s fault; but the fault of the System which fails to strengthen
his power of self-control and ability to bear responsibility.

After Dickinson's departure comes one of the trusties, bringing the
information which I passed the word along yesterday to get for me. Then I
write in my journal and read some of the kites which have reached me. The
latest one I find under the blankets,--tucked into the strap which holds
up my mattress--a most ingenious hiding place.

Then comes work-time. Again the captain unlocks the levers; and again I
follow along the gallery to the iron stairway and the yard door. After a
much shorter period of waiting than at our earlier march, we start off and
go directly down the yard and around the corner to the basket-shop.

"Good morning, Tom!" "Good morning, Jack!" and we are off to work in good
time.

"Well, old pal, how are you feeling to-day?"

I look up and catch an anxious look in my partner's eyes. I laugh as I
answer: "Oh, I'm all right; and in fine fighting trim."

I know what he means; and he knows what I mean. It is the shadow of the
jail that is between us.

"Come on now, Jack," I say; "don't worry about me. I shall get through it
all right."

"But you don't know what it means," he insists anxiously. "One hour of
that misery is worse than a week of the worst kind of pain. You'd better
think it over."

"Well, I'll tell you, Jack; I have reconsidered it and I don't believe I
shall stay so long as I intended. In fact I had planned to go down this
morning but I shall wait until afternoon. I'll get all I want of it in
about three or four hours."

"You can just bet you will," and Jack turns away with a discouraged air to
pick up a fresh batch of rattan. I'm afraid he thinks me a very obstinate
and unreasonable person.

The rattan seems to be worse than ever this morning. They've tried cold
water, and they've tried hot water, and they've tried steam; but like the
White Queen's shawl, "there's no pleasing it." It still remains quite
unfit to work with; and for the sake of the future usefulness of my
fingers I can't help thinking it's just as well that my prison bit is
drawing to a close.

As we are working away, one of our shopmates comes over to me (the same
who accused me yesterday of working too hard) and says: "Well, Brown, I
think you must be taking in the jail to-day."

My surprise is great. No one, except Jack, Grant and the Warden, were
aware of my intention, so far as I kne