em in the loss of their chaplain? During these last
weeks, I had come to know him well. Captain Dunbar was a chaplain in
his brigade. He was more. He was a gallant officer, a brave soldier,
a loyal-hearted Canadian. The morale of this division is higher to-day
because he has been with us. He did his duty to his country, to his
comrades, to his God. What more can we ask than this, for ourselves and
for our comrades?"

Then there was a little pause and Major Bayne began to speak. At first
his voice was husky and tremulous, but as he went on, it gathered
strength and clearness. He reminded them how, when the chaplain came to
them first, they did not understand him, nor treat him quite fairly, but
how in these last months, he had carried the confidence, and the love,
of every officer and man in the battalion.

"Were the Commanding Officer here to-day, he would tell, as I have
often heard him tell, how greatly the chaplain had contributed to the
discipline and to the morale of this battalion. He helped us all to be
better soldiers and better men. He never shrank from danger. He never
faltered in duty. He lived to help his comrades and to save a comrade he
gave his life at last."

The major paused, looked round upon the gallant remnant of a once
splendid battalion, his lips quivering, his eyes running over with
tears. But he pulled himself together, and continued with steady voice
to the end.

"But not to say these things am I speaking to you today. I wish only to
give you this last message from our Sky Pilot. This is the Pilot's last
message: 'Tell the boys that God is good, and when they are afraid, to
trust Him, and "carry on."' And for myself, men, I want to say that he
was the only man that showed me what God is like."

In that company of men who had looked steadfastly into the face of
death, there were no eyes without tears, many of them were openly
weeping.

When the major had finished, the officers present, beginning with the
divisional commander, came and stood at the head of the open grave for a
single moment, then silently saluted and turned away. It was the duty
of Bugler Pat McCann to sound "The Last Post," but poor Pat was too
overcome with his sobbing at once to perform this last duty. Whereupon
the runner Pickles, standing with rigid, stony face beside his chum,
took the bugle from his hands and there sounded forth that most
beautiful and most poignant of all musical sounds known to British
soldiers th