"I wouldn't be 'thieving Pat' again," he said, doubling his fist, "no, not for—not for—" At this moment his eye rested on the handsome new edifice at Woodlawn; and he added with an impressive gesture, "no, not for the Squire's new house. I'd rather starve again and have mammy push me down stairs or anything rather than go sneaking round hiding behind the walls, and feeling so ashamed to look any body in the face. No, no, I'll stick to the new Patrick, as Mrs. Taylor tells about, let what will come, I'll never lie to Bertie, and go back to my old ways."
He felt stronger and better after this resolve, and walked on rapidly until he reached the tree into which he had climbed to watch for Bertie. The sight of his old home just beyond, had excited him a good deal; and he laughed at the recollections of his fear that the Squire had sent Joe Allen to take him to jail.
Then he stepped up to the door and looked within. All seemed deserted. A few half-burnt brands had broken and fallen apart on the wide, old-fashioned hearth, the low wooden chair usually occupied by his father was vacant; a piece of crust, mouldy with age, lay on the table, and a broken pipe beside it.
Pat stood a moment gazing around, his face growing every moment more sad, then suddenly ran up the old creaking stairs to his own chamber.
"She's done it. I knew she would," he exclaimed, angrily. "She always did everything she could to spite me!"
He picked from the dirty floor two or three tail feathers of a tiny yellow bird which he had saved from the jaws of a cat, though not until it had received it's death wound; and which after a fashion of his own he had stuffed.
This, almost his only treasure, his drunken step-mother had deliberately pulled to pieces, scattering the feathers on the floor.
One tiny feather he put into his pocket as a memorial of the life which had forever passed, and then hurried away from scenes which recalled such bitter memories.
"Dad is gone," he exclaimed aloud, walking a short distance from the house, then turning back for another last gaze; "and perhaps I shall never see him again."
