e I want you
to, but oh!" she sobbed, "come back to me--come back--come back."

I leant over and, lifting her face up gently with both my hands,
kissed her and said:

"Yes, mother."

And then by a sudden effort of her will she seemed to recover. She
said smilingly and almost calmly:

"I'm so proud. I think it's wonderful your going out there."

Sec.9

What more is there to tell of that old first period of my life which
ended at the gates of Devonport Dockyard? There was a long railway
journey with Doe, where half the best of green England, clad in
summer dress, swept in panorama past our carriage windows. Perhaps
we both watched it pass a little wistfully. Perhaps we thought of
bygone holiday-runs, when we had watched the same telegraph lines
switchbacking to Falmouth. There was a one-night stay at the Royal
Hotel, Devonport; and a walk together in the fresh morning down to
the Docks. There was a woman who touched Doe's sleeve and said: "You
poor dear lamb," and annoyed him grievously. There was the fat
policeman's challenge at the gates. And then we were through.

We had walked a little way, when a boy from the Royal Hotel, whom
the policeman suffered to pass, ran up to us like a messenger from a
world we had left behind.

"Lieutenant Ray, sir," he called.

I turned round and said "Yes?" inquiringly.

"Here's a telegram, sir, that arrived just after you left."

I took it undismayed, knowing it to be yet another telegram of good
wishes. "I'll bet you, you poor dear lamb," I said to Doe, "the
words are either 'Good-bye and God-speed,' or 'Cheerioh and a safe
return.'"

"Not taking the bet," said Doe. "How else could it be phrased?"

"Well, we'll see," said I, and opened the envelope. The words were:

"I am with you every moment--MOTHER."

CHAPTER II

PADRE MONTY AND MAJOR HARDY COME ABOARD

Sec.1

Doe and I have often looked back on our first glimpse of Padre Monty
and wondered why nothing foreshadowed all that he was going to be to
us. We had entered the Transport Office on one of the Devonport
Quays, to report according to orders. Several other officers were
before us, handing in their papers to a Staff Officer. The one in a
chaplain's uniform, bearing on his back a weighty Tommy's pack, that
made him look like a campaigner from France, was Padre Monty. We
could only see his back, but it seemed the back of a young man,
spare, lean, and vigorous. His colloquy with the Staff Officer was