the prison and in it also, and was so adapted to the uneven ground as to
be on top of the prison-wail. Panting with excitement, the convict
Charlton stopped at the top of this flight of steps while the guard gave
an alarm, and the door was opened from the office side. Albert could not
refrain from looking back over the prison-yard; he saw every familiar
object again, he passed through the door, and stood face to face with the
firm and kindly Warden Proctor. He saw Lurton standing by the warden, he
was painfully alive to everything; the clerks had ceased to write, and
were looking at him expectantly.

"Well, Charlton," said the warden kindly, "I am glad to tell you that you
are pardoned. I never was so glad at any man's release."

"Pardoned?" Charlton had dreamed so much of liberty, that now that
liberty had come he was incredulous. "I am very much obliged to you, Mr.
Proctor," he gasped.

"That is the man to thank," said the warden, pointing to Lurton. But
Charlton couldn't thank Lurton yet. He took his hand and looked in his
face and then turned away. He wanted to thank everybody--the guard who
conducted him out, and the clerk who was recording the precious pardon in
one of the great books; but, in truth, he could say hardly anything.

"Come, Charlton, you'll find a change of clothes in the back-room. Can't
let you carry those off!" said the warden.

Charlton put off the gray with eagerness. Clothes made all the
difference. When once he was dressed like other men, his freedom became a
reality. Then he told everybody good-by, the warden first, and then the
guard, and then the clerks, and he got permission to go back into the
prison, as a visitor, now, and tell the prisoners farewell.

Then Lurton locked arms with him, and Charlton could hardly keep back the
tears. Human fellowship is so precious to a cleansed leper! And as they
walked away down the sandy street by the shore of Lake St. Croix,
Charlton was trying all the while to remember that walls and grates and
bars and bolts and locks and iron gates and armed guards shut him in no
longer. It seemed so strange that here was come a day in which he did not
have to put up a regular stint of eight vinegar-barrels, with the
privilege of doing one or two more, if he could, for pay. He ate some
breakfast with Lurton. For freedom is a great tonic, and satisfied hopes
help digestion. It is a little prosy to say so, but Lurton's buttered
toast and coffee was more palatabl