hen he is
such a good Saviour, and would know just how to help you, now you are so
sorry-like and homesick, and disappointed. If you had him you could tell
him all about it and he would comfort you. He helped me, you don't know
how much, and I was dreadful bad once. I used to get drunk,
Ethie--drunker'n a fool, and come hiccuppin' home with my clothes all
tore and my hat smashed into nothin'."

Andy's face was scarlet as he confessed to his past misdeeds, but
without the least hesitation he went on: "Mr. Townsend found me one day
in the ditch, and helped me up and got me into his room and prayed over
me and talked to me, and never let me off from that time till the
Saviour took me up, and now it's better than three years since I tasted
a drop. I don't taste it even at the sacrament, for fear what the taste
might do, and I used to hold my nose to keep shut of the smell. Mr.
Townsend knows I don't touch it, and God knows, too, and thinks I'm
right, I'm sure, and gives me to drink of his precious blood just the
same, for I feel light as air when I come from the altar. If religion
could make me, a fool and a drunkard, happy, it would do sights for you
who know so much. Try it, Ethie, won't you?"

Andy was getting in earnest now, and Ethelyn could not meet the glance
of his honest, pleading eyes.

"I can't be good, Andy," she replied; "I shouldn't know how to begin or
what to do."

"Seems to me I could tell you a few things," Andy said. "God didn't want
you to go to Washington for some wise purpose or other, and so he put it
into Dick's heart to leave you at home. Now, instead of crying about
that I'd make the best of it and be as happy as I could be here. I know
we ain't starched up folks like them in Boston, but we like you, all of
us--leastwise Jim and John and me do--and I don't mean to come to the
table in my shirt-sleeves any more, if that will suit you, and I won't
blow my tea in my sasser, nor sop my bread in the platter; though if
you are all done and there's a lot of nice gravy left, you won't mind
it, will you, Ethelyn?--for I do love gravy."

Ethelyn had been more particular than she meant to be with her reasons
for her disappointment, and in enumerating the bad habits to which she
said Western people were addicted, she had included the points upon
which Andy had seized so readily. He had never been told before that his
manners were entirely what they ought not to be; he could hardly see it
so now, but if i