"Well, I reckon it's so, then.Becuz they say she's a witch.""Say! Why, Tom, I KNOW she is.She witched pap.Pap says so his own self.He come along one day, and he see she was a-witching him, so he took up a rock, and if she hadn't dodged, he'd a got her.Well, that very night he rolled off'n a shed wher' he was a layin drunk, and broke his arm.""Why, that's awful.How did he know she was a-witching him?""Lord, pap can tell, easy.Pap says when they keep looking at you right stiddy, they're a-witching you.Specially if they mumble.Becuz when they mumble they're saying the Lord's Prayer backards.""Say, Hucky, when you going to try the cat?""To-night.I reckon they'll come after old Hoss Williams to-night.""But they buried him Saturday.Didn't they get him Saturday night?""Why, how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight? -- and then it's Sunday.Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I don't reckon.""I never thought of that.That's so.Lemme go with you?""Of course -- if you ain't afeard."
"Afeard! 'Tain't likely.Will you meow?"
"Yes -- and you meow back, if you get a chance.time, you kep' me a-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says 'Dern that cat!' and so I hove a brick through his window -- but don't you tell.""I won't.I couldn't meow that night, becuz auntie was watching me, but I'll meow this time.Say -- what's that?""Nothing but a tick."
"Where'd you get him?"
"Out in the woods."
"What'll you take for him?"
"I don't know.I don't want to sell him.""All right.It's a mighty small tick, anyway.""Oh, anybody can run a tick down that don't belong to them.I'm satisfied with it.It's a good enough tick for me.""Sho, there's ticks a plenty.I could have a thousand of 'em if I wanted to.""Well, why don't you? Becuz you know mighty well you can't.This is a pretty early tick, I reckon.It's the first one I've seen this year.""Say, Huck -- I'll give you my tooth for him.""Less see it."
Tom got out a bit of paper and carefully unrolled it.Huckleberry viewed it wistfully.The temptation was very strong.At last he said:
"Is it genuwyne?"
Tom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.
"Well, all right," said Huckleberry, "it's a trade."Tom enclosed the tick in the percussion-cap box that had lately been the pinchbug's prison, and the boys separated, each feeling wealthier than before.
When Tom reached the little isolated frame schoolhouse, he strode in briskly, with the manner of one who had come with all honest speed.He hung his hat on a peg and flung himself into his seat with business-like alacrity.The master, throned on high in his great splint-bottom arm-chair, was dozing, lulled by the drowsy hum of study.The interruption roused him.
"Thomas Sawyer!"
Tom knew that when his name was pronounced in full, it meant trouble.
"Sir!"
"Come up here.Now, sir, why are you late again, as usual?"Tom was about to take refuge in a lie, when he saw two long tails of yellow hair hanging down a back that he recognized by the electric sympathy of love; and by that form was the only vacant place on the girls' side of the school-house.He instantly said:
"I STOPPED TO TALK WITH HUCKLEBERRY FINN!"The master's pulse stood still, and he stared helplessly.The buzz of study ceased.The pupils wondered if this foolhardy boy had lost his mind.The master said:
"You -- you did what?"
"Stopped to talk with Huckleberry Finn."
There was no mistaking the words.
"Thomas Sawyer, this is the most astounding confession I have ever listened to.No mere ferule will answer for this offence.Take off your jacket."The master's arm performed until it was tired and the stock of switches notably diminished.Then the order followed:
