would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the
house all the time, considering how dismal regular
and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so
when I couldn't stand it no longer I lit out. I got
into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and
was free and satisfied. 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. So I went back.

The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor
lost lamb, and she called me a lot of other names,
too, but she never meant no harm by it. She put me
in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing
but sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. Well,
then, the old thing commenced again. The widow
rung a bell for supper, and you had to come to time.
When you got to the table you couldn't go right to
eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck
down her head and grumble a little over the victuals,
though there warn't really anything the matter with
them--that is, nothing only everything was cooked
by itself. 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.

After supper she got out her book and learned me
about Moses and the Bulrushers, and I was in a sweat
to find out all about him; but by and by she let it out
that Moses had been dead a considerable long time;
so then I didn't care no more about him, because I
don't take no stock in dead people.

Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the
widow to let me. But she wouldn't. She said it

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