Then turning round to the old woman, and perceiving that her lips looked dry and parched, she ran to the pitcher, and lifting it to her mouth with much softness and compassion, exclaimed,

“Poor Nanny, you look dhry, an’ here’s some wather.  Take a little sup, an’ it ’ill revive you!  Oh; if I wor here a little bit sooner.”

Nanny raised her eyes to thank her, and did as she requested; and it was indeed a touching thing to see that child in all the budding beauty of infancy, attending so anxiously on the withered female, whose name was seldom pronounced without dread or malediction.  The urchins looked on for some time with open mouths and staring eyes; and then, headed by Briney, giving a farewell shout, to show they were not entirely disconcerted, bravely took to their heels.

“May the blessins ov the poor and persecuted folly on yer path, my purty child!” gratefully exclaimed the old woman, as her eyes rested on the cherub face and infantine figure of her protectress, and they now were dewy and wet with tears.

“Shall I help you to rise, Nanny?” asked she, her little heart dancing with pleasure at hearing the fervent wish:  “iv you like to go home, an’ you think me sthrong enough, I’ll help you on!”

“From my heart I thank you, my purty golden haired child,” said the old woman, as with her assistance she at length stood up; “bud you seem to know who I am, and I wondher yer not afeard ov me.  Minny, I think they called you—­who is the happy father ov my little darlin’?”

“I’m Minny Whelan,” gently answered the little girl; upon which Nanny shrunk hastily back, and a fearful change overspread her features.

“Minny Whelan!—­you the proctor’s daughter?  Those smiling lips—­those tinder, soft eyes—­that rich yellow hair—­an’ that warm an’ feelin’ heart, Minny Whelan’s.  Oh, it can’t, it mustn’t be—­I won’t believe id!”

The little girl laughed, although wonder lurked in her eye, and repeated innocently,

“Sure enough, I am the procthor’s daughter:  bud you don’t hate me for id—­do you?

“Come close to me, child, till I look upon you,” said Nanny, in a cold and altered tone of voice; and then, as Minny fearlessly advanced, she laid her aged hands on her head, and pushing back the profusion of her curling hair, looked long and anxiously on her.  A hot tear fell upon the child’s forehead as she withdrew her hand; and in a broken, voice the old woman exclaimed,

“You are—­you are indeed his child; bud have naither his black look, nor his hard an’ baneful heart—­so—­so—­I cannot hate you!  For years I’ve never met with kindness, till you wor kind.  Minny, heaven ’ill reward; you for id; an’ may its blessin’ be wid you, is the prayer ov your father’s bittherest foe!”

At this the child hesitated for an instant, as if she did not comprehend the latter part of Nanny’s sentence; and then innocently taking her hand, she looked up to her face and said—­