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and the clean thing, and go and write to that nigger's owner and tell where he was; but deep down in me I knowed it was a lie, and He knowed it.  You can't pray a lie--I found that out. So I was full of trouble, full as I could be; and didn't know what to do. At last I had an idea; and I says, I'll go and write the letter--and then see if I can pray.  Why, it was astonishing, the way I felt as light as a feather right straight off, and my troubles all gone.  So I got a piece of paper and a pen

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to work with in your apron pocket--” “Mercy sakes!” “--and load up the cabin with rats and snakes and so on, for company for Jim; and then you kept Tom here so long with the butter in his hat that you come near spiling the whole business, because the men come before we was out of the cabin, and we had to rush, and they heard us and let drive at us, and I got my share, and we dodged out of the path and let them go by, and when the dogs come they warn't interested in us, but went for the most noise, and we got our canoe, and made for the raft, and was all safe, and Jim was a free man, and we done it all by ourselves, and _wasn't_ it bully, Aunty!” “Well, I never heard the likes of it in all my born days!  So it was _you_, you little rapscallions, that's been making all this trouble, and turned everybody's wits clean inside out and scared us all most to death.  I've as good a notion as ever 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 nigger, 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 nigger? '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 or sold!” Tom rose square up in bed, with his eye hot, and his nostrils opening and shutti