"Can't you recollect that your father had another name?"
"No, he never had any other name but Jacob, the son of Isaac."
"Your father's name was Henry," said the man. "Now don't you remember that his Christian name was Henry?"
The moonlight fell full on Joe's troubled face, and Irene thought she could discover a strange expression cross it, as though a stream of memory's sunshine had suddenly been let in on his long clouded mind, but a moment after it was passed, and he said:
"No, it must have been Jacob, and if Jacob is not my father, my father must be dead. The famine has been very sore in the land of Canaan."
"There has been no famine in the land where your father dwells," said the man, earnestly. "Your father never knew a famine, never knew want or care. He was a reckless, passionate man, but at times he was gentle and kind."
"My father, Jacob, was always good and kind," said Joe, thoughtfully.
"Your father's name was not Jacob," said the man, evidently annoyed and puzzled. "Your father's name was Henry--" Irene listened with strained attention to hear the last name, but the voice of the speaker was lowered, so that she failed to catch it. "Now," went on the stranger, "try and remember, while I tell you about your father and your home. Your father was a handsome man, with dark hair and eyes and heavy jet black whiskers. Do you not remember the home of your childhood--a large, brown stone mansion, surrounded with palmetto trees, and orange groves, and cane brakes? Do you not remember the vast fields of cotton and rice and sugar-cane, with negroes working in them, and your father riding about in his carriage with you by his side? Can't you remember your mother? Can't you remember the tiny boats she made for you to float on the lake?"
The mulatto paused, and looked eagerly at his companion, as though to catch a gleam of intelligence. Again that curious, puzzled look came over the face of Joe, and he seemed trying to pierce the gloom of forgetfulness with his blunted recollection. After a moment his face brightened, and he said:
"Yes, I remember the fields of cotton, and the carriage and my mother. I remember the great palmetto tree by the lake, where I floated my boats and made my flutter-mills."