"You're jist the picture of the Earl of Barleycorn's ildest son that I saw before I left Ireland."
Godfrey possessed so large a share of ridiculous pride that he felt pleased with the compliment, though he was not clear about its sincerity.
"Where do you live?" he asked, with a slight lowering of his tone.
"Where do I live? Shure, I don't live anywhere now, but I'm going to live in the village. My mother came here a month ago."
"Why didn't you come with her?"
"I was workin' with a farmer, but the work gave out and I came home. Maybe I'll find work here."
"I think I know where your mother lives," said John, who had heard the conversation. "She lives up the road a mile or so, in a little house with two rooms. It's where old Jake Barlow used to live."
"Thank you, sir. I guess I'll be goin', then, as my mother'll be expectin' me. Do you know if she's well?" and a look of anxiety came over the boy's honest, good-natured face.
The question was addressed to John, but of this Godfrey was not quite sure. He thought the inquiry was made of him, and his pride was touched.
"What should I know of your mother, you beggar?" he said, with a sneer. "I don't associate with such low people."