Only an Irish Boy | Page 4

Jake Barlow's house," said John.
"Oh, the Widow Burke. Yes, I know. I believe Mrs. Preston employs
her sometimes. Well, Andy, if that's your name, how is it that I catch
you fighting with my son? That is not very creditable, unless you have
good cause."
"He called my mother a low woman," said Andy, "and then he run up
and hit me."
"Did you do that, Godfrey?"
"He was putting on too many airs. He talked as if he was my equal."
"He appears to be more than your equal in strength," said his father.
"Well, was that all?"
"It was about all."
"Then I think he did perfectly right, and I hope you'll profit by the
lesson you have received."
"He is a gentleman," thought Andy. "He ain't hard on a boy because
he's poor."
Colonel Preston went into the house, but Godfrey lingered behind a
moment. He wanted to have a parting shot at his adversary. He could
fight with words, if not with blows.
"Look here!" he said, imperiously; "don't let me see you round here
again."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to see you."
"Then you can look the other way," said Andy, independently.
"This is my house."

"I thought it was your father's."
"That's the same thing. You'd better stay at home with your mother."
"Thank you," said Andy; "you're very kind. May I come along the road
sometimes?"
"If you do, walk on the other side."
Andy laughed. He was no longer provoked, but amused.
"Then, by the same token, you'd better not come by my mother's
house," he said, good-humoredly.
"I don't want to come near your miserable shanty," said Godfrey,
disdainfully.
"You may come, if you keep on the other side of the road," said Andy,
slyly.
Godfrey was getting disgusted; for in the war of words, as well as of
blows, his ragged opponent seemed to be getting the better of him. He
turned on his heel and entered the house. He was sure of one who
would sympathize with him in his dislike and contempt for Andy--this
was, of course, his mother. Besides, he had another idea. He knew that
Mrs. Burke had been employed by his mother, occasionally, to assist in
the house. It occurred to him that it would be a fine piece of revenge to
induce her to dispense hereafter with the poor woman's services. Bent
on accomplishing this creditable retaliation, he left his young opponent
master of the field.
"I must be goin'," said Andy, as he picked up his bundle and suspended
it from his stick. "Will I find the house where my mother lives, easy?"
The question was, of course, addressed to John, who had just turned to
go to the stable.
"You can't miss it," answered John. "It's a mile up the road, stands a
little way back. There's a few hills of potatoes in the front yard. How

long since you saw your mother?"
"It's three months."
"Does she know you are coming to-day?"
"No. I would have wrote to her, but my fingers isn't very ready with the
pen."
"Nor mine either," said John. "I'd rather take a licking any time than
write a letter. Come round and see us some time."
"The boy'll lick me," said Andy, laughing.
"I guess you can manage him."
Andy smiled, for it was his own conviction, also. With his bundle on
his shoulder he trudged on, light of heart, for he was about to see his
mother and sister, both of whom he warmly loved.
CHAPTER III
ANDY AND HIS MOTHER
The house in which the Widow Burke and her daughter lived was a
very humble one. It had not been painted for many years, and the
original coat had worn off, leaving it dark and time-stained. But when
Mrs. Burke came to town, a short time before, it was the only dwelling
she could hire that was held at a rent within her means. So she and
Mary, who was now eleven years old, had moved in their scanty
furniture and made it look as much like a home as possible.
Mrs. Burke had not always been as poor as now. She was the daughter
of an Irish tradesman, and had received quite a good education. In due
time she married a small farmer, who was considered to be in fair
circumstances, but there came a bad year, and misfortunes of various
kinds came together. The last and heaviest of all was fever, which
prostrated her husband on a bed of sickness. Though his wife watched

over him night and day with all the devotion of love, it was all of no
avail. He died, and she found herself left with about a hundred
pounds--after his debts were paid. She was advised to go to