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EEP in the Maine woods, miles from any railway, on a little

bluff covered with tall evergreens and overlooking a loquacious river, there is a bench; and opposite the bench, nailed on a slender trunk, there is a wooden sign with the following painted inscription:

This place, to which a great man in his youth liked to come to commune with God and with the wonder and beauty of the visible world, is dedicated to the happy memory of Theodore Roosevelt.

Stranger, rest here and consider what one man, having faith in the right and love for his fellows, was able to do for his country.

Underneath the sign is a galvanized iron box; and within the box, a Bible. Up through Aroostook County they call the place Bible Point, remembering that it was there that Roosevelt as a young man used to come Sunday mornings to read his Bible when he was camping near by.

Bible Point is a mile or so south of the lower end of Lake Mattawamkeag, and Lake Mattawamkeag is at its northern edge some two or three miles from the minute village of Island Falls. The region is Roosevelt country, full of places associated with that youth of his which, for all his asthma, was evidently strenuous.

For over a period of three years or more Island Falls and the surrounding country was his vacation land to which at intervals he fled from his studies and the exactions of Boston's social gayety. Some other Roosevelts, cousins of his, had discovered it first, and had told him of the friendly hospitality of the white farmhouse under the huge elm where "Bill" Sewall lived. With Sewall he formed friendship which bids fair to take its place as one of the interesting minor facts of American history. For weeks on end they tramped through the woods of Aroostook County or glided together over its waters, the bearded and forthright backwoodsman unconsciously teaching the young Harvard undergraduate many things besides woodcraft.

The region has changed little during the forty-odd years since Roosevelt used to run up there from Cambridge for a few weeks' hunting. The house at Island Falls is the same, and even "Bill" Sewall survives. He is full of years and wisdom and good yarns, and still plies a strong paddle as he points out in pride and affection the spots along the shores of Mattawamkeag that are especially associated with Roosevelt.

There are a half-dozen of themplaces where, together with Sewall's nephew, Wilmot Dow, who died long ago, they camped for luncheon or for the night. Sewall has marked them all, some by a blaze on the side of a tall pine, some by a cairn of smooth stones. The old man has cast a spell over the region, so that now even the casual visitor feels the presence of the strenuous spirit as the backwoodsman himself obviously feels it.

For years it has been "Bill" Sewall's dream to have a boys' camp on Hook Point, and on the spot which Roosevelt loved best in all the region, to help other boys grow in strength and wisdom as he had helped Roosevelt to grow four decades and more ago. That dream is about to be fulfilled. Friends of the Roosevelt Military Academy, of West Englewood, New Jersey, with William Hamlin Childs, of New York, at their head, have established Camp Roosevelt on a grassy point jutting out into Mattawamkeag, with old "Bill" Sewall as guide, philosopher, and transmitter of ancient traditions. There, in fulfillment of the old man's visions, Roosevelt's doctrine of virtuous, courageous, and effective living will be preached and

practiced. "The old pioneer days are gone," Roosevelt used to say, "but the need for the pioneer virtues remains the same as ever." For instruction in the pioneer virtues it would be hard to find a better teacher than the man who taught and was taught by Roosevelt.

Roosevelt never visited Mattawamkeag after his college days were over, but when he was establishing a ranch on the Little Missouri River in western Dakota it was "Bill" Sewall and Wilmot Dow he sent for to be his companions and helpers. He kept a tender spot in his heart, moreover, for the silent woods and waters of Aroostook County.

I owe a personal debt to Maine [he wrote a few months before his death in a preface to a volume of sketches by various authors, entitled "Maine, My State"] because of my association with certain stanch friends in Aroostook County; an association that helped and benefited me throughout my life in more ways than one.

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I was not a boy of any natural prowess, and for that very reason the vigorous outdoor life was just what I needed.

It was a matter of pride with me to keep up with my stalwart associates, and to shift for myself, and to

treat with indifference whatever hardships or fatigue came our way. In their company I would have been ashamed to complain! And I thoroughly enjoyed it. I was rather tired by some of the all-day tramps, especially in the deep snow, when my webbed racquets gave me "snowshoe feet," or when we waded up the Munsungin in shallow water, dragging a dugout, until my ankles became raw from slipping on the smooth underwater stones; and I still remember with qualified joy the ascent and especially the descent of Katahdin in moccasins, worn because, to the deep disapproval of my companions, I had lost one of my heavy shoes in crossing a river at a riffle.

I also remember such delicious nights, under a lean-to, by stream or lake, in the clear fall weather, or in winter on balsam boughs in front of a blazing stump, when we had beaten down and shoveled away the deep snow, and kept our foot-gear away from the fire, so that it should not thaw and freeze; and the meals of venison, trout or partridge; and one meal consisting of muskrat and a fish-duck, which, being exceedingly hungry, we heartily appreciated.

But the bodily benefit was not the largest part of the good done me. I was accepted as part of the household; and the family and friends represented in their lives the kind of Americanism-self-respecting, dutyperforming, life-enjoying-which is the most valuable possession that any generation can hand on to the next. A phrase of Roosevelt's which achieved National discussion origi-. nated with one of his backwoods friends.

Bill Sewall at that time had two brothers [Roosevelt wrote in the article previously quoted]. Sam was a deacon. Dave was not a deacon. It was from Dave that I heard an expression which ever after remained in my mind. He was speaking of a

the strenuous life. Bearing Roosevelt's name and situated in a region peculiarly associated with his youth, it is from the beginning something more than a private enterprise. Great

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opportunities and great responsibilities alike challenge the leaders of it. They will be expected to do more than "to run a good camp," as good as and no better than a hundred other camps;

more than to "get by;" to make a moderate success. Roosevelt's name stands for resounding achievement. Camp Roosevelt will be expected to live up to it.

OG-LOVING, gentle-spoken, kindly-faced old "Uncle" John Voorhies studied a minute as he looked down at the whimpering puppies crawling over their solicitous mother, then, turning to me, he said:

"You're takin' th' leavin's o' th' litter, when I gave you yer pick-he's just a runt, an' never will amount ter shucks."

"All right, "Uncle' John; he suits me, and he's not a runt-you'll see! Many thanks for 'th' leavin's o' th' litter,' as you call him, but I bet you a barrel of apples off your farm he'll beat any dog you have when he grows up," I said.

"Be you or be you not a tiny mite keerless with my apples? Be you not, then I'll wager a barrel of your dad's potatoes ag'in yer offer an' take th' bet."

"You're on, 'Uncle' John," and, tucking the poor little seven-weeksold puppy into my overcoat pocket, his head sticking out in fearful contemplation of the world first seen from so disconcerting a height, I took him home.

Why I selected him from all the litter I could hardly have told. He was the runt, beyond a doubt. Perhaps that fact had appealed to me, but I think not. I merely took a chance on what I saw in him. Black over all, with the exception of a spot of tan on his forehead and right front foot, he was well built, in spite of his lean, forlorn appearance.

As I write this, years afterwards, I distinctly remember, as I was picking him out, that when his brothers and sisters had sought to crowd him out of his proper position at the "lunch counter" he had yapped back at them with fine courage, and that his eyes had possessed that depth and steadfastness that are to be found in the eyes of good hunting dogs.

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I had suspected that a puppy complaint had given him that gaunt, stringy, pinched look, and that a few doses of syrup of buckthorn would remove the cause of all his trouble.

Internals set right and grown accustomed to his bottle of warm milk, he thrived in a marvelous manner that delighted the heart of me.

His eyes shone bright, his nose broadened, and his hair grew silky. Each passing detail of his life became of engrossing interest to him.

BY TRAVERS D. CARMAN

BIG GAME

The flies that erratically raced and halted on the floor assumed the importance and possibilities of big game to be cautiously stalked.

When apparently asleep under the kitchen table, head extended between parallel paws, hind legs stretched out behind him, thinly haired tail trailing back, he would suddenly open one eye, to regard at first with lazy indifference, then with dawning interest, a fly zigzagging along the floor, bound in a general way across the starboard quarter of his nose.

Finally, with both eyes wide open, the glaze of sleep replaced by the fires of the zest of the hunt, hind legs would noiselessly be drawn up under him, front paws would grow tense, and with the optimism of youth he would launch himself through the air in reckless effort, only to observe the fly dart upwards towards the forbidden regions of the top of the kitchen table.

"Shure," said the cook, "an' it's the reckless divil he is, when he sets himself up to match th' bugs o' th' air!"

He prospered and grew as only healthy puppies can. He was all point from the sensitive tip of his nose to the last hair on his tail.

I was both amused and pleased to find him one June morning "frozen" in a perfect point on the back lawn, with right front foot slightly raised, eyes glowing, tail rigid, pointing a huge angleworm that had come up out of the depths of the sod to explore the world.

He was remarkably easy to train. Let him fully understand what was wanted of him, and he took the greatest pride and delight in executing the maneuver, bounding about me in wild abandon in response to my words of praise.

FOR MISCHIEF'S SAKE Rarely have I seen a dog so filled with radiant life, mischievous ways, a sense of the humorous, and with so great a degree of loyalty and devotion to me as his master, and particularly to my mother, whom he adored.

Even though he suspected that his own turn was to speedily follow, he would gambol about, yapping in muffled voice and devilish glee when another dog howled while being whipped

in his presence, and then, as if in atonement for his heartlessness, he would rush up to him after the punishment and lick with sympathetic tongue the brother in disgrace-and take in silence his own punishment, for that was the proud heart of him.

He would stalk a kitten by the hour, and wag his tail in lively appreciation when he had aroused it to the point of its turning at bay, with its back arched, tail inflated, and spitting in moist indignation; yet never did he harm the kitten, for it was not in his code of chivalry towards wee beasties.

He would lie at my mother's feet for hours at a time, looking up at her occasionally with the utmost devotion in his eyes. He was, in fact, her constant companion whenever she permitted him to accompany her, and of this my father and I were only too glad, for our house was in a farming section of New Jersey where tramps were frequent, and not always of a harmless variety.

We had called him Runt as a puppy, and the name had stuck to him long after he had in so many ways proved it inappropriate. In justice to him, therefore, we were careful, in the presence of others, to refer to him as the Gordon setter.

His favorite diversion, when all the little imps of mischief were prodding him irresistibly on, was to conceal himself within a clump of cedars near the door to the stables after he had seen our somewhat timid gardener pass through to care for the horse.

When that worthy, unsuspecting old gentleman would reappear, intent upon other "chores" to be done, the Runt would launch himself, with back bowed and legs gathered under him, not at the gardener, for that would not be in keeping with the rules of the game, but immediately in front of him or behind him, and the closer the better.

With muttered exclamation, the poor man would jump back, or forward, as the case might be, in terror, only to recognize his tormentor, who, having described several figure eights in his ecstasy over the success of his feigned attack, would come rushing up in counterfeit penitence over the discourtesy perpetrated, and seek to lick the hand of the disgruntled man, as if in apology.

"In me prayers this night I'll be

afther saying a coupla Pater Nosters and Ave Marias forninst th' likes of him," he exclaimed on one occasion, when I happened to be within earshot, and not without conscious chagrin over the sorry part his nerves had caused him to play in my pres

ence.

"Th' divil himself would be crossin' himself with holy warter in fear uv him, and me nearly chokin' on me new teeth whilst tryin' to shwaller me heart!"

"Uncle" John had watched the Runt's growth with keen interest, and finally, when he was field broken and a seasoned hunting dog, admitted that "he was pretty good for a runt and 'th' leavin's o' th' litter"!"

A BIRD WITHOUT A SHOT He made good with "Uncle" John on the hunting field in a truly remarkable way.

We-"Uncle" John, the Runt, and I were hunting through an apple orchard when a woodcock flushed ahead of me. "Mark-woodcock and a flight bird," I called out.1

I "marked the bird down"-that is, where it had alighted-some distance away on a side hill thickly covered with huckleberry bushes, and, with "Uncle" John beside me, advanced with the Runt held well in check by an occasional command of "Careful."

We worked ahead, and as the Runt got the scent of the woodcock he slowed down and cautiously advanced with nostrils quivering and body trembling. The ground was comparatively bare, and I soon discovered the woodcock sitting under a huckleberry bush, eying us with growing alarm. The Runt, "Uncle" John, and I were approaching the bird from the open. Runt finally stopped, pointing practically over the bird; "Uncle" John was to his right, I to his left, the huckleberry bush like a wall behind the bird, making escape behind him impossible and flight towards us undesirable. I advanced a step, the woodcock flushed upward and literally flew directly into the Runt's mouth. A quick snap, and

1 A flight woodcock is one that has dropped into a cover from farther north on its way south, and is invariably wilder and prone to longer flight than a native bird that has mated and reared its young, or has been hatched and reared, in that locality. I have found that a flight bird is invariably smaller than a native woodcock, and this, I believe, is due to the fact that farther north the summer season is shorter, and the young birds have therefore a shorter period in which to mature before the hunting season opens and the approach of winter starts them migrating south. It is a custom of courtesy among hunters, particularly on the part of the man "working" the dog, to call "mark" when a bird is flushed unknown to or unseen by his companion for the latter's information. In the instance to which I refer above I not only called "mark," but added "woodcock," for the cover in which we were hunting also contained partridge, and the further information, "and a flight bird," that "Uncle" John might be the more on the alert.-T. D. C.

the Runt, with somewhat puzzled expression, uncertain as to the correctness of the proceedings, looked at me questioningly, then gave me the live

bird.

Not a shot had been fired and I had the bird! And kept it out of respect to the Runt for his remarkable performance.

"Well, by "Uncle" John. on this close partnership? It's an act in restraint of the interests of worthy ammunition manufacturers, and I'm blowed if I won't report Runt to❞— and he stopped a moment and then his face lighted up with a smile of enthusiastic admiration, and he resumed -"to the Dogs' Hall of Fame."

Godfrey!" exclaimed "Where do I come in

RUNT AND THE "HIRED MAN" The following spring there seemed to be an epidemic of tramps, many of whom sought summer jobs on near-by farms. One of them, a small-eyed, loose-lipped fellow, found employment on the farm adjoining our small estate. My attention was first called to him because of his abusive language to his horses while plowing in a nearby field and his brutal treatment of them under the slightest provocation. Again later our little German maid reported that on her way back with the milk from "Uncle" John's she had been badly frightened by the fellow.

My father told mother and instructed the gardener to give the Runt his liberty at all times. With the dog's love for my mother, we felt that she could be given no better protection. And our precaution was justified.

Several weeks later the "hired man" appeared at our kitchen door. It was in the forenoon, when no one but mother and the German maid were in the house. The Runt was asleep in his favorite dirt hole under a clump of rhododendron bushes some distance from the kitchen steps. The man, obviously drunk, knocked at the kitchen door, and with over-brilliant eyes, thick speech, and in an insolent manner demanded a dollar. The maid, badly frightened, attempted to close the door in his face, but, with a laugh and a curse, the brute shoved his huge foot through the door, forced it open, and attempted to catch the girl in his arms. With a scream of terror, she fled as mother appeared. The man repeated his demand for a dollar with greater insolence, and refused to leave the kitchen when she ordered him out. Dodging the man, she stepped to the open door and called: "Runt, here, sir!"

A flash of dynamic black flesh and

muscle shot out from under the rhododendron bushes as the man, sensing approaching danger, rushed out of the house, stumbled on the steps, and fell headlong upon the ground. The dog needed no further commands, and was astride him with jaws mouthing his throat before the man could regain his feet. In abject fear, sobered by the experience, he begged mother to call off the Runt, who growled threateningly at the sound of the man's voice.

Realizing that he had been sufficiently frightened to serve the purpose, she caught Runt by his collar and pulled him away from the cowering man.

Regaining his feet with difficulty, rendered clumsy through fear, the man slouched off, muttering, turning when at a safe distance to shake his fist at the dog, who growled deep in his throat as he saw the menacing gesture.

Mother, deeply affected by the dog's fearless devotion to her, held Runt tightly to her, speaking softly to him to calm him.

Several days later the Runt was missing, and all day long the ache of alarm for his safety made us sick at heart. Late in the afternoon mother, father, and I were standing at the back door, the Runt in the minds of us all, not daring to express the fear in the heart of each.

Mother, moved by some sixth sense, suddenly called, "Runt, Runt, here, sir!" There was a stir under the rhododendron bushes, and out from their dark shadows Runt came, dragging himself painfully, mouth frothing, eyes glazed, to stagger and fall at mother's feet, trying pitifully to lick her hand.

The effort was his last, and he died with my mother's arms about him— poisoned, as we learned later, by the man from whom the Runt had protected my mother.

When "Uncle" John heard of the dog's death and the cause of it, he said with a queer choke in his voice:

"Runt lived and died a man!"-he hesitated a minute, then corrected himself "no, he lived and died a dog, for few men ever equaled him in loyalty, fineness of courage, intelligence, and devotion." And then, with his kind old weather-beaten face turned upwards towards the heavens, he added, softly and diffidently: "He gave his life that others might live, an' I called him 'th' leavin's o' th' litter'! What is it the Scriptures say: 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends'?"

HERE is a pleasant spot on Long

Island where in the summertime there assembles a strange brotherhood. Here are some seven hundred horses, many of them fresh from the ranges of Texas and Wyoming; forty or fifty mules, undesirable aliens from "Mizzoura;" ten dogs, three cats, a very small kitten, and very large white rabbit.

The first time I saw the rabbit bouncing across the grass I yelled to a near-by cook: "Look out for your rabbit! The dogs will get him!"

"They won't bother 'im," replied the unexcited chef, continuing his pastime of hacking up a tough potato.

And the dogs didn't get him; nor the horses, nor even the mules, though the rabbit hopped down along the ⚫ picket line under a hundred ironshod hoofs.

Did this scene take place in some ideal, Communist utopia; in some upto-date Brook Farm? It did not. It happened in the camp of the Sixth Field Artillery, Regular Army.

Something is all wrong somewhere. For months now we've been hearing about those terrible militarists, the professional soldiers. We all know what is said to have happened to Europe because she maintained large

does not immediately matter-to the Government.

But that those in authority are not entirely easy in their minds concerning the safety of the Nation is indicated by the coincidence that simultaneously with the discharge of a large number of commissioned officers Congress has seen fit to provide for a system of summer camps, officially known as the Citizens' Military Training CampsC. M. T. C., for short.

At these camps, conveniently located all over the United States, a month's training in the rudiments of military exercises is provided for all young men who can afford the time. The men serve without pay; but their traveling expenses to and from the camp are provided for, and the Government feeds and clothes them. years ago the start was made, with about 10,000 young men; last year the plan was continued, with 25,000 in attendance; and in August. of this year a larger number of young men will be given the opportunity of attending the summer camps.

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Training is under the direction of officers and men of the Regular Army; and-notwithstanding the reputed brutality of the professional soldiery -the boys who went to Camp Welsh,