“There is no will here,” said the squire, after a careful search.

“I did not expect you would find one,” said the widow; “but it was necessary to make sure.”

“Is there any other place where your husband kept papers?”

“We will look in the drawers and trunks,” said Mrs. Preston; “but I don’t think any will be found.”

None was found.

“Can I do anything more for you, Mrs. Preston?” asked the squire.

“I should like your advice, Squire Tisdale.  I am not used to business, and I would like the aid of your experience.”

“Willingly,” said the squire, who felt flattered.

“As my husband left no will, I suppose the estate goes to my son and myself?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“How ought I to proceed?”

“You should apply for letters of administration, which will enable you to settle up the property.”

“Will you help me to take the necessary steps?”

“Certainly.”

“I should like to settle the estate as rapidly as possible, as I intend to remove to Boston.”

“Indeed?  We shall be sorry to lose you.  Can you not content yourself here?”

“Everything will remind me of my poor husband,” said Mrs. Preston, with another application of the handkerchief to her still tearless eyes.

Squire Tisdale was impressed with the idea that she had more feeling than he had thought.

“I didn’t think of that,” he said, sympathetically.  “No doubt you are right.”

Mrs. Preston lost no time in applying for letters of administration.

“As soon as I get them,” she said to herself, “I will lose no time in ejecting that Irishwoman from the house my husband bought for her.  I’ll make her pay rent, too, for the time she has been in it.”

CHAPTER XXXII MRS. PRESTON’S REVENGE

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.