but little in her pity for Muller. "Which was very foolish of me,"
she said to herself. "Now I've no money to buy anything to eat. I have
acted in this matter without common sense." The sun lighted up the
yellow leaves of the maples along the sidewalk. The wind blew strongly
up from the rivers. She passed a stand with some withered apples and
stale cakes, and put her hand in her pocket, then with a wistful look
went on.

It was late in the morning before she reached her journey's end.
Showing her paper now and then, she had noticed the curious inquiring
look which both men and women gave her on reading it. She found
herself at last under a long gray stone wall pierced by an
iron-knobbed gate. By the side of it a man was setting out on an
eating-stand a half-eaten ham, chaffy rolls and pies yellow with
age. The man was an old, cleanly shaven fellow, whose aquiline nose
reminded her with a twinge of conscience of Mr. Muller.

"Am I near to this house?" showing her paper.

"Here," nodding back at the stone wall, cutting his pies.

"This! What is this place, sir?"

"Moyamensing Prison." He finished cutting the pies carefully, and
then, wiping the knife, looked up at her, and suddenly came from
behind the stand:

"You're not well?" pushing a seat toward her. "Here's some water. Or
coffee?"