w Reeves, she's no better
wage nor you, and yet she's always got brass to spare for gin and
baccy."

"Widow Reeves! mother--yes, but it's other folks' brass, and not her
own."

"Well, but she manages to get the brass anyhow," said her mother coolly.

"I know she does, mother, and she's the talk of the whole village.
She's in debt to every shop for miles round, and never pays nowt to
nobody."

"Maybe she don't," said Alice carelessly, "but she's always brass to
spare in her pocket, and so might you."

"I couldn't do it," cried Betty vehemently, "I couldn't do it, mother.
It's a sin and a shame of Widow Reeves--she takes her brass for a bit to
the last new shop as turns up, and then runs up a long score, and leaves
without paying."

"Well, that's her concern, not mine," said the other; "I'm not saying as
it's just right; you needn't do as she does--but you're not bound to pay
_all_ up at once, you might hold back a little each now and then, and
you'd have summat to spare for your poor old mother."

"But I've promised fayther, and he trusts me."

"Promised fayther!--you need say nowt to your fayther about it--he'll
never be none the wiser."

"O mother, mother, how can you talk so, after all as is come and gone!
How can you ask me to cheat my own poor fayther, as is so changed? he's
trying gradely to get to heaven, and to bring you along with him too,
and you're wanting to pull us all back. Mother, mother, how can you do
it? How can you ask me to go agen fayther when he leaves all to me?
You're acting the devil's part, mother, when you 'tice your own child to
do wrong. Oh, it's cruel, it's cruel, when you know, if I were to
deceive fayther it'd break his heart. But it's the drink that's been
speaking. Oh, the cursed drink! that can pluck a mother's heart out of
her bosom, and make her the tempter of her own child! I must leave you,
mother, now. I durstn't stay. I might say summat as I shouldn't, for I
am your child still. But oh, mother, pray God to forgive you for what
you've said to me this night; and may the Lord indeed forgive you, as I
pray that I may have grace to do myself." So saying, she hastily threw
her handkerchief over her head and left the cottage.

And what were Alice Johnson's thoughts when she was left alone? She sat
still by the fire, and never moved for a long time. Darkness, midnight
darkness, a horror of darkness, was settling down on her soul. She had
no false support now from