While along its shores the forest like an over-reaching shield outstretched its giant arms to cast weird, fantastic figures first on the white beach, and then out, out over the transparent bosom of the waters, going farther, faster and faster, deeper and darker, until the veil of twilight concealed the beautiful scene.
In the background the rugged Adirondacks kept watch and ward over the treasures below, and on their seamed and time-scarred forehead lingered the touch of sunlight long after the shadows of gloom had robbed Lake Menatee of its beauty.
Not a living creature was to be seen to give life to the solitude of nature.
Three boats drawn up on the white sand lay side by side, or at least within a few feet of each other.
They were merely common, flat-bottom rowboats.
There was nothing remarkable about them.
The water may have reached to the stern of one, but to not more than barely touch it.
Still a close observer might have seen it move, slightly it is true, but yet a movement perceptible.
Gradually it neared the water’s edge, moved by an unseen power.
So slowly did it move that fully an hour must have passed before it had gained a foot.