Only an Irish Boy Part 4

"What's his name?"

"I heard his father call him G.o.dfrey."

"What, G.o.dfrey 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."

"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. G.o.dfrey 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 G.o.dfrey 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 ent.i.tled, 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 G.o.dfrey entered.

"Well, G.o.dfrey, 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 thras.h.i.+ng a boy down in the yard."

"What boy?"

"n.o.body you know, mother. It was only an Irish boy."

"What was your reason for punis.h.i.+ng him?" asked Mrs. Preston, adopting G.o.dfrey'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."

"Was your father there?"

"He came up in the midst of it, and, instead of taking my part, he took the part of the Irish boy."

"I don't see how Mr. Preston can be so unfair," said his wife. "It is his duty to stand by his family."

"I felt ashamed to have him scold me before the impudent boy. Of course, he enjoyed it, and I suppose he will think he can be impudent to me again."

"No doubt. I will speak to your father about it. He really shouldn't be so inconsiderate. But what is that stain on your coat, G.o.dfrey? I should think you had been down on your back on the ground."

"Oh," said G.o.dfrey, rather embarra.s.sed, "I happened to slip as I was wrestling with the fellow, and fell on my back. However, I was up again directly and gave it to him, I can tell you. If father hadn't stopped me I'd have laid him out," he continued, in a swaggering tone.

It will be seen that G.o.dfrey did not always confine himself to the truth. Indeed, he found it rather hard at all times to admit either that he had been in the wrong or had been worsted. Even if his mother sometimes suspected that his accounts were a trifle distorted, she forbore to question their accuracy. Mother and son had a sort of tacit compact by which they stood by each other, and made common cause against Colonel Preston.

"Don't you know the boy? Doesn't he live in the neighborhood?" asked Mrs. Preston, after a pause.