faithful little dog, his friend and guide. During the first days of my
blindness I often wondered where I was going to get a suitable pup.

While at No. 2 London General, preparation for my future work went on.
As soon as I was able to get out of bed, I was taken once each week to
St. Dunstan's to talk with other men in residence there--a species of
initiation. While in hospital, too, as soon as we were able to work a
little, we were given the rudiments of Braille. This was not compulsory;
and if we wished to yield to fate and sit with hands idly folded we
were at liberty to do so. But the majority of the men were eager for
occupation of any kind.

Lying in bed or sitting on a hospital chair, unable to see the objects
about you, there is a danger of deep depression being occasioned by
melancholy brooding. To prevent this, the V.A.D.'s who worked in the St.
Dunstan's Ward saw to it that the men were not left too much to
themselves, and kindly attention kept me from becoming morbid while
waiting for my exchange to St. Dunstan's.

As I was a Canadian, I had to go down to the Canadian Hospital to
receive my final Board--just a matter of that child of the devil,
red-tape. August 13th saw me on my way to Regent's Park, where St.
Dunstan's is situated. My heart leaped within me; I was going to have
first-hand knowledge of the marvellous things about which I had heard. I
was going to learn things that would put me out of the stick, tin-cup,
card-around-my-neck, and little-dog class. Thirteen may be an unlucky
number, but that 13th of August was, notwithstanding my blindness, the
beginning of the happiest year of my life since I left my mother's
home.

On my way to St. Dunstan's, I journeyed from the Marble Arch to Orchard
Street, then by bus up Orchard Street, Upper Baker and Baker Streets,
right past Marylebone, on the right of which stands Madame Tussaud's
famous Wax-Works, and on to Baker Street tube. Just past the tube is
Clarence Gate, one of the entrances to Regent's Park. Entering the
grounds, we followed the park rails until we came to two white stone
pillars. I have painful recollections of these pillars. For the first
two weeks after my arrival at St. Dunstan's I made their acquaintance
frequently, and in no pleasant manner. I was anxious to find my way
about without assistance, and those pillars always seemed to stand in my
way. Head, shoulders, and shins all bumped into them. They would meet me
even if I walked