1 . At last Soapy stepped before an old church on a quiet corner, where the organist played a Sunday anthem. Through the window a soft light glowed. The moon was above; vehicles and pedestrians were few; sparrows twittered sleepily under the roof. The influences of the music and the old church aroused a sudden and wonderful impulse in Soapy’s soul, driving him to battle with his desperate fate. He would make a man of himself again.

Soapy felt a hand on his arm.

“What are you doing here?” A cop asked.

“Nothing.”

“Then come along!” said the policeman.

“Three months on the island,” said the Judge the next morning.