ealed to you, was it?"

"Yes, sir. I guess so."

"True, there's a good deal of responsibility there, when you stand with
your hand on the throttle of a fast express, knowing that the lives of
the passengers are in your hand. There's a good deal of pride, too, in
steering a vessel through a dangerous channel or in a stormy sea;
there's a thrill of power when you sight a big gun and know that if you
were in warfare the defense of your country might lie in your skill and
aim. But none of these is greater than the sense of power and trust
reposing in the men of the Forest Service, to whom Uncle Sam gives the
guardianship and safe-keeping of millions of acres of his property and
the lives of thousands of his citizens."

The Chief Forester watched the younger of his companions, who was
striding along the Washington street, and casting rapid glances from
building to building as he went along, as though he expected to see
flame and smoke pouring from every window, and that the city's safety
lay in his hands. Smiling slightly, very slightly, and addressing
himself to the older boy, although it was for the benefit of his new
assistant that he was speaking, the Forester continued:

"It's really more like the work of a trusted army scout than anything
else. In the old days of Indian warfare,"--both boys gave a quick start
of increased attention--"the very finest men and the most to be trusted
were the scouts. They were men of great bravery, of undaunted loyalty,
of great wariness, and filled with the spirit of dashing adventure. They
were men who took their lives in their own hands. Going before the main
body of the army, single-handed, if need be, they would stave off the
attacks of Indian foes and would do battle with outposts and pickets. If
the force were too great, they would map out the lay of the land and
devise a strategical plan of attack, then, without rest or food often,
would steal back to the main body, and, laying their information in the
hands of the general, would act as guides if he ordered a forward
movement."

"But how--" interrupted Fred.

"I was just coming to that," replied the Forester in response to his
half-uttered query. "A Forest Guard is really a Forest Scout. There have
been greater massacres at the hands of the Fire Tribe than from any
Indian tribe that ever roamed the prairies. Hundreds, yes, thousands of
lives were lost in the days before the Forest Service was in existence
by fires which Fore