(What he really said was, _“J'allais en chantier,”_ “I went in the shanty.” If he had spoken in classic French he would have said, _“J'etais bucheron.”_ How it brought back the smell of the big spruce forest to hear that word _chantier_, in Oxford!) [Illustration: “I was a lumberjack.”] “Well, then, I suppose you will return to the wood-cutting again, when this war is over.” “But no, M'sieu', how can I, with this good-for-nothing arm? I shall never be capable of swinging the axe again.” “But you could be the cook, perfectly. And you know the cook gets the best pay in the whole shanty.” His face lights up a little. “Truly,” he replies; “I never thought of that, but it is true. I have seen a bit of cooking at the front and learned some things. I might take up that end of the job. _But anyway, Im glad I went to the war.”_ So we say good-by--_“bonne chance!”_ Since that day the good physician who guided me through the hospital has borne without a murmur the greatest of all sacrifices--the loss of his only son, a brave and lovely boy, killed in action against the thievish, brutal German hordes. III SAINTE MARGUERITE August, 1917 The wild little river _Sainte Marguerite_ runs joyously among the mountains and the green woods, back of the Saguenay, singing the same old song of liberty and obedience to law, as if the world had never been vexed and tortured by the madness of war-lords. A tired man who has a brief furlough from active service is lucky if he can spend it among the big trees and beside a flowing stream. The trees are ministers of peace. The stream is full of courage and adventure as it rushes toward the big sea. We are coming back to camp from the morning's fishing, with a brace of good salmon in the canoe. “Tell me, Iside,” I ask of the wiry little bowman, the best hunter and fisher on the river, “why is it that you are not at the war?” “But, M'sieu', I am too old. A father of family--almost a grandfather--the war is not for men of that age. Besides, it does not concern us here in Quebec.” “Why not? It concerns the whole world. Who told you that it does not concern you?” “The priest at our village of _Sacre Coeur,_ M'sieu'. He says that it is only right and needful for a good Christian to fight in defense of his home and his church. Let those Germans attack us here, _chez nous_, and you shall see how the men of _Sacre Coeur_ will stand up and fight.” It was an amazing revelation of a state of mind, absolutely simple, perfectly sincere, and strictly imprisoned by the limitations of its only recognized teacher. “But suppose, Iside, that England and France should be beaten down by Germany, over there. What would happen to French Canada? Do you think you could stand alone then, to defend your home and your church? Are you big enough, you French-Canadians?”