Mike, with his hands in his pockets, strolls homeward, whistling a merry tune as he thinks of the smile upon the young face that haunts him. He does not fancy there will be much difficulty in winning Nannie Bates. "All the girls like him, and why shouldn't she?" Mike has a tolerable favorable opinion of himself. He keeps a livery-stable in —— street, and takes the girls out to drive, and he flourishes his whip, and trots his fast horses along the roads with the best of them. There is a bravado sort of way about him that tells among his companions, who look up to him with a certain degree of veneration, as a being of rather a superior order to themselves. He twists his red hair over a hot iron till it stands up all about his head in little bits of curls; and he has grown a flaming mustache that is really quite killing among his female acquaintances. No wonder he is so easy concerning Nannie Bates! He couldn't imagine that Pat Rourke, with his uncouth ways and brusque appearance could presume to rival him in her heart! So he enters the stable with a joyous spring, and goes the rounds cheerfully, patting Berk's back, and speaking pleasantly to Roscoe, and giving an ear of corn to Arab, and a little more hay to all.

There's no doubt of his supremacy there—the grateful animals neigh, and paw, and rub their noses fondly upon his shoulder as he passes fearlessly around them. If Nannie could see his devotion to the helpless and dumb it would awaken within her a far deeper regard than the combined results of curling-tongs and pomatum, or the outward flourish and glitter of his equestrian establishment.

Mike has a tender heart; any body can see that who visits his nice stables, and looks upon the plump, well-cared-for horses. He has a spice of vanity; the girls are responsible, in a measure, for this, for they have flattered him until he begins to think he may be good enough for any of them; but he only thinks of Nannie Bates as a fit and desirable companion for him, and he works diligently to get the means to buy them a home. Pat strives, with the same end constantly in view, and Nannie smiles on them both with her winning, happy face, never dreaming herself the motive-power to such untiring energy. She wonders why Pat puts so much of his earnings in the savings' bank, contenting himself with his old suit, which has grown quite rusty from such continual wear; and when Mike whispers to her, in a sly way, that he is trying to get a home to offer a certain fine girl that he wants for a wife, Nannie shakes her finger witchingly at Biddy, as if to say, "I've found you out now." Mike does not relish her obtuseness, but she seems so timid and shrinking, that he is backward about speaking his sentiments plainly. Besides, he has a real affection for her, and that always brings a certain reserve with it. What in the world is he to do? That rascally Pat has such a decided advantage in seeing her every day, and he can see that he has a great deal of influence over her. He does not really think she can hesitate between them, for Pat is so rough in his dress, and has such red hair, and straight at that; and Mike pushes his fingers through the bright curls, and gives another look at himself in the little mirror that hangs in his room in the stable. The self-complacency melts away, as the object becomes dearer, and there is a slight fear that some obstacle may spring up between him and his hopes. He'll risk but he can overcome it, though, but it would be pleasanter to have the way smooth and easy. There's Molly Ryan would give her right hand for him, and Katie Doyle says he's the only boy she will ever marry, and Helen Dhue left her last place because the mistress would not permit him to stay later than ten o'clock when he went to see her. "Oh! there were girls enough ready!" and he snapped his fingers at the willing ones that were in his mind, and dwelt yearningly upon the doubtful and uncertain. There's nothing strange in that—every body does so.