But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of the great spectacle were lost upon the boy; he only thought of the conspicuousness of the principal character before the on-looking nations; his face lit with the thought, and he said to himself that he wished he could be that child, if it was a tame lion.
Now he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed.
Presently he bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out.
It was a large black beetle with formidable jaws-a "pinchbug," he called it.
It was in a percussion-cap box.
The first thing the beetle did was to take him by the finger.
A natural fillip followed, the beetle went floundering into the aisle and lit on its back, and the hurt finger went into the boy's mouth.
The beetle lay there working its helpless legs, unable to turn over.
Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out of his reach.
Other people uninterested in the sermon found relief in the beetle, and they eyed it too.