"What are those long ditches?" queried Doby, catching sleet on his eyebrows as he leaned forward to look. "They must have been canals full of water leading from one walled town to another. 'Tis trade and commerce on short cuts that made it possible to keep up such thickly populated villages as the Mound-Builders must have had." Gusts of wind were fanning his words away, but Mr. Holman was determined to tell Doby all he could, so he added: "Rivers are big highways. Canals are smaller ones. A country thrives when its citizens can trade with one another by easy routes. The new towns that settlers are building in Ohio need just such waterways to make the bartering good." Here he became emphatic. "If these old canals are mended or new ones built--as the State is planning to do--then the countryside will again be full of rich towns." Suddenly they both had to hang on to the tree for safety. "Whew! What a blast!" cried Doby. "See the trees go down!" "Watch out!" yelled his father. Leaping to one side, he caught Doby's hand and fled down the hill with the boy like a living kite on short tether waving behind him. There was roaring--grinding--snapping--crashing. Then came showers of branches--leaves--bark--clods. Doby had done a series of flipflaps. He was dizzy and confused, but he lent a hand to his father, who was flat on the ground. The uproar deepened. Then it shrilled away. In another moment the sleet was gone, the sun was bright, the storm had passed. The oak was standing on its head, kicking its heels in the air. The mound was a lopsided dirt-pile. Already dozens of excited men were pouring out of the stockade. They ran with shovels and rakes and sticks to poke about in the cavity which the capsized oak's roots had torn through the mound. The genial parson came with them and looked on laughingly, to see fair play at the digging. This Dr. Mannassah Cutler was one of the big men of his time. He held the standard of his town so high that each of the other Ohio settlements had to set its best foot forward to keep up with Marietta's march of progress. He had a scholar's interest in mounds. He ordered them preserved. He had an explorer's interest in their treasures. He examined them scientifically. He had a leader's interest in his people. He made them play fair. He was their court of last resort. In spite of the desperate curiosity driving him, Doby had not the weight to hold his own at the front of this line of human gophers. He was forced back to a spot where he could use nothing but his ears. For two or three hours all he got out of the hole was some scraps of conversation like this: "Any gold?" "Never _is_ any gold." "Any money?" "Never _is_ any money." "Any jewelry?" "Copper bracelets. Who wants copper bracelets?" "Pearl beads, gone dull." "Fine cloth wrappings--coarse cloth--all rotted through." "Clay pots, every one broken." "Bones, bones, bones. Ashes, ashes, ashes."