They jumped
from stone to stone far out into the rapids, and they tramped on the
rolling log heaps as calmly as though they were on flat ground. They
were daring and resolute men.
"As I watch this, I'm reminded of the iron-moulders in the mining
districts, who juggle with fire as if it were perfectly harmless,"
remarked the boy. "These loggers play with water as if they were its
masters. They seem to have subjugated it so that it dare not harm them."
Gradually they neared the mouth of the river, and Bothnia Bay was beyond
them. Gorgo flew no farther straight ahead, but went northward along the
coast. Before they had travelled very far they saw a lumber camp as
large as a small city. While the eagle circled back and forth above it,
he heard the boy remark that this place looked interesting.
"Here you have the great lumber camp called Svartvik," the eagle said.
The boy thought of the mill at home, which stood peacefully embedded in
foliage, and moved its wings very slowly. This mill, where they grind
the forest harvest, stood on the water.
The mill pond was crowded with logs. One by one the helpers seized them
with their cant-hooks, crowded them into the chutes and hurried them
along to the whirling saws. What happened to the logs inside, the boy
could not see, but he heard loud buzzing and roaring, and from the other
end of the house small cars ran out, loaded with white planks.
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