128

WITH the very best intentions, Miss Araminta

Muffit obtained permission to visit the occupants of the local prison, to talk with them, and to help them to begin life anew.

One man, obviously well-educated, interested her. He always rose when she spoke to him, and bowed pɔlitely when she left. One day she screwed up her courage to put the question:

"May I ask why you are in this distressing place?" "Certainly, madam," he replied. "I am here for robbery in a seaside hotel."

"Oh, how interesting!" stammered Miss Araminta. “Were—were you the proprietor?"

nothing. The wind tossed the tall branches over my head; the driving rain lanced down and lashed at me; the chill of wind and rain bit at my bones. But I found no one, no trace of any one, nothing.

At length, I gave up the fruitless search and turned to pick my way back to the road. As I went, 1 stopped, now and then, to look back. I found my horse, still hitched safely to the bridge; and, with a feeling that I had done all a man might do, and a thought that my ears must have deceived me, I set out for home . . . and reached it safely . . . and slept . . . and next day delivered the will as I had been directed.

My patient died a few weeks later, as I said before. James Norman disappeared. The incident slumbered in my memory, all but forgotten, until my visit to the prison a few days ago.

THE

HE old doctor's Pile hused in his narraHE old doctor's pipe had long since been tive, and filled it again, and looked across at the young man with a smile.

"Are you interested?" he asked.

"Surely," the young fellow responded. “ButI'm not sure I see your point just yet-the secret-service guards idea

"That comes now," the old physician interrupted. "That comes now. The thing that convinced me I was meant to live, meant to go about my life, guarded for destiny."

"Go on," said the young man; and the old doctor set a match to his pipe and again began.

D

OCTOR NEWELL is the prison physician, as you may know, the old doctor continued. He is a very able practitioner; and he has taken advantage of his opportunities to study with some care the manifestations of criminology in the men who come to him. He wrote to me, inviting me to come to the prison to see a patient of his -a life convict sentenced six months ago for some crime in the city, who showed peculiar effects of degeneracy over a period of many years. That is beside the point, however. I accepted his invitation; and he met me in the prison office and conducted me to his little hospital, and left me with the man while he himself answered a sudden call from the workshops where a prisoner had injured himself on the machines.

When Doctor Newell had gone, I turned to the man on the bed-he was not so very ill, but Doctor Newell was endeavoring to correct his

condition by complete rest-and began to question him and seek his confidence. I saw curiosity creep into his eyes; and of a sudden he asked me sharply: "Are you not Doctor Price?"

“Yes,” I said. "I am Doctor Price? Have I known you?"

“I am James Norman,” said the man.

For a moment, the name suggested nothing to me. I had not thought of James Norman or of the old woman, my patient, for a dozen years or more. I cast back through the years to find some memory of the name; and the man prompted me by naming the woman who had been in my care. Then I remembered him.

"James Norman," I repeated, a little shaken to see to what things the man had come. "I remember you now."

"I got what was coming to me in the end," he said. "I'm here for keeps."

There was no word in me to give the man; for I was shaken with memories. After the instant in which I did not speak, he cast up his hand to me as though with sudden decision.

"Look here, Doctor Price," he said, "did you know I planned to kill you, once, many years ago?"

I thought him delirious; and he saw my thought and laughed. "No-I'm not crazy," he said. "Don't you remember?"

"No," I told him. "Tell me.”

He chuckled a little. There was no repentance in him: there was only a grim amusement at his own plight. "No harm in telling now," he agreed. "You remember the night my aunt sent for you and gave you that will in which she cut me off, and told you to take it back to town with you? Rainy night, it was. In March, I think.”

Instantly the whole picture flashed into my mind, as I have related it to you. I remembered the drive through the dreadful wind and rain, and the words of the old woman, and the sounds of this man's feet in the upper room. "I remember the night," I said.

He grinned. "Well-I wasn't as drunk as my aunt thought. I heard you come in. You remember there was a big stove in the room where she received you, as well as the open fire. And there was a register in the ceiling, leading to the room above. I crept into that room to listen through the register to what she said to you." I was beginning to see a little.

"When I knew she had given you the will," he said, “I determined to kill you, and destroy it,

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and trust to my aunt's dying before she could make another. The plan came to me in a flash. I slipped down the back stairs and away from the house to the little wooded hollow, a quarter of a mile away. And I took a cane with me, to strike you down. My aunt thought I was still in my room and I planned to reënter by the window and come out from the door so that she could swear I had not left the house. Do you see?" "You called for help?" I asked quickly. "It was you who called?"

He nodded with a touch of pride. "I knew you were so full of notions about duty and the like, that you would come to a summons of that kind. And you did."

"You saw me?" I prompted him.

"Sure," he boasted. "I was behind a big oak, just beside the little path, with my cane lifted to bring it down upon your head as you passed. You came within two feet of me, and passed me, and went and stood in the middle of the little open glade there, flashing your puny lamp around and calling; and I slipped away on the hotfoot when I saw."

road, no human being save James Norman in the little wooded hollow. Therefore, his words A surprised me. I thought he must be mistaken. "You were drunk," I said. "There was no one with me."

He laughed. "Don't try to fool me," he said. "What good does it do? I had had one glass of whiskey that afternoon, and my aunt smelled it on me. That was all. I was not drunk. I saw the man with you."

Something stirred faintly, deep within me. "The man who was with me?" I repeated. "Tell me what was he like?"

James Norman frowned a little. "I could not see him could not see his face," he said. "When you came down the path, past me, he was right on your heels; and when you stood in the middle of the little open patch, looking around, he stood shoulder to shoulder with you. I thought once he had seen me; and it was then I quietly slipped away."

Then Dr. Newell returned and we talked of other things.

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Faith is an invisible and invincible magnet, and attracts to itself whatever it fervently desires and calmly and persistently expects.-Ralph Waldo Trine.

The curiosity of him who wishes to see fully for himself how the dark side of life looks, is like that of the man who took a torch into a powder mill to see whether it would really blow up or not.