t now his brown eyes flashed fire.

"You're a big brag, Dan Dolan!" he said, stung by such a taunt at his size
and weight. "Just you try me!"

And catching Dan's hand he made a spring to his waist and a reckless
scramble to his shoulders.

"Hooray!" said Dan, cheerily. "Steady now, and hold on to the bar!"

"Do you feel me now?" said Fred, pressing down with all his small weight
on the sturdy figure beneath him.

"A mite!" answered Dan. "Sort of like a mosquito had lit on me up there."

"Do you feel me now?" said Fred, bringing his heels down with a dig.

"Look out now!" cried Dan, sharply. "Don't try dancing a jig up there.
Hold to the bar."

But the warning came too late. The last move was too much for the
half-sick boy. Freddy's head began to turn, his legs gave way--he reeled
down to the floor, and, white and senseless, lay at Dan's feet.

In the big, book-lined study beyond the quadrangle, Father Regan was
settling final accounts prior to the series of "retreats" he had promised
for the summer; while Brother Bart, ruddy and wrinkled as a winter apple,
"straightened up,"--gathering waste paper and pamphlets as his superior
cast them aside, dusting book-shelves and mantel, casting the while many
an anxious, watchful glance through the open window. The boys were
altogether too quiet this morning. Brother Bart distrusted boyish quiet.
For the "Laddie," as he had called Freddy since the tiny boy had been
placed six years ago in his special care, was the idol of the good man's
heart. He had washed and dressed and tended him in those early years with
almost a woman's tenderness, and was watching with jealous anxiety as
Laddie turned from childish ways into paths beyond his care. Dan Dolan was
Brother Bart's especial fear--Dan Dolan, who belonged to the rough outside
world from which Laddie had been shielded; Dan Dolan, who, despite tickets
and medals, Brother Bart felt was no mate for a little gentleman like his
boy.

"They're quarely still this morning," he said at last, giving voice to his
fear. "I'm thinking they are at no good."

"Who?" asked Father Regan, looking up from the letter he was reading.

"The boys," answered Brother Bart,--"the four of them that was left over
with us."

"Four of them?" repeated the Father, who, with the closing of the schools,
had felt the burden of his responsibilities drop. "True, true! I quite
forgot we have four boys with us. It must be dull for the poor fellows."

"Dul