        Dale looked over the lake.  He imagined that in the heyday of the schooner, the island had been more of a hazard than anything—clearly if they had built two lighthouses on South Fox, it had been a menace—but perhaps there were a few shipwrecked sailors who had found their way to its shores.  While it was hardly a tourist destination, his feet had not been the first to walk its shores, and they would not be the last.  Was the island a haven of solitude, or a danger to humanity?  Or, in the grand scheme of things, did the island even care?  It was a neutral player.