Up into the swollen and disfigured face of the fallen father, the
large, earnest blue eyes of the child are raised. She does not see
the marred lineaments; but only the beloved countenance of her
parent.

"Dear father!"

"What, love?"

"I wish you'd promise me something."

"What, dear?"

"Will you promise?"

"I can't say until I hear your request. If I can promise, I will."

"Oh, you can promise--you can, father!"

How the large blue eyes dance and sparkle!

"What is it, love?"

"That you will never go into Simon Slade's bar any more."

The child raises herself, evidently with a painful effort; and
leans nearer to her father.

Joe shakes his head, and poor Mary drops back upon her pillow with
a sigh. Her lids fall, and the long lashes lie strongly relieved