train was panting to be off. "Boys," he cried suddenly, "I want you
to do something for me, something hard." "Anything you like, sir,"
they answered eagerly. But their faces fell when they heard their
teacher's word. "Look here," he said, "it's this. You'll meet in the
old place every Tuesday evening for a few minutes and pray for me
that I may do my duty, and, if it please God, that I may come back
to you all. And I'll pray for you at the same time even if I'm in
the thick of battle. Is it a bargain?"

I wish you had seen the dismay on those ten faces. It was any odds on
their blurting out a shamefaced refusal, but Ted Harper, their
acknowledged chief, pulled himself together just in time, and called
out as the train began to move:--"We'll do it, sir. I don't know how
we'll manage it, but we'll do our best. We'll not go back on you."

As Fenton sank into his corner he was aware of the mocking looks of
his brother officers. "I say," said one of them, "you don't really
think those chaps are going to hold a prayer-meeting for you every
week, and if they did you can't believe it would stop an enemy's
bullet or turn an enemy's shell. It's all very well to be pious, but
that's a bit too thick." Fenton flushed, but he took it in good part.
"Prayer's a big bit of our religion," he said, "and I've a notion
these prayers will help me. Anyhow I'm sure my lads will do their
part. Where Ted Harper leads, they follow."

And sure enough the boys did their part. It was fine to see them
starting out in the wrong direction, and twisting and doubling
through the crooked lanes till they worked round to the Mission Hall,
and then in with a rush and a scuttle, that as few as possible might
see. The doings of the Fenton crowd, as they were known locally,