She can send
all--husband, son and brother. Ah, yes, the true heroes are oftenest
found at the quiet fireside, or in some sequestered spot on a lonely
hillside, where, surrounded by the orphaned ones, they struggle on
and on--on to the goal where all such deeds are crowned with a crown
of victory that is unfading.
We need scarcely speak of that time when our beloved New Brunswick
mustered her little band of heroes, when each county gave its share,
when each vied in patriotic ardor and enthusiasm. It is well known
to all. And who among the countless throng that gathered at the
Intercolonial Railway Station of St. John did not feel a thrill of
emotion that perhaps he or she would never feel again?
And there were many of our friends--aye, all that could go--were
there.
Marguerite Verne, with face of angelic purity, stood bidding adieu
to the dear ones. Beside her was Mrs. Arnold draped in her mourning
weeds and looking indeed a changed woman--a woman with a heart now
ready to sympathize with others and ready to do aught that duty
dictated.
"I thought I'd see all the folks here!" exclaimed a voice and Mr.
Spriggins is instantly beside them, his honest face beaming with
patriotic pride.
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