ceiving in
return a flashing smile.

He did not tarry long at the window. A scout does not fail to do a given
task; and on this summer day, with the early sky already a hot
gray-blue, the task to be done was the washing. Heat or no heat, the
boiler had to take its place on the stove. The soapy steam of the
cooking drove out the roses's scent of course, but that did not greatly
matter so long as, every minute or so, Johnnie was able to turn from his
washboard and enjoy their pink beauty.

By eleven o'clock he had the washing on the line. The flat was
straightened up, too, and Grandpa was looking his best. About noon,
Father Pat, coming slowly up the three flights, heard a series of slam
bangings coming from the direction of the Barber flat--also, sharp
toot-toots, and heavy chugs. And when the priest opened the hall door
and peeped in, a conductor's bell was ding-dinging, while the empty wood
box was careening madly in the wake of the wheel chair.

"Ha-ha-a! Johnnie lad!" he hailed. "And, shure, is it a whole battery in
action that I'm seein'?"

Johnnie turned a pink and perspiring face which was suddenly all smiles.
To the joy of living a fascinating think was now added the joy of
finding still another person who was ready to share it. "It's the
biggest N'York S'press!" he declared. "And we're takin' our vacation
trip!"

"Ah, little pretender!" exclaimed the Father, fondly, and with something
like a note of pity. "But, oh, the idea o' me not recognizin' a train!
And especially the Twentieth Century Limited when I look her right in
the headlight!"

"We been t' the Ad'rondacks," informed Johnnie, "and we got a load o'
ice."

"Ah, and that's treasure, truly," agreed the Father, "on this scorchin'
day! And ye've put the same into a grand casket, if I'm not
mistaken"--indicating the box.

"A casket o' wood."

"But precious, what with coal so high!"

When the priest had settled himself in the morris chair, Johnnie came
to lean close to this new friend who was both an understanding and a
sympathetic soul. "Want t' hear a secret?" he half whispered.

Father Pat was as mysterious as possible. "Shure, and 'tis me business
t' hear secrets," he whispered back. "And what's more, I never tell!"

"Well," confided Johnnie, "there's a lot o' my friends--Jim Hawkins, and
Galahad, and Uncas, and, oh, dozens o' others--all just ready t' come
in!"

"No-o-o-o!"

"Honest!"

"Galahad, too!--him with the grand scarlet robe