shaw, 19 minutes must
have elapsed since the passing; _i.e._ they passed each other at
6.55.

On my arrival at the point where they had passed, the rickshaw
would now be 23 minutes ahead of me, or about 11/4 mile.

But it is not only on set occasions that Baden-Powell practises
scouting. He rarely takes a walk, boards a 'bus, or enters a train,
without finding opportunity for some subtle inductive reasoning. Thus
he recommends the men in his regiment to notice closely any stranger
with whom they may come in contact, guess what their professions and
circumstances are, and then, getting into conversation, find out how
near the truth their surmises have been. Therefore, dear reader, if
you find yourself in a few months' time drifting into conversation
with a good-looking, bronzed stranger, this side of fifty, who puts
rather pointed questions to you, after having studied your thumbs,
boots, and whiskers intently, take special delight in leading him
harmlessly astray, for thereby you may be beating, with great glory to
yourself, the "Wolf that never Sleeps."

The joy of a walk in the country is heightened, I think, by following
the example of Baden-Powell, and paying attention to the tracks on the
ground. It would be an uncanny day for England when every man turned
himself into a Sherlock Holmes, but there is no man who might not with
advantage to himself practise scouting in the Essex forests or on the
Surrey hills. The world is filled with life, and yet people go
rambling through fields and woods without having seen anything more
exciting than a couple of rabbits and a few blackbirds.

The chief joy of scouting, however, is not to be found in what
Baden-Powell calls "dear, drowsy, after-lunch Old England." They who
would seek it must go far from this "ripple of land," far from

The happy violets hiding from the roads,
The primroses run down to, carrying gold,--
The tangled hedgerows, where the cows push out
Impatient horns and tolerant churning mouths
'Twixt dripping ash-boughs,--hedgerows all alive
With birds and gnats and large white butterflies
Which look as if the May-flower had caught life
And palpitated forth upon the wind,--
Hills, vales, woods, netted in a silver mist,
Farms, granges, doubled up among the hills,
And cattle grazing in the watered vales,
And cottage-chimneys smoking from the woods,
And cottage-gardens smelling everywhere,
Co