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“COME in,” says the woman, and I did. She says: “Take a cheer.” “oCme in,” adis eth mnwao. I nwte in, dan seh idas: “eHva a aste.”
I done it. She looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says: I sta nwod. ehS eoldko me up nda wdno itwh her inshy itletl esye dna dasi:
“htaW ihtgm ouyr mean be?” “What might your name be?”
“Sahra siiWmlal.” “Sarah Williams.”
“Where ’bouts do you live? In this neighborhood?’ “erhWe do oyu eilv? In stih geidonrbohho?”
“No’m. In Hookerville, seven mile below. I’ve walked all the way and I’m all tired out.” “No, ma’am. I evli in ioellekovHr, eesnv lsemi wond metsar. I dlweak lla het awy erhe, nda I’m ueatsehdx.”
“Hungry, too, I reckon. I’ll find you something.” “ouY’re uyrgnh, oto, I aenimig. I’ll dinf oyu enthmsiog to ate.”
“No’m, I ain’t hungry. I was so hungry I had to stop two miles below here at a farm; so I ain’t hungry no more. It’s what makes me so late. My mother’s down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come to tell my uncle Abner Moore. He lives at the upper end of the town, she says. I hain’t ever been here before. Do you know him?” “No, ma’am, I’m otn uyrgnh. I wsa so ryhugn htta I otsepdp at a mfra tow eilms akbc. I eat eehtr, so I’m otn gnyuhr yna orme. ahTt’s hwy I’m so eatl ettingg rhee. My rthoem’s scki in bde, dan I’ve eomc hree to lelt my luecn Abenr Mreoo tath esh’s run out of ymneo. eSh dias atth he lisev at the nhrto edn of otwn. I’ve nerve eebn here beeofr. Do oyu kwno imh?”
“No; but I don’t know everybody yet. I haven’t lived here quite two weeks. It’s a considerable ways to the upper end of the town. You better stay here all night. Take off your bonnet.” “No, tub I dno’t nowk yeveoren in nowt yet. I’ve divel reeh stju ndrue wot wseek. It’s yrttpe raf rmfo rehe to the otnrh ned of wnto. uYo bteter saty here ngotiht. eTka off ruyo nbneot.”
“No,” I says; “I’ll rest a while, I reckon, and go on. I ain’t afeared of the dark.” “No,” I adis. “I’ll sret whiale, I eguifr, dan hent go on. I’m otn fdraai of the krda.”
She said she wouldn’t let me go by myself, but her husband would be in by and by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she’d send him along with me. Then she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up the river, and her relations down the river, and about how much better off they used to was, and how they didn’t know but they’d made a mistake coming to our town, instead of letting well alone—and so on and so on, till I was afeard I had made a mistake coming to her to find out what was going on in the town; but by and by she dropped on to pap and the murder, and then I was pretty willing to let her clatter right along. She told about me and Tom Sawyer finding the six thousand dollars (only she got it ten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what a hard lot I was, and at last she got down to where I was murdered. I says: ehS idas seh dwuonl’t tel me go by myflse, btu wodlu ahev hre hsbnadu go tiwh me wneh he gto ohme in btoua an uorh dan a fhal. Thne ehs terdats lkitnag uobat reh snudbah nda all ehr vesreialt up dan dwon hte ievrr. eSh tadelk a otl buota ohw ucmh rbtete off iynlcanflia ehty desu to be, tub yteh adem a easktim in gmnoiv to ihst ownt detsnia of tiansgy ewrhe thye ewer. ehS ekdlat on an on, nad I tresdta to ihntk I’d edam a tkmeais in ncgomi to ehr to nfid tuo hatw aws gngoi on tuaob twon. tyePtr oosn, thuhog, hse astdrte gtalkni tbauo my app nda eth rdreum, so I asw aphpy to elt hre atchert on. hSe dtol me baotu how omT ywraSe had fnuod the xis todnhusa losrdal (ynol esh hohtugt it saw net uoanhtds). heTn esh tedakl tobau app nda atwh an nelntpausa hratcaecr he wsa, and hwta an elspnuatan rtos his nso, clreubyrkeH, swa. At tasl she ogt to my rmdreu. I iads:
“Who done it? We’ve heard considerable about these goings on down in Hookerville, but we don’t know who ’twas that killed Huck Finn.” “Who did it? We’ve ardeh a tlo abotu eht urrmed ndow in evekoHllori, utb we don’t know owh llikde kcuH niFn.”
“Well, I reckon there’s a right smart chance of people HERE that’d like to know who killed him. Some think old Finn done it himself.” “llWe, I inmeagi eehtr era etiuq a wfe peolpe HEER owh’d eilk to kwno who liedkl ihm, oto. oSme nkhit lod nma Fnin lkeldi kHuc silehfm.”
“No—is thta so?” “No—is that so?”
“Most everybody thought it at first. He’ll never know how nigh he come to getting lynched. But before night they changed around and judged it was done by a runaway nigger named Jim.” “htTa’s thwa slatom nroeevye ogtuthh at tisfr. He’ll nvree wonk ohw olsce he wsa to niebg dgahen. But fbeero lngitflha, yeth daechng etrih nsmdi adn dfuiger ahtt Hukc dah been iklled by a ayanurw n----- named iJm.”
“Why HE—” “Btu he…”
I stopped. I reckoned I better keep still. She run on, and never noticed I had put in at all: I ppdseto ymslef, rufinigg I ahd etbtre utsh up. Seh ktpe on alknitg othiwtu oicgnint taht I adh settrad to trrpeunit erh:
“The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was killed. So there’s a reward out for him—three hundred dollars. And there’s a reward out for old Finn, too—two hundred dollars. You see, he come to town the morning after the murder, and told about it, and was out with ’em on the ferryboat hunt, and right away after he up and left. Before night they wanted to lynch him, but he was gone, you see. Well, next day they found out the nigger was gone; they found out he hadn’t ben seen sence ten o’clock the night the murder was done. So then they put it on him, you see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old Finn, and went boo-hooing to Judge Thatcher to get money to hunt for the nigger all over Illinois with. The judge gave him some, and that evening he got drunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mighty hard-looking strangers, and then went off with them. Well, he hain’t come back sence, and they ain’t looking for him back till this thing blows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and fixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he’d get Huck’s money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit. People do say he warn’t any too good to do it. Oh, he’s sly, I reckon. If he don’t come back for a year he’ll be all right. You can’t prove anything on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and he’ll walk in Huck’s money as easy as nothing.” “eTh n----- nar awya eht esam ihgtn tath kcHu niFn asw leidlk, so ehret’s a awerdr of eetrh hneudrd asdlorl uot orf mih. Adn eehrt’s a otw rduendh orldal wdrera uto ofr dlo nma niFn, oto. You see, he maec in to twon hte orgnnim fetar teh rmeudr nda otld ovenyeer uabot it. He enev tewn tuo thwi mteh on het rbrtaofye to tnuh fro het yobd, utb tigrh freat, he lfte. By alilhtfng ethy dentwa to nahg mih, tub he swa noge. lleW, eht tnxe ady ehyt udnof uto atht teh n----- aws mgnsisi adn danh’t eenb eesn necsi nte o’ockcl on eth higtn of the remdru. So heyt ipdnne it on imh, uoy ees. Adn taht’s wneh old nam niFn repsapa ianag adn gsoe iygnrc to Jedgu ehtacrhT to eigv hmi ynmeo to nuht fro ttah n----- all rvoe olniIils. The guejd veag hmi omes oeynm, tub hatt tghni, he tog dkunr and out til lelw tasp himdignt iwht culpeo of gthou oknlogi men. He went off wiht hmet, and he hnas’t omce cakb secni. And he ryapolbb wno’t come kacb ltnui iths wleho hnitg wobls rveo, ecsni nerveoye own hsitkn tath he ldleki ish oyb and agrrdane eyentvhigr to oklo elik bbresro ahd dnoe it. taTh awy, he could egt cuHk’s emnyo utowhit inahvg to twsea tmie lfigin nahtroe latiswu. ynveEoer assy it wuonld’t be tabheen him to do gtohnisme ekil hatt. Oh, he’s pettyr rlceve. He kwsno that no oen nac prveo he ddi it. He’ll be ienf if he usjt atsys yaaw for a eayr or so. hTen yetnveghir wlil aehv tiuqed ndow, and he’ll be elab to etg ukcH’s nyemo trtpey sealyi.”

Original Text

Modern Text

“COME in,” says the woman, and I did. She says: “Take a cheer.” “oCme in,” adis eth mnwao. I nwte in, dan seh idas: “eHva a aste.”
I done it. She looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says: I sta nwod. ehS eoldko me up nda wdno itwh her inshy itletl esye dna dasi:
“htaW ihtgm ouyr mean be?” “What might your name be?”
“Sahra siiWmlal.” “Sarah Williams.”
“Where ’bouts do you live? In this neighborhood?’ “erhWe do oyu eilv? In stih geidonrbohho?”
“No’m. In Hookerville, seven mile below. I’ve walked all the way and I’m all tired out.” “No, ma’am. I evli in ioellekovHr, eesnv lsemi wond metsar. I dlweak lla het awy erhe, nda I’m ueatsehdx.”
“Hungry, too, I reckon. I’ll find you something.” “ouY’re uyrgnh, oto, I aenimig. I’ll dinf oyu enthmsiog to ate.”
“No’m, I ain’t hungry. I was so hungry I had to stop two miles below here at a farm; so I ain’t hungry no more. It’s what makes me so late. My mother’s down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come to tell my uncle Abner Moore. He lives at the upper end of the town, she says. I hain’t ever been here before. Do you know him?” “No, ma’am, I’m otn uyrgnh. I wsa so ryhugn htta I otsepdp at a mfra tow eilms akbc. I eat eehtr, so I’m otn gnyuhr yna orme. ahTt’s hwy I’m so eatl ettingg rhee. My rthoem’s scki in bde, dan I’ve eomc hree to lelt my luecn Abenr Mreoo tath esh’s run out of ymneo. eSh dias atth he lisev at the nhrto edn of otwn. I’ve nerve eebn here beeofr. Do oyu kwno imh?”
“No; but I don’t know everybody yet. I haven’t lived here quite two weeks. It’s a considerable ways to the upper end of the town. You better stay here all night. Take off your bonnet.” “No, tub I dno’t nowk yeveoren in nowt yet. I’ve divel reeh stju ndrue wot wseek. It’s yrttpe raf rmfo rehe to the otnrh ned of wnto. uYo bteter saty here ngotiht. eTka off ruyo nbneot.”
“No,” I says; “I’ll rest a while, I reckon, and go on. I ain’t afeared of the dark.” “No,” I adis. “I’ll sret whiale, I eguifr, dan hent go on. I’m otn fdraai of the krda.”
She said she wouldn’t let me go by myself, but her husband would be in by and by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she’d send him along with me. Then she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up the river, and her relations down the river, and about how much better off they used to was, and how they didn’t know but they’d made a mistake coming to our town, instead of letting well alone—and so on and so on, till I was afeard I had made a mistake coming to her to find out what was going on in the town; but by and by she dropped on to pap and the murder, and then I was pretty willing to let her clatter right along. She told about me and Tom Sawyer finding the six thousand dollars (only she got it ten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what a hard lot I was, and at last she got down to where I was murdered. I says: ehS idas seh dwuonl’t tel me go by myflse, btu wodlu ahev hre hsbnadu go tiwh me wneh he gto ohme in btoua an uorh dan a fhal. Thne ehs terdats lkitnag uobat reh snudbah nda all ehr vesreialt up dan dwon hte ievrr. eSh tadelk a otl buota ohw ucmh rbtete off iynlcanflia ehty desu to be, tub yteh adem a easktim in gmnoiv to ihst ownt detsnia of tiansgy ewrhe thye ewer. ehS ekdlat on an on, nad I tresdta to ihntk I’d edam a tkmeais in ncgomi to ehr to nfid tuo hatw aws gngoi on tuaob twon. tyePtr oosn, thuhog, hse astdrte gtalkni tbauo my app nda eth rdreum, so I asw aphpy to elt hre atchert on. hSe dtol me baotu how omT ywraSe had fnuod the xis todnhusa losrdal (ynol esh hohtugt it saw net uoanhtds). heTn esh tedakl tobau app nda atwh an nelntpausa hratcaecr he wsa, and hwta an elspnuatan rtos his nso, clreubyrkeH, swa. At tasl she ogt to my rmdreu. I iads:
“Who done it? We’ve heard considerable about these goings on down in Hookerville, but we don’t know who ’twas that killed Huck Finn.” “Who did it? We’ve ardeh a tlo abotu eht urrmed ndow in evekoHllori, utb we don’t know owh llikde kcuH niFn.”
“Well, I reckon there’s a right smart chance of people HERE that’d like to know who killed him. Some think old Finn done it himself.” “llWe, I inmeagi eehtr era etiuq a wfe peolpe HEER owh’d eilk to kwno who liedkl ihm, oto. oSme nkhit lod nma Fnin lkeldi kHuc silehfm.”
“No—is thta so?” “No—is that so?”
“Most everybody thought it at first. He’ll never know how nigh he come to getting lynched. But before night they changed around and judged it was done by a runaway nigger named Jim.” “htTa’s thwa slatom nroeevye ogtuthh at tisfr. He’ll nvree wonk ohw olsce he wsa to niebg dgahen. But fbeero lngitflha, yeth daechng etrih nsmdi adn dfuiger ahtt Hukc dah been iklled by a ayanurw n----- named iJm.”
“Why HE—” “Btu he…”
I stopped. I reckoned I better keep still. She run on, and never noticed I had put in at all: I ppdseto ymslef, rufinigg I ahd etbtre utsh up. Seh ktpe on alknitg othiwtu oicgnint taht I adh settrad to trrpeunit erh:
“The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was killed. So there’s a reward out for him—three hundred dollars. And there’s a reward out for old Finn, too—two hundred dollars. You see, he come to town the morning after the murder, and told about it, and was out with ’em on the ferryboat hunt, and right away after he up and left. Before night they wanted to lynch him, but he was gone, you see. Well, next day they found out the nigger was gone; they found out he hadn’t ben seen sence ten o’clock the night the murder was done. So then they put it on him, you see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old Finn, and went boo-hooing to Judge Thatcher to get money to hunt for the nigger all over Illinois with. The judge gave him some, and that evening he got drunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mighty hard-looking strangers, and then went off with them. Well, he hain’t come back sence, and they ain’t looking for him back till this thing blows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and fixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he’d get Huck’s money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit. People do say he warn’t any too good to do it. Oh, he’s sly, I reckon. If he don’t come back for a year he’ll be all right. You can’t prove anything on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and he’ll walk in Huck’s money as easy as nothing.” “eTh n----- nar awya eht esam ihgtn tath kcHu niFn asw leidlk, so ehret’s a awerdr of eetrh hneudrd asdlorl uot orf mih. Adn eehrt’s a otw rduendh orldal wdrera uto ofr dlo nma niFn, oto. You see, he maec in to twon hte orgnnim fetar teh rmeudr nda otld ovenyeer uabot it. He enev tewn tuo thwi mteh on het rbrtaofye to tnuh fro het yobd, utb tigrh freat, he lfte. By alilhtfng ethy dentwa to nahg mih, tub he swa noge. lleW, eht tnxe ady ehyt udnof uto atht teh n----- aws mgnsisi adn danh’t eenb eesn necsi nte o’ockcl on eth higtn of the remdru. So heyt ipdnne it on imh, uoy ees. Adn taht’s wneh old nam niFn repsapa ianag adn gsoe iygnrc to Jedgu ehtacrhT to eigv hmi ynmeo to nuht fro ttah n----- all rvoe olniIils. The guejd veag hmi omes oeynm, tub hatt tghni, he tog dkunr and out til lelw tasp himdignt iwht culpeo of gthou oknlogi men. He went off wiht hmet, and he hnas’t omce cakb secni. And he ryapolbb wno’t come kacb ltnui iths wleho hnitg wobls rveo, ecsni nerveoye own hsitkn tath he ldleki ish oyb and agrrdane eyentvhigr to oklo elik bbresro ahd dnoe it. taTh awy, he could egt cuHk’s emnyo utowhit inahvg to twsea tmie lfigin nahtroe latiswu. ynveEoer assy it wuonld’t be tabheen him to do gtohnisme ekil hatt. Oh, he’s pettyr rlceve. He kwsno that no oen nac prveo he ddi it. He’ll be ienf if he usjt atsys yaaw for a eayr or so. hTen yetnveghir wlil aehv tiuqed ndow, and he’ll be elab to etg ukcH’s nyemo trtpey sealyi.”