. McGillicuddy's bronzed face,
like a hickory nut, grew so haggard, his self-reproaches so piteous,
that Colonel Fortescue thought it well to give him a positive order to
say nothing of the circumstances that led up to Lawrence's striking
him. The Sergeant begged to be allowed to tell the chaplain about it;
to this Colonel Fortescue consented, and McGillicuddy had a long
conversation with the chaplain.

"The Colonel says, sir," McGillicuddy declared mournfully to the
chaplain, "as it is the damned climate,--excuse me, sir,--that makes
everybody queer."

"I'll excuse you," replied the chaplain, who had the same opinion of
the Arctic cold as Colonel Fortescue. "I think the cold gets on men's
nerves and makes them queer."

However, the chaplain had the power to console, and McGillicuddy became
a trifle more resigned, and even had a faint hope of Lawrence's return,
caught from Mrs. McGillicuddy's report of Mrs. Lawrence's fixed belief
that Lawrence would come back and give himself up. One great
consolation to the Sergeant was, to spend a large part of his pay in
comforts for Mrs. Lawrence and clothes and books and toys for the
little Ronald. Mrs. McGillicuddy, who had reasoned out a very good
solution of McGillicuddy's troubles, encouraged him in his kindness to
Mrs. Lawrence and the boy, so that the old rule of God making the devil
work for Him was again illustrated; much good came to those whom
Lawrence had deserted.

The chaplain thought it a good time to preach a sermon on loyalty, and
on the very Sunday after Colonel Fortescue had talked with Mrs.
Lawrence, the congregation that crowded the chapel heard an exposition
of what loyalty meant, especially loyalty to one's country. Among the
most attentive listeners was Kettle, whose honest black face glowed
when the chaplain proclaimed that every man owed it to his country to
defend it, if required. When the congregation streamed out of the
chapel, Mrs. Fortescue stopped a moment to congratulate the chaplain on
his sermon. Behind her stood Kettle, who was never very far away from
Miss Betty.

"I listen to that sermon, suh," said Kettle, earnestly, to the
chaplain, "and it cert'ny wuz a corker, suh."

"That is high praise," answered the chaplain, "I would rather an
enlisted man should tell me that a sermon of mine was a corker, than
for the archbishop of the archdiocese to write me a personal letter of
praise."

Just then the chaplain, who was accused of ha