Brave men carry the boy tenderly, carefully, the three miles to the casualty clearing station.

The strain on the flickering life is just too much, and in the first night of hospital, when every care is round it, the young life slips away--lost by so little--by no fault! Is there any consolation?
One only--the boy's own spirit.

A comrade remembers one of his last sayings--a simple casual word: "I don't expect to come through--but--it's worth it." There one reaches the bed-rock of it all--the conviction of a just cause.

What would it avail us--this pride of victory, of organisation, of science, to which these great despatches of our great Commander-in-Chief bear witness, without that spiritual certainty behind it all--the firm faith that England was fighting for the right, and, God helping her, "could do no other.".