great, warm-hearted boy, packed with human energies of
body, heart and soul.

"Wait till I say good-morning to father," he said after he had shaken
hands warmly with Larry. "I will be back then in a minute or two."

But in a few minutes Mr. Wakeham appeared and called Larry to him. "Come
in, boy, and hear the news," he said.

Larry went in and found Dean in the full tide of a torrential outpouring
of passionate and enthusiastic, at times incoherent, tales of the
Canadians, of their spirit, of their sacrifice and devotion in their
hour of tragedy.

"Go on, Dean," said Raeder, who was listening with face and eyes aglow.

"Go on? I cannot stop. Never have I come up against anything like
what is going on over there in Canada. Not in one spot, either, but
everywhere; not in one home, but in every home; not in one class, but in
every class. In Calgary during the recruiting I saw a mob of men in from
the ranches, from the C. P. R. shops, from the mines, from the offices,
fighting mad to get their names down. My God! I had to go away or I
would have had mine in too. The women, too, are all the same. No man is
getting under his wife's skirts. You know old Mrs. Ross, Larry, an old
Scotch woman up there with four sons. Well, her eldest son could not
wait for the Canadian contingent, but went off with Jack Romayne and
joined the Black Watch. He was in that Le Cateau fight. Oh, why don't
these stupid British tell the people something about that great fighting
retreat from Mons to the Marne? Well, at Le Cateau poor Hec Ross in
a glorious charge got his. His Colonel wrote the old lady about it. I
never saw such a letter; there never was one like it. I motored Mrs.
Gwynne, your mother, Larry, over to see her. Say, men, to see those two
women and to hear them! There were no tears, but a kind of exaltation.
Your mother, Larry, is as bad, as good, I mean, as any of them now. I
heard that old Scotch woman say to your mother in that Scotch voice of
hers, 'Misthress Gwynne, I dinna grudge my boy. I wouldna hae him back.'
Her youngest son is off with the Canadians. As she said good-bye to us
I heard her say to your mother, 'I hae gi'en twa sons, Misthress
Gwynne, an' if they're wanted, there's twa mair.' My God! I found myself
blubbering like a child. It sounds all mad and furious, but believe me,
there is not much noise, no hurrahing. They know they are up against a
deadly serious business, and that is getting clearer every minute. Did