"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,--keep on his upward way.

"to the stars, danny," concluded the gentle speaker softly. "we must take the highest aim, even if we fail to reach it,--to the stars."

"o miss stella,--dear, dear miss stella!" and the sob came surely now, in dan's bewildered joy, his gratitude, his relief. "how good you are,--how good you are! oh, i will try to deserve it all, miss stella! a home for aunt winnie, and st. andrew's,--st. andrew's again!" and dan sprang to his feet, and the college cry went ringing over the moonlit rocks. "it's st. andrew's for dan dolan, now forever!"

the rest of that evening seemed a bewildering dream to dan,--more bewildering even than miss polly's party. the story of his medal and his luck went flying around killykinick, with most dazzling additions. before the guests departed, dan was a hero indeed, adopted by a millionaire whose life his father or uncle or somebody had saved from sharks and whales fifty or seventy-five years ago.

"oh, i'm so glad!" said polly, as she shook hands for good-bye. "i always did say you were the nicest boy in the world. and now you needn't ever be a newsboy or bootblack again, dan."

"i'll see you again before very long," said miss stella, as he helped her on the boat, and she slipped a gold piece in his hand. "here is the price of jack farley's medal. you must take aunt winnie home right away."

"oh, i will,--i will, indeed!" said dan joyfully. "she will be back in mulligan's as soon as i can get her there, you bet, miss stella!"

"i'm durn sorry to see you go, matey!" said captain jeb next morning, as they pulled out the new sails of the "sary ann" for a start. "but whenever you want a whiff of salt air and a plunge in salt water, why, killykinick is here and your job of second mate open to you."

"shake on that!" said dan, gripping his old friend's hand. "if i know myself, i'll be down every summer."

"looks as if i owed you something for all that fishing," remarked old neb, pulling out his leather wallet.

"not a cent!" said dan, briskly. "i'm a monied man now, neb,--a regular up-and-down plute. keep the cash for some new nets next summer when we go fishing again."

and so, with friendly words and wishes from all, even from dud, whom recent events had quite knocked out of his usual grandeur, the whole party bade adieu to killykinick. freddy and his father were to remain a while at beach cliff with father tom, who was taking his holiday there.

at brother bart's request, the home journey was to be made as much as possible by rail, so after the "sary ann," still a little stiff and creaky in the joints, had borne them to the steamboat, which in a few hours touched the mainland and made connections with the train, the travellers' route lay along scenes very different from the rugged rocks and sands they had left. as they swept by golden harvest fields and ripening orchards and vineyards whose rich yield was purpling in the autumn sun, good brother bart heaved a sigh of deepest content.

"sure you may say what you please about water, danny lad, but god's blessing is on the good green land. if it be the lord's will, i'll never leave it again; though we might have found worse places than killykinick and those good old men there,--may god lead them to the light!"

and as the limited express made its schedule time, pete patterson was just closing up as usual at sundown, when a sturdy, brown-cheeked boy burst into his store,--a boy that it took pete's keen eyes full half a minute to recognize.

"dan dolan!" he cried at last,--"dan dolan, grown and fattened and slicked up like--like a yearling heifer! danny boy, i'm glad to see you,--i'm glad to see you, sure! you've come to take the job?"

"no, i haven't,--thank you all the same, pete!" was the quick answer. "i've struck luck for sure,--luck with a fine old plute, who is ready to stake me for all i could earn here, and keep me at st. andrew's."

"stake you for all you could earn here?" echoed pete, in amazement.

"i'll tell you all about it later," said dan, breathlessly. "just now i'm dumb struck, pete. i came flying back to take up my old quarters at the mulligans' and find the house shut up and everybody gone. land! it did give me a turn, sure! i was counting on that little room upstairs, and all aunt winnie's things she left there, and tabby and the stove and the blue teapot. but they're all gone." and dan sank down on a big packer's box feeling that he was facing a dissolving world in which he had no place.

"oh, they're not far!" said pete, a little gruffly; for dan's tidings had been somewhat of a blow. "the old woman's father died and left a little bit of money, and they bought a tidy little place out on cedar place, not far from st. mary's church. you'll find them there. you've made up your mind for good and all to stick to the highbrows? i'd make it worth your while to come here."

dan rose from the packer's box and looked around at the hams and shoulders and lard buckets and answered out of the fulness of his grateful heart:

"yes, i've made up my mind, pete. it's st. andrew's for me,--st. andrew's now and, i hope, forever. but--but if you want any help with writing or figuring, i'll come around saturday nights and give you a lift; for i won't be far. i'm sticking to old friends and the old camping ground still."

and, with this cheery assurance, dan was off again to find the vanished roof tree that had been all he ever knew of home. he recalled the place. it was only a short walk from the college gate. indeed, the row of cedars that fronted the little whitewashed house had been once the boundary of the college grounds. there was a bit of a garden in front, and a porch with late roses climbing over it, and--and--

dan stood stock-still for a moment,--then he flung open the little gate, and with a regular sioux war-whoop dashed up the gravelled path; for there--there seated in mrs. mulligan's best rocker, with tabby curled up at her feet--was aunt winnie herself, drinking a cup of tea!