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His two boys, now long grown but still helpless, are with him in the cottage. So, too, is the spirit of happiness which has been his for lo, these many years.

I meet "A Little Maid" every morning on the sidewalk in front of her home. The cottage, shaded by oaks, is surrounded by ample lawns. There is no fence except a low hedge of box.

She is a little, grey-haired maiden of about forty years but with the joyous activity of a child of five.

My morning salutation is "How is the flag?" Her reply is given as she flies past me, for she is running and less mindful of me than of the small American flag which her speed keeps fluttering on the stick she holds upright in front of her. "It's fine! Ain't it pretty? Don't you like it?" I stand at salute as the flag goes by.

An old maid of forty, running up and down the pavement, with a flag and unconscious of anything odd about it!

Nobody in the Village seems to mind or take notice. She is greeted with smiles, cheery words, and replies in kind. Her artlessness is not disturbed by unkind comments. Everybody seems to take her for granted. That's one of the reasons why I have called it The Village of Happiness.

It's a real place where everybody, young and old, works and plays, goes to school and church, sings, dances, is understood, smiles. It's a Village where everybody 'belongs.'

It has a funny countersign; a badge; worn on the face. Can you guess it? If you can, you too, 'belong.'

HOW IT STARTED

The setting was quite simple. A rainy day -- a porch -- three rockingchairs -sic- -- two half-grown children -- a man. The boy and girl were rocking to the accompaniment of their own ceaseless laughing. The man sat quietly in the third chair, his eyes and thoughts wholly occupied with the restless children.

While his eyes followed their apparently aimless rocking his mind was busy with the riddle of their slowed-up minds. How was it; why was it that at the age of two or three years their intelligence had begun to 'mark time' while their growth in body continued unchecked, creating a gap of ten years, still widening?

Then he thought of his own profession, that of an ordained minister, and one of the special charges laid upon him, -- "Let not one of these little ones perish." Were not these the humblest, most helpless of all 'little ones?' What was his duty? What could he do?

While his mind was thus lost in speculation, groping for a solution of the riddle, his eyes continued to follow the children as they laughed and rocked. Presently, his mind and eyes began to focus. An idea began to dawn. The rhythm of the chairs changed from time to time. They were not in unison. There was frequent acceleration of the rocking. It became as furious at times as rockingchairs -sic-, under the circumstances, can become. The baby minds were enjoying it; that was evident.

Then the idea began to take shape. It suggested itself by a question. Were those two hopeless children trying to outdo each other in the speed of their rocking? He continued to watch. Yes, there was no doubt of it. They were doing just that.

Then the idea was born. These two mentally low-grade children were playing a game. Games mean competition. They were competitors in their self-taught game of rocking; trying, striving in their feeble way to excel.

With this came the inspiration. If in rocking, why not in other games; useful ones perhaps? Could training possibly give to even these feeble minds some measure of control and direction of their growing and maturing bodies? Training? Where? How? Why not a school, -- a special school for them -- one where patience and kindness and understanding should be the dominating factors?

That was the beginning of The Training School. Born on a rainy afternoon, on a porch where Rev. Stephen Olin Garrison watched two feeble-minded children in their rockingchairs -sic-. He reached a decision that afternoon. He, an ordained minister of the Methodist Church, heard the call -- "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these" -- "Let not one of these little ones perish." He was not a man to delay. Lacking other facilities and means, his own home should provide for at least the beginning of such a School.

The date of the opening of this School was September 1, 1887; the place, Millville, New Jersey. Immediately the demands made upon Professor Garrison for admission to the School greatly exceeded his ability to receive. Before the year closed, applications greatly exceeded its capacity. His own resources were insufficient for any increase. He went ajourneying, not afar, but to his neighbors. He had all of the essentials of a great prophet, -- vision, eloquence, fervor, belief, unselfishness, faith. He inspired sympathy, created action, and got results wherever he went.

Early in his crusade, only a few miles from Millville, he came to Vineland. Here he found the sympathy and spirit of generosity that enabled him to make provision for an enlarged School. Previous to this visit he had secured from friends the promise of $2,000. Mr. B. D. Maxham, a citizen of Vineland, offered his own home, the Scarborough mansion, and forty acres of land on exceptionally favorable terms to be used for the purposes of the School. Professor Garrison appealed to the Vineland Board of Trade for $2,000, pledging the location of the School there if that amount were contributed. It was raised; the pledge was kept.