wn the leaves of the pages, which meant that some
delightfully terrible part must be scratched out. And I remember
one part pertickularly which was perfectly fascinating it was so
terrible, that Clara and I used to delight in and oh, with what
despair we saw mama turn down the leaf on which it was written, we
thought the book would almost be ruined without it. But we
gradually came to think as mama did.

Commenting on this phase of Huck's evolution Mark Twain has since
written:

I remember the special case mentioned by Susy, and can see the group
yet--two-thirds of it pleading for the life of the culprit sentence
that was so fascinatingly dreadful, and the other third of it
patiently explaining why the court could not grant the prayer of the
pleaders; but I do not remember what the condemned phrase was. It
had much company, and they all went to the gallows; but it is
possible that that especially dreadful one which gave those little
people so much delight was cunningly devised and put into the book
for just that function, and not with any hope or expectation that it
would get by the "expergator" alive. It is possible, for I had that
custom.

Little Jean was probably too youthful yet to take part in that literary
arbitration. She was four, and had more interest in cows. In some
memoranda which her father kept of that period--the "Children's
Book"--he says:

She goes out to the barn with one of us every evening toward six
o'clock, to look at the cows--which she adores--no weaker word can
express her feeling for them. She sits rapt and contented while
David milks the three, making a remark now and then--always about
the cows. The time passes slowly and drearily for her attendant,
but not for her. She could stand a week of it. When the milking is
finished, and "Blanche," "Jean," and "the cross cow" are turned into
the adjoining little cow-lot, we have to set Jean on a shed in that
lot, and stay by her half an hour, till Eliza, the German nurse,
comes to take her to bed. The cows merely stand there, and do
nothing; yet the mere sight of them is all-sufficient for Jean. She
requires nothing more. The other evening, after contemplating them
a long time, as they stood in the muddy muck chewing the cud, she
said, with deep and reverent appreciation, "Ain't this a sweet
little garden?"

Yester