miss him.  Sally, it's terrible--just terrible--something's happened to the boat, sure!” “Why, Silas!  Look yonder!--up the road!--ain't that somebody coming?” He sprung to the window at the head of the bed, and that give Mrs. Phelps the chance she wanted.  She stooped down quick at the foot of the bed and give me a pull, and out I come; and when he turned back from the window there she stood, a-beaming and a-smiling like a house afire, and I standing pretty meek and sweaty alongside.  The old gentleman stared, and says: “Why, who's that?” “Who do you reckon 't is?” “I hain't no idea.  Who _is_ it?” “It's _Tom Sawyer!_” By jings, I most slumped through the floor!  But there warn't no time to swap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on shaking; and all the time how the woman did dance around and laugh and cry; and then how they both did fire off questions about Sid, and Mary, and the rest of the tribe. But if they was joyful, it warn't nothing to what I was; for it was like being born again, I was so glad to find out who I was.  Well, they froze to me for two hours; and at last, when my chin was so tired it couldn't hardly go any more, I had told them more about my family--I mean the Sawyer family--than ever happened to any six Sawyer families.  And I explained all about how we blowed out a cylinder-head at the mouth of White River, and it took us three days to fix it.  Which was all right, and worked first-rate; because _they_ didn't know but what it would take three days to fix it.  If I'd a called it a bolthead it would a done just as well. Now I was feeling pretty comfortable all down one side, and pretty uncomfortable all up the other.  Being Tom Sawyer was easy and comfortable, and it stayed easy and comfortable till by and by I hear a steamboat coughing along down the river.  Then I says to myself, s'pose Tom Sawyer comes down on that boat?  And s'pose he steps in here any minute, and sings out my name before I can throw hi