Mrs Franklin smiles, and says:

"You seem rather burdened with care, my child."

"Well, I don't know, dear mamma; I don't think it is exactly care, but
I'm dissatisfied or disappointed that I don't feel happier for last
night's party."

"You don't think there was much real enjoyment in it?"

"Not to _me_, mamma; and I don't imagine very much to anybody--except,
perhaps, to some of the very little ones. There was a hollowness and
emptiness about the whole thing; plenty of excitement and a great deal
of selfishness, but nothing to make me feel really brighter and
happier."

"No, my child; I quite agree with you: and I was specially sorry for old
Mr Tankardew. I can't quite understand what induced him to come: his
conduct was very strange, and yet there is something very amiable about
him in the midst of his eccentricities."

"What a horror he seems to have of wine and negus and suchlike things,
mamma."

"Yes; and I'm sure what he saw last night would not make him any fonder
of them. Poor Mark Rothwell quite forgot himself. I was truly glad to
get away early."

"Oh! So was I, mamma; it was terrible. I wish he wouldn't touch such
things; I'm sure he'll do himself harm if he does."

"Yes, indeed, Mary; harm in body, and character, and soul. Those are
fearful words, `No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God.'"

"I wish I was like Mr Tankardew," says Mary, after a pause; "did you
see, mamma, how he refused the negus? I never saw such a frown."

"Well, Mary, I'm not certain that total abstinence would suit either of
us, but it is better to be on the safe side. I am sure, in these days
of special self-indulgence, it would be worth a little sacrifice if our
example might do good; but I'll think about it."

It was a lovely morning in the September after the juvenile party, one
of those mornings which combine the glow of summer with the richness of
autumn. A picnic had been arranged to a celebrated hill about ten miles
distant from Hopeworth. The Rothwells had been the originators, and had
pressed Mary Franklin to join the party. Mrs Franklin had at first
declined for her daughter. She increasingly dreaded any intimacy
between her and Mark, whose habits she feared were getting more and more
self-indulgent; and Mary herself was by no means anxious to go, but
Mark's father had been particularly pressing on the subject, more so
than Mrs Franklin could exactly understand, so she yielded to the joint
impo