ion, and many a prisoner in that jail
found occasion to bless the sheriff's mother. She visited them all, did
what she could for their comfort, and talked with them so earnestly, at
the same time so kindly and with such ready sympathy, that several cases
of complete reformation could be traced directly to her influence. Now her
interest was quickly aroused by her son's account of the youthful prisoner
just delivered into his keeping, and she sighed deeply over the story of
his wickedness.

"Is it certain that he did all these things, Robert?" she asked at length.

"Oh, I guess there is no doubt of it. He was caught almost in the very
act," answered the sheriff, carelessly.

"And thee says he is young?"

"Yes, hardly more than a boy."

"Does thee think he has had any breakfast?"

"Probably not; but I'll carry him some after I've been out and fed the
cattle," answered her son, who was a farmer as well as a sheriff.

"Is thee willing I should take it to him?"

"Certainly, if you want to, only be very careful about locking everything
securely after you," replied the sheriff, who was accustomed to requests
of this kind. "I don't know why you should trouble yourself about him
though, I'll feed him directly."

"Why should we ever trouble ourselves, Robert, about those who are
strangers, or sick, or in prison? Besides, perhaps the poor lad has no
mother, while just now he must sorely feel the need of one."

Thus it happened that a few minutes later Rod Blake was startled from his
unhappy reverie by the appearance of an old lady in a dove-colored dress,
a snowy cap and kerchief, in front of his door. As she unlocked it and
stepped inside, he saw that she bore in her hands a tray on which a
substantial breakfast was neatly arranged. The lad sprang to his feet, but
faint from hunger and exhaustion as he was, he cast only one glance at
the tempting tray. Then he gazed earnestly into the face of his visitor.

Setting the tray down on a stool, for there was no table in the cell, the
old lady said: "I thought thee might be hungry my poor lad, and so have
brought thee a bit of breakfast."

"Oh, madam! Don't you know me? Don't you remember me?" cried Rod eagerly.

Although startled by the boy's vehemence, the old lady adjusted her
spectacles and regarded him carefully. "I can't say that I do," she said
at length, in a troubled tone. "And yet thy face bears a certain look of
familiarity. Where have I ever seen thee before?"