to this, too, his father's influence was still
strong upon him. The boy revered his father's memory, and treasured in
his heart those faiths by which Dr. Nancarrow had steered his life.
Indeed, during his Oxford days he often declared that the Quakers were
nearer to the ideal of Christianity than any other body.

"My father was logical at all events," he often reflected, "and as a
consequence his life was a benediction. On the other hand, religion
among most people, whether churchmen or nonconformists, seems to mean
nothing. We attend so many 'chapels' as a matter of necessity, and are
glad when they are over. As to religion having any effect on our
lives, it seems to be out of the question."

Dr. Renthall had a great influence over Bob. Although he was nearing
fifty, he was a keen sportsman. He played a scratch game at golf, and
during the cricket season he could keep his end up with the best of the
younger men. This appealed to the young fellow strongly. But, more
than this, he was one of the greatest authorities on history in the
University. He was a saint too, although he made little profession of
Christianity. He went regularly to the Meeting House, but never spoke,
while his theology was of too latitudinarian a nature, to be "sound."

Robert often went to Dr. Renthall's house, and it was during his many
visits that his hatred of war grew.

"War," said the Professor to him more than once, "cannot obtain where
there is real Christianity. That is why Christianity is dying in this
country. We are being more and more filled with the spirit of
militarism, which means the death of religion; while every new
Dreadnought, which drains the nation of its treasure, is another nail
driven into the Cross of Christ."

When Bob returned to St. Ia this summer, the influence of his father's
life, and his association with Dr. Renthall, had done their work. He
detested militarism, and he hated the thought of war. Not that the
thought of war loomed largely in the horizon. The country was at
peace, and as far as he could judge no war-cloud hung in the sky.

"Ah, there she is!" Bob exclaimed, as presently the car drew up in
front of the door of the great house, and a few seconds later he was
talking eagerly with old Admiral Tresize, at the same time casting
fervent glances towards Nancy.

It was no wonder that Bob loved her, for no fairer or better girl lived
in the land of Tre, Pol, and Pen. I, who have known her