Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain (free children's ebooks pdf .txt) 📗

CHAPTER XXXIII.

SO I started for town in the wagon, and when I was half-way I see a wagon coming, and sure enough it was Tom Sawyer, and I stopped and waited till he come along.  I says “Hold on!” and it stopped alongside, and his mouth opened up like a trunk, and stayed so; and he swallowed two or three times like a person that’s got a dry throat, and then says:

“I hain’t ever done you no harm.  You know that.  So, then, what you want to come back and ha’nt me for?”

I says:

“I hain’t come back—I hain’t been gone.”

When he heard my voice it righted him up some, but he warn’t quite satisfied yet.  He says:

“Don’t you play nothing on me, because I wouldn’t on you.  Honest injun now, you ain’t a ghost?”

“Honest injun, I ain’t,” I says.

“Well—I—I—well, that ought to settle it, of course; but I can’t somehow seem to understand it no way.  Looky here, warn’t you ever murdered at all?”

“No.  I warn’t ever murdered at all—I played it on them.  You come in here and feel of me if you don’t believe me.”

So he done it; and it satisfied him; and he was that glad to see me again he didn’t know what to do.  And he wanted to know all about it right off, because it was a grand adventure, and mysterious, and so it hit him where he lived.  But I said, leave it alone till by and by; and told his driver to wait, and we drove off a little piece, and I told him the kind of a fix I was in, and what did he reckon we better do?  He said, let him alone a minute, and don’t disturb him.  So he thought and thought, and pretty soon he says:

“It’s all right; I’ve got it.  Take my trunk in your wagon, and let on it’s your’n; and you turn back and fool along slow, so as to get to the house about the time you ought to; and I’ll go towards town a piece, and take a fresh start, and get there a quarter or a half an hour after you; and you needn’t let on to know me at first.”

I says:

“All right; but wait a minute.  There’s one more thing—a thing that nobody don’t know but me.  And that is, there’s a nigger here that I’m a-trying to steal out of slavery, and his name is Jim—old Miss Watson’s Jim.”

He says:

“What!  Why, Jim is—”

He stopped and went to studying.  I says:

“I know what you’ll say.  You’ll say it’s dirty, low-down business; but what if it is?  I’m low down; and I’m a-going to steal him, and I want you keep mum and not let on.  Will you?”

His eye lit up, and he says:

“I’ll help you steal him!”

Well, I let go all holts then, like I was shot.  It was the most astonishing speech I ever heard—and I’m bound to say Tom Sawyer fell considerable in my estimation.  Only I couldn’t believe it.  Tom Sawyer a nigger-stealer!

“Oh, shucks!”  I says; “you’re joking.”

“I ain’t joking, either.”

“Well, then,” I says, “joking or no joking, if you hear anything said about a runaway nigger, don’t forget to remember that you don’t know nothing about him, and I don’t know nothing about him.”

Then we took the trunk and put it in my wagon, and he drove off his way and I drove mine.  But of course I forgot all about driving slow on accounts of being glad and full of thinking; so I got home a heap too quick for that length of a trip.  The old gentleman was at the door, and he says:

“Why, this is wonderful!  Whoever would a thought it was in that mare to do it?  I wish we’d a timed her.  And she hain’t sweated a hair—not a hair. It’s wonderful.  Why, I wouldn’t take a hundred dollars for that horse now—I wouldn’t, honest; and yet I’d a sold her for fifteen before, and thought ’twas all she was worth.”

That’s all he said.  He was the innocentest, best old soul I ever see. But it warn’t surprising; because he warn’t only just a farmer, he was a preacher, too, and had a little one-horse log church down back of the plantation, which he built it himself at his own expense, for a church and schoolhouse, and never charged nothing for his preaching, and it was worth it, too.  There was plenty other farmer-preachers like that, and done the same way, down South.

In about half an hour Tom’s wagon drove up to the front stile, and Aunt Sally she see it through the window, because it was only about fifty yards, and says:

“Why, there’s somebody come!  I wonder who ’tis?  Why, I do believe it’s a stranger.  Jimmy” (that’s one of the children) “run and tell Lize to put on another plate for dinner.”

Everybody made a rush for the front door, because, of course, a stranger don’t come every year, and so he lays over the yaller-fever, for interest, when he does come.  Tom was over the stile and starting for the house; the wagon was spinning up the road for the village, and we was all bunched in the front door.  Tom had his store