e willing to go down to political death if the country can
be saved by that sacrifice. We need men at home who are as brave as
the boys in the trenches, who risk their lives every day in a dozen
different ways, without a trace of self-applause, who have laid all
their equipment on the altar of sacrifice; who "carry on" when all
seems 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 it
will 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 rope
from one to the other; so that if one slips, the others will be able
to hold him until he finds his feet again; and thus many a catastrophe
is 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 comes
in; and even a letter from another boy read over the 'phone is
cheering, 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 a
very small, and, he is sure, divided mail, and the other part of it
will be along to-morrow. He also tells us the U-boats are probably
accounting for the scarcity of French mail, anyway, and we must not be
worried. He is a good fellow, this "Posty"!

We hold tight to every thread of comfort--we have to. That's why we
wear bright-colored clothes: there is a buoyancy, an assurance about
them, 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 could
afford to go to see "East Lynne," "Madame X," or "Romeo and Juliet,"
and cry our