It
wouldn't done any good. I says:
"But what are we going to tell your aunt Sally has
made us so long getting down here from the village,
Tom?"
"Oh, I'll leave that to you," he says. "I reckon
you can explain it somehow."
He was always just that strict and delicate. He
never would tell a lie himself.
We struck across the big yard, noticing this, that,
and t'other thing that was so familiar, and we so glad
to see it again, and when we got to the roofed big
passageway betwixt the double log house and the
kitchen part, there was everything hanging on the wall
just as it used to was, even to Uncle Silas's old faded
green baize working-gown with the hood to it, and rag-
gedy white patch between the shoulders that always
looked like somebody had hit him with a snowball; and
then we lifted the latch and walked in. Aunt Sally she
was just a-ripping and a-tearing around, and the
children was huddled in one corner, and the old man
he was huddled in the other and praying for help in
time of need. She jumped for us with joy and tears
running down her face and give us a whacking box on
the ear, and then hugged us and kissed us and boxed
us again, and just couldn't seem to get enough of it,
she was so glad to see us; and she says:
"Where HAVE you been a-loafing to, you good-for-
nothing trash! I've been that worried about you I
didn't know what to do.
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