1 The judge he felt kind of sore.
2 "Yes," he says, kind of pretty-well-satisfied like.
3 I made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things under so the rain couldn't get at them.
4 It was that dull kind of a regular sound that comes from oars working in rowlocks when it's a still night.
5 It was kind of lazy and jolly, laying off comfortable all day, smoking and fishing, and no books nor study.
6 We went along a narrow place and got into a kind of room, all damp and sweaty and cold, and there we stopped.
7 I was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me.
8 I did wish Tom Sawyer was there; I knowed he would take an interest in this kind of business, and throw in the fancy touches.
9 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.
10 Mornings before daylight I slipped into cornfields and borrowed a watermelon, or a mushmelon, or a punkin, or some new corn, or things of that kind.
11 It was a monstrous big river here, with the tallest and the thickest kind of timber on both banks; just a solid wall, as well as I could see by the stars.
12 I judged she would be proud of me for helping these rapscallions, because rapscallions and dead beats is the kind the widow and good people takes the most interest in.
13 There is ways to keep off some kinds of bad luck, but this wasn't one of them kind; so I never tried to do anything, but just poked along low-spirited and on the watch-out.
14 There was heaps of old greasy cards scattered around over the floor, and old whisky bottles, and a couple of masks made out of black cloth; and all over the walls was the ignorantest kind of words and pictures made with charcoal.
15 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.
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 Old Hank Bunker done it once, and bragged about it; and in less than two years he got drunk and fell off of the shot-tower, and spread himself out so that he was just a kind of a layer, as you may say; and they slid him edgeways between two barn doors for a coffin, and buried him so, so they say, but I didn't see it.
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