n, he got up and was ready to comply with my request, when he
looked me full in the face and started back in amazement:

"Well, I declare! Is this you?"

"Yes, Warden Harlow; but I want you to understand that while I am here
I do not intend to do a bit of work, and you can't make me. You may as
well give it up first as last; I won't work anyhow."

The Warden laughed heartily, and sent for Deputy Morey who came in to
"see a gentleman," and was much astonished to find the prisoner, who,
two years before, had saved his life from the hands and knife of the
madman Hall. I spent a very pleasant hour with my old enemies, and
I took occasion to give them a hint or two with regard to the proper
treatment of prisoners. I then made the rounds of the prison, and went
into the dungeon where I had passed so many wretched hours for weeks
at a time. The warden and his deputy congratulated me upon my improved
appearance and prospects, and hoped that my whole future career would be
equally prosperous.

Nor did I forget to call up my friend in need and friend indeed in
the toll-house at the bridge. I stayed three or four days in Windsor,
finding it really a charming place, and I was almost sorry to leave it.
But my only purpose in going there, that is to revisit the prison, was
accomplished, and I started for New York, and went from there to Port
Jervis, where I met my eldest son.

CHAPTER XII. ATTEMPT TO KIDNAP SARAH SCHEIMER'S BOY.

STARTING TO SEE SARAH--THE LONG SEPARATION--WHAT I LEARNED ABOUT
HER--HER DRUNKEN HUSBAND--CHANGE OF PLAN--A SUDDENLY--FORMED
SCHEME--I FIND SARAH'S SON--THE FIRST INTERVIEW--RESOLVE TO
KIDNAP THE BOY--REMONSTRANCES OF MY SON HENRY--THE ATTEMPT--A
DESPERATE STRUGGLE--THE RESCUE--ARREST OF HENRY--MY FLIGHT
INTO PENNSYLVANIA--SENDING ASSISTANCE TO MY SON--RETURN TO PORT
JERVIS--BAILING HENRY--HIS RETURN TO BELVIDERE--HE IS BOUND OVER TO BE
TRIED FOR KIDNAPPING--MY FOLLY.

After I had been in Port Jervis three or four days I matured a plan that
had long been forcing in my mind, and that was, to try and see Sarah
Scheimer once more, or at least to find out something about her and
about our son. The boy, if he was living, must be about ten years of
age. I had never seen him; nor, since the night when I was taken out of
bed and carried to the Easton jail had I ever seen Sarah, or even heard
from her, except by the message the Methodist minister brought to me
from her the day after I was released fr