"_No_ kin. Finders keepers. B'longs to you, I reckon. Ain't much good,
be she?"

"Hole stove in her," Ken said. "The engine is all there, but I guess
it'll need a good bit of tinkering at."

"Ain't wuth it," said the harbor-master. "She's old as Methusaly,
anyways. Keep her--she's salvage if ever there wuz. Might be able to
git sunthin' fer her enjine--scrap iron."

"Thanks," said Ken; "I'll think it over." And he ran nearly all the way
to Applegate Farm.

Kirk did not forget his promise to the Maestro. He found the old gentleman
in the garden, sitting on a stone bench beside the empty fountain.

"I knew that you would come," he said. "Do you know what day it is?"

Kirk did not, except that it was Saturday.

"It is May-day," said the Maestro, "and the spirits of the garden are
abroad. We must keep our May together. Come--I think I have not
forgotten the way."

He took Kirk's hand, and they walked down the grass path till the sweet
closeness of a low pine covert wove a scented silence about them. The
Maestro's voice dropped.

"It used to be here," he said. "Try--the other side of the pine-tree.
Ah, it has been so many, many years!"

[Illustration: The Maestro sat down beside Kirk]

Kirk's hand sought along the dry pine-needles;
then, in a nook of the roots, what but
a tiny dish, with sweetmeats, set out, and little
cups of elder wine, and bread, and cottage
cheese! The Maestro sat down beside Kirk on
the pine-needles, and began to sing softly in a
rather thin but very sweet voice.

"Here come we a-maying,
All in the wood so green;
Oh, will ye not be staying?
Oh, can ye not be seen?

Before that ye be flitting,
When the dew is in the east,
We thank ye, as befitting,
For the May and for the feast.

Here come we a-maying,
All in the wood so green,
In fairy coverts straying
A-for to seek our queen."

"One has to be courteous to them," he added at the end, while Kirk sat
rapt, very possibly seeing far more garden spirits than his friend had
any idea of.

"I myself," the Maestro said, "do not very often come to the garden. It
is too full, for me, of children no longer here. But the garden folk
have not forgotten."

"When I'm here," murmured Kirk, sipping elder wine, "Applegate Farm and
everything in the world seem miles and years away. Is there really a
magic line at the hedge?"

"If there is, you are the only one who has discovered it," said the old
gentleman, enigmatically. "Leav