"Can't you tell him not to?" said the little girl with knitted brows.
The Rector looked at her with a smile and sigh.
"I am afraid my words are wasted. He and I have had many a talk. When a man makes drink his master, he cannot get away from it."
"I suppose," said Harebell softly, "God could get him away."
"Yes, little one. God alone can help him now."
"If he gets through the Door, he'll be all right. I'll ask him."
The Rector did not quite understand her. Then he asked after her aunt.
"Aunt Diana is always well, I think, like me. She hasn't melted yet."
The Rector shook his head at her.
"Ah! You little know your aunt's troubles," he said, and then with a nod, he passed on, and Harebell rode home very thoughtfully.