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Silas looked, and a single glance was enough to satisfy him that there was something unusual going on outside the cabin.

There were at least a score of men gathered about the flat, and among them Silas saw the town commissioner of highways. He could easily pick out the surveyor and his party, for the former held a tripod in his hand, and a queer-looking brass instrument under his arm, while one of his men carried a chain and the rest had axes on their shoulders.

A few steps away from this party, and apparently not in the least interested in what they were saying or doing, were Mr. Warren and Joe Morgan, who were talking earnestly about something.

Mr. Warren was the richest man in the country for miles around. He owned the hotel and most of the cottages at the beach; but he was seldom seen there, because he said he could find more rest and recreation in the woods, with his dog and gun for companions, than he could at a fashionable watering-place.

The cabin which the Morgans occupied, rent free, belonged to him, and so did the ground on which it stood; and it was owing to his influence that Silas had been permitted to establish his ferry.