But how recall the life when those who made it set 

 so little store by all that passed, and took its ventures 

 for their daily lot ; when those who knew it had no 

 gift or thought to fix the colours of the fading past : 

 the fire of youth ; the hopes ; the toil ; the bright 

 illusions gone ! And now, the Story of a Dog to 

 conjure up a face, a name, a voice, or the grip of a 

 friendly hand ! And the half-dreamed sound of the 

 tramping feet is all that is left of the live procession 

 long since passed : the young recruits ; the laggards 

 and the faint ; the few who saw it through ; the 

 older men grave-eyed, thoughtful, unafraid who 

 judged the future by the battered past, and who knew 

 none more nor less than man unconscious equals of 

 the best and least ; the grey-hued years ; the thin- 

 ning ranks ; the summons answered, as they had 

 lived alone. The tale untold ; and, of all who 

 knew it, none left to picture now the life, none left 

 to play a grateful comrade's part, and place their 

 record on a country's scroll the kindly, constant, 

 nameless Pioneers ! 



