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CHAPTER XXXII
TUESDAY afternoon came, and waned to
the twilight. The village of St. Peters-
burg still mourned. The lost children
had not been found. Public prayers
had been offered up for them, and many
and many a private prayer that had the
petitioner's whole heart in it; but still no good news
came from the cave. The majority of the searchers
had given up the quest and gone back to their daily
avocations, saying that it was plain the children could
never be found. Mrs. Thatcher was very ill, and a
great part of the time delirious. People said it was
heartbreaking to hear her call her child, and raise her
head and listen a whole minute at a time, then lay it
wearily down again with a moan. Aunt Polly had
drooped into a settled melancholy, and her gray hair
had grown almost white. The village went to its rest
on Tuesday night, sad and forlorn.
Away in the middle of the night a wild peal burst
from the village bells, and in a moment the streets were
swarming with frantic half-clad people, who shouted,
"Turn out! turn out! they're found! they're found!"
Tin pans and horns were added to the din, the popula-
tion massed itself and moved toward the river, met
the children coming in an open carriage drawn by
shouting citizens, thronged around it, joined its home-
ward march, and swept magnificently up the main
street roaring huzzah after huzzah!
The village was illuminated; nobody went to bed
again; it was the greatest night the little town had
ever seen. During the first half-hour a procession of
villagers filed through Judge Thatcher's house, seized
the saved ones and kissed them, squeezed Mrs. Thatch-
er's hand, tried to speak but couldn't -- and drifted out
raining tears all over the place.
Aunt Polly's happiness was complete, and Mrs.
Thatcher's nearly so. It would be complete, how-
ever, as soon as the messenger dispatched with the
great news to the cave should get the word to her
husband. Tom lay upon a sofa with an eager audi-
tory about him and told the history of the wonderful
adventure, putting in many striking additions to adorn
it withal; and closed with a description of how he
left Becky and went on an exploring expedition; how
he followed two avenues as far as his kite-line would
reach; how he followed a third to the fullest stretch
of the kite-line, and was about to turn back when he
glimpsed a far-off speck that looked like daylight;
dropped the line and groped toward it, pushed his
head and shoulders through a small hole, and saw the
broad Mississippi rolling by! And if it had only hap-
pened to be night he would not have seen that speck
of daylight and would not have explored that passage
any more! He told how he went back for Becky and
broke the good news and she told him not to fret her
with such stuff, for she was tired, and knew she was
going to die, and wanted to. He described how he
labored with her and convinced her; and how she
almost died for joy when she had groped to where she
actually saw the blue speck of daylight; how he pushed
his way out at the hole and then helped her out; how
they sat there and cried for gladness; how some men
came along in a skiff and Tom hailed them and told
them their situation and their famished condition; how
the men didn't believe the wild tale at first, "because,"
said they, "you are five miles down the river below the
valley the cave is in" -- then took them aboard, rowed to
a house, gave them supper, made them rest till two or
three hours after dark and then brought them home.
Before day-dawn, Judge Thatcher and the handful
of searchers with him were tracked out, in the cave, by
the twine clews they had strung behind them, and
informed of the great news.
Three days and nights of toil and hunger in the
cave were not to be shaken off at once, as Tom and
Becky soon discovered. They were bedridden all of
Wednesday and Thursday, and seemed to grow more
and more tired and worn, all the time. Tom got
about, a little, on Thursday, was down-town Friday,
and nearly as whole as ever Saturday; but Becky
did not leave her room until Sunday, and then she
looked as if she had passed through a wasting illness.
Tom learned of Huck's sickness and went to see
him on Friday, but could not be admitted to the
bedroom; neither could he on Saturday or Sunday.
He was admitted daily after that, but was warned to
keep still about his adventure and introduce no ex-
citing topic. The Widow Douglas stayed by to see
that he obeyed. At home Tom learned of the Cardiff
Hill event; also that the "ragged man's" body had
eventually been found in the river near the ferry-
landing; he had been drowned while trying to escape,
perhaps.
About a fortnight after Tom's rescue from the
cave, he started off to visit Huck, who had grown
plenty strong enough, now, to hear exciting talk, and
Tom had some that would interest him, he thought.
Judge Thatcher's house was on Tom's way, and he
stopped to see Becky. The Judge and some friends
set Tom to talking, and some one asked him ironically
if he wouldn't like to go to the cave again. Tom said
he thought he wouldn't mind it. The Judge said:
"Well, there are others just like you, Tom, I've not
the least doubt. But we have taken care of that.
Nobody will get lost in that cave any more."
"Why?"
"Because I had its big door sheathed with boiler
iron two weeks ago, and triple-locked -- and I've got
the keys."
Tom turned as white as a sheet.
"What's the matter, boy! Here, run, somebody!
Fetch a glass of water!"
The water was brought and thrown into Tom's
face.
"Ah, now you're all right. What was the matter
with you, Tom?"
"Oh, Judge, Injun Joe's in the cave!"
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