who did not take movies, the men with plain cameras, the
"still" men, were also active. Not to be outdone by their comrades
with the machine-gun action, they sprang from the car at intervals, ran
along the footway, and snapped the party as the train drew level with
them.

It was a field day for cameras, but enthusiastic people also counted.
Men and women had clambered up the hard, stratified rock of the
cuttings that carry the line to the bridge, and they were also standing
under the bridge on the slopes, and on the flats by the river. They
were cheering, and--yes, they were busy with their cameras
also--cameras cannot be evaded in Canada, even in the wilds.

One had the impression, from the difficult perches on which people were
to be found, that wherever the Prince would go in Canada, to whatever
lonely or difficult spot his travels would lead him, he would always
find a Canadian man, and possibly a Canadian woman standing waiting or
clinging to precarious holds, glad to be there, so long as he (or she)
had breath to cheer and a free hand to wave a flag. And this
impression was confirmed by the story of the next months.

IV

Saturday, August 23, was supposed to give His Royal Highness the
half-day holiday which is the due of any worker. That half day was
peculiarly Canadian.

The business of the morning was one of singular charm. The Prince
visited the Convent of the Ursulines, to which in the old days wounded
Montcalm was taken, and in whose quiet chapel his body lies.

The nuns are cloistered and do not open their doors to visitors, but on
this day they welcomed the Prince with an eagerness that was altogether
delightful. They showed him through their serene yet bare reception
rooms, and with pride placed before him the skull of Montcalm, which
they keep in their recreation room, together with a host of historic
documents dealing with the struggles of those distant days.

The party was taken through the nuns' chapel, and sent on with smiles
to the public chapel to look on Montcalm's tomb, originally a hole in
the chapel fabric torn by British shells. The nuns could not go into
that chapel. "We are cloistered," they told us.

These child-like nuns, with their serene and smiling faces, were
overjoyed to receive His Royal Highness and anxious to convey to him
their good will.

"We cannot go to England--we cannot leave our house--but our hearts are
always with you, and there are none more loyal tha