me. "It's not true," he cried, "it's a lie!" He
gripped my hand. "I sha'n't never forget you,
father."

Strange that a little boy can give so much
pleasure.

Yet I could go on. "You will forget, David, but
there was once a boy who would have remembered."

" Timothy?" said he at once. He thinks Tim-
othy was a real boy, and is very jealous of him.
He turned his back to me, and stood alone and
wept passionately, while I waited for him. You
may be sure I begged his pardon, and made it all
right with him, and had him laughing and happy
again before I let him go. But nevertheless what
I said was true. David is not my boy, and he will
forget. But Timothy would have remembered.

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