One evening I asked him what he knew about Jesus and he replied,
"Ain't 'ee th' bloke as they swears about?"

His ideas of prayer were also dim, but he made an attempt. He wrote a
letter to God and read it on his knees before going to bed.

He is now a prosperous farmer in the far West, living on a quarter
section of land given to him by the Government, and on which he has
made good his claim to American citizenship.




CHAPTER X

I MEET SOME OUTCASTS


A sharp contrast to this waif of the street is the case of a statesman
under a cloud. I was sitting on a bench near the bunk-house one day at
twilight, when I noticed a profile silhouetted against the window. I
had seen only one profile like that in my life, and that was when I
was a boy. I moved closer. The man sat like a statue. His face was
very pale and he was gazing vacantly at the walls in the rear of the
building. Finally, I went over and sat down beside him.

"Good evening," he said quietly, in answer to my salutation. I looked
into his face--a face I knew when a boy, a face familiar to the
law-makers of Victoria for a quarter of a century. I called him by
name. At the sound of his own name, his paleness turned to an ashy