“I’m sorry, sir, but I have bad news for you,” he said. “Your bed-roll and all your belongings have been burned.”
Poor George turned his face away. It really hurt him to have to tell anything so unpleasant.
“My portable altar, too, George?” I questioned, as fear tugged at my heart.
George turned towards me, his face brightening.
“No, sir. We saved that. Everything in the little church is all right.” George always called the altar the “little church.”
Then he went on to tell me that a fire had broken out, during the night, in the corrugated iron hut where I was to have slept, and that when it was discovered it was too late to save two bed-rolls; he had managed, however, to bring out one bed-roll and my portable altar.
It was now late in September and the evenings were becoming quite cold. I would miss very much my blankets, cloak and overcoat, all of which, together with many other articles, had been burned. I still had my trench coat, which I was wearing at the time.
“Well, George,” I said finally, “it could have been a great deal worse. I am very thankful that I did not lose my trench coat.”
A few evenings later, while I was standing outside my hut examining a new bicycle that had come to me from headquarters, a runner came up and passed me a D. R. L. S. letter. As I read it, I felt my hand tremble. I was to report immediately to the Fourteenth Battalion, where I was now attached for quarters and rations; Captain the Rev. G. Colthurst was to exchange places with me. He was a Church of England chaplain.
That evening I left, my heart filled with regrets; but a soldier must obey. I said good-bye to George, although I hoped to see him often. He thanked me for the way I had treated him, though I had only given him the consideration which as a thorough gentleman he deserved. I thanked him in return for all he had done for me. Twice, if not oftener, during the recent heavy fighting he had come through a terrific barrage of shell-fire and gas to guide me to the transport mess. He had actually risked his life where he was not bound to do so.