"I'm not a tramp," called Tom promptly. "I've met with an accident. Where am I?"
"Humph! Mighty funny if you don't know where you are," commented the farmer. "Jed, bring a lantern until I take a look at who this is."
"All right, pop," answered another voice, and a moment later Tom saw a tall man standing in front of him.
"I'll give you a look at me without waiting for the lantern," said Tom quickly, and he struck a match, holding it so that the gleam fell upon his face.
"Salt mackerel! It's a young feller!" exclaimed the farmer, "Who be you, anyhow, and what you doin' here?"
"That's just what I would like to know," said Tom, passing his hand over his head, which was still paining him. "Am I near Albany? That's where I started for this morning."
"Albany? You're a good way from Albany," replied the farmer, "You're in the village of Dunkirk."
"How far is that from Centreford?"
"About seventy miles."
"As far as thet?" cried Tom, "They must have carried me a good way in their automobile."
"Was you in that automobile?" demanded the farmer.
