Wending their way homeward yesterday after the tedium of an eleven o'clock government class, a group of Dunstermen were faced quite unexpectedly with living proof of the well known and well worn adage: "It's a wise child." On the corner, practically casting shadows across the monastic windows of Leverett's dining-room stood a young woman, of no apparent decision, waiting, perhaps, for a streetcar. Clutching her hand was what the biblical writer must have been thinking of when he referred to the little child that shall lead them. But the infant, vest-pocket edition though he was, knew a good man when he saw it. As the first Dunsterman strolled past the obscure pair, the child looked up ever so brightly and said, "Hello, papa!" Somewhat startled at this bland impeachment, the gentleman hurried on, only to hear the challenging greeting flung at the student behind him. Still smiling, the child indicted each Dunsterman in turn with the same words until all had passed and were hurrying across the street, apparently at a rate sufficient to keep their past from, catching up with them. Safe on the other side, they turned to hear the young woman, with conviction that warmed their hearts, explain to the little one, "No, no, dear, those men aren't papa." Apparently some awful mistake had been made. Anyhow, the Dunstermen hoped so.