"Some people prefer to live in the forest," said he, "while others like to be nearer the water. The cottage you have just bought is near the big lake, and finely located." "I didn't know I had purchased it, as yet," remarked Jarrod, drily. "I forgot," said Wilder, laughing. "There are a good many things for me to think of, you know, and sometimes I get 'em mixed." "I see." "Here," continued the guide, as they went south along the wide beach walk, "is the residence of the Father of Tamawaca, my dear partner Mr. Easton. A fine man, sir, but erring in judgment now and then." He stumbled on a loose, worn out plank, and came to a halt. "This walk, dear boy, ought to be repaired. I've talked to Easton about it more than once, but he says he's too poor to squander money on public improvements. It's his idea that the cottagers should repair the walks." "Isn't this in front of his own residence?" asked Jarrod. "Y-e-e-e-s; seems to be. But Easton says, and with justice, that all the people living above here are obliged to use this walk to get down town--where the store and post-office are located--and so they ought to see that it's kept in proper condition." "Who owns the street?" enquired Jarrod. "Why, we own it, of course--Easton and I. You see, this whole place was once a farm and some men bought it and laid out and platted Tamawaca Park. They incorporated under the laws of Michigan as a summer resort company, and so they kept the control of all the streets and public grounds in their own hands. It's a private settlement, you understand, and when a man buys one of our lots he acquires the right to walk over our streets as much as he likes--as long as he behaves himself." "And if he doesn't?" "If he doesn't we can order him off." "Was the original plat recorded?" asked Jarrod. "Yes; of course." "With the streets and public grounds laid out in detail?" "Certainly." "Then," said the lawyer, "the first man that bought a lot here acquired a title to all your public streets and grounds, and you lost the control of them forever." "Nonsense!" cried Wilder. "I've read law a bit," said Jarrod, "and I know." "Michigan law is different, dear boy," announced Wilder, composedly. "Still we mean to do what's right, and to treat every cottage owner fair and square--as long as he does what we tell him to." Jarrod's face was beaming. He had not been so highly amused for months--not since the Crosbys had sold out. He hadn't seen Lake View Cottage as yet, but already he had decided to buy it. A condition that would have induced an ordinary man to turn tail and avoid Tamawaca was an irresistible charm to this legal pugilist. But his cue was now to be silent and let Wilder talk. "Here, dear boy," that seraphic individual was explaining, "is where Noggs lives, the wealthy merchant prince of Grand Rapids. And here's the cottage of our distinguished author. Don't have to work, you know. Just writes books and people buy 'em. Snap, ain't it?"