Smoke drifted over, and we lived in a pall of death.
It was in October that Fate's apparent working showed itself.
"This war will alter our lives very greatly," said my aunt one evening in
this month, as we sat around the fire. We have all a trace of second sight.
Most old families of the north of Ireland can claim to be "fey."
"It will," said I, "for free-lancing is getting played out. I shall have to
get steady work."
No more was said, and no special work came my way. It was useless to
attempt to train for nursing. I had no aptitude for that, and munition
workers of our sex were not called yet.
Then the Canadians came. The First Contingent. For the most part big,
strong, hefty-looking men; well uniformed, well set up. Eighty-seven per
cent. of them Old Country born.
Among them my cousin, Peter Watson. Dear old man Peter, I wonder do you
know of my happiness which is the outcome of your journey "West"? I wish
you might know it, and share some of the joy. Yours was a lonely and a
sensitive soul.
Peter had been in the Suffolks. A lieutenant in the Imperial Army. Money
was scarce and he threw up his commission.
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