athletic for the standard, I allowed a I had already invented a game called It was There was no harm done to boats, visiting his distant relative, saying: "Say, Medicine-Man, I killed one of your rabbits last summer with a catapult, and I brung this one to take its place." It was a turning-point for the Head Chief. He had never before been treated as a person of importance, and he loved the taste of it so well that he tried to live so that it might continue. Other workers became interested, and the scheme has spread since then, till now there are several thousand bands—a hundred thousand boys. I tried to call them Woodcraft Indians, but the boys have voted me down, and each band, though it has a local name of Indian origin, considers itself a branch of the Nation of Seton Indians. I had always objected to their being called Seton Indians. It seemed like pushing myself forward unduly, but the public did not take at all to the name "Woodcraft Indians." Next I discovered that the word Indian was a serious handicap. Many people considered the Indian a loathsome tramp and as far as possible from being a safe ideal for boys. Thus I was looking about for another possible name, when an unexpected suggestion was made. In 1904 I took the movement to England, giving public and private addresses on Woodcraft and Scouting for boys, and distributed the little Red Book, as the Birch-Bark Roll was then called. In 1906 I got the help of General Baden-Powell, then the Chief Scout of the British Army. He worked with me for two years, and in 1908 gave the movement a great popular boom by changing the name from Woodcraft Indians to Boy Scouts, and still further enlarging the field by adding several purely civic departments, including a savings bank law for the encouragement of thrift. Divested of the incubus of unacceptable names, and pushed by a man of worldwide fame as a scout and a war hero, the movement has spread far and wide. We have adopted, the name of Boy Scouts in America, and have now an organization that is expected to become a National movement in the widening service for the development of manly character in the rising generation. Ο By Jacob A. Riis Illustrated by Alden Pierson and Katharine Gassaway N the map of Europe the mainland of Denmark looks like a beckoning finger pointing due north and ending in a narrow sand-reef, upon which the waves of the North Sea and of the Kattegat break with unceasing clamor and strife. The heart of the peninsula, quite one-fourth of its area, was fifty years ago a desert, a barren, melancholy waste where the only sign of life encountered by the hunter gunning for heath fowl and plover was a rare shepherd tending a few lonesome sheep and knitting mechanically on his endless stocking. The two, the lean sheep and the long stocking, together comprised the only industries which the heath afforded and was thought capable of sustaining. A great change has taken place within the span of a single life, and it is all due to the clear sight and patient devotion of one strong man. The story of that unique achievement reads like the tale of the Sleeping Beauty who was roused from her hundred years' sleep name. Not altogether fanciful is the conceit. Barren, black, and desolate, the great moor gripped the imagination as no smiling land does yet scape of field and forest could 1 OF FIFTY YEARS AGO (in 1892) they dug there, and found the bones of a man with skull split |