shioned kitchen, yellow with
lamp light, Hughie's daughter, a ruddy-cheeked girl plump and wholesome
as an apple, was washing dishes. Kenny liked her. He liked the
shining kitchen. The wood was dark and old. He liked too the tiny
bird-like wife who trotted to the door at Hughie's call. Her hair was
white and scant, her skin ruddy, her eyes as small and black as berries.

Kenny made her his slave. He begged to eat in the kitchen.

Joan found him there a little later with everything in the pantry
spread before him. His voice, gay and charming, sounded as if he had
liked Hannah for a very long time. And Hannah's best lamp was on the
table. There was a pleasant undercurrent of excitement in the kitchen.
Joan found her guest's engaging air of adaptability bewildering. He
seemed all ease and sparkle.

At the rustle of her gown in the doorway, he sprang to his feet.

"Please sit down," she said, coloring at the unaccustomed deference.
"I've a message from Uncle Adam. He understands about your son. He
said you may wait here as long as you choose. In any room."

Trotting flurried paths to the pantry and the stove, Hannah at this
point must needs halt midway between the two with the teapot in her
hand to tell the tale of Kenny's considerate plea for supper in the
kitchen. Though it had been largely a matter of old wood and
lamp-yellow shadows, Kenny wished that a number of people who had never
troubled to be just and call him considerate could hear what she said.
Thank Heaven his self-respect was returning. These simple people were
splendidly intuitional. They understood. An agreeable wave of
confidence in his own judgment filled him with benevolence. He was to
lose that confidence strangely in a little while. It came to him
sitting there that he felt much as he had felt in the old care-free
past before Brian had deserted, plunging him into abysmal despair.

"Perhaps to-night," Joan said, "you'd better sleep wherever Hannah
says. And then tomorrow you can pick a room for yourself."

She slipped away with the grace of an elf. Spurred to pictures by the
old brocade, Kenny wished he had some velvet knickerbockers and a satin
coat. The thought of his knapsack wardrobe filled him with discontent.
Hum! To-morrow he must prevail upon someone to conduct him to the
nearest village in wire communication with the outside world.

To Garry two days later came a telegram from Craig Farm. It covered
three typewri