Freddy, ruefully. "I have always wanted a
home so much,--a real true home, with curtains and carpets, and pictures
on the walls, and a real fire that snaps and blazes."

"Yes, I heard you say that before," answered his father, softly. "I think
it was that little talk on the boat that brought me down, where I could
take a peep at my homeless little boy again; though I was afraid Captain
Jeb would find me out if I ventured to Killykinick. I was just making up
my mind to risk it and go over, when this fever caught me."

"But why--were you hiding, daddy? Why did you stay away so long?"

"Life had grown very black for me; and I didn't want to make it black for
you, Freddy. I lost faith and hope and love when I lost your mother. I
couldn't settle down to a bare, lonely life without her. I felt I must be
free,--free to wander where I willed. It was all wrong,--all wrong,
Freddy. But daddy was in darkness, without any guiding star. So I left you
to Uncle Tom, gave up my name, my home, and broke loose like a ship
without rudder or sail. And where it led me, where you found me, you
know."

"Ah, yes!" Freddy laid his soft young cheek against his father's. "It was
all wrong. But now you have come back; and everything is right again,
Uncle Tom says; and we'll have a real home together. He said that, too,
before he went away,--you and I would have a home, daddy."

"We'll try," replied daddy, cheerfully. "With you and the dogs together,
Freddy, we'll try. We'll get the house and the cushions and the carpets,
and do our best."

Going home! Dan was thinking of it, too, a little sadly, as somewhat later
he stood on the stretch of rocks, looking out at the fading west. He was
going home to "give up." Only yesterday morning a brief scrawl from Pete
Patterson had informed him he would be ready for business next week, and
Dan must come back with an answer--"Yes" or "No." So it was good-bye to
St. Andrew's for Dan to-night; good-bye to all his hopes and dreams
to-morrow. Something seemed to rise in Dan's throat at the thought.
To-morrow he must go back, a college boy no longer, but to Pete
Patterson's wagon and Pete Patterson's shop.

And while he stood there alone, watching the deepening shadows gather over
rock and reef and shoal where he had spent such happy days, there came a
sudden burst of glad music over the waters, and around the bending shore
of Killykinick came a fairy vision: "The Polly," fluttering with gay
pennants, jewel