"John Doe," said the clerk, turning over some of the sheets of a very bulky document he held in his hand, "a Grand Jury appointed by this Court has found a true bill of indictment against you for passing counterfeit money, to wit, a five-dollar note purporting to have been issued by the Founders' National Bank of Mechanics' Valley, State of Pennsylvania, the same note having been offered in payment for goods purchased from Samuel Wardwell, a merchant doing business in this town of Laketon, and for passing similar bills upon other persons herein resident. Are you guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty," answered the prisoner.
A sensation ran through the house, and at least half a dozen of the fifty or more citizens who had hoped to be drawn on the jury whispered to their neighbors that it was a shameful trick to appeal to the Judge's sympathy, and get off with a light sentence; but they hoped that his honor would not be taken in by any such hypocritical nonsense.
"John Doe," said his honor, solemnly, "I have been informed by an old acquaintance of yours of your entire history. You are well born and well bred; you had promising prospects in life, and a family that you should have been proud of. But you gambled; you fell from bad to worse; and a bullet aimed at you by an officer of the law, in the discharge of his duty, struck and killed your loving, suffering wife. Such of your family as remains to you would honor any one, even the highest man in the land, and I am assured that you are sincerely desirous of forsaking evil courses and devoting your life to this—family. Old friends, classmates of yours, who are held in high respect wherever they are known, are ready and willing to assist you to regain your lost manhood; so in consideration of your plea, your professions of penitence, and the responsibilities which your misdeeds have increased instead of lessened, I sentence you to confinement in the county jail for the shortest period allowed by the law covering your offense, to wit, six months. Sheriff, remove the prisoner."
The prisoner bowed to the Judge, and then looked toward Mr. Morton and Paul. He tried hard to preserve his composure as the Sheriff led him through the lawyers' circle and toward the Judge's door, but somehow his eyes filled with tears. Perhaps this was the reason that Paul, in spite of Mr. Morton's hand on his arm, sprang from his chair, threw his arms around the prisoner's neck, and exclaimed,
"Father!"