memory of winding, sodden, lonely roads, dripping woods and the clin

ery book in the farmhouse was here upon his shelves. Adam Craig sat huddled in a wheelchair. Kenny thought of the runaway who hated him. He thought of Joan. He thought of the b

r faltered. So began what Kenny, when his singular relations with the old man had goaded him to startled a

message," sa

ece brou

slender, wasted fingers

?" he asked

urprise, "you were good enough to say th

Adam Craig, "she lied. I said you could

valid chose to misinterpret

oftly, "you don

ought back his temper. Affronted, he crossed the room and laid a roll of

"will guarantee my hospitali

cket of his bathrobe and Kenny fan

n in the bathrobe. One by one Kenny was fated to solve his mysteries when he wanted to keep them. He knew now in a flare of intuition why the old rooms had been abandoned, why Joan ferried folk from the village in the valley to the village across the river,

low voice rang in his ea

aig was

d the old man's eyes boring into him aga

Craig, "you are

ter," said K

als," pur

h me

for an interval to threat

id huskily, "is a bottle and

y ob

t d

for himself and sat down. Pity made him gentle. Year in and year out, he remembered with a shiver, Adam Craig sat huddled here in his wheel

elf in quieter mood. Reminiscence crackled in the wood-fire. Nights in the studio by the embers of a log many a Gaelic tale ha

and mirth and melancholy. The though

ny made his opportunity and began. He told a tale of Choulain, the mountain smith who forged armor for the Ultonians. He told a lighter tale of three sisters whom he called Fair, Brown and

n to the tale of Conoclach and the first harp. Conoclach, he said, hating Cull, her husband, had run away from him toward the sea. There upon the sand lay the skeleton of a whale and the wind playing upon the taut sinews made

raig n

ap it had pleased him to bait wit

. The sacrilege of doubt whe

ain, "adapted centuries ag

umorous," said Kenny, gl

ul, not being Irish. Fair, Brown and Trembling!" he added

nderella!" correcte

ced at him with

. I can find you the German tale of a

me of a German who chose to de

a ready

times when

Craig, nettled, "there's a Grecian l

derstanding. Hum! The Greeks, he rememb

urance incense

he rasped, coughing a little, "wh

y. "Achilles, poor old scout, w

d brightness of his eyes sunk deep in the yellowed gauntness of his face that he was drunk. He shuddered and rose.

ou!" he said. "Cind

Kenny pityingly. "Cin

hair. Drunk, perverse and cruel! With the rain beating at the window

th a sense of guilt when Hughie came. "Per

anced at

lock," he said

u m

ghie. "The doctor gave

room filled with

is days with Joan tuning the Craig piano. He was grateful in the gloom of dark wood and dust for the fantastic thing of lavender she w

sent for his guest. The rain, he said, made him lonesome. Each night in a hopeless conflict

estern hills. Nearer, dotted peacefully with farms, red barns and dark, straggling clumps of evergreen, the rolling valley stretched unevenly

vely through the storm to sunshine. And the world held Joan with shadow

it was good