Kearns and the Professor turned to each other in bewilderment. It was the tenth day of June when they had started on the walk with Dr. Jaquet, and here was this woman telling them it was the end of July. Oh, monstrous, incredible! They had slept a full six weeks! “Then, too, sir,” continued the woman, who seemed not disinclined to rest her heavy basket and indulge in a little gossip, “it’s always apt to be warm on a hot day around fourteen o’clock.” “Around fourteen o’clock!” repeated Kearns and the Professor, both agape. “Yes; but I consider fifteen o’clock to be the hottest hour of the day.” “Fifteen o’clock!” echoed the men. “Tell me,” said Kearns, after a pause, “what’s the name of that village?” “Pemberton, sir.” “Pemberton--Pemberton,” repeated Kearns. “I thought I knew all the places in this section, yet I never heard of Pemberton. Can you tell me in which direction lies Averill?” “Averill, sir? I never heard the name.” “Have you lived here long?” “All my life.” Kearns paused a moment thoughtfully. Then a sudden thought occurred to him. “You say this is the end of July?” “Yes sir; the twenty-fifth.” “Any news lately about the nominations?” “Nominations, sir!” repeated the woman; “what nominations?” “Why, the Presidential, of course!” “The Presidential,” repeated the woman blankly. “Yes,” said Kearns, gently; “the Presidential nominations.” The woman made no reply; she stood staring blankly at the speaker. The younger woman all this time had been eyeing the wayfarers with curiosity. Into her brown eyes there now came a look of suspicion and mistrust. “Mother,” she whispered, plucking the elder woman by the sleeve, “we’d better be going.” And she caught up one end of the basket. The situation was certainly embarrassing. Kearns made a hasty endeavor to turn the subject. “The village seems a good way off and we are tired,” he said. “Do you think, if we wait here, we might get a horse and carriage to take us to the village?” The woman glanced sharply at him and gathered up her end of the basket. She and her daughter started on their way. As she passed Kearns, she turned her head. “It’s ill work,” she said, “a-poking fun at those who’ve given you naught but civil answers.” Kearns and Dean stood watching the retreating figures as they passed down the road. Suddenly, as by one impulse, they faced each other. The Professor laid his hand upon Kearns’ shoulder. “The twenty-fifth of July--did you hear that woman say----” “Yes; I heard,” answered Kearns, slowly. “If her statement be true, we have been dead to the world for a good six weeks.” Both men stood silent for a moment. Then the Professor again spoke: “These strange surroundings--the queer actions of these people! What can it all mean?” “Mean!” answered Kearns with a laugh. “It begins to look as if we were either mad, or bewitched!” CHAPTER II THE MAN WITH THE COCKED HAT