"But," protested Polly, "the boat is no longer than my own body."
"Nothing can be accomplished without trying," said the little boatman, so they stepped in and instead of sinking, the boat rose just a little out of the water. It was certainly a magic boat. And when the boatman plied his paddle the little vessel skimmed like a swallow along the surface. Upstream they glided, passing under many bridges. It was the most delightful trip that Polly had ever taken.
Just below the landing was a bend in the stream and as they rounded it a magnificent landscape suddenly popped into view. A splendid building stood close to the landing. It was known as the River Castle. As the children sprang out, a merry group of youngsters came running to meet them. An acquaintance began at once, and soon Polly and Harry were playing with the other children as if they had known one another for years.
By and by there was a lull in the play, and Polly's eyes wandered to the great tall building. She had not carefully observed the high eight-sided tower, whose top was lost to view in the clouds. Its sides were set with bell-shaped disks, made of different metals—some of gold, some of silver, and others of copper. As the light of the setting sun shone upon them, the scene was beyond description.
"What is that?" whispered Polly grasping an arm of her friend, and pointing toward the castle.
"That is the great reflector. Every sound that has ever been made is repeated here," explained Harry. "Even the growing corn may be heard singing as it grows."
They were interrupted by the striking of the old town-clock. They counted the strokes—one, two, three, four, five. They seemed many miles away.
"It is the old clock in the tower," whispered Polly.
The disks took up the sweet notes and magnified them till they sang a thousand times more sweetly. Then the chimes struck up their beautiful music. The children stood with bowed heads as they heard the grand harmonies of heaven.