Its front windows gave on the Toba
River, slipping down to the sea. A maple spread friendly arms at one
corner, a lordly tree that would blaze crimson and russet-brown when
October came again. All up and down the river the still woods spread a
deep-green carpet on a floor between the sheer declivity of the north
wall and the gentler, more heavily timbered slope of the south.
Hollister looked at his house when it was done and saw that it was
good. He looked at the rich brown of the new-cleared soil about it,
and saw in his mind flowers growing there, and a garden.
And when he had quartered his men in the cabin up the hill and put
them to work on the cedar, he went back to Vancouver for his wife.
CHAPTER XI
A week of hot sunshine had filled the Toba River bank full of roily
water when Hollister breasted its current again. In midstream it ran
full and strong. Watery whisperings arose where swirls boiled over
sunken snags. But in the slow eddies and shoal water under each bank
the gray canoe moved up-stream under the steady drive of Hollister's
paddle.
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