The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn**
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, mostly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. I ain't a-going to stretch nothing for you. I reckon I ought to tell you right now that I never had much of a chance to be good. The Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me. But it was rough living in a house with all them rules. You had to wash before you set down to dinner, and comb your hair, and go to church regular. I couldn't stand it.
Then Pap he come around—that drunken old cuss. He beat me now and then, but I got used to that. When he locked me up in the cabin, I didn't mind much because I found a old saw and cut my way out. I made it look like I was murdered—chopped up a wild pig and spread blood around. That was a good one. Tom Sawyer couldn't have done it better.
After I lit out, I met Jim, Miss Watson's big nigger. He run off because she was going to sell him down to New Orleans. We rafted together on the Mississippi at night, and hid during the day. Jim talked about getting to Cairo, where the Ohio River meets up, then going free up north. I didn't care much about freedom then. I just wanted to be away from the Widow and away from Pap. That river was the best place I ever been. The stars hung low over the water, and the current pulled us slow and steady into the dark. You didn't owe nobody nothing out there. It was just you and the raft and Jim, floating. That's all I ever wanted.