Yarn to him about Canada, he's wild to know about it." The old naval officer was indeed "wild to know about Canada," so that the greater part of their shore leave was spent in answering his questions, and eager though he was to explore the old historic town, before Barry knew it, he was in the full tide of a glowing description of his own Province of Alberta, extolling its great ranches, its sweeping valleys, its immense resources.
"And to think you are all British out there," exclaimed the old salt.
"We're all British, of course," replied Barry, "but not all from Britain." "I know, I know," said the officer, "but that only makes it more wonderful." "Wonderful! Why, why should it be wonderful ?" "Yes, wonderful.

Oh, you Canadians," cried the old salt, impulsively stretching out his hand to Barry.

"You Canadians!" Surprised, Barry glanced at his face.

Those hard blue eyes were brimming with tears; the leatherlike skin was working curiously about the mouth.
"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.