"Yes, sir." She hung her head guiltily, for she instinctively felt his disapproval. "What are you doing here, in such a place?" he asked more sternly than he was wont to speak. "I'm--I'm--I'm--" she faltered. He held out his hand for the tracts. She gave them up reluctantly, and she saw him frown as he read their lurid headings. For a moment he looked perplexed; then he said quietly,-- "Theodora, I wish you to go home at once, and to say nothing of this to anyone. To-night, after supper, come to the office. I want to talk this over with you." "Yes, papa." Her lip quivered, and he relaxed a little of his sternness. "I know you didn't mean to do wrong, my dear. I am not going to scold you; but there are a good many things I want to say to you,--things we can't say here. That is all." To Theodora's mind, the day dragged perceptibly. She was conscious of her father's disapproval, conscious that, in her girlish impulsiveness, she had gone where she had no business to go. It was a relief when supper was over, and she followed her father into his office. He pulled out a great easy-chair and sat down. "Come here, my girlie, and cuddle in beside me, as you used to do," he said, with an inviting gesture. "Now tell me all about it." Theodora poured forth her tale in an incoherent tide. Her father, listening and stroking the brown head, smiled a little, from time to time. When she had finished,-- "What is temperance, Teddy?" he asked abruptly. "Not to drink rum," she answered, with glib promptness. He smiled again. "That is only a tiny little part of it, my girl." "Of course. I mean whiskey, too, and beer, and--and--" "Never mind the rest of them now. It's a good long list, and the worst of the drinking isn't always done in the saloons." "Where is it, then?" Theodora looked at him in astonishment. "At banquets and dinners and receptions. Too often at college suppers, and by boys not much older than Hu." "Really?" "Yes, Ted. Now, my dear, I'm going to give you a lecture. It won't be like the one you heard, last night, for I'm not a temperance orator, only a plain old doctor. Temperance isn't signing the pledge, or keeping it after it is signed; it is keeping one's self free from all kinds of badness and excess, whether it's drinking or smoking, or too much dancing, or tight shoes. It is taking all our pleasures moderately, so that they can never hurt our bodies or our minds. Do you see what I mean?" "But oughtn't all liquor to be taken away?" she urged, still mindful of the orator's sounding periods. "Like any other powerful drug. It's one thing to use it, Ted, another to abuse it, as we doctors know. There are times when it must be used, just like any other medicine. Because I give you a dose, one day, you don't need to go on taking it forever, dear." He paused for a minute, then he went on,--