She looked out of all patience, but of course she come to count⁠—anybody would.

“I declare to gracious ther’ ain’t but nine!” she says. “Why, what in the world⁠—plague take the things, I’ll count ’m again.”

So I slipped back the one I had, and when she got done counting, she says:

“Hang the troublesome rubbage, ther’s ten now!” and she looked huffy and bothered both. But Tom says:

“Why, Aunty, I don’t think there’s ten.”

“You numskull, didn’t you see me count ’m ?”

“I know, but⁠—”