job like that. Does he think I'm made of money?"
As Andy went out of the yard, the idea dawned upon the deacon that he
had saved two cents, and his face was luminous with satisfaction.




CHAPTER VI
THE TWO OLD MAIDS


"He's the meanest man I ever saw," thought Andy. "Does he think I work
on nothing a year, and find myself? Divil a bit of work will I do for
him agin, if I know it." But better luck was in store for Andy.
Quarter of a mile farther on, in a two-story house, old-fashioned but
neat, lived two maiden ladies of very uncertain age, Misses Priscilla
and Sophia Grant. I am not aware that any relationship existed between
them and our distinguished ex-President. Nevertheless, they were of
very respectable family and connections, and of independent property,
owning bank stock which brought them in an annual income of about
twelve hundred dollars, in addition to the house they occupied, and
half a dozen acres of land thereunto pertaining. Now, this was not a
colossal fortune, but in a country place like Crampton it made them
ladies of large property.

Priscilla was the elder of the two, and general manager. Sophia
contented herself with being the echo of her stronger-minded sister,
and was very apt to assent to her remarks, either by repeating them,
or by saying: "Just so." She was a mild, inoffensive creature, but
very charitable and amiable, and so little given to opposition that
there was always the greatest harmony between them. They kept a
gardener and out-of-door servant of all work, who cultivated the land,
sawed and split their wood, ran of errands, and made himself generally
useful. He had one drawback, unfortunately. He would occasionally
indulge to excess in certain fiery alcoholic compounds sold at the
village tavern, and, as natural consequence, get drunk. He had usually
the good sense to keep out of the way while under the influence of
liquor, and hitherto the good ladies had borne with and retained him
in their employ.

But a crisis had arrived. That morning he had come for orders while
inebriated, and in his drunken folly had actually gone so far as to
call Miss Priscilla darling and offer to kiss her.

Miss Priscilla was, of course, horrified, and so expressed herself.

"Law, Sophia," she said, "I came near fainting away. The idea of his
offering to kiss me."

"Just so," said Sophia.

"So presuming."

"Just so."

"Of course, I couldn't think of employing him any longer."

"Couldn't think of it."

"He might have asked to kiss me again."

"Just so."

"Or you!"

"Just so," said Sophia, in some excitement of manner.

"The neighbors would talk."

"Just so."

"So I told him that I was very sorry, but it would be necessary for
him to find work somewhere else."

"But who will do our work?" inquired Sophia, with a rare, original
suggestion.

"We must get somebody else."

"So we must," acquiesced Sophia, as if she had suddenly received light
on a very dark subject.

"But I don't know who we can get."

"Just so."

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Priscilla answered it in
person. They kept no domestic servant, only a gardener.

"I've brought the load of wood you ordered, ma'am," said the teamster.
"Where shall I put it?"

"In the backyard. John--no, John has left us. I will show you,
myself."

She put on a cape-bonnet and indicated the place in the yard where she
wanted the wood dumped.

Then she returned to the house.

"It's very awkward that John should have acted so," she said, in a
tone of annoyance. "I don't know who is to saw and split that wood."

"We couldn't do it," said Sophia, with another original suggestion.

"Of course not. That would be perfectly absurd."

"Just so."

"I don't believe there is enough wood sawed and split to last through
the day."

"We must have some split."

"Of course. But I really don't know of anyone in the neighborhood that
we could get."

"John."

"John has gone away. You know why."

"Perhaps he wouldn't kiss us if we told him not to," suggested Sophia.

"I am afraid you are a goose," said Priscilla, composedly.

"Just so," slipped out of Sophia's mouth from force of habit, but her
sister was so used to hearing it that she took no particular notice of
it on the present occasion.

It was just at this time that Andy, released from his severe and
unrequited labor for Deacon Jones, came by. He saw the wood being
unloaded in the back yard, and an idea struck him.

"Maybe I can get the chance of sawin' and splittin' that wood. I'll
try, anyway. I wonder who lives there?"

He immediately opened the front gate, and marching up to the front
door, knocked vigorously.

"There's somebody at the door," said Sophia.

"Perhaps it's John come back," said Priscilla. "I am afraid of going
to open it. He might want to kiss me again."

"I'll go," said Sophia, rising with unwonted alacrity.

"He might want to kiss you."

"I'll tell him not to."

"We'll both go," said Priscilla, decisively.

Accordingly, the two sisters, for mutual protection, both went to the
door, and opened it guardedly. Their courage returned when they saw
that it was only a boy.

"What do you want?" asked Priscilla.

"Just so," chimed in Sophia.

"You've got a load of wood in the back yard," commenced Andy.

"Just so," said Sophia.

"Do you want it sawed and split?"

"Just so," answered the younger sister, brightening up.

"Can you do it?" inquired Priscilla.

"Try me and see," answered Andy.

"You're not a man."

"Just so," chimed in her sister.

"Faith, and I soon will be," said Andy. "I can saw and split wood as
well as any man you ever saw."

"What is your name?"

"Andy Burke."

"Are you a--Hibernian?" inquired Priscilla.

"I don't know what you mane by that same," said Andy, perplexed.

"To what nation do you belong?"

"Oh, that's what you want, ma'am. I'm only an Irish boy."

"And you say your name is Burke?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you related to Burke, the great orator? He was an Irishman, I
believe."

"Just so," said Sophia.

"He was my great-grandfather, ma'am," answered Andy, who had never
heard of the eminent orator, but thought the claim would improve his
chances of obtaining the job of sawing and splitting wood.

"Your great-grandfather!" exclaimed Priscilla, in astonishment.
"Really, this is most extraordinary. And you are poor?"

"If I wasn't I wouldn't be goin' round sawin' wood, ma'am."

"Just so," said Sophia.

"To think that the grandson of the great Burke should come to us for
employment," said Priscilla, who was in some respects easily taken in.
"I think we must hire him, Sophia."

"Just so."

"Perhaps he could take John's place altogether."

"Just so."

"I must find out whether he understands gardening."

"Just so."

Andy stood by, waiting patiently for the decision, and hoping that it
might be favorable. Of course, it was wrong for him to tell a lie, but
he thought his engagement depended upon it, and, although a very good
boy in the main, he was not altogether perfect, as my readers are
destined to find out.




CHAPTER VII
ANDY OBTAINS A PLACE


"Do you understand the care of a garden?" asked Miss Priscilla.

"Yes," answered Andy, promptly.

"Then you are used to agricultural labor?"

"I've been workin' on a farm all summer."

"Our man has just left us, and we must hire somebody else."

"Just so," chimed in Sophia.

"And if you are competent----"

"Just so."

"Try me," said Andy.

"I really think we'd better, Sophia," said Priscilla, turning to her
sister.

"Just so."

"We'll try you for a week. What compensation do you require?"

"Is it wages you mane?"

Of course, Sophia was the speaker.

"How much did you give the man you had before me?" asked Andy,
shrewdly.

"Twenty-five dollars a month and board."

"That'll suit me," said Andy, audaciously.

At the farmer's for whom he had been working he had received board and
a dollar a week.

"But you are a boy. Men folks get more than boys."

"I'll do as much work as he did any day," said Andy, stoutly.

"I really don't know what to say. I think we'll give you five dollars
the first week, and then we will decide about the future."

"Just so," said Sophia.

"I'm to eat here?" inquired Andy.

"Yes, you will make your home here. We will put you in John's room."

"When shall I begin?"

"We shall need some wood split at once."

"All right, ma'am; but it's dinner time. I'll just go home and get a
bite to keep up my strength."

"You can have your dinner here. It will be ready in half an hour."

"Just so."

"All right," said Andy; "I'm agreeable."

"Do you live in the village?"

"I do now. My mother lives up the road a bit."

"Very well. Go and split some wood, and we'll call you in to dinner.
You'll find the ax and the saw in the shed."

Andy found the articles referred to, and straight-way went to work. He
was really a "smart boy to work," as the phrase is, and he went to
work with a will. He was greatly elated at having secured so
profitable a job. He meant to give satisfaction, so as to keep it.
Five dollars a week and board seemed to him a magnificent income, and
compared very favorably with his wages at Farmer Belknap's, where he
had been working all summer.

"It's lucky I came here," he said to himself, as he plied the saw
energetically; "but what queer old ladies they are, especially the one
that's always sayin' 'just so.' If I'd tell her I'd got fifty-seven
grand-children I'll bet she'd say, 'Just so.'"

Miss Sophia was looking out of the back window to see how their new
"man" worked. Occasionally Priscilla, as she was setting the table,
glanced out of the window in passing.

"He takes hold as if he knew how," she observed.

"Just so," responded her sister.

"I think he works faster than John."

"Just so."

"It's very strange that he should be the great-grandson of the great
Burke."

"Just so."

"And that he should be sawing wood for us, too."

"Just so."

"I think we must be kind to him, sister."

"Just so. He won't try to kiss you, Priscilla," said Sophia, with a
sudden thought.

"You are a goose, sister," said Priscilla.

"Just so," assented the other, from force of habit.

In due time dinner was ready, and Andy was summoned from the woodpile.
He was in nowise sorry for the summons. He had a hearty appetite at
all times, and just now it was increased by his unrequited labor in
turning the grindstone for Deacon Jones, as well as by the half-hour
he had spent at his new task.

The Misses Grant did their own work, as I have before observed. They
were excellent cooks, and the dinner now upon the table, though plain,
was very savory and inviting. Andy's eyes fairly danced with
satisfaction as they rested on the roast beef and vegetables, which
emitted an odor of a highly satisfactory character. At the farmer's
where he had last worked, the table had been plentifully supplied, but
the cooking was very rudimentary.

"Sit down, Andrew," said Miss Priscilla. "I think that is your name."

"They call me 'Andy,' ma'am."

"That means Andrew. Shall I give you some meat?"

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Will you have it rare or well done?"

"Well done, ma'am. I have it rare enough, anyhow."

"Sophia, Andrew has made a joke," said Priscilla, with a decorous
smile.

"Just so, Priscilla," and Sophia smiled also.

"I suppose your family has been reduced to poverty, Andrew, or you
would not be seeking employment of this character?"

"True for you, ma'am," said Andy, with his mouth full.

"How was your family property lost?"

"Faith, ma'am, by speculation," said Andy, hazarding a guess.

"That is very sad. Sophia, we must never speculate."

"Just so, Priscilla."

"Or we might lose all our money."

"And have to saw wood for a living," said Sophia, with another
brilliant idea.

Andy was so amused at the picture thus suggested that he came near
choking, but recovered himself, after a violent attack of coughing.

"I am afraid, Sophia, we should scarcely make a living in that way,"
said Priscilla, with a smile.

"Just so," acquiesced her sister.

"How long have you been in this country, Andrew?"

"Six years, ma'am."

Andy kept at work industriously. His appetite proved to be quite equal
to the emergency, but his evident enjoyment of the dinner only
gratified the ladies, who, though eccentric, were kind-hearted, and
not in the least mean.

"What will I do, ma'am?" asked our hero.

"You may go on sawing wood."

So Andy resumed work, and worked faithfully during the afternoon. By
this time there was a large pile of wood ready for the stove.

At half-past four Miss Priscilla appeared at the door.

"Andrew," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you feel tired?"

"A little, ma'am."

"Does your mother know where you are?"

"No, ma'am."

"Would you like to go home and tell her?"

"Yes, ma'am, I would."

"You can go now or after supper, as you prefer."

"Then I'll go now."

"But remember, we want you to come back and sleep here. We do not feel
safe without a man in the house."

Andy felt rather flattered at being referred to as a man.

"I'll be back any time you name, ma'am," he said.

"Then be here at nine o'clock."

"Very well, ma'am."

Andy put on his coat and hurried home. He wanted to tell his mother
and Mary the good news about his engagement at such unexpected good
wages.

Mrs. Burke looked up inquiringly as he entered the house.

"Where have you been, Andy?" she asked. "I thought I had lost you."

"You don't lose me so easy, mother. Shure, I've been at work."

"At work?"

"Yes--I've got a place."

"What, already? You are lucky, Andy."

"You'll think so, mother. How much do you think I get besides board,
mind?"

"A dollar a week?"

"What do you say to three dollars?"

"You're a lucky boy, Andy. I'm glad for you."

"What do you say to five dollars a week, mother?" asked Andy, in
exultation.

"You're jokin' now, Andy," said his sister. "I don't believe you've
got a place at all."

"I have, thin, and it's five dollars a week I'm to get. Ask the ould
maids I'm workin' for."

"The Miss Grants?"

"I expect so. They're mighty queer old ladies. One of 'm is always
sayin' 'just so.'"

"That is Miss Sophia Grant."

"Just so," said Andy, mimicking her.

"You mustn't do that, Andy. Then it's them you're workin' for?"

"Yes, and they're mighty kind. I'm goin' back to sleep there to-night.
They want a man to purtect them."

Mary laughed.

"Do you call yourself a man, Andy? What could you do if a burglar
tried to get in?"

"I'd give him what Paddy did the drum," said Andy.

"Supper is ready," announced his mother.

It was a cheerful meal. Andy had done much better than his mother
expected, and it seemed likely that they would get along in spite of
her being discharged by Mrs. Preston.




CHAPTER VIII
THE MIDNIGHT ALARM


"It's time for me to be goin' back," said Andy, as the clock indicated
twenty minutes to nine.

"I wish you could sleep at home, Andy," said his mother.

"They want me to purtect them," said our hero, with a little
importance. "I'll pack my clothes in a handkerchief."

"I've got a little carpetbag," said his mother. "That looks more
respectable. When you have earned enough money, you must have a new
suit of clothes."

"How much will they cost, mother?"

"I think we can get a cheap suit for fifteen or twenty dollars. When
you have got the money, we will call on the tailor and see."

"Shure, I'll feel like a gentleman with a suit like that."

"Mary, go and get the carpetbag. I've packed Andy's clothes all ready
for him."

Mary soon reappeared with the carpetbag, and Andy set out on his
return.

Presently, as the clock struck nine, he knocked at the door of the
Misses Grant. The elder opened the door for him.

"You are punctual, Andrew," she said, approvingly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are those your clothes?" pointing to the bag he carried.

"What few I've got, ma'am. I'm goin' to buy some more when I've got
money enough."

"That is right. We want you to look respectable."

"Just so," remarked Sophia, who felt that it was time for her to
speak.

Then a brilliant idea seized her.