did before you.

DUTY. Your example it was that steadied your comrades, and kept craven
fear at a distance. You saved the trench.

HONOUR. This is the beauty of manhood, to die for a good cause. There
is no fairer thing in all God's world.

CECIL. I thank you. Good-night, Sun; good-night, Mother Earth. Think
kindly of me. I don't think I was mad after all.

SUN. Good-night, brave lad. (_To_ MOTHER EARTH) I can hardly bear to
look on so sad a sight.

CECIL. Good-night, Ragged Robins; good-night, Poppies. You have
played your game, and I mine. Only they are different because we are
different.

CHORUS OF FLOWERS. Good-night, dear Cecil. We are so very sorry that
you are hurt.

(_Enter the_ MASTER, _flowers shyly following him._ HONOUR
_and_ DUTY _raise_ CECIL _gently to a standing position._)

THE MASTER (_extending his arms with a loving smile_). "Well done,
good and faithful servant. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."

(CECIL, _with a look of wonder and joy, is borne forward._)

(_Curtain._)

XV

MY HOME AND SCHOOL[3]

A FRAGMENT OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I

MY HOME

What is one to say of home? It is difficult to know. I find that
biographers are particular about the date of birth, the exact address
of the babe, the social position and ancestry of the parent. I suppose
that it is all that they can learn. But as an autobiographer I want
to do something better; to give a picture of the home where, as I
can now see, ideals, tastes, prejudices and habits were formed which
have persisted through all the internal revolutions that have since
upheaved my being.

[Footnote 3: "A Student" left a great deal of manuscript, among which
this fragment of autobiography is not the least interesting.]

I try to form the picture in my mind, and a crowd of detail rushes
in which completely destroys its simplicity and harmony. How hard it
is to judge, even at this distance, what are the salient features.
I must try, but I know that from the point of view of psychological
development I may easily miss out the very factors which were really
most important.

I remember a big house, in a row of other big houses, in a side street
leading from the East Cliff at Brighton right up to the edge of the
bare rolling downs. It was exactly like almost every other house
in that part of Brighton--stucco fronted, with four stories and a
basement, three windows in front on each of the upper stories, and two
windows