ith
another mug of beer.

'That won't hurt you; but I must warn you about drinking other things,
George. Overeating is an old story; and a few more fits of illness will
teach you to be wise. But drinking is a more serious thing, and leads
to worse harm than any that can afflict your body alone. I hear you
talk about wines as if you knew them and cared more for them than a
boy should; and several times I've heard jokes that meant mischief. For
heaven's sake, don't begin to play with this dangerous taste "for fun",
as you say, or because it's the fashion, and the other fellows do. Stop
at once, and learn that temperance in all things is the only safe rule.'

'Upon my honour, I only take wine and iron. I need a tonic, mother
says, to repair the waste of brain-tissue while I'm studying,' protested
Stuffy, putting down the mug as if it burnt his fingers.

'Good beef and oatmeal will repair your tissues much better than any
tonic of that sort. Work and plain fare are what you want; and I wish
I had you here for a few months out of harm's way. I'd Banting you, and
fit you to run without puffing, and get on without four or five meals a
day. What an absurd hand that is for a man! You ought to be ashamed
of it!' And Mrs Jo caught up the plump fist, with deep dimples at each
knuckle, which was fumbling distressfully at the buckle of the belt girt
about a waist far too large for a youth of his age.

'I can't help it--we all grow fat; it's in the family,' said Stuffy in
self-defence.

'All the more reason you should live carefully. Do you want to die
early, or be an invalid all your life?'

'No, ma'am!'

Stuffy looked so scared that Mrs Jo could not be hard upon his budding
sins, for they lay at his overindulgent mother's door line in a great
measure; so she softened the tone of her voice, and added, with a little
slap on the fat hand, as she used to do when it was small enough to
pilfer lumps of sugar from her bowl:

'Then be careful; for a man writes his character in his face; and you
don't want gluttony and intemperance in yours, I know.'

'I'm sure I don't! Please make out a wholesome bill of fare, and I'll
stick to it, if I can. I am getting stout, and I don't like it; and my
liver's torpid, and I have palpitations and headache. Overwork, mother
says; but it may be overeating.' And Stuffy gave a sigh of mingled
regret for the good things he renounced, and relief as he finished
loosening his belt as soon as his hand w