Part 6 (1/2)

”An island called Killykinick, Father.”

”Killykinick?” echoed Father Mack, startled. ”You are going to Killykinick? G.o.d bless me, how wonderful!”

”You know the place, Father?” asked Dan, with interest.

”I know it indeed,” was the answer. ”I was wrecked there in the wild days of which I told you, Dan, sixty years ago. The 'Maria Teresa' (I was on a Portuguese s.h.i.+p) went upon the rocks on a dark winter night, that I thought was likely to be my last. For the first time in my reckless youth I really prayed. My dear mother, no doubt, was praying for me, too; for I learned afterwards that it was on that night she died, offering with her last breath her life for her boy. Well, we held together somehow until morning, and got off to the sh.o.r.e of Killykinick before the 'Maria Teresa'

went down, loaded with the golden profits of a two years' cruise.”

”And did they never get her up?” asked Dan, quite breathless with interest at this glimpse of a ”dying saint's” past.

”Never,” answered Father Mack,--”at least never that I heard of. It was soon afterward that I turned into other ways and lost sight of my old mates. But I always have remembered the friendly haven of Killykinick. It was a wild place,--only a few deserted fishermen's huts on the rocky sh.o.r.e, where we lived on fish and clams until taken off by a pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p.

But that same rocky sh.o.r.e meant safety, shelter, life. And so in the after years I have always blessed Killykinick. And you are going there to-morrow! You will find it all changed,--all changed, I am sure,” said Father Mack, as he slowly rose to his feet, for the sunset was fading now.

”But I will think of you there, Dan,--think of you frolicking over the rocks and sands where I wandered so long ago a s.h.i.+pwrecked boy. Now it is time for me to go in, for my old blood chills in the twilight; so I must say good-bye,--good-bye and G.o.d bless you, my boy!”

And, laying his hand for a moment on the boyish head, the old priest turned away into the deepening shadow of the pines, leaving Dan, who was beginning to feel vividly conscious that he had missed his supper, to make a rapid foray into the refectory, where Brother James could always be beguiled into furnis.h.i.+ng bread and jam in and out of time,--having been, as he a.s.sured the belated ones, a boy himself.

There was another belated one this evening. Seated before a tempting spread of milk toast, demanded by his recent convalescence, was Freddy Neville, a little pale and peaked perhaps, but doing full justice to a third creamy slice, and ready for more.

”Why, h.e.l.lo, Fred!” greeted Dan, dropping into the chair beside him. ”You down?”

”Yes,” said Fred, spooning his dish vigorously. ”I'm well, all right now.

Temperature gone, Brother Tim says. Can't I have a little more toast, Brother James, please? I'm not half filled up yet. Supper tastes twice as good down here. I've been out with Brother Bart buying shoes and things to go to Killykinick, and I'm hungry as a bear.”

”Wait a bit then, and I'll bring ye both in some strawberry jam and biscuits,” said Brother James, good-humoredly. ”It's the black fast Brother Tim puts on sick boys, I know. When they came down after the measles I couldn't get them enough to eat for a month. There now!” And the good man set forth supplies liberally. ”I know what it is. I've been a hungry boy myself.”

”Jing, it's good to be up and out again!” said Freddy, as both boys pitched into biscuits and jam. ”I felt down and out this morning sure, Dan, and now everything is working fine. We're going to have the time of our lives this summer, after all. Even Dud Fielding is cooling off, Jim Norris says, now that his nose has gone down, and he has heard about Killykinick.”

”Who told him?” asked Dan, who did not feel particularly cheered at these tidings; for Dud's ”cooling off” was by no means to be trusted, as he knew.

”Father Regan, of course. He couldn't send the boys unless they wanted to go. But when they heard about the old house uncle made out of his s.h.i.+p, and the row-boats and the sailboat, and the bathing and fis.h.i.+ng, they just jumped at the chance to go. And Jim says there is a fine place not far off, where Dud spent the season two years ago with some tip toppers, and he's counting on getting in with them again. So he is tickled all around.

But I'm not caring about Dud or what he likes, so long as I've got you, Dan, I wouldn't want to go without you.”

”Wouldn't you, kid?” asked Dan, softly, for, after all the troubles and perplexities of the day, his little chum's trusting friends.h.i.+p seemed very sweet to him.

”N-o-o-o!” answered Freddy, most decidedly. ”But I sort of wish Brother Bart was not going. He'll keep me such a baby!”

”No, he won't. I'll see to that,” said Dan, with a twinkle in his eye. ”If there's any way of giving you a good time, I'll do it. And I won't let you get hurt again either,--no sir! I've had my scare about that. I'm going to look out for you right. It may be for the last time, but--”

”The last time,” interrupted Freddy quickly. ”Why will it be the last time?”

”I mean I may never have a chance at such a jolly holiday again,” answered Dan, suddenly remembering his promise to Father Mack. ”But we'll make this one a hummer. If Killykinick is half what I think it is, we'll make this chance a hummer you'll never forget.”

VII.--A HOLIDAY START.

And the holiday proved to be a ”hummer” from the very start. Everybody was in high spirits. Even Dud Fielding, with his nose happily reduced to its normal color and size, had lost his ”grouch,” and was quite himself again, in a sporting suit of English tweed, ordered from his tailors for ”roughing it.” Easy-going Jim was in comfortable khaki; so was little Fred; while Dan had been privately presented by the Brother wardrobian with two suits of the same,--”left by boys for the poor,” good Brother Francis had whispered confidentially.