I don't want no better book than what your face is.  A body can set down and read it off like coarse print.  Do you reckon you can go and face your uncles when they come to kiss you good-morning, and never--” “There, there, don't!  Yes, I'll go before breakfast--I'll be glad to. And leave my sisters with them?” “Yes; never mind about them.  They've got to stand it yet a while.  They might suspicion something if all of you was to go.  I don't want you to see them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was to ask how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something.  No, you go right along, Miss Mary Jane, and I'll fix it with all of them. I'll tell Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and say you've went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or to see a friend, and you'll be back to-night or early in the morning.” “Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won't have my love given to them.” “Well, then, it sha'n't be.”  It was well enough to tell _her_ so--no harm in it.  It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's the little things that smooths people's roads the most, down here below; it would make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing.  Then I says: “There's one more thing--that bag of money.” “Well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think _how_ they got it.” “No, you're out, there.  They hain't got it.” “Why, who's got it?” “I wish I knowed, but I don't.  I _had_ it, because I stole it from them; and I stole it to give to you; and I know where I hid it, but I'm afraid it ain't there no more.  I'm awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I'm just as sorry as I can be; but I done the best I could; I did honest.  I come nigh getting caught, and I had to shove it into the first place I come to, and run--and it warn't a good place.” “Oh, stop blaming yourself--it's too bad to do it, and I won't allow it--you couldn't help it; it wasn't your fault.  Where did you hi