he
desire for the best, and a factor in civilization. A generation or two
hence, the children of these pushing, aggressive fathers will be fine
men."

John shook his head sadly. "Ah, but the present evil?"

But Gifford answered cheerfully, "Oh, well, the present evil is one stage
of development; to live up to the best one knows is morality, and the
preservation of self is the best some of these people know; we can only
wait hopefully for the future."

"Morality is not enough," John said gently. "Morality never saved a soul,
Mr. Woodhouse."

But Helen laughed gayly: "John, dear, Gifford doesn't understand your
awful Presbyterian doctrines, and there is no use trying to convert him."

Gifford smiled, and owned good-naturedly that he was a heathen. "But I
think," he said, "the thing which keeps the town back most is liquor."

"It is, indeed," John answered, eagerly. "If it could be banished!"

"High license is the only practical remedy," said Gifford, his face full
of interest; but John's fell.

"No, no, not that; no compromise with sin will help us. I would have it
impossible to find a drop of liquor in Lockhaven."

"What would you do in case of sickness?" Gifford asked curiously.

"I wouldn't have it used."

"Oh, John, dear," Helen protested, "don't you think that's rather
extreme? You know it's life or death sometimes: a stimulant has to be
used, or a person would die. Suppose I had to have it?"

His face flushed painfully. "Death is better than sin," he said slowly
and gently; "and you, if you----I don't know, Helen; no one knows his
weakness until temptation comes." His tone was so full of trouble,
Gifford, feeling the sudden tenderness of his own strength, said
good-naturedly, "What do you think of us poor fellows who confess to
a glass of claret at dinner?"

"And what must he have thought of the dinner-table at the rectory?" Helen
added.

"I don't think I noticed it," John said simply. "You were there."

"There, Helen, that's enough to make you sign the pledge!" said Gifford.

He watched them walking down the street, under the arching ailantus,
their footsteps muffled by the carpet of the fallen blossoms; and there
was a thoughtful look on his face when he went into his office, and,
lighting his lamp, sat down to look over some papers. "How is that going
to come out?" he said to himself. "Neither of those people will amend an
opinion, and Ward is not the man to be satisfied if his wife holds a
be