Many and many of them there were who knew that they could never walk again the shady lanes of their hameland or the little streets of their hame towns!  Many and many more there were who knew that, even after the bandages were taken from about their eyes, they would never gaze again upon the trees and the grass and the flowers growing upon their native hillsides; that never again could they look upon the faces of their loved ones.  They knew that everlasting darkness was their portion upon this earth.

But one and all they talked and laughed and sang!  And it was there among the hospitals, that I came to find true courage and good cheer.  It was not there that I found talk of discouragement, and longing for any early peace, even though the final victory that could alone bring a real peace and a worthy peace had not been won.  No—­not in the hospitals could I find and hear such talk as that!  For that I had to listen to those who had not gone—­who had not had the courage and the nerve to offer all they had and all they were and go through that hell of hells that is modern war!

I saw other hospitals besides the ones in London.  After a time, when I was very tired, and far from well, I went to Scotland for a space to build myself up and get some rest.  And in the far north I went fishing on the River Dee, which runs through the Durrie estate.  And while I was there the Laird heard of it.  And he sent word to tell me of a tiny hospital hard by where a guid lady named Mrs. Baird was helping to nurse disabled men back to health and strength.  He asked me would I no call upon the men and try to give them a little cheer.  And I was glad to hear of the chance to help.

I laid down my rod forthwith, for here was better work than fishing—­ and in my ain country.  They told me the way that I should go, and that this Mrs. Baird had turned a little school house into a convalescent home, and was doing a fine and wonderful work for the laddies she had taken in.  So I set out to find it, and I walked along a country road to come to it.

Soon I saw a man, strong and hale, as it seemed, pushing a wheel chair along the road toward me.  And in the chair sat a man, and I could see at once that he had lost the use of his legs—­that he was paralyzed from the waist down.  It was the way he called to him who was pushing him that made me tak notice.

“Go to the right, mon!” he would call.  Or, a moment later, “To the left now.”

And then they came near to the disaster.  The one who was pushing was heading straight for the side of the road, and the one in the chair bellowed out to him: 

“Whoa there!” he called.  “Mon—­ye’re taking me into the ditch!  Where would ye be going with me, anyway?”

And then I understood.  The man who was pushing was blind!  They had but the one pair of eyes and the one pair of legs between the two of them, and it was so that they contrived to go out together without taking help from anyone else!  And they were both as cheerful as wee laddies out for a lark.  It was great sport for them.  And it was they who gave me my directions to get to Mrs. Baird’s.