Finally, about ten o’clock, Linda put in her appearance at the breakfast table. Miss Carlton and Amy had long since finished theirs, and the little girl was reading a story in the hammock on the porch. Miss Carlton, however, came and sat with her niece as she ate, and gave her the news.
“Which boy are you going to call back, dear?” she asked.
“Neither,” laughed Linda, as she complacently ate her cantaloupe. “I haven’t time for young men to-day, Aunt Emily.”
“You aren’t going anywhere in that autogiro, are you?” Try as she did, the older woman could never keep the note of fear from her voice when an airplane was mentioned.
“No, no, Auntie. It’s about Amy. I want to do things for her. And I want your help.”
Miss Carlton heaved a sigh of relief. This was a different matter.
“First we must get her some decent clothing. And then don’t you think we ought to get her picture to the newspapers, and her description to the radio, so that her people can come and get her?”
“Of course! My, but it is sad, for a child like her to lose her memory. It’s bad enough for an older person, but it just seems pitiful for anyone her age.”
“Oh, I haven’t a doubt but that it will come back,” said Linda, hopefully. “The doctor at the hospital said it was probably only temporary, from that blow on her head. Sometimes another blow will restore it, he told me, but, of course, that wouldn’t be safe on account of her cut. Publicity is the thing we need now.”
“What will you do? Run in to town?”