When the days begin to grow hotter and longer most people plan to leave the City. Whether they go to the seashore or to the mountains, to the lake district or some quiet village, they carefully (or so it seems to me) put away their religion along with their winter clothes.

You will find people who are regular attendants at their respective churches all winter long staying away from church, Sunday after Sunday, throughout the summer.

It makes not the slightest difference whether Jew or Gentile, Catholic or Scientist, they all stay away more or less during the summer, and even at Camp, when the call to prayers is sounded, they come in a half-hearted way.

Can one really get along for months without religion? Have they soaked up, absorbed, into their systems enough during the cold weather to tide them over the warm? Can the average church-goer, no matter what church he goes to, store away in his heart and brain enough religion to last, or must he keep on returning to the Fountainhead to be renewed and refreshed?

As I said, the boys straggled in to listen to a true man of God, but some of them came because they had promised to do so, a few just because they really wanted to be there, and the rest because it is human nature to follow a leader.

What excuses we always have ready on hand to show why we have not gone to the House of God! It is too hot, it is too cold, it is dusty, it is wet, no clothes fit to wear, the Sunday dinner to cook, too lazy to get up, all these and a lot more, just because the House of God stands with doors wide open!

You can walk in without the trouble of going to the ticket office for a reserved seat. You don't have to stand in line, glad to buy a standing-room-only ticket. If you desire music, it is there in its purest form for you to listen to. Do you care for singing? Then there you can hear anthems, hymns and oratorios as they never are sung anywhere else.

It needs the sacred silence of the House of God, the subdued coloring, the general air of peace and holiness to bring these things fully to your heart, yet you have to be coaxed to go there.

The House of God has always seemed to me like the house of a very dear friend. Of course, being so far away, we don't think we must pay our respects in person to the Lord. If we have a dear friend (even though full of faults) we keep in touch with him, call upon him, let him know in many ways that we are his very dear friend. Then why not go to the House of God for the same purpose, with the same kind feeling in our heart?

Then the boys sat in silence while the man of God prayed for them, for the good of their souls, that they might grow up doing at all times, whether in company or alone, the right thing in the sight of the Lord, blessed them, sent them on their way, with purer thoughts to help them out of the many pitfalls that beset the feet of youth.

After services are ended we allow the boys to play games. Of what use would it be to compel them to sit quiet all day reading books that they did not care for? Besides, a forced religion isn't worth powder to blow it up.

Let us hope that when fall comes and they take their religion (they have so gently packed away in camphor) out it will not show any signs of decay, no moths or other evidences of dissolution, but a bright, loving light to lead their footsteps to His Throne.

Sunday at Camp is much like any other day, excepting that the laundry is given out and the outgoing wash collected.

The boys form into line under the direction of the faculty, are sent down in companies of ten according to their numbers, to the laundry room, where they receive the clean wash, consisting of personal clothes, besides sheets, towels and pillow slips, take them up to their tents, put them in their trunks, excepting what they put into immediate use.

After breakfast they gather up all the soiled wash, make out a duplicate list, and have them ready when the man calls at each tent for them. Quite a clever system that works out all right.

Sunday afternoon is spent on the water or some game is started up. The usual swimming is indulged in, and by supper time everybody is ready to peck a bit of food, even if they have dined later and had a most bountiful repast.

In the evening the fun begins. Generally on Sunday the Literary Society has an open meeting. Everything goes, from a banjo solo to an imitation fight between two noted prize-fighters.

The little boys recite, the big ones give monologues, our celebrated orchestra renders stirring selections, and the entire Camp joins in the chorus.

The instructors cheerfully help out. It matters not what you ask them to do! Sing a solo? Why, yes; he will be delighted. Sing a duet? Pleased to oblige such an appreciative audience. Join in a quartette? Why, nothing would give him greater happiness.

It makes no difference how silly they have to act. They just go ahead. Anything to please the boys and keep them in good spirits.

Were Hammerstein ever to come out to Camp on a Sunday evening he would find more real talent on our little stage than he has at his own vaudeville house.

The evening ends very happily, all voting it a bully good show. They give three cheers for the performers, and with a final cheer for good measure, "Quarters" are sounded.

It is a happy crowd that slowly wends its way to the tents, and many a laugh is heard as they go over the evening's performance.

The faculty clear the place, leaving everything in apple-pie order for the morrow. "Taps" are sounded by the bugler and another happy day is done.

As we grow older it may take more to please us, but I feel confident that some of these days will be remembered long after we have grown up. Life would, indeed, be for many of us a very sad thing if we had not childhood's happy days to look back on.

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