stirring.  I set still and listened.  Directly I could just barely hear a “me-yow! me-yow!” down there.  That was good!  Says I, “me-yow! me-yow!” as soft as I could, and then I put out the light and scrambled out of the window on to the shed.  Then I slipped down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was Tom Sawyer waiting for me. CHAPTER II. WE went tiptoeing along a path amongst the trees back towards the end of the widow's garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldn't scrape our heads. When we was passing by the kitchen I fell over a root and made a noise.  We scrouched down and laid still.  Miss Watson's big nigger, named Jim, was setting in the kitchen door; we could see him pretty clear, because there was a light behind him.  He got up and stretched his neck out about a minute, listening.  Then he says: “Who dah?” He listened some more; then he come tiptoeing down and stood right between us; we could a touched him, nearly.  Well, likely it was minutes and minutes that there warn't a sound, and we all there so close together.  There was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but I dasn't scratch it; and then my ear begun to itch; and next my back, right between my shoulders.  Seemed like I'd die if I couldn't scratch.  Well, I've noticed that thing plenty times since.  If you are with the quality, or at a funeral, or trying to go to sleep when you ain't sleepy--if you are anywheres where it won't do for you to scratch, why you will itch all over in upwards of a thousand places. Pretty soon Jim says: “Say, who is you?  Whar is you?  Dog my cats ef I didn' hear sumf'n. Well, I know what I's gwyne to do:  I's gwyne to set down here and listen tell I hears it agin.” So he set down on the ground betwixt me and Tom.  He leaned his back up against a tree, and stretched his legs out till one of them most touched one of mine.  My nose begun to itch.  It itched till the tears come into my eyes.  But I dasn't scratch.  Then