Further investigation, however, put a somewhat different face upon the
affair. It transpired that the song had been often sung in Archibald's
hearing, and before his fit, by the Honorable Richard, for whom, as has
been said, the boy had taken a queer fancy.

And, perhaps because affection is a good teacher, the boy had acquired the
power of repeating some of the verses to himself, of course without
understanding a syllable of them, and very likely without himself being
conscious of what he was doing, he hummed them over, in short, exactly as
a preoccupied parrot might do; and always at a certain time, namely, after
he had been put to bed, and was staring up at the darkening ceiling
previous to falling asleep. This, by itself, was nothing very remarkable;
the puzzle was, how could he do it now? Out of all the wreck of his small
memory, why was this song, the meaning of which he had never understood,
the sole survivor? Was it that his affection for Mr. Pennroyal had kept it
alive? So might a sentimentalist have concluded; but the Doctor was a man
of sense. Was it that the boy was shamming? Impossible on all accounts.
But then, what was it?

The Doctor had by this time worked himself up to believe that the solution
of this problem would help largely toward the clearing up of the whole
mystery. So he took notes, and continued to observe and to consider.

He found, in the first place, that the song-singing took place under
exactly the same circumstances as before the fit, and at no other time or
place.

Hereupon, he devised experiments to discover whether Archibald was
conscious that he was singing, or whether it was an act performed
mechanically, while the mind was otherwise engaged. After the child was in