“Why, he pulled a gun, and marched Pa out here to the barn. Ma ran upstairs crying. And the lady, she was crying, too. And the dark fellow, he made the lady climb up where you was, on the hay—”
“Yes, I know,” Beveridge interrupted, indicating the dress.
“And then he held the gun while Pa took off his Sunday suit that he'd put on because he thought they was going to be visitors, and he threw it up to the lady, and she put it on. One of the suspenders was busted, and she didn't know how it worked, and she cried, and then Pa had to holler up how he'd fixed it with a string and you twisted the string around twice and then tied it. And then the dark fellow, he made me run in and get Pa his overhauls.”
“So they changed clothes right here, eh?”
“Yes, and the lady cried, and when she'd got all dressed in Pa's clothes, why, she just said she wouldn't come down. And Joe, he said she would, or he'd know the reason why. Then the others laughed some—”
“The others!”
“Yes, and they—”
“Hold on! How many were there in this party?”
“Why, three or four, counting in the lady.”
“Three or four! Don't you know?”