"What!" said I, in affected surprise, for I really didn't suppose the poor fellow had any more notion of religion than a Hottentot, "do you work Sunday?"
"Why!" piped he, innocently, "is this Sunday? I thought yesterday was Sunday, and I didn't do any work at all."
I afterwards made a similar blunder, though I was so far out of the way as to mistake Sunday for Friday; nor was I convinced of my error till I had referred the vexed question to all our neighbours.
So, easily our days slipt away, like skaters on a frozen river. Ah, gay and gaudy time! and shall I ever grow too old for thee? Shall those rose-coloured recollections, with wings softer than the softest cloud, ever cease to rise in my soul? As I sit and gaze steadfastly into the past, all those well-known scenes sweep like a fairy pageant across my aching sight. Now waves of slow and stately music fill the air, floating faintly from that distant shore. Oh for some charm to make the spell perpetual! But I know 'twas no such thing. This pleasant dream is all a delusion—that life that now seems so fair was then weary, dreary—then as now, walking in the cold shadow, I saw the distant prospect, behind and before, rioting in the golden light.
Yet sing me that well known air once more,
For thoughts of youth still haunt its strain,
Like dreams of some far fairy shore,
I never shall see again.
[CHAPTER XIII.]
About the middle of December, Number Four obtained a situation as clerk in the store already mentioned, on the hill behind our tent; but, as he still continued to live with us, this step produced but little change in our household economy.