Dr. Scherz would not press him further; he knew that they must be patient. Memory had lain dormant for so long, and the child had been so young at the time of losing it, that it was doubtful if they could ever learn very much regarding his history.
Weeks passed, and Geoffrey was at last pronounced well enough to return to the beautiful home awaiting him in Brooklyn.
He had recovered without a single drawback. The light of reason gleamed in his eyes, and he had the full use of all the organs of speech.
But, although the doctors had decided that he must be fully fifteen years of age, notwithstanding his growth had been somewhat stunted by the effects of his injury, mentally he was little better than an infant.
He talked like a child of five years, and acted like one.
But very little could be learned of his previous life. It was evident that he had been living with a woman named Margery—who, probably, was his nurse—and a man named Jack, possibly the woman’s husband.
Margery he had loved, and he often called for her now. Jack he had feared, and looked frightened whenever his name was mentioned.
Of the injury which had deprived him of his memory he seemed to be able to tell nothing, although he affirmed that Jack had struck and tried to choke Margery, and he wanted to “lick the naughty man.”
Of his mother he knew absolutely nothing; his father was not much more than a name to him, although he spoke of him as his “good papa,” while he could not tell anything whatever about the place where his former home had been, and knew nothing of the circumstances of his being in New York.
He was very quick to comprehend, however, now that he once more had his reason, and readily adapted himself to his new surroundings.