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33
Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 5, Página 1
About
half-past
ten
the
cracked
bell
of
the
small
church
began
to
ring,
and
presently
the
people
began
to
gather
for
the
morning
sermon.
The
Sunday-school
children
distributed
themselves
about
the
house
and
occupied
pews
with
their
parents,
so
as
to
be
under
supervision.
Aunt
Polly
came,
and
Tom
and
Sid
and
Mary
sat
with
her—Tom
being
placed
next
the
aisle,
in
order
that
he
might
be
as
far
away
from
the
open
window
and
the
seductive
outside
summer
scenes
as
possible.
The
crowd
filed
up
the
aisles:
the
aged
and
needy
postmaster,
who
had
seen
better
days;
the
mayor
and
his
wife—for
they
had
a
mayor
there,
among
other
unnecessaries;
the
justice
of
the
peace;
the
widow
Douglas,
fair,
smart,
and
forty,
a
generous,
good-hearted
soul
and
well-to-do,
her
hill
mansion
the
only
palace
in
the
town,
and
the
most
hospitable
and
much
the
most
lavish
in
the
matter
of
festivities
that
St.
Petersburg
could
boast;
the
bent
and
venerable
Major
and
Mrs.
Ward;
lawyer
Riverson,
the
new
notable
from
a
distance;
next
the
belle
of
the
village,
followed
by
a
troop
of
lawn-clad
and
ribbon-decked
young
heart-breakers;
then
all
the
young
clerks
in
town
in
a
body—for
they
had
stood
in
the
vestibule
sucking
their
cane-heads,
a
circling
wall
of
oiled
and
simpering
admirers,
till
the
last
girl
had
run
their
gantlet;
and
last
of
all
came
the
Model
Boy,
Willie
Mufferson,
taking
as
heedful
care
of
his
mother
as
if
she
were
cut
glass.
He
always
brought
his
mother
to
church,
and
was
the
pride
of
all
the
matrons.
The
boys
all
hated
him,
he
was
so
good.
And
besides,
he
had
been
“thrown
up
to
them”
so
much.
His
white
handkerchief
was
hanging
out
of
his
pocket
behind,
as
usual
on
Sundays—accidentally.
Tom
had
no
handkerchief,
and
he
looked
upon
boys
who
had
as
snobs.
The
congregation
being
fully
assembled,
now,
the
bell
rang
once
more,
to
warn
laggards
and
stragglers,
and
then
a
solemn
hush
fell
upon
the
church
which
was
only
broken
by
the
tittering
and
whispering
of
the
choir
in
the
gallery.
The
choir
always
tittered
and
whispered
all
through
service.
There
was
once
a
church
choir
that
was
not
ill-bred,
but
I
have
forgotten
where
it
was,
now.
It
was
a
great
many
years
ago,
and
I
can
scarcely
remember
anything
about
it,
but
I
think
it
was
in
some
foreign
country.
The
minister
gave
out
the
hymn,
and
read
it
through
with
a
relish,
in
a
peculiar
style
which
was
much
admired
in
that
part
of
the
country.
His
voice
began
on
a
medium
key
and
climbed
steadily
up
till
it
reached
a
certain
point,
where
it
bore
with
strong
emphasis
upon
the
topmost
word
and
then
plunged
down
as
if
from
a
spring-board:
Shall
I
be
car-ri-ed
toe
the
skies,
on
flow’ry
beds
of
ease,
Whilst
others
fight
to
win
the
prize,
and
sail
thro’
blood-y
seas?
He
was
regarded
as
a
wonderful
reader.
At
church
“sociables”
he
was
always
called
upon
to
read
poetry;
and
when
he
was
through,
the
ladies
would
lift
up
their
hands
and
let
them
fall
helplessly
in
their
laps,
and
“wall”
their
eyes,
and
shake
their
heads,
as
much
as
to
say,
“Words
cannot
express
it;
it
is
too
beautiful,
TOO
beautiful
for
this
mortal
earth.”
After
the
hymn
had
been
sung,
the
Rev.
Mr.
Sprague
turned
himself
into
a
bulletin-board,
and
read
off
“notices”
of
meetings
and
societies
and
things
till
it
seemed
that
the
list
would
stretch
out
to
the
crack
of
doom—a
queer
custom
which
is
still
kept
up
in
America,
even
in
cities,
away
here
in
this
age
of
abundant
newspapers.
Often,
the
less
there
is
to
justify
a
traditional
custom,
the
harder
it
is
to
get
rid
of
it.
And
now
the
minister
prayed.
A
good,
generous
prayer
it
was,
and
went
into
details:
it
pleaded
for
the
church,
and
the
little
children
of
the
church;
for
the
other
churches
of
the
village;
for
the
village
itself;
for
the
county;
for
the
State;
for
the
State
officers;
for
the
United
States;
for
the
churches
of
the
United
States;
for
Congress;
for
the
President;
for
the
officers
of
the
Government;
for
poor
sailors,
tossed
by
stormy
seas;
for
the
oppressed
millions
groaning
under
the
heel
of
European
monarchies
and
Oriental
despotisms;
for
such
as
have
the
light
and
the
good
tidings,
and
yet
have
not
eyes
to
see
nor
ears
to
hear
withal;
for
the
heathen
in
the
far
islands
of
the
sea;
and
closed
with
a
supplication
that
the
words
he
was
about
to
speak
might
find
grace
and
favor,
and
be
as
seed
sown
in
fertile
ground,
yielding
in
time
a
grateful
harvest
of
good.
Amen.
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — C1 Inglés | Cuentana