The Fulton County news. [volume] (McConnellsburg, Pa.) 1899-current, 1905-03-08


There was a breakfast for him such
as he had not tasted for nine long
years, but he had no appetite. The
one idea now possessing his mind was
home, escape whilst the governor was
willing for him TO depart. He swal-
lowed a few mouthfus, drank a few
gulps of cocoa, and then with the al
lowance money in his pocket hurried
to the gateway.
He was free. Free to go wherever
he liked. Free 20 start for home MS
fast as steam could carry him. Free
to stretch out his arms to the placid
gray-blue waters Of Western Bay now
denuded of their mantle of fog and
sparkling in the sunshine. Free TO
breathe the pure air uncontamlnated
by companions criminal and vicious.
But the waters, the hillside, the lovely
stretch Of verdant country extended
before his eyes, had no charm for him
save that they spelt freedom. Behind
him lay the prison house the Flagstaff
from which no ensign Of dread futtered
to tell Of his escape. Before him lay
freedom.
He rushed down the road. waving
his arms with the reawakened instincts
of boy escaping from school, obliy-
ious alike to the sympathetic gaze Of
women he passed, and the half-con-
temptuous remarks Of the men. He
dashed into the bleak, shabby little rail-
way station, only to learn that there
was no train for an hour. Already his
limbs, unused to such rlotous move
ments and still feeling the lag of the
chain, had begun to fail him, making
the half-jocular suggestion of the soll-
tary reporter, that he should take n
little exercise and walk to Weymouth
out of the question.
"I'll have to wait" was all he could
think of to say.
"Don' time amt altogether exhil-
arating' or stfengthenin' work." the
porter remarked.
Harborde nodded his head, yet
longed to tell him he was an innocent
man. The porter, however, had van
ished. to return in a few moments with
a paper.
Here. mate" he exclaimed. with
rough kindness. "You won't know all
yesterdays news, I'll go bail"
Harborde seized the paper. No! he
knew nothing of yesterdays news, nor
that of thousands of days which had
once been yesterday. He could see
nothing at first. The print swan in
confused tumble before his eyes.
When his sight cleared he commenced
to read. How strange it was! He
used to be a great reader before he
became NO. ~" And now he seemed
TO know nothing of the world. New
names confronted him everywhere.
Names of those in authority, names of
towns, names even Of countries.
Where was Mashonaland and Mata-
beleland? He was confused. He read
on. This delicious new found turmoil
of the world, how good it was after
all.
At last his eye caught small para
graph slowed away at the bottom of
the third column on page six of the
paper. He read and reread it over and
over again. "Her Majesty, the Queen,
has been graciously pleased to pardon
Thomas Harborde, who was convicted
Of forgery at the Winchester assizes
some ten years ago, and who is now
completing his sentence of fifteen
years penal servitude at Portland.
Harborde will he released this morning
The step has been taken in consequence
Of the dying confession Of man at
Bristol" Nothing more! Now he
knew why lie had been released. And
so death had taken Edward Tilwell
out Of the hands Of justice. 1t was
hardly fair Of death.
The porter came up whistling to tell
him the train would start in ten min
utes. He got up thrust the paper into
the mans hands, and pointed to the
paragraph.
"Thats me-"
"You Thomas Harborde?" exclaimed
the man. "Then all I'VE got to say is
it's a hanged shame the Queen didn't
send coach-and-six for you. Let's
have your hand, man, to wish You
good luck Got n missis? No? SO
much the better; poor soul. if you had,
it would cut her up terrible"
mo- said Harhorde, as though
speaking to himself, 81 was to have
been married; but that's years ago now,
and I'm an old mau."
"Oldr' interjected the porter, "you're
no more than hVe-and-thirty. I'll 20
bail. You do look older, to be sure
But wait tin you've been out bit,
you'll soon rub off them lines and look
bit more uppish."
The engine at the end OF the short
train Of carriages relegated to the
Portland line after becoming too thor
oughly ont Of date for even the Somer-
set nnd Dorset local service between
Weymouth and Dorchester. gave a thin,
wintry squeak, and HarbOrde, in a
fever of apprehension lest It should
start without him, tumbled into the
first carriage that came handy, ticket
less.
The porter came to the door. "You've
got no ticket. Here, give me a shilling,
ANA I'll get II for you. Book TO Wey-
mouth?'
Eyes said IIarbordc, fumbllng in
his pocket for tho money.
"Now you're all right the porter OK