don't approve of it, sir. It's as good as saying that she hasn't any faith in herself, and expected to go to the bad, if she wasn't bound by a promise she'd put her name to," answered John in a tone of dissatisfaction.

"My views, exactly, John; besides, it's setting her judgment against yours, which I wouldn't think of allowing, even at this early juncture," said Mr. Groombridge, with a serio-comic expression.

"Oh, father, you wouldn't think of allowing, indeed, when only a few minutes ago, you declared that mother's judgment was ever so much better than yours, and that ever since you had known her, you had trusted to it more than to your own," cried Kate.

"My dear, your remark is quite irrelevant," and Mr. Groombridge dismissed the inconvenient topic with John and Ruth.

"Don't be angry with me, John; I couldn't do anything else," timidly said Ruth, as she followed John back to the conservatory.

"I'm not pleased with you, Ruth, I must say. I should like the woman I have chosen to have so much self respect that she would feel it impossible to stoop to degrade herself, as you seem to think you could easily do."

"Oh, John, I thought you would understand me better than that, for you know so much more than I could tell master and mistress. Why, John, don't you know how the curse of drink blighted my own home, and made my early years a misery? Can I ever forget the nightly horror when my mother staggered home to rouse the neighbourhood with her drunken shouts and blasphemies? Can I forget the dear little ones I nursed while they pined away to sink into untimely graves? Can I forget my father's life-long bitterness and premature end? And if I could forget these things, how could I forget the dying despair, the loathing of her sin, and yet the unconquerable craving of disease that held my poor mother captive through her last hours!"

"Dear Ruthie, hush; don't recall those memories. A brighter life is before you, and all I blame you for is because you imagine that without binding yourself you might follow in your mother's footsteps."

"That is where you are wrong, John," said Ruth, looking up at him with sorrowful eyes: "At my age my mother was no more a slave to drink than I am. She only took it in moderation, and if any one had suggested to her that she was in danger of becoming an habitual drinker, she would have been indignant. It was only because she found that a little stimulant revived her, when she was weak and ailing, that she began to take it frequently, till by and bye the habit became so strong, that though she tried hard to break it she could not, and why should I be stronger than my own mother?"

"Well, darling, have it your own way. I shall not alter my opinion of you; but I won't argue the point. Now, dry your eyes, and be happy;" and being an obedient woman, Ruth dismissed her tears, and smiled up at John.

"Ruth," said John presently; "how is it that you are afraid for yourself, and yet not afraid for me?"

"Oh, John, I couldn't be; I trust you entirely, and though you know how much I would like you to become an abstainer too, not a thought of danger crosses my mind when you refuse."

"I should be sorry and hurt if you felt otherwise, my dear, and you may continue to trust me. I could never disgrace myself and bring more sorrow to you," and John took Ruth's hand, and held his head up proudly, and looked every inch of him a man worthy of a woman's trust and devotion.

CHAPTER II.

JOHN'S BROTHER.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I can't even ask to be spared. It's Jane's evening out, and we've got company, and there's hot supper ordered."

"What a nuisance! Ask Jane to give up for once; you're always obliging her."

"No, I can't do that, John, for cook is not best pleased, and Jane doesn't go the way to manage her."

"I'll go and give cook the length of my tongue, I declare," said John, angrily.

"Now you'll do nothing of the sort. You'll go and spend the evening with your brother, and give him my kind regards, and be sure and bring me back all the news." So saying, Ruth gave John a bright decided nod, and whisked back into the kitchen.

"What do you think of that, cook? the unreasonableness of men!"

"What's up now?" asked cook, who was bending with a gloomy face over preparations for an elaborate supper.

"Why, John wanted me to go home with him to-night, and didn't see why I couldn't, though I told him how busy we should be."

"It's quite enough to have one of you gadding out and filling my hands with your work," growled cook.

"Yes, it's too bad, but we'll manage well enough without Jane; let me help you mix that, now," and Ruth took the basin, and with deft fingers, which cook secretly admired, beat the compound it contained till it was pronounced "just the thing."

Notwithstanding her brightness and ready surrender of an evening's pleasure, Ruth watched John go off with a keen feeling of disappointment, and for some minutes there was silence in the room.

"She's worth a dozen Janes," said cook to herself, for she was not so wholly engrossed with her own pursuits as to be quite unobservant of Ruth's disappointment.

"I don't know how it is," thought Ruth, as the busy evening wore away; "cook and I do get on well together; she's quite pleasant to-night, and wasn't cross, though I took the wrong sauce in just now."

Ah, Ruth, if there were more sunny tempers and unclouded faces like yours in the world, there would oftener come to clouded minds and gloomy moods just such brightness as you have brought to your fellow-servant to-night!

John's brother Dick was several years older than John. Some ten years previously he had taken to a seafaring life, but soon tiring of it, he had settled in Australia. We say settled, but Dick Greenwood was one of those men who could never be truly said to settle to anything. He had tried farming, but the work was too hard; then he had joined a party going into the bush, their free and easy life having an attraction for him. After that, he went into a city store, and just as he had mastered the details of the business and might have succeeded in it, he was charmed by the performances of a band of travelling actors, and not being without natural ability in that direction, he had induced them to accept his services, and now, with little money, and a great deal of shady experience, he had worked his passage back to England, that he might just see how things were looking in the old country.

"Well, Jack, my boy, how are you?" he said in a loud, hoarse voice, as John entered the room, which was redolent of tobacco and brandy.

"All right, Dick; glad to see you, though I shouldn't have known you again. My word, you're a little different to the thin lath of a fellow you were when you left home."

"You may say so," cried Dick; "I was a poor milksop then, and no mistake; but I've improved, and, you bet, I've learned a thing or two."

John was not quite so sure of the improvement. At least the stripling who had left his father's home