CHAPTER XXXIIIANDY LOSES HIS PLACE
Andy and his mother moved into Dr. Townley's cottage. It was rather animprovement upon the house in which they had lived hitherto, but,then, there was this great difference: For the one they had no rent topay, but for the other they paid fifty dollars rent. Dr. Townley wouldgladly have charged nothing, but he was a comparatively poor man, andcould not afford to be as generous as his heart would have dictated.He had a fair income, being skillful and in good practice, but he hada son in college, and his expenses were a considerable drain upon hisfather's purse. Still, with the money saved, and Andy's weeklyearnings, the Burkes were able to live very comfortably and still paythe rent. But a real misfortune was in store for Andy.
Miss Sophia Grant was taken sick with lung fever. The sickness lastedfor some weeks, and left her considerably debilitated.
"What do you think of Sophia, Dr. Townley?" asked Priscilla,anxiously. "She remains weak, and she has a bad cough. I am feelingalarmed about her."
"I'll tell you what I think, Miss Priscilla," said the doctor, "thoughI am sorry to do it. The fact is, the air here is altogether toobracing for your sister. She will have to go to some inland town,where the east winds are not felt."
"Then I must go, too," said Miss Priscilla. "We have lived togetherfrom girlhood, and we cannot be separated."
"I supposed you would be unwilling to leave her, so I am afraid wemust make up our minds to lose you both."
"Do you think, doctor, that Sophia will, by and by, be strong enoughto return here?"
"I am afraid not. The effects of lung fever are always felt for a longtime. She will improve, no doubt, but a return to this harsh airwould, I fear, bring back her old trouble."
"I asked because I wanted to know whether it would be best to keepthis place. After what you have told me, I shall try to sell it."
"I am truly sorry, Miss Priscilla."
"So am I, Dr. Townley. I don't expect any place will seem so much likehome as this."
"Have you any particular place that you think of going to?"
"Yes; I have a niece married in a small town near Syracuse, New YorkState. They don't have east winds there. I'll get Priscilla (she'snamed after me) to hunt up a cottage that we can live in, and moveright out there. I suppose we'd better go soon?"
"Better go at once. Weak lungs must be humored."
"Then I'll write to Priscilla to get me a boarding house, and we'llstart next week."
There was one person whom this removal was likely to affect seriously,and this was our young hero.
"I hope Andy'll be able to get a place," said Priscilla, after she hadcommunicated the doctor's orders to her sister.
"Just so, Priscilla. He's a good boy."
"I will give him a good recommendation."
"Just so. Does he know it?"
"No. I will call him in and tell him, so that he can be looking outfor another position."
"Just so."
Andy answered the call of Miss Priscilla. He had been sawing wood, andthere was sawdust in his sleeves.
"How long have you been with us, Andy?" asked his mistress.
"Over a year, ma'am."
"I wish I could keep you for a year to come."
"Can't you?" asked Andy, startled.
"No, Andy."
"What's the matter, Miss Priscilla? Have I done anything wrong?"
"No, Andy. We are both of us quite satisfied with you."
"You haven't lost any money, ma'am, have you? I'll work for less, ifyou can't afford to pay as much as you've been paying."
"Thank you, Andy, but it isn't that. My sister's lungs are weak, andDr. Townley has ordered her to move to a less exposed place. We aregoing to move away from the town."
"I'm sorry," said Andy, and he was, for other reasons than because hewas about to lose a good place.
"We shall miss you, Andy."
"Just so," chimed in Miss Sophia, with a cough.
"You see how weak my sister's lungs are. It's on her account we aregoing."
"Shan't you come back again, ma'am?"
"No, Andy. The doctor says it will never be safe for us to do so. Ihope you will get a good place."
"I hope so, ma'am; but you needn't think of that."
"We are prepared to give you a good recommendation. We feel perfectlysatisfied with you in every way."
"Just so," said Sophia.
"Thank you, ma'am, and you, too, Miss Sophia. I've tried to do my dutyfaithfully by you."
"And you have, Andy."
"How soon do you go, ma'am?"
"Next week, if we can get away. The doctor says we can't get away toosoon. So you had better be looking around, to see if you can get aplace somewhere."
"I will, ma'am; but I'll stay with you till the last day. You'll needme to pack up for you."
"Yes, we shall. To-morrow I'll write you the recommendation."
"Thank you, ma'am."
Andy did not sleep as much as usual that night. His wages were themain support of his mother and sister, and he could think of no otherplace in the village where he was likely to be employed. He had alittle money saved up, but he didn't like the idea of spending it.Besides, it would not last long.
"I wish Dr. Townley wanted a boy," thought Andy. "I'd rather work forthe doctor than for anybody else in the village. He's a nice man, andhe cares just as much for poor folks as he does for rich folks. I amsure he likes me better than he does Godfrey Preston."
But Dr. Townley already had a boy, whom he did not like to turn off.Nor could he have afforded to pay Andy as high wages as he hadreceived from the Misses Grant. There really seemed to be no vacantplace in the village for our young hero to fill, and, of course, thistroubled him.
Next week the Misses Grant got away from the village. They gave Andyas a present an old-fashioned silver watch, about the size and shapeof a turnip. Andy was glad to get it, old-fashioned as it was, and hethanked them warmly.
The day afterward he was walking slowly along the village street, whenhe came upon Godfrey Preston strutting along, with an air ofimportance. He and his mother had removed to Boston, but they werevisiting the town on a little business.
"Hello, there!" said Godfrey, halting.
"Hello!" said Andy.
"You've lost your place, haven't you?" asked Godfrey, with a sneer.
"Yes."
"How are you going to live?"
"By eating, I expect," answered Andy, shortly.
"If you can get anything to eat, you mean?"
"We got enough so far."
"Perhaps you won't have, long. You may have to go to the poorhouse."
"When I do, I shall find you there."
"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 tohimself.
But boys like Andy are not often reduced to such a point.