ner of the cell, his faithful old friend, the sailor, watching over
him with the solicitude of a brother. "I don't know how he'd got on if
it hadn't bin for the old sailor, yonder," says the jailer, pointing to
Spunyarn, who is crouched down at the great black fireplace, blowing the
coals under a small pan. "He took to Tom when he first came in, and
hasn't left him for a day. He'll steal to supply Tom's hunger, and fight
if a prisoner attempts to impose upon his charge. He has rigged him out,
you see, with his pea-coat and overalls," continues the man, folding his
arms.

"I am sorry, Tom--"

"Yes," says Tom, interrupting the young theologian, "I know you are. You
don't find me to have kept my word; and because I haven't you don't find
me improved much. I can't get out; and if I can't get out, what's the
use of my trying to improve? I don't say this because I don't want to
improve. I have no one living who ought to care for me, but my mother.
And she has shown what she cares for me."

"Everything is well. (The young theologian takes Tom by the hand.) We
have got your release. You are a free man, now."

"My release!" exclaims the poor outcast, starting to his feet, "my
release?"

"Yes," kindly interposes the jailer, "you may go, Tom. Stone walls,
bolts and chains have no further use for you." The announcement brings
tears to his eyes; he cannot find words to give utterance to his
emotions. He drops the young theologian's hand, grasps warmly that of
George Mullholland, and says, the tears falling fast down his cheeks,
"now I will be a new man."

"God bless Tom," rejoins the old sailor, who has left the fireplace and
joined in the excitement of the moment. "I alwas sed there war better
weather ahead, Tom." He pats him encouragingly on the shoulder, and
turns to the bystanders, continuing with a childlike frankness: "he's
alwas complained with himself about breaking his word and honor with
you, sir--"

The young theologian says the temptation was more than he could
withstand.

"Yes sir!--that was it. He, poor fellow, wasn't to blame. One brought
him in a drop, and challenged him; then another brought him in a drop,
and challenged him; and the vote-cribber would get generous now and
then, and bring him a drop, saying how he would like to crib him if he
was only out, on the general election coming on, and make him take a
drop of what he called election whiskey. And you know, sir, it's hard
for a body to stand up aga