Instantly and quietly every man in that hut stood up. And we prayed as men can pray only under those conditions. We sang together, “For ever with the Lord.” I shall never sing that hymn again without a lump in my throat. My mind will always go back to those dear boys. We shook hands and I watched them go, and then on my way to the little cottage where I was billeted I heard feet coming behind me, and presently felt a hand laid upon my shoulder. Two grand handsome fellows stood beside me. One of them said, “We didn’t manage to get into the hut, but we stood at the window to your right. We heard all you said. We want you to pray for us. We are going into the trenches, too. We can’t go until it is settled.” We prayed together, and then I shook hands with them and bade them good-bye. They did not come back. Some of their comrades came—those two, with others, were left behind. But they had settled it—_they had settled it_. * * * * * Two or three days after that I was in a hospital when one was brought in who was at that service. I thought he was unconscious, and I said to the Sister beside me, “Sister, how battered and bruised his poor head is!” He looked up and said, “Yes, it is battered and bruised; but it will be all right, Gipsy, when I get the crown!” One night I had got about fifty boys round me in a dug-out, with the walls blown out and bits of the roof off. I had taken some hymn-sheets, for I love to hear them sing. I never choose a hymn for them—I always let them choose their own hymns. There is wisdom in that. If they have asked for something and don’t sing it, I can come down on them. Among the great hymns they choose are these: “Jesu, Lover of my soul,” and I have heard them sing, “Cover my defenceless head,” with the shells falling close to them. I have heard them sing, “I fear no foe ...” with every seat and every bit of building round us rocking with the concussion of things. And then they will choose: “The King of Love my Shepherd is,” “The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want,” “Abide with me,” “Rock of ages, cleft for me,” and the one they love, I think, most of all is, “When I survey the wondrous Cross.” Those are the hymns they sing, the great hymns of the Church—the hymns that all Christian people sing, about which there is no quarrelling. It’s beautiful to hear the boys. That night I said, “I have brought some hymn-sheets. I thought we might have some singing, but I’m afraid it’s too dark.” Instantly one of the boys brought out of his tunic about two inches of candle and struck a match, and in three minutes we had about twenty pieces of candle burning. It was a weird scene. After the hymns I began to talk, and the candles burnt lower, and some of them flickered out, and I could see a boy here and there twitch a bit of candle as it was going out. I said, “Put the candles out, boys. I can talk in the dark.”