"You take the reins and drive," said the Doctor. Fritz buttoned his coat tightly around him, straightened up his old bent back and taking the reins he proudly drove away. "He did not come in a carriage," said a boy. "It is the Self Masters that helped him," said another. "You forget about the Sun-dial," I said. [Illustration] [Illustration: THE BUNGALOW FROM THE MAIN BUILDING] THE WAITER WHO DID NOT WAIT "Whoever is not master of himself is master of nobody."--_Stahl._ The Waiter Who Did Not Wait. Had the schedule been followed faithfully, it was the time for the auto party to have finished their tea and toast and be awaiting the chauffeur to come up with their machine, but there seemed to be a delay somewhere. Investigation revealed a peculiar condition of affairs. The visitors were moving about rather impatiently while the lunch, instead of being served, was rapidly getting chilled on the side-board in an adjoining room. "Where is Delmonico Bill, the attentive waiter," we asked, not a little surprised at his disappearance. He was nowhere to be found, although we hunted high and low for him. But to manage men successfully who admit their irresponsibility needs an overseer who is not only patient in disappointment, but who can offer the pat excuse impromptu, and cheerfully reassure friends that everything is all right, when--unless viewed from the standpoint of a year from to-day--it is all wrong. On this special day there seemed to be no apparent explanation except that the waiter did not wait. But everything is a success that ends happily, and the delayed lunch made the visitors more than ever in sympathy with the Work. Whoever loves us for our mistakes, shall become more endeared to us as they know us better. The diners--who had not dined--saw humor in our embarrassment, and assured us of their best wishes as they drove merrily away, leaving us stupidly asking ourselves why the waiter had left his guests unserved. It was nearly an hour later when Delmonico Bill came down out of the hay loft, brushing the dust and hay-seed from his clothes. "Has she gone?" he enquired stupidly. "Who?" we asked him in chorus. "My Sunday school teacher," he explained. We awaited his further explanation. It was the first time we had heard that he ever had such a teacher. "It isn't that I am in the least ashamed to serve as a waiter. Menial work that must be done is not humiliating to me. But when I looked in at the visitors as I was arranging their lunch on the tray--I recognized in one of the ladies my old Sunday school teacher--and when I thought to what an extent I had disregarded her instructions I hadn't the courage to face her.... My, but it was hot up in that haymow!...