From Mackinac they took a smaller steamer to Sault Sainte Marie, and then retraced their course till they reached a small pier known as Upper Encampment. Here they expected to see Horatio, but saw instead their old Scotch friend, George Gillies, keeper of the lights. “Why,” said Mrs. Rich, “where’s Horatio?” “He gied me the key, and said he was going across the river, hunting.” “But Horatio never hunts out of season.” “Well, now, he might be hunting a cow on his new farm, or he might be hunting berries for your supper.” So said George Gillies, but went away looking grave. When they entered the log cabin, with its fire of silvery birch crackling cheerfully in the fireplace, Mrs. Rich found a note on the table: Yes, Dearest, The gray squirrel has gone a-hunting. He knows how you used to worry when he first carried a gun, but please remember that he never had an accident. He has gone with some of the Canadian boys to Camp Valcartier. Couldn’t help it, mother, and couldn’t bear to say good-by. Father will understand. He himself went hunting. Tell Jeanie I love her and love her star. Please God, we’ll unify it by the use of nitrogen, and please God, I’ll come back safe. I hope you will find everything all right at the cabin. I’ve added some picric acid to the medicine closet in case of burns. Horatio. Mother dearest, I love you. Mrs. Rich sat down on the old haircloth sofa and seemed a little faint. She was smiling bravely, but her lips were so blue that her husband brought her a glass of water with a little brandy in it. Then she showed him the news. “I was afraid of it,” he said. “I hoped we’d get here before it happened.” Jean seized the note and read it. Then she laid it carefully on the table and knelt beside her mother. Next morning Dr. Rich had a physician come down from Sault Sainte Marie to see his wife. After that he kept a tiny hypodermic syringe where he could lay a hand on it. Twin-flowers were faintly blushing on Jean’s island, which was called the Duckling, but they faded before any news came from Horatio. Eglantine came and blushed more deeply, bringing his first letter. Horatio wrote of his preparations as if Germans were wild wolves.