two thirds man's wages from the white farmers; and rarely indeed did he miss a day in winter, making the two-mile walk to the small, white schoolhouse on the Charlevoix road. It had one room, with blackboards all about, where a white lady taught fourteen or fifteen children usually,—sometimes eight white and six Indian, but occasionally more Indian than white. The children might be in five or six or even in eight "grades" which made the task difficult for the teacher, but rendered the day most fascinating to a boy eager to learn everything in the world all at once.
It was that teacher, who was always very kind to him, who inspired Barney to go to Boyne high school and work his way through the course, so that he actually was ready for college when the war came. And Barney had determined to go to the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor. Not alone his conscious will to make something of himself and the natural vigor of his mind and body combined in forming this determination; something deeper within him, and less definable, seemed ever to drive him. So far as this force associated itself with anything tangible, it was bound up with his ring,—that old, stately, formal band of gold which was his inheritance. A man of his blood and brain went to college, it seemed to say; a man of his blood went to war without waiting to be called, or without delaying for the decision of his country. So in 1914 Barney left Boyne for Montreal and embarked upon the enormous adventure and education of the war. Four years in France and England—fighting, resting, recuperating and fighting again in the company of the most gallant gentlemen the world has ever seen—made Barney over; endowed him with manners, customs, habits of thought of the gentleman as
