Mincer. Now if there's an
insufficiency of tonnage----"

"But why should there be an insufficiency of tonnage?"

"Because," I said, "the Government have taken up so much tonnage for the
purposes of the War. How did you think the Army got supplied with food
and shells and guns and men? Did you think they flew over to France and
Egypt and Salonica?"

"Don't be rude," she said. "I didn't introduce this question of tonnage.
You did. And even now I don't see what tonnage has got to do with our
sirloin of beef."

"I will," I said kindly, "explain it to you all over again. We have
ample tonnage for necessaries, but not for luxuries."

"But my sirloin of beef isn't a luxury."

"For the purpose of my argument," I said, "it is a luxury and must be
treated as such."

"Do you know," she said, "I don't think I'll bother about tonnage. I'll
tackle Mrs. Mincer in my own way."

"You're throwing away a great opportunity," I said.

"Never mind," she said. "If I feel I'm being beaten I'll call you in.
Your power of lucid explanation will pull me through."

R. C. L.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Elder to Beadle._ "Well, John, how did you like the
strange minister?"

_Beadle._ "No Ava, Elder--he's an awfu' frichtened kin' a chap yon. Did
ye notice how he aye talked aboot 'oor adversary, Satan'? Oor own
meenister just ca's him plain 'deevil'--he doesna care a dom for him."]

* * * * *

CANADIAN REMOUNTS.

Bronco dams they ran by on the ranges of the prairies,
Heard the chicken drumming in the scented saskatoon,
Saw the jewel humming-birds, the flocks of pale canaries,
Heard the coyotes dirging to the ruddy Northern moon;
Woolly foals, leggy foals, foals that romped and wrestled,
Rolled in beds of golden-rod and charged to mimic fights,
Saw the frosty Bear wink out and comfortably nestled
Close beside their vixen dams beneath the wizard Lights.

Far from home and overseas, older now--and wiser,
Branded with the arrow brand, broke to trace and bit,
Tugging up the grey guns "to strafe the blooming Kaiser,"
Up the hill to Kemmel, where the Mauser bullets spit;
Stiffened with the cold rains, mired and tired and gory,
Plunging through the mud-holes as the batteries advance,
Far from home and overseas--but battling on to glory