rother Copas, as Mr. Colt drew
breath; "and I thank you for telling me so much. No wonder Sir John
enlisted such energy as yours! Yet--to be equally frank with you--I
am sorry."

"You disapprove of National Service?"

"I approve of it with all my heart. Every young man should prepare
himself to fight, at call, for his country. But the devotion should
be voluntary."

"Ah, but suppose our young men will not? Suppose they prefer to
attend football matches--"

"That, sir--if I may respectfully suggest it--is your business to
prevent. And I might go on to suggest that the clergy, by preaching
compulsory military service, lay themselves open, as avowed
supporters of 'law and order,' to a very natural suspicion.
We will suppose that you get your way, and every young Briton is
bound, on summons, to mobilise. We will further suppose a
Conservative Government in power, and confronted with a devastating
strike--shall we say a railwaymen's strike? What more easy than to
call out one-half of the strikers on service and oblige them, under
pain of treason, to coerce the other half? Do you suppose that this
nation will ever forget Hounslow Heath?"

"Let us, then," said Mr. Colt, "leave arguing this question of
compulsory National Service until another occasion, when I shall hope
to convince you. For the moment you'll allow it to be every man's
duty, as a citizen, to carry arms for his country?"

"Every man's, certainly--if by that you exclude priests."

"Why exclude priests?"

"Because a priest, playing at warfare, must needs be mixing up things
that differ. As I see it, Mr. Colt, your Gospel forbids warfare; and
if you consent to follow an army, your business is to hold a cross
above human strife and point the eyes of the dying upward, to rest on
it, thus rebuking men's passions with a vision of life's ultimate
peace."

"Yet a Bishop of Beauvais (as I read) once thought it not unmeet to
charge with a mace at the head of a troop; and our own dear
Archbishop Maclagan of York, as everyone knows, was once lieutenant
in a cavalry regiment!"

"Oh, la, la!" chuckled Brother Copas. "Be off, then, to your
Territorials, Mr. Chaplain! I see Mr. Isidore, yonder, losing his
temper with the squad as only an artist can. . . . But--believe an
old man, dear sir--you on your horse are not only misreading the
Sermon but mistaking the Mount!"

Mr. Colt rode off to his squad, and none too soon; for the men,
startled by Mr.