"We're to be off to-morrow," said Brother Bart, a little sadly. "And, though it will be a blessed thing to get back in the holy peace of St. Andrew's, with the boys all safe and sound--which is a mercy I couldn't expect,--to say nothing of laddie's father being drawn out of his wanderings into the grace of God, I'm sore-hearted at leaving Killykinick. You've been very good to us, Jeroboam,--both you and your brother, who is a deal wiser than at first sight you'd think. You've been true friends both in light and darkness; and may God reward you and bring you to the true faith! That will be my prayer for you night and day.--And now you're to pack up, boys, and get all your things together; for it's Father Regan's orders that we are to come back home."

"Where is our home, daddy?" asked Freddy, with lively interest. "For we can have a real true home now, can't we?"

"I hope so, my boy." They were out on the smooth stretch of beach, where daddy, growing strong and well fast, spent most of his time, stretched out in one of Great-uncle Joe's cushiony chairs; while Roy and Rex crouched contentedly at his feet, or broke into wild frolic with Freddy on the rocks or in the sea. "I hope so; though I'm afraid I don't know much about making a home, my little Boy Blue!"

"Oh, don't you, daddy?" said Freddy, ruefully. "I have always wanted a home so much,--a real true home, with curtains and carpets, and pictures on the walls, and a real fire that snaps and blazes."

"Yes, I heard you say that before," answered his father, softly. "I think it was that little talk on the boat that brought me down, where I could take a peep at my homeless little boy again; though I was afraid Captain Jeb would find me out if I ventured to Killykinick. I was just making up my mind to risk it and go over, when this fever caught me."

"But why--were you hiding, daddy? Why did you stay away so long?"

"Life had grown very black for me; and I didn't want to make it black for you, Freddy. I lost faith and hope and love when I lost your mother. I couldn't settle down to a bare, lonely life without her. I felt I must be free,--free to wander where I willed. It was all wrong,--all wrong, Freddy. But daddy was in darkness, without any guiding star. So I left you to Uncle Tom, gave up my name, my home, and broke loose like a ship without rudder or sail. And where it led me, where you found me, you know."

"Ah, yes!" Freddy laid his soft young cheek against his father's. "It was all wrong. But now you have come back; and everything is right again, Uncle Tom says; and we'll have a real home together. He said that, too, before he went away,--you and I would have a home, daddy."

"We'll try," replied daddy, cheerfully. "With you and the dogs together, Freddy, we'll try. We'll get the house and the cushions and the carpets, and do our best."

Going home! Dan was thinking of it, too, a little sadly, as somewhat later he stood on the stretch of rocks, looking out at the fading west. He was going home to "give up." Only yesterday morning a brief scrawl from Pete Patterson had informed him he would be ready for business next week, and Dan must come back with an answer--"Yes" or "No." So it was good-bye to St. Andrew's for Dan to-night; good-bye to all his hopes and dreams to-morrow. Something seemed to rise in Dan's throat at the thought. To-morrow he must go back, a college boy no longer, but to Pete Patterson's wagon and Pete Patterson's shop.

And while he stood there alone, watching the deepening shadows gather over rock and reef and shoal where he had spent such happy days, there came a sudden burst of glad music over the waters, and around the bending shore of Killykinick came a fairy vision: "The Polly," fluttering with gay pennants, jewelled in colored light from stem to stern; "The Polly," laden with a crowd of merrymakers in most hilarious mood, coming on a farewell feast in charge of three white-capped and white-coated waiters; "The Polly," that swept triumphantly to the mended wharf (where the "Sary Ann" was slowly recuperating from her damages, in a fresh coat of paint and brand-new mainsail), and took undisputed possession of Killykinick.

"I just had to come and say good-bye," declared Miss Polly; "and dad said I could make a party of it, if Marraine would take us in charge. And so we're to have a real, real last good time."

Then all sat down on the moonlit sands; and the victrola played its gayest tunes, and the white-capped waiters served good things that quite equalled Polly's last party. And when that was nearly over, and the guests were still snapping the French "kisses" and cracking sugar-shelled nuts, Dan found Miss Stella, who had been chatting with her late patient most of the evening, standing at his side. Perhaps it was the moonlight, but he thought he had never seen her look so lovely. Her eyes were like stars, and there was a soft rose-flush on her cheek, and the smile on her sweet lips seemed to kindle her whole face into radiance.

"Come sit down on the rocks beside me, Danny,--Miss Winnie's Danny. I've got some news for you."

"News for me?" Danny lifted his eyes; and Miss Stella saw that, in spite of all the fun and frolic around him, they looked strangely sad and dull.

"You're not having a good time to-night, are you?" she asked softly.

"Yes, I am--or at least I'm trying," said Dan, stoutly. "It was surely nice of you all to give us this send off. But--but, you see, I can't help feeling a little bad, because--because--" and he had to stop to clear the lump from his throat. "It seems to sort of end things for me."

"O Danny, Danny, no it doesn't!" And now Miss Stella's eyes were stars indeed. "It's the beginning of things bright and beautiful for you."

And then, in sweet, trembling, joyful tones, she told him all,--told him of Captain Carleton and the medal; of the pension that was to be his and Aunt Winnie's; of the kind, strong hand that had been stretched out to help him, that he might keep on without hindrance,--k............