ow?" grunted Tom, "you are just giving Jo a filler."

"Well, putting it another way,", said Jim, "it took about as long as it
would for you to acquire a knowledge of spelling."

This was Tom's weak point, but all further controversy was cut off by
our nearer approach to this temple. There was a broad arch of one
hundred feet in the smooth, red sandstone through which we entered.
Before this arch and almost in the entrance was a screen of cottonwood
trees.

We stood within, silent, wondering at the majesty of the interior. It
was like being under the dome of some great cathedral, though this had
the added grace of being natural.

The temple was five hundred feet in width, and two hundred in height,
with an opening far above in the roof, through which the blue sky was
faintly visible.

It was not dark, for the light came from the entrance and dusky slants
of sunshine came through the opening above. Our eyes were soon
accustomed to the twilight of the place.

"Isn't it grand?" said Jim. "I never imagined such a place as this."

The floor was mostly of bare rock, smooth but not level, as it was worn
concave or with rounding ridges. We crossed over to the opposite side
facing the entrance, and sat down on a narrow ledge with a comfortable
back of sandstone.

"Let's sing," said Jim.

"Tune up," cried Tom.

The sound was not echoed, but the dome gave it a deep, sonorous quality
that was really impressive. As we sang we forgot all the hardships of
the past, the uncertainty of the present and the dangers of the near
future. We were back in civilization again and among our home
surroundings and folks once more. The warmth of the sentiment softened
us and did us good.

"Way down upon the Suwanee River,
Far, far away,
That's where my heart is turning ever,
That's where the old folks stay."

"All the world am sad and dreary
Everywhere I roam.
Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary
Longing for the old folks at home."

There was something of pathos in our tones as we sang the last line. Jim
had a good baritone, and Tom's voice was really a fine tenor, while mine
was of a nondescript variety.

We spent hours in this cavern in singing and exploring around.

"I'll tell you what let's do," exclaimed Tom. "Let's carve our names in
here."

"Good idea," I agreed.

So we went to work and in a couple of hours we had finished our task.
The sandstone was soft, that is, comparativel