“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 wide river.  In the same way we must go forward, and never be afraid.  These boats run every day after the ice disappears, and they are managed by men who know what to do in all sorts of weather.”

She smiled, but whispered, “I think I’ll go back and stay with mamma;” but she soon found much amusement in looking at passing scenes from the windows of the warm after-cabin—­scenes that were like pictures set in oval frames.

The other children appeared fascinated by the scene, especially Winnie, whose bold black eyes flashed with excitement.

“I want to see everything and know everything,” she said.

“I wish you to see and know about things like these,” I replied, “but not such things as Melissa Daggett would show you.”

“Melissy Daggett, indeed!” cried Winnie.  “This beats all her stories.  She tried to tell me the other day about a theatre at which a woman killed a man—­”

“Horrid!  I hope you didn’t listen?”

“Only long enough to know the man came to life again, and danced in the next—­”

“That will do.  I’m not interested in Melissa’s vulgar stories.  As you say, this, and all like this, is much better, and will never prevent you from becoming a lady like mamma.”

Winnie’s ambition to become a lady promised to be one of my strong levers in uplifting her character.

I confess that I did not like the looks of the sky or of the snow-flakes that began to whirl in the air, but the strong steamer plowed her way rapidly past the city and the villa-crowned shores beyond.  The gloom of the storm and of early coming night was over all, and from the distant western shores the Palisades frowned dimly through the obscurity.

My wife came, and after a brief glance shivered and was turning away, when I said, “You don’t like your first glimpse of the country, Winifred?”

“It will look different next June.  The children will take cold here.  Let them come and watch the machinery.”

This we all did for a time, and then I took them on excursions about the enclosed parts of the boat.  The lamps were already lighted, and the piled-up freight stood out in grotesque light and shadow.