e day before, standing upon that height of land (not too near the
edge, for it looked higher in those days) I had gazed across the Lake,
at one with it all, a friendly voyager of the skies, comrade of the
yarrow and the daisy. I remember the long grass of the hollows, the
peculiar soft bloom of it, and what a place it was to lie and dream,
until one became a part of the solution of sunshine and tinted
immensity.

So I lost the universe for a bit of bluff on the Lake shore.

When the East wind came, I saw with proprietary alarm the point wearing
away. That which coloured the Lake was fine rose-clay and it was mine,
bought by the foot-front.... A man may build his house.

Every one who came along told me how to save the point. For weeks they
came. Heavy drift-wood was placed in times of peace, so that the sand
would be trapped in storm. No one failed me in advice, but the East wind
made match-wood of all arrangements.... The high water would wash and
weaken the base, and in the heaviness of the rains the bulk of earth
above would fall--only to be carried out again by the waves. The base
had to be saved if a natural slope was ever to be secured. Farther down
the shore I noted one day that a row of boulders placed at right angles
with the shore had formed a small point, and that a clump of willows
behind had retained it. This was a bit of advice that had not come so
authoritatively, but I followed the cue, and began rolling up rocks now
like an ancient Peruvian. It was a little jetty, that looked like a lot
of labour to a city man, and it remained as it was for several days.

One morning I came forth in lashing weather--and rubbed my eyes. The
jetty was not in sight. It was covered with a foot of sand, and the clay
was dry at the base. A day's work with a team after that in low water,
snaking the big boulders into line with a chain--a sixty-foot jetty by
sun-down, built on top of the baby spine I had poked together. No man
ever spent a few dollars more profitably. Even these stones were covered
in time, and there was over a yard-deep of sand buttressing the base of
the clay and thinning out on the slope of shore to the end of the
stones. Later, when building, I took four hundred yards of sand from the
east side of the stone jetty, and it was all brought back by the next
storm....

I read somewhere with deep and ardent sanction that a man isn't worth
his spiritual salt if he lets a locality hold him, or possessions
poss