At last the mists grew thinner and thinner, and fled from before the shining face of the sun; and, although the earth still remained hidden beneath swirling white, up above began to appear the glorious blue. And this was the beginning of a fine day for Johannes. Sighing and groaning, as if with great reluctance, the tugboat began again its toilful course up the stream. The still, summer day was warm, the wide expanse of water sparkled in the sun, and on both sides the shores were gliding gently by--their grey-green reeds, and willows and poplars, all fresh and dewy, peeping through the fog. Johannes lay on the deck, gazing at land and water, while Marjon sat beside him. Keesje amused himself with the tackle rope, chuckling with satisfaction every now and then, as he sprang back and forth, with a serious look, after a flitting bird or insect. "Marjon," said Johannes, "how did you know so certainly yesterday that there was nothing to be afraid of?" "Some one watches over me," said Marjon. "Who?" asked Johannes. "Father." Johannes looked at her, and asked, softly: "Do you mean your own father?" But Marjon made a slight movement of her head toward the green earth, the flowing water, the blue sky and the sunshine, and said, with peculiar significance, as if now it was quite clear to her: "No! I mean The Father." "The Father Markus speaks about?" "Yes. Of course," said Marjon. Johannes was silent a while, gazing at the rapid flow of the water, and the slower and slower course of things according to their distance in the rear. His head was full of ideas, each one eager for utterance. But it is delightful to lie thus and view a passing country spread out under the clear light--letting the thoughts come very calmly, and selecting carefully those worthy of being clad in speech. Many are too tender and sensitive to be accorded that honor, but yet they may not be meanest ones. Johannes first selected a stray thought. "Is that your own idea?" he asked. Marjon was not quick with an answer, herself, this time. "My own? No. Markus told me it. But I knew it myself, though. I knew it, but he said it. He drew it out of me. I remember everything he says--everything--even although I don't catch on." "Is there any good in that?" asked Johannes, thoughtlessly. Marjon looked at him disdainfully, and said: "Jimminy! You're just like Kees. He doesn't know either that he can do more with a quarter than with a cent. When I got my first quarter, I didn't catch on, either, but then I noticed that I could get a lot more candy with it than with a cent. Then I knew better what to do. So now I treasure the things Markus has said--all of them." "Do you think as much of him as I do?" asked Johannes. "More," said Marjon. "That cannot be." Then there was another long pause. The boat was not in a hurry, neither was the sun, and the broad stream made even less haste. And so the children, as well, took plenty of time in their talking.