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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Looks as if the Padre will never see his little lad agin." There had been an extra Mass at the little church at Beach Cliff on the morning of the storm. Father Tom Rayburn, an old classmate of the pastor's, had arrived, and been welcomed most cordially. "I'm off to an old camping ground of mine Killykinick," he had explained to his host as they sat together at breakfast.
It had a bit of everything within Killykinick reach clams and fish and pork and potatoes, onions and peppers and hard-tack, all simmering together, piping hot, in a most appetizing way, even though it had to be "doused" out with a tin ladle into yellow bowls.
"I'm well, all right now. Temperature gone, Brother Tim says. Can't I have a little more toast, Brother James, please? I'm not half filled up yet. Supper tastes twice as good down here. I've been out with Brother Bart buying shoes and things to go to Killykinick, and I'm hungry as a bear."
And now get into some short clothes, if you can find them, and we'll go over to Killykinick in my little motor boat; for poor Brother Bart is in sad terror about you, I am sure." Ah, in sad terror, indeed! It was a pale, shaken old man that stood on the beach at Killykinick, looking over the sea, and listening to the Captain, who was striving to find hope where he felt there was none.
For a moment they stumbled in darkness, through which came a thunderous sound like the swell of some mighty organ under a master hand; and then they were out in light and space again, with the ocean cliff of Killykinick arching above and around them in a great cave hollowed by the beating waves out of solid rock.
Brother Bart and his boys were up betimes for their Sunday journey. Breakfast was soon dispatched, and four sunburned youngsters were ready for their trip to town. Dud and Jim, who had been lounging around Killykinick in sweaters and middies, were spruced up into young gentlemen again.
I can get a job at Pete Patterson's sausage shop to-morrow." "Reform! Sausage shop! What are you talking about, you foolish boy, when I am only sending you all off for a summer holiday at the seashore?" "A summer holiday at the seashore!" echoed Dan in bewilderment. "Yes, at Freddy's place Killykinick.
But my good friend Father John seems to think that you would take pity on our great need." "Oh, I will, I will!" was the eager answer. "I already have friends at Killykinick among those fine boys from St. Andrew's. My little goddaughter and I were to make an excursion there to-day, but the storm disabled Mr. Forester's yacht. I am so glad to be of service to you, Father! I will get ready at once."
There was a strange sharpness in the questioner's voice. "Pooh, no!" said Dan. "Just knocked him out a little. But we were all getting into trouble at Saint Andrew's, for vacation there is pretty slow; so Father Regan has sent us off to the seashore for the summer?" "The seashore? Where?" "Some queer place called Killykinick," answered Dan, who was now able to sit up and be sociable.
Pretty sailboats were flitting hither and thither on sunny wings; the white stretch of beach was gay with bathers; the full notes of an orchestra came from the band stand on the jutting pier. "Jing!" exclaimed Dan, in amazement at such a festive scene. "Is this Killykinick?" "No," was Dud Fielding's surly answer. "I wish it was. But I mean to cut over here to the Fosters whenever I can.
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