The log was just awash in the lake.

At the lake shore there was another rowboat drawn up.

Dick Boulton walked around past the cottage down to the lake.

No one who lived in it was out of sound of the big saws in the mill by the lake.

From Smith’s back door Liz could see ore barges way out in the lake going toward Boyne City.

The others went on ahead of him down to the lake shore where the logs were buried in the sand.

Dick was a half-breed and many of the farmers around the lake believed he was really a white man.

It was just beginning to be daylight when they walked along the logging road back toward the lake.

From Smith’s back door you could look out across the woods that ran down to the lake and across the bay.

The logs had been lost from the big log booms that were towed down the lake to the mill by the steamer Magic.

The evening breeze blew the smoke toward the point, so Marjorie spread the blanket out between the fire and the lake.

In the early morning on the lake sitting in the stern of the boat with his father rowing, he felt quite sure that he would never die.

It was very beautiful in the spring and summer, the bay blue and bright and usually whitecaps on the lake out beyond the point from the breeze blowing from Charlevoix and Lake Michigan.

Its open hold covered with canvas and lashed tight, the sails of the schooner filled and it moved out into the open lake, carrying with it everything that had made the mill a mill and Hortons Bay, a town.

The schooner moved out of the bay toward the open lake carrying the two great saws, the traveling carriage that hurled the logs against the revolving, circular saws and all the rollers, wheels, belts and iron piled on a hull-deep load of lumber.

His family were enormously wealthy⁠—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach⁠—but now he’d left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest.

They had drifted up onto the beach and if nothing were done about them sooner or later the crew of the Magic would come along the shore in a rowboat, spot the logs, drive an iron spike with a ring on it into the end of each one and then tow them out into the lake to make a new boom.