“The government looks out for all that now,” laughed Father Regan.
“I’m not so sure,” said Brother Bart, who had grown up in a wild stretch of the Irish coast. “It’s a wicked world, and we’re going beyant the Lord’s light that shines on us here.”
“Not at all,” was the cheering assurance. “Beach Cliff is only six miles away, and it has a little church where there is a Mass every Sunday.”
“The Lord be praised for that anyhow!” said the good man, with a sigh of relief. “It’s a great burthen that ye’ve put on my body and soul, Father. But I’ll do me best, and, with God’s help, I’ll bring the four of them back safe and sound to ye. Now give us your blessing and we’ll be off.”
And very soon they were off indeed, speeding on to the busy wharf, scene of many a “lark” in Dan’s boyish past. Here the great steamboat was awaiting them: for, although the route was longer and more circuitous, Father Regan had decided it best for his young travellers to make their journey by sea.
To Jim and Dud such a trip was no novelty; even Freddy had taken more than one holiday outing with Uncle Tom; but to Dan—Dan whose busy, workaday childhood had excluded even the delights of a cheap excursion—everything was wonderfully and deliciously new. He felt like one in a bewildering dream. As the great floating palace, all aglitter and aglow with splendors of paint and upholstery hitherto unknown, swung from her moorings out into the stream, Dan quite forgot the gentility of his surroundings and the elegant Dud Fielding at his elbow, and waved his hat with a wild “Hurrah” to half a dozen Wharf Rats who were fishing off the pier.
“Dan Dolan!” rose the shrill-voiced chorus, and six pairs of bare legs dangling over the water scrambled up to a stand. “Jing! if it ain’t Dan Dolan,—Dan Dolan all diked up like a swell! Hi-yi-yi-yi, Dan! Where are you going, Dan?”
“Seashore, New England, Killykinick!” Dan shouted back, quite unconscious of the smiles and stares of the passengers. “Off for the summer! Hooray!”
“Hooray—hooray!” with a series of whoops and catcalls came back the Wharf Rat’s farewells, echoing with such friendly memories of a rough past that Dan was struck speechless by the fierce contrasting voice in his ear.
“You darned dunderhead!” whispered Dud Fielding. “Can’t you keep quiet in a decent crowd?”