WMAN 
 
 Helen S, Woodruff
 
 477F 
 
 VJ 
 

 
 
 15 (30 Kir C 
 
 OA RY
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN
 
 THE 
 IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 BY 
 
 HELEN S. WOODRUFF 
 
 Author of " The Lady of the Lighthouse," " Mis' Beauty," " Really 
 Truly" Series, "Mr. Doctor Man," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1918, by 
 HELEN S, WOODRUFF 
 
 All rights reserved 
 First Edition, April, 1918 
 
 Printed in U.S.A.
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO 
 
 HON. MORRIS WOODRUFF SEYMOUR 
 
 Who blazed the trail for me to write it; 
 TO 
 
 HON. RICHARD M. HURD 
 
 My guide, philosopher and friend through the period 
 of its writing; and 
 
 TO 
 
 HON. THOMAS MOTT OSBORNE 
 
 The "man with a vision," who inspired it. 
 
 2138891
 
 AUTHOR'S NOTE 
 
 In this story the author has not writ- 
 ten of Dickens'sand Reade's times, 
 nor of their country. Neither 
 are the atrocities of which she tells 
 those committed by Germany, 
 but are one and all committed 
 here and now in our own country, 
 the United States of America
 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 DICK DENNISON jumped from his boat as its keel 
 grated on the shore, carelessly throwing in its bottom 
 the paper-backed novel he had been reading; and then, 
 pulling the boat up onto the small strip of snowy beach, 
 tied it securely to a place just below the huge rocks 
 that jutted out into the blueness of the little bay. At 
 his approach a flock of sandpipers whirred into the 
 air, and circling seemed to be suddenly obliterated 
 then all at once their breasts gleamed white against 
 the horizon, once more conspicuous as they wheeled 
 and circled away. Pausing, the boy gazed after them 
 a moment as though spellbound. Across the island- 
 studded, rippling blue expanse lay the white-capped 
 ocean. It was June, and the thick mass of the woods 
 coming down to the very edge of the rock-bound 
 coast was reawakened from its winter dullness of 
 spruce and pine-needled greenness by intermingling of 
 the lacy, tender youth of belated white flowering 
 cherry, creamy fuzzy oaks, and dainty leaved maples 
 in scarlet bloom. 
 
 Richard caught his breath with pleasure. The scene, 
 old as it was to his native eyes, was never old, and 
 each time that he saw it his heart thrilled with its 
 majesty and beauty. Jerking at the anchor rope to 
 assure himself that he had tied the boat so that the in- 
 coming tide could not possibly loosen it, he climbed 
 nimbly up the huge lichen-covered boulder nearest 
 him, and throwing his head back began to sing, as 
 from this height he saw the lovely landscape grown in 
 breadth. 
 
 Straight and tall and lithe as a young Indian, and 
 nearly as brown, he looked a very wood god in his 
 
 i
 
 clean-limbed vigor as he paused under a gnarled oak 
 and drank in the soft June air. He gloried in every leaf, 
 every tree, every stick and stone of this old rugged 
 coast, for ever since he could remember he had loved 
 to slip away from the white house on the elm-lined 
 village street and come here or out on the sun-kissed 
 bay for his pleasure and recreation. 
 
 At the sound of his joyous bursting song a red 
 squirrel, fluffy tail turned over back, darted up the 
 tree trunk to a height of safety, and then sitting there, 
 with one paw over its heart, looked down at the boy 
 and chattered saucily. A big old clumsy porcupine 
 stopped its lumbering walk through last year's leaves 
 that, like elderly people, were still murmuring of their 
 by-gone summer, and gazed at him in dignity; then at 
 his uninterrupted approach, rolled itself into a ball 
 and bristled its armament of quills. A bluejay, 
 perched just above his head, flicked its wings and flew 
 to a nearby beech tree, giving harsh warning to its 
 nesting mate. The rays of the sinking sun fell softly 
 on the fresh green of the young leaves that clapped 
 their hands with glee. The boy laughed aloud for the 
 pure joy of living. His eyes sparkled. How he loved 
 it all the beeches with their big, clean, gray-white 
 trunks, the many kinds of birches, the oaks. Looking 
 through these he saw the color of the bay intensified, 
 and standing out blackly against the sunset sky a big 
 osprey's nest in a stark tree at the water's edge. He 
 would never leave these woods. How could people 
 shut themselves in dirty, noisy cities, when all out-of- 
 doors was theirs for the taking! 
 
 Just then spying a bunch of spring anemones peep- 
 ing out at him in pink-cheeked shyness, he stopped and 
 began to pick them, changing his full-voiced song to 
 a faint chant of murmured carefree happiness. 
 
 "You beauties!" he finally said aloud, ceasing his
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 3 
 
 song and gathering all the blossoms in sight, "how 
 Mumsy'll love you!" and he filled both his long- 
 fingered, capable young hands in his eagerness to please 
 his little mother. 
 
 "She must come out with me to-morrow! The 
 whole world is June is June!" And he began hum- 
 ming again as he gazed about him at the riot of fresh 
 color, of yellow dogtooth violets which, with the 
 dainty white and pink bloom of spring-beauties, 
 partridge-berry flowers and trailing vines of the mit- 
 chella, formed a perfumed carpet for the entire woods. 
 "That old pain in her side will surely be better now." 
 
 Having gathered all the flowers he wished he 
 straightened up and, throwing his head back, burst 
 into a loud, blithesome whistle as he left the woods 
 for home. His way led across fields of waving daisies, 
 buttercups and primroses over which a swarm of pink- 
 winged noctuid moths rose and hovered in ecstasy, 
 then settled to their feast again as he reached the 
 village street. 
 
 Striding down its elm-bordered way he soon came 
 to a high white fence which he jumped with one bound, 
 ran through a grove, and bolted up the steps of the 
 austere house behind it, finally bursting into its hall. 
 Throwing his well-aimed cap over a peg on the wall 
 he made a dash for the library door, still whistling 
 as he went. 
 
 "Hello, Mumsy," he cried; "I've had the best sail 
 ever and look at these " 
 
 But he stopped short, for from across the square, 
 bare library table, lighted only by a green-shaded read- 
 ing lamp, he saw his father's thin, gray-bearded face 
 frowning at him, and beyond that, out in the green- 
 tinted dimness, his mother's frail figure kneeling in 
 the attitude of prayer. 
 
 Her features were white and drawn, and looking
 
 toward him she surreptitiously held up her hand in 
 warning. Understanding, he silently stepped into the 
 circle of light which emphasized the gloom of the grim, 
 book-lined room, and putting the anemones on the 
 table looked his father silently in the eyes. The elderly 
 man opened his lips to speak, and the small, gray-clad 
 woman trembled, then started to rise to her feet; but 
 a sudden wave of emotion sweeping over her, instead 
 she remained quite still, her eyes looking from first 
 one to the other of the two as she caught at the 
 sharp pain in her side. The older man leaned slightly 
 forward and, scowling, addressed his son. 
 
 "Give an accounting of yourself," he said. "Where 
 have you been?" And then, before the boy could pos- 
 sibly answer, he continued : 
 
 "Do you hear me, sir? Answer!" 
 At his tone and words a spark of anger came into 
 the boy's black eyes for a moment, but controlling 
 his voice he said: 
 
 "Yes, Father, I hear you. I have " 
 
 But Dick's very self-control seemed to irritate his 
 father further, and sitting very straight in his chair 
 he cut in sharply: 
 
 "No back talk. Where have you been?" 
 Dick flushed, started to speak sharply, then becom- 
 ing aware of his mother's pleading white face again 
 raised to his, answered quietly : 
 
 "Sailing, Father. I thought you knew." 
 
 "Thought I knew !'' the man caught him up. 
 
 "You lie. You know if I had known you would 
 not have done it! And what does this mean?" dis- 
 playing a paper-bound book with lurid title. "Didn't 
 I forbid you reading novels," and he angrily tore the 
 book in half and flung it on the floor at the boy's 
 feet. "You either read God's Holy Word or you
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 5 
 
 read nothing. Understand? Never let me find such 
 trash in this house again!" 
 
 Then rising he turned, and putting the big Bible he 
 held upon the seat of his chair, knelt in front of it, 
 saying in command to the boy : 
 
 "Kneel down, sir, and ask our Heavenly Father 
 to forgive you." 
 
 For a moment the boy hesitated. 
 
 "Kneel down!" his father fairly thundered. 
 
 "But, Father, I don't " 
 
 "Kneel down!" his father commanded, and again 
 catching his mother's eye the boy did so without 
 further argument, as his father continued bitingly : 
 
 "I never thought I'd live to see the day a son of 
 mine broke the Holy Sabbath! And furthermore," 
 bitterly, "I hope you realize you've kept your mother 
 on her knees until they are doubtless bruised and 
 sore." 
 
 The boy had sprung up, his face crimson, his eyes 
 darting fire. 
 
 "Father!" he cried. "You know that is not so! 
 Mother!" and he made a quick move in her direc- 
 tion, but was stopped by his father's arm. 
 
 "You know I love her better than than my very 
 soul!" he said. "Mother!" 
 
 But the elder man scowled more deeply and opened 
 his lips to speak, when the woman interrupted gently : 
 
 "Kneel down, Richard." 
 
 Obeying the half-frightened pleading of her big 
 eyes he knelt and buried his face in his hands, while 
 his father's sonorous voice presently broke the still- 
 ness of the room. 
 
 "Oh, Heavenly Father," he prayed, "we are unclean. 
 We are full of iniquity there is no good in us. We 
 are as of the dust beneath Thy feet, not fit for Thee to
 
 6 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 tread upon. Chasten us that we may know Thou lov- 
 est us. Make us welcome Thy well-merited punish- 
 ment for our sins. Show us Thy mighty wrath that 
 we may fear to sin against Thee, and though we de- 
 serve naught but chastisement at Thy hands, forgive 
 our undeservingness at last and take our worthless 
 souls home to Thee. Oh, Father of all, Jehovah, my 
 son has sinned against Thee. He hath committed a 
 crime against Thy Holy Day. Lay thy mark upon 
 him. Punish him that he may know 
 
 But with a sigh the frail little woman near him 
 relaxed her hold upon the chair at which she knelt. 
 The old, old pain had grown worse alarmingly worse ! 
 It had seemed to sap her very life's blood as it shot 
 its quivering way through her breast, and at last, 
 reaching her pale lips, suffused them with a foamy 
 crimson the feeling of which frightened her. Falling 
 backward, she lay in a huddled heap while the crim- 
 son spread down the soft white bosom to the gray 
 dress, there darkening it strangely. 
 
 At the sound of her soft falling the boy had looked 
 up, and now he uttered a cry like that of a wounded 
 animal, and springing forward he gathered her in his 
 arms. 
 
 "Mother!" he cried. "Mother, darling! What's 
 the matter? Speak to me! darling!" 
 
 His father, frightened too, slowly arose from 
 his knees and came over to where the boy knelt hold- 
 ing the unconscious head in both his arms. 
 
 The little woman's eyes flickered open for a moment 
 and set themselves on her husband's hard-featured 
 face. Then shuddering she called into command every 
 bit of will power in her body, and turning her eyes 
 slowly toward her boy moved her lips. He bent nearer, 
 and she whispered brokenly: 
 
 "God is Love not Vengeance. Remember that
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 7 
 
 Richard son. Life can be happy Sunshine 
 Flowers Love Remember !" 
 
 A glory filled her face, and she smiled at him for 
 a moment more ; then closed her eyes forever. 
 
 At their closing the boy gave a frightened scream. 
 
 "The doctor, Father! the doctor!" he cried. But 
 even as he spoke he knew that there was no use; 
 and the man knew too, instinctively. His hard, gray- 
 bearded face broke into a quiver of feeling as he 
 looked down into that of his wife. Then raising him- 
 self, he said in his usual inflexible voice: 
 
 "God's will be done," and turning he would have 
 walked from them both had not the boy's voice stopped 
 him. 
 
 "No, no, no!" Richard screamed, his cheeks 
 blanched with suffering, his eyes afire. "Stay here, 
 Father; I must go for the doctor!" 
 
 Bending his face nearer the one on his arm, he 
 went on hysterically, "Oh, God, if you are a just God, 
 you will not take her from me!" Then a wave of 
 anger surging strong through him, he clinched his 
 teeth and muttered : "I shall know You are hard and 
 unjust, too, if she dies!" 
 
 With a shock of horror the older man stooped, and 
 without so much as a word took the limp little body 
 from his son's arms into his own. Then he said 
 severely : 
 
 "Let me hear no more, blasphemer! Our Father 
 knows best," and he strode from the room. 
 
 Pausing at the doorway he looked back. "Go for 
 Dr. Dreary." Then he added: "This is God's way 
 of punishing you. I asked and now this is His an- 
 swer." 
 
 But the boy had not even heard his last words. 
 For a moment he stood dazed, and then groping from 
 the room grabbed his cap from the peg and went to
 
 8 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 the door. There, overcome with his grief, but stifling 
 a choking sob, he turned and ran back. Flinging him- 
 self silently at his father's feet, he took his mother's 
 pale hand that hung down limply, and covered it with 
 
 kisses. Then he rushed from the house. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Hours after, the moon rose to prophesy the com- 
 ing day, and the kindly village doctor left the sad- 
 dened house. A still white form lay alone, locked in 
 an unlighted upstairs room, while in the dimly lit li- 
 brary Deacon Dennison knelt in resigned prayer. 
 
 Out in the woods the boy tramped, tramped, back 
 and forth, a battle raging in his heart. The moon 
 turned everything into fairyland. The incoming tide 
 dashed and roared against the rocks. Each wave, 
 silver-tipped, sent up a great spray of diamond-dusted 
 laciness that glistened against the somber hugeness 
 of the boulders. Unheeding, Richard tramped on, his 
 head bowed upon his breast. Thus he had walked 
 for many hours. Then suddenly seeming to rouse 
 himself, he sat down and gazed out across the little 
 cove at his feet. Here the water, protected by the 
 half circle of rocky shore, rolled less brokenly, the 
 great waves almost reaching the strip of sandy beach 
 before they broke; and it seemed to his imaginative 
 eyes that they were alive, so eagerly did each wave 
 succeed each and come rolling on its undulating way! 
 He imagined he saw in every one of them the face 
 of some sea maiden featured like his mother, who, 
 lured by a human lover on the shore, came eagerly to 
 his arms only to die. 
 
 And then the whole scene was blotted out as he 
 remembered with a heart-stifling pang why he was sit- 
 ting there at that time of night. Restlessly rising he 
 again tramped the woods. 
 
 Over the carpet of violets and twin flower vines
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 9 
 
 that trailed their delicate way, their tiny pink and white 
 blossoms gleaming in the moonlight, he ruthlessly 
 went, forgetting everything except his own present 
 suffering and its cause. Back through the years of 
 his childhood he deliberately let his thoughts carry 
 him, always recalling his mother and all she had meant 
 in his life. 
 
 Slight and girlish of figure, with a delicately fea- 
 tured face and great dark eyes, the expression of which 
 was ever changing, she seemed to her son as he viewed 
 her thus across the years hardly older than himself. 
 He realized now more than he had ever realized be- 
 fore what his father's cold nature had meant to a na- 
 ture like hers. He had heard from her lips the story 
 of how her father had died when she was eighteen, 
 and left her to the guardianship of his friend, Deacon 
 Dennison. How that friend, a deeply religious man 
 over twice her age, had come to see her, and finding 
 her alone and unprotected had married her on the spot. 
 But though their son had not heard the rest of the 
 story, it unrolled itself before him now as plainly as 
 if he had known it and its end from the very first. He 
 realized that the death of the frail little body, lying 
 so still at that very moment on the bed where he was 
 born, was only the culmination of a death which had 
 commenced on the day of his birth; for, violently 
 jealous of his own son, his father from that moment 
 had crushed all the youth of life from his wife as 
 surely as if he had used physical force! Thus it is 
 always with the jealousy of age against the vitality 
 of youth. 
 
 Richard again recalled her as with carefree laugh- 
 ter she had romped with him, then a tiny boy, in these 
 very woods. Or again he watched her dancing feet 
 as, bursting into snatches of song, she would grab 
 him by both his fat little arms and whirl him about
 
 10 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 in a mad laughing gale, until both of them were ex- 
 hausted by the frolic, and she would drop down in 
 a flushed heap and pretend sleep until he awakened 
 her with his eager moist kisses. 
 
 But even then, on those happy occasions, his father's 
 dark stern figure began to obtrude itself, until, as he 
 recalled now, such frolics were associated with an 
 uneasy fear of unhappiness and harsh words to fol- 
 low, which would result in tears for his little mother! 
 Over and over, a daily occurrence in the white house 
 on the village street, their two laughing voices would 
 be hushed into startled silence at the click of the gate; 
 or else, if their laughter was so loud as to drown that 
 sound, the mother's merriment was soon turned to 
 sadness by her husband's unexpected entrance and 
 scolding accusation of "unseemly frivolity." Deacon 
 Dennison had not welcomed his son at birth, and more 
 and more the growing boy became a source of jeal- 
 ousy and irritation to him. 
 
 Years passed, years that brought broken-spirited 
 peace for her for the frolics had ceased to be. Rich- 
 ard, only half conscious of what he saw, watched his 
 young mother grow into a sad, quiet little drab woman 
 of middle age, old before her time. Only her faith- 
 ful eyes dared speak to him of her yearning mother- 
 love, and Deacon Dennison at last found himself mas- 
 ter indeed. 
 
 His father's severity and somber outlook on life 
 had failed utterly, however, to break Richard's spirits. 
 Instead of becoming docile and subservient as had his 
 mother's weaker nature, his had become dangerously 
 defiant in its steadily growing strength and personality. 
 Instead of the worshipful attitude his father demanded 
 of him, he could not help but see the injustice of his 
 demands, and bitterness against his father grew in his 
 heart.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 11 
 
 Pausing a moment in these vivid memories, he again 
 sat down at the edge of the woods and watched the 
 shoreward waves. A thought entirely new came to 
 his maturing mind. Was it, after all, wholly his 
 father's fault, that terrible jealousy which had de- 
 manded his mother's ageing before her time? Per- 
 hps it was but natural, and he could not help it. 
 Somewhere he, Richard, had read "Out of life death. 
 Out of death life." Was that the explanation of 
 older people always trying to suppress the young, he 
 wondered? Was it the natural law of self-preservation 
 inherited from savage forebears? But to what selfish- 
 ness it led ! The young oftentimes become old, and lose 
 their opportunity for usefulness, because their elders 
 are ever striving to suppress, or thwart them, while 
 they themselves insist upon occupying the younger 
 generations' rightful places but the thought grew 
 too big for him and he let it drop. Certainly, he 
 decided, each generation as they aged thought they 
 were the only right thinkers yet civilization contin- 
 ued to climb upward! 
 
 With this enlightening idea there welled up a feel- 
 ing of half pity for his father, whom probably he 
 had never understood. Richard's sympathetic nature, 
 quick always to find excuse for others, tried to look 
 at his father from this new viewpoint. He would try 
 to understand him ! 
 
 For some time the moon had been an unwilling 
 prisoner behind a wide bar of leaden-colored cloud, 
 which gave the proverbial "darkest before dawn" ef- 
 fect to the landscape; but now as it was released and, 
 sailing out into the clearness above, smiled down to 
 brighten the fairy woods, the boy's heart pulsated with 
 a new resolve. 
 
 His father was doubtless suffering too. He would 
 go to him would talk to him freely of her would
 
 12 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 tell him that he, Richard, would try to do more as his 
 father wished. 
 
 He arose and turned back into the woods. Yes, he 
 would try to understand his father better. He knew 
 he stood high in the God-fearing community in which 
 they lived. He was looked up to, and spoken of as 
 an example for young men to follow; and yet 
 yet 
 
 Richard strode on. A night owl popped from his 
 hole just above his head and hooted hoarsely. A loon 
 in the lake beyond the marshes laughed his shrill note 
 of derision the moon hid behind a cloud again; but 
 with eager, stumbling feet the boy rushed on through 
 the night. His whole being was suffused and aquiver 
 with a great hungry longing for sympathy and under- 
 standing from his father all he had left in the world. 
 
 He reached the white gate of his home and went 
 briskly up the walk to the glass-paneled door. 
 
 It was locked and dark. 
 
 Rather surprised, he went around the house, glanc- 
 ing up at all the windows. They were entirely dark 
 also. 
 
 With a quick, renewed doubt stabbing his heart, and 
 redoubled anguish at the thought that his father could 
 go to bed, as he so evidently had done, on a night of 
 such sorrow, Richard went softly to the window of 
 his mother's room. 
 
 There was no sound, and slipping his long fingers 
 through the blinds he unfastened them and quietly 
 clambered in. 
 
 The moon, again visible, lighted up the room 
 brightly, and on the big four-poster bed, stark of sof- 
 tening draperies, he saw her lying, calm and sweet, 
 her hands folded upon her breast. The smile that had 
 illumined her face when she spoke her last words to 
 him was still upon it.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 13 
 
 So naturally was she lying, so exactly as he had 
 often seen her when he had defied his father and 
 stayed late during his rambles in the woods, and then 
 clambered in through her window, that now his heart 
 gave a great throb of hope. 
 
 This hope was quickly stifled, however, by a ter- 
 rible pain of knowledge, and crossing softly to her 
 side he knelt while great sobs shook him. For the 
 first time since his childhood he knew the comforting 
 effect of tears. His clenched hands slowly unlocked 
 themselves. Leaning forward he laid his head rev- 
 erently down upon her breast. A great peace filled him 
 and the tears coursed unheeded down his cheeks. 
 
 Her words returned to him, and with them a pic- 
 ture of the sun-dappled flower-carpet of the woods 
 came before his mind's eye. 
 
 "God is Love, not Vengeance Life can be happy! 
 Sunshine flowers love !" 
 
 Yes, he would try to be happy for her sake. He 
 would try to understand and obey his father 
 
 A sound grated at the door of the room and made 
 him jump up quickly. 
 
 The key squeakily turned and then the door opened 
 slowly. 
 
 He stepped forward. 
 
 "Father!" he began, as he saw who it was. 
 "Father!" But the first affectionate utterance he had 
 ever in his life dared give to his father froze as 
 he caught sight of his angry face. 
 
 Lips drawn into a thin, hard line, his brow gath- 
 ered darkly together in a frown, the other spoke. 
 
 "Come out!" he commanded angrily. "How dared 
 you disobey me," and he drew the dazed boy roughly 
 from the room into the dimly lighted hall, and noisily 
 shut the door, putting his back against it. "Answer 
 me, sir! I told you no one should enter that room!
 
 14 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 It is ungodly to gaze on that which God hath given 
 over to dust for worms to devour unseemly to sor- 
 row over a worthless body! How did you get in 
 there!'' and his anger increasing he thundered: "An- 
 swer me, I say!" 
 
 With horror at the awful words which changed the 
 comforting impression of this dear sleeping mother 
 into a thing of awesomeness, the sensitive boy recoiled 
 from him as from a blow, and stood staring, wild- 
 eyed, a groan escaping from his lips. 
 
 Then with a rush the revulsion of feeling that he 
 had always borne his father again swept over him, 
 leaving him weak and exhausted. 
 
 "I I can't answer," he said faintly in a queer tone 
 entirely foreign to him, all his defiance gone, and look- 
 ing strangely like his mother in his enfeebling suffer- 
 ing. "Oh h h " and breaking away from his 
 father with a convulsive sob he stumbled forward 
 down the hall toward the door, through the glass pan- 
 els of which could be seen the first faint eastern 
 glow of the awakening morning. He would have gone 
 out, but the elder man catching up with him seized 
 him by the arm. 
 
 "Understand once and for all," he said, still too 
 angry and arrogant to notice the boy's wild look. 
 "From this day forth you don't prowl through the 
 woods at night ! I have known of your escapades more 
 often than you think," and he looked back toward the 
 closed door significantly. "Go upstairs and go to bed. 
 You will obey me unreservedly from now on or leave 
 this house forever," and his face bore the indomitable 
 look of cruel mastery that had broken the spirit and 
 heart of his wife. 
 
 For a moment Richard did not seem to compre- 
 hend his words, and then, their meaning slowly con- 
 veying itself to his mind, numbed as it was with the
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 15 
 
 recent great struggle and conquest only thus sud- 
 denly to be flung back upon itself his head went 
 up and black eyes flashed into black eyes. With rage 
 that was at once calming and yet which seemed to 
 turn him into another being, so strong with fury was 
 it, he struggled from his father's hands and opening 
 the door said thickly: 
 
 "Then I go out with her forever," and banged 
 the door shut. 
 
 To Deacon Dennison it did not seem blasphemy to 
 approach God, who is Love, with vengeance in his 
 heart it was even part of his religion, along with the 
 belief in original sin and man's worthlessness and so 
 he prayed: "Oh, God, let Thy wrath and retribution 
 descend upon my son until he knows the error of his 
 ways. Amen."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 HIGH and clear the plaintive song of a white-throated 
 sparrow sounded through the June woods, 
 
 Opening his eyes at the sweet notes, Richard looked 
 up through the trees under which he lay and off toward 
 the beloved blue bay above which the sun was just 
 rising. 
 
 With a deep breath he drew in the delicious per- 
 fume of the blossoming woods. Great masses of shad- 
 blow, bridal in their purity, stood guard over near 
 the edge of the swamp, while all about him brave, up- 
 standing little jack-in-the-pulpits were holding their 
 morning mass. The early risers among the primroses 
 waved and smiled a good morning to him, while Lady 
 Columbines, in harlequin-like splendor, shook their 
 red and yellow cluster-bells and climbed up the gray 
 rocks seeming to call to him : "Awake, lazy one, and 
 enjoy our wondrous beauty!" 
 
 Everywhere there were flowers; and rubbing his 
 eyes sleepily, he sat up and half -consciously repeated : 
 "Sunshine flowers love." Then a pang of anguish 
 shot through him as with returned consciousness he 
 remembered why he was there and recalled all that 
 had happened the past three days. 
 
 With a feeling of physical sickness such as he had 
 experienced on awakening each morning since his 
 mother's death, he dropped back on the moss, gazing 
 
 16
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 17 
 
 unseeing up into the trees as he again went over the 
 scenes and sufferings of his last hours at home. 
 
 It was all over then ! She was gone He had no 
 home, for home he could not have, he now realized, 
 if it had to be shared with his father. But he had 
 her! As the sense of the presence of her love swept 
 over him, he felt certain that that could never die, 
 that it was his very own forever no one could rob 
 him of that! 
 
 His slender fingers fumbled in his inside pocket and 
 drew out an old-fashioned locket in a worn chamois 
 case. He looked at it sorrowfully, tears starting from 
 his eyes. Presently opening it he let his ringers caress 
 the few silken strands of golden hair curled around 
 inside of it, then put it to his lips. Again he fished 
 in a pocket and, producing a string, strung the locket 
 upon it, slipped it over his head and down inside 
 of his shirt. He would always wear it. His mother 
 had given it to him years before. It was the first 
 gift her husband had given her, and stood in her mind 
 for the happiness that might have been and was not 
 save for the existence of her son. She had told him 
 to keep it always that it would tell him many things 
 of her in after years and prove a talisman against un- 
 happiness; so now he would wear it next his heart. 
 
 The sudden whining call of a low-flying blue jay 
 as it flashed by, almost at his ear, made Richard jump ; 
 and feeling to see that the locket was safe, he again 
 sat up and looked about him. Well, here would be his 
 home after this these woods he loved. The summer 
 stretched before him in a long unbroken line of prom- 
 ise. He would live out here, a free man for once in 
 his life. He would live deeply, with only nature's 
 other free creatures for his companions. Hereafter 
 he would serve no time at his father's bank "learning 
 the business," as he had during the past few weeks.
 
 18 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "But the winter?" his judgment argued. "The rest 
 of his life?" 
 
 "Let the future take care of that!" his youth re- 
 plied. To live in the open, among the wild things he 
 loved, was the only balm for his present suffering, and 
 seemingly the only way he could hope for happiness, 
 the happiness that he felt was his birthright, but which 
 his father had tried so hard to destroy. 
 
 Suddenly from a tree just across an intervening 
 open space, where dainty clusters of wild lilies-of-the- 
 valley nodded their heads at him, the brisk call of a 
 chickadee sounded, in a moment followed by its more 
 intimate song. Looking sharply into the leaves he 
 saw her modest little body aquiver with joy as, hop- 
 ping contentedly from limb to limb, she continually 
 interrupted her quest for food to repeat the plaintive 
 notes : 
 
 pee wee pee wee pee wee 
 
 He smiled. She was such a charming, housewifely, 
 comfortable little being and always so cheery. Never 
 was there a time when he could remember the woods 
 without her, summer or winter. Pursing his lips he 
 made the sounds of her song. She cocked her little 
 head eagerly from side to side and listened for a 
 moment; then answered him. 
 
 He whistled her song again. 
 
 "Why, it must be some neighbor calling!" her listen- 
 ing attitude seemed to say. So, pee-weeing hospitably, 
 she fluttered from branch to branch of her own tree 
 down, down, nearer and nearer the sound, always 
 cheerily answering and looking for the other bird.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 19 
 
 Richard continued to imitate her song. Fluttering 
 with curious interest she came quite near him, flying 
 above his head, then gently swooping down near his 
 side, or circling around him, her eyes turning in quick 
 search for the singer, her every move seeming to say, 
 as she kept on with her cordial greeting: "Where in 
 the world are you? I'd love to talk over Peter Pan's 
 gossip of the woods with you but where are you?" 
 
 Richard laughed outright as over and over again he 
 drew her close to him, only to have her fly away 
 puzzled yet always ready and willing to come cheer- 
 ily back and commence her search again at his slight- 
 est whistled summons. So the boy for a time almost 
 forgot his deep sorrow in his ever-keen interest in 
 the wild life about him. 
 
 In an elm tree standing alone just beyond the edge 
 of the woods, but plainly in view from his position, 
 a pair of Baltimore orioles were building a nest, soon 
 to be almost hidden by the fast-growing leaves. Back 
 and forth they flew, their brilliant orange-and-black 
 bodies flashing merrily in and out among the soft 
 green, while they brought billful after billful of grape- 
 vine shreds and busily worked at the pale gray basket 
 poised so gracefully, hanging from the drooping tip 
 of a skyward bough. Richard noticed there were two 
 other nests close to the new one, and surmising that 
 they had doubtless been built by the same pair during 
 two previous summers, he thought aloud : 
 
 "Even you can't bear to leave these dear old free 
 woods for very long can you now ?" And with these 
 words he got to his feet, realizing for the first time 
 he had had no breakfast that morning and beginning 
 to feel the real pangs of hunger. In a moment he had 
 reached the shore of the cove below him, and strip- 
 ping orf his clothes plunged into the icy water. As 
 he splashed and dove, his long arms flashed white
 
 20 THE IMPRISON:^ FREEMAN 
 
 against the morning tints of the bay. Silver-white 
 herring gulls with sun-tipped wings circled in grace- 
 ful scattered groups across the cove. The old osprey 
 flew from his gnarled tree, poising erect on his tail 
 in mid-air before he shot down arrow-like for his 
 prey. 
 
 Glowing with exhilaration, Richard came from his 
 morning bath and quickly dressing turned toward the 
 village through a thicket of sweetbay bushes, that he 
 might inhale the delicious pungency of their leaves 
 which he pulled as he went and crushed in his palm. 
 Skirting the pink-clovered fields where bees droned 
 drowsily in the warm June sunshine, and a bob-o- 
 link poured out his very soul in rollicking song, he 
 came to the far end of the village street, and hastened 
 into a rickety, discouraged-looking small store. He 
 was conscious of a sudden silence and the exchange 
 of looks between tobacco-cudded village idlers as he 
 passed them at the door with a curt nod. He realized 
 that the news had reached them, doubtless at his moth- 
 er's funeral, of his break with his father. His pref- 
 erence for the wide outdoors the uncut forest and 
 alluring bay to companionship with them had given 
 him a reputation for being "queer." Now he was 
 doubtless judged quite insane by these gentlemen of 
 leisure because of his departure from his father's com- 
 fortable home. 
 
 But if they could only know just once the exalta- 
 tion, the joy, the freedom of a real love for the woods 
 as he knew it, how small, how narrow, how impossible 
 their mode of life would seem even to them! 
 
 What did they know of real freedom! Nothing, 
 he decided contemptuously. Born and brought up 
 within a stone's throw of some of the most beautiful 
 woods in the world, with wonderful vistas of the 
 ocean and its wild, rock-bound coast, where giant
 
 mountains apparently rose straight from the foam of 
 the sea, these men spent their lives in petty bargain- 
 ing or, worse still, in discussion of village gossip and 
 slander. Bah, how distasteful they all were to him! 
 What prisoners they were, made so by their own de- 
 basing thoughts! 
 
 He gathered up the few purchases of food he had 
 made, and with his head thrown back in the old de- 
 fiant manner characteristic of his attitude toward the 
 world in general, he passed out through the group 
 again, and started toward the woods. Something in 
 the words of one of the men, greeted by coarse laugh- 
 ter from the others, drew his attention, however, and 
 wheeling he strode back. 
 
 "Don't let me hear you say a thing like that again!" 
 he said, his black eyes snapping as he stopped in front 
 of a pale, foppishly dressed young giant in the midst 
 of the group. 
 
 The young man drew back and doubled up his fists. 
 "It ain't none of your btfsiness," he said sullenly, cowed 
 by the pure fire of the other's look, but pretending show 
 of fight. 
 
 "It is my business," Richard answered back. "It's 
 every man's business to keep the air pure from such 
 as you. Such words pollute it ! We're all made clean 
 alike men and women. There can't be any differ- 
 ence, and in nature there is none. It's all the same 
 any uncleanness rests equally on both. And don't you 
 let me hear you mention a woman's name like that! 
 You're not one to throw the first stone, and if I ever 
 hear you utter such words again I'll " 
 
 But he left his threat unfinished. From former like 
 experience Richard knew they understood his attitude 
 toward civilization's basest fault, so what was the use 
 of again expressing himself. He swung on his heel 
 and left them, quoting to himself, "Every prospect
 
 22 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 pleases, and only man is vile." The dread black pro- 
 cession, watched from the edge of the woods, had 
 passed the day before. To-day, free from neighbors' 
 eyes, he could visit the spot where they had laid all 
 that was dearest to him in the world. Up the village 
 street he went till he neared the house that meant so 
 much of sorrow, yet so much of joy to him; then 
 he suddenly left the elm-bordered way and vaulting a 
 fence was quickly lost to sight among the flowering 
 trees of an apple orchard, a mass of bloom. 
 
 To Richard's lips, as he took in the exquisite scene, 
 there had involuntarily risen a soft tuneful melody full 
 of the hope of spring, and in spite of the winter of 
 sadness in his heart he yielded to the buoyancy so nat- 
 ural to him and began to sing. 
 
 Walking briskly along between the trees he espied 
 a bent old man, his features as gnarled and weather- 
 beaten as their ancient trunks, walking slowly down 
 a lane between them, his gaze fastened upon the 
 ground. 
 
 "Good morning, Uncle Silas," he said cheerily, for 
 the old man was a gentle soul whom age had made 
 childish and of whom Richard was fond. "What's the 
 most beautiful, beautiful thing in the world?" 
 
 Then without waiting for answer he took hold of 
 the other's head and lifting it up made him look at 
 the pink-burdened branches. 
 
 "The blue of the sky through the pink of these 
 blossoms," he said. "See!" 
 
 "Y e s," Uncle Silas quavered slowly. "It do be 
 pretty." Then surprised himself at the joy of it he 
 added, continuing to gaze up: "I ain't never noticed 
 it before. It do certainly be pretty." 
 
 "Of course it 'do,' " the boy answered gaily. "Why 
 will you look down instead of up, Uncle Silas? Why? 
 Why? People 'do' be queer, that's true!" he laughed;
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 23 
 
 and bounding over the far fence of the little orchard 
 he entered a narrow strip of woodland before the 
 other man had stopped gazing into the sky. 
 
 His heart bounded as a scarlet tanager flashed like 
 a beautiful streak of flame into the tree just above his 
 head, paused long enough to warble forth a bit of 
 delicious melody, enchanting the ear as completely as 
 his joyous robe with contrasting black wings did the 
 eye, then flew on until it disappeared into the gray- 
 green of swamp willows bordering an adjoining piece 
 of lowland. 
 
 So gay a guide he must surely follow; so hasten- 
 ing in the direction taken by the bird, he parted the 
 willow bushes growing between their taller brothers, 
 and stepped out into a low marshy field where a glory 
 of dancing, nodding buttercups met his gaze, and be- 
 yond, where the alders grew undisturbed, belated clus- 
 ters of marsh marigolds bloomed, still glorious, though 
 their birth month was passed. 
 
 Almost unconsciously he began to repeat his mother's 
 favorite poem one of the many they had learned 
 together : 
 
 "I wandered lonely as a cloud 
 That floats on high o'er vales and hills 
 When all at once I saw a crowd 
 A host of golden daffodils 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle in the milky way 
 They stretched in never-ending line 
 Along the margin of the bay: 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced, but they 
 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee; 
 A poet could not but be gay, 
 In such a jocund company;
 
 24 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 I gazed and gazed, but little thought 
 What wealth the show to me had brought. 
 
 For oft when on my couch I lie 
 In vacant or in pensive mood, 
 They flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude; 
 
 (And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
 And dances with the daffodils." 
 
 A sob rose in his throat. The glory of the sum- 
 mer scene was suddenly blurred, then rudely wiped 
 out. Turning back, he threw himself convulsively face 
 down beneath the willows and buried his head on his 
 arm. How could he, how could he stand it without 
 her? She was the only person in all the world who 
 had ever understood and loved him ! 
 
 It was true the villagers had never liked him. This 
 dislike started among them when he was a mere child. 
 His lack of shyness grated upon them because of 
 their idea that "children must be seen and not heard." 
 He had seldom played with other boys. Straight and 
 tall for his age, with a bravery in his mien and a 
 keenness in his eyes that the other boys could not un- 
 derstand, they feared rather than cared for him. As 
 the years went by and he grew toward young man- 
 hood he looked more and more to his mother for the 
 needs of the spirit usually supplied by a boy's friends 
 and comrades. Yet as he looked back now he could 
 not recall much real physical companionship his 
 father saw to it that she was kept too busy for that. 
 Theirs was more a spiritual communion. Yes, that 
 was it he knew her they were alike he had always 
 felt so sure of her! So he lay, recalling again and 
 again every little gesture, every look of her dear face ! 
 
 Presently he arose, his eyes wide with memory, 
 and skirting the swamp soon reached the road where 
 it left the village. 
 
 At last Dunham vanished behind him and he found
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 25 
 
 himself alone in a secluded woodland cemetery 
 through which a brook ran joyously, and where nature 
 still held such sway that the few moss-grown mounds, 
 with an occasional lichen-covered headstone among the 
 trees, seemed only a part of its quiet life and restful- 
 ness. Unlike the living, the dead of the little coast 
 village found rest in the heart of their woods, and 
 the quaint old place seemed the very essence of happy 
 peacefulness. 
 
 Richard entered its box-bordered enclosure rever- 
 ently, his eyes unconsciously lighting with pleasure at 
 the beautiful spot. Making his way slowly, he soon 
 came to a freshly mounded grave just beneath a big 
 oak where the brook made a companionable sweep 
 inward. 
 
 The red earth so recently turned up marred the 
 peaceful scene strangely, and smote the boy's innermost 
 consciousness with distress. His little mother must 
 not sleep there in such unsummered bareness. Hasten- 
 ing nearer the brook he began digging up the wild 
 flowers that grew along its bank, transplanting them 
 until there was no longer the ugly clay spot in the 
 heart of the June greenness, but a veritable flower 
 bed glowing cheerfully. 
 
 Smiling, the boy stood back and viewed his handi- 
 work. At the head of the little grave he had planted 
 clusters of anemones, her favorite flower now droop- 
 ing on their slender stems as if knowing this and sor- 
 rowing because she could not see them. Next these, 
 wild roses bloomed, sweet with the suggestion of her 
 kisses. Then there came clintonia^ its palejyellow bells 
 hanging gracefully down into the white facerolTBunch- 
 berry blossoms; and last "a crowd, a host of daffodils," 
 just above the feet that used to dance so merrily. 
 
 He sighed. Nature alone seemed able to cover 
 with beauty ugliness made by the hand of man.
 
 26 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Working thus for her whom he loved had been a 
 solace to him, and so now as he left the cemetery 
 once more and tramped off into the denseness of the 
 woods his heart felt less bitter than it had for a long, 
 long time, and a soft light glowed in his eyes. 
 
 On and on he tramped over baby ferns and wild 
 woods flowers, out into the fields, and then down 
 into the swamps, and yet on into the woods again, a 
 free man with only desire to direct his wandering foot- 
 steps. Always he looked eagerly about for any sign 
 of his friends of woods and fields, his heart quicken- 
 ing at the glad sight of them busy about their daily 
 tasks. 
 
 Gaily marked pileated woodpeckers, with flaming 
 crests, hammered the trees with their cheery tattoo. 
 Red-winged blackbirds, showing their buff and crim- 
 son epaulettes, flew in front of him from reed to 
 reed, as though beckoning him on past the swamp and 
 into the forest. In an orchard through which he 
 passed, a pair of robin redbreasts sang, the male's 
 notes resounding mellow and sweet as they told the 
 nesting mother bird of his springtime love for her. 
 Two humming-birds were there also, and had set up 
 housekeeping in an old apple tree, their little gray- 
 green lichen-covered nest so exactly resembling a knot 
 of the bough that only sharp eyes like Richard's 
 would have discovered it. 
 
 Finally as he came to a particularly thickgrown and 
 deserted part of the woods, yet within a stone's throw 
 of the country road, where flowers were unknown and 
 spruce and pine mingled in deep dark ominous silence, 
 he was startled to see two men crouching behind a 
 tree. They did not see him, however; and so he stole 
 stealthily forward, watching them closely as he quickly 
 gained their distance. Presently one of them spoke 
 to the other in a whisper. At that instant Richard
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 27 
 
 heard the cross-country stage-coach, that ran between 
 Dunham and the other villages along the coast, come 
 rumbling down the road. With a spring forward the 
 men ran from the depths of the trees to the edge of 
 the road, and raising long pistols called in chorus: 
 "Halt! Hands up!!" 
 
 With heart beating wildly Richard stepped out 
 from his hiding, and eagerly rushed forward just 
 in time to see the stage driver drop his reins and 
 raise his hands above his head. 
 
 The occupants of the stage with white faces fol- 
 lowed his example, and the two highwaymen stepped 
 closer. 
 
 "All out," they called. "Step lively, and keep your 
 hands up!" 
 
 Like a drove of frightened sheep a half-dozen eld- 
 erly men began filing from the vehicle. Richard, too 
 interested to think of his own safety, stood wide-eyed 
 just back of the highwaymen, who were unconscious 
 of his presence. 
 
 "Father!" he gasped in surprise under his breath, 
 as he saw Deacon Dennison step from the coach. 
 
 He was white and shaking, and his hands, raised 
 like the rest at the instant of command, had now 
 weakly dropped to his throat, where they picked and 
 fumbled at each other as he swallowed hard in his 
 terror. 
 
 "Hands up, there!" one of the robbers yelled at 
 him, waving the pistol in his direction. "No foolish- 
 ness!" 
 
 Trembling as though with ague the man once more 
 put both hands above his head, while there broke from 
 his lips a low whimpering sound like a cowed dog. 
 Tears overbrimmed his weak eyes, and dropping to 
 his knees he groveled at the robber's feet, keeping up
 
 28 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 a low, whining pleading that his life, his life de- 
 voted to good works for the Lord, be spared! 
 
 With a feeling of utter disgust at his father's dis- 
 play of cowardice, Richard felt a wave of contemptu- 
 ous anger come surging over him, while there came 
 also the realization that now was his chance to take 
 advantage of the upper hand that Fate had thus given 
 him, and by scaring his father still more to pay back 
 in part the debt he felt he owed him for all his years 
 of bullying toward his mother. 
 
 Not until long afterward did the boy understand 
 that it was this very same quality which he despised 
 in his father, and inherited from him, that had made 
 him act as he did now. 
 
 Stepping toward the groveling man his eyes 
 sparkled with malicious amusement. Taking his po- 
 sition over him just as the other recognized him, he 
 said to the highwaymen: 
 
 "I'll take care of this one. I'm with you in this 
 game !" 
 
 Then to his captive, with a grim smile that, had he 
 but known it, changed his whole likeness to his mother 
 into a striking likeness to his father, he said in com- 
 mand: "Keep still. You owe me this much you 
 coward!" 
 
 Suddenly a shot rang out clear and sharp through 
 the echoing woods. The guarding highwayman 
 dropped without a murmur. 
 
 Another shot, quick upon the heels of the first, left 
 the second man with a dangling arm. 
 
 "Hell!" he muttered, as his pistol dropped from his 
 relaxed fingers and he made a spring for the bushes. 
 
 Immediately Richard found himself seized, and felt 
 the cold of steel as handcuffs clicked about his wrists 
 and the muzzle of a gun was pressed against his neck. 
 
 "Steady there, my friend!" he heard a voice ex-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 29 
 
 claim, and looking around saw Dunham's chief sheriff 
 glaring down at him, and heard as in a dream the 
 voices of all the rest raised in excited babble as a few 
 of them rushed madly after the escaping criminal. 
 
 For a moment a feeling of terror swept through 
 the boy, but looking the sheriff squarely in the eyes 
 his head went back. 
 
 "Remove these handcuffs," he tersely demanded. 
 
 The sheriff guffawed. 
 
 "Not much! We know now why our highbrow 
 'naturalist' is so dreadful fond of the woods!" 
 
 Richard's face crimsoned furiously, but holding his 
 temper in check he repeated with forced calm: "Re- 
 move these things! You know I was only fooling. 
 Why, I haven't even got a gun ! Remove them, I say !" 
 
 The sheriff sobered and looked at the defiant boy 
 keenly, while the other men crowded around, all talk- 
 ing at once. 
 
 "See here, Dick," he said, "there ain't any use of 
 your using that tone to me. Quit it, and come along !" 
 and he shoved the boy toward the coach. "You were 
 caught red-handed, and neighbor or no neighbor it's 
 up to me to see you get to the place you belong! 
 Foolin' indeed ! Humph ! Get along with you !" and 
 he gave the boy another shove. 
 
 Richard stumbled forward. By now the others of 
 the party who had run after the escaping highwayman 
 returned unsuccessful, and Deacon Dennison, having 
 regained his composure, spoke. 
 
 "God shall be my cowardly son's judge," he 
 said, entirely his righteous and important self now 
 that all danger was passed. "He, in the fulness and 
 strength of his youth, hath attacked me, oh Lord, 
 strong in Thy good works, but weak with the infirm- 
 ity of encroaching years " 
 
 Then catching sight of the boy's openly scornful
 
 30 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 expression at these words, following as they had upon 
 his whimpering display of cowardice, he paused. 
 
 The boy's lips again twitched, and the man seeing 
 them forgot the onlookers he wished to impress for- 
 got his pose of the humble Christian martyr. His an- 
 ger blazed, and in the voice that had broken his wife's 
 spirit he cried angrily: 
 
 "Get in the coach!" and gave the boy a quick push 
 forward. "I'll not help you one iota!" Then regain- 
 ing some of his old-time righteous pompousness he 
 said, with heavenward rolling eyes: 
 
 "God's wrath shall be poured out upon you! He 
 will chastise you with His almighty and unerring 
 vengeance." 
 
 Then again forgetting himself, he shouted in his 
 bullying anger: "Get in, I say. The law shall take 
 its course!"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE trial in the hot, dirty little court-room was over. 
 The jury had rendered its verdict that Richard Den- 
 nison was guilty of the crime charged, attempted high- 
 way robbery, and sentence was about to be pro- 
 nounced. 
 
 The pitiless sun beat down upon the low tin-roofed 
 structure, and made the fumes of the huddled, per- 
 spiring crowd of Dunham villagers arise sickeningly, 
 while with sinister wagging of their heads and accus- 
 ing eyes they looked at the boy, who sat, chin held 
 high, returning their gaze in defiance. 
 
 The judge paused before pronouncing sentence, and 
 turning toward the prisoner on the platform said: 
 
 "While it rests not with me to render judgment 
 of the guilt or innocence of the accused before the 
 bar of justice, that being the province of the jury, 
 I cannot forbear to affirm that I personally do not 
 believe this boy to be morally guilty, in spite of the 
 fact that the evidence adduced has established a tech- 
 nical commission of the crime for which he was in- 
 dicted." 
 
 With a visible start, Richard quickly turned his head 
 until his gaze met that of the judge; and then, a sud- 
 den wave of exquisite, surprised gratitude surged 
 through him, and his face became suffused with an 
 eager, almost smiling, light. Gripping his hands to- 
 gether, he leaned toward the judge; a pathetically 
 grateful look illumining his black eyes. These words 
 of the man who was about to pronounce sentence upon 
 him were the first kind words he had heard since his 
 mother's death just before that day in early June when 
 his own father's hands had helped to make him a pris- 
 
 31
 
 82 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 oner. All through the stifling weeks in the filthy, over- 
 crowded county jail, and during the days in court that 
 followed, Richard had found his heart growing more 
 and more bitter with hatred, while scorn of the whole 
 village and its injustice seemed fairly burning his life 
 away ! Could it be true, then, that he had made a friend 
 of this judge, he wondered to himself? Made a friend 
 of the man whom his father hated ? He went back over 
 the few times he could remember Judge Sawyer's 
 name being mentioned in his home, and the unrea- 
 sonable anger it always evoked in his father. He 
 recalled also the fact that he had heard his mother 
 say that the judge and she were childhood playmates, 
 and that he had been off at college when she had 
 married. But oh, how little Richard really knew! 
 The judge had never married! Perhaps that was it, 
 his mind telegraphed his heart. Perhaps the judge 
 remembered his childhood friendship, and 
 
 No matter if he did sentence him as it now seemed 
 all too plain that he would have to do. Nothing mat- 
 tered, really, if he, Richard, could only feel that some 
 one whom his mother had cared for, even a little, 
 believed him innocent! 
 
 With a renewed wave of gratitude, a gratitude 
 fraught with longing tenderness toward this just man, 
 Richard sat and gazed up at him, while Judge Sawyer 
 continued, addressing the jury: 
 
 "You who have sat in judgment upon this boy, look 
 to it that your hearts bear no malice or bitterness, 
 and that your consciences approve before the Almighty 
 God the verdict your foreman has delivered in your 
 behalf. Let a poll of the jury be taken !" 
 
 Amid a stillness oppressive in its absoluteness, each 
 juror in turn was called upon to arise and answer 
 whether or no the verdict rendered by the foreman 
 was his own. In each case the answer was in the
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 33 
 
 affirmative. The judge turned and addressed the 
 people assembled in the court-room : 
 
 "Yes," his deep-toned voice boomed out, "person- 
 ally, I believe Richard Dennison morally innocent ; but 
 as the judge of this court, and with due regard for 
 my oath of office, I have to recognize the verdict of 
 the jury, and now must pronounce sentence required 
 by that verdict. The verdict is in accordance with the 
 weight of evidence, no evidence offsetting that offered 
 by the prosecution having been produced. But you, 
 his neighbors, are not so bound. In the true meaning 
 of the Scriptures, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.' 
 
 "Richard Dennison, have you anything to say why 
 sentence should not be pronounced in accordance with 
 the verdict of the jury?" And he looked encourage- 
 ment toward the throbbing boy. 
 
 For a moment a sickening fear passed through Rich- 
 ard, and then catching the fire in the other's dauntless 
 eyes a flame darted up into his own. He felt him- 
 self fairly lifted to his feet and urged forward. Clear- 
 eyed he stood and looked slowly about him, apparently 
 studying each and every one of the throng of strained 
 faces before him. 
 
 An uneasy murmured ripple ran through the crowd 
 at his keen, cold stare; but Richard was unconscious 
 of it, as he was of his surroundings, for in that sea 
 of human countenances he saw only a few here and 
 there, faces that suddenly stung him into a fury that 
 he himself hardly understood. 
 
 Just in front of where he stood on the platform, 
 almost level with his feet, Richard saw the weak eyes 
 and sneering mouth of the blond giant of his en- 
 counter of a few weeks before. He was foppishly 
 dressed now, as then, and regarded Richard with an 
 air of complacent innocence that knows not the mean- 
 ing of guilt.
 
 34 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Richard ground his teeth together at the sight ; then 
 his eyes wandered from the fop until, coming to rest 
 on the pretty but painted face of a girl in a far-off 
 corner of the room, his gaze softened with sympathy. 
 
 In memory he saw those two faces, so far apart 
 now, touch in the betrothal kiss. The cold light of the 
 court-room once more showed them to him as they 
 really were the man's free of care, the outcast girl's 
 scarleted forever! 
 
 An anger and bitterness the strength of which he 
 had never known before opened Richard's lips, and 
 looking at the man in such a way that no onlooker 
 could mistake his meaning, he said : 
 
 "To-morrow / go to State's Prison. I am innocent 
 but that's beside the mark. If I wasn't how does 
 stealing a purse compare with stealing something more 
 precious than life itself?" And he shuddered with 
 repugnance, then exclaimed bitterly: 
 
 "One's a crime the other's Hell but not worth 
 punishing or preventing!! Oh, no," and his lips 
 twisted, though his clear eyes continued to pierce those 
 of the fop's for a moment more before swiftly sweep- 
 ing over the astonished crowd. Meeting those of an 
 imbecile boy, they paused. 
 
 "The sentence for taking life is death," he said in 
 a voice that could not but thrill his listeners, "but 
 how about the crime of creating life in an hour of wan- 
 tonness. Isn't that more deserving of that sentence?" 
 
 There was dead silence, and he went on in his bit- 
 ing tones: "In this town there are three generations 
 of degenerates in one family, besides four imbeciles 
 and a blind child in others. We know who their 
 parents are," and his eyes picked out several uneasy 
 men in the throng. "But are they locked up? Oh, 
 no! Are these pitiful offspring considered dangerous 
 to be at large? Did any of you ever try to prevent
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 35 
 
 the third generation of that family breeding with a 
 drunkard and starting a fourth? Oh, no, they were 
 legally married! I go to State's Prison to-morrow, but 
 they " 
 
 "Stop !" a man's voice at last broke the horrified still- 
 ness, and one of Dunham's ministers arose midst an i 
 uneasy shuffling of feet. "You cannot talk like this. ' 
 It is infamous! You should be punished for con- 
 tempt of court." 
 
 "I believe that lies in my jurisdiction, not yours!" 
 Judge Sawyer broke in shortly, his mouth stern, but 
 his eyes darting a look of admiration toward the de- 
 fiant prisoner. 
 
 "Richard Dennison, you may proceed." 
 
 The minister paused in surprise; then furious, 
 stalked from the court-room, and Dick's clear-cut stac- 
 cato voice went on: 
 
 "Last year one sot killed another sot in a drunken 
 brawl. The slayer was given a life sentence. Last 
 year the beautiful garden of childhood was ruthlessly 
 entered and purity snatched out by the roots. That 
 fiend's maximum sentence would have been ten years ; 
 but he was let out on bail before trial and escaped!! 
 
 "There are dozens of other crimes, non-criminal by 
 law," and he smiled bitterly; "but, of course, they 
 don't amount to anything! Ministers and parents not 
 attending to their jobs, for instance, because, ostrich- 
 like, they refuse to see evil; therefore evil does not 
 exist! There is legitimate 'petty larceny.' Some of 
 the storekeepers here can tell you what I mean," and 
 again his sharp eyes went from face to face. 
 
 "Then 'larceny' by character stealing, and the steal- 
 ing of happiness, slandering gossip to say nothing 
 of trying to dwarf all individuality in the younger 
 generation " 
 
 A number of well-upholstered matrons, righteously
 
 36 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 indignant, rose to go, but fascinated by the boy's look 
 lingered on. 
 
 Over near the door Deacon Dennison sat with mouth 
 dropping open, for once in his life entirely uncon- 
 scious of himself in his amazement at his son. 
 
 "I am going to State's Prison to-morrow, marked 
 for life as a 'criminal,' " Richard's voice went on as he 
 now stared openly at his father. "But to kill a beau- 
 tiful spirit, to to- 
 Then he broke down, and, swallowing hard, turned 
 toward the judge in dumb appeal. Over him there 
 had suddenly come the realization of what the whole 
 scene really meant to him. Recalling his mother's 
 gentle spirit, his heart choked the bitter words on his 
 lips. His fingers involuntarily fumbled at his shirt 
 front until he found the locket and touched it rever- 
 ently. The man who had ruined her happiness in life 
 sat dumbly before him, too surprised to be able to 
 answer back. This was undoubtedly Richard's oppor- 
 tunity to pay in part the debt of scorn and hatred 
 he owed for her sake. Yet for the life of him he 
 could not bring himself to say one bitter word! It 
 was as though her gentle fingers had been placed 
 across his lips! 
 
 The sympathetic judge took in the situation at a 
 glance. 
 
 "All right, son," he said brusquely; "you've had your 
 say. Now I must perform my duty. The sentence 
 of the court, pursuant to the statutes in such case 
 made and provided, is that you must serve ten years 
 in State's Prison. Sergeant, lead the prisoner from 
 court. My boy, I'll come to see you after court ad- 
 journs. 
 
 "The next case on the calendar is Johnson against 
 Morgan " 
 
 But Richard, tall and straight, head held defiantly,
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 37 
 
 looking neither to right nor left, marched with the 
 officer down the room. 
 
 From the side windows as he passed them he saw 
 that the sky had grown black. Great jagged streaks 
 of lightning split through the angry clouds, and a 
 far-off ominous roar shook the horizon. "He's com- 
 ing to see me to-night, tho'," his heart sang in spite 
 of the vague feeling that this outdoor scene was 
 prophetic. 
 
 But as shadow melted into deeper shadow and the 
 early moon rose to peep through swiftly sailing ghost 
 clouds and in between the bars of his dirty cell, Rich- 
 ard waited in vain for the kindly judge. 
 
 Going toward home, the judge's horse had be- 
 come frightened had shied and now a dark form 
 lay face down among the underbrush of the roadside, 
 while the boy's bitter disappointment grew to gall!! 
 
 Dawn broke gray and depressing. The sun peered 
 through a rift for a moment, and then seemingly dis- 
 couraged at the outlook hid behind a nearby cloud. 
 Youthful morning turned old and gray with despair. 
 
 Richard sat near the little barred window, his eyes 
 fastened upon the view of vacant village lots and 
 shambling shanties that ran back of the jail. All 
 through the long night he had stared out, his eyes 
 scarcely once changing the direction of their gaze. 
 For him there could be no sleep. ven now his mind 
 did not take in that which his eyes saw, nor did he 
 realize that he saw at all, so numbed was he by the 
 battle which was raging in his heart. 
 
 Was it possible, was it possible, his mind kept ask- 
 ing passionately of itself, that he was to spend ten 
 years of his life shut in like this? Was he, nature's 
 freeman, to see the sky only as strips of blue be-
 
 38 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 tween the black of prison bars? Was he really to be 
 made to suffer for a crime he had not committed? 
 
 No, no! his heart raged, a thousand times no! It 
 simply could not be! He would presently awake to 
 find himself out on the ocean's edge once more, with 
 the perfume of summer blossoms in his nostrils. Look- 
 ing up into a vastness of glorious blue, he would see 
 the snowy gulls circling and turning. He would see 
 his old friend the osprey fly from his stark sentinel 
 tree as usual, and poising a moment in mid air go 
 plunging head down toward the sparkling water of 
 the bay! 
 
 But at last, raising his eyes, Richard scanned the 
 horizon through his prison bars. It looked leaden 
 color. The bars seemed pressing inward, crowding 
 nearer and nearer him, until he seemed to feel their 
 blackening stripes upon his very soul. He suddenly 
 felt he must scream must tear them away and look 
 into the clear, uninterrupted heavens or go mad! 
 He jumped up from the bench on which he sat, 
 and pressing his face between the bars tried to rid 
 his vision of them and see the landscape free of their 
 marring blackness; but the space between them was 
 too small, and try as he would he could not avoid 
 their imprisoning sight. God! How could he stand 
 it! 
 
 Then words, idle words he had heard, he knew not 
 where, but all his life, came to him as he stood there 
 staring from the prison window: "Society must be 
 protected." 
 
 Well, of course, that was true, his justice agreed; 
 and yet yet 
 
 The fallen girl's face rose before him vividly ! the 
 imbecile boy's the village drunkard's 
 
 He gave a harsh, wild laugh. Society protected, 
 indeed !
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 39 
 
 Taking hold of the bars with both hands, he shook 
 them crazily, his body swaying in his wild, maniacal 
 burst of anger, his black eyes snapping. Yes, Society 
 must be protected; but 
 
 He laughed wildly again, and swayed back and forth 
 more violently. The dim, ill-smelling cell looked red 
 the whole world looked red something was snap- 
 ping in his head 
 
 "Here, cut that out !" a coarse voice demanded, and 
 whirling about Richard saw the jailer stride up, adjust 
 a key, and begin unlocking his cell. 
 
 The heavy door creaked on its hinges, cried squeak- 
 ingly, then swung outward, and two officers and the 
 jailer stepped in. 
 
 "Off we go, my young naturalist, to the Pen!'' the 
 jailer said as, roughly seizing Richard's hands, he 
 helped one of the officers click handcuffs about his 
 wrists. The other man as successfully locked anklers 
 about both legs. 
 
 "Ten years away from them birds and animiles in 
 the woods is a pretty good spell ain't it?" winking at 
 his companions, who broke forth into a loud roar at 
 the clever thrust. "Yer studies and 'observations of 
 nater' will have to be a little different now, I reckon." 
 
 But with the fury born of his wild despair Richard 
 flung the men off in spite of his shackles and, stand- 
 ing in the middle of the cell, hands clenched, eyes 
 darting fire, the veins in his temples swelled and 
 purpled : 
 
 "Take these things off," he demanded. 
 
 For a moment the men, astonished by the boy's sud- 
 den attack, stood where he had pushed them, and then 
 the jailer reached out his hairy hand and grabbed him 
 by the shoulder. Richard winced under his grasp, 
 but in a clear, calm voice repeated: "Take these off,
 
 40 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 or you'll have trouble with me. I'll go, but not 
 shackled!" 
 
 The jailer guffawed at this assertion as though it 
 were a huge joke. "You'll go, will yer? But not this 
 
 way, ha, ha! Well, I'll be da " But before he 
 
 could finish his sentence Richard had raised both 
 hands, shackled as they were, and with an upward and 
 backward sweep brought them down heavily upon the 
 man's hand where it lay upon his shoulder. 
 
 With a muttered oath at the crack of the steel upon 
 his offending knuckles the jailer's merriment turned to 
 rage, and raising his club he struck the boy full upon 
 the top of his head! 
 
 Richard crumpled up upon the floor and lay still.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FLANKED on either side by the two officers to whom 
 he was now handcuffed, Richard went down the 
 wooden steps of the jail. Although only a little while 
 before, looking from his prison bars, he had thought 
 the world was dull gray, now he saw that the sun 
 had burst through the clouds and turned it to gold. 
 As he stepped out into its full blaze the prospect seemed 
 to his imaginative mind to promise a brighter future. 
 Letting his heart respond to the call of nature, he 
 
 looked eagerly about him, a smile upon his lips. 
 
 The tumbled down shanties back of the jail no 
 longer looked as they had looked when he saw them 
 from his barred window. The magic of the quick- 
 ening sun had kissed them into a happy semblance of 
 homes. Their very untidiness seemed to him comfort- 
 able, like a much-lived-in room made half shabby and 
 all awry by the playful carelessness of children. Their 
 windows were kindly eyes looking peacefully out upon 
 the summer world. Every blade of grass in the 
 sparse jail-yard stood erect and joyful with freedom, 
 belated broad-faced dandelions peeping up cheerfully 
 all about. An old apple tree, blighted the year before 
 by storms, was holding aloft new shoots laden with 
 leaves, determined not to be discouraged by the hard- 
 ness of fate. High up on one of these there swung 
 and sang joyously a warbling vireo, filled with glee. 
 
 As the sun touched his olive back, turning it into a 
 shimmering bronze, Richard recalled Wordsworth's 
 "Ode to the Green Linnet" ; and much to his compan- 
 ions' surprise burst into recitation: 
 
 "Beneath these fruit tree boughs that shed 
 Their snow-white blossoms o'er my head, 
 With brightest sunshine 'round me spread 
 In Spring's unclouded weather; 
 
 41
 
 42 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 In a sequestered nook how sweet 
 To sit upon my orchard seat, 
 And birds and flowers once more to greet 
 My last year's friends together. 
 
 One have I marked, the happiest guest " 
 
 Then as the bird, in seeming answer to his greet- 
 ing, flew from the apple-tree over his head to a road- 
 side tree, Richard interrupted his recital a moment to 
 follow its flight with his eyes ; then continued : 
 
 "Amid yon tuft of hazel trees 
 That twinkle in the gusty breeze, 
 Behold him, perched in ecstasies " 
 
 "Here, you," one of the officers finally said, recov- 
 ering from the half-awed silence that rhythmical sound 
 is apt to produce in the unlearned. "Stop that ! You 
 ain't no play actor. You're a prisoner." 
 
 But Richard, his eyes illumined, his whole face 
 strangely transfigured, went on, unheeding. It was 
 a poem he and his mother had loved to say together, 
 and now it seemed to him that she was very near: 
 
 "My dazzled sight he oft deceives, 
 A brother to the dancing leaves; 
 Then flits, and from the cottage eaves 
 Pours forth his song in gushes " 
 
 "That will do, I say," the second officer in- 
 sisted, giving Richard a rough jerk forward. "Shut 
 up and march along." 
 
 This unexpected indication of oblivion to the fate 
 which had overtaken Richard now only passed for 
 part of his generally accepted queerness. Yet it was 
 remarkable that the rough men had walked by his side 
 so silently while he repeated these verses ; but as music 
 will oftentimes calm the insane, so Richard's deep- 
 toned voice had affected these brutal officers of the 
 law!
 
 Down the street they walked. Richard, now silent, 
 seemed to be in a trance at the sights and sounds of 
 the pulsing world that crowded everything else from 
 his mind. He made no effort to think. Even the 
 shackles on his wrists gave him no sense of weight or 
 restraint, and his heart felt the same impulse that 
 prompted the bird's song as his physical nature re- 
 sponded to the external stimuli so akin to it. 
 
 "Song! Bloom! The whole world rejoices. No 
 future can be wholly black in a world so flooded with 
 glorious light!" And listening only to his heart the 
 boy momentarily forgot his anguish of coming im- 
 prisonment, forgot everything but the happiness that 
 came to him from the sweet, clean air and smell of 
 flowering things. In the face of God's outdoors in 
 all her matchless glory he could not even conceive of 
 anything but freedom. 
 
 So now, walking abroad after weeks of imprison- 
 ment, as he neared the heart of the village where faces 
 began to appear at the windows as though summoned 
 by the slanderous-tongued bird of gossip, flown by 
 magic from house to house, he did not see nor re- 
 alize the cruel looks in his direction, and marched 
 between the officers, exalted and happy in the fresh- 
 ness of the early morning. 
 
 The men flanking his sides, intensely aware of 
 the fact that their blue uniforms stood for the Law, 
 plumed themselves vain-gloriously and looked from 
 side to side with prideful self-conscious glances as they 
 conducted Richard down the street. The boy's heart 
 was on fire with the purity and splendor of real free- 
 dom, that of the spirit, as he took in every sight and 
 sound of the blossoming day; yet he was held a 
 prisoner by men who knew not the meaning of such 
 freedom. 
 
 Suddenly a shadow was thrown sharply down their
 
 44 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 pathway, and Richard saw his father's gaunt figure 
 standing directly between him and the sun, alert, but 
 motionless, awaiting their approach. As they came 
 abreast Richard's eyes stared defiantly into the eyes 
 on a level with his own, and his lips compressed them- 
 selves into a straight line not unlike those of the older 
 man. With pious intonation the latter said: 
 
 "My son, I forgive you. Go in peace. The just 
 and righteous anger of the Almighty be upon you! 
 Let it chasten you into humbleness " 
 
 But he got no further, for throwing his chin up 
 proudly Richard's defiance broke forth. 
 
 "I don't went or need your forgiveness! Stand 
 aside and let me pass !" and he strode forward, swing- 
 ing out and around his father. Angered as always by 
 the boy's lack of fear of him, the deacon purpled with 
 rage, and forgetting himself completely shook his fist 
 after Richard, calling out curses and maledictions upon 
 him. 
 
 The officers were nonplussed. They were accus- 
 tomed at such last meetings between father and son 
 to see the wayward one burst into a hysterical fit of 
 grief and shame; so now they could not help but 
 expect that just such a melodramatic climax must 
 surely be enacted in Richard's drama. Unaware of 
 the actual relations that had always existed between 
 them, his father stood in their minds, as he did in the 
 minds of the community, for uprightness and just 
 dealing. Yet he was not popular and had no real 
 friends. It was a well-known fact that no one in 
 Dunham could drive a closer bargain than could Dea- 
 con Dennison. He had been known to turn out non- 
 paying renters in the dead of winter. There were 
 rumors of a not too pious past. Even now a man 
 nearly twice Richard's age, and nameless, but full of 
 virile courage, had slowly climbed from shamed ob-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 45 
 
 scurity to the top of things in the next village, whence 
 he had gone to a neighboring state, there to become 
 a power in spite of the conditions of his birth. But 
 all such matters counted for little in the face of the 
 fact that John Dennison was a deacon, a pillar of 
 the leading village church, the town's principal banker, 
 and its mayor as well. He had a finer house than 
 any one else, and so many men in his power that none 
 dared dispute his right to pre-eminence. The merci- 
 lessness of his character was not yet realized by his 
 neighbors. 
 
 So now the more talkative of the two officers said 
 to Richard, in tones of shocked paternalism: 
 
 "Ain't you goin' to tell your father good-bye? 
 Him that helped to bear you?'' 
 
 "No," Richard answered curtly, striding on, impa- 
 tiently quickening his steps and so obliging the men 
 to do the same. 
 
 The two officers eyed each other furtively as though 
 asking silently what their duty was under the circum- 
 stances; then the more kindly of them spoke. He 
 himself had done the world the honor to help people 
 it with seven offspring, and therefore, convinced of 
 the greatness of the mated male, was in a position 
 to know how lacking in all natural goodness Richard 
 must be not to feel worshipful gratitude toward his 
 begetter. 
 
 "It's your duty," he urged, trying, but not daring, 
 to slacken his pace. "It's your duty to say good-bye 
 to your own pa, who has done so much for you!" 
 
 Immediately he was sorry he had spoken, for Rich- 
 ard's queerly disconcerting gaze was upon him. 
 
 "You think I should love my father, don't you?" he 
 asked, with a piercing look into the other's eyes. 
 
 "Sure," the officer replied, relieved at the normality 
 of the question which he had secretly feared would
 
 46 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 be an outburst like that which he had witnessed the 
 day before in court. 
 
 "A son should always love his father just because he 
 is his father shouldn't he? 1 ' Richard again asked 
 bluntly. 'And a father does 'so much' for his son by 
 just being his father, doesn't he?" 
 
 "Sure," the other repeated, though vaguely troubled 
 at Richard's manner. 
 
 "Well, how about the honor done the father by the 
 son's just being his son?" a half light of amusement 
 at the other's vacant look kindling for a moment in 
 Richard's eyes, to as quickly die. 
 
 "Can't bring your mind to dwell on such a puz- 
 zling situation, eh? Well, no matter. Don't strain 
 yourself !" Then more defiantly : "It's just another of 
 civilization's empty sentimentalisms. A son has to 
 worship blindly and acclaim the father who gave him 
 birth whether that father is fit or not! Otherwise the 
 son is 'disrespectful to old age.' ' 
 
 Then in an undertone, more to himself, he went 
 on: "What is old age, anyway, that youth should 
 fairly hold its breath with respect in its presence? 
 Old age is only the equal of youth. The one is go- 
 ing toward the Great Beyond, the other has just come 
 from the Great Beyond!" 
 
 By now they had reached the little railroad sta- 
 tion, and Richard looked up in realizing despair. For 
 the first time he clearly perceived his actual situation. 
 A feeling of such desperate discouragement and deso- 
 lation overcame him that he felt he must surely die! 
 
 Going to prison! Traveling toward the shutting 
 away of sunlight and flowers, of clean air and the lib- 
 erty of deep green woods! 
 
 He felt as he had on those dread nights of child- 
 hood when sometimes he would awake to feel the 
 four smothering walls of his nursery crowding down
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 47 
 
 upon him. There had been no relief from the night- 
 mare till he had slipped out of the house, and felt 
 the cool night air upon his face, and looked up into 
 the freedom of the star-studded heavens. 
 
 Was it possible that his body could keep on living 
 with his mind so full of the tortured pictures of the 
 agony to come? 
 
 The sun went behind a cloud. The train thundered 
 
 in. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Throughout the short journey Richard had sat in 
 absorbed, motionless dumbness, even the lovely vistas 
 of woods and streams and fields, seen from the car 
 windows, failing to arouse him. The train had sped 
 rapidly away from Dunham and on through forests of 
 firs and pines, then through clearings and broad farm- 
 lands, with an occasional brook or dancing daisyfield 
 to charm the eye, followed once more by boundless 
 forest stretches. The kaleidoscopic scenes changed 
 and changed again, each as lovely as the last; and 
 then it had begun to rain. Soon the windows 
 became splashed and grimy, and it was only occa- 
 sionally that the dripping woods and tearfully bend- 
 ing flowers could be glimpsed through their clouded- 
 ness. But Richard had not tried to look out. Having 
 fallen into a deeply brooding silence, he had paid no 
 heed to the train as it jerked spasmodically along the 
 wet rails, nor to the curious-eyed strangers, his fellow- 
 travelers. 
 
 Finally, however, by the gruff commands of his 
 guards, he was made aware of the fact that they 
 had arrived at their destination. With a sinking of 
 the heart that caused him mental vagueness he left 
 the car and felt, rather than saw, that he was out 
 upon the station platform, the rain blowing in his 
 flushed face.
 
 48 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 When his feet touched the yielding surface of the 
 wet earth his youthful hopes reasserted themselves in 
 spite of him, and raising his eyes he darted a quick 
 look about him, only to feel a strong revulsion at the 
 scene he saw and an oppression that weighed upon 
 him heavily. 
 
 "The end," his mind whispered to his soul as from 
 a resounding sepulchre. "Life cannot exist here." As 
 he looked about him he saw nothing but dismal dreari- 
 ness and unrelieved monotony. What had once been 
 a beautiful forest had been destroyed. Not a tree re- 
 mained. In its stead was the far-reaching desolation 
 of a man-made plain, in the center of which stood a 
 grim gray prison behind walls that reared themselves 
 darkly against the paler gray of the sky. The low-lying 
 against the paler gray of the sky. The low-lying 
 buildings suggested to Richard the sinister crouch of a 
 wild animal made ready for its death spring, or a 
 demon, half devil, half man, crouching in wait for 
 its prey! The scene looked as black and degrading 
 to purity of thought as crime itself. Richard seemed 
 to feel all the good in him shrink away in revolt. 
 Every softening caress which Nature and her father, 
 Time, are wont to bestow upon man's devastation 
 had apparently been thwarted or uprooted; for not a 
 sprig or spray, flower or single blade of grass could 
 be seen. Righteous man, in his effort to protect him- 
 self against any possible escape of wnrighteous man 
 to the sheltering woods, had deliberately scarred and 
 defiled the face of Mother Earth with an entirety of 
 destructiveness which human beings alone know. The 
 building of that prison was a crime which had been 
 enacted in the name of justice, and supposedly stood 
 a monument for the upbuilding of virtue. Instead, it 
 suggested, in its ugly barrenness, vice alone! Could 
 the angels who cast the Prince of Darkness from Para- 
 dise have chosen another place than Hades to which to
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 49 
 
 consign him for eternity, this spot so prepared would 
 have been most propitious; for, in outward aspect at 
 least, it suggested naught but evil, desolation, and re- 
 volting ugliness. And though this was not yet appar- 
 ent to Richard, its external features but typified its 
 essential character. Built to protect Society against 
 the criminal, it had become Society's Frankenstein, 
 making and turning out the very thing it sought to 
 repress ! 
 
 Striding on dumbly between the two officers Rich- 
 ard presently reached and entered the barred gates 
 that opened at his approach like the hungry jaws of 
 the crouching monsters symbolized by the buildings. 
 A big burly man in uniform took him in charge from 
 the not unwilling hands of his guards, and, with a 
 few coarse jesting remarks, conducted him across the 
 stone-flagged court-yard, in which he saw a group of 
 blear-eyed, lolling-tongued blood-hounds savagely 
 straining at their leashes. 
 
 Very soon they reached the entrance of the main 
 building, and with a command to Richard to precede 
 him, they entered and closed the door. Richard no- 
 ticed just ahead of them another door marked "War- 
 den." Opening this, his new guide half shoved, half 
 led Richard through it, and he found himself stand- 
 ing in front of an elderly man seated at a desk. 
 
 The guide saluted respectfully, and, looking up, 
 without so much as a greeting, the warden asked 
 Richard a curt question. 
 
 "It's the new prisoner from Dunham, sir," the 
 guide volunteered, handing him some papers deliv- 
 ered by the Dunham officers. And peering up at Rich- 
 ard near-sightedly, the warden continued: 
 
 "Name?" 
 
 "Richard Dennison," the boy answered dazedly. 
 
 "Your father's?"
 
 50 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Richard flushed, but answered "John Dennison." 
 
 "You say 'Sir' to me," the man warned shortly. 
 "Your mother?" 
 
 Richard's eyes blazed, flared. "Her name's to be 
 left out of this," he said defiantly. 
 
 The warden looked up sharply from the paper on 
 which he had been scribbling Richard's answers. "No 
 impertinence!" he said shortly. "Answer my ques- 
 tions !" 
 
 A feeling of utter hopelessness and degradation un- 
 like anything which the courageous boy had ever ex- 
 perienced before swept over him, and with surprise 
 Richard heard himself answer meekly: "Margaret 
 Marshall." Was it possible that the oppression of the 
 ill-smelling place was already laying hands upon him ? 
 
 "Age?" The warden's hard voice broke in upon 
 his thoughts. 
 
 "Eighteen," Richard again answered. 
 
 "History of crime?" 
 
 For a moment Richard stared, really puzzled; but 
 the warden, thinking it only another display of imper- 
 tinence on his part, scowled deeply and raising his 
 voice repeated the question, enunciating every word 
 sharply. 
 
 "If I told you the truth," Richard said coldly, 
 "you'd call it a lie. The truth you and the law want 
 is a lie." Then more cynically: "Why question a 
 prisoner anyway? In your estimation, is a criminal 
 capable of telling the truth?" 
 
 The warden flushed and bit his lips for control, 
 but said patiently, "Young fellow, this isn't a very 
 auspicious beginning for a life wherein obedience is 
 paramount to all else. You won't find things made any 
 easier if you start monkey business with that tongue 
 of yours to me! Don't you know, you young fool, 
 that I have absolute power over you? You don't
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 51 
 
 belong to the State any longer. You belong to me! 
 I'm the boss of this ranch and my advice to you is 
 to answer my questions and pretty quick, too! What 
 were you sent up for?" 
 
 "Highway robbery," Richard answered, and the 
 warden, scribbling down that information without 
 comment, handed a slip of paper to his conductor, then 
 turned back to his desk. 
 
 The man took it and, with a respectful nod to his 
 superior, gruffly commanded Richard to walk ahead 
 of him. Out from the main building they went, 
 crossed the court-yard, and entered another building 
 on the opposite side. Here, in a large room in full 
 view of passers-by, with no screens or any other mode 
 of protection, Richard was commanded to undress. 
 This he began to do so slowly and with so much show 
 of reluctance that his guard lost patience and prac- 
 tically tore his clothes off, and, making them 
 into a bundle, disappeared from the room. Fearing 
 lest his locket be taken also, Richard surreptitiously 
 slipped it beneath his tongue while the guard was out. 
 A few minutes later the guard returned with a prison 
 outfit in his hands, which he ordered Richard to don. 
 Looking to see what he had brought, Richard discov- 
 ered a coarse and worn set of underclothes, a pair of 
 clumsy boots, and a much-used black-and-white-striped 
 uniform reeking with dirt. 
 
 "I'll not wear these!'' he exclaimed furiously, turn- 
 ing sick with disgust at the sight of their unlaundered 
 condition, and the crawling vermin in plain view upon 
 them. 
 
 "We'll jes' see, my young dandy," his burly guard 
 exclaimed; and catching the boy by the arms forced 
 the shirt over his frantically struggling shoulders. 
 
 "I'll not stand it!" Richard panted, struggling des- 
 perately. "The filthy rags !"
 
 52 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 But having become unmanageable by now, his com- 
 panion greatly simplified matters by knocking him 
 down with his loaded stick and putting the clothing 
 on him while he was yet unable to rise. 
 
 When Richard had recovered from this gently per- 
 suasive argument, he was led out into another corri- 
 dor, and saw ahead of him another glass door, this 
 time marked "Principal Keeper." Through this his 
 guard pushed him, stopping his stumbling entrance 
 with a jerk that brought him up directly in front of 
 a grizzly, ill-kempt man, who at once proceeded to pro- 
 pound him a series of questions much as the warden 
 had done. Scribbling his answers in a greatly be- 
 thumbed ledger, the keeper added to his questions 
 others pertaining to Richard's religion and the life and 
 habits of his ancestors. 
 
 "Married?" 
 
 "No." Richard answered. 
 
 "Look here, boy," the principal keeper said. "I 
 am 'Sir' to you. It ain't going to help you any to be 
 disrespectful to your betters. We don't treat crim- 
 inals like pampered sick folks in this here institution! 
 We make 'em repent. There ain't no 'soft soap' here. 
 How many terms have you served?" 
 
 Richard's eyes darted fire at this way of putting the 
 question; but he answered with evident control: 
 "None." 
 
 "You mean to say this is your first offense?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The Principal Keeper's lips curled into an amused 
 sneer, and he held his pen suspended in air as he ex- 
 claimed jocosely : "Now tell the truth, son, and shame 
 the devil for once !" 
 
 It was evident to Richard that that was just ex- 
 actly what such men as these keepers had no wish 
 that a prisoner should do; and his anger welling up
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 53 
 
 at the injustice of their whole attitude, he exclaimed, 
 as he had exclaimed to the warden : 
 
 "Truth? Who would believe me if I did tell the 
 truth!" and he laughed. The place and what he had 
 gone through were beginning to excite him just as the 
 Dunham jail had done. "Truth, indeed ! Isn't it part 
 of your 'system' to disbelieve everything a prisoner 
 says just because he is a prisoner? I could tell you 
 any old lie I please anyhow, and how would you know 
 the difference? Do you always make up your prison 
 statistics in the manner you and the warden, to say 
 nothing of this brute, have employed toward me? If 
 so, and you don't believe prisoners can tell the truth, 
 what earthly good are your statistics? If I told you 
 I had had eight wives and, like Blue Beard, murdered 
 them all of a summer's evening; or that I had broken 
 into all the banks in New York City and gone to 
 Paris on the proceeds, would you know the difference, 
 or believe me?" he asked in indignant wrath. Then, 
 with a deeper sneer he continued before the discon- 
 certed man could stop him: 
 
 "You doubtless would believe that! If a prisoner 
 tells a black enough record to satisfy his self-satisfied 
 questioner, he is believed perhaps; but if he happens 
 to have a white record and tells it, as in my case 
 what then? All of which is part and parcel of the 
 same sane and merciful justice I've been bucking up 
 against the past few weeks!" And he again laughed 
 scornfully, staring at the man with defiance. 
 
 The keeper had sat in open-mouthed astonishment 
 at the boy's tirade. He was so used to crushed and 
 dejected prisoners if coming in to serve for their first 
 offense, or deliberately surly and profane ones if for 
 their second, that he could not at all understand this 
 boy's attitude. Now, however, his over-developed 
 sense of importance coming uppermost, it produced in
 
 54 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 him the thought that the boy was simply disrespect- 
 ful. His anger, therefore, arising in proportion to the 
 indignity he conceived had been done his all-powerful 
 personage, he exclaimed roughly: 
 
 'That will do for you!" And turning he took 
 from his desk a printed card, and a metal badge 
 bearing a number. 
 
 "Here's the rules of this prison. Read 'em. And if 
 you know what's good for your hide you'll abide by 
 'em and no more back talk, neither! Your num- 
 ber is XX2QX. Your cell, 13. Corporal, take him 
 in to the chaplain. Reckon he needs a little soul's 
 salvation all right." And without further ado he 
 directed his attention to the next prisoner, who had 
 just been brought in. 
 
 Richard and his guard went on to an office next 
 to that of the principal keeper. The boy felt an in- 
 creased disgust encompass him at sight of the sancti- 
 monious-faced man garbed like a priest, smirking and 
 rubbing his plump unmanly hands together in a typi- 
 cally clerical manner. There was obvious insincerity 
 in the pretended warmth of brotherly greetings offered 
 Richard, and his beady, shifting eyes took in Richard's 
 figure with a coldness of expression that alone would 
 have marked the man as a hypocrite. Then impres- 
 sively, in the well-drilled but utterly indifferent tone 
 of a second-rate actor reciting a part for the thou- 
 sandth time: 
 
 "My son, may God's mercy rest upon you and make 
 you answer truthfully, telling me fully all thine iniqui- 
 ties. May you repent of your ways and see the light 
 that has guided so many faltering footsteps to the 
 Throne of Glory. My son, may He " 
 
 "I'm not your son," Richard heard himself break 
 in impatiently, and was immediately rewarded by a 
 quick change in the man before him.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 55 
 
 In fussy, high-toned annoyance, the chaplain sput- 
 tered and scolded vehemently, and turning to a stenog- 
 rapher he said: "Take this boy's criminal history. I 
 won't question such an impudent upstart." And for 
 the third time Richard began to be plied with the same 
 old questions: 
 
 "Your name?" 
 
 "My name," he said solemnly, a grim amusement 
 gleaming in his somber eyes, "is Beelzebub Black. 
 My father's was Balaam Bartholomew. I'm eighty- 
 six years old and I murdered all eight of my wives 
 one Summer's evening not long ago. After that I robbed 
 the United States Treasury and went to Paris on the 
 proceeds. Anything else you would like to ask me?" 
 
 "Humph. Bughouse!" the chaplain commented un- 
 sympathetically. "Better get him along to the doc- 
 tor," speaking to Richard's guard, but handing Rich- 
 ard a Bible. 
 
 "This is God's Holy Word, my son," he again said 
 in his stage tone of benevolence. "Take it with my 
 blessing, study it, and repent. And now you may go 
 in peace. Amen." 
 
 And thereupon Richard's spiritual adviser turned 
 to the task upon his desk that of writing pious 
 sentiments on the fly-leaf of another Bible for a 
 feminine admirer who came to the prison in pre- 
 tense of converting the prisoners, but whose emo- 
 tional fervor generally spent itself long before she 
 reached them. "The poor, dear, unselfish chaplain" 
 alone receiving her merciful ministrations. Had she 
 but known it, the poor, dear, unselfish chaplain had tried 
 every other possible job and failed; therefore, he had 
 been "called" here, where he could fail with perfect 
 impunity, for nobody could expect that real talent 
 should be wasted on mere criminals when the "Heathen
 
 56 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Chinese," and others, remained unconverted to Chris- 
 tianity. 
 
 At the command of his guide Richard, more out- 
 raged and defiant than ever, went into the doctor's 
 office. This kindly little man smiled up at him imme- 
 diately, and seeing this Richard's own face took on a 
 brighter look in sympathy. Again he was asked the 
 same old questions, but this time he answered them 
 as directly as possible. 
 
 "Pull off your clothes, my boy," the doctor said in 
 a brisk but not unkindly tone. "That's it," as Richard 
 silently obeyed. "Now we'll see what health the State's 
 new charge has got. It must be pretty good to stand 
 this place " 
 
 Then he bit his lips and left his remark unfinished 
 to say instead : "You've lived in the open mostly, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," Richard answered, picturing to himself 
 the bay with its rock-bound coast at the doctor's ques- 
 tion. Was it possible, he wondered to himself, that 
 he would not see this for ten years? A lump rose 
 in his throat. 
 
 The doctor found Richard in perfect physical con- 
 dition, and his eyes lighted up with involuntary ad- 
 miration of the boy's clean-limbed, nude beauty. 
 
 He sighed and handed Richard his clothes. "Son," 
 he said, "I'm sorry to see God's perfect handi- 
 work like you in a place like this when you could 
 be of so much use in the world." Then again he 
 stopped talking, only to say a second later as the guard 
 gave Richard a command: 
 
 "If you need me any time, send for me. I'd like 
 to help you fellows more. Somehow I believe if things 
 
 were different " But for the third time he went 
 
 no further. 
 
 Richard's impulsive nature had understood the un- 
 spoken words, however, and his heart, so hungry for
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 57 
 
 sympathy, had gone out to the doctor with a passion 
 of gratitude. Putting his hand out, he grasped the 
 other's hand impulsively. "Thanks," he said, looking 
 deep into his eyes before obeying, reluctantly, the 
 guard's repeated command to march ahead of him and 
 out of the room. 
 
 Dr. Deever shook his head sadly, muttering to him- 
 self : "Now that boy has possibilities. I don't care 
 what he did! But in here! " leaving his com- 
 ment unfinished, only to go on thinking, "Physical 
 and mental and moral injustice. Insult and abuse 
 filthy clothes and a Bible!" These were the State's 
 complete outfit for this boy's expected commencement 
 of a life of reform! No possible hope of commenda- 
 tion or reward, no commuting of his sentence if his 
 crime has been atoned for and his reformation accom- 
 plished before the allotted term shall have expired! 
 What was the use of it all?" shaking his head in 
 troubled protest at this enigma of "justice." Sitting 
 silently, he listened to the boy's footsteps echo and re- 
 echo as the guard guided him noisily down the foul 
 concrete halls. For the thousandth time he asked him- 
 self whether the theories of his friend, Judge Sawyer, 
 about prisons were not better and more reasonable than 
 this actuality? Yet the people of his state considered 
 Judge Sawyer a crank. Because he had once publicly 
 criticised the actual operation of the prisons, he had 
 lost his election to Congress. He would doubtless lose 
 his judgeship too if he failed to take the warnings 
 now so subtly appearing in the local press ! Dr. Deever 
 sighed. He must look Judge Sawyer up the next 
 time he got a chance. He would like to hear more of 
 his ideas about prisons and their possible influence for 
 good if run along different lines. With a sense of real 
 sympathy for the boy he turned back to his work 
 the examination of the next newcomer upon his list.
 
 58 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Soon Richard and his guard reached a sheet-iron 
 door, and the guard, opening it, ordered Richard to 
 mount the flight of steps that he could see but dimly. 
 These steps led to a gallery, and, after locking and 
 double locking the door behind them, the guard fol- 
 lowed Richard up and on past rows of cells, until, 
 reaching the one marked 13, he commanded him to 
 halt in front of it. Stepping further down the gal- 
 lery, the guard began working a heavy lever some- 
 where in the semi-darkness. 
 
 Richard peered in the direction of the noise which 
 the squeaking lever made, hardly able to discern him, 
 but saw that he was turning a crank. At that moment 
 a large black iron bar that ran the length of the gal- 
 lery, barring and locking as one the row of cells, 
 began to lift slowly. Watching this in fascinated won- 
 der, Richard saw it come to rest above the upper open- 
 ing of the grated doors. The guard ceased his work 
 and strode back to where Richard stood, and, apply- 
 ing a key, unlocked the double lock of cell No. 13. 
 With a brutal gesture he said, as its door swung out : 
 "Get in. And quick, too!" 
 
 Richard, obeying, entered, and found himself in a 
 small stone-lined vault that was not over three feet 
 wide. In the corridor opposite the door there was a 
 window, too near the ceiling and too tiny to give other 
 than a faint ray of light; but by its glimmer Richard 
 could see a bundle of disheveled straw and ragged 
 bedclothes in the corner of his cell, while nearby stood 
 a tin basin and slop-bowl : the entire furnishings of his 
 new home. 
 
 Without comment the guard slammed the grated 
 door, which automatically locked itself ; then he turned 
 and again went down the gallery and adjusted the sin- 
 ister bar. 
 
 With a numbness that seemed like slowly spreading
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 59 
 
 death itself, Richard saw this band of black descend, 
 and then heard the man's footsteps approaching. 
 Dimly, vaguely, as if in a half-aroused nightmare hour, 
 he saw him pass his door! Then listened to the hol- 
 low sounds his feet made as he ran clumsily down the 
 iron stairs and clanged to the heavy door at the bottom. 
 Richard was alone in the semi-darkness of impris- 
 oned despair.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IT SEEMED to Richard as if he had been standing mo- 
 tionless for hours in the center of the cell. In reality 
 it had been only a very few minutes since the thump- 
 ing of the guard's steps down the gallery stairs had 
 ended in the clang of the door at the bottom ; but for 
 Richard, alone in the first poignant agony of the re- 
 alization of real imprisonment, time had lengthened to 
 eternity. 
 
 Slowly he began to look about him, shuddering at 
 what he saw the pile of dirty straw, the basin, whose 
 foulness made its presence felt even more plainly than 
 seen, the high-set, tiny window out in the dim cor- 
 ridor, in size and position entirely inadequate, and 
 the grated door. The dark, dank odors of the place 
 arose thickly, sickeningly, seeming to Richard almost 
 to throttle him in their persistence. Choking, he at 
 last stumbled wildly forward until he stood face 
 pressed against the barred door, gasping toward pos- 
 sible fresh air, and gazing up through the small win- 
 dow into "the tiny tent of blue that prisoners call the 
 sky." 
 
 But those bars! They smote him; they degraded 
 the clear of God's heavens and seemed to put their 
 imprint upon his very being. It mattered not in what 
 direction he might look, he could never escape them 
 nor the sight of his own stripe-clad body. He had 
 thought his stay in the little Dunham jail bad enough ; 
 but this ! Those bars, forever meeting his vision and 
 possessing his body, scorching his flesh and searing 
 his soul! They were black, black, black, with the 
 blackness of despair! He was barred and striped 
 from all humanity ! A symbol of imprisonment, these 
 
 60
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 61 
 
 stripes stood for the shut-in years to come. They 
 crowded down and around him, giving him a sense of 
 physical pain. As one on closing his lids often sees 
 an object in fiery outline after having stared at it 
 against a strong light, so those stripes and bars were 
 ever before him now. It mattered not in what direc- 
 tion he might turn his gaze, they were present, corru- 
 gating all objects with black bands of crime. They 
 passed in through his vision and became real mental 
 torture, pressing maddeningly against the back of his 
 eyeballs! He caught himself wondering if his 
 thoughts, once so free, could ever be so again with 
 those bars to keep them prisoners. With his mind's 
 eye he saw a picture of himself peering out like a 
 criminal through those bars at the scenes of his be- 
 loved woods. He saw, in sections, the moon-kissed 
 spray dashing upon the rocks. He felt its dampness 
 upon his face in stripes! 
 
 God, was he going mad! He must, he must think 
 of something else! Must rid himself of the wildness 
 that the place was steadily creating in him. He re- 
 membered having read somewhere that prisoners often 
 went quite mad in their cells. 
 
 And then a calm, cold, argumentative mood pos- 
 sessed him, and he felt miles away from his actual 
 self, standing aloof, watching the Richard he knew 
 writhing in his petty suffering. The acute agony 
 through which he had just been passing fell away, and 
 he felt a bitter scorn of everything and everybody, 
 of the whole world, enter his heart and turn it to 
 steel. He shivered in spite of the stifling heat. 
 
 What if he had committed the crime of which he 
 stood convicted? Had any man or aggregation of 
 men the right to shut another man away from his 
 birthright of God's sunshine and flowers? Away from 
 the song of birds and sounds and sights of the woods ?
 
 62 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 These were nature's gifts to every one of her chil- 
 dren; what right then had man to interfere? If a 
 person's body was ill he was sent to a hospital or 
 where its needs could be ministered to until that body 
 was able to take up its duties again. That sick body 
 was given every care and luxury, every thought and 
 pampering, until it became normal. Why, then, should 
 not the same thing be done with respect to the sick 
 mind for crime was but the symptom of a sick mind, 
 he argued vehemently to himself. Why were crim- 
 inals not "cured," not given a chance to become normal 
 citizens again? While the laws were full of specious 
 phrases indicating their purpose to reform, it was 
 common knowledge that those who fell into its clutches 
 were invariably relegated to the waste heap. From 
 the moment of the judge's pronouncing of sentence 
 they are legally dead and the absolute property of the 
 State mere chattels, with no rights whatever! And 
 what was the occasion that brought them such a fate? 
 In the last analysis it was simply this their thoughts 
 had been sick. But if that was so, why punish them 
 further, instead of trying to cure the manifest illness? 
 Was the answer simply "Man's inhumanity to Man?" 
 Was there no other answer ? 
 
 Leaving the grating of his door, he tramped the 
 seven by three feet of his cell and tried to reason 
 with himself. He had an insane, almost uncontrollable 
 desire to dash himself against the grating; to battle 
 with the bars until he was physically exhausted. He 
 thought that such exhaustion would be an actual com- 
 fort. Yet in spite of this he held himself in check, 
 and tried to bring his mind to dwell upon the pic- 
 tures of his former freedom. Yes, that was it. He 
 must think of the woods and streams and fields, of the
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 63 
 
 birds even now bursting with their summer gladness. 
 The State might imprison his body, but his thoughts? 
 Just because of physical degradation and imprison- 
 ment, should he allow his thoughts to be imprisoned 
 also ? Never ! And with the conscious forming of this 
 determination he became calmer. 
 
 Sitting down upon the straw pallet he shut his 
 eyes and deliberately called into being every scene of 
 the weeks before his imprisonment, and compelled 
 them to pass mentally before him now. His body might 
 be captive, but he would be only an imprisoned free- 
 man! Clear of conscience and clean-hearted, no prison 
 walls should succeed in making him other than that! 
 Free thought is God given. It is the privilege of 
 every one who will but claim it. It should be his! 
 
 Then suddenly there were no bars. They had 
 faded away and through his closed eyelids Richard 
 now looked out upon all that which he loved best 
 in the world. The prison walls had receded and he 
 found himself lying upon a mossy bank, the spar- 
 kling waters of the bay at his feet. Fields of daisies 
 all about him lifted their faces toward the joyous sun. 
 The sea-maidens of the bay sprang up and dashed their 
 rainbow-tinted spray across his hair. The birds every- 
 where began to sing, and the flowers wafted him their 
 perfumed kisses. The stench of the unaired, un- 
 washed cell had entirely disappeared, and in its place 
 there came to him only the familiar woodsy smell of 
 delicate blossoms. 
 
 With the coming of their dreamlike perfume there 
 had come also his mother's figure, glowing white. 
 Quickly she drew near, and leaning toward him placed 
 her hand upon his bowed head. He looked up to real- 
 ize with a feeling of surprise that he' was just a tiny 
 bit of a boy, gazing once more into her adoring eyes. 
 Taking him by the hand she said in her gentle voice:
 
 64 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "It's springtime. Come. I'll guide you through 
 the coming years." 
 
 Happily then he followed her, and as they left the 
 grim prison far behind, Richard's old-time joy awoke. 
 
 They passed out from the woods toward the arch 
 of a rainbow against a dark cloud way over beyond the 
 hills. "The rainbow is hope," his mother said, and, 
 fascinated, Richard watched from his trotting place 
 by her side and saw the rainbow divide into bright 
 hues glowing with wondrous beauty. Her voice in 
 his ear whispered : "These colors are the months 
 through which you must pass on your life's journey." 
 
 Looking more closely Richard saw that he and his 
 mother were entering a realm of palest green. "April," 
 the voice said, and stooping his mother pushed back 
 the dead leaves at his little feet and he saw the sturdy 
 shoots of jack-in-the-pulpits. The springtime smell 
 of the earth mingled with the delicious spiciness of 
 azaleas. All about him he looked to see the yellow- 
 bloomed sweet-leafed spice bushes gleaming in the 
 April sunshine. Without warning a gentle shower 
 began to bejewel them with tears, and his mother's 
 voice again said: "Come." 
 
 Following her he passed into a suffusing light of 
 lavender, and saw that they were treading softly 
 upon a carpet of violets and baby ferns. Clumps 
 of wild geranium smiled up at them, and over in a 
 near-by swamp a glory of golden marigolds tossed 
 their heads in sprightly dance. Appealing, delicious 
 odors filled Richard's nostrils, and raising his eyes 
 toward the sky he saw thousands of song-filled mi- 
 grant birds flying in safety. 
 
 "Yes, it is May," his mother said in answer to his 
 questioning look; and continuing to look upward 
 Richard watched a great mass of quick flying bronzed 
 grackles darken the sun, intent on reaching their nest-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 65 
 
 ing home. Then as he looked, there came groups of 
 shy thrushes; tanagers, gay colored as a sunset cloud, 
 while following in quick succession resplendent orioles 
 flew. But almost before Richard could take in all this 
 May beauty he felt his mother's guiding hand leading 
 him on. The lavender light changed into glowing 
 pink. A sweet-throated house wren burst into joyous 
 sound. Apple blossoms sifted down. He saw once 
 more the bay and the big old osprey. Yet still his 
 mother urged him on. 
 
 " 'Tis June," she said, "but do not tarry, for mid- 
 summer joy awaits us." And passing into a crimson 
 light Richard saw blue flag lilies growing in the marsh 
 and smelt their insistent odor mingling heavily with 
 its bordering trees and shrubs in full maturity. Quickly 
 they passed these and went on into the color of the 
 month of broad masses, where the heliotrope-smell of 
 eupatroium arose from vine-laden cornel bushes; and 
 they neared the breeze-blown water. Through fields 
 of purple and white asters, crowding golden-rod, she 
 led him. The sweet bay-bush leaves, crushed under 
 foot, perfumed the clear sparkling air; and singing 
 joyously Richard entered the orchards of golden Octo- 
 ber and saw ahead of him the haze of the late fall's 
 burning leaves. Now they hurried and soon saw the 
 smoke which arose from the Yule-tide logs. At the 
 edge of the forest soft-eyed deer gazed out at them, 
 and Richard noticed little rabbit tracks in the gather- 
 ing snow. The cold air brought to him the smell of 
 spruce and pine. The Old Year, bent and gray, passed 
 them, and the bright sparkling New Year stood beck- 
 oning in their path. 
 
 Richard stirred uneasily and opened his eyes, but 
 quickly closing them, slept on. The high wind of 
 March howled and roared, shaking the trees ; and in a 
 sudden feeling of terror he clung to his mother's skirts.
 
 66 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "Do not be afraid, my son," she said. "Sunshine 
 love flowers, you know " * 
 
 But the roar and rattle of the wind drowned her 
 voice, and sitting up Richard opened his eyes. 
 
 "Here you," he heard a gruff voice command, ac- 
 companied by the shaking of his cell door, "march 
 out!" And looking up Richard saw that the bar had 
 been lifted, and the jailer stood outside his cell. "It's 
 grub time. Bring your slops and fall in line!" and 
 dazedly obeying, he stepped from his cell into the hall 
 and joined the line of black-striped, pail-laden pris- 
 oners who shambled and shuffled in single file through 
 the corridor and down the iron stairs. 
 
 As they reached the court-yard and Richard whiffed 
 the clean air once more, he involuntarily threw back 
 his shoulders and with a deep inhalation lifted his face 
 to the sky. No sooner had he done so, however, than 
 he felt a sharp crack upon his back and a rough com- 
 mand to "keep his eyes where they belonged and march 
 forward." 
 
 Thus the black-striped, lock-stepped file of shamed 
 humanity went, each swinging his ill-smelling pail, 
 until reaching the door at the far end of the court- 
 yard they were commanded to enter. 
 
 Richard looked about him and saw a stone-lined 
 room like all the corridors through which he had 
 passed, but in the center of this there was a sewage 
 disposal vat with running water. Past the vat the line 
 of men marched, each man stopping by command only 
 long enough to dump his pail, rinse it slightly, and go 
 on down the room and out into another. On entering 
 this other room Richard with all the rest was com- 
 manded to set his pail down, fall into a column of two, 
 and enter still a third room, this time the mess hall. 
 
 With a feeling of nausea that had been steadily grow- 
 ing since the terrible march began, Richard again
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 67 
 
 started to obey, but was stopped by the command of a 
 man at the door. Looking up he recognized the bully- 
 ing face of the prison's principal keeper who had 
 questioned him that morning. 
 
 "Here you," the keeper said, stopping the whole line 
 in order to reprimand Richard. "Place your right 
 hand on your cap and your left on your breast when 
 you see fne like the others do! I ain't one to be 
 treated with disrespect. You hear?" 
 
 Richard, a grim sarcastic smile twisting his scornful 
 lips, did as he was bid, but not before the keeper had 
 caught the expression and exclaimed to himself : "That 
 kid's spirit has got to be broke!" and he let his cruel 
 eyes follow the boy, gloating over the knowledge that 
 he had him in his power. Thus in his case it was as 
 it always will be whenever a human being lacking 
 in spirituality is given absolute authority over another, 
 he loses all sense of proportion and becomes a bully- 
 ing brute ! 
 
 Into the mess hall, then, the men marched and took 
 their places in front of a long shelf on which there 
 was already spread a meal consisting of dirty bowls 
 full of luke-warm gruel, cups filled with a dark odor- 
 ous liquid, supposedly coffee, and hunks of sour bread. 
 
 At a given word of command they all seated them- 
 selves at this repast, and amid enforced and utter 
 silence, save only for the clicking and clacking of 
 spoons against the ware, tried to eat what was before 
 them. But Richard had been brought up in the whole- 
 someness of true New England cleanliness ; so, though 
 he was ravenously hungry from his journey, he could 
 not for the life of him touch the food before him now, 
 but instead sat watching the army of flies as they went 
 busily about their floating, crawling, foot-disentangling 
 task of making it even more loathsome! 
 
 Richard saw with a feeling of disgust that many of
 
 68 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 the men about him were gulping and devouring the 
 food in spite of this ; yet he noticed also that there were 
 many others like himself who left their portions un- 
 touched. With a pang he felt, almost for the first 
 time in his life, true sympathy and pity for these dregs 
 of humanity, and it made him square his jaw with a 
 bitter determination to help them if he could. In 
 his former life of respectability and freedom he had 
 been inclined to look on most men of misfortune he 
 had known as of an inferior order. By nature he was 
 an autocrat a being apart; and so scornful had he 
 always felt of his fellow man's inability to grasp 
 happiness, that his sympathies were seldom aroused 
 except by injustice or some show of physical cruelty. 
 He had believed that only beings who wilfully failed 
 to live as nature dictates need be really unhappy, and 
 in consequence had hated and scorned what he con- 
 sidered the petty ways and narrow-mindedness of the 
 majority of Dunham's citizens. He had believed that 
 almost all of the suffering in that little village was 
 brought on by the deliberate turning away from na- 
 ture's pure teachings. He had felt, as he had many 
 times expressed it, that people in general made prison- 
 ers of themselves by imprisoning their own free 
 thoughts. Yet now he realized as he looked about 
 him at the lined faces of his fellow-prisoners that their 
 suffering was more than that. With this new realiza- 
 tion there swept over him a great sympathy, paternal 
 in its comprehensiveness, for the whole of mankind. 
 He longed as he had never longed before to help his 
 fellow-creatures. Perhaps after all he had been sent 
 to this prison for that very purpose. Perhaps his life 
 here could count for more than it could in any of his 
 day dreams of greatness. Yet even in the midst of 
 this inspiration he felt his old-time anger arise against 
 the State and its authority, rise in a fury equal to that
 
 which had made him blaze forth in defense of the 
 scarleted girl and imbecile children the day before in 
 court. 
 
 In the revealing light of understanding and growing 
 sympathy he began to see the men about him in a 
 totally different way, yet in true keeping with his im- 
 pulsive character emotionalism seized upon him and 
 made him exaggerate even their plight. He swore to 
 himself some day to get even with the world which 
 had treated him and them so unmercifully! His 
 mother seemed to draw near him, to warn him against 
 this bitterness; but unheeding her sweeter influence 
 he felt himself growing hot with increasing anger at 
 the thought of the brutal degradation to which the 
 State had subjected them the utter uselessness and 
 foolishness of treating these men only as criminals 
 when they were still men. Well, one thing was cer- 
 tain, they could imprison his body, but as to his mind, 
 his personality he would just show them! 
 
 Turning he addressed the man seated by his side, 
 although he knew perfectly well that such a thing was 
 against the rules. 
 
 "My name's Dennison," he said, in a pleasant in- 
 troductory tone. "And yours?" 
 
 But before his cowed neighbor could answer, had he 
 dared to do so, a guard strode up and tapped Richard 
 on the back. 
 
 "No gassing, young man! Silence is the word 
 here. Prisoners ain't allowed to talk to each other. 
 Against the rules!" 
 
 With a defiant lift of the chin that was barely 
 perceptible Richard made another remark to the man 
 at his side. The guard's stick came down less gently this 
 time, and he said harshly: "Cut that out, you young 
 fool ! You've made enough trouble for one day. Shut 
 up, I tell you, and can your grub!" But utterly
 
 70 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 oblivious even of the guard's presence the defiant boy 
 went on talking, again addressing a remark to his 
 neighbor. 
 
 A fury that perhaps would have been excusable in 
 a criminal, in the accepted sense of the word, possessed 
 the guard, and his heavy hand coming down upon the 
 boy's shoulders, with an oath, he wrenched him 
 roughly, stool and all, from the table, dragging him 
 sharply to his feet. 
 
 "Damn you!" he said furiously through clenched 
 teeth. "Obey me, or you go to the 'rot-pit' !" and he 
 rapped Richard's knuckles with his heavy stick. 
 
 The boy flinched slightly at the sharp crack, but 
 tossing his head exclaimed : "I don't give that" snap- 
 ping his fingers, "for your beastly rules ! No human 
 being on earth has a right to make rules that imprison 
 other human beings' thoughts as well as their bodies. 
 My body is your prisoner because it can't help itself. 
 You've imprisoned it by mere brute force; but no 
 power can, or will, enable you to imprison my thoughts 
 or the expression of them and you may just as well 
 understand that now!" 
 
 He had hardly finished his sentence, however, before 
 the loaded stick descended again, and for the second 
 time that day Richard dropped to the floor. 
 
 A rush followed like that of wild animals uncaged; 
 for every prisoner with a spark of manhood left in him 
 rose from the table at the onslaught and, rushing for- 
 ward, they surrounded the guard and his unconscious 
 charge. It was not the first time such a scene had been 
 enacted in that prison among those long-suffering 
 silenced men. Though each of them now participat- 
 ing knew it meant days of added personal misery and 
 deprivation, their innate love of humanity, the spark 
 of divine love that redeems the world, the spirit of 
 Christ suffering for others that is deep in the heart of
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 71 
 
 every one of us, responded to the call of a fellow-crea- 
 ture in distress, and they immediately formed to mob 
 the guard who had gone too far in his habitual cruelty ! 
 Fists flew thick and fast, loaded sticks descended, and 
 a bedlam of wild oaths broke out as guards and prison- 
 ers alike fought out the world-old quarrel of brutal 
 authority versus outraged manhood. Save for the 
 uniforms and superiority of their weapons no onlooker 
 could have told the "righteous" from the "unright- 
 eous." 
 
 Finally the riot was quelled. Might had again con- 
 quered right, and the loaded stick and pistol butts of 
 the guards had meant the survival of their fitness; 
 while those prisoners big and brave enough to have 
 come to their fellow man's rescue, in spite of all the 
 dwarfing influence that governmental stupidity had 
 brought to bear upon them, were dragged from the 
 room to be punished for the very act that proved their 
 divinity of soul. 
 
 Quickly the guards took Richard down to an under- 
 ground cell at the extreme end of the back wing of 
 the prison. Here the death chambers were located, 
 where "Society's murderers were, in turn, murdered 
 by Society." This wing was a low structure, the old- 
 est part of the prison, and just back of it, within a few 
 feet, the prison's rear and outer wall ran. 
 
 To "the rot-pit" in this old wing a prisoner proving 
 contumacious to rules was sent to "rot" until those 
 high up in authority thought his punishment had been 
 sufficient or remembered his existence long enough 
 to release him, just as the case might be. As there 
 was no specific term set by constituted authority for 
 any offense, the viewpoint taken was that the offender 
 had better be kept there until his spirit was broken. 
 Many a prisoner had died or gone mad in these dun- 
 geons where Death stalked unrestrained in the name
 
 72 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 of Justice, without the knowledge or thought of the 
 warden. The offense committed by occupants of 
 these "rot-pits" oftentimes was so trifling as to be 
 deserving of little if any punishment, even in the eyes 
 of the keeper. Yet, as in Richard's case, the personal 
 prejudice or momentary bad temper of the guard who 
 happened to be in authority, and against whom the 
 offense was directed, be it real or fancied, entered so 
 largely into the degree of punishment inflicted, that 
 the prison's hirelings could send a prisoner down for 
 practically any offense. So now it was that Richard, 
 sore and bruised, awoke and stood up to find himself 
 in a place the stifling dark horror of which he could 
 scarcely have conceived. Instead of the stone-lined 
 chambers of the upper tiers where daylight could enter 
 through grated door and window, the cell in which he 
 now found himself was totally unlighted and prac- 
 tically unventilated. The door leading from it to the 
 corridor was of solid sheet iron with only a few tiny 
 air holes along its upper and lower edges; while there 
 was a series of three small holes, no bigger than tea- 
 cups, in the cell's end wall. 
 
 Through these at noon on a bright day scant rays 
 of light percolated, but did not in any way light up 
 the underground cell, for the holes, being on a level 
 with the surface of the earth outside, opened out close 
 to the wall surrounding the prison. There were no 
 accommodations for washing face or hands. The one 
 and only article supplied was an unemptied slop 
 pail over in one corner. In the door there was a small 
 grated slide like a ticket-office window with a shelf 
 beneath it, through and on to which the prisoner's 
 daily rations were thrust by the guard outside. Upon 
 this there now stood a tiny cup of water which Richard 
 was told must last him twenty-four hours. The floor 
 was of stone flagging and the walls were unbroken
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 73 
 
 cement. Richard could see none of this, however, in 
 the darkness that prevailed. 
 
 Painstakingly he felt his way about the foul smell- 
 ing place, thinking to find a pallet bed of straw on 
 which to lie down and allay the terrible dizzy sickness 
 which was fast overpowering him. His long, fine- 
 fingered hands fumbled up and down the walls, hunt- 
 ing ; and putting first one and then the other of his feet 
 in front of him, he shufflingly felt around the edge of 
 the floor. All was blank and vacant so far as he could 
 tell, and he concluded the cell must be entirely unfur- 
 nished. 
 
 With a feeling of increasing dismay, for he was too 
 weak by now for anger, he went groping on, believing 
 the place to be larger than he had at first thought. 
 It was so dark that he could not tell whether it was 
 vast or small, the air so bad that though he seemed 
 to be stumbling on indefinitely, in reality he had 
 scarcely moved from the door through which the guard 
 had pushed him, but had been dazedly going over the 
 same space of floor and wall. 
 
 Finally, however, his foot struck something soft, 
 and eagerly falling down upon his knees he felt out to 
 what he thought must surely be the pile of straw 
 heaped in the corner. Then in dizzy weakness he 
 flung himself forward gratefully, and lay for several 
 moments in an exhausted heap, gasping for breath. 
 
 He had not lain there very long when his anger 
 began to awaken. His indomitable health and spirits 
 were too great to be long subdued by the cruelty of 
 that dark desolation; so, letting this feeling surge 
 through him uncontrolled, he found himself stimulated 
 and revived. 
 
 He sat up and noticed with surprise that his hands 
 were covered with grit, and that the elevation on which 
 he lay did not yield to his weight. He did not feel
 
 74 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 straw nor any other substance that he could actually 
 grasp between his fingers. As he slowly ran his hands 
 over its surface a thought, compelling and wonderful 
 in its possibilities, shot through his mind. Trembling 
 with excitement he dug down and grasped a handful 
 of the stuff and stumbled toward the faintly lighted 
 holes of the cell wall. They were high up near the 
 ceiling and gave no light, yet as he held his hand close 
 up to his eyes he imagined he could see what he held. 
 
 It must be he felt sure it must be earth ! 
 
 He put it to his nose ; but so deadened had his sense 
 of smell become during his short stay in the foul cell 
 that he could distinguish no odor whatsoever. Then 
 he took a pinch of it and put it between his teeth. 
 Yes, it was gritty it did not dissolve it was earth! 
 
 "Mother," he murmured brokenly, "help me find 
 the loose paving. I know it must be there !" and very 
 laboriously, on hands and knees, he went over the 
 floor, feeling for every crevice. The suspense and 
 hope it aroused in him caused him acute suffering, yet 
 his heart sang within him, for he felt that the way to 
 freedom was surely very near. But this hope was 
 suddenly frozen with horror ; for from a cell just down 
 the corridor there came to his ears the cry of physical 
 agony, accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of 
 flogging. Nearer still, and more distinct, other cries 
 arose, as another prisoner, stripped to the skin, was 
 chained and a stream of water of enormous pressure 
 played upon him until, black and blue from head to 
 foot, his tormentors finally so directed it that his cries 
 died away in unconsciousness. 
 
 Then from the cell next to his the crazed prayers 
 and groans of one soon to be freed forever but not 
 by his Maker's divine hands, completed the fiendish 
 clamor.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ALTHOUGH weeks had passed, and Richard had spent 
 most of his time patiently groping for a loosened stone 
 in the floor of his cell, he had as yet been unable to 
 discover it. Many times during those weeks hope had 
 sprung up in him when he found a crevice deeper 
 than usual; but always it had as quickly died, for it 
 was soon apparent that the adjoining stones were im- 
 movable without leverage, and could not be raised with 
 his hands alone. 
 
 At such times of kindling hope, invariably followed 
 by the depression of bitter disappointment, the boy 
 would throw himself down upon the dirt mound back 
 of his door and lie for hours, too exhausted and dis- 
 couraged to move. But always he let his mind go 
 over and over the puzzle of the mound's presence in 
 the dungeon and its suggestion of possible escape. It 
 could mean but one thing he felt sure of that. Some 
 former occupant, somehow, somewhere, had been able 
 to lift a flag and tunnel beneath the cell's stone-paved 
 floor, piling the dirt from the excavation where 
 Richard had found it. That this prisoner had not 
 completed the tunnel or escaped through it, Richard 
 felt equally certain, for had he done so the guards 
 would have searched the cell and in so doing dis- 
 covered the mound of earth and replaced it, making 
 the floor secure. Richard felt positive that no such 
 search had taken place, and knew that in the cell's 
 semi-blackness such guards as might have seen, or felt, 
 its outline in sweeping if they ever did such a thing 
 had thought the mound only the straw and rag heap 
 that served throughout the ill-kept prison as the pris- 
 oners' beds. 
 
 75
 
 76 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Lying on the dirt heap Richard thought more and 
 more constantly of the other man who had doubt- 
 less suffered just as he was now suffering. His imagi- 
 nation soon pictured him so vividly that he became for 
 Richard almost a living, breathing personality, a per- 
 sonality with whom he could talk and think with per- 
 fect understanding, a real companion in the lonely 
 place. 
 
 But where was he? Why had he not finished the 
 work so cleverly begun ? Had he died before that was 
 possible or gone mad for lack of air, as Richard 
 oftentimes felt he himself must do? Or had his fate 
 been that of the four others Richard had heard pray- 
 ing in the death-chamber? 
 
 Eight weeks of close confinement had begun to tell 
 on him terribly. Often he found it almost impossible 
 to rise and go forward at the jailer's daily command 
 to receive his portion of bread and water when it was 
 passed in through the slide of his door. Yet he knew 
 that his whole future, the very continuance of life 
 itself, depended absolutely upon his mind's ability to 
 drive his body into action. He would not give in to 
 the growing lassitude that seemed sapping his strength 
 and will power! 
 
 Giving free rein to his anger, he would fairly 
 scourge himself into a fury of exertion, an exertion 
 which seemed to bring on temporarily increased men' 
 tal and moral fitness, but which ultimately left him in 
 a more depleted and exhausted state than before. A 
 man of less courage and endurance, less determination 
 not to die either in spirits or body, would have suc- 
 cumbed in the first few weeks of this unventilated, un- 
 lighted existence; but Richard, confident that he could 
 find freedom did he but continue to try, forced him- 
 self to live and keep his sanity in spite of the brutal 
 short-sightedness of his native State. He began
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 77 
 
 to see freedom only as an opportunity for the exercise 
 of a possible and speedy vengeance toward that State ; 
 for during the long drawn out succession of black hour 
 upon black hour, week upon week, in which he had 
 naught else to do, the determination that had been 
 conceived in him during his first day in prison grew 
 into a great and strong maturity. He would have 
 his revenge! Born as he was with a master mind 
 that under proper conditions could have developed into 
 a splendid constructive force, Law and Justice, in 
 the blindness of their much advertised virtue, were 
 turning this force into a destructiveness that grew 
 daily in strength, stimulating Richard to persevere in 
 his search for the movable paving stone. 
 
 Day and night he worked on, except when his mind 
 refused to drive his body further. At such times of 
 enforced rest he would lie upon his earth couch and, 
 giving up the hunting, groping, determined struggle 
 for possible means of freedom, would let his thoughts 
 wander from the prison and his life there, out into the 
 open fields of flowers, until real sleep would come to 
 him. His mother's gentle spirit comforted and 
 caressed his weary body, and even after awakening 
 he would feel that old irresponsible happiness surge 
 through him, resuscitating his whole being. 
 
 One day at noon, after just such a reviving experi- 
 ence, his slice of bread and tin of water balanced upon 
 his legs, he heard a faint scrambling back of him near 
 the wall, and presently felt a sharp gnawing of tiny 
 teeth upon the toe of his heavy boot. 
 
 With a start of surprise, but well controlled, he 
 leaned cautiously forward and peered through the 
 gloom, hoping to discern the agent of attack. The 
 three holes high up in the wall of his dungeon dimly 
 illumined small disks at the base of the opposite wall, 
 and their pale light enabled him to see, faintly sil-
 
 78 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 houetted against one of them, the erect figure of a 
 young rat alert upon its haunches. It was the first sign 
 of animal life Richard had seen since he left the train 
 on that fatal day of his incarceration, and a feeling of 
 keen pleasure passed through him at the sight of the 
 commonly despised little vermin. It gave him a feel- 
 ing of being nearer the outside world and his beloved 
 creatures of the wild. His pulses quickened as with 
 the wariness of a woodsman he held his legs perfectly 
 still and reaching forward placed a bit of his bread on 
 his knee. Having accomplished this without frighten- 
 ing his visitor, he leaned slowly back again and 
 watched the little thing with interest. 
 
 At the approached smell of food the rat ceased the 
 gnawing of Richard's boot, and dropping its front 
 paws to the floor, crouched there, watchfully looking 
 about. Presently, satisfied that everything was safe, 
 it began to scramble slowly up his stripe-clad leg, stop- 
 ping every now and then to listen. The bread was 
 very tempting, the risk seemed small, and so dropping 
 to its all-four again, it came on, and at last having 
 attained the aspired goal, seized the bread and with a 
 spasm of fear that overtakes the timidly courageous, 
 scampered in a panic back into the darkness of the cell. 
 
 The whole episode had been one of pleasure to the 
 nature-loving boy, and from that day forward he de- 
 termined to win the circumspect little creature's confi- 
 dence, for he felt sure that having once found the way 
 it would come again. Even sour bread and a limited 
 supply of water becomes palatable, even desirable, 
 when voluntarily shared with another ; and so each day 
 Richard set aside a portion of his meager fare for his 
 greedy guest. 
 
 So great is the influence of human kindliness over 
 those creatures lower down in the scale of life that 
 soon Richard had entirely won the small animal, and
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 79 
 
 becoming more and more tame it was not long before 
 it came regularly to him at his meal time. He 
 speeded many of his darkest hours by thinking of its 
 companionship and planning for its further taming. 
 By degrees he began playfully to secrete bits of bread 
 about his prison clothing, or to hide a morsel under a 
 bit of earth placed within the limits of the dim rays 
 of light, thoroughly amused at the cleverness and de- 
 termination of his queer pet who always found these 
 prizes and, with only a saucy whisp of its tail for a 
 "thank you," would be off through the impenetrable 
 darkness before he could see where it had gone. 
 
 Watching one day for its accustomed arrival at 
 noon, Richard was surprised to see the little thing 
 appear against the lighter gloom of one of the wall's 
 three disks, in a totally unfamiliar outline. It looked 
 to him as if it might be carrying something in its 
 mouth, that is as nearly as he could make out in the 
 dimness of his cell. As it came scrambling up his leg 
 to his knee, he was impressed by the tenseness of its 
 whole small body and the eagerness with which it 
 came. His hand was resting as usual, palm up, upon 
 his legs, the daily portion of bread lying in it; and 
 when the rat reached it he was astonished to feel that 
 instead of taking the bread the little creature laid 
 something in his hand and then, rearing itself on its 
 haunches, gave a faint, harsh squeak! 
 
 His fingers involuntarily closed over the object, and 
 the blood pounded to his temples as he found it to be 
 soft and warm and living; a feebly wriggling little 
 life! The young mother had brought him her baby! 
 She sat there unafraid and trusting while he held it in 
 his own powerful grasp. To the lonely boy in his 
 man-imposed isolation, this trustful act of the much 
 scorned "beastie" was as balm to the raw wounds of 
 his heart, aggravated by the many weeks of his grow-
 
 ing bitterness toward the world. He who had 
 thought himself friendless, and knew himself to be dis- 
 owned by his fellow man, shut up by him in a place 
 fit only for this little creature born and bred in dark- 
 ness, had gained the entire trust and confidence of that 
 which man called vile. 
 
 Presently opening his fingers he let the little mother 
 take her baby and go scampering off the way she had 
 come. 
 
 For a while he sat still, musing on the pleasurable 
 significance of this last experience. Then he got up 
 and started to tramp the cell as he had not had the 
 strength to do for many days; but quickly becoming 
 dizzy sat down again upon the dirt mound, limply 
 dropping his hands to his sides. To his surprise the 
 fingers of his left hand slipped into a hole, and at that 
 moment he felt the squirming of something soft, and 
 then a sharp pain. Drawing his hand out, he dis- 
 covered his forefinger had been bitten, and putting it 
 to his lips to draw the place, he peered down and dimly 
 saw the rat come scurrying up to his knees again, en- 
 tirely unconscious of what she had just done. In her 
 eagerness to reach the food which she had previously 
 been unable to carry away because of her proud bur- 
 den, she had attacked the obstacle in her path, not 
 knowing it to be any part of her human friend, and 
 doubtless feeling quite triumphant now that she had 
 overcome it so easily. 
 
 "You funny little fellow!" Richard said aloud, for- 
 getting the pain in his finger at her greedy presence, 
 yet marveling at the queer altered tones of his own 
 voice, unused so long. "It's strange I've never 
 happpened to come across your home before," and he 
 held out the bread crumbs toward her, when suddenly 
 a startling possibility flashed through him. She took 
 the bread and scampered away, while Richard, forget-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 81 
 
 ting everything save the new hope the discovery of 
 her hole had given him, began to dig into the dirt 
 mound with both hands. 
 
 Frantically he flung the damp earth away until he 
 reached the stone-flagged floor underneath. It had 
 never before occurred to him in his search for the loose 
 stone in which he so firmly believed, to look under the 
 mound. But now as he blindly felt about the uneven 
 flagging he reasoned that his little pet's tunnel doubt- 
 less had connection with that tunnel of his dreams, 
 and soon his fingers had reached and grasped a small 
 hard object, and he knew by the feel of it that it must 
 be a crude knife stuck in the crevice of a flag. 
 
 Pressing down upon this, he felt the stone raise it- 
 self slightly and then it flew suddenly up and out! 
 Thrown off his balance by the violent exertion, 
 Richard plunged upon his face and felt his arm go 
 down into the opening! Too overcome in his weak- 
 ness to do otherwise, he lay there, his arm dangling 
 into unseen freedom, while tears of exhaustion coursed 
 down his cheeks. 
 
 Presently he lifted his face, and leaning forward 
 over the brink of the hole swung his arm around try- 
 ing to gauge its size and depth. It seemed very small. 
 He could easily touch the sides, everywhere ; and with 
 a tightening of his throat he suddenly doubted whether 
 it was wide enough to allow for his shoulders. If 
 only the cell were lighter so that he could see! The 
 wish for light had no sooner formed in his mind, how- 
 ever, than a gratitude for the darkness came to coun- 
 termand it; for he realized that in the protection of 
 the dark alone lay his ability to accomplish an escape. 
 
 Slowly he stood up, and then, squatting, rested his 
 hands on the stones on either side of the opening and 
 lowered himself into the hole. It was wide enough 
 for his shoulders ; but greatly to his disappointment he
 
 82 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 found that his feet almost immediately touched bottom 
 and that it was no deeper than his waist line appar- 
 ently only the beginning of a tunnel. For a moment 
 his courage deserted him at this disappointment. His 
 hopes had builded so high ! Quickly, however, he was 
 ashamed that he should have been so ungrateful even 
 momentarily for this chance of freedom. 
 
 After all the tunnel was started. Also he had found 
 his fellow sufferer's implement the knife with 
 which he had accomplished this much toward gaining 
 the outer world. It behooved him to complete the 
 job, that was all. His heart suddenly went out with 
 understanding sympathy to that other one who through 
 death, or some other cause, was unable to benefit by 
 Richard's work as Richard was even now about to 
 benefit by his. If only he could share the good luck 
 with him or some one else some of those other 
 silenced men he had seen in the mess hall; men who 
 were victims of the repression of all natural instincts, 
 peons of brutality, whom the State was crushing and 
 deforming. He longed to help them. Again there 
 came over him the resolution to obtain revenge for his 
 and their wrongs, once he was out and free to do as 
 he chose. Nothing should stop him ! 
 
 Climbing from the hole again he felt for the knife. 
 Confound the darkness! It delayed him so! He 
 could not find it ! But here it was ! He grasped its 
 handle firmly as it stuck up in the loose earth, and 
 then groaned with sudden apprehension lest he lose 
 it again by breaking it. If he did that, his oppor- 
 tunity would be lost also. He knew he could never dig 
 with his bare hands, it mattered not how willing they 
 might be. Already they were sore and bleeding, the 
 nails torn and dragging from digging as much as he 
 had. A panic seized him. How could he ensure the 
 knife's safety ? At the thought of losing the use of it
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 83 
 
 and what its loss would mean to him he felt possessed 
 with the old desire to scream to go mad, and with 
 all his might he had to fight it down and gain reason- 
 ing self control. 
 
 "I'm getting to be a coward!" he exclaimed in dis- 
 gust at his fear. Then clinching his teeth he muttered 
 through them: "But I shall win! No power on earth 
 can stop me!" and dropping into the hole again he 
 crouched down on his heels preparatory to digging 
 where the other man had left off. As he took this 
 position he swayed slightly and put one hand out to 
 steady himself. Much to his amazement, instead of 
 his hand touching the hole's side as he had thought 
 it would, it went out into a black vastness. Cautiously 
 he remained squatting where he was, his back braced; 
 and putting his other hand forward tried to feel about. 
 It, too, extended into space. Then lifting both arms 
 he tried to gauge the void in front of him, only to feel 
 his hands suddenly come in contact with the hardened 
 earth above them. Then he understood. 
 
 The former occupant of his cell, his unwitting part- 
 ner in the plan for escape, had at first dug straight 
 down until he gained a foot hold, after which he had 
 branched out on a level with the bottom of the hole, 
 digging head first. 
 
 With an effort Richard eagerly doubled himself up 
 into a smaller crouch and, ducking, stuck his head into 
 the blackness after his groping hands. At this, unbal- 
 ancing himself completely, he fell forward and lay 
 straight down upon his face. This meant that the 
 tunnel was of a fairly good length, and he began to 
 wriggle and worm his way through it. His heart 
 beat wildly as he crawled on, half suffocated with 
 hope! It seemed to him that he must have crawled 
 quite a distance, there was so little air; and the blood 
 pounded in his head so hard that he would often have
 
 84 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 to lie quiet trying to control it and the twitching of his 
 weakened limbs. At times he felt he would die like 
 a rat in a trap long before he could reach the end ; for, 
 unlike that little creature, man is not so well able to 
 overcome the obstacles of darkness and suffocation. 
 Yet still he worked his way forward, hoping each 
 moment to see daylight ahead. 
 
 After what seemed to him to be hours of such pain- 
 ful progress, he came to something hard and unyield- 
 ing, and with a sinking of his courage he concluded 
 that he had simply traversed the length under his own 
 cell and was now up against the deep sunk foundation 
 wall of the prison. Was this what had stopped the 
 other man in his hardly fought road toward freedom? 
 Had he found it impossible to penetrate this barrier? 
 Perhaps he, too, would have to turn back to the vile 
 cell, and give the whole plan up. But at the thought 
 of this his anger and determination blazed. He would 
 not give up ! Bit by bit, inch by inch, if it took him 
 the whole ten years of his sentence, he would pick a 
 way through that wall! Then with dampening dis- 
 couragement there came the remembrance of the fact 
 that there was still another wall! He had seen it 
 through the air holes of his cell. The one he was up 
 against now belonged to the building itself doubtless; 
 but the other, and probably stronger one, surrounded 
 the entire prison. In the face of such great obstacles 
 should he, after all, try for freedom? 
 
 He knew he should, even before he had asked him- 
 self the question. His was a nature that once driven 
 into revolt quickly gained almost superhuman strength 
 of purpose, and under no circumstances could that pur- 
 pose be thwarted. But though he determined that he 
 would succeed in spite of everything, he found that he 
 was now too exhausted even to commence the further 
 work of his escape. So regretfully working his way
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 85 
 
 back through the narrow passage, he once more stood 
 up upon the floor of his cell. 
 
 He had barely succeeded in replacing the stone and 
 packing the dirt back upon it, first marking it with a 
 strip torn from his shirt, when he heard a series of clicks 
 at his sheet-iron door, and looking up saw that it had 
 been swung back and that the figure of a guard stood 
 within his cell silhouetted against the grayness of the 
 corridor beyond. 
 
 "Guess you've rotted long enough," the guard's 
 voice said as he flashed an electric flash-light; and 
 striding forward he laid his hands on Richard's 
 shoulders. "I've got orders to remove you to your 
 former cell." Then he volunteered with a patronizing 
 air: "Your spirit got broke quicker than some. But 
 no monkey business with me, like what you done with 
 the guard who put you here. Understand?" And 
 taking the dazed boy by the arm he led him into the 
 hall and slammed the door. "Forward, march!" he 
 commanded. "Go ahead!" 
 
 At the guard's command Richard's feet mechani- 
 cally carried him up to cell No. 13, on the upper tier 
 of the newer part of the prison. He was too dazed 
 at his sudden release from the dark dungeon, conscious 
 that it was the last thing in the world that he had 
 wished, to be able to think ; and as the guard lifted the 
 long iron bar and Richard entered his first cell again, 
 the lightness of this windowed place, with its grated 
 door, compared with that other in which he had been 
 so many weeks, seemed to his eyes a dreadful flood of 
 smiting glare ! He tried to look up into the tiny tent 
 of blue, black barred, that he could see from the win- 
 dow, but it caused him acute pain; and putting his 
 hands over his smarting eyes he staggered back and 
 threw himself upon his rags and straw. 
 
 So this was the end of his dream of freedom!
 
 86 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 This cell, one degree removed in loathsomeness from 
 the other! Somehow it had never occurred to him 
 that he would be released from the dungeon and re- 
 imprisoned in the place from which escape was im- 
 possible. Why had they brought him back? Why 
 had he not resisted the guard? Refused to leave the 
 dungeon? Probably if he had shown fight he would 
 have been left there. But now . 
 
 Then the guard's explanatory words returned to 
 him, and he exclaimed aloud in his husky new voice : 
 "By George, if they think that my spirit is broken, I'll 
 just show them!" and his own words reacting upon his 
 mind, he realized he had hit upon an idea which might, 
 if properly carried out, give him another chance. It 
 was worth trying anyhow. If in the prison system, 
 under which he was now compelled to live, there was 
 no reward for virtue, but quick and sure punishment 
 for breaking of rules, then it behooved him to profit 
 by that system if he could. He was not the first pris- 
 oner in the crime-breeding place to so decide. Man 
 shows his best side when rewarded, and the repression 
 of all reward or commendation has helped to make 
 prisons the busy hives they are, turning out apt pupils 
 fitted for a cunning life of crime. Richard had served 
 only a very short part of his sentence, but that lesson, 
 bred in the long weeks of darkness, had been uncon- 
 sciously learned by him. With a feeling of pride in 
 his astuteness, he now realized it had not been learned 
 in vain. Having always wanted to be like his mother, 
 he had early in life persuaded himself that he had in- 
 herited her nature alone ; and so now he did not in the 
 least perceive that like inheritance of his father's na- 
 ture was getting the better of him. 
 
 Marshaling every ounce of his fast failing strength 
 Richard rose from the straw on which he had thrown 
 himself and went toward the grated door. Peering
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 87 
 
 through it he could see the guard who had reinstated 
 him stop, presumably to speak to a prisoner at the far 
 end of the corridor. Raising his voice Richard began 
 to shout hoarsely, calling out maledictions upon the 
 guard's head in the most excited manner he could 
 muster. 
 
 With a scowling glare of surprise the guard whirled 
 around and strode back toward the noise. 
 
 Richard, encouraged and becoming really excited at 
 the unaccustomed sound of his own unrestrained voice, 
 let his excitement leap all bounds; and screaming and 
 cursing in a manner he would not have believed pos- 
 sible, threw himself against the cell door, shaking and 
 pounding it with his fury-crazed fists. Deep down in 
 his inner consciousness he knew he was overstepping 
 the mark he himself had set for this campaign for one 
 more chance at freedom; that it was probably a mis- 
 take for him to let himself loose as he was doing. In- 
 stead of accomplishing what he had planned that it 
 should accomplish, this unrestrained anger and excite- 
 ment might easily turn him into the crazed being 
 that he had often feared he might become. Yet fairly 
 reveling in the relief of his pent-up nervousness and 
 emotion, he did not care ; and as the guard approached 
 then ran past his cell his manner became crazier 
 than ever. 
 
 "Here, damn you, choke that infernal racket!" the 
 guard commanded, and turning the crank that con- 
 trolled the corridor-long bar he lifted it and came run- 
 ning back to Richard's cell. 
 
 By now his screams had brought other jailers run- 
 ning too. Half starved white faces, with maddened 
 eyes, appeared at the grated doors all up and down the 
 corridor in sympathetic fear for a foolhardy mate 
 with temerity enough to break the rules ! Strange as 
 it may seem, there exists among prisoners a vigorous
 
 88 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 feeling of loyalty, a genuine passion of sympathy and 
 co-operation that, could it be turned to account, must 
 necessarily be a potent force for good; and so now 
 every convict on that gallery gave instant sympathy 
 and support to the hysterical boy by joining in the up- 
 roar. 
 
 Richard's screams grew louder than ever, and his 
 words no longer meant much to his own excited ears 
 as, unlocking the cell, the combined body of guards 
 made a rush for him. 
 
 "What do you mean by this bug-house perform- 
 ance?" the guard he had reviled asked, while the other 
 burly men pinned his arms and legs in brutal grasps. 
 "Don't you know you'll go to the 'rot-pit' again if you 
 keep this up? Shut your fool mouth!" and he cuffed 
 Richard roughly across the lips until they ran blood. 
 
 With the man's words and blow Richard's half-for- 
 gotten determination, which had been lost in the hazi- 
 ness of his hysteria-clouded brain, stood out plainly 
 once more. 
 
 "You won't put me back there ! I'll kill you before 
 I go back to that vile place ! I'll kill you, I say ! " 
 
 But taking Richard from the cell three of the men 
 began beating him ; and then half pushing, half drag- 
 ging him along the corridor, shoved him down the 
 stairs and carried him through the hallways, resound- 
 ing with his mad screams, back to the underground 
 wing of the death cells. Hurrying him through this 
 wing they reached a part of the prison he had not seen 
 before, and unlocking a heavy door threw him into a 
 totally unlighted dungeon. 
 
 As he felt its atmosphere and the wave of intense 
 dry heat that smote him in the face, he gasped for 
 breath; then suddenly losing his self control, he cried 
 out for mercy, begging the guards not to put him 
 there. His fear now was entirely genuine; but so
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 89 
 
 great was his suffering that he could say but little, 
 and his inarticulate words were met only by brutal 
 laughter from the guards who watched him as he 
 writhed in agony upon the heated floor. The place 
 was a diabolical conception of a master fiend, for walls 
 and floor alike were made hot to a degree only short 
 of actual burning, and to the boy's sensitive body, 
 accustomed to the cold dampness of his underground 
 cell, this heat was torture. Stepping forward with an 
 obscene epithet, another guard added just one more 
 degree of torture by throwing a can of red pepper in 
 Richard's face and hair. 
 
 "Reckon that ought to sweat his spunk out a little 
 bit!" he volunteered, while still another called out to 
 him : "So you don't like the hell hole, Sonny ! Well, 
 you better get used to it this side of judgment!" 
 
 For several moments more Richard was left to 
 suffer, his fiendish tormentors seeming to enjoy the 
 sight. Finally, however, the jailer in direct charge 
 of him, feeling that he had probably stood as much as 
 he could, dragged him from the place and carried him 
 further down the hallway to another cell, in which 
 there was a pool of foul-smelling water. Into this, 
 with jocose remarks about extinguishing "hell's fire", 
 Richard was plunged to the neck ; and then picking up 
 a hose made for the purpose, they played it down his 
 throat, giving him the sensation of drowning, making 
 him gag and choke and finally vomit as the water got 
 down into his intestines, causing him violent cramp- 
 ing. 
 
 The water in which he stood was icy cold, and 
 though somewhat reviving in its immediate effect 
 upon him, nevertheless chilled him to the marrow. 
 The State, however, always thoughtful and pro- 
 tective of its wards, even though they be of the 
 "criminal class," had provided that "No prisoner
 
 90 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 should be punished by death save those sentenced to 
 hang by their necks until they were dead;" and so 
 Richard's law-abiding guards, being self-respecting 
 citizens of this free land of ours, did not overstep the 
 mark, but soon dragged Richard from this torment, 
 and stripping off his clothing took him into a third 
 cell. The law here too, intervened to save his life; 
 for it is unlawful to "whip a man on his bare skin." 
 Tying him to a whipping post and covering him there- 
 fore with rags soaked in brine and wet with alcohol, 
 they beat him mercilessly; and then, replacing his wet 
 and filthy clothing, which stuck to his lacerated back, 
 they took him, now more dead than alive, to another 
 cell. Here they adjusted the iron head cage made to 
 keep prisoners from assuming any possible posture of 
 rest, and roughly throwing him in, slammed the door 
 and left him. 
 
 After many hours Richard roused himself and tried 
 to peer about him. Where was he? Was this the 
 cell in which he wished to be? Had the deliberate 
 endurance of all this physical pain served his purpose ? 
 
 For the life of him he could not make up his mind 
 to crawl forward to discover whether the indistinct 
 object in the corner was a dirt mound, though he 
 knew that would tell him; but lay in a bruised heap 
 longing, yet not daring, to know his whereabouts.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 TIME passed, during which Richard, sustained by the 
 success of the ruse which had returned him to his tun- 
 nel, was many times taken from his cell, tormented, 
 and then cast back again ; but now the last bit of stone 
 fell into his hands from the opening which he had 
 made in the outer prison wall, and exclaiming under 
 his breath the boy lay still for a moment in the narrow 
 confines of the passage, a wan smile lighting up his 
 drawn face. 
 
 For eight months he had been digging during the 
 nights and "rotting" in his dungeon during the day; 
 now the work was completed, both walls pierced, and 
 there remained only the final stroke that would break 
 the surface of the ground outside and set him free! 
 He dared not give this needed stroke for many hours 
 to come, however, for night was in travail and morn- 
 ing being born. He knew this in spite of his presence 
 in the black tunnel, just as a blind person knows such 
 things. In all the months of his imprisonment every 
 outside sound, the arrival and departure of daily 
 trains, the sound of prison gongs, the tramp-tramp of 
 guards and prisoners alike, had come to mean certain 
 hours to him; and thus by sound he had learned to 
 estimate time almost exactly. His task was finished! 
 Only a few hours' wait now, and he would be free ! 
 
 Slowly he retraced the distance of the tunnel, work- 
 ing his way carefully, and entered his prison cell again, 
 once more hiding the entrance by means of the loose 
 dirt mound. 
 
 During the interminable day that followed, marked 
 for him only by the lighting of the three holes in his 
 wall and three meals of bread and water, he waged a 
 constant battle with his impatience. A sickness of 
 
 91
 
 92 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 apprehension surged over him again and again at 
 every approach of the guards, and at such times he felt 
 an almost overwhelming conviction that they would 
 discover his plot, or that something else would happen 
 to prevent the full success of his plans for escape. 
 He longed for the coming of night, and the last des- 
 perate try for freedom that it would bring, irritably 
 cursing the long-continued hours of daylight as they 
 dragged by. 
 
 His waiting was at an end at last, however, for the 
 night gong had sounded, sweet music to his keenly 
 pricked ears, and he knew it would be safe to go ahead 
 with his final effort. 
 
 Cautiously worming his way once more through the 
 tunnel, he reached the place where he had made up his 
 mind it would be wise to break through to the surface 
 of the earth. All day long his heart had bounded to 
 the thought of that final stroke; but suddenly now, 
 as he reached the spot, a panic seized him and he timor- 
 ously crouched in the airless hole, shivering with dread 
 and apprehension. He remembered with the fright of 
 a lost child that he did not know at all how the ground 
 lay outside, nor did he know whether the prison 
 guards kept watch. Even on his emergence he would 
 be unable to know immediately what kind of a world 
 he had stepped into, whether forest or plain. Besides, 
 if he succeeded, his status would be that of an escaped 
 convict, and even though he were never reapprehended, 
 all the rest of his life there would hang over his head 
 the sword of Damocles the inevitable danger of reim- 
 prisonment, and the penalty meted out to those who 
 had dared defy the prison's power. He knew that the 
 punishment for breaking jail was the doubling of the 
 sentence. He knew that the law would take any 
 measures, even to shooting to kill, to protect Society 
 against his escape. His panic increased at these
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 93 
 
 . . i 
 
 thoughts, and he lay trembling with fear which 
 wrought instant cowardice in him, seeming to sap all 
 manhood from his mal-nourished body, and making 
 him feel unable to face so problematic a future as he 
 saw must be his. The indomitable will so character- 
 istic of him seemed to have turned to the weakness 
 of milk and water, and a loathing of himself came to 
 increase his suffering. 
 
 Perhaps, after all, he thought bitterly, the place had 
 broken his spirit as the guards had predicted. Per- 
 haps the bars had left their black-striped imprint upon 
 his consciousness for all time, creating a force of fear 
 in him that was destined to imprison his courage and 
 will. Certainly in his present state of mind, staying 
 where he was seemed almost preferable to the risk and 
 aftermath of escape. He acknowledged this mental 
 attitude with self -wonder. Was this the brave spirit 
 which he had always supposed was his? 
 
 There came back to him hatred of the cowardice 
 which in his father he had so despised, and recalling 
 the personality of the self-righteous man who had so 
 bullied and harassed his childhood, his determination 
 to be as unlike him as possible blazed in his soul and 
 spurred his lagging strength. As was characteristic, 
 anger filled him at the idea that he could be like one he 
 considered so despicable, and he made up his mind 
 to face his future without further question. To be 
 like his father, whose bad side alone his son had al- 
 ways seen, seemed to him to be the worst possible fate 
 that could befall him. He failed to see that many other 
 traits of this forebear had become so pronounced in 
 him during his bitter months of imprisonment that his 
 mother's gentler spirit now seldom, if ever, wholly 
 possessed him. 
 
 Squaring his jaw Richard took the knife between his 
 two hands and began hewing vigorously at the dirt
 
 94 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 above his head. It showered about him thinly at first, 
 but as he desperately jabbed the knife in deeper and 
 deeper an avalanche descended upon him. The earth's 
 surface had collapsed, its support weakened by his tun- 
 neling, and he looked up to see the open sky above 
 him. There was no moon, and angry black clouds 
 hurried after each other across the void. But to the 
 boy's eyes, accustomed as they were to a shut-in dark- 
 ness that can seldom be equaled out of doors, even on 
 the most storm-ridden night, the sky seemed almost 
 aglow, and altogether the most beautiful sight he had 
 ever seen ! 
 
 Crouching in the end of the tunnel, his heart aflame 
 with renewed hope and courage, Richard gazed up- 
 ward, listening to the insistent tramp of the sentinels 
 on their beat. Judging from the distant muffled 
 rhythm of their tread, he concluded that they were on 
 the other side of the wall, on guard between it and the 
 prison. If this was the case, and the thickness of the 
 wall lay between him and them, he was safe. 
 
 Just as he had fully made up his mind to leave his 
 lair and venture into the open, the steps grew more 
 distinct; and Richard, peering through the gloom, 
 faintly discerned the figures of two men saluting each 
 other at the far end of the prison wall. Then to his 
 dismay he saw one of them turn and come tramping 
 toward him. Breathlessly he crouched down and 
 waited. Nearer came the echoing tread, within a few 
 feet of where he was, then down past the full length 
 of the wall. Peering out he saw the sentinel reach its 
 corner, where a third figure could be seen in vague 
 outline and after an apparent exchange of a few 
 words, come back again, only to pass him and go on 
 as before. 
 
 So the prison was guarded outside its outer wall on 
 all four sides! There was a rule too, evidently, that
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 95 
 
 the guards must meet every so often. In view of this 
 discovery Richard realized that never for a moment 
 could he be rid of at least one sentinel, and only for 
 a very few minutes at a time out of sight of two! If 
 he jumped out from cover and tried to overcome the 
 sentinel on the beat nearest him, the noise of their 
 scuffle might reach the ears of the others. If this 
 happened, even though Richard overcame him, it was 
 not likely that he could also overcome the others who 
 would of course run to their fellow's rescue. Besides, 
 an alarm would be given at once, and then Richard 
 could never escape ! He crouched and thought, while 
 the steady pacing both inside and outside the wall 
 continued. 
 
 Finally no longer able to stand the uncertainty of 
 what he should do, he raised his head well above the 
 ground, looked quickly about him, and ducked below 
 again just before the sentinel turned to tramp past 
 him once more. In this quick searching glance he had 
 dimly made out the woods that ran along back of the 
 prison wing from which he had just come. The trees 
 that loomed up in a dark mass must be within a couple 
 of hundred yards of him, as nearly as he could judge 
 in the darkness, and a clear stretch of plain lay be- 
 tween. The sentinel's march from corner to corner 
 of the prison wall must be twice that distance, Richard 
 calculated. But even taking this into account, did he 
 make a successful dash and reach the woods while the 
 nearest sentinel's back was turned, his flying figure 
 would surely be seen by one of the other two, and 
 such a figure seen at that time of night, and in such a 
 place, would necessarily arouse suspicion. He would 
 be fired on and followed at once. What should he do ? 
 
 Yet a wild dash for the woods, with the risk of be- 
 ing seen which that entailed, seemed the only possible 
 way, and so, half raising himself, Richard was about
 
 96 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 to start when changing his mind he dropped out of 
 sight down into the hole again, and waited. 
 
 Back and forth, back and forth, the sentinel paced, 
 each time passing quite near the crouching boy. 
 Keenly watching the guard in his regular march 
 Richard reckoned the distance between them, and con- 
 cluded that his arms could doubtless reach and trip 
 the man as he passed. Yet he hesitated to attack him 
 in this manner, fearing for the noise of his fall. 
 
 Again he looked across at the woods. It would be 
 impossible to gain their shelter unseen with the man on 
 his present beat. To risk an attack, therefore, seemed 
 to him the wisest course to adopt. 
 
 His decision was made. Lifting his arm to the sur- 
 face of the ground, but keeping his head bowed, 
 Richard waited while the sentinel tramped forward 
 past him once again, saluted his fellow watch-dog, 
 turned, and began his return beat, his back now turned 
 to Richard and the hole. 
 
 With the swift and sure stroke of his former agility, 
 born of a life in the open, Richard's arm shot out and 
 grasped the man's legs. 
 
 Crash ! ! ! The fellow went upon his face ; and 
 Richard, scrambling from the tunnel before his sur- 
 prised victim could utter a sound, dealt him such a 
 blow on the back of his head that he lay still. 
 
 Calling desperately on every nerve and muscle in 
 his body, he ran swiftly forward, quickly covering the 
 plain and gaining the woods just as the sentinel at 
 the north corner came into sight. 
 
 As he raced Richard vividly pictured to himself the 
 scene that, from the sounds plainly heard, he knew was 
 even now being enacted behind him; for when the 
 sentinel on the north beat was not met as usual by his 
 fellow on Richard's beat, he had investigated and 
 found the stunned man lying face down. With this
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 97 
 
 second man's call of alarm a memory of sound that 
 acted like a whip lash came to Richard, and he recalled 
 the deep-throated, doomed-voiced baying of the dogs 
 he had seen on his entrance to the prison. He had 
 occasionally heard them from his prison cell as they 
 were turned loose to run to earth some human crea- 
 ture less well cared for than themselves; and now 
 Richard felt sure that before the passage of many 
 moments more they would doubtless be turned loose 
 on his track. 
 
 On he ran stumblingly, his heart pounding from the 
 unwonted exertion, yet his life-long knowledge of the 
 woods standing him in good stead. Fortunately there 
 was little underbrush and the trees were fairly far 
 apart, so he made good progress. Not many minutes 
 had elapsed before a perfect bedlam of noises suc- 
 ceeded the sentinel's first cry of alarm, and Richard 
 could distinguish the excited calls of men, the boom- 
 boom of the deeply resounding prison bell, and the 
 sharp crack of pistol shots, accompanied by the blood- 
 thirsty yap-yap-yap of the hounds as they were un- 
 leashed upon his trail! 
 
 He had soon passed through the woodland and, 
 reaching a river that flowed just beyond it, plunged in 
 without a moment's hesitation and began to swim. 
 In the dark he could not tell in which direction he was 
 going, but giving himself up to the current of the 
 stream allowed it to carry him unresisting, striving 
 only to keep his head above water, and fervently pray- 
 ing that the river might take him to safety. 
 
 He had not drifted far, however, before he began 
 to realize, with a terrible wave of horror, that the ex- 
 cited voices were drawing rapidly nearer him. Yet 
 the yap-yapping of the dogs came from afar off up the 
 stream. 
 
 More and more distinct came the voices of the men
 
 98 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 until he heard them just above the bank by which he 
 was being carried. The running of feet echoed across 
 the water. Lights flashed ! 
 
 Then it dawned over Richard what he had done. 
 Not knowing the lay of the land, and being totally 
 unable to see more than a few feet ahead of him in 
 the dark, he had plunged into the river that flowed 
 directly by the east side of the prison, and the current 
 was carrying him back the whole length of the escape 
 he had been able to make through the woods. 
 
 Moie waving lights and high-pitched, excited voices 
 came from the shore ahead of him, and he rapidly left 
 the yapping of the dogs far behind. He was directly 
 between the two groups of his pursuers. If he turned 
 and attempted to swim back up the river, the dogs 
 would discover him. If he continued to go with the 
 current, he must pass directly beside the prison wall! 
 
 God in heaven, what should he do! The locket 
 about his neck tightened as the wet cord shrank. He 
 thought of his little mother for almost the first time 
 in many bitter weeks, and his spirit subconsciously 
 pleaded with hers to help him now ! 
 
 Swiftly he drifted on, nearer, ever nearer the prison 
 whose lights, as he could now see, were reflected in the 
 water. Black figures of guards sprang up out of the 
 night and stood forth in rugged contour against the 
 glow of their own lanterns, as they hurried from the 
 back entrance of the prison and joined Richard's other 
 pursuers. 
 
 Close up to the bank the current swung him ; but the 
 men, hurrying on toward the spot where the dogs 
 cried out their warning that he had crossed the river, 
 did not see him. Yet at the very moment of this en- 
 couragement his heart seemed to stop beating, and he 
 felt his legs grow limp and useless, for ringing oat 
 clear and strong there came a voice.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 99 
 
 "Halt!" it rang out through the darkness, and 
 Richard heard a bullet sing over his head. 
 
 Ducking just below the surface of the water he held 
 his breath and swam on, only to feel something knock 
 against his side, ensnaring his clothing, and before he 
 could resist drag him down. He struggled free and 
 rose to the surface, only to encounter a log the under 
 twigs of which had caught in his shirt. 
 
 With a feeling of utter relief he grasped this and 
 clung to it, hiding on its far side while shots fell about 
 him in a fusillade, and he heard an excited exchange 
 of comments between the lantern-bearing men upon the 
 bank. 
 
 "It ain't him I tell you!" 
 
 "But I seen a man's head." 
 
 "Aw, you couldn't have. He crossed the river I tell 
 you, and the dogs are scenting him there right now! 
 It was a log you seen," and whipping out his pistol he 
 fired shot after shot toward the drifting object behind 
 which Richard hid. 
 
 The shots whistled and sang about the cowering boy 
 but left him unscathed, and he floated on protected by 
 the accompanying log. 
 
 The man who had spoken last laughed. "Don't 
 you see they are just logs ?" and he broke his revolver 
 preparatory to refilling its chambers. Then pointing 
 again, he said: "See, there's a drift of 'em coming 
 down from Sawyer's logging camp. Come on!" and 
 followed by the other the two went on up the bank 
 toward the spot where the dogs still bayed. 
 
 Richard rapidly drifted with the current down past 
 the prison. Excitement over his escape held sway 
 there, and as he passed beside the gray rock wall upon 
 the river bank he could see and hear the hunt for him 
 growing in determination and vehemence. 
 
 Safely he floated by, soon leaving the prison and the
 
 100 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 hunting men far behind ; and with a feeling of joy, in 
 spite of his weary weakness, knew that he was now 
 well on his way toward freedom. His hands and 
 arms had become numb from their long clinging hold 
 upon the log, and sometimes he felt that he must cast 
 loose from it ; yet he did not dare do so, knowing him- 
 self to be too weak to swim, or even keep himself 
 above water in the swift running current. Many times 
 during the journey he longed to climb upon the log 
 and rest, but that too seemed risky; and so he clung 
 and drifted, using all the force of will he possessed in 
 order to hold on, surrounded as he was now by many 
 other logs that had come swirling down in the spring 
 flood of the little river. 
 
 He had drifted what seemed to him many hours 
 when the log, reaching a sudden sharp turn in the 
 stream, jammed against the bank, catching hard and 
 fast to the overhanging roots and twigs that were 
 barely submerged. With a feeling of relief at being 
 held stationary, even for a few moments, Richard labo- 
 riously dragged his soaked body up upon the log's 
 wide surface, and lying face down clasped his arms 
 about it and lay still. 
 
 After gaining this vantage point he tried to make 
 up his mind to push off from the shore and go drifting 
 on into the future that awaited him; but a sense of 
 utter exhaustion overcame him, and he could do 
 naught but lie and wait for returning strength. All 
 points of compass had been erased in the darkness, 
 and though he had tramped through the very woods 
 above him for miles along the margin of the bay, he 
 did not know this, and supposed he knew nothing 
 about the interior waterway in which he now found 
 himself. Vaguely it again occurred to his mind, half 
 paralyzed from weariness and cold, that he must push 
 on; but his lassitude ever growing he finally gave up,
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 101 
 
 and closing his eyes fell asleep, while the log, in spite 
 of his weight, remained safely entangled, held by the 
 roots above the surface of the water on a level with a 
 muskrat hole in the bank. 
 
 The April sun stole up to smile night shadows away, 
 and there reached the boy the pungent smell of the 
 earth, through which springtime buds were pushing. 
 He smiled in his sleep and then, stirring, awoke. 
 
 In the glare of the early morning, pale as it was, he 
 quickly closed his eyes. The light caused him agony. 
 With one of his hands he bathed his eyes, trying 
 vainly to open them and look about.' His long 
 imprisonment in the dark had made it impossible 
 for him to stand the unwonted daylight, so he stripped 
 a piece of cloth from his shirt and tied it about his 
 head, thus shading his eyes as much as possible from 
 the glare. 
 
 "I wonder where I am?" he said aloud in the husky 
 altered voice he himself scarcely recognized as his 
 own, stiffly raising himself to a sitting posture, yet 
 watching from beneath his bandage to see that he did 
 not tilt the log. 
 
 "You're free, I should say, Sonny ! And a damned 
 good thing from the looks of ye," a deep voice said, 
 making him jump and then crouch back against the 
 log. 
 
 "Now don't be scared of me" a man on the bank 
 above said. "I decorated the inside of such yagers my- 
 self once," pointing to Richard's stripes. "I wouldn't 
 squeal on you jest feed that information to your- 
 self." 
 
 Squinting up Richard saw a good-natured, common 
 face grinning sympathetically down at him, while the 
 man continued jocosely: "Stripes ain't very condu- 
 cive to spiritual thought, as the highbrows remark ; but 
 say, where did ye pipe it from, pal?"
 
 102 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 The boy looked puzzled at this jargon, but instinc- 
 tively trusting the fellow's candid blue eyes, he said 
 hoarsely: "From State's Prison," pointing up the 
 river. 
 
 "Hully gee!" the man exclaimed with unfeigned 
 admiration. "How'd ye do it?" 
 
 "Dug my way out," Richard replied. 
 
 "Well, you be some weasel and duck, believe me, if 
 you worked your flipper down this spring freshet!" 
 and he looked at the river swirling past. "Where 
 booked, Sonny?" 
 
 Again Richard looked puzzled, and seeing it the man 
 translated himself. "Where does your excursion 
 ticket get punched? Where you vamoosing going? 
 See?"' 
 
 "I don't know," Richard answered vaguely, trying 
 to look about him at the woods which were just be- 
 ginning to show signs of spring. The willows along 
 the river bank were bright with coming leaf, while 
 further away on a hillside Richard could see the rose- 
 color of rhodora bushes. 
 
 "Then you better pipe it along o' me," the fellow 
 said cordially, his blue eyes smiling into Richard's 
 half shielded ones. "Here, nibble my bait, and I'll 
 cork you up," and he held his hairy hand down over 
 the bank toward the boy on the marooned log. 
 
 Richard took his hand and pulled himself upright, 
 Only to have the log break loose from its anchorage 
 and, rolling over, go floating out into midstream. 
 
 But the man had caught Richard's hand firmly at 
 the first grasp, and though Richard had plunged into 
 the river at the log's overturning, he was now vigor- 
 ously dragged up the bank before he could sink. 
 
 "Right-o!" his rescuer said, as Richard scrambled 
 up, and dropping limply at the man's feet hid his 
 smarting eyes from the light.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 103 
 
 "Gizzard pretty floppy, eh?" and the man put his 
 hand on Richard's chest to feel the violent exhausted 
 beating of his heart. "I'm some doc, I am!" he said 
 in explanation. "Was chore boy in Ellis Island hospi- 
 tal before I began snagging the wild goose bagging 
 the game," he explained himself "stealing, in plain 
 American. See?" and he chafed the boy's cold 
 hands, pumping his arms up and down. Then pulling 
 a flask from his pocket he put it to Richard's lips. 
 "Drink," he commanded. 
 
 Richard took a deep swallow of the cheap stuff with 
 a shudder and lay still while it ran through his chilled 
 body like fire, stopping his chattering teeth. "You 
 can ride in my Ford, all right, all right," the man by 
 his side continued; "like your looks. Some gent!" 
 and he deliberately looked Richard over in appraise- 
 ment, while a soft light came into his eyes and he said 
 huskily: "I had a pal like you once. The genuwine 
 article, all-wool, a yard wide and unshrinkable. The 
 law corpsed him damn it! He warn't to blame 
 neither. The cop woulder got him if he hadn'ter got 
 the cop that night. But the noose for his after that !" 
 and Richard's companion's face turned black with 
 anger as he went on: 
 
 "He was raised in reformatories, drat 'em, like me. 
 He never had a square deal nohow, gent though he 
 looked to be and was, for he knowed who his pa was, 
 after awhile though his pa never knowed him, oh 
 no!" and the man's face sneered. "He tried to go 
 straight jes like me, at first. But what's the use? 
 Jes do one thing that happens to be agin the law when 
 you're a fool kid, and the law gets your goat forever 
 amen. Him and me, we met in the Reformatory 
 then in the Ten' ! We hit it off together. See ? 
 Him that was so well appearing took to shoplifting 
 and the like. Me, I took to the dark doorway dirty
 
 104 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 work. We'd had a grand edication for such work, 
 bein' shut up since we was kids and learnt nothin' ! 
 Besides, nobody wants to give an ex-convict 'honest 
 labor,' and where there ain't no honest labor, Sonny, 
 there's always plenty else to make a living by. Folks 
 is queer, believe me! They will help a beggar to git 
 work so he won't have to be a beggar; but if a pincher 
 tries to stop stealing and go straight, industry gives 
 him the merry go-by. See? 
 
 "Well, one night me and my pal we got the lu-lu 
 bird, and thought we was it. We borrowed a few 
 eagles from the state bank with the aid of a friend, 
 'Jimmy Crowbar.' But Bill, that was my gentleman 
 pal, he had to croak the cop to get away, and and 
 they canned him!" 
 
 Richard's companion choked, tears showing in his 
 blue eyes. "I give myself up to save him; but it 
 warn't no use. I told the gospel, but they wouldn't 
 believe me! Since gittin' out, therefore, I'm care- 
 fuller," and his face took on a cunning look, "but I 
 gits what I want when I want it, jes the same. See? 
 So pal," putting his hand kindly on Richard's shoul- 
 der, "pipe it along o' me. I need a pal. I'll diwy 
 fair, honest to Gawd! I don't look like no gent, but 
 we can tandem it, you bein' the show horse, wid yer 
 white hair and fine black eyes, and I'll do the pulling. 
 See?" 
 
 During this soliloquy Richard had looked up at the 
 man, his face becoming more and more puzzled; and 
 now at the reference to his white hair he forgot his 
 smarting eyes in wondering if the fellow was crazy. 
 
 "My hair's black," he said as simply as a child. 
 And putting his hand to his head, he stroked back 
 the wet locks. 
 
 This time it was the man's turn to look puzzled, 
 and shaking his head he looked at Richard and said:
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 105 
 
 "Me for the bug house if I'm nutty; but your cranium 
 looks white to me, by George!" and he continued to 
 look at Richard quizzically, while Richard stared back 
 at him. 
 
 "Here, see for yourself," the man said, noticing 
 Richard's doubtful expression; and he handed him a 
 small mirror from his pocket. 
 
 Richard took the mirror. As he caught sight of 
 his own unshaven face a deadly pallor overspread it. 
 Trembling, he put out one of his hands and took hold 
 of the other's shoulder to steady himself, while he 
 gazed on into the little mirror. 
 
 His hair, which eight months before had been black, 
 was entirely silvered. His eyes were bloodshot and 
 swollen from the unaccustomed light, while his face 
 was that of a middle-aged man, so drawn and full of 
 lines was it in spite of its covering of a stubby first 
 beard. 
 
 Could it be possible, he wondered, that the prison 
 had left him marked for life like this. It seemed 
 incredible! Yet the little mirror could not lie. Per- 
 haps it was his eyes, he thought hopefully. They hurt 
 him so he doubtless was not seeing aright; and shift- 
 ing the mirror, he gazed at the reflection of his unfa- 
 miliar self while his companion watched him, feeling 
 in his rough kindliness that Richard was suffering 
 and that it was no time for any of his slangy remarks. 
 
 Finally Richard spoke: "How o!4 do you think I 
 am?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, about so so middling. About my age," the 
 man answered. "Why?" 
 
 "Because I'm just nineteen," Richard answered. 
 Then angry at the tragedy of old age being thrust upon 
 him during the time of youth, he exclaimed: "The 
 people of this state shall suffer for this. So help me 
 God!" and throwing himself down upon the ground,
 
 106 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 dry sobs shook his poor abused body, once so full of 
 youthful beauty and now so weakened and scarred 
 by the injustice of cruel imprisonment. 
 
 At this show of the boy's suffering, the rough man 
 by his side was deeply touched; for naturally not of 
 criminal instinct, in all probability he would not have 
 become an actual criminal had his early environment 
 been all that it should have been. In spite of his 
 life of thieving, deep down in him there blossomed a 
 loyalty that had made him a trusted friend, even 
 though his pal had been a crook like himself, and 
 now he readily responded to the uplifting influence of 
 sympathy for his fellow-man. 
 
 "Sonny," he said, patting Richard's bowed head, 
 "I'm damned sorry." Then falling back into his 
 tough's vernacular, he went on: "But cut out the 
 weeps, kid. As pals, you and me will can 'em! I'll 
 tell you my plans," and sitting down quite near the 
 boy he talked to him soothingly. 
 
 Soon Richard's sobs ceased, and interested in one 
 whose experience had been enough like his own to 
 form a bond of sympathy, Richard felt springing up 
 in him a real friendship for this man, a friendship 
 that a few months before would have been utterly 
 impossible for them both. 
 
 "Sonny," the man went on, "as I reemarked before, 
 ex-convicts can't git honest jobs in this here star- 
 spangled map of ours. Citizens are free and equal 
 I don't think! So I'm out for dishonest jobs. See? 
 I got an old lady and two twin kids at home, and 
 they ain't peeped nothing about my past, leastwise the 
 kids ain't and you never seen two finer bucks!" smil- 
 ing with paternal pride. "The old gal's thinker works 
 overtime, too, believing that I'm heaving straight these 
 days. But say, I can't sail straight, I tell you; for 
 them blessed ones needs chink! And the way I'm
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 107 
 
 a-making chink is the only way folks'll let me make 
 it, now that I'm an ex-jailbird. See? There wasn't 
 no such thing as chink coming while I worked five 
 good hard years up there," pointing up the river. 
 "Yet folks say there ain't no slavery these days ! What 
 do you call it, Sonny, when a fellow's made to work 
 ten hours a day and don't git nothin' to send home, 
 and is turned out at the end of his sentence unable to 
 git a bloomin' thing to do? Maybe it is his fault 
 that he went to prison, as folks say, but is it a fair 
 deal to take a bread winner away from his folks, 
 and leave them to starve? for starvin' it is, pretty 
 nigh for the family of a convict can't git honest 
 work neither, oftentimes." 
 
 Richard had sat listening eagerly, his face flushing 
 and paling with anger. The rough fellow's words 
 echoed so exactly his own bitterness against law and 
 its injustice that he had said nothing during the 
 whole story, and now only nodding assent he motioned 
 the man to go on with his tale. 
 
 "Well, pal, my plan is this," the fellow continued. 
 Then breaking off he interrupted himself by saying: 
 "But look here, Sonny, you'd better fairy-godmother 
 them Cinderellas encasing your carcass shed your 
 clothes, in plain American," and he touched Richard's 
 wet prison clothes. Then grinning, he unbuttoned the 
 dark suit he himself had on, stepped out of it and 
 handed it to him, saying: "Here, doll yourself up 
 like a Christmas tree." 
 
 Richard gasped with astonishment at the enacting 
 of this scene, for the man before him, though he had 
 just given him an entire suit of clothes, stood fully 
 dressed in another. Seeing his amazement, the fellow 
 said to Richard: "I'm the original all in one prize 
 package, Sonny. Travels with me trunk on me back. 
 It's easier; and I must remark, quite often it's safer.
 
 108 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 In my biz a quick change of looks is advantageous, 
 believe me!" 
 
 Richard dressed himself in the borrowed suit, while 
 the man, to get rid of the tell-tale prison stripes, 
 wrapped the cast-off clothes around a big stone and 
 threw it far out into the river, where it at once 
 sunk to the bottom. Then he resumed his recital where 
 he had left off. 
 
 "Well, as I was saying, this is my plan. There's a 
 gold-lined guy in the burg near here who turned out 
 my folks into the cold, cold world for lack of rent 
 while I was up," jerking his thumb over his shoulder 
 in the direction of the far-away prison. "Molly, she 
 brought them kids here from up state soon after they 
 pipped was born, you know so as to be near me 
 who never seed 'em, being as I was sent up afore their 
 time. Well that guy he woulder forced my Molly 
 to starve, or worse; but she was on the square. It's 
 him that's got chink enough to make a corpse glad, 
 Sonny; and it's them kids of mine that's goin' to git the 
 eddication and chance I never got if I can pull off 
 this job. See? And the faithful old gal's hoofs are 
 goin' to pitter patter along Easy Street, too. Gawd 
 knows she deserves it!" 
 
 Then with eyes flashing he leaned nearer Richard 
 and half whispered: "He keeps his spondulics in his 
 wigwam while he flies de coop, goes bunny hugging 
 around lecturing to churches, converting sinners. See ? 
 Calls himself a .E evangelist the past six months, though 
 he used to be a tight-wad bank president," and the 
 man laughed. "Now he tells sinners he was 'called' 
 by the Lord to this present job because of his son's 
 serving sentence in a 'place made by the wrath of the 
 Almighty.' I've piped him, Sonny, and it's good as a 
 show to see him beggin' sinners to repent before they 
 become like his son "
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 109 
 
 But he got no further, for grasping the man's shoul- 
 der Richard broke in excitedly: "What's the name 
 of the town? What's his name the man's? Tell 
 me quick!" 
 
 Richard's companion looked at the boy's flushed 
 face. "Swallow your cud hold your potatoes keep 
 your pants on," he soothed, thinking that the half- 
 starved, exhausted boy was unduly exciting himself. 
 "We're near the 'bu-ootiful yap-burg of Dunham-on- 
 the Coast/ as Mr. Cook would say, and the man's 
 name " 
 
 "It's Deacon Dennison, isn't it?" Richard burst 
 out with a square-chinned finality. 
 
 "Why yes, that's his handle, all right ; but how did 
 you guzzle the fluke peep it know that?" he trans- 
 lated himself as usual. 
 
 "Never mind how I knew it," Richard answered 
 bitterly. "But I do know," and he sat picturing to 
 himself the scene of his father's enlarging vocally 
 upon his, Richard's, lawless ways, doubtless thus work- 
 ing himself and others into an emotional religious fer- 
 vor as was his wont. 
 
 For the first time in his life Richard uttered a 
 profane sentence he had often heard, and grinding his 
 teeth together said to his companion : 
 
 "Go on with your plan. I'm with you, whatever it 
 is." 
 
 "Well, Sonny," the man resumed, "my idee is this: 
 That guy's tepee wigwam hang-out, you know, is 
 on the straight and narrow path main road, you 
 know, but back from it understand? There is some 
 spinach forest preserve trees, surrounding it, you 
 know. See? Well, you deerfoots yourself into them 
 portals; goes up the zag path, you know and asks 
 to cast your sky-blue optics on the deacon because of 
 your interest in your soul's salvation. See? I'm told
 
 110 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 there's a regular Y. M. C. A. movement goin' on in 
 that way with the deacon, bein' as he has just dis- 
 owned his son, and will leave spondulics lying around 
 for somebody when he kicks the bucket. Understand ? 
 The youths of Dunham is gettin' pretty religious these 
 days, and we might just as well be in the game, too. 
 See ? Well, while he's a-prayin' over you, fer he does 
 pray over everybody, I sneaks in and bags the 
 swag " 
 
 "But man alive, I can't do that !" Richard broke in. 
 "He'd know me!" Then at the man's stare, he had 
 to explain: "I I used to live in Dunham!" 
 
 "Oh," the burglar said thoughtfully. "So that's it, 
 is it! Well, now, that's punk. But let's see," and 
 burying his unshaven chin in his hand, he sat gazing 
 at the boy in disappointment at this frustration of his 
 plan. Richard, too, sat looking thoughtfully; and 
 then a bitter smile crossed his face. Reaching his hand 
 out toward the man, he said : 
 
 "Give me that mirror again." 
 
 The other obeyed, and gazing at his own reflection 
 long and steadily Richard's heart rejoiced at his 
 changed look, though he could not but feel alarmed 
 at the smarting of his eyes and their blurred vision. 
 
 "I don't believe he would ever recognize me in a 
 thousand years!" he exclaimed aloud. Then he 
 chuckled. The man's daring plan appealed to him 
 immensely. If it could be carried out it would not 
 only enable him to make better his escape, giving him 
 money that was rightfully his through his mother, but 
 would also be the most deliriously humorous moment 
 of his life. It was worth the risk. Forgetting his 
 fatigue, even his smarting eyes, Richard jumped up 
 with alacrity. 
 
 "All right, partner," he said, looking strangely like 
 his father in his thin-lipped determination. "It's a
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 111 
 
 go. Shake hands on it," and he took the man's hand 
 in his. "I'll do it! Point the way," and laughing 
 rather wildly Richard accepted the guidance of his 
 companion as he skulked in and out among the trees, 
 leading him ever nearer Dunham through miles of 
 spring woods, yet delaying their actual entrance into 
 the village until night should have descended again. 
 
 "Say, Sonny," the man said in the course of their 
 discussion of the details involved in the carrying out 
 of their plans. "How does your laundry ticket read, 
 anyhow? What's your trade-mark your handle 
 your name, you know?" 
 
 "Denneth Richardson," Richard answered without 
 a moment's hesitation, the perverted name coming to 
 him as naturally now as his plan for crime. "And 
 yours ?" 
 
 "Sam Simmons," the other answered in a low 
 voice. "But push in your base stop can your 
 squeaks," placing his ringer to his lips. "We've got to 
 lay low till moon time. Here, feed the pie-like-mother- 
 used-to-make to your physiognomy," and he handed 
 the boy food from his pocket, watching him almost 
 fondly as he took it and, lying flat in the woods, ate 
 absent-mindedly while he gazed up into the restful 
 green of spruces, through which sparse patches of 
 subdued light filtered. 
 
 A blue jay flashed by in greeting. Chickadees flew 
 down about him in friendliness; and perched high up 
 on a spruce bough an olive-green kinglet with golden 
 crown aglow sat and watched him. It was spring. 
 He was free.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 UP THE familiar pathway to the lamp-lighted white 
 house went Denneth Richardson, Sam Simmons close 
 upon his heels. The shades at the windows were up, 
 and as they neared the house they could see Deacon 
 Dennison's angular figure seated idly at his library 
 table. 
 
 A pang went through the boy, he knew not whether 
 of anger or of longing, both feelings were so inter- 
 mingled; and for a moment he imagined he saw his 
 mother's frail gray-clad figure in her accustomed place 
 by his father's side. Then under the influence of this 
 hallucination of her who stood for all that was best 
 in his nature, Denneth felt the thing he was about to 
 do would be wholly impossible. Half turning, he 
 started to speak to his companion, to tell him he simply 
 could not commit the crime they had planned; but 
 seeing a movement in the room he stopped, for at this 
 moment the sound of their footsteps evidently reached 
 the deacon's ears, and knowing himself to have an 
 audience this pious man picked up his Bible and with 
 a spectacular gesture of humility began to read. 
 
 At this well-known attitude of hypocrisy, bitter 
 loathing for his father surged over Denneth, crowding 
 out his more kindly feelings, and squaring his jaw he 
 walked up the steps and deliberately rang the bell. 
 
 "Around to the left," he whispered to the man be- 
 low him in the dark. "Second window there's no 
 lock on it. Go through that room, turn to your right, 
 and go into another. The safe is there. By the time 
 you've worked the combination as I've told you, I'll 
 have the old boy fixed so you can make a get-a-way. 
 Don't you worry ! Even if I am green at this game. 
 
 112
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 113 
 
 I know how I can manage him. Give me a whistle 
 the screech-owl hoot, you know when you are 
 through with your part." Then as the door was 
 opened by the deacon, Denneth stepped forward and 
 disappeared into the house from the other's sight. 
 
 The hall was dimly lighted, and as his eyes met 
 those of his father he could not see the slightest sign 
 of recognition. Taking courage at this, he spoke in 
 the voice that the prison had made so unrecognizably 
 husky. 
 
 "Brother Dennison," he said, rolling his swollen 
 eyes piously, "I have come to talk to you about my 
 soul's salvation." 
 
 The deacon beamed. "Come in, my son, come in !" 
 he said hospitably, entirely unsuspecting the identity 
 of his visitor, and leading the way into the grim, fa- 
 miliar library. " 'Ask and ye shall be forgiven. Seek 
 and ye shall find. Knock and the door shall be opened 
 unto you.' You are not the first man to come to me 
 thus." 
 
 Denneth bit his lips at these words, but controlling 
 the sinister amusement that was bubbling up in him, 
 took the chair his all-unconscious father offered him, 
 and watched him as he fussed about looking for his 
 glasses. Presently he picked up his Bible and seated 
 himself within the circle of light shed by the green 
 reading-lamp, preparatory to a long and interesting 
 wrestle with this sinner's soul. 
 
 Deacon Dennison was in his element. Though he 
 possessed a nature at once cold and shrewd and cruel, 
 there dwelt also in him an emotionalism, a weak sen- 
 timentality, that is sometimes found in otherwise hard 
 natures, and which had been, in the deacon's case, the 
 cause of certain amorous escapades during his youth, 
 the while he scrupulously observed the forms of re- 
 ligion without any approximation to its true spirit.
 
 114 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Sanctimoniousness cloaked his sins, for which he ex- 
 perienced neither remorse nor indeed even an appre- 
 ciation of their gravity. Now, in his middle age, his 
 over-developed ego had made him actually believe in 
 the spirituality of that emotionalism, and he consid- 
 ered this characteristic which was his weakness to be 
 his strength. He had reached a stage further along 
 than hypocrisy; for he believed firmly in his own per- 
 fection and power, perverted though it was. Persons 
 of advanced years sometimes persuade themselves to 
 regard as spiritual that which in their youth was the 
 result of purely physical impulse, though such natures 
 know not the true meaning of spirituality. Physical 
 existence for man, in itself purely animal, is hal- 
 lowed by the indwelling of his spiritual existence, 
 though the physical and spiritual natures remain dis- 
 tinct; but that fact is frequently lost sight of by na- 
 tures like the deacon's; and so, though his life had 
 been guided by anything but a spiritual point of view, 
 he now looked upon his past as having been all that 
 it should have been, and believed himself called to 
 guide others. 
 
 "Since my very babyhood God has been my guide," 
 he said benignly to the boy seated in front of him, 
 "and this approaching age which you witness is my 
 'reward of virtue,' " touching his gray beard. 
 
 It was on the tip of Denneth's tongue to put forth 
 an evolution-argument which years before he and his 
 mother had often discussed. That is, that a long life 
 is given for discipline and the development of certain 
 powers and virtues, and not for reward. He believed 
 that souls were divine and immortal ; that though tem- 
 porarily tabernacled in man, the purpose of their 
 sojourn in human beings on this earth must be that 
 they may learn such lessons and gain such experience 
 as in some inscrutable way may fit them to attain a
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 115 
 
 higher existence. In the light of this belief, there- 
 fore, the spirit, which mankind everywhere feels in- 
 stinctively to be immortal, has but a very temporary 
 abiding place here, and is continually evoluting for- 
 ward in the everlasting quest of eventual perfection 
 and fitness to dwell with God. But the misery of the 
 past months had blunted the vitality and influence of 
 his faith; and so deliberately putting all this aside he 
 now held his peace and said : 
 
 "Yes, Deacon, you have been blessed with a long 
 life. But what can I do to be more like you. What 
 can I do to be saved?" 
 
 The deacon's thin lips smiled. If Denneth had been 
 an eye witness to recent scenes of the deacon's evange- 
 listic conversions if he had repeated verbatim the 
 supplicating penitents' every word, he could not have 
 acted more to the liking of the deacon than he did 
 now. 
 
 "You have the right spirit, my son," he commended 
 warmly; then rolling his eyes upward, he continued: 
 "My life, spent in prayer and fasting, spent in the 
 fear of a great and jealous God, has been a long and 
 happy one, save for one thing " He paused im- 
 pressively. With a mental sneer, Denneth knew ex- 
 actly what was coming, and was not disappointed 
 when his father went on, his voice breaking dramati- 
 cally. 
 
 "Apple of my eye, bone of my bone, flesh of my 
 flesh, the son of my bosom has heaped suffering and 
 anguish upon my gray hairs! Though I gave him 
 freely of my greater knowledge, though I wrestled 
 with his wayward soul, hoping to show him the Light 
 that has always been mine, he has bowed my head 
 in sorrow, disgraced me in the eyes of the world. 
 Born with me to guide him, fostered and fed upon 
 the Scriptures, he turned from the straight and nar-
 
 116 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 row path, turned from my love and the fear of God, 
 to deliberately walk in the paths of iniquity!" 
 
 Then in a voice full of well-modulated heart-breaks, 
 practised until, from an emotion-producing standpoint, 
 at least, they were perfect, Deacon Dennison told the 
 boy before him a melodramatic story of his own son's 
 waywardness which, he said, had eventually led to 
 crime, and thence to prison; in which place he was 
 even now suffering the righteous wrath that his Al- 
 mighty Father saw fit to visit upon such as he! 
 
 Throughout this recitation Denneth sat motionless, 
 his jaw squared, his fingers tensed. Before his im- 
 prisonment, when his mother's nature in him had held 
 sway, he could not have restrained himself thus hypo- 
 critically. During his solitary months spent in the 
 crime factory, the breeding spot for cunning with its 
 accompaniment of vindictiveness, he had learned the 
 policy of waiting in order to accomplish his revenge. 
 And so now he listened silently, giving no sign of 
 the battle that was raging within him, nor that his 
 keen ears were pricked for the signal of Sam Simmons, 
 who was noiselessly robbing the house. 
 
 Finally Deacon Dennison suggested, as was his usual 
 program, that they kneel in holy prayer. Denneth 
 grimly knelt down, and as he did so the hallucination 
 of his mother's actual presence in the room again pos- 
 sessed him, and a surge of memory came over him, 
 weakening his criminal resolve. Yet he put aside his 
 mother's pleading face and, bending his head in mock 
 humility, listened while the deacon prayed : 
 
 "Oh, Father of all, Jehovah," he supplicated in his 
 best stage voice, "we are unclean. We are full of 
 iniquity. There is no good in us. We are as the 
 dust beneath Thy feet, not fit for Thee to tread upon. 
 Oh, Heavenly Father, there has come unto me an iniq- 
 uitous stranger from out of the night, a man who
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 117 
 
 has walked with sin upon the highroad. Teach him 
 that there is a fire burning and crackling beneath his 
 very feet! Teach him that Hell's gate is wide open! 
 Let his heart be humbled before Thee. Chastise him 
 that he may fully see the error of his ways. Show 
 him Thy mighty wrath that he may fear to stand 
 against Thee Father of all. Jehovah " 
 
 But soft and low the hoot-owl whistle broke into 
 this prayer, the greater part of which Denneth had 
 heard daily during his life at home, and with a cat- 
 like spring the boy was upon the deacon and had 
 quickly pulled him from his knees. 
 
 Taken completely by surprise the deacon did not 
 so much as gasp as the boy stretched him out and, 
 stuffing his handkerchief into his mouth, sat on his 
 chest while he bound him hand and foot. Had Den- 
 neth allowed his better self to come uppermost even 
 for a moment, he would have felt alarmed at his own 
 gloating over the accomplishment of a physical feat 
 directed against a feebler fellow-creature, recogniz- 
 ing in it the prophecy of a blameful future. But 
 his prison-bred bitterness was too fully in possession 
 of him now to allow him to realize how far he had 
 dropped from his former freedom of right thought and 
 brave impulse. Nor did he know that he was acting 
 exactly as his father would have acted under like 
 provocation. So it is always with us. We seldom 
 see in ourselves those traits which we despise in others. 
 
 "Keep still!" his captor commanded, as the man 
 upon the floor vainly tried to move. "I'm not going 
 to hurt you," and going to the window he opened it 
 and said something in a low voice to Sam Simmons. 
 
 There was a whispered answer, and then Denneth 
 banged the window shut and went back to the pros- 
 trate deacon, whose eyes were rolling wildly from
 
 118 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 side to side, the weak tears splashing from them upon 
 the floor. 
 
 Drawing up a chair, his son seated himself non- 
 chalantly. Then he cleared his throat and spoke : 
 
 "John Dennison," he said, in a voice more like his 
 former voice than he had thus far been able to mus- 
 ter, "you don't recognize me since the transformation 
 in me made by you in the name of religion, law, and 
 justice; but I am that wayward son of yours that 
 you've been talking so much about lately!" And in 
 seeming carelessness he deliberately drew out the 
 locket that he always wore about his neck, fingering 
 it in perfect confidence of the assurance it would give 
 as to his identity. 
 
 The deacon started in spite of his bound state, 
 whimpering like a frightened animal in his half- 
 choked discomfort; but with a cruelty and coldness 
 that he would have hardly believed himself capable of, 
 Denneth continued: 
 
 "For almost twenty years you bullied me and made 
 my life and hers " swallowing hard at reference 
 to his mother, "unbearable! When my mother mar- 
 ried, she had a little money. She told me so, so none 
 of your denials!" as his father feebly shook his head. 
 "I know the exact amount, and that you would never 
 let her spend it. Well, I've come for that money. 
 In fact it is already well on the road to my pockets," 
 and he glanced toward the window, smiling bitterly. 
 Sam Simmons's footsteps could be heard softly re- 
 ceding. 
 
 The terrorized deacon tried to mumble something, 
 but the gag in his mouth prevented articulation, and 
 his son went on as the other lay trembling violently, 
 whining out handkerchief-choked but plainly suppli- 
 cating noises : 
 
 "Right now as I talk to you, my partner, another
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 119 
 
 'jail-bird,' is making away with your 'chink/ as he 
 calls it. He helped himself to the contents of your 
 safe. I told him the combination. That 'chink' 
 will probably just about cover the amount you owe me 
 that is, as to money. Perhaps a little more, per- 
 haps a little less." 
 
 Then more bitterly: "But as to what you owe me 
 for your bullying, your unfairness to me and her 
 since my babyhood; as to what price you should pay 
 for bringing me into the world through no desire for 
 a son, but in a moment of satisfying your own lower 
 nature then robbing me of every chance for devel- 
 opment of whatever good there may be in me well, 
 there can be no adequate price paid. When a par- 
 ent brings a child into the world under any but the most 
 sacred of impulses and paternal desire, and then, hav- 
 ing begotten the child in carnal wantonness and not 
 in the noble sacredness of God's true meaning of the 
 marriage relation, when he ruins that child's chances 
 for happiness, whether intentionally or unintentionally, 
 there can be no human punishment that is adequate 
 for either crime!" 
 
 Pausing a moment he looked scornfully at the 
 blanched-cheeked man, then resumed : "There is one 
 thing that I can do, however and will! You and 
 this state shall pay me, at least in part, for my suffer- 
 ing, so help me God!" 
 
 Then getting up he said: "And now I will go. 
 Think over what I have said it may help you," and 
 at this indulgence in his characteristic manner of 
 preaching, the boy's face took on the exact look of the 
 opinionated, domineering one before him. "If you 
 ever tell who it was that robbed you, or in any way 
 interfere with my life again, I shall kill you as cold- 
 bloodedly as as you have killed the good in me!"
 
 120 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 And striding from the room Denneth went out into 
 the night where the other robber awaited him. 
 
 Two years passed, and Denneth Richardson, in con- 
 nivance with Sam Simmons and his jimmy-crow-bar, 
 had made a marked success, first in the city of Green- 
 port and its environs, to which place they had gone 
 after the robbery of Deacon Dennison, and later in 
 Hampton. 
 
 Nobody had suspected that the well-groomed, 
 shrewd-eyed young stranger with his slightly bearded 
 face and prematurely silvered hair was other than the 
 successful capitalist he appeared to be; for good food 
 and freedom had quickly aided youth in restoring at 
 least a semblance of the boy's old-time vigor ; and now, 
 seated in the easy chair in his own comfortable rooms, 
 Denneth was going over with Sam Simmons a plot 
 for a burglary to take place that very night at 
 Thornley-by-the-Sea, a fashionable colony on the shore 
 a few miles out from the city. A big dance had been 
 planned by the summer contingent which, in the opin- 
 ion of these two expert men, would give them an 
 opportunity the like of which they had already several 
 times availed themselves of. Sam had come for his 
 final report before he and Denneth should go out by 
 different routes to join in their well-conceived venture. 
 
 New clothes and an office and pretense of honest 
 work, with his odd hours spent in the woods sur- 
 rounding his new home, had wrought even a greater 
 change in Denneth than improved health; and though 
 he was still far from the steel-muscled young woodgod 
 of former years, to those who had not known him 
 then he bore little, if any, outward sign of the prison's 
 degrading effect upon him. With his criminal suc- 
 cess had come a physical well being and a feeling of
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 121 
 
 security that gave him the aplomb of a man of the 
 world. Yet there was one little worry ever growing 
 in the back of his mind. Often he felt alarmed about 
 his eyes, one of them more especially. But fearing 
 the probing questions of an oculist, he said little and 
 did less about it. Nevertheless, as time went on, he 
 had more and more frequent pain, followed by days 
 of rather awkward dimness in that member. He dared 
 not dwell upon its possible meaning. Finally, how- 
 ever, he found himself obliged to relieve the strain 
 upon them, and entering a shop was soon fitted with 
 a pair of glasses that at least gave him temporary 
 relief. 
 
 From the robbing of the people of his state, to 
 which he had consecrated himself on the vengeful day 
 of his escape from the penitentiary, he had quickly 
 persuaded himself that all robberies everywhere were 
 in perfect keeping with his determination to get even 
 with the world ; and so very soon he had drifted from 
 Greenport to Hampton, setting up his Lares and 
 Penates in well-appointed rooms there and no longer 
 confining his robberies to the state which had injured 
 him. 
 
 The exhilaration and excitement of the burglar's 
 game now appealed to Denneth with irresistible fasci- 
 nation ; and though when in the woods among his be- 
 loved flowers and creatures of the wild he often felt 
 his mother's spirit struggling for rebirth in him, he 
 always put her image from his mind. He no longer 
 wanted to lead any life save that of lawless adventure. 
 The prison and what he had learned there had wrought 
 in him a spirit of getting something for nothing. 
 
 That spirit is the same spirit which makes one man 
 a frenzied financier, often gaining for him wealth and 
 position, and makes another man a thief, gaining for 
 him only poverty and the penitentiary ! And this was
 
 122 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 the spirit which now dominated Denneth entirely, hav- 
 ing conquered his youthful impulses for good and made 
 of him a defiant law-breaker who was determined to 
 wrest from the world all he could in the easiest way, 
 still blindly believing himself to be justified because of 
 the world's injustice to him. 
 
 To one who had known Richard in the freedom of 
 his boyhood, or who understood that quality which 
 had made him despise his father's cowardice and sanc- 
 timony, this development of lawlessness would not 
 have been altogether surprising. As the young judge 
 who had sentenced him at Dunham had once publicly 
 said, thereby incurring the animosity of certain polit- 
 ical powers : "There is no such thing as a criminal 
 class. All men are possible criminals, all criminals 
 possible men." It is often only a step from honesty 
 to dishonesty for an energetic and imaginative nature. 
 Some little something goes wrong with the balance 
 wheel of a healthy mind, and there springs up in it 
 a growth of criminality, criminality in the sense of 
 not recognizing one or more of man's laws. The vic- 
 tim of this evil growth then becomes an outcast. He 
 is locked in solitary and unlighted filth, there quickly 
 to become a menace to his country; and all because 
 "Society must be protected!" The poison of that 
 criminal growth is allowed to flourish and spread; is 
 fed, in fact, with physical and moral abuse. On the 
 other hand, if a physical growth like cancer, for in- 
 stance, appears in that man's body that is, if he hap- 
 pens not to be a prisoner he is immediately the sub- 
 ject of the greatest care. Sunshine and clean air is 
 given him. Hundreds of dollars are spent to make 
 his body well. Yet we say we believe that our minds 
 are the only divine part of us ! If we do believe this, 
 how can we treat them less well than our bodies? 
 Nevertheless this is constantly and almost universally
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 123 
 
 done. Surely our spiritual, as well as our political 
 and economic sight, must be blind! 
 
 "Is everything all ready?' 5 Denneth now asked of 
 Sam as the latter stood awaiting orders. "Have you 
 positive knowledge that they are all going to be out 
 at the Hawthornes' ?" 
 
 "Sure thing," Sam answered. "The Irish pippin 
 the peach, you know, that rules the roost from the 
 kitchen, told me so, believe me ; or I wouldn't be stick- 
 ing my horns through the fence gittin' my patty 
 cakes stuck on the tar baby going into the deserted 
 wigwam," he translated himself. "See?" 
 
 "But are you sure you can trust her?" Denneth 
 asked, smiling at the remembrance of the description 
 which Sam had given of his, Sam's, attentions to the 
 good-natured Irish maiden-lady of chef persuasions, 
 who had eagerly accepted him as a long-hoped-for 
 steady, and promptly divulged all the secrets of the 
 Hawthorne household. 
 
 "On me superior judgment of hopeful females," 
 Sam answered glibly. 
 
 His partner laughed at this. "You better look out 
 that your 'missus' doesn't find out about your flirta- 
 tions!" And then he was immediately sorry he had 
 spoken, for Sam's face took on a serious look. With 
 all his crookedness the rough fellow had never 
 wavered in his loyalty and devotion to his "old gal 
 and the kids" ; and in spite of his many years of crime, 
 his mutilated conscience would invariably show signs 
 of life at the mention of their names in connection 
 with his profession. His love for his family showed 
 that he had been made for better things. Noticing 
 this look on Sam's face, the other's sympathetic un- 
 derstanding promptly responded, and he said to Sam 
 as he would have said to any gentleman born in his 
 own social stratum :
 
 124 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "Pardon me, old fellow ; I didn't mean to hurt you." 
 
 Sam grinned good-naturedly. It was this handsome 
 quality always present in Denneth's treatment of him 
 that had made the other man such a devoted and 
 loyal partner. 
 
 "Gozzle your organ swaller your chew forgit it, 
 pal," Sam said. "There ain't no caterpillars on your 
 hickory bark. You're all right! And I don't keer 
 what you speels to me as long as we pipes it along 
 together. See? Come on," and he opened the outer 
 door leading from Richard's rooms to the hall of the 
 apartment house in which he lived. 
 
 "Well, Sammy," he said, "of course, if you are sure 
 that all of them are to be out, and that you can count 
 on your friend, Miss O'Flanerty " 
 
 "Sure I can count on her," Sam broke in. "What's 
 the matter with you to-night anyhow, pal?" he asked. 
 "You ain't after singing a hymn doing the deacon 
 stunt gittin' cold feet, are you?" 
 
 Denneth's eyes snapped. "No!" he exclaimed ve- 
 hemently. "The world owes me the debt it's paying!" 
 and he touched his white hair and the thick-lensed 
 glasses his weakened eyes must needs always wear 
 because of his dark months in the underground cell. 
 "I'm a criminal now all right, Sammy, and intend to 
 stay one. Don't worry!" 
 
 "Well, as I was a-saying," Sam went on, "we'll 
 have a clean scoop a cinch, I tell you. Not an apron 
 in that there pink-tea household is agoing to miss that 
 shindangling dope---ball yer know, at the hotel, believe 
 me! And the onliest pair of pants in the family is 
 away. But I'll jes skin down the fire-escape here whilst 
 you goes out like a gent. It ain't becoming for me 
 to be peeped vamoosing around in yer presence too 
 much even if I do be a sinner you'se trying to help 
 as I once explained to the bell boys here. So, so-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 125 
 
 long, pal. I'll peep you later," and he closed the door 
 as Denneth Richardson strode on through the halls 
 and down and out into Hampton's well-filled summer 
 streets. 
 
 Dressed as he was in a tuxedo suit, he went 
 jauntily to the curb, and there boarding a trolley car 
 that would take him to Thornley-by-the-Sea he glanced 
 back to see Sam Simmons scurry around the corner 
 into sight and start off by another route for the same 
 destination. 
 
 The night was a warm one in early July; and as 
 Denneth alighted from the car and walked through 
 the trees toward the twinkling shore settlement, he 
 breathed in deep draughts of the sweet summer air. 
 The moon rose above him and tipped the incoming 
 tide with silver. The outline of the rugged coast with 
 the trees in the foreground, though not nearly so beau- 
 tiful, reminded him of that other and beloved spot 
 in his native state. A pang went through him at 
 the memory. His mother seemed suddenly very near, 
 and, his conscience reawakening, a remorse for what 
 he now was filled him. Yet, throwing his head back 
 in his wonted manner, he frowned and strode forward 
 defiantly. He would see the thing through.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 DENNETH RICHARDSON and Sam Simmons noise- 
 lessly jumped apart as a shadow from a waving tree 
 branch was thrown across their path ; then seeing what 
 it was they drew together again, and Sam went on: 
 
 "It's all right, I tell you, pal. Miss O'Flanerty 
 has jes' answered my signal and told me that she was 
 the only tin can on the dump oyster in the stew 
 only chicken in the coop, a lone female squaw in the 
 wigwam, in plain American. See? And she assured 
 me in gintle birdlike notes of encouragement that she 
 was sound asleep at that!" And he winked while 
 Denneth smiled grimly. 
 
 "Very well, then. I'll go ahead to the front door, 
 while you keep watch. Never enter a 'wigwam' 
 through the window or by devious ways if you can 
 help it, Sammy," he said nonchalantly, in his superior 
 knowledge of burglary performed by shrewd wits as 
 well as thieving hands. "Tread boldly or soon you 
 won't tread at all," and he swung through the open- 
 ing in the hedge onto the winding driveway that led 
 to a charming little house nestled in among the trees. 
 
 Sam, whistling blithely, walked openly before the 
 house and, then skulking silently around behind it, the 
 next minute came out into view again, every little 
 while repeating this performance. To any possible 
 onlooker he would not have been taken for other than 
 a casual passer-by; nor if seen would Denneth Rich- 
 ardson's boldly striding figure have aroused suspicion. 
 They each knew their business thoroughly; and Sam's 
 eyes, in spite of his appearance as a careless moonlight 
 stroller, were keen in their practised searching for 
 any possible danger that might threaten his clever 
 partner. 
 
 126
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 127, 
 
 On up the driveway Denneth walked. On reaching 
 the steps he lightly mounted them and went to the 
 door, looking neither to right nor left, according to 
 his policy of bold assurance. Deliberately he fitted 
 his skeleton key to the lock as the owner of the 
 house might have done. Then he started. His muscles 
 tensed themselves like steel; for he heard a half- 
 suppressed feminine giggle come out from the moon- 
 dappled tree shadows near him on the broad piazza, 
 and a mischievous voice spoke: 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Stevens," it said gaily, and a 
 young girl stepped full into the moonlight before 
 him. 
 
 He could not answer in his surprise, and the girl 
 continued : "You are Mr. Stevens, aren't you?" Then 
 laughing, she said: "I would have known you any- 
 where from your football pictures. And, besides, of 
 course you are !" motioning toward his hand that held 
 the key. Then before Denneth could speak, had he 
 wished to do so, she said in a petulant voice: "Oh, 
 I know it's perfectly dreadful for me to be here like 
 this, and that you think so too! But I just hate 
 him," and she stamped her small foot. "Honestly I 
 do! He's a horrid old thing, and I don't care how 
 much money he's got, I hate him!" 
 
 Richard stared. To him the girl's words naturally 
 conveyed no meaning, and of course her presence on 
 the piazza meant great danger to him and his faith- 
 ful watcher. But somehow this latter thought did not 
 enter his head as, looking down upon her fluffy fair 
 hair, he saw also a pair of big, black-lashed blue eyes 
 gazing up at him, and noticed the appealing look about 
 her face. She looked as his mother must have looked 
 at her age in the pure whiteness of her diaphanous 
 dress. She was exquisite! The prettiest girl he had 
 ever seen!
 
 128 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "Well, why don't you introduce yourself?" she 
 pouted, her feyes laughing up into his. "Because you 
 think I'm a horrid thing to be here on your piazza 
 at this time of ni day?" and though blushing furi- 
 ously, she tossed her head in dainty defiance and went 
 on: 
 
 "Well, of course, you don't have to speak to me if 
 you don't want to, but your cousin, Dolly Little, is my 
 best friend, and I I " 
 
 With a feeling of manly protectiveness toward this 
 lovely creature, Denneth saw that the girl before him 
 was becoming terribly embarrassed. Gallantly he came 
 to her rescue. It would not do to tell her she was 
 mistaken. 
 
 "Of course I'm Mr. Stevens," he said, bowing and 
 forcing himself to smile. 
 
 "Well, I'm Marjory Matthews," she said with a 
 finality that told Denneth he must show her imme- 
 diately that he knew who that person was, or the sit- 
 uation would become more awkward than ever. 
 
 "Why, Miss Matthews," he said, "of course. How 
 nice to meet you. I've heard Dolly speak of you 
 often. It's jolly to see you here " 
 
 "It's not jolly!" she broke in, again stamping her 
 foot. "And I know it seems horrid to you that I am 
 here, and all that, but didn't Dolly write you ? And I 
 tell you, I hate him!" a sob rising in her throat. 
 
 Great heavens, what should he do? He felt more 
 and more at sea as her disjointed talk continued ; but, 
 fortunately before an answer from him was neces- 
 sary the girl went on : 
 
 "Of course, I know I should not say it to you 
 but I read all your letters to Dolly, and oh," shrug- 
 ging her white shoulders, "I know so much about you 
 I feel we we really know each other, don't you? 
 Mama just will have it that I'm going to marry that
 
 THE IMPRISOXED FREEMAN 129 
 
 scrubby old thing!" again her voice choked, "and I 
 won't, I tell you!" stamping vehemently. "That's 
 what I'm doing on your piazza. I didn't know you 
 
 were here " Then interrupting herself, she asked 
 
 indignantly : "If you are here, why didn't you answer 
 my note? I wrote you yesterday as I promised Dolly 
 I would, telling you that Mama and I had just ar- 
 rived at the hotel; and when you didn't answer, I gave 
 you credit for being away! But, of course, if you 
 don't want to know me, you don't have to!" and she 
 wheeled on her heel as if to walk away. 
 
 Denneth felt desperate. What an idiot he was! 
 Where was his tongue? 
 
 "Miss Matthews, I have been away. I just got back 
 this minute !" he explained in such a worried tone that 
 she felt he had been scared sufficiently ; and so turning, 
 she lifted her face and dimpled up at him, saying in 
 absolute irrelevance: 
 
 "Then you do know what a horrid old scrubby 
 thing he is, don't you ? Mama made me go to the ball 
 with him and I just wouldn't stay, so there! I don't 
 know another soul yet, and I just had to poke around 
 all evening with him ! So I sneaked out and ran away 
 over here. I didn't think anybody was at home. I I 
 wanted to think." 
 
 Then in sudden coquetry she exclaimed : "I've been 
 watching the moon all by myself," and she dropped 
 her lashes. "I'm so glad you came. I've been simply 
 dying for you to get home and ask me over to meet 
 your sister and aunt. This is the darlingest, cutest 
 house!" looking about her. "I adore it!" 
 
 Her presence on the piazza being thus explained, 
 Denneth felt he was beginning to get his head above 
 water. "Then let's watch the moon together," he 
 said foolishly, smiling down at her childishness, yet 
 wondering what in the world he should do. This frail
 
 130 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 little thing, this exquisite girl who looked like the pic- 
 ture his imagination painted of his mother's girlhood, 
 was frustrating his plans and endangering his liberty. 
 But as he looked down into her flower-like face he 
 could not for the life of him dwell on this fact, nor 
 care. "Come now, isn't it the nicest thing you know 
 to sit and watch the moonlight upon the water?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Through the perfume-laden summer air a familiar 
 screech-owl hoot sounded a sudden note of warning. 
 
 "No, I don't want to do that," the girl said in her 
 petulant way. Then clapping her hands together 
 gleefully, she exclaimed : "I tell you what ! You take 
 me back to the ball. Won't Dolly just love the funny 
 way we met !" 
 
 Denneth started at this suggestion, and then again 
 a hoot of warning reached his ears, and recognizing 
 its signal as meaning he must leave his present post 
 because of danger ahead, he answered: 
 
 "Good ! But I think some one may be coming " 
 
 "Oh," the girl gasped in conventional alarm. "Then 
 let's sneak out this side way. What would people 
 say if they saw us!" and she ran lightly on tiptoe 
 across the piazza., Denneth striding after her. Scam- 
 pering down the steps, they were soon out of the 
 grounds upon the village path. 
 
 Sam Simmons could be seen approaching; but as he 
 caught sight of the small white figure by Denneth' s 
 side, and realized that the latter carried no "swag," 
 he halted in amazement, while Denneth went strolling 
 with his new companion in seeming indifference toward 
 the beach and the hotel a-twinkle and a-tinkle with 
 lights and music. 
 
 "Won't the old scrubby thing be jealous though!" 
 Marjory Matthews dimpled up at the young man at 
 her side. "And Mama! Oh!" and she tossed her
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 131 
 
 head. "But he is horrid, and I'm just not going to 
 be worried to death !" Then after a pause : "But I 
 guess after I tell mother who you are, she won't be 
 so cross. She adores Dolly," and chattering on, the 
 pretty little thing told her friend's "cousin," whom 
 she thought she knew so well, all about the difficulties 
 she was trying to meet in the best way her fluffy 
 little mind knew how. She was a perfect slave to 
 the whims and fancies of a scheming mother, and 
 though she was worshipful and obedient, as she had 
 been taught, the whole of her nature revolted at the 
 idea of marrying the wealthy, but middle-aged bache- 
 lor, whom her luxury-loving and poverty-living parent 
 had openly chosen for her. 
 
 Denneth Richardson was apparently listening very 
 gravely, but all the time he was wondering desperately 
 how in the world he could escape the brilliant lights 
 of that fast-approaching ballroom ! He thought with 
 consternation of the situation in which he might find 
 himself if he were introduced by his companion as 
 Mr. Stevens. The Stevenses were among the most prom- 
 inent of the colony, he knew; and if even Marjorie's 
 mother should fail to recognize that he was not a mem- 
 ber of that family, others, to whom he might be intro- 
 duced, doubtless would. He thought, too, of poor 
 Sam, who was waiting for him loyally, trusting implic- 
 itly in his superior judgment and eventual return to 
 successfully accomplish their purpose. What should 
 he do? Yet in spite of the seriousness of that ques- 
 tion, he walked steadily on, smiling down at the girl 
 by his side. 
 
 "It's a darling night!" she said, her moon-bathed 
 face turned eagerly upward toward the sky. "Don't 
 you simply worship dancing? I adore it. And Dolly 
 says you can dance as wonderfully as you play foot- 
 ball. You look as though you could !"
 
 132 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 The boy flushed at her slightly veiled look of ad- 
 miration, and a grim defiance, unequaled by any pro- 
 duced in him even by the most dangerous of his pro- 
 fessional situations, entered his heart and made him 
 resolve to go with her that evening wherever fate 
 led, regardless of consequences. He could doubtless 
 take care of himself. At this conclusion and the vague 
 happiness it brought, he absent-mindedly slipped his 
 long fingers through the opening in his shirt, seeking 
 for his mother's locket. Then with a pang he re- 
 membered. For two years he had not worn it, not, 
 in fact, since the first burglary he had committed out- 
 side of the his state. The leaving off of this be- 
 loved talisman was the one and only admission he 
 had ever made to his own conscience that his life was 
 other than all it should be. But now he realized what 
 that very act had signified. He knew now that his 
 palliative excuses were mere sophistry; that he had 
 deliberately put his better nature aside. Then the 
 thought came that he was unfit to be walking with 
 this dainty girl so like his mother. She had taken' 
 him for another man, trusting him and believing him 
 to be wholly honorable. In fairness to her he must 
 leave her; and yet his heart rebelled he would wait 
 till they reached the hotel. 
 
 A robin, deceived by the brilliancy of the moonlight, 
 roused and trilled a song. The trees meeting above 
 their heads gently swayed, mottling the path with 
 shadows. The air was heavy with the subtle per- 
 fume of sleeping flowers as the dew stole up and 
 spangled them with moon-kissed jewels. The waves 
 dashed booming against the rocky shore. He was 
 free! Life had not been fair to him. He deserved 
 the possible happiness that a new future might bring; 
 and then and there, true to his impulsive nature, he 
 determined he would become worthy to walk by this
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 133 
 
 girl's side! A revulsion of feeling against the past 
 two years encompassed him and made him see them 
 in their true light. 
 
 The girl's upturned face had by now taken on a 
 dreamy look as whimsical as a small, imaginative 
 child's. "The night-fairies have spread their shadow 
 mantles clear across the sky," she said. "See, the 
 baby-stars are wide awake and are winking and blink- 
 ing at us." Then as a big green luna-moth flew past 
 them : ''And that's the Queen-of-Dreams, Free Fancy 
 by name, who takes starlight dreams to all little chil- 
 dren everywhere " Then abruptly changing to her 
 
 regular tone: 
 
 "Here we are at the hotel," as they reached the grove 
 in front of that hostelry. "Doesn't it look cute all lit 
 up?" and she tripped gaily in front of him through 
 the trees toward the light and music, eager in her 
 girlish gracefulness to join in the frolic from which 
 she had run away only a little while before. 
 
 "There he is, right there !'' she pointed excitedly, 
 pausing on the steps and pointing through the open 
 door. "That fat thing with the moustache, sitting like 
 a lummux in the corner." 
 
 As Denneth's gaze followed her pointing finger he 
 saw two men rise and cross the ballroom, pausing in 
 front of a tall dark girl, the acknowledged belle of the 
 place. "Well, I wish you'd look at that!" Marjory 
 exclaimed as the older man danced off with the girl. 
 "And he pretending he never wants to go anywhere 
 unless I'm along. Humph! Just like a man. Fickle 
 things!" 
 
 Then whirling on Denneth she continued im- 
 pulsively : 
 
 "Well, stupid, aren't you going to ask me to dance !" 
 and she dimpled up at him impishly, then exclaimed: 
 "Why, I didn't know you had white hair!"
 
 134 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "Wouldn't you rather stay out here and watch the 
 water?" he asked, ignoring her evident amazement 
 at her discovery. But he was so afraid of losing her 
 that his tone was that of a very meek suggestion. 
 
 "No, I wouldn't," she said. "I want to dance ! I'll 
 just show him." Then remembering herself, she 
 glanced up at Denneth coquettishly, murmuring 
 gently: "I would just adore dancing with you, I 
 know!" 
 
 Denneth again flushed with pleasure. Was he losing 
 his reason entirely? he asked himself, recalling why 
 he was in this seashore resort. In his mind's eye he 
 saw Sam's astounded face watching him from the 
 protection of the trees. Sam could be trusted, for- 
 tunately. He might think his partner's conduct was 
 "nutty," "bug-house," but it would never occur to him 
 to resent it or to doubt its ultimate good end for 
 them both. Sam did not have that kind of an intel- 
 lect. He had been made of clay that could so easily 
 be molded that, had he but received the right influ- 
 ence in his childhood, he would have been as law 
 abiding as he was now lawless. 
 
 Looking down at the lovely face upturned to his 
 Denneth no longer hesitated, but at once led his com- 
 panion into the dazzlingly brilliant, flower-bedecked 
 ballroom, with its myriad-colored lights that smote his 
 eyes cruelly. His daredeviltry and defiance flared. He 
 would humor her, whatever happened ! 
 
 "You know I want to dance with you!" he said in 
 so serious a tone that the coquette in her was satisfied. 
 
 She dimpled again; then looking up at him in a 
 puzzled way said : "It's funny, but I didn't know your 
 hair was gray. It looks white in your pictures, of 
 course, but I thought it was just blond." Then fear- 
 ing lest she had seemed uncomplimentary, she hastened 
 to say: "I think prematurely gray hair is darling!
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 135 
 
 It's particularly cute with a young face, I think. I 
 adore it, don't you?" 
 
 "But there's Mama beckoning to me as usual," she 
 broke off to say. "I'll have to introduce you and 
 there he is with her, jealous old silly! What will he 
 say! Come on!" and though Denneth's heart pounded 
 with alarm, he followed the girl. 
 
 Mumbled and unintelligible words of introduction 
 were soon over, and she had taken him away from the 
 other two, saying: "Well, are we going to dance or 
 do you still prefer to moon at the moon?" 
 
 Denneth was too overcome by happiness to even 
 try to answer her. In fact, he seemed not to hear 
 anything she had to say, but placing his arm about her 
 guided her around the ballroom with a feeling of 
 vague triumph. 
 
 She seemed as light as thistle-down in her rhyth- 
 mical swaying in time with the music. Each moved 
 in perfect accord with the other; but though Den- 
 neth's arm encircled her, guiding her skilfully through 
 the maze of other dancers, with a sinking of his heart 
 he realized that their lives were necessarily very far 
 apart. The blackness of his prison experience flashed 
 before him, seeming to drown her frivolous chatter. 
 It made a picture of such sharp contrast that Denneth 
 felt a glory now fill him. His mother's last words 
 returned in what he thought must be a prophecy: 
 "God is love, not vengeance. Life can be happy. Sun- 
 shine flowers love !" 
 
 On they danced. The past vanished. The present 
 was glorious must never end! He had never seen 
 any one like her before! His heart seemed about to 
 burst with its old-time hope and joy of living. 
 
 After several music-thrilled whirlings through a 
 seventh heaven filled for him with fluffy blonde hair 
 and uplifted blue eyes, Marjory stopped, and laugh-
 
 136 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 ing, stepped out of his arms. "I'm all out of breath! 
 Let's go to the grove," and she led the way from the 
 ballroom, keeping up a gay chatter until, finding a 
 seat beneath a wide-spreading oak, she imperiously 
 commanded him to sit beside her. 
 
 The sea rolled in in great undulating waves upon a 
 tiny strip of beach to be seen between the huge gray 
 rocks of the shore; and as each wave succeeded each 
 Denneth was taken back over the years to that night 
 of his mother's death, when he had sat on the shore 
 of his beloved bay and watched the tide come in. 
 Once again his imaginative eyes saw, as they had 
 then, the faces of sea-maidens who, lured by human 
 lovers upon the shore, came eagerly to them only 
 to die. 
 
 He told the girl by his side something of his 
 mother. Then he told her also of his own big bay 
 and how this scene recalled his old-time fancies. 
 
 In big-eyed, childish interest she entered into his 
 mood, first expressing a timid but real regret at his 
 sorrow, and then, much to Denneth's delight, talking 
 dreamily of her own imaginings as a child. There was 
 a wistful pathos in her tones which made him won- 
 der if she too had known unhappiness. Yet he could 
 not conceive of such a thing, and banishing the thought 
 he listened as she said: 
 
 "I've always believed in fairies I mean the really 
 truly fairies, not the Grimmy kind," and she continued 
 to smile dreamily up at him, intuitively knowing that 
 he would not laugh at her whims. "When I was a 
 teeny weeny little thing I used to hunt for fairies all the 
 time. One day I saw an old priest Bumble-bee marry 
 a Prince and Princess Lily by carrying her a golden 
 ball of pollen instead of a golden wedding ring! I saw 
 happy spray fairies dancing in brooks. A storm for 
 me meant that the sky fairies were having a battle, for
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 137 
 
 the thunder fairies' guns roared, and the lightning 
 fairies flashed their swords of fire! In Grandma's 
 garden way down in Virginia all sorts of flowers be- 
 sides the lilies grew. The rain was the cloud fairies' 
 tears, and after they had made the flowers grow the 
 flowers' souls, once earth-bound, were freed and re- 
 turned to the sky glorified to help make the rainbow." 
 
 Denneth sat erect and motionless, gazing at her. It 
 all seemed too wonderful, too beautiful, to be true. 
 The night, the nearness of her, her imaginings that 
 were echoed by his imaginings that he loved so well, 
 yet had not dwelt upon for years ! He did not know 
 there were such girls as she; and with this thought 
 the joy of beauty and youth with its aspirations was 
 reborn in him, killing the old age that crime had made. 
 Leaning over, he said softly, lest he break her dream- 
 spell : 
 
 "Yes? Tell me more." 
 
 His voice aroused her, however, and the whimsical 
 look left her face, to be as quickly replaced by one of 
 Eve-old coquetry. 
 
 "Oh, dear, I know you think I'm awfully silly!" 
 she said, looking at him from beneath her lashes. 
 "Mama says I am, and I reckon she's right." Then 
 a wistful expression succeeded the less attractive one 
 upon her fine-featured little face. "Mama says I've 
 grown up now and mustn't talk such foolishness; that 
 men don't like it. And, of course, I must make men 
 like me, to be popular. Mama says that's why South- 
 ern girls are so much more attractive than Northern 
 girls." And then remembering the nativity of her 
 companion, she said : "Oh, excuse me, I forgot. Some- 
 how Dolly always seemed " 
 
 But she got no further, for the unexpected change 
 in her had affected Denneth strangely. Her words 
 made him feel resentful, he knew not why. A feeling
 
 138 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 of restless impatience, like that which used to fill him 
 at his father's perverted outlook on life, filled him 
 now, and so he said : 
 
 "Your mother is wrong. You're not silly. Such 
 thoughts are beautiful, wonderful!" Then he flushed 
 at his own words. 
 
 But pluming herself, the young girl, made experience- 
 old by her mother's false ambition for her, coquetted 
 and exclaimed: "Oh, Mr. Stevens!" 
 
 At the name, and at her changed manner, he 
 frowned darkly. Then a gentleness toward her frailty 
 and beauty again possessed him, quickly followed by 
 his old defiance, ten-fold strengthened because of his 
 deep and growing admiration for her in spite of her 
 parent-imposed self-consciousness. She reminded him 
 of his mother. He must be to her and for her only 
 his very best self. He must not let even a thought of 
 his father intrude itself upon his present state of 
 mind. He must start right. Yet he reflected that 
 to do so he must needs start with a lie that, in fact, 
 he had started with a lie. He inwardly cursed him- 
 self for ever having lived so that this was necessary! 
 But ordinary self-preservation told him he must not 
 give his rightful name. The past was unretrievable. 
 There was no help for that now. Yet he would start 
 anew as cleanly as he could. If it was possible, this 
 girl by his side should make of him the man which 
 his mother would have wished him to become. 
 
 "Miss Matthews," he said, "I am not Mr. Stevens. 
 I'm sorry that you mistook me for him." 
 
 She gave a squeal of dismay, but unheeding he went 
 manfully on. "In fact, you were not on the Stevens' 
 piazza, you were on the one next door " 
 
 "Then then, who are you?" she broke in, breath- 
 ing hard and speaking in a small, frightened voice. 
 Her society manner and foolish little frivolities were
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 139 
 
 all gone now, and she looked, as Denneth thought, like 
 a frightened, tired little child. He must protect her. 
 
 "I'm Denneth Richardson," he said. "And please 
 don't feel embarrassed about this. It's all right." 
 Then more seriously, fighting for his future, he said 
 earnestly : 
 
 "Miss Matthews, I don't know Dolly Little. I never 
 heard of you and you never heard of me until to- 
 night. You know nothing about me except what I 
 told you about my mother and my former home. But 
 as God is my judge, I would rather know you, I would 
 rather be your friend, than anything else in the world ! 
 I I haven't had a very successful business that is, 
 I haven't liked the business I was in. But I'm going 
 to find something else to do soon now, and and 
 Won't you let me be your friend? I shall try to 
 make myself worthy." 
 
 He was- in deadly earnest, and Marjory Matthews, 
 whose depth of nature was entirely unsuspected by 
 either her pretty incompetent mother or her pretty 
 incompetent self, felt strangely touched by the young 
 man's earnest manliness. The very best in her re- 
 sponded instantly to the best in him; but true to her 
 lifelong custom, she could not speak out honestly as 
 he had spoken, but let the coquetry fostered and fed 
 by her mother arise in her, causing a blushing silence 
 which smote Denneth like a whip lash. 
 
 He rose. "I'm sorry if I have intruded," he said. 
 
 Then the true Marjory, the Marjory that the girl 
 herself was destined not to know until suffering had 
 taught her much, arose in her and she exclaimed : "No, 
 no, don't go! I like you!" And then at this frank 
 speech a feeling of timidity came over her, even before 
 Denneth had seized her hand, which he impulsively did 
 at that confession. 
 
 "Do you mean it?" he said, and she was surprised
 
 140 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 at the intensity of his look, though she nodded and 
 dimpled. 
 
 He dropped her hand. "Then excuse me a minute. 
 I'll come right back," and he was off before she could 
 stop him. 
 
 Giving the usual signal, he hurried past the lights 
 of the hotel, and on to the rocks upon the ocean edge, 
 while Sam Simmons, understanding the signal, fol- 
 lowed eagerly. 
 
 "Whose cradle did you rob? Whose petticoat was 
 it? Where'd you git the baby doll, in plain Amer- 
 ican?" he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoul- 
 der in the direction of the girl. 
 
 "That will do for you," Denneth said in a tone that 
 Sam had never heard him use before. 
 
 "But, Sonny " 
 
 Denneth's hand was laid heavily on the other's 
 shoulder. "Just wait until I explain matters a bit," 
 and he went on talking earnestly; for as they walked 
 further and further away from Marjory, Denneth 
 found this sudden determination to desert his faithful 
 partner would be no easy accomplishment, in view of 
 their previous successful business relations together. 
 He felt, nevertheless, that he must break away from 
 such a partnership forever. He must make a future 
 for himself and, he hoped, perhaps for her. 
 
 Marjory sat waiting, dangling her small aristo- 
 cratic feet and looking down at the rhinestone buckles 
 as they flashed in the moonlight. A renewed loathing 
 for the middle-aged suitor that her mother was try- 
 ing to thrust upon her swept over her. She flushed. 
 After all, he (looking toward Denneth's retreating 
 figure) really was the most interesting man she had 
 ever met. He had told her he lived in Hampton. Well, 
 Hampton wasn't far away, and she and her mother 
 were settled there by the sea for the summer
 
 "Marjie, my little love," a drawling voice broke in 
 upon her thoughts, "what in the world are you doing 
 here, child? Don't you know we have been looking 
 everywhere for you?" and the speaker glanced toward 
 the man by her side. "And what would people say if 
 they saw you alone this way?" 
 
 "I'm not alone!" Marjory answered petulantly, jerk- 
 ing impatiently away from her mother's hand and 
 looking off after Denneth's figure, now to be seen very 
 faintly silhouetted against the moonlit water. Her 
 every gesture plainly told the older man that for 
 her he did not exist; and at the irritable indifference 
 of her manner toward him a quick flush passed over 
 his face, leaving it drawn and white. 
 
 "Not alone?" her mother repeated tartly, with diffi- 
 culty controlling the sharp note that would come upper- 
 most in her voice, while her stylish bosom heaved with 
 the ladylike effort. "Well, who is the invisible Prince 
 kneeling at your feet, I would just like to know, my 
 love?" and she forced a laugh, though every line of 
 her pretty young-old face showed her concealed rancor 
 and irritation with the girl. 
 
 "Mr. Denneth Richardson has been with me, and 
 will be with me again shortly," Marjory answered, 
 continuing to gaze straight in front of her, while the 
 toes of her slippers tapped the ground as she held 
 her small head very erect. 
 
 "Denneth Richardson? Who in the world " 
 
 "He's Dolly Little's friend, whom I introduced to 
 you just now. Didn't you catch the name?" Mar- 
 jory lied defiantly. Then for once in her life, losing 
 all sense of dignity and respect for her mother in 
 the real distress the forcing of Mr. Asquith's atten- 
 tion bred in her, she said in an impudent mimicry : 
 
 ' 'He's handsome, his family is good, he has mon 
 I mean he is very eligible, my love, and altogether de-
 
 142 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 sirable.' ' Then she remembered and checked her- 
 self. Not, however, before the man at her mother's 
 side had given Mrs. Matthews a sharp look, while 
 that lady, too astonished and angered at her daugh- 
 ter's evident rebellion to reply, stood stock still, glar- 
 ing at her daughter. Then Marjory continued in a 
 more submissive tone : "Yes, Mama, I know I'm hor- 
 rid I've shocked you both, but," more desperately, "I 
 can't help it!" And choking back a sob she got up 
 and walked away, leaving the couple standing beside 
 the bench. 
 
 "Mr. Asquith," Mrs. Matthews almost wept in her 
 angry distress, "I don't know what Marjie means by 
 such conduct, I really don't. She must be ill out of 
 her head. I must take her to her room, the poor dear 
 love! I don't know what people would say if they 
 knew of her conduct " 
 
 But Mr. Asquith, although pale, was very calm and 
 said quietly : "I think I understand the situation bet- 
 ter than you do, Mrs. Matthews. Pardon me, but if 
 you leave us now I think I can make things all 
 right 
 
 "But, Mr. Asquith," the mother said as she nerv- 
 ously fingered the ultra-fashionable gown designed to 
 recreate in her a girlish effect incommensurate with 
 her years, "I hope you aren't hurt. Marjie doesn't 
 mean anything. I'm perfectly sure ! She really is in 
 love with you why, she couldn't help being! She 
 says so a dozen times a day." 
 
 "Mrs. Matthews, I think you had better leave us. 
 I must speak alone to Marjory." 
 
 "But, Mr. Asquith," Mrs. Matthews again broke 
 in, sensing his fateful attitude and fighting desperately 
 lest the anticipated comforts he, as her son-in-law, could 
 give her would now be made impossible, "I know she 
 is in love with you! Girls are such sensitive plants,
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 143 
 
 you know. The very delicacy and exquisiteness of 
 their affection makes them shrink from any display 
 of emotion. I beg that you do not speak harshly to 
 my little flower. She she The poor little love 
 is " 
 
 "Madam, I again ask your pardon, but I must say 
 good-night," and turning on his heel he followed after 
 Marjory, who had fled down the winding path through 
 the grove toward the water. 
 
 "You little vixen!'' Mrs. Matthews exclaimed an- 
 grily, her nostrils dilating as she looked after her 
 daughter's fleeing figure. "I'll cure your airs. Just 
 you see! The very idea! And when I'm moving 
 heaven and earth to make you happy, too! Why the 
 man can afford to buy us almost anything!" and she 
 indignantly marched off toward the hotel, there to 
 talk with other mothers about "her dear little love" 
 and their entire devotion and congeniality. 
 
 Stanley Asquith's legs carried him rapidly forward; 
 but in his heart such a heaviness and hopelessness 
 weighed that he was hardly conscious of any physical 
 motion, and scarcely knew what he did or that he 
 moved at all. With a bravery typical of his nature, 
 one thought and one thought alone possessed him now. 
 He must relieve the distress he had caused this girl 
 to suffer, it mattered not at what cost to himself. He 
 had been a blind fool and cruel. He must make rec- 
 ompense. Catching up to her, he said in a quiet voice 
 of command: 
 
 "Marjory, come back, dear. I must talk to you," 
 and he took her by the hand. 
 
 She fretfully pulled away and was about to speak 
 when, putting one hand beneath her chin, he raised 
 her head and forced her eyes to look up into his. The 
 expression she saw there held her dumb. 
 
 "Do not say anything you will regret afterward,"
 
 144 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 he cautioned her gently. "Come," and he took her 
 hand. 
 
 So used was she to allowing his firm gentleness to 
 control her that now she let him lead her back to 
 the bench upon which she and Denneth had been 
 sitting. 
 
 "Sit down," Mr. Asquith said, and she dropped 
 limply to the seat, her eyes still fastened in a half- 
 frightened stare upon his. 
 
 A spasm of pain crossed his face, but he quickly 
 controlled it, and a look which lifted him above his 
 middle-aged mediocrity illumined his eyes. "Mar- 
 jory," he said, "give me your left hand." 
 
 The girl dazedly obeyed, and he quickly slipped the 
 ring from the third finger and dropped it in his pocket. 
 Then in a low voice he spoke, "It is all over, little 
 girl. I've been mad. I've always known you didn't 
 care; but I hoped I should make you care. To-night 
 I saw you dancing with that handsome boy; I saw 
 But, no matter. You must be happy! If my love 
 which makes me want to make you my wife distresses 
 you, then in its place accept a love as big and less 
 selfish, perhaps. Real love must not give distress. 
 My love is real, and I want to see you happy. For- 
 give me for ever being a blind fool. I realize every- 
 thing now, and you're free. I shall always want to 
 help make you happy in any way I can. Good night," 
 and bending he touched his lips to her hair. "Little 
 girl, little girl," he said brokenly; and then straight- 
 ening up he strode briskly away. 
 
 For a moment Marjory sat looking stupidly at her 
 vacant finger, and then with an unwonted depth of 
 feeling jumped up and ran after the retreating figure. 
 
 "Stanley!" she called brokenly. 
 
 The man whirled about and stepped toward her, 
 then stopped. 
 
 Marjory rushed straight on and flung her arms about
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 145 
 
 his neck, burying her head on his breast. For a mo- 
 ment a great hope filled him. His arms came eagerly 
 forward and he started to draw her to him, and then 
 instead gently pushed her away and looked down into 
 her convulsed face. 
 
 "What is it, dear?" he asked gently. "Don't cry," 
 as the tears overflowed her eyes. "What is it?" The 
 hope in him would not be quelled, and yet he knew 
 deep in his heart that things could never be any dif- 
 ferent from what they were. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so sorry!" Marjory said, with little tear- 
 ful gasps between each word. "I didn't know you were 
 so good. I do love you " 
 
 His arms shot convulsively about her. She put her 
 hands against his coat and burying her face in them 
 sobbed: "But not that way, Stanley; not the way you 
 love me. I'm awfully sorry ! You're so good! For- 
 give me !" 
 
 His arms dropped ; then raising one of his hands he 
 lovingly stroked the hair back from her forehead, 
 soothing her as gently as though she had been a child. 
 She should not suffer. 
 
 A shadow fell across their path, and looking around 
 Marjory saw Denneth's tall figure coming toward 
 them. She stepped away from the other man, but not 
 before Denneth's eyes had taken in and misunderstood 
 the scene. 
 
 Without a word he turned away and disappeared 
 among the trees, while Marjory, sobbing, ran toward 
 the hotel. She was dreadfully sorry for Stanley, of 
 course dreadfully! But, oh, my goodness, what in 
 the world would people say if any one besides Den- 
 neth had witnessed this scene! And Denneth Oh, 
 my goodness, what should she do! He was so hand- 
 some and fascinating the most interesting man she 
 had ever met ! What in the world should she do !
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 STANLEY ASQUITH, his face half buried in his hands, 
 sat upon the shore trying to forget ; but instead he saw 
 Marjory's dimpling, piquant face ever before him, her 
 lithe, swaying body dancing among the shadows cast 
 by overhanging trees on the inrolling water. With 
 her image there always came, too, the handsome face 
 of the young man as Stanley had seen him guiding 
 her about the ballroom. Together they swayed and 
 turned in perfect rapturous unison. Again he recalled 
 the look in the eyes of both; a look he had never 
 seen in Marjory's. There came to him also, as if from 
 a mirror, his own image, stout, middle-aged, old 
 enough for the girl's father. He held the two pic- 
 tures before his mind's eye himself and Marjory, 
 and the young man and Marjory. Youth and middle- 
 age seldom belonged together. He had undoubtedly 
 done right in releasing her. It was the only honor- 
 able way, and yet 
 
 Denneth's introduction to him again recurred to 
 him. Denneth's face had fascinated him. There was 
 an expression about it that had drawn him irresistibly, 
 a something so vague he could not describe it, yet he 
 felt it as a drawing of his nature toward that of the 
 boy's. Not being a man to notice such things as a 
 rule, or to be influenced by them, he marveled at this. 
 He had been too busy all his life to make friends; 
 but this young man's face haunted him. Where had 
 he seen him before ? As he gazed at the waves he re- 
 called his own youth and its desperate struggle. He 
 suspected that his present unhappiness might well have 
 been avoided had he had an older man to help him 
 to success while he was yet young. Was this young 
 
 146
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 147 
 
 man with his strangely pathetic, yet strong face hav- 
 ing a like struggle? Had he fallen in love with little 
 Marjory on sight, too? And what had the expression 
 in her eyes meant ? Restlessly he put these sentimental 
 thoughts from him. He was a regular old woman 
 matchmaker in his morbidness! 
 
 There reached him the harsh voices and loud guf- 
 faws of the hotel waiters at their early morning tasks. 
 Impatient of their inopportune mirth, he got up and 
 began pacing the shore, his mind still going back over 
 the months he had known and loved Marjory 
 Matthews. 
 
 Had she ever loved him or was their engagement 
 solely a scheme on her mother's part to gain the 
 worldly comforts he could give her? He squared his 
 chin at this thought, suspected several times before, 
 and now knew it to be true. All his life he had put 
 ambition before all else in the world. From a poor, 
 unknown boy he had become a financial power in the 
 state of his adoption; but in so doing youth and love 
 had passed him by unnoticed until a few months be- 
 fore, when he had met this little Southern girl. Fool 
 that he was, he had not realized then that it was too 
 late! He deliberately recalled their companionship, 
 letting every scene of the past happy months pass be- 
 fore him, reveling in the memory of that first evening 
 when he had seen her, an exquisite will-o'-the-wisp, a 
 wood nymph dancing and singing among the flowers 
 of her grandmother's Southern garden. Yes, what he 
 had done the evening before must surely be right; 
 but it was hard! Yet the young man was of the 
 right age for her. But what had become of him, he 
 wondered for the first time. Where was he and who 
 was he? He had not returned to Marjory as she 
 had expected he would. He himself had led her back 
 to her mother, excited and sobbing at the conclusion
 
 148 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 of their fateful interview. Had the younger man re- 
 turned, watched, and misunderstood the scene between 
 himself and Marjory? If so, of course it was nec- 
 essary that he should be disabused of his error. Mar- 
 jory must have a fair chance of happiness that is, if 
 happiness lay in that boy's direction, as he, Stanley 
 Asquith, thought likely. He walked on down the 
 shore. 
 
 In the meantime Denneth Richardson had been 
 tramping the woods, righting as he had only fought 
 during the night following his mothers death. It was 
 true, he recalled, that Marjory Matthews during the 
 first moments of their meeting had told him about 
 this other man, but somehow he had not taken in the 
 full import of that information, nor that she was ac- 
 tually engaged to him, until he experienced the shock 
 of the scene he had intruded upon when he had sought 
 to return to her. Long before that, however, in his 
 characteristic impulsive way, he had planted her image 
 in his heart in equal place with that of his mother. 
 At bottom he was an idealist, not having lost that 
 quality even during his worst moments when his father 
 in him held sway ; and now he knew that, having once 
 met this beautiful girl, so suggestive to him of his 
 mother, he could not go back to the life he had led 
 the past two years without deliberately choosing to 
 follow his evil nature, which he hated, yet which had 
 grown to be as strong in him as his good. An old- 
 time bitterness, prison nurtured, came to make the 
 battle between the two even more hard. Life, he 
 thought, while seeming to hold the cup of happiness 
 to his lips, had in reality made him drink of a new 
 disappointment. Should he go back to his life of 
 crime ? It was doubtless easier. 
 
 A squirrel ran out to the tip of the boughs beneath 
 which he stood and, stopping there, scolded him ve-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 149 
 
 hemently. The sun arose in a blush-hued sky as ex- 
 quisite as the cheek of an awakening child, admonish- 
 ing the birds to cease their morning song and take up 
 the serious business of life. The dew fell away from 
 the flowers, and they lifted their sleep-freshened faces 
 to smile up at him. Everything was free. Should 
 he, as free by birth as they, deliberately bind himself 
 once more to crime and its ever-present consciousness 
 of the danger of detection? His whole better nature 
 revolted at the idea. His mother's face seemed to be 
 before him. For the first time since his escape from 
 the prison the full appreciation of the joy of the 
 woods entered his heart. He was nature's freeman. 
 Again he said to himself, as he had on that first day 
 in the penitentiary, "The State may and did im- 
 prison my body, but my spirit it can never imprison!" 
 He could live as he once before had planned; but this 
 time no thought of his father should enter in to spoil 
 his freedom. Surely there must be some place in the 
 world for him other than that w r hich he had been fill- 
 ing, did he but live as his best self dictated. He 
 would secure an honest job somewhere. He would 
 succeed! There came to him the memory of Judge 
 Sawyer's face as it had looked on that day in Dun- 
 ham, three years before. Though the judge had failed 
 to keep his promise, nevertheless Denneth had often 
 thought of him, and he felt in his present repentant 
 mood that he would give much to have a man like the 
 judge for his friend. If he cleaned his slate of crime 
 and began life over again, this might be possible! At 
 this thought his heart beat faster. He would try and, 
 no matter what happened, he would go straight, too! 
 Reaching a slight moss-grown elevation beneath a 
 low-boughed hemlock, he threw himself down upon 
 it and lay looking up into the thick green of the forest 
 world above him. The shade was ever grateful to his
 
 150 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 eyes, for almost constantly the left one hurt and 
 troubled him. He watched a flicker move round and 
 round the limbs of a tree, his soft brown, black-dotted 
 breast mingling with the shadows. All troubled 
 thoughts fell away from him. A keen pleasure in the 
 wild life he shared carried him back to the careless 
 innocence of his early boyhood. It almost startled him 
 when the flicker, deciding on flight, brought into relief 
 its brilliant red nape, the yellow shafts of its wings, 
 and the flashing white of tail patches, contrasting so 
 conspicuously with its shadowy tones while at work. 
 Very faintly, illusively, the smell of belated azaleas 
 was borne on the breeze, to remind him poignantly of 
 his mother. Absent-mindedly he reached for his 
 locket. 
 
 With a flash of determination he jumped to his 
 feet, scaring a robin that was hopping about. A man 
 stepped out in front of him. 
 
 "Good morning," he said cordially. "You seem to 
 be an early riser also." 
 
 Startled, Denneth did not answer, but stared at the 
 man dumbly as he continued : "It's beautiful this time 
 of the year in these woods. I am often reminded here 
 of those of my boyhood." 
 
 Denneth caught himself just in time to keep from 
 showing his agitation, and the other went on pleas- 
 antly: "I was born and brought up in the village of 
 Barrington, next to the great seaport town of a couple 
 of hundred or so inhabitants," and he smiled, "of 
 Dunham-on-the-Coast. It seems we have a mutual 
 friend in little Miss Matthews, who introduced us last 
 night." 
 
 Yes, the boy was all he had been picturing him. 
 Honest eyes, though rather disconcerting in their 
 dauntless gaze, square chin, with proudly held head; 
 lips slightly too thin and compressed perhaps, but
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 151 
 
 well, he was worth the thing that he, Stanley Asquith, 
 had decided to do. "And where are you from, if I 
 may ask, Mr. Stevens?" 
 
 "Hampton," Denneth answered. And then went on : 
 "But my name is Richardson, Mr. Asquith; Denneth 
 Richardson, and not Stevens. Miss Matthews seemed 
 to er get me slightly mixed with er another last 
 evening on introducing us." 
 
 "Oh, I see," Mr. Asquith answered. "You and Miss 
 Matthews have been friends some time, I presume?" 
 
 "No," Denneth said. "I had the pleasure of meet- 
 ing her only last night." 
 
 The other man looked a little surprised at this, but 
 continued: "I see. I suppose the fact that she said 
 you were a friend of Dolly Little's gave me that 
 impression." 
 
 Denneth darted a quick glance toward the man. 
 What did it all mean? Why was he disposed to be 
 so friendly. A pang of fear shot through him as it 
 had never failed to do on the slightest provocation 
 since his escape from prison. In fact it had often 
 seemed to Denneth that that constant wearing appre- 
 hension, that never-ending watchfulness, tainted every 
 breath of freedom he had drawn since. Was the 
 man spying upon him, sounding him? Yet he, too, 
 felt a strange, strong feeling of attraction to him, 
 in spite of the fact that he stood in the way of his 
 loving Marjory; and as he walked along listening to 
 his talk, there arose in him a sense of confidence and 
 perfect trust which no manner of arguing or jealousy 
 could dispel. He was vaguely conscious of having 
 seen him somewhere long before, but try as he would 
 he could not recall when or where. He wondered if 
 by chance he knew Judge Sawyer. He wondered 
 
 "Yes, I came away from home when I was just a 
 little older than you are. I knew Miss Matthews's
 
 152 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 father there. She seems almost like my daughter," 
 he said, watching Denneth's start of relief at this ex- 
 planation of the scene he had witnessed the night be- 
 fore. "I had a hard struggle getting work I wanted 
 when I first went to Hampton. Plenty of work lying 
 around for young fellows, but no future in it. I 
 finally got located in a bank and well, now I'm presi- 
 dent of several. I have worked hard," and at the 
 words the memory of his lost youth and love clouded 
 his brow, but he continued: "I was very ambitious. 
 Certain situations in my youth made me determined 
 to succeed in a worldly sense. I was half inclined to 
 go into the ministry after I heard some of the schol- 
 arly men in the Hampton pulpits. I was brought up 
 in the hell and damnation doctrine of a village, where, 
 however, all sorts, of unacknowledged and untalked-of 
 depths of sin prevailed, uncombatted by the clergy 
 because not recognized as within their province, and 
 in Hampton I awoke for the first time to realize what 
 God's ministers, in the broad sense of the word, could 
 mean to the world. Love and not vengeance is their doc- 
 trine, and with sympathetic understanding and breadth 
 of view they accomplish immeasurable good. But 
 during that time I had not lost my dream of financial 
 power. Somehow the desirability of that loomed very 
 large, perhaps because of my past experience, and so 
 I let the opportunity slip by. Then I felt that had I 
 the talent I should like to go upon the stage ; for after 
 all the stage is our greatest vehicle for good if used 
 in the proper way. I did not have the histrionic abil- 
 ity, however, and so I have just stuck to my job in 
 the bank. For awhile I lost my ideals, more or less. 
 But I have gotten them entirely back, thank God! 
 Banking may not be so interesting, and sometimes it 
 has seemed to me that I could not be of so much use in 
 the world from such a post. But, after all, Mr. Rich-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 153 
 
 ardson, I have now come to realize that there isn't a 
 single place, it matters not how small or low, from 
 which we cannot hold out a helping hand if we want 
 to. People don't have to wait to be rich to be philan- 
 thropic. There is often more real philanthropy among 
 those actually in need than there is from those who, 
 in the world's estimation, can afford to give. In fact, 
 I do not believe that giving is a matter of poverty or 
 riches, but is a matter of the spirit. 
 
 "But I am preaching you a regular sermon, I fear," 
 he broke off to say. "Do forgive me!" and Mr. As- 
 quith smiled up at the tall young man at his side. 
 
 "The truth is young men and their futures interest 
 me prodigiously. I didn't have much chance as a kid. 
 Middle-age doesn't count for much, according to my 
 way of thinking, except to help youth along. Clean, 
 virile youth is every country's true strength, whether 
 it recognizes that fact or not. Great and revolutionary 
 thoughts have always been evolved from young minds 
 but here I am preaching again !" he said, once more 
 interrupting himself. "You'll think me a terribly long- 
 winded bore !" and he laughed. 
 
 Richard was held spellbound. What manner of man 
 was this, he asked himself. In the old free days of 
 his boyhood he and his mother had often discussed 
 some such half-formed thoughts and ideals; but oh, 
 how far away he had drifted since the agony of his 
 prison hours! A few days ago he would not have 
 believed there existed such a man as that with whom 
 he now walked. Then like an unexpected peal of 
 thunder the man's name, together with the whispers 
 against his father's past which had sometimes reached 
 him, crashed through his consciousness. Could such 
 a thing be possible, he wondered? But instead of the 
 loathing he would have expected himself to entertain 
 toward the unacknowledged child of his father's sin,
 
 154 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 he felt only redoubled admiration of the man. A feel- 
 ing of loyalty and joy flooded through him. If what 
 he suspected were true, and the same blood ran in 
 their veins, was it not a wonderful thing that had 
 come to him this meeting with a splendid man, and 
 discovering his relationship to him, unsuspected by the 
 other! He was proud of this man who had worked 
 himself up from obscurity to an enviable position in 
 the world. He would have been glad to call him 
 brother if circumstances had not been what they were. 
 The whole situation seemed unreal. The man had 
 continued talking, but for some minutes Denneth had 
 heard nothing he said. 
 
 "What business are you in, Mr. Richardson?" Then 
 with a whimsical smile, "And what business would you 
 like to be in, for it seems the human lot, generally, 
 for us not to be filling our own particular niches. Do 
 you agree with me?" he asked, his words sounding 
 to Denneth as though they were lines rehearsed from 
 a play. 
 
 It was a queer feeling that possessed him, a crazy 
 thought that perhaps the other part of his life had 
 never happened after all. Also a vivid sense that 
 he had indulged in this conversation a dozen times 
 before with honest gentlemen who, had they even so 
 much as suspected his past, would have turned him 
 over to the police at once. But in spite of this he 
 heard himself answering the man in a perfectly normal 
 voice, while an intensely earnest desire to lead a good 
 life possessed him. 
 
 "I would like to 'make good' just as you have, Mr. 
 Asquith," he answered, looking him squarely in the 
 eyes. "It doesn't matter how, just so it is honest." 
 
 "Banking ever appeal to you ?" his companion asked, 
 watching the play of expression across Denneth's sen- 
 sitive face.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 155 
 
 Denneth flushed. Again he had the feeling that it 
 had all happened before; yet for the life of him he 
 could not understand Mr. Asquith's interest in him. 
 He knew no thought of their real relationship could 
 have entered his mind with Denneth' s changed looks 
 and name. Besides, it was doubtful whether the man 
 had ever seen him when as youth and small boy they 
 had lived in adjoining villages. What was his real 
 purpose in this conversation ? Could it possibly be, as 
 it seemed, solely to help him, a mere stranger? It 
 really was entirely too extraordinary and preposterous ! 
 Yet their relationship undoubtedly had unconsciously 
 drawn them to each other. At least, he felt absolutely 
 sure now that the man was not trying to track him 
 to earth! 
 
 He was reminded of impossible stories he had read, 
 where a lone boy, for instance, cast adrift in a great 
 city, all at once found he had a wealthy benefactor 
 standing at his elbow a benefactor who apparently 
 had been doing nothing all his life but pine for the 
 moment to come when he could step forward just in 
 the nick of time, and save the poor but honest hero 
 from a murderer's grave. 
 
 It was plain to him that the man by his side was, 
 in the vernacular of Sam Simmons, no "sentimental 
 highbrow," no social worker who did not understand 
 what he was doing. Any one could see by his clean- 
 cut look that he was a business man of the world who 
 knew exactly what he was doing. Hateful as the 
 memory of his father was to him, Denneth could 
 imagine that he saw about him a certain look of aris- 
 tocracy like his father's. 
 
 "Being mutual friends of Miss Matthews's friend, 
 Miss Little whom I know very slightly, by the way 
 I do not hesitate to say to you, Mr. Richardson, that 
 I have a place in one of the banks I am connected
 
 156 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 with which might suit you," Mr. Asquith was saying, 
 "and I " 
 
 Denneth was so overcome with surprise and grati- 
 tude that he did not even hear the rest of the sen- 
 tence. His heart pounded and his old-time spirit of 
 irresponsible joy so surged over him that every other 
 emotion was swept from his consciousness. Could it 
 be possible that luck had turned his way ? It was hard 
 to believe, and yet the courage and optimism which had 
 kept him alive through all his prison punishment would 
 not let him disbelieve it! He grasped at it as does 
 a drowning man at a straw. No feeling of his dis- 
 honesty in passing for a friend of a girl he had never 
 heard of until the evening before entered his head. He 
 would have a place in the world ! He would win Mar- 
 jory and be a credit to her and to his little mother! 
 Then after success had come and he had proved his 
 worth he would tell his benefactor who he really was. 
 The pupils of his eyes dilated until they almost cov- 
 ered the iris, and wheeling he grasped his companion 
 by the hand. 
 
 "Do you mean it?" he said huskily, his face flushing 
 and paling as he looked at the man keenly. "But 
 you don't know anything about me. I might be I 
 might be " 
 
 "I believe in trusting young men," and seeing 
 Denneth' s gratitude Stanley Asquith smiled and said 
 nothing more, but walked on with him, letting the 
 young man think the thing out in silence. 
 
 A chance for him, Denneth's thoughts ran. A crim- 
 inal, a fugitive from State's Prison! A lump rose 
 in his throat. Never once did it occur to him that 
 his was a coward's part unless he told his whole story 
 and let this man, after hearing it, judge as to whether 
 he then wanted to help him or not. He knew that 
 when he had entered the prison he was honest. He
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 157 
 
 felt his dishonesty since was excusable because of that 
 terrible injustice done him. What was the use of 
 running the risk of telling, he argued. Besides he had 
 a right to this chance. 
 
 Not until years afterward did he realize the dis- 
 honesty of his present conduct. Self-preservation was 
 strong in him. He did not know that the very path 
 which he thought straight was made crooked at the 
 outset by the cowardice to which he was now yielding. 
 This trait of character he inherited from both par- 
 ents from his father the cowardice was of the more 
 tangible form, physical, while the spiritual form was 
 derived from his mother, that cowardice which had 
 made her continue to be the wife of a man she had 
 hated and feared. Women generally possess more 
 courage to endure pain or suffering than men, for they 
 were molded for the mother hour. But a cowardice 
 of the spirit, born of ages of imposed dependence, is 
 often theirs, and fearing to do without luxuries they 
 stoop to mate with men as providers with no thought 
 of the sanctity that should encompass that act; or, 
 with no purpose of bearing children, enter into the 
 marital relationship which God gave to His creatures 
 as a thing sacred to people His earth with offspring 
 in purity and love. 
 
 "It is not a very big position, Mr. Richardson," 
 Denneth heard Mr. Asquith saying; "but as assistant 
 receiving teller you will have an opportunity to learn 
 something of our way of doing business. Later, per- 
 haps " 
 
 "Big position," Denneth almost shouted in his hap- 
 piness. Then controlling his voice, he said : "It's the 
 biggest thing any man ever did for me, Mr. Asquith. 
 I haven't many friends, and no relatives; and be- 
 sides you know nothing about me! Some day I'll 
 tell you all about myself."
 
 158 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 He meant it then in his gratitude, entirely oblivious 
 to the fraud involved in the present withholding of 
 the confidence; but he honestly believed and, there- 
 fore, added: "In the meantime I shall make myself 
 worthy of the trust you have put in me. I swear it," 
 and too overcome with emotion to say more, he 
 abruptly turned on his heel, and left his companion. 
 The woods alone could understand his present joy. 
 
 "He seems like a fine young man," Stanley Asquith 
 said as he watched Denneth's figure disappear among 
 the trees. "It will be a real pleasure to me to help him 
 toward success." 
 
 The early morning sun filtered through the leaves 
 and began a flickering dance among the wild flowers 
 at Denneth's feet. A bumble-bee, startled from a gold- 
 hearted blossom growing in a spot where no tree cast 
 its shade, buzzed about his ears, and then flew away 
 toward the faint murmur of a far-away brook. A 
 song sparrow called to its nesting mate. Blue jays 
 flashed by, while the high-pitched, plaintive note of a 
 pee-wee mingling with the gossipy song of the chick- 
 adee reached his gladdened ears. As he made his 
 way through the fairyland of nodding woods, flower- 
 strewn, he could hear the ever-increasing laughter of 
 the little brook as it ran over its bed of stones toward 
 the big rock, where its crystal water, clear as truth, 
 fell in a sparkling cataract, dashing up rainbow-tinted 
 spray which the sun turned to jewels set in lace. Den- 
 neth drew in his breath with pleasure. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts !" a laughing voice said, 
 apparently from out the blue-skied space above the 
 laughing brook. "My, but you seem serious this morn- 
 ing!" and before he could even look about to see 
 whence the merry tones came, Marjory Matthews 
 jumped out from among the laurel bushes fringing 
 the stream. Dimpling, she held out her hand in friendly
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 159 
 
 greeting. ''Well, Mr. Dreamer, you don't have to 
 say good-morning to me unless you want to," she 
 added petulantly. "You can stand there all day like 
 a stupid if you wish, and gap at the brook as though 
 you had never seen one before; I don't care!" And 
 pretending to start away, she flung back the words : 
 "You're a rude thing, anyhow! You left me last 
 night." 
 
 Denneth's pulses quickened and he hurried after 
 her, all his former timidity gone and quite equal to 
 cope with her eccentricities. 
 
 "Yes, and what did I see when " 
 
 Then he broke off, sorry that he had spoken; for 
 an evident change had come over the girl, and stand- 
 ing very still she looked up at him with hurt, startled 
 eyes. She really had not known how much he had 
 witnessed of the scene between Mr. Asquith and her- 
 self. He had turned from the path so quickly and 
 with no indication of having seen anything that all 
 through the troubled night she had half believed their 
 figures, hers and Mr. Asquith's, had really failed to 
 attract his attention in the darkness of the grove. She 
 had fervently hoped so. Now she felt worried and 
 puzzled. 
 
 "But but I didn't mean anything by that." And 
 then angered at herself for speaking so frankly to a 
 comparative stranger, she continued tartly : "You have 
 no right to speak to me this way anyhow!" Indig- 
 nant tears sprang to her eyes. 
 
 Denneth was immediately chagrined and humbled, 
 and said contritely, himself embarrassed by his unin- 
 tentional boldness : "Of course I haven't. Forgive 
 me." He felt so sure that the older man's affection 
 for this girl was merely fatherly that he could think 
 of nothing but her actual presence now. Her own 
 only half -under stood phrases uttered about him at their
 
 160 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 meeting on the Stevenses' porch were entirely forgot- 
 ten in his eagerness for her good will. 
 
 The flirt in her did not like this attitude in him, 
 however, any more than she had liked his previous 
 boldness; and so she said on purpose to hurt him, for 
 the expression of his eyes was plain enough to read : 
 "Well, of course, you know I am engaged to Mr. As- 
 quith." Then the kindliness of her real nature com- 
 ing up she concluded aimlessly, "that is, I was" 
 
 Denneth frowned. He did not like nor admire these 
 unexpected changes in her. He resented it fiercely 
 whenever she became other than the dreamy little crea- 
 ture he liked to believe she was; the confiding child- 
 woman who had admitted so frankly that she believed 
 in fairies "the really truly kind." He had seen her 
 thus the night before in the grove where the waves 
 seemed an accompaniment to her exquisitely modulated 
 voice that had so thrilled him. Then she had fulfilled 
 every ideal, both mentally and physically, that he had 
 ever had of a woman. He did not want her to possess 
 any other side. He hated the worldliness that some- 
 times peeped out from her innocent eyes. With true 
 masculinity, he decided, without even knowing he did 
 so, that she must be only the feminine perfection of 
 gentle helplessness that he liked. At any thought of 
 her being otherwise, he, the many-sided male, felt 
 cheated and annoyed! 
 
 "Well, why don't you say something?" Marjory 
 asked. "Didn't you hear me say that I was engaged 
 to Stanley Asquith?" 
 
 He looked at her hard and steadily until in real 
 confusion she dropped her eyes for a moment, and then 
 recovering the self-possession years of teaching had 
 given her to make her fit to battle against her world- 
 old enemy, man, she glanced coquettishly up at him 
 through her long lashes.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 161 
 
 "There is nothing for me to say," he answered sto- 
 lidly, though every drop of blood in his body tingled. 
 "Except that in my estimation any woman who is 
 lucky enough to be engaged or to have been engaged 
 to Mr. Asquith is indeed fortunate." 
 
 This time she forgot her coquetry completely, and 
 her eyes opened wide in childish amazement. "Why, 
 what do you know about him? You only met him 
 last night." 
 
 "I know this," Denneth answered; "he is the finest 
 man I ever met." 
 
 Marjory's eyes opened wider than ever at this 
 speech; but unheeding her, Denneth stooped forward 
 and, clearing a big moss-grown rock at the foot of 
 an ash, said firmly: 
 
 "Sit here, Miss Matthews," and reaching out for 
 her hand he helped her to the rock. 
 
 For a moment the girl stood upon it, then turning 
 upon him flared: "But suppose I don't want to?" 
 
 "You do want to," he said firmly, and stretched 
 himself out at her feet. 
 
 She hesitated a second more; and then shrugging 
 her shoulders, sat down. What was the use of try- 
 ing to coquette with a man as stubborn as this one 
 before her? She had never met any one like him. 
 She didn't quite like his high-handedness, it is true, 
 but 
 
 "I want you to tell me more fairy stories like last 
 night," he said abruptly. Then losing his masculine 
 assurance he smiled up at her and begged like a small 
 boy: "Please. They remind me of my mother's 
 stories." 
 
 Marjory capitulated. "I was just fooling about Mr. 
 Asquith." 
 
 "I knew that," Denneth said with disinterested as- 
 surance. "He told me he felt almost as if you were
 
 162 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 his daughter. But tell me those stories !" and he settled 
 himself back more comfortably. 
 
 Marjory's match-making mother would have indeed 
 been horrified to see how little now remained of the 
 girl who had been drilled into a Southern siren; for 
 something in the boy's frank admiration of her made 
 her forget that she was other than the little girl who 
 had played with the fairies in her grandmother's 
 garden. 
 
 "See those spray fairies dancing about that big 
 rock," she asked dreamily, after a few minutes of 
 silence, pointing toward the boulder which Denneth 
 had noticed on his arrival, and over which the water 
 dashed and foamed. "Well, that's the home of the 
 water sprites ; and the reason they are so happy is that 
 they laugh and dance, it matters not how hard their 
 tasks may be. That's the secret of true happiness 
 they taught me when I was a little, little girl. Some 
 day I'm going to write a book about it. Don't you 
 think people who write books must be happy really 
 happy, I mean?" 
 
 Denneth looked at her sharply. Her cheeks were 
 flushed, and the lids of her lovely eyes looked half 
 swollen and reddened. He had noticed it when he first 
 saw her there, and noticed also that her voice, though 
 gay, had a note of pathos in it. Was she unhappy? 
 There was no trace of unhappiness now. Yet some- 
 thing told him that her life did not have all of the 
 happiness it seemed to have. The vain face of the 
 pretty mother as he had seen it the evening before 
 came before his mind's eye. Was that it? He sighed. 
 He felt sure there was nothing between her and Stan- 
 ley Asquith. Stanley Asquith had said so, and he 
 trusted him. What was the meaning of the momen- 
 tary flashes of pathos and appeal in Marjory's piquant 
 face? 
 
 Marjory chattered on, telling her dainty fancies, and
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 163 
 
 he watched her, studying every expression of her 
 ever-changing eyes. Life was very sweet and full of 
 promise for him just then. The past seemed never 
 to have been. His mother's last words sang through 
 his brain. As always, he took the bit in his teeth, 
 so to speak, and determined that he would wrest 
 enough happiness from the future to make up for the 
 past. Ideas meant action invariably with him; and 
 so jumping to his feet he broke in upon her dreamy- 
 voiced whimsies. 
 
 Looking steadily down at her, he said boldly: 
 "Marjory Matthews, Mr. Asquith offered me a 
 place in his bank this morning. I accepted it. When 
 I have made good and I am going to make good 
 I'll ask you to marry me!" Then under his breath, 
 so that she could not hear him, he said : "and you will, 
 too. I know it, I feel it!" And before the truly 
 astonished girl could so much as move he had marched 
 off and left her. 
 
 Everywhere budding happiness reigned. The sum- 
 mer world was his and hers! Snatches of Shelley 
 came to him, and he recited them aloud as he and his 
 mother used to do: 
 
 "The fountains mingle "with the river, 
 And the rivers with the ocean; 
 The winds of heaven <mix forever, 
 With sweet emotion " 
 
 Then breaking off, he jumped to the next stanza: 
 
 "See the mountains kiss high heaven, 
 And the waves clasp one another; 
 No sister flower would be forgiven 
 If it disdained its brother; " 
 
 The song of birds, the perfume of flowers, the wild, 
 free dashing of the waves upon the shore reached him. 
 Throwing back his head, a blithesome whistle such 
 as he had not known for years burst from his happy 
 
 . c r j 
 
 lips.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE orange-red and russet-brown of late September 
 soon lost itself in flaming October, and then Thanks- 
 giving snows began to fall. Summer was long dead. 
 But in the hearts of Denneth and Marjory reigned a 
 springtime that they thought unalterable. True to 
 his word, Denneth had entered the employ of Stan- 
 fey Asquith, quickly advancing from assistant receiv- 
 ing-teller to the position of receiving-teller itself, while 
 Marjory, reinforced by Mr. Asquith's influence, had 
 succeeded in overcoming her mother's threats and 
 pleadings, and had married Denneth, the man she 
 loved. The locket that Denneth' s mother had given 
 him now nestled against her soft white bosom, and a 
 very modest ring encircled the finger that Stanley 
 Asquith had deliberately yielded to the younger man. 
 The words that made them one were said under the 
 freedom of the arching trees, far away from the 
 crowded city, for never could Denneth be quite so 
 happy as when standing beneath the open sky, and 
 Marjory welcomed his suggestion because of its ro- 
 mantic appeal. 
 
 An ideal honeymoon followed. Always afterward 
 those weeks in camp were typified to Marjory by big 
 fires, the homey smell of roasting chestnuts, glimpses 
 of shy deer, the flash of the stray red fox, coveys of 
 ruffed grouse, and the bob-white's call from the har- 
 vested fields, as flocks of ducks, head shot forward, 
 swiftly crossed the autumn sky. Gray squirrels vied 
 with the little bride in the practising of housewifely 
 economies; and when she and Denneth returned from 
 that honeymoon camp to enter upon their life in a 
 small apartment awaiting them in Hampton, Marjory 
 
 164
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 165 
 
 thought there was only one possible blot upon her 
 happiness and she felt ashamed of that thought as 
 soon as it entered her mind. Her mother was to 
 live with them! 
 
 Months passed, and that lady, having been forced 
 to accept the inevitable on the day of the wedding, 
 which, according to her, should have been solemnized 
 midst peacock-pluming women and the sound of paid 
 musicians rather than beneath God's open sky filled 
 with the song of birds, accomplished very little mis- 
 chief. In fact, even she found it difficult to mar the 
 perfect happiness of the boy and girl. For the first 
 time in her life she discovered that it was well nigh 
 impossible to grumble about lack of luxuries, so unre- 
 sponsive were they to their need, and honestly tried 
 in her injured dignity to accept her necessary home 
 with them as graciously as was possible for one of 
 her nature. 
 
 With Denneth's promotion in the bank, his pay in- 
 creased; but the strain upon his eyes grew greater 
 and they troubled him more and more. The strictest 
 economy was necessary to maintain the little flat; 
 and so he said and did nothing about the ever- 
 increasing difficulty of seeing clearly. In spite of her 
 mother's subtle hints to the contrary, Marjory felt 
 that she and Denneth were blessed far beyond their 
 kind. She was absolutely happy. 
 
 Thus a year passed. Mrs. Matthews, with a feel- 
 ing of maternal duty well performed, had lavishly 
 spent her full year's allowance in making Marjory 
 outwardly the charming creature that the false ideals 
 of our present fashion-god demand of a bride, leav- 
 ing off nothing, in fact, except the spending of 
 thought, advice and prayerful helpfulness with which 
 a true mother trousseaus her mating daughter and 
 prepares her to meet the real duties of life.
 
 166 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 During that first winter and the following summer 
 Denneth felt very proud of his exquisite, handsomely 
 gowned little wife; and therefore, when he found Mrs. 
 Matthews was taking Marjory about with her in that 
 part of Hampton society which had opened a very 
 small crack in its Westmoreland Street door to let 
 these scions of Southern nobility peep at the grandeur 
 of its sumptuousness, he did not complain, but spent 
 long hours wondering how he could manage to make 
 more money so that Marjory could shine in surround- 
 ings proper for such as she. He had long since come 
 to believe, with many another young American hus- 
 band, that women's luxuries are a necessity. 
 
 The time had now come when Marjory's smart 
 frocks of the year before began to look less smart; 
 and desiring to replenish them, she came to realize 
 that Denneth's bank account was painfully limited. 
 "What would people say," her mother's bogey always, 
 once more dominated her thoughts! Besides her 
 mother constantly reminded her of the might-have- 
 beens, until Marjory's happy eyes were soon critical 
 of all that was hers, and her face clouded instead of 
 smiled when her husband came home. She had made 
 some friends among Hampton's wealthy girls and 
 young matrons; and now, aided and abetted by com- 
 plaints from Mrs. Matthews, she grew more and more 
 resentfully conscious of her lack of luxuries, and of 
 Denneth's financial shortcomings. In the passage of a 
 whole year, she thought over and over to herself, he 
 certainly should have managed to do better than he 
 had done. The other married girls she knew had 
 twice as much as she! The little apartment, once 
 bright with the shine of brand-new wedding presents, 
 now took on a small and shabby look. These facts 
 Mrs. Matthews often hinted none too gently to her 
 son-in-law. The sunshine that had promised so much
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 167 
 
 for the couple a little while before was dimmed, and 
 the clouds began to thicken. 
 
 Since their marriage Stanley Asquith had been a 
 more or less frequent visitor in the little home, for 
 Marjory's and Denneth's happiness meant much to his 
 lonely heart. They openly recognized him as the per- 
 son who had brought them together; and in conse- 
 quence made him feel more welcome in their tiny rooms 
 than he had ever felt anywhere else. Denneth was 
 more sure of their unacknowledged kinship each day, 
 and each day that he slowly climbed the ladder of suc- 
 cess in the bank he resolved to tell Mr. Asquith his 
 entire history. But each day courage failed him. So 
 burned and scarred into the soul of a convict are his 
 stripes, that if he ever again is counted of moment by 
 the unsuspecting world, he would rather die than vol- 
 untarily admit his past ! And this Denneth had begun 
 to feel. Yet, he argued, those who have suffered phys- 
 ical sickness and have been committed to a hospital 
 do not hesitate to speak of the fact. They receive 
 sympathy, not condemnation. Again his old argu- 
 ments, indulged in in prison, returned to embitter his 
 mind, and he found he was weakening in his resolve to 
 tell his story. Moreover, his eyes grew more dim, 
 though with no outward sign of their failing, and he 
 dreaded the day which he felt would surely come when 
 he could be of no further use to this man who had so 
 befriended him. Yet tell him he simply must! The 
 fact that he had for so long deceived him tormented 
 him, and he now began to realize that he could 
 know no peace until he stood before him in his true 
 light. He feared that the disclosure of his criminal 
 past might rob him of Stanley Asquith's friendship. 
 He felt positive that by this disclosure he would for- 
 feit his position in the bank. For Marjory's sake, 
 therefore, he hated to do it ; but, in true keeping with
 
 168 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 his better nature, it had grown impossible for him 
 longer to practice deception upon this man. 
 
 So going into Stanley's private office early one 
 morning he closed the door and, facing him, he said, 
 in a voice which he strove hard to make natural: 
 
 "Mr. Asquith, I've come to tell you something." 
 
 "Yes, Denneth," Stanley Asquith said, busily writ- 
 ing, only glancing up long enough to nod. 
 
 "I have been deceiving you for nearly a year! Do 
 you see these?" and he touched his thickened glasses, 
 while his voice broke in spite of his endeavor to con- 
 trol it. "I have to wear these because of eight months 
 spent in an underground cell as a convict in State's 
 Prison," and then pouring from his lips there came 
 in a torrent of self-abnegation the whole of his mis- 
 erable story all that had gone before his imprison- 
 ment, and that which had followed. 
 
 Stanley Asquith sat dumb, his lips tightly com- 
 pressed. Bitter and grievous disappointment filled his 
 heart. He could not speak. Denneth had deceived 
 him had not trusted him enough to disclose to him 
 his past. Denneth, whom he had thought so manly, 
 was a coward and distinctly unmanly! He had ac- 
 cepted his friendship and aid, had even married little 
 Marjory, without confiding to him his secret. In all 
 his life Stanley had never been so bitterly disappointed 
 in any one! 
 
 Denneth had ceased speaking, and standing before 
 him waited in dread for his verdict. With every bit 
 of love and loyalty in his affectionate nature he longed 
 to say something to show this man how he felt toward 
 him. Even now for his sake he had purposely with- 
 held his real name; nor did he let slip anything about 
 his father which might give Stanley a clue as to their 
 relationship. Partly through loyalty to his mother 
 and partly because he did not want to cause this man
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 169 
 
 any further pain or embarrassment, he thought it best 
 not to impart to him his discovery. Yet he earnestly 
 wished to tell him everything and to claim him as his 
 brother. 
 
 Stanley still sat silent, no words as yet having 
 passed his lips. He must not be hasty, he thought. 
 In no way must he convey to this young man the idea 
 that he did not trust him now just as much and as 
 readily as he had before. He believed that no man 
 can be really helped unless he is trusted implicitly by 
 his helper. Denneth Richardson was a splendid young 
 fellow. In spite of his past, he would succeed; his 
 ability and conscientious work in the bank had proved 
 that possibility beyond a doubt. Yet he had deceived 
 him 
 
 Slowly Denneth' s face had been growing white, and 
 as Stanley Asquith's unbroken silence continued, a look 
 of hurt had at first passed over it which seemed to 
 blot out all its virility; then throwing his head back 
 his features hardened, his eyes darted defiance. The 
 man he had thought was his friend was evidently 
 like all the rest of the world. He could not under- 
 stand or forgive him. Well, there was only one thing 
 to do under the circumstances. 
 
 "Of course I offer you my resignation. No bank 
 president cares to trust an ex-convict," and into his 
 voice there had stolen the old bitterness. Then with- 
 out even glancing toward his friend he opened the 
 door and left the room. 
 
 Stanley Asquith jumped up. "Denneth!" he called, 
 striding to the door. Into his tone he managed to 
 throw all the love and respect which had been grow- 
 ing in his heart for the young man ever since the first 
 night of their meeting. "Come back!" 
 
 Denneth slowly turned an astonished face toward 
 him, then without speaking followed Stanley back
 
 170 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 into the office. Stanley closed the door, and with 
 his back against it, faced him. 
 
 "Do not think," he said, speaking slowly and choos- 
 ing each word with care, "that what you have told 
 me will make any difference. It will not. I trust 
 you." 
 
 Quick tears sprang to Denneth's eyes, and his very 
 soul was displayed in the loyalty of his gaze as he 
 looked at the other man. 
 
 "It is the fact that you did not tell me before 
 that makes the difference." 
 
 Denneth winced, opened his lips to speak, and then 
 only stared as Stanley went on: 
 
 "You should not have deceived me. I trusted you 
 and you should have trusted me. When I offered 
 you employment I was entitled to know then what you 
 have now told me. I think, though, I understand bet- 
 ter than you suspect the strength of the temptation to 
 which you yielded; and now that you have told me 
 well," and he laid his hand upon Denneth's shoulder, 
 "the best thing for both of us is to forget the past 
 and start all over again. My boy, your position in 
 the bank is yours as long as you want it and live as 
 you have lived since I have known you." 
 
 Then before Denneth could control his emotion suffi- 
 ciently to speak, Stanley asked abruptly : 
 
 "Does Marjory know what you have told me?" 
 
 Again self-loathing gripped Denneth. 
 
 How keenly he felt the cowardice of his action 
 in marrying her without first disclosing his past. For 
 a long time he had reproached himself for it! If 
 only there was something he might do by way of 
 atonement; yet he knew there was nothing he could 
 ever do that could remedy the wrong done her. It 
 was as irrevocable as were his past crimes. He shook 
 his head.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 171 
 
 "No, she knows nothing," he answered. 
 
 To his surprise, Stanley heaved a sigh of relief, but 
 quickly said : "Of course, you realize how repre- 
 hensible such deception is?" 
 
 Denneth nodded in silent distress. 
 
 "Nevertheless, knowing and loving little Marjory 
 as I do, I think it would be better now that you never 
 tell her!" 
 
 "But, Mr. Asquith," Denneth broke in 
 
 "Yes, I know what you want to say; but it's too 
 late now. It would distress her and do no good; and 
 as to yourself, it would be selfish to tell her for the 
 mere satisfying of your own awakened conscience. You 
 have told me. That is enough. Let it stop there." 
 Then looking Denneth deep in the eyes, he said im- 
 pressively : 
 
 "I believe it is in you to make her so good and 
 true a husband to become so good and true a man 
 yourself that this past of which you have told me 
 will count for little in comparison with the rest of 
 your life. It is futures, not pasts, that I believe in, 
 Denneth, and the future awaits you to make of it ex- 
 actly what you choose! So go back to your work 
 and forget everything else." 
 
 With a conscience lighter than it had been for many 
 months Denneth now felt that the troubles in his little 
 home must surely disappear too. But in spite of this 
 hopeful feeling, and his constant endeavors to make 
 Marjory happy, day by day things grew more dark. 
 Then one day the impossible happened ! He and Mar- 
 jory quarreled. She had asked him for more than 
 he could possibly give her his eyes had been partic- 
 ularly painful that day and Mrs. Matthews, throw- 
 ing herself into the breach, in cruelly chosen words 
 declined to believe that he was unable to give her 
 "delicately nurtured flower her dear little love
 
 172 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 life's necessary luxuries ! What did he suppose people 
 were saying, anyway, about the economical way in 
 which he made them live!" 
 
 From that time on more complaints than loving 
 words filled Denneth's ears at the morning and even- 
 ing hours, and though often a penitent, moist Mar- 
 jory crawled up into his arms to "bawl her eyes out 
 because she had been unreasonable even if other 
 girls did have all the pretty things and she had none," 
 he began to dread his homecoming. Tired and dis- 
 couraged, he wondered whether it could be his fault? 
 
 Ever the dimness grew in his vision and troubled 
 him sorely. He must see an oculist, he decided anew 
 each day. Yet at the thought of it a fear possessed 
 him, a dark feeling of premonition. 
 
 Finally, after just such a scene of weeping wife 
 and meddlesome mother-in-law, when he had at last 
 consulted an oculist who gave him very bad news 
 indeed, a doctor had to be called in to Marjory. Hys- 
 terically she told him of how ill she felt, and learned 
 from the professional lips that the brightest crown of 
 womanhood was to be hers in six months or so! 
 
 On hearing the news Denneth's soul bowed in awe 
 before her. Never in his life had he felt so reverent 
 of all things, so worshipful of the ways of his Maker ! 
 Fortunately he had withheld the news of the rapid fail- 
 ing of his eyes, caused, as the oculist told him, by 
 atrophy of the optic nerve; and now, elated at the 
 thought of the coming happiness, he forgot the worry 
 of it all and what it would mean in connection with 
 his future. His heart soared! 
 
 He tried to gather little Marjory up in his arms; 
 but flinging away from him she said things that made 
 him aware that she did not feel as he did about this 
 wondrous promise for their future. It was a hor- 
 rible, sickening shock to him! In his idealism and
 
 right thinking, which had been wrought in him partly 
 because of his knowledge of the creatures of the wild, 
 uncontaminated by man and his domestic beasts, Den- 
 neth could not bring himself to believe that any 
 woman willing to be wife would be unwilling to be 
 mother. 
 
 Sobbing, Marjory threw herself into her mother's 
 arms, and there held close, listened while this worldly 
 matron sympathized with her, openly complaining that 
 "The dear little love needed new clothes and a decent 
 place to live in, and now this bad luck had befallen her ! 
 No wonder people were talking!" 
 
 Petrified, dumb, shocked beyond all words, Denneth 
 saw his idol crash to earth before him, and realized 
 that for Marjory at least the consummation of their 
 union had not been sanctified by the sacred trust that 
 God had reposed in them for the sake of posterity. 
 
 Without a word he went from Marjory's foolish, 
 lacy-pink boudoir and left the house. The night was 
 stormy. Great ominous clouds banked themselves in 
 the east and hid the moon. His head ached. His poor 
 eyes smarted. His hands rammed deep into his pock- 
 ets, his hat jambed down over his eyes, he strode 
 recklessly on. Hardly had he rounded the corner when 
 a man, running, bumped into him, then seeing who he 
 was, gasped out: 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Richardson, excuse me, sir, but 'e's hun- 
 conscious, sir. I fetched a doctor in, but 'e said to 
 tell you to come," and the deliverer of this message 
 dropped respectfully behind, while with many ques- 
 tions Denneth hurried on to the apartment where 
 Stanley Asquith lay ill. 
 
 It seemed to Denneth that the world was surely 
 coming to an end ! The night was so black that save 
 for the feel of the fresh air on his cheeks and the 
 occasional lights of the streets he might have been back
 
 174 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 in his underground cell. He shivered with the recol- 
 lection which until lately had been almost erased from 
 his mind. 
 
 Anxiously he opened the door of Mr. Asquith's 
 room; but too late. Death had entered first. 
 
 Stanley Asquith, taken with a heart attack caused 
 by a chronic condition which had existed for many 
 years, lay very still and white upon the bed, his lips 
 parted in a benevolent smile that lent to his face a 
 look of "light past all understanding." 
 
 The next day the news of his sudden death startled 
 the whole city of Hampton, and for the few days be- 
 fore he was forgotten it mourned. This man with a 
 spirit that feared no one and believed that every one, 
 if given a fair chance, had his share of good as well 
 as of bad, had become much beloved in that city. 
 
 The bank in which Denneth worked soon changed 
 hands, and under the management of the new regime 
 he felt constrained and ill at ease. Each day now he 
 went to the oculist, who gave him more and more 
 alarming news. However, conditions in his little flat 
 had slightly improved ; and though Mrs. Matthews and 
 Marjory both talked in what was, according to his 
 ideas at least, a flippant way about the event to come, 
 Marjory was now more like her girlish self. But 
 when an idol has been rudely torn from its pedestal it 
 can never attain the same heights again; and so, 
 though Denneth forgave her the scene which had so 
 shocked and embittered him, even excusing it because 
 of her youth and frivolous mind, there was, neverthe- 
 less, a not-to-be-forgotten barrier between them. He 
 knew that it was her lack of training to look at life 
 from a high plane that had made her act as she 
 did; but even now her attitude caused Denneth much 
 unhappiness, for she resorted more and more to her 
 mother's companionship, that lady seeming to have
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 175 
 
 regained the old ascendency over her. Manlike, he 
 was unable to stand up against their attack upon him. 
 In weakness, which he termed devotion, he thought 
 now only of the pain through which his little wife 
 must needs pass to give him the son he longed for; 
 and under the influence of this thought he could deny 
 her nothing. He deliberately turned his back upon 
 prudence, generously and recklessly responded to their 
 call for more money to spend, and ever hoped, in his 
 masculine ignorance, that things would become more 
 normal and that the extra expenses would stop after 
 the first few months were over. Too, though Marjory 
 had disappointed him, he loved her with every fiber 
 of his being; and though he knew now that she was 
 not as perfect as he had at first thought, he never- 
 theless, in spite of this knowledge, endowed her with 
 every grace which his idealistic nature could conceive. 
 Giving no thought to the welfare of the precious 
 soul which was about to come into the world, Mar- 
 jory and her light-minded mother spent their time 
 planning for the bedecking of its little body. Frills 
 and soft laces, hand-seams and daintiness upon the tiny 
 garments, took up their whole attention. Many women 
 sew only love into such things, and thereby make 
 them beautiful offerings of motherhood. But not so 
 Marjory and her mother. Their whole idea was that 
 of the unalloyed vanity which had always filled Mrs. 
 Matthews's life. Marjory was determined that her 
 baby should be as well dressed as her friends' babies! 
 No thought of the sacredness of God's gift to her ever 
 once entered her mind, but like so many other young 
 mothers she thought solely of the material side of it 
 all. She wholly failed to appreciate how her thoughts 
 might be making their impression upon the plastic little 
 brain now forming; nor did she realize that if she 
 dwelt on high and noble things she would be helping
 
 176 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 to prepare her child to meet the struggles and tempta- 
 tions that must be met by all earth-bound souls. 
 
 When a seed sown among shadows and thorns with 
 no sun to bless it and make it flower into perfect beauty 
 grows up into a weak, stunted plant, we, as gardeners, 
 are not surprised. We do not blame the plant. But 
 when earthly soul-seeds grow into dwarfed maturity 
 because they have not received the sun of prenatal 
 love, we are apt to blame fate not the parents who 
 have planted this precious seed and allowed it to de- 
 velop in the shadows of thoughtlessness. Thus do we 
 continually wait later than is necessary to help the 
 race onward. 
 
 Denneth saw less and less of his wife as the weeks 
 went by, for she and her mother were always dis- 
 cussing things "a mere man couldn't possibly under- 
 stand." They selfishly walled him out of their lives, 
 thoughtlessly making of Marjory's condition an ex- 
 cuse to leave him lonely. 
 
 It was just at this juncture that Denneth's former 
 partner Sam Simmons showed up, much the worse for 
 wear. His "old gal" had died, and he had had to "tie 
 the kids' hoofs and express them to the cold storage" 
 (meaning the Industrial Home). Sam, with no good 
 influences at work, had then resorted to his treacherous 
 friend the "jag jug" for comfort and strength. Glad 
 of a chance to help this fellow, who, in spite of his 
 dishonesty, was an honest friend, Denneth secured 
 him lodgings, and made him promise to sober up and 
 go to work. Besides, though Denneth did not admit 
 it to himself, their secret companionship which fol- 
 lowed was a source of pleasure in his lonely life, for 
 he believed Sam possessed more good than evil in his 
 make-up. 
 
 True to his ability to follow his leader, Sam had 
 shown Denneth his gratitude by keeping his job and
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 177 
 
 "walking the heavenly tight rope," as he expressed it. 
 
 During all this time Denneth's eyes were growing 
 steadily worse. He longed to tell Marjory about it, 
 longed to take her in his arms and tell her all his past 
 as well as his present. The strength of her love would 
 mean so much of comfort to him. But though sev- 
 eral times he started to do so, he either felt that in 
 her present mood the sympathy he craved would not 
 be forthcoming, and so once more deferred his revela- 
 tions, which in any event must be a shock to her, or 
 oftener still her mother would come in to upset things. 
 So after a slight struggle with his conscience he let 
 the matter drop with an ever-present sinking of his 
 heart and a feeling of utter uselessness. 
 
 The men under whom he now worked in the bank 
 had no personal interest in him, and he felt ever more 
 keenly the great loss of Stanley Asquith's friendship. 
 A loneliness began to settle down upon him, broken 
 only by his occasional glimpse of Sam, who he often 
 thought was the only person who really loved him for 
 himself. The old bitterness against life and its in- 
 justice returned. 
 
 To make matters worse, Marjory and her mother 
 were daily growing more unreasonable. Weeping and 
 wailing, Marjory often flung herself into her mother's 
 arms and, accusing him of not caring, not trying to 
 make money enough to give her what she needed in 
 her present condition, drove him in despair from the 
 little flat to take refuge in Sam Simmons's company. 
 Her desire for luxuries had grown amazingly the 
 last few months. It was insatiable had become an 
 obsession with her; and her mother, being by nature 
 a parasite, had felt pleased to see Marjory "standing 
 up for her rights!" 
 
 One spring morning, when a whiff of budding things 
 had heartened him a little, he received a new and
 
 178 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 crushing blow. Marjory's pouting, spoiled face had 
 been turned away from him as he attempted to kiss 
 her good-bye before leaving for business! Hurt far 
 beyond words, he left in silence and went to see the 
 oculist. That gentleman, in a pleasant, conversational 
 tone that often covers deep feeling in such men as he, 
 told Denneth that his left eye would live less than 
 six months, and that the right one was in danger un- 
 less given the most careful attention. 
 
 After hearing this news Denneth walked on in a 
 daze to the bank, and entering his cage shut his door, 
 vaguely wondering what he could do to provide for 
 Marjory's future. 
 
 That very morning the bank had acquired, through 
 its new president, a number of large corporation de- 
 posits. The money had arrived in big bundles of 
 bills. Throughout that entire day as he sat counting 
 this money he longed as he had never longed before 
 to give Marjory everything she craved. 
 
 Finally, when the counting and sorting was done, 
 and his assistant had gone home, his eyes glued them- 
 selves on the packages of bills stacked so temptingly 
 about him. Banking hours were over, and he was en- 
 tirely alone in his high-ceilinged gilt cage. 
 
 Marjory's face smiled. She held out her arms to 
 him, she pleaded for the material good things of life ! 
 And then suddenly his difficulties seemed all over for- 
 ever. What did it matter if he did abuse his trust? 
 What did his resolution to "go straight" matter in 
 comparison with Marjory's comfort and happiness! 
 Her happiness was far more important than anything 
 else! If the oculist was correct, he would soon be 
 useless anyway. He ground his teeth together at the 
 reflection that his present and future suffering were 
 caused by the injustice of the law. His old bitter 
 determination to get even again assailed him, brought
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 179 
 
 on this time by his desire to please Marjory. His 
 fingers went out toward the bills. 
 
 At this Marjory's face seemed to come closer to his, 
 rosy and happy. She was all dimples. Her eyes 
 had lost their tired look, and she smiled at him just 
 as she had smiled during that first summer among the 
 flowering woods. He saw her surrounded by com- 
 forts and luxuries that seemed fitting to her dainty 
 beauty 
 
 QuickC he slipped several bills of a very large de- 
 nomination from the middle of the bundle just beneath 
 his hand, and in their place substituted an equally thick 
 package of smaller ones. This accomplished, he gath- 
 ered up the bundles, summoned a clerk from another 
 department to go with him, and they put the money 
 into the safe and Denneth left the bank. 
 
 That evening there was great rejoicing in the little 
 flat. He had had a raise in salary! Many eagles in 
 the form of roses and such luxuries were screaming 
 his guilt at him from every point toward which he 
 looked; but, smiling and happy, Marjory cuddled up 
 in his arms, the locket of queer design swinging hap- 
 pily upon her neck. Too, another blessing came to 
 Denneth as if summoned up by his determination to 
 wrest some small moments of happiness from fate be- 
 fore the curtain of eternal night descended upon him. 
 That very day his mother-in-law had been called away 
 from him and her "dear little love" by a tobacco- 
 cudded magistrate of the Southern town where she 
 had lived. Between chews this active gentleman-of- 
 leisure had shown one of the Matthews's aristocratic, 
 but stony, billy-goat-recreation fields, to a shrewd min- 
 ing engineer. The expert suspected that minerals in 
 paying quantities held squatters' rights superior to the 
 goats', and so Mrs. Matthews, with the air of millions 
 already hers, had majestically flown to the spot and
 
 180 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 left Denneth alone with Marjory for the first time 
 since their honeymoon. 
 
 For Marjory the flat was once more a blissful bower 
 because of her self-satisfied happiness, believing as she 
 did that the bills Denneth had given her were the 
 result of his added affluence. But for Denneth a moun- 
 tainous cloud, black with memory and blacker still 
 with apprehension of what the future held for him, 
 overshadowed everything. The soft spring air which 
 blew in at their windows turned him sick, for in 
 sharp contrast his imagination caused him to smell 
 anew the deadly stale stench of his old underground 
 cell. The bright lights of the little sitting-room smote 
 upon his sight, and closing his eyes he shuddered as 
 the oculist's words screamed their way through his 
 brain, accompanied by the undercurrent of Marjory's 
 light, inconsequential tones. Yet he held her close in 
 his arms and waited. 
 
 Then with a flash he saw clearly that there was an 
 easier way. His muscles tensed themselves momen- 
 tarily at the thought. He smiled bitterly. It were 
 better so.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 DOWN a small, crooked street of one of Hampton's 
 poorer districts Denneth walked briskly, peering up at 
 the numbers on the doors of the dilapidated lodging 
 houses, which, as colonial mansions, had housed many 
 heroes of Revolutionary days. Finally he entered an 
 unpainted doorway and climbed the rickety, dim-lit 
 stairs. 
 
 Giving his usual signal of three gentle taps fol- 
 lowed by a knock upon the door at the end of the hall, 
 it opened wide enough for him to see Sam Simmons's 
 face peering out at him; and pushing it further open, 
 Denneth entered. 
 
 "Gee, pal," Sam exclaimed, "it's glad my sky-blue 
 optics is to peep you ! But say," and he shoved for- 
 ward the remains of a chair, "I'm thankful, I am, that 
 I ain't a giraffe. Law man! I'm thirsty a mile deep, 
 believe me! Can't I pull the cork blow the foam 
 take a swig, in plain American? A reservoir gone 
 dry ain't in it with yours truly! Just one little tee- 
 totaller palate washer, pal," he begged like a hungry 
 child. 
 
 "No," Denneth said shortly. "You know as well 
 as I do that one drink for you means that you would 
 soon 'be like the bed of the deep-blue sea for the 
 amount of liquid in you/ in your own words. Besides, 
 I've got an important job for you." 
 
 "But I've lost my taste for jobs, pal," Sam broke 
 in dejectedly. "I've worked so hard and honest since 
 you piped me here that I feel like me mother wuz a 
 society dude and me father an employment bureau, 
 believe me! There ain't no high spots no Ferris 
 wheels no lofty views no excitement in life," he 
 
 181
 
 182 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 translated himself, "since me poor remains was picked 
 up by the water wagon and I become the victim of 
 honest labor." 
 
 "But this job is for me, and it isn't Well, in 
 your language, old man, it isn't exactly what you would 
 call 'passing the hat for foreign missions' !" 
 
 "What!" Sam said, losing his dejected slouch and 
 sitting bolt upright in his interest. "You ain't busted 
 away from the mothers' meetin' left the fold of the 
 innocent lambs cooked up something that a real man 
 finds no cinch, have you?" 
 
 "Yes," Denneth answered desperately. 
 
 "Thank Gawd!" Sam burst out with a sense of real 
 gratitude as he hitched his chair forward nearer that 
 of his friend. "Unmuzzle, Sonny turn on your music 
 box, uncoil your fire hose spit out your news, in plain 
 American," he said in excited interest. 
 
 For a moment Denneth Richardson tramped the 
 floor, his brows drawn together in a deep frown. Sud- 
 denly the flame-like zig-zags shot up bewilderingly be- 
 fore hig eyes and he put his hand over them, steadying 
 himself against the wall. The oculist had told him that 
 the sight of his left eye would leave him absolutely 
 some day after one of these attacks ; and Denneth felt 
 now, in the horror of his pain-stabbing agony, that the 
 time had doubtless come. 
 
 Removing his hand, however, he discovered Sam's 
 smelling lamp was still faintly aglow for him, and knew 
 that the worst had not yet happened. 
 
 "It's this way, Sam," he said dully, the weeks of 
 misery that Marjory and her mother had caused him 
 making him feel now as if all emotion was over for 
 him forever, "I can't make it, old man ! my my " 
 
 He wanted desperately to tell Sam about his eyes, 
 but somehow he could not speak of that terror to any 
 one. It is characteristic of those who are soon to be
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 183 
 
 prisoners in the Land of Eternal Night that they will 
 not voluntarily admit the fact; and so he broke off 
 to continue along another line. 
 
 "Well, I just can't make it, that's all, old man. I 
 have fallen down failed." 
 
 Sam waited silently for the story he felt was forth- 
 coming, but Denneth was buried in thought, and for 
 several moments said nothing. It was hard to tell 
 Sam. Somehow the thing he had done, wrong though 
 he knew it to be, seemed almost right in the distorted 
 light of his mental and physical suffering; and the 
 knowledge that had he not done it he would have 
 lived only to become a burden to Marjory, seemed 
 to him largely to excuse it. His unborn son would 
 be better off with money enough for support and with- 
 out a blind father, he had argued. He felt no re- 
 morse because of his theft; and yet he hated to tell 
 Sam of it. -He had hoped to make a better man of 
 Sam, and here he was deliberately pulling him, as well 
 as himself, down again! 
 
 After Marjory's satisfied caresses of the evening on 
 which he had given her evidence of his improved cir- 
 cumstances Denneth had left her, saying his increased 
 responsibility in the bank made it necessary for him 
 to be there; and taking the trolley to the city's out- 
 skirts he had tramped the woods as was his custom 
 when under mental stress, trying to fight the thing 
 out, yet persuaded in his innermost consciousness that 
 he had done the only thing he could do under the 
 circumstances, never really doubting that he would see 
 the thing through exactly as he had planned. 
 
 The next day he had worked all day at the bank; 
 but his thoughts were ever busy planning how he could 
 keep the money safe for Marjory and her child. It 
 was during these hours that he thought out and wrote 
 the note he would leave for her. By wire he ar-
 
 184 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 ranged for her room in one of the best of New York's 
 private hospitals. She should be safe from the news 
 and far from the place of his disgrace his little son 
 should never know the kind of father he had had. 
 To the last detail Denneth Richardson worked out his 
 plan for the protection of these two he loved, and 
 explained it all to Marjory in an affectionate note 
 which bore not one trace of his suffering or distress. 
 , Sam, he decided, was the only one to whom he could 
 trust the sacred commission of attending to the money 
 and delivering the note. Of course the sooner he saw 
 Sam, then disappeared, the better. Any moment now 
 his theft might be discovered. Yet, try as he would, 
 he could not but long for and take more happy hours 
 with Marjory; and so he kept putting the matter off. 
 Finally, however, the day came which he knew must 
 be his last at home. Clinging to Marjory he told her 
 good-bye, explaining his going as a business trip of a 
 few days' duration; so that when he left the bank 
 the following evening he did not go home at all, but 
 had gone straight to Sam's dilapidated lodgings. He 
 admitted freely to himself now as he walked up and 
 down before his rough companion, that his theft of 
 the bills had proved his real cowardice beyond ques- 
 tion. He knew deep down in his heart that it was 
 pure, unadulterated weakness on his part to have taken 
 the money; and yet somehow the admission of cow- 
 ardice did not trouble him. He simply accepted it as 
 he had accepted all the other unpleasant features of 
 his unhappy life. Of course, if he had had his choice 
 in the matter, his reason argued, he would not have 
 chosen cowardice in any form as a trait of his char- 
 acter; but the days of his father's tyranny, and the 
 unfair days of his torment in prison, had been his 
 only training to fit him for a life that had proven too 
 hard for him. He consoled himself with the thought
 
 that he was not responsible for the error of his course, 
 or for the character that made possible that course 
 that what he was was the result of influences beyond 
 his control. 
 
 What was the use of the struggle he had made, 
 anyway? What was the use of anything? he thought 
 bitterly. The recollection of Marjory's smiles came 
 to mock him. When he could give, she smiled. When 
 he could not give, she frowned. Love? Had she 
 truly loved him ? Was she capable of true love ? Often 
 of late he had asked himself that. Yet never had he 
 questioned the strength of his own love, nor suspected 
 the foundation of quicksand on which it rested. His 
 love for her had put him where he was now, and had 
 led him to wrong her so grievously, while he con- 
 ceived he was sacrificing himself for her greater hap- 
 piness ; for even though love be pure and high, it may 
 sometimes, when not grounded on strength of char- 
 acter itself based on high moral conviction, lead to 
 acts that are the opposite. 
 
 Sam stirred restlessly; but unheeding him Denneth 
 continued silently thinking the thing out for the hun- 
 dredth time. The sum of money he had been able 
 to take unnoticed from the bank was large. It might 
 not seem so to many men, but to him who had known 
 only comparative comforts it seemed big indeed. Cer- 
 tainly it ought to be sufficient to keep Marjory and her 
 child in the fair amount of comfort that she was used 
 to for many years to come. Anyway, it was the best 
 he had been able to do for them. 
 
 He tried to look at the other side of the argument; 
 but could not see anything save the fact that he had 
 done the very best thing possible. Had he not 
 stolen this money with his eyes predicted to fail 
 within a year there would have been nothing for 
 Marjory! Yes, he had certainly done wisely.
 
 186 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Whether by that act he had lost in self-respect more 
 than he had gained mattered not. They were pro- 
 vided for. But he must tell Sam Simmons what he 
 had come to tell him. He needed Sam's help in the 
 matter. So bracing himself, he sat down and, lean- 
 ing toward his friend, said earnestly : 
 
 "Sam, I've fallen down failed, as I told you. And 
 now I've come to ask you to help me. Are you will- 
 ing, old man?" 
 
 "Am I willing?" Sam repeated almost before the 
 other had ceased speaking. "Whatter yer take me fer 
 to ask that question?" he said indignantly. "Do you 
 think I'm a female tired of her part of the bargain 
 and headed for Reno a hen too rovin' by nature to 
 set on her eggs a bear desertin' of her cubs a white- 
 livered skunk, in plain American? What are you 
 hintin' at, anyhow, when you ask if I am willin' to 
 help you? Ain't I often proved to you that you are 
 my tootsey-wootsey, so to speak, my only valentine 
 the best pal I've got in the world? "Lord, Sonny, 
 'course I'll help you," and he choked in his earnest 
 expressions of loyalty. Then clearing his throat to 
 hide his emotion, he exclaimed gruffly : "Spit out your 
 cud ! Tell me all about it !" 
 
 "Well, Sam, I've robbed my bank of this," and he 
 threw two bundles of greenbacks carelessly upon the 
 table near him. "Slipped them out of the middle of 
 a bundle of big notes and substituted small bills from 
 my cash drawer. Two or three days ago." 
 
 Sam's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the 
 size of the bundles and denomination of the bills, and 
 he grinned like a pleased schoolboy. But seeing his 
 expression, Denneth's jaw set itself firmly, and he sai'd 
 quickly : 
 
 "I didn't do it for the old reason, Sam," trying but 
 not knowing how to explain the situation to his friend.
 
 "Things are going bad with me and the 'missus,' and 
 she " 
 
 Then he stopped again. It was hard to speak of 
 the thing nearest his heart, even to the man who he 
 knew was devoted to him. Yet he must do so in 
 order to complete his plans. 
 
 "She we are to '' Then he broke off. He could 
 not tell that ! Hurrying on, he said more thickly : "I 
 can't tell you the story now, Sam. You'll have to trust 
 me. I've never lied to you yet and I never will. It's 
 sufficient to say that she needs this money. Well, I'm 
 lighting out to-night. It seems to be about the only 
 thing I can do. I want you to handle this money for 
 me, Sam. See that she gets a certain amount every 
 month. Here's a memorandum telling you exactly how 
 to manage it the amount, and so forth. And don't 
 let her know where it comes from. Don't let her ever 
 see you or know that you ever knew me. She she 
 I've just arranged for her to go to this address in 
 New York." Handing Sam another slip of paper. 
 "After that she will go there," handing him still an- 
 other slip on which there was written another address. 
 "Understand ? The money will simply reach her once 
 a month. That's all she need know, and that's all 
 you'd better know. I hate to bother you, old man, 
 but you are the only friend I've got. But there's one 
 thing sure and certain, Sam, and that is that you'll 
 have to keep straight to do this job! I don't believe 
 anybody would ever suspect you if you do. Watch 
 Mrs. Richardson. Keep track of her," he went on. 
 "If she should move, you move too, or get her address, 
 so the money won't miscarry. It will be her liveli- 
 hood, remember that, old man! And in payment for 
 this trouble you must take one-third of what's there," 
 pointing to the bundles upon the table. 
 
 Sam flushed. "Do you think I'd let you pay me
 
 188 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 fer doin' a job fer you?" he broke in with scorn. 
 "You just guzzle that pipe it cut that idee out of 
 your cranium!" 
 
 "But, Sam, one has to have money to keep straight, 
 you know " 
 
 "Well, it don't have to be none of your money," 
 Sam broke in again. "I ain't no sheep in rabbit's 
 clothing no Tommy in the preserve closet no rob- 
 ber of widows and orphans, even if I am a gink a 
 fluke a bum, in plain American," he said resolutely. 
 "I got chink put in the bank fer the kids when they 
 get all the learnin' their nuts will hold in that cold- 
 storage place where they is highbrowing it now. I 
 don't need nothin' for myself!" and he looked with 
 determination into Denneth's eyes, though his own 
 eyes were rather dim with feeling. 
 
 "Then give me back one of those bundles," Den- 
 neth said firmly; and taking from Sam the smaller of 
 the two, he slipped it into his own pocket. "I've got 
 the address of those kiddies; I know your bank and 
 the name of the town it is in, and the name in which 
 that deposit for your children is made," he said. "I'll 
 see that this money is deposited there to-morrow. Will 
 you shake on it, partner?" 
 
 "Well, now that's another eye in the peacock's tail," 
 Sam said, beaming. "Another chicken in the pie a 
 horse of another color, in plain American. Pal, you're 
 white!" 
 
 "Then I had better go," Denneth said, catching the 
 other's hand and shaking it warmly. "And leave this 
 letter at the door of my apartment but not before 
 to-morrow night. I'll be out of reach by then. Un- 
 derstand ? And don't let any one see you do it. Watch 
 the papers. I don't believe, though, that they can find 
 me that is, not where / am going! Good-by, old 
 man, and God bless you!"
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 189 
 
 And before Sam Simmons could answer, Denneth 
 Richardson had disappeared into the night. 
 
 No word from Denneth had reached Marjory dur- 
 ing the following day ; but happy in the renewed plans 
 for buying all sorts of fluffy things for her self- 
 adornment with the bills that Denneth had given her 
 just before his departure, she felt no anxiety, but sang 
 about her little household tasks. Late that afternoon 
 her doorbell rang and Mary Anna, the colored maid, 
 summoned her, saying that two officers of the law de- 
 manded to see Denneth Richardson. 
 
 With great hauteur, and in exact imitation of her 
 mother, the little fair thing condescended to see them 
 at the front door, and explained shortly that her hus- 
 band had gone off on a business trip to New York. 
 
 At this innocent statement, made in all good faith, 
 she was surprised and annoyed to see the two men 
 exchange keen looks. Then one of them blocked 
 the door open with the toe of his heavy boot. The 
 expression of their faces alarmed her, and quickly 
 calling out for reinforcement from the maid, who was, 
 of course, hovering between the crack and keyhole of 
 the kitchen door, Marjory demanded icily that the 
 officers tell her why they were so ungentlemanly as to 
 intrude upon her thus, and if they could not explain 
 their conduct to kindly leave her presence at once ! 
 
 "I'm sorry, ma'am," one of them said, bowing in 
 awkward politeness as Mary Anna joined her mis- 
 tress, "but we will have to ask you to give us Mr. 
 Richardson's address in New York." 
 
 Marjory's indignation flared at such a question ; and 
 she waved grandly outward, while saying with a 
 frightened, childish break in her voice: "Leave here 
 immediately, sirsl"
 
 190 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 The men continued to stand stolidly just outside 
 the door, in spite of her pointing finger, and flushing 
 with anger she said: "The question of my husband's 
 whereabouts concerns only his wife." Then address- 
 ing the maid, she said haughtily : "Mary Anna, show 
 the gentlemen the elevator" ; and, turning on her heel, 
 she marched into the sitting-room and flung herself 
 upon the couch. 
 
 The two officers stood meekly shuffling their feet 
 in silent embarrassment. At this Mary Anna became 
 very much excited, and imitating her young mistress's 
 every look and gesture she demanded: "Gentlemens, 
 we both of us command that you git out of these 
 house-premises double quick and most immediately! 
 Do you hear ? Git !" and she stepped forward threat- 
 eningly. 
 
 Thereupon one of the men opened his coat and 
 showed his badge, saying in a voice loud enough to 
 reach Marjory, "I'm sorry, as I said, but duty is 
 duty and the National Bank's expert accountant has 
 just discovered there's several thousand dollars miss- 
 ing, and the evidence points to the receiving teller " 
 
 But he got no further, for Mary Anna Victoria 
 Roberta, large and black, her arms akimbo, her Vir- 
 ginia blood up, broke in: 
 
 "Holy Lamb o' Gawd! You great big ruffians, 
 you! Git outer here and leave my little Miss alone. 
 She don't know where he is!" and banging the door 
 in the men's faces she screamed through it : "Oh, you 
 jes' wait until I gits the vote!" And, her flat feet 
 flapping upon the rugs, she made her way in loyal 
 indignation to her mistress's side. 
 
 A few moments later a small package mysteriously 
 appeared at the back door of the little flat. Mar- 
 jory took it from Mary Anna's faithful hands and, 
 breaking the seal, found a note inside:
 
 "Little Anemone, flower I love," it ran, "it is best 
 that I leave you. Follow exactly the directions here 
 given and you will be safe. Take back your maiden 
 name. Leave Hampton immediately. I have made all 
 arrangements for your future as far as money is con- 
 cerned. When you are well enough to leave the hos- 
 pital, wire Mrs. Mary Morse, R. F. D. No. 31, Ro- 
 weena, New York, and she will meet you. There is 
 a little home awaiting you and the child. She is keep- 
 ing it for you. I want him to grow up among the 
 woods and flowers. I have written her all; but she 
 will guard and take care of you both. She befriended 
 me once " 
 
 Here the cleanness of the paper upon which the note 
 was written was marred by words which had evidently 
 been erased. Then in a few terse phrases Marjory 
 was told the detailed plans which he had laid for her 
 comfort throughout the ensuing weeks. A telegram 
 stating the number of her hospital room, a ticket to 
 New York, and a roll of crisp new bills were enclosed. 
 His name was signed, and then beneath it, in a trem- 
 bling chirography, the words appeared: "Try to for- 
 give me, and never let him know the truth about his 
 father." 
 
 Marjory lifted startled eyes. Then it was all true 
 the things those men had said ! Oh, what would people 
 say!! 
 
 Had Marjory been less thoughtlessly selfish, she 
 would have been touched by the evident pains which 
 Denneth had taken in her behalf, even though he had 
 done this thing which would disgrace her for life. In- 
 stead of any such feeling, however, a furious anger 
 against him blazed in her heart, choking out all else. 
 His eyes as they had looked when he said good-by 
 the morning before came to her in pleading; but she
 
 192 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 forced them away as a thing of horror. She hated 
 their growing vagueness and had for a long time. 
 To be so nearsighted as she had seen Denneth grow 
 made any one look so silly! The way he had clung 
 to her in that last embrace now seemed only a mock- 
 ery in the light of this cruel thing which he had 
 done to her. Clinching her small fists, she buried her 
 head in the pillows upon the couch and burst into 
 hysterical weeping. He had disgraced her forever! 
 What would people say! 
 
 Her mother's criticism of Denneth came uppermost 
 in her mind, and, with an intensity of hatred against 
 him, she said over and over to herself that her mother 
 was right had always been right. She was a fool 
 to have ever married him. She lay for several min- 
 utes in this condition, repeating to herself the words: 
 "Married to a criminal ! A criminal!" She imagined 
 she saw the world's finger of scorn pointed at her. She 
 was the wife of a thief ! She was branded by Society 
 forever ! 
 
 Not once did she consider Denneth's possible inno- 
 cence or suffering, nor did she try to make excuses 
 for him. Instead she blamed upon him everything 
 which had happened since she knew him that could, by 
 any possibility, be construed against him. Brought 
 up without sense of loyalty toward any one save her 
 own little wilful self, she did not see at all how ut- 
 terly selfish and despicable her attitude was. She felt 
 herself to be entirely and unalterably the injured one, 
 and took pleasure in ascribing to Denneth every form 
 of wickedness she could conceive. 
 
 Finally the words of his note came back to her 
 through the jumble of her distressed mind and, dry- 
 ing her eyes, she looked about her at the cozy green 
 and brown room in which she lay, with its vases full 
 of flowers and window boxes green with ferns. The
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 193 
 
 little desk set of birch bark, made by his own hands, 
 the pictures of woody scenes upon the softly painted 
 walls, everything spoke to her of him. The furnish- 
 ing of the tiny place, in spite of its lack of roomi- 
 ness, gave a sense of the freedom of all out-of-doors. 
 There was a restfulness about it that none save those 
 familiar with the depths of the woods could fully 
 appreciate. Yet, looking at it now, Marjory hated it 
 all. It stifled her gave her a sense of oppression. 
 She felt unless she escaped from it soon she could not 
 control herself at all! 
 
 Again she read his note. Yes, she must leave Hamp- 
 ton at once. She would catch the evening train. Sob- 
 bing violently, she called Mary Anna, and explaining 
 as best she could, commanded her to help in their prep- 
 aration for departure. 
 
 As she packed up all the dainty laces, the flimsy friv- 
 olities and foolish vanities which Denneth in his gen- 
 erosity had bestowed upon her, dabbing her eyes and 
 swallowing the lump that would come uppermost in 
 her throat, she ground her small teeth together and 
 hoped she would never see him again. He had spoiled 
 her life! 
 
 ******* 
 
 They found him in the strip of woodland where 
 the river took a companionable sweep inward toward 
 a flower-turfed mound, a pistol-hole through his left 
 breast. He had thought it better so, but his hand 
 had fumbled! 
 
 He was taken back to Hampton and in due time sen- 
 tence was pronounced. It proved to be a double 
 one; for attempted suicide is punishable by law as 
 attempted manslaughter. For that act he received a 
 life sentence. For his theft, ten years more in true 
 keeping with the exquisitely unconscious irony of the 
 law!
 
 Under his real name of Richard Dennison, told dur- 
 ing a burst of defiance and a bitter tirade against life, 
 the woods were locked away from him forever. His 
 honest attempt at honesty, his physical clean living, 
 his love for Marjory, his hopes and ambitions, his en- 
 tire better self, in fact, seemed to him almost as if 
 they had never been. In the stench and filth of an un- 
 derground cell his sight began to fail him rapidly; 
 broken in spirit, body and soul, he was once more a 
 man without a country, and though living he was dead. 
 For his offense against property rights the Majesty of 
 the Law had set its machinery in motion, ingeniously 
 contrived for what purpose? To exact recompense 
 for the injury done? That would seem a logical end 
 to achieve. No; rather to make its victim feel the 
 full weight of its vengeance, and forever crush his 
 manhood a crime which in the sight of God must far 
 outweigh any committed by the culprit. 
 
 Yet what stand does Society take with respect to 
 offenses against those rights which are higher than 
 those of property ? Back in Dunham the weak-mouthed 
 fop still violated trysts unchecked. Wild oats were 
 sown, and Society reaped a blind, imbecile and blood- 
 polluted menace with no real attempt to stop it. In 
 warring countries spies and deserters are shot, while 
 monsters who drag down into the mire God's most 
 sacred law of nature escape unscathed. 
 
 The eyes of justice are bound ! In crass egotism we 
 count the present more important than the future. We 
 do not even try to look further than "the little mist- 
 bound span of life that the eyes of man have been 
 allowed to see." Thus it takes civilization a thousand 
 years to learn what it might learn in a day.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MARJORY dressed in hat and coat sat in her immacu- 
 late room at the Cosmopolitan Hospital, her baby held 
 awkwardly upon her trembling knees. The slow tears 
 filled her eyes, dimmed with suffering, while in her 
 heart a frozen sort of pain grew to alarming sharp- 
 ness. Yet almost without looking her hands went 
 on robing the little fellow in cape and hood. Unclasp- 
 ing the locket of queer design from about her own 
 neck, she clasped it about his. Then she wrote upon 
 a scrap of paper the words. "His name is Stanley," 
 and opening the locket's lid slipped the paper inside. 
 Finally she stood up. 
 
 With a quick, frightened gesture the baby's little 
 pink fingers reached out and twined themselves about 
 one of her slender white ones as though he was fearful 
 lest she let him fall. With the grip of a drowning 
 man he clung to it, and made queer gurgling noises 
 while trying at the same moment to ram his other 
 fist into the limited facial opening which nature had 
 provided him for this purpose. 
 
 A dry sob broke from Marjory's lips, and, raising 
 her little son to her breast, she buried her face in his 
 lacy softness, holding him convulsively closer until she 
 felt his moist mouth kiss her burning cheek. With a 
 feeling of marvel that such could have been the case, 
 she recalled the days before his birth when she had 
 thought that she did not want him ! Perhaps her pres- 
 ent distress and that which she was deliberately plan- 
 ning for herself for his sake was sent her in punish- 
 ment for that aversion ! Not want him ? She involun- 
 tarily clasped him closer, and at the unwonted tense- 
 ness of her soft arms the little fellow cried out ! Some- 
 
 195
 
 how the whole of the mother-hour of agony that had 
 given him birth seemed to sweep over Marjory at his 
 cry; then came the precious memory of the first warm 
 touch of him against her breast, the touch which had 
 changed her whole point of view. Could she find the 
 strength of will to carry out her present plan after 
 all? Could she give him up? And yet she firmly be- 
 lieved that in fairness to him she must! 
 
 A knock sounded at the door. In answer to Mar- 
 jory's summons a sweet-faced nurse appeared. "All 
 right, Mrs. Matthews," she said. "The cab is wait- 
 ing. Here, let me take the boy. Bless him! There!" 
 as she cuddled him up to her and saw that Marjory 
 had her small traveling bag. "You're sure you don't 
 want any of us to go with you? Miss Comfort's off 
 duty, you know, and can put you on the train just 
 as well as not." 
 
 Marjory shook her head and was about to speak 
 when the nurse continued: "Oh, by the way, that 
 queer man has been around here again to-day. It's 
 the funniest thing, but he insists that he does know 
 you, and that he must see you ! Said again that your 
 husband sent him. And he gave me this note," look- 
 ing anxiously at Marjory's flushed face; "but I 
 wouldn't read it if it upsets you !" 
 
 "He's crazy!" Marjory exclaimed angrily. But, 
 taking the proffered note, she opened and read it. 
 
 "Missus," it ran, "you must see me. I'm Sam Sim- 
 mons. He said not but I gotter disobey this onct. 
 Theys piped him. Things looks bad. Me and you 
 is all he's got " 
 
 But Marjory read no further. "I don't know what 
 the idiot means!" she flared angrily. "I never heard 
 of this man!" and tearing the letter to bits she threw
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 197 
 
 it from her. Then walking ahead of the nurse she 
 passed down the hospital corridors and out the front 
 door to a cab waiting in the dusk. 
 
 "To the Grand Central Station," she said, and tak- 
 ing her child from the nurse's arms Marjory settled 
 herself back and the cab started. So engaged was she 
 in letting bitter thoughts of her husband hold her mind 
 in sway that she did not notice a dark figure as it 
 slouched from the shadows of the hospital entrance 
 and, entering another cab, followed them. 
 
 The very idea of Denneth trying to communicate 
 with her, and so disgrace her and her precious boy! 
 For, of course, that was what Sam Simmons' s note had 
 meant. So ran her indignant thoughts. Recalling 
 Denneth's written words to her on that dreadful day 
 in Hampton just before she had fled to New York, her 
 face sneered with the hatred and loathing in which 
 she now held her husband. Of course, he was send- 
 ing Sam Simmons whoever Sam Simmons was! to 
 try and get her to help him, now that he was in 
 trouble ! Well, she would not do it ! Why, even now 
 was she not about to make the greatest sacrifice a 
 mother can make to save the good name of her boy? 
 He should never know who his father was. Again 
 all the hatred of which her nature was capable blazed 
 in Marjory, and as the cab drew up in front of the 
 station it gave her new impetus and strength to do 
 that thing which she had so carefully planned for 
 the sake of the baby in her arms. 
 
 Quickly she alighted, though not too quickly for 
 Sam Simmons's keen eyes. Clasping the baby tightly 
 in her arms, she hurried through the crowded sta- 
 tion, stopping only long enough to check her suitcase. 
 Many idly curious eyes followed for a moment her 
 flushed face, caught by its appealing beauty, but that 
 was all; and so as she passed through the exit of the
 
 198 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 station and found herself upon a quiet side street she 
 felt sure that she was safe from observation. 
 
 Looking neither to the right nor to the left she 
 went rapidly forward, then turning up traversed one 
 of the older residential avenues of the city until well 
 up into the more fashionable neighborhood of side 
 streets on the upper East Side. Here she continued 
 toward the east. Shabby residences began to replace 
 gloomily impressive ones. The exclusiveness of drawn 
 curtains was succeeded by democratic and unshaded 
 windows, where the light from inside shone out to 
 cheer the passer-by. The fresh dampness of wind blow- 
 ing across water smote her face. Weather-stained 
 houses huddled together in a seeming effort to keep 
 warm. 
 
 Down upon the river's edge a long building came 
 into view. Seeing its one twinkling light, a star in 
 an alcove in the side wall just where the grated fence 
 which surrounded the big barren yard commenced, 
 Marjory hurried toward it. The street was entirely 
 deserted, and though she many times looked appre- 
 hensively about her she did not once see the slouching 
 figure of Sam Simmons as it slid along from one 
 shadow to another, never losing sight of her, yet never 
 for an instant allowing his anxiety to get the better 
 of his early professional training. He had promised 
 his "pal" that he would keep track of Marjory. Den- 
 neth had given him the same address which he had 
 given Marjory that of a New England woman who 
 had once befriended them both. Sam had supposed 
 that Marjory would, of course, go there, as she had 
 been told. It was to that address he was to send 
 Denneth's money every month ; yet here she was walk- 
 ing rapidly toward the river, instead of taking the 
 train to the indicated station! His heart misgave 
 him! He quickened his pursuit. Not only would he
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 199 
 
 protect her and her child from herself if what he 
 dimly suspected were to prove true but he was also 
 determined to see and talk to Marjory about her hus^ 
 band. Surely she could not know of Denneth's pres- 
 ent predicament! The verdict that the court had 
 passed in his case must be unsuspected by her, else 
 she would certainly try to go to him and comfort him 
 a little 
 
 Marjory hurried on. During her school days in a 
 fashionable convent in New York she had several times 
 been shown the Home of His Lost Sheep, and so 
 a few weeks before, while she lay in the hospital, the 
 new and hitherto unsuspected love for her son having 
 awakened in her breast, she had recalled the story of 
 the place in connection with Denneth's words "never 
 let him know who his father was!", and a plan, full 
 fledged, had entered her mind. From then until now 
 she had known no peace, for though what she was 
 about to do would cause her untold suffering, she felt 
 absolutely sure it was the best thing for the boy. 
 
 Marjory had lived for three years with the beauti- 
 ful Sisters in the Holy Mother Convent. They were 
 saints, every one of them! Life there had been a 
 series of prayers, some study, and sweet girl friend- 
 ships. But of life she had learned practically nothing. 
 Even during vacations spent with her mother that lady 
 was careful to guard her "innocent" thoughts, teach- 
 ing her, instead of life's truths, the standards of a life 
 of luxury and the false ideals of clothes. At the 
 convent Marjory had heard with a feeling of awe the 
 story of the Home of His Lost Sheep, and how, 
 if instead of alms, a baby was put into the conveniently 
 large alms-basket where the starlight always twinkled, 
 a bell would ring inside the Home's gray walls. On 
 that signal the basket would revolve, and the baby 
 would be taken out and into the Home through a secret
 
 200 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 door, and no questions asked. The true significance 
 of this was, of course, lost upon her, then and even 
 now. She knew little of life. 
 
 With the dear Sisters Marjory had once visited an 
 orphanage very like the Home of His Lost Sheep. 
 To her youthful eyes the inmates had seemed clean 
 and happy little beings who were bound to grow up 
 into good men and women under the guidance of the 
 Sisters and the visiting Fathers. She had heard it 
 said that few of these children ever knew who their 
 fathers were. Somewhere she had read the phrase 
 that "the sons of convicts nearly always turn out to 
 be convicts themselves," and her mind quickly coupling 
 the two things together, she had accepted the plan it 
 suggested as heaven-sent. Little Stanley should not 
 grow up under the shadow of his father's crimes! 
 Little Stanley should have a fair chance! He should 
 live with and grow up with women almost as good, no 
 doubt, as the Sisters of the convent. Of little Stanley's 
 whereabouts she would never tell her own mother. 
 She had thought out even that detail. She would tell 
 her mother that the little baby had died at birth. Yes, 
 her son should have his fair chance in the world. She 
 had pinned a note to his dress asking that he be al- 
 lowed always to wear the locket of queer design about 
 his neck. She could go to see him occasionally she 
 clasped him convulsively closer to her at this thought. 
 Perhaps when he had grown up into a good and holy 
 man she could tell him who she was ; but now Chok- 
 ing back a sob, she hurried across the street. 
 
 With arms outstretched she reached the alcove in 
 which was the basket. She knelt down. The bell 
 rang! That moment stayed with her all the rest of 
 her life. Awake or asleep, it would often envelop her 
 like a poisonous vapor. She could not reason the thing 
 out to its ultimate conclusion. She did not know how
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 201 
 
 to reason, she was so appallingly ignorant of actual 
 conditions, and she honestly believed she was acting 
 for the best. 
 
 Blinded by tears she arose to her feet and stumbled 
 away. But Sam Simmons had seen and understood 
 the emptiness of her arms. There were few dark se- 
 crets of the city that he did not know. The alms- 
 basket's true and frequent use was not known to many, 
 but Sam, rough fellow though he was, had once helped 
 a strange woman who had had occasion to use it. 
 
 With a spring like a catapult he was dashing across 
 the street ! His pal's little son ! She was disposing of 
 it! He had not dreamed she would take this course. 
 He had thought of the river, but 
 
 He had promised Denny 
 
 The driver of a motor truck, which came sharply 
 around the corner, caught sight of his flying figure 
 too late. A crowd sprang up from nowhere. 
 
 With a shudder Marjory quickened her steps and 
 turned her head away as she reached the spot where 
 the group had congregated. 
 
 "The lady!" Sam whispered. "For God's sake, 
 quick !" in answer to a question from one of the crowd; 
 and the questioner, seeing Marjory, stepped in front 
 of her and said: 
 
 "It's you, Miss, he's after wantin'." 
 
 "Oh h!" Marjory gasped, frightened at the man's 
 address. Then recovering her voice, and her mind 
 taking in the meaning of the man's words, she an- 
 swered : "But I don't know him. He can't want me. 
 I couldn't possibly speak to him!" and, shuddering, 
 she tried to hurry on. 
 
 "Mother of Mary! An' ye a woman, to refuse a 
 dyin' man's request? Ye shan't!!" he exclaimed, and 
 boldly putting his burly arm out in front of Mar- 
 jory he stopped her.
 
 202 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "Come on !" Taking her by the arm, he forced her 
 to step from the curb, and though she was now trem- 
 bling in her fright he led her up to where Sam lay, 
 a dark, horribly mutilated object whose eyes alone 
 showed that he was still living. 
 
 "Here's the lady, old sport," Marjory's captor said, 
 his rough manner becoming surprisingly gentle as he 
 leaned over Sam. Then turning to Marjory he com- 
 manded in his former tone : "Kneel down there. He 
 wants to spake with ye!" 
 
 Sick with the sight of Sam's wrecked body, and too 
 frightened to resist, Marjory leaned over him and 
 listened as he gasped between the convulsions of agony 
 that racked him : 
 
 "I promised Denny my pal you money every 
 month." The world spun round for Marjory, but the 
 bullying brute who had forced her to this strange 
 man's side was standing threateningly over her, and 
 so she dared not faint, nor move away. Presently the 
 spasm of acute pain passed from Sam's drawn face, 
 and in a stronger voice he said : 
 
 "I've tried to help Denny. Tell him so. Tell 
 him " Then his voice weakened again, and he said 
 faintly : "I'm hittin' the trail vamoosing kickin' the 
 bucket I reckon. You must go he you Oh, 
 tell him I didn't mean to fail!" he said in feverish 
 excitement. "Tell him " But, his mind clearing 
 again, he said in a quick, low voice, in spite of his 
 growing weakness: "Take the bundle from me left 
 pocket." 
 
 The man who had stopped Marjory leaned over and, 
 taking a bundle from Sam's pocket, silently handed it 
 to her; and Sam went on: 
 
 "That's jes' part. The other 4s The other 
 is " But before he could finish his sentence his eyes 
 had become cold and still.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 203 
 
 A great commotion ensued. The ambulance came 
 clanging up. White uniforms lifted the mangled body ; 
 and in the excitement of the moment Marjory slipped 
 away unnoticed and gained the quiet and safety of the 
 next street. Absent-mindedly she put into her pocket 
 the packet which she had received from Sam, and hur- 
 ried breathlessly on. She was too alarmed and dis- 
 tressed by the whole dreadful experience even to try 
 to understand the hurt man's words. She felt no 
 interest in the package he had given her. Her one 
 thought was to get away, for she realized that he 
 was in some way connected with her criminal husband. 
 She must not be seen or questioned. Hers and her 
 boy's whole future depended upon not becoming iden- 
 tified in any way with the man who had wrecked her 
 life! 
 
 Going back to the station, she recovered the suit- 
 case which she had checked there only a short hour 
 before an hour so full of tragedy that it seemed it 
 must be days and then engaged a room at a nearby 
 hotel. To relieve an overpowering sense of loneli- 
 ness she sent off a non-committal telegram to her 
 mother, merely giving her her address. 
 
 When, some days later, she remembered the pack- 
 age still reposing in her coat pocket, it was with no 
 feeling of gratitude toward Denneth, or toward the 
 dishonest man who had given his life in an honest 
 endeavor to help a fellow-unfortunate, that she dis- 
 covered it was a roll of bills; but rather did it serve 
 to increase her anger against them both. The money 
 in her possession was a constant source of anxiety 
 and worry to her. She dared not spend it. She dared 
 not return it to the bank from which she knew Den- 
 neth had taken it. Her whole mind and heart was 
 set upon the one idea that she had a right not to have 
 to share Denneth' s blame; and never once did the
 
 204 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 thought that Denneth had stolen for her enter her 
 mind. With her ever-growing sense of self- 
 preservation, there grew also the notion that she had a 
 right to happiness. Lacking that, she saw herself a 
 shining martyr in the light of her great self-pity, and 
 so it was not long before she answered her mother's 
 anxious letters from Virginia by returning to that 
 lady, now basking in the affluence which the valuable 
 billy-goat mining fields had brought, and once more 
 took up the easy, idle life of her early girlhood. Once 
 and once only did Marjory visit the Home of His 
 Lost Sheep. During that visit, made soon after the 
 terrible night of her sacrifice, she became so unstrung 
 at the sight of the little pink and white bundle, with 
 only its locket of queer design about its neck to in 
 any way separate it from all the other pink and white 
 bundles, that she felt it would not be safe for her to 
 see little Stanley again. So great, so almost unbear- 
 able, was her physical longing to hold the warm little 
 body of her body against her heart that she felt that 
 her "mother-love," so called, could not stand the 
 strain! She even prided herself secretly upon this 
 fact, and thus fanned the flame of self-pity that was 
 fast attaining the white heat of utter selfishness. There 
 is nothing more sacred in the world than mother- 
 love, but only when it is permeated and directed by 
 spiritual and altruistic ideals is it in any way differen- 
 tiated from the physical emotion and impulses which 
 obtain even among the brutes. That the mother of a 
 soul-endowed child is under compelling obligation to 
 that child for the sake of its future, to direct her love 
 by such ideals is self-evident. Yet many mothers, 
 rather than suffer emotional discomfort in supplying 
 the spiritual demands of that child, will take refuge 
 in the indulgence of their purely physical affection for 
 it. It is true that Marjory's sense of justice to her
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 205 
 
 boy's future was sufficiently strong to enable her to 
 resist this impulse, yet she failed utterly to realize the 
 duty she owed him to exercise a mother's influence 
 toward his higher development during the formative 
 period of his life. And so it was that she decided it 
 would be easier and safer for them both to leave little 
 Stanley entirely to the care of this institution ! 
 
 Years passed, and the little pink and white bundle, 
 "Number 99," grew into lonely boyhood, unloved, and 
 known to most of the inmates of the Home of His 
 Lost Sheep only by his number. The locket which 
 still hung about his neck was the only link that bound 
 him to a life begun outside those gray walls. During 
 the golden age when most boys and girls live the 
 happiest hours of their whole existence, when like a 
 flower their babyhood is blossoming into childhood in 
 the warmth and light of a mother's love, little Stan- 
 ley Richardson's body was not allowed to starve 
 Church and State saw to that but his soul, unnour- 
 ished, did starve, and because of the lack of loving 
 understanding was dwarfed and asleep within him. 
 
 Out in the world beyond the walls of the loveless 
 barracks which was the only home he knew, other 
 pink and white bundles, becoming sturdy little boys, 
 held whole households in subjection. When they 
 looked up their eyes would encounter other eyes gaz- 
 ing worship fully down upon them with adoring faces, 
 which, like the sun, seemed made to smile for them 
 alone. They splashed in scented water in big white 
 tubs. Nice, woolly things encased their drowsy bodies. 
 Then later, when they had grown older and their eyes 
 had become accustomed to the nearness and dearness 
 of the world-of-things, gay toys surrounded them.
 
 206 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "Childhood's bright days, kind words, sweet 
 thoughts and mother-loving hours, 
 
 The happy birds, all out-door folks, and 
 heaven-kissed fragrant flowers, 
 
 The brooks, the woods so deep and cool, the 
 fields, the sky so blue " 
 
 were theirs. But not for Marjory's little son. Awak- 
 ened by a bell, he dressed by a bell, was called to pray- 
 ers by a bell. By the summons of a bell he knew he 
 was to be taken out, one of a long, drab line, to Cen- 
 tral Park, there to walk in, but not to play in, a green 
 world that was made by nature for a children's para- 
 dise. 
 
 For him the twilight hour was marked by prayers 
 again, but at no loving knee; instead, in the coldness 
 of a barren hall in which he had just had supper as 
 dreary and tasteless as was life itself. The Sandman 
 came around; but there was no soft bosom to nod 
 against. Of course he did not miss these joys, for 
 he had never known them. Without tucking in he 
 went to bed at the sound of the bell. Without "bon 
 voyage" he sailed away to the Isle of Dreams. There, 
 in lieu of fairy flowers and laughter, he met great, 
 gaunt, hungry-eyed monsters who beat him as he was 
 beaten in reality did he dare to complain or hint at 
 the fact that life was very hard in the Home of His 
 Lost Sheep. 
 
 Rules were strict and food scarce. A housekeeper 
 who kept the bills down was considered an example 
 of righteous perfection. She had honors heaped upon 
 her humble head. To send a young offender to bed 
 without his always-meager supper accomplished two 
 things, and was indulged in freely. Laundry was an 
 expensive luxury, and dark-brown homespun showed 
 little dirt, while beneath the homespun nothing showed ! 
 The occupancy of beds by other creatures besides the
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 207 
 
 children was a matter of no moment for vermin, 
 along with flies in food, was a natural and harmless 
 accident in the daily routine of the Home of His Lost 
 Sheep. The nurses could not be expected to notice 
 such things. Hired by the Church and partly by the 
 State, they were too busy both religiously and polit- 
 ically. The officers could not see to it that the chil- 
 dren were taught anything beyond the recognized ele- 
 ments of education. Their time was too taken up with 
 politics pertaining to those who had already learned 
 to sin to waste it in trying to keep these little home- 
 less beggars from learning how to sin! 
 
 The church-goers who supported this Home ? Why, 
 embroidered altar cloths, cathedral spires and deep- 
 toned organs were needed too much to throw away 
 money on orphans and foundlings! And the City 
 the State the Government? There were too many 
 ward-heelers and the like to be supported too many 
 votes to buy. Each ash-cart had to have two big strong 
 men to lift the heavy ash-cans that one slim woman, 
 perchance, had put out; and if one of the giants did 
 the lifting, the other must needs sit on the cart seat 
 and hold the fiery steed, which would not have moved 
 had he had the proverbial firecracker tied to his tail! 
 There were too many City Departments with their 
 hordes of open-palmed inspectors; too many superflu- 
 ous municipal projects with their extravagant demands 
 upon the treasury; too many governmental-salaried 
 officials with too little to do to spend money in bring- 
 ing up mere future citizens. Besides which there were 
 plenty of perfectly good penitentiaries erected with 
 taxpayers' money ready and waiting to receive these 
 children when they entered the world from out the 
 righteous confines of the Home of His Lost Sheep! 
 Not that this Home stood out as worse than all the 
 rest, for it was no worse. A little more religious,
 
 208 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 perhaps, because of its connection with the Church, but 
 differing scarcely at all from the rest. 
 
 Twelve years had rolled over Marjory's boy. Un- 
 dersized, frail, timid, with smileless face in which two 
 big, somber eyes burned, the little fellow had existed 
 only to wonder vaguely about the world outside the 
 gray walls that served to bar him from his rights as a 
 little child. By nature sensitive and shrinking, he 
 seemed totally unable to play as many of the other 
 children played, in spite of their miserable surround- 
 ings. He was not many years old, therefore, before 
 the Home's various attendants began to rebuke his 
 timid silence as pure sullenness, and his sensitiveness 
 as stubbornness! 
 
 So plastic is the growing mind of a child, so open 
 to thought influence, that very soon Stanley's silence 
 really did begin to take on the tinge of sullenness ; and 
 his sensitive thoughts, thrown back upon themselves, 
 became stubborn. Yearning for affection and encour- 
 agement, and receiving nothing but constant criticism 
 and severe punishment for the slightest infraction of 
 petty rules, his stubbornness rapidly developed into a 
 grim enjoyment of giving trouble. Finding then that 
 mischievousness, it mattered not how innocent, was 
 always punished, he soon learned to lie and deceive 
 or in any other manner protect himself, while his wil- 
 ful nature steadily grew, making him more and more 
 determined to have his way. He was not an attrac- 
 tive lad. Vaguely conscious of his inability to charm, 
 at a very early age his natural reticence attained pro- 
 portions seldom met with in children. All this was 
 before he had reached the age when he reasoned about 
 anything; and so, even though- he had inherited his 
 father's innate honesty and love of fair play, these 
 traits were buried as his father's had become buried 
 beneath the bad influence of a bad environment. Pos-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 209 
 
 sessed with a sense of loyalty, he met with no one 
 to call it forth. Full of his father's love of the great 
 out-of-doors, he loathed and hated the prison walls 
 of the Home of His Lost Sheep, without fully re- 
 alizing why he did so. Full, also, of his defiance, 
 yet inheriting a streak of moral cowardice from his 
 mother, he became crafty, afraid of indulging openly 
 in the independence of word and thought which had 
 made life so hard for his father. Not one ray of 
 sunshine had thus far come into the poor little fel- 
 low's life; but one day everything seemed entirely 
 changed for him. A smaller boy in the Home, a par- 
 tial cripple both in body and mind, openly cried when 
 Stanley was beaten for a misdemeanor; and on Stan- 
 ley's being sent to bed, supperless, crawled over to 
 him after the lights were out. Putting his misshapen 
 arms about Stanley, he whispered in a frightened 
 voice : "Don't cry, Big Boy. She git licked, too, when 
 me big boy. Don't cry ! Me kill lions and chipmunks 
 and kangaroos and spiders !" 
 
 He wound up every sentence with these words. 
 They seemed a part of the little dwarfed creature 
 himself, and were always followed by a blow from his 
 small fist, which was, in turn, followed by a shrill, 
 foolish laugh of delight, conveying the idea to his 
 hearer that his poor brain was convinced that he had 
 killed all four. 
 
 His act toward Stanley was a small thing. It meant 
 little on the part of the defective child; but to Stan- 
 ley, the emotion-starved lad, it meant the opening up 
 of an entirely new world a world in which love was 
 the ruler, and he its willing subject. 
 
 From that day forth there was seldom a moment 
 during his waking hours that Stanley did not cham- 
 pion the rights of the cuffed and despised, the scoffed-at 
 and ill-treated little hunchback offspring of two alco-
 
 210 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 holic degenerates. To him the loose-mouthed, vacant- 
 eyed face of the crippled youngster was beautiful. 
 From an inborn sense of loyalty, coupled with 
 his mother's generally suppressed, but nevertheless 
 real power of imagination, Stanley bestowed upon 
 this queer little companion all the virtues of which 
 he knew or could conceive. This devotion to the 
 Home's jester on the part of the sullen, silent lad 
 brought down upon his head many taunts from 
 the other children and much undeserved punish- 
 ment from the nurses. This fact in no way altered 
 Stanley's attitude toward his irresponsible protege; 
 and it was because of this younger and weaker fellow-, 
 orphan that Stanley dreamed oftener than ever of the 
 world outside the walls which held him prisoner. He 
 longed to free the little fellow from the taunts and 
 jibes which were his daily lot. 
 
 One day as he stood peering through the rails of 
 the iron fence which enclosed the barren place digni- 
 fied by the name of "the yard," a plan so entrancing 
 in its possibilities that it fairly took his breath away 
 popped into Stanley's head. Down, way down in the 
 corner nearest the river he had noticed that one of the 
 fence rails was rusty and that the solder holding it 
 in place was quite loose. That night, after every- 
 thing was still, he tried it. It was looser even than 
 he had dared to hope. Thereafter every night 
 a stealthy little figure might have been seen making 
 its way to the rail and carefully shaking it at its bot- 
 tom foundation. Soon Stanley's perseverance was 
 rewarded by his ability to break the rail away from 
 the solder that held it; and using his entire strength, 
 he pushed it far to one side, even though the solder 
 at the top held. Much to his delight he found the 
 opening was large enough to squeeze his body through. 
 He would escape! He would go out into that green
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 211 
 
 world of which he knew so little! Taking with him 
 the poor little hunchback that everyone treated so 
 cruelly, they both would live the life of the other boys 
 whom Stanley had seen on his walks through the park, 
 boys who seemed so care-free and happy. He and the 
 little "Lion," for the hunchback had been dubbed that 
 by those who tormented him, would go and live in 
 Central Park where everything was so beautiful and 
 free. The troubled thought of how they would feed 
 themselves had occasionally flitted through Stanley's 
 mind, but only vaguely and for a very few moments 
 at a time. He had always dismissed it as one that was 
 of no consequence. The birds, the squirrels, all out- 
 door folk found ways and means of living, he argued 
 if his mild and occasional thoughts on the subject 
 could be called arguing so why should not he ? 
 
 Flushed with triumph Stanley crept back to the 
 dormitory where he and the Lion lived, and silently 
 going to the latter's cot, picked up the little misshapen 
 body. Again he gained the darkness of the yard with- 
 out having been perceived. 
 
 At the far corner of the fence he put his little charge 
 down and, waking him, for he had slept as a baby 
 does, he endeavored to explain the plan for their 
 escape. 
 
 "Say, kid," he said, "don't you want to get out of 
 this place? I do. See, you can get right through 
 that rail there. Try it," as the vacant face of the little 
 half wit grinned up at him sleepily. "Try it," and 
 Stanley lifted him up, putting one of the child's 
 crooked legs through the opening made by the mis- 
 placed rail. "See, see, you can do it! Try!" But 
 the Lion was obdurate and astride the coping that held 
 the rails continued to grin foolishly up at Stanley. 
 
 "There's lions and chipmunks and kangaroos out 
 there," the latter whispered in encouragement, a pang
 
 212 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 of fear filling him lest their two figures be seen or 
 heard and his plans spoiled forever. "There's spiders 
 too, heaps of spiders !" 
 
 The words worked like magic. "Me kill lions and 
 chipmunks and kangaroos and spiders !" the child cried, 
 and wriggling his deformed body through the opening, 
 he turned and whacked his fist down on Stanley's head, 
 laughing shrilly. "Me kill lions and spiders!" 
 "Whack!" 
 
 "Of course you can," Stanley agreed, himself 
 wriggling through, though with more difficulty. 
 "Lion's a fine boy but come on, let's beat it!" as he 
 gained the street outside. Taking hold of the other 
 boy's hand he started running up the side street past 
 the alcove with its twinkling star. 
 
 Free! He was free! Free from the stench of the 
 damp dormitories, and the foul food. Free from the 
 frowning gray walls, and the taunts and sneers of the 
 other children. As for his little companion, Stanley 
 thought, no one should ever poke fun at his deformi- 
 ties again ! The lad's whole better nature flared with 
 angry loyalty as, running forward, he recalled the suf- 
 fering of the little idiot by his side. Out in this world 
 of freedom they were both fast gaining he would make 
 the little hunchback happy. He felt absolutely sure 
 of that. Together they would whoop and run just 
 like other boys. Soon they would have roller skates 
 and nice clothes and good things to eat. He had once 
 asked one of the nurses in the Home of His Lost 
 Sheep why there was a difference ? She had told him 
 in no gentle language that bastards must be content 
 with what they could get! He did not know in the 
 least what the word she had used meant, but had 
 argued in his own mind that such a title was given only 
 to children who lived in Homes like the one in which 
 he had been brought up. But now, now he and the
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 213 
 
 little hunchback were surely no longer bastards. They 
 were free just like other boys, and at this conclusion 
 Stanley felt for the first time in his life the exuberance 
 of confident boyhood. 
 
 It was comparatively early in the evening, in spite 
 of the fact that the night seemed ages old to the two 
 little runaways, and as they neared Avenue A they 
 came upon a belated fruit cart left outside a nearby 
 saloon, in which the vendor was refreshing his thirsty 
 soul. 
 
 The Lion spying the red apples, bright in the light 
 cast by the street lamp, began to slobber and whine 
 like a ravenous animal. It was part of his mental 
 lack that the sight of food should always affect him so, 
 and to Stanley's way of thinking, that was the only 
 blot on an otherwise charming and lovable child. 
 
 "Apples, me wants them. Me wants!" the Lion 
 said peremptorily. 
 
 "No, no," Stanley coaxed, nervous because of their 
 nearness to the Home of His Lost Sheep, and intui- 
 tively realizing it would be the greater part of prudence 
 to quit its neighborhood as quickly as possible. "You 
 can have some apples when we get to the Park." 
 
 But the little Lion, refusing to follow, dragged upon 
 Stanley's hand, his big eyes rolling, his tongue lolling 
 out, while he repeated defiantly and with unalterable 
 stubbornness, "Apples. Me wants, me wants !" 
 
 "But kid, I'll get you some later. Come on!" and he 
 yanked the smaller boy forward, not unroughly. 
 "Quit your fooling and come on!" 
 
 "Apples, me wants, me wants, me wants!" the half 
 wit cried, beginning to kick and struggle, making 
 horrible noises with his lolling tongue. 
 
 "Gee," Stanley said, his anger beginning to rise, "if 
 you act like this I'll cuff you!" and his hand raised 
 itself above the other's malformed head. But look-
 
 214 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 ing down into the idiotic convulsed face his heart mis- 
 gave him, and all the tenderness he had ever felt for 
 the queer little fellow who was his only friend on 
 earth came uppermost. 
 
 "Here, kid," he said, "look ! I'll lend you my locket. 
 See what a pretty locket it is !" taking off the locket of 
 queer design and putting it about the other's neck. 
 "See how shiny and pretty it is!" 
 
 The Lion, handling it, gazed at it for a moment and, 
 ceasing to whine, started forward with Stanley. Then 
 espying the fruit again he began to fairly howl. 
 
 "Oh, gee, don't cry, kid," Stanley begged, "I'll give 
 you one," and walking over to the pushcart he picked 
 up a big red apple. "Here !" 
 
 Then seeing bananas too, he took one of those. The 
 fruit looked luscious. Save for Christmas and occa- 
 sional other days when important visitors of State or 
 Church came to the Home of His Lost Sheep, Stanley 
 had never known the joy of eating fruit; so that as 
 his hand went out to pacify the child who was under 
 his guidance and protection, his own appetite became 
 suddenly whetted. Grabbing the apples and oranges 
 that lay a tempting mass of bright color upon the cart, 
 he stuffed his and the Lion's pockets full. In his mind 
 there was no more thought of theft than if he had been 
 plucking a flower from his mother's garden, had he 
 been fortunate enough to know either; and so when 
 the saloon door opposite swung open and a big burly 
 Italian came reeling out, it was with no thought of 
 danger that Stanley and the little hunchback slowly 
 turned from the wagon and started on their way. To 
 the alcohol-inflamed mind of the fruit vendor, how- 
 ever, their bulging pockets and full hands screamed 
 aloud their guilt. 
 
 "Iddio! Diavolo!" the vendor thundered. Then 
 rushing back into the saloon he announced excitedly
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 215 
 
 to those assembled about the bar, "Thieves! Bambini 
 thieves! Come help-er me catch-er!" 
 
 Other inflamed minds caught the words, and Stan- 
 ley and his companion were soon surrounded by a 
 liquor-crazed, gesticulating crowd of brutes, who, 
 though confused as to what the trouble was, vaguely 
 realized there was trouble and knew there would be 
 more! 
 
 Stubbornly standing his ground, little Stanley re- 
 fused to answer their clamorous questions. He had 
 seen many of the Home's employees in just such a 
 hysterical state, as he thought, when anything occurred 
 to upset them ; and so now he was not the least alarmed 
 by the brutal men, until a familiar face suddenly 
 showed through an opening in the crowd, and he felt 
 a rough hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "So it's you, is it, that's after gitting thru dat broke 
 rail?" the watchman of the Home of His Lost Sheep 
 
 said. "Hold still there, you son of a ," 
 
 foul words pouring unchecked from the obscene 
 mouth, "I heard the row, and run out to see what 
 was happening jest after you sneaked. Hell !" and he 
 gave Stanley a crack over the head with his stick. 
 "And I'll be blowed if it ain't the nutty one, too!" and 
 he caught the whimpering Lion by the nape of the 
 neck. Then to the liquor-crazed mob he said: "Git 
 outer my way. It's after passing I am!" and half 
 dragging, half kicking the boys through the crowd, he 
 muttered to himself: "Hell of a mess I'd been in if 
 these two had got away," and dribbling an exgurgita- 
 ting black and noisome verbal abuse of the boys, this 
 past master of blasphemy, seemingly anxious to dis- 
 play his erudition in loathsome corruption, dragged 
 his two captives back past the basket, where the bell 
 had just rung and a woman's figure might be seen 
 scurrying away. Driving them through the iron
 
 216 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 gates he gave them into the custody of the matron 
 who awaited them. 
 
 To run away from that Home God forgive the 
 cruel irony of the name! was a serious offense. To 
 influence the going of another, a still more serious 
 offense; but thieving in the open where a reporter from 
 some newspaper might discover it, and thus give a 
 black eye to the excellent morals taught in the Home 
 well that was adequately punished only by use of an 
 underground cell, the secret place wherein one piece of 
 bread and one-half gill of water a day, if remembered, 
 with beatings thrown in, were the victim's portion. 
 So Stanley was forthwith, night though it was, con- 
 signed to the cell, and chained there to an iron cross 
 symbolical of Him who loved little children, this being 
 one of the mild forms of the Home's punishment 
 regime. 
 
 It was here, with the tortured half-witted cries of the 
 one person who had touched his finer nature ringing 
 in his ears, that Stanley made up his mind that the next 
 time he escaped he would not do so carelessly. An 
 older boy he had known had been sent from the Home 
 to a place called a Reform School. Stanley did not 
 know what a Reform School was, but now decided 
 that anything would be better than the place in which 
 he was kept. He would follow the example of the 
 older boy. In hatred and burning anger against his 
 tormentors, he determined that he would do any and 
 everything in his power to inflict trouble upon the 
 matron, the nurses and the officials of the Home, just 
 as this older boy had done. Defiance once having 
 awakened in him, he lost his former timidity, forgot 
 his craftiness and fear of being caught, and with his 
 mind and heart reeking with vengeance and revolt, 
 planned the course of misconduct destined to free him 
 from the Home. 
 
 Smashing a chapel window, he stole in and set fire
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 217 
 
 to the place. Then copying as nearly as possible the 
 vile language of the watchman, he screamed and swore 
 and managed to work himself into a hysteria in which 
 his natural reticence had no part. 
 
 Very soon this blasphemous conduct had its desired 
 effect. He was pronounced an incorrigible and "with 
 a character," that is, written word from the matron 
 stating that he was a liar, a thief, and everything de- 
 rogatory that could possibly be said about a boy of his 
 age, and accompanied by the information that he 
 needed the closest watching and confinement, Stan- 
 ley was sentenced by the court to the State Reform 
 School, the ovule which, developed by Society, pro- 
 duces in its inmates the spirit of vengeance rather 
 than the purpose of right living, the place which is the 
 progenitor of those more talked-of, but no more pro- 
 lific, schools of crime, the Reformatory, the Peni- 
 tentiary, and State's Prison. 
 
 Thus the future citizens of the United States of 
 America are educated, equipped, and graduated into 
 a class which is popularly recognized to be a menace 
 to Society, in addition to which gratuitous teachings 
 these citizens are deprived of all liberty and, in our 
 professedly free country, early become the most help- 
 less of slaves, of whom time, strength, and manhood 
 itself is demanded without hope of remuneration or 
 reward. In the name of reforming we go on accom- 
 plishing just the opposite thing, because the spirit of 
 punishment and revenge and not of helpfulness 
 toward malefactors, is rife among us. We are de- 
 scendants of Caliban, and while claiming to have 
 developed ethically, are continually dragging down and 
 retarding the evolution of the physical minded into 
 the spiritual minded man by using cruelty and brute 
 force instead of the force of reason and sympathy, 
 which latter alone can make of us a better race, where- 
 in the criminal, so called, will have no place.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE late afternoon was one in early spring, and as 
 Stanley, in the custody of the officer who was con- 
 ducting him to his new abode, passed out of the bound- 
 aries of the noise-infested city, and the open country 
 was revealed on all sides, it seemed a fairyland indeed 
 to the hitherto walled-in, orphanage-bred child, who, 
 though not conscious of the fact, had inherited an un- 
 usual appreciation of the beauty of woods and fields. 
 He longed for a life in which gray walls and prison- 
 like rules played no part. Yet of such a life he knew 
 naught, nor could his untaught imagination conceive 
 its actual conditions. His lot had not fallen where the 
 bud of childhood develops into the flower of maturity 
 in the purity of God's sunlight and air, untainted by 
 the sins of man. 
 
 A winding stream, with lily bells along its bank 
 which bent down to gaze at their own reflection, wound 
 serpent-like through the meadows gay with bloom. 
 The sky blushed as the sun kissed her good-night be- 
 hind the hills. Bird answering bird, they sang their 
 evening songs, sweet but subdued, a harmony backed 
 by roseate skies. Little children sensing in the air the 
 renewed freedom of nature, to their elders exempli- 
 fied by bursting bud, romped with hilarious excitement, 
 none of them troubled by any thought of the future. 
 
 The train sped on. First its course led through 
 thickly populated suburbs, then through more sparsely 
 settled ones, until reaching the open country it seemed 
 fairly singing its way toward a place of hope and 
 happiness. Stanley, in spite of the presence of his 
 law-garbed companion, felt his heart soaring with ex- 
 pectation. Surely if the Reform School to which he 
 was being sent was over beyond the purple hills, it 
 
 218
 
 was away from squalor and distress, and he had made 
 no mistake in deliberately planning such misconduct 
 as to result in his escape from the Home, even though 
 that escape was accompanied with disgrace and dire 
 threats of what the future held in store for him. 
 
 Looking from the window at the beautiful world 
 about him, his mind could find no room for apprehen- 
 sion based on vague tales of trouble and pain awaiting 
 him. The way to the Reform School lay through 
 woods and meadows! His imagination pictured it in 
 a more and more idealized light. In childish im- 
 patience he longed for the journey to end, so that he 
 might find himself in the Castle of his Dreams. 
 
 This wish was hardly conceived before the train 
 stopped. Guided from it by the silent officer, Stanley 
 found before him a small village of cosy cottages 
 looking home-like indeed in their setting of emerald 
 hills. The now golden-pink stream which had fol- 
 lowed the train's winding way from the city's outskirts 
 took a sudden rocky turn, and dancing and sparkling, 
 sent a dashing spray high beneath a rustic bridge. 
 
 "Ninety-nine, come with me," Stanley's companion 
 said. 
 
 Obeying him the lad soon found himself inside a 
 wagon built like a box, through the sides and top of 
 which no light penetrated. The outdoors could be 
 seen only through the grated end at which he had 
 entered and which was now securely closed. 
 
 At the unexpected gloom of this queer vehicle and 
 the officer's desertion of him, coupled with his instruc- 
 tions to its driver that "Ninety-nine was an incorrigible 
 and must be closely watched," Stanley's heart misgave 
 him. But having been used all his life to bodily re- 
 straint and abuse, and unused to courtesy or kindness, 
 he was not affected as would have been a child who 
 had been brought up in normal surroundings.
 
 220 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 The driver silently regained his box and the wagon 
 rattled away. Stanley forgot his momentary fear and, 
 gazing through the wagon's barred end, eagerly 
 watched the scenes which they passed. To the nature- 
 starved boy the traversing of the road in its spring- 
 time dress of dogwood trees with full-blown orchards 
 on either side was the most wonderful adventure in 
 his life. A longing to share it with the Lion caused 
 a slow, strange lump to rise in his throat; and his 
 aspiration to free the little hunchback from further 
 pain made him redouble his determination to some day 
 get the little boy out from the Home of His Lost 
 Sheep. Reaching the Reform School, a beautiful 
 place doubtless, where flowers bloomed, he would 
 surely find someone to help him in this aim. 
 
 But at that moment Stanley's thoughts were cut 
 short by the wagon's sudden stopping in front of a big, 
 bare building. Its dingy, gaunt face stared out upon 
 the world, while from it trees and flowers stood apart. 
 
 "Git out! We're here," t^e driver commanded 
 Stanley. And jumping down from his box he un- 
 locked the wagon's grated end. "No monkey busi- 
 ness! The officer give you a character, so I know 
 about you. Git !" And as a delicate attention to the 
 newcomer, the driver yanked Stanley from the wagon 
 and, cuffing him, set him down. 
 
 At the noise of their arrival another man, not unlike 
 the driver, yet in aspect more brutal, appeared as if by 
 magic at the door. He whispered a few moments with 
 the driver, and then without the formality of a saluta- 
 tion, gave Stanley a push forward. 
 
 "Go inside, damn you! This ain't no Fifth Avenoo 
 boardin' school. This here's a Reform School. No 
 dilly-dallying allowed," he said. "Bill," jerking his 
 finger over his shoulder toward the driver, "has given 
 me your character, all right!" And shoving Stanley
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 221 
 
 over the doorsill he followed him into the dismal hall. 
 
 With a chilling of his heart so intense that it was 
 numbing to his mentality, all of Stanley's preconceived 
 ideas of the Reform School vanished. His newly 
 kindled spark of life's greatest stimulant, hope, died, 
 and in its place there was born in him a feeling of 
 hatred and desperation very akin to the one which had 
 filled him when, chained and unable to move, he had 
 received his last beating in the Home. And he had 
 deliberately planned his coming to this new place. In 
 the superior wisdom of twelve years he had been fool 
 enough to think that outside the walls of the orphanage 
 there was some small degree of boyhood's rights await- 
 ing him. 
 
 "Go in there," the repulsive-looking attendant com- 
 manded. 
 
 Stepping through a door which the man had in- 
 dicated by a shove in its direction, Stanley was con- 
 fronted by a third man. Here again a whispered 
 conversation was held, and addressing him the uni- 
 formed official said : 
 
 "Young man, you've come to us with a character. 
 Understand ? You are not very big," looking Stanley 
 up and down, "but you'll be smaller still if you don't 
 follow our rules. Bread and water for the infractious, 
 and mighty little of it mighty little." Then turning 
 to the guard who had brought Stanley before him : 
 
 "Take him to the dormitory. See that his clothes 
 are locked up and that he gets in bed." Then again 
 turning to Stanley he added: "You are to obey the 
 guard absolutely. He reports to me every day; and if 
 you are disobedient, I'll also attend to your punish- 
 ment. Do you understand?" 
 
 At these words all of Stanley's sullenness came 
 uppermost. He did not answer, and without more ado 
 was led away to the dormitory where dozens of other
 
 222 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 boys were undressing, and as they did so, handing 
 their clothes to a guard, who in turn locked the gar- 
 ments in a closet for the night. 
 
 Of course this custom of treating all children as if 
 they were dangerous degenerates or lunatics, and 
 never for a single moment appealing to their honor, 
 did not seem so unreasonable to Stanley as it would 
 have done to a more normal boy. A Reform School, 
 however, is supposed to be, not a place of punishment, 
 but a place of constructive correction, where the child 
 who has had no proper home training can be taught 
 to be manly and self-reliant, where he is taught a trade, 
 and finally develops through corrective discipline and 
 good influence into a useful, law-abiding member of 
 Society ! These schools are often called Protectorates, 
 thereby implying their protection over homeless and 
 friendless children. Yet they employ the worst 
 methods of penology. Is it likely that an inmate of 
 such a school will become a useful member of Society 
 if the system in vogue in prisons is applied to him? 
 Yet that is what is being done in practically all of the 
 so-called Reform Schools and Protectorates, to such an 
 extent that the ones run along different and more 
 sane lines stand out today as so radical that the papers 
 devote many news columns to describing them. It is 
 the unusual and not the usual, the abnormal and not 
 the normal, which attracts the attention of the people 
 and the press. In the vernacular of a big city daily : 
 "If a dog bites a man the fact is of little interest, but 
 if a man bites a dog, that makes a 'first liner' news 
 item." And so it is with every phase of life. The 
 things we are accustomed to do not impress us. 
 
 Having succeeded in undressing himself Stanley 
 handed his clothes to the guard, first having mali- 
 ciously fixed a pin in them in such a way as to prick 
 the guard when he took hold of them. Stanley was
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 223 
 
 fast learning the lesson of cruelty which he saw all 
 about him. 
 
 "Here you little devil, what yer got around your 
 neck?" this gentle teacher of future good citizens de- 
 manded, pointing to Stanley's locket of queer design. 
 "Give it to me! No joolry allowed. Where'd you 
 steal it, anyhow? Take it off!" and he reached out 
 his brawny paw. 
 
 Stanley backed away. His hand convulsively hid 
 the locket. The man made a lunge forward, while the 
 other boys in the dormitory looked on with the inter- 
 est of unsympathetic young males who greet anything 
 novel with delight; and the guard shouted: 
 
 "You . You'll learn to mind me !" 
 
 and he would have floored Stanley save for the boy's 
 agility and nimble wit. Jumping aside as the man's 
 brutal fist reached the spot where he had been stand- 
 ing, Stanley looked up at him, his somber eyes burn- 
 ing. Having once before, in the Home, tried the same 
 lie on a like occasion he now said : 
 
 "This locket was blessed by the Mother Mary. It 
 was tied about my neck by a Holy Father. A Sinless 
 Sister told me I must always wear it, and that it would 
 mean one thousand years in purgatory to anyone who 
 took it off." 
 
 The guard's hands fell to his side; then he crossed 
 himself. "Git in bed!" he demanded harshly, not en- 
 tirely believing the boy, but afraid not to pay heed to 
 such warning. 
 
 Stanley crawled into the foul infested bunk which 
 was assigned to him. The guard put the lights out; 
 and stunned and heartsore the little newcomer pro- 
 ceeded to spend endless nightmare-ridden yet wakeful 
 hours, too destructive in their influence to be entitled 
 to any real place in the golden age of childhood. As 
 he could sleep little, he spent his time in thinking up
 
 224 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 ways and means of giving the guard trouble and physi- 
 cal pain. He would get even with him! 
 
 The sun was not up the next morning before Stanley 
 was awakened by a bell. Jumping up, he washed by a 
 bell. His clothes were given to him and he dressed 
 by a bell, just as the other boys were doing. Filing 
 into the mess hall at the signal of a bell and, following 
 the Reform-bred rule of snatching whatever sour 
 bread he could from a central dish, he was commanded 
 to join in a muttered and sullen grace at the sound of 
 a bell. 
 
 After washing down this horrid meal with the aid 
 of a black liquid dignified by the name of coffee, at the 
 signal of a bell he was sent into a long, low room, 
 dimly lighted and poorly ventilated, there to study and 
 recite his lessons for one hour. This hour furnished 
 the education so much bragged about by the school 
 officials and for which taxpayers were spending thou- 
 sands of dollars annually. After that he sat long 
 hours at a shoe-lasting bench, and later, after a week 
 or so, he was taught to re-bottom chairs, which accom- 
 plishment was followed by instruction in half a dozen 
 other low-pay jobs. Did he but show any particular 
 aptitude for some form of labor higher up in the indus- 
 trial scale, he was frowned upon as one who thought 
 himself too good for the work the Lord had planned 
 for such as he. This was the teaching of a trade which 
 he got. 
 
 In this routine, bells and all, Stanley could see little 
 difference from his life at the Home of His Lost 
 Sheep; and yet in the menacing attitude of the guards 
 standing about he realized that here he was watched 
 far more closely and treated with even less personal 
 consideration than had been the case in his former 
 abode. 
 
 It was not many weeks before Stanley discovered
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 225 
 
 that in the estimation of the guards and ignorant 
 teachers, at least, an "incorrigible," an inmate "with a 
 character," had no human rights at all, but, like a con- 
 vict, is a legalized slave. Soon he was made to un- 
 derstand that if he would gain any comforts or 
 privileges while being reformed, he must be entirely 
 unresisting in these men's hands. It is the policy of 
 our country to hire low-priced masters for our child 
 slaves. Though accounted rich among the nations of 
 the earth, our country is too poor to provide well-paid 
 monitors in the institutions for the making of men! 
 The dreary months dragged on, while Stanley in 
 company with the other boys lived out a drab existence, 
 made interesting to him only in so far as he could give 
 pain to some guard or other. Some of the older boys 
 of his acquaintance, recognizing his latent talent for 
 craftiness, gave him lessons in "snitching," or the art 
 of picking pockets, having been themselves, before 
 their apprehension and committal, the clever tools 
 of professional "Fagins," those men who engage 
 in the profession of teaching boys how to become 
 thieves. These pocket-picking lessons were indulged 
 in among the boys as the most interesting of games, 
 and so it was that Stanley early became proficient in 
 this line. Yet the lad was often seen playing in local 
 baseball matches, or whooping and running like the 
 happy and innocent boys unfettered by the State. The 
 fact was that the Reform School's baseball team was 
 conducted for the benefit of any possible citizens who 
 might perchance take the trouble to investigate the 
 school's methods of recreation! It was the humane 
 cloak that hid inhumanity. On the occasion of these 
 joyous baseball games Stanley's animal spirits would 
 involuntarily show themselves. It is hard even 
 for restraint and cruelty to destroy entirely the 
 natural energy of youth, and his nature as yet
 
 had not become wholly perverted. On the bleach- 
 ers the deacons of local churches, trusting souls 
 who abhor investigations, watched Stanley and the 
 other boys with benign and fatherly expressions. 
 On these bleachers, too, sat local politicians, blindly 
 virtuous, loudly talking of the comforts and ad- 
 vantages which the boys received at this school. 
 They hinted at the fact that all these comforts and 
 advantages had been brought about by them, thus 
 shrewdly obtaining ballots for their next election. 
 Voteless women, whose energies were expended upon 
 sewing circles and oyster suppers for the benefit of the 
 Hottentots, and who felt their place was in the home 
 and not meddling in politics pertaining to motherless 
 children, smiled and patted themselves upon the back, 
 rejoicing in the perfection of this splendid educational 
 institution. Had these same patronesses and trustees 
 but taken the time and trouble to find out, they would 
 have discovered that Stanley was more often doing 
 duty on the "guard line" than playing ball, or whoop- 
 ing and running in the sunshine. He seldom had the 
 time or the inclination to whoop and run, or in any 
 other way display the natural exuberance of boy- 
 hood. The "guard line" is one of our refined twen- 
 tieth century barbarities. It was invented for the 
 purpose of "putting the fear of God in the boys' 
 hearts/' or, in truthfully expressed English, destroy- 
 ing absolutely any spirits or spontaneity which may 
 happen to be left in a boy who has fallen beneath the 
 chastising hand of the Law! After standing on a 
 crack of the floor with hands tied behind one's back 
 for at least six, or sometimes twelve hours, one's 
 physical endurance is apt to break. If this happened, 
 as it often did in Stanley's case, and the culprit fainted, 
 a club or pistol butt administered on the head or on the 
 face, or wherever else it happened to hit, was the reviv-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 227 
 
 ing process used. If perchance while on such duty 
 Stanley would fall asleep, a fond and loving guardian 
 of his morals stuck a pin in him to wake him up ! Or 
 if, again, while so standing Stanley cried out or begged 
 for mercy, he was promptly cast into the school dun- 
 geon, there to have the straight- jacket applied, that 
 effective apparatus in vogue in prisons for the making 
 of embittered criminals. This instrument of torture, 
 invented since the days of the Inquisition, though it 
 would have done credit to the minions of Charles V., is 
 made of a very heavy piece of canvas cut to fit the 
 human body, and with heavy cords running through 
 brass eyelets down each side. He who is having his 
 criminal character turned into that of a strong and 
 upright one, is commanded to lie face down on the 
 floor. While he is in this position the jacket is put 
 on him. The guard then places his own foot in the 
 middle of the culprit's back, and thus securing lever- 
 age, draws the rope taut. A man may be killed in this 
 manner within a very few moments ; but the guards in 
 a Reform School or in the higher grades of Penal 
 Institutions ever careful not to go too far seldom 
 do more than bind their victim so tight that his hands 
 and feet become numb. Stanley was many times left 
 in this jacket for twenty-four hours at a time in the 
 dark coldness of the dank dungeon. When the jacket 
 was removed he lay writhing in agony upon the floor 
 as circulation returned to his legs and arms. If this 
 treatment was not applied, some other of like fiendish- 
 ness was, or else he was simply left forgotten in his 
 dungeon until his delirious "bug-house" screams 
 threatened to be heard beyond the school's righteous 
 walls. 
 
 After several years of this sort of life, in which his 
 every vicious instinct grew into an alarming love of 
 lying, cheating, fighting, and managing to do the
 
 228 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 guards a dirty trick, often escaping detection but more 
 often caught, the obscenely ugly guard one day de- 
 manded something of Stanley which would be incon- 
 ceivable to the brutes. With the indignant horror 
 born of a sexually clean mind which had stayed clean 
 in spite of inflicted mental and physical suffering and 
 moral somnolence, Stanley refused to obey, and was 
 forthwith reported to the head of the institution as 
 being disobedient, unruly, defiant and incorrigible to 
 the last degree ! 
 
 There was thereupon heaped upon him a series of 
 such frightful, continuous, and spectacular punish- 
 ments that even some of the other guards could not 
 bear the sight. There were arguments among them 
 then the truth coming to the attention of some of the 
 older boys, a formidable school riot ensued. 
 
 During the riot Stanley, with his now ever present 
 craftiness, managed to plunge a knife into the guard 
 who had so continually insulted and mistreated him. 
 In spite of the confusion which prevailed he was de- 
 tected and apprehended; and desperately confessing, 
 was, after a short court trial, ordered transferred to 
 the Reformatory, a higher grade of the Reform 
 School, in which America's system of educating her 
 criminal classes continues to be accomplished under the 
 guise of reform. 
 
 More bitter and revengeful than ever, Stanley 
 arrived within a few days at the Reformatory, or High 
 School of the present day system of penology. This 
 institution, larger and of stronger masonry perhaps, 
 was nevertheless much like those others in which the 
 lad had been brought up. Situated in the most barren 
 and unattractive spot that could readily be found, it 
 was just the next step in his progress of misery.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 229 
 
 Wards of the State, or offenders against the State, or 
 merely unfortunate folk convicted through circumstan- 
 tial evidence, they are one and all so despised, con- 
 sidered so unfit for association with their fellow-men, 
 that they must needs be cast as far as possible out of 
 the path trod by Society. And so our public and penal 
 institutions are located accordingly. In these institu- 
 tions the morally sick among us are put huddled 
 together, irrespective of physical or mental shortcom- 
 ings ; to the self-righteous, unprogressive, and non-con- 
 structive mind of the average citizen, they constitute 
 the moral leper colonies of our civilization. Yet unpun- 
 ished except by the laws of nature, which demand toll 
 even unto the third and fourth generation, another 
 class of lepers walks about among us, oftentimes un- 
 noticed, rarely shunned, sowing wild oats for others to 
 reap. 
 
 But Stanley had not been attaining all his life his 
 State imposed knowledge of crime for nothing. And 
 so on entering the Reformatory he decided to change 
 his tactics. In his experience incorrigible boys did 
 not receive punishment commensurate with their 
 deserts. Those boys in fact who oftenest managed to 
 escape punishment were generally the worst boys. 
 They simply saw to it that their methods were such 
 that they were not caught. This distorted lesson in 
 the survival of the fittest, one which taught cunning, 
 craftiness, and hypocrisy, he had begun to learn quite 
 early in life. Yet because his better nature would in- 
 voluntarily come uppermost, Stanley had not attained 
 cleverness in its application. The only real cleverness 
 he had thus far exhibited was that connected with his 
 daily lessons in picking pockets. Henceforth, he de- 
 cided, he would in no way try to help a fellow inmate, 
 nor would he struggle against the brutal discipline of 
 the guards. Questioning no rule of the Reformatory,
 
 230 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 he would become, to all appearances, docile and sub- 
 servient. He would acquiesce in any and every com- 
 mand. He realized that the less initiative a boy 
 had, the more apt he was to gain marks for good be- 
 havior. If lacking enough in character, that is in the 
 eyes of the officials, he would come to be looked upon 
 almost as a pet; and if parole was subsequently re- 
 quested, he was more apt to gain it quickly. There- 
 fore Stanley determined, by stealth and hypocrisy, to 
 gain his freedom. When once he had gained that 
 freedom well, that was another matter! 
 
 Soon after Stanley had reached this decision a relig- 
 ious fanatic, a white bearded old evangelist with a 
 Biblical vocabulary of hell-and-damnation punctuating 
 his fire-and-brimstone doctrines, became a visiting 
 angel to the Reformatory. For many years, in fact 
 ever since his own dear boy, "the bone of his bone, the 
 flesh of his flesh," had heaped shame upon his head, 
 this devout man, Deacon Dennison, giving his life to 
 the redeeming of other men's sons, had been traveling 
 around preaching the terrors of purgatory to young 
 offenders. 
 
 Working upon his own emotions, and thus theirs, 
 he made converts in job lots. These converts once 
 having confessed their sins and joined the church, the 
 Deacon's job was done; and in self -satisfied compla- 
 cency he would move on to the next town, leaving his 
 emotionally stirred converts the bewildered victims of 
 a doctrine in which there was no more spirituality or 
 practicality than that which had governed his own 
 sanctimonious life. 
 
 Each year a group of inmates of the Reformatory 
 became thus converted. Besides acting as a stimulat- 
 ing and alluring spot of excitement in their otherwise 
 drab lives, it stood them in excellent stead in working 
 for a parole. There was nothing that warmed the
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 231 
 
 cockles of the officials' or the trustees' hearts like a 
 scene wherein these clever sheep separated themselves 
 from the goats. 
 
 It did not take Stanley long to realize that a profes- 
 sion of Christianity would be the cleverest and quickest 
 way to gain his freedom. Going to Deacon Dennison 
 on the occasion of his next visit, together they wrestled 
 with his unholy spirit until, with strenuous words of 
 exhortation, it was subdued, and Stanley's conversion 
 became a dramatic fact. 
 
 The walls of the Reformatory were soon left behind 
 him. With fatherly advice from some and sneering 
 prophecies from others of the guards, he found himself 
 for the first time in his life out in a world where there 
 were no walls to confine him. It mattered not that he 
 had been given little training to meet the strange and 
 untried conditions confronting him. He was only a 
 foundling a child of the people a soul which had 
 been brought into the world without volition on his 
 part, and had ever since been a drain on the purse of 
 the State. Yet he must "make good" ! 
 
 In the Reformatory, that place where parents com- 
 placently shift personal responsibility for other people's 
 children upon governmental shoulders without a 
 thought for the homeless ones' future, though regard- 
 ing their own children's future as all-important, Stan- 
 ley had piled up, mountain high, marks of good 
 behavior through deception. But he was a member of 
 the church! 
 
 He was over seventeen and could rebottom chairs, 
 resole shoes, dig, and work in a sweat-shop, no doubt. 
 That he happened to have a mentality created for 
 higher things made no difference. Those were the 
 trades taught him, and he was expected to use them 
 gratefully. Did they prove too unremunerative to 
 feed him, then he must starve. Positions of trust are
 
 232 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 not open to those whom the State has ''reformed" ! 
 When a boy has once become an inmate of a Reforma- 
 tory his name is irretrievably smirched. But if he 
 changes that name in order to start life afresh, he may 
 be cast in prison for that act alone. 
 
 Brawn and not brain is what is expected and wanted 
 by the public from an ex-inmate. If through lack of 
 proper food, fresh air, or as a result of brutal treat- 
 ment he had been robbed of his brawn, that fact does 
 not count. Even if he has by chance really been re- 
 formed, and longs with all the manhood and pride in 
 him to "go straight," such a longing avails him little. 
 He is of the "criminal class", and as such must accept 
 any sort of a position he can get, perhaps through the 
 instrumentality of some organization for this purpose. 
 He must be eternally thankful to Society for this privi- 
 lege; and not caring how often the police make him 
 lose his job through their constant houndings, he 
 must report once a month to the Parole Officer. In 
 order to keep his freedom, it is essential that he have 
 an honest job. Through his employer's signature 
 attesting this fact, he must convince the doubting 
 officer that he is "going straight." If he does all these 
 things and is never seen in bad company, or under 
 suspicious circumstances, he may and he may not 
 live out the term of his parole without returning to the 
 Reformatory ! 
 
 But Stanley had learned well his lessons in deceit. 
 Though he proceeded to work during the day, he man- 
 aged somehow, in spite of watchful officers, to sur- 
 reptitiously join a well-known Fagin's gang in the 
 underworld, and at odd hours practiced upon Society 
 that which Society had paid to have him taught ! 
 
 Being exceedingly clever he was thus able to live 
 out the time before his majority, when his sentence at 
 the Reformatory ended. But even a clever pickpocket 
 is seldom safe, provided of course he is not a particu-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 233 
 
 lar friend of the police or a member of a family whose 
 financial status is good! It was not long after this 
 therefore, when Stanley, in spite of his cleverness, 
 entered perforce a still higher school the Peniten- 
 tiary, which is the preparatory grade for our highest 
 curriculum in crime State's Prison ! 
 
 It was at this stage in his life that a totally new 
 thought came to him. Under the guise of right or 
 its supposed mate, religion he had beheld only un- 
 righteousness and hypocrisy. Hidden by reform he 
 had witnessed human beings degraded until they be- 
 came bestial. Yet he knew intuitively that right must 
 prevail in the world, and therefore began to won- 
 der whether, if he lived honestly and rightly, he 
 could not be really free? He was sick of the shadow 
 of prisons; and though he had no higher motive than 
 his own physical well-being, he determined that upon 
 his being freed from the Penitentiary he would really 
 try to live a life of honesty according to the best lights 
 he had. 
 
 The characteristic of hope, derived from his father, 
 yet seldom coming uppermost in him, now blossomed 
 again. He felt much as he had on that day, so many 
 miserable years before, when having succeeded in being 
 sent from the Home of His Lost Sheep he had looked 
 forward to a life of happiness in the Reform School. 
 At the conscious memory of how bitterly he had been 
 disappointed then, his heart now misgave him ; but only 
 temporarily. Then, he argued, he had not tried to live 
 right. He had even gained his release from one in- 
 stitution and his entrance into another through pur- 
 poseful wrong doing. Surely if a man honestly tried 
 to live right and thus better himself, he must succeed ! 
 He would go back to the Home and free the little 
 Lion. With that poor creature's love and loyalty to 
 act as an incentive, he would, he knew he would, 
 succeed !
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MARJORY, under the wing of her ambitious mother 
 and with her maiden name to protect her from "what 
 people would say," had been living a life of ease and 
 apparent happiness on the proceeds of the discovery 
 made by the mining expert before Stanley's birth. 
 Returning to their old home in Virginia she had lived 
 there, never daring to touch any part of the money 
 which she had received from Sam Simmons's dying 
 hands. She had told no one, not even her mother, 
 of that experience, nor of the child's living existence. 
 Little Stanley, after her one visit to him, had dropped 
 out of her life. 
 
 She had in no way attempted to communicate with 
 her husband. He was as dead in her estimation as he 
 was in that of his country. Her mother thought, as 
 everyone else did, that Marjory had put the whole 
 miserable experience of her marriage behind her. She 
 was still young; she was pretty. Life had not been 
 fair to her! This new opportunity for happiness 
 through worldly affluence had doubtless been offered 
 as compensation. Eagerly seizing it, with no thought 
 for the future and no personal regrets for the past, she 
 had lived from hour to hour, occasionally salving her 
 conscience with small acts of good-natured kindness, 
 but in general her conduct was absolutely self-ab- 
 sorbed. With plenty of money to satisfy her desire 
 for luxuries, for a while she reveled in the joy of it, 
 feeling she must thus be happy. In a whirl of excite- 
 ment over the admiration which she found was freely 
 bestowed upon her by nearly every man she met, her 
 mind for several years forgot its burden of worry. 
 That part of her nature inherited from her mother was 
 ever uppermost. As is the case with many women 
 
 234
 
 such as she, women possessed of mentality and imagi- 
 nation but who have had no real mental or spiritual 
 training, she expended her whole time, energy, and 
 thought upon the aborted ambition of acquiring pretty 
 clothes and social prominence. 
 
 For this ambition in woman man is largely respon- 
 sible. The more her luxuries set off her beauty and 
 enhance her physical charm, the more sweetly womanly 
 she appears in his eyes. Therefore a man will often 
 deny himself personal necessities in order to give such 
 luxuries to a woman. He looks upon a handsomely 
 gowned member of his family rather as a being of his 
 own creation her charms so framed represent to the 
 world the state of his bank account and subtly an- 
 nounce that he has achieved "success." So it is that 
 many a woman's better self has slumbered on under 
 the influence of comforts and coddlings, little realizing 
 the big things there are in the world for her to do. 
 
 And so it was with Marjory. Under the dominion 
 and influence of her mother, whose silly worldliness 
 increased in a given ratio with the flabbiness beneath 
 her chin and the grayness of her hair, Marjory con- 
 tinued to throw herself into the round of social activi- 
 ties and gaieties, to buy clothes, determined to drown 
 thoughts of the past in the belief that she was in this 
 way finding happiness. Yet in spite of her determina- 
 tion a time finally came when a restlessness that she 
 herself did not understand began to develop in her. 
 Notwithstanding her mother's oft-repeated admoni- 
 tions that intellectual women were abhorrent to men, 
 and that the only way a woman could be happy was to 
 blossom in the sunlight of their all-powerful smiles, 
 Marjory took to study and reading, quickly developing 
 a real pleasure and understanding in this higher pur- 
 suit. Yet she dared not let others know of it, fearing 
 their criticism.
 
 236 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 It was not long after this that she began to feel 
 the old-time impatience of her mother, triple grown, 
 again possessing her. This lady's continual prattle 
 about clothes and their essential importance, her thou- 
 sand and one petty jealousies and aimless ambitions, 
 distressed the awakening Marjory. They acted how- 
 ever as a spur on her intellectual qualities which, 
 though still half dormant in her, were nevertheless 
 very real. Though she continued to practice the par- 
 ent-bred coquetry which was her mother's pride and 
 joy, behind her limpid, dark-lashed blue eyes, as 
 appealing as a child's, a mental keenness and knowledge 
 of things as they really are had begun to grow. A 
 close observer might often have detected a spark of 
 thoughtful amusement in their depths as they were 
 raised with purposeful trustfulness to those of some 
 male admirer. Though the fair face would still invol- 
 untarily droop, flowerlike, at his approach, there was a 
 growing firmness to be noticed about the delicate chin, 
 and the air of false modesty might be understood as 
 only a part of those mannerisms which her mother had 
 cultivated in her. The fair hair curling about the white 
 temples was still babylike in its clinging softness; and 
 yet in the breadth of brow beneath it, and in the delicate 
 almost imperceptible lines about the mouth, there was 
 shown a character of strong will which few would have 
 suspected. The same quality of almost pathetic wist- 
 f ulness which had drawn Denneth to her on that night 
 of their first meeting was still present beneath her 
 outward gaiety. Yet a subtle sadness, sprung from 
 her hours of silent suffering, lent age to her youthful 
 face. About her whole presence and address there 
 was now a sureness of manner which comes with 
 maturity alone. 
 
 Held enough beneath the spell of her early training 
 to still care for the admiration that was hers, she
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 237 
 
 nevertheless began to compare the admiring glances 
 of older and more worldly men she now knew with 
 those of the pure-eyed boy of her past. In these moods, 
 though hating Denneth as a thief who had ruined her 
 life, she recalled his devotion. Their courtship and 
 honeymoon, spent for the most part among the birds 
 and flowers, returned to haunt her. With a growing 
 understanding which was born of experience she 
 learned to appreciate how absolutely pure and high 
 had been his love. She said angrily to herself that 
 she could never and would never forgive him! She 
 did not care in the least what had become of him dur- 
 ing all these years! Yet deep in her heart she knew 
 that she thought of him with ever increasing fre- 
 quency. 
 
 Her restlessness steadily grew, and thinking to quell 
 this disquieting emotion she continued to resort to her 
 mother's balm of healing for every woe. Throwing 
 herself into the social life about her, she would be all 
 that her fond parent wished for several weeks at a 
 time, and then coming out from these experiences, the 
 conviction would possess her that such a life was ut' 
 terly wasteful and wrong. Sick at heart and tired of 
 the fruitlessness of it all she would return to her books, 
 hoping there to find the true happiness that her nature 
 sought. 
 
 The thought of her boy came at such times to tor- 
 ment her. In every child she passed she imagined she 
 saw a likeness to him. She longed to talk with chil- 
 dren to take them upon her knee to pour out upon 
 them some part of the mother love that she knew she 
 possessed in no small degree. Yet because she still 
 believed she had done right in leaving Stanley at the 
 orphanage, and because, too, she was not willing to 
 suffer any emotional distress, she dared not let a child 
 come near her. She became, to all appearances, cold
 
 238 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 and hard wherever they were concerned. But with 
 burning eyes she watched them, her heart crying out 
 in spite of her reason that through them, and him, she 
 might find happiness. 
 
 Marjory had finally come to understand the true 
 meaning of the alms-basket of the Home of His Lost 
 Sheep. She wondered why she had not learned the 
 truth before. Her former ignorance upon the subject 
 seemed almost unbelievable to her now. The knowl- 
 edge that any orphanage was used for the purpose of 
 hiding sin was abhorrent to her. She wondered if 
 her own little son was thought to be one of those poor 
 little derelicts of shame. With increasing agony of 
 mind this idea continually recurred to her, yet she 
 could not help but believe that the course she had taken 
 in hiding Stanley's parentage was a good one. In 
 spite of the fact that she had taken pains to read 
 nothing on the subject of orphanages, her mind would 
 insist upon recalling remarks which she had heard 
 dropped by others, and which were derogatory to those 
 institutions; but she had refused to believe any of 
 those tales relating to the mistreatment of children. 
 The happiest part of her own life had been spent 
 among the Sisters at the Convent. Women, therefore, 
 who had little children in their charge, surely loved 
 them and were kind to them. Yet so unhappy was 
 she, so restless and full of the eternal questions arising 
 from her past life, that she often felt she must surely 
 be possessed of two personalities the coquette the 
 world knew, and the woman she was making of herself 
 through the cultivation of her mind. More frequently 
 than ever there came the longing for her little boy. 
 In the deep of the night she would awake to feel the 
 clutch of his clinging fingers the warmth of his soft 
 lips upon her breast ! Yet the next day no woman she 
 knew seemed so thoroughly a part of the aimless por-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 239 
 
 tion of Society which calls itself "SOCIETY" as she was 
 herself. 
 
 The hallucination of Stanley's nearness grew daily 
 more acute. Years passed. Her vain self -watching 
 saw her dainty beauty begin to fade. Her better self, 
 the self that was secretly coming to appreciate Den- 
 neth's worth, made her careless of this fact. Grad- 
 ually it began to come over her that she was made for 
 better things. But even yet, in spite of her mental 
 suffering, she lacked the moral courage to do other 
 than drift along in the current of least resistance. At 
 times weakly struggling against her mother's influence, 
 she nevertheless continued to allow it to control her 
 life, although her spiritual development had so far 
 progressed that she was vaguely conscious that she 
 was doing wrong. 
 
 Gradually there was rekindled in her an ambition 
 which she had sometimes felt in her girlhood. Never 
 having found expression for her better self, the 
 idea of writing the fairy stories which she had often 
 dreamed now began to shape itself in her mind. From 
 the reading of other people's books she took to the 
 stimulant of trying to write one of her own. Had 
 Marjory kept her little son close to her heart, this am- 
 bition for creating, no doubt, would never have entered 
 her life. She was not by nature either a student or 
 one who wished to force her opinions upon the 
 world; but because she was spiritually superior to the 
 position in which she found herself, it now seemed 
 absolutely necessary that she express that part of her 
 nature which her mother had always kept in subjection. 
 
 Locking herself into her room she began to write. 
 Had her friends known this, her secret, they would 
 have made her life miserable. A woman who is en- 
 tirely successful as a goddess of fashion must have 
 no such interests. Though she must be a brilliant con-
 
 240 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 versationalist, she must take pains to be so on the 
 subject of nothing at all ! 
 
 Marjory, working upon her little secret volume, 
 longed to tell someone of her efforts. Yet she dared 
 not do so, and must needs find this respite from her 
 unhappiness and restlessness only behind locked doors. 
 But the very effort she was making brought to her 
 starved nature the feeling that now she was surely 
 attaining her long sought-for goal. The dainty stories 
 grew stories written for little children. In them 
 Marjory poured out the whole wealth of her mother 
 love. 
 
 Mrs. Matthews finding that her daughter was refus- 
 ing many invitations to affairs to which only the elite 
 were invited became suspicious. Snooping around in 
 a way which would be considered dishonorable had 
 she been other than Marjory's mother, she discovered 
 Marjory's concealed hope for happiness. A scene en- 
 sued in which Marjory, though called all the pet names 
 in the calendar, was made to understand she simply 
 must not continue this absolutely unladylike perform- 
 ance ! 
 
 Notwithstanding this Marjory's little book soon 
 grew to completion. Its acceptance and subsequent 
 publication gave her the greatest happiness she had 
 known since those autumnal days spent with Denneth 
 among the flaming trees. Much to her surprise even 
 her mother's displeasure seemed to have gradually 
 subsided ; for she, dear soul, discovered that her beau- 
 tiful daughter had gained even more of a foothold 
 in social circles than had been the case before. Bored 
 hostesses busily returning obligations were only too 
 glad to make of Marjory a lion the smiling "goat" 
 for their stupid parties. 
 
 But the little book had not satisfied Marjory's 
 restlessness. Her heart was heavy within her;
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 241 
 
 and though the siren laughter that lured men to 
 candied and flowered financial destruction was ever 
 upon her lips, in her own heart she realized that her 
 life was still as empty as ever. There surely must be 
 some road to happiness, she thought continually. Had 
 she made a mistake in putting her past behind her? 
 The baby face of her little son came up before her in 
 answer. And Denneth? Had she been absolutely 
 fair to him ? She had given him no chance to explain. 
 Perhaps he might have been able to explain, and to her 
 entire satisfaction ! In angry impatience she put these 
 thoughts away! Denneth had ruined her happiness! 
 He deserved what he had gotten, whatever it was. She 
 must find some other way to fill her life ! 
 
 Her mother, of course, had always been an active 
 worker in any local church wherever she had found 
 herself that is of course, if that church was noted 
 for its aristocracy either of blood or money. This 
 lady did not go to communities, however, where there 
 were churches of an "inferior" order. Before she con- 
 descended to enter the honored gates of any town, she 
 must needs know that it was worthy of her sojourn 
 there. Mrs. Matthews belonged to the class of Ameri- 
 can tourists who travel, not to see the world, but to 
 let the world see them! She had been born, too, with 
 the sort of mentality which demands that we approach 
 our Maker, the Father of Him who was a carpenter, 
 in bejeweled, incensed pomp and show. This pro- 
 clivity had gained in accordance with the dizzy height 
 of her social attainments. Yellow gold mixed with 
 blue blood and religion can attain great results. 
 
 Marjory, who had loved church and chapel during 
 her convent days among the gentle Sisters, gradually 
 came to hate it. Searching for happiness she had, 
 during all these years of her unhappiness, run the 
 whole gamut of religion and even fanaticism. In
 
 turn she had tried Catholic, High Church Episcopal, 
 Blue-stocking Mediums, all the isms and several of the 
 Sciences ! None had brought her rest. Then one day 
 she was talking to Mary Anna who, faithful soul, had 
 stood by her little mistress through thick and thin. 
 Since Mrs. Matthews' s good fortune, this tropical 
 flower had acted as Marjory's personal maid. She 
 was proud of her promotion from a slavey of all work, 
 and held herself accordingly. It was during this con- 
 versation with her that Marjory struck the key-note 
 of that future which was destined to turn her life from 
 one of aimlessness into one of serious purpose. 
 
 Mary Anna coming into Marjory's room one morn- 
 ing was shocked to see the mistress she loved weeping. 
 
 "Holy Lamb o' Gawd, chile!" she exclaimed, putting 
 the breakfast tray down and hurrying toward the bed 
 in sympathetic alarm. "What in dis perishin' world's 
 de matter?" 
 
 At the sound of the woman's entrance Marjory had 
 tried to still the emotion that had engulfed her ; and so 
 now, sitting up and stuffing the pillow behind her, she 
 said: 
 
 "Oh nothing much, Mary Anna. Just the blues, I 
 reckon," and she smiled up through her tears into the 
 kindly dark face, motioning Mary Anna to place the 
 tray upon her knees. 
 
 "Humph, de 'reds' is what I'd call it ef you axes me, 
 bein's I'se lookin' at yo' eyes an' nose! What ails 
 you anyhow? You ain't sick?" 
 
 Marjory shook her head. 
 
 "None o' you' gemman-friends done los' deir taste 
 for you is dey?" Mary Anna asked again, looking 
 really distressed this time. 
 
 Marjory laughed, but continued shaking her head. 
 
 "Well, yo' ma ain't been praisin' up yo' does and 
 thoein' off on yo' brains, has she?"
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 243 
 
 "No, Mary Anna," Marjory said, "I told you it was 
 just the blues." 
 
 Mary Anna grunted. 
 
 "Well doan' yer let her worry yer. Yo' books is 
 bound to be unnoticeable, and nobody ain't goin' ter 
 be no wiser after readin' dem nohow, so you jes' 
 'muse yo'se'f dat way all you pleases in spite of her 
 critiostricism." 
 
 Marjory smiled up into the other's anxious face. 
 "Mary Anna," she said abruptly and off the point, 
 "I've been lying here thinking of religion. The kind 
 I know seems too small for my big troubles. What do 
 you think about it?" 
 
 "Lamb o' Gawd, chile!" the other exclaimed, sur- 
 prised at the turn the conversation had taken; "you 
 knows I'se a Christian all wool and a yard wide. I 
 believes Marse Jonah swallowed de whale, and 
 Marse Moses discovered real estate befo' de Israelites 
 did. Likewise I believes Miss Eve ate an Adam's 
 apple, an' all sich Holy words. But hit do seem to me 
 dat 'ligion was made fer dressy occasionments and not 
 fer troubles. If hit had been made fer troubles, does 
 yer think it would give us poor sinners so much trouble 
 to keep it? Why, I have more trouble tryin' to keep 
 my 'ligion than ef I didn't have none ! Spring o' the 
 year come 'long and de sap in my bones begins to feel 
 all creepy an' full o' joy. I sees a handsome buck 
 nigger, an' he axes me to go to de Sunday School pic- 
 nic. Now, chile, you knows as well as I does dat Sun- 
 day School picnics ain't no place in which to sass de 
 Lawd by dancin'. But putty soon me an' dat buck 
 nigger hears music an' our foots jes' naturally gits so 
 ticklish we begins to cut de pigeon wing. De fust 
 thing I knows I'se done los' my 'ligion and is turned 
 outen de church!" 
 
 During this soliloquy Marjory had finished her
 
 244 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 breakfast, and taking the pins from her hair she now 
 let it fall about her in a golden shower. To see her 
 thus in the softened light no one would have guessed 
 the years which had passed over her since the date of 
 her marriage. 
 
 Mary Anna bustled about the room getting Mar- 
 jory's morning toilette in readiness. Her rambling 
 talk while thus employed was a daily amusement to 
 Marjory, and she never tired of leading her on. So 
 now she did nothing which by any chance might in- 
 terrupt her. 
 
 "Yas-sah," Mary Anna went on, " 'ligion's a pow'ful 
 troublesome thing. Hit tells yer to undo all dem 
 things which you'se about to do, and to leave done all 
 dat which nobody on Gawd's yearth wants to do no- 
 how. Still I believes in 'ligion and I shouted hard, 
 I tell yer, to git mine! I doan' know nothin' 'bout 
 cyards, but eve'y now an' den when a crap game doan' 
 'zactly seem to satisfy my longin's, I plays a leetle, 
 jes' a leetle sort of a game dat is sinful fer niggers and 
 stylish fer white folks I learnt it from yo' ma." 
 
 "But Holy Lamb o' Gawd, jes' as sho' as you'se 
 born, ef I indulges my carcass in a leetle reconciliation 
 like dat, Brudder Jones of de Methusalem Methodist 
 Church prerambulates 'long an' I'se done turned 
 outen de church agin! Neberdeless I believes in 
 'ligion; but somehow or udder hit ought to be mo' full 
 of love an' kindness dan it are. Love is de thing, 
 honey 
 
 "But what's de matter, chile?" she broke off as she 
 happened to notice Marjory's paleness. You'se sick!" 
 in an accusing tone. 
 
 "No, I'm not, Mary Anna, just a little headachy 
 
 "I knowed it!" the other exclaimed, dropping the 
 fluffy rose and white gown she had been taking from
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 245 
 
 the closet, and going over to the bed. "Heah, let me 
 put some o' dis cologne on yo' po' haid," and she 
 picked up a silver perfume bottle from the table near 
 by. 
 
 "No, please," Marjory begged like a child, "I don't 
 think I could stand that today. Suppose you give me 
 that little bottle down there on the bottom shelf of 
 the closet. "There!" pointing as the other moved 
 across the room toward the closet's open door. 
 
 "Dar ain't no bottle heah, 'cepting dis one, chile," 
 Mary Anna's voice sounded from the depths of the 
 closet. Then coming out into the light, she held aloft 
 a large square bottle marked Gin. 
 
 "That's the one," Marjory said. "Wet my hand- 
 kerchief and lay it on my forehead. That seems to 
 help sometimes." 
 
 Mary Anna obeyed; but could not refrain from re- 
 marking : 
 
 "Never heard of usin' gin befo' fer haidache. But 
 doctors an' white folks has pow'ful queersome notions 
 dese days. Why, I heared yestiddy dat dar's a light 
 called the X Y Z days or something like dat dat 
 gemmans kin look right thu ladies wid ! Ain't it scan- 
 dalous? And ladies lets 'em do it! Holy Lamb, 
 what is we a-comin' to anyway, as I remarked to de 
 gemman friend dat was my husband so to speak, befo' 
 I took fer wusser and not better dis good-fer-nothin', 
 no-count, lazy cuss dat I'se halted to now !" 
 
 Marjory lay smiling, her headache almost forgotten. 
 Finally she said in explanation, before the garrulous 
 soul could catch her breath to continue : 
 
 "This isn't gin, Mary Anna; it's witch-hazel. I 
 broke my witch-hazel bottle." 
 
 "Good Gawd, Miss Marjory," Mary Anna said, her 
 eyes bulging, "I might have killed myse'f !" 
 
 A peal of Marjory's merry laughter broke out at
 
 246 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 this self -revealing remark, and then suddenly sobering, 
 her eyes dilated in suppressed nervousness, she said: 
 
 "Mary Anna, do you remember years ago when 
 Mr. Richardson deserted me and 
 
 "Now chile, doan yer talk about dat disagreeable- 
 ness. Dat wuz too long ago to reckomember. No 
 gemman, whedder he deserted or didn't assert you, 
 is worth scrambling yo' brains over dat long! 'Sides 
 dat, folks doan know nothin' about hit nohow. I 
 thought you yo'se'f had done forgot hit / has! 
 What about dat ole Jedge Sawyer you met at dat 
 Maine Hotel las' summer? Him dat seemed to git 
 de gazin' sickness in connection wid yo' 'shy blue op- 
 nics', as he say. Him dat tooken sech a fancy to you 
 dat he say to me he wished he were yo' father ! Father 
 nothin' !" and she laughed. "And dat udder gemman 
 de English one him whose handle, as you might 
 say, was blasphemious 'Lord' Sydenham? What 
 'bout him? Yo' ma acted jes like 'Polnarus over him, 
 she wuz dat gushin' ! An' all dem udder suitors who 
 ain't nobody in particular ? Law, gal, doan you begin 
 to reckomember reckomembering is what turned 
 Lot's wife into a bolster of Epsom salts. Hit ain't 
 safe. Let doggones be doggones, as de Good Book 
 say." 
 
 "But Mary Anna, I've got to talk to somebody about 
 it all. I've simply got to!" Marjory said, deadly 
 serious in spite of the other's remarks. Then tears 
 coming to her eyes, she continued : "Oh Mary Anna, 
 you don't know, nobody knows, how I've suffered all 
 these years ! I feel as though I had reached the place 
 where I couldn't stand it another minute ! Somebody 
 must help me to decide what to do." 
 
 At her words, and the tears over-brimming her eyes, 
 Mary Anna instantly became all solicitude and sym- 
 pathy. Dropping the filmy lingerie she had just re-
 
 moved from a drawer, and going over to the bed again, 
 she threw herself upon her knees by Marjory's side. 
 "My po' chile," she cooed, her soft black hands 
 smoothing the curls back from Marjory's flushed face. 
 "Tell me anything in Gawd's world yer wants, honey. 
 I'm a-listenin' like a telephone. You knows I'd he'p 
 you from de bottom of my very las' dollar if needces- 
 sary. What's troublin' you?"
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 FOR several moments Marjory lay very still, her big 
 child-like eyes looking steadily into those of the 
 woman by her side. Mary Anna's shiny orbs in turn 
 gazed faithfully back. Then, catching her breath with 
 a sob, Marjory asked slowly, articulating her every 
 word until it was a clean cut staccato : 
 
 "Mary Anna, if you had a little son and you wanted 
 him to grow up into a good and holy man, and you 
 felt he could not do so under your influence because of 
 his father's disgraced name, w r hat would you do with 
 him?" 
 
 Mary Anna's face drew itself into puzzled lines; 
 but shaking her head she said simply : "I ain't much at 
 kadrumnums, honey. My brains is kinder like 'lasses, 
 chile, kinder like 'lasses," and her eyes asked in dumb 
 pleading that her ignorance be forgiven. 
 
 "Would you give him away? Would you put him 
 in an orphan asylum for other women to bring up into 
 honest manhood?" Marjory asked more simply, her 
 face becoming drawn and white with the effort of this 
 question. 
 
 "No sahree, ma'am, I sholy would not put him in no 
 orpham-size-um !" Mary Anna answered emphatically. 
 "No, ma'am!" 
 
 Marjory's face went even whiter at this answer; 
 and it was only with the greatest effort that she was 
 able to ask faintly, "Why not, Mary Anna?" 
 
 "Caze orpham-size-ums is dirty; dey's made fer 
 po' white trash, an' sinners. 'Sides all dat, honey, no 
 baby chiles is got any business bein' took away from its 
 ma. Orpham-size-ums is agin nater. Hit doan seem 
 to make so much differbitterance about chillens havin' 
 
 248
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 249 
 
 Pas. Pas is jes' sort of a social-like decoration any- 
 how; but mas is a needcessary. Baby-chiles need sof 
 bosoms fer to rock-a-by on dey needs lovin' hands to 
 tuck 'em in at night, and lovin' lips fer to teach 'em 
 to talk, lovin' knees fer to lean aginst while bein' learnt 
 lessons in worldly wizzum, and lovin' eyes fer to watch 
 'em grow! In udder words, as Brudder Jones says 
 when he is argufyin' wid Gawd on Sundays, dey need 
 love jes' like de flowers needs sun an' rain fer to make 
 'em grow straight an' strong. You axed me 'bout 
 'ligion. Well, honey, love is de 'ligion mos' of us 
 needs mos' in dis ole contrary plant of a world. If 
 chillens is gave love, de Lawd 'tends to de res' ! An' 
 if you ever seed the internal workin's of an orpham- 
 size-um, you'd know dar warn't no love dar'." 
 
 Marjory lay very still, her eyes staring straight 
 ahead of her. This ignorant woman's homely words, 
 so full of the essence of truth, had reached deep down 
 in her and taken hold of her heart strings as nothing 
 else had done during the years since she had parted 
 from her little son. There came to her the terrible 
 knowledge that she had made a mistake. She realized 
 that had she allowed herself to think about it, she 
 would have known this fact before. 
 
 Was there no other way than the one which she had 
 chosen? Could she not have kept her little son and 
 influenced him so that he would have grown up to be a 
 good man in spite of his heredity? 
 
 There came to her mind the story of a pretty village 
 girl who, while working for Mrs. Matthews during 
 Marjory's childhood, had given birth to a child. The 
 town authorities promptly declared their intention of 
 taking it away from its bewildered mother, who was, 
 of course, immediately turned from Mrs. Matthews's 
 employ. Given nothing better to do than to go the 
 regulation way of many no worse than she, the girl
 
 250 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 had, nevertheless, not only emphatically refused to ac- 
 cept such a fate, but refused also to be separated from 
 her baby. 
 
 By devoting her whole thought and devotion to the 
 bringing up of it, together they had both slowly 
 climbed back into an unobtrusive respectability and 
 place in the life of the town about them. The child 
 consistently shielded by its mother from any expressed 
 disgrace grew into sweet maidenhood, then wifehood, 
 feeling little of the stigma which the circumstances of 
 her birth had fastened upon her. 
 
 Marjory went over the scenes of her own baby's 
 birth and the ensuing four weeks spent together in the 
 hospital. A veritable agony of self-reproach gripped 
 her. Entirely forgetting the element of unselfishness 
 which, though mistaken, had been very real at the 
 time, Marjory now called herself a deserter of her 
 boy a selfish egotist who had thought chiefly of her 
 own comfort and convenience! If she had been truly 
 unselfish, she now argued, if she had been really de- 
 sirous of protecting little Stanley, could she not have 
 done so without forcing him to forfeit his birthright? 
 Self -scorn burned and seared her soul. If this village 
 girl who had neither friends nor financial influence to 
 stand between her and Society's finger of scorn had 
 brought her child up to respected maturity, how in- 
 finitely easier it would have been for Marjory to have 
 protected Stanley ! With money and time at her com- 
 mand she could have kept the secret of his father's 
 disgrace from him. Lavishing the wealth of her love 
 upon him, she could have influenced his development 
 for good. Mary Anna's words fairly screamed their 
 way through her mind. The negress was right. Noth- 
 ing in the world could be so good for a child as the 
 love and good influence of one who belonged to him 
 through the tie of blood.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 251 
 
 The stories she had heard against orphan asylums 
 returned to her mind. Yet, try as she would, she 
 could not bring herself to believe that any women with 
 the care of children would be cruel to their charges. 
 But suppose those in the Home of His Lost Sheep 
 had neglected her boy? Suppose they had actually 
 mistreated him? 
 
 She could stand it no longer. Almost choking with 
 the unwonted beating of her heart, she suddenly sat 
 up, exclaiming: 
 
 "Mary Anna, I've been a selfish, blind fool! If 
 you knew what I have done the terrible, inexcusable 
 thing I did years ago, you'd hate me!" 
 
 "Law, Miss Marjy, chile," Mary Anna said sooth- 
 ingly, "doan excite yo'se'f like dat. Dar, dar," and 
 shaking up the pillows she stuffed them cosily back 
 of Marjory, continuing: "Why jes' listen to yo' breaf. 
 You'se fairly takin' hit in 'short pants,' as the middle- 
 seated gemman in the nigger minstrel-show says," 
 chuckling at her wit. "Eve'ybody knows you never 
 done nothing wrong in yo' sweet life! You'se jes' 
 been a putty flower growin' in the gyarden of luxury, 
 jes' a real leetle lady wid manners like a queen " 
 
 Marjory broke in upon her impatiently. "Yes, that's 
 exactly what I have been a 'flower in a garden of 
 luxury.' But the flower is a rank weed, Mary Anna. 
 The whole socially constructed garden of luxury is 
 made up of rank weeds, and those weeds steal over 
 into the garden of usefulness and sap its strength and 
 vigor. Weeds are parasites, Mary Anna " 
 
 "Holy Lamb, chile, you talks like one o' dem female 
 womens dat calls demse'fs suffergettes. Fer Gawd's 
 sakes, doan you begin no sech sheenanykin ! Mens is 
 lazy and bombosterous enough as 'tis widout gittin' 
 the idee dat deir lady friends and ^pendents is 
 hankerin' fer work as well as chillens "
 
 252 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "I am a suffragist, if suffrage means that idle, silly, 
 useless women like I am will disappear from the face 
 of the earth," Marjory broke in. "What have I ever 
 done to help anything or anybody? Nothing! What 
 good have I ever been? None! Have I ever tried 
 to take a big helpful outlook on life? No. A broad 
 horizon and a big way of looking at things is man's 
 business! My business is to look pretty being a 
 member of the sex through which the world is peopled 
 I must attract the male. Must pander to him must 
 spend my time, according to Mama, fascinating and 
 fooling him! I've been nothing, nothing, nothing, 
 but a pretty doll ! An unhappy slave of what 'people 
 will say'! Oh, I hate myself!" And flinging herself 
 down among her lacy pillows she entirely lost control 
 of her emotions. 
 
 "Why Marjory! My dear love!" an angry voice 
 exclaimed, as a highly perfumed feminine flower of 
 rustling silks and satins was wafted into the room. 
 "This is the most outrageous conversation I've ever 
 heard! Writing that book has simply gone to your 
 head! I suppose you think now that you are a 'new 
 woman,' and that you can express yourself in all sorts 
 of vulgar, unladylike ways!" 
 
 Marjory sat bolt upright. "Mama, I wonder if 
 you've ever realized that I'm thirty years old. Don't 
 you think it's about time I am allowed to express some 
 opinions of my own? I am useless. I'm worse than 
 useless " 
 
 But she got no further. Mrs. Matthews broke in 
 with a torrent of affectionate abuse. "Why, my love, 
 what in the world do you mean by speaking like this 
 to me, your adoring mother? What do you suppose 
 people would say if they heard you? Haven't I given 
 you every luxury? Haven't I made you one of the 
 most talked-of beauties in Virginia? What other
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 253 
 
 woman has had so many accomplished men at her 
 feet, as has my little love? Had so many chances to 
 make a really good match? You managed to spoil 
 your early life by a wilful marriage, a marriage I was 
 opposed to from the very first the man had no money 
 and now though I have urged you to break that 
 marriage and enter into an advantageous one, you 
 have pig-headedly, yes pigheadedly, my love not a 
 pretty word, but expressive you have pigheadedly re- 
 fused to follow my advice !" 
 
 By now Marjory had gotten out of bed. Standing 
 up in front of her mother, she threw her head back 
 defiantly. "Mama, that will do! I won't listen. 
 Furthermore I have something to say to you. I know 
 it's going to make a break between us. I've known it 
 for a long time; but though I have been a coward, 
 I'm one no longer. I must speak!" 
 
 Mrs. Matthews here tried to interrupt; but waving 
 her words aside, Marjory continued : 
 
 "When I married Denneth Richardson, I loved him. 
 I was willing to do without any amount of comforts 
 and luxuries in order to marry him. I think I showed 
 that in the choice I made between him and another 
 man, a man so much too good for me, by the way, 
 that it makes me ashamed even yet to " 
 
 But angrily breaking in upon her daughter Mrs. 
 Matthews said commandingly to the maid who had 
 continued her work about the room, "Mary Anna, go 
 out into the hall." 
 
 But to her mother's astonishment Marjory counter- 
 manded quickly: "Mary Anna, remain. Get all my 
 traveling things together, please; and yours, too 
 Pardon me, Mama. I will say out my say. 
 
 "We went to housekeeping, Denneth and I. You 
 came to live with us. Nothing pleased you ; but being 
 still beneath your influence, I, like the fool I was,
 
 254 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 began to see things once more from your point of 
 view and not from my own or Denneth's." 
 
 Her mother attempted to interrupt again but again 
 compelling her attention, Marjory continued : 
 
 "Oh, I'm not trying to excuse myself. I know I 
 was to blame for letting you influence me, but it had 
 become a habit with me! Well, then my little baby 
 was about to come " here a sob rose in her throat, 
 and with an effort she kept back the tears. "You 
 no more made me understand the sacredness of God's 
 gift to me then than you had explained the sacredness 
 and true meaning of marriage before. My better self 
 began to occasionally whisper that I was playing a 
 foolish game; but refusing to pay heed to these warn- 
 ings, as you know, I continued to think of nothing 
 but clothes and the things I had been brought up to 
 worship worldly possessions. As I look back upon 
 it all now I wonder how Denneth stood it. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not trying to excuse him either," as her 
 mother once more angrily broke in. "I've told you 
 that I would never see nor hear from him again. I've 
 kept my word. But what I am saying is this: You 
 had so filled me, so hypnotized me, with the idea of 
 what 'people would say,' that when things became 
 when things were at their worst, I I " 
 
 But here she broke down completely, flinging her- 
 self face down upon the bed, unable to proceed and 
 turning away from her mother. 
 
 This gave Mrs. Matthews the desired opening, and 
 calling down upon Marjory's head maledictions inter- 
 spersed with pet names, this incensed matron demanded 
 an answer to the question, "How dare her daughter, 
 her dear little love, say such things to her!" and nois- 
 ily rustling from the room she left behind her a trail 
 of perfume stronger than her customarily sweetened 
 words a perfume which always indicated her where-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 255 
 
 abouts as surely as did that given by bounteous nature 
 to an animal less easily tolerated than she ! 
 
 Jumping up Marjory rushed to the door, calling 
 after her: "Mama, come back!" 
 
 Then as that lady continued her haughty way down 
 the hall in spite of Marjory's request, Marjory said 
 in a hard, deliberate voice that did not sound at all 
 like her own : 
 
 "If you don't come back I'll call out to you what 
 I was going to say! It isn't a credit to either of 
 us " 
 
 She got no further. The threat was sufficient. 
 Mrs. Matthews came back, and entering the room 
 closed the door. Seriously disturbed and anxious she 
 took the chair Marjory pushed forward for her and 
 listened silently while the latter said, holding herself 
 bravely in hand : 
 
 "I told you my baby had died. He did not. He 
 is probably living to-day." 
 
 At this bit of news Mrs. Matthews, white and shak- 
 ing, rose from her seat. The negro woman, eyes pop- 
 ping from her head, had dropped her task and hurrying 
 over at the look of fury on Mrs. Matthews's face, now 
 stood near Marjory in much the attitude of a mother 
 bear determined to protect her cubs. Mrs. Matthews 
 was so angry that Mary Anna felt a vague fear lest 
 she try to harm her beloved mistress. 
 
 Marjory looking her mother squarely in the eyes, 
 continued coldly : "Yes, I deceived you. For once 
 in my life I acted on my own initiative But do not 
 be alarmed. The cowardice which is convention bred 
 in most girls of my class was strong enough in me 
 to make me desert my boy! I put him in an orphan 
 asylum. I believed then it was the right thing to do 
 but, of course, that's beside the mark. There was so 
 much about poor Denny the disgrace and all "
 
 Mrs. Matthews' s face had taken on a look of re- 
 lief. Seeing this, however, Marjory lost her self- 
 control and angrily exclaimed: 
 
 "But I'll tell you this, Mother : To-night I start for 
 New York to take him out of that loveless place in 
 which he may even now be suffering. From hence- 
 forth I am forever done with this useless life you have 
 given me, and and " her voice breaking while the 
 tears coursed unheeded down her cheeks, "I will yet 
 be happy with my boy! I'm going to help him grow 
 into a good man, in spite of his heredity. These 
 years of suffering have taught me much, Mama. I 
 believe I know life's true value better now." 
 
 At these, her own words, her heart suddenly soft- 
 ened towards her mother, and she said in all honesty 
 of purpose: "Oh, D. D.," using the pet initials she 
 had used toward her mother during babyhood, but 
 which she had not indulged in for many years, "let's 
 start afresh ! Our little boy, your grandson whom you 
 have never seen, needs us. He needs our love, and we 
 need his, D. D. There must be more happiness in life 
 than we've yet found " 
 
 But she got no further. Mrs. Matthews, who had 
 throughout this entire recital uttered no word, was 
 now no longer able to control herself. Her eyes, too, 
 were full of tears, but they were those of an exceed- 
 ingly angry woman. Half choking and fairly sput- 
 tering with rage, she said : 
 
 "Do you mean to say, my love, that after you have 
 lied to the world, cheated and deceived it, passed off 
 as an unencumbered widow, played the part of an inno- 
 cent lamb, that now you will suddenly produce a great 
 big boy from out of nowhere and say to the world, 
 'Oh, didn't you know I had a son? Well, you see 
 his father was a thief and so I put the child in an 
 orphan asylum. But now I've decided that his hered-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 257 
 
 ity makes no difference, and so, dear kind friends, just 
 accept him among you socially and let's say no more 
 about it!' Marjory, do you think you can do a fool 
 thing like that?" Then her sarcastic anger giving 
 way to self-pity, she moaned: 
 
 "Oh, it's such a disgrace. What -will people say?" 
 
 By now Marjory was furious. "Mother," she said 
 between closely held lips, "that will do!" 
 
 Her mother, paying no heed, went on piteously, 
 wringing her be jeweled hands : "And I thought I had 
 you almost married to a lord! Think of it, my love! 
 You would have been a Lady, a real Lady " 
 
 "Humph!" Mary Anna mumbled disrespectfully, 
 "like she ain't already dat!" 
 
 "And now you are going to spoil it all by this dam- 
 nable nonsense!" Then Mrs. Matthew's indignation 
 growing into white heat, she exclaimed convulsively: 
 "You just shall not do it!" and in spite of the fact 
 that she stamped her foot like a tragedy queen, she 
 very much resembled a spoiled child bent oh having 
 its own way. Stepping over to the door, she locked 
 it and, putting the key in her pocket, whirled upon 
 her daughter. "What do you suppose -people would 
 say if you suddenly had no money? Do you think 
 you would be so popular, so sought after, so admired, 
 if my money wasn't back of you?" Then losing in her 
 anger what little dignity she possessed, she said, "You 
 wilful little hussy! I thought you might do some- 
 thing fool yes fool, my dear, not a pretty word, but 
 expressive, and so the money is all in my name. Do 
 you understand that, Marjory 'Richardson' ?" 
 
 Marjory went white. "So you advise me leaving 
 my son in a place where he is not happy, and where I 
 do not feel at all sure of the influence being good?" 
 she asked scornfully. "You, his grandmother, con-
 
 258 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 sider the opinion of 'people' more important than my 
 son's birthright of happiness " 
 
 "You put him there, didn't you?" 
 
 Marjory winced. 
 
 "You should have thought of his happiness before 
 you did it! There's one thing certain now, and that 
 is that you can't take him out and bring him here. 
 People would talk!" 
 
 Marjory, white to the lips with anger, stood over 
 her mother threateningly, but said in a perfectly calm 
 vdice: "That will not stop me. Nor will lack of 
 money stop me. Nothing will stop me ! Besides which 
 I have got money. I have money my husband gave 
 me!" and she emphasized the word. 
 
 Until this conversation Mrs. Matthews had never 
 heard Marjory mention Denneth's name since the date 
 of his crime, and now she felt seriously alarmed. 
 Tears, that weapon of women which has made history 
 and changed the map of the world, came to her aid. 
 Flopping limply back into her chair she allowed her 
 nose to become reddened in a manner which would 
 have even now distressed her outraged vanity had she 
 stopped to think. 
 
 Marjory coldly turned to Mary Anna. "Mary 
 Anna," she said, "pack my things." Then turning 
 toward her mother again she said in quiet determina- 
 tion, enunciating every word: "I am going to New 
 York to-night." 
 
 Mrs. Matthews's equinoxial storm broke. Weeping 
 and scolding, she begged her "little love" to have 
 mercy! Had that bugaboo, "people," in fear of 
 whom Mrs. Matthews lived, heard what she had to 
 say from now on until the close of the scene, they 
 certainly would have talked! But Marjory, filled 
 with the inspiration of her newly discovered better 
 self, was obdurate.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 MARJORY hurried toward the river. The sun shone 
 down upon her, and striking the windows of the 
 shabby nouses along one side of the street, turned 
 every pane of glass into a flaming beacon of hope. 
 As this idea entered Marjory's mind she smiled at its 
 significance and the thought that she was so soon to 
 see her boy. She quickened her steps and went eagerly 
 forward, intent only on reaching the Home of His 
 Lost Sheep. As she passed the basket's alcove with 
 its light in the shape of a star, she felt as though 
 her heart must surely stop beating, so poignant had 
 the memory become to her of that night of years 
 before. Its every little detail returned, and she felt 
 that it and not the present scene must surely be the 
 reality through which she was even now living. The 
 actual seemed far away and entirely unreal. She felt 
 as though she had stepped back through the years to 
 the time before she had parted with little Stanley. 
 She was acutely conscious of his warm body against 
 her breast yet the real emptiness of her arms was 
 even more acute! She breathed the baby perfume of 
 his nearness. His little fingers clung to hers, and 
 across the years she seemed to hear the tinkle of the 
 bell which had been the signal of their separation. 
 Then with a stab of anguish the reality of the present 
 asserted itself. 
 
 She hurried rapidly on. Again a feeling of joy 
 swept over her. Her arms would soon no longer be 
 empty. Little fingers now growing big would really 
 be clinging to hers! She reached the Home's gates 
 and pressed the bell. 
 
 At her summons a burly watchman in uniform came 
 forward and looked through the grating. 
 
 259
 
 260 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "Good afternoon, Miss. Is it after wanting to see 
 anybody ye be?" he asked, as his beady eyes took 
 in Marjory's rich attire. 
 
 "Yes, open the gate, please," Marjory answered. 
 "I've come to see the matron." 
 
 The watchman hesitated. "But it's not after being 
 a visitor's day today," doubtfully. 
 
 "But I wish to come in anyway," Marjory said in 
 the imperious manner which much admiration had bred 
 in her. "Open the gate, please." 
 
 For a moment more the man hesitated. He had 
 not served as watchman in the Home of His Lost 
 Sheep for nearly twenty years without knowing that 
 a lady dressed as Marjory was dressed was not wel- 
 come there without due notice having been given of 
 her coming. Rules were strict and food was scarce. 
 As had been the case years before, a housekeeper who 
 kept the bills down was considered an example of 
 righteous perfection. Clothes, shoes, stockings, even 
 soap and water, as well as food, came under the head 
 of economies practiced, and except on visitors' days 
 the children showed not the slightest sign of care or 
 cleanliness. Except on such days important factors 
 in State or Church did not happen along, and so no 
 attempt was ever made to hide the filth and barren- 
 ness which daily surrounded the little lives within the 
 Home. 
 
 The watchman knew he ought to keep Marjory from 
 entering until a more propitious occasion. Yet of late 
 there had been several well-dressed women demanding 
 entrance at unexpected hours. These women had made 
 it rather uncomfortable for those in authority at the 
 Home when admission had been refused them. The 
 watchman was therefore afraid to actually refuse 
 Marjory entrance now. With the pretense of a rusty 
 lock, he tried strategy:
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 261 
 
 "But it's after being sick I think the good matron 
 is," fumbling clumsily with the lock. 
 
 "She probably isn't too sick to see me," Marjory 
 said, waiting. 
 
 Their parley had attracted the attention of several 
 of the children playing about the yard. Coming up 
 they peered through the grating of the gate with big 
 eyes which looked hollow and dark in their setting 
 of drawn, white faces. The expression in them of sad 
 wistfulness cut Marjory to the quick. The leader of 
 the crowd was a boy about the age of her own son, 
 she thought, judging from his size. Maybe it was 
 he! Her heart quickened; but as quickly sank as she 
 took note of his shabby condition. Could this be the 
 little baby for whom she longed ? He was a handsome 
 little chap and did not look so ill as the rest. 
 
 "Good afternoon, children," she said, controlling 
 the anxiety in her voice and forcing to the fore her 
 most light-hearted and charming manner in spite of 
 the distress she felt. "I'm coming in to see you." 
 
 At her words and unwonted show of interest in 
 them the children one and all backed away. Standing 
 at a safe distance they stared coldly, much as shy ani- 
 mals do at the approach of man. Like the little crea- 
 tures of the woods the children had seldom met with 
 anything but cruelty and misunderstanding from 
 adults, so why should they accept Marjory's friendly 
 advances now? She probably represented some new 
 form of injustice to be meted out to them! Besides 
 that, the stony gray of the asylum walls had entered 
 their very souls, turning the natural trustfulness of 
 childhood into the mistrust of middle age. 
 
 "What is the matter with that lock?" Marjory im- 
 patiently asked of the watchman. "If it's as rusty as 
 it seems, you need a new one." But in spite of her 
 annoyance at the man she continued to watch the
 
 262 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 children as she spoke. Standing nearly across the 
 yard now, their wide eyes stared at her as before. 
 
 Thinking that he could not fool or delay her longer, 
 the watchman turned the key. Swinging back the gate 
 he remarked pleasantly : 
 
 "It's not a rich place we be, Miss. Them little 
 mouths," jerking his head back toward the still star- 
 ing children, "is after taking all we can git to feed 
 'em." 
 
 Marjory entered. Crossing over to the children she 
 said: "Aren't you going to make friends with me, 
 children? I've come to see you." As she uttered 
 these words her gaze swept over each of the boys, 
 hoping, yet hardly daring, to see the locket of queer 
 design swinging about one of their necks. 
 
 The children were silent. 
 
 "What's your name, dear?" she asked a tiny girl 
 in the front of the group. 
 
 The little girl questioned only stared. 
 
 "Don't you know your name? Don't any of you 
 know your names?" turning toward the others. 
 
 There was dead silence and Marjory's heart mis- 
 gave her. How different, how terribly different were 
 these silent children from the happy children of her 
 friends! Were these dumb, staring creatures before 
 her now those whom she had once imagined to be so 
 happy and safe in this sheltering home? Were these 
 they whom the Church and State were bringing up 
 into useful maturity? 
 
 The dirty, stupid little faces stared at her. There 
 was not the slightest emotion or understanding visible 
 in any of them, but Marjory thought their eyes were 
 searching her soul, and rinding there that she was a 
 mother who had deserted her child, to her imagina- 
 tion they now took on a look of dumb accusation ! She 
 could stand it no longer.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 263 
 
 "Is any of you named Stanley?" Her voice 
 quivered, and she looked from one to the other of them. 
 
 She received no answer. 
 
 "Has any of you a locket about his neck? I'm 
 looking for a little boy with a locket about his neck," 
 and she forced a smile through her dry lips. 
 
 Still there was no answer; and turning, Marjory 
 walked back to the watchman. "Is there any rule 
 against these children talking to visitors?" she asked 
 in her old impatience. "Why are they so silent? I 
 can't get a word out of any of them !" 
 
 The watchman approached the children, his thick 
 lips drawing themselves heavily back from his fang- 
 like teeth in what he considered a smile, though its 
 brutal quality made it perfectly plain that those lips 
 were entirely unaccustomed to being put to such use. 
 
 "Childer," he said with an exaggerated show of 
 kindliness, "it's after talking to ye the pretty lady is. 
 Where is them manners I be after teaching ye?" and 
 with his back turned toward Marjory he gave the 
 children a threatening, vicious scowl. 
 
 Staring coldly back at him and Marjory the chil- 
 dren stood huddled together in sullen silence. 
 
 "Fer shame on ye," he continued; "ain't ye got no 
 manners at-all, at-all?" 
 
 At Marjory's question about the locket a little 
 hunchback had pushed his way forward through the 
 group and now, in a high-pitched, nasal voice, he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Me kill lions and chipmunks and kangaroos and 
 spiders ! Me kill him too when me get big boy," look- 
 ing toward the watchman. "Whack !" and his fist came 
 down on a tiny girl's head as his shrill, foolish laugh- 
 ter broke out. His loose lips dripped saliva as he 
 rolled his eyes up at Marjory. 
 
 She shuddered. But the little half-wit now begin-
 
 264 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 ning to cry, she forced down the repugnance created 
 in her, and stooping forward said kindly: 
 
 "What's the matter, little boy?" 
 
 "Me wants him, me wants, me wants!" the Lion 
 said wriggling convulsively. "Big boy tooken locket 
 and went 'way. Me wants him. Me wants !" 
 
 The world went round for Marjory. She thought 
 she must surely fall, must die, from the agony of sud- 
 den apprehension that flooded through her mind. But 
 bracing herself she turned to the w r atchman : 
 
 "What is that child's name?" she forced herself to 
 ask. She would not have recognized her own voice. 
 A possibility too horrible for words possessed her. 
 
 "It's not after knowing his name I be, Miss," the 
 watchman answered, still made unlike his ordinary 
 brutal self by the outward signs of Marjory's worldly 
 possessions. "There's so many blooming kids here we 
 number them you know, and kinder lose track of their 
 names," he said. Then noticing Marjory's expres- 
 sion and translating it to mean indignation at this an- 
 swer, he hastened to suggest : 
 
 "Wasn't it the matron ye was after seeing? Her 
 it is that can tell you the whole of them's names. If 
 ye'll just step this way with me, Miss, I'll show ye 
 in," and he walked toward the asylum's entrance. 
 
 "You may 'tell the matron I am out here," Marjory 
 said, giving the watchman her card. She longed to 
 get rid of the man in order that she might question 
 the children further. "If she is able to see me, I'll 
 then come in." 
 
 The man hesitated; but again influenced by the in- 
 dication of Marjory's wealth and social position as 
 judged by her commanding manner, he dared not dis- 
 obey her. Reluctantly he entered the building's main 
 door ! 
 
 Trembling with apprehension, yet strongly deter-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 265 
 
 mined to face the future which she had so long avoided, 
 Marjory turned again to the children. 
 
 "Do any of you know whether this little boy has 
 got a locket?" 
 
 The sullen children still stared. 
 
 "Me wants Big Boy. Me wants him!" the Lion 
 broke in irrelevantly. 
 
 Then seeing Marjory's bright mesh bag as its jew- 
 eled top caught and reflected the sunlight, he gurgled 
 gleefully. Making a plunge toward her, he forgot en- 
 tirely his former distress. 
 
 As his hands grasped her gown Marjory shrank 
 away with an overwhelming sense of horror. Look- 
 ing down into the idiotic, distorted face she felt as 
 though her mind were giving way. The other chil- 
 dren's faces became a blur. She shook with cold. Sev- 
 eral times she tried to speak, but was unable to say 
 aloud the words which were upon her lips. 
 
 Could what she feared be true? Could this poor, 
 horrible little creature be the child of hers and Den- 
 neth's pure union? Things she had heard about crim- 
 inals' children returned to make her apprehensions 
 even more real. Too, she recalled the chaotic, de- 
 structive thought influence to which Stanley had been 
 subjected just before his birth, during those days after 
 Denneth's desertion of her and her subsequent flight 
 to New York. She had heard somewhere that such 
 things often did leave their stamp of mental degen- 
 eracy upon a child. She shuddered. 
 
 Deliberately throwing all these fears aside, however, 
 she again studied the faces before her. She must not 
 allow herself to believe such a thing until it could be 
 proven. The matron doubtless knew which of the 
 children was hers. Of course this little idiot could not 
 be responsible for anything which he might say. 
 
 The largest boy of the group, the lad she had first
 
 266 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 noticed, now suddenly smiled at her. Deep down in 
 his manly little heart he had felt a stirring of interest 
 and friendship toward the visitor. In spite of his 
 Home-bred distrust of everyone, his heart warmed 
 toward her, and the sullenness which characterized 
 the other children left him. 
 
 Marjory's heart bounded as she caught this expres- 
 sion of friendliness. "Do you know this little boy's 
 name?" she asked hopefully. 
 
 "His name is the Lion. We calls him that." 
 
 Marjory heaved a sigh of relief at the unfamiliar 
 name, but went deadly pale as the lad continued: 
 
 "He did have a locket once, a funny-looking locket. 
 I seen it on him," pointing toward the little hunch- 
 back, who was still playing with Marjory's glittering 
 purse. 
 
 With a return of her apprehension, tenfold strength- 
 ened, Marjory felt a wild desire to make a bolt for the 
 gate. Running through it she would put behind her 
 forever the distressing face of the half-witted boy. In 
 the same instant she realized that even though she gave 
 way to cowardice, and deserted this child whom she 
 now began to really believe was hers, she could never, 
 so long as life lasted, forget that convulsed distorted 
 face! 
 
 "Where is your locket, Lion?" she bravely asked, 
 forcing herself to address the little idiot. "Have you 
 any other name besides Lyon?" hoping that this ques- 
 tion might establish the idiot's relation to her as being 
 purely a figment of her imagination. 
 
 "No, he ain't got no other name," the larger lad 
 volunteered. 
 
 Marjory's eyes lighted with relief. "Well, is there 
 any boy here whose name is Stanley? I'm looking 
 for a boy named Stanley with a locket about his neck." 
 
 There was no answer, and her fears reviving again,
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 267 
 
 she said to the little Lion : "Show me your locket. 
 What is it like?" 
 
 "Big Boy, he tooken! Me wants. Me wants," he 
 responded as her words penetrated his clouded brain 
 and recalled his distress. 
 
 "Of whom does he speak when he says 'Big Boy,' ' 
 Marjory asked the larger lad. 
 
 "He means him that went to the Reform School," 
 the lad answered. "He was kinder soft on the kid." 
 
 "Big Boy, me wants him, me wants!" 
 
 The other children standing about now began to lose 
 their constraint. One of them giggled audibly at the 
 reference to Stanley's infatuation for the little idiot. 
 
 Shuddering, Marjory turned again to the lolling- 
 tongued child. "What was your locket like?" she 
 asked. ''Where is it now?" 
 
 But to all these questions she got but one answer; 
 his distressed cry of wanting "Big Boy." 
 
 "It's you the matron is after asking to see," the 
 watchman said, having come up behind Marjory with- 
 out her knowledge. "Jes' come with me, Miss." 
 
 Leaving the group of children Marjory followed 
 the man into the dingy Home, and soon found herself 
 in the presence of a black garbed figure seated at a 
 desk. 
 
 As the matron lifted her eyes to Marjory's, Mar- 
 jory was shocked at the expression of her face. It 
 was hard and cold to a degree which Marjory had 
 never before encountered in a woman, and it was only 
 with the greatest effort that she now addressed her as 
 she had been taught to address a woman of her age. 
 These formalities over, she continued simply : 
 
 "I have come to ask you about my boy. I put him 
 in your alms-basket when he was a month old. His 
 father had disgraced our name and I wanted my son 
 to grow into manhood under your good influence.
 
 268 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 About his neck I tied a locket. In it was written his 
 name Stanley. I asked that he be allowed to wear 
 the locket always and keep the name." 
 
 Then after a slight pause in which the little half- 
 wit's face came before her mind's eye, causing her to 
 feel that the world was crashing about her ears, Mar- 
 jory said: 
 
 "I've come for him. I cannot stand to be without 
 him longer !" 
 
 During Marjory's monologue the matron had sat 
 watching her keenly, but now she asked : 
 
 "How long is it since you saw your boy? How old 
 is he?" 
 
 Marjory was surprised at this question, but has- 
 tened to answer: 
 
 "Why, I haven't seen him but once since I put him 
 here. That was over twelve years ago." 
 
 "You wouldn't know him then if you saw him?" 
 
 Marjory winced. "I suppose not." 
 
 The matron sat silently watching Marjory for 
 several moments. Then she spoke. 
 
 "I know of no such boy here." 
 
 Marjory was nonplussed. "But surely you must!" 
 she exclaimed. "The locket was a highly polished 
 gold one with raised silver initials on one side, and 
 the signs of the zodiac in raised silver on the other." 
 
 The woman shook her head. Then in explanation 
 she said : "I have been here only a little over a month. 
 Matron Morrison died, you know, and I was sent 
 on to take her place. I know little of the chil- 
 dren. Perhaps Catherine here may know about this 
 particular case. She has been in the Home longer than 
 the rest. I will send for her," and ringing a bell that 
 faintly tinkled out in the dim distance, she said to a 
 young girl who answered it : 
 
 "Ask Catherine to come here."
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 269 
 
 Another untidy woman with an uninspired face en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 "Catherine," the matron said, "do you know any- 
 thing about this boy? Madam," turning to Marjory, 
 "kindly tell her what you have told me." 
 
 Marjory repeated the brief history of Stanley's 
 entrance into the Home of His Lost Sheep. 
 
 Catherine shook her head. "I don't remember any- 
 body by the name of Stanley during my time," she 
 said. 
 
 Marjory went pale. Again the face of the little 
 half-wit came to haunt her. "Perhaps he was known 
 by a nickname," she suggested. She hoped fervently 
 that this suggestion would lead nowhere ; yet she made 
 it because of the courage which her determination to 
 do her duty had aroused in her. 
 
 Catherine's face brightened for a moment. "I 
 think I do remember seeing one of the children with 
 some such locket," she said thoughtfully, "though I 
 certainly do not remember any 'Stanley' among them. 
 It seems to me there was some trouble between two of 
 the boys not long ago oh, I know, I think I heard 
 something or other about some incorrigible we sent 
 to the Reform School for having stolen a locket from 
 one of the other boys. I have a faint recollection of 
 some such thing occurring a few weeks since." 
 
 "Was the original owner of the locket a hunch- 
 back?" Marjory forced herself to ask. 
 
 "Why yes, that's right. Now I remember. The 
 little 'Lion,' as the children call him, claims that Ninety- 
 nine took it away from him just before Ninety-nine 
 went to the Reform School. Ninety-nine was a danger- 
 ous incorrigible, madam. These children aren't the in- 
 nocent lambs they look to be !" she hastened to add, lest 
 there be some criticism of her by this handsomely 
 gowned lady.
 
 270 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 But Marjory had not heard the last part of her re- 
 mark. In her mind and heart there was a battle 
 raging which shut out everything else. 
 
 So her worst, her wildest fears were true! That 
 repulsively deformed body and that pathetically inade- 
 quate mind were sprung from her very own! The 
 little hunchback was the clinging baby she had deserted. 
 Yet even now, convinced as she was, she would not, 
 could not, accept this fact without further struggle. 
 
 "But his name?" she asked faintly. "If he is my 
 boy," and she shuddered at the very memory of his 
 hands upon her bag, "he must be down on your records 
 under the name of Stanley. I particularly requested 
 that he be known by that name. Surely you would 
 not have denied a mother, even an unknown and de- 
 serting mother, this small request." 
 
 The nurse, Catherine, stared at the matron, and the 
 matron stared back at Catherine. 
 
 "Our records were destroyed last week when the 
 office end of this building burned down," the matron 
 said. "You see now I have to use the chapel as my 
 office," she complained. "It's very inconvenient. In 
 fact this whole place is inconvenient and unmodern 
 to the last degree." 
 
 Again Marjory had heard only the woman's first 
 remarks. Learning that there was no way to prove 
 whether the half-witted child was really her child or 
 not, Marjory's mental suffering had become so acute 
 that it seemed to surround her and bar her out from 
 everything else in the world. She felt convinced of 
 the relationship between her and the half-wit. 
 Whether this conviction sprang from the secret and 
 dread feeling of sorrow and despair which had for so 
 long been connected with everything pertaining to 
 Denneth, or whether the mother in her recognized that 
 something in him which meant the tie of blood, she
 
 could not say. But whatever the cause, she now be- 
 lieved, in spite of the possibility that more than one 
 child in the Home might have worn a locket, that the 
 little hunchback was her son. 
 
 What was her duty? Should she take him, this 
 repulsive creature, from the Home and, openly an- 
 nouncing her secret to the world, stand between him 
 and it? Or should she leave him here? No one 
 would be any the wiser if she did leave him. Not a 
 soul except herself and her mother, and her faithful 
 maid, knew that she had a son. Her mother, dear 
 soul, would but welcome this kindly escape from any 
 explanations as to Marjory's past. The child himself, 
 too, would not be able to appreciate the difference in 
 his surroundings if she did take him out. 
 
 She rose to go. 
 
 "But his welfare?" Marjory's conscience argued. 
 His happiness ? for he evidently was capable of emo- 
 tions. No, he was probably totally unconscious of 
 anything save the need of food and the roof over his 
 head. In this Home where he knew the other children 
 he was doubtless perfectly content. She longed to 
 escape through the gates; yet lingered on as the ma- 
 tron talked of her own trials and tribulations. The 
 woman belonged to that large class among us, inside 
 and outside of churches, who believe that it is Society's 
 duty to provide not only a living, but luxuries, for 
 those who choose a profession of service which appeals 
 to them personally, regardless of whether they in that 
 profession be of benefit to Society or not. 
 
 Unheeding the woman's complaints, Marjory's mind 
 went on fighting out the battle with her conscience. 
 
 "Isn't there any way you can establish the boy's 
 identity," she asked. "I came hoping, and wanting, 
 to find my son; but naturally I do not want to take a 
 child I do not know is my son."
 
 272 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Once more Catherine looked at the matron and 
 she looked back at Catherine. Food was scarce and 
 expenses were high. The Home was even now con- 
 tinually being overcrowded by the frequent ringing 
 of the alcove's bell. Should they do more than go 
 through the mere formalities required by the authori- 
 ties when a person came asking to adopt a child? 
 Would there not be just so much extra did they but 
 get rid of the little hunchback? 
 
 "The records are gone, madam," the matron said. 
 "I can't think of any other way for you to identify 
 him. You might question the children themselves. 
 Perhaps some of them may remember seeing the locket. 
 I do not." 
 
 "How long have you been here, Catherine?" Mar- 
 jory asked turning toward the other woman. 
 
 "Nearly ten years," she answered. 
 
 "Have you been here longer than anyone else?" 
 
 "Yes," the nurse said. 
 
 "And you don't remember definitely when or where 
 you saw the locket? Or whether it was stolen from 
 the little deformed lad? In other words, you don't 
 know whether the little hunchback is its original owner 
 or not?" 
 
 Again Catherine answered no. "All I remember 
 about it is what I have told you." 
 
 Marjory looked at both women sharply. "It seems 
 to me little short of remarkable that no one here knows 
 about a child who wore so conspicuous a thing as that 
 locket." Then looking about the shabby chapel and 
 out into the dirty halls, she said : 
 
 "I would like to have all the attendants here ques- 
 tioned, please," and turning her back on the other two, 
 Marjory walked up and down the chapel, for the thou- 
 sandth time miserably going over her life as it was 
 and as it might have been. If this mentally deficient
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 273 
 
 hunchback proved to be her child, as she now seri- 
 ously feared and believed him to be, what was she go- 
 ing to do with him? The very thought of having 
 him near her turned her sick with distress. Yet the 
 more fully she saw into the actual conditions of the 
 Home of His Lost Sheep, the more keenly she re- 
 alized it would be unfair to leave him there, even 
 though he was so deficient as not to feel the poverty, 
 disgrace, and misery of his present situation. 
 
 To Marjory it seemed a lifetime before several 
 other women entered the room. These on being ques- 
 tioned by her shook their heads. They knew nothing 
 of a boy with a locket, nor did they remember ever 
 having heard the name of Stanley in connection with 
 any of their charges. 
 
 "Perhaps Patrick, the watchman, knows," one of 
 them suggested. "He has been here longer than any 
 of us, Madam, and sees the children in a way we sel- 
 dom do." 
 
 A wave of indignation passed through Marjory at 
 this statement. These women seemed to pride them- 
 selves on the fact that they knew little about the 
 children in their care. They seemed to think it ac- 
 tually reflected credit upon them to have held them- 
 selves aloof from the little waifs! 
 
 She opened her lips to express her righteous indig- 
 nation at their display of indifference, but changing 
 her mind, she said : 
 
 "Kindly send for Patrick." 
 
 In answer to a summons the watchman whom she 
 had seen in the yard entered the chapel. 
 
 With a show of deep respect he went through the 
 formalities expected of a good servant upon entering 
 the presence of his superiors, and then, cap in hand, 
 he stood awkwardly before Marjory. 
 
 "I've already questioned this man," Marjory said,
 
 274 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 turning toward the matron. "He knew none of the 
 children's names. He told me so. He knows their 
 numbers!" 
 
 The matron gave Patrick a disapproving look, at 
 the same moment saying graciously to Marjory: 
 
 "Oh, I guess you misunderstood him. We try very 
 hard to have an air of intimacy like a child's own 
 family circle in our Home. The numbers are merely 
 a matter of record. The dear children are given 
 names also." 
 
 "Patrick," Marjory broke in impatiently, "do you 
 remember ever having seen one of the boys here wear 
 a gold locket with a queer design in silver upon it?" 
 
 Patrick's eyes shifted anxiously from the matron's 
 face to that of Marjory then back again. He seemed 
 unable to gain a cue. Yet he knew that he must 
 say what the all-powerful matron wished him to say 
 such diplomacy had enabled him to keep an easy 
 job for years. He hesitated. 
 
 "Answer the lady's question," she commanded; and 
 as she looked him squarely in the eyes, he could not 
 for the life of him tell whether she wished him to 
 tell the truth or not. All the eyes in the room were 
 fastened upon him. 
 
 "Er it's after not er knowing it, I be," he 
 stumbled. Then thinking he saw a disapproving gleam 
 in one of the nurse's eyes, he blundered on desperately : 
 "That is, er er it's not entirely sure I be. I think" 
 the gleam became more pronounced "I think I do 
 be after remembering some such trinket." 
 
 "Yes," Marjory encouraged, watching him eagerly, 
 her cheeks alternately flushing and paling in her anx- 
 iety. "When do you think you saw it and where?" 
 
 Again the matron's eyes seemed to give warning. 
 Patrick swallowed hard. 
 
 "It's not after knowing I be!" he finished desper-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 275 
 
 ately, taking a deep breath and feeling conscious of a 
 duty well performed. 
 
 "You do not remember!" Marjory asked, astonished 
 at the turn the man's answer had taken. Then her 
 anxiety getting the better of her, she exclaimed : 
 
 "Think, man, think! For heaven's sake try to re- 
 member. It's terribly, desperately, important to me!" 
 Then she flushed at having displayed her emotion be- 
 fore these strangers. 
 
 Patrick looked at the matron and she gazed back 
 at Patrick. In her eyes he again seemed to read some- 
 thing. His eyes tried to ask hers the question as to 
 what he should say But her eyes did not change 
 their expression in the slightest degree. 
 
 "Did you see the locket on the little hunchback?" 
 Marjory asked bravely. Her hands were nervously 
 clinching and unclinching among the soft folds of her 
 skirt as she spoke. 
 
 Once more the man dumbly appealed to the vari- 
 ous pairs of eyes as to what his answer should be. 
 The matron's face was absolutely unreadable in its 
 sphinx-like calm. Being undecided herself as to the 
 wiser course to pursue, she now thought to let fate 
 take its course. 
 
 "Well, why don't you answer my questions?" Mar- 
 jory said to the harassed watchman, again her old 
 imperious self. 
 
 The man nervously twirled his thumbs. He drew 
 one foot up the back of his other leg. He scratched 
 his head. 
 
 "It's thinking he is the one I seen it on, I am," 
 Patrick answered doubtfully. "But it's not sure I am, 
 at-all, at-all!" 
 
 Marjory collapsed into a chair. "You don't feel 
 sure? You don't know?" 
 
 "It's sure I am that there's no such locket on any
 
 276 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 of the dear laddies here now; but as fer the ijit having 
 had one, well I do be thinking that " 
 
 Pausing he again looked at the matron, then at 
 Catherine. Receiving no guiding look from either, 
 he mumbled on : 
 
 "Maybe he did '.ave one, and maybe he didn't." 
 
 For a moment more Marjory sat very still, too weak 
 from the emotion through which she had been pass- 
 ing to move. Now standing up she again faced the 
 group. Her head was thrown back, and though her 
 eyes were dilated and her cheeks extremely flushed, 
 except for this there was no indication of her recent 
 nervousness or indecision. 
 
 "And there's no one else here who would be likely 
 to. know?" she asked. 
 
 The matron answered in the negative. 
 
 "You have no record of such a child dying? If 
 he were living you would surely know of his name 
 and his locket, would you not?" 
 
 This time it was the matron's turn to feel as har- 
 assed as the Irish watchman had felt. "I am a 
 stranger," she said, "I am sorry, Madam, but we have 
 given you all the information which we possess." 
 
 "Then I cannot have my boy!" Marjory said. 
 And hastily saying adieu she made her way from the 
 chapel, and went on out from the Home of His Lost 
 Sheep. 
 
 Once more the selfish, cowardly side of her nature 
 fully possessed her. She would not do anything fool- 
 ish or detrimental to her own future. Once again she 
 had been mistaken in thinking she could find happi- 
 ness. That blessing seemed destined always to be 
 lacking in her life. Did she but seem to see it grow- 
 ing in the distance, it disappeared like a mirage. Her 
 little son was evidently dead. 
 
 Walking rapidly through the city streets, gay with
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 277 
 
 their pleasure seekers of a Saturday afternoon, she 
 forced all thought of the little "Lion" from her mind. 
 She could not accept a child that might not be hers! 
 
 Deep in the night Marjory awoke, seeming to feel 
 the clutch of her baby's little clinging fingers around 
 her own the warmth of his soft lips against her 
 cheek ! She wanted her boy ! How she wanted him ! 
 
 Vaguely at first, then more plainly, the face of the 
 little hunchback came up before her mind's eye. Black- 
 ness reigned within her hotel room, yet the little hunch- 
 backed figure seemed to stand out boldly to her sight. 
 With the same horror and repugnance she had felt 
 the day before, she saw before her the loose lips, the 
 lolling tongue, the vacant eyes, until she could have 
 screamed in her agony. 
 
 The boy seemed to come closer to climb upon 
 the bed to fasten his arms about her neck. She 
 could not move! He clung. She could not breathe! 
 He kissed her ! Claimed her for his mother. He was 
 sapping her strength, her very life! 
 
 She screamed; the child ran off. Across the room, 
 then, he stopped, and stood looking at her, sadly. As 
 she looked back at him his physical deformity and 
 mental abortion suddenly fell away, and she saw only 
 the purity of his innocent spirit the soul of the little 
 baby she had known and loved! In this light of true 
 knowledge he was beautiful. Shining from his lonely 
 eyes there came to her a pleading. He needed her. 
 How he needed her ! 
 
 "Wake up, Miss Marjy, wake up!" Mary Anna's 
 voice sounded in Marjory's ears. 
 
 Continuing to tremble violently, Marjory opened her 
 eyes to see the anxious face of her faithful maid bend- 
 ing above her, a candle held high in the air.
 
 278 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "Law, chile, I thunk it were Jedgement when I heard 
 yo' screams," she said in a relieved voice as she saw 
 her mistress was all right. "Dat nightmare you was 
 ridin' was fairly standin' on its tail," she chuckled. 
 
 Marjory lay looking up into the good-natured face 
 for several moments, and then, the memory of her 
 dream returning, she turned upon her pillow to bury 
 her face in its depths. 
 
 "Why, honey, why, darlin', what's de matter?" Mary 
 Anna asked, as great sobs shook her mistress from 
 head to foot. "Tell yo' ole Mary Anna what's de 
 matter, chile!" 
 
 Slowly Marjory turned back toward the sympa- 
 thetic dark face. "He he probably is my boy!" she 
 said, "and and it doesn't matter what he is like, it 
 is my duty to take him away from that place !" Then 
 before Mary Anna could ask the meaning of these 
 words, Marjory went on: 
 
 "What time is it, Mary Anna?" 
 
 "Why, lemme see," Mary Anna said dazedly, going 
 over and peering at the clock. "Why, it's daytime, 
 after six o'clock." Then walking to the window she 
 let the shade fly up and looked out, in her endeavor 
 to see the sky, over a sea of roofs and chimney tops 
 toward tall buildings massed darkly. "I declar," she 
 said impatiently, "dis New Yawk is so full of buildin's 
 nobody can't see nothin' ! Dat clock's right though, 
 honey, so it must be mornin'." 
 
 But before she could finish her sentence Marjory 
 was out of bed and hurrying into her clothes. 
 
 "Get dressed, Mary Anna," she said. "Last night 
 I told you my boy had died in that orphan asylum. 
 I lied and for the second time! He is living, Mary 
 Anna, I feel sure he is living, and I'm going to do my 
 duty!" 
 
 At these words the latter part of Marjory's dream
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 279 
 
 returned to her consciousness in seeming encourage- 
 ment, and she thought that she could now perceive an 
 intellect and real possibilities behind that loose-lipped, 
 idiotic face. She felt exalted spiritually, and a prom- 
 ise of a happier future came up to stimulate her imag- 
 ination. Every good instinct in her crowded for- 
 ward, and in spite of her involuntary physical repul- 
 sion for the little half-wit, the pure light of Marjory's 
 rea! mother-love burned strong and true, transform- 
 ing duty into a sacred right.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 OLD Judge Sawyer laid down his paper. Leaning ea- 
 gerly forward his eyes pierced those of the small group 
 before him. "I tell you people you don't know what 
 it would mean to this country of ours, to the world 
 in fact, to have constructive instead of destructive 
 methods for the curing of crime ! The man who wrote 
 that article," pointing to a paragraph in his paper, "has 
 the right idea. By Jove, I wish " 
 
 But in the middle of his sentence he broke off 
 sharply, for a girlishly dressed elderly matron in the 
 group, getting up, excused herself and rustled haugh- 
 tily off down the hotel veranda. 
 
 Judge Sawyer smiled. "Another lady bored!" he 
 said whimsically, looking toward Marjory, who smiled 
 back and said: 
 
 "Oh, you mustn't mind Mother. She still thinks it 
 isn't ladylike to listen to such conversations!" 
 
 The judge resumed his monologue at the point 
 where he had broken off. "Do you know what is one 
 of our gravest faults, the thing that keeps civilization 
 back more than almost anything else?" he went on, 
 running his hand through his gray hair. 
 
 "Now, Judge, cut out the 'preach'," said a younger 
 man dressed in immaculate white flannels. Then after 
 indulging in an obtrusive yawn he jumped up with 
 alacrity. "Come on and play me a round. Great 
 morning for golf." 
 
 Judge Sawyer frowned, but concluding that any 
 show of annoyance toward this group of summer 
 idlers would do no good, he only shook his head at 
 the man's request. 
 
 Laughing, the younger man turned to Marjory. 
 280
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 281 
 
 "How about you? Doesn't that tempt you?" waving 
 his hand off toward the links that lay like an emerald 
 far beneath them near the shore of the turquoise bay. 
 
 Marjory shook her head. 
 
 "Now this isn't a morning on which to ride hob- 
 bies!" the man said, laying his hand affectionately on 
 the judge's shoulders. "Who will play with me?" 
 
 "I will, Billy," a lady in the group volunteered, 
 standing up. "Come on," and they strolled off. 
 
 Judge Sawyer watched them disappear; then sighed. 
 
 "Yes, serious-minded folk are cranks and bores, 
 nowadays. I very much fear that joy-rides have taken 
 the place of hobbies! It seems to be the generally 
 accepted idea in America that we have too much humor 
 to be serious except about making money, of course ! 
 One of our most blatant faults," he harked back to his 
 original and favorite theme, "is our primitive belief 
 in trite and wholly artificial sayings ! Why, they have 
 come to have the force of incontrovertible dogma, im- 
 pregnating our whole social family. Who of you 
 has not quoted 'once a thief, always a thief when 
 you hear of some poor devil, an ex-convict, who has 
 been turned down when looking for an honest job 
 until in sheer desperation he goes wrong again or 
 goes wrong because he has never been shown how to 
 go right? Who of you doesn't believe that 'blood is 
 thicker than water' when a chap with a chance, plus a 
 family backing him, does succeed? 'Where there's 
 smoke, there must be fire' is another phrase which has 
 put many a man, found in a suspicious position, in 
 jail on circumstantial evidence. 'Like father, like son' 
 drags down the would-be success of a son sprung 
 from a father who has proven a failure and oh, a 
 hundred like phrases! Words, words, idle phrases, 
 they surround us from almost the minute of our birth, 
 and do more to destroy us than anything else!
 
 282 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "But I'm a bore again," Judge Sawyer said, con- 
 tritely smiling at the women about him busy with their 
 knitting, while the men sat around flicking the 
 ashes from their cigarettes, idly taking their summer 
 vacations, their much talked-of and needed rest. 
 
 The falsity of the idea that idleness and aimless- 
 ness assures the attainment of rest flashed over the 
 judge's keen mind. How absurd it was ! All a part, 
 however, of the present-day extravagance, and the 
 failure to appreciate life's true values. 
 
 "But Judge," a young fellow who had been listen- 
 ing said, "you can't change a man, sir. You 
 
 "That's it. There you go!" the judge broke in in- 
 dignantly. "Same old phrase. If I had let you finish 
 your sentence you would have said : 'You can't make 
 a silk purse out of a sow's ear/ Or more likely still 
 you would have said something wisely foolish about 
 'the criminal class, you know'! Now wouldn't you?" 
 
 The young man grinned, but before he could make 
 answer the judge hurried on, a deep earnestness fill- 
 ing his eyes as he spoke : "There is no radical change 
 necessary to make a bad man into a good man. The 
 'remaking of men' another one of your trite sayings 
 simply means that a man's energies are applied to 
 constructive instead of destructive work. They are 
 the same energies; and evolution, not revolution, is 
 what happens when he has educated and developed his 
 better self. I believe no man, unless he inherits some 
 abnormality, is fundamentally bad. In all my judicial 
 experience in the criminal courts I have yet to find 
 a man who is entirely devoid of any good quality. Al- 
 most all of them possess the splendid quality of loy- 
 alty ; and loyalty is a pretty good base to build upon !" 
 
 "But how about Lombroso's theory, sir?" said some- 
 one else in the group.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 283 
 
 Judge Sawyer sniffed with disgust. "So that idea, 
 too, is still prevalent! Destructive ideas, like gossip, 
 seem to leave their stench even with 'fair-minded 
 Americans' too busy to read! Why, my dear boy, 
 don't you know that that cock, Lombroso, has been 
 proven absolutely wrong ? Without question the world 
 accepted his superficial statement that the 'criminal 
 class' possessed certain physical marks which set them 
 apart from other men. To prove this theory Lom- 
 broso measured the ears, nose, eyes, and mouth, of 
 only men in prison! Brilliant thing to do, wasn't it? 
 Charles Goring came along and, making measurements 
 and examinations on men outside as well as inside 
 of prison, Lombroso's theory went up like that!'' puff- 
 ing the smoke from his cigar skyward. "There is no 
 difference! Criminals are natural men not always 
 normal men, understand. Some of them are born with 
 an abnormality, some are weak and some are sick, but 
 they are all men, with man's sorrows and joys, and 
 each and every one of them possesses in some degree 
 the spirit of Christ which will finally redeem the 
 world." 
 
 The group was silent. The judge's eyes, Lincoln- 
 esque in their understanding sympathy, seemed to see a 
 vision which the rest of them could not see. 
 
 Finally the young fellow who had first spoken again 
 broke the silence with a flippancy which sprang from 
 his lack of years. 
 
 "Judge, I really do think you should commit a crime 
 and be put in awhile," he laughed. "Upon my word, 
 I believe you'd make friends with the crooks! But 
 as Billy said, the day is too fine to be riding hobbies !" 
 and getting down from his perch this future presi- 
 dent of the United States according to his fond 
 mother adjusted his tie and continued urbanely: 
 
 "Who wants to play a set of tennis? How about
 
 284 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 you, faire ladye?" turning with much manner toward 
 Marjory. "Sorry you can't play, sir," sympathetically 
 to the elderly judge. 
 
 Marjory shook her head. "I'm getting too old for 
 such 'strenuosity' as Mary Anna says," she smiled. 
 "Better ask one of the girls." 
 
 "Too old !" the young fellow exclaimed with a look 
 of frank admiration at Marjory's fair face and figure. 
 "By Jove, you don't look one day older than your son." 
 
 Then he bit his lip. What a fool he was to have 
 made such a faux pas! Though the little hunchback 
 was as small as a child of ten or twelve, every one 
 at the resort knew he was of age. He hoped she 
 understood that in referring to her son he had not 
 had in mind the little fellow's mental lack or de- 
 formity. 
 
 "Well, then, I'll have to find someone else to play 
 with me. Bye-bye," and the callow youth was off 
 down the veranda toward a bevy of giggling girls 
 looking as gay as a rainbow in their myriad-colored 
 sweaters. 
 
 The group about the elderly judge began to scatter, 
 That much-talked-of hybrid, known as summer so- 
 oiety, which is composed in large part of the tired 
 business man and the tireless social woman, is seldom 
 content to stay long in one place. The fall was ap- 
 proaching, and with the first tang of coming frost 
 these vacation idlers were at once on the move for 
 another place. Some now went to pack up, others 
 to see about reservations, and soon one and all had 
 departed, leaving Judge Sawyer and Marjory alone 
 upon the veranda. 
 
 "How is the new book going?" the judge asked 
 kindly. "And what is it about?" 
 
 Marjory lifted lovely eyes from the knitting in 
 her lap in very much the same way she used to do
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 285 
 
 as a younger woman, though she was now totally un- 
 conscious of their childlike appeal. "It's not going," 
 she said. "Somehow I don't seem able to write any 
 more, Judge." 
 
 "Nonsense," he said. "That's just your imagination. 
 Why, don't you remember when you were writing 
 your fairy book you often felt the same discourage- 
 ment?" Then looking affectionately down at Mar- 
 jory, he continued : 
 
 "I'll never forget your telling me about that secret 
 book ! Its writing was a very dark secret indeed then, 
 wasn't it? My! that doesn't seem nine years ago, 
 does it?" 
 
 Marjory smiled : "Nine years is a long time, Judge," 
 she said. "But it has been very wonderful to me to 
 meet and know you again this summer. It is strange 
 that we both should have come back to this place, isn't 
 it? But about my writing the fairy book's publi- 
 cation made me very happy; but somehow I haven't 
 seemed to feel the need of writing since that 
 time. Yet I long to write, too! There seems to be 
 something in me that I want to express in that way, 
 and yet, since I took Stanley from the Ho the Sana- 
 tarium in which I had him because of his affliction, I 
 well I guess I haven't had as much time on my 
 hands. Perhaps that is the reason I have not writ- 
 ten another book." 
 
 "Well, you will write it sooner or later," Judge 
 Sawyer said. "You are of the creative type, I think, 
 and your boy won't need you so constantly now, as 
 you tell me he is so very much better." 
 
 "Yes, he is better," Marjory agreed, but her eyes 
 even as she spoke were very sad. "That psychologist 
 has helped him wonderfully; more so even than the 
 surgeons, though of course they helped him too. But 
 he can never be really normal, Judge. He is over
 
 286 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 twenty-one, you know, and has and always will have 
 the mind of a child." 
 
 "Yes, I know," the judge said sympathetically. 
 "Poor little woman, it has been very hard for you." 
 
 "Oh no, it's not that," Marjory hastened to say. 
 "It's it's the fact that " 
 
 Then breaking off she said impulsively : "Oh judge 
 Sawyer, I I wish I could tell you something I've 
 never told anyone! Somehow you remind me so 
 much of somebody who was lovelier and sweeter to 
 me than anyone else in all the world, that I feel I've 
 known you forever!" 
 
 The judge inclined his head in acknowledgment of 
 these words, then looking at Marjory said : 
 
 "And you have always since I met you reminded 
 me of someone else too the girl I wanted to make 
 my wife. That was long before you were born." 
 
 Marjory's eyes took on an added gleam of interest. 
 But the judge hastened to say, rising from his chair 
 as he did so: 
 
 "Suppose we walk down toward the bay. This 
 deliciously crisp air makes one want to stretch lazy 
 muscles in a long walk. It won't be many days now 
 before my stretching of lazy muscles will be at an 
 end, temporarily." 
 
 Marjory looked puzzled; but silently waiting for 
 an explanation she accompanied the judge through the 
 artificially gardened grounds surrounding the hotel, 
 until they gained the relief of flower-studded fields. 
 Crossing these they struck into a piece of untouched 
 woodland, through which lay the more direct access 
 to the shore. Neither had spoken since they left the 
 hotel; until, the judge's last words recurring to Mar- 
 jory, she asked him : 
 
 "What did you mean just now, Judge Sawyer, about 
 not being able to stretch lazy muscles?"
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 287 
 
 They had now reached the edge of the water on a 
 point jutting far out to sea. Judge Sawyer's eyes 
 lighted, and without answering Marjory's question he 
 said: 
 
 "To me this is the most beautiful coast in the world 
 but then I'm prejudiced, I suppose. I've always lived 
 upon it." Pointing toward the north across the foam- 
 flecked blue expanse, he continued. "About sixty miles 
 up from here is my old home town of Dunham. I left 
 it a good many years ago. Down there," pointing 
 south, "is the next most beautiful place I know; but 
 it is too near Hampton, so I come up here for a rest. 
 Have you ever been down there, down to Thornley- 
 by-the-Sea?" 
 
 Marjory started visibly; then answering in the af- 
 firmative, she recalled mental pictures of the place as 
 Judge Sawyer went on talking. The night of her 
 first meeting with Denneth flashed back to her. Again 
 she saw the moon-kissed sea come rolling in in great 
 undulating waves. She recalled the story Denneth 
 had told her of his mother's death. She remembered 
 also the telling of his whimsical imaginings, and that 
 she had in turn told him one of the little fairy tales 
 which had since been published in her book. 
 
 His handsome face rose up before her. Her heart 
 quickened. Once more she lived those orange-red and 
 russet-brown weeks in camp, where the homey smell 
 of roasting chestnuts intermingled in her memory with 
 the glimpses of shy deer, the flash of stray red fox, the 
 call of bob- whites from the harvested fields. How she 
 had loved him! 
 
 "When I see all this beauty, this evidence of one 
 supreme and munificent Creator, I cannot but feel how 
 wrong, how inexcusably wrong and spiritually de- 
 structive a penal system is which shuts all this out 
 from the sight and life of any man," Judge Sawyer
 
 288 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 was saying. "Why, I knew a boy, a mere lad he was, 
 who loved this rock-bound coast better than every- 
 thing in the world that is, besides his mother. He 
 was devoted to her," and the judge's eyes softened. 
 "That boy knew every stick and stone, every flower 
 and blade of grass around Dunham. He loved every 
 bird, and all wild creatures, and they loved him. As 
 I look back at him across the years, he seems the very 
 embodiment of freedom. He was essentially nature's 
 freeman. Yet it was I who had to sentence that boy 
 to State's Prison for ten years! 
 
 "It makes me feel physically sick yet to think of 
 what a nature like his must have suffered when shut 
 away. He does not know it, of course; he escaped 
 from prison, and I lost track of him then; but he 
 has probably had more to do with shaping my career 
 than any other one influence in my life." 
 
 Judge Sawyer's last few sentences had destroyed her 
 mental pictures of her first days of happiness with 
 Denneth, and now to Marjory's mind came the mem- 
 ory of her ensuing years of sadness. For the first time 
 the realization of Denneth' s, and not her suffering, 
 swept over her. Denneth, like this other boy of whom 
 the judge had been speaking, had been one of "nature's 
 freemen." Her heart throbbed with sympathy, and 
 failing to fight against this emotion as she had always 
 done heretofore, she now began to see her desertion 
 of Denneth in its true light. But the judge was still 
 talking. She must listen ! Struggling to put her own 
 thoughts from her, she heard him say: 
 
 "You asked me just now what I meant by saying 
 it would soon be impossible for me to stretch my lazy 
 muscles. I rather hesitate to tell you, and yet I want 
 you to know my secret, just as you told me yours nine 
 years ago." 
 
 Marjory turned eyes of real admiration and friend-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 289 
 
 ship up to his. "In two weeks from to-day," the 
 judge went on, "I go to State's Prison!" 
 
 Marjory gave a start at these words. What could 
 the judge mean? His expression made her under- 
 stand that he was not in jest. Yet what else could 
 such a statement mean? 
 
 "Of course there is some explanation," she said. 
 Then smiling whimsically: "Don't keep me in 'sus- 
 penders' as Mary Anna says. "I'm a mere woman you 
 know, with a woman's curiosity!" 
 
 The judge returned her smile affectionately. Then 
 his face becoming serious again, he said : 
 
 "The explanation is this : As I said just now to that 
 group I was boring to extinction, my judicial experi- 
 ence has led me to believe that all men can be made 
 into law-abiding citizens if the right means are em- 
 ployed toward them. I have known hundreds of 'crim- 
 inals' before and after confinement in our penal in- 
 stitutions. With a few exceptions, I have yet to find 
 one who has been benefited by those institutions as 
 they are now run. Common sense tells me therefore 
 that there must be some fault with the system itself. 
 A fault seldom lies entirely with one side. If our pres- 
 ent system makes criminals instead of wwmakes them, 
 then we should do away with the present system. But 
 you see," his eyes looking afar off as though seeing a 
 vision, as they were wont to do at such times, 
 "I have been able to make my observations only 
 from the outside. In order to be capable of really un- 
 derstanding the thing, I must get the viewpoint of the 
 man inside looking out, as well as that of the man 
 outside looking in ! I have made my arrangements to 
 enter the Warsaw prison near Hampton. It was rather 
 a difficult thing to arrange, I must admit," and his 
 mouth moulded itself into the lines of a fighter. 
 "Those who have once been Egyptian slave drivers
 
 290 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 with a band of Israelites in their power, so to speak, 
 resent interference ! And investigation is the last thing 
 in the world the prison officials want. But I have 
 booked up for a two weeks' stay in Warsaw. When I 
 am released, I shall doubtless know more about my 
 zebra brotherhood. Oh those shameful, degrading, 
 cruel stripes!" he burst out. 
 
 "But Judge," Marjory exclaimed anxiously, "you'll 
 be thrown with criminals! Aren't you afraid, and 
 won't the life be too hard for you?" looking at the 
 man's delicately featured yet virile face. 
 
 Judge Sawyer brushed back his white hair with a 
 typical gesture. He was beginning to show signs of 
 his advanced years in spite of the fire of eternal youth 
 which burned in his eyes. 
 
 "It must be dreadful in those places!" Marjory 
 continued, shuddering, and trying to force down the 
 accusing voice of conscience that the judge's words 
 had provoked in her. 
 
 "Yes, it is dreadful. Far more dreadful, I imag- 
 ine, than any of us know!" he said sadly. "That is 
 exactly why I am going to live in such a place for 
 a while. I have reached a point in my life where 
 my conscience demands that I know exactly to what 
 sort of a place I have been sentencing men. Until 
 I do know, I have determined never to sentence 
 another man to prison. The burden of this uncer- 
 tainty has lain upon my heart a long time 1 am now 
 no longer willing to be the means through which the 
 law throws men who have erred upon the refuse 
 heap for such is prison until I have seen for my- 
 self that there is no better way to treat them." 
 
 Marjory was deadly pale and trembled as she spoke. 
 "But judge," she said, "you'll be thrown in direct con- 
 tact with terrible creatures. Why, you'll be living, 
 eating, sleeping with them! You may be at their
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 291 
 
 mercy! I'm afraid for you to do it, even if you're 
 not!" 
 
 Judge Sawyer shook his head smilingly. "You 
 know my pet theory," he said. "I believe all crim- 
 inals are possible men, all men possible criminals. 
 Heredity plus environment produces all sorts of char- 
 acters among us. Nevertheless we are all good and 
 bad alike. From both heredity and environment we 
 are all capable of developing the good and discarding 
 the bad. There is no one who is unredeemable save 
 those poor souls perhaps who are mentally lacking. 
 And even they should have every care and be given 
 every chance to develop their better and not their 
 worse side. You see," and his lips smiled, although 
 his eyes had again taken on the look which distin- 
 guished him. "I could never be afraid of anyone in 
 the face of my unalterable belief that there is more 
 good than bad in everyone." 
 
 Marjory stared at him, a look of distress now 
 clouding her eyes. Thinking it was anxiety for his 
 welfare, the judge went on : 
 
 "You mustn't worry, little woman. I am probably 
 safer in prison than anywhere else, as far as personal 
 harm from criminals is concerned. You have prob- 
 ably never known a criminal that is one branded a 
 criminal by the law " 
 
 But he got no further. At these words, which 
 seemed almost an accusation, the flood of Marjory's 
 long pent-up emotions burst its bounds; and seating 
 herself upon a rock she buried her face in her hands. 
 
 Judge Sawyer, alarmed, bent solicitously forward. 
 
 "Why, my dear child, what in the world is the 
 matter?" 
 
 Without answering, and endeavoring to shut out 
 the sounds and sights about her, Marjory tried to 
 think out the problem which suddenly presented it-
 
 292 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 self. Should she tell this judge, her one true friend, 
 the secret she had kept so long, the secret which 
 seemed sometimes to be sapping her very life as well 
 as her happiness? She never looked into the foolish 
 face of the little hunchback without having to drive 
 the handsome face of Denneth from her mind. The 
 years of silent suppressed suffering had begun to tell 
 upon her. Even the outlet of devoted attention to 
 the invalid boy had failed to satisfy her. The won- 
 derful illumination of the judge's optimistic faith, 
 coupled with the words which displayed his spirit 
 of true Christianity, had aroused Marjory's old long- 
 ing to be of more use in the world. The recollection 
 of her disbelief in and selfish cynicism respecting Den- 
 neth during the dark hours when he had needed her 
 most rose up to accuse her. She lived over every 
 detail of those weeks. The past years in which she 
 had made no effort to comfort him smote her. 
 
 In self-abasement she reflected that she did not 
 even know where he was that, true to her word, 
 she had put him out of her life! had never even at- 
 tempted to find him. Yet legally he was her hus- 
 band, if still alive the father of the child she had 
 resented as not being normal. She now asked her- 
 self how it were possible that she had ever imagined 
 Stanley could have been born other than he was, when 
 she herself had been so lacking in goodness or spir- 
 ituality of thought? The poor little fellow had been 
 given her as he was, in direct punishment for her 
 conduct and bearing toward the man she had loved! 
 
 Because of her present ability to see things beyond 
 the horizon of popular prejudice, she now saw how 
 despicable her desertion of Denneth had been. For 
 the first time she understood, through the clarity of 
 vision she caught from the judge, that, though in itself 
 debasing, Denneth's theft had not necessarily made of
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 293 
 
 him a thing debased. At this thought, so entirely new 
 to her mind, a mind which had fought against any sense 
 of justice toward the man who had ruined her life, 
 Marjory began to view Denneth in the same big way 
 in which Judge Sawyer would have viewed him. His 
 chivalry and pure devotion returned to her newly 
 awakened consciousness of what his love had really 
 meant in her life, and in an illuminating flash she 
 felt that his good qualities minimized his faults. She 
 could remain silent no longer. She must confide in 
 some one. Jumping up she said to the astonished 
 judge : 
 
 "Judge Sawyer, I am a wicked, wicked woman! I 
 have known a criminal ! I I am married to a crim- 
 inal!" and then in a torrent of self -abuse she told 
 the man before her the story of her marriage and its 
 disastrous end. 
 
 For a long while after she ceased speaking, Judge 
 Sawyer stood silently gazing off across the blue bay. 
 
 It was hard for him to connect this exquisitely 
 dainty little woman by his side with the story she 
 had just told him. In view of his knowledge of her 
 and her charming sweetness of nature, her appalling 
 selfishness as disclosed by her own words seemed al- 
 most unbelievable to him. Yet from the moment of 
 their meeting Judge Sawyer had understood Mrs. 
 Matthews's character, and had guessed at the influ- 
 ence such a person was likely to exert over a woman 
 placed beneath her care as Marjory had been placed 
 by right of birth? So Judge Sawyer tried to excuse 
 Marjory's conduct by mentally shifting the blame 
 from her to her mother. He felt certain that that 
 stylish matron had played no small part in Marjory's 
 failure to live up to her marriage vow. He heard 
 enough of their conversations together to know that, 
 in spite of Marjory's superior strength of mind, her
 
 294 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 mother had instilled into her daughter a dread of 
 adverse criticism to such an extent that she used it 
 to bolster up her fast waning power of influence. 
 
 Gradually Judge Sawyer saw and understood the 
 entire course of Marjory's married life as surely and 
 as well as if he had been present through it all. It 
 was just one more case of a mother continuing to 
 rule her daughter after the daughter had reached the 
 age where she should have been allowed to rule her- 
 self. He was convinced that Marjory, poor child, like 
 many others, had let her parent's meddlesome criti- 
 cism, false ideals, and foolish phrases stand between 
 her and happiness. 
 
 Slowly bringing his thoughtful eyes from the deep 
 color of the bay, upon which he had watched unseeing 
 the gleam of white boats as their sails caught the light, 
 he looked sympathetically into Marjory's upturned 
 face. 
 
 "Where is he now? Of course you let him know 
 of your boy's birth?" 
 
 Marjory winced; but continued to look bravely up. 
 "After I gained the safety of the hospital I made no 
 attempt to find out anything about Denneth," she an- 
 swered. "In fact I made the opposite effort. I would 
 not allow a newspaper in my room. Entering under an 
 assumed name I received no mail. I did not want to 
 know what had become of him! As I told you just 
 now, at that time my one object and aim in life was to 
 protect my name and my baby's name from Denneth's 
 shame. 
 
 "Oh I know it was dreadfully wicked and selfish of 
 me," she hastened to say, as the judge was about to 
 speak, "but I did not see that then, Judge Sawyer." 
 
 "I understand," he said kindly. "But you must 
 surely have in some way heard whether or no your
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 295 
 
 husband was apprehended. Something of his trial must 
 have reached you " 
 
 "No, I know absolutely nothing about him," Mar- 
 jory broke in. Then in a voice hoarse with suffer- 
 ing: "I wish to God I did!" 
 
 Judge Sawyer's eyes took in the fair quivering face 
 in one quick glance. Then becoming lost in thought 
 he once more stood gazing out to sea. 
 
 As Marjory watched him she felt sure that in the 
 judge's big and generous mind her conduct toward 
 Denneth must seem inexcusable indeed. Yet she re- 
 alized also, as she watched his sympathetic far-seeing 
 dark eyes, that if anyone could really understand and 
 forgive her her life of selfishness in connection with 
 Denneth, this man could. 
 
 She wished she had known him during those try- 
 ing hours immediately after his theft. Perhaps 
 had she known this man at that time she would not 
 have made the mistake of taking the road of self- 
 preservation instead of the road of helpfulness and 
 loyalty toward her husband. As this thought passed 
 through her distressed reason her conscience told her 
 that no influence, it mattered not how good, could or 
 would have saved her from her utter selfishness, 
 cloaked as it had then been with the excuse of her 
 boy's future. Had she not known Stanley Asquith 
 just a little while before? Had not his influence 
 been as big and splendid as that of the judge? 
 Had she wanted to, could she not have gained a 
 lesson from his conduct toward her? Yet no; she 
 had deliberately thought of herself and her own 
 happiness first ! She had wanted to forget Denneth 
 to put him and everything pertaining to him out 
 of her life! She had not made the slightest effort 
 to save him after learning of his theft. Accepting 
 his money, just as she had always accepted it, with
 
 296 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 no feeling except that of her right to do so, not- 
 withstanding her refusal to use it, she had fled to 
 Virginia and left him to his fate. She had not 
 even given him the benefit of a doubt, nor tried to 
 inquire why he had taken the money; but like other 
 self-righteous and untempted folk who form the un- 
 criminal class of society, she had immediately dubbed 
 him a thief, and as such considered him to be be- 
 yond any consideration, excuses or future thought ! 
 
 The days in the little woodsy brown and green flat 
 with its flower box windows and birch-bark ornaments 
 returned to her. But like a shadow of forewarning, 
 her mother's and her own dissatisfied phrases also 
 came to her memory. With a sense of wonder she 
 compared the yearly sum of money which Denneth 
 was then earning and on which they were forced to 
 live with that of her present monthly milliners' and 
 dressmakers' bills. The difference was not very great ! 
 Yet on that tiny salary Denneth had managed to give 
 her many little comforts and even luxuries. With a 
 gentle patience he had met her and her mother's 
 ever-growing demands and complaints, and managed, 
 somehow, to give her more and more. 
 
 She recalled the shabby gentility and cut of Den- 
 neth's immaculate dress, and now compared it with 
 the foolish up-to-dateness that she herself had de- 
 manded. She remembered all the thousand and one 
 little ways he had tried to please her, and with self- 
 hatred recalled with what fretful lack of appreciation 
 such advances had been met. Perhaps it was this very 
 thing, these fretful demands for more than he could 
 afford to give her, which had tempted him to take the 
 money! She had heard of just such cases. 
 
 She shuddered with this added weight of responsi- 
 bility; and try as she would she could not throw off 
 the new-born thought of her own possible guilt in
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 297 
 
 the matter of Denneth's crime. She locked her hands 
 together in the intensity of the mental suffering this 
 thought brought, and started to speak. But changing 
 her mind, as the judge was still standing gazing off 
 across the water, her memories held her. A feeling 
 of acute shame came over her as she went back over 
 the time, so many years before, when, learning that the 
 brightest crown of womanhood was soon to be hers, 
 she had met it with anything but a feeling of sacred 
 happiness. 
 
 The judge turned. "Do you really mean what you 
 said just now?" 
 
 Marjory looked puzzled for a moment. For so long 
 she had allowed recollection of the past to fill her mind 
 that she had forgotten what her last words to the 
 Judge had been. Recalling them, however, she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "Yes. I would give anything to find him!" 
 
 "You realize the consequences, of course?" Judge 
 Sawyer said. 
 
 Marjory nodded, white to the lips. 
 
 Believing that her decision had been made on im- 
 pulse rather than from the sense of justice and bravery 
 which had been slowly developing in her for years 
 past, he continued: 
 
 "It means disgrace. It means you will be the sub- 
 ject of scandal and slander and gossip. Without any- 
 one to hide behind, you will have to face 'what people 
 will say.' Your mother will doubtless disclaim you. 
 Your 'friends' will desert you. 'Society' will consider 
 you almost as much of a menace as it now considers 
 men like your husband. Trite sayings, spoken in the 
 hollow voice of the prophets, will ascribe your son's 
 affliction to his heredity. Every act of yours will be 
 eagerly seized upon and twisted to fit some motive or 
 other which never in all probability had crossed your
 
 298 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 mind. Even your beauty, or your money which is said 
 to talk will not effectively destroy the stigma which 
 will be your lot as a criminal's wife! For you it may 
 mean " 
 
 "It may mean helping him, Judge Sawyer!" Mar- 
 jory broke in. "And I want to do that above anything 
 now." Then as the judge's eyes fired with pleasure 
 and admiration Marjory went on: 
 
 "It is not to my credit, goodness knows! It has 
 taken me long enough to come to this conclusion. But 
 I am honest and earnest in wanting to find and help 
 my husband now ! If he is alive he is my husband 
 still, you know, in spite of modern ideas. I married 
 him for better or for worse. Perhaps I can help 
 him, even yet," and she swallowed the lump in her 
 throat. Then continuing she asked : 
 
 "Don't you think if I can help him, that may in 
 part atone for my previous selfishness?" But now 
 completely losing her self-control the tears coursed 
 down her cheeks. "Oh, if only I had been more 
 like you, I never would have made this mistake !" she 
 exclaimed bitterly. "I was thinking just now what it 
 might have meant to me to have had an influence like 
 yours in my early life. I've been miserably unhappy 
 with my mother, and my father died before I could 
 remember him. Yet I suppose had I known you I 
 would not really have been kept from being the self- 
 indulged creature I am to-day !" Then thinking aloud, 
 she continued: 
 
 "Stanley Asquith was like you, and yet " 
 
 The judge whirled upon her, hardly believing his 
 ears. "Stanley Asquith," he exclaimed: "did you 
 know Stanley Asquith ?" 
 
 "Why yes," Marjory answered in surprise. "Did 
 you?" 
 
 "I knew him very well indeed," Judge Sawyer an-
 
 swered. "He was one of the finest young men who 
 ever lived!" 
 
 The hypocritical face of old Deacon Dennison came 
 before his mind's eye as he said these words, and he 
 wondered to himself how what he had said of Stanley 
 Asquith could be true. Yet Stanley had been all he 
 had pronounced him. 
 
 With the memory of the deacon's face there had 
 also come to the judge the exquisite face of the girl 
 he had loved. Marjory noticed that a note of bit- 
 terness rang in his voice as he went on to say: 
 
 "Stanley Asquith's father married the girl I wanted 
 to make my wife the girl you have always reminded 
 me of." 
 
 "You knew Stanley's mother?" Marjory asked ea- 
 gerly. "Oh, tell me about her. I we Stanley was 
 the best friend I ever had in my life! He he was a 
 friend of my husband's, too. Do tell me all about 
 him. What was his mother like? In all the years I 
 knew him he never spoke of either of his parents." 
 
 Judge Sawyer frowned. For a moment there flashed 
 in his eyes a look of ugly hatred that sat strangely 
 upon the splendid old face. But this expression 
 quickly passed, and a renewed light of strength and 
 spirituality suffused his features. He spoke with his 
 wonted gentleness. 
 
 "I did not know Stanley Asquith's mother," he said. 
 "The girl I loved married his father afterward." He 
 hoped Marjory would not notice his evasion. Even 
 to this day he resented acutely the marriage which had 
 brought the girl he loved to dishonor and unhappiness. 
 
 Abruptly dropping this subject he continued: "If 
 you really mean what you have said, I think I can help 
 you to find your husband." 
 
 Marjory nodded, then listened attentively.
 
 300 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "You can give me the date his theft was thought 
 to have taken place, can't you?" 
 
 "Yes," Marjory said, the memory of those last days 
 in Hampton rendering her voice weak in spite of her 
 efforts to control it. "It is twenty-two years ago to- 
 morrow since I knew of it and left Hampton." 
 
 Judge Sawyer made a rapid calculation and scribbled 
 the date in his note-book. 
 
 "And whom was he supposed to have robbed?" 
 
 "The Commonwealth Security Bank in Hampton," 
 Marjory answered. 
 
 The judge looked at her quickly. "Are you sure?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Why, yes," she answered. "I am sure. Stanley 
 Asquith was the president, you know, and he gave 
 Denneth his position there. It was just a few months 
 after poor Stanley's death that it happened," she con- 
 cluded nervously. 
 
 "The Commonwealth Security Bank failed and went 
 out of existence twenty-one years ago," Judge Sawyer 
 said. Then to himself, "I wonder if the records have 
 been kept?" Reassuring his momentary anxiety he 
 thought further: "Of course the court records will 
 show me everything, even if I can't find the others." 
 Aloud he said to Marjory: 
 
 "Well, don't worry, little woman. It is quite a simple 
 matter. 'Denneth Richardson, Commonwealth Secur- 
 ity, misappropriation of funds, first part of April, 
 1893.' I'll soon be able to find him for you, if he 
 still lives. After that it will rest with you as to how 
 best to help him though of course I'm at your com- 
 mand if either of you need me in the matter. In the 
 meantime I want to ask a favor of you." 
 
 "Yes, Judge Sawyer," Marjory said, vainly trying 
 to control the feeling of dizziness and physical illness 
 which was passing over her at the possibility of her
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 301 
 
 seeing Denneth again. She longed with all her heart 
 to help the man she had injured. She felt more sorry 
 for him than she could possibly express; and yet 
 the serious step she had just taken well 
 
 "The favor is this: If during my stay in Warsaw 
 I find conditions as bad as my talks with ex-convicts 
 now lead me to believe they are, I want you to stand 
 by me in all the efforts for reform which I shall at 
 once try to put into force. Will you do that?" 
 
 Marjory looked half frightened for a moment; then 
 she answered: "Of course I will, Judge Sawyer.'' 
 
 "Do not answer lightly," he warned her. "Such an 
 attitude will take more courage than it will take to 
 tell your mother your present plans. It will take more 
 courage even than the facing of 'society' when society 
 has found out the true status of your husband. Never- 
 theless I feel you are capable of becoming a real power 
 for good in this line of work, because you will have 
 suffered directly from the prison's present place in our 
 social order if it be found that your husband has been 
 its victim." Then breaking off, he said: 
 
 "But about standing by me. If I find it necessary 
 to try to arouse public opinion to demand a change 
 in our prison system, I shall be called a 'reformer,' 
 and to stand by a reformer means opening yourself to 
 all sorts of criticisms ! Reformers, like poets, are never 
 great until after they are dead. They are hated and 
 despised, are considered cranks and dangerous fanat- 
 ics. If, perchance, a reformer is placed upon a pedes- 
 tal by an optimistic group who have the faculty of 
 seeing a little farther than the ordinary man, society 
 makes it its business to drag that reformer down by 
 any means available, it matters not how vile and false. 
 World-old forces opposing all change are ever at work, 
 and those instrumental in bringing about an upheaval, 
 which always results from the attempt to do away with
 
 302 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 existing abuses, are drawn into a veritable maelstrom 
 of lies and false accusations. Many reformers besides 
 Christ are crucified each day! Yet notwithstanding 
 all this, my little friend, I believe that women can 
 help greatly in this field. As I once heard a great 
 surgeon say, 'Women are the preservers of the race, 
 men the consumers.' I believe this to be so. Phys- 
 ically and mentally a woman conserves her strength 
 from the time of her birth, through marriage, mother- 
 hood, and old age, for the benefit of mankind. Men, 
 on the other hand, are necessarily willing and ready to 
 sacrifice human life, as in war, industry, and so forth. 
 The world is just awakening to the possible good effect 
 of this wonderful mother-instinct in women when 
 brought to bear elsewhere than in the home. I want 
 you, therefore, to promise to help me henceforward." 
 
 "I promise," Marjory hastened to say solemnly. 
 Then her whole being becoming flooded with an effu- 
 sion of inspiration caught from this man-with-a- vision, 
 she said: 
 
 "We will work for you together, Denneth and I. 
 In spite of what he did, Judge Sawyer, I now begin 
 to see and understand his real worth. When can we 
 begin our search for him? I feel time is very pre- 
 cious !" 
 
 "To-morrow," Judge Sawyer said, and he looked 
 encouragement deep into the inspired eyes of the 
 woman by his side.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 "I'LL take the job," Stanley agreed. "Thank you." 
 
 The perspiring proprietor rubbed his greasy hands 
 together, and his nose and chin met in a smile as he 
 bowed Stanley from his cheap eating house on the 
 lower East side. "Alwride," he said with a pleasant 
 nasal resonance, "do-morrow borning at fife you'll be 
 here. Verstehen Sie?" 
 
 Stanley nodded. 
 
 "It's bleasant work. Yust vashing dishes. Twelf 
 hours, dree and von haff dollars a veek. Lader, bur- 
 haps, you make good chef. Verstehen Sie? Our 
 vomen vorkers dey like men chefs around. Verstehen 
 Sie?" and again his lips played hide and seek with his 
 nose and chin, while he wickedly winked a beady eye. 
 
 Again Stanley nodded. "I'll be here," he said. And 
 without further ado he left. 
 
 So this was to be the beginning of his life as an 
 honest man. Three dollars and a half a week at dish 
 washing for twelve long hours ! The work to be done 
 in a cellar almost as damp and dark as the cells of 
 public institutions, which had been the only home he 
 had known. It was anything but an encouraging pros- 
 pect. His keen mind harked back to the ease and 
 cleverness with which he had gained his spurs in the 
 underworld as "Subway Slick," the name accorded him 
 because of his adroitness in picking worthwhile pock- 
 ets. His income then averaged more nearly three dol- 
 lars and a half a day, while his hours they were 
 exactly what he chose to make them. It was years 
 since he had worked as the tool of a "fagin." In 
 his brief liberty hitherto he had been his own boss. 
 In the profession of picking pockets he had become 
 
 303
 
 304 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 a power to reckon with! Was he making a mistake 
 now in giving up this profession for which he had been 
 so well trained? Was his determination to be honest 
 as foolish as the compensation and conditions offered 
 now made it seem? 
 
 A picture of the various imprisoning institutions in 
 which he had lived so long came up in answer. Once 
 again he fancied himself going through the physical 
 tortures accorded him there. He was sick of the 
 shadow of prisons! If he were honest, perhaps he 
 could escape their confines forevermore. Most men 
 did! It could not all be chance or good luck! Some 
 people really must be honest, he argued, though he had 
 never met any of them! Perhaps and his sense of 
 inherited hope soared perhaps somehow he could 
 manage to get a foothold in the world, and grow to 
 be a power in some honest way! That there was 
 power within him he felt absolutely sure ! 
 
 Taking the little Lion from the Home, together they 
 would try to wrest an honest living from the world. 
 His memory went back to that night many years ago, 
 when he had tried to put this plan into action. 
 Through the Italian fruit vendor they had failed. But 
 now surely they would not 5 
 
 Hurrying toward the river Stanley reached and 
 rang the bell of the Home of His Lost Sheep. The 
 watchman's brutal face appeared at the prison-like 
 aperture, and Patrick, old and bewhiskered now, asked 
 gruffly : 
 
 "Well, what are ye after wanting?" 
 
 "I'm after wanting the gate open," Stanley an- 
 swered, recognizing the man instantly, but seeing that 
 he did not recognize him. 
 
 "And fer what?" 
 
 "To enter through," Stanley answered sarcastically. 
 Then remembering that the bully was not allowed to
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 305 
 
 open the gate unless he was convinced in some way 
 of the applicant's importance, he lied glibly: 
 
 "I've just returned from a holy pilgrimage to the 
 sacred shrine of Saint Anne/' and he crossed himself. 
 "I've brought back many a blessed token! I want to 
 see the matron on important business." 
 
 Patrick looked Stanley up and down keenly. The 
 ill-fitting suit which the state had so generously be- 
 stowed upon him along with the five dollar bill at the 
 expiration of his sentence, in full payment for two 
 years' hard labor, was almost as much identification 
 as his prison stripes had been. Patrick hesitated to 
 open the gates, and Stanley again tried a cleverly 
 conceived lie : 
 
 "It's a piece of the blessed Saint's holy raiment I've 
 brought, thrice blessed. It shall be yours," he assured 
 him in a pious and persuasive voice, again crossing 
 himself. Stanley had found these tokens, self-invented, 
 useful in his career of cunning crime, and so now, 
 though he had really determined to go straight, in 
 order to gain his present point he once more resorted 
 to hypocrisy and deception. The watchman still hesi- 
 tated. Seeing this, Stanley drew a small metal crucifix 
 from his pocket. Kissing it, he reverently crossed 
 himself, murmured a short prayer, and handed it to 
 the other saying: 
 
 "This was blessed by the Pope. Take it, wear it, 
 and may the Holy Virgin bless you!" 
 
 The watchman's hand eagerly grasped the coveted 
 prize. "And may the holy Saint Anthony be after 
 giving ye health," he responded fervently, crossing 
 himself, kissing the crucifix, then swinging wide the 
 gates. 
 
 Stanley passed inside. The watchman's thick lips 
 drew back from his fang-like teeth.
 
 306 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "It's after finding the matron inside this door ye 
 will. To the left," he said, leading the way. 
 
 Crossing the familiar yard they entered the gloomy 
 gray building. Stanley's heart rebelled against the 
 sunless place. With a return of his old-time revolt, 
 he remembered its hypocritical standards and many in- 
 justices, but remembering also that his present errand 
 was one which would free another from its loveless 
 confines, he tried to throw this feeling off. 
 
 Passing beneath a large religious placque done in 
 plaster and which was fast crumbling away, he en- 
 tered the Home's dilapidated office. Taking his hat 
 off he held it with both hands, bowing his head and 
 keeping his eyes cast downward in silence. His atti- 
 tude was one of humble respect. Thus he approached 
 the female figure seated at the desk. 
 
 For several moments the matron made no move, 
 but went on with the task before her. 
 
 Finally she looked up. 
 
 "What do you want?" she asked crisply, while her 
 eyes took in his loose-fitting clothes. 
 
 "Madam," he said, stepping forward, still with the 
 display of humility and respect, "I have come to ask 
 a favor." 
 
 The woman's hard face grew harder. Doing things 
 for others was no part of her daily life, and she now 
 feared she was to be asked something which might 
 perchance cost her some slight trouble. Besides all 
 this, this stranger before her looked like a suspicious 
 character! She must be cautious. 
 
 "I've come to ask if I may have a hunchback lad 
 you have here known as the 'Lion.' I want to take him 
 out to live with me." 
 
 The matron stared as though she could not believe 
 hers ears. Noting this expression Stanley hastened 
 to explain the request as best he could.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 307 
 
 "You see," he said uneasily, feeling awkward and 
 shy in this new and honest role of mediator, "1 lived 
 here once, too," looking about the dingy room, "and 
 well, he and I liked each other. I've got a job now 
 and I'd like to take him out and care for him." 
 
 The woman's lips curled. "Do you think any boy 
 would be better off with you than if he remained 
 here?" she asked in a voice whose irritation was not 
 far beneath the surface. 
 
 Stanley's cunning was at once aroused by her tone, 
 and forgetting his awkwardness he said with his old- 
 time assurance: 
 
 "Oh, madam, I know you and the attendants here 
 are more than good to him, but you see I haven't any 
 folks and " 
 
 "Well, there's no boy named Lyon here," she 
 snapped, yet not entirely unpleased with Stanley's 
 flattering manner of respectful address. "What was 
 his number?" 
 
 "One hundred and one," Stanley answered, "but 
 nobody called him by number. Even the good nurses 
 called him the Lion. Somehow he was so different 
 from the rest of the kids that he didn't seem like a 
 numbered child," not realizing the irony or pathos of 
 his words. 
 
 "When were you here? What is your name?" the 
 matron asked. 
 
 "I was here over ten years ago," he said. "My 
 name wouldn't mean anything to you. I was never 
 called by it. Number ninety-nine was my number. 
 But you weren't here then. I know you weren't ; other- 
 wise I could never have forgotten you !" 
 
 The woman looked Stanley up and down coldly, yet 
 she could not help but be pleased at the boldly admir- 
 ing glance which he so cleverly combined with his 
 respectful attitude. "Did your parents remove you?"
 
 308 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 she asked. "You said just now you had 'no folks.' ' 
 
 For a fleeting moment Stanley was at a loss ; but his 
 genius for plausible lying came to his rescue and he 
 said: 
 
 "I was adopted. A gentleman and lady by the name 
 of Jenkins, Mr. and Mrs. Jeremiah Jenkins of 105 
 Waterlily Avenue, Flatbush, took me to their home. 
 They died two years ago and left me a small amount. 
 And now, dear madam, if the boy I am looking for is 
 not here, please tell me where I can find him, the poor, 
 little hunchback !" 
 
 At these words the matron's eyes again hardened, 
 and her manner became as antagonistic as it had been 
 before. 
 
 "I tell you I do not know where the boy is! It is 
 impossible for me to know the details about hundreds 
 of children who come and go in a place like this. 
 Have you any claim other than friendship for him?" 
 
 For a moment Stanley remained silent, wondering 
 if another lie would help him. Then deciding that 
 her question might lead to more than seemed likely 
 on the face of it, his caution was aroused and he 
 dared not lie. 
 
 "No," he answered briefly. 
 
 The matron looked relieved. For ten years she 
 had lived in ever recurring waves of dread of some 
 one who might prove he had a legal right to do so, 
 coming to ask about the little half wit. Though she 
 had allowed Marjory to take the boy, she had at that 
 time taken the precaution, agaiitst possible |future 
 difficulty, of insisting that Marjory comply with the 
 formalities of the law and legally adopt him, even 
 though he might be rightfully hers. But her own 
 private and unexpressed uncertainty as to whether the 
 hunchback really was Marjory's child had never left 
 her mind. Had the authorities known of her conduct
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 309 
 
 in connection with her disposition of many of the 
 children, they might not have continued her in her 
 present position one moment. Thus she often feared 
 detection, and lived a life wherein uneasy and sporadic 
 endeavor to cover up her many delinquencies formed 
 no small part. 
 
 "There is no boy by that name or number here," 
 she said. "Nor do I know the whereabouts of any 
 lad with such a deformity as you describe. That is 
 positive/' and picking up her pen with a finality that 
 told Stanley he had received all the information he 
 was going to get, she bent her head over her work. 
 
 Stanley stood silently before her. It had not en- 
 tered his mind when picturing this scene in anticipa- 
 tion, that he would have any difficulty whatever in 
 securing the little hunchback. He had never imagined 
 the Home without the little fellow. He had heard the 
 nurses say so many times that they ought not to have 
 been burdened with the Lion, that he had assumed 
 that when he asked for him they would immediately 
 accede to his request. So now he felt that the matron 
 was only pretending not to know of the boy's where- 
 abouts. He must be here in the Home. 
 
 "But my dear madam, you'll soon be turning him 
 out because of age limit anyhow. For God's sake, 
 let me have him!" Stanley pleaded with a depth of 
 honest earnestness. 
 
 The woman flushed. Raising her hand she pointed 
 toward the door. "Go," she said, in suppressed 
 anger. "Go, before I have you put out!" Then 
 unable to resist at least a small show of her resent- 
 ment at his impertinent disbelief of her statement, she 
 added : 
 
 "Don't you think I recognize the cut of your 
 clothes, ex-jailbird! I'll not have any 'fagins' trying 
 to secure apprentices from this place! If you don't go
 
 310 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 immediately I'll call the police," and summoning the 
 watchman, who had all this time been hanging around 
 outside the door, she commanded : 
 
 "Patrick, see that this fellow leaves the premises 
 at once!" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," the watchman answered, bowing 
 respectfully. Then to Stanley: 
 
 "It's after obeying orders I am. Come on!" and 
 he roughly took hold of Stanley's shoulder. "It was 
 knowing the same of ye that the matron does I was," 
 he said boastfully. "But I thought I'd be after giv- 
 ing ye enough rope to hang yourself," and he shoved 
 Stanley out of the room. 
 
 Stanley was furious, but true to the perverted nature 
 which had been bred in him during twenty-one years 
 shut up in places where manliness and courage were 
 no part of the lessons taught him, he now slinked from 
 the matron's sight, showing every outward sign of 
 humility, yet an angry vengeance filled him, making 
 him determine to get even with her some day if he 
 possibly could! 
 
 As he passed into the yard his eyes took in the 
 children playing there. He still believed that the little 
 hunchback was among them, and he was resolved to 
 free him from the Home. This desire to help some 
 one less fortunate than himself was the only way 
 Stanley's better nature had ever expressed itself, and 
 he subconsciously knew that the lad's companionship 
 was necessary to keep him out of prison. 
 
 "Look here," he said obsequiously to Patrick as the 
 latter led him toward the gate. "If you'll get me in 
 communication with the hunchback lad, I'll give you 
 well, I've got all sorts of other holy talismans. I'll 
 give you a piece of " 
 
 But he got no further. Patrick was too conscious 
 of a pair of eyes watching them from the office win-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 311 
 
 dow. Giving Stanley a shove forward, he said loudly, 
 so that it might be heard: 
 
 "Git on with ye ! We're not after wanting the likes 
 of you within these walls!" 
 
 Stanley passed through the gates, and they clanged 
 skut behind him. 
 
 "I'll not go!" he exclaimed to himself. "Lion is 
 there! I'm going to have him the damned hypo- 
 crites !" and slinking away around a corner, he stopped 
 just out of reach of Patrick's eyes, but where he could 
 nevertheless watch the children at their play. He felt 
 sure the little half-wit would not have forgotten him, 
 and would do as he told him if he could but gain his 
 attention. 
 
 All day Stanley hung around outside the Home, 
 waiting and hoping; but without avail. Toward 
 evening a brisk young policeman, striding eagerly up 
 behind Stanley, tapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 "Here, you," he said. "I've had a phone call about 
 you! Whatcher hanging around here for anyhow?" 
 showing his newly won badge with eclat. "Don't you 
 know I can run you in as a suspicious character?" 
 taking note of Stanley's ill-fitting clothes. "Or a 
 vagrant? Move on!" 
 
 Without a word Stanley moved off slowly down the 
 street. The policeman followed. "Better not be seen 
 around these parts again!" he warned him. "You've 
 been reported once. Hanging around this beat is a 
 dangerous job, believe me!" and he threw out his 
 chest proudly. "Where do you work, anyhow ?" 
 
 The officer was hardly older than Stanley. But the 
 latter, cowed and afraid of his authority, obediently 
 mumbled the address of the cheap eating house where 
 he was to go to work on the morrow. 
 
 The officer made a mental note of the address, and
 
 312 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 without another word Stanley left him and hurried 
 away. 
 
 Stepping to a near-by telephone the officer called 
 up the police station from which he received orders. 
 
 "Hello, is that you, Sergeant?" he asked. "This is 
 Murphy, beat thirteen-: ," in a voice full of im- 
 portance. "Say, I just seen a suspicious looking guy 
 up here. He started down your way. Says he works 
 at Dinglespitz's Emporium on Knickerbocker Street, 
 but his doll rags look like State's Prison to me ! Stand- 
 under? Better put somebody on the job, quick. So 
 long," and hanging up the receiver he went back upon 
 his beat. 
 
 Since Mr. Murphy had won his new and shining 
 badge there had been few excuses for his profes- 
 sional existence; and so, like others in his profession, 
 he felt that he must make all the reports possible, even 
 though he was not lucky enough to make any actual 
 arrests. He fervently hoped this report he had just 
 turned in would lead somewhere. Promotion was very 
 essential, and promotion could not be gained unless he 
 had proved to the city the value of his services! He 
 wanted an increase in pay and a steady job! A merry 
 face wherein laughed a pair of Irish blue eyes came 
 to him at this thought. He and Katie must have 
 that tiny flat they had looked at together! She, dear 
 girl, hated working out ! 
 
 In the meantime the police sergeant detailed one 
 of his most ambitious stool-pigeons to watch Dingle- 
 spitz's. 
 
 The next morning as Stanley entered the garlic 
 atmosphere of this new Jerusalem, this shifty-eyed 
 individual entered after him, taking note of Stanley's 
 peculiarities in looks and manner, and quickly placed 
 him as a man he had known in prison. Later a blue- 
 coated officer came and drew the proprietor aside.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 313 
 
 At the end of the day, after the skin upon Stanley's 
 hands had become crinkled and sore from the hot 
 water and lye soapsuds in which they had been doing 
 battle with grease and refuse all day, Mr. Isaac 
 Dinglespitz descended upon him from the Olympian 
 heights of the billiard parlor floor located above the 
 grand dining room. 
 
 "Young ban," he said, his assiduously pleasant 
 voice sounding out from the valley between the moun- 
 tain of nose and chin, "I vill haff to ask you to leaf 
 already yet. Here iss your vages." 
 
 Stanley stared as he took the proffered coins. 
 "What's the matter?" he asked. "Didn't I do the 
 work satisfactorily?" 
 
 Mr. Isaac Dinglespitz's hands went up and out. His 
 shoulders were raised in a shrug. "The boliceman 
 vass here," he said. "He dolt me vrom vhere you vass 
 already! Verstehen Sie?" 
 
 Stanley bit his lips. "But I'm going straight now," 
 he said. "Honest I am. And I can do good work, 
 too. Just try me!" 
 
 Again Mr. Dinglespitz's hands, palms turned out- 
 ward, waved upward in the air and his shoulders 
 shrugged. 
 
 "I'm sorry. Bud my pizness bust be high class run ! 
 Verstehen Sie?" and he pointed toward the door, 
 still smiling pleasantly. 
 
 Putting on his hat and coat without a word, Stan- 
 ley went forth into the late afternoon. He felt des- 
 perately discouraged; but at the feel of the fresh air 
 upon his face his new-born sense of hope and ambition 
 returned. He thought of the little hunchback, im- 
 prisoned as he believed in the Home of His Lost 
 Sheep, and his old determination to free him again 
 possessed his mind. 
 
 Leaving Dinglespitz's Dining Emporium he hast-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 ened uptown, and went eastward toward the river. 
 He would once again try to bribe Patrick into telling 
 him something about the little half-wit. 
 
 Nearing the gate of the Home Stanley saw this 
 yellow-fanged watchdog of helpless children standing 
 upon the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. 
 But he did not see the stoop-shouldered and shifty- 
 eyed individual who had skulked along behind him, 
 and who now waited just around the corner! 
 
 Patrick leered in friendly greeting as he caught 
 sight of Stanley's slender figure ; while Stanley walked 
 up to him with all the righteous airs of the holy pil- 
 grim which he had pretended to be the afternoon 
 before. 
 
 "I have a priceless vial of the oil of Saint Anne, 
 thrice blessed," and crossing himself, he drew a sealed 
 package from his pocket. "It was blessed at the orig- 
 inal Saint Anne's in France. It was blessed again at 
 Saint Anne de Beau-pre in Canada, and from thence 
 came to our Right Reverend Cardinal. As by a holy 
 miracle, it removes all sorrow and pain from our 
 unholy bodies. If you will tell me how I can manage 
 to see the hunchback, it is yours." 
 
 Patrick looked slowly around about him to see if 
 anyone was looking. Then stooping forward he 
 whispered : 
 
 "He was after being took by a pretty lady ten 
 years ago. It was his mother she said she was. Here's 
 the name and address she give when she was after 
 taking him," handing Stanley a slip of paper upon 
 which a few words were crudely scrawled. "It was 
 thinking I was ye might come back," and he winked. 
 "I stole this here record for ye," and he took the token 
 Stanley handed him. 
 
 Then quickly straightening up he said aloud, hoping 
 that he might be heard: "Now git along with ye.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 315 
 
 There ain't after being room around here for sich as 
 ye!" and re-entering the gate he slammed it, tramped 
 across the yard, and disappeared inside the Home's 
 dark doorway. 
 
 Stanley stood gazing down at the paper in his 
 hands, his heart sinking at the information which he 
 had just heard. Of course if the Lion's mother had 
 claimed him, it was the best thing in the world that 
 could have happened to the little fellow, but it made 
 Stanley feel dreadfully lonely! The little hunchback 
 was the only friend he had ever had, and now that he 
 had decided to try living a life of honesty, he longed 
 with all his heart to share this life with someone. Per- 
 haps he could go to the Lion's mother, and telling her 
 all about his former life, ask her to help him go 
 straight. 
 
 This idea he dismissed at once. He could not go 
 to such as she! What woman could understand such 
 things except perhaps those painted and tainted 
 butterflies of the underworld who were derelicts like 
 himself! His courage failed him at the very thought 
 of speech with a woman from the class who knows 
 little and generally cares less about the sins and sor- 
 rows of the world in which he lived. 
 
 "Here you," a brisk voice said as a heavy hand 
 grasped his arm, "what did I tell you yesterday? You 
 move on, you hear! Or I'll know why! There's been 
 another phone call about you just now. You'd better 
 do as I tell you, or them new clothes won't be worn 
 long!" 
 
 Grinding his teeth together at this new proof of 
 Patrick's underhandedness, as he thought, Stanley 
 walked rapidly out of sight. Not, however, before the 
 blue-coated guardian of public morals had met and 
 given orders to his assistant, the stool-pigeon. 
 
 This possible prospective boss of some down town
 
 316 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 ward, who had succeeded in securing his own safety 
 by selling the safety of everyone else he could, now 
 eagerly tracked Stanley to his cheap lodging house. 
 Here, discouraged and sick at heart, Stanley had en- 
 tered his dirty room and thrown himself upon the 
 bed. 
 
 Not many minutes later the blue coat appeared at the 
 front door of the lodging house. Soon after this 
 Stanley heard the slovenly steps of the lady of the 
 house come slopping up the rickety stairs. A knock 
 sounded upon his door. He opened it. 
 
 "This room's took," she said in an indifferent drawl, 
 lazily chewing gum as she spoke and balancing an 
 emaciated whining baby upon one hip. "You'll have 
 to git out." 
 
 So the persecution, of which he had been told in 
 prison by men who had tried to go straight and failed 
 through the hounding of the law and its parasitic 
 Judases, had begun for him ! He understood the situ- 
 ation just as well as if he had seen and heard the 
 officer and his accomplice who had followed him. 
 
 Stanley gathered together his few belongings and 
 left the shabby lodging house. Night had descended. 
 The wind had swung into the east and a cold drizzle 
 filled the air with a damp biting chill. Beneath the arc 
 lamp at the street corner he could see two officers 
 and a third man apparently in idle conversation; but 
 as he swung off up the street he noticed from the tail 
 of his eye that two of the group had turned to follow 
 him. 
 
 On he went. The drizzle soon turned into a cutting 
 sleet that lashed his face cruelly. Bowing his head he 
 tramped through the deserted streets and entered the 
 park. Seeking the shelter of a bench beneath a low- 
 hanging evergreen tree he sat down to think. What 
 should he do? No work no place to lay his head,
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 317 
 
 and a little over three dollars in his pocket. He tried 
 to formulate some plan. There must surely be plenty 
 of work for willing and honest hands if only he could 
 find it. True, he had little education in the accepted 
 sense of the word the State had seen to that! But 
 he knew how to do many practical things which those 
 proficient in conventional book learning did not know. 
 
 But the day spent in the close underground kitchen 
 of Dinglespitz's Dining Emporium had exhausted 
 him. Without realizing it, his eyes now slowly closed 
 and sleep overtook him. He had not sat long in this 
 position, shielded as he was from wind and sleet by 
 the low hanging boughs, before a stealthy figure stole 
 noiselessly up to him. Stopping, the shifty eyed fellow 
 looked him over, then stole back to the officer. 
 
 "Yep, it's him," he said, "just outer the Pen. Been 
 in eighteen months. Before that, the Reformatory. 
 Before that, State Reform School. Before that, brat 
 in the Home of His Lost Sheep. I knowed him there. 
 We's graduated, so to speak, from most of them 
 places together," and the stool-pigeon chuckled now 
 at the safety he felt for himself. "His name is Stan- 
 ley, alias Subway Slick and a few dozen others," twist- 
 ing his weak lips in a smile. "Believe me, partner, 
 I cf reserves my freedom if I takes on the job of watch- 
 ing him! He's some incorrigible!" 
 
 The officer marched up and shook Stanley roughly. 
 "Here, young fellow," he said brusquely, "I'll have to 
 run you in if you don't move on. It's against the law 
 to sleep in the park. Git !" and he gave Stanley a pain- 
 ful crack across the shoulders with his stick. 
 
 Opening his eyes Stanley saw the officer bending 
 above him, and recalled the words he had only half 
 heard in his drowsiness. 
 
 "I had a place to sleep," he muttered sullenly, "and 
 you got me turned out!"
 
 318 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 "Not me, Sonny," the officer replied. "I ain't on 
 that beat -" 
 
 "Well, the fellow you were talking to got me 
 turned out, then. Don't you think I'm on to your 
 game ?" 
 
 The officer smiled grimly ! "Mrs. Grubbs has police 
 protection because she pays for it. See?" and he tapped 
 Stanley's pockets meaningly with his stick. Had he 
 not known positively from the snitch in his employ 
 that Stanley had no standing in the community, he 
 would not have dared speak so openly of the bribery 
 and graft system. An ex-convict's word is never taken 
 against that of an officer, and so the present speaker 
 considered Stanley perfectly harmless. 
 
 "Mum's the word with me, and them," jerking his 
 thumb back from whence they had come to indicate 
 the other officer and the stool-pigeon. "Yep, Sonny, if 
 the dough talks loud enough / can't be heard ! See ?" 
 and he laughed at his own witticism. Then returning 
 to his attack he continued : 
 
 "But it's on the move you'd better be. We've all 
 spotted you and are on the job!" 
 
 What was the use, Stanley thought. Evidently the 
 idea was not to allow him to stay out of prison, but 
 was rather to see to it that he got back again, whether 
 he had committed any offense or not. If this was so 
 as he began to more than suspect, then what was the 
 use or sense in his trying to go straight ? Yet his ear- 
 nest wish and purpose was to stay out of prison. He 
 was so sick of the shadow of prisons ! 
 
 Obedient to the officer's commands he had gotten 
 up from the bench, and was now walking aimlessly 
 away from the park and on through the storm. It 
 was dark and lonely, and the whole world seemed 
 irrevocably wrong.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 319 
 
 As he stumbled along through the wet he did not 
 know where he went, and he did not care! Close on 
 his heels the stool-pigeon skulked. Occasionally Stan- 
 ley would stop to rest, leaning against a lamp post or a 
 convenient house rail ; but no sooner would he assume 
 either of these postures than he would feel a hand upon 
 his shoulder. Looking up he would face an officer, 
 apparently sprung from nowhere, who commanded 
 him to move on. Finally day was on its way, and 
 having wandered thus from the far east through the 
 middle of New York, Stanley had now turned across 
 town and reached that part of the city known as Hell's 
 Kitchen and the Gas House District. Once again he 
 was wending his way through squalor and filth, pov- 
 erty and dire distress, when he spied afar off, down 
 near a wharf of the Hudson River, a brightly lighted 
 door, wide open. An uproarious group of half drunken 
 Portuguese sailors danced madly about. Stanley 
 quickened his steps and reaching the place marched 
 straight in upon them. He had sworn to leave liquor 
 alone, knowing that it was an enemy too dangerous 
 to cultivate ; but now wet and cold he did not care. 
 
 As he entered, the unexpectedly overworked pro- 
 prietor hailed him. 
 
 "Say, Sonny," he exclaimed in friendly English, his 
 voice reaching Stanley above the excited jabber of the 
 foreigners, "if you'll come around and help, I'll divvy 
 profits. Lord, these Guineas dropped down on me like 
 hail. But they're made of gold!" and he motioned 
 Stanley behind the bar. 
 
 With a glad heart Stanley did as he was bid. The 
 spendthrift party lasted undisturbed through the night, 
 for the little water-front saloon had police protection, 
 too. Stanley worked willingly and well, and so it was 
 that when the morning came, tired but triumphant, 
 Stanley discovered that he once more had the offer of
 
 320 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 a job at the huge retainer that Mr. Dinglespitz had 
 offered him. 
 
 With genuine thankfulness he accepted the pro- 
 prietor's offer. From this he could doubtless work 
 up. A feeling of security, almost happiness, was his 
 as he settled himself to sleep for the day in the small 
 bedroom above the saloon. During the night he had 
 not noticed a shifty eyed customer who had saun- 
 tered in for a drink! It was not until after he re- 
 ported for duty the next morning, therefore, that he 
 discovered that an officer had called. It was not many 
 minutes after the proprietor had made this fact plain 
 to him that he again found himself turned upon the 
 street. 
 
 Day after day and night after night he went from 
 one job to another, only to be ousted by a timely 
 word of warning from one or more of his eager 
 guardians, the fraternity in blue, or their tool, the 
 stool-pigeon. Thus several weeks passed, and then 
 becoming utterly disheartened at his bad luck in New 
 York, like others in his position, he thought to find 
 things better in another city. 
 
 Working his way out to a suburban railroad yard 
 in spite of the stool-pigeon's vigilance, Stanley man- 
 aged to secrete himself in a loaded freight car bound 
 for Hampton. After running many risks, chief among 
 them being the repeated leaving and regaining of the 
 car shelter in order to beg food and water from some 
 nearby farmer's wife en route, he arrived in that city. 
 Not many days had passed before the influential stool- 
 pigeon, in collaboration with the owners of his soul, 
 the officers in New York, discovered his whereabouts 
 in Hampton. Through local fraternities and their dark 
 and devious ways the same old houndings were soon 
 in progress. 
 
 To add to his troubles, old Deacon Dennison again
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 321 
 
 crossed Stanley's path. This pious saver of souls was 
 still busily going about into byways and alleys preach- 
 ing his fire and brimstone doctrine of Hell and Dam- 
 nation. He seldom failed to recognize any of those 
 who had ever been numbered among the lambs of his 
 fold. Meeting Stanley one day while he was on one 
 of his emotional bats, so to speak, this old gentleman 
 began trying to reconvert him, instituting a religious 
 hounding through which more people than ever learned 
 of his past. Using their influence they managed to 
 injure still further his chances of getting desirable 
 work. 
 
 Traveling the road to honesty now began to seem 
 not only absolutely un-worthwhile, but impossible for 
 him. Yet for some reason or other, Stanley himself 
 could hardly explain why, he kept on trying to travel 
 that road. He was so sick of the shadow of prisons! 
 He longed with his whole being to succeed in keeping 
 away from them. It was just at this stage of his life, 
 a time when the right sort of influence might well 
 have turned his despairing stubbornness into a force 
 which would have worked out his salvation, that cir- 
 cumstances entirely unforeseen took over the shaping 
 of his future. 
 
 Wet and hungry one stormy night just after having 
 lost another job because of a local stool-pigeon's dirty 
 work, Stanley drifted into a saloon. More and more 
 this spot of artificial cheer, the one place in which he 
 was apt to be left unmolested, had appealed to him. 
 The meals, so freely given away with the purchase of a 
 glass of beer or so, were fairly palatable, and were, 
 on the whole, a great saving to his meager purse. 
 
 This particular evening, seated quietly and quite 
 alone at one of the tables, Stanley's attention was 
 attracted to a man who, leaving his place at another 
 table, had come reeling over toward him. Reaching
 
 322 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Stanley's table, he leaned his heavy hands upon it, and 
 bending over began to abuse him in fluent well articu- 
 lated French, intermingled with English. 
 
 Stanley recognized the man as one he had often 
 seen in the place, a fiery fellow who was apt to get 
 too much to drink early in the evening. 
 
 "Damn coquin ! Je sais d'ou vous etes L'ami 
 
 de ze policewaw m'a racconte. Damn thief!" 
 
 At these words Stanley's mind recalled that he had 
 that day noticed the Frenchman talking to a police- 
 man upon the beat. So even here, in this little out-of- 
 the-way saloon, his past was now known! Doubtless 
 the usual hounding would soon commence ! 
 
 On one or more occasions, having imbibed rather 
 freely himself, Stanley became garrulous enough to 
 remonstrate with the Frenchman. He had informed 
 him that he was a fool to get drunk every night; but 
 these were the only words which had ever passed 
 between them; so now Stanley's surprise was genuine 
 when the fellow attacked him so virulently. 
 
 Standing up, he laid his hand upon the other's 
 shoulder. Stanley was not a man with any particular 
 force of will, nor with much physical bravery. He 
 had never seen or been taught either, and his heritage 
 from his grandfather was stronger in him than was 
 that of his father. He had suffered so many insults 
 all his life that insults meant little or nothing to him. 
 He laughed in the Frenchman's face, and tried to 
 soothe his excitement. 
 
 The Frenchman continued his abuse at this sign 
 of what he thought was Stanley's cowardice, and his 
 words grew more vile every moment. 
 
 "Oh, go on back to your seat," Stanley said in 
 an almost indifferent tone. "I told you last night 
 whiskey was making a damn fool of you," gnd rather 
 dizzy himself from an unwonted consumption of beer,
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 323 
 
 he was about to sit down again when the French- 
 man's fist shot out in his direction. 
 
 "Voila, damn thief!" he screamed drunkenly, strik- 
 ing Stanley full in the face. 
 
 Stanley staggered from the severity of the blow and 
 for a moment stood dazed. Then a madness, unusual 
 for him, ran like fire through his veins. Picking up 
 his empty beer bottle he fired it at the Frenchman's 
 head. In his anger his cunning mind did not forget 
 the position of the saloon door leading to the street. 
 
 With a crash and sound of splintering glass the 
 bottle broke into a thousand pieces, and the French- 
 man, cut and bleeding, dropped limply to the floor. 
 
 Making a desperate dash for the door, Stanley ran 
 swiftly through it and gained the street. 
 
 This scene between the two was a signal for bedlam 
 to break loose in the liquor crazed mob. Oaths and 
 curses intermingled with the sounds of breaking bot- 
 tles and the overturning of tables ! The whole lot of 
 drunken men grappled each other! 
 
 Stanley ran on. Dimly at first he heard voices 
 behind him. He redoubled his pace. The voices grew 
 in volume. Through the cloudiness in his brain which 
 the beer had wrought he now heard a shot whiz by 
 him! Then another and another! Evidently a po- 
 liceman had joined the chase. 
 
 Ducking his head he ran around a building, and 
 coming out on an alley-way, doubled on his own 
 tracks. The mob was now in front of him, running 
 swiftly forward; but he dared not stop running or 
 even pause for breath! If he ran with the mob he 
 would be thought one of those chasing himself. The 
 humor of the situation appealed to his crafty brain, 
 and on he went just back of his pursuers for several 
 yards more. He knew, however, it would be only a
 
 324 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 matter of a few seconds at most before the mob, 
 reaching the alley, would realize what he had done ! 
 
 Stanley dropped behind. It was a desperate chance, 
 but he must take it! Bounding up a couple of low 
 stone steps he secreted himself in a dark doorway, 
 hoping thus to escape his pursuers when they should 
 have turned. He had barely done so when an officer, 
 late in joining the chase, caught the outline of his 
 figure. With the agility of an Indian he was upon 
 Stanley; but Stanley was ready for him. Grappling, 
 they both lost their balance, and rolled down the steps, 
 landing upon the sidewalk. This gave Stanley the 
 advantage, for he found himself on top; so he began 
 beating his opponent with all the strength he could 
 muster. 
 
 "Hold still there," the officer bellowed, not in the 
 least winded by Stanley's attack, "or I'll shoot!" 
 
 He managed to free the arm which held the pistol 
 and was just about to discharge it full into his captor 
 when, with a sudden dexterous twist of his body, 
 Stanley succeeded! in striking the pistol from his 
 cramped grasp. Crash ! It fell upon the sidewalk, dis- 
 charging and sending a bullet into the policeman's 
 side. 
 
 His gap upon Stanley relaxed, and before the crowd 
 managed to rush through the alley Stanley had picked 
 himself up and made off again at top speed. He was 
 out of sight when the mob rounded the corner and 
 halted on finding the officer lying on the sidewalk. 
 Some one called an ambulance, which presently came 
 clanging up; but in the interest of discovering the 
 wounded policeman it was several moments before 
 any of the mob remembered Stanley's part in the 
 excitement, and again took up the chase. 
 
 The time lost had given the fleet-footed boy the 
 advantage which he needed. Running in and out of
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 325 
 
 byways and alleys which crossed and countercrossed 
 the serpentine streets, cowpaths in the original village 
 of Hampton, he caught sight of an open coal hole just 
 ahead of him. Seeing in this a safe means of success- 
 fully eluding his pursuers, without a moment's hesi- 
 tation he jumped into it. 
 
 Down he went into total blackness! For a moment 
 he seemed to feel the deepest floor of Hades raise 
 itself up to meet him! A sharp pain tore its way 
 through his head. A violent sickness overcame him. 
 He lay huddled and still.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 STANLEY opened his eyes to see a sweet face floating 
 hazily above him. The face was surmounted by a 
 dainty wisp of an organdie cap, and beneath the face 
 an expanse of starchy white linen dress met his puzzled 
 gaze. He raised his hand and pushed back the edge 
 of a bandage which half cut off his vision. 
 
 The face smiled at him. "Want anything?" it said 
 in the most commonplace tone. 
 
 Stanley stared blankly. Then struggling to free his 
 mind of the queer cloud of vagueness which held it 
 enthralled, he tried to speak. Much to his surprise his 
 voice came forth in a queer whispered croak, and the 
 sweet face had to bend very close to catch the words. 
 
 "Who are you?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm your nurse," the girl answered, putting her 
 cool hand upon his wrist. "Are you fairly comfy?" 
 
 Stanley tried to move his head in order to see 
 her more clearly, but something very stiff bound his 
 forehead hard and fast, and he could only move 
 his eyes. What did it all mean? Again putting his 
 hand up he felt the swathing bandages. He was more 
 puzzled than ever. 
 
 The nurse soothingly patted his hand which lay, 
 thin and white, upon the bedclothes. "There, try not 
 to move," she said, seeing the pain in his eyes. "You'll 
 feel better soon." 
 
 Could he be dead, he wondered. Perhaps his spirit 
 had gone into this other man's body of which he was 
 so vaguely and yet so acutely conscious, this body 
 with his own head fastened fantastically upon it. But 
 if this was his head, why did he have an almost uncon- 
 trollable desire to say foolish things? When he had 
 
 326
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 327 
 
 asked the nurse who she was, it had been almost impos- 
 sible for him to refrain from uttering the most wild 
 and foolish words which had no meaning whatsoever. 
 
 "Miss miss ," he said, trying to recall her 
 
 name. 
 
 "Coudaire," she prompted him kindly, bending 
 nearer him and smoothing out his pillow. 
 
 "Will you close down the barber shop?" glancing 
 toward the open window near his bed. 
 
 Miss Coudaire, familiar as she was with the seem- 
 ingly senseless words of an aphasia patient, did as 
 she was bidden. 
 
 Annoyed at the fact of not being able to remember 
 the word he wished to use, Stanley turned restlessly 
 and asked : "Who who am I ?" 
 
 "Why, that's exactly what none of us knows," Miss 
 Coudaire said, again smiling. "We have thought per- 
 haps that your steady improvement lately would have 
 enabled you to remember. But there, don't excite 
 yourself," as she saw him again try to move his head. 
 Doubtless everything will come back to you soon. 
 You'd better try to sleep now," and tucking the immac- 
 ulate covers about him, she glided away from his 
 bedside. 
 
 He lay inertly, watching her trim figure as it walked 
 away down a long lane of evenly distributed white 
 mounds. What were those mounds, anyway ? 
 
 A man's head was stuck out of the one nearest 
 Stanley, and a hirsute face smiled over at him. It 
 was a white, sick face; but what struck Stanley more 
 forcefully than anything else was the fact that it was 
 a friendly face. He had not been in the habit of in- 
 spiring such smiles as this man and the nurse had 
 bestowed upon him. What in the world did it mean? 
 
 Dizzy weakness overcoming him, however, he closed 
 his eyes wearily. For hours he lay thus, occasionally
 
 328 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 raising his lids and looking about him at the big un- 
 familiar room. The grinding, gnawing pain in his 
 head was never absent, and his mind seemed unable 
 to do its work. Many times during the day kind 
 voiced men and women came and went, occasionally 
 asking him a question, or trying to make him a little 
 more comfortable. It was toward evening that little 
 Miss Coudaire's cool fingers were again laid upon his 
 pulse, and he was reminded of their conversation of the 
 morning. He parted his lips to speak, when suddenly 
 his attention was arrested by a steady, insistent, and 
 familiar noise just outside his window. 
 
 "What's that?" in quick alarm, trying to sit up, but 
 finding himself unable to do so. Then he lay back and 
 uttered a long irrelevant sentence of absolutely mean- 
 ingless words, and Miss Coudaire laid a refraining 
 hand upon him. 
 
 "Why, that's only coal being put down the coal- 
 hole outside there," she said soothingly, pointing 
 toward the window. "You musn't be alarmed," see- 
 ing the sudden queer look which flashed over Stanley's 
 face at her words. She feared that he was on the 
 verge of the delirium which had possessed his mind 
 during the weeks of his sojourn in the hospital, before 
 Dr. Deever had operated for concussion of the brain. 
 "Nothing can hurt you here. I won't let it !" 
 
 Stanley's mind was too perturbed and preoccupied, 
 however, to at once take in what she had said. The 
 sudden grating noise of the heavy coal, deafening in 
 its rapid persistency, had vividly awakened for the first 
 time the memory of his fight with the Frenchman in 
 the water-front saloon. 
 
 Bit by bit, piece by piece, he put this picture and its 
 succeeding ones together, until the whole episode of 
 that wild night and its preceding weeks of distress 
 lay before him as a completed whole. He remembered
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 329 
 
 his mad plunge down into the darkness of the coal 
 hole. The swift agony that had encompassed him 
 then returned to him now. Why had he not been 
 discovered ? 
 
 Stanley lay staring up at the nurse with frightened, 
 dilated eyes. The pain in his head increased alarm- 
 ingly. "Don't let him get me," he tried to shout; but 
 his jumbled and confused words reached her only as 
 an aimless sentence indicative of his mental condi- 
 tion. 
 
 "You are perfectly safe, and must not worry! No 
 one shall harm you," and she held a glass of water to 
 his feverish lips. 
 
 Again closing his eyes Stanley made as if he were 
 asleep, but through his aching brain her reassuring 
 words kept running, each time they repeated them- 
 selves seeming to him to become more and more a 
 promise of hope for the future. He lay very still, 
 and ceasing to wonder about everything, gave himself 
 entirely up to this hope. 
 
 Weeks ensued, and though he had not been able to 
 understand many of the conversations about his con- 
 dition which he had overheard, nevertheless he slowly 
 gained the impression that something had happened to 
 his brain. With this impression his habitual cunning 
 had returned, making him intuitively determine that 
 the wisest policy for him lay in concealing from the 
 doctors and nurses, as nearly as possible, the fact of his 
 mental improvement. So it was that the crazy sen- 
 tence which had at one time involuntarily risen to his 
 lips now became a deliberate act of deception. 
 
 "Well, my friend," a deep voice aroused him, "how 
 are things going with you ?" and he looked up to see a 
 round, kindly little doctor standing by his bedside. 
 For several moments Stanley stared without answer-
 
 330 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 ing. His gripping fear of detection was so strong 
 that he hardly dared speak. Then, determined to fol- 
 low out his prescribed course, he made one or two 
 sensible remarks, succeeded by a long string of con- 
 fused and meaningless requests. 
 
 Dr. Deever turned to the nurse. "He is undoubt- 
 edly better," he said. "Has he given any indication 
 of being conscious of his own identity?" 
 
 The nurse shook her head. "I do not think he 
 knows who he is at all," she said, "though he seems 
 perfectly conscious otherwise, just as he has the past 
 three weeks. His confused sentences are growing 
 fewer." 
 
 Her words added fuel to the flame of hope already 
 brightly burning in Stanley's heart, and permanently 
 fixed his determination never to let them guess his 
 entire sanity. They evidently had no idea who he was. 
 Well, the only thing for him to do was to see to it that 
 they never did. His one hope of succeeding in this 
 undertaking was in never acknowledging the realiza- 
 tion of his own identity. 
 
 The doctor drew a chair up and sat down. The 
 patient's pulse was splendidly strong. He had no 
 temperature. The operation for concussion had been 
 successful. He was no longer in the comatose condi- 
 tion in which he had lain for so many days before the 
 operation. Also, so far as outward signs were con- 
 cerned, the laceration of the brain which had injured 
 the memory centers was healing nicely. Yet under 
 the stress of excitement, or upon certain occasions, 
 many of the young man's sentences were as aimless and 
 inarticulate as ever. 
 
 Dr. Deever now wondered if these spasmodic spells 
 of confusion were not occasioned simply from a habit 
 of thought. Perhaps by trying he could engineer the 
 man's mind back upon the track from which it had
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 331 
 
 deviated to the extent of making him forget his own 
 name. 
 
 "Look here, my man," he said, in cordial interest, 
 "I want you to tell me how you broke your head open," 
 and he indicated Stanley's bandages, now less than 
 half their former thickness. "You've had a bad case 
 of concussion, but we are pulling you through beau- 
 tifully!" 
 
 Stanley stared at him, a puzzled light shining in his 
 eyes. Then thinking it best to speak, he half mumbled 
 one of his disconnected rambling sentences. 
 
 The doctor called him up short. "Now see here," 
 he said, trying to encourage him, "you must know 
 better than that! How did you break your head?" 
 
 Stanley's face took on a most distressed, strained 
 expression, as though he were making a desperate 
 effort to recall something. Then he slowly shook his 
 head. 
 
 "You remember your name though, don't you?" 
 
 Stanley looked even more distressed. 
 
 Dr. Deever glanced up at the nurse with a profes- 
 sionally significant glance. "I'm very much afraid, 
 Miss Coudaire," he said, "that it's a permanent case of 
 aphasia. Too bad!" and he and the nurse were very 
 gentle indeed as they put a fresh dressing upon Stan- 
 ley's head and fixed him up for the night. 
 
 There were tears in little Miss Coudaire's eyes as 
 she and the doctor walked away from Stanley's bed. 
 "Oh, I feel so sorry for him!" she said. "I never had 
 so grateful a patient! Why, the slightest and most 
 ordinary attention I give him, Dr. Deever, he greets 
 with a pathetic amount of gratitude ! I do so wonder 
 who he is ! It seems to me he must have led an awfully 
 starved, loveless sort of life !" 
 
 Dr. Deever walked on, his head bowed, his hands 
 thrust deep in his pockets. The look in the boy's eyes
 
 332 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 haunted him. Even now his family, whoever they 
 were, were doubtless almost frantic because of his 
 disappearance. What could he possibly do to help this 
 stranded fellow-creature ? From a medical or surgical 
 standpoint there seemed little hope of his entire recov- 
 ery of memory. He sighed. 
 
 "It's a pitiful case," he said. "I knew of a similar 
 case years ago, when I was working in my first State's 
 Prison position way up home. And I'm afraid I 
 may not be able to help him when he gets out of here, 
 and he'll need some one to help him, goodness knows, 
 if he has to start life all over again! I must see what 
 I can do," and deep in thought he now left Miss 
 Coudaire, and started down a flight of iron steps which 
 led to the ward below. 
 
 "By the way," he said, stopping and looking back 
 at her, "Dr. Williams will have charge of the case 
 after today." 
 
 Miss Coudaire looked her surprise and concern. 
 
 Noting this expresion, Dr. Deever said, "Oh, didn't 
 I tell you? I'm leaving within the week." Then, 
 going back, he said : "Come, sit down a minute, I want 
 to tell you about it. I've agreed with an old pal of 
 mine to establish and take charge of a Psychopathic 
 Bureau in Warsaw Prison. I believe I can do more 
 good there than in my present practice, and after all, 
 you know, it is because of my practice upon poor devils 
 like men shut up there that I have become as proficient 
 as I am to-day. I feel therefore that it is only just 
 for me to give them the benefit of this proficiency. 
 With Judge Sawyer I believe that the present prison 
 system is all wrong. I hope to do such good work 
 upon the mentally and physically deficient prisoners, 
 that it will prove for all time the truth of my theory 
 that what a prison really needs, first and foremost, is 
 a skilled diagnostician to examine, observe, and clas-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 333 
 
 sify every prisoner immediately upon his entrance, 
 segregating those who are a menace, and throwing 
 others together in such a way as to bring out the very 
 best qualities in each. At present our penal institu- 
 tions are run along the most idiotic and unscientific 
 lines. What do you suppose the public would say, 
 Miss Coudaire, if in this hospital we put typhoid, 
 diphtheria, scarlet fever, hysterical and nervous 
 patients, along with tubercular and syphilitic cases, all 
 in the same ward, taking no precaution whatever that 
 they did not contract each other's diseases? Yet that 
 is exactly what is being done morally, yes, and in the 
 case of the last named diseases, actually, in every 
 prison we have in this country ! If we made the honor 
 and the salary what it should be for such diagnosti- 
 cians, we could secure the best men. Many men would 
 like to do what I am about to do, that is, give their 
 services for such work, but they cannot afford it. The 
 result of such physical and moral segregation would 
 be a marked decrease in the number of crimes com- 
 mitted, I think, for there are few sayings so true as 
 the one that 'crime breeds crime.' ' 
 
 Miss Coudaire, fascinated, sat listening to this 
 famous surgeon. She had not understood before how 
 really great was this man, a greatness the world would 
 have estimated as naught because it had no price and 
 did not shine by its ability to attract fame or gold. 
 How she would love to do in her own simple way what 
 he was about to do in such a splendid and unselfish 
 way ! Perhaps after she had finished her course at the 
 hospital she could do something helpful, too. Ever 
 since she had entered training she had felt that nurs- 
 ing should occupy a loftier plane than that of a mere 
 profession, that its practice of skilled ministration and 
 helpfulness made it more the handmaid of religion. 
 
 Catharine Coudaire loved her work. Sometimes she
 
 334 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 felt that in practicing nursing she was leading such a 
 real and full life that all other work seemed poor in 
 comparison. But a theory to which it had given birth 
 was fast taking a strong hold upon her thoughts, 
 which were that health should be as compulsory as 
 education. She believed that the services of nurses 
 should be a natural and accepted part of the functions 
 of government, to be supplied as a matter of course 
 wherever needed, like pure drinking water or any of 
 the other necessities which made a country habitable. 
 Knowing from her daily experience what a wonderful 
 lot of good they could do, she longed to tell the world 
 of this theory, to impress upon it the benefits which 
 would flow from its practical adoption, yet she did 
 not know how. 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Deever," she said earnestly. "What you 
 are about to do is wonderful! How I wish I could 
 help you!" 
 
 Dr. Deever looked up with keen pleasure at her 
 enthusiasm. It seemed to him that he had met with a 
 surprising lack of it in hers and his profession lately. 
 The modern trend of specializing, he sometimes 
 thought, by which the practice of medicine has ad- 
 vanced from a "calling" to more scientific standards, 
 had done away with the old-time unselfish personal 
 service rendered by the family practitioner, who, more 
 often than not in those good old days of his boyhood, 
 had served as the whole town's beloved guide, phil- 
 osopher, and friend. 
 
 "Perhaps you can help me some day, Miss Cou- 
 daire," he said, and rising he shook hands with her 
 warmly. "I shall not forget that wish. You may hear 
 from me. Good-bye," and this time he ran down the 
 spiral stairs as lightly as a boy. 
 
 Miss Coudaire turned and entered the ward. It was 
 Sunday afternoon, and visitors, flower-laden, were
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 335 
 
 streaming in to see their loved ones. Everywhere 
 the happy eyes of the patients met hers, and she was 
 summoned by many of them to be proudly introduced 
 as "Nurse." 
 
 The inmates and visitors alike were a motley crew, 
 in many instances the scum of Hampton's poorer dis- 
 tricts-; but in every one of the patients' faces, by suf- 
 fering made temporarily refined, there glowed an affec- 
 tionate gratitude toward the little nurse who gave 
 them more than merely professional service. To see 
 her moving about among the rough men, going from 
 one bedside to another to tell some worried-eyed wife 
 that her husband would soon be back with her and the 
 "kiddies" again, or consoling some old mother whose 
 boy lay so still and white that death seemed very near, 
 showed that Catharine Coudaire was a universal 
 mother, sharing joys and sorrows alike, and bestowing 
 upon her patients the very essence of that spirit which, 
 since the beginning of time, has made woman the 
 channel for one of God's greatest blessings to His 
 children. 
 
 From up and down the resounding ward there 
 reached her ears gay laughter intermingling with occa- 
 sional cries or moans. Smiles and tears here were 
 fellow lodgers. The big place represented life itself, 
 so varied and full was it of every human element. Over 
 in the bed one removed from Stanley lay a young 
 Scandinavian giant with a broken hip. Perched be- 
 side him sat his tiny, pink-cheeked daughter, her eyes 
 wide while she told him the story of her dolly's like 
 illness and successful cure. Next to him lay an old 
 negro man whose visitor was another negro like him- 
 self. Beyond the negro the man who had smiled on 
 that first day of Stanley's mental awakening was talk- 
 ing to his wife and family of six. Of all the occu- 
 pants of the ward Stanley alone had no visitor v nor was
 
 336 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 there any one who gave him more than a passing 
 glance. 
 
 Miss Coudaire's heart went out to him. Going 
 over she was approaching his bed when the old negro 
 stopped her. 
 
 ''Good leetle Missy," he said in his Southern dia- 
 lect, which many years in Hampton had in no way 
 affected, "please ma'am, put dese heah flowers in 
 water," handing her a bunch of gay colored peren- 
 nials. "And dese heah owanges I want yer to deevide 
 wid yo'se'f and me ef I kin make so bold." 
 
 Miss Coudaire thanked him kindly, and taking the 
 fruit and flowers was starting away when the negro 
 said: 
 
 "Bill, heah," motioning toward his visitor, 
 "heared dat I wuz daid." 
 
 Miss Coudaire looked at Bill. 
 
 "Yassum," that gentleman said, "I heahed 'Polean 
 was daid; but I didn't feel sure 'bout hit, so I jes' up 
 and dressed myse'f all in black and brung him dese 
 flowers. Ef he was daid I knowed he would like 'em; 
 and ef he wuzn't daid I knowed he would rather have 
 dese owanges," and he grinned, pleased at his show 
 of thoughtfulness. 
 
 The nurse laughed. "Well, Napoleon is very much 
 alive, William," she said, straightening the covers 
 with her free hand while she smiled at the aged man. 
 "He'll be going out next week." 
 
 "Humph, I doan know 'bout dat," Napoleon grum- 
 bled in anything but a pleased tone. "My misery is 
 awful bad. So is my livers and lights and my utensils. 
 I'se in a pow'ful po' way. Seems to me sometimes I 
 kin hear Brudder Gabriel a fairly tootin' on his horn !" 
 
 Again Miss Coudaire laughed; but without answer- 
 ing walked off down the corridor to get a vase. 
 
 Coming back in a few moments she noticed a frock-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 337 
 
 coated, feeble old white-haired visitor going about the 
 ward, piously pausing at every bed. Rubbing his hands 
 unctuously together he rolled his eyes heavenward as 
 he talked. Miss Coudaire could imagine exactly what 
 he was saying. She had heard him several times 
 before ! 
 
 She frowned. "There's that crank again!" she ex- 
 claimed beneath her breath. Then losing her patience 
 entirely as she saw him cross over to Stanley's bed, 
 she stopped and addressed one of the doctors just then 
 entering the ward. 
 
 "Dr. Carley," she said, "can't you forbid that old 
 man's coming here?" and she pointed toward the 
 white-haired figure who had by now reached Stan- 
 ley's side. "He is a perfect nuisance, and gets the 
 patients all wrought up. Come on, like a dear, and tell 
 him that poor fellow is too ill to be talked to !" 
 
 Smiling up at the young interne she led the way 
 across the ward. As they neared Stanley's bed Miss 
 Coudaire could see that he was deadly pale, and that 
 the emaciated hand which he raised to his head was 
 shaking violently. Angry that one of his patients 
 should thus be made so nervous, Dr. Carley quick- 
 ened his steps. 
 
 "This patient is too ill for visitors," he remarked 
 briskly. 
 
 He had hardly finished his sentence, however, before 
 Deacon Dennison had turned upon him. "I've known 
 this young man for years," he said indignantly. "He 
 is only too glad to have me come to him in this dark 
 hour. It was I, with the help of the All-mighty, who 
 showed him the light. Forsaking Beelzebub and the 
 error of his ways at my teachings, he learned to claim 
 his Maker " 
 
 But this time it was the deacon's turn to be inter- 
 rupted. Miss Coudaire saw Stanley's agitation and,
 
 338 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 misreading it as meaning that Deacon Dennison's 
 words were perhaps arousing his memory, she hope- 
 fully addressed the evangelist. 
 
 "The poor fellow's accident destroyed his memory 
 so that he does not know his own identity," she ex- 
 claimed. "I've been feeling so sorry for his family. 
 Now you can tell us how we can reach them. Isn't it 
 splendid!" and taking a silver pencil from her pocket 
 she held it expectantly suspended above her tiny pad. 
 "I'll wire them at once if you'll give me their name 
 and address." 
 
 A spasmodic quiver passed over Stanley's face, but 
 was as quickly gone, leaving it absolutely expression- 
 less. Murmuring a disconnected sentence he desper- 
 ately hoped against hope that he would continue to 
 deceive everyone, and that the Deacon's words would 
 not give the situation away. 
 
 Deacon Dennison again raised his eyes heavenward, 
 then let them fall as he said in a voice full of agonized 
 sanctimoniousness : 
 
 "So far as I know he has no family. He is an 
 ex-convict."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 JUDGE SAWYER looked down upon the sea of zebra- 
 striped men before him; and a lump rose in his throat. 
 There met his gaze the burning eyes of two thousand 
 citizens who had been deprived of citizenship by those 
 who sat in judgment upon their erring anr' unfortunate 
 fellows. He knew that the throng was composed of 
 every age, but the impression conveyed to his mind 
 was that these men were all old and gray, though pre- 
 maturely so, and bent with care and suffering. 
 
 Back of him upon the chapel platform sat several 
 women. In the coming joy of Eastertide these moth- 
 erly souls, vaguely feeling the need of doing some- 
 thing helpful, had offered their services as a choir 
 for Easter Sunday. Visitors were seldom allowed 
 in the chapel or elsewhere in Warsaw prison; but the 
 officials, having gotten wind of the fact that Judge 
 Sawyer was that day to begin his hardly fought- 
 for visit to the place, had thought it best to let these 
 women have their way. Now their voices, thin and 
 high-pitched, rang out in a resurrection anthem. The 
 sound grated upon the sensitive ears of Judge Sawyer 
 as he sat awaiting his turn to speak, but to the emo- 
 tionally starved prisoners the anthem sounded like 
 sweet tones from the choir of Heaven. 
 
 The song was soon over, and the prison chaplain 
 taking his place at the crude pulpit looked over his 
 audience with sympathetic eyes. He was a young, 
 slender man in the early thirties, and his face, though 
 weak chinned, was full of idealism. Sprung from a 
 family the members of which had smugly stood aside, 
 letting the world and its troubles take care of them- 
 selves, he had quite early in life decided that he must, 
 
 339
 
 340 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 and would, do something to help those of his fellow- 
 men who needed help. It had been a bitter struggle 
 for him to secure his parents' consent to enter the 
 ministry and take his present post, and even yet he 
 showed signs of their early repression of his impulses 
 by a certain timidity of manner. But as the inmates 
 in Warsaw Prison had heretofore had such utterly 
 despicable ministerial failures to preside over their 
 spiritual well-being, to them this young apostle seemed 
 a veritable tower of kindness and strength. In spite 
 of his adolescence, Chaplain Lewis had gained an 
 influence over the men which few, if any, before him 
 had ever gained. 
 
 "Men," he said simply, "I am glad to see so many 
 of you here today. I have something to tell you which 
 I know every one within these gray walls will be glad 
 to hear. 
 
 "Last week after our Sunday service I opened my 
 Bible to choose the text upon which I should talk to 
 you today. My eyes fell upon these words : 'A prophet 
 shall the Lord your God raise up unto you, of your 
 brethren, like unto me ; him shall ye hear in all things, 
 whatsoever he shall say unto you." 
 
 "I was seated at my desk, and having chosen another 
 text, had begun to write. Hardly had I written my 
 
 first sentence, however, when, looking up, I saw 
 
 a new prisoner waiting, as I thought, for the routine 
 words of advice from me as prison chaplain " 
 
 Here he had to pause, for premature and thunder- 
 ous applause had met his words. Smiling, he reached 
 over and put his hand upon Judge Sawyer's shoulder, 
 drawing him forward to his side. 
 
 "This prisoner's name was Bruce Sawyer," he said, 
 knowing that the renewed hand claps showed that the 
 news of the judge's identity had already reached 
 them. "His number is to be A3i."
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 341 
 
 Again the men applauded. Then the chaplain, pro- 
 ceeding, said: 
 
 "Truer words cannot be said of him than those 
 I have already quoted; for I believe his coming here 
 to live among us in order to learn how best to help 
 us is the dawn of a new day! In the words of Luke, 
 seventh chapter, sixteenth verse : 'A great prophet is 
 sent up unto us. God has visited his pet pie.' 
 
 "Men, I present to you your brother in stripes, 
 Number A3i." 
 
 Judge Sawyer opened his lips to speak, but found 
 that he could not do so. Spontaneous applause, so 
 vigorous that it shook the entire chapel, welding into 
 one the great indiscriminate mass representing every 
 country yet of no country broke loose! And then 
 as the noise subsided he again attempted to speak, but 
 found that his voice was not at his command, so 
 touched was he by this demonstration of the men's 
 belief in him ! To see these poor fellows, many of them 
 offenders tried before his own court, so quick to re- 
 spond to any ray of hope or sympathy, reached his 
 heart and choked his utterance! Even should his 
 present plan fail and his dream never come true, he 
 thought, this manifestation of their better natures 
 would repay him for any discomfort he might suffer 
 while in their midst. Emotion had now erased from 
 his memory every word of the address he had so care- 
 fully prepared. He felt utterly powerless before these 
 human beings who, stripped of all life's artificiality 
 and conventions, sat before him now as primitive and 
 unaffected by civilization as had been their remote 
 ancestors. What did it matter what words he used 
 the phrases in telling them the object of his visit? 
 They knew he had come to help them, and unlike the 
 lot of the great Master, who had once come in man's 
 stature to help such as they, his lot was to receive
 
 342 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 from them instantaneous welcome and unadulterated 
 belief in him. Hailing him as saviour before he had 
 even spoken, by their every look and gesture they pro- 
 claimed to him their faith in his friendship. 
 
 Oh, the shame, the crime and utter injustice of 
 wasting and destroying such splendid material as was 
 in these men, men whom the State had seen fit to cast 
 aside as unworthy of help or reward. He must find 
 some way to help them ! 
 
 Finally controlling his voice, Judge Sawyer spoke. 
 In his words none of his emotion was shown, but to 
 his auditors, understanding as they did the depth of 
 his real sympathy for them, his every sentence seemed 
 to fall from his lips like a benediction. 
 
 "I have been a judge of the criminal courts, first in 
 my own and then in this state, for over twenty-five 
 years," he said. " Many of you have doubtless passed 
 before me. My legal sanction of the jury's verdict 
 has helped to send you here. Yet in all these years 
 my heart has never ceased to ache for you, and while 
 observing strictly the duties imposed upon me by virtue 
 of my judicial office, I have consistently tried to be 
 absolutely fair to you in my rulings and decisions." 
 
 The men sat silent before him listening so intently 
 that the slightest rustle among them stood out as a 
 blatant noise. Feeling the intensity of their attitude 
 Judge Sawyer's embarrassment passed, and into his 
 voice there stole a note of sympathy and perturbation. 
 
 "My experience on the bench has led me to believe 
 that practically all men can be led to become law- 
 abiding citizens if the right means are employed to that 
 end," he said with deadly earnestness. "That our 
 present penal system is not employing such means I 
 have thought for a long time. I am now here to find 
 out. Being a judge in my own case as I have been 
 in yours, I have sentenced myself to two weeks among
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 343 
 
 you. I have reached the point in my life where my 
 conscience demands that I know exactly to what sort of 
 a place I have been sentencing men." 
 
 A ripple of emotion ran through the audience, but 
 was quickly stilled when the judge went on: 
 
 "I shall wear your stripes. I shall eat, sleep, work, 
 and live among you. But that you may be really help- 
 ful to me in doing this, and thus through me, perhaps, 
 helpful to your whole brotherhood the world over, you 
 must act toward each other, toward the guards and 
 toward me, exactly as you have always acted since 
 entering these walls. In no other way shall I be able 
 to judge of the true conditions that prevail in the 
 institutions adopted by Society, and conducted under 
 the authority of the State, for the ostensible purpose 
 of the punishment and the reforming of criminals." 
 
 At these words an ugly murmur ran through the 
 crowd. Instantly understanding its import, the judge 
 hastened to say: 
 
 "Yes, I know that all of you call this thing, this 
 imprisonment to which the law has subjected you, by 
 another name a name importing the 'wwmaking of 
 men' ! Perhaps you are right in fact, from what I 
 hear, I am inclined to think you are. The name you 
 use may be the more truthful description of the two. 
 Whether the result of prisons as they are run to-day 
 is reforming or deforming to mankind, is the question 
 at issue. I am here to find out with your help which 
 is the probable result. And now before I cease speak- 
 ing for I cannot speak to you or enter into conversa- 
 tion with you again, I believe, under the rules of War- 
 saw let me say this : 
 
 "You must try to forget who and what I am. To 
 you I must be simply one of you a man like your- 
 selves, who is suffering presumably because he has 
 broken a rule of Truth and Right. None of us can do
 
 344 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 that, you know, inside or outside of prison, without 
 having to pay the penalty. Truth, like the law of 
 gravitation, cannot be permanently overcome. Those 
 who try to overcome it invariably find themselves pris- 
 oners in one way or another. 
 
 "I am here to try to help you to discover, if I can, 
 the truth about prisons." 
 
 Then breaking off abruptly, for he had looked at his 
 watch and found that he had used up the allotted time 
 given him for this address, he said abruptly : 
 
 "That is all," and turning he descended from the 
 platform. Immediately joining the principal keeper 
 who was awaiting him he was marched from the 
 chapel. 
 
 The men at a given command from several armed 
 guards standing about, formed themselves into small 
 squads and, with a guard at the head of each, silently 
 marched from the chapel back to their cells. 
 
 "Who is that old man there?" Judge Sawyer asked, 
 his attention attracted by a tall white-haired man 
 behind the last squad of prisoners. 
 
 As he spoke the man's feet reached an unevenness 
 in the courtyard's flagging, and plunging, he grap- 
 pled wildly in the air. Then regaining his balance, he 
 drew angrily away as a guard approached him and 
 took him by the elbow. 
 
 "He's blind!" Judge Sawyer exclaimed with deep 
 concern, noticing the man's big unlighted eyes as he 
 threw back his head with an expression of intolerable 
 defiance at the guard's touch. "Who is he ?" 
 
 "Number BBXII," the principal keeper answered. 
 
 "I do not mean his number, man, but his name!" 
 Judge Sawyer exclaimed. "What's his name?" 
 
 The P. K. looked nonplussed, then answered : "We 
 don't know the names of any of the prisoners." 
 
 Judge Sawyer frowned. "Another manifestation
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 345 
 
 of the working of our system, I suppose! As though 
 depriving a man of his name can have any other 
 result than to deprive him of a certain amount of his 
 self-respect. It's damnable!" and watching the blind 
 man's figure as it crossed the courtyard and was 
 swallowed up by the door of the main cell-block, he 
 asked : 
 
 "How long has he been here ? Do you know that ?" 
 
 "No, sir," the P. K. answered. 
 
 "Well, it's infamous to keep a man afflicted as he 
 is shut up! I intended commencing my life as a 
 prisoner at once, but I guess I'll see the warden about 
 that case before I'm placed in a position where I can't. 
 Take me to his office," pondering as to what was the 
 best plan to pursue. 
 
 "Yes, sir," the P. K. agreed, not in the least know- 
 ing how much political influence was possessed by this 
 crank whom he had in tow, and therefore being ex- 
 ceedingly anxious to stay in his good graces. / 
 
 Judge Sawyer entered the warden's office. "War- 
 den," he said, "upon my entrance to Warsaw I said 
 that I should ask no favors except that I be treated 
 exactly like the other men. Well, I've changed my 
 mind. I should like you to do me a favor." 
 
 The warden smiled, exchanging a sneering I-told- 
 you-so glance with the P. K. Both of these officials 
 had said from the beginning that this self-appointed 
 martyr would never really put up with the hardships 
 of the legitimate prisoners. His was only a grandstand 
 play, a striving for the notoriety which invariably 
 comes to anyone who pretends to stand for the under- 
 dog! Doubtless like many fair dames of social pre- 
 tension who, perchance, spent a hundred thousand 
 dollars on personal comforts or a string of pearls, 
 while working feverishly to raise a hundred dollars 
 for a pet charity through the gratis services of some
 
 346 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 poor musician or other, this judge was now going to 
 ask for all the comforts of home, while apparently 
 suffering the privations of the prisoners! The warden 
 again winked at the keeper; but said to the judge: 
 
 "Certainly, Commissioner, certainly. Glad to do 
 anything I can for your comfort." 
 
 Judge Sawyer frowned at these words, which con- 
 veyed to him perfectly the man's idea of the character 
 of the favor he would request. "I want no comforts," 
 he said. "In fact, I am asking for an added discom- 
 fort. This prison is overcrowded, I believe?" 
 
 The warden nodded, but only half-heartedly. He 
 feared to commit himself even in this small way. He 
 did not feel sure what was about to be forthcoming. 
 Drat this crank's infernal interference anyway! 
 
 "And you'll have to put two prisoners in one cell 
 in order to let me have one to myself ?" the judge went 
 on. 
 
 "Why, er yes," the warden answered, seeing no 
 danger in this admission, but rather an opportunity 
 to show the commissioner how welcome, even in- 
 vited, his investigations were. "It's against the rule, 
 I believe, but we certainly couldn't turn you away, 
 Judge." 
 
 "Then instead of putting some other two prisoners 
 in a cell together," Judge Sawyer suggested, "sup- 
 pose you put me with that blind man." 
 
 The warden gasped. Of all requests in the world 
 this request was about the last he had expected, and 
 its granting would be decidedly the most undesirable 
 thing that could possibly happen. Number BBXII 
 knew too much to be trusted alone with an inves- 
 tigator! During the warden's Reign of Terror, this 
 blind man, defiant, insolent, and independent to the 
 last degree, had been made to suffer every torment 
 conceivable to those in charge of him; for he, poor out-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 347 
 
 spoken soul, could not and would not allow his spirit 
 to be broken. Feeling in the desolate misery of his 
 eternal night that death, even inflicted by torture, was 
 preferable to a life such as he had been forced to lead 
 within prison walls, he had continued to say exactly 
 what he pleased on all occasions ever since his incar- 
 ceration had begun. He was by nature too high- 
 minded to resort to the stool pigeon, as many others 
 did, for what little comfort they could give him 
 through their surreptitious traffic in drugs. Opium and 
 the like were taken by the vast majority of the inmates 
 to deaden enforced wasteful years; but BBXII, refus- 
 ing this temptation, spent his time in defying and 
 berating all those in authority who came within his 
 reach. In consequence he had been subjected to a 
 very hell on earth. Beaten, given the "water cure," 
 hung by the wrists and thumbs, put upon the rack, 
 made to wear the strait- jacket, and to tread the wheel, 
 and forced to go through many other atrocious and 
 barbarous cruelties of the Modern Inquisition, he was 
 at last physically shattered by a well aimed series of 
 blows which had left him a weakened wreck. Yet, 
 in spite of this and his lack of sight, he was con- 
 sidered the most dangerous man in prison, and though 
 the guards abused him, they still feared him much as a 
 murderer has a sense of fear in the presence of the 
 body he has mutilated. So now it was that the warden 
 feared to have the judge meet this man. 
 
 After his request Judge Sawyer had stood watching 
 the warden's face. It was a study; and realizing that 
 he had probably unlocked the door which hid the 
 prison's family skeleton, so to speak, his determination 
 to meet and talk with the blind man grew apace. He 
 remarked aloud: 
 
 "I think allowing me to room with someone would 
 doubtless give me a better insight into the personnel of
 
 348 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 prisoners as a class. One cannot eat, sleep, and live 
 in such close confines with a fellow creature without 
 getting an occasional glimpse at least into his inner- 
 most self." 
 
 But by now the warden had recovered from his 
 surprise and was speaking. "My dear Commissioner, 
 that would never do!" he exclaimed volubly. "Why, 
 that man is not only vicious, but well, I wouldn't 
 be surprised to hear that he had any, in fact many, 
 illnesses, which would make it positively dangerous 
 for your physical welfare " 
 
 "I suppose," Judge Sawyer broke in sarcastically, 
 "that your expert hospital staff has never felt quite 
 sure!" 
 
 The warden's thin lips drew themselves into a hard 
 line; but ignoring the interruption he proceeded with 
 every display of anxiety for his guest's comfort: 
 
 "He has had tuberculosis, at least, for a long time, 
 and as for " 
 
 "Well, that's my lookout," Judge Sawyer again 
 broke in tersely. "I'm not afraid! I ask you as a 
 favor that you let me share the cell with this man. 
 Will you do it?" 
 
 The warden did not answer, but sat trying to think 
 of some way in which he could dissuade this crank 
 from what would be to him a really perilous course. 
 He hardly dared refuse the commissioner's request. 
 The commissioner was a judge, and the receiving 
 of bribes was in itself a penitentiary offense, besides 
 which there were other secrets in the warden's life, 
 both public, and private, that would not bear the light 
 of day. The commissioner's brother-in-law was the 
 Governor of the state. His brother was United States 
 Attorney. It was bad enough to have him a "re- 
 former," but to incur his personal enmity The 
 
 wisest course was to employ such diplomacy as he
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 349 
 
 possessed in an endeavor to dissuade the judge from 
 persisting in his purpose. 
 
 "My dear Judge," he said in the most cordial of 
 tones, "you know as State Commissioner that you 
 may go exactly where you please in the prison; but 
 as an admirer of yours I should hate to see you delib- 
 erately run such a risk. Your object in wanting to 
 share BBXII'S cell is to get his views upon prison 
 life, I suppose." 
 
 Judge Sawyer assented. 
 
 "Then I tell you what we'll do, Commissioner," 
 pleased at his own astuteness, "we'll put you in the 
 cell next to his. It will be quite simple for you to talk 
 to him through the wall. On Sundays you'll walk just 
 ahead of him in the chapel squad. I can give you the 
 special privilege of conversing with him, of course, 
 any time that you wish it. This would be a suspen- 
 sion of the rules in your favor, but I think you will 
 find it practically impossible to spend two weeks in 
 prison without this occurring." 
 
 To himself the warden resolved that he would see 
 to it that the blind man was silenced in some way or 
 other long before he could have had time to tattle 
 to the commissioner. 
 
 Judge Sawyer thought deeply for several moments. 
 His judgment told him that unless he did see and talk 
 to this blind man his term in prison would not be 
 altogether the success he wanted it to be. But he 
 deemed it unwise to antagonize the warden too much. 
 Doubtless if he occupied the cell next to the blind 
 man's, he could in some way get far more information 
 than the warden now supposed. He bethought him of 
 the stool-pigeons, those "trusties" who serve both God 
 and Mammon by receiving bribes from prisoners and 
 guards alike. He remembered also having heard that 
 many of the guards were not averse to having their
 
 350 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 palms crossed with magic gold. Tact and diplomacy 
 were needed. He would accept the warden's advice. 
 
 "Well, Warden," he said, "I don't want to go con- 
 trary to what you think best. You've indeed been help- 
 ful in your advice so far, and so I'll take it again. Put 
 me in the cell you suggest." 
 
 The warden's muscles relaxed. He had been more 
 nervous than even he himself knew. As a young 
 politician he had begun his climb toward the salary 
 of a warden over the maimed and dead spirits of his 
 brother men. His sleep was seldom that of the just! 
 But now, thanks to his own cleverness, he was safe. 
 He had not for nothing acquired through years of 
 terror the effective, albeit unwilling, loyalty of the men 
 under his charge. The judge's investigation should 
 be a fiasco. Number BBXII was the only man in 
 prison whom he and his tools had not been able to 
 terrorize into silence. But they could fix him! The 
 warden smiled. 
 
 "P. K.," he said to the keeper, who had stood closely 
 observant throughout the interview, "put the judge 
 through the regular examination, and so forth, and 
 then give him cell number 42 on Tier B." 
 
 Then, turning back to Judge Sawyer, he said : "If 
 you'll just look over these data," handing him some 
 papers while giving the keeper a look he understood 
 perfectly, "the P. K. will see that the cell is made 
 ready for you." And nonchalantly raising his hand 
 to his head in an unconventional and friendly salute, 
 the secret significance of which was thoroughly under- 
 stood by the P. K., he watched him with apparent 
 carelessness as he left the office. 
 
 Soon returning, the P. K. politely summoned the 
 judge to his new abode. The judge's footsteps had 
 hardly died away from the echoing corridors before 
 the warden had summoned his most trusty tools.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 351 
 
 Arranging themselves respectfully before him, stool- 
 pigeon and guard alike stood awaiting his commands. 
 Those commands were not very elaborate, nor were 
 they couched in chosen English. 
 
 "You've seen that damn fool of a commissioner," 
 he said bluntly. "He's entering here, as you know, for 
 two weeks. It's up to you to see to it that he don't 
 learn a God damned thing that's true!" and he turned 
 to the papers upon his desk. 
 
 Judge Sawyer entered his cell. Night descended. 
 The sounds of souls in torment reached his ears. The 
 guards tramping along the narrow confines of the 
 stone and steel balcony corridors that ran along in 
 front of each tier apparently paid no heed to the 
 new inmate as he sat in the dark trying to still the sick 
 horror which seemed fast overcoming him. The night 
 was cold, and the guards on duty, feeling chilly, had 
 tightly closed the three high-set and tiny corridor 
 windows which served for ventilation for the twelve 
 cells upon each tier. The air in the prison, damp and 
 foul from lack of sunshine, was now made almost un- 
 bearably suffocating by the noisome smells arising 
 from these human cages. 
 
 He had promised to stay here two weeks, he remem- 
 bered with consternation. How could he stand it ! Yet 
 his neighbors, with no expectation of early deliver- 
 ance to sustain them, did stand it! As he sat medi- 
 tating on the prospect before him, in the deadly still- 
 ness of the place a tick-tacking, apparently upon his 
 wall, suddenly sounded out and made him jump. 
 
 Further away, next but one beyond his own cell, 
 as nearly as he could guess, this noise was answered. 
 Back and forth it went, an uncanny yet intelligent 
 sound, until the judge made up his mind that two 
 prisoners, his next door neighbor and the man in the 
 cell beyond him, were communicating with each other.
 
 352 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 This interested him immensely, and all through the 
 night, for it continued intermittently until dawn, he 
 lay upon his cot trying to decipher the code, though 
 often gasping for breath in the unaccustomed noxious- 
 ness of the polluted atmosphere. 
 
 The next morning, soon after it had ceased and he 
 himself had fallen into a troubled sleep, his number 
 was called. Opening his eyes he saw a guard stand- 
 ing at his barred door. 
 
 "Time to git up," the guard said, trying hard to 
 make his tone exactly like that which he ordinarily used 
 to the regular prisoners, but finding it difficult to 
 suppress the respect he felt for the judge because of his 
 political influence. "In two minutes from now you 
 must git in line for breakfast and the shop. Git a 
 move on !" and the guard was gone. 
 
 Judge Sawyer drew himself up stiffly from the 
 shuck mattress upon which he had been trying to 
 secure some rest, and hurriedly tossing back his white 
 hair, for prisoners were allowed no comb and brush 
 or other toilet facilities, he did as the guard bade him, 
 standing silently and erect at the door of his cell. 
 
 The door was unlocked by the guard, and following 
 the lead of the other prisoners, as judged by sound, 
 he turned the steel knob of his door and stepped into 
 the corridor. With expectant interest he turned to look 
 at the blind man back of him, the neighbor he had 
 deliberately chosen. Much to his surprise he was 
 not there, but in his place stood a strapping young 
 fellow with a straightforward, honest face. 
 
 Judge Sawyer looked in front of him. The broad 
 back of a short fat man met his gaze. Looking up and 
 down the line as far as he could see, he perceived no 
 figure that in the slightest degree suggested that of the 
 blind man he had seen the day before. Had the warden 
 fooled him? Put him in another cell than that which
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 353 
 
 he had requested? Wasn't he next door to the blind 
 man after all? The blood rushed to his face in anger. 
 If the warden had deliberately fooled him, well, he 
 would fix him, all right, when he got out ! 
 
 He was shocked to find himself employing the very 
 thoughts that were invariably used by the prisoners! 
 So even one night in prison had bred in him revenge ! 
 He smiled whimsically. Evidently he would not make 
 a very model prisoner. 
 
 At a command from the guard in charge, the long 
 somber file of men now marched forward, their slov- 
 enly and unambitious feet dragging raspingly along 
 the stones of the hall, the chains and balls many of 
 them wore clattering and banging along noisily. 
 
 Overhead in the tier above the same thing was occur- 
 ring. Judge Sawyer looked up and up. There were 
 one, two, three, four floors full of these same shamed 
 men silently filing out from the prison darkness into the 
 walled-in courtyard where restricted rays of sunlight 
 touched them with hope and cheer. There were several 
 dozens of these men, yet this wing in which he stood 
 was only one of the many such cell blocks that com- 
 posed Warsaw Prison. 
 
 As the squad of which Judge Sawyer was a mem- 
 ber passed through the outer prison door and was 
 ordered to cross the courtyard, low whispered words 
 reached his ears. He looked quickly around to see if 
 the young fellow back of him had spoken; but the 
 young man's face was entirely expressionless, and his 
 lips, though held slightly apart, did not move. He was 
 looking disinterestedly ahead, and as the judge turned 
 upon him his eyes did not waver for an instant. 
 
 "Yes, it is I talking," the judge heard him saying, 
 though his face held its same passive expression. 
 "Don't let them see you look at me. If they catch 
 us, everything will be up for us both."
 
 354 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Judge Sawyer, thrilling with the uncanniness of this 
 queer conversation, did as he was bidden, and march- 
 ing on, listened as the queer hoarse whispers, utterly 
 without intonation or inflection, proceeded. 
 
 "I heard you in chapel yesterday. Every one of 
 us boys would die for you, Judge. You're doing a 
 man's work in a man's way! The poor blind fellow 
 sends you a note," and Judge Sawyer was thereupon 
 conscious of something in his palm, without knowing 
 how it got there. "Being blind, he's kept shut up in his 
 cell; and the warden isn't really going to let you talk 
 to him or any of the rest of us; don't fool yourself! 
 Dumb men tell no tales, and God knows the tales we 
 could tell in this place " 
 
 But he broke off. A guard was approaching. 
 
 The whole performance had been so queer, so weird, 
 so like Alice in Wonderland, that Judge Sawyer felt 
 as if he were in a dream. In all his dealings with 
 crime and criminals, this was the very first time he had 
 come in contact with the "silent language" of prisons. 
 No wonder that convicts became abnormal and dan- 
 gerous men, he thought. He longed to answer the 
 young man, and to ask him questions; but he did not 
 dare. In some way the knowledge of his whispers 
 must have reached the guard, for that companionable 
 gentleman did not leave Judge Sawyer's side during 
 the rest of the journey. 
 
 On they shuffled, first to the mess hall, and thence, 
 after a disgustingly unpalatable meal, to that part of 
 the workshop to which his squad had been detailed. 
 Entering, Judge Sawyer discovered he had been given 
 what the prisoners themselves consider the pick of 
 prison work that of tailoring. Yet how ill chosen this 
 was ! Thinking of himself as a real prisoner, with his 
 superior education, how much more use to the state 
 he could have been in some other capacity.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 355 
 
 All through the day he sat in the ill lighted, ill 
 ventilated cellar room, sewing long seams upon drab 
 cloth so cheap and coarse that it felt like sacking to his 
 sensitive fingers. He was working upon a pair of trou- 
 sers to be worn by a man when the State should have 
 released his body his spirit would never be released, 
 the judge thought bitterly. 
 
 It was the policy of Warsaw to force each prisoner 
 to "specialize" in his work. This did not mean special- 
 ization in the generally accepted sense, but was merely 
 the State's way of seeing to it that a prisoner's work 
 was made as monotonous as possible, thus robbing him 
 of any incentive or interest in his daily life. This, 
 of course, was a necessary part of his punishment. 
 Prisoners were seldom given jobs for which their 
 former life had fitted them; but each and every one of 
 them received their daily employment as they did their 
 cells, by the simple rule of allotment. 
 
 Judge Sawyer did not understand this, and so ex- 
 pected that the next day or so would see him trans- 
 ferred to the caning or shoeing department, or where 
 the prisoners made brooms. Not that he cared any 
 more than they what he did, but he wished to be able 
 to thoroughly investigate every branch of the prison's 
 industry. On various occasions before his entrance, 
 when he had complained that the prisons were con- 
 ducted upon mediaeval lines, he had been reassured by 
 the other commissioners that Warsaw was one of the 
 most up-to-date in the country. He had believed this 
 because of his experience in the South, where a few 
 years before he had visited a prison in which the in- 
 mates were allowed to do no work, but were kept 
 locked in their cells every day and all day. The statis- 
 tics showed that there were few among the inmates, 
 except for the negroes, who did not have to be trans-
 
 356 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 ferred to the insane asylum before the end of their 
 sentences. 
 
 About the tailor's shop armed guards stood. Upon 
 a raised platform at the end of this room there was 
 an officer in charge. Like a sphinx he sat, a loaded 
 rifle across his knees. Huddled together around an ill- 
 smelling kerosene stove a dozen or more prisoners sat 
 sewing. They were not allowed to talk. The guards 
 did the talking instead! The epithets they used were 
 supposed to keep the prisoners at work ; besides which, 
 talking was the only form of entertainment the guards 
 had. Today, however, their epithets were much milder 
 and less frequent. They had all received their warn- 
 ing of the meaning of Judge Sawyer's presence among 
 them. Prisoners and guards alike felt the strain. 
 
 The long dull day wore on. The close air in the 
 shop mingling with body odors and the smell of the 
 kerosene stove made the judge's head ache violently. 
 Here and there a man moved restlessly, a groan break- 
 ing from his lips. Toward evening one of them 
 who had become more and more restless, without any 
 apparent reason swore aloud. A guard, surprised, but 
 ready for him, strode over in his direction and leveled 
 his pistol threateningly. 
 
 "Here, you !" he said, "cut that out !" 
 
 But before he could reach the far corner where the 
 man sat, tailor fashion, the man had gotten up upon 
 his feet and had begun to scream hysterically. Throw- 
 ing the long seam he had been sewing to one side he 
 began beating his head with his hands, his eyes rolling 
 wildly and froth foaming from his lips. His shouted 
 words were inarticulate, and the other prisoners, look- 
 ing toward him in alarm, realized he had suddenly 
 gone mad. A wild cry of sympathy broke out among 
 them, and jumping to their feet they massed them- 
 selves together like huddled cattle.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 357 
 
 In prisons it is not safe for a guard to stop and rea- 
 son why. They are in the position of a lion tamer who 
 knows that if one lion among a cageful made docile by 
 cruel mastery attacks him, it is a matter of only a 
 moment before they will all be tearing him limb from 
 limb. Without a second's warning, therefore, the 
 guard upon the platform fired! As his bullet reached 
 the screaming man's leg he fell in a limp heap. But 
 afraid to stop firing the guard turned his revolver 
 upon the others. Shots fell thick and fast, while rely- 
 ing for their own safety upon their armed strength, 
 every one of the guards backed toward the door. 
 
 Judge Sawyer was horrified. So this was one of the 
 uprisings in prisons which the public heard so much 
 about ! These were the criminals who endangered the 
 guards' lives! 
 
 "Stop that firing!" he thundered, his big voice boom- 
 ing out above the melee of sullen antagonized men, 
 now pushing and shoving each other as they strove 
 to escape the fusillade. "You shall pay for this !" 
 
 The guards thus reminded of the judge's presence 
 ceased their fire, and running into the hall banged the 
 steel door. 
 
 Judge Sawyer turned to the men. "Don't be nerv- 
 ous," he said. "They'll hardly dare attack you 
 again!" 
 
 At the judge's reassuring words and manner of com- 
 mand the men immediately became quieted. For some 
 unaccountable reason apparently no one had been hurt 
 but the prisoner lying upon the floor. His companions 
 now gathered about him. They dared not speak, but 
 in their eyes Judge Sawyer read the smouldering spirit 
 of hatred and the desire to kill their oppressors. 
 
 Kneeling, the judge raised the injured man's head. 
 The poor fellow's convulsion had passed by now, and
 
 358 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 his large eyes held in them the appeal of a hurt child's 
 as he looked up at the judge. 
 
 "I went bug-house, I reckon," he whispered in the 
 hoarse silent language. "What's the matter with my 
 leg?" 
 
 "You've been hurt," the judge said in soothing eva- 
 sion. "Better keep still, the guards have probably 
 gone for a stretcher." 
 
 Just then the steel door to the tailor shop opened, 
 and the scared face of the head guard peered in. 
 Seeing that the "Riot" had been quelled, he entered, 
 followed by the other guards. 
 
 "Form in line there!" he commanded, covering the 
 group of prisoners with his gun. "Forward, march!" 
 
 Silently they obeyed, and the long file shuffled across 
 the tailor shop. Judge Sawyer stood still. 
 
 "You go get a stretcher at once," he said. "This 
 man's hurt." 
 
 Furiously angry, but not daring to show it, the head 
 guard commanded two of the others to do' as the 
 judge suggested. Quickly returning they lifted the 
 injured man, and assured that he had gained his point, 
 the judge now joined the prisoners who marched 
 across the courtyard and back to their cells. Had he 
 known that the injured man was cast into the rot-pit 
 instead of the healing comfort of the hospital, he could 
 not have felt the immediate return of interest for the 
 blind man next door to him.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 JUDGE SAWYER was sitting upon the side of his cot, 
 trying in vain to forget the distressing experiences in 
 the tailor shop. It was clear to him that he must not 
 make a row about it if he intended to stay in the prison. 
 If such a thing as this had happened before his very 
 eyes, what must be the condition of things when there 
 was no restraining presence! It was his duty to dis- 
 cover everything he could about the conduct of the 
 institution. Getting up he began tramping back and 
 forth. Presently he remembered that he had not as 
 yet read the blind man's letter, which he had slipped 
 up his sleeve on rinding it in his palm that morning. 
 Taking this out he unfolded it, and holding it up 
 to catch the dim light, began to read. 
 
 "Dear Judge," it ran. " 'A prophet' has indeed been 
 sent up unto us ; for yesterday in your voice I read the 
 note of hope for this city of the living dead. 
 
 "From this cell, the only place on earth I know as 
 home, I, a man without a country, a slave of his worst 
 self, made so by injustice suffered at the hands of those 
 authorized to exercise the power of the State, but still 
 possessing a better self asleep within him, now pleads 
 with you to help us, and will try to show you how. 
 The officials here will never let me really see or talk 
 with you, rest assured of that ; and so I take this means 
 of communication. Old, blind, dying of tuberculosis, 
 the sand in my hour-glass is running low. Soon the 
 darkness of my last resting place, as typified by the 
 sightlessness I now know, will be mine. I do not ask 
 for myself, therefore, but for those who will suffer 
 after me, that something be done to rectify conditions 
 so merciless that were they generally known in their 
 
 359
 
 360 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 actuality, our present slavery would be counted by the 
 people as worse than death, and the conditions them- 
 selves no longer tolerated! 
 
 "I have hardly dared eat or drink today. Many 
 men have succumbed within these walls on less provo- 
 cation than you have given the warden and his tools 
 by your request to be placed next door to me. Dead 
 men tell no tales! But I am not afraid. I know that, 
 save for my few missteps, I have not dishonored the 
 Maker in whom I believe. Lest something should 
 happen to me, however, I now write you these lines, 
 hoping that the thoughts indulged in during the years 
 of suffering which I have endured, may in some way 
 forward the work I feel sure you have been called 
 to do." 
 
 The man's pathetic words had brought a lump to 
 Judge Sawyer's throat. How his heart ached with 
 sympathy for him! 
 
 "On Sunday you said you believed that if the right 
 methods were employed toward us, that we could 
 become law-abiding citizens. I believe that you are 
 right. I have been thinking for years of the means 
 which should be employed to accomplish this; and so 
 now I ask you, best and kindest of friends to the zebra 
 brotherhood, is it right that God's free creatures be 
 caged in filth and degradation ? No matter what their 
 offense, has man the right to shut them out from even 
 the sight of God's world, their birthright? If Society 
 requires their restraint, should it not be under such 
 conditions that at the end of their day of toil they may 
 be able to refresh their spirits, to the degree that in 
 them lies, in the magic gold and crimson fairyland of 
 evening, there to drink deep draughts of joy and 
 life? 
 
 "Can it possibly improve a man's soul to see eter- 
 nally the black bars of hatred, rather than to see from
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 361 
 
 his window long shadow fingers pointing across a car- 
 pet of green and violet, it might be to an open bay, 
 sail-dotted? Would it not be better for him, and so 
 for Society, that he feel the soft night-curtain of 
 silence absolute enfold him, instead of the uttermost 
 darkness of Tophet which reigns in his cell, wherein 
 the sounds which reach him, from degraded men and 
 guards alike, are so consistently awful, that the mem- 
 ory of the thrush's songs which were wont to wake 
 him in boyhood seems only a mockery now? 
 
 "If he could arise to gaze through maiden mists 
 arising Minerva-like from the lacy spray of waves 
 across blue water if he could see morning's birth, 
 and realize that the blush with which she greets the 
 sun's kiss is a prophecy of his regeneration into a 
 better and purer man, would this not help him to be 
 so, rather than to have the nature-sounds of God's 
 goodness forever shut from him, and in their stead 
 only the hideous strophes and anti-strophes of the 
 grimy spirit of darkest crime? 
 
 "Made by kindly and constructive means to fully 
 appreciate the iniquities of his past, would it not help 
 him in his efforts to achieve a better future to hear 
 with a love-filled, and not hate-filled, soul the song 
 of nesting birds? To scan with growing understand- 
 ing the foam-flecked sea in all her moods? Watching 
 the blossoming of spring, to know that his future 
 could be full of life's beauty and promise, too? And 
 that when his lessons in good citizenship were learned, 
 and he was allowed to become a part of the outside 
 world again, to be assured that there was a place in it 
 for him to work and learn of peace as deep as truth?" 
 
 Judge Sawyer gasped. Why, the man had a remark- 
 able mind ! His thoughts were poetic, almost inspired. 
 It did not seem possible that a man could draw such 
 mental pictures when shut up in prison; and yet he
 
 362 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 suspected that these very pictures were probably 
 what had enabled men of mentality to retain their 
 sanity. He read on: 
 
 "Those of you who are still citizens of the United 
 States say if we who through crime have lost our 
 citizenship are made too comfortable if our regen- 
 erating institutions God save the mark! are made 
 too attractive, we would commit crimes in order to 
 enter prison. Does it seem likely to you that such a 
 thing can be true? Does a man deliberately contract 
 tuberculosis or cancer in order to enter a place where 
 he is given the kind care of a magnificent State or 
 Board of Charities? Yet the situation is much the 
 same. 
 
 "Of course I am speaking of men, not parasites or 
 degenerates of which there are as many outside as 
 inside of prison. Such creatures should be dealt with 
 apart from criminals, and have nothing to do with the 
 question. I speak now of men like myself men who 
 have broken one or more actual statutes of the law. 
 Understand, I am not excusing their or my acts. Un- 
 lawful acts are inexcusable. But men are men, whether 
 prisoners or freemen, and in order to keep discipline, 
 promote right thinking and a hope of an uncriminal 
 future, they must be treated as men. 
 
 "Situate your prison in a place where God dwells, 
 therefore, not in a barren spot where the destructive- 
 ness of man has defaced the bosom of Mother Earth. 
 Beauty is truth, and truth is what we who commit 
 crime have lost sight of. Nature and her healing 
 balm of beauty is bound to help us. I repeat, there- 
 fore, build your prisons in the open country." 
 
 Judge Sawyer in wonderment counted the ensuing 
 pages. Evidently, he thought to himself, the flood- 
 gates of the man's years of silence had been opened, 
 and he was pouring out his very soul in an effort to
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 363 
 
 express the thoughts which had so long been forming 
 in his mind. The letter with its scrawling crooked 
 lines seemed indeed pathetic to the judge. He recalled 
 the proud sightless face he had seen the day before. 
 The indomitable will and spirit which shone through 
 this blind man's every word made him determine to 
 reach him personally as soon as possible. Now, how- 
 ever, he continued reading his letter : 
 
 "An adequate prison should have a general receiv- 
 ing station. In charge of this there should be effi- 
 cient medical, surgical, and physiological specialists to 
 examine and classify the incoming men. After these 
 men are classified, they should be sent to branch pris- 
 ons, where the maximum of efficiency at a minimum 
 expenditure of time and unprofitable labor shall be 
 produced. The present system does not benefit either 
 the State, Society, or the prisoner himself ; and, as has 
 been conclusively established, absolutely fails as a de- 
 terrent of crime, rather inflaming and multiplying the 
 evil it pretends to heal. 
 
 "One of these branches should be a co-operative 
 farm. This for the class of prisoners who, as, for 
 instance, those physically sick, need that kind of life 
 to revive the good in them. For those who have a 
 trade there should be shops in which to practice that 
 trade. For those who have no trade there should 
 be a training school in which every inmate should be 
 required to learn that for which he is best adapted. 
 Governmental contracts pertaining to national prepar- 
 edness could be easily given to such institutions, as is 
 done in Germany, where many of the prisons have the 
 exclusive right to make military uniforms. 
 
 "Pay each of these working men a living wage, 
 part of the wage to go toward retrieving the wrong 
 which he had done his fellows. If a thief steals your 
 purse, does it help you any to lock him up and, with-
 
 out giving him a chance to pay the money back, be 
 taxed by the State for his maintenance? Would not it 
 be better to pay that man for his labor, have him repay 
 you, and in addition be able to continue supporting 
 his family at home, instead of making a pauper, or 
 worse, of his wife, and criminals of his children? 
 
 "If a man be a drunkard, cure him. Drunkenness 
 is a disease. If he be a lunatic, treat him as a lunatic. 
 If he be mentally deficient or a moral degenerate, keep 
 him segregated; but treat him decently, and in some 
 way find a means of cultivating any good traits he may 
 possibly possess. 
 
 "Criminals are men morally sick. Help them to 
 help themselves. Warsaw prison and others like it 
 are hives of revenge, breeders of crime, and are places 
 of and for lost souls. Make your new prisons hospitals 
 and vocational and industrial schools, with a govern- 
 ing spirit of moral inspiration dominating the admin- 
 istration. Have the men under military control. Teach 
 them military tactics. Drills would be good for them 
 physically, and through them they would learn how 
 to obey, to observe the discipline which Society re- 
 quires of all its members. In time of trouble men so 
 drilled would be of great help to their country. 
 
 "When all this is done and your government faces 
 the prison problem from the angle of pity and a desire 
 to make and not wwmake future citizens, it will be ap- 
 proaching the question through reason and not preju- 
 dice, through love and not hate. Until this is done and 
 the State ceases to punish crime by itself committing 
 essential crimes, civilization cannot make any appre- 
 ciable move upward." 
 
 Here the sentences scrawled off the last sheet of the 
 brown wrapping paper which was crumpled and torn. 
 The judge stood up. The blind man's words made
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 365 
 
 him feel uplifted and inspired. He would communi- 
 cate with him through the wall of their cells. 
 
 He knocked upon it. Immediately an answering 
 knock reached his ears. Oh, if he only knew the tick- 
 tack code which he had heard the night before ! 
 
 "I've received your letter," the judge said, his lips 
 pressed close against a crack in the mortar of the 
 wall. 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 He tapped again. An answering tap came back to 
 him; but that was all. Evidently the masonry of the 
 walls was too thick to allow the sound of words to 
 penetrate them, unless spoken very loudly. 
 
 He went to his barred door. He could at least 
 speak through that and be heard by the man next 
 door. The two doors were necessarily so close to- 
 gether, owing to the narrowness of each of the cells, 
 that such communication must surely be accomplished 
 very easily. 
 
 "I got your letter," he repeated, putting his hand 
 to one side of his mouth so as to throw the sound of his 
 voice sideways and into the other cell, "and I want to 
 talk to you." 
 
 A guard strode up. "No gassin'," he said. "Pris- 
 oners ain't supposed to talk." 
 
 Judge Sawyer frowned; then remembering the gos- 
 sip about the guards he had heard outside the prison, 
 he said: 
 
 "Now look here, Bud, I've got to talk to that blind 
 man next door. I've got no 'spondulics in my jeans'," 
 taking a whimsical pride and delight in having so 
 quickly caught on to the slang of the prison, and feeling 
 much like a naughty boy as he used it; "but I'll see 
 to it that you get ten dollars that is in the office safe 
 in my name." 
 
 The guard drew away with an air of well-feigned
 
 366 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 indignation. He was one of the warden's trusty lieu- 
 tenants, and no commissioner could catch him. 
 
 "You could be punished for that there offer," he 
 said with dignity, pretending to know naught of the 
 judge's identity. "Do you think I'd take a bribe? 
 Not much ! Though being's as you're new at this here 
 prison game, as the P. K. tells me, I won't report you 
 this time," with a maudlin show of kindliness. 
 
 The fellow's part had been exceedingly well played, 
 but Judge Sawyer's astuteness was too keen for him 
 to be entirely fooled by it, though he did not know, of 
 course, just how much knowledge the man really had. 
 He ceased his monetary attempt to reach the blind 
 man. Some other way would doubtless open up soon. 
 He knew that the prisoners, in spite of all rules to the 
 contrary, and even in spite of any possible honest 
 guard, did communicate with each other almost any 
 time they chose. 
 
 Going back to his cot the judge reseated himself, 
 and once (more perused the remarkable letter. In a 
 very few moments the big gong that announced the 
 mess hour boomed out, and the shuffling sounds of life 
 in the cell block began. 
 
 The bolts flew back, and opening his door he stepped 
 into the hall. He looked around to see the friendly 
 face of the fellow who that morning had given him 
 the blind man's letter; but in his place stood a much 
 smaller man with a face seamed and scarred by dissi- 
 pation and disease. Judge Sawyer instinctively turned 
 his head forward. He felt that this man could not be 
 trusted. He wondered where his friend of the morn- 
 ing was ! 
 
 After a silent meal the men were all marched back 
 to their respective cells again. As each man ap- 
 proached and stopped in front of his own particular
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 367 
 
 cell, the judge noticed the fellow whose face he had 
 so mistrusted stop at the cell next door to his. 
 
 In spite of all the silence about him and the sense 
 of cowering fear which it gave to the whole atmos- 
 phere, Judge Sawyer had not yet learned his lesson. 
 
 "What are you doing going into that cell?" he 
 asked the man. "A blind man belongs in there." 
 
 The prisoner questioned did not answer ; but a guard, 
 hearing the sound of Judge Sawyer's voice, marched 
 up. 
 
 "Here, there," he said, "no gassin' allowed, I tell 
 you!" 
 
 But by now the judge's suspicions had been thor- 
 oughly aroused. It was very queer, he thought, not 
 only that he had not seen or heard anything of the 
 blind man since his own incarceration, but it was 
 still more strange that new and hitherto unseen pris- 
 oners had marched behind him both times that he had 
 left his own cell that day. Something was wrong! 
 
 "Where's that blind man?" he asked the guard, 
 as all the prisoners entered their doors, which clanged 
 shut behind them. "I requested especially that I be put 
 next door to BBXII, I think that is his number. I'm 
 I'm anxious to talk to him." 
 
 With difficulty the guard controlled his look of 
 amusement at the judge's expense. 
 
 "He's probably dying," he remarked bluntly. "He 
 had to be removed to the hospital to-day. He had a 
 hemorrhage." 
 
 Judge Sawyer's heart misgave him at these words. 
 The poor pitiful creature. The man's remarkable letter 
 seemed to burn him as it lay in the outer pocket of his 
 striped coat. Then his suspicion being still further 
 aroused, he commanded the guard : 
 
 "You go get the warden. I want to speak to him." 
 
 The guard again controlled his look of amusement.
 
 and taking a certain delight in playing his role of 
 innocent ignorance, causing perhaps a considerable 
 degree of annoyance to this crank commissioner, he 
 said: 
 
 "I'm sorry, Boss, but us guards ain't supposed to 
 take orders from prisoners. We's working for the 
 state," and he walked insolently away. 
 
 The judge in his growing apprehension and anxiety 
 for the man whom he had been most anxious to see 
 and learn to know, now lost his temper. 
 
 "Look here," he called after the guard, "you evi- 
 dently don't know who I am. I demand that you get 
 the warden. I won't be treated this way," and he felt 
 his face flushing violently. 
 
 At these words the guard's cat-like humor vanished, 
 and he felt afraid to play with his mouse any longer. 
 So far as he was concerned, the warden was all-power- 
 ful at present, but politics had been known to change. 
 The commissioner was very highly connected, he 
 understood, and with a good-natured grin he returned 
 to Judge Sawyer's cell. 
 
 "I'll take a message to the warden for you," he 
 offered, assuming an air of graciousness that sat ill 
 upon him. "Of course it's against the rules; but I'll 
 do it, being's you're new at the game. I always feel 
 sorry for you jail-birds." 
 
 "Rules be hanged!" the judge exclaimed irritably. 
 "You go tell that warden that I've changed my mind, 
 and that he's got to let me out of this place. Double- 
 quick, too!" 
 
 The guard took himself off. Upon his face there 
 was a well-pleased, gloating expression. So he had 
 helped his master to frustrate the commissioner's 
 plans! He was indeed to be congratulated. It would 
 surely mean a raise in salary and prison perquisites to
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 369 
 
 him! He hurried from the cell block to the warden's 
 private apartment. 
 
 Judge Sawyer paced up and down. He was angry 
 with himself now for determining not to stick to the 
 plan which he had first adopted; and yet he honestly 
 felt in his present mood that it would be a grave mis- 
 take to do so. He could not let that poor blind man 
 die without what few personal comforts he might give 
 him. And also he must try to procure at least a little 
 more information about his experiences in prison. 
 His letter had shown that his point of view was not 
 that of the ordinary prisoner, but rather that he pos- 
 sessed a master-mind which, having been thrown back 
 upon itself, had developed a keen ability to look into 
 the future from an unbiased standpoint. 
 
 Judge Sawyer hated to disappoint the other pris- 
 oners. He feared that to abandon his plan of staying 
 among them two weeks would make most of them 
 lose faith in him. Yet discretion was the better part 
 of valor. He must give up his former scheme and be- 
 gin to work along the lines of the bigger and better 
 plans suggested to his mind by the blind man's letter. 
 
 His cell door opened. "Well, Commissioner," the 
 warden's well modulated voice greeted him. "So you 
 want to see me, eh? I was afraid you'd find it too 
 hard! The effect of a place like this upon a man of 
 your caliber is very different from its effect upon one 
 of the criminal class a class entirely apart from us 
 and our ways of thinking. Now what can I do for 
 you? Want to be released, I understand." 
 
 Judge Sawyer found it difficult to retain his usual 
 equanimity of manner. How he would like to tell this 
 fiend in human form exactly what he thought of him! 
 Instead he said in much his usual voice : 
 
 "Yes, warden, I've had enough of it. I must bathe
 
 370 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 and dress at once. Something important has called me 
 out." 
 
 The warden exchanged a sinister look of gratifica- 
 tion with the guard, and then leading the way, escorted 
 Judge Sawyer from the cell block and on out until they 
 reached the warden's apartments, so different in their 
 sunlit spaciousness from the vile holes he had just 
 been in. 
 
 As Judge Sawyer bathed and dressed his mind was 
 full of plans for the future, and into his eyes had come 
 the look which Marjory had so often seen. 
 
 "Warden," he said, running lightly down the steps 
 to the warden's office, where that gentleman had pre- 
 ceded him and was now busy at his desk, "I'm going 
 over to the hospital to see that blind man. Kindly 
 get one of your men to pack my bag. I'll return here 
 for it in a few moments." 
 
 The warden almost fell out of his desk chair, then 
 scrambled to his feet. His face went deadly pale, and 
 his hands shook. 
 
 Judge Sawyer watched him, understanding that he 
 had in some way taken him unpleasantly by surprise. 
 
 The warden swallowed hard two or three times 
 before he spoke. By now a deep purple hue had taken 
 the place of the pallor. Finally he controlled his voice 
 enough to speak. 
 
 "Why, er the man is not in the hospital, Judge. 
 The truth is 
 
 "He's not dead?" Judge Sawyer broke in, alarmed 
 at the warden's manner, and at once recalling the pa- 
 thetic words of number BBXII'S letter coupled with 
 what the guard had told him. 
 
 The warden slowly shook his head, and the judge, 
 regaining his assurance, said in a cold voice of warn- 
 ing: 
 
 "Be careful what you say, Warden. In spite of all
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 371 
 
 you did to keep me from learning anything, I've 
 learned much! Don't add a lie to the other things I 
 know about you!" 
 
 The warden staightened up, his low-browed, bully- 
 ing face assuming a look of indignation which fell 
 quite short of any convincing quality. 
 
 "The fellow became extremely obstreperous while 
 you were in the tailor shop to-day," he added with a 
 great show of holding his outraged temper, "and we 
 had to resort to the punishment cells." 
 
 "And / was told he was dying of a hemorrhage!" 
 Judge Sawyer broke in. 
 
 The warden gave a start in spite of himself. "Why, 
 er he did have a slight passage of blood, I believe, 
 but it was only from anger. He is quite all right ; and 
 so strong it took two guards to hold him! He was 
 er trying to injure hilmself," the warden lied glibly. 
 "Such desperadoes as he is often resort to that. We 
 had to put him away in order to protect him from 
 himself as well as to protect ourselves from him. He's 
 a dangerous and vicious man, I tell you, Commis- 
 sioner." 
 
 Judge Sawyer looked skeptical at this most im- 
 probable tale. He had seen the man. It was impos- 
 sible to believe that the poor emaciated creature had 
 enough strength to do anything except shuffle pain- 
 fully across the courtyard. But holding his counsel 
 the judge said: 
 
 "Then I shall go there to speak with him. Come 
 on," and he made for the door. 
 
 Not, however, before the warden had managed to 
 convey by a look toward one of the guards a direc- 
 tion that he, a protection ghoul of the warden, must 
 reach the underground punishment cell by a quick route 
 known only to the warden's office, while the warden
 
 372 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 himself, accompanied by Judge Sawyer, reached it by 
 well-planned circumnavigation. 
 
 The guard scurried out through the back door, and 
 the warden, once more his voluble self, led Judge 
 Sawyer down a long flight of steps, in and out and 
 around through many passageways and finally down 
 into a cellar corridor. 
 
 The backs of two guards carrying something awk- 
 wardly between them were seen disappearing through 
 a door at the opposite end as Judge Sawyer approached 
 the punishment cells; but in his eagerness to see that 
 the blind man was safe, he did not notice this. 
 
 Judge Sawyer and the warden reached a sheet- 
 iron door with small openings at the top and bottom. 
 The warden inserted a key. Judge Sawyer's anger 
 was boiling at the very idea that a sick and blind man 
 should have been placed in such a hole, and had opened 
 his lips to speak when a guard, stepping up, saluted 
 them. 
 
 "He's been took out of there, Warden," he said in a 
 voice well coached in seeming courtesy. "He didn't 
 stay but a few minutes. The P. K. was afraid it might 
 be bad for his condition, so he taken him away to the 
 hospital this morning." 
 
 The warden gave the clever guard an approving 
 look which the latter quickly translated into dollars 
 and cents. 
 
 Throwing the door open, the warden showed Judge 
 Sawyer that the cell was empty. 
 
 "Well, I didn't say anything before, Warden," the 
 judge remarked, "but you doubtless know what I 
 think ! I'm glad the P. K. at least had sense and com- 
 passion enough to remove him! We will go to the 
 hospital," and turning on his heel Judge Sawyer led 
 the way upstairs again. 
 
 By first one pretext and then another the warden
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 373 
 
 delayed the journey a few seconds here and a few sec- 
 onds there, until by the time he and the judge had 
 reached the hospital, number BBXII lay quietly settled 
 on a long white bed near the door. 
 
 Judge Sawyer went up to him. The man's head 
 was bandaged, and about his wrists there were fresh 
 strips of gauze through which the blood was slowly 
 seeping. 
 
 Judge Sawyer looked at him critically. He was in a 
 deep stupor. His breath came in labored gasps. Across 
 the pallid, nobly moulded face there was, as the judge 
 thought, the shadow of the cross. Intense sympathy 
 sprang to the judge's eyes. A hand was laid upon his 
 shoulder. Quickly glancing about he saw Chaplain 
 Lewis looking at him, a queer expression upon his 
 face. It was strangely convulsed, and yet in it there 
 had blossomed a strength of purpose which had de- 
 stroyed its usual sensitive reticence. 
 
 "Judge Sawyer/' the chaplain said, his slender 
 youthful chin taking on a surprisingly square look, 
 "there has been foul play somewhere. This poor man's 
 wrists show he has recently been put through what the 
 demi-god there," looking boldly toward the warden, 
 "calls 'putting the fear of God in his heart' ! I don't 
 know what the poor fellow had done; but he is blind 
 and ill and should not have received such punishment. 
 I was present just now when he was hustled in here. 
 His peaceful sleep is the result of this!" and the chap- 
 lain indignantly produced a hypodermic syringe which 
 had been dropped upon the floor in the hurry of prep- 
 aration for the commissioner's inspection. 
 
 The scene that ensued was long to be remembered 
 by warden and guards alike ; and when, late that night, 
 Judge Sawyer tiptoed from the crude hospital room, 
 it was to leave Dr. Deever, his life-long friend for
 
 374 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 whom he had telegraphed, anxiously bringing the poor 
 wreck upon the bed back to life and consciousness. 
 
 Public opinion the entire state should be aroused! 
 Steps should be taken to destroy forever the black blot 
 of crime which had for so long been represented by 
 Warsaw Prison. Judge Sawyer determined he would 
 fight the warden and his tools would fight the polit- 
 ical ring and its rottenness and would awaken the lay- 
 man and his justice if it took the last drop of blood 
 in his body! 
 
 He boarded the train for Hampton.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 STANLEY, upon Deacon Dennison's identification of 
 him, had been forced not only to cease his histrionic 
 endeavors to convince the hospital authorities that he 
 still suffered from aphasia, but with no display of 
 gentleness or sympathy for his weakened physical 
 condition, had been promptly arrested and taken to the 
 city prison, that "devil's antechamber" in Hampton. 
 
 In this place the careless carnival of filth and im- 
 purity which holds sway is not confined to permeating 
 the walls, floors, bunks, and the entire atmosphere, but 
 is even more evident in the unremitting obscenities of 
 the inmates, whose flippant foulness of thought, deed, 
 and speech was appalling. It was an old scene to 
 Stanley. He had been in the New York Tombs many 
 times; but now in his changed mood, wrought by the 
 kindness of little Miss Coudaire, Dr. Deever, and even 
 the old negro who had continually tried to amuse 
 him, this prison seemed far more disorderly than any 
 he had ever known, and more as if it "embodied the 
 careless civic attitude toward growing insanity and 
 crime." A half-way house between respectability and 
 disgrace, it held much the position in the community 
 of a jolly ne'er-do-well. It was the missing link be- 
 tween criminal and uncriminal man, as judged by 
 Society. 
 
 Instead of the little nurse's kindly ministrations, 
 Stanley now received the attention of slovenly minded 
 subordinates who were there to gather the harvest of 
 tips which they extracted from high and low alike. 
 Theirs was not a serious or brutal job, but rather one 
 where a livelihood was possible without any danger of 
 overwork or anxiety a sort of a major graftship 
 
 375
 
 376 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 which was passed along to them for polling services 
 rendered at some time or other for the benefit of the 
 virtuous political powers that be. 
 
 A city prison is very different from those conducted 
 by the state, and among its heterogeneous mass of the 
 gutter's scum, poor dazed foreigners, men of culture, 
 petty thieves and the like, there exists a freedom of 
 life and speech which is entirely absent from the 
 latter. Many of those imprisoned fully expect to be 
 released long before the time comes to transfer them 
 to a more permanent place. The guards have little 
 power, and so physical abuse does not exist. But so 
 low, so thoroughly rotten and full of debasing influ- 
 ence is the whole perditions place, that self-complacent 
 citizens avoid it as they would a place of pestilence, 
 yet take no steps to eradicate the wholly unnecessary 
 evils which have become associated with it. 
 
 Like those cases in the courts where through the 
 interminable postponements and delays, secured 
 through technical procedure, a plaintiff will starve 
 before justice awards him his dues, so Stanley waited 
 day after day and week after week for his summons 
 to the courtroom. Finally, after more than a year had 
 passed, word was brought to him one day that the 
 prosecuting attorney was ready to take up his case, 
 and that it had been put upon the court calendar for 
 the following week. 
 
 The trial was soon over, and Stanley with an in- 
 creased bitterness against the existing social order 
 heard himself sentenced to State's Prison, the next 
 step, and the highest step, in his curriculum of crime. 
 
 For the first time in his life he felt that he would 
 be willing to suffer self-annihilation. During his months 
 in this city prison he had acquired a lesson which all
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 377 
 
 the other institutions of which he had been a part had 
 by chance failed to teach him that of resorting to 
 drugs. 
 
 Prisoners consigned to the Hampton Prison are al- 
 lowed to keep whatever personal property they have, 
 and so during recreation hours spent in the courtyard 
 and hallways, Stanley practiced upon his fellow pris- 
 oners the only profession he knew. He soon possessed 
 enough money to enable him to enter the arms of 
 Morpheus in poppy fields of slumber where rosy 
 dreams come true until the awakening! 
 
 It was after his trial and during his last night in 
 this place that Stanley attempted to cheat the state 
 of one of its future slaves by the administering of an 
 overdose of this Elixir of Death. But the stars in their 
 courses had reserved something better for him, and 
 the next day, in spite of his struggles, Stanley found 
 himself upon the train bound for Warsaw Prison, sen- 
 tenced for his attack upon the Frenchman. 
 
 As he looked out of the car window he recalled those 
 other journeys he had taken for a like purpose. In 
 memory he went over a journey of many years before, 
 in which he had seen the beautiful forest world for the 
 first time. As if in a dream he now saw again that 
 village of cosy houses, sparkling golden pink stream, 
 and flashing birds. Once again the air seemed filled 
 with the hope and love of their rollicking song but 
 almost before he knew it he was inside of that black 
 wagon with its grated door he had reached a big 
 bare building he was in its dungeon, the strait- jacket 
 crushing out his very life. The scene changed. The 
 daily routine of the Reformatory passed in hideous 
 detail before him ; but from this picture, too, his char- 
 acteristic of hope had soon drawn him. He was out 
 in the world, a free man. His heart was full of ten- 
 derness for the lad who was less fortunate than him-
 
 378 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 self. He would rescue him. Together they would be 
 happy 
 
 A dark figure followed him persecution, protected 
 by law, surrounded him. Then came the wild night 
 of his experience in the saloon, and after that 
 
 Even now in memory the sweet kindliness of Miss 
 Coudaire's smile interrupted his revery and warmed 
 his heart. The little round doctor with his beneficent 
 eyes seemed a prophecy of good; and yet 
 
 He was going back to prison. Sunk lower than ever, 
 degraded utterly by the additional mastery which 
 opium now had over him, he was going back to an 
 existence worse than death. 
 
 "Right in here," a pleasant voiced young man in a 
 dark gray uniform said to Stanley as he stepped from 
 the automobile in which he had come from the station. 
 "Your case will be attended to in just a moment," and 
 leaving behind them the guard who had accompanied 
 him from the city, the uniformed official led Stanley 
 into a big cheery room, just off from an office which 
 looked like that of a hotel. 
 
 The young official softly closed the door, and Stan- 
 ley found himself quite alone, except for an elderly 
 gentleman seated at a big comfortable desk piled high 
 with papers. This person had not raised his eyes 
 at his entrance, but had continued to write, folding, 
 and then neatly piling together many stacks of letters. 
 
 Stanley stared about, nonplussed. What in the 
 world did it mean? Where was he? He seated him- 
 self and waited; but his gaze roved curiously about 
 the sunlit apartment which overlooked a garden full 
 of bloom on the south, and a wide grass-grown court 
 on the north. Why had he, a prisoner, been brought 
 to a place like this? There must be some mistake.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 379 
 
 He was supposed to have been on his way to prison. 
 He felt the whole world whirling about him at the 
 queer inexplicable situation in which he now found 
 himself. He recalled what he had heard about the 
 eventual effects of the drug he had been taking. Per- 
 haps that was the explanation this was only a drug- 
 dream, an hallucination! 
 
 But no, he realized that the effects of the drug had 
 begun to wear off. He felt sick and nervous because 
 of the lack of it. 
 
 There were many windows in the room, with boxes 
 of growing plants beneath. Ranged along all four of 
 its sides, against restfully tinted walls, were clean 
 shelves of books. Above these there were rich-toned 
 pictures of woods and fields which made one feel the 
 very breath of spring. 
 
 Stanley stirred in his chair. A discomfort such as 
 he had never known took possession of him. He felt 
 much as a rodent burrowing in the dark would feel 
 if it were suddenly confronted with a blinding ray of 
 sunlight. Fascinated, his eyes would not stay down- 
 cast upon his shabby knees as he tried to make them 
 do. There was something about the room which 
 caught and held his attention in spite of his feeling of 
 awkwardness and perturbation. Unaccustomed as he 
 had been during his entire life to anything even re- 
 motely approaching attractive surroundings, this neat 
 and simple room seemed palatial indeed. 
 
 Presently a sound of tramping feet reached him 
 from outside one of the open windows at which white 
 curtains blew gently to and fro in the soft May air. 
 Tramp, tramp, went dozens of feet. A military com- 
 mand reached his ears; and then as a full brass band 
 filled the air with martial music, wheeling from the 
 shadow of the house and swiftly attaining the court- 
 yard there marched into view battalion after battalion
 
 380 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 of men. Stanley could see that they were dressed in 
 a trim uniform of dark gray, their bright buttons 
 catching and reflecting the sinking sun as they wheeled, 
 halted, dropped arms, and then came to attention, a 
 long splendid line of them. 
 
 The elderly gentleman at the desk rose and ap- 
 proached Stanley. 
 
 "They drill very well, don't they?" he said pleas- 
 antly, turning his eyes toward the window. 
 
 Stanley stood up and looked in the direction of the 
 cadets, and though the other gave him a keen sweep- 
 ing glance, when Stanley again looked at him his 
 gaze had apparently continued fastened upon the men 
 outside. 
 
 Stanley put a shaking hand to his head. Had the 
 drug really proven traitor instead of friend at last? 
 A violent trembling seized him. The scene was bound 
 to be an hallucination! Through white lips he man- 
 aged to speak: 
 
 "Where am I?" he asked hoarsely, a terrific long- 
 ing for the drug sweeping over him. In spite of its 
 treacherous dealings he must procure a dose at once, 
 or he would go mad, sure enough, raving mad ! "For 
 God's sake, tell me where I am?" he repeated, his eyes 
 rolling wildly. 
 
 Judge Sawyer laid a kindly hand upon his arm. 
 "You are in Warsaw prison," he answered. I am 
 Warden Sawyer. And you?" 
 
 Stanley collapsed into a chair, his eyes set, his 
 lips working horribly. So it was true. The drug was 
 playing him false ! Nevertheless he must have more 
 in order to withstand the shock. 
 
 "Morphine," he whispered. "For God's sake! 
 Quick!" 
 
 Judge Sawyer understood the request perfectly. He 
 received each day many such wrecks as this poor youth
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 381 
 
 before him. He had learned through experience that 
 such cases must be handled scientifically. He rang a 
 bell. The uniformed official who had conducted Stan- 
 ley into the room appeared. 
 
 "One of the internes, quick !" he commanded. "Mor- 
 phine case. Collapse. Hurry !" and he bent over Stan- 
 ley's bowed and shaking body. 
 
 "Everything will be all right in a minute," he en- 
 couraged. "I've sent for the drug." 
 
 "A young physician, also in uniform, now entered 
 the room. Deftly rolling up Stanley's sleeve he ad- 
 ministered a hypodermic injection of that -which had 
 become as necessay as air to Stanley. 
 
 Soon the drug began to have its desired effect. The 
 patient's eyes lost their look of wildness. His hands 
 relaxed their rigidity, and a half smile parted his still 
 trembling lips. 
 
 Warden Sawyer did not speak, but stood waiting 
 until such time as the man's nerves were under con- 
 trol. He knew exactly what was going through the 
 young man's mind he had seen so many, many like 
 him during the past year and a quarter since he had 
 managed to expose the rottenness of Warsaw Prison 
 and put it upon the sound basis of a humanitarian 
 institution. Those like Stanley coming to the prison 
 with the expectation of meeting with the usual cruel 
 and unjust reception tendered in the vast majority 
 of prisons, were invariably unnerved at first by Judge 
 Sawyer's new method. 
 
 When the dose of morphine had temporarily re- 
 stored Stanley's habitual air of indifference to his sur- 
 roundings he exclaimed to the elderly gentleman 
 standing before him : 
 
 "Say, what you giving us? I know this ain't a 
 prison." 
 
 Judge Sawyer's keen eyes had seen the compara-
 
 382 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 tively freshly healed scar upon Stanley's forehead 
 he could guess almost to the last detail the poor fel- 
 low's recent career, he was so exactly like hundreds 
 of others. So now he felt he could venture a move 
 toward gaining Stanley's confidence. It was one of 
 his pet theories that incoming prisoners must not be 
 questioned in the old diabolical manner as to their age, 
 name, parentage, former crimes, and the number of 
 times they had served sentence. He felt that their 
 stories should be gotten out of them by a more friendly 
 and gradual process. By showing sympathy and 
 understanding he usually succeeded eventually in get- 
 ting the truth. 
 
 "Of course you know Warsaw isn't what it used to 
 be," he said. "We are conducting it more upon the 
 lines of a hospital " 
 
 He saw Stanley's eyes brighten at these words ; and 
 so taking his cue he went on: 
 
 "I can see you have been feeling pretty rocky 
 lately, eh? Head got smashed up, or something, didn't 
 it? Too bad. I'm sorry I had the same luck once," 
 and he pointed to a few faint scars upon his forehead. 
 "What hospital were you in?" 
 
 "North End Waterfront," Stanley answered before 
 he thought. Criminals are ever careful not to tell any- 
 thing about themselves, not even those things which 
 may chance to be to their credit. So far as their own 
 past is concerned, they consider silence golden. 
 
 "They've got good doctors there," Judge Sawyer 
 remarked, following out his carefully conceived 
 method. 
 
 Stanley's expression changed but little, yet there 
 was a slightly added glow in his eyes. 
 
 "And wonderful nurses!" Judge Sawyer went on. 
 
 This time he got the result for which he had been 
 working. Stanley's whole expression changed. Into
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 383 
 
 the emaciated face, with its good yet passive, almost 
 weak features, there had come a burning light of 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 So the young man had appreciation, Judge Sawyer 
 thought approvingly to himself. Deep down in him, 
 beneath the outward crust of hardness, or its equiv- 
 alent, indifference, which a life of crime had produced, 
 his was a nature capable of gratitude and loyalty. The 
 judge smiled. 
 
 "Well," he said, "we will probably have to put you 
 in the hospital here before assigning you to your 
 eventual position among us. You need building up. 
 By the way, what name shall I enter you under?" 
 
 Judge Sawyer knew the young man's entire history. 
 He insisted that the names of incoming prisoners, along 
 with all possible penal data, be reported to him before 
 their arrival. He felt, however, that asking the pris- 
 oner the details of the history of his life was an 
 excellent test of the prisoner's mental and moral state. 
 He had found that few responded to him truthfully 
 at first. The influence of the old regime still clung, 
 and in spite of appearances, they could not at once 
 trust this reformed way of accomplishing results. 
 
 Stanley hesitated. A man drawing moral power 
 from so treacherous a thing as a drug seldom has char- 
 acter enough not to lie, even though he knows that it 
 can do him no possible good. Liquor, drugs, lies and 
 crime are children of the same parent. Stanley did not 
 want to tell his real name, and yet there was something 
 in this man's face, something in his compelling eyes, 
 which made him answer truthfully. 
 
 "My name was Stanley, that's all, till I got out of 
 the orphan asylum. Then I took the name of Stanley 
 Gray." 
 
 Judge Sawyer made a mental note of this until 
 such time as he could enter it into the prison register
 
 384 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 with the additional commentary, "parentage un- 
 known." Nine-tenths of Warsaw's inmates had the 
 same words after their names. Judge Sawyer some- 
 times thought that this big prison, into which he was 
 throwing all his energy, was only a vast cauldron into 
 which the children of sin were sooner or later cast by 
 the prison's original founder and principal feeder, the 
 orphanage. 
 
 Breaking into his own thoughts he remarked aloud : 
 "I'm sorry to see you feeling so badly, Gray. A 
 young man of your age twenty-one, isn't it?" 
 
 "No, nearly twenty-four," Stanley answered, hard- 
 ly realizing he had done so. 
 
 "Well, as I was saying," the judge went on, hav- 
 ing also made a mental note of this statement, "a 
 young man of your age should be as robust and fine 
 a specimen of humanity as those boys out there," 
 pointing out the window to the battalions who were 
 now standing, caps held upon their breasts, in an 
 attitude of reverent attention as the "Star Spangled 
 Banner" was played and the Stars and Stripes were 
 lowered for the night. 
 
 Stanley's eyes followed the judge's, and a queer 
 expression passed over his face. Once again doubts 
 assailed him. 
 
 "Say," he said in his old-time manner of one used 
 to being persecuted, and trying to be manly through 
 the harassment, "what yer kiddin' me this way for? 
 I don't get you. Where am I, anyhow ?" 
 
 Warden Sawyer turned to a framed list of names 
 upon the wall, at the top of which was printed the 
 words : 
 
 "Fraternal Welfare Association of Warsaw Prison." 
 
 "Don't you see I've told you where you are?" he 
 said. "I would not lie to you."
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 385 
 
 Stanley's expression did not change at his words; 
 but again looking out of the window he asked : 
 
 "But what's that moving picture army out there?" 
 pointing to the cadets now returning the way they 
 had come. I've been in prison all my life that is 
 practically all my life Reform School, Reformatory, 
 and the Pen, to say nothing of the Home, and I never 
 saw anything like that before in prison!" 
 
 "No, I'm sorry to say few of us have," Judge 
 Sawyer agreed. "But we shall!" and a triumphant 
 note sounded in his voice while his eyes seemed to 
 see a vision afar off. "The answer to your question 
 is very simple, my boy. Warsaw Prison is now an 
 institution for the remaking of men. We have the 
 men under military discipline and training. This room 
 in which you stand is the warden's office my office. 
 Soon you will be taken to the hospital. We now use 
 that means instead of a dark cell for a receiving sta- 
 tion! The greatest physiologists, psychologists, crim- 
 inologists, as well as neurologists, of the state will 
 examine you. After that they will keep you under 
 their care for a while until you are strong and well. By 
 that time all of us who are your friends and not your 
 enemies, remember will see to it that you are taught 
 to do the thing for which you are best fitted. After you 
 have learned a trade and been given a job (for War- 
 saw has done away with the old slavery system, and 
 pays her men, making them in turn pay their outside 
 debts ) , it simply rests with you as to whether you stay 
 a criminal or become a man!" 
 
 At the judge's words a queer sense as if of being 
 drawn out of himself, of being carried away, went 
 through Stanley. He felt excited and yet comforted 
 and inspired in a way he had never felt before. He 
 longed to show the warden what his kindness meant 
 to him. He was eager to commence his new life and
 
 386 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 try to prove to this man that he was worthy of the 
 trust he was putting in him. A feeling swept over him 
 akin to that which he had known only once before, 
 that of his affectionate solicitude for the hunchback; 
 yet even now he could not bring himself to realize 
 the reality of his surroundings. 
 
 Again there returned to his mind the memory of 
 the hope which had filled him on his escape from the 
 Home of His Lost Sheep. Could it be that life held 
 for him any possibility of good? There had already 
 fallen to his lot some prophetic happenings, as for in- 
 stance the revelation of true kindliness in the tender 
 ministrations of the little hospital nurse ! Tears, born 
 of weakness and the shock of the unforeseen promise 
 of better things in store for him sprang to his eyes. 
 
 Judge Sawyer, seeing that Stanley had stood about 
 as much emotion as was good for him, said : 
 
 "I know what you have been through, my boy. I 
 know it has been little short of hell! I want to help 
 you. I believe in you and want you to become one of 
 my boys, such as you have seen drilling out there," 
 waving toward the window. "You have wronged 
 Society, but Society has wronged you, too. Here I hope 
 you will find a remedy for all your suffering." Then 
 turning to the desk, he again rang for an official. 
 
 "Maloney," he said, addressing the young man who 
 now entered, "kindly conduct Stanley Gray to Dr. 
 Deever." 
 
 "Yes, Warden," he answered, saluting. 
 
 Judge Sawyer again turned to Stanley. "Remem- 
 ber what I have said to you, my boy. As soon as Dr. 
 Deever consents, I will see you again." 
 
 Stanley followed his guide from the room and 
 Judge Sawyer returned to his desk. In the judge's 
 eyes there burned the look of one inspired ; and reseat- 
 ing himself he resumed the task of sorting his mail.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 387 
 
 A sudden thought occurring to him, however, he 
 jumped up and stepped to the door. 
 
 "Maloney,"' he called to the man who was conduct- 
 ing Stanley down the sunny hallway, immaculate in 
 its white paint. 
 
 "Yes, sir," he replied, coming to respectful atten- 
 tion at the warden's summons. 
 
 "Suppose you ask Richard Dennison if he is able to 
 take this young man to Dr. Deever. I need you. 
 You'll find him in the roof colony." 
 
 "Yes, Warden," Maloney answered saluting, and 
 motioning Stanley to follow him, they proceeded down 
 the hall. 
 
 Judge Sawyer returned to his desk. Yes, that was 
 the idea, he thought, pleased at himself. Richard Den- 
 nison was decidedly the man to handle this special 
 case. Richard Dennison always handled the warden's 
 most difficult cases. In spite of the fact that he was 
 blind and very ill, his tremendous strength of will and 
 defiant determination to use his good influence in the 
 prison, had made of him one of the new warden's 
 most trusted and valuable helpmates. The judge often 
 thought that this man, who had suffered so terribly 
 at the hands of the State, was now proving himself 
 of more worth to the State than was the warden 
 himself. After all, it had been Richard Dennison's 
 plan which had been accepted for the remodeling and 
 reforming of Warsaw; for after Judge Sawyer had 
 discovered him that night in the prison hospital over a 
 year ago, things had moved swiftly for them both. Hav- 
 ing succeeded in arousing the people to a realization 
 of the disgrace of the state's principal prison, from his 
 own purse Judge Sawyer had started a fund for a 
 new prison. The fund had attained large proportions 
 almost over night, and the state authorities, accepting 
 this aid, had added the necessary appropriation from
 
 388 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 the state treasury; and so Judge Sawyer's dream had 
 quickly gained reality. 
 
 Stanley and his guide entered a long glassed-in 
 pavilion on the roof of and running the entire length 
 of the great building, which was constructed in the 
 shape of an E. On either side of this pavilion, with 
 an outlook off across tilled farmlands succeeded by 
 woods, there were rows of beds in which lay gaunt 
 men, many of them too ill to notice Stanley as he 
 passed. 
 
 ''These are our tubercular inmates," Maloney in- 
 formed him. "Many of them were literally dying in 
 dank dark cells when Warden Sawyer came to us." 
 
 They had reached the farther end of the passage- 
 way, and were about to descend a fight of iron steps, 
 when Maloney stopped and turned back to meet a 
 tall white-haired man whose large eyes were strangely 
 wide and staring, and who had just appeared from 
 the central wing of the pavilion. 
 
 Addressing him with an air of respectful affection, 
 Maloney chatted with him for several moments, and 
 then handing him some papers from his pocket they 
 approached Stanley as he stood by the stairway rail. 
 
 The man was blind, Stanley noticed with a pang of 
 sympathy ! 
 
 "Stanley Gray," Stanley's companion was saying, 
 "this is Richard Dennison, the president of our Fra- 
 ternal Welfare Association." 
 
 The blind man put out his hand, his eyes roving 
 about trying to focus themselves in the right direction. 
 "Glad to see you," he said, his lips smiling, though his 
 eyes were strangely stilled and saddened. "I believe 
 our warden has given me the privilege of conducting 
 you through the prison before turning you over to Dr. 
 Deever," and his face lighted up at the reference to 
 both these men. "It's a wonderful place, this Warsaw
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 389 
 
 Prison. I believe it will revolutionize the whole penal 
 system !" 
 
 Stanley stood speechless. To be told that he was 
 to be guided about and shown the prison by a blind 
 man was just one more of the impossibilities and 
 absurdities of this drug-dream through which he was 
 so evidently passing. An impulse to test his own 
 waking state by a shout was checked only by his in- 
 nate sense of sympathy for the man before him. 
 Richard Dennison's hand was now fumbling along the 
 wall in an endeavor to get his bearings ; but his proudly 
 held head and splendid face, in which two eyes, as 
 dauntless as ever, looked bravely out into the dark, 
 was turned toward Stanley as he spoke. 
 
 "Isn't it wonderful to see those fellows," he said 
 waving off in the direction in which he thought his 
 sick companions lay. "And just to think how they used 
 to be shut up in filth instead of in this God-given 
 gift of sunlight and air. Oh, I tell you we're a happy 
 lot of fellows since Warden Sawyer came to us ! That 
 man has meant an awful lot in my life and 
 if I had been fortunate enough to have been under 
 his guardianship when I was your age an age only 
 a few years more than that at which I made my first 
 misstep, well, I guess I would not have to fumble for 
 that stair rail now. Where is it anyway?" bravely 
 smiling and feeling out until he finally caught at the 
 railing by Stanley's side. "Here we are," and he 
 rapidly descended the stairs, followed by Stanley, the 
 while talking in an animated, happy voice. 
 
 From one window after another of the corridors 
 through which they now passed, Stanley was shown 
 the various points of interest the snug little cottages 
 of the farmer-prisoners, where those who stood high- 
 est in good behavior were allowed to have their fami- 
 lies come to visit them occasionally the big machine
 
 390 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 shop where parts of governmental guns and other 
 mechanical apparatus were made the pottery works, 
 the electrical plant the laboratory. Down near the 
 water's edge a small shipyard might be seen, a busy 
 hive in which men in the near gray uniform of this 
 Spotless Town were energetically moving about. 
 
 Finally Stanley spoke : "Say," he said, just as he 
 had said to the warden, "watcher kiddin' me this 
 way for, anyhow? I can't get you. If I'm going to be 
 sent up, why don't they send me up and quit this 
 foolin' ?" 
 
 His companion paused and turned his inspired face 
 toward him. He, too, like the warden, was used to 
 disbeliefs from incoming prisoners. Being himself a 
 prisoner who had been regenerated through the judge's 
 good works, he was now one of the new type of 
 trusties who had in large part replaced the services 
 of men hired as guards by the State. Warsaw had be- 
 come a self-governing body of men, where those who 
 wished might rise to a respected and useful place in 
 the government of the prison. Understanding the 
 mental condition which was now induced in Stanley's 
 mind, used as it evidently had been to the old idea of 
 punishment rather than education for convicts, he did 
 not now attempt any explanation. He had found that 
 words of explanation did not help matters much. 
 If he was dealing with old timers, as in Stanley's case, 
 a few weeks of the new prison life was the only thing 
 which could convince a prisoner of the reality of the 
 reform which had swept over Warsaw Prison. So 
 now completely ignoring Stanley's question, he led 
 him rapidly through another corridor and into one 
 connecting the middle wing of the E with the other 
 wing. 
 
 Then he spoke : "Right in there," pointing to an 
 open door, "is our school. When you are better you'll
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 391 
 
 doubtless have the pleasure of studying there. We 
 have classes from the first grammar school grade up 
 through the entire curriculum of high school a 
 really fine course !" 
 
 Stanley looked into the room where he saw many 
 heads, old and young alike, bent eagerly over rows 
 of desks. A young man upon the platform, dressed 
 just as were the other occupants of the room, was 
 lecturing to the assembly. Stanley's ear caught only 
 a few of his sentences before they passed on. 
 
 "And so it is," he was saying, "that when you get 
 out of here and go to farming, you will find that soils 
 of different sections, or in different parts of the same 
 section, are severally adapted to the propagation of 
 some particular product, dependent upon the propor- 
 tions of the chemical ingredients which they respect- 
 ively contain. Therefore, it is a matter of the first 
 importance, before deciding what crop you should at- 1 
 tempt to raise, to have the soil of your farm sub- 
 jected to chemical analysis for the purpose of ascer- 
 taining what crop will prove most profitable." 
 
 Stanley looked in utter astonishment at his guide, 
 now walking ahead of him. He could not get his 
 bearings! Was this strange and independent blind 
 man who walked along as if he could see, telling him 
 the truth? Was this indeed a prison? It could not 
 be ! In prisons men were not taught what to do when 
 they got outside not except in the manner he himself 
 had been taught, accidentally, and that a profession 
 which only led back to the prison again. 
 
 But his puzzling thoughts were cut short. "Here we 
 are at our goal," he heard his guide say. Passing 
 through a double glass door Stanley found him- 
 self in a hospital ward. Through this he was led into 
 a private office at the end. Immediately upon their 
 entrance a familiar looking little man dropped some
 
 392 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 paraphernalia he had been working with and stepped 
 up to them. 
 
 Stanley's heart quickened as he recognized him, but 
 he made no move. He remembered Dr. Deever's kind- 
 ness to him, and would have liked to have spoken ; but 
 it is against the ethics of a criminal to claim friend- 
 ship with any man first. Most of them have been 
 fooled too often, and prefer to have the other make 
 the advance. 
 
 "Dr. Deever," Richard Dennison said, "I have a 
 new patient for you Stanley Gray. The warden puts 
 him directly in your care." 
 
 The little doctor put out his hand, greeting Stanley 
 with a few words and with a kindly manner full of 
 personal interest. 
 
 In his surprise Stanley could not take the proffered 
 hand, but stood staring at the man before him. 
 
 Dr. Deever took no heed of this, however, and pro- 
 ceeding cheerfully, said : 
 
 "Glad to see you. Come right in here," and he 
 led the way to a small office off from the first. "You 
 have the record, I suppose?" turning and addressing 
 the blind man. 
 
 Richard answered in the affirmative. 
 
 "Good," the little doctor exclaimed, taking the prof- 
 fered papers and reading them. 
 
 "Urn," he said, finishing them quickly. "Too bad." 
 Then again looking at Stanley, he went on : 
 
 "You have my sympathy, my boy. It's a bad habit 
 you have acquired ; but we'll soon get you so you won't 
 need old Morpheus any more. Won't wej, Presi- 
 dent?" 
 
 Richard smiled. "We certainly will," he said heart- 
 ily. "Nothing like Dr. Deever here for putting heart 
 and soul and health into you," and feeling out he 
 placed his hand affectionately upon the doctor's shout-
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 393 
 
 der. Then a sudden paroxysm of violent coughing 
 seized him. His poor blind eyes took on a strained 
 expression which was dreadful in their sightlessness, 
 and groping out he caught hold of and desperately 
 clung to the back of a chair, his breath coming in 
 short gasps between the tearing, racking cough which 
 shook his emaciated body. 
 
 Across Dr. Deever's face there passed a distressed 
 and alarmed expression. Gently he took hold of the 
 suffering man and almost bodily lifted him into an easy 
 chair where, the paroxysm having soon passed, he lay 
 limp and white. 
 
 Dr. Deever bent over him anxiously, his hand upon 
 his heart; and as Richard regained a little of his 
 strength which had left him at the convulsive attack, 
 Dr. Deever said, taking his hand in his : 
 
 "Now look here, my friend, I hate to preach, but 
 you know what I've told you ! That ambition of yours 
 is too big for ypur strength, entirely too big. You 
 simply must not do so much. Neither I, nor any of 
 the rest of us," waving toward the ward in a compre- 
 hensive gesture, "can possibly be responsible for your 
 life if you do ! You've done more now than a dozen 
 ordinary men." 
 
 Richard smiled, then broke in : "My life, you know 
 the little that's left of it, is for the boys in gray, 
 Dr. Deever. What other good is it?" and a bitter 
 quality momentarily showed itself in his smile. 
 
 "Your life is worth more than anybody's in the 
 place!" Dr. Deever exclaimed. "You must know that 
 by now. Goodness, man, look at this prison." Then 
 in a livelier tone : "I'll put you to bed and tie you in, 
 if you don't begin to obey my orders ! You are doing 
 too much. And now I want you to go back and lie 
 right out in the sun for the rest of the day." 
 
 Richard Dennison rose, put his hand to his cap
 
 394 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 in a martial salute, his big eyes looking as he thought, 
 estimating direction by sound, directly into those of his 
 friend. "All right, Captain," he said playfully. "This 
 is your ship," and with a few cheery words to Stanley 
 he deftly felt his way from the room. 
 
 There were tears in the little doctor's eyes as he 
 stood watching the feeble figure, once so stalwart, 
 bravely making its way down the ward, greeted on all 
 sides by the patients he passed. 
 
 Dr. Deever turned back to Stanley. "That's the 
 finest man I ever knew!" he exclaimed heartily. 
 "Inside or outside of prison! I hope to God the 
 warden is right, and that there are many such as he 
 but I doubt it!" 
 
 Stanley had witnessed this scene in silent amaze- 
 ment. He felt as far from the true solution of the situa- 
 tion as ever, and so when Dr. Deever turned his atten- 
 tion to him once more, he did as he was bidden without 
 the slightest show of interest or understanding. 
 
 "Take off your shirt, please, Gray," he requested 
 Stanley. Then something familiar about the youth's 
 personality striking him, he said, "Weren't you in the 
 North End Hospital a little over a year ago?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," Stanley answered. 
 
 "You didn't then have this habit the warden tells 
 me you have now, did you?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 Dr. Deever thought deeply for several moments. 
 He remembered the case perfectly, a case of aphasia. 
 So this case had resulted as many did. The boy who 
 had lost his identity on being released had doubtless 
 gotten into bad company ! His incarceration in State's 
 Prison was the result. Dr. Deever recalled what he 
 had said to Miss Coudaire about his keeping up with 
 and befriending this youth. He had failed. After 
 all he knew of the fellow's helplessness, he had allowed
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 395 
 
 his urgent call to Warsaw and his ensuing work there 
 to erase these good intentions from his mind. He 
 blamed himself bitterly for Stanley's present condition. 
 In some way he must atone to this poor boy for the 
 wrong he had done him. 
 
 A thorough examination of Stanley followed, and 
 almost before he knew what had happened he found 
 himself in one of the dozen neat white beds outside in 
 the ward. 
 
 Weeks passed, in which the patient was led through 
 the very doors of purgatory in order to rid him of the 
 enemy which had so sapped his will and strength ; but 
 when the end of the heroic anti-drug treatment came, 
 Stanley found that he was stronger and more vigorous 
 than he had ever felt before. 
 
 During the days of Stanley's illness the blind man 
 had sat much by his bedside. The queer silent youth had 
 aroused Richard Dennison's interest and attracted him 
 greatly. In most instances in talking to men like Stan- 
 ley, Richard had found one of two things existing in 
 their minds: Either they possessed a deep and ex- 
 pressed feeling of bitterness against the law and all 
 things pertaining to its so-called course of justice, or 
 they had a maudlin and sentimental manner of often- 
 times repeating their desire for reformation, simply 
 and solely because of the kind treatment received at his 
 hands. But not so Stanley Gray. Silently keeping his 
 own counsel, he gave little response to either Richard 
 Dennison, Dr. Deever, or Warden Sawyer, who each 
 in turn had given him a great deal of their time and 
 attention. 
 
 Many councils were held over him by these three 
 indefatigable reformers, and every good influence in 
 the prison was brought to bear upon him. Long before 
 he could be allowed out of the watchful care of one 
 of the specialists who was studying his case, he had
 
 396 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 been taken into the horticultural garden which he had 
 noticed from the window of the warden's office. Then 
 this silent and diffident newcomer had been shown the 
 different educational and industrial advantages of the 
 new Warsaw at close range ; but never had there been 
 any appreciable response from him. One day, however, 
 when he and the blind man, under the guidance of one 
 of the physicians, had walked through the strip of 
 woodland which in its virgin beauty lay just beyond 
 the tilled farms within the prison's township, Stan- 
 ley's whole being had brightened. A glow coming into 
 his sallow cheeks, over his face there slowly spread an 
 expression which no one save little Miss Coudaire had 
 ever seen. Richard Dennison had asked Stanley to be 
 eyes for him during his walk, and much to his and 
 the psychologist's surprise and delight, they had found 
 by Stanley's answers that the youth had a real and 
 reverential love for the great out-of-doors. 
 
 Richard's heart recalled the joy his own youth 
 had taken in nature's freedom, and felt a renewed 
 and ever increasing interest in the boy's eventual 
 reformation; while the psychologist, thinking oi it en- 
 tirely from the scientific standpoint, began planning 
 some scheme whereby this good point in Stanley's 
 make-up might be used as a base to build upon for his 
 ethical development. 
 
 But try as he might during the several months which 
 now quickly passed, it seemed impossible for any one 
 to actually find out the state of Stanley's spiritual 
 growth, for though he was perfectly manageable, and 
 always well behaved, having been put at several minor 
 trades and mastering them quickly, he showed real 
 enthusiasm upon but one subject, and even in that 
 his reticence made it impossible for him to express 
 himself he had become absolutely devoted to his 
 blind friend. The warden had gained his admiration
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 397 
 
 and affection, as had Dr. Deever also; but it was for 
 Richard Dennison that his face lighted, and it was for 
 him that his mind, which was still chaotic from its at- 
 tempt to adjust itself to the new conditions, threw all 
 its prejudices aside and responded with a warmth of 
 love which the youth himself was pathetically unable to 
 express in word or deed. 
 
 It was not long before Dennison, having failed to 
 heed Dr. Deever's warning, found he was unable to 
 arise from his white bed upon the roof and go about 
 the prison. His strength, in spite of his determination 
 not to give up, seemed to be fast slipping away. After 
 the slightest effort the dreaded paroxysms of cough- 
 ing shook his frail body, and so he found that it was 
 necessary for him to stay very quiet. In consequence 
 Stanley spent most of his spare time at the man's 
 bedside. 
 
 One day after Warden Sawyer had been worrying 
 particularly about his old friend's state of health, he 
 came across a book and a letter directed in the same 
 handwriting among the piled-up mail upon his desk. 
 Opening the letter, an expression of affectionate admi- 
 ration gleamed in his eyes as he read its lines. 
 
 "Dearest and oldest of friends," the letter began. 
 "I've completed the new book. After my inspirational 
 conversation with you last fall and your many won- 
 derful letters since you began your present work, I 
 have felt it my duty to tell the world the 'story of my 
 life/ as it were. Truly I feel I was so despicable in my 
 course with respect to my husband, the memory of 
 whose love for me is my greatest treasure and re- 
 proach, that I would go through anything now to re- 
 deem my conduct. Of course the real story is covered 
 by a fiction plot, but perhaps its moral may in some 
 way reach other wives and mothers situated much as 
 I was situated then, and make them think before it
 
 398 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 is too late! Affectionately, Marjory Matthews (Rich- 
 ardson)." 
 
 Judge Sawyer untied the dainty book of "Letters." 
 Tears were in his eyes. 
 
 "Poor child," he murmured. "If only I could have 
 found those records for her!" And then opening the 
 small volume he perused its pages with an ever grow- 
 ing interest. 
 
 As he finished the pathetic story it told and laid the 
 volume down he was conscious of some one stand- 
 ing at his elbow. Looking up he saw Stanley Gray 
 gazing at him, his face full of the light which shone 
 from it when he spoke of the man he loved. 
 
 "Warden," he said, his words coming with an ef- 
 fort in his evident embarrassment, "now that my 
 reading has improved, don't you think couldn't I 
 wouldn't it be kind of nice to surprise Mr. Dennison 
 by reading something out loud to him? He's pretty 
 discouraged to-day." 
 
 The warden jumped from his chair in enthusiasm. 
 He was more delighted than he could possibly say by 
 the youth's offer, showing as it did his desire to be 
 helpful. 
 
 "It certainly would be nice, my boy," he said enthu- 
 siastically. "Here, take this little book," handing 
 him Marjory's volume. "It's exquisite, and Richard 
 would like it, though it's a little sad. Good luck to 
 you!" and with his optimistic eyes, which had started 
 so many discouraged men on the road to lasting hap- 
 piness, he watched Stanley who, flushing like a pleased 
 schoolboy, left the room with the volume beneath 
 his arm.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 FUMBLING awkwardly out, Richard Dennison grasped 
 one of Stanley's hands and, holding it tightly in his, 
 said hoarsely, his voice shaking: 
 
 "Read read that over again that last paragraph." 
 
 Stanley read the last few lines of Marjory's book 
 in his stumbling and uncertain, yet earnest, manner. 
 
 "And so it is," they ran, "Son o' mine, that in these 
 letters I have tried to tell you that because your mother 
 was a thoughtless, frivolous woman, the man she loves 
 was forced to leave you and me for God alone knows 
 where ! Each night I have prayed that if he is living, 
 happiness may have come to him. Through all these 
 years I have looked and longed for him, but in vain. 
 In my heart cheri, I now know that he was no more 
 guilty than I. It was for me that he committed the 
 wrong; and it was my most culpable conduct that in- 
 duced him to do it. I tell you this from the agony 
 of remorse that grips my last hours. I realize that I 
 have never known until very lately what life and an 
 appreciation of its true values might have meant to us 
 both. Seated at my window I look off across blue 
 waters. I see the sun sail low. It sinks behind a hill 
 and is gone; but its afterglow fills the sky. So it is 
 with your father, boy. Though actually he has been 
 out of my life for many years, the golden glow of 
 his pure love " 
 
 But Richard Dennison had become strangely moved 
 by these simple words read from a book written in the 
 popular vein of the modern story writer. 
 
 Looking up Stanley saw that his beloved friend's 
 face was convulsed with emotion. His sightless eyes 
 were raised as if in appeal toward the soft blue sky 
 
 399
 
 400 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 above him which he did not see. A radiance suffused 
 his features. Then a dry sudden sob broke from his 
 lips. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Dennison!" Stanley exclaimed, alarmed 
 at this sound. Putting the book down he bent over the 
 man upon the bed. "What's the matter?" 
 
 Richard Dennison' s thoughts came back to earth 
 at Stanley's question, and he answered in quite his 
 normal tone : 
 
 "Oh, nothing nothing, my boy." Then after sev- 
 eral moments more, in which he had lain very still, he 
 remarked : 
 
 "The author of that book was writing of something 
 she knew, Gray. The story has the earmarks of truth," 
 and he sighed. 
 
 Stanley closed the book and sat gazing off across the 
 panorama of the prison town. The story was a pa- 
 thetic one, and even to his unimaginative mind it seemed 
 very real. There were many truths in it, too, which 
 had never occurred to him until he had learned to know 
 and love Richard Dennison. This love now filled his 
 heart to overflowing. He longed to express in words 
 what the past few months in prison under his guard- 
 ianship had meant to him; but as usual his diffidence 
 would not allow him to speak. All the gentleness and 
 loyalty in Stanley's nature had responded to this 
 afflicted man, just as it had responded to the one other 
 person in the world Stanley had really loved the little 
 hunchback. 
 
 With this feeling for Richard Dennison there had 
 also come a desire to win his respect and approval. 
 This youth who had never known any prolonged good 
 influence, except for little Miss Coudaire, was now 
 aroused to an ambition of which he had not known he 
 was capable. He mentally struggled to find some outlet 
 besides that of doing his prison work well, an outlet
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 401 
 
 which would show his friend the new viewpoint from 
 which he now looked at life because of him. He 
 desired especially to make this splendid man see that 
 he really wanted to "make good," not only because 
 of his regard for him, but also for the sake of his own 
 awakening manhood. Yet so strange to him were these 
 emotions that he must have felt much like a baby 
 when its mind first becomes conscious of a desire to 
 make itself understood. He did not know how to 
 express himself. 
 
 Richard lay going over the bitterness and the 
 sweetness of his own troubled life. The words of 
 the little story had vividly recalled Marjory. She 
 seemed very near him, and now instead of the fret- 
 ful accusing Marjory of their last days in Hampton 
 she was the laughing loving Marjory of their honey- 
 moon days. During all these dark years in prison 
 Richard had seldom allowed Marjory's image to take 
 possession of him, nor would he allow himself to 
 ponder upon the question of the child's birth. He felt 
 about summoning Marjory's face before him in the 
 degradation of the prison much as he had always felt 
 about connecting her name with his after his theft. 
 She was too pure and beautiful to have any part in 
 his criminal career! Taking back his real name be- 
 fore the trial, Richard had managed to keep the name 
 which she bore off the records; and even though he 
 had told Judge Sawyer much of his past history upon 
 the judge's return to Warsaw Prison as warden, he 
 had never given him even the smallest hint about his 
 marriage, or that he had been known by the alias of 
 Denneth Richardson. He had disgraced the name 
 borne by his mother. No other woman's name should 
 suffer at his hands! 
 
 Richard did not have the slightest suspicion that 
 Marjory's and the judge's paths had crossed; but
 
 402 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 simply as a matter of general precaution he had con- 
 tinued vigilantly to guard the secret which, if be- 
 coming known, might mean a certain amount of scan- 
 dal, or at least disgrace, to her. Undoubtedly things 
 were better just as they were; but oh, how he 
 had longed to talk about her to the judge! Since 
 he had done so much toward redeeming the past 
 through his earnest and honest endeavor to become 
 an influence for good in Warsaw Prison, he had al- 
 lowed the thought of Marjory to come to him more 
 and more frequently. Through the years his loyalty 
 and love for her had never wavered. Reflection under 
 conditions permitting a juster sense of proportion since 
 he had been put into the sunshine beneath the blue can- 
 opy of heaven, had enabled him to see how vastly bet- 
 ter it would have been during the year of their life 
 together if he had not weakly yielded to the tempta- 
 tion of giving her more than he could afford. Oh, 
 if he had only been a man and fought the thing out, 
 instead of allowing it to conquer him and put him 
 where he was to-day ! What an extraordinary coinci- 
 dence that the little story should have been read to 
 him! The author's sorrows and problems were so like 
 what his and Marjory's had been. He longed with 
 his whole heart to see and talk to Marjory before 
 the end came, and yet had no doubt whatever that 
 the forgiveness which in the little story had char- 
 acterized the heroine's attitude toward the hero in 
 no way represented Marjory's feeling toward him! 
 
 He turned and smiled bravely toward Stanley. 
 
 "Thank you for reading to me," he said, little re- 
 alizing the effort which it had cost Stanley to over- 
 come his timidity enough to read aloud, nor yet know- 
 ing how Stanley had labored in the prison night school 
 in order to improve his reading enough to do so. 
 "You read very nicely indeed, in spite of the fact
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 403 
 
 that you tell me your early education was abominably 
 neglected. It's a sweet story that, though I could 
 wish it ended more happily. By the way, who is the 
 author?'' 
 
 Stanley turned to the title page. "Marjory Mat- 
 thews," he read. 
 
 "What!" Richard Dennison exclaimed, sitting bolt 
 upright, his sightless eyes widening as he struggled 
 frantically to push aside the black curtain forever in 
 front of them, and see the boy who had just pro- 
 nounced this name of all names in the world! It 
 can't be! My God, Gray, where did you get hold 
 of that name?" and his gaunt hands clinched and 
 unclinched themselves, the blood pounding to his white 
 face and settling in his hollow cheeks in a hectic flush. 
 "Give me the book!" 
 
 Stanley placed the little volume in Richard's trem- 
 bling hands. Involuntarily he held it up in front of 
 his eyes; and then a sudden anger filling him at his 
 inability to see it he flung it violently from him and 
 dropped back upon his pillows. 
 
 The effort had brought on a paroxysm of coughing, 
 terrible in its results. The poor lungs which had been 
 struggling to heal themselves in the fresh air and 
 sunshine, now refused to be mistreated longer. A 
 hemorrhage ensued, and when finally it had been 
 checked and Richard breathed normally again, he lay 
 very still and white, his limp hand in that of the war- 
 den's, while Dr. Deever, with the assistance of an- 
 other of the prison physicians, vainly endeavored to 
 bring back to his cold body some warmth of life. But 
 the Angel of Death hovered very near. 
 
 "What started the coughing, Gray?" the warden 
 asked of Stanley, who stood at the foot of the bed 
 too frightened and distressed to move. "Did he at- 
 tempt to get up or exert himself in any way?"
 
 404 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 Stanley shook his head. "No, sir," he said, "but 
 he got awfully excited over the book." 
 
 The warden looked puzzled for a moment, and then 
 he remembered. "The little book I gave you to read 
 to him?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 Stanley picked the book up from the floor and 
 handed it to the warden. Warden Sawyer seemed 
 more puzzled than ever. He had thought that the 
 book would interest and amuse Richard. It was sad, 
 of course, and dealt with the problems of a criminal ; 
 but he had found that both of these elements gen- 
 erally made particular appeal to the inmates of War- 
 saw. The men under his regime, having become in- 
 terested in the welfare of criminals, were extremely 
 interested in all stories about them. 
 
 "How do you mean he 'got excited'?" the judge 
 asked curiously. 
 
 Stanley repeated the scene as best he remembered 
 until it came to the point where he had rushed fran- 
 tically for Dr. Deever. Here breaking off he said in 
 an agony of anxiety: 
 
 "Warden, he ain't going to die, is he? Say he 
 ain't! He's all I've got in the world, Warden. Say 
 he ain't going to die. Nobody was ever kind to me 
 but you two. Oh, say he ain't going to die!" 
 
 Warden Sawyer's heart was touched by this expres- 
 sion of the hitherto silent youth's devotion. 
 
 "No, no, he's going to be all right," he quieted 
 him. "Don't worry. He's had attacks like this be- 
 fore." 
 
 Stanley stood quietly after that while the two doc- 
 tors slowly restored Richard's consciousness. A cer- 
 tain feeble strength returned to him. He lifted his 
 lids.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 405 
 
 "Who's here?" he asked, rolling his eyes about in 
 the characteristic manner of endeavoring to see, which 
 he had always used since sight left him. "I want the 
 warden." 
 
 "I'm here, my friend," Warden Sawyer's voice as- 
 sured him, and he pressed Richard's hand between 
 both of his. 
 
 For a moment Richard seemed comforted ; and then 
 he asked : 
 
 "You're here too, aren't you, Dr. Deever?" 
 
 "You bet I am," that cheery little person answered 
 heartily, and he adjusted Richard's pillow as gently 
 as any woman could have done. "You're all right 
 now, aren't you?" 
 
 Richard reached out his free hand and put it upon 
 the top of the ones which held his own. 
 
 "Judge," he said, "you are the best friend I've got. 
 I'm not all right. In spite of what Dr. Deever says, 
 or can do for me," and his eyes tried to look in the 
 doctor's direction, "/ know that my hours are num- 
 bered. I have known it for several days. There is 
 something I want you to do for me. You know that 
 little book you gave Gray to read to me?" 
 
 "Yes," Warden Sawyer said eagerly, wondering 
 what was coming. 
 
 "Well, is its author's -name Marjory Matthews?" 
 
 Judge Sawyer looked at Richard's flushed face curi- 
 ously; then signalled to the doctor and Stanley to 
 leave them. There was something strangely intense 
 in the man's tones as he asked the question, and the 
 veins in his forehead stood out while his mouth was 
 held in a constrained firm line. 
 
 "Why, yes," Judge Sawyer said. "Marjory Mat- 
 thews Richardson. She is an old, old friend of mine. 
 Did you like the book?" 
 
 Hardly had he finished the words before Richard's
 
 406 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 hands, in spite of his weakness, had gripped the war- 
 den's even more tightly than before. Marjory, his 
 wife, an old friend of his best friend! It seemed 
 almost too extraordinary to believe! 
 
 Richard was indeed torn between all the conflicting 
 emotions which this news, coupled with the reading 
 of the book, had wrought in him; yet in his voice as 
 he spoke now there was very little emotion shown. He 
 was holding himself well in check. This was prob- 
 ably his last chance to know the many things he wished 
 to know about Marjory; but he must remember to do 
 nothing, nothing, he kept repeating to himself, to en- 
 danger her happiness. If the book were really her 
 own experiences, she was herself ill. Perhaps, though, 
 that phrase about her "last hours" was only the coat- 
 ing of fiction which disguised her story. Anyway, the 
 story itself showed him plainly enough that Marjory 
 had changed her mind about him, and after all that 
 was what mattered! 
 
 "Judge," he said plaintively, "try to find her for 
 me. The author. I I knew her years ago. She 
 evidently doesn't feel now the way she used to about 
 me." Then his anxiety getting the better of his cau- 
 tion, he exclaimed excitedly: 
 
 "Oh, Judge, don't you think if she knew I was 
 dying she would come to me? I want to see her, 
 Judge. I want " 
 
 "Richard Dennison," Warden Sawyer broke in, 
 for a sudden idea had dawned over him, "is that the 
 only name you've ever had? Answer !" 
 
 The sick man shook his head. "That's my real name, 
 but my alias was Denneth Richardson." Then turn- 
 ing his face pathetically up to the judge's, he said : 
 "You understand, don't you, Warden? I've wanted 
 to tell you, oh, you don't know how much ! But I felt 
 I could not do so until now."
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 407 
 
 Indeed he did understand ! Stupid fool that he was, 
 why had he not thought of this possibility before, 
 Judge Sawyer asked himself. Yet as he turned the 
 case over in his mind he could find even now no rea- 
 son for his having guessed Richard's double identity. 
 
 Slowly he disengaged his hands from those of the 
 clinging man. The whole wretched existence which 
 this man and woman, through little fault of their own, 
 had unnecessarily lived, seemed so tragic to him that 
 for a moment his splendid spirit of optimism and hope 
 wavered. But being a true optimist and a philosophi- 
 cal one as well, he immediately saw a vision of hap- 
 piness in the future for them both. 
 
 "I'll get her within a very few hours," he said; 
 then speaking very positively and with all the author- 
 ity of which he was personally as well as profession- 
 ally capable, he continued: "Now you will have to 
 accept the pardon the governor offered you a year ago. 
 Perhaps your duty did lie in 'helping the boys' then," 
 referring to the greatest sacrifice in Richard's life 
 which he had made soon after the new Warsaw was 
 established, "but now your duty lies outside these 
 walls and in making Marjory happy," and he was 
 gone from the room. 
 
 Many hours had dragged by for Richard, made 
 acutely nervous with anticipation ; but now Dr. Deever, 
 anxiously standing by his bedside, heard from the little 
 glassed-in room at the end of the roof colony the chug- 
 chug of the warden's motor as it returned from its trip 
 to Hampton. The excitement of the day had been too 
 much for the poor blind fellow, and the end seemed 
 very near. Another hemorrhage had lowered his fast 
 sinking vitality. He was conscious only intermittently, 
 yet when he was so, Marjory's name was the one thing
 
 408 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 he constantly whispered as he lay listening intently at 
 every approaching sound, asking repeatedly, if anyone 
 did but come near him, if it were she. 
 
 Huddled in an ever watchful attitude, but with an 
 air of hopelessness and dejection which was heart- 
 rending in its pathos, Stanley Gray kept watch at the 
 foot of the sick bed. If Richard's respiration varied 
 even the slightest degree, the youth was by his side 
 with the soft spring of a faithful dog, keenly watch- 
 ing him, while praying fervently to himself that the 
 man's life be spared. Even the physicians and nurses, 
 used as they were to the sight of grief, were touched 
 and troubled at the wildness of apprehension shining 
 from Stanley's eyes. They feared lest he become 
 demented with grief. 
 
 The door opened and Warden Sawyer entered. Ex- 
 changing a few words with Dr. Deever, he bent over 
 Richard. 
 
 "Do you think he will pull through?" he asked 
 anxiously. "I see he is much worse than when I left." 
 
 Dr. Deever answered in a few words, spoken so low 
 that no one save the judge could hear him. Then in 
 a louder tone, he said: "The change may come any 
 moment now. I think you had better bring her in." 
 
 "But the excitement?" Warden Sawyer asked. 
 "Won't it be too much in his present condition?" 
 
 Dr. Deever shook his head. "The excitement of an- 
 ticipation and of worry lest she fail to come has been 
 the bad thing for him. This is different!" 
 
 Warden Sawyer slipped into the hall. 
 
 An exquisitely dainty little woman, hardly larger 
 than a child and with a child's appealing look about 
 her pretty lineless face, came through the door. As 
 she saw the splendid head with its tumbled mass of 
 white hair above a broad high forehead, a sob escaped 
 her lips.
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 409 
 
 The head was moving restlessly back and forth upon 
 its pillow, and she heard her name in a constant whis- 
 pered murmur. 
 
 Quickly gaining control of herself, Marjory walked 
 over to the bed and gazed down upon the wasted man 
 before her. 
 
 At the faint sound of her weeping Richard's lids 
 raised themselves, and Marjory looked into big dark 
 eyes, unscarred and wonderfully beautiful because of 
 their permanently enlarged pupils. In them there was 
 no expression of recognition, and she knew he could 
 not see her. 
 
 "Marjory," he dreamily murmured, "little anem- 
 one " 
 
 Then both of his hands fumbled out in an impa- 
 tient and impulsive gesture of appeal. He asked quer- 
 ulously, "Has she come, Dr. Deever; has she come?" 
 
 Marjory dropped to her knees and slipped one arm 
 beneath Richard's pillow, while she put the other hand 
 gently upon his cheek in a stroking sort of manner 
 which had characterized her most affectionate caresses 
 in their youth. 
 
 "Yes, Denny, I'm here. Your Marjory's here," and 
 adopting another of her old time caresses, though she 
 felt as if she could hardly stand the strain, she put 
 her lips to his ear. 
 
 "I love you, Denny. I love you," she whispered. 
 
 At these once familiar words, and the manner in 
 which they were said, a spasm of pain crossed his 
 face. He thought he was dreaming again, as he had 
 dreamed so many times of late. Jerking his head 
 away, a look of terror widened his sightless eyes; and 
 then seeming to remember something, he quieted down. 
 Feebly raising one of his hands he groped out for her. 
 
 She remembered how he used to stroke her hair. 
 That was his characteristic caress. Taking the hatpins
 
 410 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 
 
 from her hat she threw them upon the floor and leaned 
 her uncovered head forward. Richard's thin white 
 fingers felt the mass of burnished gold, now sprinkled 
 with silver; and smiling happily, he drew her face 
 down onto the pillow beside his own. 
 
 "Little anemone flower I love," he murmured bro- 
 kenly, the old familiar words coming between a spas- 
 modic struggle to breathe, "sunshine flowers love, 
 little anem one ' ' 
 
 His hands dropped limply to his breast, his face 
 relaxed, and the voice ceased to struggle. 
 
 Like a tiger the watcher at the foot of the bed 
 leaped forward! "He must not die! He must not!" 
 he cried in hysterically convulsive tones. 
 
 Dr. Deever caught his arm and held him fast. "Sh- 
 sh," he said, himself unnerved at the sight of Richard's 
 transfigured face, and thinking only of Marjory's 
 coming grief. 
 
 Stanley jerked away, and pushing up to the bed- 
 side opposite Marjory began calling Richard's name 
 with a plaintive persistency which brought scalding 
 tear? to the eyes of every occupant of the room. 
 
 Marjory looked up. In his pleading, Stanley had 
 bent forward. A button of his soft shirt gave way, 
 and there now swung out into full view a gold locket 
 of queer design. On one side of it there were three 
 initials in silver; on the other, raised signs of thd 
 zodiac. 
 
 Marjory's hand clutched her throat. Her body 
 swayed forward. In spite of her anxiety for Richard, 
 she half reached out toward the younger man. The 
 shock was overwhelming; yet she did not faint. The 
 consciousness that the little hunchback, in spite of 
 all she had done for him, had never seemed to her 
 like her own child, made her long to make herself 
 known to this boy at once. There was absolutely no
 
 THE IMPRISONED FREEMAN 411 
 
 doubi in her mind this time. She did not stop to think 
 she knew! 
 
 "Stanley!" she gasped breathlessly. 
 
 But before the astonished boy could respond a soft 
 sigh from Richard's lips reached her, and looking 
 into his face again she realized that the soul and body 
 which had been imprisoned for so long were now free 
 forever. Richard was far away from trouble and 
 sorrow, and the sorrow which was to be her lot must 
 be shared alone, save for their son. 
 
 For a moment she buried her face in her hands, 
 now lying palms up upon the bed. Life had been so 
 hard and sad. Why should she have to live on ! Then 
 there came over her the blessed consciousness that 
 Stanley, her own long lost son, stood before her, and 
 needed his mother's love. Raising her eyes to Stan- 
 ley's she felt a great throbbing hope for the future 
 flood through her heart. She had everything to live 
 for! She would make her boy happy!

 
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