In point of population, if one must come down to figures, the
Canadian census puts the numbers every time at something round five
thousand. But it is very generally understood in Mariposa that the
census is largely the outcome of malicious jealousy. It is usual that
after the census the editor of the Mariposa Newspacket makes a
careful reestimate (based on the data of relative non-payment of
subscriptions), and brings the population up to 6,000. After that the
Mariposa Times-Herald makes an estimate that runs the figures up to
6,500. Then Mr. Gingham, the undertaker, who collects the vital
statistics for the provincial government, makes an estimate from the
number of what he calls the "demised" as compared with the less
interesting persons who are still alive, and brings the population to
7,000. After that somebody else works it out that it's 7,500; then
the man behind the bar of the Mariposa House offers to bet the whole
room that there are 9,000 people in Mariposa. That settles it, and
the population is well on the way to 10,000, when down swoops the
federal census taker on his next round and the town has to begin all
over again.

Still, it is a thriving town and there is no doubt of it. Even the
transcontinental railways, as any townsman will tell you, run through
Mariposa. It is true that the trains mostly go through at night and
don't stop. But in the wakeful silence of the summer night you may
hear the long whistle of the through train for the west as it tears
through Mariposa, rattling over the switches and past the semaphores
and ending in a long, sullen roar as it takes the trestle bridge over
the Ossawippi. Or, better still, on a winter evening about eight
o'clock you will see the long row of the Pullmans and diners of the
night express going north to the mining country, the windows flashing