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