“Guess I must have had a bad dream,” Mr. Parker murmured, his gaze roving slowly about the room. “I seem to recall riding around in a taxi, and being pushed out into the snow.”
“You know where you are now, don’t you?” asked Penny.
“Certainly. I’m at home.”
Mrs. Weems came into the room bearing a tray of food. Hearing Mr. Parker’s words, she looked at Penny and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Doctor Greer was right,” she whispered. “His memory is slowly coming back. How thankful I am!”
“What’s all this?” Mr. Parker inquired alertly. “Will someone kindly tell me why I am being imprisoned in this bed?”
“Because you’ve been very, very sick,” Penny said, arranging the food in front of him. “You know who I am now, don’t you?”
“Why, certainly,” replied Mr. Parker indignantly. “You’re my daughter. Your name is—now let me think—”
“Penny.”
“To be sure,” agreed Mr. Parker, in confusion. “Fancy forgetting my own daughter’s name!”