Stories of the Saints by Candle-Light Part 7

The splashing sound of Cubs making good use of soap and water; s.n.a.t.c.hes of cheerful song; the lamentation of someone who had lost the "relation"

of his left sand-shoe; the sound of a Sixer trying to make a sleepy-head turn out--all these sounds filled the sunny morning. Presently there fell on the ears of Akela (who was still in her "den") the sound of an argument.

"I say it's _dirt_," cried one; "he's a dirty-neck, who doesn't know how to wash himself. . . ."

"'Taint!" squealed a small Cub; "it's the sun what's made my neck _brown_."

"Garn! it's not using soap what's made your neck that colour, dirty little. . . ."

_Splosh!_ Somebody got a wet flannel in the eye that time.

"Now, then, what's up?" cries a Sixer, coming up to the group. Quite a little crowd collects.

"He says my neck's _dirty_," wails the small Cub, "and really it's the sun. . . ."

Someone has a bright idea: "Let's ask Miss."

So Akela comes out, and scrubs the neck in question with soap and flannel. It turns out to be nearly all sunburn, with just a _little_ dirt.

The sun is shining, and the sky is full of "flocks of sheep"--those tiny, steady white clouds that stretch in close rows across the sky in fine weather. The dew on the gra.s.s is nearly dry already when the Cubs get to the field.

"Prayers!" calls Akela, and the Cubs come up quietly and form a kneeling circle.

I haven't told you what the morning prayers of the Cubs were, so I will tell you now.

A PRAYER THAT WE MAY PRAY WELL (_see page 6_).

OUR FATHER.

_V._ Incline unto mine aid, O G.o.d.

_R._ O Lord, make haste to help me.

Glory be to the Father, etc.

HYMN.

The star of morn to night succeeds, We therefore meekly pray: May G.o.d in all our words and deeds Keep us from harm this day.

May He in love restrain us still From tones of strife and words of ill; And may earth's beauties that we see Remind us always, Lord, of Thee. _Amen._

CONFESSION.

I confess to Almighty G.o.d that I have sinned against Him in thought, word, and deed. (_Pause a moment and think of your sins._) May Almighty G.o.d have mercy upon us, and forgive us our sins, and bring us to life everlasting.

_Let us pray_

A PRAYER THAT THIS DAY MAY BE PLEASING TO G.o.d.

O Lord G.o.d Almighty, Who hast brought us to the beginning of this day, defend us in the same by Thy power, that we may not fall this day into any sin, but that all our thoughts, words, and works may be directed to the fulfilment of THY WILL.

Through our Lord Jesus Christ, Thy Son. _Amen._

OUR FATHER.

A PRAYER THAT WE MAY BE FORGIVEN ANY WANDERING THOUGHTS WE HAVE HAD WHILE RECITING THESE PRAYERS.

Breakfast over, and orderly jobs finished, the Pack went down to the sh.o.r.e and had a splendid bathe. Several of the Cubs had really begun to swim; while Bill, d.i.c.k, and Mac, who could swim already, were getting good practice. Mac meant to get his Swimmer's Badge as soon as he got back to London, so he practised floating and duck's diving and the other things you have to do.

After dinner and rest Father took some cricket practice, because to-morrow there was to be a match.

"No one must talk to me," said Akela, settling down in a sunny corner with some papers; "I'm doing something very important." Cubs always want to know everything, so of course they said, _What was the important thing?_

"Reading proof," said Akela.

"What's 'proof'?" said the Cubs.

"This is proof," said Akela, holding out a long narrow strip of printed paper. "It's the way they print stories at first, and it has mistakes in it. I have to read it through and correct the mistakes. Now, if you don't shut up and go away, the next instalment in the _Wolf Cub_ will have mistakes in it--see?"

"Is it the next bit of the 'Mysterious Tramp'?" cried the Cubs.

"Yes."

That did it. A Cub sat down each side of Akela and read over her shoulder, and one jumped up and down in front, saying: "Miss, is it good?"

Every now and then Akela made strange little squiggles in the margin--secret signs only the printer-man could understand.

"_Coo!_ what silly mistakes he makes!" said one of the Cubs in derision.

"I wouldn't have done that in dictation even when I was in Standard I.!"

"_I_ think he makes very few mistakes," said Akela; "other printer-men make lots more. You see, this one is printing the _Wolf Cub_, so he has to _do his best_."

The cricket people had been "doing _their_ best" at cricket to such good purpose that they had succeeded in splitting one of the bats.

So after tea Akela and some of them went down to the man who sells bats and golf-b.a.l.l.s, down by the tennis-courts. The road where his shop is runs between the seash.o.r.e and a big stretch of gra.s.sy land, called the Dover.

"That," said Akela, "is the very place where Billy got carried up by the giant kite."

It was a favourite story of the Cubs, so they were pleased to see the place.

"Is that the fierce bull?" said one.

"No," said Akela, "that's a sleepy old cow."

The man said he would mend the bat in time for to-morrow's match.