went to find Merton. Opening the paper under a street lamp, I found
it to be a cheap, vile journal, full of flashy pictures that so
often offend the eye on news-stands. With a chill of fear I thought,
"Another problem." The Daggett children had had the scarlet fever a
few months before. "But here's a worse infection," I reflected.
"Thank heaven, Winnie is only a child, and can't understand these
pictures;" and I tore the paper up and thrust it into its proper
place, the gutter.

"Now," I muttered, "I've only to find Merton in mischief to make the
evening's experience complete."

In mischief I did find him--a very harmful kind of mischief, it
appeared to me. Merton was little over fifteen, and he and two or
three other lads were smoking cigarettes which, to judge by their
odor, must certainly have been made from the sweepings of the
manufacturer's floor.

"Can't you find anything better than that to do after school?" I
asked, severely.

"Well, sir," was the sullen reply, "I'd like to know what there is
for a boy to do in this street."

During the walk home I tried to think of an answer to his implied
question. What would I do if I were in Merton's place? I confess
that I was puzzled. After sitting in school all day he must do
something that the police would permit. There certainly seemed very
little range of action for a growing boy. Should I take him out of
school and put him into a shop or an office? If I did this his