he water in that shallow platter, because he has
nothing else in the room that will hold it. If he can do this fast
enough, and can manage to pour enough of the water away out of one of
the holes in the walls, he may be able to keep himself from being
flooded out, and thus he may preserve one little dry patch of floor,
dry enough for his swollen feet to stand on, till the storm is over.
But it is like trying to bale water out of a very leaky boat; for
always faster than he can scoop it up and pour it away, more rain
comes pouring in steadily, dripping and drenching. The wind shrieks
and whistles and the prisoner is numb with cold.

What a wicked man he must be, to be punished by being put in this
dreadful place! Certainly, if he has committed some dreadful crime, he
has found a terrible punishment. But does he look wicked? See, at last
he is too stiff and weary to move about any longer. In spite of the
rain and the wind he sinks down exhausted upon a rickety chair and
draws it to the spot where there is the best chance of a little
shelter. There he sits in silence for some time. He is soaked to the
skin, as well as tired and stiff and hungry. There is a small mug by
the door, but it is empty and there is not a sign of food. Some bitter
water to drink and a small piece of bread are all the food he has had
to-day, and that is all gone now, for it was so very little. In this
place a small threepenny loaf of bread has sometimes to last for three
weeks. This poor man must be utterly miserable and wretched. But is
he? Let us watch him.

Do you think he can be a wicked man after all? Is not the prisoner
being punished through some dreadful mistake? He looks kind and good,
and, stranger still, he looks happy, even through all his sufferings
in this horrible prison. His face has a sort of brightness in it, like
the mysterious light there is sometimes to be seen in a dark sky,
behind a thunderstorm. A radiance is about him too as if, in spite of
all he is enduring, he has some big joy that shines through everything
and makes it seem worth while.

He is actually 'letting the sunlight through,' even in this dismal
place. Any one who can do that must be a very real and a very big
saint indeed. We must just find out all that we can about him. Let us
take a good look at him now, while we have the chance. Then we shall
know him another time, when we meet him again, having all sorts of
adventures in all sorts of places. It is impossi