other craved, and with which Mrs. Ryan
comforted herself over her trying lot.

About eight o'clock the little ones returned. Three unkempt, ragged
urchins, full of excitement about all they had witnessed.

"Oh, mother, sich pritty picthures, an' sich fine singin'. An' sich nice
spoken jintlemen an' ladies."

"An' sich swate cards wid ribbon to hang 'em up."

"An' what was it all about, thin?" asked the weary mother, roused to
interest.

Meg answered: "The jintlemen tould us that the dhrink was a curse an' a
shame, an' he said it made folks cruel an' bad--"

"Thrue for him!" interjected the mother.

"An' he said," continued Meg, "that it wad be betther for no wan niver
to touch it at all, at all, an' thin they wad niver git dhrunk. An' he
wanted all the childer in the room to sign a promise niver to put it to
their lips; an' heaps uv 'em wint up an' signed, an' got a card wid
their names on to hang up, an' Mrs. Fisher's Jimmie an' Alice signed.
An' we said we'd ax you, mammy, an' maybe you'd say, 'Yes,' an' thin we
could sign nixt week."

"Yes, an', mammy, we don't want to be like daddy whin we grow up, so we
may sign, mayn't we?" eagerly put in Teddie, the youngest.

"Ye might be worse nor yer poor father, an' don't ye say a worrud
against him; an' as for ye signin' the pledge, ye'll do no sich thing. A
dhrap uv the craythur now an' thin won't hurt a livin' soul; an' I'll
not have ye sit yersilves up to be betther nor yer own father an'
mother." And poor deluded Mrs. Ryan finished her third glass of hot
whiskey and water, and drained the sweet dregs into the open mouth of
her wan-faced baby.

A few days after, his drinking bout being over for the time being,
Donovan Ryan sat over the kitchen fire watching his wife's preparations
for tea.

"Shure, Patty, have ye heard that Harry Fisher has turned teetotal?" he
suddenly said.

"Niver, shurely, now; what's the likes uv him, as niver gits dhrunk more
nor wance in a blue moon, nade to be jhinin' a wake-minded, wathery set
like the teetotalers?" exclaimed Mrs. Ryan, in a tone of irritation.

Donovan stirred uneasily.

"Sorra am I the man to say he's made a misthake, for I'd jhine that same
set mesilf if I thought I'd howld out whin the dhrink craze takes me."

"I'd be ashamed to own ye for me husban' if ye made such a fool uv
yersilf, Donovan," cried his wife, with energy. "It's thrue enough ye
overstips the bounds uv sobriety oftener nor Harry Fisher, more