It was the highly imaginative Paul who was impressed the
most.
"We know where it goes to," he said, "but I wonder where it comes from."
Henry waved his hand vaguely toward the North.
"Up there somewhere," he said, "a thousand miles from here, or maybe two
thousand. Nobody can tell."
Paul did not say anything more, but continued to gaze at the vast, yellow
current of the Mississippi, coming out of the unknown regions of the far
north and flowing into lands of the far south, almost as mysterious and,
vague, once belonging to France but now owning the lordship of Spain. It
was the homely language of Shif'less Sol that recalled him from his
dreams.
"It's purty big out thar, an' looks ez if you couldn't tamper with
it--this here river stands no foolin'--but do you know, Paul, water's
pow'ful friendly. It's always travelin' about, always on the move. Land
stands still, it's always thar, an' never sees nothin' new, but water
jest keeps a' movin', seein' new countries, here to-day, somewhar else
to-morrow, lavin' new banks, breathin' new air, floatin' peacefully on to
new people, gatherin' in their talk an' ways.
"Jest think! This river comes out o' we don't know whar, sees all the
wilderness, whispers to the bars and buffaloes an' Injun tribes ez it goes
by, takes a look at us standin' here on the bank, an', after wonderin'
what we're about, slips on down hundreds o' miles to Louisianny, gazin' at
the French thar on the bank at New Orleans, an' then shoots out into the
sea.
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