“Here, we have a real live ghost, in here, of a woman, and that is enough ghost. Let me see who has left that crazy order. What! The superintendent wants this book. Well, look it up. I guess he has not had enough, but I have. I do not have to read of her, for I see her times enough.” I was left to continue the search for the ghost book. At last I found a similar title and laid the book aside. I would perhaps find the desired book in my search for other literature. All orders filled, I began to deliver to each prisoner’s cell. We were allowed light to read by, two hours each night. I passed these two hours much more pleasantly with my book of wisdom than I could have done otherwise. Did I find wisdom? Do we all find it when we need it most? Some of us do not. It was so in my case. I got my wisdom after I could do no good with it, only to look forward ten years. CHAPTER III. THE GHOST OF A WOMAN. I was told on the following morning, by the guard, that I would have to leave the library and do some printing. “Printing! Dear sakes alive, man, I am no printer!” I exclaimed. “Those are the orders,” he replied. “Obey your orders.” “I am very willing to do so if I knew how,” I said. “I see that you have been reading a book, here, called ‘Wisdom.’ You should be able to do something.” “If I had all the wisdom in my head that is in that book, I should not be here.” “You are debating the question too long. Come along here, sir.” I was taken to the printing quarters and given instructions as to what to do. To my surprise, the part to which I was assigned I could very easily handle. A prisoner said: “I am here to give you instructions how to prepare what we call ‘_The Daily Press_’—news, something for the prisoners to read, that they may know what goes on inside these walls that will be of benefit to them. We have some good men here. They are not all criminals because sent here. Some from misfortune, others from circumstantial evidence, which later is proven. I am always glad to see an innocent man found so. I am speaking in behalf of myself, here for another’s crime. To make the best of it is all that I can do, as do many others, who are here as innocent as I am.” I could not speak. I felt as if I were choking with sympathy for that poor chap. I too was serving a sentence for another’s crime. I am not sure but that his number was on the order for a book entitled “I Am Innocent of Crime,” a book to be found on the shelves of the prison library. I felt that I could work by the side of this fellow-man—this prisoner—more cheerfully, as he had authority to talk so as to be able to give instructions to inexperienced help. I was told to prepare an article for _The Press_, on how to use power to control yourself as well as others. I was very willing to do what I could. That is all anyone can do—the best we can.