soon through with it. In most cases it ends at or before adolescence.

gage on him, a measure of his fortitude.

Let me illustrate with a story. In my camp were two or three groups, some Boy Scouts, some Woodcrafters. A youngster of twelve who wore the proud nickname of Hawkeye came to us, and at once applied for full membership in the Woodcraft tribe. I said:

This dream period seems to correspond with a stage of our racial development, an age of mysticism and of simple, actual contact with elementals. I am unable to place it definitely or historically, but I know that it must be dealt with gently and reverently, not "flogged out of them," as was urged by certain teachers of my own young days. Woodcraft's symbolism and activities seek in countless ways to turn this transient mysticism of the growing youth to good account.

One no longer questions the sanity of the play instinct, as was done in my youth, but there are others equally strong which are still taboo. For example, the instinct to initiate a newcomer. It is not simply a human habit; it is world-wide wherever there is a social group of animals. A new hen in the barnyard, a new horse in the pasture, or a new hound in the pack is initiated by the others; that is, is bullied, hustled about, and often maltreated until its merits and powers are measured, and the rest know just which it can lick and which be licked by. That is, its social status is fixed. The impulse is universal. There is a real instinct to initiate.

"If you enter the Woodcraft, you will have to face an initiation; if you enter the Boy Scouts, you will not. Now, which is it?"

"I want to be initiated," he replied promptly. They always do; it gives a chance to prove their fortitude.

"All right. Now, Hawkeye, what is your besetting sin?"

"I dunno; I guess I got a bunch of them," he answered.

"Yes, most of us have. But what do the fellows in camp say?"

Hawkeye looked at the sky and the grass, then said:

"The fellows all say I talk too much."

"Oh, ho! Now I am getting the facts. Your initiation must hit you where you are weakest. What are you doing to-morrow?"

"It is my day to wash the dishes and help the cook," he replied.

"A very good day to initiate you," was my answer. "Now this is what you are to do: continue your life and

"Very good; if it must be, it shall be, but I will take charge of it. I will make it official and public; proper authorities shall prescribe and apply the initiation tests. Now we have a dozen initiations all aimed at giving the candidate and his companions a

hours do not open your mouth to speak a word. Sign or write if you like, but not one word of speech. Now, are you man enough to face it?" "Yes, sir."

"Remember now, it is not too late to go back. You can enter the Boy Scouts without initiation."

"I broke my vow."

"What!"

"I spoke."

"Humph, you did, did you? You spoke? You could n't keep silent for six hours and you think you can join the Woodcraft heroes. I suppose you would take an initiation that a six-year-old girl could take; that would be about your size."

"Well, the fellows all laid traps for me," he blubbered as the tears ran. "Of course they did; that is part of it."

"Will you let me try again?" "No; certainly not. You failed. Go.

Go away and come back when you are older and wiser; come back in about a week."

"I can't come back in a week. Mother says I must come home Saturday."

"Well, that makes a difference," I said. "I don't want you to go back under the shadow of disgrace. I'll give you one more chance." Then I read him a lecture on citizenship and self-control, and wrote a note to the officer of the day, "Hawkeye is to

"Blunderer! Don't you see you have failed again?"

Then he broke down and wept. "I thought I had to answer when you spoke to me," he said.

After another rating I said:

"Now I'm going to overlook that, because I laid a trap for you, but you have lost fifteen minutes with your foolishness. Give me that paper." I took it and changed the date to read, "beginning at 11."

He received it in silence with a happy grin. That day he had a trying time, but at nine o'clock he was brought into my lodge triumphant; he had kept his mouth shut for six hours. His initiation was passed. His self-control proved, he was on the way to join the Woodcrafters.

Thus we gratify the instinct of initiation, provide some fun for the camp, and no one suffers harm.

There are three rules for having fun that we stick to closely.

First, your fun must be made, not bought with money. Our American boys have the idea that you can't have fun without spending money. We teach them to make their fun.

There is an ancient and primitive custom that we have adopted of allowing our members, through some exploit, to win a name. This is the highest honor that can be conferred at the Council Fire. It is doubly desired by those unfortunates who are plagued by an evil nickname, for conferring the council name means wiping out all nicknames.

At one time we gave these too easily, but now we hold the honor so high that not more than two in a camp of fifty boys can win this honor in a summer, and the night before receiving this honorable name the candidate must keep vigil alone, far off in the woods.

About ten years ago there came into my camp a band of boys from a near city. One of them was a singular gawky youngster with some unpleasant habits that had won for him an equally unpleasant nickname, to which, however, he was quite indifferent. He was good-natured, self-reliant, and well liked, though laughed at. After two weeks the band were leaving. Ned came to me and said:

"May I stay awhile?"

"Why, you would be alone," I said. "I don't care. I like it. I have my books."

"I don't like boys to be alone in camp, but you may stay if you do not go in swimming alone."

So he stayed on. The next year the same gang came, and he stayed on three weeks alone, and the next year longer, and so on for five years. Meanwhile the uncouth twelve year-old lad had shot up into a seventeenyear-old stripling, six feet tall, thin and awkward, but with a square jaw and a clear eye that told of a strong soul within. That year he came on July 4, and when his companions returned, on September 1 he had been six weeks alone in camp. Tall and supple in figure, with something in face and in eyes that told of inner power, his appearance made a deep impression on them. They came to me and said:

"He has grown to be quite a fellow. Don't you think he has won a name?"

"Yes," I replied, "but maybe he does n't want it. He's different from other boys."

When asked, Ned said:

"There's nothing I 'd like better." "Good," I said; "but you will have to keep your vigil first. That is, sit alone by a fire all night up in the hills from sundown to sunrise, not sleeping, eating, smoking, reading, speaking, or going far away."

He was ready, and at sundown we led him to the vigil rock, gave him two blankets, a poncho, a hatchet, two matches, and some water to drink.

At eight next morning he was sent for. As he stepped into the assembled council I asked a formal and perfectly unnecessary question:

"Have you kept your vigil?"

His answer was quiet and simple: "I have."

Then one of the councilors said: