Only an Irish Boy Andy Burke's Fortunes

CHAPTER XVI THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT

God­frey didn't re­turn to school at all. He fan­cied that it would be more aris­to­crat­ic to go to a board­ing school, and, his moth­er con­cur­ring in this view, he was en­tered as a schol­ar at the Melville Acade­my, sit­uat­ed in Melville, twelve miles dis­tant. Once a fort­night he came home to spend the Sun­day. On these oc­ca­sions he flour­ished about with a tiny cane, and put on more airs than ev­er. No one missed him much, out­side of his own fam­ily. Andy found the school con­sid­er­ably more agree­able af­ter his de­par­ture.

We will now sup­pose twelve months to have passed. Dur­ing this time Andy has grown con­sid­er­ably, and is now quite a stout boy. He has im­proved al­so in ed­uca­tion. The Miss­es Grant, tak­ing a kind in­ter­est in his progress, man­aged to spare him half the day in suc­ceed­ing terms, so that he con­tin­ued to at­tend school. Know­ing that he had but three hours to learn, when the oth­ers had six, he was all the more dili­gent, and was quite up to the av­er­age stan­dard for boys of his age. The fact is, Andy was an ob­serv­ing boy, and he re­al­ized that ed­uca­tion was es­sen­tial to suc­cess in life. Mr. Stone, be­fore go­ing away, talked with him on this sub­ject and gave him some ad­vice, which Andy de­ter­mined to fol­low.

As may be in­ferred from what I have said, Andy was still work­ing for the Miss­es Grant. He had grown ac­cus­tomed to their ways, and suc­ceed­ed in giv­ing them per­fect sat­is­fac­tion, and ac­com­plished quite as much work as John, his pre­de­ces­sor, though the lat­ter was a man.

As Christ­mas ap­proached, Miss Priscil­la said one day to her sis­ter:

“Don't you think, Sophia, it would be well to give An­drew a Christ­mas present?”

“Just so,” re­turned Sophia, ap­prov­ing­ly.

“He has been very faith­ful and oblig­ing all the time he has been with us.”

“Just so.”

“I have been think­ing what would be a good thing to give him.”

“A pair of spec­ta­cles,” sug­gest­ed Sophia, rather ab­sent-​mind­ed­ly.

“Sophia, you are a goose.”

“Just so,” ac­qui­esced her sis­ter, meek­ly.

“Such a gift would be very in­ap­pro­pri­ate.”

“Just so.”

“A pair of boots,” was the next sug­ges­tion.

“That would be bet­ter. Boots would be very use­ful, but I think it would be well to give him some­thing that would con­tribute to his amuse­ment. Of course, we must con­sult his taste, and not out own. We are not boys.”

“Just so,” said Sophia, prompt­ly. “And he is not a la­dy,” she added, en­larg­ing up­on the idea.

“Of course not. Now, the ques­tion is, what do boys like?”

“Just so,” said Sophia, but this ad­mis­sion did not throw much light up­on the char­ac­ter of the present to be bought.

Just then Andy him­self helped them to a de­ci­sion. He en­tered, cap in hand, and said:

“If you can spare me, Miss Grant, I would like to go skat­ing on the pond.”

“Have you a pair of skates, An­drew?”

“No, ma'am,” said Andy; “but one of the boys will lend me a pair.”

“Yes, An­drew; you can go, if you will be home ear­ly.”

“Yes, ma'am--thank you.”

As he went out, Miss Priscil­la said:

“I have it.”

“What?” asked Sophia, alarmed.

“I mean that I have found out what to give to An­drew.”

“What is it?”

“A pair of skates.”

“Just so,” said Sophia. “He will like them.”

“So I think. Sup­pose we go to the store while he is away, and buy him a pair.”

“Won't he need to try them on?” asked her sis­ter.

“No,” said Priscil­la. “They don't need to fit as ex­act­ly as boots.”

So the two sis­ters made their way to the vil­lage store, and asked to look at their stock of skates.

“Are you go­ing to skate, Miss Priscil­la?” asked the shop­keep­er, jo­cose­ly.

“No; they are for Sophia,” an­swered Priscil­la, who could joke oc­ca­sion­al­ly.

“Oh, Priscil­la,” an­swered the mat­ter-​of-​fact Sophia, “you didn't tell me about that. I am sure I could not skate. You said they were for An­drew.”

“Sophia, you are a goose.”

“Just so.”

“It was on­ly a joke.”

“Just so.”

The ladies, who nev­er did things by halves, se­lect­ed the best pair in the store, and paid for them. When Andy had re­turned from skat­ing, Priscil­la said: “How did you like the skat­ing, An­drew?”

“It was bul­ly,” said An­drew, en­thu­si­as­ti­cal­ly.

“Whose skates did you bor­row?”

“Al­fred Park­er's. They were too small for me, but I made them do.”

“I should sup­pose you would like to have a pair of your own.”

"So I should, but I can't af­ford to buy a pair, just yet.

“I'll tell you what I want to do, and maybe you'll help me about buyin' it.”

“What is it, An­drew?”

“You know Christ­mas is comin', ma'am, and I want to buy my moth­er a nice dress for a Christ­mas present--not a cal­ico one, but a thick one for win­ter.”

“Al­paca or de laine?”

“I ex­pect so; I don't know the name of what I want, but you do. How much would it cost?”

“I think you could get a good de laine for fifty cents a yard. I saw some at the store this af­ter­noon.”

“And about how many yards would be want­ed, ma'am?”

“About twelve, I should think.”

“Then it would be six dol­lars.”

“Just so,” said Sophia, who thought it about time she took part in the con­ver­sa­tion.

“I've got the mon­ey, ma'am, and I'll give it to you, if you and Miss Sophia will be kind enough to buy it for me.”

“To be sure we will, An­drew,” said Priscil­la, kind­ly. “I am glad you are such a good son.”

“Just so, An­drew.”

“You see,” said Andy, “moth­er won't buy any­thing for her­self. She al­ways wants to buy things for Mary and me. She wants us to be well-​dressed, but she goes with the same old clothes. So I want her to have a new dress.”

“You want her to have it at Christ­mas, then?”

“Yes, ma'am, if it won't be too much trou­ble.”

“That is in two days. To-​mor­row, Sophia and I will buy the dress.”

“Thank you. Here's the mon­ey,” and Andy count­ed out six dol­lars in bills, of which Miss Priscil­la took charge.

The next day they ful­filled their com­mis­sion, and pur­chased a fine dress pat­tern at the vil­lage store. It cost rather more than six dol­lars, but this they paid out of their own pock­ets, and did not re­port to Andy. Just af­ter sup­per, as he was about to go home to spend Christ­mas Eve, they placed the bun­dle in his hands.

“Isn't it beau­ti­ful!” he ex­claimed, with de­light. “Won't moth­er be glad to get it?”

“She'll think she has a good son, An­drew.”

“Shure, I ought to be good to her, for she's a jew­el of a moth­er.”

“That is right, An­drew. I al­ways like to hear a boy speak well of his moth­er. It is a great plea­sure to a moth­er to have a good son.”

“Shure, ma'am,” said Andy, with more kind­ness of heart than dis­cre­tion, “I hope you'll have one your­self.”

“Just so,” said Sophia, with the forced habit up­on her.

“Sophia, you are a goose!” said Priscil­la, blush­ing a lit­tle.

“Just so, Priscil­la.”

“We are too old to mar­ry, An­drew,” said Priscil­la; “but we thank you for your wish.”

“Shure, ma'am, you are on­ly in the prime of life.”

“Just so,” said Sophia, bright­en­ing up.

“I shall be six­ty next spring. That can hard­ly be in the prime of life.”

“I was readin' of a la­dy that got mar­ried at sev­en­ty-​nine, ma'am.”

“Just so,” said Sophia, ea­ger­ly.

Miss Priscil­la did not care to pur­sue the sub­ject.

“We have thought of you,” she con­tin­ued, “and, as you have been very oblig­ing, we have bought you a Christ­mas present. Here it is.”

Andy no soon­er saw the skates than his face bright­ened up with the most ev­ident sat­is­fac­tion.

“It's just what I want­ed,” he said, joy­ful­ly. “They're reg­ular beau­ties! I'm ev­er so much obliged to you.”

“Sophia want­ed to get you a pair of spec­ta­cles, but I thought these would suit you bet­ter.”

Andy went off in­to a fit of laugh­ter at the idea, in which both the ladies joined him. Then, af­ter thank­ing them again, he hur­ried home, hard­ly know­ing which gave him greater plea­sure, his own present, or his moth­er's.

I will not stop to de­scribe Andy's Christ­mas, for this is on­ly a ret­ro­spect, but car­ry my read­er for­ward to the next Septem­ber, when Andy met with an ad­ven­ture, which even­tu­al­ly had a con­sid­er­able ef­fect up­on his for­tunes.