"Skip aboard, kidlums, and you'll soon see what a canal is like," said Leicester, who was marshaling his party over the gangplank.
The Mamie Mead was the very smallest steamboat the children had ever seen, and it seemed like playing house to establish themselves on its tiny deck. Dare seemed to find it inadequate to his ideas of proportion, and he stalked around, knocking over chairs and camp-stools with a fine air of indifference.
Grandma Dorrance, who by this time was rather tired by the journey, was made as comfortable as possible, and then the children prepared to enjoy the excitements of their first trip on a canal.
The smoothness of the water amazed them all, and they wondered why it wasn't more like a river.
The locks, especially, aroused awe and admiration.
By the time they went through the first gate they had made the acquaintance of the captain, and could watch the performance more intelligently. It seemed nothing short of magic to watch the great gates slowly close, and then to feel their own boat rising slowly but steadily, as the water rushed in from the upper sluice.
"It's just like Noah and the Ark," exclaimed Fairy, "when the floods made them go up and up."
"It's exactly like that," agreed Dorothy, as the waters kept rising; "and we've nearly as many animals on board as he had."
All too soon they had risen to the level of the lake, and another pair of great gates swung open to let them through.
"Are we going to stay on top?" asked Fairy; "or must we go down again?"