friend I had. He was a small, compact, keen, and capable little
Rugbian named F----. He was like me in that he had recently lost his
parents, and was interested in religion and philosophy in a boyish
way. Unlike me he rather enjoyed Woolwich. He had a lot of friends,
was keen on riding and on a good deal of the work, and generally
speaking plunged into life, taking the rough with the smooth, and
both in good part. Although we have drifted far apart in ideals and
sympathies, and though misunderstanding has come in and destroyed our
friendship, I shall never cease to be grateful for all that F----
did for me in those days. He routed me out when I was in the blues,
laughed at me, cheered me up and made me look at life with new eyes.
Moreover he did this, as I know, in defiance of the set with whom he
was friendly, who despised me for a milksop, and were at no pains to
conceal the fact. But for F----, my life at the Shop would have been
intolerable.

Besides him, I had a few associates, boys with whom I naturally
associated for the simple reason that they, too, were left out of the
main current of the life of the place. But they were not particularly
congenial. One or two were hard workers. One was a great slacker, and
more timid, physically and morally, than even I. He was a boy with a
fatal facility for doing useless things moderately well, especially in
the musical line. He was even more frightened of gym and horses than
I was, and unlike me was not ashamed to show it. If the Shop was
purgatory to me, it must have been hell to him.

My happiest times were week-ends spent at home. I used to arrive on
Saturday evening and leave on Sunday evening. About now I began to
get to know my father much better, and to develop my theological bent
under his advice. In my disillusionment as to my capacity for military
life I began to wish I had chosen the clerical profession. I think my
father had the shrewdness to see that failure in one profession was
not necessarily the sign of a "call" in another direction. Anyway, he
did not discourage me; but spoke of five years in the Army as the best
training for a parson.

I remember avowing my intention of becoming a parson to one of my more
friendly acquaintances at the Shop, and he replied that I wouldn't set
the Thames on fire, because I had such a monotonous voice.

In spite of seeking relief from my uncongenial surroundings in
religion and theology, I did not join myself to any one e