3O OVER ON THE ISLAND

put up an old frame of a barn which he covered with materials brought from Quebec and boards collected from the ruins of some old houses. There must have been crude fittings and furnishings in that little house on the hill. But in all, it was probably not very different from the cabins which dot that shore to-day.

Of all the places on the Island which the surveyor might have chosen there are probably none more picturesque. High red cliffs on each side slope down to Observation Cove, and when the tide goes out a long stretch of smooth rock and red sand lies gleaming in the sun. To-day the district is quite a summer resort, and where a surveyor took observations, campers now tan in the sun.

I ran up the path to the top of the high red bank which overlooks the Strait, and stopped abruptly. There, seated contentedly in the sun, was a jolly- looking old man. His book was half thrown away and he was contentedly smoking an old pipe.

“Any legends about this place?” he replied to my

question. “Any legends . . . Well now, let me think . . .”

“Stories of the old settlers . . .,” I suggested helpfully.

His eyes twinkled.

“ Well, now, my dear, they do say around these parts that one of the early governors—mind you—you asked me about this!”

“Yes, yes, go on.”

“Well, one of the early governors, years and years

ago, hid a keg of hooch somewhere in this neigh- bourhood!”

“ He never did ! ”