is the cry of the soul, and I hope you will teach my youngsters to warble half as well as you do—see, they are running up a flag for you," and he pointed to a flagpole on the lawn in front of the house.

"Old Glory!" cried the boy, and taking off his cap he waved it in the air; "but what is that flag they are putting above it?"

"The Union Jack—you are in the British Empire now."

"So I am—I forgot it, for you Canadians are so much like us Americans. We're great friends, sir, in our two countries now, aren't we?"

"Rather, especially since the war, though there are bad men who are trying to drive a wedge between English speaking nations."

"Why a wedge, sir?"

"To split us apart."

"Oh! I see—united we stand, divided we fall."

"And if Great Britain and America fall apart, lad, with us go the weaker peoples of the earth.

"I shall always be against the wedge, sir," said the boy earnestly. "I like the good old Union Jack, also I like the Lion of Old England. He's a noble beast."

"Isn't he, and can't he roar when anyone touches any of his cubs? You must not forget to pay tribute to him, boy."

"Now in what way have I offended the Lion?" asked the boy, and for the first time I heard his whimsical laugh, which was the one finishing touch needed to brighten his thoughtful, almost sad, young personality.

"You sang one of your own national songs, boy," he exclaimed, "and never piped a note for the country offering you hospitality."

"A thousand pardons, Sir Lion," cried the boy, "here goes for the Empire," and from his beautiful lips came the strains of "God Save the King."

"A sweet apology," exclaimed the man; "boy, that goes to my heart. Once years ago I knew a young singer—oh! you take me back."

"The young singer being my mother," said the boy quickly.

The man bit his lip. Then he nodded his head and walked on. Presently he said in quite a matter-of-fact voice, "This pasture back of the house is for the sheep. They nibble closer than cows."

"And the grass is slippery," said the boy, "and I am sliding about on it."

"I will get you some proper country boots with nails," said Mr. Devering.

"Thank you, sir," said Dallas gratefully.

"You call me sir," said Mr. Devering quite wistfully. "Do you then find me so old?"

"Oh, no, no, I feel as if you were a big brother very much older and wiser than I am."

I had never heard a boy talk like this before, but it seemed to please the man, for he grew quite red and happy.

"It would gratify me very much," he said, "if you and I could be chums as your Dad and I were."

"Let's be pals," said the boy; "you seem quite young in your ways."

"Do I seem younger than your dad?"

"My father is magnificent," said the boy seriously, "quite magnificent, but he says he can't call back his youth. It's slipped away from him. I remember when he said it. We were in his library. He sank 'way down in his big chair, his face was pale, his eyes were closed, I thought he had gone to sleep. Then he rose up and called out, 'Son, I'd give all my books if I could remember what I was thinking about when I was your age. It's all gone.'"

Mr. Devering looked serious. "You boys don't know how much we men sympathise with you and long to get down to your level, but the big world catches us and life is strenuous, and——"

His voice trailed off into silence and young Dallas said eagerly, "Let's have this wonderful pony for a pal too, and let's have some fancy names. Do you like baseball, sir, and football?"

"Immensely."

Dallas was enchanted. I saw he was one of those pale faced boys that light up suddenly. "Let's have some nicknames just for ourselves," he cried, "like boys in books."

"All right."

"You'll be Captain 'cause you know so much more about things than I do. I'll be Sub, and what will Pony be?"

"Babe," suggested Mr. Devering, "after Babe King, the great home-run hitter."

"Fine!" cried Dallas, "Captain, Sub and Babe"; then he flourished his arm, "Three cheers for Captain, Sub and Babe, hip, hip, hooray. We're the pals of—— What's the name of this lake?" and he stopped his shouting, which was quiet and unboyish, and turned inquiringly to Mr. Devering.

"Fawn Lake."

"We're the pals of Fawn Lake—three good pals and true."

I loved my nickname, which was flattering to my middle-age, and I stepped more quickly after the man and the boy.

"Hurry up, Sub," Mr. Devering was saying. "I thought we'd be half way up the trail by this time."

The boy's heart was so full of happiness and he had so thoroughly forgotten his fatigue that he suddenly broke out into song.

"Sing out, sing out," said Mr. Devering, "no one will chide you here."

So my young master kept on singing,