I could not listen to her this time, and kept out of her reach. How could I say a word in favour of him now, when I knew him to keep company constantly with the worst of my “bairns?” Jim was remitted to the High Court, where he got a year’s imprisonment. I nipped up Joe for another affair some time after, so in misfortune they were not divided. I have not yet noticed Jim Hutson’s knife. It was at this capture that I saw it first, when I emptied his pockets at the Central Office. It was a murderous looking weapon with two blades. The big blade was at least six inches long, but was not fitted with a spring back, or Jim would have looked upon it for the last time, as it is illegal to carry such a knife. Perhaps it would have been well for Jim if such a confiscation had taken place. The knife was of a peculiar make, probably foreign, and had a hole drilled through the buck-horn handle, as for a cord, and most likely had been stolen from some sailor. Across the buck-horn handle Jim had made two deep notches with a file, with a cross cut between, forming the letter H. This knife, after some joking comments by me, was put away with Jim’s tobacco pipe and other treasures, to be returned to him when his term expired. But before that time came Jim had done something which quickened curiously the interest I already felt in his career. One of the warders had in some way excited the rancour of three prisoners, and they laid their heads together and recklessly resolved to “pitch into him.” By a most ingenious plot they managed to get him alone, and then ferociously attacked him with hammers. Jim, however, had taken a liking to the man, and, happening to be near, he at once, with that bull-dog bravery which had always distinguished him, took the part of the warder. He fought two of them single handed, though a good deal pounded and hurt in the struggle, and was seized with them, by mistake, and hurried off to the dark cell. As soon as matters had been explained by the rescued warder, Jim was brought forth and handsomely complimented by the governor, and from that day till the expiry of his sentence treated with marked lenience and favour. I was over in the jail shortly after this affair, and, chancing to see Jim among the workers, I took him aside for a word. “Jim,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder and speaking with great earnestness, “you’re in the wrong line entirely. You are just the stuff a good soldier is made of. Get into that as soon as you are let out. It’ll be a new life—an honest one—and advancement is sure for you. It’s a sheer waste of material to have you herding here with these louts. Rise above them. These cowards are fit for nothing else, but you, you can be a man if you choose.” While I spoke I saw his eyes—which were fixed somewhat shame-strickenly upon the ground—gradually light up. A new possibility had dawned upon him.