here,
are you?"

"I am," said Kenny.

Sid came in and closed the door.

"I--I can't believe it!" he sputtered.

"Don't!" said Kenny. He was out of sorts. Garry, talking of honor and
letters, had given him a bad interval of indecision and guilt.

"It--it's amazing!" went on Sid. "You were all right at breakfast--"

Kenny wheeled furiously.

"Sid," he snorted, "you're amazed when it rains. You're amazed when it
snows. You're amazed when the sun's out and amazed when it isn't.
Thunder-and-turf! you're always amazed!" Whereupon he stalked out with
his suit case and slammed the door.

Sid pursed his lips and shook his head, his gaze riveted upon the door
panels in round-eyed incredulity. To him Kenny was an incomprehensible
source of turbulence.

"The spark!" said Sid. "Wonder what it's been?"

Then sharing the club-feeling of guardianship where Kenny was
concerned, the good-natured little painter embarked upon a tour of
inspection, locked the studio windows and trotted upstairs, still
amazed, to tell Jan all about it.

Thus Kenny departed from the Holbein Club, forgetting Fahr almost at
once. He had recalled the tale of the Irish piper who added a phrase
to some fairy music he heard below him in a hill; and the fairies,
bursting forth in delight, had struck the hump from his back in reward.

Kenny himself had the same feeling of relief that the piper must have
had thereafter. He too had lost his hump of worry.

CHAPTER IV

GOD'S GREEN WORLD OF SPRING

At a country inn the suit case became a knapsack. Kenny went forth
into a world of old houses, apple blossoms and winding roads, likening
himself to Peredur who had gone in search of the Holy Grail. The Grail
in this case was the holy boon of his son's forgiveness.

He went with the break of day at a swinging stride, his penitential
inspiration in the full flower of its freshness. If misgiving claimed
him at all, it was merely a matter of shoes. They were the kind, built
for walking, likely to be in a state of unromantic preservation at his
journey's end. Kenny found in them a source of discontent and
speculation.

For the passion of life which to Brian's fancy haunted the highway,
Kenny had delightful substitute, fairies quaffing nectar from
flower-cups of dew or riding bridle paths of cloud on bits of straw.
In everything he chose to find an augury, from the night of birds to
the way of the wind, the curl of smoke or the color of a