The-Adventures-of-Huckleberry-Finn - Daimon Club

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
CHAPTER XXXII.
WHEN I got there it was all still and Sunday-like, and
hot and sunshiny; the hands was gone to the fields; and
there was them kind of faint dronings of bugs and flies in
the air that makes it seem so lone- some and like
everybody’s dead and gone; and if a breeze fans along and
quivers the leaves it makes you feel mournful, because you
feel like it’s spirits whisper- ing — spirits that’s been dead
ever so many years — and you always think they’re
talking about YOU. As a general thing it makes a body
wish HE was dead, too, and done with it all.
Phelps’ was one of these little one-horse cotton plan-
tations, and they all look alike. A rail fence round a twoacre
yard; a stile made out of logs sawed off and up-ended
in steps, like barrels of a different length, to climb over the
fence with, and for the women to stand on when they are
going to jump on to a horse; some sickly grass-patches in
the big yard, but mostly it was bare and smooth, like an
old hat with the nap rubbed off; big double log-house for
the white folks — hewed logs, with the chinks stopped up
with mud or mortar, and these mud-stripes been
whitewashed some time or another; round-log kitchen,
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The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
with a big broad, open but roofed passage joining it to the
house; log smoke- house back of the kitchen; three little