"You act like a mad man when you talk of the past. Some men can never throw off the thought of their imprisonment. It rules their life. They think only of prison and the crimes that follow such thinking. There is no hope for them. Can't you see it is your ideals that enslave or make you free? Can't you see you are free?" "It's mighty hard," he said, "but I want to forget. My friend sent me to you. He said you knew the path to freedom, and would help me. Days and days I have waited for you to come to me. My father would not have me at home, my friends left me, my money grew less and less--my clothes went, my razor--everything. And still you did not come. Sometimes I'd meet a boy that told me of your work. Sometimes I would doubt all I had heard, and then I would become indifferent--mutter a prayer or plan a crime. At last the letter came. I knew I was being put to the test, and I sought to be firm. Oh, God, such a test! What is it holds a man? I was hungry, yet I knew how to steal; I needed money, and I knew where I could rob with reasonable safety. What is it holds a man like me? At times I have thought it was my belief in you." "You mean our Colony held out a hope to you." "Yes," he said. "I am afraid to take you into my Family," I told him. "For fear I'll steal from you?" he said, coldly. "No, not that; I fear you cannot leave your prison thoughts behind you when you enter the Colony." "If you help me," he said, thoughtfully, "I think I can begin anew." "Will you promise never to speak to me or anyone of your past life?" "I will not speak of it again." "Then you may go to the entrance gate with me, and there I will decide if I can take you in." We talked on the way to the farm about many things--for he had read and traveled much. We made no mention of the Family or its work, but as we came near the Colony House I stopped. "Tell me," I said, "did they teach you a trade at Elmira?" "I'm a metal roofer by trade," he said. "Did you learn the trade in prison?" I asked him. "I think you mistake me for some other man," he replied, quietly. "I know nothing about prison life." "What do you mean, not only your friend told me that you had served a term, but you told me yourself?" I said, severely. He looked calmly into my face, but there were tears in his eyes. "I could not have told you, for had I told you such a foolish falsehood I would have remembered it. Let us talk of something else." "Very good," I said, pleasantly. He was trying to forget the past. At that moment there came to us the vigorous clamor of an old cow bell. "It is the bell that calls the boys to their evening meal." "Yes?" "Come, let us hurry, so we may be served at the first table, for you are hungry." II