of his candle and thinking.  Then he turns off slow and dreamy towards the stairs, saying: “Well, for the life of me I can't remember when I done it.  I could show her now that I warn't to blame on account of the rats.  But never mind--let it go.  I reckon it wouldn't do no good.” And so he went on a-mumbling up stairs, and then we left.  He was a mighty nice old man.  And always is. Tom was a good deal bothered about what to do for a s****, but he said we'd got to have it; so he took a think.  When he had ciphered it out he told me how we was to do; then we went and waited around the s****-basket till we see Aunt Sally coming, and then Tom went to counting the s****s and laying them out to one side, and I slid one of them up my sleeve, and Tom says: “Why, Aunt Sally, there ain't but nine s****s _yet_.” She says: “Go 'long to your play, and don't bother me.  I know better, I counted 'm myself.” “Well, I've counted them twice, Aunty, and I can't make but nine.” She looked out o