there--a big one. If," he added grimly, "you can manage to get
in."

Late August found the tension of worry at an end. Brian at last was
walking. And Don had fought a battle with his books and won.

Kenny's spirits soared.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

ARCADY ELUDES A SEEKER

"Come," Kenny begged one night when the dusk lay thick in the valley.
"Let's pace the Gray Man, Joan, in Garry's car. Nobody needs you now
as much as I."

His bright dark face pleaded.

The girl smiled.

"Kenny, Kenny, Kenny," she said, "will you ever grow up?"

"Did Peter Pan? Better get your cloak, dear. You may need it."

He went off whistling to the barn. Kenny had blessed the car and Garry
many times. He blessed them again as the engine throbbed in the dusk.
Hot silence lay upon the ridge, broken only by the noise of insects.

"A long road and a straight road and Samhain at the end!" he sang as
Joan climbed in. "And bless the Irish heart of me, dear, there's a
moon scrambling up behind the hill and peeping over. Lordy, Lordy!" he
added under his breath, "what a moon!"

"'On such a night
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew
And with an unthrift love did run to Venice
As far as--'

"Hum! I've forgotten. Wonder why Shakespeare looked ahead and
harpooned me with that word unthrift. Where to, Jessica? Where shall
the unthrift lover drive on such a night?"

Joan stared absently at the road ahead.

"To Ireland," she said.

The answer pleased him.

"I mind me," he said instantly, "of an Irish tale of Finn McCoul."

Joan did not answer.

"Tell me," she said at last. "Finn and you are always delightful."

Kenny stared at her in marked reproach.

"Joan!" he exclaimed.

"What--what is it, Kenny?"

"That's just the sort of polite nothing you learned in New York!"

"I'm sorry, Kenny. I'm--tired. And just for a minute I wasn't
listening. You know how it is. You hear an echo in your mind a long
while after and answer in a panic." She brushed her cheek against his
sleeve with a remorseful gesture of appeal. His arm went round her.

"There!" he said with a sigh of relief. "That's better. I'm lonesome
when we're not in tune."

"And the story?"

Kenny told of a fairy face that Finn had seen in a lake among the
heather.

"Leaf-brown eyes had the nymph, I take it, and satin-cream skin with a
rose showin' through and allurin' lashes maybe dipped in the ink-pots
of the fairies."

"What," said Joan f