s not.

"And how is Mr. Daly?" began the priest.

"Drinking as usual," she replied.

"Well, that's a great cross," he continued, "but I hope a turn for the
better will come, some time."

"I hope it comes before it's too late," she sighed. "He has all of us
nearly as bad as himself with his ways. He drinks his money and leaves
nothing for the home, but what Willie brings in. God bless you, Father,
for the job you got Willie. It is the only steady money that comes in."

"How is William?" asked the priest. "I've missed him from the Club the
last few days, so I have just dropped in to see how he is; I hope he is
a good boy."

"Oh, Willie is a good enough boy, he might be worse," answered Bill's
mother. "His father sets him no good example, and the poor boy has to
put up with a lot of abuse. The wonder is that he is any good at all."

She wiped her face with her apron, and sat down on the edge of a chair.
She was evidently in a mood to talk. The kindliness of the priest seemed
to invite her confidence, for she began:

"Mike was a good man before the drink got him. We had our nice little
home and his wages came in as regular as Saturday night. We went to
church together every Sunday morning and God was good to us. But when
Willie was about six years old, his father got a job over at King's
automobile place. He was ambitious and started in and learned how to
drive a taxi. He was out day and night. His money came in fast, and he
was good to me and Willie.

"At first, everything went all right, and I thanked God. But soon, he
began to leave off Church on Sunday from time to time. After a while, he
dropped it entirely. Then he got in with a bad set. It was not long
before he came home under the influence. I cried before him and begged
him to let the liquor alone. He did for a while, but he began again and
kept it up. Then he lost his job. He got another easy enough but he kept
at the drink. And then he began to hold back his money. And it wasn't
everyday that we had something in the house to eat. I had to sell things
from the house to buy food. If I didn't, he would come home drunk and
start a fight. And when there was nothing more to sell he began to beat
me. If Willie cried, he beat him. The poor boy was often black and blue.
Things went on from bad to worse. I had to have him arrested, although
it broke my heart. It was a disgrace to us all. Willie was ashamed to go
out and play with the other boys. One day as he was