Instead of loafing about the workhouse, as before, and becoming inured to pauper surroundings, they are now taught as in a day school. They have play in the open air and recreation indoors in the way of games and books. Moreover, the girls are taught to sew and knit, the boys instructed in manual work. Though seldom there more than a fortnight before being taken back to the police court, they go away cleaner, better informed, not without hope. And the magistrates now feel justified in sending about 80 per cent. of them back to their parents. A visit to this Remand Home at Pentonville will teach you disquieting truths about the vagrant child-life of London. These wayward youngsters tell their tales with startling frankness. That bright-faced lad of twelve--why is he here? "Stealing," he answers us. "What did you steal?" "Some stockings outside a shop." "Why?" "To get money for sweets." "Where did you sell the stockings?" "In a pub." "Have you ever stolen before?" "Yes." "How often?" "A good many times, but never been caught before." Two of the oldest lads approached, and we questioned them. "I was took up for begging," said No. 1. "But I weren't begging--on'y looking for work." "Where?" "At King's Cross--me and him," pointing to his neighbour. "We was offering to carry people's bags when the copper come and took us up." The teacher explained that boys soliciting passengers around the big railway stations were becoming such a nuisance that the police sometimes had to take them into custody. "We didn't get hold of a man's arm and say, 'Give us threepence,' as the copper said," the youthful informant went on. "We was on'y looking for work." "How long have you been looking for this kind of work?" "We goes an' looks for it every day," said No. 2 (in shirt sleeves, like his pal). "And sometimes we makes half a crown, and sometimes three shillings a day, carrying gentlemen's bags. I've been a-doing of it five months. It pays better than reg'lar work, where I used to make ten shillings a week." No. 1 could not forget his grievance against the police. "Puts us in the cell all night," he interposed, "and gives us coffee and two thick slices of bread for supper. And takes us in a bumpy ole van to the police court in the morning along of a lot of others. Then we was sent here, where we has to write and read--just like going back to school again." Another lad was there for "stopping out all night," according to his own rendering. When we asked "Why?" the answer came prompt enough, "'Cos I likes it." "How many nights did you stay out?" "Me and them," indicating others higher up the room, "we slept behind the fire station four nights and then went home." "What happened then?" "Mother said nofink, but she got a stick----" He paused sufficiently long for us to take the sequel for granted, then added quietly:-- "So I stopped out the next night." "And then?" "Then the copper came."