“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?”

“Off to my work like an honest, sober man,” Jim replied, pausing to return his answer.  “I’ve taken the pledge, my hearties, and what’s more, I’m going to keep it.  It’s all down in black and white, and my name’s to it in the bargain,—­so there’s an end of the matter, you see!  Good bye, boys!—­I’m sorry to leave you,—­but you must go my way if you want my company.  Good bye, Harry!  You’ve got the old whiskey-barrel, and that’s the last you’ll ever get of mine.  I never had any good luck while it was in my house, and I am most heartily glad it’s out, and in your whiskey-shop, where I hope it will stay.  Good bye, old cronies!”

And so saying, Jim turned away, and walked off with a proud, erect bearing.  His old companions raised a feeble shout, but according to Jim’s account, the laugh was so much on the wrong side of their mouths, that it didn’t seem to him anything like a laugh.

At eleven o’clock, Mr. Jones came out as usual, and said—­

“Well, Jim, I suppose you begin to feel a little like it was grog-time?"’

“No, sir,” Jim replied.  “I’m done with grog.”

“Done with grog!” ejaculated Mr. Jones, in pleased surprise.

“Why, you didn’t seem at all afraid of it, yesterday?”

“I did drink pretty hard, yesterday; but that was all your fault.”

“My fault!  How do you make that out?”