Nellie L. McClung

CHAPTER I HOW IT STARTED "England has declared war on Germany!" We were working on a pumphouse, on the Columbia River, at Trail, British Columbia, when these words were shouted at us from the door by the boss carpenter, who had come down from the smelter to tell us that the news had just come over the wire. Every one stopped work, and for a full minute not a word was spoken. Then Hill, a... more...

MARTHA   In the long run all love is paid by love,    Tho' undervalued by the hosts of earth.  The great eternal government above    Keeps strict account, and will redeem its worth.  Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;    So beautiful a thing was never lost          In the long run. ——Ella Wheeler Wilcox. THOMAS PERKINS was astonished beyond words. Martha... more...

CHAPTER IWhen a soldier's watch, with its luminous face,Loses its light and grows dim and black,He holds it out in the sun a spaceAnd the radiance all comes back;And that is the reason I'm thinking to-dayOf the glad days now long past;I am leaving my heart where the sunbeams play:I am trying to drive my fears away:I am charging my soul with a spirit gay,And hoping that it will last! We were... more...

CHAPTER I. THE OLD TRAIL. When John Corbett strolled leisurely into the Salvation Army meeting in old Victoria Hall in Winnipeg that night, so many years ago now, there may have been some who thought he came to disturb the meeting. There did not seem to be any atmospheric reason why Mr. Corbett or anyone else should be abroad, for it was a drizzling cold November night, and the streets were muddy, as... more...

CHAPTER I In her comfortable sitting room Mrs. J. Burton Francis sat, at peace with herself and all mankind. The glory of the short winter afternoon streamed into the room and touched with new warmth and tenderness the face of a Madonna on the wall. The whole room suggested peace. The quiet elegance of its furnishings, the soft leather-bound books on the table, the dreamy face of the occupant, who sat... more...

CHAPTER I THE DAY BEFORE It was the last day of February, the extra day, dead still, and biting cold, with thick, lead-colored skies shading down to inky blue at the western horizon. In the ravine below John Watson's house trees cracked ominously in the frost, and not even a rabbit was stirring. The hens had not come out, though an open door had extended an invitation, and the tamworths had... more...

THE WAR THAT NEVER ENDS If, at last the sword is sheathed,And men, exhausted, call it peace,Old Nature wears no olive wreath,The weapons change—war does not cease. The little struggling blades of grassThat lift their heads and will not die,The vines that climb where sunbeams pass,And fight their way toward the sky! And every soul that God has made,Who from despair their lives defendAnd struggling... more...