As a matter of courtesy, Barry had always been asked to say grace before meals while with the Howland party. This custom, however, had been discontinued upon this trip. They had no time for meals. They had "just grabbed their grub and run," as Harry Hobbs said.

While they ate, Duff kept a full tide of conversation going in regard to the causes of the war and its progress, as reported in the papers. Barry noticed that McCuaig's comments, though few, revealed a unique knowledge of European political affairs during the last quarter of a century. He noticed too that his manners at the table were those of a gentleman.

After supper they packed their stuff over the long portage, leaving their tent and sleeping gear, with their food, however, to be taken in the morning. For a long time they sat over the fire, Barry reading, for McCuaig's benefit, the newspaper accounts of the Belgian atrocities, the story of the smashing drive of the German hosts, and the retreat of the British army from Mons.

"What," exclaimed McCuaig, "the British soldiers goin' back! Runnin'

away from them Germans!"

"Well, the Germans are only about ten to one, not only in men but in guns, and in this war it's guns that count. Guns can wipe out an army of heroes as easily as an army of cowards," said Duff.

"And them women and children," said McCuaig. "Are they killing them still?"

"You're just right, they are," replied Duff, "and will till we stop them."

McCuaig's eyes were glowing with a deep inner light. They were wonderful eyes, quick, darting, straight-looking and fearless, the eyes of a man who owes his life to his vigilance and his courage.

Before turning in for the night, Barry went to the river's edge, and stood looking up at the stars holding their steadfast watch over the turbulent and tossing waters below.

"Quiet, ain't they?" said a voice at his shoulder.

"Why, you startled me, Mr. McCuaig; I never heard you step."

McCuaig laughed his quiet laugh.

"Got to move quietly in this country," he said, "if you are going to keep alive."

A moment or so he stood by Barry's side, looking up with him at the stars.

"No fuss, up there," he said, interpreting Barry's mood and attitude.

"Not like that there pitchin', tossin', threatenin' water."

"No," said Barry, "but though they look quiet, I suppose if we could really see, there is a most terrific whirling of millions of stars up there, going at the rate of thousands of miles a minute."

"Millions of 'em, and all whirlin' about," said McCuaig in an awe-stricken voice. "It's a wonder they don't hit."

"They don't hit because they each keep their own orbit," said Barry, "and they obey the laws of their existence."

"Orbut," enquired McCuaig. "What's that?"

"The trail that each star follows," said Barry.

"I see," said McCuaig, "each one keeps its own trail, its own orbut, and so there's peace up there. And I guess there'd be peace down here if folks did the same thing. It's when a man gets out of his own orbut and into another fellow's that the scrap begins. I guess that's where Germany's got wrong."

"Something like that," replied Barry.

"And sometimes," continued McCuaig, his eyes upon the stars, "when a little one comes up against a big one, he gets busted, eh?"

Barry nodded.

"And a big one, when he comes up against a bigger one gets pretty badly jarred, eh?"

"I suppose so," said Barry.

"That's what's goin' to happen to Germany," said McCuaig.

"Germany's a very powerful nation," said Barry. "The most powerful military nation in the world."

"What!" said McCuaig. "Bigger than Britain?"

"Britain has two or three hundred thousand men in her army; Germany has seven millions or more, with seventy millions of people behind them, organised for war. Of course, Britain has her navy, but then Germany has the next biggest in the world. Oh, it's going to be a terrific war."

"I say," said McCuaig, putting his hand on Barry's shoulder. "You don't think it will bother us any to lick her?"

"It will be the most terrible of all Britain's wars," replied Barry. "It will take every ounce of Britain's strength."

"You don't tell me!" exclaimed McCuaig, as if struck by an entirely new idea. "Say, are you really anxious, young man?"

"I am terribly anxious," replied Barry. "I know Germany a little. I spent a year there. She is a mighty nation, and she is ready for war."

"She is, eh!" replied McCuaig thoughtfully. He wandered off to the fire without further word, where, rolling himself in his blanket and scorning the place in the tent offered him by Duff, he made himself comfortable for the night.

At the break of day Duff was awakened by the smell of something frying.

Over the fire bent McCuaig, busy preparing a breakfast of tea, bacon and bannocks, together with thick slices of fat pork.

Breakfast was eaten in haste. The day's work was before them, and there was no time for talk. In a very few minutes they stood ready for their trip across the portage.

With them stood McCuaig. His blanket roll containing his grub, with frying-pan and tea-pail attached, lay at his feet; his rifle beside it.

For a moment or two he stood looking back up the stream by which, last night, he had come. Then he began tying his paddles to the canoe thwarts in preparation for packing it across the portage.

As he was tying on the second paddle, Duff's eye fell on him.

"What's up, McCuaig?" he said. "Aren't you going up to the Post?"

"No, I guess I ain't goin' up no more," replied McCuaig slowly.

"What do you mean? You aren't going back home?"

"No. My old shack will do without me for a while, I guess.--Say," he continued, facing around upon Duff and looking him squarely in the face, "this young chap says"--putting his hand upon Barry's shoulder--"Britain is going to have a hell of a time licking Germany back into her own orbut. Them papers said last night that Canada was going in strong. Do you think she could use a fellow like me?"

A silence fell upon the group of men.

"What! Do you mean it, McCuaig?" said Duff at length.

The man turned his thin, eagle face toward the speaker, a light in his eyes.

"Why, ain't you goin'? Ain't every one goin' that can? If a fellow stood on one side while his country was fightin', where would he live when it's all over? He read out of the papers that them Germans were shootin'

women and children. So--" his face began to work, "am I goin' to stand by and ask some one else to make 'em quit? No, by God!"