act that the parson had a new prayer
introduced into the service impressed them with a sense of war more than
anything else. But even Wrotham felt the outside fringe of London's
anxiety during the days of that autumn. One by one, rather sheepishly,
the young men came forward. They would like to be soldiers, they would
like to have a whack at them there Germans. No thought of treaties or
broken pledges stirred them, but England was written across their minds
just the same. Uncle John woke to new life; he had been eating out his
heart, knowing himself useless and on the shelf, when every nerve in his
body was straining to be up and doing. He instituted himself as
recruiter-in-chief to the district. He would walk for miles if he heard
there was a likely young man to be found at the end of his tramp; his
face would glow with pride did he but catch one fine, healthy-looking
specimen.

He inaugurated little meetings, too, at which the Vicar presided, and
Uncle John held forth. Bluntly and plainly he showed the people their
duty, speaking to them as he had used to speak in the old days to his
soldiers. And over their beer in the neighbouring public-house the men
would repeat his remarks, weigh up his arguments, agree or disagree with
his sentiments. They had a very strong respect for him, that at least
was certain; before Christmas he had persuaded every available unmarried
man to enlist.

The married men were a problem; Joan felt that perhaps more than Uncle
John did. Winter was coming on; there were the children to clothe and
feed; the women were beginning to be afraid. Sometimes Joan would
accompany Uncle John on his tramps abroad, and she would watch the
wife's face as Uncle John brought all his persuasion to bear on the man;
she would see it wake first to fear, and then to resentment. She was
sorry for them; how could one altogether blame them if they cried, "Let
the unmarried men go first." Yet once their man had gone, they fell back
on odd reserves of pride and acquiescence. There was very little wailing
done in the hundreds of small homes scattered all over England; with
brave faces the women turned to their extra burden of work. Just as much
as in the great ones of the land, "for England" burned across their
hearts.

Joan's life had settled down, but for the outside clamour of events,
into very quiet routine. Her two years' life in London was melting away
into a dream; only Dick and her love for Dick stood out with