Andy Burke was passing the house of Mrs. Preston, within a month after Colonel Preston's death, when Godfrey, who had not gone back to boarding school, showed himself at the front door.
"Come here!" said Godfrey, in an imperious tone.
Andy turned his head, and paused.
"Who are you talking to?" he asked.
"To you, to be sure."
"What's wanted?"
"My mother wants to see you."
"All right; I'll come in."
"You can go around to the back door," said Godfrey, who seemed to find pleasure in making himself disagreeable.
"I know I can, but I don't mean to," said Andy, walking up to the front entrance, where Godfrey was standing.
"The back door is good enough for you," said the other, offensively.
"I shouldn't mind going to it if you hadn't asked me," said Andy. "Just move away, will you?"
Godfrey did not stir.
"Very well," said Andy, turning; "tell your mother you would not let me in."
"Come in, if you want to," said Godfrey, at length, moving aside.
"I don't care much about it. I only came to oblige your mother."
"Maybe you won't like what she has to say," said Godfrey, with a disagreeable smile.
"I'll soon know," said Andy.
He entered the house, and Godfrey called upstairs: "Mother, the Burke boy is here."
"I'll be down directly," was the answer. "He can sit down."
Andy sat down on a chair in the hall, not receiving an invitation to enter the sitting-room, and waited for Mrs. Preston to appear. He wondered a little what she wanted with him, but thought it likely that she had some errand or service in which she wished to employ him. He did not know the extent of her dislike for him and his mother.
After a while Mrs. Preston came downstairs. She was dressed in black, but showed no other mark of sorrow for the loss of her husband. Indeed, she was looking in better health than usual.
"You can come into the sitting-room," she said, coldly.
Andy followed her, and so did Godfrey, who felt a malicious pleasure in hearing what he knew beforehand his mother intended to say.
"I believe your name is Andrew?" she commenced.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Your mother occupies a house belonging to my late husband."
"Yes, ma'am," answered Andy, who now began to guess at the object of the interview.
"I find, by examining my husband's papers, that she has paid no rent for the last six months."
"That's true," said Andy. "She offered to pay it, but Colonel Preston told her he didn't want no rent from her. He said she could have it for nothing."
"That's a likely story," said Godfrey, with a sneer.
"It's a true story," said Andy, in a firm voice, steadily eying his young antagonist.
"This may be true, or it may not be true," said Mrs. Preston, coldly. "If true, I suppose my husband gave your mother a paper of some kind, agreeing to let her have the house rent-free."
"She hasn't got any paper," said Andy.
"I thought not," said Godfrey, sneering. "You forgot to write her one."
"Be quiet, Godfrey," said his mother. "I prefer to manage this matter myself. Then, your mother has no paper to show in proof of what you assert?"
"No, ma'am. The colonel didn't think it was necessary. He just told my mother, when she first came with the rent, that she needn't trouble herself to come again on that errand. He said that she had nursed him when he was sick with the smallpox, and he'd never forget it, and that he'd bought the house expressly for her."
"I am aware that your mother nursed my husband in his sickness," said Mrs. Preston, coldly. "I also know that my husband paid her very handsomely for her services."
"That's true, ma'am," said Andy. "He was a fine, generous man, the colonel was, and I'll always say it."
"There really seems no reason why, in addition to this compensation, your mother should receive a present of her rent. How much rent did she pay before my husband bought the house?"
"Fifteen dollars a quarter."
"Then she has not paid rent for six months. I find she owes my husband's estate thirty dollars."
"Colonel Preston told her she wasn't to pay it."
"How do I know that?"
"My mother says it, and she wouldn't tell a lie," said Andy, indignantly.
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