with which one would dispose of bales of merchandise, and the floods of tears and passionate appeals seemingly had no more effect on the arbiter of their fates than if he had been a stony image.  She could not know that they were old offenders, whose character was well known to the judge and the officers that had arrested them.  Such apparent haphazard justice or injustice had a most depressing effect upon her and the weeping girl who stood a little in advance.

The next prisoner who appeared before the bar received very different treatment.  He was a middle-aged man, and had the appearance and was clothed in the garb of a gentleman.  With nervously trembling hands and bowed head, he stood before the judge, who eyed him keenly, after reading the charge of intoxication in the streets.

“Have you ever been arrested before?” he asked.

“No indeed, sir,” was the low, emphatic reply.  “Come up here; I wish to speak with you.”

The officer in attendance took the half-comprehending man by the elbow and led him up within the bar before the long desk which ran the whole width of the court-room, and behind which the judge sat with his clerks and assistants.

“Now tell me all about it,” said the judge, and the man in a few words told his story without any palliation.  With a gleam of hope Mildred saw the expression of the judge’s face change as he listened, and when at last he replied, in tones so low that none could hear them save he to whom they were addressed, she saw that look which wins all hearts—­the benignant aspect of one who might condemn for evil, but who would rather win and save from evil.  The man slowly lifted his eyes to the speaker’s face, and hope and courage began to show themselves in his bearing.  The judge brought his extortation to a practical conclusion, for he said, “Promise me that with God’s help you will never touch the vile stuff again.”

The promise was evidently sincere and hearty.  “Give me your hand on it,” said his Honor.

The man started as if he could scarcely believe his ears, then wrung the judge’s hand, while his eyes moistened with gratitude.  “You are at liberty.  Good-morning, sir;” and the man turned and walked through the crowded court-room, with the aspect of one to whom manhood had been restored.

Hope sprang up in Mildred’s heart, for she now saw that her fate was not in the hands of a stony-hearted slave of routine.  She looked toward her relatives, and greeted their tearful smiles with a wan glimmer of light on her own face, and then she turned to watch the fortunes of the weeping girl who followed next in order.  She did not know the charge, but guessed it only too well from the judge’s face, as the officer who had arrested her made his low explanation.  She, too, was summoned within the rail, and the judge began to question her.  At first she was too greatly overcome by her emotions to answer.  As she cowered, trembled, and sobbed, she might well have been regarded