“Mr. and Mrs. Farley, the Reverend Mr. Prentice,” said Average Jones in introduction.
“The strangers in the wagon?” asked the clergyman quickly.
“The same,” admitted the woman briefly.
The Reverend Mr. Prentice turned upon Farley. “Why did you want to steal my boy away?” he demanded.
“Didn’t want to. Had to,” replied that gentleman succinctly.
“Let’s do this in order,” suggested Average Jones. “The principal actor’s story first. Speak up, Bailey.”
“Don’t know my own story,” said the boy with a grin. “Only part of it. Mrs. Farley’s been awful good to me, takin’ care of me an’ all that. But she wouldn’t tell me how I got hurt or where I was when I woke up.”
“Naturally. Well, we must piece it out among us. Now, Bailey, you were working over your reel the night the meteor fell, when—”
“What meteor? I don’t know anything about a meteor.”
“Of course you don’t,” said Average Jones laughing. “Stupid of me. For the moment I had forgotten that you were out of the world then. Well, about nine o’clock of the night you got the reel, you looked out of your window and saw a queer light over at the Tuxall place.”