Then I lost him, too. There came in his place a tall youth with a distinct fondness for fine clothes, stiff collars, tan boots, and bright ties; a dignified young man who was pained and shocked at the disreputable appearance of a younger brother who was at that time passing through the wash-never period of his life and who insisted upon claiming relationship even in public places. Who hung his room with flags and pennants and photographs. Who had for his friends many young fellows with high pompadours, whom he called by their surnames and disputed with noisily and abusively, but, unlike the famous quarrel of Fox and Burke, "with no loss of friendship." Who went in his holidays as "mule-skinner" on a construction gang in the North Country, and helped to build the railway into "The Crossing," and came home all brown and tanned, with muscles as hard as iron and a luscious growth of whiskers. Who then went back to college and really began to work, for he had learned a few things about the value of an education as he drove the mules over the dump, which can be learned only when the muscles ache and the hands have blisters.
Then came the call! And again I lost him! But there is a private in the "Princess Pats" who carries my picture in his cap and who reads my letter over again just before "going in."
O work--thrice blessed of the gods-- Abundant may you be! To hold us steady, when our hearts Grow cold and panicky!
I cannot fret--and drive the plough,-- Nor weep--and ply the spade; O blessed work--I need you now To keep me unafraid!
No terrors can invade the place Where honest green things thrive; Come blisters--backache--sunburnt face-- And save my soul alive!
No wonder that increased production has become a popular cry. Every one wants to work in a garden--a garden is so comforting and reassuring. Everything else has changed, but seedtime and harvest still remain. Rain still falls, seeds sprout, buds break into leaves, and blossoms are replaced by fruit.
We are forced back to the elemental things. Horses and cattle look better to me every day. Read the war news--which to-day tells of the destruction of French villages--and then look at the cattle grazing peacefully on the grass which clothes the hillside, and see how good they look! They look like sanctified Christians to me!