It was funny going along that road.

There was farming country and timber each way up the road.

The whole battery was drunk going along the road in the dark.

In the shanty nearest the road there was a light in the window.

The carts were jammed for thirty miles along the Karagatch road.

A steep sandy road ran down the hill to the bay through the timber.

The houses were in a big grove of elm trees and the road was very sandy.

It was much lighter on the logging road as the timber was cut away on both sides.

The young Indian stopped and blew out his lantern and they all walked on along the road.

Hortons Bay, the town, was only five houses on the main road between Boyne City and Charlevoix.

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

Up the road a ways was the Methodist church and down the road the other direction was the township school.

Then they went into the woods and followed a trail that led to the logging road that ran back into the hills.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

She liked it the way he walked over from the shop and often went to the kitchen door to watch for him to start down the road.

We went along the road all night in the dark and the adjutant kept riding up alongside my kitchen and saying, “You must put it out.”