, traveled
inquiringly from place to place till they found their object, then fixed
themselves lovingly upon Johnnie's face. Next, out stole a hand, feebly
searching for another.

"Little--golden--thing!"

Ah, how hard he was breathing! "If I could jus' give him _my_ breath!"
thought Johnnie; "'r my lungs!" He took the searching hand, but turned
his face away. There was a small, round table beside the bed. Upon it
were some flowers in a glass, a prayer book, a rosary, a goblet of
water, a fan. Mechanically he counted the things--over and over. He was
dry-eyed. He felt not the least desire to weep. The grief he was
enduring was too poignant for tears. It was as if he had been slashed
from forehead to knees with a sword.

"I'm not actin' like a scout," he thought suddenly. And forced himself
to turn again to that friend so heart-rendingly changed. Then aloud, and
striving to speak evenly, "Father Pat, y're not goin' t' die, are y'?
No, y're not goin' t' die!"

He felt his hand pressed. "Die?" repeated the Father, and Johnnie saw
that there was almost a playful glint in the green eyes. "Shure, scout
boy,"--halting with each word--"dyin's a thing we all come t', one time
or another. Ye know, ev'ry year manny a man dies that's never died
before."

"I couldn't have y' go," urged the boy. "Oh, Father Pat, Cis, she's
gone, but I can stand it, 'cause she's happy. But you--you--_you_--!"
Words failed him.

"Lad dear,"--and now the Father's look was grave and tender--"God's will
be done."

"Oh, yes! I--I know. But, oh, Father Pat, promise me that--that y'
won't--_go far_!"

"Ah!"--the dimming eyes suddenly swam in pity.

"Jus' t' the nearest star, Father Pat! Jus' t' the nearest star!"

"Little star lover!" Then after a pause for rest, "Johnnie, ye've loved
Father Pat a good bit?"

"Oh, so much! So much!"

"And I've loved the little poet--the dreamer! And I've faith--in him--as
I go."

Johnnie knelt--yes, the same Johnnie who had always felt so shy when any
one spoke of God, or prayer, or being religious. How natural the act of
kneeling was, now that he was face to face with this tragedy which no
earthly power could avert! It was quite as the Father had once
predicted: "Ah, when the day comes, lad dear, that ye feel bad enough,
when grief fair strikes ye down, and there's nobody can help ye but God,
then ye'll understand why men pray." Well, that day had come. Now
everything was in His hands.

Yet Johnnie coul