The Indians rowed with quick choppy strokes.

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

Marjorie rowed up the point a little way so she would not disturb the line.

He rowed the boat around to troll past both the feeding fish, then headed it for the point.

She bit Uncle George on the arm and Uncle George said, “Damn squaw bitch!” and the young Indian who had rowed Uncle George over laughed at him.

Ten years later there was nothing of the mill left except the broken white limestone of its foundations showing through the swampy second growth as Nick and Marjorie rowed along the shore.

Then Marjorie rowed the boat out over the channel-bank, holding the line in her teeth, and looking toward Nick, who stood on the shore holding the rod and letting the line run out from the reel.