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 were concerned, was a thing of joy. Dora nestled beside her brother and gazed her fill of that splendid young man. John Rieler, seated on the other side, took his share of the gazing; love was in Dora’s eyes; admiration, deep, unspeakable admiration, in John’s. Occasionally, he put forth a timid hand to feel the muscle of the strong left arm.

“Will is a southpaw,” he explained to Clarence, when that watchful youth happened 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 from the willing lips of Clarence an account of his arrival at Campion College. In detailing Rieler’s share in the event Clarence waxed so eloquent that the young water-rat flushed furiously.

In a word, the little party, very soon resolved itself into a highly satisfactory mutual admiration society, of which Will Benton, in view of his recent exploit, was incontrovertibly the uncrowned king.

“Clarence,” said the giant, “it is owing to you that my sister has been found. You have put our family under an obligation we shall never forget.”

“If John hadn’t fished me out of the river, she’d be with the gypsies yet,” said Clarence. “Thank John and not me.”

“And,” said John, “if you hadn’t cranked Pete’s hand and struck out with your 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 was almost ready to join when I left you by the river route. The boys at Campion—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 asking him if he wanted to be baptized, there seemed to be a sort of explosion in my brain. When it passed away, I was determined to be a Catholic. All hesitation was gone. If that Church doesn’t save my soul, nothing can do it.”

“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 Prairie du Chien? Clarence,” exclaimed the child to her brother, “told me one day at the gypsy camp that he proposed to adopt me, because he had no sisters 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. She told me all about your lively scrap with Ezra. And I’m sure my father and mother would make our home yours.”

Clarence, thinking of his own dear ones, struggled hard to keep down his emotion. His lips quivered.

“O, I beg pardon!” said Will much confused. “I forgot.” And in a few words he told Dora of the railroad accident.

“Clarence,” said Dora, “did you pray to our Blessed Mother for the safety of your parents?”

“Yes;” said Clarence humbly: “I thought of what you would do, and so I prayed to her.”

“I’ll join with you. And tomorrow, Clarence, I’m going to Communion again. 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 your parents.”

And then the four innocents fell to laughing and talking till at length Campion College was reached.

Dora at once demanded a confessor; and while John Rieler hastened to do her bidding, Clarence and her brother brought her to the students’ chapel. For the first time in four long, long months, Dora had the privilege of visiting the Blessed Sacrament. Presently a confessor arrived, the young sinner entered the confessional, and came out within a few minutes in an almost perceptible aura of peace and joy.

The President, in the meantime, had returned. He was awaiting them outside.

“Well,” he said, “everything has been arranged. Ben is to be buried at the Bohemian Church tomorrow at seven o’clock. Will Benton, you should serve; 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 received into the Church. They are now quartered with a friend of mine in the lower 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 need instruction.”

“But I’ve had instruction already—at least,” Clarence added, correcting himself, “I’ve had some. Dora told me a lot, and I’ve done some reading.”

“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 the concrete walk which fronts the entire line of the main Campion College buildings. In the meantime, Master John Rieler had been holding spellbound nearly every lad of the Junior division with his account of Dora’s rescue, and of Will Benton’s wrench and blow. As the party then reached the walk, coincidently with the conclusion of John Rieler’s exciting narrative, the small boys, detecting their approach, spread out and, keeping at a respectful distance, devoured with their eyes Clarence, who swam to Campion; Dora, who lived a gypsy life four months; and, though his face had been familiar enough, the big Prefect of the Sodality. It is only fair to state that it was to Will Benton that they paid the most respectful attention. He was the hero of the hour. The Rector—a most unusual thing—was hardly considered.

Dora smiled and waved her hand.

“Three cheers for the Gypsy Queen,” yelled an enthusiast. They were given with wild and artless energy.

“And three cheers for Strong-Arm,” piped another. The cheers were deafening: 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, and tripped up the steps of the middle building.

The Rector with Clarence caught up with them shortly.

“Dora,............