ad. One day, when Betty took me out for a walk,
I ran away and went there; and I have been there a good many times
since. It's a little house, ma, a very little house. There are no bright
pictures or beautiful carpets in it; but they are never lonesome there.
She is as kind to her little boy every day as you are to me now. It's a
long time, ma, since you kissed me and held me on your lap, and acted as
if you loved me! Oh, mamma!' He laid the pale cheek, wet with grateful
tears, close against her own. 'Why a'n't you good to me always? I love
you _now_, but I don't love you always; I _can't_ love you always, ma.
That day when you frightened me so, when you pulled my hair, threw me
down on the floor, and whipped me till the blood ran, I didn't like you
for a long time _then_, you hurt me so.'

The grief of the wretched mother burst forth anew in sobs and tears.

'Oh, Harry! oh, my poor, poor child! Did ma do that?'

'Don't cry, ma, oh, don't cry; I don't think you meant to do it. There
is something that changes you, that makes you cross and strange. And
ma'--the timid voice sank away to a low, frightened whisper, broken and
tremulous with tears.

'Yes, dearest.'

'You won't be angry, dear mamma?'

'No, love, no.'

He hid his face on her shoulder, sobbing:

'It's something that you drink. They never have it there, in that little
house,' pursued Harry in a voice choked with rushing tears. 'They never
have it anywhere where they are happy. Oh, mamma! If you'd only send it
away, if you'd throw it away, if you would put it out of sight; oh, my
dear, dear mamma, if you would never look at it, never taste it, never,
never drink it any more!' In the energy of his supplication he twined
the little arms still closer and closer about her neck--his tears fell
like rain upon her bosom. That baby face, eloquent with entreaty and wet
with tears! She could not bear to see it. Crimson with shame, she hid
her own in her outstretched hands. 'She never drinks it. I've watched
her; she drinks coffee sometimes, water sometimes, _tea_ 'most always.
Ma, if you must drink something, why wouldn't _tea_ do just as well?'

She folded her arms about the little form, and clasped it to her bosom.
Her face was lighted with a high resolve, the heart against which her
child's was pressed was throbbing with a lofty impulse.

'It would, my darling, it would; with God's help, it shall. Here in His
holy presence, I solemnly promise, if there is any