im was simply staggering and the hankering for the
excitement of the gambling table or the struggle against the narcotic
tyranny of the demon cigarette was such that at times she had to sit
long moments holding his storm-racked and shaking hand while he fought
bravely against the maddening appetite! And after a week of the closest
personal attention he had only cut down the allowance of cigarettes to
seven a day!

Now Miss Tupper was upright and God-fearing and self-respecting, and
though there was a difference of three years all in her favor, she,
unlike some of her sex, scorned the use of her personal attractions,
simply for the sake of a personal vanity, nor was she a collector of
male scalps. She was in a moral quandary of the most metaphysical
complexity. What should she do: shirk her evident moral responsibility
and allow a bravely battling human soul to sink into iniquity or
continue and permit a most susceptible youngster to immerse himself
deeper and deeper into a hopeless passion?

Each day she came to the task of regenerating Mr. Skippy Bedelle
resolved to conduct the proceedings on the grounds of the strictest
formality, and each evening she admitted to herself the failure. Yet
could she honestly blame herself? She gave him her female sewing-society
pin to wear not as a personal token but solely as a daily reminder of
the promises he had made to himself. She gave him a tie, a colored
handkerchief and the sweater she had just finished for another
destination. But each was given as a reward and marked a triumphant
progress in his fight to acquire a final mastery over himself. When,
however, Skippy brought up the question of a photograph, a crisis was
reached.

"I have never never given my picture to any man," she said firmly, and
the absence of sibilants made it doubly impressive. "And I never never
will. Bethideth, you know I would have to tell my mother."

They were sitting in the summer house at that romantic hour when the
first day stars arrive with the mosquitoes. It was always at such
moments that the craving was strongest. She had begun by holding his
wrist in a strong encircling clasp but the sight of his twitching
contorted fingers had been too much for her sensibilities and her hand
had slipped into a more intimate clasp.

"After all he's only a boy," she had said to herself.

"Jennie! how can you--don't you--do you realize all I'm doing--just for
you?" said Skippy, whose voice at such moments