rations and cigarettes with him. I call that a bit of religion breaking
out in an unlikely place. The leaven’s in the lump, thank God!

* * * * *

I was speaking at a convalescent camp. Every one of the boys had been
badly mauled and mangled on the Somme. This particular day I had about
seven or eight hundred listeners. It was evening, and when I had talked to
the boys, I said,

“I wonder if any of you would like to meet me for a little prayer?”

And from all over the camp came the answer, “Yes, sir; yes, sir; yes,
sir.”

There was a big room there—we called it a quiet room—and so I asked all
the boys who would like to see me, just to leave their seats and go into
this room. I went to them and said,

“You have elected to come here to pray, so we will just kneel down at
once. I am not going to do anything more than guide you. I want you to
tell God what you feel you need in your own language.”

The prayers of those boys would have made a book. There were no
old-fashioned phrases. You know what I mean—people begin at a certain
place and there is no stopping them till they get to another certain
place. One of these boys began, “Please God, You know I’ve been a rotter.”
That’s the way to pray. That boy was talking to God and the Lord was very
glad to listen.