keep a girl in the straight line. I am sorry to say this, but my own girl told me it was sadly true.
She knew, and I knew, a pretty girl, such a pretty girl, who came to New York with the country roses blooming on her cheeks and God's own sunshine making her hair lovely. She was young, healthy, and happy. She did not know how to be careful, she did not know how to just make the best of things and get along as most of the girls do, but she wanted pleasure, she wanted pretty clothes, and she loved fun. Well, she got into debt, and then the theatres saw her every night, first with one man and then with another, and then—well, she never comes in the store now; she has plenty of fine clothes, and she told a girl she met, that she was as happy as the day was long, but somehow that girl did not believe her. She did not have to get up early in the morning any more, she was not answerable to anybody, so she said, but the girl who spoke to her went back and said to the other ones, and there was a tear in her voice: "I could not blame her; she was young and pretty, and she wanted happiness and pleasure. I do not know whether she has found it or not, but let's every one of us pray for help to try and drag along."
That is what they pray for. Think of it, you happy people! For help to try and drag along. You never prayed for that at home. Maybe you
