It recalled his own sermon, spoken in Edmonton to his father's battalion.

Immediately he was on his feet, and without preface or apology, reproduced as far as he was able the M.O.'s speech of the previous night, and that without expurgation.
There was but little discussion.

There was but one opinion.

It was resolved to call a joint meeting of the chaplains and medical officers to decide upon a course of action.
As Barry was leaving the meeting, the senior chaplain, an old Anglican clergyman, with a saintly face and a smile that set one's tenderest emotions astir, came to him, and putting his hand affectionately upon his shoulder, said: "And how is your work going, my dear fellow ?" It was to Barry as if his father's hand were upon his shoulder, and before he was aware he was pouring out the miserable story of his own sad failure as a chaplain.
"Poor boy! Poor boy!" the old gentleman kept saying.

"I know how you feel.