And it is not as though the operator trod on the open wheel. He must not speak to his neighbour—he must not see him.
It must be terrible work for a fat man. It is possible for such a one to lose three stone in as many months.
Happily for Peace he was spared this dreadful infliction, as the gaol in which he was confined did not at that time contain a treadmill; therein he might deem himself fortunate.
His new occupation pleased him well enough, it was far better than being cooped up in a narrow cell.
One day when he was deep in the mysteries of trying to put the different pieces of the jacket together, and comparing them with his own, which he had taken off, he was visited by an assistant schoolmaster, who brought him a Bible, prayer and hymn-books.
He made him write a few verses of a psalm on a slate to see his handwriting, and finding it tolerably satisfactory, told him he need not attend school, but during the hour each week when the other members of the ward were at their lessons, he would be at liberty to read or write, and need not continue his work.
He also asked if he wished to write to any of his friends at the next school day or default.
If Peace did not exercise the privilege within a month he would lose it.
He, therefore, deemed it advisable to book himself to write the very first opportunity.
He was anxious to write to his mother, and when the day arrived that he was to write home he was directed to go to the end of the ward, where he found a number of small tables—one of which with an inkstand, a pen, and a piece of blotting-paper.