"And are you going to be a farmer, too, young man?" queried the Captain.
"I'm going to try," Garth said manfully. "Dad says I can help him."
"I should say so—a big fellow like you. Would you like to come and see the engines?"
"Glory!" said Garth blissfully, and trotted off by his new friend. Half an hour later his father went in search of him, and found him on the upper deck, grasping the wheel with his thin little hands, and trembling with eager delight as the steamer answered his touch. The Captain stood by, laughing at his efforts.
"I'll make a sailor of him, if he finds he doesn't like farming," he said.
"I'll remember," Tom said, laughing. "Which is it going to be, Garth?"
"I like this—awfully!" Garth panted. "But I suppose one might get a bit sick of it. And you can't have a pony on a ship!"
"Not as a rule," said the Captain. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. I might have a vacancy for a first mate any time." He patted Garth on the head as the small boy went off with his father to the warmth of the lower deck and his big overcoat.
The day was dying, and Garth began to feel a little tired: ready to sit down between his father and mother, and watch the lake shores as they glided by. They were in another lake now, the first of the chain of three that stretches inland from the sea; and their course was close to shore, underneath wooded heights and past beautiful little bays. The lake grew darker and darker. It was all very beautiful and peaceful: but, to the three strangers, it was certainly a little lonely, perhaps a little unfriendly. Home—the dear "House Beautiful" seemed very far away.
There came a momentary stoppage at a little jetty under high cliffs, where three or four men with rod cases went ashore and disappeared on a steeply ascending path. Then the steamer ran on, almost under the cliffs, until the lake narrowed, and opened out again; and ahead they could see the lights of a township. On the right hand, dimly visible, a narrow pathway of water ran out, between long grey piers, to an illimitable grey waste of water beyond; and a dull sound that had for some time been audible swelled to a roar; the thunder of the surf pounding on the entrance bar and on the Ninety-Mile Beach. They steamed past the entrance and into what seemed a little land-locked lake: paused for a moment at another jetty, and then made across to the beckoning lights on the further shore. The long journey was at an end.