all, it's the men behind the armies that win the war. Men like you and I,
Graham, each doing his ordinary job without excitement. That's the type
that's made old England. You ought to preach about it, Graham. Come to
think, it fits in with what you said this morning, and a good sermon too,
young man. Every man's got to put his house in order and carry on. You
meant that, didn't you?"

"Something like that," said Peter; "but as far as the clergy are
concerned, I still think the Bishops ought to pick their men."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Mr. Lessing, stretching himself a bit. "But I
don't think the clergy could be much use over there. As the Canon said,
there will be plenty to do at home. In any case it would be no use
rushing the Bishops. Let them see what's needed, and then let them choose
their men, eh? A man like London's sure to be in the know. Good thing
he's your Bishop, Graham: you can leave it to him easily?"

"I should think so, sir," said Peter forlornly.

"Oh, well, glad to hear you say it, I'm sure, Graham, and so will Mrs.
Lessing be, and Hilda. We're old-fashioned folk, you know.... Well, well,
and I suppose I oughtn't to keep you. I'll come with you to the door, my
boy."

He walked ahead of the young man into the hall, and handed him his hat
himself. On the steps they shook hands to the fire of small sentences.
"Drop in some evening, won't you? Don't know if I really congratulated
you on the sermon; you spoke extraordinarily well, Graham. You've a great
gift. After all, this war will give you a bit of a chance, eh? We must
hear you again in St. John's.... Good-afternoon."