e
little kids crowding around Santa Claus's municipal wagon wouldn't get
hurt in the crush."

This made the Scouts breathe a little easier.

"But there is more than that to this Scout game----"

The Scouts began to fidget again. They knew they were not going to be
let down as easy as all that, especially by a big Scout like this who
knew conditions all over the country.

"The thing that comes easy for you to do is good. But, like bravery, the
best form of it is doing what you are afraid to do, or doing what isn't
second nature for you to do. You belong to the second generation of the
wilderness. There are towns now and you live in them, and it is in the
towns----"

The big man suddenly hesitated. He was looking at a small black face
that emerged from a khaki collar between two first class Scouts in the
front row. The Commissioner pointed at him and said, abruptly, breaking
off his remarks:

"By the way, what's _your_ name?"

The small black face went into strange contortions of embarrassment. It
tried to hide like the ostrich, but the Scouts in front parted and
revealed a little negro boy in Scout uniform with a tenderfoot badge
pinned where it should be.

"I'm Smokey," said a faint voice. Then, remembering, he stiffened up,
saluted the big man, and amplified:

"Dey calls me Smokey, sir. Dat's all de name I ever has. I'se just a
li'l nigger, sir, but dey all's a moughty good bunch and dey don't mek
no difference 'cause I ain't white."

There was a little applause and much grinning. The Commissioner of
Forests, or Weights--I forget just what he was--stared in a queer way,
then went on with his address from where he had left off.

I remember he laid particular stress on the fact that doing one's simple
everyday duty was all right, but not just what was called a "Good Turn."

But all the time he was watching Smokey, who stood there drinking in
every word and nudging his neighbor, a thin, pallid boy, who also wore a
tenderfoot badge.

"What's _your_ name?" the speaker broke off again to ask, pointing at
Smokey's neighbor.

"I'm Jimmy," said he. "Smokey's me pal," he added, scrambling to his
feet with a belated salute. "We--we likes bein' Scouts, sir."

Smokey wriggled in absolute approval of Jimmy's loyalty and comment.

Again the Commissioner looked puzzled. He went on with his talk,
however, and when he had finished and the Scouts had left, he went into
the Scoutmaster's office to compare notes with h