Chapter I

“Don’t go out to-night, Charles,” said Mrs. Prescott, a pretty, sweet-smiling lady, who had been married just six months, to her husband.

“Really, Carrie, I am very sorry; but I do not see how I can be absent from the meeting to-night,” replied the young husband, as he brought his great-coat from the entry.

“You always say so. I wish you did not belong to the ‘Sons.’ Can’t you leave them?”

“I could, my dear, if I desired; I have no wish to do so.”

“Wouldn’t you do it to please me?” said the lady smiling so sweetly that one could have found it in his heart to do almost any thing for her.

“You do not seriously wish me to do so.”

“Nay, I do.”

“Think, Carrie.”

“I am jealous of that society.”

“Fie!”

“You leave me here all alone, and you can’t think how lonesome I am.”

“I am very sorry to leave you; but, really, I feel it to be my duty to sustain so good an association as the ‘Sons of Temperance.’”

“There are enough without you.”

“All might, with equal propriety, say so.”

“They do not all leave a wife alone at home.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Can’t you belong to them without going to the meetings every night?”

“I should not wish to do that. To be a merely nominal member of the Order, is to be nothing at all.”

“You would be giving your name and influence to the cause of temperance just as much as you do by attending the meetings.”

“What is the cause of temperance, Carrie? I fear you give it a very vague construction, like many others in the community.”

“Why, preventing and curing intemperance.”

“Preventing and curing it in whom?”

“Every body, I suppose—all your friends and neighbors.”

“But not yourself.”

“There is no danger of you, Charles.”

“But I joined the Sons quite as much for my own sake, as for that of others.”

“You don’t think you are in any danger of becoming a drunkard, do you?” asked Mrs. Prescott, with a smile of incredulity.

“Not while I am as strongly fortified against the vice of drinking as I am now.”

“Pooh! I would risk you, even if you did not belong to the Sons.”

“Suppose I should abandon them, and permit myself to be influenced by the example of those around me—of your brother Frank, for example? Suppose I should shake off my allegiance to the principle of total abstinence, how long would it take me to get rid of all my scruples against drinking a glass of wine?”

“Can’t you adhere to the principle without belonging to a society?”

“Association strengthens principle.”

“You don’t steal, Charles; but is it necessary that you should belong to an anti thieving society?” and the pretty young wife’s features wore an expression of triumph.

“Drinking is a fashionable vice; stealing is not. When the community regards the fashionable wine bibber as it does the thief, there will be no occasion for associated effort to restrain it. Popular opinion will do the work which the Sons are now doing.”

“But I don’t think there is any need of going so constantly,” replied the wife. “Do stay with me to-night; I feel so lonesome.”

“The Order acts upon some particular business to-night, and——”

“Particular business again!” exclaimed Mrs. Prescott, with a good-natured laugh.

“It does indeed.”

“Always so.”

“Besides, I am W. P., you know.”

“W. T., you mean.”

“What’s that?”

“Wife tormentor.”

“Nay, Carrie——”

“Go along; I will excuse you to-night; but don’t stay late.”

“No, dear.”

“It was eleven o’clock before you got home last Saturday night.”

“I will be home by ten to-night;” and Charles Prescott kissed his pretty, smiling wife—we beg the reader to remember that they had been married but six months—and left the house.