This reply suggested an idea.
“Hannah,” asked he, “did you ever see a dromedary?”
“No; did you, Josh?”
“No,” returned Josh, “I never see nothin’ in my life but a green monkey; and then I was a’most skeered to death!”
“Lawful heart! Mercy’s sake!” exclaimed Hannah, and here the conversation came to a pause again.
The longer they sat, the more awkwardly Josh found himself situated; he sat bolt upright in his chair, with his knees close together and his head stooping forward in such a manner that his long queue stuck out horizontally behind, and his eyes stuck out horizontally before, like those of a lobster. For several minutes he sat contemplating the handle of the warming-pan that hung by the side of the fireplace; and then gradually elevating his line of vision, came in sight of a huge crook-necked squash lying on the mantel-piece. Then he looked at Hannah, and then at the dish-cloth in the mouth of the oven, and from the dish-cloth made a transition back to the warming-pan.
“Courting,” thought Josh, “is awful hard work.” The perspiration stood on his forehead, and his eel-skin queue pulled so tight that he began to fear the top of his head was coming off; but not a word could he say. And just at that moment a green stick of wood upon the fire began to sing in a dismal tone, “Que, que, que, que, que.” Nothing frets the nerves more when a body is a little fidgetty, than the singing and sputtering of a stick of wood. Josh felt worse than ever, but the stick kept on: que, que, que, quiddle, de dee, que, que, quiddledy quiddledy que, que, que. Josh caught up the tongs and gave the fire a tremendous poke. This exertion somewhat relieved him.
“Hannah!” said he, hitching his chair a yard nearer.
“Well, Josh.”
“Now,” thought Josh, “I will tell I love her.”