"I confess I think Godfrey is right in commenting upon your

extraordinary liberality to the Burkes," observed Mrs. Preston.

"Lucinda," said her husband, gravely, "when my own wife deserted my
sick bed, leaving me to wrestle alone with a terrible and dangerous
disease, I was fortunate enough to find in Mrs. Burke a devoted nurse.
The money I have paid her is no adequate compensation, nor is it all
that I intend to do for her."

There was a part of this speech that startled Mrs. Preston. Never
before had her husband complained of her desertion of him in his
sickness, and she hoped that he had been imposed upon by the excuse
which she gave of saving herself for Godfrey. Now she saw that in this
she had not been altogether successful, and she regretted having
referred to Mrs. Burke, and so brought this reproach upon herself. She
felt it necessary to say something in extenuation.

"It was because I wanted to live for Godfrey," she said, with a
flushed face. "Nothing but that would have taken me away from you at
such a time. It was a great trial to me," she continued, putting up
her handkerchief to eyes that were perfectly dry.

"We will say no more about it," said Colonel Preston, gravely. "I
shall not refer to it, unless you undervalue my obligations to Mrs.
Burke."

Mrs. Preston thought it best not to reply, but on one thing that her
husband had said, she commented to Godfrey.

"Your father speaks of giving more money to Mrs. Burke. I suppose we
shall not know anything about it if he does."

"Perhaps he will leave her some money in his will," said Godfrey.

"Very likely. If he does, there is such a thing as contesting a
will--that is, if he gives her much."

Mrs. Preston was right. Her husband did intend to give his devoted
nurse something in his will, but of that more anon. There was one
thing which he did at once, and that was to buy the cottage which Mrs.
Burke occupied, from the heir, a non-resident. Mrs. Burke didn't learn
this until she went to pay her rent to the storekeeper, who had acted
as agent for the owner.

"I have nothing to do with the house any longer, Mrs. Burke," he said.

"Then who shall I pay rent to?" said Mrs. Burke.

"To Colonel Preston, who has recently bought the house."

Mrs. Burke, therefore, called at the house of the colonel.

Mr. and Mrs. Preston were sitting together when the servant announced
that she wished to speak to him.

"You seem to have a good deal of business with Mrs. Burke," said his
wife, in a very unpleasant tone.

"None that I care to conceal," he said, smiling. "Show Mrs. Burke in
here, Jane," he continued, addressing the servant.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Burke," he said, pleasantly.

"Good-morning," said Mrs. Preston, coldly.

"Good-morning, sir, I'm glad to see you looking so much better."

"Oh, yes, I am feeling pretty well now."

"I didn't find out till just now, Colonel Preston, that you were my
landlord."

Here Mrs. Preston pricked up her ears, for it was news to her also, as
her husband had not mentioned his recent purchase.

"Yes, I thought I would buy the house, as it was in the market."

"I have come to pay my rent. I have been in the habit of paying
fifteen dollars a quarter."

"I won't be a hard landlord," said Colonel Preston. "You are welcome
to live in the house, if it suits you, free of all rent."

"This is too much kindness," said Mrs. Burke, quite overwhelmed by the
unexpected liberality.

Mrs. Preston thought so, too, but could not well say anything.

"There's been kindness on both sides, Mrs. Burke. Put up your money, I
don't want it, but I have no doubt you will find use for it. Buy
yourself a new dress."

"Thank you, Colonel Preston. You are very generous, and I am very
grateful," said the widow.

"I have something to be grateful for also, Mrs. Burke. If you want any
repairs, just let me know, and they shall be attended to."

"Thank you, sir, but the house is very comfortable."

She soon took her leave.

"When did you buy that house, Colonel Preston?" asked his wife.

"A month since."

"You didn't say anything about it to me."

"Nor to anyone else, except those with whom I did the business."

Mrs. Preston would like to have said more, but she did not think it
expedient, remembering what she had brought upon herself before.




CHAPTER XXIV
ANDY'S JOURNEY


Toward the first of April of the succeeding year, Miss Sophia Grant
took a severe cold, not serious, indeed, but such as to make it
prudent for her to remain indoors. This occasioned a little
derangement of her sister's plans; for both sisters were in the habit,
about the first of April and of October, of taking a journey to
Boston--partly for a change, and partly because at these times certain
banks in which they owned stock declared dividends, which they took
the opportunity to collect. But this spring it seemed doubtful if they
could go. Yet they wanted the money--a part of it, at least.

"Send Andrew," suggested Miss Sophia, after her sister had stated the
difficulty.

In general Miss Priscilla did not approve Sophia's suggestions, but
this struck her more favorably.

"I don't know but we might," she said, slowly. "He is a boy to be
trusted."

"Just so."

"And I think he is a smart boy."

"Just so."

"He can take care of himself. You remember how he saved Colonel
Preston from the robber?"

"Just so."

"Then, on the other hand, he has never been to Boston."

"He could ask."

"I don't suppose there would be any particular difficulty. I could
give him all the necessary directions."

"Just so."

"I'll propose it to him."

So, after supper, as Andy was going out into the woodshed for an
armful of wood, Miss Priscilla stopped him.

"Were you ever in Boston, Andy?" asked she.

"No, ma'am."

"I wish you had been."

"Why, ma'am?"

"Because I should like to send you there on some business."

"I'll go, ma'am," said Andy, eagerly.

Like most boys of his age, no proposition could have been more
agreeable.

"Do you think you could find your way there, and around the city?"

"No fear of that, ma'am," said Andy, confidently.

"We generally go ourselves, as you know, but my sister is sick, and I
don't like to leave her."

"Of course not, ma'am," said Andy, quite approving any plan that
opened the way for a journey to him.

"We own bank stock, and on the first of April they pay us dividends.
Now, if we send you, do you think you can get to the bank, get the
money, and bring it back safe?"

"I'll do it for you, ma'am," said Andy.

"Well, I'll think of it between now and next week. If we send you at
all, you must start next Monday."

"I'll go any day, ma'am," said Andy, "any day you name."

Miss Priscilla finally decided to send Andrew, but cautioned him
against saying anything about it, except to his own family.

On Monday morning, just before the morning train was to start, Andrew
appeared on the platform of the modest village depot with a small
carpetbag in his hand, lent him by the Misses Grant.

"Give me a ticket to Boston," said he to the station master.

Godfrey Preston, who was about to return to his boarding school, had
just purchased a ticket, and overheard this. He didn't much care to
speak to Andy, but his curiosity overcame his pride.

"Are you going to Boston?" he asked.

"Yes," said Andy.

"What are you going for?"

"Important business."

"Has Miss Grant turned you off?"

"She didn't say anything about it this morning. Why, do you want to
take my place?"

"Do you think I'd stoop to be a hired boy?" said Godfrey, haughtily.

"You wouldn't need to stoop," said Andy; "you ain't any too tall."

Godfrey winced at this. He was not tall of his age, and he wanted to
be. Andy had been growing faster than he, and was now, though scarcely
as old, quite two inches taller.

"It makes no difference about being tall," he rejoined. "I am a
gentleman, and don't have to work for a living like you do."

"What are you going to be when you grow up?"

"A lawyer."

"Then won't you work for money?"

"Of course."

"Then you'll be a hired man, and work for a living."

"That's very different. When are you coming back?"

"When I've finished my business."

"How soon will that be?"

"I can't tell yet."

"Humph! I shouldn't wonder if you were running away."

"Don't you tell anybody," said Andy, in a bantering tone.

"Where did you get the money to pay for your ticket?"

"What would you give to know?"

"You are impudent," said Godfrey, his cheek flushing.

"So are your questions," said Andy.

"I dare say you stole it."

"Look here, Godfrey Preston," said Andy, roused to indignation by this
insinuation, "you'd better not say that again, if you know what's best
for yourself."

He advanced a step with a threatening look, and Godfrey instinctively
receded.

"That comes of my speaking to my inferior," he said.

"You can't do that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know anybody that's inferior to you."

Godfrey turned on his heel wrathfully, muttering something about a
"low beggar," which Andy, not hearing, did not resent.

The whistle of the locomotive was heard, and the cars came along.

With high anticipation of pleasure, Andy got aboard. He had before him
a journey of close upon a hundred miles, and he wished it had been
longer. He had never been much of a traveler, and the scenes which
were to greet his eyes were all novel. He had heard a good deal of
Boston also, and he wanted to see it.

Besides the money which Miss Grant had given him to defray his
expenses, he had with him ten dollars of his own. Since his mother had
received the two donations from Colonel Preston she made Andy keep
half his wages for his own use. These were now seven dollars a week,
so he kept three and a half, and of this sum was able to lay up about
half. So he had a supply of money in his trunk, of which he had taken
with him ten dollars.

"Maybe I'll see something I want to buy in the city," he said to
himself.

I don't mean to dwell upon the journey. There is nothing very exciting
in a railway trip, even of a hundred miles, nowadays, unless, indeed,
the cars run off the track, or over the embankment, and then it is
altogether too exciting to be agreeable. For the sake of my young
hero, whom I really begin to like, though he was "only an Irish boy,"
I am glad to say that nothing of that sort took place; but in good
time--about the time when the clock on the Old South steeple indicated
noon--Andy's train drove into the Boston & Maine Railway depot,
fronting on Haymarket Square.

"Inquire your way to Washington Street."

That was the first direction that Andy had received from Miss
Priscilla, and that was what our hero did first.

The question was addressed to a very civil young man, who politely
gave Andy the necessary directions. So, in a short time, he reached
Washington Street by way of Court Street.

The next thing was to inquire the way to the Merchants' Bank, that
being the one in which the ladies owned the largest amount of stock.

"Where is the Merchants' Bank?" asked Andy of a boy, whose
blacking-box denoted his occupation.

"I'll show you, mister," said the boy. "Come along." His young guide,
instead of taking him to the bank, took him to the side door of the
court-house, and said:

"Go in there."

It was a massive stone building, and Andy, not suspecting that he was
being fooled, went in. Wandering at random, he found his way into a
room, where a trial was going on. That opened his eyes.

"He cheated me," thought Andy. "Maybe I'll get even with him."

He retraced his steps, and again found himself in the street. His
fraudulent young guide, with a grin on a face not over clean, was
awaiting his appearance.




CHAPTER XXV
THE MERCHANT FROM PORTLAND


"Look here, young chap," said Andy, "what made you tell me that was
the Merchants' Bank?"

"Isn't it?" asked the bootblack, with a grin.

"It's the bank where you'll be wanted some time. Shouldn't wonder if
they'd make a mistake and lock you up instead of your money."

"Have you got any money in the Merchants' Bank?" asked the other.

"I'm goin' to see if they won't give me some. If you hadn't cheated
me, maybe I'd have invited you to dine with me at my hotel."

"Where are you stoppin'?" asked the street boy, not quite knowing how
much of Andy's story to believe.

"At the most fashionable hotel."

"Parker's?"

"You're good at guessin'. Perhaps you'd like to dine there?"

"I don't know as they'd let me in," said the boy, doubtfully; "but
I'll show you where there's a nice eatin' house, where they don't
charge half so much."

"'Twouldn't be fashionable enough for me. I shall have to dine alone.
See what comes of tryin' to fool your grandfather."

Andy went on, leaving the boy in doubt whether his jest had really
lost him a dinner.

Andy didn't go to the Parker House, however. His expenses were to be
paid by the Misses Grant, and he felt that it wouldn't be right to be
extravagant at their expense.

"I shall come across an eatin' house presently," he said to himself.

Not far off he found one with the bill of fare exposed outside, with
the prices. Andy examined it, and found that it was not an expensive
place. He really felt hungry after his morning's ride, and determined,
before he attended to his business, to get dinner. He accordingly
entered, and seated himself at one of the tables. A waiter came up and
awaited his commands.

"What'll you have?" he asked.

"Bring me a plate of roast beef, and a cup of coffee," said Andy, "and
be quick about it, for I haven't eaten anything for three weeks."

"Then I don't think one plate will be enough for you," said the
waiter, laughing.

"It'll do to begin on," said Andy.

The order was quickly filled, and Andy set to work energetically.

It is strange how we run across acquaintances when we least expect it.
Andy had no idea that he knew anybody in the eating house, and
therefore didn't look around, feeling no special interest in the
company. Yet there was one present who recognized him as soon as he
entered, and watched him with strong interest. The interest was not
friendly, however, as might be inferred from the scowl with which he
surveyed him. This will not be a matter of surprise to the reader when
I say that the observer was no other than Fairfax, whose attempt to
rob Colonel Preston had been defeated by Andy.

He recognized the boy at once, both from his appearance and his voice,
and deep feelings of resentment ran in his breast. To be foiled was
disagreeable enough, but to be foiled by a boy was most humiliating,
and he had vowed revenge, if ever an opportunity occurred. For this
reason he felt exultant when he saw his enemy walking into the eating
house.

"I'll follow him," he said to himself, "and it'll go hard if I don't
get even with him for that trick he played on me."

But how did it happen that Andy did not recognize Fairfax?

For two reasons: First, because the adventurer was sitting behind him,
and our hero faced the front of the room. Next, had he seen him, it
was doubtful if he would have recognized a man whom he was far from
expecting to see. For Fairfax was skilled in disguises, and no longer
was the black-whiskered individual that we formerly knew him. From
motives of prudence, he had shaved off his black hair and whiskers,
and now appeared in a red wig, and whiskers of the same hue. If any of
my readers would like to know how effectual this disguise is, let them
try it, and I will guarantee that they won't know themselves when they
come to look at their likeness in the mirror.

After disposing of what he had ordered, Andy also ordered a plate of
apple dumpling, which he ate with great satisfaction.

"I wouldn't mind eatin' here every day," he thought. "Maybe I'll be in
business here some day myself, and then I'll come here and dine."

Fairfax was through with his dinner, but waited till Andy arose. He
then arose and followed him to the desk, where both paid at the same
time. He was careless of recognition, for he felt confident in his
disguise.

"Now," thought Andy, "I must go to the bank."

But he didn't know where the bank was. So, when he got into the
street, he asked a gentleman whom he met: "Sir, can you direct me to
the Merchants' Bank?"

"It is in State Street," said the gentleman. "I am going past it, so
if you will come along with me, I will show you."

"Thank you, sir," said our hero, politely.

"Merchants' Bank!" said Fairfax to himself, beginning to feel
interested. "I wonder what he's going there for? Perhaps I can raise a
little money, besides having my revenge."

He had an added inducement now in following our hero.

When Andy went into the bank, Fairfax followed him. He was in the room
when Andy received the dividends, and, with sparkling eyes, he saw
that it was, a thick roll of bills, representing, no doubt, a
considerable sum of money.

"That money must be mine," he said to himself. "It can't be the boy's.
He must have been sent by some other person. The loss will get him
into trouble. Very likely he will be considered a thief. That would
just suit me."

Andy was careful, however. He put the money into a pocketbook, or,
rather, wallet, with which he had been supplied by the Misses Grant,
put it in his inside pocket, and then buttoned his coat up tight. He
was determined not to lose anything by carelessness.

But this was not his last business visit. There was another bank in
the same street where it was necessary for him to call and receive
dividends. Again Fairfax followed him, and again he saw Andy receive a
considerable sum of money.

"There's fat pickings here," thought Fairfax. "Now, I must manage, in
some way, to relieve him of that money. There's altogether too much
for a youngster like him. Shouldn't wonder if the money belonged to
that man I tried to rob. If so, all the better."

In this conjecture, as we know, Fairfax was mistaken. However, it made
comparatively little difference to him whose money it was, as long as
there was a chance of his getting it into his possession. The fact
was, that his finances were not in a very flourishing condition just
at present. He could have done better to follow some honest and
respectable business, and avoid all the dishonest shifts and
infractions of law to which he was compelled to resort, but he had
started wrong, and it was difficult to persuade him that even now it
would have been much better for him to amend his life and ways. In
this state of affairs he thought it a great piece of good luck that he
should have fallen in with a boy in charge of a large sum of money,
whom, from his youth and inexperience, he would have less trouble in
robbing than an older person.

Andy had already decided how he would spend the afternoon. He had
heard a good deal about the Boston Museum, its large collection of
curiosities, and the plays that were performed there. One of the
pleasantest anticipations he had was of a visit to this place, the
paradise of country people. Now that his business was concluded, he
determined to go there at once. But first he must inquire the way.

Turning around, he saw Fairfax without recognizing him.

"Can you direct me to the Boston Museum?" he asked.

"Certainly, with pleasure," said Fairfax, with alacrity. "In fact, I
am going there myself. I suppose you are going to the afternoon
performance?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you ever been there?"

"No; but I have heard a good deal about it. I don't live in the city."

"Nor do I," said Fairfax. "I am a merchant of Portland, Maine. I have
come to the city to buy my winter stock of goods. As I only come twice
a year, I generally try to enjoy myself a little while I am here. Do
you stay in the city overnight?"

"Yes," said Andy.

"So do I. Here is the Museum."

They had reached the Museum, which, as some of my readers are aware,
is situated in Tremont Street.

"We go up these stairs," said Fairfax. "If you don't object, we will
take seats together."

"I shall be glad to have company," said Andy, politely.

Reserved seats adjoining were furnished, and the adventurer and his
intended victim entered the Museum.




CHAPTER XXVI
SPINNING THE WEB


There was a short interval before the play commenced. This Andy
improved by examining the large stock of curiosities which have been
gathered from all parts of the world for the gratification of
visitors. Fairfax kept at his side, and spoke freely of all they saw.
There was something about him which seemed to Andy strangely familiar.
Was it in his features, or in his voice? He could not tell. The red
whig and whiskers misled him. Andy finally set it down as a mere
chance resemblance to someone whom he had met formerly, and dismissed
it from his mind.

At length the increasing crowds pouring into the lecture-room reminded
them that the play was about to begin.

"Shall we go in and take our seats?" said Fairfax.

Andy assented, and they were speedily in their seats.

I do not propose to speak of the play. It was a novelty to Andy to see
a dramatic representation, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Fairfax was
more accustomed to such things, but pretended to be equally
interested, feeling that in this way he could ingratiate himself
better into Andy's confidence.

At last it was over, and they went out of the building.

"How did you like it?" asked Fairfax.

"Tiptop," said Andy, promptly. "Don't you think so?"

"Capital," answered Fairfax, with simulated delight. "I am glad I had
company. I don't enjoy anything half as well alone. By the way, where
do you pass the night?"

"At some hotel--I don't know which."

"Suppose you go to the Adams House. I've got to stop overnight
somewhere, and it might be pleasanter going in company."

"Where is the Adams House?"