He winced visibly, and remained silent.

“There are six boys and two girls—­they are poor, ignorant and unhappy.  They are under very bad influences.  For David’s sake and my sake you must see that they are brought up right.  There need be no mistakes this time; for two wrecked lives you may save eight.  You will do it, uncle?”

“I will do my best, dear.”

“I know you will.  Send Plato to San Antonio for them at once.  You will need company soon.”

“Do you think you are dying, dear?”

“I know I am dying.”

“And how is a’ wi’ you anent what is beyond death?”

She pointed with a bright smile to the New Testament by her side, and then closed her eyes wearily.  She appeared so exhausted that he could press the question no further.  And the next morning she had “gone away”—­gone so silently and peacefully that Aunt Cassie, who was sitting by her side, knew not when she departed.  He went and looked at her.  The fair young face had a look austere and sorrowful, as if life had been too sore a burden for her.  His anguish was great, but it was God’s doing.  What was there for him to say?

The charge that she had left him he faithfully kept—­not very cheerfully at first, perhaps, and often feeling it to be a very heavy care; but he persevered, and the reward came.  The children grew and prospered; they loved him, and he learned to love them, so much, finally, that he gave them his own name, and suffered them to call him father.

As the country settled, and little towns grew up around him, the tragedy of his earlier life was forgotten by the world, but it was ever present to his own heart; for though love and sorrow mellowed and chastened the stern creed in which he believed with all his soul, he had many an hour of spiritual agony concerning the beloved ones who had died and made no sign.  Not till he got almost within the heavenly horizon did he understand that the Divine love and mercy is without limitations; and that He who could say, “Let there be light,” could also say, “Thy sins be forgiven thee;” and the pardoned child, or ever he was aware, be come to the holy land:  for—­

    “Down in the valley of death
      A cross is standing plain;
    Where strange and awful the shadows sleep,
      And the ground has a deep red stain. 
    This cross uplifted there
      Forbids, with voice Divine,
    Our anguished hearts to break for the dead
      Who have died and made no sign. 
    As they turned at length from us,
      Dear eyes that were heavy and dim,
    May have met his look, who was lifted there,
      May be sleeping safe in Him.”

THE SEVEN WISE MEN OF PRESTON.

Let me introduce to our readers seven of the wisest men of the present century—­the seven drafters and signers of the first teetotal pledge.