"You haven't been good to yourself, father--but you've always been
good to us."

"Don't, Mary! don't say anything about that," interrupted Morgan.
"Say that I've been very bad--very wicked. Oh, Mary, dear! I only
wish that I was as good as you are; I'd like to die, then, and go
right away from this evil world. I wish there was no liquor to
drink--no taverns--no bar-rooms. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I was
dead."

And the weak, trembling, half-palsied man laid his face again upon
the pillow beside his child, and sobbed aloud.

What an oppressive silence reigned for a time through the room!

"Father." The stillness was broken by Mary. Her voice was clear
and even. "Father, I want to tell you something."

"What is it, Mary?"

"There'll be nobody to go for you, father." The child's lips now
quivered, and tears filled into her eyes.

"Don't talk about that, Mary. I'm not going out in the evening any
more until you get well. Don't you remember I promised?"

"But, father"--She hesitated.

"What, dear?"