"What could he have against you? He didn't know you." "He thought as I only was an Irish boy he could insult me, and call me names, but I was too much for him." "I hope you didn't hurt him?" "I throwed him twice, mother, but then his father came up and that put a stop to the fight." "And what did his father say?" "He took my part, mother, when he found out how it was, and scolded his son. Shure, he's a gentleman." "Yes, Colonel Preston is a gentleman." "And that's where he isn't like his son, I'm thinkin'." "No. Godfrey isn't like his father. It's his mother he favors." "Faith, and I don't call it favoring," said Andy. Is the old lady as ugly and big-feelin' as the son?" "She's rather a hard woman, Andy. I go up to work there one day every week." "Do you, mother?" said Andy, not wholly pleased to hear that his mother was employed by the mother of his young enemy. "Yes, Andy." "What is it you do?" "I help about the ironing. To-morrow's my day for going there." "I wish you could stay at home, and not go out to work, mother," said Andy, soberly. "You don't look strong, mother, dear. I'm afraid you're not well." "Oh, yes, Andy, I am quite well. I shall be better, too, now that you are at home. I missed you very much. It seemed lonely without you." "I must find out some way to earn money, mother," said Andy. "I'm young and strong, and I ought to support you." "You can help me, Andy," said Mrs. Burke, cheerfully. She took up the shirt and resumed her sewing. "I'm afraid you're too steady at the work, mother," said Andy. "I shall be ironing to-morrow. It's a change from sewing, Andy. Mary, it's time to take off the eggs." Andy was soon partaking of the frugal meal set before him. He enjoyed it, simple as it was, and left not a particle of the egg or a crumb of the bread. CHAPTER IV MRS. PRESTON Whenever Godfrey Preston had any difficulty with his father, he always went to his mother, and from her, right or wrong, he was sure to obtain sympathy. So in the present instance, failing to receive from his father that moral support to which he deemed himself entitled, on entering the house he sought out his mother. Mrs. Preston, who was rather a spare lady, with thin lips and a sharp, hatchet-like face, was in her own room. She looked up as Godfrey entered. "Well, Godfrey, what's the matter?" she asked, seeing on her son's face an unmistakable expression of discontent. "Matter enough, mother. Father's always against me." "I know it. He appears to forget that you are his son. What is it now?" "He came up just as I was thrashing a boy down in the yard." "What boy?" "Nobody you know, mother. It was only an Irish boy." "What was your reason for punishing him?" asked Mrs. Preston, adopting Godfrey's version of the affair. "He was impudent to me. He was leaning against the fence, and I ordered him away. He was a ragged boy, with a bundle on a stick. Of course, when he wouldn't move, I went out and thrashed him."