be glad to see ye," said Nannie, as he put the
pail softly within the door, and was about retreating.

"Faith and that I will," said the woman warmly, opening the door wide,
and setting a chair for the boy, who seemed nothing loth to enter.

It was pleasant to find a clean spot to sit down in after his day's
labor, and the happy faces in that room had haunted him as a dream, too
good to be real, since he had first seen Nannie and Winnie. His home was
a disagreeable, shabby place, and his mother did not care to make it
otherwise, and Pat felt it a great privilege to go occasionally to see
his new friends. "It wasn't for nothing," thought he, "that I did the
good deed by the girl; it's many a pleasant hour I've had here since
that blessed night!" and he drew his chair up to the table where Nannie
had the big Bible open reading aloud to her mother.

"I'll keep right on here where I was reading, Pat," said she, "because
it's so beautiful," and she finished the description of the new
Jerusalem in the Revelation of St. John.

"That isn't for such as me, Nannie--is it?" asked the poor boy, who had
sat with his chin in his hand listening intently while the child was
reading.

"Oh! yes," answered Nannie; "you should hear Mr. Bond talk about it,
Pat. I couldn't believe that any of us would ever live in such a
beautiful place; but he says 'tis just as we have a mind; that if we are
good in this world, and do every thing that we know to be right, and try
to keep from what we feel is wrong, and love God, we shall go there when
we die; and I'm sure it is worth trying for--isn't it, Pat?" and Nannie
closed the Book, and placed it reverently upon the stand in the corner.

Her mother had been busy getting the supper, but she heard the words of
the blessed volume, and wiped away a tear with the corner of her apron
as she thought of him who could have no part in that glorious city. But
she mustn't let the children see her weep, so she put away her sorrow,
and stirred about, talking cheerfully the while, and Pat felt that there
was no place in the world like that neat cosey attic, and that Nannie
Bates's lot was one to be envied indeed.

He didn't know how long she had pined in the damp and dreary cellar with
nothing bright nor pretty near her, and how bitter all her days had been
until just before he had befriended her--after Mr. Bond had provided her
new home--for she had never told him any thing of the past. Indeed she
scarcely