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Chapter 1 Discover Moses and the Bulrushers

  • You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of Th_dventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr.
  • Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which h_tretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybod_ut lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, o_aybe Mary. Aunt Polly—Tom's Aunt Polly, she is—and Mary, and the Wido_ouglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with som_tretchers, as I said before.
  • Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money tha_he robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollar_piece—all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. Well,
  • Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us _ollar a day apiece all the year round— more than a body could tell what to d_ith. The Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she woul_ivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considerin_ow dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when _ouldn't stand it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags and my sugar-
  • hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up an_aid he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I would g_ack to the widow and be respectable. So I went back.
  • The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she called m_ lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it. She put me i_hem new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing but sweat and sweat, an_eel all cramped up. Well, then, the old thing commenced again. The widow run_ bell for supper, and you had to come to time. When you got to the table yo_ouldn't go right to eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck dow_er head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn't reall_nything the matter with them,—that is, nothing only everything was cooked b_tself. In a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, an_he juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better.
  • After supper she got out her book and learned me about Moses and th_ulrushers, and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by sh_et it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so then I didn'_are no more about him, because I don't take no stock in dead people.
  • Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me. But sh_ouldn't. She said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and I must try t_ot do it any more. That is just the way with some people. They get down on _hing when they don't know nothing about it. Here she was a-bothering abou_oses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody, being gone, you see,
  • yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a thing that had some good i_t. And she took snuff, too; of course that was all right, because she done i_erself.
  • Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on, had jus_ome to live with her, and took a set at me now with a spelling- book. Sh_orked me middling hard for about an hour, and then the widow made her eas_p. I couldn't stood it much longer. Then for an hour it was deadly dull, an_ was fidgety. Miss Watson would say, "Don't put your feet up there,
  • Huckleberry;" and "Don't scrunch up like that, Huckleberry—set up straight;"
  • and pretty soon she would say, "Don't gap and stretch like that,
  • Huckleberry—why don't you try to behave?" Then she told me all about the ba_lace, and I said I wished I was there. She got mad then, but I didn't mean n_arm. All I wanted was to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn'_articular. She said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldn't sa_t for the whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place.
  • Well, I couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so I made u_y mind I wouldn't try for it. But I never said so, because it would only mak_rouble, and wouldn't do no good.
  • Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good place.
  • She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long wit_ harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn't think much of it. But I neve_aid so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she sai_ot by a considerable sight. I was glad about that, because I wanted him an_e to be together.
  • Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome. By an_y they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was off t_ed. I went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it on the table.
  • Then I set down in a chair by the window and tried to think of somethin_heerful, but it warn't no use. I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead.
  • The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful;
  • and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and _hippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the win_as trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn't make out what it was,
  • and so it made the cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods _eard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell abou_omething that's on its mind and can't make itself understood, and so can'_est easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving. _ot so down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some company. Pretty soon _pider went crawling up my shoulder, and I flipped it off and it lit in th_andle; and before I could budge it was all shriveled up. I didn't nee_nybody to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch me some ba_uck, so I was scared and most shook the clothes off of me. I got up an_urned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; an_hen I tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away.
  • But I hadn't no confidence. You do that when you've lost a horseshoe tha_ou've found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadn't ever hear_nybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you'd killed a spider.
  • I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; for th_ouse was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn't know. Well,
  • after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town g_oom—boom—boom—twelve licks; and all still again—stiller than ever. Prett_oon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees— something was _tirring. I set still and listened. Directly I could just barely hear a "me-
  • yow! me-yow!" down there. That was good! Says I, "me-yow! me-yow!" as soft a_ could, and then I put out the light and scrambled out of the window on t_he shed. Then I slipped down to the ground and crawled in among the trees,
  • and, sure enough, there was Tom Sawyer waiting for me.