"Only an Irish boy!" answered the other, with a droll look and a
slight brogue.
"Then what business have you leaning against my fence?" again demanded
Godfrey, imperiously.
"Shure, I didn't know it was your fence."
"Then you know now. Quit leaning against it."
"Why should I, now? I don't hurt it, do I?"
"No matter--I told you to go away. We don't want any beggars here."
"Shure, I don't see any," said the other boy, demurely.
"What are you but a beggar?"
"Shure, I'm a gintleman of indepindent fortune."
"You look like it," said Godfrey, disdainfully. "Where do you keep
it?"
"Here!" said the Irish boy, tapping a bundle which he carried over his
shoulder, wrapped in a red cotton handkerchief, with a stick thrust
through beneath the knot.
"What's your name?"
"Andy Burke. What's yours?"
"I don't feel under any obligations to answer your questions," said
Godfrey, haughtily.
"Don't you? Then what made you ask me?"
"That's different. You are only an Irish boy."
"And who are you?"
"I am the only son of Colonel Anthony Preston," returned Godfrey,
impressively.
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