Actin' as if it had sunthin' dretful pressin' and important to tell it, and mebby it had. Who knows the language of the liquid waves as they whisper to each other on sunny beaches and at the meetin' of placid waters, makin' love to each other like as not--one tellin' the other of the sweet cow-slip and ferny medders it had to leave at the loud call of its love, the River. The River murmuring back deep words of worship and gratitude at the feet of its newly arrived love. And then mebby the comin' rivulet complains, moanin' kinder low and sorrowful, as it swashes up on sharp stuny beaches, for what it left behind. Meadows and orchards full of May's rosy blossoms, low grassy shores fringed with flowers and fresh, shinin' grasses. And white, dimpled baby feet mebby that waded out in its cool shallows. Pretty faces that bent over its sheltered pools, as in a lookin' glass, wavin' locks that scattered gold light down into the water, bright eyes that shone like stars above it. I shouldn't wonder a mite if it missed 'em and tried to say so in its gentle, pensive swish, swash, swish. And then mebby the River resented it and kinder roared at it; mebby that is what it is sayin' in its louder and more voylent tones, upbraidin' it for lookin' back to its more single and lonesome career, when it now has _Him!_ _Him!_ Rush! Roar! Crush! Roar! Roar! We can't tell what the river is talkin' about, in its calm gentle moods or its voylent ones. Who knows what the loud angry scream and screech of the deep waves say as the tempest and storm presses down on 'em and the Deep answers back in a voice of thunder, with its great heart beatin' and heavin' up and throbbin' in its mad pain and frenzy? Who knows what it is roarin' out, as it meets opposin' forces, wave and rock, and dashes aginst 'em--fightin' and dashin' and tryin' to vanquish 'em like as not? Who can translate the voice of the waters? I can't, nor Josiah, nor nobody. CHAPTER THREE WE SEEK QUIET AND HAPPINESS IN THEIR BEAUTIFUL HANTS AND MINGLE WITH THE PLEASURE SEEKERS OF ALEXANDRIA BAY. CHAPTER THREE WE SEEK QUIET AND HAPPINESS IN THEIR BEAUTIFUL HANTS AND MINGLE WITH THE PLEASURE SEEKERS OF ALEXANDRIA BAY Sometimes we would sail through the green water, so clost to the shore we could almost pick off some of the cedar and pine boughs as we went past, and we could look off into the green and sunny aisles of the trees into beautiful solitude and quiet. And we'd want to foller Quiet and Happiness back into them beautiful hants. And then agin, we'd float by an island where there would be lots of white tents, with wimmen and children and men and boys standin' out wavin' their handkerchiefs and shoutin' to us, good natered and sociable.