“The point is,” the psychologist launched at once into the business at hand, “you, June Travis, wish to find your father. If you can recall some of your surroundings while you were with him, we may be able to locate those surroundings, and through them some friend who may know at least which way he went.
“Now,” he said in a tone of perfect ease, “we are here together, four friends in this beautiful studio. Our friend Tum is going to give us some music. Do you like waltz time?”
“I adore it.”
“Waltz time,” he nodded to Tum.
“While he plays,” he went on, “we shall sit before the open fire, and that should remind you of Christmas, stockings and all that. I’m going to ask you to think back as far as you can, Christmas by Christmas. That should not be hard. Perhaps last Christmas was a glad one because all your friends were present, the one before that sad because some treasured one was gone. Think back, back, back, and let us see if we cannot at last arrive at the last one you spent with your father.”
“Oh!” The look on June’s face became animated. “I—I’ll try hard.”
“Not too hard. Just let your thoughts flow back, like a stream. Now, Tum, the music.”
For ten minutes there was no sound save the sweet, melodious voice of Tum’s violin.
“Now,” whispered the psychologist, “think! Last Christmas? Was it glad or sad?”
“Glad.”