"I kinder kep' my eye on that cell, fur I knowed there'd been a feller brought up that mornin', an' ef I wa'n't very much mistaken he'd been put in No. —. Well, by'm by, I seed suthin' away over in the furder corner of No .—, an' pooty soon it riz up.
"Lord sakes! how I should a hollered, ef I'd 'a' dared, when that creetur stood on its two feet, an' tiptoed forrard into the light, the very spawn o' one o' them little bogles my granny used to tell about! I should say he wa'n't more'n four feet six, in his shoes, an' bein' a good deal bent up, he didn't look nigh so tall as he was; an' sich eyes I never did see in a man's head! Black as coals, an' bright as beads; an' sich a hankerin' look, a way down in 'em, as ef he'd been a s'archin' fur somethin' he wanted ever sence the flood, an' hadn't found it yit, an' didn't 'spect to find it in this world nor t'other!
"Well, he looked round a spell, kinder skeert, an' then he skulked out inter the passage an' come down-stairs, an' arter he'd twigged a minnit he comes straight up to the chaplain, an' teches him on the shoulder. The chaplain he turned round an' kinder gin a start, an' then sez he to the super, 'What's the matter with this poor feller?' sez he. Afore he could answer, the little bogle he steps forrard, an' sez he, 'Doctor, don't give me any o' your physic, keep it for t' others. Doctor-stuff won't do me no good. I'm tuckered out!'
"The super he teched his forrard, an' gin the chaplain a side look, an' sez he, 'Ah, yes, I see!' An' then, willin' to pacify the poor creetur, he turns to him as pleasant as can be, an' sez he, 'You mistake me, my friend, I'm not the doctor, but all the same I've come here to help you, an' what may I do fur you to-day?' The little feller looked at him a minnit, kinder troubled like, an' then he fetched a sigh, and shook his head, an' sez he, 'Physic's no use, I'm tuckered out!' 'But mebbe now,' sez the chaplain, 'I may be able to do some little thing fur you outside. Ain't there some one there you'd like a visit from now?' sez he.
"'Outside?—out—side?' sez the little man, puttin' his skinny hand to his forrard, as ef he wanted to remember suthin', but couldn't fur the life on him. 'Out—side—o-u-t—side? Du tell, is it there, now? I wouldn't 'a' thought it, though; I ain't heerd nothin' on it fur—fur'—countin' his lean fingers, an' rubbin' his forrard again—'fur fifteen year!
"'Outside, eh? an' is Deely there now? She was a hansum gal when I merried her. I sot the world by Deely! Le's see; she was goin' to Californy, Deely was. I wonder if she's got there yit? I hain't heerd a word from her fur fifteen year. But Benjy knows all about her. Benjy's my fust cousin, doctor. He said he'd come an' see me, but he hain't come yit. He's busy, I s'pose, and can't git time.' An' arter he'd fumbled a spell in his breast-pocket, he pulled out a dirty scrap o' paper with some writin' on it, an' handin' on it to the chaplain, sez he, 'That's where Benjy lives, doctor. He said he'd come an' see me, an' let me know 'bout her; an' I've waited fifteen year, doctor, an' all that time I hain't heerd a word from Deely! Mebbe,' sez he, lookin' into the chaplain's face kinder wishful, 'Mebbe sometime you'd go an' see Benjy fur me, and ask him if he's ever heerd from Deely sence she started for Californy. Fifteen year's a long spell to wait,' sez he, heavin' another sigh, 'an' I'm clean tuckered out.' I seen a tear drop on to the chaplain's white necktie, an' sez I to myself, 'he's a thinkin' o' his own wife' (a pretty, chipper little lady she was, too,—I see her one day in chapel), an' sez I, 'he'll go!'
"Well, the super, he told the little tuckered-out creetur to go back to his cell. So he crep' back, as still as a mouse. He didn't lay down, fur I watched him. He skulked into a corner, an' crouched down on the floor ezackly as ef he was tryin' to tie himself up into a hard knot, an' there he staid, as still as a stun image. Arter that, I heerd the super tellin' the chaplain that the man had turns o' bein' out o' his head, an' he'd come up to be treated fur it.
"'His name,' sez he, 'is David Sweeney. He's an American, an' in fur twenty year fur highway robbery. No mortal knows how he come to do it,' sez he, 'for he had a good trade, an' plenty o' work at it, an' had allers borne a good character, an', only three months before, he'd married the very girl he wanted, Delia White, as pretty as a pink, an' smart as a steel trap. Some folks thought she might 'a' ben at the bottom on't, for she was a toppin' gal, an' mighty fond o' gew-gaws, an' he'd 'a' cut off his right hand to please her. I should say she turned out a poor bargain, anyhow, for he's never set eyes on her sence he come to the prison. I remember folks pitied the poor feller a good deal at the time, for he was young an' this was his first offence; but highway robbery's bad business,' sez he, 'an' if a man will foller it, why then let him take the consequences, I say.' Next arternoon the chaplain he come up to the hospital agin', an' went in an' talked a spell with the little tuckered-out man. I couldn't hear what he said, but arterwards I heerd him tell the super how he'd been to hunt up the 'fust cousin' who, as nigh as he could come at it, kep' a grocery store on Cambridge Street fifteen year ago; but he'd moved to Vermont, bag an' baggage, years ago, an' nobody round there had heerd a lisp from him sence. Well, next day Deely's husband got wild as a hawk, an' had to be locked up in his cell, an' afore he was fit to go round loose again I'd got peart, an' gone down. An' purty pleased I was, too, I tell you, for the warden he gin me a runner's berth, an' that ain't to be sneezed at. Well, I should say it wa'n't more'n six months arter that, when long in the edge o' the evenin' I was sent up in the third tier of the north wing to kerry some apples that one o' the instructors had brought in for a prisoner belongin' to his shop. When I come to the right door I was goin' to hand 'em through the gratin', but, not seein' nobody, I coughed to let the feller know I was there; an' then, hearin' a rustlin' over on the bed, I peeked in, an there, as sure as eggs, was the little 'tuckered-out' man, tied in the same old hard knot, an' with the same old, lonesome, hankerin' look on his wizened little face! When he heerd me, he riz up, and come forrard, an' when I gin him the apples he kinder perked up a minnit, but before I could turn round he drapped on to the bed agin as dismal as ever, an', as I come away, I heerd him a moanin' to hisself, 'O Lord! O Lord! tuckered out! tuckered out!'
"Well, arter that, I seen him consider'ble, off an' on, an', somehow, he 'peared to take a shine to me, an' we got to be purty good friends. He wa'n't a grain out o' his head now, but uncommon dismal, an' enjoyed purty poor health, I should say from his looks, though he didn't complain to nobody. One night, long 'bout Christmas time, I was sent inter his wing on some arrant or other, an', as I was goin' kinder slow past his door, I see him beckoning to me. I wa'n't apt to go agin the rules, but, thinks I, 'twon't break nobody ef I stop a minnit, an' jest say a word to this poor creetur. So I looked sharp, an' seein' as nobody was twiggin' me, I went up to the gratin' an' shook hands with him, an' sez I, 'I hope I see you well, Sweeney.' Sez he, 'No, not very well, Hiram, an' here's my goold ring,' sez he, 'an' I want you to keep it fur me. I sha'n't have no use fur it fur some time.' So he put the ring on the little finger o' my left hand, an' a tight squeeze it was, too. 'Twas real Guinny goold, with two hearts, an' a 'D' cut inside on't. He wa'n't a grain flighty that night, but sich a sorrowful look as he gin me, when he put that ring on my finger, you never did see. An' then he shook hands with me agin, an' sez he, 'How dretful long these nights be, Hiram. But they'll get shorter arter Christmas, won't they? Good-by, Hiram, God bless you!'