“Look here, you drunken vagabond!” returned the master hatter in angry tones, coming from behind the counter, and standing in front of the individual he was addressing—­“if you are not out of this shop in two minutes by the watch, I’ll kick you into the street!  So there now—­take your choice to go out, or be kicked out.”

Jarvis turned sadly away without a reply, and passed out of the door through which he had entered with a heart full of hope, now pained, and almost ready to recede from his earnest resolution and pledge to become a sober man and a better husband and father.  He felt utterly discouraged.  As he walked slowly along the street, the fumes of a coffee-house which he was passing, unconsciously, struck upon his sense, and immediately came an almost overpowering desire for his accustomed potation.  He paused—­

“Now that I try to reform, they turn against me,” he sighed bitterly.  “It is no use; I am gone past hope!”

One step was taken towards the tavern-door, when it seemed as if a strong hand held him back.

“No—­no!” he murmured, “I have taken the pledge, and I will stand by it, if I die!” Then moving resolutely onward, he soon found himself near the door of another hatter’s-shop.  Hope again kindled up in his bosom, and he entered.

“Don’t you want a hand, Mr. Mason?” he asked, in a hesitating tone.

“Not a drunken one, Jarvis,” was the repulsive answer.

“But I’ve reformed, Mr. Mason.”

“So I should think from your looks.”

“But, indeed, Mr. Mason I have quit drinking, and taken the pledge.”

“To break it in three days.  Perhaps three hours.”

“Won’t you give me work, Mr. Mason, if I promise to be sober?”

“No!  For I would not give a copper for your promises.”

Poor Jarvis, turned away.  When he had placed his hand to the pledge, he dreamed not of these repulses and difficulties.  He was a good workman, and he thought that any one of his old employers would be glad to get him back again, so soon as they learned of his having signed the total-abstinence pledge.  But he had so often promised amendment, and so often broken his promise and disappointed them, that they had lost all confidence in him; at least, the two to whom he had, thus far, made application.

After leaving the shop of Mr. Mason, Jarvis seemed altogether irresolute.  He would walk on a few steps, and then pause to commune with his troubled and bewildered thoughts.

“I will try Lankford,” said he, at length, half-aloud; “he will give me work, surely.”

A brisk walk of some ten minutes brought him to the door of a small hatter’s-shop in a retired street.  Behind the counter of this shop stood an old man, busily employed in ironing a hat.  There was something benevolent in his countenance and manner.  As Jarvis entered, he looked up, and a shade passed quickly over his face.

“Good morning, Mr. Lankford,” said Jarvis, bowing, with something like timidity and shame in his manner.