appreciation of her services when she was "called
up" by the War Office to take charge at one of the largest hospitals in
England.

The matron of the House, known to all as "Sister Pat," was compelled to
retire from her position on account of a breakdown in health. When she
was leaving, the boys presented her with a trifling gift as a mark of
their esteem, and to keep them green in her memory. But no gift was
needed for that. As she accepted the present, she said: "Boys, Sister
Pat will come back to you. She cannot leave her boys for ever. I will
come back to you if you will have me, if it is only to clean your
boots." Her place in the heart of her boys will never be filled.

Then there was Captain McMahon, adjutant at the Bungalow. The captain
had lost a leg in the South African War. The operation had not been a
success, and the "Skipper," as we affectionately called him, put in many
painful hours. To my own knowledge, on one occasion, he endured extreme
suffering for thirty-six hours at a stretch. It was clear to all that a
second operation was needed. One day, while in his office, I asked him
why he did not go to a hospital and have another amputation. My remark
was an innocent one, but I was quickly made to regret it.

"Rawlinson," he replied, "I did not think you would ask me such a
question."

"Why?" I continued.

"Why!" he snapped back. "Don't you know that there are still hundreds of
boys coming down the line wounded and broken?"

"Yes," I answered. "But why should that stop you?"

Then I got it. "Jim," he said, "there might be one of those boys that
would require the bed that I occupied, and my being there might
necessitate that lad having to go to one of the hospitals perhaps right
in the north of England. No, Jim, I will wait till all of them have been
set on their feet again before I make application for a bed in one of
the London hospitals."

And so Captain McMahon heroically continued to bear his suffering rather
than keep one of the derelicts from France out of a bed. Next to Sir
Arthur Pearson, he was dearest to the men in the Bungalow. They loved
him, and there was not one of the two hundred and fifty men there who
would not gladly have allowed him to walk over his body if it would be
for his good. The "Skipper" was a Man, a man's man, a father to all of
us, whom it was good to know. When the boys were worried they took their
troubles to him. He made all their worries his own, and it was
surpr