Every month the Department will publish a little story of heroism _in the home_—not any one act of heroism, but the tale of how someone _lived_ heroically, _lived_ self-sacrifice _in everyday life_. It must be _true_ and must be about somebody you know or have known or know definitely about. _It must not have over 500 words._ The shorter, the better. _Whoever sends in the best story each month will not only have it printed but will receive a year’s free subscription to WATSON’S MAGAZINE sent to any name you choose. Tell your story simply and plainly._ _Please state whether the names and places mentioned in your story are real or fictitious._ The Department does not print real names in these stories. Please do not send in stories about someone rescuing another from drowning or anything like that—we don’t want stories of single acts of heroism but of lives bravely and unselfishly lived out. * * * * * The stories of “Heroism at Home” have begun to come in. We can not print all of them in this number, but there will be a place for the others later on. Only one told of a single heroic incident. It was a brave, unselfish act, but that isn’t what we are going to use under this head—not things done suddenly, perhaps on impulse or by instinct, but the kind of heroism that lasts day after day. This one story, too, was told in verse and though it was good I fear we had better confine ourselves to simple prose. I hope the writer will send us another good true story in prose and of heroic _living_. The prize this month is awarded to “Her Career.” It was very hard to decide among several stories that told of some very beautiful and useful lives, so I got others to help me. I imagine it is never going to be easy to decide which is the very best of the stories each month. How the stories are told is not considered at all, but the heroic lives described are very hard to weigh against one another. But I will do the best I can. _HER CAREER_ No, she never wrote a book, nor went as a missionary to Japan, nor won a degree in college. She never even taught school, nor belonged to a woman’s club. But she has been the inspiration of her family and has radiated blessings on all she knew. Thirty years ago she was a dark-haired, dark-eyed bride of eighteen. They were poor, but they had health and strength and bright dreams of the future. They built a small log house on the land they had bought on credit and began to improve it. Their days were filled with hopeful work and their nights brought rest and refreshing sleep. But soon a shadow fell across the sunlight that streamed on her pathway. Her husband began to drink. He was soon a helpless victim of the fiery appetite and could not go where liquor was without getting drunk.