It was momentary interest only. Austria's declaration of war had not entered their minds. Dick felt that if he had asked some of the members of his congregation who had declared war, they might have said, "Serbia." The repeated shocks of the news of the next few days battered down indifference. Each night and each morning there fell into the community facts--terrible, unbelievable--stunning and horrifying it. Germany had invaded Belgium. She was battering down Liège. Why, what did it mean? England had declared war on Germany. She was calling out an army, but what for? And we--we were to be neutral, of course. We had nothing to do with it. The town discussed the news of that dreadful week in troubled voices, reading the paper line by line, curious, awed--but quite detached. The first sense of connection came when the _Argus_ announced that Patsy McCullon was lost. The last her family had heard of her she was in Belgium. They had cabled--could get no word. Now Patsy was Sabinsport's pride. She was an example, so High Town said, of what a girl could make of herself, though as a matter of fact better backing than Patsy had for her achievement it would be hard to find. Her father and mother were of the reliable Scotch stock which had come a hundred years before to the country near Sabinsport. Here Patsy's grandfather had settled and prospered. Here her father had been born and here he still carried on the original McCullon farm. He had married a "native" like himself, and like himself well-to-do. They had worked hard and they had to show for their efforts as comfortable and attractive a place as the district boasted--not a "show farm," like Ralph Cowder's, but clean, generous acres--many of them--substantial buildings always shining with fresh paint, herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, gardens, vines, orchards. The McCullons had one child, Patsy. You'd go far to find anything firmer on its feet than Patsy McCullon, anything that knew better its own mind or went more promptly and directly after the thing it wanted. Patsy was twenty-four. Since the hour she was born, she had been her own mistress. When she was ten she had elected to go into town to school. When she was sixteen she had graduated, and the next year she had gone to college. Her father and mother had put in a feeble protest. They needed her. She was an only child. They had "enough." Why not settle down? But Patsy said firmly, No. She was going to "prepare to do something." When they asked her what, she said quite frankly she didn't know. She'd see. She knew the first thing was education and she meant to have it. She'd teach and pay back if they said so, but Father McCullon hastened to say that it "wasn't necessary." He guessed she could have what she wanted. And so Patsy had gone East to college. She had graduated with honor two years before the war and had come back to Sabinsport to take a position in the high school.