Just then the miller came up and saw what had happened. He went and got his wagon and put Heine's body in it, and we all drove into town; and finally to Heine's house, where his mother fainted and cried so you could hear her all over town.
Then Mitch and me started for home. Mitch was awful solemn and said, "That might have been you or me, Skeet. What does it mean, anyway? Here's Heine just growin' up, just been around this town with us boys a few years, and now he's drowned and gone for good. Why, I can remember when he wore short dresses, and now it's all over, and it looks like life is just nuthin'."
Then, after a bit, he said, "I have a presentiment."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Why, it's when you know somethin' is goin' to happen."
"Do you mean somethin' 's goin' to happen, to you or me, Mitch?"
"Well, nothin' like drownin' or dyin'," said Mitch. "I don't get it that way. But I just feel we'll never dig any more at Old Salem."
"But we ain't finished there," says I.
"That may be," he says, "but to-morrow is Sunday, and I've always noticed that the next week after Sunday ain't the same."
We got to my gate now, and Mitch hardly said "good-by"—just went on lookin' down at the ground. I watched him till he got up the hill and up to Tom White's, then I turned in.