"He'll not do any harm, don't be afraid," said he.

"No, I'm not," she told him, drawing a little nearer, quite unconsciously, he knew, as she spoke. "I was thinking how dreadful it must be here for you, especially in the night. But it will not be for long," she cheered him; "we know they'll soon set you free."

"I suppose a person would think a guilty man would suffer more here than an innocent one," said he, "but I don't think that's so. That man down there knows he's going to be sent to the penitentiary for stealing a horse, but he sings."

She was looking at him, a little cloud of perplexity in her eyes, as if there was something about him which she had not looked for and did not quite understand. She blushed when Joe turned toward her, slowly, and caught her eyes at their sounding.

He was thinking over a problem new to him, also--the difference in women. There was Ollie, who marked a period in his life when he began to understand these things, dimly. Ollie was not like this one in any particular that he could discover as common between them. She was far back in the past today, like a simple lesson, hard in its hour, but conquered and put by. Here was one as far above Ollie as a star.

Miss Price began to speak of books, reaching out with a delicate hesitancy, as if she feared that she might lead into waters too deep for him to follow. He quickly relieved her of all danger of embarra.s.sment on that head by telling her of some books which he had not read, but wished to read, holding to the bars as he talked, looking wistfully toward the spot of sunlight which was now growing as slender as a golden cord against the gray wall. His eyes came back to her face, to find that look of growing wonder there, to see her quick blush mount and consume it in her eyes like a flame.

"You've made more of the books that you've read than many of us with a hundred times more," said she warmly. "I'll be ashamed to mention books to you again."

"You oughtn't say that," said he, hanging his head in boyish confusion, feeling that same sense of shyness and desire to hide as came over him when his mother recounted his youthful campaign against the three books on the Newbolt shelf.

"You remember what you get out of them," she nodded gravely, "I don't."

"My father used to say that was one advantage in having a few," said he.

The colonel joined them then, the loud-spoken benediction of the horse-thief following him. There was a flush of indignation in his face and fire in his eyes.

"I'll expose the scoundrel; I'll show him that he can't rob both the county and the helpless men that misfortune throws into his hands!" the colonel declared.

He gave his hand to Joe in his ceremonious fashion.

"I've got some pressing business ahead of me with the sheriff," he said, "and we'll be going along. But I'll manage to come over every few days and bring what cheer I can to you, Joe."

"Don't put yourself out," said Joe; "but I'll be mighty glad to see you any time."

"This is only a cloud in your life, boy; it will pa.s.s, and leave your sky serene and bright," the colonel cheered.

"I'll see how many of the books that you've named we have," said Alice.

"I'm afraid we haven't them all."

"I'll appreciate anything at all," said Joe.

He looked after her as far as his eyes could follow, and then he listened until her footsteps died, turning his head, checking his breath, as if holding his very life poised to catch the fading music of some exquisite strain.

When she was quite out of hearing, he sighed, and marked an imaginary line upon the wall. Her head had reached to there, just on a level with a certain bolt. He measured himself against it to see where it struck in his own height. It was just a boy's trick. He blushed when he found himself at it.

He sat on his bedside and took up the Book. The humor for reading seemed to have pa.s.sed away from him for then. But there was provender for thought, new thought, splendid and bright-colored. He felt that he had been a.s.sociating, for the first time in his life, with his own kind. He never had seen Alice Price before that day, for their lives had been separated by all that divides the eminent from the lowly, the rich from the poor, and seeing her had been a moving revelation. She had come into his troubled life and soothed it, marking a day never to be forgotten.

He sat there thinking of her, the unopened book in his hand.

How different she was from Ollie, the wild rose clambering unkept beside the hedge. She was so much more delicate in form and face than Ollie--Ollie, who--There was a sense of sacrilege in the thought. He must not name her with Ollie; he must not think of them in the measure of comparison. Even such juxtaposition was defiling for Alice. Ollie, the unclean!

Joe got up and walked his cell. How uncouth he was, thought he, his trousers in his boot-tops, his coat spare upon his growing frame. He regarded himself with a feeling of shame. Up to that time he never had given his clothing any thought. As long as it covered him, it was sufficient. But it was different after seeing Alice. Alice! What a soothing name!

Joe never knew what Colonel Price said to the sheriff; but after the little gleam of sun had faded out of his cell, and the gnawings of his stomach had become painfully acute, his keeper came down with a basket on his arm. He took from it a dinner of boiled cabbage and beef, such as a healthy man might lean upon with confidence, and the horse-thief came in for his share of it, also.

When the sheriff came to Joe's cell for the empty dishes, he seemed very solicitous for his comfort and welfare.

"Need any more cover on your bed, or anything?"

No, Joe thought there was enough cover; and he did not recall in his present satisfied state of stomach, that his cell lacked any other comfort that the sheriff could supply.

"Well, if you want anything, all you've got to do is holler," said the sheriff in a friendly way.

There is nothing equal to running for office to move the love of a man for his fellows, or to mellow his heart to magnanimous deeds.

"Say," called the horse-thief in voice softened by the vapors of his steaming dinner, "that friend of yours with the whiskers all over him is ace-high over here in this end of the dump! And say, friend, they could keep me here for life if they'd send purty girls like that one down here to see me once in a while. You're in right, friend; you certainly air in right!"

Colonel Price had kindled a fire in his library that night, for the first chill of frost was in the air. He sat in meditative pose, the newspaper spread wide and crumpling upon the floor beside him in his listlessly swinging hand. The light of the blazing logs was laughing in his gla.s.ses, and the soft gleam of the shaded lamp was on his hair.

Books by the hundred were there in the shelves about him. Old books, brown in the dignity of age and service to generations of men; new books, tucked among them in bright colors, like transient blooms in the homely stability of garden soil. There was a long oak table, made of native lumber and finished in its natural color, smoke-brown from age, like the books; and there was Alice, like a nimble bee skimming the sweets of flowers, flitting here and there in this scholar's sanctuary.

Colonel Price looked up out of his meditation and followed her with a smile.

"Have you found them all?" he asked.

"I've found Milton and _The Lays of Ancient Rome_ and _Don Quixote_, but I can't find the _Meditations of Marcus Aurelius_," said she.

"Judge Maxwell has it," he nodded; "he carried it away more than a month ago. It was the first time he ever met an English translation, he said.

I must get it from him; he has a remarkably short memory for borrowed books."

Alice joined him in the laugh over the judge's shortcoming.

"He's a regular old dear!" she said.

"Ah, yes; if he was only forty years younger, Alice--if he was only forty years younger!" the colonel sighed.

"I like him better the way he is," said she.

"Where did that boy ever hear tell of Marcus Aurelius?" he wondered.

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't understand him, he seems so strange and deep. He's not like a boy. You'd think, from talking with him, that he'd had university advantages."

"It's blood," said the colonel, with the proud swelling of a man who can boast that precious endowment himself, "you can't keep it down. There's no use talking to me about this equality between men at the hour of birth; it's all a poetic fiction. It would take forty generations of this European sc.u.m such as is beginning to drift across to us and taint our national atmosphere to produce one Joe Newbolt! And he's got blood on only one side, at that.

"But the best in all the Newbolt generations that have gone before seem to be concentrated in that boy. He'll come through this thing as bright as a new bullet, and he'll make his mark in the world, too. Marcus Aurelius. Well, bless my soul!"

"Is it good?" she asked, stacking the books which she had selected on the table, standing with her hand on them, looking down at her smiling father with serious face.

"I wouldn't say that it would be good for a young lady with forty beaus and unable to choose among them, or for a frivolous young thing with three dances a week----"

"Oh, never more than two at the very height of social dissipation in Shelbyville!" she laughed.

He lifted a finger, imposing silence, and a laugh lurked in his eyes.