looking for _you_ at all, but only Tom.  Sis never wrote to me about anybody coming but him.” “It's because it warn't _intended_ for any of us to come but Tom,” he says; “but I begged and begged, and at the last minute she let me come, too; so, coming down the river, me and Tom thought it would be a first-rate surprise for him to come here to the house first, and for me to by and by tag along and drop in, and let on to be a stranger.  But it was a mistake, Aunt Sally.  This ain't no healthy place for a stranger to come.” “No--not impudent whelps, Sid.  You ought to had your jaws boxed; I hain't been so put out since I don't know when.  But I don't care, I don't mind the terms--I'd be willing to stand a thousand such jokes to have you here. Well, to think of that performance!  I don't deny it, I was most putrified with astonishment when you give me that smack.” We had dinner out in that broad open passage betwixt the house and the kitchen; and there was things enough on that table for seven families--and all hot, too; none of your flabby, tough meat that's laid in a cupboard in a damp cellar all night and tastes like a hunk of old cold cannibal in the morning.  Uncle Silas he asked a pretty long blessing over it, but it was worth it; and it didn't cool it a bit, neither, the way I've seen them kind of interruptions do lots of times.  There was a considerable good deal of talk all the afternoon, and me and Tom was on the lookout all the time; but it warn't no use, they didn't happen to say nothing about any runaway nigger, and we was afraid to try to work up to it.  But at supper, at night, one of the little boys says: “Pa, mayn't Tom and Sid and me go to the show?” “No,” says the old man, “I reckon there ain't going to be any; and you couldn't go if there was; because the runaway nigger told Burton and me all about that scandalous show, and Burton said he would tell the people; so I reckon they've drove the owdacious loafers out of town before this time.” So t