As four P.M. approached, I took the children to a great glass window in the cabin, through which we could see the massive machinery.
"Now," said I, "watch the steel giant; he is motionless, but in a moment or two he will move."
True enough, he appeared to take a long breath of steam, and then slowly lifted his polished arms, or levers, and the boat that had been like a part of the wharf began to act as if it were alive and were waking up.
"Now," I asked, "shall we go to the after-deck and take our last look at the city, or forward and see the river and whither we are going?"
"Forward! forward!" cried all in chorus.
"That's the difference between youth and age," I thought. "With the young it is always 'forward.'" But we found that we could not go out on the forward deck, for the wind would have carried away my light, frail Mousie, like a feather. Indeed it was whistling a wild tune as we stood in a small room with glass windows all round. The waves were crowned with foaming white-caps, and the small craft that had to be out in the gale were bobbing up and down, as if possessed. On the river was a strange and lurid light, which seemed to come more from the dashing water than from the sky, so dark was the latter with skurrying clouds.
Mousie clung timidly to my side, but I reassured her by saying: "See how steadily, how evenly and boldly, our great craft goes out on the wide river. In the same way we must go forward, and never be afraid. These boats run every day after the ice disappears, and they are managed by men who know what to do in all sorts of weather."
She smiled, but whispered, "I think I'll go back and stay with mamma;" but she soon found much amusement in looking at passing scenes from the windows of the warm after-cabin—scenes that were like pictures set in oval frames.
The other children appeared fascinated by the scene, especially Winnie, whose bold black eyes flashed with excitement.
"I want to see everything and know everything," she said.