"This is my sixth sh--service to-day, and I have come seven miles for
it."
He mopped his brow cheerfully; and having produced innumerable
hymn-books from a saddle-bag and set his congregation in array, read
them the service, in a particularly pleasing and well-modulated voice.
After that he preached a modest and manly little sermon, containing
references which carried Bobby Little, for one, back across the
Channel to other scenes and other company. After the sermon came a
hymn, sung with great vigour. Tommy loves singing hymns--when he
happens to know and like the tune.
"I know you chaps like hymns," said the padre, when they had finished.
"Let's have another before you go. What do you want?"
A most unlikely-looking person suggested "Abide with Me." When it was
over, and the party, standing as rigid as their own rifles, had
sung "God Save the King," the preacher announced, awkwardly--almost
apologetically--
"If any of you would like to--er--communicate, I shall be very glad.
May not have another opportunity for some time, you know. I think over
there"--he indicated a quiet corner of the wood, not far from the
little cemetery--"would be a good place."
He pronounced the benediction, and then, after further recurrence to
his saddle-bag, retired to his improvised sanctuary. Here, with a
ration-box for altar, and strands of barbed wire for choir-stalls, he
made his simple preparations.
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