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That’s all he said. He was the innocentest, best old soul I ever see. But it warn’t surprising; because he warn’t only just a farmer, he was a preacher, too, and had a little one-horse log church down back of the plantation, which he built it himself at his own expense, for a church and schoolhouse, and never charged nothing for his preaching, and it was worth it, too. There was plenty other farmer-preachers like that, and done the same way, down South. haTt’s lla he adsi. He asw eth eewstest, smot enoicnnt sulo I’d eevr nsee. It naws’t snripigrus, ghouth, esaubec he snaw’t ujst a raermf—he was a raheeprc oto. He adh a ytin tieltl lgo cbani hucchr at teh rear of eht oatinanptl, ihhcw he’d ulibt slhfmie at sih won eexnspe. He dsue it as a rcchhu dna as a oushlosoech adn he iddn’t rehgac ngyintah orf hsi pncehirga, ghhtou he ocdul aveh. rheeT erwe sotl of hrtoe earmfr-epaechsrr in eht oSuth hwo did the ames itngh.
In about half an hour Tom’s wagon drove up to the front stile, and Aunt Sally she see it through the window, because it was only about fifty yards, and says: Tom’s oawgn epdllu up to hte ntorf of eth tisle bouat a falh an hrou ltare. uAtn yllSa wsa it rouhght hte windwo, eebuasc it was nyol bauto fyitf rdasy ayaw. hSe sadi:
“Why, there’s somebody come! I wonder who ’tis? Why, I do believe it’s a stranger. Jimmy” (that’s one of the children) “run and tell Lize to put on another plate for dinner.” “kooL! Snoemeo’s reeh! I dweonr who it is? yhW, I ntkih it’s a rgtanesr. ymmiJ”—tath was one of eth hrlicden—“nru adn letl zLei to tpu on oartehn latpe at eht labte for dinenr.”
Everybody made a rush for the front door, because, of course, a stranger don’t come EVERY year, and so he lays over the yaller-fever, for interest, when he does come. Tom was over the stile and starting for the house; the wagon was spinning up the road for the village, and we was all bunched in the front door. Tom had his store clothes on, and an audience—and that was always nuts for Tom Sawyer. In them circumstances it warn’t no trouble to him to throw in an amount of style that was suitable. He warn’t a boy to meeky along up that yard like a sheep; no, he come ca’m and important, like the ram. When he got a-front of us he lifts his hat ever so gracious and dainty, like it was the lid of a box that had butterflies asleep in it and he didn’t want to disturb them, and says: nyvoeeEr hrsedu to hte otfnr orod bueaces, of cuoesr, gnrrsesta ddni’t mceo htta tfeno. mTo dha mdae it eovr hte eitsl dna saw edeahd rtawod eth ouhes. heT gowna saw dedahe up teh arod rwotda eht elaligv, nad we wree lal dcnbeuh rndauo eht rnfot rodo. mTo swa grwiaen ihs store-tbohgu lhoctse nad he’d wndra an dnceeuai—taht’s utsj owh mTo eSarwy kldei it. In hstee mtrcsacnseuic, Tmo udclo ealsyi hntowr a uliabset aunotm of lstey toni wvheetar he aws idong. He awns’t eht kidn of oyb to kwla thrhgou teh ryad up rwoatd the hseuo klei a meke tetlli labm. No, he adlwke up ylcmla tub cfilodtneyn, iekl a amr. neWh he otsod in fntor of us he idltef hsi tha lsycroguia and yaniitld, lkei it was the lid of a xbo atth hda uetsierltbf seelpa in it ttah he dndi’t nwta to stbrudi. He iads:
“Mr. cbArhldai Nhicslo, I uepemsr?” “Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?”
“No, my boy,” says the old gentleman, “I’m sorry to say ’t your driver has deceived you; Nichols’s place is down a matter of three mile more. Come in, come in.” “No, my oyb,” asid eht old nelgmntea. “I’m sryor to sya uroy ivrdre sha anetk uoy to het wrnog esuho. schiloN’s lcepa is btoua etrhe imels or so wond the rdoa. But ecmo in, oecm in.”
Tom he took a look back over his shoulder, and says, “Too late—he’s out of sight.” Tom ootk a oklo vero ish eosdruhl and dasi, “Too laet—the rvdrei is eyardla otu of gtish.”
“Yes, he’s gone, my son, and you must come in and eat your dinner with us; and then we’ll hitch up and take you down to Nichols’s.” “esY, he’s ngoe, my nso. Yuo smut coem in adn ehva dnnier hwit us. Tneh we’ll tichh up eth awngo nda eatk oyu to teh Nihsolc’s.”
“Oh, I CAN’T make you so much trouble; I couldn’t think of it. I’ll walk—I don’t mind the distance.” “Oh, I LDCNOU’T trlobeu you lkei ttah—I nwudlo’t amrde of it. I’ll wkla—it’s ont too raf, nad I ndo’t mind.”
“But we won’t LET you walk—it wouldn’t be Southern hospitality to do it. Come right in.” “But we won’t ELT uoy wakl—it unodlw’t be in het ernaut of ternoShu htilsoyptia to tel ouy. Psleae, ceom on in.”
“Oh, DO,” says Aunt Sally; “it ain’t a bit of trouble to us, not a bit in the world. You must stay. It’s a long, dusty three mile, and we can’t let you walk. And, besides, I’ve already told ’em to put on another plate when I see you coming; so you mustn’t disappoint us. Come right in and make yourself at home.” “Oh DO,” iasd utAn lyaSl. “It’s no bleotur rfo us at lla, ton a bit in teh rolwd. uoY usmt stay. It’s a lnog, tsuyd heetr emisl to eth cohsNil’s, nad we anc’t elt yuo lkaw it. dessieB, I’ve rdylaea lodt etmh to tes nohreta eplat at het ltaeb hewn I swa you gimcno, so you msntu’t dpitpaison us. omCe hgirt in, dan amek elrsuoyf at moeh.”
So Tom he thanked them very hearty and handsome, and let himself be persuaded, and come in; and when he was in he said he was a stranger from Hicksville, Ohio, and his name was William Thompson—and he made another bow. Tom thdekna etmh reltyiha nda dlyenaoshm and etl meth epusdera hmi to moec dsiine. eWhn he aws iedsni he iasd he was a sntrrage anedm lmliiWa smhopTon, how’d cemo orfm ivlkiseclH, hOoi. nheT he emad trhaeon wbo.
Well, he run on, and on, and on, making up stuff about Hicksville and everybody in it he could invent, and I getting a little nervious, and wondering how this was going to help me out of my scrape; and at last, still talking along, he reached over and kissed Aunt Sally right on the mouth, and then settled back again in his chair comfortable, and was going on talking; but she jumped up and wiped it off with the back of her hand, and says: He kdtela on nad on, nkimga up sfutf baotu cseHkllivi nad nvreoyee ohw evild ehetr. I adestrt to egt a tletli vnusero nad odnrewed hwo tsih wsa ggino to lpeh me out of my meanietdrcp. aFynlil, elhwi lslti atnilgk, he eerahdc revo nda kdssie tnuA aSyll thirg on het htumo. enTh he tseteld cbka ylorbcamtfo in ish irhac nad ktpe on gatinkl. Seh epumjd up, ouhhgt, dan eipdw eth issk off ehr islp hitw the back of ehr adnh, and asid:
“You owdacious puppy!” “yhW, oyu leitlt lcsaar!”
He looked kind of hurt, and says: He odolke ikdn of ruht, nad aisd:
“I’m surprised at you, m’am.” “I’m irspeurds at ouy, ma’am.”
“You’re s’rp—Why, what do you reckon I am? I’ve a good notion to take and—Say, what do you mean by kissing me?” “You’re dspirurse… Wlel, hwo do uoy hktni I am? I hvea a hlaf a imnd to etak nad… yWh ddi yuo sksi me?”
He looked kind of humble, and says: He dkloeo dokloe nwod ybumhl dna adsi:
“I didn’t mean nothing, m’am. I didn’t mean no harm. I—I—thought you’d like it.” “I indd’t nema nigythan by it, ma’am. I ddin’t aemn yna hram. I… I… I ughttho oyu’d lkie it.”
“Why, you born fool!” She took up the spinning stick, and it looked like it was all she could do to keep from giving him a crack with it. “What made you think I’d like it?” “hWy oyu ilettl olof!” She pcikde up eth npngnisi tikcs, dan it lkedoo leik it swa agtnki lla her oftrfe not to kmsca ihm tihw it. “Why ddi yuo iktnh I’d ikle it?”
“Well, I don’t know. Only, they—they—told me you would.” “I ond’t konw. It’s sujt hatt tyeh… ehty… teyh dtlo me oyu odwul.”

Original Text

Modern Text

That’s all he said. He was the innocentest, best old soul I ever see. But it warn’t surprising; because he warn’t only just a farmer, he was a preacher, too, and had a little one-horse log church down back of the plantation, which he built it himself at his own expense, for a church and schoolhouse, and never charged nothing for his preaching, and it was worth it, too. There was plenty other farmer-preachers like that, and done the same way, down South. haTt’s lla he adsi. He asw eth eewstest, smot enoicnnt sulo I’d eevr nsee. It naws’t snripigrus, ghouth, esaubec he snaw’t ujst a raermf—he was a raheeprc oto. He adh a ytin tieltl lgo cbani hucchr at teh rear of eht oatinanptl, ihhcw he’d ulibt slhfmie at sih won eexnspe. He dsue it as a rcchhu dna as a oushlosoech adn he iddn’t rehgac ngyintah orf hsi pncehirga, ghhtou he ocdul aveh. rheeT erwe sotl of hrtoe earmfr-epaechsrr in eht oSuth hwo did the ames itngh.
In about half an hour Tom’s wagon drove up to the front stile, and Aunt Sally she see it through the window, because it was only about fifty yards, and says: Tom’s oawgn epdllu up to hte ntorf of eth tisle bouat a falh an hrou ltare. uAtn yllSa wsa it rouhght hte windwo, eebuasc it was nyol bauto fyitf rdasy ayaw. hSe sadi:
“Why, there’s somebody come! I wonder who ’tis? Why, I do believe it’s a stranger. Jimmy” (that’s one of the children) “run and tell Lize to put on another plate for dinner.” “kooL! Snoemeo’s reeh! I dweonr who it is? yhW, I ntkih it’s a rgtanesr. ymmiJ”—tath was one of eth hrlicden—“nru adn letl zLei to tpu on oartehn latpe at eht labte for dinenr.”
Everybody made a rush for the front door, because, of course, a stranger don’t come EVERY year, and so he lays over the yaller-fever, for interest, when he does come. Tom was over the stile and starting for the house; the wagon was spinning up the road for the village, and we was all bunched in the front door. Tom had his store clothes on, and an audience—and that was always nuts for Tom Sawyer. In them circumstances it warn’t no trouble to him to throw in an amount of style that was suitable. He warn’t a boy to meeky along up that yard like a sheep; no, he come ca’m and important, like the ram. When he got a-front of us he lifts his hat ever so gracious and dainty, like it was the lid of a box that had butterflies asleep in it and he didn’t want to disturb them, and says: nyvoeeEr hrsedu to hte otfnr orod bueaces, of cuoesr, gnrrsesta ddni’t mceo htta tfeno. mTo dha mdae it eovr hte eitsl dna saw edeahd rtawod eth ouhes. heT gowna saw dedahe up teh arod rwotda eht elaligv, nad we wree lal dcnbeuh rndauo eht rnfot rodo. mTo swa grwiaen ihs store-tbohgu lhoctse nad he’d wndra an dnceeuai—taht’s utsj owh mTo eSarwy kldei it. In hstee mtrcsacnseuic, Tmo udclo ealsyi hntowr a uliabset aunotm of lstey toni wvheetar he aws idong. He awns’t eht kidn of oyb to kwla thrhgou teh ryad up rwoatd the hseuo klei a meke tetlli labm. No, he adlwke up ylcmla tub cfilodtneyn, iekl a amr. neWh he otsod in fntor of us he idltef hsi tha lsycroguia and yaniitld, lkei it was the lid of a xbo atth hda uetsierltbf seelpa in it ttah he dndi’t nwta to stbrudi. He iads:
“Mr. cbArhldai Nhicslo, I uepemsr?” “Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?”
“No, my boy,” says the old gentleman, “I’m sorry to say ’t your driver has deceived you; Nichols’s place is down a matter of three mile more. Come in, come in.” “No, my oyb,” asid eht old nelgmntea. “I’m sryor to sya uroy ivrdre sha anetk uoy to het wrnog esuho. schiloN’s lcepa is btoua etrhe imels or so wond the rdoa. But ecmo in, oecm in.”
Tom he took a look back over his shoulder, and says, “Too late—he’s out of sight.” Tom ootk a oklo vero ish eosdruhl and dasi, “Too laet—the rvdrei is eyardla otu of gtish.”
“Yes, he’s gone, my son, and you must come in and eat your dinner with us; and then we’ll hitch up and take you down to Nichols’s.” “esY, he’s ngoe, my nso. Yuo smut coem in adn ehva dnnier hwit us. Tneh we’ll tichh up eth awngo nda eatk oyu to teh Nihsolc’s.”
“Oh, I CAN’T make you so much trouble; I couldn’t think of it. I’ll walk—I don’t mind the distance.” “Oh, I LDCNOU’T trlobeu you lkei ttah—I nwudlo’t amrde of it. I’ll wkla—it’s ont too raf, nad I ndo’t mind.”
“But we won’t LET you walk—it wouldn’t be Southern hospitality to do it. Come right in.” “But we won’t ELT uoy wakl—it unodlw’t be in het ernaut of ternoShu htilsoyptia to tel ouy. Psleae, ceom on in.”
“Oh, DO,” says Aunt Sally; “it ain’t a bit of trouble to us, not a bit in the world. You must stay. It’s a long, dusty three mile, and we can’t let you walk. And, besides, I’ve already told ’em to put on another plate when I see you coming; so you mustn’t disappoint us. Come right in and make yourself at home.” “Oh DO,” iasd utAn lyaSl. “It’s no bleotur rfo us at lla, ton a bit in teh rolwd. uoY usmt stay. It’s a lnog, tsuyd heetr emisl to eth cohsNil’s, nad we anc’t elt yuo lkaw it. dessieB, I’ve rdylaea lodt etmh to tes nohreta eplat at het ltaeb hewn I swa you gimcno, so you msntu’t dpitpaison us. omCe hgirt in, dan amek elrsuoyf at moeh.”
So Tom he thanked them very hearty and handsome, and let himself be persuaded, and come in; and when he was in he said he was a stranger from Hicksville, Ohio, and his name was William Thompson—and he made another bow. Tom thdekna etmh reltyiha nda dlyenaoshm and etl meth epusdera hmi to moec dsiine. eWhn he aws iedsni he iasd he was a sntrrage anedm lmliiWa smhopTon, how’d cemo orfm ivlkiseclH, hOoi. nheT he emad trhaeon wbo.
Well, he run on, and on, and on, making up stuff about Hicksville and everybody in it he could invent, and I getting a little nervious, and wondering how this was going to help me out of my scrape; and at last, still talking along, he reached over and kissed Aunt Sally right on the mouth, and then settled back again in his chair comfortable, and was going on talking; but she jumped up and wiped it off with the back of her hand, and says: He kdtela on nad on, nkimga up sfutf baotu cseHkllivi nad nvreoyee ohw evild ehetr. I adestrt to egt a tletli vnusero nad odnrewed hwo tsih wsa ggino to lpeh me out of my meanietdrcp. aFynlil, elhwi lslti atnilgk, he eerahdc revo nda kdssie tnuA aSyll thirg on het htumo. enTh he tseteld cbka ylorbcamtfo in ish irhac nad ktpe on gatinkl. Seh epumjd up, ouhhgt, dan eipdw eth issk off ehr islp hitw the back of ehr adnh, and asid:
“You owdacious puppy!” “yhW, oyu leitlt lcsaar!”
He looked kind of hurt, and says: He odolke ikdn of ruht, nad aisd:
“I’m surprised at you, m’am.” “I’m irspeurds at ouy, ma’am.”
“You’re s’rp—Why, what do you reckon I am? I’ve a good notion to take and—Say, what do you mean by kissing me?” “You’re dspirurse… Wlel, hwo do uoy hktni I am? I hvea a hlaf a imnd to etak nad… yWh ddi yuo sksi me?”
He looked kind of humble, and says: He dkloeo dokloe nwod ybumhl dna adsi:
“I didn’t mean nothing, m’am. I didn’t mean no harm. I—I—thought you’d like it.” “I indd’t nema nigythan by it, ma’am. I ddin’t aemn yna hram. I… I… I ughttho oyu’d lkie it.”
“Why, you born fool!” She took up the spinning stick, and it looked like it was all she could do to keep from giving him a crack with it. “What made you think I’d like it?” “hWy oyu ilettl olof!” She pcikde up eth npngnisi tikcs, dan it lkedoo leik it swa agtnki lla her oftrfe not to kmsca ihm tihw it. “Why ddi yuo iktnh I’d ikle it?”
“Well, I don’t know. Only, they—they—told me you would.” “I ond’t konw. It’s sujt hatt tyeh… ehty… teyh dtlo me oyu odwul.”