“Well, I wonder! Why, I wrote you twice to ask you what you could mean by Sid being here.”

“Well, I never got ’em, Sis.”

Aunt Polly she turns around slow and severe, and says:

“You, Tom!”

“Well⁠— what ?” he says, kind of pettish.

“Don’t you what me , you impudent thing⁠—hand out them letters.”

“What letters?”

“ Them letters. I be bound, if I have to take a-holt of you I’ll⁠—”