sed
with an appeal to the soldiers present to make this sacrifice of theirs
at once worthy and complete. These bodies of theirs were sacred and were
devoted to this cause. It was their duty to keep them clean and fit.

For a few brief moments, he turned to the others present at the
service--the fathers, mothers, wives and sweethearts of the soldiers,
and reminded them in tones thrilling with tenderness and sympathy that
though not privileged to share in the soldiers' service in the front
lines, none the less might they share in this sacrifice, by patient
endurance of the separation and loss, by a cheerful submission to trial,
and by continual remembrance in prayer to Almighty God of the sacred
cause and its defenders they might help to bring this cause to victory.

In the brief prayer that followed the sermon, in words tender, simple,
heart-moving, he led the people in solemn dedication of themselves, soul
and body, to their country, to their cause, to their God.

The effect of the sermon and prayer was overpowering. There were
no tears, but men walked out with heads more erect, because of the
exaltation of spirit which was theirs. And women, fearful of the coming
hour of parting, felt their hearts grow strong within them with the
thought that they were voluntarily sending their men away. Upon the
whole congregation lay a new and solemn sense of duty, a new and
uplifting sense of privilege in making the sacrifice of all that they
counted precious for this holy cause.

It was the sermon that brought the decision in the matter of Barry's
appointment.

"What do you think of that, Colonel Kavanagh?" asked Captain Neil
Fraser, who came in for the service.

"A very fine sermon! A very notable sermon!" said the colonel. "Who is
he?"

"He is my own minister," said Captain Neil, "and he gave me, to-day, the
surprise of my life. I didn't know it was in him. I understand there is
a chance of his being our chaplain. He is Sergeant Dunbar's son."

"I wish to Heaven we could take him with us! What about it, Fraser?
We've got the father, why not the son, too? They'd both like it."

"I say, Colonel, for Heaven's sake, have a heart. I hated to surrender
my company sergeant major. I don't think I ought to be asked to
surrender our chaplain."

"All right, Fraser, so be it. But you have got a wonderful chaplain in
that boy. What a face! What a voice! And that's the kind of a spirit we
want in our men."

That very afternoon, C