"Does she know you are coming to-day?"
"No. I would have wrote to her, but my fingers isn't very ready with the pen."
"Nor mine either," said John. "I'd rather take a licking any time than write a letter. Come round and see us some time."
"The boy'll lick me," said Andy, laughing.
"I guess you can manage him."
Andy smiled, for it was his own conviction, also. With his bundle on his shoulder he trudged on, light of heart, for he was about to see his mother and sister, both of whom he warmly loved.
CHAPTER III — ANDY AND HIS MOTHER
The house in which the Widow Burke and her daughter lived was a very humble one. It had not been painted for many years, and the original coat had worn off, leaving it dark and time-stained. But when Mrs. Burke came to town, a short time before, it was the only dwelling she could hire that was held at a rent within her means. So she and Mary, who was now eleven years old, had moved in their scanty furniture and made it look as much like a home as possible.