turned over, opened his eyes, and, when I put my finger to my lips to
intimate silence, he looked at me with a vacant stare. Time pressed; I
heard my mother moving about upstairs, and I was afraid that she would
leave the house before my father had recovered his senses. I therefore
took his pigtail from the floor and held it up before him. This appeared
to surprise him. He fixed his eyes upon it for a few seconds, and then,
as if at last suspecting what had taken place, he put his hand to the
back of his head and found no pigtail there. Suddenly he jumped up; he
appeared to be sobered all at once. He caught the tail out of my hand,
looked at it, felt convinced of his loss, threw himself down on the sofa
and wept like a child.

"I saw my mother do it, father," said I, whispering in his ear. This
appeared to recall him. He raised himself up, wiped his eyes with the
back of his hand, ground his teeth, and shook his head. He threw his
tail on the floor, and, as he eyed it, a deep melancholy spread over his
countenance. After a minute or two he folded his arms, and thus lamented
over it:

"Well, I never would have thought it had they told me that you and I
should have parted company. Many, many years has it taken you to grow to
your present length; often have you been handled, often have you been
combed, and often have you been tied. Many's the eel has been skinned
for your sarvice, and many's the yard of ribbon which you have cost me.
You have been the envy of my shipmates, the fancy of the women, and the
pride of poor Tom Saunders. I thought we should never have parted on
'arth, and, if so be my sins were forgiven me, and I could show a fair
log, that I might be permitted to wear you in the world which is to
come. But there you are--parted for all the world like a limb shot off
in action, never to be spliced again. What am I to say when I go on