He heard the order to turn out repeated at other cells along the corridor, and he crept out of his shelf, and then sat down upon it, waiting for his door to be unlocked. He was very hungry again, and he trembled with faintness. He wondered how he should get his breakfast, and he dreaded the trial in court less than the thought of going through another day with nothing to eat. He heard the stir of the other prisoners in the cells along the corridors, the low groans and sighs with which people pull themselves together after a bad night; and he heard the voice of the drunken woman, now sober, poured out in voluble remorse, and in voluble promise of amendment for the future, to every one who passed, if they would let her off easy. She said aisy, of course, and it was in her native accent that she bewailed the fate of the little ones whom her arrest had left motherless at home. No one seemed to answer her, but presently she broke into a cry of joy and blessing, and from her cell at the other end of the corridor came the clink of crockery. Steps approached with several pauses, and at last they paused at Lemuel's door, and a man outside stooped and pushed in, through the opening at the bottom, a big bowl of baked beans, a quarter of a loaf of bread, and a tin cup full of coffee. “Coffee's extra,” he said jocosely. “Comes from the officers. You're in luck, young feller.” “I ha'n't got anything to pay for it with,” faltered Lemuel. “Guess they'll trust you,” said the man. “Any-rate, I got orders to leave it.” He passed on, and Lemuel gathered up his breakfast, and arranged it on the shelf where he had slept; then he knelt down before it, and ate. An hour later an officer came and unbolted his door from the outside. “Hurry up,” he said; “Maria's waiting.” “Maria?” repeated Lemuel innocently. “Yes,” returned the officer. “Other name's Black. She don't like to wait. Come out of here.” Lemuel found himself in the corridor with four or five other prisoners, whom some officers took in charge and conducted upstairs to the door of the station. He saw no woman, but a sort of omnibus without windows was drawn up at the curbstone. “I thought,” he said to an officer, “that there was a lady waiting to see me. Maria Black,” he added, seeing that the officer did not understand. The policeman roared, and could not help putting his head in at the office door to tell the joke. “Well, you must introduce him,” called a voice from within. “Guess you ha'n't got the name exactly straight, young man,” said the policeman to Lemuel, as he guarded him down the steps. “It's Black Maria you're looking for. There she is,” he continued, pointing to the omnibus, “and don't you forget it. She's particular to have folks recognise her. She's blacker 'n she's painted.” The omnibus was, in fact, a sort of aesthetic drab, relieved with salmon, as Lemuel had time to notice before he was hustled into it with the other prisoners, and locked in.