see if he was comfortable and had plenty to eat, and both of them was kind as they could be, Tom says: “_Now_ I know how to fix it.  We'll send you some things by them.” I said, “Don't do nothing of the kind; it's one of the most jackass ideas I ever struck;” but he never paid no attention to me; went right on.  It was his way when he'd got his plans set. So he told Jim how we'd have to smuggle in the rope-ladder pie and other large things by Nat, the nigger that fed him, and he must be on the lookout, and not be surprised, and not let Nat see him open them; and we would put small things in uncle's coat-pockets and he must steal them out; and we would tie things to aunt's apron-strings or put them in her apron-pocket, if we got a chance; and told him what they would be and what they was for.  And told him how to keep a journal on the shirt with his blood, and all that. He told him everything.  Jim he couldn't see no sense in the most of it, but he allowed we was white folks and knowed better than him; so he was satisfied, and said he would do it all just as Tom said. Jim had plenty corn-cob pipes and tobacco; so we had a right down good sociable time; then we crawled out through the hole, and so home to bed, with hands that looked like they'd been chawed.  Tom was in high spirits. He said it was the best fun he ever had in his life, and the most intellectural; and said if he only could see his way to it we would keep it up all the rest of our lives and leave Jim to our children to get out; for he believed Jim would come to like it better and better the more he got used to it.  He said that in that way it could be strung out to as much as eighty year, and would be the best time on record.  And he said it would make us all celebrated that had a hand in it. In the morning we went out to the woodpile and chopped up the brass candlestick into handy sizes, and Tom put them and the pewter spoon in his pocket.  Then we went to the nigger cabins, and while I got Nat's