"But it's not enough, Tom," said the Scotchman. "What does a' mean?" asked Tom. "I mean that a man wants releegion," replied Alec very solemnly. "I have been a thinking lad all my life, and when I chucked releegion and professed to believe in Colonel Ingersoll I kenned fine I was making a fool of mysel'. It's either whisky or releegion to keep a man's courage up; that is, such a man as me." "Then you think there's something after death?" said Tom. "Ay, lad, I am sure of it. I'm a-thinking you're richt, Tom, in going to the Y.M.C.A. meetings, and I know you're wrang in not getting releegion. E'en when I'm fou' of whisky, I have known that releegion was necessary; and if I only had the strength I'd gi' up the whisky." The next day the camp was in a great state of excitement; the men had received definite information that they were to start for the Front in two days' time. They did not know where they were going, but they were told it would be somewhere in France or Belgium. At first there was great cheering at this; the men shouted and boasted of what they would do when they were face to face with the Germans. After that, almost as if by prearrangement, a solemn silence fell among them; evidently they were thinking deeply. Some paid longer visits than usual to the wet canteen or public-houses; others, again, were seen walking alone as though they had no desire for company. We who remain at home in safety, and talk about the heroism of the men going away to the Front, little realise the thoughts which pass through their minds. When the order to embark comes they don't say very much about it, and even when they do talk they speak of death almost lightly. "If I am potted," they say, "I am, and that's all about it." But that's not all they feel, as I have reason to know. They love their lives just as much as we do, and they long to go back and spend their days amongst their loved ones. It is only rare that cowardice is seen, and it is rarer still for them to make any boast; the average Englishman is not given to boasting; he has his duty to do, and he just does it, saying very little about it. On the night before they were to embark for France, farewell meetings were held at the Y.M.C.A. huts, and Tom noticed that Alec McPhail found his way to the hut where he went. Perhaps eight hundred or a thousand men had gathered, and although high spirits prevailed, each man felt that he was breathing an atmosphere which was not usual. There was a look not common in the eyes of the lads; a set, stern expression on their faces. Afterwards when they had been to the Front and returned, they would go out again without such feeling as now possessed them. But these lads had never been to the war before; they were entering upon an unknown; they knew that in all probability a large number of them would never come back to England again. Each had a hope that he might escape, although the chances were against him.