unoriginal fashion. It was the boy's habit to take off his boots and
stockings, set a chair on a table, climb up to his perch, and from
thence draw forth melody of sorts with his ten toes. After this it is
surely a wonder that Baden-Powell in joining the army did not insist
upon doing Manual Exercise with his extremities.

There is a story about Master Ste which clearly shows, I think, the
estimation in which he was held by the other boys. Who but a general
favourite could have played the following part? On Shrove Tuesday at
Charterhouse there was of old time a custom called the Lemon Peel
Fight. With every pancake the boys were given a lemon, or half a
lemon, and these were never eaten, being jealously reserved for the
great fight on the green outside after the pancakes had
unmysteriously disappeared. On one occasion, when the sides were drawn
up in grim battle array, facing each other lemon in hand, every boy as
dauntless as Horatius, Herminius, and Spurius Lartius, and just when
the signal for the conflict was to be given,--suddenly upon the scene
appeared Baden-Powell, swathed from head to foot in tremendous
padding, with nothing to be seen of his little brown face save the
bright, mischievous eyes peeping out of two slits. Rushing between the
two lines with a fearsome war-whoop, this alarming apparition squatted
suddenly upon the grass, and looking first on one army and then on the
other, said in the most nonchalant tone of voice: "Let the battle
commence!"

From the battle-field one goes naturally to the butts. In some of the
newspaper articles concerning Baden-Powell it has been said that he
had nothing to do with the Rifle Corps. This is quite wrong. There was
nothing going on at Charterhouse into which Baden-Powell did not fling
himself with infinite zest, and shooting, of course, had special