any thieves--don't you forget that."

I had to sigh a little over the way he had got it fixed. I'd 'a' SOLD
them di'monds--yes, sir--for twelve thousand dollars; but I didn't say
anything. 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 raggedy 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: