know what you’d CALL proof.”
Think of that now. I never see such a head as that
boy had. Why, I had eyes and I could see things, but
they never meant nothing to me. But Tom Sawyer
was different. When Tom Sawyer seen a thing it just
got up on its hind legs and TALKED to him — told him
everything it knowed. I never see such a head.
“Tom Sawyer,” I says, “I’ll say it again as I’ve
said it a many a time before: I ain’t fitten to black
your boots. But that’s all right — that’s neither here
nor there. God Almighty made us all, and some He
gives eyes that’s blind, and some He gives eyes that
can see, and I reckon it ain’t none of our lookout what
He done it for; it’s all right, or He’d ‘a’ fixed it some
other way. Go on — I see plenty plain enough, now,
that them thieves didn’t get way with the di’monds.
Why didn’t they, do you reckon?”
“Because they got chased away by them other two
men before they could pull the boots off of the corpse.”
“That’s so! I see it now. But looky here, Tom,
why ain’t we to go and tell about it?”
“Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, can’t you see? Look at
it. What’s a-going to happen? There’s going to be
an inquest in the morning. Them two men will tell
how they heard the yells and rushed there just in time
to not save the stranger. Then the jury’ll twaddle
and twaddle and twaddle, and finally they’ll fetch in a
verdict that he got shot or stuck or busted over the
head with something, and come to his death by the in-
spiration of God. And after they’ve buried him they’ll
auction off his things for to pay the expenses, and
then’s OUR chance.”
“How, Tom?”
“Buy the boots for two dollars!”
Well, it ‘most took my breath.
“My land! Why, Tom, WE’LL get the di’monds!”
“You bet. Some day there’ll be a big reward
offered for them — a thousand dollars, sure. That’s
our money! Now we’ll trot in and see the folks.
And mind you we don’t know anything about any
murder, or any di’monds, or any thieves — don’t you
forget that.”
I had to sigh a little over the way he had got it fixed.
I’d ‘a’ SOLD them di’monds — yes, sir — for twelve
thousand dollars; but I didn’t say anything. It
wouldn’t done any good. I says:
“But what are we going to tell your aunt Sally has
made us so long getting down here from the village,
Tom?”
“Oh, I’ll leave that to you,” he says. “I reckon
you can explain it somehow.”
He was always just that strict and delicate. He
never would tell a lie himself.
We struck across the big yard, noticing this, that,
and t’other thing that was so familiar, and we so glad
to see it again, and when we got to the roofed big
passageway betwixt the double log house and the
kitchen part, there was everything hanging on the wall
just as it used to was, even to Uncle Silas’s old faded
green baize working-gown with the hood to it, and rag-
gedy white patch between the shoulders that always
looked like somebody had hit him with a snowball; and
then we lifted the latch and walked in. Aunt Sally she
was just a-ripping and a-tearing around, and the
children was huddled in one corner, and the old man
he was huddled in the other and praying for help in
time of need. She jumped for us with joy and tears
running down her face and give us a whacking box on
the ear, and then hugged us and kissed us and boxed
us again, and just couldn’t seem to get enough of it,
she was so glad to see us; and she says:
“Where HAVE you been a-loafing to, you good-for-
nothing trash! I’ve been that worried about you I
didn’t know what to do. Your traps has been here
ever so long, and I’ve had supper cooked fresh about
four times so as to have it hot and good when you