You can look at a big iron bridge or a grain elevator or a canal all day long, and if you're feeling blue it don't help you none.

It was jest put there.

Or a hay stack is the same way.

But you go and lazy around in the grass when you're down on your luck and kind o' make remarks to a crick or a big, old walnut tree, and before long it gets you to feeling like it didn't make no difference how you felt, anyhow; fur you don't amount to nothing by the side of something that was always there.

You get to thinking how the hull world itself was always here, and you sort o' see they ain't nothing important enough about yourself to worry about, and presently you will go to sleep and forget it.