"Thank you, ma'am, and you, too, Miss Sophia. I've tried to do my duty faithfully by you." "And you have, Andy." "How soon do you go, ma'am?" "Next week, if we can get away. The doctor says we can't get away too soon. So you had better be looking around, to see if you can get a place somewhere." "I will, ma'am; but I'll stay with you till the last day. You'll need me to pack up for you." "Yes, we shall. To-morrow I'll write you the recommendation." "Thank you, ma'am." Andy did not sleep as much as usual that night. His wages were the main support of his mother and sister, and he could think of no other place in the village where he was likely to be employed. He had a little money saved up, but he didn't like the idea of spending it. Besides, it would not last long. "I wish Dr. Townley wanted a boy," thought Andy. "I'd rather work for the doctor than for anybody else in the village. He's a nice man, and he cares just as much for poor folks as he does for rich folks. I am sure he likes me better than he does Godfrey Preston." But Dr. Townley already had a boy, whom he did not like to turn off. Nor could he have afforded to pay Andy as high wages as he had received from the Misses Grant. There really seemed to be no vacant place in the village for our young hero to fill, and, of course, this troubled him. Next week the Misses Grant got away from the village. They gave Andy as a present an old-fashioned silver watch, about the size and shape of a turnip. Andy was glad to get it, old-fashioned as it was, and he thanked them warmly. The day afterward he was walking slowly along the village street, when he came upon Godfrey Preston strutting along, with an air of importance. He and his mother had removed to Boston, but they were visiting the town on a little business. "Hello, there!" said Godfrey, halting. "Hello!" said Andy. "You've lost your place, haven't you?" asked Godfrey, with a sneer. "Yes." "How are you going to live?" "By eating, I expect," answered Andy, shortly. "If you can get anything to eat, you mean?" "We got enough so far." "Perhaps you won't have, long. You may have to go to the poorhouse." "When I do, I shall find you there." "What do you mean?" demanded Godfrey, angrily. "I mean I shan't go there till you do." "You're proud for a beggar." "I'm more of a gentleman than you are." "I'd thrash you, only I won't demean myself by doing it." "That's lucky, or you might get thrashed yourself." "You're only an Irish boy." "I'm proud of that same. You won't find me go back on my country." Godfrey walked away. Somehow, he could never get the better of Andy. "I hope I'll see you begging in rags, some day," he thought to himself. But boys like Andy are not often reduced to such a point. CHAPTER XXXIV THE WILL AT LAST