“It’s clear enough what brought him to Calhoun,” said this man. “What do you suppose the fellow does with his five dollars a day?”
The Committee on the Water Supply promptly divided into a Sub-Vigilance, and to the Sub-Vigilance Committee Zerviah Hope’s case was referred. The result was, that he was followed on pay-day.
One Saturday night, just as the red-hot sun was going down, the sub-committee returned to the Relief Office in a state of high official excitement, and reported to the chief as follows:
“We’ve done it. We’ve got him. We’ve found out what the fellow does with his money. He puts it—”
“Well?” for the sub-committee hesitated.
“Into the relief contribution-boxes on the corners of the street.”
“What!”
“Every dollar. We stood and watched him count it out—his week’s wages. Every mortal cent that Yankee’s turned over to the fund for the sufferers. He never kept back a red. He poured it all in.”
“Follow him next week. Report again.”
They followed, and reported still again. They consulted, and accepted the astounding truth. The murderer, the convict, the miserable, the mystery, Zerviah Hope,—volunteer nurse, poor, friendless, discharged from Sing Sing, was proved to have surrendered to the public charities of Calhoun, every dollar which he had earned in the service of her sick and dying.