It was now the beginning of May, and the Surrey meadows were bedecked with glory. Tom, who had never been out of Lancashire before, could not help being impressed with the beauty he saw everywhere. It was altogether different from the hard bare hills which he had been accustomed to in the manufacturing districts of Lancashire. The air was sweet and pure too. Here all nature seemed generous with her gifts; great trees abounded, flowers grew everywhere, while fields were covered with such a glory of green as he had never seen before. By and by the train stopped at a little station, and then commenced the march to the camp for which they were bound. Penrose and Tom walked side by side.
"This is not new to you, I suppose?" Tom queried.
"No," said Penrose, "I know almost every inch round here."
"I saw you looking out of the train at a place we passed what they call Godalming; you were looking at a big building on the top of a hill there. What was it?"
"It was my old school," said Penrose, "Charterhouse; the best school in the world."
"Ay, did you go there?" asked Tom. "Why, it was fair grand. How long were you there?"
"Five years," said Penrose.
"And to think of your becoming a Tommy like me!" Tom almost gasped.
"Well, what of that?"
"You might have been an officer if you had liked, I suppose?"