"Yes, at Freddy's place--Killykinick. I have just heard from his uncle, and he thinks it would be a fine thing to send Freddy up there to shake off his malaria. There's a queer old house that his great-uncle left him, and an old sailor who still lives there to look out for things; and all the boating, bathing, swimming, fishing a set of lively young fellows can want; so I am going to ship you all off there to-morrow morning with Brother Bart. It's plain you can't stand six weeks of vacation here, especially when there will be a general retreat for the Fathers next month. You see, I simply have to send you away."

"And you mean--you mean--" (Dan's voice trembled, his eyes shone,)--"you mean I can come back?"

"Come back, of course, when school opens."

"Jing!" said Dan, drawing a long breath. "I--I thought you were putting me out for good and all. I thought, with the fight and the climb and hurting Freddy I--I had done for myself. I thought--" Here Dan's feelings became too much for him, and he could only gulp down the sob that rose in his throat, with a look that went to Father Regan's kind heart.

"My poor boy, no, no! Put you out of Saint Andrew's for good and all! I never thought of such a thing for a moment. Of course I object seriously to fighting, to your reckless venture to Old Top; but--well, you had strong temptations, and in vacation time one must not be too severe. At Killykinick there will be more elbow-room. Have you ever been to the seash.o.r.e?"

"Never farther than the wharfs. But I can swim and dive and float,"

answered Dan, wisely reserving the information that, as a member of the "Wharf Rats," he had been ducked overboard at the age of six, to sink or swim.

"Good!" said Father Regan. "Then you'll have a fine time. And I am depending on you to look out for the other boys. They have grown up in softer ways, and are not used to roughing it, as it is likely you will have to rough it at Killykinick. But it will be good for you all,--for you all," repeated the speaker cheerily, as he saw in Dan's brightening face the joyful relief the boy did not know how to speak. "And you will come back ready for double 'X' work in the fall. I am looking for great things from you, Dan. You've made a fine start, my boy! Keep it up, and some day you will be signing all the capital letters to Dan Dolan's name that Saint Andrew's can bestow."

"Sure I don't know about that, Father," said Dan, his speech softening into Aunt Winnie's Irish tones with the warming of his heart. "You're very good to me, but sometimes I think--well, what I thrashed Dud Fielding for telling me: that I've no right to be pushing into a grand school like this. I ought to keep my place."

"And where is your place?" was the calm question.

"Sure, sure--" Dan hesitated as he recalled a very checkered childhood.

"Now that Aunt Winnie is all broke up, I can't say, Father."

"Then I will tell you, my boy! Just now, by the goodness and guidance of G.o.d, it is here,--here, where you have equal rights with any boy in the school. You have won them in winning your scholarship; they are yours as justly as if you had a father paying a thousand a year. There may be a little rough rubbing now and then from fellows like Dud Fielding; but--well, everything that is worth having has its cost. So stand to your colors! Be, as you said yesterday, neither a bully nor a coward, but a man. Now go to see Aunt Winnie and bid her good-bye. Tell her I am sending you off for the jolliest kind of a holiday to Killykinick."

"I--I don't know how to thank you, Father!" stammered Dan, feeling that his blackened sky had suddenly burst into rainbow light.

"Don't try," was the kind answer. "I understand, Dan. G.o.d bless you, my boy!"

And, laying his hand for a moment on Dan's sandy thatch of hair, Father Regan dismissed the case.

IV.--AUNT WINNIE.

It was a delighted Dan that bounded down the broad staircase and took a flying leap from the stone portico of the great hall door.

"h.e.l.lo!" said Jim Norris, who was lazily stretched on the gra.s.s, reading.

"Is that a jump or a kick out?"

"A jump," answered Dan, grinning: "though I was primed for the other, sure. How is Dudey's nose?"

"Coming down," said Jim, who was an easy-going mixer, whom everybody liked. "About the size and shape of a spring radish to-day. My, but he's hot against you, Dan! Look out for him! Snake in the gra.s.s is nothing to Dud Fielding on the boil. Won't even rattle fairly before he strikes."

"Wouldn't take the glad hand if I stretched it out to him and said I was sorry?" asked Dan. "Just now I feel like being at peace with everybody."

"Not much!" said Jim, impressively. "Or if he did there would be a snake sting ready for you, all the same. I know Dud Fielding. He'll get even with you if he dies for it."

"All right!" was the cheerful reply. "Let him get even then. Have you heard about Killykinick, Jim?"

"Yes: Father Regan told me. I don't know what or where it is, but I'm ready for a start if it's a cannibal isle. Anything is better than dying of dullness here. Where are you off so fast, Dan?"

"To see my aunt. She--she--" There was a moment's hesitation, for Dan knew all the admission meant to boys like Jim. But he added boldly: "She is at the Little Sisters', you know, and I want to bid her good-bye before I leave."

"Of course you do. These old aunts are great," said Jim, with a friendly nod. "I've got one myself up in the country. Wears bonnets and gowns that look as if they came out of the Ark. But, golly, she can make doughnuts and apple pies that beat the band! I'd rather spend a week at Aunt Selina's than any place I know. Going to walk or ride, Dan?"

"Walk," was the answer. "I generally do. It's good for my health."

"Not on a day like this. I've got a pocketful of car tickets," said Jim, shaking a dozen or so out on the gra.s.s. "We'll have no use for them at Killykinick. Help yourself."

"No," said Dan, st.u.r.dily. "Thank you all the same, Jim! But I don't mind walking a bit. I'll match you at a game of tennis when I get back, and do you up."

"All right!" answered Jim, who, though slow and lazy and a bit dull at his books, was a gentleman through and through. Three generations of Norrises had cut their names on Old Top.

And, lighter hearted for this friendliness, Dan kept on his way by short cuts and cross streets until he reached the quiet suburb where the modest buildings of the "Little Sisters" stretched long and wide behind their grey stone walls. He was admitted by a brisk, kind little old woman, who was serving as portress; and after some parley, was shown up into Aunt Winnie's room. It was spotless in its cleanliness and bare save for the most necessary articles of furniture. There were three other old ladies about in various stages of decrepitude, who seemed only dully conscious of Dan's appearance; but Aunt Winnie, seated in her armchair by the window, started up in tremulous rapture at sight of her boy. Despite her age and infirmity, she was still a trig little body, with snow-white hair waved about a kind old wrinkled face and dim soft eyes, that filled with tears at "Danny's" boyish hug and kiss.

"It's a long time ye've been coming," she said reproachfully. "I thought ye were forgetting me entirely, Danny lad."

"Forgetting you!" echoed Dan. "Now, you know better than to talk like that, Aunt Win. I'm thinking of you day and night. I've got no one else to think of but you, Aunt Win."

"Whisht now,--whisht!" Aunt Winnie sank her voice to a whisper, and nodded cautiously towards the nearest old lady. "She do be listening, lad. I've told them all of the grand, great college ye're at, and the fine, bright lad ye are, but I've told them nothing more. Ye're not to play the poor scholar here."

"Oh, I see!" said Dan, grinning. "Go on with your game then, Aunt Win."

"I'm not looking to be remembered," Aunt Winnie continued dolefully. "What with all the French and Latin ye have to study, and the ball playing that you're doing. I can't look for you to think of a poor lone lame woman like me."

"Aunt Win!" burst forth Dan, impetuously.

"Whisht!" murmured Aunt Win again, with a glance at the old lady who was blinking sleepily. "Don't ye be giving yerself away. And I suppose it's the fine holiday that ye're having now wid the rest of yer mates," she went on.

"Yes," said Dan, feeling he could truthfully humor the old lady's harmless pride here. "We're off to-morrow for the jolliest sort of a time at the seash.o.r.e. Freddy Neville, the nicest little chap in college, has a place up somewhere on the New England coast, and four of us are going there for the summer."

And Danny launched into eager details that made Aunt Winnie's eyes open indeed. But there was a little quiver in her voice when she spoke.

"Ah, that's fine for you,--that's fine for you indeed, Danny! We can talk plain now; for" (as a rea.s.suring snore came from her dozing neighbor) "thank G.o.d, she's off asleep! It's the grand thing for you to be going with mates like that. It's what I'm praying for as I sit here sad and lonely, Dan, that G.o.d will give ye His blessing, and help ye up, up, up, high as mortal man can go."

"And you with me, Aunt Win," said Dan, who, seated on the footstool of the chair, was smoothing her wrinkled hand.

"Ah, no, my lad, I don't ask that! I'm not asking that at all, Danny. I'll not be houlding to ye, and dragging ye down while ye're climbing. And whisper, lad, while there's no one listening: it's naither wise nor best for ye to be coming here."

"Why not?" asked Dan, for he knew that he was the light of poor Aunt Win's eyes and the joy of her old heart.

"Because--because," faltered Aunt Winnie, "though it's fibs I've been telling about yer grandeur and greatness--G.o.d forgive me that same!--the old busybodies around will be wondering and prating about why ye lave me here, Dan,--because I might be a shame to ye before all the fine gentlemen's sons that have taken ye up,--because" (Aunt Win's voice broke entirely) "a poor old woman like me will only hurt and hinder ye, Dan."

"Hurt and hinder me!" echoed Dan, who, with all his cleverness, could not understand the depths and heights of good old Aunt Winnie's love.

"Aye, lad, hurt and hinder ye; for ye're on the way up, and I'll not be the one to hould ye back. I do be dreaming grand dreams of ye, Danny lad,--dreams that I don't dare to spake out."