Mr. Wirt lay very still. Freddy never remembered seeing any one quite so still before. Even his breathing had grown quiet, and the rise and fall of the broad breast was the only sign of life in the otherwise motionless figure. All around him was very still, too. Freddy could hear the plash of the waves on the beach, the rustle of the wind through the dwarf trees, the whir of wings as some sea bird took its swift flight above the broken roof. But within there was a solemn hush, that to the small watcher seemed quite appalling.

Roy, as the other dog was named on his collar, dozed at his master's feet. Rex kept his place at Freddy's side, as if conscious of his responsibilities; and for a time that seemed quite interminable, all were silent. Freddy found himself studying the big man's pale face with fearsome interest. How very pale it was! And the rough growth of beard that hid mouth and chin made it seem paler still. But the nose was straight and smooth as Freddy's own. The silver-streaked hair fell in soft waves over a broad handsome brow. And there was a white scar on the left temple, that throbbed with the low breathing. Somehow, that scar held Freddy's eye. Surely he had seen a V shaped scar like it before, where or when he could not think; perhaps on one of the big football players at St. Andrew's.

"Ah, if good Brother Tim were only here now!" thought Freddy hopelessly, as the picture of the spotless stretch of infirmary arose before him. The rows of white beds so safe and soft; the kind old face bending over the fevered pillows; Old Top waving his friendly shadow in the sunlit window; the Angelus chiming from the great bell tower; the merry shouts of the ball players on the green below,--all these memories were in dire contrast indeed to the present scene.

If Dan would only come back! But he wouldn't--he couldn't--for hours. And maybe this big, strange man might die while he was gone,--die with only a little boy beside him,--a little boy to help him, to pray for him. Freddy's thoughts grew more and more solemn and awesome. People always prayed by dying beds, he knew. Oh, if Dan would only come with a doctor and perhaps a priest! For Freddy felt that big men who wandered around the world with dogs and guns were likely to need higher spiritual ministrations than a small boy could give. In the meanwhile he would do his best; and, drawing out his silver-mounted rosary, he began to say his beads.

And perhaps, as the young watcher had been an early riser this morning, he was nodding a little over his decades when a sudden movement of his patient roused him. Mr. Wirt was awake, his eyes fixed steadily on Freddy's face.

"Still here," he murmured,--"still here? Boy,--little boy! Are you real or a death dream?"

It was a startling question; but Freddy had learned something of fever vagaries during the measles, when even some of the Seniors had lost their heads.

"Oh, I'm real!" he answered cheerfully. "I'm a real boy all right. I'm Freddy Neville, from St. Andrew's College--"

"My God!" burst in a low cry from the pale lips.

"Yes," said Freddy. "It's time for you to say that,--to say your prayers, I mean; because--because--you're very sick, and when people are very sick, you know, they--sometimes they die."

"Die!" was the hoarse echo. "Aye, die as I have lived,--in darkness, despair! Lost--lost--lost!"

"Oh, no, no, no!" Boy as he was, Freddy felt his young heart thrill at the cry. "You're not lost yet. You're never lost while you live. You can always say an act of contrition, you know, and--and--" Freddy's voice faltered, for the role of spiritual adviser was a new one; but he had not gone through the big Catechism last year without learning a young Catholic Christian's obligations. "Would--would you like me to say an act of contrition for you?" he asked.

There was no answer save in the strange softening of the eyes fixed upon the boyish face. And, feeling that his patient was too far gone for speech, Freddy dropped on his knees, and in a sweet, trembling tone repeated the brief, blessed words of sorrow for sin, the plea for pardon, the promise of amendment. It had been a long, long time since those familiar words had fallen on his listener's ears; a longer time since they had reached his heart. For years he had believed nothing, hoped nothing, feared nothing. Life had been to him a dull blank, broken only by reckless adventure; death, the end of all. But for three days and nights he had lain helpless, fever-smitten, stricken down in all his proud strength in this wilderness, with no friends but his dogs, no home but the ruined hut into which he had crawled for shelter, no human aid within reach or call. The derelict, as he had called himself to Dan, had drifted on the rocks beyond hope and help, as derelicts must. And in those three days and nights he had realized that for him there was no light in sea or sky,--that all was darkness forever.

And then young voices had broken in upon the black silence; and, opening his eyes, closed on hideous fever dreams, he had seen Freddy,--Freddy, who was not a dream; Freddy, who was kneeling by his side, whispering sweet, forgotten words of peace and hope and pardon; Freddy--Freddy--he could not speak, there was such a stirring in the depths of his heart and soul. He could only stretch out his weak, trembling hand, that Freddy met with a warm, boyish grip.

"Oh, I'm here yet!" he said, thinking his patient needed the reassurance. "I'm staying here right by you, to say prayers, or get water or anything you want. Dan left me here to take care of you. He has gone for the doctor; and if you just hold on till they get here, why, maybe--maybe--they'll pull you through all right. Gee whilikins!" exclaimed Freddy, as the sick man suddenly started up from his rude pillow. "You mustn't do that!"

"I must--I must!" was the hoarse reply; and Freddy was caught in a wild, passionate clasp to his patient's heart. "Dying or living, I must claim you, hold you, my boy,--my own little son,--little Boy Blue!" The voice sank to a low, trembling whisper. "Little Boy Blue, don't you know your own daddy?"

And Freddy, who had been struggling wildly in what he believed to be a delirious grasp, suddenly grew still. "Little Boy Blue,&q............