Next morning I heard Tom was a good deal better, and they said Aunt Sally was gone to get a nap. So I slips to the sick-room, and if I found him awake I reckoned we could put up a yarn for the family that would wash. But he was sleeping, and sleeping very peaceful, too; and pale, not fire-faced the way he was when he come. So I set down and laid for him to wake. In about half an hour Aunt Sally comes gliding in, and there I was, up a stump again! She motioned me to be still, and set down by me, and begun to whisper, and said we could all be joyful now, because all the symptoms was first-rate, and he'd been sleeping like that for ever so long, and looking better and peacefuller all the time, and ten to one he'd wake up in his right mind.

     So we set there watching, and by and by he stirs a bit, and opened his eyes very natural, and takes a look, and says:

     "Hello!--why, I'm at HOME! How's that? Where's the raft?"

     "It's all right," I says.

     "And JIM?"

     "The same," I says, but couldn't say it pretty brash. But he never noticed, but says: