to help them--only the sporting instinct which is in every healthy
British boy.

Then there are "the old men," less attractive, less stirring to the
imagination, less sensitive, but who grow upon you more and more as
you get to know them. Any one over twenty-three or so is an "old
man." They have lost the grace, the irresponsibility, the sensibility
of youth. Their eyes and mouths are steadier, their movements more
deliberate. But they are the fellows whom you would choose for a
patrol, or a raid, where a cool head and a stout heart are what is
wanted. It takes you longer to know these. They are less responsive to
your advances. But when you have tested them and they have tested you,
you know that you have that which is stronger than any terror of night
or day, a loyalty which nothing can shake.

And then when he thinks how little he deserves all this love and
loyalty, the subaltern's heart aches with a feeling that can find no
expression either in word or deed.

This is a tale that has often been told, and that people in England
know by heart. It cannot be told too often. It cannot be learnt too
well. For the time will come when we shall need to remember it, and
when it will be easy to forget. Will you remember it, O ye people,
when the boy has become a man, and the soldier has become a workman?
But there are other tales to tell. There are the tales of the
sergeant-major and the sergeants, the corporals and the "lance-jacks."
Sergeant-majors, sergeants, and corporals are not romantic figures. If
you think of them at all, you probably think of rumjars and profanity.
Yet they are the very backbone of the Army. I have been a sergeant and
I have been a private soldier, and I know that the latter has much