"TOM!"No answer."TOM!"No answer."What's gone with that boy,  I wonder? You TOM!"No answer.The old lady pulled her spectacles down and lookedover them about the room; then she put them up andlooked out under them. She seldom or never lookedTHROUGH them for so small a thing as a boy; they wereher state pair, the pride of her heart, and were builtfor "style," not service -- she could have seen througha pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked perplexedfor a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but stillloud enough for the furniture to hear:"Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll --"She did not finish, for by this time she was bendingdown and punching under the bed with the broom,and so she needed breath to punctuate the puncheswith. She resurrected nothing but the cat."I never did see the beat of that boy!"She went to the open door and stood in it and lookedout among the tomato vines and "jimpson" weeds thatconstituted the garden. No Tom. So she lifted upher voice at an angle calculated for distance andshouted:"Y-o-u-u TOM!"There was a slight noise behind her and she turnedjust in time to seize a small boy by the slack of hisroundabout and arrest his flight."There! I might 'a' thought of that closet. Whatyou been doing in there?""Nothing.""Nothing! Look at your hands. And look atyour mouth. What IS that truck?""I don't know, aunt.""Well, I know. It's jam -- that's what it is. Fortytimes I've said if you didn't let that jam alone I'd skinyou. Hand me that switch."The switch hovered in the air -- the peril was des-perate --"My! Look behind you, aunt!"The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirtsout of danger. The lad fled on the instant, scrambledup the high board-fence, and disappeared over it.His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and thenbroke into a gentle laugh."Hang the boy, can't I never learn anything? Ain'the played me tricks enough like that for me to be look-ing out for him by this time? But old fools is the big-gest fools there is. Can't learn an old dog new tricks,as the saying is. But my goodness, he never playsthem alike, two days, and how is a body to know what'scoming? He 'pears to know just how long he cantorment me before I get my dander up, and he knowsif he can make out to put me off for a minute or makeme laugh, it's all down again and I can't hit him a lick.I ain't doing my duty by that boy, and that's the Lord'struth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile thechild, as the Good Book says. I'm a laying up sin andsuffering for us both, I know. He's full of the OldScratch, but laws-a-me! he's my own dead sister's boy,poor thing, and I ain't got the heart to lash him, some-how. Every time I let him off, my conscience doeshurt me so, and every time I hit him my old heart mostbreaks. Well-a-well, man that is born of woman is offew days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says, andI reckon it's so. He'll play hookey this evening, * and[* Southwestern for "afternoon"]I'll just be obleeged to make him work, to-morrow, topunish him. It's mighty hard to make him workSaturdays, when all the boys is having holiday, but hehates work more than he hates anything else, and I'veGOT to do some of my duty by him, or I'll be the ruinationof the child."