(There was an odd tremor in the speaker's
voice.) "Are they better this morning?"

"Yes," answered Dan. "They are all right now, sleeping like tops; but they
had a tough time. It was lucky I gave up and came down to look after
them."

"So you obeyed orders, after all. And now you're all broken up yourself?"
said the gentleman, compassionately.

"Pooh, no!" was the sturdy answer. "I don't break up so easily. I'll be
all right, too, in a little while,--after I've had more of this fresh air.
Going to get off here?--" as the boat pushed up to the wharf.

"Yes," said Mr. Wirt. "I'm off to the woods for a few weeks; but--but
maybe you will see me again later. Meanwhile what did the little fellow
call you?"

"Dan,--my name is Dan Dolan," was the answer.

"Then good-bye, Dan!" Mr. Wirt's shapely hand closed over the boy's in a
strong pressure. "You've given me a lesson, Dan,--I won't forget you." And
he was off with his dogs across the gangway to the shore just flushing
with the morning light.

The worst was over; and Dan, worn out with his night of watching, was glad
to creep into his "packing box" of a stateroom, and, flinging himself in
his berth, dropped off to sleep,--a sleep full of strange dreams. They
were wild and troubled dreams at first. He was down in black depths where,
stripped to the waist, he was working amid roaring fires and hissing
steam; he was out on a dark wide ocean, striving to fling a rope to a
wreck drifting helplessly amid thundering breakers; he was up on a
wind-swept deck, with Brother Bart's shaking grasp dragging him down
below. Then suddenly the picture changed: it was not Brother Bart but old
Father Mack whose trembling hand was upon his arm, guiding him through the
leafy shadows of the college walk where they had last talked together.
Beyond and above them was the dazzling glory of the stars, those sweeping
worlds on which the young dreamer had looked last night. But as he walked
on now, the leafy shadows seemed to grow into arched and pillared aisles
rising far, far above him, and the stars were but the countless tapers on
a mighty altar reaching to heights he could not see; and Aunt Winnie, was
kneeling on the steps,--old Aunt Winnie, with clasped hands and uplifted
eyes. Then the guiding hand seemed to tighten on his arm, and it was
Brother Bart again beside him,--Brother Bart, his sturdy, ruddy self
again, shaking him awake.

"I hate to rouse ye, Danny lad" (there was a new friendl