"As no one indicates a preference," announced the miner, "we'll tackle
'Darling, I am growing old.' Are there any objections? All in
favor?--contrary minded?--the motion prevails. Now, then, all
together--'Darling--'Why don't you all git in?"

"How does she go?" inquired Webber.

"She goes like this," Jim replied, clearing his throat:

"'Darling, I am growing o-old,
Silver bars among the gold;
Shine upon--te dum te dumpty--
Far from the old folks at home.'"

"Don't know it," said a voice.

"Neither do I."

"Nor I."

"Nor I."

The sheep of the flock all followed in a chorus of "Nor I's."

"What's the matter with 'Swing Low, Sweet Cheery O'?" inquired Lufkins.

"Suits me," Jim replied. "Steam up."

He and the teamster, in duet, joined very soon by all the congregation,
sang over and over the only lines they could conjure back to memory,