priest began:

"My name is Antoine Courcy. I am the cure of Darney, a village
among the Reaping Hook Hills, a few leagues south from here.
For twenty-five years I have reaped the harvest of heaven in that
blessed little field. I am sorry to leave it. But now this war,
this great battle for freedom and the life of France, calls me.
It is a divine vocation. France has need of all her sons to-day,
even the old ones. I cannot keep the love of God in my heart unless
I follow the love of country in my life. My younger brother, who
used to be the priest of the next parish to mine, was in the army.
He has fallen. I am going to replace him. I am on my way to join
the troops--as a chaplain, if they will; if not, then as a private.
I must get into the army of France or be left out of the host of
heaven."

The soldier had turned his face away and was plucking the lobes
from a frond of fern. "A brave resolve, Father," he said, with an
ironic note. "But you have not yet told me what brings you off your
road, to this place."

"I will tell you," replied the priest eagerly; "it is the love of
Jeanne d'Arc, the Maid who saved France long ago. You know about
her?"

"A little," nodded the soldier. "I have learned in the school. She
was a famous saint."

"Not yet a saint," said the priest earnestly; "the Pope has not yet
pronounced her a saint. But it will be done soon. Already he has