itical, humorous, philosophical smile which revealed
a view of life at once kindly and trenchant. His shrewd grey eyes were
encased in wrinkles, and when he laughed his hearty laugh they almost
disappeared in a merry line. He had a fund of Scotch stories, and one
or two he was very fond of, at the expense of the Methodists, that were
known up and down the Dominion, and nobody enjoyed them more than he
did himself. He had once worn his hair in a high curl on his scholarly
forehead, and a silvering tuft remained brushed upright; he took the
old-fashioned precaution of putting cotton wool in his ears, which
gave him more than ever the look of something highly concentrated and
conserved but in no way detracted from his dignity. St Andrew's folk
accused him of vanity because of the diamond he wore on his little
finger. He was by no means handsome, but he was intensely individual;
perhaps he had vanity; his people would have forgiven him worse things.
And at Mrs Murchison's tea party he was certainly, as John Murchison
afterward said, "in fine feather."

An absorbing topic held them, a local topic, a topic involving loss and
crime and reprisals. The Federal Bank had sustained a robbery of five
thousand dollars, and in the course of a few days had placed their
cashier under arrest for suspected complicity. Their cashier was Walter
Ormiston, the only son of old Squire Ormiston, of Moneida Reservation,
ten miles out of Elgin, who had administered the affairs of the Indians
there for more years than the Federal Bank had existed. Mr Williams
brought the latest news, as was to be expected; news flowed in rivulets
to Mr Williams all day long; he paid for it, dealt in it, could spread
or suppress it.

"They've admitted the bail," Mr Williams announced, with an air of
self-surveillance. Rawlins had brought the intelligence in too late for
the current issue, and Mr Williams was divided between his human desire
to communicate and his journalistic sense that the item would be the
main feature of the next afternoon's Express.

"I'm glad of that. I'm glad of that," repeated Dr Drummond. "Thank you,
Mrs Murchison, I'll send my cup. And did you learn, Williams, for what
amount?"

Mr Williams ran his hand through his hair in the effort to remember, and
decided that he might as well let it all go. The Mercury couldn't fail
to get it by tomorrow anyhow.

"Three thousand," he said. "Milburn and Dr Henry Johnson."

"I thought Father was bo