The house stood
some distance from the river-bank, and was hidden from it by the trees
of a young apple orchard. As Winn rose to his feet and cast a
lingering glance at the wonderful beauty of the water, he noticed a
familiar black object floating amid its splendor of crimsons and gold.
"I wonder how that log got out of the boom?" he said, half aloud.
"Why, there's another--and another! The boom must be broken."
Yes, the boom of logs, chained together end to end and stretched
completely across the creek to hold in check the thousands of saw-logs
that filled the stream farther than the eye could see, had parted near
the opposite bank. The end thus loosened had swung down-stream a
little way, and there caught on a snag formed of a huge, half-submerged
root. It might hold on there indefinitely, or it might get loose at
any moment, swing wide open, and set free the imprisoned wealth of logs
behind it. As it was, they were beginning to slip through the narrow
opening, and those that had attracted Winn's attention were sliding
downstream as stealthily as so many escaped convicts.
The boy's first impulse was to run towards the house, calling his
father and the mill-hands as he went. His second, and the one upon
which he acted, was to mend the broken boom and capture the truant logs
himself.
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