I come onto the place where our campfire had been them nights we was there.
Looey had drug an old fence post onto the fire one night, and the post had only burned half up.

The butt end of it, all charred and flaked, was still laying in the grass and weeds there.

It hit me with a queer feeling--like it was only yesterday that fire had been lit there.

And yet I knowed it had been a year and a half ago.
Well, it has always been my luck to run into things without the right kind of a lie fixed up ahead of time.

They was three or four purty good stories I had been trying over in my head to tell Martha when I seen her.