The Next of Kin

 _Those who Wait and Wonder_

 By

 Nellie L. McClung

 Author of "Sowing Seeds in Denny, " "The Second Chance, " "The Black Creek Stopping House, " and "In Times like These"

 TORONTO THOMAS ALLEN BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 1917

 1917, BY NELLIE L. McCLUNG

 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 _Published November 1917_

HOPE

 Down through the ages, a picture has come of the woman who weepeth: Tears are her birthright, and sorrow and sadness her portion: Weeping endures for a night, and prolongeth its season Far in the day, with the will of God For a reason!

 Such has the world long accepted, as fitting and real; Plentiful have been the causes of grief, without stinting; Patient and sad have the women accepted the ruling, Learning life's lessons, with hardly a word of complaint At the schooling. 

 But there's a limit to tears, even tears, and a new note is sounding: Hitherto they have wept without hope, never seeing an ending; Now hope has dawned in their poor lonely hearts, And a message they're sending Over the world to their sisters in weeping, a message is flashing, Flashing the brighter, for the skies are so dark And war thunders crashing! And this is the message the war-stricken women send out In their sorrow: "Yesterday and to-day have gone wrong, But we still have to-morrow!"

Contents

 FOREWORD 1

 I. BEACH DAYS 22

 II. WORKING IN! 35

 III. LET'S PRETEND 46

 IV. PICTURES 53

 V. SAVING OUR SOULS 58

 VI. SURPRISES 70

 VII. CONSERVATION 92

VIII. "PERMISSION" 112

 IX. THE SLACKER--IN UNIFORM 142

 X. NATIONAL SERVICE--ONE WAY 154

 XI. THE ORPHAN 171

 XII. THE WAR-MOTHER 193

XIII. THE BELIEVING CHURCH 210

 XIV. THE LAST RESERVES 227

 XV. LIFE'S TRAGEDY 241

 XVI. WAITING! 247

The Next of Kin

FOREWORD

It was a bleak day in November, with a thick, gray sky, and a great, noisy, blustering wind that had a knack of facing you, no matter whichway you were going; a wind that would be in ill-favor anywhere, but innorthern Alberta, where the wind is not due to blow at all, it waswhat the really polite people call "impossible. " Those who were not sopolite called it something quite different, but the meaning is thesame. 

There are districts, not so very far from us, where the wind blows soconstantly that the people grow accustomed to it; they depend on it;some say they like it; and when by a rare chance it goes down for afew hours, they become nervous, panicky, and apprehensive, alwayslistening, expecting something to happen. But we of the windlessNorth, with our sunlit spaces, our quiet days and nights, growpeevish, petulant, and full of grouch when the wind blows. We willstand anything but that. We resent wind; it is not in the bond; wewill have none of it!

"You won't have many at the meeting to-day, " said the station agentcheerfully, when I went into the small waiting-room to wait for thePresident of the Red Cross Society, who wanted to see me before themeeting. "No, you won't have many a day like this, although there aresome who will come out, wind or no wind, to hear a woman speak--it'sjust idle curiosity, that's all it is. "

"Oh, come, " I said, "be generous; maybe they really think that she mayhave something to say!"

"Well, you see, " said this amateur philosopher, as he dusted thegray-painted sill of the wicket with a large red-and-whitehandkerchief, "it _is_ great to hear a woman speak in public, anyway, even if she does not do it very well. It's sorto' like seeing a ponywalking on its hind legs; it's clever even if it's not natural. Youwill have some all right--I'm going over myself. There would have beena big crowd in if it hadn't been for the wind. You see, you've neverbeen here before and that all helps. "

Then the President of the Red Cross Society came and conducted me tothe house quite near the station where I was to be entertained. Myhostess, who came to the door herself in answer to our ring, was asweet-faced, little Southern woman transplanted here in northernCanada, who with true Southern hospitality and thoughtfulness asked meif I would not like to step right upstairs and "handsome up a bit"before I went to the meeting, --"not but what you're looking rightpeart, " she added quickly. 

When I was shown upstairs to the spare room and was well into thebusiness of "handsoming up, " I heard a small voice at the doorspeaking my name. I opened the door and found there a small girl ofabout seven years of age, who timidly asked if she might come in. Itold her that I was just dressing and would be glad to have her atsome other time. But she quickly assured me that it was right now thatshe wished to come in, for she would like to see how I dressed. Ithought the request a strange one and brought the small person in tohear more of it. She told me, "I heard my mamma and some other ladies talking about you, " she said, "and wondering what you would be like; and they said that women likeyou who go out making speeches never know how to dress themselves, andthey said that they bet a cent that you just flung your clotheson, --and do you? Because I think it must be lovely to be able to flingyour clothes on--and I wish I could! Don't you tell that I told you, will you?--but that is why I came over. I live over there, "--shepointed to a house across the street, --"and I often come to thishouse. I brought over a jar of cream this morning. My mamma sent itover to Mrs. Price, because she was having you stay here. "

"That was very kind of your mamma, " I said, much pleased with thisevidence of her mother's good-will. 

"Oh, yes, " said my visitor. "My mamma says she always likes to helppeople out when they are in trouble. But no one knows that I am herebut just you and me. I watched and watched for you, and when you camenobody was looking and I slipped out and came right in, and neverknocked--nor nothin'. "

I assured my small guest that mum was the word, and that I should bedelighted to have her for a spectator while I went on with the processof making myself look as nice as nature would allow. But she wasplainly disappointed when she found that I was not one bit quickerabout dressing than plenty of others, even though she tried to speedme up a little. 

Soon the President came for me and took me to the Municipal Hall, where the meeting was to be held. 

I knew, just as soon as I went in, that it was going to be a goodmeeting. There was a distinct air of preparedness abouteverything--some one had scrubbed the floor and put flags on the walland flowers in the windows; over in the corner there was a long, narrow table piled up with cups and saucers, with cake and sandwichescarefully covered from sight; but I knew what caused the lumpinessunder the white cloth. Womanly instinct--which has been declared asafer guide than man's reasoning--told me that there were going to berefreshments, and the delightful odor of coffee, which escaped fromthe tightly closed boiler on the stove, confirmed my deductions. ThenI noticed that a handbill on the wall spoke freely of it, and declaredthat every one was invited to stay, although there did not seem to bemuch need of this invitation--certainly there did not seem to be anyclimatic reason for any one's leaving any place of shelter; for nowthe wind, confirming our worst suspicions of it, began to drive frozensplinters of sleet against the windows. 

By three o'clock the hall was full, --women mostly, for it was stillthe busy time for the men on the farms. Many of the women broughttheir children with them. Soon after I began to speak, the childrenfell asleep, tired out with struggling with wind and weather, andcontent to leave the affairs of state with any one who wanted them. But the women watched me with eager faces which seemed to speak backto me. The person who drives ten miles against a head wind over badroads to hear a lecture is not generally disposed to slumber. Thefaces of these women were so bright and interested that, when it wasover, it seemed to me that it had been a conversation where all hadtaken part. 

The things that I said to them do not matter; they merely served as anintroduction to what came after, when we sat around the stove and theyoung girls of the company brought us coffee and sandwiches, and mochacake and home-made candy, and these women told me some of the thingsthat are near their hearts. 

"I drove fourteen miles to-day, " said one woman, "but those of us wholive long on the prairie do not mind these things. We were two hundredmiles from a railway when we went in first, and we only got our mail'in the spring. ' Now, when we have a station within fourteen miles anda post-office on the next farm, we feel we are right in the midst ofthings, and I suppose we do not really mind the inconveniences thatwould seem dreadful to some people. We have done without things allour lives, always hoping for better things to come, and able to bearthings that were disagreeable by telling ourselves that the childrenwould have things easier than we had had them. We have had frozencrops; we have had hail; we have had serious sickness; but we have notcomplained, for all these things seemed to be God's doings, and no onecould help it. We took all this--face upwards; but with the war--it isdifferent. The war is not God's doings at all. Nearly all the boysfrom our neighborhood are gone, and some are not coming back----"

She stopped abruptly, and a silence fell on the group of us. Shefumbled for a moment in her large black purse, and then handed me anenvelope, worn, battered. It was addressed to a soldier in France andit had not been opened. Across the corner, in red ink, was written thewords, "Killed in action. "

"My letters are coming back now, " she said simply. "Alex was my eldestboy, and he went at the first call for men, and he was onlyeighteen--he came through Saint-Éloi and Festubert--But this happenedin September. "

The woman who sat beside her took up the theme. "We have talked a lotabout this at our Red Cross meetings. What do the women of the worldthink of war? No woman ever wanted war, did she? No woman could bringa child into the world, suffering for it, caring for it, loving it, without learning the value of human life, could she? War comes aboutbecause human life is the cheapest thing in the world; it has beentaken at man's estimate, and that is entirely too low. Now, we havebeen wondering what can be done when this war is over to form a leagueof women to enforce peace. There is enough sentiment in the world infavor of human life if we could bind it up some way. "

I gazed at the eager faces before me--in astonishment. Did I ever hearhigh-browed ladies in distant cities talk of the need of education inthe country districts?

"Well-kept homes and hand-knit socks will never save the world, " saidAlex's mother. "Look at Germany! The German women are kind, patient, industrious, frugal, hard-working, everything that a woman ought tobe, but it did not save them, or their country, and it will not saveus. We have allowed men to have control of the big things in life toolong. While we worked--or played--they have ruled. My nearest neighboris a German, and she and I have talked these things over. She feelsjust the same as we do, and she sews for our Red Cross. She says shecould not knit socks for our soldiers, for they are enemies, but shemakes bandages, for she says wounded men are not enemies, and she iswilling to do anything for them. She wanted to come to-day to hearyou, but her husband would not let her have a horse, because he sayshe does not believe in women speaking in public, anyway! I wanted herto come with us even if he did not like it, but she said that shedared not. "

"Were you not afraid of making trouble?" I asked. 

Alex's mother smiled. "A quick, sharp fight is the best and clears upthings. I would rather be a rebel any time than a slave. But ofcourse it is easy for me to talk! I have always been treated like ahuman being. Perhaps it is just as well that she did not come. OldHans has long generations back of him to confirm him in his theorythat women are intended to be men's bondservants and that is why theyare made smaller; it will all take time--and other things. The troublehas been with all of us that we have expected time to work out all ofour difficulties, and it won't; there is no curative quality in time!And what I am most afraid of is that we will settle down after thewar, and slip right back into our old ways, --our old peacefulways, --and let men go on ruling the world, and war will come again andagain. Men have done their very best, --I am not feeling hard tothem, --but I know, and the thoughtful men know, that men alone cannever free the world from the blight of war; and if we go on, toogentle and sweet to assert ourselves, knitting, nursing, bringingchildren into the world, it will surely come to pass, when we are old, perhaps, and not able to do anything, --but suffer, --that war willcome again, and we shall see our daughters' children or ourgranddaughters' children sent off to fight, and their heart-brokenmothers will turn on us accusing eyes and say to us, 'You went throughall this--you knew what this means--why didn't you do something?' Thatis my bad dream when I sit knitting, because I feel hard toward thewomen that are gone. They were a poor lot, many of them. I like nowbest of all Jennie Geddes who threw the stool at somebody's head. Iforget what Jennie's grievance was, but it was the principle thatcounts--she had a conviction, and was willing to fight for it. I neversaid these things--until I got this. " She still held the letter, withits red inscription, in her hand. "But now I feel that I have earnedthe right to speak out. I have made a heavy investment in the cause ofHumanity and I am going to look after it. The only thing that makes itpossible to give up Alex is the hope that Alex's death may help tomake war impossible and so save other boys. But unless we do somethinghis death will not help a bit; for this thing has always been--andthat is the intolerable thought to me. I am willing to give my boy todie for others if I am sure that the others are going to be saved, butI am not willing that he should die in vain. You see what I mean, don't you?"

I told her that I did see, and that I believed that she had expressedthe very thought that was in the mind of women everywhere. 

"Well, then, " she said quickly, "why don't you write it? We willforget this when it is all over and we will go back to our oldpursuits and there will be nothing--I mean, no record of how we felt. Anyway, we will die and a new generation will take our places. Whydon't you write it while your heart is hot?"

"But, " I said, "perhaps what I should write would not truly representwhat the women are thinking. They have diverse thoughts, and how can Ihope to speak for them?"

"Write what you feel, " she said sternly. "These are fundamentalthings. Ideas are epidemic--they go like the measles. If you arethinking a certain thing, you may be sure you have no monopoly of it;many others are thinking it too. That is my greatest comfort at thistime. Write down what you feel, even if it is not what you think youought to feel. Write it down for all of us!"

And that is how it happened. There in the Municipal Hall in the smalltown of Ripston, as we sat round the stove that cold November day, with the sleet sifting against the windows, I got my commission fromthese women, whom I had not seen until that day, to tell what we thinkand feel, to tell how it looks to us, who are the mothers of soldiers, and to whom even now the letter may be on its way with its curtinscription across the corner. I got my commission there to tellfearlessly and hopefully the story of the Next of Kin. 

It will be written in many ways, by many people, for the brand of thiswar is not only on our foreheads, but deep in our hearts, and it willbe reflected in all that our people write for many years to come. Thetrouble is that most of us feel too much to write well; for it is hardto write of the things which lie so heavy on our hearts; but thepicture is not all dark--no picture can be. If it is all dark, itceases to be a picture and becomes a blot. Belgium has its traditionof deathless glory, its imperishable memories of gallant bravery whichlighten its darkness and make it shine like noonday. The oneunlightened tragedy of the world to-day is Germany. 

I thought of these things that night when I was being entertained atthe Southern woman's hospitable home. 

"It pretty near took a war to make these English women friendly toeach other and to Americans. I lived here six months before any ofthem called on me, and then I had to go and dig them out; but I wasnot going to let them go on in such a mean way. They told me then thatthey were waiting to see what church I was going to; and then I rubbedit into them that they were a poor recommend for any church, withtheir mean, unneighborly ways; for if a church does not teach peopleto be friendly I think it ought to be burned down, don't you? I toldthem I could not take much stock in that hymn about 'We shall knoweach other there, ' when they did not seem a bit anxious about knowingeach other here, which is a heap more important; for in heaven we willall have angels to play with, but here we only have each other, and itis right lonesome when they won't come out and play! But I tell youthings have changed for the better since the war, and now we knit andsew together, and forgive each other for being Methodists andPresbyterians; and, do you know? I made a speech one night, right outloud so everybody could hear me, in a Red Cross meeting, and that iswhat I thought that I could never do. But I got feeling so anxiousabout the prisoners of war in Germany that I couldn't help making anappeal for them; and I was so keen about it, and wanted every one ofthose dear boys to get a square meal, that I forgot all about littleMrs. Price, and I was not caring a cent whether she was doing herselfproud or not. And when I got done the people were using theirhandkerchiefs, and I was sniffing pretty hard myself, but we raisedeighty-five dollars then and there, and now I know I will never bescared again. I used to think it was so ladylike to be nervous aboutspeaking, and now I know it is just a form of selfishness. I wassimply scared that I would not do well, thinking all the time ofmyself. But now everything has changed and I am ready to do anything Ican. "

"Go on, " I said; "tell me some more. Remember that you women to-daymade me promise to write down how this war is hitting us, and I merelypromised to write what I heard and saw. I am not going to make upanything, so you are all under obligation to tell me all you can. I amnot to be the author of this book, but only the historian. "

"It won't be hard, " she said encouragingly. "There is so muchhappening every day that it will be harder to decide what to leave outthan to find things to put in. In this time of excitement the lid isoff, I tell you; the bars are down; we can see right into the heartsof people. It is like a fire or an earthquake when all the doors areopen and the folks are carrying their dearest possessions into thestreet, and they are all real people now, and they have lost alltheir little mincing airs and all their lawdie-daw. But believe me, wehave been some fiddlers! When I look around this house I see evidenceof it everywhere; look at that abomination now"--She pointed to anelaborately beaded match-safe which hung on the wall. 

It bore on it the word, "Matches, " in ornate letters, all made ofbeads, but I noticed that its empty condition belied the inscription. 

"Think of the hours of labor that some one has put on that, " she wenton scornfully, "and now it is such an aristocrat that it takes up allits time at that and has no time to be useful. I know now that itnever really intended to hold matches, but simply lives to mock thehonest seeker who really needs a match. I have been a real sinnermyself, " she went on after a pause; "I have been a fiddler, all right. I may as well make a clean breast of it, --I made that match-safe andnearly bored my eyes out doing it, and was so nervous and cross that Iwas not fit to live with. "

"I can't believe that, " I said. 

"Well, I sure was some snappy. I have teased out towel ends, and madepatterns on them; I've punched holes in linen and sewed them upagain--there is no form of foolishness that I have not committed--andliked it! But now I have ceased to be a fiddler and have become acitizen, and I am going to try to be a real good spoke in the wheel ofprogress. I can't express it very well, but I am going to try to linkup with the people next me and help them along. Perhaps you know whatI mean--I think it is called team-play. "

When the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa were burning, the main switchwhich controlled the lighting was turned off by mistake and the wholeplace was plunged into darkness, and this added greatly to the horrorand danger. The switch was down a long passage through which the smokewas rolling, and it seemed impossible for any one to make the journeyand return. Then the people who were there formed a chain, by holdingeach other's hands--a great human chain. So that the one who wentahead felt the sustaining power of the one who came behind him. If hestumbled and fell, the man behind him helped him to his feet andencouraged him to go on. In this way the switch was reached, the lightwas turned on, and many lives were saved. 

Over the world to-day roll great billows of hatred andmisunderstanding, which have darkened the whole face of the earth. Webelieve that there is a switch if we could get to it, but the smokeblinds us and we are choked with our tears. Perhaps if we join handsall of us will be able to do what a few of us could never do. Thisreaching-out of feeble human hands, this new compelling force which isgoing to bind us all together, this deep desire for cohesion whichswells in our hearts and casts out all smallness and allself-seeking--this is what we mean when we speak of the Next of Kin. It is not a physical relationship, but the great spiritual bond whichunites all those whose hearts have grown more tender by sorrow, andwhose spiritual eyes are not dimmed, but washed clearer by theirtears!

 Sing a song of hearts grown tender, With the sorrow and the pain; Sorrow is a great old mender, Love can give, --and give again. Love's a prodigal old spender, -- And the jolliest old lender, For he never turns away Any one who comes to borrow, If they say their stock is slender, And they're sorely pressed by sorrow! Never has been known to say, -- "We are short ourselves to-day, -- Can't you come again to-morrow?" That has never been Love's way! And he's rich beyond all telling, Love divine all love excelling!

CHAPTER I

BEACH DAYS

 When a soldier's watch, with its luminous face, Loses its light and grows dim and black, He holds it out in the sun a space And the radiance all comes back; And that is the reason I'm thinking to-day Of the glad days now long past; I am leaving my heart where the sunbeams play: I am trying to drive my fears away: I am charging my soul with a spirit gay, And hoping that it will last!

We were the usual beach crowd, with our sport suits, our silksweaters, our Panama hats, our veranda teas and week-end guests, ourlong, lovely, lazy afternoons in hammocks beside the placid waters ofLake Winnipeg. Life was easy and pleasant, as we told ourselves lifeought to be in July and August, when people work hard all year andthen come away to the quiet greenness of the big woods, to forget thenoise and dust of the big city. 

We called our cottage "Kee-am, " for that is the Cree word which means"Never mind"--"Forget it"--"I should worry!" and we liked the name. It had a romantic sound, redolent of the old days when the Indiansroamed through these leafy aisles of the forest, and it seemed morefitting and dignified than "Rough House, " where dwelt the quietestfamily on the beach, or "Dunwurkin" or "Neverdunfillin" or "Takitezi, "or any of the other more or less home-made names. We liked our name sowell that we made it, out of peeled poles, in wonderful rusticletters, and put it up in the trees next the road. 

Looking back now, we wonder what we had to worry about! There waspolitics, of course; we had just had a campaign that warmed up ourlittle province, and some of the beachites were not yet speaking toeach other; but nobody had been hurt and nobody was in jail. 

Religion was not troubling us: we went dutifully every Sunday to thegreen-and-white schoolhouse under the tall spruce trees, and heard asermon preached by a young man from the college, who had a deep andintimate knowledge of Amos and Elisha and other great men long dead, and sometimes we wished he would tell us more about the people whoare living now and leave the dead ones alone. But it is always saferto speak of things that have happened long ago, and aspersions may becast with impunity on Ahab and Jezebel and Balak. There is no dangerthat they will have friends on the front seat, who will stop theirsubscriptions to the building fund because they do not believe inhaving politics introduced into the church. 

The congregations were small, particularly on the hot afternoons, formany of our people did not believe in going to church when the weatherwas not just right. Indeed, there had been a serious discussion in thesynod of one of the largest churches on the question of abolishingprayers altogether in the hot weather; and I think that some one gavenotice of a motion that would come up to this effect at the annualmeeting. No; religion was not a live topic. There were evidently manywho 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 wholeafternoon upset the calm of our existence. Four hardy woodmen camedown the road with bright new axes, and began to cut down thebeautiful trees which had taken so many years to grow and which madeone of the greatest beauties of the beach. It was some minutes beforethe women sitting on their verandas realized what was happening; butno army ever mobilized quicker for home defense than they, and theycame in droves demanding an explanation, of which there did not seemto be any. 

"Big Boss him say cut down tree, " the spokesman of the party said overand over again. 

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

"Big Boss--no sense, " one woman roared at them, hoping to supplementtheir scanty knowledge of English with volume of sound. 

There was no mistaking what the gestures meant, and at last thewood-choppers prepared to depart, the smallest man of the partymuttering something under his breath which sounded like ananti-suffrage speech. I think it was, "Woman's place is the home, " orrather 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 wasover! There had been war, of course, but that had been long ago, inthe dark ages, before the days of free schools and peace conferencesand missionary conventions and labor unions! There might be a littlefuss in Ireland once in a while. The Irish are privileged, and nobodyshould begrudge them a little liberty in this. But a big war--that wasquite impossible! Christian nations could not go to war!

"Somebody should be made to pay dear for this, " tearfully declared adoctor's wife. "This is very bad for nervous women. "

The first news had come on the 9. 40 train, and there was no more untilthe 6. 20 train when the men came down from the city; but they couldthrow no light on it either. The only serious face that I saw was thatof our French neighbor, who hurried away from the station withoutspeaking to any one. When I spoke to him the next day, he answered mein French, and I knew his thoughts were far away. 

The days that followed were days of anxious questioning. The menbrought back stories of the great crowds that surged through thestreets blocking the traffic in front of the newspaper offices readingthe bulletins, while the bands played patriotic airs; of the misguidedGerman who shouted, "Hoch der Kaiser!" and narrowly escaped the furyof the crowd. 

We held a monster meeting one night at "Windwhistle Cottage, " and we allmade speeches, although none of us knew what to say. The general tone ofthe speeches was to hold steady, --not to be panicky, --Britannia rulesthe waves, --it would all be over soon, --Dr. Robertson Nicholl andKitchener could settle anything!

The crowd around the dancing pavilion began to dwindle in theevenings--that is, of the older people. The children still danced, happily; fluffy-haired little girls, with "headache" bands aroundtheir pretty heads, did the fox-trot and the one-step with boys oftheir own age and older, but the older people talked together inexcited groups. 

Every night when the train came in the crowds waited in tense anxietyto get the papers, and when they were handed out, read them insilence, a silence which was ominous. Political news was relegated tothe third page and was not read until we got back to the veranda. Inthese days nothing mattered; the baker came late; the breakfast disheswere not washed sometimes until they were needed for lunch, for theGerman maids and the English maids discussed the situation out underthe trees. Mary, whose last name sounded like a tray of dishesfalling, the fine-looking Polish woman who brought us vegetables everymorning, arrived late and in tears, for she said, "This would be badtimes for Poland--always it was bad times for Poland, and I will neversee my mother again. "

A shadow had fallen on us, a shadow that darkened the children'splay. Now they made forts of sand, and bored holes in the ends ofstove-wood to represent gaping cannon's mouths, and played that halfthe company were Germans; but before many days that game languished, for there were none who would take the German part: every boat thatwas built now was a battleship, and every kite was an aeroplane andloaded with bombs!

In less than a week we were collecting for a hospital ship to be thegift of Canadian women. The message was read out in church oneafternoon, and volunteer collectors were asked for. So successful werethese collectors all over Canada that in a few days word came to usthat enough money had been raised, and that all moneys collected thencould be given to the Belgian Relief Fund. The money had simply pouredin--it was a relief to give!

Before the time came for school to begin, there were many closedcottages, for the happy careless freedom of the beach was gone; thereis no happiness in floating across a placid lake in a flat-bottomedboat if you find yourself continually turning your head toward theshore, thinking that you hear some one shouting, "Extra. "

There were many things that made it hard to leave the place where wehad spent so many happy hours. There was the rustic seat we had madeourselves, which faced the lake, and on which we had sat and seen thestorms gather on Blueberry Island. It was a comfortable seat with theright slant in its back, and I am still proud of having helped to makeit. There was the breakwater of logs which were placed with such featsof strength, to prevent the erosion of the waves, and which withstoodthe big storm of September, 1912, when so many breakwaters weresmashed to kindling-wood. We always had intended to make a long boxalong the top, to plant red geraniums in, but it had not been done. There was the dressing-tent where the boys ran after their numerousswims, and which had been the scene of many noisy quarrels over lostgarments--garters generally, for they have an elusive quality alltheir own. There was also the black-poplar stump which a misguidedrelative of mine said "no woman could split. " He made this remarkafter I had tried in vain to show him what was wrong with his methodof attack. I said that I thought he would do better if he could manageto hit twice in the same place! And he said that he would like to seeme do it, and went on to declare that he would bet me a five-dollarbill that I could not. 

If it were not for the fatal curse of modesty I would tell how eagerlyI grasped the axe and with what ease I hit, not twice, but half adozen times in the same place--until the stump yielded. This victorywas all the sweeter to me because it came right after our sports daywhen I had entered every available contest, from the nail-drivingcompetition to the fat woman's race, and had never even been mentionedas among those present!

We closed our cottage on August 24. That day all nature conspired tomake us feel sorry that we were leaving. A gentle breeze blew over thelake and rasped its surface into dancing ripples that glittered in thesun. Blueberry Island seemed to stand out clear and bold andbeckoning. White-winged boats lay over against the horizon and the_chug-chug_ of a motor-boat came at intervals in a lull of the breeze. The more tender varieties of the trees had begun to show a trace ofautumn coloring, just a hint and a promise of the ripened beauty ofthe fall--if we would only stay!

Before the turn in the road hid it from sight we stopped and lookedback at the "Kee-am Cottage"--my last recollection of it is of theboarded windows, which gave it the blinded look of a dead thing, andof the ferns which grandma had brought from the big woods beyond therailway track and planted all round it, and which had grown so quicklyand so rank that they seemed to fill in all the space under thecottage, and with their pale-green, feathery fringe, to be trying tolift it up into the sunshine above the trees. Instinctively we feltthat we had come to the end of a very pleasant chapter in our life asa family; something had disturbed the peaceful quiet of our lives;somewhere a drum was beating and a fife was calling!

Not a word of this was spoken, but Jack suddenly put it all intowords, for he turned to me and asked quickly, "Mother, when will I beeighteen?"

 Gay, as the skater who blithely whirls To the place of the dangerous ice! Content, as the lamb who nibbles the grass While the butcher sets the price! So content and gay were the boys at play In the nations near and far, When munition kings and diplomats Cried, "War! War!! War!!!"

CHAPTER II

WORKING IN!

The day after we went to the city I got my first real glimpse of war!It was the white face of our French neighbor. His wife and two littlegirls had gone to France a month before the war broke out, and werevisiting his family in a village on the Marne. Since the outbreak ofwar he had had no word from them, and his face worked pitifully whenhe told me this. "Not one word, though I cabled and got friends inLondon to wire _aussi_, " he said. "But I will go myself and see. "

"What about your house and motor?" he was asked. 

He raised his shoulders and flung out his hands. "What difference?" hesaid; "I will not need them. "

I saw him again the day he left. He came out of his house with a smallAiredale pup which had been the merry playmate of Alette and Yvonne. He stood on the veranda holding the dog in his arms. Strangers weremoving into the house and their boxes stood on the floor. I went overto say good-bye. 

"I will not come back, " he said simply; "it will be a long fight; weknew it would come, but we did not know when. If I can but find wifeand children--but the Germans--they are devils--Boches--no one knowsthem as we do!"

He stood irresolute a moment, then handed me the dog and went quicklydown the steps. 

"It is for France!" he said. 

I sat on the veranda railing and watched him go. The Airedale blindedhis eyes looking after him, then looked at me, plainly asking for anexplanation. But I had to tell him that I knew no more about it thanhe did. Then I tried to comfort him by telling him that many littledogs were much worse off than he, for they had lost their people andtheir good homes as well, and he still had his comfortable home andhis good meals. But it was neither meals nor bed that his faithfullittle heart craved, and for many weeks a lonely little Airedale onChestnut Street searched diligently for his merry little playmates andhis kind master, but he found them not. 

There was still a certain unreality about it all. Sometimes it hasbeen said that the men who went first went for adventure. Perhaps theydid, but it does not matter--they have since proved of what sort ofstuff they were made. 

When one of the first troop trains left Winnipeg, a handsome younggiant belonging to the Seventy-ninth Highlanders said, as he swunghimself up on the rear coach, "The only thing I am afraid of is thatit will all be over before we get there. " He was needlessly alarmed, poor lad! He was in time for everything; Festubert, Saint-Éloi, Ypres;for the gas attacks before the days of gas-masks, for trench-fever, for the D. C. M. ; and now, with but one leg, and blind, he is one of thehappy warriors at St. Dunstan's whose cheerfulness puts to shame thoseof us who are whole!

There were strange scenes at the station when those first trains wentout. The Canadians went out with a flourish, with cheers, with songs, with rousing music from the bands. The serious men were the French andBelgian reservists, who, silently, carrying their bundles, passedthrough our city, with grim, determined faces. They knew, and our boysdid not know, to what they were going. That is what made thedifference in their manner. 

The government of one of the provinces, in the early days of the war, shut down the public works, and, strange to say, left the bars open. Their impulse was right--but they shut down the wrong thing; it shouldhave been the bars, of course. They knew something should be shutdown. We are not blaming them; it was a panicky time. People often, when they hear the honk of an automobile horn, jump back instead offorward. And it all came right in time. 

A moratorium was declared at once, which for the time being relievedpeople of their debts, for there was a strong feeling that the cup ofsorrow was so full now that all movable trouble should be set off foranother day!

The temperance people then asked, as a corresponding war measure, that the bars be closed. They urged that the hearts of our people werealready so burdened that they should be relieved of the trouble andsorrow which the liquor traffic inevitably brings. "Perhaps, " theysaid to the government, "when a happier season comes, we may be ableto bear it better; but we have so many worries now, relieve us of thisone, over which you have control. "

Then the financial side of the liquor traffic began to pinch. Manitobawas spending thirteen million dollars over the bars every year. Thewhole Dominion's drink bill was one hundred millions. When the peoplebegan to rake and save to meet the patriotic needs, and to relieve thestress of unemployment, these great sums of money were thought oflongingly--and with the longing which is akin to pain! The problem ofunemployment was aggravated by the liquor evil and gave anotherargument for prohibition. 

I heard a woman telling her troubles to a sympathetic friend one day, as we rode in an elevator. 

"'E's all right when 'e's in work, " she said; "but when 'e's hidle'e's something fierce: 'e knocks me about crool. 'E guzzles all thetime 'e's out of work. "

It was easy to believe. Her face matched her story; she was a poor, miserable, bedraggled creature, with teeth out in front. She woreblack cotton gloves such as undertakers supply for the pallbearers, and every finger was out. The liquor traffic would have a betterchance if there were not so many arguments against it walking round. 

About this time, too, the traffic suffered a great bereavement, forthe personal liberty argument fell, mortally wounded. The war didthat, too. 

All down the ages there have been men who believed that personalliberty included the right to do what one wished to do, no matter whowas hurt. So, if a man wished to drink, by the sacred rights for whichhis forefathers had bled and died he was at liberty to do so, and thengo home and beat up his own wife and family if he wanted to; for ifyou can't beat your own wife, whom can you beat, I'd like to know?Any one who disputed this sacred right was counted a spoil-fun and ajoy-killer!

But a change came over the world's thought in the early days of thewar. Liberty grew to be a holy word, a sacred thing, when the blood ofour brightest and best was being poured out in its defense, and neveragain will the old, selfish, miserable conception of liberty obtainfavor. The Kaiser helped here, too, for he is such a striking exampleof the one who claims absolute liberty for himself, no matter who ishurt, that somehow we never hear it mentioned now. I believe it isgone, forever!

The first step in the curtailment of the liquor traffic was theclosing of the bars at seven o'clock, and the beneficial effect wasfelt at once. Many a man got home early for the first time in hislife, and took his whole family to the "movies. "

The economy meetings brought out some quaint speeches. No wonder!People were taken unawares. We were unprepared for war, and thechanges it had brought;--we were as unprepared as the woman who said, in speaking of unexpected callers, "I had not even time to turn myplants. " There was much unintentional humor. One lady, whose home wasone of the most beautiful in the city, and who entertained lavishly, told us, in her address on "Economy, " that at the very outbreak of thewar she reduced her cook's wages from thirty to twenty dollars, andgave the difference to the Patriotic Fund; that she had found acheaper dressmaker who made her dresses now for fifteen dollars, whereformerly she had paid twenty-five; and she added artlessly, "They arereally nicer, and I do think we should all give in these practicalways; that's the sort of giving that I really enjoy!"

Another woman told of how much she had given up for the PatrioticFund; that she had determined not to give one Christmas present, andhad given up all the societies to which she had belonged, even theMissionary Society, and was giving it all to the Red Cross. "I willnot even give a present to the boy who brings the paper, " she declaredwith conviction. Whether or not the boy's present ever reached theRed Cross, I do not know. But ninety-five per cent of the giving wasreal, honest, hard, sacrificing giving. Elevator-boys, maids, stenographers gave a percentage of their earnings, and gave itjoyously. They like to give, but they do not like to have it takenaway from them by an employer, who thereby gets the credit of thegift. The Red Cross mite-boxes into which children put their candymoney, while not enriching the Red Cross to any large extent, trainedthe children to take some share in the responsibility; and oneenthusiastic young citizen, who had been operated on for appendicitis, proudly exhibited his separated appendix, preserved in alcohol, at somuch per look, and presented the proceeds to the Red Cross. 

The war came home to the finest of our people first. It has notreached them all yet, but it is working in, like the frost into thecellars when the thermometer shows forty degrees below zero. Many acellar can stand a week of this--but look out for the second! Everyday it comes to some one. 

"I don't see why we are always asked to give, " one woman saidgloomily, when the collector asked her for a monthly subscription tothe Red Cross. "Every letter that goes out of the house has a stamp onit--and we write a queer old lot of letters, and I guess we've doneour share. "

She is not a dull woman either or hard of heart. It has not got to heryet--that's all! I cannot be hard on her in my judgment, for it didnot come to me all at once, either. 

When I saw the first troops going away, I wondered how their motherslet them go, and I made up my mind that I would not let my boy go, --Iwas so glad he was only seventeen, --for hope was strong in our heartsthat it might be over before he was of military age. It was theLusitania that brought me to see the whole truth. Then I saw that wewere waging war on the very Princes of Darkness, and I knew thatmorning when I read the papers, I knew that it would be better--athousand times better--to be dead than to live under the rule ofpeople whose hearts are so utterly black and whose process ofreasoning is so oxlike--they are so stupidly brutal. I knew then thatno man could die better than in defending civilization from thisghastly thing which threatened her!

Soon after that I knew, without a word being said, that my boy wantedto go--I saw the seriousness come into his face, and knew what itmeant. It was when the news from the Dardanelles was heavy on ourhearts, and the newspapers spoke gravely of the outlook. 

One day he looked up quickly and said, "I want to go--I want to helpthe British Empire--while there is a British Empire!"

And then I realized that my boy, my boy, had suddenly become a man andhad put away childish things forever. 

I shall always be glad that the call came to him, not in theintoxication of victory, but in the dark hour of apparent defeat. 

CHAPTER III

LET'S PRETEND

 Let's pretend the skies are blue, Let's pretend the world is new, And the birds of hope are singing All the day!

 Short of gladness--learn to fake it! Long on sadness--go and shake it! Life is only--what you make it, Anyway!

 There is wisdom without end In the game of "Let's pretend!"

We played it to-day. We had to, for the boys went away, and we had tosend our boys away with a smile! They will have heartaches andhomesickness a-plenty, without going away with their memories chargedwith a picture of their mothers in tears, for that's what takes theheart out of a boy. They are so young, so brave, we felt that we mustnot fail them. 

With such strong words as these did we admonish each other, when wemet the last night, four of us, whose sons were among the boys whowere going away. We talked hard and strong on this theme, not havinga very good grip on it ourselves, I am afraid. We simply haranguedeach other on the idleness of tears at stations. Every one of us hadsomething to say; and when we parted, it was with the tacitunderstanding that there was an Anti-Tear League formed--the boys wereleaving on an early train in the morning!

 * * * * *

The morning is a dismal time anyway, and teeth will chatter, no matterhow brave you feel! It is a squeamish, sickly, choky time, --a wintermorning before the sun is up; and you simply cannot eat breakfast whenyou look round the table and see every chair filled, --even thefive-year-old fellow is on hand, --and know that a long, weary time isahead of the one who sits next you before he comes again to hisfather's house. Even though the conversation is of the gayest, everyone knows what every one else is thinking. 

 * * * * *

There is no use trying--I cannot write the story of that morning.... Iwill tell you of other troop-trains I have seen go. I will tell you ofanother boy who carried off all the good-byes with a high hand andgreat spirits, and said something to every one of the girls whobrought him candy, telling one that he would remember her in his will, promising another that he would marry her when he got to be Admiral ofthe Swiss Navy, but who, when he came to say good-bye to his father, suddenly grew very white and very limp, and could only say, "Oh, dad!Good old dad!"

 * * * * *

I will tell you of other troop-trains I have seen go out, with otherboys waving to other women who strained their eyes and winked hard, hard, hard to keep back the tears, and stood still, quite still untilthe last car had disappeared around the bend, and the last whistle hadtorn the morning air into shreds and let loose a whole wild chorus ofechoes through the quiet streets!

 * * * * *

There was a mist in the air this morning, and a white frost coveredthe trees with beautiful white crystals that softened their leaflesslimbs. It made a soft and graceful drapery on the telegraph poles andwires. It carpeted the edges of the platform that had not been walkedon, and even covered the black roofs of the station buildings and theflatcars which stood in the yard. It seemed like a beautiful whitedecoration for the occasion, a beautiful, heavy, elaboratemourning--for those who had gone--and white, of course--allwhite, --because they were so young!

 * * * * *

Then we came home. It was near the opening time of the stores, and thegirls were on their way to work, but their footfalls made no sound onthe pavement. Even the street-cars seemed to glide quietly by. Thecity seemed grave and serious and sad, and disposed to go softly.... In the store windows the blinds were still down--ghastly, shirredwhite things which reminded me uncomfortably of the lining of acoffin! Over the hotel on the corner, the Calgary Beer Man, growingpale in the sickly dawn, still poured--and lifted--and drank--andpoured--and lifted--and drank, --insatiable as the gods of war. 

 * * * * *

I wandered idly through the house--what a desolate thing a house canbe when every corner of it holds a memory!--not a memory either, forthat bears the thought of something past, --when every corner of it isfull of a boyish presence!... I can hear him rushing down the stairsin the morning to get the paper, and shouting the headlines to me ashe brings it up. I can hear him come in at the front door and thumphis books down on the hall seat, and call "Mother!" I sit down andsummon them all, for I know they will fade soon enough--the thin, sharp edge of everything wears mercifully blunt in time!

 * * * * *

Then I gathered up his schoolbooks, and every dog-eared exercise-book, and his timetable, which I found pinned on his window curtain, and Icarried them up to the storeroom in the attic, with his baseballmitt--and then, for the first time, as I made a pile of the booksunder the beams, I broke my anti-tear pledge. It was not for myself, or for my neighbor across the street whose only son had gone, or forthe other mothers who were doing the same things all over the world;it was not for the young soldiers who had gone out that day; it wasfor the boys who had been cheated of their boyhood, and who had toassume men's burdens, although in years they were but children. Thesaddest places of all the world to-day are not the battle fields, orthe hospitals, or the cross-marked hillsides where the brave ones areburied; the saddest places are the deserted campus and playgroundswhere they should be playing; the empty seats in colleges, where theyshould be sitting; the spaces in the ranks of happy, boisterousschoolboys, from which the brave boys have gone, --these boys whoseboyhood has been cut so pitifully short. I thought, too, of the littlegirls whose laughter will ring out no more in the careless, happyabandonment of girlhood, for the black shadow of anxiety and dread hasfallen even on their young hearts; the tiny children, who, young asthey are, know that some great sorrow has come to every one; thechildren of the war countries, with their terror-stricken eyes andpale faces; the unspeakable, unforgivable wrong that has been done toyouth the world over. 

 * * * * *

There, as I sat on the floor of the storeroom, my soul wandered down along, dark, silent valley, and met the souls of the mothers of allcountries, who had come there, like me, to mourn ... And our tearswere very hot, and very bitter ... For we knew that it was the Valleyof Lost Childhood!

CHAPTER IV

PICTURES

 Nothing is lost that our memories hold, Nothing forgotten that once we knew; And to-day a boy with curls of gold Is running my fond heart through and through-- In and out and round and round-- And I find myself laughing without a sound At the funny things he said that time When life was one glad nursery rhyme. 

It should not be so hard for mothers to give up their children. Weshould grow accustomed to it, for we are always losing them. I oncehad a curly-haired baby with eyes like blue forget-me-nots, who had asweet way of saying his words, and who coined many phrases which arestill in use in my family. Who is there who cannot see that"a-ging-a-wah" has a much more refreshing sound than "a drink ofwater"? And I am sure that nobody could think of a nicer name for thehammer and nails than a "num and a peedaw. " At an incredibly early agethis baby could tell you how the birdies fly and what the kitty says. 

All mothers who have had really wonderful children--and this takes usall in--will understand how hard it is to set these things down incold print or even to tell them; for even our best friends aresometimes dull of heart and slow of understanding when we tell themperfectly wonderful things that our children did or said. We all knowthat horrible moment of suspense when we have told something realfunny that our baby said, and our friends look at us with a dullis-that-all expression in their faces, and we are forced to supplementour recital by saying that it was not so much what he said as the wayhe said it!

Soon I lost the blue-eyed baby, and there came in his place a sturdylittle freckle-faced chap, with a distinct dislike for water as acleansing agent, who stoutly declared that washing his hands was agreat waste of time, for they were sure to get dirty again; whichseems to be reasonable, and it is a wonder that people have not takenthis fact into account more when dealing with the griminess of youth. Who objected to going to church twice a day on the ground that he"might get too fond of it. " Who, having once received five cents asrecompense for finding his wayward sister, who had a certainproclivity for getting lost, afterwards deliberately mislaid the samesister and claimed the usual rates for finding her, and in this mannerdid a thriving "Lost and Found" business for days, until hisunsuspecting parent overheard him giving his sister full directionsfor losing herself--he had grown tired of having to go with her eachtime, and claimed that as she always got half of the treat she shoulddo her share of the work. Who once thrashed a boy who said that hissister had a dirty face, --which was quite true, but people do not needto say everything they know, do they? Who went swimming in the gravelpit long before the 24th of May, which marks the beginning of swimmingand barefoot time in all proper families, and would have got away withit, too, only, in his haste to get a ride home, he and his friendchanged shirts by mistake, and it all came to light at bedtime. 

Then I lost him, too. There came in his place a tall youth with adistinct fondness for fine clothes, stiff collars, tan boots, andbright ties; a dignified young man who was pained and shocked at thedisreputable appearance of a younger brother who was at that timepassing through the wash-never period of his life and who insistedupon claiming relationship even in public places. Who hung his roomwith flags and pennants and photographs. Who had for his friends manyyoung fellows with high pompadours, whom he called by their surnamesand disputed with noisily and abusively, but, unlike the famousquarrel of Fox and Burke, "with no loss of friendship. " Who went inhis holidays as "mule-skinner" on a construction gang in the NorthCountry, and helped to build the railway into "The Crossing, " and camehome all brown and tanned, with muscles as hard as iron and a lusciousgrowth of whiskers. Who then went back to college and really began towork, for he had learned a few things about the value of an educationas he drove the mules over the dump, which can be learned only whenthe muscles ache and the hands have blisters. 

Then came the call! And again I lost him! But there is a private inthe "Princess Pats" who carries my picture in his cap and who reads myletter over again just before "going in. "

CHAPTER V

SAVING OUR SOULS

 O work--thrice blessed of the gods-- Abundant may you be! To hold us steady, when our hearts Grow cold and panicky!

 I cannot fret--and drive the plough, -- Nor weep--and ply the spade; O blessed work--I need you now To keep me unafraid!

 No terrors can invade the place Where honest green things thrive; Come blisters--backache--sunburnt face-- And save my soul alive!

No wonder that increased production has become a popular cry. Everyone wants to work in a garden--a garden is so comforting andreassuring. Everything else has changed, but seedtime and harveststill remain. Rain still falls, seeds sprout, buds break into leaves, and blossoms are replaced by fruit. 

We are forced back to the elemental things. Horses and cattle lookbetter to me every day. Read the war news--which to-day tells of thedestruction of French villages--and then look at the cattle grazingpeacefully on the grass which clothes the hillside, and see how goodthey look! They look like sanctified Christians to me!

Ever since the war I have envied them. They are not suspicious orjealous; they are not worried, hurried, troubled, or afraid; they areoblivious of public opinion; they have no debts to pay; they do notweary you with explanations; they are not sorry for anything they haveever done; they are not blaming God for anything! On every count thecattle seem to have the best of us!

It is a quiet evening here in northern Alberta, and the evening lightis glinting on the frozen ponds. I can see far up the valley as Iwrite, and one by one the lights begin to glimmer in the farmhouses;and I like to think that supper is being prepared there for hungrychildren. The thought of supper appeals to me because there is nodining-car on the train, and every minute I am growing hungrier. Thewestern sky burns red with the sunset, and throws a sullen glow on thebanks of clouds in the east. It is a quiet, peaceful evening, and Ifind it hard to believe that somewhere men are killing each other andwhole villages are burning.... The light on the ponds grows dimmer, with less of rose and more of a luminous gray.... I grow hungrierstill, and I know it is just because I cannot get anything. I eatapples and nut-bars, but they do not satisfy me; it is roast beef, brown gravy, potatoes, and turnips that I want. Is it possible that Irefused lemon pie--last night--at Carmangay? Well--well--let this be alesson to you!

The sunset is gone now, and there is only a brightness in the westernsky, and a big staring moon stands above the valley, shining down onthe patches of snow which seem to run together like the wolves we usedto see on the prairies of Manitoba long ago. The farmhouses we passare bright with lights, and I know the children are gathered aroundthe table to "do" their lessons. The North Country, with its long, snowy winters, develops the love of home in the hearts of our people, and drives the children indoors to find their comfort around the fire. Solomon knew this when he said that the perfect woman "is not afraidof the snow for her household. " Indeed, no; she knows that the snow isa home-developing agency, and that no one knows the joy and comfort ofhome like those of us who have battled with cold and storm and driftedroads all day, and at nightfall come safely to this blessed placewhere warmth and companionship await us! Life has its compensations. 

Across the aisle from me two women are knitting--not in a neighborly, gossipy way, chatting meanwhile, but silently, swiftly, nervously. There is a psychological reason for women knitting just now, beyondthe need of socks. I know how these women feel! I, even I, have begunto crochet! I do it for the same reason that the old toper in time ofstress takes to his glass. It keeps me from thinking; it atrophies thebrain; and now I know why the women of the East are so slow aboutgetting the franchise. They crochet and work in wool instead ofthinking. You can't do both! When the casualty lists are long, andletters from the Front far apart--I crochet. 

Once, when I was in great pain, the doctor gave me chloroform, and itseemed to me that a great black wall arose between me and pain! Thepain was there all right, but it could not get to me on account of thefriendly wall which held it back--and I was grateful! Now I amgrateful to have a crochet-needle and a ball of silcotton. It is asort of mental chloroform. This is for the real dark moments, when thewaves go over our heads.... We all have them, but of course they donot last. 

More and more am I impressed with the wonderful comeback of the humansoul. We are like those Chinese toys, which, no matter how they arebuffeted, will come back to an upright position. It takes a littlelonger with us--that is all; but given half a chance--or less--peoplewill rise victorious over sin and sorrow, defeat and failure, andprove thereby the divinity which is in all of us!

As the light dimmed outside, I had time to observe my two travelingcompanions more closely. Though at first sight they came under thesame general description of "middle-aged women, possiblygrandmothers, industriously knitting, " there was a wide differencebetween them as I observed them further. One had a face which boretraces of many disappointments, and had now settled down into a stateof sadness that was hopeless and final. She had been a fine-lookingwoman once, too, and from her high forehead and well-shaped mouth Ishould take her to be a woman of considerable mental power, but therehad been too much sorrow; she had belonged to a house of too muchtrouble, and it had dried up the fountains of her heart. I could onlydescribe her by one word, "winter-killed"! She was like a tree whichhad burst into bud at the coaxing of the soft spring zephyrs again andagain, only to be caught each time by the frost, and at last, whenspring really came, it could win no answering thrill, for the heart ofthe tree was "winter-killed. " The frost had come too often!

The other woman was older, more wrinkled, more weather-beaten, butthere was a childlike eagerness about her that greatly attracted me. She used her hands when she spoke, and smiled often. This childishenthusiasm contrasted strangely with her old face, and seemed like thespirit of youth fluttering still around the grave of one whom itloved!

I soon found myself talking to them; the old lady was glad to talk tome, for she was not making much headway with her companion, on whomall her arguments were beating in vain. 

"I tell her she has no call to be feeling so bad about the war!" shebegan, getting right into the heart of the subject; "we didn't startit! Let the Kings and Kaisers and Czars who make the trouble do thefretting. Thank God, none of them are any blood-relation of mine, anyway. I won't fret over any one's sins, only my own, and maybe Idon't fret half enough over them, either!"

"What do you know about sins?" the other woman said; "you couldn't sinif you tried----"

"That's all you know about it, " said the old lady with what wasintended for a dark and mysterious look; "but I never could see whatgood it does to worry, anyway, and bother other people by feelingsorry. Now, here she is worrying night and day because her boy is inthe army and will have to go to France pretty soon. She has two othersat home, too young to go. Harry is still safe in England--he may neverhave to go: the war may be over--the Kaiser may fall and break hisneck--there's lots of ways peace may come. Even if Harry does go, hemay not get killed. He may only get his toe off, or his little finger, and come home, or he may escape everything. Some do. Even if he iskilled--every one has to die, and no one can die a better way; andHarry is ready--good and ready! So why does she fret? I know she's hadtrouble--lots of it--Lord, haven't we all? My three boys went--twohave been killed; but I am not complaining--I am still hoping the lastboy may come through safe. Anyway, we couldn't help it. It is not ourfault; we have to keep on doing what we can.... 

"I remember a hen I used to have when we lived on the farm, and shehad more sense than lots of people--she was a little no-breed hen, andso small that nobody ever paid much attention to her. But she had abig heart, and was the greatest mother of any hen I had, and stayedwith her chickens until they were as big as she was and refused to begathered under wings any longer. She never could see that they weregrown up. One time she adopted a whole family that belonged to astuck-up Plymouth Rock that deserted them when they weren't much morethan feathered. Biddy stepped right in and raised them, with thirteenof her own. Hers were well grown--Biddy always got down to businessearly in the spring, she was so forehanded. She raised the PlymouthRocks fine, too! She was a born stepmother. Well, she got shut out onenight, and froze her feet, and lost some good claws, too; but I knewshe'd manage some way, and of course I did not let her set, becauseshe could not scratch with these stumpy feet of hers. But she found ajob all right! She stole chickens from the other hens. I oftenwondered what she promised them, but she got them someway, and onlytook those that were big enough to scratch, for Biddy knew herlimitations. She was leading around twenty-two chickens of differentsizes that summer. 

"You see she had personality--that hen: you couldn't keep her down;she never went in when it rained, and she could cackle louder than anyhen on the ground; and above all, she took things as they came. Ialways admired her. I liked the way she died, too. Of course I let herlive as long as she could--she wouldn't have been any good to eat, anyway, for she was all brains, and I never could bear to make soupout of a philosopher like what she was. Well, she was getting prettystiff--I could see that; and sometimes she had to try two or threetimes before she could get on the roost. But this night she made it onthe first try, and when I went to shut the door, she sat there allruffled up. I reached out to feel her, she looked so humped-up, andthe minute I touched her, she fell off the roost; and when I pickedher up, she was dead! You see, she got herself balanced so she wouldstay on the roost, and then died--bluffed it out to the last, and diedstanding up! That's what we should all try to do!" she concluded; "godown with a smile--I say--hustling and cheerful to the last!"

I commended her philosophy, but the other woman sat silent, and herknitting lay idle on her knee. 

After all, the biggest thing in life is the mental attitude!

 This was the third time a boy on a wheel Had come to her gate With the small yellow slip, with its few curt words, To tell her the fate Of the boys she had given to fight For the right to be free! I thought I must go as a neighbor and friend And stand by her side; At least I could tell her how sorry I was That a brave man had died. 

 She sat in a chair when I entered the room, With the thing in her hand, And the look on her face had a light and a bloom I could not understand. Then she showed me the message and said, With a sigh of respite, -- "My last boy is dead. I can sleep. I can sleep Without dreaming to-night. "

CHAPTER VI

SURPRISES

 When all the evidence is in-- When all the good--and all the sin-- The Impulses--without--within Are catalogued--with reasons showing-- What great surprises will await The small, the near-great and the great Who thought they knew how things were going!

Stories crowd in upon me as I write. Let no one ever say that this isa dull world! It is anything but dull! It is a pitiful, heartbreakingworld, full of injustice, misunderstandings, false standards, andselfishness, but it is never dull. Neither is it a lost world, for thedarkest corners of it are illuminated here and there by heroic deedsand noble aspirations. Men who hilariously sold their vote andinfluence prior to 1914, who took every sharp turn within the law, andwho shamelessly mocked at any ideals of citizenship, were among thefirst to put on the King's uniform and march out to die. 

To-day I read in the "paper from home" that Private William Keel is"missing, believed killed"; and it took me back to the old daysbefore the war when the late Private Keel was accustomed to hold upthe little town. Mr. Keel was a sober man--except upon occasions. Theoccasions were not numerous, but they left an undying impression onhis neighbors and fellow townsmen; for the late private had a way allhis own. He was a big Welshman, so strong that he never knew howstrong he was; and when he became obsessed with the desire to getdrunk, no one could stop him. He had to have it out. At such times hisone ambition was to ride a horse up the steps of the hotel, andthen--George Washington-like--rise in his stirrups and deliver animpassioned address on what we owe to the Old Flag. If he were blockedor thwarted in this, he became dangerous and hard to manage, andsometimes it took a dozen men to remove him to the Police Station. When he found himself safely landed there, with a locked door andsmall, barred window between himself and liberty, his mood changed andthe remainder of the night was spent in song, mostly of "A life on theocean wave and a home on the rolling deep"; for he had been a sailorbefore he came land-seeking to western Canada. 

After having "proved up" his land in southern Manitoba--the_Wanderlust_ seized him and he went to South America, where no doubthe enlivened the proceedings for the natives, as he had for us whilehe lived among us. 

Six weeks after the declaration of war he came back--a grizzled man offorty; he had sold out everything, sent his wife to England, and hadcome to enlist with the local regiment. Evidently his speech aboutwhat we owe to the Old Flag had been a piece of real eloquence, andBill himself was the proof. 

He enlisted with the boys from home as a private, and on the marcheshe towered above them--the tallest man in the regiment. No man wasmore obedient or trustworthy. He cheered and admonished the youngermen, when long marches in the hot sun, with heavy accouterments, madethem quarrelsome and full of complaints. "It's all for the Old Flag, boys, " he told them. 

To-day I read that he is "missing, believed killed"; and I have thefeeling, which I know is in the heart of many who read his name, thatwe did not realize the heroism of the big fellow in the old days ofpeace. It took a war to show us how heroic our people are. 

Not all the heroes are war-heroes either. The slow-grinding, searchingtests of peace have found out some truly great ones among our peopleand have transmuted their common clay into pure gold. 

It is much more heartening to tell of the woman who went right ratherthan of her who went wrong, and for that reason I gladly set down herethe story of one of these. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Tweed is the wife of Private William Tweed--small, dark-eyed, and pretty, with a certain childishness of face which makesher rouged cheeks and blackened eyebrows seem pathetically, innocentlywicked. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Tweed, wife of Private William Tweed, was givingtrouble to the Patriotic Society. It was bad enough for her to go outevenings with an officer, and dance in the afternoon at the hotel_dansant_ in a perfect outburst of gay garments; but there was noexcuse for her coming home in a taxi-cab, after a shopping expeditionin broad daylight, and to the scandal of the whole street, who watchedher from behind lace curtains. 

The evil effects of Mrs. Tweed's actions began to show in thefalling-off of subscriptions to the Patriotic Fund, and the collectorsheard many complaints about her gay habits of life and her many andvaried ways of squandering money. Mrs. Tweed became a perfect wall ofdefense for those who were not too keen on parting with their money. They made a moral issue of it, and virtuously declared, "That woman isnot going to the devil on my money. " "I scrimp and save and denymyself everything so I can give to the Patriotic Fund, and look ather!" women cried. 

It was in vain that the collectors urged that she was only gettingfive dollars a month, anyway, from the Patriotic Fund, and that wouldnot carry her far on the road to destruction or in any otherdirection. When something which appears to set aside the obligation toperform a disagreeable duty comes in view, the hands of the soulnaturally clamp on it. 

Mrs. Tweed knew that she was the bad example, and gloried in it. Shebanged the front door when she entered the block late at night, andcame up the stairs gayly singing, "Where did Robinson Crusoe go withFriday on Saturday night?" while her sleepy neighbors anathematizedall dependents of the Patriotic Fund. 

The Red Cross ladies discussed the matter among themselves and decidedthat some one should put the matter before Mrs. Tweed and tell her howhard she was making it for the other dependents of soldiers. Thepresident was selected for the task, which did not at first sight looklike a pleasant one, but Mrs. Kent had done harder things than this, and she set out bravely to call on the wayward lady. 

The D. O. E. Visitor who called on all the soldiers' wives in that blockhad reported that Mrs. Tweed had actually put her out, and told her togo to a region which is never mentioned in polite society except intheological discussions. 

"I know, " Mrs. Tweed said, when the Red Cross President came to seeher, "what you are coming for, and I don't blame you--I sure have beenfierce, but you don't know what a good time I've had. Gee, it's great!I've had one grand tear!--one blow-out! And now I am almost ready tobe good. Sit down, and I'll tell you about it; you have more give toyou than that old hatchet-face that came first; I wouldn't tell her athing!

"I am twenty-five years old, and I never before got a chance to do asI liked. When I was a kid, I had to do as I was told. My motherbrought me up in the fear of the Lord and the fear of the neighbors. Iwhistled once in church and was sent to bed every afternoon for aweek--I didn't care, though, I got in my whistle. I never wanted to doanything bad, but I wanted to do as I liked--and I never got a chance. Then I got married. William is a lot older than I am, and hecontrolled me--always--made me economize, scrimp, and save. I reallydid not want to blow money, but they never gave me a chance to besensible. Every one put me down for a 'nut. ' My mother called me'Trixie. ' No girl can do well on a name like that. Teachers passed mefrom hand to hand saying, 'Trixie is such a mischief!' I had areputation to sustain. 

"Then mother and father married me off to Mr. Tweed because he was sosensible, and I needed a firm hand, they said. I began everything inlife with a handicap. Name and appearance have always been against me. No one can look sensible with a nose that turns straight up, and Iwill have bright colors to wear--I was brought up on wincey, color ofmud, and all these London-smoke, battleship-gray colors make me sick. I want reds and blues and greens, and I am gradually working intothem. "

She held out a dainty foot as she spoke, exhibiting a bright-greenstocking striped in gold. 

"But mind you, for all I am so frivolous, I am not a fool exactly. AllI ask is to have my fling, and I've had it now for three whole months. When William was at home I never could sit up and read one minute, andso the first night he was away I burned the light all night just tofeel wicked! It was great to be able to let it burn. I've gone to bedearly every night for a week to make up for it. What do you think ofthat? It is just born in me, and I can't help it. If William hadstayed at home, this would never have showed out in me. I would havegone on respectable and steady. But this is one of the prices we payfor bringing up women to be men's chattels, with some one alwaysplaced in authority over them. When the authority is removed, there'sthe devil to pay!"

The President of the Red Cross looked at her in surprise. She hadnever thought of it this way before; women were made to be protectedand shielded; she had said so scores of times; the church had taughtit and sanctioned it. 

"The whole system is wrong, " Mrs. Tweed continued, "and nice womenlike you, working away in churches ruled by men, have been to blame. You say women should be protected, and you cannot make good theprotection. What protection have the soldiers' wives now? Eviltongues, prying eyes, on the part of women, and worse than that fromthe men. The church has fallen down on its job, and isn't straightenough to admit it! We should either train our women to take their ownpart and run their own affairs, or else we should train the men reallyto honor and protect women. The church has done neither. Bah! I couldmake a better world with one hand tied behind my back!"

"But, Mrs. Tweed, " said the president, "this war is new to all ofus--how did we know what was coming? It has taken all of us bysurprise, and we have to do our bit in meeting the new conditions. Your man was never a fighting man--he hates it; but he has gone andwill fight, although he loathes it. I never did a day's work outsideof my home until now, and now I go to the office every day and try tostraighten out tangles; women come in there and accuse me ofeverything, down to taking the bread out of their children's mouths. Two of them who brought in socks the other day said, 'Do you supposethe soldiers ever see them?' I did all I could to convince them thatwe were quite honest, though I assure you I felt like telling themwhat I thought of them. But things are abnormal now, everything is outof sorts; and if we love our country we will try to remedy thingsinstead of making them worse. When I went to school we were governedby what they called the 'honor system. ' It was a system ofself-government; we were not watched and punished and bound by rules, but graded and ruled ourselves--and the strange thing about it wasthat it worked! When the teacher went out of the room, everything wenton just the same. Nobody left her desk or talked or idled; we justworked on, minding our own affairs; it was a great system. "

Mrs. Tweed looked at her with a cynical smile. "Some system!" shecried mockingly; "it may work in a school, where the little pinafore, pig-tail Minnies and Lucys gather; it won't work in life, where everyone is grabbing for what he wants, and getting it some way. But seehere, " she cried suddenly, "you haven't called me down yet! or told meI am a disgrace to the Patriotic Fund! or asked me what will myhusband say when he comes home! You haven't looked shocked at onething I've told you. Say, you should have seen old hatchet-face when Itold her that I hoped the war would last forever! She said I was awicked woman!"

"Well--weren't you?" asked the president. 

"Sure I was--if I meant it--but I didn't. I wanted to see her jump, and she certainly jumped; and she soon gave me up and went back andreported. Then you were sent, and I guess you are about ready to givein. "

"Indeed, I am not, " said the president, smiling. "You are not afool--I can see that--and you can think out these things for yourself. You are not accountable to me, anyway. I have no authority to findfault with you. If you think your part in this terrible time is to gothe limit in fancy clothes, theaters, and late suppers with men ofquestionable character--that is for you to decide. I believe in thehonor system. You are certainly setting a bad example--but you havethat privilege. You cannot be sent to jail for it. The money you drawis hard-earned money--it is certainly sweated labor which our gallantmen perform for the miserable little sum that is paid them. It isyours to do with as you like. I had hoped that more of you young womenwould have come to help us in our work in the Red Cross and otherplaces. We need your youth, your enthusiasm, your prettiness, for weare sorely pressed with many cares and troubles, and we seem to be oldsometimes. But you are quite right in saying that it is your ownbusiness how you spend the money!"

After Mrs. Kent had gone, the younger woman sat looking around herflat with a queer feeling of discontent. A half-eaten box ofchocolates was on the table and a new silk sweater coat lay across thelounge. In the tiny kitchenette a tap dripped with weary insistence, and unwashed dishes filled the sink. She got up suddenly and began towash the dishes, and did not stop until every corner of her apartmentwas clean and tidy. 

"I am getting dippy, " she said as she looked at herself in the mirrorin the buffet; "I've got to get out--this quiet life gets me. I'll godown to the _dansant_ this afternoon--no use--I can't stand beingalone. "

She put on her white suit, and dabbing rouge on her cheeks andpenciling her eyes, she went forth into the sunshiny streets. 

She stopped to look at a display of sport suits in a window, also tosee her own reflection in a mirror placed for the purpose among thesuits. 

Suddenly a voice sounded at her elbow: "Some kid, eh? Looking goodenough to eat!"

She turned around and met the admiring gaze of Sergeant Edward LoftusBrown, recruiting sergeant of the 19-th, with whom she had been to thetheater a few nights before. She welcomed him effusively. 

"Come on and have something to eat, " he said. "I got three recruitsto-day--so I am going to proclaim a half-holiday. "

They sat at a table in an alcove and gayly discussed the people whopassed by. The President of the Red Cross came in, and at a tableacross the room hastily drank a cup of tea and went out again. 

"She came to see me to-day, " said Mrs. Tweed, "and gave me tounderstand that they were not any too well pleased with me--I am toogay for a soldier's wife! And they do not approve of you. "

Sergeant Brown smiled indulgently and looked at her admiringly throughhis oyster-lidded eyes. His smile was as complacent as that of theward boss who knows that the ballot-box is stuffed. It was the smileof one who can afford to be generous to an enemy. 

"Women are always hard on each other, " he said soothingly; "thesewomen do not understand you, Trixie, that's all. No person understandsyou but me. " His voice was of the magnolia oil quality. 

"Oh, rats!" she broke out. "Cut that understanding business! Sheunderstands me all right--she knows me for a mean little selfishslacker who is going to have a good time no matter what it costs. Ihave been like a bad kid that eats the jam when the house is burning!But remember this, I'm no fool, and I'm not going to kid myself intothinking it is anything to be proud of, for it isn't. "

Sergeant Brown sat up straight and regarded her critically. "What haveyou done, " he said, "that she should call you down for it? You'reyoung and pretty and these old hens are jealous of you. They can'traise a good time themselves and they're sore on you because all themen are crazy about you. "

"Gee, you're mean, " Mrs. Tweed retorted, "to talk that way about womenwho are giving up everything for their country. Mrs. Kent's two boysare in the trenches, actually fighting, not just parading round inuniform like you. She goes every day and works in the office of theRed Cross and tries to keep every tangle straightened out. She's notjealous of me--she despises me for a little feather-brained pinhead. She thinks I am even worse than I am. She thinks I am as bad as youwould like me to be! Naturally enough, she judges me by my company. "

Sergeant Brown's face flushed dull red, but she went on: "That womanis all right--take it from me. "

"Well, don't get sore on me, " he said quickly; "I'm not the one whois turning you down. I've always stuck up for you and you know it!"

"Why shouldn't you?" she cried. "You know well that I am straight, even if I am a fool. These women are out of patience with me and myclass----"

"Men are always more charitable to women than women are to each other, anyway--women are cats, mostly!" he said, as he rolled a cigarette. 

"There you go again!" she cried, --"pretending that you know. I tellyou women are women's best friends. What help have you given to me torun straight, for all your hot air about thinking so much of me?You've stuck around my flat until I had to put you out--you've neversheltered or protected me in any way. Men are broad-minded towardwomen's characters because they do not care whether women are good ornot--they would rather that they were not. I do not mean allmen, --William was different, and there are plenty like him--but I meanmen like you who run around with soldiers' wives and slam the womenwho are our friends, and who are really concerned about us. You aretwenty years older than I am. You're always blowing about how much youknow about women--also the world. Why didn't you advise me not to makea fool of myself?"

Sergeant Brown leaned over and patted her hand. "There now, Trixie, "he said, "don't get excited; you're the best girl in town, only you'retoo high-strung. Haven't I always stood by you? Did I ever turn youdown, even when these high-brow ladies gave you the glassy eye? Whyare you going back on a friend now? You had lots to say about theDaughter of the Empire who came to see you the last time. "

"She wasn't nice to me, " said Mrs. Tweed; "but she meant well, anyway. But I'm getting ashamed of myself now--for I see I am not playing thegame. Things have gone wrong through no fault of ours. The whole worldhas gone wrong, and it's up to us to bring it right if we can. Thesewomen are doing their share--they've given up everything. But whathave I done? I let William go, of course, and that's a lot, for I dothink a lot of William; but I am not doing my own share. Runningaround to the stores, eating late suppers, saying snippy things aboutother women, and giving people an excuse for not giving to thePatriotic Fund. You and I sitting here to-day, eating expensivethings, are not helping to win the war, I can tell you. "

"But my dear girl, " he interrupted, "whose business is it? and whathas happened to you anyway? I didn't bring you here to tell me mypatriotic duty. I like you because you amuse me with your smartspeeches. I don't want to be lectured--and I won't have it. "

Mrs. Tweed arose and began to put on her gloves. "Here's where wepart, " she said; "I am going to begin to do my part, just as I see it. I've signed on--I've joined the great Win-the-War-Party. You shouldtry it, Sergeant Brown. We have no exact rules to go by--we areself-governed. It is called the honor system; each one rules himself. It's quite new to me, but I expect to know more about it. "

"Sit down!" he said sternly; "people are looking at you--they thinkwe are quarreling; I am not done yet, and neither are you. Sit down!"

She sat down and apologized. "I am excited, I believe, " she said;"people generally are when they enlist; and although I stood up, I hadno intention of going, for the bill has not come yet and I won't gowithout settling my share of it. "

"Forget it!" he said warmly; "this isn't a Dutch treat. What have Idone that you should hit me a slam like this?"

"It isn't a slam, " she said; "it is quite different. I want to runstraight and fair--and I can't do it and let you pay for my meals;there's no sense in women being sponges. I know we have been broughtup to beat our way. 'Be pretty, and all things will be added untoyou, ' is the first commandment, and the one with the promise. I'velaid hold on that all my life, but to-day I am giving it up. The oldway of training women nearly got me, but not quite--and now I ammaking a new start. It isn't too late. The old way of women alwaysbeing under an obligation to men has started us wrong. I'm notblaming you or any one, but I'm done with it. If you see things as Ido, you'll be willing to let me pay. Don't pauperize me any more andmake me feel mean. "

"Oh, go as far as you like!" he said petulantly. "Pay for me, too, ifyou like--don't leave me a shred of self-respect. This all comes ofgiving women the vote. I saw it coming, but I couldn't help it! I likethe old-fashioned women best--but don't mind me!"

"I won't, " she said; "nothing is the same as it was. How can anythinggo on the same? We have to change to meet new conditions and I'mstarting to-day. I'm going to give up my suite and get ajob--anything--maybe dishwashing. I'm going to do what I can to bringthings right. If every one will do that, the country is safe. "

 * * * * *

In a certain restaurant there is a little waitress with clusteringblack hair and saucy little turned-up nose. She moves quickly, deftly, decidedly, and always knows what to do. She is young, pretty, andbright, and many a man has made up his mind to speak to her and askher to "go out and see a show"; but after exchanging a few remarkswith her, he changes his mind. Something tells him it would not go!She carries trays of dishes from eight-thirty to six every day exceptSunday. She has respectfully refused to take her allowance from thePatriotic Fund, explaining that she has a job. The separationallowance sent to her from the Militia Department at Ottawa goesdirectly into the bank, and she is able to add to it sometimes fromher wages. 

The people in the block where Mrs. Tweed lived will tell you that shesuddenly gave up her suite and moved away and they do not know whereshe went, but they are very much afraid she was going "wrong. " What alot of pleasant surprises there will be for people when they get toheaven!

CHAPTER VII

CONSERVATION

There are certain words which have come into general circulation sincethe war. One of the very best of these is "Conservation. "

Conservation is a fine, rich-sounding, round word, agreeable to theear and eye, and much more aristocratic than the word "Reform, " whichseems to carry with it the unpleasant suggestion of something thatneeds to be changed. The dictionary, which knows everything, says that"Conservation means the saving from destructive change the good wealready possess, " which seems to be a perfectly worthy ambition forany one to entertain. 

For many people, changes have in them an element of wickedness anddanger. I once knew a little girl who wore a sunbonnet all summer anda hood all winter, and cried one whole day each spring and fall whenshe had to make the change; for changes to her were fearsome things. 

This antagonism to change has delayed the progress of the world andkept back many a needed reform, for people have grown to think thatwhatever is must be right, and indeed have made a virtue of thisbelief. 

"It was good enough for my father and it is good enough for me, " criesmany a good tory (small _t_, please), thinking that by this utterancehe convinces an admiring world that all his folks have beenexceedingly fine people for generations. 

But changes are inevitable. What is true to-day may not be trueto-morrow. All our opinions should be marked, "Subject to changewithout notice. " We cannot all indulge ourselves in the complacency ofthe maiden lady who gave her age year after year as twenty-seven, because she said she was not one of these flighty things who say "onething to-day and something else to-morrow. "

Life is change. Only dead things remain as they are. Every livingthing feels the winds of the world blowing over it, beating andbuffeting it, marking and bleaching it. Change is a characteristic oflife, and we must reckon on it! Progress is Life's first law! In orderto be as good as we were yesterday, we have to be better. Life isbuilt on a sliding scale; we have to keep moving to keep up. There areno rest stations on Life's long road!

The principle of conservation is not at enmity with the spirit ofchange. It is in thorough harmony with it. 

Conservation becomes a timely topic in these days of hideous waste. Infact it will not much longer remain among the optional subjects inLife's curriculum. Even now the Moving Finger, invisible yet to thethoughtless, is writing after it the stern word "Compulsory. " Fourhundred thousand men have been taken away from the ranks of producershere in Canada, and have gone into the ranks of destroyers, becoming adrain upon our resources for all that they eat, wear, and use. Manythousand other men are making munitions, whose end is destruction andwaste. We spend more in a day now to kill and hurt our fellow men thanwe ever spent in a month to educate or help them. Great new ways ofwasting and destroying our resources are going on while the old leaksare all running wide open. More children under five years old havedied since the war than there have been men killed in battle!--andlargely from preventable "dirt-diseases" and poverty. Rats, weeds, extravagance, general shiftlessness are still doing business at theold stand, unmolested. 

But it is working in on us that something must be done. Now is thetime to set in force certain agencies to make good these losses in sofar as they can be repaired. Now is the time, when the excitement ofthe war is still on us, when the frenzy is still in our blood, for thetime of reaction is surely to be reckoned with by and by. Now we aresustained by the blare of the bands and the flourish of flags, but inthe cold, gray dawn of the morning after, we shall count our dead withdisillusioned eyes and wonder what was the use of all this bloodshedand waste. Trade conditions are largely a matter of the condition ofthe spirit, and ours will be drooping and drab when the tumult andthe shouting have died and the reign of reason has come back. 

Personal thrift comes naturally to our minds when we begin to think ofthe lessons that we should take to heart. Up to the time of the warand since, we have been a prodigal people, confusing extravagance withgenerosity, thrift with meanness. The Indians in the old days killedoff the buffalo for the sport of killing, and left the carcases torot, never thinking of a time of want; and so, too, the natives in theNorth Country kill the caribou for the sake of their tongues, whichare considered a real "company dish, " letting the remainder of theanimal go to waste. 

This is a startling thought, and comes to one over and over again. Youwill think of it when you order your twenty-five cents' worth ofcooked ham and see what you get! You will think of it again when youcome home and find that the butcher delivered your twenty-five cents'worth of cooked ham in your absence, and, finding the door locked, passed it through the keyhole. And yet the prodigality of the Indianand the caribou-killer are infantile compared with the bigextravagances that go on without much comment. Economy is a broad termused to express the many ways in which other people might save money. Members of Parliament have been known to tell many ways in which womenmight economize; their tender hearts are cut to the quick as theynotice the fancy footwear and expensive millinery worn by women. Greateconomy meetings have been held in London, to which the CabinetMinisters rode in expensive cars, and where they drank champagne, enjoining women to abjure the use of veils and part with their petdogs as a war measure; but they said not a word about the continuanceof the liquor business which rears its head in every street and haswasted three million tons of grain since the war began. What wonder isit that these childish appeals to the women to economize fall on deafor indignant ears! Women have a nasty way of making comparisons. Theywere so much easier to manage before they learned to read and write. 

The war wears on its weary course. The high cost of living becomesmore and more of a nightmare to the people, yet the British Governmenttolerates a system which wastes more sugar than would feed the army, impairs the efficiency of the working-man one sixth, and wastes twomillion dollars every day in what is at best a questionableindulgence, and at worst a national menace. Speaking of economy, personal thrift, conservation, and other "win-the-war" plans, howwould the elimination of the liquor traffic do for a start?

There are two ways of practicing economy: one is by refusing to spendmoney, which is not always a virtue; and the other is by increasingproduction, which is the greatest need of this critical time. Thefarmers are doing all they can: they are producing as much as theyhave means and labor for. But still in Canada much land is idle, andmany people sit around wondering what they can do. There will be womensitting on verandas in the cities and towns in the summer, knittingsocks, or maybe crocheting edges on handkerchiefs, who would gladly beraising potatoes and chickens if they knew how to begin; and acorresponding number of chickens and potatoes will go unraised. Butthe idea of coöperation is taking root, and here and there there is abreaking away from the conventional mode of life. The best thing aboutit is that people are thinking, and pretty soon the impact of publicopinion will be so strong that there will be a national movement tobring together the idle people and the idle land. We are paying a highprice for our tuition, but we must admit that the war is a greatteacher. 

There is a growing sentiment against the holding-up of tracts of landby speculators waiting for the increase in value which comes by thehard work of settlers. Every sod turned by the real, honest settler, who comes to make his home, increases the value of the section of landnext him, probably held by a railway company, and the increase makesit harder for some other settler to buy it. By his industry thesettler makes money for the railway company, but incidentally makeshis own chance of acquiring a neighbor more remote!

The wild-lands tax which prevails in the western provinces of theDominion, and which we hope will be increased, will make itunprofitable to hold land idle, and will do much, if made heavyenough, to liberate land for settlement. 

As it is now, people who have no money to buy land have to go longdistances from the railroad to get homesteads, and there suffer allthe inconveniences and hardships and dangers of pioneer life, milesfrom neighbors, many miles from a doctor, and without school orchurch; while great tracts of splendid land lie idle and unimproved, close beside the little towns, held in the tight clasp of ahypothetical owner far away. 

Western Canada has a land problem which war conditions haveintensified. But people are beginning to talk of these things, and thenext few years will see radical changes. 

The coming of women into the political world should help. Women areborn conservationists. Their first game is housekeeping anddoll-mending. The doll, by preference, is a sick doll, and in need ofcare. Their work is to care for, work for something, and if theadvent of women into politics does not mean that life is made easierand safer for other women and for children, then we will have toconfess with shame and sorrow that politically we have failed! But weare not going to fail! Already the angel has come down and hastroubled the water. Discussions are raging in women's societies andwherever women meet together, and out of it something will come. Menare always quite willing to be guided by women when their schemes aresound and sane. 

In New Zealand the first political activity of women was directedtoward lowering the death-rate among children, by sending out trainednurses to care for them and give instruction to the mothers. Ours willfollow the same line, because the heart of woman is the sameeverywhere. Dreams will soon begin to come true. Good dreams alwaysdo--in time; and why not? There is nothing too good to be true! Hereis one that is coming!

Little Mary Wood set out bravely to do the chores; for it wasChristmas Eve, and even in the remoteness of the Abilene Valley, someof the old-time festivity of Christmas was felt. Mary's mother had hadgood times at Christmas when she was a little girl, and Mary'simagination did the rest. Mary started out singing. 

It was a mean wind that came through the valley that night; a windthat took no notice of Christmas, or Sunday, or even of the bravelittle girl doing the chores, so that her father might not have themto do when he came home. It was so mean that it would not even goround Mary Wood, aged eleven, and small for her age--it went straightthrough her and chattered her teeth and blued her hands, and wouldhave frozen her nose if she had not at intervals put her little handover it. 

But in spite of the wind, the chores were done at last, and Mary cameback to the house. Mary's mother was always waiting to open the doorand shut it quick again, but to-night, when Mary reached the door shehad to open it herself, for her mother had gone to bed. 

Mary was surprised at this, and hastened to the bedroom to see whatwas wrong. 

Mary's mother replied to her questions quite cheerfully. She was notsick. She was only tired. She would be all right in the morning. ButMary Wood, aged eleven, had grown wise in her short years, and sheknew there was something wrong. Never mind; she would ask father. Healways knew everything and what to do about it. 

Going back to the kitchen she saw the writing-pad on which her motherhad been writing. Her mother did not often write letters; certainlydid not often tear them up after writing them; and here in thehome-made waste-paper basket was a torn and crumpled sheet. Mary didnot know that it was not the square thing to read other people'sletters, and, besides, she wanted to know. She spread the letter onthe table and pieced it together. Laboriously she spelled it out:--

"I don't know why I am so frightened this time, Lizzie, but I am blackafraid. I suppose it is because I lost the other two. I hate thislonely, God-forsaken country. I am afraid of it to-night--it's so bigand white and far away, and it seems as if nobody cares. Mary doesnot know, and I cannot tell her; but I know I should, for she may beleft with the care of Bobbie. To-night I am glad the other two aresafe. It is just awful to be a woman, Lizzie; women get it going andcoming, and the worst of it is, no one cares!"

Mary read the letter over and over, before she grasped its meaning. Then the terrible truth rolled over her, and her heart seemed to stopbeating. Mary had not lived her eleven years without finding out someof the grim facts of life. She knew that the angels brought babies atvery awkward times, and to places where they were not wanted a bit, and she also knew that sometimes, when they brought a baby, they hadbeen known to take the mother away. Mary had her own opinion of theangels who did that, but it had been done. There was only one hope:her father always knew what to do. 

She thawed a hole in the frosted window and tried to see down thetrail, but the moon was foggy and it was impossible to see more than afew yards. 

Filled with a sense of fear and dread, she built up a good fire andfilled the kettle with water; she vigorously swept the floor andtidied the few books on their home-made shelf. 

It was ten o'clock when her father came in, pale and worried. Mary sawthat he knew, too. 

He went past her into the bedroom and spoke hurriedly to his wife; butMary did not hear what they said. 

Suddenly she heard her mother cry and instinctively she ran into theroom. 

Her father stood beside the bed holding his head, as if in pain. Mary's mother had turned her face into the pillow, and cried; and evenlittle Bobbie, who had been awakened by the unusual commotion, sat up, rubbing his eyes, and cried softly to himself. 

Mary's father explained it to Mary. 

"Mrs. Roberts has gone away, " he said. "I went over to see her to-day. We were depending on her to come over and take care of yourmother--for a while--and now she has gone, and there is not anotherwoman between here and the Landing. "

"It's no use trying, Robert, " Mrs. Wood said between her sobs; "Ican't stay--I am so frightened. I am beginning to see things--and Iknow what it means. There are black things in every corner--trying totell me something, grinning, jabbering things--that are waiting forme; I see them everywhere I look. "

Mr. Wood sat down beside her, and patted her hand. 

"I know, dear, " he said; "it's hell, this lonely life. It's too muchfor any woman, and I'll give it all up. Better to live on two meals aday in a city than face things like this. We wanted a home of our own, Millie, --you remember how we used to talk, --and we thought we hadfound it here--good land and a running stream. We have worked hard andit is just beginning to pay, but we'll have to quit--and I'll have towork for some one else all my life. It was too good to be true, Millie. "

He spoke without any bitterness in his voice, just a settled sadness, and a great disappointment. 

Suddenly the old dog began to bark with strong conviction in everybark, which indicated that he had really found something at last thatwas worth mentioning. There was a sudden jangle of sleighbells in theyard, and Mary's father went hastily to the door and called to the dogto be quiet. A woman walked into the square of light thrown on thesnow from the open door, and asked if this was the place where a nursewas needed. 

Mr. Wood reached out and took her big valise and brought her into thehouse, too astonished to speak. He was afraid she might vanish. 

She threw off her heavy coat before she spoke, and then, as she wipedthe frost from her eyebrows, she explained:--

"I am what is called a pioneer nurse, and I am sent to take care ofyour wife, as long as she needs me. You see the women in Alberta havethe vote now, and they have a little more to say about things thanthey used to have, and one of the things they are keen on is to helppioneer women over their rough places. Your neighbor, Mrs. Roberts, onher way East, reported your wife's case, and so I am here. TheMounted Police brought me out, and I have everything that is needed. "

"But I don't understand!" Mr. Wood began. 

"No!" said the nurse; "it is a little queer, isn't it? People havespent money on pigs and cattle and horses, and have bonused railwaysand elevator companies, or anything that seemed to help the country, while the people who were doing the most for the country, thesettlers' wives, were left to live or die as seemed best to them. Woman's most sacred function is to bring children into the world, andif all goes well, why, God bless her!--but when things go wrong--Godhelp her! No one else was concerned at all. But, as I told you, womenvote now in Alberta, and what they say goes. Men are always ready tohelp women in any good cause, but, naturally enough, they don't seethe tragedy of the lonely woman, as women see it. They are just assympathetic, but they do not know what to do. Some time ago, beforethe war, there was an agitation to build a monument to the pioneerwomen, a great affair of marble and stone. The women did not warm upto it at all. They pointed out that it was poor policy to buildmonuments to brave women who had died, while other equally brave womenin similar circumstances were being let die! So they sort of frowneddown the marble monument idea, and began to talk of nurses instead. 

"So here I am, " concluded Mrs. Sanderson, as she hung up her coat andcap. "I am a monument to those who are gone, and the free gift of thepeople of Alberta to you and your wife, in slight appreciation of thework you are doing in settling the country and making all the land inthis district more valuable. They are a little late in acknowledgingwhat they owe the settler, but it took the women a few years to getthe vote, and then a little while longer to get the woman's point ofview before the public. "

Mary Wood stood at her father's side while the nurse spoke, drinkingin every word. 

"But who pays?" asked Mary's father--"who pays for this?"

"It is all simple enough, " said the nurse. "There are many millionsof acres in Alberta held by companies, and by private owners, who livein New York, London, and other places, who hold this land idle, waiting for the prices to go up. The prices advance with the coming-inof settlers like yourself, and these owners get the benefit. TheGovernment thinks these landowners should be made to pay somethingtoward helping the settlers, so they have put on a wild-lands tax ofone per cent of the value of the land; they have also put a telephonetax on each unoccupied section, which will make it as easy for you toget a telephone as if every section was settled; and they have also ahospital tax, and will put up a hospital next year, where freetreatment will be given to every one who belongs to the municipality. 

"The idea is to tax the wild land so heavily that it will not beprofitable for speculators to hold it, and it will be released forreal, sure-enough settlers. The Government holds to the view that itis better to make homes for many people than to make fortunes for afew people. "

Mary's father sat down with a great sigh that seemed half a laugh andhalf a sob. 

"What is it you said the women have now?" asked Mary. 

The nurse explained carefully to her small but interested audience. When she was done, Mary Wood, aged eleven, had chosen her life-work. 

"Now I know what I'll be when I grow big, " she said; "I intended to bea missionary, but I've changed my mind--I am going to be a Voter!"

CHAPTER VIII

"PERMISSION"

 He walked among us many years, And yet we failed to understand That there was courage in his fears And strength within his gentle hand: We did not mean to be unkind, But we were dull of heart and mind!

 * * * * *

 But when the drum-beat through the night And men were called, with voice austere, To die for England's sake--and right, He was the first to answer, "Here!" His courage, long submerged, arose, When at her gates, knocked England's foes!

 * * * * *

 And so to-day, where the brave dead Sleep sweetly amid Flemish bowers, One grave, in thought, is garlanded With prairie flowers!

 And if the dead in realms of bliss Can think on those they knew below, He'll know we're sorry, and that this Is our poor way of saying so!

The war has put a new face on our neighborhood life; it has searchedout and tried the hidden places of our souls, and strange, indeed, have been its findings. By its severe testings some of those who wethought were our strongest people have been abased, and some of theweak ones have been exalted. There were some of our people who weregood citizens in the normal times of peace, but who could not standagainst the sterner test of war; and then again we have found the trueworth of some of those whom in our dull, short-sighted way we did notknow!

Stanley Goodman came to our neighborhood when he was a lad of sixteen. The Church of England clergyman, who knew his people in England, brought him to Mrs. Corbett, who kept the Black Creek Stopping House, and asked her if she could give him a room and look after him. He toldher of the great wealth and social position of the family who werewilling to pay well for the boy's keep. 

"If they are as well off as all that, " said Mrs. Corbett, "why arethey sending the wee lad out here, away from all of them?"

The clergyman found it hard to explain. "It seems that this boy is notquite like the other members of the family--not so bright, I takeit, " he said; "and the father particularly is a bit disappointed inhim!"

"Do you mean, " said Mrs. Corbett, "that they are ashamed of the poorlittle fellow, and are sending him out here to get rid of him? Faith, if that's the kind of heathen there is in England I don't know whythey send missionaries out here to preach to us. Bad and all as weare, there is none of us that would do the like of that!"

"They will provide handsomely for him in every way, Mrs. Corbett, andleave no wish ungratified, " the minister said uneasily. 

Mrs. Corbett was a difficult person in some ways. 

"Oh, sure, they will give him everything but love and home, andthat'll be what the poor wee lad will hunger for! Money is a queerthing for sure, when it will make a mother forget the child that shebrought into the world!"

"I think the mother--from what I can gather--wanted to keep the boy, but the father is a very proud man, and this lad aggravated him someway just to see him, and the mother yielded to his wishes, as a truewife should, and for the sake of peace has withdrawn her objections. "

"A poor soft fool, that's all she is, to let a domineering oldreprobate send her poor lad away, just because he did not like to seehim around, and him his own child! And even you, Mr. Tilton, who havebeen out here living with civilized people for three years, haveenough of the old country way in you yet to say that a true wifeshould consent to this to please the old tyrant! Faith, I don't blamethe Suffragettes for smashing windows, and if I wasn't so busy feedinghungry men, I believe I would go over and give them a hand, only Iwould be more careful what I was smashing and would not waste my timeon innocent windows!"

"But you will take him, won't you, Mrs. Corbett? I will feel quiteeasy about him if you will!"

"I suppose I'll have to. I can't refuse when his own have desertedhim! I would be a poor member of the Army if I did not remember OurLord's promise to the poor children when their fathers and mothersforsake them, and I will try to carry it out as well as I can. "

Stanley was soon established in the big white-washed room in Mrs. Corbett's boarding-house. He brought with him everything that any boycould ever want, and his room, which he kept spotlessly clean, withits beautiful rug, pictures, and books, was the admiration of theneighborhood. 

Stanley understood the situation and spoke of it quite frankly. 

"My father thought it better for me to come away for a while, to seeif it would not toughen me up a bit. He has been rather disappointedin me, I think. You see, I had an accident when I was a little fellowand since then I have not been--quite right. "

"Just think of that, " Mrs. Corbett said afterwards in telling it to asympathetic group of "Stoppers. " "It wouldn't be half so bad if thepoor boy didn't know that he is queer. I tried to reason it out ofhim, but he said that he had heard the housekeeper and the parlor-maidat home talking of it, and they said he was a bit looney. It wouldn'tbe half so bad for him if he was not so near to being all right! Ifever I go wrong in the head I hope I'll be so crazy that I won't knowthat I'm crazy. Craziness is like everything else--it's all right ifyou have enough of it!"

"Stanley is not what any one would call crazy, " said one of theStoppers; "the only thing I can see wrong with him is that you alwaysknow what he is going to say, and he is too polite, and every one canfool him! He certainly is a good worker, and there's another place heshows that he is queer, for he doesn't need to work and still he doesit! He likes it, and thanked me to-day for letting him clean my team;and as a special favor I'm going to let him hitch them up when I amready to go!"

Stanley busied himself about the house, and was never so happy as whenhe was rendering some service to some one. But even in his happiestmoments there was always the wistful longing for home, and when he wasalone with Mrs. Corbett he freely spoke of his hopes and fears. 

"It may not be so long before they begin to think that they would liketo see me; do you think that it is really true that absence makes theheart grow fonder--even of people--like me? I keep thinking that maybethey will send for me after a while and let me stay for a few daysanyway. My mother will want to see me, I am almost sure, --indeed, shealmost said as much, --and she said many times that she hoped that Iwould be quite happy; and when I left she kissed me twice, and eventhe governor shook hands with me and said, 'You will be all right outthere in Canada. ' He was so nice with me, it made it jolly hard toleave. "

Another day, as he dried the dishes for her, assuring her that it wasa real joy for him to be let do this, he analyzed the situationagain:--

"My father's people are all very large and handsome, " he said, "andhave a very commanding way with them; my father has always beenobeyed, and always got what he wanted. It was my chin which botheredhim the most. It is not much of a chin, I know; it retreats, doesn'tit? But I cannot help it. But I have always been a bitterdisappointment to him, and it really has been most uncomfortable formother--he seemed to blame her some way, too; and often and often Ifound her looking at me so sadly and saying, 'Poor Stanley!' and allmy aunts, when they came to visit, called me that. It was--notpleasant. "

Every week his letter came from home, with books and magazines andeverything that a boy could wish for. His delight knew no bounds. "They must think something of me, " he said over and over again! Atfirst he wrote a letter to his mother every day, but a curt note camefrom his father one day telling him that he must try to interesthimself in his surroundings and that it would be better if he wroteonly once a week! The weekly letter then became an event, and hecopied it over many times. Mrs. Corbett, busy with her work of feedingthe traveling public, often paused long enough in her work of peelingthe potatoes or rolling out pie-crust to wipe her hands hastily andread the letter that he had written and pass judgment on it. 

Feeling that all green Englishmen were their legitimate prey forsport, the young bloods of the neighborhood, led by Pat Brennan, Mrs. Corbett's nephew, began to tell Stanley strange and terrible storiesof Indians, and got him to send home for rifles and knives to defendhimself and the neighborhood from their traitorous raids, "which weresure to be made on the settlements as soon as the cold weather cameand the Indians got hungry. " He was warned that he must not speak toMrs. Corbett about this, for it is never wise to alarm the women. "Wewill have trouble enough without having a lot of hysterical women onour hands, " said Pat. 

After the weapons had come "The Exterminators" held a session behindclosed doors to see what was the best plan of attack, and decided thatthey would not wait for the Indians to begin the trouble, but wouldmake war on them. They decided that they would beat the bushes forIndians down in the river-bottom, while Stanley would sit at a certainpoint of vantage in a clump of willows, and as the Indians ran pasthim, he would pot them!

Stanley had consented to do this only after he had heard many tales ofIndian treachery and cruelty to the settlers and their families!

The plan was carried out and would no doubt have been successful, butfor the extreme scarcity of Indians in our valley. 

All night long Stanley sat at his post, peering into the night, armedto the teeth, shivering with the cold wind that blew through thevalley. His teeth chattered with fright sometimes, too, as the bushesrustled behind him, and an inquisitive old cow who came nosing thewillows never knew how near death she had been. Meanwhile histraitorous companions went home and slept soundly and sweetly in theirwarm beds. 

"And even after he found out that we were fooling him, he was not abit sore, " said Pat. "He tried to laugh! That is what made me feelcheap--he is too easy; it's too much like taking candy from a kid. Andhe was mighty square about it, too, and he never told Aunt Maggie howhe got the cold, for he slipped into bed that morning and she didn'tknow he was out. "

Another time the boys set him to gathering the puff-balls that grew inabundance in the hay meadow, assuring him that they were gopher-eggsand if placed under a hen would hatch out young gophers. 

Stanley was wild with enthusiasm when he heard this and hastened topack a box full to send home. "They _will_ be surprised, " he said. Fortunately, Mrs. Corbett found out about this before the box wassent, and she had to tell him that the boys were only in fun. 

When she told him that the boys had been just having sport there cameover his face such a look of sadness and pain, such a deeply hurtlook, that Mrs. Corbett went back to the barn and thrashed her sturdyyoung nephew, all over again. 

When the matter came up for discussion again, Stanley implored her notto speak of it any more, and not to hold it against the boys. "It wasnot their fault at all, " he said; "it all comes about on account of mybeing--not quite right. I am not quite like other boys, but when theyplay with me I forget it and I believe what they say. Thereis--something wrong with me, --and it makes people want--to have sportwith me; but it is not their fault at all. "

"Well, they won't have sport with you when I am round, " declared Mrs. Corbett stoutly. 

Years rolled by and Stanley still cherished the hope that some day"permission" would come for him to go home. He grew very fast andbecame rather a fine-looking young man. Once, emboldened by aparticularly kind letter from his mother, he made the request that heshould be allowed to go home for a few days. "If you will let me comehome even for one day, dearest mother, " he wrote, "I will come rightback content, and father will not need to see me at all. I want tostand once more before that beautiful Tissot picture of Christ holdingthe wounded lamb in his arms, and I would like to see the hawthornhedge when it is in bloom as it will be soon, and above all, dearmother, I want to see you. And I will come directly away. "

He held this letter for many days, and was only emboldened to send itby Mrs. Corbett's heartiest assurances that it was a splendid letterand that his mother would like it!

"I do not want to give my mother trouble, " he said. "She has alreadyhad much trouble with me; but it might make her more content to see meand to know that I am so well--and happy. "

After the letter had been sent, Stanley counted the days anxiously, and on the big map of Canada that hung on the kitchen wall he followedits course until it reached Halifax, and then his mind went with ittossing on the ocean. 

"I may get my answer any day after Friday, " he said. "Of course I donot expect it right off--it will take some little time for mother tospeak to father, and, besides, he might not be at home; so I must notbe disappointed if it seems long to wait. "

Friday passed and many weeks rolled by, and still Stanley was hopeful. "They are considering, " he said, "and that is so much better than ifthey refused; and perhaps they are looking about a boat--I think thatmust be what is keeping the letter back. I feel so glad and happyabout it, it seems that permission must be coming. "

In a month a bulky parcel came to him by express. It contained aframed picture of the Good Shepherd carrying the lost lamb in hisarms; a box of hawthorn blossoms, faded but still fragrant, and a bookwhich gave directions for playing solitaire in one hundred andtwenty-three ways!!

Mrs. Corbett hastened to his room when she heard the cry of pain thatescaped his lips. He stood in the middle of the floor with the book inhis hand. All the boyishness had gone out of his face, which now hadthe spent look of one who has had a great fright or suffered greatpain. The book on solitaire had pierced through his cloudy brain withthe thought that his was a solitary part in life, and for a fewmoments he went through the panicky grief of the faithful dog whofinds himself left on the shore while his false master sails gaylyaway!

"I will be all right directly, " he stammered, making a pitiful effortto control his tears. 

Mrs. Corbett politely appeared not to notice, and went hastilydownstairs, and although not accustomed to the use of the pen, yet shetook it in hand and wrote a letter to Stanley's father. 

"It is a pity that your poor lad did not inherit some of your hardnessof heart, Mr. Goodman, " the letter began, "for if he did he would notbe upstairs now breakin his and sobbin it out of him at your cruelanswer to his natural request that he might go home and see hismother. But he has a heart of gold wherever he got it I don't know, and it is just a curse to him to be so constant in his love for home, when there is no love or welcome there for him. He is a lad that anyman might well be proud of him, that gentle and kind and honest andtruthful, not like most of the young doods that come out here drinkinand carousin and raisin the divil. Mebbe you would like him better ifhe was and this is just to tell you that we like your boy here and wedont think much of the way you are using him and I hope that you willlive to see the day that you will regret with tears more bitter thanhe is sheddin now the way you have treated him, and with these fewlines I will close M corbett. "

How this letter was received at Mayflower Lodge, Bucks, England, isnot known, for no answer was ever sent; and although the letters toStanley came regularly, his wish to go home was not mentioned in anyof them. Neither did he ever refer to it again. 

"Say, Stan, " said young Pat one day, suddenly smitten with a brightthought, "why don't you go home anyway? You have lots of money--whydon't you walk in on 'em and give 'em a surprise?"

"It would not be playing the game, Pat; thank you all the same, oldchap, " said Stanley heartily, "but I will not go home withoutpermission. "

After that Stanley got more and more reticent about the people athome. He seemed to realize that they had cut him off, but the homesicklook never left his eyes. His friends now were the children of theneighborhood and the animals. Dogs, cats, horses, and childrenfollowed him, and gave him freely of their affection. He worked happyhours in Mrs. Corbett's garden, and "Stanley's flowers" were theadmiration of the neighborhood. 

When he was not busy in the garden, he spent long hours beside theriver in a beautifully fashioned seat which he had made for himself, beneath a large poplar tree. "It is the wind in the tree-tops that Ilike, " he said. "It whispers to me. I can't tell what it says, but itsays something. I like trees--they are like people some way--only morepatient and friendly. "

The big elms and spruce of the river valley rustled and whisperedtogether, and the poplars shook their coin-like leaves as he laybeneath their shade. The trees were trying to be kind to him, as thegray olive trees in Gethsemane were kind to One Other when his own hadforgotten Him!

 * * * * *

When the news of the war fell upon the Pembina Valley, it did notgreatly disturb the peacefulness of that secluded spot. The well-to-dofarmers who had held their grain over openly rejoiced at the prospectof better prices, and the younger men, when asked to enlist, repliedby saying that the people who made the war had better do the fightingbecause they had no ambition to go out and stop German bullets. Thegeneral feeling was that it would soon be over. 

At the first recruiting meeting Stanley volunteered his services bywalking down the aisle of the church at the first invitation. Therecruiting officer motioned to him to be seated, and that he would seehim after the meeting. 

Stanley waited patiently until every person was gone, and then timidlysaid, "And now, sir, will you please tell me what I am to do?"

The recruiting officer, a dapper little fellow, very pompous andimportant, turned him down mercilessly. Stanley was dismayed. Hewandered idly out of the church and was about to start off on hisfour-mile walk to the Stopping House when a sudden impulse seized himand he followed the recruiting agent to the house where he wasstaying. 

He overtook him just as he was going into the house, and, seizing himby the arm, cried, "Don't you see, sir, that you must take me? I amstrong and able--I tell you I am no coward--what have you against me, I want to know?"

The recruiting officer hesitated. Confound it all! It is a hard thingto tell a man that he is not exactly right in the head. 

But he did not need to say it, for Stanley beat him to it. "I knowwhat's wrong, " he said; "you think I'm not very bright--I am not, either. But don't you see, war is an elemental sort of thing. I can dowhat I'm told--and I can fight. What does it matter if my head is notvery clear on some things which are easy to you? And don't you see howmuch I want to go? Life has not been so sweet that I should want tohold on to it. The young men here do not want to go, for they arehaving such a good time. But there is nothing ahead of me that holdsme back. Can't you see that, sir? Won't you pass me on, anyway, andlet me have my chance? Give me a trial; it's time enough to turn medown when I fail at something. Won't you take me, sir?"

The recruiting officer sadly shook his head. Stanley watched him in anagony of suspense. Here was his way out--his way of escape from thisbody of death that had hung over him ever since he could remember. Hedrew nearer to the recruiting officer, --"For God's sake, sir, takeme!" he cried. 

Then the recruiting officer pulled himself together and grew firm andcommanding. "I won't take you, " he said, "and that's all there isabout it. This is a job for grown-up men and men with all their witsabout them. You would faint at the sight of blood and cry when you sawthe first dead man. "

In a few weeks another recruiting meeting was held, and again Stanleypresented himself when the first invitation was given. The recruitingofficer remembered him, and rather impatiently told him to sit down. Near the front of the hall sat the German-American storekeeper of theneighboring town, who had come to the meeting to see what was goingon, and had been interrupting the speaker with many rude remarks; andwhen Stanley, in his immaculate suit of gray check, his gray spats, and his eyeglass, passed by where he was sitting, it seemed as if allhis slumbering hatred for England burst at once into flame!

"My word!" he mimicked, "'ere's a rum 'un--somebody should warn theKaiser! It's not fair to take the poor man unawares--here is some ofthe real old English fighting-stock. "

Stanley turned in surprise and looked his tormentor in the face. Hislook of insipid good-nature lured the German on. 

"That is what is wrong with the British Empire, " he jeered; "there aretoo many of these underbred aristocrats, all pedigree and no brains, like the long-nosed collies. God help them when they meet theGermans--that is all I have to say!"

He was quite right in his last sentence--that was all he had to say. It was his last word for the evening, and it looked as if it might behis last word for an indefinite time, for the unexpected happened. 

Psychologists can perhaps explain it. We cannot. Stanley, who likecharity had borne all things, endured all things, believed all things, suddenly became a new creature, a creature of rage, blind, consuming, terrible! You have heard of the worm turning? This was a case of aworm turning into a tank!

People who were there said that Stanley seemed to grow taller, hiseyes glowed, his chin grew firm, his shoulders ceased to beapologetic. He whirled upon the German and landed a blow on his jawthat sounded like a blow-out! Before any one could speak, it wasfollowed by another and the German lay on the floor!

Then Stanley turned to the astonished audience and delivered the mostsuccessful recruiting speech that had ever been given in the PembinaValley. 

"You have sat here all evening, " he cried, "and have listened to thismiserable hound insulting your country--this man who came here a fewyears ago without a cent and now has made a fortune in Canada, and Ihave no doubt is now conspiring with Canada's enemies, and wouldbetray us into the hands of those enemies if he could. For this man Ihave the hatred which one feels for an enemy, but for you Canadianswho have sat here and swallowed his insults, I have nothing butcontempt. This man belongs to the race of people who cut hands offchildren, and outrage women; and now, when our Empire calls for men togo out and stop these devilish things, you sit here and let thistraitor insult your country. You are all braver than I am, too; I amonly a joke to most of you, a freak, a looney, --you have said so, --butI won't stand for this. "

That night recruiting began in the valley and Stanley was the firstman to sign on. The recruiting agent felt that it was impossible toturn down a man who had shown so much fighting spirit; and, besides, he was a small man and he had a face which he prized highly!

When the boys of the valley went to Valcartier there was none amongthem who had more boxes of home-made candy or more pairs of socks thanStanley; nor was any woman prouder of her boy than Mrs. Corbett wasof the lad she had taken into her home and into her heart ten yearsbefore. 

They were sent overseas almost at once, and, after a short training inEngland, went at once to the firing-line. 

 * * * * *

It was a dull, foggy morning, and although it was quite late thestreet-lamps were still burning, and while they could not make muchimpression on the darkness, at least they made a luminous top on thelamp-posts and served as a guide to the travelers who made their wayinto the city. In the breakfast-room of Mayflower Lodge it was dark, and gloomier still, for "the master" was always in his worst mood inthe morning, and on this particular morning his temper was aggravatedby the presence of his wife's mother and two sisters from Leith, whoalways made him envious of the men who marry orphans, who are also thelast of their race. 

Mr. Goodman was discussing the war-situation, and abusing theGovernment in that peculiarly bitter way of the British patriot. 

His wife, a faded, subdued little woman, sat opposite him andcontributed to the conversation twittering little broken phrases ofassent. Her life had been made up of scenes like this. She was of thesweet and pliable type, which, with the best intentions in the world, has made life hard for other women. 

Mr. Goodman gradually worked back to his old grievance. 

"This is a time for every man to do his bit, and here am I too old togo and with no son to represent me--I who came from a family of sixsons! Anyway, why doesn't the Government pass conscription and dragout the slackers who lounge in the parks and crowd the theaters?"

Aunt Louisa paused in the act of helping herself to marmalade andregarded him with great displeasure; then cried shrilly:--

"Now, Arthur, that is nothing short of treason, for I tell you we willnot allow our dear boys to be taken away like galley-slaves; I tellyou Britons never, never shall be slaves, and I for one will never letmy Bertie go--his young life is too precious to be thrown away. Ispent too many nights nursing him through every infantiledisease--measles, whooping-cough, --you know yourself, my dearClara, --beside the times that he broke his arm and his leg; though Istill think that the cold compress is the best for a delicateconstitution, and I actually ordered the doctor out of the house--"

"What has that to do with conscription?" asked her brother-in-lawgruffly. "I tell you it is coming and no one will be gladder than Iam. "

"I think it is nothing short of unkind the way that you have beenspeaking of the Germans. I know I never got muffins like the muffins Igot in Berlin that time; and, anyway, there are plenty of the commonerpeople to go to fight, and they have such large families that theywill not miss one as I would miss my Bertie, and he has just recentlybecome engaged to such a dear girl! In our home we simply try toforget this stupid war, but when I come here I hear nothing else--Iwonder how you stand it, dear Clara. "

Aunt Louisa here dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief in a way thather brother-in-law particularly detested. 

"You will hear more about the war some of these days, " he said, "whena German Zeppelin drops bombs on London. "

Aunt Louisa came as near snorting as a well-bred lady could come, sogreat was her disdain at this suggestion. 

"Zeppelin!" she said scornfully--"on England!! You forget, sir, thatwe are living in a civilized age! Zeppelin! Indeed, and who would letthem, I wonder! I am surprised at you, sir, and so is mother, althoughshe has not spoken. "

"You will probably be more surprised before long; life is full ofsurprises these days. "

Just then the butler brought him a wire, the contents of which seemedto bear out this theory, for it told him that Private Stanley Goodman, of the First Canadian Battalion, for conspicuous bravery under firehad been recommended for the D. C. M. , but regretted to inform him thatPrivate Goodman had been seriously wounded and was now in the ThirdCanadian Hospital, Flanders. 

The nursing sister, accustomed to strange sights, wondered why thiswounded man was so cold, and then she noticed that he had not on hisovercoat, and she asked him why he was not wearing it on such a bittercold night as this. In spite of all his efforts his teeth chattered ashe tried to answer her. 

"I had to leave a dead friend of mine on the field to-night, " saidStanley, speaking with difficulty. "And I could not leave him therewith the rain falling on him, could I, sister? It seemed hard to haveto leave him, anyway, but we got all the wounded in. "

 * * * * *

In twenty-four hours after they received the telegram his father andmother stood by his bedside. Only his eyes and his forehead could beseen, for the last bullet which struck him had ploughed its waythrough his cheek; the chin which had so offended his father'sartistic eye--what was left of it--was entirely hidden by the bandage. The chill which he had taken, with the loss of blood, and the shock ofa shrapnel wound in his side, made recovery impossible, the nursesaid. While they stood beside the bed waiting for him to open hiseyes, the nurse told them of his having taken off his coat to cover adead comrade. 

When at last Stanley opened his eyes, there was a broken and sorrowfulold man, from whose spirit all the imperious pride had gone, kneelingby his bedside and humbly begging his forgiveness. On the other sideof the bed his mother stood with a great joy in her faded face. 

"Stanley--Stanley, " sobbed his father, every reserve broken down; "Ihave just found you--and now how can I lose you so soon. Try to livefor my sake, and let me show you how sorry I am. "

Stanley's eyes showed the distress which filled his tender heart. 

"Please don't, father, " he said, speaking with difficulty; "I am onlyvery happy--indeed, quite jolly. But you mustn't feel sorry, father--Ihave been quite a duffer! thanks awfully for all you have done forme--I know how disappointed you were in me--I did want to make goodfor your sakes and it is a bit rough that now--I should beobliged--to die.... But it is best to go while the going isgood--isn't it, sir? It's all a beautiful dream--to me--and it doesseem--so jolly--to have you both here. "

He lay still for a long time; then, rousing himself, said, "I'm afraidI have been dreaming again--no, this is father; you are sure, sir, areyou?--about the medal and all that--and this is mother, is it?--it isall quite like going home--I am so happy; it seems as if permissionhad come. "

He laughed softly behind his bandages, a queer, little, choking, happylaugh; and there, with his mother's arms around him, while his father, stern no longer, but tender and loving, held his hand, "permission"came and the homesick, hungry heart of the boy entered into rest. 

CHAPTER IX

THE SLACKER--IN UNIFORM

Mrs. P. A. Brunton was convinced that she was an exceptional woman inevery way. She would tell you this in the first fifteen minutes ofconversation that you had with her, for many of her sentences began, "Now, I know, of course, that I am peculiar in many ways"; or, "I amafraid you will not understand me when I say this"; or, "I am afraid Iam hopelessly old-fashioned in this. " She would explain withpainstaking elaboration that she did not know why she was so peculiar, but her manner indicated that she was quite content to be so; indeed, it can only be described as one of boastful resignation. She seemed toglory in her infirmity. 

Mrs. Brunton was quite opposed to women voting, and often spoke withsorrow of the movement, which to her meant the breaking-up of the homeand all its sacred traditions. She did not specify how this would bedone, but her attitude toward all new movements was one of keendistrust. She often said that of course she would be able to voteintelligently, for she had had many advantages and had listened todiscussions of public matters all her life, having been brought up inan atmosphere of advanced thinking; but she realized that her case wasan exceptional one. It was not the good fortune of every woman to havehad a college course as she had, and she really could not see whatgood could come from a movement which aimed at making all women equal!Why, if women ever got the vote, an ignorant washwoman's vote mightkill hers! It was so much better to let women go on as they weregoing, exerting their indirect influence; and then it was the woman ofwealth and social prestige who was able to exert this influence, justas it should be! She certainly did not crave a vote, and would do allshe could to prevent other women from getting it. 

Mrs. Brunton had come from the East, and although she had lived manyyears in the West, she could never forget what a sacrifice she hadmade by coming to a new country. Being a college graduate, too, seemedto be something she could not outgrow!

When her only boy was old enough to go to school, she became theteacher's bad dream, for she wrote many notes and paid many calls toexplain that Garth was not at all like other children and must not besubjected to the same discipline as they, for he had a proud andhaughty spirit that would not submit to discipline unless it weretactfully disguised. Garth was a quiet, mild little lad who would havebeen much like other boys if left alone. 

Garth was twenty years old when the war began, and he was thenattending the university. He first spoke of enlisting when the war hadgone on a year. 

"Enlist!" his mother cried, when he mentioned it to her, "I should saynot--you are my only child, and I certainly did not raise you to be asoldier. There are plenty of common people to do the fighting; thereare men who really like it; but I have other ambitions for you--youare to be a university man. "

When the Third University Company went, he spoke of it again, but hismother held firm. 

"Do you think I am going to have you sleeping in those awful trenches, with every Tom, Dick, and Harry? I tell you soldiering is a roughbusiness, and I cannot let a boy of mine go--a boy who has had youradvantages must not think of it. "

"But, mother, there are lots of boys going who have had just as goodadvantages as I have. "

Just then came in Emily Miller, the little girl from next door whosebrother was going away the next day. Emily was an outspoken young ladyof fourteen. 

"When are you going, Garth?" she asked pointedly. 

"He is not going, " said his mother firmly. "His duty is at homefinishing his education, and I am simply amazed at your mother forletting Robert go. Does she not believe in education? Of course I knowthere are not many who lay the stress on it that I do, but with me itis education first--always. "

"But the war won't wait, " said Emily; "my mother would be very glad tohave Bob finish his education, but she's afraid it will be over then. "

"War or no war, I say let the boys get their education--what is lifewithout it?"

Emily surveyed her calmly, and then said, "What would happen to us ifevery mother held her boy back--what if every mother took yourattitude, Mrs. Brunton?"

"You need not speculate on that, child, for they won't. Most mothersrun with the popular fancy--they go with the crowd--never thinking, but I have always been peculiar, I know. "

"Oh, mother, cut out that 'peculiar' business--it makes me tired!"said Garth undutifully. 

When Robert Miller came in to say good-bye, he said: "You'll belonesome, Garth, when we all go and you are left with the women andthe old men--but perhaps you will enjoy being the only young man atthe party. "

"Garth may go later, " said his mother, --"at least if the war lastslong enough, --but not as a private. I will not object to his takingthe officers' classes at the university. "

"See, Bob, " crowed Garth, "I'll have you and Jim Spaulding for my twobatmen over there. But never mind, I'll be good to you and will seethat you get your ha'pennyworth of 'baccy and mug of beer regular. "

Mrs. Brunton laughed delightedly. "Garth always sees the funny side, "she cooed. 

"That certainly is a funny side all right, " said Robert, "but he'llnever see it! These pasteboard officers never last after they getover--they can only carry it off here. Over there, promotions are onmerit, not on political pull. "

The third, fourth, and fifth contingents went from the university, andstill Garth pursued the quest of learning. His mother openly rebukedthe mothers of the boys who had gone. "Let the man on the street go!Look at the unemployed men on our streets!" she said; "why aren't theymade to go--and leave our university boys at home?"

"Every man owes a duty to his country, " one of the mothers said. "Ifone man neglects or refuses to pay, that is no reason for others todo the same. This is a holy war--holier than any of the crusades--forthe crusader went out to restore the tomb of our Lord, and that isonly a material thing; but our boys are going out to give back to theworld our Lord's ideals, and I know they are more precious to Him thanany tomb could be!"

"My dear Mrs. Mason, " said Garth's mother, "you are simply war-madlike so many women--it is impossible to reason with you. "

A year went by, and many of the university boys were wounded and somewere killed. To the mothers of these went Mrs. Brunton with words ofsympathy, but came away wondering. Some way they did not seem toreceive her warmly. 

"Where is Garth now?" asked one of these women. 

"He's thinking of taking the officers' training, " answered Mrs. Brunton, "as soon as the college term closes. A boy meets the verynicest people there, and I do think that is so important, to meet nicepeople. "

"And no Germans!" said the other woman tartly. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Brunton gave a very select and intellectual farewell party forGarth when he went to another city to take the officers' training, andshe referred to him as "my brave soldier laddie, " much to theamusement of some of the party. 

In two weeks he came home on leave of absence, very elegant in his newuniform. He also brought cabinet-sized photographs which cost eighteendollars a dozen. Another party was held--the newspaper said he was the"_raison d'être_ for many pleasant social gatherings. "

At the end of two weeks he went out again to take more classes. He wasvery popular with the girls, and the mother of one of them came tovisit Mrs. Brunton. They agreed on the subject of military trainingand education, and exceptional women, and all was gay and happy. 

At the end of three months Garth again came home. No hero from thescenes of battle was ever more royally received, and an afternoonreception was held, when patriotic songs were sung and an uncle of theyoung man made a speech. 

Soon after that Garth went to Toronto and took another course, becausehis mother thought it was only right for him to see his own countryfirst, before going abroad; and, besides, no commission had yet beenoffered him. The short-sightedness of those in authority was a subjectwhich Mrs. Brunton often dwelt on, but she said she could not helpbeing glad. 

Meanwhile the war went wearily on; battalion after battalion went outand scattering remnants came home. Empty sleeves, rolled trouserslegs, eyes that stared, and heads that rolled pitifully appeared onthe streets. On the sunshiny afternoons many of these broken men saton the verandas of the Convalescent Home and admired the smart younglieutenant who went whistling by--and wondered what force he was with. 

The war went on to the completion of its third year. Garth hadattended classes in three cities, and had traveled Canada from end toend. There had been four farewell parties and three receptions in hishonor. He came home again for what his mother termed "a well-earnedrest. "

He sat on the veranda one day luxuriously ensconced in a wicker chair, smoking a cigarette whose blue wreaths of smoke he blew gayly fromhim. He was waiting for the postman--one of Mae's letters hadevidently gone astray, and the postman, who seemed to be a stupidfellow, had probably given it to some one else. He had made severalmistakes lately, and Garth determined that it was time he wasreprimanded--the young officer would attend to that. 

"Posty" came at last, a few minutes late again, and Garth rappedimperiously with his cane, as "Posty, " peering at the addresses of theletters, came up the steps. 

"See here, " cried Garth, "let me see what you have!"

"Posty" started nervously and the letters dropped from his hands. While he gathered them up, Garth in his most military manner deliveredhimself of a caustic rebuke:--

"You have left letters here which belong elsewhere, and I have lostletters through your carelessness. What is the matter with youanyway--can't you read?" he snapped. 

"Yes, sir, " stammered "Posty, " flushing as red as the band on his hat. 

"Well, then, " went on the young officer, "why don't you use youreyes--where do you keep them anyway?"

"Posty" stood at attention as he answered with measureddeliberation:--

"I have one of them here ... But I left the other one at Saint-Éloi. Were you thinking of hunting it up for me, sir, --when--you--go--over?"

 * * * * *

That was six weeks ago. Still the war goes on. Returned men walk ourstreets, new pale faces lie on hospital pillows, telegraph boys onwheels carry dread messages to the soldiers' homes. 

Garth has gone back to an Eastern city for another course (this timein signaling). He gave a whole set of buttons off his uniform to Maebefore he went--and he had his photograph taken again!

Even if he does not get over in time to do much in this war, it isworth something to have such a perfectly trained young officer readyfor the next war!

CHAPTER X

NATIONAL SERVICE--ONE WAY

There are some phrases in our conversations now that are used so oftenthat they seem to be in some danger of losing their meaning. The snapgoes out of them by too much handling, like an elastic band which hasbeen stretched too far. One of these is "national service. "

If the work of the soldier, who leaves home, position, and safetybehind him, and goes forth to meet hardship and danger, receiving asrecompense one dollar and ten cents per day, is taken as the standardof comparison, the question of national service becomes very simple, indeed, for there is but one class, and no other that is evendistantly related to it, but if national service is taken to mean thedoing of something for our country's good which we would not feel itour duty to do but for the emergencies created by the war, then thereare many ways in which the sincere citizen may serve. 

The Abilene Valley School was closed all last year, and weeds aregrowing in the garden in which the year before flowers and vegetables, scarlet runners and cabbages, poppies and carrots, had mingled in wildprofusion. The art-muslin curtains are draggled and yellow, and someof the windows, by that strange fate which overtakes the windows inunoccupied houses, are broken. 

The school was not closed for lack of children. Not at all. PeterRogowski, who lives a mile east, has seven children of school-agehimself, from bright-eyed Polly aged fourteen to Olga aged six, andMr. Rogowski is merely one of the neighbors in this growingsettlement, where large families are still to be found. There aretwenty-four children of school-age in the district, and in 1915, whenMr. Ellis taught there, the average attendance was nineteen. At theend of the term Mr. Ellis, who was a university student, abandoned hisstudies and took his place in the ranks of the Army Medical Corps, andis now nursing wounded men in France. He said that it would be easy tofind some one else to take the school. He was thinking of the drovesof teachers who had attended the Normal with him. There seemed to beno end of them, but apparently there was, for in the year thatfollowed there were more than one hundred and fifty schools closedbecause no teacher could be found. 

After waiting a whole year for a teacher to come, Polly Rogowski, asthe spring of 1917 opened, declared her intention of going to Edmontonto find work and go to school. Polly's mother upheld her in thisdetermination, and together they scraped up enough money to pay herrailway fare, and board for one week, although it took all that theyhad been putting away to get Mrs. Rogowski's teeth fixed. But Polly'smother knew that when her Polly began to teach there would be moneyand plenty for things like that, and anyway they had not ached so badfor a while. 

The city, even Edmonton, is a fearsome place for a fourteen-year-oldgirl who has no friends, seven dollars in money, and only an intensedesire for an education to guide her through its devious ways. Butthe first night that Polly was away, her mother said an extra prayerbefore the Blessed Virgin, who, being a mother herself, wouldunderstand how much a young girl in a big city needs special care. 

It was a cold, dark day when Polly with her small pack arrived at theC. N. R. Station, and looked around her. Surely no crusader going forthto restore the tomb of his Lord ever showed more courage thanblack-eyed Polly when she set forth on this lonely pilgrimage to findlearning. She had heard of the danger of picking up with strangers, and the awful barred windows behind which young girls languished anddied, and so refused to answer when the Travelers' Aid of the Y. W. C. A. In friendliest tones asked if she might help her. 

Polly was not to be deceived by friendly tones. The friendly ones werethe worst! She held her head high and walked straight ahead, just asif she knew where she was going. Polly had a plan of action. She wasgoing to walk on and on until she came to a house marked in bigletters "BOARDING-HOUSE, " and she would go in there and tell the ladythat she wanted to get a room for one day, and then she would leaveher bundle and go out and find a school and see the teacher. Teacherswere all good men and would help you! Then she would find a placewhere they wanted a girl to mind a baby or wash dishes, or maybe milka cow; and perhaps she would have a bed all to herself. City houseswere so big and had so many rooms, and she had heard that in some ofthe beds only one person slept! Having her programme so well laid out, it is no wonder that she refused to confide in the blue serge lady whospoke to her. 

Polly set off at a quick pace, looking straight ahead of her acrossthe corner of the station yard, following the crowd. The Travelers'Aid followed close behind, determined to keep a close watch on theindependent little Russian girl. 

At the corner of First and Jasper, Polly stopped confused. A greatcrowd stood around the bulletin board and excitedly read the news ofthe Russian revolution; automobiles honked their horns, andstreet-cars clanged and newsboys shouted, and more people than Pollyhad ever seen before surged by her. For the first time Polly's stoutheart failed her. She had not thought it would be quite like this!

Turning round, she was glad to see the woman who had spoken to her atthe station. In this great bustling, pushing throng she seemed like anold friend. 

"Do you know where I could find a boarding-house?" asked Pollybreathlessly. 

The Travelers' Aid took her by the hand and piloted her safely acrossthe street; and when the street-car had clanged by and she could beheard, she told Polly that she would take her to a boarding-housewhere she would be quite safe. 

Polly stopped and asked her what was the name of the place. 

"Y. W. C. A. , " said the Aid, smiling. 

Polly gave a sigh of relief. "I know what that is, " she said. "Mr. Ellis said that was the place to go when you go to a city. Will youlet me stay until I find a school?"

"We'll find the school, " said the other woman. "That is what we arefor; we look after girls like you. We are glad to find a girl whowants to go to school. "

Polly laid her pack down to change hands and looked about her indelight. The big brick buildings, the store-windows, even thestreet-signs with their flaring colors, were all beautiful to her. 

"Gee!" she said, "I like the city--it's swell!"

Polly was taken to the office of the secretary of the Y. W. C. A. , andthere, under the melting influence of Miss Bradshaw's kind eyes andsweet voice, she told all her hopes and fears. 

"Our teacher has gone to be a soldier and we could not get another, for they say it is too lonesome--out our way--and how can it belonesome? There's children in every house. But, anyway, lady-teacherswon't come and the men are all gone to the war. I'll bet I won't bescared to teach when I grow up, but of course I won't be a lady; it'sdifferent with them--they are always scared of something. We have acabin for the teacher, and three chairs and a painted table and astove and a bed, and a brass knob on the door, and we always broughtcream and eggs and bread for the teacher; and we washed his dishes forhim, and the girl that had the best marks all week could scrub hisfloor on Friday afternoons. He was so nice to us all that we all criedwhen he enlisted, but he explained it all to us--that there are somethings dearer than life and he just felt that he had to go. He saidthat he would come back if he was not killed. Maybe he will only haveone arm and one leg, but we won't mind as long as there is enough ofhim to come back. We tried and tried to get another teacher, but thereare not enough to fill the good schools, and ours is twenty miles froma station and in a foreign settlement.... I'm foreign, too, " she addedhonestly; "I'm Russian. "

"The Russians are our allies, " said the secretary, "and you are a reallittle Canadian now, Polly, and you are not a bit foreign. I was bornin Tipperary myself, and that is far away from Canada, too. "

"Oh, yes, I know about it being a long way there, " Polly said. "Butthat doesn't matter, it is the language that counts. You see my mothercan't talk very good English and that is what makes us foreign, butshe wants us all to know English, and that is why she let me comeaway, and I will do all I can to learn, and I will be a teacher someday, and then I will go back and plant the garden and she will send mebutter, for I will live in the cabin. But it is too bad that we cannothave a teacher to come to us, for now, when I am away, there is no oneto teach my mother English, for Mary does not speak the English wellby me, and the other children will soon forget it if we cannot get ateacher. "

While she was speaking, the genial secretary was doing some hardthinking. This little messenger from the up-country had carried hermessage right into the heart of one woman, one who was accustomed tocarry her impulses into action. 

 * * * * *

The Local Council of Women of the City of Edmonton met the next day inthe club-room of the Y. W. C. A. , and it was a well-attended meeting, for the subject to be discussed was that of "National Service forWomen. " As the time drew near for the meeting to begin, it becameevident that great interest was being taken in the subject, for theroom was full, and animated discussions were going on in every corner. This was not the first meeting that had been held on this subject, andconsiderable indignation was heard that no notice had been taken bythe Government of the request that had been sent in some monthsprevious, asking that women be registered for national service as wellas men. 

"They never even replied to our suggestion, " one woman said. "Youwould have thought that common politeness would have prompted a reply. It was a very civil note that we sent--I wrote it myself. "

"Hush! Don't be hard on the Government, " said an older woman, lookingup from her knitting. "They have their own troubles--think of Quebec!And then you know women's work is always taken for granted; they knowwe will do our bit without being listed or counted. "

"But I want to do something else besides knitting, " the first speakersaid; "it could be done better and cheaper anyway by machinery, andthat would set a lot of workers free. Why don't we register ourselves, all of us who mean business? This is our country, and if theGovernment is asleep at the switch, that is no reason why we shouldbe. I tell you I am for conscription for every man and woman. "

"Well, suppose we all go with you and sign up--name, age, presentaddress; married?--if so, how often?--and all that sort of thing; whatwill you do with us, then?" asked Miss Wheatly, who was just back fromthe East where she had been taking a course in art. "I am tired ofhaving my feelings all wrought upon and then have to settle down toknitting a dull gray sock or the easy task of collecting Red Crossfunds from perfectly willing people who ask me to come in while theymake me a cup of tea. I feel like a real slacker, for I have never yetdone a hard thing. I did not let any one belonging to me go, for thefairly good reason that I have no male relatives; I give money, but Ihave never yet done without a meal or a new pair of boots when Iwanted them. There is no use of talking of putting me to work on afarm, for no farmer would be bothered with me for a minute, and thefarmer's wife has trouble enough now without giving her the care of agreenhorn like me--why, I would not know when a hen wanted to set!"

"You do not need to know, " laughed the conscriptionist; "the hen willattend to that without any help from you; and, anyway, we useincubators now and the hen is exempt from all family cares--she canhave a Career if she wants to. "

"I am in earnest about this, " Miss Wheatly declared; "I am tired ofthis eternal talk of national service and nothing coming of it. Now, if any of you know of a hard, full-sized woman's job that I can do, you may lead me to it!"

Then the meeting began. There was a very enthusiastic speaker who toldof the great gift that Canada had given to the Empire, the gift of menand wheat, bread and blood--the sacrament of empire. She then told ofwhat a sacrifice the men make who go to the front, who lay theiryoung lives down for their country and do it all so cheerfully. "Andnow, " she said, "what about those of us who stay at home, who havethree good meals every day, who sleep in comfortable beds and have notdeparted in any way from our old comfortable way of living. Wouldn'tyou like to do something to help win the war?"

There was a loud burst of applause here, but Miss Wheatly sat with aheavy frown on her face. 

"Wasn't that a perfectly wonderful speech?" the secretary whispered toher when the speaker had finished with a ringing verse of poetry allabout sacrifice and duty. 

"It is all the same old bunk, " Miss Wheatly said bitterly; "I oftenwonder how they can speak so long and not make one practicalsuggestion. Wouldn't you like to help win the war? That sounds sofoolish--of course we would like to win the war. It is like theold-fashioned evangelists who used to say, 'All who would like to goto heaven will please stand up. ' Everybody stood, naturally. "

While they were whispering, they missed the announcement that thepresident was making, which was that there was a young girl from theNorth Country who had come to the meeting and wished to say a fewwords. There was a deep, waiting silence, and then a small voice beganto speak. It was Miss Polly Rogowski from the Abilene Valley District. 

There was no fear in Polly's heart--she was not afraid of anything. Not being a lady, of course, and having no reputation to sustain, andbeing possessed with one thought, and complete master of it, herspeech had true eloquence. She was so small that the women at the backof the room had to stand up to see her. 

"I live at Abilene Valley and there are lots of us. I am fourteenyears old and Mary is twelve, and Annie is eleven, and Mike is ten, and Peter is nine, and Ivan is seven, and Olga is six, and that is allwe have old enough to go to school; but there are lots more of otherchildren in our neighborhood, but our teacher has gone away to the warand we cannot get another one, for lady-teachers are all too scared, but I don't think they would be if they would only come, for we willchop the wood, and one of us will stay at night and sleep on thefloor, and we will light the fires and get the breakfast, and we bringeggs and cream and everything like that, and we could give the teachera cat and a dog; and the girl that had done the best work all weekalways got to scrub the floor when our last teacher was there; and wehad a nice garden--and flowers, and now there is not anything, and thesmall children are forgetting what Mr. Ellis taught them; for ourschool has been closed all last summer, and sometimes Peter and Ivanand the other little boys go over to the cabin and look in at thewindows, and it is all so quiet and sad--they cry. "

There was a stricken silence in the room which Polly mistook for alack of interest and redoubled her efforts. 

"We have twenty-four children altogether and they are all wanting ateacher to come. I came here to go to school, but if I can get ateacher to go back with me, I will go back. I thought I would try tolearn quick and go back then, but when I saw all so many women ableto read right off, and all looking so smart at learning, I thought Iwould ask you if one of you would please come. We give our teachersixty-five dollars a month, and when you want to come home we willbring you to the station--it is only twenty miles--and the river isnot deep only when it rains, and then even I know how to get throughand not get in the holes; and if you will come we must go to-morrow, for the ice is getting rotten in the river and won't stand much sun. "

That was the appeal of the country to the city; of the foreign-born tothe native-born; of the child to the woman. 

The first person to move was Miss Wheatly, who rose quietly and walkedto the front of the room and faced the audience. "Madam President, "she began in her even voice, "I have been waiting quite a while forthis, I think. I said to-day that if any one knew of a real, full-sized woman's job, I would like to be led to it.... Well--itseems that I have been led"

She then turned to Polly and said, "I can read right off and am notafraid, not even of the river, if you promise to keep me out of theholes, and I believe I can find enough of a diploma to satisfy thedepartment, and as you have heard the river won't stand much sun, soyou will kindly notice that my address has changed to Abilene ValleyPost-Office. "

Polly held her firmly by the hand and they moved toward the door. Polly turned just as they were passing through the door and made herquaint and graceful curtsy, saying, "I am glad I came, and I guess wewill be for going now. "

CHAPTER XI

THE ORPHAN

 Just a little white-faced lad Sitting on the "Shelter" floor; Eyes which seemed so big and sad, Watched me as I passed the door. Turning back, I tried to win From that sober face a smile With some foolish, trifling thing, Such as children's hearts beguile. 

 But the look which shot me through Said as plain as speech could be: "Life has been all right for you! But it is no joke for me! I'm not big enough to know-- And I wonder, wonder why My dear 'Daddy' had to go And my mother had to die!

 "You've a father, I suppose? And a mother--maybe--too? You can laugh and joke at life? It has been all right for you? Spin your top, and wave your fan! You've a home and folks who care Laugh about it those who can! Joke about it--those who dare --But excuse me--if I'm glum I can't bluff it off--like some!"

 Then I sadly came away And felt guilty, all the day!

Dr. Frederick Winters was a great believer in personal liberty forevery one--except, of course, the members of his own family. For themhe craved every good thing except this. He was kind, thoughtful, courteous, and generous--a beneficent despot. 

There is much to be said in favor of despotic government after all. Itis so easy of operation; it is so simple and direct--one brain, onewill, one law, with no foolish back-talk, bickerings, murmurings, mutinies, letters to the paper. A democracy has it beaten, of course, on the basis of liberty, but there is much to be said in favor of anautocracy in the matter of efficiency. 

"King Asa did that which was right in the sight of the Lord"; and inhis reign the people were happy and contented and had no politicaldifferences. There being only one party, the "Asaites, " there were nopartisan newspapers, no divided homes, no mixed marriages, as we haveto-day when Liberals and Conservatives, disregarding the command to benot unequally yoked together, marry. All these distressingcircumstances were eliminated in good King Asa's reign. 

It is always a mistake to pursue a theory too far. When we turn thenext page of the sacred story we read that King Omri, with the samepowers as King Asa had had, turned them to evil account and oppressedthe people in many ways and got himself terribly disliked. Despotismseems to work well or ill according to the despot, and so, as a formof government, it has steadily declined in favor. 

Despotic measures have thriven better in homes than in states. Homes areguarded by a wall of privacy, a delicate distaste for publicity, ashrinking from all notoriety such as rebellion must inevitably bring, and for this reason the weaker ones often practice a peace-at-any-pricepolicy, thinking of the alert eyes that may be peering through the filetlace of the window across the street. 

Mrs. Winters submitted to the despotic rule of Dr. Winters for no suchreason as this. She submitted because she liked it, and because shedid not know that it was despotic. It saved her the exertion of makingdecisions for herself, and her conscience was always quite clear. "TheDoctor will not let me, " she had told the women when they had askedher to play for the Sunday services at the mission. "The Doctorthought it was too cold for me to go out, " had been her explanationwhen on one occasion she had failed to appear at a concert where shehad promised to play the accompaniments; and in time people ceased toask her to do anything, her promises were so likely to be broken. 

When the Suffrage agitators went to see her and tried to show her thatshe needed a vote, she answered all their arguments by saying, "I havesuch a good husband that these arguments do not apply to me at all";and all their talk about spiritual independence and personalresponsibility fell on very pretty, but very deaf, ears. The womensaid she was a hopeless case. 

"I wonder, " said one of the women afterwards in discussing her, "whenMrs. Winters presents herself at the heavenly gate and there is askedwhat she has done to make the world better, and when she has toconfess that she has never done anything outside of her own house, andnothing there except agreeable things, such as entertaining friendswho next week will entertain her, and embroidering 'insets' forcorset-covers for dainty ladies who already have corset-covers enoughto fill a store-window, --I wonder if she will be able to put it overon the heavenly doorkeeper that 'the Doctor would not let her. ' If allI hear is true, Saint Peter will say, 'Who is this person you call theDoctor?' and when she explains that the Doctor was her husband, SaintPeter will say, 'Sorry, lady, we cannot recognize marriage relationshere at all--it is unconstitutional, you know--there is no marrying orgiving in marriage after you cross the Celestial Meridian. I turnedback a woman this morning who handed in the same excuse--there seemsto have been a good deal of this business of one person's doing thethinking for another on earth, but we can't stand for it here. I'msorry, lady, but I can't let you in--it would be as much as my job isworth. '"

Upon this happy household, as upon some others not so happy, came thewar!--and Dr. Winters's heroic soul responded to the trumpet's call. He was among the first to present himself for active service in theOverseas Force. When he came home and told his wife, she got the firstshock of her life. It was right, of course, it must be right, but heshould have told her, and she remonstrated with him for the first timein her life. Why had he not consulted her, she asked, before takingsuch a vital step? Then Dr. Winters expressed in words one of theunderlying principles of his life. "A man's first duty is to hiscountry and his God, " he said, "and even if you had objected, it wouldnot have changed my decision. "

Mrs. Winters looked at him in surprise. "But, Frederick, " she cried, "I have never had any authority but you. I have broken promises whenyou told me to, disappointed people, disappointed myself, but nevercomplained--thinking in a vague way that you would do the same for meif I asked you to--your word was my law. What would you think if Ivolunteered for a nurse without asking you--and then told you mycountry's voice sounded clear and plain above all others?"

"It is altogether different, " he said brusquely. "The country'sbusiness concerns men, not women. Woman's place is to look after thehomes of the nation and rear children. Men are concerned with the bigthings of life. "

Mrs. Winters looked at him with a new expression on her face. "I havefallen down, then, " she said, "on one part of my job--I have broughtinto the world and cared for no children. All my life--and I am nowforty years of age--has been given to making a home pleasant for oneman. I have been a housekeeper and companion for one person. Itdoesn't look exactly like a grown woman's whole life-work, now, doesit?"

"Don't talk foolishly, Nettie, " he said; "you suit me. "

"That's it, " she said quickly; "I suit you--but I do not suit thechurch women, the Civic Club women, the Hospital Aid women, theChildren's Shelter women; they call me a slacker, and I am beginningto think I am. "

"I would like to know what they have to do with it?" he said hotly;"you are my wife and I am the person concerned. "

Without noticing what he said, she continued: "Once I wanted to adopta baby, you remember, when one of your patients died, and I would haveloved to do it; but you said you must not be disturbed at night and Isubmitted. Still, if it had been our own, you would have had to bedisturbed and put up with it like other people, and so I let you ruleme. I have never had any opinion of my own. "

"Nettie, you are excited, " he said gently; "you are upset, poor girl, about my going away--I don't wonder. Come out with me; I am going tospeak at a recruiting meeting. "

Her first impulse was to refuse, for there were many things she wantedto think out, but the habit of years was on her and she went. 

The meeting was a great success. It was the first days of the war, when enthusiasm seethed and the little town throbbed with excitement. The news was coming through of the destruction and violation ofBelgium; the women wept and men's faces grew white with rage. 

Dr. Winters's fine face was alight with enthusiasm as he spoke of thedebt that every man now owes to his country. Every man who is able tohold a gun, he said, must come to the help of civilization againstbarbarism. These dreadful outrages are happening thousands of milesaway, but that makes them none the less real. Humanity is beingattacked by a bully, a ruffian, --how can any man stay at home? Let noconsideration of family life keep you from doing your duty. Everyhuman being must give an account of himself to God. What did you do inthe great day of testing? will be the question asked you in that greatday of reckoning to which we are all coming. 

When he was through speaking, amid the thunderous applause, five youngmen walked down to the front and signified their intention of going. 

"Why, that's Willie Shepherd, and he is his mother's only support, "whispered one of the women; "I don't think he should go. "

When they went home that night Mrs. Winters told the Doctor what shehad heard the women say, and even added her remonstrance too. 

"This is no time for remonstrance, " he had cried; "his mother will getalong; the Patriotic Fund will look after her. I tell you humanrelationships are forgotten in this struggle! We must save ourcountry. One broken heart more or less cannot be taken intoconsideration. Personal comfort must not be thought of. There is onlyone limit to service and sacrifice, and that is capacity. "

Every night after that he addressed meetings, and every night recruitscame to the colors. His speeches vibrated with the spirit of sacrificeand the glory of service, and thrilled every heart that listened, andno heart was more touched than that of his wife, who felt that nofuture in the world would be so happy as to go and care for thewounded men. 

She made the suggestion one night, and was quite surprised to findthat the Doctor regarded it favorably. All that night she lay awakefrom sheer joy: at last she was going to be of service--she was goingto do something. She tried to tell herself of the hardships of thelife, but nothing could dim her enthusiasm. "I hope it will be hard, "she cried happily. "I want it hard to make up for the easy, idle yearsI have spent. I hate the ease and comfort and selfishness in which Ihave lived. "

The next day her application went in and she began to attend theambulance classes which were given in the little city by the doctorsand nurses. 

The Doctor was away so much that she was practically free to go andcome as she liked, and the breath of liberty was sweet to her. Shealso saw, with further pangs of conscience, the sacrifices which otherwomen were making. The Red Cross women seemed to work unceasingly. 

The President of the Red Cross came to her office every morning atnine, and stayed till five. 

"What about lunch?" Mrs. Winters asked her, one day. "Do you go home?"

"Oh, no, " said the other woman; "I go out and get a sandwich. "

"But I mean--what about your husband's lunch?"

"He goes home, " the president said, "and sees after the children whenthey come in from school--of course I have a maid, you know. "

"But doesn't he miss you dreadfully?" asked Mrs. Winters. 

"Yes, I think he does, but not any more than the poor fellows in thetrenches miss their wives. He is not able to go to the front himselfand he is only too glad to leave me free to do all I can. "

"But surely some other woman could be found, " said Mrs. Winters, "whohasn't got as many family cares as you have. "

"They could, " said the president, "but they would probably tell youthat their husbands like to have them at home--or some day would bestormy and they would 'phone down that 'Teddy' positively refused tolet them come out. We have been busy people all our lives and havebeen accustomed to sacrifice and never feel a bit sorry for it--we'veraised our six children and done without many things. It doesn't hurtus as it does the people who have always sat on cushioned seats. TheRed Cross Society knows that it is a busy woman who can always findtime to do a little more, and I am just as happy as can be doingthis. "

Mrs. Winters felt the unintentional rebuke in these words, and turnedthem over in her mind. 

One day, three months after this, the Doctor told her that it wasquite probable he would not be going overseas at all, for he washaving such success recruiting that the major-general thought itadvisable to have him go right on with it. "And so, Nettie, " he said, "you had better cancel your application to go overseas, for of course, if I do not go, you will not. "

For a moment she did not grasp what he meant. He spoke of it socasually. Not go! The thought of her present life of inactivity wasnever so repulsive. But silence fell upon her and she made no reply. 

"We will not know definitely about it for a few weeks, " he said, andwent on reading. 

After that, Mrs. Winters attended every recruiting meeting at whichher husband spoke, eagerly memorizing his words, hardly knowing why, but she felt that she might need them. She had never been able toargue with any one--one adverse criticism of her position alwayscaused her defense to collapse. So she collected all the material shecould get on the subject of personal responsibility and sacrifice. Herhusband's brilliant way of phrasing became a delight to her. Butalways, as she listened, vague doubts arose in her mind. 

One day when she was sewing at the Red Cross rooms, the women weretalking of a sad case that had occurred at the hospital. A soldier'swife had died, leaving a baby two weeks old and another little girl offour, who had been taken to the Children's Shelter, and who had criedso hard to be left with her mother. One of the women had been to seethe sick woman the day before she died, and was telling the othersabout her. 

"A dear little saint on earth she was--well bred, well educated, butwithout friends. Her only anxiety was for her children and sympathyfor her husband. 'This will be sad news for poor Bob, ' she said, 'buthe'll know I did my best to live--I cannot get my breath--that's theworst--if I could only get my breath--I would abide the pain _someway_. ' The baby is lovely, too, --a fine healthy boy. Now I wonder ifthere is any woman patriotic enough to adopt those two little oneswhose mother is dead and whose father is in the trenches. The babywent to the Shelter yesterday. "

"Of course they are well treated there, " said Mrs. Winters. 

"Well treated!" cried the president--"they are fed and kept warm andgiven all the care the matron and attendants can give them; but howcan two or three women attend to twenty-five children? They do allthey can, but it's a sad place just the same. I always cry when I seethe mother-hungry look on their faces. They want to be owned andloved--they need some one belonging to them. Don't you know thatsettled look of loneliness? I call it the 'institutional face, ' and Iknow it the minute I see it. Poor Bob Wilson--it will be sad news forhim--he was our plumber and gave up a good job to go. At the stationhe kept saying to his wife to comfort her, for she was crying herheart out, poor girl, 'Don't cry, Minnie dear, I'm leaving you ingood hands; they are not like strangers anymore, all these kindladies; they'll see you through. Don't you remember what the Doctorsaid, '--that was your husband, Mrs. Winters, --'the women are the bestsoldiers of all--so you'll bear up, Minnie. '

"Minnie was a good soldier right enough, " said the president, "but Iwonder what Bob will think of the rest of us when he comes home--ordoesn't come home. We let his Minnie die, and sent his two babies tothe Children's Shelter. In this manner have we discharged ourduty--we've taken it easy so far. "

Mrs. Winters sat open-eyed, and as soon as she could, left the room. She went at once to the Shelter and asked to see the children. 

Up the bare stairs, freshly scrubbed, she was taken, and into theday-nursery where many children sat on the floor, some idly playingwith half-broken toys, one or two wailing softly, not as if they werelooking for immediate returns, but just as a small protest againstthings in general. The little four-year-old girl, neatly dressed andsmiling, came at once when the matron called her, and quickly said, "Will you take me to my mother? Am I going home now?"

"She asks every one that, " the matron said aside. 

"I have a little brother now, " said the child proudly; "just down fromheaven--we knew he was coming. "

In one of the white cribs the little brother lay, in an embroideredquilt. The matron uncovered his face, and, opening one navy-blue eye, he smiled. 

"He's a bonnie boy, " the matron said; "he has slept ever since hecame. But I cannot tell--somebody--I simply can't. "

Mrs. Winters went home thinking so hard that she was afraid herhusband would see the thoughts shining out, tell-tale, in her face. 

She told him where she had been and was just leading up to the appealwhich she had prepared, for the children, when a young man called tosee the Doctor. 

The young fellow had called for advice: his wife would not give herconsent to his enlisting, and his heart was wrung with anxiety overwhat he should do. 

The Doctor did not hesitate a minute. "Go right on, " he said; "this isno time to let any one, however near and dear, turn us from our duty. We have ceased to exist as individuals--now we are a Nation and wemust sacrifice the individual for the State. Your wife will comearound to it and be glad that you were strong enough to do your duty. No person has any right to turn another from his duty, for we must allanswer to Almighty God in this crisis, not to each other. "

The next day, while the Doctor was away making a recruiting speech inanother town, the delivery van of the leading furniture store stood athis back door and one high chair stood in it, one white crib was beingput up-stairs in his wife's bedroom, and many foreign articles were inevidence in the room. The Swedish maid was all excitement and movedaround on tip-toe, talking in a whisper. 

"There ban coming a baby hare, and a li'l' girl. Gee! what will theDoctor man say! He ban quick enough to bring them other houses, nowant none for self--oh, gee!"

Then she made sure that the key was not in the study door, for Olgawas a student of human nature and wanted to get her informationfirst-hand. 

 * * * * *

When the Doctor came in late that night, Mrs. Winters met him at thedoor as usual. So absorbed was he in telling her of the success of hismeetings that he did not notice the excitement in her face. 

"They came to-night in droves, Nettie, " he said, as he drank the cocoashe had made for him. 

"They can't help it, Fred, " she declared enthusiastically, "when youput it to them the way you do. You are right, dear; it is not a timefor any person to hold others back from doing what they see theyshould. It's a personal matter between us and God--we are notindividuals any more--we are a state, and each man and woman must getunder the burden. I hate this talk of 'business as usual'--I tell youit is nothing as usual. "

He regarded her with surprise! Nettie had never made so long a speechbefore. 

"It's your speeches, Fred; they are wonderful. Why, man alive, youhave put backbone even into me--I who have been a jelly-fish all mylife--and last night, when I heard you explain to that young fellowthat he must not let his wife be his conscience, I got a suddenglimpse of things. You've been my conscience all my life, but, thankGod, you've led me out into a clear place. I'm part of the State, andI am no slacker--I am going to do my bit. Come, Fred, I want to showyou something. "

He followed her without a word as she led the way to the room upstairswhere two children slept sweetly. 

"They are mine, Fred, --mine until the war is over, at least, andPrivate Wilson comes back; and if he does not come back, or if he willlet me have them, they are mine forever. "

He stared at this new woman, who looked like his wife. 

"It was your last speech, Fred, --what you said to that young man. Youtold him to go ahead--his wife would come around, you said--she wouldsee her selfishness. Then I saw a light shine on my pathway. Everyspeech has stiffened my backbone a little. I was like the mouse whotimidly tiptoed out to the saucer of brandy, and, taking a sip, wentmore boldly back, then came again with considerable swagger; and atlast took a good drink and then strutted up and down saying, 'Bring onyour old black cat!' That's how I feel, Fred, --I'm going to be amother to these two little children whose own mother has passed on andwhose father is holding up the pillars of the Empire. It would hardlybe fair to leave them to public charity, now, would it?"

"Well, Nettie, " the Doctor said slowly, "I'll see that you do notattend any more recruiting meetings--you are too literal. But all thesame, " he said, "I am proud of my convert. "

Olga Jasonjusen tiptoed gently away from the door, and going down theback stairs hugged herself gayly, saying, "All over--but the kissing. Oh, gee! He ain't too bad! He's just needed some one to cheek up tohim. Bet she's sorry now she didn't sass him long ago. "

CHAPTER XII

THE WAR-MOTHER

I saw my old train friend again. It was the day that one of ourregiments went away, and we were all at the station to bid the boysgood-bye. 

The empty coaches stood on a siding, and the stream of khaki-clad menwound across the common from the Fair buildings, which were then usedas a military camp. The men were heavily loaded with all theirequipment, but cheerful as ever. The long-looked-for order to goforward had come at last!

Men in uniform look much the same, but the women who came with themand stood by them were from every station in life. There were twoUkrainian women, with colored shawls on their heads, who said good-byeto two of the best-looking boys in the regiment, their sons. It is nonew thing for the Ukrainian people to fight for liberty! There wereheavily veiled women, who alighted from their motors and silentlywatched the coaches filling with soldiers. Every word had been said, every farewell spoken; they were not the sort who say tempestuousgood-byes, but their silence was like the silence of the open grave. There were many sad-faced women, wheeling go-carts, with childrenholding to their skirts crying loudly for "Daddy. " There were tired, untidy women, overrun by circumstances, with that look about themwhich the Scotch call "through-other. " There were many brave littleboys and girls standing by their mothers, trying hard not to cry;there were many babies held up to the car-window to kiss a big brotheror a father; there were the groups of chattering young people, withtheir boxes of candy and incessant fun; there were brides of a day, with their white-fox furs and new suits, and the great new sorrow intheir eyes. 

One fine-looking young giant made his way toward the train withoutspeaking to any one, passing where a woman held her husband's hands, crying hysterically--we were trying to persuade her to let him go, for the conductor had given the first warning. 

"I have no one to cry over me, thank God!" he said, "and I think I amthe best off. " But the bitterness in his tone belied his words. 

"Then maybe I could pretend that you are my boy, " said a woman's voicebehind me, which sounded familiar; "you see I have no boy--now, andnobody to write to--and I just came down to-night to see if I couldfind one. I want to have some one belonging to me--even if they aregoing away!"

The young man laid down his bag and took her hand awkwardly. "I surewould be glad to oblige you, " he said, "only I guess you could get onethat was lots nicer. I am just a sort of a bo-hunk from the NorthCountry. "

"You'll do me, " said the old lady, whom I recognized at once as myformer train companion, --"you'll do me fine. Tell me your name andnumber, and I'll be your war-mother, --here's my card, I have it allready, --I knew I'd get some one. Now, remember, I am your Next of Kin. Give in my name and I'll get the cable when you get the D. S. O. , andI'll write to you every week and send you things. I just can't keepfrom sending parcels. "

"Gee! This is sudden!" said the boy, laughing; "but it's nice!"

"I lost my boys just as suddenly as this, " she said. "Billy and Tomwent out together--they were killed at Saint-Éloi, but Frank camethrough it all to Vimy Ridge. Then the message came ... Sudden too. One day I had him--then I lost him! Why shouldn't nice things comesuddenly too--just like this!"

"You sure can have me--mother, " the big fellow said. 

The conductor was giving the last call. Then the boy took her in hisarms and kissed her withered cheek, which took on a happy glow thatmade us all look the other way. 

She and I stood together and watched the grinding wheels as they beganto move. The spirit of youth, the indomitable, imperishable spirit ofyouth was in her eyes, and glowed in her withered face as she murmuredhappily, --

"I am one of the Next of Kin ... Again, and my new boy is on thattrain. "

We stood together until the train had gone from our sight. 

"Let me see, " I said, "how many chickens did you tell me that Biddyhen of yours had when the winter came?"

"Twenty-two, " she laughed. 

"Well, " I said, "it's early yet. "

"I just can't help it, " she said seriously; "I have to be in it! AfterI got the word about my last boy, it seemed for a few days that I hadcome to the end of everything. I slept and slept and slept, just likeyou do when you've had company at your house, --the very nicestcompany, and they go away!--and you're so lonely and idle, and tired, too, for you've been having such a good time you did not notice thatyou were getting near the edge. That's how I felt; but after a week Iwanted to be working at something. I thought maybe the Lord had leftmy hands quite free so I could help some one else.... You have playedcroquet, haven't you? You know how the first person who gets out hasthe privilege of coming back a 'rover, ' and giving a hand to any one. That's what I felt; I was a 'rover, ' and you'd be surprised at all Ihave found to do. There are so many soldiers' wives with children whonever get downtown to shop or see a play, without their children. Ihave lots to do in that line, and it keeps me from thinking. 

"I want you to come with me now, " she went on, "to see a woman who hassomething wrong with her that I can't find out. She has a sorethought. Her man has been missing since September, and is nowofficially reported killed. But there's something else bothering her. "

"How do you know?" I asked. 

She turned quickly toward me and said, "Have you any children?"

"Five, " I said. 

"Oh, well, then, you'll understand. Can't you tell by a child's crywhether it is hungry, or hurt, or just mad?"

"I can, I think, " I said. 

"Well, that's how I know. She's in deep grief over her husband, butthere's more than that. Her eyes have a hurt look that I wish I couldget out of them. You'll see it for yourself, and maybe we can get herto tell us. I just found her by accident last week--or at least, Ifound her; nothing happens by accident!"

We found her in a little faded green house, whose veranda was brokenthrough in many places. Scared-looking, dark-eyed children dartedshyly through the open door as we approached. In the darkened frontroom she received us, and, without any surprise, pleasure, orresentment in her voice, asked us to sit down. As our eyes becameaccustomed to the gloom, we wondered more and more why the sunshinewas excluded, for there was no carpet to fade, nor any furniture whichwould have been injured. The most conspicuous object in the room wasthe framed family group taken just before "her man" went away. He wasa handsome young fellow in his tidy uniform, and the woman beside himhad such a merry face that I should never have known her for the sadand faded person who had met us at the door. In the picture she wassmiling, happy, resolute; now her face was limp and frazzled, and hadan indefinable challenge in it which baffled me. My old friend wasright--there was a sore thought there!

The bright black eyes of the handsome soldier fascinated me; he was somuch alive; so fearless; so confident, so brave, --so much needed bythese little ones who clustered around his knee. Again, as I lookedupon this picture, the horrors of war rolled over my helpless heart. 

My old friend was trying hard to engage the woman in conversation, buther manner was abstracted and strange. I noticed her clothes were allblack, even the flannel bandage around her throat--she was recoveringfrom an attack of quinsy--was black too; and as if in answer to mythoughts, she said:--

"It was red--but I dyed it--I couldn't bear to have it red--itbothered me. That's why I keep the blinds down too--the sun hurtsme--it has no right to shine--just the same as if nothing hadhappened. " Her voice quivered with passion. 

"Have you any neighbors, Mrs. C----?" I asked; for her manner made meuneasy--she had been too much alone. 

"Neighbors!" she stormed, --"neighbors! I haven't any, and I do notwant them: they would only lie about me--the way they lied aboutFred!"

"Surely nobody ever lied about Fred, " I said, --"this fine, bravefellow. "

"He does look brave, doesn't he?" she cried. "You are a stranger, butyou can see it, can't you? You wouldn't think he was a coward, wouldyou?"

"I would stake everything on his bravery!" I said honestly, looking atthe picture. 

She came over and squeezed my hand. 

"It was a wicked lie--all a lie!" she said bitterly. 

"Tell us all about it, " I said; "I am sure there has been a mistake. "

She went quickly out of the room, and my old friend and I stared ateach other without speaking. In a few minutes she came back with a"paper" in her hand, and, handing it to me, she said, "Read that andyou'll see what they say!"

I read the announcement which stated that her husband had been missingsince September 29, and was now believed to have been killed. "This isjust what is sent to every one--" I began, but she interrupted me. 

"Look here!" she cried, leaning over my shoulder and pointing to thetwo words "marginally noted"--"What does that mean?"

I read it over again:--

"We regret to inform you that the soldier marginally noted, who hasbeen declared missing since September 29, is now believed to have beenkilled!"

"There!" she cried, "can't you see?" pointing again to the two words. "Don't you see what that means?--margin means the edge--and that meansthat Fred was noted for being always on the edge of the army, tryingto escape, I suppose. But that's a lie, for Fred was not that kind, Itell you--he was no coward!"

I saw where the trouble lay, and tried to explain. She would notlisten. 

"Oh, but I looked in the dictionary and I know: 'margin' means 'theedge, ' and they are trying to say that Fred was always edgingoff--you see--noted for being on the edge, that's what they say. "

We reasoned, we argued, we explained, but the poor little lonely soulwas obsessed with the idea that a deep insult had been put upon herman's memory. 

Then my old friend had an idea. She opened her purse and brought outthe notice which she had received of the death of her last boy. 

We put the two notices side by side, and told her that these wereprinted by the thousands, and every one got the same. Just the namehad to be filled in. 

Then she saw it!

"Oh!" she cried, "I am so glad you showed me this, for I have been sobitter. I hated every one; it sounded so hard and cold andhorrible--as if nobody cared. It was harder than losing Fred to havehim so insulted. But now I see it all!"

"Isn't it too bad, " said the old lady, as we walked home together, "that they do not have these things managed by women? Women wouldhave sense enough to remember that these notices go to many classes ofpeople--and would go a bit slow on the high-sounding phrases: theywould say, 'The soldier whose name appears on the margin of thisletter, ' instead of 'The soldier who is marginally noted'; it mightnot be so concise, but it is a heap plainer. A few sentences ofsympathy, too, and appreciation, written in by hand, would be acomfort. I tell you at a time like this we want something human, likethe little girl who was put to bed in the dark and told that theangels would keep her company. She said she didn't want angels--shewanted something with a skin face!--So do we all! We are panicky andtouchy, like a child that has been up too late the night before, andwe have to be carefully handled. All the pores of our hearts are openand it is easy to get a chill!"

As we rode home in the car she told me about the letter which had comethat day from her last boy:--

"It seemed queer to look at this letter and know that I would neverget another one from the boys. Letters from the boys have been a bigthing to me for many years. Billy and Tom were away from me for a longtime before the war, and they never failed to write. Frank was neveraway from me until he went over, and he was not much of aletter-writer, --just a few sentences! 'Hello, mother, how are you? I'mO. K. Hope you are the same. Sleeping well, and eating everything I canlay my hands on. The box came; it was sure a good one. Come again. So-long!' That was the style of Frank's letter. 'I don't want thispoor censor to be boring his eyes out trying to find state secrets inmy letters, ' he said another time, apologizing for the shortness ofit. 'There are lots of things that I would like to tell you, but Iguess they will keep until I get home--I always could talk better thanwrite. ' ... But this letter is different. He seemed to know that hewas going--west, as they say, and he wrote so seriously; all theboyishness had gone from him, and he seemed to be old, much older thanI am. These boys of ours are all older than we are now, --they haveseen so much of life's sadness--they have got above it; they see somany of their companions go over that they get a glimpse of the othershore. They are like very old people who cannot grieve the way youngerpeople can at leaving this life. "

Then I read the boy's letter. 

"Dear Mother, " it ran, "We are out resting now, but going in to-morrowto tackle the biggest thing that we have pulled off yet. You'll hearabout it, I guess. Certainly you will if we are successful. I hopethat this letter will go safely, for I want you to know just how Ifeel, and that everything is fine with me. I used to be scared stiffthat I would be scared, but I haven't been--there seems to besomething that stands by you and keeps your heart up, and with deathall around you, you see it is not so terrible. I have seen so many ofthe boys pass out, and they don't mind it. They fight like wild-catswhile they can, but when their turn comes they go easy. The awful roarof the guns does it. The silent tomb had a horrible sound to me when Iwas at home, but it sounds like a welcome now. Anyway, mother, whatever happens you must not worry. Everything is all right when youget right up to it--even death. I just wish I could see you, and makeyou understand how light-hearted I feel. I never felt better; my onlytrouble is that you will be worried about me, but just remember thateverything is fine, and that I love you. 

 "FRANK. "

AT THE LAST!

 O God, who hears the smallest cry That ever rose from human soul, Be near my mother when she reads My name upon the Honor Roll; And when she sees it written there, Dear Lord, stand to, behind her chair!

 Or, if it be Thy sacred will That I may go and stroke her hand, Just let me say, "I'm living still! And in a brighter, better land. " One word from me will cheer her so, O Lord, if you will let me go!

 I know her eyes with tears will blind, I think I hear her choking cry, When in the list my name she'll find-- Oh, let me--let me--let me try To somehow make her understand That it is not so hard to die!

 She's thinking of the thirst and pain; She's thinking of the saddest things; She does not know an angel came And led me to the water-springs, She does not know the quiet peace That fell upon my heart like rain, When something sounded my release, And something eased the scorching pain. She does not know, I gladly went And am with Death, content, content. 

 I want to say I played the game-- I played the game right to the end-- I did not shrink at shot or flame, But when at last the good old friend, That some call Death, came beckoning me, I went with him, quite willingly! Just let me tell her--let her know-- It really was not hard to go!

CHAPTER XIII

THE BELIEVING CHURCH

The gates of heaven are swinging open so often these days, as thebrave ones pass in, that it would be a wonder if some gleams ofcelestial brightness did not come down to us. 

We get it unexpectedly in the roar of the street; in the quiet of themidnight; in the sun-spattered aisles of the forest; in the faces ofour friends; in the turbid stream of our poor burdened humanity. Theyshine out and are gone--these flashes of eternal truth. The two worldscannot be far apart when the travel from one to the other is so heavy!No, I do not know what heaven is like, but it could not seem strangeto me, for I know so many people now who are there! Sometimes I feellike the old lady who went back to Ontario to visit, and who said shefelt more at home in the cemetery than anywhere else, for that iswhere most of her friends had gone!

These heavenly gleams have shown us new things in our civilization andin our social life, and most of all in our own hearts. Above all otherlessons we have learned, or will learn, is the fallacy of hatred. Hatred weakens, destroys, disintegrates, scatters. The world's diseaseto-day is the withering, blighting, wasting malady of hatred, whichhas its roots in the narrow patriotism which teaches people to lovetheir own country and despise all others. The superiority bug whichenters the brain and teaches a nation that they are God's chosenpeople, and that all other nations must some day bow in obeisance tothem, is the microbe which has poisoned the world. We must love ourown country best, of course, just as we love our own children best;but it is a poor mother who does not desire the highest good for everyother woman's child. 

We are sick unto death of hatred, force, brutality; blood-letting willnever bring about lasting results, for it automatically plants a cropof bitterness and a desire for revenge which start the trouble allover again. To kill a man does not prove that he was wrong, neitherdoes it make converts of his friends. A returned man told me abouthearing a lark sing one morning as the sun rose over theshell-scarred, desolated battlefield, with its smouldering piles ofruins which had once been human dwelling-places, and broken, splintered trees which the day before had been green and growing. Overthis scene of horror, hatred, and death arose the lark into themorning air, and sang his glorious song. "And then, " said the boy, ashe steadied himself on his crutches, "he sang the very same song overagain, just to show us that he could do it again and meant every wordof it, and it gave me a queer feeling. It seemed to show me that thelark had the straight of it, and we were all wrong. But, " he added, after a pause, "nobody knows how wrong it all is like the men who'vebeen there!"

Of course we know that the world did not suddenly go wrong. Itsthought must have been wrong all the time, and the war is simply themanifestation of it; one of them at least. But how did it happen? Thatis the question which weary hearts are asking all over the world. Weall know what is wrong with Germany. That's easy. It is always easierto diagnose other people's cases than our own--and pleasanter. We knowthat the people of Germany have been led away by their teachers, philosophers, writers; they worship the god of force; they recognizeno sin but weakness and inefficiency. They are good people, only fortheir own way of thinking; no doubt they say the same thing of us. 

Wrong thinking has caused all our trouble, and the world cannot besaved by physical means, but only by the spiritual forces which changethe mental attitude. When the sword shall be beaten into theploughshare and the spear into the pruning-hook, that will be theoutward sign of the change of thought from destructive, competitivemethods to constructive and coöperative regeneration of the world! Itis interesting to note that the sword and spear are not going to bethrown on the scrap-heap; they are to be transformed--made over. Allenergy is good; it is only its direction, which may become evil. 

It is not to be wondered at that the world has run to blind hatredwhen we stop to realize that the Church has failed to teach thepeaceable fruits of the spirit, and has preferred to fight humanbeings rather than prejudice, ignorance, and sin, and has too oftengauged success by competition between its various branches, ratherthan by coöperation against the powers of evil. 

At a recent convention of a certain religious body, one sister, whogave in her report as to how the Lord had dealt with the children ofmen in her part of the vineyard, deeply deplored the hardness of thesinners' hearts, their proneness to err, and the worldliness of evenprofessing Christians, who seemed now to be wholly given over to thelove of pleasure. She told also of the niggardly contributions; thesmall congregations. It was, indeed, a sad and discouraging tale thatshe unfolded. Only once did she show any enthusiasm, and that was inher closing words: "But I thank my Lord and Heavenly Master that theother church in our town ain't done no better!"

The Church is our oldest and best organization. It has enough energy, enough driving force, to better conditions for all if it could beproperly applied; but being an exceedingly respectable institution ithas been rather shy of changes, and so has found it hard to adaptitself to new conditions. It has clung to shadows after the substancehas departed; and even holds to the old phraseology which belongs to aday long dead. Stately and beautiful and meaningful phrases they were, too, in their day, but now their fires are dead, their lights are out, their "punch" has departed. They are as pale and sickly as the redlanterns set to guard the spots of danger on the street at night andcarelessly left burning all the next day. 

Every decade sees the people's problems change, but the Church goes onwith Balaam and Balak, with King Ahasuerus, and the two she-bears thatcame out of the woods. I shudder when I think of how much time hasbeen spent in showing how Canaan was divided, and how little time isspent on showing how the Dominion of Canada should be divided; of howmuch time has been given to the man born blind, and how little to aconsideration of the causes and prevention of that blindness; of thetime spent on our Lord's miraculous feeding of the five thousand, andhow little time is spent on trying to find out his plans for feedingthe hungry ones of to-day, who, we are bold to believe, are just asprecious in his sight. 

The human way is to shelve responsibility. The disciples came toChrist when the afternoon began to grow into evening, and said, "Thesepeople haven't anything to eat, send them away!" This is the humanattitude toward responsibility; that is why many a beggar gets aquarter--and is told to "beat it"! In this manner are we able toside-step responsibility. To-day's problems are apt to lead todifficulties; it is safer to discuss problems of long ago than of thepresent; for the present ones concern real people, and they may notlike it. Hush! Don't offend Deacon Bones; stick to Balaam--he's dead. 

In some respects the Church resembles a coal furnace that has beenburning quite a while without being cleaned out. There form in thebottom certain hard substances which give off neither light nor heat, nor allow a free current of air to pass through. These hard substancesare called "clinkers. " Once they were good pieces of burning coal, igniting the coal around them, but now their fire is dead, their heatis spent, and they must be removed for the good of the furnace. Something like this has happened in the Church. It has a heavypercentage of human "clinkers, " sometimes in the front pews, sometimesin the pulpit. They were good people once, too, possessed of spirituallife and capable of inspiring those around them. But spiritualexperiences cannot be warmed over--they must be new every day. That iswhat Saint Paul meant when he said that the outer man decays, but theinner man is renewed. An old experience in religion is of no morevalue than a last year's bird's nest! You cannot feed the hungry withlast year's pot-pies!

This is the day of opportunity for the Church, for the people areasking to be led! It will have to realize that religion is a "hereand now" experience, intended to help people with their human worriesto-day, rather than an elaborate system of golden streets, bigprocessions, walls of jasper, and endless years of listless loafing onthe shores of the River of Life! The Church has directed too muchenergy to the business of showing people how to die and teaching themto save their souls, forgetting that one of these carefully savedsouls is after all not worth much. Christ said, "He that saveth hislife shall lose it!" and "He that loseth his life for my sake shallfind it!" The soul can be saved only by self-forgetfulness. Themonastery idea of retirement from the world in order that one may besure of heaven is not a courageous way of meeting life's difficulties. But this plan of escape has been very popular even in Protestantchurches, as shown in our hymnology: "Why do we linger?" "We are butstrangers here"; "Father, dear Father, take Thy children home"; "Earthis a wilderness, heaven is my home"; "I'm a pilgrim and a stranger";"I am only waiting here to hear the summons, child, come home. " Theseare some of the hymns with which we have beguiled our weary days ofwaiting; and yet, for all this boasted desire to be "up and away, " thevery people who sang these hymns have not the slightest desire toleave the "wilderness. "

The Church must renounce the idea that, when a man goes forth topreach the Gospel, he has to consider himself a sort of glorifiedimmigration agent, whose message is, "This way, ladies and gentlemen, to a better, brighter, happier world; earth is a poor place to stickaround, heaven is your home. " His mission is to teach his people tomake of this world a better place--to live their lives here in such away that other men and women will find life sweeter for their havinglived. Incidentally we win heaven, but it must be a result, not anobjective. 

We know there is a future state, there is a land where thecomplications of this present world will be squared away. Some call ita Day of Judgment; I like best to think of it as a day ofexplanations. I want to hear God's side. Also I know we shall nothave to lie weary centuries waiting for it. When the black curtain ofdeath falls on life's troubled scenes, there will appear on it thesewords in letters of gold, "End of Part I. Part II will followimmediately. "

I know that I shall have a sweet and beautiful temper in heaven, wherethere will be nothing to try it, no worries, misunderstandings, elections, long and tedious telephone conversations; people who insiston selling me a dustless mop when I am hot on the trail of an idea. There will be none of that, so that it will not be difficult to keepsweet and serene. I would not thank any one to hand me a sword andshield when the battle is over; I want it now while the battle rages;I claim my full equipment now, not on merit, but on need. 

Everything in life encourages me to believe that God has provided afull equipment for us here in life if we will only take it. He wouldnot store up every good thing for the future and let us go short here. 

In a prosperous district in Ontario there stands a beautiful brickhouse, where a large family of children lived long ago. The parentsworked early and late, grubbing and saving and putting money in thebank. Sometimes the children resented the hard life which they led, and wished for picnics, holidays, new clothes, ice-cream, and theother fascinating things of childhood. Some of the more ambitious oneseven craved a higher education, but they were always met by the sameanswer when the request involved the expenditure of money. The answerwas: "It will all be yours some day. Now, don't worry; just let uswork together and save all we can; it's all for you children and itwill all be yours some day. You can do what you like with it when weare dead and gone!" I suppose the children in their heart of heartssaid, "Lord haste the day!"

The parents passed on in the fullness of time. Some of the childrenwent before them. Those who were left fell heir to the big house andthe beautiful grounds, but they were mature men and women then, andthey had lost the art of enjoyment. The habit of saving and grubbingwas upon them, and their aspirations for better things had long agodied out. Everything had been saved for the future, and now, when itcame, they found out that it was all too late. The time for learningand enjoyment had gone by. A few dollars spent on them when they wereyoung would have done so much. 

If that is a poor policy for earthly parents to follow, I believe itis not a good line for a Heavenly Parent to take. 

We need an equipment for this present life which will hold us steadyeven when everything around us is disturbed; that will make us desirethe good of every one, even those who are intent upon doing us evil;that will transform the humblest and most disagreeable task into oneof real pleasure; that will enable us to see that we have set too higha value on the safety of life and property and too trifling anestimate on spiritual things; that will give us a proper estimate ofour own importance in the general scheme of things, so that we willnot think we are a worm in the dust, nor yet mistake ourselves for thePresident of the Company!

The work of the Church is to teach these ethical values to the people. It must begin by teaching us to have more faith in each other, andmore coördination. We cannot live a day without each other, and everyday we become more interdependent. Times have changed since thecave-dwelling days when every man was his own butcher, baker, judge, jury, and executioner; when no man attempted more than he could doalone, and therefore regarded every other man as his natural enemy andrival, the killing of whom was good business. Coöperation began whenmen found that two men could hunt better than one, and so one drovethe bear out of the cave and the other one killed him as he went pastthe gap, and then divided him, fifty-fifty. That was the beginning ofcoöperation, which is built on faith. Strange, isn't it, that at thistime, when we need each other so badly, we are not kinder to eachother? Our national existence depends upon all of us--we have pooledour interests, everything we have is in danger, everything we havemust be mobilized for its defense. 

Danger such as we are facing should drive the petty little meannessesout of us, one would think, and call out all the latent heroism of ourpeople. People talk about this being the Church's day of opportunity. So it is, for the war is teaching us ethical values, which has alwaysbeen a difficult matter. We like things that we can see, lay out, andcount! But the war has changed our appraisement of things, both of menand of nations. A country may be rich in armies, ships, guns, andwealth, and yet poor, naked, and dishonored in the eyes of the world;a country may be broken, desolate, shell-riven, and yet have a namethat is honorable in all the earth. So with individuals. We have settoo high a value on property and wealth, too low an estimate onservice. 

Our ideas of labor have been wrong. Labor to us has meant somethingdisagreeable, which, if we endure patiently for a season, we may thenbe able to "chuck. " Its highest reward is to be able to quit it--to goon the retired list. 

"Mary married well, " declared a proud mother, "and now she does notlift a hand to anything. "

Poor Mary! What a slow time she must have!

The war is changing this; people are suddenly stripped of theirpossessions, whether they be railroad stock, houses, or lands, or, like that of a poor fellow recently tried for vagrancy here, whoseassets were found to be a third interest in a bear. It does notmatter--the wealthy slacker is no more admired than the poor one. Money has lost its purchasing quality when it comes to immunity fromresponsibility. 

The coördination of our people has begun, the forces of unity areworking; but they are still hindered by the petty little jealousiesand disputes of small people who do not yet understand the seriousnessof the occasion. So long as church bodies spend time fighting aboutmethods of baptism, and call conventions to pass resolutions againstchurch union, which would unquestionably add to the effectiveness ofthe Church and enable it to make greater headway against the powers ofevil; so long as the channels through which God's love should flow tothe people are so choked with denominational prejudice, it is not muchwonder that many people are experiencing a long, dry spell, bitterlycomplaining that the fountain has gone dry. Love, such as Christdemonstrated, is the only hope of this sin-mad world. When the Churchshows forth that love and leads the people to see that the reservoirsof love in the mountains of God are full to overflowing, and every mancan pipe the supply into his own heart and live victoriously, abundantly, gloriously, as God intended us all to live, then it willcome about that the sword will be beaten into the ploughshare and thespear into the pruning-hook, and the Lord will truly hear our prayerand heal our land. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE LAST RESERVES

To-day I read in one of our newspapers an account of a religiousconvention which is going on in our city. It said that one of the ladydelegates asked if, in view of the great scarcity of men to take thevarious fields, and the increased number of vacancies, the theologicalcourse in their colleges would be opened to women? And the reportsaid, "A ripple of amusement swept over the convention. "

I know that ripple. I know it well! The Church has always been amusedwhen the advancement of women has been mentioned right out boldly likethat. There are two things which have never failed to bring a laugh--agreat, round, bold oath on the stage, and any mention of womansuffrage in the pulpit. They have been sure laugh-producers. When wepray for the elevation of the stage in this respect, we should notforget the Church!

I have been trying to analyze that ripple of amusement. Here is thesituation: The men have gone out to fight. The college halls are emptyof boys, except very young ones. One of the speakers at the samesession said, "We do not expect to get in boys of more than eighteenyears of age. " Churches are closed for lack of preachers. What is tobe done about it? No longer can Brother M. Be sent to England to bringover pink-cheeked boys to fill the ranks of Canada's preachers. Thepink-cheeked ones are also "over there. " There is no one to call uponbut women. So why was the suggestion of the lady delegate receivedwith amusement? Why was it not acted upon? For although there weremany kind and flattering things said about women, their great servicesto Church and State, yet the theological course was not opened. 

The Church has been strangely blind in its attitude toward women, andwith many women it will be long remembered with a feeling ofbitterness that the Church has been so slow to move. 

The Government of the Western Provinces of Canada gave full equalityto women before that right was given by the Church. The Church has notgiven it yet. The Church has not meant to be either unjust or unkind, and the indifference and apathy of its own women members have giventhe unthinking a reason for their attitude. Why should the vote beforced on women? they have asked. It is quite true that the women ofthe Church have not said much, for the reason that many of thebrightest women, on account of the Church's narrowness, have withdrawnand gone elsewhere, where more liberty could be found. This isunfortunate, and I think a mistake on the part of the women. Better tohave stayed and fought it out than to go out slamming the door. 

Many sermons have I listened to in the last quarter of a century offairly regular church attendance; once I heard an Englishman preachingbitterly of the Suffragettes' militant methods, and he said theyshould all "be condemned to motherhood to tame their wild spirits. "And I surely had the desire to slam the door that morning, for Ithought I never heard a more terrible insult to all womankind than tospeak of motherhood as a punishment. But I stayed through the service;I stayed after the service! I interviewed the preacher. So did manyother women! He had a chastened spirit when we were through with him. 

I have listened to many sermons that I did not like, but I possessedmy soul in patience. I knew my turn would come--it is a long lane thathas no tomato-cans! My turn did come--I was invited to address theconference of the Church, and there with all the chief offenders linedup in black-coated, white-collared rows, I said all that was in myheart, and they were honestly surprised. One good old brother, who Ido not think had listened to a word that I said, arose at the back ofthe church and said: "I have listened to all that this lady has had tosay, but I am not convinced. I have it on good authority that inColorado, where women vote, a woman once stuffed a ballot-box. How canthe lady explain that?" I said I could explain it, though, indeed, Icould not see that it needed any explanation. No one could expectwomen to live all their lives with men without picking up some oftheir little ways! That seemed to hold the brother for a season!

The Church's stiff attitude toward women has been a hard thing toexplain to the "world. " Many a time I have been afraid that it wouldbe advanced as a reason for not considering woman suffrage in theState. "If the Church, " politicians might well have said, "with itsspiritual understanding of right and justice, cannot see its way clearto give the vote to women, why should the State incur the risk?"Whenever I have invited questions, at the close of an address, I havefeared that one. That cheerful air of confidence with which I urgedpeople to speak right up and ask any question they wished alwayscovered a trembling and fearful heart. You have heard of peoplewhistling as they passed a graveyard, and perhaps you thought thatthey were frivolously light-hearted? Oh, no! That is not why theywhistled!

When the vote was given to the women in our province and all theother Western provinces, I confess that I thought our worst troubleswere over. I see now that they were really beginning. A secondHindenburg line has been set up, and seems harder to pierce than thefirst. It is the line of bitter prejudice! Some of those who, at thetime the vote was given, made eloquent speeches of welcome, declaringtheir long devotion to the cause of women, are now busily engaged intrying to make it uncomfortably hot for the women who dare to enterthe political field. They are like the employers who furnish seats fortheir clerks in the stores, yet make it clear that to use them maycost their jobs. 

The granting of the franchise to women in western Canada, was broughtabout easily. It won, not by political pressure, but on its merits. There is something about a new country which beats out prejudice, andthe pioneer age is not so far removed as to have passed out of memory. The real men of the West remember gratefully how the women stood bythem in the old hard days, taking their full share of the hardshipsand the sacrifice uncomplainingly. It was largely this spirit whichprompted the action of the legislators of the West. As Kipling says:--

 Now and not hereafter, while the breath is in our nostrils, Now and not hereafter, ere the meaner years go by, Let us now remember many honorable women-- They who stretched their hands to us, when we were like to die!

There was not any great opposition here in western Canada. One memberdid say that, if women ever entered Parliament, he would immediatelyresign; but the women were not disturbed. They said that it was justanother proof of the purifying effect that the entrance of women intopolitics would have! Sitting in Parliament does not seem like such ahard job to those of us who have sat in the Ladies' Gallery and lookedover; there is such unanimity among members of Parliament, suchremarkable and unquestioning faith in the soundness of their party'sopinion. In one of the Parliaments of the West there sat for twelveyears an honored member who never once broke the silence of the backbenches except to say, "Aye, " when he was told to say, "Aye. " But ontoward the end of the thirteenth year he gave unmistakable signs oflife. A window had been left open behind him, and when the draft blewover him--he sneezed! Shortly after, he got up and shut the window!

Looking down upon such tranquil scenes as these there are women whohave said in their boastful way that they believe they could do justas well--with a little practice!

Women who sit in Parliament will do so by sheer merit, for there isstill enough prejudice to keep them out if any reason for so doing canbe found. Their greatest contribution, in Parliament and out of it, will be independence of thought. 

Women have not the strong party affiliations which men have. They haveno political past, no political promises to keep, no political sins toexpiate. They start fair and with a clean sheet. Those who make themistake of falling into old party lines, and of accepting ready-madeopinions and prejudices, will make no difference in the politicallife of the country except to enlarge the voters' list and increasethe expenses of elections. 

Just now partyism is falling into disfavor, for there are too manyserious questions to be fought out. There are still a few people whowould rather lose the war than have their party defeated, but notmany. "When the Empire is in danger is no time to think of men, "appeals to the average thinking man and woman. The independent man whocarefully thinks out issues for himself, and who is not led away byelection cries, is the factor who has held things steady in the past. Now it seems that this independent body will be increased by the newvoters, and if so, they will hold in their hands the balance of powerin any province, and really become a terror to evil-doers as well as apraise to those who do well!

Old things are passing away, and those who have eyes to see it knowthat all things are becoming new. The political ideals of the far-off, easy days of peace will not do for these new and searching times. Political ideals have been different from any other. Men who wouldnot rob a bank or sandbag a traveler, and who are quite punctiliousabout paying their butcher and their baker, have been known to rob thecountry quite freely and even hilariously, doctoring an expense sheet, overcharging for any service rendered. "Good old country, " they haveseemed to say, "if I do not rob you, some one else will!"

This easy conscience regarding the treasury of the country is earlyshown in the attitude toward road-work, those few days' labor whichthe municipality requires men to do as part payment of their taxes. Who has not noticed the languorous ease of the lotus-eatingroad-workers as they sit on their plough-handles and watch the slowafternoon roll by?

Politics too long has been a mystical word which has brought visionsof a dark but fascinating realm of romantic intrigue, sharp deals, good-natured tricks, and lucky strikes. The greatest asset apolitician can have is the ability to "put it over" and "get somethingfor us. " The attitude of the average voter has been that ofexpectancy. If he renders a public service, he expects to beremunerated. His relation to his country has not been, "What can Ido?" but, "What can I get?" His hand has been outstretched palmupward! Citizenship to us has not meant much; it has come too easy, like money to the rich man's son! All things have been ours byinheritance--free speech, freedom of religion, responsible government. Somebody fought for these things, but it was a long time ago, and onlyin a vague way are we grateful! These things become valuable only whenthreatened. 

There hangs on the wall, in one of the missions in the city ofWinnipeg, a picture of a street in one of the Polish villages. In itthe people are huddled together, cowering with fear. The priest, holding aloft the sacred crucifix, stands in front of them, while downthe street come the galloping Cossacks with rifles and bayonets. Polish men and women have cried bitter tears before that picture. Theyknew what happened. They knew that the sacred sign of the crucifix didnot stay the fury of the Cossacks! These are the people, these Polishpeople, who have been seen to kiss the soil of Canada in an ecstasy ofgladness when they set foot upon it, for it is to them the land ofliberty. Liberty of speech and of action, safety of life and ofproperty mean something to them; but we have always enjoyed thesethings, and esteem them lightly. 

The first blow between the eyes that our complacency received wasBelgium!--that heroic little country to whose people citizenship wasso much dearer than life or riches, or even the safety of their lovedones, that they flung all these things away, in a frenzy of devotion, for the honor of their country and her good name among nations. Thishas disturbed us: we cannot forget Belgium. It has upset ourcomfortable Canadian conscience, for it has given us a glimpse of theupper country, and life can never be the same again. It is not all oflife to live--that is, grow rich and quit work. 

The heroism of the trenches is coming back to us. It is filteringthrough. It is the need for heroism which is bringing it out. We areplaying a losing game, even though we are winning. There is only onething more disastrous than a victory, and that is a defeat. I do notneed to enumerate what we are losing--we know. What can we do to makegood the loss? Some of our people have always done all they could:they have always stood in the front trench and "carried on"; othershave been in the "stand-to" trench, and have done well, too, in timeof stress. Many have not yet signed on, but they will: they are notcowards, they are only indifferent. This has been true of theprotected woman in the home, who has not considered herself a citizen. 

We have come to the place now when our full force must be called out. The women are our last reserves. If they cannot heal the world, we arelost, for they are the last we have--we cannot call the angels down. The trumpets are calling now in every street of every town, in everycountry lane, even in the trackless fastnesses of the North Country. The call is for citizens, --woman citizens, --who, with deft andskillful fingers, will lovingly, patiently undertake the task ofpiecing together the torn mantle of civilization; who will make it sostrong, so beautiful, so glorified, that never again can it be torn orsoiled or stained with human blood. The trumpets are calling forhealers and binders who will not be appalled at the task of nursingback to health a wounded world, shot to pieces by injustice, greed, cruelty, and wrong thinking. 

The sign of the Red Cross is a fitting emblem for the Order, worn notonly on the sleeve, but in the heart; red to remind its wearer thatGod made all people of one blood, and is the Father of all; and theCross which speaks of the One whose mission on earth was to save; whocame not to be ministered unto, but to minister. Every one who signson does so for "duration, " and must consider herself under ordersuntil the coming in of that glad day

 "When men shall brothers be And form one family The wide world o'er!"

CHAPTER XV

LIFE'S TRAGEDY

 It often happens that people die At the hand of that they loved the best; One who loves horses all his days By a horse's hoof is laid to rest!

 The swimmer who loves on the waves to lie Is caught in the swell of a passing boat, And the thing he loves breaks over his head And chokes the breath from his gasping throat. 

 And the Christ who loved all men so well That he came to earth their friend to be, By one was denied, by one betrayed, By others nailed to the cursèd tree!

 And more and more I seem to see That Love is the world's great Tragedy!

Love is a terrible thing--quite different from amiability, which issometimes confused with it. Amiability will never cause people to dohard things, but love will tear the heart to pieces!

It was because the people of Belgium loved their country that theychose to suffer all things rather than have her good name tarnishedamong the nations of the earth. It has been for love, love of fairplay, love of British traditions, that Canada has sent nearly fourhundred thousand men across the sea to fight against the powers ofdarkness. Canada has nothing to gain in this struggle, in a materialway, as a nation, and even less has there been any chance of gain tothe individual who answered the call. There are many things that mayhappen to the soldier after he has put on the uniform, but suddenriches is not among them. 

Some of the men, whose love of country made them give up all andfollow the gleam, have come back to us now, and on pleasant afternoonsmay be seen sitting on the balconies of the Convalescent Homes orperhaps being wheeled in chairs by their more fortunate companions. Their neighbors, who had an amiable feeling for the country instead oflove, and who therefore stayed at home, are very sorry for thesebroken men, and sometimes, when the day is fine, they take the"returned men" out in their big cars for a ride!

There are spiritual and moral dead-beats in every community who getthrough life easily by following a "safety-first" plan in everything, who keep close to the line of "low visibility, " which means, "Keepyour head down or you may get hit"; who allow others to do thefighting and bear all the criticism, and then are not even graciousenough to acknowledge the unearned benefits. The most popular man inevery community is the one who has never taken a stand on any moralquestion; who has never loved anything well enough to fight for it;who is broad-minded and tolerant--because he does not care.... Amiability fattens, but love kills!

Amiable patriots at the present time talk quite cheerfully of theconscription of life, but say little of the conscription of wealth, declaring quite truthfully that wealth will never win the war! Neitherwill men! It will take both, and all we have, too, I am afraid. Surelyif the government feels that it can ask one man for his life, it neednot be so diffident about asking another man for his wealth. Theconscription of wealth might well begin with placing all articles offood and clothing on the free list and levying a direct tax on allland values. Then, if all profits from war-supplies were turned overto the government, there would be money enough to pay a fair allowanceto our soldiers and their dependents. It does not seem fair that thesoldier should bear all the sacrifices of hardship and danger, andthen have the additional one of poverty for his family and theprospect of it for himself, when he comes back unfit for his formeroccupation. Hardship and danger for the soldier are inevitable, butpoverty is not. The honest conscription of wealth would make itpossible for all who serve the Empire to have an assurance of a decentliving as long as they live. 

If equal pay were given to every man, whether he is a private or amajor, equal pensions to every soldier's widow, and if all politicalpreference were eliminated, as it would have to be under this system;when all service is put on the same basis and one man's life counts asmuch as another's, there would be no need of compulsion to fill theranks of the Canadian army. We know that there never can be equalityof service--the soldier will always bear the heavy burden, and nomoney can ever pay him for what he does; but we must not take refugebehind that statement to let him bear the burdens which belong to thepeople who stay at home. 

Heroism is contagious. It becomes easier when every one is practicingit. What we need now, more than anything, are big, strong, heroicleaders, men of moral passion, who will show us the hard path ofsacrifice, not asking us to do what they are not willing to dothemselves; not pointing the way, but traveling in it; men of heroicmould who will say, "If my right eye offend me, I will pluck it out";men who are willing to go down to political death if the country canbe saved by that sacrifice. We need men at home who are as brave asthe boys in the trenches, who risk their lives every day in a dozendifferent ways, without a trace of self-applause, who have laid alltheir equipment on the altar of sacrifice; who "carry on" when allseems hopeless; who stand up to death unflinchingly, and at the last, ask only, that their faces may be turned to the West!--to Canada!

We have always had plenty of amiability, but in this terrible time itwill not do. Our country is calling for love. 

CHAPTER XVI

WAITING!

 Sing a song of the Next of Kin, A weary, wishful, waiting rhyme, That has no tune and has no time, But just a way of wearing in!

 Sing a song of those who weep While slow the weary night hours go; Wondering if God willed it so, That human life should be so cheap!

 Sing a song of those who wait, Wondering what the post will bring; Saddened when he slights the gate, Trembling at his ring, --

 The day the British mail comes in Is a day of thrills for the Next of Kin. 

When the Alpine climbers make a dangerous ascent, they fasten a ropefrom one to the other; so that if one slips, the others will be ableto hold him until he finds his feet again; and thus many a catastropheis averted! We have a ring like that here--we whose boys are gone. Somebody is almost sure to get a letter when the British mail comesin; and even a letter from another boy read over the 'phone ischeering, especially if he mentions your boy--or even if he doesn't;for we tell each other that the writer of the letter would surely know"if anything had happened. "

Even "Posty" does his best to cheer us when the letters are far apart, and when the British mail has brought us nothing tells us it was avery small, and, he is sure, divided mail, and the other part of itwill be along to-morrow. He also tells us the U-boats are probablyaccounting for the scarcity of French mail, anyway, and we must not beworried. He is a good fellow, this "Posty"!

We hold tight to every thread of comfort--we have to. That's why wewear bright-colored clothes: there is a buoyancy, an assurance aboutthem, that we sorely need! We try to economize on our emotions, too, never shedding a useless or idle tear! In the days of peace we couldafford to go to see "East Lynne, " "Madame X, " or "Romeo and Juliet, "and cry our eyes red over their sorrows. Now we must go easy on allthat! Some of us are running on the emergency tank now, and there isstill a long way to go!

There are some things we try not to think about, especially at night. There is no use--we have thought it all over and over again; and nowour brains act like machines which have been used for sewing somethingtoo heavy for them, and which don't "feed" just right, and skipstitches. So we try to do the things that we think ought to be done, and take all the enjoyment we can from the day's work. 

We have learned to divide our time into day-lengths, following theplan of the water-tight compartments in ships, which are so arrangedthat, if a leak occurs in one of these, the damaged one may be closedup, and no harm is done to the ship. So it is in life. We can live socompletely one day at a time that no mournful yesterday can throw itsdull shadow on the sunshine of to-day; neither can any frowningto-morrow reach back and with a black hand slap its smiling face. To-day is a sacred thing if we know how to live it. 

I am writing this on the fourth day of August, which is a day whenmemory grows bitter and reflective if we are not careful. The Augustsunshine lies rich and yellow on the fields, and almost perceptiblythe pale green of the wheat is absorbing the golden hue of the air. The painted cup has faded from rosy pink to a dull, ashy color, andthe few wild roses which are still to be seen in the shaded placeshave paled to a pastel shade. The purple and yellow of goldenrod, wildsage, gallardia, and coxcomb are to be seen everywhere--the strong, bold colors of the harvest. 

Everything spoke of peace to-day as we drove through the country. Theair had the indescribably sweet smell of ripening grain, clover-blooms, and new hay; for the high stands of wild hay around theponds and lakes are all being cut this year, and even the timothyalong the roads, and there was a mellow undertone of mowing machineseverywhere, like the distant hum of a city. Fat cattle stood knee-deepin a stream as we passed, and others lay contentedly on theclover-covered banks. One restless spirit, with a poke on her neck, sniffed at us as we went by, and tossed her head in grim defiance ofpublic opinion and man-made laws. She had been given a bad name--andwas going to live up to it!

Going over a hill, we came upon a woman driving a mower. It was thefirst reminder of the war. She was a fine-looking woman, with a tannedface, brown, but handsome, and she swung her team around the edge ofthe meadow with a grace and skill that called forth our admiration. 

I went over and spoke to her, for I recognized her as a woman whom Ihad met at the Farm-Woman's Convention last winter. After we hadexchanged greetings, and she had made her kind inquiry, "What news doyou get from the Front?" and had heard that my news had been good--shesaid abruptly:--

"Did you know I've lost my husband?"

I expressed my sorrow. 

"Yes, " she said, "it was a smashing blow--never believed Alex could bekilled: he was so big, and strong, and could do anything.... Eversince I can remember, I thought Alex was the most wonderful of allpeople on earth ... And at first ... When the news came, it seemed Icould not go on living ... But I am all right now, and have thoughtthings out.... This isn't the only plane of existence ... There areothers; this is merely one phase of life.... I am taking a longer viewof things now.... You see that schoolhouse over there, "--she pointedwith her whip to a green-and-white school farther down theroad, --"Alex and I went to school there.... We began the same day andleft the same day. His family and mine settled in this neighborhoodtwenty years ago--we are all Kincardine people--Bruce, you know. Ourroad to school lay together on the last mile ... And we had a way oftelling whether the other one had passed. We had a red willow stickwhich we drove into the ground. Then, when I came along in the morningand found it standing, I knew I was there first. I pulled it out andlaid it down, so when Alex came he knew I had passed, and hurriedalong after me. When he came first and found it standing, he alwayswaited for me, if he could, for he would rather be late than gowithout me. When I got the message I could not think of anything butthe loneliness of the world, for a few days; but after a while Irealized what it meant ... Alex had passed ... The willow was down ... But he'll wait for me some place ... Nothing is surer than that! I amnot lonely now.... Alex and I are closer together than plenty ofpeople who are living side by side. Distance is a matter of spirit ... Like everything else that counts. 

"I am getting on well. The children are at school now, both ofthem, --they sit in the same seats we sat in, --the crops are in goodshape--did you ever see a finer stand of wild hay? I can manage thefarm, with one extra hired man in harvest-time. Alex went out on thecrest of the wave--he had just been recommended for promotion--thechildren will always have a proud memory. 

"This is a great country, isn't it? Where can you find such abundance, and such a climate, with its sunshine and its cool nights, and such achance to make good?... I suppose freedom has to be paid for. Wethought the people long ago had paid for it, but another installmentof the debt fell due. Freedom is like a farm--it has to be kept up. Itis worth something to have a chance to work and bring up mychildren--in peace--so I am living on from day to day ... Not grieving... Not moping ... Not thinking too much, --it hurts to think toohard, --just living. "

Then we shook hands, and I told her that she had found something fargreater than happiness, for she had achieved power!

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There is a fine rainbow in the sky this evening, so bright and strongthat it shows again in a reflected bow on the clouds behind it. Arainbow is a heartsome thing, for it reminds us of a promise made longago, and faithfully kept. 

There is shadow and shine, sorrow and joy, all the way along. This isinevitable, and so we must take them as they come, and rejoice overevery sunny hour of every day, or, if the day is all dark, we must gohopefully forward through the gloom. 

To-day has been fine. There was one spattering shower, which pebbledthe dusty roads, and a few crashes of rolling thunder. But the westernsky is red now, giving promise of a good day to-morrow. 

A PRAYER FOR THE NEXT OF KIN

 O Thou, who once Thine own Son gave To save the world from sin, Draw near in pity now we crave To all the Next of Kin. To Thee we make our humble prayer To save us from despair!

 Send sleep to all the hearts that wake; Send tears into the eyes that burn; Steady the trembling hands that shake; Comfort all hearts that mourn. But most of all, dear Lord, we pray For strength to see us through this day. 

 As in the wilderness of old, When Thou Thy children safely led, They gathered, as we have been told, One day's supply of heavenly bread, And if they gathered more than that, At evening it was stale and flat, --

 So, Lord, may this our faith increase-- To leave, untouched, to-morrow's load, To take of grace a one-day lease Upon life's winding road. Though round the bend we may not see, Still let us travel hopefully!

 Or, if our faith is still so small-- Our hearts so void of heavenly grace, That we may still affrighted be In passing some dark place-- Then in Thy mercy let us run Blindfolded in the race. 

THE END

 The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS U. S. A. 

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