Young Kenneth was so much roused by Michael’s triumphant asseverations that he began to shout and kick in delighted tune and fling the apples from him with a vigour that he had never yet reached. “You know,” Michael continued breathlessly, while the boy on the grass gurgled his endorsement of every word. “You know that I’m old for my age, that I’ve already done things that other chaps at school only whisper about.” He stopped suddenly, for the grey eyes had become like rocks, and though the baby still panted ecstatically, there fell a chill. “I’m very sorry to hear it,” said Mrs. Ross. “Well, why did you lead me on to confide in you?” said Michael sullenly. “I thought you would sympathize.” “Michael, I apologize,” she said, melting. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I dare say—ah, Michael, you see how easily all my shining armour falls to pieces.” “Another broken bottle,” Michael muttered. He got up abruptly and, though there were tears in his eyes, she could not win him back. “Dear old boy, do tell me. Don’t make the mistake of going back into yourself, because I failed you for a moment.” Mrs. Ross held out her hand, but Michael walked away. “You don’t understand,” he turned to say. “You couldn’t understand. And I don’t want you to be able to understand. You mustn’t think I’m sulking, or being rude, and really I’d rather you didn’t understand. That boy of yours won’t ever want you to understand. I don’t think he’ll ever do anything that isn’t perfectly comprehensible.” “Michael,” said Mrs. Ross, “don’t be so bitter. You’ll be sorry soon.” “Soon?” asked Michael fiercely. “Soon? Why soon? What’s going to happen to make me sorry soon? Something is going to happen. I know. I feel it.” He fled through the wind-frayed orchard up the hill-side. With his back against the tower called Grogg’s Folly he looked over four counties and vowed he would go heedless of everything that stood between him and experience. He would deny himself nothing; he would prove to the hilt everything. “I must know,” he wrung out of himself. “Everything that has happened must have happened for some reason. I will believe that. I can’t believe in God, until I can believe in myself. And how can I believe in myself yet?” The four counties under September’s munificence mocked him with their calm.