Original Illustrated Version By Mark Twain

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there was no hilarity in the lit­tle town that same tranquil Saturday afternoon. The Harpers, and Aunt Polly's family, were being put into mourning, with great grief and many tears. An unusual quiet possessed the village, although it was ordinarily quiet enough, in all conscience. The vil­lagers conducted their concerns with an absent air, and talked little; but they sighed often. The Saturday hol­iday seemed a burden to the children. They had no heart in their sports, and gradually gave them up.
In the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the deser­ted school-house yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found nothing there to comfort her. She soliloquised: " Oh, if I only had his brass andiron-knob again ! But I haven't got any­thing now to remember him by." And she choked back a little sob.