If he lounged all day, it was on the benches in the open air; if he played cards all night, he was not given much money to waste; and there were few women to lend their companionship to the many drunkards of whom he was only one.

Then, also, Bart did not do even all the evil that he might.

What was the result of that long struggle of his which always ended in failure?
The failure was only apparent; the success was this mighty one--that he did not go lower, he did not leave Fentown Falls for the next town upon the river, a place called The Mills, where his life could have been much worse.

He fell in love with Ann Markham; and although she was the daughter of the wickedest man in Fentown, she was--according to the phraseology of the place--"a lady." She kept a small beer-shop that was neat and clean; she lived so that no man dared to say an uncivil word to her or to the sister whom she protected.

She did for her father very much what Bart's father did for him: she kept a decent house over his head and decent clothes upon his back, and threw a mantle of thrifty respectability over him.
Ann was no prude, and she certainly was no saint.