Ned's presence at liberty once more could not reassure his mother. Long after he had gone to announce his release to his employers and resume his work she crouched pale and chill beside the monkey-stove, although the air was warm and languorous. Her mind was filled with terror for the future and with those ever unavailing regrets for the past and the simple country home of her youth. As Ned reached the newspaper building and looked up at the brilliantly illuminated windows flaring against the dark sky, he had a renewed sense of the blessedness of liberty and the privilege of labor, and once more the singular manner in which bail had come to him recurred to his mind. His surprise, however, at the sensation which the story of his release produced in the sensation-seasoned composing-room soon effaced every other impression. "Hold on a minute," said the foreman, interrupting the recital in its midst. He stepped into the office of the managing editor, and presently that magnate came out, looking alert and inquisitive and catechistic, as a newspaper man will when there is a mystery in the air. From some subtle instinct Ned knew that the foreman had made representations which the managing editor had pronounced preposterous, and had refused to believe. "So you were bailed, were you?" he asked. "Yes, sir," replied Ned. The editor fitted the tips of his fingers together very accurately while he looked hard at Ned. He spoke slowly and impressively. "Considering the very serious nature of the crimes with which you are charged and the amount fixed for bail, your sureties must repose a great deal of confidence in you. I hope that you will not abuse it." "Naw, sir, I ain't got no notion o' runnin' away," declared Ned stoutly. Both the editor and the foreman were looking at him very gravely. "Who were your bondsmen?" asked the editor. "Sir?" said Ned, bewildered by their manner. "Who gave bail for you?" The editor varied the phrase. "I dunno, sir," replied the little devil. The foreman grinned triumphantly. "_Don't know?_" echoed the editor amazed. "Naw, sir," admitted Ned. "I disremember their names. I never seen either o' them till to-day." Strange as he had thought the occurrence at first, it appeared still more strange now when he saw how others regarded it. They found it difficult, too, to believe that two men whom Ned had never before seen, whose very names he did not know, would each stake a thousand dollars upon his honesty when he was accused of house-breaking, larceny, and arson, and had just been committed to jail after his examining trial. The managing editor, who had known him long, had done all that was liberal, sympathetic, and sensible. That two strangers should be even asked to go upon his bail-bond seemed to Ned a wild impulsive vagary,--as indeed it was.