issa has gone--to stay."

Johnnie wavered to his feet dizzily. "Me--go," he repeated. "Away--to
_stay_." Then as the full meaning of it swept over him, "Oh, Mister
Perkins! Oh! _Oh!_" That old, dear dream of his--to put behind him the
ugly, empty, sunless flat: the tiring, hateful, girl's work: the fear,
the mortification, the abuse, the wounded pride, and, yes, Big Tom: to
go, and stay away, never, never coming back--that dream had suddenly
come true!

Leaning on the table, weak from the very excitement and joy of it,
slowly he looked around the kitchen. "My!" he breathed. "My!"

"The Carnegie money is ready for you now," Mr. Perkins went on. "I went
to Pittsburgh to see about it."

"It is? Father Pat, he says in the letter that I'm rich. But he didn't
count in that Carnegie money at all."

"You can go to a good school," continued the scoutmaster; "and have the
books and clothes that you need. Before school starts, there's the
country--you ought to go into it for a few weeks, then to the seashore.
Of course, when vacation is over, Narcissa and I want you to live with
us. There's a room all ready for you.--Johnnie, you're holding your
breath! Don't! It isn't good for you."

Half-laughing, half-crying, Johnnie bent his head to the table. "Oh,
gee!" he gasped. "School! And new books! And the country! And the beach!
And then with both of you! _And my own room!_"

"And a bed--not the floor."

Johnnie was seeing it all. But particularly was the vision of his new
home clear to him. "I'll take my father's medal with me, too," he
declared; "and Mister Roosevelt's pitcher. Oh, it's goin' t' be fine!
Fine! And I'll be ready, Mister Perkins! I'll be ready earl----"

_Tap! tap! tap! tap!_

He straightened; and stood as rigid as a little statue; and once more he
held his breath. While the flushed and happy look on his face
faded--faded as did his vision of peace and happiness and luxury. He
stared wide-eyed at Mr. Perkins, questioning him dumbly, pathetically.
Then every atom of strength began to leave him. It went out of his
ankles, under those smart and soldierly leggings; and out of his knees.
Slowly, and with a wobble, he sank into his chair.

Old Grandpa!

Now another picture: the dark, little, dismal flat, locked from the
outside, deserted within; on the kitchen table, where Big Tom's
breakfast dishes are strewn about, is the milk bottle and a cup; the
beds are unmade, the sink piled high, and circling the unswe