'Oh, father, don't say so; it makes me feel so bad.' 'To think how much trouble I have been to my family.' Sam could stand it no longer, but wept aloud. 'I don't wish to make you feel bad, Sam; but all your kind feelings, and all your mother's kind feelings, make me think how wrong I have acted, and wonder how anybody can care for me.' 'But they do care for you--everybody cares for you. Uncle Sam Cutter says you shan't stay here--_that_ you shan't.' 'Did he say so? Well, I thank him for his kind feelings; and I hope, if the Lord please, I may get my liberty soon, that I may be able to work and earn an honest living, and pay my debts. But, Sam, this place ain't so bad, gloomy as it looks. A bad life and a guilty conscience are harder things to get along with than this jail. I have spent worse hours, looking at you and your mother, and the little ones, with a fire burning in my bosom, than I spent here last night. I never knew before that there could be such things.' 'What things, father?' 'Why, Sam, that there could be such peace within, when all about me was so horrible. But I believe God has done it--and all for my good. He does everything for good.' Sam was utterly confounded at hearing such words from his father; but he rejoiced to hear them. He sat as long as he thought consistent with duties at home, and was preparing to return, when their attention was arrested by a bustle below stairs, and a loud puffing and blowing of some one ascending to the room. 'What steps you've got here, Mr. Tice!--so high, I can hardly get my old carcass up. Oh, dear, dear, dear; what a world this is!' The heavy bolt was drawn; and as the door, creaking on its hinges, slowly opened, the portly form of Mr. Samuel Cutter appeared, filling the open space, and looking with a wild stare into and around the room. 'You can go clean in, Mr. Cutter, an you like to; and I'll shut the door, and you may stay as long as you like.' 'You will, hey? No, no, Mr. Tice, thank you, I'll do well enough here;' at the same time putting his hand out, and holding fast to the door. 'None of your shutting up; it's bad enough to look at, without your turning the old lock on a body. _Of all sights!_--are these men dead?' 'Oh it ain't nothin', Mr. Cutter; only they've been a little lively last night, and they're a sleepin' it out, I guess, this mornin'.' 'You don't call them human critters, laying there in that shape, Mr. Tice, do you?' 'Yes, they _be_, only their hair is got tangled a little. I should a'most think they'd been a fightin', by their looks--they _do_ look bad, that's a fact.' More noises were now heard below, and there was the trampling of horses at the door, and soon a lively treading up the stairs.