joe--always full of his devilment, and up to\nevery kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he\ncould be--and laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for taking\nthat cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out myself because\nit was sour, and I never to see him again in this world, never, never,\nnever, poor abused boy!\" And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if her heart would\nbreak.\n\n\"I hope Tom's better off where he is,\" said Sid, \"but if he'd been\nbetter in some ways--\"\n\n\"_Sid!_\" Tom felt the glare of the old lady's eye, though he could not\nsee it. \"Not a word against my Tom, now that he's gone! God'll take care\nof _him_--never you trouble _your_self, sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don't\nknow how to give him up! I don't know how to give him up! He was such a\ncomfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me, 'most.\"\n\n\"The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away--Blessed be the name of\nthe Lord! But it's so hard--Oh, it's so hard! Only last Saturday my Joe\nbusted a firecracker right under my nose and I knocked him sprawling.\nLittle did I know then, how soon--Oh, if it was to do over again I'd hug\nhim and bless him for it.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just\nexactly how you feel. No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took\nand filled the cat full of Pain-killer, and I did think the cretur would\ntear the house down. And God forgive me, I cracked Tom's head with my\nthimble, poor boy, poor dead boy. But he's out of all his troubles now.\nAnd the last words I ever heard him say was to reproach--\"\n\nBut this memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke entirely\ndown. Tom was snuffling, now, himself--and more in pity of himself than\nanybody else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a kindly word\nfor him from time to time. He began to have a nobler opinion of himself\nthan ever before. Still, he was sufficiently touched by his aunt's grief\nto long to rush out from under the bed and overwhelm her with joy--and\nthe theatrical gorgeousness of the thing appealed strongly to his\nnature, too, but he resisted and lay still.\n\nHe went on listening, and gathered by odds and ends that it was\nconjectured at first that the boys had got drowned while taking a swim;\nthen the small raft had been missed; next, certain boys said the missing\nlads had promised that the village should \"hear something\" soon; the\nwise-heads had \"put this and that together\" and decided that the lads\nhad gone off on that raft and would turn up at the next town below,\npresently; but toward noon the raft had been found, lodged against the\nMissouri shore some five or six miles below the village--and then hope\nperished; they must be drowned, else hunger would have driven them home\nby nightfall if not sooner. It was believed that the search for the\nbodies had been a fruitless effort merely because the drowning must\nhave occurred in mid-channel, since the boys, being good swimmers, would\notherwise have escaped to shore. This was Wednesday night. If the bodies\ncontinued missing until Sunday, all hope would be given over, and the\nfunerals would be preached on that morning. Tom shuddered.\n\nMrs. Harper gave a sobbing goodnight and turned to go. Then with a\nmutual impulse the two bereaved women flung themselves into each other's\narms and had a good, consoling cry, and then parted. Aunt Polly was\ntender far beyond her wont, in her goodnight to Sid and Mary. Sid\nsnuffled a bit and Mary went off crying with all her heart.\n\nAunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so appealingly,\nand with such measureless love in her words and her old trembling voice,\nthat he was weltering in tears again, long before she was through.\n\nHe had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making\nbroken-hearted ejaculations from time to time, tossing unrestfully, and\nturning over. But at last she was still, only moaning a little in her\nsleep. Now the boy stole out, rose gradually by the bedside, shaded the\ncandle-light with his hand, and stood regarding her. His heart was full\nof pity for her. He took out his sycamore scroll and placed it by the\ncandle. But something occurred to him, and he lingered considering.\nHis face lighted with a happy solution of his thought; he put the bark\nhastily in his pocket. Then he bent over and kissed the faded lips, and\nstraightway made his stealthy exit, latching the door behind him.\n\nHe threaded his way back to the ferry landing, found nobody at large\nthere, and walked boldly on board the boat, for he knew she was\ntenantless except that there was a watchman, who always turned in and\nslept like a graven image. He untied the skiff at the stern, slipped\ninto it, and was soon rowing cautiously upstream. When he had pulled a\nmile above the village, he started quartering across and bent himself\nstoutly to his work. He hit the landing on the other side neatly, for\nthis was a familiar bit of work to him. He was moved to capture\nthe skiff, arguing that it might be considered a ship and therefore\nlegitimate prey for a pirate, but he knew a thorough search would be\nmade for it and that might end in revelations. So he stepped ashore and\nentered the woods.\n\nHe sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meanwhile to keep\nawake, and then started warily down the home-stretch. The night was far\nspent. It was broad daylight before he found himself fairly abreast the\nisland bar. He rested again until the sun was well up and gilding the\ngreat river with its splendor, and then he plunged into the stream. A\nlittle later he paused, dripping, upon the threshold of the camp, and\nheard Joe say:\n\n\"No, Tom's true-blue, Huck, and he'll come back. He won't desert. He\nknows that would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for that\nsort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?\"\n\n\"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?\"\n\n\"Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he ain't\nback here to breakfast.\"\n\n\"Which he is!\" exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic effect, stepping\ngrandly into camp.\n\nA sumptuous breakfast of bacon and fish was shortly provided, and as the\nboys set to work upon it, Tom recounted (and adorned) his adventures.\nThey were a vain and boastful company of heroes when the tale was done.\nThen Tom hid himself away in a shady nook to sleep till noon, and the\nother pirates got ready to fish and explore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nAFTER dinner all the gang turned out to hunt for turtle eggs on the bar.\nThey went about poking sticks into the sand, and when they found a soft\nplace they went down on their knees and dug with their hands. Sometimes\nthey would take fifty or sixty eggs out of one hole. They were perfectly\nround white things a trifle smaller than an English walnut. They had a\nfamous fried-egg feast that night, and another on Friday morning.\n\nAfter breakfast they went whooping and prancing out on the bar, and\nchased each other round and round, shedding clothes as they went, until\nthey were naked, and then continued the frolic far away up the shoal\nwater of the bar, against the stiff current, which latter tripped their\nlegs from under them from time to time and greatly increased the fun.\nAnd now and then they stooped in a group and splashed water in each\nother's faces with their palms, gradually approaching each other, with\naverted faces to avoid the strangling sprays, and finally gripping and\nstruggling till the best man ducked his neighbor, and then they all\nwent under in a tangle of white legs and arms and came up blowing,\nsputtering, laughing, and gasping for breath at one and the same time.\n\nWhen they were well exhausted, they would run out and sprawl on the dry,\nhot sand, and lie there and cover themselves up with it, and by and by\nbreak for the water again and go through the original performance once\nmore. Finally it occurred to them that their naked skin represented\nflesh-colored \"tights\" very fairly; so they drew a ring in the sand and\nhad a circus--with three clowns in it, for none would yield this proudest\npost to his neighbor.\n\nNext they got their marbles and played \"knucks\" and \"ringtaw\" and\n\"keeps\" till that amusement grew stale. Then Joe and Huck had another\nswim, but Tom would not venture, because he found that in kicking off\nhis trousers he had kicked his string of rattlesnake rattles off his\nankle, and he wondered how he had escaped cramp so long without the\nprotection of this mysterious charm. He did not venture again until he\nhad found it, and by that time the other boys were tired and ready to\nrest. They gradually wandered apart, dropped into the \"dumps,\" and\nfell to gazing longingly across the wide river to where the village lay\ndrowsing in the sun. Tom found himself writing \"BECKY\" in the sand with\nhis big toe; he scratched it out, and was angry with himself for his\nweakness. But he wrote it again, nevertheless; he could not help it. He\nerased it once more and then took himself out of temptation by driving\nthe other boys together and joining them.\n\nBut Joe's spirits had gone down almost beyond resurrection. He was so\nhomesick that he could hardly endure the misery of it. The tears lay\nvery near the surface. Huck was melancholy, too. Tom was downhearted,\nbut tried hard not to show it. He had a secret which he was not ready\nto tell, yet, but if this mutinous depression was not broken up soon, he\nwould have to bring it out. He said, with a great show of cheerfulness:\n\n\"I bet there's been pirates on this island before, boys. We'll explore\nit again. They've hid treasures here somewhere. How'd you feel to light\non a rotten chest full of gold and silver--hey?\"\n\nBut it roused only faint enthusiasm, which faded out, with no reply.\nTom tried one or two other seductions; but they failed, too. It was\ndiscouraging work. Joe sat poking up the sand with a stick and looking\nvery gloomy. Finally he said:\n\n\"Oh, boys, let's give it up. I want to go home. It's so lonesome.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Joe, you'll feel better by and by,\" said Tom. \"Just think of the\nfishing that's here.\"\n\n\"I don't care for fishing. I want to go home.\"\n\n\"But, Joe, there ain't such another swimming-place anywhere.\"\n\n\"Swimming's no good. I don't seem to care for it, somehow, when there\nain't anybody to say I sha'n't go in. I mean to go home.\"\n\n\"Oh, shucks! Baby! You want to see your mother, I reckon.\"\n\n\"Yes, I _do_ want to see my mother--and you would, too, if you had one. I\nain't any more baby than you are.\" And Joe snuffled a little.\n\n\"Well, we'll let the crybaby go home to his mother, won't we, Huck? Poor\nthing--does it want to see its mother? And so it shall. You like it here,\ndon't you, Huck? We'll stay, won't we?\"\n\nHuck said, \"Y-e-s\"--without any heart in it.\n\n\"I'll never speak to you again as long as I live,\" said Joe, rising.\n\"There now!\" And he moved moodily away and began to dress himself.\n\n\"Who cares!\" said Tom. \"Nobody wants you to. Go 'long home and get\nlaughed at. Oh, you're a nice pirate. Huck and me ain't crybabies. We'll\nstay, won't we, Huck? Let him go if he wants to. I reckon we can get\nalong without him, per'aps.\"\n\nBut Tom was uneasy, nevertheless, and was alarmed to see Joe go sullenly\non with his dressing. And then it was discomforting to see Huck eying\nJoe's preparations so wistfully, and keeping up such an ominous silence.\nPresently, without a parting word, Joe began to wade off toward the\nIllinois shore. Tom's heart began to sink. He glanced at Huck. Huck\ncould not bear the look, and dropped his eyes. Then he said:\n\n\"I want to go, too, Tom. It was getting so lonesome anyway, and now\nit'll be worse. Let's us go, too, Tom.\"\n\n\"I won't! You can all go, if you want to. I mean to stay.\"\n\n\"Tom, I better go.\"\n\n\"Well, go 'long--who's hendering you.\"\n\nHuck began to pick up his scattered clothes. He said:\n\n\"Tom, I wisht you'd come, too. Now you think it over. We'll wait for you\nwhen we get to shore.\"\n\n\"Well, you'll wait a blame long time, that's all.\"\n\nHuck started sorrowfully away, and Tom stood looking after him, with a\nstrong desire tugging at his heart to yield his pride and go along\ntoo. He hoped the boys would stop, but they still waded slowly on. It\nsuddenly dawned on Tom that it was become very lonely and still. He made\none final struggle with his pride, and then darted after his comrades,\nyelling:\n\n\"Wait! Wait! I want to tell you something!\"\n\nThey presently stopped and turned around. When he got to where they\nwere, he began unfolding his secret, and they listened moodily till\nat last they saw the \"point\" he was driving at, and then they set up a\nwarwhoop of applause and said it was \"splendid!\" and said if he had\ntold them at first, they wouldn't have started away. He made a plausible\nexcuse; but his real reason had been the fear that not even the secret\nwould keep them with him any very great length of time, and so he had\nmeant to hold it in reserve as a last seduction.\n\nThe lads came gayly back and went at their sports again with a will,\nchattering all the time about Tom's stupendous plan and admiring the\ngenius of it. After a dainty egg and fish dinner, Tom said he wanted to\nlearn to smoke, now. Joe caught at the idea and said he would like to\ntry, too. So Huck made pipes and filled them. These novices had never\nsmoked anything before but cigars made of grapevine, and they \"bit\" the\ntongue, and were not considered manly anyway.\n\nNow they stretched themselves out on their elbows and began to puff,\ncharily, and with slender confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant taste,\nand they gagged a little, but Tom said:\n\n\"Why, it's just as easy! If I'd a knowed this was all, I'd a learnt long\nago.\"\n\n\"So would I,\" said Joe. \"It's just nothing.\"\n\n\"Why, many a time I've looked at people smoking, and thought well I wish\nI could do that; but I never thought I could,\" said Tom.\n\n\"That's just the way with me, hain't it, Huck? You've heard me talk just\nthat way--haven't you, Huck? I'll leave it to Huck if I haven't.\"\n\n\"Yes--heaps of times,\" said Huck.\n\n\"Well, I have too,\" said Tom; \"oh, hundreds of times. Once down by the\nslaughter-house. Don't you remember, Huck? Bob Tanner was there, and\nJohnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher, when I said it. Don't you remember,\nHuck, 'bout me saying that?\"\n\n\"Yes, that's so,\" said Huck. \"That was the day after I lost a white\nalley. No, 'twas the day before.\"\n\n\"There--I told you so,\" said Tom. \"Huck recollects it.\"\n\n\"I bleeve I could smoke this pipe all day,\" said Joe. \"I don't feel\nsick.\"\n\n\"Neither do I,\" said Tom. \"I could smoke it all day. But I bet you Jeff\nThatcher couldn't.\"\n\n\"Jeff Thatcher! Why, he'd keel over just with two draws. Just let him\ntry it once. _He'd_ see!\"\n\n\"I bet he would. And Johnny Miller--I wish could see Johnny Miller tackle\nit once.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't I!\" said Joe. \"Why, I bet you Johnny Miller couldn't any more\ndo this than nothing. Just one little snifter would fetch _him_.\"\n\n\"'Deed it would, Joe. Say--I wish the boys could see us now.\"\n\n\"So do I.\"\n\n\"Say--boys, don't say anything about it, and some time when they're\naround, I'll come up to you and say, 'Joe, got a pipe? I want a smoke.'\nAnd you'll say, kind of careless like, as if it warn't anything, you'll\nsay, 'Yes, I got my _old_ pipe, and another one, but my tobacker ain't\nvery good.' And I'll say, 'Oh, that's all right, if it's _strong_\nenough.' And then you'll out with the pipes, and we'll light up just as\nca'm, and then just see 'em look!\"\n\n\"By jings, that'll be gay, Tom! I wish it was _now_!\"\n\n\"So do I! And when we tell 'em we learned when we was off pirating,\nwon't they wish they'd been along?\"\n\n\"Oh, I reckon not! I'll just _bet_ they will!\"\n\nSo the talk ran on. But presently it began to flag a trifle, and\ngrow disjointed. The silences widened; the expectoration marvellously\nincreased. Every pore inside the boys' cheeks became a spouting\nfountain; they could scarcely bail out the cellars under their tongues\nfast enough to prevent an inundation; little overflowings down their\nthroats occurred in spite of all they could do, and sudden retchings\nfollowed every time. Both boys were looking very pale and miserable,\nnow. Joe's pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Tom's followed. Both\nfountains were going furiously and both pumps bailing with might and\nmain. Joe said feebly:\n\n\"I've lost my knife. I reckon I better go and find it.\"\n\nTom said, with quivering lips and halting utterance:\n\n\"I'll help you. You go over that way and I'll hunt around by the spring.\nNo, you needn't come, Huck--we can find it.\"\n\nSo Huck sat down again, and waited an hour. Then he found it lonesome,\nand went to find his comrades. They were wide apart in the woods, both\nvery pale, both fast asleep. But something informed him that if they had\nhad any trouble they had got rid of it.\n\nThey were not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble look,\nand when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal and was going to prepare\ntheirs, they said no, they were not feeling very well--something they ate\nat dinner had disagreed with them.\n\nAbout midnight Joe awoke, and called the boys. There was a brooding\noppressiveness in the air that seemed to bode something. The boys\nhuddled themselves together and sought the friendly companionship of\nthe fire, though the dull dead heat of the breathless atmosphere was\nstifling. They sat still, intent and waiting. The solemn hush continued.\nBeyond the light of the fire everything was swallowed up in the\nblackness of darkness. Presently there came a quivering glow that\nvaguely revealed the foliage for a moment and then vanished. By and by\nanother came, a little stronger. Then another. Then a faint moan came\nsighing through the branches of the forest and the boys felt a fleeting\nbreath upon their cheeks, and shuddered with the fancy that the Spirit\nof the Night had gone by. There was a pause. Now a weird flash turned\nnight into day and showed every little grassblade, separate and\ndistinct, that grew about their feet. And it showed three white,\nstartled faces, too. A deep peal of thunder went rolling and tumbling\ndown the heavens and lost itself in sullen rumblings in the distance. A\nsweep of chilly air passed by, rustling all the leaves and snowing the\nflaky ashes broadcast about the fire. Another fierce glare lit up the\nforest and an instant crash followed that seemed to rend the treetops\nright over the boys' heads. They clung together in terror, in the thick\ngloom that followed. A few big raindrops fell pattering upon the leaves.\n\n\"Quick! boys, go for the tent!\" exclaimed Tom.\n\nThey sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the dark, no\ntwo plunging in the same direction. A furious blast roared through\nthe trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding flash after\nanother came, and peal on peal of deafening thunder. And now a drenching\nrain poured down and the rising hurricane drove it in sheets along the\nground. The boys cried out to each other, but the roaring wind and the\nbooming thunderblasts drowned their voices utterly. However, one by one\nthey straggled in at last and took shelter under the tent, cold, scared,\nand streaming with water; but to have company in misery seemed something\nto be grateful for. They could not talk, the old sail flapped so\nfuriously, even if the other noises would have allowed them. The tempest\nrose higher and higher, and presently the sail tore loose from its\nfastenings and went winging away on the blast. The boys seized each\nothers' hands and fled, with many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter\nof a great oak that stood upon the riverbank. Now the battle was at its\nhighest. Under the ceaseless conflagration of lightning that flamed\nin the skies, everything below stood out in cleancut and shadowless\ndistinctness: the bending trees, the billowy river, white with foam, the\ndriving spray of spumeflakes, the dim outlines of the high bluffs on\nthe other side, glimpsed through the drifting cloudrack and the slanting\nveil of rain. Every little while some giant tree yielded the fight\nand fell crashing through the younger growth; and the unflagging\nthunderpeals came now in ear-splitting explosive bursts, keen and sharp,\nand unspeakably appalling. The storm culminated in one matchless effort\nthat seemed likely to tear the island to pieces, burn it up, drown it to\nthe treetops, blow it away, and deafen every creature in it, all at one\nand the same moment. It was a wild night for homeless young heads to be\nout in.\n\nBut at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with weaker and\nweaker threatenings and grumblings, and peace resumed her sway. The\nboys went back to camp, a good deal awed; but they found there was still\nsomething to be thankful for, because the great sycamore, the shelter\nof their beds, was a ruin, now, blasted by the lightnings, and they were\nnot under it when the catastrophe happened.\n\nEverything in camp was drenched, the campfire as well; for they were but\nheedless lads, like their generation, and had made no provision against\nrain. Here was matter for dismay, for they were soaked through and\nchilled. They were eloquent in their distress; but they presently\ndiscovered that the fire had eaten so far up under the great log it had\nbeen built against (where it curved upward and separated itself from\nthe ground), that a handbreadth or so of it had escaped wetting; so they\npatiently wrought until, with shreds and bark gathered from the under\nsides of sheltered logs, they coaxed the fire to burn again. Then they\npiled on great dead boughs till they had a roaring furnace, and were\ngladhearted once more. They dried their boiled ham and had a feast,\nand after that they sat by the fire and expanded and glorified their\nmidnight adventure until morning, for there was not a dry spot to sleep\non, anywhere around.\n\nAs the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over\nthem, and they went out on the sandbar and lay down to sleep. They got\nscorched out by and by, and drearily set about getting breakfast. After\nthe meal they felt rusty, and stiff-jointed, and a little homesick once\nmore. Tom saw the signs, and fell to cheering up the pirates as well as\nhe could. But they cared nothing for marbles, or circus, or swimming, or\nanything. He reminded them of the imposing secret, and raised a ray of\ncheer. While it lasted, he got them interested in a new device. This was\nto knock off being pirates, for a while, and be Indians for a change.\nThey were attracted by this idea; so it was not long before they were\nstripped, and striped from head to heel with black mud, like so many\nzebras--all of them chiefs, of course--and then they went tearing through\nthe woods to attack an English settlement.\n\nBy and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and darted upon each\nother from ambush with dreadful warwhoops, and killed and scalped each\nother by thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently it was an extremely\nsatisfactory one.\n\nThey assembled in camp toward suppertime, hungry and happy; but now\na difficulty arose--hostile Indians could not break the bread of\nhospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple\nimpossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other\nprocess that ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost wished\nthey had remained pirates. However, there was no other way; so with such\nshow of cheerfulness as they could muster they called for the pipe and\ntook their whiff as it passed, in due form.\n\nAnd behold, they were glad they had gone into savagery, for they had\ngained something; they found that they could now smoke a little without\nhaving to go and hunt for a lost knife; they did not get sick enough to\nbe seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to fool away this high\npromise for lack of effort. No, they practised cautiously, after supper,\nwith right fair success, and so they spent a jubilant evening. They were\nprouder and happier in their new acquirement than they would have been\nin the scalping and skinning of the Six Nations. We will leave them to\nsmoke and chatter and brag, since we have no further use for them at\npresent.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nBUT there was no hilarity in the little town that same tranquil Saturday\nafternoon. The Harpers, and Aunt Polly's family, were being put into\nmourning, with great grief and many tears. An unusual quiet possessed\nthe village, although it was ordinarily quiet enough, in all conscience.\nThe villagers conducted their concerns with an absent air, and talked\nlittle; but they sighed often. The Saturday holiday seemed a burden to\nthe children. They had no heart in their sports, and gradually gave them\nup.\n\nIn the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the deserted\nschoolhouse yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found nothing\nthere to comfort her. She soliloquized:\n\n\"Oh, if I only had a brass andiron-knob again! But I haven't got\nanything now to remember him by.\" And she choked back a little sob.\n\nPresently she stopped, and said to herself:\n\n\"It was right here. Oh, if it was to do over again, I wouldn't say\nthat--I wouldn't say it for the whole world. But he's gone now; I'll\nnever, never, never see him any more.\"\n\nThis thought broke her down, and she wandered away, with tears rolling\ndown her cheeks. Then quite a group of boys and girls--playmates of Tom's\nand Joe's--came by, and stood looking over the paling fence and talking\nin reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so the last time they saw\nhim, and how Joe said this and that small trifle (pregnant with awful\nprophecy, as they could easily see now!)--and each speaker pointed out\nthe exact spot where the lost lads stood at the time, and then added\nsomething like \"and I was a-standing just so--just as I am now, and as if\nyou was him--I was as close as that--and he smiled, just this way--and then\nsomething seemed to go all over me, like--awful, you know--and I never\nthought what it meant, of course, but I can see now!\"\n\nThen there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, and\nmany claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more or\nless tampered with by the witness; and when it was ultimately decided\nwho _did_ see the departed last, and exchanged the last words with them,\nthe lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of sacred importance,\nand were gaped at and envied by all the rest. One poor chap, who had\nno other grandeur to offer, said with tolerably manifest pride in the\nremembrance:\n\n\"Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me once.\"\n\nBut that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say that,\nand so that cheapened the distinction too much. The group loitered away,\nstill recalling memories of the lost heroes, in awed voices.\n\nWhen the Sunday-school hour was finished, the next morning, the bell\nbegan to toll, instead of ringing in the usual way. It was a very still\nSabbath, and the mournful sound seemed in keeping with the musing hush\nthat lay upon nature. The villagers began to gather, loitering a moment\nin the vestibule to converse in whispers about the sad event. But there\nwas no whispering in the house; only the funereal rustling of dresses\nas the women gathered to their seats disturbed the silence there. None\ncould remember when the little church had been so full before. There\nwas finally a waiting pause, an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly\nentered, followed by Sid and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all in\ndeep black, and the whole congregation, the old minister as well, rose\nreverently and stood until the mourners were seated in the front pew.\nThere was another communing silence, broken at intervals by muffled\nsobs, and then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed. A moving\nhymn was sung, and the text followed: \"I am the Resurrection and the\nLife.\"\n\nAs the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the\ngraces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that\nevery soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang\nin remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always\nbefore, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor\nboys. The minister related many a touching incident in the lives of the\ndeparted, too, which illustrated their sweet, generous natures, and the\npeople could easily see, now, how noble and beautiful those episodes\nwere, and remembered with grief that at the time they occurred they had\nseemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the cowhide. The congregation\nbecame more and more moved, as the pathetic tale went on, till at last\nthe whole company broke down and joined the weeping mourners in a chorus\nof anguished sobs, the preacher himself giving way to his feelings, and\ncrying in the pulpit.\n\nThere was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment later\nthe church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming eyes above\nhis handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First one and then another pair\nof eyes followed the minister's, and then almost with one impulse the\ncongregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came marching up\nthe aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of drooping rags,\nsneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in the unused gallery\nlistening to their own funeral sermon!\n\nAunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw themselves upon their restored\nones, smothered them with kisses and poured out thanksgivings, while\npoor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not knowing exactly what\nto do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming eyes. He wavered, and\nstarted to slink away, but Tom seized him and said:\n\n\"Aunt Polly, it ain't fair. Somebody's got to be glad to see Huck.\"\n\n\"And so they shall. I'm glad to see him, poor motherless thing!\" And\nthe loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one thing\ncapable of making him more uncomfortable than he was before.\n\nSuddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice: \"Praise God from\nwhom all blessings flow--_sing_!--and put your hearts in it!\"\n\nAnd they did. Old Hundred swelled up with a triumphant burst, and\nwhile it shook the rafters Tom Sawyer the Pirate looked around upon the\nenvying juveniles about him and confessed in his heart that this was the\nproudest moment of his life.\n\nAs the \"sold\" congregation trooped out they said they would almost be\nwilling to be made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like that\nonce more.\n\nTom got more cuffs and kisses that day--according to Aunt Polly's varying\nmoods--than he had earned before in a year; and he hardly knew which\nexpressed the most gratefulness to God and affection for himself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHAT was Tom's great secret--the scheme to return home with his brother\npirates and attend their own funerals. They had paddled over to the\nMissouri shore on a log, at dusk on Saturday, landing five or six miles\nbelow the village; they had slept in the woods at the edge of the town\ntill nearly daylight, and had then crept through back lanes and alleys\nand finished their sleep in the gallery of the church among a chaos of\ninvalided benches.\n\nAt breakfast, Monday morning, Aunt Polly and Mary were very loving to\nTom, and very attentive to his wants. There was an unusual amount of\ntalk. In the course of it Aunt Polly said:\n\n\"Well, I don't say it wasn't a fine joke, Tom, to keep everybody\nsuffering 'most a week so you boys had a good time, but it is a pity you\ncould be so hard-hearted as to let me suffer so. If you could come over\non a log to go to your funeral, you could have come over and give me a\nhint some way that you warn't dead, but only run off.\"\n\n\"Yes, you could have done that, Tom,\" said Mary; \"and I believe you\nwould if you had thought of it.\"\n\n\"Would you, Tom?\" said Aunt Polly, her face lighting wistfully. \"Say,\nnow, would you, if you'd thought of it?\"\n\n\"I--well, I don't know. 'Twould 'a' spoiled everything.\"\n\n\"Tom, I hoped you loved me that much,\" said Aunt Polly, with a grieved\ntone that discomforted the boy. \"It would have been something if you'd\ncared enough to _think_ of it, even if you didn't _do_ it.\"\n\n\"Now, auntie, that ain't any harm,\" pleaded Mary; \"it's only Tom's giddy\nway--he is always in such a rush that he never thinks of anything.\"\n\n\"More's the pity. Sid would have thought. And Sid would have come and\n_done_ it, too. Tom, you'll look back, some day, when it's too late,\nand wish you'd cared a little more for me when it would have cost you so\nlittle.\"\n\n\"Now, auntie, you know I do care for you,\" said Tom.\n\n\"I'd know it better if you acted more like it.\"\n\n\"I wish now I'd thought,\" said Tom, with a repentant tone; \"but I dreamt\nabout you, anyway. That's something, ain't it?\"\n\n\"It ain't much--a cat does that much--but it's better than nothing. What\ndid you dream?\"\n\n\"Why, Wednesday night I dreamt that you was sitting over there by the\nbed, and Sid was sitting by the woodbox, and Mary next to him.\"\n\n\"Well, so we did. So we always do. I'm glad your dreams could take even\nthat much trouble about us.\"\n\n\"And I dreamt that Joe Harper's mother was here.\"\n\n\"Why, she was here! Did you dream any more?\"\n\n\"Oh, lots. But it's so dim, now.\"\n\n\"Well, try to recollect--can't you?\"\n\n\"Somehow it seems to me that the wind--the wind blowed the--the--\"\n\n\"Try harder, Tom! The wind did blow something. Come!\"\n\nTom pressed his fingers on his forehead an anxious minute, and then\nsaid:\n\n\"I've got it now! I've got it now! It blowed the candle!\"\n\n\"Mercy on us! Go on, Tom--go on!\"\n\n\"And it seems to me that you said, 'Why, I believe that that door--'\"\n\n\"Go _on_, Tom!\"\n\n\"Just let me study a moment--just a moment. Oh, yes--you said you believed\nthe door was open.\"\n\n\"As I'm sitting here, I did! Didn't I, Mary! Go on!\"\n\n\"And then--and then--well I won't be certain, but it seems like as if you\nmade Sid go and--and--\"\n\n\"Well? Well? What did I make him do, Tom? What did I make him do?\"\n\n\"You made him--you--Oh, you made him shut it.\"\n\n\"Well, for the land's sake! I never heard the beat of that in all my\ndays! Don't tell _me_ there ain't anything in dreams, any more. Sereny\nHarper shall know of this before I'm an hour older. I'd like to see her\nget around _this_ with her rubbage 'bout superstition. Go on, Tom!\"\n\n\"Oh, it's all getting just as bright as day, now. Next you said I warn't\n_bad_, only mischeevous and harum-scarum, and not any more responsible\nthan--than--I think it was a colt, or something.\"\n\n\"And so it was! Well, goodness gracious! Go on, Tom!\"\n\n\"And then you began to cry.\"\n\n\"So I did. So I did. Not the first time, neither. And then--\"\n\n\"Then Mrs. Harper she began to cry, and said Joe was just the same, and\nshe wished she hadn't whipped him for taking cream when she'd throwed it\nout her own self--\"\n\n\"Tom! The sperrit was upon you! You was a prophesying--that's what you\nwas doing! Land alive, go on, Tom!\"\n\n\"Then Sid he said--he said--\"\n\n\"I don't think I said anything,\" said Sid.\n\n\"Yes you did, Sid,\" said Mary.\n\n\"Shut your heads and let Tom go on! What did he say, Tom?\"\n\n\"He said--I _think_ he said he hoped I was better off where I was gone\nto, but if I'd been better sometimes--\"\n\n\"_There_, d'you hear that! It was his very words!\"\n\n\"And you shut him up sharp.\"\n\n\"I lay I did! There must 'a' been an angel there. There _was_ an angel\nthere, somewheres!\"\n\n\"And Mrs. Harper told about Joe scaring her with a firecracker, and you\ntold about Peter and the Pain-killer--\"\n\n\"Just as true as I live!\"\n\n\"And then there was a whole lot of talk 'bout dragging the river for us,\nand 'bout having the funeral Sunday, and then you and old Miss Harper\nhugged and cried, and she went.\"\n\n\"It happened just so! It happened just so, as sure as I'm a-sitting in\nthese very tracks. Tom, you couldn't told it more like if you'd 'a' seen\nit! And then what? Go on, Tom!\"\n\n\"Then I thought you prayed for me--and I could see you and hear every\nword you said. And you went to bed, and I was so sorry that I took and\nwrote on a piece of sycamore bark, 'We ain't dead--we are only off being\npirates,' and put it on the table by the candle; and then you looked\nso good, laying there asleep, that I thought I went and leaned over and\nkissed you on the lips.\"\n\n\"Did you, Tom, _did_ you! I just forgive you everything for that!\" And\nshe seized the boy in a crushing embrace that made him feel like the\nguiltiest of villains.\n\n\"It was very kind, even though it was only a--dream,\" Sid soliloquized\njust audibly.\n\n\"Shut up, Sid! A body does just the same in a dream as he'd do if he was\nawake. Here's a big Milum apple I've been saving for you, Tom, if you\nwas ever found again--now go 'long to school. I'm thankful to the good\nGod and Father of us all I've got you back, that's long-suffering and\nmerciful to them that believe on Him and keep His word, though goodness\nknows I'm unworthy of it, but if only the worthy ones got His blessings\nand had His hand to help them over the rough places, there's few enough\nwould smile here or ever enter into His rest when the long night comes.\nGo 'long Sid, Mary, Tom--take yourselves off--you've hendered me long\nenough.\"\n\nThe children left for school, and the old lady to call on Mrs. Harper\nand vanquish her realism with Tom's marvellous dream. Sid had better\njudgment than to utter the thought that was in his mind as he left the\nhouse. It was this: \"Pretty thin--as long a dream as that, without any\nmistakes in it!\"\n\nWhat a hero Tom was become, now! He did not go skipping and prancing,\nbut moved with a dignified swagger as became a pirate who felt that the\npublic eye was on him. And indeed it was; he tried not to seem to see\nthe looks or hear the remarks as he passed along, but they were food and\ndrink to him. Smaller boys than himself flocked at his heels, as proud\nto be seen with him, and tolerated by him, as if he had been the drummer\nat the head of a procession or the elephant leading a menagerie into\ntown. Boys of his own size pretended not to know he had been away at\nall; but they were consuming with envy, nevertheless. They would have\ngiven anything to have that swarthy sun-tanned skin of his, and his\nglittering notoriety; and Tom would not have parted with either for a\ncircus.\n\nAt school the children made so much of him and of Joe, and delivered\nsuch eloquent admiration from their eyes, that the two heroes were\nnot long in becoming insufferably \"stuck-up.\" They began to tell their\nadventures to hungry listeners--but they only began; it was not a\nthing likely to have an end, with imaginations like theirs to furnish\nmaterial. And finally, when they got out their pipes and went serenely\npuffing around, the very summit of glory was reached.\n\nTom decided that he could be independent of Becky Thatcher now. Glory\nwas sufficient. He would live for glory. Now that he was distinguished,\nmaybe she would be wanting to \"make up.\" Well, let her--she should see\nthat he could be as indifferent as some other people. Presently she\narrived. Tom pretended not to see her. He moved away and joined a group\nof boys and girls and began to talk. Soon he observed that she was\ntripping gayly back and forth with flushed face and dancing eyes,\npretending to be busy chasing schoolmates, and screaming with laughter\nwhen she made a capture; but he noticed that she always made her\ncaptures in his vicinity, and that she seemed to cast a conscious eye\nin his direction at such times, too. It gratified all the vicious vanity\nthat was in him; and so, instead of winning him, it only \"set him up\"\nthe more and made him the more diligent to avoid betraying that he\nknew she was about. Presently she gave over skylarking, and moved\nirresolutely about, sighing once or twice and glancing furtively and\nwistfully toward Tom. Then she observed that now Tom was talking more\nparticularly to Amy Lawrence than to any one else. She felt a sharp pang\nand grew disturbed and uneasy at once. She tried to go away, but her\nfeet were treacherous, and carried her to the group instead. She said to\na girl almost at Tom's elbow--with sham vivacity:\n\n\"Why, Mary Austin! you bad girl, why didn't you come to Sunday-school?\"\n\n\"I did come--didn't you see me?\"\n\n\"Why, no! Did you? Where did you sit?\"\n\n\"I was in Miss Peters' class, where I always go. I saw _you_.\"\n\n\"Did you? Why, it's funny I didn't see you. I wanted to tell you about\nthe picnic.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's jolly. Who's going to give it?\"\n\n\"My ma's going to let me have one.\"\n\n\"Oh, goody; I hope she'll let _me_ come.\"\n\n\"Well, she will. The picnic's for me. She'll let anybody come that I\nwant, and I want you.\"\n\n\"That's ever so nice. When is it going to be?\"\n\n\"By and by. Maybe about vacation.\"\n\n\"Oh, won't it be fun! You going to have all the girls and boys?\"\n\n\"Yes, every one that's friends to me--or wants to be\"; and she glanced\never so furtively at Tom, but he talked right along to Amy Lawrence\nabout the terrible storm on the island, and how the lightning tore the\ngreat sycamore tree \"all to flinders\" while he was \"standing within\nthree feet of it.\"\n\n\"Oh, may I come?\" said Grace Miller.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And me?\" said Sally Rogers.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And me, too?\" said Susy Harper. \"And Joe?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nAnd so on, with clapping of joyful hands till all the group had begged\nfor invitations but Tom and Amy. Then Tom turned coolly away, still\ntalking, and took Amy with him. Becky's lips trembled and the tears\ncame to her eyes; she hid these signs with a forced gayety and went on\nchattering, but the life had gone out of the picnic, now, and out of\neverything else; she got away as soon as she could and hid herself and\nhad what her sex call \"a good cry.\" Then she sat moody, with wounded\npride, till the bell rang. She roused up, now, with a vindictive cast\nin her eye, and gave her plaited tails a shake and said she knew what\n_she'd_ do.\n\nAt recess Tom continued his flirtation with Amy with jubilant\nself-satisfaction. And he kept drifting about to find Becky and lacerate\nher with the performance. At last he spied her, but there was a sudden\nfalling of his mercury. She was sitting cosily on a little bench behind\nthe schoolhouse looking at a picture-book with Alfred Temple--and so\nabsorbed were they, and their heads so close together over the book,\nthat they did not seem to be conscious of anything in the world besides.\nJealousy ran red-hot through Tom's veins. He began to hate himself for\nthrowing away the chance Becky had offered for a reconciliation. He\ncalled himself a fool, and all the hard names he could think of. He\nwanted to cry with vexation. Amy chatted happily along, as they walked,\nfor her heart was singing, but Tom's tongue had lost its function. He\ndid not hear what Amy was saying, and whenever she paused expectantly\nhe could only stammer an awkward assent, which was as often misplaced\nas otherwise. He kept drifting to the rear of the schoolhouse, again and\nagain, to sear his eyeballs with the hateful spectacle there. He could\nnot help it. And it maddened him to see, as he thought he saw, that\nBecky Thatcher never once suspected that he was even in the land of the\nliving. But she did see, nevertheless; and she knew she was winning her\nfight, too, and was glad to see him suffer as she had suffered.\n\nAmy's happy prattle became intolerable. Tom hinted at things he had\nto attend to; things that must be done; and time was fleeting. But in\nvain--the girl chirped on. Tom thought, \"Oh, hang her, ain't I ever going\nto get rid of her?\" At last he must be attending to those things--and she\nsaid artlessly that she would be \"around\" when school let out. And he\nhastened away, hating her for it.\n\n\"Any other boy!\" Tom thought, grating his teeth. \"Any boy in the whole\ntown but that Saint Louis smarty that thinks he dresses so fine and is\naristocracy! Oh, all right, I licked you the first day you ever saw this\ntown, mister, and I'll lick you again! You just wait till I catch you\nout! I'll just take and--\"\n\nAnd he went through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy--pummelling\nthe air, and kicking and gouging. \"Oh, you do, do you? You holler\n'nough, do you? Now, then, let that learn you!\" And so the imaginary\nflogging was finished to his satisfaction.\n\nTom fled home at noon. His conscience could not endure any more of Amy's\ngrateful happiness, and his jealousy could bear no more of the other\ndistress. Becky resumed her picture inspections with Alfred, but as the\nminutes dragged along and no Tom came to suffer, her triumph began to\ncloud and she lost interest; gravity and absentmindedness followed,\nand then melancholy; two or three times she pricked up her ear at\na footstep, but it was a false hope; no Tom came. At last she grew\nentirely miserable and wished she hadn't carried it so far. When\npoor Alfred, seeing that he was losing her, he did not know how, kept\nexclaiming: \"Oh, here's a jolly one! look at this!\" she lost patience at\nlast, and said, \"Oh, don't bother me! I don't care for them!\" and burst\ninto tears, and got up and walked away.\n\nAlfred dropped alongside and was going to try to comfort her, but she\nsaid:\n\n\"Go away and leave me alone, can't you! I hate you!\"\n\nSo the boy halted, wondering what he could have done--for she had said\nshe would look at pictures all through the nooning--and she walked on,\ncrying. Then Alfred went musing into the deserted schoolhouse. He was\nhumiliated and angry. He easily guessed his way to the truth--the girl\nhad simply made a convenience of him to vent her spite upon Tom Sawyer.\nHe was far from hating Tom the less when this thought occurred to him.\nHe wished there was some way to get that boy into trouble without much\nrisk to himself. Tom's spelling-book fell under his eye. Here was his\nopportunity. He gratefully opened to the lesson for the afternoon and\npoured ink upon the page.\n\nBecky, glancing in at a window behind him at the moment, saw the act,\nand moved on, without discovering herself. She started homeward, now,\nintending to find Tom and tell him; Tom would be thankful and their\ntroubles would be healed. Before she was half way home, however, she\nhad changed her mind. The thought of Tom's treatment of her when she was\ntalking about her picnic came scorching back and filled her with shame.\nShe resolved to let him get whipped on the damaged spelling-book's\naccount, and to hate him forever, into the bargain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTOM arrived at home in a dreary mood, and the first thing his aunt said\nto him showed him that he had brought his sorrows to an unpromising\nmarket:\n\n\"Tom, I've a notion to skin you alive!\"\n\n\"Auntie, what have I done?\"\n\n\"Well, you've done enough. Here I go over to Sereny Harper, like an old\nsofty, expecting I'm going to make her believe all that rubbage about\nthat dream, when lo and behold you she'd found out from Joe that you was\nover here and heard all the talk we had that night. Tom, I don't know\nwhat is to become of a boy that will act like that. It makes me feel so\nbad to think you could let me go to Sereny Harper and make such a fool\nof myself and never say a word.\"\n\nThis was a new aspect of the thing. His smartness of the morning had\nseemed to Tom a good joke before, and very ingenious. It merely looked\nmean and shabby now. He hung his head and could not think of anything to\nsay for a moment. Then he said:\n\n\"Auntie, I wish I hadn't done it--but I didn't think.\"\n\n\"Oh, child, you never think. You never think of anything but your\nown selfishness. You could think to come all the way over here from\nJackson's Island in the night to laugh at our troubles, and you could\nthink to fool me with a lie about a dream; but you couldn't ever think\nto pity us and save us from sorrow.\"\n\n\"Auntie, I know now it was mean, but I didn't mean to be mean. I didn't,\nhonest. And besides, I didn't come over here to laugh at you that\nnight.\"\n\n\"What did you come for, then?\"\n\n\"It was to tell you not to be uneasy about us, because we hadn't got\ndrownded.\"\n\n\"Tom, Tom, I would be the thankfullest soul in this world if I could\nbelieve you ever had as good a thought as that, but you know you never\ndid--and I know it, Tom.\"\n\n\"Indeed and 'deed I did, auntie--I wish I may never stir if I didn't.\"\n\n\"Oh, Tom, don't lie--don't do it. It only makes things a hundred times\nworse.\"\n\n\"It ain't a lie, auntie; it's the truth. I wanted to keep you from\ngrieving--that was all that made me come.\"\n\n\"I'd give the whole world to believe that--it would cover up a power\nof sins, Tom. I'd 'most be glad you'd run off and acted so bad. But it\nain't reasonable; because, why didn't you tell me, child?\"\n\n\"Why, you see, when you got to talking about the funeral, I just got all\nfull of the idea of our coming and hiding in the church, and I couldn't\nsomehow bear to spoil it. So I just put the bark back in my pocket and\nkept mum.\"\n\n\"What bark?\"\n\n\"The bark I had wrote on to tell you we'd gone pirating. I wish, now,\nyou'd waked up when I kissed you--I do, honest.\"\n\nThe hard lines in his aunt's face relaxed and a sudden tenderness dawned\nin her eyes.\n\n\"_Did_ you kiss me, Tom?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I did.\"\n\n\"Are you sure you did, Tom?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I did, auntie--certain sure.\"\n\n\"What did you kiss me for, Tom?\"\n\n\"Because I loved you so, and you laid there moaning and I was so sorry.\"\n\nThe words sounded like truth. The old lady could not hide a tremor in\nher voice when she said:\n\n\"Kiss me again, Tom!--and be off with you to school, now, and don't\nbother me any more.\"\n\nThe moment he was gone, she ran to a closet and got out the ruin of a\njacket which Tom had gone pirating in. Then she stopped, with it in her\nhand, and said to herself:\n\n\"No, I don't dare. Poor boy, I reckon he's lied about it--but it's a\nblessed, blessed lie, there's such a comfort come from it. I hope\nthe Lord--I _know_ the Lord will forgive him, because it was such\ngood-heartedness in him to tell it. But I don't want to find out it's a\nlie. I won't look.\"\n\nShe put the jacket away, and stood by musing a minute. Twice she put out\nher hand to take the garment again, and twice she refrained. Once more\nshe ventured, and this time she fortified herself with the thought:\n\"It's a good lie--it's a good lie--I won't let it grieve me.\" So she\nsought the jacket pocket. A moment later she was reading Tom's piece of\nbark through flowing tears and saying: \"I could forgive the boy, now, if\nhe'd committed a million sins!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nTHERE was something about Aunt Polly's manner, when she kissed Tom, that\nswept away his low spirits and made him lighthearted and happy again. He\nstarted to school and had the luck of coming upon Becky Thatcher at the\nhead of Meadow Lane. His mood always determined his manner. Without a\nmoment's hesitation he ran to her and said:\n\n\"I acted mighty mean today, Becky, and I'm so sorry. I won't ever, ever\ndo that way again, as long as ever I live--please make up, won't you?\"\n\nThe girl stopped and looked him scornfully in the face:\n\n\"I'll thank you to keep yourself _to_ yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer. I'll\nnever speak to you again.\"\n\nShe tossed her head and passed on. Tom was so stunned that he had not\neven presence of mind enough to say \"Who cares, Miss Smarty?\" until the\nright time to say it had gone by. So he said nothing. But he was in a\nfine rage, nevertheless. He moped into the schoolyard wishing she were\na boy, and imagining how he would trounce her if she were. He presently\nencountered her and delivered a stinging remark as he passed. She hurled\none in return, and the angry breach was complete. It seemed to Becky, in\nher hot resentment, that she could hardly wait for school to \"take in,\"\nshe was so impatient to see Tom flogged for the injured spelling-book.\nIf she had had any lingering notion of exposing Alfred Temple, Tom's\noffensive fling had driven it entirely away.\n\nPoor girl, she did not know how fast she was nearing trouble herself.\nThe master, Mr. Dobbins, had reached middle age with an unsatisfied\nambition. The darling of his desires was, to be a doctor, but\npoverty had decreed that he should be nothing higher than a village\nschoolmaster. Every day he took a mysterious book out of his desk and\nabsorbed himself in it at times when no classes were reciting. He kept\nthat book under lock and key. There was not an urchin in school but was\nperishing to have a glimpse of it, but the chance never came. Every boy\nand girl had a theory about the nature of that book; but no two theories\nwere alike, and there was no way of getting at the facts in the case.\nNow, as Becky was passing by the desk, which stood near the door, she\nnoticed that the key was in the lock! It was a precious moment. She\nglanced around; found herself alone, and the next instant she had the\nbook in her hands. The titlepage--Professor Somebody's _Anatomy_--carried\nno information to her mind; so she began to turn the leaves. She came at\nonce upon a handsomely engraved and colored frontispiece--a human figure,\nstark naked. At that moment a shadow fell on the page and Tom Sawyer\nstepped in at the door and caught a glimpse of the picture. Becky\nsnatched at the book to close it, and had the hard luck to tear the\npictured page half down the middle. She thrust the volume into the desk,\nturned the key, and burst out crying with shame and vexation.\n\n\"Tom Sawyer, you are just as mean as you can be, to sneak up on a person\nand look at what they're looking at.\"\n\n\"How could I know you was looking at anything?\"\n\n\"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tom Sawyer; you know you're\ngoing to tell on me, and oh, what shall I do, what shall I do! I'll be\nwhipped, and I never was whipped in school.\"\n\nThen she stamped her little foot and said:\n\n\"_Be_ so mean if you want to! I know something that's going to happen.\nYou just wait and you'll see! Hateful, hateful, hateful!\"--and she flung\nout of the house with a new explosion of crying.\n\nTom stood still, rather flustered by this onslaught. Presently he said\nto himself:\n\n\"What a curious kind of a fool a girl is! Never been licked in\nschool! Shucks! What's a licking! That's just like a girl--they're so\nthin-skinned and chicken-hearted. Well, of course I ain't going to tell\nold Dobbins on this little fool, because there's other ways of getting\neven on her, that ain't so mean; but what of it? Old Dobbins will ask\nwho it was tore his book. Nobody'll answer. Then he'll do just the way\nhe always does--ask first one and then t'other, and when he comes to the\nright girl he'll know it, without any telling. Girls' faces always tell\non them. They ain't got any backbone. She'll get licked. Well, it's a\nkind of a tight place for Becky Thatcher, because there ain't any way\nout of it.\" Tom conned the thing a moment longer, and then added: \"All\nright, though; she'd like to see me in just such a fix--let her sweat it\nout!\"\n\nTom joined the mob of skylarking scholars outside. In a few moments the\nmaster arrived and school \"took in.\" Tom did not feel a strong interest\nin his studies. Every time he stole a glance at the girls' side of the\nroom Becky's face troubled him. Considering all things, he did not want\nto pity her, and yet it was all he could do to help it. He could get\nup no exultation that was really worthy the name. Presently the\nspelling-book discovery was made, and Tom's mind was entirely full\nof his own matters for a while after that. Becky roused up from her\nlethargy of distress and showed good interest in the proceedings. She\ndid not expect that Tom could get out of his trouble by denying that he\nspilt the ink on the book himself; and she was right. The denial only\nseemed to make the thing worse for Tom. Becky supposed she would be glad\nof that, and she tried to believe she was glad of it, but she found she\nwas not certain. When the worst came to the worst, she had an impulse\nto get up and tell on Alfred Temple, but she made an effort and forced\nherself to keep still--because, said she to herself, \"he'll tell about me\ntearing the picture sure. I wouldn't say a word, not to save his life!\"\n\nTom took his whipping and went back to his seat not at all\nbroken-hearted, for he thought it was possible that he had unknowingly\nupset the ink on the spelling-book himself, in some skylarking bout--he\nhad denied it for form's sake and because it was custom, and had stuck\nto the denial from principle.\n\nA whole hour drifted by, the master sat nodding in his throne, the air\nwas drowsy with the hum of study. By and by, Mr. Dobbins straightened\nhimself up, yawned, then unlocked his desk, and reached for his book,\nbut seemed undecided whether to take it out or leave it. Most of the\npupils glanced up languidly, but there were two among them that watched\nhis movements with intent eyes. Mr. Dobbins fingered his book absently\nfor a while, then took it out and settled himself in his chair to read!\nTom shot a glance at Becky. He had seen a hunted and helpless rabbit\nlook as she did, with a gun levelled at its head. Instantly he forgot\nhis quarrel with her. Quick--something must be done! done in a flash,\ntoo! But the very imminence of the emergency paralyzed his invention.\nGood!--he had an inspiration! He would run and snatch the book, spring\nthrough the door and fly. But his resolution shook for one little\ninstant, and the chance was lost--the master opened the volume. If Tom\nonly had the wasted opportunity back again! Too late. There was no help\nfor Becky now, he said. The next moment the master faced the school.\nEvery eye sank under his gaze. There was that in it which smote even\nthe innocent with fear. There was silence while one might count ten--the\nmaster was gathering his wrath. Then he spoke: \"Who tore this book?\"\n\nThere was not a sound. One could have heard a pin drop. The stillness\ncontinued; the master searched face after face for signs of guilt.\n\n\"Benjamin Rogers, did you tear this book?\"\n\nA denial. Another pause.\n\n\"Joseph Harper, did you?\"\n\nAnother denial. Tom's uneasiness grew more and more intense under the\nslow torture of these proceedings. The master scanned the ranks of\nboys--considered a while, then turned to the girls:\n\n\"Amy Lawrence?\"\n\nA shake of the head.\n\n\"Gracie Miller?\"\n\nThe same sign.\n\n\"Susan Harper, did you do this?\"\n\nAnother negative. The next girl was Becky Thatcher. Tom was trembling\nfrom head to foot with excitement and a sense of the hopelessness of the\nsituation.\n\n\"Rebecca Thatcher\" [Tom glanced at her face--it was white with\nterror]--\"did you tear--no, look me in the face\" [her hands rose in\nappeal]--\"did you tear this book?\"\n\nA thought shot like lightning through Tom's brain. He sprang to his feet\nand shouted--\"I done it!\"\n\nThe school stared in perplexity at this incredible folly. Tom stood a\nmoment, to gather his dismembered faculties; and when he stepped forward\nto go to his punishment the surprise, the gratitude, the adoration that\nshone upon him out of poor Becky's eyes seemed pay enough for a hundred\nfloggings. Inspired by the splendor of his own act, he took without\nan outcry the most merciless flaying that even Mr. Dobbins had ever\nadministered; and also received with indifference the added cruelty of a\ncommand to remain two hours after school should be dismissed--for he\nknew who would wait for him outside till his captivity was done, and not\ncount the tedious time as loss, either.\n\nTom went to bed that night planning vengeance against Alfred Temple; for\nwith shame and repentance Becky had told him all, not forgetting her own\ntreachery; but even the longing for vengeance had to give way, soon, to\npleasanter musings, and he fell asleep at last with Becky's latest words\nlingering dreamily in his ear--\n\n\"Tom, how _could_ you be so noble!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nVACATION was approaching. The schoolmaster, always severe, grew severer\nand more exacting than ever, for he wanted the school to make a good\nshowing on \"Examination\" day. His rod and his ferule were seldom idle\nnow--at least among the smaller pupils. Only the biggest boys, and young\nladies of eighteen and twenty, escaped lashing. Mr. Dobbins' lashings\nwere very vigorous ones, too; for although he carried, under his wig, a\nperfectly bald and shiny head, he had only reached middle age, and there\nwas no sign of feebleness in his muscle. As the great day approached,\nall the tyranny that was in him came to the surface; he seemed to take a\nvindictive pleasure in punishing the least shortcomings. The consequence\nwas, that the smaller boys spent their days in terror and suffering and\ntheir nights in plotting revenge. They threw away no opportunity to do\nthe master a mischief. But he kept ahead all the time. The retribution\nthat followed every vengeful success was so sweeping and majestic that\nthe boys always retired from the field badly worsted. At last they\nconspired together and hit upon a plan that promised a dazzling victory.\nThey swore in the signpainter's boy, told him the scheme, and asked his\nhelp. He had his own reasons for being delighted, for the master boarded\nin his father's family and had given the boy ample cause to hate him.\nThe master's wife would go on a visit to the country in a few days, and\nthere would be nothing to interfere with the plan; the master always\nprepared himself for great occasions by getting pretty well fuddled, and\nthe signpainter's boy said that when the dominie had reached the proper\ncondition on Examination Evening he would \"manage the thing\" while he\nnapped in his chair; then he would have him awakened at the right time\nand hurried away to school.\n\nIn the fulness of time the interesting occasion arrived. At eight in\nthe evening the schoolhouse was brilliantly lighted, and adorned with\nwreaths and festoons of foliage and flowers. The master sat throned in\nhis great chair upon a raised platform, with his blackboard behind him.\nHe was looking tolerably mellow. Three rows of benches on each side and\nsix rows in front of him were occupied by the dignitaries of the town\nand by the parents of the pupils. To his left, back of the rows of\ncitizens, was a spacious temporary platform upon which were seated the\nscholars who were to take part in the exercises of the evening; rows of\nsmall boys, washed and dressed to an intolerable state of discomfort;\nrows of gawky big boys; snowbanks of girls and young ladies clad in\nlawn and muslin and conspicuously conscious of their bare arms, their\ngrandmothers' ancient trinkets, their bits of pink and blue ribbon and\nthe flowers in their hair. All the rest of the house was filled with\nnon-participating scholars.\n\nThe exercises began. A very little boy stood up and sheepishly recited,\n\"You'd scarce expect one of my age to speak in public on the stage,\"\netc.--accompanying himself with the painfully exact and spasmodic\ngestures which a machine might have used--supposing the machine to be a\ntrifle out of order. But he got through safely, though cruelly scared,\nand got a fine round of applause when he made his manufactured bow and\nretired.\n\nA little shamefaced girl lisped, \"Mary had a little lamb,\" etc.,\nperformed a compassion-inspiring curtsy, got her meed of applause, and\nsat down flushed and happy.\n\nTom Sawyer stepped forward with conceited confidence and soared into\nthe unquenchable and indestructible \"Give me liberty or give me death\"\nspeech, with fine fury and frantic gesticulation, and broke down in the\nmiddle of it. A ghastly stage-fright seized him, his legs quaked under\nhim and he was like to choke. True, he had the manifest sympathy of the\nhouse but he had the house's silence, too, which was even worse than\nits sympathy. The master frowned, and this completed the disaster. Tom\nstruggled awhile and then retired, utterly defeated. There was a weak\nattempt at applause, but it died early.\n\n\"The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck\" followed; also \"The Assyrian Came\nDown,\" and other declamatory gems. Then there were reading exercises,\nand a spelling fight. The meagre Latin class recited with honor. The\nprime feature of the evening was in order, now--original \"compositions\"\nby the young ladies. Each in her turn stepped forward to the edge of the\nplatform, cleared her throat, held up her manuscript (tied with dainty\nribbon), and proceeded to read, with labored attention to \"expression\"\nand punctuation. The themes were the same that had been illuminated upon\nsimilar occasions by their mothers before them, their grandmothers,\nand doubtless all their ancestors in the female line clear back to the\nCrusades. \"Friendship\" was one; \"Memories of Other Days\"; \"Religion in\nHistory\"; \"Dream Land\"; \"The Advantages of Culture\"; \"Forms of Political\nGovernment Compared and Contrasted\"; \"Melancholy\"; \"Filial Love\"; \"Heart\nLongings,\" etc., etc.\n\nA prevalent feature in these compositions was a nursed and petted\nmelancholy; another was a wasteful and opulent gush of \"fine language\";\nanother was a tendency to lug in by the ears particularly prized words\nand phrases until they were worn entirely out; and a peculiarity that\nconspicuously marked and marred them was the inveterate and intolerable\nsermon that wagged its crippled tail at the end of each and every one\nof them. No matter what the subject might be, a brainracking effort was\nmade to squirm it into some aspect or other that the moral and religious\nmind could contemplate with edification. The glaring insincerity of\nthese sermons was not sufficient to compass the banishment of the\nfashion from the schools, and it is not sufficient today; it never will\nbe sufficient while the world stands, perhaps. There is no school in\nall our land where the young ladies do not feel obliged to close their\ncompositions with a sermon; and you will find that the sermon of the\nmost frivolous and the least religious girl in the school is always\nthe longest and the most relentlessly pious. But enough of this. Homely\ntruth is unpalatable.\n\nLet us return to the \"Examination.\" The first composition that was read\nwas one entitled \"Is this, then, Life?\" Perhaps the reader can endure an\nextract from it:\n\n\"In the common walks of life, with what delightful emotions does the\nyouthful mind look forward to some anticipated scene of festivity!\nImagination is busy sketching rose-tinted pictures of joy. In fancy, the\nvoluptuous votary of fashion sees herself amid the festive throng, 'the\nobserved of all observers.' Her graceful form, arrayed in snowy robes,\nis whirling through the mazes of the joyous dance; her eye is brightest,\nher step is lightest in the gay assembly.\n\n\"In such delicious fancies time quickly glides by, and the welcome hour\narrives for her entrance into the Elysian world, of which she has\nhad such bright dreams. How fairy-like does everything appear to her\nenchanted vision! Each new scene is more charming than the last. But\nafter a while she finds that beneath this goodly exterior, all is\nvanity, the flattery which once charmed her soul, now grates harshly\nupon her ear; the ballroom has lost its charms; and with wasted health\nand imbittered heart, she turns away with the conviction that earthly\npleasures cannot satisfy the longings of the soul!\"\n\nAnd so forth and so on. There was a buzz of gratification from time to\ntime during the reading, accompanied by whispered ejaculations of \"How\nsweet!\" \"How eloquent!\" \"So true!\" etc., and after the thing had closed\nwith a peculiarly afflicting sermon the applause was enthusiastic.\n\nThen arose a slim, melancholy girl, whose face had the \"interesting\"\npaleness that comes of pills and indigestion, and read a \"poem.\" Two\nstanzas of it will do:\n\n\"A MISSOURI MAIDEN'S FAREWELL TO ALABAMA\n\n\"Alabama, goodbye! I love thee well! But yet for a while do I leave thee\nnow! Sad, yes, sad thoughts of thee my heart doth swell, And burning\nrecollections throng my brow! For I have wandered through thy flowery\nwoods; Have roamed and read near Tallapoosa's stream; Have listened to\nTallassee's warring floods, And wooed on Coosa's side Aurora's beam.\n\n\"Yet shame I not to bear an o'erfull heart, Nor blush to turn behind\nmy tearful eyes; 'Tis from no stranger land I now must part, 'Tis to no\nstrangers left I yield these sighs. Welcome and home were mine within\nthis State, Whose vales I leave--whose spires fade fast from me And cold\nmust be mine eyes, and heart, and tete, When, dear Alabama! they turn\ncold on thee!\" There were very few there who knew what \"tete\" meant, but\nthe poem was very satisfactory, nevertheless.\n\nNext appeared a dark-complexioned, black-eyed, black-haired young lady,\nwho paused an impressive moment, assumed a tragic expression, and began\nto read in a measured, solemn tone:\n\n\"A VISION\n\n\"Dark and tempestuous was night. Around the throne on high not a single\nstar quivered; but the deep intonations of the heavy thunder constantly\nvibrated upon the ear; whilst the terrific lightning revelled in angry\nmood through the cloudy chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn the power\nexerted over its terror by the illustrious Franklin! Even the boisterous\nwinds unanimously came forth from their mystic homes, and blustered\nabout as if to enhance by their aid the wildness of the scene.\n\n\"At such a time, so dark, so dreary, for human sympathy my very spirit\nsighed; but instead thereof,\n\n\"'My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide--My joy in\ngrief, my second bliss in joy,' came to my side. She moved like one of\nthose bright beings pictured in the sunny walks of fancy's Eden by\nthe romantic and young, a queen of beauty unadorned save by her own\ntranscendent loveliness. So soft was her step, it failed to make even a\nsound, and but for the magical thrill imparted by her genial touch,\nas other unobtrusive beauties, she would have glided away\nunperceived--unsought. A strange sadness rested upon her features, like\nicy tears upon the robe of December, as she pointed to the contending\nelements without, and bade me contemplate the two beings presented.\"\n\nThis nightmare occupied some ten pages of manuscript and wound up with a\nsermon so destructive of all hope to non-Presbyterians that it took\nthe first prize. This composition was considered to be the very finest\neffort of the evening. The mayor of the village, in delivering the prize\nto the author of it, made a warm speech in which he said that it was by\nfar the most \"eloquent\" thing he had ever listened to, and that Daniel\nWebster himself might well be proud of it.\n\nIt may be remarked, in passing, that the number of compositions in which\nthe word \"beauteous\" was over-fondled, and human experience referred to\nas \"life's page,\" was up to the usual average.\n\nNow the master, mellow almost to the verge of geniality, put his chair\naside, turned his back to the audience, and began to draw a map of\nAmerica on the blackboard, to exercise the geography class upon. But he\nmade a sad business of it with his unsteady hand, and a smothered titter\nrippled over the house. He knew what the matter was, and set himself to\nright it. He sponged out lines and remade them; but he only distorted\nthem more than ever, and the tittering was more pronounced. He threw his\nentire attention upon his work, now, as if determined not to be put down\nby the mirth. He felt that all eyes were fastened upon him; he imagined\nhe was succeeding, and yet the tittering continued; it even manifestly\nincreased. And well it might. There was a garret above, pierced with\na scuttle over his head; and down through this scuttle came a cat,\nsuspended around the haunches by a string; she had a rag tied about\nher head and jaws to keep her from mewing; as she slowly descended she\ncurved upward and clawed at the string, she swung downward and clawed\nat the intangible air. The tittering rose higher and higher--the cat was\nwithin six inches of the absorbed teacher's head--down, down, a little\nlower, and she grabbed his wig with her desperate claws, clung to it,\nand was snatched up into the garret in an instant with her trophy still\nin her possession! And how the light did blaze abroad from the master's\nbald pate--for the signpainter's boy had _gilded_ it!\n\nThat broke up the meeting. The boys were avenged. Vacation had come.\n\nNOTE:--The pretended \"compositions\" quoted in this chapter are taken\nwithout alteration from a volume entitled \"Prose and Poetry, by a\nWestern Lady\"--but they are exactly and precisely after the schoolgirl\npattern, and hence are much happier than any mere imitations could be.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTOM joined the new order of Cadets of Temperance, being attracted by the\nshowy character of their \"regalia.\" He promised to abstain from smoking,\nchewing, and profanity as long as he remained a member. Now he found out\na new thing--namely, that to promise not to do a thing is the surest way\nin the world to make a body want to go and do that very thing. Tom soon\nfound himself tormented with a desire to drink and swear; the desire\ngrew to be so intense that nothing but the hope of a chance to display\nhimself in his red sash kept him from withdrawing from the order. Fourth\nof July was coming; but he soon gave that up--gave it up before he had\nworn his shackles over forty-eight hours--and fixed his hopes upon old\nJudge Frazer, justice of the peace, who was apparently on his deathbed\nand would have a big public funeral, since he was so high an official.\nDuring three days Tom was deeply concerned about the Judge's condition\nand hungry for news of it. Sometimes his hopes ran high--so high that\nhe would venture to get out his regalia and practise before the\nlooking-glass. But the Judge had a most discouraging way of fluctuating.\nAt last he was pronounced upon the mend--and then convalescent. Tom was\ndisgusted; and felt a sense of injury, too. He handed in his resignation\nat once--and that night the Judge suffered a relapse and died. Tom\nresolved that he would never trust a man like that again.\n\nThe funeral was a fine thing. The Cadets paraded in a style calculated\nto kill the late member with envy. Tom was a free boy again,\nhowever--there was something in that. He could drink and swear, now--but\nfound to his surprise that he did not want to. The simple fact that he\ncould, took the desire away, and the charm of it.\n\nTom presently wondered to find that his coveted vacation was beginning\nto hang a little heavily on his hands.\n\nHe attempted a diary--but nothing happened during three days, and so he\nabandoned it.\n\nThe first of all the negro minstrel shows came to town, and made a\nsensation. Tom and Joe Harper got up a band of performers and were happy\nfor two days.\n\nEven the Glorious Fourth was in some sense a failure, for it rained\nhard, there was no procession in consequence, and the greatest man\nin the world (as Tom supposed), Mr. Benton, an actual United States\nSenator, proved an overwhelming disappointment--for he was not\ntwenty-five feet high, nor even anywhere in the neighborhood of it.\n\nA circus came. The boys played circus for three days afterward in tents\nmade of rag carpeting--admission, three pins for boys, two for girls--and\nthen circusing was abandoned.\n\nA phrenologist and a mesmerizer came--and went again and left the village\nduller and drearier than ever.\n\nThere were some boys-and-girls' parties, but they were so few and so\ndelightful that they only made the aching voids between ache the harder.\n\nBecky Thatcher was gone to her Constantinople home to stay with her\nparents during vacation--so there was no bright side to life anywhere.\n\nThe dreadful secret of the murder was a chronic misery. It was a very\ncancer for permanency and pain.\n\nThen came the measles.\n\nDuring two long weeks Tom lay a prisoner, dead to the world and its\nhappenings. He was very ill, he was interested in nothing. When he got\nupon his feet at last and moved feebly downtown, a melancholy change had\ncome over everything and every creature. There had been a \"revival,\" and\neverybody had \"got religion,\" not only the adults, but even the boys and\ngirls. Tom went about, hoping against hope for the sight of one blessed\nsinful face, but disappointment crossed him everywhere. He found Joe\nHarper studying a Testament, and turned sadly away from the depressing\nspectacle. He sought Ben Rogers, and found him visiting the poor with a\nbasket of tracts. He hunted up Jim Hollis, who called his attention to\nthe precious blessing of his late measles as a warning. Every boy\nhe encountered added another ton to his depression; and when, in\ndesperation, he flew for refuge at last to the bosom of Huckleberry Finn\nand was received with a Scriptural quotation, his heart broke and he\ncrept home and to bed realizing that he alone of all the town was lost,\nforever and forever.\n\nAnd that night there came on a terrific storm, with driving rain, awful\nclaps of thunder and blinding sheets of lightning. He covered his head\nwith the bedclothes and waited in a horror of suspense for his doom; for\nhe had not the shadow of a doubt that all this hubbub was about him.\nHe believed he had taxed the forbearance of the powers above to the\nextremity of endurance and that this was the result. It might have\nseemed to him a waste of pomp and ammunition to kill a bug with a\nbattery of artillery, but there seemed nothing incongruous about the\ngetting up such an expensive thunderstorm as this to knock the turf from\nunder an insect like himself.\n\nBy and by the tempest spent itself and died without accomplishing its\nobject. The boy's first impulse was to be grateful, and reform. His\nsecond was to wait--for there might not be any more storms.\n\nThe next day the doctors were back; Tom had relapsed. The three weeks he\nspent on his back this time seemed an entire age. When he got abroad\nat last he was hardly grateful that he had been spared, remembering how\nlonely was his estate, how companionless and forlorn he was. He drifted\nlistlessly down the street and found Jim Hollis acting as judge in a\njuvenile court that was trying a cat for murder, in the presence of her\nvictim, a bird. He found Joe Harper and Huck Finn up an alley eating a\nstolen melon. Poor lads! they--like Tom--had suffered a relapse.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nAT last the sleepy atmosphere was stirred--and vigorously: the murder\ntrial came on in the court. It became the absorbing topic of village\ntalk immediately. Tom could not get away from it. Every reference to\nthe murder sent a shudder to his heart, for his troubled conscience\nand fears almost persuaded him that these remarks were put forth in\nhis hearing as \"feelers\"; he did not see how he could be suspected of\nknowing anything about the murder, but still he could not be comfortable\nin the midst of this gossip. It kept him in a cold shiver all the time.\nHe took Huck to a lonely place to have a talk with him. It would be some\nrelief to unseal his tongue for a little while; to divide his burden of\ndistress with another sufferer. Moreover, he wanted to assure himself\nthat Huck had remained discreet.\n\n\"Huck, have you ever told anybody about--that?\"\n\n\"'Bout what?\"\n\n\"You know what.\"\n\n\"Oh--'course I haven't.\"\n\n\"Never a word?\"\n\n\"Never a solitary word, so help me. What makes you ask?\"\n\n\"Well, I was afeard.\"\n\n\"Why, Tom Sawyer, we wouldn't be alive two days if that got found out.\n_You_ know that.\"\n\nTom felt more comfortable. After a pause:\n\n\"Huck, they couldn't anybody get you to tell, could they?\"\n\n\"Get me to tell? Why, if I wanted that halfbreed devil to drownd me they\ncould get me to tell. They ain't no different way.\"\n\n\"Well, that's all right, then. I reckon we're safe as long as we keep\nmum. But let's swear again, anyway. It's more surer.\"\n\n\"I'm agreed.\"\n\nSo they swore again with dread solemnities.\n\n\"What is the talk around, Huck? I've heard a power of it.\"\n\n\"Talk? Well, it's just Muff Potter, Muff Potter, Muff Potter all the\ntime. It keeps me in a sweat, constant, so's I want to hide som'ers.\"\n\n\"That's just the same way they go on round me. I reckon he's a goner.\nDon't you feel sorry for him, sometimes?\"\n\n\"Most always--most always. He ain't no account; but then he hain't ever\ndone anything to hurt anybody. Just fishes a little, to get money to\nget drunk on--and loafs around considerable; but lord, we all do\nthat--leastways most of us--preachers and such like. But he's kind of\ngood--he give me half a fish, once, when there warn't enough for two; and\nlots of times he's kind of stood by me when I was out of luck.\"\n\n\"Well, he's mended kites for me, Huck, and knitted hooks on to my line.\nI wish we could get him out of there.\"\n\n\"My! we couldn't get him out, Tom. And besides, 'twouldn't do any good;\nthey'd ketch him again.\"\n\n\"Yes--so they would. But I hate to hear 'em abuse him so like the dickens\nwhen he never done--that.\"\n\n\"I do too, Tom. Lord, I hear 'em say he's the bloodiest looking villain\nin this country, and they wonder he wasn't ever hung before.\"\n\n\"Yes, they talk like that, all the time. I've heard 'em say that if he\nwas to get free they'd lynch him.\"\n\n\"And they'd do it, too.\"\n\nThe boys had a long talk, but it brought them little comfort. As the\ntwilight drew on, they found themselves hanging about the neighborhood\nof the little isolated jail, perhaps with an undefined hope that\nsomething would happen that might clear away their difficulties. But\nnothing happened; there seemed to be no angels or fairies interested in\nthis luckless captive.\n\nThe boys did as they had often done before--went to the cell grating and\ngave Potter some tobacco and matches. He was on the ground floor and\nthere were no guards.\n\nHis gratitude for their gifts had always smote their consciences\nbefore--it cut deeper than ever, this time. They felt cowardly and\ntreacherous to the last degree when Potter said:\n\n\"You've been mighty good to me, boys--better'n anybody else in this town.\nAnd I don't forget it, I don't. Often I says to myself, says I, 'I used\nto mend all the boys' kites and things, and show 'em where the good\nfishin' places was, and befriend 'em what I could, and now they've\nall forgot old Muff when he's in trouble; but Tom don't, and Huck\ndon't--_they_ don't forget him, says I, 'and I don't forget them.' Well,\nboys, I done an awful thing--drunk and crazy at the time--that's the only\nway I account for it--and now I got to swing for it, and it's right.\nRight, and _best_, too, I reckon--hope so, anyway. Well, we won't talk\nabout that. I don't want to make _you_ feel bad; you've befriended me.\nBut what I want to say, is, don't _you_ ever get drunk--then you won't\never get here. Stand a litter furder west--so--that's it; it's a prime\ncomfort to see faces that's friendly when a body's in such a muck\nof trouble, and there don't none come here but yourn. Good friendly\nfaces--good friendly faces. Git up on one another's backs and let me\ntouch 'em. That's it. Shake hands--yourn'll come through the bars, but\nmine's too big. Little hands, and weak--but they've helped Muff Potter a\npower, and they'd help him more if they could.\"\n\nTom went home miserable, and his dreams that night were full of horrors.\nThe next day and the day after, he hung about the courtroom, drawn by an\nalmost irresistible impulse to go in, but forcing himself to stay out.\nHuck was having the same experience. They studiously avoided each other.\nEach wandered away, from time to time, but the same dismal fascination\nalways brought them back presently. Tom kept his ears open when idlers\nsauntered out of the courtroom, but invariably heard distressing\nnews--the toils were closing more and more relentlessly around poor\nPotter. At the end of the second day the village talk was to the effect\nthat Injun Joe's evidence stood firm and unshaken, and that there was\nnot the slightest question as to what the jury's verdict would be.\n\nTom was out late, that night, and came to bed through the window. He\nwas in a tremendous state of excitement. It was hours before he got to\nsleep. All the village flocked to the courthouse the next morning, for\nthis was to be the great day. Both sexes were about equally represented\nin the packed audience. After a long wait the jury filed in and took\ntheir places; shortly afterward, Potter, pale and haggard, timid and\nhopeless, was brought in, with chains upon him, and seated where all\nthe curious eyes could stare at him; no less conspicuous was Injun Joe,\nstolid as ever. There was another pause, and then the judge arrived and\nthe sheriff proclaimed the opening of the court. The usual whisperings\namong the lawyers and gathering together of papers followed. These\ndetails and accompanying delays worked up an atmosphere of preparation\nthat was as impressive as it was fascinating.\n\nNow a witness was called who testified that he found Muff Potter washing\nin the brook, at an early hour of the morning that the murder was\ndiscovered, and that he immediately sneaked away. After some further\nquestioning, counsel for the prosecution said:\n\n\"Take the witness.\"\n\nThe prisoner raised his eyes for a moment, but dropped them again when\nhis own counsel said:\n\n\"I have no questions to ask him.\"\n\nThe next witness proved the finding of the knife near the corpse.\nCounsel for the prosecution said:\n\n\"Take the witness.\"\n\n\"I have no questions to ask him,\" Potter's lawyer replied.\n\nA third witness swore he had often seen the knife in Potter's\npossession.\n\n\"Take the witness.\"\n\nCounsel for Potter declined to question him. The faces of the audience\nbegan to betray annoyance. Did this attorney mean to throw away his\nclient's life without an effort?\n\nSeveral witnesses deposed concerning Potter's guilty behavior when\nbrought to the scene of the murder. They were allowed to leave the stand\nwithout being cross-questioned.\n\nEvery detail of the damaging circumstances that occurred in the\ngraveyard upon that morning which all present remembered so well was\nbrought out by credible witnesses, but none of them were cross-examined\nby Potter's lawyer. The perplexity and dissatisfaction of the house\nexpressed itself in murmurs and provoked a reproof from the bench.\nCounsel for the prosecution now said:\n\n\"By the oaths of citizens whose simple word is above suspicion, we have\nfastened this awful crime, beyond all possibility of question, upon the\nunhappy prisoner at the bar. We rest our case here.\"\n\nA groan escaped from poor Potter, and he put his face in his hands and\nrocked his body softly to and fro, while a painful silence reigned\nin the courtroom. Many men were moved, and many women's compassion\ntestified itself in tears. Counsel for the defence rose and said:\n\n\"Your honor, in our remarks at the opening of this trial, we\nforeshadowed our purpose to prove that our client did this fearful deed\nwhile under the influence of a blind and irresponsible delirium produced\nby drink. We have changed our mind. We shall not offer that plea.\" [Then\nto the clerk:] \"Call Thomas Sawyer!\"\n\nA puzzled amazement awoke in every face in the house, not even excepting\nPotter's. Every eye fastened itself with wondering interest upon Tom as\nhe rose and took his place upon the stand. The boy looked wild enough,\nfor he was badly scared. The oath was administered.\n\n\"Thomas Sawyer, where were you on the seventeenth of June, about the\nhour of midnight?\"\n\nTom glanced at Injun Joe's iron face and his tongue failed him. The\naudience listened breathless, but the words refused to come. After a few\nmoments, however, the boy got a little of his strength back, and managed\nto put enough of it into his voice to make part of the house hear:\n\n\"In the graveyard!\"\n\n\"A little bit louder, please. Don't be afraid. You were--\"\n\n\"In the graveyard.\"\n\nA contemptuous smile flitted across Injun Joe's face.\n\n\"Were you anywhere near Horse Williams' grave?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Speak up--just a trifle louder. How near were you?\"\n\n\"Near as I am to you.\"\n\n\"Were you hidden, or not?\"\n\n\"I was hid.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Behind the elms that's on the edge of the grave.\"\n\nInjun Joe gave a barely perceptible start.\n\n\"Any one with you?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I went there with--\"\n\n\"Wait--wait a moment. Never mind mentioning your companion's name. We\nwill produce him at the proper time. Did you carry anything there with\nyou.\"\n\nTom hesitated and looked confused.\n\n\"Speak out, my boy--don't be diffident. The truth is always respectable.\nWhat did you take there?\"\n\n\"Only a--a--dead cat.\"\n\nThere was a ripple of mirth, which the court checked.\n\n\"We will produce the skeleton of that cat. Now, my boy, tell us\neverything that occurred--tell it in your own way--don't skip anything,\nand don't be afraid.\"\n\nTom began--hesitatingly at first, but as he warmed to his subject his\nwords flowed more and more easily; in a little while every sound ceased\nbut his own voice; every eye fixed itself upon him; with parted lips and\nbated breath the audience hung upon his words, taking no note of time,\nrapt in the ghastly fascinations of the tale. The strain upon pent\nemotion reached its climax when the boy said:\n\n\"--and as the doctor fetched the board around and Muff Potter fell, Injun\nJoe jumped with the knife and--\"\n\nCrash! Quick as lightning the halfbreed sprang for a window, tore his\nway through all opposers, and was gone!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nTOM was a glittering hero once more--the pet of the old, the envy of the\nyoung. His name even went into immortal print, for the village paper\nmagnified him. There were some that believed he would be President, yet,\nif he escaped hanging.\n\nAs usual, the fickle, unreasoning world took Muff Potter to its bosom\nand fondled him as lavishly as it had abused him before. But that sort\nof conduct is to the world's credit; therefore it is not well to find\nfault with it.\n\nTom's days were days of splendor and exultation to him, but his nights\nwere seasons of horror. Injun Joe infested all his dreams, and always\nwith doom in his eye. Hardly any temptation could persuade the boy\nto stir abroad after nightfall. Poor Huck was in the same state of\nwretchedness and terror, for Tom had told the whole story to the lawyer\nthe night before the great day of the trial, and Huck was sore afraid\nthat his share in the business might leak out, yet, notwithstanding\nInjun Joe's flight had saved him the suffering of testifying in court.\nThe poor fellow had got the attorney to promise secrecy, but what of\nthat? Since Tom's harassed conscience had managed to drive him to the\nlawyer's house by night and wring a dread tale from lips that had\nbeen sealed with the dismalest and most formidable of oaths, Huck's\nconfidence in the human race was wellnigh obliterated.\n\nDaily Muff Potter's gratitude made Tom glad he had spoken; but nightly\nhe wished he had sealed up his tongue.\n\nHalf the time Tom was afraid Injun Joe would never be captured; the\nother half he was afraid he would be. He felt sure he never could draw a\nsafe breath again until that man was dead and he had seen the corpse.\n\nRewards had been offered, the country had been scoured, but no Injun\nJoe was found. One of those omniscient and aweinspiring marvels, a\ndetective, came up from St. Louis, moused around, shook his head, looked\nwise, and made that sort of astounding success which members of that\ncraft usually achieve. That is to say, he \"found a clew.\" But you can't\nhang a \"clew\" for murder, and so after that detective had got through\nand gone home, Tom felt just as insecure as he was before.\n\nThe slow days drifted on, and each left behind it a slightly lightened\nweight of apprehension.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nTHERE comes a time in every rightly-constructed boy's life when he has\na raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure. This desire\nsuddenly came upon Tom one day. He sallied out to find Joe Harper,\nbut failed of success. Next he sought Ben Rogers; he had gone fishing.\nPresently he stumbled upon Huck Finn the Red-Handed. Huck would\nanswer. Tom took him to a private place and opened the matter to him\nconfidentially. Huck was willing. Huck was always willing to take a hand\nin any enterprise that offered entertainment and required no capital,\nfor he had a troublesome superabundance of that sort of time which is\nnot money. \"Where'll we dig?\" said Huck.\n\n\"Oh, most anywhere.\"\n\n\"Why, is it hid all around?\"\n\n\"No, indeed it ain't. It's hid in mighty particular places,\nHuck--sometimes on islands, sometimes in rotten chests under the end of\na limb of an old dead tree, just where the shadow falls at midnight; but\nmostly under the floor in ha'nted houses.\"\n\n\"Who hides it?\"\n\n\"Why, robbers, of course--who'd you reckon? Sunday-school\nsup'rintendents?\"\n\n\"I don't know. If 'twas mine I wouldn't hide it; I'd spend it and have a\ngood time.\"\n\n\"So would I. But robbers don't do that way. They always hide it and\nleave it there.\"\n\n\"Don't they come after it any more?\"\n\n\"No, they think they will, but they generally forget the marks, or else\nthey die. Anyway, it lays there a long time and gets rusty; and by and\nby somebody finds an old yellow paper that tells how to find the marks--a\npaper that's got to be ciphered over about a week because it's mostly\nsigns and hy'roglyphics.\"\n\n\"Hyro--which?\"\n\n\"Hy'roglyphics--pictures and things, you know, that don't seem to mean\nanything.\"\n\n\"Have you got one of them papers, Tom?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well then, how you going to find the marks?\"\n\n\"I don't want any marks. They always bury it under a ha'nted house or on\nan island, or under a dead tree that's got one limb sticking out. Well,\nwe've tried Jackson's Island a little, and we can try it again some\ntime; and there's the old ha'nted house up the Still-House branch, and\nthere's lots of dead-limb trees--dead loads of 'em.\"\n\n\"Is it under all of them?\"\n\n\"How you talk! No!\"\n\n\"Then how you going to know which one to go for?\"\n\n\"Go for all of 'em!\"\n\n\"Why, Tom, it'll take all summer.\"\n\n\"Well, what of that? Suppose you find a brass pot with a hundred dollars\nin it, all rusty and gray, or rotten chest full of di'monds. How's\nthat?\"\n\nHuck's eyes glowed.\n\n\"That's bully. Plenty bully enough for me. Just you gimme the hundred\ndollars and I don't want no di'monds.\"\n\n\"All right. But I bet you I ain't going to throw off on di'monds. Some\nof 'em's worth twenty dollars apiece--there ain't any, hardly, but's\nworth six bits or a dollar.\"\n\n\"No! Is that so?\"\n\n\"Cert'nly--anybody'll tell you so. Hain't you ever seen one, Huck?\"\n\n\"Not as I remember.\"\n\n\"Oh, kings have slathers of them.\"\n\n\"Well, I don' know no kings, Tom.\"\n\n\"I reckon you don't. But if you was to go to Europe you'd see a raft of\n'em hopping around.\"\n\n\"Do they hop?\"\n\n\"Hop?--your granny! No!\"\n\n\"Well, what did you say they did, for?\"\n\n\"Shucks, I only meant you'd _see_ 'em--not hopping, of course--what do\nthey want to hop for?--but I mean you'd just see 'em--scattered around,\nyou know, in a kind of a general way. Like that old humpbacked Richard.\"\n\n\"Richard? What's his other name?\"\n\n\"He didn't have any other name. Kings don't have any but a given name.\"\n\n\"No?\"\n\n\"But they don't.\"\n\n\"Well, if they like it, Tom, all right; but I don't want to be a king\nand have only just a given name, like a nigger. But say--where you going\nto dig first?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know. S'pose we tackle that old dead-limb tree on the\nhill t'other side of Still-House branch?\"\n\n\"I'm agreed.\"\n\nSo they got a crippled pick and a shovel, and set out on their\nthree-mile tramp. They arrived hot and panting, and threw themselves\ndown in the shade of a neighboring elm to rest and have a smoke.\n\n\"I like this,\" said Tom.\n\n\"So do I.\"\n\n\"Say, Huck, if we find a treasure here, what you going to do with your\nshare?\"\n\n\"Well, I'll have pie and a glass of soda every day, and I'll go to every\ncircus that comes along. I bet I'll have a gay time.\"\n\n\"Well, ain't you going to save any of it?\"\n\n\"Save it? What for?\"\n\n\"Why, so as to have something to live on, by and by.\"\n\n\"Oh, that ain't any use. Pap would come back to thish-yer town some day\nand get his claws on it if I didn't hurry up, and I tell you he'd clean\nit out pretty quick. What you going to do with yourn, Tom?\"\n\n\"I'm going to buy a new drum, and a sure'nough sword, and a red necktie\nand a bull pup, and get married.\"\n\n\"Married!\"\n\n\"That's it.\"\n\n\"Tom, you--why, you ain't in your right mind.\"\n\n\"Wait--you'll see.\"\n\n\"Well, that's the foolishest thing you could do. Look at pap and my\nmother. Fight! Why, they used to fight all the time. I remember, mighty\nwell.\"\n\n\"That ain't anything. The girl I'm going to marry won't fight.\"\n\n\"Tom, I reckon they're all alike. They'll all comb a body. Now you\nbetter think 'bout this awhile. I tell you you better. What's the name\nof the gal?\"\n\n\"It ain't a gal at all--it's a girl.\"\n\n\"It's all the same, I reckon; some says gal, some says girl--both's\nright, like enough. Anyway, what's her name, Tom?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you some time--not now.\"\n\n\"All right--that'll do. Only if you get married I'll be more lonesomer\nthan ever.\"\n\n\"No you won't. You'll come and live with me. Now stir out of this and\nwe'll go to digging.\"\n\nThey worked and sweated for half an hour. No result. They toiled another\nhalfhour. Still no result. Huck said:\n\n\"Do they always bury it as deep as this?\"\n\n\"Sometimes--not always. Not generally. I reckon we haven't got the right\nplace.\"\n\nSo they chose a new spot and began again. The labor dragged a little,\nbut still they made progress. They pegged away in silence for some time.\nFinally Huck leaned on his shovel, swabbed the beaded drops from his\nbrow with his sleeve, and said:\n\n\"Where you going to dig next, after we get this one?\"\n\n\"I reckon maybe we'll tackle the old tree that's over yonder on Cardiff\nHill back of the widow's.\"\n\n\"I reckon that'll be a good one. But won't the widow take it away from\nus, Tom? It's on her land.\"\n\n\"_She_ take it away! Maybe she'd like to try it once. Whoever finds one\nof these hid treasures, it belongs to him. It don't make any difference\nwhose land it's on.\"\n\nThat was satisfactory. The work went on. By and by Huck said:\n\n\"Blame it, we must be in the wrong place again. What do you think?\"\n\n\"It is mighty curious, Huck. I don't understand it. Sometimes witches\ninterfere. I reckon maybe that's what's the trouble now.\"\n\n\"Shucks! Witches ain't got no power in the daytime.\"\n\n\"Well, that's so. I didn't think of that. Oh, I know what the matter is!\nWhat a blamed lot of fools we are! You got to find out where the shadow\nof the limb falls at midnight, and that's where you dig!\"\n\n\"Then consound it, we've fooled away all this work for nothing. Now hang\nit all, we got to come back in the night. It's an awful long way. Can\nyou get out?\"\n\n\"I bet I will. We've got to do it tonight, too, because if somebody sees\nthese holes they'll know in a minute what's here and they'll go for it.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll come around and maow tonight.\"\n\n\"All right. Let's hide the tools in the bushes.\"\n\nThe boys were there that night, about the appointed time. They sat in\nthe shadow waiting. It was a lonely place, and an hour made solemn by\nold traditions. Spirits whispered in the rustling leaves, ghosts lurked\nin the murky nooks, the deep baying of a hound floated up out of the\ndistance, an owl answered with his sepulchral note. The boys were\nsubdued by these solemnities, and talked little. By and by they judged\nthat twelve had come; they marked where the shadow fell, and began to\ndig. Their hopes commenced to rise. Their interest grew stronger, and\ntheir industry kept pace with it. The hole deepened and still deepened,\nbut every time their hearts jumped to hear the pick strike upon\nsomething, they only suffered a new disappointment. It was only a stone\nor a chunk. At last Tom said:\n\n\"It ain't any use, Huck, we're wrong again.\"\n\n\"Well, but we _can't_ be wrong. We spotted the shadder to a dot.\"\n\n\"I know it, but then there's another thing.\"\n\n\"What's that?\".\n\n\"Why, we only guessed at the time. Like enough it was too late or too\nearly.\"\n\nHuck dropped his shovel.\n\n\"That's it,\" said he. \"That's the very trouble. We got to give this one\nup. We can't ever tell the right time, and besides this kind of thing's\ntoo awful, here this time of night with witches and ghosts a-fluttering\naround so. I feel as if something's behind me all the time;  and I'm\nafeard to turn around, becuz maybe there's others in front a-waiting for\na chance. I been creeping all over, ever since I got here.\"\n\n\"Well, I've been pretty much so, too, Huck. They most always put in a\ndead man when they bury a treasure under a tree, to look out for it.\"\n\n\"Lordy!\"\n\n\"Yes, they do. I've always heard that.\"\n\n\"Tom, I don't like to fool around much where there's dead people. A\nbody's bound to get into trouble with 'em, sure.\"\n\n\"I don't like to stir 'em up, either. S'pose this one here was to stick\nhis skull out and say something!\"\n\n\"Don't Tom! It's awful.\"\n\n\"Well, it just is. Huck, I don't feel comfortable a bit.\"\n\n\"Say, Tom, let's give this place up, and try somewheres else.\"\n\n\"All right, I reckon we better.\"\n\n\"What'll it be?\"\n\nTom considered awhile; and then said:\n\n\"The ha'nted house. That's it!\"\n\n\"Blame it, I don't like ha'nted houses, Tom. Why, they're a dern sight\nworse'n dead people. Dead people might talk, maybe, but they don't come\nsliding around in a shroud, when you ain't noticing, and peep over your\nshoulder all of a sudden and grit their teeth, the way a ghost does. I\ncouldn't stand such a thing as that, Tom--nobody could.\"\n\n\"Yes, but, Huck, ghosts don't travel around only at night. They won't\nhender us from digging there in the daytime.\"\n\n\"Well, that's so. But you know mighty well people don't go about that\nha'nted house in the day nor the night.\"\n\n\"Well, that's mostly because they don't like to go where a man's been\nmurdered, anyway--but nothing's ever been seen around that house except\nin the night--just some blue lights slipping by the windows--no regular\nghosts.\"\n\n\"Well, where you see one of them blue lights flickering around, Tom,\nyou can bet there's a ghost mighty close behind it. It stands to reason.\nBecuz you know that they don't anybody but ghosts use 'em.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's so. But anyway they don't come around in the daytime, so\nwhat's the use of our being afeard?\"\n\n\"Well, all right. We'll tackle the ha'nted house if you say so--but I\nreckon it's taking chances.\"\n\nThey had started down the hill by this time. There in the middle of the\nmoonlit valley below them stood the \"ha'nted\" house, utterly isolated,\nits fences gone long ago, rank weeds smothering the very doorsteps, the\nchimney crumbled to ruin, the window-sashes vacant, a corner of the roof\ncaved in. The boys gazed awhile, half expecting to see a blue light flit\npast a window; then talking in a low tone, as befitted the time and the\ncircumstances, they struck far off to the right, to give the haunted\nhouse a wide berth, and took their way homeward through the woods that\nadorned the rearward side of Cardiff Hill.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nABOUT noon the next day the boys arrived at the dead tree; they had come\nfor their tools. Tom was impatient to go to the haunted house; Huck was\nmeasurably so, also--but suddenly said:\n\n\"Lookyhere, Tom, do you know what day it is?\"\n\nTom mentally ran over the days of the week, and then quickly lifted his\neyes with a startled look in them--\n\n\"My! I never once thought of it, Huck!\"\n\n\"Well, I didn't neither, but all at once it popped onto me that it was\nFriday.\"\n\n\"Blame it, a body can't be too careful, Huck. We might 'a' got into an\nawful scrape, tackling such a thing on a Friday.\"\n\n\"_Might_! Better say we _would_! There's some lucky days, maybe, but\nFriday ain't.\"\n\n\"Any fool knows that. I don't reckon _you_ was the first that found it\nout, Huck.\"\n\n\"Well, I never said I was, did I? And Friday ain't all, neither. I had a\nrotten bad dream last night--dreampt about rats.\"\n\n\"No! Sure sign of trouble. Did they fight?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, that's good, Huck. When they don't fight it's only a sign that\nthere's trouble around, you know. All we got to do is to look mighty\nsharp and keep out of it. We'll drop this thing for today, and play. Do\nyou know Robin Hood, Huck?\"\n\n\"No. Who's Robin Hood?\"\n\n\"Why, he was one of the greatest men that was ever in England--and the\nbest. He was a robber.\"\n\n\"Cracky, I wisht I was. Who did he rob?\"\n\n\"Only sheriffs and bishops and rich people and kings, and such like. But\nhe never bothered the poor. He loved 'em. He always divided up with 'em\nperfectly square.\"\n\n\"Well, he must 'a' been a brick.\"\n\n\"I bet you he was, Huck. Oh, he was the noblest man that ever was.\nThey ain't any such men now, I can tell you. He could lick any man in\nEngland, with one hand tied behind him; and he could take his yew bow\nand plug a ten-cent piece every time, a mile and a half.\"\n\n\"What's a _yew_ bow?\"\n\n\"I don't know. It's some kind of a bow, of course. And if he hit that\ndime only on the edge he would set down and cry--and curse. But we'll\nplay Robin Hood--it's nobby fun. I'll learn you.\"\n\n\"I'm agreed.\"\n\nSo they played Robin Hood all the afternoon, now and then casting a\nyearning eye down upon the haunted house and passing a remark about the\nmorrow's prospects and possibilities there. As the sun began to sink\ninto the west they took their way homeward athwart the long shadows\nof the trees and soon were buried from sight in the forests of Cardiff\nHill.\n\nOn Saturday, shortly after noon, the boys were at the dead tree again.\nThey had a smoke and a chat in the shade, and then dug a little in their\nlast hole, not with great hope, but merely because Tom said there were\nso many cases where people had given up a treasure after getting down\nwithin six inches of it, and then somebody else had come along and\nturned it up with a single thrust of a shovel. The thing failed this\ntime, however, so the boys shouldered their tools and went away feeling\nthat they had not trifled with fortune, but had fulfilled all the\nrequirements that belong to the business of treasure-hunting.\n\nWhen they reached the haunted house there was something so weird and\ngrisly about the dead silence that reigned there under the baking sun,\nand something so depressing about the loneliness and desolation of the\nplace, that they were afraid, for a moment, to venture in. Then they\ncrept to the door and took a trembling peep. They saw a weedgrown,\nfloorless room, unplastered, an ancient fireplace, vacant windows,\na ruinous staircase; and here, there, and everywhere hung ragged and\nabandoned cobwebs. They presently entered, softly, with quickened\npulses, talking in whispers, ears alert to catch the slightest sound,\nand muscles tense and ready for instant retreat.\n\nIn a little while familiarity modified their fears and they gave the\nplace a critical and interested examination, rather admiring their own\nboldness, and wondering at it, too. Next they wanted to look upstairs.\nThis was something like cutting off retreat, but they got to daring\neach other, and of course there could be but one result--they threw their\ntools into a corner and made the ascent. Up there were the same signs of\ndecay. In one corner they found a closet that promised mystery, but the\npromise was a fraud--there was nothing in it. Their courage was up now\nand well in hand. They were about to go down and begin work when--\n\n\"Sh!\" said Tom.\n\n\"What is it?\" whispered Huck, blanching with fright.\n\n\"Sh!... There!... Hear it?\"\n\n\"Yes!... Oh, my! Let's run!\"\n\n\"Keep still! Don't you budge! They're coming right toward the door.\"\n\nThe boys stretched themselves upon the floor with their eyes to\nknotholes in the planking, and lay waiting, in a misery of fear.\n\n\"They've stopped.... No--coming.... Here they are. Don't whisper another\nword, Huck. My goodness, I wish I was out of this!\"\n\nTwo men entered. Each boy said to himself: \"There's the old deaf and\ndumb Spaniard that's been about town once or twice lately--never saw\nt'other man before.\"\n\n\"T'other\" was a ragged, unkempt creature, with nothing very pleasant\nin his face. The Spaniard was wrapped in a serape; he had bushy white\nwhiskers; long white hair flowed from under his sombrero, and he wore\ngreen goggles. When they came in, \"t'other\" was talking in a low voice;\nthey sat down on the ground, facing the door, with their backs to the\nwall, and the speaker continued his remarks. His manner became less\nguarded and his words more distinct as he proceeded:\n\n\"No,\" said he, \"I've thought it all over, and I don't like it. It's\ndangerous.\"\n\n\"Dangerous!\" grunted the \"deaf and dumb\" Spaniard--to the vast surprise\nof the boys. \"Milksop!\"\n\nThis voice made the boys gasp and quake. It was Injun Joe's! There was\nsilence for some time. Then Joe said:\n\n\"What's any more dangerous than that job up yonder--but nothing's come of\nit.\"\n\n\"That's different. Away up the river so, and not another house about.\n'Twon't ever be known that we tried, anyway, long as we didn't succeed.\"\n\n\"Well, what's more dangerous than coming here in the daytime!--anybody\nwould suspicion us that saw us.\"\n\n\"I know that. But there warn't any other place as handy after that fool\nof a job. I want to quit this shanty. I wanted to yesterday, only it\nwarn't any use trying to stir out of here, with those infernal boys\nplaying over there on the hill right in full view.\"\n\n\"Those infernal boys\" quaked again under the inspiration of this remark,\nand thought how lucky it was that they had remembered it was Friday and\nconcluded to wait a day. They wished in their hearts they had waited a\nyear.\n\nThe two men got out some food and made a luncheon. After a long and\nthoughtful silence, Injun Joe said:\n\n\"Look here, lad--you go back up the river where you belong. Wait there\ntill you hear from me. I'll take the chances on dropping into this town\njust once more, for a look. We'll do that 'dangerous' job after I've\nspied around a little and think things look well for it. Then for Texas!\nWe'll leg it together!\"\n\nThis was satisfactory. Both men presently fell to yawning, and Injun Joe\nsaid:\n\n\"I'm dead for sleep! It's your turn to watch.\"\n\nHe curled down in the weeds and soon began to snore. His comrade stirred\nhim once or twice and he became quiet. Presently the watcher began to\nnod; his head drooped lower and lower, both men began to snore now.\n\nThe boys drew a long, grateful breath. Tom whispered:\n\n\"Now's our chance--come!\"\n\nHuck said:\n\n\"I can't--I'd die if they was to wake.\"\n\nTom urged--Huck held back. At last Tom rose slowly and softly, and\nstarted alone. But the first step he made wrung such a hideous creak\nfrom the crazy floor that he sank down almost dead with fright. He never\nmade a second attempt. The boys lay there counting the dragging moments\ntill it seemed to them that time must be done and eternity growing gray;\nand then they were grateful to note that at last the sun was setting.\n\nNow one snore ceased. Injun Joe sat up, stared around--smiled grimly upon\nhis comrade, whose head was drooping upon his knees--stirred him up with\nhis foot and said:\n\n\"Here! _You're_ a watchman, ain't you! All right, though--nothing's\nhappened.\"\n\n\"My! have I been asleep?\"\n\n\"Oh, partly, partly. Nearly time for us to be moving, pard. What'll we\ndo with what little swag we've got left?\"\n\n\"I don't know--leave it here as we've always done, I reckon. No use to\ntake it away till we start south. Six hundred and fifty in silver's\nsomething to carry.\"\n\n\"Well--all right--it won't matter to come here once more.\"\n\n\"No--but I'd say come in the night as we used to do--it's better.\"\n\n\"Yes: but look here; it may be a good while before I get the right\nchance at that job; accidents might happen; 'tain't in such a very good\nplace; we'll just regularly bury it--and bury it deep.\"\n\n\"Good idea,\" said the comrade, who walked across the room, knelt down,\nraised one of the rearward hearth-stones and took out a bag that jingled\npleasantly. He subtracted from it twenty or thirty dollars for himself\nand as much for Injun Joe, and passed the bag to the latter, who was on\nhis knees in the corner, now, digging with his bowie-knife.\n\nThe boys forgot all their fears, all their miseries in an instant. With\ngloating eyes they watched every movement. Luck!--the splendor of it was\nbeyond all imagination! Six hundred dollars was money enough to make\nhalf a dozen boys rich! Here was treasure-hunting under the happiest\nauspices--there would not be any bothersome uncertainty as to where to\ndig. They nudged each other every moment--eloquent nudges and easily\nunderstood, for they simply meant--\"Oh, but ain't you glad _now_ we're\nhere!\"\n\nJoe's knife struck upon something.\n\n\"Hello!\" said he.\n\n\"What is it?\" said his comrade.\n\n\"Half-rotten plank--no, it's a box, I believe. Here--bear a hand and we'll\nsee what it's here for. Never mind, I've broke a hole.\"\n\nHe reached his hand in and drew it out--\n\n\"Man, it's money!\"\n\nThe two men examined the handful of coins. They were gold. The boys\nabove were as excited as themselves, and as delighted.\n\nJoe's comrade said:\n\n\"We'll make quick work of this. There's an old rusty pick over amongst\nthe weeds in the corner the other side of the fireplace--I saw it a\nminute ago.\"\n\nHe ran and brought the boys' pick and shovel. Injun Joe took the\npick, looked it over critically, shook his head, muttered something to\nhimself, and then began to use it. The box was soon unearthed. It was\nnot very large; it was iron bound and had been very strong before the\nslow years had injured it. The men contemplated the treasure awhile in\nblissful silence.\n\n\"Pard, there's thousands of dollars here,\" said Injun Joe.\n\n\"'Twas always said that Murrel's gang used to be around here one\nsummer,\" the stranger observed.\n\n\"I know it,\" said Injun Joe; \"and this looks like it, I should say.\"\n\n\"Now you won't need to do that job.\"\n\nThe halfbreed frowned. Said he:\n\n\"You don't know me. Least you don't know all about that thing. 'Tain't\nrobbery altogether--it's _revenge_!\" and a wicked light flamed in his\neyes. \"I'll need your help in it. When it's finished--then Texas. Go home\nto your Nance and your kids, and stand by till you hear from me.\"\n\n\"Well--if you say so; what'll we do with this--bury it again?\"\n\n\"Yes. [Ravishing delight overhead.] _No_! by the great Sachem, no!\n[Profound distress overhead.] I'd nearly forgot. That pick had fresh\nearth on it! [The boys were sick with terror in a moment.] What business\nhas a pick and a shovel here? What business with fresh earth on\nthem? Who brought them here--and where are they gone? Have you heard\nanybody?--seen anybody? What! bury it again and leave them to come and\nsee the ground disturbed? Not exactly--not exactly. We'll take it to my\nden.\"\n\n\"Why, of course! Might have thought of that before. You mean Number\nOne?\"\n\n\"No--Number Two--under the cross. The other place is bad--too common.\"\n\n\"All right. It's nearly dark enough to start.\"\n\nInjun Joe got up and went about from window to window cautiously peeping\nout. Presently he said:\n\n\"Who could have brought those tools here? Do you reckon they can be\nupstairs?\"\n\nThe boys' breath forsook them. Injun Joe put his hand on his knife,\nhalted a moment, undecided, and then turned toward the stairway. The\nboys thought of the closet, but their strength was gone. The steps came\ncreaking up the stairs--the intolerable distress of the situation woke\nthe stricken resolution of the lads--they were about to spring for the\ncloset, when there was a crash of rotten timbers and Injun Joe landed on\nthe ground amid the debris of the ruined stairway. He gathered himself\nup cursing, and his comrade said:\n\n\"Now what's the use of all that? If it's anybody, and they're up there,\nlet them _stay_ there--who cares? If they want to jump down, now, and get\ninto trouble, who objects? It will be dark in fifteen minutes--and then\nlet them follow us if they want to. I'm willing. In my opinion, whoever\nhove those things in here caught a sight of us and took us for ghosts or\ndevils or something. I'll bet they're running yet.\"\n\nJoe grumbled awhile; then he agreed with his friend that what daylight\nwas left ought to be economized in getting things ready for leaving.\nShortly afterward they slipped out of the house in the deepening\ntwilight, and moved toward the river with their precious box.\n\nTom and Huck rose up, weak but vastly relieved, and stared after them\nthrough the chinks between the logs of the house. Follow? Not they. They\nwere content to reach ground again without broken necks, and take the\ntownward track over the hill. They did not talk much. They were too much\nabsorbed in hating themselves--hating the ill luck that made them take\nthe spade and the pick there. But for that, Injun Joe never would have\nsuspected. He would have hidden the silver with the gold to wait\nthere till his \"revenge\" was satisfied, and then he would have had the\nmisfortune to find that money turn up missing. Bitter, bitter luck that\nthe tools were ever brought there!\n\nThey resolved to keep a lookout for that Spaniard when he should come to\ntown spying out for chances to do his revengeful job, and follow him to\n\"Number Two,\" wherever that might be. Then a ghastly thought occurred to\nTom.\n\n\"Revenge? What if he means _us_, Huck!\"\n\n\"Oh, don't!\" said Huck, nearly fainting.\n\nThey talked it all over, and as they entered town they agreed to believe\nthat he might possibly mean somebody else--at least that he might at\nleast mean nobody but Tom, since only Tom had testified.\n\nVery, very small comfort it was to Tom to be alone in danger! Company\nwould be a palpable improvement, he thought.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nTHE adventure of the day mightily tormented Tom's dreams that night.\nFour times he had his hands on that rich treasure and four times\nit wasted to nothingness in his fingers as sleep forsook him and\nwakefulness brought back the hard reality of his misfortune. As he lay\nin the early morning recalling the incidents of his great adventure, he\nnoticed that they seemed curiously subdued and far away--somewhat as if\nthey had happened in another world, or in a time long gone by. Then it\noccurred to him that the great adventure itself must be a dream! There\nwas one very strong argument in favor of this idea--namely, that the\nquantity of coin he had seen was too vast to be real. He had never seen\nas much as fifty dollars in one mass before, and he was like all boys of\nhis age and station in life, in that he imagined that all references to\n\"hundreds\" and \"thousands\" were mere fanciful forms of speech, and that\nno such sums really existed in the world. He never had supposed for\na moment that so large a sum as a hundred dollars was to be found in\nactual money in any one's possession. If his notions of hidden treasure\nhad been analyzed, they would have been found to consist of a handful of\nreal dimes and a bushel of vague, splendid, ungraspable dollars.\n\nBut the incidents of his adventure grew sensibly sharper and clearer\nunder the attrition of thinking them over, and so he presently found\nhimself leaning to the impression that the thing might not have been a\ndream, after all. This uncertainty must be swept away. He would snatch a\nhurried breakfast and go and find Huck. Huck was sitting on the gunwale\nof a flatboat, listlessly dangling his feet in the water and looking\nvery melancholy. Tom concluded to let Huck lead up to the subject. If\nhe did not do it, then the adventure would be proved to have been only a\ndream.\n\n\"Hello, Huck!\"\n\n\"Hello, yourself.\"\n\nSilence, for a minute.\n\n\"Tom, if we'd 'a' left the blame tools at the dead tree, we'd 'a' got\nthe money. Oh, ain't it awful!\"\n\n\"'Tain't a dream, then, 'tain't a dream! Somehow I most wish it was.\nDog'd if I don't, Huck.\"\n\n\"What ain't a dream?\"\n\n\"Oh, that thing yesterday. I been half thinking it was.\"\n\n\"Dream! If them stairs hadn't broke down you'd 'a' seen how much dream\nit was! I've had dreams enough all night--with that patch-eyed Spanish\ndevil going for me all through 'em--rot him!\"\n\n\"No, not rot him. _Find_ him! Track the money!\"\n\n\"Tom, we'll never find him. A feller don't have only one chance for such\na pile--and that one's lost. I'd feel mighty shaky if I was to see him,\nanyway.\"\n\n\"Well, so'd I; but I'd like to see him, anyway--and track him out--to his\nNumber Two.\"\n\n\"Number Two--yes, that's it. I been thinking 'bout that. But I can't make\nnothing out of it. What do you reckon it is?\"\n\n\"I dono. It's too deep. Say, Huck--maybe it's the number of a house!\"\n\n\"Goody!... No, Tom, that ain't it. If it is, it ain't in this one-horse\ntown. They ain't no numbers here.\"\n\n\"Well, that's so. Lemme think a minute. Here--it's the number of a\nroom--in a tavern, you know!\"\n\n\"Oh, that's the trick! They ain't only two taverns. We can find out\nquick.\"\n\n\"You stay here, Huck, till I come.\"\n\nTom was off at once. He did not care to have Huck's company in public\nplaces. He was gone half an hour. He found that in the best tavern, No.\n2 had long been occupied by a young lawyer, and was still so occupied.\nIn the less ostentatious house, No. 2 was a mystery. The tavern-keeper's\nyoung son said it was kept locked all the time, and he never saw anybody\ngo into it or come out of it except at night; he did not know any\nparticular reason for this state of things; had had some little\ncuriosity, but it was rather feeble; had made the most of the mystery\nby entertaining himself with the idea that that room was \"ha'nted\"; had\nnoticed that there was a light in there the night before.\n\n\"That's what I've found out, Huck. I reckon that's the very No. 2 we're\nafter.\"\n\n\"I reckon it is, Tom. Now what you going to do?\"\n\n\"Lemme think.\"\n\nTom thought a long time. Then he said:\n\n\"I'll tell you. The back door of that No. 2 is the door that comes out\ninto that little close alley between the tavern and the old rattle trap\nof a brick store. Now you get hold of all the doorkeys you can find, and\nI'll nip all of auntie's, and the first dark night we'll go there and\ntry 'em. And mind you, keep a lookout for Injun Joe, because he said he\nwas going to drop into town and spy around once more for a chance to get\nhis revenge. If you see him, you just follow him; and if he don't go to\nthat No. 2, that ain't the place.\"\n\n\"Lordy, I don't want to foller him by myself!\"\n\n\"Why, it'll be night, sure. He mightn't ever see you--and if he did,\nmaybe he'd never think anything.\"\n\n\"Well, if it's pretty dark I reckon I'll track him. I dono--I dono. I'll\ntry.\"\n\n\"You bet I'll follow him, if it's dark, Huck. Why, he might 'a' found\nout he couldn't get his revenge, and be going right after that money.\"\n\n\"It's so, Tom, it's so. I'll foller him; I will, by jingoes!\"\n\n\"Now you're _talking_! Don't you ever weaken, Huck, and I won't.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nTHAT night Tom and Huck were ready for their adventure. They hung about\nthe neighborhood of the tavern until after nine, one watching the alley\nat a distance and the other the tavern door. Nobody entered the alley or\nleft it; nobody resembling the Spaniard entered or left the tavern\ndoor. The night promised to be a fair one; so Tom went home with the\nunderstanding that if a considerable degree of darkness came on, Huck\nwas to come and \"maow,\" whereupon he would slip out and try the keys.\nBut the night remained clear, and Huck closed his watch and retired to\nbed in an empty sugar hogshead about twelve.\n\nTuesday the boys had the same ill luck. Also Wednesday. But Thursday\nnight promised better. Tom slipped out in good season with his aunt's\nold tin lantern, and a large towel to blindfold it with. He hid the\nlantern in Huck's sugar hogshead and the watch began. An hour before\nmidnight the tavern closed up and its lights (the only ones thereabouts)\nwere put out. No Spaniard had been seen. Nobody had entered or left the\nalley. Everything was auspicious. The blackness of darkness reigned,\nthe perfect stillness was interrupted only by occasional mutterings of\ndistant thunder.\n\nTom got his lantern, lit it in the hogshead, wrapped it closely in the\ntowel, and the two adventurers crept in the gloom toward the tavern.\nHuck stood sentry and Tom felt his way into the alley. Then there was\na season of waiting anxiety that weighed upon Huck's spirits like a\nmountain. He began to wish he could see a flash from the lantern--it\nwould frighten him, but it would at least tell him that Tom was alive\nyet. It seemed hours since Tom had disappeared. Surely he must have\nfainted; maybe he was dead; maybe his heart had burst under terror and\nexcitement. In his uneasiness Huck found himself drawing closer\nand closer to the alley; fearing all sorts of dreadful things, and\nmomentarily expecting some catastrophe to happen that would take away\nhis breath. There was not much to take away, for he seemed only able to\ninhale it by thimblefuls, and his heart would soon wear itself out, the\nway it was beating. Suddenly there was a flash of light and Tom came\ntearing by him: \"Run!\" said he; \"run, for your life!\"\n\nHe needn't have repeated it; once was enough; Huck was making thirty or\nforty miles an hour before the repetition was uttered. The boys never\nstopped till they reached the shed of a deserted slaughter-house at the\nlower end of the village. Just as they got within its shelter the storm\nburst and the rain poured down. As soon as Tom got his breath he said:\n\n\"Huck, it was awful! I tried two of the keys, just as soft as I could;\nbut they seemed to make such a power of racket that I couldn't hardly\nget my breath I was so scared. They wouldn't turn in the lock, either.\nWell, without noticing what I was doing, I took hold of the knob, and\nopen comes the door! It warn't locked! I hopped in, and shook off the\ntowel, and, _Great Caesar's Ghost!_\"\n\n\"What!--what'd you see, Tom?\"\n\n\"Huck, I most stepped onto Injun Joe's hand!\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Yes! He was lying there, sound asleep on the floor, with his old patch\non his eye and his arms spread out.\"\n\n\"Lordy, what did you do? Did he wake up?\"\n\n\"No, never budged. Drunk, I reckon. I just grabbed that towel and\nstarted!\"\n\n\"I'd never 'a' thought of the towel, I bet!\"\n\n\"Well, I would. My aunt would make me mighty sick if I lost it.\"\n\n\"Say, Tom, did you see that box?\"\n\n\"Huck, I didn't wait to look around. I didn't see the box, I didn't see\nthe cross. I didn't see anything but a bottle and a tin cup on the floor\nby Injun Joe; yes, I saw two barrels and lots more bottles in the room.\nDon't you see, now, what's the matter with that ha'nted room?\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Why, it's ha'nted with whiskey! Maybe _all_ the Temperance Taverns have\ngot a ha'nted room, hey, Huck?\"\n\n\"Well, I reckon maybe that's so. Who'd 'a' thought such a thing? But\nsay, Tom, now's a mighty good time to get that box, if Injun Joe's\ndrunk.\"\n\n\"It is, that! You try it!\"\n\nHuck shuddered.\n\n\"Well, no--I reckon not.\"\n\n\"And I reckon not, Huck. Only one bottle alongside of Injun Joe ain't\nenough. If there'd been three, he'd be drunk enough and I'd do it.\"\n\nThere was a long pause for reflection, and then Tom said:\n\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, less not try that thing any more till we know Injun\nJoe's not in there. It's too scary. Now, if we watch every night, we'll\nbe dead sure to see him go out, some time or other, and then we'll\nsnatch that box quicker'n lightning.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm agreed. I'll watch the whole night long, and I'll do it every\nnight, too, if you'll do the other part of the job.\"\n\n\"All right, I will. All you got to do is to trot up Hooper Street a\nblock and maow--and if I'm asleep, you throw some gravel at the window\nand that'll fetch me.\"\n\n\"Agreed, and good as wheat!\"\n\n\"Now, Huck, the storm's over, and I'll go home. It'll begin to be\ndaylight in a couple of hours. You go back and watch that long, will\nyou?\"\n\n\"I said I would, Tom, and I will. I'll ha'nt that tavern every night for\na year! I'll sleep all day and I'll stand watch all night.\"\n\n\"That's all right. Now, where you going to sleep?\"\n\n\"In Ben Rogers' hayloft. He lets me, and so does his pap's nigger man,\nUncle Jake. I tote water for Uncle Jake whenever he wants me to, and any\ntime I ask him he gives me a little something to eat if he can spare it.\nThat's a mighty good nigger, Tom. He likes me, becuz I don't ever act as\nif I was above him. Sometime I've set right down and eat _with_ him. But\nyou needn't tell that. A body's got to do things when he's awful hungry\nhe wouldn't want to do as a steady thing.\"\n\n\"Well, if I don't want you in the daytime, I'll let you sleep. I won't\ncome bothering around. Any time you see something's up, in the night,\njust skip right around and maow.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nTHE first thing Tom heard on Friday morning was a glad piece of\nnews--Judge Thatcher's family had come back to town the night before.\nBoth Injun Joe and the treasure sunk into secondary importance for a\nmoment, and Becky took the chief place in the boy's interest. He saw her\nand they had an exhausting good time playing \"hispy\" and \"gully-keeper\"\nwith a crowd of their schoolmates. The day was completed and crowned in\na peculiarly satisfactory way: Becky teased her mother to appoint\nthe next day for the long-promised and long-delayed picnic, and she\nconsented. The child's delight was boundless; and Tom's not more\nmoderate. The invitations were sent out before sunset, and straightway\nthe young folks of the village were thrown into a fever of preparation\nand pleasurable anticipation. Tom's excitement enabled him to keep\nawake until a pretty late hour, and he had good hopes of hearing Huck's\n\"maow,\" and of having his treasure to astonish Becky and the picnickers\nwith, next day; but he was disappointed. No signal came that night.\n\nMorning came, eventually, and by ten or eleven o'clock a giddy and\nrollicking company were gathered at Judge Thatcher's, and everything was\nready for a start. It was not the custom for elderly people to mar the\npicnics with their presence. The children were considered safe enough\nunder the wings of a few young ladies of eighteen and a few young\ngentlemen of twenty-three or thereabouts. The old steam ferry-boat was\nchartered for the occasion; presently the gay throng filed up the main\nstreet laden with provision-baskets. Sid was sick and had to miss\nthe fun; Mary remained at home to entertain him. The last thing Mrs.\nThatcher said to Becky, was:\n\n\"You'll not get back till late. Perhaps you'd better stay all night with\nsome of the girls that live near the ferry-landing, child.\"\n\n\"Then I'll stay with Susy Harper, mamma.\"\n\n\"Very well. And mind and behave yourself and don't be any trouble.\"\n\nPresently, as they tripped along, Tom said to Becky:\n\n\"Say--I'll tell you what we'll do. 'Stead of going to Joe Harper's we'll\nclimb right up the hill and stop at the Widow Douglas'. She'll have\nice-cream! She has it most every day--dead loads of it. And she'll be\nawful glad to have us.\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be fun!\"\n\nThen Becky reflected a moment and said:\n\n\"But what will mamma say?\"\n\n\"How'll she ever know?\"\n\nThe girl turned the idea over in her mind, and said reluctantly:\n\n\"I reckon it's wrong--but--\"\n\n\"But shucks! Your mother won't know, and so what's the harm? All she\nwants is that you'll be safe; and I bet you she'd 'a' said go there if\nshe'd 'a' thought of it. I know she would!\"\n\nThe Widow Douglas' splendid hospitality was a tempting bait. It and\nTom's persuasions presently carried the day. So it was decided to say\nnothing to anybody about the night's programme. Presently it occurred to\nTom that maybe Huck might come this very night and give the signal. The\nthought took a deal of the spirit out of his anticipations. Still he\ncould not bear to give up the fun at Widow Douglas'. And why should he\ngive it up, he reasoned--the signal did not come the night before, so\nwhy should it be any more likely to come tonight? The sure fun of the\nevening outweighed the uncertain treasure; and, boy-like, he determined\nto yield to the stronger inclination and not allow himself to think of\nthe box of money another time that day.\n\nThree miles below town the ferryboat stopped at the mouth of a woody\nhollow and tied up. The crowd swarmed ashore and soon the forest\ndistances and craggy heights echoed far and near with shoutings and\nlaughter. All the different ways of getting hot and tired were gone\nthrough with, and by-and-by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified\nwith responsible appetites, and then the destruction of the good things\nbegan. After the feast there was a refreshing season of rest and chat in\nthe shade of spreading oaks. By-and-by somebody shouted:\n\n\"Who's ready for the cave?\"\n\nEverybody was. Bundles of candles were procured, and straightway there\nwas a general scamper up the hill. The mouth of the cave was up the\nhillside--an opening shaped like a letter A. Its massive oaken door stood\nunbarred. Within was a small chamber, chilly as an icehouse, and walled\nby Nature with solid limestone that was dewy with a cold sweat. It was\nromantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep gloom and look out\nupon the green valley shining in the sun. But the impressiveness of the\nsituation quickly wore off, and the romping began again. The moment\na candle was lighted there was a general rush upon the owner of it; a\nstruggle and a gallant defence followed, but the candle was soon knocked\ndown or blown out, and then there was a glad clamor of laughter and a\nnew chase. But all things have an end. By-and-by the procession went\nfiling down the steep descent of the main avenue, the flickering rank of\nlights dimly revealing the lofty walls of rock almost to their point of\njunction sixty feet overhead. This main avenue was not more than\neight or ten feet wide. Every few steps other lofty and still narrower\ncrevices branched from it on either hand--for McDougal's cave was but a\nvast labyrinth of crooked aisles that ran into each other and out again\nand led nowhere. It was said that one might wander days and nights\ntogether through its intricate tangle of rifts and chasms, and never\nfind the end of the cave; and that he might go down, and down, and\nstill down, into the earth, and it was just the same--labyrinth under\nlabyrinth, and no end to any of them. No man \"knew\" the cave. That was\nan impossible thing. Most of the young men knew a portion of it, and it\nwas not customary to venture much beyond this known portion. Tom Sawyer\nknew as much of the cave as any one.\n\nThe procession moved along the main avenue some three-quarters of\na mile, and then groups and couples began to slip aside into branch\navenues, fly along the dismal corridors, and take each other by surprise\nat points where the corridors joined again. Parties were able to elude\neach other for the space of half an hour without going beyond the\n\"known\" ground.\n\nBy-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth\nof the cave, panting, hilarious, smeared from head to foot with tallow\ndrippings, daubed with clay, and entirely delighted with the success of\nthe day. Then they were astonished to find that they had been taking\nno note of time and that night was about at hand. The clanging bell had\nbeen calling for half an hour. However, this sort of close to the day's\nadventures was romantic and therefore satisfactory. When the ferryboat\nwith her wild freight pushed into the stream, nobody cared sixpence for\nthe wasted time but the captain of the craft.\n\nHuck was already upon his watch when the ferryboat's lights went\nglinting past the wharf. He heard no noise on board, for the young\npeople were as subdued and still as people usually are who are nearly\ntired to death. He wondered what boat it was, and why she did not\nstop at the wharf--and then he dropped her out of his mind and put his\nattention upon his business. The night was growing cloudy and dark. Ten\no'clock came, and the noise of vehicles ceased, scattered lights began\nto wink out, all straggling foot-passengers disappeared, the village\nbetook itself to its slumbers and left the small watcher alone with the\nsilence and the ghosts. Eleven o'clock came, and the tavern lights were\nput out; darkness everywhere, now. Huck waited what seemed a weary long\ntime, but nothing happened. His faith was weakening. Was there any use?\nWas there really any use? Why not give it up and turn in?\n\nA noise fell upon his ear. He was all attention in an instant. The alley\ndoor closed softly. He sprang to the corner of the brick store. The next\nmoment two men brushed by him, and one seemed to have something under\nhis arm. It must be that box! So they were going to remove the treasure.\nWhy call Tom now? It would be absurd--the men would get away with the box\nand never be found again. No, he would stick to their wake and follow\nthem; he would trust to the darkness for security from discovery. So\ncommuning with himself, Huck stepped out and glided along behind the\nmen, cat-like, with bare feet, allowing them to keep just far enough\nahead not to be invisible.\n\nThey moved up the river street three blocks, then turned to the left up\na crossstreet. They went straight ahead, then, until they came to the\npath that led up Cardiff Hill; this they took. They passed by the old\nWelshman's house, halfway up the hill, without hesitating, and still\nclimbed upward. Good, thought Huck, they will bury it in the old quarry.\nBut they never stopped at the quarry. They passed on, up the summit.\nThey plunged into the narrow path between the tall sumach bushes, and\nwere at once hidden in the gloom. Huck closed up and shortened his\ndistance, now, for they would never be able to see him. He trotted along\nawhile; then slackened his pace, fearing he was gaining too fast; moved\non a piece, then stopped altogether; listened; no sound; none, save that\nhe seemed to hear the beating of his own heart. The hooting of an\nowl came over the hill--ominous sound! But no footsteps. Heavens, was\neverything lost! He was about to spring with winged feet, when a man\ncleared his throat not four feet from him! Huck's heart shot into his\nthroat, but he swallowed it again; and then he stood there shaking as\nif a dozen agues had taken charge of him at once, and so weak that he\nthought he must surely fall to the ground. He knew where he was. He\nknew he was within five steps of the stile leading into Widow Douglas'\ngrounds. Very well, he thought, let them bury it there; it won't be hard\nto find.\n\nNow there was a voice--a very low voice--Injun Joe's:\n\n\"Damn her, maybe she's got company--there's lights, late as it is.\"\n\n\"I can't see any.\"\n\nThis was that stranger's voice--the stranger of the haunted house. A\ndeadly chill went to Huck's heart--this, then, was the \"revenge\" job! His\nthought was, to fly. Then he remembered that the Widow Douglas had been\nkind to him more than once, and maybe these men were going to murder\nher. He wished he dared venture to warn her; but he knew he didn't\ndare--they might come and catch him. He thought all this and more in\nthe moment that elapsed between the stranger's remark and Injun Joe's\nnext--which was--\n\n\"Because the bush is in your way. Now--this way--now you see, don't you?\"\n\n\"Yes. Well, there _is_ company there, I reckon. Better give it up.\"\n\n\"Give it up, and I just leaving this country forever! Give it up and\nmaybe never have another chance. I tell you again, as I've told you\nbefore, I don't care for her swag--you may have it. But her husband was\nrough on me--many times he was rough on me--and mainly he was the justice\nof the peace that jugged me for a vagrant. And that ain't all. It ain't\na millionth part of it! He had me _horsewhipped_!--horsewhipped in\nfront of the jail, like a nigger!--with all the town looking on!\n_Horsewhipped_!--do you understand? He took advantage of me and died. But\nI'll take it out of _her_.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't kill her! Don't do that!\"\n\n\"Kill? Who said anything about killing? I would kill _him_ if he was\nhere; but not her. When you want to get revenge on a woman you don't\nkill her--bosh! you go for her looks. You slit her nostrils--you notch her\nears like a sow!\"\n\n\"By God, that's--\"\n\n\"Keep your opinion to yourself! It will be safest for you. I'll tie her\nto the bed. If she bleeds to death, is that my fault? I'll not cry, if\nshe does. My friend, you'll help me in this thing--for _my_ sake--that's\nwhy you're here--I mightn't be able alone. If you flinch, I'll kill you.\nDo you understand that? And if I have to kill you, I'll kill her--and\nthen I reckon nobody'll ever know much about who done this business.\"\n\n\"Well, if it's got to be done, let's get at it. The quicker the\nbetter--I'm all in a shiver.\"\n\n\"Do it _now_? And company there? Look here--I'll get suspicious of you,\nfirst thing you know. No--we'll wait till the lights are out--there's no\nhurry.\"\n\nHuck felt that a silence was going to ensue--a thing still more awful\nthan any amount of murderous talk; so he held his breath and stepped\ngingerly back; planted his foot carefully and firmly, after balancing,\none-legged, in a precarious way and almost toppling over, first on one\nside and then on the other. He took another step back, with the same\nelaboration and the same risks; then another and another, and--a twig\nsnapped under his foot! His breath stopped and he listened. There was no\nsound--the stillness was perfect. His gratitude was measureless. Now he\nturned in his tracks, between the walls of sumach bushes--turned\nhimself as carefully as if he were a ship--and then stepped quickly but\ncautiously along. When he emerged at the quarry he felt secure, and\nso he picked up his nimble heels and flew. Down, down he sped, till he\nreached the Welshman's. He banged at the door, and presently the heads\nof the old man and his two stalwart sons were thrust from windows.\n\n\"What's the row there? Who's banging? What do you want?\"\n\n\"Let me in--quick! I'll tell everything.\"\n\n\"Why, who are you?\"\n\n\"Huckleberry Finn--quick, let me in!\"\n\n\"Huckleberry Finn, indeed! It ain't a name to open many doors, I judge!\nBut let him in, lads, and let's see what's the trouble.\"\n\n\"Please don't ever tell I told you,\" were Huck's first words when he got\nin. \"Please don't--I'd be killed, sure--but the widow's been good friends\nto me sometimes, and I want to tell--I _will_ tell if you'll promise you\nwon't ever say it was me.\"\n\n\"By George, he _has_ got something to tell, or he wouldn't act so!\"\nexclaimed the old man; \"out with it and nobody here'll ever tell, lad.\"\n\nThree minutes later the old man and his sons, well armed, were up the\nhill, and just entering the sumach path on tiptoe, their weapons in\ntheir hands. Huck accompanied them no further. He hid behind a great\nbowlder and fell to listening. There was a lagging, anxious silence, and\nthen all of a sudden there was an explosion of firearms and a cry.\n\nHuck waited for no particulars. He sprang away and sped down the hill as\nfast as his legs could carry him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nAS the earliest suspicion of dawn appeared on Sunday morning, Huck came\ngroping up the hill and rapped gently at the old Welshman's door. The\ninmates were asleep, but it was a sleep that was set on a hair-trigger,\non account of the exciting episode of the night. A call came from a\nwindow:\n\n\"Who's there!\"\n\nHuck's scared voice answered in a low tone:\n\n\"Please let me in! It's only Huck Finn!\"\n\n\"It's a name that can open this door night or day, lad!--and welcome!\"\n\nThese were strange words to the vagabond boy's ears, and the pleasantest\nhe had ever heard. He could not recollect that the closing word had ever\nbeen applied in his case before. The door was quickly unlocked, and he\nentered. Huck was given a seat and the old man and his brace of tall\nsons speedily dressed themselves.\n\n\"Now, my boy, I hope you're good and hungry, because breakfast will be\nready as soon as the sun's up, and we'll have a piping hot one, too--make\nyourself easy about that! I and the boys hoped you'd turn up and stop\nhere last night.\"\n\n\"I was awful scared,\" said Huck, \"and I run. I took out when the pistols\nwent off, and I didn't stop for three mile. I've come now becuz I wanted\nto know about it, you know; and I come before daylight becuz I didn't\nwant to run across them devils, even if they was dead.\"\n\n\"Well, poor chap, you do look as if you'd had a hard night of it--but\nthere's a bed here for you when you've had your breakfast. No, they\nain't dead, lad--we are sorry enough for that. You see we knew right\nwhere to put our hands on them, by your description; so we crept along\non tiptoe till we got within fifteen feet of them--dark as a cellar that\nsumach path was--and just then I found I was going to sneeze. It was the\nmeanest kind of luck! I tried to keep it back, but no use--'twas bound to\ncome, and it did come! I was in the lead with my pistol raised, and when\nthe sneeze started those scoundrels a-rustling to get out of the path,\nI sung out, 'Fire boys!' and blazed away at the place where the rustling\nwas. So did the boys. But they were off in a jiffy, those villains, and\nwe after them, down through the woods. I judge we never touched them.\nThey fired a shot apiece as they started, but their bullets whizzed by\nand didn't do us any harm. As soon as we lost the sound of their feet\nwe quit chasing, and went down and stirred up the constables. They got a\nposse together, and went off to guard the river bank, and as soon as it\nis light the sheriff and a gang are going to beat up the woods. My boys\nwill be with them presently. I wish we had some sort of description of\nthose rascals--'twould help a good deal. But you couldn't see what they\nwere like, in the dark, lad, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Oh yes; I saw them downtown and follered them.\"\n\n\"Splendid! Describe them--describe them, my boy!\"\n\n\"One's the old deaf and dumb Spaniard that's ben around here once or\ntwice, and t'other's a mean-looking, ragged--\"\n\n\"That's enough, lad, we know the men! Happened on them in the woods back\nof the widow's one day, and they slunk away. Off with you, boys, and\ntell the sheriff--get your breakfast tomorrow morning!\"\n\nThe Welshman's sons departed at once. As they were leaving the room Huck\nsprang up and exclaimed:\n\n\"Oh, please don't tell _any_body it was me that blowed on them! Oh,\nplease!\"\n\n\"All right if you say it, Huck, but you ought to have the credit of what\nyou did.\"\n\n\"Oh no, no! Please don't tell!\"\n\nWhen the young men were gone, the old Welshman said:\n\n\"They won't tell--and I won't. But why don't you want it known?\"\n\nHuck would not explain, further than to say that he already knew too\nmuch about one of those men and would not have the man know that he knew\nanything against him for the whole world--he would be killed for knowing\nit, sure.\n\nThe old man promised secrecy once more, and said:\n\n\"How did you come to follow these fellows, lad? Were they looking\nsuspicious?\"\n\nHuck was silent while he framed a duly cautious reply. Then he said:\n\n\"Well, you see, I'm a kind of a hard lot,--least everybody says so, and\nI don't see nothing agin it--and sometimes I can't sleep much, on account\nof thinking about it and sort of trying to strike out a new way of\ndoing. That was the way of it last night. I couldn't sleep, and so I\ncome along upstreet 'bout midnight, a-turning it all over, and when I\ngot to that old shackly brick store by the Temperance Tavern, I backed\nup agin the wall to have another think. Well, just then along comes\nthese two chaps slipping along close by me, with something under their\narm, and I reckoned they'd stole it. One was a-smoking, and t'other one\nwanted a light; so they stopped right before me and the cigars lit up\ntheir faces and I see that the big one was the deaf and dumb Spaniard,\nby his white whiskers and the patch on his eye, and t'other one was a\nrusty, ragged-looking devil.\"\n\n\"Could you see the rags by the light of the cigars?\"\n\nThis staggered Huck for a moment. Then he said:\n\n\"Well, I don't know--but somehow it seems as if I did.\"\n\n\"Then they went on, and you--\"\n\n\"Follered 'em--yes. That was it. I wanted to see what was up--they sneaked\nalong so. I dogged 'em to the widder's stile, and stood in the dark and\nheard the ragged one beg for the widder, and the Spaniard swear he'd\nspile her looks just as I told you and your two--\"\n\n\"What! The _deaf and dumb_ man said all that!\"\n\nHuck had made another terrible mistake! He was trying his best to keep\nthe old man from getting the faintest hint of who the Spaniard might be,\nand yet his tongue seemed determined to get him into trouble in spite of\nall he could do. He made several efforts to creep out of his scrape,\nbut the old man's eye was upon him and he made blunder after blunder.\nPresently the Welshman said:\n\n\"My boy, don't be afraid of me. I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head for\nall the world. No--I'd protect you--I'd protect you. This Spaniard is\nnot deaf and dumb; you've let that slip without intending it; you can't\ncover that up now. You know something about that Spaniard that you want\nto keep dark. Now trust me--tell me what it is, and trust me--I won't\nbetray you.\"\n\nHuck looked into the old man's honest eyes a moment, then bent over and\nwhispered in his ear:\n\n\"'Tain't a Spaniard--it's Injun Joe!\"\n\nThe Welshman almost jumped out of his chair. In a moment he said:\n\n\"It's all plain enough, now. When you talked about notching ears and\nslitting noses I judged that that was your own embellishment, because\nwhite men don't take that sort of revenge. But an Injun! That's a\ndifferent matter altogether.\"\n\nDuring breakfast the talk went on, and in the course of it the old man\nsaid that the last thing which he and his sons had done, before going\nto bed, was to get a lantern and examine the stile and its vicinity for\nmarks of blood. They found none, but captured a bulky bundle of--\n\n\"Of _what_?\"\n\nIf the words had been lightning they could not have leaped with a more\nstunning suddenness from Huck's blanched lips. His eyes were staring\nwide, now, and his breath suspended--waiting for the answer. The Welshman\nstarted--stared in return--three seconds--five seconds--ten--then replied:\n\n\"Of burglar's tools. Why, what's the _matter_ with you?\"\n\nHuck sank back, panting gently, but deeply, unutterably grateful. The\nWelshman eyed him gravely, curiously--and presently said:\n\n\"Yes, burglar's tools. That appears to relieve you a good deal. But what\ndid give you that turn? What were _you_ expecting we'd found?\"\n\nHuck was in a close place--the inquiring eye was upon him--he would have\ngiven anything for material for a plausible answer--nothing suggested\nitself--the inquiring eye was boring deeper and deeper--a senseless\nreply offered--there was no time to weigh it, so at a venture he uttered\nit--feebly:\n\n\"Sunday-school books, maybe.\"\n\nPoor Huck was too distressed to smile, but the old man laughed loud and\njoyously, shook up the details of his anatomy from head to foot, and\nended by saying that such a laugh was money in a-man's pocket, because\nit cut down the doctor's bill like everything. Then he added:\n\n\"Poor old chap, you're white and jaded--you ain't well a bit--no wonder\nyou're a little flighty and off your balance. But you'll come out of it.\nRest and sleep will fetch you out all right, I hope.\"\n\nHuck was irritated to think he had been such a goose and betrayed such\na suspicious excitement, for he had dropped the idea that the parcel\nbrought from the tavern was the treasure, as soon as he had heard the\ntalk at the widow's stile. He had only thought it was not the treasure,\nhowever--he had not known that it wasn't--and so the suggestion of a\ncaptured bundle was too much for his self-possession. But on the whole\nhe felt glad the little episode had happened, for now he knew beyond all\nquestion that that bundle was not _the_ bundle, and so his mind was\nat rest and exceedingly comfortable. In fact, everything seemed to be\ndrifting just in the right direction, now; the treasure must be still\nin No. 2, the men would be captured and jailed that day, and he and\nTom could seize the gold that night without any trouble or any fear of\ninterruption.\n\nJust as breakfast was completed there was a knock at the door. Huck\njumped for a hiding-place, for he had no mind to be connected even\nremotely with the late event. The Welshman admitted several ladies and\ngentlemen, among them the Widow Douglas, and noticed that groups of\ncitizens were climbing up the hill--to stare at the stile. So the news\nhad spread. The Welshman had to tell the story of the night to the\nvisitors. The widow's gratitude for her preservation was outspoken.\n\n\"Don't say a word about it, madam. There's another that you're more\nbeholden to than you are to me and my boys, maybe, but he don't allow me\nto tell his name. We wouldn't have been there but for him.\"\n\nOf course this excited a curiosity so vast that it almost belittled the\nmain matter--but the Welshman allowed it to eat into the vitals of his\nvisitors, and through them be transmitted to the whole town, for he\nrefused to part with his secret. When all else had been learned, the\nwidow said:\n\n\"I went to sleep reading in bed and slept straight through all that\nnoise. Why didn't you come and wake me?\"\n\n\"We judged it warn't worth while. Those fellows warn't likely to come\nagain--they hadn't any tools left to work with, and what was the use of\nwaking you up and scaring you to death? My three negro men stood guard\nat your house all the rest of the night. They've just come back.\"\n\nMore visitors came, and the story had to be told and retold for a couple\nof hours more.\n\nThere was no Sabbath-school during day-school vacation, but everybody\nwas early at church. The stirring event was well canvassed. News came\nthat not a sign of the two villains had been yet discovered. When the\nsermon was finished, Judge Thatcher's wife dropped alongside of Mrs.\nHarper as she moved down the aisle with the crowd and said:\n\n\"Is my Becky going to sleep all day? I just expected she would be tired\nto death.\"\n\n\"Your Becky?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" with a startled look--\"didn't she stay with you last night?\"\n\n\"Why, no.\"\n\nMrs. Thatcher turned pale, and sank into a pew, just as Aunt Polly,\ntalking briskly with a friend, passed by. Aunt Polly said:\n\n\"Goodmorning, Mrs. Thatcher. Goodmorning, Mrs. Harper. I've got a boy\nthat's turned up missing. I reckon my Tom stayed at your house last\nnight--one of you. And now he's afraid to come to church. I've got to\nsettle with him.\"\n\nMrs. Thatcher shook her head feebly and turned paler than ever.\n\n\"He didn't stay with us,\" said Mrs. Harper, beginning to look uneasy. A\nmarked anxiety came into Aunt Polly's face.\n\n\"Joe Harper, have you seen my Tom this morning?\"\n\n\"No'm.\"\n\n\"When did you see him last?\"\n\nJoe tried to remember, but was not sure he could say. The people had\nstopped moving out of church. Whispers passed along, and a boding\nuneasiness took possession of every countenance. Children were anxiously\nquestioned, and young teachers. They all said they had not noticed\nwhether Tom and Becky were on board the ferryboat on the homeward trip;\nit was dark; no one thought of inquiring if any one was missing. One\nyoung man finally blurted out his fear that they were still in the cave!\nMrs. Thatcher swooned away. Aunt Polly fell to crying and wringing her\nhands.\n\nThe alarm swept from lip to lip, from group to group, from street to\nstreet, and within five minutes the bells were wildly clanging and\nthe whole town was up! The Cardiff Hill episode sank into instant\ninsignificance, the burglars were forgotten, horses were saddled, skiffs\nwere manned, the ferryboat ordered out, and before the horror was half\nan hour old, two hundred men were pouring down highroad and river toward\nthe cave.\n\nAll the long afternoon the village seemed empty and dead. Many women\nvisited Aunt Polly and Mrs. Thatcher and tried to comfort them. They\ncried with them, too, and that was still better than words. All the\ntedious night the town waited for news; but when the morning dawned at\nlast, all the word that came was, \"Send more candles--and send food.\"\nMrs. Thatcher was almost crazed; and Aunt Polly, also. Judge Thatcher\nsent messages of hope and encouragement from the cave, but they conveyed\nno real cheer.\n\nThe old Welshman came home toward daylight, spattered with\ncandle-grease, smeared with clay, and almost worn out. He found Huck\nstill in the bed that had been provided for him, and delirious with\nfever. The physicians were all at the cave, so the Widow Douglas came\nand took charge of the patient. She said she would do her best by him,\nbecause, whether he was good, bad, or indifferent, he was the Lord's,\nand nothing that was the Lord's was a thing to be neglected. The\nWelshman said Huck had good spots in him, and the widow said:\n\n\"You can depend on it. That's the Lord's mark. He don't leave it off.\nHe never does. Puts it somewhere on every creature that comes from his\nhands.\"\n\nEarly in the forenoon parties of jaded men began to straggle into the\nvillage, but the strongest of the citizens continued searching. All the\nnews that could be gained was that remotenesses of the cavern were being\nransacked that had never been visited before; that every corner and\ncrevice was going to be thoroughly searched; that wherever one wandered\nthrough the maze of passages, lights were to be seen flitting hither\nand thither in the distance, and shoutings and pistol-shots sent their\nhollow reverberations to the ear down the sombre aisles. In one place,\nfar from the section usually traversed by tourists, the names \"BECKY &\nTOM\" had been found traced upon the rocky wall with candle-smoke, and\nnear at hand a grease-soiled bit of ribbon. Mrs. Thatcher recognized the\nribbon and cried over it. She said it was the last relic she should ever\nhave of her child; and that no other memorial of her could ever be so\nprecious, because this one parted latest from the living body before the\nawful death came. Some said that now and then, in the cave, a far-away\nspeck of light would glimmer, and then a glorious shout would burst\nforth and a score of men go trooping down the echoing aisle--and then a\nsickening disappointment always followed; the children were not there;\nit was only a searcher's light.\n\nThree dreadful days and nights dragged their tedious hours along, and\nthe village sank into a hopeless stupor. No one had heart for anything.\nThe accidental discovery, just made, that the proprietor of the\nTemperance Tavern kept liquor on his premises, scarcely fluttered the\npublic pulse, tremendous as the fact was. In a lucid interval, Huck\nfeebly led up to the subject of taverns, and finally asked--dimly\ndreading the worst--if anything had been discovered at the Temperance\nTavern since he had been ill.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the widow.\n\nHuck started up in bed, wildeyed:\n\n\"What? What was it?\"\n\n\"Liquor!--and the place has been shut up. Lie down, child--what a turn you\ndid give me!\"\n\n\"Only tell me just one thing--only just one--please! Was it Tom Sawyer\nthat found it?\"\n\nThe widow burst into tears. \"Hush, hush, child, hush! I've told you\nbefore, you must _not_ talk. You are very, very sick!\"\n\nThen nothing but liquor had been found; there would have been a great\npowwow if it had been the gold. So the treasure was gone forever--gone\nforever! But what could she be crying about? Curious that she should\ncry.\n\nThese thoughts worked their dim way through Huck's mind, and under the\nweariness they gave him he fell asleep. The widow said to herself:\n\n\"There--he's asleep, poor wreck. Tom Sawyer find it! Pity but somebody\ncould find Tom Sawyer! Ah, there ain't many left, now, that's got hope\nenough, or strength enough, either, to go on searching.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\nNOW to return to Tom and Becky's share in the picnic. They tripped along\nthe murky aisles with the rest of the company, visiting the familiar\nwonders of the cave--wonders dubbed with rather over-descriptive names,\nsuch as \"The Drawing-Room,\" \"The Cathedral,\" \"Aladdin's Palace,\" and\nso on. Presently the hide-and-seek frolicking began, and Tom and Becky\nengaged in it with zeal until the exertion began to grow a trifle\nwearisome; then they wandered down a sinuous avenue holding their\ncandles aloft and reading the tangled webwork of names, dates,\npostoffice addresses, and mottoes with which the rocky walls had been\nfrescoed (in candle-smoke). Still drifting along and talking, they\nscarcely noticed that they were now in a part of the cave whose walls\nwere not frescoed. They smoked their own names under an overhanging\nshelf and moved on. Presently they came to a place where a little stream\nof water, trickling over a ledge and carrying a limestone sediment with\nit, had, in the slow-dragging ages, formed a laced and ruffled Niagara\nin gleaming and imperishable stone. Tom squeezed his small body behind\nit in order to illuminate it for Becky's gratification. He found that\nit curtained a sort of steep natural stairway which was enclosed between\nnarrow walls, and at once the ambition to be a discoverer seized him.\n\nBecky responded to his call, and they made a smoke-mark for future\nguidance, and started upon their quest. They wound this way and that,\nfar down into the secret depths of the cave, made another mark, and\nbranched off in search of novelties to tell the upper world about. In\none place they found a spacious cavern, from whose ceiling depended a\nmultitude of shining stalactites of the length and circumference of\na man's leg; they walked all about it, wondering and admiring, and\npresently left it by one of the numerous passages that opened into\nit. This shortly brought them to a bewitching spring, whose basin was\nincrusted with a frostwork of glittering crystals; it was in the midst\nof a cavern whose walls were supported by many fantastic pillars which\nhad been formed by the joining of great stalactites and stalagmites\ntogether, the result of the ceaseless water-drip of centuries. Under the\nroof vast knots of bats had packed themselves together, thousands in a\nbunch; the lights disturbed the creatures and they came flocking down by\nhundreds, squeaking and darting furiously at the candles. Tom knew their\nways and the danger of this sort of conduct. He seized Becky's hand and\nhurried her into the first corridor that offered; and none too soon, for\na bat struck Becky's light out with its wing while she was passing out\nof the cavern. The bats chased the children a good distance; but the\nfugitives plunged into every new passage that offered, and at last got\nrid of the perilous things. Tom found a subterranean lake, shortly,\nwhich stretched its dim length away until its shape was lost in the\nshadows. He wanted to explore its borders, but concluded that it would\nbe best to sit down and rest awhile, first. Now, for the first time, the\ndeep stillness of the place laid a clammy hand upon the spirits of the\nchildren. Becky said:\n\n\"Why, I didn't notice, but it seems ever so long since I heard any of\nthe others.\"\n\n\"Come to think, Becky, we are away down below them--and I don't know how\nfar away north, or south, or east, or whichever it is. We couldn't hear\nthem here.\"\n\nBecky grew apprehensive.\n\n\"I wonder how long we've been down here, Tom? We better start back.\"\n\n\"Yes, I reckon we better. P'raps we better.\"\n\n\"Can you find the way, Tom? It's all a mixed-up crookedness to me.\"\n\n\"I reckon I could find it--but then the bats. If they put our candles\nout it will be an awful fix. Let's try some other way, so as not to go\nthrough there.\"\n\n\"Well. But I hope we won't get lost. It would be so awful!\" and the girl\nshuddered at the thought of the dreadful possibilities.\n\nThey started through a corridor, and traversed it in silence a long\nway, glancing at each new opening, to see if there was anything familiar\nabout the look of it; but they were all strange. Every time Tom made an\nexamination, Becky would watch his face for an encouraging sign, and he\nwould say cheerily:\n\n\"Oh, it's all right. This ain't the one, but we'll come to it right\naway!\"\n\nBut he felt less and less hopeful with each failure, and presently began\nto turn off into diverging avenues at sheer random, in desperate hope of\nfinding the one that was wanted. He still said it was \"all right,\" but\nthere was such a leaden dread at his heart that the words had lost their\nring and sounded just as if he had said, \"All is lost!\" Becky clung to\nhis side in an anguish of fear, and tried hard to keep back the tears,\nbut they would come. At last she said:\n\n\"Oh, Tom, never mind the bats, let's go back that way! We seem to get\nworse and worse off all the time.\"\n\n\"Listen!\" said he.\n\nProfound silence; silence so deep that even their breathings were\nconspicuous in the hush. Tom shouted. The call went echoing down\nthe empty aisles and died out in the distance in a faint sound that\nresembled a ripple of mocking laughter.\n\n\"Oh, don't do it again, Tom, it is too horrid,\" said Becky.\n\n\"It is horrid, but I better, Becky; they might hear us, you know,\" and\nhe shouted again.\n\nThe \"might\" was even a chillier horror than the ghostly laughter, it so\nconfessed a perishing hope. The children stood still and listened; but\nthere was no result. Tom turned upon the back track at once, and hurried\nhis steps. It was but a little while before a certain indecision in his\nmanner revealed another fearful fact to Becky--he could not find his way\nback!\n\n\"Oh, Tom, you didn't make any marks!\"\n\n\"Becky, I was such a fool! Such a fool! I never thought we might want to\ncome back! No--I can't find the way. It's all mixed up.\"\n\n\"Tom, Tom, we're lost! we're lost! We never can get out of this awful\nplace! Oh, why _did_ we ever leave the others!\"\n\nShe sank to the ground and burst into such a frenzy of crying that Tom\nwas appalled with the idea that she might die, or lose her reason. He\nsat down by her and put his arms around her; she buried her face in\nhis bosom, she clung to him, she poured out her terrors, her unavailing\nregrets, and the far echoes turned them all to jeering laughter. Tom\nbegged her to pluck up hope again, and she said she could not. He fell\nto blaming and abusing himself for getting her into this miserable\nsituation; this had a better effect. She said she would try to hope\nagain, she would get up and follow wherever he might lead if only he\nwould not talk like that any more. For he was no more to blame than she,\nshe said.\n\nSo they moved on again--aimlessly--simply at random--all they could do\nwas to move, keep moving. For a little while, hope made a show of\nreviving--not with any reason to back it, but only because it is its\nnature to revive when the spring has not been taken out of it by age and\nfamiliarity with failure.\n\nBy-and-by Tom took Becky's candle and blew it out. This economy meant so\nmuch! Words were not needed. Becky understood, and her hope died again.\nShe knew that Tom had a whole candle and three or four pieces in his\npockets--yet he must economize.\n\nBy-and-by, fatigue began to assert its claims; the children tried to pay\nattention, for it was dreadful to think of sitting down when time was\ngrown to be so precious, moving, in some direction, in any direction,\nwas at least progress and might bear fruit; but to sit down was to\ninvite death and shorten its pursuit.\n\nAt last Becky's frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat down.\nTom rested with her, and they talked of home, and the friends there,\nand the comfortable beds and, above all, the light! Becky cried, and Tom\ntried to think of some way of comforting her, but all his encouragements\nwere grown thread-bare with use, and sounded like sarcasms. Fatigue bore\nso heavily upon Becky that she drowsed off to sleep. Tom was grateful.\nHe sat looking into her drawn face and saw it grow smooth and natural\nunder the influence of pleasant dreams; and by-and-by a smile dawned and\nrested there. The peaceful face reflected somewhat of peace and healing\ninto his own spirit, and his thoughts wandered away to bygone times and\ndreamy memories. While he was deep in his musings, Becky woke up with a\nbreezy little laugh--but it was stricken dead upon her lips, and a groan\nfollowed it.\n\n\"Oh, how _could_ I sleep! I wish I never, never had waked! No! No, I\ndon't, Tom! Don't look so! I won't say it again.\"\n\n\"I'm glad you've slept, Becky; you'll feel rested, now, and we'll find\nthe way out.\"\n\n\"We can try, Tom; but I've seen such a beautiful country in my dream. I\nreckon we are going there.\"\n\n\"Maybe not, maybe not. Cheer up, Becky, and let's go on trying.\"\n\nThey rose up and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They tried\nto estimate how long they had been in the cave, but all they knew was\nthat it seemed days and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not\nbe, for their candles were not gone yet. A long time after this--they\ncould not tell how long--Tom said they must go softly and listen for\ndripping water--they must find a spring. They found one presently, and\nTom said it was time to rest again. Both were cruelly tired, yet Becky\nsaid she thought she could go a little farther. She was surprised to\nhear Tom dissent. She could not understand it. They sat down, and Tom\nfastened his candle to the wall in front of them with some clay. Thought\nwas soon busy; nothing was said for some time. Then Becky broke the\nsilence:\n\n\"Tom, I am so hungry!\"\n\nTom took something out of his pocket.\n\n\"Do you remember this?\" said he.\n\nBecky almost smiled.\n\n\"It's our wedding-cake, Tom.\"\n\n\"Yes--I wish it was as big as a barrel, for it's all we've got.\"\n\n\"I saved it from the picnic for us to dream on, Tom, the way grownup\npeople do with wedding-cake--but it'll be our--\"\n\nShe dropped the sentence where it was. Tom divided the cake and Becky\nate with good appetite, while Tom nibbled at his moiety. There was\nabundance of cold water to finish the feast with. By-and-by Becky\nsuggested that they move on again. Tom was silent a moment. Then he\nsaid:\n\n\"Becky, can you bear it if I tell you something?\"\n\nBecky's face paled, but she thought she could.\n\n\"Well, then, Becky, we must stay here, where there's water to drink.\nThat little piece is our last candle!\"\n\nBecky gave loose to tears and wailings. Tom did what he could to comfort\nher, but with little effect. At length Becky said:\n\n\"Tom!\"\n\n\"Well, Becky?\"\n\n\"They'll miss us and hunt for us!\"\n\n\"Yes, they will! Certainly they will!\"\n\n\"Maybe they're hunting for us now, Tom.\"\n\n\"Why, I reckon maybe they are. I hope they are.\"\n\n\"When would they miss us, Tom?\"\n\n\"When they get back to the boat, I reckon.\"\n\n\"Tom, it might be dark then--would they notice we hadn't come?\"\n\n\"I don't know. But anyway, your mother would miss you as soon as they\ngot home.\"\n\nA frightened look in Becky's face brought Tom to his senses and he saw\nthat he had made a blunder. Becky was not to have gone home that night!\nThe children became silent and thoughtful. In a moment a new burst of\ngrief from Becky showed Tom that the thing in his mind had struck hers\nalso--that the Sabbath morning might be half spent before Mrs. Thatcher\ndiscovered that Becky was not at Mrs. Harper's.\n\nThe children fastened their eyes upon their bit of candle and watched it\nmelt slowly and pitilessly away; saw the half inch of wick stand alone\nat last; saw the feeble flame rise and fall, climb the thin column of\nsmoke, linger at its top a moment, and then--the horror of utter darkness\nreigned!\n\nHow long afterward it was that Becky came to a slow consciousness that\nshe was crying in Tom's arms, neither could tell. All that they knew\nwas, that after what seemed a mighty stretch of time, both awoke out of\na dead stupor of sleep and resumed their miseries once more. Tom said\nit might be Sunday, now--maybe Monday. He tried to get Becky to talk, but\nher sorrows were too oppressive, all her hopes were gone. Tom said that\nthey must have been missed long ago, and no doubt the search was going\non. He would shout and maybe some one would come. He tried it; but in\nthe darkness the distant echoes sounded so hideously that he tried it no\nmore.\n\nThe hours wasted away, and hunger came to torment the captives again. A\nportion of Tom's half of the cake was left; they divided and ate it. But\nthey seemed hungrier than before. The poor morsel of food only whetted\ndesire.\n\nBy-and-by Tom said:\n\n\"SH! Did you hear that?\"\n\nBoth held their breath and listened. There was a sound like the\nfaintest, far-off shout. Instantly Tom answered it, and leading Becky by\nthe hand, started groping down the corridor in its direction. Presently\nhe listened again; again the sound was heard, and apparently a little\nnearer.\n\n\"It's them!\" said Tom; \"they're coming! Come along, Becky--we're all\nright now!\"\n\nThe joy of the prisoners was almost overwhelming. Their speed was slow,\nhowever, because pitfalls were somewhat common, and had to be guarded\nagainst. They shortly came to one and had to stop. It might be three\nfeet deep, it might be a hundred--there was no passing it at any rate.\nTom got down on his breast and reached as far down as he could. No\nbottom. They must stay there and wait until the searchers came. They\nlistened; evidently the distant shoutings were growing more distant!\na moment or two more and they had gone altogether. The heart-sinking\nmisery of it! Tom whooped until he was hoarse, but it was of no use. He\ntalked hopefully to Becky; but an age of anxious waiting passed and no\nsounds came again.\n\nThe children groped their way back to the spring. The weary time dragged\non; they slept again, and awoke famished and woe-stricken. Tom believed\nit must be Tuesday by this time.\n\nNow an idea struck him. There were some side passages near at hand. It\nwould be better to explore some of these than bear the weight of the\nheavy time in idleness. He took a kite-line from his pocket, tied it to\na projection, and he and Becky started, Tom in the lead, unwinding the\nline as he groped along. At the end of twenty steps the corridor ended\nin a \"jumping-off place.\" Tom got down on his knees and felt below,\nand then as far around the corner as he could reach with his hands\nconveniently; he made an effort to stretch yet a little farther to the\nright, and at that moment, not twenty yards away, a human hand, holding\na candle, appeared from behind a rock! Tom lifted up a glorious shout,\nand instantly that hand was followed by the body it belonged to--Injun\nJoe's! Tom was paralyzed; he could not move. He was vastly gratified the\nnext moment, to see the \"Spaniard\" take to his heels and get himself out\nof sight. Tom wondered that Joe had not recognized his voice and come\nover and killed him for testifying in court. But the echoes must have\ndisguised the voice. Without doubt, that was it, he reasoned. Tom's\nfright weakened every muscle in his body. He said to himself that if he\nhad strength enough to get back to the spring he would stay there, and\nnothing should tempt him to run the risk of meeting Injun Joe again. He\nwas careful to keep from Becky what it was he had seen. He told her he\nhad only shouted \"for luck.\"\n\nBut hunger and wretchedness rise superior to fears in the long run.\nAnother tedious wait at the spring and another long sleep brought\nchanges. The children awoke tortured with a raging hunger. Tom believed\nthat it must be Wednesday or Thursday or even Friday or Saturday, now,\nand that the search had been given over. He proposed to explore another\npassage. He felt willing to risk Injun Joe and all other terrors. But\nBecky was very weak. She had sunk into a dreary apathy and would not be\nroused. She said she would wait, now, where she was, and die--it would\nnot be long. She told Tom to go with the kite-line and explore if he\nchose; but she implored him to come back every little while and speak\nto her; and she made him promise that when the awful time came, he would\nstay by her and hold her hand until all was over.\n\nTom kissed her, with a choking sensation in his throat, and made a show\nof being confident of finding the searchers or an escape from the cave;\nthen he took the kite-line in his hand and went groping down one of the\npassages on his hands and knees, distressed with hunger and sick with\nbodings of coming doom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\nTUESDAY afternoon came, and waned to the twilight. The village of St.\nPetersburg still mourned. The lost children had not been found. Public\nprayers had been offered up for them, and many and many a private prayer\nthat had the petitioner's whole heart in it; but still no good news came\nfrom the cave. The majority of the searchers had given up the quest\nand gone back to their daily avocations, saying that it was plain the\nchildren could never be found. Mrs. Thatcher was very ill, and a great\npart of the time delirious. People said it was heartbreaking to hear her\ncall her child, and raise her head and listen a whole minute at a time,\nthen lay it wearily down again with a moan. Aunt Polly had drooped into\na settled melancholy, and her gray hair had grown almost white. The\nvillage went to its rest on Tuesday night, sad and forlorn.\n\nAway in the middle of the night a wild peal burst from the village\nbells, and in a moment the streets were swarming with frantic half-clad\npeople, who shouted, \"Turn out! turn out! they're found! they're found!\"\nTin pans and horns were added to the din, the population massed itself\nand moved toward the river, met the children coming in an open carriage\ndrawn by shouting citizens, thronged around it, joined its homeward\nmarch, and swept magnificently up the main street roaring huzzah after\nhuzzah!\n\nThe village was illuminated; nobody went to bed again; it was the\ngreatest night the little town had ever seen. During the first half-hour\na procession of villagers filed through Judge Thatcher's house, seized\nthe saved ones and kissed them, squeezed Mrs. Thatcher's hand, tried to\nspeak but couldn't--and drifted out raining tears all over the place.\n\nAunt Polly's happiness was complete, and Mrs. Thatcher's nearly so. It\nwould be complete, however, as soon as the messenger dispatched with the\ngreat news to the cave should get the word to her husband. Tom lay upon\na sofa with an eager auditory about him and told the history of the\nwonderful adventure, putting in many striking additions to adorn it\nwithal; and closed with a description of how he left Becky and went\non an exploring expedition; how he followed two avenues as far as his\nkite-line would reach; how he followed a third to the fullest stretch\nof the kite-line, and was about to turn back when he glimpsed a far-off\nspeck that looked like daylight; dropped the line and groped toward it,\npushed his head and shoulders through a small hole, and saw the broad\nMississippi rolling by!\n\nAnd if it had only happened to be night he would not have seen that\nspeck of daylight and would not have explored that passage any more! He\ntold how he went back for Becky and broke the good news and she told\nhim not to fret her with such stuff, for she was tired, and knew she was\ngoing to die, and wanted to. He described how he labored with her and\nconvinced her; and how she almost died for joy when she had groped to\nwhere she actually saw the blue speck of daylight; how he pushed his way\nout at the hole and then helped her out; how they sat there and cried\nfor gladness; how some men came along in a skiff and Tom hailed them\nand told them their situation and their famished condition; how the men\ndidn't believe the wild tale at first, \"because,\" said they, \"you are\nfive miles down the river below the valley the cave is in\"--then took\nthem aboard, rowed to a house, gave them supper, made them rest till two\nor three hours after dark and then brought them home.\n\nBefore day-dawn, Judge Thatcher and the handful of searchers with him\nwere tracked out, in the cave, by the twine clews they had strung behind\nthem, and informed of the great news.\n\nThree days and nights of toil and hunger in the cave were not to\nbe shaken off at once, as Tom and Becky soon discovered. They were\nbedridden all of Wednesday and Thursday, and seemed to grow more and\nmore tired and worn, all the time. Tom got about, a little, on Thursday,\nwas downtown Friday, and nearly as whole as ever Saturday; but Becky\ndid not leave her room until Sunday, and then she looked as if she had\npassed through a wasting illness.\n\nTom learned of Huck's sickness and went to see him on Friday, but could\nnot be admitted to the bedroom; neither could he on Saturday or Sunday.\nHe was admitted daily after that, but was warned to keep still about his\nadventure and introduce no exciting topic. The Widow Douglas stayed by\nto see that he obeyed. At home Tom learned of the Cardiff Hill event;\nalso that the \"ragged man's\" body had eventually been found in the river\nnear the ferry-landing; he had been drowned while trying to escape,\nperhaps.\n\nAbout a fortnight after Tom's rescue from the cave, he started off to\nvisit Huck, who had grown plenty strong enough, now, to hear exciting\ntalk, and Tom had some that would interest him, he thought. Judge\nThatcher's house was on Tom's way, and he stopped to see Becky. The\nJudge and some friends set Tom to talking, and some one asked him\nironically if he wouldn't like to go to the cave again. Tom said he\nthought he wouldn't mind it. The Judge said:\n\n\"Well, there are others just like you, Tom, I've not the least doubt.\nBut we have taken care of that. Nobody will get lost in that cave any\nmore.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because I had its big door sheathed with boiler iron two weeks ago, and\ntriple-locked--and I've got the keys.\"\n\nTom turned as white as a sheet.\n\n\"What's the matter, boy! Here, run, somebody! Fetch a glass of water!\"\n\nThe water was brought and thrown into Tom's face.\n\n\"Ah, now you're all right. What was the matter with you, Tom?\"\n\n\"Oh, Judge, Injun Joe's in the cave!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII\n\nWITHIN a few minutes the news had spread, and a dozen skiff-loads of\nmen were on their way to McDougal's cave, and the ferryboat, well filled\nwith passengers, soon followed. Tom Sawyer was in the skiff that bore\nJudge Thatcher.\n\nWhen the cave door was unlocked, a sorrowful sight presented itself in\nthe dim twilight of the place. Injun Joe lay stretched upon the ground,\ndead, with his face close to the crack of the door, as if his longing\neyes had been fixed, to the latest moment, upon the light and the cheer\nof the free world outside. Tom was touched, for he knew by his own\nexperience how this wretch had suffered. His pity was moved, but\nnevertheless he felt an abounding sense of relief and security, now,\nwhich revealed to him in a degree which he had not fully appreciated\nbefore how vast a weight of dread had been lying upon him since the day\nhe lifted his voice against this bloody-minded outcast.\n\nInjun Joe's bowie-knife lay close by, its blade broken in two. The great\nfoundation-beam of the door had been chipped and hacked through, with\ntedious labor; useless labor, too, it was, for the native rock formed a\nsill outside it, and upon that stubborn material the knife had wrought\nno effect; the only damage done was to the knife itself. But if there\nhad been no stony obstruction there the labor would have been useless\nstill, for if the beam had been wholly cut away Injun Joe could not have\nsqueezed his body under the door, and he knew it. So he had only hacked\nthat place in order to be doing something--in order to pass the weary\ntime--in order to employ his tortured faculties. Ordinarily one could\nfind half a dozen bits of candle stuck around in the crevices of this\nvestibule, left there by tourists; but there were none now. The prisoner\nhad searched them out and eaten them. He had also contrived to catch a\nfew bats, and these, also, he had eaten, leaving only their claws. The\npoor unfortunate had starved to death. In one place, near at hand, a\nstalagmite had been slowly growing up from the ground for ages, builded\nby the water-drip from a stalactite overhead. The captive had broken off\nthe stalagmite, and upon the stump had placed a stone, wherein he had\nscooped a shallow hollow to catch the precious drop that fell once\nin every three minutes with the dreary regularity of a clock-tick--a\ndessertspoonful once in four and twenty hours. That drop was falling\nwhen the Pyramids were new; when Troy fell; when the foundations of Rome\nwere laid; when Christ was crucified; when the Conqueror created the\nBritish empire; when Columbus sailed; when the massacre at Lexington was\n\"news.\"\n\nIt is falling now; it will still be falling when all these things shall\nhave sunk down the afternoon of history, and the twilight of tradition,\nand been swallowed up in the thick night of oblivion. Has everything a\npurpose and a mission? Did this drop fall patiently during five thousand\nyears to be ready for this flitting human insect's need? and has it\nanother important object to accomplish ten thousand years to come? No\nmatter. It is many and many a year since the hapless half-breed scooped\nout the stone to catch the priceless drops, but to this day the tourist\nstares longest at that pathetic stone and that slow-dropping water when\nhe comes to see the wonders of McDougal's cave. Injun Joe's cup stands\nfirst in the list of the cavern's marvels; even \"Aladdin's Palace\"\ncannot rival it.\n\nInjun Joe was buried near the mouth of the cave; and people flocked\nthere in boats and wagons from the towns and from all the farms and\nhamlets for seven miles around; they brought their children, and\nall sorts of provisions, and confessed that they had had almost as\nsatisfactory a time at the funeral as they could have had at the\nhanging.\n\nThis funeral stopped the further growth of one thing--the petition to the\ngovernor for Injun Joe's pardon. The petition had been largely signed;\nmany tearful and eloquent meetings had been held, and a committee of\nsappy women been appointed to go in deep mourning and wail around the\ngovernor, and implore him to be a merciful ass and trample his duty\nunder foot. Injun Joe was believed to have killed five citizens of the\nvillage, but what of that? If he had been Satan himself there would\nhave been plenty of weaklings ready to scribble their names to a\npardon-petition, and drip a tear on it from their permanently impaired\nand leaky water-works.\n\nThe morning after the funeral Tom took Huck to a private place to have\nan important talk. Huck had learned all about Tom's adventure from the\nWelshman and the Widow Douglas, by this time, but Tom said he reckoned\nthere was one thing they had not told him; that thing was what he wanted\nto talk about now. Huck's face saddened. He said:\n\n\"I know what it is. You got into No. 2 and never found anything but\nwhiskey. Nobody told me it was you; but I just knowed it must 'a' ben\nyou, soon as I heard 'bout that whiskey business; and I knowed you\nhadn't got the money becuz you'd 'a' got at me some way or other and\ntold me even if you was mum to everybody else. Tom, something's always\ntold me we'd never get holt of that swag.\"\n\n\"Why, Huck, I never told on that tavern-keeper. _You_ know his tavern\nwas all right the Saturday I went to the picnic. Don't you remember you\nwas to watch there that night?\"\n\n\"Oh yes! Why, it seems 'bout a year ago. It was that very night that I\nfollered Injun Joe to the widder's.\"\n\n\"_You_ followed him?\"\n\n\"Yes--but you keep mum. I reckon Injun Joe's left friends behind him, and\nI don't want 'em souring on me and doing me mean tricks. If it hadn't\nben for me he'd be down in Texas now, all right.\"\n\nThen Huck told his entire adventure in confidence to Tom, who had only\nheard of the Welshman's part of it before.\n\n\"Well,\" said Huck, presently, coming back to the main question, \"whoever\nnipped the whiskey in No. 2, nipped the money, too, I reckon--anyways\nit's a goner for us, Tom.\"\n\n\"Huck, that money wasn't ever in No. 2!\"\n\n\"What!\" Huck searched his comrade's face keenly. \"Tom, have you got on\nthe track of that money again?\"\n\n\"Huck, it's in the cave!\"\n\nHuck's eyes blazed.\n\n\"Say it again, Tom.\"\n\n\"The money's in the cave!\"\n\n\"Tom--honest injun, now--is it fun, or earnest?\"\n\n\"Earnest, Huck--just as earnest as ever I was in my life. Will you go in\nthere with me and help get it out?\"\n\n\"I bet I will! I will if it's where we can blaze our way to it and not\nget lost.\"\n\n\"Huck, we can do that without the least little bit of trouble in the\nworld.\"\n\n\"Good as wheat! What makes you think the money's--\"\n\n\"Huck, you just wait till we get in there. If we don't find it I'll\nagree to give you my drum and every thing I've got in the world. I will,\nby jings.\"\n\n\"All right--it's a whiz. When do you say?\"\n\n\"Right now, if you say it. Are you strong enough?\"\n\n\"Is it far in the cave? I ben on my pins a little, three or four days,\nnow, but I can't walk more'n a mile, Tom--least I don't think I could.\"\n\n\"It's about five mile into there the way anybody but me would go, Huck,\nbut there's a mighty short cut that they don't anybody but me know\nabout. Huck, I'll take you right to it in a skiff. I'll float the skiff\ndown there, and I'll pull it back again all by myself. You needn't ever\nturn your hand over.\"\n\n\"Less start right off, Tom.\"\n\n\"All right. We want some bread and meat, and our pipes, and a little\nbag or two, and two or three kite-strings, and some of these new-fangled\nthings they call lucifer matches. I tell you, many's the time I wished I\nhad some when I was in there before.\"\n\nA trifle after noon the boys borrowed a small skiff from a citizen who\nwas absent, and got under way at once. When they were several miles\nbelow \"Cave Hollow,\" Tom said:\n\n\"Now you see this bluff here looks all alike all the way down from the\ncave hollow--no houses, no wood-yards, bushes all alike. But do you see\nthat white place up yonder where there's been a landslide? Well, that's\none of my marks. We'll get ashore, now.\"\n\nThey landed.\n\n\"Now, Huck, where we're a-standing you could touch that hole I got out\nof with a fishing-pole. See if you can find it.\"\n\nHuck searched all the place about, and found nothing. Tom proudly\nmarched into a thick clump of sumach bushes and said:\n\n\"Here you are! Look at it, Huck; it's the snuggest hole in this country.\nYou just keep mum about it. All along I've been wanting to be a robber,\nbut I knew I'd got to have a thing like this, and where to run across\nit was the bother. We've got it now, and we'll keep it quiet, only we'll\nlet Joe Harper and Ben Rogers in--because of course there's got to be a\nGang, or else there wouldn't be any style about it. Tom Sawyer's Gang--it\nsounds splendid, don't it, Huck?\"\n\n\"Well, it just does, Tom. And who'll we rob?\"\n\n\"Oh, most anybody. Waylay people--that's mostly the way.\"\n\n\"And kill them?\"\n\n\"No, not always. Hive them in the cave till they raise a ransom.\"\n\n\"What's a ransom?\"\n\n\"Money. You make them raise all they can, off'n their friends; and after\nyou've kept them a year, if it ain't raised then you kill them. That's\nthe general way. Only you don't kill the women. You shut up the women,\nbut you don't kill them. They're always beautiful and rich, and awfully\nscared. You take their watches and things, but you always take your hat\noff and talk polite. They ain't anybody as polite as robbers--you'll see\nthat in any book. Well, the women get to loving you, and after they've\nbeen in the cave a week or two weeks they stop crying and after that\nyou couldn't get them to leave. If you drove them out they'd turn right\naround and come back. It's so in all the books.\"\n\n\"Why, it's real bully, Tom. I believe it's better'n to be a pirate.\"\n\n\"Yes, it's better in some ways, because it's close to home and circuses\nand all that.\"\n\nBy this time everything was ready and the boys entered the hole, Tom in\nthe lead. They toiled their way to the farther end of the tunnel, then\nmade their spliced kite-strings fast and moved on. A few steps brought\nthem to the spring, and Tom felt a shudder quiver all through him.\nHe showed Huck the fragment of candle-wick perched on a lump of clay\nagainst the wall, and described how he and Becky had watched the flame\nstruggle and expire.\n\nThe boys began to quiet down to whispers, now, for the stillness and\ngloom of the place oppressed their spirits. They went on, and presently\nentered and followed Tom's other corridor until they reached the\n\"jumping-off place.\" The candles revealed the fact that it was not\nreally a precipice, but only a steep clay hill twenty or thirty feet\nhigh. Tom whispered:\n\n\"Now I'll show you something, Huck.\"\n\nHe held his candle aloft and said:\n\n\"Look as far around the corner as you can. Do you see that? There--on the\nbig rock over yonder--done with candle-smoke.\"\n\n\"Tom, it's a _cross_!\"\n\n\"_Now_ where's your Number Two? '_under the cross_,' hey? Right yonder's\nwhere I saw Injun Joe poke up his candle, Huck!\"\n\nHuck stared at the mystic sign awhile, and then said with a shaky voice:\n\n\"Tom, less git out of here!\"\n\n\"What! and leave the treasure?\"\n\n\"Yes--leave it. Injun Joe's ghost is round about there, certain.\"\n\n\"No it ain't, Huck, no it ain't. It would ha'nt the place where he\ndied--away out at the mouth of the cave--five mile from here.\"\n\n\"No, Tom, it wouldn't. It would hang round the money. I know the ways of\nghosts, and so do you.\"\n\nTom began to fear that Huck was right. Mis-givings gathered in his mind.\nBut presently an idea occurred to him--\n\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, what fools we're making of ourselves! Injun Joe's\nghost ain't a going to come around where there's a cross!\"\n\nThe point was well taken. It had its effect.\n\n\"Tom, I didn't think of that. But that's so. It's luck for us, that\ncross is. I reckon we'll climb down there and have a hunt for that box.\"\n\nTom went first, cutting rude steps in the clay hill as he descended.\nHuck followed. Four avenues opened out of the small cavern which the\ngreat rock stood in. The boys examined three of them with no result.\nThey found a small recess in the one nearest the base of the rock, with\na pallet of blankets spread down in it; also an old suspender, some\nbacon rind, and the well-gnawed bones of two or three fowls. But there\nwas no moneybox. The lads searched and researched this place, but in\nvain. Tom said:\n\n\"He said _under_ the cross. Well, this comes nearest to being under the\ncross. It can't be under the rock itself, because that sets solid on the\nground.\"\n\nThey searched everywhere once more, and then sat down discouraged. Huck\ncould suggest nothing. By-and-by Tom said:\n\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, there's footprints and some candle-grease on the clay\nabout one side of this rock, but not on the other sides. Now, what's\nthat for? I bet you the money _is_ under the rock. I'm going to dig in\nthe clay.\"\n\n\"That ain't no bad notion, Tom!\" said Huck with animation.\n\nTom's \"real Barlow\" was out at once, and he had not dug four inches\nbefore he struck wood.\n\n\"Hey, Huck!--you hear that?\"\n\nHuck began to dig and scratch now. Some boards were soon uncovered and\nremoved. They had concealed a natural chasm which led under the rock.\nTom got into this and held his candle as far under the rock as he\ncould, but said he could not see to the end of the rift. He proposed\nto explore. He stooped and passed under; the narrow way descended\ngradually. He followed its winding course, first to the right, then to\nthe left, Huck at his heels. Tom turned a short curve, by-and-by, and\nexclaimed:\n\n\"My goodness, Huck, lookyhere!\"\n\nIt was the treasure-box, sure enough, occupying a snug little cavern,\nalong with an empty powder-keg, a couple of guns in leather cases, two\nor three pairs of old moccasins, a leather belt, and some other rubbish\nwell soaked with the water-drip.\n\n\"Got it at last!\" said Huck, ploughing among the tarnished coins with\nhis hand. \"My, but we're rich, Tom!\"\n\n\"Huck, I always reckoned we'd get it. It's just too good to believe, but\nwe _have_ got it, sure! Say--let's not fool around here. Let's snake it\nout. Lemme see if I can lift the box.\"\n\nIt weighed about fifty pounds. Tom could lift it, after an awkward\nfashion, but could not carry it conveniently.\n\n\"I thought so,\" he said; \"_They_ carried it like it was heavy, that day\nat the ha'nted house. I noticed that. I reckon I was right to think of\nfetching the little bags along.\"\n\nThe money was soon in the bags and the boys took it up to the cross\nrock.\n\n\"Now less fetch the guns and things,\" said Huck.\n\n\"No, Huck--leave them there. They're just the tricks to have when we\ngo to robbing. We'll keep them there all the time, and we'll hold our\norgies there, too. It's an awful snug place for orgies.\"\n\n\"What orgies?\"\n\n\"I dono. But robbers always have orgies, and of course we've got to\nhave them, too. Come along, Huck, we've been in here a long time. It's\ngetting late, I reckon. I'm hungry, too. We'll eat and smoke when we get\nto the skiff.\"\n\nThey presently emerged into the clump of sumach bushes, looked warily\nout, found the coast clear, and were soon lunching and smoking in the\nskiff. As the sun dipped toward the horizon they pushed out and got\nunder way. Tom skimmed up the shore through the long twilight, chatting\ncheerily with Huck, and landed shortly after dark.\n\n\"Now, Huck,\" said Tom, \"we'll hide the money in the loft of the widow's\nwoodshed, and I'll come up in the morning and we'll count it and divide,\nand then we'll hunt up a place out in the woods for it where it will be\nsafe. Just you lay quiet here and watch the stuff till I run and hook\nBenny Taylor's little wagon; I won't be gone a minute.\"\n\nHe disappeared, and presently returned with the wagon, put the two small\nsacks into it, threw some old rags on top of them, and started off,\ndragging his cargo behind him. When the boys reached the Welshman's\nhouse, they stopped to rest. Just as they were about to move on, the\nWelshman stepped out and said:\n\n\"Hallo, who's that?\"\n\n\"Huck and Tom Sawyer.\"\n\n\"Good! Come along with me, boys, you are keeping everybody waiting.\nHere--hurry up, trot ahead--I'll haul the wagon for you. Why, it's not as\nlight as it might be. Got bricks in it?--or old metal?\"\n\n\"Old metal,\" said Tom.\n\n\"I judged so; the boys in this town will take more trouble and fool away\nmore time hunting up six bits' worth of old iron to sell to the foundry\nthan they would to make twice the money at regular work. But that's\nhuman nature--hurry along, hurry along!\"\n\nThe boys wanted to know what the hurry was about.\n\n\"Never mind; you'll see, when we get to the Widow Douglas'.\"\n\nHuck said with some apprehension--for he was long used to being falsely\naccused:\n\n\"Mr. Jones, we haven't been doing nothing.\"\n\nThe Welshman laughed.\n\n\"Well, I don't know, Huck, my boy. I don't know about that. Ain't you\nand the widow good friends?\"\n\n\"Yes. Well, she's ben good friends to me, anyway.\"\n\n\"All right, then. What do you want to be afraid for?\"\n\nThis question was not entirely answered in Huck's slow mind before he\nfound himself pushed, along with Tom, into Mrs. Douglas' drawing-room.\nMr. Jones left the wagon near the door and followed.\n\nThe place was grandly lighted, and everybody that was of any consequence\nin the village was there. The Thatchers were there, the Harpers, the\nRogerses, Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, the minister, the editor, and a great\nmany more, and all dressed in their best. The widow received the boys\nas heartily as any one could well receive two such looking beings. They\nwere covered with clay and candle-grease. Aunt Polly blushed crimson\nwith humiliation, and frowned and shook her head at Tom. Nobody suffered\nhalf as much as the two boys did, however. Mr. Jones said:\n\n\"Tom wasn't at home, yet, so I gave him up; but I stumbled on him and\nHuck right at my door, and so I just brought them along in a hurry.\"\n\n\"And you did just right,\" said the widow. \"Come with me, boys.\"\n\nShe took them to a bedchamber and said:\n\n\"Now wash and dress yourselves. Here are two new suits of\nclothes--shirts, socks, everything complete. They're Huck's--no, no\nthanks, Huck--Mr. Jones bought one and I the other. But they'll fit both\nof you. Get into them. We'll wait--come down when you are slicked up\nenough.\"\n\nThen she left.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV\n\nHUCK said: \"Tom, we can slope, if we can find a rope. The window ain't\nhigh from the ground.\"\n\n\"Shucks! what do you want to slope for?\"\n\n\"Well, I ain't used to that kind of a crowd. I can't stand it. I ain't\ngoing down there, Tom.\"\n\n\"Oh, bother! It ain't anything. I don't mind it a bit. I'll take care of\nyou.\"\n\nSid appeared.\n\n\"Tom,\" said he, \"auntie has been waiting for you all the afternoon. Mary\ngot your Sunday clothes ready, and everybody's been fretting about you.\nSay--ain't this grease and clay, on your clothes?\"\n\n\"Now, Mr. Siddy, you jist 'tend to your own business. What's all this\nblowout about, anyway?\"\n\n\"It's one of the widow's parties that she's always having. This time\nit's for the Welshman and his sons, on account of that scrape they\nhelped her out of the other night. And say--I can tell you something, if\nyou want to know.\"\n\n\"Well, what?\"\n\n\"Why, old Mr. Jones is going to try to spring something on the people\nhere tonight, but I overheard him tell auntie today about it, as a\nsecret, but I reckon it's not much of a secret now. Everybody knows--the\nwidow, too, for all she tries to let on she don't. Mr. Jones was bound\nHuck should be here--couldn't get along with his grand secret without\nHuck, you know!\"\n\n\"Secret about what, Sid?\"\n\n\"About Huck tracking the robbers to the widow's. I reckon Mr. Jones was\ngoing to make a grand time over his surprise, but I bet you it will drop\npretty flat.\"\n\nSid chuckled in a very contented and satisfied way.\n\n\"Sid, was it you that told?\"\n\n\"Oh, never mind who it was. _Somebody_ told--that's enough.\"\n\n\"Sid, there's only one person in this town mean enough to do that, and\nthat's you. If you had been in Huck's place you'd 'a' sneaked down the\nhill and never told anybody on the robbers. You can't do any but mean\nthings, and you can't bear to see anybody praised for doing good ones.\nThere--no thanks, as the widow says\"--and Tom cuffed Sid's ears and helped\nhim to the door with several kicks. \"Now go and tell auntie if you\ndare--and tomorrow you'll catch it!\"\n\nSome minutes later the widow's guests were at the supper-table, and a\ndozen children were propped up at little side-tables in the same room,\nafter the fashion of that country and that day. At the proper time Mr.\nJones made his little speech, in which he thanked the widow for the\nhonor she was doing himself and his sons, but said that there was\nanother person whose modesty--\n\nAnd so forth and so on. He sprung his secret about Huck's share in\nthe adventure in the finest dramatic manner he was master of, but the\nsurprise it occasioned was largely counterfeit and not as clamorous and\neffusive as it might have been under happier circumstances. However,\nthe widow made a pretty fair show of astonishment, and heaped so many\ncompliments and so much gratitude upon Huck that he almost forgot\nthe nearly intolerable discomfort of his new clothes in the entirely\nintolerable discomfort of being set up as a target for everybody's gaze\nand everybody's laudations.\n\nThe widow said she meant to give Huck a home under her roof and have him\neducated; and that when she could spare the money she would start him in\nbusiness in a modest way. Tom's chance was come. He said:\n\n\"Huck don't need it. Huck's rich.\"\n\nNothing but a heavy strain upon the good manners of the company kept\nback the due and proper complimentary laugh at this pleasant joke. But\nthe silence was a little awkward. Tom broke it:\n\n\"Huck's got money. Maybe you don't believe it, but he's got lots of it.\nOh, you needn't smile--I reckon I can show you. You just wait a minute.\"\n\nTom ran out of doors. The company looked at each other with a perplexed\ninterest--and inquiringly at Huck, who was tongue-tied.\n\n\"Sid, what ails Tom?\" said Aunt Polly. \"He--well, there ain't ever any\nmaking of that boy out. I never--\"\n\nTom entered, struggling with the weight of his sacks, and Aunt Polly\ndid not finish her sentence. Tom poured the mass of yellow coin upon the\ntable and said:\n\n\"There--what did I tell you? Half of it's Huck's and half of it's mine!\"\n\nThe spectacle took the general breath away. All gazed, nobody spoke for\na moment. Then there was a unanimous call for an explanation. Tom said\nhe could furnish it, and he did. The tale was long, but brimful of\ninterest. There was scarcely an interruption from any one to break the\ncharm of its flow. When he had finished, Mr. Jones said:\n\n\"I thought I had fixed up a little surprise for this occasion, but it\ndon't amount to anything now. This one makes it sing mighty small, I'm\nwilling to allow.\"\n\nThe money was counted. The sum amounted to a little over twelve thousand\ndollars. It was more than any one present had ever seen at one time\nbefore, though several persons were there who were worth considerably\nmore than that in property.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV\n\nTHE reader may rest satisfied that Tom's and Huck's windfall made a\nmighty stir in the poor little village of St. Petersburg. So vast a\nsum, all in actual cash, seemed next to incredible. It was talked\nabout, gloated over, glorified, until the reason of many of the citizens\ntottered under the strain of the unhealthy excitement. Every \"haunted\"\nhouse in St. Petersburg and the neighboring villages was dissected,\nplank by plank, and its foundations dug up and ransacked for hidden\ntreasure--and not by boys, but men--pretty grave, unromantic men, too,\nsome of them. Wherever Tom and Huck appeared they were courted, admired,\nstared at. The boys were not able to remember that their remarks had\npossessed weight before; but now their sayings were treasured and\nrepeated; everything they did seemed somehow to be regarded as\nremarkable; they had evidently lost the power of doing and saying\ncommonplace things; moreover, their past history was raked up and\ndiscovered to bear marks of conspicuous originality. The village paper\npublished biographical sketches of the boys.\n\nThe Widow Douglas put Huck's money out at six per cent., and Judge\nThatcher did the same with Tom's at Aunt Polly's request. Each lad had\nan income, now, that was simply prodigious--a dollar for every weekday in\nthe year and half of the Sundays. It was just what the minister got--no,\nit was what he was promised--he generally couldn't collect it. A dollar\nand a quarter a week would board, lodge, and school a boy in those old\nsimple days--and clothe him and wash him, too, for that matter.\n\nJudge Thatcher had conceived a great opinion of Tom. He said that no\ncommonplace boy would ever have got his daughter out of the cave. When\nBecky told her father, in strict confidence, how Tom had taken her\nwhipping at school, the Judge was visibly moved; and when she pleaded\ngrace for the mighty lie which Tom had told in order to shift that\nwhipping from her shoulders to his own, the Judge said with a fine\noutburst that it was a noble, a generous, a magnanimous lie--a lie that\nwas worthy to hold up its head and march down through history breast to\nbreast with George Washington's lauded Truth about the hatchet! Becky\nthought her father had never looked so tall and so superb as when he\nwalked the floor and stamped his foot and said that. She went straight\noff and told Tom about it.\n\nJudge Thatcher hoped to see Tom a great lawyer or a great soldier some\nday. He said he meant to look to it that Tom should be admitted to the\nNational Military Academy and afterward trained in the best law school\nin the country, in order that he might be ready for either career or\nboth.\n\nHuck Finn's wealth and the fact that he was now under the Widow Douglas'\nprotection introduced him into society--no, dragged him into it, hurled\nhim into it--and his sufferings were almost more than he could bear. The\nwidow's servants kept him clean and neat, combed and brushed, and they\nbedded him nightly in unsympathetic sheets that had not one little spot\nor stain which he could press to his heart and know for a friend. He had\nto eat with a knife and fork; he had to use napkin, cup, and plate;\nhe had to learn his book, he had to go to church; he had to talk so\nproperly that speech was become insipid in his mouth; whithersoever he\nturned, the bars and shackles of civilization shut him in and bound him\nhand and foot.\n\nHe bravely bore his miseries three weeks, and then one day turned up\nmissing. For forty-eight hours the widow hunted for him everywhere in\ngreat distress. The public were profoundly concerned; they searched high\nand low, they dragged the river for his body. Early the third morning\nTom Sawyer wisely went poking among some old empty hogsheads down behind\nthe abandoned slaughter-house, and in one of them he found the refugee.\nHuck had slept there; he had just breakfasted upon some stolen odds and\nends of food, and was lying off, now, in comfort, with his pipe. He was\nunkempt, uncombed, and clad in the same old ruin of rags that had made\nhim picturesque in the days when he was free and happy. Tom routed him\nout, told him the trouble he had been causing, and urged him to go home.\nHuck's face lost its tranquil content, and took a melancholy cast. He\nsaid:\n\n\"Don't talk about it, Tom. I've tried it, and it don't work; it don't\nwork, Tom. It ain't for me; I ain't used to it. The widder's good to me,\nand friendly; but I can't stand them ways. She makes me get up just\nat the same time every morning; she makes me wash, they comb me all\nto thunder; she won't let me sleep in the woodshed; I got to wear them\nblamed clothes that just smothers me, Tom; they don't seem to any air\ngit through 'em, somehow; and they're so rotten nice that I can't\nset down, nor lay down, nor roll around anywher's; I hain't slid on a\ncellar-door for--well, it 'pears to be years; I got to go to church\nand sweat and sweat--I hate them ornery sermons! I can't ketch a fly in\nthere, I can't chaw. I got to wear shoes all Sunday. The widder eats by\na bell; she goes to bed by a bell; she gits up by a bell--everything's so\nawful reg'lar a body can't stand it.\"\n\n\"Well, everybody does that way, Huck.\"\n\n\"Tom, it don't make no difference. I ain't everybody, and I can't\n_stand_ it. It's awful to be tied up so. And grub comes too easy--I don't\ntake no interest in vittles, that way. I got to ask to go a-fishing;\nI got to ask to go in a-swimming--dern'd if I hain't got to ask to do\neverything. Well, I'd got to talk so nice it wasn't no comfort--I'd got\nto go up in the attic and rip out awhile, every day, to git a taste\nin my mouth, or I'd a died, Tom. The widder wouldn't let me smoke;\nshe wouldn't let me yell, she wouldn't let me gape, nor stretch, nor\nscratch, before folks--\" [Then with a spasm of special irritation and\ninjury]--\"And dad fetch it, she prayed all the time! I never see such a\nwoman! I _had_ to shove, Tom--I just had to. And besides, that school's\ngoing to open, and I'd a had to go to it--well, I wouldn't stand _that_,\nTom. Looky-here, Tom, being rich ain't what it's cracked up to be. It's\njust worry and worry, and sweat and sweat, and a-wishing you was dead\nall the time. Now these clothes suits me, and this bar'l suits me, and\nI ain't ever going to shake 'em any more. Tom, I wouldn't ever got into\nall this trouble if it hadn't 'a' ben for that money; now you just take\nmy sheer of it along with your'n, and gimme a ten-center sometimes--not\nmany times, becuz I don't give a dern for a thing 'thout it's tollable\nhard to git--and you go and beg off for me with the widder.\"\n\n\"Oh, Huck, you know I can't do that. 'Tain't fair; and besides if you'll\ntry this thing just a while longer you'll come to like it.\"\n\n\"Like it! Yes--the way I'd like a hot stove if I was to set on it long\nenough. No, Tom, I won't be rich, and I won't live in them cussed\nsmothery houses. I like the woods, and the river, and hogsheads, and\nI'll stick to 'em, too. Blame it all! just as we'd got guns, and a cave,\nand all just fixed to rob, here this dern foolishness has got to come up\nand spile it all!\"\n\nTom saw his opportunity--\n\n\"Lookyhere, Huck, being rich ain't going to keep me back from turning\nrobber.\"\n\n\"No! Oh, good-licks; are you in real dead-wood earnest, Tom?\"\n\n\"Just as dead earnest as I'm sitting here. But Huck, we can't let you\ninto the gang if you ain't respectable, you know.\"\n\nHuck's joy was quenched.\n\n\"Can't let me in, Tom? Didn't you let me go for a pirate?\"\n\n\"Yes, but that's different. A robber is more high-toned than what a\npirate is--as a general thing. In most countries they're awful high up in\nthe nobility--dukes and such.\"\n\n\"Now, Tom, hain't you always ben friendly to me? You wouldn't shet me\nout, would you, Tom? You wouldn't do that, now, _would_ you, Tom?\"\n\n\"Huck, I wouldn't want to, and I _don't_ want to--but what would people\nsay? Why, they'd say, 'Mph! Tom Sawyer's Gang! pretty low characters in\nit!' They'd mean you, Huck. You wouldn't like that, and I wouldn't.\"\n\nHuck was silent for some time, engaged in a mental struggle. Finally he\nsaid:\n\n\"Well, I'll go back to the widder for a month and tackle it and see if I\ncan come to stand it, if you'll let me b'long to the gang, Tom.\"\n\n\"All right, Huck, it's a whiz! Come along, old chap, and I'll ask the\nwidow to let up on you a little, Huck.\"\n\n\"Will you, Tom--now will you? That's good. If she'll let up on some of\nthe roughest things, I'll smoke private and cuss private, and crowd\nthrough or bust. When you going to start the gang and turn robbers?\"\n\n\"Oh, right off. We'll get the boys together and have the initiation\ntonight, maybe.\"\n\n\"Have the which?\"\n\n\"Have the initiation.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"It's to swear to stand by one another, and never tell the gang's\nsecrets, even if you're chopped all to flinders, and kill anybody and\nall his family that hurts one of the gang.\"\n\n\"That's gay--that's mighty gay, Tom, I tell you.\"\n\n\"Well, I bet it is. And all that swearing's got to be done at midnight,\nin the lonesomest, awfulest place you can find--a ha'nted house is the\nbest, but they're all ripped up now.\"\n\n\"Well, midnight's good, anyway, Tom.\"\n\n\"Yes, so it is. And you've got to swear on a coffin, and sign it with\nblood.\"\n\n\"Now, that's something _like_! Why, it's a million times bullier than\npirating. I'll stick to the widder till I rot, Tom; and if I git to be\na reg'lar ripper of a robber, and everybody talking 'bout it, I reckon\nshe'll be proud she snaked me in out of the wet.\"\n\nCONCLUSION\n\nSO endeth this chronicle. It being strictly a history of a _boy_, it\nmust stop here; the story could not go much further without becoming the\nhistory of a _man_. When one writes a novel about grown people, he knows\nexactly where to stop--that is, with a marriage; but when he writes of\njuveniles, he must stop where he best can.\n\nMost of the characters that perform in this book still live, and are\nprosperous and happy. Some day it may seem worth while to take up the\nstory of the younger ones again and see what sort of men and women they\nturned out to be; therefore it will be wisest not to reveal any of that\npart of their lives at present.\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg Ebook of Adventures of Tom Sawyer,\nComplete, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)\n\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SAWYER ***\n\n***** This file should be named 74-h.htm or 74-h.zip ***** This and\nall associated files of various formats will be found in:\nhttp://www.gutenberg.net/7/74/\n\nProduced by David Widger. The previous edition was updated by Jose\nMenendez.\n\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be\nrenamed.\n\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no one\nowns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and\nyou!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission\nand without paying copyright royalties. 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  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/test-ii.sh",
    "content": "#!/bin/bash\ngo run ii.go master sequential pg-*.txt\n\n# cause sort to be case sensitive.\n# on Ubuntu (Athena) it's otherwise insensitive.\nLC_ALL=C\nexport LC_ALL\n\nsort -k1,1 mrtmp.iiseq | sort -snk2,2 | grep -v '16' | tail -10 | diff - mr-challenge.txt > diff.out\nif [ -s diff.out ]\nthen\necho \"Failed test. Output should be as in mr-challenge.txt. Your output differs as follows (from diff.out):\" > /dev/stderr\n  cat diff.out\nelse\n  echo \"Passed test\" > /dev/stderr\nfi\n\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/test-mr.sh",
    "content": "#!/bin/bash\nhere=$(dirname \"$0\")\n[[ \"$here\" = /* ]] || here=\"$PWD/$here\"\nexport GOPATH=\"$here/../../\"\necho \"\"\necho \"==> Part I\"\ngo test -run Sequential mapreduce/...\necho \"\"\necho \"==> Part II\"\n(cd \"$here\" && sh ./test-wc.sh > /dev/null)\necho \"\"\necho \"==> Part III\"\ngo test -run TestParallel mapreduce/...\necho \"\"\necho \"==> Part IV\"\ngo test -run Failure mapreduce/...\necho \"\"\necho \"==> Part V (inverted index)\"\n(cd \"$here\" && sh ./test-ii.sh > /dev/null)\n\nrm \"$here\"/mrtmp.* \"$here\"/diff.out\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/test-wc.sh",
    "content": "#!/bin/bash\ngo run wc.go master sequential pg-*.txt\nsort -n -k2 mrtmp.wcseq | tail -10 | diff - mr-testout.txt > diff.out\nif [ -s diff.out ]\nthen\necho \"Failed test. Output should be as in mr-testout.txt. Your output differs as follows (from diff.out):\" > /dev/stderr\n  cat diff.out\nelse\n  echo \"Passed test\" > /dev/stderr\nfi\n\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/viewd.go",
    "content": "package main\n\n//\n// see directions in pbc.go\n//\n\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"viewservice\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\nfunc main() {\n\tif len(os.Args) != 2 {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"Usage: viewd port\\n\")\n\t\tos.Exit(1)\n\t}\n\n\tviewservice.StartServer(os.Args[1])\n\n\tfor {\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Second)\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/main/wc.go",
    "content": "package main\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"mapreduce\"\n\t\"os\"\n)\n\n//\n// The map function is called once for each file of input. The first\n// argument is the name of the input file, and the second is the\n// file's complete contents. You should ignore the input file name,\n// and look only at the contents argument. The return value is a slice\n// of key/value pairs.\n//\nfunc mapF(filename string, contents string) []mapreduce.KeyValue {\n\t// Your code here (Part II).\n}\n\n//\n// The reduce function is called once for each key generated by the\n// map tasks, with a list of all the values created for that key by\n// any map task.\n//\nfunc reduceF(key string, values []string) string {\n\t// Your code here (Part II).\n}\n\n// Can be run in 3 ways:\n// 1) Sequential (e.g., go run wc.go master sequential x1.txt .. xN.txt)\n// 2) Master (e.g., go run wc.go master localhost:7777 x1.txt .. xN.txt)\n// 3) Worker (e.g., go run wc.go worker localhost:7777 localhost:7778 &)\nfunc main() {\n\tif len(os.Args) < 4 {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"%s: see usage comments in file\\n\", os.Args[0])\n\t} else if os.Args[1] == \"master\" {\n\t\tvar mr *mapreduce.Master\n\t\tif os.Args[2] == \"sequential\" {\n\t\t\tmr = mapreduce.Sequential(\"wcseq\", os.Args[3:], 3, mapF, reduceF)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tmr = mapreduce.Distributed(\"wcseq\", os.Args[3:], 3, os.Args[2])\n\t\t}\n\t\tmr.Wait()\n\t} else {\n\t\tmapreduce.RunWorker(os.Args[2], os.Args[3], mapF, reduceF, 100, nil)\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/824-mrinput-0.txt",
    "content": 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  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/common.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"strconv\"\n)\n\n// Debugging enabled?\nconst debugEnabled = false\n\n// debug() will only print if debugEnabled is true\nfunc debug(format string, a ...interface{}) (n int, err error) {\n\tif debugEnabled {\n\t\tn, err = fmt.Printf(format, a...)\n\t}\n\treturn\n}\n\n// jobPhase indicates whether a task is scheduled as a map or reduce task.\ntype jobPhase string\n\nconst (\n\tmapPhase    jobPhase = \"mapPhase\"\n\treducePhase          = \"reducePhase\"\n)\n\n// KeyValue is a type used to hold the key/value pairs passed to the map and\n// reduce functions.\ntype KeyValue struct {\n\tKey   string\n\tValue string\n}\n\n// reduceName constructs the name of the intermediate file which map task\n// <mapTask> produces for reduce task <reduceTask>.\nfunc reduceName(jobName string, mapTask int, reduceTask int) string {\n\treturn \"mrtmp.\" + jobName + \"-\" + strconv.Itoa(mapTask) + \"-\" + strconv.Itoa(reduceTask)\n}\n\n// mergeName constructs the name of the output file of reduce task <reduceTask>\nfunc mergeName(jobName string, reduceTask int) string {\n\treturn \"mrtmp.\" + jobName + \"-res-\" + strconv.Itoa(reduceTask)\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/common_map.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\nimport (\n\t\"hash/fnv\"\n)\n\nfunc doMap(\n\tjobName string, // the name of the MapReduce job\n\tmapTask int, // which map task this is\n\tinFile string,\n\tnReduce int, // the number of reduce task that will be run (\"R\" in the paper)\n\tmapF func(filename string, contents string) []KeyValue,\n) {\n\t//\n\t// doMap manages one map task: it should read one of the input files\n\t// (inFile), call the user-defined map function (mapF) for that file's\n\t// contents, and partition mapF's output into nReduce intermediate files.\n\t//\n\t// There is one intermediate file per reduce task. The file name\n\t// includes both the map task number and the reduce task number. Use\n\t// the filename generated by reduceName(jobName, mapTask, r)\n\t// as the intermediate file for reduce task r. Call ihash() (see\n\t// below) on each key, mod nReduce, to pick r for a key/value pair.\n\t//\n\t// mapF() is the map function provided by the application. The first\n\t// argument should be the input file name, though the map function\n\t// typically ignores it. The second argument should be the entire\n\t// input file contents. mapF() returns a slice containing the\n\t// key/value pairs for reduce; see common.go for the definition of\n\t// KeyValue.\n\t//\n\t// Look at Go's ioutil and os packages for functions to read\n\t// and write files.\n\t//\n\t// Coming up with a scheme for how to format the key/value pairs on\n\t// disk can be tricky, especially when taking into account that both\n\t// keys and values could contain newlines, quotes, and any other\n\t// character you can think of.\n\t//\n\t// One format often used for serializing data to a byte stream that the\n\t// other end can correctly reconstruct is JSON. You are not required to\n\t// use JSON, but as the output of the reduce tasks *must* be JSON,\n\t// familiarizing yourself with it here may prove useful. You can write\n\t// out a data structure as a JSON string to a file using the commented\n\t// code below. The corresponding decoding functions can be found in\n\t// common_reduce.go.\n\t//\n\t//   enc := json.NewEncoder(file)\n\t//   for _, kv := ... {\n\t//     err := enc.Encode(&kv)\n\t//\n\t// Remember to close the file after you have written all the values!\n\t//\n\t// Your code here (Part I).\n\t//\n}\n\nfunc ihash(s string) int {\n\th := fnv.New32a()\n\th.Write([]byte(s))\n\treturn int(h.Sum32() & 0x7fffffff)\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/common_reduce.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\nfunc doReduce(\n\tjobName string, // the name of the whole MapReduce job\n\treduceTask int, // which reduce task this is\n\toutFile string, // write the output here\n\tnMap int, // the number of map tasks that were run (\"M\" in the paper)\n\treduceF func(key string, values []string) string,\n) {\n\t//\n\t// doReduce manages one reduce task: it should read the intermediate\n\t// files for the task, sort the intermediate key/value pairs by key,\n\t// call the user-defined reduce function (reduceF) for each key, and\n\t// write reduceF's output to disk.\n\t//\n\t// You'll need to read one intermediate file from each map task;\n\t// reduceName(jobName, m, reduceTask) yields the file\n\t// name from map task m.\n\t//\n\t// Your doMap() encoded the key/value pairs in the intermediate\n\t// files, so you will need to decode them. If you used JSON, you can\n\t// read and decode by creating a decoder and repeatedly calling\n\t// .Decode(&kv) on it until it returns an error.\n\t//\n\t// You may find the first example in the golang sort package\n\t// documentation useful.\n\t//\n\t// reduceF() is the application's reduce function. You should\n\t// call it once per distinct key, with a slice of all the values\n\t// for that key. reduceF() returns the reduced value for that key.\n\t//\n\t// You should write the reduce output as JSON encoded KeyValue\n\t// objects to the file named outFile. We require you to use JSON\n\t// because that is what the merger than combines the output\n\t// from all the reduce tasks expects. There is nothing special about\n\t// JSON -- it is just the marshalling format we chose to use. Your\n\t// output code will look something like this:\n\t//\n\t// enc := json.NewEncoder(file)\n\t// for key := ... {\n\t// \tenc.Encode(KeyValue{key, reduceF(...)})\n\t// }\n\t// file.Close()\n\t//\n\t// Your code here (Part I).\n\t//\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/common_rpc.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"net/rpc\"\n)\n\n// What follows are RPC types and methods.\n// Field names must start with capital letters, otherwise RPC will break.\n\n// DoTaskArgs holds the arguments that are passed to a worker when a job is\n// scheduled on it.\ntype DoTaskArgs struct {\n\tJobName    string\n\tFile       string   // only for map, the input file\n\tPhase      jobPhase // are we in mapPhase or reducePhase?\n\tTaskNumber int      // this task's index in the current phase\n\n\t// NumOtherPhase is the total number of tasks in other phase; mappers\n\t// need this to compute the number of output bins, and reducers needs\n\t// this to know how many input files to collect.\n\tNumOtherPhase int\n}\n\n// ShutdownReply is the response to a WorkerShutdown.\n// It holds the number of tasks this worker has processed since it was started.\ntype ShutdownReply struct {\n\tNtasks int\n}\n\n// RegisterArgs is the argument passed when a worker registers with the master.\ntype RegisterArgs struct {\n\tWorker string // the worker's UNIX-domain socket name, i.e. its RPC address\n}\n\n// call() sends an RPC to the rpcname handler on server srv\n// with arguments args, waits for the reply, and leaves the\n// reply in reply. the reply argument should be the address\n// of a reply structure.\n//\n// call() returns true if the server responded, and false if call()\n// received no reply from the server. reply's contents are valid if\n// and only if call() returned true.\n//\n// you should assume that call() will time out and return\n// false after a while if it doesn't get a reply from the server.\n//\n// please use call() to send all RPCs. please don't change this\n// function.\n//\nfunc call(srv string, rpcname string,\n\targs interface{}, reply interface{}) bool {\n\tc, errx := rpc.Dial(\"unix\", srv)\n\tif errx != nil {\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n\tdefer c.Close()\n\n\terr := c.Call(rpcname, args, reply)\n\tif err == nil {\n\t\treturn true\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Println(err)\n\treturn false\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/master.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\n//\n// Please do not modify this file.\n//\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"net\"\n\t\"sync\"\n)\n\n// Master holds all the state that the master needs to keep track of.\ntype Master struct {\n\tsync.Mutex\n\n\taddress     string\n\tdoneChannel chan bool\n\n\t// protected by the mutex\n\tnewCond *sync.Cond // signals when Register() adds to workers[]\n\tworkers []string   // each worker's UNIX-domain socket name -- its RPC address\n\n\t// Per-task information\n\tjobName string   // Name of currently executing job\n\tfiles   []string // Input files\n\tnReduce int      // Number of reduce partitions\n\n\tshutdown chan struct{}\n\tl        net.Listener\n\tstats    []int\n}\n\n// Register is an RPC method that is called by workers after they have started\n// up to report that they are ready to receive tasks.\nfunc (mr *Master) Register(args *RegisterArgs, _ *struct{}) error {\n\tmr.Lock()\n\tdefer mr.Unlock()\n\tdebug(\"Register: worker %s\\n\", args.Worker)\n\tmr.workers = append(mr.workers, args.Worker)\n\n\t// tell forwardRegistrations() that there's a new workers[] entry.\n\tmr.newCond.Broadcast()\n\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n// newMaster initializes a new Map/Reduce Master\nfunc newMaster(master string) (mr *Master) {\n\tmr = new(Master)\n\tmr.address = master\n\tmr.shutdown = make(chan struct{})\n\tmr.newCond = sync.NewCond(mr)\n\tmr.doneChannel = make(chan bool)\n\treturn\n}\n\n// Sequential runs map and reduce tasks sequentially, waiting for each task to\n// complete before running the next.\nfunc Sequential(jobName string, files []string, nreduce int,\n\tmapF func(string, string) []KeyValue,\n\treduceF func(string, []string) string,\n) (mr *Master) {\n\tmr = newMaster(\"master\")\n\tgo mr.run(jobName, files, nreduce, func(phase jobPhase) {\n\t\tswitch phase {\n\t\tcase mapPhase:\n\t\t\tfor i, f := range mr.files {\n\t\t\t\tdoMap(mr.jobName, i, f, mr.nReduce, mapF)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\tcase reducePhase:\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < mr.nReduce; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tdoReduce(mr.jobName, i, mergeName(mr.jobName, i), len(mr.files), reduceF)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}, func() {\n\t\tmr.stats = []int{len(files) + nreduce}\n\t})\n\treturn\n}\n\n// helper function that sends information about all existing\n// and newly registered workers to channel ch. schedule()\n// reads ch to learn about workers.\nfunc (mr *Master) forwardRegistrations(ch chan string) {\n\ti := 0\n\tfor {\n\t\tmr.Lock()\n\t\tif len(mr.workers) > i {\n\t\t\t// there's a worker that we haven't told schedule() about.\n\t\t\tw := mr.workers[i]\n\t\t\tgo func() { ch <- w }() // send without holding the lock.\n\t\t\ti = i + 1\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t// wait for Register() to add an entry to workers[]\n\t\t\t// in response to an RPC from a new worker.\n\t\t\tmr.newCond.Wait()\n\t\t}\n\t\tmr.Unlock()\n\t}\n}\n\n// Distributed schedules map and reduce tasks on workers that register with the\n// master over RPC.\nfunc Distributed(jobName string, files []string, nreduce int, master string) (mr *Master) {\n\tmr = newMaster(master)\n\tmr.startRPCServer()\n\tgo mr.run(jobName, files, nreduce,\n\t\tfunc(phase jobPhase) {\n\t\t\tch := make(chan string)\n\t\t\tgo mr.forwardRegistrations(ch)\n\t\t\tschedule(mr.jobName, mr.files, mr.nReduce, phase, ch)\n\t\t},\n\t\tfunc() {\n\t\t\tmr.stats = mr.killWorkers()\n\t\t\tmr.stopRPCServer()\n\t\t})\n\treturn\n}\n\n// run executes a mapreduce job on the given number of mappers and reducers.\n//\n// First, it divides up the input file among the given number of mappers, and\n// schedules each task on workers as they become available. Each map task bins\n// its output in a number of bins equal to the given number of reduce tasks.\n// Once all the mappers have finished, workers are assigned reduce tasks.\n//\n// When all tasks have been completed, the reducer outputs are merged,\n// statistics are collected, and the master is shut down.\n//\n// Note that this implementation assumes a shared file system.\nfunc (mr *Master) run(jobName string, files []string, nreduce int,\n\tschedule func(phase jobPhase),\n\tfinish func(),\n) {\n\tmr.jobName = jobName\n\tmr.files = files\n\tmr.nReduce = nreduce\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"%s: Starting Map/Reduce task %s\\n\", mr.address, mr.jobName)\n\n\tschedule(mapPhase)\n\tschedule(reducePhase)\n\tfinish()\n\tmr.merge()\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"%s: Map/Reduce task completed\\n\", mr.address)\n\n\tmr.doneChannel <- true\n}\n\n// Wait blocks until the currently scheduled work has completed.\n// This happens when all tasks have scheduled and completed, the final output\n// have been computed, and all workers have been shut down.\nfunc (mr *Master) Wait() {\n\t<-mr.doneChannel\n}\n\n// killWorkers cleans up all workers by sending each one a Shutdown RPC.\n// It also collects and returns the number of tasks each worker has performed.\nfunc (mr *Master) killWorkers() []int {\n\tmr.Lock()\n\tdefer mr.Unlock()\n\tntasks := make([]int, 0, len(mr.workers))\n\tfor _, w := range mr.workers {\n\t\tdebug(\"Master: shutdown worker %s\\n\", w)\n\t\tvar reply ShutdownReply\n\t\tok := call(w, \"Worker.Shutdown\", new(struct{}), &reply)\n\t\tif ok == false {\n\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"Master: RPC %s shutdown error\\n\", w)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tntasks = append(ntasks, reply.Ntasks)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn ntasks\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/master_rpc.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"log\"\n\t\"net\"\n\t\"net/rpc\"\n\t\"os\"\n)\n\n// Shutdown is an RPC method that shuts down the Master's RPC server.\nfunc (mr *Master) Shutdown(_, _ *struct{}) error {\n\tdebug(\"Shutdown: registration server\\n\")\n\tclose(mr.shutdown)\n\tmr.l.Close() // causes the Accept to fail\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n// startRPCServer starts the Master's RPC server. It continues accepting RPC\n// calls (Register in particular) for as long as the worker is alive.\nfunc (mr *Master) startRPCServer() {\n\trpcs := rpc.NewServer()\n\trpcs.Register(mr)\n\tos.Remove(mr.address) // only needed for \"unix\"\n\tl, e := net.Listen(\"unix\", mr.address)\n\tif e != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"RegstrationServer\", mr.address, \" error: \", e)\n\t}\n\tmr.l = l\n\n\t// now that we are listening on the master address, can fork off\n\t// accepting connections to another thread.\n\tgo func() {\n\tloop:\n\t\tfor {\n\t\t\tselect {\n\t\t\tcase <-mr.shutdown:\n\t\t\t\tbreak loop\n\t\t\tdefault:\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tconn, err := mr.l.Accept()\n\t\t\tif err == nil {\n\t\t\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\t\t\trpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t\t}()\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tdebug(\"RegistrationServer: accept error\", err)\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tdebug(\"RegistrationServer: done\\n\")\n\t}()\n}\n\n// stopRPCServer stops the master RPC server.\n// This must be done through an RPC to avoid race conditions between the RPC\n// server thread and the current thread.\nfunc (mr *Master) stopRPCServer() {\n\tvar reply ShutdownReply\n\tok := call(mr.address, \"Master.Shutdown\", new(struct{}), &reply)\n\tif ok == false {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"Cleanup: RPC %s error\\n\", mr.address)\n\t}\n\tdebug(\"cleanupRegistration: done\\n\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/master_splitmerge.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\nimport (\n\t\"bufio\"\n\t\"encoding/json\"\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"log\"\n\t\"os\"\n\t\"sort\"\n)\n\n// merge combines the results of the many reduce jobs into a single output file\n// XXX use merge sort\nfunc (mr *Master) merge() {\n\tdebug(\"Merge phase\")\n\tkvs := make(map[string]string)\n\tfor i := 0; i < mr.nReduce; i++ {\n\t\tp := mergeName(mr.jobName, i)\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"Merge: read %s\\n\", p)\n\t\tfile, err := os.Open(p)\n\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\tlog.Fatal(\"Merge: \", err)\n\t\t}\n\t\tdec := json.NewDecoder(file)\n\t\tfor {\n\t\t\tvar kv KeyValue\n\t\t\terr = dec.Decode(&kv)\n\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tkvs[kv.Key] = kv.Value\n\t\t}\n\t\tfile.Close()\n\t}\n\tvar keys []string\n\tfor k := range kvs {\n\t\tkeys = append(keys, k)\n\t}\n\tsort.Strings(keys)\n\n\tfile, err := os.Create(\"mrtmp.\" + mr.jobName)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"Merge: create \", err)\n\t}\n\tw := bufio.NewWriter(file)\n\tfor _, k := range keys {\n\t\tfmt.Fprintf(w, \"%s: %s\\n\", k, kvs[k])\n\t}\n\tw.Flush()\n\tfile.Close()\n}\n\n// removeFile is a simple wrapper around os.Remove that logs errors.\nfunc removeFile(n string) {\n\terr := os.Remove(n)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"CleanupFiles \", err)\n\t}\n}\n\n// CleanupFiles removes all intermediate files produced by running mapreduce.\nfunc (mr *Master) CleanupFiles() {\n\tfor i := range mr.files {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < mr.nReduce; j++ {\n\t\t\tremoveFile(reduceName(mr.jobName, i, j))\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < mr.nReduce; i++ {\n\t\tremoveFile(mergeName(mr.jobName, i))\n\t}\n\tremoveFile(\"mrtmp.\" + mr.jobName)\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/schedule.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\nimport \"fmt\"\n\n//\n// schedule() starts and waits for all tasks in the given phase (mapPhase\n// or reducePhase). the mapFiles argument holds the names of the files that\n// are the inputs to the map phase, one per map task. nReduce is the\n// number of reduce tasks. the registerChan argument yields a stream\n// of registered workers; each item is the worker's RPC address,\n// suitable for passing to call(). registerChan will yield all\n// existing registered workers (if any) and new ones as they register.\n//\nfunc schedule(jobName string, mapFiles []string, nReduce int, phase jobPhase, registerChan chan string) {\n\tvar ntasks int\n\tvar n_other int // number of inputs (for reduce) or outputs (for map)\n\tswitch phase {\n\tcase mapPhase:\n\t\tntasks = len(mapFiles)\n\t\tn_other = nReduce\n\tcase reducePhase:\n\t\tntasks = nReduce\n\t\tn_other = len(mapFiles)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Schedule: %v %v tasks (%d I/Os)\\n\", ntasks, phase, n_other)\n\n\t// All ntasks tasks have to be scheduled on workers. Once all tasks\n\t// have completed successfully, schedule() should return.\n\t//\n\t// Your code here (Part III, Part IV).\n\t//\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Schedule: %v done\\n\", phase)\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/test_test.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"testing\"\n\t\"time\"\n\n\t\"bufio\"\n\t\"log\"\n\t\"os\"\n\t\"sort\"\n\t\"strconv\"\n\t\"strings\"\n)\n\nconst (\n\tnNumber = 100000\n\tnMap    = 20\n\tnReduce = 10\n)\n\n// Create input file with N numbers\n// Check if we have N numbers in output file\n\n// Split in words\nfunc MapFunc(file string, value string) (res []KeyValue) {\n\tdebug(\"Map %v\\n\", value)\n\twords := strings.Fields(value)\n\tfor _, w := range words {\n\t\tkv := KeyValue{w, \"\"}\n\t\tres = append(res, kv)\n\t}\n\treturn\n}\n\n// Just return key\nfunc ReduceFunc(key string, values []string) string {\n\tfor _, e := range values {\n\t\tdebug(\"Reduce %s %v\\n\", key, e)\n\t}\n\treturn \"\"\n}\n\n// Checks input file agaist output file: each input number should show up\n// in the output file in string sorted order\nfunc check(t *testing.T, files []string) {\n\toutput, err := os.Open(\"mrtmp.test\")\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"check: \", err)\n\t}\n\tdefer output.Close()\n\n\tvar lines []string\n\tfor _, f := range files {\n\t\tinput, err := os.Open(f)\n\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\tlog.Fatal(\"check: \", err)\n\t\t}\n\t\tdefer input.Close()\n\t\tinputScanner := bufio.NewScanner(input)\n\t\tfor inputScanner.Scan() {\n\t\t\tlines = append(lines, inputScanner.Text())\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tsort.Strings(lines)\n\n\toutputScanner := bufio.NewScanner(output)\n\ti := 0\n\tfor outputScanner.Scan() {\n\t\tvar v1 int\n\t\tvar v2 int\n\t\ttext := outputScanner.Text()\n\t\tn, err := fmt.Sscanf(lines[i], \"%d\", &v1)\n\t\tif n == 1 && err == nil {\n\t\t\tn, err = fmt.Sscanf(text, \"%d\", &v2)\n\t\t}\n\t\tif err != nil || v1 != v2 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"line %d: %d != %d err %v\\n\", i, v1, v2, err)\n\t\t}\n\t\ti++\n\t}\n\tif i != nNumber {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Expected %d lines in output\\n\", nNumber)\n\t}\n}\n\n// Workers report back how many RPCs they have processed in the Shutdown reply.\n// Check that they processed at least 1 DoTask RPC.\nfunc checkWorker(t *testing.T, l []int) {\n\tfor _, tasks := range l {\n\t\tif tasks == 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"A worker didn't do any work\\n\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n// Make input file\nfunc makeInputs(num int) []string {\n\tvar names []string\n\tvar i = 0\n\tfor f := 0; f < num; f++ {\n\t\tnames = append(names, fmt.Sprintf(\"824-mrinput-%d.txt\", f))\n\t\tfile, err := os.Create(names[f])\n\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\tlog.Fatal(\"mkInput: \", err)\n\t\t}\n\t\tw := bufio.NewWriter(file)\n\t\tfor i < (f+1)*(nNumber/num) {\n\t\t\tfmt.Fprintf(w, \"%d\\n\", i)\n\t\t\ti++\n\t\t}\n\t\tw.Flush()\n\t\tfile.Close()\n\t}\n\treturn names\n}\n\n// Cook up a unique-ish UNIX-domain socket name\n// in /var/tmp. can't use current directory since\n// AFS doesn't support UNIX-domain sockets.\nfunc port(suffix string) string {\n\ts := \"/var/tmp/824-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getuid()) + \"/\"\n\tos.Mkdir(s, 0777)\n\ts += \"mr\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getpid()) + \"-\"\n\ts += suffix\n\treturn s\n}\n\nfunc setup() *Master {\n\tfiles := makeInputs(nMap)\n\tmaster := port(\"master\")\n\tmr := Distributed(\"test\", files, nReduce, master)\n\treturn mr\n}\n\nfunc cleanup(mr *Master) {\n\tmr.CleanupFiles()\n\tfor _, f := range mr.files {\n\t\tremoveFile(f)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc TestSequentialSingle(t *testing.T) {\n\tmr := Sequential(\"test\", makeInputs(1), 1, MapFunc, ReduceFunc)\n\tmr.Wait()\n\tcheck(t, mr.files)\n\tcheckWorker(t, mr.stats)\n\tcleanup(mr)\n}\n\nfunc TestSequentialMany(t *testing.T) {\n\tmr := Sequential(\"test\", makeInputs(5), 3, MapFunc, ReduceFunc)\n\tmr.Wait()\n\tcheck(t, mr.files)\n\tcheckWorker(t, mr.stats)\n\tcleanup(mr)\n}\n\nfunc TestParallelBasic(t *testing.T) {\n\tmr := setup()\n\tfor i := 0; i < 2; i++ {\n\t\tgo RunWorker(mr.address, port(\"worker\"+strconv.Itoa(i)),\n\t\t\tMapFunc, ReduceFunc, -1, nil)\n\t}\n\tmr.Wait()\n\tcheck(t, mr.files)\n\tcheckWorker(t, mr.stats)\n\tcleanup(mr)\n}\n\nfunc TestParallelCheck(t *testing.T) {\n\tmr := setup()\n\tparallelism := &Parallelism{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < 2; i++ {\n\t\tgo RunWorker(mr.address, port(\"worker\"+strconv.Itoa(i)),\n\t\t\tMapFunc, ReduceFunc, -1, parallelism)\n\t}\n\tmr.Wait()\n\tcheck(t, mr.files)\n\tcheckWorker(t, mr.stats)\n\n\tparallelism.mu.Lock()\n\tif parallelism.max < 2 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"workers did not execute in parallel\")\n\t}\n\tparallelism.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tcleanup(mr)\n}\n\nfunc TestOneFailure(t *testing.T) {\n\tmr := setup()\n\t// Start 2 workers that fail after 10 tasks\n\tgo RunWorker(mr.address, port(\"worker\"+strconv.Itoa(0)),\n\t\tMapFunc, ReduceFunc, 10, nil)\n\tgo RunWorker(mr.address, port(\"worker\"+strconv.Itoa(1)),\n\t\tMapFunc, ReduceFunc, -1, nil)\n\tmr.Wait()\n\tcheck(t, mr.files)\n\tcheckWorker(t, mr.stats)\n\tcleanup(mr)\n}\n\nfunc TestManyFailures(t *testing.T) {\n\tmr := setup()\n\ti := 0\n\tdone := false\n\tfor !done {\n\t\tselect {\n\t\tcase done = <-mr.doneChannel:\n\t\t\tcheck(t, mr.files)\n\t\t\tcleanup(mr)\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\tdefault:\n\t\t\t// Start 2 workers each sec. The workers fail after 10 tasks\n\t\t\tw := port(\"worker\" + strconv.Itoa(i))\n\t\t\tgo RunWorker(mr.address, w, MapFunc, ReduceFunc, 10, nil)\n\t\t\ti++\n\t\t\tw = port(\"worker\" + strconv.Itoa(i))\n\t\t\tgo RunWorker(mr.address, w, MapFunc, ReduceFunc, 10, nil)\n\t\t\ti++\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/mapreduce/worker.go",
    "content": "package mapreduce\n\n//\n// Please do not modify this file.\n//\n\nimport (\n\t\"fmt\"\n\t\"log\"\n\t\"net\"\n\t\"net/rpc\"\n\t\"os\"\n\t\"sync\"\n\t\"time\"\n)\n\n// track whether workers executed in parallel.\ntype Parallelism struct {\n\tmu  sync.Mutex\n\tnow int32\n\tmax int32\n}\n\n// Worker holds the state for a server waiting for DoTask or Shutdown RPCs\ntype Worker struct {\n\tsync.Mutex\n\n\tname        string\n\tMap         func(string, string) []KeyValue\n\tReduce      func(string, []string) string\n\tnRPC        int // quit after this many RPCs; protected by mutex\n\tnTasks      int // total tasks executed; protected by mutex\n\tconcurrent  int // number of parallel DoTasks in this worker; mutex\n\tl           net.Listener\n\tparallelism *Parallelism\n}\n\n// DoTask is called by the master when a new task is being scheduled on this\n// worker.\nfunc (wk *Worker) DoTask(arg *DoTaskArgs, _ *struct{}) error {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"%s: given %v task #%d on file %s (nios: %d)\\n\",\n\t\twk.name, arg.Phase, arg.TaskNumber, arg.File, arg.NumOtherPhase)\n\n\twk.Lock()\n\twk.nTasks += 1\n\twk.concurrent += 1\n\tnc := wk.concurrent\n\twk.Unlock()\n\n\tif nc > 1 {\n\t\t// schedule() should never issue more than one RPC at a\n\t\t// time to a given worker.\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"Worker.DoTask: more than one DoTask sent concurrently to a single worker\\n\")\n\t}\n\n\tpause := false\n\tif wk.parallelism != nil {\n\t\twk.parallelism.mu.Lock()\n\t\twk.parallelism.now += 1\n\t\tif wk.parallelism.now > wk.parallelism.max {\n\t\t\twk.parallelism.max = wk.parallelism.now\n\t\t}\n\t\tif wk.parallelism.max < 2 {\n\t\t\tpause = true\n\t\t}\n\t\twk.parallelism.mu.Unlock()\n\t}\n\n\tif pause {\n\t\t// give other workers a chance to prove that\n\t\t// they are executing in parallel.\n\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\t}\n\n\tswitch arg.Phase {\n\tcase mapPhase:\n\t\tdoMap(arg.JobName, arg.TaskNumber, arg.File, arg.NumOtherPhase, wk.Map)\n\tcase reducePhase:\n\t\tdoReduce(arg.JobName, arg.TaskNumber, mergeName(arg.JobName, arg.TaskNumber), arg.NumOtherPhase, wk.Reduce)\n\t}\n\n\twk.Lock()\n\twk.concurrent -= 1\n\twk.Unlock()\n\n\tif wk.parallelism != nil {\n\t\twk.parallelism.mu.Lock()\n\t\twk.parallelism.now -= 1\n\t\twk.parallelism.mu.Unlock()\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"%s: %v task #%d done\\n\", wk.name, arg.Phase, arg.TaskNumber)\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n// Shutdown is called by the master when all work has been completed.\n// We should respond with the number of tasks we have processed.\nfunc (wk *Worker) Shutdown(_ *struct{}, res *ShutdownReply) error {\n\tdebug(\"Shutdown %s\\n\", wk.name)\n\twk.Lock()\n\tdefer wk.Unlock()\n\tres.Ntasks = wk.nTasks\n\twk.nRPC = 1\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n// Tell the master we exist and ready to work\nfunc (wk *Worker) register(master string) {\n\targs := new(RegisterArgs)\n\targs.Worker = wk.name\n\tok := call(master, \"Master.Register\", args, new(struct{}))\n\tif ok == false {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"Register: RPC %s register error\\n\", master)\n\t}\n}\n\n// RunWorker sets up a connection with the master, registers its address, and\n// waits for tasks to be scheduled.\nfunc RunWorker(MasterAddress string, me string,\n\tMapFunc func(string, string) []KeyValue,\n\tReduceFunc func(string, []string) string,\n\tnRPC int, parallelism *Parallelism,\n) {\n\tdebug(\"RunWorker %s\\n\", me)\n\twk := new(Worker)\n\twk.name = me\n\twk.Map = MapFunc\n\twk.Reduce = ReduceFunc\n\twk.nRPC = nRPC\n\twk.parallelism = parallelism\n\trpcs := rpc.NewServer()\n\trpcs.Register(wk)\n\tos.Remove(me) // only needed for \"unix\"\n\tl, e := net.Listen(\"unix\", me)\n\tif e != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"RunWorker: worker \", me, \" error: \", e)\n\t}\n\twk.l = l\n\twk.register(MasterAddress)\n\n\t// DON'T MODIFY CODE BELOW\n\tfor {\n\t\twk.Lock()\n\t\tif wk.nRPC == 0 {\n\t\t\twk.Unlock()\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\twk.Unlock()\n\t\tconn, err := wk.l.Accept()\n\t\tif err == nil {\n\t\t\twk.Lock()\n\t\t\twk.nRPC--\n\t\t\twk.Unlock()\n\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\twk.l.Close()\n\tdebug(\"RunWorker %s exit\\n\", me)\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/paxos/paxos.go",
    "content": "package paxos\n\n//\n// Paxos library, to be included in an application.\n// Multiple applications will run, each including\n// a Paxos peer.\n//\n// Manages a sequence of agreed-on values.\n// The set of peers is fixed.\n// Copes with network failures (partition, msg loss, &c).\n// Does not store anything persistently, so cannot handle crash+restart.\n//\n// The application interface:\n//\n// px = paxos.Make(peers []string, me string)\n// px.Start(seq int, v interface{}) -- start agreement on new instance\n// px.Status(seq int) (Fate, v interface{}) -- get info about an instance\n// px.Done(seq int) -- ok to forget all instances <= seq\n// px.Max() int -- highest instance seq known, or -1\n// px.Min() int -- instances before this seq have been forgotten\n//\n\nimport \"net\"\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"log\"\n\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"syscall\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\n\nimport \"time\"\n\n// px.Status() return values, indicating\n// whether an agreement has been decided,\n// or Paxos has not yet reached agreement,\n// or it was agreed but forgotten (i.e. < Min()).\ntype Fate int\n\nconst (\n\tDecided   Fate = iota + 1\n\tPending        // not yet decided.\n\tForgotten      // decided but forgotten.\n)\n\ntype Paxos struct {\n\tmu         sync.Mutex\n\tl          net.Listener\n\tdead       int32 // for testing\n\tunreliable int32 // for testing\n\trpcCount   int32 // for testing\n\tpeers      []string\n\tme         int // index into peers[]\n\n\t// Your data here.\n\tproposerMgr *ProposerManager\n\tacceptorMgr *AcceptorManager\n\n\tchosen_value map[int]interface{}\n\n\tdoneSeqs     []int // non-local, except doneSeqs[me]\n\tminDoneSeq   int   // the minimal in doneSeqs\n\tminDoneIndex int   // the index of the minimal in doneSeqs\n}\n\ntype ProposerManager struct {\n\tpx             *Paxos\n\tmu             sync.Mutex\n\tpeers          []string\n\tme             int // index of the proposers\n\tproposers      map[int]*Proposer\n\tseq_max        int\n\tseq_chosen_max int\n}\n\ntype AcceptorManager struct {\n\tmu        sync.Mutex\n\tacceptors map[int]*Acceptor\n\tseq_max   int\n}\n\ntype Acceptor struct {\n\tmu sync.Mutex\n\t// init: -1, -1, \"\"\n\tn_p int\n\tn_a int\n\tv_a interface{}\n}\n\ntype Proposer struct {\n\tmgr           *ProposerManager\n\tseq           int\n\tpropose_value interface{}\n\tisDead        bool\n}\n\ntype PrepareArgs struct {\n\tSeq int\n\tN   int\n}\n\ntype PrepareReply struct {\n\tN    int // for choosing next proposing number\n\tN_a  int\n\tV_a  interface{}\n\tSucc bool\n}\n\ntype AcceptArgs struct {\n\tSeq int\n\tN   int\n\tV   interface{}\n}\n\ntype AcceptReply struct {\n\tN    int // for choosing next proposing number\n\tSucc bool\n}\n\ntype DecideArgs struct {\n\tSeq int\n\tV   interface{}\n}\n\ntype DecideReply bool\n\ntype SeqArgs struct {\n\tSender int\n\tSeq    int\n}\n\ntype SeqReply bool\n\n//\n// call() sends an RPC to the rpcname handler on server srv\n// with arguments args, waits for the reply, and leaves the\n// reply in reply. the reply argument should be a pointer\n// to a reply structure.\n//\n// the return value is true if the server responded, and false\n// if call() was not able to contact the server. in particular,\n// the replys contents are only valid if call() returned true.\n//\n// you should assume that call() will time out and return an\n// error after a while if it does not get a reply from the server.\n//\n// please use call() to send all RPCs, in client.go and server.go.\n// please do not change this function.\n//\nfunc call(srv string, name string, args interface{}, reply interface{}) bool {\n\tc, err := rpc.Dial(\"unix\", srv)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\terr1 := err.(*net.OpError)\n\t\tif err1.Err != syscall.ENOENT && err1.Err != syscall.ECONNREFUSED {\n\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"paxos Dial() failed: %v\\n\", err1)\n\t\t}\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n\tdefer c.Close()\n\n\terr = c.Call(name, args, reply)\n\tif err == nil {\n\t\treturn true\n\t}\n\n\t// fmt.Println(err)\n\treturn false\n}\n\nfunc (proposerMgr *ProposerManager) RunProposer(seq int, v interface{}) {\n\tproposerMgr.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer proposerMgr.mu.Unlock()\n\tif _, ok := proposerMgr.proposers[seq]; !ok {\n\t\tif seq > proposerMgr.seq_max {\n\t\t\tproposerMgr.seq_max = seq\n\t\t}\n\t\tprop := &Proposer{mgr: proposerMgr, seq: seq, propose_value: v, isDead: false}\n\t\tproposerMgr.proposers[seq] = prop\n\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\tprop.Propose()\n\t\t}()\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (acceptorMgr *AcceptorManager) GetInstance(seq int) *Acceptor {\n\tacceptorMgr.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer acceptorMgr.mu.Unlock()\n\tacceptor, ok := acceptorMgr.acceptors[seq]\n\tif !ok {\n\t\tif seq > acceptorMgr.seq_max {\n\t\t\tacceptorMgr.seq_max = seq\n\t\t}\n\t\tacceptor = &Acceptor{n_p: -1, n_a: -1, v_a: nil}\n\t\tacceptorMgr.acceptors[seq] = acceptor\n\t}\n\treturn acceptor\n}\n\nfunc (px *Paxos) Prepare(args *PrepareArgs, reply *PrepareReply) error {\n\tacceptor := px.acceptorMgr.GetInstance(args.Seq)\n\tacceptor.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer acceptor.mu.Unlock()\n\tif args.N > acceptor.n_p {\n\t\treply.Succ = true\n\t\tacceptor.n_p = args.N\n\t\treply.N = args.N\n\t\treply.N_a = acceptor.n_a\n\t\treply.V_a = acceptor.v_a\n\t} else {\n\t\treply.Succ = false\n\t\treply.N = acceptor.n_p\n\t}\n\treturn nil\n}\n\nfunc (px *Paxos) Accept(args *AcceptArgs, reply *AcceptReply) error {\n\tacceptor := px.acceptorMgr.GetInstance(args.Seq)\n\tacceptor.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer acceptor.mu.Unlock()\n\tif args.N >= acceptor.n_p {\n\t\treply.Succ = true\n\t\tacceptor.n_p = args.N\n\t\tacceptor.n_a = args.N\n\t\tacceptor.v_a = args.V\n\t\treply.N = args.N\n\t} else {\n\t\treply.Succ = false\n\t\treply.N = acceptor.n_p\n\t}\n\treturn nil\n}\n\nfunc (px *Paxos) Decide(args *DecideArgs, reply *DecideReply) error {\n\tpx.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer px.mu.Unlock()\n\t// assertion: it must be an idempotent operation\n\tpx.chosen_value[args.Seq] = args.V\n\t*reply = DecideReply(true)\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n// loop for getting the chosen value, except being dead\nfunc (proposer *Proposer) Propose() {\n\tpeers_num := len(proposer.mgr.peers)\n\tmajority_num := peers_num/2 + 1\n\n\tpropose_num := proposer.mgr.me\n\tfor !proposer.isDead {\n\t\tnext_propose_num := propose_num\n\t\t// prepare request\n\t\tprepareReplies := make(chan PrepareReply, peers_num)\n\t\tprepareBarrier := make(chan bool)\n\t\tfor me, peer := range proposer.mgr.peers {\n\t\t\tgo func(me int, peer string) {\n\t\t\t\targs := &PrepareArgs{Seq: proposer.seq, N: propose_num}\n\t\t\t\tvar reply PrepareReply\n\n\t\t\t\t// avoid the situation that local rpc is fragile, however the acceptor should prepare value that itself issued.\n\t\t\t\tsucc := true\n\t\t\t\tif me != proposer.mgr.me {\n\t\t\t\t\tsucc = call(peer, \"Paxos.Prepare\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tproposer.mgr.px.Prepare(args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tprepareBarrier <- true\n\t\t\t\tif succ {\n\t\t\t\t\tif reply.Succ {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tprepareReplies <- reply\n\t\t\t\t\t} else if reply.N > next_propose_num {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t// TODO atomic\n\t\t\t\t\t\tnext_propose_num = reply.N\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}(me, peer)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\t// barrier\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < peers_num; i++ {\n\t\t\t<-prepareBarrier\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif len(prepareReplies) >= majority_num {\n\t\t\tvar accepted_value interface{} = nil\n\t\t\taccepted_propose_num := -1\n\t\t\treplies_num := len(prepareReplies)\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < replies_num; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tr := <-prepareReplies\n\t\t\t\tif r.N_a > accepted_propose_num {\n\t\t\t\t\taccepted_propose_num = r.N_a\n\t\t\t\t\taccepted_value = r.V_a\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\n\t\t\t// accept request\n\t\t\tacceptReplies := make(chan AcceptReply, peers_num)\n\t\t\tacceptBarrier := make(chan bool)\n\t\t\tvar accept_req_value interface{}\n\n\t\t\tif accepted_value != nil {\n\t\t\t\t// accepting has happened, use the accepted value\n\t\t\t\taccept_req_value = accepted_value\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t// no accept, use own propose value\n\t\t\t\taccept_req_value = proposer.propose_value\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tfor me, peer := range proposer.mgr.peers {\n\t\t\t\tgo func(me int, peer string) {\n\t\t\t\t\targs := &AcceptArgs{Seq: proposer.seq, N: propose_num, V: accept_req_value}\n\t\t\t\t\tvar reply AcceptReply\n\t\t\t\t\t// same reason\n\t\t\t\t\tsucc := true\n\t\t\t\t\tif me != proposer.mgr.me {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tsucc = call(peer, \"Paxos.Accept\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tproposer.mgr.px.Accept(args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\tacceptBarrier <- true\n\t\t\t\t\tif succ {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tif reply.Succ {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tacceptReplies <- reply\n\t\t\t\t\t\t} else if reply.N > next_propose_num {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tnext_propose_num = reply.N\n\t\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}(me, peer)\n\t\t\t}\n\n\t\t\t// barrier\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < peers_num; i++ {\n\t\t\t\t<-acceptBarrier\n\t\t\t}\n\n\t\t\t// Decide procedure is broadcast the learn value\n\t\t\tif len(acceptReplies) >= majority_num {\n\t\t\t\t// be sure to get a chosen value\n\t\t\t\tfor me, peer := range proposer.mgr.peers {\n\t\t\t\t\tgo func(me int, peer string) {\n\t\t\t\t\t\targs := &DecideArgs{Seq: proposer.seq, V: accept_req_value}\n\t\t\t\t\t\tvar reply DecideReply\n\t\t\t\t\t\t// same reason\n\t\t\t\t\t\tif me != proposer.mgr.me {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tcall(peer, \"Paxos.Decide\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t/* For unreliable rpc and controlling resource, it's better\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tuse the following. It's not necessary, others can lanunch\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tthe `start` procedure.\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tsucc := false\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tfor !succ && !proposer.isDead {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tsucc = call(peer, \"Paxos.Decide\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t*/\n\t\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tproposer.mgr.px.Decide(args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\t}(me, peer)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t} // end if accept\n\t\t} // end if prepare\n\n\t\ttry_num := next_propose_num/peers_num*peers_num + proposer.mgr.me\n\t\tif try_num > next_propose_num {\n\t\t\tnext_propose_num = try_num\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tnext_propose_num = try_num + peers_num\n\t\t}\n\t\t// assertion: next_propose_num become bigger\n\t\tif next_propose_num <= propose_num || next_propose_num%peers_num != proposer.mgr.me {\n\t\t\tlog.Fatalln(\"unexpected error!!!\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tpropose_num = next_propose_num\n\n\t\t// TODO\n\t\t// sleep for avoiding thrashing of proposing\n\t\ttime.Sleep(50 * time.Millisecond)\n\t}\n\n}\n\n//\n// the application wants paxos to start agreement on\n// instance seq, with proposed value v.\n// Start() returns right away; the application will\n// call Status() to find out if/when agreement\n// is reached.\n//\nfunc (px *Paxos) Start(seq int, v interface{}) {\n\t// Your code here.\n\t// TODO optimize, if we know the history log, just avoid the\n\t// paxos proposing process.\n\n\t// ignore the instance whose seq isn't more than minDoneSeq\n\tif seq <= px.minDoneSeq {\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\n\tpx.proposerMgr.RunProposer(seq, v)\n}\n\n//\n// the application on this machine is done with\n// all instances <= seq.\n//\n// see the comments for Min() for more explanation.\n//\nfunc (px *Paxos) Done(seq int) {\n\t// Your code here.\n\tfor me, peer := range px.peers {\n\t\tgo func(me int, peer string) {\n\t\t\targs := &SeqArgs{Seq: seq, Sender: px.me}\n\t\t\tvar reply SeqReply\n\t\t\tif me != px.me {\n\t\t\t\tcall(peer, \"Paxos.UpdateDoneSeqs\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t// the same reason using local invocation instead of RPC\n\t\t\t\tpx.UpdateDoneSeqs(args, &reply)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}(me, peer)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (px *Paxos) UpdateDoneSeqs(args *SeqArgs, reply *SeqReply) error {\n\tpx.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer px.mu.Unlock()\n\tif args.Seq > px.doneSeqs[args.Sender] {\n\t\tpx.doneSeqs[args.Sender] = args.Seq\n\t\t// minimal changes only when the former one become bigger\n\t\tif args.Sender == px.minDoneIndex {\n\t\t\tpx.minDoneSeq = args.Seq\n\t\t\tfor index, seq := range px.doneSeqs {\n\t\t\t\tif seq < px.minDoneSeq {\n\t\t\t\t\tpx.minDoneSeq = seq\n\t\t\t\t\tpx.minDoneIndex = index\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\n\t\t\t// release instance\n\n\t\t\tpx.proposerMgr.mu.Lock()\n\t\t\tfor s, prop := range px.proposerMgr.proposers {\n\t\t\t\tif s <= px.minDoneSeq {\n\t\t\t\t\tprop.isDead = true\n\t\t\t\t\tdelete(px.proposerMgr.proposers, s)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tpx.proposerMgr.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t\t\tfor s, _ := range px.chosen_value {\n\t\t\t\tif s <= px.minDoneSeq {\n\t\t\t\t\tdelete(px.chosen_value, s)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\n\t\t\tpx.acceptorMgr.mu.Lock()\n\t\t\tfor s, _ := range px.acceptorMgr.acceptors {\n\t\t\t\tif s <= px.minDoneSeq {\n\t\t\t\t\tdelete(px.acceptorMgr.acceptors, s)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tpx.acceptorMgr.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n//\n// the application wants to know the\n// highest instance sequence known to\n// this peer.\n//\nfunc (px *Paxos) Max() int {\n\t// Your code here.\n\ta, b := px.acceptorMgr.seq_max, px.proposerMgr.seq_max\n\tif a > b {\n\t\treturn a\n\t} else {\n\t\treturn b\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// Min() should return one more than the minimum among z_i,\n// where z_i is the highest number ever passed\n// to Done() on peer i. A peers z_i is -1 if it has\n// never called Done().\n//\n// Paxos is required to have forgotten all information\n// about any instances it knows that are < Min().\n// The point is to free up memory in long-running\n// Paxos-based servers.\n//\n// Paxos peers need to exchange their highest Done()\n// arguments in order to implement Min(). These\n// exchanges can be piggybacked on ordinary Paxos\n// agreement protocol messages, so it is OK if one\n// peers Min does not reflect another Peers Done()\n// until after the next instance is agreed to.\n//\n// The fact that Min() is defined as a minimum over\n// *all* Paxos peers means that Min() cannot increase until\n// all peers have been heard from. So if a peer is dead\n// or unreachable, other peers Min()s will not increase\n// even if all reachable peers call Done. The reason for\n// this is that when the unreachable peer comes back to\n// life, it will need to catch up on instances that it\n// missed -- the other peers therefor cannot forget these\n// instances.\n//\nfunc (px *Paxos) Min() int {\n\t// You code here.\n\tpx.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer px.mu.Unlock()\n\treturn px.minDoneSeq + 1\n}\n\n//\n// the application wants to know whether this\n// peer thinks an instance has been decided,\n// and if so what the agreed value is. Status()\n// should just inspect the local peer state;\n// it should not contact other Paxos peers.\n//\nfunc (px *Paxos) Status(seq int) (Fate, interface{}) {\n\t// Your code here.\n\tpx.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer px.mu.Unlock()\n\tif value, ok := px.chosen_value[seq]; seq <= px.minDoneSeq {\n\t\treturn Forgotten, nil\n\t} else if ok {\n\t\treturn Decided, value\n\t} else {\n\t\treturn Pending, nil\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// tell the peer to shut itself down.\n// for testing.\n// please do not change these two functions.\n//\nfunc (px *Paxos) Kill() {\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&px.dead, 1)\n\tif px.l != nil {\n\t\tpx.l.Close()\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// has this peer been asked to shut down?\n//\nfunc (px *Paxos) isdead() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&px.dead) != 0\n}\n\n// please do not change these two functions.\nfunc (px *Paxos) setunreliable(what bool) {\n\tif what {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&px.unreliable, 1)\n\t} else {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&px.unreliable, 0)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (px *Paxos) isunreliable() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&px.unreliable) != 0\n}\n\n//\n// the application wants to create a paxos peer.\n// the ports of all the paxos peers (including this one)\n// are in peers[]. this servers port is peers[me].\n//\nfunc Make(peers []string, me int, rpcs *rpc.Server) *Paxos {\n\tpx := &Paxos{}\n\tpx.peers = peers\n\tpx.me = me\n\n\t// Your initialization code here.\n\tpx.chosen_value = make(map[int]interface{})\n\n\tpx.doneSeqs = make([]int, len(px.peers))\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(px.peers); i++ {\n\t\tpx.doneSeqs[i] = -1\n\t}\n\tpx.minDoneSeq = -1\n\tpx.minDoneIndex = 0\n\n\tpx.proposerMgr = &ProposerManager{peers: peers, me: me, proposers: make(map[int]*Proposer), seq_max: -1, seq_chosen_max: -1, px: px}\n\tpx.acceptorMgr = &AcceptorManager{acceptors: make(map[int]*Acceptor), seq_max: -1}\n\n\tif rpcs != nil {\n\t\t// caller will create socket &c\n\t\trpcs.Register(px)\n\t\trpcs.Register(px.acceptorMgr)\n\t\trpcs.Register(px.proposerMgr)\n\t} else {\n\t\trpcs = rpc.NewServer()\n\t\trpcs.Register(px)\n\t\trpcs.Register(px.acceptorMgr)\n\t\trpcs.Register(px.proposerMgr)\n\n\t\t// prepare to receive connections from clients.\n\t\t// change \"unix\" to \"tcp\" to use over a network.\n\t\tos.Remove(peers[me]) // only needed for \"unix\"\n\t\tl, e := net.Listen(\"unix\", peers[me])\n\t\tif e != nil {\n\t\t\tlog.Fatal(\"listen error: \", e)\n\t\t}\n\t\tpx.l = l\n\n\t\t// please do not change any of the following code,\n\t\t// or do anything to subvert it.\n\n\t\t// create a thread to accept RPC connections\n\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\tfor px.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tconn, err := px.l.Accept()\n\t\t\t\tif err == nil && px.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\t\tif px.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t// discard the request.\n\t\t\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t\t\t} else if px.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 200 {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t// process the request but force discard of reply.\n\t\t\t\t\t\tc1 := conn.(*net.UnixConn)\n\t\t\t\t\t\tf, _ := c1.File()\n\t\t\t\t\t\terr := syscall.Shutdown(int(f.Fd()), syscall.SHUT_WR)\n\t\t\t\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"shutdown: %v\\n\", err)\n\t\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\t\tatomic.AddInt32(&px.rpcCount, 1)\n\t\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tatomic.AddInt32(&px.rpcCount, 1)\n\t\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t} else if err == nil {\n\t\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tif err != nil && px.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"Paxos(%v) accept: %v\\n\", me, err.Error())\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}()\n\t}\n\n\treturn px\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/paxos/test_test.go",
    "content": "package paxos\n\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"strconv\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport crand \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"encoding/base64\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\n\nfunc randstring(n int) string {\n\tb := make([]byte, 2*n)\n\tcrand.Read(b)\n\ts := base64.URLEncoding.EncodeToString(b)\n\treturn s[0:n]\n}\n\nfunc port(tag string, host int) string {\n\ts := \"/var/tmp/824-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getuid()) + \"/\"\n\tos.Mkdir(s, 0777)\n\ts += \"px-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getpid()) + \"-\"\n\ts += tag + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(host)\n\treturn s\n}\n\nfunc ndecided(t *testing.T, pxa []*Paxos, seq int) int {\n\tcount := 0\n\tvar v interface{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(pxa); i++ {\n\t\tif pxa[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tdecided, v1 := pxa[i].Status(seq)\n\t\t\tif decided == Decided {\n\t\t\t\tif count > 0 && v != v1 {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"decided values do not match; seq=%v i=%v v=%v v1=%v\",\n\t\t\t\t\t\tseq, i, v, v1)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tcount++\n\t\t\t\tv = v1\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn count\n}\n\nfunc waitn(t *testing.T, pxa []*Paxos, seq int, wanted int) {\n\tto := 10 * time.Millisecond\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 30; iters++ {\n\t\tif ndecided(t, pxa, seq) >= wanted {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(to)\n\t\tif to < time.Second {\n\t\t\tto *= 2\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tnd := ndecided(t, pxa, seq)\n\tif nd < wanted {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"too few decided; seq=%v ndecided=%v wanted=%v\", seq, nd, wanted)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc waitmajority(t *testing.T, pxa []*Paxos, seq int) {\n\twaitn(t, pxa, seq, (len(pxa)/2)+1)\n}\n\nfunc checkmax(t *testing.T, pxa []*Paxos, seq int, max int) {\n\ttime.Sleep(3 * time.Second)\n\tnd := ndecided(t, pxa, seq)\n\tif nd > max {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"too many decided; seq=%v ndecided=%v max=%v\", seq, nd, max)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc cleanup(pxa []*Paxos) {\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(pxa); i++ {\n\t\tif pxa[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tpxa[i].Kill()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc noTestSpeed(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tconst npaxos = 3\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"time\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t}\n\n\tt0 := time.Now()\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 20; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[0].Start(i, \"x\")\n\t\twaitn(t, pxa, i, npaxos)\n\t}\n\n\td := time.Since(t0)\n\tfmt.Printf(\"20 agreements %v seconds\\n\", d.Seconds())\n}\n\nfunc TestBasic(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tconst npaxos = 3\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"basic\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Single proposer ...\\n\")\n\n\tpxa[0].Start(0, \"hello\")\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 0, npaxos)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Many proposers, same value ...\\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].Start(1, 77)\n\t}\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 1, npaxos)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Many proposers, different values ...\\n\")\n\n\tpxa[0].Start(2, 100)\n\tpxa[1].Start(2, 101)\n\tpxa[2].Start(2, 102)\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 2, npaxos)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Out-of-order instances ...\\n\")\n\n\tpxa[0].Start(7, 700)\n\tpxa[0].Start(6, 600)\n\tpxa[1].Start(5, 500)\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 7, npaxos)\n\tpxa[0].Start(4, 400)\n\tpxa[1].Start(3, 300)\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 6, npaxos)\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 5, npaxos)\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 4, npaxos)\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 3, npaxos)\n\n\tif pxa[0].Max() != 7 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong Max()\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestDeaf(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tconst npaxos = 5\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"deaf\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Deaf proposer ...\\n\")\n\n\tpxa[0].Start(0, \"hello\")\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 0, npaxos)\n\n\tos.Remove(pxh[0])\n\tos.Remove(pxh[npaxos-1])\n\n\tpxa[1].Start(1, \"goodbye\")\n\twaitmajority(t, pxa, 1)\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\tif ndecided(t, pxa, 1) != npaxos-2 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"a deaf peer heard about a decision\")\n\t}\n\n\tpxa[0].Start(1, \"xxx\")\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 1, npaxos-1)\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\tif ndecided(t, pxa, 1) != npaxos-1 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"a deaf peer heard about a decision\")\n\t}\n\n\tpxa[npaxos-1].Start(1, \"yyy\")\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 1, npaxos)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestForget(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tconst npaxos = 6\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"gc\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Forgetting ...\\n\")\n\n\t// initial Min() correct?\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tm := pxa[i].Min()\n\t\tif m > 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong initial Min() %v\", m)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tpxa[0].Start(0, \"00\")\n\tpxa[1].Start(1, \"11\")\n\tpxa[2].Start(2, \"22\")\n\tpxa[0].Start(6, \"66\")\n\tpxa[1].Start(7, \"77\")\n\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 0, npaxos)\n\n\t// Min() correct?\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tm := pxa[i].Min()\n\t\tif m != 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong Min() %v; expected 0\", m)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 1, npaxos)\n\n\t// Min() correct?\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tm := pxa[i].Min()\n\t\tif m != 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong Min() %v; expected 0\", m)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// everyone Done() -> Min() changes?\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].Done(0)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 1; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].Done(1)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].Start(8+i, \"xx\")\n\t}\n\tallok := false\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 12; iters++ {\n\t\tallok = true\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\ts := pxa[i].Min()\n\t\t\tif s != 1 {\n\t\t\t\tallok = false\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tif allok {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\t}\n\tif allok != true {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Min() did not advance after Done()\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestManyForget(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tconst npaxos = 3\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"manygc\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t\tpxa[i].setunreliable(true)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Lots of forgetting ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst maxseq = 20\n\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tna := rand.Perm(maxseq)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < len(na); i++ {\n\t\t\tseq := na[i]\n\t\t\tj := (rand.Int() % npaxos)\n\t\t\tv := rand.Int()\n\t\t\tpxa[j].Start(seq, v)\n\t\t\truntime.Gosched()\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\tdone := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor {\n\t\t\tselect {\n\t\t\tcase <-done:\n\t\t\t\treturn\n\t\t\tdefault:\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tseq := (rand.Int() % maxseq)\n\t\t\ti := (rand.Int() % npaxos)\n\t\t\tif seq >= pxa[i].Min() {\n\t\t\t\tdecided, _ := pxa[i].Status(seq)\n\t\t\t\tif decided == Decided {\n\t\t\t\t\tpxa[i].Done(seq)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\truntime.Gosched()\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\ttime.Sleep(5 * time.Second)\n\tdone <- true\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].setunreliable(false)\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\n\tfor seq := 0; seq < maxseq; seq++ {\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\tif seq >= pxa[i].Min() {\n\t\t\t\tpxa[i].Status(seq)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// does paxos forgetting actually free the memory?\n//\nfunc TestForgetMem(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Paxos frees forgotten instance memory ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst npaxos = 3\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"gcmem\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t}\n\n\tpxa[0].Start(0, \"x\")\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 0, npaxos)\n\n\truntime.GC()\n\tvar m0 runtime.MemStats\n\truntime.ReadMemStats(&m0)\n\t// m0.Alloc about a megabyte\n\n\tfor i := 1; i <= 10; i++ {\n\t\tbig := make([]byte, 1000000)\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(big); j++ {\n\t\t\tbig[j] = byte('a' + rand.Int()%26)\n\t\t}\n\t\tpxa[0].Start(i, string(big))\n\t\twaitn(t, pxa, i, npaxos)\n\t}\n\n\truntime.GC()\n\tvar m1 runtime.MemStats\n\truntime.ReadMemStats(&m1)\n\t// m1.Alloc about 90 megabytes\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].Done(10)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].Start(11+i, \"z\")\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(3 * time.Second)\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tif pxa[i].Min() != 11 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"expected Min() %v, got %v\\n\", 11, pxa[i].Min())\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\truntime.GC()\n\tvar m2 runtime.MemStats\n\truntime.ReadMemStats(&m2)\n\t// m2.Alloc about 10 megabytes\n\n\tif m2.Alloc > (m1.Alloc / 2) {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"memory use did not shrink enough\")\n\t}\n\n\tagain := make([]string, 10)\n\tfor seq := 0; seq < npaxos && seq < 10; seq++ {\n\t\tagain[seq] = randstring(20)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\tfate, _ := pxa[i].Status(seq)\n\t\t\tif fate != Forgotten {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"seq %d < Min() %d but not Forgotten\", seq, pxa[i].Min())\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tpxa[i].Start(seq, again[seq])\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\tfor seq := 0; seq < npaxos && seq < 10; seq++ {\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\tfate, v := pxa[i].Status(seq)\n\t\t\tif fate != Forgotten || v == again[seq] {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"seq %d < Min() %d but not Forgotten\", seq, pxa[i].Min())\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// does Max() work after Done()s?\n//\nfunc TestDoneMax(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Paxos Max() after Done()s ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst npaxos = 3\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"donemax\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t}\n\n\tpxa[0].Start(0, \"x\")\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 0, npaxos)\n\t// Check each message\n\tfor i := 1; i <= 10; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[0].Start(i, \"y\")\n\t\twaitn(t, pxa, i, npaxos)\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].Done(10)\n\t}\n\n\t// Propagate messages so everyone knows about Done(10)\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].Start(10, \"z\")\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tmx := pxa[i].Max()\n\t\tif mx != 10 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Max() did not return correct result %d after calling Done(); returned %d\", 10, mx)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\t\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestRPCCount(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: RPC counts aren't too high ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst npaxos = 3\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"count\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t}\n\n\tninst1 := 5\n\tseq := 0\n\tfor i := 0; i < ninst1; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[0].Start(seq, \"x\")\n\t\twaitn(t, pxa, seq, npaxos)\n\t\tseq++\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\n\ttotal1 := int32(0)\n\tfor j := 0; j < npaxos; j++ {\n\t\ttotal1 += atomic.LoadInt32(&pxa[j].rpcCount)\n\t}\n\n\t// per agreement:\n\t// 3 prepares\n\t// 3 accepts\n\t// 3 decides\n\texpected1 := int32(ninst1 * npaxos * npaxos)\n\tif total1 > expected1 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"too many RPCs for serial Start()s; %v instances, got %v, expected %v\",\n\t\t\tninst1, total1, expected1)\n\t}\n\n\tninst2 := 5\n\tfor i := 0; i < ninst2; i++ {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < npaxos; j++ {\n\t\t\tgo pxa[j].Start(seq, j+(i*10))\n\t\t}\n\t\twaitn(t, pxa, seq, npaxos)\n\t\tseq++\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\n\ttotal2 := int32(0)\n\tfor j := 0; j < npaxos; j++ {\n\t\ttotal2 += atomic.LoadInt32(&pxa[j].rpcCount)\n\t}\n\ttotal2 -= total1\n\n\t// worst case per agreement:\n\t// Proposer 1: 3 prep, 3 acc, 3 decides.\n\t// Proposer 2: 3 prep, 3 acc, 3 prep, 3 acc, 3 decides.\n\t// Proposer 3: 3 prep, 3 acc, 3 prep, 3 acc, 3 prep, 3 acc, 3 decides.\n\texpected2 := int32(ninst2 * npaxos * 15)\n\tif total2 > expected2 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"too many RPCs for concurrent Start()s; %v instances, got %v, expected %v\",\n\t\t\tninst2, total2, expected2)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// many agreements (without failures)\n//\nfunc TestMany(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Many instances ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst npaxos = 3\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"many\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t\tpxa[i].Start(0, 0)\n\t}\n\n\tconst ninst = 50\n\tfor seq := 1; seq < ninst; seq++ {\n\t\t// only 5 active instances, to limit the\n\t\t// number of file descriptors.\n\t\tfor seq >= 5 && ndecided(t, pxa, seq-5) < npaxos {\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(20 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\tpxa[i].Start(seq, (seq*10)+i)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor {\n\t\tdone := true\n\t\tfor seq := 1; seq < ninst; seq++ {\n\t\t\tif ndecided(t, pxa, seq) < npaxos {\n\t\t\t\tdone = false\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tif done {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// a peer starts up, with proposal, after others decide.\n// then another peer starts, without a proposal.\n//\nfunc TestOld(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Minority proposal ignored ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst npaxos = 5\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"old\", i)\n\t}\n\n\tpxa[1] = Make(pxh, 1, nil)\n\tpxa[2] = Make(pxh, 2, nil)\n\tpxa[3] = Make(pxh, 3, nil)\n\tpxa[1].Start(1, 111)\n\n\twaitmajority(t, pxa, 1)\n\n\tpxa[0] = Make(pxh, 0, nil)\n\tpxa[0].Start(1, 222)\n\n\twaitn(t, pxa, 1, 4)\n\n\tif false {\n\t\tpxa[4] = Make(pxh, 4, nil)\n\t\twaitn(t, pxa, 1, npaxos)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// many agreements, with unreliable RPC\n//\nfunc TestManyUnreliable(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Many instances, unreliable RPC ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst npaxos = 3\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxh[i] = port(\"manyun\", i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t\tpxa[i].setunreliable(true)\n\t\tpxa[i].Start(0, 0)\n\t}\n\n\tconst ninst = 50\n\tfor seq := 1; seq < ninst; seq++ {\n\t\t// only 3 active instances, to limit the\n\t\t// number of file descriptors.\n\t\tfor seq >= 3 && ndecided(t, pxa, seq-3) < npaxos {\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(20 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\tpxa[i].Start(seq, (seq*10)+i)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor {\n\t\tdone := true\n\t\tfor seq := 1; seq < ninst; seq++ {\n\t\t\tif ndecided(t, pxa, seq) < npaxos {\n\t\t\t\tdone = false\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tif done {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc pp(tag string, src int, dst int) string {\n\ts := \"/var/tmp/824-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getuid()) + \"/\"\n\ts += \"px-\" + tag + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getpid()) + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(src) + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(dst)\n\treturn s\n}\n\nfunc cleanpp(tag string, n int) {\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < n; j++ {\n\t\t\tij := pp(tag, i, j)\n\t\t\tos.Remove(ij)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc part(t *testing.T, tag string, npaxos int, p1 []int, p2 []int, p3 []int) {\n\tcleanpp(tag, npaxos)\n\n\tpa := [][]int{p1, p2, p3}\n\tfor pi := 0; pi < len(pa); pi++ {\n\t\tp := pa[pi]\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < len(p); i++ {\n\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(p); j++ {\n\t\t\t\tij := pp(tag, p[i], p[j])\n\t\t\t\tpj := port(tag, p[j])\n\t\t\t\terr := os.Link(pj, ij)\n\t\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\t\t// one reason this link can fail is if the\n\t\t\t\t\t// corresponding Paxos peer has prematurely quit and\n\t\t\t\t\t// deleted its socket file (e.g., called px.Kill()).\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"os.Link(%v, %v): %v\\n\", pj, ij, err)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc TestPartition(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"partition\"\n\tconst npaxos = 5\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\tdefer cleanpp(tag, npaxos)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < npaxos; j++ {\n\t\t\tif j == i {\n\t\t\t\tpxh[j] = port(tag, i)\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tpxh[j] = pp(tag, i, j)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t}\n\tdefer part(t, tag, npaxos, []int{}, []int{}, []int{})\n\n\tseq := 0\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: No decision if partitioned ...\\n\")\n\n\tpart(t, tag, npaxos, []int{0, 2}, []int{1, 3}, []int{4})\n\tpxa[1].Start(seq, 111)\n\tcheckmax(t, pxa, seq, 0)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Decision in majority partition ...\\n\")\n\n\tpart(t, tag, npaxos, []int{0}, []int{1, 2, 3}, []int{4})\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\twaitmajority(t, pxa, seq)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: All agree after full heal ...\\n\")\n\n\tpxa[0].Start(seq, 1000) // poke them\n\tpxa[4].Start(seq, 1004)\n\tpart(t, tag, npaxos, []int{0, 1, 2, 3, 4}, []int{}, []int{})\n\n\twaitn(t, pxa, seq, npaxos)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: One peer switches partitions ...\\n\")\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 20; iters++ {\n\t\tseq++\n\n\t\tpart(t, tag, npaxos, []int{0, 1, 2}, []int{3, 4}, []int{})\n\t\tpxa[0].Start(seq, seq*10)\n\t\tpxa[3].Start(seq, (seq*10)+1)\n\t\twaitmajority(t, pxa, seq)\n\t\tif ndecided(t, pxa, seq) > 3 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"too many decided\")\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tpart(t, tag, npaxos, []int{0, 1}, []int{2, 3, 4}, []int{})\n\t\twaitn(t, pxa, seq, npaxos)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: One peer switches partitions, unreliable ...\\n\")\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 20; iters++ {\n\t\tseq++\n\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\tpxa[i].setunreliable(true)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tpart(t, tag, npaxos, []int{0, 1, 2}, []int{3, 4}, []int{})\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\tpxa[i].Start(seq, (seq*10)+i)\n\t\t}\n\t\twaitn(t, pxa, seq, 3)\n\t\tif ndecided(t, pxa, seq) > 3 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"too many decided\")\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tpart(t, tag, npaxos, []int{0, 1}, []int{2, 3, 4}, []int{})\n\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\tpxa[i].setunreliable(false)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\twaitn(t, pxa, seq, 5)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestLots(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Many requests, changing partitions ...\\n\")\n\n\ttag := \"lots\"\n\tconst npaxos = 5\n\tvar pxa []*Paxos = make([]*Paxos, npaxos)\n\tdefer cleanup(pxa)\n\tdefer cleanpp(tag, npaxos)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tvar pxh []string = make([]string, npaxos)\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < npaxos; j++ {\n\t\t\tif j == i {\n\t\t\t\tpxh[j] = port(tag, i)\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tpxh[j] = pp(tag, i, j)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tpxa[i] = Make(pxh, i, nil)\n\t\tpxa[i].setunreliable(true)\n\t}\n\tdefer part(t, tag, npaxos, []int{}, []int{}, []int{})\n\n\tdone := int32(0)\n\n\t// re-partition periodically\n\tch1 := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tdefer func() { ch1 <- true }()\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\tvar a [npaxos]int\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\t\ta[i] = (rand.Int() % 3)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tpa := make([][]int, 3)\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tpa[i] = make([]int, 0)\n\t\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < npaxos; j++ {\n\t\t\t\t\tif a[j] == i {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tpa[i] = append(pa[i], j)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tpart(t, tag, npaxos, pa[0], pa[1], pa[2])\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(rand.Int63()%200) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\tseq := int32(0)\n\n\t// periodically start a new instance\n\tch2 := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tdefer func() { ch2 <- true }()\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\t// how many instances are in progress?\n\t\t\tnd := 0\n\t\t\tsq := int(atomic.LoadInt32(&seq))\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < sq; i++ {\n\t\t\t\tif ndecided(t, pxa, i) == npaxos {\n\t\t\t\t\tnd++\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif sq-nd < 10 {\n\t\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\t\t\t\tpxa[i].Start(sq, rand.Int()%10)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tatomic.AddInt32(&seq, 1)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(rand.Int63()%300) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\t// periodically check that decisions are consistent\n\tch3 := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tdefer func() { ch3 <- true }()\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < int(atomic.LoadInt32(&seq)); i++ {\n\t\t\t\tndecided(t, pxa, i)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(rand.Int63()%300) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\ttime.Sleep(20 * time.Second)\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\t<-ch1\n\t<-ch2\n\t<-ch3\n\n\t// repair, then check that all instances decided.\n\tfor i := 0; i < npaxos; i++ {\n\t\tpxa[i].setunreliable(false)\n\t}\n\tpart(t, tag, npaxos, []int{0, 1, 2, 3, 4}, []int{}, []int{})\n\ttime.Sleep(5 * time.Second)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < int(atomic.LoadInt32(&seq)); i++ {\n\t\twaitmajority(t, pxa, i)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/pbservice/client.go",
    "content": "package pbservice\n\nimport \"viewservice\"\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\nimport \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"math/big\"\n\ntype Clerk struct {\n\tvs *viewservice.Clerk\n\t// Your declarations here\n\tprimary string\n\tme      string\n\tseq     int\n}\n\n// this may come in handy.\nfunc nrand() int64 {\n\tmax := big.NewInt(int64(1) << 62)\n\tbigx, _ := rand.Int(rand.Reader, max)\n\tx := bigx.Int64()\n\treturn x\n}\n\nfunc MakeClerk(vshost string, me string) *Clerk {\n\tck := new(Clerk)\n\tck.vs = viewservice.MakeClerk(me, vshost)\n\t// Your ck.* initializations here\n\tck.primary = ck.vs.Primary()\n\tck.me = me\n\tck.seq = 0\n\n\treturn ck\n}\n\n//\n// call() sends an RPC to the rpcname handler on server srv\n// with arguments args, waits for the reply, and leaves the\n// reply in reply. the reply argument should be a pointer\n// to a reply structure.\n//\n// the return value is true if the server responded, and false\n// if call() was not able to contact the server. in particular,\n// the reply's contents are only valid if call() returned true.\n//\n// you should assume that call() will return an\n// error after a while if the server is dead.\n// don't provide your own time-out mechanism.\n//\n// please use call() to send all RPCs, in client.go and server.go.\n// please don't change this function.\n//\nfunc call(srv string, rpcname string,\n\targs interface{}, reply interface{}) bool {\n\tc, errx := rpc.Dial(\"unix\", srv)\n\tif errx != nil {\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n\tdefer c.Close()\n\n\terr := c.Call(rpcname, args, reply)\n\tif err == nil {\n\t\treturn true\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Println(err)\n\treturn false\n}\n\n//\n// fetch a key's value from the current primary;\n// if they key has never been set, return \"\".\n// Get() must keep trying until it either the\n// primary replies with the value or the primary\n// says the key doesn't exist (has never been Put().\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Get(key string) string {\n\t// Your code here.\n\targs := &GetArgs{Key: key}\n\tvar reply GetReply\n\tfor {\n\t\tif ok := call(ck.primary, \"PBServer.Get\", args, &reply); ok &&\n\t\t\t(reply.Err == OK || reply.Err == ErrNoKey) {\n\t\t\treturn reply.Value\n\t\t}\n\t\tck.primary = ck.vs.Primary()\n\t\tif ck.primary == \"\" {\n\t\t\treturn \"\"\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// send a Put or Append RPC\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) PutAppend(key string, value string, op string) {\n\t// Your code here.\n\targs := &PutAppendArgs{Key: key, Value: value, Op: op, Sender: ck.me, IsClient: true, Seq: nrand()}\n\tvar reply PutAppendReply\n\tfor {\n\t\tif ok := call(ck.primary, \"PBServer.PutAppend\", args, &reply); ok && reply.Err == OK {\n\t\t\treturn\n\t\t}\n\t\tck.primary = ck.vs.Primary()\n\t\tif ck.primary == \"\" {\n\t\t\treturn\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// tell the primary to update key's value.\n// must keep trying until it succeeds.\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Put(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Put\")\n}\n\n//\n// tell the primary to append to key's value.\n// must keep trying until it succeeds.\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Append(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Append\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/pbservice/common.go",
    "content": "package pbservice\n\nconst (\n\tOK             = \"OK\"\n\tErrNoKey       = \"ErrNoKey\"\n\tErrWrongServer = \"ErrWrongServer\"\n)\n\nconst (\n\tPut    = \"Put\"\n\tAppend = \"Append\"\n)\n\ntype Err string\n\n// Put or Append\ntype PutAppendArgs struct {\n\tKey   string\n\tValue string\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n\n\t// Field names must start with capital letters,\n\t// otherwise RPC will break.\n\tOp       string\n\tSender   string\n\tIsClient bool  // from a normal client or server\n\tSeq      int64 // dedup the same client request\n}\n\ntype PutAppendReply struct {\n\tErr Err\n}\n\ntype GetArgs struct {\n\tKey string\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n}\n\ntype GetReply struct {\n\tErr   Err\n\tValue string\n}\n\ntype BackupArgs struct {\n\tDataset         map[string]string\n\tProcessedSeqSet map[int64]bool\n\tSender          string\n}\n\ntype BackupReply struct {\n\tErr Err\n}\n\n// Your RPC definitions here.\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/pbservice/server.go",
    "content": "package pbservice\n\nimport \"net\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"viewservice\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"syscall\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"errors\"\n\nconst (\n\tRoleNull    = 0\n\tRolePrimary = 1\n\tRoleBackup  = 2\n)\n\ntype PBServer struct {\n\tmu         sync.Mutex\n\tl          net.Listener\n\tdead       int32 // for testing\n\tunreliable int32 // for testing\n\tme         string\n\tvs         *viewservice.Clerk\n\n\t// Your declarations here.\n\tcond            *sync.Cond\n\tprocessedSeqSet map[int64]bool // dedup\n\tdataset         map[string]string\n\tview            viewservice.View\n\trole            uint\n\t// only valid when the server is primary\n\tbackupHost string\n\t// ping connection failure, avoid getting stale data\n\tpingFailed bool\n}\n\nfunc (pb *PBServer) LocalOp(args *PutAppendArgs) {\n\tswitch args.Op {\n\tcase Put:\n\t\tpb.LocalPut(args.Key, args.Value)\n\tcase Append:\n\t\tpb.LocalAppend(args.Key, args.Value)\n\tdefault:\n\t\t// do nothing\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (pb *PBServer) BackupOp(args *PutAppendArgs, reply *PutAppendReply) bool {\n\t_args := &PutAppendArgs{Key: args.Key, Value: args.Value, Op: args.Op, Sender: pb.me, IsClient: false, Seq: args.Seq}\n\t// times := 0\n\t// for pb.backupHost != \"\" {\n\t// \tif ok := call(pb.backupHost, \"PBServer.PutAppend\", _args, &reply); ok {\n\t// \t\t// include the reply with ErrWrongServer\n\t// \t\treturn\n\t// \t}\n\n\t// \t// here, because rpc failure (network or dead)\n\t// \t// network failure: retry soon\n\t// \t// dead, wait for ticking to update view\n\t// \ttimes++\n\t// \tif times%5 == 0 {\n\t// \t\tpb.cond.Wait()\n\t// \t}\n\t// }\n\tok := call(pb.backupHost, \"PBServer.PutAppend\", _args, &reply)\n\treturn ok\n}\n\nfunc (pb *PBServer) LocalPut(key string, value string) {\n\tpb.dataset[key] = value\n}\n\nfunc (pb *PBServer) LocalAppend(key string, value string) {\n\tif v, ok := pb.dataset[key]; ok {\n\t\tpb.dataset[key] = v + value\n\t} else {\n\t\tpb.dataset[key] = value\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (pb *PBServer) Backup(args *BackupArgs, reply *BackupReply) error {\n\tif pb.role == RoleBackup && args.Sender == pb.view.Primary {\n\t\tpb.dataset = args.Dataset\n\t\tpb.processedSeqSet = args.ProcessedSeqSet\n\t\treply.Err = OK\n\t} else {\n\t\treply.Err = ErrWrongServer\n\t}\n\treturn nil\n}\n\nfunc (pb *PBServer) Get(args *GetArgs, reply *GetReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\tpb.mu.Lock()\n\tswitch pb.role {\n\tcase RolePrimary:\n\t\t// RoleBackup could be worse than RolePrimary, considering primary's not replicating into backup\n\t\t{\n\t\t\t// primary maybe lost, inducing that the backup is promoted to primary\n\t\t\tif !pb.pingFailed {\n\t\t\t\tif v, ok := pb.dataset[args.Key]; ok {\n\t\t\t\t\treply.Value = v\n\t\t\t\t\treply.Err = OK\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\treply.Value = \"\"\n\t\t\t\t\treply.Err = ErrNoKey\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\treply.Value = \"\"\n\t\t\t\treply.Err = ErrWrongServer\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\tdefault:\n\t\t{\n\t\t\treply.Value = \"\"\n\t\t\treply.Err = ErrWrongServer\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tpb.mu.Unlock()\n\treturn nil\n}\n\nfunc (pb *PBServer) PutAppend(args *PutAppendArgs, reply *PutAppendReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\tpb.mu.Lock()\n\tif _, ok := pb.processedSeqSet[args.Seq]; ok {\n\t\treply.Err = OK\n\t\tpb.mu.Unlock()\n\t\treturn nil\n\t}\n\tswitch pb.role {\n\tcase RolePrimary:\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tif args.IsClient {\n\t\t\t\t// pb.LocalOp(args)\n\t\t\t\t// pb.BackupOp(args, reply)\n\n\t\t\t\tif pb.backupHost != \"\" {\n\t\t\t\t\tok := pb.BackupOp(args, reply)\n\t\t\t\t\tif ok && reply.Err == OK {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tpb.LocalOp(args)\n\t\t\t\t\t\tpb.processedSeqSet[args.Seq] = true\n\t\t\t\t\t} else if !ok {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tpb.mu.Unlock()\n\t\t\t\t\t\treturn errors.New(\"backup conn problem\")\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tpb.LocalOp(args)\n\t\t\t\t\tpb.processedSeqSet[args.Seq] = true\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t// reject\n\t\t\t\treply.Err = ErrWrongServer\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\tcase RoleBackup:\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tif !args.IsClient && args.Sender == pb.view.Primary {\n\t\t\t\tpb.LocalOp(args)\n\t\t\t\treply.Err = OK\n\t\t\t\tpb.processedSeqSet[args.Seq] = true\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t// reject\n\t\t\t\treply.Err = ErrWrongServer\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\tdefault:\n\t\t{\n\t\t\treply.Err = ErrWrongServer\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tpb.mu.Unlock()\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n// rpc call\nfunc (pb *PBServer) Replicate() {\n\tfor pb.backupHost != \"\" {\n\t\targs := &BackupArgs{Dataset: pb.dataset, Sender: pb.me, ProcessedSeqSet: pb.processedSeqSet}\n\t\tvar reply BackupReply\n\t\tif ok := call(pb.backupHost, \"PBServer.Backup\", args, &reply); ok {\n\t\t\tif reply.Err == OK {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t// the backup is not the real backup\n\t\t\t\t// do nothing, wait for view updating in Ping\n\t\t\t\t// if Ping failed, then keep replicating won't bring error\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t// the backup isn't responding\n\t\t\t// do nothing, wait for view updating in Ping\n\t\t\t// if Ping failed, then keep replicating won't bring error\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// ping the viewserver periodically.\n// if view changed:\n//   transition to new view.\n//   manage transfer of state from primary to new backup.\n//\nfunc (pb *PBServer) tick() {\n\t// Your code here.\n\tpb.mu.Lock()\n\t// view changed\n\tif view, err := pb.vs.Ping(pb.view.Viewnum); err == nil {\n\t\tpb.pingFailed = false\n\t\tif view.Viewnum > pb.view.Viewnum {\n\t\t\tpb.view = view\n\t\t\tswitch pb.me {\n\t\t\tcase pb.view.Primary:\n\t\t\t\t// change role\n\t\t\t\t// transfer state to new backup\n\t\t\t\t// setup the backup RPC connection\n\t\t\t\t{\n\t\t\t\t\tpb.role = RolePrimary\n\t\t\t\t\tif pb.view.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tpb.backupHost = pb.view.Backup\n\t\t\t\t\t\tpb.Replicate()\n\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t// pb.view.Backup == \"\"\n\t\t\t\t\t\tpb.backupHost = \"\"\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcase pb.view.Backup:\n\t\t\t\t{\n\t\t\t\t\tpb.role = RoleBackup\n\t\t\t\t\tpb.backupHost = \"\"\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tdefault:\n\t\t\t\t{\n\t\t\t\t\tpb.dataset = nil\n\t\t\t\t\tpb.processedSeqSet = nil\n\t\t\t\t\tpb.role = RoleNull\n\t\t\t\t\tpb.backupHost = \"\"\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t} else {\n\t\t// err != nil\n\t\t// network failure to viewserver\n\t\tpb.pingFailed = true\n\t}\n\tpb.cond.Signal()\n\tpb.mu.Unlock()\n}\n\n// tell the server to shut itself down.\n// please do not change these two functions.\nfunc (pb *PBServer) kill() {\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&pb.dead, 1)\n\tpb.l.Close()\n}\n\n// call this to find out if the server is dead.\nfunc (pb *PBServer) isdead() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&pb.dead) != 0\n}\n\n// please do not change these two functions.\nfunc (pb *PBServer) setunreliable(what bool) {\n\tif what {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&pb.unreliable, 1)\n\t} else {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&pb.unreliable, 0)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (pb *PBServer) isunreliable() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&pb.unreliable) != 0\n}\n\nfunc StartServer(vshost string, me string) *PBServer {\n\tpb := new(PBServer)\n\tpb.me = me\n\tpb.vs = viewservice.MakeClerk(me, vshost)\n\t// Your pb.* initializations here.\n\tpb.cond = sync.NewCond(&pb.mu)\n\tpb.view = viewservice.View{Viewnum: 0, Primary: \"\", Backup: \"\"}\n\tpb.dataset = make(map[string]string)\n\tpb.processedSeqSet = make(map[int64]bool)\n\tpb.role = RoleNull\n\tpb.backupHost = \"\"\n\n\trpcs := rpc.NewServer()\n\trpcs.Register(pb)\n\n\tos.Remove(pb.me)\n\tl, e := net.Listen(\"unix\", pb.me)\n\tif e != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"listen error: \", e)\n\t}\n\tpb.l = l\n\n\t// please do not change any of the following code,\n\t// or do anything to subvert it.\n\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor pb.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\tconn, err := pb.l.Accept()\n\t\t\tif err == nil && pb.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tif pb.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// discard the request.\n\t\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t\t} else if pb.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 200 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// process the request but force discard of reply.\n\t\t\t\t\tc1 := conn.(*net.UnixConn)\n\t\t\t\t\tf, _ := c1.File()\n\t\t\t\t\terr := syscall.Shutdown(int(f.Fd()), syscall.SHUT_WR)\n\t\t\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"shutdown: %v\\n\", err)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else if err == nil {\n\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif err != nil && pb.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"PBServer(%v) accept: %v\\n\", me, err.Error())\n\t\t\t\tpb.kill()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor pb.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\tpb.tick()\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\treturn pb\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/pbservice/test.go",
    "content": "package pbservice\n\nimport \"viewservice\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"io\"\nimport \"net\"\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"strconv\"\nimport \"strings\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\n\nfunc check(ck *Clerk, key string, value string) {\n\tv := ck.Get(key)\n\tif v != value {\n\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"Get(%v) -> %v, expected %v\", key, v, value)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc port(tag string, host int) string {\n\ts := \"/var/tmp/824-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getuid()) + \"/\"\n\tos.Mkdir(s, 0777)\n\ts += \"pb-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getpid()) + \"-\"\n\ts += tag + \"-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(host)\n\treturn s\n}\n\nfunc TestBasicFail(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"basic\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Single primary, no backup ...\\n\")\n\n\ts1 := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, 1))\n\n\tdeadtime := viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings\n\ttime.Sleep(deadtime * 2)\n\tif vck.Primary() != s1.me {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"first primary never formed view\")\n\t}\n\n\tck.Put(\"111\", \"v1\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"111\", \"v1\")\n\n\tck.Put(\"2\", \"v2\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"2\", \"v2\")\n\n\tck.Put(\"1\", \"v1a\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"1\", \"v1a\")\n\n\tck.Append(\"ak\", \"hello\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"ak\", \"hello\")\n\tck.Put(\"ak\", \"xx\")\n\tck.Append(\"ak\", \"yy\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"ak\", \"xxyy\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// add a backup\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Add a backup ...\\n\")\n\n\ts2 := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, 2))\n\tfor i := 0; i < viewservice.DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\tv, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif v.Backup == s2.me {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\tv, _ := vck.Get()\n\tif v.Backup != s2.me {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"backup never came up\")\n\t}\n\n\tck.Put(\"3\", \"33\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"3\", \"33\")\n\n\t// give the backup time to initialize\n\ttime.Sleep(3 * viewservice.PingInterval)\n\n\tck.Put(\"4\", \"44\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"4\", \"44\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Count RPCs to viewserver ...\\n\")\n\n\t// verify that the client or server doesn't contact the\n\t// viewserver for every request -- i.e. that both client\n\t// and servers cache the current view and only refresh\n\t// it when something seems to be wrong. this test allows\n\t// each server to Ping() the viewserver 10 times / second.\n\n\tcount1 := int(vs.GetRPCCount())\n\tt1 := time.Now()\n\tfor i := 0; i < 100; i++ {\n\t\tck.Put(\"xk\"+strconv.Itoa(i), strconv.Itoa(i))\n\t}\n\tcount2 := int(vs.GetRPCCount())\n\tt2 := time.Now()\n\tdt := t2.Sub(t1)\n\tallowed := 2 * (dt / (100 * time.Millisecond)) // two servers tick()ing 10/second\n\tif (count2 - count1) > int(allowed)+20 {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"too many viewserver RPCs\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// kill the primary\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Primary failure ...\\n\")\n\n\ts1.kill()\n\tfor i := 0; i < viewservice.DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\tv, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif v.Primary == s2.me {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\tv, _ = vck.Get()\n\tif v.Primary != s2.me {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"backup never switched to primary\")\n\t}\n\n\tcheck(ck, \"1\", \"v1a\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"3\", \"33\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"4\", \"44\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// kill solo server, start new server, check that\n\t// it does not start serving as primary\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Kill last server, new one should not be active ...\\n\")\n\n\ts2.kill()\n\ts3 := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, 3))\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\tget_done := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tck.Get(\"1\")\n\t\tget_done <- true\n\t}()\n\n\tselect {\n\tcase <-get_done:\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"ck.Get() returned even though no initialized primary\")\n\tcase <-time.After(2 * time.Second):\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\ts1.kill()\n\ts2.kill()\n\ts3.kill()\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvs.Kill()\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n}\n\nfunc TestAtMostOnce(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"tamo\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: at-most-once Append; unreliable ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst nservers = 1\n\tvar sa [nservers]*PBServer\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i] = StartServer(vshost, port(tag, i+1))\n\t\tsa[i].setunreliable(true)\n\t}\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < viewservice.DeadPings*2; iters++ {\n\t\tview, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif view.Primary != \"\" && view.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\n\t// give p+b time to ack, initialize\n\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings)\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\tk := \"counter\"\n\tval := \"\"\n\tfor i := 0; i < 100; i++ {\n\t\tv := strconv.Itoa(i)\n\t\tck.Append(k, v)\n\t\tval = val + v\n\t}\n\n\tv := ck.Get(k)\n\tif v != val {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"ck.Get() returned %v but expected %v\\n\", v, val)\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvs.Kill()\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n}\n\n// Put right after a backup dies.\nfunc TestFailPut(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"failput\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\ts1 := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, 1))\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\ts2 := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, 2))\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\ts3 := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, 3))\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < viewservice.DeadPings*3; i++ {\n\t\tv, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif v.Primary != \"\" && v.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second) // wait for backup initializion\n\tv1, _ := vck.Get()\n\tif v1.Primary != s1.me || v1.Backup != s2.me {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong primary or backup\")\n\t}\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\n\tck.Put(\"a\", \"aa\")\n\tck.Put(\"b\", \"bb\")\n\tck.Put(\"c\", \"cc\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"a\", \"aa\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"b\", \"bb\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"c\", \"cc\")\n\n\t// kill backup, then immediate Put\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Put() immediately after backup failure ...\\n\")\n\ts2.kill()\n\tck.Put(\"a\", \"aaa\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"a\", \"aaa\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < viewservice.DeadPings*3; i++ {\n\t\tv, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif v.Viewnum > v1.Viewnum && v.Primary != \"\" && v.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second) // wait for backup initialization\n\tv2, _ := vck.Get()\n\tif v2.Primary != s1.me || v2.Backup != s3.me {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"wrong primary or backup\")\n\t}\n\n\tcheck(ck, \"a\", \"aaa\")\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// kill primary, then immediate Put\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Put() immediately after primary failure ...\\n\")\n\ts1.kill()\n\tck.Put(\"b\", \"bbb\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"b\", \"bbb\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < viewservice.DeadPings*3; i++ {\n\t\tv, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif v.Viewnum > v2.Viewnum && v.Primary != \"\" {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\n\tcheck(ck, \"a\", \"aaa\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"b\", \"bbb\")\n\tcheck(ck, \"c\", \"cc\")\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\ts1.kill()\n\ts2.kill()\n\ts3.kill()\n\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval * 2)\n\tvs.Kill()\n}\n\n// do a bunch of concurrent Put()s on the same key,\n// then check that primary and backup have identical values.\n// i.e. that they processed the Put()s in the same order.\nfunc TestConcurrentSame(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"cs\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent Put()s to the same key ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst nservers = 2\n\tvar sa [nservers]*PBServer\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i] = StartServer(vshost, port(tag, i+1))\n\t}\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < viewservice.DeadPings*2; iters++ {\n\t\tview, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif view.Primary != \"\" && view.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\n\t// give p+b time to ack, initialize\n\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings)\n\n\tdone := int32(0)\n\n\tview1, _ := vck.Get()\n\tconst nclients = 3\n\tconst nkeys = 2\n\tfor xi := 0; xi < nclients; xi++ {\n\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\t\t\trr := rand.New(rand.NewSource(int64(os.Getpid() + i)))\n\t\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\t\tk := strconv.Itoa(rr.Int() % nkeys)\n\t\t\t\tv := strconv.Itoa(rr.Int())\n\t\t\t\tck.Put(k, v)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}(xi)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(5 * time.Second)\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\n\t// read from primary\n\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\tvar vals [nkeys]string\n\tfor i := 0; i < nkeys; i++ {\n\t\tvals[i] = ck.Get(strconv.Itoa(i))\n\t\tif vals[i] == \"\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get(%v) failed from primary\", i)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// kill the primary\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tif view1.Primary == sa[i].me {\n\t\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < viewservice.DeadPings*2; iters++ {\n\t\tview, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif view.Primary == view1.Backup {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\tview2, _ := vck.Get()\n\tif view2.Primary != view1.Backup {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"wrong Primary\")\n\t}\n\n\t// read from old backup\n\tfor i := 0; i < nkeys; i++ {\n\t\tz := ck.Get(strconv.Itoa(i))\n\t\tif z != vals[i] {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get(%v) from backup; wanted %v, got %v\", i, vals[i], z)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvs.Kill()\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n}\n\n// check that all known appends are present in a value,\n// and are in order for each concurrent client.\nfunc checkAppends(t *testing.T, v string, counts []int) {\n\tnclients := len(counts)\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\tlastoff := -1\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < counts[i]; j++ {\n\t\t\twanted := \"x \" + strconv.Itoa(i) + \" \" + strconv.Itoa(j) + \" y\"\n\t\t\toff := strings.Index(v, wanted)\n\t\t\tif off < 0 {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"missing element in Append result\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\toff1 := strings.LastIndex(v, wanted)\n\t\t\tif off1 != off {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"duplicate element in Append result\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif off <= lastoff {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong order for element in Append result\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tlastoff = off\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n// do a bunch of concurrent Append()s on the same key,\n// then check that primary and backup have identical values.\n// i.e. that they processed the Append()s in the same order.\nfunc TestConcurrentSameAppend(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"csa\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent Append()s to the same key ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst nservers = 2\n\tvar sa [nservers]*PBServer\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i] = StartServer(vshost, port(tag, i+1))\n\t}\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < viewservice.DeadPings*2; iters++ {\n\t\tview, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif view.Primary != \"\" && view.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\n\t// give p+b time to ack, initialize\n\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings)\n\n\tview1, _ := vck.Get()\n\n\t// code for i'th concurrent client thread.\n\tff := func(i int, ch chan int) {\n\t\tret := -1\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- ret }()\n\t\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\t\tn := 0\n\t\tfor n < 50 {\n\t\t\tv := \"x \" + strconv.Itoa(i) + \" \" + strconv.Itoa(n) + \" y\"\n\t\t\tck.Append(\"k\", v)\n\t\t\tn += 1\n\t\t}\n\t\tret = n\n\t}\n\n\t// start the concurrent clients\n\tconst nclients = 3\n\tchans := []chan int{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\tchans = append(chans, make(chan int))\n\t\tgo ff(i, chans[i])\n\t}\n\n\t// wait for the clients, accumulate Append counts.\n\tcounts := []int{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < nclients; i++ {\n\t\tn := <-chans[i]\n\t\tif n < 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"child failed\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tcounts = append(counts, n)\n\t}\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\n\t// check that primary's copy of the value has all\n\t// the Append()s.\n\tprimaryv := ck.Get(\"k\")\n\tcheckAppends(t, primaryv, counts)\n\n\t// kill the primary so we can check the backup\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tif view1.Primary == sa[i].me {\n\t\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < viewservice.DeadPings*2; iters++ {\n\t\tview, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif view.Primary == view1.Backup {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\tview2, _ := vck.Get()\n\tif view2.Primary != view1.Backup {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"wrong Primary\")\n\t}\n\n\t// check that backup's copy of the value has all\n\t// the Append()s.\n\tbackupv := ck.Get(\"k\")\n\tcheckAppends(t, backupv, counts)\n\n\tif backupv != primaryv {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"primary and backup had different values\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvs.Kill()\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n}\n\nfunc TestConcurrentSameUnreliable(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"csu\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent Put()s to the same key; unreliable ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst nservers = 2\n\tvar sa [nservers]*PBServer\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i] = StartServer(vshost, port(tag, i+1))\n\t\tsa[i].setunreliable(true)\n\t}\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < viewservice.DeadPings*2; iters++ {\n\t\tview, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif view.Primary != \"\" && view.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\n\t// give p+b time to ack, initialize\n\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings)\n\n\t{\n\t\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\t\tck.Put(\"0\", \"x\")\n\t\tck.Put(\"1\", \"x\")\n\t}\n\n\tdone := int32(0)\n\n\tview1, _ := vck.Get()\n\tconst nclients = 3\n\tconst nkeys = 2\n\tcha := []chan bool{}\n\tfor xi := 0; xi < nclients; xi++ {\n\t\tcha = append(cha, make(chan bool))\n\t\tgo func(i int, ch chan bool) {\n\t\t\tok := false\n\t\t\tdefer func() { ch <- ok }()\n\t\t\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\t\t\trr := rand.New(rand.NewSource(int64(os.Getpid() + i)))\n\t\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\t\tk := strconv.Itoa(rr.Int() % nkeys)\n\t\t\t\tv := strconv.Itoa(rr.Int())\n\t\t\t\tck.Put(k, v)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tok = true\n\t\t}(xi, cha[xi])\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(5 * time.Second)\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(cha); i++ {\n\t\tok := <-cha[i]\n\t\tif ok == false {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"child failed\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// read from primary\n\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\tvar vals [nkeys]string\n\tfor i := 0; i < nkeys; i++ {\n\t\tvals[i] = ck.Get(strconv.Itoa(i))\n\t\tif vals[i] == \"\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get(%v) failed from primary\", i)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// kill the primary\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tif view1.Primary == sa[i].me {\n\t\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < viewservice.DeadPings*2; iters++ {\n\t\tview, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif view.Primary == view1.Backup {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\tview2, _ := vck.Get()\n\tif view2.Primary != view1.Backup {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"wrong Primary\")\n\t}\n\n\t// read from old backup\n\tfor i := 0; i < nkeys; i++ {\n\t\tz := ck.Get(strconv.Itoa(i))\n\t\tif z != vals[i] {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get(%v) from backup; wanted %v, got %v\", i, vals[i], z)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvs.Kill()\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n}\n\n// constant put/get while crashing and restarting servers\nfunc TestRepeatedCrash(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"rc\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Repeated failures/restarts ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tvar sa [nservers]*PBServer\n\tsamu := sync.Mutex{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i] = StartServer(vshost, port(tag, i+1))\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < viewservice.DeadPings; i++ {\n\t\tv, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif v.Primary != \"\" && v.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\n\t// wait a bit for primary to initialize backup\n\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.DeadPings * viewservice.PingInterval)\n\n\tdone := int32(0)\n\n\tgo func() {\n\t\t// kill and restart servers\n\t\trr := rand.New(rand.NewSource(int64(os.Getpid())))\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\ti := rr.Int() % nservers\n\t\t\t// fmt.Printf(\"%v killing %v\\n\", ts(), 5001+i)\n\t\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\n\t\t\t// wait long enough for new view to form, backup to be initialized\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(2 * viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings)\n\n\t\t\tsss := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, i+1))\n\t\t\tsamu.Lock()\n\t\t\tsa[i] = sss\n\t\t\tsamu.Unlock()\n\n\t\t\t// wait long enough for new view to form, backup to be initialized\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(2 * viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings)\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\tconst nth = 2\n\tvar cha [nth]chan bool\n\tfor xi := 0; xi < nth; xi++ {\n\t\tcha[xi] = make(chan bool)\n\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\tok := false\n\t\t\tdefer func() { cha[i] <- ok }()\n\t\t\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\t\t\tdata := map[string]string{}\n\t\t\trr := rand.New(rand.NewSource(int64(os.Getpid() + i)))\n\t\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\t\tk := strconv.Itoa((i * 1000000) + (rr.Int() % 10))\n\t\t\t\twanted, ok := data[k]\n\t\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\t\tv := ck.Get(k)\n\t\t\t\t\tif v != wanted {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"key=%v wanted=%v got=%v\", k, wanted, v)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tnv := strconv.Itoa(rr.Int())\n\t\t\t\tck.Put(k, nv)\n\t\t\t\tdata[k] = nv\n\t\t\t\t// if no sleep here, then server tick() threads do not get\n\t\t\t\t// enough time to Ping the viewserver.\n\t\t\t\ttime.Sleep(10 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tok = true\n\t\t}(xi)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(20 * time.Second)\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Put/Gets done ... \\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nth; i++ {\n\t\tok := <-cha[i]\n\t\tif ok == false {\n\t\t\tt.Fatal(\"child failed\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\tck.Put(\"aaa\", \"bbb\")\n\tif v := ck.Get(\"aaa\"); v != \"bbb\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"final Put/Get failed\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsamu.Lock()\n\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\t\tsamu.Unlock()\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvs.Kill()\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n}\n\nfunc TestRepeatedCrashUnreliable(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"rcu\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Repeated failures/restarts with concurrent updates to same key; unreliable ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tvar sa [nservers]*PBServer\n\tsamu := sync.Mutex{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsa[i] = StartServer(vshost, port(tag, i+1))\n\t\tsa[i].setunreliable(true)\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < viewservice.DeadPings; i++ {\n\t\tv, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif v.Primary != \"\" && v.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\n\t// wait a bit for primary to initialize backup\n\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.DeadPings * viewservice.PingInterval)\n\n\tdone := int32(0)\n\n\tgo func() {\n\t\t// kill and restart servers\n\t\trr := rand.New(rand.NewSource(int64(os.Getpid())))\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\ti := rr.Int() % nservers\n\t\t\t// fmt.Printf(\"%v killing %v\\n\", ts(), 5001+i)\n\t\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\n\t\t\t// wait long enough for new view to form, backup to be initialized\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(2 * viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings)\n\n\t\t\tsss := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, i+1))\n\t\t\tsamu.Lock()\n\t\t\tsa[i] = sss\n\t\t\tsamu.Unlock()\n\n\t\t\t// wait long enough for new view to form, backup to be initialized\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(2 * viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings)\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\t// concurrent client thread.\n\tff := func(i int, ch chan int) {\n\t\tret := -1\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- ret }()\n\t\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\t\tn := 0\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\tv := \"x \" + strconv.Itoa(i) + \" \" + strconv.Itoa(n) + \" y\"\n\t\t\tck.Append(\"0\", v)\n\t\t\t// if no sleep here, then server tick() threads do not get\n\t\t\t// enough time to Ping the viewserver.\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(10 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t\tn++\n\t\t}\n\t\tret = n\n\t}\n\n\tconst nth = 2\n\tvar cha [nth]chan int\n\tfor i := 0; i < nth; i++ {\n\t\tcha[i] = make(chan int)\n\t\tgo ff(i, cha[i])\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(20 * time.Second)\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Appends done ... \\n\")\n\n\tcounts := []int{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < nth; i++ {\n\t\tn := <-cha[i]\n\t\tif n < 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatal(\"child failed\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tcounts = append(counts, n)\n\t}\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\n\tcheckAppends(t, ck.Get(\"0\"), counts)\n\n\tck.Put(\"aaa\", \"bbb\")\n\tif v := ck.Get(\"aaa\"); v != \"bbb\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"final Put/Get failed\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < nservers; i++ {\n\t\tsamu.Lock()\n\t\tsa[i].kill()\n\t\tsamu.Unlock()\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvs.Kill()\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n}\n\nfunc proxy(t *testing.T, port string, delay *int32) {\n\tportx := port + \"x\"\n\tfmt.Println(\"proxyMethod\", port, portx)\n\tos.Remove(portx)\n\tif os.Rename(port, portx) != nil {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"proxy rename failed\")\n\t}\n\tl, err := net.Listen(\"unix\", port)\n\tif err != nil {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"proxy listen failed: %v\", err)\n\t}\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tdefer l.Close()\n\t\tdefer os.Remove(portx)\n\t\tdefer os.Remove(port)\n\t\tfor {\n\t\t\tc1, err := l.Accept()\n\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"proxy accept failed: %v\\n\", err)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(atomic.LoadInt32(delay)) * time.Second)\n\t\t\tc2, err := net.Dial(\"unix\", portx)\n\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"proxy dial failed: %v\\n\", err)\n\t\t\t}\n\n\t\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\t\tfor {\n\t\t\t\t\tbuf := make([]byte, 1000)\n\t\t\t\t\tn, _ := c2.Read(buf)\n\t\t\t\t\tif n == 0 {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\tn1, _ := c1.Write(buf[0:n])\n\t\t\t\t\tif n1 != n {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}()\n\t\t\tfor {\n\t\t\t\tbuf := make([]byte, 1000)\n\t\t\t\tn, err := c1.Read(buf)\n\t\t\t\tif err != nil && err != io.EOF {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"proxy c1.Read: %v\\n\", err)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tif n == 0 {\n\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tn1, err1 := c2.Write(buf[0:n])\n\t\t\t\tif err1 != nil || n1 != n {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"proxy c2.Write: %v\\n\", err1)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\n\t\t\tc1.Close()\n\t\t\tc2.Close()\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n}\n\nfunc TestPartition1(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"part1\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\tck1 := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Old primary does not serve Gets ...\\n\")\n\n\tvshosta := vshost + \"a\"\n\tos.Link(vshost, vshosta)\n\n\ts1 := StartServer(vshosta, port(tag, 1))\n\tdelay := int32(0)\n\tproxy(t, port(tag, 1), &delay)\n\n\tdeadtime := viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings\n\ttime.Sleep(deadtime * 2)\n\tif vck.Primary() != s1.me {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"primary never formed initial view\")\n\t}\n\n\ts2 := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, 2))\n\ttime.Sleep(deadtime * 2)\n\tv1, _ := vck.Get()\n\tfmt.Println(v1)\n\tif v1.Primary != s1.me || v1.Backup != s2.me {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"backup did not join view\")\n\t}\n\n\tck1.Put(\"a\", \"1\")\n\tcheck(ck1, \"a\", \"1\")\n\n\tos.Remove(vshosta)\n\n\t// start a client Get(), but use proxy to delay it long\n\t// enough that it won't reach s1 until after s1 is no\n\t// longer the primary.\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&delay, 4)\n\tstale_get := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tlocal_stale := false\n\t\tdefer func() { stale_get <- local_stale }()\n\t\tx := ck1.Get(\"a\")\n\t\tif x == \"1\" {\n\t\t\tlocal_stale = true\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\t// now s1 cannot talk to viewserver, so view will change,\n\t// and s1 won't immediately realize.\n\n\tfor iter := 0; iter < viewservice.DeadPings*3; iter++ {\n\t\tif vck.Primary() == s2.me {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\tif vck.Primary() != s2.me {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"primary never changed\")\n\t}\n\n\t// wait long enough that s2 is guaranteed to have Pinged\n\t// the viewservice, and thus that s2 must know about\n\t// the new view.\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * viewservice.PingInterval)\n\n\t// change the value (on s2) so it's no longer \"1\".\n\tck2 := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\tck2.Put(\"a\", \"111\")\n\tcheck(ck2, \"a\", \"111\")\n\n\t// wait for the background Get to s1 to be delivered.\n\tselect {\n\tcase x := <-stale_get:\n\t\tif x {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get to old primary succeeded and produced stale value\")\n\t\t}\n\tcase <-time.After(5 * time.Second):\n\t}\n\n\tcheck(ck2, \"a\", \"111\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\ts1.kill()\n\ts2.kill()\n\tvs.Kill()\n}\n\nfunc TestPartition2(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\ttag := \"part2\"\n\tvshost := port(tag+\"v\", 1)\n\tvs := viewservice.StartServer(vshost)\n\ttime.Sleep(time.Second)\n\tvck := viewservice.MakeClerk(\"\", vshost)\n\n\tck1 := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\n\tvshosta := vshost + \"a\"\n\tos.Link(vshost, vshosta)\n\n\ts1 := StartServer(vshosta, port(tag, 1))\n\tdelay := int32(0)\n\tproxy(t, port(tag, 1), &delay)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Partitioned old primary does not complete Gets ...\\n\")\n\n\tdeadtime := viewservice.PingInterval * viewservice.DeadPings\n\ttime.Sleep(deadtime * 2)\n\tif vck.Primary() != s1.me {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"primary never formed initial view\")\n\t}\n\n\ts2 := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, 2))\n\ttime.Sleep(deadtime * 2)\n\tv1, _ := vck.Get()\n\tif v1.Primary != s1.me || v1.Backup != s2.me {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"backup did not join view\")\n\t}\n\n\tck1.Put(\"a\", \"1\")\n\tcheck(ck1, \"a\", \"1\")\n\n\tos.Remove(vshosta)\n\n\t// start a client Get(), but use proxy to delay it long\n\t// enough that it won't reach s1 until after s1 is no\n\t// longer the primary.\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&delay, 5)\n\tstale_get := make(chan bool)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tlocal_stale := false\n\t\tdefer func() { stale_get <- local_stale }()\n\t\tx := ck1.Get(\"a\")\n\t\tif x == \"1\" {\n\t\t\tlocal_stale = true\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\t// now s1 cannot talk to viewserver, so view will change.\n\n\tfor iter := 0; iter < viewservice.DeadPings*3; iter++ {\n\t\tif vck.Primary() == s2.me {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\tif vck.Primary() != s2.me {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"primary never changed\")\n\t}\n\n\ts3 := StartServer(vshost, port(tag, 3))\n\tfor iter := 0; iter < viewservice.DeadPings*3; iter++ {\n\t\tv, _ := vck.Get()\n\t\tif v.Backup == s3.me && v.Primary == s2.me {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(viewservice.PingInterval)\n\t}\n\tv2, _ := vck.Get()\n\tif v2.Primary != s2.me || v2.Backup != s3.me {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"new backup never joined\")\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\n\tck2 := MakeClerk(vshost, \"\")\n\tck2.Put(\"a\", \"2\")\n\tcheck(ck2, \"a\", \"2\")\n\n\ts2.kill()\n\n\t// wait for delayed get to s1 to complete.\n\tselect {\n\tcase x := <-stale_get:\n\t\tif x {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"partitioned primary replied to a Get with a stale value\")\n\t\t}\n\tcase <-time.After(6 * time.Second):\n\t}\n\n\tcheck(ck2, \"a\", \"2\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\ts1.kill()\n\ts2.kill()\n\ts3.kill()\n\tvs.Kill()\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/raft/config.go",
    "content": "package raft\n\n//\n// support for Raft tester.\n//\n// we will use the original config.go to test your code for grading.\n// so, while you can modify this code to help you debug, please\n// test with the original before submitting.\n//\n\nimport \"labrpc\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport crand \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"math/big\"\nimport \"encoding/base64\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\nfunc randstring(n int) string {\n\tb := make([]byte, 2*n)\n\tcrand.Read(b)\n\ts := base64.URLEncoding.EncodeToString(b)\n\treturn s[0:n]\n}\n\nfunc makeSeed() int64 {\n\tmax := big.NewInt(int64(1) << 62)\n\tbigx, _ := crand.Int(crand.Reader, max)\n\tx := bigx.Int64()\n\treturn x\n}\n\ntype config struct {\n\tmu        sync.Mutex\n\tt         *testing.T\n\tnet       *labrpc.Network\n\tn         int\n\trafts     []*Raft\n\tapplyErr  []string // from apply channel readers\n\tconnected []bool   // whether each server is on the net\n\tsaved     []*Persister\n\tendnames  [][]string    // the port file names each sends to\n\tlogs      []map[int]int // copy of each server's committed entries\n\tstart     time.Time     // time at which make_config() was called\n\t// begin()/end() statistics\n\tt0        time.Time // time at which test_test.go called cfg.begin()\n\trpcs0     int       // rpcTotal() at start of test\n\tcmds0     int       // number of agreements\n\tmaxIndex  int\n\tmaxIndex0 int\n}\n\nvar ncpu_once sync.Once\n\nfunc make_config(t *testing.T, n int, unreliable bool) *config {\n\tncpu_once.Do(func() {\n\t\tif runtime.NumCPU() < 2 {\n\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"warning: only one CPU, which may conceal locking bugs\\n\")\n\t\t}\n\t\trand.Seed(makeSeed())\n\t})\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\tcfg := &config{}\n\tcfg.t = t\n\tcfg.net = labrpc.MakeNetwork()\n\tcfg.n = n\n\tcfg.applyErr = make([]string, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.rafts = make([]*Raft, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.connected = make([]bool, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.saved = make([]*Persister, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.endnames = make([][]string, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.logs = make([]map[int]int, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.start = time.Now()\n\n\tcfg.setunreliable(unreliable)\n\n\tcfg.net.LongDelays(true)\n\n\t// create a full set of Rafts.\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.logs[i] = map[int]int{}\n\t\tcfg.start1(i)\n\t}\n\n\t// connect everyone\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.connect(i)\n\t}\n\n\treturn cfg\n}\n\n// shut down a Raft server but save its persistent state.\nfunc (cfg *config) crash1(i int) {\n\tcfg.disconnect(i)\n\tcfg.net.DeleteServer(i) // disable client connections to the server.\n\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t// a fresh persister, in case old instance\n\t// continues to update the Persister.\n\t// but copy old persister's content so that we always\n\t// pass Make() the last persisted state.\n\tif cfg.saved[i] != nil {\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = cfg.saved[i].Copy()\n\t}\n\n\trf := cfg.rafts[i]\n\tif rf != nil {\n\t\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\t\trf.Kill()\n\t\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\t\tcfg.rafts[i] = nil\n\t}\n\n\tif cfg.saved[i] != nil {\n\t\traftlog := cfg.saved[i].ReadRaftState()\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = &Persister{}\n\t\tcfg.saved[i].SaveRaftState(raftlog)\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// start or re-start a Raft.\n// if one already exists, \"kill\" it first.\n// allocate new outgoing port file names, and a new\n// state persister, to isolate previous instance of\n// this server. since we cannot really kill it.\n//\nfunc (cfg *config) start1(i int) {\n\tcfg.crash1(i)\n\n\t// a fresh set of outgoing ClientEnd names.\n\t// so that old crashed instance's ClientEnds can't send.\n\tcfg.endnames[i] = make([]string, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tcfg.endnames[i][j] = randstring(20)\n\t}\n\n\t// a fresh set of ClientEnds.\n\tends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(cfg.endnames[i][j])\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(cfg.endnames[i][j], j)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\n\t// a fresh persister, so old instance doesn't overwrite\n\t// new instance's persisted state.\n\t// but copy old persister's content so that we always\n\t// pass Make() the last persisted state.\n\tif cfg.saved[i] != nil {\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = cfg.saved[i].Copy()\n\t} else {\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = MakePersister()\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t// listen to messages from Raft indicating newly committed messages.\n\tapplyCh := make(chan ApplyMsg)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor m := range applyCh {\n\t\t\terr_msg := \"\"\n\t\t\tif m.CommandValid == false {\n\t\t\t\t// ignore other types of ApplyMsg\n\t\t\t} else if v, ok := (m.Command).(int); ok {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\t\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(cfg.logs); j++ {\n\t\t\t\t\tif old, oldok := cfg.logs[j][m.CommandIndex]; oldok && old != v {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t// some server has already committed a different value for this entry!\n\t\t\t\t\t\terr_msg = fmt.Sprintf(\"commit index=%v server=%v %v != server=%v %v\",\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tm.CommandIndex, i, m.Command, j, old)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t_, prevok := cfg.logs[i][m.CommandIndex-1]\n\t\t\t\tcfg.logs[i][m.CommandIndex] = v\n\t\t\t\tif m.CommandIndex > cfg.maxIndex {\n\t\t\t\t\tcfg.maxIndex = m.CommandIndex\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t\t\t\tif m.CommandIndex > 1 && prevok == false {\n\t\t\t\t\terr_msg = fmt.Sprintf(\"server %v apply out of order %v\", i, m.CommandIndex)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\terr_msg = fmt.Sprintf(\"committed command %v is not an int\", m.Command)\n\t\t\t}\n\n\t\t\tif err_msg != \"\" {\n\t\t\t\tlog.Fatalf(\"apply error: %v\\n\", err_msg)\n\t\t\t\tcfg.applyErr[i] = err_msg\n\t\t\t\t// keep reading after error so that Raft doesn't block\n\t\t\t\t// holding locks...\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\trf := Make(ends, i, cfg.saved[i], applyCh)\n\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tcfg.rafts[i] = rf\n\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tsvc := labrpc.MakeService(rf)\n\tsrv := labrpc.MakeServer()\n\tsrv.AddService(svc)\n\tcfg.net.AddServer(i, srv)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) checkTimeout() {\n\t// enforce a two minute real-time limit on each test\n\tif !cfg.t.Failed() && time.Since(cfg.start) > 120*time.Second {\n\t\tcfg.t.Fatal(\"test took longer than 120 seconds\")\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) cleanup() {\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(cfg.rafts); i++ {\n\t\tif cfg.rafts[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tcfg.rafts[i].Kill()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tcfg.net.Cleanup()\n\tcfg.checkTimeout()\n}\n\n// attach server i to the net.\nfunc (cfg *config) connect(i int) {\n\t// fmt.Printf(\"connect(%d)\\n\", i)\n\n\tcfg.connected[i] = true\n\n\t// outgoing ClientEnds\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tif cfg.connected[j] {\n\t\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[i][j]\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, true)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// incoming ClientEnds\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tif cfg.connected[j] {\n\t\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[j][i]\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, true)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n// detach server i from the net.\nfunc (cfg *config) disconnect(i int) {\n\t// fmt.Printf(\"disconnect(%d)\\n\", i)\n\n\tcfg.connected[i] = false\n\n\t// outgoing ClientEnds\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tif cfg.endnames[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[i][j]\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, false)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// incoming ClientEnds\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tif cfg.endnames[j] != nil {\n\t\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[j][i]\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, false)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) rpcCount(server int) int {\n\treturn cfg.net.GetCount(server)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) rpcTotal() int {\n\treturn cfg.net.GetTotalCount()\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) setunreliable(unrel bool) {\n\tcfg.net.Reliable(!unrel)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) setlongreordering(longrel bool) {\n\tcfg.net.LongReordering(longrel)\n}\n\n// check that there's exactly one leader.\n// try a few times in case re-elections are needed.\nfunc (cfg *config) checkOneLeader() int {\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 10; iters++ {\n\t\tms := 450 + (rand.Int63() % 100)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(ms) * time.Millisecond)\n\n\t\tleaders := make(map[int][]int)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\t\tif cfg.connected[i] {\n\t\t\t\tif term, leader := cfg.rafts[i].GetState(); leader {\n\t\t\t\t\tleaders[term] = append(leaders[term], i)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tlastTermWithLeader := -1\n\t\tfor term, leaders := range leaders {\n\t\t\tif len(leaders) > 1 {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"term %d has %d (>1) leaders\", term, len(leaders))\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif term > lastTermWithLeader {\n\t\t\t\tlastTermWithLeader = term\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif len(leaders) != 0 {\n\t\t\treturn leaders[lastTermWithLeader][0]\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"expected one leader, got none\")\n\treturn -1\n}\n\n// check that everyone agrees on the term.\nfunc (cfg *config) checkTerms() int {\n\tterm := -1\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tif cfg.connected[i] {\n\t\t\txterm, _ := cfg.rafts[i].GetState()\n\t\t\tif term == -1 {\n\t\t\t\tterm = xterm\n\t\t\t} else if term != xterm {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"servers disagree on term\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn term\n}\n\n// check that there's no leader\nfunc (cfg *config) checkNoLeader() {\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tif cfg.connected[i] {\n\t\t\t_, is_leader := cfg.rafts[i].GetState()\n\t\t\tif is_leader {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"expected no leader, but %v claims to be leader\", i)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n// how many servers think a log entry is committed?\nfunc (cfg *config) nCommitted(index int) (int, interface{}) {\n\tcount := 0\n\tcmd := -1\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(cfg.rafts); i++ {\n\t\tif cfg.applyErr[i] != \"\" {\n\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatal(cfg.applyErr[i])\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\t\tcmd1, ok := cfg.logs[i][index]\n\t\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\tif count > 0 && cmd != cmd1 {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"committed values do not match: index %v, %v, %v\\n\",\n\t\t\t\t\tindex, cmd, cmd1)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcount += 1\n\t\t\tcmd = cmd1\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn count, cmd\n}\n\n// wait for at least n servers to commit.\n// but don't wait forever.\nfunc (cfg *config) wait(index int, n int, startTerm int) interface{} {\n\tto := 10 * time.Millisecond\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 30; iters++ {\n\t\tnd, _ := cfg.nCommitted(index)\n\t\tif nd >= n {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(to)\n\t\tif to < time.Second {\n\t\t\tto *= 2\n\t\t}\n\t\tif startTerm > -1 {\n\t\t\tfor _, r := range cfg.rafts {\n\t\t\t\tif t, _ := r.GetState(); t > startTerm {\n\t\t\t\t\t// someone has moved on\n\t\t\t\t\t// can no longer guarantee that we'll \"win\"\n\t\t\t\t\treturn -1\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tnd, cmd := cfg.nCommitted(index)\n\tif nd < n {\n\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"only %d decided for index %d; wanted %d\\n\",\n\t\t\tnd, index, n)\n\t}\n\treturn cmd\n}\n\n// do a complete agreement.\n// it might choose the wrong leader initially,\n// and have to re-submit after giving up.\n// entirely gives up after about 10 seconds.\n// indirectly checks that the servers agree on the\n// same value, since nCommitted() checks this,\n// as do the threads that read from applyCh.\n// returns index.\n// if retry==true, may submit the command multiple\n// times, in case a leader fails just after Start().\n// if retry==false, calls Start() only once, in order\n// to simplify the early Lab 2B tests.\nfunc (cfg *config) one(cmd int, expectedServers int, retry bool) int {\n\tt0 := time.Now()\n\tstarts := 0\n\tfor time.Since(t0).Seconds() < 10 {\n\t\t// try all the servers, maybe one is the leader.\n\t\tindex := -1\n\t\tfor si := 0; si < cfg.n; si++ {\n\t\t\tstarts = (starts + 1) % cfg.n\n\t\t\tvar rf *Raft\n\t\t\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\t\t\tif cfg.connected[starts] {\n\t\t\t\trf = cfg.rafts[starts]\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\t\t\tif rf != nil {\n\t\t\t\tindex1, _, ok := rf.Start(cmd)\n\t\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\t\tindex = index1\n\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif index != -1 {\n\t\t\t// somebody claimed to be the leader and to have\n\t\t\t// submitted our command; wait a while for agreement.\n\t\t\tt1 := time.Now()\n\t\t\tfor time.Since(t1).Seconds() < 2 {\n\t\t\t\tnd, cmd1 := cfg.nCommitted(index)\n\t\t\t\tif nd > 0 && nd >= expectedServers {\n\t\t\t\t\t// committed\n\t\t\t\t\tif cmd2, ok := cmd1.(int); ok && cmd2 == cmd {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t// and it was the command we submitted.\n\t\t\t\t\t\treturn index\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\ttime.Sleep(20 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif retry == false {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"one(%v) failed to reach agreement\", cmd)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(50 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"one(%v) failed to reach agreement\", cmd)\n\treturn -1\n}\n\n// start a Test.\n// print the Test message.\n// e.g. cfg.begin(\"Test (2B): RPC counts aren't too high\")\nfunc (cfg *config) begin(description string) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"%s ...\\n\", description)\n\tcfg.t0 = time.Now()\n\tcfg.rpcs0 = cfg.rpcTotal()\n\tcfg.cmds0 = 0\n\tcfg.maxIndex0 = cfg.maxIndex\n}\n\n// end a Test -- the fact that we got here means there\n// was no failure.\n// print the Passed message,\n// and some performance numbers.\nfunc (cfg *config) end() {\n\tcfg.checkTimeout()\n\tif cfg.t.Failed() == false {\n\t\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\t\tt := time.Since(cfg.t0).Seconds()     // real time\n\t\tnpeers := cfg.n                       // number of Raft peers\n\t\tnrpc := cfg.rpcTotal() - cfg.rpcs0    // number of RPC sends\n\t\tncmds := cfg.maxIndex - cfg.maxIndex0 // number of Raft agreements reported\n\t\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed --\")\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"  %4.1f  %d %4d %4d\\n\", t, npeers, nrpc, ncmds)\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/raft/persister.go",
    "content": "package raft\n\n//\n// support for Raft and kvraft to save persistent\n// Raft state (log &c) and k/v server snapshots.\n//\n// we will use the original persister.go to test your code for grading.\n// so, while you can modify this code to help you debug, please\n// test with the original before submitting.\n//\n\nimport \"sync\"\n\ntype Persister struct {\n\tmu        sync.Mutex\n\traftstate []byte\n\tsnapshot  []byte\n}\n\nfunc MakePersister() *Persister {\n\treturn &Persister{}\n}\n\nfunc (ps *Persister) Copy() *Persister {\n\tps.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer ps.mu.Unlock()\n\tnp := MakePersister()\n\tnp.raftstate = ps.raftstate\n\tnp.snapshot = ps.snapshot\n\treturn np\n}\n\nfunc (ps *Persister) SaveRaftState(state []byte) {\n\tps.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer ps.mu.Unlock()\n\tps.raftstate = state\n}\n\nfunc (ps *Persister) ReadRaftState() []byte {\n\tps.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer ps.mu.Unlock()\n\treturn ps.raftstate\n}\n\nfunc (ps *Persister) RaftStateSize() int {\n\tps.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer ps.mu.Unlock()\n\treturn len(ps.raftstate)\n}\n\n// Save both Raft state and K/V snapshot as a single atomic action,\n// to help avoid them getting out of sync.\nfunc (ps *Persister) SaveStateAndSnapshot(state []byte, snapshot []byte) {\n\tps.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer ps.mu.Unlock()\n\tps.raftstate = state\n\tps.snapshot = snapshot\n}\n\nfunc (ps *Persister) ReadSnapshot() []byte {\n\tps.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer ps.mu.Unlock()\n\treturn ps.snapshot\n}\n\nfunc (ps *Persister) SnapshotSize() int {\n\tps.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer ps.mu.Unlock()\n\treturn len(ps.snapshot)\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/raft/raft.go",
    "content": "package raft\n\n//\n// this is an outline of the API that raft must expose to\n// the service (or tester). see comments below for\n// each of these functions for more details.\n//\n// rf = Make(...)\n//   create a new Raft server.\n// rf.Start(command interface{}) (index, term, isleader)\n//   start agreement on a new log entry\n// rf.GetState() (term, isLeader)\n//   ask a Raft for its current term, and whether it thinks it is leader\n// ApplyMsg\n//   each time a new entry is committed to the log, each Raft peer\n//   should send an ApplyMsg to the service (or tester)\n//   in the same server.\n//\n\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"labrpc\"\n\n// import \"bytes\"\n// import \"labgob\"\n\n\n\n//\n// as each Raft peer becomes aware that successive log entries are\n// committed, the peer should send an ApplyMsg to the service (or\n// tester) on the same server, via the applyCh passed to Make(). set\n// CommandValid to true to indicate that the ApplyMsg contains a newly\n// committed log entry.\n//\n// in Lab 3 you'll want to send other kinds of messages (e.g.,\n// snapshots) on the applyCh; at that point you can add fields to\n// ApplyMsg, but set CommandValid to false for these other uses.\n//\ntype ApplyMsg struct {\n\tCommandValid bool\n\tCommand      interface{}\n\tCommandIndex int\n}\n\n//\n// A Go object implementing a single Raft peer.\n//\ntype Raft struct {\n\tmu        sync.Mutex          // Lock to protect shared access to this peer's state\n\tpeers     []*labrpc.ClientEnd // RPC end points of all peers\n\tpersister *Persister          // Object to hold this peer's persisted state\n\tme        int                 // this peer's index into peers[]\n\n\t// Your data here (2A, 2B, 2C).\n\t// Look at the paper's Figure 2 for a description of what\n\t// state a Raft server must maintain.\n\n}\n\n// return currentTerm and whether this server\n// believes it is the leader.\nfunc (rf *Raft) GetState() (int, bool) {\n\n\tvar term int\n\tvar isleader bool\n\t// Your code here (2A).\n\treturn term, isleader\n}\n\n\n//\n// save Raft's persistent state to stable storage,\n// where it can later be retrieved after a crash and restart.\n// see paper's Figure 2 for a description of what should be persistent.\n//\nfunc (rf *Raft) persist() {\n\t// Your code here (2C).\n\t// Example:\n\t// w := new(bytes.Buffer)\n\t// e := labgob.NewEncoder(w)\n\t// e.Encode(rf.xxx)\n\t// e.Encode(rf.yyy)\n\t// data := w.Bytes()\n\t// rf.persister.SaveRaftState(data)\n}\n\n\n//\n// restore previously persisted state.\n//\nfunc (rf *Raft) readPersist(data []byte) {\n\tif data == nil || len(data) < 1 { // bootstrap without any state?\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\t// Your code here (2C).\n\t// Example:\n\t// r := bytes.NewBuffer(data)\n\t// d := labgob.NewDecoder(r)\n\t// var xxx\n\t// var yyy\n\t// if d.Decode(&xxx) != nil ||\n\t//    d.Decode(&yyy) != nil {\n\t//   error...\n\t// } else {\n\t//   rf.xxx = xxx\n\t//   rf.yyy = yyy\n\t// }\n}\n\n\n\n\n//\n// example RequestVote RPC arguments structure.\n// field names must start with capital letters!\n//\ntype RequestVoteArgs struct {\n\t// Your data here (2A, 2B).\n}\n\n//\n// example RequestVote RPC reply structure.\n// field names must start with capital letters!\n//\ntype RequestVoteReply struct {\n\t// Your data here (2A).\n}\n\n//\n// example RequestVote RPC handler.\n//\nfunc (rf *Raft) RequestVote(args *RequestVoteArgs, reply *RequestVoteReply) {\n\t// Your code here (2A, 2B).\n}\n\n//\n// example code to send a RequestVote RPC to a server.\n// server is the index of the target server in rf.peers[].\n// expects RPC arguments in args.\n// fills in *reply with RPC reply, so caller should\n// pass &reply.\n// the types of the args and reply passed to Call() must be\n// the same as the types of the arguments declared in the\n// handler function (including whether they are pointers).\n//\n// The labrpc package simulates a lossy network, in which servers\n// may be unreachable, and in which requests and replies may be lost.\n// Call() sends a request and waits for a reply. If a reply arrives\n// within a timeout interval, Call() returns true; otherwise\n// Call() returns false. Thus Call() may not return for a while.\n// A false return can be caused by a dead server, a live server that\n// can't be reached, a lost request, or a lost reply.\n//\n// Call() is guaranteed to return (perhaps after a delay) *except* if the\n// handler function on the server side does not return.  Thus there\n// is no need to implement your own timeouts around Call().\n//\n// look at the comments in ../labrpc/labrpc.go for more details.\n//\n// if you're having trouble getting RPC to work, check that you've\n// capitalized all field names in structs passed over RPC, and\n// that the caller passes the address of the reply struct with &, not\n// the struct itself.\n//\nfunc (rf *Raft) sendRequestVote(server int, args *RequestVoteArgs, reply *RequestVoteReply) bool {\n\tok := rf.peers[server].Call(\"Raft.RequestVote\", args, reply)\n\treturn ok\n}\n\n\n//\n// the service using Raft (e.g. a k/v server) wants to start\n// agreement on the next command to be appended to Raft's log. if this\n// server isn't the leader, returns false. otherwise start the\n// agreement and return immediately. there is no guarantee that this\n// command will ever be committed to the Raft log, since the leader\n// may fail or lose an election. even if the Raft instance has been killed,\n// this function should return gracefully.\n//\n// the first return value is the index that the command will appear at\n// if it's ever committed. the second return value is the current\n// term. the third return value is true if this server believes it is\n// the leader.\n//\nfunc (rf *Raft) Start(command interface{}) (int, int, bool) {\n\tindex := -1\n\tterm := -1\n\tisLeader := true\n\n\t// Your code here (2B).\n\n\n\treturn index, term, isLeader\n}\n\n//\n// the tester calls Kill() when a Raft instance won't\n// be needed again. you are not required to do anything\n// in Kill(), but it might be convenient to (for example)\n// turn off debug output from this instance.\n//\nfunc (rf *Raft) Kill() {\n\t// Your code here, if desired.\n}\n\n//\n// the service or tester wants to create a Raft server. the ports\n// of all the Raft servers (including this one) are in peers[]. this\n// server's port is peers[me]. all the servers' peers[] arrays\n// have the same order. persister is a place for this server to\n// save its persistent state, and also initially holds the most\n// recent saved state, if any. applyCh is a channel on which the\n// tester or service expects Raft to send ApplyMsg messages.\n// Make() must return quickly, so it should start goroutines\n// for any long-running work.\n//\nfunc Make(peers []*labrpc.ClientEnd, me int,\n\tpersister *Persister, applyCh chan ApplyMsg) *Raft {\n\trf := &Raft{}\n\trf.peers = peers\n\trf.persister = persister\n\trf.me = me\n\n\t// Your initialization code here (2A, 2B, 2C).\n\n\t// initialize from state persisted before a crash\n\trf.readPersist(persister.ReadRaftState())\n\n\n\treturn rf\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/raft/test_test.go",
    "content": "package raft\n\n//\n// Raft tests.\n//\n// we will use the original test_test.go to test your code for grading.\n// so, while you can modify this code to help you debug, please\n// test with the original before submitting.\n//\n\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\nimport \"sync\"\n\n// The tester generously allows solutions to complete elections in one second\n// (much more than the paper's range of timeouts).\nconst RaftElectionTimeout = 1000 * time.Millisecond\n\nfunc TestInitialElection2A(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2A): initial election\")\n\n\t// is a leader elected?\n\tcfg.checkOneLeader()\n\n\t// sleep a bit to avoid racing with followers learning of the\n\t// election, then check that all peers agree on the term.\n\ttime.Sleep(50 * time.Millisecond)\n\tterm1 := cfg.checkTerms()\n\n\t// does the leader+term stay the same if there is no network failure?\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * RaftElectionTimeout)\n\tterm2 := cfg.checkTerms()\n\tif term1 != term2 {\n\t\tfmt.Printf(\"warning: term changed even though there were no failures\")\n\t}\n\n\t// there should still be a leader.\n\tcfg.checkOneLeader()\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestReElection2A(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2A): election after network failure\")\n\n\tleader1 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\n\t// if the leader disconnects, a new one should be elected.\n\tcfg.disconnect(leader1)\n\tcfg.checkOneLeader()\n\n\t// if the old leader rejoins, that shouldn't\n\t// disturb the new leader.\n\tcfg.connect(leader1)\n\tleader2 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\n\t// if there's no quorum, no leader should\n\t// be elected.\n\tcfg.disconnect(leader2)\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader2 + 1) % servers)\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * RaftElectionTimeout)\n\tcfg.checkNoLeader()\n\n\t// if a quorum arises, it should elect a leader.\n\tcfg.connect((leader2 + 1) % servers)\n\tcfg.checkOneLeader()\n\n\t// re-join of last node shouldn't prevent leader from existing.\n\tcfg.connect(leader2)\n\tcfg.checkOneLeader()\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestBasicAgree2B(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2B): basic agreement\")\n\n\titers := 3\n\tfor index := 1; index < iters+1; index++ {\n\t\tnd, _ := cfg.nCommitted(index)\n\t\tif nd > 0 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"some have committed before Start()\")\n\t\t}\n\n\t\txindex := cfg.one(index*100, servers, false)\n\t\tif xindex != index {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"got index %v but expected %v\", xindex, index)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestFailAgree2B(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2B): agreement despite follower disconnection\")\n\n\tcfg.one(101, servers, false)\n\n\t// follower network disconnection\n\tleader := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader + 1) % servers)\n\n\t// agree despite one disconnected server?\n\tcfg.one(102, servers-1, false)\n\tcfg.one(103, servers-1, false)\n\ttime.Sleep(RaftElectionTimeout)\n\tcfg.one(104, servers-1, false)\n\tcfg.one(105, servers-1, false)\n\n\t// re-connect\n\tcfg.connect((leader + 1) % servers)\n\n\t// agree with full set of servers?\n\tcfg.one(106, servers, true)\n\ttime.Sleep(RaftElectionTimeout)\n\tcfg.one(107, servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestFailNoAgree2B(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2B): no agreement if too many followers disconnect\")\n\n\tcfg.one(10, servers, false)\n\n\t// 3 of 5 followers disconnect\n\tleader := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader + 1) % servers)\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader + 2) % servers)\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader + 3) % servers)\n\n\tindex, _, ok := cfg.rafts[leader].Start(20)\n\tif ok != true {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"leader rejected Start()\")\n\t}\n\tif index != 2 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"expected index 2, got %v\", index)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * RaftElectionTimeout)\n\n\tn, _ := cfg.nCommitted(index)\n\tif n > 0 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"%v committed but no majority\", n)\n\t}\n\n\t// repair\n\tcfg.connect((leader + 1) % servers)\n\tcfg.connect((leader + 2) % servers)\n\tcfg.connect((leader + 3) % servers)\n\n\t// the disconnected majority may have chosen a leader from\n\t// among their own ranks, forgetting index 2.\n\tleader2 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tindex2, _, ok2 := cfg.rafts[leader2].Start(30)\n\tif ok2 == false {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"leader2 rejected Start()\")\n\t}\n\tif index2 < 2 || index2 > 3 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"unexpected index %v\", index2)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.one(1000, servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestConcurrentStarts2B(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2B): concurrent Start()s\")\n\n\tvar success bool\nloop:\n\tfor try := 0; try < 5; try++ {\n\t\tif try > 0 {\n\t\t\t// give solution some time to settle\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(3 * time.Second)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tleader := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\t\t_, term, ok := cfg.rafts[leader].Start(1)\n\t\tif !ok {\n\t\t\t// leader moved on really quickly\n\t\t\tcontinue\n\t\t}\n\n\t\titers := 5\n\t\tvar wg sync.WaitGroup\n\t\tis := make(chan int, iters)\n\t\tfor ii := 0; ii < iters; ii++ {\n\t\t\twg.Add(1)\n\t\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\t\tdefer wg.Done()\n\t\t\t\ti, term1, ok := cfg.rafts[leader].Start(100 + i)\n\t\t\t\tif term1 != term {\n\t\t\t\t\treturn\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tif ok != true {\n\t\t\t\t\treturn\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tis <- i\n\t\t\t}(ii)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\twg.Wait()\n\t\tclose(is)\n\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < servers; j++ {\n\t\t\tif t, _ := cfg.rafts[j].GetState(); t != term {\n\t\t\t\t// term changed -- can't expect low RPC counts\n\t\t\t\tcontinue loop\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tfailed := false\n\t\tcmds := []int{}\n\t\tfor index := range is {\n\t\t\tcmd := cfg.wait(index, servers, term)\n\t\t\tif ix, ok := cmd.(int); ok {\n\t\t\t\tif ix == -1 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// peers have moved on to later terms\n\t\t\t\t\t// so we can't expect all Start()s to\n\t\t\t\t\t// have succeeded\n\t\t\t\t\tfailed = true\n\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tcmds = append(cmds, ix)\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"value %v is not an int\", cmd)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif failed {\n\t\t\t// avoid leaking goroutines\n\t\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\t\tfor range is {\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}()\n\t\t\tcontinue\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tfor ii := 0; ii < iters; ii++ {\n\t\t\tx := 100 + ii\n\t\t\tok := false\n\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(cmds); j++ {\n\t\t\t\tif cmds[j] == x {\n\t\t\t\t\tok = true\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif ok == false {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"cmd %v missing in %v\", x, cmds)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tsuccess = true\n\t\tbreak\n\t}\n\n\tif !success {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"term changed too often\")\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestRejoin2B(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2B): rejoin of partitioned leader\")\n\n\tcfg.one(101, servers, true)\n\n\t// leader network failure\n\tleader1 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tcfg.disconnect(leader1)\n\n\t// make old leader try to agree on some entries\n\tcfg.rafts[leader1].Start(102)\n\tcfg.rafts[leader1].Start(103)\n\tcfg.rafts[leader1].Start(104)\n\n\t// new leader commits, also for index=2\n\tcfg.one(103, 2, true)\n\n\t// new leader network failure\n\tleader2 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tcfg.disconnect(leader2)\n\n\t// old leader connected again\n\tcfg.connect(leader1)\n\n\tcfg.one(104, 2, true)\n\n\t// all together now\n\tcfg.connect(leader2)\n\n\tcfg.one(105, servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestBackup2B(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2B): leader backs up quickly over incorrect follower logs\")\n\n\tcfg.one(rand.Int(), servers, true)\n\n\t// put leader and one follower in a partition\n\tleader1 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 2) % servers)\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 3) % servers)\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 4) % servers)\n\n\t// submit lots of commands that won't commit\n\tfor i := 0; i < 50; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.rafts[leader1].Start(rand.Int())\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(RaftElectionTimeout / 2)\n\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 0) % servers)\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 1) % servers)\n\n\t// allow other partition to recover\n\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 2) % servers)\n\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 3) % servers)\n\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 4) % servers)\n\n\t// lots of successful commands to new group.\n\tfor i := 0; i < 50; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.one(rand.Int(), 3, true)\n\t}\n\n\t// now another partitioned leader and one follower\n\tleader2 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tother := (leader1 + 2) % servers\n\tif leader2 == other {\n\t\tother = (leader2 + 1) % servers\n\t}\n\tcfg.disconnect(other)\n\n\t// lots more commands that won't commit\n\tfor i := 0; i < 50; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.rafts[leader2].Start(rand.Int())\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(RaftElectionTimeout / 2)\n\n\t// bring original leader back to life,\n\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.disconnect(i)\n\t}\n\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 0) % servers)\n\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 1) % servers)\n\tcfg.connect(other)\n\n\t// lots of successful commands to new group.\n\tfor i := 0; i < 50; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.one(rand.Int(), 3, true)\n\t}\n\n\t// now everyone\n\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.connect(i)\n\t}\n\tcfg.one(rand.Int(), servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestCount2B(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2B): RPC counts aren't too high\")\n\n\trpcs := func() (n int) {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < servers; j++ {\n\t\t\tn += cfg.rpcCount(j)\n\t\t}\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\n\tleader := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\n\ttotal1 := rpcs()\n\n\tif total1 > 30 || total1 < 1 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"too many or few RPCs (%v) to elect initial leader\\n\", total1)\n\t}\n\n\tvar total2 int\n\tvar success bool\nloop:\n\tfor try := 0; try < 5; try++ {\n\t\tif try > 0 {\n\t\t\t// give solution some time to settle\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(3 * time.Second)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tleader = cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\t\ttotal1 = rpcs()\n\n\t\titers := 10\n\t\tstarti, term, ok := cfg.rafts[leader].Start(1)\n\t\tif !ok {\n\t\t\t// leader moved on really quickly\n\t\t\tcontinue\n\t\t}\n\t\tcmds := []int{}\n\t\tfor i := 1; i < iters+2; i++ {\n\t\t\tx := int(rand.Int31())\n\t\t\tcmds = append(cmds, x)\n\t\t\tindex1, term1, ok := cfg.rafts[leader].Start(x)\n\t\t\tif term1 != term {\n\t\t\t\t// Term changed while starting\n\t\t\t\tcontinue loop\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif !ok {\n\t\t\t\t// No longer the leader, so term has changed\n\t\t\t\tcontinue loop\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif starti+i != index1 {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Start() failed\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tfor i := 1; i < iters+1; i++ {\n\t\t\tcmd := cfg.wait(starti+i, servers, term)\n\t\t\tif ix, ok := cmd.(int); ok == false || ix != cmds[i-1] {\n\t\t\t\tif ix == -1 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// term changed -- try again\n\t\t\t\t\tcontinue loop\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong value %v committed for index %v; expected %v\\n\", cmd, starti+i, cmds)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tfailed := false\n\t\ttotal2 = 0\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < servers; j++ {\n\t\t\tif t, _ := cfg.rafts[j].GetState(); t != term {\n\t\t\t\t// term changed -- can't expect low RPC counts\n\t\t\t\t// need to keep going to update total2\n\t\t\t\tfailed = true\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttotal2 += cfg.rpcCount(j)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif failed {\n\t\t\tcontinue loop\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif total2-total1 > (iters+1+3)*3 {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"too many RPCs (%v) for %v entries\\n\", total2-total1, iters)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tsuccess = true\n\t\tbreak\n\t}\n\n\tif !success {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"term changed too often\")\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(RaftElectionTimeout)\n\n\ttotal3 := 0\n\tfor j := 0; j < servers; j++ {\n\t\ttotal3 += cfg.rpcCount(j)\n\t}\n\n\tif total3-total2 > 3*20 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"too many RPCs (%v) for 1 second of idleness\\n\", total3-total2)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestPersist12C(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2C): basic persistence\")\n\n\tcfg.one(11, servers, true)\n\n\t// crash and re-start all\n\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.start1(i)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.disconnect(i)\n\t\tcfg.connect(i)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.one(12, servers, true)\n\n\tleader1 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tcfg.disconnect(leader1)\n\tcfg.start1(leader1)\n\tcfg.connect(leader1)\n\n\tcfg.one(13, servers, true)\n\n\tleader2 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tcfg.disconnect(leader2)\n\tcfg.one(14, servers-1, true)\n\tcfg.start1(leader2)\n\tcfg.connect(leader2)\n\n\tcfg.wait(4, servers, -1) // wait for leader2 to join before killing i3\n\n\ti3 := (cfg.checkOneLeader() + 1) % servers\n\tcfg.disconnect(i3)\n\tcfg.one(15, servers-1, true)\n\tcfg.start1(i3)\n\tcfg.connect(i3)\n\n\tcfg.one(16, servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestPersist22C(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2C): more persistence\")\n\n\tindex := 1\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 5; iters++ {\n\t\tcfg.one(10+index, servers, true)\n\t\tindex++\n\n\t\tleader1 := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\n\t\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 1) % servers)\n\t\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 2) % servers)\n\n\t\tcfg.one(10+index, servers-2, true)\n\t\tindex++\n\n\t\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 0) % servers)\n\t\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 3) % servers)\n\t\tcfg.disconnect((leader1 + 4) % servers)\n\n\t\tcfg.start1((leader1 + 1) % servers)\n\t\tcfg.start1((leader1 + 2) % servers)\n\t\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 1) % servers)\n\t\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 2) % servers)\n\n\t\ttime.Sleep(RaftElectionTimeout)\n\n\t\tcfg.start1((leader1 + 3) % servers)\n\t\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 3) % servers)\n\n\t\tcfg.one(10+index, servers-2, true)\n\t\tindex++\n\n\t\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 4) % servers)\n\t\tcfg.connect((leader1 + 0) % servers)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.one(1000, servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestPersist32C(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2C): partitioned leader and one follower crash, leader restarts\")\n\n\tcfg.one(101, 3, true)\n\n\tleader := cfg.checkOneLeader()\n\tcfg.disconnect((leader + 2) % servers)\n\n\tcfg.one(102, 2, true)\n\n\tcfg.crash1((leader + 0) % servers)\n\tcfg.crash1((leader + 1) % servers)\n\tcfg.connect((leader + 2) % servers)\n\tcfg.start1((leader + 0) % servers)\n\tcfg.connect((leader + 0) % servers)\n\n\tcfg.one(103, 2, true)\n\n\tcfg.start1((leader + 1) % servers)\n\tcfg.connect((leader + 1) % servers)\n\n\tcfg.one(104, servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\n//\n// Test the scenarios described in Figure 8 of the extended Raft paper. Each\n// iteration asks a leader, if there is one, to insert a command in the Raft\n// log.  If there is a leader, that leader will fail quickly with a high\n// probability (perhaps without committing the command), or crash after a while\n// with low probability (most likey committing the command).  If the number of\n// alive servers isn't enough to form a majority, perhaps start a new server.\n// The leader in a new term may try to finish replicating log entries that\n// haven't been committed yet.\n//\nfunc TestFigure82C(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2C): Figure 8\")\n\n\tcfg.one(rand.Int(), 1, true)\n\n\tnup := servers\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 1000; iters++ {\n\t\tleader := -1\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\t\tif cfg.rafts[i] != nil {\n\t\t\t\t_, _, ok := cfg.rafts[i].Start(rand.Int())\n\t\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\t\tleader = i\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\tms := rand.Int63() % (int64(RaftElectionTimeout/time.Millisecond) / 2)\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(ms) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tms := (rand.Int63() % 13)\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(ms) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif leader != -1 {\n\t\t\tcfg.crash1(leader)\n\t\t\tnup -= 1\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif nup < 3 {\n\t\t\ts := rand.Int() % servers\n\t\t\tif cfg.rafts[s] == nil {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.start1(s)\n\t\t\t\tcfg.connect(s)\n\t\t\t\tnup += 1\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\tif cfg.rafts[i] == nil {\n\t\t\tcfg.start1(i)\n\t\t\tcfg.connect(i)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.one(rand.Int(), servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestUnreliableAgree2C(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, true)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2C): unreliable agreement\")\n\n\tvar wg sync.WaitGroup\n\n\tfor iters := 1; iters < 50; iters++ {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < 4; j++ {\n\t\t\twg.Add(1)\n\t\t\tgo func(iters, j int) {\n\t\t\t\tdefer wg.Done()\n\t\t\t\tcfg.one((100*iters)+j, 1, true)\n\t\t\t}(iters, j)\n\t\t}\n\t\tcfg.one(iters, 1, true)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.setunreliable(false)\n\n\twg.Wait()\n\n\tcfg.one(100, servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestFigure8Unreliable2C(t *testing.T) {\n\tservers := 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, true)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2C): Figure 8 (unreliable)\")\n\n\tcfg.one(rand.Int()%10000, 1, true)\n\n\tnup := servers\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 1000; iters++ {\n\t\tif iters == 200 {\n\t\t\tcfg.setlongreordering(true)\n\t\t}\n\t\tleader := -1\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\t\t_, _, ok := cfg.rafts[i].Start(rand.Int() % 10000)\n\t\t\tif ok && cfg.connected[i] {\n\t\t\t\tleader = i\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\tms := rand.Int63() % (int64(RaftElectionTimeout/time.Millisecond) / 2)\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(ms) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tms := (rand.Int63() % 13)\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(ms) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif leader != -1 && (rand.Int()%1000) < int(RaftElectionTimeout/time.Millisecond)/2 {\n\t\t\tcfg.disconnect(leader)\n\t\t\tnup -= 1\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif nup < 3 {\n\t\t\ts := rand.Int() % servers\n\t\t\tif cfg.connected[s] == false {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.connect(s)\n\t\t\t\tnup += 1\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\tif cfg.connected[i] == false {\n\t\t\tcfg.connect(i)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.one(rand.Int()%10000, servers, true)\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc internalChurn(t *testing.T, unreliable bool) {\n\n\tservers := 5\n\tcfg := make_config(t, servers, unreliable)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tif unreliable {\n\t\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2C): unreliable churn\")\n\t} else {\n\t\tcfg.begin(\"Test (2C): churn\")\n\t}\n\n\tstop := int32(0)\n\n\t// create concurrent clients\n\tcfn := func(me int, ch chan []int) {\n\t\tvar ret []int\n\t\tret = nil\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- ret }()\n\t\tvalues := []int{}\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&stop) == 0 {\n\t\t\tx := rand.Int()\n\t\t\tindex := -1\n\t\t\tok := false\n\t\t\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\t\t\t// try them all, maybe one of them is a leader\n\t\t\t\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\t\t\t\trf := cfg.rafts[i]\n\t\t\t\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\t\t\t\tif rf != nil {\n\t\t\t\t\tindex1, _, ok1 := rf.Start(x)\n\t\t\t\t\tif ok1 {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tok = ok1\n\t\t\t\t\t\tindex = index1\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\t// maybe leader will commit our value, maybe not.\n\t\t\t\t// but don't wait forever.\n\t\t\t\tfor _, to := range []int{10, 20, 50, 100, 200} {\n\t\t\t\t\tnd, cmd := cfg.nCommitted(index)\n\t\t\t\t\tif nd > 0 {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tif xx, ok := cmd.(int); ok {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tif xx == x {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tvalues = append(values, x)\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"wrong command type\")\n\t\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(to) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(79+me*17) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tret = values\n\t}\n\n\tncli := 3\n\tcha := []chan []int{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < ncli; i++ {\n\t\tcha = append(cha, make(chan []int))\n\t\tgo cfn(i, cha[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 20; iters++ {\n\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 200 {\n\t\t\ti := rand.Int() % servers\n\t\t\tcfg.disconnect(i)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 500 {\n\t\t\ti := rand.Int() % servers\n\t\t\tif cfg.rafts[i] == nil {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.start1(i)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcfg.connect(i)\n\t\t}\n\n\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 200 {\n\t\t\ti := rand.Int() % servers\n\t\t\tif cfg.rafts[i] != nil {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.crash1(i)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\n\t\t// Make crash/restart infrequent enough that the peers can often\n\t\t// keep up, but not so infrequent that everything has settled\n\t\t// down from one change to the next. Pick a value smaller than\n\t\t// the election timeout, but not hugely smaller.\n\t\ttime.Sleep((RaftElectionTimeout * 7) / 10)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(RaftElectionTimeout)\n\tcfg.setunreliable(false)\n\tfor i := 0; i < servers; i++ {\n\t\tif cfg.rafts[i] == nil {\n\t\t\tcfg.start1(i)\n\t\t}\n\t\tcfg.connect(i)\n\t}\n\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&stop, 1)\n\n\tvalues := []int{}\n\tfor i := 0; i < ncli; i++ {\n\t\tvv := <-cha[i]\n\t\tif vv == nil {\n\t\t\tt.Fatal(\"client failed\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tvalues = append(values, vv...)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(RaftElectionTimeout)\n\n\tlastIndex := cfg.one(rand.Int(), servers, true)\n\n\treally := make([]int, lastIndex+1)\n\tfor index := 1; index <= lastIndex; index++ {\n\t\tv := cfg.wait(index, servers, -1)\n\t\tif vi, ok := v.(int); ok {\n\t\t\treally = append(really, vi)\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"not an int\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor _, v1 := range values {\n\t\tok := false\n\t\tfor _, v2 := range really {\n\t\t\tif v1 == v2 {\n\t\t\t\tok = true\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tif ok == false {\n\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"didn't find a value\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.end()\n}\n\nfunc TestReliableChurn2C(t *testing.T) {\n\tinternalChurn(t, false)\n}\n\nfunc TestUnreliableChurn2C(t *testing.T) {\n\tinternalChurn(t, true)\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/raft/util.go",
    "content": "package raft\n\nimport \"log\"\n\n// Debugging\nconst Debug = 0\n\nfunc DPrintf(format string, a ...interface{}) (n int, err error) {\n\tif Debug > 0 {\n\t\tlog.Printf(format, a...)\n\t}\n\treturn\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardkv/client.go",
    "content": "package shardkv\n\n//\n// client code to talk to a sharded key/value service.\n//\n// the client first talks to the shardmaster to find out\n// the assignment of shards (keys) to groups, and then\n// talks to the group that holds the key's shard.\n//\n\nimport \"labrpc\"\nimport \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"math/big\"\nimport \"shardmaster\"\nimport \"time\"\n\n//\n// which shard is a key in?\n// please use this function,\n// and please do not change it.\n//\nfunc key2shard(key string) int {\n\tshard := 0\n\tif len(key) > 0 {\n\t\tshard = int(key[0])\n\t}\n\tshard %= shardmaster.NShards\n\treturn shard\n}\n\nfunc nrand() int64 {\n\tmax := big.NewInt(int64(1) << 62)\n\tbigx, _ := rand.Int(rand.Reader, max)\n\tx := bigx.Int64()\n\treturn x\n}\n\ntype Clerk struct {\n\tsm       *shardmaster.Clerk\n\tconfig   shardmaster.Config\n\tmake_end func(string) *labrpc.ClientEnd\n\t// You will have to modify this struct.\n}\n\n//\n// the tester calls MakeClerk.\n//\n// masters[] is needed to call shardmaster.MakeClerk().\n//\n// make_end(servername) turns a server name from a\n// Config.Groups[gid][i] into a labrpc.ClientEnd on which you can\n// send RPCs.\n//\nfunc MakeClerk(masters []*labrpc.ClientEnd, make_end func(string) *labrpc.ClientEnd) *Clerk {\n\tck := new(Clerk)\n\tck.sm = shardmaster.MakeClerk(masters)\n\tck.make_end = make_end\n\t// You'll have to add code here.\n\treturn ck\n}\n\n//\n// fetch the current value for a key.\n// returns \"\" if the key does not exist.\n// keeps trying forever in the face of all other errors.\n// You will have to modify this function.\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Get(key string) string {\n\targs := GetArgs{}\n\targs.Key = key\n\n\tfor {\n\t\tshard := key2shard(key)\n\t\tgid := ck.config.Shards[shard]\n\t\tif servers, ok := ck.config.Groups[gid]; ok {\n\t\t\t// try each server for the shard.\n\t\t\tfor si := 0; si < len(servers); si++ {\n\t\t\t\tsrv := ck.make_end(servers[si])\n\t\t\t\tvar reply GetReply\n\t\t\t\tok := srv.Call(\"ShardKV.Get\", &args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\tif ok && reply.WrongLeader == false && (reply.Err == OK || reply.Err == ErrNoKey) {\n\t\t\t\t\treturn reply.Value\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tif ok && (reply.Err == ErrWrongGroup) {\n\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t// ask master for the latest configuration.\n\t\tck.config = ck.sm.Query(-1)\n\t}\n\n\treturn \"\"\n}\n\n//\n// shared by Put and Append.\n// You will have to modify this function.\n//\nfunc (ck *Clerk) PutAppend(key string, value string, op string) {\n\targs := PutAppendArgs{}\n\targs.Key = key\n\targs.Value = value\n\targs.Op = op\n\n\n\tfor {\n\t\tshard := key2shard(key)\n\t\tgid := ck.config.Shards[shard]\n\t\tif servers, ok := ck.config.Groups[gid]; ok {\n\t\t\tfor si := 0; si < len(servers); si++ {\n\t\t\t\tsrv := ck.make_end(servers[si])\n\t\t\t\tvar reply PutAppendReply\n\t\t\t\tok := srv.Call(\"ShardKV.PutAppend\", &args, &reply)\n\t\t\t\tif ok && reply.WrongLeader == false && reply.Err == OK {\n\t\t\t\t\treturn\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tif ok && reply.Err == ErrWrongGroup {\n\t\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t// ask master for the latest configuration.\n\t\tck.config = ck.sm.Query(-1)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Put(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Put\")\n}\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Append(key string, value string) {\n\tck.PutAppend(key, value, \"Append\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardkv/common.go",
    "content": "package shardkv\n\n//\n// Sharded key/value server.\n// Lots of replica groups, each running op-at-a-time paxos.\n// Shardmaster decides which group serves each shard.\n// Shardmaster may change shard assignment from time to time.\n//\n// You will have to modify these definitions.\n//\n\nconst (\n\tOK            = \"OK\"\n\tErrNoKey      = \"ErrNoKey\"\n\tErrWrongGroup = \"ErrWrongGroup\"\n)\n\ntype Err string\n\n// Put or Append\ntype PutAppendArgs struct {\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n\tKey   string\n\tValue string\n\tOp    string // \"Put\" or \"Append\"\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n\t// Field names must start with capital letters,\n\t// otherwise RPC will break.\n}\n\ntype PutAppendReply struct {\n\tWrongLeader bool\n\tErr         Err\n}\n\ntype GetArgs struct {\n\tKey string\n\t// You'll have to add definitions here.\n}\n\ntype GetReply struct {\n\tWrongLeader bool\n\tErr         Err\n\tValue       string\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardkv/config.go",
    "content": "package shardkv\n\nimport \"shardmaster\"\nimport \"labrpc\"\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"os\"\n\n// import \"log\"\nimport crand \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"math/big\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"encoding/base64\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"raft\"\nimport \"strconv\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"time\"\n\nfunc randstring(n int) string {\n\tb := make([]byte, 2*n)\n\tcrand.Read(b)\n\ts := base64.URLEncoding.EncodeToString(b)\n\treturn s[0:n]\n}\n\nfunc makeSeed() int64 {\n\tmax := big.NewInt(int64(1) << 62)\n\tbigx, _ := crand.Int(crand.Reader, max)\n\tx := bigx.Int64()\n\treturn x\n}\n\n// Randomize server handles\nfunc random_handles(kvh []*labrpc.ClientEnd) []*labrpc.ClientEnd {\n\tsa := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, len(kvh))\n\tcopy(sa, kvh)\n\tfor i := range sa {\n\t\tj := rand.Intn(i + 1)\n\t\tsa[i], sa[j] = sa[j], sa[i]\n\t}\n\treturn sa\n}\n\ntype group struct {\n\tgid       int\n\tservers   []*ShardKV\n\tsaved     []*raft.Persister\n\tendnames  [][]string\n\tmendnames [][]string\n}\n\ntype config struct {\n\tmu    sync.Mutex\n\tt     *testing.T\n\tnet   *labrpc.Network\n\tstart time.Time // time at which make_config() was called\n\n\tnmasters      int\n\tmasterservers []*shardmaster.ShardMaster\n\tmck           *shardmaster.Clerk\n\n\tngroups int\n\tn       int // servers per k/v group\n\tgroups  []*group\n\n\tclerks       map[*Clerk][]string\n\tnextClientId int\n\tmaxraftstate int\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) checkTimeout() {\n\t// enforce a two minute real-time limit on each test\n\tif !cfg.t.Failed() && time.Since(cfg.start) > 120*time.Second {\n\t\tcfg.t.Fatal(\"test took longer than 120 seconds\")\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) cleanup() {\n\tfor gi := 0; gi < cfg.ngroups; gi++ {\n\t\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(gi)\n\t}\n\tcfg.net.Cleanup()\n\tcfg.checkTimeout()\n}\n\n// check that no server's log is too big.\nfunc (cfg *config) checklogs() {\n\tfor gi := 0; gi < cfg.ngroups; gi++ {\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\t\traft := cfg.groups[gi].saved[i].RaftStateSize()\n\t\t\tsnap := len(cfg.groups[gi].saved[i].ReadSnapshot())\n\t\t\tif cfg.maxraftstate >= 0 && raft > 2*cfg.maxraftstate {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"persister.RaftStateSize() %v, but maxraftstate %v\",\n\t\t\t\t\traft, cfg.maxraftstate)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif cfg.maxraftstate < 0 && snap > 0 {\n\t\t\t\tcfg.t.Fatalf(\"maxraftstate is -1, but snapshot is non-empty!\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\n// master server name for labrpc.\nfunc (cfg *config) mastername(i int) string {\n\treturn \"master\" + strconv.Itoa(i)\n}\n\n// shard server name for labrpc.\n// i'th server of group gid.\nfunc (cfg *config) servername(gid int, i int) string {\n\treturn \"server-\" + strconv.Itoa(gid) + \"-\" + strconv.Itoa(i)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) makeClient() *Clerk {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t// ClientEnds to talk to master service.\n\tends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.nmasters)\n\tendnames := make([]string, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.nmasters; j++ {\n\t\tendnames[j] = randstring(20)\n\t\tends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(endnames[j])\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(endnames[j], cfg.mastername(j))\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endnames[j], true)\n\t}\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(ends, func(servername string) *labrpc.ClientEnd {\n\t\tname := randstring(20)\n\t\tend := cfg.net.MakeEnd(name)\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(name, servername)\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(name, true)\n\t\treturn end\n\t})\n\tcfg.clerks[ck] = endnames\n\tcfg.nextClientId++\n\treturn ck\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) deleteClient(ck *Clerk) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tv := cfg.clerks[ck]\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(v); i++ {\n\t\tos.Remove(v[i])\n\t}\n\tdelete(cfg.clerks, ck)\n}\n\n// Shutdown i'th server of gi'th group, by isolating it\nfunc (cfg *config) ShutdownServer(gi int, i int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tgg := cfg.groups[gi]\n\n\t// prevent this server from sending\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(gg.servers); j++ {\n\t\tname := gg.endnames[i][j]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(name, false)\n\t}\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(gg.mendnames[i]); j++ {\n\t\tname := gg.mendnames[i][j]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(name, false)\n\t}\n\n\t// disable client connections to the server.\n\t// it's important to do this before creating\n\t// the new Persister in saved[i], to avoid\n\t// the possibility of the server returning a\n\t// positive reply to an Append but persisting\n\t// the result in the superseded Persister.\n\tcfg.net.DeleteServer(cfg.servername(gg.gid, i))\n\n\t// a fresh persister, in case old instance\n\t// continues to update the Persister.\n\t// but copy old persister's content so that we always\n\t// pass Make() the last persisted state.\n\tif gg.saved[i] != nil {\n\t\tgg.saved[i] = gg.saved[i].Copy()\n\t}\n\n\tkv := gg.servers[i]\n\tif kv != nil {\n\t\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\t\tkv.Kill()\n\t\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\t\tgg.servers[i] = nil\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) ShutdownGroup(gi int) {\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.ShutdownServer(gi, i)\n\t}\n}\n\n// start i'th server in gi'th group\nfunc (cfg *config) StartServer(gi int, i int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\n\tgg := cfg.groups[gi]\n\n\t// a fresh set of outgoing ClientEnd names\n\t// to talk to other servers in this group.\n\tgg.endnames[i] = make([]string, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tgg.endnames[i][j] = randstring(20)\n\t}\n\n\t// and the connections to other servers in this group.\n\tends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(gg.endnames[i][j])\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(gg.endnames[i][j], cfg.servername(gg.gid, j))\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(gg.endnames[i][j], true)\n\t}\n\n\t// ends to talk to shardmaster service\n\tmends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.nmasters)\n\tgg.mendnames[i] = make([]string, cfg.nmasters)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.nmasters; j++ {\n\t\tgg.mendnames[i][j] = randstring(20)\n\t\tmends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(gg.mendnames[i][j])\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(gg.mendnames[i][j], cfg.mastername(j))\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(gg.mendnames[i][j], true)\n\t}\n\n\t// a fresh persister, so old instance doesn't overwrite\n\t// new instance's persisted state.\n\t// give the fresh persister a copy of the old persister's\n\t// state, so that the spec is that we pass StartKVServer()\n\t// the last persisted state.\n\tif gg.saved[i] != nil {\n\t\tgg.saved[i] = gg.saved[i].Copy()\n\t} else {\n\t\tgg.saved[i] = raft.MakePersister()\n\t}\n\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tgg.servers[i] = StartServer(ends, i, gg.saved[i], cfg.maxraftstate,\n\t\tgg.gid, mends,\n\t\tfunc(servername string) *labrpc.ClientEnd {\n\t\t\tname := randstring(20)\n\t\t\tend := cfg.net.MakeEnd(name)\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Connect(name, servername)\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Enable(name, true)\n\t\t\treturn end\n\t\t})\n\n\tkvsvc := labrpc.MakeService(gg.servers[i])\n\trfsvc := labrpc.MakeService(gg.servers[i].rf)\n\tsrv := labrpc.MakeServer()\n\tsrv.AddService(kvsvc)\n\tsrv.AddService(rfsvc)\n\tcfg.net.AddServer(cfg.servername(gg.gid, i), srv)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) StartGroup(gi int) {\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.StartServer(gi, i)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) StartMasterServer(i int) {\n\t// ClientEnds to talk to other master replicas.\n\tends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.nmasters)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.nmasters; j++ {\n\t\tendname := randstring(20)\n\t\tends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(endname)\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(endname, cfg.mastername(j))\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, true)\n\t}\n\n\tp := raft.MakePersister()\n\n\tcfg.masterservers[i] = shardmaster.StartServer(ends, i, p)\n\n\tmsvc := labrpc.MakeService(cfg.masterservers[i])\n\trfsvc := labrpc.MakeService(cfg.masterservers[i].Raft())\n\tsrv := labrpc.MakeServer()\n\tsrv.AddService(msvc)\n\tsrv.AddService(rfsvc)\n\tcfg.net.AddServer(cfg.mastername(i), srv)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) shardclerk() *shardmaster.Clerk {\n\t// ClientEnds to talk to master service.\n\tends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.nmasters)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.nmasters; j++ {\n\t\tname := randstring(20)\n\t\tends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(name)\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(name, cfg.mastername(j))\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(name, true)\n\t}\n\n\treturn shardmaster.MakeClerk(ends)\n}\n\n// tell the shardmaster that a group is joining.\nfunc (cfg *config) join(gi int) {\n\tcfg.joinm([]int{gi})\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) joinm(gis []int) {\n\tm := make(map[int][]string, len(gis))\n\tfor _, g := range gis {\n\t\tgid := cfg.groups[g].gid\n\t\tservernames := make([]string, cfg.n)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\t\tservernames[i] = cfg.servername(gid, i)\n\t\t}\n\t\tm[gid] = servernames\n\t}\n\tcfg.mck.Join(m)\n}\n\n// tell the shardmaster that a group is leaving.\nfunc (cfg *config) leave(gi int) {\n\tcfg.leavem([]int{gi})\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) leavem(gis []int) {\n\tgids := make([]int, 0, len(gis))\n\tfor _, g := range gis {\n\t\tgids = append(gids, cfg.groups[g].gid)\n\t}\n\tcfg.mck.Leave(gids)\n}\n\nvar ncpu_once sync.Once\n\nfunc make_config(t *testing.T, n int, unreliable bool, maxraftstate int) *config {\n\tncpu_once.Do(func() {\n\t\tif runtime.NumCPU() < 2 {\n\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"warning: only one CPU, which may conceal locking bugs\\n\")\n\t\t}\n\t\trand.Seed(makeSeed())\n\t})\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\tcfg := &config{}\n\tcfg.t = t\n\tcfg.maxraftstate = maxraftstate\n\tcfg.net = labrpc.MakeNetwork()\n\tcfg.start = time.Now()\n\n\t// master\n\tcfg.nmasters = 3\n\tcfg.masterservers = make([]*shardmaster.ShardMaster, cfg.nmasters)\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.nmasters; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.StartMasterServer(i)\n\t}\n\tcfg.mck = cfg.shardclerk()\n\n\tcfg.ngroups = 3\n\tcfg.groups = make([]*group, cfg.ngroups)\n\tcfg.n = n\n\tfor gi := 0; gi < cfg.ngroups; gi++ {\n\t\tgg := &group{}\n\t\tcfg.groups[gi] = gg\n\t\tgg.gid = 100 + gi\n\t\tgg.servers = make([]*ShardKV, cfg.n)\n\t\tgg.saved = make([]*raft.Persister, cfg.n)\n\t\tgg.endnames = make([][]string, cfg.n)\n\t\tgg.mendnames = make([][]string, cfg.nmasters)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\t\tcfg.StartServer(gi, i)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.clerks = make(map[*Clerk][]string)\n\tcfg.nextClientId = cfg.n + 1000 // client ids start 1000 above the highest serverid\n\n\tcfg.net.Reliable(!unreliable)\n\n\treturn cfg\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardkv/server.go",
    "content": "package shardkv\n\n\n// import \"shardmaster\"\nimport \"labrpc\"\nimport \"raft\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"labgob\"\n\n\n\ntype Op struct {\n\t// Your definitions here.\n\t// Field names must start with capital letters,\n\t// otherwise RPC will break.\n}\n\ntype ShardKV struct {\n\tmu           sync.Mutex\n\tme           int\n\trf           *raft.Raft\n\tapplyCh      chan raft.ApplyMsg\n\tmake_end     func(string) *labrpc.ClientEnd\n\tgid          int\n\tmasters      []*labrpc.ClientEnd\n\tmaxraftstate int // snapshot if log grows this big\n\n\t// Your definitions here.\n}\n\n\nfunc (kv *ShardKV) Get(args *GetArgs, reply *GetReply) {\n\t// Your code here.\n}\n\nfunc (kv *ShardKV) PutAppend(args *PutAppendArgs, reply *PutAppendReply) {\n\t// Your code here.\n}\n\n//\n// the tester calls Kill() when a ShardKV instance won't\n// be needed again. you are not required to do anything\n// in Kill(), but it might be convenient to (for example)\n// turn off debug output from this instance.\n//\nfunc (kv *ShardKV) Kill() {\n\tkv.rf.Kill()\n\t// Your code here, if desired.\n}\n\n\n//\n// servers[] contains the ports of the servers in this group.\n//\n// me is the index of the current server in servers[].\n//\n// the k/v server should store snapshots through the underlying Raft\n// implementation, which should call persister.SaveStateAndSnapshot() to\n// atomically save the Raft state along with the snapshot.\n//\n// the k/v server should snapshot when Raft's saved state exceeds\n// maxraftstate bytes, in order to allow Raft to garbage-collect its\n// log. if maxraftstate is -1, you don't need to snapshot.\n//\n// gid is this group's GID, for interacting with the shardmaster.\n//\n// pass masters[] to shardmaster.MakeClerk() so you can send\n// RPCs to the shardmaster.\n//\n// make_end(servername) turns a server name from a\n// Config.Groups[gid][i] into a labrpc.ClientEnd on which you can\n// send RPCs. You'll need this to send RPCs to other groups.\n//\n// look at client.go for examples of how to use masters[]\n// and make_end() to send RPCs to the group owning a specific shard.\n//\n// StartServer() must return quickly, so it should start goroutines\n// for any long-running work.\n//\nfunc StartServer(servers []*labrpc.ClientEnd, me int, persister *raft.Persister, maxraftstate int, gid int, masters []*labrpc.ClientEnd, make_end func(string) *labrpc.ClientEnd) *ShardKV {\n\t// call labgob.Register on structures you want\n\t// Go's RPC library to marshall/unmarshall.\n\tlabgob.Register(Op{})\n\n\tkv := new(ShardKV)\n\tkv.me = me\n\tkv.maxraftstate = maxraftstate\n\tkv.make_end = make_end\n\tkv.gid = gid\n\tkv.masters = masters\n\n\t// Your initialization code here.\n\n\t// Use something like this to talk to the shardmaster:\n\t// kv.mck = shardmaster.MakeClerk(kv.masters)\n\n\tkv.applyCh = make(chan raft.ApplyMsg)\n\tkv.rf = raft.Make(servers, me, persister, kv.applyCh)\n\n\n\treturn kv\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardkv/test_test.go",
    "content": "package shardkv\n\nimport \"linearizability\"\n\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"strconv\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\n\nconst linearizabilityCheckTimeout = 1 * time.Second\n\nfunc check(t *testing.T, ck *Clerk, key string, value string) {\n\tv := ck.Get(key)\n\tif v != value {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Get(%v): expected:\\n%v\\nreceived:\\n%v\", key, value, v)\n\t}\n}\n\n//\n// test static 2-way sharding, without shard movement.\n//\nfunc TestStaticShards(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: static shards ...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, false, -1)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(20)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\t// make sure that the data really is sharded by\n\t// shutting down one shard and checking that some\n\t// Get()s don't succeed.\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(1)\n\tcfg.checklogs() // forbid snapshots\n\n\tch := make(chan bool)\n\tfor xi := 0; xi < n; xi++ {\n\t\tck1 := cfg.makeClient() // only one call allowed per client\n\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\tdefer func() { ch <- true }()\n\t\t\tcheck(t, ck1, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\t}(xi)\n\t}\n\n\t// wait a bit, only about half the Gets should succeed.\n\tndone := 0\n\tdone := false\n\tfor done == false {\n\t\tselect {\n\t\tcase <-ch:\n\t\t\tndone += 1\n\t\tcase <-time.After(time.Second * 2):\n\t\t\tdone = true\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tif ndone != 5 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"expected 5 completions with one shard dead; got %v\\n\", ndone)\n\t}\n\n\t// bring the crashed shard/group back to life.\n\tcfg.StartGroup(1)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestJoinLeave(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: join then leave ...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, false, -1)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(5)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tx := randstring(5)\n\t\tck.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\tva[i] += x\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tx := randstring(5)\n\t\tck.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\tva[i] += x\n\t}\n\n\t// allow time for shards to transfer.\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\n\tcfg.checklogs()\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(0)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestSnapshot(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: snapshots, join, and leave ...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, false, 1000)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\tn := 30\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(20)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\tcfg.join(2)\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tx := randstring(20)\n\t\tck.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\tva[i] += x\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.leave(1)\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tx := randstring(20)\n\t\tck.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\tva[i] += x\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\n\tcfg.checklogs()\n\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(0)\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(1)\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(2)\n\n\tcfg.StartGroup(0)\n\tcfg.StartGroup(1)\n\tcfg.StartGroup(2)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestMissChange(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: servers miss configuration changes...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, false, 1000)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(20)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\n\tcfg.ShutdownServer(0, 0)\n\tcfg.ShutdownServer(1, 0)\n\tcfg.ShutdownServer(2, 0)\n\n\tcfg.join(2)\n\tcfg.leave(1)\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tx := randstring(20)\n\t\tck.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\tva[i] += x\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tx := randstring(20)\n\t\tck.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\tva[i] += x\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.StartServer(0, 0)\n\tcfg.StartServer(1, 0)\n\tcfg.StartServer(2, 0)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tx := randstring(20)\n\t\tck.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\tva[i] += x\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\n\tcfg.ShutdownServer(0, 1)\n\tcfg.ShutdownServer(1, 1)\n\tcfg.ShutdownServer(2, 1)\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\tcfg.leave(2)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tx := randstring(20)\n\t\tck.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\tva[i] += x\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.StartServer(0, 1)\n\tcfg.StartServer(1, 1)\n\tcfg.StartServer(2, 1)\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestConcurrent1(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: concurrent puts and configuration changes...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, false, 100)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(5)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tvar done int32\n\tch := make(chan bool)\n\n\tff := func(i int) {\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- true }()\n\t\tck1 := cfg.makeClient()\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\tx := randstring(5)\n\t\t\tck1.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\t\tva[i] += x\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(10 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tgo ff(i)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(150 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(2)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(0)\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(1)\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(2)\n\n\tcfg.leave(2)\n\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.StartGroup(0)\n\tcfg.StartGroup(1)\n\tcfg.StartGroup(2)\n\n\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\tcfg.leave(1)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\t<-ch\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// this tests the various sources from which a re-starting\n// group might need to fetch shard contents.\n//\nfunc TestConcurrent2(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: more concurrent puts and configuration changes...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, false, -1)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\tcfg.join(2)\n\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(1)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tvar done int32\n\tch := make(chan bool)\n\n\tff := func(i int, ck1 *Clerk) {\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- true }()\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\tx := randstring(1)\n\t\t\tck1.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\t\tva[i] += x\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(50 * time.Millisecond)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tck1 := cfg.makeClient()\n\t\tgo ff(i, ck1)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\tcfg.leave(2)\n\ttime.Sleep(3000 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\tcfg.join(2)\n\tcfg.leave(1)\n\ttime.Sleep(3000 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\tcfg.leave(2)\n\ttime.Sleep(3000 * time.Millisecond)\n\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(1)\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(2)\n\ttime.Sleep(1000 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.StartGroup(1)\n\tcfg.StartGroup(2)\n\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\t<-ch\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestUnreliable1(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: unreliable 1...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, true, 100)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(5)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\tcfg.join(2)\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < n*2; ii++ {\n\t\ti := ii % n\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tx := randstring(5)\n\t\tck.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\tva[i] += x\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\tcfg.leave(1)\n\n\tfor ii := 0; ii < n*2; ii++ {\n\t\ti := ii % n\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestUnreliable2(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: unreliable 2...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, true, 100)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(5)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tvar done int32\n\tch := make(chan bool)\n\n\tff := func(i int) {\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- true }()\n\t\tck1 := cfg.makeClient()\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\tx := randstring(5)\n\t\t\tck1.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\t\tva[i] += x\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tgo ff(i)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(150 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(2)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.leave(1)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\tcfg.net.Reliable(true)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\t<-ch\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestUnreliable3(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: unreliable 3...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, true, 100)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tbegin := time.Now()\n\tvar operations []linearizability.Operation\n\tvar opMu sync.Mutex\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(5)\n\t\tstart := int64(time.Since(begin))\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t\tend := int64(time.Since(begin))\n\t\tinp := linearizability.KvInput{Op: 1, Key: ka[i], Value: va[i]}\n\t\tvar out linearizability.KvOutput\n\t\top := linearizability.Operation{Input: inp, Call: start, Output: out, Return: end}\n\t\toperations = append(operations, op)\n\t}\n\n\tvar done int32\n\tch := make(chan bool)\n\n\tff := func(i int) {\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- true }()\n\t\tck1 := cfg.makeClient()\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\tki := rand.Int() % n\n\t\t\tnv := randstring(5)\n\t\t\tvar inp linearizability.KvInput\n\t\t\tvar out linearizability.KvOutput\n\t\t\tstart := int64(time.Since(begin))\n\t\t\tif (rand.Int() % 1000) < 500 {\n\t\t\t\tck1.Append(ka[ki], nv)\n\t\t\t\tinp = linearizability.KvInput{Op: 2, Key: ka[ki], Value: nv}\n\t\t\t} else if (rand.Int() % 1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\t\tck1.Put(ka[ki], nv)\n\t\t\t\tinp = linearizability.KvInput{Op: 1, Key: ka[ki], Value: nv}\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tv := ck1.Get(ka[ki])\n\t\t\t\tinp = linearizability.KvInput{Op: 0, Key: ka[ki]}\n\t\t\t\tout = linearizability.KvOutput{Value: v}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tend := int64(time.Since(begin))\n\t\t\top := linearizability.Operation{Input: inp, Call: start, Output: out, Return: end}\n\t\t\topMu.Lock()\n\t\t\toperations = append(operations, op)\n\t\t\topMu.Unlock()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tgo ff(i)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(150 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(2)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.leave(1)\n\ttime.Sleep(500 * time.Millisecond)\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\tcfg.net.Reliable(true)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\t<-ch\n\t}\n\n\t// log.Printf(\"Checking linearizability of %d operations\", len(operations))\n\t// start := time.Now()\n\tok := linearizability.CheckOperationsTimeout(linearizability.KvModel(), operations, linearizabilityCheckTimeout)\n\t// dur := time.Since(start)\n\t// log.Printf(\"Linearizability check done in %s; result: %t\", time.Since(start).String(), ok)\n\tif !ok {\n\t\tt.Fatal(\"history is not linearizable\")\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// optional test to see whether servers are deleting\n// shards for which they are no longer responsible.\n//\nfunc TestChallenge1Delete(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: shard deletion (challenge 1) ...\\n\")\n\n\t// \"1\" means force snapshot after every log entry.\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, false, 1)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\t// 30,000 bytes of total values.\n\tn := 30\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i)\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(1000)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfor iters := 0; iters < 2; iters++ {\n\t\tcfg.join(1)\n\t\tcfg.leave(0)\n\t\tcfg.join(2)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(3 * time.Second)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\t}\n\t\tcfg.leave(1)\n\t\tcfg.join(0)\n\t\tcfg.leave(2)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(3 * time.Second)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\tcfg.join(2)\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\ttime.Sleep(1 * time.Second)\n\tfor i := 0; i < 3; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\ttotal := 0\n\tfor gi := 0; gi < cfg.ngroups; gi++ {\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\t\traft := cfg.groups[gi].saved[i].RaftStateSize()\n\t\t\tsnap := len(cfg.groups[gi].saved[i].ReadSnapshot())\n\t\t\ttotal += raft + snap\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// 27 keys should be stored once.\n\t// 3 keys should also be stored in client dup tables.\n\t// everything on 3 replicas.\n\t// plus slop.\n\texpected := 3 * (((n - 3) * 1000) + 2*3*1000 + 6000)\n\tif total > expected {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"snapshot + persisted Raft state are too big: %v > %v\\n\", total, expected)\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestChallenge1Concurrent(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: concurrent configuration change and restart (challenge 1)...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, false, 300)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i)\n\t\tva[i] = randstring(1)\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tvar done int32\n\tch := make(chan bool)\n\n\tff := func(i int, ck1 *Clerk) {\n\t\tdefer func() { ch <- true }()\n\t\tfor atomic.LoadInt32(&done) == 0 {\n\t\t\tx := randstring(1)\n\t\t\tck1.Append(ka[i], x)\n\t\t\tva[i] += x\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tck1 := cfg.makeClient()\n\t\tgo ff(i, ck1)\n\t}\n\n\tt0 := time.Now()\n\tfor time.Since(t0) < 12*time.Second {\n\t\tcfg.join(2)\n\t\tcfg.join(1)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(rand.Int()%900) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(0)\n\t\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(1)\n\t\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(2)\n\t\tcfg.StartGroup(0)\n\t\tcfg.StartGroup(1)\n\t\tcfg.StartGroup(2)\n\n\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(rand.Int()%900) * time.Millisecond)\n\t\tcfg.leave(1)\n\t\tcfg.leave(2)\n\t\ttime.Sleep(time.Duration(rand.Int()%900) * time.Millisecond)\n\t}\n\n\ttime.Sleep(2 * time.Second)\n\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&done, 1)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\t<-ch\n\t}\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// optional test to see whether servers can handle\n// shards that are not affected by a config change\n// while the config change is underway\n//\nfunc TestChallenge2Unaffected(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: unaffected shard access (challenge 2) ...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, true, 100)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\t// JOIN 100\n\tcfg.join(0)\n\n\t// Do a bunch of puts to keys in all shards\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = \"100\"\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\t// JOIN 101\n\tcfg.join(1)\n\n\t// QUERY to find shards now owned by 101\n\tc := cfg.mck.Query(-1)\n\towned := make(map[int]bool, n)\n\tfor s, gid := range c.Shards {\n\t\towned[s] = gid == cfg.groups[1].gid\n\t}\n\n\t// Wait for migration to new config to complete, and for clients to\n\t// start using this updated config. Gets to any key k such that\n\t// owned[shard(k)] == true should now be served by group 101.\n\t<-time.After(1 * time.Second)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tif owned[i] {\n\t\t\tva[i] = \"101\"\n\t\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// KILL 100\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(0)\n\n\t// LEAVE 100\n\t// 101 doesn't get a chance to migrate things previously owned by 100\n\tcfg.leave(0)\n\n\t// Wait to make sure clients see new config\n\t<-time.After(1 * time.Second)\n\n\t// And finally: check that gets/puts for 101-owned keys still complete\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tshard := int(ka[i][0]) % 10\n\t\tif owned[shard] {\n\t\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i]+\"-1\")\n\t\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i]+\"-1\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\n//\n// optional test to see whether servers can handle operations on shards that\n// have been received as a part of a config migration when the entire migration\n// has not yet completed.\n//\nfunc TestChallenge2Partial(t *testing.T) {\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: partial migration shard access (challenge 2) ...\\n\")\n\n\tcfg := make_config(t, 3, true, 100)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient()\n\n\t// JOIN 100 + 101 + 102\n\tcfg.joinm([]int{0, 1, 2})\n\n\t// Give the implementation some time to reconfigure\n\t<-time.After(1 * time.Second)\n\n\t// Do a bunch of puts to keys in all shards\n\tn := 10\n\tka := make([]string, n)\n\tva := make([]string, n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tka[i] = strconv.Itoa(i) // ensure multiple shards\n\t\tva[i] = \"100\"\n\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i])\n\t}\n\n\t// QUERY to find shards owned by 102\n\tc := cfg.mck.Query(-1)\n\towned := make(map[int]bool, n)\n\tfor s, gid := range c.Shards {\n\t\towned[s] = gid == cfg.groups[2].gid\n\t}\n\n\t// KILL 100\n\tcfg.ShutdownGroup(0)\n\n\t// LEAVE 100 + 102\n\t// 101 can get old shards from 102, but not from 100. 101 should start\n\t// serving shards that used to belong to 102 as soon as possible\n\tcfg.leavem([]int{0, 2})\n\n\t// Give the implementation some time to start reconfiguration\n\t// And to migrate 102 -> 101\n\t<-time.After(1 * time.Second)\n\n\t// And finally: check that gets/puts for 101-owned keys now complete\n\tfor i := 0; i < n; i++ {\n\t\tshard := key2shard(ka[i])\n\t\tif owned[shard] {\n\t\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i])\n\t\t\tck.Put(ka[i], va[i]+\"-2\")\n\t\t\tcheck(t, ck, ka[i], va[i]+\"-2\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardmaster/client.go",
    "content": "package shardmaster\n\n//\n// Shardmaster clerk.\n// Please don't change this file.\n//\n\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\ntype Clerk struct {\n\tservers []string // shardmaster replicas\n}\n\nfunc MakeClerk(servers []string) *Clerk {\n\tck := new(Clerk)\n\tck.servers = servers\n\treturn ck\n}\n\n//\n// call() sends an RPC to the rpcname handler on server srv\n// with arguments args, waits for the reply, and leaves the\n// reply in reply. the reply argument should be a pointer\n// to a reply structure.\n//\n// the return value is true if the server responded, and false\n// if call() was not able to contact the server. in particular,\n// the reply's contents are only valid if call() returned true.\n//\n// you should assume that call() will return an\n// error after a while if the server is dead.\n// don't provide your own time-out mechanism.\n//\n// please use call() to send all RPCs, in client.go and server.go.\n// please don't change this function.\n//\nfunc call(srv string, rpcname string,\n\targs interface{}, reply interface{}) bool {\n\tc, errx := rpc.Dial(\"unix\", srv)\n\tif errx != nil {\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n\tdefer c.Close()\n\n\terr := c.Call(rpcname, args, reply)\n\tif err == nil {\n\t\treturn true\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Println(err)\n\treturn false\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Query(num int) Config {\n\tfor {\n\t\t// try each known server.\n\t\tfor _, srv := range ck.servers {\n\t\t\targs := &QueryArgs{}\n\t\t\targs.Num = num\n\t\t\tvar reply QueryReply\n\t\t\tok := call(srv, \"ShardMaster.Query\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\treturn reply.Config\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Join(gid int64, servers []string) {\n\tfor {\n\t\t// try each known server.\n\t\tfor _, srv := range ck.servers {\n\t\t\targs := &JoinArgs{}\n\t\t\targs.GID = gid\n\t\t\targs.Servers = servers\n\t\t\tvar reply JoinReply\n\t\t\tok := call(srv, \"ShardMaster.Join\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\treturn\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Leave(gid int64) {\n\tfor {\n\t\t// try each known server.\n\t\tfor _, srv := range ck.servers {\n\t\t\targs := &LeaveArgs{}\n\t\t\targs.GID = gid\n\t\t\tvar reply LeaveReply\n\t\t\tok := call(srv, \"ShardMaster.Leave\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\treturn\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Move(shard int, gid int64) {\n\tfor {\n\t\t// try each known server.\n\t\tfor _, srv := range ck.servers {\n\t\t\targs := &MoveArgs{}\n\t\t\targs.Shard = shard\n\t\t\targs.GID = gid\n\t\t\tvar reply MoveReply\n\t\t\tok := call(srv, \"ShardMaster.Move\", args, &reply)\n\t\t\tif ok {\n\t\t\t\treturn\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(100 * time.Millisecond)\n\t}\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardmaster/common.go",
    "content": "package shardmaster\n\n//\n// Master shard server: assigns shards to replication groups.\n//\n// RPC interface:\n// Join(servers) -- add a set of groups (gid -> server-list mapping).\n// Leave(gids) -- delete a set of groups.\n// Move(shard, gid) -- hand off one shard from current owner to gid.\n// Query(num) -> fetch Config # num, or latest config if num==-1.\n//\n// A Config (configuration) describes a set of replica groups, and the\n// replica group responsible for each shard. Configs are numbered. Config\n// #0 is the initial configuration, with no groups and all shards\n// assigned to group 0 (the invalid group).\n//\n// You will need to add fields to the RPC argument structs.\n//\n\n// The number of shards.\nconst NShards = 10\n\n// A configuration -- an assignment of shards to groups.\n// Please don't change this.\ntype Config struct {\n\tNum    int              // config number\n\tShards [NShards]int     // shard -> gid\n\tGroups map[int][]string // gid -> servers[]\n}\n\nconst (\n\tOK = \"OK\"\n)\n\ntype Err string\n\ntype JoinArgs struct {\n\tServers map[int][]string // new GID -> servers mappings\n}\n\ntype JoinReply struct {\n\tWrongLeader bool\n\tErr         Err\n}\n\ntype LeaveArgs struct {\n\tGIDs []int\n}\n\ntype LeaveReply struct {\n\tWrongLeader bool\n\tErr         Err\n}\n\ntype MoveArgs struct {\n\tShard int\n\tGID   int\n}\n\ntype MoveReply struct {\n\tWrongLeader bool\n\tErr         Err\n}\n\ntype QueryArgs struct {\n\tNum int // desired config number\n}\n\ntype QueryReply struct {\n\tWrongLeader bool\n\tErr         Err\n\tConfig      Config\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardmaster/config.go",
    "content": "package shardmaster\n\nimport \"labrpc\"\nimport \"raft\"\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"os\"\n\n// import \"log\"\nimport crand \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"encoding/base64\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"time\"\n\nfunc randstring(n int) string {\n\tb := make([]byte, 2*n)\n\tcrand.Read(b)\n\ts := base64.URLEncoding.EncodeToString(b)\n\treturn s[0:n]\n}\n\n// Randomize server handles\nfunc random_handles(kvh []*labrpc.ClientEnd) []*labrpc.ClientEnd {\n\tsa := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, len(kvh))\n\tcopy(sa, kvh)\n\tfor i := range sa {\n\t\tj := rand.Intn(i + 1)\n\t\tsa[i], sa[j] = sa[j], sa[i]\n\t}\n\treturn sa\n}\n\ntype config struct {\n\tmu           sync.Mutex\n\tt            *testing.T\n\tnet          *labrpc.Network\n\tn            int\n\tservers      []*ShardMaster\n\tsaved        []*raft.Persister\n\tendnames     [][]string // names of each server's sending ClientEnds\n\tclerks       map[*Clerk][]string\n\tnextClientId int\n\tstart        time.Time // time at which make_config() was called\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) checkTimeout() {\n\t// enforce a two minute real-time limit on each test\n\tif !cfg.t.Failed() && time.Since(cfg.start) > 120*time.Second {\n\t\tcfg.t.Fatal(\"test took longer than 120 seconds\")\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) cleanup() {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(cfg.servers); i++ {\n\t\tif cfg.servers[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tcfg.servers[i].Kill()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tcfg.net.Cleanup()\n\tcfg.checkTimeout()\n}\n\n// Maximum log size across all servers\nfunc (cfg *config) LogSize() int {\n\tlogsize := 0\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tn := cfg.saved[i].RaftStateSize()\n\t\tif n > logsize {\n\t\t\tlogsize = n\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn logsize\n}\n\n// attach server i to servers listed in to\n// caller must hold cfg.mu\nfunc (cfg *config) connectUnlocked(i int, to []int) {\n\t// log.Printf(\"connect peer %d to %v\\n\", i, to)\n\n\t// outgoing socket files\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(to); j++ {\n\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[i][to[j]]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, true)\n\t}\n\n\t// incoming socket files\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(to); j++ {\n\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[to[j]][i]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, true)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) connect(i int, to []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tcfg.connectUnlocked(i, to)\n}\n\n// detach server i from the servers listed in from\n// caller must hold cfg.mu\nfunc (cfg *config) disconnectUnlocked(i int, from []int) {\n\t// log.Printf(\"disconnect peer %d from %v\\n\", i, from)\n\n\t// outgoing socket files\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(from); j++ {\n\t\tif cfg.endnames[i] != nil {\n\t\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[i][from[j]]\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, false)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// incoming socket files\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(from); j++ {\n\t\tif cfg.endnames[j] != nil {\n\t\t\tendname := cfg.endnames[from[j]][i]\n\t\t\tcfg.net.Enable(endname, false)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) disconnect(i int, from []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tcfg.disconnectUnlocked(i, from)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) All() []int {\n\tall := make([]int, cfg.n)\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tall[i] = i\n\t}\n\treturn all\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) ConnectAll() {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.connectUnlocked(i, cfg.All())\n\t}\n}\n\n// Sets up 2 partitions with connectivity between servers in each  partition.\nfunc (cfg *config) partition(p1 []int, p2 []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\t// log.Printf(\"partition servers into: %v %v\\n\", p1, p2)\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(p1); i++ {\n\t\tcfg.disconnectUnlocked(p1[i], p2)\n\t\tcfg.connectUnlocked(p1[i], p1)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(p2); i++ {\n\t\tcfg.disconnectUnlocked(p2[i], p1)\n\t\tcfg.connectUnlocked(p2[i], p2)\n\t}\n}\n\n// Create a clerk with clerk specific server names.\n// Give it connections to all of the servers, but for\n// now enable only connections to servers in to[].\nfunc (cfg *config) makeClient(to []int) *Clerk {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\t// a fresh set of ClientEnds.\n\tends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.n)\n\tendnames := make([]string, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tendnames[j] = randstring(20)\n\t\tends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(endnames[j])\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(endnames[j], j)\n\t}\n\n\tck := MakeClerk(random_handles(ends))\n\tcfg.clerks[ck] = endnames\n\tcfg.nextClientId++\n\tcfg.ConnectClientUnlocked(ck, to)\n\treturn ck\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) deleteClient(ck *Clerk) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tv := cfg.clerks[ck]\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(v); i++ {\n\t\tos.Remove(v[i])\n\t}\n\tdelete(cfg.clerks, ck)\n}\n\n// caller should hold cfg.mu\nfunc (cfg *config) ConnectClientUnlocked(ck *Clerk, to []int) {\n\t// log.Printf(\"ConnectClient %v to %v\\n\", ck, to)\n\tendnames := cfg.clerks[ck]\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(to); j++ {\n\t\ts := endnames[to[j]]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(s, true)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) ConnectClient(ck *Clerk, to []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tcfg.ConnectClientUnlocked(ck, to)\n}\n\n// caller should hold cfg.mu\nfunc (cfg *config) DisconnectClientUnlocked(ck *Clerk, from []int) {\n\t// log.Printf(\"DisconnectClient %v from %v\\n\", ck, from)\n\tendnames := cfg.clerks[ck]\n\tfor j := 0; j < len(from); j++ {\n\t\ts := endnames[from[j]]\n\t\tcfg.net.Enable(s, false)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) DisconnectClient(ck *Clerk, from []int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\tcfg.DisconnectClientUnlocked(ck, from)\n}\n\n// Shutdown a server by isolating it\nfunc (cfg *config) ShutdownServer(i int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tcfg.disconnectUnlocked(i, cfg.All())\n\n\t// disable client connections to the server.\n\t// it's important to do this before creating\n\t// the new Persister in saved[i], to avoid\n\t// the possibility of the server returning a\n\t// positive reply to an Append but persisting\n\t// the result in the superseded Persister.\n\tcfg.net.DeleteServer(i)\n\n\t// a fresh persister, in case old instance\n\t// continues to update the Persister.\n\t// but copy old persister's content so that we always\n\t// pass Make() the last persisted state.\n\tif cfg.saved[i] != nil {\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = cfg.saved[i].Copy()\n\t}\n\n\tkv := cfg.servers[i]\n\tif kv != nil {\n\t\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\t\tkv.Kill()\n\t\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\t\tcfg.servers[i] = nil\n\t}\n}\n\n// If restart servers, first call ShutdownServer\nfunc (cfg *config) StartServer(i int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\n\t// a fresh set of outgoing ClientEnd names.\n\tcfg.endnames[i] = make([]string, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tcfg.endnames[i][j] = randstring(20)\n\t}\n\n\t// a fresh set of ClientEnds.\n\tends := make([]*labrpc.ClientEnd, cfg.n)\n\tfor j := 0; j < cfg.n; j++ {\n\t\tends[j] = cfg.net.MakeEnd(cfg.endnames[i][j])\n\t\tcfg.net.Connect(cfg.endnames[i][j], j)\n\t}\n\n\t// a fresh persister, so old instance doesn't overwrite\n\t// new instance's persisted state.\n\t// give the fresh persister a copy of the old persister's\n\t// state, so that the spec is that we pass StartKVServer()\n\t// the last persisted state.\n\tif cfg.saved[i] != nil {\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = cfg.saved[i].Copy()\n\t} else {\n\t\tcfg.saved[i] = raft.MakePersister()\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tcfg.servers[i] = StartServer(ends, i, cfg.saved[i])\n\n\tkvsvc := labrpc.MakeService(cfg.servers[i])\n\trfsvc := labrpc.MakeService(cfg.servers[i].rf)\n\tsrv := labrpc.MakeServer()\n\tsrv.AddService(kvsvc)\n\tsrv.AddService(rfsvc)\n\tcfg.net.AddServer(i, srv)\n}\n\nfunc (cfg *config) Leader() (bool, int) {\n\tcfg.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer cfg.mu.Unlock()\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\t_, is_leader := cfg.servers[i].rf.GetState()\n\t\tif is_leader {\n\t\t\treturn true, i\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn false, 0\n}\n\n// Partition servers into 2 groups and put current leader in minority\nfunc (cfg *config) make_partition() ([]int, []int) {\n\t_, l := cfg.Leader()\n\tp1 := make([]int, cfg.n/2+1)\n\tp2 := make([]int, cfg.n/2)\n\tj := 0\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tif i != l {\n\t\t\tif j < len(p1) {\n\t\t\t\tp1[j] = i\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tp2[j-len(p1)] = i\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tj++\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tp2[len(p2)-1] = l\n\treturn p1, p2\n}\n\nfunc make_config(t *testing.T, n int, unreliable bool) *config {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\tcfg := &config{}\n\tcfg.t = t\n\tcfg.net = labrpc.MakeNetwork()\n\tcfg.n = n\n\tcfg.servers = make([]*ShardMaster, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.saved = make([]*raft.Persister, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.endnames = make([][]string, cfg.n)\n\tcfg.clerks = make(map[*Clerk][]string)\n\tcfg.nextClientId = cfg.n + 1000 // client ids start 1000 above the highest serverid\n\tcfg.start = time.Now()\n\n\t// create a full set of KV servers.\n\tfor i := 0; i < cfg.n; i++ {\n\t\tcfg.StartServer(i)\n\t}\n\n\tcfg.ConnectAll()\n\n\tcfg.net.Reliable(!unreliable)\n\n\treturn cfg\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardmaster/server.go",
    "content": "package shardmaster\n\nimport crand \"crypto/rand\"\nimport \"errors\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"math/big\"\nimport \"net\"\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"encoding/gob\"\nimport \"math/rand\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"paxos\"\nimport \"sort\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\nimport \"syscall\"\n\ntype ShardMaster struct {\n\tmu         sync.Mutex\n\tl          net.Listener\n\tme         int\n\tdead       int32 // for testing\n\tunreliable int32 // for testing\n\tpx         *paxos.Paxos\n\n\tconfigs []Config // indexed by config num\n\n\t// TODO delete\n\tcurrGroupShardsMap map[int64][]int // group GID -> shards\n\tmapMu              sync.Mutex\n\t// currGroupShardsMap *sync.Map // group GID -> shards\n\tseq      int\n\tassigned bool // whether there exists a valid group\n}\n\ntype GroupShardsNumSlice []GroupShardsNum\n\ntype GroupShardsNum struct {\n\tnum int\n\tGID int64\n}\n\ntype ShardGid struct {\n\tshard int\n\tGID   int64\n}\n\nfunc (s GroupShardsNumSlice) Len() int           { return len(s) }\nfunc (s GroupShardsNumSlice) Swap(i, j int)      { s[i], s[j] = s[j], s[i] }\nfunc (s GroupShardsNumSlice) Less(i, j int) bool { return s[i].num < s[j].num }\n\ntype Op struct {\n\t// Your data here.\n\tOpName  string\n\tGID     int64\n\tNum     int\n\tShard   int\n\tServers []string\n\tRID     int64\n}\n\n// TODO user-defined\nconst (\n\tOP_JOIN  = \"join\"\n\tOP_LEAVE = \"leave\"\n\tOP_MOVE  = \"move\"\n\tOP_QUERY = \"query\"\n)\n\n// TODO user-defined\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) join(op *Op) {\n\tlastCfg := sm.configs[len(sm.configs)-1]\n\t// the group exists\n\tif _, ok := lastCfg.Groups[op.GID]; ok {\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\n\tnewCfg := copyCfg(lastCfg)\n\tdefer func() { sm.configs = append(sm.configs, newCfg) }()\n\tnewCfg.Groups[op.GID] = op.Servers\n\n\t// there is no groups before\n\tif !sm.assigned {\n\t\tshards := make([]int, NShards)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < NShards; i++ {\n\t\t\tnewCfg.Shards[i] = op.GID\n\t\t\tshards[i] = i\n\t\t}\n\t\tsm.currGroupShardsMap[op.GID] = shards\n\t\tsm.assigned = true\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\n\tprevGroupsNum := len(sm.currGroupShardsMap)\n\tnewGroupsNum := prevGroupsNum + 1\n\n\t// add a blank element\n\tvar lastShardsNum GroupShardsNumSlice = make([]GroupShardsNum, 0, newGroupsNum)\n\tlastShardsNum = append(lastShardsNum, GroupShardsNum{num: 0, GID: 0})\n\tfor gid, shards := range sm.currGroupShardsMap {\n\t\tlastShardsNum = append(lastShardsNum, GroupShardsNum{num: len(shards), GID: gid})\n\t}\n\tsort.Sort(lastShardsNum)\n\n\tnewShardsNum := getGroupsSize(NShards, newGroupsNum)\n\n\t// add the joined group\n\tsm.currGroupShardsMap[op.GID] = []int{}\n\n\tshardsChan := make(chan int, NShards)\n\tvar wg sync.WaitGroup\n\twg.Add(newGroupsNum)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\t// move in <diff> shards to the joined group\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < newShardsNum[0]; j++ {\n\t\t\tshard := <-shardsChan\n\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Lock()\n\t\t\tsm.currGroupShardsMap[op.GID] = append(sm.currGroupShardsMap[op.GID], shard)\n\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Unlock()\n\t\t\tnewCfg.Shards[shard] = op.GID\n\t\t}\n\t\twg.Done()\n\t}()\n\tfor i := 1; i < newGroupsNum; i++ {\n\t\taGID := lastShardsNum[i].GID\n\t\tdiff := newShardsNum[i] - lastShardsNum[i].num\n\t\tif diff < 0 {\n\t\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\t\t// move out <diff> shards in group of aGID\n\t\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Lock()\n\t\t\t\toutSlice := sm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID][:-diff]\n\t\t\t\tfor _, shard := range outSlice {\n\t\t\t\t\tshardsChan <- shard\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tsm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID] = sm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID][-diff:]\n\t\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Unlock()\n\t\t\t\twg.Done()\n\t\t\t}()\n\t\t} else if diff > 0 {\n\t\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\t\t// move in <diff> shards to group of aGID\n\t\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < diff; j++ {\n\t\t\t\t\tshard := <-shardsChan\n\t\t\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Lock()\n\t\t\t\t\tsm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID] = append(sm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID], shard)\n\t\t\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Unlock()\n\t\t\t\t\tnewCfg.Shards[shard] = aGID\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\twg.Done()\n\t\t\t}()\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\twg.Done()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\twg.Wait()\n}\n\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) leave(op *Op) {\n\tlastCfg := sm.configs[len(sm.configs)-1]\n\tif _, ok := lastCfg.Groups[op.GID]; !ok {\n\t\t// doesn't exist\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\n\tnewCfg := copyCfg(lastCfg)\n\n\tprevGroupsNum := len(sm.currGroupShardsMap)\n\tnewGroupsNum := prevGroupsNum - 1\n\tdefer func() {\n\t\tdelete(sm.currGroupShardsMap, op.GID)\n\t\tdelete(newCfg.Groups, op.GID)\n\t\tsm.configs = append(sm.configs, newCfg)\n\t}()\n\n\t// there is no groups after leaving\n\tif newGroupsNum == 0 {\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < NShards; i++ {\n\t\t\tnewCfg.Shards[i] = 0\n\t\t}\n\t\tsm.assigned = false\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\n\tvar lastShardsNum GroupShardsNumSlice = make([]GroupShardsNum, 0, newGroupsNum)\n\tfor gid, shards := range sm.currGroupShardsMap {\n\t\tif gid != op.GID {\n\t\t\tlastShardsNum = append(lastShardsNum, GroupShardsNum{num: len(shards), GID: gid})\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tsort.Sort(lastShardsNum)\n\n\tnewShardsNum := getGroupsSize(NShards, newGroupsNum)\n\n\tshardsChan := make(chan int, NShards)\n\tvar wg sync.WaitGroup\n\twg.Add(prevGroupsNum)\n\tgo func() {\n\t\t// move out all shards in group of op.GID\n\t\tsm.mapMu.Lock()\n\t\tfor _, shard := range sm.currGroupShardsMap[op.GID] {\n\t\t\tshardsChan <- shard\n\t\t}\n\t\tsm.mapMu.Unlock()\n\t\twg.Done()\n\t}()\n\tfor i := 0; i < newGroupsNum; i++ {\n\t\taGID := lastShardsNum[i].GID\n\t\tdiff := newShardsNum[i] - lastShardsNum[i].num\n\t\tif diff < 0 {\n\t\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\t\t// move out <diff> shards in group of aGID\n\t\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Lock()\n\t\t\t\toutSlice := sm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID][:-diff]\n\t\t\t\tfor _, shard := range outSlice {\n\t\t\t\t\tshardsChan <- shard\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\tsm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID] = sm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID][-diff:]\n\t\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Unlock()\n\t\t\t\twg.Done()\n\t\t\t}()\n\t\t} else if diff > 0 {\n\t\t\tgo func() {\n\t\t\t\t// move in <diff> shards to group of aGID\n\t\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < diff; j++ {\n\t\t\t\t\tshard := <-shardsChan\n\t\t\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Lock()\n\t\t\t\t\tsm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID] = append(sm.currGroupShardsMap[aGID], shard)\n\t\t\t\t\tsm.mapMu.Unlock()\n\t\t\t\t\tnewCfg.Shards[shard] = aGID\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\twg.Done()\n\t\t\t}()\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\twg.Done()\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\twg.Wait()\n}\n\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) move(op *Op) {\n\tlastCfg := sm.configs[len(sm.configs)-1]\n\tif _, ok := lastCfg.Groups[op.GID]; !ok {\n\t\t// doesn't exist\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\n\tif lastCfg.Shards[op.Shard] == op.GID {\n\t\t// keep status\n\t\treturn\n\t}\n\n\tnewCfg := copyCfg(lastCfg)\n\tdefer func() { sm.configs = append(sm.configs, newCfg) }()\n\n\tprevGID := newCfg.Shards[op.Shard]\n\tprevShards := sm.currGroupShardsMap[prevGID]\n\tnewShards := make([]int, 0, len(prevShards)-1)\n\tfor _, s := range prevShards {\n\t\tif s != op.Shard {\n\t\t\tnewShards = append(newShards, s)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tsm.currGroupShardsMap[prevGID] = newShards\n\n\tnewCfg.Shards[op.Shard] = op.GID\n\tsm.currGroupShardsMap[op.GID] = append(sm.currGroupShardsMap[op.GID], op.Shard)\n\treturn\n}\n\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) query(op *Op) interface{} {\n\tif op.Num == -1 {\n\t\treturn sm.configs[len(sm.configs)-1]\n\t} else if op.Num < 0 || op.Num >= len(sm.configs) {\n\t\treturn nil\n\t} else {\n\t\treturn sm.configs[op.Num]\n\t}\n}\n\n// return the size of groups in the ascending order\nfunc getGroupsSize(nShards, groupsNum int) []int {\n\tquotient := NShards / groupsNum\n\tremainder := NShards - quotient*groupsNum\n\tgroupsSize := make([]int, groupsNum)\n\tfor i := 0; i < groupsNum; i++ {\n\t\tif i < groupsNum-remainder {\n\t\t\tgroupsSize[i] = quotient\n\t\t} else {\n\t\t\tgroupsSize[i] = quotient + 1\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\treturn groupsSize\n}\n\n// copy the previous config and increment the Num\nfunc copyCfg(lastCfg Config) Config {\n\tnewGroups := make(map[int64][]string)\n\tfor gid, ss := range lastCfg.Groups {\n\t\tnewGroups[gid] = ss\n\t}\n\tnewCfg := Config{Num: lastCfg.Num + 1, Shards: lastCfg.Shards, Groups: newGroups}\n\treturn newCfg\n}\n\nfunc nrand() int64 {\n\tmax := big.NewInt(int64(1) << 62)\n\tbigx, _ := crand.Int(crand.Reader, max)\n\tx := bigx.Int64()\n\treturn x\n}\n\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) apply(op *Op) {\n\tswitch op.OpName {\n\tcase OP_JOIN:\n\t\tsm.join(op)\n\tcase OP_LEAVE:\n\t\tsm.leave(op)\n\tcase OP_MOVE:\n\t\tsm.move(op)\n\tcase OP_QUERY:\n\t\tsm.query(op)\n\t}\n}\n\n// TODO user-defined\n// Try to decide the op in one of the paxos instance\n// increase the seq until decide the op that we want,\n// and apply the chosen value to the kv store.\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) TryDecide(op Op) error {\n\top.RID = nrand()\n\tfor {\n\t\ttimeout := 0 * time.Millisecond\n\t\tsleep_interval := 10 * time.Millisecond\n\t\tsm.px.Start(sm.seq, op)\n\tINNER:\n\t\tfor {\n\t\t\tfate, v := sm.px.Status(sm.seq)\n\t\t\tswitch fate {\n\t\t\tcase paxos.Decided:\n\t\t\t\t{\n\t\t\t\t\t_op := v.(Op)\n\t\t\t\t\tsm.px.Done(sm.seq)\n\t\t\t\t\tsm.seq++\n\t\t\t\t\tif _op.RID == op.RID {\n\t\t\t\t\t\treturn nil\n\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\t// apply the previous ops\n\t\t\t\t\t\tsm.apply(&_op)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\tbreak INNER\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tcase paxos.Pending:\n\t\t\t\t{\n\t\t\t\t\tif timeout > 10*time.Second {\n\t\t\t\t\t\treturn errors.New(\"timeout\")\n\t\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\t\ttime.Sleep(sleep_interval)\n\t\t\t\t\t\ttimeout += sleep_interval\n\t\t\t\t\t\tsleep_interval *= 2\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tdefault:\n\t\t\t\t// Forgotten, do nothing for impossibility\n\t\t\t\treturn errors.New(\"paxos forgotten\")\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) Join(args *JoinArgs, reply *JoinReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\tsm.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer sm.mu.Unlock()\n\top := Op{OpName: OP_JOIN, GID: args.GID, Servers: args.Servers}\n\tvar err error\n\tif err = sm.TryDecide(op); err == nil {\n\t\tsm.join(&op)\n\t}\n\treturn err\n\n}\n\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) Leave(args *LeaveArgs, reply *LeaveReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\tsm.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer sm.mu.Unlock()\n\top := Op{OpName: OP_LEAVE, GID: args.GID}\n\tvar err error\n\tif err = sm.TryDecide(op); err == nil {\n\t\tsm.leave(&op)\n\t}\n\treturn err\n}\n\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) Move(args *MoveArgs, reply *MoveReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\tsm.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer sm.mu.Unlock()\n\top := Op{OpName: OP_MOVE, GID: args.GID, Shard: args.Shard}\n\tvar err error\n\tif err = sm.TryDecide(op); err == nil {\n\t\tsm.move(&op)\n\t}\n\treturn err\n}\n\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) Query(args *QueryArgs, reply *QueryReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\tsm.mu.Lock()\n\tdefer sm.mu.Unlock()\n\top := Op{OpName: OP_QUERY, Num: args.Num}\n\tvar err error\n\tif err = sm.TryDecide(op); err == nil {\n\t\treply.Config = sm.query(&op).(Config)\n\t}\n\treturn err\n}\n\n// please don't change these two functions.\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) Kill() {\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&sm.dead, 1)\n\tsm.l.Close()\n\tsm.px.Kill()\n}\n\n// call this to find out if the server is dead.\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) isdead() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&sm.dead) != 0\n}\n\n// please do not change these two functions.\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) setunreliable(what bool) {\n\tif what {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&sm.unreliable, 1)\n\t} else {\n\t\tatomic.StoreInt32(&sm.unreliable, 0)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc (sm *ShardMaster) isunreliable() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&sm.unreliable) != 0\n}\n\n//\n// servers[] contains the ports of the set of\n// servers that will cooperate via Paxos to\n// form the fault-tolerant shardmaster service.\n// me is the index of the current server in servers[].\n//\nfunc StartServer(servers []string, me int) *ShardMaster {\n\tsm := new(ShardMaster)\n\tsm.me = me\n\n\tsm.configs = make([]Config, 1)\n\tsm.configs[0].Num = 0\n\tfor i := 0; i < NShards; i++ {\n\t\tsm.configs[0].Shards[i] = 0\n\t}\n\tsm.configs[0].Groups = map[int64][]string{}\n\tsm.currGroupShardsMap = make(map[int64][]int)\n\tsm.assigned = false\n\tsm.seq = 0\n\n\trpcs := rpc.NewServer()\n\n\tgob.Register(Op{})\n\trpcs.Register(sm)\n\tsm.px = paxos.Make(servers, me, rpcs)\n\n\tos.Remove(servers[me])\n\tl, e := net.Listen(\"unix\", servers[me])\n\tif e != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"listen error: \", e)\n\t}\n\tsm.l = l\n\n\t// please do not change any of the following code,\n\t// or do anything to subvert it.\n\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor sm.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\tconn, err := sm.l.Accept()\n\t\t\tif err == nil && sm.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tif sm.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 100 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// discard the request.\n\t\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t\t} else if sm.isunreliable() && (rand.Int63()%1000) < 200 {\n\t\t\t\t\t// process the request but force discard of reply.\n\t\t\t\t\tc1 := conn.(*net.UnixConn)\n\t\t\t\t\tf, _ := c1.File()\n\t\t\t\t\terr := syscall.Shutdown(int(f.Fd()), syscall.SHUT_WR)\n\t\t\t\t\tif err != nil {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"shutdown: %v\\n\", err)\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else if err == nil {\n\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif err != nil && sm.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"ShardMaster(%v) accept: %v\\n\", me, err.Error())\n\t\t\t\tsm.Kill()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\treturn sm\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/shardmaster/test_test.go",
    "content": "package shardmaster\n\nimport (\n\t\"sync\"\n\t\"testing\"\n)\n\n// import \"time\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\nfunc check(t *testing.T, groups []int, ck *Clerk) {\n\tc := ck.Query(-1)\n\tif len(c.Groups) != len(groups) {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wanted %v groups, got %v\", len(groups), len(c.Groups))\n\t}\n\n\t// are the groups as expected?\n\tfor _, g := range groups {\n\t\t_, ok := c.Groups[g]\n\t\tif ok != true {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"missing group %v\", g)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// any un-allocated shards?\n\tif len(groups) > 0 {\n\t\tfor s, g := range c.Shards {\n\t\t\t_, ok := c.Groups[g]\n\t\t\tif ok == false {\n\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"shard %v -> invalid group %v\", s, g)\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\t// more or less balanced sharding?\n\tcounts := map[int]int{}\n\tfor _, g := range c.Shards {\n\t\tcounts[g] += 1\n\t}\n\tmin := 257\n\tmax := 0\n\tfor g, _ := range c.Groups {\n\t\tif counts[g] > max {\n\t\t\tmax = counts[g]\n\t\t}\n\t\tif counts[g] < min {\n\t\t\tmin = counts[g]\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tif max > min+1 {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"max %v too much larger than min %v\", max, min)\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc check_same_config(t *testing.T, c1 Config, c2 Config) {\n\tif c1.Num != c2.Num {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Num wrong\")\n\t}\n\tif c1.Shards != c2.Shards {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Shards wrong\")\n\t}\n\tif len(c1.Groups) != len(c2.Groups) {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"number of Groups is wrong\")\n\t}\n\tfor gid, sa := range c1.Groups {\n\t\tsa1, ok := c2.Groups[gid]\n\t\tif ok == false || len(sa1) != len(sa) {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"len(Groups) wrong\")\n\t\t}\n\t\tif ok && len(sa1) == len(sa) {\n\t\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(sa); j++ {\n\t\t\t\tif sa[j] != sa1[j] {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Groups wrong\")\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc TestBasic(t *testing.T) {\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, nservers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Basic leave/join ...\\n\")\n\n\tcfa := make([]Config, 6)\n\tcfa[0] = ck.Query(-1)\n\n\tcheck(t, []int{}, ck)\n\n\tvar gid1 int = 1\n\tck.Join(map[int][]string{gid1: []string{\"x\", \"y\", \"z\"}})\n\tcheck(t, []int{gid1}, ck)\n\tcfa[1] = ck.Query(-1)\n\n\tvar gid2 int = 2\n\tck.Join(map[int][]string{gid2: []string{\"a\", \"b\", \"c\"}})\n\tcheck(t, []int{gid1, gid2}, ck)\n\tcfa[2] = ck.Query(-1)\n\n\tcfx := ck.Query(-1)\n\tsa1 := cfx.Groups[gid1]\n\tif len(sa1) != 3 || sa1[0] != \"x\" || sa1[1] != \"y\" || sa1[2] != \"z\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong servers for gid %v: %v\\n\", gid1, sa1)\n\t}\n\tsa2 := cfx.Groups[gid2]\n\tif len(sa2) != 3 || sa2[0] != \"a\" || sa2[1] != \"b\" || sa2[2] != \"c\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong servers for gid %v: %v\\n\", gid2, sa2)\n\t}\n\n\tck.Leave([]int{gid1})\n\tcheck(t, []int{gid2}, ck)\n\tcfa[4] = ck.Query(-1)\n\n\tck.Leave([]int{gid2})\n\tcfa[5] = ck.Query(-1)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Historical queries ...\\n\")\n\n\tfor s := 0; s < nservers; s++ {\n\t\tcfg.ShutdownServer(s)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < len(cfa); i++ {\n\t\t\tc := ck.Query(cfa[i].Num)\n\t\t\tcheck_same_config(t, c, cfa[i])\n\t\t}\n\t\tcfg.StartServer(s)\n\t\tcfg.ConnectAll()\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Move ...\\n\")\n\t{\n\t\tvar gid3 int = 503\n\t\tck.Join(map[int][]string{gid3: []string{\"3a\", \"3b\", \"3c\"}})\n\t\tvar gid4 int = 504\n\t\tck.Join(map[int][]string{gid4: []string{\"4a\", \"4b\", \"4c\"}})\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < NShards; i++ {\n\t\t\tcf := ck.Query(-1)\n\t\t\tif i < NShards/2 {\n\t\t\t\tck.Move(i, gid3)\n\t\t\t\tif cf.Shards[i] != gid3 {\n\t\t\t\t\tcf1 := ck.Query(-1)\n\t\t\t\t\tif cf1.Num <= cf.Num {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Move should increase Config.Num\")\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tck.Move(i, gid4)\n\t\t\t\tif cf.Shards[i] != gid4 {\n\t\t\t\t\tcf1 := ck.Query(-1)\n\t\t\t\t\tif cf1.Num <= cf.Num {\n\t\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"Move should increase Config.Num\")\n\t\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tcf2 := ck.Query(-1)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < NShards; i++ {\n\t\t\tif i < NShards/2 {\n\t\t\t\tif cf2.Shards[i] != gid3 {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"expected shard %v on gid %v actually %v\",\n\t\t\t\t\t\ti, gid3, cf2.Shards[i])\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tif cf2.Shards[i] != gid4 {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"expected shard %v on gid %v actually %v\",\n\t\t\t\t\t\ti, gid4, cf2.Shards[i])\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tck.Leave([]int{gid3})\n\t\tck.Leave([]int{gid4})\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent leave/join ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst npara = 10\n\tvar cka [npara]*Clerk\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(cka); i++ {\n\t\tcka[i] = cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\t}\n\tgids := make([]int, npara)\n\tch := make(chan bool)\n\tfor xi := 0; xi < npara; xi++ {\n\t\tgids[xi] = int((xi * 10) + 100)\n\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\tdefer func() { ch <- true }()\n\t\t\tvar gid int = gids[i]\n\t\t\tvar sid1 = fmt.Sprintf(\"s%da\", gid)\n\t\t\tvar sid2 = fmt.Sprintf(\"s%db\", gid)\n\t\t\tcka[i].Join(map[int][]string{gid + 1000: []string{sid1}})\n\t\t\tcka[i].Join(map[int][]string{gid: []string{sid2}})\n\t\t\tcka[i].Leave([]int{gid + 1000})\n\t\t}(xi)\n\t}\n\tfor i := 0; i < npara; i++ {\n\t\t<-ch\n\t}\n\tcheck(t, gids, ck)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Minimal transfers after joins ...\\n\")\n\n\tc1 := ck.Query(-1)\n\tfor i := 0; i < 5; i++ {\n\t\tvar gid = int(npara + 1 + i)\n\t\tck.Join(map[int][]string{gid: []string{\n\t\t\tfmt.Sprintf(\"%da\", gid),\n\t\t\tfmt.Sprintf(\"%db\", gid),\n\t\t\tfmt.Sprintf(\"%db\", gid)}})\n\t}\n\tc2 := ck.Query(-1)\n\tfor i := int(1); i <= npara; i++ {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(c1.Shards); j++ {\n\t\t\tif c2.Shards[j] == i {\n\t\t\t\tif c1.Shards[j] != i {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"non-minimal transfer after Join()s\")\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Minimal transfers after leaves ...\\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < 5; i++ {\n\t\tck.Leave([]int{int(npara + 1 + i)})\n\t}\n\tc3 := ck.Query(-1)\n\tfor i := int(1); i <= npara; i++ {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(c1.Shards); j++ {\n\t\t\tif c2.Shards[j] == i {\n\t\t\t\tif c3.Shards[j] != i {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"non-minimal transfer after Leave()s\")\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n\nfunc TestMulti(t *testing.T) {\n\tconst nservers = 3\n\tcfg := make_config(t, nservers, false)\n\tdefer cfg.cleanup()\n\n\tck := cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Multi-group join/leave ...\\n\")\n\n\tcfa := make([]Config, 6)\n\tcfa[0] = ck.Query(-1)\n\n\tcheck(t, []int{}, ck)\n\n\tvar gid1 int = 1\n\tvar gid2 int = 2\n\tck.Join(map[int][]string{\n\t\tgid1: []string{\"x\", \"y\", \"z\"},\n\t\tgid2: []string{\"a\", \"b\", \"c\"},\n\t})\n\tcheck(t, []int{gid1, gid2}, ck)\n\tcfa[1] = ck.Query(-1)\n\n\tvar gid3 int = 3\n\tck.Join(map[int][]string{gid3: []string{\"j\", \"k\", \"l\"}})\n\tcheck(t, []int{gid1, gid2, gid3}, ck)\n\tcfa[2] = ck.Query(-1)\n\n\tcfx := ck.Query(-1)\n\tsa1 := cfx.Groups[gid1]\n\tif len(sa1) != 3 || sa1[0] != \"x\" || sa1[1] != \"y\" || sa1[2] != \"z\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong servers for gid %v: %v\\n\", gid1, sa1)\n\t}\n\tsa2 := cfx.Groups[gid2]\n\tif len(sa2) != 3 || sa2[0] != \"a\" || sa2[1] != \"b\" || sa2[2] != \"c\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong servers for gid %v: %v\\n\", gid2, sa2)\n\t}\n\tsa3 := cfx.Groups[gid3]\n\tif len(sa3) != 3 || sa3[0] != \"j\" || sa3[1] != \"k\" || sa3[2] != \"l\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong servers for gid %v: %v\\n\", gid3, sa3)\n\t}\n\n\tck.Leave([]int{gid1, gid3})\n\tcheck(t, []int{gid2}, ck)\n\tcfa[3] = ck.Query(-1)\n\n\tcfx = ck.Query(-1)\n\tsa2 = cfx.Groups[gid2]\n\tif len(sa2) != 3 || sa2[0] != \"a\" || sa2[1] != \"b\" || sa2[2] != \"c\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong servers for gid %v: %v\\n\", gid2, sa2)\n\t}\n\n\tck.Leave([]int{gid2})\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Concurrent multi leave/join ...\\n\")\n\n\tconst npara = 10\n\tvar cka [npara]*Clerk\n\tfor i := 0; i < len(cka); i++ {\n\t\tcka[i] = cfg.makeClient(cfg.All())\n\t}\n\tgids := make([]int, npara)\n\tvar wg sync.WaitGroup\n\tfor xi := 0; xi < npara; xi++ {\n\t\twg.Add(1)\n\t\tgids[xi] = int(xi + 1000)\n\t\tgo func(i int) {\n\t\t\tdefer wg.Done()\n\t\t\tvar gid int = gids[i]\n\t\t\tcka[i].Join(map[int][]string{\n\t\t\t\tgid: []string{\n\t\t\t\t\tfmt.Sprintf(\"%da\", gid),\n\t\t\t\t\tfmt.Sprintf(\"%db\", gid),\n\t\t\t\t\tfmt.Sprintf(\"%dc\", gid)},\n\t\t\t\tgid + 1000: []string{fmt.Sprintf(\"%da\", gid+1000)},\n\t\t\t\tgid + 2000: []string{fmt.Sprintf(\"%da\", gid+2000)},\n\t\t\t})\n\t\t\tcka[i].Leave([]int{gid + 1000, gid + 2000})\n\t\t}(xi)\n\t}\n\twg.Wait()\n\tcheck(t, gids, ck)\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Minimal transfers after multijoins ...\\n\")\n\n\tc1 := ck.Query(-1)\n\tm := make(map[int][]string)\n\tfor i := 0; i < 5; i++ {\n\t\tvar gid = npara + 1 + i\n\t\tm[gid] = []string{fmt.Sprintf(\"%da\", gid), fmt.Sprintf(\"%db\", gid)}\n\t}\n\tck.Join(m)\n\tc2 := ck.Query(-1)\n\tfor i := int(1); i <= npara; i++ {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(c1.Shards); j++ {\n\t\t\tif c2.Shards[j] == i {\n\t\t\t\tif c1.Shards[j] != i {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"non-minimal transfer after Join()s\")\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Minimal transfers after multileaves ...\\n\")\n\n\tvar l []int\n\tfor i := 0; i < 5; i++ {\n\t\tl = append(l, npara+1+i)\n\t}\n\tck.Leave(l)\n\tc3 := ck.Query(-1)\n\tfor i := int(1); i <= npara; i++ {\n\t\tfor j := 0; j < len(c1.Shards); j++ {\n\t\t\tif c2.Shards[j] == i {\n\t\t\t\tif c3.Shards[j] != i {\n\t\t\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"non-minimal transfer after Leave()s\")\n\t\t\t\t}\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/viewservice/client.go",
    "content": "package viewservice\n\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"fmt\"\n\n//\n// the viewservice Clerk lives in the client\n// and maintains a little state.\n//\ntype Clerk struct {\n\tme     string // client's name (host:port)\n\tserver string // viewservice's host:port\n}\n\nfunc MakeClerk(me string, server string) *Clerk {\n\tck := new(Clerk)\n\tck.me = me\n\tck.server = server\n\treturn ck\n}\n\n//\n// call() sends an RPC to the rpcname handler on server srv\n// with arguments args, waits for the reply, and leaves the\n// reply in reply. the reply argument should be a pointer\n// to a reply structure.\n//\n// the return value is true if the server responded, and false\n// if call() was not able to contact the server. in particular,\n// the reply's contents are only valid if call() returned true.\n//\n// you should assume that call() will return an\n// error after a while if the server is dead.\n// don't provide your own time-out mechanism.\n//\n// please use call() to send all RPCs, in client.go and server.go.\n// please don't change this function.\n//\nfunc call(srv string, rpcname string,\n\targs interface{}, reply interface{}) bool {\n\tc, errx := rpc.Dial(\"unix\", srv)\n\tif errx != nil {\n\t\treturn false\n\t}\n\tdefer c.Close()\n\n\terr := c.Call(rpcname, args, reply)\n\tif err == nil {\n\t\treturn true\n\t}\n\n\tfmt.Println(err)\n\treturn false\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Ping(viewnum uint) (View, error) {\n\t// prepare the arguments.\n\targs := &PingArgs{}\n\targs.Me = ck.me\n\targs.Viewnum = viewnum\n\tvar reply PingReply\n\n\t// send an RPC request, wait for the reply.\n\tok := call(ck.server, \"ViewServer.Ping\", args, &reply)\n\tif ok == false {\n\t\treturn View{}, fmt.Errorf(\"Ping(%v) failed\", viewnum)\n\t}\n\n\treturn reply.View, nil\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Get() (View, bool) {\n\targs := &GetArgs{}\n\tvar reply GetReply\n\tok := call(ck.server, \"ViewServer.Get\", args, &reply)\n\tif ok == false {\n\t\treturn View{}, false\n\t}\n\treturn reply.View, true\n}\n\nfunc (ck *Clerk) Primary() string {\n\tv, ok := ck.Get()\n\tif ok {\n\t\treturn v.Primary\n\t}\n\treturn \"\"\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/viewservice/common.go",
    "content": "package viewservice\n\nimport \"time\"\n\n//\n// This is a non-replicated view service for a simple\n// primary/backup system.\n//\n// The view service goes through a sequence of numbered\n// views, each with a primary and (if possible) a backup.\n// A view consists of a view number and the host:port of\n// the view's primary and backup p/b servers.\n//\n// The primary in a view is always either the primary\n// or the backup of the previous view (in order to ensure\n// that the p/b service's state is preserved).\n//\n// Each p/b server should send a Ping RPC once per PingInterval.\n// The view server replies with a description of the current\n// view. The Pings let the view server know that the p/b\n// server is still alive; inform the p/b server of the current\n// view; and inform the view server of the most recent view\n// that the p/b server knows about.\n//\n// The view server proceeds to a new view when either it hasn't\n// received a ping from the primary or backup for a while, or\n// if there was no backup and a new server starts Pinging.\n//\n// The view server will not proceed to a new view until\n// the primary from the current view acknowledges\n// that it is operating in the current view. This helps\n// ensure that there's at most one p/b primary operating at\n// a time.\n//\n\ntype View struct {\n\tViewnum uint\n\tPrimary string\n\tBackup  string\n}\n\n// clients should send a Ping RPC this often,\n// to tell the viewservice that the client is alive.\nconst PingInterval = time.Millisecond * 100\n\n// the viewserver will declare a client dead if it misses\n// this many Ping RPCs in a row.\nconst DeadPings = 5\n\n//\n// Ping(): called by a primary/backup server to tell the\n// view service it is alive, to indicate whether p/b server\n// has seen the latest view, and for p/b server to learn\n// the latest view.\n//\n// If Viewnum is zero, the caller is signalling that it is\n// alive and could become backup if needed.\n//\n\ntype PingArgs struct {\n\tMe      string // \"host:port\"\n\tViewnum uint   // caller's notion of current view #\n}\n\ntype PingReply struct {\n\tView View\n}\n\n//\n// Get(): fetch the current view, without volunteering\n// to be a server. mostly for clients of the p/b service,\n// and for testing.\n//\n\ntype GetArgs struct {\n}\n\ntype GetReply struct {\n\tView View\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/viewservice/server.go",
    "content": "package viewservice\n\nimport \"net\"\nimport \"net/rpc\"\nimport \"log\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"sync\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"sync/atomic\"\n\ntype ViewServer struct {\n\tmu       sync.Mutex\n\tl        net.Listener\n\tdead     int32\n\trpccount int32\n\tme       string\n\n\tisPrimaryAck    bool\n\tcurrView        View\n\tnextView        View\n\tprimaryMissTick int\n\tbackupMissTick  int\n}\n\n//\n// server Ping RPC handler.\n//\nfunc (vs *ViewServer) Ping(args *PingArgs, reply *PingReply) error {\n\n\t// Your code here.\n\tvs.mu.Lock()\n\tif args.Me == vs.currView.Primary {\n\t\t// ??? Restarted primary treated as dead. !!! The ram data could be lost\n\t\tif args.Viewnum == 0 {\n\t\t\tif vs.currView.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\t\tvs.primaryMissTick = vs.backupMissTick\n\t\t\t\tvs.backupMissTick = 0\n\t\t\t\tvs.nextView.Primary = vs.nextView.Backup\n\t\t\t\tvs.nextView.Backup = \"\"\n\t\t\t\tvs.nextView.Viewnum = vs.currView.Viewnum + 1\n\t\t\t} else {\n\t\t\t\tvs.primaryMissTick = 0\n\t\t\t\tvs.backupMissTick = 0\n\t\t\t\tvs.nextView.Primary = \"\"\n\t\t\t\tvs.nextView.Backup = \"\"\n\t\t\t\tvs.nextView.Viewnum = vs.currView.Viewnum + 1\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t\tvs.primaryMissTick = 0\n\t\tif args.Viewnum == vs.currView.Viewnum {\n\t\t\tvs.isPrimaryAck = true\n\t\t}\n\t} else if args.Me == vs.currView.Backup {\n\t\tvs.backupMissTick = 0\n\t} else {\n\t\t// if vs.currView.Primary == \"\", only be assigned when vs.currView.Viewnum == 0\n\t\tif vs.currView.Primary == \"\" && vs.currView.Viewnum == 0 {\n\t\t\tvs.currView.Primary = args.Me\n\t\t\tvs.currView.Viewnum++\n\t\t\tvs.nextView = vs.currView\n\t\t} else if vs.currView.Backup == \"\" && vs.nextView.Backup == \"\" {\n\t\t\t// if vs.nextView.Backup == \"\", then vs.currView.Backup == \"\" definitely\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Backup = args.Me\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Viewnum = vs.currView.Viewnum + 1\n\t\t} else { // the third alternative\n\t\t\t// nothing\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tif vs.isPrimaryAck && vs.currView.Viewnum < vs.nextView.Viewnum {\n\t\tvs.currView = vs.nextView\n\t\tvs.isPrimaryAck = false\n\t}\n\treply.View = vs.currView\n\tvs.mu.Unlock()\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n//\n// server Get() RPC handler.\n//\nfunc (vs *ViewServer) Get(args *GetArgs, reply *GetReply) error {\n\t// Your code here.\n\treply.View = vs.currView\n\treturn nil\n}\n\n//\n// tick() is called once per PingInterval; it should notice\n// if servers have died or recovered, and change the view\n// accordingly.\n//\nfunc (vs *ViewServer) tick() {\n\n\t// Your code here.\n\tvs.mu.Lock()\n\tif vs.currView.Primary != \"\" {\n\t\tvs.primaryMissTick++\n\t}\n\tif vs.currView.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\tvs.backupMissTick++\n\t}\n\tif vs.primaryMissTick == DeadPings {\n\t\tvs.primaryMissTick = 0\n\t\tif vs.currView.Backup != \"\" && vs.backupMissTick != DeadPings {\n\t\t\tvs.primaryMissTick = vs.backupMissTick\n\t\t\tvs.backupMissTick = 0\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Primary = vs.nextView.Backup\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Backup = \"\"\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Viewnum = vs.currView.Viewnum + 1\n\t\t} else if vs.currView.Backup != \"\" && vs.backupMissTick == DeadPings {\n\t\t\tvs.primaryMissTick = 0\n\t\t\tvs.backupMissTick = 0\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Primary = \"\"\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Backup = \"\"\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Viewnum = vs.currView.Viewnum + 1\n\t\t} else { // vs.currView.Backup == \"\"\n\t\t\t// primary in view i must have been primary or backup in view i-1\n\t\t\t// so, the nextView.Backup is a invalid candidate of primary before being promoted to currView.Backup.\n\t\t\tvs.primaryMissTick = 0\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Primary = \"\"\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Backup = \"\"\n\t\t\tvs.nextView.Viewnum = vs.currView.Viewnum + 1\n\t\t}\n\t} else if vs.currView.Backup != \"\" && vs.backupMissTick == DeadPings {\n\t\tvs.backupMissTick = 0\n\t\tvs.nextView.Backup = \"\"\n\t\tvs.nextView.Viewnum = vs.currView.Viewnum + 1\n\t} else {\n\t\t// nothing\n\t}\n\n\t// ?, modify in ticking? yes!\n\tif vs.isPrimaryAck && vs.currView.Viewnum < vs.nextView.Viewnum {\n\t\tvs.currView = vs.nextView\n\t\tvs.isPrimaryAck = false\n\t}\n\tvs.mu.Unlock()\n\n}\n\n//\n// tell the server to shut itself down.\n// for testing.\n// please don't change these two functions.\n//\nfunc (vs *ViewServer) Kill() {\n\tatomic.StoreInt32(&vs.dead, 1)\n\tvs.l.Close()\n}\n\n//\n// has this server been asked to shut down?\n//\nfunc (vs *ViewServer) isdead() bool {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&vs.dead) != 0\n}\n\n// please don't change this function.\nfunc (vs *ViewServer) GetRPCCount() int32 {\n\treturn atomic.LoadInt32(&vs.rpccount)\n}\n\nfunc StartServer(me string) *ViewServer {\n\tvs := new(ViewServer)\n\tvs.me = me\n\t// Your vs.* initializations here.\n\tvs.currView = View{0, \"\", \"\"}\n\tvs.nextView = View{0, \"\", \"\"}\n\tvs.primaryMissTick = 0\n\tvs.backupMissTick = 0\n\tvs.isPrimaryAck = true\n\n\t// tell net/rpc about our RPC server and handlers.\n\trpcs := rpc.NewServer()\n\trpcs.Register(vs)\n\n\t// prepare to receive connections from clients.\n\t// change \"unix\" to \"tcp\" to use over a network.\n\tos.Remove(vs.me) // only needed for \"unix\"\n\tl, e := net.Listen(\"unix\", vs.me)\n\tif e != nil {\n\t\tlog.Fatal(\"listen error: \", e)\n\t}\n\tvs.l = l\n\n\t// please don't change any of the following code,\n\t// or do anything to subvert it.\n\n\t// create a thread to accept RPC connections from clients.\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor vs.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\tconn, err := vs.l.Accept()\n\t\t\tif err == nil && vs.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tatomic.AddInt32(&vs.rpccount, 1)\n\t\t\t\tgo rpcs.ServeConn(conn)\n\t\t\t} else if err == nil {\n\t\t\t\tconn.Close()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tif err != nil && vs.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\t\tfmt.Printf(\"ViewServer(%v) accept: %v\\n\", me, err.Error())\n\t\t\t\tvs.Kill()\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\t// create a thread to call tick() periodically.\n\tgo func() {\n\t\tfor vs.isdead() == false {\n\t\t\tvs.tick()\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t}()\n\n\treturn vs\n}\n"
  },
  {
    "path": "src/viewservice/test.go",
    "content": "package viewservice\n\nimport \"testing\"\nimport \"runtime\"\nimport \"time\"\nimport \"fmt\"\nimport \"os\"\nimport \"strconv\"\n\n\nfunc check(t *testing.T, ck *Clerk, p string, b string, n uint) {\n\tview, _ := ck.Get()\n\tif view.Primary != p {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wanted primary %v, got %v\", p, view.Primary)\n\t}\n\tif view.Backup != b {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wanted backup %v, got %v\", b, view.Backup)\n\t}\n\tif n != 0 && n != view.Viewnum {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wanted viewnum %v, got %v\", n, view.Viewnum)\n\t}\n\tif ck.Primary() != p {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wanted primary %v, got %v\", p, ck.Primary())\n\t}\n}\n\nfunc port(suffix string) string {\n\ts := \"/var/tmp/824-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getuid()) + \"/\"\n\tos.Mkdir(s, 0777)\n\ts += \"viewserver-\"\n\ts += strconv.Itoa(os.Getpid()) + \"-\"\n\ts += suffix\n\treturn s\n}\n\nfunc Test1(t *testing.T) {\n\truntime.GOMAXPROCS(4)\n\n\tvshost := port(\"v\")\n\tvs := StartServer(vshost)\n\n\tck1 := MakeClerk(port(\"1\"), vshost)\n\tck2 := MakeClerk(port(\"2\"), vshost)\n\tck3 := MakeClerk(port(\"3\"), vshost)\n\n\t//\n\n\tif ck1.Primary() != \"\" {\n\t\tt.Fatalf(\"there was a primary too soon\")\n\t}\n\n\t// very first primary\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: First primary ...\\n\")\n\n\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\tview, _ := ck1.Ping(0)\n\t\tif view.Primary == ck1.me {\n\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t}\n\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t}\n\tcheck(t, ck1, ck1.me, \"\", 1)\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// very first backup\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: First backup ...\\n\")\n\n\t{\n\t\tvx, _ := ck1.Get()\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\t\tck1.Ping(1)\n\t\t\tview, _ := ck2.Ping(0)\n\t\t\tif view.Backup == ck2.me {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tcheck(t, ck1, ck1.me, ck2.me, vx.Viewnum+1)\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// primary dies, backup should take over\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Backup takes over if primary fails ...\\n\")\n\n\t{\n\t\tck1.Ping(2)\n\t\tvx, _ := ck2.Ping(2)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\t\tv, _ := ck2.Ping(vx.Viewnum)\n\t\t\tif v.Primary == ck2.me && v.Backup == \"\" {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tcheck(t, ck2, ck2.me, \"\", vx.Viewnum+1)\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// revive ck1, should become backup\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Restarted server becomes backup ...\\n\")\n\n\t{\n\t\tvx, _ := ck2.Get()\n\t\tck2.Ping(vx.Viewnum)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\t\tck1.Ping(0)\n\t\t\tv, _ := ck2.Ping(vx.Viewnum)\n\t\t\tif v.Primary == ck2.me && v.Backup == ck1.me {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tcheck(t, ck2, ck2.me, ck1.me, vx.Viewnum+1)\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// start ck3, kill the primary (ck2), the previous backup (ck1)\n\t// should become the server, and ck3 the backup.\n\t// this should happen in a single view change, without\n\t// any period in which there's no backup.\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Idle third server becomes backup if primary fails ...\\n\")\n\n\t{\n\t\tvx, _ := ck2.Get()\n\t\tck2.Ping(vx.Viewnum)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\t\tck3.Ping(0)\n\t\t\tv, _ := ck1.Ping(vx.Viewnum)\n\t\t\tif v.Primary == ck1.me && v.Backup == ck3.me {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\tvx = v\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tcheck(t, ck1, ck1.me, ck3.me, vx.Viewnum+1)\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// kill and immediately restart the primary -- does viewservice\n\t// conclude primary is down even though it's pinging?\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Restarted primary treated as dead ...\\n\")\n\n\t{\n\t\tvx, _ := ck1.Get()\n\t\tck1.Ping(vx.Viewnum)\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\t\tck1.Ping(0)\n\t\t\tck3.Ping(vx.Viewnum)\n\t\t\tv, _ := ck3.Get()\n\t\t\tif v.Primary != ck1.me {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tvy, _ := ck3.Get()\n\t\tif vy.Primary != ck3.me {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"expected primary=%v, got %v\\n\", ck3.me, vy.Primary)\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Dead backup is removed from view ...\\n\")\n\n\t// set up a view with just 3 as primary,\n\t// to prepare for the next test.\n\t{\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*3; i++ {\n\t\t\tvx, _ := ck3.Get()\n\t\t\tck3.Ping(vx.Viewnum)\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tv, _ := ck3.Get()\n\t\tif v.Primary != ck3.me || v.Backup != \"\" {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"wrong primary or backup\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// does viewserver wait for ack of previous view before\n\t// starting the next one?\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Viewserver waits for primary to ack view ...\\n\")\n\n\t{\n\t\t// set up p=ck3 b=ck1, but\n\t\t// but do not ack\n\t\tvx, _ := ck1.Get()\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*3; i++ {\n\t\t\tck1.Ping(0)\n\t\t\tck3.Ping(vx.Viewnum)\n\t\t\tv, _ := ck1.Get()\n\t\t\tif v.Viewnum > vx.Viewnum {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tcheck(t, ck1, ck3.me, ck1.me, vx.Viewnum+1)\n\t\tvy, _ := ck1.Get()\n\t\t// ck3 is the primary, but it never acked.\n\t\t// let ck3 die. check that ck1 is not promoted.\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*3; i++ {\n\t\t\tv, _ := ck1.Ping(vy.Viewnum)\n\t\t\tif v.Viewnum > vy.Viewnum {\n\t\t\t\tbreak\n\t\t\t}\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tcheck(t, ck2, ck3.me, ck1.me, vy.Viewnum)\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\t// if old servers die, check that a new (uninitialized) server\n\t// cannot take over.\n\tfmt.Printf(\"Test: Uninitialized server can't become primary ...\\n\")\n\n\t{\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\t\tv, _ := ck1.Get()\n\t\t\tck1.Ping(v.Viewnum)\n\t\t\tck2.Ping(0)\n\t\t\tck3.Ping(v.Viewnum)\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tfor i := 0; i < DeadPings*2; i++ {\n\t\t\tck2.Ping(0)\n\t\t\ttime.Sleep(PingInterval)\n\t\t}\n\t\tvz, _ := ck2.Get()\n\t\tif vz.Primary == ck2.me {\n\t\t\tt.Fatalf(\"uninitialized backup promoted to primary\")\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\tfmt.Printf(\"  ... Passed\\n\")\n\n\tvs.Kill()\n}\n"
  }
]