I ought to know, and they have given me work
to do. I'm in her debt; I'm under real obligation to her. And I've got
to go, that's all."

Old Dick Neeland's clear eyes of a sportsman continued to study his
son's face.

"Yes, you've got to go," he said. He smoked for a few moments, then:
"What the devil does it mean, anyway? Have you any notion, Jim?"

"No, I haven't. There seems to be some military papers in this box
that is mentioned. Evidently they are of value to somebody. Evidently
other people have got wind of that fact and desire to obtain them for
themselves. It almost seems as though something is brewing over
there--trouble of some sort between Germany and some other nation. But
I haven't heard of anything."

His father continued to smoke for a while, then:

"There _is_ something brewing over there, Jim."

"I hadn't heard," repeated the young man.

"I haven't either, directly. But in my business some unusual orders
have come through--from abroad. Both France and Germany have been
making inquiries through agents in regard to shipments of grain and
feed and lumber. I've heard of several very heavy rush orders."

"What on earth could cause war?"

"I can't see, Jim. Of course Austria's attitude toward Servia is very
sullen. But outside of that I can see no trouble threatening.

"And yet, the Gayfield woollen mill has just received an enormous
order for socks and underwear from the French Government. They're
running all night now. And another thing struck me: there has been a
man in this section buying horses for the British Government. Of
course it's done now and then, but, taking this incident with the
others which have come to my personal knowledge, it would seem as
though something were brewing over in Europe."

Jim's perplexed eyes rested on his father; he shook his youthful head
slightly:

"I can't see why," he said. "But if it's to be France and Germany
again, why my sympathy is entirely for France."

"Naturally," nodded his father.

Their Irish ancestors had fought for Bonaparte, and for the Bourbons
before him. And, cursed with cousins, like all Irish, they were aware
of plenty of Neelands in France who spoke no English.

Jim rose, glanced at his watch:

"Dad, I'll just be running over to Brookhollow to get that box. I
haven't such a lot of time, if I'm to catch the midnight train at
Orangeville."

"I should say you hadn't," said his father.

He was disappointed, but he smiled as he e