Sighing and groaning, as if with great reluctance, the tugboat began again its toilful course up the stream. The still, summer day was warm, the wide expanse of water sparkled in the sun, and on both sides the shores were gliding gently by—their grey-green reeds, and willows and poplars, all fresh and dewy, peeping through the fog.
Johannes lay on the deck, gazing at land and water, while Marjon sat beside him. Keesje amused himself with the tackle rope, chuckling with satisfaction every now and then, as he sprang back and forth, with a serious look, after a flitting bird or insect.
"Marjon," said Johannes, "how did you know so certainly yesterday that there was nothing to be afraid of?"
"Some one watches over me," said Marjon.
"Who?" asked Johannes.
"Father."
Johannes looked at her, and asked, softly:
"Do you mean your own father?"
But Marjon made a slight movement of her head toward the green earth, the flowing water, the blue sky and the sunshine, and said, with peculiar significance, as if now it was quite clear to her:
"No! I mean The Father."