course, he would not be old enough to fight, would he? Write me
sometimes, honey, and don't lose heart. Things will come all right for
you in the end, I sort of know they will."

To Joan her letter brought very little comfort despite its last
sentence. Dick had joined; it did not matter how Fanny had come by the
news, Joan never doubted its truth. He would be among the first to go,
that she had always known, but would he make no sign, hold out no hand,
before he left? The War was shaking down barriers, bringing together
families who perhaps had not been on speaking terms for years, knitting
up old friendships. Would he not give her some chance to explain, to set
herself right in his eyes? That was all she asked for; not that he
should love her again, but just that they should be friends, before he
went out into the darkness of a war to which so many were to go and so
few return.

CHAPTER XXIX

"Who dies, if England lives?"

RUDYARD KIPLING.

The black days of September lay like a cloud over the whole country.
News came of the fall of Namur; the retreat from Mons; the German Army
before the gates of Paris. There was one Sunday evening when the
newspaper boys ran almost gleefully up and down the London streets,
shouting in shrill voices: "The whole of the British Expeditionary Force
cut to pieces." The nation's heart stood still to hear; the faces of the
men and women going about their ordinary work took on a strained, set
expression. The beating of drums, the blowing of trumpets, the cheering
of crowds died away; a new stern feeling entered into the meaning of
war.

Dick felt sometimes as if all were expressed in the one word England.
The name was written across all their minds as they stared into the
future waiting for the news, real news of that handful of men standing
with their backs to the walls of Paris, facing the mighty strength of
the German Army. England! What did it matter if some hearts called it
Scotland, some Ireland, some the greater far-off land of the Dominions?
the meaning was the same. It was the country that was threatened, the
country that stood in danger; as one man the people rallied to the cry
of Motherland. And over in France, with their backs to the walls of
Paris, the soldiers fought well!

"Who dies, if England lives?" Kipling wrote in those early days of the
war, putting into words the meaning which throbbed in the hearts of the