TOMMY

BY

JOSEPH HOCKING

AUTHOR OF

 "ALL FOR A SCRAP OF PAPER" "DEARER THAN LIFE" ETC. 

HODDER AND STOUGHTON

LONDON ---- NEW YORK ---- TORONTO

MCMXVI

_TWO GREAT WAR STORIES BY JOSEPH HOCKING_

 ALL FOR A SCRAP OF PAPER DEARER THAN LIFE

_OTHER STORIES BY JOSEPH HOCKING_

 Facing Fearful Odds O'er Moor and Fen The Wilderness Rosaleen O'Hara The Soul of Dominie Wildthorne Follow the Gleam David Baring The Trampled Cross

NOTE

My only qualification for writing this simple story of "Tommy" is thatI have tried to know him, and that I greatly admire him. I met himbefore he joined the army, when for more than six months I addressedrecruiting meetings. I have also been with him in training camps, andspent many hours talking with him. It was during those hours that heopened his heart to me and showed me the kind of man he is. Since thenI have visited him in France and Flanders. I have been with him downnear La Bassée, and Neuve Chapelle. I have talked with him while greatguns were booming as well as during his hours of well-earned rest, whenhe was in a garrulous mood, and was glad to crack a joke "wi' a manwearin' a black coat. " I have also been with him up at Ypres, when theshells were shrieking over our heads, and the "pep, pep, pep" ofmachine guns heralded the messengers of death. We stood side by sidein the front trenches, less than a hundred yards from the Germansand-bags, when to lift one's head meant a Hun's bullet through one'sbrain, and when "woolly bears" were common. So although I am not asoldier, and have probably fallen into technical errors in telling thestory of "Tommy, " it is not because he is a stranger to me, or becauseI have not tried to know him. 

Only a small part of this story is imagination. Nearly every incidentin the book was told me by "Tommy" himself, and while the setting of mysimple tale is fiction, the tale itself is fact. 

That is why I hope the story of "Tommy" will not only be read bythousands of men in khaki, but by their fathers and mothers and lovedones who bade them go to the Front, and who earnestly pray for theirspeedy and victorious return, even as I do. 

JOSEPH HOCKING. 

PRIORS' CORNER, TOTTERIDGE, HERTS, _February_ 1916. 

CHAPTER I

The Brunford Town Hall clock was just chiming half-past three as TomPollard left his home in Dixon Street and made his way towards theThorn and Thistle public-house. It was not Tom's intention to staylong at the Thorn and Thistle, as he had other plans in view, nevertheless something drew him there. He crossed the tram lines inSt. George's Street, and, having stopped to exchange some rustic jokeswith some lads who stood at the corner of the street, he hurried acrossthe open space and quickly stood on the doorsteps of the public-house. 

The weather was gloriously fine, and for a wonder the air in the heartof the town was pure and clear. That was accounted for by the factthat it was Sunday, and the mills were idle. Throughout the week-days, both in summer and in winter, the atmosphere of Brunford is smokeladen, while from a hundred mills steamy vapours are emitted whichmakes that big manufacturing town anything but a health resort. Tomwas making his way up the passage towards the bar, when the door openedand a buxom, bold-eyed, red-cheeked girl of about twenty-four stoppedhim. 

"You're late, Tom, " she said. 

"Am I?" replied Tom. "I didn't mean to be. "

"I was thinking you weren't coming at all. Some young men I know ofwouldn't have been late if I'd said to them what I said to you onFriday night. " Then she looked at him archly. 

"I couldn't get away before, " replied Tom. Evidently he was not quitecomfortable, and he did not return the girl's glances with the warmthshe desired. 

"Anyhow I am free till half-past five, " she went on. "I don't knowwhat father and mother would say if they knew I was walking out withyou; but I don't mind. Do you like my new dress, Tom?"

Tom looked at her admiringly; there was no doubt that, after her ownorder, she was a striking-looking girl, and her highly coloured attirewas quite in accord with her complexion. 

"Jim Scott was here half an hour ago, " she went on; "he badly wanted meto go with him, but I wouldn't. "

Tom looked more uncomfortable than ever; he remembered the purpose forwhich he had set out, and was sorry that he had called at the Thorn andThistle at all, even although the girl evidently favoured him more thanany of her other admirers. 

"I just called to say I couldn't come for a walk with you thisafternoon, " he said, looking on the ground. "You see I have anappointment. "

"Appointment!" cried the girl. "Who with?"

"Oh, with no one in particular; only I must keep it. "

The girl's eyes flashed angrily. "Look here, " she cried, "you arestill sweet on Alice Lister; I thought you had given up all thatSunday-school lot. "

"Well, I have noan been to Sunday School, " said Tom. 

"Ay, but you're going to meet Alice Lister now, and that is why youcan't go wi' me. " Evidently the girl was very angry, and a look ofjealousy flashed from her eyes. Still there could be no doubt that shewas very fond of Tom and meant if possible to capture him. 

"I can't go out wi' you this afternoon, and--and----but there, I'm off. "

For a moment the girl seemed on the point of speaking to him still moreangrily, and perhaps of bidding him to leave her for good. She quicklyaltered her mind, however, and seemed determined to use all herblandishments. 

"Ay, Tom, " she said. "Tha'rt too good to throw thyself away on thegoody-goody Alice Lister sort. Tha'rt too much of a man for that, elseI should never have got so fond of thee. "

"Art'a really fond of me, Polly?" asked Tom, evidently pleased byPolly's confession. 

"I'm not goin' to say any more, " replied the girl. And then shelaughed. "I was thinkin' that after we'd been to Scott's Park youmight come back to tea. I don't believe father and mother would mind. Father wur sayin' only this morning that you'd got brains. You tookthree prizes at the Mechanics' Institute last winter, and he said thatif you got manufacturing on your own, you'd make brass. "

"Did he say that?" asked Tom eagerly, "Ay, he did, only this morning. "

"But I have no capital, " said Tom rather sadly. 

"Father's saved money, " replied Polly eagerly. "The Thorn andThistle's a good house and we have good company; and if father liked alad, especially if I recommended him, he could easily find money tostart a small mill. But there, I suppose you are only thinking ofAlice Lister. "

The Town Hall clock chimed the three-quarters, and, much as he wantedto stay with Polly, he moved towards the door and said, "Well, I mustbe goin' now. "

Again anger flashed from Polly's eyes, but still controlling her tempershe said: "Ay, but you'll come back this evening, won't you, Tom? JimDixon's coming to tea, and if you're not here, and he wur to ask me togo out for a walk with him tonight, I shouldn't have any excuse forrefusing. "

There could be no doubt about it that, to Tom, Polly Powell looked veryalluring. She was rather older than he, and her beauty was of a highlycoloured order. At that moment Tom's mind was much distracted, nevertheless as the sound of the deep-toned bell in the Town Hall towerdied away he determined to take his leave. 

"And I thought we might have such a nice time, too, " she said, following him. "But never mind, you'll be back this evening. Ay, Tomlad, tha doesn't know when tha'art well off. " And she gave him hermost bewitching smile. 

Tom hurried up Liverpool Road with the sound of Polly's voice in hisears and the memory of the flash in her great black eyes in his mind. "She is a grand lass, " he reflected, "and she's fair gone on me too;and what's more she's not so finickin' as some lasses are. After all, why should I be so straitlaced? She's a lass as loves good company, she likes a lark, and--and----" After that Tom became thoughtful. 

Tom Pollard was typical of thousands of lads who dwell in themanufacturing districts of Lancashire. His father and mother had beenweavers, and while his mother had ceased going to the mill, his fatherstill earned his thirty shillings a week behind the looms. They didnot belong to the best class of Lancashire operatives, and Tom's homeinfluence was not all it might have been. That was why, years before, many wondered that Tom promised to turn out so well. He was notparticularly clever, but he possessed a large share of the proverbialLancashire sharpness and common sense; he had an eye to the mainchance, and dreamt of becoming something better than an ordinaryweaver. For that reason he had attended some technical classes at theMechanics' Institute, and, as Polly Powell had reminded him, had only afew months before taken prizes there. Young as he was, he had alreadybeen promised a Tackler's job, which meant that he would be a kind offoreman, and have the oversight of a small part of a mill. This, Tomwas sure, would open the way to a more responsible position, and thenif he had good luck he might in a few years start manufacturing forhimself. Many of the mill-owners in Brunford were, a few years before, poor men, while now, owing to a great boom in the cotton trade, theywere quite wealthy men. During the last few months, however, Tom'sbest friends had not been quite so hopeful about him. He had been afrequent visitor at the Thorn and Thistle; and he had altogether givenup attendance at Sunday School. This was considered a bad sign inBrunford, where the great bulk of the respectable young men attend oneof the many Sunday Schools in the town. 

As Tom neared the Town Hall his face changed somewhat, and a look ofeager expectancy came into his eyes. He noted with satisfaction thatthe yard outside a big building was empty. "I'm in time after all, " hereflected. "They've just sung the last hymn. "

A few minutes later several hundred young people came into the street, and Tom was not long in singling out one for whom he had evidently beenwatching. This was a young girl of about twenty years of age, and itwas easy to see at a glance that she was superior to those whom sheaccompanied. Her face was refined, her eyes large and intelligent; andher neat, well-fitting clothes did not suggest the flamboyancy of PollyPowell's adornments. 

"There's Tom Pollard waiting for you, Alice, " said one of the girls. Alice Lister flushed as the girl spoke, and the colour which rose toher cheeks told its own tale. 

"If I were you, Alice, " said another, "I should keep my eye on him. Sin' he give up going to Sunday School he's noan so much of a catch;besides, I saw him with Polly Powell last Sunday evening after he wenthome with you; and Polly Powell is noan your sort. "

Alice did not reply to this, but her lips trembled; evidently the wordswounded her. All the time Tom stood smoking a cigarette. Although hehad come to meet Alice, he did not like the idea of going up to claimher while so many girls were around. 

"Ay, Tom, " said one of the girls, shouting to him. "How's PollyPowell?"

Tom did not reply; his ready wit left him for the moment. 

"If I were Alice, " said another, "I'd give thee the sack. Tha's noanfitted to go with her. "

"Ay, " said another, "and Polly's only just playing wi' him; she's gotmore nor one string to her bow, has Polly. And she'd noan look atthee, Tom, if the young landlord at the Bull and Butcher had made up toher. "

Lancashire folks are not slow in speaking their minds, and they have nofalse delicacy about telling people their opinion of them. 

"Well, " said Tom quietly, "I fly higher game than you, Emily Bilson, anyhow. I have only just got to hold up my finger to the whole lot onyou, and you'd come after me. But I'm noan going to do it; I've gottoo much respect for myself. "

Almost as if by arrangement the girls separated, and Tom found himselfwalking up Liverpool Road by the side of Alice Lister. Neither of themspoke for some minutes. Tom didn't know what to say, while Alice wasevidently thinking deeply. 

"Have you been to the Young Men's Class this afternoon, " she askedpresently. 

"Nay. "

"Why?" asked the girl, looking at him steadily. 

"It's noan in my line, " replied Tom. "That kind of thing'll do forkids, but when people get grown up they want something better. "

"Better and cleverer people than you, Tom, don't give it up, " repliedthe girl. 

Tom continued to walk by Alice's side, looking rather sulky. 

He and Alice had begun to walk out together a little more than a yearbefore, much to the surprise of their mutual friends. For Alice wasnot only better educated than Tom, but she moved in rather a bettercircle. Alice's father was one who, beginning life as a weaver, had bysteady perseverance and good common sense become a small manufacturer. He was anything but a rich man, but he was what the people called"Doin' vary weel"--one who with good luck would in about ten years'time "addle a tidy bit of brass. " Alice was his only daughter. He hadnever allowed her to go to the mill, but had sent her to a fairly goodschool until she was sixteen years of age, since which time she hadstayed at home with her mother, and assisted her in the house work. Alice had continued her education, however. She had a natural gift formusic and possessed a fine contralto voice. She had quite a localreputation as a pianist and was constantly in demand to sing atconcerts. She was more than ordinarily intelligent too, and was alover of good books. Added to this she attended classes in the townfor French and German; and had on more than one occasion been invitedto the houses of big manufacturers. That was why people wondered ather walking out with Tom Pollard. He, although looked upon as a sharplad, was not, as was generally agreed, "up to Alice's mark. "

Still facts were facts, and there could be no doubt about it that Aliceshowed a great preference for Tom, and, in spite of the fact that herfather and mother were not at all pleased, had allowed him to accompanyher home on several occasions. 

"What are you going to do, Tom?" asked the girl. 

"What am I going to do?" queried Tom. "I don't know that I am going todo anything. What do you mean, Alice?"

"I mean that you must make your choice. "

"Choice? What choice?"

"I should not have met you this afternoon, " replied Alice Listerquietly, "but for the fact that I want to come to an understanding. Ihave not been blind, neither have I been deaf, these last few months; achange has come over you, and--and you will have to choose. "

Tom knew what she meant well enough, but he pretended to be ignorant. 

"What has come over you, Alice? What do you mean? Surely, " he wenton, "you are not taking any notice of what Emily Bilson said. Just asthough a lad can't speak to any lass but his own!"

"Tom, " went on the girl quietly, "you know what you told me twelvemonths ago; you know, too, what my father and mother said when they sawus together; it has not been pleasant for me to listen to people'sgossip, especially when I know that most of it is true. I have beenvery fond of you and I don't deny it; if I hadn't I should not havewalked out with you, but I want to tell you this--you have to make yourchoice this afternoon; either you are going to give up me, or you aregoing to give up the Thorn and Thistle and all it means. "

"You're jealous of Polly Powell, " said Tom, with an uneasy laugh. 

"I'm jealous of your good name, Tom, jealous of evil influence. "

"Evil influence? What evil influence?"

"Going to the Thorn and Thistle has done you a great deal of harm; ithas caused you to give up your Young Men's Class, and--and--but there, I needn't talk any more about it. You understand what I mean. It mustbe either one or the other, Tom. "

"You mean that I must either give up you or Polly Powell?"

"It means more than that, " replied the girl, "it means that you musteither give up me or give up going to the Thorn and Thistle. You usedto be a teetotaler, Tom. "

"As though any lad's a teetotaler in these days, " laughed the youngfellow. "Come now, Alice, you are not so narrow-minded as that. I amnearly twenty-three now, and if I want a glass of beer surely I canhave it. You don't mean to say that everybody but teetotalers aregoing to the bad. "

"You know very well what I mean, Tom. You are not the kind of youngman you were, and either you give up these things or we part company. "

"Nay, Alice, doan't be narrow-minded. I suppose, " he added bitterly, "that you are beginning to look higher than me, that you are thinkingo' one of the manufacturers. I hear that Harry Briarfield was up atyour house to supper the other night. "

They had by this time left the Liverpool Road and had entered Scott'sPark, which during the last few years had become a rendezvous for thepeople of the town, especially on Sunday afternoons. 

"You know, " went on the girl, "that it made no difference to me whenpeople told me that I was choosing a weaver. I didn't think about it, I only thought of you. But, Tom, I shall never marry any one who--whocan find his pleasure in such places as the Thorn and Thistle, and whosneers at Sunday School. "

"You mean, " said Tom, rather angrily, "that if you continue to keepcompany with me I must feed on your religious lolly-pops. "

An angry flush mounted the girl's cheek, but she continued to speakquietly. 

"Tom, " she said, "will you answer me truly? Do you find anything atthe Thorn and Thistle better than you found in the young men's class?You sneer at religion, but religion does no one any harm; rather italways does good; anyhow, it's everything to me, and you have to makeyour choice. "

Tom looked at her steadily. He knew what she meant, knew too that thetime had come when he would have to make his choice. At that moment hesaw what Polly Powell meant to his life, saw, too, that if he followedthe road in which he had been walking during the last few months hewould have to give up Alice Lister. He saw more than this, for at thatmoment Polly Powell's blandishments had no effect on him. She appearedto him in her true light--a coarse, vulgar girl. 

"You don't care about me like you did, " he said angrily. "You aregetting tired of me. "

"If that were true I should not speak to you in this way, " and hervoice became tremulous. "But I am not going to throw away my life, Tom; there's something more in life than--than love. "

"What?" he asked. 

"Duty, God, " was the reply. 

Tom again laughed uneasily. Alice Lister lived in a different worldfrom that in which Polly Powell lived; they breathed a differentatmosphere; they spoke a different language. Yes, he would have tomake his choice. 

"I would rather have you than forty Polly Powells, " he burst out, "Iwould really, Alice, but--but----"

"There must be no buts, Tom, if--if you want me. Oh, Tom, can't yousee? You know that what I say is right and--and----"

He saw her lips quiver; saw the tears start to her eyes. He knew thathis association with the daughter of the landlord of the Thorn andThistle was coarsening him, making him have lower standards of life, making everything poorer, more sordid. Whenever he was with Alice hewanted to be better and truer, and she always made him ashamed ofcoarse, base things. 

"Alice, do you love me?" and his voice became almost hoarse. 

"If I didn't would I talk to you like this?" was her answer. 

A crisis had come into Tom's life, and he knew it. Two forces werefighting in his heart, two angels were battling for his soul. At thatmoment it seemed as though his better angel were going to win thevictory; he was on the point of telling Alice that he would never gointo the Thorn and Thistle again, never speak to Polly Powell again, when he heard a familiar voice close to him. 

"I say, Pollard, you are coming to-night, aren't you?"

Tom turned and saw a well-dressed young fellow close beside him. Hehad come to Brunford some three years before to learn the cotton trade, and during the last few months he and Tom had been very friendly. Tomwas rather proud of this, because young Harry Waterman was hissuperior, both socially and from an educational standpoint. Watermanclaimed to be the son of a squire who lived in Warwickshire, who hadsent him to Brunford to learn cotton manufacturing because more moneywas to be made out of it than by sticking to the land. 

Waterman was a tall, handsome young fellow, with a florid complexionand light-brown hair. He had met Tom at the Mechanics' InstituteClasses, and the young weaver had been much flattered when the otherhad at various times discarded all social distinctions and beenfriendly with him. It was he who had laughed Tom out of going to theYoung Men's Classes on Sunday afternoon, and told him that religion wasonly fit for ignorant people and women. Waterman professed to havetravelled a good deal, and had told Tom that after leaving an EnglishPublic School he had studied in one of the German Universities andtaken his degree there. He had described to the simple Lancashire boythe life of Berlin, and Leipzig, Munich, and other German cities. Tomhad been a willing pupil and thought what wonderful people the Germanswere. He felt proud too that young Harry Waterman had evidently takena liking to him. "You will come, won't you?" went on Waterman; "justthe same lot, you know. "

"Ay, I think so, " said Tom. 

"That's all right, then; we'll look out for you about seven. "

"Where are you going to-night?" asked Alice. 

"Only with Mr. Waterman, " replied Tom. 

"But where?"

"To a kind of club we have at the Rose and Crown. Come now, Alice, it's no use looking like that; you can't expect me to be a ninny. Besides, Waterman's a swell, he is the son of a squire. "

"That is how you are going to spend your Sunday evening, then?" saidthe girl. 

"Certainly, " replied Tom. He felt angry that Alice should interferewith his pleasures. Besides, he remembered that Waterman had once saidto him that any fellow was a fool who allowed a woman to interfere withhis pleasures. 

"I see you have made your choice, " said Alice. 

"Look here, Alice, " said Tom angrily, "if you mean that you expect meto behave like a Methody parson, I have. I mean to get on, andWaterman can help me; and--and---- I say, Alice, don't look likethat!" for the look in the girl's eyes had almost destroyed theinfluence which Waterman had over him. 

"I am going home now, " said the girl. 

"May I come with you?" asked Tom. 

"That depends, " replied the girl; "either you must be as you were whenI first walked out with you, or we must part. "

"You mean good-bye for ever?"

"Just that, " she replied. "Oh, Tom, can't you see! Can't you see!Won't you promise, Tom? I don't know anything about young Waterman;but I know he is not having a good influence on you, and, Tom, why doyou want to break my heart?"

Still Tom was undecided. He wanted Alice more than words could say; hefelt there was no girl like her in all the wide world, and he knew thatthe last few months had not done him any good. But there was anotherside. He was only a weaver, and he had been proud to associate withWaterman, who was friendly with big manufacturers. But to give upAlice? No, he could not do that. He heard a loud laugh close by hisside, and walking towards the Band-stand he saw Polly Powell with JimDixon. 

Yes, Alice looked pale and bloodless beside Polly Powell. Polly had nosqueamish narrow-minded notions. Polly loved a good joke and a laugh, and was not tied down to Sunday-school rule. The daughter of thelandlord of the Thorn and Thistle caught Tom's eye. 

"I shall see you to-night, shan't I, Tom?" she said, looking at himlanguishingly, and then passed on. 

Alice had become pale almost to the lips, and there was a look ofsteady resolution in her eyes. "You must make your choice, Tom, " shesaid. 

Tom looked at her for a second, then cast his eyes towards the spotwhere Polly Powell stood. He felt madly jealous of Jim Dixon at thatmoment. What right had he to be with such a girl as Polly? Besides, why should he give up all the fun of life? Why should he becomestrait-laced and silly?

Alice Lister held out her hand. "Good-bye, Tom, " she said, "I see thatyour choice is made. " And then she walked away. 

Tom stood gazing after her for a few seconds, undecided what to do. Something, he could not tell what, urged him to run after her; topromise her what she wanted him to promise; to renounce the life which, although it might not be very bad, was still not good for him. He knewwhat she meant, knew too that she was in the right. No, he could not, would not give her up; he loved her too much. Then he felt a hand uponhis arm. 

"Ay, so you have got rid of her, have you? You must come back wi' meto tea. " Polly's hand was caressing, and her eyes burnt brightly;evidently she had been watching him, and had left Jim Dixon for him. He turned and walked by Polly's side. 

That night as Tom walked back to Dixon Street his feet were unsteadyand his voice was husky and uncertain. 

"What's matter with thee?" said his mother as he entered the house. 

"Nowt's matter wi' me. "

"Ay, but there is. Thou'st bin' drinkin' agean. "

"Weel, and what if I have? It's cost me nowt. "

"Ay, I know: thou'st been to the Thorn and Thistle after that PollyPowell lass. Ay, you ninny. I thought you looked higher nor that. What about Alice Lister?"

"She's got too much pie-jaw for me, " said Tom sulkily. "I'm noan goin'to be a Methody parson. "

"Thou'st goin' to be a bigger fool than I thought tha ever could be, "retorted his mother angrily. 

"That tak's a bit o' doin', " replied Tom as he fumbled with his bootlaces. 

"Thou'st gi'en up a nice lass for a brazen-faaced 'uzzy; thou'rt anaddle-'eaded ninny. Can'st'a see?"

"Ay, I tak' after my mother, " was Tom's reply as he made his wayupstairs. "Bein' fools runs in the family. "

"It must or I should never 'a' reared thee, " shouted his mother afterhim. 

CHAPTER II

What I have related took place on the first Sunday in June in the year1914. Brunford, a large manufacturing town which stood well-nigh inthe centre of the cotton district of Lancashire, had enjoyed what wascalled "a great boom in trade. " Mills had been working overtime, andmoney had been earned freely. During the last five years poor men hadbecome rich, while the operatives had had their share in the generalprosperity. This fact was manifest in the general life of the town. The sober and thrifty part of the population had increased theirsavings. Hundreds of people had bought their own cottages, and hadlaid by for a rainy day. The thriftless were none the better for theprosperity which abounded, rather they were the worse. Big wages hadonly meant increased drunkenness and increased misery. Still all thepeople hoped that good trade would continue and that there would beplenty of work. 

On the following day Tom went to work as usual, but he felt that a newelement had come into his life. He was not given to self-analysis, butwhile on the one hand he felt suddenly free, he knew on the other thathe had sacrificed something which meant a great deal to him. Still hewould not think about it. After all, all the time he had been keepingcompany with Alice he felt like a man tied to the end of a rope. Hewould now have his liberty. He was glad to be free from a girl whomade him uncomfortable when he drank a glass of beer or went out toenjoy himself. 

Tom was by no means a hero. There was a great deal of good in hisnature, but there were coarse elements which affected him strongly. IfPolly Powell had not appeared, it is possible, such was Alice'sinfluence over him, that he would have remained true to his formerambitions, and probably have risen in the social scale. He wasintelligent, and possessed a large degree of what the Lancashire peoplecalled gumption. On the other hand he was the child of hissurroundings and of his order. The coarse life of the town had grippedhim, and his home influences had not helped him toward the ideal whichAlice Lister had helped him to strive after. 

"Ay, Tom, I 'ear as Alice Lister has give thee the sack, " said a youtha few days after Tom had parted from Alice. 

"Maybe 'twas t'other way around, " replied Tom. 

"Why, yo doan't main that you chucked 'er?"

"She wur too goody-goody for me, " replied Tom. "I am noan baan to be asaint, I am going to enjoy mysen. "

"Weel, tha' won't be a saint if tha' has much to do with Polly Powell. She's noan a saint, " and the lad laughed meaningly. "Still herfeyther's got a bit of brass. I reckon he will have all thine, Tom;Jim Parkin told me that tha' spent four shillings at the Thorn andThistle last night. "

"Well, what if I did?" asked Tom. 

"Ay, it's noan my business, but I think thee'rt a fool. If a lass likeAlice Lister took up wi' me, I would not throw myself away on PollyPowell. Thou'lt ne'er mak' much on 'er. She'll lead thee a dog'slife, Tom, and tak' all tha' brass. "

"Well, I reckon it's my business, " retorted Tom. 

"Then it's a fool's business, " replied the other. 

This kind of thing made Tom uncomfortable, but it didn't turn him asidefrom the path on which he was walking. There could be no doubt aboutit, Tom's character was deteriorating, and during the next two monthshe not only declared that he had chucked religion altogether, but thathe meant to enjoy life. Tom spent most of his evenings at the Thornand Thistle, and as a consequence his studies were neglected. Not thatthere was much outward difference in him; he still remained fairlysober, although on more than one occasion he was seen leaving the Thornand Thistle at closing time with staggering footsteps; it never causedhim to lose any work, however. 

Meanwhile dark clouds began to arise in the nation's sky. People hadgiven only a passing thought to the news of the murder of the CrownPrince of Austria, but presently when Austria sent her outrageousultimatum to Serbia, and the people read what Sir Edward Grey saidabout it, they began to talk seriously. For there is no part inEngland where politics have such a keen interest for theworking-classes as they have in Lancashire. Almost every man there isa politician, and there are but few, especially among the older men, who have not an intelligent grasp not only of home, but ofinternational affairs. 

"I'll tell you what, " said one manufacturer to another as they stood onthe steps of the Mechanics' Institute, "those Germans mean war; theyhave been preparing for it for years, and they are trying to force it. "

"Nay, " replied the other, "but I doan't see how it can affect us, except"--and he laughed meaningly--"except for our benefit. "

"How can it be for our benefit?"

"Why, can't you see? If the Germans join Austria against Russia andFrance, we shall be able to steal the German trade;--and we can do withit, " was the reply. 

"Ay, we can. "

"Just see how Manchester is riddled with Germans. They have beenrobbing our trade right and left, and even here in Brunford Germans arepoking their noses. I am about sick of them. Thirty years ago wehardly ever saw a German, and now they have nobbled our best-payinglines. If I had my way, all Germans should be driven out of thecountry; they are a bad lot to deal with; they have no business honour, and they don't play the game. "

"Come now, it's not so bad as that. "

"Ay, but it is. For years they have been sending their lads over hereon the pretence of learning the language. They take jobs in ouroffices for hardly any wage, and then when they have learned oursecrets, and the names of our customers, they just play against us. "

"Well, more fools we for letting 'em. "

But it is not my purpose to deal with the talk which was so prevalenttowards the close of July 1914. Neither am I going to try to trace thehistory of the events which led up to the war which has staggeredhumanity. We all know now what Germany had in her mind: how bypretence, and deceit, and fraud she worked her will; how she thoughtthat England would allow her to crush France and Russia without movinga finger. Germany thought that the English were blind, and that forthe sake of gain we should remain neutral and never lift a finger whileshe swept over Belgium to crush France; thought, too, that we should besupine while she violated treaties and committed the most fiendishdeeds ever committed in the history of the world. But it is not mypurpose to speak of these things; I have to tell the story of acommonplace lad in a workaday town, and what influence the great worldconvulsion had upon his life. 

At first Tom was not much moved by the danger of war. For one thing hehad given but little attention to public affairs, and for another thinghe was enamoured with Polly Powell. Still he could not help beinginfluenced by what every one was talking about. Local strikes, therate of wages, and the quality of beer ceased to be the generalsubjects of conversation in the Thorn and Thistle. Every one wastalking about a possible war. And when finally early in August thenews came to Brunford that England had decided to take her part in thegreat struggle, Tom found himself greatly interested. 

"I'll tell you what, " said Enoch Powell, the landlord of the Thorn andThistle, "the Germans have bitten off a bigger piece than they canchew. I give them about six weeks. What can they do with Russia onthe one side and France and England on the other? Besides, the Germanpeople don't want war. It's that blooming Kaiser. In about six weeks'time they will be on their knees crying for mercy. "

That was the general feeling of the town during the first fortnight ofthe War, and when as day after day the brave little Belgian army atLiege held out against the advancing Huns there was great confidence. "They have had their time-table smashed to smithereens at the firstgo, " was the joyful comment. "Wait till our lads get across, they'lllet 'em know. "

In these days there was very little bitterness against the Germans. The terror of war had scarcely been felt. People talked about theuntold millions of Russian soldiers who would be in Berlin by thefollowing October. They boasted confidently about the armies ofFrance, and the unconquerable power of the British Navy. It is truethat at the first news of the War many of the employers of labour werestaggered; but presently as, when day followed day, they saw that tradewould not be destroyed, but that possibly new avenues of wealth wouldbe opened, they became more cheerful. Besides, England was risingnobly to her responsibilities. Lord Kitchener's call for half amillion men was answered in a few days. "Think on it, " the people saidone to another, "half a million men in a week! Why, we'll smash 'emafore they know where they are!"

Tom never thought of joining the army. The idea of being a soldier wasutterly strange to him. The soldiers whom he knew were mostly of thelower orders; fellows who had got into trouble, or had taken the"King's shilling" while they were drunk. He had looked down upon themas being lower in social scale than himself, and he would never be seenwalking with a soldier. When he saw lads of his own class enlisting, he shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. "Let 'em join if they wantto, " he said, "but it's noan in my line. " In fact, after the firstthree weeks of the War, although terrible stories were reaching Englandabout the ghastly atrocities in Belgium, and about the Germans nearingParis, the manufacturing parts of Lancashire were largely unmoved. Theterrible harvest of war which was to come later was not yet realised. It is true that thousands of young fellows responded to the call ofduty. Young men of the better-educated class obtained commissions andwere working at the local barracks; while here and there the moreadventurous of the operatives found their way to recruiting stations. But the response was not large; partly for the reason that the realityof their country's call had not come to them with its full meaning. 

One evening Tom found himself talking with young Waterman, who had beenaway from Brunford for some weeks. 

"Hullo, Pollard, " said Waterman, "I see you have not enlisted. "

"Nay, I am not bound to enlist; there's enough gone to lick the Germansalready. Don't you think so?" asked Tom. 

A bright light came into Waterman's eyes. "I am going to enlist, " hesaid--"that is, my people are getting me a commission. I have had sometraining, you know. "

"But we shall quickly lick them, don't you think so?" asked Tom. "You've been in Germany a goodish bit. You went to school and collegethere, so you ought to know. "

Waterman laughed. "We English are fools, " he said. 

"How's that?"

"Of course I am going to do my bit, " said Waterman. "As an EnglishmanI must; but we shall never lick the Germans. "

"Why? Think of the millions the Russians have got; think of theFrench; think of our Navy. "

"Ay, think of it all, " replied Waterman, "but you don't know what theGermans are. I do. In that country every man is a soldier. Look atBrunford; here are thousands upon thousands of fellows who are hangingback, and who are worth nothing in a time of war. If this had been aGerman town every man you see would be a soldier. Then see how much inadvance of us the Germans are in scientific matters. They have gotmountains of guns and ammunition. Besides, they have made a science ofwar, while Englishmen are only amateurs. Think of what they have donealready; nearly the whole of Belgium belongs to them, and a great sliceof France. "

"But do you mean to say, " cried Tom, "that they will lick us? Why, think of our Navy; think of----"

Waterman did not wait to hear the end of Tom's sentence; he crossed theroad and was lost to sight. 

One event took place, however, which somewhat opened the people's eyes, and is talked of even to-day. A young German who had come to Brunforda few years before, and who had succeeded in amassing a fortune, wascalled home by his Government. So popular had he become in the town, and so little had the realities of the war laid hold of the people, that some of the leading townsmen decided to give him a dinner. Thisdinner was arranged to take place in the large dining-room of the Bulland Butcher, the largest hotel in the town. Although some people wereanything but pleased at the arrangement, so little ill-feeling was felttowards the Germans that a good number of the townspeople gathered. When the dinner had been eaten the chairman rose to propose the toastof the evening. He said that although Mr. Shweitzer was called upon tofight against the English people, the town had no ill-will against himpersonally; they all knew him as a good fellow, a good sportsman, andan honourable business man. During the time he had been in Brunfordthey had opened their doors to him and received him as an honouredguest, and although the unfortunate war had taken place, they hadnothing but good feeling towards Mr. Shweitzer. That was why they hadinvited him as their guest that night, and he, the chairman, expressedthe hope that the war would soon be over and that Mr. Shweitzer wouldreturn and take up the position which he had so long occupied amongstthem. The toast to his health was heartily cheered; good feelingabounded, and all waited for the response of the German guest. 

As Mr. Shweitzer rose to respond he received quite an ovation; thediners even went so far as to give him musical honours. Mr. Shweitzer's reply was in fairly good English. He thanked his friendsfor their good-fellowship, and for the kind things they had said abouthim. 

"As to my coming back to Brunford again, " he concluded, "I have butlittle doubt that I shall return, but when I do, the Kaiser, and notthe man you now own as king, will rule over England. For the Germansare going to lick your country, and Wilhelm II will be your futureking. "

For a few seconds those who had gathered were so much astonished thatthere was a dead silence. Meanwhile the German looked around the roomwith a supercilious smile. 

Then an Englishman who had been sitting close by came up to the German. He was a brawny, stalwart fellow. "Do you mean that?" he asked theGerman. 

"Yes, I do, " was the reply. 

The Englishman without another word struck him a mighty blow on thejaw. "That for you and your Kaiser!" he exclaimed amidst the shouts ofthose present. 

The blow was so heavy and so well aimed that the German's jaw wasbroken. He was taken to the hospital, where he remained for somemonths, and he has not yet returned to Germany. [1]

During the next day Brunford was excited beyond measure. The story wastold in a hundred mills by thousands of operatives; it was discussed inthe public places, in every inn and tavern, and throughout the wholedistrict. It did more to enlighten the minds of the people as to thereal hopes and aims of the Germans than all the newspaper articleswhich had appeared. It revealed to the people, too, the real characterof the Germans. Here was one of the best of them who had acted like acad, and who in the face of good-fellowship had haughtily flaunted thesuperiority of the German people. The incident also gave point to thestory of the ghastly atrocities which were taking place in Belgium. People were excited beyond measure; the War was becoming real to them. 

All this had its effect upon Tom. Not that even yet he realised thefull significance of what was taking place. Hundreds of young fellowswere enlisting, but Tom held back. September, October, November passedaway, and still Tom failed to respond to his country's call. He quiteagreed with his friends, and said that of course England must lick theGermans; but he never admitted that the War had anything to do with him. 

"I am earning good brass, " said Tom, "and if I hold on I shall makemore still. Let those as wants to fight the Germans fight 'em, I'mnoan going to get killed. " This he said to Polly Powell one night ashe sat in the private sitting-room of the Thorn and Thistle. 

"And quite right too, Tom, " said Polly--"tha'rt too good a lad to bekilled by the Germans. Besides, enough'll go without thee. If th'other chaps like to be fools, let 'em. "

Still Tom did not feel altogether comfortable. At the back of his mindwas the vague thought that he ought to do his bit, but his naturalselfishness, added to Polly Powell's influence, kept him at home. 

Besides, by this time winter had laid its icy grip upon the earth. News came of soldiers being crippled for life by frost-bite; storieswere told of men standing up to the waist in icy slush; wounded mencame back from the front telling stories about the terrible power ofthe Germans; newspapers were obliged to admit that we seemed to bepowerless in the face of the enemy. 

All this made Tom somewhat afraid; he was not cast in an heroic mould;the spirit of adventure was not strong within him. 

"I say, Tom, " said a man whose three sons were in the army, "are yougoing to stay home like a coward?"

"I'm noan a coward, " replied Tom. 

"Then what do you mean by not doing your duty?"

"I have my own views, " replied Tom. "Look here, Elijah, I'm not such afool as to go over there and get killed; th' other chaps'll lick theGermans all right. "

"That's the answer of a coward, " replied Elijah Butterworth; "ifeverybody said that, the country would be robbed from us, and we shouldhave those German devils ruling over us. "

"No fear of that, " laughed Tom, and yet he felt uncomfortable. 

"Aren't you an Englishman?" cried Elijah, "and don't you care for theold country?"

"Ay, I don't know, " replied Tom, "the Germans are just as well off aswe are. "

Meanwhile the real facts of the situation became more apparent. TheGermans were not to be beaten easily. Russia, in spite of all that hadbeen said about her power as a great steam-roller, could make no realheadway; while France and England combined could not drive the Hunsfrom the line they occupied. People tried to explain the situation, but the dreadful logic still remained: the country we had sworn toprotect and save was in the hands of the enemy. The industrial part ofFrance was held in a grip of iron; while Russia was powerless againstthe hosts of Germany. 

First there were talks about the war being over by Christmas, but thatdelusion quickly vanished, and when a member of the Cabinet came toManchester, and said that it might take years to drive the enemy fromhis position, people stared in bewilderment. More and more men wereasked for, while some of the newspapers began to talk aboutconscription. 

As Christmas drew near, Tom became more and more uncomfortable, evenalthough the blandishments of Polly Powell grew more powerful. He hadattended two recruiting meetings, but they seemed to him half-heartedand unconvincing. He still saw no reason why he should "do his bit. "When he was asked why he didn't join, he mentioned the names of severalyoung fellows who also held back. 

"Why should I go, " he would say, "when so-and-so and so-and-so stay athome? They are manufacturers' sons, and they are no better nor me. Let them enlist as privates, and then I'll see about it. "

When the New Year came a big recruiting meeting was announced at thegreat hall of the Mechanics' Institute. It was advertised that a manwho had been to Belgium, and had witnessed what had taken place, was tobe the chief speaker. At first Polly Powell tried to persuade Tom notto go, and would probably have been successful had there not been adance that night to which Polly had been invited. Tom, not being adancer, was not eligible for the occasion, so he made his way to themeeting. 

That meeting marked an era in Tom's life. Little by little the speakergripped the attention of the audience until the interest became intenseand almost painful. He described what he had seen, he gave terribleproofs of the ghastly butchery, and worse than butchery, that had takenplace. He made it clear to the audience what the war really meant. Heshowed that not only was the power of England at stake, but the welfareof humanity trembled in the balance. He related authenticated storiesof what the Germans said they would do when they came to England. AsTom listened he heard the sound of the advancing Huns, saw towns andvillages laid waste, saw the women of England debauched and outraged, saw the reign of devilry. 

"By God!" he exclaimed aloud, "I can't stand this!"

His words reached the speaker, who made the most of them. 

"Yes, " he cried, "if the young men of England hang back, if they failto love their country, if they care nothing about the honour orsacredness of womanhood, if they prefer their own ease, their ownpaltry pleasures, before duty; if they would rather go to cinema shows, or hang around public-house doors than play the game like Englishmen, this, and more than this, will take place. The England that we own andlove will be lost for ever. Liberty will be gone, we shall be a nationin chains, while our women will be the playthings of inhuman devils. That is the problem which every man has to consider. 

"What are you going to do? Let me put it another way. If we win thiswar, if the glory of England is maintained, and if she remains as shehas always been--

 "The home of the brave and free, The land of liberty, to whom shall we owe it? Who will have been our saviours? It will bethe lads who have sacrificed everything to do their duty. "

A great cheer arose from the audience, and Tom, scarcely realising whathe was doing, shouted and cheered with the rest. 

"But if we lose, " continued the speaker, "if the Germans break ourlines and come to England, if we are beaten, to whom shall we owe it?Who will be responsible? It will be the shirkers, the cowards! Look, you young men!" he cried passionately. "Thousands and tens ofthousands of our brave fellows are at this time in the trenches;fighting, suffering, dying. What for? For England, for England'shonour, for the safety of her women, for the sacredness of our lives, for you: while you, you skulk at home smoking your cigarettes, go toyour places of amusement, and drink your beer. Don't you realise thatyou are playing the coward?"

Then the speaker made his last appeal, clear, impassioned, convincing. 

"What are you going to do, young men?" he cried. "We don't wantconscripts, but free men who come out cheerfully, willingly, gladly todo their duty to their King, Country, and God. Who will be the first?"

He stood on the platform waiting amidst breathless silence. 

"Will you wait until you are forced?"

"No! By God, no!" said Tom, and starting to his feet he walked to theplatform and gave his name. 

Thus Tom became a soldier. 

"Tha doesn't say so?" said Tom's mother when, that night, he told herwhat he had done. 

"Ay, I have. "

"Then thou'st goin' for a sodger. "

"Ay. "

Mrs. Martha Pollard looked at him for a few seconds without speaking. Evidently she found it difficult to find words to express her thoughts. 

"Weel, Tom, " she said presently, "I thought thee't got low eno' whenthee got drinkin' and picked up wi' that peacock-bedecked Polly Powell;but I ne'er thought a bairn o' mine would sink as low as that. Wer't'abaan now?"

"I'm goin' to tell Polly, " said Tom. 

"Ay, tha mun be sent to Lancaster asylum, " said Mrs. Pollard. 

[1] The above incident actually took place in a Lancashire city at thebeginning of the War. 

CHAPTER III

Tom made his way to the Thorn and Thistle, but was informed that Pollywould not be home until eleven o'clock. He therefore wandered aboutthe town until that time, and again appeared at the public-house door. But it was not until twelve o'clock that Polly made her appearance. 

"Anything the matter, Tom?" she asked. 

"Ay, I have joined the Army. "

"Thou'st noan been such a fool?"

"I have noan been a fool, " said Tom, "I couldn't help it. "

Polly Powell looked at him rather angrily, then she said: "If you havedone it, what do you want to speak to me about it for?"

"I shall be off to-morrow, " replied Tom. "The recruiting officer toldme I must report at the Town Hall to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. "

"Where will you go?" she asked. 

"I don't know, " said Tom. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

"I thought, " said Tom, "that is--I thought as I was going awayI'd--I'd---- Look here, Polly, you are going to keep true to me whileI'm away, aren't you?"

"I never thought much of soldiers, " said Polly. "Besides----"

"Besides what?" asked Tom. "Look here, Polly, I gave up Alice Listerfor you, and if you had been at that meeting you would see as how Icouldn't do anything else. "

"Do you think you might get a commission and be an officer?" asked thegirl. 

"I never thought about that, " said Tom. 

Polly hesitated a second, then she said: "Of course I'll be true toyou, Tom. There, good night, I must go in. "

The next morning as Tom was making his way towards the Town Hall he metAlice Lister. At first he was going to pass her by without notice, butwhen he saw the look on her face he stopped. She came towards him withoutstretched hand. 

"Tom, " she said, "I've heard about last night, and it was splendid ofyou. I am glad you were the first. I am told that your going up inthat way led scores of others to go. "

"Have you heard that?" said Tom. "I never thought of it. "

"I am sure you will be a good soldier, Tom. We are all proud of you, and--and we shall be thinking about you, and praying for you. "

Tom laughed uneasily. "I thought you had forgotten all about me, Alice, " he said. 

"Why should you think so?"

"I have heard there is a young parson going after you. Are you goingto make a match of it, Alice?" And again he laughed. 

"Good-bye, Tom, I hope you will do well. " And Alice left him with astrange fluttering in his heart. 

Tom joined the Loyal North Lancashires. I will not say whichbattalion, as the mention of it might cause some of my readers toidentify the lad whose story I am telling. His unit was located at alarge Lancashire town some thirty miles from Brunford. Here he wasinitiated into the secrets of a soldier's life. At first everythingwas a drudgery to him; he could not see the meaning of what he wasdoing, could not understand how "forming fours" and other parts of hisdrill could help him to be a soldier. Still, being a fairly sharp, common-sense lad, he picked up his work quickly, and in the course of afew weeks was physically much better for his training. At the end ofthree months he was nearly two inches taller, and more than threeinches bigger around the chest than at the time he joined. He began toenjoy his work, too. The young subaltern whose duty it was to trainthe company had more than once singled him out as a capable fellow, andas the cold winter days passed away and spring began to advance Tomcould undergo a twenty- or thirty-mile march without weariness. He waswell fed, well housed, and well clothed, and while his pocket money wasnot extravagant, he had enough for his needs. 

Indeed in many respects it would have been better for Tom if he had hadless money. The influence of the Thorn and Thistle was still strongupon him, and I have to relate with sadness that on more than oneoccasion Tom barely escaped punishment for being drunk and disorderly. Most of the lads with whom he was brought into contact were, on thewhole, steady and well-behaved. On the other hand, however, there werea number of them who had a bad influence upon him. In fact, while henarrowly escaped being brought before his superiors for his variousmisdemeanours, Tom's character was steadily deteriorating. The firstflush of enthusiasm, and loyalty, and even something nobler thanloyalty, which had been aroused in him by the speaker who had causedhim to join the army, slowly faded away. The men with whom heassociated did not help him to be on the side of the angels, ratherthey appealed to what was coarse and debased in his nature. 

To tell the truth, there was very little in Tom's life which tended toennoble him. It is true there was a service for soldiers every Sundaymorning in one of the big buildings in the town, and while Tom, loverof music as he had always been, was somewhat influenced by the singingof the men, and while the hymns reminded him of his Sunday-school days, they did not move him very deeply. He paid little or no attention tothe ministrations of the chaplain. Neither did he avail himself of themany meetings which were held for soldiers by the various churches inthe town. Indeed, up to this point Tom was not the better, but theworse, for joining the Army. 

There was in Tom's company a young fellow much superior to the rank andfile of the soldiers. He was a young Cornish lad, the son of awell-to-do father who had sent him to a good public school, and fromthence to Lancashire to learn the manufacturing business. This youngfellow, Robert Penrose by name, although belonging socially to adifferent class from that in which Tom moved, took a liking to him. Hewas amused at his good humour, and seemed to be grieved at seeing himdrifting with the dregs of the battalion. 

"I say, Pollard, " he said to him on one occasion, "do you know you aremaking an ass of yourself? You have the makings of a man in you, andyet you mix with that lot. "

"Why shouldn't I?" said Tom. 

"Because you have more brains than they have, are better educated, andare capable of better things. "

"Why shouldn't I have a lark while I can?" replied Tom. "I shall haveto go to the front in a month or two, so I will just make hay while thesun shines. "

"Make hay!" replied Penrose, "make a fool of yourself, you mean. Ihear that years ago you were on the way to becoming an educated chap, and now everybody's looking upon you as one of the drinking fellows. "

"It's all very well for you to talk, " said Tom, "you're a swell. "

"I am a private just as you are, " replied Penrose. 

"Ay, but you will be getting a commission soon, and there's no chanceof that for me. I don't belong to your sort. Besides, what can I do?There's no places but the theatre, the cinema show, and thepublic-house when the day's work is over. "

"That's all nonsense, " replied Penrose. 

"Well, what is there?" asked Tom. 

"There's the Y. M. C. A. "

"Y. M. C. A. !" laughed Tom, "none o' that for me! I know some of thefools who go to the Y. M. C. A. Meetings. "

"Why are they fools?"

"Because they go and hear a lot of pie-jaw; they are a lot of ninnies, that's what they are. "

"They don't get hauled over the coals for misbehaviour, anyhow. "

"No, they haven't got pluck enough. I didn't come into the Army tobecome religious; I joined to fight the blooming Germans, and what'sfighting got to do with religion?"

"Maybe it has a good deal if you feel you are fighting for a goodcause, " replied Penrose; "besides, the Y. M. C. A. Chaps are not ninnies, as you call them. Some of them are the best fellows we have. "

"No religious lolly-pops for me, " said Tom, "I had enough of that whenI lived i' Brunford. "

"Of course you can go your own way, " said Penrose. "I suppose you willspend your evening in the public-house, or at some cinema show, orperhaps you will be larking around with some silly girls; but I amgoing to the Y. M. C. A. "

"Do you go there?" cried Tom in astonishment. For Penrose was lookedupon as anything but goody-goody, and he was generally admired. He wasthe best boxer in the company, was smart in drill, could do longmarches with the best of them, and was always ready to do a kindlyaction. Besides all that, his evident education and social superioritymade him a marked man. It was rumoured, too, that he had refused acommission. 

"Of course I go, " replied Penrose. 

"What, and listen to their pie-jaw?"

"There is precious little pie-jaw, as you call it, " was Penrose'sresponse. "We have jolly good entertainments almost every night, andsome of the fellows who come to talk to us are not half bad, I can tellyou! Besides, I go there to rub up my conversational French. "

"Conversational French!" said Tom, only dimly understanding what hemeant. "Dost 'a mean to say that they learn you French there?"

"There's a Frenchman who gives his services free, " replied Penrose. "It's jolly good of him too, for the poor wretch has hardly a sixpenceto his name; still he does it. In his way he's quite a French scholar, and he has helped me no end. "

"Ay, but you learnt French at school, " said Tom; "he would have nowt todo wi' a chap like me. "

"Don't be an ass. Why, dozens of fellows go to him every night. A fewweeks ago they didn't know a word of French, and now they are pickingit up like mad. Besides all that, the Y. M. C. A. Rooms are open everynight, they have all sorts of games there, lots of newspapers, and theygive you every facility for writing letters and that sort of thing. "

"By gum!" said Tom, "I didn't know that. "

"That's because you have been making an ass of yourself. While theother fellows have been improving themselves you have been loafingaround public-houses. Good night, " and Penrose left him alone. 

Tom felt rather miserable; he was somewhat angered too. He didn't likethe way Penrose had spoken to him. In the old days he had been proudof his respectability, and before he had made Polly Powell'sacquaintance, and when Alice Lister had shown a preference for him, Tomwas very ambitious. Now he knew he had not only sunk in the socialscale, but he had less self-respect than formerly. "After all, " heargued to himself presently, "I didn't join the Army to go to SundaySchool, I joined to lick the blooming Germans. "

Still he could not help recalling the feelings which possessed him onthe night he came out of the great hall at the Mechanics' Institute. He had felt stirred then; felt indeed as though he had heard the callof some higher power. Hitherto he had looked upon wearing the King'suniform as something ignoble; then it had appeared to him almost as areligious act. The speaker had called upon him to fight againstbrutality, butchery, devilry, and his heart had burned at the thoughtof it. Something which he felt was holy made him leap to his feet andgive his name, yet now he found his chief delights in coarseassociations and debasing habits. 

He was still fond of Polly Powell. The girl's coarse beauty made astrong appeal to him, but he remembered Alice Lister; remembered thethings which she had said to him, and he could not help sighing. 

"Eh, Tom, is that you?"

Tom turned and saw a tall raw-boned fellow in kilts. 

"Ay, Alec; wher't' baan?"

"There's a wee lassie I promised to meet to-nicht, " replied the other. 

Alec McPhail belonged to the Black Watch, a battalion of which wasstationed in the town, and Tom and Alec had become friends. 

"What's thy lass's name?" asked Tom. 

"I dinna ken reightly, except that they ca' her Alice. Come wi' me, Tom; mebbe she has a friend. "

"Nay, " replied Tom, "I doan't feel like skylarking with the lassesto-night. "

"Weel, I'm not ower particular mysel', but I have not much siller. Three bawbees will have to last me till Saturday, otherwise I'd beasking ye to come and have a drop of whisky wi' me. "

"I am stony-broke too, " said Tom. "I expect I have been a fool. "

"Nay, man, nae man's a fool who spends his siller on good whisky. "

By this time they were walking together towards the outskirts of thetown. 

"What is this lass o' yourn?" asked Tom after a silence. 

"I think she's a wee bit servant lassie, " replied the Scotchman; "she'sa bonny wee thing too, and fairly enamoured wi' a kilt. "

Tom still walked on aimlessly; the thought of going to meet a girl whomight never come did not have much attraction for him; still he didn'tknow where to go. 

"I don't think I'll come any further, " he said presently. 

"Nay, what makes ye alter your mind, Tom?"

"I think I'll go back to the Black Cow, " replied Tom, "'appen there'ssome chaps there who'll stand a treat. After all, Penrose wur rightwhen he called me an ass. "

"Penrose is what you call a gentleman ranker, I'm thinking. "

"Summat o' that sort, " replied Tom, "What did he call you an ass for?"

"Well, you see I've been a bit of a fool; I've spent all my brass, andI've took up wi' a lot o' lads as is no use to me. Penrose is gone tothe Y. M. C. A. You wouldn't think it perhaps, McPhail, but I wur a bit inthe religious line myself once. I wur educating myself too, and I hadas nice a lass as there was i' Brunford, but I took up wi' the daughterof a man as kept a public-house, and--well, there you are. "

"And you have chucked releegion?" asked McPhail. 

"Ay, there's nowt in it, and it keeps a chap from having a goodtime--but I doan't know, " and Tom sighed. 

"I am a wee bit of a philosopher mysel', " replied McPhail, "and I havereasoned it all out very carefully. My mither, now, is what you mightcall a godly woman; my father was an elder in the old U. P. Kirk, and Iwas brought up in a godly fashion. But, as I said, I reasoned it out. I read Colonel Ingersoll's Lectures, and he proved to me that Mosesmade a lot of mistakes. So, weel, presently I got fond of whisky, andI came to the conclusion that releegion was not logical. "

"I reckon as you're none too logical, " replied Tom. 

"Ay, man, but I was well groonded in the fundamentals! I could say theShorter Catechism when I was a wee kiddie of seven years old! How am Ino logical?"

"After all, " replied Tom, "it's noan logical to give up religionbecause of Colonel Ingersoll's Lectures. The religion my Alice hadwent deeper nor that. Ay, but there, I am a fool to be talking aboutit. Good night, McPhail, I will go back now. " And Tom went backtowards the town alone. 

The following Saturday night Tom was again drunk and disorderly. Thistime he did not escape punishment. Tom never felt so degraded in hislife as when he was undergoing that punishment. He had joined the Armyunder the influence of a noble impulse. He had felt that he was doinga noble thing. Not that he was proud of it, because in reality hecould do nothing else; when he came to think of it afterwards he knewthat he was doing nothing but his duty. All the same he was elated byhis action. It had made him hold his head higher, and made his heartbeat fast; now, after a little more than three months' training, he hadactually been called before his officers for being a disgrace to hiscompany. The colonel, who was a stern soldier, was also a kindlygentleman. He recognised at a glance that Tom was not a gutter lad;saw, too, that he had the making of a man in him. That was the reasonperhaps why he used stronger language than usual, and for meting out aheavier punishment. 

"What excuse have you for yourself?" asked the colonel. "You haveevidently had some education and were meant for better things. Why didyou make a beast of yourself?" His words cut Tom like a knife. "Makea beast of myself, " he thought, "has Tom Pollard come to that?"

"Where is there to go, sir, when one's day's work is over?" he askedalmost sulkily. 

"Go?" replied the colonel, a little nonplussed, "go?" And thenremembering a visitor who came to him the previous day, he said:"There's the Y. M. C. A. Hall; they teach you something useful there. "

After his punishment was over Tom could not help seeing that the betterclass of fellows somewhat shunned him. He could not say he wasboycotted, but they showed no inclination to be in his company. Thistouched his pride. "I am as good as they are, " he said to himself, "and a bit better nor some on 'em. " He was delighted, however, tonotice that Penrose acted differently from the rest, although he was byno means flattering. 

"I told you you were an ass, " he said. "If you go on in this way, you'll end by being kicked out of the Army. "

Again Tom was wounded deeply. "Kicked out of the Army!" He had neverdreamed of that. What! he, Tom Pollard, who had won prizes at theMechanics' Institute, and who had ambition of one day becoming amanufacturer on his own account, kicked out of the Army!

"Come now, Tom, " said Penrose, who almost repented of having spoken sosharply, "it is not too late to turn over a new leaf, and you have themakings of a fine fellow in you. "

"I'd rather be kicked out of the Army as a straight chap than to be ablooming white-livered hypocrite. "

"And do you think I'm a white-livered hypocrite?"

"A sort of plaster saint, anyhow, " retorted Tom. 

"Anything but that, Tom, " replied Penrose; "all the same I've taken aliking to you. "

"You have a nice way of showing it, " replied Tom. 

His anger was all gone now, for he instinctively felt that Penrosemeant to be friendly. 

"Come with me to the Y. M. C. A. Hall to-night, " urged Penrose. 

"Ay, and be preached to, " said Tom, yielding rapidly to the other. 

"I promise you there will be no preaching, " said Penrose, with a laugh, "unless you like to wait for it. Come now. "

"All right, then, " said Tom still sulkily, but glad that he hadyielded. A few minutes later they entered a large hall where perhapssix or seven hundred soldiers had gathered. 

There are few counties in England where music is more cultivated thanin Lancashire, and that night Tom listened almost spellbound. Songsthat he knew and loved were sung; songs which he had heard Alice Listersing. Recitations were given in broad Lancashire dialect which gavehim keen enjoyment. More than all this there was a feeling ofgood-fellowship; the Y. M. C. A. Workers were evidently on the friendliestof terms with the men, while there was no suggestion of goody-goodyism. 

"This is a special occasion, I suppose, " said Tom to Penrose. 

"Oh no, they have entertainments like this almost every night. All themusical people in the district give their services. "

"What for?" asked Tom. 

"Just to give us soldiers a good time; but we must be going now. "

"Why?" asked Tom, "it's not late. "

"But there's a fellow just going to speak, and as you object to beingpreached to we had better go. "

Tom rose almost reluctantly. He was not sure that he didn't want tohear what the man had to say. 

"Besides, " went on Penrose, "I haven't shown you over the place yet. Iwant to take you into the rooms which are provided for writing letters, and playing games; there are the French classes too, and I should likeyou to see what they are like. "

That night at eleven o'clock, as Tom went back to the house where hehad been billeted, he felt that he had indeed made a fool of himself. The Y. M. C. A. Rooms had the feeling of home; none of the people therewanted his money, and he was the better, not the worse, for going. 

"Of course, " said Tom to himself as he went to bed, "religiouslolly-pops are not fit for a grown-up man, but it wur a grand evening;I am sure I could pick up that French, too. Let's see, how did it go?

 "_Je suis_ I am. _Vous êtes_ you are. _Nous sommes_ we are. _Ils sont_ they are. 

"Why, it's easy enough, " thought Tom, "I could pick it up, and thenwhen I go over to France I shall be able to speak their lingo. "

"Where have you been lately, Tom?" asked Alec McPhail when he met himsome time later. "I have been to all the public-houses where we usedto meet and have not set my eyes on you. "

"Nay, " replied Tom, "I have been to the Y. M. C. A. "

"Nay, Tom, a man like you, with your power of reasoning an' a', aresurely not turning releegious?"

"Nay, I am noan turning religious, " replied Tom, "but I tell you, man, the entertainments are fair grand; champion, in fact! I am learningFrench too. "

"I suppose the entertainments are sandwiched between the dry bread ofreleegion?" replied the Scotchman. 

"Nay, I have nowt to do wi' religion, " replied Tom. "I have justlistened to the singing and the recitations, and then when the chap hasgot up to talk I've gone into the writing-room or to the French class. "

"Will you tell me about it?" asked the Scotchman. 

Tom gave him a full description. 

"You see, " he said, "it's not like Sunday School, or anything of thatsort. There's lots of folks what can sing, and play the piano verywell, and can recite champion. And they give us a good concert everynight. Then there's a room where we can go in and read papers, writeletters, or play draughts or bagatelle and all that sort of thing. Then there's a good library where you can get any book for the asking. Ay, those religious folks have been kind; they have sent hundreds ofbooks for us chaps to read, good books and all. Then there's aclass-room where you can learn French. "

"And will there be a bar where you can get some whisky?" asked theScotchman. 

"Nay, " replied Tom, "there's no whisky or owt o' that sort, but there'sa refreshment bar where you can get tea and coffee, and tarts, andsandwiches. "

"For nothing?" asked the Scotchman eagerly. 

"Nay, not for nothing, but cheaper than you can buy it at any shop. From what I can hear they sell it at just cost price. "

"And, " said the Scotchman, "do you mean, Tom, that you will give up theevenings we used to have, for that sort of thing?"

"I don't say I've turned teetotaler, " replied Tom, "although I havetook nothing sin'--sin' I were--disgraced, and I doan't mean to for abit. You see, the chaps at the Y. M. C. A. Doan't tell you not to go tothe public-houses and then provide nothing better for you. Anyhow, I've been to the Y. M. C. A. Every night sin' I had my punishment, andwhat's more, I'm going again. "

A week later there was great excitement amongst the soldiers. They hadnow been nearly four months in this Lancashire town, and orders camefor the Loyal North Lancashires and the Black Watch to move south. They heard that they were going to Surrey, and were to be situated at acamp in the most beautiful part of that county. Tom was delighted, foralthough he had made many friends at the Y. M. C. A and grown to know manypeople in this Lancashire town, the thought of a change appealed to himstrongly. He was young, and longed for new associations and newsurroundings. Besides, it meant a step nearer towards his desires. Hewas told that his battalion was to be moved to Surrey preparatory toorders for the Front. Possibly they might be moved to Salisbury Plainor Shoreham afterwards, but it was quite on the cards that they wouldgo straight from the Surrey camp to France or Flanders. 

As soon as Tom heard this, he applied for leave, and, the younglieutenant having reported that Tom had behaved very well since hispunishment, and had apparently turned over a new leaf, it was granted. 

He did not spend much of his time with his father and mother, but assoon as possible made his way to the Thorn and Thistle. He had savedpractically all his last four weeks' regimental pay, a great part ofwhich he spent on a present for Polly Powell. On the whole he wassatisfied with Polly's reception, although he felt that she was notquite so affectionate towards him as she had been during the days whenshe was trying to win him away from Alice Lister. It was during hisstay in Brunford, too, that Tom gave way to the temptation of drink. 

"Nay, Tom, " said Polly when he said he would only take a bottle ofginger ale, "I never heard of a soldier who was worth his salt butwould not take his beer like a man. " And Tom, who could not bear to belaughed at, yielded to Polly's persuasions. 

"Ay, she's a grand lass, " he said to himself, "and a rare beauty too;she's got eyes like black diamonds, and a face like a June rose. " Allthe same he remembered some of the ladies who had come to the Y. M. C. A. To sing to the soldiers, and he had a feeling, which he could not putinto words, that Polly was a little bit loud. Her dresses were alwayshighly coloured, while her hats were bedecked with big feathers. Ofcourse these things suited her to perfection, and although he did notraise the slightest objection to them there were doubts at the back ofhis mind. Neither did he altogether like the way in which she bandiedjokes, which were not always of the best taste, with the young fellowswho came to the Thorn and Thistle. Altogether it was not an unmixedsorrow to him when his leave was up and he returned to his regiment. 

He did not see Alice Lister during his visit, and if the truth must betold he was glad of it. Polly Powell's spell was strong upon him, andhe said repeatedly that Alice Lister was not his sort. 

A week after this Tom's battalion was ordered south, and amidst muchexcitement the men boarded the train which took them there. He hadhoped they would stay in London for at least one night, but only twohours were allowed between the time they reached Euston from the timethe train was due to leave Waterloo. Discipline was somewhat relaxedduring the journey, and when at length Tom entered the train atWaterloo he noticed that many of the men were the worse for drink. 

"What blithering fools they are!" said Penrose to him, as seated intheir carriage they saw many of their companions staggering along theplatform. Tom was silent at this, nevertheless he thought a great deal. 

It was now the beginning of May, and the Surrey meadows were bedeckedwith glory. Tom, who had never been out of Lancashire before, couldnot help being impressed with the beauty he saw everywhere. It wasaltogether different from the hard bare hills which he had beenaccustomed to in the manufacturing districts of Lancashire. The airwas sweet and pure too. Here all nature seemed generous with hergifts; great trees abounded, flowers grew everywhere, while fields werecovered with such a glory of green as he had never seen before. By andby the train stopped at a little station, and then commenced the marchto the camp for which they were bound. Penrose and Tom walked side byside. 

"This is not new to you, I suppose?" Tom queried. 

"No, " said Penrose, "I know almost every inch round here. "

"I saw you looking out of the train at a place we passed what they callGodalming; you were looking at a big building on the top of a hillthere. What was it?"

"It was my old school, " said Penrose, "Charterhouse; the best school inthe world. "

"Ay, did you go there?" asked Tom. "Why, it was fair grand. How longwere you there?"

"Five years, " said Penrose. 

"And to think of your becoming a Tommy like me!" Tom almost gasped. 

"Well, what of that?"

"You might have been an officer if you had liked, I suppose?"

Penrose nodded. 

"It wur just grand of you. "

"Nothing grand at all, " said Penrose. "A chap who doesn't do his bitat a time like this is just a skunk, that's all; and I made up my mindthat I would learn what a private soldier's life was like before I tooka commission. "

"Well, you know now, " said Tom, "and you will be an officer soon, Iexpect. "

"My uniform's ordered, " said Penrose. 

Tom was silent for some time. 

"I suppose you won't be friends with me any more, and I shall have tosalute you, " he remarked presently. 

"Discipline is discipline, " replied Penrose. "As to friendship, I amnot given to change. "

The battalion, eleven hundred strong, climbed a steep hill, under greatovershadowing trees. Birds were singing gaily; May blossom wasblooming everywhere; the green of the trees was wonderful to behold. Presently they came to a great clearing in a pine forest. The life ofthe country seemed suddenly to end, and they arrived at a newlyimprovised town. There were simply miles of wooden huts, while thesound of men's voices, the neighing of horses, and the rolling ofwheels were heard on every hand. These huts, from what Tom could see, were nearly all of them about two hundred feet long, while around themwere great open spaces where all vegetation had been worn away by thetramp of thousands of feet. The men, who had been singing all the wayduring their march, became silent; the scene was so utterly differentfrom what they had left. That morning they had left a grim, grey, smoky manufacturing town; in the evening they had entered a clearingsurrounded by sylvan beauty. 

"I feel as though I could stay here for ever, " said Tom. "But look atyon', " and he pointed to a long, low hut, at the door of which theletters "Y. M. C. A. " were painted. "Why, they're here too!"

"Yes, " said Penrose, "there's not a camp in the country where you don'tfind the Y. M. C. A. Huts; for that matter they are on the Continent too. "

"But yon' place must have cost a lot of money, " said Tom, "you can'tbuild shanties like that without a lot of brass. Where did they getthe brass from?"

"I expect the people who believe in religious lolly-pops gave it tothem, " replied Penrose. 

It took Tom two or three days before he became accustomed to his newsurroundings. He found that in this camp nearly thirty thousand menhad gathered; men who had come from every corner of thecountry--Cameronians, Durhams, Devons, Welsh, Duke of Cornwalls, theywere all here. Tom had rather expected that the advent of a newbattalion would have caused some excitement, but scarcely any noticeseemed to be taken; their coming was a matter of course. Three daysbefore a battalion had left for the Front, and they had come to taketheir place, that was all. Instead of being billeted at varioushouses, as they had been in Lancashire, they had now to sleep sixty ina hut. Tom laughed as he saw the sleeping arrangements. Beds wereplaced close together all around the building; these beds were of themost primitive nature, and consisted of a sack of straw, a couple ofrugs, and what might be called a pillow. These sacks of straw wereraised some three or four inches from the floor by means of boarding, and had only the suggestion of a spring. No privacy was possible, buteverything was clean and well-kept. In a few days Tom got to like it. The weather was beautiful, the country was lovely, and the air waspure. Tom had a good appetite in Lancashire, now he felt ravenous. The work was hard, harder than he had had in Lancashire, but he enjoyedit; on the whole, too, he could not help noticing that many of the menseemed of a better type than those which made up his own battalion Withthe exception of Penrose, nearly all his company were drafted from coalpits and cotton mills. Here were numbers of university men, public-school men, and the like. Truly the Army was a great democracy. 

One thing made Tom feel very sad, and that was the loss of Penrose. Hehad been in Surrey only a few days when he was gazetted and was removedto another camp about four miles away. Still he made new friends andwas on the whole happy. He found, too, that even the men, whoseconduct was anything but praiseworthy in Lancashire, were sober here. Only a dozen public-houses existed, within the radius of almost as manymiles; and as the rules of the canteen were very strict, there were fewtemptations to drink. Discipline was far easier, and on the whole themen were better looked after. 

At the end of the second day in this Surrey camp, he was going with amessage to the officers' quarters, when he stopped suddenly. 

"Ay, can that be you?" he said aloud. 

"What do you mean, my man?" And then Tom saw that the person whom herecognised wore a lieutenant's uniform. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, " said Tom, saluting, "but--but--yes, sir, itis you. "

"Oh, is that you, Pollard? I see you have enlisted, then; that's allright. You'll know me another time, won't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Waterman. That is, yes, sir. I hope you are well, sir. "

"Yes, I'm all right. Good night, " and the officer passed on. 

"By George!" said Tom to himself, "I didn't expect to meet Watermanhere, but there's nothing to wonder about, after all. "

CHAPTER IV

It is not my purpose to give a lengthy account of Tom Pollard's stay inthe Surrey training camp, although much of interest took place, and hisdaily life there would, if truly reported, gladden the hearts ofthousands of fathers and mothers who have given their boys to theircountry at this time. I, who have been to this particular camp, andhave talked with the lads there, can testify to this by personalexperience. As I have before stated, Tom found the work hard, thediscipline strict, and the duties many; at the same time everything wasso well arranged and the spirit of such good-fellowship prevailed thatthousands of young men were under much more healthy conditions, bothphysically and morally, than they were at home. Indeed, many told methat they would never care for the cramped life of the office, theworkshop, and the factory again, after the free open-air life of asoldier. 

Tom, who had been quick to learn his duties and to master his drill, especially after he had--as he termed it to me--"been disgraced, andturned over a new leaf, " found the work easy and pleasant. 

"Ay, " said Tom to me, "it's very funny. "

"What?" I asked. 

"The way these greenhorns try to learn their drill. "

"How's that?" I asked. 

"Why, yesterday a chap came up to me wi' tears in his eyes. I askedhim what wur the matter, and he said, 'Ay, I have not got brains forit. ' 'Brains for what?' I asked. 'Brains for this 'ere drill: a manneeds to have a head like Shakespeare to get hold on it. That thereformin' fours now: I have tried, and I have tried, and I have bettertried, but I can't get a fair grip on it. Ay, I shall have to write aletter to the Colonel and tell him I shall have to give it up. '"

Tom laughed gleefully as he spoke. "Why, it's as easy as winking, sir, " he said; "but some chaps are thick-headed, you know--in fact theyhave no heads at all, they've just got turnips stuck on top of theirshoulders. I fair pity the young officers sometimes when they aretrying to knock these chaps into shape. But they are doing it fine;and fellows who came a few weeks ago, slack and shuffling, are nowstraight and smart. It's wonderful what a bit of drilling does. "

"And do you find the Y. M. C. A. Helpful down here, Tom?" I asked. 

"Helpful, sir! I don't know what we should do without it. You seeit's different here from what it is in big towns where the men are inbillets. We're away, as you may say, from any town that's sizeable, and there's no place to go to of an evening, except the public-house;and if the Y. M. C. A. Hadn't been here we should have nothing to do butfool around. But the work they're doing here is just champion. Theyhave entertainments every night, and if you don't feel like going tothem, there's a room where you can read the papers, and write yourletters or play games; then they have all sorts of good books for us toread. "

"And how are you getting on with your French?" I asked. 

Tom blushed as he replied, "Would you like to see my report, sir?" andhe took it from his tunic proudly. 

"Why, Tom, this is splendid!" I said, after reading it. 

"Ay, I have worked fair hard at it, " said Tom; "but my difficulty isgetting my tongue round the words. You see, they don't know how topronounce, these French people, and you have to pronounce their wayelse they wouldn't understand what you wur saying, and you have to geta grip on it or you can't understand what they are saying. I canconjugate the verbs, " added Tom proudly, "but when they speak to me inFrench, that's anything like a long sentence, I get mixed up. WhileI'm getting hold of the first part of what they're saying, I forget therest; but I will master it. What a French chap can learn a Lancashirechap can. 

"Do you know, sir, " went on Tom, "that the Y. M. C. A. Has got no lessthan six huts here; each of them will hold a thousand men, and they arejam-full every night. And all the workers are so friendly too. "

"And do you go to any religious services, Tom?" I asked. 

"I been to two or three, " replied Tom, "but I don't hold much wi'religion. Still they're grand people, and you may ask any man in thecamp, from the sergeant-major down to the newest recruit, and they willall tell you the same thing, The Y. M. C. A. Is a fair God-send to us. "

I found out afterwards that Alec McPhail had not followed Tom'sexample. Alec had discovered a wayside public-house about a mile fromthe camp, where he and several others of his companions spent most oftheir spare time. 

"I'm noan religious, " said Tom rather boastfully; "but the Y. M. C. A. Showed me that I was making a fool of myself, and they have made me seethat a soldier ought to be a gentleman. We're not a lot of riff-raffin the Army; we have come at the call of our King and Country to do ourbit. And what I say is that a chap ought to live up to his job; wehave got a big, grand job, and we chaps as is to do it ought to beworthy of our job. "

Tom wrote regularly to Polly Powell during the time he was in theSurrey camp, although he could not help noticing that Polly's repliesgrew less and less frequent and less and less affectionate. When hehad been there a little more than two months he received a letter fromhis mother telling him that Polly was walking out regularly with JimDixon. The letter from Tom's mother was characteristic. 

"Dear Tom, " she wrote, "thou'st been fooled by Polly Powell. I alwayssaid that Alice Lister was too good for thee, and thou used to getvexed about it. A man is not to blame for his mother, he can't chooseher, so I can't blame thee for thy mother, but he is to be blamed forhis wife; he makes his own choice there, and the man as chooses PollyPowell is a fool. When I wur a lass I lived on a farm, I wur onlysixteen when I came to Brunford, and the farmer I lived wi' always saidwhen he was buying a cow, 'be sure to look at the stock before youclose the bargin. ' Look at the stock Polly Powell has come from. Isay nowt about her feyther because I don't know him, but I have seenher mother, and that's enough for me. Polly is just the image of whather mother was when she was her age. She's only twenty-four yearsolder than Polly, but she's like Bethesda Chapel, she's broader norshe's long. That's what Polly will be in twenty years' time. Hermother's got a mustash too, and Polly gives every sign of having one bythe time she's her mother's age. Besides, she's a flighty thing isPolly, and has no stayin' power; she goes wi' one chap one week andanother the next. She's walked out wi' seven chaps since you leftBrunford, and she only took up wi' Jim Dixon again because he's makinga bit of brass. I daresay she'll tell you that she's only larking wi'Jim, and is true to you all the time; but if I were thee I'd sack her. There are plenty of lasses everywhere, and thou can do better nor her. 

"I expect you will be going to France soon, and will be fighting themGermans. If they find thee as hard to deal wi' as I have, they'll havea tough job. But they are a bad lot, and I don't ask you to show 'emany mercy. 

"Your affectionate mother, "MRS. MARTHA POLLARD. 

"P. S. --Be sure to write and give Polly Powell the sack right away, she's noan thy sort. If you come across that German Emperor, don't besoft-hearted wi' 'im. "

After Tom had read his mother's letter twice, he sat silent for sometime. "So she's going out with Jim Dixon, " he reflected; "well, I'mglad. After all, my liking for her was only top-water stuff, and shewas doing me no good. " The next minute Tom was whistling his waythrough the camp. "Yes, " he continued, "mother's got what the writingchaps call 'a good literary style, ' and she hits the bull's-eye everytime. Gosh, what a fool I've been! Fancy giving up Alice Lister for alass like that. I wonder if it's true that Alice has took up wi' thatparson chap. I'd like to wring his neck, I would for sure. "

At the end of nearly three months Tom was moved to another camp stillnearer the south coast. He had a presentiment that the time was notfar distant when he would have to cross the sea, and know in realearnest what soldiering was like. In a way he was glad of this; likeall youths he longed for excitement, and wanted to come to close gripswith the thing he had set out to do. On the other hand however, hecould not help looking forward with dread. When on reading thenewspapers he saw long lists of casualties, and heard stories of themen he had known, who went out healthy and strong and never came backagain, and others who were brought home maimed for life, he had astrange feeling at his heart, and a sinking at the pit of his stomach. It was not that he felt afraid, but there was a kind of dread of theunknown. What would it be like to die?

"I hear we're off soon, " said Alec McPhail to him one day. 

"There's no telling, " said Tom laconically. 

"Ay, but we shall, " replied Alec, "and I shall be glad, I'm gettingsick of this life in the camps. "

"I doan't wonder at it, " said Tom. 

"What micht ye mean by that?" asked the Scotchman. 

"I am fair stalled wi' thee, " said Tom. "I thought that you, being athinking sort o' chap, would know better. You saw what a fool I wasmaking of myself, and yet you kept on drinking and carousing, andmaking a ninny of yourself, as though you had no more brains nor awaterhen. Why, lad, with your education and cleverness, you might havebeen sergeant-major by now. Nay, nay, keep thee temper; I mean nowtwrong. "

The Scotchman looked at Tom angrily for some seconds. He seemed on thepoint of striking him, then mastering himself he said, "Ay, Tom, you'rericht, and yet I'm no' sure. "

"What do you mean?" asked Tom. 

"Tom, man, " said the Scotchman, "ye canna think worse of me than Ithink of mysel'. I had a good home too, and a godly mither; as for myfather he was a hard man, but just, very just. Ay, I know I ought tohave known better, but the whisky got hold of me. Besides----"

"Besides what?" asked Tom. 

"Ay, man, I'm not a hero when it comes to facing death. I fancy I'm asbrave as most men about lots of things, but I just shiver when I thinko' dying; then I tak' a wee drap of whisky, and it gi'es me courage. "

"Poor sort of courage, " replied Tom; "besides, you take more than a'wee drap, ' as you call it. "

"Ay, it needs mair and mair. But it's this way, Tom; when I think ofgoing over the water into those trenches, and when I think of theshells falling all around me; when I call to mind that men may be dyingat my richt hand and on my left, blown all to smithereens, I getafraid, but after I have filled mysel' fou' of whisky I don't care. Iknow I ought to be ashamed of mysel'; I know, too, it's the wrang sortof courage. As for you, Tom, you have been wiser than me, you've gotreleegion. "

"Nay, I've nowt o' th' sort, " replied Tom, "I've just kept straight, that's all. "

"But it's not enough, Tom, " said the Scotchman. 

"What does a' mean?" asked Tom. 

"I mean that a man wants releegion, " replied Alec very solemnly. "Ihave been a thinking lad all my life, and when I chucked releegion andprofessed to believe in Colonel Ingersoll I kenned fine I was making afool of mysel'. It's either whisky or releegion to keep a man'scourage up; that is, such a man as me. "

"Then you think there's something after death?" said Tom. 

"Ay, lad, I am sure of it. I'm a-thinking you're richt, Tom, in goingto the Y. M. C. A. Meetings, and I know you're wrang in not gettingreleegion. E'en when I'm fou' of whisky, I have known that releegionwas necessary; and if I only had the strength I'd gi' up the whisky. "

The next day the camp was in a great state of excitement; the men hadreceived definite information that they were to start for the Front intwo days' time. They did not know where they were going, but they weretold it would be somewhere in France or Belgium. At first there wasgreat cheering at this; the men shouted and boasted of what they woulddo when they were face to face with the Germans. After that, almost asif by prearrangement, a solemn silence fell among them; evidently theywere thinking deeply. Some paid longer visits than usual to the wetcanteen or public-houses; others, again, were seen walking alone asthough they had no desire for company. 

We who remain at home in safety, and talk about the heroism of the mengoing away to the Front, little realise the thoughts which pass throughtheir minds. When the order to embark comes they don't say very muchabout it, and even when they do talk they speak of death almostlightly. "If I am potted, " they say, "I am, and that's all about it. "But that's not all they feel, as I have reason to know. They lovetheir lives just as much as we do, and they long to go back and spendtheir days amongst their loved ones. It is only rare that cowardice isseen, and it is rarer still for them to make any boast; the averageEnglishman is not given to boasting; he has his duty to do, and he justdoes it, saying very little about it. 

On the night before they were to embark for France, farewell meetingswere held at the Y. M. C. A. Huts, and Tom noticed that Alec McPhail foundhis way to the hut where he went. Perhaps eight hundred or a thousandmen had gathered, and although high spirits prevailed, each man feltthat he was breathing an atmosphere which was not usual. There was alook not common in the eyes of the lads; a set, stern expression ontheir faces. Afterwards when they had been to the Front and returned, they would go out again without such feeling as now possessed them. But these lads had never been to the war before; they were enteringupon an unknown; they knew that in all probability a large number ofthem would never come back to England again. Each had a hope that hemight escape, although the chances were against him. 

Still they cheered at the old recitations, listened to the old songs, and joined in the choruses which they liked just as they had been doingfor months; they were not going to show the white feather. 

A special speaker had come to the hut that night. He had been workingamong the soldiers in the Y. M. C. A. Tents on the Continent, and had comehome for a short holiday; now he had come to this camp in order tospeak to the men before their departure. It is said that months beforehe had been fond of telling humorous stories, and had delighted inmaking the soldiers laugh. He certainly had a sense of humour, and nowand then could not refrain from some witticism which set the highlystrung lads in roars of laughter. But the close of his address did notinspire mirth. 

"My lads, " he said, "you have done a brave thing; I don't say that youdeserve much praise for it, because at a time like this if anable-bodied youth does not join the Army he fails in his duty; and youare only doing your duty. If you had not done what you have done, Ishould be ashamed of you. All the same you are brave lads. You haveoffered your all, your very lives, at the altar of duty. I am notgoing to try and describe to you what you will have to do, and possiblyhave to suffer; you will find out that soon enough. Possibly many ofyou are going to your death. I don't want to frighten you, but we haveto face facts: I don't say it is an awful thing to die, but it is atremendous thing. You know that you have souls as well as bodies. Iam not going to argue it out with you; I needn't, because you know. Ineedn't try to prove to you that there is a God, because you know it, you feel it. There is no atheism out at the Front: some of you havetried to live without God, and you have made a mess of your lives. Itell you, my boys, it's a terrible thing to die without God. Some ofyou know what it is to believe in a personal Saviour; you have acceptedJesus Christ, the Son of God, who came on earth to die for us that wemight know God; and you have found Him to be a strength in temptation, a joy in sorrow. My lads, you all want that Saviour, and especially doyou want Him now. You are embarking on the Great Unknown, and you needa Captain, a Guide, a Saviour: I have come to tell you about Him. "

I am not going to try to describe the close of his address. This manhad seen hundreds die, he had come face to face with the greatrealities of life, of death, and of religion. He knew what he wastalking about because he had experienced it, and he made the men feelwhat he felt. That night when the meeting was over Tom Pollard foundhimself again with Alec McPhail. 

"That chap was fair earnest, " said Tom. 

"Ay, " replied the Scotchman, "he went richt down to the bottom ofthings. Come wi' me to the canteen, lad, I feel I must have a drink. "

"Not if I know it, " said Tom, "no drink for me to-night. "

But the Scotchman rushed away towards the canteen, and Tom, scarcelyknowing what he was doing, followed him. When they entered, they saw anumber of men standing there drinking. 

"Yes, " they heard one man say, "that chap was right; I know I'm makinga fool of myself, but I'm going to have another drink. My God! Whatwould my mother say if she knew I wur off tomorrow morning!"

A lad with a pale, refined face, standing by his side, had a glass inhis hand ready to lift to his lips. "Ay, and what would my mothersay!" he said. "I know she would be praying for me. "

At this some one uttered a coarse oath, but the lad threw the drinkfrom him and left the canteen. 

"Ay, he's richt, " said the Scotchman as he watched him go. "TomPollard, man, I hinna prayed for years, but I am praying to-nicht. Iought to be a different man, for I ken the fundamentals of releegion, but I'm giving my heart to God to-nicht; I am for sure. "

Tom followed the Scotchman out of the canteen towards one of thenumerous sleeping-huts. 

"I am giving my heart to God, Pollard, " he said hoarsely, "and I'mwriting to tell my mither about it this very nicht. Ay, man, somethinghas come into my life stronger than the power of whisky!"

When Tom found his way to his own sleeping-hut that night, he was in achastened frame of mind. "I'm noan going to turn religious, " he saidalmost sullenly, "but I believe he's got the reight on't. "

The next morning they were at Folkestone, where the big troopship layin the harbour. Before mid-day the ship was crowded with soldiers. How many men were there Tom had not the slightest idea; but they filledevery part of it. Generals, colonels, majors, non-commissionedofficers, and privates were all huddled together. All over the shipofficers and men were alike; they were going to the field of battle todie if need be for honour, duty, and the liberty of the world. 

There were scarcely a score of civilians on board, and even they werein some way attached to the Army. Nurses wearing the Red Cross, religious workers with a look of wonder in their eyes, a few sent bythe Government on some particular mission, but all were taking part inthe great War which was staggering the world. 

Perhaps a mile or more out at sea a great Destroyer proudly spurned thewaves; she was to guard the troopship along her perilous passage. 

Presently they landed at Boulogne. 

"Where are we going?" said one of the soldiers in Tom's company as theyentered a waiting train. 

"I don't know, " said Tom, "but what does it matter? We have nowt to dowith that, we have just got to do our job. "

They spent all the night in the troop-train, which was crowded almostto suffocation. Where they were going they didn't know, scarcelycared. Sometimes they were drawn up to a siding where they would stayfor hours, then the train crawled on again. Presently the morningbroke and Tom saw a flat and what seemed to him, after Surrey, anuninteresting piece of country. Everything was strange to him, eventhe trees looked different from those he had seen in Surrey. On and onthe train crawled, until presently they had orders to alight. 

It was now early morning, and after breakfast they were formed inmarching order. Tom took but little notice of the country throughwhich they marched, except that they were on a straight road, which waspaved in the middle. As the day advanced the sun grew hot andscorching, but the men marched on uncomplainingly; there was littlemerriment, but much thought. Presently noon came, and again theystopped for food, after which there was another march. By this timeTom realised that he was indeed in the zone of war. He saw what lookedto him miles of motor waggons filled with food and munitions, numbersof ambulance waggons marked with the Red Cross. More than one body ofhorse soldiers passed him, and again he saw numbers of men bivouackednear him; but everywhere there were soldiers, soldiers. Tom could notunderstand it, it was all so different from what he expected, neithercould he see any order or purpose in that which was taking place aroundhim. There was activity and movement everywhere, but he couldco-ordinate nothing, he was simply bewildered. 

Towards evening there was another resting-time, and each man gladlythrew himself full length on the grass. For a moment there was asilence, then Tom heard a sound which gave him a sickening sensation;he felt a sinking, too, at the pit of his stomach: it was the boom, boom, boom of guns. 

"Look at yon' airship in the sky!" cried one of the men. Each eye wasturned towards it, then they heard the boom of guns again, after whichthere were sheets of fire around the aeroplane, and afterwards littleclouds of smoke formed themselves. 

"I am getting near at last, " thought Tom. "I wonder now--I wonder----"

CHAPTER V

Tom discovered presently that his destination was the Ypres salient, one of the most "unhealthy" places, to use the term in favour among thesoldiers, in the whole of the English battle line. Here the mosttremendous battle ever fought in our British Army took place--indeedone of the most tremendous battles in the history of the world. Asergeant who was in a garrulous mood described it to Tom with a greatdeal of spirit. 

"Yes, " he said, "you have come to an unhealthy spot; still it may begood for you. The blessed Huns thought they were going to breakthrough here about last September when the battle of Wipers was fought. They had six hundred thousand men to our hundred and fifty thousand. Then that blooming Kaiser made up his mind that he would break throughour lines, and get to Calais. Yes, it was a touch and go with us. Fancy four to one, and they had all the advantage in big guns andammunition. You think _those_ big guns? Wait till you have heard JackJohnson and Black Maria. Talk about hell! Hell was never as bad asthe battle of Wipers. I thought we were licked once. I was in thepart where our line was the thinnest, and we saw 'em coming towards usin crowds; there seemed to be millions of 'em; we had to rake out everycook and bottle-washer on the show. Lots of our men were fresh to thejob, too, and had never smelt powder, or felt the touch of steel. But, by gosh, we let 'em know! Four to one, my boy, and we licked 'em, inspite of their big guns and their boasting. Aren't you proud of beinga British Tommy?"

Tom listened with wide, staring eyes and compressed lips. There withina mile or two of the battle line he could picture all of which thesergeant spoke. As he looked he could see the brown line of earth awayin the distance, and could discern too, here and there, dotted alongthis brown line, clouds of black smoke. All around him our guns werebooming, while the distant sounds of the German guns reached him. 

"Ay, it's a bit unhealthy, " went on the sergeant, "but you will getused to it after a bit. There, hear that?"

Tom listened and heard the screaming of a shell in the air; the note itmade was at first low, but it rose higher and higher and then droppedagain. 

"When the note gets to about B flat, " said the sergeant, "you may knowit's soon going to fall, and as soon as it has touched the ground theshell bursts and tears a big hole up. "

"Are many killed?" asked Tom. 

"Ay, there's a good lot of casualties every day, but not so much asthere was at the second battle of Wipers. That was fair terrible. Yousee, the Germans could not drive us back nor break our lines. That waswhy they started bombarding the city. I was here and saw it. Man, youshould have heard the women screaming, and seen the people flying fortheir lives. Whole streets of houses were burning, and all the timeshells were falling and bursting. How many people were killed here Godonly knows, but there must have been hundreds of women and children. But what did those dirty swine of Germans care! They could not breakour lines, and they had lost a hundred and fifty thousand men, so theyturned their big guns upon the city. 'We can kill Belgian women andchildren, anyhow, ' they said, 'and we can smash up the old town. ' Areyou a bit jumpy?"

"No n-n-no;--that is, a little bit, " said Tom. 

"Oh, it's quite quiet now, " replied the sergeant. "I will walk throughwith you if you like and show you round. This is the great square; oneof the biggest in the world. I saw it before it was bombarded; theCathedral and the Cloth Hall were just wonderful; see what they arenow! knocked into smithereens. See the trees around, how they aretwisted and burnt? That house there I saw shelled myself. I had got abit used to the shelling by that time, but I tell you it gave me aturn. It was the biggest house in the Square, and a great bomb caughtit fair in the face; it seemed as though the whole world was shaking, and the noise fair deafened you. The house went down as though it werecardboard, and other houses around fell as though to keep it company, while others caught fire. Ay, they're sweet creatures, are thoseGerman swine. "

"Doan't you hate 'em?" asked Tom. 

"Hate 'em?" said the sergeant; "well, I don't know. Mind you, they arefine soldiers, and brave men too, or at least they seem brave; but it'sdiscipline does it. They are just like machinery. Once when I wasright in the middle of it, they attacked in close formation, and weturned our machine-guns on 'em. Ever seen a mowing machine in a wheatfield? ever seen the wheat fall before the knives? Well, that's howthey fell. Hundreds upon hundreds; but still they came on. Just asfast as one lot was killed, the others, knowing that they were going tocertain death, came on, thinking they would wear us down by sheernumbers. "

"Did they?" asked Tom. 

"No, that time they didn't, " replied the sergeant, "but another scrap Iwas in they did. That is their plan, you know; it is terribly costly, but when it succeeds it works havoc. "

"Have you been wounded at all?" asked Tom. 

"Yes, I have stopped two bullets, one in the foot and another in theshoulder, but I quickly got over it. I have been wonderfully lucky. You will get used to it after a bit; you seem a plucky chap; you don'tlook like the sort that runs away. Although, mind you, I have seenplucky chaps hook it. "

"No, I'm not plucky, " said Tom; "but I don't think I would run away. "

"Wait till the shrapnel is falling around you; wait till great piecesof jagged shell mow men down on your right and on your left. Still wehave stuck so far, and we must stick to the end. Still, from amilitary standpoint, " and here the sergeant spoke judicially, "ourholding Wipers is a bad policy. You see, it's a salient and theGermans guns are all around us; but if we made a straight line weshould give them Wipers, and that would have a bad effect. Just lookin here, " and he pointed to a house, the front of which was completelyblown away, but the rest of which remained comparatively intact. 

"There's the room just as those poor blighters of Belgians left it, "continued the sergeant. "See the baby's shoes, and the kiddy's dress?There are one or two pictures on the wall, not of much value, or thoseblooming souvenir-hunters would have got 'em. "

"Do you think we shall lick 'em?" asked Tom. 

"Lick 'em! Of course we shall, " said the sergeant, who had servednearly twenty years in the Army. "Mind you, it will be no easy job. Up to now they have had the upper hand of us, both in men andmunitions; but we are gaining on 'em now. What I can't stand is thoseblooming swipes, those shirkers who sit at home and who call themselvesmen. I tell you I'm for conscription out and out. This is no job tobe played with; if we don't put forth our strength we can't beat 'em. But just think of those swine, who read the papers and talk aboutbeating the Germans, who strut about with their patent-leather bootsand fine clothes, and try to make out that they are gentlemen, but whowon't face the music; that's what sickens me. Who are we fighting for, I should like to know? We are fighting for them, and for our women, and for the old country. They think they can stop at home andcriticise, and then when we have done the work, share the benefits. Great God!"--and here the sergeant indulged in some unprintablelanguage--"I would like to get hold of them. "

"Isn't it dangerous here?" asked Tom, as another shrieking shell passedover their heads. 

"Not just now, " replied the other; "their shells are falling on theother side of the town. Of course, " he added casually, "they may fallhere any moment. "

"I asked you just now, " said Tom, "whether you hated the Germans?"

"Yes, you did, " replied the sergeant, "and I went off on another tack. Hate 'em? Well, it's this way. At the beginning I don't know that Ihated 'em so much. Yes, what you call Belgian atrocities were hellish;but 'twasn't that, and as long as they fought fair that was all I caredabout. But when they got using that poisonous gas they came it a bittoo strong. No, lad, I never hated 'em till then. But when they usedthat stuff and laughed about it, ay, and laughed to see our poor chapswrithing in agony, I felt I must kill every German I saw. Of course, we've got over it now a bit, and we're all supplied with helmets, butwhen they used it first we had simply nothing to defend us. Yes, Ihave done some rough bits of work in my time, but I never met withanything like that. When you see your own pals getting bluer and bluerin the face, and coughing and gasping, oh, I tell you it made us mad!We didn't feel like showing any mercy after that. Besides, they haveno sense of fair play, the swipes. I was in a scrap once, and after ahard tussle, and after losing lots of men, a lot of Germans held uptheir hands and shouted, 'We surrender. ' Our officer, a young chap newto the job, and knowing nothing of their tricks, instead of tellingthem to come to us, told us to go to them, they holding up their handsall the time; but no sooner did we get near them than they up withtheir pistols and shot two of our chaps. They thought our officer wasgoing to take it lying down, and when they were taken prisoners theylaughed and said everything was fair in war; but our young officer sawred, and he said 'No, my lads, you are going to kingdom come. ' 'What!'shrieked those German swine, 'will you kill men after they havesurrendered?' 'You are not men, ' said the lieutenant; 'men don't shootafter they've surrendered--only Germans do that. "

"And then?" asked Tom, "then----"

"Ah well, " replied the sergeant grimly, "there were no questions askedin the morning. "

"Great God!" said Tom, "what a ghastly thing war is!"

"Wait till you have seen it, my lad, " replied the sergeant. 

For some weeks Tom was in the neighbourhood of Ypres without taking anypart in the righting. During that time he got accustomed to theconstant booming of the guns, and to the fact that any moment a shellmight fall near him and blow him into eternity. On more than oneoccasion, too, he roamed around the ruins of Ypres; and while he couldnot be called an imaginative lad he could not help being impressed bythe ghastly desolation of this one-time beautiful city. In many of thestreets not one stone was left upon another, not one of the inhabitantswho had formerly lived there remained; all had fled; it was indeed acity of the dead. To Tom the ruins of the great Cloth Hall and theCathedral were not the most terrible; what appealed to him most werethe empty houses in which things were left by the panic-strickenpeople. Bedsteads twisted into shapeless masses; clothes half burnt;remnants of pieces of cloth which tradesmen had been in the act ofcutting and stitching; children's toys, and thousands of other thingswhich suggested to the boy the life the people had been living. Not abird sang, not even a street dog roamed amidst the shapelessdesolation; the ghastly horror of it all possessed him. Great gapingholes in the old ramparts of the city; trees torn up by their roots andscorched by deadly fire: this was Ypres, not destroyed by thenecessities of war, but by pure devilry. 

At last Tom's turn came to go up to the front trenches. It was with astrange feeling at heart that he, with others, crept along the paveroad towards the communication trench. They had to be very careful, because this road was constantly swept by the German machine guns. Presently, when they came to a house used as a first dressing stationclose to the beginning of the communication trench, Tom felt his heartgrow cold. Still, with set teeth, and a hard look in his eyes, hegroped his way along the trench, through Piccadilly, and Haymarket, andBond Street, and Whitehall (for in this manner do the soldiers name thevarious parts of the zigzag cuttings through the clay): while all thetime he could hear the pep, pep, pep, pep of the machine guns, and theshrieking of the shells. 

There was no romance in war now, it was a grim, ghastly reality. Afterfollowing the lines of the trenches for well-nigh an hour he wasinformed that he had now reached the front line and was within ahundred or a hundred and fifty yards of the Huns. For the moment therewas a comparative quiet, only occasionally did he hear the sound of agun, while the shrieking of the shells was less frequent. Dangerseemed very far away; he was in a deep hole in the ground, and abovethe earthworks were great heaps of sand-bags. How could he be hurt?The men whom his company was sent to relieve seemed in high goodspirits too, they laughed and talked and bandied jokes. "There seemsno danger here, " thought Tom. An hour passed and still all wascomparatively quiet. 

"I would like to see those blooming German trenches, " said a Lancashirelad, "and I will too. "

He lifted his head above the sand-bags and looked towards the brownheaps of earth perhaps a hundred yards away. 

"Dost'a see any Germans?" some one asked. 

"I'm not sure, " replied the lad, "but I believe I see the top of aGerman helmet. "

"Duck down quickly, " said another, "thou'st been holding thy head theretoo long. "

"Nay, there's no danger, " replied the lad, "it's all as quiet as----"But he did not finish the sentence; at that moment there was a crack ofa rifle and a bullet passed through the poor boy's brain. 

"That will be a warning for you fellows, " said an officer who came upjust then. "You must play no tricks; there have been hundreds of ladskilled here who would never have been touched if they hadn't beencareless and foolish. Let's have no more of your Hampstead Heath BankHoliday skylarking. "

Tom did duty at the front trench on several occasions, but nothing ofimportance took place. The Huns seemed comparatively quiet, and whilethere was severe artillery work on both sides, Tom did not receive ascratch. 

The fourth time he went to the front lines, however, he felt that therewas a change in the atmosphere, and he saw by the strained looks andthe compressed lips of the men that something desperate was expected. The officers gave their orders with more sternness than usual; everyone was alert. 

Tom thought he knew what intense artillery work meant, but he realisedthat day that hitherto he had seen and heard nothing. Such a tornadoof shells burst around him that it was like hell let loose. Hour afterhour the Germans bombarded our trenches, tearing great holes in theground, and undoing the work of months. It seemed to Tom that no mancould escape. 

"Oh, " cried the boy, "if they would be quiet for only a minute! If onecould only stop to take breath!"

But there was no cessation; it seemed as though the Germans weredetermined to make a final and overwhelming attack; as though all theexplosives in the world were concentrated on those few miles. 

The sights were horrible; he saw shells falling on groups of men, tearing them to pieces, while all around him were the shrieks and criesof the wounded. Some of the men who were yet untouched yelled asthough they were mad, others laughed, but their laughter was notnatural; it was frenzied, wild, just as though they were madmen. 

"We can't stand it! We can't stand it!" cried the boy. "We shall allbe blown into eternity. Why do we stay here like this?"

He spoke to the sergeant who had given him a description of the firstbattle of Ypres some time before. The sergeant was comparatively cool;he had been through it before. 

"It's nothing to you whether we are doing anything or not, " replied thesergeant, "besides, don't be a fool; our guns are giving them as hot atime as their guns are giving us. Don't lose your head. "

"I wouldn't mind if I could do something, " said the poor boy, trembling. 

"Do! Unless I'm mistaken there will be enough for us all to do verysoon. There! firing has ceased! Look out!"

It was as the sergeant said; almost suddenly there was a calm, and afew seconds later Tom heard a command which made his knees knocktogether. 

What happened after that Tom could never describe; even if he could, hewould not have done so. As he has said to me more than once, "It wasnot something to talk about, it was a matter of bayonet work; it wasfighting face to face, steel to steel. "

Tom didn't feel fear now; all that was gone. His muscles were hard, his thoughts were tense, he saw red! Presently he had a convictionthat we were gaining ground, and he suddenly became aware of the factthat we had gained the better of the situation and had returned to ourtrenches. A number of the enemy had been taken prisoners, and the plotwhich the Germans had hatched had come to nothing. Immediatelyafterwards something happened which Tom never forgot. A German officerlay wounded some little distance from the trench which the English hadtaken, and piteously cried for help. 

"Which of you chaps will volunteer to go and fetch him in?" cried ayoung officer whose bravery that day had been the talk of all the men. 

Each looked to the other as if for response; they were dazed andbewildered by all they had gone through. 

"I say, " said another officer, "you can't expect any of the chaps to dothat. Directly the Huns see any one going to him they will shoot him. Besides, he may be nearly dead; better put an end to him. "

"But hear how he groans!" cried the young fellow. "There, I'll do it. "

He leapt from the trench and rushed along the intervening space forperhaps about fifty yards; then lifting the German officer bodily, hebrought him back to safety. 

"I am parched--parched!" cried the German, as if in agony, "give mewater. " The young Englishman got a cup of water and held it to theGerman's lips, but even as he did so the German drew his revolver andshot him through the heart. [1]

What happened to the German after that I will not try to relate. Whyam I describing this, and why have I mentioned this incident? Onlythat our people at home may realise what heroes our lads are; what theyhave to face in order to save our country, and what kind of an enemythey have to deal with. I am describing it to try if possible to raisea blush of shame on the faces of those shirkers at home who are adisgrace to the name of Englishman. 

Tom passed through this ordeal without a scratch, and by and by whenhis company was relieved, and he returned to a place of safety, thewhole episode seemed but a ghastly dream. And yet it caused a greatchange to Tom's life. If he had been asked to describe it he would nothave been able to do so; it was something subtle, elusive; but thechange was there. He felt as though he had a new conception of life;and he realised its tremendousness as he had never realised it before. 

He was by no means given to philosophising, but two things impressedhim. One was the tremendous amount of heroism that lay latent in thecommonplace lads who had come out with him. He knew many of thembefore they joined the Army; knew them just as they were. Humdrumworkaday boys who did not seem capable of anything like heroism; butthe war had brought out new qualities, fine qualities. He saw howthose men were willing to sacrifice themselves for others; saw themdoing all sorts of glorious deeds. One fellow impressed himtremendously. He himself was wounded, but not badly, for he couldeasily have crawled to a place of safety; and yet he remained with acomrade, holding his head on his knees and ministering to him astenderly as a woman, in a spot where life could not be valued at apin's purchase. Deeds like that are common at the Front. 

The other thing which impressed him was the tremendous power ofreligion. Before he went up to the firing line he had heard oneofficer say to another, "I wish the chaplains could be allowed to go upto the front line of trenches. You see, when men have no religion tosupport them, the constant bombardment and danger make them jumpy. "Tom realised what this meant after the action I have just described. He himself felt that he needed a Power greater than his own, to steadyhim. 

Tom had just heard that he was to go on duty at the front trench again, when passing along by the canal towards one of the officers' dug-outshe saw a staff officer talking with the major of his own battalion. Tom lifted his hand to salute, when the staff officer turned and spoketo him. 

"Ah, is that you, Pollard?"

"Yes, Mr. Waterman--that is, yes, sir, " stammered Tom. 

"I hope you are doing well, " said Waterman. 

"I am still alive, thank you, sir, " and then he passed on. 

"He's got a safe job anyhow, " thought Tom, "he'll be at the DivisionalHeadquarters I expect; well, he's a clever fellow. "

That night when Tom returned to the first line he was put on sentryduty. It was one of those silent, windless, starless nights, whenunder ordinary circumstances a solemn hush prevails. Even the trencheswere silent that night. On both sides the guns had ceased booming; itseemed as though a truce had been agreed upon, and yet the air wastense with doom. 

Tom could not help feeling it as he traversed that part of the trenchin which his especial duty lay. Unimaginative as he was, his mindworked freely. He called to mind the engagement of a few days before, remembered what he had seen and heard. 

Again and again he traversed the cutting in the earth; his rifle on hisshoulder, and bayonet fixed. How silent it was! Not a man's voice wasto be heard. He knew that sentries were all around him, but he couldnot hear a footstep; he knew, too, that many of the soldiers lay intheir dug-outs, sleeping as peacefully as though they were at home. And yet he felt all alone. "Where's Jim Bates now, I wonder, andArthur Wadge, and Bill Perkins, and George Wilson? they were killed, but are they really dead?" he said to himself. He had known these ladswell; in fact, they had been pals of his, and he wondered what hadbecome of them. Were they still alive? What had they felt like whenthey had to cross the deep, dark valley? What was death?

He thought of his old Sunday-schooldays, thought of his old beliefs. "Ay, " cried Tom aloud, "if I could only feel that Christ was wi' me nowI shouldn't care a bit; but I gave Him up months ago. Alice Listerbelieved in Him, ay, she did an' all. I wonder where Alice is now?Does she ever think about me, I wonder? does she pray for me as shesaid?"

He thought of what the man had said in the Y. M. C. A. Hut on the nightbefore they set sail for France. He had told the soldiers that theyneeded a personal Saviour, and that that Saviour was ever waiting, everwatching, to give them help; that He would be near all those whostretched out their lame hands of faith towards Him, and help them, strengthen them, comfort them. It was very unreal, it seemed a longway off too. And yet was it? Was Christ there just as the man hadsaid?

"Boom!" The sound came from an enemy's gun, but he heard no shellscreeching its way through space, saw no light of explosion. It wasnot repeated, although he waited, listening tensely. Minute afterminute passed, still there was silence; evidently the English gunnerswere instructed not to reply. 

What was the meaning of it? The silence became so tense that it seemedto make a noise; the air was laden with gloom. 

"I wonder what it means, " said the boy, and a great fear possessed him;he felt as though he were on the brink of a fathomless chasm, a chasmwhich was as black as ink. 

Minute after minute he waited, and still no sound broke the silence. 

He tried to comfort himself by remembering pleasant things thathappened at Brunford, but in vain. It seemed to him as though he wassurrounded by something fierce and terrible; was it a premonition ofdeath, he wondered?

Again he called to mind what the Y. M. C. A. Man had said on the nightbefore they started for the Front. He had advised them to pray, and toput their trust in a loving God who had been revealed to them throughJesus Christ. 

He still tramped the bit of trench which it was his duty to guard, looking eagerly into the darkness as if to discern the outline of anapproaching enemy. "If I only could pray!" thought Tom, "if I onlycould!"

But he had not prayed for years, the very thought of prayer had goneout of his mind and heart; but oh! how he longed for something tocomfort and steady him!

Well, why should he not pray? It could do no harm, it might even dohim good. 

Lifting his eyes towards the inky-black sky, he tried to formulate aprayer, but he could not, his thoughts could not shape themselves, hismind refused to work; he opened his lips and cried, "O God!"

That was all; he could think of nothing else to say, but he repeatedthe words again and again:

"O God!--O God!--O God!"

That was all. He had asked for nothing, he had indeed hardly thoughtof anything. Nevertheless he was comforted; the words he had utteredmeant infinite things, for at the back of his mind he had a confusedbelief that God saw, that God listened, that God understood, and thethought changed everything. 

"I wonder what Alice Lister is doing now, " thought the boy presently. He did not know why it was, but somehow God seemed more real when hethought of the girl who had promised to pray for him. 

[1] This incident was described to me as having actually taken place asI have set it down here. 

CHAPTER VI

What was Alice Lister doing on the night when Tom prayed? If it hadbeen a night of wonder to Tom, it had been a night of decision to AliceLister, who had to face another crisis in her life. While Tom had beenoffering his almost inarticulate prayer in the trenches in the Ypressalient, Alice Lister sat alone in her bedroom. 

More than a year had passed since the Sunday afternoon when she hadtold Tom that he must make his choice between her and the life heseemed determined to lead. What it had cost her to do this I will nottry to describe, for Alice had truly cared for Tom. It was true thathe did not quite belong to her class, and it was also true that herparents had done their best to dissuade her from thinking about him;but Alice had been fond of Tom: something, she knew not what, had drawnher heart towards him. She had believed in him too; believed that hewas possessed of noble qualities which only she understood. Then asshe saw Tom drifting, she knew that her decisive step must be taken, and she had taken it. 

Afterwards, when she was told how Tom had risen in the great crowd atthe hall in the Mechanics' Institute, and had gone up to the platformand volunteered for active service, her heart had thrilled strangely. She did not understand much about the war, but she felt that Tom haddone a noble thing. In spite of the fact, too, that he had left her towalk out with Polly Powell, she had a sense of possession; it seemed toher that Tom belonged to her more than to this highly coloured buxomgirl who had taken him from her. 

Then something happened which set the people at the church she attendedtalking freely. The young minister was a bachelor, and it was evidenthe was enamoured with Alice; he paid her marked attention, and eagerlysought to be in her company. 

"That's something like, " said many of Alice's friends; "Alice will makea splendid minister's wife. "

But when at length Mr. Skelton proposed to Alice, she had no difficultyin answering him. He could offer her a far better position than Tomdreamed of; the work she would have to do as a minister's wife, too, would be thoroughly in accord with her tastes and desires. But Alicecared nothing for Mr. Skelton. Her heart was sad when she saw how palehe looked at her refusal, but she had no hesitation. 

The problem which faced her now, however, was not so easy to settle. Young Harry Briarfield was not a comparative stranger like Mr. Skelton;she had known him all her life, they had been brought up together inthe same town, they had gone to Sunday School together, they had sungduets together at concerts, and although she had never looked at Harryin the light of a lover she had always been fond of him. 

Harry was in a good position too; his father was a manufacturer in afairly large way, and he had just been admitted as a partner into thebusiness. He was twenty-four years of age now, was highly respectedthroughout the town, and was looked upon as one who in a few yearswould hold his head high among commercial men. 

During the last few weeks Harry had come often to Mr. Lister's house, ostensibly to talk about business, but really to see Alice. 

Mr. And Mrs. Lister had nudged each other and smiled at Harry'sfrequent visits. 

"I knew our Alice would do the right thing, " said Mr. Lister to hiswife; "for a time she went silly about that Pollard boy, but she threwhim over of her own accord. Harry's a nice lad, and he's making a tidybit of brass, while George Briarfield has about made his pile. In twoor three years Harry will have the business entirely in his own hands, and then there will not be a better chance in Brunford for her. "

Mrs. Lister sighed. 

"I don't think our Alice has forgotten Tom Pollard, though, " shereplied. 

"Nonsense, " replied her husband, "what is the good of her thinkingabout Tom? I thought he would have done well at one time, and if hehadn't taken up with that Polly Powell lot he might have got on; but hedid, and then he went for a soldier. What is the good of our Alicethinking about him? Even if the war were to finish next week and Tomwere to come back, it would take him years, even if he had good luck, to make five pound a week, while Harry's making a thousand a year ifhe's making a penny. "

"Ay, I know, " replied Mrs. Lister, "but you can never judge a lass'sheart. You know how it was wi' us, George; at the very time you askedme to be your wife you were only making thirty-three shillings a week, and William Pott was making hundreds a year. He was a far betterchance nor you, George, and people said I was a fool for not takinghim; but I couldn't. "

"That was a different thing, " said George Lister hastily, "that Pollardboy went wrong. Besides, we need not think about that now; Alice gavehim up, and very likely he will be killed. "

On the night when Tom was alone in the trenches, Harry Briarfield madehis way to Mr. Lister's house, and it was not long before Alice and hewere left alone together. Harry had made up his mind to make hisproposal that night, and he had but little doubt as to the result. 

"Look here, Alice, " he said presently, "I want to say something to you, something very particular. You must have seen for a long time how fondI am of you, and perhaps you have wondered why I haven't spoken. Iwanted to badly enough, but I waited until father took me intopartnership. You see, " he went on, "at the beginning of the war thingswere going bad with us; there was a boom in the cotton trade about ayear ago, but when the war broke out there was a regular slump, and wethought we were going to be ruined. Now, however, things are goingvery well again. We have got some war contracts, and we are makingmoney. "

Alice's heart beat wildly, although by an effort she appeared calm. 

"I wonder you have not joined the Army, Harry, " she said; "every daythere's a call for more men. "

"Not if I know it, " replied Harry. "At one time I did think of tryingfor a commission, but that would have been foolish: you see I might nothave been able to have got it, and of course a man in my position couldnot go as a Tommy. "

"Why not?" asked Alice quickly. "I am told that lots of men of everyorder join as privates. "

"No, thank you, " replied Harry, with a laugh. "I know one chap who didthat; Edgar Burton. Do you know him? He joined at the beginning ofthe war, but he quickly got sick of it. He said the life was terrible;he described to me how he had to wash up dishes, and scrub the floorsof his barracks, and how he had to be pals with a lot of chaps whodidn't know the decencies of life. Besides, think of me on a shillinga day!"

"Still, if your country needs you?" suggested Alice. 

"I am doing more important work at home, " replied Harry; "they couldnot do without me at the mill. It's all very well for boys like TomPollard, who used to be so fond of you, but for people like me it'sdifferent. "

There was a silence for a few minutes, and then Harry went on again:

"Alice, you know how fond I am of you--in fact, I have loved you all mylife. You will marry me, won't you?"

Harry was very disappointed, and not a little surprised, that Alice didnot answer in the affirmative right away; but he had conceded withfairly good grace when she had asked for a few days to think about it. 

"It is all right, " said Harry to himself as he left the house thatnight, "I am sure she means yes. And she's a fine lass, the finest inBrunford. "

That was why Alice sat alone that night thinking. She had promised togive Harry her definite reply in three days' time, and although she wasvery fond of him she could not bring herself to give him the answer hedesired. When he had left the house her father and mother had comeinto the room. 

"Well, Alice, have you fixed it up?"

She shook her head, but didn't speak. 

"Come now, lass, you needn't be so shy. I know he's asked you to wedhim; he asked for my permission like a man, and then he told me he wasgoing to speak to you to-night. You can't do better, my dear. Haveyou fixed it all up?"

"No, " she said. 

"What!" cried the father, "you don't mean to say you have been such afool as to say no!"

"I have said nothing as yet, " was her answer. 

George Lister heaved a sigh of relief. "Ay, well, " he said, "it'sperhaps a good thing not to say yes at once. Hold him back two orthree days and it will make him all the more eager. When a man comesto me to buy cloth I never shows as 'ow I am eager to sell. But ofcourse you _will_ take him?"

"I don't know, " replied Alice. 

"Don't know! Why don't you know? You like him, don't you?"

"I don't know, father, " she replied, and then she rushed out of theroom. 

"What's the meaning of this, lass?" said George Lister to his wife. "Has she told you anything?"

"Not a word, " said Mrs. Lister. 

"But surely she can't be such a fool as to refuse Harry! Why, thereisn't a better chap in Brunford! He's an only son, and his father'sbrass will go to him when he dies. "

But Mrs. Lister did not speak a word; in her eyes was a far-away look, as though she saw something which her husband did not see. 

As for Alice, she sat for a long time thinking in silence. 

Harry's words still rang in her ears; the memory of the look on hisface as he left her still remained. Still she could not make up hermind. Yes, she liked Harry, in a way she admired him. He was ateacher in the Sunday School, he was a good business man, he wasclever, and he was respected in the town; and yet she hesitated. 

Hour after hour passed away, and still she could not make up her mind. In spite of Harry Briarfield's words she had not forgotten the lad fromwhom she had parted months before. Why was it? She thought she hadforgotten him. He had been unworthy of her; he had taken up with agirl whom she despised, a coarse, vulgar girl, and she had heard sincethat Polly Powell had been walking out with a number of young men. AndTom had preferred this kind of creature to her love. Her pride hadbeen wounded, her self-respect had been shocked, and yet even now, while she was thinking of Harry Briarfield's proposal, her mindreverted to the boy who had gone away as a soldier. 

The Town Hall clock boomed out the hour of midnight. Alice foundherself mechanically counting the strokes of the deep-toned bell. Thenshe fell on her knees beside the bed, but the prayer which she had beenwont to pray did not come to her lips. Her thoughts were far away; shepictured a distant battlefield; she imagined the boom of guns; sheheard the clash of bayonets; she thought she heard the cries of woundedmen, too; then a prayer involuntarily came to her lips:

"O God, save him! O God, help him and protect him!"

Thus it came to pass at the time Tom Pollard tried for the first timein many months to pray, and to formulate his distracted thoughts, AliceLister was kneeling by her bedside also trying to pray. 

CHAPTER VII

Tom Pollard's mind was suddenly brought back to mundane things. It wasnow nearly one o'clock in the morning, and the night was chilly; abreeze having sprung up, the clouds had rolled away. 

He distinctly heard a shout, and as far as he could make out it camefrom the German trenches, which were not far away. 

"Holloa!"

"Holloa!" said Tom, "what is it?" He thought one of the other men onpatrol duty had spoken to him. 

"You belong to the Lancashires, don't you?"

"Of course I do, " replied Tom; "what of that?" He was able to locatethe voice now, and knew it came from a German trench. 

"I have got something to tell you, " and the words were followed by alaugh. 

Whoever it was spoke in perfectly good English, although with a Germanaccent. 

"I reckon it'll be lies, " was Tom's reply. 

By this time another sentry, hearing Tom's voice, had rushed up to him. 

"What is it? Who goes there?" he called out. 

"Listen, " whispered Tom, "it's one of the Bosches speaking to me. Whatis it?" he asked aloud. 

"Only this, " and the German laughed as he spoke: "you Lancashires aregoing to attack us at six o'clock to-morrow morning, eleven hundredstrong, and we're ready for you. That's all, " and again the Germanlaughed. 

"What does he mean?" said Tom to the man who stood by his side. "Iknow nothing about any attack. Do you?"

"I knows there's something on foot, " replied the other, "but what it isI don't know. "

"Do you think we ought to tell one of the officers?"

"Nay, it's not worth the trouble, " was the reply; "besides, it's only abit of bluff. "

Two hours later the English trenches were full of movement; evidently, as the other sentry had told Tom, something was on foot. Orders weregiven in low, tense tones, and although it wanted some time todaylight, preparations were evidently being made for an attack. 

The words which the German had spoken weighed heavily on Tom's mind. Of course he was only a private, but might not the news he had receivedmean something? The more he thought about it, the more he wasconvinced that the German who spoke to him told the truth. Tom had noknowledge, and no warning, that an attack was to be made, and yet, within two hours from the time the German had spoken to him, preparations were being made for an attack. He knew, too, that hisbattalion was eleven hundred strong, having been reinforced only twodays before. Seeing a young officer, he determined to speak to him andtell him what he had heard. 

"It is very funny, " said the subaltern, "I can't understand it a bit;but it's too late now, we must go through with it. " All the same thesubaltern found his way to his Colonel. 

Precisely at six o'clock that morning the attack was made. From whatTom learnt afterwards, it had been conceived and prepared for insecret. None but those in high command had any knowledge whatever ofit. But evidently the enemy knew. As the German soldier who hadwarned Tom said, "they were ready for them, " and when the attack wasmade they were met by a storm of bullets. Indeed the whole adventurewould have been disastrous had not the subaltern to whom Tom had spokenreported the conversation to a superior officer, who had hurriedlygiven orders for a number of the Black Watch to be brought up. As itwas, although our loss of life was heavy, we did not have to yield anyground. 

When the affair came to an end the Colonel of Tom's battalion sent forhim. 

"Now, my man, " said the Colonel, "tell me exactly what you heard. "

Tom told his story straightforwardly. It was little he had to say, andalthough the Colonel cross-questioned him very closely he was not ableto shake him. 

"This is very strange, " said the Colonel to the Major when Tom hadgone; "no one breathed a word about our plans, and as you know I laideverything before the General at the Divisional Headquarters. Theywere good plans too, and if the Germans had not got hold of them weshould have made a big haul. What is the meaning of it?"

The Major shook his head. 

"It was the biggest thing we had planned for months, " went on theColonel, "and I can't tell you how sick I am. We had everything in ourfavour too. There must be some treachery somewhere!"

"Where can the treachery be?" asked the Major. "You know what theStaff General said. It was to be kept absolutely quiet; the men wereto know nothing about it until an hour before the time, and all thejunior officers were to be kept in darkness. You know how careful theGeneral is too. "

"But the fact is there, man!" cried the Colonel, "we have the evidenceof this lad, who could not possibly have been mistaken. He seemed anintelligent lad too; you saw how closely I cross-questioned him. Whois he?"

"I will send for his sergeant, " was the Major's reply. 

A few minutes later Sergeant Ashworth appeared on the scene. It wasthe sergeant to whom Tom had spoken when he first came to Ypres. 

"Tell me what you know of Private Pollard, " said the Colonel. 

Sergeant Ashworth spoke freely about Tom. 

"A smart lad, sir, " he said, "intelligent, and well-behaved. I spoketo him about whether he would like his lance-corporal's stripe, but hedidn't seem to want it. He would make a very good non-commissionedofficer, sir. "

"He seems a lad of some education, " replied the Colonel. 

"Yes, sir, a lot of those Lancashire lads are very well educated; theyare quick and sensible too, and Pollard is one of the best of them. Myopinion of him is that he is utterly trustworthy and intelligent. "

"Now then, Blundell, " and the Colonel turned to the Major, "what do youthink?"

"Of course we must report it to Headquarters at once, " replied theMajor, "but for the life of me I can't see through it. "

The incident as far as the men were concerned was simply regarded as anaffair which had missed fire. How, they didn't know. But there itwas; a number of their comrades had been killed, and many more had beenwounded. Still it was what they had come to the Front for. Many oftheir attacks had failed, and no one seemed to know why. 

As may be imagined, Tom thought a great deal about it. He knew by theColonel's questions, and by the tone of his voice, that the affair wasregarded as serious. Tom, although not brilliant, had a good deal ofcommon sense. He was able to put two and two together, and hisLancashire gumption led him to see further than many gave him creditfor. He kept his own counsel, but he had become alert to thefinger-tips. 

Altogether that night was the most wonderful in Tom's history. In away he could not understand, it formed an epoch in his life; itaffected him in many ways. From that time he felt the reality of God. It was not an impression which came to him for a moment and then passedaway, it was something which became permanent. God was a personalPower ever present with him. He was not simply some great EternalAbstraction, but He was a great loving Father, revealed through JesusChrist His Son. All the teaching he had received in the Sunday School, all the addresses he had heard at the Y. M. C. A. Huts, came back to him. He formulated no theories, he tried to shape no creeds, but thereseemed to be a Spiritual Deposit in his life to which he had hithertobeen a stranger. He was a child of the Great Eternal Father, and JesusChrist had told him what that Father was like. He said nothing aboutit to any one, it was not something to talk about. To Tom it was veryreal, and in a vital sense the knowledge made him a new man; a new lifepulsated through his being. What it was he could not tell, did noteven care. But it was there. Indeed he had a greater love for hislife than ever, but he was no longer afraid. 

It was not until two days later that Tom received news that AlecMcPhail was among the wounded and had been removed to a hospital somelittle distance from Ypres, on the road leading to Cassel. He had seenbut little of McPhail since he had come to France, as the Scotchman'sbattalion of the Black Watch occupied the trench some three miles fromwhere the Lancashires were situated. They had met occasionally nearYpres, but had had little to say to each other. When Tom heard he waswounded, however, he determined to go and see him. 

"He got it bad, " said a friend of McPhail's; "they told me at thedressing station that he was in no fit condition to be removed, butthey had to do it. "

"You don't mean to say he's going to die!" said Tom. 

"Nay, I don't think it's so bad as that, " replied the other, "but he'sgot it bad. "

When Tom arrived at the little town where the hospital was situated heimmediately asked for permission to see the wounded man. 

The nurse shook her head. "I doubt if you can, " she replied. 

"Is he very bad?" asked Tom. 

The nurse nodded. "Very bad indeed, " she replied; "he was wounded theother morning when the attack was made. We seem to have lost a numberof men. "

"Yes, " said Tom, "I was there and I heard that the Black Watch werecalled up. "

For a few seconds there was a silence between them, while Tom scannedthe nurse's face closely. 

"Do you mean to say he's going to die?" asked Tom, and his voicetrembled a little. 

The nurse nodded. "I am afraid so, " she said. "He's too ill to seeany one, and I doubt if he would know you. "

"I am sure he would like to see me, " said Tom pleadingly; "you see wewere pals in Lancashire, and we saw a goodish bit of each other whilewe were in the camp in Surrey. I would like to see him if I could, Iwould really. "

"Well, I shall have to speak to the doctor, " was the nurse's reply. "Will you wait here? I won't be long before I'm back. "

A curious feeling came into Tom's heart. He did not know very muchabout McPhail, but he recalled the conversations that they had had inLancashire, and he vividly remembered the night before they had startedfor the Front. McPhail had been very much wrought upon then. Tom hadwatched his face while they sat together in the Y. M. C. A. Hut when thespeaker was telling them about the deep needs of their lives. McPhail's face had become set and stern, although his lips quivered. Afterwards when they had gone to the canteen the Scotchman had utteredwords which Tom never forgot. 

He wondered now if McPhail had meant what he said, wondered too if hehad realised the same experiences which he, Tom, had passed through. It seemed awful that this tall, stalwart Scotchman was going to die. Why should men be killed in this way? Why should that lonelyScotchwoman, McPhail's mother, have to suffer because of German sins?

The nurse came back to him. "He wants to see you, " she said, "and thedoctor says he may. He's been asking for you. "

"Asking for me?" queried Tom. 

"Yes, I didn't know anything about it. He's been telling another nursethat he wanted to see you. Pollard is your name, isn't it?"

A few seconds later Tom was admitted into the room where a number ofmen lay. McPhail was in a corner of the room partially hidden from therest. The Scotchman gave Tom a smile of recognition as he came up tohim. 

"I felt sure ye'd come, " he whispered. "They told me I couldna get atye, but I had a feeling that I should see ye before I died. "

Tom hesitated a second before replying. 

"It may not be as bad as that, " he said, "lots of chaps who have lookedworse than you have got better. "

"Nay, " said McPhail, "I'm pipped, I have got to go. I'm not in anypain, though, " he added quickly, "the doctor saw to that, but it willnabe long afore I'm gone. Tom, I would like ye to write a letter to mymither. As I told you, she's a godly woman, and I've grieved her sair. "

"I will do anything you ask me, McPhail, " was Tom's reply. "Ay, butdon't give up; you may get well yet, and have another smack at theGermans. "

"Nay, " replied the other, "I have done my bit. I would like to live abit longer, but there, it's a' for the best. I'm not afraid, Tom; doyou remember that night before we came out here, when we left thecanteen together?"

"Ay, I remember. "

"I settled it that night, " said the Scotchman. "You remember metellin' ye that I was always a thinking sort o' laddie? Weel, when Igot away by mysel' that night I made up my mind, and I just acceptedthe way o' salvation, which my mither explained to me when I were a weeladdie. And it worked, Tom! It worked! I laughed at releegion when Iwas wi' you in Lancashire; but man, there's nothing else that stands bya man. Ay, and it works, it does. I want ye to write to my mither andtell her this. Tell her that I gave my life to the Lord on the nightbefore I left England, that I have not touched a drap of drink sincethen, and that I died with the love of God in my heart. Will you tellher, Tom?"

"Ay, " said Tom, "I will. "

"Write down her address, will ye?"

Tom's hand trembled and the tears coursed down his face as he wrote theaddress of the woman who lived away in the Highlands of Scotland. 

"It will comfort her, " said McPhail when this was done. "It will makeher feel that her teaching and her example were not in vain. "

"Ay, but you must not die, you must not die, " sobbed Tom. 

"Dinna talk like that, lad, " said the Scotchman. "I have been thinkingit all oot sin' I have been here, and it's richt. It's a'richt. Without shedding of blood there is no remission of sin, and you can'tpurge away iniquity without paying the price: I am a part of the price, Tom. The Son of God died that others might live. That's not only afact, it is a principle. Thousands of us are dying that others maylive. Christ died that He might give life and liberty to the world, and in a way that is what we are doing. I can't richtly explain it, it's too deep for me; but I see glimpses of the truth. Tom, have youlearnt the secret yourself?"

"I think I have, " replied Tom. "On the night of the attack I was onsentry duty, and while I was alone I--I prayed. I could not say it inwords like, they wouldn't come, but I am sure I got the grip of it, andI feel as though God spoke to me. "

"That's it, lad, that's it!" said the dying man eagerly. "Tom, do yethink ye could pray now?"

By this time the room had become very silent. The men who had beentalking freely were evidently listening to that which I have tried todescribe, but the two lads were not conscious of the presence of others. 

"I don't know as I can pray in words, " said Tom, "somehow prayer seemstoo big to put into words. I just think of God and remember the loveof Jesus Christ. But happen I can sing if you can bear it. "

"Ay, lad, sing a hymn, " said the Scotchman. Tom knelt by the dyingman's bed and closed his eyes. For some time nothing would come tohim; his mind seemed a blank. Then he found himself singing the hymnhe had often sung as a boy. 

 Jesu, Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy Bosom fly; While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high; Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life is past, Safe into the haven guide, O receive my soul at last. 

"Ay, that's it, that's it, " said the Scotchman, "it's a hymn I dinnaken, but it goes to the heart of things. Man, can ye recite to me thetwenty-third Psalm?"

"Nay, " replied Tom, "I forget which it is. "

"That's because you were born and reared in a godless country, " repliedthe Scotchman. "No Scottish lad ever forgets the twenty-third Psalm, especially those who canna thole the paraphrases. 'The Lord is myShepherd, ' surely ye ken that, Tom?"

"Ay, " replied Tom eagerly, "I know that. "

Then the two lads recited the psalm together:

"_The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. _

"_He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me besidestill waters. _

"_He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness forHis Name's sake. _

"_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I willfear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfortme. _"

"Stop there!" said the Scotchman. "That's eno'. It's a' there, Tom;that's why I'm not afraid now. I'm in the valley of the shadow ofdeath, but I dinna fear: the Lord is wi' me, and He's gotten hold of myhand. "

"You must go now, " said the nurse, coming up, "the doctor says you mustnot stay any longer. "

"Good-bye, " said the Scotchman, with a smile, "it's a' richt; you'lltell my mither, won't you?"

"Ay, I will, " said Tom. 

"And--and Tom, " said the Scotchman almost eagerly, "although I shall bedead, I shall be near you, and mebbe---- Ay, but we shall meet in abetter world, Tom. It's a' richt. "

As Tom passed through the room where the sick and wounded men lay, henoticed that they looked towards him longingly, wonderingly. Theatmosphere of the place seemed charged with something sacred. At thatmoment Tom knew the meaning of the word Sacrament. 

The next day the Scotchman died. The nurse was with him to the verylast, and just before he breathed his last breath he lifted his eyes toher with a smile. 

"It's a' richt, nurse, " he said, "what my mither taught me was truedown to the very foundations. "

"Ay, it was grand, it was grand!" said Tom Pollard when he heard thenews. "It doesn't seem like death at all, it was just victory, victory!"

After that Tom did his work with a new light in his eyes. It seemed asthough his visit to the Scotchman had removed the last remaining cloudwhich had hung in the sky of his faith. 

CHAPTER VIII

"Yes, " said Colonel Blount to Major Blundell, "there's treacheryaround; we may as well face it. "

"A man must be as blind as a bat not to see that, " was the Major'sreply, "but where is it?"

"That's the question. But we cannot close our eyes to facts. Timeafter time our plans have been discovered, and not only discovered, butevidently revealed to the enemy. I've talked the matter over withGeneral Withers, and while he agrees with me that these constantmishaps are strange, he cannot see where the treachery can come in. Why, man, he has even guarded himself against his own staff officers!He keeps his plans to himself, and only makes them known to those whohave to carry them out; he's taken every precaution a man can take, andyou know what a keen fellow Withers is! Yet before we can strike ourblow, the Huns get wind of our intentions!"

The Colonel sighed as he spoke. The constant mishaps were getting onhis nerves; he felt that his brother officers regarded him asincapable. He wondered sometimes whether he would be relieved of hiscommand, so unsuccessful had he been. 

And yet he had been known as a capable, far-seeing officer, and earlierin the war his name had been mentioned in the dispatches. He had beenspoken of in the General Headquarters, too, as an officer of more thanordinary ability, and yet for the last few weeks everything he hadtouched seemed to miscarry. There had been no great set-back, butthere had been no advance worth speaking of. A spirit of restlessnessand suspicion was felt in the whole regiment. It seemed to them asthough there was an Achan in the camp, yet no one knew who the traitormight be. 

Of course all these misadventures might have been owing to unfortunateaccidents, or because the plans of the British officers were not wellthought out. All the same Colonel Blount could not understand it. Hewas an old soldier, he had served in India, had been through the BoerWar, and he felt sure that the plans he had submitted to the DivisionalHeadquarters had been sound and good. He had been complimented uponthem too, and yet they had ended in failure, and he had narrowlyescaped disaster. 

"If I could see a glimmer of light anywhere, " said Colonel Blount tohis senior major, "I wouldn't mind. But I can't. Only General Withersat the Divisional Headquarters, the Brigadier, you, and myself knew thedetails of our last scheme, and yet the Bosches got wind of them. It'smaddening, maddening!"

"Whoever the blighter is he's got brains, " said the Major. 

"Ah, here are two staff officers coming now!"

For some time after this Colonel Blount was more than ordinarilyactive. He was constantly in communication with the commandingofficers of other battalions, and there were frequent journeys toHeadquarters; but no one knew what was on foot. The presence of staffofficers was constantly noted, and all felt that some big action was totake place, but when or in what way no one knew. Even the Tommies inthe trenches felt that something of more than ordinary importance wasin the air, and they discussed it one with another. They, too, couldnot help realising that things had been going bad with them, and that, to say the least of it, the Germans were not getting the worst of it. 

Tom Pollard felt this more keenly than any one. He had been the manwho had been questioned by the Colonel, and he had more than oncefancied that he had been specially watched. Indeed Tom had determinedto keep both ears and eyes well open, and if possible to do a littledetective work on his own account. He entertained suspicions too, which he dared not breathe to any one. They seemed so wild andunfounded that they would not bear the test of a minute's carefulthought, and yet they constantly haunted him. 

Of course he knew nothing of what was being settled between theofficers; he had not the slightest idea of the nature of the planswhich had miscarried, he like the others only had a vague feeling thatsomething was wrong. 

One day, while near the canal which runs round the foot of the oldramparts of the city, he noticed that the Brigadier and Colonel Blountwere talking with two staff officers; one of the latter was a general, while the other was a captain. Tom felt sure that the captain wasWaterman, whom he had known in Brunford. 

Tom was reclining near a dangerous corner, close by the Potijze Roadwhich runs straight to the beginning of the British communicationtrench. German shells were constantly screeching their way through theair, and falling in various parts of the old town; but by this time hehad become so accustomed to these ominous sounds that he had almostceased to take notice of them. There was only one chance in a hundredthat one of them might fall near him, and as he had been so farfortunate, he, like hundreds of others in a similar condition, thoughthe might escape altogether. Besides, although he stood near thedangerous crossing he was in a sheltered position, and as the day washot he sat under the shade of a wall and looked out on the ruins of theold city. 

A few seconds later the group of officers passed close by him, and Tomimmediately rose and saluted. 

"Oh, this is the man, " said Colonel Blount as he caught sight of Tom. "Come here, Pollard. "

Tom did as he was commanded, not without some fluttering around theregion of his heart. 

"Now, Private Pollard, " said Colonel Blount, "repeat what you told mesome time ago. "

Again Tom found himself submitted to a keen cross-examination after hehad told his story, and he noticed that all the officers, includingWaterman, listened very attentively. 

"There's something wrong, " said Tom to himself; "they tried to shakeme, but they failed; I know what I heard well enough. " And then hewatched them as they quickly crossed the dangerous corner, and hurriedinto a sheltered position. 

That same night, after the staff officers had returned to theirHeadquarters, Tom, who was passing the Water Tower, saw, much to hissurprise, the retreating form of a staff officer. Of course this mightmean nothing--he was utterly ignorant of the movements of those abovehim; all the same he felt as though hammers were beating against hisforehead, so excited was he. 

The next night Tom's company was ordered to relieve a number of men whohad been a good many hours in the trenches, and just as the shadows ofevening were falling they crept along the Potijze Road towards thecommunication trench. An hour later Tom had taken up his post in thezig-zag cutting with a feeling that something of importance was goingto happen. 

Hour after hour passed away, and still Tom wondered at what he had seenand heard. He had no definite data upon which to go, no tangiblereason for his suspicions, and yet with that bulldog tenacitycharacteristic of the sharp Lancashire boy he kept thinking of what heought to do. Presently he heard a voice which he recognised; it wasthat of Major Blundell, in reply to something that had been said to him. 

"Yes, yes, " said the Major, "I quite understand. "

"You are sure you have the instructions plain?"

"Perfectly sure. "

"Then I will get along here and speak to Captain Winfield. "

"Let me come with you, " said Major Blundell. 

"Oh no, certainly not. I know the way perfectly well. Good night, Blundell. "

"Good night, Waterman. "

It was a fairly bright night, although a few clouds hung in the sky. Tom heard approaching footsteps, and then hid himself in a sharp cornerof the trench while Waterman passed him. Tom followed noiselessly, allthe time keeping out of sight of the man he watched. This he was ableto do with comparative ease, owing to the zig-zag nature of the trench. Tom knew that at this particular point they were only a little morethan a hundred yards from the German lines, and that the German sniperswere constantly on the watch for any one who might happen to showhimself above the sand-bags. He had not gone more than twenty yardswhen he saw Waterman stop and look around. 

Tom stopped almost instinctively, still hidden by a sharp turn in thetrench. The light was fairly good, and Tom's eyes were keen. He sawthat the man had adopted a listening attitude. That particular part ofthe trench was for the moment deserted, although any moment a patrolmight appear. Evidently Waterman was keenly watchful; he looked eachway with evident care, and listened attentively. Then he took a pieceof white paper from his pocket which seemed to be attached to somethingheavy. Even in the dim light Tom saw the white gleam of the paperwhich Waterman had taken from his pocket. Quick as a thought Watermanstepped on to the ledge of the trench, and then, leaning over thesand-bags, threw the paper towards the German lines. This done hestepped back and hurried quickly away. 

For a second the lad was almost paralysed; then the meaning of it cameto him like a flash of light, and before Waterman had proceeded half adozen yards Tom had sprung upon him. 

"What do you mean, fellow? Get away from me!" and Waterman struggledto free himself. 

But Tom held on like grim death. "You are a German spy, that's whatyou are!" he said hoarsely. "A mean, skulking German spy!"

"This will mean death for you, my man, " said Waterman, stillstruggling. "You are enough of a soldier to know that for a private tostrike an officer in war time means court martial and death. "

"It will not be I who will be court martialled, " panted Tom. "Ah, youswine!" for at that moment Waterman had pulled out his pistol, and hadnot Tom struck his arm a bullet would have gone through his brain. 

"I say, what's this?"

"A German spy!" cried Tom hoarsely, "he tried to shoot me, sir!"

"A German spy!" said the new-comer. "You must be mad. "

"I am not mad, sir. I saw him. "

"He _is_ mad!" said Waterman. "I'm here on duty and the fellowattacked me. Pull him off, Lieutenant Penrose, he's strangling me!"

Tom recognised the new-comer although he had not seen him for months. It was Penrose who had been with him in Lancashire, and who hadreceived his commission immediately after his arrival in Surrey. 

"You know me, sir!" cried Tom, still holding on to the other; "you knowI would not do a thing without reason, sir! Make him a prisoner, he'sbeen giving information to the enemy!"

"Prove it!" said Waterman. 

"Yes, I will prove it!" panted Tom. "Make him a prisoner, sir; I tellyou he's been communicating with the enemy. I saw him not a minuteago!"

"What has he done?" asked Penrose. 

"I saw him take a piece of paper from his pocket which was fastened tosomething heavy; then he threw it over the sand-bags towards the Germanlines. I tell you, sir, I saw him do it! Make him a prisoner. "

By this time others had come up, and Waterman, whom Tom had releasedsomewhat, laughed uneasily. "He's either a fool or a madman, " he said;"he attacked me without a moment's warning, and without the slightestreason. "

"Hold him fast, sir, " cried Tom. "I'll soon prove to you whether it'swithout the slightest reason. Promise me you won't let him go, sir?"

Penrose, who had grasped the situation, replied quickly: "Of course Ishall not let him go, but you must prove your accusation, Pollard. Where are you going?"

"I am going to get the paper he threw towards the German trenches, "cried Tom. "That's it, sir, hold him fast!"

Tom was so excited that he had forgotten all about military rules andregulations. He acted just as he would have acted had he caught anyone doing an outrageous deed before the war. 

Waterman began to shout aloud, but Penrose was too quick for him. Heplaced his hand on the other's mouth, and said quietly, "No you don't, sir. "

"Do you know what you are doing, Lieutenant?" said Waterman. "You areattacking your superior officer. Take away your men and let me go atonce. "

"Not until I get at the bottom of this, " said Penrose quietly. 

"I tell you the man is either a madman or a fool. " Waterman wasstammering painfully now. 

"That will have to be proved, " and Penrose gripped his arm tightly. "That's it, Jackson; take his revolver. As it happens, " he went on toWaterman, "I know Pollard; he's a level-headed lad, and he would nothave done this without reason. Ah, Major Blundell, will you come herea minute, sir, " for by this time the Major, having heard the sound ofvoices, had rushed up. 

"What's the matter?"

Penrose quickly told him what had taken place, and the young officer'swords came like a bombshell upon this steady-going and rather dullofficer. If it were true, all the mystery of the last few weeks wascleared up. But he could not believe it. Waterman was regarded as oneof the most capable and trustworthy of the staff officers. He hadshown zeal beyond the ordinary, and his intelligence and quickness ofperception had more than once been remarked upon; indeed he had beenmentioned in the dispatches as one who had rendered valuable service tothe British Army; and now for an accusation like this to come fairlystaggered the well-meaning faithful officer. 

The whole affair had been so sudden too. Only a couple of minutesbefore, he had been discussing plans with Waterman, who had urged himto be more than ordinarily careful in carrying out the instructionsfrom Headquarters, and yet here he was accused of communicating withthe enemy, and seen by a trustworthy soldier to throw a missile towardsthe enemy's lines. 

"Where is Pollard?" asked Major Blundell, for Tom had disappeared. 

"He's gone to secure the paper he saw Captain Waterman throw, " wasPenrose's reply. 

A second later Major Blundell was leaning over the sand-bags, lookingacross the "No-man's-Land" towards the enemy's trenches. 

By this time a number of other men had gathered; as if by magic thenews had flown, and for a moment even discipline was in abeyance. 

As will be easily seen, Tom's work was not easy, and the space ofground between the English and the German lines was dangerous in thehighest degree. Any one seen there was a target for both English andGerman rifles. But Tom did not think of this, indeed the thought ofdanger was at that time utterly absent from him. Just as at times themind has subconscious powers, so there are times when the body is somuch under the influence of excitement that ordinary laws do not seemto operate. At that time Tom seemed to be living hours in seconds, because he instinctively felt that great issues depended upon what hewanted to do. If he were right in his conclusions, as he felt sure hewas, Waterman, who was naturally in the confidence of his superiorofficers, would have valuable information to impart. It came upon himtoo, like a flash of lightning, that Waterman had uttered a peculiarcry as he threw the missile across the intervening space. That wasdoubtless a prearranged signal between him and the Germans. If theyhad heard it, as was more than probable, one of their men wouldnaturally be sent to find the paper. In that case the plans andarrangements which the English officers had made would be in the handsof the Germans. 

Tom had noted the spot on which Waterman had stood when he threw hismissile, and had also noticed the direction in which it had flown, atleast he thought he had. But when he was in the open space he was notso sure. As fortune would have it, this particular bit of ground wasnot wired, and he moved without difficulty. 

Tom looked around, bewildered; nowhere could he see the gleaming whitepaper which Waterman had thrown--in fact, nothing was plainly visibleto him. He saw, dimly, the outline of the German trenches; saw themounds of earth with the sandbags on their summits, but nothing else. A hundred yards or so is no great distance, but it is difficult tolocate a small object in such a space at night. He could not tell howfar Waterman had been able to throw the stone, or how near it might beto the German trench. But his eyes were young and keen; every facultywas more than ordinarily tense and active, and Tom was in deadlyearnest. He had started to do this thing, and he would do it. 

Presently he saw a white spot on the ground, and he felt as thoughhammers were beating against his temples. Crouching low, he made hisway towards it, but he had only gone a few steps when he discerned theform of a man, apparently with the same object in view, creeping from aGerman trench. Like lightning Tom made a dash for it, but the otherwas nearer than he, and by the time he had reached it the German hadsecured it. As far as he could judge they were about half-way betweenthe two lines, and he knew the danger of the task he had set himself. In a vague way he wondered whether the Germans had seen him, he alsowondered whether the British were watching him. But this did nottrouble him much; the one thought which filled his mind was that hemust at all hazards secure the paper which Waterman had thrown. 

Without hesitating a second, and without making a sound, he threwhimself upon the German and well-nigh bore him to the ground. Thenfollowed a hand-to-hand struggle, the details of which Tom was neverclear about. As a lad he had been a football player and had made goodmuscle; he had played half-back for the Brunford football club forseveral seasons, and although he was by no means a giant, he was wellbuilt and strong. During the time he had been in the Army, too, everymuscle in his body had been developed to its fullest capacity: hissevere training told in his favour now, and Tom never dreamt of givingin. On the other hand, however, the German was a big, heavy man, andhe also had undergone a severe training. 

Tom felt his antagonist weakening; he knew it by his gurgling breathand his weakening grasp. He himself was also well-nigh spent, althoughhe was not quite exhausted. Then, fearing lest the apparent weaknessof his opponent was only a ruse by which he might gain advantage, Tomdetermined on an old football trick. A second later the German'sshoulder blade snapped like a match, and Tom, seizing the paper, rushedback towards the English lines. 

He had only fifty yards to cover, but such a fifty yards! His legsseemed of lead, too, while his head was swimming. No sooner had hecommenced to stagger back, than the Germans opened fire on him; ahundred bullets whistled by him, while he heard yells of rage comingfrom the enemy's trenches. 

He felt his strength leaving him, his head was swimming, his breathcame in short, difficult gasps, and he knew he was wounded. Hesuffered no great pain, but by the burning sensations in his left armand in his right shoulder he knew that the German bullets must havestruck him. More than once he stumbled and fell. 

He felt himself going blind; he heard cries from the English trencheswhich seemed like cheers, but he could see nothing, and the criesseemed to be a long, long way off. Still he struggled on. "I must getin! I must get in!" was the thought which possessed his bewilderedbrain. Then he fell heavily; after that all became dark. 

When he returned to consciousness it seemed to him as though he saw anumber of ghostly faces around him. He had a sort of feeling that hewas dead, and that those faces belonged to the spirit world; but in afew seconds they became clearer. 

"That's better, Tom, that's better! You are all right. You did it, lad! You did it!"

"Stand back there, and give him air. Heavens! There hasn't been abraver thing done by any man in the Army!"

He heard all this, but not clearly. They seemed to be stray sentences, uttered by many voices. But it didn't matter; only one thing mattered. Had he done what he had set out to do?

"Have you got it?" he gasped. 

"Got it! I should think we have. " It was Major Blundell who spoke. "It's all right, Pollard, you've done the trick. "

"Have I, sir?" said Tom. "I--I feel very strange. "

"You will soon get over it, you are only pumped!"

"Ay, " laughed another, and the voice was as sweet music to Tom, "I'veseen thee worse nor this i' the Brunford Cup Tie match. "

"That thee, Nick?" he said, lapsing into the Brunford vernacular, whichhe had been trying to correct lately. 

"Ay, Tom, it's me; tha'st done a good neet's work to-neet. "

Tom's brain was clearer now; he knew where he was; knew, too, that hehad succeeded. Something was still hammering at his temples, and hishead was aching terribly, but he didn't mind; his heart was light. 

"You have done well, Pollard. " It was Major Blundell who spoke. 

"Was what I got any good, sir?"

"Good! I should think it was. "

"And Captain Waterman, have you got him?"

"That's all right, Pollard, he's safe enough, " replied the Major. 

"Thank you, sir, " said Tom, "I don't care now. "

What happened after that Tom didn't remember. He had a confused ideathat he was carried down a long line of trenches, and that he heardcheering words during his journey. But nothing was plain to him, except a burning sensation in his left arm and in his right shoulder;for the rest he was faint, sick, and weary. 

"You are feeling better now, are you not, Pollard?" It was the doctorwho spoke. 

"Yes, sir, I am feeling all right, " replied Tom; "there is not much thematter with me, is there?"

"You are simply a miracle, " replied the doctor, "only a couple of fleshwounds, that's all. You have lost a great deal of blood, of course, but you will soon be as fit as a fiddle again. I wonder that a hundredbullets did not go through you!"

"They came mighty near, " was Tom's reply. 

"You must be removed from here at once, " said the doctor, "thisregion's too unhealthy for you. "

An hour later Tom found himself away from the screech of shells. 

As he reflected afterwards, it seemed to him a miracle that he had notbeen killed. No sooner had he mastered the German and seized the paperthan bullets showered upon him like rain, and yet beyond these twoslight flesh wounds he was wholly untouched. It was true he was verystiff and sore, but he knew that he would soon be as well as ever. 

On the evening of the same day Colonel Blount came to see him. 

"Pollard, my lad, " said the colonel, "I felt I must come to see you. You have rendered the British Army and your country a great service, and you will get your reward. "

"Thank you, sir, but I never thought about reward, " said Tom simply. 

"I'm sure you didn't, " replied the colonel, "but this job's not at anend yet, my lad. "

"No, sir, " said Tom, mistaking his meaning, "we have got a stiff jobbefore we lick the Germans. "

"I didn't mean that, " replied the colonel. "I mean this Watermanbusiness is not at an end yet. "

"No, sir, " said Tom, "of course you will shoot him. "

"He deserves a worse death than that, " replied the Colonel grimly, "butyou will have to give evidence against him. "

"Yes, sir, " replied Tom. 

"Will you be well enough to come to-morrow night?"

"Yes, sir. "

The Colonel knew he was not acting according to strict regimental rulesand regulations in speaking to a private in this fashion, but it was noordinary case, and Colonel Blount was not a man to be tied down tomilitary etiquette. Private though Tom Pollard was, he had rendered, as he had said, a signal service, not only to the Army, but to theBritish Nation. 

The next evening Tom found himself in a large room amongst a number ofofficers, and standing at one corner, carefully guarded, was Waterman. 

CHAPTER IX

The evidence against Waterman was so clear, so overwhelming, that therewas not the slightest doubt about the verdict which would be passedupon him. He had been caught practically red-handed in his deed oftreachery; but this was not all. Tom Pollard's action had led to anumber of other facts coming to light. He had by many cunning devicesbeen in communication with the enemy; he had constantly made known theplans which he had learnt at the Divisional Headquarters, and had thusprepared the Germans for many of the attacks which we had made. 

Tom could not help being impressed by the fact that even althoughWaterman's guilt was as clear as daylight, it was the evident desire ofthose who tried him to act fairly, and even generously, towards him. Everything that could be said in his favour was carefully listened to, and noted; and on the faces of more than one present was a look ofconcern almost amounting to pain. This, however, did not hide thetruth that every man regarded him with horror, almost amounting toloathing. They respected an enemy who fought openly and fairly, butfor a man who was a staff officer in the British Army and whoconsequently learnt many of the plans of that Army; for a man who hadtaken the oath to be faithful to his King and Country, and yet to actas he had acted, was ignominy too vile for expression. 

But Waterman seemed to have no shame, no sense of guilt; he uttered noword of regret, but stood erect and almost motionless. His face washard and set, in his eyes was a steely glitter; it seemed as though hedefied his judges to do their worst, and to mock at their evidentdisgust. 

Tom gave his evidence clearly, and without any waste of words. 

"You knew him before you went into the Army, then?"

"Yes, sir, " replied Tom. 

"Tell us where. "

Whereupon Tom told of Waterman's association with him in Brunford, andof the conversations he had had with the prisoner. 

"I didn't quite understand at the time, " said Tom, "why he seemed sosure of the Germans getting the best of it. He seemed to be glad whenhe told me of the tremendous strength of the German army, and thepreparations they had made. He said he had been to Germany to school, and had lived there a long time; that was how he came to know so muchabout it. I could never quite make it out how an Englishman who lovedhis country could be so sure that the Germans would win. Besides, hedidn't talk about it as though it would be a calamity, but something hewould be proud of; but I don't know that I thought much of it at thetime, especially when he told me he was going to receive a commissionin our Army; but later on, when I found out the Germans knew what wewere going to do, I wondered how they'd found out, and that led me toput one thing to another. "

This was not strict evidence, and the officers knew it, but theyallowed Tom to tell his story his own way. 

"That was why I determined to watch him, " went on Tom, "and--well, sir, that was how things turned out as they did. "

When Tom's evidence came to an end he was told to retire. The lad wassorely grieved at this, because he would have liked to remain to theend; but after all, he was only a private, and he was there simply togive his evidence. 

"Shooting's too good for him, " thought Tom as he left the room. "Whata look he did give me! If a look could murder a man I should not bealive now!"

"Now then, " said the President to Waterman, when Tom had gone, "whathave you got to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, " replied Waterman. He was no longer respectful or polite. His every word suggested insolence. 

"You admit, then, that you are guilty of the charges that have beenbrought against you?"

Waterman shrugged his shoulders scornfully. 

"You admit that you, an officer in the British Army, have given awayyour country's secrets and become an ally to the enemy?"

Waterman laughed. "I have simply tried to serve my own country, " washis reply, "the country which will soon conquer yours. "

Every eye was fixed upon him; the man's brazen confession almoststaggered them. 

"Then you are a German!"

"Yes, " replied Waterman proudly. 

The President looked at him keenly, and then turned towards some papers. 

"I see that you claim English birth, that you were educated at anEnglish public school, and that you went into an English house ofbusiness. "

"That doesn't make me cease to be a German, " replied Waterman. 

"I find, too, that you boasted of being an Englishman. "

"That helped me to do my work, " was the jeering answer. 

For some seconds there was a deathly silence save for the rustle of thepapers which the President read. Each man who sat in the room listenedalmost breathlessly; each was so intensely interested that no one brokethe silence. 

"My father and my mother are German, " went on Waterman; "when theylived in Germany they spelt their name German fashion, and there weretwo n's, not one, at the end of my name; but when they were in Englandthey thought it would serve them best to spell it English fashion. Butthey never ceased being Germans. When I was a boy I was taught to lovemy country above all things; that was my religion, and I was alwaysfaithful to it. When I went to your British school I was always aGerman at heart; the other boys used to say that I was not a sportsman, and that I could not play the game. "

"Evidently they spoke the truth. "

Waterman shrugged his shoulders carelessly. 

"Then you mean to say that you, born in England, educated in England, and receiving all the benefits of our country, were all the time aGerman at heart, and sought to act in Germany's interests. "

"Certainly. "

"And you didn't feel that you were acting meanly, ungratefully?"

"I thought only of my own country, " was the reply. "I knew that thiswar was coming, knew too that I could best serve my country byprofessing to be an Englishman, and by entering the British Army. Iproved myself in the right too, " he added significantly. 

"But didn't you realise that such conduct as yours must inevitably endin disgrace and death?"

"Disgrace?" cried the other. "No, it is glory. As for death, whatdoes that matter? My death is of no importance; the victory of mycountry is everything. "

"Then you have no sense of shame for what you have done?"

"Shame?" laughed Waterman--"shame in feeling that I have served theFatherland!"

"What do you think about your action, then?"

"I think what fools you all were and are, " and Waterman laughedinsolently. "I and others have laughed when you have played into ourhands. Why, " and here there was a touch of passion in his voice, "yourcountry is simply riddled with friends of Germany. Do you think thatbecause a German becomes naturalised he ceases to be a German? Do youthink that, although he protests his loyalty to England, and his desireto help England, that he is the less a German at heart? Do you thinkthat a German, whether naturalised or not, stops at anything in orderto serve his country? You have hundreds of Germans in your armyto-day, while your public offices are full of men, and women too forthat matter, of German parentage and with German sympathies. Yes, youmay kill me, " and he threw back his shoulders proudly, "but that willnot stop us from conquering your country and being your masters. "

For a moment he almost seemed to dominate the room. He stood erect, haughty, scornful; it might seem as though he were the accuser and notthe accused. 

"Of course you know the consequence of your deed?" said the Presidentpresently. 

Waterman shrugged his shoulders. "I have counted the cost, and amwilling to pay the price, " was his reply. 

When he was led away there was a silence in the room for some seconds. Whatever else he had done he had given his judges to see that he was abrave man; that to him the victory of his country was more than life;that for what he had called the Fatherland he had trampled under hisfeet all ordinary conventions, all accepted rules of honour and truth. Germany was first, everything else came afterwards. 

The Englishman always admires courage, no matter in what form it mayappear, and there could be no doubt that Waterman was courageous. 

"It is no wonder, " said the General, as if speaking to himself, "thatthey are such terrible enemies. " No man spoke, but each knew what wasin the other's mind. 

Of course, there was no doubt about the verdict; Waterman had beenguilty of the worst possible crime, and but for the quick wit andprompt action of the Lancashire lad he would doubtless have continuedto help the enemy. The paper which Waterman had thrown towards theGerman lines contained the details of the next plan of attack; detailswhich, known to the Germans, would have nullified the British action, and possibly have led to disaster. 

"That young Pollard is a plucky young beggar, " remarked the Presidentpresently, "he is a lad of brains, too, and has behaved splendidly. Ofcourse what he has done must not be lost sight of. "

There was a general assent to this. 

He ought to be recommended for his D. C. M. Was the general verdict. 

Early next morning Waterman was led out to a wall not far from the roomwhere he had been judged. He walked steadily and proudly towards theplace of his execution, and then stood erect like a soldier atattention. He faced his dread ordeal with a look of pride on his face. 

"Fire!"

Several shots rang out, and he fell heavily to the ground. 

"Yon' chap'll never do any more spying, " said one soldier to another alittle later. 

"If I had my way, " said the other, "he should not have had such a deathas that. When I think of the dirty meanness of these German swine;when I think of spies like that; when I think of poisonous gas, and ofall their treachery, I feel as though nothing's too bad for themGermans. At first, when the war commenced I had nowt but kindlyfeelings towards the soldiers, as soldiers; but now----"

CHAPTER X

It was late in November when the events just recorded took place, and afew days later the English newspapers contained special paragraphsheaded "Heroism of a Lancashire Lad. " Few details were given aboutWaterman, but Tom's bravery was fully commented on. 

More than one journalist who had obtained details of what Tom had donemade special reference to him and spoke of him in glowing terms. Mrs. Pollard received many applications for Tom's photograph, and presentlywhen she learnt that it appeared in newspapers all over the country, she gave expression to remarks more forcible than elegant. 

"Our Tom an 'ero, eh?" she laughed. "Weel, I never knowed it afore. Ialways looked upon him as a bit of a coward, but it's this 'eresodgering as has done it, I suppose. 'Appen there's summat in th'uniform. When a lad's got sodger's clothes on, I reckon as aa' itmakes him feel cocky. But it's a pity he's still such a fool as tokeep on wi' Polly Powell. I wrote him a letter a while sin' tellinghim as aa' Polly wur walking out wi' other lads, but she still boastsas aa' Tom's faithful to her, and that she's got him under her thumb. "

"'Appen he will give her the sack now, " said a neighbour. 

"Nay, our Tom wur always a fool. He might have had Alice Lister if hehadn't been such a ninny, but she's engaged to Harry Briarfield now. Iwrote and told him about it only last week. I suppose George Lister isfairly suited about it. "

"I hear that Tom's going to have the V. C. Or D. C. M. Or summat o' thatsort, " remarked a neighbour; "dost 'a know what that means?"

"Nay, I know nowt about it, but I hope as he will get a bit o' brasswi' it, onyhow. "

"Will he come home, dost 'a' think?"

"Nay, I don't know. Why should he leave his job for a thing like that?I expect if he wur to come home they'd stop his pay, and I hope Tom isnoan such a fool as to lose his pay, but there, there's no tellin'. "

In spite of all this, however, Mrs. Pollard was in no slight degreeelated. She knew that Tom was the talk of Brunford, and that specialarticles were devoted to him in the Brunford newspapers. 

"He will be sure to come home, " said Ezekiel Pollard to her one nightafter supper; "when a lad's done a job like that, he's sure to have abit of a holiday. "

"Maybe, and I suppose tha'll be showing him around as though he wur aprize turkey. Ay, but I am glad about this drinking order. "

"Why?"

"Because else all th' lads in the town 'ud be wanting to treat our Tom;they 'd be proud to be seen wi' him, and they'd make him drunk afore heknow'd where he wur. Our Tom never could sup much beer wi'out it goin'to his head. "

"Our Tom has give up that sort o' thing, " replied Ezekiel. 

"How dost tha' know?"

"I do know, and that's enough, " replied Ezekiel, thinking of Tom's lastletter, which, by the way, he had never shown to his wife. 

I am not going to try to describe Tom's feelings when he was told thathe had been recommended for the D. C. M. 

"Thank you, sir, but I've done nowt to deserve it, " cried the lad, lapsing for the moment into the Lancashire dialect. 

Colonel Blount laughed. Ever since Waterman's death he had felt asthough a burden had been lifted from him. He felt sure now that hisplans would not be frustrated. 

"We are the best judges of that, my lad, " he said. "You can tell yourfather and mother that, as a Lancashire man, I'm proud of you. "

It was on a Saturday in December when Tom arrived in Brunford on leaveof absence. He had spent Friday in London, and caught the ten o'clocktrain at King's Cross Station. There was no prouder lad in Englandthat day, although, truth to tell, he was not quite happy. Naturallyhe had read what had been written about him in the newspapers, andreflected upon what the people in Brunford would be saying about him. He imagined meeting people whom he knew, in the Brunford streets, andthe greeting they would give him. He knew it would be a greathome-coming, and yet he had a heavy heart. 

It was several months now since he had left Brunford, and he could nothelp reflecting on the change that had taken place in him. He stillwore a private's uniform, and carried the mud of the trenches on hisclothes. But the Tom Pollard who had enlisted at the Mechanics'Institute was not the same lad who now made his way to his Lancashirehome. Since then he had been through strange scenes, and had realisedwonderful experiences. New facts and new forces had come into hislife; day by day he had been face to face with death, and this had ledhim to touch the very core of life. Thoughts which were unknown to hima year before now possessed his being; powers of which he had neverdreamed had been called into life. 

Tom could not put these things into words, he didn't even clearlyrealise them, but he knew that he was different. The very thought thathe had looked into the face of death made him realise the wondrousnessof life. Tom did not feel that he had been a hero, and yet he knewthat the life he had been living, and the work he had been doing, especially during the last few months, had called qualities, which laylatent in his being, into life and action. The war had not made him adifferent man, it had only aroused dormant qualities within him. Thefires through which he had passed had cleansed him, and he knew thatlife would never be the same again. But more than all that, he, likethousands of others, had learnt the great secret of life, and realisedthat it was only by opening his life to the Eternal Life that thehighest manhood could be known. 

And yet he was strangely dissatisfied. He had read his mother's lettertelling him that Alice Lister was engaged to Harry Briarfield, and hisheart was very sore at the thought of it. Never before had he realisedthe meaning of the choice he had made, when more than a year before hehad left Alice to walk out with Polly Powell. "And yet I loved Aliceall the time, " he reflected, as the train rushed northward. "I neverknew how I did love her till now. I must have been mad and worse thanmad!"

For a long time he had ceased to care for Polly Powell; when he was inSurrey his mother's letter had opened his eyes to the kind of girl shereally was. He saw her, coarse, loud-talking, and vulgar; a girl whohad appealed only to what was coarse in his own nature. And he hadyielded to her blandishments; he had left a pure, refined girl for her, and he had lost Alice for ever. 

That was the bitterness in Tom's cup of joy. He was proud of what hehad done--what fellow situated as he was would not be? His heartthrilled with exultation as he remembered what the Colonel had said andwritten about him. He remembered with joy, too, what his comrades hadsaid when he left for home, and the cheers they gave him. 

Oh, if he hadn't been such a fool!

He thought of what his home-coming might have been if he had remainedtrue to Alice; he fancied the look in her eyes as she greeted him; ofthe feelings which would fill his heart as he sat by her side in thechurch which she attended. But that was impossible now; he had madehis choice, and she had made hers. Thus his home-coming would berobbed of half its joy. If he saw Alice at all she would be in thecompany of Harry Briarfield, and Briarfield, he knew, had always lookeddown upon him. "But there, " he said to himself, "I'll bear it like aman. I have done my bit, and that's something, anyhow. "

He had sent a telegram to his mother the day before, telling her of thetime he expected to arrive in Brunford, and presently when the traindrew into the station he looked out of the window eagerly expectant, and with fast-beating heart. 

Yes, there his father and mother were, waiting for him. But what wasthe meaning of the crowd?

No sooner did he set foot on the platform than a great cheer arose. 

"There he is! There's Tom Pollard!"

"Gi't tongue, lads! Gi't tongue! Hip! hip! hip! hoorah!"

Tom, heedless of the cheering and shouting, went straight to hismother. For a second this lady looked at him, and seemed to be on thepoint of greeting him with a caustic remark; then her mother's heartmelted. 

"Ay, Tom, I'm fair glad to see thee, " she sobbed. 

"And I am glad to see you, mother. Ay, father, it is good to see you, it is. "

"And I am fair proud on you, Tom, " and Ezekiel Pollard's voice washoarse as he shook his son's hand. 

"But, Tom, " cried Mrs. Pollard, wiping her eyes, "thy clothes be dirty;I shall have a rare job to get th' muck out of 'em. "

This was followed by a general laugh by those who had come to greet Tomand bid him welcome. 

"Ay, and thou look'st as though thou hasn't weshed for a week. Ithought as aa' sodjers kept theirsens clean. "

"I'll wash right enough when I get home, mother, " laughed Tom. 

"Holloa, Tom. I am glad to see you, " and Polly Powell made her waythrough the crowd. 

"Thank you, " replied Tom quietly; "have you brought one of your youngmen with you, Polly?"

"I have not got any young men, " was Polly's reply. Whereupon there wasa general laugh of incredulity. 

Polly, heedless of the crowd, and although angered at the remarks thatwere made, still held her ground. 

"You are coming down to the Thorn and Thistle, aren't you, Tom?" shesaid; "mother and father are expecting you. "

"No, thank you, Polly, " said Tom. "I am going home with my mother andfather. Besides, I don't want to play gooseberry. "

At this there was general cheering. It was evident that Polly Powellwas ready to give up her latest lover in order that the glory of Tom'slustre might shine upon her; but her power over him had gone. 

"Nay, thou'lt come down to the Rose and Crown wi' us, won't 'a'?" criedanother. 

"No, I am not going to the Rose and Crown, " replied Tom. 

"Nay, you doan't mean to say you've turned teetotaler?"

"Ay, that I have, " replied the lad, "you see I'm following the exampleof the King. " Whereupon Polly went away abashed. 

All the way Tom's progress down Liverpool Road was a great processionof people. On every hand he was greeted and cheered. Other soldierswho had gone out from Brunford had returned; some had been wounded, andmany had done brave deeds, but Tom's action had laid hold of theimagination of the people. To discover a German spy in Waterman, whommany in the town knew; to bring him to justice; to risk his life inorder to render his country a service; to face almost certain deaththat he might obtain the plans which had been intended to help theenemy, made him a hero. 

Perhaps there are few parts of the world where the people are morehearty and more generous than the dwellers in those busy manufacturingtowns in the North, and Tom was their own townsboy. He had been rearedamongst them, had gone out from them, and so they gave him a greatwelcome. 

No words can tell the joy which Mrs. Pollard felt when she found thatTom was going straight home with her. As she said, she had got thebest dinner in Brunford for him, but she was afraid that Tom wouldyield to all the inducements which would be held out to him. 

"Never mind, " she said to the neighbour whom she had asked to geteverything in readiness by the time she returned, "we'll haveeverything as though we were sure he wur coming 'ome. Nobody shall sayas 'ow I didn't prepare a good dinner for my boy when he returned fromthe War. "

Thus when Tom had refused the invitation to go to the Rose and Crown, and declared his intention of going straight home, her joy knew nobounds. 

"Dost 'a' really mean, Tom, as thou'rt coming straight home with theefeyther and me?"

"Ay, I do, " replied Tom, "there's no place but home for me to-day. "

"Ay, then I mun kiss thee agean, " she sobbed, throwing her arms aroundhis neck. 

Throughout the whole of the afternoon and evening Ezekiel Pollard'shouse was besieged with visitors. Reporters came from the newspapersin order to hear any details which had been missed concerning Tom'sexploits. Relations whom Tom had not seen for years came to bid himwelcome, while the neighbours thronged the doors. 

"Ay, it's good to be home again, " said Tom, standing on the doorstepand watching the last visitor depart that night, "I never thought thatit would be like this. "

"Art 'a' tired, lad?" asked his father. 

"Just a bit, " said Tom. "I couldn't sleep last night, I was thinkingall the time about coming home, and now----"

"Ay, lad, I'm proud of thee, " said his father for the hundredth time. 

"Thou art a fool, lad, " said his mother, "but thou'rt noan such a foolas I feared. Thou'st done vary weel too, vary weel. "

"Father, " said Tom when they had entered the house and closed the door, "do you ever pray now?"

"I hadna prayed for years, " said Ezekiel Pollard, "till thou went tothe Front, but every night sin' I have asked God to take care o' thee. I have asked nowt for myself, " he added almost proudly. "I didn'tdeserve it; but I've asked God to take care o' thee. "

"So have I, " said his mother. "I never towd anybody about it; I wur abit ashamed, I reckon, but I have prayed twenty times a day. "

"Then, " said Tom, "let us kneel down and thank God for His goodness. "

And the three knelt down together. 

CHAPTER XI

It was nearly midday when Tom awoke. The church bells had ceasedringing for nearly an hour, indeed at nearly all the churches thecongregations were being dismissed. The Town Hall clock chimed aquarter to twelve, but all else seemed strangely silent. Tom rose inhis bed, and rubbed his eyes. 

"Where am I?" he gasped; "this is--this is--ay, where am I? Why, I'mhome! I'm home!"

Immediately he jumped out of bed, and pulling up the blinds looked outupon the smoky town. 

"Dear old Brunford, dear old Brunford, " he said; "ay, this is a change!"

"Art 'a' got up, Tom?"

"Ay, mother. "

"Make haste, then, I'll have dinner ready for thee by the time thou'rtready. "

"Ay, it's good to be home, " said Tom, and then he sighed. "I wondernow, I wonder----" and then he sighed again. 

"I mean to go to chapel to-day, " he said to his mother when hepresently appeared. 

"Chapel!" said his mother, "I thought thou'd given up going to chapel. "

"I am going to-day, anyhow, " said Tom. "It would be grand if you andfather would come with me to-night. "

"Then us will, " said Ezekiel quietly. 

That night Tom, together with his father and mother, found their way tothe church which he had attended years before. Many eyes were upon himas he was shown into the pew. All the town had heard of Tom Pollard'sreturn, but few expected to see him at church that night. For sometime Tom was very self-conscious, and it is to be feared that hethought little of the service; more than once, too, he caught himselfgazing furtively around the building, but he did not see the face helonged yet feared to see. Since his return he had asked no questionsabout Alice Lister, and neither his mother nor his father hadvolunteered any information about her. 

"Well, " said Tom, "I must drive her out of my mind. What a fool I was!"

How beautiful it was to be singing the old hymns again! The Sundaybefore he had been in Ypres, and instead of church bells he had heardthe boom of guns; instead of the music of hymns, the shrieking ofshells; instead of the scenes of home, and the loved ones, were theblackened ruins of an ancient town which had been ruthlessly destroyed. Oh, how Tom wished the War were over! How he dreaded the idea of goingback again! Yet he knew he must go, knew that he and thousands ofothers must fight on, until those who had made war should be powerlessto make it again. 

Presently the service was over, and Tom made his way towards thevestibule of the church. Scores of hands were held out to him, hundreds of greetings were offered to him. Many congratulated him onhis bravery, and on his distinction. 

Then suddenly Tom's heart ceased to beat, for standing before him wasAlice Lister. 

Tom felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. He could notspeak, while Alice seemed almost as much wrought upon as he. 

He looked around as if in expectation of seeing Harry Briarfield, butHarry was nowhere present. What did it mean?

Afterwards Tom wondered at his temerity; wondered that he should dareto speak to her at all. But some power which was stronger than himselfcompelled him to do so. He held out his hand to her. 

"How are you, Alice?" he said. 

Alice gave him her hand, but did not reply, save that her fingerstrembled in his. 

A thousand hopes, fancies, and fears flashed through his mind andheart; then Alice shyly lifted her eyes to his. 

"May I walk home with you, Alice?" he stammered. 

"Yes, if you will, Tom, " and the two walked away, side by side. 

They walked up Liverpool Road together for some time without speaking aword. On every side the crowd passed them, but Tom did not heed, hisheart was too full for words, his mind too occupied with wild, turbulent fancies. Presently they passed into a quiet lane where theywere apparently alone. 

"Alice, " said Tom at length, "I'm fair ashamed of myself, I--I'm justa----"

"No, " and Alice interrupted him, "you are a hero, Tom, you have donewonderful things. "

"Ah, but that is nothing, " was Tom's reply, "I could not help doingthat, no decent lad could. But the other now--ay, Alice, I am ashamedof myself. I was such a fool too!"

Alice did not speak; perhaps she was delighted at Tom'sself-condemnation, or perhaps, which was more likely, she was eagerlywaiting for him to say more. 

"Is it true what mother told me?" he asked, after what seemed a longsilence. 

"What did she tell you?"

"That you are engaged to Harry Briarfield. "

"No!" replied the girl eagerly, "I never was!"

"Then is it that young parson?"

"No, Tom; who could have told you such lies?"

Lancashire people are very undemonstrative in their love-making, as inmost of their things, and although Tom was nearly swept off his feetwith joy at what Alice had said, he still walked on by her sidequietly, and for some seconds did not speak again. 

"I never really cared about Polly Powell, " he said presently, "even atthe time I--I----"

"I knew, Tom, " and the girl almost sobbed as she spoke, "I knew all thetime you could never really care for her, and--and that you would comeback to me. That was why----"

"Why what?" asked Tom. 

"Why there was never anybody else but you, Tom. "

"Do you mean it, Alice? do you really mean it?" and Tom's voice washoarse and tremulous. "Can you forgive me? I chucked Polly Powelllong ago, and I let her know it yesterday when I came home. She met meat the station with the others, and I never knew what a fool I had beentill I saw her just as she was. Ay, I must have been mad!"

"I heard all about it, " replied the girl, "but it didn't need that totell me that you would come back to me, Tom. "

"Ay, " said Tom, "but I feel so ashamed. I feel as though I havenothing to offer you. I am only a poor Tommy with a bob a day, butwill you wait for me, Alice, till the war is over?--and then if Godspares my life I will work for you night and day, and I will give youas good a home as there is in Brunford. "

"I can't help waiting for you, " sobbed Alice. 

"Can't help! Why?" asked Tom. 

"Because--because---- oh, you know. "

It was not until an hour later that Tom and Alice appeared at GeorgeLister's house. During that time Tom had told Alice the story of hislife since he had parted from her. Told her of the influences whichhad been at work, how he had been led to pray, and how his heart hadall the time been longing for her. In spite of Alice's repeatedquestions he had said very little about his hour of peril, when he hadrisked his life to serve his country; that seemed of little importanceto him. His one thought was to make Alice know that he was ashamed ofhimself for leaving her, and that he loved her all the time. 

"Ay, " said George Lister to his wife when Tom had left the house, "ourAlice is a fool. "

"'Appen she is, " replied Mrs. Lister, "but yon's a grand lad, a fairgrand lad!"

"He may be a grand lad, " retorted her husband, "and I don't deny thathe has behaved vary weel, but how can he keep a wife? What sort of ahome can he give our Alice?"

"A lad that can do what he has done, " replied Mrs. Lister, "will makehis way anywhere. If God spares his life, he will come back when thewar's over, and you will not have any reason to be ashamed of him. Heis not earning any brass now, and that's right, for he's serving hisKing and Country, and doing his duty like a man; but wait till we havelicked the Germans, then Tom will let you know. "

"I don't deny that he's a sharp, capable lad, " said George, "and it'seasy to see that our Alice is fair gone on him. That's why she hadnowt to do wi' the young parson, and wi' Harry Briarfield. Well, Iwant Alice to be happy, and marriage without love is a poor thing, however much brass you may have. 'Appen I can put Tom in the way ofgetting on when the war's over. Ay, he's a grand lad, as you say, andit was real plucky the way he nabbed that German spy and got thepapers. No wonder the King thinks such a lot of him. "

Upon this George Lister filled his pipe slowly, and there was a look ofpride in his eyes. 

As for Alice, she sobbed for very joy when she went to her room thatnight. "Oh, thank God, thank God, " cried her heart, "and he is comingearly in the morning too!"

"Well, mother, " said Tom when he reached home, "I have made it up withAlice Lister. "

"Tha' never ses!" and Mrs. Pollard's voice was very caressing. "That'sone for Polly Powell, anyhow. She wur never thy sort, Tom--a lass wi'a mother like that can never be ony good. "

"Ay, and she's the finest lass i' Brunford, is Alice Lister, " saidEzekiel contentedly; "and is she willing to wait for thee, Tom?"

Tom laughed joyfully. 

"Maybe they will make an officer of thee, " said Mrs. Pollard. 

"No, " said Tom, "I shall never be an officer, I don't belong to thatclass; perhaps I will be a sergeant, or something like that, but that'sas may be; anyhow, I'll do my bit. "

When Tom's leave was up, George Lister said he had business in London, so Alice accompanied him. Truth to tell, the business which George hadwas only a secondary matter; he saw that Alice wanted to accompany herlover as far as she could, and the business was a pretext. I also mademy way to Waterloo Station to see Tom off; that was only a few daysago, and what I saw and heard is fresh in my memory. But however longI may live, I shall never forget the look in Tom's eyes as he stood onthe platform with Alice by his side. A great light was burning there, the light of love, and duty, and faith, and chastened joy. 

"Don't fear, Alice, " said the lad, "I will come back again all right. "

"You--you are sure you will take care of yourself, Tom, " and Alice'svoice was husky, although she was evidently making a great effort to bebrave. 

"Ay, that I will, " said Tom. 

Crowds of soldiers thronged the platform, while hundreds of theirfriends who came to see them off made it difficult to move; many of theTommies were shouting and cheering, while others found their way intothe carriages as if anxious to be quiet. 

"They seem splendid fellows, " said Alice, "but some of them are veryrough, aren't they?"

"Just a bit rough, " replied Tom, "but they are all right. Some ofthose very chaps who look rough and common are just heroes, you know;they would face any kind of danger to do a pal a good turn. Perhapsyou may not think it to look at them, but their hearts are true asgold. This war has made a wonderful difference in them. "

Alice pressed his arm convulsively. 

"You know that book you lent me the other day, " went on Tom, "that bookof Kipling's where there is a story about a ship that found herself. It means a lot, does that story. That's what this war has done for alot of us chaps, it's helped us to find ourselves. "

The guard blew his whistle, and there was a slamming of doors. 

"Good-bye, Alice, " and Tom held her close to his heart. "The war willbe over soon, and then, please God, I will come back again. "

"Yes, yes, Tom, and--and you know I will be always thinking of you, andpraying for you. "

"Ay, lass, I do, that's why I'm not a bit afraid. It's not good-bye, Alice, it's only au revoir as the French say. You will be brave, won'tyou?"

"Yes, Tom, " she spoke bravely, although her voice was husky; "and--and, Tom"--this with a sob--"I shall be loving you--loving you all the time. "

Slowly the train left the station. At the carriage windows hundreds ofmen stood waving their hands, and shouting. They were going back tothe grim, cold trenches, going to danger, and possible death; but theywere going with brave hearts and the light of resolution in their eyes. Amongst them was Tom. He, too, was waving his hand, although his lipswere tremulous. 

"God help me to do my bit, and then take me back to her, " he prayed. 

Will he come back again, or will he be one of those who give theirlives for the defence of honour and home? This I know: he with a greathost of others will fight on, and hold on until victory is won, thevictory which means peace.