with drunkards, but most of all with
female drunkards. I've known--and I thank God for it--many a reformed
male drunkard; but when women take decidedly to drinking, it is very
rare indeed to see them cured--at least, that has been _my_ experience.
I got poor nurse away with a friend of mine who was going in a
temperance ship to England, hoping that the habit might be broken off
during the voyage. But, alas! she broke out again soon after reaching
home, and died at last a miserable death in a workhouse. But I see you
look rather fagged, Mr Oldfield. Shall we take a turn in the garden
before it gets dark, and then perhaps you'll like a little music?"

And now we must leave Abraham Oliphant and Australia for a while, and
return to Langhurst, and some of the earlier characters of our story.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

AN EXPLOSION IN THE PIT.

"No letter yet from our Sammul," cried Betty, wearily and sadly, as she
came from the mill on a dreary night in the November after her brother's
sudden departure. "I thought as how he'd have been sure to write to me.
Well, I suppose we must make ourselves content till he's got over the
sea. But oh, it'll be weary work till we've heard summat from him."

"Hush, hush, there's a good bairn," said her mother, though the tears
were all the while running down her own cheeks as she spoke; "don't take
on so; you'll drive your fayther clean crazy. He's down in the mouth
enough already. Come, don't fret in that fashion, Thomas; Sammul'll
come back afore long: you've been crouching down by the hearth-stone
long enough. If you'll be guided by me, you'll just take a drop of good
ale, it'll liven you up a bit; you want summat of the sort, or you'll
shrivel up till you've nothing but skin on your bones."

"Ale!" cried Thomas, indignantly; "ale'll not make me better--ale won't
make me forget--ale won't bring back our Sammul, it's driven him far
enough away."

"Well," said his wife, soothingly, "you must go your own way; only, if
you keep a-fretting of that fashion, you'll not be able to do your work
gradely, and then we shall all have to starve, and that'll be worse for
you still."

"Better starve," replied her husband moodily, "nor ruin body and soul
with the drink; I'll have no more of it."

"Well, you can please yourself;" replied Alice, "so long as you don't
take me with you. But I must have my drop of beer and my pipe, I can't
live without 'em; and so you may rest content with that