hat it is
the drinking of _wine_ and _spirits_--yes, and _beer_, which makes half
the homes in England full of _wretched_ little children, and _degraded_,
_miserable_ parents?'

'Not if you put sugar in it,' said Alice firmly; 'eight lumps and shake
the bottle. We have each had more than a teaspoonful of it, and we were
not ill at all. It was something else that upset H. O. Most likely all
those acorns he got out of the Park.'

The clergyman seemed to be speechless with conflicting emotions, and
just then the door opened and a lady came in. She had a white cap with
lace, and an ugly violet flower in it, and she was tall, and looked
very strong, though thin. And I do believe she had been listening at the
door.

'But why,' the Vicar was saying, 'why did you bring this dreadful fluid,
this curse of our country, to _me_ to taste?'

'Because we thought you might buy some,' said Dora, who never sees when
a game is up. 'In books the parson loves his bottle of old port; and new
sherry is just as good--with sugar--for people who like sherry. And if
you would order a dozen of the wine, then we should get two shillings.'

The lady said (and it _was_ the voice), 'Good gracious! Nasty, sordid
little things! Haven't they any one to teach them better?'

And Dora got up and said, 'No, we are not those things you say; but we
are sorry we came here to be called names. We want to make our fortune
just as much as Mr Mallow does--only no one would listen to us if we
preached, so it's no use our copying out sermons like him.'

And I think that was smart of Dora, even if it was rather rude.

Then I said perhaps we had better go, and the lady said, 'I should think
so!'

But when we were going to wrap up the bottle and glass the clergyman
said, 'No; you can leave that,' and we were so upset we did, though it
wasn't his after all.

We walked home very fast and not saying much, and the girls went up to
their rooms. When I went to tell them tea was ready, and there was
a teacake, Dora was crying like anything and Alice hugging her. I am
afraid there is a great deal of crying in this chapter, but I can't help
it. Girls will sometimes; I suppose it is their nature, and we ought to
be sorry for their affliction.

'It's no good,' Dora was saying, 'you all hate me, and you think I'm
a prig and a busybody, but I do try to do right--oh, I do! Oswald, go
away; don't come here making fun of me!'

So I said, 'I'm not making fun, Sissy; don't