It seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holding
inquests on dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble present to his mind. Sid
noticed that Tom never was coroner at one of these inquiries, though it had
been his habit to take the lead in all new enterprises; he noticed, too, that
Tom never acted as a witness -- and that was strange; and Sid did not overlook
the fact that Tom even showed a marked aversion to these inquests, and always
avoided them when he could. Sid marvelled, but said nothing. However, even
inquests went out of vogue at last, and ceased to torture Tom's conscience.
(p. 110-111)
Every day or two, during this time of sorrow, Tom watched his opportunity and
went to the little grated jail-window and smuggled such small comforts
through to
the "murderer" as he could get hold of. The jail was a trifling
little brick den that stood in a marsh at the edge of the village, and no
guards were
afforded
for it; indeed, it was seldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease
Tom's conscience. (p. 111)