that," interrupted Morgan. "Say that I've been very bad—very wicked. Oh, Mary, dear! I only wish that I was as good as you are; I'd like to die, then, and go right away from this evil world. I wish there was no liquor to drink—no taverns—no bar-rooms. Oh dear! Oh dear! I wish I was dead."
And the weak, trembling, half-palsied man laid his face again upon the pillow beside his child, and sobbed aloud.
What an oppressive silence reigned for a time through the room!
"Father." The stillness was broken by Mary. Her voice was clear and even. "Father, I want to tell you something."
"What is it, Mary?"
"There'll be nobody to go for you, father."
The child's lips now quivered, and tears filled into her eyes.
"Don't talk about that, Mary. I'm not going out in the evening any more until you get well. Don't you remember I promised?"
