Heavily freighted barges and sloops, boats and fishing smacks were on their way east, and these were met and passed by many pretty white steamers.  Along the shores ran country roads and railway tracks—­all in the same direction.  There was some place beyond in the east where all wished to go to in the morning.

On one of the islands the boy saw a big, white castle, and to the east of it the shores were dotted with villas.  At the start these lay far apart, then they became closer and closer, and, presently, the whole shore was lined with them.  They were of every variety—­here a castle, there a cottage; then a low manor house appeared, or a mansion, with many small towers.  Some stood in gardens, but most of them were in the wild woods which bordered the shores.  Despite their dissimilarity, they had one point of resemblance—­they were not plain and sombre-looking, like other buildings, but were gaudily painted in striking greens and blues, reds and white, like children’s playhouses.

As the boy sat on the goose’s back and glanced down at the curious shore mansions, Dunfin cried out with delight:  “Now I know where I am!  Over there lies the City that Floats on the Water.”

The boy looked ahead.  At first he saw nothing but some light clouds and mists rolling forward over the water, but soon he caught sight of some tall spires, and then one and another house with many rows of windows.  They appeared and disappeared—­rolling hither and thither—­but not a strip of shore did he see!  Everything over there appeared to be resting on the water.

Nearer to the city he saw no more pretty playhouses along the shores—­only dingy factories.  Great heaps of coal and wood were stacked behind tall planks, and alongside black, sooty docks lay bulky freight steamers; but over all was spread a shimmering, transparent mist, which made everything appear so big and strong and wonderful that it was almost beautiful.

The wild geese flew past factories and freight steamers and were nearing the cloud-enveloped spires.  Suddenly all the mists sank to the water, save the thin, fleecy ones that circled above their heads, beautifully tinted in blues and pinks.  The other clouds rolled over water and land.  They entirely obscured the lower portions of the houses:  only the upper stories and the roofs and gables were visible.  Some of the buildings appeared to be as high as the Tower of Babel.  The boy no doubt knew that they were built upon hills and mountains, but these he did not see—­only the houses that seemed to float among the white, drifting clouds.  In reality the buildings were dark and dingy, for the sun in the east was not shining on them.

The boy knew that he was riding above a large city, for he saw spires and house roofs rising from the clouds in every direction.  Sometimes an opening was made in the circling mists, and he looked down into a running, tortuous stream; but no land could he see.  All this was beautiful to look upon, but he felt quite distraught—­as one does when happening upon something one cannot understand.