But it was too late; that boy went to ruin and carried his old father to financial ruin with him. The store was sold and the father went on to a little farm in Missouri, where he died a disappointed, grief-stricken man. He was a good man and a kind father, but he did not realize the full meaning of the warning, "whatsoever ye sow, that shall ye also reap." Fathers, be careful of your example. Your sons think they can safely follow where you lead. Could the turf break above the drunken dead; could they come back to earth in their bony whiteness to testify to the cause of their ruin, how many would point to the old sideboard filled with all kinds of liquors, to father's moderate use of strong drink, or his vote for the saloon at the ballot box.
Too often the careless indulgence of mothers is responsible for the ruin of their sons. If mothers were as watchful of their sons as of their daughters, the magic chain of mother love would be far more binding to their boys. There are homes in this city where at night you can hear the mothers say to servants: "Are the clothes in off the line; did you bring the broom and the pitcher from the porch; are the blinds all down; are the girls in bed; is everything in order for the night?" No, mothers, everything is not in order. Your girls are safe, the windows and doors are locked, but your boys are on the outside with night keys in their pockets, to come in at midnight from God only knows where. The double standard reaches too often back into the home.
"Mother, watch the little feet,
Climbing o'er the garden wall,
Bounding through the busy street,
Ranging garret shed and hall:
Never count the time it cost,
Never think the moments lost;
Little feet will go astray,
Watch them, mother, while you may.