It was stiff and hard to lift out of the wagon.

“Take Nick out of the shanty, George,” the doctor said.

It was hard to lift such a big jug up to drink out of it.

They rowed on out of sight of the mill, following the shore line.

Minarets stuck up in the rain out of Adrianople across the mud flats.

As the trout’s back came up out of the water the minnows jumped wildly.

Marjorie stepped out of the boat and Nick pulled the boat high up the beach.

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

They came in through the back gate out of the woods, Eddy carrying the long crosscut saw.

Eddy and Billy Tabeshaw had rocked the log out of the wet sand and rolled it toward the water.

The men had moved off up the road to sit in the dark and smoke out of range of the noise she made.

Nick’s father went into the kitchen and poured about half of the water out of the big kettle into a basin.

He took a plug of tobacco out of his pocket, bit off a chew and spoke in Ojibway to Eddy and Billy Tabeshaw.

When a trout, feeding on the bottom, took the bait it would run with it, taking line out of the reel in a rush and making the reel sing with the click on.

When she looked at them they didn’t seem to be moving at all but if she went in and dried some more dishes and then came out again they would be out of sight beyond the point.

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.