mind has given way. Before the war she had five handsome sons, and one by
one they have been killed, and now she spends her time counting over her
boys and weeping.”

And all that is for you and for me! What sort of people ought we to be, do
you suppose? Are we really worth—_that_?

* * * * *

I was talking to some Canadians one night—and the Canadians are fine boys.
I was putting my foot on the platform, just about to begin, when a bright
young Canadian touched me and said, “Say, boss, can _you_ shoot quick?”
and I replied,

“Yes, and straight.”

“Well,” he said, “you’ll do.”

I had a great time with those fellows. Hundreds of those Canadian boys
stood up to say, “God helping me, I am going to lead a better
life!”—hundreds of them. And then I put another test to them. “I want you
all to promise,” I said, “that you’ll kneel down and say your prayers
to-night in the billet, and those of you who will promise to do that come
up and shake hands with me as you go out.” I was kept one half-hour
shaking hands.

Now, there were nine fellows sleeping in one billet and not one knew the
other eight had been to the meeting. They all got mixed up, but all the
nine came up to shake hands, and the one that got back to billets first
told the story afterwards. This one had made up his mind he would kneel