" Barry shuddered as he spoke. For nothing in all his ministerial
experience was to him a more exhausting and heartbreaking task than
the writing of these letters to the relatives and friends of his dead
comrades.
"I think you had better come," said the major earnestly. "I know the O.
C. would like it, and the boys would like it too."
"Do you think so?" said Barry. "Then I'll be there."
"Good man," said Major Bayne, patting him on the shoulder. "That's the
stuff we like in this battalion."
Barry found his hut in order, his things out for airing, his tub ready,
and supper in preparation.
"Thanks, Monroe," he said to Major Bayne's batman, as he passed into his
hut.
As he entered his hut and closed the door, for the first time there
swept over his soul an appalling and desolating sense of loneliness. It
was his first moment of quiet, his first leisure to think of himself for
almost two weeks. With the loss of his batman there had been snapped
the last link with that old home life of his, now so remote but all the
dearer for that.
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