was beginning to feel the same way; but I didn't say anything. Him
and I had a considerable long silence, then, but of course it
warn't noticeable in that place. After about sixteen or seventeen
hours, during which I played and sung a little, now and then--
always the same tune, because I didn't know any other--I laid down
my harp and begun to fan myself with my palm branch. Then we both
got to sighing pretty regular. Finally, says he--

"Don't you know any tune but the one you've been pegging at all
day?"

"Not another blessed one," says I.

"Don't you reckon you could learn another one?" says he.

"Never," says I; "I've tried to, but I couldn't manage it."

"It's a long time to hang to the one--eternity, you know."

"Don't break my heart," says I; "I'm getting low-spirited enough
already."

After another long silence, says he--

"Are you glad to be here?"

Says I, "Old man, I'll be frank with you. This AIN'T just as near
my idea of bliss as I thought it was going to be, when I used to go
to church."