“Permission”

He walked among us many years,
And yet we failed to understand
That there was courage in his fears
And strength within his gentle hand: 
We did not mean to be unkind,
But we were dull of heart and mind!

* * * * *

But when the drum-beat through the night
And men were called, with voice austere,
To die for England’s sake—­and right,
He was the first to answer, “Here!”
His courage, long submerged, arose,
When at her gates, knocked England’s foes!

* * * * *

And so to-day, where the brave dead
Sleep sweetly amid Flemish bowers,
One grave, in thought, is garlanded
With prairie flowers!

And if the dead in realms of bliss
Can think on those they knew below,
He’ll know we’re sorry, and that this
Is our poor way of saying so!

The war has put a new face on our neighborhood life; it has searched out and tried the hidden places of our souls, and strange, indeed, have been its findings.  By its severe testings some of those who we thought were our strongest people have been abased, and some of the weak ones have been exalted.  There were some of our people who were good citizens in the normal times of peace, but who could not stand against the sterner test of war; and then again we have found the true worth of some of those whom in our dull, short-sighted way we did not know!

Stanley Goodman came to our neighborhood when he was a lad of sixteen.  The Church of England clergyman, who knew his people in England, brought him to Mrs. Corbett, who kept the Black Creek Stopping House, and asked her if she could give him a room and look after him.  He told her of the great wealth and social position of the family who were willing to pay well for the boy’s keep.

“If they are as well off as all that,” said Mrs. Corbett, “why are they sending the wee lad out here, away from all of them?”

The clergyman found it hard to explain.  “It seems that this boy is not quite like the other members of the family—­not so bright, I take it,” he said; “and the father particularly is a bit disappointed in him!”

“Do you mean,” said Mrs. Corbett, “that they are ashamed of the poor little fellow, and are sending him out here to get rid of him?  Faith, if that’s the kind of heathen there is in England I don’t know why they send missionaries out here to preach to us.  Bad and all as we are, there is none of us that would do the like of that!”

“They will provide handsomely for him in every way, Mrs. Corbett, and leave no wish ungratified,” the minister said uneasily.

Mrs. Corbett was a difficult person in some ways.

“Oh, sure, they will give him everything but love and home, and that’ll be what the poor wee lad will hunger for!  Money is a queer thing for sure, when it will make a mother forget the child that she brought into the world!”