It was pleasant to sit on his mother's knee and with his great
blue eyes watch those monster horses jogging along dragging after them
the great world, which in his limited comprehension was all the world he
knew,--the covered wagon. Suddenly some bright, revolving object
attracted his attention, and he fixed his eyes on it. It was the wagon
tire, and he saw it crushing and killing the grass at the side of the
road, or rolling and flattening down the dust in long streaks.
Then they descended a hill. It was not a long hill, but seemed rather
steep. There was water at the bottom. He remembered seeing the bright,
sparkling wavelets and never forgot the impression they produced. There
was a boat at the bottom of the hill, and the wagon and horses were
driven into the boat. A man and boy began propelling the long sweeps or
oars. He watched the proceeding in infantile wonder and especially
remembered how the water dropped in sparkling crystals from the oar
blades. The boy had on a red cap or fez with a tassel. That boy, that
cap and that oar with the sparkling dripping water from the blade were
to him the brightest pictures and greatest wonders he had ever known.
He had not the least idea why the man and boy dipped those oars into the
water and pulled them out all dripping and pretty, unless it was to
amuse him. The oars were painted blue. He did not know where they were
going, or when this journey would end, or that it was a journey.
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