_Craig Farm Ferry
Please blow the horn_

A battered horn of adventure! What might it not evoke? Woodland
spirits perhaps, romance, a ferryman! Thank God the tree was old, the
horn battered and the willow naiadic in its grace. A trio of blessing!

Kenny whistled softly in amazed delight and blew the horn. Its blast
startled him and the wooded hills seemed to fling the echo back upon
him. In better humor he flung himself down beneath a tree to wait for
the ferryman--and went peacefully to sleep.

St. Kevin had once fallen asleep at a window with his arms outstretched
in prayer; a swallow had made a nest in his hand and the saint had
waited for the swallow's young to hatch. Kenny, with the legend dimly
adrift in his brain, dreamed that he too must wait until a ferryman
grew up. He grew up on the further shore to a youth in patches and
then all at once the dream became a beautiful delight. The youth by a
twist of woodland magic turned to a maid in a glory of old brocade.
Such a maid might have stepped from an ancient tapestry to come in
search of a knight of old.

"Mr. O'Neill!"

Kenny did not stir. He must keep the dream to the end. If he moved
now the maid would vanish.

"Mr. O'Neill!" A hand touched his shoulder.

A haze of old brocade golden in the sunlight retreated and then loomed