a better way than your wool-gethering memory, too, because it was on the clo's-line yesterday--I see it there myself. But it's gone, that's the long and the short of it, and you'll just have to change to a red flann'l one till I can get time to make a new one. And it 'll be the third I've made in two years.  It just keeps a body on the jump to keep you in shirts; and whatever you do manage to _do_ with 'm all is more'n I can make out.  A body 'd think you _would_ learn to take some sort of care of 'em at your time of life.” “I know it, Sally, and I do try all I can.  But it oughtn't to be altogether my fault, because, you know, I don't see them nor have nothing to do with them except when they're on me; and I don't believe I've ever lost one of them _off_ of me.” “Well, it ain't _your_ fault if you haven't, Silas; you'd a done it if you could, I reckon.  And the shirt ain't all that's gone, nuther.  Ther's a spoon gone; and _that_ ain't all.  There was ten, and now ther's only nine. The calf got the shirt, I reckon, but the calf never took the spoon, _that's_ certain.” “Why, what else is gone, Sally?” “Ther's six _candles_ gone--that's what.  The rats could a got the candles, and I reckon they did; I wonder they don't walk off with the whole place, the way you're always going to stop their holes and don't do it; and if they warn't fools they'd sleep in your hair, Silas--_you'd_ never find it out; but you can't lay the _spoon_ on the rats, and that I know.” “Well, Sally, I'm in fault, and I acknowledge it; I've been remiss; but I won't let to-morrow go by without stopping up them holes.” “Oh, I wouldn't hurry; next year 'll do.  Matilda Angelina Araminta _Phelps!_” Whack comes the thimble, and the child snatches her claws out of the sugar-bowl without fooling around any.  Just then the nigger woman steps on to the passage, and says: “Missus, dey's a sheet gone.” “A _sheet_ gone!  Well, for the land's sake!” “I'll stop up them holes to-day,” says Uncle Sila