Knockaloe has a few fields under cultivation (I see some acres of oats and wheat), but it is chiefly a grazing farm, supplying most of the milk for the people of Peel. At six in the morning the maids milk the cows, and at seven Mona drives the milk into town in a shandry that is full of tall milk-cans. It is Sunday morning in the early part of August, nineteen hundred and fourteen. The sun has risen bright and clear, giving promise of another good day. Mona is driving out of the gate when she hears the crack of a rocket from the rocket-house connected with the lifeboat. She looks towards the sea. It lies as calm as a sleeping child, and there is not a ship in sight anywhere. What does it mean? A cock is crowing in the barn-yard, Robbie’s dog is barking among the sheep on the hill, the bees are humming in the hedges of yellow gorse and the larks are singing in the blue sky. There is no other sound except the rattle of the shandry in which the fine girl, as fresh as the morning, stands driving in the midst of her pails, and whistling to herself as she drives. On reaching Peel she sees men in the blue costume of the naval reserve bursting out of their houses, shouting hurried adieux to their wives and children, and then flying off with cries and laughter in the direction of the railway station. “What’s going on?” asks Mona of one of the wives. “Haven’t you heard, woman? It’s the war! Mobilization begins to-day, and four steamers are leaving Douglas”--the chief port of the island--“to take the men to their ships.” “And who are we going to war with?” “The Germans, of course.” Germany has jumped on Belgium--the big brute on the little creature, and the men are going to show her how to mend her manners. “They will, too,” says Mona. They will give the Germans a jolly good thrashing and then the war will soon be over. She has always hated the Germans--she hardly knows why. May they get what they deserve this time! Back at Knockaloe she finds Robbie visibly excited. “You’ve heard the news, then?” “I have that.” “They’ll be calling you boys off the land next.” “Will they? Do you think they will, girl?” Robbie’s black eyes were glistening. He looks round on the fields near the house. They are yellow and red; the harvest will soon be over, and then.... It is a fortnight later. There is high commotion in the island. Kitchener has put out his cry: “Your King and Country need you.” It is posted up on all the walls and printed in the insular newspapers. Young men from the remotest parts are hurrying off to the recruiting stations. Mona and Robbie are at work in the harvest fields. Mona cannot contain her excitement. “Oh, why am I not a man?” “Would you go yourself, girl?” “Wouldn’t I just,” says Mona, throwing up her head. The corn is cut and stooked; nothing remains but to stack it. Robbie has gone into town for the evening. Mona and her father are indoors. The old man is looking grave. He remembers the Crimean war and its consequences.