“All right!” was the cheerful reply. “Let him get even then. Have you heard about Killykinick, Jim?”
“Yes: Father Regan told me. I don’t know what or where it is, but I’m ready for a start if it’s a cannibal isle. Anything is better than dying of dullness here. Where are you off so fast, Dan?”
“To see my aunt. She—she—” There was a moment’s hesitation, for Dan knew all the admission meant to boys like Jim. But he added boldly: “She is at the Little Sisters’, you know, and I want to bid her good-bye before I leave.”
“Of course you do. These old aunts are great,” said Jim, with a friendly nod. “I’ve got one myself up in the country. Wears bonnets and gowns that look as if they came out of the Ark. But, golly, she can make doughnuts and apple pies that beat the band! I’d rather spend a week at Aunt Selina’s than any place I know. Going to walk or ride, Dan?”
“Walk,” was the answer. “I generally do. It’s good for my health.”
“Not on a day like this. I’ve got a pocketful of car tickets,” said Jim, shaking a dozen or so out on the grass. “We’ll have no use for them at Killykinick. Help yourself.”
“No,” said Dan, sturdily. “Thank you all the same, Jim! But I don’t mind walking a bit. I’ll match you at a game of tennis when I get back, and do you up.”
“All right!” answered Jim, who, though slow and lazy and a bit dull at his books, was a gentleman through and through. Three generations of Norrises had cut their names on Old Top.
And, lighter hearted for this friendliness, Dan kept on his way by short cuts and cross streets until he reached the quiet suburb where the modest buildings of the “Little Sisters” stretched long and wide behind their grey stone walls. He was admitted by a brisk, kind little old woman, who was serving as portress; and after some parley, was shown up into Aunt Winnie’s room. It was spotless in its cleanliness and bare save for the most necessary articles of furniture. There were three other old ladies about in various stages of decrepitude, who seemed only dully conscious of Dan’s appearance; but Aunt Winnie, seated in her armchair by the window, started up in tremulous rapture at sight of her boy. Despite her age and infirmity, she was still a trig little body, with snow-white hair waved about a kind old wrinkled face and dim soft eyes, that filled with tears at “Danny’s” boyish hug and kiss.
“It’s a long time ye’ve been coming,” she said reproachfully. “I thought ye were forgetting me entirely, Danny lad.”