t to you as a Christian man, is this an
evening on which anyone ought to be asked to practise Christmas carols?"

"Hear, hear," said Miss Nelly.

"We've only had one practice, sir," said Digby, "and I've put up notices
all over the Camp that the carols will be sung to-morrow evening. It's
awfully good of you to come."

"And of me," said Miss Nelly.

"You're here, in any case," said Digby. "The men are tremendously
pleased, sir," he added, "that you're going to sing. They appreciate
it."

"They won't appreciate it nearly so much when they hear me," said the
Major. "I haven't sung a part for, I suppose, twenty years."

Christmas carols have been sung, and we may suppose practised
beforehand, in odd places, amid curious surroundings. But it is doubtful
whether even the records of missionaries in heathen lands tell of a
choir practice so unconventional as that held on Christmas Eve in the
kitchen of Miss Willmot's canteen.

The rain beat a tattoo on the corrugated iron roof. It dripped into a
dozen pools on the soaking floor, it fell in drops which hissed on to
the top of the stove. There was no musical instrument of any kind. The
tea-tray was cleared away and laid in a corner. The Major, white-haired,
lean-faced, smiling, sat on the packing-case in the middle of the room.
Miss Willmot sat on her biscuit-tin near the stove. Miss Nelly perched,
with dangling feet, on a corner of the sink in which cups and dishes
were washed Digby, choir-master and conductor, stood in front of the
stove.

"Now then," he said, "we'll begin with 'Nowell.' Major, here's your
note--La-a-a"--he boomed out a low note. "Got it?"

"La-a-a," growled the Major.

"Miss Willmot, alto," said Digby, "la-a-a. That's right Miss Davis, a
third higher, la-a-a. My tenor is F. Here's the chord. La, la, la, la.
Now, one, two, three. 'The first Nowell the angels did say----'"

The rain hammered on the roof. The Major plodded conscientiously at his
bass. Miss Nelly sang a shrill treble. Digby gave the high tenor notes
in shameless shouts. "Good King Wenceslas" followed, and "God rest you
merry, gentlemen." Then the Major declared that he could sing no more.

"I wish you'd get another bass, padre," he said. "I'm not trying to back
out, but I'm no good by myself. If I'd somebody to help me, a second
bass----"

"There's nobody," said Digby. "I've scoured the whole camp looking for a
man."

"If only Tommy were here," said Miss Nelly.

"Tommy has a s