Some parents take long trips themselves while their children are with us. Other parents plan to come as a surprise.
When they drive or auto in the first feeling that most mothers have is amazement at the undressed condition of their offspring. As quickly as they can get out of carriage or automobile they hasten to button up the shirt, if the boy has one on, or to plead with him to put one on if his is off. They feel the breezes blow and shiver at the thought of the boys sleeping in such open tents; advise that the tent flaps be tightly closed at night for fear of the boys taking cold.
They seem to think we are a hardened, cruel crowd because we laugh at their fears. It is not one bit of use trying to convince mother because she won't be convinced. So we save our breath for father. Here we have some ground upon which to sow our seed. We invite him to stay a day or two; "Peel off," we tell him, and "be a boy again. Go in swimming. Go out in a boat. Try a game of ball. Play a set of tennis. Do a little sprint around the running track. We can offer you a lot more sports if you will stay and visit us," we tell him.
In the evenings we can play shuffle board, have some good music, some singing that will make the cats on the back fence green with envy; then last, but not least, we can have a camp-fire. Have you ever been out in the country and helped build a real camp-fire?
After supper every one is pressed into service to help gather the wood. Little chaps stagger along under heavier loads than they can carry, dropping two pieces for every one they pick up, but never saying die. I just love those little gritty kids.
The bigger boys and instructors carry regular old trees, reminding one of an army of ants struggling along manfully to move their quarters.
One or two capable men, who have the art of building bonfires down to a fine point, stay on the field to receive the wood, pile it up and start the fire going.
That is the preliminary only. Are we going to have a corn roast? Then the juicy ears of corn, two for every boy, are brought up to the field. Plenty of good butter and salt in a large bowl is at hand. The boys, visitors and all, form in line, march past the table, where the supplies are heaped up, receive their portion, and hurry along.