After some moments of silence the minister spoke. “I wish I could agree with Mr. Rushbrooke,” he said. “But I cannot. My study of this question has impressed me with the overwhelming might of Germany's military power. The war may be short and sharp, and that is what Germany is counting upon. But if it be short and sharp, the issue will be a German victory. The French army is not fully prepared, I understand. Russia is an untrained and unwieldy mass. There is, of course, the British navy, and with all my heart I thank God that our fleet appears to be fit for service. But with regard even to our navy we ought to remember that it is as yet untried in modern warfare. I confess I cannot share Mr. Rushbrooke's optimistic views as to the war. But whether he be right or I, one thing stands out clear in my mind—that we should prepare ourselves to do our duty. At whatever cost to our country or to ourselves, as individuals, this duty is laid upon us. It is the first, the immediate, the all-absorbing duty of every man, woman and child in Canada to make war. God help us not to shrink.”
“How many in this company will be in Winnipeg this week, say to-morrow?” inquired Mr. Murray. The hand of every business man in the company went up. “Then suppose we call a meeting at my office immediately upon the arrival of the train.” And to this they agreed.
The Rushbrooke bonfire was an annual event and ever the most notable of all its kind during the holiday season at the Lake. This year the preparations for the festive gathering had exceeded those of previous years, and Mrs. Rushbrooke's expectations of a brilliantly successful function were proportionately high. But she had not counted upon War. And so it came that ever as the applause following song or story died down, the Spectre drew near, and upon even the most light-hearted of the company a strange quiet would fall, and they would find themselves staring into the fire forgetful of all about them, thinking of what might be. They would have broken up early but Mrs. Rushbrooke strenuously resisted any such attempt. But the sense of the impending horror chilled the gaiety of the evening and halted the rush of the fun till the hostess gave up in despair and no longer opposed the departure of her guests.
“Mr. McPherson,” she said, as that gentleman came to bid her good-night, “I am quite cross with you. You made us all feel so blue and serious that you quite spoiled our bonfire.”
“I wish it were only I that had spoiled it, Mrs. Rushbrooke,” said Mr. McPherson gravely. “But even your graceful hospitality to-night, which has never been excelled even by yourself at the Lake of the Woods, could not make us forget, and God forgive us if we do forget.”
“Oh, Mr. McPherson,” persisted Mrs. Rushbrooke, in a voice that strove to be gaily reproachful, “we must not become pessimistic. We must be cheerful even if we are at war.”
“Thank you for that word,” said the minister solemnly. “It is a true word and a right word, and it is a word we shall need to remember more and more.”
“The man would drive me mad,” said Mrs. Rushbrooke to Mr. Murray as they watched the boats away. “I am more than thankful that he is not my clergyman.”
“Yes, indeed,” said her husband, who stood near her and shared her feelings of disappointment. “It seems to me he takes things far too seriously.”
“I wonder,” said Dr. Brown, who stood with Mr. Murray preparatory to taking his departure. “I wonder if we know just how serious this thing is. I frankly confess, Mr. Rushbrooke, that my mind has been in an appalling condition of chaos this afternoon; and every hour the thing grows more terrible as I think of it. But as you say, we must cheer up.”