"Come in, Andy, my darling--come in, and tell me if you are well," said his mother, dropping the shirt on which she was at work, and rising to her feet. "I'll be with you in a jiffy," said Andy. And, with a light leap, he cleared the window sill, and stood in the presence of his mother and sister, who vied with each other in hugging the returned prodigal. "You'll choke me, Sister Mary," said Andy, good-humoredly. "Maybe you think I'm your beau." "Don't speak to her of beaux, and she only eleven years old," said his mother. "But you haven't told us why you came." "Faith, mother, it was because the work gave out, and I thought I'd pack my trunk and come and see you and Mary. That's all." "We are glad to see you, Andy, dear, but," continued his mother, taking a survey of her son's appearance for the first time, "you're lookin' like a beggar, with your clothes all in rags." Andy laughed. "Faith, it's about so, mother. There was no one to mend 'em for me, and I'm more used to the hoe than the needle." "I will sew up some of the holes when you're gone to bed, Andy. Are you sure you're well, lad?" "Well, mother? Jist wait till you see me atin', mother. You'll think I've got a healthy appetite." "I never thought, Andy. The poor lad must be hungry. Mary, see what there is in the closet." "There's nothing but some bread, mother," said Mary. Indeed bread and potatoes were the main living of the mother and daughter, adopted because they were cheap. They seldom ventured on the extravagance of meat, and that was one reason, doubtless, for Mrs. Burke's want of strength and sometimes feeling faint and dizzy while working at her needle. "Is there no meat in the house, Mary?" "Not a bit, mother." "Then go and see if there's an egg outside." The widow kept a few hens, having a henhouse in one corner of the back yard. The eggs she usually sold, but Andy was at home now, and needed something hearty, so they must be more extravagant than usual. Mary went out, and quickly returned with a couple of eggs. "Here they are, mother, two of them. The black hen was settin' on them, but I drove her away, and you can hear her cackling. Shure, Andy needs them more than she does." "Will you have them boiled or fried, Andy?" asked his mother. "Any way, mother. I'm hungry enough to ate 'em raw. It's hungry work walkin' ten miles wid a bundle on your back, let alone the fightin'." "Fighting!" exclaimed Mrs. Burke, pausing in drawing out the table. "Fightin', Andy?" chimed in Mary, in chorus. "Yes, mother," said Andy. "And who did you fight with?" asked the widow, anxiously. "With a boy that feels as big as a king; maybe bigger." "What's his name?" "I heard his father call him Godfrey." "What, Godfrey Preston?" exclaimed Mrs. Burke in something like consternation. "Yes, that's the name. He lives in a big house a mile up the road." "What made you fight with him, Andy?" inquired his mother, anxiously. "He began it."