I was given a place with my uncle, and, when I had my work in hand, that first day, he would call me into the mule alley and chat with me about our new prospects. “We’ll begin all over, Al, and see if we can’t do better by you. Maybe we’ll be able to send you to school, if we can get some money laid by. This is our chance. We’re away from drink. The corporation owns the village and won’t allow a saloon in it. Now I can straighten up and be a man at last, something I’ve shamefully missed being the last few years, lad!” Those first few days of our life in the village, uncle’s face seemed to lose some of its former sad tenseness. “Wait till the furniture gets here, lad,” he said, repeatedly. “Then we’ll settle down to be somebody, as we used to be.” Then the day that a postal came from the freight office saying that the furniture had arrived, the superintendent of the mill called my uncle away from his mules for a long consultation. Then he came back in company, with my uncle, and mentioned to me that he would like to see and speak with me in the elevator room. I had only time to note that uncle’s face was that of a man who has just seen a tragedy. It was bloodless, and aged, as if he had lost hope. What could all this mean? A mill superintendent did not usually consult with his hands except on very grave matters. I found the superintendent waiting for me, with a very sober face. We had strict privacy. When he had shut the door, he said: “Al Priddy, I want to ask you what will seem, at first, a very impertinent and delicate question. You must give me a frank answer, even though it is very hard.” “Yes, sir,” I said, wondering what it was to be. “Al,” he said, sternly, like a judge, “is your aunt a regular drinker--of intoxicants?” So that was the question! I gasped, choked, and with my eyes on the floor, confessed, “She is, sir.” “Well,” said the superintendent, “I am very sorry for you, my boy! I am sorry that you have to suffer because of other people. We cannot allow women who drink to live in our houses. We will not allow it if we know about it.” “But my aunt won’t drink here,” I said. “She said so, and there aren’t any saloons, sir. That is the reason we came out this way!” “Your aunt has been seen drunk in the village already!” announced the superintendent. “What do you think about that?” The bottom went out of the fairy world we had hoped to live in, with that news. I could only stand there, dazed, shocked, wild with the sense of our loss. “You cannot have the house I promised,” said the superintendent. “I have told your uncle that. The furniture is not unloaded yet, and it must return. We will cover the expenses. We cannot permit the other women to suffer because of your aunt. She obtained liquor in some way and I shall look into it. You must go back. You cannot have any of our rents.”