Preachin's my line, too, and workin' camp-meetin's, and missionaryin' around." Nobody never said anything for a while; then the young man hove a sigh and says: "Alas!" "What 're you alassin' about ?" says the bald-head.
"To think I should have lived to be leading such a life, and be degraded down into such company." And he begun to wipe the corner of his eye with a rag.
"Dern your skin, ain't the company good enough for you ?" says the baldhead, pretty pert and uppish.
"Yes, it IS good enough for me; it's as good as I deserve; for who fetched me so low when I was so high?
I did myself.

I don't blame YOU, gentlemen--far from it; I don't blame anybody.

I deserve it all.

Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I know--there's a grave somewhere for me.

The world may go on just as it's always done, and take everything from me--loved ones, property, everything; but it can't take that.
Some day I'll lie down in it and forget it all, and my poor broken heart will be at rest." He went on a-wiping.
"Drot your pore broken heart," says the baldhead; "what are you heaving your pore broken heart at US f'r?
WE hain't done nothing." "No, I know you haven't.