“I was smart enough to foil you once, Mr. Highwayman,” thought Andy; but he only answered, “Very likely he might.”
“Come, that’s candid! It makes me think better of you. Go ahead, and I’ll follow.”
“What does this robber want of Mrs. Brackett, I wonder?” thought Andy. “Ought I to warn her of his character?”
Mrs. Brackett was ironing in the kitchen, when Andy entered, followed by the stranger. She was not feeling very good-natured, and jumped to the conclusion that the intruder was a peddler.
“Henry,” said she, sharply, “what makes you bring a peddler into the house? You know I never have anything to do with them.”
Andy was going to plead in excuse that the stranger had inquired particularly for her, but he was spared the trouble.
“I must say, Lucinda,” said the young man, bursting out laughing, “that you give a curious reception to your only brother.”
“George, is it really you?” exclaimed Mrs. Brackett, laying down her flatiron, in surprise and joy.
“I reckon it is. How are you, old girl?”
Mrs. Brackett, who was really attached to her younger brother, advanced eagerly and imprinted a kiss on his cheek, and began to express her wonder at his sudden appearance.