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.