"You see," said he, "that when I move the tiller over this way, then the head of the boat turns the other way; and when I move it over that way, then the head of the boat comes round this way. The head of the boat always goes the contrary way."
"I don't see why it should go the contrary way," said Lucia. "I should think it ought to go the same way."
"No," replied Rollo; "it goes the contrary way. And now I am going to steer to a good place to land on the shore over there."
So saying, Rollo pointed to the shore towards which the boat was going.
The boat was now drawing near the shore. There was first a landing, where several small vessels were drawn up, and immense piles of wood in great wood yards.
This wood had a very singular appearance. The bark was all off, and the ends of the logs looked rounded and worn, as if they had been washed in the water. The reason was, that the wood had grown on the sides of the mountains, and had been brought down to the lake by the torrents which pour down the mountain sides with great force in time of rain.
"We won't land in the wood yards—will we?" said Rollo.
"No," said Lucia; "but there's a pretty place to land, a little farther on."
So saying, Lucia pointed to a very pretty part of the shore, a little farther on. There seemed to be a garden, and a little green lawn, with large trees overshadowing it; and at one place there was a projecting point where there was a summer house with a table in it, and a seat outside, near the beach, under a bower.
"Yes," said Rollo; "that is a very pretty place; but it looks like private ground. I think we must not land there."