"We're fond of poor Michael," said Dreamikins softly; "but we aren't coming just to see him because we love him, but because we want to be able to tell Jesus we've done it when He's counting out His sheep and goats."
And Mr. Horner nodded, and seemed to quite understand almost as well as Fibo did.
"I'm sorry for the boy," he said. "His sentence was a bit hard, I think; but he comes of a bad stock, and I think that told against him. I've told the warder to expect us after tea."
So, after tea, they followed Mr. Hornet through a baize door and down a long corridor; and then a warder came forward. He had keys in his hand, and took them on farther to a little room nearly at the end of the passage. He unlocked the door, and there was Michael. He had been having his tea, but the little girls heard that he had been working at some post office bags before. Now he stood up, with hanging head and sullen face.
Dreamikins looked at the cell with interested eyes, and then sidled up to Michael's side.
"Poor Michael!" she said, in a soft whisper, slipping her little hand into his. "I've got a angel with me, do you know!—very nice he is, and I did hope him and me togever could get you out of prison; but Fibo said 'No,' nobody could do it without breaking the law. Are you very mis'able here, dear Michael?"
The lad turned his face sharply away from her, and drew the cuff of his sleeve across his eyes.
Dreamikins kept tight hold of one of his hands, and bent her head forward coaxingly.
"Never mind, dear Michael. You won't never do it again, will you? And you can be quite happy in prison, you know. Some of the Bible people sang hymns, and made quite a noise. I forget their names. And God always comes to people in prisons. And I'm so very glad we've comed here, for do you know that Jesus says we're visiting Him if we visit you? Fancy that! You're instead of Him! I can't quite explain it. And Shylock misses you so much. He looks round every day to see when you're coming back. And he sent you his love and a kiss, and somefing very nice. It's here in this embelope. It's a lock of his hair. I cut it off myself. Won't you like to have it?"
Michael's great fingers closed on the packet, and the sullen boy choked down a sob. He suddenly realised how much he had lost and thrown away. Then Fibo called to Dreamikins. The others were standing in the passage; for Mr. Horner said each of the little girls might go in alone. Dreamikins stretched up on tiptoe, and put her arms round Michael's neck as she kissed him for a good-bye.