He
said he was crazed with drink, or he never would have committed the crime.
He said: "My wife was a good and faithful mother to my little children.
Never did I dream that my hand could be guilty of such a crime."
The man could bravely face the penalty of the law for his deed, but he
broke down and cried as if his heart would break when he thought of leaving
his children in a destitute and friendless condition. I read and prayed
with him, and left him to his fate.
The next morning I made my way to the miserable quarters of the children. I
found three little girls upon a bed of straw in one corner of the room.
They were clad in rags. They would have been beautiful girls had they had
the proper care. They were expecting the body of their dead father, and
between their cries and sobs they would say, "Papa was good, but whisky did
it."
In a little time two strong officers came bearing the body of the dead
father in a rude pine box. They set it down on two old rickety stools. The
cries of the children were so heartrending that the officers could not
endure it, and made haste out of the room.
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