“Now, all you who desire to work on these public improvements will form in line and pass out through the office, giving your correct names and addresses, as you now become once more respected American citizens. Form in line, two abreast, out on Woodland Avenue, facing east, and we will take pleasure in conducting you to the places of employment. There you will be supplied with the necessary tools, and arrangements will be made at different places where you can get accommodations until you receive your first pay for services. Your compensation will be $1.50 each per day.” At that he stopped. Every man in that yard was in line. It seemed as though a cloud had rose up off from that crowd. Every one looked happy, cheerful. Well, Betsy, we marched out into the open air onto Woodland Avenue, and each one gave his real name and address to the clerk as we passed out. Then we all went out to the place where they were at work. There they were—hundreds of them—a plowin, and a shovelin, and a haulin, a talkin and a laffin, a whistlin and a singin. I looked at several houses as we were on our way out, and saw one nice little place that I thought I would rent as soon as I got my first week’s pay. When the week was up I went, and sure enough it was empty. I hunted up the owner, and got it for $5 a month. I used $3 of the other four to pay my board. I worked there three weeks, makin $27, and had sent for you. I was lookin for you on Saturday, and could hardly wait until you come. I felt young agin. [Illustration: “I WORKED THERE THREE WEEKS.”] Well, when I got to my boardin place on Thursday night, I went in and up to my room, thinkin that in two more days you would be with me. When I opened the door, there you was a comin toward me with your arms stretched out. My heart leaped. I jumped towards you, throwin out my arms to embrace you, when—— I struck my hand agin the iron bed-post in my cell and nearly broke it. It woke me up. Everything was cold and dark. You was not there. I felt so queer that I sot up in bed, and I sot there a thinkin of that dream—thinkin of how glad I was to git work; thinkin of that law, and what a grand country this would be if sich was the law; thinkin of that little house with green winder-blinds; thinkin of you doin your cookin and sweepin, your dustin and cleanin in that little house; thinkin of me a makin $9 every week, and a countin the money out to you every Saturday night in new, crisp greenbacks; thinkin of all these things, and then thinkin of you a sleepin out there in the road, you a goin hungry and without shelter because I cant git any sich work; thinkin how happy we might be and how troubled we are. I jist had to cry. I had to, though Ime a man. I sot there on the side of that iron bed till I nearly froze; then I laid down and went to sleep and slept till half-past five, when the watchman came around to waken me up to go to wheelin coal and cinders for another twelve hours for nothin.