“When I was like Ted,” indicating his eldest son, “I roamed these woods and swamps during holidays and week ends, hunting and fishing. My father engaged Jake as a sort of guide and guardian, to see that I did not get lost or hurt, and that I turned up at home on schedule. Jake and I and the boys who went along had many good times. He used to make us the most delicious ‘Squawk Pie.’ Delicious on a cold day around a camp fire, when you are a boy, tired and hungry! Of course, you don’t know what ‘Squawk Pie’ is!--made out of young, tender swamp herons--regular hunters’ pie--bully!” He laughed reminiscently, glanced out to the side of the house, where Jake was already surrounded by his three younger boys, and resumed his place. A few seconds later, the whole line was stopped while he and Mrs. Roosevelt greeted two elderly women, one of whom had been his nurse and had brought with her a picture of him when he was five years old. Such a warm, friendly greeting as those two received! They were repaid for the journey of several hundred miles made to bring this little reminder of his childhood. They were taken back into the house and treated with that delightful democratic courtesy so characteristic of this family. A group of Hungarians brought a beautiful hand-wrought lamp, which, after it had been examined, they were allowed to present to the President. For three hours, this moving pageant of humanity, beaming with pleasure and admiration and frankly curious of the man himself, filed past him. To each and every one was given that individualistic greeting that was one of his many claims to popularity. As the visitors left the other side of the porch, they were served with raspberry shrub, each person being presented with the little crystal punch cup from which he drank and on which were written the words, “Theodore Roosevelt, 1902.” The next day, Sunday, everyone in Oyster Bay went to church and gathered about the little church attended by the President. From dawn, police and Secret Service men had been scouring the vicinity for the pair of strangers, alleged anarchists, who had appeared in the town the day before. The air was tense with expectancy and dread. The Roosevelt pew was occupied by the President and his wife and part of their family. As the sermon progressed and lost some of the pathos of its memorial to Mr. McKinley in its tribute to the new ruler, likened to “a young David raised to lead his people,” the President’s countenance flushed with displeasure. His wife’s hand upon his arm restrained any budding impulse to rise or leave. When the congregation knelt to pray, those seated in the rear of the Roosevelt pew enjoyed the reassuring and edifying spectacle of a formidable revolver protruding from the hip pocket of the Chief Executive.