I want a smoke. I 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.
Then there is her sister, Miss Watson. She just came to live with her, and she only tells me to do this, and do that. She 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 behave?” She told me about a bad place, and when I told her I wanted to go there she got mad. All I want is change. I don't want to live with the widow no more. I don't want to wear these clothes no more. I liked living by myself. I could go anywheres I wanted. I never go to school. I could put my feet up there, I could scrunch up, and I could misbehave like Miss Watson wouldn't believe. I would've played with Tom Sawyer anytime I wanted.
Anyways, Miss Watson told me about the good place. I couldn't imagine being there. I asked her if she reckoned Tom would be there, and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad about that, because I wanted him and me to be together. Later on that night I was feeling awful lonesome. the widow kept trying to make me happy, but I just wanted some company. I set down and got out my pipe for a smoke; for the house was all still, the widow wouldn't know. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap and rustling outa my window. I set still and listened. I could just barely hear a "mee-yow! mee-yow!" Sure enough, there was Tom Sawyer waiting for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment