A walk of five minutes and they found themselves standing on a great rock at the edge of the Falls. It was a good thing that Mrs. Merrill was close by Mary Jane, for there was something so vast and powerful and terrifying about the mad rush of those roaring, tumbling waters that even the iron bars around the edge of the rock couldn’t quite make a little girl feel safe—it needed the hold of a person’s warm hand to make one feel comfortable enough to stand there and watch. For five minutes or more the four Merrills stood there looking. There wasn’t any use trying to talk—the roar of the falling water make words seem fairy whispers that could not be heard by human beings. Mary Jane thought of a number of things she wanted to ask about—the boat, riding so close up to the foot of the Falls; the great bridge over the river so near by, how had men built it there? And the hotel across the Falls, could they go there? But it was not till they had turned away from the rocky observation point and were walking through the park again that she tried to talk. "That boat down there," replied Mr. Merrill, "is called ’The Maid of the Mist.’ Folks who like to do queer things think it’s great fun to ride up close to the foot of the Falls, but we had enough water this morning to last us a while, didn’t we? We’ll take the Falls from the top this trip!" As though to play a joke on him, at that very minute there was a patter on the trees overhead and pell-mell—down dashed a thousand raindrops. Great, round drops that pounded right through the trees and seemed to shout, "there’s more to come, more to come, more to come!" There was no use staying under a tree and there’s no telling what would have happened to hats bought for Boston if Alice hadn’t happened to spy a bandstand close by. A hasty dash for its shelter and they were safe—at least for a while. "If it ever stops again," suggested Mrs. Merrill, "let’s go over there and take the trolley that runs across the bridge Mary Jane was asking about, and ride down the gorge." And of course it did stop in a few minutes and they hurried over and boarded a car. That was the most interesting trolley ride Mary Jane had ever taken or even dreamed of taking. Across the wonderful suspension bridge, along the very tip edge of the high bluff on the Canadian side of the river the car made its way—so close sometimes that Mary Jane held her breath lest it tumble over. Then, several miles down the river, they crossed another bridge and came up the American side. This wasn’t so exciting as the banks were not nearly as high, but it was even more interesting, for from her seat in the car Mary Jane could see the rapids where the water dashed over the great jutting rocks and the whirlpool that was so fascinating to watch. "Oh, let’s get out here and wait a while," she cried as the car stopped at a tiny station. "I want to watch that water a-whirling around."