"Sir," said one upon whom all the pastor's arguments had apparently been wasted; "Mr. Harris, why can't you let us non-abstainers alone? Let us go our way, and we will accord you the same liberty of action."
Mr. Harris's brow clouded with some painful recollection, and he said with much feeling: "You compel me to refer to the past. Allow me very tenderly, but faithfully to remind you that you did not accord me 'liberty of action' in times gone by."
"What do you mean?" inquired the astonished deacon.
"Forgive me for seeming to be ungrateful for the kindness which alone prompted you; but, oh, my dear friend, remember how in years, that, thank God, are past, you and your brother deacons, equally hospitable and kind-hearted, never allowed me to decline your offer of wine or spirits. If I paid you a call before preaching, you insisted that I needed to be stimulated for my work, and pressed me to accept the best wine your cellars could supply. If I dropped in on my way home, I was sure to be looking white and exhausted, and must therefore take 'just one glass' to restore my energies. Heat and cold, rain and sunshine, joy and sorrow, all afforded you an excuse for compelling me to partake of the fatal cup. Your wines found their way to my table in abundance. Many a time I sought to refuse your false kindness; but you know how deeply I should have grieved you if I had not accepted your hospitality. From the day I first entered upon my pastorate as a moderate drinker, I felt that it was considered a personal slight if I visited any house and refused the proffered wine. Can you wonder that I grew to feel it a necessity? that presently I stumbled and fell, and for a time was 'out of the way through strong drink'? Oh, my brother, let me beg, that, if you cannot banish intoxicants from your home, you will at least refrain from pressing them upon others, lest you cause a weaker brother to offend."
Deeply agitated, the deacon wrung his pastor's hand, abruptly leaving him with the broken words: "Forgive me—I—didn't mean—didn't know—you've won me over at last."
"What is the matter, my dear?" asked Mrs. Green in alarmed tones, as a few minutes later her husband entered the room where she was working, and throwing himself into a chair, buried his face in his hands. The deacon only groaned. "Surely there is nothing wrong with our minister again," said his wife, knowing that her husband had recently been in the company of Mr. Harris.
"No, no, and if so, I, and such as I, would have been to blame, as we were years ago, God forgive us!" Mrs. Green looked at her husband, half-believing that under some sudden strain his mind had lost its balance.
"What do you mean? It was Mr. Harris's own fault that he gave way to drink, and you should remember that you and his other deacons were faithful in your constant warnings and long-suffering with him beyond what might have been expected."
"We, and only we, caused his downfall, and then reproached him for the disgrace he had brought upon our church," gloomily responded the deacon.
"You are speaking in enigmas; do explain yourself, Herbert," impatiently urged his wife.