Part 18 (1/2)

”The prize,--the prize, Marraine! Dan has drawn my birthday prize!” And, under a battery of curious and envious eyes, Dan opened the box to find within a pretty gold watch, ticking a most cheering greeting to its new owner.

”Dan,--Dan!” Polly's jubilant voice rose over all the chorus around him.

”Oh, I'm so glad you got it, Dan!”

And Marraine's eyes followed Polly's delighted glance with the same look of curious interest that she had bent upon Dan a while ago on the porch.

”Do you mean that this is for me?” he blurted out, in bewilderment.

”Yes, for you,--for _you_,” repeated Polly in high glee. ”It's real gold and keeps real time, and it's yours forever!”

”It's too--too much--I mean it's--it's too fine for a fellow like me,”

stammered Dan. ”What will I do with it?”

”Wear it,” chirped Miss Polly, throwing the silken guard around his neck, ”so you will never forget my birthday, Dan.”

And then a big j.a.panese gong sounded the call to the flower-decked tables, where busy waiters were soon serving a veritable fairy feast. There were cakes of table-size and shape and color; little baskets and boxes full of wonderful bonbons; nuts sugared and glazed until they did not seem nuts at all; ice-cream birds in nests of spun sugar; ”kisses” that snapped into hats and wreaths and caps. And all the while the band played, and the jewelled lights twinkled, and the stars shone far away above the arching trees. And Dan, with his watch around his neck, held his place as the winner of the prize at Miss Polly's side, feeling as if he were in some dizzy dream. Then there were more games, and a grand hide-and-seek, in which dad and some of the grown-ups joined.

Dan had found an especially fine place under the gnarled boughs of an old cedar tree, that would have held its head high in the starlight if some of dad's gardeners had not twisted it out of growth and shape. Hiding under the crooked shadows, Dan was listening to the merry shouts through maze and garden, when he became suddenly conscious of a change in their tone.

The voices grew sharp, shrill, excited, and then little Polly burst impetuously into his hiding place,--a sobbing, trembling, indignant little Polly, followed by a score of breathless young guests.

”I don't believe it!” she was crying tempestuously. ”I _won't_ believe it!

You're just telling horrid stories on Dan, because I like him and he got the prize.”

”O Pollykins! Pollykins!” came Miss Stella's low, chiding voice.

”Halloo! halloo! What's the trouble?” rose dad's deep tones above the clamor. ”My little girl crying,--crying?”

”Yes, I am!” was the sobbing answer. ”I can't help it, dad. The girls are all whispering mean, horrid stories about Dan, and I made them tell me all they said they had heard. I don't believe them, and I _won't_ believe them! I told them I wouldn't believe them,--that I would come right to Dan and let him speak for himself.--Were you ever a newsboy and a beggar boy, Dan? Did--did you ever black boots? Have you an aunt in the poorhouse, as Minna Foster says?”

XVIII.--BACK INTO LINE.

There was a moment's pause. Dan was really too bewildered to speak. He felt he was reeling down from the rainbow heights to which Miss Polly had led him, and the shock took away his breath.

”It's all--all a horrid story; I'm sure it is,--isn't it, Dan?” pleaded his little friend, tremulously.

”Why, no!” said Dan, rallying to his simple, honest self again. ”It isn't a story at all. I _was_ a newsboy, I _did_ s.h.i.+ne boots at the street corner, and Aunt Winnie _is_ with the Little Sisters of the Poor now.”

”Bravo!--bravo!” came a low silvery voice from the shadows, and Miss Stella clapped her slender hands.

”O Dan, Dan!” cried poor little Miss Polly, sobbing outright. ”A newsboy and bootblack! Oh, how could you fool me so, Dan?”

”With your infernal lies about your home and family!” burst forth dad, in sudden wrath at Polly's tears.

”I didn't fool,--I didn't lie, sir!” blurted out Dan, fiercely. ”I did nothing of the kind!”

”If you will kindly do the boy justice to remember, he did _not_, Cousin Pem!” and Miss Stella's clear, sweet voice rose in witness. ”You gave his family history yourself. He did not know what you were talking about, with your Crusading ancestors and the D'Olanes. I could see it in his face. You are all blood-blind up here, Cousin Pem. I was laughing to myself all the time, for I guessed who Dan Dolan was. I knew he was at St. Andrew's. His dear old Aunt Winnie is one of my truest friends.”

”O Marraine, Marraine!” murmured Polly, eagerly. ”And--and you don't mind it if--”