A few hours later, when Stewart was safely ensconced in our hospital, he observed reminiscently: "I’m awfully glad to be among old friends once more—but those English hospitals are not without their attractions!" *CHAPTER XVI* He was a mere boy, scarce nineteen years of age, a sub-lieutenant in the Territorials, and a medallist in philosophy from Oxford. Who would have guessed that this frail, delicate-looking Welsh youth with the fair hair and grey eyes was gifted with an intellect of which all England might be proud? He might have passed unnoticed had one not spoken to him, and, having spoken, had seen the handsome face light up with fascinating vivacity as he replied. One cannot attempt to recollect or depict the mystic workings of his marvellous mind; for, once aroused, gems of thought, clear cut and bright as scintillations from a star, dropped from his lips and left his hearers steeped in wonder. It was then, you may well believe, no ordinary youth who walked into the hospital, with mud-covered clothes and his kit still strapped to his back. He dropped the kit upon the floor of his room, and, sinking wearily into a chair, brushed back with his hand the unruly hair which sought to droop over his high forehead. His commanding officer, who had accompanied him to the hospital, had taken me aside, before I entered the room, and had told me privately his views about the boy. "You look tired," I remarked, as I noted the weary droop of the head. He smiled quickly as he looked up and said: "Done up, I think. Those six months in Malta were a bit too much for me." "But you have been home before coming to France, have you not?" I asked him. "Home!" he cried in surprise. "No such luck! We had expected a week or two in England after our return, but it’s off. There were four thousand of us in Malta, but we’re all here now, at Etaples, and liable to be sent to the trenches any moment. When I stood on the cliffs at Wimereux yesterday and saw the dear old shores across the Channel—" He stopped suddenly, overpowered by some strong emotion. "I’d be a better soldier farther off. Between homesickness and the pain in my chest, I’m about all in." He did look tired and faint, and even the pink rays of the setting sun failed to tint the pallor of his cheeks. I told him I would send the orderly to help him undress and that he must get into bed at once. When I returned shortly and examined his chest, I found that he was suffering from a touch of pleurisy; there were, too, traces of more serious trouble in the lungs. "What do you think of me, Major?" he enquired with a quizzical smile, when I had completed the examination. "Anything interesting inside?" "Interesting enough to call for a long rest," I replied. "We’ll have to keep you here a while and later send you home to England."