"Still, you do manage to keep even?"
"Yes."
"On about half your former income?"
"A little over half. I used to get ten dollars a week. Now I manage, by picking up odd jobs here and there, to make about six."
"Then you are better off than you were before."
"I hardly see how you can make that out."
"Your family have enough to live upon--all they had before--and you have a healthier body, a calmer mind, and a clearer conscience.
Isn"t here something gained?"
"I rather think there is," replied Gordon, smiling.
"And I rather think you are a good deal better off than you were before. Isn"t your wife happier?"
"O! yes. She"s as cheerful as a lark all the day."
"And doesn"t murmur because of your light wages?"
"No, indeed! not she. I believe if I didn"t earn more than three dollars a week, and kept sober, she would make it do, somehow or other, and keep a good heart. It"s wonderful how much she is changed!"
"And yet you are no better off? Ain"t you better off in having a happy wife and a pleasant home, what I am sure you hadn"t before?"
"You are right in that. I certainly had neither of them before. Oh!
yes. I am much better off all around. I only felt a little despondent, because I can"t get regular employment as I used to, and good wages; for now, if I had these, I could do so well."
"Be patient, friend Gordon; time will make all right. There are three words that every reformed man should write on the walls of his chamber, that he may see them every morning. They are "Time, Faith, Energy." No matter how low he may have fallen; no matter how discouraging all things around him may appear; let him have energy, and faith in time, and all will come out well at last."
Gordon went home, feeling in better heart than when he met the temperance friend who had spoken to him these encouraging words.
Henry Gordon, when he married, had just commenced business for himself, and went on for several years doing very well. He laid by enough money to purchase himself a snug little house, and was in a good way for acc.u.mulating a comfortable property, when the habit of dram-drinking, which he had indulged for years, became an over-mastering pa.s.sion. From that period he neglected his business, which steadily declined. In half the time it took to acc.u.mulate the property he possessed, all disappeared--his business was broken up, and he compelled to work at his trade as a journeyman to support his family. From a third to a half of the sum he earned weekly, he spent in gratifying the debasing appet.i.te that had almost beggared his family and reduced him to a state of degradation little above that of the brute. The balance was given to his sad-hearted wife, to get food for the hungry, half-clothed children.
Nor was this all. Debts were contracted which Gordon was unable to pay. One or two of his creditors, more exacting than the rest, seized upon his furniture and sold it to satisfy their claims, leaving to the distressed family only the few articles exempt by law.
Things had reached this low condition, when Gordon came home from the shop, one day, some hours earlier than usual. Surprised at seeing him, his wife said--
"What"s the matter, Henry? Are you sick?"
"No!" he replied, sullenly, "I"m discharged."
"Discharged! For what, Henry?"
"For spoiling a job."
"How did that happen?" Mrs. Gordon spoke kindly, although she felt anxious and distressed.
"How has all my trouble happened?" asked Gordon, with unusual bitterness of tone. "I took a gla.s.s too much, and--and--"
"It made you spoil your job," said his wife, her voice still kind.
"Yes. Curse the day I ever saw a drop of liquor! It has been the cause of all my misfortunes."
"Why not abandon its use at once and for ever, Henry?"
"That is not so easily done."
"Hundreds have done it, and are doing it daily, and so may you. Only make the resolution, Henry. Only determine to break these fetters, and you are free. Let the time past, wherein you have wrought folly, and your family suffered more than words can express, suffice. Only will it, and there will be a bright future for all of us."
Tears came into the eyes of Mrs. Gordon while she made this appeal, although she strove hard to appear calm. Her husband felt a better spirit awaking within him. There was a brief struggle between appet.i.te and the good resolution that was forming in his mind, and then the latter conquered.
"I will be free!" he said, turning towards the door through which he had a little while before entered, and hurriedly leaving the house.
The hour that pa.s.sed from the time her husband went out until he returned, was one of most anxious suspense to Mrs. Gordon. Her hand trembled so that she could not hold her needle, and was obliged to lay aside the sewing upon which she was engaged, and go about some household employments.
"Mary, I have signed the pledge, if that will do any good," said Gordon, opening the door and coming in upon his wife with his pledge in his hand. "There," and he unrolled the paper and pointed to his name; "there is my signature, and here is the doc.u.ment."
He did not speak very cheerfully; but his wife"s face was lit up with a sudden brightness, followed by a gush of tears.
"Do any good!" she replied, leaning her head upon his shoulder, and grasping one of his hands tightly in both of hers. "It will do all good!"
"But I have no work, Mary. I was discharged to-day, and it is the only shop in town. What are we to do?"
"Mr. Evenly will take you back, now that you have signed the pledge."
"Perhaps he will!" Gordon spoke more cheerfully. "I will go and see him to-morrow."
Mrs. Gordon prepared her husband a strong cup of coffee, and baked some nice hot cakes for his supper. She combed her hair, and made herself as tidy as possible. The children, too, were much improved in their looks by a little attention, which their mother felt encouraged to give. There was an air of comfort about the ill-furnished dwelling of Henry Gordon that it had not known for a long time, and he felt it.
On the next morning, after breakfast, Gordon went back to the shop from which he had been discharged only the day previous. Evenly, the owner of it, was a rough, unfeeling man, and had kept Gordon on, month after month, because he could not well do without him. But, on the very day he discharged him, a man from another town had applied for work, and the spoiled job was made an excuse for discharging a journeyman, whose habits of intoxication had always been offensive to the master-workman.
When Gordon entered the shop for the purpose of asking to be taken back, he met Evenly near the door, who said to him, in a rough manner--
"And what do you want, pray?"
"I want you to take me back again," replied Gordon. "I have signed the pledge, and intend leading a sober life hereafter."
"The devil you have!"
"Yes sir. I signed it yesterday, after you discharged me."
"How long do you expect to keep it?" asked Evenly, with a sneer.
"Long enough to reach the next grogshop?"
"I have taken the pledge for life, I trust," returned the workman, seriously. He was hurt at the contemptuous manner of his old employer, but his dependent condition made him conceal his feelings.
"You will have no more trouble with me."