Time goes very fleetly where there is a real and substantial joy, a happiness that mocks all outward changes. It was thus in the humble home of Nannie Bates' mother, and also in the magnificent abode of the Minturn's, whose hearts were untarnished by the constant in-pouring of a lavish opulence.

Four years had elapsed since Nannie found shelter under that pleasant roof, and little Dora had learned to cling to her with an unwonted affection. Mrs. Minturn, too, had such a perfect confidence in the young nurse, and could trust the child to her care and love, as if she were a fond sister. She knows that Dora holds the dead Winnie's place in the warm heart, and that no word of bitterness or touch of anger can ever proceed from the faithful girl. She has just been watching them at play upon the walk, and has noticed Nannie's patience, at some petulant act of the child, and she is rejoicing in the treasure she possesses in Nannie, when Mrs. Bates requests to see her. She has come to take Nannie home. Mr. Bond is ill again, and the girl is needed to nurse him. She grieves very much that she is obliged to tear her from so nice a home; but the good man is entitled to her grateful services, and she has no alternative. Her own hands are ready and glad to wait upon the sick man, but he says "bring Nannie;" and she can not tell him no.

So the nurse must go; and she cries herself almost ill by the side of the sweet child, whose arm is still around her neck in its unconscious slumbers. It seems quite like laying Winnie away again, to turn from the little one that had so long been as her own. There is a duty in it, however, and she sees it too plainly to try to evade it, so she disengages herself softly from the clinging arm, and kissing the little placid face, goes down to the kitchen to see Mike, who had sent up expressly for her. She had not the heart to refuse, when he had always been so kind to her, and perhaps she would not soon meet him again to thank him, for she knew Pat would prevent it if he could. Mike pretended not to notice her downcast looks, although he did perceive that something had occurred to sadden her, and he had a strong desire to comfort her. If it had been one of his horses in trouble, there would have been no difficulty in providing a remedy; but Nannie Bates was quite another thing; and the more he tried to find a solace, the more at a loss was he. Biddy had gone out on an errand, and all the other servants were absent, and he felt that it might be a good time to tell Nannie who it was that he was getting a house for; but the words stuck by the way, and it was in vain to try to force them out, they would not come at all.

Nannie looked at him in wonder, and almost in affright as he clutched at his blazing head in the very desperation of his feelings, and she could not account for the difference in his demeanor. Mike was usually such a merry good companion. Perhaps it was herself that scattered her sadness and dullness all about her; or was Mike sick? She ventured to ask him this.

"No—yes—no, he wasn't sick; he thought perhaps he wasn't so well as he was; but he guessed he'd feel better by 'm by; he didn't know what ailed him!"

Nannie told him she was to leave for home in the morning, and she did not know how long it would be before she should see him again, and she expressed her kind feelings toward him, and her appreciation of all that he had done for her; and she gave him a little heart made of bright silks, and stuck all round with pins, as a parting memento. It was not coquetish in her, for she had too much honest simplicity for that; but Mike was emboldened by it to move his seat from the other side of the room to the end of the table where she sat weaving a cord chain, and he had just taken up the work to look at it, when Pat came blustering in. He had seen Mike through the window, and his manner as he spoke to Nannie, was hurried and excited, and betrayed a tinge of anger. Nannie was as pleasant as ever, though sad at her approaching separation from Dora, and her gentle mistress; and she tried to draw the lads into an amicable conversation. It was all in vain on Pat's side though; and both were so strange and still that it was growing very uncomfortable for them all, and when Biddy and one of the other servants came in, Nannie took her work and left the room with a faint good night to both the discomfited youths.

"Tell mother I'll be home early, Pat," said she, as she passed him on her way to the door.

Mike arose and followed her into the basement hall, and handed her a parcel, which his timidity had thus far prevented his offering; and he so far overcame his bashfulness, as to tell her he should go for her to ride with him sometime.

"Not as you know of!" said Pat to himself, as he overheard the lad's plans, "it'll be many a day before Nannie Bates sits beside Mike Dugan, I'm thinking!" and he rushed past the couple like a madman, and hastened down the street, never stopping until he reached the attic room.

Then sinking into a chair by the window, he gazed out upon the bay whose waves murmured and foamed in the freshening breeze—a fit emblem of his agitated mood! "It's well," thought he, "that I didn't touch him; there might have been consequences! and 'tis better that I came directly home!"

There was not much rest for Pat that night! Every time he lost himself; there were visions of a young girl dashing along the streets, with Mike Dugan holding the reins of a restive horse, and as he attempted to reach the maiden, she would smile sweetly upon her companion, and turn from him with a contemptuous expression. Poor Pat! What a world of useless sighing and trouble! Nannie sits meantime in her chamber working upon the chain for a surprise to thee on the morrow, and her heart's honest love is inwoven with every knot; until there is not a link from beginning to end but is fraught with holiest feelings and wishes!