“Oh, shucks! you don’t know enough to come in when it rains, Huck Finn. It ain’t a farm, it’s entirely different. You see, it’s like this. They own the land, just the mere land, and that’s all they _do_ own; but it was our folks, our Jews and Christians, that made it holy, and so they haven’t any business to be there defiling it. It’s a shame, and we ought not to stand it a minute. We ought to march against them and take it away from them.” “Why, it does seem to me it’s the most mixed-up thing I ever see! Now, if I had a farm and another person—” “Don’t I tell you it hasn’t got anything to do with farming? Farming is business, just common low-down business: that’s all it is, it’s all you can say for it; but this is higher, this is religious, and totally different.” “Religious to go and take the land away from people that owns it?” “Certainly; it’s always been considered so.” Jim he shook his head, and says: “Mars Tom, I reckon dey’s a mistake about it somers—dey mos’ sholy is. I’s religious myself, en I knows plenty religious people, but I hain’t run across none dat acts like dat.” It made Tom hot, and he says: “Well, it’s enough to make a body sick, such mullet-headed ignorance! If either of you’d read anything about history, you’d know that Richard Cur de Loon, and the Pope, and Godfrey de Bulleyn, and lots more of the most noble-hearted and pious people in the world, hacked and hammered at the paynims for more than two hundred years trying to take their land away from them, and swum neck-deep in blood the whole time—and yet here’s a couple of sap-headed country yahoos out in the backwoods of Missouri setting themselves up to know more about the rights and wrongs of it than they did! Talk about cheek!” Well, of course, that put a more different light on it, and me and Jim felt pretty cheap and ignorant, and wished we hadn’t been quite so chipper. I couldn’t say nothing, and Jim he couldn’t for a while; then he says: “Well, den, I reckon it’s all right; beca’se ef dey didn’t know, dey ain’t no use for po’ ignorant folks like us to be trying to know; en so, ef it’s our duty, we got to go en tackle it en do de bes’ we can. Same time, I feel as sorry for dem paynims as Mars Tom. De hard part gwine to be to kill folks dat a body hain’t been ’quainted wid and dat hain’t done him no harm. Dat’s it, you see. Ef we wuz to go ’mongst ’em, jist we three, en say we’s hungry, en ast ’em for a bite to eat, why, maybe dey’s jist like yuther people. Don’t you reckon dey is? Why, _dey’d_ give it, I know dey would, en den—” “Then what?” “Well, Mars Tom, my idea is like dis. It ain’t no use, we _can’t_ kill dem po’ strangers dat ain’t doin’ us no harm, till we’ve had practice—I knows it perfectly well, Mars Tom—’deed I knows it perfectly well. But ef we takes a’ axe or two, jist you en me en Huck, en slips acrost de river to-night arter de moon’s gone down, en kills dat sick fam’ly dat’s over on the Sny, en burns dey house down, en—”