“Nonsense, James,” said his wife with a quick glance at her two little girls. Her boy was fifteen. Thank God, she would not have to face the question of his duty in regard to war. “They would not be taking old men like you, James,” she added.
Mr. Murray laughed at her. “Well, hardly, I suppose, my dear,” he replied. “I rather guess we won't be allowed to share the glory this time, Doctor.”
Dr. Brown sat silent for a few moments, then said quietly, “The young fellows, of course, will get the first chance.”
“Oh, let's not talk about it,” said Ethel. “Come, Jane, let's go exploring.”
Jane rose.
“And me, too,” cried Isabel.
“And me,” cried Helen.
Ethel hesitated. “Let them come, Ethel,” said Jane. “We shall go slowly.”
An exploration of the island was always a thing of unmixed and varied delight. There were something over twenty-five acres of wooded hills running up to bare rocks, ravines deep in shrub and ferns, and lower levels thick with underbrush and heavy timber. Every step of the way new treasures disclosed themselves, ferns and grasses, shrubs and vines, and everywhere the wood flowers, shy and sweet. Everywhere, too, on fallen logs, on the grey rocks, and on the lower ground where the aromatic balsams and pines stood silent and thick, were mosses, mosses of all hues and depths. In the sunlit open spaces gorgeous butterflies and gleaming dragon flies fluttered and darted, bees hummed, and birds sang and twittered. There the children's voices were mingled in cheery shouts and laughter with the other happy sounds that filled the glades. But when they came to the dark pines, solemn and silent except when the wind moved in their tasselled tops with mysterious, mournful whispering, the children hushed their voices and walked softly upon the deep moss.
“It is like being in church,” said Helen, her little soul exquisitely sensitive to the mystic, fragrant silences and glooms that haunted the pine grove.