“Forgetting you!” echoed Dan. “Now, you know better than to talk like that, Aunt Win. I’m thinking of you day and night. I’ve got no one else to think of but you, Aunt Win.”
“Whisht now,—whisht!” Aunt Winnie sank her voice to a whisper, and nodded cautiously towards the nearest old lady. “She do be listening, lad. I’ve told them all of the grand, great college ye’re at, and the fine, bright lad ye are, but I’ve told them nothing more. Ye’re not to play the poor scholar here.”
“Oh, I see!” said Dan, grinning. “Go on with your game then, Aunt Win.”
“I’m not looking to be remembered,” Aunt Winnie continued dolefully. “What with all the French and Latin ye have to study, and the ball playing that you’re doing. I can’t look for you to think of a poor lone lame woman like me.”
“Aunt Win!” burst forth Dan, impetuously.
“Whisht!” murmured Aunt Win again, with a glance at the old lady who was blinking sleepily. “Don’t ye be giving yerself away. And I suppose it’s the fine holiday that ye’re having now wid the rest of yer mates,” she went on.
“Yes,” said Dan, feeling he could truthfully humor the old lady’s harmless pride here. “We’re off to-morrow for the jolliest sort of a time at the seashore. Freddy Neville, the nicest little chap in college, has a place up somewhere on the New England coast, and four of us are going there for the summer.”
And Danny launched into eager details that made Aunt Winnie’s eyes open indeed. But there was a little quiver in her voice when she spoke.
“Ah, that’s fine for you,—that’s fine for you indeed, Danny! We can talk plain now; for” (as a reassuring snore came from her dozing neighbor) “thank God, she’s off asleep! It’s the grand thing for you to be going with mates like that. It’s what I’m praying for as I sit here sad and lonely, Dan, that God will give ye His blessing, and help ye up, up, up, high as mortal man can go.”
“And you with me, Aunt Win,” said Dan, who, seated on the footstool of the chair, was smoothing her wrinkled hand.