O Mother Mine

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Group of Men Taking the Scout Leadership Training Course, Wasatch stake at Heber, Utah

These leadership courses, under direction of Dr. John H. Taylor, are held to train men to\ carry on Scout work in the wards of the stakes. Eight stakes have already had these three-day courses, and four others are booked for courses during May. Where held, they have been a splendid success and have been attended not only by prospective Scout leaders, but by stake presidents and bishops, who have become enthusiastic boosters for Scouting through their having thus become familiar with the Scout program. Other stakes desiring to hold these courses may make applica- tion to Oscar A. Kirkham, Executive Director, Y. M. M. l. A., Room 406, Church Office Bldg., Salt Lake City, Utah. Editors. —

The Return of the Key By Wm. Henry Peterson

"An ounce of scouting is worth a pound of industrial school."

"That beats anything I have ever experienced," growled Keller as he examined a huge, somewhat rusted padlock. "It certainly is a good size," I agreed. Evidently I did not strike the right chord, because the old man immediately became testy. "Good fiddlesticks!" he cried. "If it were as large as a forty- pound ham, it would not be a match for some of your young friends, Mr. Scoutmaster." "I don't understand — "I know you don't, and I do not intend that you shall. Between the police department and myself we are keeping this thing quiet. There will be a reckoning; by the thunder there will be a reckoning; and as sure as your name is Ralph, I'm

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going to let the Jaw take its course. But here, I am keeping you outside. Step in, and I will wait on you." Judging from his last remark, I think he could see that I was anxious to get into the store. As I entered, I noticed that the large key which always hung back of the counter, and which always attracted people's attention, was not in its accustomed place. The key, which was as large as a feudal lord's castle key, was gone. Mr. Keller was having trouble, and that trouble had something to do with the great padlock on his front door. I began to understand. Just why he used such art old-fashioned lock, I am unable to say. I think it must have been a hobby with him. A boy had followed us into the store. I was ahead of the boy, so I began to give Mr. Keller my order. "Excuse me just a moment," Keller whispered to me. "Let me wait on this Jacobson kid first. I do not want him in the store any longer than necessary." "Give me twenty cents' worth of sugar and a nickel's worth of candy," said the boy. Keller looked puzzled. "Twenty cents' worth of sugar?" he asked. "Yes, sir," replied the boy. "Just a minute," said the proprietor as he walked into the back room to call up someone on the telephone. When he was gone, the boy looked cautiously around the room. I pretended not to be watching. He moved quietly but quickly over to a bunch of bananas, picked one, put it into his pocket, and then moved back to his former position, as if he had not stirred from the place. Mr. Keller came back. "Your father," he began, "says you were to get twenty-five cents' worth of sugar. He's angry, I tell you. You have been cheating your parents for a long time. Your mother has been thinking that I have been getting the best of her on the weight. Instead of that, you've been spending part of the grocery money for candy and telling her a falsehood about the prices." The boy never answered a word. He took up his sugar dog- gedly, and sneered hatefully at his accuser. While Mr. Keller was speaking, I had crossed over to the door. "Are you a scout?" I asked as the boy came near the door. "No, sir," he replied, looking admiringly at my uniform. Looking him straight in the eye, I asked, "Would you like to be one?" "Yes, sir," he replied quickly. "We are planning a trip into the mountains," I went on. "If you will meet with us tomorrow night, we might make ar- rangements for you to go with us."

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"Can't do it, sir," he said and started to walk out. I was interested. He wanted to join us and couldn't. Why couldn't he? I stopped him. "Would you mind telling me why you can't meet with us?" I asked. "Dad don't stand for it," he answered, and I thought I read something of disgust in his voice. "If I get your father's consent, will you come?" I asked. "You bet I will!" I looked at the boy. The next question I was about to ask him would be a test. Should I ask it? Yes, I would take the chance. Speaking in as kind a voice as I could, I asked, "Isn't there something you ought to do before you leave this store?" The boy looked at me a moment with the eyes of a hawk. For a moment his face became set, his eyes flashed hate. H3 looked slowly around the room. When he saw the proprietor was waiting on a customer who had just entered, and was not a partner in our conversation, the expression on his face soft- ened. He crowded close to the counter, drew the stolen banana from his pocket, placed it close by a big roll of paper, and then walked out of the store. When Mr. Keller came to wait on me, he noticed the banana. "Well," said he, "it's the biggest wonder in tne world that 'acobson kid didn't steal this banana. Beyond all doubt, he is ^e stickiest-fingered youngster in town. I wouldn't trust him out of my sight two seconds." "He ought to belong to the scouts, "I ventured. Mr. Keller, who had been slicing some bacon for me, stopped, and raising his knife, pointed it at me as he said, "You've said something worth about as much as a set of hand- painted china to a sheepherder." — "You mean to say " I began "I mean to say exactly this: Scout work is all right for your tender, house-plant sort of boy who never does anything out of the way because he hasn't nerve enough. What good's that! It's the rough, get-into-mischief, always-up-to-something kind of chap that needs attention. This is the class of boys scout work doesn't reach. For that very reason you are working with a fiz- zle. It's fine in theory, splendid to look at, but disgustingly poor in worth-while results. "How can you expect us to get results when we get such meager support?" I asked. "Support!" he shouted. "Why should I support a thing that is a failure in the start? I stand for a juvenile judge with a backbone, and if some of these young outlaws can't behave themselves, let's put them where they belong. What are reform schools for? I'd like to lay hands on the scoundrel who has been getting into my place."

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I could plainly see that anything I might say would not con- vert the determined grocer to my way of thinking, and not wish- ing to prolong a conversation that was fast approaching a quar- rel, I paid for the articles I had ordered, and, after telling the reform school advocate that he would yet be forced to acknowl- edge the efficiency and strength of scouting, left the store. I had only taken a few steps when he came to the door and called me. I stopped. "Mr. Woods," he cried, "Whenever you convince me that scouting is a good thing, I'll mail you my personal check for fifty dollars." "Good," I answered and went on. The night of the day on which I had the above related con- versation, while returning home from the theater, I became in- volved in a series of events that was eventually to put fifty dol- lars into the scout treasury. I had reached my home which lies in the outskirts of town, close to the foot hills, and was feeling for the key to unlock the front door (it was very dark) when I chanced to glance toward the east mountains. A fire, which appeared to be at the mouth of the Blackhawk gulley, near the old Stanford Mill, caught my eye. I turned and watched the blaze for a few moments, wondering why a fire should be burning in that strange place at that hour of the night. I struck a match and looked at my watch. It was half past one. I looked at the fire again. My curiosity was aroused. I determined to investigate. After stumbling several times over rocks and sagebrush, and after working my way through a dense patch of underbrush, I managed to get close enough to the fire to get a view of the night scene which had aroused my curiosity. The light of the fire made the surrounding objects visible. The quivering shadows cast by great boulders and tall bushes gave to the scene a touch of the wildness of Indian life. This desolate place, the home of the owl, the rattlesnake, and the coyote; dreadful in the fantastic light of the midnight fire, had evidently been chosen as a camping place by some lonely trav- eler. Was he a brave man, a fugitive from justice, or an idiot? My first survey of the camp revealed no living thing. I had expected to see someone, and yet, who would select so strange a place in which to spend the night? Seeing no one I decided that the camper, whoever he was, had left. I turned to retrace my steps when a noise to my left caused me to stop and listen. Something was moving through the underbrush. As I listened several thoughts passed through my mind. Was this thing I could not see a human being or was it an animal? If animal was it wild or tame? If wild what means had I of pro- tecting myself? My fears on this score were soon ended, for

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out of the darkness into the dim light of the dying fire stepped, not a wild, ferocious animal, not a desperate criminal, not a raving maniac, just an ordinary, unappreciated, western boy. I was greatly astonished to find a boy alone at that hour of the night in that solitary place. In his arms he was carrying dried brushes and sticks with which to replenish the fire. Having de- posited his burden upon the fire, he sat down on a rock, placed his elbows on his knees, dropped his chin between his hands and, to all appearances, became lost in thought. The rekindled fire gave enough light to give me a fairly good view of the boy who sat before me. I recognized him as Johnny Jacobson, the boy I wanted to become a scout. I esti- mated him to be about twelve years of age. He wore no hat, no coat. His rugged calico shirt was partly covered by his new biboveralls. While I watched he wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, straightened up, looked at the fire that was fast dying down, turned and walked away in the direction of the old mill. I must have waited half an hour before he re- turned. This time he came back with an armful of boards. There was no doubt about it, he had gotten them from the de- serted mill. I have seen and talked to people who positively re- fuse to go near Stanford's mill at night. Some claim that this aversion is due to the fact that crazy Pete committed suicide in the willows back of the mill. Whether or not this is the case I cannot say. Certain it is, however, many people dread to go near the scene of the suicide after dark. The boy built up the fire, and then sat down again upon a stump. Seeing no reason for remaining concealed, I approached him. When he heard me, he jumped from his seat, took a few quick steps as if his first thoughts were of safety by escaping from some one. Recognizing me, he returned calmly to his seat without saying a word, and there he sat, staring straight into the fire. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "On a chicken roast," he replied after hesitating slightly. I looked around for the chickens but could see none. He seemed to read my thoughts. "Gid Anderson is coming with one," he said, glancing up at me without raising his head. "May I join you?" I asked. "Sure thing," was his reply, but I noticed that he was some- what reluctant about his assurance. I sat down. It soon became evident that he did not want to talk. I made three or four attempts to get into a conversation with him, but finally gave it up. We sat there fully three-quar- ters of an hour without speaking a word. During this time I thought over the situation. The chicken roast story didn't ring

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Taking the morning's paper from my pocket, I called his attention to one of the headlines. He read aloud, slowly, in an angry tone of voice: "Keller's Store Robbed. Fruit and Candy Taken. Key To Store Missing." Here he stopped, looked at me and snarled, "Well, what's this got to do with me?" "Last night I found your boy in the hills." "Serves him right, the young scoundrel," shouted the en- raged father. "I'd have whipped him within an inch of his life, but he got away from me." "Mr. Jacobson," I said firmly. "It's one of two things; scout work or the Juvenile Judge." The quick-tempered father did not speak for several min- utes. He was calming down. Then he said, "I know Johnny is guilty of several minor offenses. It was because of one of his dirty tricks that I was going to flog him last night. Evidently, you have something on him. Suppose I allow him to join this good-for-nothing organization, will you keep quiet?" "The information I have I will keep secret," I answered. "I believe that scouting will reform your boy. For this reason, providing you allow him to join, I give you my word that I will say nothing of what I know." "He's yours," was the snappish reply. After writing the address of my scouts' meeting place and telling the ill-tempered father to send his son to the meeting that night, I departed, feeling that my plan was progressing nicely. That night in scout meeting I had a new member. Need- less to say who it was. I have had attentive listeners in my class, but never have I had one so actively attentive as he. The lesson, aside from knot-tying in which the new-comer was much interested, was honesty. After giving the lesson and telling an appropriate story, I did my best to impress upon the minds of the boys the idea that the best way for a person to show his determination to do better in the future than he had in the past, was to make right, as far as possible, any wrong he had already done. After meeting I went home, tired out. I went to bed, but could not sleep. I had accepted a great responsibility, the re- forming of a wayward boy. It was resting heavily upon me. Late the next day the postman brought me a letter. In it was a check for the sum of fifty dollars. I sat down to re- flect. It would be impossible to describe the joy that filled my soul. A picture of Keller's large key hanging in its place passed through my mind, and I was converted stronger than ever to the efficiency of scout work. Manti, Utah

Notes on Bible Texts

By J. M. Sjodahl

"Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days." (Ecc. 11:1.)

"Bread" here refers to rice, which, in the days of Solomon, was the main "staff of life," and which is still second in impor- tance only to wheat, two hundred billion pounds a year being produced and consumed. To cast this bread "upon the waters" refers to the method by which the grain was cultivated anciently. In Egypt it was customary to sow the rice while the waters of the Nile covered the land. The "bread" was thus "cast upon the waters" literally. To the inexperienced this might have appeared as foolish, but, behold! the grain in due time sprouted and grew in the rich, alluvial deposit left by the receding flood, and the husbandman found, after many days, the "bread" he had "cast upon the waters" increased perhaps a hundred-fold. Modern methods of rice cultivation differ somewhat from those of ancient times, but the principle is the same. Rice- producers now plough the fields and sow the grain, and then flood the land from near-by rivers or artesian wells. Most of the time until the harvest, the rice fields are under water. To understand the text, the facts here stated must be remembered. What an impressive lesson in generosity and diligence in well-doing is here taught!

"For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he." (Prov. 23:7.)

This text is generally quoted in support of the important truth that a man's thoughts influence his character, as well as his acts, for good or evil. That, however, is not the principal les- son conveyed. According to the context, Solomon, in this passage, warns the us against associating with evil company. "Eat thou not neither desire bread," he says, "of him that hath an evil eye, he:^ thou his dainty meats; for as he thinketh in his heart, so is he thee; but his heart is not with thee. Eat and drink, saith to That is to say, Do not associate with a hypocrite. He may words, to partake of the bounties of his invite you, with sweet table, but do not think that he is full of brotherly love and hos-

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pitality because his words are smooth and flattering. Find out what a man thinks in his heart, rather than what he says with his lips; "for as he thinketh in his heart, so is he." On the other hand, do not shun a real friend because his words are not as polished as they might be. It is what he think- eth in his heart that counts. Do not throw away a diamond because it is yet in the rough, and do not keep a piece of glass as a genuine jewel because it is cut to imitate one. As a man, as a citizen, as a Latter-day Saint, in all your associations, beware of spurious imitations. Prize highly that which is genuine.

"Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness; that when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations." (Lukv 16:9.)

The correct understanding of this text hinges upon a true interpretation of the term, "mammon of unrighteousness." It means the "riches of this world," as contrasted with the treas- ures of heaven. What our Lord teaches us here is that we ought to use whatever worldly means we are entrusted with, in such a manner, that when we are called away from this life, we have "friends" on the other side, who are willing to receive us. In the great day of judgment, the King said to those on his right hand, "I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in. * * * Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" (Matt. 25:35-40). These had made friends for eternity, by the — proper use of the "mammon of unrighteousness" their money, their worldly posessions. We must not use our means for selfish purposes, but for the benefit of others. Dives failed in this respect, though Lazarus was lying at his very door. Solomon says, "He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he hath given will he pay him again" (Prov. 19:17). A prominent speaker, addressing an audience of business men in the interest of some charitable enterprise, read this text and then added, "Gentlemen, if you like the security, come forward and make your investments." That was his sermon. It is the same lesson that our Lord gives, in different lan- guage, in the text quoted from Luke.

"But one thing is needful." (Luke 10:42.)

On the occasion when these familiar words were uttered, our Lord was visiting in the house of Martha and her sister,