placed out last June? He had an alcoholic heredity on both
sides, and as a baby seems to have been fattened on beer instead
of milk. He entered the John Grier at the age of nine, and
twice, according to his record in the Doomsday Book, he managed
to get himself intoxicated, once on beer stolen from some
workmen, and once (and thoroughly) on cooking brandy. You can
see with what misgivings we placed him out. But we warned the
family (hard-working temperate farming people) and hoped for the
best.

Yesterday the family telegraphed that they could keep him no
longer. Would I please meet him on the six o'clock train?
Turnfelt met the six o'clock train. No boy. I sent a night
message telling of his non-arrival and asking for particulars.

I stayed up later than usual last night putting my desk in
order and--sort of making up my mind to face the New Year.
Toward twelve I suddenly realized that the hour was late and that
I was very tired. I had begun getting ready for bed when I was
startled by a banging on the front door. I stuck my head out of
the window and demanded who was there.

"Tommy Kehoe," said a very shaky voice.

I went down and opened the door, and that lad, sixteen years
old, tumbled in, dead drunk. Thank Heaven! Percy
Witherspoon was within call, and not away off in the Indian camp.

I roused him, and together we conveyed Thomas to our guest room,
the only decently isolated spot in the building. Then I