om the sacrifice, dad," hurrying his
words,--"No, no, not that, but perhaps you understand."

For answer, his father put both his arms around his son, drew his head
down to his breast, as if he had been a child.

"There, there, laddie," he said, patting him on the shoulder, "I know, I
know! Oh God, how I know. We have lived together very closely, without
a shadow ever between us, and my prayer, since this war began, has
been that in death, if it had to be, we might be together, and, Barry,
somehow I believe God will give us that."

"Good old dad, good old boy! What a brick you are! I couldn't help that,
dad. Forgive me for being a baby, and spoiling the day--"

"Forgive you, boy," still with his arms around his son, "Barry, I love
you for it. You've never brought me one sorrow nor will you. To-day and
every day I thank God for you, my son."

They rode back through the evening toward the camp. By the time they
arrived there, the sun had sunk behind the mountains, and the quiet
stars were riding serenely above the broken, floating clouds, and in
their hearts was peace.

CHAPTER VIII

A QUESTION OF NERVE

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Captain Dunbar, your sky-pilot, padre,
chaplain, anything you like? They say he's a devil of a good preacher.
The Lord knows you need one."

So Barry's commanding officer introduced him to the mess.

He bowed in different directions to the group of officers who, in the
ante-room of the mess, were having a pre-prandial cocktail. Barry found
a place near the foot of the table and for a few minutes sat silent,
getting his bearings.

Some of the officers were known to him. He had met the commanding
officer, Colonel Leighton, a typical, burly Englishman, the owner of
an Alberta horse ranch, who, well to do to begin with, had made money
during his five years in the country. He had the reputation of being a
sporting man, of easy morality, fond of his glass and of good living. He
owed his present position, partly to political influence, and partly
to his previous military experience in the South African war. His
popularity with his officers was due largely to his easy discipline, and
to the absence of that rigidity of manner which is supposed to go with
high military command, and which civilians are wont to find so irksome.

Barry had also met Major Bustead, the Senior Major of the Battalion, and
President of the mess, an eastern Canadian, with no military experience
whatever, but