CHAPTER VI

IN THE GARRET

Rain came with the dawn. Kenny, waking hours later with a nervous
sense of some unknown delight ahead, found the eaves and orchard
dripping. The valley the old house faced was lost in mist.

The blossom storm! So Hughie had called the rain he promised. Kenny
liked the name. Out there in the orchard gusty cudgels of wind and
water were beating the blossoms to earth. It was a fancy rife with
poetic melancholy.

The smell of wet lilac sweeping in from a bush beneath his window made
him think somehow of Joan. He wondered in a wave of tenderness if she
ferried the river too in storm and, glancing at his watch found the
hour disturbing. Unfortunately in a wing remote from Hannah's trot and
bustle where save for the monotonous music of the rain, the brush of
dripping trees or depressing creaks, there was no noise at all, he had
as usual slept too long. And one could never tell. Silas's singular
notion of a rising hour might prevail here. Best perhaps to go down a
little later and combine his breakfast with his lunch. Meantime he
would avail himself of Joan's permission to pick a room for himself.

The house was big and old and abandoned for the most part to creaks and
dust and cobwebs. Kenny peered into room after room with a fascinated
shiver, reading mystery in every shadow. Thank fortune the room he had
was linked to the fragrant life of blossoms and lilacs.