I talk to her and ask her to tell me, but she never has.

Oh, don't you wish she would ?' Frank shuddered involuntarily, for to have Jerry told who she really was, was the last thing he could desire, but as a criminal is said always to talk about the crime he has committed and is hiding, so Frank, when with Jerry, felt impelled to talk with her of the past and what she could remember of it.

Seating himself upon the bench with her at his side, he said: 'And you really believe the woman found here was your mother ?' 'Why, yes.

Don't you?
Who was my mother, if she wasn't ?' and Jerry's eyes opened wide as he looked at him.
'I don't know, I am sure.

Does my brother talk of Gretchen now ?' was the abrupt reply.
'Yes, at times,' Jerry answered: 'and yesterday, after I sang him a little German song, which he taught me, he had them pretty bad--the bees in his head, I mean: that is what he calls it when things are mixed; and he says he is going to write to her, or her friends.' 'Write to her! I thought he had given that up.