“Nonsense!” he said brusquely.

“Hughie said so, too.  And Hannah and Hetty.  Someone had to think and plan and you did it all so well.  And, Kenny, I told Hannah, that I’m going to marry you and she cried and kissed me and—­and poured a wash-bowl full of tea for Hughie to wash his hands in!”

“The heart of her!” said Kenny.  “Come, girleen.  The tea’s ready.  I want to see you pour it.”

He watched with his heart in his eyes while she poured his tea.  There was a sense of home in the cabin here and the crackle of the fire was the music of comfort.  Kenny drank a little of his tea and roved off to the window to light a cigarette.

Beyond the November monotone of trees blazed the red of a sunset.  A winter sunset!  The fall was over.

“Joan!” he called softly.  “Come, jewel machree, the Gray Man is stealing through the pines.”

She came at once and slipped into the circle of his arm.  Kenny held her tight and found his courage.  He was restless, it seemed, and after months of irresponsibility, the thought of work was bothering him badly.  Kenny must leave the farm.  He must go soon; in a week.  And his wife must go with him.

Joan’s breathless amazement made him laugh.

“But, Kenny, I—­I can’t!” she said.

“And I,” said Kenny stubbornly, “can’t and won’t go away and leave you here.  The thought of winter and the hills and that barn of a house when the wind is blowing would haunt me.  No, no, girleen!”

Joan looked up and smiled and her soft eyes were wistful.

“Kenny, I must study for another year!”

“Another year!” said Kenny blankly.  “Colleen, you’ve the wisdom of the ages in your head right now.”

Joan shook her head.

“I must learn to be your wife,” she said.  “Now it—­it dazzles and frightens me—­”

“Joan!”

“Have you forgotten, Kenny, that I have lived my life up here in hills and trees.  And you—­”

“Joan, please!” he begged in distress.

“But I can’t forget,” said the girl steadily.  “Whenever I read the article Garry sent about ’Kennicott O’Neill, brilliant painter’—­think of it, Kenny!  ’Brilliant painter!’—­I go back and read again just to be sure I’m not dreaming.  I’ve been so much alone that the thought of going out into your world with you—­terrifies me.  I could not bear to have you—­sorry!”

“Mavourneen!” he said, shocked.

There were tears upon her cheeks.

“I would only ask that you be your own dear self,” said Kenny gently.  “And every man of my world and every woman will stare and envy!”

“I must know music and French,” said Joan, checking the need upon her fingers.  “I must know how to dance.  Now when I talk I must have something to say.  Otherwise I feel shy and quiet.  I must learn how to talk a great deal without saying anything as you do sometimes.”