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Mitch opened his eyes and looked at his father for about a minute and saw his pa had come. He was pretty weak now and it was hard for him to speak. But finally he said, "Take my hand pa." And Mr. Miller took it. And then nothin' was said for a while. And then Mitch spoke again "Forgive me, pa." And Mr. Miller, who was tryin' to keep from cryin' so as not to worry Mitch, says, "Oh yes, Mitchie."
His face was yellow I could see blood. I turned sick and went out of the room. Just as I got to the door I heard Mitch say, "Has pa come?" They said, "He's comin', Mitchie, be patient, he's comin'." Then I stood by the door. And pretty soon Mrs. Miller came and the girls and my mother and Myrtle and most every one. It seemed Mr.
Don't you believe this?" Mitch says, "No." "Then you don't believe the Bible. Who have you heard talk these subjects?" "My pa." "What does he do, Mitchie?" "He's a preacher." The revivalist was stunned, and he looked at Mitch and kind of started to get away from him. Then Mitch says: "My pa debated baptism with another preacher last winter and beat him.
Sawyer?" And the boy says, "He's in the back room." Just then a door opened and a man came in, red-faced and plump and friendly. And Mitch's pa says: "Are you Tom Sawyer?" And the man says, "That's me." And Mitch's pa says: "I'm Mr. Miller from Petersburg and this is my boy Mitchie, who wrote to you. And this is Mr. Kirby and his boy."
"Here," he says, "here's the envelope marked with Mitchie's name, you take this, Skeet, because you and Mitchie worked together, and if you want to give me the envelope marked with your name, I guess I'll take it I seem to have to." So that's the way it was done. And he said to pa: "Hard, there never was a better man than you, or a better name or family than yours, or a better boy than Skeet."
Miller said, "If he's at home, we'll see him but he's away a lot." "He lives in St. Louis?" says John. "No," says Mr. Miller, "but not far from there. That's right, ain't it, Mitchie?" Mitch says, "It's not very far, just up the river maybe a hundred miles, at Hannibal." "Are you goin' up thar?" says John. "No," says my pa, "we expect to see him in St. Louis."
Besides I wrote him one and it reached him, because this letter was his answer." "And are these your reasons for believing that Tom Sawyer lives and wrote to you?" "Yes, sir." "Do you ever have dreams, Mitchie?" "Lots." "Didn't you dream about being up in this tree?" "No, sir." "Do you sometimes see dreams when you're not asleep when it's day?" "Sometimes."
But I hope to drop dead this minute, Skeet, and fall into the river and be et by the fish if every word I said ain't as true as the gospel." "I know it," says I. And Mitchie says: "I wanted to tell you that night what was on my mind; but somehow I couldn't." Just then we became aware of voices near us, around a kind of corner.
It don't make no difference if I live to be a thousand years old, I'll never get over it. I'll never love any one else; I'll never feel the same again. And when I went down-stairs and began to carry in the kindlin', ma came into the kitchen. And after a bit she said: 'Mitchie, I want you to do a lot in school this fall and winter.
"I'll get a switch to you, young man," my pa went on. "Mitchie, what makes you do this?" asked Mr. Miller. "It does beat the world. Your mother is worried almost to death." Mitch looked down. I was still because I was scared. Pretty soon everything got jolly again. John fiddled some more. They all told stories, the funniest you ever heard, and everybody laughed.
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