The Sky Pilot in No Mans Land | Page 5

have to be awfully good to me."
"Why, of course," he cried. "That's splendid! Perfectly jolly!"
"Then we had better find father and tell him. Come along," she ordered, and led the way back to the camp.
The young man followed her, wondering at her, and giving slight heed to the chatter she flung over her shoulder at him as she strode along through the bushes.
"What's the matter with you?" she cried, facing round upon him. "You were thinking about me, I know. Confess, now."
"I was," he acknowledged, smiling at her.
"What were you thinking? Tell me," she insisted.
"I was thinking--" He paused.
"Go on!" she cried.
"I was thinking of what your father said about you."
"My father? About me? What did he say? To you?"
"No. To dad."
"What was it? Tell me. I must know." She was very imperious in her manner. The youth only smiled at her.
"Go on!" she said impatiently.
"I think possibly your father was right," he replied, "when he said you 'boss the show.'"
"Oh, that's what he said, eh? Well, I guess he's about right."
"But you don't really?"
"Don't what? 'Boss the show'? Well, I boss my own show, at any rate. Don't you?"
"Don't I what, exactly? Boss the show? Well, I don't think we have any 'show,' and I don't believe we have any 'boss.' Dad and I just talk things over, you see."
"But," she insisted, "some one in the last analysis must decide. Your menage, no matter how simple, must have a head. It is a law of the universe itself, and it is the law of mankind. You see, I have done some political economy."
"And yet," said the young man, "you say you run your own show?"
"Exactly. Every social organism must have a head, but every individual in the organism must live its own free life. That is true democracy. But of course you don't understand democracy, you Canadians."
"Aha! There you are! You Americans are the most insular of all the great peoples of the world. You know nothing of other people. You know only your own history and not even that correctly, your own geography, and your own political science. You know nothing of Canada. You don't know, for instance, that the purest form of democracy on this American continent lies outside the bounds of the U. S. A."
"In Canada?" she asked scornfully. "By the way, how many Canadians are there?"
"Yes, I know. We are a small people," he said quietly, "but no more real democracy exists anywhere in the world than in this country of mine. We are a small people, but," he said, with a sweep of his hand toward the west and the north, "the future is with us. The day is coming when along this waterway great cities shall be, with factories and humming industries. These plains, these flowing hills will be the home of millions of men, and in my lifetime, too."
His eyes began to glow, his face to shine with a rare and fascinating beauty.
"Do you know the statistics of your country? Do you know that during the last twenty years the rate of Canada's growth was three times greater than ever in the history of the United States? You are a great commercial nation, but do you know that the per capita rate of Canada's trade to-day is many times that of the United States? You are a great agricultural people, but do you know that three-quarters of the wheat land on this continent is Canadian, and that before many years you will be coming to Canada for your wheat, yes, and for your flour? Do you see that river? Do you know that Canada is the richest country in the world in water power? And more than that, in the things essential to national greatness,--not these things that you can see, these material things," he said, sweeping his hand contemptuously toward the horizon, "but in such things as educational standards, in administration of justice, in the customs of a liberty loving people, in religious privileges, in everything that goes to make character and morale, Canada has already laid the foundations of a great nation."
He stopped short, abashed, the glow fading from his face, the light from his eyes.
"Forgive me," he said, with a little laugh. "I am a first class ass. I fear I was blowing like a fog horn. But when you touch Canada you release something in me."
While he was speaking her eyes never left his face. "Go on!" she said, in a voice of suppressed emotion, "go on. I love to hear you."
Her wonted poise was gone; she was obviously stirred with deep emotion.
"Go on!" she commanded, laying her hand upon his arm. "Don't stop. Tell me more about--about Canada, about anything," she added impatiently.
A warm, eager light filled her eyes. She was biting her lips to still their