same three words, "Christ forgive me!" And no one could smile at the monotonous iteration; the man was in too dead earnest; his face was too remorseful, his voice too tragic.

The next morning he was very early in Superintendent Ludlow's office. The great man of the Court of Police had not arrived, but Bradley waited until he came. "You are an early visitor, Mr. Bradley," he said pleasantly. "I have a favor to ask, Judge." "Come in here then. What is it? You are no place or plunder hunter." "Judge, a month ago you asked me to make you a saddle." "And you would not do it. I remember." "I could not--at least I thought I could not; now, if you will let me, I will make you the fittest saddle possible--it shall be my own work, every stitch of it." "How much money do you want for such a saddle, Bradley?" "I want no money at all. I want a very small favor from you." "Nothing for the rebels, I hope. I cannot grant any favor in that direction." "I want nothing for the rebels; I want one hour every Sunday afternoon in the College prison with my class members." "Oh, I don't know, Bradley----" "Yes, you know, Judge. You know, if I give you my promise, I will keep every letter of it." "What is your promise?" "I want only to pray with my brothers or to walk awhile with them as they go through the Valley of the Shadow. I promise you that no word of war, or defeat or victory; that no breath of any political opinion shall pass my lips. Nor will I listen to any such." "Bradley, I don't think I can grant you this request. It would not be right." "Judge, this is a thing within your power, and you must grant it. We shall stand together at the Judgment, and when the Lord Christ says, 'I was hungered, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me not in: naked, and ye clothed me not: sick, and in prison, and you visited me not:' don't let me be obliged to plead, 'Lord Christ, I would have fed, and clothed, and visited the sick and in prison, but this man barred my way.' Open the door, Judge, and it shall be well with you for it." Then, without a word, Ludlow turned to his desk and wrote an order permitting John Bradley to visit his friends for one hour every Sunday afternoon; and as he did so, his face cleared, and when he signed his name he had the glow of a good deed in his heart, and he said: "Never mind the saddle, Bradley. I don't want to be paid for this thing. You say William Watson is dying--poor Willie! We have fished together many a long summer day"; and he took a few gold pieces from his pocket and added, "they are for the old friend, not for the rebel. You understand. Good morning, sir." "Good morning, Judge. I won't overstep your grant in any way. I know better." 

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