“But are they mountains?” I said; “they don’t look very high.”
“Higher than you think, my lad, with precipice and ravine. Why, look—you can see the top of that one is among the clouds.”
“I should have thought it was a mist resting upon it.”
“Well, what is the difference?” said Uncle Bob, smiling.
Just then we reached a spot where a stream crossed the road, and the sight of the rippling water, clear as crystal, took our attention from the hills and vales that spread around. My first idea was to run down to the edge of the stream, which was so dotted with great stones that I was soon quite in the middle, looking after the shadowy shapes that I had seen dart away.
My uncles followed me, and we forgot all about the work and troubles with the rough grinders, as we searched for the trout and crept up to where we could see some good-sized, broad-tailed fellow sunning himself till he caught sight of the intruders, and darted away like a flash of light.
But Uncle Dick put a stop to our idling there, leading us back to the road and insisting upon our continuing along it for another mile.
“I want to show you our engine,” he said.
“Our engine out here!” I cried. “It’s some trick.”
“You wait and see,” he replied.