The sound of music vibrated through the air, and ’Zeki’l remembered that the young people of the settlement were to have a "singing" at his brother’s that evening. He raised his head and listened. They were singing hymns, and many of them were associated with recollections of his own youth. A line of Tom Moore’s "Come, ye disconsolate," once a special favorite when sorrow seemed far from him, was borne to his ears: Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. He lay down and slept. At dusk the next evening, as he was heating a piece of iron in the blacksmith shop, a man stopped at the wide-open door. "Will you give me a night’s lodging? I have walked far to-day, and I’m a stranger in this part of the country." ’Zeki’l wheeled, the light from the forge shining across his face. It brought out the stranger’s face and form in bold relief also. "Why, it’s Zeke Morgan!" he cried, walking into the shop. "Yes: I thought I recognized your voice, Miller," said ’Zeki’l, slowly, and without much pleasure at the recognition. They had been in prison together, and ’Zeki’l had left Miller there. He had never felt any liking for the man, and less now than ever, as he looked at his ragged clothing and dissipated face. He had evidently been steadily sinking in vice, and its repulsiveness was impressed upon his outward being. But a certain pity stirred ’Zeki’l’s heart. He remembered his own friendlessness when he entered that settlement. Could he show less mercy than had been shown to him? "Sit down, won’t you?" he said kindly, blowing up the coals in the forge to a glowing heat. "That I will. I’m footsore, and hungry as a bear. I’m in luck to meet with you, comrade," chuckling. ’Zeki’l winced. The man’s familiarity grated upon him. "Where are you goin’?" he inquired. "Oh, nowhere in particular. I’m jest out." "Why, I thought your time would be up in two years after I left." Miller shrugged his shoulders. "Yes; but I made so many attempts to escape that they kept adding extra time to my term." He sat down while ’Zeki’l finished his work. "You seem to be getting on pretty well," he continued, his restless eyes scanning the surroundings. "Only tolerable." Two or three of the neighbors dropped in, one to leave a broken plow, another to tell a bit of gossip. They stared curiously at ’Zeki’l’s disreputable companion, who jocosely informed them that Morgan had once been his chum.