Everybody praised Brace Dunlap for being so good to that stranger. He
let him have a little log-cabin all to himself, and had his niggers take
care of it, and fetch him all the vittles he wanted.

Dummy was at our house some, because old Uncle Silas was so afflicted
himself, these days, that anybody else that was afflicted was a comfort
to him. Me and Tom didn't let on that we had knowed him before, and he
didn't let on that he had knowed us before. The family talked their
troubles out before him the same as if he wasn't there, but we reckoned
it wasn't any harm for him to hear what they said. Generly he didn't seem
to notice, but sometimes he did.

Well, two or three days went along, and everybody got to getting uneasy
about Jubiter Dunlap. Everybody was asking everybody if they had any
idea what had become of him. No, they hadn't, they said: and they shook
their heads and said there was something powerful strange about it.
Another and another day went by; then there was a report got around that
praps he was murdered. You bet it made a big stir! Everybody's tongue
was clacking away after that. Saturday two or three gangs turned out and
hunted the woods to see if they could run across his remainders. Me and
Tom helped, and it was noble good times and exciting. Tom he was so
brimful of it he couldn't eat nor rest. He said if we could find that
corpse we would be celebrated, and more talked about than if we got
drownded.

The others got tired and give it up; but not Tom Sawyer--that warn't his
style. Saturday night he didn't sleep any, hardly, trying to think up a
plan; and towards daylight in the morning he struck it. He snaked me out
of bed and was all excited, and says: