It was his opinion that there was as great a river as the Mississippi flowing directly under it—­an underself of a river, as much a counterpart of the other as the second story of a house is of the first; in fact, he said they were navigating through the upper story.  Whirlpools were holes in the floor of the upper river, so to speak; eddies were rifts and cracks.  And deep under the earth, hurrying toward the subterranean stream, were other streams, small and great, but all deep, hurrying to and from that great mother-stream underneath, just as the small and great overground streams hurry to and from their mother Mississippi.  It was almost more than the little convent girl could take in:  at least such was the expression of her eyes; for they opened as all eyes have to open at pilot stories.  And he knew as much of astronomy as he did of hydrology, could call the stars by name, and define the shapes of the constellations; and she, who had studied astronomy at the convent, was charmed to find that what she had learned was all true.  It was in the pilot-house, one night, that she forgot herself for the first time in her life, and stayed up until after nine o’clock.  Although she appeared almost intoxicated at the wild pleasure, she was immediately overwhelmed at the wickedness of it, and observed much more rigidity of conduct thereafter.  The engineer, the boiler-men, the firemen, the stokers, they all knew when the little convent girl was up in the pilot-house:  the speaking-tube became so mild and gentle.

With all the delays of river and boat, however, there is an end to the journey from Cincinnati to New Orleans.  The latter city, which at one time to the impatient seemed at the terminus of the never, began, all of a sudden, one day to make its nearingness felt; and from that period every other interest paled before the interest in the immanence of arrival into port, and the whole boat was seized with a panic of preparation, the little convent girl with the others.  Although so immaculate was she in person and effects that she might have been struck with a landing, as some good people might be struck with death, at any moment without fear of results, her trunk was packed and repacked, her satchel arranged and rearranged, and, the last day, her hair was brushed and plaited and smoothed over and over again until the very last glimmer of a curl disappeared.  Her dress was whisked, as if for microscopic inspection; her face was washed; and her finger-nails were scrubbed with the hard convent nail-brush, until the disciplined little tips ached with a pristine soreness.  And still there were hours to wait, and still the boat added up delays.  But she arrived at last, after all, with not more than the usual and expected difference between the actual and the advertised time of arrival.