“But what are you doing here, Aunt Win?” he asked in amazement.
“Just spending the day, Danny. Mrs. Mulligan sent Molly for me this morning. She wanted me to see her new place, and to tell her what was to be done with my bit of things. She is thinking of renting her rooms, and my things are in the way. They are fine rooms, with rosebud paper on the walls, and a porch looking out at the church beyant; and she could be getting seven dollars a month for them. But she’s got the table and stove and beds, and all our old furniture that nobody would want; so I’ve told her to send them off to-morrow to sell for what they will bring. Sure” (and the old voice trembled) “we’ll never have any call for them again, Danny lad,—never again.”
“Oh, we won’t?” said Danny, with another hug that came near doing for teacup completely. “Just take back your orders quick as you can, Aunt Winnie, I’m renting those rooms right now.”
“Sure, Danny,—Danny boy, have ye come back with a fever on ye?”
“Yes,” grinned Dan,—“regular gold fever, Aunt Winnie! Look at that!” He clapped the twenty dollar gold piece into Aunt Winnie’s trembling hand. “That’s for you, Aunt Winnie,—that’s to rent those pink-flowered rooms.”
“Sure it’s mad the poor boy is entirely!” cried Aunt Winnie, as Mrs. Mulligan and Molly came hurrying out on the porch.
“Do I look it?” asked Dan, laughing into their startled faces.
“Ye don’t,” said Mrs. Mulligan. “But spake out plain, and don’t be bewildering the poor woman, Danny Dolan.”
And then Danny spoke out as plain as his breathless eagerness would permit, and told the story of the “pension.”
“It will be thirty-five dollars a month, Captain Carleton says; he’d have to throw in the five to poor old Nutty for grog and tobacco.”