ere was
work for me, if ever the world held work for any man.

I did not wait to begin my work in the hospitals. Everywhere I went,
where there were wounded men, I sang for those who were strong enough
to be allowed to listen, and told them stories, and did all I could
to cheer them up. It was heartrending work, oftentimes. There were
dour sights, dreadful sights in those hospitals. There were wounds
the memory of which robbed me of sleep. There were men doomed to
blindness for the rest of their lives.

But over all there was a spirit that never lagged or faltered, and
that strengthened me when I thought some sight was more than I could
bear. It was the spirit of the British soldier, triumphant over
suffering and cruel disfigurement, with his inevitable answer to any
question as to how he was getting on. I never heard that answer
varied when a man could speak at all. Always it was the same. Two
words were enough.

"All right!"

CHAPTER V

As I went about the country now, working hard to recruit men, to
induce people to subscribe to the war loan, doing all the things in
which I saw a chance to make myself useful, there was now an ever
present thought. When would John go out? He must go soon. I knew
that, so did his mother. We had learned that he would not be sent
without a chance to bid us good-by. There we were better off than
many a father and mother in the early days of the war. Many's the
mother who learned first that her lad had gone to France when they
told her he was dead. And many's the lassie who learned in the same
way that her lover would never come home to be her husband.

But by now Britain was settled down to war. It was as if war were the
natural state of things, and everything was adjusted to war and those
who must fight it. And many things were ordered better and more
mercifully than they had been at first.

It was in April that word came to us. We might see John again, his
mother and I, if we hurried to Bedford. And so we did. For once I
heeded no other call. It was a sad journey, but I was proud and glad
as well as sorry. John must do his share. There was no reason why my
son should take fewer risks than another man's. That was something
all Britain was learning in those days. We were one people. We must
fight as one; one for all--all for one.

John was sober when he met us. Sober, aye! But what a light there was
in his eyes! He was eager to be at the Huns. Tales of their doings
were co