ead and water for the prisoners. But Haym Salomon had
promised to come later in the day and the boy waited confidently, for
like many others he trusted the quiet man with the shrewd eyes and
tender mouth.

At last the door opened and Jonas enter the room, wooden bowls of a
sticky, floury substance he called "gruel" on his tray. He passed
between the men, leaving his bowls besides them on the floor. When
they complained of thirst, he stopped for a moment to ladle out a
dipperful of water from the wooden pail he carried upon his left arm,
while now and then he stopped to hear some complaint of a weary man,
to promise aid or seek to jest away the prisoner's melancholy.

"The broth too salt?" he repeated, gravely. "How can that be when one
of your rebel friends serves behind the soup kettle this month? Now if
a poor Hessian or loyal Englishman like myself were cook, you might
have reason to complain that he spitefully over-seasoned your
victuals. Or is it that the cooking of your rebels is as evil as your
politics?" And again: "Too crowded, eh? Well, some folks are never
satisfied and you'd be among the growlers, my friend, if you slept on
down and fine linen. Why among the well prisoners, 'tis so cramped for
space that when their bones ache from the floor at night and they
would turn, they find themselves wedged in so tight that not a man can
budge till I give the order, 'Left, Right!' when they turn in a solid
body and ease their weary sides. And you, who sleep in what they would
consider a palace, poor souls, call yourself suffering for room."

He had reached Louis by this time and his quick eye noted how flushed
the lad was, while his eager glance kept turning toward the grated
door. With an impatient gesture the Frenchman pushed away the bowl the
jailor set beside him. "I am sick of prison fare," he cried, hotly.
"When I left France to follow Lafayette I never dreamed that I might
die of prison fever in a hole like this. Take away your food; the
sooner I starve, the sooner I am free."

Jonas looked him over sympathetically, but could say nothing of
comfort; instead he pushed the bowl toward him again, thinking,
perhaps, the dinner might do something to restore the boy's peace of
mind. But the prisoner again shoved him aside and sat up, his eyes
straining toward the grated door, where some one now rattled the bars.

"Let me in, friend Jonas," said the voice of Haym Salomon, "and I
promise not to steal any of the go