In the East, as the minutes passed, there came a soft and luminous gray, and after that, swiftly, with the miracle of far Northern dawn, a vast, low-burning fire seemed to start far beyond the forests, tinting the sky with a delicate pink that crept higher and higher as Kent watched it.

The river, all at once, came out of its last drifting haze of fog and night.

The scow was about in the middle of the channel.

Two hundred yards on either side were thick green walls of forest glistening fresh and cool with the wet of storm and breathing forth the perfume which Kent was drawing deep into his lungs.
In the cabin he heard sound.

Marette was up, and he was eager to have her come out and stand with him in this glory of their first day.