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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 5, Página 1
Around
half-past
ten,
the
cracked
bell
of
the
small
church
began
to
ring,
signaling
the
start
of
the
morning
sermon.
People
began
to
gather,
and
the
Sunday-school
children
spread
out
among
the
pews
with
their
parents
to
stay
under
watch.
Aunt
Polly
arrived
with
Tom,
Sid,
and
Mary,
sitting
next
to
her.
Tom
sat
by
the
aisle
to
keep
him
away
from
the
open
window
and
the
tempting
summer
scenes
outside.
The
crowd
filed
in:
the
old
and
needy
postmaster,
who
had
seen
better
days;
the
mayor
and
his
wife—though
a
mayor
was
a
bit
unnecessary
there;
the
justice
of
the
peace;
the
widow
Douglas,
charming
and
generous,
living
in
the
town’s
only
mansion,
known
for
its
hospitality
and
grand
parties;
the
elderly
Major
and
Mrs.
Ward;
lawyer
Riverson,
a
new
notable
from
afar;
the
village
belle,
followed
by
young
admirers
in
their
best
clothes;
then
the
young
clerks,
who
had
been
waiting
in
the
vestibule,
admiring
the
girls
as
they
passed;
and
finally,
the
Model
Boy,
Willie
Mufferson,
carefully
escorting
his
mother
as
if
she
were
fragile.
He
always
brought
her
to
church
and
was
the
pride
of
the
matrons.
The
boys
disliked
him
for
being
so
good
and
because
he
was
often
praised
to
them.
His
white
handkerchief
hung
out
of
his
pocket,
as
usual
on
Sundays,
by
accident.
Tom
had
no
handkerchief
and
thought
boys
who
did
were
snobs.
With
the
congregation
now
fully
assembled,
the
bell
rang
again
to
warn
latecomers.
A
solemn
hush
fell
over
the
church,
broken
only
by
the
choir's
giggles
and
whispers
in
the
gallery.
The
choir
always
whispered
during
the
service.
There
was
once
a
church
choir
that
behaved
well,
but
I
can't
remember
where
it
was,
perhaps
in
some
foreign
country
long
ago.
The
minister
announced
the
hymn
and
read
it
with
great
enthusiasm,
in
a
style
much
admired
locally.
His
voice
started
at
a
medium
pitch,
rising
steadily
until
it
reached
a
peak,
emphasizing
the
top
word
before
dropping
dramatically:
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
considered
an
excellent
reader.
At
church
events,
he
was
often
asked
to
read
poetry,
and
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
notices
of
meetings
and
societies
until
it
seemed
the
list
would
never
end—a
strange
custom
still
kept
in
America,
even
in
cities,
despite
the
abundance
of
newspapers.
Often,
the
less
reason
there
is
for
a
tradition,
the
harder
it
is
to
abandon.
Then
the
minister
prayed.
It
was
a
generous
prayer,
covering
many
details:
pleading
for
the
church
and
its
children;
for
the
other
village
churches;
for
the
village
itself;
for
the
county;
for
the
State;
for
the
State
officers;
for
the
United
States;
for
its
churches;
for
Congress;
for
the
President;
for
government
officers;
for
poor
sailors
in
stormy
seas;
for
oppressed
millions
under
European
monarchies
and
Oriental
despotisms;
for
those
with
the
light
and
good
news
who
still
cannot
see
or
hear;
for
the
heathen
in
distant
islands;
and
finally,
he
prayed
that
his
words
might
find
grace
and
favor,
and
be
like
seeds
sown
in
fertile
ground,
yielding
a
grateful
harvest
of
good.
Amen.
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — B2 Inglés | Cuentana