t
said this was due to the filthy habits of the prisoners. The
prisoners on their part said it came of the pestilential hovels they
were compelled to live in, where the ground was a bog, the walls and
roof were a rotten coffin, and the air was heavy and lifeless. Since
the change of warders, there had been a gradual decline in the
humanity with which they had been treated, and to burn up their old
beds without giving them new ones was to deprive them of the last
comfort that separated the condition of human beings from that of
beasts of the field.

But the Captain of the Mines was in no humor to bandy parts with his
prisoners, and in ordering that the beds should be burnt to prevent
an outbreak of disease, he appointed that the prisoner B 25, should
be told off to do the work. Now B 25 was the prison name of Red
Jason, and he was selected by reason of his great bodily strength,
not so much because the beds required it, as from fear of the
rebellion of the poor souls who were to lose them.

So at the point of a musket Red Jason was driven on to his bad work,
and sullenly he went through it, muttering deep oaths from between
his grinding teeth, until he came to the log hut where Michael
Sunlocks slept, and there he saw again the face that had haunted his
memory.

"This bed is dry and sound," said Michael Sunlocks, "and you shall
not take it."

"Away with it," shouted the warder to Jason, who had seemed to
hesitate.

"It is good and wholesome, let him keep it," said Jason.

"Go on with your work," cried the warder, and the lock of his musket
clicked.

"Civilized men give straw to their dogs to lie on," said Michael
Sunlocks.

"It depends what dogs they are," sneered the warder.

"If you take our beds, this place will be worse than an empty
kennel," said Michael Sunlocks.

"Better that than the mange," said the warder. "Get along, I tell
you," he cried again, handling his musket and turning to Jason.

Then, with a glance of loathing, Jason picked up the bed in his
fingers, that itched to pick up the warder by the throat, and swept
out of the place.

"Slave!" cried Michael Sunlocks after him. "Pitiful, miserable,
little-hearted slave!"

Jason heard the hot words that pursued him, and his face grew as red
as his hair, and his head dropped into his breast. He finished his
task in less than half an hour more, working like a demented man at
piling up the dirty mattresses, into a vast heap, and setting light