"And you found him just after he had enlisted in the navy and it was too late?"
Mr. Eaton shook his head. "No," he said, "and this is where my confession comes in. I found him just before he enlisted in the navy and I didn't stop him. I didn't try to stop him. I encouraged him."
There was quite a long silence. Finally Mark said: "I guess you know what I think about it?"
"I'd like to be sure."
"I think you were the best friend to John that he ever had."
Mr. Eaton sighed and then laughed. "But your mother wouldn't think so, would she? And so I didn't tell her . . . Mark, I didn't dare tell her."
"I'm glad you told me."
"I'm going to tell you something else if you don't mind. Perhaps it's more serious, perhaps not . . . Mark, I don't like being a preacher. I never wanted to be one. I was hounded into it by my mother. I have never liked being one. I do my best to escape my own charges of hypocrisy, but if I only teach the things that I myself believe, the pickings are so small that without repetition and redundancy I can't for the life of me compose a thirty minute sermon . . . I came to tell you this, and ask you if your heart is really set on your being a preacher."
"Father," said Mark with feeling, "if you don't
