It got worse as he grew older.

Every bit of prosperity that came to us, he drank away; he would have ruined us again and again, but for my mother.
And at last he murdered her--her and my poor sisters!" Elizabeth made a sound of horror.
"Oh, there was no intention to murder," said Anderson bitterly.

"He merely sat up drinking one winter night with a couple of whisky bottles beside him.

Then in the morning he was awakened by the cold; the fire had gone out.

He stumbled out to get the can of coal-oil from the stable, still dazed with drink, brought it in and poured some on the wood.