was common for her friends to say when there was a question about
any thing that had occurred, "We will ask Alice. She always tells
the exact truth."

At last, Alice was a woman; and I, of course, led a more sober life,
as she became more serious. I grew so long and thick that, when she
took out her comb, and shook her head slightly, I fell in curls all
around her neck and shoulders, like a golden veil, and you could but
just see her laughing blue eyes, and white teeth through me.

You may readily guess that the pretty Alice was beloved by all who
knew her; and, ere long, the son of the village apothecary won her
heart. He was a good-hearted fellow, but never fitted himself to be
of much use in the world. He took Alice to a distant village, where,
with his father's assistance, he set up as an apothecary, on rather
a small scale, of course; but Alice was used to simple fare and to
helping herself.

All would have been well with them but for one thing--the husband
became a drunkard; not immediately--his love for his wife kept him
sober for some time. Nothing was more beautiful than the way they
lived for a year or two; but the habit of drinking a little, a habit
which he had formed in his father's shop, and which he intended to
cure, returned. The wretched man had not strength to resist it.

He became fretful, and Alice, for the first time in her life, became
unhappy. She had never before heard any but the voice of kindness;
and now, from him she loved best in the world she received sometimes
sharp and disagreeable words. He was very sorry afterwards, and all
would seem well again, but he did not really reform, and, many a