rom the shelter of his arm, "is a blarney stone?"

"A substitute for lips!" said Kenny instantly and kissed her.

"And Finn?"

"Plunged into the waters of the lake, he did, as any son of Erin
would--and found the maid."

But Joan's eyes were absently fixed upon the road again and Kenny
abandoned his legend with a sigh until he bethought himself to use its
climax in reproach.

"And when Finn reappeared, he was an old, old man, as old as a man may
feel when his lady's attention wanders."

Joan colored and laughed, her eyes faintly mischievous, wholly
apologetic.

"Finn's youth," Kenny gallantly assured her, "was restored to him by
magic and surely there is magic in a woman's smile."

They motored on in a silence that Kenny found depressing. When would
Arcady come again, he wondered rebelliously, wistful for the sparkle of
that other summer when fairies, silver-shod, had danced upon the
moonlit lake. The strain of worry had tired them both.

The wind swept coolly toward them sweet with pine. Wind and pine up
here were always mingling. A night--a moon for lovers! The clasp of
his arm tightened.

The peace of the night was insistent. After all with worry at an end
Arcady might not lie so very far away--it was creeping into his heart,
sweet with the music of many trees. Joan too perhaps--he stole a
glance at the girl's face, colorless in the moonlight like some soft,
exquisite flower--and drew up the emergency brake with a jerk. Her
lashes were wet.

"Joan," he exclaimed, "you're not crying!"

She tried to smile and buried her face on his shoulder.

"I think," she said forlornly, "it--it's just because everything has
turned out so--so nicely."

He motored homeward, ill at ease, aware after a time that the girl
cradled in his arm had fallen asleep. Her tears worried him.

"But I'm quite all right now, Kenny," she protested as they drove up
the lane. "It's partly the heat. Why didn't you wake me?"

He swung her lightly to the ground.

"I liked to think I was helping you rest," he said gently. "You need
it. Don't wait, dear. It's late."

He climbed back in the car and glided off barnwards, waving his arm.
Joan went slowly up the stairway to her room.

Latticed moonlight lay upon a chair by the window. She dropped into
it, weary and inert, grateful for the rushing sound of the river; it
soothed her with familiar music. A clock downstairs chimed the hour,
then the half--and then another hou