y of the morning, to be quickly forgotten in the
joy of life!

Sec.5

It was now that the Battle of Neuve Chapelle quenched Pennybet.
Archibald Pennybet, the boy who left school, determined to conquer
the world, and coolly confident of his power to mould circumstances
to his own ends, was crushed like an insect beneath the heavy foot
of war. He was just put out by a high-explosive shell. It didn't
kill him outright, but whipped forty jagged splinters into his body.
He was taken to an Advanced Dressing Station, where a chaplain, who
told us about his last minutes, found him, swathed in bandages from
his head to his heel. On a stretcher that rested on trestles he was
lying, conscious, though a little confused by morphia. He saw the
chaplain approaching him, and murmured, "Hallo, padre." So numerous
were his bandages that the chaplain saw nothing of the boy who was
speaking save the lazy Arab eyes and the mouth that had framed
impudence for twenty years.

"Hallo, what have you been doing to yourself?" asked the chaplain.

"Oh, only trying conclusions with an H.E., padre." The mouth smiled
at the corners.

"What about a cup of tea, now? Could you drink it?"

"I'll--try, padre." The eyes twinkled a little.

So the chaplain brought a mug of stewed tea, and Penny, laughing
weakly, said:

"You'll--have to pour it down--for me, padre. I can't move a muscle.
These bloody bandages--sorry, padre--these bandages. O God--"

"In pain?" gently inquired the chaplain.

"No. Only a prisoner. I can't move. Pour the tea down."

He gulped a little of the drink, and, dropping the heavily-fringed
eyelids, so that he appeared to be asleep, muttered:

"I suppose--I haven't a dog's chance. Find out if--I'm done for.
Find out for me, please."

"I asked the doctor before I came to you, old chap."

On hearing this, Penny opened and shut his eyes, and remained so
long just breathing that the chaplain wondered if he had lost
consciousness. But the eyes unclosed again, and the lips asked:

"Aren't you going to tell me, padre?"

"Yes, I--you won't be a prisoner much longer, old chap."

Not a word said Penny, but stared in wonder at his informant. It was
clear that he wanted to live, and to mould the world to his will.
There was a long silence, and then he murmured:

"Well, there are lots of others--who've gone through it--and lots
more who'll--have to go." And he shut his eyes in weary submission.

The chaplain suggested a pra