ut spoke in such high terms of
his success with Nellie, that every one conceded the right teacher had
been selected, and it would be a misfortune for any one to assume to
take the place of the parson.

Not until the final summing up of all accounts, will the full measure
of the influence of the little one be known. It was gentle, subtle,
almost imperceptible. Wade Ruggles never broke his resolve not to
touch liquor. Inasmuch as an appetite nourished for years, cannot be
wholly extirpated in a day, he had his moments of intense yearning for
stimulants, when the temptation was powerful, but his will was still
more so, and the time came when the terrific thirst vanished
entirely, though he knew it was simply "asleep" and could be roused
into resistless fury by indulgence in a single glass.

The parson had a severer struggle. After holding out for days, he
yielded, and by his inordinate dissipation brought back matters to a
fair average. Then he set about manfully to retrieve himself. A second
time he fell, and then, thank heaven! he gained the mastery.
Henceforward he was safe.

Maurice Dawson himself had been an occasional tippler for years, but
he felt the influence of example and experienced no trouble in giving
up the habit. Several others did the same, while more tried but "fell
by the wayside."

Landlord Ortigies noticed the diminution in his receipts, but, strange
as it may sound, down in his heart he was not sorry. Like nine out of
ten engaged in his business he was dissatisfied, and like the same
nine out of ten, he longed for the chance to take up some other
calling which would bring him bread and butter and no accusing pangs
of conscience.

Before the coming of Nellie Dawson, brawls and personal encounters
often occurred. The walls of the Heavenly Bower contained several
pounds of lead. Blood had been shed, and the history of the settlement
showed that three persons had died with their boots on, but those
stirring days seemed to have departed forever.

Parson Brush did a good deal of thinking. When through with his pupil,
he was accustomed to take long walks into the mountains, his hands
clasped behind his back and his head bowed in meditation. It is safe
to conclude that Conscience was getting in its work with him.

And so the seasons came and went and the years rolled on. Varick
Thomson, an old miner, who had spent years of fruitless toil in the
diggings of Australia, lay down and died, and the parson