194 



THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER. 



July 



rowt'ulJy ].; ii)(' cfiurtrooni. "He looked 

 at her kind'y uow, vet he was dazed, 

 too, with Ms ]U'W advciit to freedom 

 aud the good earth. 



"Why did you come to meet me?" he 

 asked. 



"I was fiorry for yon," she replied. 



"But that is do reasoD. " 



"I once committed a crime," she 

 whispered, with shrinking bitterness. 



"That's bad," he said. "Were you 

 punished?" 



She shook her head and answered, 

 "No." 



"That's worse," he added. 



"I let some one else take my crime 

 upon him and be punished for it," she 

 said, an agony in her eyes. 



"Why was that?" he said, looking at 

 her intently. 



"I had a little child, "was her reply. 



"And tlie other?" 



"He was alone in the world," she 

 said. 



A bitter smile crept to his lips, aud 

 his eyes were all afire, for a strange 

 thought came to him. Then he shut his 

 eyes, and when he opened them again 

 discovery was in them. 



"I lemember you now," he said. "I 

 remember I waked smd saw you looking 

 at me that ni^ht! Who was the father 

 of your child?" he asked eagerly. 



"Jean Vicot, " she replied. "Ho left 

 me to starve. " 



"I am in)iocentof his death I" he said 

 quietly and gladly. 



She nodded. He was silent for a mo- 

 ment. 



"'The child still lives?" he asked. 

 She nodded again. "Well, let it be so," 

 he added. "But you owe me five years 

 and a lost reputation. " 



"I wish to God 1 could give them 

 back," she cried, tears streaming down 

 her cheeks. "It was for my child, he 

 was so young!" 



"It can't be helped now, " he said, 

 and he turned away from her. 



"Won't you forgive me?" she asked 

 bitterly 



"Won't you give^ie back those five 

 years?" he replied meaningly. 



"If the child did not need me, I 

 would give my life, " she answered. "I 

 owe it to you. " Her haggard, hunted 

 face made him sorry. He, too, had suf- 

 fered. 



"It's all right," he answered eentlv. 



"Take care of your chiht. " 



Aud again he moved away from her 

 i nd went down the little hill with a 

 cloud gone from his face that had rested 

 there five years. Once he turned around. 

 The woman was gone, but over the 

 prison a flock of pigeons were flying. 

 He took (jfi his hat to them. Then he 

 went through the town looking neither 

 to riglit nor left and came to his own 

 house, whore the summer morning was 

 already entering the open window, 

 though he had looked to find the place 

 closed and dark. The little chemist's 

 wife met him in the doorway. Shu could 

 not speak, nor could he, but he kis&ed 

 her as he had done when he went con- 

 demned to prison. Then he passed on to 

 his own rodiT, and entering sat down 

 before the open window and peacefully 

 drank iii tl.u) glory of a new world. But 

 more than once he choked down a sob 

 that rose in Iris tliroat. — Gilbert Parker 

 In New York Her.-ild. 



Do We Ever Really Forget Anything? 



The brain of mankind has been de- 

 fined as a kind of phonographic cylin- 

 der, which retains impressions made 

 upon it through the medium of the 

 senses, particularly through the eyes 

 and ears. If this be true, memory must 

 depend for its intensity or retentive 

 qualities upon the degree of observation 

 with which the record is made. Nor is 

 this all. If memory's record is ':ept ia 

 the shape of indentations upon the folds 

 of brain matter, are they ever entirely 

 effaced? In other words, do we ever 

 really forget anything? May it not be 

 that in the inner depths of the brain 

 memory has stored up recollections of 

 things which are never again purposely 

 turned to, perhaps, but which instantly 

 spring into bsing and flash through the 

 mind whenever we Ijear or see some- 

 thing which recalls them? 



There are several well known mental 

 phenomena which strengthen this the- 

 ory. We know that memory often 

 brightens during the last moments of 

 life, and theie r.ro cases on rcccri'i where 

 Germ: ns, French, Spaniards and others 

 who, upon falling sick in this country 

 scores of years after having entirely for- 

 gotten rheir native languages, recovered 

 and used them upon their der.thbeds. 

 There is a thcoi-y that in all such cases 

 the brain folds have relaxed, lust a:i do 



