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so ignorant, but had read a book called Don Quixote, I would know without asking. He said it was all done by enchantment. He said there was hundreds of soldiers there, and elephants and treasure, and so on, but we had enemies which he called magicians; and they had turned the whole thing into an infant Sunday-school, just out of spite[22]. I said, all right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the magicians. Tom Sawyer said I was a numskull.

      “Why,” said he, “a magician could call up a lot of genies, and they would hash you up like nothing before you could say Jack Robinson[23]. They are as tall as a tree and as big around as a church.”

      “Well,” I says, “s’pose we got some genies to help US – can’t we lick the other crowd then?”

      “How you going to get them?”

      “I don’t know. How do THEY get them?”

      “Why, they rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring, and then the genies come tearing in, with the thunder and lightning a-ripping around and the smoke a-rolling, and everything they’re told to do they up and do it. They don’t think nothing of pulling a shot-tower up by the roots, and belting a Sunday-school superintendent over the head with it – or any other man.”

      “Who makes them tear around so?”

      “Why, whoever rubs the lamp or the ring. They belong to whoever rubs the lamp or the ring, and they’ve got to do whatever he says. If he tells them to build a palace forty miles long out of di’monds, and fill it full of chewing-gum, or whatever you want, and fetch an emperor’s daughter from China for you to marry, they’ve got to do it – and they’ve got to do it before sun-up next morning, too. And more: they’ve got to waltz that palace around over the country wherever you want it, you understand.”

      “Well,” says I, “I think they are a pack of flat-heads for not keeping the palace themselves ’stead of fooling them away like that. And what’s more – if I was one of them I would see a man in Jericho before I would drop my business and come to him for the rubbing of an old tin lamp.”

      “How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you’d HAVE to come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to or not.”

      “What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church? All right, then; I WOULD come; but I lay I’d make that man climb the highest tree there was in the country.”

      “Shucks, it ain’t no use to talk to you[24], Huck Finn. You don’t seem to know anything, somehow-perfect saphead[25].”

      I thought all this over for two or three days, and then I reckoned I would see if there was anything in it. I got an old tin lamp and an iron ring, and went out in the woods and rubbed and rubbed till I sweat like an Injun, calculating to build a palace and sell it; but it warn’t no use, none of the genies come. So then I judged that all that stuff was only just one of Tom Sawyer’s lies. I reckoned he believed in the A-rabs and the elephants, but as for me I think different. It had all the marks of a Sunday-school.

      Chapter IV

      Well, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter now. I had been to school most all the time and could spell and read and write just a little, and could say the multiplication table up to six times seven is thirty-five, and I don’t reckon I could ever get any further than that if I was to live forever. I don’t take no stock in mathematics, anyway.

      At first I hated the school, but by and by I got so I could stand it. Whenever I got uncommon tired I played hookey[26], and the hiding I got next day done me good and cheered me up. So the longer I went to school the easier it got to be. I was getting sort of used to the widow’s ways, too, and they warn’t so raspy on me. Living in a house and sleeping in a bed pulled on me pretty tight mostly, but before the cold weather I used to slide out and sleep in the woods sometimes, and so that was a rest to me. I liked the old ways best[27], but I was getting so I liked the new ones, too, a little bit. The widow said I was coming along slow but sure, and doing very satisfactory. She said she warn’t ashamed of me.

      One morning I happened to turn over the salt-cellar at breakfast. I reached for some of it as quick as I could to throw over my left shoulder and keep off the bad luck, but Miss Watson was in ahead of me, and crossed me off. She says, “Take your hands away, Huckleberry; what a mess you are always making!” The widow put in a good word for me, but that warn’t going to keep off the bad luck, I knowed that well enough. I started out, after breakfast, feeling worried and shaky, and wondering where it was going to fall on me, and what it was going to be. There is ways to keep off some kinds of bad luck, but this wasn’t one of them kind; so I never tried to do anything, but just poked along low-spirited and on the watch-out.

      I went down to the front garden and clumb over the stile where you go through the high board fence. There was an inch of new snow on the ground, and I seen somebody’s tracks. They had come up from the quarry and stood around the stile a while, and then went on around the garden fence. It was funny they hadn’t come in, after standing around so. I couldn’t make it out. It was very curious, somehow. I was going to follow around, but I stooped down to look at the tracks first. I didn’t notice anything at first, but next I did. There was a cross in the left boot-heel made with big nails, to keep off the devil.

      I was up in a second and shinning down the hill. I looked over my shoulder every now and then, but I didn’t see nobody. I was at Judge Thatcher’s as quick as I could get there. He said:

      “Why, my boy, you are all out of breath. Did you come for your interest?[28]”

      “No, sir,” I says; “is there some for me?”

      “Oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last night – over a hundred and fifty dollars. Quite a fortune for you. You had better let me invest it along with your six thousand, because if you take it you’ll spend it.”

      “No, sir,” I says, “I don’t want to spend it. I don’t want it at all – nor the six thousand, nuther. I want you to take it; I want to give it to you – the six thousand and all.”

      He looked surprised. He couldn’t seem to make it out. He says:

      “Why, what can you mean, my boy?”

      I says, “Don’t you ask me no questions about it, please. You’ll take it – won’t you?”

      He says:

      “Well, I’m puzzled. Is something the matter?”

      “Please take it,” says I, “and don’t ask me nothing – then I won’t have to tell no lies.”

      He studied a while, and then he says:

      “Oho-o! I think I see. You want to SELL all your property to me – not give it. That’s the correct idea.”

      Then he wrote something on a paper and read it over, and says:

      “There; you see it says ‘for a consideration[29].’ That means I have bought it of you and paid you for it. Here’s a dollar for you. Now you sign it.”

      So I signed it, and left.

      Miss Watson’s nigger, Jim, had a hair-ball as big as your fist, which had been took out of the fourth stomach of an ox, and he used to do magic with it. He said there was a spirit inside of it, and it knowed everything. So I went to him that night and told him pap was here again, for I found his tracks in the snow. What I wanted to know was, what he was going to do, and was he going to stay? Jim got out his hair-ball and said something over it, and then he held it up and dropped it on the floor. It fell pretty solid, and only rolled about an inch. Jim tried it again, and then another time, and it acted just the same. Jim got down on his knees, and put his ear against it and listened. But it warn’t no use; he said it wouldn’t talk. He said sometimes it wouldn’t talk without money.

      I

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