you hear the _k'chunk_!--it had took all that time to come over the water.  So we would put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness.  Once there was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating tin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them.  A scow or a raft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and laughing--heard them plain; but we couldn't see no sign of them; it made you feel crawly; it was like spirits carrying on that way in the air.  Jim said he believed it was spirits; but I says: “No; spirits wouldn't say, 'Dern the dern fog.'” Soon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the middle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted her to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and talked about all kinds of things--we was always naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes would let us--the new clothes Buck's folks made for me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I didn't go much on clothes, nohow. Sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark--which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two--on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft.  We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened.  Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened; I judged it would have took too long to _make_ so many.  Jim said the moon could a _laid_ them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I didn't say nothing against it, because I've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it could be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down.  Jim allowed they'd got spoile