Part 13 (2/2)
Dan was thinking fast. Twenty-five dollars,--twenty-five dollars! There was only a chance, it is true; and a very slim chance at that. But what would twenty-five dollars mean to him, to Aunt Winnie? For surely and steadily, in the long, pleasant summer days, in the starlit watches of the night, his resolution was growing: he must live and work for Aunt Winnie; he could not leave her gentle heart to break in its loneliness, while he climbed to heights beyond her reach; he could not let her die, while he dreamed of a future she would never see. Being only a boy, Dan did not put the case in just such words. He only felt with a fierce determination that, in spite of the dull pain in his heart at the thought, he must give up St. Andrew's when this brief seaside holiday was past, and work for Aunt Winnie. And a little ready cash to make a new start in Mulligan's upper rooms would help matters immensely. Just now he had not money enough for a fire in the rusty little stove, or to move Aunt Winnie and her old horsehair trunk from the Little Sisters.
”All right!” he said, with sudden resolve. ”Take the medal and try it.”
And old Jonah, who was not half so dull as, for commercial purposes, he looked, turned to an old mahogany desk propped up on three legs, and gave the young owner a duly signed receipt for one silver-rimmed bronze medal, date 1850, and the business was concluded.
”Suppose you really get twenty-five dollars, Dan,” said Freddy, as they bade old Jonah good-bye and kept on their way. ”What will you do with it?”
”I'm not saying,” replied Dan, mindful of his promise to Father Mack. ”But I'll start something, you can bet, Freddy!”
And then they went on down to the wharf, where the ”Sary Ann” lay at her moorings, and Brother Bart was seated on a bench in pleasant converse with the Irish s.e.xton of the little church, who had been showing the friendly old Brother some of the sights of the town.
”Here come my boys now. This is Dan Dolan, and this is my own laddie that I've been telling ye about, Mr. McNally. And where--where are the others?”
questioned Brother Bart, anxiously.
”I don't know,” answered Dan, after he had reciprocated Mr. McNally's hearty hand-shake. ”Dud said something about going to the Fosters.”
”Sure and that isn't hard to find,” said Mr. McNally. ”It's one of the biggest places on Main Street, with hydrangeas growing like posies all around the door. Any one will show ye.”
”Go back for them, Danny lad. Ye can leave laddie here with me while ye bring the others back; for the day is pa.s.sing, and we must be sailing home.”
XIV.--POLLY.
Main Street was not hard to find, neither seemed the Fosters. A corner druggist directed Dan without hesitation to a wide, old-fas.h.i.+oned house, surrounded by lawns and gardens, in which the hydrangeas--blue, pink, purple--were in gorgeous summer bloom. But, though the broad porch was gay with cus.h.i.+ons and hammocks, no boys were in sight; and, lifting the latch of the iron gate, Dan was proceeding up the flower-girdled path to the house, when the hall door burst open and a pretty little girl came flying down the steps in wild alarm.
”Bobby!” she cried. ”My Bobby is out! Bobby is gone! Oh, somebody catch Bobby, please,--somebody catch my Bobby!”
A gush of song answered the wail. Perched upon the biggest and pinkest of the hydrangeas was a naughty little canary, its head on one side warbling defiantly in the first thrill of joyous freedom. Its deserted mistress paused breathlessly. A touch, a movement, she knew would send him off into sunlit s.p.a.ce beyond her reach forever.
Quick-witted Dan caught on to the situation. A well-aimed toss of his cap, and the hydrangea blooms were quivering under the beat of the captive's fluttering wings. Dan sprang forward and with a gentle, cautious hand grasped his prisoner.
”Oh, oh, oh!” was all the little lady could cry, clasping her hands rapturously. ”Don't--don't hurt him, please!”
”I won't,” was the answer. ”But get his cage quick; for he's scared to death at my holding him.”
Bobby's mistress darted into the house at the word, and reappeared again in a moment with a gilded palace that was surely all a bird could ask for.
”O Bobby, Bobby!” she murmured reproachfully, as Dan deposited his subdued and trembling captive behind the glittering bars. ”When you had this lovely new cage and everything you wanted!”
”No, he hadn't,” said Dan, conscious of a sudden sympathy with his feathered prisoner. ”He has wings and wants to use them.”
”But he couldn't find seed or chickweed for himself, and the cats and hawks would have had him before morning. Oh, I'm so glad to get him back safe I don't know how to thank you for catching him for me!” And the little lady lifted a pair of violet eyes, that were still sparkling with tears, to her benefactor's face.
”Pooh! It wasn't anything,” said Dan, shyly.
”Yes, it was. You threw your cap fine. My brothers couldn't have done it, I know. They would have just laughed and teased, and let Bobby fly away forever. You are the nicest boy I ever saw,” continued Bobby's mistress, who was at the age when young ladies speak their mind frankly. ”What is your name?”
”Dan Dolan,” was the reply, with the smile that showed Aunt Winnie's boy at his best. ”Let me carry your bird cage to the house for you. It is too heavy for a little girl.”
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