We was very well satisfied with this
business, and Tom allowed it was worth twice the trouble it took, because
he said NOW she couldn't ever count them spoons twice alike again to save
her life; and wouldn't believe she'd counted them right if she DID; and
said that after she'd about counted her head off for the next three days
he judged she'd give it up and offer to kill anybody that wanted her to
ever count them any more.
So we put the sheet back on the line that night, and stole one out of her
closet; and kept on putting it back and stealing it again for a couple of
days till she didn't know how many sheets she had any more, and she
didn't CARE, and warn't a-going to bullyrag the rest of her soul out
about it, and wouldn't count them again not to save her life; she druther
die first.
So we was all right now, as to the shirt and the sheet and the spoon and
the candles, by the help of the calf and the rats and the mixed-up
counting; and as to the candlestick, it warn't no consequence, it would
blow over by and by.
But that pie was a job; we had no end of trouble with that pie. We fixed
it up away down in the woods, and cooked it there; and we got it done at
last, and very satisfactory, too; but not all in one day; and we had to
use up three wash-pans full of flour before we got through, and we got
burnt pretty much all over, in places, and eyes put out with the smoke;
because, you see, we didn't want nothing but a crust, and we couldn't
prop it up right, and she would always cave in.
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