"Oh, the King's all right," continued the Canadian, answering
the other's look, "we think a lot of him these days. But--you
know--Dominion Day--"

"I hope you may get it, old chap, but I fancy we are in for the
usual grind."

The Canadian officer had little objection to the grind nor had
his men. The Canadians eat up work. But somehow it did not seem
right that the 1st of July slide past without celebration of any
kind. He had memories of that day, of its early morning hours when
a kid he used to steal down stairs to let off a few firecrackers
from his precious bunch just to see how they would go. Latterly he
had not cared for the fireworks part of it except for the Kiddies.
But somehow he was conscious of a new interest in Canada's birthday.
Perhaps because Canada was so far away and the Kiddies would be
wanting some one to set off their crackers. It was good to be in
England, the beautiful old motherland, but it was not Canada and
it did not seem right that Canada's birthday should be allowed to
pass unmarked. So too through the Commandant of the Shorncliffe
Camp, a right good Canadian he.

"I have arranged a Tattoo for the evening," he announced in
conversation with the Canadian Officer the day before the First.

"What about a holiday, Colonel?" The Commandant shook his head.

"Well, then, a half-holiday?"

"No. At least," remembering the officer's ancestry and that he