on Sundays. What do you think of that? When sixteen years of age David was apprenticed to a firm of lawyers and there he learned law. He passed his examinations at twenty-one, but did not have enough money (fifteen dollars) to buy himself the gown which must be worn by lawyers in the English courts.

He reported for a newspaper while waiting for clients, and succeeded finally in establishing a small law practice.

Now that he had got a job, did he sit down and rest? No siree! He got "on the job" and used it as a sort of cache on the rough trail which he was blazing. Say boys! Haven't you a kind of hunch that some fellows you know are satisfied to get into a job and then settle down to enjoy it as though it were just a summer camp? Well, David wasn't a squatter; he was a tracker.

He tracked injustices and fought tyrannies, cut down old trees of prejudices and broke through jungles of useless customs and class privileges centuries old, lighting here and there fires of Welsh patriotism, fighting all the time for the "under dog" and behaving generally as did our pioneers of old.

All these early efforts took place in his native Wales, but David was seeking his Goliath. Over the mountains and in the jungle of Empire politics he found them -dozens of Goliaths-but the young man feared not, for he knew what it was to be prepared.

Zing! Bing! He was after them all the time and with but one object in viewthe doing of something for the betterment of his fellow man-the man of the fields, the worker in the factory, the burrower in the coal mines, the drawer of water and the hewer of wood.

He did not aim to sit beside a king. He climbed so that when up he could

reach down and help others. He wanted everybody to enjoy the healthy air of national freedom and the sunlight of happy peacefulness. Some Scout is David.

There was a time when Lloyd George was denounced through the length and breadth of England as "arch traitor" and "self-confessed enemy" for his views on the war which was being waged between the English and the Boers. He was a militant pacifist and fought for peace.

Believing in himself, he pleaded up and down the Empire. He invaded Birmingham, the home of Joseph Chamberlain, the English Imperialist and sponsor of the war, and all but lost his life in doing so. He smiled like a good Scout throughout the storm, and fourteen years later, on returning to Birmingham, was hailed as the Saviour of the Empire.

He became President of the Board of Trade and carved from what was a very useless board a solid corner-piece that has become a very essential part in the make-up of the British Cabinet. David knew how to swing his ax, Scouts.

His next job was as Chancellor of the Exchequer, the highest place but one in the Cabinet.

His real work now began Up to Help Up -old age pensions started

on the way, bringing solace and comfort to those who in their old age faced poverty and want; sickness and unemployment insurance rushed to the aid of the man or woman who was willing to work but couldn't. And to the "under-dog" generally came a helping hand. Lloyd George, once poor, now powerful, became "The Little Brother of the Poor."

Somebody had to pay for all this. David saw to it that Goliath Aristocracy

should come around toward the foot of the hill.

A big noise was heard, the giant was roaring, but David got the lasso on, and soon had everything his own way.

"Let George do it," is now the cry of all England in her hour of need-and George is doing it. He has organized the factories, marshaled the manhood, and welded together all the resources and power of the Empire.

Say, fellows!-you that have eggs every morning and other things as well-say! what are you-each one of you-going to do, or rather what are you doing NOW? Are you working this minute so that in some future time you may be able to give a helping hand, either to your country, your state, your town, some distressed neighbor, or some starving stray dog? Are you just winning merit badges so that your coat sleeve may look nice, or are you winning them so that your arm will be prepared to encounter your special Goliath? Think it over-but don't spend too much

time thinking; the great thing is DO IT, and greater still, DO IT NOW.

I saw David one time-now Prime Minister and more powerful than a king. I saw him in London, and though I'm no skyscraper myself I looked over David's hat, for in body he is about tenderfoot size. He was on his way to Westminster to his daily job of ordering around the political giants of England, telling them when to stand up and when to sit down. I watched him passing colossal police and through the gaping crowds.

"How is it done?" I asked myself. Had I asked David (this poor boy, grown great) he would probably have told

"How is it

me that "the thing is done?" I thought DONE by DOING the

thing, and not standing on the sidewalk looking on."

Yes, that's it-"Go to it!" "Do it now!"

E

VERY Scout needs a hike tent that

he can use on his over-night camping trips. There are plenty of good hike tents on the market, but most of them are too expensive for most boys to buy. So I am going to give detailed instructions as to how to make one that is inexpensive, light, easy to pitch, absolutely water-tight and bug proof and snake proof into the bargain. It is made bug and snake proof by sewing in a bottom of stout canvas.

For the sides and ends of the tent the

very lightest canvas is used. This is possible because of a water-proofing process which I will describe later.

First of all, make two sides according to the pattern shown in figure 3. Next make the bottom according to the pattern shown in figure 1. The bottom should be made of heavier canvas as it must stand more strain. Last of all, make the back, the pattern for which is shown in the triangular figure just over figure 2. The square marked E in this pattern repre

sents a screen ventilator. This is made by cutting a hole out of the canvas and covering it with ordinary mosquito netting. The canvas cut from the hole can be rolled up so that it may be closed in case of need.

Sew the sides together on the. top, being careful to turn the edge under well. At the same time sew canvas loops at the ends and center as shown in A, figure 2. Ropes are fastened to these loops in pitch

melted, thin it with gasoline. It can then be spread on the tent with an ordinary paint brush. The gasoline evaporates and leaves the paraffin in the pores of the canvas, making it waterproof and also light and pliable. Be very careful, of course, not to get the gasoline near the fire.

The tent I have described has no front, but one can easily be made by getting a triangular strip of canvas and fastening it by buttons or hooks and eyes so that it

Back-END.

Fiq. I

ing the tent.

In figure 2, C is a light

rope which can be used to help hold up the tent. This, however, is not absolutely necessary.

When the sides have been sewed together, sew in the back, after which the bottom should be attached. Sew loops around the bottom as shown in D, figure 2, to be used in taking down the tent.

The tent can be made waterproof by the following process: Shave up in small bits five cakes of paraffin and dissolve them over a fire. When the paraffin is

719.3.

←57m

Shape of Side

be Fors sewn in tent

can easily be attached. In putting up the tent rake together a pile of leaves, grass, hay or any other soft material and pitch. the tent over this. This will not only give you a tent, but a soft bed as well.

If the lightest grade of canvas is used the tent will not weigh over five pounds. and will accommodate with comfort two campers with their packs and other equipment. A great many of our scouts in Chattanooga are using this type of tent and they all agree that it is a "crackerjack."

F

ROM the window of his workshop Dick Andrews could look out to Gull Island, three miles away. North of Gull Island lies a submerged spit, partly a serrate ledge, but mostly sand. This dangerous rib, running almost a mile due east from the island, is called Fisherman's Grief. In the last fifty years it has been the destruction of many a fishing schooner and not a few tramps. No hulks, however, remain thereabouts in the apparently safe waters to give warning, for if a vessel once grounds upon the rocks or upon the bar she soon breaks up under the hammering of the sea and the lift and drop of the tides and floats away in pieces. Nowadays a bell buoy swings at each end of the spur, unceasingly calling its dolorous, brazen warning.

The village of Smithport was amazed, therefore, one clear morning last September to look out to Fisherman's Grief and see a barkentine held fast athwart the bar about midway between the buoys.

Dick was knocking together a new lobster car in his shop and paused a moment now and then to glance seaward, wondering what the vessel could be and how she had come to go upon the shoal.

The barkentine stood out, clear-cut like a cameo against the gleaming sea, her canvas, all set, showing alabaster white against the cloudless sky. To all appearance, she was sailing peacefully on her way. The sea was smooth as glass, moving in acre-long, almost imperceptible undulations.

But she lay with her bow somewhat high, and the square sails of her foremast slatted out steadily in the southwest breeze in concord with the schooner rig of her main and mizzen masts-telling her plight clearly-the pull of canvas and the set of the ebb tide slewing her stern a trifle seaward.

"What was she doing in here?" said Dick to himself. "She wasn't on the sand at ten o'clock last night because I re

member looking out there when I went to bed."

He felt a certain contempt for the seamen of the stranded barkentine. He knew the stranger had no business so far in, and supposed, naturally enough, that the disaster was due to the cause of so much marine mishap-liquor.

Dick was eighteen, and ever since he could remember had sailed and fished along the Maine coast, first with his father and later as the sole support of his widowed mother.

He was tall and stalwart, with black hair and a ruggedly handsome face; and he bore no small reputation as a fisherman of skill and daring.

He could detect no sign of life aboard the barkentine, which puzzled him.

"She can't be abandoned," he muttered. "She must have gone on in a good deal of water, and she isn't near rocks."

He shook his head, giving up the mystery; but just as he turned away a movement on the northern shore of Gull Island caught his eye, and in a moment he saw a long boat put off and head directly for the town.

"The crew!" he exclaimed, wonderingly, seeing that the boat must hold eight or ten persons. He watched till the boat was well in toward town, then went back to the shop and set to work vigorously to make up for lost time.

When he left the shop at noon, in response to his mother's usual signal on the tin horn, the sky was overcast and the atmosphere a dirty yellow. The air was raw and smelt of rain, the bay ruffled in sullen whitecaps, and the ends of Fisherman's Grief were marked by ridges of foam.

Dick halted at the kitchen door, and looked out to the bar. The barkentine was still there, all her canvas set as when he

had seen her in the clear morning. The sea was running smoothly about her, and the only evidence of her dangerous position was the regular spitting of spray clouds at her depressed stern.

"There's going to be a sou'easter before night," he said, studying the sky and the wind. "If they're going to get her off, they'd better be about it."

"Your dinner'll be cold if you don't hurry, Dick," called his mother.

"I was just looking at the barkentine," he replied. "They must be puttyheads aboard her. They haven't taken even a reef, and a farmer could see we're going to have some wind and a big sea. If they don't get a move on there won't be enough left to make a lobster car."

"Nobody'll hire out to pull that vessel off the bar," announced his mother calmly. "Why not?"

"They're afraid-and I don't blame them. That boat's the Myra G. Sears. She comes from New Jersey or New York -or somewhere down that way-and she's full of dynamite! They say if she rolls much on the shoal she's liable to blow up any minute. Tom Hastings says if she exploded she'd probably blow the north end of Gull Island to smithereens. The whole crew came ashore this morning and the men went to the station and every last Jack of them went away on the eleven o'clock train."

"Including the captain?"

"Everyone except a tall young fellow named Monroe. He stayed and he's been trying to get somebody to go out. Tom Hastings could get her off with his Star but he refused five hundred dollars to go out. They say the young man is calling everybody cowards."

Dick sat staring into space. His eyes showed almost terror. He did not tell his mother what had come to his mind and