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"That's just the same way they go on round me. I reckon he's a goner. Don't you feel sorry for him, sometimes?"

"Most always-most always.

He ain't no account; but then he hain't ever done anything to hurt anybody.

Just fishes a little, to get money to get drunk on-and loafs around considerable; but lord, we all do that-leastways most of us-preachers and such like.

But he's kind of good-he give me half a fish, once, when there warn't enough for two; and lots of times he's kind of stood by me when I was out of luck."

"Well, he's mended kites for me, Huck, and knitted hooks on to my line. I wish we could get him out of there."

"My! we couldn't get him out, Tom. And besides, 'twouldn't do any good; they'd ketch him again."

"Yes-so they would. But I hate to hear 'em abuse him so like the dickens when he never done-that."

"I do too, Tom. Lord, I hear 'em say he's the bloodiest looking villain in this country, and they wonder he wasn't ever hung before."

"Yes, they talk like that, all the time. I've heard 'em say that if he was to get free they'd lynch him."

"And they'd do it, too."

The boys had a long talk, but it brought them little comfort.

As the twilight drew on, they found themselves hanging about the neighborhood of the little isolated jail, perhaps with an undefined hope that something would happen that might clear away their difficulties.

But nothing happened; there seemed to be no angels or fairies interested in this luckless captive.

The boys did as they had often done before-went to the cell grating and gave Potter some tobacco and matches. He was on the ground floor and there were no guards.

His gratitude for their gifts had always smote their consciences before-it cut deeper than ever, this time. They felt cowardly and treacherous to the last degree when Potter said:

"You've been mighty good to me, boys-better'n anybody else in this town.

And I don't forget it, I don't.

Often I says to myself, says I, 'I used to mend all the boys' kites and things, and show 'em where the good fishin' places was, and befriend 'em what I could, and now they've all forgot old Muff when he's in trouble; but Tom don't, and Huck don't-they don't forget him, says I, 'and I don't forget them.' Well, boys, I done an awful thing-drunk and crazy at the time-that's the only way I account for it-and now I got to swing for it, and it's right.

Right, and best, too, I reckon-hope so, anyway.

Well, we won't talk about that.

I don't want to make you feel bad; you've befriended me.

But what I want to say, is, don't you ever get drunk-then you won't ever get here.

Stand a litter furder west-so-that's it; it's a prime comfort to see faces that's friendly when a body's in such a muck of trouble, and there don't none come here but yourn.

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