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“If you don’t go away and let me alone now, I’ll throw these tongs at you!” the wife rejoined, angrily, rising up and brandishing the article she had named. “You are trying me beyond all manner of patience!”

“There–there–keep cool, Sally. It’ll all go into your lifetime, darlin’,” Jim replied, good-humouredly, taking hold of her hand, and extricating the tongs from them, and then drawing his arm around her waist, and forcing her to sit down in a chair, while he took one just beside her.

“Now, Sally, I’m in dead earnest, if ever I was in my life,” he began, “and if you’ll tell me any way to break off from this wretched habit into which I have fallen, I’ll do it.”

“Go and sign the pledge, then;” his wife said promptly, and somewhat sternly.

“And give up my liberty?”

“And regain it, rather. You’re a slave now.”

“I’ll do it, then, for your sake.”

“Don’t trifle with me, any more, James; I can’t bear it much longer, I feel that I can’t–” poor Mrs. Braddock said in a plaintive tone, while the tears came to her eyes.

“I wont deceive you any more, Sally. I’ll sign, and I’ll keep my pledge. If I could only have said–‘I’ve signed the pledge,’ yesterday, I would have been safe. But I’ve got no pledge, and I’m afraid to go out to hunt up Malcom, for fear I shall see a grog-shop.”

“Can’t you write a pledge?”

“No. I can’t write anything but a bill, or a label for one of your pickle-pots.”

“But try.”

“Well, give me a pen, some ink, and a piece of paper.”

But there was neither pen, ink, nor paper, in the house. Mrs. Braddock, however, soon mustered them all in the neighbourhood, and came and put them down upon the table before her husband.

“There, now, write a pledge,” she said.

“I will.” And Jim took up the pen and wrote–“Blister my feathers if ever I drink another drop of Alcohol, or anything that will make drunk come, sick or well, dead or alive!”

JIM BRADDOCK.”

“But that’s a queer pledge, Jim.”

“I don’t care if it is. I’ll keep it.”

“It’s just no pledge at all.”

“You’re an old goose! Now give me a hammer and four nails.”

“What do you want with a hammer and four nails?”

“I want to nail my pledge up over the mantelpiece.”

“But it will get smoky.”

“So will your aunty. Give me the hammer and nails.”

Jim’s wife brought them as desired, and he nailed his pledge up over the mantelpiece, and then read it off with a proud, resolute air.

“I can keep that pledge, Sally, my old girl! And what’s more, I will keep it, too!” he said, slapping his wife upon the shoulder. “And now for some breakfast in double quick time, for I must be at Jones’s early this morning.”

Mrs. Braddock’s heart was very glad, for she had more faith in this pledge than she had ever felt in any of his promises. There was something of confirmation in the act of signing his name, that strengthened her hopes. It was not long before she had a good warm breakfast on the table, of which her husband eat with a better appetite than usual, and then, after reading his pledge over, Jim started off.

As before, he had to go past Harry Arnold’s, and early as it was, there were already two or three of his cronies there for their morning dram. He saw them about the door while yet at a distance, but neither the grog-shop nor his old companions had now any attraction for him. He was conscious of standing on a plain that lifted him above their influence. As he drew near, they observed him, and awaited his approach with pleasure, for his fine flow of spirits made his company always desirable. But as he showed no inclination to stop, he was hailed, just as he was passing, with,

“Hallo, Jim! Where are you off to in such a hurry?”