en Auntie Flora read him "The
Manly Heart," "Shall I, wasting in despair, die because a lady's fair?
If she be not fair to me, what care I how fair she be?" and asked that
she read it again. It was just right, he declared, and went around
whistling that evening. There must be something more than Christina
troubling him she concluded. And then she began to suspect the truth.
Many little incidents helped to confirm her suspicions, and at last she
realised it beyond a doubt. Gavin was craving to be up and away into
the death struggle of the trenches!

The truth broke upon her with a thrill of mingled exultation and
dismay. For the three gentle ladies who could not bear to contemplate
the possibility of Gavin's leaving them, were each secretly cherishing
a longing to hear him express a desire to be away to the war, the
desire which he was so painfully smothering for their sakes.

Hughie Reid, who was next of kin to the Grant girls, lived on the farm
just below Craig-Ellachie on the road to the village. He was a distant
cousin, and a kindly man and the Aunties were always giving his wife a
hand with her work and practically kept his boys in socks and mittens.
His oldest boys were almost grown to manhood, and Hughie had often said
to Auntie Elspie,

"If Gavin ever wants to quit farming, Elspie, I'll take Craig-Ellachie
on shares. I need a bit more land for my stock." And Auntie Elspie
had always laughed at him, saying there was little fear of his ever
getting it, for Gavie would never think of anything but the farm. But
the night when Gavin's heart was laid bare before her, Auntie Elspie
remembered Hughie's oft repeated wish and made a great and noble
resolve.

She came to her dismaying conclusion concerning Gavin one evening after
he had been to town. He was all unconscious of her loving espionage
and had no idea that he was betraying himself. A Highland Battalion
was being raised in the County, called the Blue Bonnets. Recruiting
agents were going all through the country, and at concert and tea
meeting the young people sang a gallant old Scottish song transcribed
to suit the locality.

"March, March! Dalton and Anondell!
Why my lads, dinna ye march forward in order?
March, March! Greenwood and Orchard Glen,
All the Blue Bonnets are over the Border!"

Gavin had been to Algonquin and had heard it on every side, had seen
boys in khaki marching down the street, and worse still, lads in kilts
swi