For reasons of his own, Dr. Barnes did not interfere.  Nature in powerful manifestations was actuating the parents; and he decided, now that things had gone so far, to let the entire energy of uncurbed emotion, combined with all the mysterious affinity of the closest kinship, exert its influence on the clogged brain of his patient.

For a few moments Mrs. Nichol was too greatly overcome to comprehend anything clearly; her husband, on the other hand, was simply wrought up to his highest capacity for action.  His old instinct of authority returned, and he seized his son’s hand and began, “Now, see here, Albert, you were wounded in your head—­”

“Yes, right yere,” interrupted Nichol, pointing to his scar.  “I knows all ’bout that, but I don’t like these goin’s on, ez ef I wuz a nachel-bawn fool, en had ter bleve all folks sez.  I’ve been taken in too often.  When I wuz with the Johnnies they’d say ter me, ‘Yankee Blank, see that ar critter?  That’s a elephant.’  When I’d call it a elephant, they’d larf an’ larf till I flattened out one feller’s nose.  I dunno nothin’ ’bout elephants; but the critter they pinted at wuz a cow.  Then one day they set me ter scrubbin’ a nigger to mek ’im white, en all sech doin’s, till the head-doctor stopped the hull blamed nonsense.  S’pose I be a cur’ous chap.  I ain’t a nachel-bawn ijit.  When folks begin ter go on, en do en say things I kyant see through, then I stands off en sez, ’Lemme ‘lone.’  The hospital doctors wouldn’t ‘low any foolin’ with me ’t all.”

“I’m not allowing any fooling with you,” said Dr. Barnes, firmly.  “I wish you to listen to that man and woman, and believe all they say.  The hospital doctors would give you the same orders.”

“All right, then,” assented Nichol, with a sort of grimace of resignation.  “Fire away, old man, an’ git through with yer yarn so Jackson kin come back.  I wish this woman wouldn’t take on so.  Hit makes me orful oncomf’t’ble, doggoned ef hit don’t.”

The rapid and peculiar utterance, the seemingly unfeeling words of his son, stung the father into an ecstasy of grief akin to anger.  A man stood before him, as clearly recognized as his own image in a mirror.  The captain was not out of his mind in any familiar sense of the word; he remembered distinctly what had happened for months past.  He must recall, he must be made to recollect the vital truths of his life on which not only his happiness but that of others depended.  Although totally ignorant of what the wisest can explain but vaguely, Mr. Nichol was bent on restoring his son by the sheer force of will, making him remember by telling him what he should and must recall.  This he tried to do with strong, eager insistence.  “Why, Albert,” he urged, “I’m your father; and that’s your mother.”

Nichol shook his head and looked at the doctor, who added gravely, “That’s all true.”

“Yes,” resumed Mr. Nichol, with an energy and earnestness of utterance which compelled attention.  “Now listen to reason.  As I was saying, you were wounded in the head, and you have forgotten what happened before you were hurt.  But you must remember, you must, indeed, or you will break your mother’s heart and mine, too.”