At the hotel they found a wide porte cochère so they were safe and dry there.
"You're going to like this," said Mrs. Merrill, as she looked around the lobby. "There are lots of little shops over there and you girls can look at the souvenir things even if it rains too much for you to see the Falls!"
"But breakfast first, please," suggested Mr. Merrill, "and you can eat all you like for we don't have to hurry to go anywhere."
Breakfast was served in a charming "sun parlor"—which of course was gray and dark because of the rain and mist but was beautiful anyway with the dainty furnishings and gay cretons. The windows that in clear weather looked out on the rushing river a bit above the Falls, showed nothing interesting now. But perhaps that was just as well, for folks don't care much about sightseeing before eating—at least Mary Jane didn't.
A delicious breakfast of fruit and chops and French fried potatoes kept the party so busy that it was with surprise they noticed, three-quarters of an hour later, that the rain had cleared away and that rifts of sunshine were coming through the clouds.
"Why it isn't raining!" exclaimed Mary Jane, "come on, let's hurry up and see everything."
A walk of five minutes and they found themselves standing on a great rock at the edge of the Falls. It was a good thing that Mrs. Merrill was close by Mary Jane, for there was something so vast and powerful and terrifying about the mad rush of those roaring, tumbling waters that even the iron bars around the edge of the rock couldn't quite make a little girl feel safe—it needed the hold of a person's warm hand to make one feel comfortable enough to stand there and watch.
For five minutes or more the four Merrills stood there looking. There wasn't any use trying to talk—the roar of the falling water make words seem fairy whispers that could not be heard by human beings. Mary Jane thought of a number of things she wanted to ask about—the boat, riding so close up to the foot of the Falls; the great bridge over the river so near by, how had men built it there? And the hotel across the Falls, could they go there? But it was not till they had turned away from the rocky observation point and were walking through the park again that she tried to talk.
"That boat down there," replied Mr. Merrill, "is called 'The Maid of the Mist.' Folks who like to do queer things think it's great fun to ride up close to the foot of the Falls, but we had enough water this morning to last us a while, didn't we? We'll take the Falls from the top this trip!"
As though to play a joke on him, at that very minute there was a patter on the trees overhead and pell-mell—down dashed a thousand raindrops. Great, round drops that pounded right through the trees and seemed to shout, "there's more to come, more to come, more to come!"