Yes, folk lore went with the crackle of a log and the mournful music of rain upon a roof.

He could have his brandy later.
The rain came with its lonely patter and Kenny told him tales of Ireland, delighted at the sympathetic quiet of his mood.

Unbrandied, the evenings, after all, might become endurable.
"You see," Adam said once a little sadly, "without the brandy--" Kenny nodded his approval.
When the clock struck nine he was in splendid fettle, brogue and all.
"For Ireland's harpers," he was boasting with a reckless air of pride, "were better than any harpers in the world." "Liars ?" asked Adam blankly.
Kenny found his occasional pretense of deafness trying in the extreme.
"Harpers!" he repeated in a loud voice.

"And you heard me before." Adam nodded.
"What do you mean," demanded Kenny suspiciously, "that you did hear me or you didn't ?" "I did," said Adam suavely.

"Both times.