men. His ears thrilled to the song of the earth and the whistle of the
ploughman turning up the fresh brown earth. He filled his lungs with
the wind of the open country, drank in the enchantment of the morning
and the dusk, his nostrils joyously alive to the smell of the furrowed
ground and a hint of burgeoning wild flowers.

But the first robin brought misgivings and remorse. Brian remembered
Kenny's legend of the thorn ("worst of them all it was," said Kenny
gently, "and prickin' deepest!") and the robin who plucked it from the
bleeding brow of Christ. So by the blood of the Son of Man had the
robin come by his red breast.

The legend filled Brian with yearning. He softened dangerously to the
memory of a sketching tramp with Kenny fuming at his heels, his
excitement chronic. Adventure had endlessly stalked Kenny for its own,
waylaid him at intervals when he passionately proclaimed his desire for
peace, and saddled Brian with the responsibilities of constant
guardianship.

Brian stubbornly put it all behind him. Kenny, frantic with tenderness
and resolution, could sweep him credulously back into bondage if he
kept to the siege. His promises were fluent always and alluring. Only
by the courage of utter separation could Brian make his longed for
emancipation a thing assured.

So he tramped the highway, lingering by fence and rail to talk with
men, living and learning. For the highway meant to him the passion of
life. Hope and sorrow traveled it day and night in homely hearts.

And often his thoughts harked wistfully back to the words of a modern