“Helen—we call her ‘Amy’—has lost her memory,” explained the latter. “You see she was hit on the back of the head by a car. But surely you read about it in the papers?”
“Yes, yes. But I thought that she would recognize me,” wailed the woman hysterically, wiping tears from her eyes. “She disappeared about two weeks ago—we live in a little town in Montana—and I was almost crazy with fear. Then I read about this girl being hit by something—it was an airplane, wasn’t it?—and I came on to Grand Rapids, and a newspaper man there showed me the picture.”
Mike swelled with pride. That must have been his newspaper!
“It was a car she was hit by,” corrected Linda. “An airplane rescued her.”
“You don’t say!” exclaimed the woman. “I heard it the other way about. Well, we’ll prove that later. Now, come along, Helen.”
But anxious as the girl had been for people of her own to claim her, now that this stranger had done so, she was afraid to go. She did not like the woman.
“What is my other name?” she questioned, without making any move to obey her.
“Tower—Helen Tower. I am Mrs. Fishberry. Can’t you possibly remember, dear?”
The girl shook her head.
“Couldn’t I stay here a little longer—Mrs. Fishberry?” she asked.