“Oh, my! that ain’t no Bull Harbison!” whispered Huckleberry. “ Do , Tom!”
Tom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put his eye to the crack. His whisper was hardly audible when he said:
“Oh, Huck, it’s a stray dog !”
“Quick, Tom, quick! Who does he mean?”
“Huck, he must mean us both—we’re right together.”
“Oh, Tom, I reckon we’re goners. I reckon there ain’t no mistake ’bout where I’ll go to. I been so wicked.”
“Dad fetch it! This comes of playing hookey and doing everything a feller’s told not to do. I might a been good, like Sid, if I’d ’a’ tried—but no, I wouldn’t, of course. But if ever I get off this time, I lay I’ll just waller in Sunday-schools!” And Tom began to snuffle a little.
“ You bad!” and Huckleberry began to snuffle too. “Consound it, Tom Sawyer, you’re just old pie, ’long-side o’ what I am. Oh, lordy , lordy, lordy, I wisht I only had half your chance.”
Tom choked off and whispered:
“Look, Hucky, look! He’s got his back to us!”
Hucky looked, with joy in his heart.
“Well, he has, by jingoes! Did he before?”
“Yes, he did. But I, like a fool, never thought. Oh, this is bully, you know. Now who can he mean?”
The howling stopped. Tom pricked up his ears.