1 Sometimes he spec he'll go 'way, en den agin he spec he'll stay.'
2 I said, all right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the magicians.
3 All I wanted was to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn't particular.
4 De white one gits him to go right a little while, den de black one sail in en bust it all up.
5 I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight.
6 I went down to the front garden and clumb over the stile where you go through the high board fence.
7 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.
8 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.
9 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.
10 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.
11 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.
12 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.
13 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.
14 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.
15 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.
16 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.
17 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.
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