“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.