"Is it you, Andy?" exclaimed Mary.

"It isn't nobody else," said Andy, rather ungrammatically.

"Come in, Andy, my darling--come in, and tell me if you are well,"
said his mother, dropping the shirt on which she was at work, and
rising to her feet.

"I'll be with you in a jiffy," said Andy.

And, with a light leap, he cleared the window sill, and stood in the
presence of his mother and sister, who vied with each other in hugging
the returned prodigal.

"You'll choke me, Sister Mary," said Andy, good-humoredly. "Maybe you
think I'm your beau."

"Don't speak to her of beaux, and she only eleven years old," said his
mother. "But you haven't told us why you came."

"Faith, mother, it was because the work gave out, and I thought I'd
pack my trunk and come and see you and Mary. That's all."

"We are glad to see you, Andy, dear, but," continued his mother,
taking a survey of her son's appearance for the first time, "you're
lookin' like a beggar, with your clothes all in rags."

Andy laughed.

"Faith, it's about so, mother. There was no one to mend 'em for me,