Sincerely yours,
Henry D. Jorlemon.”
The excitement and joy produced by the reading of this astounding letter was unbounded. Amid tears and laughter the members of the little family embraced one another again and again, and finally, when a little calmness had come upon them, they knelt while Andrew Sage offered up a prayer of thanksgiving which came from the deepest chamber of his overflowing heart.
The moment the prayer was ended Fred leaped to his feet, kissed his mother, turned to his father and cried:
“You tell her, father. I’m going back into the village. I’m going to take this letter. You tell her the wonderful truth.”
The door slammed behind him, and away he went as fast as his legs could carry him. And thus it happened that the parents of the young man who had been falsely convicted of a crime were alone together when old Andrew Sage broke the marvelous tidings that Clarence Sage lived and was even then in that town.
Racing into the village in search of Piper, Fred was just in time to see Sheriff Pickle and a large body of men conducting toward the lockup two tattered and battered men, the associates of the wounded burglar, who had been captured only after a hot pursuit and a desperate fight.
The morning train had brought into Oakdale a slim, smooth-faced, quiet man in dark clothes, who had seemed greatly interested in the story of the attempted bank robbery. This man was also on hand when Pickle appeared with the prisoners, and with an air of authority he forced his way through the posse until he almost touched one of the captives, whom he surveyed with no small amount of satisfaction.
“Hello, Wilson,” he said. “You seem to have made a bad mess of this job.”
“Here! here!” cried the deputy sheriff, attempting to thrust the stranger back. “None of that! Keep away! What do you mean, men, by allowing anyone to approach the prisoners this fashion?”