The Next of Kin | Page 6

holes in linen and sewed them up
again--there is no form of foolishness that I have not committed--and
liked it! But now I have ceased to be a fiddler and have become a
citizen, and I am going to try to be a real good spoke in the wheel of
progress. I can't express it very well, but I am going to try to link up
with the people next me and help them along. Perhaps you know what I
mean--I think it is called team-play."
When the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa were burning, the main
switch which controlled the lighting was turned off by mistake and the
whole place was plunged into darkness, and this added greatly to the
horror and danger. The switch was down a long passage through which
the smoke was rolling, and it seemed impossible for any one to make
the journey and return. Then the people who were there formed a chain,
by holding each other's hands--a great human chain. So that the one
who went ahead felt the sustaining power of the one who came behind
him. If he stumbled and fell, the man behind him helped him to his feet
and encouraged him to go on. In this way the switch was reached, the
light was turned on, and many lives were saved.
Over the world to-day roll great billows of hatred and
misunderstanding, which have darkened the whole face of the earth.
We believe that there is a switch if we could get to it, but the smoke

blinds us and we are choked with our tears. Perhaps if we join hands all
of us will be able to do what a few of us could never do. This
reaching-out of feeble human hands, this new compelling force which
is going to bind us all together, this deep desire for cohesion which
swells in our hearts and casts out all smallness and all self-seeking--this
is what we mean when we speak of the Next of Kin. It is not a physical
relationship, but the great spiritual bond which unites all those whose
hearts have grown more tender by sorrow, and whose spiritual eyes are
not dimmed, but washed clearer by their tears!
Sing a song of hearts grown tender, With the sorrow and the pain;
Sorrow is a great old mender, Love can give,--and give again. Love's a
prodigal old spender,-- And the jolliest old lender, For he never turns
away Any one who comes to borrow, If they say their stock is slender,
And they're sorely pressed by sorrow! Never has been known to say,--
"We are short ourselves to-day,-- Can't you come again to-morrow?"
That has never been Love's way! And he's rich beyond all telling, Love
divine all love excelling!
CHAPTER I
BEACH DAYS
When a soldier's watch, with its luminous face, Loses its light and
grows dim and black, He holds it out in the sun a space And the
radiance all comes back; And that is the reason I'm thinking to-day Of
the glad days now long past; I am leaving my heart where the
sunbeams play: I am trying to drive my fears away: I am charging my
soul with a spirit gay, And hoping that it will last!
We were the usual beach crowd, with our sport suits, our silk sweaters,
our Panama hats, our veranda teas and week-end guests, our long,
lovely, lazy afternoons in hammocks beside the placid waters of Lake
Winnipeg. Life was easy and pleasant, as we told ourselves life ought
to be in July and August, when people work hard all year and then
come away to the quiet greenness of the big woods, to forget the noise
and dust of the big city.

We called our cottage "Kee-am," for that is the Cree word which means
"Never mind"--"Forget it"--"I should worry!" and we liked the name. It
had a romantic sound, redolent of the old days when the Indians
roamed through these leafy aisles of the forest, and it seemed more
fitting and dignified than "Rough House," where dwelt the quietest
family on the beach, or "Dunwurkin" or "Neverdunfillin" or "Takitezi,"
or any of the other more or less home-made names. We liked our name
so well that we made it, out of peeled poles, in wonderful rustic letters,
and put it up in the trees next the road.
Looking back now, we wonder what we had to worry about! There was
politics, of course; we had just had a campaign that warmed up our
little province, and some of the beachites were not yet speaking to each
other; but nobody had been hurt and nobody was in jail.
Religion was not troubling us: we went dutifully every Sunday to the
green-and-white schoolhouse under the tall spruce trees, and heard