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The lives of those who live in this Village of Happiness reveal that being understood is in itself creative of the spirit of happiness which presides over and animates alike its citizens and its children.

After all is said, it is the advance of the whole mass that must be taken into account in the progress of civilization. Leaders may go so far in the van as to separate themselves and their influence from their people. Groups of stragglers, clinging to the skirts of society, retard its progress. If there is no concern for their weakness and inefficiency they must be cut off and forgotten. Yet even so, the causes that made them weak and inefficient, disregarded, may drag down the whole social structure.

We are beginning to be wise in that we are increasing our efforts to learn the causes for the rising stream of the socially incompetent.

SALVAGE

When John More was a boy he was very unhappy. No one seemed to care much about him. His people didn't understand him. His companions made fun of him, imposed upon him, encouraged him in evil. He got into trouble and was sent away to a school where boys who do bad things are sent. John was different but the school, like his parents and playmates didn't know why.

Sending him away didn't make him any better. He ran away from the school. They brought him back. He tried it again and again; same result each time. His unhappiness grew. Unhappiness is catching. John's made everybody else unhappy. They wanted to get rid of him.

A happy thought was born in that school every once in a while. The headmaster had one. It occurred to him that John and himself would be better off if The Village of Happiness would let John come to live in one of its cottages.

Well, that's the way it turned out. More than forty years ago John came to the Village. He brought his unhappiness with him and of course he was discontented. The two things go together.

John was big and strong by this time so he was given the job of driving a team and hauling coal for the Village. It was a dirty job and hard work. He didn't mind and for a while he hung on. Then, lo and behold, he ran away from the Village.

Now, the King of The Village, -- (Oh yes, it has a sort of King, although no one ever thinks of him in that light, for his only title among the children is " -- 'fessor"; but he is the Head of the Village), -- was sorry for John, so he sent after him and brought him back. He ran away again and again but every time the good King brought him back.

About this time there were two little crippled and helpless boys in The Village of Happiness. So it occurred to the King that maybe, if he should give one of these little fellows to John to be a big brother to; John, in caring for and trying to make the helpless boy happy, would grow less unhappy himself.

Well, it worked out, almost I mean, that way. John became a "big brother" in addition to his other work.

One crippled boy, however, wasn't enough to cure John More. For a while he hung on again, -- then seemed to grow worse than ever. At any rate the King saw he was getting ready to run away again, so he sent for him.

"John," he said, "that boy I gave you likes you a lot. You've been awfully good to him. You've carried him in your arms and wheeled him in his chair so much that he'd miss you horribly if you left him. I'm afraid he wouldn't be looked after so well by anyone else."

John's face was one big smile by this time but the King went right on. "You know that other little crippled fellow?"

"Yes," said John, "I know him. Ain't nobody lookin' after him like I do my boy." John's chest swelled out when he said it.

That King was wise. He knew the time to load a fellow up with a hard job is when he's got one already and all puffed up with it. So he took advantage of John right there.

He said, "John, this other little chap needs a big brother, too." Then, in a sort of doubtful way went on, "I'm wondering -- I'm just wondering -- if you could manage two boys."

John didn't know it but he was a "goner" right then. But the King knew he had him when he saw John's chest swell out some more and heard his "Sure. I'll take him. I'd like to have another. Two's better'n one, anyway."

From that day, more than thirty years ago, John never ran away again. Every minute off the coal wagon he gave to his two boys. He called them proudly "my boys" and all the villagers called them "John's boys."

That was the day John's unhappiness ceased for good and uncovered all the goodness in him. He got up earlier than the others in the morning to wash and dress his boys for breakfast. He hurried home at noon and night to look after them. Sundays and holidays he devoted wholly to them. They filled his whole horizon. "Limited" you say? "Because his mind had been 'marking time' since he was seven years old?"

Listen. I am writing this within two stone-throws of the cottage in which John now spends most of his time. I see him every day at the window and get a smile and wave of the hand. At fifty-four he is getting feeble. His eyes are failing. His working days are over.