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33
Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 5, Página 1
Around
half-past
ten,
the
small
church's
cracked
bell
began
to
ring.
People
started
to
gather
for
the
morning
sermon.
The
Sunday-school
children
sat
with
their
parents
to
be
watched.
Aunt
Polly
arrived,
and
Tom,
Sid,
and
Mary
sat
with
her.
Tom
was
placed
next
to
the
aisle
to
keep
him
away
from
the
open
window
and
the
tempting
summer
scenes
outside.
The
crowd
walked
up
the
aisles:
the
old
and
needy
postmaster,
who
had
seen
better
days;
the
mayor
and
his
wife—because
they
had
a
mayor
there,
among
other
unnecessary
things;
the
justice
of
the
peace;
the
widow
Douglas,
fair,
smart,
and
forty,
a
generous
soul
with
a
hill
mansion,
the
only
palace
in
town,
known
for
its
hospitality
and
grand
parties;
the
bent
and
venerable
Major
and
Mrs.
Ward;
lawyer
Riverson,
the
new
notable
from
afar;
the
village
belle,
followed
by
a
group
of
young
heart-breakers
in
lawn
dresses
and
ribbons;
all
the
young
clerks
in
town
stood
in
the
vestibule,
admiring
the
girls
until
the
last
one
passed;
and
finally,
the
Model
Boy,
Willie
Mufferson,
who
took
great
care
of
his
mother,
as
if
she
were
fragile.
He
always
brought
his
mother
to
church
and
was
the
pride
of
all
the
matrons.
All
the
boys
disliked
him
because
he
was
too
good
and
often
compared
to
them.
His
white
handkerchief
hung
out
of
his
pocket
on
Sundays—by
accident.
Tom
had
no
handkerchief
and
thought
boys
who
did
were
snobs.
Once
the
congregation
was
fully
assembled,
the
bell
rang
again
to
warn
latecomers.
A
solemn
hush
fell
upon
the
church,
broken
only
by
the
choir's
giggles
and
whispers
in
the
gallery.
The
choir
always
giggled
and
whispered
during
the
service.
I
remember
a
church
choir
that
wasn't
rude,
but
I
can't
recall
where
it
was.
It
was
many
years
ago,
possibly
in
a
foreign
country.
The
minister
announced
the
hymn
and
read
it
with
great
enjoyment,
in
a
style
admired
in
that
area.
His
voice
started
at
a
medium
pitch
and
climbed
until
it
reached
a
high
point,
emphasizing
the
topmost
word
before
dropping
down
like
from
a
springboard:
Shall
I
be
car-ri-ed
to
the
skies,
on
flow’ry
beds
of
ease,
Whilst
others
fight
to
win
the
prize,
and
sail
thro’
blood-y
seas?
He
was
seen
as
a
wonderful
reader.
At
church
gatherings,
he
was
always
asked
to
read
poetry.
When
he
finished,
the
ladies
would
raise
their
hands
and
let
them
fall
into
their
laps,
rolling
their
eyes
and
shaking
their
heads,
as
if
to
say,
"Words
cannot
express
it;
it
is
too
beautiful,
TOO
beautiful
for
this
mortal
earth."
After
the
hymn,
Rev.
Mr.
Sprague
turned
into
a
bulletin-board,
reading
announcements
of
meetings
and
societies,
which
seemed
endless.
This
strange
custom
still
exists
in
America,
even
in
cities,
despite
the
abundance
of
newspapers.
Often,
the
less
reason
there
is
for
a
tradition,
the
harder
it
is
to
stop
it.
Then
the
minister
prayed.
It
was
a
generous
prayer,
full
of
details:
it
asked
for
blessings
on
the
church,
the
children,
other
churches
in
the
village,
the
village
itself,
the
county,
the
State,
the
State
officers,
the
United
States,
the
churches
of
the
United
States,
Congress,
the
President,
government
officers,
sailors
in
stormy
seas,
oppressed
people
under
European
and
Oriental
rulers,
those
who
have
the
light
but
cannot
see
or
hear,
and
the
heathen
in
far
islands.
It
ended
with
a
request
that
his
words
might
find
grace
and
favor,
like
seeds
sown
in
fertile
ground,
yielding
a
good
harvest.
Amen.
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — B1 Inglés | Cuentana