besides history, he had enjoyed the study of geography,
being especially fond of poring over maps and tracing out imaginary
journeys. In this way he had gained a fair idea of the route Mr. Hobart
and he were to pursue, as well as of the cities and other places of
interest they were to see. There was one place, however, for which he
was not prepared. It was early in the first night of the journey, and
the boy had just fallen into a doze in his sleeping-car berth. As the
night was warm, and there was no dust, the car door was open, and
through it came a sudden shout of "Glen Eddy! Glen Eddy!"

As Glen started up, wide awake, and answering "Here I am," the train
rumbled over a bridge. Then it stopped, and the meaning of the shout
flashed into the boy's mind. He was at the very place where, so long
ago, he had lost a father or mother, or both. All the details of that
awful scene, as described by his adopted father, appeared vividly before
him, and he seemed to see, through a gray dawn, the mass of splintered
wreckage nearly covered by angry waters, the floating car seat with its
tiny human burden, and the brave swimmer directing it towards land.

The train stopped but a moment, and then moved on. As it did so, Glen,
who was in an upper berth, heard a deep sigh, that sounded almost like a
groan, coming apparently from a lower berth on the opposite side of the
car.

Directly afterwards he heard a low voice ask, respectfully, "What is it,
Governor? Are you in pain? Can I do anything?"

"Nothing, Price, thank you. I had a sort of nightmare, that's all," was
the reply, and then all was again quiet.

Glen wished he might catch a glimpse of the person who spoke last, for
he had never seen a governor, and wondered in what way he would look
different from other men. He would try and see him in the morning. Thus
thinking, he fell asleep.

The next morning he was awakened by Mr. Hobart, and told to dress as
quickly as possible, for they were within a few miles of East St. Louis,
and would soon cross the Mississippi. This news drove all other thoughts
from the boy's mind, and he hurried through his toilet, full of
excitement at the prospect of seeing the mightiest of American rivers.

There was no bridge across the Mississippi then, either at St. Louis or
elsewhere. Great four-horse transfer coaches from the several hotels
were waiting for passengers beside the train where it stopped, and these
were borne to the opposite bank b