As four P.M. approached, I took the children to a great glass window
in the cabin, through which we could see the massive machinery.

"Now," said I, "watch the steel giant; he is motionless, but in a
moment or two he will move."

True enough, he appeared to take a long breath of steam, and then
slowly lifted his polished arms, or levers, and the boat that had
been like a part of the wharf began to act as if it were alive and
were waking up.

"Now," I asked, "shall we go to the after-deck and take our last
look at the city, or forward and see the river and whither we are
going?"

"Forward! forward!" cried all in chorus.

"That's the difference between youth and age," I thought. "With the
young it is always 'forward.'" But we found that we could not go out
on the forward deck, for the wind would have carried away my light,
frail Mousie, like a feather. Indeed it was whistling a wild tune as
we stood in a small room with glass windows all round. The waves
were crowned with foaming white-caps, and the small craft that had
to be out in the gale were bobbing up and down, as if possessed. On
the river was a strange and lurid light, which seemed to come more
from the dashing water than from the sky, so dark was the latter
with skurrying clouds.

Mousie clung timidly to my side, but I reassured her by saying: "See
how steadily, how evenly and boldly, our great craft goes out on the