CHAPTER IV

It was a fitting place to train men for war, Bedford, where John was
with his regiment, and where his mother and I went to see him so soon
as we could after Christmas. It is in the British midlands, but
before the factory towns begin. It is a pleasant, smiling country,
farming country, mostly, with good roads, and fields that gave the
boys chances to learn the work of digging trenches--aye, and living
in them afterward.

Bedford is one of the great school towns of England. Low, rolling
hills lie about it; the river Ouse, a wee, quiet stream, runs through
it. Schooling must be in the air of Bedford! Three great schools for
boys are there, and two for girls. And Liberty is in the air of
Bedford, too, I think! John Bunyan was born two miles from Bedford,
and his old house still stands in Elstow, a little village of old
houses and great oaks. And it was in Bedford Jail that Bunyan was
imprisoned because he would fight for the freedom of his own soul.

John was waiting to greet us, and he looked great. He had two stars
now where he had one before--he had been promoted to first
lieutenant. There were curious changes in the laddie I remembered. He
was bigger, I thought, and he looked older, and graver. But that I
could not wonder at. He had a great responsibility. The lives of
other men had been entrusted to him, and John was not the man to take
a responsibility like that lightly.

I saw him the first day I was at Bedford, leading some of his men in
a practice charge. Big, braw laddies they were--all in their kilts.
He ran ahead of them, smiling as he saw me watching them, but turning