He had
that chivalrous feeling of respect for his mother which every boy of
his age ought to have, more especially if that mother is a widow.
"But, Andy, I'm very sorry for the money I'll lose."
"How much is it, mother?"
"Seventy-five cents."
"I'll make it up, mother."
"I know you will if you can, Andy; but work is hard to get, and the
pay is small."
"You might go back and tell Mrs. Preston that I'm a dirty spalpeen,
and maybe she'd take you back, mother."
"I wouldn't slander my own boy like that if she'd take me back twenty
times."
"That's the way to talk, mother," said Andy, well pleased. "Don't you
be afeared--we'll get along somehow. More by token, here's three
dollars I brought home with me yisterday."
Andy pulled out from his pocket six silver half-dollars, and offered
them to his mother.
"Where did you get them, Andy?" she asked, in surprise.
"Where did I get them? One way and another, by overwork. We won't
starve while them last, will we?"
Andy's cheerful tone had its effect upon his mother.
"Perhaps you're right, Andy," she said, smiling.
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