It was a half holiday. The children were gathered on the green, and a
right merry time they were having.
"Come, girls and boys," called out Ned Graham, "let's play hunt the
squirrel."
They were all eager for the game, and a large circle was formed with Ned
Graham for leader because he was the largest.
"Come, Susie," said one of the boys, to a little girl who stood on one
side, and seemed to shrink from joining them.
"Oh, never mind _her!_" said Ned, with a little toss of his head, "she's
nobody, anyhow. Her father drinks."
A quick flush crept over the child's pale face as she heard the cruel,
thoughtless words.
She was very sensitive, and the arrow had touched her heart in its
tenderest place.
Her father _was_ a drunkard, she knew, but to be taunted with it before
so many was more than she could bear; and with great sobs heaving her
bosom, and hot tears filling her eyes, she turned and ran away from the
play-ground.
Her mother was sitting by the window when she reached home, and the
tearful face of the little girl told that something had happened to
disturb her.
"What is the matter, Susie?" she asked, kindly.
[Illustration: "_He said that father drinks._"]
"Oh, mother," said Susie, with the tears dropping down her cheeks, as
she hid her face in her mother's lap, "Ned Graham said such a cruel
thing about me," and here the sobs choked her voice so that she could
hardly speak; "He said that I wasn't anybody, and that father drinks."
"My poor little girl," Mrs. Ellet said, very sadly. There were tears in
her eyes, too. Such taunts as this were nothing new in that family.
"Oh, mother," Susie said, as she lifted her face, wet with tears, from
her mother's lap, "I can't bear to have them say so, and act just as if
_I_ had done something wicked. I wish father wouldn't drink! Do you
suppose he'll ever leave it off?"
"I hope so," Mrs. Ellet answered, as she kissed Susie's face where the
tears clung like drops of dew on a rose. "I pray that he may break off
the habit, and I can do nothing but pray, and leave the rest to God."
That night Mr. Ellet came home to supper, as usual. He was a
hard-working man, and a good neighbor. So everybody said, but he had the
habit of intemperance so firmly fixed upon him that everybody thought he
would end his days in the drunkard's grave. Susie kissed him when he
came through the gate, as she always did, but there was something in her
face that went to his heart. A look so sad, and full of touching sorrow
for one so young as she!
"What ails my little girl?" he asked as he patted her curly head.
"I can't tell you, father," she answered, slowly.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because it would make you feel bad," Susie replied.
"I guess not," he said, as they walked up to the door together. "What is
it, Susie?"
"Oh, father," and Susie burst into tears again as the memory of Ned
Graham's words came up freshly in her mind, "I wish you wouldn't drink
any more for the boys and girls don't like to play with me, 'cause you
do."
Mr. Ellet made no reply. But something stirred in his heart that made
him ashamed of himself; ashamed that he was the cause of so much sorrow.
After supper he took his hat, and Mrs. Ellet knew only too well where
he was going.
At first he had resolved to stay at home that evening, but the force of
habit was so strong that he could not resist; so he yielded, promising
himself that he would not drink more than once or twice.
Susie had left the table before he finished his supper, and as he passed
the great clump of lilacs by the path, on his way to the gate, he heard
a voice and stopped to listen to what she was saying.
"Oh, good Jesus, please don't let father drink any more. Make him just
as he used to be when I was a baby, and then the boys and girls can't
call me a drunkard's child, or say such bad things about me. Please,
dear Jesus, for mother's sake and mine."
[Illustration: _Susie's Prayer_]
Susie's father listened to her simple prayer, with a great lump swelling
in his throat. When her prayer was ended, he went up to her, knelt down
by her side, and put his arm around her.
"God in heaven," he said very solemnly, "I promise to-night, never to
touch another drop of liquor as long as I live. Give me strength to keep
my pledge, and help me to be a better man."
"Oh, father," Susie cried, her arms about his neck, and her head upon
his breast, "I'm _so_ glad! I shan't care about anything they say to me
now, for I know you won't be a drunkard any more."
"God helping me, I will be a _man!_" he answered, as taking Susie by the
hand he went back into the house where his wife was sitting with the old
patient look of sorrow on her face,--the look that so often rested
there.
I cannot tell you of the joy and thanksgiving that went up from that
hearthstone that night. I wish I could, but it was too deep a joy which
filled the hearts of Susie and her mother to be described.
Was not Susie's prayer answered?
[Illustration]
[Illustration]