"Well, to make short on't, I was nigh about hung; but the governor, he stepped in at the last minnit, an' sent me to State Prison for life. When it come to that pass, 'I won't disgrace the fam'ly,' sez I. 'The Ballous figgered pooty well in the revelooshing,' sez I, 'an' that name sha'n't never be writ in the prison 'count book, ef I kin hinder it.' So, es I've told you, marm, I had myself writ down as Peter Floome. I hadn't no nigh relations 'cept mother and sister Betsy. Uncle George's family'd settled in Illi_noise_, an' we didn't hear from 'em once in a dog's age. Betsy was a young gal then an' had a beau. She was allus pooty toppin', an' sez I, 'it don't stan' to reason she'll be comin' to the State Prison to see her _own_ brother; but there's mother,' sez I, '_she'll_ come reg'lar, I reckon; same's she did to the _jail_;' so I writ her a letter, an' gin her word how I was, an' who she must ask arter in case she come. Bless her dear old soul!
"The very next Friday, there she was on the spot! Arter that, reg'lar as clock work, once in three months, rain or shine, there was mother!
"Mothers, you see, marm, never misses. Wives, an' sisters, an' children, now an' then do keep up to the mark, but mothers, on the hull, is about the only reg'lar prison stan'bys. Well, mother sot a good deal o' store by me, an' when I see her gittin' thin, I knowed what fretted her, an' sez I to myself, 'she won't hold out forever, an' when she's gone, the Lord help _me_!'
"Well," continued Peter, huskily, "by'm by she _went_, mother did; but (dropping his voice to a confidential whisper) mothers is master hands to hang on, an' no mistake! An' sure's you're 'live, ef she didn't keep right on with them visits! jest as reg'lar as ef nothin' hed turned up! Ev'ry time the quarter come round, on a Friday night, jest as the clock struck one, there stood mother, large as life, at the gratin' o' my cell. She never once opened her head; but, when I see her stan' there so smilin' an' pleasant, I sez to myself, 'she's done frettin', anyhow;' an', though I warn't never no great hand at prayin', I _did_ thank God for _that_. I never let on 'bout them visits, for 'bout that time things got pesky upside down with me, an' the boys they used to say, 'Peter's cranky.' 'So,' sez I, 'ef I was to tell 'um, they wouldn't none on 'em b'leeve me.' An' I jest kep' dark, an' year arter year mother come reg'lar, an' we had it all to ourselves. By'm by Hiram, _he_ come. Not reg'lar, like mother did, but off an' on. Well, ghosts is poor company, marm; an' arter a while I got clean upsot, and wa'n't wurth an old shoe.