"It is very beautiful, Phil, even here," she said softly. "What is that high straight tower called?"
"That is the Shot Tower, where shot is made." Then he explained the process to her—how melted lead is poured through a colander at the top of the tower and made to drop into a vessel of water at the bottom, in perfect little spherical forms—"like the drops of rain, you know, Millie."
Then he pointed out the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey; bade her listen to the half-hour as it struck from Big Ben, and told her what he knew of the history of the many large buildings in the neighbourhood of Waterloo Bridge. Had Cleopatra's Needle been there then, he might have made his sister's eyes grow big with wonder at the marvellous stories that could be related of that, but the famous obelisk was at that time in its old place at Alexandria.
And now the moon, the full moon, had risen over the mighty city of London. Near objects were bathed in its bright, pure light, while far-away in the distance the scene was lost to view in a soft haziness. It was a grand sight. Millie was amazed and awe-struck. Silently she gazed around her, then, kneeling on her seat, leant her head over the parapet, and looked down on the river beneath. Phil noticed that she shivered.
"You are cold, Millie," he said gently. "Hadn't we better go back now?"
"No, not just yet," she replied. "It is only because the water looks so dark and gloomy in the shadow that I shiver. It looks hungry, too, as if it longed to open its mouth and swallow one up. Ah! Phil, I like the sea best. Listen now. I will tell you what I dreamed last night; then if you like we will go home." Millie paused a moment, then began:
"I thought that you and I were living alone at Chormouth, in our old cottage, and on just such a lovely moonlight night as this we went walking on the cliffs together. The tide was out, and across the water, as far as ever we could see, stretched the silvery pathway that you know I used to think must lead to heaven. I thought so then, and I asked you to come with me and join mother there; for though we were very happy, we were often very lonely, and we longed to have her with us. You would not listen to me at first, but presently you said 'Yes.' So taking your hand, I ran with you across the sands, and without the least fear into the tiny rippling waves of the turning tide. But no sooner had our feet touched the water than a shadow seemed to bar the way. We looked up, and there was father standing with his arms stretched out to us.
"'Father,' I cried, 'I am so glad to see you. You are come just in time to go with us to mother.'
"I wasn't one bit surprised to see him, you know, although I knew quite well that he had been wrecked. Well, he stood still with his arms spread out and did not move. Then in a minute or two, he cried with the tears running down his cheeks:
"'Children, I can't go; I don't know the way. Come back with me and teach me, and then, when I have learnt, we three will go together!'