“I wish I could see Andy,” she sighed, looking up from her work.

“So do I, mother.”

“The sight of him would do my eyes good, he’s such a lively lad, Andy is—­always in good spirits.”

“Shure, he’s got a good heart, mother dear.  It wouldn’t be so lonely like if he was here.”

“I would send for him if there was anything to do, Mary; but we are so poor that we must all of us stay where we can get work.”

“When do you go to Colonel Preston’s, mother?  Is it to-morrow?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“I’m always lonely when you are away.”

“Perhaps you would come with me, Mary, dear.  Mrs. Preston wouldn’t object, I’m thinkin’.”

“If Andy was at home I wouldn’t feel so lonely.”

While she was speaking Andy himself had crept under the window, and heard her words.  He was planning a surprise, but waited for the last moment to announce himself.  He waited to hear what reply his mother would say.

“I think we’ll see him soon, Mary, dear.”

“What makes you say so, mother?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve got a feeling in my bones that we’ll soon meet.  The blessed saints grant that it may be so.”

“Your bones are right this time, mother,” said a merry voice.

And Andy, popping up from his stooping position, showed himself at the window.

There was a simultaneous scream from Mary and her mother.

“Is it you, Andy?” exclaimed Mary.

“It isn’t nobody else,” said Andy, rather ungrammatically.

“Come in, Andy, my darling—­come in, and tell me if you are well,” said his mother, dropping the shirt on which she was at work, and rising to her feet.

“I’ll be with you in a jiffy,” said Andy.

And, with a light leap, he cleared the window sill, and stood in the presence of his mother and sister, who vied with each other in hugging the returned prodigal.

“You’ll choke me, Sister Mary,” said Andy, good-humoredly.  “Maybe you think I’m your beau.”

“Don’t speak to her of beaux, and she only eleven years old,” said his mother.  “But you haven’t told us why you came.”

“Faith, mother, it was because the work gave out, and I thought I’d pack my trunk and come and see you and Mary.  That’s all.”

“We are glad to see you, Andy, dear, but,” continued his mother, taking a survey of her son’s appearance for the first time, “you’re lookin’ like a beggar, with your clothes all in rags.”

Andy laughed.

“Faith, it’s about so, mother.  There was no one to mend ’em for me, and I’m more used to the hoe than the needle.”

“I will sew up some of the holes when you’re gone to bed, Andy.  Are you sure you’re well, lad?”

“Well, mother?  Jist wait till you see me atin’, mother.  You’ll think I’ve got a healthy appetite.”

“I never thought, Andy.  The poor lad must be hungry.  Mary, see what there is in the closet.”