and while the setting of my
simple tale is fiction, the tale itself is fact.

That is why I hope the story of "Tommy" will not only be read by
thousands of men in khaki, but by their fathers and mothers and loved
ones who bade them go to the Front, and who earnestly pray for their
speedy 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 Tom
Pollard left his home in Dixon Street and made his way towards the
Thorn and Thistle public-house. It was not Tom's intention to stay
long at the Thorn and Thistle, as he had other plans in view,
nevertheless something drew him there. He crossed the tram lines in
St. George's Street, and, having stopped to exchange some rustic jokes
with some lads who stood at the corner of the street, he hurried across
the 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 heart
of the town was pure and clear. That was accounted for by the fact
that it was Sunday, and the mills were idle. Throughout the week-days,
both in summer and in winter, the atmosphere of Brunford is smoke
laden, while from a hundred mills steamy vapours are emitted which
makes that big manufacturing town anything but a health resort. Tom
was making his way up the passage towards the bar, when the door opened
and a buxom, bold-eyed, red-cheeked girl of about twenty-four stopped
him.

"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 of
wouldn't have been late if I'd said to them what I said to you on
Friday night." Then she looked at him archly.

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

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

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

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

Tom looked mor