Great heaps of coal and wood were stacked
behind tall planks, and alongside black, sooty docks lay bulky freight
steamers; but over all was spread a shimmering, transparent mist, which
made everything appear so big and strong and wonderful that it was
almost beautiful.
The wild geese flew past factories and freight steamers and were
nearing the cloud-enveloped spires. Suddenly all the mists sank to the
water, save the thin, fleecy ones that circled above their heads,
beautifully tinted in blues and pinks. The other clouds rolled over
water and land. They entirely obscured the lower portions of the houses:
only the upper stories and the roofs and gables were visible. Some of
the buildings appeared to be as high as the Tower of Babel. The boy no
doubt knew that they were built upon hills and mountains, but these he
did not see--only the houses that seemed to float among the white,
drifting clouds. In reality the buildings were dark and dingy, for the
sun in the east was not shining on them.
The boy knew that he was riding above a large city, for he saw spires
and house roofs rising from the clouds in every direction. Sometimes an
opening was made in the circling mists, and he looked down into a
running, tortuous stream; but no land could he see. All this was
beautiful to look upon, but he felt quite distraught--as one does when
happening upon something one cannot understand.
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