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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 8, Página 1
Tom
weaved
through
the
lanes,
making
sure
he
was
far
from
the
returning
students,
then
slowed
to
a
thoughtful
walk.
He
crossed
a
small
stream
several
times,
believing
in
the
youthful
superstition
that
crossing
water
would
confuse
anyone
following
him.
Half
an
hour
later,
he
was
disappearing
behind
the
Douglas
mansion
atop
Cardiff
Hill,
with
the
school-house
barely
visible
in
the
valley
below.
He
entered
a
thick
forest,
found
his
way
to
its
heart,
and
sat
down
on
a
mossy
patch
under
a
wide
oak
tree.
There
wasn't
even
a
breeze;
the
midday
heat
had
silenced
even
the
birds,
leaving
nature
in
a
stillness
broken
only
by
the
distant
tapping
of
a
woodpecker,
which
made
the
quiet
and
solitude
feel
even
deeper.
Tom's
spirit
was
heavy
with
sadness;
his
mood
matched
his
surroundings
perfectly.
He
sat
for
a
long
time
with
his
elbows
on
his
knees
and
his
chin
in
his
hands,
deep
in
thought.
Life
seemed
nothing
but
trouble,
and
he
almost
envied
Jimmy
Hodges,
who
had
recently
passed
away;
it
must
be
peaceful,
he
thought,
to
rest
forever,
with
the
wind
whispering
through
the
trees
and
flowers
over
the
grave,
with
nothing
to
worry
about
anymore.
If
only
he
had
a
perfect
Sunday-school
record,
he
could
be
ready
to
leave
everything
behind.
And
then
there
was
this
girl.
What
had
he
done?
Nothing
wrong.
He
had
meant
well
and
had
been
treated
poorly—like
a
dog.
She
would
regret
it
one
day—perhaps
too
late.
Oh,
if
only
he
could
die
just
for
a
little
while!
But
the
lively
heart
of
youth
can't
stay
sad
for
long.
Tom
soon
began
to
think
about
life
again.
What
if
he
turned
his
back
now
and
vanished
mysteriously?
What
if
he
traveled
far
away
to
unknown
lands
across
the
sea
and
never
returned?
How
would
she
feel
then?
The
idea
of
becoming
a
clown
came
back
to
him
but
filled
him
with
disgust.
Jokes
and
colorful
costumes
were
an
affront
to
his
elevated,
romantic
spirit.
No,
he
would
become
a
soldier
and
return
after
many
years,
battle-worn
and
famous.
No—better
yet,
he
would
join
the
Native
Americans,
hunt
buffalo,
and
go
on
the
warpath
in
the
mountains
and
endless
plains
of
the
Far
West,
and
someday
return
as
a
great
chief,
covered
in
feathers
and
paint,
bursting
into
Sunday-school
one
sleepy
summer
morning
with
a
terrifying
war
cry,
making
his
friends
green
with
envy.
But
no,
there
was
something
even
more
exciting.
He
would
be
a
pirate!
Yes,
that
was
it!
His
future
was
clear
and
filled
with
incredible
glory.
His
name
would
spread
fear
across
the
world!
He
would
sail
the
wild
seas
in
his
sleek
black
ship,
the
Spirit
of
the
Storm,
with
his
fearsome
flag
flying
high!
At
the
height
of
his
fame,
he
would
suddenly
appear
in
his
old
village,
walk
into
church,
sunburned
and
rugged,
in
his
black
velvet
outfit,
tall
boots,
crimson
sash,
belt
filled
with
pistols,
cutlass
at
his
side,
hat
with
plumes,
and
his
black
flag
with
the
skull
and
crossbones.
He
would
hear
the
whispers,
“It’s
Tom
Sawyer
the
Pirate!—the
Black
Avenger
of
the
Spanish
Main!”
Yes,
it
was
decided;
his
career
was
set.
He
would
leave
home
and
start
his
adventure.
He
would
begin
the
next
morning.
So
he
needed
to
prepare.
He
would
gather
his
resources.
He
approached
a
decaying
log
nearby
and
began
to
dig
under
one
end
with
his
Barlow
knife.
Soon
he
hit
wood
that
sounded
hollow.
He
placed
his
hand
there
and
recited
an
incantation
with
great
seriousness:
“What
hasn’t
come
here,
come!
What’s
here,
stay
here!”
He
then
cleared
away
the
dirt
and
revealed
a
pine
shingle.
Lifting
it,
he
uncovered
a
neat
little
treasure
box
made
of
shingles.
Inside
was
a
marble.
Tom
was
utterly
amazed!
He
scratched
his
head
in
confusion
and
said:
“Well,
that
beats
anything!”
He
tossed
the
marble
aside
in
frustration
and
pondered.
A
superstition
he
had
always
believed
in
had
failed.
If
you
buried
a
marble
with
the
right
incantations,
left
it
for
two
weeks,
and
then
opened
it
with
the
same
words,
you
should
find
all
the
marbles
you
had
ever
lost
gathered
there.
But
now,
this
had
undeniably
failed.
Tom's
faith
was
shaken.
He
had
heard
of
it
working
many
times
but
never
failing.
It
didn't
occur
to
him
that
he
had
tried
it
before
but
couldn't
find
the
hiding
places
afterward.
He
puzzled
over
it
for
a
while
and
finally
decided
that
a
witch
must
have
interfered.
To
confirm
this,
he
searched
until
he
found
a
small
sandy
spot
with
a
little
funnel-shaped
depression.
Lying
down,
he
put
his
mouth
close
and
called—
“Doodle-bug,
doodle-bug,
tell
me
what
I
want
to
know!
Doodle-bug,
doodle-bug,
tell
me
what
I
want
to
know!”
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — B2 Inglés | Cuentana