“And I would rather be dead than be the wife of any one of them,” said Esther with an energy which startled Fred. “Mrs. Moshier used to be such a happy-looking woman, and now she is so quiet and has such sad eyes. Brown seems to spend no end of money on his family; but his children are always put to bed before he comes home, because he is as likely as not to be cross and unkind to them; when they meet him on the street they never shout ‘Papa!’ and rush up to him as your little brothers and sisters do to _your_ father; but they look at him first with an anxious look that’s enough to break one’s heart, and as likely as not cross the street to avoid meeting him. Mrs. Crayme was having _such_ a pleasant time at Nellie Wainright’s party the other night, when her husband, who she seldom enough has a chance to take into society with her, said such silly things and stared around with such an odd look in his eye that she made some excuse to take him home. And Nellie Wainright--she was my particular friend before she was married, you know--was here a few days ago, and I was telling her how happy I was, when suddenly she threw both arms around my neck and burst out crying, and told me that she hoped that my husband would never drink after I was married. She insists upon it that her husband is the best man that ever lived, and that if she only mentions anything she would like, she has it at once if money can buy it, and yet she is unhappy. She says there’s always a load on her heart, and though she feels real wicked about it, she can’t get rid of it.” Fred Macdonald was unable for some moments to reply to this unexpected speech; he arose from his chair, and walked slowly up and down the room, with his hands behind him, and with the countenance natural to a man who has heard something of which he had previously possessed no idea. Esther looked at him, first furtively, then tenderly; then she sprang to his side and leaned upon his shoulder, saying, “Dear Fred, I know _you_ could never be that way; but then all these women were sure they knew just the same about their lovers, before they were married.” “Well, Ettie,” said Fred, passing an arm about the young lady, “I really don’t know what’s to be done about it, if drinking moderately is the cause of all these dreadful things; I’m bound to _be_ somebody; I’m in the set of men that make money; they like me, and I understand them. But they all take something, and you don’t know how they look at a man who refuses to drink with them; all of them think he don’t amount to much, and some of them actually feel insulted. What is a fellow to do?” “Go into some other set, I suppose,” said Esther very soberly. “You don’t know what you’re saying, my dear girl,” said Fred. “What else is there for a man to do in a dead-and-alive place like Barton? you don’t want to be the wife of a four-hundred-dollar clerk, and live in part of a common little house, do you?”