The
sail of the sloop, half-lowered, flapped in the breeze, and little else
stirred.
Our young people overlooked both man and boat.
"It's the same lake," said Amy Leffingwell, rather dreamily, after a common
silence of several minutes.
"The same," returned Cope promptly. "It's just what it was a year ago, a
century ago; and a millennium ago, I suppose,--if there was anyone here to
notice."
She turned on him a rueful, half-protesting smile. "I wasn't thinking of a
century ago. I was thinking of a month ago."
"A month ago?"
"Yes; when we were walking along the dunes."
"Oh, I see. Why, yes, it is the same old lake, though it seems hard to
realize it. Foreground makes so much difference; and so does--well,
population. I mean the human element, or the absence of it."
Amy pondered.
"The one drawback, there, was that we couldn't go out on the water."
"Go out? I should say not. No pier for miles, and the water so shallow that
hardly more than a canoe could land. Still, those fishermen out there
manage it. But plain summerites, especially if not dressed for it, would
have an unpleasant time imitating them.
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