for an hour it was deadly dull, and I was fidgety.  Miss Watson would say, “Don't put your feet up there, Huckleberry;” and “Don't scrunch up like that, Huckleberry--set up straight;” and pretty soon she would say, “Don't gap and stretch like that, Huckleberry--why don't you try to behave?”  Then she told me all about the bad place, and I said I wished I was there. She got mad then, but I didn't mean no harm.  All I wanted was to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn't particular.  She said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldn't say it for the whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place.  Well, I couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so I made up my mind I wouldn't try for it.  But I never said so, because it would only make trouble, and wouldn't do no good. Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good place.  She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever.  So I didn't think much of it. But I never said so.  I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight.  I was glad about that, because I wanted him and me to be together. Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome.  By and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was off to bed.  I went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it on the table.  Then I set down in a chair by the window and tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use.  I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead.  The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. Then away out