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Hill, Grace Livingston, 1865-1947

"The Girl from Montana"

Father promised too; but, when he got with the other men, it did
no good. Men are all alike."
"But I'm not," he insisted stoutly. "I tell you I'm not. I don't drink,
and I won't drink. I promise you solemnly here under God's sky that I'll
never drink another drop of intoxicating liquor again if I know it as long
as I live."
He put out his hand toward her, and she put her own into it with a quick
grasp for just an instant.
"Then you're not like other men, after all," she said with a glad ring in
her voice. "That must be why I wasn't so very much afraid of you when I
woke up and found you standing there."
A distinct sense of pleasure came over him at her words. Why it should
make him glad that she had not been afraid of him when she had first seen
him in the wilderness he did not know. He forgot all about his own
troubles. He forgot the lady in the automobile. Right then and there he
dropped her out of his thoughts. He did not know it; but she was
forgotten, and he did not think about her any more during that journey.
Something had erased her. He had run away from her, and he had succeeded
most effectually, more so than he knew.
There in the desert the man took his first temperance pledge, urged
thereto by a girl who had never heard of a temperance pledge in her life,
had never joined a woman's temperance society, and knew nothing about
women's crusades. Her own heart had taught her out of a bitter experience
just how to use her God-given influence.


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