port
to-day. "Same old story all over ag'in," he says, "the babe crying and
puning constant, and plumb off its feed, and favoring a little picked
bird. Minervy Saxby doubts it's a-holding out till the trial." I heard
later he had taken the news on to Blant, through the bars of the jail
window.

_Saturday Evening._

Philip is in a seventh heaven. Every day in the week now he basks in
Dilsey's presence two or three hours, cheerfully doing the menial tasks
of keeping up fires and ironing; and on Saturdays he spends almost the
entire day in her society, hanging out clothes, turning wringers, doing
tremendous deeds on the wood-pile with his ax, running nimbly down and
up the rocky sides of the well when the chain breaks and the bucket
falls in, as it is fond of doing, and, between labors, giving hazardous
performances on the limb of a peach-tree. The teasings of the boys and
girls seem powerless to dampen his ardor,--indeed, I suspect that their
"Howdy, Mr. Warrick," "Good evening, Mrs. Floyd," fall as music on his
ears.

_Sunday Night._

When I went with Nucky to the jail this afternoon, I found that the
rumors abroad for two weeks had reached it, indeed, they were being
freely discussed by the prisoners, the keeper and Blant himself,--I was
thankful to see that he was able to put his mind on the subject.

"Yes," he said sadly, "it looks like I'll have to give up the hope I
have cherished, and try to get my consent to face life again; which God
knows I couldn't if it wasn't brung home to me that I got a family
depending on me, and a pore little infant looking to me for life
itself. Nothing else could ever give me courage to breast the waves of
sorrow that swallows me up. But I reckon, after all, I have got a higher
call to live than to die; and that, when they acquit me on my trial,
constant hard labor for my family will in time take off some of the edge
of my sorrow."

"But the probabilities is they _won't_ acquit you, Blant," said the
keeper impatiently; "I been trying to ding that into your head nigh a
week. I told you plain what the talk was about sending you to Frankfort
a couple of year'".

"I can't believe anything so unreasonable," replied Blant. "Now, a life
for a life is just plain sense and common justice,--if they was to kill
me for the lives I have took, especially Rich's, I would perfectly agree
they was doing right. But what good or justice it would do anybody to
shut me up in Frankfor