Little did I think that the whole thing was a game of the young rascals, and that they were beguiling the tedious moments of the sentry-go by pulling a chaplain's leg.

They confessed it to me months afterwards in France.
However, I was unsuspecting and had come submissive into the great war.

I said that if they would remove their bayonets from propinquity to my person--because the sight of them was causing me a fresh attack of the pains that had racked me all day--I would go with them to the guardroom.

At this they said, "Well, Sir, we'll let you pass.

We'll take your word and say no more about it." So off I went to my dripping canvas home, hoping that the war would be brought to a speedy termination.
Every night I used to do what I called "parish visiting." I would go round among the tents, and sitting on the ground have a talk with the men.