ly be a general, and who knows but I may get to be a
lance-corporal!"

There was more in the same light strain and a note for Christina from
Sandy, saying he was taking the officers' course and she must remember
when he came home to say "sir" to him when she addressed him.

But Christina did not read the letter through at first. When the full
meaning of it burst upon her she turned to her mother, expecting to see
tears, but instead her mother's small bent figure had grown suddenly
straight and her eyes were shining with a strange mingling of pride and
anguish.

"Oh, Mother!" cried Christina, "oh, don't I wish I were a boy!"

"Whisht, whisht!" cried her mother, "I could ill spare you, Christine,
I can ill spare the lads." And then she rose and went quietly into the
bedroom and shut the door, and Christina knew that her mother had gone
for strength to bear this trial to the source of all power.

When Wallace came up the hill the next evening, he found the Lindsays
in a state of subdued excitement. Christina's cheeks were crimson and
her eyes shone until she looked positively handsome.

"Sandy and Neil are both going to the war," she cried half in dismay,
half in exultation.

"Are they really?" asked Wallace. "They're lucky. This beastly
breakdown of mine has spoiled all my chances. My, I'd like to be in
their boots!"

Christina felt a sudden rising of resentment. "I don't think they are
a bit lucky," she burst forth. "You surely don't call it lucky to go
to the front and get badly wounded, and perhaps killed?"

Wallace smiled a superior smile. "There's not much danger of that.
The boys won't get over there for a year at best, and the war will
likely be all over by that time. Germany can't stand this strain for
many more months."

Christina had a distinct feeling of disappointment. She had wanted
Wallace to admire the boys for all they were giving up, and he was
calling them lucky, and maintaining an envious attitude as though they
were off on a free trip to Europe. She changed the subject hastily and
he did not refer to the war again that evening.

Jimmie and Uncle Neil alone were filled with rejoicing. Uncle Neil
felt an exultation that he was at pains to hide. He said little, for
his sister's anguished eyes forbade that he voice the pride that was
consuming him, but he sat up half the night playing his fiddle, and for
the next few days he went about whistling all the warlike songs he knew.