CHAPTER IV.

THE DRUNKARD.

A man, living in the State of Arkansas, was in the habit of spending
his evenings at a tavern, where he often became so drunk that he could
scarcely reach home.

One night he stayed later than usual, so that when he left the tavern,
honest people had long been in bed. The liquor he had taken so
bewildered his senses that he knew not where he was going. At last, he
staggered into an empty wagon-shed and fell on the ground.

For a long time he lay unconscious of everything about him, and would,
no doubt, have frozen, as the night was very cold, had not he been
cared for by others less insensible than himself.

This shed was a favorite resort for the hogs, which were out when the
new-comer arrived, but soon returned to their nest. In the utmost
kindness, they gave the man the warmest place in the middle of the
bed; some lying close by his side, and others acting the part of the
quilt. Their company made him so warm that he was kept from exposure.

Toward morning he began to rouse from his drunken sleep, but felt so
comfortable that he supposed himself still in the tavern with his
companions.

He reached out his hand, and catching hold of the stiff bristles of a
hog, exclaimed,--

"Why, Mister, when did you shave last?"

"How did Daniel Jones look while Miss Darling was telling the story?"
asked Hatty, much interested.

"He looked very red. I don't believe teacher knows what a drunkard his
father is."

"Well," said Hatty; "you and I ought to be very thankful that our
father is a temperance man. How should you feel to have him lying
with the hogs?"

"I never thought how many things we have to be grateful for," said
Fred, gravely. "If I had a father like Dan Jones, I never could look
anybody in the face."

Mrs. Carleton, finding that her son's mind was still dwelling on
gratitude, promised to relate a story on the subject, as soon as tea
was cleared away.

While Hatty was doing this, Fred took his book to learn the lesson
for the next Sabbath. He was nearly through when he noticed that his
sister was trying to lift the table alone, and set it in its place
next the wall.

"Let me help you, Hatty," he cried, jumping to her assistance.

"Thank you, Fred," and she kissed him.

"I like to do things for people who thank me," he replied, eagerly.

"Why, my dear?"

"Because, ma, I know then--I know they're pleased. I can't explain
the reason, only it makes me feel better