I served half my sentence, and then the other half, every day of it.  But during the last two years I had very little to complain of except the loss of my liberty.  I was put into the cook shop where I could get better food, and I did pretty much what I pleased.  By general consent I was let alone.  They had found out that ill usage only made me “ugly,” while kindness made me at least behave myself.  And so the three weary years of my confinement were on to an end.

CHAPTER XI.

On the Tramp.

The day of my deliverance-out of clothes-sharing with A beggar-A
good friend-tramping through the snow-weary Walks-trusting to luck-
comfort at Concord-at Meredith bridge-the Blaisdells-last of the
“Blossom” Business-making money at Portsmouth-revisiting Windsor-an
astonished warden-making friends of old enemies-inspecting the
prison-going to Port Jervis.

At last the happy day of my deliverance came.  The penalty for pretending to marry one milliner and for being married by another milliner was paid.  My sentence was fulfilled.  I had looked forward to this day for months.  Of all my jail and prison life in different States, this in Vermont was the hardest, the most severe.  My obstinacy, no doubt, did much at first to enhance my sufferings, and it was the accident only of my saving Morey’s life that made the last part of my imprisonment a little more tolerable.  When I was preparing to go, it was discovered that the fine suit of clothes I wore into the prison had been given by mistake or design to some one else, and my silk hat and calf-skin boots had gone with the clothes.  But never mind!  I would have gone out into the world in rags-my liberty was all I wanted then.  The Warden gave me one of his own old coats, a ragged pair of pantaloons, and a new pair of brogan shoes.  He also gave me three dollars, which was precisely a dollar a year for my services, and this was more than I ever meant to earn there.  Thus equipped and supplied I was sent out into the streets of Windsor.

I had not gone half a mile before I met a poor old woman whom I had known very well in Rutland.  She recognized me at once, though I know I was sadly changed for the worse.  She was on her way to Fall River, where she had relatives, and where she hoped for help, but had no money to pay her fare, so I divided my small stock with her, and that left me just one dollar and a half with which to begin the world again.  I went down to the bridge and the toll-gatherer gave