sometimes spread itself so thickly on the river that he could not
see his way. But he felt his way instead, following the flow of
the stream, day after day, past great bridges, past boats and
barges, past the great town, with its wharfs, and mills, and tall
smoking chimneys, and ships which rode at anchor in the stream; and
now and then he ran against their hawsers, and wondered what they
were, and peeped out, and saw the sailors lounging on board smoking
their pipes; and ducked under again, for he was terribly afraid of
being caught by man and turned into a chimney-sweep once more. He
did not know that the fairies were close to him always, shutting
the sailors' eyes lest they should see him, and turning him aside
from millraces, and sewer-mouths, and all foul and dangerous
things. Poor little fellow, it was a dreary journey for him; and
more than once he longed to be back in Vendale, playing with the
trout in the bright summer sun. But it could not be. What has
been once can never come over again. And people can be little
babies, even water-babies, only once in their lives.

Besides, people who make up their minds to go and see the world, as
Tom did, must needs find it a weary journey. Lucky for them if
they do not lose heart and stop half-way, instead of going on
bravely to the end as Tom did. For then they will remain neither
boys nor men, neither fish, flesh, nor good red-herring: having
learnt a great deal too much, and yet not enough; and sown their
wild oats, without having the advantage of reaping them.

But Tom was always a brave, determined, little English bull-dog,
who never knew when he was beaten; and on and on he held, till he
saw a long way off the red buoy through the fog. And then he found
to his surprise, the stream turned round, and running up inland.