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of the gentleman class, but they all seem to arrive with families in tow, and besides, they’ll have nothing to do with the likes of us, no matter how hard mother tries to pretend that she’s one of them. Apparently it’s a disgrace to work at earning a living.”
    Many of these failed settlers clamoured for government appointments to rescue them from hard labour in the backwoods. The government was only too happy to oblige; after all, they were of good British stock and nearly all Anglicans, and The Family Compact had entrenched itself by pandering to them. This elitist group wanted an aristocracy — with themselves at the head of it, of course — and anyone with any ambition was wise to act in a way that befitted the station he aspired to. Unfortunately, this was an attitude that was mirrored by ordinary citizens, as well, for no one wanted to admit that they were on the low end of the class ladder.
    â€œSometimes I wonder if Mackenzie didn’t have it right,” Simms said. “This whole colony runs on a pack of nonsense. We’re all on the road to ruin, if you ask me, but it’s beyond me what to do about it.”
    He was still grumbling as they parted company on Milford’s main street. The peddler would transact whatever business he could find and set off for his next destination. He had no need to stay. When night fell, he would simply pull the wagon over to the side of whichever road he was on, climb into the back, and go to sleep.
    To Lewis’s eye, Milford appeared to be every bit as busy as Demorestville. Surely Simms was being pessimistic about the state of economic affairs, for he saw cartloads of grain being hauled to the mill, huge timbers being drawn to the ship-building yard, prosperous-looking matrons carrying baskets of goods. Crops had been poor in the last few seasons, particularly this last year, but Milford appeared not to have noticed, and if ever the rewards of industry and hard work were evident, it had to be in this village.
    It also turned out to be another of the places where he could be sure of a warm welcome. The mill owner was a confirmed Methodist. His father had been one of the subscribers who had built the first Canadian Methodist meeting house in Hay Bay, just across the water on the mainland, and the man had carried his convictions to the place where he ultimately decided to settle. The son had donated land for the building of a small meeting house, and there were several class meetings scheduled here for both men and women in addition to a regular service open to all. It would be necessary to spend the night in order to accommodate such a number of gatherings, but his board was easily arranged — in fact, there was a rivalry to claim the honour of having the preacher stay.
    He was offered an excellent supper at the home of a local carpenter. Here, too, the talk was of Mackenzie and The Caroline , and what would happen if the Americans invaded. Lewis repeated whatever news he knew was fact and left out any of the rampant speculation that had reached his ears. Just as Simms had reported, two of the rebels who had the misfortune to be caught, Matthews and Lount, had been hanged at Toronto Gaol. Governor Arthur had been quick to brand them leaders of the uprising, and had exacted the ultimate penalty. The execution, by all accounts, was a grisly affair. Instead of hauling them up on a rope, as was usual, they had been dropped through a trap door. A miscalculation as to the depth of the drop needed had apparently resulted in Lount’s head parting from his body in a bloody and spectacular manner.
    â€œThere was a petition going around,” the carpenter said, “asking the governor not to hang the rebels. They say Matthews’s wife delivered it personally to Governor Arthur, went right down on her knees and begged, but it did no good. I didn’t know what to do when they asked me to sign it. I don’t agree with rebellion, but