now.  I see it warn't a bit of use to try to go ahead--I'd got to throw up my hand.  So I says to myself, here's another place where I got to resk the truth.  I opened my mouth to begin; but she grabbed me and hustled me in behind the bed, and says: “Here he comes!  Stick your head down lower--there, that'll do; you can't be seen now.  Don't you let on you're here.  I'll play a joke on him. Children, don't you say a word.” I see I was in a fix now.  But it warn't no use to worry; there warn't nothing to do but just hold still, and try and be ready to stand from under when the lightning struck. I had just one little glimpse of the old gentleman when he come in; then the bed hid him.  Mrs. Phelps she jumps for him, and says: “Has he come?” “No,” says her husband. “Good-_ness_ gracious!” she says, “what in the warld can have become of him?” “I can't imagine,” says the old gentleman; “and I must say it makes me dreadful uneasy.” “Uneasy!” she says; “I'm ready to go distracted!  He _must_ a come; and you've missed him along the road.  I _know_ it's so--something tells me so.” “Why, Sally, I _couldn't_ miss him along the road--_you_ know that.” “But oh, dear, dear, what _will_ Sis say!  He must a come!  You must a missed him.  He--” “Oh, don't distress me any more'n I'm already distressed.  I don't know what in the world to make of it.  I'm at my wit's end, and I don't mind acknowledging 't I'm right down scared.  But there's no hope that he's come; for he _couldn't_ come and me 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