“Oh, hush, Helen,” said the scandalised Isabel. “It is lovely, isnt it, Jane? And there is Lloyd Rushbrooke. I think he's lovely, too. And who is that with him, Jane--that pretty girl? Oh, isn't she pretty?” “That's Helen Brookes,” said Jane in a low voice. “Oh, isn't she lovely!” exclaimed Isabel. “Lovely bunch, Isabel,” said Jim with a grin. “I don't care, they are,” insisted Isabel. “And there is Mr. McPherson, Jane,” she added, her sharp eyes catching sight of their Winnipeg minister through the crowd. “He's coming this way. What are the people all waiting for, Jane?” The Reverend Andrew McPherson was a tall, slight, dark man, straight but for the student's stoop of his shoulders, and with a strikingly Highland Scotch cast of countenance, high cheek bones, keen blue eyes set deep below a wide forehead, long jaw that clamped firm lips together. He came straight to where Mr. Murray and Dr. Brown were standing. “I have just received from a friend in Winnipeg the most terrible news,” he said in a low voice. “Germany has declared war on Russia and France.” “War! War! Germany!” exclaimed the men in awed, hushed voices, a startled look upon their grave faces. “What is it, James?” said Mrs. Murray. Mr. Murray repeated the news to her. “Germany at war?” she said. “I thought it was Austria and Servia. Isn't it?” “Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Murray hastily, as if anxious to cover up his wife's display of ignorance of the European situation. “Austria has been at war with Servia for some days, but now Germany has declared war apparently upon France and Russia.” “But what has Germany to do with it, or Russia either, or France?” 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 passed 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 infagious, confagious 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.