"
By this time in the eyes of all the visitors there were tears, but on
the faces of the minister and his wife there was only the serene peace
of those who within the sacred shrine of sacrifice have got a vision of
its eternal glory.
"Barry," said Paula, drawing him aside, "I love you for this, but do
talk about something, or I shall surely cry. These people break my
heart."
"Oh, no," said Barry, looking at them, "there are no tears there. They
have been all the way through."
"Like people, like priest!" The folk that gathered in the little church
that morning were simple people of the glen, shepherds and cotters from
the countryside, humble villagers. They were women for the most part,
with old men and children. The girls were away at the munition plants,
the young men at the war, fighting or lying under their little crosses
or in their unknown and unmarked graves, on one of Britain's five battle
fronts, or under the tossing waters of the Seven Seas where Britain's
navy rides, guarding the world's freedom.
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