“What am I doin' here? What am I doin'?”
“Yes.” Then, after another stare about the room, he added: “This ain't Kenelm Parker's house? Whose house is it?”
“It's my house, of course. Emily, go and fetch some—some water or somethin'. He's out of his head.”
Emily hurried to the kitchen, Thankful hastened to help the unexpected visitor to his feet. But the visitor declined to be helped.
“Let me alone,” he roared. “Let me be. I—I want to know whose house this is?”
“It's my house, I tell you. You ought to know whose house it is. Land sakes! You and I have had talk enough about it lately. Don't you know where you are? What are you sittin' there on the floor for? Are you hurt?”
Slowly Mr. Cobb rose to his feet.
“Do you mean to tell me,” he demanded, “that this is—is Abner's place? How'd I get here?”
“I don't know. I ain't hardly had time to make sure you are here yet. And I'm sartin YOU ain't sure. That was an awful tumble you got. Seems as if you must have hurt yourself. And you're soppin' wet through! What in the WORLD?”
She moved toward him again, but he waved her away.