"That is one side of it,--a side that we must look at. On the other is the horrible danger of forming the habit of taking wine and such things to excess. The suffering is terrible, and the poverty. That comes from intemperance in drink more than from any other form of it; and the only way that it is to be prevented is for us parents to teach our boys and girls all the danger, teach them that, because they want it, there is no excuse for their taking it. If you aren't strong enough to deny yourself something you know is a sin, you haven't learned the first lesson of good living. But it isn't drinking alone; there are other sins that are as bad and as dangerous; and a man or woman, to be strong and pure and good, must turn his back upon them all." "But I did want to help," Theodora said. "There ought to be something that a girl can do." "So there is," her father answered quickly. "What?" "From now on, through all your young womanhood, be sure you stand on the right side of things. Don't preach. That never does any good. Just frown down any fastness in your friends. Let it be understood that you have nothing to do with a man who drinks and swears, with a girl who is fast or familiar, who laces till she can't breathe, and dances all night with men whom she hardly knows. Let my Teddy, even if she must stand alone, stand for all that is truest and best in women, and the young men and women around her will respect her and try to pull themselves up to her standard. You needn't be a prig, Ted. Be as full of fun as you can; the more, the better, only choose your fun carefully. Your old father knows what he's talking about, and he knows that girls have more influence than most of them are willing to use." Theodora's cheek was resting against her father's shoulder, and her eyes had drooped. "I will," she said humbly. "And remember this, my girlie; I am always here to talk things over with you and advise you. When you are older, perhaps you can help me with my poorer patients. Till then, Teddy, wait, and don't try to do too much. You're only my little girl yet; and the world is too big for you to understand. Good-night, dear. Now I must go." It was the last of the lecture; but, simple as it had been, Theodora never lost the memory of the quiet hour in the office, and in after years she learned to know the value of the lesson so gently given. CHAPTER FOURTEEN "Back again, at last?" Billy looked up with a smile, as Theodora came flying into the room. "Yes. Have you missed me?" "Haven't I? You mustn't go off again, Ted. You are altogether too frisky." "What could I do? Papa took me." "Had a good time?" "Beautiful. It's too much for one spring,--three weeks in New York, and this lovely week of driving." "You had good weather, sure enough. Also, ma'am, you're brown as a squaw. Also, I think your hair has grown."