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    The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Seasons Edition -- Summer)
    The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Seasons Edition -- Summer)
    The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Seasons Edition -- Summer)
    Ebook394 pages8 hours

    The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Seasons Edition -- Summer)

    By Mark Twain

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    About this ebook

    A fine, exclusive edition of one of literature’s most beloved stories. 

    In The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, a thirteen-year-old boy, Huck, is in search of adventure on the beautiful shores of the Mississippi River before the Civil War in the American south.

    When Huck escapes kidnapping by his own drunken father, he decides to find a canoe to shove off down the river, leaving behind his life of confinement and civilization. Soon Huck comes across Jim, Miss Watson's slave. While traveling down the river, Huck and Jim have many adventures, but more importantly, during many long talks, they become the best of friends, both in search of freedom. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is regarded by many critics and scholars to be the first “Great American novel.”

    This unique edition of Mark Twain’s beloved tale is a giftable volume fiction lovers will treasure.

    The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is one of four classic titles available as part of the Seasons Editions. This set also includes Jane Eyre, Persuasion, and The Wonderland Collection.

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThomas Nelson
    Release dateJun 30, 2020
    ISBN9780785239505
    Author

    Mark Twain

    Mark Twain, born Samuel Langhorne Clemens, was an American humorist and writer, who is best known for his enduring novels The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which has been called the Great American Novel. 

    Read more from Mark Twain

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    Reviews for The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Seasons Edition -- Summer)

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    9,633 ratings214 reviews

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    • 3/5
      Things I liked:

      The characters voice and train of thought frequently made me smile. The way his mind came up against big moral issues like slavery and murder and things like that were provocative, making me wonder about my own rational for strongly held beliefs.

      Things I thought could be improved:

      The section at the end when Tom Sawyer was doing all manner of ridiculous rituals as part of the attempt to free Jim I thought stretched credibility of Huck or Jim going along with him. Even with the reveal at the end that Jim was really free anyway I found it tiresome after a while. While I don't mind the idea of Tom trying to add some romance to the escape, I think it definitely could be have been edited down to about a third of what it was.

      Highlight: When Jim finds Huck again after being lost on the raft. Huck plays a trick on him to convince him it was all a dream. Jim falls for it but then catches on and shames Huck for playing with his emotions. That made both the character of Jim and Huck sing for me.
    • 3/5
      Might want to read it again sometime. Took me a while to get into it, but by the last third I was hooked.
    • 5/5
      Very funny, as well as very interesting.

      Hard to think of a better book with a teenage main character - Treasure Island, perhaps ?
    • 2/5
      Dissected this one for English class. Sometimes, discussion takes all the charm out of a book. So do angry yet subtle attacks at Romanticism.
    • 4/5
      The way the language is portrayed, the stylized dialogues, and the underlying condemnation of slavery makes this Twain classic one that everyone should read. In some ways, Twain reminds me of Charles Dickens...Some scenes, particularly towards the end with Tom seem to stretch on and on, long after the humor is gone. Still this novel is an immovable object in American Lit. You just have to read it.
    • 5/5
      Wonderful language, wonderful dialog, full of my childhood.
    • 5/5
      I love, love, love this book. The humor, the sincerity, the narrative voice. Exceptional. That being said, I struggled with that fifth star. Something about the word "nigger," no matter how eloquent and well-executed its context, leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. Intellectually, though, I can appreciate some of what Twain is doing, here. He doesn't patronize his reader by creating in Huck Finn an overly sympathetic character infused with the author's own socio-political pathos. Huck isn't the poster-child for abolitionist propaganda, but a still-burgeoning personality trying to define its own moral good. In fact, it is simply brilliant that Twain ironically reverses Huck's ethical conflict, depicting his reluctance to STEAL a slave from slavery because theft is a sin, and his ultimate decision to toss himself entirely into "wickedness." We love Huck precisely because he wants so badly to do the right thing, whatever that might be.

      The scene in which Jim laments his estranged wife and children is particularly moving, for Twain takes care to depict his humanity, though Huck himself is ambivalent about his friend's grief; that's very clever writing.

      Michiko Kakutani wrote a very interesting piece in the New York Times about some politically correct editions of the text; the word "nigger" has been replaced with something more palatable for contemporary readers, but with all due respect, completely unrealistic for the novel's characters. Kakutani explains that "'Huckleberry Finn' actually stands as a powerful indictment of slavery (with Nigger Jim its most noble character)" and that censoring the original removes the possibility "of using its contested language as an opportunity to explore the painful complexities of race relations in this country. To censor or redact books on school reading lists is a form of denial: shutting the door on harsh historical realities — whitewashing them or pretending they do not exist." I am a fierce opponent of censorship and could not agree more. Hence, that inexorable little fifth star.
    • 3/5
      Eh. It's certainly entertaining. It's undeniably a classic. I'm not sure if I had any major lessons learned from it. Not super high on my list of 'must read' titles.
    • 5/5
      I "reread" this book on audio, narrated by Elijah Wood.

      I haven't read this since high school and I thought it would be fun to listen to, and it was. Elijah's voices were true to the story, and brought an additional level to the depth of this tale.

      I'm happy to report that this book held up to my memory of it, and then surpassed it.
    • 3/5
      Such a hard book to review. Great storytelling, satire, America, funny, etc. The final saga of Jim escaping just makes me hate Tom Sawyer, though.
    • 3/5
      Re-reading since high school. Good classic!
    • 3/5
      This book is quite humourous and satirical, and for the most part, it's quite fun to read. I did zone out for a bit in the middle there, losing interest when it wasn't about Huck's tomfoolery, but I greatly enjoyed the parts with Tom. The relationship between Huck and Tom is quite interesting and captivating, and really elevates the story itself.
    • 5/5
      (Original Review, 1981-03-18)I guess “Ulysses” pushes the envelope of “Literature was made for man, not man for literature” but I like to give the benefit of the doubt to books especially if not only do they have a sustained critical reputation, but if people whose opinions I respect think the book is great stuff. When I was venting some of my frustration about “Ulysses” and “Finnegans Wake” to a well-read musician friend, she just gently suggested that if I let myself listen to the music of the language it might change my perception. When it comes to ”Finnegans Wake” I couldn’t do it…I’m still deaf.I guess Huck is a little trying as a voice, especially in the beginning, but I think it is one of the greatest books ever written, or I ever read. Tom Sawyer is OK, but HF is brilliant. In the most direct way possible Huck learns about the absolute humanity of Jim but also Huck feels guilty because Jim is property and in the South, being property trumped being human. In its quiet, folksy way it presents us with something intensely evil face to face with something just as intensely familiar and homey. All those people, many of them, are such fine nice people so vividly portrayed as such, except that the vilest evil that they live with every day, and have created and sustain, is totally invisible to them. As a really human document, a damning one, it has never been done so well and so quietly. Freud drew attention to the uncanny in his short but influential essay, as having just that quality of being so homey and yet being alien, so human but so inhuman.Not totally sure about the ending though; it was contrived in a way, BUT I was very impressed by the late chapter scene where the doctor, clearly a good and fine man, will not go seek help for a sick child because he was afraid that Jim might run off. Again that MONSTRUOUS blindness vs the child. And the scene where the men, the good folks of the town, were talking about what to do with Jim, some wanting to lynch him, not for running away, but because of his ingratitude!!! And then deciding not to kill him because after all he is someone's property and they might be held liable for his dollars’ worth!!! Nevertheless Huck comes of age.I would agree more with the idea that all American fiction is a response to Huck Finn if it hadn't been Hemingway who said it, but I will not accept that anyone else could possibly admire the book more than I do. Still, the ending is the weakest part. I don't know who could have written a better ending but facts are facts and by the time we get to the last few chapters the really astonishing novelties have already been spent where they'd do the most good.
    • 4/5
      We read it in the great books class. It was a good book. I would read it again.
    • 5/5
      One frequently challenged American classic is Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemons.) The reasons for challenging it are various. It uses the "n-word" to refer to African-Americans of the pre-Civil War period. Huck Finn makes an important choice in the course of the book, in which he defies the law and the moral injunctions of his elders, and is shown as being right to do so. America of the pre-Civil War period is portrayed as being less than perfect--a long way less than perfect.

      The story of Huckleberry Finn is simple; in fact, the Author's Note at the beginning threatens dire consequences for anyone claiming to identify a plot in the book. Huck, having come into money in an earlier book, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, has been placed in the custody of the Widow Douglas, who is attempting to civilize him. He appreciates her efforts, but feels confined. The alternative, living with his abusive father, is even worse. Huck runs away, heads down the Mississippi River--and meets up with the Widow Douglas' slave, Jim, who has also run away. They raft down the Mississippi together, with Huck getting an education about people, relations between black and white, and injustice. In the end they are back in the fictional town of St. Petersburg, MO, with Jim recaptured and set to be sold. Huck has a difficult choice to make.

      This is not a grim book; it is lively and entertaining, and filled with adventures that any young or young-at-heart reader will enjoy. Huck learns a lot, though, and grows as a human being. This is an important book; it's also a fun one.

      Highly recommended.
    • 4/5
      I can see now why this is so often a required read in school. This style of writing is often hard to find and it is rich with descriptions that leap off the page.

      My favorite part of this was the dialogue. Say what you wish about the "n-word," but the truth is that it was commonly used in the south. I, personally, don't approve of the word, but I cannot deny it was a part of history, especially during the time of slavery when this novel takes place.

      What I loved about the dialogue was I could hear the characters. Huck sounded different from Pap and Jim. The words were thick with Southern accents instead of written in plain English, and it was done well. Writing accents isn't for everyone and can sometimes come across as trying too hard, but you can tell Twain heard these slang terms and thick accents. He wrote the words how they sound not how they should be spelt and it is what makes this "classic" special.

      I'm usually remiss about writing reviews for books I am assigned to read, especially if I've had to discuss it at length. Honestly, much of what I'm required to read is not to my personal taste, but Huck Finn is different. Even though I read and discussed this book in class for 3 weeks, I enjoyed reading it. Picking it apart and analyzing it was more fun than an assignment.

      There were some really funny moments, like when Huck disguised himself (poorly) as a girl, and the lessons or messages underneath the story are still relevant today.

      Slavery is no longer legal, but the relationship between races is still a topic being discussed today with schools named after Confederate soldiers being renamed and historic statues being removed across the country.

      Twain's message is simple and beautiful: We are all human beings.

      In the beginning, Huck views Jim only as a slave. As they travel together, the relationship changes. Jim is no longer looked at or treated differently because of the color of his skin and Jim takes care of Huck in a fatherly way. If you look at it closely, it is a beautiful father-son relationship between two that aren't related. Huck and Jim's connection is more of a highlight than Huck's actual adventure down the Mississippi River on a raft.

      I think everyone should read this book at least once during their lifetime to get a glance at life along the Mississippi River before the Civil War.
    • 5/5
      At first I felt the ending was flawed, agreeing with some of Twain's critics. However, after reflection, I believe it is exactly the right ending for this book.

      Without the ending, the story would revert to more romantic prose: white boy learns his lesson about slavery and becomes a better person for it. Such an ending, I believe, would have undermined Twain's purpose in writing The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. In actuality, the ending gives earlier chapters their meaning, showing the difficulty in a person's ability to throw off societal norms. It is his commentary of the influence of society on a person's moral judgment.
    • 5/5
      Always love a good classic. Can never go wrong with mark twain.
    • 4/5
      Although I have seen several dramatizations of this, I hadn't read it since high school. It was better than I remembered, but my favorite parts were the ones with Tom Sawyer (which confirms my long-held opinion that I like Tom Sawyer more than Huck Finn). Elijiah Wood was good narrating, and the various dialects were distinct without being overwhelming.
    • 5/5
      I hated this book when we read it in middle school. Fast forward a dozen years, I'm enrolled in a Mark Twain course and have to read it again. Wow, what difference an adult perspective made for me. If his short stories weren't enough to gain my awe and respect, then this book definitively did just that.

      I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn't do it straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking—thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost and going to hell. And went on thinking. And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me all the time: in the day and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking and singing and laughing. But somehow I couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, 'stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call me honey, and pet me and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling the men we had small-pox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the only one he's got now; and then I happened to look around and see that paper.

      It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:

      "All right, then, I'll go to hell"—and tore it up.
      That's one of the most moving pages of literature I've ever read. Twain cuts right to the heart of social and moral hypocrisy with Huck's character, an outside who struggles to reconcile what his experiences tell him are right and wrong with the civilized folk's definitions.

      Oh, how it saddens me to acknowledge that - more than one hundred years after it was first published - Americans could still learn a thing or two about morality from reading this.

      **Some people might find the dialogue difficult to manage. I remember this being one of the things I struggled with when I read it as a kid, but it truly is worth the effort. If it becomes too much, I suggest trying one of the audiobook versions. An excellent narration by Elijah Wood is available on Audible.
    • 5/5
      Classic read for many high school students. Huck is one of literature's great characters. He is street smart and dishonest, but loyal (to an extent). His relationship with Jim has stood the test of time. Personally, I think it has one of literature's best ending to any book I have ever read. I would recommend this for upper level high school readers. The language is difficult because of the southern accent. I recommend reading many sections aloud or reading along with an audio version to begin with.
    • 4/5
      Huckleberry Finn is a young boy whose life hasn’t been easy, with no mother and an abusive drunkard for a father who only has time for Huck when he wants something. After Huck and Tom Sawyer found $6,000.00 in the Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Huck is placed with a widow woman who cleans him up and sends him to school. It isn’t long before his father, with a desire to get his hands on Huck’s money, shows up. He kidnaps Huck and both mistreats him and holds him captive. Huck eventually breaks free by faking his own death. He comes across Jim, a runaway slave and together they journey down the Mississippi River on a raft and forge a lasting friendship. This was a re-read for me, but I do believe that I both enjoyed the story and got more out of it on this second go. Not only does this character have one of the best names in literature, Huckleberry is also a great character to read about. He is a realist and adapts readily to most situations but he seems to be most comfortable when actually on the river. There is a simple decency to the boy, he tries to do the right thing. This trip on the river teaches him many life lessons and the reader is able to see him grow and develop into a conscientious and caring person.I struggled a little at the beginning of the book with the various dialects, but once I picked up the rhythm this was a very fun story. Mark Twain uses straightforward language, humor and a simple story line to show both the hypocrisy of slavery and the ridiculousness of many of society’s rules.
    • 3/5
      #2 of the Rory Gilmore ChallengeSo I'm going to go ahead and give this 3 stars because by the last 10 chapters I was pretty ready to be finished with it. I found myself intrigued by the plot by the middle of the book but found it hard to read for long periods. By the time I read 2 chapters I was kind of ready to move on to something else or fell asleep causing my long period in reading.I didn't read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer first, although it was referenced pretty highly in the first 5 chapters or so. If my TBR stack and library stack weren't so tall I'd have considered it. However, when Tom Sawyer appears in the last chapters of the book I'm really grateful I didn't go back. Did anyone else think Tom Sawyer was the MOST ANNOYING character in this book? Being a kid of the 80s I remember the Jonathan Taylor Thomas, Brad Renfro and Elijah Wood renditions of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer that came out all within a few years of each other. So, I was interested in reading the first published stories to see what I remembered and what was actually in the book. I read the Penguins Classics version that had additional notes for background on Twain's writing. I quite liked the intro that talked about Twain's reading history that helped influence pieces of the story. The plot - I liked the plot, except the end with Tom Sawyer. I had no idea it was so gory at parts, but I guess I always read the editions for kids. The King and Duke were quick-paced which I appreciated once I got there. Some of the small river plots were interesting but seemed somewhat far fetched for a novel so acclaimed for giving insight in the Mississippi culture of the 1800s. I definitely want to go back and read Twain's "Life on the Mississippi" novel now while taking a month-long trip (you know, as soon as I save $8000 to do so). The characters - Jim was quite simple and I thought Mark Twain may be more interested in developing the ties of slavery through his character rather than the plot. Huck Finn's morale tests and self-talk were amusing, wish there had been a bit more. Maybe I'm a character-driven reader these days?All-in-all as a historical piece I enjoyed the context of the Mississippi River and the almost short story excerpts of river life. However, the novel dragged a bit for me to really enjoy it more and seemed to be a bit all over the place with Twain's style.
    • 5/5
      Unable to put up with the "sivilizing" of the Widow Douglas, beaten by his alcoholic father, Huck escapes to an island where he finds his old friend and former slave Jim. Together they set off downriver on a raft, sleeping by day, sailing by night, what seems to Huck the perfect life. With his (and Tom's) hare-brained schemes, very funny and enjoyable, something that passed me by during my childhood (though I did read Tom Sawyer and remember it well), and extremely well written.
    • 4/5
      After the adventures recounted in Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn takes up the role of narrator in this lively book about racism and social life along the Mississippi river. Huck soon tires of the civilized life and when his father returns he is somewhat relieved to be removed to a remote cabin in the woods. But soon his Father's abuse and controlling ways grow tiresome so Huck fakes his own death and determines to make his living on his own. But shortly thereafter he runs into Jim, a familiar slave who has run away rather than be sold down the river. Huck and Jim soon become fast friends and go on many journeys together hoping to leave Jim in a free territory. The stories are charming, lively and sometimes shocking in their casual cruelty to black people. An important window into the past.
    • 5/5
      A classic worthy of the name - and you get something new every time you read it.
    • 3/5
      Undoubtedly a good book. Some heavy themes: racism and slavery, child and substance abuse. And lots of clever stuff, like the correspondences between Jim and Huck's situations.At times there are extraneous scenes and a resulting lack of narrative drive that left me stalled.
    • 5/5
      I guess this is the summer of reading classic books. People already know the story from all of the various movies and Wishbone episodes. So I won't dwell on the plot too much. There's intrigue and secret pacts and rafts and steamboats and scams. Huck always seems to find the craziest events on the Mississippi.

      The best part of this is that it's written in various dialects. Huck's narrator voice is at least easy enough to understand, but lots of times I found myself reading things aloud to even figure out what some other character was saying. It really gives you a feel for the time period, more than any description would. I feel like I have a better understanding of the South now.

      I can see why people don't want this to be read in present-day schools, or prefer to read Tom Sawyer's adventures instead. Everyone says the n-word ALL THE TIME. I get it that it was the culture, that it is a historical piece, but it would make reading aloud in class quite difficult. This book has an undercurrent of racism and morality that is definitely more thought-providing my though.
    • 4/5
      Better than I expected.
    • 5/5
      Over the years, I have occasionally thought about what qualifies a book to be elevated to the status as “The Great American Novel,” as mythical (and unofficial) as that title may be. Certainly, it seems that such a work should capture the attitudes and beliefs of the particular period in the United States it depicts as well as convey a sense of the cultural values that define those times. Of course, as those values and beliefs change over time, so too should the list of books that qualify as TGAN. Whatever one’s particular definition might be, however, I suspect that somewhere near the front end of a lot of people’s lists will be Mark Twain’s masterpiece Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.The regard for this novel remains considerable more than 130 years after its publication, both for its historical significance and the continuing relevance of its humor and strong anti-racism message. Indeed, Ernest Hemingway said “all modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn…there has been nothing as good since” while Eugene O’Neill called the author himself “the true father of all American literature.” Much of that regard must have come from Twain’s remarkable use of multiple ethnic and regional dialects throughout the novel, which helped to distinguish the newly emerging American literary tradition from its European roots. For instance, here is the way Huck describes some of his time on the raft with Jim, the runaway slave:We catched fish and talked, and we took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness. It was kind of solemn, drifting down the big, still river, laying on our backs looking up at the stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it warn't often that we laughed—only a little kind of a low chuckle. We had mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to us at all—that night, nor the next, nor the next. For all of that, though, it is hard to discuss Adventures of Huckleberry Finn without addressing the author’s frequent and almost profligate use of a certain expression that has come to be regarded as a highly charged racial epithet (let’s call it the “n-word” and just leave it at that). In the context of the story, it is abundantly clear that this term was used as a synonym for ‘slave’ rather than as a slur with any deeper intended meaning. Still, it is an extremely uncomfortable experience for the modern reader to encounter that word under any circumstance and, quite frankly, it was something I never really got used to. Of course, the irony is that the entire novel is a marvelous satire of the hypocrisy of prevailing racial attitudes and a strong indictment of the institution of slavery. One thing that is easily lost in all of these high-minded considerations is the question of whether this is an enjoyable book to read. For most of the story, it definitely is. Huck Finn is a truly unique character in literature and his adventures, which vacillate between being hilarious or harrowing, are almost always engaging. In particular, the encounters that Huck and Jim have while floating their way south on the Mississippi are memorable and exciting; only the last segment of the book when Tom Sawyer shows up felt like a bit of a false note to me. I have no idea what the current TGAN might be, but after reading Adventures of Huckleberry Finn I know where that list began.

    Book preview

    The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Seasons Edition -- Summer) - Mark Twain

    Chapter I

    I DISCOVER MOSES AND THE BULRUSHERS

    You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures 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 he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly—Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is—and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.

    Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars apiece—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 a dollar a day apiece all the year round—more than a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn’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 and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I would go back 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 me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it. She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn’t do nothing but sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. Well, then, the old thing commenced again. The widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come to time. When you got to the table you couldn’t go right to eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn’t really anything the matter with them—that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better.

    After supper she got out her book and learned me about Moses and the Bulrushers, and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by she let it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so then I didn’t care 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 she wouldn’t. She said it was a mean practice and wasn’t clean, and I must try to not do it any more. That is just the way with some people. They get down on a thing when they don’t know nothing about it. Here she was a-bothering about Moses, 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 in it. And she took snuff, too; of course that was all right, because she done it herself.

    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 couldn’t stood it much longer. Then for an hour it was deadly dull, and I 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 bad place, and I said I wished I was there. She got mad then, but I didn’t mean no harm. All I wanted was to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn’t particular. She said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldn’t say it 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 up my mind I wouldn’t try for it. But I never said so, because it would only make trouble, 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 with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn’t 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 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 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 couldn’t 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 that’s on its mind and can’t make itself understood, and so can’t 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t no confidence. You do that when you’ve lost a horseshoe that you’ve found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadn’t ever heard anybody 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 the house 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 go boom—boom—boom—twelve licks; and all still again—stiller than ever. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees—something was a-stirring. 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 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.

    Chapter II

    OUR GANG’S DARK OATH

    We went tiptoeing along a path amongst the trees back toward the end of the widow’s garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldn’t 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 Watson’s 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:

    Who dah?

    He listened some more; then he came tiptoeing down and stood right between us; we could ‘a’ touched him, nearly. Well, likely it was minutes and minutes that there warn’t a sound, and we all there so close together. There was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but I dasn’t scratch it; and then my ear begun to itch; and next my back, right between my shoulders. Seemed like I’d die if I couldn’t scratch. Well, I’ve noticed that thing plenty times since. If you are with the quality, or at a funeral, or trying to go to sleep when you ain’t sleepy—if you are anywheres where it won’t do for you to scratch, why you will itch all over in upward of a thousand places. Pretty soon Jim says:

    Say, who is you? Whar is you? Dog my cats ef I didn’ hear sumf’n. Well, I know what I’s gwyne to do: I’s gwyne to set down here and listen tell I hears it ag’in.

    So he set down on the ground betwixt me and Tom. He leaned his back up against a tree, and stretched his legs out till one of them most touched one of mine. My nose begun to itch. It itched till the tears come into my eyes. But I dasn’t scratch. Then it begun to itch on the inside. Next I got to itching underneath. I didn’t know how I was going to set still. This miserableness went on as much as six or seven minutes; but it seemed a sight longer than that. I was itching in eleven different places now. I reckoned I couldn’t stand it more’n a minute longer, but I set my teeth hard and got ready to try. Just then Jim begun to breathe heavy; next he begun to snore—and then I was pretty soon comfortable again.

    Tom he made a sign to me—kind of a little noise with his mouth—and we went creeping away on our hands and knees. When we was ten foot off Tom whispered to me, and wanted to tie Jim to the tree for fun. But I said no; he might wake and make a disturbance, and then they’d find out I warn’t in. Then Tom said he hadn’t got candles enough, and he would slip in the kitchen and get some more. I didn’t want him to try. I said Jim might wake up and come. But Tom wanted to resk it; so we slid in there and got three candles, and Tom laid five cents on the table for pay. Then we got out, and I was in a sweat to get away; but nothing would do Tom but he must crawl to where Jim was, on his hands and knees, and play something on him. I waited, and it seemed a good while, everything was so still and lonesome.

    As soon as Tom was back we cut along the path, around the garden fence, and by and by fetched up on the steep top of the hill the other side of the house. Tom said he slipped Jim’s hat off of his head and hung it on a limb right over him, and Jim stirred a little, but he didn’t wake. Afterward Jim said the witches bewitched him and put him in a trance, and rode him all over the state, and then set him under the trees again, and hung his hat on a limb to show who done it. And next time Jim told it he said they rode him down to New Orleans; and, after that, every time he told it he spread it more and more, till by and by he said they rode him all over the world, and tired him most to death, and his back was all over saddle-boils. Jim was monstrous proud about it, and he got so he wouldn’t hardly notice the other niggers. Niggers would come miles to hear Jim tell about it, and he was more looked up to than any nigger in that country. Strange niggers would stand with their mouths open and look him all over, same as if he was a wonder. Niggers is always talking about witches in the dark by the kitchen fire; but whenever one was talking and letting on to know all about such things, Jim would happen in and say, Hm! What you know ‘bout witches? and that nigger was corked up and had to take a back seat. Jim always kept that five-center piece round his neck with a string, and said it was a charm the devil give to him with his own hands, and told him he could cure anybody with it and fetch witches whenever he wanted to just by saying something to it; but he never told what it was he said to it. Niggers would come from all around there and give Jim anything they had, just for a sight of that five-center piece; but they wouldn’t touch it, because the devil had had his hands on it. Jim was most ruined for a servant, because he got stuck up on account of having seen the devil and been rode by witches.

    Well, when Tom and me got to the edge of the hilltop we looked away down into the village and could see three or four lights twinkling, where there was sick folks, maybe; and the stars over us was sparkling ever so fine; and down by the village was the river, a whole mile broad, and awful still and grand. We went down the hill and found Joe Harper and Ben Rogers, and two or three more of the boys, hid in the old tanyard. So we unhitched a skiff and pulled down the river two mile and a half, to the big scar on the hillside, and went ashore.

    We went to a clump of bushes, and Tom made everybody swear to keep the secret, and then showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest part of the bushes. Then we lit the candles, and crawled in on our hands and knees. We went about two hundred yards, and then the cave opened up. Tom poked about amongst the passages, and pretty soon ducked under a wall where you wouldn’t ‘a’ noticed that there was a hole. We went along a narrow place and got into a kind of room, all damp and sweaty and cold, and there we stopped. Tom says:

    Now, we’ll start this band of robbers and call it Tom Sawyer’s Gang. Everybody that wants to join has got to take an oath, and write his name in blood. Everybody was willing. So Tom got out a sheet of paper that he had wrote the oath on, and read it. It swore every boy to stick to the band, and never tell any of the secrets; and if anybody done anything to any boy in the band, whichever boy was ordered to kill that person and his family must do it, and he mustn’t eat and he mustn’t sleep till he had killed them and hacked a cross in their breasts, which was the sign of the band. And nobody that didn’t belong to the band could use that mark, and if he did he must be sued; and if he done it again he must be killed. And if anybody that belonged to the band told the secrets, he must have his throat cut, and then have his carcass burnt up and the ashes scattered all around, and his name blotted off the list with blood and never mentioned again by the gang, but have a curse put on it and be forgot forever.

    Everybody said it was a real beautiful oath, and asked Tom if he got it out of his own head. He said some of it, but the rest was out of pirate-books and robber-books, and every gang that was high-toned had it.

    Some thought it would be good to kill the families of boys that told the secrets. Tom said it was a good idea, so he took a pencil and wrote it in. Then Ben Rogers says:

    Here’s Huck Finn, he hain’t got no family; what you going to do ‘bout him?

    Well, hain’t he got a father? says Tom Sawyer.

    Yes, he’s got a father, but you can’t never find him these days. He used to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard, but he hain’t been seen in these parts for a year or more.

    They talked it over, and they was going to rule me out, because they said every boy must have a family or somebody to kill, or else it wouldn’t be fair and square for the others. Well, nobody could think of anything to do—everybody was stumped, and set still. I was most ready to cry; but all at once I thought of a way, and so I offered them Miss Watson—they could kill her. Everybody said:

    Oh, she’ll do. That’s all right. Huck can come in.

    Then they all stuck a pin in their fingers to get blood to sign with, and I made my mark on the paper.

    Now, says Ben Rogers, what’s the line of business of this Gang?

    Nothing only robbery and murder, Tom said.

    But who are we going to rob?—houses, or cattle, or—

    Stuff! stealing cattle and such things ain’t robbery; it’s burglary, says Tom Sawyer. We ain’t burglars. That ain’t no sort of style. We are highwaymen. We stop stages and carriages on the road, with masks on, and kill the people and take their watches and money.

    Must we always kill the people?

    Oh, certainly. It’s best. Some authorities think different, but mostly it’s considered best to kill them—except some that you bring to the cave here, and keep them till they’re ransomed.

    Ransomed? What’s that?

    I don’t know. But that’s what they do. I’ve seen it in books; and so of course that’s what we’ve got to do.

    But how can we do it if we don’t know what it is?

    "Why, blame it all, we’ve got to do it. Don’t I tell you it’s in the books? Do you want to go to doing different from what’s in the books, and get things all muddled up?"

    "Oh, that’s all very fine to say, Tom Sawyer, but how in the nation are these fellows going to be ransomed if we don’t know how to do it to them?—that’s the thing I want to get at. Now, what do you reckon it is?"

    Well, I don’t know. But per’aps if we keep them till they’re ransomed, it means that we keep them till they’re dead.

    "Now, that’s something like. That’ll answer. Why couldn’t you said that before? We’ll keep them till they’re ransomed to death; and a bothersome lot they’ll be, too—eating up everything, and always trying to get loose."

    How you talk, Ben Rogers. How can they get loose when there’s a guard over them, ready to shoot them down if they move a peg?

    "A guard! Well, that is good. So somebody’s got to set up all night and never get any sleep, just so as to watch them. I think that’s foolishness. Why can’t a body take a club and ransom them as soon as they get here?"

    "Because it ain’t in the books so—that’s why. Now, Ben Rogers, do you want to do things regular, or don’t you?—that’s the idea. Don’t you reckon that the people that made the books knows what’s the correct thing to do? Do you reckon you can learn ‘em anything? Not by a good deal. No, sir, we’ll just go on and ransom them in the regular way."

    All right. I don’t mind; but I say it’s a fool way, anyhow. Say, do we kill the women, too?

    Well, Ben Rogers, if I was as ignorant as you I wouldn’t let on. Kill the women? No; nobody ever saw anything in the books like that. You fetch them to the cave, and you’re always as polite as pie to them; and by and by they fall in love with you, and never want to go home any more.

    Well, if that’s the way I’m agreed, but I don’t take no stock in it. Mighty soon we’ll have the cave so cluttered up with women, and fellows waiting to be ransomed, that there won’t be no place for the robbers. But go ahead, I ain’t got nothing to say.

    Little Tommy Barnes was asleep now, and when they waked him up he was scared, and cried, and said he wanted to go home to his ma, and didn’t want to be a robber any more.

    So they all made fun of him, and called him cry-baby, and that made him mad, and he said he would go straight and tell all the secrets. But Tom give him five cents to keep quiet, and said we would all go home and meet next week, and rob somebody and kill some people.

    Ben Rogers said he couldn’t get out much, only Sundays, and so he wanted to begin next Sunday; but all the boys said it would be wicked to do it on Sunday, and that settled the thing. They agreed to get together and fix a day as soon as they could, and then we elected Tom Sawyer first captain and Joe Harper second captain of the Gang, and so started home.

    I clumb up the shed and crept into my window just before day was breaking. My new clothes was all greased up and clayey, and I was dog-tired.

    Chapter III

    WE AMBUSCADE THE A-RABS

    Well, I got a good going-over in the morning from old Miss Watson on account of my clothes; but the widow she didn’t scold, but only cleaned off the grease and clay, and looked so sorry that I thought I would behave awhile if I could. Then Miss Watson she took me in the closet and prayed, but nothing come of it. She told me to pray every day, and whatever I asked for I would get it. But it warn’t so. I tried it. Once I got a fish-line, but no hooks. It warn’t any good to me without hooks. I tried for the hooks three or four times, but somehow I couldn’t make it work. By and by, one day, I asked Miss Watson to try for me, but she said I was a fool. She never told me why, and I couldn’t make it out no way.

    I set down one time back in the woods, and had a long think about it. I says to myself, if a body can get anything they pray for, why don’t Deacon Winn get back the money he lost on pork? Why can’t the widow get back her silver snuff-box that was stole? Why can’t Miss Watson fat up? No, says I to myself, there ain’t nothing in it. I went and told the widow about it, and she said the thing a body could get by praying for it was spiritual gifts. This was too many for me, but she told me what she meant—I must help other people, and do everything I could for other people, and look out for them all the time, and never think about myself. This was including Miss Watson, as I took it. I went out in the woods and turned it over in my mind a long time, but I couldn’t see no advantage about it—except for the other people; so at last I reckoned I wouldn’t worry about it any more, but just let it go. Sometimes the widow would take me one side and talk about Providence in a way to make a body’s mouth water; but maybe next day Miss Watson would take hold and knock it all down again. I judged I could see that there was two Providences, and a poor chap would stand considerable show with the widow’s Providence, but if Miss Watson’s got him there warn’t no help for him any more. I thought it all out, and reckoned I would belong to the widow’s if he wanted me, though I couldn’t make out how he was a-going to be any better off then than what he was before, seeing I was so ignorant, and so kind of low-down and ornery.

    Pap he hadn’t been seen for more than a year, and that was comfortable for me; I didn’t want to see him no more. He used to always whale me when he was sober and could get his hands on me; though I used to take to the woods most of the time when he was around. Well, about this time he was found in the river drownded, about twelve mile above town, so people said. They judged it was him, anyway; said this drownded man was just his size, and was ragged, and had uncommon long hair, which was all like pap; but they couldn’t make nothing out of the face, because it had been in the water so long it warn’t much like a face at all. They said he was floating on his back in the water. They took him and buried him on the bank. But I warn’t comfortable long, because I happened to think of something. I knowed mighty well that a drownded man don’t float on his back, but on his face. So I knowed, then, that this warn’t pap, but a woman dressed up in a man’s clothes. So I was uncomfortable again. I judged the old man would turn up again by and by, though I wished he wouldn’t.

    We played robber now and then about a month, and then I resigned. All the boys did. We hadn’t robbed nobody, hadn’t killed any people, but only just pretended. We used to hop out of the woods and go charging down on hog-drivers and women in carts taking garden stuff to market, but we never hived any of them. Tom Sawyer called the hogs ingots, and he called the turnips and stuff julery, and we would go to the cave and powwow over what we had done, and how many people we had killed and marked. But I couldn’t see no profit in it. One time Tom sent a boy to run about town with a blazing stick, which he called a slogan (which was the sign for the Gang to get together), and then he said he had got secret news by his spies that next day a whole parcel of Spanish merchants and rich A-rabs was going to camp in Cave Hollow with two hundred elephants, and six hundred camels, and over a thousand sumter mules, all loaded down with di’monds, and they didn’t have only a guard of four hundred soldiers, and so we would lay in ambuscade, as he called it, and kill the lot and scoop the things. He said we must slick up our swords and guns, and get ready. He never could go after even a turnip-cart but he must have the swords and guns all scoured up for it, though they was only lath and broomsticks, and you might scour at them till you rotted, and then they warn’t worth a mouthful of ashes more than what they was before. I didn’t believe we could lick such a crowd of Spaniards and A-rabs, but I wanted to see the camels and elephants, so I was on hand next day, Saturday, in the ambuscade; and when we got the word we rushed out of the woods and down the hill. But there warn’t no Spaniards and A-rabs, and there warn’t no camels nor no elephants. It warn’t anything but a Sunday-school picnic, and only a primer class at that. We busted it up, and chased the children up the hollow; but we never got anything but some doughnuts and jam, though Ben Rogers got a rag doll, and Joe Harper got a hymn-book and a tract; and then the teacher charged in, and made us drop everything and cut. I didn’t see no di’monds, and I told Tom Sawyer so. He said there was loads of them there, anyway; and he said there was A-rabs there, too, and elephants and things. I said, why couldn’t we see them, then? He said if I warn’t so ignorant, but had read a book called Don Quixote, I would know without asking. He said it was all done by enchantment. He said there was hundreds of soldiers there, and elephants and treasure, and so on, but we had enemies which he called magicians, and they had turned the whole thing into an infant Sunday-school, just out of spite. I said, all right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the magicians. Tom Sawyer said I was a numskull.

    Why, said he, a magician could call up a lot of genies, and they would hash you up like nothing before you could say Jack Robinson. They are as tall as a tree and as big around as a church.

    Well, I says, "s’pose we got some genies to help us—can’t we lick the other crowd then?"

    How you going to get them?

    "I don’t know. How do they get them?"

    Why, they rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring, and then the genies come tearing in, with the thunder and lightning a-ripping around and the smoke a-rolling, and everything they’re told to do they up and do it. They don’t think nothing of pulling a shot-tower up by the roots, and belting a Sunday-school superintendent over the head with it—or any other man.

    Who makes them tear around so?

    Why, whoever rubs the lamp or the ring. They belong to whoever rubs the lamp or the ring, and they’ve got to do whatever he says. If he tells them to build a palace forty miles long out of di’monds, and fill it full of chewing-gum, or whatever you want, and fetch an emperor’s daughter from China for you to marry, they’ve got to do it—and they’ve got to do it before sun-up next morning, too. And more: they’ve got to waltz that palace around over the country wherever you want it, you understand.

    Well, says I, I think they are a pack of flatheads for not keeping the palace themselves ‘stead of fooling them away like that. And what’s more—if I was one of them I would see a man in Jericho before I would drop my business and come to him for the rubbing of an old tin lamp.

    "How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you’d have to come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to or not."

    "What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church? All right, then; I would come; but I lay I’d make that man climb the highest tree there was in the country."

    Shucks, it ain’t no use to talk to you, Huck Finn. You don’t seem to know anything, somehow—perfect saphead.

    I thought all this over for two or three days, and then I reckoned I would see if there was anything in it. I got an old tin lamp and an iron ring, and went out in the woods and rubbed and rubbed till I sweat like an Injun, calculating to build a palace and sell it; but it warn’t no use, none of the genies come. So then I judged that all that stuff was only just one of Tom Sawyer’s lies. I reckoned he believed in the A-rabs and the elephants, but as for me I think different. It had all the marks of a Sunday-school.

    Chapter IV

    THE HAIR-BALL ORACLE

    Well, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter now. I had been to school most all the time and could spell and read and write just a little, and could say the multiplication table up to six times seven is thirty-five, and

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