"Well, that was long in the neighbourhood o' Fast Day; an' now an' then on holidays, marm, as p'r'aps you know, the gov'nor makes a p'int to pardon a prisoner; an' when the warden gits up them days in chapel, with a paper in his hand, we know what's comin', an' some hearts there gives awful thumps, I tell you! There's lots of 'em, you see, has hopes, havin' folks a tryin' fur 'em outside, or bein' took up by the prayer-meetin' or the inspectors; but I hadn't eny hopes; so that day when the warden riz, with his pardon, an' begun to make a speech, I sot there as unconcerned as ever.
"'Twenty-two years ago,' sez he, 'one of your number in a state of intoxication committed a great crime, an' was sentenced for life to this prison. Durin' these twenty-two years,' sez he, 'he hain't sot foot outside these walls; an' durin' the hull o' that time,' sez he, 'he hain't once ben reported for bad conduct. In his sober moments he's allers ben sorry fur his crime,' sez he, 'an' now he's a worn-out old man, an' I have spoken in favour of his pardon. His name,' sez he, 'is Peter Floome.'
"By the Moses, marm! when I heerd my name called, ef I wa'n't beat! Well, I riz up to go forrard. My knees was mighty shaky, an' the chapel was spinnin' round like sixty. I heerd 'em clappin' on me, an' then, well, that pardon was a leetle too much for me; an' I jest up an' fainted dead away. Arter a spell they brung me to; an' arter riggin' me out in a bran-new coat an' weskitt an' trowsis, they brung me into the guard-room. Well, there was the warden, the chaplain, an' the deputy, an' lots o' folks, an' all as smilin' as a basket o' chips. Lots on 'em shook hands with me, an' wished me joy. A tall man in a long, black coat, an' green specs, was a stannin' along side o' the warden. He was powfell glad to see me, an' gin me lots o' good advice (out o' the Scriptures, I should say), though I didn't ezackly sense, bein' cumflustered like. Arter that, I got leave to say good-by to some o' the boys; an' then the warden he sent fur me to come into his office, an' there was two of the inspectors, an' the chaplain, an' the State agent, an' the chap in the long coat an' the goggles, as big as life.
"Well, each on 'em talked a spell to me, an' treated me, on the hull, I should say, considerable han'some. An' the tall man he gin some more d'rections 'bout my behaviour. Some on it, I took it, was his own words, an' some on 't was Bible, an' sounded mighty han'some. The State agent he gin me the four dollars a comin' to me from the State; an' sez he, 'when you've made up your mind what you're goin' to do, come to my office, Peter, en I'll do what I kin fer ye.' An' arter he'd gin me a card with the street an' number o' his place on 't, I shook hands all round agin, an' off I goes. Lord bless you! Marm, when I gits outside that prison ef I ain't e'en a'most as helpless as a baby! an' where to go to, or how to go at all, is more'n I knowed! Howsumdever, I kinder scooted off, best way I could; for thinks I, I'll git over to Boston and put up to a tavern there, where folks don't know me, an' 't won't leak out 'bout my havin' ben in prison. So I goes on, an' arter I turned the corner, an' got into another street, an' walked on a piece, somebody steps up behind me, an' teches me on the shoulder. 'Lord,' thinks I, 'what is comin' now!' but I jest turned round square ter face the music; an' who should I see but Mr. Holt, my old instructor in the shoe shop! An' sez he, 'Peter,' sez he, 'I want you to go 'long o' me. You'll make a poor fist on 't jest now, goin' round streets alone. You come to my house a spell,' sez he. I was glad, I tell you, marm. Well, I staid to his house three weeks in all, an' durin' that time got sorter steady in my head, an' used ter goin' round loose.
"Well, arter goin' to his office five times, I ketched the State agent in, one day. He knew me right off, like a book; but he was awful busy, an' couldn't talk to me but a minute. I told him I had a own uncle an' some fust cousins out to Illinoise, an' I reckoned I'd go out there an' stay a spell, ef he'd a mind to put me through. Sez he, 'I can send you as fur as Buffalo, Peter, an' arter you git there, you'll mebbe git a job an' make enough to carry you on to your folks. The West'll be the makin' on you. It's the very place for you convicts,' sez he. So he gin me a ticket, an' hustled me off.
"Well, I went home to Mr. Holt's, an' we talked it over, that night, an' next day he went to Boston with me an' clean over to the deepott to put me into the right keer, an', arter thankin' on him a thousand times, I set out for Buffalo. But, Lord a massy, marm! how them keers does scoot! It's 'nuff to take away your breath—to say nothin' o' yer senses. Arter a while we come to a stop an' I wa'n't a bit sorry. 'I'll git off a spell,' sez I, 'an' kinder stiddy my head, an' stretch my legs, while the ingine's restin'.' The railroad hedn't come our way till arter I was shet up, so I was middlin' clumsy round keers, an' goin' down them pesky high steps, I gin my left ankle a turn, an' out it goes! I sot down a minnit; folks was goin' an' comin', but nobody twigged me. Arter a spell, I riz up, an' hobbled inside the deepott buildin', an' jest as I was takin' off my shoe an' stockin' to look at the damage, that plaggy keer-man blowed his whistle, an' afore you could say Jack Robinson, off went them divilish keers, an' me left in the lurch, with a ticket that sez 'good for this trip only!' 'O Lord,' sez I, 'what shall I do! Fust thing,' sez I, 'I'll count my cash;' so I took out my little wallet, an' there was the four dollars 'at the State agent 'lowed me, an' ten dollars 'at Mr. Holt gin me the day I cum off.
"Well, arter I thought it over, I put on my shoe and stockin', an' sung out to a feller who 'peared to be hangin' 'round for a job, an', sez I, 'Mister, this here ankle's awful; an' I'll be obleeged to you, ef you'll take me to the tarvern; an' mebbe, as we go 'long, you wouldn't mind stoppin' at the 'poth'cary shop to let me git a bottle o' Opedildock?'
"Well, to git to the eend o' my long story, that ankle, marm, laid me up a hull week; an', by the time I got round agin, my cash was 'bout gone. My ticket wa'n't no arthly valloo, nuther. So I gin up Illinoise, paid the damages to the tarvern, bought a lot o' crackers an' cheese, an' sot out on my travels, dead broke. I guess 't wa'n't more'n ten miles from Boston where I bust my ankle; but I made up my mind not to ask no questions, fur, sez I, 'Peter, 't won't do to show your ignorance, ef you do 't may leak out 'bout the prison.'
"Fust, I thought I'd look 'round for a job; but I dursn't, fur folks would naterly want to know where I come from, an' ef the boys got wind o' my bein' a convict, they'd prob'ly holler arter me, an' p'rhaps set the dogs on me. So I jest shet my head tight, an' sot out.
"I'd ben travellin' 'bout two days when my grub gin out, an', long in the arternoon o' the third day, I come in sight o' this here buildin'. Thinks I ter myself, 'I can't drag on much furder, anyhow, an' it does look mighty pooty there in that green lot with the yallar buttercups a bloomin' all round. I reckon I better tumble over them bars,' sez I, 'an' lay down a spell under that big warnut tree. Mebbe,' sez I, 'I sha'n't git up in a hurry (fur I was clean beat out), but 't ain't no matter,' sez I, 'there's folks close by, an' when my troubles is over, they'll find me layin' a top o' the buttercups, an' they can't do no less'n put me under 'em.' You see, marm, livin' behind the bars, a feller gits shaky on Providence, and I didn't once suspicion 'at Providence was bringin' me to the right shop; 'at I was makin' a bee-line fur the only creetur in the hull world 'at wouldn't turn the cold shoulder on me. So, when I clim over them bars, I couldn't (beggin' the Almighty's pardon) ha' flipped a cent fer my miserable old life. When I laid down under the warnut tree, I felt kinder drowsy-like, an' so I shet my eyes; but the birds, they was singin' like all possessed, an' the grass smelt sweet as new butter, an' I hadn't seen a mowin' lot risin' o' twenty year. So I riz up on my elbow, to take a squint 'round, an' there, not more'n ten rods off, I seed this blessed little angel a pickin' buttercups. She'd grown, marm, but I knowed her, fur all that, the minnit I sot eyes on her. 'T ain't nateral I shouldn't, when there ain't another like her in God's world. Yes, I knowed her, an' she knowed me, she did, though when I sot straight up, an' kinder coughed, she gin a leetle start. An' then I sez to myself, 'O Lord! she's goin' to run away! As sure as the world, she's afeared of her poor old Peter, 'at used to tote her in his arms!' But she didn't run. She jest turned round an' gin me a good look, an' then she claps her two hands, she does, an' sez she, 'Peter! Peter! it is Peter!' an' runs straight up to me, with her cheeks as pink as roses, an' puts her two arms 'round my miser'ble old neck. An' then, marm, I broke right down, an' cried like a baby. But I didn't want to make her pooty little heart ache, so I wiped up, an' told her all 'bout the pardon, an' 'bout the folks over to the 'palace' (that's our name, marm, for the prison), an' it 'peared to me she'd never git through askin' questions 'bout one or 'nother, for bein' brung up in the prison, she kinder took to us, though we do seem poor shucks to you, I reckon. Use is everything, an' no matter how bad convicts is, they all sot the world by her. Well, arter we'd talked a spell, an' I'd et a hunk o' gingerbread she gin me, I perked up, an' told her I'd go along home with her; 'fur,' sez I, 'I can't leave her now, nohow. I've ben starvin' too long for the sight on her,' sez I. So here I am, marm, an' you know the rest.