Looking toward the lake, there was nothing visible but docks and sand-breaks, the latter being immense structures of rough boards, erected at the most exposed points to prevent the fine sand of the lake shore from blowing over and covering the town from view. Back along the little river, that emptied its dark-brown waters into the lake, there were huge piles of sawed lumber, diversified here and there by equally large piles of shingles or lath. For the rest there were sawmills and sawdust, the former lining the little river aforesaid, and the latter covering everything not already covered by the drifting sand. There was nothing beautiful about the place. But then, as old Pat wisely observed, the town was not there for beauty, but for business. And considered strictly in the light of business, the town was undoubtedly a success, it being the proud boast of its citizens that they made more lumber and drank more whisky than any town in northern Michigan. “Business” was the watchword of everybody. And everything about the place was rushed at a headlong pace, that brought either success or failure, and brought it quick. There were two unfailing subjects of conversation that the poor and the rich were alike interested in. In the summer they talked learnedly about the “cut” of the several mills, while during the winter the “output” of the various lumbering camps was the topic of conversation that all were expected to feel an absorbing interest in. As for the actual home of the Morains, it was a square, comfortable-looking frame house, situated halfway between sand and sawdust; or, in other words, in about the centre of the town. And here the fair Fanny Morain spent the greater part of her time in bewailing the hard lot in life that excluded her, by her position, from society. There were two things most earnestly craved by Miss Fanny: First, the grand tour of Europe; and second, a residence in some city where there was _refined_ society; her idea of the latter having been obtained by the perusal of certain novels wherein the hero and all the principal characters spent their time dawdling about drawing-rooms and making feeble love to each other in a languid manner. Miss Fanny could not truthfully be described as beautiful, or even pretty, yet she had every confidence in her own powers of captivation. She was healthy, and nature had endowed her with a fair skin and a pair of large, almost staring blue eyes. And if her hair was _almost_ red, it was abundant. She dressed with more regard to fashion than good taste, and affected a girlishness hardly compatible with her seven-and-twenty years. James Elwell found her very entertaining, and she was devotedly thankful for the society of this handsome, well-bred young man. They were soon on a familiar footing, and passed the time very pleasantly together, flirting in the most approved manner, riding, walking, and boating together in a way that made the time pass rapidly for both.