“But I thought, just now, that you spoke in favor of letting even the poor drunkard’s money go into the landlord’s till, in order to encourage his commendable enterprise in opening so good a tavern.”

“We all speak with covert irony sometimes,” answered the man, “as I did then.  Poor Joe Morgan!  He is an old and early friend of Simon Slade.  They were boys together, and worked as millers under the same roof for many years.  In fact, Joe’s father owned the mill, and the two learned their trade with him.  When old Morgan died, the mill came into Joe’s hands.  It was in rather a worn-out condition, and Joe went in debt for some pretty thorough repairs and additions of machinery.  By and by, Simon Slade, who was hired by Joe to run the mill, received a couple of thousand dollars at the death of an aunt.  This sum enabled him to buy a share in the mill, which Morgan was very glad to sell in order to get clear of his debt.  Time passed on, and Joe left his milling interest almost entirely in the care of Slade, who, it must be said in his favor, did not neglect the business.  But it somehow happened—­I will not say unfairly—­that at the end of ten years, Joe Morgan no longer owned a share in the mill.  The whole property was in the hands of Slade.  People did not much wonder at this; for while Slade was always to be found at the mill, industrious, active, and attentive to customers, Morgan was rarely seen on the premises.  You would oftener find him in the woods, with a gun over his shoulder, or sitting by a trout brook, or lounging at the tavern.  And yet everybody liked Joe, for he was companionable, quick-witted, and very kind-hearted.  He would say sharp things, sometimes, when people manifested little meannesses; but there was so much honey in his gall, that bitterness rarely predominated.

“A year or two before his ownership in the mill ceased, Morgan married one of the sweetest girls in our town—­Fanny Ellis, that was her name, and she could have had her pick of the young men.  Everybody affected to wonder at her choice; and yet nobody really did wonder, for Joe was an attractive young man, take him as you would, and just the one to win the heart of a girl like Fanny.  What if he had been seen, now and then, a little the worse for drink!  What if he showed more fondness for pleasure than for business!  Fanny did not look into the future with doubt or fear.  She believed that her love was strong enough to win him from all evil allurements:  and, as for this world’s goods, they were matters in which her maiden fancies rarely busied themselves.

“Well.  Dark days came for her, poor soul!  And yet, in all the darkness of her earthly lot, she has never, it is said, been anything but a loving, forbearing, self-denying wife to Morgan.  And he—­fallen as he is, and powerless in the grasp of the monster intemperance—­has never, I am sure, hurt her with a cruel word.  Had he added these, her heart would, long ere this, have broken.  Poor Joe Morgan!  Poor Fanny!  Oh, what a curse is this drink!”