a leash.

"Great heavens, what a sight!" At the croak in Hopeton's voice, the
others turned and looked at him.

"You've got it too, eh!" said Captain Neil, clearing his own throat.

"I've got something, God knows!" answered Hopeton, wiping his eyes.

"I, too," said Barry, swallowing the proverbial lump. "Those
little--little--"

"Bulldogs," suggested Hopeton.

"Bulldog pups," said Captain Neil.

"That's it," said Barry. "That's what they are, little bulldog pups, got
me by the throat all right."

"Me, too, by gad!" said Captain Neil. "I should have howled out loud in
another minute."

"Listen to the boys!" cried Barry.

From end to end of the ship rose one continuous roar, "Good old Navy!
Good old John Bull!" while Hopeton, openly abandoning the traditional
reserve and self-control supposed to be a characteristic of the English
public school boy, climbed upon the rail and, hanging by a stanchion
with one hand, and with the other frantically waving his cap over his
head, continued to shout:

"England! England! England forever!"

Then above the cheering cries was heard the battalion band, and from
a thousand throats in solemn chant there rose the Empire's national
anthem, "God Save the King."

That night they steamed into old Plymouth town, and the following
morning were anchored safe at Devonport dock. Strict orders held the
officers and men on board ship until arrangements for debarkation should
be completed, but to Barry and the doctor, the Commanding Officer gave
shore leave for an hour.

"And I would suggest," he said, "that you go and have a talk with that
old boy walking up and down the dock there. Yarn to him about Canada,
he's wild to know about it."

The old naval officer was indeed "wild to know about Canada," so
that the greater part of their shore leave was spent in answering his
questions, and eager though he was to explore the old historic town,
before Barry knew it, he was in the full tide of a glowing description
of his own Province of Alberta, extolling its great ranches, its
sweeping valleys, its immense resources.

"And to think you are all British out there," exclaimed the old salt.

"We're all British, of course," replied Barry, "but not all from
Britain."

"I know, I know," said the officer, "but that only makes it more
wonderful."

"Wonderful! Why, why should it be wonderful?"

"Yes, wonderful. Oh, you Canadians," cried the old salt, impulsively
stretching out his hand