CHAPTER XVIII
_In which there are a joyful return, a sad duty and a picnic, ending with a reunion of loved ones._
The ride back to Campion College, so far as the boys and Dora wereconcerned, was a thing of joy. Dora nestled beside her brother and gazedher fill of that splendid young man. John Rieler, seated on the otherside, took his share of the gazing; love was in Dora’s eyes; admiration,deep, unspeakable admiration, in John’s. Occasionally, he put forth atimid hand to feel the muscle of the strong left arm.
“Will is a southpaw,” he explained to Clarence, when that watchful youthhappened to catch him in the act.
“What does he diet on?” asked Clarence seriously.
But Dora’s admiration was not confined to her big brother. She drew fromthe willing lips of Clarence an account of his arrival at CampionCollege. In detailing Rieler’s share in the event Clarence waxed soeloquent that the young water-rat flushed furiously.
In a word, the little party, very soon resolved itself into a highlysatisfactory mutual admiration society, of which Will Benton, in view ofhis recent exploit, was incontrovertibly the uncrowned king.
“Clarence,” said the giant, “it is owing to you that my sister has beenfound. You have put our family under an obligation we shall neverforget.”
“If John hadn’t fished me out of the river, she’d be with the gypsiesyet,” said Clarence. “Thank John and not me.”
“And,” said John, “if you hadn’t cranked Pete’s hand and struck out withyour good left arm there wouldn’t be any Dora to save. Thank yourself.”
“It is Dora that has saved me,” said Clarence.
“I? How, Clarence?”
“Well, you got me to thinking right about the Catholic Church. I wasalmost ready to join when I left you by the river route. The boys atCampion—especially John and Will—got me to thinking of it still more.But when I heard you as we got near your tent, talking to Ben and askinghim if he wanted to be baptized, there seemed to be a sort of explosionin my brain. When it passed away, I was determined to be a Catholic. Allhesitation was gone. If that Church doesn’t save my soul, nothing can doit.”
“Say, Clarence,” said Dora with a smile, “how about that lawyer?”
“Lawyer?”
“Yes: you proposed to adopt me. Can’t we find the right man at Prairiedu Chien? Clarence,” exclaimed the child to her brother, “told me oneday at the gypsy camp that he proposed to adopt me, because he had nosisters of his own.”
“I’d be delighted,” broke in Will Benton, “to have you as a brother,Clarence: you have been in very deed, a brother to my little sister. Shetold me all about your lively scrap with Ezra. And I’m sure my fatherand mother would make our home yours.”
Clarence, thinking of his own dear ones, struggled hard to keep down hisemotion. His lips quivered.
“O, I beg pardon!” said Will much confused. “I forgot.” And in a fewwords he told Dora of the railroad accident.
“Clarence,” said Dora, “did you pray to our Blessed Mother for thesafety of your parents?”
“Yes;” said Clarence humbly: “I thought of what you would do, and so Iprayed to her.”
“I’ll join with you. And tomorrow, Clarence, I’m going to Communionagain. Oh, I never felt so happy in all my life. I’m going tomorrow.”
“We’ll all go tomorrow,” added Rieler, “and we’ll all pray for yourparents.”
And then the four innocents fell to laughing and talking till at lengthCampion College was reached.
Dora at once demanded a confessor; and while John Rieler hastened to doher bidding, Clarence and her brother brought her to the students’chapel. For the first time in four long, long months, Dora had theprivilege of visiting the Blessed Sacrament. Presently a confessorarrived, the young sinner entered the confessional, and came out withina few minutes in an almost perceptible aura of peace and joy.
The President, in the meantime, had returned. He was awaiting themoutside.
“Well,” he said, “everything has been arranged. Ben is to be buried atthe Bohemian Church tomorrow at seven o’clock. Will Benton, you shouldserve; and you may get John Rieler to help you.”
“Thank you, Father,” cried Will.
“On Sunday next—the day after—Ben’s wife and children will be receivedinto the Church. They are now quartered with a friend of mine in thelower town.”
Dora grew happier than ever.
“I want to be received with them, Father,” pleaded Clarence.
“I can’t grant you that permission, I fear, Clarence. Besides, you needinstruction.”
“But I’ve had instruction already—at least,” Clarence added, correctinghimself, “I’ve had some. Dora told me a lot, and I’ve done somereading.”
“And I’ll teach you enough, Clarence, before Sunday,” said the girl.
“Well, we’ll see,” said Father Keenan.
The group, as this conversation went on, was moving slowly towards theconcrete walk which fronts the entire line of the main Campion Collegebuildings. In the meantime, Master John Rieler had been holdingspellbound nearly every lad of the Junior division with his account ofDora’s rescue, and of Will Benton’s wrench and blow. As the party thenreached the walk, coincidently with the conclusion of John Rieler’sexciting narrative, the small boys, detecting their approach, spread outand, keeping at a respectful distance, devoured with their eyesClarence, who swam to Campion; Dora, who lived a gypsy life four months;and, though his face had been familiar enough, the big Prefect of theSodality. It is only fair to state that it was to Will Benton that theypaid the most respectful attention. He was the hero of the hour. TheRector—a most unusual thing—was hardly considered.
Dora smiled and waved her hand.
“Three cheers for the Gypsy Queen,” yelled an enthusiast. They weregiven with wild and artless energy.
“And three cheers for Strong-Arm,” piped another. The cheers weredeafening: Bedlam had broken loose.
“Let’s run,” said Will to Dora.
The child took him at his word: and the two darted along the walk, andtripped up the steps of the middle building.
The Rector with Clarence caught up with them shortly.
“Dora,” he said, “we have no place for you here; but there’s a nicefamily just north of our residence building who’ll keep you as long asyou’re with us. I’ve sent them word already, and they have prepared afine supper—a sort of banquet, for you and Will and Clarence and JohnRieler.”
“Did I hear my name?” asked John, just then joining the group.
“Yes, you go to the banquet, too.”
“Oh,” said John, “this whole thing is like taking candy from a child.Say, Clarence,” he added in a whisper, “they’ve got a first-class cookthere, and I am hungry.”
“I feel that way myself,” admitted Clarence.
“I’ll wager,” said the Rector, his eyes twinkling, “that you two aretalking about the supper.”
“We just said we were hungry,” explained Rieler.
“For that matter, I’m famishing myself,” said the Prefect of theSodality.
“And I’m hungry, too,” added Dora.
“Very good: clear out all of you, and you boys will be back in time fornight prayers.”
And away they scampered like children—the big fellow, “Strong-Arm,”leading in the romp.
* * * * *
The funeral of the faithful and well-beloved Ben was simple and solemn,and the mourners fit though few. The Reverend Rector himself offered upthe holy sacrifice of the Mass. Very quietly the simple cortegeproceeded to the Catholic burying ground; and when the last shovelful ofearth was thrown on the coffin Dora stepped forward and laid upon themound the flowers such as Ben once joyed to collect and place at theshrine of “that good woman who was the Mother of God.”
They were scarcely outside the graveyard, when the Rector addressedthem:
“You have all had too much of tragedy these last days for your tenderyears. Dora is a free agent; Clarence is simply our guest; they have aright to a holiday. As for you, Will, I give you the day in honor of theefficiency of your strong arm; and you, John, for saving Clarence.”
The long faces shortened; eyes dimmed with tears grew bright. A holidayto the school boys! What trouble, what sorrow can hold its own against aholiday?
“I’ve secured a fine motor-boat for you——”
“I can run a motor all right,” broke in Rieler his face deeply gashed bya smile.
“And I suggest,” continued the Rector, “Pictured Rocks and a ride downthe river.”
“Ah-h-h-h!” gurgled Dora.
“Oh-h-h-h!” cried Clarence.
“Say—say,” blurted John, “what about our breakfast? We’ve just been toCommunion, you know, all except Clarence, and he hasn’t eaten yet.”
“There are some things, John,” observed the Rector, “that you neverforget. However, I haven’t overlooked that particular item either. Allyou need do is to run down to the Prairie du Chien boat landing. You’llfind a man there, John Durkin, the boat-owner, who’s waiting to see thatyou get off with everything in good order. Then, John, you motor over toNorth McGregor, and bring the party up to Mr. Berry’s hotel. He’s heardof your wonderful adventures, and you are his breakfast guests.”
“I took a meal there with my pa,” whispered the radiant Rieler, “when hecame up to see me last year. I’m glad I’m hungry,” he added simply.
“I should think, John,” observed the Rector, “that you must have thatcause for rejoicing a good many times in the day. After your breakfast,you must get together provisions enough for a good dinner. Thecommissary department will be in charge of Will Benton. Here, Will, area few dollars for that purpose. Mr. Berry will help you do the buying.”
“And I’ll be the cook,” said Dora, skipping about in uncontrollableglee.
“The only thing left for me,” said Clarence with his most radiant smile,“is to be dishwasher. I accept.”
“Hurry away now,” continued the Rector; and at the words they were alldashing down the street, Dora in the lead.
“Last one down is a nigger,” yelled Rieler.
It should not be accounted to the discredit of that happy lad that hedid not succeed in overtaking the fleet-footed Dora. Not for nothing hadshe lived for four months in the open. As a matter of fact Dora retainedher lead—owing, it may be, to the chivalry of Clarence and Will.Nevertheless, John, despite his efforts, was the last, of which fact allwere careful to remind him till he had succeeded in setting themotor-boat whirling off toward North McGregor.
Of that happy morning, of the breakfast at Berry’s hotel, where JohnRieler by his execution regained the prestige he had lost in the race,of the ride down the river, during which the hills of Iowa threw back inmultiplied echoes happy laughter and gleeful shouts, of the ascent tothe heights above Pictured Rocks, where Dora led the way skippingly, andpaused not for breath till they reached the summit; of the livelychatter and flying jest; of the tumbles, unnecessary most of them, asthey went down; of the wonderful dinner prepared—gypsy-wise—by Dora atthe gypsy fire set going by Clarence; of the ride down the river tillthey paused and surveyed the very place where Clarence’s boat was takenin tow by “good dear Ben”—of all these things there is a record in theunwritten book of sheer joy. There never was a jollier, happier party onthe broad bosom of the upper Mississippi. A little joke evoked thrillsof laughter; a good one, an explosion. No pen is adequate to give anidea of how these pure, innocent and loving hearts laughed and jestedand drank deep of the unpolluted joy of life.
They turned their boats at sunset homeward; and, as the twilight beganto creep from its hiding place in the East, Clarence begged Dora to singthem a song of her gypsy exile.
The clear, pure voice—the sweeter, the more pathetic, doubtless, forall Dora’s long days of suffering—rose and added its beauty to thesplendors of the dying day. Dora had just finished “Mother Dear, O Prayfor Me,” and at the request of all, was about to begin another hymn,when Will Benton cried out:
“Look: there’s a boat making for us from Smith’s Creek. I believe it’sthe Campion.”
“So it is,” cried Rieler, keen of eye. “And Father Rector’s in it.And——”
Suddenly a scream of joy rang from Dora’s throat.
“Oh! oh!” she cried. “It’s mama and papa!”
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