, and this 'ere hot weather ain't no time fur it. I'm just laying plans
for the fall. What were you thinking of doing this summer?"

"Going off with a lot of fellows to the seashore. But I'm ready to give it
up," answered Dan, gulping down the lump that rose in his throat.

"No, don't,--don't!" said Pete. "I haven't got things fixed for a start
yet. Won't have them fixed for a couple of months or so. I ain't
a-hurrying you. Just you think this 'ere chance over, and make up your
mind whether it ain't wuth more than all that Greek and Latin they're
stuffing into your head at Saint Andrew's. Then come around somewhere
about the first of September and see me 'bout it. I won't go back on my
offer. It will be five dollars cash down every Saturday night, and no
renigging. I turn off here," concluded Pete, drawing up as they reached a
busy corner. "You'll have to jump down; so bye, bye, Dan my boy, until I
see you again! Remember it's five dollars a week, and a home for Aunt
Winnie."

"I'll remember," said Dan, as, half dazed, he jumped from the wagon and
took his way back to Saint Andrew's.

He entered the cross-crowned gateway that guarded the spacious grounds,
feeling like one in a troubled dream. He could shape nothing clearly: his
past, present, and future seemed shaken out of place like the vari-colored
figures of a kaleidoscope. To give up all his hopes, to shut out the
beautiful vista opening before him and settle down forever to--to--"hogs
on the hoof!" And yet it was his only chance to cheer, to gladden, perhaps
to save gentle Aunt Win's life,--to bring her home again.

But would she be happy at such a sacrifice? Would she not grieve even at
the fireside she had regained over her broken dreams? And Dan would come
down from his dreams and visions (which, after all, are very vague and
uncertain things for boys of thirteen) to Tabby and the teapot, to the
fluttering old hand in his clasp, the trembling old voice in his ear.

The sun was close to its setting; supper was over, he knew; and Jim Norris
was waiting impatiently for his promised game. But he could not think of
tennis just now; still less was he disposed for a meeting with Dud
Fielding, whose voice he could hear beyond the box hedge at his right. So,
turning away from tennis court and playground, Dan plunged into the quiet
shelter of the walk that skirted the high, ivy-grown wall, and was already
growing dim with evening shadows, though lances of sunlight gl