minute ago that I had it with me. Now it's gone, I find myself here without knowing how I came here, with you who are a stranger telling me strange things, and—I give it up. It's a riddle. What's the answer?"
Ralph had a task before him. In his judgment it was best not to crowd things too speedily, all of a jumble.
"You came to Stanley Junction with a letter about three weeks ago," he said. "It seemed you had dead-headed it there on the trucks from some point down the line."
Van nodded as if he dimly recalled all this.
"You hid in an old factory, or went there to take a nap. A baseball struck your head accidentally. We took you to our home, you have been there since."
"That's queer, I can't remember. Yes—yes, I do, in a way," Van corrected himself sharply. "Was there a chicken house there—oh, such a fine chicken house!" he exclaimed expansively, "with fancy towers made out of laths, and a dandy wind vane on it?"
"You built that chicken house yourself," explained Ralph.
"Oh, go on! " said Van incredulously.
"Well, you did."
"And there was a lady there, dressed in
