Year: 1874

"Good-by, boys. l hope you'll get
through"


He turned his back and put down his
| head, where he heard nothing but the
splash of the water in the pail, 1t had
run three or four times full before he got
up, and then there was no one in sight.
He filled the barrel alone. Then he sat
down and waited for some one to come.
When some of the guard came running
after while and demanded where were
his companions, and which way they had
gone, he answered that he didn't know.


The feeling in the prison toward the two
fugitives, when it was known that they
had broken parole and run, was no kind
one. 1t was an additional straw upon
backs already bowed to breaking; it put
taunt into every look and word of their
hated keepers, and make more intolerable
and hopeless the life of every man within
the loathed walls, and renewed further
from each the light of the hope of escape.
| A week or two after, the news was
passed through the wards one afternoon
that Larcom had been brought back, and
was then in the hospital across the yard.
A day or two later, Doctor Farmer came
up into Larcom's old ward on the third
| floor. Farmer was one of the prisoners;
l
and doctors being scarce, the commander
had put him in Charge OF the hospital in
the place. He sat down and beckoned to
some of the men, and they came round to
to hear what he had to say, but without
any guickness or eagerness, and in sto-
lid, silent. dogged way that had become
the dismal habit of the place.


Boys" the grave doctor began. per-
haps little graver than usual, "you know
| who we've got in the hospital now ?"
Nobody answered, and some turned away
| and muttered.


"Look here, boys" he went on, ''I'm as
sick of this as you are want to get away
| as bad as any of you. Storrs and / could
have had good deal of liberty, and gone
out and in about as we pleased these last
six months, if we'd given our word not to
run, but we wouldn't do it, | know how
you feel about this. He'll be back with
you in a few days; he's near to death
and has cut ON his head. He was quite
crazed when they brought him in, and
maybe he was little wrong before he
| went, with thinking 50 much about his
wife and the little fellow he has never
seen. You mustn't be rough on him
| when he comes up


Larcom came up one morning, and back
to his old bunk. They meant not to be
unfriendly with him, and Dexter met him
and gave his hand and said,-


"Come in, old man. How d. do, Lark ?
| We're glad you've come back"
The double meaning of the words was
no less evident for being unintentional.
| and the welcome on the whole was not
pleasant one. They meant to make allow
| ance for him. but they were too low.
They were so close to the wall that they
could not see more than their own side,
| and not much of that. He was gastly to
| look at, his face white, fallen in, his eyes
| a little wild yet, his clothes hanging shape
lessly over his bones, and his head bound
| with cloth. lie crept away to his old bunk
| and lay there most of the next three days.
The crowded room was more terribly lone
| ly to him than any wilderness. At the
end of three days he went and begged
the officers of the guard to put him in
some other place, and they had mercy OH
| him and put him below. And though it
was far worse place, and the old one
was by no means pleasant, he was thank
ful to creep away and hide his head any
where out of sight He had turned his
hand against every man of them and every
mans hand and heart was against him,
| whether they smiled or looked blank. He
had thought his lot and theirs too hard to
| be borne before; now he envied them.
| The common sympathy and confidence in
one another, of which he had he had new
er thought before, seemed inestimable
| things now, as he skunk away to his dun
geon. His was pris on within prison.
He kept apart from all, was shut up with
in himself in that dreadful loneliness he
I,1n hi Il l,rrA I,nrr
warnings that had no escape in spoken
words. He went back to the hospital af-
| ter while and brooded there, and the
doctors knew that he mnst soon die or 60
mad.


One afternoon in October, short, thick,
sturdy little German woman came to the
gate of the prison, carrying year-old
child in her arms. She looked worn, and
her dress was soiled and ragged, and she
| walked in her slow, fiat, Dutch way, like
| one who had come long distance. She
asked in her broken English if that was
Finchley military prison, and if John Lar
com was there confined.


Il reckon he is, was the answer.
"Youve come to the right number
And to her demand to see him, the an
swer was bluntly given that it was con-
trary to rules, and could by no means be
done.


The guard was lank, straddling fel-
low, and he ambled his six steps back and
forth across, ,the gate with an attempt at
soldierly carriage.


II hat drafel nigh tousand mile," the
woman said in her slow, stolid way. ~
hat walk. unit NIT garry men papy, more
than dree hontret mile. He is mein mon
| must see him."


1t amt no use maam, y the guard said.
Nobody gets in or out of here. Don't
say no more. Go long now, that's a good
woman" And the big sentinel straddled
on back and forth.


Katy looked after him minute or two,
and then sat down on stone and waited.
She did not despair; that was her journeys
end: she never thought of going back.
As she sat there, Trap came out. He
stopped when he saw her, and quizzed the
long-legged guard.


This your youngest, Staples? Nice
cub; looks like YOU


There was plainly no love lost on its way