“How soon will that be?”

“I can’t tell yet.”

“Humph!  I shouldn’t wonder if you were running away.”

“Don’t you tell anybody,” said Andy, in a bantering tone.

“Where did you get the money to pay for your ticket?”

“What would you give to know?”

“You are impudent,” said Godfrey, his cheek flushing.

“So are your questions,” said Andy.

“I dare say you stole it.”

“Look here, Godfrey Preston,” said Andy, roused to indignation by this insinuation, “you’d better not say that again, if you know what’s best for yourself.”

He advanced a step with a threatening look, and Godfrey instinctively receded.

“That comes of my speaking to my inferior,” he said.

“You can’t do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know anybody that’s inferior to you.”

Godfrey turned on his heel wrathfully, muttering something about a “low beggar,” which Andy, not hearing, did not resent.

The whistle of the locomotive was heard, and the cars came along.

With high anticipation of pleasure, Andy got aboard.  He had before him a journey of close upon a hundred miles, and he wished it had been longer.  He had never been much of a traveler, and the scenes which were to greet his eyes were all novel.  He had heard a good deal of Boston also, and he wanted to see it.

Besides the money which Miss Grant had given him to defray his expenses, he had with him ten dollars of his own.  Since his mother had received the two donations from Colonel Preston she made Andy keep half his wages for his own use.  These were now seven dollars a week, so he kept three and a half, and of this sum was able to lay up about half.  So he had a supply of money in his trunk, of which he had taken with him ten dollars.

“Maybe I’ll see something I want to buy in the city,” he said to himself.

I don’t mean to dwell upon the journey.  There is nothing very exciting in a railway trip, even of a hundred miles, nowadays, unless, indeed, the cars run off the track, or over the embankment, and then it is altogether too exciting to be agreeable.  For the sake of my young hero, whom I really begin to like, though he was “only an Irish boy,” I am glad to say that nothing of that sort took place; but in good time—­about the time when the clock on the Old South steeple indicated noon—­Andy’s train drove into the Boston & Maine Railway depot, fronting on Haymarket Square.

“Inquire your way to Washington Street.”

That was the first direction that Andy had received from Miss Priscilla, and that was what our hero did first.

The question was addressed to a very civil young man, who politely gave Andy the necessary directions.  So, in a short time, he reached Washington Street by way of Court Street.

The next thing was to inquire the way to the Merchants’ Bank, that being the one in which the ladies owned the largest amount of stock.