ing of pride and power, a
thing to shout for. It stood for something invisible but very real. Even
their elders were not insensible to that something. Hitherto they had
taken that flag for granted. They had hung it out of their windows on
Empire Day or on Dominion Day as a patriotic symbol, but few of them
would have confessed, except in a half-shamed, apologetic way, to any
thrill at the flapping of that bit of bunting. They had shrunk from a
display of patriotic emotion. They were not like their American cousins,
who were ever ready to rave over Old Glory. That sort of emotional
display was un-Canadian, un-British. But to-day somehow the flag had
changed. The flag had changed because it fluttered in a new world, a new
light fell upon it, the light of battle. It was a war flag to-day. Men
were fighting under it, were fighting for all it represented, were dying
under its folds, and proudly and gladly.

"And all the men will go to fight, your father and my father, and all
the big boys," Ethel heard a little friend confide to Isabel.

"Hush, Mabel," said Ethel sharply. "Don't be silly."

But the word had been spoken and as a seed it fell upon fertile soil.
The launch went off with the children waving their flags and cheering.
And again upon those left upon the dock the shadow settled heavier
than before. That was the way with that shadow. It was always heavier,
thicker, more ominous after each interlude of relief.

It was the same at the bonfire in the evening at the Rushbrookes'.
The island was a fairy picture of mingling lights and shadows. As the
flaming west grew grey, the pale silver of the moon, riding high and
serene, fell upon the crowding, gaily decked launches that thronged the
docks and moored to the shore; upon the dark balsams and silver birches
hung with parti-coloured gaudy Chinese lanterns; upon the groups of
girls, fair and sweet in their white summer camping frocks, and young
men in flannels, their bare necks and arms showing brown and strong;
upon little clusters of their fathers and mothers gravely talking
together. From the veranda above, mingling with the laughing, chattering
voices, the alluring strains of the orchestra invited to waltz, or fox
trot. As the flame died from the western sky and the shadows crept down
from the trees, the bonfire was set alight. As the flame leaped high the
soft strains of the orchestra died away. Then suddenly, clear, full and
strong, a chord sounded forth, another,