They moved off together from the docks toward the church, discussing the ominous news.

"Oh, look, Jane," said Isabel once more. "There's Ramsay Dunn. Isn't he looking funny?"

"Pickled, I guess," said Jim, with a glance at the young man who with puffed and sodden face was gazing with dull and stupid eyes across the lake. On catching sight of the approaching party Ramsay Dunn turned his back sharply upon them and became intensely absorbed in the launch at his side. But Jane would not have it thus.

"Ask him to come over this afternoon," she said to Ethel. "His mother would like it."

"Good morning, Ramsay," said Ethel as they pa.s.sed him.

Ramsay turned sharply, stood stiff and straight, then saluted with an elaborate bow. "Good morning, Ethel. Why, good morning, Jane. You down here? Delighted to see you."

"Ramsay, could you come over this afternoon to our island?" said Ethel.

"Jane is going back this week."

"Sure thing, Ethel. Nothing but scarlet fever, small-pox, or other contectious or inf.a.gious, conf.a.gious or intexious--eh, disease will prevent me. The afternoon or the evening?" he added with what he meant to be a most ingratiating smile. "The late afternoon or the early evening?"

The little girls, who had been staring at him with wide, wondering eyes, began to giggle.

"I'll be there," continued Ramsay. "I'll be there, I'll be there, when the early evening cometh, I'll be there." He bowed deeply to the young ladies and winked solemnly at Isabel, who by this time was finding it quite impossible to control her giggles.

"Isn't he awfully funny?" she said as they moved off. "I think he is awfully funny."

"Funny!" said Ethel. "Disgusting, I think."

"Oh, Ethel, isn't it terribly sad?" said Jane. "Poor Mrs. Dunn, she feels so awfully about it. They say he is going on these days in a perfectly dreadful way."

The little brick church was comfortably filled with the townsfolk and with such of the summer visitors as had not "left their religion behind them in Winnipeg," as Jane said. The preacher was a little man whose speech betrayed his birth, and the theology and delivery of whose sermon bore the unmistakable marks of his Edinburgh training. He discoursed in somewhat formal but in finished style upon the blessings of rest, with obvious application to the special circ.u.mstances of the greater part of his audience who had come to this most beautiful of all Canada's beautiful spots seeking these blessings. To further emphasise the value of their privileges, he contrasted with their lot the condition of unhappy Servia now suffering from the horrors of war and threatened with extinction by its tyrannical neighbour, Austria. The war could end only in one way. In spite of her gallant and heroic fight Servia was doomed to defeat. But a day of reckoning would surely come, for this was not the first time that Austria had exercised its superior power in an act of unrighteous tyranny over smaller states. The G.o.d of righteousness was still ruling in his world, and righteousness would be done.

At the close of the service, while they were singing the final hymn, Mr.

McPherson, after a whispered colloquy with Mr. Murray, made his way to the pulpit, where he held an earnest conversation with the minister.

Instead of p.r.o.nouncing the benediction and dismissing the congregation when the final "Amen" had been sung, the minister invited the people to resume their seats, when Mr. McPherson rose and said,

"Friends, we have just learned that a great and terrible evil has fallen upon the world. Five days ago the world was shocked by the announcement that Austria had declared war upon Servia. Through these days the powers of Europe, or at least some of them, and chief among them Great Britain, have been labouring to localise the war and to prevent its extension.

To-day the sad, the terrible announcement is made that Germany has declared war upon both Russia and France. What an hour may bring forth, we know not. But not in our day, or in our fathers' day, have we faced so great a peril as we face to-day. For we cannot forget that our Empire is held by close and vital ties to the Republic of France in the entente cordiale. Let us beseech Almighty G.o.d to grant a speedy end to war and especially to guide the King's counsellors that they may lead this Empire in the way that is wise and right and honourable."

In the brief prayer that followed there fell upon the people an overpowering sense of the futility of man's wisdom, and of the need of the might and wisdom that are not man's but G.o.d's.

Two days later Mr. Murray and the children accompanied Dr. Brown and Jane to Kenora on their way back to the city. As they were proceeding to the railway station they were arrested by a group that stood in front of the bulletin board upon which since the war began the local newspaper was wont to affix the latest despatches. The group was standing in awed silence staring at the bulletin board before them. Dr. Brown pushed his way through, read the despatch, looked around upon the faces beside him, read the words once more, came back to where his party were standing and stood silent.

"What is it?" inquired Mr. Murray.

"War," said Dr. Brown in a husky whisper. Then clearing his throat, "War--Britain and Germany."

War! For the first time in the memory of living man that word was spoken in a voice that stopped dead still the Empire in the daily routine of its life. War! That word whispered in the secret silent chamber of the man whose chief glory had been his t.i.tle as Supreme War Lord of Europe, swift as the lightning's flash circled the globe, arresting mult.i.tudes of men busy with their peaceful tasks, piercing the hearts of countless women with a new and nameless terror, paralysing the activities of nations engaged in the arts of peace, transforming into bitter enemies those living in the bonds of brotherhood, and loosing upon the world the fiends of h.e.l.l.

Mr. Murray turned to his boy. "Jim," he said, "I must go to Winnipeg.

Take the children home and tell their mother. I shall wire you to-morrow when to meet me." Awed, solemnised and in silence they took their ways.

Arrived at the railway station, Mr. Murray changed his mind. He was a man clear in thought and swift in action. His first thought had been of his business as being immediately affected by this new and mighty fact of war. Then he thought of other and wider interests.

"Let us go back, Dr. Brown," he said. "A large number of our business men are at the Lake. I suppose half of our Board of Trade are down here. We can reach them more easily here than any place else, and it is important that we should immediately get them together. Excuse me while I wire to my architect. I must stop that block of mine."

They returned together to the launch. On their way back to their island they called to see Mr. McPherson. "You were right," was Mr. Murray's greeting to him. "It has come; Britain has declared war."

Mr. McPherson stood gazing at him in solemn silence. "War," he said at length. "We are really in."

"Yes, you were right, Mr. McPherson," said Dr. Brown. "I could not believe it; I cannot believe it yet. Why we should have gone into this particular quarrel, for the life of me I cannot understand."

"I was afraid from the very first," said McPherson, "and when once Russia and France were in I knew that Britain could not honourably escape."

As they were talking together a launch went swiftly by. "That's the Rushbrooke's launch," said Jim.

Mr. Murray rushed out upon the pier and, waving his hand, brought it to a halt and finally to the dock. "Have you heard the news?" he said to the lady who sat near the stern. "Britain has declared war."

"Oh," replied Mrs. Rushbrooke, "why on earth has she done that? It is perfectly terrible."

"Terrible, indeed," said Mr. McPherson. "But we must face it. It changes everything in life--business, society, home, everything will immediately feel the effect of this thing."

"Oh, Mr. McPherson," exclaimed Mrs. Rushbrooke, "I can hardly see how it will quite change everything for us here in Canada. For instance," she added with a gay laugh, "I do not see that it will change our bonfire tonight. By the way, I see you are not gone, Dr. Brown. You and Jane will surely come over; and, Mr. Murray, you will bring your young people and Mrs. Murray; and, Mr. McPherson, I hope you will be able to come. It is going to be a charming evening and you will see a great many of your friends. I think a bonfire on one of the islands makes a very pretty sight."

"I am not sure whether I can take the time, Mrs. Rushbrooke," said Mr.

Murray. "I had thought of seeing a number of our business men who are down here at the Lake."

"Oh, can't you leave business even while you are here? You really ought to forget business during your holidays, Mr. Murray."

"I mean in relation to the war," said Mr. Murray.

"Good gracious, what can they possibly do about the war down here? But if you want to see them they will all be with us to-night. So you had better come along. But we shall have to hurry, Lloyd; I have a lot of things to do and a lot of people to feed. We have got to live, haven't we?" she added as the launch got under way.

"Got to live," said Mr. McPherson after they had gone. "Ah, even that necessity has been changed. The necessity for living, which I am afraid most of us have considered to be of first importance, has suddenly given place to another necessity."

"And that?" said Mr. Murray.

"The necessity not to live, but to do our duty. Life has become all at once a very simple thing."

"Well, we have got to keep going in the meantime at any rate," said Mr.

Murray.

"Going, yes; but going where?" said Mr. McPherson. "All roads now, for us, lead to one spot."

"And that spot?" said Mr. Murray.

"The battlefield."

"Why, Mr. McPherson, we must not lose our heads; we must keep sane and reasonable. Eh, Doctor?"

"I confess that this thing has completely stunned me," said Dr. Brown.

"You see I could not believe, I would not believe that war was possible in our day. I would not believe you, Mr. McPherson. I thought you had gone mad on this German scare. But you were right. My G.o.d, I can't get my bearings yet; we are really at war!"