The Lights and Shadows of Real Life Part 65

"And regain it, rather. You're a slave now."

"I'll do it, then, for your sake."

"Don't trifle with me, any more, James; I can't bear it much longer, I feel that I can't--" poor Mrs. Braddock said in a plaintive tone, while the tears came to her eyes.

"I wont deceive you any more, Sally. I'll sign, and I'll keep my pledge. If I could only have said--'I've signed the pledge,'

yesterday, I would have been safe. But I've got no pledge, and I'm afraid to go out to hunt up Malcom, for fear I shall see a grog-shop."

"Can't you write a pledge?"

"No. I can't write anything but a bill, or a label for one of your pickle-pots."

"But try."

"Well, give me a pen, some ink, and a piece of paper."

But there was neither pen, ink, nor paper, in the house. Mrs.

Braddock, however, soon mustered them all in the neighbourhood, and came and put them down upon the table before her husband.

"There, now, write a pledge," she said.

"I will." And Jim took up the pen and wrote--"Blister my feathers if ever I drink another drop of Alcohol, or anything that will make drunk come, sick or well, dead or alive!"

JIM BRADDOCK."

"But that's a queer pledge, Jim."

"I don't care if it is. I'll keep it."

"It's just no pledge at all."

"You're an old goose! Now give me a hammer and four nails."

"What do you want with a hammer and four nails?"

"I want to nail my pledge up over the mantelpiece."

"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 appet.i.te 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 pa.s.sing, 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!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed 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?"

"Clear enough. Yesterday morning, seeing what a poor miserable wretch I had got to be, and how much my wife and children were suffering, I swore of from ever touching another drop. I wouldn't sign a pledge, though, because that, I thought, would be giving up my freedom. In coming here, I got past Harry Arnold's grog-shop pretty well, but when you came out so pleasantly at eleven o'clock, and asked me to go over to the house and take a drink, I couldn't refuse for the life of me--especially as I felt as dry as a bone. So I drank pretty freely, as you' know, and went home, in consequence, drunk at night, notwithstanding I had promised Sally, solemnly, in the morning, never to touch another drop again as long as I lived.

Poor soul! Bad enough, and discouraged enough, she felt last night, I know.

"So you see--when I got up this morning, I felt half-determined to sign the pledge, at all hazards. Still I didn't want to give up my liberty, and was arguing the points over again, when Sally took me right aback so strongly that I gave up, wrote a pledge, signed it, and nailed it up over the mantelpiece, where it has got to stay."

"I am most heartily glad to hear of your good resolution," Mr. Jones said, grasping warmly the hand of Braddock--"and heartily ashamed of myself for having tempted you, yesterday. Hereafter, I am resolved not to offer liquor to any man who works for me. If my money is not enough for him, he must go somewhere else. Well," he continued--"you have signed away your liberty, as you called it. Do you feel any more a slave than you did yesterday?"

"A slave? No, indeed! I'm a free man now! Yesterday I was such a slave to a debased appet.i.te, that all my good resolutions were like cobwebs. Now I can act like an honest, rational man. I am in a state of freedom. You ask me to drink. I say 'no'--yesterday I could not say no, because I was not a free man. But now I am free to choose what is right, and to reject what is wrong. I don't care for all the grog-shops and whiskey-bottles from here to sun-down! I'm not afraid to go past Harry Arnold's--nor even to go in there and make a temperance speech, if necessary. Hurrah for freedom!"

It cannot be supposed that Jim's wife, after her many sad disappointments, could feel altogether a.s.sured that he would stand by his pledge, although she had more confidence in its power over him than in anything else, and believed that it was the only thing that would save him, if he could be saved at all. She was far more cheerful, however, for her hope was stronger than it had ever been; and went about her house with a far lighter step than usual.

Towards evening, as the time began to approach for his return, she proceeded, as she had done on the day before, to make arrangements for his comfortable reception. The little scene of preparation for supper, and dressing up the children, was all acted over again, and with a feeling of stronger confidence. Still, her heart would beat at times oppressively, as a doubt would steal over her mind.

At last, the sun was just sinking behind a distant hill. It was the hour to expect him. The children were gathered around her in the door, and her eyes were afar off, eagerly watching to descry his well-known form in the distance. As minute after minute pa.s.sed away, and the sun at length went down below the horizon, her heart began to tremble. Still, though she strained her eyes, she could see nothing of him,--and now the twilight began to fall, dimly around, throwing upon her oppressed heart a deeper shadow than that which mantled, like a thin veil, the distant hills and valleys. With a heavy sigh, she was about returning into the house, when a slight noise within caused her to turn quickly, and with a start.

"Back again, safe and sound, old girl!" greeted her glad ear, as the form of her husband caught her eye, coming in at the back door.

"O, Jim!" she exclaimed, her heart bounding with a wild, happy pulsation. "How glad I am to see you!"

And she flung herself into his arms, giving way, as she did so, to a gush of joyful tears.

"And I'm glad enough to see you, too, Sally! I've thought about you and the children all day, and of how much I have wronged you. But it's all over now. That pledge has done it!" pointing up as he spoke to his pledge nailed over the mantelpiece. "Since I signed that, I've not had the first wish to touch the accursed thing that has ruined me. I'm free, now, Sally! Free to do as I please. And that's what I havn't been for a long time. As I told Mr. Jones, I don't care now for all the grog-shops, whiskey-bottles, and Harry Arnolds, from here to sun-down."

"I told you it was all nonsense, Jim, about signing away your liberty!" Sally said, smiling through her tears of joy.

"Of course it was. I never was free before. But now I feel as free as air. I can go in and come out and care no more for the sight of a grog-shop, than for a hay-stack. I can take care of my wife and children, and be just as kind to them as I please. And that's what I couldn't do before. Huzza for the pledge, say I!

"Blister my feathers if ever I drink another drop of Alcohol, or anything that will make drunk come, sick or well, dead or alive!"