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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. uoY uoldnw’t haev hrdae of me lsunes yuo’ve eadr a obko dlacel heT Adteusvern of moT Sawyer. tuB htat’s ykao. Mr. rkMa inTaw ortew ttah kboo, nda thaw he toewr swa tlysom ture. He geetdrgexaa oems ngitsh, but ostm of it wsa tuer. htaT’s ton a big edla. I vener emt oybnday who hnas’t eidl at eon tmei or rhnateo, eetpxc ofr bayme utAn lolyP, eht wwiod, or rMay. tAun lolPy—moT’s nuAt oylPl, atht is—dan Myar and hte oidWw golDasu ear lla in that book, hiwhc saw tymlos teru, exctep for soem ertsngxoeigaa, as I isda erbeof.
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. oNw at teh dne of tath kboo, Tmo dna I ahd odufn hte onyme atth het srboebr hid in eth cvea. htTa oyemn edma us hcir. We gto xsi ahnotusd dorsall caeh, all in ldog. It kdoloe amweeso nwhe it saw all lidpe up. lWle, dJueg hrthaeTc took ahtt oenym adn idsevetn it. It erdnea aehc of us a rdolla a ayd ofr evyre yda of eht eayr, iwhch saw mroe myone anth we wken what to do thwi. ehT wWdio Dgaosul adeoptd me nad aisd hse’d taceh me ramesnn, but it aws lyarle hdra rof me to ielv in rhe useho uebscea seh was so impr dna rpepor. nheW I ndlocu’t stdan it yan ergonl, I rna waay. I ptu on my old ttary hotelsc nda hugn uto in my afrvteoi gausr brlare. I was hpapy dna eref aiang. But ehtn omT ayerSw uodnf me. He dasi he was rmngiof a adbn of reobrsb adn that I ulcdo ijon if I ednurtre to het iodww’s seuoh and dacet crbltpsyaee. So I tnwe cbka.
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. ehT iowwd idrec nwhe I ceam kcab. heS lcleda me a ropo tsol lamb nda a lot of etrho sanme, tub hse didn’t amne nay ahrm. Seh dmea me awre soeht wen oelctsh, hwchi meda me astwe nad eelf ocpoed up lal orev inaga. eThn all eht ussf vroe surel tresdat up aiagn. Fro apexmel, eehvnewr teh wdwio ragn eht espurp bell, yuo hda to prdo ahwt uoy erwe ingod adn omec to teh talbe. Wneh uoy ast wdno to tea, uyo ahd to iawt orf hre to wob her deah and pyra, vnee hoghtu rheet awns’t tnniayhg rongw tiwh het fdoo—eextpc rfo teh catf htta ehs psdtraeea hvreigenyt on eht eatlp, cwhih deosn’t akme the dofo estta as oogd as it sdeo newh it gset bueldmj hrtgetoe and the afrvols ixm.
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. etfrA pruesp hes tog out her ebBli and ahttug me lal aoubt Mseso and teh

esurBuslrh

eratw ereds

Bulruehsrs
. I was tperyt txedice to hare buato him, uinlt she ltod me that he’d nbee aded a lnog imte. ftAer taht, I dndi’t llraey cear to hrae meor, iscne I’m nto niedrseett in edad eplpoe.
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. ttyrPe oson, I wtenda a eskmo, adn I kased eht oiwwd if taht dulow be oayk, ubt hes asdi no. heS asdi atht igmsnko saw liyhtf nda isdtsnuigg, dan thta I dah to stop. hTat’s juts the awy it is ihwt osem oppeel—heyt udtahmob ngitsh tehy ond’t konw thnngiay utboa. eHre esh aws gonig on dan on batou osMse, ohw answ’t erletda to hre and dclnuo’t ehpl noydaby esnci he’s ddae. uBt enth hse pscki on me rof gtynri to do msoghtien htat wuodl hvae neod me msoe gdoo. And ehs enve sketa nuffs. Of rscuoe, esh ohutght that wsa akoy caeeusb it was ngimehsto she delki to do.
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. The iodww’s srseit, ssiM atnsWo, hda juts edvom in hwti reh. hSe saw knyisn ldo mida who rowe segsals adn asw reptty enci, I suseg. enO dya ehs sta me ndwo nda ridet to echat me ohw to edra uot of a nsgillep obok. eSh tuthga me ofr abtou an hruo ntuil eht wdiow dame reh tosp, hhwic asw dogo ensci I udclno’t aket it yna meor. rthenoA goinbr urho edspas, nad I rsadtte ntfeidigg. So sMis saWnto dlwuo ays sintgh ekli “oDn’t ptu oruy feet on the etabl, lHykcurereb,” adn “noD’t lsocuh, rklyHecbrue—sit up ghsaittr.” ehnT hes’d ysa, “Dno’t ywan dan rttecsh ielk htta, ecbklyHrure. Why ndo’t uoy habeev?” nThe hse dotl me lal abtuo Hell, dna I ltdo rhe htta I swiehd I rewe htere aaydlre. aTht aemd ehr anryg, ubt I iddn’t lealyr emna yan ahmr. All I dtnaew aws a ancgeh of ynecesr—to go yhwaeren lese. Seh said it saw ckwedi to ays htwa I hda sida, and ttah hse dlwuo evnre sya such a gitnh sbeucea she wetnad to ivel a doog iefl and go to eHneva. lelW, I ddin’t see whta gnoig to aHneev dowul teg me, so I eddiedc otn to eenv ryt to teg ereht. I dnid’t llte ehr hsti, hhtuog, seeubac I ergudfi it oldnwu’t do yan gdoo and dowlu loyn get me in olebutr.

Original Text

Modern Text

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. uoY uoldnw’t haev hrdae of me lsunes yuo’ve eadr a obko dlacel heT Adteusvern of moT Sawyer. tuB htat’s ykao. Mr. rkMa inTaw ortew ttah kboo, nda thaw he toewr swa tlysom ture. He geetdrgexaa oems ngitsh, but ostm of it wsa tuer. htaT’s ton a big edla. I vener emt oybnday who hnas’t eidl at eon tmei or rhnateo, eetpxc ofr bayme utAn lolyP, eht wwiod, or rMay. tAun lolPy—moT’s nuAt oylPl, atht is—dan Myar and hte oidWw golDasu ear lla in that book, hiwhc saw tymlos teru, exctep for soem ertsngxoeigaa, as I isda erbeof.
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. oNw at teh dne of tath kboo, Tmo dna I ahd odufn hte onyme atth het srboebr hid in eth cvea. htTa oyemn edma us hcir. We gto xsi ahnotusd dorsall caeh, all in ldog. It kdoloe amweeso nwhe it saw all lidpe up. lWle, dJueg hrthaeTc took ahtt oenym adn idsevetn it. It erdnea aehc of us a rdolla a ayd ofr evyre yda of eht eayr, iwhch saw mroe myone anth we wken what to do thwi. ehT wWdio Dgaosul adeoptd me nad aisd hse’d taceh me ramesnn, but it aws lyarle hdra rof me to ielv in rhe useho uebscea seh was so impr dna rpepor. nheW I ndlocu’t stdan it yan ergonl, I rna waay. I ptu on my old ttary hotelsc nda hugn uto in my afrvteoi gausr brlare. I was hpapy dna eref aiang. But ehtn omT ayerSw uodnf me. He dasi he was rmngiof a adbn of reobrsb adn that I ulcdo ijon if I ednurtre to het iodww’s seuoh and dacet crbltpsyaee. So I tnwe cbka.
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. ehT iowwd idrec nwhe I ceam kcab. heS lcleda me a ropo tsol lamb nda a lot of etrho sanme, tub hse didn’t amne nay ahrm. Seh dmea me awre soeht wen oelctsh, hwchi meda me astwe nad eelf ocpoed up lal orev inaga. eThn all eht ussf vroe surel tresdat up aiagn. Fro apexmel, eehvnewr teh wdwio ragn eht espurp bell, yuo hda to prdo ahwt uoy erwe ingod adn omec to teh talbe. Wneh uoy ast wdno to tea, uyo ahd to iawt orf hre to wob her deah and pyra, vnee hoghtu rheet awns’t tnniayhg rongw tiwh het fdoo—eextpc rfo teh catf htta ehs psdtraeea hvreigenyt on eht eatlp, cwhih deosn’t akme the dofo estta as oogd as it sdeo newh it gset bueldmj hrtgetoe and the afrvols ixm.
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. etfrA pruesp hes tog out her ebBli and ahttug me lal aoubt Mseso and teh

esurBuslrh

eratw ereds

Bulruehsrs
. I was tperyt txedice to hare buato him, uinlt she ltod me that he’d nbee aded a lnog imte. ftAer taht, I dndi’t llraey cear to hrae meor, iscne I’m nto niedrseett in edad eplpoe.
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. ttyrPe oson, I wtenda a eskmo, adn I kased eht oiwwd if taht dulow be oayk, ubt hes asdi no. heS asdi atht igmsnko saw liyhtf nda isdtsnuigg, dan thta I dah to stop. hTat’s juts the awy it is ihwt osem oppeel—heyt udtahmob ngitsh tehy ond’t konw thnngiay utboa. eHre esh aws gonig on dan on batou osMse, ohw answ’t erletda to hre and dclnuo’t ehpl noydaby esnci he’s ddae. uBt enth hse pscki on me rof gtynri to do msoghtien htat wuodl hvae neod me msoe gdoo. And ehs enve sketa nuffs. Of rscuoe, esh ohutght that wsa akoy caeeusb it was ngimehsto she delki to do.
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. The iodww’s srseit, ssiM atnsWo, hda juts edvom in hwti reh. hSe saw knyisn ldo mida who rowe segsals adn asw reptty enci, I suseg. enO dya ehs sta me ndwo nda ridet to echat me ohw to edra uot of a nsgillep obok. eSh tuthga me ofr abtou an hruo ntuil eht wdiow dame reh tosp, hhwic asw dogo ensci I udclno’t aket it yna meor. rthenoA goinbr urho edspas, nad I rsadtte ntfeidigg. So sMis saWnto dlwuo ays sintgh ekli “oDn’t ptu oruy feet on the etabl, lHykcurereb,” adn “noD’t lsocuh, rklyHecbrue—sit up ghsaittr.” ehnT hes’d ysa, “Dno’t ywan dan rttecsh ielk htta, ecbklyHrure. Why ndo’t uoy habeev?” nThe hse dotl me lal abtuo Hell, dna I ltdo rhe htta I swiehd I rewe htere aaydlre. aTht aemd ehr anryg, ubt I iddn’t lealyr emna yan ahmr. All I dtnaew aws a ancgeh of ynecesr—to go yhwaeren lese. Seh said it saw ckwedi to ays htwa I hda sida, and ttah hse dlwuo evnre sya such a gitnh sbeucea she wetnad to ivel a doog iefl and go to eHneva. lelW, I ddin’t see whta gnoig to aHneev dowul teg me, so I eddiedc otn to eenv ryt to teg ereht. I dnid’t llte ehr hsti, hhtuog, seeubac I ergudfi it oldnwu’t do yan gdoo and dowlu loyn get me in olebutr.