The congregations were small, particularly on the hot afternoons, for many of our people did not believe in going to church when the weather was not just right.  Indeed, there had been a serious discussion in the synod of one of the largest churches on the question of abolishing prayers altogether in the hot weather; and I think that some one gave notice of a motion that would come up to this effect at the annual meeting.  No; religion was not a live topic.  There were evidently many who had said, as did one little girl who was leaving for her holidays, “Good-bye, God—­we are going to the country.”

One day a storm of excitement broke over us, and for a whole afternoon upset the calm of our existence.  Four hardy woodmen came down the road with bright new axes, and began to cut down the beautiful trees which had taken so many years to grow and which made one of the greatest beauties of the beach.  It was some minutes before the women sitting on their verandas realized what was happening; but no army ever mobilized quicker for home defense than they, and they came in droves demanding an explanation, of which there did not seem to be any.

“Big Boss him say cut down tree,” the spokesman of the party said over and over again.

The women in plain and simple language expressed their unexpurgated opinion of Big Boss, and demanded that he be brought to them.  The stolid Mikes and Peters were utterly at a loss to know what to do!

“Big Boss—­no sense,” one woman roared at them, hoping to supplement their scanty knowledge of English with volume of sound.

There was no mistaking what the gestures meant, and at last the wood-choppers prepared to depart, the smallest man of the party muttering something under his breath which sounded like an anti-suffrage speech.  I think it was, “Woman’s place is the home,” or rather its Bukawinian equivalent.  We heard nothing further from them, and indeed we thought no more of it, for the next day was August 4, 1914.

When the news of war came, we did not really believe it!  War!  That was over!  There had been war, of course, but that had been long ago, in the dark ages, before the days of free schools and peace conferences and missionary conventions and labor unions!  There might be a little fuss in Ireland once in a while.  The Irish are privileged, and nobody should begrudge them a little liberty in this.  But a big war—­that was quite impossible!  Christian nations could not go to war!

“Somebody should be made to pay dear for this,” tearfully declared a doctor’s wife.  “This is very bad for nervous women.”

The first news had come on the 9.40 train, and there was no more until the 6.20 train when the men came down from the city; but they could throw no light on it either.  The only serious face that I saw was that of our French neighbor, who hurried away from the station without speaking to any one.  When I spoke to him the next day, he answered me in French, and I knew his thoughts were far away.