inting here
and there through the arching pines broke the gloom.

Pacing the quiet way with feeble step was an old priest, saying his
Office. Father Mack's earthly work was done. He could no longer preach or
teach; he was only lingering in the friendly shadows of Saint Andrew's,
waiting his Master's call home; his long, busy life ending in a sweet
twilight peace. Sometimes at retreats or on great feasts, when there was a
crowd of juvenile penitents in the college chapel, Father Mack, gentle and
indulgent, had his place in a quiet corner, where he was rather avoided by
young sinners as a "dying saint."

But Dan, whatever might be his month's record of wrong-doing, had taken to
Father Mack from the first. Perhaps it was something in the Irish voice
that recalled Aunt Winnie; perhaps some deeper sympathy between souls
akin. Though they seldom met, for the old priest had his room in a
building remote from the students' quarters, Father Mack and Dan were fast
friends. His presence here was most unlooked for; and Dan was about to
retire without further intrusion, when the old priest closed his book and
turned to him with a kindly nod.

"You needn't run off. I'm done, my boy. These long, hot days are a bit
hard on me; but I like to stay out here in the evening to say my Office
and watch the sunset. Did you ever watch the sunset, Danny?"

"Yes, Father," answered Dan. "It's great."

"What do you see in it, Danny?" was the low question.

"Oh, all sorts of things, Father,--domes and spires and banners of gold
and red and purple, and pillars of cloud and fire--"

"And gates," broke in Father Mack. "Don't you see the gates, Danny,--gates
that seem to open in the shining way that leads to God's Throne? Ah, it's
a wonderful sight, the sunset, when your day is near done and you are
tired and old,--too old to be picturing and dreaming. I'll soon
see--beyond the cloud and the dream, Danny,--I'll soon see."

The old man paused for a moment, his dim eye kindling, his withered face
rapt. Then suddenly, as if recalled from some cloudy height to earth, his
look and voice changed into fatherly interest.

"Were you looking for me,--were you wanting to talk to me, my son?"

"No--yes--no," faltered Dan, who had not thought of such a thing. "Well,
yes, I believe I do. I'm all muddled up, and maybe you can set me right,
Father Mack. For--for," Dan blurted out without further hesitation, "I
can't see things clear myself. Aunt Winnie is gri