"Very," Mrs. Fowler replied. "It would be better for her if she had no father at all."
"Oh, mother!" Margaret cried in shocked tones. "Do you mean that?"
"Yes, I do. What can her father be, but a perpetual shame and trouble to her?"
"But she loves him so dearly."
"I don't know how she can!" Mrs. Fowler exclaimed vehemently. "But, there, don't let us talk of Josiah any more. Of course, the letter was too late for to-night's post?"
"Oh, yes. But I posted it all the same. I wonder when father will be home."
"Not till the end of the week, I expect. It's getting chilly; we will go in." And rising, Mrs. Fowler moved towards the house, the others following.
Margaret's thoughts were all of Salome during the remainder of the evening. And before she went to rest, she prayed earnestly that God would give His help and protection to the lame girl, and reward her patience and love in His own good time.
"Drink is an awful thing," was her last waking thought that night, as she crept into her little, white-curtained bed, and laid her head down on the soft pillow. "I only wish poor Salome's father could be brought to see what an awful thing it is."