It was a delighted Dan that bounded down the broad staircase and took a flying leap from the stone portico of the great hall door.

"Hello!" said Jim Norris, who was lazily stretched on the grass, reading. "Is that a jump or a kick out?"

"A jump," answered Dan, grinning: "though I was primed for the other, sure. How is Dudey's nose?"

"Coming down," said Jim, who was an easy-going mixer, whom everybody liked. "About the size and shape of a spring radish to-day. My, but he's hot against you, Dan! Look out for him! Snake in the grass is nothing to Dud Fielding on the boil. Won't even rattle fairly before he strikes."

"Wouldn't take the glad hand if I stretched it out to him and said I was sorry?" asked Dan. "Just now I feel like being at peace with everybody."

"Not much!" said Jim, impressively. "Or if he did there would be a snake sting ready for you, all the same. I know Dud Fielding. He'll get even with you if he dies for it."

"All right!" was the cheerful reply. "Let him get even then. Have you heard about Killykinick, Jim?"

"Yes: Father Regan told me. I don't know what or where it is, but I'm ready for a start if it's a cannibal isle. Anything is better than dying of dullness here. Where are you off so fast, Dan?"

"To see my aunt. She--she--" There was a moment's hesitation, for Dan knew all the admission meant to boys like Jim. But he added boldly: "She is at the Little Sisters', you know, and I want to bid her good-bye before I leave."

"Of course you do. These old aunts are great," said Jim, with a friendly nod. "I've got one myself up in the country. Wears bonnets and gowns that look as if they came out of the Ark. But, golly, she can make doughnuts and apple pies that beat the band! I'd rather spend a week at Aunt Selina's than any place I know. Going to walk or ride, Dan?"

"Walk," was the answer. "I generally do. It's good for my health."

"Not on a day like this. I've got a pocketful of car tickets," said Jim, shaking a dozen or so out on the grass. "We'll have no use for them at Killykinick. Help yourself."

"No," said Dan, sturdily. "Thank you all the same, Jim! But I don't mind walking a bit. I'll match you at a game of tennis when I get back, and do you up."

"All right!" answered Jim, who, though slow and lazy and a bit dull at his books, was a gentleman through and through. Three generations of Norrises had cut their names on Old Top.

And, lighter hearted for this friendliness, Dan kept on his way by short cuts and cross streets until he reached the quiet suburb where the modest buildings of the "Little Sisters" stretched long and wide behind their grey stone walls. He was admitted by a brisk, kind little old woman, who was serving as portress; and after some parley, was shown up into Aunt Winnie's room. It was spotless in its cleanliness and bare save for the most necessary articles of furniture. There were three other old ladies about in various stages of decrepitude, who seemed only dully conscious of Dan's appearance; but Aunt Winnie, seated in her armchair by the window, started up in tremulous rapture at sight of her boy. Despite her age and infirmity, she was still a trig little body, with snow-white hair waved about a kind old wrinkled face and dim soft eyes, that filled with tears at "Danny's" boyish hug and kiss.

"It's a long time ye've been coming," she said reproachfully. "I thought ye were forgetting me entirely, Danny lad."

"Forgetting you!" echoed Dan. "Now, you know better than to talk like that, Aunt Win. I'm thinking of you day and night. I've got no one else to think of but you, Aunt Win."

"Whisht now,--whisht!" Aunt Winnie sank her voice to a whisper, and nodded cautiously towards the nearest old lady. "She do be listening, lad. I've told them all of the grand, great college ye're at, and the fine, bright lad ye are, but I've told them nothing more. Ye're not to play the poor scholar here."

"Oh, I see!" said Dan, grinning. "Go on with your game then, Aunt Win."

"I'm not looking to be remembered," Aunt Winnie continued dolefully. "What with all the French and Latin ye have to study, and the ball playing that you're doing. I can't look for you to think of a poor lone lame woman like me."

"Aunt Win!" burst forth Dan, impetuously.

"Whisht!" murmured Aunt Win again, with a glance at the old lady who was blinking sleepily. "Don't ye be giving yerself away. And I suppose it's the fine holiday that ye're having now wid the rest of yer mates," she went on.

"Yes," said Dan, feeling he could truthfully humor the old lady's harmless pride here. "We're off to-morrow for the jolliest sort of a time at the seashore. Freddy Neville, the nicest little chap in college, has a place up somewhere on the New England coast, and four of us are going there for the summer."

And Danny launched into eager details that made Aunt Winnie's eyes open indeed. But there was a little quiver in her voice when she spoke.

"Ah, that's fine for you,--that's fine for you indeed, Danny! We can talk plain now; for" (as a reassuring snore came from her dozing neighbor) "thank God, she's off asleep! It's the grand thing for you to be going with mates like that. It's what I'm praying for as I sit here sad and lonely, Dan, that God will give ye His blessing, and help ye up, up, up, high as mortal man can go."

"And you with me, Aunt Win," said Dan, who, seated on the footstool of the chair, was smoothing her wrinkled hand.

"Ah, no, my lad, I don't ask that! I'm not asking that at all, Danny. I'll not be houlding to ye, and dragging ye down while ye're climbing. And whisper, lad, while there's no one listening: it's naither wise nor best for ye to be coming here."

"Why not?" asked Dan, for he knew that he was the light of poor Aunt Win's eyes and the joy of her old heart.

"Because--because," faltered Aunt Winnie, "though it's fibs I've been telling about yer grandeur and greatness--God forgive me that same!--the old busybodies around will be wondering and prating about why ye lave me here, Dan,--because I might be a shame to ye before all the fine gentlemen's sons that have taken ye up,--because" (Aunt Win's voice broke entirely) "a poor old woman like me will only hurt and hinder ye, Dan."

"Hurt and hinder me!" echoed Dan, who, with all his cleverness, could not understand the depths and heights of good old Aunt Winnie's love.

"Aye, lad, hurt and hinder ye; for ye're on the way up, and I'll not be the one to hould ye back. I do be dreaming grand dreams of ye, Danny lad,--dreams that I don't dare to spake out."

"Whisper them, then, Aunt Win," urged Dan, softly. "Maybe I'll make them come true."

"Ye couldn't," said the old woman, her dim eyes shining. "Only God in heaven can do that. For I dream that I see you on His altar, the brightest place that mortal man can reach. I'll ne'er live to see that dream come true, Danny; but I believe it would make my old heart leap if I was under the sod itself."

"O Aunt Win, Aunt Win!" Dan lifted the wrinkled hand to his lips. "That is a great dream, sure enough. Sometimes, Aunt Win, I--I dream it myself. But, then, a rough-and-tumble fellow like me, always getting into scrapes, soon wakes up. But one thing is sure: you can't shake me, Aunt Win. Dreaming or waking, I'll stick to you forever."

"Ah, no, lad,--no!" said the old woman, tremulously. "I'd not have ye bother with me. Sure it's the fine place I have here, with my warm room and nice bed, and the good Little Sisters to care for me, and the chapel close to hand. But I miss our own little place, sure, sometimes, Danny dear! I miss the pot of flowers on the window (it's against the rule to grow flowers here), and me own little blue teapot on the stove, and Tabby curled up on the mat before the fire."

Aunt Winnie broke down and sobbed outright, while Danny was conscious of a lump in his throat that held him dumb.

"Poor Tabby!" continued Aunt Winnie. "I hope the Mulligans are good to her, Dan. D'ye ever see her as ye pass their gate?"

"I do," answered Dan. "Molly Mulligan has tied a blue ribbon around her neck, and she is the pride of the house."

"And she has forgotten me, of course!" sighed Aunt Winnie. "But what could I expect of a cat!"

"Forgotten you? Not a bit! Molly says she steals into your room upstairs and cries for you every night."

"Ah, it was the sore parting for us all, God help us!" said Aunt Winnie, brokenly. "But as long as it brings you luck, lad, I'll never complain. This is the holy place to die in, and what could a poor sick ould woman ask more?"

"A lot--a lot more!" burst forth Danny, passionately. "You should have a place to live and be happy in, Aunt Win. You should have your own fire and your own teapot, and your own cat in your own home; and I mean to get it back for you just as quick as I can."

"Whisht! whisht!" said Aunt Win, nervously, as the old lady nearby roused up, startled from her nap.

"It's time ye were going, Danny; for ye're a long way from college, and I wouldn't keep ye against rules. I hope ye'll have a fine time at the seashore, with the fishing and boating and all the other sports. Good-bye and God bless ye, lad, until we meet again! Good-bye, Danny dear!" And, realizing from the wide-open eyes of the old lady near him that all confidential communications were over, Dan kissed Aunt Win's withered cheek, and, his heart swelling with feelings he could not speak, took his way back to Saint Andrew's, all his dreams, hopes, ambitions for the future strangely shaken.

Aunt Win,--gentle, loving, heartsick, homesick Aunt Win! Aunt Win, begging him to give her up lest she should hurt and hinder him in his opening way! Aunt Win sighing for the little place she had called home, even while she was ready to give it up forever and die silent and lonely, that her boy might climb to heights of which she could only dream and never see! Dear, faithful, true-hearted, self-forgetting Aunt Win! Dan felt his own eyes blurring as he thought of all she had done, of all she was ready to sacrifice.

And--and--the other thought followed swiftly: he could give it all back to her,--the little attic rooms over Mulligans', the flowerpot in the window, the blue teapot on the stove, Tabby on the hearth-rug,--he could give it all back to Aunt Win and bring her home. It would be long, long years before the higher paths into which he had turned would yield even humble living; but the old ways were open to him still: the "ditch-digging" with which Dud Fielding had taunted him, the meat wagon, the sausage shop, that he had been considering only a few hours ago. What right had he to leave the good old woman, who had mothered him, lonely and heartsick that he might climb beyond her reach? And yet--yet to give up Saint Andrew's, with all that it meant to him; to give up all his hopes, his dreams; to turn his back on those wide corridors and book-lined rooms for counter and cleaver; to give up,--to give up! Quite dizzy with his contending thoughts, Dan was striding on his way when a hearty voice hailed him:

"Hello! That you, Dan? Jump in and I'll give you a lift." And Pete Patterson's ruddy face looked out from the white-topped wagon at the curb. "I was just thinking of you," said Pete, as Dan willingly sprang up to the seat at his side; for Pete had been a friendly creditor in the days of the little attic home when credit was sometimes sorely needed. "Are you in with the 'high brows' for good and all?"

"I--I don't know," hesitated Dan.

"Because if you're not," continued Pete--"and what tarnation use a sturdy chap like you will find in all that Latin and Greek stuff, I can't see,--if you're not in for it, I can give you a chance."