"Auntie, I know now it was mean, but I didn't mean to be mean.
I didn't, honest.
And besides, I didn't come over here to laugh at you that night."
"What did you come for, then?"
"It was to tell you not to be uneasy about us, because we hadn't got drownded."
"Tom, Tom, I would be the thankfullest soul in this world if I could believe you ever had as good a thought as that, but you know you never did--and I know it, Tom."
"Indeed and 'deed I did, auntie--I wish I may never stir if I didn't."
"Oh, Tom, don't lie--don't do it.
It only makes things a hundred times worse." "It ain't a lie, auntie; it's the truth.
I wanted to keep you from grieving--that was all that made me come."
"I'd give the whole world to believe that--it would cover up a power of sins, Tom.
I'd 'most be glad you'd run off and acted so bad.
But it ain't reasonable; because, why didn't you tell me, child?"
"Why, you see, when you got to talking about the funeral, I just got all full of the idea of our coming and hiding in the church, and I couldn't somehow bear to spoil it.
So I just put the bark back in my pocket and kept mum."
"What bark?"
"The bark I had wrote on to tell you we'd gone pirating.
I wish, now, you'd waked up when I kissed you--I do, honest."
The hard lines in his aunt's face relaxed and a sudden tenderness dawned in her eyes.
"DID you kiss me, Tom?"
"Why, yes, I did."
"Are you sure you did, Tom?"
"Why, yes, I did, auntie--certain sure."
"What did you kiss me for, Tom?"
"Because I loved you so, and you laid there moaning and I was so sorry."
The words sounded like truth.
The old lady could not hide a tremor in her voice when she said:
"Kiss me again, Tom!--and be off with you to school, now, and don't bother me any more."
The moment he was gone, she ran to a closet and got out the ruin of a jacket which Tom had gone pirating in.
Then she stopped, with it in her hand, and said to herself:
"No, I don't dare.
Poor boy, I reckon he's lied about it--but it's a blessed, blessed lie, there's such a comfort come from it.
I hope the Lord--I KNOW the Lord will forgive him, because it was such goodheartedness in him to tell it.
But I don't want to find out it's a lie.
I won't look."
She put the jacket away, and stood by musing a minute.
Twice she put out her hand to take the garment again, and twice she refrained.
Once more she ventured, and this time she fortified herself with the thought:
"It's a good lie--it's a good lie--I won't let it grieve me." So she sought the jacket pocket.
A moment later she was reading Tom's piece of bark through flowing tears and saying:
"I could forgive the boy, now, if he'd committed a million sins!"
CHAPTER XX
THERE was something about Aunt Polly's manner, when she kissed Tom, that swept away his low spirits and made him lighthearted and happy again.
He started to school and had the luck of coming upon Becky Thatcher at the head of Meadow Lane.
His mood always determined his manner.
Without a moment's hesitation he ran to her and said:
"I acted mighty mean to-day, Becky, and I'm so sorry.
I won't ever, ever do that way again, as long as ever I live--please make up, won't you?"
The girl stopped and looked him scornfully in the face:
"I'll thank you to keep yourself TO yourself, Mr. Thomas Sawyer.