ne was anxious, the atmosphere
of the room was tense and was not relieved until Ragnor had said a
grace full of meaning and had sat down and asked Ian if he "had heard
the news brought by that day's packet?"

"Very brokenly, Father," was the answer. "Two men, whom we met on the
Stromness road, told us that it was 'bad with the army,' but they were
excited and in a great hurry and would not stand to answer our
questions."

"No wonder! No wonder!"

"Whatever is the matter, Father?"

"I cannot tell you. The words stumble in my throat, and my heart
burns and bleeds. Here is the _London Times_! Read aloud from it what
William Howard Russell has witnessed--I cannot read the words--I would
be using my own words--listen, Rahal! Listen, Thora! and oh, may God
enter into judgment at once with the men responsible for the misery
that Russell tells us of."

At this point, Adam Vedder entered the room. He was in a passion that
was relieving itself by a torrent of low voiced curses--curses only
just audible but intensely thrilling in their half-whispered tones of
passion. In the hall he had taken off his hat but on entering the room
he found it too warm for his top-coat, and he began to remove it,
muttering to himself while so doing. There was an effort to hear what
he was saying but very quickly Ragnor stopped the monologue by
calling:

"Adam! Thee! Thou art the one wanted. Ian is just going to read what
the _London Times_ says of this dreadful mismanagement."

"'Mismanagement!' Is that what thou calls the crime? Go on, Ian! More
light on this subject is wanted here."

So Ian stood up and read from the _Times'_ correspondent's letter the
following sentences:

"The skies are black as ink, the wind is howling over the
staggering tents, the water is sometimes a foot deep, our men have
neither warm nor waterproof clothing and we are twelve hours at a
time in the trenches--and not a soul seems to care for their
comfort or even their lives; the most wretched beggar who wanders
about the streets of London in the rain leads the life of a prince
compared with the British soldiers now fighting out here for their
country.

... "The commonest accessories of a hospital are wanting; there
is not the least attention paid to decency or cleanliness, the
stench is appalling, the fetid air can barely struggle out through
chinks in the walls and roofs, and for all I can observe the men
die without the least effor