ure it's mad the poor boy is entirely!" cried Aunt Winnie, as Mrs.
Mulligan and Molly came hurrying out on the porch.

"Do I look it?" asked Dan, laughing into their startled faces.

"Ye don't," said Mrs. Mulligan. "But spake out plain, and don't be
bewildering the poor woman, Danny Dolan."

And then Danny spoke out as plain as his breathless eagerness would
permit, and told the story of the "pension."

"It will be thirty-five dollars a month, Captain Carleton says; he'd have
to throw in the five to poor old Nutty for grog and tobacco."

"Ah, God save us,--God save us!" was all Aunt Winnie could murmur,
tearfully.

"And I guess thirty-five dollars will run those rosebud rooms of yours
pretty safe and slick; won't they, Mrs. Mulligan? So put Aunt Winnie and
me down as tenants right off."

"I will,--I will!" answered Mrs. Mulligan, joyfully. "Sure my heart was
like lead in my breast at the thought of giving up yer bit of things, Miss
Winnie. But now,--now come along, Molly girl, and we'll be fixing the
rooms, this minute. What's the good of yer going back to the Sisters at
all?" And Mrs. Mulligan put a motherly arm around Aunt Winnie's trembling
form. "Give her another cup of tea, Molly; for she's all done up with joy
at having her own home and her own boy again, thank God for that same!"

And then, leaving dear Aunt Winnie to this good friend's tender
ministrations, Dan kept on his way to St. Andrew's, taking a flying leap
over the college wall to the sunset walk, where perhaps he would find
Father Mack saying his Office. He was not mistaken: his old friend was
there, walking slowly under the arching trees. His face kindled into light
as he stretched out a trembling hand.

"I thought perhaps you would come here, my boy," he said. "I was just
thanking God, Danny. Brother Bart has told us the good news. It is all
right, as I hoped and prayed,--all right, as I _knew_ it would be, Danny.
Now tell me, yourself, all about this wonderful blessing."

And again this father and son sat down upon the broken grave slab, and
Danny told Father Mack all.

"Ah, it is the good God's hand!" the old priest said softly. "But this is
only the start, my son. The climb is still before you,--a climb that may
lead over steeps sharp and rough as the rocks of Killykinick."

But the fading light seemed to aureole Father Mack's silvery head as he
spoke.

"You will keep on and up,--on and up; for God is calling you, my
son,--calling yo