. Even the Peace Society is
half-hearted. The cause of Peace hasn't been voiced of late years.
That's it," and Bob rose to his feet excitedly; "I see my work, Nancy.
Neither your father nor any one else shall say that I'm unpractical, or
that I sit still and do nothing. Think of the glory of such a cause!
Think of destroying for ever the ghastly horrors of war, of helping to
bring about universal peace."

"Yes," replied Nancy, "it would be glorious, simply glorious. I was
only very little when the Boer War broke out, and when my eldest
brother Roger went away to it, father gave a dinner, and all our
friends came to bid him good-bye. Although I was only a kiddie, I was
allowed to sit up to it, and I remember some of the speeches that were
made. They promised him that he should be made a colonel and all that
sort of thing, and there was such laughing and shouting. Every one
imagined it would be over in a few weeks; it seemed such a little thing
to crush a few Boer farmers. After that I used to watch dad's face as
he read his newspaper, and wondered what he was so sad about. Then one
day some one brought him a letter which almost killed him. I shall
never forget it. He staggered as though some one had struck him a
blow, and groaned as if he were in agony. Roger was killed. It added
years to dad's life, and he's never been the same since."

"War is that kind of thing multiplied thousands of times," said Bob.
"There were unnumbered homes in England, yes, and in South Africa too,
desolated by that war, when--when it ought to have been avoided. Yes,
my mind's made up. I'm going into Parliament, and I'm going to make
war against war. The holiest and most Christlike work a man can
undertake. Shan't I tell your father to-night, Nancy?"

"No, no, not yet. I'm afraid he might---- I'll prepare him little by
little, and then, when the proper time comes, I'll tell you. But,
Bob," and the girl laughed gaily, "I had almost to propose to you,
hadn't I?"

"No," replied Bob. "I did the proposing, and you did the lecturing.
That's what it'll be all our lives, I expect; but what do I care, as
long as I have you?"

"I--I was afraid you were going to be a coward, though."

"And you don't like cowards?"

She became serious in a moment. "If there's anything I hate and
despise, it's cowardice," she cried. "I think I could forgive anything
but that. It's--it's beneath even contempt. Hark, what's that?"

They hear