I had in my life to take it out o' you this very minute.  To think, here I've been, night after night, a--_you_ just get well once, you young scamp, and I lay I'll tan the Old Harry out o' both o' ye!” But Tom, he _was_ so proud and joyful, he just _couldn't_ hold in, and his tongue just _went_ it--she a-chipping in, and spitting fire all along, and both of them going it at once, like a cat convention; and she says: “_Well_, you get all the enjoyment you can out of it _now_, for mind I tell you if I catch you meddling with him again--” “Meddling with _who_?”  Tom says, dropping his smile and looking surprised. “With _who_?  Why, the runaway ****, of course.  Who'd you reckon?” Tom looks at me very grave, and says: “Tom, didn't you just tell me he was all right?  Hasn't he got away?” “_Him_?” says Aunt Sally; “the runaway ****? 'Deed he hasn't.  They've got him back, safe and sound, and he's in that cabin again, on bread and water, and loaded down with chains, till he's claimed