Chapter I

Jim Scroggins, though in the main an honest, peaceable, quiet, harmless, fellow, had a beastly habit of getting drunk whenever a fit opportunity presented itself; and, unfortunately, because “where there is a will there is a way,” the opportunities were both fit and frequent.

Jim owned a little farm in the country, which, by his own industry and economy, he had almost paid for. Mrs. Scroggins was a “real worker,” and, no doubt, did her full part in buying the homestead. She was endowed with a great deal of energy and good judgment, and people were so malicious as to say that she was the smartest man of the twain. Be this as it may, Mrs. Scroggins was an industrious woman, and took a great deal of pride in the little place, which had been bought by their united industry and economy, and the thought of having it wrested from them by a cold-hearted creditor, was in the highest degree disagreeable; but to such a calamity her husband’s infirmity, as the good minister of the village called it, seemed to point.

The habit grew upon him, as it almost always does upon those who once get into the way of imbibing too freely. The miseries of the drunkard’s wife had been too often presented to the good woman’s understanding, to be regarded as simply creations of the imagination, and she looked forward with alarm to the prospect of enduring them and losing the little place.

But what could be done? She had exhausted all her eloquence upon the infatuated man, without producing any thing more than a temporary effect. She pointed out to him, kindly, the inevitable consequences of his indulgence, and Jim promised to amend; but—alas, for the vanity of human expectations!—he got tipsy the very next day.

Then she appealed to his love of money—to his sense of satisfaction in being the owner of a cottage and ten acres of land. She assured him that he would certainly lose it all, and warming up with the importance of the subject, declared that she would not slave herself any longer to buy the place, and then have it taken from them to pay a rum bill.

Jim listened patiently and without speaking a word to the indignant dame’s eloquence, and, as usual, promised to do better; but, also, as usual, he came into the house the next day tight as a fiddlestring.

Mrs. Scroggins was in despair; “what to do she didn’t know,” as she expressed it to Parson Allwise, who was a sincere sympathizer with her in her distress. She had entreated, she had scolded, she had threatened, and all to no purpose. “What could a body do?”

Parson Allwise himself, though he made it a point never to interfere in the domestic affairs of his parishioners, was at last moved to try his powers of persuasion on the poor fellow. But Jim, unfortunately for the success of the appeal, had but a poor opinion of ministers in general, and of Parson Allwise in particular, and as good as told the worthy pastor that he had better mind his own business.

Mrs. Scroggins was shocked at the boldness of her spouse in answering a minister of the gospel in such a pointed manner, and was led to believe that the case was now hopeless, indeed.

But woman’s wits are equal to almost any emergency; and, though she had professedly given Jim over to the tender mercies of the devil, she could not help thinking it would be a good thing if he could only be saved from himself.

One day circumstances seemed to conspire in favor of an experiment, which had suggested itself to her fertile brain, and she immediately carried it into effect with the most happy success, as the sequel will show.