d seigneur, Monsieur Duhamel; the other was the Manor Casimbault,
empty now of all the Casimbaults. For a year it had lain idle, until the
only heir of the old family, which was held in high esteem as far back
as the time of Louis Quinze, returned from his dissipations in Quebec to
settle in the old place or sell it to the highest bidder.

Behind the Manor Casimbault and the Seigneury, thus flanking the
church at reverential distance, another large house completed the acute
triangle, forming the apex of the solid wedge of settlement drawn about
the church. This was the great farmhouse of the Lavilettes, one of the
most noticeable families in the parish.

Of the little buildings bunched beside the church, not the least
important was the post-office, kept by Papin Baby, who was also keeper
of the bridge which was almost at the door of the office. This bridge
crossed a stream that ran into the large river, forming a harbour. It
opened in the middle, permitting boats and vessels to go through. Baby
worked it by a lever. A hundred yards or so above the bridge was the
parish mill, and between were the Hotel France, the little house of
Doctor Montmagny, the Regimental Surgeon (as he was called), the cooper
shop, the blacksmith, the tinsmith and the grocery shops. Just beyond
the mill, upon the banks of the river, was the most notorious, if not
the most celebrated, house in the settlement. Shangois, the travelling
notary, lived in it--when he was not travelling. When he was, he left it
unlocked, all save one room; and people came and went through the house
as they pleased, eyeing with curiosity the dusty, tattered books upon
the shelves, the empty bottles in the corner, the patchwork of cheap
prints, notices of sales, summonses, accounts, certificates of baptism,
memoranda, receipted bills--though they were few--tacked or stuck to the
wall.

No grown-up person of the village meddled with anything, no matter how
curious; for this consistent, if unspoken, trust displayed by Shangois
appealed to their better instincts. Besides, they, like the children,
had a wholesome fear of the disreputable, shrunken, dishevelled little
notary, with the bead-like eyes, yellow stockings, hooked nose and
palsied left hand. Also the knapsack and black bag he carried under
his arms contained more secrets than most people wished to tempt or
challenge forth. Few cared to anger the little man, whose father and
grandfather had been notaries here befor