The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Mark Twain (best thriller novels to read txt) đ
- Author: Mark Twain
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Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on, had just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a spelling-book. She worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then the widow made her ease up. I couldnât stood it much longer. Then for an hour it was deadly dull, and I was fidgety. Miss Watson would say, âDonât put your feet up there, Huckleberry;â and âDonât scrunch up like that, Huckleberryâ âset up straight;â and pretty soon she would say, âDonât gap and stretch like that, Huckleberryâ âwhy donât you try to behave?â Then she told me all about the bad place, and I said I wished I was there. She got mad then, but I didnât mean no harm. All I wanted was to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warnât particular. She said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldnât say it for the whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place. Well, I couldnât see no advantage in going where she was going, so I made up my mind I wouldnât try for it. But I never said so, because it would only make trouble, and wouldnât 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 with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didnât think much of it. But I never said so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad about that, because I wanted him and me to be together.
Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome. By and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was off to bed. 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 something cheerful, but it warnât 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 a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldnât make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about something thatâs on its mind and canât make itself understood, and so canât rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving. I got so downhearted and scared I did wish I had some company. Pretty soon a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I flipped it off and it lit in the candle; and before I could budge it was all shriveled up. I didnât need anybody to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so I was scared and most shook the clothes off of me. I got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then I tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. But I hadnât no confidence. You do that when youâve lost a horseshoe that youâve found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadnât ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when youâd killed a spider.
I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; for the house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldnât know. Well, after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town go boomâ âboomâ âboomâ âtwelve licks; and all still againâ âstiller than ever. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the treesâ âsomething was a stirring. I set still and listened. Directly I could just barely hear a âme-yow! me-yow!â down there. That was good! Says I, âme-yow! me-yow!â as soft as I could, and then I put out the light and scrambled out of the window on to the shed. Then I slipped down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was Tom Sawyer waiting for me.
IIWe went tiptoeing along a path amongst the trees back towards the end of the widowâs garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldnât scrape our heads. When we was passing by the kitchen I fell over a root and made a noise. We scrouched down and laid still. Miss Watsonâs big nigger, named Jim, was setting in the kitchen door; we could see him pretty clear, because there was a light behind him. He got up and stretched his neck out about a minute, listening. Then he says:
âWho dah?â
He listened some more; then he come tiptoeing down and stood right between us; we could a touched him, nearly. Well, likely it was minutes and minutes that there warnât a sound, and we all there so close together. There was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but I dasnât scratch it; and then my ear
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