Only an Irish Boy | Page 2

and with a
contraction of the brow.
"Only an Irish boy!" answered the other, with a droll look and a slight
brogue.
"Then what business have you leaning against my fence?" again
demanded Godfrey, imperiously.
"Shure, I didn't know it was your fence."
"Then you know now. Quit leaning against it."
"Why should I, now? I don't hurt it, do I?"
"No matter--I told you to go away. We don't want any beggars here."
"Shure, I don't see any," said the other boy, demurely.
"What are you but a beggar?"
"Shure, I'm a gintleman of indepindent fortune."
"You look like it," said Godfrey, disdainfully. "Where do you keep it?"
"Here!" said the Irish boy, tapping a bundle which he carried over his

shoulder, wrapped in a red cotton handkerchief, with a stick thrust
through beneath the knot.
"What's your name?"
"Andy Burke. What's yours?"
"I don't feel under any obligations to answer your questions," said
Godfrey, haughtily.
"Don't you? Then what made you ask me?"
"That's different. You are only an Irish boy."
"And who are you?"
"I am the only son of Colonel Anthony Preston," returned Godfrey,
impressively.
"Are you, now? I thought you was a royal duke, or maybe Queen
Victoria's oldest boy."
"Fellow, you are becoming impertinent."
"Faith, I didn't mean it. You look so proud and gintale that it's jist a
mistake I made."
"You knew that we had no dukes in America," said Godfrey,
suspiciously.
"If we had, now, you'd be one of them," said Andy.
"Why? What makes you say so?"
"You're jist the picture of the Earl of Barleycorn's ildest son that I saw
before I left Ireland."
Godfrey possessed so large a share of ridiculous pride that he felt
pleased with the compliment, though he was not clear about its

sincerity.
"Where do you live?" he asked, with a slight lowering of his tone.
"Where do I live? Shure, I don't live anywhere now, but I'm going to
live in the village. My mother came here a month ago."
"Why didn't you come with her?"
"I was workin' with a farmer, but the work gave out and I came home.
Maybe I'll find work here."
"I think I know where your mother lives," said John, who had heard the
conversation. "She lives up the road a mile or so, in a little house with
two rooms. It's where old Jake Barlow used to live."
"Thank you, sir. I guess I'll be goin', then, as my mother'll be expectin'
me. Do you know if she's well?" and a look of anxiety came over the
boy's honest, good-natured face.
The question was addressed to John, but of this Godfrey was not quite
sure. He thought the inquiry was made of him, and his pride was
touched.
"What should I know of your mother, you beggar?" he said, with a
sneer. "I don't associate with such low people."
"Do you mane my mother?" said Andy, quickly, and he, too, looked
angry and threatening.
"Yes, I do. What are you going to do about it?" demanded Godfrey.
"You'd better take it back," said Andy, his good-humored face now
dark with passion.
"Do you think I am afraid of such a beggar as you?" sneered Godfrey.
"You appear to forget that you are speaking to a gentleman."
"Shure, I didn't know it," returned Andy, hotly. "You're no gentleman if

you insult my mother, and if you'll come out here for a minute I'll give
you a bating."
"John," said Godfrey, angrily, "will you drive that beggar away?"
Now, John's sympathies were rather with Andy than with his young
master. He had no great admiration for Godfrey, having witnessed
during the year he had been in his father's employ too much of the boy's
arrogance and selfishness to feel much attachment for him. Had he
taken any part in the present quarrel, he would have preferred
espousing the cause of the Irish boy; but that would not have been
polite, and he therefore determined to preserve his neutrality.
"That ain't my business, Master Godfrey," he said. "You must fight
your own battles."
"Go away from here," said Godfrey, imperiously advancing toward that
part of the fence against which Andy Burke was leaning.
"Will you take back what you said agin' my mother?"
"No, I won't."
"Then you're a blackguard, if you are a rich man's son."
The blood rushed to Godfrey's face on the instant. This was a palpable
insult. What! he, a rich man's son, the only son and heir of Colonel
Anthony Preston, with his broad acres and ample bank account--he to
be called a blackguard by a low Irish boy. His passion got the better of
him, and he ran through the gate, his eyes flashing fire, bent on
exterminating his impudent adversary.
CHAPTER II
A SKIRMISH
Andy