“Where are the headquarters of this great movement?” was a question frequently asked. And the answer seemed a strange one: “In the houses of a few women.” “It is growing too much for us,” said Tom. But on the day when she said it more than a dozen ladies asked to be allowed to do the clerical work of the endeavour. “What put it in your minds?” one asked, and a bright girl replied with a smile, “You should put your question differently, and ask, ‘Who put it into our minds?’” But, after all, every district, town, and village had to provide its own headquarters. Nor was this difficult; for that had happened for which devout souls had agonised in prayer for many a weary year, and at last the Church was awake. And it found everything ready for the new work, which was yet not new, but as old as Christianity. A conviction forced itself into many minds, as it might be, simultaneously, that no new organisation, but the old-established ones, were called to make the Great Endeavour, and that they had all the necessary power and means, and especially they had what was of greater importance than all else put together—_they had the boys_. One town after another, and villages by dozens, gathered the boys into the new organisation; and it was officered by the finest men of the district. “This must not be left to uneducated, unequipped men; you and I must take it up, or prove ourselves traitors to our consciences.” Such words as these were spoken at many a club. And the recruiting sergeants were the boys themselves. “Father, you must come; you are clever; the boys would obey you; and you know how to govern. Don’t leave us to any duffers who like to take us in hand. We want real men to manage and direct us.” So pleaded the boys; and real men responded.