"Well," said Miss Beldon, "I wouldn't go for fifty dollars. The man is never sober, and he won't like to be interfered with. I shouldn't wonder if he would shoot at you." Mrs. Allen laughed, and said anything so tragic was not likely to happen, and then went to get a basket of food to take to Tommy Hoden. They set forth on their walk, Bo holding fast to his mother's hand while Amy loitered on the way, gathering wild flowers. "Do you really, truly think Tom's father would shoot at us?" asked Bo. "No, indeed, dear. I hope you are not afraid." "Well--no--dear Ma, not very afraid;" and the little fellow drew a deep sigh; "only I--I--hope he won't shoot you, dear Ma." "Well I am afraid!" said Amy, in a somewhat shamefaced manner. "Please, Ma dear, let me go back and I will kneel before our Blessed Lady's picture and pray for the poor man all the time you are away." "That is very sweet of you, dear. Now Bo, perhaps you had better return with Amy. I can go alone." "No; no; I won't go back. I want to take care of my own dear Mamma. I'm not a bit afraid now." "Well, dear," said Mrs. Allen, "I will tell you what I want to do for Tom and his father. I will try to get Tom to go to school every day and to catechism class on Sundays. I think that would make a better boy of him. Then I hope to persuade his father to sign the temperance pledge and go to work." Bolax understood what his mother meant by this, for Mrs. Allen made a constant companion of the child; and although only five, she taught him to recite a piece on Temperance. The walk to the mills was very pleasant, with the exception of about half a mile of the distance, just as the road turned off from the village; here were a number of wretched old buildings, occupied by very poor and, for the most part, very wicked people. Somewhat removed from the others stood a hovel more dilapidated, if possible, than the rest. Towards this Mrs. Allen, still holding Bolax by the hand, bent her steps, and gently rapped at the door. No one answered, but something that sounded like the growl of a beast proceeded from within. After repeating the rap twice or three times, she pushed the door wider open and walked in. The room upon which it opened was small and low, and lighted by a single window, over which hung a thick network of spider webs; the dingy walls were festooned in like manner; the clay floor was so filthy, that, for a moment, Mrs. Allen shrunk from stepping upon it. In a corner of the wretched room sat Tom's father, smoking an old pipe. He was a rough, bad-looking man with shaggy hair hanging over his face and bleared eyes that glared at his visitors with no gentle expression. "What do you want?" he growled. "Your little boy sometimes comes to our place," answered Mrs. Allen, "so I thought I would come to see him, and bring him some cakes; children are so fond of sweets."