Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Complete by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) pdf book download

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Complete by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)

ℹ️Book Information__________________________

Book: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Complete

Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)

Release Date: August 20, 2006 [EBook #76]

Last Updated: May 25, 2018

Language: English.

(✍️ This article is collected from this book 📚 (All Credit To Go Real Hero The Author of this book 📖) 🙏 Please buy this book hardcopy from anyway.)

📚Front Page Of This Book___________________

YOU don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The

Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by

Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he

stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody

but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe

Mary. Aunt Polly—Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is—and Mary, and the Widow

Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some

stretchers, as I said before.

Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money

that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars

apiece—all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. Well,

Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a

day apiece all the year round—more than a body could tell what to do with. The

Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she 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 was a mean practice and wasn’t clean, and I must try to not

do it any more. That is just the way with some people. They get down on a

thing when they don’t know nothing about it. Here she was a-bothering about

Moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody, being gone, you see, yet

finding a power of fault with me for doing a thing that had some good in it. And

she took snuff, too; of course that was all right, because she done it herself.

Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on, had just

come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a spelling-book. She

worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then the widow made her ease

up. I couldn’t stood it much longer. Then for an hour it was deadly dull, and I

was 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. By

and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was off

to bed. I went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it on the table.

Then I set down in a chair by the window and tried to think of something

cheerful, but it warn’t no use. I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The

stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I

heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a

whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the

wind was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn’t make out what it

was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. 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. I got so

down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some company. Pretty soon a spider

went crawling up my shoulder, and I flipped it off and it lit in the candle; and

before I could budge it was all shriveled up. I didn’t need anybody to tell me

that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so I was

scared and most shook the clothes off of me. I got up and turned around in my

tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then I tied up a little

lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. But I hadn’t no confidence.

You do that when you’ve lost a horseshoe that you’ve found, instead of nailing

it up over the door, but I hadn’t ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep

off bad luck when you’d killed a spider.

I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; for the

house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn’t know. Well, after

a long time I heard the clock away off in the town go boom—boom—boom—

twelve licks; and all still again—stiller than ever. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap

down in the dark amongst the trees—something was a stirring. I set still and

listened. Directly I could just barely hear a “me-yow! me-yow!” down there.

That was good! Says I, “me-yow! me-yow!” as soft as I could, and then I put

out the light and scrambled out of the window on to the shed. Then I slipped

down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was

Tom Sawyer waiting for me.

🔍The drifting journey of Huck and his friend Jim, a runaway slave, down the Mississippi River on their raft may be one of the most enduring images of escape and freedom in all of American literature. Although the society it satirized was already history at the time of publication, the book was quite controversial, and has remained so to this day.

📚 That You Want____________________

as stumped, and set still. I was most ready to cry; but all at once I thought of a way, and so I offered them Miss Watson--they could kill her. Everybody said:

"Oh, she'll do. That's all right. Huck can come in."

Then they all stuck a pin in their fingers to get blood to sign with, and I made my mark on the paper.

"Now," says Ben Rogers, "what's the line of business of this Gang?"

"Nothing only robbery and murder," Tom said.

"But who are we going to rob?--houses, or cattle, or--"

"Stuff! stealing cattle and such things ain't robbery; it's burglary," says Tom Sawyer. "We ain't burglars. That ain't no sort of style. We are highwaymen. We stop stages and carriages on the road, with masks on, and kill the people and take their watches and money."

"Must we always kill the people?"

"Oh, certainly. It's best. Some authorities think different, but mostly it's considered best to kill them--except some that you bring to the cave here, and keep them till they're ra.