“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.”