to sell the thing for what I can get."

Mother! There was another topic! Kirk didn't even know she was coming
home! The talk went off on a new angle, and plan followed plan, till
Ken rose and announced that he was fairly starved.

"I'm worn to a wraith," said he. "I haven't had the time or the heart
for a decent dinner since some time in the last century. Bring out the
entire contents of the larder, Phil, and let's have a celebration."

Next morning, while the dew still hung in the hollows, Kirk got up and
dressed himself without waking Ken. He tiptoed out into the new day, and
made his way across the cool, mist-hung meadow to the Maestro's hedge.
For an idea had been troubling him; it had waked with him, and he went
now to make a restoration.

All was quiet in the garden. The first fallen leaves rustled beneath
Kirk's feet as he went up the paved path and halted beside the dry
fountain. He sat down cross-legged on the coping, with his chin in his
hands, and turned his face to the wind's kiss and the gathering warmth
of the sun. Something stirred at the other side of the pool--a blown
leaf, perhaps; but then a voice remarked:

"Morning, shipmate." Kirk sprang up.

"You're just who I wanted to see," he said; "and I thought you _might_
be wanting to take a walk in the garden, early."

"You thought right."

They had come toward each other around the pool's rim, and met now at
the cracked stone bench where two paths joined. Kirk put his hand
through Martin's arm. He always rather liked to touch people while he
talked to them, to be sure that they remained a reality and would not
slip away before he had finished what he wanted to say.

"What brings you out so early, when you only fetched port last night?"
Martin inquired, in his dry voice.

"I wanted to talk to you," Kirk said, "about that song."

"What, about the hat?"

"No, not that one. The birthday one about the roses. You see, the
Maestro gave it to me on my birthday, because he said he thought you
didn't need it any more. But you're here, and you do. It's your song,
and I oughtn't to have it. So I came to give it back to you," said Kirk.

"I see," said Martin.

"So please take it," Kirk pursued, quite as though he had it in his
pocket, "and I'll try to forget it."

"I don't know," said Martin. "The Maestro loves you now just about as
much as he loved me when I was your size. His heart is divided--so let's
divide the song, too. It'll belong to both of