Come in, gentlemen, and be seated, while I call my husband. We feel
honored by your visit and would be pleased to have you take tea with
us."

The invitation is readily accepted and after a good country supper the
investigation proceeds. In answer to the question as to the relation
of the home to the welfare of the republic, the head of the house
says: "Gentlemen, we are trying to keep our home pure; it is our
purpose to make our boys patriotic American citizens and our daughters
true American women. We love God and endeavor to keep His
commandments, and this is about all I can say about our home."

"That is well so far, but may we ask what sacrifice would this home be
willing to make for the republic if its flag were in peril?"

The wife exclaims: "You alarm us by your question. Is our country in
danger?"

"Yes, madam. The combined forces of the Old World are nearing our
shores and the republic is in peril."

"Wait, gentlemen, until we talk it over."

The family retires for consultation and soon the mother appears, and
with tears in her eyes says: "Gentlemen, we've decided. Take our
oldest boy, who is eager to go. Take him to the battlefield; if he
falls in defense of his country's flag, come back, we'll kiss the
second one and tell him, 'go fill your brother's place.' Gentlemen, we
love our country next to our God and this home is pledged to this
country's honor."

I say, any country that has such mothers for its patriotism, such
guardians for its homes, should protect these homes and mothers with
all the power of police, all the majesty of law, and any evil that
attempts to destroy these homes ought not to be licensed, but should
be buried as the old Scotch woman would bury the devil--with "face
down, so the more he scratched the deeper he would go."

I am sick of the hollow sentiment, "the hand that rocks the cradle
rules the world," insofar as it relates to the drink problem. If the
hand that rocks the cradle did rule the world, there would not be two
hundred thousand rum-fiend vultures soaring over the cradle homes of
our country today. If a mother could keep her boy in the cradle she
might rule the world, but the trouble is, the boy gets too big for the
cradle and jumps out. In the cradle he's mama's child, coos if mama
coos, and laughs when mama laughs; but out of the cradle he's papa's
boy, swears if papa swears, smokes if papa smokes, drinks if papa
drinks. If papa does none of these things, then the