The judge’s wife looked about for the draft and arranged her shawl.  The girl glanced at the white drapery in the hall, but the young officer was bending over her and the fires of life burned in her veins.

Howl after howl rose in the night, swelled, and died away.  The stranger strode rapidly along the highway and out into the deep forest.  There he paused and stood waiting, tall and still.

A mile up the road behind a man was running, tall and powerful and black, with crime-stained face and convicts’ stripes upon him, and shackles on his legs.  He ran and jumped, in little, short steps, and his chains rang.  He fell and rose again, while the howl of the hounds rang louder behind him.

Into the forest he leapt and crept and jumped and ran, streaming with sweat; seeing the tall form rise before him, he stopped suddenly, dropped his hands in sullen impotence, and sank panting to the earth.  A greyhound shot out of the woods behind him, howled, whined, and fawned before the stranger’s feet.  Hound after hound bayed, leapt, and lay there; then silently, one by one, and with bowed heads, they crept backward toward the town.

The stranger made a cup of his hands and gave the man water to drink, bathed his hot head, and gently took the chains and irons from his feet.  By and by the convict stood up.  Day was dawning above the treetops.  He looked into the stranger’s face, and for a moment a gladness swept over the stains of his face.

“Why, you are a nigger, too,” he said.

Then the convict seemed anxious to justify himself.

“I never had no chance,” he said furtively.

“Thou shalt not steal,” said the stranger.

The man bridled.

“But how about them?  Can they steal?  Didn’t they steal a whole year’s work, and then when I stole to keep from starving—­” He glanced at the stranger.

“No, I didn’t steal just to keep from starving.  I stole to be stealing.  I can’t seem to keep from stealing.  Seems like when I see things, I just must—­but, yes, I’ll try!”

The convict looked down at his striped clothes, but the stranger had taken off his long coat; he had put it around him and the stripes disappeared.

In the opening morning the black man started toward the low, log farmhouse in the distance, while the stranger stood watching him.  There was a new glory in the day.  The black man’s face cleared up, and the farmer was glad to get him.  All day the black man worked as he had never worked before.  The farmer gave him some cold food.

“You can sleep in the barn,” he said, and turned away.

“How much do I git a day?” asked the black man.

The farmer scowled.

“Now see here,” said he.  “If you’ll sign a contract for the season, I’ll give you ten dollars a month.”

“I won’t sign no contract,” said the black man doggedly.

“Yes, you will,” said the farmer, threateningly, “or I’ll call the convict guard.”  And he grinned.