“Oh, dad, I implore you!” said Barry.
“Barry, I would like to speak to you about your work.”
Barry shook his head sadly.
“I'm not much good, dad,” he said, “but I'm not going to quit,” he added quickly, noting a shadow on his father's face.
“Barry, I'm going to say something to you which I do hope will not hurt you. I know the common soldier better than you do, boy. Our Canadian soldiers do not like to be rebuked, criticised or even watched too closely. Forgive me this, my boy.”
“Oh, dad, please tell me all that is in your heart!”
“Thank you, Barry. They don't like the chaplain to be a censor over their words.”
“I loathe it,” said Barry passionately.
“Believe me, they are good chaps in their hearts. They swear and all that, but that is merely a habit or a mere expression of high emotion. You ought to hear them as they 'go over.' Barry, let all that pass and remember that these boys are giving their lives—their lives, Barry, for right, for conscience, and ultimately, though it may be unconsciously, for God. Barry, a man that is giving his life for God may say what he likes. Don't be too hard on them, but recall to mind, Barry, that when they go up the line they feel terribly lonely and terribly afraid, and that is a truly awful experience.”
He paused a moment or two, and then lowered his voice and continued: “Barry, you won't be ashamed of me. I was terribly afraid, myself.”