oing to preach in the streets, but they did not care at all that he was
delivered over to error. She looked at him sympathetically over the
table, feeling that since these horrid people with whom she had got
entangled did not like him, he might be quite nice, and found him
exchanging a long, peculiar glance with Poppy, which was followed on
both sides by a slow, meaning nod.

He looked in front of him again and his round eyes vacillated between
Richard and Ellen, growing rounder at each roll. Presently he swallowed
a lump in his throat and addressed himself to her. "Ah, you're an
unbeliever," he said. "Well, Captain Sampson says there's always a
reason for it if people can't believe." He moistened his lips and panted
the words out at her. "If you've been doing anything that's wrong--"

A sob prevented him. "Oh, I can't go and spoil this lovely tea, even if
I ought to for Jesus' sake!" he cried. "We're all so happy, I can't bear
to break it up by telling you what it's my duty to do! Poppy, doesn't
mother have everything nice? I've often thought of this tea-table when
I've been eating at places where they did things, roughish. Look at the
flowers. Mother always has flowers on the table, even when it's winter.
Jesus wouldn't expect me to break this up." His face became transfused
with light. "I believe Jesus loves everything that's done nicely,
whether it's a good deed or bread-and-butter cut nice and thin. That's
why," he mourned, so wistfully that all of them save the impassive woman
in uniform made a kind, friendly bending towards him, "I mind not to be
able to do anything really well. But Jesus loves me all the same. He
loves me whatever I'm like!" His brow clouded. "But because He loves me
I owe Him a debt. I ought to preach Him wherever I am, in and out of
season. But I can't spoil this. Aren't we all happy, sitting here? I'll
tell you what. They've asked me to take the Saturday evening service
to-night because the Commandant and the two under him are all down with
influenza. If you'll come and hear me I'll tell you what Jesus wants you
to hear. Oh, mother, Richard, do, do come!"

"Yes, Roger dear, we'll come."

"You won't ... make fun of it?"

"Oh no! Oh no!" Her voice was hesitant, intimate, girlishly shy. "We
haven't seen nearly as much of each other as a mother and son ought.
There are lots of things about me you don't know. For all you know, what
you said of Richard a moment ago ... might be true of me...."