"You are indeed a Good Samaritan," he said in a voice which sounded less forlorn. "If I wasn't a jailbird, I'd thank you in my prayers."
He smiled crookedly. "You know, convicts' prayers don't seem to rise very high, miss--don't seem to reach anywhere. We haven't got the stand-in with the Boss that others seem to have," he said in some bitterness.
"Hush!" she whispered. "You must not say that, for it isn't true. Those men might have caught you,--but they didn't. But, but," she added seriously, "surely you are not a convict; not a criminal, I mean?"
He turned his hands outwards with a shrug.
"You don't look like one who loved doing wrong. If you have ever done wrong, I am sure it was done in a moment of rashness; maybe thoughtlessness." She clasped her hands in front of her. "You would never do it again."
He shook his head.
"No,--never, never again!" But his voice had no sound of contrition in it.
"When you are free--really free--you will try to be wha