UC-NRLF 
 
"The building of the hut in our yard." 
 
 P. 70. 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
OUR BOY: 
 
 SIX STEPS TO MANHOOD 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRY EDWARDS BARTOW 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 FRANZ LESSHAFFT 
 
 And an Introduction by 
 A. E. WINSHIP, Ph.D. 
 
 EDITOR OF " JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 
 
 IThe UNION PRESS 
 
 Philadelphia. 
 
 1816 CHESTNUT STREET 
 
Copyright, 1913, by the American Sunday-School Union 
 
A FOREWORD 
 BY A. E. WINSHIP, PH.D., 
 
 Editor of "Journal of Education." 
 
 THERE are as many problems of boys as there have been 
 boys from Cain and Abel to my little grandsons. For- 
 tunately, these problems can be classified as readily as the 
 leaves of the forest. 
 
 Very recent is the scheme of identifying a criminal by the 
 imprint of his fingers. There are no two finger-tips in all the 
 world that make the same impression. There are card cata- 
 logues of thousands of impressions of the finger-tips of crimi- 
 nals, and so simple is the classification that if one has ever had 
 his impression taken they can identify him in hah* a minute 
 and read his life history. I have been in a prison office when 
 there was received a photograph of a finger-tip impression 
 that was being sent out to all prisons that keep such records. 
 The criminal knew there was no record of his finger-tips within 
 many hundred miles and he felt entirely safe in putting up a 
 long story that sounded as straight as truth. I saw the official 
 look at the impression, saw him classify it and go from one 
 card catalogue to another until he came to a card that 
 matched the photograph perfectly. Then he went to another 
 case and took out the criminal record of the desperado. 
 
 As definitely may boy problems be classified when we are 
 sufficiently wise to make a classification. Some time a father 
 or mother, a teacher or preacher may know where to look for 
 an adequate study of a special problem of a special boy. Of 
 course, this seems a long way'off , but it will not be far off when 
 we appreciate the importance of such information. 
 
 The first great need is adequate books on the problems, of 
 which at present there are all too few that are wholesome, 
 
 281694 
 
A FOREWORD 
 
 definite and complete. One of the best yet written is "Our 
 Boy Six Steps to Manhood," by Harry Edwards Bartow, in 
 which with great skill and faithfulness to detail he tells the 
 story of one boy's life personal, physical, social, educational 
 and religious. 
 
 I have been interested in boys and in books about boys for 
 many years and know many of them. Many have been disap- 
 pointing, so disappointing that at times I have been faint- 
 hearted; sometimes I have almost lost courage in the study of 
 the problem; but here is a book that gives heart, that breeds 
 hope, that renews zeal in the study. 
 
 This is a positive contribution. It touches some entirely 
 new phases and gives new light upon some old phases of the 
 stud y- is by far the best book that has been written from 
 a father s point of view from a wise father's point of view 
 and yet it is not primarily the father who is in the game, but 
 the boy. 
 
 The father sees the boy in the home, on the playground, with 
 his mates, with his teachers, with girls. He sees him at work 
 as well as at play, with hopes and fears, with ambitions and 
 aspirations, with friends and enemies. 
 
 This study carries the child up to marriage and fatherhood, 
 which is quite unusual. 
 
 There are abundant indications of genuineness in the study. 
 We have before us a real infant, a real boy from three to six, 
 from six to nine, from nine to twelve, from twelve to fifteen, 
 up to manhood. He is not like all boys, but he is a genuine 
 boy, with a noble, wise, devoted father helping him to come out 
 right every time. 
 
 Every father who honestly desires to know how to be a good 
 father to his boy should read this book. It is helpful to the 
 limit on every page. It is a great contribution to the study 
 of the problem of boys. 
 
 No one has a moral right to deal with the boy problem in the 
 large without carefully considering this boy as his father 
 describes him at every turn of his life. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 STEP ONE: INFANCY 11 
 
 STEP Two: FROM THREE TO Six 29 
 
 STEP THREE: FROM Six TO NINE 47 
 
 STEP FOUR: FROM NINE TO TWELVE 69 
 
 STEP FIVE: FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 91 
 
 STEP Six: FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD. . Ill 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THIS little volume is a father's attempt to portray 
 the characteristic features of his boy's growth 
 and development. Perhaps no father can be an 
 impartial biographer of his own child, yet only 
 sympathetic love can understand and interpret 
 child-life. Between the parent's loving predilection 
 and the scientific investigator's cold impartiality 
 there may be an intermediate mental state which 
 would carefully study childhood and honestly portray 
 it; in the preparation of this book, however, I have 
 made no effort to escape the point of view of a de- 
 voted father. 
 
 Without attempting, therefore, to present new or 
 original theories regarding child-training, I have 
 endeavored to tell a story true to life in a manner 
 which would appeal to all parents. Technical terms 
 have been carefully avoided and as many incidents 
 inserted as the limited space of a small book would 
 permit; the chief difficulty of my task has been to 
 decide what to leave out. 
 
 And so, to all fathers and mothers, whose hearts 
 throb with hope of honorable and happy futures for 
 their children, while they may often tremble as they 
 think of the dangers which threaten their young and 
 inexperienced lives, this book is dedicated. 
 
 7 
 
STEP ONE 
 INFANCY 
 
OUTLINE OF THE PERIOD; 
 
 Preparing for and welcoming the babe. 
 
 Regulating the response to nature's instincts. 
 
 Affection at first a selfish emotion. 
 
 Value of the mother's touch and word. 
 
 Training primitive fear and anger. 
 
 The use of suggestion as a corrective. 
 
 Unconscious imitation of parental moods and actions. 
 
 Development through the claims of the senses. 
 
 Correct speech rather than " baby-talk." 
 
 Gaining self-confidence in learning to walk. 
 
 10 
 
OUR BOY: 
 SIX STEPS TO MANHOOD 
 
 STEP ONE: INFANCY 
 
 THE birds outside my window this bright spring 
 morning are too busy for much song; and yet 
 I think their little breasts must throb with joyful, 
 song-prompting emotions, for they are engaged in 
 the happiest task that falls to the lot of bird or 
 man nest-building. As I hear the constant flutter 
 of their wings among the new leaves, and listen to 
 their quick, business-like chirp as they build, I 
 wonder if instinct alone prompts this labor, or if 
 they are intelligently planning for the future when 
 that nest shall hold its precious burden of eggs, or 
 when little hungry, wide-open bills shall reach for 
 the morsel which the parent bird brings. 
 
 Nest-building! Ah, yes, I know something of 
 that. My memory plays me strange tricks these 
 days, but it will never lose its record of that happy 
 time. It must have been years back, for my wife's 
 rich brown hair has whitened, and my own step has 
 lost its buoyancy; yet so quickly does my memory 
 span those years that it seems but yesterday when 
 we began our home-making. 
 
 11 
 
12 OUR BOY 
 
 We had been boarding and thought we were 
 happy in our freedom from household cares and 
 responsibilities. Then, one night my wife whispered 
 low in my ear something that set us both longing 
 for a home, and no bird ever built more carefully for 
 the coming fledgling than we did for that expected 
 baby. 
 
 House-hunting would have been indeed discourag- 
 ing had not my wife continued to whisper that little 
 message of hope to me. It was easy enough to find 
 a house with kitchen, dining-room, living-room, and 
 bed-rooms to suit us two, but the nursery and the 
 play-room made the task difficult. You see, baby 
 was hard to please even then; or, rather, it was hard 
 to find anything which seemed to us quite good 
 enough for him. 
 
 Time was too short to secure perfection. We 
 took the best house we could find and afford and 
 furnished it quickly that is, all but the nursery. 
 We did not furnish that; we garnished it. While my 
 wife sat in our new home, humming over the needle 
 which drew together queer little garments, I visited 
 the stores where nursery supplies were sold. The 
 most insignificant article was selected with great care, 
 and always purchased with the understanding that 
 it could be returned if my wife disapproved of it. 
 Sometimes I thought we should never get every- 
 thing. How often did we go into that room, sure 
 that it was at last complete, only to find something 
 else needed! 
 
INFANCY 13 
 
 Troublesome times, you think? Then you have 
 never built a nest. No, no! the happiest time for 
 man or bird is the nest-building time. I who declare 
 it have lived through many experiences. Of all the 
 bright, happy days of my life, there are none I long 
 to live over again as I do those few months pre- 
 ceding our first child's birth. Gladly would I give 
 many years of this later life if I could have back those 
 few months. Anxious days? Yes, of course, but 
 through them all hope ruled and our hearts were 
 glad. 
 
 Finally, the little despot came to take possession of 
 the home we had made for him, and soon proved him- 
 self as well qualified to rule as we were willing to 
 obey. I was pacing the library when the new grand- 
 mother stopped at the door just long enough to say, 
 "It's a boy. You may go up now." 
 
 I went up; I greeted the mother as she lay pale and 
 exhausted, but with a new happiness in her face; I 
 bent over the little crib and saw my first child. Was 
 I disappointed? I am not sure it was just that, but 
 what I saw did startle me. In hoping that it might 
 be a boy, I had been dreaming of a man-child; and 
 this was neither boy nor man, but the pinkest mite of 
 humanity I had ever beheld. 
 
 As I went down the stairs a new thought that sud- 
 denly flashed upon me made me pause on the landing. 
 "No," I muttered, "he is not a little man at all, but 
 an infant, and altogether different from the man he 
 will some day be. What an infinite number of 
 
14 OUR BOY 
 
 things must enter into that life before it reaches 
 manhood, and I must furnish a father's share of 
 those things." I never before knew responsibility 
 as in that hour. 
 
 I went into the library and stood at the window. 
 Across the street, where a new building was being 
 erected, some mistake had been made and workmen 
 were tearing down a part of the wall. " You workers 
 with material things," I thought, "can tear down the 
 faulty construction, but can I do that with this new 
 life I am to help build?" "No," I replied to my 
 query, " whatever goes into this young life goes there 
 to stay. I cannot tear it down nor correct it, neither 
 can I do to-morrow with this child the things I should 
 have done to-day, for the life will constantly change. 
 The Infinite Wisdom that planned the blade, the ear, 
 the corn, planned also the progressive development 
 of this human life. Each period will have its pecu- 
 liar needs, dangers, and possibilities. Shall I be able 
 to satisfy the needs, guard against the dangers, 
 accomplish the possibilities? God help me! It is 
 a parent's task. I dare not and cannot shirk it." 
 
 I had taken pride in my knowledge of the develop- 
 ment of the human soul and the intellect. Here was 
 opportunity for a more practical study of the subject : 
 to apply the knowledge I believed I possessed and to 
 make some experiments. But stop! What right 
 had I to experiment with a human life, an immortal 
 soul? Might not the laws controlling the develop- 
 ment of the intellect and the soul be as positively 
 
INFANCY 15 
 
 known and stated as those governing the growth of 
 corn? And if so, was it not a fearful sin to make a 
 mistake with a life? As I argued in this fashion, 
 there came to me with new meaning the text, 
 "Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." 
 God himself had furnished the soil in this new life, 
 and I would be one of the sowers. What would the 
 harvest be? True, the soil contained many of the 
 impurities which the race had been gathering through 
 the ages impurities which reduced its fertility; but 
 it was still capable of nourishing and developing 
 good seeds to an abundant harvest. 
 
 I was impatient and wanted to begin the sowing 
 at once, but baby lay for several days without any 
 indication of being conscious of his environment, 
 and, in my ignorance, I chafed a little at what seemed 
 the utter unpreparedness of the soil. 
 
 I was wrong, for we were planting from the very 
 beginning. Baby came into this world with instincts 
 which immediately began to assert themselves. 
 They were few in number at first, for economical 
 nature furnished him only with those needed for self- 
 preservation, and with our foresight and care we 
 were prepared to do everything for him except breathe 
 and digest his food. 
 
 The little lips instinctively sought nourishment. 
 The nurse insisted on regularity in everything, es- 
 pecially in eating, and baby soon became quite 
 punctual. 
 
 "Why, the little fellow can tell time," I used to 
 
16 OUR BOY 
 
 declare when I had watched him lie perfectly quiet 
 until the very minute of the feeding-period and then 
 suddenly begin to fret. 
 
 The nurse laughed. Then her face became serious 
 as she said, "If you want this child to have confi- 
 dence in you and faith in God, do not disappoint him 
 now in these things." 
 
 Wise nurse, she knew there was growing an im- 
 mortal soul as well as a physical body, and she under- 
 stood both the hygiene of health and the laws of 
 spirituality. Correct and regular habits were good 
 for our baby's body, but better still for his soul. A 
 day would come when I should want to teach this 
 child about God and inspire him with confidence 
 and faith in the great Invisible One. Upon what 
 should I base that teaching if I, his visible father, 
 did not deserve his confidence and faith? 
 
 Instinct drove baby to the mother's breast. The 
 gratification of the sense of taste awakened in him a 
 love for the breast that fed him, and it was not long 
 before he learned to love the mother who nursed him. 
 One of the highest emotions which could thrill his 
 heart in manhood, love for the mother who bore 
 him, had its roots deep down in that instinct which 
 he brought with him from the pre-natal world. 
 True, it was a selfish affection, for he cared most for 
 those who did most for him; but we knew that if the 
 affection was carefully nurtured until the awakening 
 of the altruistic emotion, it would broaden into 
 beautiful, unselfish love. 
 
INFANCY 17 
 
 Every instinct of self-preservation demanded that 
 baby use his utmost endeavor to escape all physical 
 discomfort. He cried long before he laughed, be- 
 cause nature provided him with this method of 
 summoning help in time of pain or danger. It was 
 mother's voice that soothed him quickest, mother's 
 touch that brought surest and speediest relief from 
 discomfort. I never before realized the therapeutic 
 value of a mother's caress, a mother's kiss. Our 
 baby soon learned the efficacy of these things. A 
 gentle word from mother quieted him as nothing 
 else could; a caress from mother soothed him when 
 all other things failed, a kiss from mother's lips 
 healed the hurt better than any other ointment; 
 mother's arms were always a safe refuge, no matter 
 whether it were pain or grief or fear that drove him 
 there. 
 
 How often did I hear him cry out with some sud- 
 den pain or fright, and watch capable but strange 
 hands vainly endeavor to ease or soothe him. Then 
 mother came: the little hands reached out for her; 
 the troubled head nestled on her shoulder, while with 
 one last catch of the breath, one final sob, the trouble 
 ended, for mother held him, mother whispered to 
 him, mother kissed him. The only soothing-syrup 
 our baby ever knew was mother's love and gentleness. 
 
 Baby instinctively feared some things, such as 
 darkness, a strange face that came suddenly into the 
 field of his vision, a rapidly moving object, or a loud 
 noise, especially when accompanied by a jar. These 
 
18 OUR BOY 
 
 were useful fears to guard his welfare at a time when 
 the reason was unable to distinguish between real and 
 imaginary dangers for they were as real to him as if 
 they were as great as he thought them to be. 
 
 Since this fear w r as a part of his emotional nature 
 and not under the control of what little reasoning 
 or will power he had, it was useless to tell him not to 
 fear, but before the feeling could be dispelled it was 
 necessary to remove the impression that he was about 
 to receive some injury. This could be done either 
 by the removal of the threatening object or by the 
 mother or myself going to his rescue. At this time 
 we never attempted to force him into association 
 with the things he feared, but shielded him from them 
 as much as possible. As a result, there developed 
 in him a confidence in our ability to protect him 
 which a few years later became the sure foundation 
 for our teaching of God's infinite care and protection. 
 
 Both fear and anger were protective instincts in 
 primitive man. When the danger was too great for 
 him to cope with, fear drove him from it; but w r hen 
 there was a possibility of mastering it, anger urged 
 him to fight in defense of his rights and property. 
 Our baby inherited an instinctive anger which both 
 the mother and I laughingly blamed on the race 
 rather than on ourselves. He was always ready to 
 quarrel with what did not please him. He scolded 
 long before he could talk, and the "Ah" which indi- 
 cated temper was the expression he retained longest 
 in infancy. In fact, it became a serious problem how 
 
INFANCY 19 
 
 we should break him of " Ahing " and striking, with- 
 out utterly destroying the instinctive anger which he 
 would need later in order to fight a man's battles. 
 To inflict corporal punishment for it only drove him 
 into a frenzy and increased his lack of control; while 
 to ignore it entirely would permit the development of 
 an unreasonable and uncontrolled combativeness 
 which would set him at enmity with every one. 
 
 If he " Ahed" at mother, I caressed her and would 
 not play with a boy who was so rude to her; if he 
 "Ahed" at his baby, we took it from him, and loved 
 and spoke kindly to it; if he "Ahed" at children who 
 came to play with him, he was taken out of the game. 
 It was a long and hard process before he learned that 
 uncontrolled anger brought him some loss. 
 
 We found him wonderfully amenable to suggestion, 
 and often used this as a corrective method. He had 
 a habit of fretting at night and disturbing our rest. 
 After making certain that there was no physical 
 reason for this, we tried suggestion. When we put 
 him to bed we repeated quietly, " Charles will sleep 
 soundly all night. He will not cry. Mother and 
 father are tired and want to rest. Charles must 
 not cry, for that will disturb them. Charles is a 
 good boy and loves mother and father, so he will 
 sleep all night and not waken them." 
 
 After repeating this for a number of nights we 
 broke him of the habit. 
 
 Our moods and actions also had a suggestive value. 
 Real voluntary imitation did not develop strongly in 
 
20 OUR BOY 
 
 him until a few years later; but there was reflex imi- 
 tation from the very beginning, for from early infancy 
 he reflected our moods and feelings. 
 
 Now, since one of the best ways to develop an 
 emotion is to practice its physical expression, we 
 quickly realized that if we wished baby to be of a 
 happy disposition we must be cheerful in his presence, 
 for he unconsciously experienced the emotion whose 
 physical expression appeared in our faces. When we 
 laughed, he was cheerful; when we looked blue, he 
 felt disagreeable. 
 
 I do not mean that he was a bit of clay which we 
 could mold to suit our own pleasure and desires. We 
 found the clay theory to be but a half-truth. He 
 possessed the plasticity of clay, but not its dumb in- 
 ertness. Within his little body was a will which 
 early began to assert itself, a will not to be broken, 
 but to be taught the control of other faculties and 
 their emotions. There was also some stubbornness, 
 requiring careful treatment to produce the stick-to-it- 
 iveness of maturity, without which we could scarcely 
 hope he might accomplish anything worth while. 
 
 We found that every instinct he brought into this 
 life could be trained either upward or downward, and 
 that nurture at this period was largely a matter of the 
 proper direction and control of his instinctive tenden- 
 cies. The closer we watched his growth, the more we 
 marvelled at God's wonderful provisions to insure 
 his development. All knowledge of the outside world 
 reached him through his physical senses, and each 
 
INFANCY 21 
 
 organ of sensibility seemed to possess an instinctive 
 desire for gratification. Taste demanded food, and 
 he put into his mouth everything upon which he 
 could get his hands; the eye asked for light, and he 
 was attracted by every bright object; the ear de- 
 manded sound, and he delighted in making a noise; 
 touch required something to feel, and his hands 
 reached out for everything. Each organ appeared 
 to have an instinct which sought to prolong the life 
 of that organ and rightly develop it by the exercise 
 of its function. Only through this tasting, seeing, 
 hearing, and feeling could he learn anything at all; so 
 the incessant demand of each organ that it be used 
 forced him to be constantly acquiring knowledge. 
 
 What an infinite number of things he had to learn 
 and how apt he really was ! It is a tremendous task 
 to acquire a language when there is no knowledge of 
 any other language to build upon. I think baby 
 learned to speak his first words because he saw that 
 his efforts pleased us; but I believe he learned more 
 by noticing that his mother and I obtained what we 
 wished by making certain sounds, so when he wanted 
 something for himself he tried to imitate the sounds. 
 
 After he learned a few words he became so pro- 
 ficient in using them and in making gestures that it 
 was quite easy for us to understand his desires. For 
 a long time it seemed impossible to get him to in- 
 crease his vocabulary, so that finally it became neces- 
 sary to refuse to understand him until he had ex- 
 pressed his wants clearly. 
 
22 OUR BOY 
 
 He selected his own names for many things and 
 often gave us illustrations of how language is built up. 
 Of course, the names he applied frequently indicated 
 some characteristic he observed in the object: dogs 
 were "bow-wows" and cows were "moos." Dirt 
 of all kinds was "ku" because it was nasty. We 
 helped him name his baby Harry. One day when 
 he was about a year old I was pulling him on a sled 
 when he accidentally dropped Harry in the snow. 
 Instantly he began to cry and repeated over and over, 
 "Kii-Harry, kii-Harry," meaning that Harry had 
 snow on him. Not until he was over three years old 
 did he call snow by any other name than "Ku- 
 Harry," and so closely associated was the snow with 
 his sled that for a long time it too was a " Ku-Harry." 
 
 We never resorted to baby-talk when speaking to 
 him, always regarding it as unintelligible gibberish 
 which no child would ever speak of itself. On the 
 contrary, we used the purest and most correct English 
 that we could command and always encouraged him 
 to do the same. Simple Anglo-Saxon, the language 
 of childhood, was our aim. 
 
 As we shunned negative training as much as possi- 
 ble, we did not tell him that he spoke incorrectly, but 
 we repeated his expressions correctly until he learned 
 the proper form. 
 
 "Me'll catch you, father," he said. 
 
 "I will catch you, Charles," I answered, and con- 
 tinued the game until he responded with, "I will 
 catch you, father." 
 
He dropped Harry in the snow. 
 
 P. 22. 
 
INFANCY 23 
 
 I was not always consistent in this. "Where is 
 you, father?" he called many times. And the call 
 was so sweet to me. that I could never correct the 
 sentence. In fact, the first time I heard him say 
 "Where are you, father?" I felt I had suffered some 
 real loss. I know that I would not wish him to be a 
 child again, for I am proud of the noble man he has 
 become, but often, when the house seems quiet and 
 empty, I hunger for that sweet voice calling, " Where 
 is you, father?" 
 
 Since the days when baby learned to walk I have 
 regarded walking as quite a feat. To balance the 
 body and to move forward by a series of steps and 
 falls is not an easy thing to learn. How great the 
 distance between mother and me must have seemed 
 to him when he first attempted to toddle from one to 
 the other! I can see him yet, with his little dress 
 tied back, prancing, jumping, eager to make the at- 
 tempt, yet hanging on to my finger as long as he 
 could; then, a quick catching of the breath as he 
 found himself unsupported, a few uncertain steps, a 
 fall forward and mother had him. 
 
 In early infancy his muscular movements seemed 
 to result from impulse within his body rather than 
 from stimulation without; for he appeared to be 
 totally unconscious of his environment, and the 
 different parts of his body moved independently or 
 without any relation to the movements of the other 
 parts. In a short time, however, there was more har- 
 mony of action; the eye turned toward the source of 
 
24 OUR BOY 
 
 sound and there was a tendency to move the body 
 toward an object for which he reached. 
 
 He was but a few weeks old when he began to hold 
 his head erect, and when three months old he could 
 pull himself into a sitting posture and retain his 
 equilibrium. He early began to push against any- 
 thing his feet touched and to jump if held upright. 
 
 We did not hurry him in walking, believing that 
 his natural tendency to be erect, together with the 
 normal curiosity of childhood which prompted him to 
 move from object to object, would be sufficient to 
 induce him to walk as soon as he was able. 
 
 Even after he learned the physical movements, it 
 was some time before he had enough confidence in 
 himself to walk alone, and when he did make the first 
 successful effort he was unconscious of it. If he 
 were standing beside a chair and was attracted by 
 some object on the table he would walk the few steps 
 without thinking; but if his mother or I drew his 
 attention to what he was doing he invariably fell. 
 Once he walked entirely around his mother before he 
 realized that he was unsupported. We were careful 
 that he did himself no serious injury, but we did not 
 constantly hold him nor catch at him, as we feared 
 that these things would reduce his self-reliance and 
 possibly make him nervous. 
 
 What a sweet, happy little toddler he was! Al- 
 ways under our feet, but never in the way. A little 
 adventurer, getting into all kinds of places; discover- 
 ing more things in a day than a Columbus could in a 
 
INFANCY 25 
 
 lifetime; taking apart everything he got his hands on, 
 and learning more secrets in a few hours than an 
 Edison could in years. Growing, learning, develop- 
 ing, changing each day, unfolding along k the lines 
 God had marked out for him. 
 
STEP TWO : 
 FROM THREE TO SIX 
 
 27 
 
OUTLINE OF THE PERIOD 
 
 The father's notebook. 
 
 Incessant activity of the little body. ( 
 
 Educative value of play. 
 
 Impersonating characters. 
 
 Imitating his elders. 
 
 Curiosity promoting investigation. 
 
 The "why" period. 
 
 Responsive, though still self -centered, in his affection. 
 
 Making right-doing easy. 
 
 Unquestioning faith in parents. 
 
 Religious development: 
 
 Love for the early Old Testament stories. 
 
 Learning God's goodness through His works. 
 
 Losing fear of the all-seeing God by learning of 
 His love. 
 
 Lessons of life from the plants. 
 
STEP TWO: FROM THREE TO SIX 
 
 AS the census enumerator counts I had only one 
 boy; but as I look back upon that boy's devel- 
 opment I know that I had six in one, for in the differ- 
 ent periods of his life there were such great changes 
 that he was really six different boys. If I had real- 
 ized this more fully at the time and responded more 
 quickly to his changing characteristics, I might have 
 been of greater help to him. 
 
 My second boy began to live when the first was 
 about three years old. I say "about three," not 
 because I have no clear recollection of the exact time, 
 but because the change was gradual. He did not 
 pass suddenly from one period to another, but almost 
 imperceptibly the characteristics of infancy gave 
 place to those of childhood, and the change came as 
 silently as the corn forms in the ear. God has de- 
 creed that progressive development shall be gradual. 
 
 I do not think I shall ever forget any important 
 incident in my boy's development. Each event 
 made too strong an impression, and I have lived over 
 the incidents too many times, for my brain to lose 
 its record of them. Besides, among my real treas- 
 ures is a memorandum-book in which is recorded 
 even the smallest detail regarding his earlier years. 
 The binding of the book is worn, many of the leaves 
 are loose from much handling; unless the boy claims 
 
 29 
 
30 OUR BOY 
 
 it when I am gone it will go into some waste-basket; 
 but I know his father will never be through with it 
 until he goes where perfect knowledge makes written 
 records unnecessary. 
 
 What happy memories that old book recalls! 
 When it was written I was living in a busy present 
 and dreaming of future achievement. Now I am 
 living largely in a happy past and thinking of that 
 other and changeless future. The present is of 
 chief interest as it brings me tidings of a strong, 
 pure man who calls me "father." 
 
 Our boy carried over into this second period of his 
 life much of the old restlessness of babyhood, but 
 stimulation was more often from without the body 
 than from within. Everything attracted him, 
 aroused his curiosity, urged him to action. He was 
 in constant motion and I often marveled at his phys- 
 ical endurance. How many steps those dancing 
 little feet took in a day, never stepping when they 
 could jump, never walking when they could run. 
 Ah, it must be splendid to have every organ in one's 
 body brand-new and in perfect working order ! How 
 many things the busy little hands found to do, getting 
 into no end of trouble and causing mother much extra 
 work. Not a muscle of his body was slighted, as the 
 demand of each for exercise was too strong to pass 
 unheeded. It almost made my own back ache 
 sometimes just to see him twist and squirm. 
 
 "Oh, Charles, aren't you too tired for that?" I 
 asked many times. But the happy little fellow only 
 
FROM THREE TO SIX 31 
 
 laughed back at me and continued to romp until he 
 almost dropped from exhaustion. 
 
 His brain was just as restless as his body. It 
 could not concentrate its attention any more than 
 the body could remain in a state of rest. A story 
 must be full of thrilling incidents which he could 
 appreciate, to hold his attention to the end. 
 
 He would not long continue at any one game or 
 occupation. "Let's play that this couch is a boat, 
 father/' he would say. And before the boat could 
 reach its next landing, "This is a car now, father." 
 Then, ere the car had fairly started, "Oh, father, 
 let's play that we are animals." Down on the floor 
 must we go on hands and knees, while mother smiled 
 as she darned another pair of little stockings. 
 
 We recognized in this restlessness of body and 
 brain God's wonderful method of insuring rounded 
 development. If he had used only certain parts of 
 his body he would have grown into a physical freak; 
 if he had possessed the ability to concentrate his 
 attention on one subject for long periods of time he 
 would have become a mental freak. God knew what 
 was best for our boy and nature stood always ready to 
 lend a hand. Plenty of time for specializing later in 
 life. God plans for symmetrical growth and devel- 
 opment in childhood. 
 
 These years brought more harmony of action be- 
 tween the different parts of his body. The brain was 
 able to compel several muscles to act together for the 
 carrying out of its purposes. Especially was this 
 
32 OUR BOY 
 
 true of the larger muscles, such as those of the arms 
 and legs. There was still some trouble with the 
 smaller muscles, such as those of the fingers, and 
 sense perception was not always sufficiently clear to 
 direct definitely. 
 
 He could run straight to a certain point or place 
 his hands immediately upon a desired object; but 
 when I made two points on a piece of paper and asked 
 him to draw a line between them, he had some diffi- 
 culty in getting his pencil on the first point, and the 
 line ended almost anywhere except at the objective- 
 point. When I drew a letter and asked him to trace 
 it, his pencil invariably went off at a tangent from 
 the line to be followed. He was more successful in 
 hitting the head of a nail with a hammer, but greater 
 interest and more practice assisted here, for we lived 
 in a community which was rapidly growing, and he 
 was very much interested in the building operations. 
 
 The happy little fellow played all day long, and his 
 play at that age consisted largely of instinctive or imi- 
 tative acts. In obedience to nature's demand, even 
 his play had an educative value; for nature insists 
 that young animals in their sports use the faculties 
 and muscles they will require for maintenance or de- 
 fense in later life, and so makes play an important 
 factor in the preservation of the species. 
 
 That our play might be as natural and helpful as 
 possible, I allowed the boy to plan and direct it, and 
 I cheerfully took the part he assigned me. He was 
 usually ready for any suggestion which would make 
 
He put me to bed on the couch." 
 
 P. 33. 
 
FROM THREE TO SIX 33 
 
 the play more interesting, but would not willingly 
 submit to my entire leadership. He himself was 
 leader and I must do as he decreed. I did not always 
 get my turn in the games either, for he demanded an 
 unequal share of the fun; but I was sure that the 
 matter of turns would adjust itself when his social 
 instincts became stronger. Oh, he was a little dic- 
 tator, and I fetched and ran and crawled as he com- 
 manded! 
 
 From the days he began to creep he delighted in 
 games of chase. At first I was always the pursuer, 
 but later he occasionally took that part in the game. 
 I suppose the human race has retained some instinct 
 from the days when man depended upon his speed for 
 safety, and baby inherited an instinctive tendency 
 to play such games. 
 
 The game I liked best was to pretend that I was 
 the little boy and he the father. Even in this game, 
 where we exchanged personalities, he did not allow 
 me to lead. I must be the kind of little boy he said 
 and must do as he directed. How very careful he 
 was of me as he put me to bed on the couch, or took 
 me for a ride on the big rocking-chair, or for a walk 
 into the next room. I can still feel the caress of the 
 little arms that encircled my neck when he bade me 
 go to sleep, the touch of the soft little hands which 
 helped me into the carriage, the pressure of each arm 
 that wound about my legs to carry me over some 
 rough place in the road. I liked the game because I 
 prized his caress, and because he unconsciously 
 
34 OUR BOY 
 
 learned many lessons of thoughtfulness and kindness. 
 He is still considerate in his care of me, but now it is 
 the strong man's protection of one he thinks weaker 
 than himself. I laugh sometimes when he takes my 
 arm on the street, for I think of the far-off days when 
 a little, curly-haired toddler played "father" to me. 
 
 As he grew older he liked more strenuous games. 
 
 "Let's play some new rough game, father," he 
 would say many times. He was a real boy then, 
 running, jumping, climbing, yelling, and insisting 
 that I keep pace with him, so that I had to get the 
 kink out of my back and the stiffness out of my legs. 
 
 Not until he was nearly six years old would he 
 play a game in which fixed rules must be observed; 
 and even then the rules must be few and simple. 
 In his play the self-centered little fellow would sub- 
 mit to no law but his own, and he as lawmaker re- 
 served the right to change the rules at will. Our 
 play, therefore, was more frolic than game. 
 
 He impersonated every character he knew and 
 imitated every occupation he saw other people engage 
 in. Certainly, I thought, God knew how to develop 
 children when he planted in them an instinct to play. 
 In the cities I see the stunted bodies and the starved 
 souls of children who do not play. God pity them ! 
 My heart would break if they were mine. 
 
 I was careful that he did not imitate questionable 
 habits or undesirable traits even in play. 
 
 "Father, let's play that I am a drunken man," 
 he would suggest. 
 
FROM THREE TO SIX 35 
 
 "No, no," I replied; "I cannot play that game." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because drunken men are not nice." 
 
 Or, "Shut your eyes, father." 
 
 "What are you going to do to me?" I asked. 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Do not say that you are going to do nothing if 
 you are going to do something," I answered. "Say 
 ' Shut your eyes, father, because I want to surprise 
 
 you/ " 
 
 One evening when I was looking over some books 
 and he was writing by my side he said, 
 
 "Are we playing school, father?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered; "I am the teacher and you are 
 the little boy; but the boy is not holding his pencil 
 correctly." 
 
 "Let us play that I am a bad boy and hold my 
 pencil this way." 
 
 "No, I cannot play that." 
 
 "Why, father?" 
 
 " Because you are a very good boy." 
 
 The wonderful imagination of childhood enabled 
 him to play many of his most helpful games by mak- 
 ing inanimate things alive, imaginary things real, 
 absent things present, real things ideal. Happy 
 child ! How easy it was for his fancy to create a per- 
 fect world about him. Did he want a toy he did not 
 possess? His imagination furnished it. Did he 
 desire a complete change of environment? His 
 imagination provided it. Often I wished I had not 
 
36 OUR BOY 
 
 lost all the fancy of my own childhood, for I be- 
 lieve if I could have found the ideal in the real, as 
 he did, that my adult world would have been better, 
 brighter, and happier. 
 
 He was a born imitator. The reflex imitation of 
 the preceding period, while not so prominent, still 
 controlled his moods, and cheerfulness or bad humor 
 was still "catching." Voluntary imitation, which 
 was scarcely noticeable before, became very strong 
 at this time. He deliberately imitated our words and 
 actions, and the influence of our daily conduct had a 
 stronger and more lasting effect upon him than any 
 verbal teaching. 
 
 If I stood at a window he stood beside me, not 
 looking out the window, but watching me; his feet 
 placed like mine, his hands held in the same position 
 as mine, his entire poise a duplicate of my own. To 
 test him I moved my feet ever so slightly. Instantly 
 he made a corresponding change in his own. I 
 changed my attitude to a more difficult one. At once 
 he attempted to make a similar change, though it 
 required some time and effort to exactly copy my 
 position. 
 
 Not only did he imitate what was actually before 
 him, but his little brain stored many memory images, 
 and frequently he would repeat some expression or 
 reproduce some action days after he had heard or seen 
 it. Often after such repetition his mother and I 
 would ask each other where he had learned such 
 things, and only a careful review of our own speech 
 
FROM THREE TO SIX 37 
 
 and actions during the preceding days would reveal 
 the source of his knowledge. 
 
 Curiosity, which in the earlier period urged him to 
 upset mother's work-basket and pull the dishes from 
 the table, at this time developed into a real spirit of 
 investigation. He broke up his expensive toys to 
 see how they were made, while the toys which he 
 liked best were those he could take apart at pleasure. 
 He wanted to handle everything he saw, and he 
 strained his ears to hear every word uttered in his 
 presence. If we spoke of something he could not 
 understand he was quick to question us about it. 
 
 I doubt if he would have made much mental prog- 
 ress without this instinct of curiosity. It not only 
 brought him into intimate relation with everything 
 in his environment, but constantly urged him into 
 fresh paths of discovery and investigation, for at 
 times only something new would satisfy him. Some 
 pain resulted, as when he found that the wasp had 
 "hot feet," as he called its sting, and that the fire 
 burned. 
 
 The questions" What is it ?" " What does it do ?" 
 "Where did it come from?" of the preceding years 
 were simple compared with the "Whys" of this 
 period. 
 
 "Father, why is it light sometimes and sometimes 
 dark?" 
 
 " Because the sun shines sometimes and sometimes 
 does not." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
38 OUR BOY 
 
 "Because God has made it do that," I replied. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because God wants it to be dark sometimes so 
 that we can rest." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because we need the rest so that we can work and 
 play." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh," 
 
 "Why do you say 'oh' to me that way, father?" 
 
 Then I caught him in my arms and smothered his 
 "Whys" with a kiss, for what else could I do? 
 
 He was naturally affectionate. Often in our play 
 he stopped to kiss me impulsively. I well remember 
 one night when we had strangers for dinner. The 
 meal was about finished, when he slid down from his 
 chair and, coming to my side, pulled down my arm 
 so that he could embrace it as he announced to the 
 entire company, " This is my father, and this is how 
 I like him." Then he squeezed my arm with all his 
 strength. It was surely a happy father who bent 
 over the little curly head that the visitors might not 
 see his eyes glisten. 
 
 We caressed him without fear of making him a 
 molly-coddle, for we believed the changes which 
 would come later in his life would banish whatever 
 seemed effeminate and leave a man ennobled by a 
 naturally affectionate disposition. 
 
 His affection for us did not destroy his self-inter- 
 est, but shone through it. He loved us because we 
 
FROM THREE TO SIX 39 
 
 first loved him and did so much for him. He was 
 the center of his world, and the rest of that world had 
 but one reason for existing to serve him. I suppose 
 many people thought him selfish; but we did not 
 worry about what people thought so long as we be- 
 lieved he was developing in God's way. 
 
 Our task was not to make him less self-centered 
 at this age, but to teach him that he received most 
 for himself by doing most for others, and out of this 
 very self-interest to develop a habit of serving others. 
 We knew that this habit of service would remain after 
 the individualism which made personal gain the 
 strongest propelling motive had disappeared, and 
 when the social and altruistic instincts had devel- 
 oped sufficiently to provide higher motives. 
 
 When my well-meaning neighbors shook their 
 heads at such theories, I reminded them that the 
 Golden Rule commanded a man to do most for 
 others when he demanded most for himself. 
 
 Personal gain also prompted him to help us in 
 many ways because he found pleasure in so doing. 
 We did not quarrel with the motive, but rather en- 
 couraged it in order to get more service. We had 
 got away from the old Puritan notion that whatever 
 was right must be hard, and we endeavored to make 
 the right as easy and pleasant as possible; knowing 
 full well that our boy would do the things which 
 brought him the greatest amount of personal pleas- 
 ure and satisfaction. 
 
 His faith in us was a marvelous thing, which we 
 
40 OUR BOY 
 
 were careful not to shake. He believed everything 
 we told him, and I trembled sometimes lest some 
 untruth might escape me. We never intentionally 
 deceived him and if he misunderstood us we were 
 quick to correct the wrong impression. No police- 
 man ever lurked around our corner waiting for bad 
 boys; no bogy man hid behind our doors; no big 
 black bear was in the closet which he should not open. 
 You see we feared that a spirit of adventure might 
 induce him to open that closet-door some day when 
 our backs were turned, and, finding no bear there, his 
 little brain would register the fact that things were 
 not always as we represented them. Where should 
 he find a basis for steadfast faith in an invisible 
 God if there was no one on earth whom he could 
 believe? 
 
 He instinctively turned to the things of God. 
 How he loved those splendid stories of the Old Testa- 
 ment whose records of the childhood of the race seem 
 to have been written especially for the children of 
 each generation! 
 
 "Talk about God, father," he said many times. 
 
 It was not always a new story he wanted; in fact, I 
 found that he liked best the stories he had heard the 
 oftenest and knew the best. 
 
 "Tell an old, old story, father," he would say. 
 
 Then I would recall some old Bible story; and often 
 I had scarcely begun the telling of it when the little 
 fingers closed my lips as he said, "Stop a minute, 
 father, I can tell that story." Or he would listen 
 
FROM THREE TO SIX 41 
 
 attentively that he might point out any omission on 
 my part. 
 
 Stories of God's goodness appealed to him as no 
 others did. He asked me how his dresses were made ; 
 and I told him of the cotton plant and of the God who 
 gave it sunshine and rain. He asked me how my 
 clothes were made; and I told him of the sheep and of 
 the God who provided food for them. He asked me 
 about his iron toys; and I told him of the ore that 
 God had hidden in the earth long years ago. He 
 inquired about his wooden toys; and I told him of 
 the trees and how God made them grow. There was 
 no good thing in all this world that did not lead back 
 to God. 
 
 When we had gone over these things many times 
 I got the response I was looking for when he ex- 
 claimed, "Oh, he must be a good God! I like 
 Him!" 
 
 His love for God at that age, like his affection for 
 us, was a matter of barter, inspired by what God had 
 done for him. 
 
 There was also a little unwholesome fear of God. 
 One day he spoke of God as being in Heaven. 
 
 "God is everywhere," I corrected. 
 
 "Here?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "In this room?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He gave a half-frightened look around him. 
 
 Another day he said, "I was playing in the yard 
 
42 OUR BOY 
 
 and God looked down at me, but I said, 'I do not 
 like you to look at me, God/ ' 
 
 It was necessary, therefore, for us to dwell much 
 upon God's love and to tell him that God watched to 
 see how good and happy he was. The God we told 
 him about did not dislike naughty boys. He loved 
 all boys, but was happier when the boys were good. 
 
 When he was four years old I dug up a corner of 
 the yard and told him it was to be his flower-bed. 
 How delighted he was when allowed to plant the 
 flowers himself! How he watched that bed during 
 the summer and cared for the flowers as he saw me 
 care for mine! 
 
 The next summer I showed him how the pollen 
 fertilized the seed and made possible its development, 
 and together we gathered the seeds for our next 
 year's flowers. 
 
 I was not thinking solely of the lesson in botany; 
 I knew a day would come when he would ask puz- 
 zling questions regarding his own life, and later about 
 the problem of sex and reproduction, and I was build- 
 ing against that day. 
 
 During this time he played a great deal with a 
 neighbor's little girl, and one day I said, "I believe 
 Charles has a sweetheart." 
 
 Instantly he asked, "What is 'sweetheart,' 
 father?" 
 
 His mother and I glanced quickly at each other, for 
 both realized that I had made a false step. If God 
 had intended that our four-year-old boy should have 
 
FROM THREE TO SIX 43 
 
 a sweetheart, he would have given him an instinctive 
 desire for one. As it was, I introduced the subject 
 when he had neither inclination for it nor ability to 
 understand it. Fortunately, the child did not press 
 his question, and for a long time the boy and girl 
 played together as sexless children, utterly uncon- 
 scious of that mysterious power which would later 
 drive them apart, then draw them together again 
 with an irresistible force. 
 
 So day after day, as natural tendencies urged him 
 on and instincts demanded nourishment, the little 
 body developed and the soul unfolded. So day 
 after day his mother and I planted and cultivated, 
 often disturbed because some tares would grow, 
 hoping always for a rich and bountiful harvest, but 
 knowing full well that the harvest was still a long 
 way off. 
 
STEP THREE: 
 FROM SIX TO NINE 
 
OUTLINE OF THE PERIOD 
 
 Starting to school. 
 
 Parents' help with lessons. 
 
 Danger from school-yard immorality. 
 
 Selecting mates by making home the play-center. 
 
 Self -education through the "collecting" habit. 
 
 Powers of perception, memory, and imagination in- 
 crease. 
 
 His first fight. 
 
 Rapid growth causes lack of self-control. 
 
 More definite purpose in work and play. 
 
 In games, each boy for himself. 
 
 Imitating qualities of others more than their actions. 
 
 Religious development: 
 Emulating qualities admired in Old Testament 
 
 heroes. 
 Christ more real desire to please Him. 
 
STEP THREE: FROM SIX TO NINE 
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS ! They wear a halo now as I view 
 them through the vista of the years; yet twice in 
 my life I approached them with a great deal of dread. 
 Once, when as a country boy, browned and freckled 
 by the summer's sun, clad in homespun clothes and 
 well-greased leather boots, I started from home that 
 first morning and loitered along the road that I might 
 delay the fearful moment when I should stand before 
 the master. They were masters in those days, 
 past-masters in the art of sternness and birch- 
 swinging. Loitering availed me nothing, for the 
 school-house seemed to rush toward me, a horrible 
 monster in league with a cruel fate which rendered 
 the poor little country urchin helpless. The big 
 and terrifying aspect has departed from that old 
 school, for nowadays I think of it as the "little" 
 school-house and recall with a thrill of pleasure its 
 many happy memories. 
 
 Once again I dreaded the school-days when I saw 
 my own boy so rapidly approaching them. Of 
 course, I was proud of the sturdy little fellow, and 
 glad he was growing and developing; but I could not 
 shake off the notion that we would lose something 
 when he went to school. 
 
 We did lose our baby, but we gained a boy. It 
 was this change in him that brought us our third 
 child a child with greater mental ability, wider 
 
 47 
 
48 OUR BOY 
 
 interests, keener and more accurate power of per- 
 ception, a better memory and a new creative imagi- 
 nation. For a time I refused to be reconciled to the 
 change, for I wanted my baby again. What a sweet, 
 affectionate, trustful, dependent little fellow he had 
 been for six years! Small wonder that I rebelled 
 against giving him up. As the days passed, how- 
 ever, I began to realize that the boy with his new 
 characteristics was a distinct gain. 
 
 I smiled as I watched him that first morning im- 
 patiently waiting for the school-hour, and mentally 
 compared him with that other boy who some thirty 
 years before had shrunk from the approach of that 
 same hour. His eyes beamed with joyful expectancy 
 when mine had shown only fear; his neat, well-fitting 
 clothes and leather shoes contrasted strongly with 
 my coarser garments; while his clear, smooth skin 
 and rosy cheeks seemed made of finer material than 
 my sun-reddened, weather-hardened skin had been. 
 Robust and healthy he was, and yet I think I was a 
 little sturdier than he. 
 
 He did not approach his first school-day with the 
 dread I had felt for mine. The old-time school-master 
 had been replaced by the gentle, tactful, well-trained 
 woman-teacher; and the crude unnatural methods of 
 the past had been forced out by the wiser and more 
 efficient art of latter-day teaching. Besides, the 
 reports other children gave him of their school ex- 
 periences were happy, while the ones I had heard 
 were terrifying. 
 
FROM SIX TO NINE 49 
 
 The new experiences which came to him with the 
 first few days of school brought a genuine pleasure 
 with them; but soon the novelty was gone and the 
 repetition of old experiences became drudgery, while 
 the confinement irritated his freedom-loving spirit. 
 Too well I knew from my own experience that there 
 were beautiful days when all nature called him to 
 play; days when he started to school with a heavy 
 heart and a rebellious spirit; when every free thing 
 he saw along the road drew his breath out into sighs, 
 and when the school-room itself seemed a veritable 
 prison. These were real troubles for the little fel- 
 low, and called not for scolding and forcing, but for 
 genuine sympathy. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know it is hard to go to school on a day 
 like this, Charles/' I said to him many times. "I 
 was a boy once myself and I remember. But I want 
 you to be a real man some day, and you cannot be 
 unless you do some hard things now." 
 
 "But I would rather stay home and help you, 
 father," the little fellow would half-whine. 
 
 " And I should be glad to have your help, but you 
 can help me more after awhile if you learn the school- 
 lessons now." 
 
 Off he would trudge slowly, and back he would 
 come when the school was dismissed, laughing, shout- 
 ing, running. The trouble was grievous enough, but 
 short-lived. 
 
 The lessons of his first year were comparatively 
 easy for him, as we had studied the teaching methods 
 
50 OUR BOY 
 
 of the time and taught him some things ourselves 
 before he started to school. But as the years passed, 
 and one study after another was added to his list of 
 requirements, his school-work at times was a real 
 burden. I do not mean that the burden was at any 
 time too heavy for him, but over us often hovered the 
 fear that it might become so. 
 
 Our method of guarding against that danger was 
 simple and efficacious. Since it is not hard work but 
 drudgery that kills, we exerted every effort to make 
 his school-work pleasant. When the lessons seemed 
 hard to the tired little brain and the discouraged soul, 
 we sat down beside him and studied together. How 
 simple the perplexing problem often became after a 
 word of explanation, or how easy it was to memorize 
 some difficult lesson when its meaning was made clear ! 
 What a bright, happy little fellow started for school 
 with his sums all done and lessons all learned! The 
 fear that I should somehow lose my boy when he 
 started to school vanished as I found that I was 
 drawing him closer to me by the help I gave him. 
 
 He became very proud of his mother and me. I 
 often heard him boast to playmates of what we knew 
 or could do. The old individualism of babyhood 
 remained and he boasted of us because of his owner- 
 ship in us. It was always "my mother" and "my 
 father," with strong emphasis upon the personal 
 pronoun; and he spoke of the feats performed by 
 "my dog" with the same enthusiasm. Self-centered 
 though the praise really was, it was sweet to our ears. 
 
FROM SIX TO NINE 51 
 
 From the first, every thought of school-days 
 brought one predominant dread; for more than any- 
 thing else we feared the immorality of the school-yard. 
 How sweet and pure and innocent our boy seemed to 
 us when he started for school that first day! Little 
 wonder that we trembled, for too well we knew about 
 the false statements, the vulgar jokes, the obscene 
 stories which circulated in the school playground. 
 Thus far we had been able to guard our boy against 
 these things, for he had been satisfied with the 
 companionship of his mother and me; but with the 
 beginning of the school-life his nature demanded that 
 he have companions of his own age and sex. We 
 could still help him somewhat in the selection of these 
 companions, and guard to some extent against evil 
 associates, except in that dreaded school-yard, since 
 the school-boards of that time were not sufficiently 
 awake to this danger to require that a teacher remain 
 in the yard during recess. 
 
 We had endeavored to make our boy so strong of 
 body that he would be proof against contagious dis- 
 eases; and, when the school-days arrived, we found 
 it necessary to make him so pure in soul that he 
 would be proof against this more dreaded infection. 
 We made an effort so to enlighten him regarding the 
 secrets of life and sex that he would know the truth 
 better than the school-yard scamp who thought he 
 knew it all. 
 
 What wide-open, blue eyes they were that watched 
 me as I spoke of these things! We answered every 
 
52 OUR BOY 
 
 eager question candidly, for we knew that his ques- 
 tions were insistent, and if unsatisfied would lead him 
 into undesirable places for an answer. 
 
 It was hard, for we had not then the helpful books 
 on sex hygiene which the parents of to-day may 
 use; but in our cruder way we tried to show him that 
 nothing was more pure in God's whole world than the 
 thing which the vulgar made most vile. 
 
 To guard as much as possible against evil associ- 
 ates we made our home the rendezvous for his com- 
 panions. Every clean-minded boy was welcome. 
 Experience taught that the boy who dressed the best 
 or observed the rules of polite society most carefully 
 was not always the safest. To know the boys thor- 
 oughly we found it necessary to know their parents 
 and home-life, so that there grew up in our commu- 
 nity a bond of fellowship between parents as well as 
 of companionship among boys. 
 
 Of course, the careless little fellows tramped 
 dirt into our house; but we endured the dirt to 
 keep our boy's soul clean. To be sure, they made 
 a noise a boisterous, deafening noise; but we felt 
 safe and happy in the noise. It was when they 
 whispered together that we feared and got closer to 
 them. 
 
 I suppose folks called me a "busy-body," for I had 
 a notion that every bit of immorality in my com- 
 munity was as much my business as every case of 
 contagious disease. For the protection of my own 
 boy I guarded my neighbor's children from con- 
 
FROM SIX TO NINE 53 
 
 tagion; for the sake of my own boy I protected my 
 neighbor's children from vice. 
 
 School-life and his association with companions of 
 his own age did much to develop the greater mental 
 ability and wider interests of this period. While 
 still incapable of real reasoning, he liked to do his 
 own thinking and depended less upon us for his con- 
 clusions. He did not want us to solve even his hard- 
 est school-problems, but simply to make some little 
 suggestion that would clarify them. When he 
 thought we had helped enough, he would say, " Now 
 wait till I try;" and he was always happier when 
 he could solve the problem himself. Like every other 
 organ, the brain insisted upon the exercise of its 
 functions, and, being a normal child, he could no more 
 be mentally sluggish than physically inactive. His 
 brain wanted to think as much as his muscles desired 
 to work. 
 
 We unlearned that mind-restraining doctrine that 
 " children should be seen and not heard" and decided 
 that our boy should be both seen and heard. We 
 gave him every opportunity to enter into our conver- 
 sation, asked his opinion on simple subjects, and al- 
 ways listened attentively to what he had to say. Of 
 course, it was hard to conceal a smile at some of his 
 quaint remarks, but it was absolutely necessary that 
 we hear him seriously, for any indication of amuse- 
 ment on our part silenced him. 
 
 The exercise of his growing mental power broad- 
 ened his interests. Before this time his only concern 
 
54 OUR BOY 
 
 had been for the concrete things with which he 
 came into contact; while he still cared nothing for 
 abstractions, his interest now extended from the 
 concrete things at hand to other related things that 
 he could neither see nor touch. 
 
 A piece of coal, which before had been merely 
 something to burn in our stoves, now awakened in 
 him an interest in the mines and the processes of 
 mining. The engine suggested questions regarding 
 its power. People of different nationalities pictured 
 in his school-books led him to inquire about their 
 countries and habits. By simply satisfying the 
 demands of this wider interest it was possible to lead 
 him far into the fields of knowledge without taxing 
 his mental ability. 
 
 Had we been blind to these broader interests, a 
 look into his pockets would have revealed them. 
 What a collection! But then, what a collector! 
 At no time would I have given five cents for every- 
 thing in those pockets, and I am equally sure that he 
 would not have exchanged a single pocket-load for 
 all of my possessions. Valueless as those things 
 actually were, to him they were priceless. 
 
 We did not think it strange that the hobby of 
 collecting should develop just when it was most 
 needed and could accomplish the most, for that is 
 God's way of working. Everything he collected 
 taught him something. Coins and stamps made 
 maps become more than colored pages in his books; 
 and his stones made possible the first lesson in miner- 
 
" Everything he collected taught him something." P. 54. 
 
FROM SIX TO NINE 55 
 
 alogy. The craze to gather would have made him a 
 despoiler of birds' nests had we permitted it; 
 though the eggs would have had some instructive 
 value, we thought it better that he should learn to be 
 kind. 
 
 The power of perception kept pace with his broad- 
 ening interests. Practice made the senses more 
 accurate in the sensations they gathered; while the 
 greater store of knowledge and experience made the 
 brain more capable of discriminating, interpreting, 
 and classifying these sensations. He could see more 
 details in a picture or an object and understand bet- 
 ter what was said to him. The senses were as hungry 
 as ever, and with the brain's increasing ability to 
 understand their messages his stock of knowledge 
 grew by leaps and bounds. The marvel was how 
 and where he learned so much, and " how one small 
 head could carry all he knew." 
 
 Nor was it knowledge acquired just for the moment, 
 for his memory had greater power of retention than 
 before. Whatever awakened his curiosity interested 
 him and made a lasting impression upon the sensitive 
 cells of his brain. 
 
 We were careful not to abuse his memory at that 
 age by burdening it with facts he could not under- 
 stand nor use. The faculty had not yet reached the 
 height of its power, and in the developing stage was 
 sufficiently exercised in retaining the things his 
 natural interest furnished, his needs demanded, or 
 his school-work required. The fact that he mem- 
 
56 OUR BOY 
 
 orized without effort was no reason why the faculty 
 should at that age be taxed with useless matter. 
 
 His imagination found in the greater store of 
 mental images furnished by past experiences abun- 
 dant material for new combinations. He was con- 
 stantly pretending or supposing, and at times he 
 lived in utter independence of his actual surround- 
 ings in a make-believe environment and this 
 imaginary world was often more real than the actual 
 one. He was more able to distinguish between 
 imaginary and real experiences than he had been 
 before; but there were still times when it seemed im- 
 possible for him to be literally truthful when relating 
 some fanciful experience. To him these experiences 
 were true and real, for the strange combinations 
 effected by his free creative imagination were in- 
 tensely vivid. 
 
 He had been attending school two years when, on 
 reaching home one night, I found a cloud on his 
 mother's face. The condition of the boy's face ex- 
 plained that cloud. One little eye was half-closed 
 and fearfully blackened, while a long scratch ex- 
 tended across the opposite cheek. 
 
 I made no comments and asked no questions. In- 
 deed, questions were unnecessary, for I knew at once 
 what had happened. He had had his first fight. 
 The boy was puzzled by my apparent indifference to 
 the condition of his face, and his perplexity increased 
 as the dinner progressed. 
 
 When the meal was over I called him into the 
 
FROM SIX TO NINE 57 
 
 library. He came reluctantly; but when I sat down 
 and, holding my hand out to him, said, "Now tell me 
 what it was about," he gave me one quick, searching 
 look, then came to my side. He leaned against the 
 arm of my chair and, when I put my arm around 
 him, nestled his head against me. Poor little face! 
 I knew it pained. 
 
 " John Parsons kicked our marbles when we were 
 playing/' he said. 
 
 "Where were you playing?" I asked. 
 
 "In the school-yard." 
 
 "Where John always plays?" 
 
 "No, where we play. John always plays on the 
 other side with the big boys." 
 
 "With whom were you playing?" 
 
 "Harry Simpson." 
 
 "Did Harry fight too?" 
 
 "No, he was too little." 
 
 You see it was not so bad after all; he had fought 
 in defense of his own rights and of those of a smaller 
 boy. 
 
 "How many times did John kick your marbles?" 
 I asked. 
 
 The little eyes flashed back at me as he answered, 
 "Only once," and I was conscious of a thrill of 
 pride in this chip off my bigger block. 
 
 "And who whipped?" I inquired, quickly. 
 
 The lips quivered a little. 
 
 "He was bigger than me." 
 
 I saw it like a flash. He had been worsted in his 
 
58 OUR BOY 
 
 first physical contest. Not so bad either, I thought, 
 for it would prevent his becoming a bully. 
 
 "There are times when it is right to fight," I 
 said; "but such times do not come very often, and 
 it is more often right to fight in defense of some one 
 else who is being imposed upon than for ourselves. 
 We should try every other honorable means to ac- 
 complish our purpose and fight only as a last resort. 
 I am afraid you did not do this to-day. When 
 John kicked your marbles you became angry and 
 struck in a passion. That is always wrong and rash; 
 for when in a passion you can neither think nor see 
 clearly, and you are likely to get whipped as you did 
 to-day. Now, let us bathe this face and forget 
 it." 
 
 This was not his last fight by any means; but there 
 appeared an ever-strengthening tendency to control 
 the fighting instinct. Critical neighbors wagged 
 their heads as they said, "There is that model child 
 fighting like any other boy." 
 
 That he did fight like any other normal child was 
 the most encouraging thing about it. I have a 
 notion that a boy with no fighting instinct, or with 
 the instinct under perfect control, would be an un- 
 natural child ; and that a man with no fighting spirit 
 would accomplish very little in this world either for 
 good or bad. 
 
 Like his fighting, almost all of his acts were im- 
 pulsive, stimulated by the desires of the moment. In 
 essential things he knew the difference between right 
 
FROM SIX TO NINE 59 
 
 and wrong, but he did not always voluntarily choose 
 the right unless there was offered some inducement 
 other than the mere fact that it was right. Prin- 
 ciples or laws of right conduct were too abstract to 
 be controlling motives when unsupported by other 
 inducements, and the strongest propelling motive 
 was still that of personal gain. When he was good, 
 he was very, very good, in the hope of getting some- 
 thing out of it; when he was bad, he was very, very 
 bad, perhaps acting upon the principle that he might 
 as well go the limit and get as much as possible out 
 of his naughtiness. 
 
 The naughty spells, while discouraging at times, 
 caused us little real anxiety, for they were impelled 
 by uncontrolled impulses and became less frequent 
 as he grew older and self-control became stronger. 
 Progress seemed very slow at the time, owing to our 
 impatient desire for perfection, but as w r e look back 
 upon those years we realize that it was steady and 
 constant. The trouble was that we so often judged 
 his conduct by laws and standards intended only for 
 maturity, and when he violated those laws and fell 
 below those standards we thought him imperfect in 
 character or conduct, while all the time he was a 
 natural, normal child. 
 
 I believe the period of least self-control was be- 
 tween the ages of six and eight; and we attributed it 
 to the accelerated growth of that time. During those 
 years he grew very rapidly; and, as there was no 
 abatement in his activity, all the vitality he could 
 
60 OUR BOY 
 
 supply was consumed in growth and constant motion, 
 so that health and moral control suffered. Indeed, 
 his health became a rather serious problem, and it 
 was necessary for us to insist that he take sufficient 
 nourishment and rest. Many times he was too busy 
 to eat, while the days were not long enough for all his 
 self-imposed labor. With brain and body tired and 
 his supply of reserve vitality exhausted, careful dis- 
 crimination between right and wrong and a perfect 
 control of impulses was physically impossible. 
 
 He was impulsively affectionate, kind, and chari- 
 table, just as he was impulsively naughty. To tell 
 him to be charitable was to use an abstraction which 
 had no meaning for him; but when we told him the 
 story of some poor child who had no toys we awak- 
 ened a sympathetic emotion which sought immediate 
 expression. Always after such a recital he would 
 bring to us some toy of his own for the less fortunate 
 child, but always it was some old and discarded play- 
 thing. The age of personal sacrifice had not come, 
 so we were satisfied when we had stirred the emotion 
 and received some response; and we always accepted 
 the offering he brought, even though the gift was too 
 dilapidated to bestow and we were forced to destroy it. 
 
 Whenever we saw in him an impulse which urged 
 to better things, we nurtured it with care. We 
 watched constantly that no helpful emotion might 
 be aroused without receiving an immediate opportu- 
 nity of active expression; for we realized that the 
 moods and habits which would develop in the next 
 
FROM SIX TO NINE 61 
 
 period of his life would spring from the emotions 
 and acts of this time. 
 
 Activity in this period had a more definite purpose 
 than in any of the preceding years, and was more 
 interested in what it could accomplish than simply in 
 what it could set in motion. There was a decided 
 plan in his actions, a fixed goal to be reached, a 
 positive end to be attained. Oh, he was so very, very 
 busy, with a little head full of ideas, plans, and de- 
 sires! He demanded my assistance in every leisure 
 minute I could get to help him do something or make 
 something. 
 
 Finding it pleasant recreation, I gave him as much 
 of my leisure as I could spare. What absurd and 
 impractical ideas he had at times! But I listened to 
 them seriously and attentively, for a laugh or even 
 an amused smile on my face silenced him. As far as 
 possible I carried out his ideas. 
 
 When I had work of my own about the house I 
 called him and asked for suggestions as to how it 
 should be done. Many times I laughed inwardly 
 at the serious manner in which he considered some 
 simple task; and when the little forehead wrinkled in 
 perplexity I assisted with a suggestion. Ah, but it 
 was a proud little fellow who, when the work was 
 finished and carefully examined by each of us, ex- 
 claimed, "We're the boys to fix things, aren't we, 
 father?" 
 
 And I answered, " Indeed we are. I do not know 
 what I should do without your help." 
 
62 OUR BOY 
 
 Many times when something had broken I heard 
 him say to his mother, "Wait until father has time 
 and we'll fix it." Strong emphasis was always on 
 that personal pronoun, but it was confidence in 
 himself and not individualism which was developing 
 at that time. 
 
 His play was also more purposeful than in the 
 previous years. Then he had run for the mere pleas- 
 ure of running; now he raced to win. Games might 
 also have more fixed rules than formerly, and he in- 
 sisted upon each player observing every rule. No 
 matter how many boys of his own age were in the 
 game with him, however, the play of each was indi- 
 vidualistic; there was absolutely no team-work. 
 
 Of course, I had to go see his baseball team play. 
 Each boy did his very best, but each played solely 
 for himself. It was never a game between two 
 teams, but always nine boys against nine boys. 
 When I suggested a sacrifice hit the little batter 
 looked at me in disgust. Not much ! He wanted to 
 wallop the ball and show what he could do. Let the 
 other fellows get in their own runs. Since each boy 
 demanded the position which would make him most 
 active in the game, pitchers and catchers were plenti- 
 ful, but there was always a dearth of outfielders. A 
 team seldom lived longer than two or three games. 
 
 Imitation during this period became more ideal- 
 istic. Heretofore he had imitated some single word, 
 short expression, or definite act, but at this time he 
 was more interested in the actors than in their words 
 
FROM SIX TO NINE 63 
 
 or actions. He was no longer satisfied with copying 
 our expressions and motions, he wanted to be like 
 us in fact, to be our real selves. 
 
 He did not yet consciously make us his ideals, and 
 there was still little selection of what was good or bad 
 for imitation, except as he endeavored to copy the 
 good to secure our approbation. Praise w r as always an 
 incentive for more earnest effort and better conduct. 
 
 His wider interests again showed themselves in this, 
 for he sought imitable examples outside of the home- 
 circle, and the characteristics he observed in his 
 companions and teachers became a part of his life. 
 Indeed, I believe he seldom came in contact with any 
 individual without taking something out of that life 
 and making it his own. He even went beyond his 
 visible world, and from the stories we told him he 
 selected some quality of the persons whom we 
 praised and made it an example for himself. 
 
 The old Bible stories, which in earlier years had 
 appealed to him because of their message of God's 
 goodness, had at this time an additional charm, 
 since he discovered in their heroes many character- 
 istics which he sought to emulate. David was not 
 only the lad wonderfully cared for by God, but he was 
 the youth brave enough to face the giant. The three 
 Hebrews appealed to him not simply because God 
 protected them in the fire, but because they cour- 
 ageously defied a wicked king. Daniel ceased to be 
 merely the man whom God saved from the lions, and 
 became the man who dared always to do the right. 
 
64 OUR BOY 
 
 The characteristics he admired and imitated in 
 these men were not yet his own but our ideals, and he 
 accepted them because of our approval. It was these 
 supplied ideals which became the foundation for the 
 hero-worship in the next period of his life. 
 
 Formal moralizing or preaching made no impres- 
 sion upon him, since these things dealt chiefly in ab- 
 stractions, such as courage, honesty, charity, and 
 fidelity; but he strove to emulate each of these quali- 
 ties in the lives he admired. He did not inquire if an 
 impulse or an act was good or bad, but whether a 
 favorite character would do such a thing. 
 
 To my adult mind the old Bible characters were 
 shadowy forms of antiquity, but to his active imagi- 
 nation they were real and present. For him they 
 did not live in another age under different conditions, 
 but were a part of his own world. 
 
 In the same way Christ ever became more real to 
 him, and I believe there were times when his imagi- 
 nation placed the Saviour actually at his side and he 
 verily walked with God. There was no fear of the 
 presence of the Unseen One, for the love and confi- 
 dence of the earlier period had grown and crystallized. 
 As I watched his spiritual nature unfold I understood 
 more and more clearly that if I were to find the King- 
 dom of God upon earth I must surely become as a 
 little child. 
 
 Of course, he endeavored to please the One who 
 did so much for him. "Would Jesus like that?" 
 he asked many times. 
 
FROM SIX TO NINE 65 
 
 Enough of the earlier individualism remained to 
 make the self-element still conspicuous in his love 
 and service. Where much had been given, he would 
 return a little; but it was the beginning of a loving 
 service which presently would reveal to him the sig- 
 nificance of the brotherhood of man and the father- 
 hood of God. 
 
STEP FOUR: 
 FROM NINE TO TWELVE 
 
 67 
 
OUTLINE OF THE PERIOD 
 
 Play becomes outlet for tireless energy. 
 Fun-loving nature at its height. 
 
 Religion of this period something to do rather than 
 something to feel. 
 
 Strong social instinct shown in clubs, teams, and 
 boon companion. 
 
 Awakening interest in real problems of life. 
 No attraction toward society of girls. 
 Growth of self-reliance. 
 Affection less impulsive, but deeper. 
 Extreme frankness in word and deed. 
 
 Reading becomes a passion its selection needs con- 
 stant oversight. 
 
 Hero-worship a blended admiration for daring and 
 success. 
 
 The habit-forming age. 
 
 Conduct still governed chiefly by personal advantage 
 . and motives from without. 
 
 Training right feelings through physical expression. 
 Great memory period. "Capping quotations" 
 
STEP FOUR: FROM NINE TO TWELVE 
 
 THE midsummer of childhood, that delightful 
 period between the mercurial conditions of in- 
 fancy and the severe storms of adolescence, began 
 when our boy was about nine years old. Of all his 
 photographs, from infancy to manhood, I like best 
 those which were taken at that time; yet every pic- 
 ture lacks something, something which I remember 
 lay beneath the surface and back of the eyes, and 
 that something is animation, " the divine last touch 
 in perfecting the beautiful." 
 
 The pictures show him to have been almost perfect 
 in form, but they fail to depict the ruddiness of com- 
 plexion, the luster of the eyes, the earnestness of the 
 expression, the intensity of every act, and without 
 these things I cannot imagine him . The photographs 
 are chiefly dear to me because my memory supplies 
 what they lack. 
 
 As I picture him now in a mental image, perhaps 
 my imagination makes him more beautiful than he 
 really was, or perhaps my memory is kind to me, 
 and, forgetting all that would mar or blemish the 
 portrait, reproduces only that which pleases. I sup- 
 pose no one else thought him very different from 
 other boys; yet when I picture him among other boys 
 my memory always draws a halo about him, and the 
 halo is brighter during that midsummer period than 
 at any other time. 
 
 69 
 
70 OUR BOY 
 
 We were all very happy during that time; but 
 unless you have been the parent of such a boy and 
 lived in intimate fellowship with him, understand- 
 ing, appreciating, loving him, and being understood, 
 appreciated, and loved by him in return you cannot 
 know how happy we really were. He was the sun- 
 shine of our home; and we gave that sun every oppor- 
 tunity to shine in all its brightness. 
 
 The restlessness of infancy and the almost ceaseless 
 activity of earlier childhood had developed into an 
 energy which seemed tireless. It was intense and 
 purposeful, always exerted for some definite object. 
 No amount of toil was too hard or too tiresome if it 
 promised desired results. In fact, much of his play 
 was real work. The building of the hut in our yard; 
 the damming of the brook across the field for a swim- 
 ming-pool; the clearing and care of his baseball 
 field all entailed a large amount of real labor. 
 
 There was a new stick-to-it-iveness in him. In- 
 deed, I used to marvel very often at his patience and 
 perseverance when I watched him work for days on 
 something which would finally give him but a few 
 hours' enjoyment. Often he did not use a thing even 
 as long as the time required to make it, for when he 
 could no longer expend energy upon it it seemed to 
 lose its attraction. There appeared to be as much 
 enjoyment in the preparation for play as there was 
 in the actual play itself. 
 
 I do not mean that he cared less for play than be- 
 fore; on the contrary, I think his fun-loving nature 
 
FROM NINE TO TWELVE 71 
 
 was at the height of its intensity and transformed the 
 things which I regarded as toil into play. Life for 
 him was one long playday, with few cares and little 
 real consideration for others. 
 
 He made a noise without caring about whom it 
 might annoy; he tramped dirt into the house without 
 thinking of the extra work it caused mother; he 
 soiled and tore his clothing without counting the 
 cost. I can still remember how often I started at the 
 sudden banging of a door, or how the peacefulness of 
 a quiet house was changed to bedlam when he and 
 his friends came trooping in from school. I can still 
 see the mud tramped on freshly swept carpet, and 
 recall the old shoes I wore that he might have new 
 ones. But these things cast no shadows on my 
 recollection of him, for they only show that he was a 
 real boy. 
 
 An insatiable hunger for fun seemed to be the pro- 
 pelling force of his life, lying behind all his boyish 
 pranks. The tricks and capers which most annoyed 
 our neighbors were prompted by his fun-loving na- 
 ture. Of course, it was "good sport" to startle or 
 surprise or outwit older folks, and to do it over and 
 over again if they got cross about it. 
 
 Whenever a neighbor stopped me on the street 
 and began to apologize for an unpleasant task he had 
 to perform, I usually interrupted the apology by 
 inquiring, 
 
 ' ' What has he been doing now?" 
 
 Or, when the mother, with some hesitancy, said, 
 
72 OUR BOY 
 
 "Mrs. Simpson was here to-day/' I knew the little 
 rascal had been at another trick. 
 
 I smile now as I recall how hard I tried to be a good 
 neighbor that I might create some sentiment in his 
 favor. 
 
 I did not quarrel with my boy because he obeyed a 
 law of his nature; for all the time I had a vision of a 
 man courageous enough to withstand evil, shrewd 
 enough to outwit the enemies of good, humorous 
 enough to remain sweet amid the trials and disap- 
 pointments of life. 
 
 I did try to direct his pleasure-hunting instinct into 
 right channels; and to do that I needed to under- 
 stand his fun-loving nature and enter into his frolics. 
 It was hard sometimes when I was tired, but it had 
 its reward. There was nothing like a hard chase in 
 some running game to limber up my stiffening limbs, 
 and nothing quite so good as a fast game of ball to 
 drive dull care away. 
 
 Besides, it was in the games that I found my best 
 opportunities to teach many valuable lessons in 
 honesty, square-dealing, and justice. Deep down 
 in my boy's fun-loving nature I discovered a door 
 which opened into his very soul, and, having entered 
 through that door, I found myself enshrined in that 
 soul. How boastful he was of a father who could 
 beat his boy friends in their games! 
 
 His energy was also apparent in his spiritual de- 
 velopment; and religion during this time was some- 
 thing to do rather than something to feel. His 
 
FROM NINE TO TWELVE 73 
 
 early love for the God who had done so much for him 
 now deepened and prompted a return of more loyal 
 service. I know that his spiritual vision was narrow 
 and that he comprehended little of what the adult 
 means by spiritual life, but the old Bible characters 
 had become his heroes, while Christ was very real and 
 he longed to use his energy for the Master. 
 
 He did not care to speak much of his personal ex- 
 perience, yet there were times when he hesitatingly 
 asked some question about Christ's service that indi- 
 cated the thoughts he entertained. We encouraged 
 acts of Christian service as much as possible, believ- 
 ing that such service must precede the experience and 
 would in a measure produce it; while the experience, 
 when once felt and understood, would find better ex- 
 pression because the habit of service had been already 
 formed. 
 
 The social instinct, which developed rapidly dur- 
 ing this time, made companions of his own age and 
 sex more necessary than ever. I never knew any 
 other creature quite so democratic as he. Boys of 
 any nationality, color, degree of cleanliness, or stand- 
 ard of morality might belong to his gang if they lived 
 on his street or in his section. He did not merely 
 tolerate them either, but almost literally took them 
 into his arms. They were his equals in everything, 
 except perhaps in some boasted physical feat in which 
 he excelled. x 
 
 His clubs preserved their organization longer than 
 in the preceding period. The baseball team was a 
 
74 OUR BOY 
 
 real nine and lasted throughout the season. His 
 street gang was wonderfully organized, with leaders 
 and all kinds of emergency signals, and was always 
 ready to do battle with the boys of another street. 
 
 As our home had been the rendezvous of his friends 
 in the preceding years, it naturally became the head- 
 quarters of his organizations. To be sure, the cabin 
 the boys built in the yard was an unsightly affair, but 
 being so near I knew what kind of reading-matter 
 went into it, and what sort of stories were told there. 
 The cabin would pass with the next change in life, 
 but the influence of those books and stories would 
 remain forever, so we thought it better to have our 
 lawn disfigured than to have our boy harmed. Of 
 all the tokens of esteem and approval I have re- 
 ceived during a life-time, I prize most the tribute 
 those boys paid me when they admitted me to that 
 cabin as one of them. 
 
 When I read nowadays about the conscience of a 
 corporation I understand exactly what is meant, for 
 the collective conscience of a gang of boys was always 
 below that of the individual members. The crowd 
 would plan and do things no single boy would think 
 of doing nor dare to do. Of course, numbers made 
 them bolder, but there was also a tendency in the 
 gang to be meaner, more thoughtless, and cruel than 
 any individual boy belonging to it. Our problem was 
 how to lift that collective conscience to a higher plane, 
 and in solving that problem we found it necessary to 
 direct the activities of the boys, not openly or arbi- 
 
FROM NINE TO TWELVE 75 
 
 trarily, for that would have been resented, but in 
 so disguised a manner that the boys would always 
 think they were the real leaders. 
 
 Not only did this social instinct in our boy create 
 his gangs, clubs, and teams, but it also sought a boon 
 companion, one boy who above all others should 
 share his fun and enjoy his confidence. Anticipating 
 this natural tendency, his mother and I had been es- 
 pecially friendly with a neighbor's boy, Ralph Fer- 
 guson, and we rejoiced in the growing intimacy be- 
 tween Ralph and our own boy. They were together 
 constantly during the day and often during the night. 
 We usually had two boys at our table or none at all; 
 and often two frolicsome boys went to bed together 
 either at our house or at our neighbor's. We did 
 not become jealous when Charles called the Ferguson 
 house his second home, for Ralph regarded us as his 
 second father and mother. 
 
 Neither boy had any pleasure which the other did 
 not enjoy, nor got into any trouble which the other 
 did not share. Each was also wonderfully loyal, 
 even to the extent of silently enduring blame or pun- 
 ishment in order to shield the other; and, better still, 
 in honor they often preferred each other. Nature 
 was subduing the individualism which had made our 
 boy so self-centered in the previous years. In the 
 gang he was satisfied to lead or to follow in turn; on 
 the team he made sacrifice plays to advance some 
 other player; to Ralph he at times voluntarily offered 
 preferment. 
 
76 OUR BOY 
 
 The two boys quarreled occasionally, but, no 
 matter how well our boy might get along without the 
 friendship of other boys, he and Ralph never re- 
 mained long at enmity. 
 
 "Where is Ralph?" I would inquire when I had not 
 seen his jolly companion for a whole day. 
 
 "I don't know where he is," would be the indiffer- 
 ent answer. 
 
 I never pressed the question, and after our boy had 
 wandered aimlessly and listlessly about for a day or 
 two, Ralph would reappear at our table, and neither 
 of the boys would show any sign that their intimacy 
 had been interrupted, except that for a while they 
 were just a little more friendly than usual. 
 
 Through it all we could see how God by his natural 
 laws was preparing the boy for the day when he 
 should fill a man's place among men. 
 
 Charles grew constantly, yet at this time there was 
 not such rapid growth as during the period preceding; 
 and for this reason we were not so fearful that his 
 intense energy would lead to any activity which 
 would be physically injurious. On the contrary, we 
 at times purposely tired out his body. Whenever 
 his appetite appeared not so good as usual, or when 
 he showed indication of mental depression, melan- 
 choly, or unwholesome meditation, we sent him out 
 into the open air for some game or on an errand which 
 we knew would weary him. 
 
 For the same reason and also to satisfy his desire 
 for male companionship, he and I, and occasionally 
 
FROM NINE TO TWELVE 77 
 
 Ralph, took long tramps together through the 
 country. While the boy and I had always been real 
 comrades, I believe that at this time a better under- 
 standing existed between us, and that there was more 
 real fellowship in our intercourse than ever before. 
 We got very near to nature in those walks, but, better 
 still, we got very close to each other. 
 
 It was amusing at times to see him try to fathom 
 some of the problems of life, and to listen to him as he 
 seriously discussed them. He tried hard to be a man 
 and to think and talk as a man. But his reasoning 
 faculty had not yet reached the time of its most 
 rapid development, and many of his conclusions were 
 absurd and amusing. He did his best to get my 
 view-point, yet he would have me regard him as an 
 independent thinker, and sometimes tried to argue 
 a question with me. I never smiled at his crude reas- 
 oning, but listened quite seriously, while inwardly I 
 was shaking with laughter; and at times I even took 
 a wrong view of some question that he might have 
 the satisfaction of setting me right. 
 
 Proud? Ah, yes. I can see him now as he strut- 
 ted along at my side, head erect, cap pushed back, 
 and hands thrust deep into the jacket pockets. It 
 would have been difficult, however, to tell who was 
 the prouder, the boy of himself or the father of the 
 boy. 
 
 In demanding companions of his own sex there was 
 just a little indication that he regarded himself of 
 finer mettle than the girls whose society he shunned. 
 
78 OUR BOY 
 
 We made no attempt to disobey the law of his nature 
 by forcing him to associate with girls, yet we were 
 careful always to speak of them as his equals. In 
 the home I gave special heed to his mother's opinions, 
 and when the boy and I were together I spoke highly 
 of her ability, accomplishments, and personality. In 
 fact, I endeavored to exalt womanhood as much as 
 possible in order to develop in him a deep respect^for 
 the opposite sex, a respect which in later life would 
 not permit him to wrong one of that sex. 
 
 He was more independent and self-reliant than 
 ever before; and, while we did not force him to decide 
 between right and wrong in matters concerning which 
 he had not the necessary knowledge or experience to 
 make a wise decision, yet in the simpler questions of 
 daily conduct and occupation we allowed him to 
 use his own judgment. 
 
 With the coming of this new independence the 
 winsomeness of earlier years, which had been so dear 
 to us, disappeared. We missed his former impulsive 
 caress, the little arms which had encircled our necks 
 so tightly, and his big smacking kiss. He loved us as 
 much as ever, perhaps more than ever before, but his 
 love was not so demonstrative or impetuous. Neither 
 did he want us to caress him as in previous years. He 
 still seemed so small and so dear that it was hard not 
 to catch him in our arms as we had done in the past, 
 but if we attempted it he freed himself as quickly 
 as possible. He still cherished our esteem, however, 
 and I believe he liked me to place my hand affec- 
 
FROM NINE TO TWELVE 79 
 
 tionately upon his shoulder, although he gave no in- 
 dication of his appreciation. If it had not been that 
 I saw the love in his eyes and that I knew he sought 
 my company, while at times he sat very close to me 
 on the couch or porch bench, I might have thought 
 I was losing his affection. While that affection had 
 lost its old impulsiveness, there was to me something 
 very precious in his deeper love which was alto- 
 gether without pretense or affectation. 
 
 He was extremely frank. Indeed, the truth in 
 his blunt comments sometimes hurt. He did not 
 realize the sting that his words carried. Some of the 
 most just but at the same time most cutting criti- 
 cisms of my character and conduct fell unconsciously 
 from his lips. Not that he respected me any less, for 
 I knew he was still proud of me, but he spoke out 
 frankly and candidly whatever he thought. A 
 courtesy which disguised or hid the whole truth was 
 foreign to his nature. He never pretended and he 
 hated pretense in others. He was not yet ingenious 
 enough to meet every situation with the tact and 
 skill of an adult accustomed to the usages of polite 
 society, and he despised a polite falsehood. We 
 tried to show him that a kind reticence on subjects 
 which might cause pain was not deception. 
 
 The same frankness was apparent in his judgment 
 of every one and his discussion of every subject. He 
 either liked people very much or disliked them 
 thoroughly. A good man of his acquaintance did 
 not have a few faults or a bad man a few good quali- 
 
80 OUR BOY 
 
 ties; a man was either altogether good or entirely 
 bad, and he seldom hesitated to indicate the classi- 
 fication he had made. 
 
 While his imagination was more creative than in 
 earlier years, since it had more mental images with 
 which to build, yet in his general conduct toward 
 other people he was more literal and matter-of-fact 
 than ever before. He demanded the real facts of 
 every subject; he insisted upon the whole truth; he 
 wanted to get to the bottom of every question and 
 hated evasions of every kind. 
 
 Growing independence and unabashed candor 
 prompted him to speak out plainly on every topic, 
 even on those things which most intimately concerned 
 his own existence. There was no prudish modesty 
 about him, but, on the contrary, he spoke without 
 hesitancy or blush of the most delicate things con- 
 cerning his physical life. I never allowed the dis- 
 cussion of these subjects to become base or vulgar, 
 but I encouraged the mentioning of them between 
 ourselves, knowing, as I did, the importance of hold- 
 ing his confidence in such matters until the next 
 period of his life. 
 
 He had a strange inclination toward anything 
 which distinguished him or in any way marked him 
 as different from other boys. I remember his first 
 baseball suit and how difficult it was to prevent his 
 donning it simply to parade through the streets. He 
 had also much the same pride in a small Sunday- 
 school pin presented to him for regular attendance. 
 
FROM NINE TO TWELVE 81 
 
 The pin, of course, had an additional value since he 
 had won and deserved it. 
 
 The desire to attract attention and the old yearn- 
 ing to win approbation, which had been strong all his 
 life, were more apparent at this time, but they did not 
 reach the height of their compelling power until the 
 next period. 
 
 In his school studies he had come to a point where 
 he could read without laboriously picking out the 
 letters and words, and the story-books opened an 
 entirely new world which so fascinated him that the 
 years just before and after twelve marked the great 
 reading period of his life. He devoured books. The 
 myths and fairy tales of infancy no longer satisfied 
 him; he demanded stories of adventure and daring. 
 
 Mercenary publishers were ready to supply the 
 demands of his nature with their dare-devil yarns 
 misrepresenting life and fostering wrong ideals and 
 motives; so that it was necessary for us to be con- 
 stantly on guard as to his reading-matter. We never 
 said, "You shall not read this;" but we gave him such 
 attractive accounts of what we ourselves had read in 
 desirable books that we kept him busy reading such 
 books to find these things for himself. Many of my 
 trade journals remained unopened that I might keep 
 up with or just a little ahead of my boy's reading. 
 
 To develop his ability in expression I often had 
 him repeat whole stories, and, of course, it was neces- 
 sary to be a sympathetic listener. More than one 
 person whom we met on our walks turned to watch 
 
82 OUR BOY 
 
 the little chap as he glowingly and at times realistic- 
 ally recited some adventure, while the man who 
 walked beside him listened, all attention, until the 
 hero was out of danger. 
 
 This habit of discussing together what he had read 
 also prevented superficial habits of reading. He 
 could not skim through a book or skip pages to reach 
 the more exciting parts, for I was sure to inquire 
 about the very things he missed. By this method we 
 also strengthened his power of attention and devel- 
 oped his memory. 
 
 His heroes had up to this time been men of his own 
 world or of the stories we told him, but his reading 
 now opened up a new and long list of wonderful char- 
 acters, so that with the reading age came also the 
 time of real hero-worship. No mere admiration was 
 it, but genuine, whole-souled worship. He bent low 
 before his hero; his entire being revered his great 
 man. 
 
 His hero was without flaw, for he did not distin- 
 guish between the good and the bad in a single life, 
 and for him one brave act or one kind deed effectually 
 covered a multitude of sins. When I attempted to 
 point out an undesirable trait in a character he ad- 
 mired, he quickly reminded me of some daring feat or 
 some noble deed the man had performed. 
 
 The physical element appealed to him most. He 
 admired fighters more than workers; the lowest des- 
 perado more than the noblest philanthropist. The 
 actual deeds impressed him more than the motives 
 
FROM NINE TO TWELVE 83 
 
 behind them. A brave act condoned a wicked mo- 
 tive; a happy result pardoned wrong methods. 
 
 Naturally, he selected men as his heroes; but, that 
 we might deepen his respect for women, we did not 
 allow him to forget that the history of the world 
 presented noble women as well as brave men. No 
 matter how courageous the women were, however, 
 or what difficult feats they accomplished, they never 
 became his ideals. He gave them credit for their 
 bravery, honored them to some extent because of 
 their accomplishments, but never considered them a 
 pattern to be copied. 
 
 The selection of his heroes was influenced by suc- 
 cessful achievement. The man who tried and failed, 
 even though he exhibited more courage and real 
 ability, was never so great as the successful one. 
 With him achievement was always indicative of a 
 heroic worker and praiseworthy methods; while 
 failure was due to poor work or faulty methods. 
 He could not see the heroic in a struggle that did not 
 succeed. Ever dreaming of success himself, he 
 copied only the successful. 
 
 Both the real danger and the highest possibility 
 of this hero-worshiping instinct lay in the fact that 
 the ideal life which he set up to copy was a composite 
 of the lives he admired. He endeavored to feel and 
 exhibit some of the generosity, bravery, daring, 
 determination he found in his favorite characters; 
 yet even the ideals which he was acquiring from his 
 hero-worship were not yet strong enough to remain 
 
84 OUR BOY 
 
 controlling factors for any length of time, unassisted 
 by other motives. 
 
 Motives for right action were imperative during 
 these years, for it was the great habit-forming age of 
 his life. The impressionable brain-cells recorded 
 each act and made its repetition more easy and 
 natural. He was acquiring the habits which would 
 remain with him through life. 
 
 Still self-centered to a large extent, he asked 
 that every act bring him some personal advantage, 
 gratification, or pleasure; and we were still careful 
 that all right conduct should produce pleasant 
 results. 
 
 While we always offered the highest motive that 
 would be effective, we never hesitated to present 
 what to the adult should be a low motive. We 
 purchased right conduct. Personal gain was always 
 a strong inducement, though we frequently resorted 
 to the fear of punishment. 
 
 Later periods of life brought the ability to furnish 
 higher motives from within himself, but at this time 
 the motives needed to come from without, and right 
 conduct, prompted by the highest effective motive, 
 was imperative. 
 
 While we made correct conduct as pleasant as 
 possible, we did not altogether excuse him from the 
 unpleasant task; but usually he learned to enjoy 
 what he had at first thought was disagreeable. 
 Many acts were hard and irksome because he did not 
 know how to do them, and we insisted upon the per- 
 
FROM NINE TO TWELVE 85 
 
 formance of such acts until repetition made them 
 easy and natural. 
 
 The law of habit applied to his emotions as well as 
 to his acts. Moods were being acquired during these 
 years which would not be easily shaken off. As an 
 act often made possible a higher emotion, so the 
 physical expression of an emotion helped to create a 
 mood. Laughing made him cheerful, while growling 
 strengthened a grouch. So closely associated was the 
 emotion with its physical expression that I often 
 wondered, as I studied him, whether happiness made 
 him laugh or laughing made him happy. The two 
 were inseparable. 
 
 So when we would train an emotion or develop a 
 mood we asked that he practice its physical expres- 
 sion. To keep him as affectionate as possible, we en- 
 couraged the caress; that he might revere holy things, 
 we showed him the forms of reverence; that he might 
 be courteous, we taught him the rules of politeness; 
 to develop charity, we showed him the kindly act. 
 
 It was discouraging at times, for he seldom did 
 quite so well as he knew how to do; and many coun- 
 cils did his mother and I hold when we became dis- 
 heartened because results did not appear so quickly 
 as we desired. I think we were a little impatient, 
 not willing to allow God's natural laws to work out in 
 their own way; while at times I fear we expected too 
 much of the boy. He was still only a child, ever 
 struggling upward in his blind, groping manner, but 
 as yet far removed from the matured man. 
 
86 OUR BOY 
 
 In that reading and habit-forming age came also 
 the great memory period. Everything which came 
 into the field of his attention made a lasting impres- 
 sion. He committed long poems and Biblical selec- 
 tions with but little effort. Nor were we so careful 
 not to cram the memory or to tax it with the things 
 which he could not fully comprehend or for which he 
 had no immediate use. In fact, it seemed impossible 
 to overtax that memory. 
 
 In his school-work at this time he began the serious 
 study of history and geography, and he found little 
 difficulty in remembering dates and locations. We 
 also urged him to commit many gems of poetry and 
 choice passages from the Bible, believing that a mem- 
 ory stored with such things would prove a storehouse 
 of priceless treasures from which he might draw in 
 later years. 
 
 I remember a game which we played many times as 
 we walked together, and which we called "capping 
 quotations." One of us would begin with a short 
 quotation from some standard author, and the other 
 would follow with another extract, the first letter of 
 which must be the same as the last of the preced- 
 ing quotation. Whichever misquoted a selection or 
 did not respond promptly lost the game. Before 
 long we each had at our tongue's end a store of 
 quotations beginning with every letter of the 
 alphabet. 
 
 I am often reminded now of that game when I sit 
 in some crowded hall and hear that boy of mine in a 
 
FROM NINE TO TWELVE 87 
 
 public address freely draw from the best authors of 
 every age. For each of us there are clustered around 
 many of those old quotations sweet memories of the 
 years that have gone; yet I suppose they do not sug- 
 gest so much of the past to him as they do to me, for 
 his eye is still on the future and its possibilities. 
 
 The midsummer of childhood! What a happy, 
 care-free time it was for our boy, but what a momen- 
 tous time ! As he romped and played, living only in 
 that happy present, nature was rushing him on to 
 maturity and preparing him for the morrow of 
 which he took so little thought. 
 
 The blade was full-grown and the ear was rapidly 
 forming; soon would appear the corn. On my 
 father's farm I had through many a long, hot 
 day guided the cultivator in the corn-field; and 
 during that midsummer of my boy's life one word 
 cried out to me at every turn : Cultivate ! Cultivate ! ! 
 Cultivate!!! 
 
STEP FIVE: 
 FEOM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 
 
OUTLINE OF THE PERIOD 
 
 Period of adjustment change in physical nature, 
 causing moral and spiritual awakening. 
 
 Lack of poise and stability. 
 
 Tendency toward superlatives and exaggeration. 
 
 Hunger for stories full of life and adventure, with 
 leaning toward the sentimental. 
 
 Second period of rapid physical growth, producing 
 languor and indolence. 
 
 With reaction comes restless desire for change and 
 motion. 
 
 " Running away." 
 
 Delight in outdoor exercise and sports. 
 
 Desire to sacrifice self for others. 
 
 Habits becoming permanent. 
 
 Greater pride in personal appearance. 
 
 Very awkward and self-conscious. 
 
 Dislike for girls' society less marked. 
 
 Awakening of sex instinct leads to increased confidence 
 in parents. 
 
 Spiritual development: 
 Religious feeling awakens. 
 New Testament replaces the Old in interest. 
 Appreciation of the sacrificial spirit of Christ. 
 
 90 
 
STEP FIVE: FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 
 
 THE road which our boy traveled during the first 
 twelve years of his life ascended so gradually 
 that at times the rise was scarcely perceptible, while 
 its few rough places were easily passed with a little 
 help and encouragement. But when the twelfth mile- 
 stone was reached, the ascent became more abrupt 
 and steep, while the path had many rough and stony 
 places, and dangerous fissures opened on either side. 
 
 "Steady, now," were the words which sprang to 
 my lips repeatedly, yet I dared not often utter them 
 lest the warning should startle or discourage him. 
 There were times when I could but silently watch and 
 pray as I saw him approach some hazardous place in 
 that road, some significant crisis in his life. 
 
 The rapid development of new physical organs, 
 the arousing of new emotions, created new ideals 
 and aspirations and caused a moral and spiritual 
 awakening that was much like an upheaval. To 
 adjust what was new within him to the old conditions 
 was as difficult a task as would have confronted him 
 had he suddenly been borne to some clime whose 
 environment was altogether different from that of his 
 native realm. 
 
 At times I would gladly have taken him in my 
 arms to carry him over some rough place, but I could 
 not. He was compelled to travel that stony way and 
 
 91 
 
^2 OUR BOY 
 
 face its dangers himself. We might occasionally lend 
 a helping, guiding hand, or speak an encouraging, 
 counseling word, but he himself must put forth the 
 effort by which he rose. 
 
 The struggle within him between his old self- 
 centered, small, narrow interests and the newer un- 
 selfish, big, world-wide interests which were endeav- 
 oring to assert themselves, became a real battle. 
 Between the great forces of selfishness and unselfish- 
 ness he was tossed like a shuttlecock. There seemed 
 to be no middle, neutral ground for him. 
 
 There was a lack of poise and stability about him. 
 He did not understand himself nor know his own 
 mind. One minute I watched with pride as he per- 
 formed some self-sacrificing act; the next I blushed 
 with shame at some meanness in him. 
 
 We never knew just what to expect; he was a 
 bunch of contradictions. One day he would pour 
 out his whole heart and soul to us; the next he was 
 silent as a sphinx. At one time he eagerly sought 
 expression for every emotion he felt; at another, he 
 was the severest stoic that ever lived. 
 
 Ah, there was no understanding him. The best 
 we could do was to watch and study him; being ever 
 ready to meet his changing moods, ever ready to 
 help when help would be accepted, prompt with 
 advice when advice would be appreciated. 
 
 He was emotional, easily excited, and when 
 aroused was stirred to the depth of his being. If he 
 hated, he despised with all the animosity of his 
 
FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 93 
 
 nature; if he loved, he poured out his whole soul in 
 affection; if he fought, it was with the fierceness of 
 an animal; if he reached a helping hand, he exerted 
 all the strength of his body. 
 
 He spoke in superlatives, and it seemed impossible 
 for him to get any accurate idea of relative values, 
 for he exalted unimportant things and underrated 
 things of real worth. He wearied us with his gross 
 exaggerations or his complete lack of appreciation. 
 At times it was quite amusing to hear him use 
 extreme terms in describing ordinary things, and we 
 wondered where he would find adequate adjectives 
 when he wished to speak of things really high and im- 
 portant. He always succeeded, however, to his own 
 satisfaction at least, even though he was compelled 
 to crowd a double superlative into a sentence. 
 
 Slang composed a large part of his speech, not 
 vulgar, but meaningless slang, some word or phrase 
 which he had heard and which he thought added 
 strength or manliness to his conversation. He in- 
 troduced a new language of the street into our home, 
 and many times I was both grieved and disgusted by 
 some pert remark he made. Where he learned it all 
 puzzled us. How it secured such a hold upon him, 
 when through all his life we had been so careful of our 
 speech, surprised us. 
 
 He was either loud and positive in his speech or 
 perfectly silent. When he did talk we could hear 
 him all over the house; when he made an assertion it 
 was with all the positive arrogance of a demagogue. 
 
94 OUR BOY 
 
 Was it not well that in this period of extremes, of 
 instability, of adjustment, he was more susceptible to 
 influence than ever before in his life? Rebuke was 
 of little avail, advice was not always accepted, cor- 
 rection in the presence of others so embarrassed him 
 that it frequently drove him into open rebellion; but 
 personal influence touched his life and left a lasting 
 impression. 
 
 Never before did I realize the secret influence of my 
 own life as I did at this time. He had imitated me 
 since infancy, and as he grew older he even tried to 
 experience my emotions and to think as I did; but 
 at this later period he studied me as never before. 
 Frequently he would sit and watch me as if he sought 
 in me something he did not possess; or as if he yearned 
 to discover what made the difference between him, 
 a boy, and me, a man, that he might take to himself 
 the things which made for manliness. Never did I 
 feel in the presence of any one else that the inner- 
 most recesses of my soul were being so thoroughly 
 examined. 
 
 The old hero-worshiping instinct was still strong 
 within him, and there had as yet been no disillusion- 
 ment to destroy the perfection of his great men. He 
 made no attempt to explain or to account for his 
 heroic characters as do adults. They accomplished 
 wonderful things because they were themselves great, 
 and what they were and did he might aspire to. 
 The influence of their lives did more to steady and 
 strengthen him than any precept we offered. 
 
FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 95 
 
 His old hunger for reading continued with all its 
 former intensity. He was even more insistent that 
 his fiction be full of life. Goody-goody books, as he 
 called them, had no attraction; but one which teemed 
 with thrilling adventure fascinated him, for the phys- 
 ical element still predominated in his ideal life. 
 There was also some tendency toward the morbid, 
 the fantastic, the sentimental in literature, so that 
 it became increasingly important to carefully guard 
 his reading-matter. 
 
 The carelessness of other parents made the task 
 more difficult, for books were passed from boy to boy 
 in the neighborhood, and it was hard to prevent our 
 boy from reading some undesirable book which an- 
 other had lent him after glowingly describing its 
 contents. To positively forbid the reading of such 
 a book only increased his desire for it and drove him 
 toward secrecy and deception. 
 
 When he was fourteen years old he had a second 
 period of accelerated growth which made great de- 
 mands upon his strength. The rapid growth of the 
 earlier period had threatened his health by robbing 
 it of its share of vitality, but the accelerated growth 
 of the fourteenth year decreased his activity and 
 impaired his moral control. 
 
 He was for the time listless and lazy. School-work 
 was harder than ever before. Often he went to sleep 
 at night over his lessons. He had not sufficient will- 
 power to shake off the languor. Even the knowledge 
 that his schoolmates were outranking him, and that 
 
96 OUR BOY 
 
 he was slowly slipping from the head toward the foot 
 of his classes did not urge him to greater effort. 
 
 We did not scold him for his indolence, although it 
 was provoking sometimes to see such a big boy wan- 
 dering about so listlessly. We knew, however, that 
 when growth returned to its normal rate, his vitality 
 would naturally flow back into the other channels 
 once more. 
 
 It did with surprising rapidity; for no sooner had 
 he stopped growing so rapidly than he became ex- 
 ceedingly restless. He was in almost perpetual 
 motion again and demanded constant change. It 
 seemed impossible for him to content himself with the 
 things he should be doing; he longed to undertake 
 tasks far beyond his strength and ability. 
 
 I shall never forget how silent he was one night at 
 the dinner-table, while I wondered what wild scheme 
 he was turning over in his head. It came out when 
 dinner was over. 
 
 "Father," he said, "may I stop school?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "To go to work." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Down in Simpson's factory." 
 
 I was more astonished at his choice of employment 
 than surprised at his desire for it. 
 
 "Why do you want to work at Simpson's?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Jim Sullivan works there and gets three dollars a 
 week." 
 
FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 97 
 
 "But perhaps they would not employ you," I 
 said, hoping for a way of escape. 
 
 "Oh, yes, they will," he quickly answered. "I 
 was down there to-day and they told me to come to 
 work to-morrow morning." 
 
 Behind the request to stop school I saw a deter- 
 mination to work whether he had my permission or 
 not, and I was face to face with the most serious 
 problem his life had yet presented. Its difficulty 
 was increased by the fact that the desire to work 
 was a natural result of the restlessness within him. 
 
 I spoke earnestly about the value of an education; 
 I pictured the things he might accomplish as an 
 educated man; I showed him the opportunities he 
 would surely miss by leaving school, but I made 
 little impression, for all the time a voice within him 
 cried for change, while down in Simpson's factory was 
 a machine he longed to get his hands on. 
 
 I ended by insisting that he go to school the follow- 
 ing day, while in my heart I feared that he would dis- 
 obey me. My fears were well founded, for a little 
 after the noon-hour my wife called me on the tele- 
 phone to say that Charles had not been home for 
 lunch, and that Ralph Ferguson told her he had not 
 been at school. 
 
 I spoke as cheerfully as I could with my own heart 
 so heavy. At her request I promised to inquire at 
 Simpson's, although I knew the uselessness of the 
 inquiry. Our boy had run away. 
 
 At dinner-time he had not returned; and while we 
 
98 OUR BOY 
 
 had little fear that any physical injury would befall 
 him, it was with troubled souls that we made a feeble 
 attempt to eat. 
 
 The evening dragged itself away until nearly bed- 
 time before we heard the shed-door quietly open and 
 footsteps stealthily climb the back stairs. My wife 
 looked at me; then, silently going to the kitchen 
 where the dinner had been kept warm, she arranged 
 a meal and carried it to our boy's room. 
 
 I never knew exactly what happened in that room, 
 but it was a very repentant boy who came down to 
 breakfast the following morning. The episode was 
 forgotten as quickly as possible. You see he could 
 not have helped it. The instinctive restlessness 
 within him was stronger than his undeveloped will, 
 and he simply obeyed the strongest force in his 
 nature. 
 
 He went back to school without a murmur or pro- 
 test, and we at once increased his weekly allowance of 
 pocket-money, asking that in return he perform some 
 of the household duties to which I had previously 
 attended. 
 
 When the period of accelerated growth was past he 
 returned to his outdoor exercise with a renewed vigor 
 which delighted us, for we knew that a strong, healthy 
 body was one sure safeguard against immorality. 
 The vitality consumed in bodily exercise could not 
 be used in impure thoughts or lustful acts. Be- 
 sides, we did not hesitate to impress upon him that a 
 strong body was conditioned on purity of life; and 
 
'We hejird the shed-door quietly open." P. 98. 
 
FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 99 
 
 we drew on his admiration of heroic characters to 
 strengthen the teaching. Everything toward which 
 he aspired demanded that he be both strong and 
 pure. 
 
 I could not take so active a part in his sports as I 
 had done previously, as age disqualified me; yet I 
 was careful that there was no abatement of my inter- 
 est in athletics. I watched over the training he 
 underwent, many times acting as a coach for his 
 teams, and so kept in close touch with what most 
 interested him; while by the same means I was able 
 to make suggestions regarding the personnel of his 
 clubs, and to some extent direct and control the 
 speech and conduct of the boys. 
 
 The altruistic emotions which developed so rapidly 
 during these years were the highest product of his 
 social instinct, since they prompted him to act for 
 the good of others, either alone or with other people. 
 He experienced at times an almost irresistible impulse 
 to sacrifice self. Why, the ambitious boy would 
 have offered himself as a missionary had we not 
 shown him that his youth made it impractical ! His 
 head was full of all kinds of schemes by which he 
 might endanger his life, injure his health, or risk his 
 reputation; not because he was daring or foolhardy, 
 but because there was within him an impulse to dis- 
 regard self in the service of others. 
 
 For the first time in his life it was now possible for 
 him to be really selfish. For fourteen years he had 
 put self first, because it was the law of his being. 
 
100 OUR BOY 
 
 During all those years he had been extremely self- 
 centered, yet not selfish, but with the awakening of 
 the altruistic instinct there came both the necessity 
 and the ability to choose between selfishness and 
 unselfishness. The conflict between the old law of 
 self first and the new self-sacrificing emotions was a 
 desperate one, and for about a year he was either 
 inordinately selfish or wonderfully self-sacrificing, so 
 that it was doubtful which force would ultimately 
 triumph. 
 
 Of course, we threw all our help on the side of the 
 ennobling emotion. We represented charity as the 
 greatest of virtues; we pointed out opportunities 
 for helpfulness; we praised every sacrifice he made. 
 With all our watchfulness, progress was rather slow 
 and discouraging; yet, as I look back upon that 
 period from this vantage-point, I realize that it was 
 not a bit slower than God intended it should be. 
 Gradually but surely the boy put away the things of 
 childhood and took on the characteristics of man- 
 hood. We were too close and too impatient to see 
 clearly the wonderful changes which were taking 
 place in him. 
 
 The habits and moods which began to form in the 
 preceding period now became stronger, and many of 
 the most invaluable which he retained throughout 
 life had already become permanent. His brain had 
 about reached the limit of its growth and held 
 tenaciously the tracings of habits. The hardening of 
 the brain cells in the years which immediately fol- 
 
FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 101 
 
 lowed made those tracings almost ineffaceable, and 
 what we had failed to accomplish in habit and mood 
 formation up to that time became daily more difficult 
 and in many instances impossible. 
 
 During these years we noticed a tendency to take 
 more pride in his personal appearance. The rumpled 
 hair was straightened out and plastered down with 
 much water and brushing; the mud disappeared from 
 the shoes; the clothes were brushed more frequently. 
 Needless to say, we rejoiced in these changes, for we 
 had always tried to train him in neatness, but with 
 rather discouraging results, and it was quite gratify- 
 ing to see him voluntarily and naturally do the very 
 things which before he had too often shirked, in spite 
 of our instruction. 
 
 The new personal consciousness which caused him 
 to take thought of his appearance also made him very 
 self-conscious. He imagined every one was watching 
 him and carefully observing each of his movements, 
 so that when in the presence of older people he was in 
 a constant state of embarrassment. Even though 
 they did not speak to him or notice him, his imagina- 
 tion pictured them as being critical of his every act 
 and word. 
 
 Add to this self-consciousness the fact that, since 
 the muscles were developing faster than the bones, 
 perfect control of muscular action was impossible, 
 and you have the reason for his awkwardness, which 
 caused him much annoyance and other folks much 
 merriment. In infancy, when he was learning to con- 
 
102 OUR BOY 
 
 trol his muscular action, there was a certain natural, 
 unconscious grace about his movements, but in these 
 later years he was just an overgrown, clumsy boy. 
 When there were strangers present he was likely to 
 make a mess of everything he undertook. If he 
 moved at table he often upset something, and when 
 he tried to right that, something else went over; if 
 he walked across a room he stumbled over table or 
 chair leg, or, meeting neither of these, he sometimes 
 actually fell over his own feet. 
 
 His feet and hands were a constant annoyance, for 
 he was painfully aware of them and never knew just 
 what to do with them or where to hide them. They 
 seemed to grow faster than any other part of his 
 body, and I suppose appeared fearfully large to him. 
 
 I often felt sorry for him, even when I was com- 
 pelled to laugh at his awkwardness. Of course, 
 laughter only increased his embarrassment and made 
 his clumsiness more noticeable; while the blush which 
 came to his face at such times often provoked still 
 more comment and laughter. Poor boy! What 
 trouble he did have with those unruly members of 
 his own body! 
 
 To make the matter worse, his desire for apprecia- 
 tion increased. He really wanted folks to approve 
 his conduct, and the realization that many of his 
 actions created ridicule rather than praise increased 
 his self-consciousness, until at times it was difficult 
 to get him to do anything at all in public. 
 
 His hunger for praise and appreciation had two 
 
FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 103 
 
 entirely opposite results. Either he feared to at- 
 tempt anything lest he do wrong and receive censure 
 instead of praise, or he attempted everything in order 
 to attract attention to himself. In turn, he was either 
 bashful and quiet or forward and boisterous. The 
 same boy who would not speak a word in a parlor 
 for fear some one would hear him, went shouting 
 through the streets to make people hear him. 
 
 Closely connected with his new personal conscious- 
 ness was his pride in the family's social position. He 
 wanted to know if my income was as large as that of 
 other boys' fathers; he wanted us to make as good an 
 appearance as other families; he wanted our house to 
 be furnished as well if not a little better than any 
 other in the community. Beneath this was that 
 canker, covetousness, which destroys more human 
 happiness than any other sin of the race. We tried 
 our best to teach him that inward worth and nobility 
 counted for more than outward appearance. Alas, 
 how often beauty to him was as she appeared and 
 not as she did! 
 
 There was also in him an increasing social appe- 
 tite, and companions daily became more necessary; 
 but he was less democratic and more careful in the 
 selection of his comrades. Not always, however, 
 did he choose true worth, for too often his stand- 
 ards were mercenary and superficial. The boy 
 with the most money and the best clothes attracted 
 him. There certainly seemed to be a strange 
 perversity in him which confused real values. 
 
104 OUR BOY 
 
 To guard him from undesirable companions be- 
 came more difficult as the danger of evil associates 
 increased. We could not keep him in the home so 
 much as we had previously; he was not a little sissy 
 chap who would remain tied to his mother's apron- 
 strings, but a real boy, with all a boy's natural de- 
 sires and energy. Fortunately he and Ralph Fer- 
 guson remained boon companions, and our personal 
 knowledge of Ralph and his home-training caused us 
 to regard him as a safe comrade. 
 
 The repugnance to the society of girls which he 
 had shown a few years earlier slowly disappeared. 
 While he did not actively seek their company, he 
 did not reject their proffered friendship with the 
 disgust of the previous period. He appeared to be 
 awakening to the fact that the opposite sex must 
 have a place in his life, but was undecided as to just 
 what place. I often saw both amusement and per- 
 plexity on his face as he watched a group of girls. 
 
 He was gradually becoming conscious of that sexual 
 impulse which in the next few years would develop 
 into the most powerful factor in his life, the instinct 
 from which would spring the highest or the lowest 
 emotions he could experience. We made no attempt 
 to hinder the awakening of this instinct, for we wished 
 him to know exactly what was taking place both in 
 his body and in his soul. 
 
 Every law of health and of morals required that 
 the functioning of the sexual organs should not take 
 place until long after this instinct had become strong, 
 
FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 105 
 
 and the duty before us was to teach him the proper 
 control of the instinct. Neither could we keep him 
 in ignorance of sex functions unless we prevented all 
 association with other boys and, sadder still, with 
 some men. 
 
 The developing of these new physical powers 
 which created new and strange appetites, and whose 
 functions he did not properly understand, puzzled 
 him. The best we could do was to explain candidly 
 the functions of the sexual organs, their influence 
 upon his health and manhood, and to be ever watch- 
 ful that he did not resort to any unnatural mode of 
 gratification. 
 
 How thankful I was that I had been able to retain 
 his confidence until that time! While he did not 
 speak so frankly about these things as in earlier 
 years, owing to the new personal consciousness, yet, 
 with only such hesitancy as revealed his apprecia- 
 tion of the delicacy of the matter, he came to me 
 with the mysterious problems of sex which were 
 vexing him. 
 
 I have read some of the books on sex hygiene pre- 
 pared for the instruction and guidance of the children 
 of this later generation; and while I must admire the 
 manner in which the subject is often presented, I 
 rejoice that few such books existed when my boy was 
 young. I fear they might have led me to shirk my 
 responsibility and offer as an excuse that the books 
 handled the subject much better than I could. I 
 suppose I made blunders; I know some of my ex- 
 
106 OUR BOY 
 
 planations were faulty and crude, but the boy and I 
 spoke heart to heart with each other. No book, 
 however ably written, could have come quite so close 
 to him as I did, nor led him to lay bare his thoughts 
 so frankly as he did to me. 
 
 A great hunger to know the secrets of life gnawed 
 in his soul. A natural hunger it was, created by the 
 proper development of physical organs at the right 
 time, and a hunger which I tried with all the tact, 
 candor, and intelligence I possessed to satisfy. I 
 knew full well that the insistence of every unan- 
 swered question, every unsatisfied quest for knowl- 
 edge would force him to search for information in less 
 desirable places. I wanted my boy for my very own 
 as much as I ever did, and to keep him I was com- 
 pelled to satisfy his hunger for knowledge of these 
 things. 
 
 Thank God that I did keep him. He was mine in 
 that uncertain, changeable period as he had never 
 been before. He sought me with greater confidence; 
 he looked up to me with more pride; he trusted me 
 with greater faith; he understood me better and 
 loved me more than in any preceding period of his 
 life all because I endeavored to satisfy the de- 
 mands of his nature. 
 
 His control of the sexual instinct created a large 
 amount of sexual energy which had much to do 
 with the spiritual awakening which came at this time. 
 I never perfectly understood the close relation exist- 
 ing between his sexual and religious instincts. Per- 
 
FROM TWELVE TO SIXTEEN 107 
 
 haps I never shall, for it may be one of the mysteries 
 of life which God has hidden. I could not doubt, 
 however, that there was a strange fellowship between 
 the two instincts. His real spiritual awakening came 
 at the time when he first took a conscious interest in 
 the opposite sex, and in later life he was always most 
 deeply religious when the sexual impulse was strong- 
 est; or vice versa, for it was often difficult to tell 
 which was cause and which effect. 
 
 He was about fourteen years old when he began to 
 realize that religion had something to do with the 
 emotions as well as with the activities; that faith 
 implied confidence as well as obedience; that God 
 was a Spirit, and that religion had a deeper signifi- 
 cance than he had ever before attached to it. The 
 New Testament usurped the place the Old Testament 
 stories had so long held in his interest. The abstract 
 truths of religion began to claim his attention and he 
 asked many puzzling questions. 
 
 Finally the day arrived, which above all others 
 I shall ever remember, when he came to me, with a lit- 
 tle hesitation and some stammering, to declare that 
 he wished to be a Christian. With a glad heart I 
 held out my hand to him, for I recognized in religion 
 the greatest force in the world to keep him pure and 
 noble. 
 
 A Christian? Why, he had begun to love God al- 
 most as soon as he had loved us; his confidence in 
 God's care was often stronger than ours; he had long 
 endeavored to please the God who did so much for 
 
108 OUR BOY 
 
 him. A Christian? Many times I had wished I 
 were half as trustful and consistent a one as he. 
 
 But at the moment he came to me I recognized a 
 changing-point in his life. I could not tell him that 
 he had always been what he then desired to be, for 
 he wanted a new experience; neither could I urge a 
 repentance for sins of which he had never been con- 
 scious. I could only direct him in a more complete 
 surrender of himself to the Infinite Father and the 
 Loving Saviour. Conversion for him was a volun- 
 tary and definite giving up of himself at the time 
 when his soul passed from a vague to a distinct con- 
 sciousness of God's claim upon him and of Christ's 
 sacrifice for him. 
 
 So came and went the years of early adolescence, 
 years which in their coming brought to us a new 
 lad and in their going left behind a still different one. 
 The years of absorption were about over; those of 
 adjustment had come. 
 
STEP SIX: 
 FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD 
 
 109 
 
OUTLINE OF THE PERIOD 
 
 Physical changes of early manhood. 
 Rapid development of mind and soul. 
 Conduct marked by deepening interest in others. 
 A genuine " ladies 9 man." His first sweetheart. 
 
 Inner life: 
 
 Religious devotion deepens his love for nature and 
 
 art. 
 
 To do right becomes a matter of inner conviction. 
 Interest in mythology and other religions strengthens 
 faith in Christianity. 
 
 Hero-worship not alone admiration for hero, but respect 
 for principles he represents. 
 
 Reasoning faculty strengthens. 
 
 Period of doubt leading to real faith. 
 
 Will a dominant force. 
 
 Ardent enthusiasm and over-confidence. 
 
 Choice of life-vocation. 
 
 College days. 
 
 Marriage. 
 
 " Like father, like son." 
 
 no 
 
STEP SIX: FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD 
 
 IN the early twilight of a spring day I was hurrying 
 home from the office when I saw my wife and boy 
 walking leisurely up the street a few yards ahead of 
 me. She had slipped her arm through his and was 
 leaning ever so gently upon him. Time had been 
 kind to her and her step retained much of its early 
 buoyancy, yet he was compelled to shorten his stride 
 to keep pace with her. He had outgrown her in 
 height, and her face was turned up toward his and his 
 down toward hers. Perhaps you may have seen 
 lovers strolling that self-same way. 
 
 I had been walking quite rapidly, but at sight of 
 them I slackened my pace that I might not overtake 
 them too quickly, for I enjoyed watching them to- 
 gether while they thought themselves unobserved. 
 She was so proud of her big boy, and he so thoughtful 
 of his gentle mother! 
 
 Something in the boy's bearing that day arrested 
 my attention and awakened in me a strange, inde- 
 finable sense of loss. I had a vague notion that 
 something I valued had gone out of my life, and it 
 was some minutes before I could understand the 
 sensation. 
 
 Just sixteen years before I had been startled to 
 find an infant when I had expected a man-child; 
 this day I was surprised to find a man in one 
 
 ill 
 
112 OUR BOY 
 
 whom I had so long regarded as a child. Infancy, 
 babyhood, childhood, boyhood had come and gone. 
 My sixth boy had come a youth. 
 
 I noticed with a thrill of pride the respect shown 
 my wife and boy by every acquaintance they met. 
 I even saw some turn and take a second look at 
 mother and son before they saw me following. Why 
 shouldn't I be proud of them? I felt a sense of 
 possession, an ownership of which no man could 
 despoil me. 
 
 I quickened my step and overtook them. The 
 mother slipped her other arm through mine, and 
 there was nothing lacking in the greeting of either; 
 yet that feeling of irreparable loss clung to and sad- 
 dened me. It had always been so. Each changing 
 period in my boy's life found me striving to keep the 
 old and force back the new; yet each change in him 
 had brought a distinct advantage which overshad- 
 owed the loss. My regret at this time was because 
 I did not yet realize the gain which this latest change 
 would bring; for who would keep a child when he 
 might have a man? 
 
 Yes, youth with all its new dangers and greater 
 possibilities had arrived; and, like all other things 
 which come by growth, it had come gradually and 
 silently, unobserved by me until this sudden awaken- 
 ing. I marvelled at my blindness, for all the signs of 
 middle adolescence had been before my eyes, clear 
 now that the eyes were open. 
 $ There were the broader shoulders which accom- 
 
FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD 113 
 
 pany the healthy development of the reproductive 
 organs; the strange hoarseness in his changing voice; 
 the firmer tread; the indication in every movement of 
 greater strength and better control of muscular ac- 
 tions. Little wonder that his mother instinctively 
 leaned upon him. 
 
 But greater than these physical changes was the 
 rapid development of the mind and soul. The al- 
 truistic feelings which had begun to assert themselves 
 in the preceding period were stronger in this, and 
 became a real compelling and controlling force. 
 There was a wider sympathy, a more rational charity 
 in his nature. 
 
 He had been polite to a certain extent before, be- 
 cause we had taught him the customs of society, but 
 formal politeness gave place to sincere courtesy as his 
 heart took its true place in the control of conduct. 
 He had learned the rules of etiquette and their prac- 
 tice had become a matter of habit with him, but now 
 there was a sincerity, a whole-heartedness which 
 impressed people and won their admiration. 
 
 The earlier impulse to make a blind sacrifice of 
 health or of life in service for others was not so strong, 
 but the desire to be of real practical use was greater. 
 The old longing for approbation and the fear that he 
 might not win it still produced some backwardness 
 in him, but the continued excess of physical energy 
 urged him to service. 
 
 I do not mean that he was an "angel." Far from 
 it. The conflict between the self-centered interests 
 
114 OUR BOY 
 
 of boyhood and the unselfish interests of maturity 
 had not yet been fought to a decisive issue. He 
 was still somewhat uncertain of himself, still con- 
 siderably puzzled by the new physical forces, mental 
 powers, and spiritual aspirations he felt within him, 
 and he made mistakes in interpreting and applying 
 these new forces. 
 
 Care of his personal appearance became almost a 
 mania with him. Mud upon his shoes or dust 
 upon his clothes irritated him. At times we feared 
 he would develop into a genuine "dude" whose 
 chief thought would be dress and personal adorn- 
 ment. 
 
 Beneath this fastidiousness lay a desire to attract 
 the attention of the opposite sex, and he sought the 
 society of girls as ardently as he had shunned it a 
 few years earlier. He was a real gallant and threat- 
 ened to become a genuine " ladies' man." 
 
 Such earnest seeking of their company soon dis- 
 covered one girl who, in his judgment, was more 
 attractive than any other, and she became his first 
 sweetheart. Being just as ardent a lover as the 
 young lady was exacting, he neglected everything 
 for her. A far-off, dreamy expression replaced his 
 hitherto animated one. Athletics and sports were 
 now attractive chiefly as they served to display his 
 skill or strength before her admiring eyes. Many boy 
 friends were neglected, for he sought the society only 
 of those boys who were participating in similar love- 
 affairs and had like experiences to relate. I have 
 
FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD 115 
 
 no doubt that many secret notes passed between him 
 and his sweetheart, and that they had their trysting- 
 places in order to make this first love-affair appear 
 more romantic. He was so terribly in earnest that 
 many times we wished we might deport all the girls 
 and this one in particular. It seemed impossible to 
 check the growing infatuation. Indifference on our 
 part accomplished nothing; ridicule and advice were 
 alike unavailing. 
 
 It did not last long, however, for the very intensity 
 of the infatuation was its undoing. It burned itself 
 out, but it left its mark upon our boy, for he was never 
 again quite the same as before. 
 
 Back on my father's farm, when the young bull 
 with head erect paced the pasture and bellowed his 
 first defiance to the neighbor's bull across the valley, 
 or when the stallion with flowing mane and tail 
 dashed across the meadow proud of his strength and 
 speed, my father always looked to the strength of his 
 fences, but invariably ended the examination by say- 
 ing, "It is no use; there is not a fence on the place 
 high enough to keep them in." 
 
 So we recognized the folly of attempting to erect 
 any fence between our boy and the girls. The only 
 rational course to pursue with this instinct was to 
 wisely and tactfully direct its control. 
 
 The intimate connection between the instincts of 
 sex and of religion, which we had first observed dur- 
 ing the preceding period, was still more noticeable in 
 this. Love-making appeared to have left him time 
 
116 OUR BOY 
 
 and ambition only for religious devotion and a pas- 
 sionate love of nature and of art. 
 
 For the first time in his life conviction became 
 strong enough to be a controlling motive, and he 
 espoused right because it was right. Heretofore it 
 had been necessary for us to furnish a motive for 
 right conduct, and frequently to use as that motive 
 some promise of personal gain or threat of personal 
 loss; but at this time we could usually expect him 
 to supply the motive and correctly decide between 
 right and wrong. In fact, we forced him to make 
 decisions; urged him to listen to the voice of con- 
 science, which we had taught him was really God 
 speaking, and left him to his own resources as much 
 as possible. 
 
 He exhibited a new and intense interest in myth- 
 ology, for he realized that myths were not simply 
 the fanciful tales he had previously thought them, 
 but the result of primitive man's attempt to deify 
 nature and nature's forces. He fairly crammed his 
 head with mythological lore. 
 
 From this deeper interest in mythology he gradu- 
 ally passed to a somewhat serious study of compara- 
 tive religion. No fanaticism was too absurd to in- 
 terest him. He imagined that the great task of dis- 
 covering the one true religion among the many in 
 which men have believed devolved upon him, and 
 that the whole world was breathlessly awaiting his 
 decision. The responsibility of finding the one true 
 religion for himself did rest upon him, and his study 
 
FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD 117 
 
 of pagan religions deepened and strengthened his 
 faith in Christianity. 
 
 His love of nature became a real passion, and he 
 saw God in the natural world and its laws as he had 
 never done before. There was much sentimentality 
 mixed with this love, but I found a real pleasure in 
 walking through the country with him. Where be- 
 fore I had pointed out the beauties of nature, he was 
 now able to show them to me. 
 
 He was now better able to discriminate between the 
 real and the unreal, the essential and the unessential 
 things of life; to see behind an act the motives which 
 prompted it; to compare, to consider, to judge more 
 accurately and justly. The old, blind hero-worship 
 which had regarded successful achievement as more 
 praiseworthy than right motive died out in him, or, 
 rather, was supplanted by a higher kind of worship 
 which looked behind the men he admired to the 
 causes they represented. He became more interested 
 in the causes of revolutions and of moral reforms than 
 in the men back of such movements. Physical powers 
 and physical endurance attracted him only when 
 they were exerted for righteous ends. Loyalty to a 
 principle, devotion to duty, won his respect and ad- 
 miration, even though that loyalty and devotion 
 resulted in failure. Strange as it may seem after his 
 earlier tendency to glorify success, I believe that in 
 these later years failure after noble and heroic effort 
 only increased his admiration. That tendency to 
 take the part of the under-dog, which appears only 
 
118 OUR BOY 
 
 in the human animal and seems a contradiction of 
 the brutality of nature, became strong in him. 
 
 A wise provision of nature delayed the rapid de- 
 velopment of the reasoning faculty until this period, 
 when broader interests, wider sympathies, and 
 more numerous conceptions made the results of his 
 reasoning more sure. Of course, he had done some 
 instinctive reasoning from the time he learned to 
 speak, since some generalizing and classifying was 
 necessary before he could understand the meaning 
 of words and apply them to various objects; but his 
 reasoning had been confined to the concrete objects 
 of his play and experiences, and not until he reached 
 this age was there any real abstract reasoning. 
 
 I fear the public-school methods actually delayed 
 the development of his reasoning faculty, although 
 we were assured that many of the studies in the 
 curriculum which were of no immediate or practical 
 use to him were intended for mental development. 
 The practical method of instinctive reasoning 
 prompted by his own acts and experiences, which 
 was so valuable in early childhood, was stifled when 
 the teacher demanded that he consciously exercise 
 a faculty over which he had little control. The 
 problems and truths presented had so little imme- 
 diate bearing upon his acts and experiences that the 
 solution or application which the teacher offered was 
 tacitly accepted by him without consideration. If 
 his arithmetic had offered problems which appealed 
 to his senses; if geography had begun with his en- 
 
FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD 119 
 
 vironment ; if history had started with events of his 
 own time; if science had first solved the practical 
 problems of his own life, his reasoning faculty would 
 have received more natural stimulation. 
 
 When he finally became conscious of the wondrous 
 faculty of real deductive reasoning, he hastened to 
 refer every matter to it, and anything he could not 
 reason out he refused to accept as true. What an 
 obstinate skeptic, doubter, infidel he became! 
 What strange arguments his undisciplined reasoning 
 faculty offered! Many of the conclusions to which 
 he tenaciously clung were absurd, and it was a real 
 problem sometimes to make him realize that 
 there were things of the heart and the soul which the 
 reason could not understand. 
 
 Even in this time of greatest doubt his faith in 
 God grew stronger; or, rather, the first real faith of 
 his experience replaced the more ready trust of 
 childhood with which he had accepted, without 
 serious question, anything we had offered him as true. 
 When he doubted, questioned, and refused to believe 
 without proof, he was laying the foundation of a faith 
 based upon personal and positive assurance. 
 
 During this time the will developed into a domi- 
 nant force. I remember a certain obstinacy of his 
 childhood which some folks named will-power, but 
 which we regarded as an indication of a complete 
 lack of such power, since the will was not strong 
 enough to control the impulses of the moment, which 
 made him stubborn in spite of himself. Throughout 
 
120 OUR BOY 
 
 this period of later adolescence the will developed 
 into a controlling force. A new determination crept 
 into his expression, a greater firmness into his man- 
 ner, revealing a stronger confidence in himself and 
 in his ability to make that self do as he desired. 
 
 He possessed an enthusiasm which refused to be 
 cooled and a courage which would not be daunted. 
 He dreamed of a future which should be full of 
 achievement, honor, and power. The failures of 
 other men had no influence upon him. He would 
 "rush in where angels feared to tread." 
 
 This enthusiasm and over-confidence in himself, 
 together with his lack of appreciation of the stern 
 problems of maturity, made the selection of a life- 
 vocation difficult. Back in his childhood days, be- 
 fore the advent of the trolley car, the position he 
 aspired to oftenest was that of horse-car driver, and 
 some of the ambitions of his late teens were just as 
 absurd. There was scarcely any life-work for which 
 he at some time or other did not feel a special fitness 
 and strong desire. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, the age of his greatest 
 uncertainty and indecision was also the time when he 
 scorned advice the most. How all-sufficient and 
 self-reliant he was! His repulses often hurt or an- 
 gered me. And yet I believe he actually yearned 
 for the counsel he openly scorned, but some fear that 
 the acceptance of advice might indicate lack of manly 
 independence led him indignantly to spurn it. 
 
 I was glad that I had kept in such personal touch 
 
FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD 121 
 
 with him and had followed his school-work so closely 
 that I might now be of real practical help to him in 
 this time of his special need, although the help I 
 offered had to be carefully disguised. While he was 
 longing to be a car-driver, his mother and I had se- 
 lected the ministry for a life-calling, but as he grew 
 older he developed certain characteristics which 
 forced us to give up our pet ambition. When the 
 time arrived to make the final decision we were con- 
 fident that he was best fitted for the legal profession. 
 
 This conclusion once reached, we undertook to 
 influence him toward it. We spoke of the need of 
 honest, justice-loving lawyers; we pointed out the 
 opportunities for unselfish public service which the 
 profession afforded, until one day he announced that 
 he would study for the law, and he thought that he 
 had made the decision alone. 
 
 It meant college. His mother and I could not help 
 a pang of pain as we thought about it, for it would 
 bring our first separation. The boy, however, looked 
 forward to college days with a pleasure and an im- 
 patience which almost hurt us. Oh, he was as kind 
 as a boy could be with a brilliant future ever in mind. 
 He promised to write regularly, to run home often, to 
 keep us ever in thought; but we knew only too well 
 that the day he went to college would mark a divid- 
 ing-place in our lives. 
 
 The day came at last. My pen loses its enthusi- 
 asm as I recall it. We were very cheerful as we bade 
 him good-by. Too cheerful, in fact, for it betrayed a 
 
122 OUR BOY 
 
 forced emotion. I remember the look on his mother's 
 face when, after re-entering the house, she replaced 
 a chair he had moved and re-arranged a pile of books 
 on the table which his coat had overthrown. How un- 
 natural the house seemed without him. Our interests 
 were transferred from the home town to the college. 
 
 He kept his promise to write often breezy, cheerful, 
 affectionate letters. The studies, together with the 
 social and athletic interests of school-life, kept him too 
 much occupied for many visits home. The vacation- 
 times were the bright periods of those years, but dur- 
 ing some of them he visited among his college chums. 
 
 We had no serious fear that he would indulge in 
 what most people call the " sowing of wild oats." 
 To us, indeed, such indiscretions seemed not a sowing 
 at all, but a reaping of seed sown during earlier years. 
 We believed that we knew the soil in which we had 
 planted, and felt sure the seed sown in it would 
 produce good grain. 
 
 We went down to the college on the gala days, and 
 were delighted with the respect and consideration he 
 showed us, while his popularity among both instruc- 
 tors and students made us happy. Ralph Ferguson, 
 who was studying for the ministry, was at the same 
 school and the two were still boon companions. 
 
 At the close of his college course he secured a fine 
 opening with a successful law firm in one of the large 
 cities. Our local paper announced that he had 
 "accepted" this desirable position, and we smiled as 
 we thought of how hard he had worked to obtain it. 
 
FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD 123 
 
 For the next two or three years our news of him 
 came chiefly through his letters, for, with the excep- 
 tion of short summer vacations, he was not often 
 home. Then our local paper, with neighborhood 
 pride, began to copy items about him from the city 
 papers. His name appeared as associate counsel in 
 more than one important case; he had entered poli- 
 tics and was taking an active part in the struggle for 
 civic righteousness. 
 
 A letter from him finally brought us face to face 
 with the question of his marriage, of which we had 
 many times thought and talked. 
 
 "To the Dearest and Best of Mothers: 
 
 " I am tired out and want to come home for a 
 rest. Do not worry over this, for I am as well as 
 ever. I am simply played out and the doctor 
 advises a short vacation. I know of no better 
 place to rest than in the old home with you and 
 father. 
 
 " I should like to bring with me a young lady 
 whose acquaintance I am sure you will both be 
 glad to make. She wants to see you very much, 
 but hesitates to come unless her mother comes also. 
 
 " The mother's name is Mrs. Helen Montgomery, 
 the daughter's name is Alice, and their home, where 
 they have made me very welcome, is at No. 519 
 Street. They are unaffected, home-loving people, 
 whom it will not be hard to entertain. Will you 
 ask them for the sake of 
 
 "Your Boy?" 
 
124 OUR BOY 
 
 It did not take long to recover enough from the 
 surprise to send a warm word of invitation, and soon 
 we had news of the day of their arrival. The interval 
 was a time of subdued but very real excitement. 
 The old house was turned inside out lest a speck of 
 dust might lurk in some corner. Certainly the 
 mother intended to impress upon the guests the kind 
 of housekeeping to which her son had been accus- 
 tomed. 
 
 When the day came I drove over to the station to 
 meet them and left behind a rather nervous wife. 
 The boy met me with outstretched hands. Some 
 changes had come to him, the changes which add 
 strength and manliness to youth. And Alice, well, 
 she was not at all the city beauty we had expected 
 and feared. As she came forward with just a 
 little hesitancy in her step and an anxious question 
 in her eyes, but with a pleasant smile on her lips and 
 an extended hand, I thought she was the most at- 
 tractive girl I had ever seen. Behind her was a sweet 
 and gentle lady, her mother. For some reason 
 Charles made Alice ride on the front seat with me, 
 and before we reached the house I had decided that 
 if the boy should marry her he would bring to us a 
 daughter who would add much to our happiness. 
 
 Mother met us at the door. Charles first, of 
 course, then Alice. For one second the two women 
 looked at each other, then the mother's arms went 
 around the girl and she had taken her to her heart. 
 
 The visit passed all too quickly. It was good to 
 
" Mother met us at the door." 
 
 P. 124. 
 
FROM SIXTEEN TO MANHOOD 125 
 
 have Charles with us again, and still better to have 
 Alice also. Somehow she made us feel that she was 
 not taking him from us, but that he was bringing her 
 to us. Perhaps it might have been different if we 
 had had a daughter, but having none of our own, she 
 seemed just what we desired in one. 
 
 I do not know how his mother managed it, but 
 when the time came for them all to return to the 
 city she persuaded Alice to remain. 
 
 On the morning of her mother's and Charles' 
 departure I was in the stable harnessing old Bess 
 to take them to the station when he came in and 
 said, "Will she do, father?" 
 
 " Well, she's pretty old for a horse, but I think she 
 will do for a few years longer," I replied, purposely 
 misunderstanding him. 
 
 He laughed in a rather embarrassed manner as he 
 said, "I meant Alice, not Bess." 
 
 " Alice is good enough for anything or anybody in 
 this world," I said, with enthusiasm. 
 
 If we liked her when Charles was with her, we 
 loved her when he was gone. She was by far the 
 dearest, purest, most wholesome and sensible girl I 
 ever knew, except his mother. 
 
 The next winter we went to the city for the wed- 
 ding, a quiet affair in the Montgomery home. 
 Charles and Alice made a home for themselves in one 
 of its residence suburbs, and now we have two homes 
 instead of one. When the old house gets lonely, we 
 run down to the city; and when we tire of the fuss 
 
126 OUR BOY 
 
 they make over us there, back we come to the quiet 
 of our own home, for even Charles and Alice cannot 
 make that elegant city house quite like home to us. 
 
 And now I am nearly done. Have I earned the 
 right to preach a little ? But, wait a minute ! There 
 is a quick, firm step coming down the hall, and ac- 
 companying it the pitter-patter of little feet. My 
 door is thrown open. A man stands there, and be- 
 side him a five-year-old boy whom I might mistake 
 for my own come back again, were it not that this 
 child seems just a little stronger and sturdier, and 
 did I not know that the years which have gone can- 
 not return. 
 
 The man speaks. " Charles and I are waiting to 
 take a walk with you, father." 
 
 And the youngster adds, "Yes, hurry, grandpa!" 
 
 Hurry! These children are always in such a 
 hurry; but then childhood is so short a time for the 
 acquisition of all that will be needed in maturity! 
 
 They are impatient and will allow me time for only 
 the text of my sermon : " Whatsoever a man soweth, 
 that shall he also reap." 
 
 That noble man standing there in the doorway, 
 with the next generation beside him, proves it. 
 
*** 
 
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