coffee with one hand and cracking the handiest child's head with her thimble with the other, and says: “I've hunted high and I've hunted low, and it does beat all what _has_ become of your other shirt.” My heart fell down amongst my lungs and livers and things, and a hard piece of corn-crust started down my throat after it and got met on the road with a cough, and was shot across the table, and took one of the children in the eye and curled him up like a fishing-worm, and let a cry out of him the size of a warwhoop, and Tom he turned kinder blue around the gills, and it all amounted to a considerable state of things for about a quarter of a minute or as much as that, and I would a sold out for half price if there was a bidder.  But after that we was all right again--it was the sudden surprise of it that knocked us so kind of cold. Uncle Silas he says: “It's most uncommon curious, I can't understand it.  I know perfectly well I took it _off_, because--” “Because you hain't got but one _on_.  Just _listen_ at the man!  I know you took it off, and know it by 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