“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.”

“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.”