by Mark Twain
other.
He wandered far from the accustomed haunts of boys, and soughtdesolate places that were in harmony with his spirit. A log raft in theriver invited him, and he seated himself on its outer edge andcontemplated the dreary vastness of the stream, wishing, the while,that he could only be drowned, all at once and unconsciously, withoutundergoing the uncomfortable routine devised by nature. Then he thoughtof his flower. He got it out, rumpled and wilted, and it mightilyincreased his dismal felicity. He wondered if she would pity him if sheknew? Would she cry, and wish that she had a right to put her armsaround his neck and comfort him? Or would she turn coldly away like allthe hollow world? This picture brought such an agony of pleasurablesuffering that he worked it over and over again in his mind and set itup in new and varied lights, till he wore it threadbare. At last herose up sighing and departed in the darkness.
About half-past nine or ten o'clock he came along the deserted streetto where the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; no sound fellupon his listening ear; a candle was casting a dull glow upon thecurtain of a second-story window. Was the sacred presence there? Heclimbed the fence, threaded his stealthy way through the plants, tillhe stood under that window; he looked up at it long, and with emotion;then he laid him down on the ground under it, disposing himself uponhis back, with his hands clasped upon his breast and holding his poorwilted flower. And thus he would die--out in the cold world, with noshelter over his homeless head, no friendly hand to wipe thedeath-damps from his brow, no loving face to bend pityingly over himwhen the great agony came. And thus SHE would see him when she lookedout upon the glad morning, and oh! would she drop one little tear uponhis poor, lifeless form, would she heave one little sigh to see a brightyoung life so rudely blighted, so untimely cut down?
The window went up, a maid-servant's discordant voice profaned theholy calm, and a deluge of water drenched the prone martyr's remains!
The strangling hero sprang up with a relieving snort. There was a whizas of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, a soundas of shivering glass followed, and a small, vague form went over thefence and shot away in the gloom.
Not long after, as Tom, all undressed for bed, was surveying hisdrenched garments by the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up; but if hehad any dim idea of making any "references to allusions," he thoughtbetter of it and held his peace, for there was danger in Tom's eye.
Tom turned in without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid mademental note of the omission.