"Father mortgaged our pretty home [he afterwards lost it, the mortgage being foreclosed] and has done everything under the sun he knows of to clear me, so have my lawyers; but they've failed! Mother Roberts, they've failed! and I'm to be sent to the penitentiary for ninety-nine years. Think of it, ninety-nine years! That means that unless the real murderer turns up, some day I'll die and be buried in a dishonored grave--and _all through starting out wrong to begin with, then keeping it up_." My heart felt torn all to pieces for this poor unfortunate lad. How I should have liked to sit beside those bars all night in order to comfort him! but as that could not be, I presently, after commending him to an ever-merciful God and Savior, whom he could not, as yet, accept or understand, took my departure, as sad and burdened a soul as ever walked the earth. As the tears coursed down my cheeks, I resolved to try to help him, and, moreover, by repeating his story, to warn mothers and fathers to guard their little ones closely every hour of their young lives. Also, I purposed not to spare myself in addressing them, whether individually or _en masse_, but to confess my own carelessness and shortsightedness, when, as a young mother, I was much of the time heedless with regard to my little spoilt son, for _whose soul and body God was some day going to hold me responsible_. Had it not been for God's tender mercy and love in pardoning and directing my future life, in answering my earnest prayers for his tender watch-care over me and mine, who knows but that my only and well-beloved son might have shared a similar fate? If he had, I alone would have been to blame.