The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1891-01-01
ng plteously at me, ''to-night I will

you will set my son free. You will
you must! Ifyou do not, the people
VIII tear you to pieces. Oh, such
things have been done, and prisons
have been broken open! If do not
bring the murderer tonight will to-
morrow night. You shall not MUIR
der my innocent boy! God will not
permit you!'
The coppers she had offered him
tell TO the ground; he picked them up
and pressed them into her hand.
"What is the use?'' she moaned.
III had gold you would do what I
want you. Oh, I know you would!
Justice can be bought" .t.. .a..-
She pressed me in her arms again;
her tears ran down my sinful face; l
shook like a leaf. He disengaged her
arms gently from my neck. She was
too exhausted to resist, and as he
supported her fainting form to the
door she murmured.
"To-night. tonight! Or if not to-
night, tomorrow night! Keep the
gates open for me! I shall see you
again, my darling, in a few hours.
Don't lose heart. Your old mother
will save you!"
She was gone. The last human
link that bound me to this world
was snapped. Never again-never
again!
thought of her last night, tramp
ing the streets. 1t was raining hard,
the warden told me.
IL. haven't asked a favor of you
yet" | said. "'Tell me something
more"
"Whau do you want to know"
"Has my mother been outside of
prison walls today"
Il have not seen her myself" he
replied. II was told she had been
hanging about"
"She is not there now?"
mo, she is not there now?"
1t was foolish question. I knew
where she was-toiling through the
pelting rain, in search of the man she
had followed the night before. A
startling contrast presented itself to
to me. saw her as she was at the
present time, shivering, attenuated,
starving; her few poor clothes drench-
ed with rain; and as she used to be
in the days of my childhood, a
blooming, pretty woman, with ever
a smile on her lips, with ever a look
of tenderness for me; the pride of her
loving heart. There was an old
fashioned song she used to sing,
LET us haste to Kelvin Grove,
Bonnie Lassie O!'' How sweetly she
sang it! How supremely happy she
was! And now, there upon the
bridge, she was lingering last night,
and will linger tonight, in vain hope
of saving the innocent child, the
guilty man. Tonight! My last
night on earth! The stars will shine
no more for me. My last, last night!
l must hasten with my confession,
for time is waning FAST.
My confession! Whata sensation
it will create! The newspapers will
be filled with it. The reporters will
be running like mad in all directions,
and their pens will be flying over
the paper, tearing and scratching at
it, like bloodhounds tearing at the
earth for evidence of a crime hidden
beneath. The telegraph will be
flashing the tempting news all over
the world. The placards will
blazen it in enormous letters, and
some of them will be printed in red
ink.
The snug policemen will walk
their beats, with their heads an inch
nearer the sky. When a man whom
they have apprehended confesses to
the murder it adds distinction to
their calling. But why don't they
discover the others? If I had been
as cunning as some, I, too might
now be a free man. The newsboys
will bawl out the delicious morsel in
the street, screaming at the top of
their voices, in tones of exultant ex-
element: "The murderer's COMES
sion! Full and particular account
of it! Horrible disclosures!'
/ There they are winking at each
other at the trade they are driving,
and wishing there was a murder like
this every day. The rascals will
charge two pence, three pence, six
pence for penny paper-I have
paid it myself, when @ big murder
case was on. What hustle and ami
nation everywhere! 1t will. be like
holiday. Hundreds Of pounds will
be poured into the newspaper tills.
I can see my old mother staggering
through the streets with the horrid
din in her ears.
"What! My baby boy, my darling
innocent lad confess to a crime he
never committed! You liars-you
liars! You have invented the lie
yourselves to sell your papers! Don't
believe them, gentlemen. don't be-
lieve them!"
The crowd follow her as she STUN
bles on, pleading, moaning, wiring
ing her hands.
"Who is she?" some ask OF the 9TH
ers.
"Who is she? Why, his mother
the murderer's mother! Hooray! Hoo
ray!'
They tear after her, they surround
her, they jeer at her white hair, they