“_I am going to explain. I am the mother of these two boys, and the Prisoner 78 and my son Pearson, here, are brothers. Pearson knows that his brother is an innocent man, but is ashamed to acknowledge his brother. But the prisoner is as innocent as you, who are trying to punish him for a crime he never committed._” “Do you hear that voice, Pearson?” “I do, but from whom does it come? There is no one here that I can see.” “_You will see me_,” the voice was heard to say. “‘I will see you.’ Did I hear that? Did you get that, officer?” “I did, and I heard more; I heard the same voice say that you and this man, Convict 78, were brothers. Did you hear that?” “I did.” “Well—” “I am not sure of it. I only know that he carries my name, and his Christian name is the same as that of a brother of mine whom I have not heard from in years. He ran away from home when a small boy, and we never heard from him afterward. We thought he was dead, as he never returned or wrote. Poor mother grieved herself to her grave for that lost, wayward son. I remained home with her until she died.” “And the estate—did you advertise for him?” “My father died when I was a small boy and left mother in good circumstances. I and this brother who left home were the only heirs.” “And you got the bulk of the estate? Did I understand you to say that you advertised for your brother?” “Well, you see, it was this way: not hearing from him for so many years, I decided that he was dead, and I did not think it worth while.” “You are not sure that this is not your brother, then, Mr. Pearson?” “No, I am not sure.” “Well, I will send for him and we perhaps may be able to find out by questioning him. Ring for Pat.” Just then Pat, mumbling, “I will stroll around and see if the supperior officer has changed his mind about me being a gentleman,” appeared. “Here is Pat, now.” “Pat, bring in No. 78, at once.” “Whenever the man says ‘Pat,’ I know that 78 is wanted. Well, if that don’t bate annything! I wonder now what he has done? I know that he has been good the last half-hour, for I have been watching him with my own very eyes, and devil take the one that has lied on him, now. Look at the poor fellow! He has the same feeling that I have. Every time he sees me coming he knows that he is wanted. “Well, you are wanted at the office, and come along quick, and have it over with. I feel very queer—I feel like I have ate a fly for my breakfast. Only a different feeling comes on a fellow so quick when something is going to happen, and you don’t know what it is. “Your honor, do you want him now? If so, here he is.” “If I did not want him, Pat, I should not have sent for him. You may be seated over there.” “You see, the convict is sometimes treated with poor courtesy. Then I—I have not been asked to have a chair,” Pat was mumbling to himself. The officer turned to the prisoner: “You are enrolled here in the name by which you were christened, are you not?” “I am, sir.”