rugged, stretched away in the misty purple distance and we dropped
into those vales where Joan watched her sheep and heard the voices.
It did not seem impossible, nor even difficult to hear voices amid
such beauty. So we fell to discussing the voices that reach this
world. And Henry said: "Always there are voices in this earth--always
they come in youth, calling us forward and upward. And if we follow
them, though they lead to long marches and hard bivouacs, and to
humiliation and sorrow, yet are we happy and triumphant."

"But Germany?" insisted someone. "Where were her voices?"

"Her voices came when Heine sang, and Beethoven made music, and
Goethe and Schiller wrote and Schopenhauer thought! If ever a land
had the philosophy and the poetry of democracy Germany had it.
Democracy tried to bloom in the revolutionary days of the forties,
but Germany strangled her voices. And now--"

"And now there are no voices in the world!" sighed one of our party;
but even as he spoke from out of the purple distance came the thin
faint sound of a bugle trembling among the hills. It was an American
bugle. And Henry caught its significance, and cried: "There is the
new voice--the voice that the world must follow if we find the old
peace again on earth."




CHAPTER V

IN WHICH WE DISCERN THINGS "BY THE DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT"