crowd its busy streets. They may hold out their
enticements for him in vain. But he is too weak to refuse the tempting
glass when a fair hostess offers it, or when, in the midst of a gay
company wine is in every hand and at every lip. One glass taken, and
caution and restraint are too often forgotten. He drinks with this one
and that one, until his clear head is gone and appetite, like a
watchful spider, throws another cord of its fatal web around him."

"I don't see what we are to do about it," said Mr. Birtwell. "If men
can't control themselves--" He did not finish the sentence.

"We can at least refrain from putting temptation in their way,"
answered his wife.

"How?"

"We can refuse to turn our houses into drinking-saloons," replied Mrs.
Birtwell, voice and manner becoming excited and intense.

"Margaret, Margaret, you are losing yourself," said the astonished
husband.

"No; I speak the words of truth and soberness," she answered, her face
rising in color and her eyes brightening. "What great difference is
there between a drinking-saloon, where liquor is sold, and a
gentleman's dining-room, where it is given away? The harm is great in
both--greatest, I fear, in the latter, where the weak and unguarded are
allured and their tastes corrupted. There is a ban on the
drinking-saloon. Society warns young men not to enter its tempting
doors. It is called the way of death and hell. What makes it accursed
and our home saloon harmless? It is all wrong, Mr. Birtwell--all wrong,
wrong, wrong! and to-day we are tasting some of the fruit, the
bitterness of which, I fear, will be in our mouths so long as we both
shall live."

Mrs. Birtwell broke down, and sinking back in her chair, covered her
face with her hands.

"I must go to Frances," she said, rising after a few moments.

"Not now, Margaret," interposed her husband. "Wait for a while. Archie
is neither murdered nor frozen to death; you may take my word for that.
Wait until the morning advances, and he has time to put in an
appearance, as they say. Henry can go round after breakfast and make
inquiry about him. If he is still absent, then you might call and see
Mrs. Voss. At present the snow lies inches deep and unbroken on the
street, and you cannot possibly go out."

Mrs. Birtwell sat down again, her countenance more distressed.

"Oh, if it hadn't happened in our house!" she said. "If this awful
thing didn't lie at our door!"

"Good Heavens, Margaret! why wil