t views from the top in silence.

"Look at the Big Rock," said Helen. "They are two rocks kissing each
other."

"Oh, you little sweetheart," said Jane, kissing her. "That is just what
they are doing. It is not often that you get it so perfectly still as
this, is it, Jim?"

"Not so very often. Sometimes just at sunrise you get it this way."

"At sunrise! Do you very often see it then?"

"Yes, he gets up to catch fishes," said wee Helen.

"Do you?"

Jim nodded. "Are you game to come along to-morrow morning?"

"At what hour?"

"Five o'clock."

"Don't do it, Jane," said Ethel. "It tires you for the day."

"I will come, Jim; I would love to come," said Jane.

For some time they stood gazing down upon the scene below them. Then
turning to the children abruptly, Ethel said, "Now, then, children, you
run down and get ready; that is, if you are going to church. Take them
down, Jim."

"All right, Ethel," said Jim. "See there, Jane," he continued, "that
neck of land across the traverse--that's where the old Hudson Bay trail
used to run that goes from the Big Lakes to Winnipeg. It's the old war
trail of the Crees too. Wouldn't you like to have seen them in the old
days?"

"I would run and hide," said Isabel, "so they could not see me."

"I would not be afraid," said Helen, straightening up to her full height
of six years. "I would shoot them dead."

"Poor things," said Jane, in a pitiful voice. "And then their little
babies at home would cry and cry."

Helen looked distressed. "I would not shoot the ones that had babies."

"But then," said Jane, "the poor wives would sit on the ground and wail
and wail, like the Indians we heard the other night. Oh, it sounded very
sad."

"I would not shoot the ones with wives or babies or anything," said
Helen, determined to escape from her painful dilemma.

"Oh, only the boys and young men?" said Jane. "And then the poor old
mothers would cry and cry and tear their hair for the boys who would
never come back."

Helen stood in perplexed silence. Then she said shyly, "I wouldn't shoot
any of them unless they tried to shoot me or Mother or Daddy."

"Or me," said Jane, throwing her arms around the little girl.

"Yes," said Helen, "or you, or anybody in our house."

"That seems a perfectly safe place to leave it, Helen," said Ethel.
"I think even the most pronounced pacifist would accept that as a
justification of war. I fancy that is why poor little Servia is fighting