“Why, sir, I don't quite understand what you mean,” said Barry.
“No, and you never will. Think of it, rushing three thousand miles—”
“Five thousand for some of us,” interrupted Barry.
“Fancy that! Rushing five thousand miles in this way, to help old mother England, and all of your own free will. We didn't ask it of you. Though, by heaven, we're grateful for it. I find it difficult, sir, to speak quietly of this.”
Not until that moment had Barry caught the British point of view. To him, as to all Canadians, it had only been a perfectly reasonable and natural thing that when the Empire was threatened, they should spring into the fight. They saw nothing heroic in that. They were doing their simple duty.
“But think of the wonder of it,” said the naval officer again, “that Canada should feel in that way its response to the call of the blood.”
The old man's lips were still quivering.
“That is true, sir,” said the M. O., joining in the talk, “but there is something more. Frankly, my opinion is that the biggest thing, sir, with some of us in Canada, is not that the motherland was in need of help, though, of course, we all feel that, but that the freedom of the world is threatened, and that Canada, as one of the free nations of the world, must do her part in its defence.”
“A fine spirit,” said the old gentleman.
“This fight,” continued the M. O., “is ours, you see, as well as yours, and we hate a bully.”