found him; he is safe," and then
ran off to tell Mr. Kennedy.

Mrs. Kennedy followed him, calling out eagerly, "Where is he? Where is
he?" Rollo met Mr. Kennedy at the head of the cabin stairs, and he
seemed very much rejoiced to learn that Waldron was found. Rollo led the
way, and Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy followed him, until they came to a place
on the deck, pretty well forward, where there was an opening surrounded
by an iron railing, through which you could look down into the hold
below. It was very far down that you could look, and at different
distances on the way were to be seen iron ladders going from deck to
deck, and ponderous shafts, moving continually, with great clangor and
din, while at the bottom were seen the mouths of several great glowing
furnaces, with men at work shovelling coal into them.

"There he is," said Rollo, pointing down.

Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy leaned over the railing and looked down, and there
they beheld Waldron, hard at work shovelling coal into the mouth of a
furnace, with a shovel which he had borrowed of one of the men. In a
word, Waldron had turned stoker.

Mr. Kennedy hurried down the ladders to bring Waldron up, while Mr.
George and Rollo went back to the deck.

* * * * *

About an hour after this Mr. Kennedy came and took a seat on a settee
where Mr. George was sitting, and began to talk about Waldron.

"He is the greatest plague of my life," said Mr. Kennedy. "I don't know
what I shall do with him. He is continually getting into some mischief.
I have shut him up a close prisoner in the state room, and I am going to
keep him there till we land. But it will do no good. It will not be an
hour after he gets out before he will be in some new scrape. You know a
great deal about boys; I wish you would tell me what to do with him."

"I think, if he was under my charge," said Mr. George, very quietly, "I
should _load_ him."

"Load him?" repeated Mr. Kennedy, inquiringly.

"Yes," said Mr. George, "I mean I should give him a load to carry."

"I don't understand, exactly," said Mr. Kennedy. "What is your idea?"

"My idea is," said Mr. George, "that a growing boy, especially if he is
a boy of unusual capacity, is like a steam engine in this respect. A
steam engine must always have a load to carry,--that is, something to
_employ_ and _absorb_ the force it is capable of exerting,--or else it
will break itself to pieces with it. The force _will_ expend itse