She tried every way she could think of to entertain her brother at home, but she could not make it gay and lively as it was in the saloon where the boys met, and when she tried to coax him to stay at home, he answered her that it was awful dull in the evening after a long day's work. Alice could not deny this, and she had not a word to say when one evening he ended with, "You can't expect a fellow to stay mewed up at home all the time. Now look here," as he saw the tears come into Alice's eyes, "you needn't fret about me, Sis. I'm bound to take care of myself, but I must have a little pleasure after working all day. Good-by; I'll be home by nine." But he was not home by nine, nor by ten, and the clock had struck eleven when Alice heard his step. She hurried to the door to let him in. His face was flushed, and his breath--alas!--reminded her of her father's. He made some excuse and hurried off to bed, and Alice sank into a chair in the sitting-room. She was shocked. She was grieved. This was the first time Jack had showed signs of being under the influence of strong drink, and she felt as if she could not bear it. A month before, they had laid in a drunkard's grave their father, and over his terrible death-bed, Jack had promised their mother that he would not follow in his steps. "Yet now--so soon--he has begun," thought Alice, sitting there alone in the cold. "And how can I blame him, poor boy!" she went on, "when it is so dull and stupid for him here? It's no wonder he prefers the pleasant warm room, the lights, the gay company, the games that he gets at Mason's. Oh, why aren't good things as free as bad ones!" she cried out in her distress. "But what can I do?" was the question to which her thoughts ever came back. "I must save Jack, for he's all mother and I have; but how?" "What can one girl do, without money and without friends--almost?" thought Alice, remembering, with a shudder, that a drunkard's daughter is apt to have few influential friends. Alice Rawson was clear-headed though young. She thought the matter over during the next day, as she went about her work in the house, waiting on her invalid mother, making the cottage tidy, and cooking their plain meals. "It's no use to talk," she said to herself; "Jack means to do what's right. And it's even worse to scold or be cross to him, for that only makes him stay away more." And she gave the pillow she was stirring up a savage poke to relieve her feelings. "I know, too," she went on, pausing with the other pillow in her hand, "that when he's there with the boys, it's awful hard never to spend a cent when the others do. It looks mean, and Jack hates being mean;" and she flung the pillow back into its place with such spirit that it went over on to the floor. "What are you banging about so for?" asked her mother, from the next room. "Oh, nothing. I was thinking, mother," she answered. And she went on thinking.