The mother soothed him and persuaded him to go to sleep. Alfred closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He heard footsteps and, peering out of the corner of his eye, he perceived the form of his father bending over him. Softly walking over to where the mother sat with bowed head, the father began: "I thought I heard him talking. Was he awake?" "Yes," answered the mother. "What did he say?" eagerly inquired the father. The mother informed him. The father, looking toward the bed, remarked half to himself: "I hope he will be sober enough to talk to me before I leave the house." "Why, John," hastily began the mother, "you speak as if he were an old toper." "Well, Mary. I did not mean it that way. But I have been worried ever since that minstrel crowd has been gathering at the tan-yard. Of course, I never knew Alfred to drink whiskey but they all drink more or less and Alfred is not the boy to pass anything by there's any fun in." "But they had no business to give a boy whiskey," argued the wife, "and I would see about it and I would make an example of them if I were you." "I will do all of that and more," warmly answered the father. After a pause, he resumed: "They tell me they were all in Wyatt's cellar and Cal Wyatt drew a tin cup of high proof whiskey. Alfred put the cup--" Alfred was following the father's words. At the mention of the word "cup," his stomach rebelled again. His father was holding a vessel, his mother supporting the boy's head. Turning his head, the father ejaculated: "Phew! If that isn't rot-gut I never smelt it." Alfred pretended to go to sleep and the father and mother talked long and earnestly. Their solicitude for the erring boy, touched Alfred to the heart. He had not realized until this moment the meanness of his actions. When Alfred fully realized the misery and suffering he had caused his parents, he was impelled to crawl to them and kiss the hem of their garments, promising never to cause them pain from the same cause again. Let it be recorded he did not realize immediately when he drank from the cup, that it was whiskey. After the first swallow or two he became oblivious to his danger. He felt that he was forever disgraced. He thought of getting out of bed and fleeing, he cared not whither, only to get far away from the scene of his disgrace. We do not know that the boy resolved that he would never touch, taste or handle whiskey again. We do not know what resolutions he made to himself, but we do know that whisky never passed his lips again until he was more than a man grown and then rarely and in very small quantities.