GLEN ENLISTS
Sunday morning in camp. The fierce wind of the night had been succeeded
by a restful quiet; the sun shone bright in an atmosphere cooled and
freshened by the storm. Glen Mason both felt and saw a difference
throughout all the camp on this quiet morning; no one expected noise or
bustle; no one projected expeditions or sports; the peaceful rest of a
holy day marked the camp in its earliest hours.
Black Bob had cooked his eggs and bacon according to a special formula
which he announced as "extra for Sunday," and thereby did he make his
contribution to the hallowing of the day. After breakfast was the
regular time for announcement of the "order of the day" by the
scoutmaster, and for any special remarks, any complaints, any petitions
or suggestions.
"We are going to have a good day to-day, boys," said Mr. Newton. "We
have had a mighty fine week with our swimming and fishing and hikes, and
some of us, too, have found some 'treasure,' if not exactly what we
were searching for. This morning, after camp duties, every boy will find
a quiet spot apart from any disturbance and write a letter home. Tell
the folks how you feel, what you eat, what you do, how you sleep. Tell
them about the treasure hunt, tell them about last night's storm. I hope
the boy who got something special out of our 'near cyclone' last night
will tell his mother about it."
"Who was it?" came a chorus of voices.
"Don't bother about that," replied Mr. Newton. "Perhaps there was more
than one."
"I'm not 'shamed of it," piped up Chick-chick. "I'm it. Got Mr. Newton
out o' bed, I did, I was s' scared. Always have been scared 'bout
wind--born that way. But Mr. Newton says, 'D'ye know who walketh upon
the wings of the wind?' An' I said, 'Death'; an' he said, 'God! It's in
the hundred an' fourth Psalm.' S' then he said, 'You c'n stay in my tent
till the blow is over,' an' I said, 'No. I'll go back to me tent like
Christian. With God on the wings I'm safe.' An' as I went back saw Brick
Mason outside his tent swingin' hammer, an' I says, 'Ain't ye scared,
Brick?' an' he says, 'No. I ain't scared. I'm mad.' An' that's all is to
it, 'cept'n 'bout the feller I saw when I first went out."
"Now that's fine, boys," said Mr. Newton. "There's a double victory in
that. Don't slight your letters. Make them long and newsy. Remember
there will be Sunday School around the long table at ten o'clock. This
afternoon a man is coming from town who has been all around the world
and has seen the battles of great nations as a war correspondent. He
will speak at three o'clock. By special request we will hold our
camp-fire to-night at the summit of Buffalo Mound. Every scout will
carry an armful of firewood and his blankets, as a part of the plan is
to spend the night in a bivouac on mother earth. Now to your letters."
Glen sat looking out of his tent, just out of the glare of the sun.
Writing letters home was no novelty to him. At the school you were
supposed to do it at least once a month, and for a good letter you got
ten merits, but no boy ever wrote what he thought because your letters
were all read by the house officer. If he should write a letter home
to-day some reform school officer would be inquiring at the camp for him
day after to-morrow. But he would write some kind of a letter--it would
look queer if he did not, with all the other boys writing. He would
write just exactly what he thought, too, for once, and the mere fact
that the letter was never to be mailed need make no difference.
For once (he wrote) I am being treated about right. There is just one
chap here doesn't treat me right and his time's coming. But I don't hate
him as bad as it seems like I would, and I don't want to get in bad with
the scoutmaster so I don't know as I'll do much. The Scoutmaster's a
Christian and I've got more use for Christians than I ever had before.
Mr. Newton sure treats me fine. Apple's a Christian, he says I ought to
be, too, and he's surely a peach. Mr. Gates is a Christian and nobody
ever treated me better. The old Supe is a Christian and I guess he would
have treated me right if I'd let him. Jolly Bill treats me fine, too,
and I don't know why he isn't one but it makes you feel as if him being
such a good fellow certainly ought to be. He says laugh and the world
laughs with you but it wouldn't have done much good to tell Chick-chick
that last night and it wouldn't have made him brave enough to go back to
his tent and fight it out. Chick-chick talked right up this morning.
He's never said anything about being one before but he's always acted
like one--kind of on the square. That's the kind I'm going to be; I mean
I would be if ever I got to be one, but I suppose I'd have to go back to
the school and I don't know about that. But I'd like to feel like Apple
and him, so sure-like and so safe. I think you'd better try to get me a
job and maybe I can work under another name. Everybody has to work and
I'm going to hold up my end. I wouldn't like to be like that J. Jervice
man with his tricks--the man that tried to sell me. I'd tell you all
about him but it would take a long time and this letter ain't ever going
to be sent, anyway. I'm going to do better than send a letter. Just as
soon as it's safe I'm coming to see you and I'm going to fix it so I can
earn a living for you and you won't have to work any more. So that's all
for this time anyway.
His letter had not been written as easily as it reads, and all the
other boys had finished and were making a clamor for envelopes and
stamps, a disturbance in which Glen did not join since his letter was
never to be mailed.
He would have tried to escape the afternoon talk, but Will Spencer
claimed him.
"Push my old billy-cart right up alongside that speaker," he demanded.
"If he's done half they say he has I want to hear him."
So Glen was not only present but in a prominent place where he was bound
to hear all that the speaker had to say. And a very interesting
narrative it was, though we have no space in this story for anything but
the few very last words.
"And so it came about," said the war correspondent, "that after seeing
all sorts of soldiers in all manner of warfare, it fell to my lot to see
this one brave man holding up his banner against great hordes of
invaders in a crowded inland city of China, and he was single-handed.
And I was obliged to admit that he was the bravest soldier I had seen;
and since the appeal came to me so directly I volunteered. And thus it
happened that one who had been a reporter of scenes of carnage turned to
write the message of the Cross. And now I am going about enlisting
recruits for the army of righteousness and right glad I am that so many
of you are in that army, and right glad I shall be to talk with any of
you who need help."
Many of the boys came to say a word to the speaker as they dispersed.
Glen stood there, next to Spencer's cart. He would not have said a word
had he been threatened with torture, but he was greatly concerned and
both his hand and heart throbbed with the hope that some one would
respond to the eloquent plea that had stirred him so deeply. When the
boys all had gone the response came from the least expected place. It
was from Jolly Bill who had lain in his cart in thrilled interest.
"I've half a mind to do it, Glen," he whispered.
"Oh, you must, Bill. It's just the one thing you need," urged Glen, as
earnestly as though he were himself an exhorter.
"How is it?" asked Spencer, turning to the speaker. "You would hardly
care to enlist half a man, would you?"
"No," said the war correspondent. "We don't care to do things by halves,
but we're mighty glad to enlist a whole man like you. Whatever accident
you have suffered hasn't cut you off from being a man after God's own
heart. Shake hands on that."
"I've been finding it pretty empty to 'Laugh and the world laughs with
you,'" admitted Spencer. "It's a hollow laugh a great deal of the time.
It doesn't ring true. I want a peace that will help me to have cheer
regardless of whether the world laughs with me or at me. I've known it
for a long time but this last week especially I've felt the need of the
kind of religion Mr. Newton practices."
"It's the same kind that Apple has," ventured Glen.
"It is for you, too," said the war correspondent. "It is for every one
who will have it."
"You see, though, you don't know me," said Glen. "I've been a pretty
hard case."
"Tell us about it," came the invitation.
His mouth once opened Glen's story came rapidly, and in the glow of
confession he held nothing back, but his hearers were neither alienated
nor offended.
"There's only one thing about a boy like you," said the speaker. "It
isn't how bad you have been. You can't have been so bad but Jesus has
cleared your debt. The one thing is, are you through with it all, are
you willing to turn away from yourself and enlist under the banner of
the cross?"
Glen's face worked with emotion such as he had not felt in many years.
"I don't know what to do," he said, huskily. "I'm all up in the air. I'd
like to be a man like what you told about and like these people that
have been good to me lately. I'd do it even if I wouldn't like some of
the things I'd have to swallow. But I don't understand what I'd have to
do. I've never done anything of the kind."
"You're a good deal like the soldier enlisting, son. He doesn't
understand anything. All he knows is that he wants to enlist himself.
And that's all you need to know. Your commander will see to the rest.
You won't learn everything in a day. You'll make mistakes; you'll break
rules; you'll have to be disciplined. But that is all in the bargain.
The only question is will you enlist?"
And Glen enlisted!
The war correspondent was compelled to leave, but before doing so he
gave Glen much assurance on many subjects.
"About your school," he said. "I hesitate to advise you. I know your
Superintendent and will telephone to him to-morrow. Stay with Mr. Newton
until you hear from him."
The scoutmaster walked with his guest through the woods to his car.
They had scarcely left before the camp had a visitor in the person of
Mr. J. Jervice. The boys crowded around him with great interest, for
although obliged to leave his car he had brought with him many diverting
trifles, for Mr. J. Jervice had no objection to Sunday trade if
conducted on a cash basis.
Glen was still talking to Will Spencer. He was too much occupied with
his recent great experience to be easily diverted, and did not even see
his old friend Jervice. But Mr. J. Jervice having nothing of the kind to
occupy his attention was quick both to see and to speak. Matt Burton was
one of those who heard him speak.
"The reform school boy!" he cried.
"You say he has run away from the reform school?"
"He said so himself," asserted Mr. J. Jervice, "and don't forget that I
am the one who gets the reward."
"You may take him along with you back to where he came. The cheek of the
fellow! Come on, scouts, let's run him out. The scoutmaster isn't here
but I'm a patrol leader and I know what to do. Let's run him out."
"Who's that you're going to run out?" asked Glen, coming up, attracted
by the loud talking.
"I'm going to run you out, you cheat of a runaway from the reform
school. You are a common thief, for all we know. You may be any kind--"
Alas for Glen's discipline. Alas for his good resolves. Had he been
right in thinking that the service of Jesus was not for such as he? He
flew at Matt with the velocity and ferocity of a tiger. His strength was
that of a man, for he had worked hard at all kinds of manual labor. Two
or three quick, stinging blows and his passion came to a terrified end
as he saw Matt fall to the ground, white and unconscious.