"Has the mail come--where are the papers and the letters?" demanded the
old governor, in a gruff voice.

"Here they are, sir," said the secretary, as he put the bundle on the
old governor's table. "These are addressed to you privately; the
business letters are on my desk. Would you like to see them now?"

"No, not now," growled the old governor; "I will read the papers and my
private correspondence first."

But the old governor found cause for uneasiness in this employment.
The papers discussed the affair of the imprisoned man, and these
private letters came from certain of the old governor's friends, who,
strangely enough, exhibited an interest in the self-same prisoner's
affair. The old governor was highly disgusted.

"They should mind their own business," muttered the old governor. "The
papers are very officious, and these other people are simply
impertinent. My mind is made up--nothing shall change me!"

Then the old governor turned to his private secretary and bade him
bring the business letters, and presently the private secretary could
hear the old governor growling and fumbling over the pile of
correspondence. He knew why the old governor was so excited; many of
these letters were petitions from the people touching the affair of the
imprisoned man. Oh, how they angered the old governor!

"Humph!" said the old governor at last, "I 'm glad I 'm done with them.
There are no more, I suppose."

When the secretary made no reply the old governor was surprised. He
wheeled in his chair and searchingly regarded the secretary over his
spectacles. He saw that the secretary was strangely embarrassed.

"You have not shown me all," said the old governor, sternly. "What is
it you have kept back?"

Then the secretary said: "I had thought not to show it to you. It is
nothing but a little child's letter--I thought I should not bother you
with it."

The old governor was interested. A child's letter to _him_--what could
it be about? Such a thing had never happened to him before.

"A child's letter; let me see it," said the old governor, and, although
his voice was harsh, somewhat of a tender light came into his eyes.

"'T is nothing but a scrawl," explained the secretary, "and it comes
from the prisoner's child--Monckton's little girl--Monckton, the
forger, you know. Of course there's nothing to it--a mere scrawl; for
the child is only four years old. But the gentleman who sends it says
the child brou