y retired, and
she remembered she had given Bridget permission to go to the city for
the night to look after a sick cousin. Something impelled her to do an
unusual thing--open Steve's door a crack and peep in. He was not
there.

The shock of this discovery was so great that for a moment Nannie was
almost too bewildered to know what she did, and was half frightened
when she found herself at the front door calling "Steve! Steve!"

The leaves rustling on the trees in the soft night wind was her only
answer, and she closed the door with a feeling of desolate misery new
to her experience.

At no time was she afraid. The fact of her being alone in the house
merely served to emphasize her realization of her loss, for she had no
doubt that Steve had left her. There was no resentment in her attitude
now; she felt that she deserved her fate. None the less she also felt
that she could not endure it--could not live without Steve. And yet
she had told him that very day that she had neither love nor respect
for him. How could he stay with her after that?

The night passed somehow, and morning found Nannie with a white face,
save where the shadows rested 'neath her large eyes.

Bridget had not yet come home, and she could not endure to stay alone
any longer, so she wrapped a little parcel and started over to
Constance's. The parcel was one of a set of articles she was learning
to make. Some weeks before this she had appeared at Constance's one
day, and unrolling a large bundle she carried, had spread upon the
latter's bed a quantity of tiny clothing, cut and made in most
original fashion.

"Why, Nannie!" exclaimed Constance, who had no other idea than that
they were meant for little baby Chance. "How lovely of you! Thank you
ever so much!"

"They're not for you," said Nannie in her crude way. "They're mine."

The chagrin and embarrassment Constance might have felt over her
mistake was swallowed up now in her amazement and delight.

"Yours! Oh, Nannie, I'm so glad."

"I haven't any use for them," said Nannie, bluntly, "but"--and here
there was a hardly perceptible quiver of her lips--"I just wanted them
around."

"I declare, that's really pathetic," said Randolph afterward when
Constance told him. "Why don't you teach her, sweetheart--teach her to
make the pretty little things?"

And Constance did, and as a result of all the ripping and cutting
over Nannie had made some exquisite little garments, two of which she
prese