od dinner you have brought your
fledglings."

The heartsick prisoners smiled at the poor jest and more than one man
turned eagerly as Jonas unlocked the door and admitted the Jewish
broker, a prisoner like themselves, yet bringing with him the free
air of the outside world. Haym passed from one to the other, with
here a smile, there a word of comfort or bit of quaint philosophy.
Into the fever-hot hands of one flaxen-haired farmer lad lying half
delirious and dreaming of home, he dropped a few flowers plucked in
the prison yard that morning; to a lonely, discouraged Frenchman he
spoke in his own tongue, uttering a homely proverb that caused the
homesick foreigner to laugh back into his smiling face. At last he
came to Louis, and, with a nod toward the puzzled Jonas, lifted the
bowl of soup and placed it to the boy's lips.

"Drink," he commanded gently, but gravely. "You must eat and drink and
grow strong or you will not be able to go back to your sweetheart in
France. I have not forgotten my promise to write to her for you, but
first you must please me and eat. And, now, Jonas, some of your good
clear water--as sparkling as the wines of sunny France. Did I ever
tell you, Louis, my lad, of the little inn where I ate my first meal
in your country and how the good landlord laughed at my blunders, for
then I knew little of your tongue?"

Never taking his eyes from his friend's face, the boy obediently ate
and drank and Jonas looked on, well satisfied. He knew that his
masters did not concern themselves whether the prisoners starved or
not; yet, somehow, it made him uncomfortable at times to see boys no
older than his own son wasting away before his eyes. He wondered
whether he was hardy enough to be an efficient jailor.

Something of his thoughts must have been written upon his broad, red
face, for Salomon looking up quickly, nodded as though he understood.
"Louis is a good lad, Jonas," he said, taking out his writing material
and spreading it upon his knees. "There are many good lads here--boys
like your boy who chooses to serve the king instead of the colonies.
My little one is not yet old enough for the army; such a tiny mite,
Louis!--but if he were, I should find it hard not to hate the man who
caged him here behind bars like a beast and kept him stiffling in the
prison darkness. You are too tender a man for such devil's work,
friend Jonas. Ploughing and milking your peaceful cows might bring you
less gold, but the