A PROBLEM "Where are the children?" "They can't be far away," replied my wife, looking up from her preparations for supper. "Bobsey was here a moment ago. As soon as my back's turned he's out and away. I haven't seen Merton since he brought his books from school, and I suppose Winnie is upstairs with the Daggetts." "I wish, my dear, you could keep the children at home more," I said, a little petulantly. "I wish you would go and find them for me now, and to-morrow take my place-for just one day." "Well, well," I said, with a laugh that had no mirth in it; "only one of your wishes stands much chance of being carried out. I'll find the children now if I can without the aid of the police. Mousie, do you feel stronger to-night?" These words were spoken to a pale girl of fourteen, who appeared to be scarcely more than twelve, so diminutive was her frame. "Yes, papa," she replied, a faint smile flitting like a ray of light across her features. She always said she was better, but never got well. Her quiet ways and tones had led to the household name of "Mousie."