he might not break the spellbound stillness of the house. Then came the familiar crackle of an open fire, and Kirk was piloted into the delicious cozy depths of a big chair beside the hearth. Creakings, as of another chair being pulled up, then a contented sigh, indicated that his host had sat down opposite him.
"May I now ask your name?" the voice inquired.
"I'm Kirkleigh Sturgis, at Applegate Farm," said Kirk.
"' . . . I s'pose you know, Miss Jean,
That I'm Young Richard o' Taunton Dean . . .'"
murmured the old gentleman.
Kirk pricked up his ears instantly. "Phil sings that," he said delightedly. "I'm glad you know it. But you would."
"Who'd have thought you would know it?" said the voice. "I am fond of Young Richard. Is Phil your brother?"
"She's my sister—but I have a brother. He's sixteen, and he's almost as high as the doorways at Applegate Farm."
"I seem not to know where Applegate Farm is," the old gentleman mused.
