Josephs rose half stupid, and Hodges rolled up his bed and blanket.

“Are you really going to rob me of my bed?” inquired Josephs slowly and firmly.

“Rob you, you young dog?  Here is the governor’s order.  No bed and gas for fourteen days.”

“No bed nor gas for fourteen days!  Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!”

“Oh, you laugh at that, do you?”

“I laugh at Mr. Hawes thinking to keep me out of bed for fourteen days, a poor wornout boy like me.  You tell Hawes I’ll find a bed in spite of him long before fourteen days.”

Hodges looked about the cell for this other bed.  “Come,” said he, “you must not chaff the officers.  The governor will serve you out enough without your giving us any of your sauce.”

Hodges was going with the bed.  Josephs stopped him.  The boy took this last blow quite differently from the gas; no impatience or burst of sorrow now.

“Won’t you bid me good-by, Mr. Hodges?” asked he.

“Why not?  Good-night.”

“That isn’t what I mean.  Mr. Evans gave me his hand.”

“Did he? what for?”

“And so must you.  Oh, you may as well, Mr. Hodges.  I never came to you and took away your little bit of light and your little bit of sleep.  So you can take my hand if I can give it you.  You will be sorry afterward if you say no.”

“There it is—­what the better are you for that, you young fool?  I’ll tell you what it is, you are turning soft.  I don’t know what to make of you.  I shall come to your cell the first thing in the morning.”

“Ay, do, Mr. Hodges,” said Josephs, “and then you won’t be sorry you shook hands at night.”

At this moment the boy’s supper was thrust through the trap-door; it was not the supper by law appointed, but six ounces of bread and a can of water.

Hodges, now that he had touched the prisoner’s hand, felt his first spark of something bordering on sympathy.  He looked at the grub half ashamed and made a wry face.  Josephs caught his look and answered it.

“It is as much as I shall want,” said he very calmly, and he smiled at Hodges as he spoke, a sweet and tender but dogged smile; a smile to live in a man’s memory for years.

The door was closed with a loud snap, and Josephs was left to face the long night (it was now seven o’clock) in his wet clothes, which smoked with the warmth his late bed had begun to cherish; but they soon ceased to smoke as the boy froze.

Night advanced.  Josephs walked about his little cell, his teeth chattering, then flung himself like a dead log on the floor, and finding Hawes’s spirit in the cold, hard stone, rose and crawled shivering to and fro again.

Meantime we were all in our nice soft beds; such as found three blankets too little added a dressing-gown of flannel, or print lined with wadding or fleecy hosiery, and so made shift.  In particular all those who had the care of Josephs took care to lie warm and soft.  Hawes, Jones, Hodges, Fry, Justices Shallow and Woodcock, all took the care of their own carcasses they did not take of Josephs’ youthful frame.