passed through the wide colonial hall, with mahogany
tables and portraits of the Kerrs and the sword of Colonel Patton. At
the far end was an open door, and a glimpse of an old-fashioned garden
radiant with hollyhocks and Canterbury bells. It was a world of utter
content. As they climbed the curving stairs Ruth tucked her arm in
his, saying:

"Now do you see why I won't be engaged? Pat Kerr is the best chum in
the world, yet he finds even a possible engagement wildly
humorous--like mothers-in-law or poets or falling on your ear."

"But gee! Ruth, you _are_ going to marry me?"

"You little child! My little boy Hawk! Of course I'm going to marry
you. Do you think I would miss my chance of a cabin in the Rockies?...
My famous Hawk what everybody cheered at Nassau Boulevard!" She opened
the door of his room with a deferential, "Thy chamber, milord!... Come
down quickly," she said. "We mustn't miss a moment of these days....
I am frank with you about how glad I am to have you here. You must be
good to me; you will prize my love a little, won't you?" Before he
could answer she had run away.

After half home-comings and false home-comings the adventurer had
really come home.

He inspected the gracious room, its chintz hangings, four-poster bed,
low wicker chair by the fireplace, fresh Cherokee roses on the mantel;
a room of cheerfulness and open spaces. He stared into woods where a
cool light lay on moss and fern. He did not need to remember Ruth's
kisses. For each breath of hilltop air, each emerald of moss, each
shining mahogany surface in the room, repeated to him that he had
found the Grail, whose other name is love.

Saturday, they loafed over breakfast, the sun licking the tree-tops in
the ravine outside the windows; and they motored with the Kerrs to
Lenox, returning through the darkness. Till midnight they talked on
the terrace. They loafed again, the next morning, and let the fresh
air dissolve the office grime which had been coating his spirit. They
were so startlingly original as to be simple-hearted country lovers,
in the afternoon, declining Kerr's offer of a car, and rambling off on
bicycles.

From a rise they saw water gleaming among the trees. The sullen green
of pines set off the silvery green of barley, and an orchard climbed
the next rise; the smoky shadow of another hill range promised long,
cool forest roads. Crows were flying overhead, going where they would.
The aviator and the girl who read ps