the habit, and I can do nothing but pray, and leave the rest to God."

That night Mr. Ellet came home to supper, as usual. He was a
hard-working man, and a good neighbor. So everybody said, but he had
the habit of intemperance so firmly fixed upon him that everybody
thought he would end his days in the drunkard's grave. Susie kissed
him when he came through the gate, as she always did, but there was
something in her face that went to his heart--a look so sad, and full
of touching sorrow for one so young as she!

"What ails my little girl?" he asked as he patted her curly head.

"I can't tell you, father," she answered, slowly.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it would make you feel bad." Susie replied.

"I guess not," he said, as they walked up to the door together. "What
is it, Susie?"

"Oh, father," and Susie burst into tears again as the memory of Ned
Graham's words came up freshly in her mind, "I wish you wouldn't drink
any more, for the boys and girls don't like to play with me, 'cause
you do."

Mr. Ellet made no reply. But something stirred in his heart that made
him ashamed of himself; ashamed that he was the cause of so much
sorrow and misery. After supper he took his hat, and Mrs. Ellet knew
only too well where he was going.