fine raft in which they could set out to explore the stream.
The mast stood up bravely, the green leaves shaking in the breeze just like a real sail; Poor Cecco and Bulka took their places in the stern, and off they went, gliding easily through the water. To be sure there was no rudder, but Poor Cecco had already thought of that. He had a piece of shingle in his paws for an oar, and this he dipped first on one side and then on the other, and so managed to keep their vessel on its course.
They could not make up their minds whether to go upstream or down, but this was soon decided for them; there was no choice but to follow the current, and this took them first of all under the bridge. They drifted past the ducks, who stopped scratching their heads with their toes to stare at them, very politely now they saw that Bulka was owner of a real ship and not to be taken liberties with any more. To be sure the most impudent duckling did swim after them, opening his bill, but Poor Cecco gave him a rap with the oar and very soon sent him about his business.
It was quite dark under the bridge; green moss hung from the stones and water dripped down on them from the arched roof. It was like entering a long dark tunnel; all sorts of horrible things might be lurking there. No sooner had they left daylight than a terrible noise began. It was only a wagon rumbling over the bridge above them, but Bulka thought it was a real storm and began to get frightened. It shook and thundered as if the whole bridge
