ely, Dan, that God 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--God 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."

"Whisper them, then, Aunt Win," urged Dan, softly. "Maybe I'll make them
come true."

"Ye couldn't," said the old woman, her dim eyes shining. "Only God in
heaven can do that. For I dream that I see you on His altar, the brightest
place that mortal man can reach. I'll ne'er live to see that dream come
true, Danny; but I believe it would make my old heart leap if I was under
the sod itself."

"O Aunt Win, Aunt Win!" Dan lifted the wrinkled hand to his lips. "That is
a great dream, sure enough. Sometimes, Aunt Win, I--I dream it myself.
But, then, a rough-and-tumble fellow like me, always getting into scrapes,
soon wakes up. But one thing is sure: you can't shake me, Aunt Win.
Dreaming or waking, I'll stick to you forever."

"Ah, no, lad,--no!" said the old woman, tremulously. "I'd not have ye
bother with me. Sure it's the fine place I have here, with my warm room
and nice bed, and the good Little Sisters to care for me, and the chapel
close to hand. But I miss our own little place, sure, sometimes, Danny
dear! I miss the pot of flowers on the window (it's against the rule to
grow flowers here), and me own l