him; and kept asking me every now
and then if I reckoned he could a got lost, or hurt, or maybe drownded,
and might be laying at this minute somewheres suffering or dead, and she
not by him to help him, and so the tears would drip down silent, and I
would tell her that Sid was all right, and would be home in the morning,
sure; and she would squeeze my hand, or maybe kiss me, and tell me to say
it again, and keep on saying it, because it done her good, and she was in
so much trouble. And when she was going away she looked down in my eyes
so steady and gentle, and says:

"The door ain't going to be locked, Tom, and there's the window and the
rod; but you'll be good, WON'T you? And you won't go? For MY sake."

Laws knows I WANTED to go bad enough to see about Tom, and was all
intending to go; but after that I wouldn't a went, not for kingdoms.

But she was on my mind and Tom was on my mind, so I slept very restless.
And twice I went down the rod away in the night, and slipped around
front, and see her setting there by her candle in the window with her
eyes towards the road and the tears in them; and I wished I could do
something for her, but I couldn't, only to swear that I wouldn't never do
nothing to grieve her any more. And the third time I waked up at dawn,
and slid down, and she was there yet, and her candle was most out, and
her old gray head was resting on her hand, and she was asleep.

CHAPTER XLII.

THE old man was uptown again before breakfast, but couldn't get no track
of Tom; and both of them set at the table thinking, and not saying
nothing, and looking mournful, and their coffee getting cold, and not
eating anything. And by and by the old man says:

"Did I give you the letter?"

"What letter?"

"The one I got yesterday out of the post-office."

"No, you didn't give me no letter."

"Well, I must a forgot it."

So he rummaged his pockets, and then went off somewheres where he had
laid it down, and fetched it, and give it to her. She says:

"Why, it's from St. Petersburg--it's from Sis."

I allowed another walk would do me good; but I couldn't stir. But before
she could break it open she dropped it and run--for she see something.
And so did I. It was Tom Sawyer on a mattress; and that old doctor; and
Jim, in HER calico dress, with his hands tied behind him; and a lot of
people. I hid the letter behind the first thing that come handy, and
rushed. She flung herself at Tom, crying, and