hat story of a great charity, started through one poor girl," said
Mrs. Wilson, "reminds me of another that I heard lately; shall I tell
it, Kristy?"

"Oh, do!" said Kristy.

CHAPTER IX

ONE LITTLE CANDLE

This story is about a girl not much older than you, who had a great
trouble come upon her, some years ago. Her father who was--I'm sorry
to say--a drunkard, had at last died, leaving Alice Rawson, and her
brother a little older, to take care of their invalid mother.

The trouble that came upon her, as I said, was the finding that the
brother, who was steady at his work, and proud to support the family,
began to go out every evening. The great dread seized her that he
would follow in the footsteps of his father. They had suffered so much
from the father's habits, that this was almost more than she could
bear, and she felt sure that it would kill her mother.

She tried every way she could think of to entertain her brother at
home, but she could not make it gay and lively as it was in the
saloon where the boys met, and when she tried to coax him to stay at
home, he answered her that it was awful dull in the evening after a
long day's work.

Alice could not deny this, and she had not a word to say when one
evening he ended with, "You can't expect a fellow to stay mewed up at
home all the time. Now look here," as he saw the tears come into
Alice's eyes, "you needn't fret about me, Sis. I'm bound to take care
of myself, but I must have a little pleasure after working all day.
Good-by; I'll be home by nine."

But he was not home by nine, nor by ten, and the clock had struck
eleven when Alice heard his step. She hurried to the door to let him
in. His face was flushed, and his breath--alas!--reminded her of her
father's.

He made some excuse and hurried off to bed, and Alice sank into a
chair in the sitting-room. She was shocked. She was grieved. This was
the first time Jack had showed signs of being under the influence of
strong drink, and she felt as if she could not bear it.

A month before, they had laid in a drunkard's grave their father, and
over his terrible death-bed, Jack had promised their mother that he
would not follow in his steps.

"Yet now--so soon--he has begun," thought Alice, sitting there alone
in the cold. "And how can I blame him, poor boy!" she went on, "when
it is so dull and stupid for him here? It's no wonder he prefers the
pleasant warm room, the lights, the gay company, the gam