By some singular chance he met no one on his way. If he could have done so he felt that he might in some slight degree revenge himself, for he would have sent word to his mother that he did not intend to go with Captain Harrison and that she should never hear from him again.
But he did not meet any one from the time he left his home until he arrived at the bridge, and then he realized that if the scheme had not been entirely a success neither had the details been perfect. To sleep under Rankin’s bridge, when he thought of it in the daytime, and with his schoolmates around him, was nothing more than a pleasant little adventure; but when it came to carrying the plan into execution it was quite a different matter. The night was dark; the brook gurgled and sang in a most ghostly fashion; the air under the stone arches felt damp; and he could find no place where he could lie down with any prospect of comfort.
“It’s no use. I can’t fix any kind of a bed here, so I’ve got to sit up all night—that’s all there is to it.”
Tom was reckless by this time, and without any care as to a selection of the spot where he was to spend the night he sat down in about as uncomfortable a place as he could have found, confident that the time would seem very short.
He tried to make up his mind as to where he would go when the morning should come; then he felt about for a softer seat, very nearly falling into the water in the attempt. He thought of his mother’s sorrow, which was to be his revenge, and then again he changed his position. He wondered if his schoolmates were snugly tucked up in bed asleep; and then he began to doze, leaning his head against the granite sides of the arch.
Suddenly he awoke with a start that gave him a very uncomfortable twinge in his neck, while every portion of his body was stiff and lame. He thought that he had slept a long time, and he looked out from under the bridge, fully expecting to see the sun. It was as dark as when he first sought this very uncomfortable sleeping-place.
“The sun hasn’t come up,” he said as he settled back on the rock in a very awkward manner, as if it hurt him to move around much; “but I know it must be morning, because I feel as if I’d been asleep ten or twelve hours. I’ll start up the road a little.”
Just at that moment the village clock began to strike and Tom counted:
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven!”