I shall take care in future that you have plenty of wholesome mental food, so that you will have no excuse for craving such stuff as this," he added, with a glance of disgust at what he held in his hand.

"It may go into the kitchen fire." "Mrs.Scrimp never burns the least little bit of paper, papa," said Max.
"Indeed! Why not ?" asked his father, with an amused smile.
"She says it is wicked waste, because it is better than rags for the paper-makers." "Ah! well, then, we will tear these into bits and let them go to the paper-makers." Max was standing by his father's side.

"Papa," he said, with a roguish look into his father's face, "don't you think you would enjoy reading them first ?" The captain laughed.

"No, my son," he said; "I have not the slightest inclination to read them.

Bring me that waste basket and you may help me tear them up." They began the work of destruction, Max taking the paper, the captain the book his son had been reading.