, with its icy bite, could spoil the
glow which I felt in being Captain Ray. I walked along my company
front, behind parapets massed with snow, to have a look at the men
of my command. All these lads with the chattering lips--lads from
twenty to forty years old--were mine to do what I liked with. They
were my family--my children. And I would be a father to them.

And when, at the end of my inspection, a shivering post corporal put
into my hands a letter addressed by my mother to 2nd-Lieut. R. Ray,
I delighted to think how out-of-date she was, and how I must
enlighten her at once on the correct method of addressing her son. I
would do it that day, so that she might have opportunities of
writing "Capt. Ray." For one never knew: some unpleasantly senior
person might come along and take to himself my honourable rank.

I seized the letter and hurried home to our dug-out. Doe was already
in possession of his mail, so, having wrapped ourselves in blankets
to defeat the polar atmosphere, we crouched over a smoking oil-stove
and read our letters.

I was the first to break a long silence.

"Really," I said, "Mother's rather sweet. Listen to this:--

"'Rupert, I had such a shock yesterday. I heard the postman's
knock, which always frightens me. I picked up a long, blue
envelope, stamped "War Office." Oh, my heart stood still. I
went into my bedroom, and tried to compose myself to break the
envelope. Then I asked my new maid to come and be with me when
I opened it. After she had arrived, I said a prayer that all
might be well with you. Then I opened it: and, Rupert, it was
only your Commission as 2nd Lieutenant arriving a year late.
Oh, I went straight to church and gave thanks!'"

Doe gazed into the light of the oil-stove.

"The dear, good, beautiful woman!" he said.

And so it is that the famous blizzard carries with it two glowing
memories: the one, my promotion to Captain's rank; the other, the
sudden arrival of my mother's letter like a sea-gull out of a storm.
Her loving words threw about me, during the appalling conditions of
the afternoon, an atmosphere of England. And, when in the biting
night our elevated home was quiet under the stars, and Doe and I
were rolled up in our blankets, I was quite pleased to find him
disposed to be sentimental.

"I've cold feet to-night," he grumbled. "Roll on Peace, and a
passage home. Let's cheer ourselves up by thinking of the first