"We can't see much of it."
"No; but you will find enough in the daytime to amuse you. I hope you will sleep all night after this."
"I will go to bed now, Buckland," said she. "Good night."
"Good night, Flora."
She went into the house, and I heard nothing more from her till morning. I know that she prayed for me that night, as she always did; and I looked up to the shining stars, and commended her to the good Father. More than ever before did I love her then, when her life and happiness were more directly the care and study of my existence.
We were now on the broad river—broad compared with the creek, but small in contrast with the mighty Mississippi, which we were yet to see. Sim was forward, watching the dark outlines of the shores. Everything was quiet without, though my bosom still bounded with excitement. I could not forget that I was navigating the clumsy craft in which I had embarked my fortunes, and which held the being most dear to me on earth. I felt that a heavy responsibility rested upon me. Not a sound was to be heard except the gentle ripple of the waters against the sides of the raft; and the season was favorable to reflection.
But if the season was, Sim was not. He began to be weary of the solemn silence and the deep gloom of the hour, and came aft to talk with me. I saw that it would be necessary to keep him busy, in order to save him from his own reflections, and the dulness which was sure to follow. There was work enough on the raft to keep us both employed, and he was in no danger of dying from inaction.
"Are you going to keep her a-going all night, Buck?" asked he, in a tone so loud that it seemed to reverberate over the broad prairies which bounded the river.
"Hush, Sim! Don't talk so loud," I replied, in a whisper. "You will keep Flora awake if you do."
"Hookie! I didn't think of her," said he, slapping his great fist over his mouth, in token of his intention to do better.