“Killykinick?” echoed Brother Bart. “That sounds Irish, Father.”
“It does,” laughed Father Regan. “Perhaps the old captain was an Irishman. At any rate, there he lived, showing a light every night at his masthead to warn other ships off,—which was quite unnecessary of course, as the government attends to all such matters now.”
“It must be a queer sort of a place,” said Brother Bart, doubtfully. “But it might do Laddie good to get a whiff of the salt air and a swim in the sea. He isn’t well, Brother Timothy says, and as everyone can see. He has a touch of the fever every day; and as for weight, Dan Dolan would make two of him. And his mother died before she was five and twenty. God’s holy will be done!” Brother Bart’s voice broke at the words. “But I’m thinking Laddie isn’t long for this world, Father. There’s an angel-look in his face that I don’t like to see.” And the old Brother shook his head lugubriously.
Father Regan laughed.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that! I’ve seen plenty of just such angels, Brother Bart, and they grew up into very hardy, mortal men, who had to scuffle their way through life like the rest of us. But Freddy is looking a little peaked of late, as I noticed on Commencement Day. I think that, as you say, a breath of salt air would be good for him. We might send all four off together to this place of his.”
“Is it Dan Dolan with the rest?” asked Brother Bart, in dismay.
“Why, of course! We couldn’t keep poor Dan here all alone,” was the answer.
“He’ll have Laddie climbing the rocks and swimming the seas like—like a wild Indian,” said the good man, despairingly.
“What! That angel boy of yours, Brother Bart?” laughed the priest.
“Aye, aye!” answered the good Brother. “I’m not denying that Laddie has a wild streak in him. It came from his poor young father, I suppose. Arrah! has there never been word or sign from him, Father?” queried Brother Bart, sorrowfully.