clearly remember the scenes of childhood; these only are real and
return with master power. And why not with a Bear? The power of scent
was there to call them back again, and Jacky, the Grizzly Monarch,
raised his head a little--just a little; the eyes were nearly closed,
but the big brown nose was jerked up feebly two or three times--the
sign of interest that Jacky used to give in days of old. Now it was
Kellyan that broke down even as the Bear had done.

"I didn't know it was you, Jacky, or I never would have done it. Oh,
Jacky, forgive me!" He rose and fled from the cage.

The keepers were there. They scarcely understood the scene, but one of
them, acting on the hint, pushed the honeycomb nearer and cried,
"Honey, Jacky--honey!"

Filled by despair, he had lain down to die, but here was a new-born
hope, not clear, not exact as words might put it, but his conqueror
had shown himself a friend; this seemed a new hope, and the keeper,
taking up the old call, "Honey, Jacky--honey!" pushed the comb till it
touched his muzzle. The smell was wafted to his sense, its message
reached his brain; hope honored, it must awake response. The great
tongue licked the comb, appetite revived, and thus in newborn Hope
began the chapter of his gloom.

Skilful keepers were there with plans to meet the Monarch's every
want. Delicate foods were offered and every shift was tried to tempt
him back to strength and prison life.

He ate and--lived.