"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.