his charge. "Have I ever, with all my foolishness, blasphemed my God?" Again a pause and a look of challenge. "Now, sir, you take us two. Jinnie'll care for you, and I'll be no hindrance. Take me and I'll swear—I, Alec McDowl, who never broke his word to man or God, when he know'd what he was doing, as I do now—I'll swear never to touch a drop again till my dying day."
And he never did!
The Book was fetched: the vow taken. Even Jinnie was impressed and hopeful for once. The curly grey head of the veteran was bowed on the table, as the young clergyman sealed the oath with a prayer.
Till, again, he prayed, and himself wept, long years after, beside the lifeless form of his faithful servant, old Alec kept his vow.
Another lie given to that libel oft aimed against our human nature and God's goodness, to the effect that the inveterate drunkard cannot, midst new and helpful surroundings, by exerting his will, and drawing on another source of strength, overcome his deadly habit, shake off his fetters, and walk forth fearless and free.
The spirit of homeliness and comfort that had vanished from Alec's abode, was transferred to the Hermitage at Mimosa Vale. There Jinnie held gentle sway. She cared for the creature comforts of "the young master" with more effect than a host of hirelings would have done. The parson's home was a model for his people, of cleanliness and grace, and his garden, under Alec's care, of order and beauty—as his life, of quietude and strength. Alec got his potatoes in earlier, his crops off sooner, than any one else; his vines the right depth; the tender root of young fruit-trees he trailed gently over the
