To be cast into jail and locked up in a cell is not a pleasant experience even for one who deserves such a fate; while to an honest lad like Rodman Blake who had only tried to perform what he considered his duty to the best of his ability, it was terrible.  In vain did he assure himself that his friends would soon discover his predicament and release him from it.  He could not shake off the depressing influence of that narrow room, of the forbidding white walls, and the grim grating of the massive door.  He was too sensible to feel any sense of disgrace in being thus wrongfully imprisoned; but the horror of the situation remained, and it seemed as though he should suffocate behind those bars if not speedily released.

In the meantime the sheriff, whose breakfast had been interrupted by the arrival of the self-appointed constables and their prisoner, returned to his own pleasant dining-room to finish that meal.  He was a bachelor, and the only other occupant of the room was his mother, who kept house for him, and was one of the dearest old ladies in the world.  She was a Quakeress, and did not at all approve of her son’s occupation.  As she could not change it, however, she made the best use of the opportunities for doing good afforded by his position, and many a prisoner in that jail found occasion to bless the sheriff’s mother.  She visited them all, did what she could for their comfort, and talked with them so earnestly, at the same time so kindly and with such ready sympathy, that several cases of complete reformation could be traced directly to her influence.  Now her interest was quickly aroused by her son’s account of the youthful prisoner just delivered into his keeping, and she sighed deeply over the story of his wickedness.

“Is it certain that he did all these things, Robert?” she asked at length.

“Oh, I guess there is no doubt of it.  He was caught almost in the very act,” answered the sheriff, carelessly.

“And thee says he is young?”

“Yes, hardly more than a boy.”

“Does thee think he has had any breakfast?”

“Probably not; but I’ll carry him some after I’ve been out and fed the cattle,” answered her son, who was a farmer as well as a sheriff.

“Is thee willing I should take it to him?”

“Certainly, if you want to, only be very careful about locking everything securely after you,” replied the sheriff, who was accustomed to requests of this kind.  “I don’t know why you should trouble yourself about him though, I’ll feed him directly.”

“Why should we ever trouble ourselves, Robert, about those who are strangers, or sick, or in prison?  Besides, perhaps the poor lad has no mother, while just now he must sorely feel the need of one.”

Thus it happened that a few minutes later Rod Blake was startled from his unhappy reverie by the appearance of an old lady in a dove-colored dress, a snowy cap and kerchief, in front of his door.  As she unlocked it and stepped inside, he saw that she bore in her hands a tray on which a substantial breakfast was neatly arranged.  The lad sprang to his feet, but faint from hunger and exhaustion as he was, he cast only one glance at the tempting tray.  Then he gazed earnestly into the face of his visitor.

Setting the tray down on a stool, for there was no table in the cell, the old lady said:  “I thought thee might be hungry my poor lad, and so have brought thee a bit of breakfast.”

“Oh, madam!  Don’t you know me?  Don’t you remember me?” cried Rod eagerly.

Although startled by the boy’s vehemence, the old lady adjusted her spectacles and regarded him carefully.  “I can’t say that I do,” she said at length, in a troubled tone.  “And yet thy face bears a certain look of familiarity.  Where have I ever seen thee before?”

“Don’t you remember one morning a few weeks ago when you were in a railroad station, and dropped your purse, and I picked it up, and you gave me a quarter for seeing you safely on the train?  Don’t you?  I’m sure you must remember.”

The old lady was nervously wiping her spectacles.  As she again adjusted them and gazed keenly at the boy, a flash of recognition lighted her face and she exclaimed, “Of course I do!  Of course I do!  Thee is that same honest lad who restored every cent of the money that but for thee I might have lost!  But what does it all mean?  And how came thee here in this terrible place?”

Rod was only too thankful to have a listener at once so interested and sympathetic as this one.  Forgetful of his hunger and the waiting breakfast beside him, he at once began the relating of his adventures, from the time of first meeting with the dear old lady down to the present moment.  It was a long story and was so frequently interrupted by questions that its telling occupied nearly an hour.

At its conclusion the old lady, who was at once smiling and tearful, bent over and kissed the boy on his forehead, saying: 

“Bless thee, lad!  I believe every word of thy tale, for thee has an honest face, and an honest tongue, as well as a brave heart.  Thee has certainly been cruelly rewarded for doing thy duty.  Never mind, thy troubles are now ended, for my son shall quickly summons the friends who will not only prove thy innocence and release thee from this place, but must reward thy honest bravery.  First, though, thee must eat thy breakfast and I must go to fetch a cup of hot coffee, for this has become cold while we talked.”

So saying the old lady bustled away with a reassuring little nod and a cheery smile that to poor Rod was like a gleam of sunlight shining into a dark place.  As she went, the old lady not only left his cell door unlocked but wide open for she had privately decided that the young prisoner should not be locked in again if she could prevent it.