ibly on the history of St. Marys.

Banishing Manson from a mind which was already busy with his next move,
he retraced his steps as far as the cottage of Dibbott, the Indian
agent, who at this hour of the day, might have been found moving
mountainously in his long garden and pottering amongst his perennials,
smoking an enormous pipe which he regretfully laid aside only in order
that he might eat.

Now, since the citizens of St. Marys were, without their knowledge,
about to enter upon a period of great importance, glance at Dibbott,
not the least of them, as his small, blue eyes caught the approaching
figure of the mayor. Six feet when he straightened, his shoulders were
bent, but still broad and strong. His face was fiery, not only from
his full blooded habit but also from long canoe voyages. He was a
placid man--placid yet at times suddenly choleric, and he regarded St.
Marys and his own particular plot of land with an undying and tranquil
affection. Dibbott's position was, in a sense, enviable, for he stood
as administrator between the government and the local Indian tribes, in
whose eyes he was the representative of authority.

Year after year he made official visits of visible grandeur to the
settlements of his wards, journeying in a great canoe in the middle of
which he rested enthroned, the brim of his hat pulled far down over a
scarlet, sunburnt nose, a steady wisp of smoke from his big pipe
floating back into the face of the laboring Indian behind him. It may
be that it was in the silence and mysterious appeal of these journeys
that Dibbott got the dignity which sat so naturally on his great, gray
head.

The mayor liked the old man, and Dibbott knew it, so they talked
amicably while Dibbott, turning every now and then in surprise, pushed
out his full red lips as though rising to a fly, and darted quick,
little glances as Filmer unfolded his story beside a late phlox. And
when the mayor concluded, Dibbott did not move but began to rumble in a
deep, throaty, ruminative voice something that sounded like one hundred
and thirty thousand dollars at six per cent.

On his way back to the office, Filmer saw Bowers' lean figure across
the street. He crooked a masterful finger. "Come here!"

The lawyer came over very deliberately and the two went on together.

"There is a man up at the rapids who says he's ready at any time to
take over the town canal debentures."

Bowers looked up startled. "Will you ple