One of these presents took the form of a large portrait of B.-P.

worked in coloured silks, another a little modest book-marker.

And in the streets gutter-merchants were doing a roaring trade in brooches and badges with B.-P.'s face smiling on the enamel as contentedly as if immortalised on a La Creevy miniature.
Finally, to complete this apotheosis, Madame Tussaud announced on flaming placards that Baden-Powell had been added to the number of her Immortals.
This, then, was the sudden fate of the man who had returned to England from wandering alone within a stone's throw of the Matabele bivouac fires unknown and unhonoured by the public.

I wonder if Baden-Powell had a presentiment of what was to be when, in the early days of the siege, he corrected the proofs of _Aids to Scouting_, and came upon his own words towards the end of that manual: "Remember always that you are helping your _side_ to win, and not merely getting glory for yourself or your regiment--that will come of itself." The wit of Baden-Powell in some measure obscured from the popular view the grimness of his task.

Like the true Briton that he is, he considered it part of his duty to make light of his difficulties.