That morning, little Alice, the one petted darling of the house, was playing upon the lawn, with no other companion than her favorite doll, almost as large as Alice herself.

She had wandered about the grounds, the mother watching the golden head and thinking that sunshine itself was not brighter, until suddenly the child's attention was attracted by what was to her an altogether new sight. A young man was passing. Just in front of the house he staggered and would have fallen had it not been for the assistance of a companion a little less helpless than himself. I need not describe the scene. Unfortunately, to the most of us it is not an unusual sight. We have seen too often the unsteady and uncertain step of a drunkard, we have too often heard the silly laughter and listened to the imbecile chatter of those who have drowned their manhood in a glass of liquor.

But to Alice Granger, a child of five years, it was a new and strange sight and one which she could not comprehend. Her doll lay unheeded upon the ground while with an earnest, curious expression upon her face she watched the two travellers out of sight. Then she ran to the house.

"Mamma," she said, "there were two funny-acting men went past just now. They went on both sides of the street and did not act as if they knew how to walk. They were just as silly as could be."

"Yes, dear; I saw them."

"Mamma, what made them act so?" inquired the child.

Mrs. Granger was inclined to evade the question. She was sorry that her darling had witnessed the disgusting spectacle. She would have spared her the knowledge of this form of sin awhile longer, but it could not now be helped, and as Alice persisted she said at length,

"My dear child, those young men had been drinking too much wine."

"Too much wine! But, mamma, wine does not make folks act like that!"

"Yes, it does."

"But papa drinks wine," and the little round face wore a look of perplexity.

As Mrs. Granger did not reply, Alice said again,

"Say, mamma, papa drinks wine. Does it make him walk like that and talk so that nobody can understand him? Say, mamma!"

What could the mother say? How should she teach her darling to hate the wine cup and at the same time preserve the child's respect and love for her father?

"My darling," she said at length, "wine is a dangerous thing. I will teach you all about it. And papa thinks that a little does not hurt anybody; but perhaps when you know more about it, you and I can coax him not to drink any."

That day at dinner Alice astonished her father by exclaiming suddenly,

"Papa, I wish you wouldn't drink any more wine!"

Mr. Granger looked up in surprise, but he laughed and asked,

"Why not?"

The little face was very sober and the voice very earnest as Alice replied, "Because it makes men act so dis-gust-ing-ly!" The last word was brought out slowly, as if it were too large for her.

"What do you know about it?" The question was addressed to Alice his daughter, but Mr. Granger looked at his wife.

"Alice had her first temperance lesson to-day," replied Mrs. Granger, "and it has made an impression."

"Seems to me you are beginning early to teach her your peculiar views," said the gentleman, half-laughing, half-sneering. At least, it was as near a sneer as the gentleman in Mr. Granger would allow.

"It so happens that I was not the teacher," responded his wife; "it was an object lesson. She saw young Morgan and his friend pass."

"And, papa, they acted just awful! I wouldn't have you act that way for anything."

"Don't be afraid. Fred Morgan drinks a great deal and I only drink a little. That's the difference."

Alice was still quite a time. Then, as her father drained his glass, she asked suddenly,

"Papa, how much is a great deal of wine?"

"How much? O, I don't know," replied Mr. Granger carelessly.

"I wish you did know." And now the voice was very anxious.

"Why do you wish that?"

"Why, don't you see you might make a mistake and drink too much. But if I can find out I'll keep watch and tell you, so you need not be afraid of being like Fred Morgan."

Mr. Granger rose from the table laughing, and betook himself to the library; but the last words of his little golden-haired daughter had struck home to his heart. He, Thomas Granger, like Fred Morgan! Why, Fred was a reeling drunkard. He, Thomas Granger, needing to be watched by his little daughter, lest he make a mistake and take too much wine! Could there be truth in the suggestion? Was he in danger? Of course not. It was a child's foolish prattle. But foolish or not, the thought staid with him, and, sneer as he might, it would not be put down.

Was this the wise Heavenly Father's way of answering that sad-hearted wife's prayer that her husband might be brought to see his danger?

There was no wine served at dinner the next day. The glittering decanters, and the bottles with the age mark of which Mr. Granger had been so proud, and the cutglass wine glasses had all disappeared. No need now for Alice to watch!

Her father had left forever the dangerous path, and had resolved never again to lift the wineglass to his lips.