my thought they would never stop, but in
exactly one hour the door opened, and he heard "the man" say:

"Now, Mr. Duffy, will you come to my club and we will have luncheon
together?"

"Not to-day, thanks, Mr. Brown. I have my small boy with me, and we're
off for the Falls. Jimmy's never seen them yet."

"Well, well!" answered Mr. Brown. "That's nice! Going to be a boy again
yourself, eh, Duffy? Well, have a good time, and good luck to you both!"
And the glass door closed.

His business ended, Jimmy's father seemed another person. He chatted and
talked and laughed with his son, ordered a splendid luncheon for them
both, swung aboard the train, and by two o'clock they were standing
on the very edge of the precipice, with the glorious Falls of Niagara
thundering into the basin at their feet. The column of filmy mist, the
gorgeous rainbows, the stupendous cataract, leaping and snarling like a
million wolves--it whirled about Jimmy's brain like a wild dream of No
Man's Land, and he walked beside his father in a daze of delight. They
prowled through the islands, crossed the cobwebby bridges from rock to
rock above the Falls, and finally sprawled on a bald ledge of stone that
jutted far out into the turbulent river.

"We'll just rest here a few minutes, James," said his father, playfully.
"Then we must go below the Falls and explore the ice-bridge. I see it
is yet in perfect condition. You are fortunate, my boy, to be able to
see it. There are some winters that never bring an ice-bridge. Then
sometimes it thaws in March, so we are lucky to-day."

About them tossed and tumbled the angry rapids, wrangling and brawling
around their granite shores, but, above their conflicting noises arose a
far, clear, musical sound, like a hundred throats and lips that whistled
in unison.

"What's that?" exclaimed Mr. Duffy, sitting erect suddenly.

"I don't know," said the boy, scanning the tangled waters with his
unpractised young eyes.

"There it is again, dad!" he cried. "It is whistling. A great company,
somewhere, whistling!" Then, looking quickly skyward, he pointed
excitedly upstream, "Look, look! Birds! They are birds! Great white
ones, dad! What are they? There's the whistle again!"

Mr. Duffy shaded his eyes from the sun, and watched; for there, in the
smooth waters above the rapids, were settling, one by one, a magnificent
host of snow-white swans, their wearied bodies almost drooping into the
river, their exhausted pinio