Tom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.

     "Well, all right," said Huckleberry, "it's a trade."

     Tom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been the pinchbug's prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier than before.

     When Tom reached the little isolated frame school-house, he strode in briskly, with the manner of one who had come with all honest speed. He hung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with business-like alacrity. The master, throned on high in his great splint-bottom arm-chair, was dozing, lulled by the drowsy hum of study. The interruption roused him.

     "Thomas Sawyer!"

     Tom knew that when his name was pronounced in full, it meant trouble.

     "Sir!"

     "Come up here. Now, sir, why are you late again, as usual?"

     Tom was about to take refuge in a lie, when he saw two long tails of yellow hair hanging down a back that he recognized by the electric sympathy of love; and by that form was the only vacant place on the girls' side of the school-house. He instantly said: