In this way Tootsie went through one after another of her story books, picking out the stories that had pleasing pictures. But the nice thing of it all was that Tootsie was really learning to read, and she did get so that she read real well; for she knew just what she was reading about, and often, when she would find a story that was funny, she would laugh right out even if she was at school, and then she would find mama or grandma and read the funny part to them. Maybe one reason why Tootsie learned so fast was because her school was just like play to her and not like work. Of course, it is easier to play than it is to work. But could you think of any better thing to play than to play keeping school? Why not try it? It helped Tootsie wonderfully, and I believe it would help many other boys and girls. What do you think about it? THE SCHOOL OF THE STREET. Little Joe, ten years old, had followed his business as a newsboy and bootblack in Smutville for three or four years, and, of course, had turned out to be a first-class little citizen of the street. He could curse and swear, and drink and smoke, just the same as any old hardened sinner. One day, after Joe had finished one of his daily fights with some other small boy, a kind-hearted gentleman stepped up to him and said,---- “My little man, do you go to school?” “Nope,” said Joe. “Do you go to Sunday-school?” “Nope.” “Well,” said the gentleman, “what do you expect to do when you are grown?” “I ain’t going to wait till I’m grown--I’m going to be a jockey; that’s what I’m going to be.” “How would you like to be bank cashier or president of a great bank? Wouldn’t you like that better?” “Yep,” said the boy, “but a poor boy can’t get no job like that--now you know he couldn’t.” “Oh, yes; he could if he were to prepare himself for it. But a poor boy, and no other boy, will ever be a great business man if he is going to live forever in the street--cursing and swearing and fighting and, it may be, stealing, and having no higher ambition than to be a jockey.” “Are you a parson?” asked the boy, becoming interested. [Illustration: LITTLE JOE.] “No, but I am interested in little boys. I am the secretary of the Young Men’s Christian Association and we have a boys’ department. I want you to join it. I have found out about your habits and your surroundings; I was told of the death of your mother and father; and I made up my mind to come and ask you to come over to the Young Men’s Christian Association and live with us. You may continue to sell your papers and black boots, but, you see, living with us, you can go to school at night, and some day you will have a good education--and you might be a bank cashier.”