lief he thinks wrong." But researches into the case of McHenry _v._
Coggswell put things so impractical as religious beliefs out of his mind.

As for John and Helen, they walked toward the parsonage, and Gifford, and
his future, and his views of high license were forgotten, as well as the
sudden pain with which John had heard his wife's careless words about his
"awful doctrines."

"It is very pleasant to see him so often," John said, "but how good it is
to have you all to myself!"

Helen gave him a swift, glad look; then their talk drifted into those
sweet remembrances which happy husbands and wives know by heart: what he
thought when he first saw her, how she wondered if he would speak to her.
"And oh, Helen," he said, "I recollect the dress you wore,--how soft and
silky it was, but it never rustled, or gleamed; it rested my eyes just to
look at it."

A little figure was coming towards them down the deserted street, with a
jug clasped in two small grimy hands.

"Preacher!" cried a childish voice eagerly, "good-evenin', preacher."

John stopped and bent down to see who it was, for a tangle of yellow hair
almost hid the little face.

"Why, it is Molly," he said, in his pleasant voice. "Where have you been,
my child? Oh, yes, I see,--for dad's beer?"

Molly was smiling at him, proud to be noticed. "Yes, preacher," she
answered, wagging her head. "Good-night, preacher." But they had gone
only a few steps when there was a wail. Turning her head to watch him out
of sight, Molly had tripped, and now all that was left of the beer was a
yellow scum of froth on the dry ground. The jug was unbroken, but the
child could find no comfort in that.

"I've spilt dad's beer," she said, sobbing, and sinking down in a forlorn
heap on the ground.

John knelt beside her, and tried to comfort her. "Never mind; we'll go
and tell dad it was an accident."

But Molly only shook her head. "No," she said, catching her breath, as
she tried to speak, "'t won't do no good. He'll beat me. He's getting
over a drunk, so he wanted his beer, and he'll lick me."

John looked down sadly at the child for a moment. "I will take you home,
Helen, and then I will go back with Molly."

"Oh," Helen answered quickly, "let me go with you?"

"No," John replied, "no, dear. You heard what Molly said? I--I cannot
bear that your eyes should see--what must be seen in Tom Davis's house
to-night. We will go to the parsonage now, and then Molly and I will tel