behind for the vocal entertainment of Silas, who would
likely get up again with the roosters and roar into it at "hoboes."
Yes, the corncrib would revert to Silas, from whom he had merely rented
it for one night at a most appalling price. The improvidence of it
shocked him. Kenny retraced his footsteps in a blaze of indignation
and made a bonfire on the corncrib floor to which in a reckless spasm
of disgust he consigned the remainder of his supper. The crazy
structure caught at once, with a smell of cheese.

Five minutes later Kenny's corncrib was a mass of flames and Silas had
appeared at the end of the field roaring incomprehensible profanity.
Kenny, waiting, whistled softly with a defiant air of calm. The
corncrib was his. He had a perfect right to burn it. He meant to tell
Silas this in a quiet voice, but lost his temper and thundered it
instead. Then in a fury he advanced to meet the disturber of his
morning sleep and made him pay in full for the disillusion of his days
upon the road.

He thrashed Silas into a mood of craven apology and left him with his
head in his hands. To Kenny's disgusted glance he was like the Irish
Grogach of folk lore, who tumbles around among the hills with a good
deal of head and a lax body without much hint of bones. Well, Brian
had thrashed somebody too. There were times when it couldn't be
helped. And Brian had lived in a corncrib at seven cents a day. Kenny
whipped out his notebook.

"One day in a corncrib:" he wrote grimly. "Twenty-five dollars!"

Brian and he were maintaining their customary scale of contrast.

The highway he abandoned almost at once and struck off through the
forest, reflecting with a frown that Silas would doubtless look up the
marshal and demand a warrant for his arrest. Fate was at his heels
again obsessed by a mania for disturbing the peace of mind he craved.
He might even be hunted by a village posse. And bloodhounds! The
adventurous side of this rather pleased him. It simply narrowed down
to this--it behooved him to loiter no longer in the green world of
spring. Penance or no penance he must now try penitential speed. How
on earth had he ever managed to blunder into a country all trees and no
rails?

He found a druid of a brook chanting paganly to trees and moss.
Ordinarily Kenny would have found its music and its shadows infinitely
poetic. Now, wretchedly out of sorts, he plunged his face and hands
into a shady pool with a sigh of