that grandma had promised me. And Mitch asked me what
I thought, and I said I didn't understand it much; but in parts it was
as wonderful as any book. And Mitch says, "Do you know what the Bible
is?" "No," I says; "what is it?" "Why," he says, "the Bible is the 'Tom
Sawyer' of grown folks. I know that now; so I don't have to go through
the trouble of findin' it out after I'm grown up and depended upon it
for a long while. There's the sky and the earth, and there are folks,
and we're more or less real to each other, and there's something back of
it. But I believe when you die, you're asleep--sound asleep--I almost
know it. And why we should wake up a bit and then go to sleep forever is
more than my pa knows or any person in the world knows."

Mitch scared me with his talk. He was so earnest and solemn and seemed
so sure.

One night when I was up to Mr. Miller's, it came up somehow what we was
goin' to do when we was grown up--Mitch and me--and Mrs. Miller thought
we should be taught somethin' to earn a livin' by; and that the schools
instead of teachin' so much, and teachin' Latin and Greek, which nobody
used, should teach practical things.

And Mr. Miller said, "Look out! That's comin' fast enough; it's on us
already. For back of the schools are the factories and places that
always want workers, and they're already usin' the schools to turn out
workers, boys who don't know much, or boys who know one thing. And it
makes no difference what happens to me--it's just as much or more to
know how to enjoy life and to enjoy it, as it is to be able to earn a
livin'. If you earn a livin' and don't know how to enjoy life, you're as
bad off as if you know how to enjoy life, but can't make a livin', or
not much of one. Look here, you boys: Anything that gives you pleasure,
like Greek and Latin, stories, history, doin' things, whatever they are,
for the sake of livin', are worth while. And you let yourselves go. And
don't be molded into a tool for somebody's use, and lose your own
individuality."

And that's the way he talked. And then he said it was all right to dig
for treasure if we wanted to, and to want to see the Mississippi River
and see Tom Sawyer, and he didn't blame us a bit for anything we had
done. "Yes," he says, "I'll take you to Springfield to-morrow; ask your
pa, Skeet, and come along."

I did; and the next morning we took the train for Springfield; and here
was a big town, not as big as St. Louis, but awful big.