"It is quite true," said the doctor. "Colonel Preston intended your

mother to pay no rent--he told me so himself; but, as your mother has
no written proof, I suppose you will have to pay it. Shall I lend you
the money?"

"No need, doctor. We've got money enough for that. But we must move
out in three days. Where shall we go?"

"I'll tell you. I own the small house occupied by Grant Melton. He
sets out for the West to-morrow, with his family. I'll let it to your
mother for the same rent she's been paying."

"Thank you," said Andy, gratefully. "It's better than the house we've
been living in. It's a good change."

"Perhaps you won't like me for a landlord so well as Mrs. Preston,"
said the doctor, smiling.

"I'll risk it," said Andy.

Two days afterward the transfer was made. Mrs. Preston was
disappointed, and Godfrey still more so, to find their malice had done
the widow Burke no harm.

By advice of the doctor, Andy deferred paying the thirty dollars
claimed as rent, availing himself of the twelve months allowed for the
payment of debts due the estate of one deceased.

"If it was anybody else, I'd pay at once," said Andy; "but Mrs.
Preston has treated us so meanly that I don't mean to hurry."

The delay made Mrs. Preston angry, but she was advised that it was
quite legal.




CHAPTER XXXIII
ANDY LOSES HIS PLACE


Andy and his mother moved into Dr. Townley's cottage. It was rather an
improvement upon the house in which they had lived hitherto, but,
then, there was this great difference: For the one they had no rent to
pay, but for the other they paid fifty dollars rent. Dr. Townley would
gladly have charged nothing, but he was a comparatively poor man, and
could not afford to be as generous as his heart would have dictated.
He had a fair income, being skillful and in good practice, but he had
a son in college, and his expenses were a considerable drain upon his
father's purse. Still, with the money saved, and Andy's weekly
earnings, the Burkes were able to live very comfortably and still pay
the rent. But a real misfortune was in store for Andy.

Miss Sophia Grant was taken sick with lung fever. The sickness lasted
for some weeks, and left her considerably debilitated.

"What do you think of Sophia, Dr. Townley?" asked Priscilla,
anxiously. "She remains weak, and she has a bad cough. I am feeling
alarmed about her."

"I'll tell you what I think, Miss Priscilla," said the doctor, "though
I am sorry to do it. The fact is, the air here is altogether too
bracing for your sister. She will have to go to some inland town,
where the east winds are not felt."

"Then I must go, too," said Miss Priscilla. "We have lived together
from girlhood, and we cannot be separated."

"I supposed you would be unwilling to leave her, so I am afraid we
must make up our minds to lose you both."

"Do you think, doctor, that Sophia will, by and by, be strong enough
to return here?"

"I am afraid not. The effects of lung fever are always felt for a long
time. She will improve, no doubt, but a return to this harsh air
would, I fear, bring back her old trouble."

"I asked because I wanted to know whether it would be best to keep
this place. After what you have told me, I shall try to sell it."

"I am truly sorry, Miss Priscilla."

"So am I, Dr. Townley. I don't expect any place will seem so much like
home as this."

"Have you any particular place that you think of going to?"

"Yes; I have a niece married in a small town near Syracuse, New York
State. They don't have east winds there. I'll get Priscilla (she's
named after me) to hunt up a cottage that we can live in, and move
right out there. I suppose we'd better go soon?"

"Better go at once. Weak lungs must be humored."

"Then I'll write to Priscilla to get me a boarding house, and we'll
start next week."

There was one person whom this removal was likely to affect seriously,
and this was our young hero.

"I hope Andy'll be able to get a place," said Priscilla, after she had
communicated the doctor's orders to her sister.

"Just so, Priscilla. He's a good boy."

"I will give him a good recommendation."

"Just so. Does he know it?"

"No. I will call him in and tell him, so that he can be looking out
for another position."

"Just so."

Andy answered the call of Miss Priscilla. He had been sawing wood, and
there was sawdust in his sleeves.

"How long have you been with us, Andy?" asked his mistress.

"Over a year, ma'am."

"I wish I could keep you for a year to come."

"Can't you?" asked Andy, startled.

"No, Andy."

"What's the matter, Miss Priscilla? Have I done anything wrong?"

"No, Andy. We are both of us quite satisfied with you."

"You haven't lost any money, ma'am, have you? I'll work for less, if
you can't afford to pay as much as you've been paying."

"Thank you, Andy, but it isn't that. My sister's lungs are weak, and
Dr. Townley has ordered her to move to a less exposed place. We are
going to move away from the town."

"I'm sorry," said Andy, and he was, for other reasons than because he
was about to lose a good place.

"We shall miss you, Andy."

"Just so," chimed in Miss Sophia, with a cough.

"You see how weak my sister's lungs are. It's on her account we are
going."

"Shan't you come back again, ma'am?"

"No, Andy. The doctor says it will never be safe for us to do so. I
hope you will get a good place."

"I hope so, ma'am; but you needn't think of that."

"We are prepared to give you a good recommendation. We feel perfectly
satisfied with you in every way."

"Just so," said Sophia.

"Thank you, ma'am, and you, too, Miss Sophia. I've tried to do my duty
faithfully by you."

"And you have, Andy."

"How soon do you go, ma'am?"

"Next week, if we can get away. The doctor says we can't get away too
soon. So you had better be looking around, to see if you can get a
place somewhere."

"I will, ma'am; but I'll stay with you till the last day. You'll need
me to pack up for you."

"Yes, we shall. To-morrow I'll write you the recommendation."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Andy did not sleep as much as usual that night. His wages were the
main support of his mother and sister, and he could think of no other
place in the village where he was likely to be employed. He had a
little money saved up, but he didn't like the idea of spending it.
Besides, it would not last long.

"I wish Dr. Townley wanted a boy," thought Andy. "I'd rather work for
the doctor than for anybody else in the village. He's a nice man, and
he cares just as much for poor folks as he does for rich folks. I am
sure he likes me better than he does Godfrey Preston."

But Dr. Townley already had a boy, whom he did not like to turn off.
Nor could he have afforded to pay Andy as high wages as he had
received from the Misses Grant. There really seemed to be no vacant
place in the village for our young hero to fill, and, of course, this
troubled him.

Next week the Misses Grant got away from the village. They gave Andy
as a present an old-fashioned silver watch, about the size and shape
of a turnip. Andy was glad to get it, old-fashioned as it was, and he
thanked them warmly.

The day afterward he was walking slowly along the village street, when
he came upon Godfrey Preston strutting along, with an air of
importance. He and his mother had removed to Boston, but they were
visiting the town on a little business.

"Hello, there!" said Godfrey, halting.

"Hello!" said Andy.

"You've lost your place, haven't you?" asked Godfrey, with a sneer.

"Yes."

"How are you going to live?"

"By eating, I expect," answered Andy, shortly.

"If you can get anything to eat, you mean?"

"We got enough so far."

"Perhaps you won't have, long. You may have to go to the poorhouse."

"When I do, I shall find you there."

"What do you mean?" demanded Godfrey, angrily.

"I mean I shan't go there till you do."

"You're proud for a beggar."

"I'm more of a gentleman than you are."

"I'd thrash you, only I won't demean myself by doing it."

"That's lucky, or you might get thrashed yourself."

"You're only an Irish boy."

"I'm proud of that same. You won't find me go back on my country."

Godfrey walked away. Somehow, he could never get the better of Andy.

"I hope I'll see you begging in rags, some day," he thought to
himself.

But boys like Andy are not often reduced to such a point.




CHAPTER XXXIV
THE WILL AT LAST


The next three months passed very unsatisfactorily for Andy. In a
small country town like that in which he lived there was little
opportunity for a boy, however industrious, to earn money. The farmers
generally had sons of their own, or were already provided with
assistants, and there was no manufacturing establishment in the
village to furnish employment to those who didn't like agriculture.
Andy had some idea of learning the carpenter trade, there being a
carpenter who was willing to take an apprentice, but, unfortunately,
he was unwilling to pay any wages for the first year--only boarding
the apprentice--and our hero felt, for his mother's sake, that it
would not do to make such an engagement.

When the three months were over, the stock of money which Andy and his
mother had saved up was almost gone. In fact, he had not enough left
to pay the next quarter's rent to Dr. Townley.

Things were in this unsatisfactory state, when something happened that
had a material effect upon Andy's fortunes, and, as my readers will be
glad to know, for their improvement.

To explain what it was, I must go back to a period shortly before
Colonel's Preston's death. One day he met the doctor in the street,
and stopped to speak to him.

"Dr. Townley," he said, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"I shall be very glad to serve you, Colonel Preston," said the doctor.

Thereupon Colonel Preston drew from his inside pocket a sealed
envelope of large size.

"I want you to take charge of this for me," he said.

"Certainly," said the doctor, in some surprise.

"Please read what I have written upon the envelope."

The doctor, his attention called to the envelope, read, inscribed in
large, distinct characters:

"Not to be opened till six months after my death."

"I see you want an explanation," said the colonel. "Here it is--the
paper contained in this envelope is an important one. I won't tell you
what it is. When you come to open it, it will explain itself."

"But, colonel, you are likely to live as long as I. In that case, I
can't follow your directions."

"Of course, we can't tell the duration of our lives. Still, I think
you will outlive me. If not, I shall reclaim the paper. Meanwhile, I
shall be glad to have you take charge of it for me."

"Of course I will. It is a slight favor to ask."

"It may prove important. By the way, there is no need of telling
anyone, unless, perchance, your wife. I don't want to force you to
keep anything secret from her. Mrs. Townley, I know, may be depended
upon."

"I think she may. Well, Colonel Preston, set your mind at rest. I will
take care of the paper."

When Colonel Preston died, not long afterward, the doctor naturally
thought of the paper, and, as no will was left, it occurred to him
that this might be a will; but, in that case, he couldn't understand
why he should have been enjoined to keep it six months before opening
it. On the whole, he concluded that it was not a will.

Seated at the supper table, about this time, Mrs. Townley said,
suddenly:

"Henry, how long is it since Colonel Preston died?"

"Let me see," said the doctor, thoughtfully. "It is--yes, it is six
months to-morrow."

"Then it is time for you to open that envelope he gave into your
charge."

"So it is. My dear, your feminine curiosity inspired that thought,"
said the doctor, smiling.

"Perhaps you are right. I own I am a little inquisitive in the
matter."

"I am glad you mentioned it. I have so much on my mind that I should
have let the day pass, and I should be sorry not to fulfill to the
letter the promise I made to my friend."

"Have you any suspicion as to the nature of the document?"

"I thought it might be a will; but, if so, I can't understand why a
delay of six months should have been interposed."

"Colonel Preston may have had his reasons. Possibly he did not fully
trust his wife's attention to his requests."

"It may be so. I am afraid his married life was not altogether
harmonious. Mrs. Preston always struck me as a very selfish woman."

"No doubt of that."

"She evidently regarded herself as superior to the rest of us."

"In that respect Godfrey is like her. He is a self-conceited,
disagreeable young jackanapes. I wouldn't give much for his chances of
honorable distinction in life. I'll tell you of a boy who will, in my
opinion, beat him in the race of life."

"Who is that?"

"Andy Burke."

"Andy is a good boy, but I am afraid the family is doing poorly now."

"So I fear. The, fact is, there doesn't appear to be much opening for
a lad like Andy in this village."

"I hear that Mr. Graves, the storekeeper, who is getting old, wants to
get a boy, or young man, with a small capital to take an interest in
his business, and, eventually, succeed him."

"That would be a good chance for Andy, if he had the small capital;
but he probably hasn't ten dollars in the world."

"That's a pity."

"If I were a capitalist, I wouldn't mind starting him myself; but as
you, my dear, are my most precious property, and are not readily
convertible into cash, I don't quite see my way to do anything to
assist him."

"I didn't think of you, Henry. Country doctors are not likely to get
rich. But I thought Colonel Preston, who seemed to take an interest in
the boy, might do something for him."

"If he had lived, he might have done so--probably he would. But Mrs.
Preston and Godfrey hate the Burkes like poison, for no good reason
that I know of, and there is no chance of help from that quarter."

"I should think not."

The next day, Dr. Townley, immediately after breakfast, drew the
envelope already referred to from among his private papers, and,
breaking the seal, opened it.

To his surprise and excitement, he discovered that the inclosure was
the last will and testament of his deceased friend. Accompanying it
was the following note:


"MY DEAR FRIEND, DR. TOWNLEY: This is the duplicate of a will
executed recently, and expresses my well-considered wishes as
to the disposition of my property. The original will may have
been found and executed before you open this envelope. In
that case, of course, this will be of no value, and you can
destroy it. But I am aware that valuable papers are liable to
loss or injury, and, therefore, I deem it prudent to place
this duplicate in your possession, that, if the other be
lost, you may see it carried into execution. I have named you
my executor, and am sure, out of regard to me, you will
accept the trust, and fulfill it to the best of your ability.
I have always felt the utmost confidence in your friendship,
and this will account for my troubling you on the present
occasion.
"Your friend,
"Anthony Preston."


From this letter Dr. Townley turned to the perusal of the will. The
contents filled him with equal surprise and pleasure.

"Five thousand dollars to Andy Burke!" he repeated. "That is capital!
It will start the boy in life, and with his good habits it will make
him sure of a competence by and by. With half of it he can buy an
interest in Graves' store, and the balance will, if well invested,
give him a handsome addition to his income. Then there's the bequest
for the town library--a capital idea, that! It will do a great deal to
make the town attractive, and be a powerful agency for refining and
educating the people."

Just then Mrs. Townley, who knew what her husband was about, came into
the room.

"Well, Henry," she said, "is the paper important?"

"I should say it was. It is Colonel Preston's last will and
testatment."

"Is it possible? How does he leave his property?"

"He leaves five thousand dollars for a town library."

"Does he remember Andy Burke?"

"He leaves him five thousand dollars, and gives his mother the house
they used to live in."

"That's splendid! But what will Mrs. Preston say?"

"Well, that remains to be seen," said the doctor, laughing.




CHAPTER XXXV
MRS. PRESTON IS UNPLEASANTLY SURPRISED


Dr. Townley thought it best to consult with the town authorities as to
the course to be pursued, since, as it appeared, the town was
interested in the will. It was decided that the doctor and Mr. Graves,
who was the Chairman of the Selectmen, should go to Boston the next
day and inform Mrs. Preston of the discovery of the will. Until after
this interview it was deemed best not to mention the matter to Andy or
his mother.

Mrs. Preston was established in a showy house at the South End. At
last she was living as she desired to do. She went to the theater and
the opera, and was thinking whether she could afford to set up a
carriage. Godfrey she had placed at a private school, and was anxious
to have him prepare for admission to Harvard College, but in this hope
she seemed destined to be disappointed. Godfrey wanted to see life and
enjoy himself, and had no intention of submitting to the drudgery of
hard study.

"Godfrey," said his mother one morning, "I have received a letter from
your teacher, complaining that you don't work."

"I'm not going to work myself to death," answered Godfrey.

"I don't expect you to hurt yourself with work, but I want you to go
to college."

"Oh, well, I'll get in somehow."

"Don't you want to stand well as a scholar?" she asked.

"I leave that to the poor fellows that have got to work for a living.
I am rich."

"You may lose your money."

"I don't mean to."

"Suppose you do?"

"Then I will go to work."

"I should like to have you graduate well at college and then study
law. You might get into Congress," said his mother.

"I guess I'll know enough for that," said Godfrey, carelessly. "I want
to have a good time."

That was not the worst of it, however. He extorted from his mother a
large allowance, which he spent at bars and billiard saloons, and one
day was brought home drunk by a schoolfellow.

"Oh, Godfrey, how can you do so?" exclaimed the selfish woman, for
once fairly alarmed on another's account.

"Hush up, old woman!" hiccoughed Godfrey.

Mrs. Preston was mortified to think this should be said to her before
Godfrey's schoolmate.

"He does not know what he is saying," she said, apologetically.

"Yes, I do," persisted Godfrey. "I'm a--a gen'leman's son. I don't
want you to interfere with gen'leman's son."

He was put to bed, and awoke the next morning with a splitting
headache. It was the morning of the day which the doctor and Mr.
Graves had chosen to call on Mrs. Preston. She was preparing to go
out, when a servant came upstairs to announce that two gentlemen were
in the parlor, and wanted to see her.

"Two gentlemen! What do they look like, Nancy?"

"One of 'em looks like he was from the country, mum."

This referred to Mr. Graves, who did have a rustic look. The doctor
would readily have passed for a Bostonian.

"Did they give their names?"

"No, mum."

"I will go down directly. I suppose they won't stay long."

Mrs. Preston sailed into the parlor with the air of a city lady, as
she proudly imagined, but stopped short in some surprise when she
recognized her visitors. Of course, she did not suspect the nature of
their business.

Dr. Townley arose as she entered.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Preston," he said. "I hope I find you well?"

"I am quite well," said Mrs. Preston, coldly, for she had never liked
the doctor. She had an unpleasant feeling that he understood her, and
was not among her admirers. "Good-morning, Mr. Graves. You come to the
city occasionally?"

"I don't often get time to come up, but the doctor thought I ought to
come."

"Indeed! I am sorry to say that I am just going out."

"I must ask you to defer going till we have communicated our
business," said the doctor.

"Business?" repeated Mrs. Preston, seating herself in some surprise.

"Yes--business of importance. In short, your husband's will has come
to light."

"My husband's will!" exclaimed Mrs. Preston. "I thought----"

She checked herself suddenly. She was about to say, "I thought I had
destroyed it," and that would have let the cat out of the bag with a
vengeance.

"You thought that he left no will," said the doctor, finishing the
sentence for her. "He really left two----"

"Two!"

"That's it--he executed two--exactly alike. One he left in my hands."

"That is a likely story!" said Mrs. Preston, excitedly. "If that is
the case, why, I ask, have we heard nothing of this before?"

"Because it was contained in an envelope, which I was requested not to
open for six months after his decease. The time having expired----"

"May I ask what are the provisions of this pretended will?" demanded
Mrs. Preston, in visible excitement.