lamp hung in a bracket on the wall. This was the only light.

"Hullo!" said a cheerful voice, "how long did you get? Life-
sentence?"

It was the man who called himself Sprague. His banjo stood against
the wall just outside his cell, and under the lamp.

"No," said Mr. Daddles, "we're awaiting our trial in the morning,
the same as you."

"What was your crime, anyway? Whistling?"

Justin shook his head at the man in the cell.

"You fellers better look out,--all on ye," said he. "Eb's pretty
mad. An' he's got a bad temper when he gets riled, I tell you. An'
folks are all stirred up about this burglin' business."

He looked at us doubtfully, and shook his head again. The other
man--he was the tall, silent one, who had led me along the road-
opened the last cell on the right and told Ed Mason and me to go
in. Mr. Daddles and Jimmy were put in a cell across the corridor.
The tall man vanished upstairs, leaving us all locked in. Justin
was turning down the light.

"Look here, old sport," said the banjo-player, "just let me have
that, will you?"

He pointed toward the banjo. Justin's jaw dropped, and he raised