And the sparks that flew heavenward from their black chimneys
were far more impressive to the people who crowded the shores than the
smoke and lava of old Vesuvius to the lazy loungers of Naples.
The Boy saw his pony safely housed on board the _AEtna_, and amid the
clang of bells and the scream of whistles, the floating wonder swung out
from her wharf into the yellow tide of the Ohio.
Scores of people crowded her decks for the pleasure of a ride ten miles
down the river to return in their carriages.
The Captain of the _AEtna_, Robinson DeHart, held the Boy in a spell by
his lofty manners. He had been a sailor on board an ocean-going brig. To
him the landing of his vessel was an event, no matter how often the stop
was made, whether to put off a single passenger, or take on a regiment.
In fact, he never landed the _AEtna_, even to take on a cord of wood,
without the use of his enormous speaking trumpet and his big brass
spy-glass.
A beautiful, slow, uneventful voyage on the Father of Waters landed the
Boy in safety at the Woodville stopping-place. He leaped down the
gang-plank with a shout and clasped his Big Brother's hand.
"My, my, but you've grown, Boy!"
"Haven't I?"
"Won't little mother be surprised and glad?"
"Let's fool her," the Boy cried.
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