This even caught the interest of Walter Maltby who was wondering what Jenny would have to say about his not arriving home on schedule. "What did happen?"
"We've fallen—or were snatched—through some sort of a space-time warp."
Wilmer Payton gaped idiotically and said, "We did which through a what?"
Fleming Carter seemed not to hear. He was staring pensively at the thick blades of grass that brushed his knees. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio—" he mused.
"There ain't nobody here named Horatio," Wilmer said sullenly.
"Excuse me. My mind was wandering," Carter's mind was not wandering at all, however. He said, "There are certain unexplained phenomena that are believed to have happened in our world. People have been known to disappear mysteriously and those who remain behind formulate theories as to the how and the why of their vanishing. It is believed by some that people can be moved, under certain conditions from one plane of existence to another—that there are many of these so-called planes of existence where many and varied peoples live and breathe upon them.
"Of course, no proof has ever been found for these theories because the vanished persons never came back to testify, but—" Carter stopped suddenly and regarded the three with a touch of compassion. "You haven't the least idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"I'm afraid not," Walter Maltby said timidly.
"Well, never mind. Perhaps I don't either. In any case, existence is its own excuse for accepting any locale. Suffice it to say we are now in a world that was not built for us—a world for creatures of far greater dimensions than ourselves—and how we got here is really of little importance."
Peggy Wilson was now snugly in Wilmer Payton's arms, her head tight against his chest. Wilmer was just opening his mouth to say something when, over the slope of the land, a huge form appeared. There was nothing mystifying about it. The creature was obviously a man. He wore rather strange loose clothing that, Carter thought, had some resemblance to those of the ancient Greeks. But otherwise there was nothing different about him except his size. As he approached, Fleming Carter estimated that Wilmer Payton—the tallest of the four—would about come to the top of his odd sandal-like footgear.