knows what this careless, generous, and kindly person is capable of, one
feels that his soul is a very precious thing indeed. And there is one
way the padre can touch this priceless soul: that is, by serving in the
ranks with him. Then all the barriers fall, all the reserve vanishes,
and the padre comes into his own, and saves more souls by his example
than by oceans of precept. There he finds himself, he has got his real
job at last.

Among the South African infantry brigade, that did that wonderful march
to Kondoa Irangi, two hundred and fifty miles in a month, in the height
of the rainy season, were fourteen parsons. All serving in the ranks as
private soldiers, they carried a wonderful example with them. It was
their pride that they were the cleanest and the best disciplined men in
their respective companies. No fatigue too hard, no duty too irksome.
Better soldiers they showed themselves than Tommy himself. Of a bright
and cheerful countenance, particularly when things looked gloomy, they
were ready for any voluntary fatigue. The patrol in the thick bush that
was so dangerous, fetching water, quick to build fires and make tea,
ready to help a lame fellow with his equipment, always cheery, never
grousing, they lived the life of our Lord instead of preaching about it.

For the padre's job, I take it, is to teach the men the right spirit, to
send them to war as men should go, to assure them that this is a holy
fight, that God is on their side.

He knows that Tommy, if he speculates at all upon his latter end, does
so in the pagan spirit, the spirit that teaches men that there is a
special heaven for soldiers who are killed in war, that the manner of
their dying will give them absolution for their sins. And the padre
knows that the pagan spirit is the true spirit and yet he may not say