and found that the superintendent had spent
six years in England and had an English wife. The observation house,
he explained, is a home for bad boys. When convicted they are sent
there and are "observed." If a boy is well-behaved he is sent to live
with a family and learn a trade; if he is incorrigible he is sent to a
reformatory.

I looked in vain for the new psychological way of treating delinquents.
There was discipline here, but it was kindly discipline, for Mr. Engels
is a kindly man; the boys sang as they swept the stairs. That was
good, yet, it was Mr. Engels that brought freedom into the school; his
successor may be a bully.

From Mr. Engels I got a letter of introduction to a real reformatory in
Amersfoort, and off I set. Amersfoort is inland and I expected to find
much language difficulty there, for I thought it unlikely that English
would be spoken so far inland.

Amersfoort is a beautiful old town, and I at once set out to find the
Coppleport mentioned in my guide-book. I suppose I looked a lost soul.
A youth of eighteen jumped off his cycle and lifted his cap. Then he
pointed to a badge he wore in his coat.

"Boy scout!" he said.

"Excellent!" I cried, "you speak English?"

He held out his hand.

"Good bye!" he said; "pleased you to meet!"

"How do you do?" I said.

He grinned.

"God damn!" he said sweetly.

After that conversation seemed to die down. I managed to convey to him
that I was looking for the Coppleport, and he led me to it. Gradually
his English improved, and he told me of his brother in England. A nice
lad. I told him that I had once had a long conversation with the great
B.P., but he looked blank.

"Baden Powell, your chief," I explained.

He shook his head; he had never heard of B.P. I think now that what
was wrong was that he did not understand the name as I pronounced it;
possibly he knows B.P. under the sound of Bahah Povell or something
similar.

On the following morning I went to the reformatory. It was a beautiful
building fitted with every appliance necessary . . . and one not
necessary--a solitary confinement room. A young teacher, Mr. Conijn, a
very decent chap, who could speak excellent English, showed me round.
Every door we came to had to be opened with a key and locked behind us.
Here there was more of military discipline than in the Observatiehuis,
but none of the boys looked sulky or unhappy. The relations of the
boys and the teachers were