"'Neighbor,' said the Governor, 'this is a cold winter.'
"'It is, your Honor.'
"'I hope that your family are comfortable.'
"'No, your Honor; they have sometimes gone to bed supperless and cold.'
"'It hurts my conscience to know that. Have you any fuel?'
"'None, your Honor. My children have kept their bed for warmth.'
"'But I have a good woodpile. See the shed: there is more wood there than I can burn. I ought not to sit down by a comfortable fire night after night, while my neighbor's family is cold.'
"'I am glad that you are so well provided for, for you are a good man, and have a heart to feel for those in need.'
"'Neighbor, there is my woodpile. It is yours as well as mine. I would not feel warm if I were to sit down by my fire and remember that you and your wife and your children were cold. When you need any fuel, come to my woodpile and take all the wood that you want.'
"The man on the marsh went away, his head hanging down. I believe that there came into his heart the powerful resolution that he would never steal again, and we have no record that he ever did. The Governor's hope for him had made him another man.