There were many verses, and to these Willie had added a hundred others. He was good at that. When they locked up that Caldonie for cutting her husband because he stole one of her hens and a chicken brood and gave it to another woman, Willie celebrated the occasion by adding: “He might er stole yo’ chickens, He might er stole yo’ cow, Hit don’t make no diffunce what he stole, You’s in de jail-house now.” Cap’m Archie had laughed at that one and it made Willie happy. Not long after that Cap’m Archie sent for him to come to the office. Cap’m Archie looked sad that day, and it made Willie feel sad. So when Cap’m Archie told him the Supreme Court had turned him down and that he would have to hang Willie was much relieved. “Shuh! Cap’m Archie,” Willie consoled, “dat ain’ nothin’ to go worryin’ ’bout. I thought hit mought er been somethin’ wrong, de way you had yo’ face strung out. Shuh! Ain’ dat de same as de jedge done tole me?” That afternoon Reverend Moore, Negro preacher, was ushered into Willie’s cell, and under his exhortations Willie was converted. He had been converted annually ever since he could remember but he always had been too busy to follow it up. This time he had ample leisure in which to contemplate Christianity and draw mental pictures of it. Willie was keenly interested. The preacher had spared no detail his imagination could supply as to the glories of heaven, and these Willie supplemented with the colourful pigments of his own imagination. Heaven was a wonderful place. Willie wanted to go there. “Hyar dey comes, son,” the preacher said kindly. “Git up off’n yo’ knees.” Cap’m Archie unlocked the cage door with keys that rattled nervously in his hand. Behind the jailer were half a dozen others--the doctor, two brothers of the man he had killed, the editor of the _Wilton Parish Gazette_, and a short, stubby, mean-looking man that Willie disliked instinctively. He had never seen him before, and the pale-green, watery eyes that squinted out at him through shaggy eyelashes made Willie feel bad. “I loves him too,” Willie insisted under his breath. “Got ter love him. ‘Makes me love ev’ybody--hit’s good ernuff fer me’”--Willie recalled the words from the old song. “An’ I guess he is somebody. But I be dog ef’n he looks like much, Ole Green Eyes.” “Ready to go, Willie?” It was Cap’m Archie. His voice was kind and filled with sorrow. Willie hated to see Cap’m Archie like that. But when the jailer’s teeth clicked together and he said briskly, “Here, slip your hands into these,” it did not sound so sad, and Willie obeyed with alacrity. “I bet you fergits my cigar, Cap’m Archie,” Willie countered as his arms were being pinioned behind him. “Cut out that damned foolishness! Come on here, nigger. I ain’t got all day to fool.” It was the stubby little man who assumed charge. “Makes me love ev’ybody,” Willie hummed desperately under his breath. “Hit’s good ernuff for me.”