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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Golden Shoemaker, by J. W. Keyworth
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Golden Shoemaker
+       or 'Cobbler' Horn
+
+
+Author: J. W. Keyworth
+
+
+
+Release Date: July 23, 2007  [eBook #22124]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Dave Morgan, Anne Storer, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 22124-h.htm or 22124-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/1/2/22124/22124-h/22124-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/1/2/22124/22124-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER:
+
+or, "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+by
+
+J.W. KEYWORTH,
+
+Author of "_Mother Freeman_,"
+"_The Churchwarden's Daughter_," _&c._, _&c._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "'Come here, missy!'"--_Page 38._]
+
+
+
+
+London:
+J. Williams Butcher,
+2 & 3, Ludgate Circus Buildings, Farringdon Street, E.C.
+
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+
+Chapter                                                  Page
+
+      I.  BEREAVED!                                         1
+
+     II.  AUNT JEMIMA                                       8
+
+    III.  HOW MISS JEMIMA MANAGED HER BROTHER'S HOUSE      13
+
+     IV.  "ME LUN AWAY"                                    19
+
+      V.  "THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN"                       22
+
+     VI.  THE FATHER'S QUEST                               25
+
+    VII.  WHAT HAD BECOME OF THE CHILD?                    36
+
+   VIII.  THE SHOEMAKER BECOMES "GOLDEN"                   41
+
+     IX.  A STRANGE CLIENT FOR MESSRS. TONGS AND BALL      47
+
+      X.  MISS JEMIMA IS VERY MUCH ASTONISHED              52
+
+     XI.  "COBBLER" HORN ANSWERS HIS LETTERS, AND RECEIVES
+          THE CONGRATULATIONS OF HIS FRIENDS               58
+
+    XII.  "COBBLER" HORN PAYS A VISIT TO HIS LANDLORD      65
+
+   XIII.  FREE COBBLERY                                    72
+
+    XIV.  "THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER" WAITS UPON HIS MINISTER   76
+
+     XV.  "COBBLER" HORN ENGAGES A SECRETARY               85
+
+    XVI.  THE ATTACK ON THE CORRESPONDENCE                 91
+
+   XVII.  A PARTING GIFT FOR "THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN"    98
+
+  XVIII.  THE NEW HOUSE                                   105
+
+    XIX.  A TALK WITH THE MINISTER ABOUT MONEY            110
+
+     XX.  "COBBLER" HORN'S VILLAGE                        116
+
+    XXI.  IN NEED OF REPAIRS                              123
+
+   XXII.  "THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER" INSTRUCTS HIS LAWYERS    129
+
+  XXIII.  MEMORIES                                        138
+
+   XXIV.  ON THE OCEAN                                    149
+
+    XXV.  COUSIN JACK                                     163
+
+   XXVI.  HOME AGAIN                                      176
+
+  XXVII.  COMING INTO COLLISION WITH THE PROPRIETIES      184
+
+ XXVIII.  BOUNDER GIVES WARNING                           193
+
+   XXIX.  VAGUE SURMISINGS                                201
+
+    XXX.  A NOVEL DIFFICULTY FOR A MAN OF WEALTH          207
+
+   XXXI.  "COBBLER" HORN'S CRITICS                        217
+
+  XXXII.  "IN LABOURS MORE ABUNDANT"                      232
+
+ XXXIII.  TOMMY DUDGEON ON THE WATCH                      239
+
+  XXXIV.  A "FATHER" AND "MOTHER" FOR THE "HOME"          249
+
+   XXXV.  THE OPENING OF THE "HOME"                       255
+
+  XXXVI.  TOMMY DUDGEON UNDERTAKES A DELICATE
+          ENTERPRISE                                      267
+
+ XXXVII.  BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH                          275
+
+XXXVIII.  A LITTLE SHOE                                   285
+
+  XXXIX.  A JOYOUS DISCOVERY                              293
+
+     XL.  TOMMY DUDGEON'S CONTRIBUTION                    305
+
+    XLI.  NO ROOM FOR DOUBT!                              313
+
+   XLII.  FATHER AND DAUGHTER                             326
+
+  XLIII.  THE TRAMP'S CONFESSION                          339
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER.
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER I.
+
+                            BEREAVED!
+
+
+In a small house, in a back street, in the large manufacturing town of
+Cottonborough, the young wife of "Cobbler" Horn lay dying. It was the
+dusk of a wild evening in early winter; and the cruel cough, which could
+be heard every now and then, in the lulls of the wind, from the room
+upstairs, gave deepening emphasis to the sad fact that the youthful wife
+and mother--for such also she was--had fallen a victim to that fell
+disease which sweeps away so much of the fair young life of our land.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn himself was engaged just now in the duties of his calling,
+in the little workshop behind the kitchen. The house was very small. The
+kitchen and workshop were the only rooms downstairs, and above them were
+three small chambers. The one in which the dying woman lay was over the
+workshop, and the sound of her coughing came down with sharp distinctness
+through the boarded floor, which was the only ceiling of the lower room.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn knew that the death of his wife was probably a question of
+a few hours at most. But he had promised that the boots on which he was at
+work should be finished that night; and he had conscientiously withdrawn
+from his wife's bedside that he might keep his word.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was a man of thirty or so. He was tall, and had somewhat
+rugged features and clear steadfast eyes. He had crisp black hair, and a
+shaven face. His complexion was dark, and his bare arms were almost as
+brown as his leathern apron. His firmly set lips and corrugated brow, as
+he bent now over his work, declared him to possess unusual power of will.
+Indeed a strength of purpose such as belongs to few was required to hold
+him to his present task. Meanwhile his chief misgiving was lest the noise
+he was compelled to make should distress his dying wife; and it was
+touching to see how he strove to modify, to the utmost degree which was
+consistent with efficient workmanship, the tapping of the hammer on the
+soles of the boots in hand.
+
+Sorrowing without bitterness, "Cobbler" Horn had no rebellious thoughts.
+He did not think himself ill-used, or ask petulantly what he had done that
+such trouble should come to him. His case was very sad. Five years ago he
+had married a beautiful young Christian girl. Twelve months later she had
+borne their little dark-eyed daughter Marian. Two years thereafter a baby
+boy had come and gone in a day; and, from that time, the mother had
+drooped and faded, day by day, until, at length, the end was close at
+hand. But "Cobbler" Horn was a Christian, and did not repine.
+
+His task was finished at last, and, with a sigh of relief, he rose to his
+feet. In that moment, he became aware of a tiny figure, standing in the
+open doorway of the kitchen. It was that of a little four-year-old girl,
+clad in a ruby-coloured dress, which matched to perfection her dark skin
+and black hair. Her crimson cheeks were dashed with tears, and she looked
+like a damask rose just sprinkled by a shower of rain. The light in her
+dark eyes, which glistened with intense excitement beneath her jet-black
+hair, indicated that her tears were those of indignation rather than
+grief. How long she had been standing there he could not tell; but, as
+soon as she saw that her father had finished his work, little Marian--for
+she it was--darted forward, and throwing her arms around his neck, with a
+sob, let her small dusky head fall upon the polished breast-piece of his
+leathern apron.
+
+"What's amiss with daddy's poppet?" asked the father tenderly, as he
+clasped the quivering little form more closely to his breast.
+
+The only answer was a convulsive movement of the little body within his
+arms.
+
+"Come, darling, tell daddy." Strange strugglings continued within the
+strong, encircling arms. This little girl of four had as strong a will as
+her father; and she was conquering her turbulent emotions, that she might
+be able to answer his questions. In a moment she broke away from his
+clasp, and, dashing the tears from her eyes with her little brown hands,
+stood before him with glowing face and quivering lip.
+
+"Me 'ant to see mammy!" she cried--the child was unusually slow of speech
+for her age. "Dey 'on't 'et Ma-an do upstairs."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn took the child upon his knee, and gently stroked the small
+dusky head.
+
+"Mammy is very ill, Marian," he said gently.
+
+"Me 'ant to see mammy," was the emphatic response.
+
+"By and bye, darling," replied the father huskily.
+
+"What 'oo going to c'y for, daddy?" demanded the child, looking up hastily
+into her father's face. "Poor daddy!" she continued, stroking his cheek
+with her small brown hand, "Isn't 'oo very well?"
+
+"I'm not going to cry, darling," said the father, bowing his head over his
+child, and taking into his strong hand the little fingers which still
+rested against his face. "You don't understand, my poor child!"
+
+There followed a brief pause.
+
+"P'ease, daddy," pleaded Marian presently, "Ma-an _must_ see mammy. Dere's
+such pitty fings in se shops, and me 'ants to do with mammy to see dem--in
+morning."
+
+The shops were already displaying their Christmas decorations.
+
+Marian's father gave a great gasp.
+
+"Marian shall see mammy now," he said solemnly, as he rose from his stool
+still holding the child to his breast.
+
+"I'se so glad!" and she gave a little jump in his arms. "Good daddy!"
+
+"But father's little poppet must be quiet, and not talk, or cry."
+
+"No," said Marian with childhood's readiness to make a required promise.
+
+The child had not seen her mother since the previous day, and the altered
+face upon the pillow was so strange to her, that she half turned away, as
+though to hide her face upon her father's shoulder.
+
+The gleaming eyes of the dying mother were turned wistfully towards her
+child.
+
+"See, poppet; look at mammy!" urged the father, turning the little face
+towards the bed.
+
+"Mother's darling!"
+
+There was less change in the mother's voice than in her face; and the next
+moment the little dark head lay on the pillow, and the tiny, nut-brown
+hand was stroking the hollow cheek of the dying woman.
+
+"'oo is my mammy, isn't 'oo?"
+
+"Yes, darling; kiss mammy good-bye," was the heart-breaking answer.
+
+"Me tiss 'oo," said the child, suiting the action to the word; "but not
+dood-bye. Me see 'oo aden. Mammy, se shops is so bootiful! Will 'oo take
+Ma-an to see dem? 'nother day, yes 'nother day."
+
+"Daddy will take Marian to see the shops," said the dying mother, in
+labouring tones. "Mammy going to Jesus. Jesus will take care of mother's
+little lamb."
+
+The mother's lips were pressed in a last lingering kiss upon the face of
+her child, and then Marian was carried downstairs.
+
+When the child was gone, "Cobbler" Horn sat down by the bedside, and took
+and held the wasted hand of his wife. It was evident that the end was
+coming fast; and urgent indeed must be the summons which would draw him
+now from the side of his dying wife. Hour after hour he sat waiting for
+the great change. As the night crept on, he watched the deepening shadow
+on the beloved face, and marked the gathering signs which heralded the
+brief triumph of the king of terrors. There was but little talk. It could
+not be otherwise; for, every moment, utterance became more difficult to
+the dying wife. A simple, and affectionate question and answer passed now
+and then between the two. At infrequent intervals expressions of spiritual
+confidence were uttered by the dying wife; and these were varied with a
+few calmly-spoken directions about the child. From the husband came, now
+and then, words of tender encouragement, mingled with morsels of
+consolation from the good old Book, with, ever and anon, a whispered
+prayer.
+
+The night had almost passed when the end came. The light of the grey
+December dawn was struggling feebly through the lattice, when the young
+wife and mother, whose days had been so few, died, with a smile upon her
+face; and "Cobbler" Horn passed out of the room and down the stairs, a
+wifeless husband and the father of a motherless bairn.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER II.
+
+                            AUNT JEMIMA.
+
+
+It was Aunt Jemima who stepped into the vacant place of Marian's mother.
+She was the only sister of "Cobbler" Horn, and, with the exception of a
+rich uncle in America, from whom they never heard, and a wandering cousin,
+a sad scapegrace, she was her brother's only living relative.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's sister was not the person to whom he would have chosen
+to entrust the care of his motherless child, or the management of his
+house. But he had no choice. He had no other relative whom he could summon
+to his help, and Aunt Jemima was upon him before he had had time to think.
+She was hurt that she had not been called to the death-bed of her
+sister-in-law. But the omission rather increased, than diminished, the
+promptitude with which she wrote to announce that she would come to her
+bereaved brother without delay, and within a week she was duly installed
+as mistress of his house.
+
+"I thought I had better come at once," she said, on the night of her
+arrival. "There's no telling what might have happened else."
+
+"Very good of you, Jemima," was her brother's grave response.
+
+And so it was. The woman meant well. She loved her brother sincerely
+enough; and she had resolved to sacrifice, for his sake and his child's,
+the peace and freedom of her life. But Aunt Jemima's love was wont to
+show itself in unlovely ways. The fact of meaning well, though often a
+good enough excuse for faulty doing, is not a satisfactory substitute
+for the doing of that which is well. Your toleration of the rough
+handling inflicted by the awkwardness of inconsiderate love does not
+counteract its disastrous effects on the susceptible spirit and the
+tender heart, especially if they be those of a child. It is, therefore,
+not strange that, though "Cobbler" Horn loved his sister, he wished she
+had stayed away. She was his elder by ten years; and she lived by herself,
+on the interest of a small sum of money left to her by their father, at
+his death, in a far off village, which was the family home.
+
+"You'll be glad to know, Thomas," she said, "that I've made arrangements
+to stay, now I'm here."
+
+They were sitting by the fire, towards supper-time; and the attention of
+"Cobbler" Horn was divided between what his sister was saying and certain
+sounds of subdued sobbing which proceeded from upstairs. Very early in the
+evening Aunt Jemima had unceremoniously packed Marian off to bed, and the
+tiny child was taking a long time to cry herself to sleep in the cold,
+dark room.
+
+"Never mind the child," said Aunt Jemima sharply, as she observed her
+brother's restless glances towards the staircase door; "on no account must
+she be allowed to have her own way. It was high time she went to bed; and
+she'll soon be fast asleep."
+
+"Yes, Jemima," said the troubled father; "but I wish you had been more
+gentle with the child."
+
+"Fiddlesticks!" was the contemptuous exclamation of Aunt Jemima, as she
+regarded her brother severely through her spectacles; and she added,
+"Since you have wished me to take the oversight of your house and child,
+you must leave me to manage them as I think fit."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn did not venture to remind his sister that he had not
+expressed any such wish. Being so much his senior, and having at least
+as strong a will as his own, Jemima Horn had always maintained a certain
+predominance over her brother, and her ascendancy still prevailed to some
+extent. Making no further reference to the child, he sat listening by
+turns to a prolonged exposition of his sister's views on the management of
+children, and to the continued wailings which floated down from the room
+above, until, at length, as a more piteous cry than all frantically voiced
+his own name, "faver," his self-restraint gave way, and he rose hastily
+and went upstairs.
+
+Aunt Jemima watched him in grim silence to the foot of the stairs.
+
+"Mind," she then called after him, "she is not to come down."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn did not so far set his sister at defiance as to act in flat
+contradiction to her decree. Perhaps he himself did not think it well that
+the child should be brought downstairs again, after once having been put
+to bed. But, if Marian might not come down, Marian's father might stay up.
+As soon as his step sounded on the stairs the child's wailing ceased.
+
+"Zat zoo, daddy?" and the father felt, in the darkness, that two tiny arms
+were stretched out towards him in piteous welcome. Lighting the candle,
+which stood on the table by the window, he sat down on the edge of the
+bed, and, in a moment, Marian's little brown arms were tightly clasped
+about his neck. For a brief space he held the child to his breast; and
+then he gently laid her back upon the pillow, and having tucked the
+bed-clothes well about her, he kissed the little tear-stained face,
+and sat talking in the soothing tones which a loving parent can so well
+employ.
+
+Leaving him there, let us make a somewhat closer inspection of Miss
+Jemima, as she sits in solitary state before the fire downstairs. You
+observe that she is tall, angular, and rigid. Her figure displays the
+uprightness of a telegraph pole, and her face presents a striking
+arrangement of straight lines and sharp points. Her eyes gleam like points
+of fire beneath her positively shaggy brows. Her complexion is dark, and
+her hair, though still abundant, is already turning grey. Her dress is
+plainness itself, and she wears no jewelry, all kinds of which she regards
+with scorn. Her old-fashioned silver watch is a family heirloom, and a
+broad black ribbon is her only watch-guard.
+
+Yet there is nothing of malice or evil intent in Aunt Jemima's soul. She
+is no less strictly upright in character than in form. She cannot tolerate
+wickedness, folly, or weakness of any kind. So far well. The lack of her
+character is the tenderness which is woman's crowning grace. When she is
+kind it is in such a way that one would almost prefer for her to be
+unkind.
+
+Such is Aunt Jemima, as we see her sitting in front of her brother's fire,
+and as we know her to be. Need we wonder that, "Cobbler" Horn's heart
+misgave him as to the probable fate of his little Marian in such rough,
+though righteous, hands?
+
+When "Cobbler" Horn at length came downstairs, his sister was still
+sitting before the fire. On his appearance, she rose from her seat.
+
+"Thomas, I am ashamed of you," she said, as she began, in a masterful way,
+to make preparations for supper. "Such weakness will utterly spoil the
+child. But you were always foolish."
+
+"I am afraid, sister," was the quiet reply, "that we shall hardly agree
+with one another--you and I--on that point."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER III.
+
+             HOW MISS JEMIMA MANAGED HER BROTHER'S HOUSE.
+
+
+On entering upon the management of her brother's house, Aunt Jemima
+laid down two laws, which were, that the house was to be kept spotlessly
+clean, and that everything was always to be in its right place; and her
+severe, and even fierce, insistence on the minute fulfilment of these
+unexceptionable ordinances soon threatened utterly to banish comfort
+from her brother's house.
+
+The restrictions this masterful lady placed upon her patient brother
+constituted a state of absolute tyranny. Lest her immaculate door-step
+should be soiled, she would rarely allow him to enter the house by the
+front-door. She placed a thick mat inside his workshop, at the doorway
+leading into the front-room; and she exercised a lynx-eyed supervision
+to ensure that he always wiped his feet before coming in. She would never
+permit him to go upstairs without putting off his boots. She removed his
+hat from the wall of the front-room, and hung it on a nail in a beam,
+which was just over his head as he sat at work in his shop; and whenever
+she walked, with her policeman-like tread, in the room above, the hat
+would fall down, and strike him on the head. He bore this annoyance for
+a day or two, and then quietly removed hat and nail to one of the walls.
+
+Strong-natured though he was, "Cobbler" Horn felt it no weakness to yield
+to his sister in trifles; and he bore with exhaustless patience such
+vexations as she inflicted on him alone. But he was firm as a rock where
+the comfort of any one else was concerned. It was beautiful to see his
+meek submission to every restriction which she laid upon him; it was
+sublime to behold his stern resistance to such harsh requirements as she
+proposed to lay upon others.
+
+More than one battle was fought between the brother and sister on this
+latter point. But it was on Marian's account that the contention was most
+frequent and severe. Sad to say, the coming of Aunt Jemima seemed likely
+to drive all happiness from the lot of the hapless child. Rigid and cruel
+rules were laid upon the tiny mite. Requirements were made, and enforced,
+which bewildered and terrified the little thing beyond degree. She was
+made to go to bed and get up at preternaturally early hours; and her
+employment during the day was mapped out in obedience to similarly
+senseless rules. Her playthings, which had all been swept into a drawer
+and placed under lock and key, were handed out by Aunt Jemima, one at a
+time, at the infrequent intervals, during which, for brief periods, and
+under strict supervision, the child was permitted to play. Much of the day
+was occupied with the doing of a variety of tasks few of which were really
+within the compass of her childish powers. Aunt Jemima herself undertook
+to impart to Marian elementary instruction in reading, writing, and
+kindred acts. Occasionally also the child was taken out by her grim
+relative for a stately walk, during which, however, she was not permitted,
+on any account, to linger in front of a shop window, or stray from Aunt
+Jemima's side. And then, in the evening, after their early tea, while Aunt
+Jemima sat at her work at the table, the poor little infant was perched on
+a chair before the fire, and there required to sit till her bed-time, with
+her legs dangling till they ached again, while the tiny head became so
+heavy that it nodded this way and that in unconquerable drowsiness, and,
+on more occasions than one, the child rolled over and fell to the floor,
+like a ball.
+
+One lesson which Aunt Jemima took infinite pains to lodge in Marian's
+dusky little head was that she must never speak unless she was first
+spoken to; and if, in the exuberance of child-nature, she transgressed
+this rule, especially at meal-times, Aunt Jemima's mouth would open like a
+pair of nut-crackers, and she would give utterance to a succession of such
+snappish chidings, that Marian would almost be afraid she was going to be
+swallowed up. A hundred times a day the child incurred the righteous ire
+of this cast-iron aunt. From morning to night the little thing was
+worried almost out of her life by the grim governess of her father's
+house; and Aunt Jemima even haunted her dreams.
+
+Marian had one propensity which Aunt Jemima early set herself to repress.
+The child was gifted with an innate love of rambling. More than once, when
+very young indeed, she had wandered far away from home, and her father
+and mother had thought her lost. But she had always, as by an unerring
+instinct, found her way back. This propensity it was, indeed, necessary to
+restrain; but Aunt Jemima adopted measures for the purpose which were the
+sternest of the stern. She issued a decree that Marian was never to leave
+the house, except when accompanied by either her father or Miss Jemima
+herself. In order that the object of this restriction might be effectually
+secured, it became necessary that Miss Jemima should take the child with
+her on almost every occasion when she herself went out. These events were
+intensely dreaded by Marian; and she would shrink into a corner of the
+room when she observed Aunt Jemima making preparations for leaving the
+house. But she made no actual show of reluctance; and it would be
+difficult to tell whether she was the more afraid of going out with
+Aunt Jemima, or of letting Aunt Jemima see that she was afraid.
+
+It was a terrible time for the poor child. On every side she was checked,
+frowned upon, and kept down. If she was betrayed into the utterance of a
+merry word she was snapped at as though she had said something bad; and
+ebullitions of childish spirits were checked again and again, until their
+occurrence became rare. And yet this woman thought herself a Christian,
+and believed that, in subjecting to a system of such complicated tyranny
+the bright little child who had been committed to her charge, she was
+beginning to train the hapless mite in the way she should go.
+
+It was a very simple circumstance which first indicated to "Cobbler" Horn
+the kind of training his child was beginning to receive. Happening to go,
+one morning, into the living-room, he found that his sister had gone out,
+and, for once, left Marian a prisoner in the house. The child was seated
+on a chair, with her chubby legs hanging wearily down, and a woe-begone
+expression on her face. Taking courage from the absence of her dreadful
+aunt, Marian asked her father to give her some of her toys, and to let her
+play. Finding, to his surprise, on questioning the child, that she had
+been forbidden to touch her playthings without express permission, and
+that they were put away in the drawer, he readily gave her such of them as
+she desired, and crowned her happiness by remaining to play with her till
+Aunt Jemima returned.
+
+This incident created a feeling of uneasiness in the father's mind; but it
+was a circumstance of another kind which fully revealed to him the actual
+state of things. Passing through the room one evening when Marian was on
+the point of going to bed, he paused to listen to the evening prayer of
+his child. She knelt, in her little night-clothes, at Aunt Jemima's knee.
+The father sighed, as he waited for the sound of the simple words which
+had been learnt at the dictation of the tender mother-voice which was now
+for ever still. What, then, were his astonishment and pain when Marian,
+instead of repeating her mother's prayer, entered upon the recital of a
+string of theological declarations which Aunt Jemima dictated to her one
+by one!
+
+"Cobbler" Horn strode forward, and laid a strong repressive hand upon
+the child; and Aunt Jemima will never forget the flash of his eye and the
+stern tones of his voice, as he demanded that Marian should be permitted
+to pray her mother's prayer.
+
+After this he noticed frequent signs of the tyranny of which Marian was
+the victim, and interposed at many points. But it was only in part that
+he was able to counteract the cruel discipline to which Aunt Jemima was
+subjecting his child.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER IV.
+
+                           "ME LUN AWAY."
+
+
+Winter passed drearily away--a wet one, as it happened, with never once
+the white gleam of snow, and scarcely a touch of the healthy sting of
+frost. "Cobbler" Horn had not ceased to sorrow for his dead wife; and,
+when the spring was well advanced, there befell him another, and scarcely
+less severe bereavement, though of a different kind.
+
+There had been no improvement in the relations between Aunt Jemima and the
+child. Aunt Jemima still maintained the harsh system of discipline which
+she had adopted at first; and the result was that the child had been led
+to regard her father's sister with as near an approach to hatred as was
+possible to her loving little heart. Marian's heart was big, almost to
+bursting, with concealed sorrow. Like her father, young as she was, she
+found it easier to bear grief than to tell it out. She did not want her
+father to know how miserable she was. Her childish soul was filled with
+bitterness, and her young life was being spoiled. Such of her pleasures as
+had not been taken from her were divested of all their charm. Almost her
+sole remaining joy was to snatch, now and then, a bit of clandestine love
+with her father, when, on some rare occasion, Aunt Jemima happened to be
+out of the way.
+
+Recognising the uselessness of resisting a hand so hard and strong as that
+of Aunt Jemima, Marian had lately meditated another way of escape from the
+wretchedness of her lot. She contemplated an expedient which occurs more
+readily than any other to the youthful victim of oppression, but which had
+probably never before presented itself to the mind of a child so young.
+The expedient is one, indeed, which seldom effects its purpose, and is
+usually productive of a plentiful crop of troubles. But Marian had no
+fear. She was full of one thought. She could not any longer endure Aunt
+Jemima; and she must make it impossible for Aunt Jemima to scold, or
+smack, or restrain her any more. She must escape, without delay, from the
+sound of Aunt Jemima's harsh voice, and place herself beyond the reach of
+Aunt Jemima's rough hand. True, there was her father. How could she leave
+him? This would have been impossible to her if she had realised what she
+was about to do. But it seemed so easy and pleasant to slip out into the
+bright spring morning, and trot away into the mysterious and delightful
+country, which lay outside the town. Nor did she dream of the hardships
+and danger which might be awaiting her out in the strange, unloving
+world, into which she had so lightly resolved to launch her little life.
+So it came to pass that, on a certain bright May morning, Marian took her
+opportunity, and went out into the world.
+
+Marian's opportunity was furnished by the fact that Aunt Jemima had gone
+out, leaving Marian at home, and, for once, had forgotten to lock the
+door. As soon as Aunt Jemima's back was turned, the child huddled her
+little pink print sun-bonnet upon her small black head, and, with one
+furtive glance over her shoulder towards her father's workshop, whence she
+could distinctly hear the quick "tap-tap" of his hammer, she opened the
+front-door, and slipped into the street. Her first action was to shoot a
+keen glance, from her sharp little eyes, to right and left. There was no
+one to be seen but one of the funny little twin men who kept a huckster's
+shop across the way. This little man was a great friend of Marian's, and
+he called to her now in joyous tones, as he stood in the doorway of his
+shop, to come over and see what he had in his pocket. Marian gave a
+decided shake of her head.
+
+"No; Ma-an going away. Tum another time."
+
+Then, murmuring to herself, "Me lun away," she set off down the street,
+with a defiant swagger of her small person, and her bonnet-strings
+streaming out upon the wind; and the little huckster watched her with
+an admiring gaze, little thinking into what wilds of sorrow those tiny
+twinkling feet had set off to run.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER V.
+
+                   "THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN."
+
+
+The name of the little hucksters across the way was Dudgeon. As to age,
+they were on the verge of thirty--Tommy having entered the world a few
+minutes previous to John. They were so much alike that it was difficult to
+distinguish them when apart. John was just a shade lighter in complexion
+than Tommy, and Tommy overtopped his brother by something like an inch.
+The twins were so small as to seem insignificant; but their meek
+amiability was an efficient set off against their physical deficiencies.
+If there was any measure of self-assertiveness between them, it belonged
+chiefly to Tommy. Though both the little men were kind to Marian, Tommy
+was her especial friend; and it was he who had watched her as she ran
+away. The twins were both bachelors; though John had kept company for
+several years with a young woman of exemplary patience. Tommy, who was
+a sincere Christian, was a member of the church to which "Cobbler" Horn
+belonged. John occasionally attended the services at the same place, but
+could not be persuaded to join the church.
+
+The close resemblance between the brothers was the cause of many ludicrous
+mistakes. In their boyhood, they had frequently been blamed for each
+other's faults and misdeeds; and it was characteristic of Tommy that he
+had quietly suffered more than one caning which his brother ought to have
+received. But, when it had been proposed to administer to him a dose of
+medicine which had been prescribed for John, he had quietly protested and
+explained the mistake.
+
+When the twins grew up, similar blunders continued to occur; and the
+little men had frequent opportunities of unlawfully profiting by the
+errors in which their close resemblance to each other often involved their
+friends. But, to the credit of these worthy little men be it said, they
+conscientiously declined to avail themselves of the opportunities of
+illegitimate benefit thus thrown in their way.
+
+It was a curious sight to see these two queer little men standing,
+sitting, or walking, side by side. The minister of their chapel would
+often speak of the first occasion on which he had seen John Dudgeon. It
+was one Sunday evening, shortly after he had assumed the pastorate of
+the church. The service had just commenced, and the eye of the minister
+happened to rest, for a moment, on the humble figure of Tommy Dudgeon,
+who was, as usual, in his place. The minister had already made the
+acquaintance of Tommy, but of the existence of John he was not yet aware.
+What, then, was his astonishment, the next moment, to see another Tommy
+Dudgeon, as it seemed, come in and take his place beside the one already
+in the pew! For a breathing space the new pastor imagined himself the
+victim of an optical illusion; and then he rubbed his eyes, and concluded
+that Tommy Dudgeon had a twin brother, and that this was he.
+
+It was not surprising that these two peculiar little men should have
+excited the amusement of those to whom they were known. Their amazing and
+almost indistinguishable resemblance to each other, and the consequent
+unconscious mutual mimicry of tone and gesture which prevailed between
+them, while they were a source of frequent perplexity, were also
+irresistibly provocative of mirth. What wonder that those who saw the
+little hucksters for the first time should have felt strongly inclined to
+regard them in a comic light; or that the mere mention of their names
+should have unfailingly brought a smile to the faces of those to whom
+their peculiarities were known!
+
+The boys of the Grammar School, which was situated in a neighbouring
+street, had, from time immemorial, furnished Tommy and John Dudgeon with
+an epithet accommodated from classic lore, and dubbed them, "the _little_
+Twin Brethren."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER VI.
+
+                        THE FATHER'S QUEST.
+
+
+When Aunt Jemima came home, she was surprised, in no small degree, at the
+absence of Marian. With gathering indignation she called up the stairs,
+then searched the house, and finally presented herself before her brother,
+who was quite alone in his workshop, and sat calmly working on his stool.
+
+"Then she is not here?"
+
+"Who? Marian?" responded "Cobbler" Horn in no accent of concern, looking
+up for a moment from his work. "No, I thought she was with you."
+
+"No; I left her in the room for a moment, and now she is nowhere to be
+found."
+
+There seemed to "Cobbler" Horn no reason for alarm, and, as his sister
+returned to the kitchen, he quietly went on with his work. But Aunt
+Jemima's mind was ill at ease. Once more she searched the house, and
+called and called again. There was no response, and the silence which
+followed was profound and ominous. Swiftly she passed, with growing
+alarm, through her brother's workshop, and out into the yard. A glance
+around, and then a closer search; but still no sign of the missing child.
+The perturbed woman re-entered her brother's presence, and stood before
+him, erect and rigid, and with outstretched hands.
+
+"The child's gone!" was her gloomy exclamation.
+
+"Gone!" echoed "Cobbler" Horn blankly, looking up. "Where?"
+
+"I don't know; but she's gone quite away, and may never come back."
+
+Then "Cobbler" Horn perceived that his sister was alarmed; and,
+notwithstanding the occasion, he was comforted by the unwonted tenderness
+she had expressed. As for Marian, he knew her for a born rambler; and it
+was not the first time she had strayed from home.
+
+"Perhaps," he said placidly, "she has gone to the little shop over the
+way."
+
+Then he resumed his work, as though he had simply told his sister where
+she would be likely to find her spectacles.
+
+Aunt Jemima took the hint, as a drowning person catches at a straw. She
+made her way to the front-door, and having opened it, was on the point of
+crossing the street, when Tommy Dudgeon emerged from the shop, and came
+over towards where she stood.
+
+"Good morning, ma-am," he said, halting at a respectful distance. "You are
+looking for little miss?"
+
+"Well," snapped Aunt Jemima, "and if I am, what then? Do you know where
+she is?"
+
+"No, ma-am; but I saw her go away."
+
+Miss Jemima seized the arm of the little man with an iron grip.
+
+"Man! you saw her go away, and you let her go?"
+
+With difficulty Tommy freed his arm.
+
+"Well, ma-am, perhaps I ought----"
+
+"Of course you ought," rapped out the lady, sharply. "You must be a
+gabey."
+
+"No doubt, ma-am. But little miss will come back. She knows her way about.
+She will be home to dinner."
+
+Having spoken, Tommy was turning to recross the street.
+
+"Stop, man!"
+
+Tommy stopped and faced around once more.
+
+"Which way did she go?"
+
+"That way, ma-am," replied Tommy, pointing along the street, to Aunt
+Jemima's left-hand, and his own right.
+
+The troubled lady instantly marched, in the direction indicated, to the
+end of the street; but, finding that five ways branched off therefrom, she
+returned baffled to her brother's house, and sought his presence once
+more.
+
+"Thomas," she cried, almost fiercely, "the child has certainly run away!"
+
+Still "Cobbler" Horn was not alarmed.
+
+"Well," he said calmly, "never mind, Jemima. She has a habit of going off
+by herself. She knows her way about, and will not stray far. She will be
+back by dinner-time, no doubt."
+
+Though by no means satisfied, Miss Jemima was fain to accept this view of
+the case for the time. With a troubled mind, she resumed her suspended
+domestic duties. Unlikely as it might seem, she could not banish the dread
+that Marian had actually run away; and, as the morning passed, the fear
+grew stronger and stronger in the troubled lady's breast that she would
+see her little niece no more. Accordingly when dinner-time arrived, Aunt
+Jemima was not surprised that Marian did not appear. The dinner consisted
+of Irish stew--Marian's favourite dish. On the stroke of twelve it was
+smoking on the table. For the twentieth time the perturbed lady went to
+the door, and gazed wistfully up and down the street. Then, with a sigh,
+she re-entered the house, and called her brother to dinner.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn, feeling sure that Marian would soon return, had dismissed
+the fact of her disappearance from his mind; and when, on coming in to
+dinner, he found that she was still absent, he was taken by surprise.
+
+In reply to his inquiry, Aunt Jemima jerked out the opinion that the child
+would not come back at all.
+
+"Why shouldn't she?" he asked. "I've known her stay away longer than this,
+and there's no occasion for alarm."
+
+So saying, he addressed himself to his dinner with his usual gusto; but
+Miss Jemima had no appetite, and the show of eating that she made was but
+a poor pretence.
+
+"Don't be so much alarmed, Jemima," said her brother, making progress with
+his dinner. "I've no doubt the child is amongst her friends. By and bye
+I'll go out and hunt her up."
+
+He still had no fear that his little daughter would not soon return. He
+accordingly finished his dinner with his usual deliberation; and it was
+not until he had completed one or two urgent pieces of work, that he, at
+last, put on his hat and coat, and taking his stout blackthorn stick, set
+out in search of his missing child.
+
+All the weary afternoon, he went from house to house, amongst friends and
+friendly neighbours; but no one had seen Marian, or knew anything as to
+her whereabouts. Every now and then he returned home, to see if the child
+had come back. But each time he found only Aunt Jemima, sitting before the
+fire like an image of grim despair. She would look up with fierce
+eagerness, on his entrance, and drop her gaze again with a gasp when she
+saw that he was alone.
+
+Long before the afternoon was over the father's unconcern had given place
+to serious alarm. He was not greatly surprised that he had failed to find
+Marian in the house of any of their friends; but he wondered that she had
+not yet come home of her own accord. While he would not, even now, believe
+that Marian had run away, he was compelled to admit that she was lost.
+But what was that? He had turned once more towards home, and had entered
+his own street, and there was Marian, playing with some other children, on
+the pavement, just in front. Her back was towards him, as she bent down
+over her play. But there was no mistaking that thick, night-black hair,
+and the little plump brown legs which peeped out beneath the small frock.
+With the promptitude of absolute certainty, he put out his strong hands
+and lifted the child from the ground. Then he uttered a cry. It was not
+Marian after all! He put her down--he almost let her drop, and the
+startled child began to cry. "Cobbler" Horn hastily pushed a penny into
+her hand, and strode on. He staggered like one who has received a blow.
+It seemed almost as if he had actually had his little one in his arms,
+and she had slipped away again.
+
+When he reached home, his sister was still sitting in grim silence,
+before the now fireless grate. On her brother's entrance, she looked
+up as aforetime. "Cobbler" Horn sank despondently into a chair.
+
+"Nowhere to be found!" he said, with a deep sigh.
+
+"We must have the tea ready," he added, as though at the dictate of a
+sudden thought.
+
+"Ah, you are tired, and hungry."
+
+Aunt Jemima hesitated on the last word. Could her brother be hungry? She
+thought she would never wish to taste food again.
+
+"No," he said quickly; "but Marian will want her tea. Put the dinner away.
+It is cold, Jemima."
+
+"I put her plate in the oven," said Aunt Jemima, in a hollow voice, as she
+rose from her seat.
+
+"Ah!" gasped the father. The little plate had become hot and cold again,
+and its contents were quite dried up. Aunt Jemima put the plate upon the
+oven-top; and then turned, and looked conscience-stricken into her
+brother's face. Severe towards herself, as towards others, she
+unflinchingly acknowledged her great fault.
+
+"Brother, your child is gone; and I have driven her away."
+
+She lifted her hands on either side of her head, and gently swayed herself
+to and fro once--a grim gesture of despair.
+
+"I do not ask you to forgive me. It is not to be expected of you--unless
+she comes back again. If she does not, I shall never forgive myself."
+
+"Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, rising from his seat, and placing his hand
+lightly on her shoulder, "You are too severe with yourself. That the child
+is lost is evident enough; but surely she may be found! I will go to the
+police authorities: they will help us."
+
+He turned to the door, but paused with his hand on the latch.
+
+"Jemima," he said, gently, "you must not talk about my not forgiving you.
+I would try to forgive my greatest enemy, much more my own sister, who has
+but done what she believed to be best."
+
+The authorities at the police-station did what they could. Messages were
+sent to every police centre in the town; and very soon every policeman on
+his beat was on the look-out for the missing child. At the same time, an
+officer was told off to accompany the anxious father on a personal search
+for his little girl. First of all, they visited the casual ward at the
+workhouse, and astonished its motley and dilapidated occupants by waking
+them to ask if they had fallen in with a strayed child on any of the roads
+by which they had severally approached the town. When they had recovered
+from their first alarm beneath the gleam of the policeman's bulls-eye,
+these waifs of humanity, one and all, declared their inability to supply
+the desired information. The officer next conducted his companion into the
+courts and bye-ways of the town. Many a den of infamy was filled with a
+quiver of alarm, and many a haunt of poverty was made to uncover its
+wretchedness before the horrified gaze of "Cobbler" Horn. But the missing
+child was not in any of these. Next they went a little way out on one or
+two of the country roads. But here all was dark: and they soon retraced
+their steps.
+
+Having ascertained that nothing had been heard at the police-station of
+his child, "Cobbler" Horn at length turned homeward, in the early morning,
+with a weary heart. Miss Jemima was still sitting where he had left her,
+and he sadly shook his head in response to the appeal of her dark hollow
+eyes. During the hour or so which remained before dawn, "Cobbler" Horn
+restlessly paced the house, pausing, now and then, to open the front-door
+and step out into the street, that he might listen for the returning
+patter of the two little feet that had wandered away.
+
+Before it was fairly light, he left his sister, still distraught and rigid
+in her chair, and went into the streets once more. What could he do which
+he had not already done? From the first his heart had turned to God in
+prayer, and this seemed now his sole remaining resource. Yes, he could
+still pray; and, as he did so now, his belief grew stronger and stronger
+that, if not now, yet sometime, he would surely find his child again.
+
+Not many streets from his own he met a woman whom he knew. She lived, with
+her husband, in a solitary cottage on the London Road--the road into which
+"Cobbler" Horn's street directly led, and she was astir thus early, she
+explained, to catch the first train to a place some miles away. But what
+had brought Mr. Horn out so soon? "Cobbler" Horn told his sorrowful story,
+and the woman gave a sudden start.
+
+"Why," she said, "that reminds me. I saw the child yesterday morning. She
+passed our house, trotting at a great rate. It was washing day, and,
+besides, I had my husband's dinner in the oven, or I think I should have
+gone after her."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn regarded the woman with strange, wide-open eyes.
+
+"If you had only stopped her!" he cried. "But of course you didn't know."
+
+With that, he left the woman standing in the street, and hurried away.
+Very soon he was walking swiftly along the London Road. The one thought in
+his mind was that he was on the track of his child at last. He passed the
+wayside cottage where the woman lived who had seen Marian go by, and went
+on until, moved by a sudden impulse, he paused to rest his arms upon the
+top of a five-barred gate, and look upon the field into which it led. Then
+he uttered a cry, and, tearing open the gate, strode into the field. Lying
+amidst the grass was a little shoe. It was one of Marian's without a
+doubt. Had he not made it himself? He picked it up and hid it away in the
+pocket of his coat. Marian had evidently wandered that way, and was lost
+in the large wood which lay on the other side of the field. To reach the
+wood was the work of a few moments. Plunging amongst the trees, he soon
+came upon a pool, near the margin of which were some prostrate tree
+trunks. Near one of these the ground was littered with shreds of what
+might have been articles of clothing; and amongst them was a long strip of
+print, which had a familiar look. He picked it up and examined it closely.
+Then the truth flashed upon him. It was one of the strings of Marian's
+sun-bonnet! Holding it loosely between his finger and thumb, he gazed upon
+the foul green waters of the pond. Did they cover the body of his child?
+He had no further thought of searching the wood. With a shudder he turned
+away, and hurried home.
+
+Aunt Jemima had bestirred herself, and was moving listlessly about the
+house.
+
+"Jemima, do you know this?" She took the strip of print into her hand.
+
+"Yes," she said, "it is----"
+
+He finished her sentence. "----the string of her bonnet."
+
+"Yes."
+
+He told her where he had found it, and showed her the shoe.
+
+The pond was dragged, but nothing was discovered. They searched the wood,
+and scoured the country for miles around; but they came upon no further
+trace of the missing child.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER VII.
+
+                    WHAT HAD BECOME OF THE CHILD?
+
+
+When Marian left her father's house, she had but one idea in her mind. Her
+sole desire was to escape from Aunt Jemima; and it seemed to her that the
+most effectual method of doing so was to get into the country as fast as
+she could. It was not likely, she thought, that there would be any Aunt
+Jemimas in so pleasant a region as she had always understood the country
+to be. She knew vaguely which direction to take, and supposed that if she
+kept on long enough, she would ultimately reach her destination. What she
+would do when she got there she had not paused to think. At present she
+was simply thrilling with the sweet consciousness of liberty, and enjoying
+her scamper in the fresh spring morning air. It was not likely, perhaps,
+that Marian would run right away from home, and stay away. Like any other
+little chick, she would make for home at roosting time, if hunger did not
+constrain her to turn her steps thitherward at a much earlier hour.
+
+Marian's surmise that the way she had taken led into the country proved to
+be correct. The street widened out into a road, the houses became fewer
+and brighter till they ceased altogether; and the child realized, with a
+little tremor, that, at last, she was out in the country all alone. Her
+feeling was one of timid joy. All around her were the green fields and
+waving trees; and the only house in sight was a little white-washed
+cottage far on in front. It cost Marian an effort to pass a man with a
+coal cart who presently loomed in view; but when she found that he
+slouched by without taking any notice of her, she took heart again and
+tripped blithely on.
+
+Presently she found herself opposite to the little white-washed cottage;
+and she remembered that she had been there once or twice with her father.
+She would have been better pleased, just now, if the cottage had been on
+some other road. How could she pass it without being seen? This was
+plainly impossible; for there was the woman of the house--being the same
+whom Marian's father met the following morning--hanging out the clothes in
+the garden, close to the hedge. Marian trotted on, pretending not to know
+that there was any one near. Then she felt hot all over, as she became
+aware the woman had seen her, and was calling across the road. But she
+just gave her dusky little head a determined shake, and pursued her way.
+The woman, being weighted with an accumulation of domestic cares, without
+a second thought, and much to her subsequent regret, let the little
+runaway go by.
+
+When Marian had left the cottage out of sight behind, she began to feel
+lonely, and to be very much afraid. There was not a human being in sight,
+except herself; and the only dwelling she could see was a farm-house,
+perched on the top of a hill, away across the fields. She slackened her
+pace, and looked furtively around. Then she went on more quickly again;
+but, in a few moments, a slight bend in the road brought before her a
+sight at which she stopped short and uttered a cry of alarm. An
+exceedingly ill-favoured man, and a no more prepossessing woman, were
+sitting upon the bank, by the road-side, discussing a dinner of broken
+victuals. They were thorough-going tramps, of middle age. Marian would
+have fled; but their evil eyes held her to the spot.
+
+"What a pretty little lady!" said the man, holding out a very dirty hand.
+"Come here, missy!"
+
+But Marian shrank back with a smothered cry.
+
+"I've finished my dinner, I have," said the man, getting up.
+
+"So have I," echoed the woman, following his example; "and we'll go for
+a walk with little miss."
+
+"What a precious lonely road!" she remarked, when she had glanced this way
+and that, to make sure that no prying eyes were near. "Catch hold o' the
+little 'un, Jake; and we'll take a stroll in the fields."
+
+There was a perfect understanding between this precious pair; and Marian
+was promptly lifted over a five-barred gate, and led by the woman across
+a grass field, towards a wood on the other side, while the man followed
+stolidly in the rear. A few paces from the gate Marian's shoe came off;
+but she was as much too frightened to say anything about it, as she was to
+ask any questions of her captors, or to resist their will. Having reached
+the wood, they plunged into its recesses, and at length halted before a
+large pool, at the edge of which there lay upon the ground the trunks of
+some trees which had been cut down. Taking her seat on one of these, the
+woman drew Marian to her side, and, while the man stood by with an evil
+smile, proceeded to strip off some of the child's clothes. Marian began to
+cry, but was silenced with a rough shake and a threat of being thrown into
+the pond. Having divested the child of most of her garments, the woman
+took from a dirty bundle which she carried a draggled grey wool shawl,
+which she wrapped tightly, crosswise, around Marian's body, and tied in
+a hard knot behind her back.
+
+Perceiving that Marian had lost one of her shoes, the hag sent her
+husband back to look for it, while she proceeded with the metamorphosis
+of the hapless infant who had fallen into her hands. She smeared the
+little face with muddy water from the margin of the pool; she jerked out
+the semi-circular comb which held back Marian's cloud of dusky hair, and
+let the thick locks fall in disorder about her head and face; she dragged
+the little sun bonnet in the green slime at the margin of the pool, and,
+on pretence of tying it on the child's head, wrenched off one of the
+strings, which she heedlessly left lying on the ground.
+
+At this point the man returned without the missing shoe.
+
+"It doesn't matter," said his spouse. "Lend me your knife."
+
+She then proceeded to cut and slash Marian's remaining shoe in a most
+remorseless manner, after which she replaced it on the child's foot, and
+wrapped around the other foot a piece of dirty rag.
+
+"Come now," said the woman, having rolled up Marian's clothes with the
+rubbish in her bundle; "we wanted a little girl, and you'll just do." So
+saying, she took tight hold of the child's hand.
+
+"I want my daddy!" cried Marian, finding her voice at last.
+
+"That's your daddy now," said the woman, pointing to the man: "and I'm
+your mammy. Come along!" and, with the word, she set off at a vigorous
+pace, dragging the child, and, followed heavily by her husband, through
+the wood, and across the field, and then out upon the road, away and away,
+with their backs turned towards Marian's home.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER VIII.
+
+                    THE SHOEMAKER BECOMES "GOLDEN."
+
+
+One morning, about twelve years after the disappearance of Marian, there
+came to her father a great, and almost overwhelming surprise.
+
+It is not necessary to dwell on the manner in which the twelve years had
+passed. Nothing had ever been heard of Marian. The most thorough search
+was made, but without result; and at length, the stricken father was
+constrained to accept the conviction that his child was indeed gone from
+him into the great world, and, bowing his head in the presence of his
+God, he covered his bruised heart with the fair sheet of a dignified
+self-control, and settled down to his work again, like a man and a
+Christian.
+
+Yet he did not cease inwardly to grieve. If his child had gone to her dead
+mother, there would have been strong consolation, and, perhaps, in time,
+contentment might have come. But she was gone, not to her mother, but out
+into the cold, pitiless world; and his imagination dwelt grimly on the
+nameless miseries into which she might fall.
+
+Miss Jemima still kept her brother's house; but she had been greatly
+softened by her self-accusing grief. And now, as the brother and sister
+sat at breakfast one autumn morning, came the surprise of which we speak.
+It came in the form of a letter, which, before opening it, "Cobbler" Horn
+regarded, for some moments, with a dubious air. The arrival of a letter at
+his house was a rare event; and but for the fact that the missive bore his
+name and address, he would have thought there was a mistake, and, even
+now, the addition of the sign, "Esq." to his name left the matter in some
+doubt. The stoutness of the blue envelope, and the bold character of the
+handwriting, gave the packet a business-like look. For a moment, "Cobbler"
+Horn thought of his lost child. A slight circumstance was sufficient, even
+yet, to re-awaken his hopes; and he still clung to the conviction that,
+some day, his child would return. The letter, however, contained no
+reference to the great sorrow of his life; and, indeed, its contents were
+such that he forgot, for the time being, Marian, and everything else. He
+looked up with a gasp of astonishment; and then, turning his attention
+again to the letter, deliberately read it through, and, when he had
+finished, calmly handed it to his sister. She read a few words, and
+broke off with a cry.
+
+"Thomas!"
+
+"Yes, Jemima, I am a rich man, it seems. Read on, and say what you think;"
+and "Cobbler" Horn rose from his seat, and went quietly into his workshop.
+
+Miss Jemima devoured her brother's letter with greedy eyes. It was from
+a firm of London lawyers, and contained a brief announcement that the
+rich uncle of "Cobbler" Horn had died, in America, without a will; that
+"Cobbler" Horn was the lawful owner of all his wealth; and that they, the
+lawyers, awaited "Cobbler" Horn's commands. Would he call upon them at
+their office in London, or should they attend him at his private, or any
+other, address? In the meantime, he would oblige by drawing upon them for
+any amount of money he might require.
+
+With what breath she had left Miss Jemima hurried into her brother's
+workshop.
+
+"Thomas," she demanded, flourishing the letter in his face, "what are you
+going to do?"
+
+"Think," he answered concisely, without looking up from the hob-nailed
+boot between his knees, "and pray, and get on with my work."
+
+"But this letter requires an answer! And," with a glance of disgust around
+the rough shop with its signs of toil, "you are a rich man now, Thomas."
+
+"That," was the quiet reply, "does not alter the fact that I have
+half-a-dozen pairs of boots to mend, and two of them are promised for
+dinner-time. Leave me, now, Jemima, and we'll talk the matter over this
+evening. I don't suppose the gentlemen will be in a hurry."
+
+Miss Jemima withdrew as she was bidden, thinking that there was one
+gentleman, at least, who was not in a hurry.
+
+All day long "Cobbler" Horn quietly worked on in the usual way. He did
+this partly because he loved his work and was loath to give it up, partly
+because he had so much work on hand, and partly that he might think and
+pray, which he could always do best on his cobbler's stool. He found it
+difficult to realize what had taken place; but when, at last, he fairly
+grasped the fact that he was now a rich man, mingled feelings of joy
+and dread filled his breast. There was little taint of selfishness in
+"Cobbler" Horn's joy. It was no gratification to him to be relieved of
+the necessity to work. Nor was he fascinated with the prospect of luxury.
+His joy arose chiefly from the thought of the amount of good he would now
+be able to do. It was impossible that he should form anything like an
+adequate conception of the vast power for good which had been placed in
+his hands. The boundless ability to benefit his fellowmen with which he
+had been so suddenly endowed could not be realized in the first moments
+of his great surprise, yet he perceived faint glimmerings of possibilities
+of benevolence beyond his largest-hearted dreams.
+
+Thoughts of his long-lost child stole over him ever and anon. If she had
+been left to him, he would have rejoiced in his good fortune the more, on
+her account. But she was gone.
+
+The joy of "Cobbler" Horn was chastened by a solemn dread. A great
+responsibility had been laid upon him from which he would have infinitely
+rather been free. He prayed, with trembling, that he might prove worthy of
+so great a trust.
+
+At dinner-time Miss Jemima questioned her brother as to his intentions.
+His answers were brief and indefinite. The matter could not be settled in
+a moment. In the evening they would talk things over, and decide what to
+do.
+
+The evening came, and brother and sister sat before the fire.
+
+"Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, "I must accept this great responsibility."
+
+"You surely did not think of doing anything else?" exclaimed the startled
+lady.
+
+"Well--yes--I did. The burden seemed so great that, for a time, I shrank.
+But the Lord has shown me my duty. I could have desired that we might have
+remained as we were. But there is much consolation in the thought of all
+the good we shall be able to do; and--well, the will of the Lord be done!"
+
+Miss Jemima was astounded. Her brother had become rich beyond the dreams
+of avarice, and he talked of resignation to the will of God!
+
+"Then you will answer the letter at once?" she said.
+
+"Yes, to-morrow."
+
+"And you will go to London?"
+
+"Yes, next week, I think."
+
+"Next week! Why not this week? It's only Monday."
+
+"There is no need to hurry, Jemima. There might be some mistake. And it's
+as well to give the gentlemen time to prepare."
+
+"Lawyers don't make mistakes," said Miss Jemima: "And as for preparing,
+you may be sure they have done that already."
+
+But nothing could induce "Cobbler" Horn to hasten his movements; and his
+sister was fain to content herself with his promise to write to the
+lawyers the next day, which he duly fulfilled.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER IX.
+
+             A STRANGE CLIENT FOR MESSRS. TONGS AND BALL.
+
+
+The day on which "Cobbler" Horn had proposed to the lawyers to pay them
+his promised visit, was the following Monday, at three o'clock in the
+afternoon, and by return of post there came a letter from the lawyers
+assenting to the arrangement. During the week which intervened, "Cobbler"
+Horn did not permit either himself or his sister to mention to a third
+person the change his circumstances had undergone. Nor did he encourage
+conversation between his sister and himself on the subject of his suddenly
+acquired wealth. And neither his manner of life nor the ordering of his
+house gave any indication of the altered position in which he was placed.
+He did not permit the astounding news he had received to interfere with
+the simple regularity of his life. Miss Jemima might have been inclined
+to introduce into her domestic arrangements some outward and visible sign
+of the altered fortunes of the house; but her brother's will prevailed,
+and all things continued as before. The "golden shoemaker" even continued
+to work at his trade in the usual way. And all the time he was
+thinking--thinking and praying; and many generous purposes, which
+afterwards bore abundant fruit, began to germinate in his mind.
+
+At length the momentous day arrived, and "Cobbler" Horn travelled by
+an early train to London, and, having dined frugally at a decent
+eating-house, presented himself in due time at the offices of Messrs.
+Tongs and Ball. The men of law were both seated in the room into which
+their new client was shown. One of them was a very little, round, rosy,
+middle-aged man, with an expression of countenance so cherubic that no
+one would have suspected him of being a lawyer; and the other was a tall,
+large-boned, parchment-faced personage, of whom almost any degree of
+heartlessness might have been believed. The two lawyers rose and bowed
+as "Cobbler" Horn was shown in.
+
+"Mr. Horn?"
+
+"Thomas Horn, at your service, gentlemen."
+
+"This is Mr. Tongs," said the tall lawyer with a waive of his hand towards
+his rotund partner; "and I am Mr. Ball," he added, drawing himself into an
+attitude which caused him to look much more like a bat than a ball, and
+speaking in a surprisingly agreeable tone. Upon this there was bowing all
+around, and then a pause.
+
+"Pray take a seat, Mr. Horn," besought Mr. Ball.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn modestly obeyed.
+
+"And now, my dear sir," said Mr. Ball, when he himself and his partner had
+also resumed their seats, "let us congratulate you on your good fortune."
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen," said "Cobbler" Horn gravely. "But the
+responsibility is very great. I am only reconciled to it by the thought
+that I shall now be able to do many things that I have long desired to
+do."
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Ball, "it is one of the gratifications of wealth that a man
+is able to follow his bent--whether it be travelling, collecting pictures,
+keeping horses, or what not."
+
+"Of course," echoed Mr. Tongs.
+
+"No, no, gentlemen," dissented "Cobbler" Horn, "I was thinking of the good
+I shall now be able to do. But let us get to business; for I should be
+sorry to waste your time."
+
+Both lawyers protested. Waste their time! They could not be better
+employed!
+
+"You are very kind, gentlemen."
+
+"Not at all," was the candid reply.
+
+"You have come into a very large fortune, Mr. Horn," continued Mr. Ball,
+as he began to untie a bundle of documents. "You are worth very many
+thousands; in fact you are almost a millionaire. I think I am right, Mr.
+Tongs?"
+
+"Yes," assented Mr. Tongs, "oh yes, certainly."
+
+"All the documents are here," resumed Mr. Ball, as he surveyed a sea of
+blue and white paper which covered the table; "and, with your permission,
+Mr. Horn, we will give you an account of their contents."
+
+The lawyer then proceeded to give his client a statement of the
+particulars of the fortune of which he had so unexpectedly become
+possessed.
+
+"We hope, Mr. Horn," he said, in conclusion, "that you may do us the
+honour to continue the confidence reposed in us by your late uncle."
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir?" said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"I ventured to hope that my partner and I might be so fortunate as to
+retain the management of your affairs. I believe you will find that
+since--"
+
+"Oh yes, of course," "Cobbler" Horn hastened to interpose. He had not
+dreamt of making any change. The lawyers bowed their thanks.
+
+"May we now ask," said Mr. Ball, "whether you have any special commands?"
+
+"I think there are one or two requests I should like to make. I have a
+sister, and I believe my uncle left another nephew."
+
+"A sad scrapegrace, my dear sir," interposed Mr. Ball, whose keen legal
+instinct gave him some scent of what was coming next.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn held up his hand.
+
+"Can you tell me, gentlemen, whether there are any other relatives of my
+uncle's who are still alive?"
+
+"We have every reason to believe that there are not."
+
+"Very well, then, I wish my uncle's property to be divided into three
+equal portions. One third I desire to have made over to my sister, and
+another to be reserved for my cousin. The remaining portion I will retain
+myself."
+
+"But, my dear sir," cried Mr. Ball, "the whole of the property is legally
+yours!"
+
+"True," was the quiet reply; "but the law cannot make that right which is
+essentially wrong, and my sister and cousin are as much entitled to my
+uncle's money as I am myself."
+
+Mr. Ball was dumfounded.
+
+"My dear sir," he gasped, "this is very strange!"
+
+But "Cobbler" Horn was firm.
+
+"You will find this scapegrace cousin of mine?" he asked.
+
+The lawyers said they would do their best; and, when some further
+arrangements had been made, with regard to the property, "Cobbler" Horn
+took his departure, leaving his two legal advisers to assure one another,
+as they stood together on the hearthrug, that he was the strangest client
+they had known.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER X.
+
+               MISS JEMIMA IS VERY MUCH ASTONISHED.
+
+
+Miss Jemima Horn was sufficiently curious as to the result of her
+brother's visit to the lawyers, to render her restlessly eager for his
+return. He came back the same night. He had work to finish in the cobbling
+line; and besides he had no fancy for any bed but his own.
+
+After supper, the brother and sister sat down before the fire, for the
+talk to which Miss Jemima had been looking forward all day long.
+
+"Well, brother," she queried, "I suppose you've heard all about it?"
+
+"Yes, in a general way."
+
+"And what is the amount?"
+
+"I'm almost afraid to say. The gentlemen said little short of a million!"
+
+Miss Jemima threw up her hands with a little jerk of wonder, and gazed at
+her brother with incredulous surprise.
+
+"Where is it all?" was her next enquiry.
+
+"Some in England, and some in America."
+
+"It's not all in money, of course?" she asked, in doubtful tones.
+
+"No," said her brother, opening his eyes: "it's in all sorts of ways. A
+great deal of it is in house property. There's one whole village--or
+nearly so."
+
+"A whole village!"
+
+"Yes, the village of Daisy Lane. It was the family home at one time, you
+know."
+
+This was true. The village of Daisy Lane, in a Midland county, had been
+the cradle of the race of Horn. "Cobbler" Horn and his sister, however,
+had never visited the ancestral village.
+
+"Well?" queried Miss Jemima.
+
+"Well, uncle had a fancy for owning the village; so he bought it up bit
+by bit."
+
+"Only to think!" exclaimed Miss Jemima. "And what else is there?"
+
+"Well, there's money in all sorts of forms that I understand very little
+about."
+
+"It's simply wonderful!" declared Miss Jemima.
+
+"And then there's the old hall at Daisy Lane. Uncle meant to end his days
+there; but God has ordered otherwise, you see."
+
+"And you will go to live there?"
+
+"No," answered her brother, slowly; "I think not, Jemima."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Sister, I don't think we should be happy in a grand house--at any rate
+not all at once. But there's something else I want to talk about."
+
+Of late years the ascendancy had completely passed from Miss Jemima to her
+brother; and now, though she would fain have talked further about the old
+family mansion, she submissively turned her attention to what her brother
+was about to say.
+
+"It is probable, Jemima," he begun, "that there has never been a rich man
+who had so few relatives to whom to leave his wealth as had our uncle."
+
+"Yes: father and Uncle Ira were the only members of Uncle Jacob's family
+who ever married; and the brothers and sisters are all dead now. We are
+almost alone in the world."
+
+"Except one cousin, you know," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"You mean Uncle Ira's scapegrace, Jack. But no one knows where he is. He
+may be dead for all we know."
+
+Somehow Miss Jemima did not seem to desire that there should be any other
+relatives of her uncle to the front, just now, but her brother and
+herself.
+
+"If Jack is dead," said "Cobbler" Horn, "there will be no more to say. But
+if he is alive, he must have his share of uncle's money; and I have left
+it with the legal gentlemen to find him if they can."
+
+"Thomas," protested Miss Jemima, "do you think it would be right to hand
+over uncle's hard-earned money to that poor wastrel?"
+
+"His right to the money, Jemima, is as good as ours."
+
+"Perhaps so; but I feel convinced that uncle would not have wished for any
+part of his money to go to Jack. It would be like flinging it into the
+sea."
+
+"Yes; but that cuts both ways, Jemima. Uncle would never have willed his
+money to me, any more than to Jack. But God has given it to me, and I mean
+to use it in the way of which I believe He will approve."
+
+"And that is not all," he hastily resumed. "I have another relative;" and
+he directed a look of loving significance towards his sister's face. "Do
+you think that, if I admit the claim of our poor scapegrace cousin to a
+share of our uncle's money, I shall overlook the right of the dear sister
+who has been my stay and comfort all these sorrowing years?"
+
+"But--but----" began Miss Jemima, in bewildered tones.
+
+"Yes, you are to have your share too, Jemima."
+
+"But, brother I don't desire it. If you have the money, it's all the same
+as though I had it myself."
+
+With all her severity, there was not an atom of selfishness in Miss Jemima
+Horn.
+
+"It's all arranged," was her brother's reply. "I instructed the lawyers to
+divide the property into three equal portions."
+
+Miss Jemima, supposing that an arrangement with the lawyers was like the
+laws of the Medes and Persians, which "altered not," felt compelled to
+submit; but it was with the understanding that her brother took entire
+management of her portion of the money, as well as his own.
+
+There was little further talk between "Cobbler" Horn and his sister that
+evening. Their early bed-time had arrived; and "Cobbler" Horn, having
+read a chapter in the Bible, offered a fervent prayer, in which he asked
+earnestly that his sister and himself might receive grace to use rightly
+the great wealth which had been entrusted to their charge.
+
+"If we should prove unfaithful, Lord," he said, "take it from us as
+suddenly as Thou hast given it."
+
+"Oh, brother," cried Miss Jemima, as they were going up to bed, "some
+letters came for you this morning."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn took the four or five letters, which his sister was holding
+out to him, with a bewildered air.
+
+"Are they really for me?" he asked.
+
+"Small doubt of that," said Miss Jemima.
+
+The opening of letters was, as yet, to "Cobbler" Horn, a ceremony to be
+performed with care. He drew a chair to the table, and deliberately took
+his seat. He took up the first letter, and, having read it slowly through,
+placed it in Miss Jemima's eager hand. It was a request, from a "gentleman
+in distress," for a loan of twenty pounds--a "trifle" to the possessor of
+so much wealth, but, to the writer "a matter of life or death."
+
+"This will never do!" pronounced Miss Jemima; and the lady's lips emitted
+a gentle whistling sound.
+
+"How soon it seems to have got wind!" exclaimed "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"It's been in the papers, no doubt."
+
+"So it has," he said; "I saw it myself in a newspaper that I bought this
+evening, to read in the train. It called me the 'Golden Shoemaker.'"
+
+"Ah!" cried Miss Jemima. "I've no doubt it will go the round." The good
+lady was not greatly averse to such a pleasant publication of the family
+name.
+
+"Well," she resumed, "what do the other letters say?"
+
+They were all similar to the first. One was from a man who had invented a
+new boot sewing-machine, and would take out a patent; another purported to
+came from a widow with six young children, and begged for a little--ever
+so little--timely help: and the other two were appeals on behalf of
+religious institutions.
+
+"Penalty of wealth!" remarked Miss Jemima, as she took the letters from
+her brother's hand.
+
+"I suppose I must answer them to-morrow," groaned "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Answer them!" exclaimed Miss Jemima. "If you take my advice, you'll throw
+them into the fire. There will be plenty more of the same sort soon.
+Though," she added thoughtfully, "you'll have to read your letters, I
+suppose; for there'll be some you'll be obliged to answer."
+
+"Well," said "Cobbler" Horn quietly, as they turned to the stairs, "we
+shall see."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XI.
+
+           "COBBLER" HORN ANSWERS HIS LETTERS, AND RECEIVES
+                 THE CONGRATULATIONS OF HIS FRIENDS.
+
+
+When, after a somewhat troubled night, "Cobbler" Horn came down next
+morning, his attention was arrested by the letters lying, as he had left
+them, on the table, the night before.
+
+"Yes," he said, in answer to his thoughts; "I think I'll deal with them
+straight away." So saying, he drew a chair to the table, and, having found
+a few sheets of time-stained note paper, together with a penny bottle of
+ink, and an old crippled pen, he sat down to his unwelcome task. The
+undertaking proved even more troublesome than he had thought it would be.
+The pen persisted in sputtering at almost every word; and when, at crucial
+points, he took special pains to make the writing legible, the too
+frequent result was an indecipherable blotch of ink. When the valiant
+scribe had wrestled with his uncongenial task for half an hour or more,
+his sister came upon the scene. Quietly she stepped across the floor.
+
+"Ah!" she exclaimed, peeping over her brother's shoulder, "so you are
+answering them already!"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn started, and a huge blot fell from his pen into the midst
+of his half-finished letter.
+
+"I'm afraid I shall not be able to send this, now," he said, with a
+patient sigh.
+
+"No," said Miss Jemima, laconically, "I'm afraid not. You are writing to
+the 'widow,' I see; and you are promising her some help. That's very well.
+But, in nine cases out of ten, what strangers say of themselves requires
+confirmation--especially if they are beggars; so don't you think that,
+before sending money to this 'widow,' it would be as well to ask for
+the name of some reliable person who will vouch for the truth of her
+statements? You must not forget, what you often say, you know, that you
+are the steward of your Lord's goods."
+
+This was an argument which was sure to prevail with "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"No doubt you are right, Jemima," he said; "and, however reluctantly, I
+must take your advice."
+
+"That's right," said Miss Jemima.
+
+"You haven't answered the other letters?" she then asked, with a glance
+over the table.
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, hadn't you better put them away now, and get to your work? After
+breakfast you must get a new pen and a fresh bottle of ink. Then we'll
+see what we can do together."
+
+In an emergency which demanded the exercise of the practical good sense,
+of which she had so large a share, Miss Jemima regained, to some extent,
+her old ascendency over her brother. He quietly gathered up his letters,
+and, placing them on the chimney-piece, retired to his workshop.
+
+At breakfast-time Miss Jemima's prognostication began to receive
+fulfilment in the arrival of the postman with another batch of letters.
+This time the number had increased to something like a dozen. Having
+received them from the hands of the postman, "Cobbler" Horn carried them
+towards his sister with a somewhat comical air of dismay.
+
+"So many!" exclaimed she. "Your cares are accumulating fast. You will have
+to engage a secretary. Well, we'll look at them by and bye."
+
+Scarcely was breakfast over than there came a modest knock at the door,
+which, on being opened by Miss Jemima, revealed the presence of the elder
+of the little twin hucksters, who still carried on business across the
+way.
+
+Miss Jemima drew herself up like a sentry; and little Tommy Dudgeon,
+finding himself confronted by this formidable lady, would have beaten
+a hasty retreat. But it was too late.
+
+"I beg your pardon, ma'am," he began humbly; "I came to see your brother."
+
+"I don't know," was the lady's lofty reply. "My brother has much business
+on hand."
+
+"No doubt, ma'am; but--but--"
+
+At this point "Cobbler" Horn himself came to the door, and Miss Jemima
+retreated into the house.
+
+"Good morning, Tommy," said "Cobbler" Horn heartily, "step in."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Horn," was the modest reply, "I'm afraid I can't. Business
+presses, you know. But I've just come to congratulate you if I may make so
+bold. Brother would have come too; but he's minding the twins. It's
+washing day, you see. He'll pay his respects another time."
+
+John Dudgeon had been married for some years, and amongst the troubles
+which had varied for him the joys of that blissful state, there had
+recently come the crowning calamity of twins--an affliction which would
+seem to have run in the Dudgeon family.
+
+"We are glad you have inherited this vast wealth, Mr. Horn," said Tommy
+Dudgeon. "We think the arrangement excellent. The ways of Providence are
+indeed wonderful."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn made suitable acknowledgment of the congratulations of his
+humble little friend.
+
+"There is only one thing we regret," resumed the little man; "and that is
+that your change of fortune will remove you to another sphere."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn smiled.
+
+"Well, well," he said, "we shall see."
+
+Whereupon Tommy Dudgeon, feeling comforted, he scarcely knew why, said
+"Good morning" and ambled back to his shop.
+
+About the middle of the morning "Cobbler" Horn and his sister sat down to
+deal with the letters. First they glanced at those which had arrived that
+morning, and then laid them aside for the time, until, in fact, they had
+dealt with those previously received. First came that of the assumed
+widow, to which Miss Jemima induced her brother to write a cautious reply,
+asking for a reference. To the man who asked for the loan of twenty
+pounds, Miss Jemima would have sent no reply at all; but "Cobbler" Horn
+insisted that a brief but courteous note should be sent to him, expressing
+regret that the desired loan could not be furnished. It did not need the
+persuasion of his sister to induce "Cobbler" Horn to decline all dealings
+with the importunate inventor; but it was with great difficulty that she
+could dissuade him from making substantial promises to the religious
+institutions from which he had received appeals.
+
+"I think I shall consult the minister about such cases," he said.
+
+The investigation of the second batch of letters was postponed until the
+afternoon.
+
+During the morning, and at intervals throughout the day, others of
+"Cobbler" Horn's neighbours came to offer their congratulations, and were
+astonished to find him seated on his cobbler's stool, and quietly plying
+his accustomed task. To their remonstrances he would reply, "You see this
+work is promised; and if I am rich, I must keep my word. And then the
+habits of a lifetime are not to be given up in a day. And, to be honest
+with you, friends, I am in no haste to make the change. I love my work,
+and would as lief be sitting on this stool as anywhere else in the world."
+
+There came some of his poorer customers, who greatly bewailed what they
+regarded as his inevitable removal from their midst. They could not
+congratulate him as heartily as they desired. They would rather he had
+remained the poor, kind-hearted, Christian cobbler whom they had always
+known. Many a pair of boots had he mended free of charge for customers who
+could ill afford to pay; not a few were the small debts of poor but honest
+debtors which he had forgiven; and not seldom had clandestine gifts of
+money or food found their way from his hands to one or another of these
+regretful congratulators. Perceiving the grief upon the faces of his
+friends, "Cobbler" Horn contrived, by means of various hints, to let them
+know that he would still be their friend, and to remind them that his
+enrichment would conduce to their more effectual help at his hands.
+
+On one point all his visitors were agreed. Great wealth, they said, could
+not have come to any one by whom it was more thoroughly deserved, or who
+would put it to a better use. "The Lord," affirmed one quaint individual,
+"knew what He was about this time, anyhow."
+
+In the afternoon, "Cobbler" Horn and his sister set about the task of
+answering the second batch of letters. They were all, with one exception,
+of a similar character to those of the first. The exception proved to be
+a badly-written, ill-spelled, but evidently sincere, homily on the dangers
+of wealth, and ended with a fierce warning of the dire consequences of
+disregarding its admonition. It was signed simply--"A friend."
+
+"You'll burn that, I should think!" was Miss Jemima's scornful comment on
+this ill-judged missive.
+
+"No," said "Cobbler" Horn, putting the letter into his breast pocket; "I
+shall keep it. It was well meant, and will do me good."
+
+By tea-time their task was finished; and "Cobbler" Horn heaved a sigh of
+relief as he rose from his seat. But just then the postman knocked at the
+door, and handed in another and still larger supply of letters, at the
+sight of which the "Golden Shoemaker" staggered back aghast. The fame of
+his fortune had indeed got wind.
+
+"Ah," exclaimed his sister, who was setting the tea-things, "you'll have
+to engage a secretary, as I said."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XII.
+
+            "COBBLER" HORN PAYS A VISIT TO HIS LANDLORD.
+
+
+The day following his trip to London "Cobbler" Horn paid a visit to his
+landlord. His purpose was to buy the house in which he lived. Though he
+realized that he must now take up his actual abode in a house more suited
+to his altered circumstances, he wished to retain the possession and use
+of the one in which he had lived so long. The humble cottage was endeared
+to him by many ties. Here the best part of his life had been passed. Here
+his brief but blissful married life had been spent, and here his precious
+wife had died. Of this house his darling little Marian had been the light
+and joy; and her blithe and loving spirit seemed to haunt it still. These
+memories, reinforced by a generous purpose on behalf of the poor
+neighbours whom he had been wont to help, decided him to endeavour to make
+the house absolutely his own.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn did not tell his sister of his intention with regard to the
+house. He simply said, after breakfast, that he was going out for an hour;
+and, though Miss Jemima looked at him very hard, she allowed him to depart
+unquestioned.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's landlord who was reputed to be enormously rich, lived in
+one of the most completely hidden parts of the town, which was approached
+by a labyrinth of very narrow and dirty streets. As "Cobbler" Horn pursued
+his tortuous way to this secluded abode, he pondered, with some misgiving,
+the chances that his errand would succeed. He knew his landlord to be a
+man of stubborn temper and of many whims; and he was by no means confident
+as to the reception with which his intended proposal would meet. It was
+characteristic that, as he thought of the difficulties of his enterprise,
+he prayed earnestly that, if God willed, he might obtain the gratification
+of his present desire. Then, with growing confidence and quickened step,
+he proceeded on his way, until, at length, he stood before his landlord's
+house.
+
+The house was a low, dingy building of brick, which stood right across the
+end of a squalid street, and completely blocked the way. Over the door was
+a grimy sign-board, on which could faintly be distinguished the vague yet
+comprehensive legend:
+
+                            "D. FROUD,
+                               DEALER."
+
+The paint upon the crazy door was blistered and had peeled off in huge
+mis-shapen patches; the door-step was almost worn in two; the windows
+were dim with the dust of many years.
+
+The door was opened by a withered crone, who, to his question whether Mr.
+Froud was in, answered in an injured tone, "Yes, he was in; he always
+was;" and, as she spoke, she half-pushed the visitor into a room on the
+left side of the entrance, and vanished from the scene. The room was very
+dark, and it was some time before "Cobbler" Horn could observe the nature
+of his surroundings. But, by degrees, as his eyes became accustomed to the
+gloom, he perceived that the centre of the apartment was occupied with an
+old mahogany table, covered with a litter of books and papers. There stood
+against the wall opposite to the window an ancient and dropsical chest of
+drawers. Facing the door was a fire-place, brown with rust, innocent of
+fire-irons, and piled up with heterogeneous rubbish. The walls and
+chimney-piece were utterly devoid of ornaments. The paper on the walls
+was torn and soiled, and even hung in strips. On the chimney-piece were
+several empty ink and gum bottles, an old ruler, and a further assortment
+of similar odds and ends. The only provision for the comfort of visitors
+consisted of two battered wooden chairs.
+
+At first "Cobbler" Horn thought he was alone; but, the next moment, he
+heard himself sharply addressed, though not by name.
+
+"Well, it's not rent day yet. What's your errand?"
+
+It was a snarling voice, and came from the corner between the window and
+fire-place, peering in which direction, "Cobbler" Horn perceived dimly
+the figure of the man he had come to see. Mr. Daniel Froud had turned
+around from a high desk at which he had been writing in the gloom. How he
+contrived to see in so dark a corner was a mystery which belonged to the
+wider question as to the penetrating power of vision in general which he
+was known to possess. The small boys of the neighbourhood declared that he
+could see in the dark like a cat. He now moved a step nearer to "Cobbler"
+Horn, and stood revealed, an elderly, and rather undersized, grizzled,
+gnarled, and knotted man, dressed in shabby and antiquated clothes.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Froud," said "Cobbler" Horn, extending his hand, "I've
+come to see you on a little business."
+
+"Of course you have," was the angry retort; and taking no notice of his
+visitor's proffered hand, the man stamped his foot impatiently on the
+uncarpeted floor. "No one ever comes to see me about anything else but
+business. And I don't want them to," he added with a grim chuckle. "Well,
+let us get it done. My time is valuable, if yours is not."
+
+"My time also is not without value," was the prompt reply. "I want to ask
+you, Mr. Froud, if you will sell me the house in which I live."
+
+If Daniel Froud was surprised, he completely concealed the fact.
+
+"If I would sell it," was his coarse rejoinder, "you, 'Cobbler' Horn,
+would not be able to buy it."
+
+"I am well able to buy the house, Mr. Froud," was the quiet response.
+
+Daniel Froud keenly scrutinized his visitor's face.
+
+"I believe you think you are telling the truth," he said. "Mending
+pauper's boots and shoes must be a profitable business, then?"
+
+"I have had some money left to me," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+The interest of Daniel Froud was awakened at once.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed, "that is it, is it? But sit down, Mr. Horn," and the
+grizzled reprobate pushed towards his visitor, who had hitherto remained
+standing, one of his rickety and dust-covered chairs.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn looked doubtfully at the proffered seat, and said that he
+preferred to stand.
+
+"If you are willing to sell me the house, Mr. Froud," he said, "name your
+price. It is not my intention to waste your time."
+
+Daniel Froud still pondered. It was no longer a question whether he should
+sell "Cobbler" Horn the house: he was beginning already to consider how
+much he should ask for it.
+
+"So you really wish to buy the house, Mr. Horn?" he asked.
+
+"Such is my desire."
+
+"And you think you can pay the price?"
+
+"I have little doubt on that point."
+
+"Well"--with a sudden jerk forward of his forbidding face--"what do you
+say to £600?"
+
+Unsophisticated as he was, "Cobbler" Horn felt that the proposal was
+exorbitant.
+
+"You are surely joking?" he said.
+
+"You think the price too small?"
+
+"I consider it much too large."
+
+"Well, perhaps I was joking, as you said. What do you think of £500?"
+
+"I'm afraid even that is too much. I'll give you £450."
+
+Daniel Froud hesitated for some minutes, but at last said, "Well, I'll
+take your offer, Mr. Horn; but it's a dreadful sacrifice."
+
+A few minutes sufficed to complete the agreement; and then, in taking his
+departure, "Cobbler" Horn administered a word of admonition to his
+grasping landlord.
+
+"Don't you know, friend," he said, "that it is a grievous sin to try to
+sell anything for more than it is worth? And how contemptible it is to be
+so greedy of money! It does not seem to me that money is to be so eagerly
+desired, and especially if it does one no more good than yours seems to be
+doing you. Good morning, friend; and God give you repentance."
+
+Mr. Froud had listened open-mouthed to this plain-spoken homily. When he
+came to himself, he darted forward, and aimed a blow with his fist, which
+just failed to strike the back of his visitor, who was in the act of
+leaving the room.
+
+Confronting him in the doorway was the old crone who kept his house.
+
+"Was that Horn, the shoemaker?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, woman."
+
+"Horn as has just come into the fortune?"
+
+"Well--somewhat."
+
+"'Somewhat!' It's said to be about a million of money! Look here!" and she
+showed him a begrimed and crumpled scrap of newspaper, containing a full
+account of "Cobbler" Horn's fortune.
+
+With a cry, Daniel Froud seized the woman, and shook her till it almost
+seemed as though the bones rattled in her skin.
+
+"You hell-cat! Why didn't you tell me that before?"
+
+The wretched creature fell back panting against the door on the opposite
+side of the passage.
+
+"Daniel Froud," she said, when she had sufficiently recovered her breath,
+"the next time you do that I shall give you notice."
+
+With which dreadful threat, she gathered herself together, and hobbled
+back to her own quarter of the dingy house, leaving Mr. Froud to bemoan
+the absurdly easy terms he had made with "the Golden Shoemaker."
+
+"If I had only known!" he moaned; "if I had only known!"
+
+That evening "Cobbler" Horn told his sister what he had done, and why he
+had done it; and she held up her hands in dismay.
+
+"First," she said, "I don't see why you should have bought the house at
+all; and, secondly, you have paid far more for it than it is worth."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XIII.
+
+                            FREE COBBLERY.
+
+
+"I suppose you'll be looking out for a tenant for this house, when you've
+found somewhere for us to go?" queried Miss Jemima, at breakfast the next
+morning.
+
+"Well, no," replied her brother, "I think not." "Why," cried Miss Jemima,
+"I hope we are not to go on living in this poky little place!"
+
+"No, that is not exactly my intention, either," said "Cobbler" Horn. "We
+must, I suppose, remove to another house. But I wish this one to remain
+very much as it is; I shall want to use it sometimes."
+
+"Want to use it sometimes!" echoed Miss Jemima, in a mystified tone.
+
+"Yes; you see I don't feel that I can give up my lifelong employment all
+at once. So I've been thinking that I'll come to the old workshop, now and
+then, and do a bit of cobbling just for a change."
+
+Here he paused, and moved uneasily in his chair.
+
+"It wouldn't do to charge anything for my work now, of course," he
+continued; "so I've made up my mind to do little bits of jobs, now and
+again, without any pay, for some of the poor people round about, just for
+the sake of old times, you know."
+
+Miss Jemima's hands went up with their accustomed movement of dismay.
+
+"Why, that will never do," she cried. "You'll have all the thriftless
+loons in the town bringing you their boots and shoes to mend."
+
+"I must guard against that," was the quiet reply.
+
+"Well," continued Miss Jemima, in an aggrieved tone, "I altogether
+disapprove of your continuing to work as if you were a poor man. But you
+ought, at least, to make a small charge. Otherwise you will be imposed
+upon all round."
+
+Finding, however, that she could not move her brother from his purpose,
+Miss Jemima relinquished the attempt.
+
+"Well, Thomas," she concluded, "you can never have been intended for this
+world and its ways. There is probably a vacancy in some quite different
+one which you ought to have filled."
+
+The next few days were largely spent in house hunting; and, after careful
+investigation, and much discussion, they decided to take, for the present,
+a pleasantly situated detached villa, which stood on the road leading out
+past the field where, so many years ago, "Cobbler" Horn had found his
+little lost Marian's shoe. The nearness of the house to this spot had
+induced him, in spite of his sister's protest, to prefer it to several
+otherwise more eligible residences; and he was confirmed in his decision
+by the fact that the villa was no great distance from the humble dwelling
+he was so reluctant to leave. They were to have possession at once; and
+Miss Jemima was permitted to plunge without delay into the delights of
+buying furniture, engaging servants, and such like fascinating concerns.
+
+During these busy days, "Cobbler" Horn himself was absorbed in the
+arrangements for the rehabilitation of his old workshop. He subjected it
+to a complete renovation, in keeping with its character and use. A new
+tile floor, a better window, a fresh covering of whitewash on the walls,
+and a new coat of paint for the wood-work, effected a transformation as
+agreeable as it was complete. He kept the old stool; but procured a new
+and modern set of tools, and furnished himself with a stock of the best
+leather the market could supply.
+
+He had no difficulty in letting his poor customers know of his charitable
+designs, and he soon had as much work as he could do. As his sister had
+warned him, he had many applications from those who were unworthy of his
+help. He did not like to turn any of the applicants away; but he did so
+remorselessly in every instance in which, after careful investigation, the
+case broke down, his chief regret being that his gratuitous services were
+rarely sought by those who needed them most. But this is to anticipate.
+
+It was in connection with what was regarded as the _quixotic_ undertaking
+of Miss Jemima's brother to mend, free of charge, the boots and shoes of
+his poor neighbours, that he soon became generally known as "Cobbler"
+Horn.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XIV.
+
+           "THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER" WAITS UPON HIS MINISTER.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's correspondence was steadily accumulating. Every day
+brought fresh supplies of letters; and the humble cottage was in danger
+of being swamped by an epistolary inundation, which was the despair of
+"Cobbler" Horn, and a growing vexation to his sister's order-loving soul.
+
+For some time "the Golden Shoemaker" persisted valiantly in his attempt to
+answer every letter he received. Miss Jemima's scornful disapproval was of
+no avail. In vain she declared her conviction that every other letter was
+an imposture or a hoax, and pointed out that, if people wanted their
+letters answered, they ought to enclose a stamp. Then, for the twentieth
+time, she repeated her suggestion that a secretary should be engaged. At
+first her brother waived this proposal aside; but at length it became
+imperative that help should be sought. "Cobbler" Horn was like a man who
+attempts, single-handed, to cut his way through a still-accumulating
+snow-drift. The man must perish, if help do not come; unless "Cobbler"
+Horn secured assistance in dealing with his letters, it was impossible to
+tell what his fate might be. It was now simply a question by what means
+the needed help might best be obtained; and both "Cobbler" Horn and his
+sister agreed that the wisest thing would be to consult the minister of
+their church. This, accordingly, "Cobbler" Horn resolved to do.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's minister officiated in a sanctuary such as was formerly
+called a "chapel," but is now, more frequently designated a "church." His
+name was Durnford; and he was a man of strongly-marked individuality--a
+godly, earnest, shrewd, and somewhat eccentric, minister of the Gospel. He
+was always accessible to his people in their trouble or perplexity, and
+they came to him without reserve. But surely his advice had never been
+sought concerning difficulties so peculiar as those which were about to
+be laid before him by "Cobbler" Horn!
+
+It was about ten o'clock on the Monday morning following his visit to the
+lawyers, that "Cobbler" Horn sat in Mr. Durnford's study, waiting for the
+minister to appear. He had not long to wait. The door opened, and Mr.
+Durnford entered. He was a middle-aged man of medium height, with keen yet
+kindly features, and hair and beard of iron grey. He greeted his visitor
+with unaffected cordiality.
+
+"I've come to ask your advice, sir, under circumstances of some
+difficulty," said "Cobbler" Horn, when they were seated facing each other
+before a cheerful fire.
+
+This being a kind of appeal to which he was accustomed, the minister
+received the announcement calmly enough.
+
+"Glad to help you, if I can, Mr. Horn," he said.
+
+There was a breeziness about Mr. Durnford which at once afforded
+preliminary refreshment to such troubled spirits as sought his counsel.
+
+"Thank you, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn, "I'm sure you will. You have heard
+of the sudden and unexpected----"
+
+"To be sure!" broke in the minister, leaping to his feet, and grasping his
+visitor's hand, "Pardon me; I quite forgot. Let me congratulate you. Of
+course it's true?"
+
+"Yes, sir, thank you; it's true--too true, I'm afraid."
+
+Mr. Durnford laughed.
+
+"How if I were to commiserate you, then?" he said.
+
+"No, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn gravely, "not that either. It's the Lord's
+will after all; and it's a great joy to me to be able to do so much that I
+have long wished to do. It's the responsibility that I feel."
+
+"Very good," replied the minister; "such joy is the purest pleasure wealth
+can give. But the responsibility of such a position as yours, is, no
+doubt, as you say, very great."
+
+"Yes, sir; I feel that I hold all this wealth in trust from God; and I
+want to be a faithful steward. I am resolved to use my Lord's money
+exactly as I believe He desires that I should--in fact as He Himself
+would use it, if He were in my place."
+
+"Excellent, Mr. Horn!" exclaimed the minister; "you have spoken like a
+Christian."
+
+"Thank you, sir. But there's another thing; it seems so dreadful that
+one man should have so much money. Do you know, sir, I'm almost a
+millionaire?"
+
+He made this announcement in very much the same tone in which he would
+have informed the minister that he was stricken with some dire disease.
+
+"Is your trouble so great as that?" asked Mr. Durnford, in mock dismay.
+
+"Yes, sir; and it's a very serious matter indeed. It doesn't seem right
+for me to be so rich, while so many have too little, and not a few nothing
+at all."
+
+"That can soon be rectified," said Mr. Durnford.
+
+"Perhaps so, sir; though it may not be so easy as you suppose. But there's
+another matter that troubles me. I can't think that this great wealth has
+been all acquired by fair means. Indeed I have only too much reason to
+suspect that it was not. I feel ashamed that some of the money which my
+uncle made should have become mine. I feel as though a curse were on it."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed the minister, with a long-drawn sigh, "such feelings do
+you credit, Mr. Horn; but don't you see that God means you to turn that
+curse into a blessing?"
+
+"Yes; and yet I am almost inclined to wish my uncle had taken his money
+with him."
+
+"Scarcely a charitable wish, from any point of view," said Mr. Durnford,
+smiling. "It seems to me that nothing could have been better than the
+arrangement as it stands."
+
+"Well, at any rate, I wish it were possible to restore their money to any
+persons who may have been wronged."
+
+"A laudible, but impossible wish, my dear sir; but, though you cannot
+restore your uncle's wealth to those from whom it may have been wrongfully
+acquired, you can, in some measure, make atonement for the evil involved
+in its acquisition, by employing it for the benefit of those in general
+who suffer and are in need."
+
+"Yes," assented "Cobbler" Horn, with emphasis; "if I thought otherwise,
+every coin of the money that I handled would scorch my fingers to the
+bone."
+
+After this there was a brief silence, and the minister sat back in his
+chair, with closed eyes, smiling gently.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said, in another moment, starting forward, "I have
+been thinking of all the good that might be done, if every rich man were
+like you. But you came to ask my advice?"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied "Cobbler" Horn; "and I am keeping you too long."
+
+"Not at all, my dear sir! Your visit has refreshed me greatly. Your talk
+is like a cool breeze on a hot day. It is not often that a millionaire
+comes to discuss with me the responsibilities of wealth. But let me hear
+what the peculiar difficulty is of which you spoke."
+
+"Well, sir, there is a serious inconvenience involved in my new position,
+with which I am quite unable to grapple."
+
+"Ah," said the minister, raising his eye-brows, "what is that?"
+
+"Why it is just the number of letters I receive."
+
+"Of course!" cried the minister, with twinkling eyes. "The birds of prey
+will be upon you from every side; and your being a religious man will, by
+no means, mitigate the evil."
+
+"Ah, I have no doubt you are right, sir! And it's a sort of compliment to
+religion, isn't it?"
+
+"Of course it is," said Mr. Durnford; "and a very beautiful way of looking
+at it too."
+
+"Thank you, sir. Well, there are two sides to my difficulty. First I wish
+to answer every letter I receive; but I cannot possibly do it myself."
+
+"No," said the minister. "But surely many of them need not be answered at
+all."
+
+"Yes, sir, by your leave. My sister says that many of the letters are
+probably impostures. But you see I cannot tell certainly which are of that
+kind. She also points out that very few of them contain stamps for reply.
+But I tell her that a few stamps, more or less, are of no moment to me
+now."
+
+"I don't know," broke in the minister, "which more to admire--your
+sister's wisdom or your own goodness."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn deprecatingly waved his hand.
+
+"Now, sir," he resumed, "Jemima advises me to engage a secretary."
+
+"Obviously," assented the minister, "that is your best course."
+
+"I suppose it is, sir; but I am all at sea, and want your help."
+
+"And you shall have it," said the minister heartily. "There are scores of
+young men--and young women too--who would jump at the chance of such a
+post as that of your secretary would probably be."
+
+"Thank you, sir; but you said young _women_?"
+
+"Precisely. Young women often accept, and very efficiently fill, such
+posts."
+
+"Indeed? I don't know how my sister----"
+
+"Of course not. But suppose we look for a moment at the other side of your
+difficulty."
+
+"Very well, sir; the other trouble is that I find it hard to decide
+what answers to send to a good many of the letters. They are mostly
+applications for money; and it's not easy to tell whether they are
+genuine. Then there are a great many appeals on behalf of all sorts of
+good objects. May I venture to hope, sir, that you will give me your
+advice in these matters?"
+
+"With pleasure!" replied Mr. Durnford, with sparkling eyes.
+
+"Thank you, sir; thank you very much indeed," said "Cobbler" Horn, greatly
+relieved. "And will it be too much if I ask you to advise me, in due
+course, as to the best way of making this money of my uncle's do as much
+good as possible, in a general way?"
+
+"By no means," protested Mr. Durnford, "I am entirely at your service, my
+dear sir. But now," he added, after a pause, "I've been considering, and I
+think I can find you a secretary."
+
+"Ah! who is he, sir?"
+
+"It is she, not he."
+
+"But, sir!"
+
+"Yes, I know; but this is an exceptional young lady."
+
+"A _young_ lady?"
+
+"Yes, a capable, well-behaved, Christian young lady. I have known her for
+a good many years, and would recommend her to anybody. I know she is
+looking out for such a situation as this. She would serve you well--better
+than any young man, I know--and would be a most agreeable addition to your
+family circle. Besides, by engaging my friend, Miss Owen, you would be
+affording help in a case of real need and sterling merit. The girl has no
+parents, and has been brought up by some kind friends. But they are not
+rich, and she will have to make her own way. Now, look here; suppose the
+young lady were to run down and see you? She lives in Birmingham."
+
+"Do you really think it would be advisable?"
+
+"Indeed I do. She'll disarm Miss Horn at once. It'll be a case of love at
+first sight."
+
+"Well, sir, let it be as you say."
+
+"Then I may write to her without delay?"
+
+"If you please, sir."
+
+"Pray for me, Mr. Durnford," said "Cobbler" Horn, as he took his leave.
+
+"I will, my friend," was the hearty response.
+
+"It's not often," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "that a Christian man is placed
+in circumstances of such difficulty as mine."
+
+The minister laughed heartily and long.
+
+"I really mean it, sir," persisted "Cobbler" Horn, with a deprecatory
+smile. "When I think of all that my having this money involves, I almost
+wish the Lord had been pleased to leave me in my contented poverty."
+
+"My dear friend," said the minister, "that will not do at all. Depend upon
+it, the joy of using your wealth for the Lord, and for His 'little ones,'
+will far more than make up for the vanished delights of your departed
+poverty."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XV.
+
+                "COBBLER" HORN ENGAGES A SECRETARY.
+
+
+On his way home from the minister's house, "Cobbler" Horn was somewhat
+exercised in his mind as to how he should tell his sister what he had
+done. He could inform her, without hesitation, that the minister had
+recommended a secretary; but how should he make known the fact that the
+commended secretary was a lady? He was not afraid of his sister; but he
+preferred that she should approve of his doings, and he wished to render
+his approaching announcement as little distasteful to her as might be. But
+the difficulty of doing this would be great. It would have been hard to
+imagine a communication likely to prove more unwelcome to Miss Jemima than
+the announcement that her brother contemplated the employment of a lady
+secretary. Nor was the difficulty of the situation relieved by the fact
+that the lady was young, and possibly attractive. It would have been as
+easy to impart a delectable flavour to a dose of castor-oil, as to render
+agreeable to his sister the announcement he must immediately make. Long
+before he reached home, he relinquished all attempt to settle the
+difficulty which was agitating his mind. He would begin by telling his
+sister that the minister had recommended a secretary, and then trust to
+the inspiration of the moment for the rest.
+
+Miss Jemima, encompassed with a comprehensive brown apron, stood at the
+table peeling the potatoes for dinner.
+
+"You've been a long time gone, Thomas," she said complacently--for Miss
+Jemima was in one of her most amiable moods.
+
+"Yes; we found many things to talk about."
+
+"Well, what did he say on the secretary question?"
+
+"Oh, he has recommended one to me who, he thinks, will do first-rate."
+
+"Ah! and who is the young man? For of course he is young; all secretaries
+are."
+
+"The person lives in Birmingham," was the guarded reply, "and goes by the
+name of Owen."
+
+Miss Jemima felt by instinct that her brother was keeping something back.
+She shot at him a keen, swift glance, and then resumed the peeling of the
+potato just then in hand, which operation she effected with such extreme
+care, that it was a very attenuated strip of peeling which fell curling
+from her knife into the brown water in the bowl beneath.
+
+"What is this young man's other name?" she calmly asked.
+
+"Well, now, I don't know," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a shrewd smile.
+
+"Just like you men!" whipped out Miss Jemima, pausing in her work; "but I
+suppose, as the minister recommends him, it will be all right."
+
+There was nothing for it now but a straightforward declaration of the
+dreadful truth.
+
+"Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, "I mustn't mislead you. It's not a young
+man at all."
+
+Miss Jemima let fall into the water, with a sudden flop, the potato she
+was peeling, and faced her brother, knife in hand, with a look of wild
+astonishment in her eyes.
+
+"Not a young man!" she almost shrieked, "What then?"
+
+Her brother's emphasis had been on the word _man_, and not on the word
+_young_.
+
+"Well, my dear," he replied, "a young----in fact, a young lady."
+
+Up went Miss Jemima's hands.
+
+"Thomas!"
+
+"Yes, Jemima; such is the minister's suggestion."
+
+Miss Jemima, who had resumed her work, proceeded to dig out the eye of a
+potato with unwonted prodigality.
+
+"Mr. Durnford," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "tells me it is a common thing for
+young ladies to be secretaries now-a-days; and he very highly recommended
+this one in particular."
+
+Miss Jemima knew, that if her brother's mind was made up, it would be
+useless to withstand his will.
+
+"When is she coming?" was all she said.
+
+"I don't know. Mr. Durnford promised to write and ask her to come and see
+us first. You shall talk with her yourself, Jemima; and, believe me, if
+there is any good reason to object to the arrangement, she shall not be
+engaged."
+
+Miss Jemima permitted herself just one other word.
+
+"I am surprised at Mr. Durnford!" she said; and then the matter dropped.
+
+Two days later, in prompt response to the minister's letter, Miss Owen
+duly arrived. Mr. Durnford met her at the station, and conducted her to
+the house of "Cobbler" Horn. He had sent her, in his letter, all needful
+information concerning "Cobbler" Horn, and the circumstances which
+rendered it necessary for him to engage a secretary.
+
+"They reside at present," he said during the walk from the station, "in a
+small house, but will soon remove to a larger one."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was busy in his workshop when they arrived; but Miss Jemima
+was awaiting them in solitary state, in the front-room. The good lady had
+meant to be forbidding and severe in her reception of the "forward minx,"
+whom she had settled it in her mind the prospective secretary would prove
+to be. But the moment her eyes beheld Miss Owen she was disarmed. The
+dark-eyed, black-haired, modestly-attired, and even sober-looking girl,
+who put out her hand with a very simple movement, and spoke, with
+considerable self-possession truly, but certainly not with an impudent
+air, bore but scant resemblance to the "brazen hussey" who had haunted
+Miss Jemima's mind for the past two days.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn came in from his workshop, and greeted the young girl with
+an honest heartiness which placed her at her ease at once.
+
+With almost a cordial air, Miss Jemima invited the visitors to sit down.
+As Miss Owen glanced a second time around the room, a look of perplexity
+came into her face.
+
+"Do you know, Miss Horn," she said, "your house seems quite familiar to
+me. I almost feel as if I had been here before. Of course I never have.
+It's just one of those queer feelings everybody has sometimes, as if what
+you are going through at the time had all taken place before."
+
+She spoke out the thought of her mind with a simple impulsiveness which
+had its own charm.
+
+"No doubt," said Miss Jemima, with a start; but she was deterred from
+further remark by Mr. Durnford's rising from his seat.
+
+"I think I'll leave you," he said, "and call for Miss Owen in--say a
+quarter of an hour. With your permission, Mr. Horn, she will sleep at
+our house to-night."
+
+"Don't go, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn. "Your presence will be a help to
+us on both sides."
+
+It needed no further pursuasion to induce the minister to remain: with
+his assistance, "Cobbler" Horn soon came to terms with the young lady;
+and, as, upon a hint conveyed in the letter she had received from the
+minister, she had come to Cottonborough prepared, if necessary, to remain,
+it was arranged that she should commence her duties on the following day.
+
+"And would it not be as well for her to come to us to-night?" asked
+"Cobbler" Horn. "The sooner she begins to get used to us the better. And
+she can still spend the evening with you, Mr. Durnford."
+
+The minister looked enquiringly at Miss Owen,
+
+"What do you say, my dear?"
+
+"I am entirely in your hands, sir, and those of Mr. Horn."
+
+"Well," said Mr. Durnford, "if you really wish it. Mr. Horn, Miss Owen
+shall come to you to-night."
+
+And thus it was arranged.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XVI.
+
+                 THE ATTACK ON THE CORRESPONDENCE.
+
+
+When "Cobbler" Horn's secretary awoke next morning, she experienced a
+return of the feeling of familiarity with her surroundings of which she
+had been conscious on first entering the house. The little white-washed
+bedroom, with its simple furniture, seemed like a vision of the past.
+She had a dreamy impression that she had slept in this little white room
+many times before. There was, in particular, a startling appearance of
+familiarity in a certain picture which hung upon the wall, beyond the foot
+of the bed. It was an old-fashioned coloured print, in a black frame, and
+represented Jacob's dream. For a long time she gazed at the picture. Then
+she gave herself a shake, and sighed, and laughed a low, pathetic little
+laugh.
+
+"What nonsense!" she thought. "As if I could ever have been here before,
+or set eyes on the picture! Though I may have seen one like it somewhere
+else, to be sure."
+
+Then she roused herself, and got out of bed. But when, having dressed, she
+went downstairs, the same sense of familiarity with her surroundings
+surged over her again. The boxed-up staircase seemed to her a not
+untrodden way; and when she emerged in the kitchen at its foot, and saw
+the round deal table spread for breakfast with its humble array, she
+almost staggered at the familiarity of the scene.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was in his workshop, and Miss Jemima had gone into the
+yard; and, as the young girl gazed around the humble room it seemed, in
+some strange fashion, to have belonged to her past life. The very tap-tap
+of "Cobbler" Horn's hammer, coming cheerily from the workshop behind,
+awoke weird echoes in her brain, and helped to render her illusion
+complete.
+
+All breakfast-time she felt like one in a dream. She seemed to be drifting
+into a new life, which was not new but old; and she almost felt as if she
+had _come home_. She was utterly unable to imagine what might be the
+explanation of this strange experience. She had not a glimmering of the
+actual truth. She struggled against the feeling which possessed her, and
+partly overcame it; but it returned again and again during her stay in the
+house, though with diminished force.
+
+After breakfast, "Cobbler" Horn invited his secretary to attack the
+accumulated mass of letters which waited for despatch.
+
+"You see, Miss Owen," he said in half-apology for asking her to begin work
+so soon, "the pile gets larger every day; and, if we don't do something to
+reduce it at once, it will get altogether beyond bounds."
+
+Miss Owen turned her sparkling dark eyes upon her employer.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Horn," she exclaimed, as she took her seat at the table, "the
+sooner we get to work the better! I did not come here to play, you know."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn poured an armful of unanswered letters down upon the table,
+in front of his ardent young secretary.
+
+"There's a snow-drift for you, Miss Owen!" he said.
+
+"Thank you, sir," was the cheery response, "we must do our best to clear
+it away."
+
+Miss Owen was already beginning to feel quite at home with "Cobbler" Horn;
+and she even ventured at this point, to rally him on the dismay with which
+he regarded his piles of letters.
+
+"Don't you think, sir," she asked, with a radiant smile, "that a little
+sunshine might help us?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn started, and glanced towards the window. The morning was
+dull.
+
+"Yes," he said; "but we can't command----" Then he perceived her meaning,
+and broke off with a smile. "To be sure; you are right, Miss Owen. It is
+wrong of me to be wearing such a gloomy face. But you see this kind of
+thing is all so new and strange to me; and you need not wonder that I am
+dismayed."
+
+"No," replied the secretary, with just the faintest little touch of
+patronage in her tone; "it's not surprising in your case. But I am not
+dismayed. Answering letters has always been my delight."
+
+"That's well," said "Cobbler" Horn, gravely; "And I think you will have
+to supply a large share of the 'sunshine' too, Miss Owen."
+
+"I'll try," she replied, simply, with a beaming smile; and she squared her
+shapely arms, and bent her dusky head, and set to work with a will, while
+"Cobbler" Horn, regarding her from the opposite side of the table, was
+divided between two mysteries, which were, how she could write so fast and
+well, and what it was which made him feel as if he had known her all his
+life?
+
+Most of the letters contained applications for money. Some few were from
+the representatives of well-known philanthropic societies; many others
+were appeals on behalf of local charities or associations; and no small
+proportion were the applications of individuals, who either had great
+need, or were very cunning, or both.
+
+The private appeals were of great variety. "Cobbler" Horn was amazed to
+find how many people were at the point of despair for want of just the
+help that he was able to give. It was past belief how large a number of
+persons he had the opportunity of saving from ruin, and with how small a
+sum of money, in each case, it might be done. What a manifold disclosure
+of human misery and despair those letters were, or seemed to be! Some of
+them, doubtless, had been written with breaking hearts, and punctuated
+with tears; but which?
+
+"I had no idea there was so much trouble in the world!" cried "Cobbler"
+Horn, in dismay.
+
+"Perhaps there is not quite so much as your letters seem to imply, sir,"
+suggested the secretary.
+
+"You think not?" queried "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"I feel sure of it," said the young girl, with a knowing shake of her
+head. "But we must do our best to discriminate. I should throw some of
+these letters into the fire at once, if I were you, Mr. Horn."
+
+"But they must be answered first!"
+
+"Must they, sir? Every one?" enquired the secretary, arching her dark
+eye-brows. "Why it will cost you a small fortune in stamps, Mr. Horn!"
+
+"But you forget how rich I am, Miss Owen. And I would rather be cheated a
+thousand times, than withhold, in a single instance, the help I ought to
+give."
+
+"Well, Mr. Horn, I'm your secretary, and must obey your commands, whether
+I approve of them or not."
+
+She spoke with a merry trill of laughter; and "Cobbler" Horn, far from
+being offended, shot back upon her a beaming smile.
+
+They took the letters as they came. Concerning some of the applications,
+"Cobbler" Horn felt quite able to decide himself. Appeals from
+duly-accredited philanthropic institutions received from him a liberal
+response, and so large were some of the amounts that the young secretary
+felt constrained to remonstrate.
+
+"You forget," he replied, "how much money I've got."
+
+"But--excuse me, sir--you seem resolved to give it all away!"
+
+"Yes, almost," was the calm reply.
+
+There was but little difficulty, moreover, in dealing with the
+applications on behalf of local interests. It was the private appeals
+which afforded most trouble. Every case had to be strenuously debated with
+Miss Owen, who maintained that not one of these importunate correspondents
+ought to be assisted, until "Cobbler" Horn had satisfied himself that
+the case was one of actual necessity, and real merit. By dint of great
+persistency, she succeeded in convincing her employer that many of these
+private appeals were not worthy of a moment's consideration. To each of
+the writers of these a polite note of refusal was to be despatched. With
+regard to the rest, it was decided that an application for references
+should be made.
+
+"I shall have to be your _woman_ of business, Mr. Horn," said Miss Owen,
+"as well as your secretary; and, between us, I think we can manage."
+
+She felt that there was a true Christian work for her in doing what she
+could to help this poor embarrassed Christian man of wealth.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was enraptured with his secretary. She seemed to be fitting
+herself into a vacant place in his life. It appeared the most natural
+thing in the world that she should be there writing his letters. If his
+little Marian had not gone from him years ago, she might have been his
+secretary now. He sighed at the thought; and then, as he looked across at
+the animated face of Miss Owen, as she bent over her work, and swept the
+table with her abundant tresses, he was comforted in no small degree.
+
+Miss Jemima's respect for the proprieties, rendered her reluctant to
+absent herself much from the room where her brother and his engaging young
+secretary sat together at their interesting work; and she manifested, from
+time to time, a lively interest in the progress of their task.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XVII.
+
+            A PARTING GIFT FOR "THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN."
+
+
+The honest joy of "the little twin brethren" at the sudden enrichment
+of their friend, "Cobbler" Horn, was dashed with a deep regret. It was
+excellent that he had been made a wealthy man. As Tommy Dudgeon expressed
+it, "Providence had not made a mistake this time, anyhow." But, in common
+with the rest of "Cobbler" Horn's neighbours, the two worthy little men
+bitterly deplored the inevitable departure of their friend from their
+midst. It was "not to be supposed," said Tommy again--it was always Tommy
+who said things; to John had been assigned the honour of perpetuating the
+family name--it was "not to be supposed that a millionaire would live in
+a small house, in a narrow street, remain at the cobbler's bench, or
+continue to associate with poor folks like themselves." The little
+hucksters considered it a matter of course that "Cobbler" Horn would
+shortly remove to another and very different abode, and they mourned
+over the prospect with sincere and bitter grief.
+
+The little men had good reason for their sorrow, for to none of all his
+poor neighbours had "Cobbler" Horn been a better friend. And their regret
+in view of his approaching removal was fully reciprocated by "Cobbler"
+Horn himself. Of all the friends, in the network of streets surrounding
+his humble abode, whom he had fastened to his heart with the golden hooks
+of love, there were none whom he held more closely there than the two
+little tradesmen across the way. His intercourse with them had been one of
+the chief refreshments of his life; and he knew that he would sadly miss
+his humble little friends.
+
+And now the time had come for the removal, and the evening previous to the
+departure from the old home, "the Golden Shoemaker" paid his last visit,
+in the capacity of neighbour, to the worthy little twins. He had long
+known that they had a constant struggle to make their way. He had often
+assisted them as far as his own hitherto humble means would allow; and
+now, he had resolved that before leaving the neighbourhood, he would make
+them such a present as would lift them, once for all, out of the quagmire
+of adversity in which they had floundered so long.
+
+At six o'clock, on that autumn evening, it being already dusk, "Cobbler"
+Horn opened his front door, and stood for a moment on the step. Miss
+Jemima and the young secretary were both out of the way. If Miss Jemima
+had known where her brother was going and for what purpose, she would have
+held up her hands in horror and dismay, and might even, had she been
+present, have tried to detain him in the house by main force.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn lingered a moment on the door-step, with the instinctive
+hesitation of one who is about to perform an act of unaccustomed
+magnitude; but his soul revelled in the thought of what he was going
+to do. He was about to exercise the gracious privilege of the wealthy
+Christian man; and, as he handled a bundle of crisp bank-notes which he
+held in the side pocket of his coat, his fingers positively tingled with
+rapture.
+
+The street was very quiet. A milk girl was going from door to door, and
+the lamplighter was vanishing in the distance. Yet "Cobbler" Horn flitted
+furtively across the way, as though he were afraid of being seen; and,
+having glided with the stealth of a burglar through the doorway of the
+little shop, found himself face to face with Tommy Dudgeon. The smile of
+commercial satisfaction, which had been summoned to the face of the little
+man by the consciousness that some one was coming into the shop, resolved
+itself into an air of respectful yet genial greeting when he recognised
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Ah, good evening, Mr. Horn! You said you would pay us a farewell visit,
+and we were expecting you. Come in, sir."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn followed his humble conductor into the small but cosy
+living-room behind, which the large number of its occupants caused to
+appear even smaller than it was. John Dudgeon was there, and Mrs. John,
+and several offshoots of the Dudgeon tree. Mrs. Dudgeon was ironing at a
+table beneath the one small window, in the fading light. She was a staid
+and dapper matron, with here and there the faintest line of care upon her
+comely face. A couple of the children were rolling upon the hearthrug in
+the ruddy glow of the fire, and two or three others were doing their
+home-lessons by the aid of the same unsteady gleam. The father, swept to
+one side by the surges of his superabundant family, sat on a chair at the
+extreme corner of the hearthrug, with both the twins upon his knees.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was greeted with the cordiality due to an old family
+friend. Even the children clustered around him and clung to his arms and
+legs. Mrs. John, as she was invariably called--possibly on the assumption
+that Tommy Dudgeon also would, in due time, take a wife, cleared the
+children away from the side of the hearth opposite to her husband, and
+placed a chair for the ever-welcome guest. Tommy Dudgeon, who had slipped
+into the shop to adjust the door-bell, so that he might have timely notice
+of the entrance of a customer, soon returned, and placing a chair for
+himself between his brother and "Cobbler" Horn, sat down with his feet
+amongst the children, and his gaze fixed on the fire.
+
+For a time there was no sound in the room but the click of Mrs. John's
+iron, as it travelled swiftly to and fro. Even the children were
+preternaturally quiet. At length Tommy spoke, in sepulchral tones, with
+his eyes still on the fire.
+
+"Only to think that it's the last time!"
+
+"What's the last time, friend?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, with a start.
+
+"Why this--that we shall see you sitting there so sociable like, Mr.
+Horn."
+
+"Indeed, I hope not," was the hearty response. "You're not going to get
+rid of me so easily as that, old friend."
+
+"Why," exclaimed Tommy, "I thought you were going to remove; and I'm sure
+no one could find fault with it."
+
+"Yes: but you surely don't suppose I'm going to turn my back on my old
+neighbours altogether?"
+
+"What you say is very kind," replied Tommy; "but, Mr. Horn, we can't
+expect to see you very often after this."
+
+"Well, friend, perhaps oftener than you think." Then he told them that he
+had bought the house in which he had lived amongst them, and meant to keep
+it up, and come there almost every day to mend boots and shoes, without
+charge for his poor customers.
+
+"Well, to be sure!" exclaimed Tommy Dudgeon, while John chuckled
+exultantly to the twins, and Mrs. John moved her iron more vigorously to
+and fro, and hastily raised her hand to brush away a grateful and admiring
+tear.
+
+Meanwhile "Cobbler" Horn was considering how he might most delicately
+disclose the special purpose of his visit.
+
+"But after all," he said at length, "this is a farewell visit. I'm going
+away, and, after to-morrow, I shall not be your neighbour any more."
+
+For some moments his hand had been once more in his pocket, fingering the
+bank-notes. He now drew them forth very much in the way in which a man
+entrapped into a den of robbers might draw a pocket-pistol, and smoothed
+them out upon his knee.
+
+"I thought, old friend," he said, turning to Tommy Dudgeon, "that perhaps
+you might be willing to accept a trifling memento of our long
+acquaintance. And, indeed, you mustn't say no."
+
+John Dudgeon was too deeply engaged with the twins to note what was said;
+Tommy but dimly perceived the drift of his friend; but upon Mrs. John the
+full truth flashed with the clearness of noon.
+
+The next moment the notes were being transferred to the hands of the
+astonished Tommy. John was still absorbed with his couple of babies. Mrs.
+John was ironing more furiously than ever. Tommy felt, with his finger and
+thumb, that there were many of the notes; and he perceived that he and his
+were being made the recipients of an act of stupendous generosity. Tears
+trickled down his cheeks; his throat and tongue were parched. He tried to
+thrust the bank-notes back into the hand of his friend.
+
+"Mr. Horn, you must not beggar yourself on our account."
+
+"Cobbler" laughed. In truth, he was much relieved. It seemed that his
+humble friend objected to his gift only because he thought it was too
+large.
+
+"'Beggar' myself, Tommy?" he cried. "I should have to be a very reckless
+spendthrift indeed to do that. You forget how dreadfully rich I am. Why
+these paltry notes are a mere nothing to such a wealth-encumbered
+unfortunate as I. But I thought the money would be a help to you. And you
+must take it, Tommy, you must indeed. The Lord told me to give it to you;
+and what shall I say to Him, if I allow you to refuse His gift?"
+
+And so the generous will of "the Golden Shoemaker" prevailed; and if he
+could have heard and seen all that took place by that humble fireside,
+after he was gone, he would have been assured that at least one small
+portion of his uncle's wealth had been well-bestowed.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+                            THE NEW HOUSE.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's new house, which was situated, as we have seen, on one of
+the chief roads leading out of the town, marked almost the verge, in that
+direction, of the straggling fringe of urban outskirts. Beyond it there
+was only the small cottage in which had lived, and still resided, the
+woman who had seen Marian as she trotted so eagerly away into the great
+pitiless world. "Cobbler" Horn had not deliberately set himself to seek a
+house upon this road. But, when he found there a residence to let which
+seemed to be almost exactly the kind of dwelling he required, the fact
+that it was situated in a locality so tenderly associated with the memory
+of his lost child, in no degree diminished his desire to make it his
+abode.
+
+"It was here that she went by," he said softly to himself, at the close of
+their visit of inspection, as he stood with Miss Jemima at the gate; "and
+it was yonder that she was last seen."
+
+What were Miss Jemima's thoughts, as she followed, with her eyes, the
+direction of her brother's gaze, may not be known; for an unwonted silence
+had fallen on her usually ready tongue.
+
+It was a good house, with a pleasant lawn in front, and a yard, containing
+coach-house and stables, behind. The house itself was well-built,
+commodious, and fitted with all the conveniences of the day. As most of
+the furniture was new, the removal of the family was not a very elaborate
+process. In this, as in all other things, "Cobbler" Horn found that his
+money secured him the minimum of trouble. He had simply given a few
+orders--which his sister, it is true, had supplemented with a great many
+more--; and, when the day of removal came, they found themselves duly
+installed in a house furnished with a completeness which left nothing to
+be desired.
+
+On their arrival, they were received in the hall by three smiling maids,
+a coachman, and a boy in buttons. "The Golden Shoemaker" almost staggered,
+as the members of his domestic staff paid due homage to their master. He
+half-turned to his sister, and saw that, she, unlike himself, was not
+taken by surprise. Then he hastily returned the respectful salutations of
+the beaming group, and passed into the house.
+
+It was afternoon when the removal took place, and the remainder of the day
+was spent in inspecting the premises, and settling down. With the aid of
+his indefatigable secretary, "Cobbler" Horn had disposed of his morning's
+letters before leaving the old house, and, as it happened, the later mails
+were small that day. Miss Jemima stepped into her new position as
+mistress of a large establishment with ease and grace; and, assisted by
+the young secretary, who was fast gaining the goodwill of her employer's
+sister, was already giving to the house, by means of a few slight touches
+here and there, that indescribable air of homeliness which money cannot
+buy, and no skill of builder or upholsterer can impart.
+
+To "Cobbler" Horn himself that evening was a restless time. He felt
+himself to be strangely out of place; and he was almost afraid to tread
+upon the thick soft carpets, or to sit upon the luxurious chairs. And
+yet he smiled to himself, as he contrasted his own uneasiness with the
+complacency with which his sister was fitting herself into her place in
+their new sphere.
+
+Under the guidance of the coachman, "Cobbler" Horn inspected the horses
+and carriages. The coachman, who was the most highly-finished specimen of
+his kind who could be obtained for money, treated his new master with an
+oppressive air of respect. "Cobbler" Horn would have preferred a more
+familiar bearing on the part of his gorgeously-attired servant; but
+Bounder was obdurate, for he knew his place. His only recognition of the
+somewhat unusual sociability of his master, was to touch his hat with a
+more impressive action, and to impart a still deeper note of respect to
+the tones of his voice. His bearing implied a solemn rebuke. It was as
+though he said, "If you, sir, don't know your place, I know mine."
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker," having completed his survey of his new abode
+and its surroundings, realized more fuller than hitherto the change his
+circumstances had undergone. The old life was now indeed past, and he was
+fairly launched upon the new. Well, by the help of God, he had tried to do
+his duty in the humble sphere of poverty; and he would attempt the same in
+the infinitely more difficult position in which he was now placed.
+
+Entering the house by the back way, he paused and lingered regretfully for
+a moment at the kitchen door. One of the maids perceived his hesitation,
+and wondered if master was of the interfering kind. He dispelled her alarm
+by passing slowly on.
+
+After supper, in the dining-room, Miss Jemima handed the old family Bible
+to her brother, and he took it with a loving grasp. Here, at least, was a
+part of the old life still.
+
+"Shall I ring for the servants?" asked Miss Jemima.
+
+"By all means," said her brother, with a slight start.
+
+Miss Jemima touched the electric bell, with the air of one who had been
+in the habit of ringing for servants all her life. In quick response, the
+door was opened; and the maids, the coachman, and the boy, who had all
+been well schooled by Miss Jemima, filed gravely in.
+
+The ordeal through which "Cobbler" Horn had now to pass was very unlike
+the homely family prayer of the old life. He performed his task, however,
+with a simplicity and fervour with which the domestics were duly
+impressed; and when it was over he made them a genial yet dignified little
+speech, and wished them all a hearty good night.
+
+"Brother," Miss Jemima ventured to remark, when the servants were gone, "I
+am afraid you lean too much to the side of familiarity with the servants."
+
+"Sister," was the mildly sarcastic response, "you are quite able to adjust
+the balance."
+
+Amongst the few things which were transferred from the old house to the
+new, was a small tin trunk, the conveyance of which Miss Jemima was at
+great pains personally to superintend. It contained the tiny wardrobe of
+the long lost child, which the sorrowing, and still self-accusing, lady
+had continued to preserve.
+
+It is doubtful whether "Cobbler" Horn was aware of his sister's pathetic
+hoard; but there were two mementos of his lost darling which he himself
+preserved. For the custody of papers, deeds, and other valuables, he had
+placed in the room set apart as his office, a brand new safe. In one of
+its most secure recesses he deposited, with gentle care, a tiny parcel
+done up in much soft paper. It contained a mud-soiled print bonnet-string,
+and a little dust-stained shoe.
+
+"They will never be of any more use to her," he had said to himself; "but
+they may help to find her some day."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XIX.
+
+                A TALK WITH THE MINISTER ABOUT MONEY.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn knew his minister to be a man of strict integrity and
+sound judgment; and it was with complete confidence that he sought Mr.
+Durnford's advice with regard to those of his letters with which his
+secretary and himself were unable satisfactorily to deal. The morning
+after the removal to the new house, he hastened to the residence of the
+minister with a bundle of such letters in his pocket. Mr. Durnford read
+the letters carefully through, and gave him in each case suitable advice;
+and then "Cobbler" Horn had a question to ask.
+
+"Will you tell me, sir, why you have not yet asked me for anything towards
+any of our own church funds?"
+
+"Well," replied the minister, with a shrewd twinkle in his eye, "you see,
+Mr. Horn, I thought I might safely leave the matter to your generosity and
+good sense."
+
+"Thank you, sir. Well, I am anxious that my own church should have its
+full share of what I have to give. Will you, sir," he added diffidently,
+"kindly tell me what funds there are, and how much I ought to give to
+each."
+
+As he spoke, he extracted from his pocket, with some difficulty, a bulky
+cheque-book, and flattened it out on the table with almost reverent
+fingers; for he had not yet come to regard the possession of a cheque-book
+as a commonplace circumstance of his life.
+
+"That's just like you, Mr. Horn," said the minister, with glistening eyes.
+
+He was a straightforward man, and transparent as glass. He would not
+manifest false delicacy, or make an insincere demur.
+
+"There are plenty of ways for your money, with us, Mr. Horn," he added.
+"But what is your wish? Shall I make a list of the various funds?"
+
+Mr. Durnford drew his chair to his writing-table, as he spoke, and took
+up his pen.
+
+"If you please, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+No sooner said than done; and in a few moments the half-sheet of large
+manuscript paper which the minister had placed before him was filled from
+top to bottom with a list of the designations of various religious funds.
+
+"Thank you, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn, glancing at the paper. "Will you,
+now, kindly set down in order how much you think I ought to give in each
+case."
+
+With the very slightest hesitation, and in perfect silence, Mr. Durnford
+undertook this second task; and, in a few minutes, having jotted down a
+specific amount opposite to each of the lines in the list, he handed the
+paper again to "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+Mr. Durnford's estimate of his visitor's liberality had not erred by
+excess of modesty; and he was startled when he mentally reckoned up the
+sum of the various amounts he had set down. But "Cobbler" Horn's reception
+of the list startled him still more.
+
+"My dear sir," said "the Golden Shoemaker," with a smile, "I'm afraid
+you do not realize how very rich I am. This list will not help me much in
+getting rid of the amount of money of which I shall have to dispose, for
+the Lord, every year. Try your hand again."
+
+Mr. Durnford asked pardon for the modesty of his suggestions, and promptly
+revised the list.
+
+"Ah, that is better," said "Cobbler" Horn. "The subscriptions you have set
+down may stand, as far as the ordinary funds are concerned; but now about
+the debt fund? What is the amount of the debt?"
+
+"Two thousand pounds."
+
+"Well, I will pay off half of it at once; and, when you have raised
+two-thirds of the rest, let me know."
+
+"Thank you, sir, indeed!" exclaimed the minister, almost smacking his
+lips, as he dipped his pen in the ink, and added this munificent promise
+to the already long list.
+
+"It is a mere nothing," said "Cobbler" Horn. "It is but a trifling
+instalment of the debt I owe to God on account of this church, and its
+minister. But you are beginning to find, Mr. Durnford, that I am rather
+eccentric in money matters?"
+
+"Delightfully so!" exclaimed the minister.
+
+"Well, the right use of money has always been a point with me. Even in the
+days when I had very little money through my hands, I tried to remember
+that I was the steward of my Lord. It was difficult, then, to carry out
+the idea, because it often seemed as though I could not spare what I
+really thought I ought to give. My present difficulty is to dispose of
+even a small part of what I can easily spare."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed the minister, in whose face there was an expression of
+deep interest.
+
+"Now," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "will you, Mr. Durnford, help me in this
+matter? Will you let me know of any suitable channels for my money of
+which you may, from time to time, be aware?"
+
+"You may depend upon me in that, my dear sir," said the minister, with
+gusto.
+
+"Thank you, sir!" exclaimed "the Golden Shoemaker," as fervently as though
+his minister had promised to make him acquainted with chances of gaining
+money, instead of letting him know of opportunities of giving it away.
+"And now I think of it, Mr. Durnford, I should like to place in your hands
+a sum for use at your own discretion. You must meet with many cases of
+necessity which you would not care to mention to the authorities of the
+church; and it would be a distinct advantage to you to have a sum of
+money for use in such instances absolutely at your own command. Now I am
+going to write you a cheque for fifty pounds to be used as you think fit;
+and when it is done, you shall have more."
+
+"Mr. Horn!" exclaimed the startled minister.
+
+"Yes, yes, it's all right. All the money I've promised you this morning
+is a mere trifle to me. And now, with your permission, I'll write the
+cheques."
+
+Why "Cobbler" Horn should not have included the whole amount of his gifts
+in one cheque it is difficult to say. Perhaps he thought that, by writing
+a separate cheque for the last fifty pounds, he would more effectually
+ensure Mr. Durnford's having the absolute disposal of that amount.
+
+The writing of the cheques was a work of time.
+
+"There, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn, at last, as he handed the two precious
+slips of paper across the table, "I hope you will find them all right."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Horn, again and again," said the minister, as he folded up
+the cheques and placed them in his pocket-book; "they are perfectly right,
+I am sure."
+
+"Has it occurred to you," he continued, "that it would be well if you were
+systematic in your giving?"
+
+"Yes; and I intend systematically to give away as much as I can."
+
+"But have you thought of fixing what proportion of your income you will
+give? Not," added the minister, laughing, "that I am afraid lest you
+should not give away enough."
+
+"Oh yes," responded "Cobbler" Horn, laughing in his turn; "I have decided
+to give proportionately; and the proportion I mean to give is almost all
+I've got."
+
+"I see you are incorrigible," laughed Mr. Durnford.
+
+"You'll find that I am. But now--" and "Cobbler" Horn regarded his
+minister with an expression of modest, friendly interest in his face--"I'm
+going to write another cheque."
+
+"You must be fond of the occupation, Mr. Horn."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's enrichment had not, in any degree, caused the cordiality
+of his relations with his minister to decline. There was nothing in
+"Cobbler" Horn to encourage sycophancy; and there was not in Mr. Durnford
+a particle of the sycophant.
+
+"I believe I don't altogether dislike it, sir," assented "Cobbler" Horn in
+response to the minister's last remark. "But," he added, handing to him
+the cheque he had now finished writing, "will you, my dear sir, accept
+that for yourself? Your stipend is far too small; and I know Mrs.
+Durnford's illness in the spring must have been very expensive. Don't
+say no, I beg of you; but take it----as a favour to me."
+
+He had risen from his seat, and the next moment, with a hurried "good
+morning," he was gone, leaving the astonished minister in possession of
+a cheque for one hundred pounds!
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XX.
+
+                     "COBBLER" HORN'S VILLAGE.
+
+
+It was the custom of "Cobbler" Horn to spend the first hour of every
+morning, after breakfast, in the office, with his secretary. They would go
+through the letters which required attention; and, after he had given Miss
+Owen specific directions with regard to some of them, he would leave her
+to use her own discretion with reference to the rest. Amongst the former,
+there were frequently a few which he reserved for the judgment of Mr.
+Durnford. It was the duty of the young secretary to scan the letters which
+came by the later posts; but none of them were to be submitted to
+"Cobbler" Horn until the next morning, unless they were of urgent
+importance.
+
+One morning, about a week after the removal to the new house, the office
+door suddenly opened, and "Cobbler" Horn emerged into the hall in a state
+of great excitement, holding an open letter in his hand.
+
+"Jemima!" he shouted.
+
+The only response was a sound of angry voices from the region of the
+kitchen, amidst which he recognised his sister's familiar tones. Surely
+Jemima was not having trouble with the servants! Approaching the kitchen
+door, he pushed it slightly open, and peeped into the room. Miss Jemima
+was emphatically laying down the law to the young and comely cook, who
+stood back against the table, facing her mistress, with the rolling-pin in
+her hand, and rebellion in every curve of her figure and in every feature
+of her face.
+
+"You are a saucy minx," Miss Jemima was saying, in her sharpest tones.
+
+"'Minx' yourself," was the pert reply. "No mistress shan't interfere with
+me and my work, as you've done this last week. If you was a real lady, you
+wouldn't do it."
+
+"You rude girl, I'll teach you to keep your place."
+
+"Keep your own," rapped out the girl; "and it 'ull be the better for all
+parties. As for me, I shan't keep this place, and I give you warning from
+now, so there!"
+
+At this moment, the girl caught sight of her master's face at the door,
+and flinging herself around to the table, resumed her work. Miss Jemima,
+in her great anger, advanced a pace or two, with uplifted hand, towards
+the broad back of her rebellious cook: "Cobbler" Horn, observing the
+position of affairs, spoke in emphatic tones.
+
+"Jemima, I want you at once."
+
+Miss Jemima started, and then, without a word, followed her brother to the
+dining-room.
+
+"Brother," she said, snatching, in her anger, the first word, "that girl
+has insulted me grossly."
+
+"Yes, Jemima, I heard; but try to forget it for a moment. I have great
+news for you. This letter is about cousin Jack."
+
+In a moment Miss Jemima had forgotten her insubordinate cook.
+
+"So the poor creature is found!" she said when she had taken, and read,
+the letter.
+
+"Yes, and he proves to be in a condition which will render doubly welcome
+the good news he will shortly receive."
+
+"Then you persist in your intention to hand over to him a share of uncle's
+money?"
+
+"To be sure I do!"
+
+"Well," retorted Miss Jemima, somewhat acrimoniously, "it's a pity. That
+portion of the money will be dispersed in a worse manner even than it was
+gathered."
+
+"Don't say that, Jemima," said her brother gravely.
+
+"Well," asked Miss Jemima, dispensing with further protest, "what are you
+going to do?"
+
+"The first thing is to see Messrs. Tongs and Ball. You see they ask me to
+do so. I can't get away to-day. To-morrow I am to visit our village, you
+know; and, as it is on the way to London, the best plan will be to go on
+when I am so far."
+
+So it was settled, and Miss Owen was instructed to write the lawyers,
+saying that Mr. Horn would wait upon them on the morning of the third day
+from that time.
+
+The next morning, "Cobbler" Horn, having invested his young secretary with
+full powers in regard to his correspondence, during his absence, set off
+by an early train for Daisy Lane, en route for London. He had but a vague
+idea as to the village of which he was the chief proprietor. He was aware,
+however, that his property there, including the old hall itself, was, to
+quote Mr. Ball, "somewhat out of repair"; and he rejoiced in the prospect
+of the opportunity its dilapidation might present of turning to good
+account some considerable portion of his immense wealth.
+
+It was almost noon when the train stopped at the small station at which
+he was to alight. He was the only passenger who left the train at that
+station; and, almost before his feet had touched the platform, he was
+greeted by a plain, middle-aged man, of medium height and broad of build,
+whose hair was reddish-brown and his whiskers brownish-red, while his
+tanned and glowing face bore ample evidence of an out-door life. He had
+the appearance of a good-natured, intelligent, and trustworthy man. This
+was John Gray, the agent of the property; and "Cobbler" Horn liked him
+from the first.
+
+"It's only a mile and a half to the village sir," said the man, as they
+mounted the trap which was waiting outside the station; "and we shall soon
+run along."
+
+The trap was a nondescript and dilapidated vehicle, and the horse was by
+no means a thoroughbred. But the whole turn-out was faultlessly clean.
+
+"It's rather a crazy concern, sir," said Mr. Gray candidly. "But you
+needn't be afraid. It will hold together for this time, I think."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn smiled somewhat sadly, as he mounted to his seat. Here was
+probably an instalment of much with which he was destined to meet that
+day.
+
+"Wake up, Jack!" said Mr. Gray, shaking the reins. The appearance of
+the animal indicated that it was necessary for him to take his master's
+injunction in a literal sense. He awoke with a start, and set off at a
+walking pace, from which, by dint of much persuasion on the part of his
+driver, he was induced to pass into a gentle trot.
+
+"He never goes any faster than that," said the agent.
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated "Cobbler" Horn. "But we must try to get you something
+better to drive about in than this, Mr. Gray."
+
+"Thank you, sir. It will be a good thing."
+
+As they slowly progressed along the pleasant country road, the agent gave
+his new employer sundry particulars concerning the property of which he
+had become possessed.
+
+"Nearly all the village belongs to you, sir. There's only the church and
+vicarage, and one farm-house, with a couple of cottages attached, that are
+not yours. But you'll find your property in an awful state. I've done what
+I could to patch it up; but what can you do without money?"
+
+"I hope, Mr. Gray," said the new proprietor, "that we shall soon rectify
+all that."
+
+"Of course you will, sir," said the candid agent. "It's very painful," he
+added, "to hear the complaints the people make."
+
+"No doubt. You must take me to see some of my tenants; but you must not
+tell them who I am."
+
+"There's a decent house!" he remarked presently, as they came in sight
+of a comfortable-looking residence, which stood on their left, at the
+entrance of the village.
+
+"Ah, that's the vicarage," replied the agent, "and the church is a little
+beyond, and along there, on the other side of the road, is the farm-house
+which does not belong to you."
+
+They were now entering the village, the long, straggling street of which
+soon afforded "the Golden Shoemaker" evidence enough of his deceased
+uncle's parsimonious ideas. Half-ruined cottages and tumbledown houses
+were dispersed around; here and there along the main street, were two or
+three melancholy shops; and in the centre of the village stood a
+disreputable-looking public-house.
+
+"I could wish," said "Cobbler" Horn, as they passed the last-mentioned
+building, "that my village did not contain any place of that kind."
+
+"There's no reason," responded the agent, with a quiet smile, "why you
+should have a public-house in the place, if you don't want one."
+
+"Couldn't we have a public-house without strong drink?"
+
+"No doubt we could, sir; but it wouldn't pay."
+
+"You mean as a matter of money, of course. But that is nothing to me, and
+the scheme would pay in other respects. I leave it to you, Mr. Gray, to
+get rid of the present occupant of the house as soon as it can be done
+without injustice, and to convert the establishment into a public-house
+without the drink--a place which will afford suitable accommodation for
+travellers, and be a pleasant meeting place, of an evening, for the men
+and boys of the village."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said the agent, with huge delight. "Have I carte
+blanche?"
+
+"'Carte blanche'?" queried "Cobbler" Horn, with a puzzled air. "Let me
+see; that's----what? Ah, I know--a free hand, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied the agent gravely.
+
+"Then that's just what I mean."
+
+As they drove on, "Cobbler" Horn observed that most of the gardens
+attached to the cottages were in good order, and that some of the people
+had been at great pains to conceal the mouldering walls of their wretched
+huts with roses, honeysuckle, and various climbing plants. Glowing with
+honest shame, he became restlessly eager to wave his golden wand over this
+desolate scene.
+
+"This is my place, sir," said the agent, as they stopped at the gate of a
+dingy, double-fronted house. "You'll have a bit of dinner with us in our
+humble way?"
+
+"Thank you," said "the Golden Shoemaker," "I shall be very glad."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXI.
+
+                         IN NEED OF REPAIRS.
+
+
+After dinner, "Cobbler" Horn set out with his agent on a tour of
+inspection through the village.
+
+"We'll take this row first, sir, if you please," said Mr. Gray. "One of
+the people has sent for me to call."
+
+So saying he led the way towards a row of decrepit cottages which, with
+their dingy walls and black thatch, looked like a group of fungi, rather
+than a row of habitations erected by the hand of man.
+
+At the crazy door of the first cottage they were confronted by a stout,
+red-faced woman with bare beefy arms, who, on seeing "Cobbler" Horn,
+dropped a curtsey, and suppressed the angry salutation which she had
+prepared for Mr. Gray.
+
+"A friend of mine, Mrs. Blobs," said the agent.
+
+"Glad to see you, sir," said the woman to "Cobbler" Horn. "Will you please
+to walk in, gentlemen."
+
+"Just cast your eye up there, Mr. Gray," she added when they were inside.
+"It's come through at last."
+
+Sure enough it had. Above their heads was a vast hole in the ceiling, and
+above that a huge gap in the thatch; and at their feet lay a heap of
+bricks, mortar, and fragments of rotten wood.
+
+"Why the chimney has come through!" exclaimed Mr. Gray.
+
+"Little doubt of that," said Mrs. Blobs.
+
+"Was anybody hurt?"
+
+"No, but they might ha' bin. It was this very morning. The master was at
+his work, and the children away at school; but, if I hadn't just stepped
+out to have a few words with a neighbour, I might ha' bin just under the
+very place. Isn't it disgraceful, sir," she added, turning to "Cobbler"
+Horn, "that human beings should be made to live in such tumbledown places?
+I believe Mr. Gray, here, would have put things right long ago; but he's
+been kept that tight by the old skin-flint what's just died. They do say
+as now the property have got into better hands; but----"
+
+"Well, well, Mrs. Blobs" interposed the agent; "we shall soon see a change
+now I hope."
+
+"Yes," assented "Cobbler" Horn, "we'll have----that is, I'm sure Mr. Gray
+will soon make you snug, ma'am."
+
+"We must call at every house, sir," said Mr. Gray, as they passed to the
+next door. "There isn't one of the lot but wants patching up almost every
+day."
+
+"Cheer up, Mr. Gray," said "the Golden Shoemaker." "There shall be no more
+patching after this."
+
+In each of the miserable cottages they met with a repetition of their
+experience in the first. If the reproaches of the living could bring back
+the dead, old Jacob Horn should have formed one of the group in those
+mouldy and rotting cottages, to listen to the reiteration of the shameful
+story of his criminal neglect. Here the windows were bursting from their
+setting, like the bulging eyes of suffocating men; and here the door-frame
+was in a state of collapse. In one cottage the ceiling was depositing
+itself, by frequent instalments, on the floor; and in another the floor
+itself was rotting away. In every case, Mr. Gray made bold to promise the
+speedy rectification of everything that was wrong; and "Cobbler" Horn
+confirmed his promises in a manner so authoritative that it would have
+been a wonder if his discontented tenants had not caught some glimmering
+of the truth as to who he was.
+
+On leaving the cottages, Mr. Gray took his employer to one of the
+farm-houses which his property comprised. They found the farmer, a burly,
+red-faced, ultra-choleric man, excited over some recently-consummated
+dilapidations on his premises. He conducted his visitors over his house
+and farm-buildings, grumbling like an ungreased wagon. His abuse of
+"Cobbler" Horn's dead uncle was unstinted, and almost every other word was
+a rumbling oath. Mr. Gray assured him that all would be put right now in a
+very short time; and "Cobbler" Horn said, "Yes, he was sure it would."
+
+The farmer stared in surprise; but his blunter perception proved less
+penetrative than the keen insight of the women, and he simply wondered
+what this rather rough looking stranger could know about it, anyhow. He
+expressed a hope that it might be as Mr. Gray said. For himself he hadn't
+much faith. But, if there wasn't something done soon, the new landlord had
+better not show himself there, that was all; and the aggrieved farmer
+clenched his implied threat with the most emphatic oath he was able to
+produce.
+
+Their inspection of the remainder of the village revealed, on every side,
+the same condition of ruin and decay; and it was with a sad and indignant
+heart that "Cobbler" Horn at length sat down, in Mrs. Gray's front
+parlour, to a late but welcome cup of tea.
+
+"To-morrow," he said, "we'll have a look at the old hall."
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" spent the evening in close consultation with his
+agent. The state of the property was thoroughly discussed, and Mr. Gray
+was invested with full power to renovate and renew. His employer enjoined
+him to make complete work. He was to exceed, rather than stop short of,
+what was necessary, and to do even more than the tenants asked.
+
+"You will understand, Mr. Gray," said "Cobbler" Horn, "that I want all my
+property in this village to be put into such thorough repair that, as far
+as the comfort and convenience of my tenants are concerned, nothing shall
+remain to be desired. So set to work with all your might; and we shall
+not quarrel about the bill----if you only make it large enough."
+
+Mr. Gray's big heart bounded within him, as he received this generous
+commission.
+
+"And don't forget your own house," added his employer. "I think you had
+better build yourself a new one while you are about it; and let it be a
+house fit to live in."
+
+Mr. Gray warmly expressed his thanks, and they proceeded to the
+consideration of the numberless matters which it was necessary to discuss.
+
+In the morning, under the guidance of the agent, "Cobbler" Horn paid his
+promised visit to the old Hall. It was a venerable Elizabethan mansion,
+and, like everything else in the village that belonged to him, was sadly
+out of repair. As he entered the ancient pile, and passed from room to
+room, a purpose with regard to the old Hall which already vaguely occupied
+his mind, took definite shape; and he seemed to hear, in the empty rooms,
+the glad ring of children's laughter and the patter of children's feet. In
+memory of his long-lost Marian, and for the glory of the Divine Friend of
+children, the old Hall should be transformed into a Home for little ones
+who were homeless and without a friend.
+
+As they drove to the station, a little later, he announced his attention,
+with regard to the Hall, to Mr. Gray.
+
+"I shall leave the business in your hands, Mr. Gray. You must consult
+those who understand such things, and visit similar institutions, and turn
+the old place into the best 'Children's Home' that can be produced."
+
+"Very well, sir; but the children?"
+
+"That matter I will arrange myself."
+
+The agent was getting used to surprises; but the next that came almost
+took his breath away.
+
+"I believe," said "Cobbler" Horn, at the end of a brief silence, "that
+your salary, Mr. Gray, is £150 a year?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well, I wish to increase the amount. Pray consider that you will receive,
+from this time, at the rate of £500 a year."
+
+"Mr. Horn!" cried the startled agent, "such generosity!"
+
+"Not at all; I mean you to earn it, you know. But let your horse move on,
+or I shall miss my train. And, by the way, will you oblige me, Mr. Gray,
+by procuring for yourself a horse and trap better calculated to serve the
+interests of my property than this sorry turn-out. Get the best equipment
+which can be obtained for money."
+
+The agent, not knowing whether he was touched the more by the kindness
+of the injunction, or by the delicacy with which it had been expressed,
+murmured incoherent thanks, and promised speedy compliance with his
+employer's commands.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXII.
+
+             "THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER" INSTRUCTS HIS LAWYERS.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn reached London early the same evening, and the following
+morning, at the appointed hour, duly presented himself at the office of
+Messrs. Tongs and Ball. He was received with enthusiasm by the men of
+law. Long Mr. Ball was, as usual, the chief speaker; and round Mr. Tongs
+yielded meek and monosyllabic assent to all his partner's words.
+
+"And how are you by this time, my dear sir?" asked Mr. Ball, almost
+affectionately, when they had taken their seats.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn had a vague impression that the lawyer was asking his
+question on behalf of his partner as well as of himself.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen," was his cordial reply. "I am thankful to say I
+never was better in my life; and I hope I find you the same?"
+
+"Thank you, my dear sir," answered Mr. Ball, "speaking for self and
+partner, I think I may say that we are well."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Tongs.
+
+"But," resumed Mr. Ball, turning to the table, "your time is precious,
+Mr. Horn. Shall we proceed?"
+
+"If you please, gentlemen."
+
+"Very well," said the lawyer, taking up a bundle of papers; "these are the
+letters relating to the case of your unfortunate cousin. Shall I give you
+their contents in due order, Mr. Horn?"
+
+"If you please," and "Cobbler" Horn composed himself to listen, with a
+grave face.
+
+The letters were from the agents of Messrs. Tongs and Ball in New York;
+and the information they conveyed was to the effect that "Cobbler" Horn's
+scapegrace cousin had been traced to a poor lodging-house in that city,
+where he was slowly dying of consumption. He might last for months, but
+it was possible he would not linger more than a few weeks.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn listened to the reading of the letters with head down-bent.
+When it was finished, he looked up.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen," he said; "have you done anything?"
+
+Mr. Ball gazed at his client through his spectacles, over the top of the
+last of the letters, which he still held open in his hand, and there was
+gentle expostulation in his eye.
+
+"Our instructions, Mr. Horn, were to find your cousin."
+
+"I see," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile; "and you have done that. Well
+now, gentlemen, will you be kind enough to do something more?"
+
+"We will attend to your commands, Mr. Horn," was the deferential response.
+"That is our business."
+
+"Yes," was the emphatic assent of Mr. Tongs.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" was becoming accustomed to the readiness of all
+with whom he had to do to wait upon his will.
+
+"Well, gentlemen," he said, "I wish everything to be done to relieve my
+poor cousin's distress, and even, if possible, to save his life. Be good
+enough to telegraph directions for him to be removed without delay to some
+place where he will receive the best care that money can procure. If his
+life cannot be saved, he may at least be kept alive till I can reach his
+bedside."
+
+"Your commands shall be obeyed, sir," said Mr. Ball; "but," he added with
+much surprise, "is it necessary for you to go to New York yourself?"
+
+"That you must leave to me, gentlemen," said "the Golden Shoemaker" in a
+tone which put an end to debate.
+
+"Now, gentlemen," he resumed, "kindly hand me those letters; and let me
+know how soon, after to-morrow, I can set out."
+
+"You don't mean to lose any time, sir," said Mr. Ball, handing the bundle
+of letters to his client.
+
+In a few moments, the lawyers were able to supply the information that
+a berth could be secured in a first-class steamer which would leave
+Liverpool for New York in two days' time; and it was arranged that a
+passage should be booked.
+
+"We await your further orders, Mr. Horn," said Mr. Ball, rubbing his hands
+together, as he perceived that his client still retained his seat.
+
+"I'm afraid I detain you, gentlemen."
+
+"By no means, my dear sir," protested Mr. Ball.
+
+"No," echoed Mr. Tongs.
+
+"I am glad of that," said "Cobbler" Horn. "I should be sorry to waste your
+valuable time."
+
+More than once a clerk had come to the door to announce that so-and-so or
+so-and-so, awaited the leisure of his employers; and, in every case, the
+answer had been, "let them wait."
+
+The time of Messrs. Tongs and Ball was indeed valuable, and no portion of
+it was likely to prove more so than that bestowed on the affairs of
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+Both the lawyers smiled amiably.
+
+"You could not waste our time, Mr. Horn," said Mr. Ball.
+
+"No," echoed Mr. Tongs.
+
+"That's very good of you, gentlemen. But at any rate I really have some
+business of the gravest importance still to discuss with you."
+
+"By all means, my dear sir," said Mr. Ball with gusto, settling himself
+in an attitude of attention, while Mr. Tongs also prepared himself to
+listen.
+
+"I wish, gentlemen," announced "the Golden Shoemaker," "to make my will."
+
+"To be sure," said Mr. Ball.
+
+"You see," continued "Cobbler" Horn, "a journey to America is attended
+with some risk."
+
+"Precisely," assented Mr. Ball. "And a man of your wealth, Mr. Horn,
+should not, in any case, postpone the making of his will. It was our
+intention to speak to you about the matter to-day."
+
+"To be sure," said "Cobbler" Horn. "Can it be done at once?"
+
+"Certainly," responded the lawyer, drawing his chair to the table, and
+preparing, pen in hand, to receive the instructions of his client.
+
+"You have no children, I think, Mr. Horn?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's cheeks blanched, and his lips quivered; but he instantly
+regained his self-control.
+
+"That is my difficulty," he said. "I had a child, but----"
+
+"Ah!" interrupted Mr. Ball, "I understand. Very sad."
+
+"No, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn sternly, "you do not understand. It is not
+as you think. But can I make my will in favour of a person who may, or may
+not, be alive?"
+
+Mr. Ball was in no wise abashed.
+
+"Do I take you, my dear sir? You----"
+
+"The person," interposed "Cobbler" Horn, "to whom I wish to leave my
+property is my little daughter, Marian, who wandered away twelve years
+ago, and has never been heard of since. Can I do it, gentlemen?"
+
+"I think you can, Mr. Horn," replied Mr. Ball. "In the absence of any
+proof of death, your daughter may be considered to be still alive. What
+do you say, Mr. Tongs?"
+
+"Oh yes; to be sure; certainly," exclaimed Mr. Tongs, who seemed to have
+been aroused from a reverie, and for whom it was enough that he was
+required to confirm some dictum of his partner.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen. Then please to note that I wish my property to
+pass, at my death, to my daughter, Marian Horn."
+
+"Very good, sir," said Mr. Ball, making a note on a sheet of paper. "But,"
+he added, with an enquiring glance towards his client, "in the event--that
+is to say, supposing your daughter were not to reappear, Mr. Horn?"
+
+"I am coming to that," was the calm reply. "If my daughter does not come
+back before my death, I wish everything to go to my sister, Jemima Horn,
+on the condition that she gives it up to my daughter when she does
+return."
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated Mr. Ball. "And may I ask, my dear sir?--If Miss Horn
+should die, say shortly after your own decease, what then?"
+
+"I have thought of that too. Would it be in order, to appoint a trustee,
+to hold the property, in such a case, for my child?"
+
+"Yes, quite in order. Have you the name ready, my dear sir?"
+
+"I will give you that of Rev. George Durnford, of Cottonborough."
+
+"And, for how long, Mr. Horn," asked Mr. Ball, when he had written down
+Mr. Durnford's name and address, "must the property be thus held?"
+
+"Till my daughter comes to claim it."
+
+"But, but, my dear sir----"
+
+"Very well," said "Cobbler" Horn, breaking in upon the lawyer's incipient
+protest; "put it like this. Say that, in the event of my sister's death,
+everything is to go into the hands of Mr. Durnford, to be held by him in
+trust for my daughter, and to be dealt with according to his own
+discretion."
+
+"That is all on that subject, gentlemen," he added, in a tone of finality;
+and, having summarily dismissed one matter of business, he as summarily
+introduced another. "And now," he said, "having made provision for my
+daughter in the event of my death, I wish also to provide for her in
+case she should come back during my life. I desire the sum of £50,000
+to be set aside and invested in such a manner, that my daughter may have
+it--principal and interest--as her own private fortune during my life."
+
+Mr. Ball regarded his singular client with a doubtful look.
+
+"Is it necessary to do that, my dear sir? With your wealth, you will be
+able, at any time, to do for your daughter what you please."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Tongs, who seemed to think it time to put in his word.
+
+"Gentlemen," said "Cobbler" Horn. "You must let me have my own way. It is
+my intention to turn my money to the best account, according to my light;
+and I wish to have the £50,000 secured to my child, lest, when she comes
+back, there should be nothing left for her."
+
+"Well, Mr. Horn, of course your wishes shall be obeyed," said Mr. Ball,
+with a sigh; "but it is not an arrangement which I should advise."
+
+With this final protest the subject was dismissed; but, for many days, the
+£50,000 to be invested for the missing daughter of his eccentric client
+remained a burden on the mind of Mr. Ball.
+
+"And now," said "the Golden Shoemaker," "there is just another thing
+before I go. I have been to see my village. I found it, as you warned me,
+in a sadly dilapidated condition; and I have desired Mr. Gray to make all
+the necessary repairs. Will you, gentlemen, give him all the help you can,
+and see that he doesn't want for money?"
+
+"We shall be delighted, my dear sir, as a matter of course."
+
+"Thank you: Mr. Gray will probably apply to you on various points; and I
+wish you to know that he has my authority for all he does."
+
+"Very good, sir," said Mr. Ball, in a respectful tone.
+
+"Then, while I was at Daisy Lane, I paid a visit to the old Hall."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Ball, "a splendid family mansion, Mr. Horn?"
+
+"Yes; I have desired Mr. Gray to have it renovated and furnished."
+
+"As a residence for yourself, of course?"
+
+"No; I have other designs."
+
+Then, in the deeply-attentive ears of the two men of law, "the Golden
+Shoemaker" recited his plans with regard to the old Hall.
+
+It would be a mild statement to say that Messrs. Tongs and Ball were
+taken by surprise; but their client afforded them slight opportunity
+to interpose even a comment on his scheme.
+
+"You must help Mr. Gray in this matter especially, gentlemen, if you
+please. Do all you can for him. I want it to be the best 'Children's Home'
+in the country. Don't spare expense. I wish everything to be provided that
+is good for little children. My friend, Mr. Durnford will, perhaps, help
+me to find a 'father and mother' for the 'Home;' you, gentlemen, shall
+assist me in the engagement of skilful nurses and trustworthy servants. In
+order that we may make the place as nearly perfect as possible, I have
+requested Mr. Gray to visit similar institutions in various parts of the
+country. He will look to you for advice; and I should be obliged,
+gentlemen, if you would put him on the right track."
+
+Then he paused, and looked at his lawyers with a glowing face.
+
+"It's for the sake," he said, and there was a catch in his voice, "of my
+little Marian, who went from me a wanderer upon the face of the earth."
+
+Then, having arranged to call in the morning, for the purpose of signing
+his will, previous to his departure from town, he took his leave.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+                               MEMORIES.
+
+
+The following morning "Cobbler" Horn called at the office of Messrs. Tongs
+and Ball at the appointed time. The will was ready, and, having signed it,
+he said "good day" to the lawyers, and took the next train to
+Cottonborough, where he arrived early in the afternoon.
+
+Subsequently, at the dinner-table, he answered freely the questions of
+Miss Jemima concerning his doings during his absence. Nor did he feel the
+presence of his young secretary to be, in any degree, a restraint. Already
+she was as one of the family, and was almost as much in the confidence of
+"the Golden Shoemaker" as was Miss Jemima herself. "Cobbler" Horn told of
+the dilapidated condition in which he had found the village, and of the
+instructions he had given to the agent. At the recital of the latter, Miss
+Jemima held up her hands in dismay, while the eyes of the secretary
+glistened with unconcealed delight. But the climax was reached when
+"Cobbler" Horn spoke of his intentions with regard to the old Hall. Miss
+Jemima uttered a positive shriek, and shook her head till her straight,
+stiff side-curls quivered again.
+
+"Thomas," she cried, "you must be mad! It will cost you thousands of
+pounds!"
+
+"Yes, Jemima," was the quiet reply; "and surely they could not be better
+spent! And then there'll still be a few thousands left," he added with a
+smile. "It's a way of spending the Lord's money of which I'm sure He will
+approve. What do you say, Miss Owen?"
+
+"I think it's just splendid of you, Mr. Horn!"
+
+To do Miss Jemima justice, her annoyance arose quite as much from the
+annihilation of her dearly cherished hopes of becoming the mistress of an
+ideal country mansion, and filling the place of lady magnificent of her
+brother's village, as from the thought of the gigantic extravagance which
+his designs with regard to the old Hall would involve.
+
+But the poor lady was to be yet further astonished.
+
+"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Jemima," said her brother, after a brief pause,
+and speaking with a whimsical air of apology, "that I am to start for
+America to-morrow."
+
+He spoke as though he were announcing a trip into the next county; and
+Miss Jemima could scarcely have shown greater amazement, if he had
+declared his intention of starting for the moon.
+
+The good lady almost bounced from her seat.
+
+"Thomas!"
+
+She had not breath for more than that.
+
+In truth the announcement "the Golden Shoemaker" had made was startling
+enough. Even Miss Owen looked up in intense surprise; and the servant
+girl, who was in the act of taking away the meat, was so startled that
+she almost let it fall into her master's lap.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn alone was unmoved.
+
+"You see," he said calmly, "when I considered the sad plight of our poor
+cousin, I thought it would be best for me to go and see to him myself.
+There are the letters," he added, taking them from his pocket, and handing
+them to his sister. "You will see, Jemima, that the poor fellow is in sore
+straits--ill, and destitute in a low lodging-house in New York, Miss Owen!
+He will be informed, by now, of his change of fortune, and everything
+possible is to be done for him. But I feel that I can't leave him to
+strangers. And then there may be a chance of leading him to the Saviour,
+who can tell? Besides, Jemima, a journey to America is not so much of an
+undertaking now-a-days, you know; and I sha'n't be many weeks away."
+
+By this time, Miss Jemima had managed to recover her breath, and, in part,
+her wits.
+
+"But I can't get you ready by to-morrow, Thomas!"
+
+"My dear Jemima, that doesn't matter at all: whether you can get me ready
+or not, I must go. The lawyers will have taken my passage by this time."
+
+"But--but you can never take care of yourself in America, Thomas. It's
+such a large country, and so dreadful; and the Americans are such strange
+people."
+
+"Never mind, Jemima," was the pleasant reply, "Messrs. Tongs and Ball have
+sent a cablegram to their agent in New York, instructing him to look after
+me. And, besides, I've made my will."
+
+"What?" shouted Miss Jemima, "made your will?"
+
+To Miss Jemima it seemed a dreadful thing to make one's will. It was a
+last desperate resort. It was in view of death that people made their
+wills. It was evident her brother did not expect to get safely back.
+
+"Yes," repeated "Cobbler" Horn, with a quiet smile, "I've made my will.
+But, don't be alarmed, Jemima; I sha'n't die any the sooner for that. I
+did it as a wise precaution, with the approval of the lawyers. Even if I
+had not been going to America, I should have had to make my will sooner or
+later. Cheer up, Jemima! Our Heavenly Father bears rule in America, and on
+the sea, as well as here at home."
+
+Miss Jemima had relapsed into silence. She was beginning to realize the
+fact that her brother had made his will, which, after all, was not so very
+strange a thing. But what was the nature of the will? She did not desire
+to inherit her brother's property herself. She was rich enough already.
+But she was apprehensive that he might have made some foolish disposition
+of his money of which she would not be able to approve. To whom, or to
+what she would have desired him to leave his wealth, she could not,
+perhaps, have told; but she would not be easy till she knew the contents
+of his will. And yet she could not question her brother on the subject in
+the presence of his secretary. The girl might be very well, but must not
+be allowed to know too much.
+
+"If I don't come back, Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, as though he had read
+his sister's thoughts, "you will know what my will contains soon enough.
+If I do--of which I have little doubt--I will tell you all about it
+myself."
+
+After dinner, "Cobbler" Horn retired, with his secretary, to the office,
+for the purpose of dealing with the letters which had accumulated during
+his absence from home. As they proceeded with their work, Miss Owen
+learnt that, while her employer was away in America, she was to have
+discretionary powers with regard to the whole of the correspondence. With
+all her self-confidence, the young secretary was rather staggered by this
+announcement; but she could obtain no release from the firm decree.
+
+"You see, I have perfect confidence in you, Miss Owen," explained
+"Cobbler" Horn, simply; "and besides, you know very well that, in most
+cases, you are better able to decide what to do than I am myself. But, if
+there are any of the letters that you would rather not deal with till I
+come back, just let them wait."
+
+This matter had been arranged during the first half-hour, in the course of
+a dropping conversation, carried on in the pauses of their work. They had
+put in a few words here and there in the crannies and crevices of their
+business so to speak. In the same manner, "Cobbler" Horn now proceeded to
+tell his secretary of his interview with his lawyers, and of the making of
+his will.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" had already become wonderfully attached to his
+young secretary. She had exercised no arts; she had practised no wiles.
+She was a sincere, guileless, Christian girl. Shrewd enough she was,
+indeed, but utterly incapable of scheming for any manner of selfish or
+sordid end. With her divine endowment of good looks and her consecrated
+good nature, she could not fail to captivate; and there is small room for
+wonder that she had made large inroads upon "Cobbler" Horn's big heart.
+
+The degree to which his engaging young secretary had won the confidence of
+"Cobbler" Horn will appear from the fact that he was about to reveal to
+her, this afternoon, those particulars with regard to his recently-made
+will the communication of which to his sister he had avowedly postponed.
+It was not his intention to treat Miss Jemima with disrespect. He felt
+that he could freely talk to Miss Owen; with his sister it would be a
+matter of greater delicacy to deal. He often fancied that his young
+secretary was just such as his darling Marian would have been; and quite
+naturally, and very simply, he told her about his will, and even spoke of
+the money that was to be invested for his lost child. He was quite able
+now to talk calmly of the great sorrow of his life. The gentle and
+continued rubbing of the hand of time had allayed its sharper pang.
+
+"What do you think of it all, Miss Owen?"
+
+"I think, Mr. Horn," said the secretary, with the end of her penholder
+between her ruby lips, and a wistful look in her dark eyes, "that your
+daughter would be a very fortunate young lady, if she only knew it; and
+that there are not many fathers like you."
+
+"Then you think I have done well?"
+
+"I think, sir, that you have done better than well."
+
+After another spell of work, Miss Owen looked up again with an eager face.
+
+"What was your little Marian like, Mr. Horn?" she asked, in a tender and
+subdued tone.
+
+"Well, she was----" But the ardent girl took him up before he could
+proceed.
+
+"Would she have grown to be anything like me? I suppose she would be about
+my age."
+
+She was leaning forward now, with her elbows on the table, and her hands
+supporting her chin. Her richly-tinted cheeks glowed with interest; her
+large, dark eyes shone like two bright stars. The question she had asked
+could not be to her more than a subject of amiable curiosity; but no doubt
+the enthusiastic nature of the girl fully accounted for the eagerness with
+which she had spoken. Her sudden enquiry wafted "Cobbler" Horn back into
+the past; and there rose before him the vision of a bonny little nut-brown
+damsel of five summers, with eyes like sloes, and a mass of dusky hair.
+For an instant he caught his breath. He was startled to see, in the face
+of his young secretary what he would probably never have detected, if her
+question had not pointed it out.
+
+"Well, really, Miss Owen," he said, simply, "now you speak of it, you are
+something like what my little Marian may have grown to be by this time."
+
+"How delicious!" exclaimed Miss Owen.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was gazing intently at his young secretary. What vague
+surmisings, like shadows on a window-blind--were flitting through his
+brain? What dim rays of hope were struggling to penetrate the gloom?
+Suddenly he started, and shook himself, with a sigh. Of course it could
+only be a fancy. How strange the frequent inability to perceive the
+significance of circumstances plainly suggestive of the fulfilment of some
+long-cherished hope! The joy, deferred so long comes, at last, in an hour
+when we are not aware, only to find us utterly oblivious that it is so
+near!
+
+"Well, Miss Owen," said "Cobbler" Horn, rising to his feet, "I must be
+going to my cobbling. If you want me, you will know where to come."
+
+"Yes, Mr. Horn."
+
+She was aware of his custom of resorting now and then to his old workshop.
+When he was gone, she paused for a moment, with her penholder once more
+between her lips.
+
+"How nice to think that I am like what that dear little Marian would have
+been! I wonder whether we should have been friends, if she had lived?
+Poor little thing, she's almost sure to be dead! Though, perhaps not--who
+can tell? How queer that Mr. Horn should have lost a little girl, just as
+I must have been lost, and about the same time too! As for my being like
+her--perhaps, after all, that's only a fancy of his. Well, at any rate, I
+must comfort and help him all I can. I can't step into his daughter's
+place exactly; but God has put it into my power to be to him, in many
+things, what little Marian would have been if he had not lost her; and
+for Christ's sake----"
+
+At this point, the young secretary's thoughts became too sacred for prying
+eyes. Very soon she turned to her writing again. Half an hour later, the
+afternoon post arrived, bringing, amongst other letters, one or two which
+necessitated an immediate interview with "Cobbler" Horn. To trip up to her
+bedroom and dress herself for going out was the work of a very few
+moments; and in a short time she was entering the street where "Cobbler"
+Horn and his sister had lived so long, and whence the hapless little
+Marian had so heedlessly set out into the great world, on that bright
+May morning so many years ago.
+
+As Miss Owen entered the narrow street, she involuntarily raised her hand
+to her forehead. The weird feeling of familiarity with the old house and
+its vicinity, of which she had already been conscious more than once, had
+crept over her again.
+
+"How very strange!" she said to herself. "But there can't be anything in
+it!"
+
+As she approached the house, she became aware of the unconcealed scrutiny
+of a little man who was standing in the doorway of a shop on the other
+side of the street.
+
+It was Tommy Dudgeon, who had just then come to the door to show a
+customer out, a civility which he was wont to bestow, if possible, upon
+every one who came to the shop. Lingering for a moment, in the hope of
+descrying another customer, he saw Miss Owen coming down the street. Tommy
+knew about "Cobbler" Horn's secretary; but he had not, as yet, had a fair
+view of the young lady. He had not even thought much about her, and he did
+not suspect that it was she who was now coming along the street, until she
+passed into the old house. But, as he saw her now, with her black hair and
+dark glowing face, walking along the pavement in her decided way, he felt,
+as he afterwards said, "quite all-overish like." It was, at first, the
+vaguest of impressions that he received. Then, as he gazed, he began to
+think that he had seen that figure before--though he continued to assure
+himself that he had not; and then, as Miss Owen drew nearer, he concluded
+that there must be some one of whom she reminded him--some one whom he had
+known long ago. Then, with a flash, came back to him the scene--never to
+be forgotten--on that long-ago May morning; and Tommy Dudgeon heaved a
+sigh, for he had obtained his clue.
+
+"What a rude little man!" thought Miss Owen. "And yet he looks harmless
+enough. Why he must be one of the little twin shopkeepers of whom I have
+heard Mr. Horn speak. That will account for his interest in me."
+
+The absorption of the young secretary in the duties of her office, during
+her stay in the old house, no doubt fully accounted for the fact that she
+had not become more familiar with the appearance of Tommy Dudgeon.
+
+By this time Tommy had withdrawn into his shop. But he continued to watch.
+Standing partly concealed behind some of the merchandise displayed in the
+shop window, he saw Miss Owen enter "Cobbler" Horn's former abode, and
+then waited for her once more to emerge.
+
+In ten minutes the young secretary again appeared. Pausing on the
+door-step, she looked this way and that, and then, with emphatic tread,
+stepped out in the very track of the little twinkling feet which Tommy had
+watched in their last departure on that ill-fated spring morning so long
+ago. The little man craned his neck to see the better through the window,
+and then, unable to restrain himself, he hurried to the doorway of the
+shop once more, and, with enlightened eyes, watched the figure of the girl
+till it passed out of sight. Then he turned, and rushed into the kitchen
+behind the shop. His brother was trying to put one of the twins to sleep
+by carrying it to and fro; his brother's wife was making bread. He raised
+his hands.
+
+"She's come back!" he cried. Then, recollecting himself, he said, more
+quietly, "I mean I've seen the sec'tary."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+                            ON THE OCEAN.
+
+
+The evening of the next day saw "the Golden Shoemaker" steaming out of the
+Mersey, on board the first-rate Atlantic liner on which his passage had
+been taken by Messrs. Tongs and Ball. Miss Jemima had bidden her brother
+a reluctant farewell. In her secret soul, she nursed a doubt, of which,
+indeed, she was half-ashamed, as to the prospect of his safe return; and
+she endeavoured to fortify her timorous heart by the utterance of sundry
+sharp speeches concerning the folly of his enterprise.
+
+The voyage across the great ocean, in the splendid _floating hotel_ in
+which he had embarked was a new and delightful experience to "Cobbler"
+Horn. But his peace of mind sustained brief disturbance on his being shown
+to his quarters on board the vessel. His lawyers had, as a matter of
+course, taken for their wealthy client a first-class passage. It had not
+occurred to him to give them any instructions on the point, and they had
+taken it for granted that they were doing what he would desire. Perhaps,
+if they had asked him, he might, in his ignorance of such matters, have
+said, "Oh yes, first-class, by all means." But when he saw the splendid
+accommodation which his money had procured, he started back, and said to
+the attendant:
+
+"This is much too grand for me. Can't I make a change?"
+
+The attendant stared in surprise.
+
+"'Fraid not sir," he said, "every second-class berth is taken."
+
+"I don't mind about the money," said "Cobbler" Horn hastily. "But I should
+be more comfortable in a plainer cabin," and he looked around uneasily at
+the luxurious and splendid appointments of the quarters which had been
+assigned to him, as his home, for the next few days.
+
+The attendant, regarding with a critical eye the modest attire and
+unassuming demeanour of "Cobbler" Horn, inwardly agreed with what this
+somewhat eccentric passenger had said.
+
+"The only way, sir," said the man, at length, "is to get some one to
+change with you."
+
+"Ah, the very thing! How can it be managed?"
+
+The attendant mused with hand on chin.
+
+"Well, sir," he said, gliding into an interrogative tone, "if you really
+mean it----?"
+
+"Most certainly I do."
+
+"Then I think I can arrange it for you, sir. There is one second-class
+passenger who would probably jump at such a chance. He is an invalid; and
+it would be a great comfort to him to get into such quarters as these.
+I've heard a good bit about him since he came on board."
+
+"Then he's our man," said "Cobbler" Horn; and then, he added hesitatingly,
+"there'll be a sovereign for you, if you manage it at once. I'll wait here
+till you let me know."
+
+The attendant sped on his errand, and, before night, the desired exchange
+had been duly made--"Cobbler" Horn was established in the comfortable and
+congenial accommodation afforded by a second-class cabin, and the invalid
+passenger was blessing his unknown benefactor, as he sank to rest amidst
+the luxury of his new surroundings.
+
+It was late autumn, and the sea, though not stormy, was sufficiently
+restless to make the commencement of the passage unpleasant for all who
+were not good sailors. "Cobbler" Horn was not one of these; and, when,
+upon the second day out, he observed the deserted appearance of the decks
+and saloons, and, on making enquiry of an official, learnt that most of
+the passengers were sick, he realized with a healthy and grateful thrill
+of pleasure, that he was blessed with immunity from the almost universal
+tribulation which waylays the landsman who ventures on the treacherous
+deep.
+
+It will, therefore, be readily believed that "the Golden Shoemaker" keenly
+enjoyed the whole of the voyage. He breathed the fresh, briny air with
+much relish; the wonders of the sea furnished him with many instructive
+and pious thoughts; and the ship itself supplied him with an inexhaustible
+fund of interest. In particular, he paid frequent visits to the steerage,
+where large numbers of emigrants were bestowed. He spent many hours
+amongst these poor people; and, by entering into conversation with such of
+them as were disposed to talk, he became acquainted with many cases of
+necessity, which he was not slow to relieve. Nor did the gifts of money,
+which he bestowed with his usual large generosity, constitute the only
+form of help he gave. In a thousand nameless ways he ministered to the
+wants and relieved the difficulties of his humble fellow-passengers, who
+quickly came to look upon him as the good genius of the ship. As a matter
+of course, the whisper soon went round, "Who is he?" And when, in some
+inscrutable way, the truth leaked out, the poor people regarded him with a
+kind of awe. Some, indeed, criticised, and said he did not look much like
+a millionaire; but there were many in that motley crowd in whose hearts,
+during those few brief days on the ocean, "Cobbler" Horn made for himself
+a very sacred place.
+
+In the course of a day or two, the decks and saloons began to assume a
+more animated appearance. Hitherto "Cobbler" Horn had not greatly
+attracted the attention of the passengers with whom he was more
+immediately associated; but now that they were in a condition to think
+of something other than their own concerns, their interest in him began
+to awake. Who had not heard of "the Golden Shoemaker"--"The Millionaire
+Cordwainer"--"The Lucky Son of Crispin"--as he had been variously
+designated in the newspapers of the day? When it became known that so
+great a celebrity was on board, there was a general desire to make his
+acquaintance. Some vainly asked the captain to give them an introduction;
+some boldly introduced themselves.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was courteous to all, in his homely way; but he showed no
+anxiety to become further acquainted with these obtrusive persons. The
+simplicity of his manners and the plainness of his dress caused much
+surprise; and the public interest concerning him sensibly quickened when
+whispers floated forth of the giving up of his berth to the invalid
+passenger, and of his charitable doings amongst the poor emigrants.
+
+During the voyage, "the Golden Shoemaker" spent much time in close and
+prayerful study of his Bible, which had ever been, and still was, his
+dearest, and well nigh his only, book. He was induced to do this not only
+by his love of the Book itself, but also by a definite desire to absorb,
+and transfuse into his own experience, all those teachings of the Word of
+God which bore upon the new position in which he had been so strangely
+placed.
+
+First of all, he turned to certain notable passages of Scripture which
+shot up before his memory like well-known beacon-lights along a rocky
+coast. There glared upon him, first of all, the lurid denunciation which
+opens the fifth chapter of the Epistle of James, commencing, "Go to now,
+ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you!"
+"God forbid," he cried, "that my 'gold and silver' should ever become
+'cankered!' It would be a terrible thing for their 'rust' to 'witness
+against me,' and eat my 'flesh as it were fire'; and it would be yet more
+dreadful for the money which has such power for good to be itself given
+up to canker and rust!" Then he would meditate on the uncompromising
+declarations of Christ--"How hardly shall they that have riches enter into
+the Kingdom of God!" "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a
+needle, than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of God." He trembled
+as he read; but, pondering, he took heart again. Though hard, it was not
+impossible, for a man of wealth to enter into the Kingdom of God. "Camel!"
+"Eye of a Needle!" He did not know exactly what this strange saying meant;
+but he thought he had heard the minister say that it was intended to show
+the great difficulty involved in the salvation of a rich man. Then he read
+further, "How hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the
+Kingdom of God," and that seemed to make the matter plain. "Ah," he
+thought, "may I be saved from ever trusting in my riches!"
+
+He plucked an ear of wholesome admonition from the parable of the Sower.
+"The deceitfulness of riches!" he murmured. "How true!" And he subjected
+himself to the most vigilant scrutiny, lest he should be beguiled by the
+unlimited possibilities of self-indulgence which his wealth supplied. He
+turned frequently to the emphatic declaration of Paul to Timothy. "They
+that will be rich," it runs, "fall into temptation and a snare, and into
+many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and
+perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some
+coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves
+through with many sorrows." "Ah!" he would exclaim, "I didn't want to be
+rich. At the very most Agur's prayer would have been mine: 'Give me
+neither poverty nor riches.' But it's quite true that riches bring
+'temptations' and are a 'snare,' whether people 'will' be rich or become
+rich against their will; and I must be on the watch. And then there's that
+about 'the love of money' being 'the root of all evil!'" As he spoke, he
+drew a handful of coins from his pocket, and eyed them askance. "Queer
+things to love!" he mused. And then, as he thought of his balance at the
+bank, his large rent-roll, and his many profitable investments, his face
+grew very grave. "Ah," he sighed, letting copper, silver, and gold, slide
+jingling back into his pocket, "I think I have an idea how some people get
+to love their money. Lord save _me_."
+
+He was very fond of the book of Proverbs. Its short, sententious sentences
+were altogether to his mind. "There is that scattereth," he read, "and yet
+increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it
+tendeth to poverty." "I scatter," he said; "but I don't want to increase.
+Lord, spare me the consequences of my scattering! 'Withholdeth more than
+is meet'! Lord, by Thy grace, that will not I! I have no objection to
+poverty; but I would not have it come in that way!"
+
+"There is that maketh himself rich," he read again, "Yet hath nothing;
+there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches." "Ah," he
+sighed, "to possess such riches, I would gladly make myself poor!" But
+there was one text in the book of Proverbs which "Cobbler" Horn could
+never read without a smile. "The poor," it ran "is hated even of his own
+neighbour; but the rich hath many friends." He thought of his daily shoals
+of letters, of the numerous visiting cards which had been left at the door
+of his new abode, and of the obsequious attentions he had begun to receive
+from the office-bearers and leading members of his church; and he called
+to mind the eagerness of his fellow-voyagers to make his acquaintance.
+"Ah" he mused shrewdly, "friends, like most good things, are chiefly to
+be had when you don't need them!"
+
+In these sacred studies, the days passed swiftly for "the Golden
+Shoemaker." Very different were the methods by which the majority of his
+fellow-passengers endeavoured to beguile the time. Amongst the least
+objectionable of these were concerts, theatricals, billiards, and all
+kinds of games. Much time was spent by the ladies in idle chat, to which
+the gentlemen added the seductions of cigar and pipe. There were not a
+few of the passengers, moreover, who resorted to the vicious excitement
+of betting; and "Cobbler" Horn marked with amazement and horror the
+eagerness with which they staked their money on a variety of unutterably
+trivial questions. The disposition of really large sums of money was made
+to depend, on whether a certain cloud would obscure the sun or not;
+whether a large bird, seen as they neared the land, would sweep by on one
+side of the ship or the other; whether the pilot would prove to be tall or
+short; and upon a multitude of other matters so utterly unimportant, that
+"the Golden Shoemaker" began to think he was voyaging with a company of
+escaped lunatics.
+
+To one gentleman, who proposed to take a bet with him as to the
+nationality of the next vessel they might happen to meet, he gave a
+characteristic reply.
+
+"Thank you," he said gravely, "I am not anxious on that subject; and, if I
+were, I should wait for the appearance of the vessel itself. Besides, I
+cannot think it right to risk my money in the way you propose. I dare not
+throw away upon a mere frivolity what God has given me to use for the good
+of my fellows. And then, if we were to bet, as you suggest, the one who
+happened to win would be receiving what he had no moral right to possess.
+I don't----"
+
+Thus far the would-be better had listened patiently. But it was a bet he
+wanted, and not a sermon.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he therefore said, at this point, "I see I have made
+a mistake;" and with a polite bow, he moved hastily away.
+
+One fine evening, towards the end of the voyage, as "Cobbler" Horn was
+taking the air on deck, he was accosted by the attendant who had arranged
+the transfer of his berth from first to second-class.
+
+"The gentleman, sir," he said, touching his cap, "who took your
+cabin----he----"
+
+"Yes," interrupted "Cobbler" Horn; "how is he? Better, I hope."
+
+"Much better, sir; and he thought, perhaps you would see him."
+
+"Do you know what he wants?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, in a hesitating tone.
+
+"Well, sir," replied the man, "he didn't exactly say; but I rather suspect
+it's a little matter of thanks. And, begging your pardon, sir, it's very
+natural."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was not offended at the man's freedom of address, as
+another in his place might have been.
+
+"If that is all, then," he said, "I think he must excuse me. I deserve no
+thanks. I consulted my own inclination, as much as his comfort. I am glad
+he is better. Tell him he is heartily welcome, and ask him if there is
+anything more I can do."
+
+The next morning, as "Cobbler" Horn stood talking, for a minute or so, to
+the captain, the obsequious attendant once more appeared. Touching his cap
+with double emphasis, in honour of the captain, he handed a letter to
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"From the gentleman in your cabin, sir. No answer, sir----I was told to
+say," and, once more touching his cap, the polite functionary marched
+sedately away.
+
+[Illustration: "'From the gentleman in your cabin, sir.'"--_Page 158._]
+
+"I must leave you to read your letter, Mr. Horn," said the captain;
+and, with the word, he withdrew to attend to his duties in another part
+of the ship.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's letter was brief, and ran as follows:
+
+     "DEAR SIR,
+
+           "Though I may not in person express my gratitude for your great
+     kindness, I have that to tell which you ought to know. Poverty,
+     sickness, loss of dear ones, perfidy of professed friends, and ills
+     of all imaginable kinds, have fallen to my lot. I am an American. I
+     have a young wife, and a dear little girl in New York. I have been
+     to Europe upon what has turned out a most disastrous business trip.
+     I came on board this vessel a battered, broken man, not knowing,
+     and scarcely caring, whether I should live to reach the other side.
+     Faith in Christianity, in religion, in God Himself, I had utterly
+     renounced. But I want to tell you that all that is changed. I now
+     wish, and hope, to live; my health is vastly improved; and--will
+     you let me say it without offence?--I find myself able once more to
+     believe in God, and in such religion as yours. I will not again ask
+     you to see me; but if, after reading this letter, you should feel
+     inclined to pay me a visit, I need not tell you how delighted I
+     should be.
+
+             "I am,
+
+               "Dear Sir,
+
+                 "Yours gratefully,
+
+                   "THADDEUS P. WALDRON."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn read this gratifying letter over and over again, with a
+secret joy. But it was not till the next day that he could bring himself
+to comply with the invitation of its closing sentence, and pay a visit to
+the writer. He found the young man, who was far on his way to recovery,
+full of thankfulness to him and of gratitude to God. It seemed that,
+previous to the accumulation of troubles beneath which his faith had given
+away, the young fellow had been a zealous Christian. "Cobbler" Horn found
+him sincerely penitent; and, during this, and succeeding interviews, he
+had the joy of leading him back to the Saviour.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXV.
+
+                            COUSIN JACK.
+
+
+As "Cobbler" Horn was leaving the vessel at New York, he witnessed the
+meeting of Thaddeus P. Waldron and his wife. Mrs. Waldron had come on
+board the steamer. She was a wholesome, glowing little woman, encumbered
+with no inconvenient quantity of reserve. She flung her arms impulsively
+around her husband's neck, and kissed him with a smack like the report of
+a pistol.
+
+"Why, Thad," she cried, "do tell! You've completely taken me in! I
+expected a scarecrow. What for did you frighten me with that letter I
+got last week? It might have been my death!"
+
+Then, with a little trill of a laugh, the happy woman hugged once more
+the equally delighted "Thad," and gave him another resounding kiss.
+
+By this time the attention of those who were passing to and fro around
+them began to be attracted; and, amongst the rest, "Cobbler" Horn, who
+was held for a few moments in the crowd, was watching them with deep
+interest.
+
+"Hold hard, little woman," exclaimed Thaddeus, "or I guess I sha'n't have
+breath left to tell you my news! And," he added, "it's better even than
+you think."
+
+"Oh, Thad, do tell!" she cried, still regarding her husband with admiring
+eyes.
+
+"Well, my health has been fixed up by the sea air, and the comfort and
+attention I've had during the voyage, which is all through the goodness
+of one man. I calculate that man 'ull have to show up before we leave
+this vessel. He wasn't out of sight five minutes ago."
+
+As he spoke, he looked round, and saw the figure of "Cobbler" Horn, who,
+evidently in dread of a demonstration on the part of his grateful friend,
+was modestly moving away amongst the crowd. One stride of Thaddeus P.
+Waldron's long legs, and he had his benefactor by the arm.
+
+"Here, stranger--no, darn it all, you aren't a stranger, no how you fix
+it--this way sir, if _you_ please."
+
+"Now, little woman," he exclaimed, triumphantly dragging his reluctant
+captive towards his wife, "this is the man you have to thank--this man
+and God! He gave up----"
+
+"Oh," interrupted "Cobbler" Horn, "you mustn't allow him to thank me for
+that, ma-am. I did it quite as much for my own sake."
+
+"Hear him!" exclaimed Thaddeus, with incredulous admiration. "Anyhow he
+made me think, little wife, that there was some genuine religion in the
+world after all. And that helped me to get better too. And the long and
+short of it is, I've been made a new man of, inside and out; and we're
+going to have some real good times! And now, old girl, you've just got
+to give the man whose done it all a hug and a buss, and then we'll come
+along."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn started back in dismay. But Mrs. Thaddeus was thoroughly of
+her husband's mind. What he had been, as she knew from his letters, and
+what she found him now, passed through her mind in a flash. She was modest
+enough, but not squeamish; and the honest face of "Cobbler" Horn was one
+which no woman, under the circumstances, need have hesitated to kiss. So,
+in a moment, to the amusement of the crowd, to the huge delight of the
+grateful Thaddeus, and to the confusion of "the Golden Shoemaker" himself,
+the thing was done.
+
+The next minute, the happy and grateful couple were gone, and "Cobbler"
+Horn had scarcely time to recover his composure before he found himself
+greeted by the agent of Messrs. Tongs and Ball, who, having been furnished
+by those gentlemen with a particular description of the personal
+appearance of their eccentric client, had experienced but little
+difficulty in singling him out. From this gentleman "Cobbler" Horn learnt
+that his ill-fated cousin had been removed from the wretched lodgings
+where he was found to the best private hospital in New York, where he was
+receiving every possible care. The agent had also engaged apartments for
+"Cobbler" Horn himself in a first-class hotel in the neighbourhood of the
+hospital. It was a great relief to "Cobbler" Horn that his conductor had
+undertaken the care of his luggage, and the management of everything
+connected with his debarkation. He was realizing more and more the immense
+advantages conferred by wealth. On being shown into the splendid
+apartments which had been engaged for him in the hotel, he shrank back as
+he had done from the first-class accommodation assigned to him on board
+the steam-boat. But this time he was obliged to submit. Wealth has its
+penalties, as well as its advantages.
+
+It was early in the forenoon when the vessel arrived; and, when "the
+Golden Shoemaker" was duly installed in his luxurious quarters at the
+hotel, the agent left him, having first promised to come back at three
+o'clock, and conduct him to the bedside of his cousin.
+
+At the appointed time the agent returned.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was eager to be going, and they at once set out. A few
+minutes brought them to the hospital where his cousin lay. They were
+immediately shown in, and "Cobbler" Horn found himself entering a bright
+and airy chamber, where he presently stood beside his cousin's bed.
+
+The sick man had been apprised of the approaching visit of his generous
+relative from over the water, and he regarded "Cobbler" Horn now with a
+kind of dull wonder in his hollow eyes. At the same time he held out a
+hand which was wasted almost to transparency. "Cobbler" Horn took the
+thin fingers in his strong grasp; and, as he looked, with a great pity, on
+the sunken cheeks, the protruding mouth, the dark gleaming eyes, and the
+contracted forehead with its setting of black damp hair, he thought that,
+if ever he had seen the stamp of death upon a human face, he saw it now.
+
+"Well, cousin Jack," he said sadly, "it grieves me that our first meeting
+should be like this."
+
+Cousin Jack, struggling with strong emotion, regarded his visitor with a
+fixed look. His mouth worked convulsively, and it was some moments before
+he could speak. At length he found utterance, in hollow tones, and with
+laboured breath.
+
+"Have you--come all this way--across the water--on purpose to see me?"
+
+"Yes," replied "Cobbler" Horn, simply, "of course I have. I wanted you to
+know that you are to have your honest share of our poor uncle's money. And
+because I was determined to make sure that everything was done for you
+that could be done, and because I wished to do some little for you myself,
+I did not send, but came."
+
+"Uncle's money! Ah, yes, they told me about it. Well, you might have kept
+it all; and it's very good of you--very. But money won't be much use to me
+very long. It's your coming that I take so kindly. You see, I hadn't a
+friend; and it seemed so dreadful to die like that. Oh, it was good of you
+to come!"
+
+In his wonder at the loving solicitude which had brought his cousin across
+the water to his dying bed, he almost seemed to undervalue the act of
+rare unselfishness by which so much money had been relinquished which
+might have been kept without fear of reproach. "Cobbler" Horn was not hurt
+by the seeming insensibility of his poor cousin to the great sacrifice he
+had made on his behalf. He did not desire, nor did he think that he
+deserved, any credit for what he had done. He had simply done his duty, as
+a matter of course. But he was much gratified that his poor cousin was so
+grateful for his coming. He sat down, with shining eyes, by the bedside,
+and took the wasted hand in his once more.
+
+"Cousin," he asked, "have they cared for you in every way?"
+
+"Yes, cousin, they have done what they could, thanks to your goodness!"
+
+"Not at all. Your own money will pay the bill, you know."
+
+For a moment cousin Jack was perplexed. His own money? He had not a cent.
+in the world! He had actually forgotten that his cousin had made him rich.
+
+"My own money?"
+
+"Yes; the third part of what uncle left you know."
+
+A slight flush mantled the hollow cheeks.
+
+"Oh yes; what a dunce I am! I'm afraid I'm very ungrateful. But you see I
+seem to have done with such things. And yet the money is going to be of
+some use to me after all."
+
+"Yes, that it is! It shall bring you comfort, ease, and, if possible,
+health and life."
+
+The sick man shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, wistfully; "a little of the first two, perhaps, but none of
+the last. I know I can't live many weeks; and it's no use deceiving myself
+with false hopes."
+
+As "Cobbler" Horn looked at his cousin, he knew that he was not mistaken
+in his forecast.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn did not remain long with his sick cousin at this time.
+
+"There is one thing I should like," he said gravely, as he rose from his
+seat.
+
+"There is not much that I can deny you," replied Jack; "what is it?"
+
+He spoke without much show of interest.
+
+"I should like to pray with you before I go."
+
+Cousin Jack started, and again his pale face flushed.
+
+"Certainly," he said, "if you wish it; but it will be of no use. Nothing
+is of any use now."
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" knelt down beside the bed, and prayed for his dying
+cousin, in his own simple, fervent way. Then, with a promise to come again
+on the following day, he passed out of the room.
+
+The prayer had been brief, and poor Jack had listened to it with heedless
+resignation; but it had struck a chord in his bruised heart which
+continued to vibrate long after his visitor was gone.
+
+The next day "Cobbler" Horn found his cousin in a more serious mood. The
+poor young man told him something of his sad history; and "Cobbler" Horn
+spoke many earnest and faithful words. It became increasingly evident to
+"Cobbler" Horn, day by day, that life was ebbing fast within his cousin's
+shattered frame; and he grew ever more anxious to bring the poor young
+fellow to the Saviour. But somehow the work seemed to drag. Jack would
+express a desire for salvation; and yet, somehow he seemed to be holding
+back. The hindrance was revealed, one day, by a stray question asked by
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"How about your will, Jack?"
+
+Jack stared blankly.
+
+"My will? Why should I make a will?"
+
+"Because you have some money to leave."
+
+"Ah! Whose will it be, if I die without a will?"
+
+"Mine, I suppose," said "Cobbler" Horn reluctantly, after a moment's
+thought.
+
+"Well, then, let it be; nothing could be better."
+
+"But is there no one to whom you would like to leave your money?"
+
+Jack looked fixedly at the already beloved face of his cousin. Then his
+own face worked convulsively, and he covered it with his wasted fingers.
+
+"Yes, yes," he said, in tones of distress; "there is some one. That
+is---- You are sure the money is really my own?"
+
+He seemed all eagerness now to possess his share of the money.
+
+"To be sure it is," responded "Cobbler" Horn. "That is quite settled."
+
+"Well, then, there is a poor girl who would have given her life for mine;
+but I have behaved to her like a brute. She shall have every penny of
+it."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn listened with intense interest, and at once gave expression
+to a burning apprehension which had instantly pierced his mind.
+
+"Behaved like a brute!" he exclaimed. "Not in the worst way of all, I
+hope, Jack?"
+
+"No, no, not that!" cried Jack, in horror.
+
+"Thank God! But now, do you know where this poor girl is to be found?"
+
+"I think so. Her name is Bertha Norman, and her parents live in a village
+only a few miles from here. When I gave her up, I believe she left her
+situation, here in the city, and went home with a broken heart."
+
+"Well, Jack, your decision will meet with the approval of God. But, in
+the meantime, we must try to find this poor girl."
+
+"If you only would!"
+
+"Of course. But, with regard to the other matter--you would like to have
+the thing done at once?"
+
+"The thing?"
+
+"The will."
+
+"Oh yes; it would be better so."
+
+"Then we'll arrange, if possible, for this afternoon. Perhaps you know a
+lawyer?"
+
+"No. Amongst all my follies, I have kept out of the hands of the lawyers.
+But there is the gentleman who rescued me from that den, where I should
+have been dead by now. Perhaps he would do?"
+
+"Ah, the agent of my lawyers in London! Well, I'll see him at once."
+
+So the thing was done. That afternoon the lawyer came to receive
+instructions, and the next morning the will was presented and duly signed.
+
+When the lawyer was gone, Jack turned feebly to "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"There's just one thing more," he said. "I must see her, and tell her
+about it myself."
+
+"Would she come" asked "Cobbler" Horn. "And do you think it would be
+well?"
+
+"'Come'? She would come, if I were dying at North Pole. And there will be
+no peace for me, till I have heard from her own lips that she has forgiven
+me."
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated "Cobbler" Horn. "Do you say so?"
+
+"Yes, cousin; I feel that it's no use to ask pardon of God, till Bertha
+has forgiven me. You know what I mean."
+
+"Yes," said "Cobbler" Horn gently; "I know what you mean, and I'll do what
+I can."
+
+"Thank you!" said Jack, fervently. "But it mustn't be by letter. You must
+go and see her yourself, if you will; and I don't think you will refuse."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn shrank, at first, from so delicate and difficult a mission,
+for which he pronounced himself utterly unfit. But the pathetic appeal of
+the dark, hollow eyes, which gleamed upon him from the pillow, ultimately
+prevailed.
+
+"Tell her," said Jack, as "Cobbler" Horn wished him good night, "that I
+dare not ask pardon of God, till I have her forgiveness from her own
+lips."
+
+In a village almost English in its rural loveliness "Cobbler" Horn found
+himself, the next morning, face to face, in the little front-room of a
+humble cottage, with a pale, sorrowful maiden, on whose
+pensively-beautiful face hope and fear mingled their lights and shadows
+while he delivered his tender message.
+
+"Would she go with him?"
+
+"Go?" she exclaimed, with trembling eagerness, "of course I will! But how
+good it is of you, sir--a stranger, to come like this!"
+
+So Bertha Norman came back with "Cobbler" Horn to the private hospital in
+New York. He put her into her cousin's room, closed the door, and then
+quietly came downstairs. Bertha did not notice that her conductor had
+withdrawn. She flew to the bedside. The dying man put out a trembling
+hand.
+
+"Forgive----" he began in broken tones.
+
+But she stifled his words with gentle kisses, and, sitting down by the
+bed, clasped his poor thin hand.
+
+"Ask God to forgive you, dear Jack. I've never stopped loving you a bit!"
+
+"Yes, I will ask God that," he said. "I can now. But I want to tell you
+something first, Bertha. I am a rich man."
+
+Then he told her the wonderful story.
+
+"Ah!" she exclaimed, "that was your friend who brought me here. I felt
+that he was good."
+
+"He is," said Jack. "And now Bertha, it's all yours. I've made my will,
+and the money is to come to you when I'm gone. You know I'm going,
+Bertha?"
+
+She tightened the grasp of her hand on his with a convulsive movement,
+but did not speak.
+
+"It 'ull be your very own, Bertha," he said.
+
+"Yes, thank you, dear Jack. But forgive me, if I don't think much about
+that just now."
+
+Then there was a brief silence, which was presently broken by Jack.
+
+"You won't leave me, yet, Bertha? You'll stay with me a little while?"
+
+"Jack I shall never leave you any more!" and there was a world of love
+in her gentle eyes.
+
+"Thank God!" murmured the dying man. "Till----till----you mean?"
+
+"Yes; but, Jack, you must come back to God!"
+
+"Yes, I will. But call cousin Thomas in."
+
+She found "the Golden Shoemaker" in a small sitting-room downstairs; and,
+having brought him up to the sick-chamber, stood before him in the middle
+of the room, and, taking his big hand, gently lifted it, with both her
+tiny white ones, to her lips.
+
+"In the presence of my dear Jack," she said, "I thank you. But, dear
+friend, I think you should take the money back when he is gone."
+
+"My dear young lady," protested "Cobbler" Horn, with uplifted hand, "how
+can I take it, seeing it is not mine? But," he added softly, "we will not
+speak of it now."
+
+True to her promise, Bertha did not leave her beloved Jack until the end;
+and the regular attendants, supplied by the house, so far from regarding
+her presence as an intrusion, were easily induced to look upon her as one
+of themselves. "Cobbler" Horn was rarely absent during the day-time; and,
+in the brief remaining space of poor Jack's chequered life, his gentle
+lover, and his high-souled cousin, had the great joy of leading him to
+entertain a genuine trust in the Saviour. The end came so suddenly, that
+they had no time for parting words; but they had good hope, as they
+reverently closed his eyes. When all was over, and he had been laid to
+rest in the cemetery, "Cobbler" Horn took Bertha back to her village home,
+and then set his face once more towards England, bearing in his heart a
+chastened memory, and the image of a sweet, pensive face.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+                             HOME AGAIN.
+
+
+It was with feelings of deep gratitude to God that "Cobbler" Horn set foot
+once more upon his native land. After having been away no longer than four
+weeks, he landed at Liverpool on a bright winter's morning, and, taking an
+early train, reached Cottonborough about mid-day. He had telegraphed the
+time of his arrival, and Bounder, the coachman, was at the station to
+meet him with the dog-cart. He had sent his message for the purpose of
+preparing his sister for his arrival; for he knew she preferred not to be
+taken unawares by such events. If he had given the matter a thought, he
+would have told them not to send to meet him at the station. He would
+much rather have walked, than ridden, a distance so short. And then he
+shrank, at all times, from the idea of making a public parade of his
+newly-acquired state. And, if all the truth must be told, he was--not
+awed, but mildly irritated, by the imposing presence, and reproachful
+civility, of the ideal Bounder.
+
+Here was Bounder now, with his dignified salute. "Cobbler" Horn yearned to
+give the man a hearty shake of the hand, and ask him sociably how he had
+been getting on. This was obviously out of the question; but, just then,
+little Tommy Dudgeon happened to come up, on his way into the station.
+Here was an opportunity not to be let slip, and "Cobbler" Horn seized with
+avidity on his humble little friend, and gave him the hearty hand-shake
+which he would fain have bestowed upon the high and mighty Bounder. It was
+a means of grace to "the Golden Shoemaker" once more to clasp the hand of
+a compatriot and a friend. He stood talking to Tommy for a few minutes,
+while Bounder waited in his seat with an expression of very slightly
+veiled scorn on his majestic face.
+
+At length, quite oblivious of the contemptuous disapproval of his
+coachman, and greatly refreshed in spirit, "Cobbler" Horn bade his little
+friend "good day," and mounted to his seat.
+
+They drove off in silence. "Cobbler" Horn scarcely knew whether his
+exacting coachman would think it proper for his master to enter into
+conversation with him; and the coachman, on his part, would not be guilty
+of such a breach of decorum as to speak to his master when his master had
+not first spoken to him.
+
+Miss Jemima was standing in the doorway to receive her brother; and behind
+her, with a radiant face, modestly waited the young secretary. Miss Jemima
+presented her cheek, as though for the performance of a surgical
+operation, and "Cobbler" Horn kissed it with a hearty smack. At the
+same time he grasped her hand.
+
+"Well, Jemima," he exclaimed, "I'm back again safe and sound, you see!"
+
+"Yes," was the solemn response, "I'm thankful to see you, brother,--and
+relieved."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn laughed heartily, and kissed her on the other cheek.
+
+"Thankful enough, Jemima, let us be. But 'relieved'! well, I had no fear.
+You see, my dear sister, the whole round world lies in the hand of God.
+And, then, I didn't understand the way the Lord has been dealing with me
+of late to mean that he was going to allow me to be cut off quite so soon
+as that."
+
+This was said cheerily, and not at all in a preaching tone; and having
+said it, "Cobbler" Horn turned, with genuine pleasure, to exchange a
+genial greeting with his young secretary, who had remained sedately in
+the background.
+
+"Dinner is almost ready," said Miss Jemima, as they entered the house;
+"so you must not spend long in your room."
+
+"I promise you," said her brother, from the stairs, "that I shall be at
+the table almost as soon as the dinner itself."
+
+During dinner, "Cobbler" Horn talked much about his voyage to and fro, and
+his impressions of America. He had sent, by letter, during his absence, a
+regular report, from time to time, of the progress of the sorrowful
+business which had taken him across the sea; and with regard to that
+neither he nor his sister was now inclined to speak at large.
+
+After dinner, "Cobbler" Horn, somewhat to his sister's mortification,
+retired to the office, for the purpose of receiving, from his secretary, a
+report of the correspondence which had passed through her hands during his
+absence.
+
+Let it not be supposed that Miss Jemima was capable of entertaining
+suspicion with regard to her brother. She would frown upon his doings and
+disapprove of his opinions, with complete unreserve; but she would not
+admit concerning him a shadow of mistrust. When, therefore, it is recorded
+that his frequent and close intercourse with his young secretary
+occasioned his sister uneasiness of mind, it must not be supposed that any
+evil imagining intruded upon her thoughts. Miss Jemima was simply fearful
+lest this young girl should, perhaps inadvertently, steal into the place
+in her brother's heart which belonged to her. As "Cobbler" Horn and his
+secretary sat in counsel, from time to time, in their respective
+arm-chairs, at the opposite ends of the office table, neither of them
+had any suspicion of Miss Jemima's jealous fears.
+
+Miss Owen had dealt diligently, and with much shrewdness, with the
+ever-inflowing tide of letters. Her labour was much lightened now by
+reason of "Cobbler" Horn's having provided her with the best type-writer
+that could be obtained for money. With regard to some of the letters, she
+had ventured to avail herself of the advice of the minister; and she had
+also, with great tact, consulted Miss Jemima on points with reference to
+which the opinion of that lady was likely to be sound and safe. The
+consequence was that the letters which remained to be considered were
+comparatively few.
+
+First, Miss Owen gave her employer an account of the letters of which she
+had disposed; then she unfolded such matters as were still the subjects of
+correspondence; and lastly she laid before him the letters with which she
+had not been able to deal.
+
+The most important of all the letters were two long ones from Messrs.
+Tongs and Ball and Mr. Gray, respectively, relating to the improvements
+in progress at Daisy Lane in general, and in particular to the work of
+altering and fitting up the old Hall for the great and gracious purpose
+on which its owner had resolved. "The Golden Shoemaker" was gratified to
+learn, from these letters, that the work of renovating his dilapidated
+property had been so well begun, and that already, amongst his
+long-suffering tenants, great satisfaction was beginning to prevail.
+The remaining letters were passed under review, and then "Cobbler" Horn
+lingered for a few moment's chat.
+
+"I mean to take my sister and you to see the village and the Hall one day
+soon, Miss Owen," he said.
+
+"Oh, thank you, Mr. Horn!" enthusiastically exclaimed the young secretary.
+
+"You would like to go?"
+
+"I should love it dearly! I can't tell you, Mr. Horn, how much I am
+interested in that kind and generous scheme of yours for the old Hall."
+
+In her intercourse with her employer, "Cobbler" Horn's secretary was quite
+free and unreserved, as indeed he wished her to be.
+
+"It's to be a home for orphans, isn't it?" she asked.
+
+"Not for orphans only," he replied, tenderly, as he thought of his own
+lost little one. "It's for children who have no home, whether orphans or
+not,--little waifs, you know, and strays--children who have no one to care
+for them."
+
+"I'm doing it," he added, simply, "for the sake of my little Marian."
+
+"Oh, how good of you! And, do you know, Mr. Horn, its being for waifs and
+strays makes me like it all the more; because I was a waif and stray once
+myself."
+
+She was leaning forward, with her elbows on the table, and her pretty
+but decided chin resting on her doubled hands. As she spoke, her somewhat
+startling announcement presented itself to her in a serio-comic light,
+and a whimsical twinkle came into her eyes. The same impression was
+shared by "Cobbler" Horn; and, regarding his young secretary, with her
+neatly-clothed person, her well-arranged hair, and her capable-looking
+face, he found it difficult to regard as anything but a joke the
+announcement that she had once been, as she expressed it, "a waif and
+stray."
+
+"You!" he exclaimed, with an indulgent smile.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Horn, I was indeed a little outcast girl. Did not Mr. Durnford
+tell you that the dear friends who have brought me up are not my actual
+parents?"
+
+"Yes," replied "Cobbler" Horn, slowly, "he certainly did. But I did not
+suspect----"
+
+"Of course not!" laughed the young girl. "You would never dream of
+insulting me by supposing that I had once been a little tramp!"
+
+"No, of course not," agreed "Cobbler" Horn, with a perplexed smile.
+
+"It's true, nevertheless," affirmed Miss Owen. "Mr. and Mrs. Burton have
+been like parents to me almost ever since I can remember, and I always
+call them 'father' and 'mother'; but they are no more relations to me than
+are you and Miss Horn. They found me in the road, a poor little ragged
+mite; and they took me home, and I've been just like their own ever since.
+I remember something of it, in a vague sort of way."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was regarding his secretary with a bewildered gaze.
+
+"You may well be astonished, Mr. Horn. But, do you know, sometimes I
+almost feel glad that I don't know my real father and mother. They must
+have been dreadful people. But, whatever they were, they could never have
+been better to me than Mr. and Mrs. Burton have been. They have treated me
+exactly as if I had been their own child."
+
+Many confused thoughts were working in the brain of "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"But," said Miss Owen, resuming her work, "I must tell you about it
+another time."
+
+"Yes, you shall," said "Cobbler" Horn, rousing himself. "I shall want to
+hear it all."
+
+So saying, he left the room, and betook himself to his old workshop for an
+hour or two on his beloved cobbler's bench. He had placed the old house
+under the care of a widow, whom he permitted to live there rent free, and
+to have the use of the furniture which remained in the house, and to whom,
+in addition, he paid a small weekly fee.
+
+As he walked along the street, he could not fail to think of what his
+secretary had just said with reference to her early life. His thoughts
+were full of pathetic interest. Then she too had been a little homeless
+one! The fact endeared to him, more than ever, the bright young girl who
+had come like a stream of sunshine into his life. For to "Cobbler" Horn
+his young secretary was indeed becoming very dear. It could not be
+otherwise. She was just filling his life with the gentle and considerate
+helpfulness which he had often thought would have been afforded to him by
+his little Marian. And now, it seemed to draw this young girl closer to
+him still, when he learnt that she had once been homeless and friendless,
+as he had too much reason to fear that his own little one had become. He
+had a feeling also that the coincidence therein involved was strange.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+              COMING INTO COLLISION WITH THE PROPRIETIES.
+
+
+It is not surprising that, in his new station, "Cobbler" Horn should have
+committed an occasional breach of etiquette. It was unlikely that he would
+ever be guilty of real impropriety; but it was inevitable that he should,
+now and again, set at nought the so-called "proprieties" of fashionable
+life. In the genuine sense of the word, "Cobbler" Horn was a Christian
+gentleman; and he would have sustained the character in any position in
+which he might have been placed. But he had a feeling akin to contempt for
+the punctilious and conventional squeamishness of polite society.
+
+It was, no doubt, largely for this reason that "society" did not receive
+"the Golden Shoemaker" within its sacred enclosure. Not that it rejected
+him. He had too much money for that; half his wealth would have procured
+him the entrée to the most select circles. But the attitude he assumed
+towards the fashionable world rendered impossible his admission to its
+charmed precincts. He made it evident that he would not, and could not,
+conform to its customs or observe its rules. The world, indeed, courted
+him, at first, and would gladly have taken him within its arms. Fashion
+set to work to woo him, as it would have wooed an ogre possessed of his
+glittering credentials. But he repelled its advances with an amused
+indifference verging on contempt.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn foiled, by dint of sheer unresponsiveness, the first
+attempt to introduce itself to him made by the world. On his return from
+America, one of the first things which attracted his attention was a pile
+of visiting cards on a silver salver which stood on the hall table. Some
+of these bore the most distinguished names which Cottonborough or its
+vicinity could boast. There were municipal personages of the utmost
+dignity, and the representatives of county families of the first water. It
+had taken the world some little time to awake to a sense of its "duty"
+with regard to the "Cobbler" who had suddenly acceded to so high a
+position in the aristocracy of wealth. But when, at length, it realized
+that "the Golden Shoemaker" was indeed a fact, it set itself to bestow
+upon him as full and free a recognition as though the blood in his veins
+had been of the most immaculate blue.
+
+It was during his absence in America that the great rush of the
+fashionable world to his door had actually set in. But Miss Jemima had
+not been taken unawares. She had supplied herself betimes with a manual
+of etiquette, which she had studied with the assiduity of a diligent
+school-girl. She had also, though not without trepidation, ordered a
+quantity of visiting cards, and had them inscribed respectively with her
+own and her brother's names. And thus, when Society made its first
+advances, it did not find Miss Jemima unprepared.
+
+When "Cobbler" Horn espied the visiting cards on his hall table, he said
+to his sister:
+
+"What, more of these, Jemima?"
+
+"Yes, Thomas," she responded, with evident pride; "and some of them belong
+to the best people in the neighbourhood!"
+
+"And have all these people been here?" he asked, taking up a bunch of the
+cards between his finger and thumb, and regarding them with a mingling of
+curiosity and amusement.
+
+"Yes," replied Miss Jemima, in exultant tones, "they have all been here;
+but a good many of them happened to come when I was out."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn sighed.
+
+"Well," he said, "I suppose this is another of 'the penalties of wealth!'"
+
+"Say rather _privileges_, Thomas," Miss Jemima ventured delicately to
+suggest.
+
+"No, Jemima. It may appear to you in that light; but I am not able to
+regard as a privilege the coming to us of all these grand people. How much
+better it would be, if they would leave us to live our life in our own
+way! Do you suppose they would ever have taken any notice of us at all, if
+it had not been for this money?"
+
+Miss Jemima was unable to reply; for it was impossible to gainsay her
+brother's words. And yet it was sweet to her soul to have all the best
+people in the neighbourhood calling and leaving their cards. For the
+present, she let the matter rest. But, a day or two afterwards, the course
+of events brought the question to the surface again. Miss Jemima was
+brushing her brother's coat, in the dining-room, after dinner, previous to
+his setting out for his old workshop, when they saw a carriage drive up to
+the gate.
+
+"Here are some more of your grand friends, Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn,
+with a sigh. "How ever am I to get out?"
+
+Miss Jemima was peeping out from behind the window-curtain, with the
+eagerness of a girl.
+
+"Why," she exclaimed, as the occupants of the carriage began to alight,
+"it's Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow, the retired b----." "Brewer" she was going
+to say but checked herself. "Surely you will not think of going out now,
+Thomas?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn knew Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow very well by sight. He had known
+them before they rode in their carriage, and when they were much less
+splendid people than they had latterly become. He had never greatly
+desired their acquaintance when it was unattainable; and, now that it was
+being thrust upon him, he desired it even less than before. There was no
+reason why he should be intimate with this man. On what grounds had he
+called? "Cobbler" Horn could not refrain from regarding the visit as being
+an impertinence.
+
+"My dear Jemima," he said, "I must be going at once. These people cannot
+have any business with me; and I have a good deal of work to do. You have
+received the other people; and you can manage these. But, Jemima, do not
+encourage them to come again!"
+
+So saying, he moved towards the door; but Miss Jemima placed an agitated
+hand upon his arm.
+
+"Thomas," she cried, "what shall I say to them?"
+
+"Tell them I am obliged to go out. Do you think it would be right to keep
+my poor people waiting for their boots and shoes, while I spent the time
+in idle ceremony?"
+
+Miss Jemima ceased to remonstrate, and her brother again moved towards the
+door. But, before he reached it, a servant appeared with the cards of Mr.
+and Mrs. Brownlow, who were by this time installed in the drawing-room.
+Miss Jemima took the cards, and "Cobbler" Horn made for the front-door.
+
+"Not that way, Thomas!" she cried after him. "They'll see you!"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn looked around in surprise.
+
+"Why not, my dear? They will thus perceive that I have really gone out."
+
+The next moment he was gone, and Miss Jemima was left to face the visitors
+with the best excuses she could frame.
+
+The question of returning the numerous calls they had received occasioned
+much perplexity to Miss Jemima's mind. Nothing would induce her brother
+to accompany her on any expedition of the kind. While, therefore, in some
+cases, she was able to go by herself, in others she was obliged to refrain
+from going altogether, and, as a matter of course, offence was given. The
+natural consequence was that the number of callers rapidly diminished, and
+"the Golden Shoemaker's" reputation for eccentricity was thoroughly
+established.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn very rarely consented to see any company who came merely to
+pay a call. But one afternoon, when his sister was out, he went into the
+drawing-room to excuse her absence, and, in fact, to dismiss the callers.
+
+"My sister is not at home, ma'am," he said, addressing the buxom and
+magnificent lady, who, with her two slender and humble-looking sons, had
+awaited his coming.
+
+Having delivered his announcement, he stood at the open door, as though to
+show his visitors out. The lady, however, quite unabashed, retained her
+seat.
+
+"May I venture to say," she asked, "that, inasmuch as the absence of Miss
+Horn has procured us the pleasure of making the acquaintance of her
+brother, it is not entirely a matter of regret?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn bowed gravely.
+
+"It is very good of you to say that, ma'am; but I'm afraid I must ask you
+to excuse me too. I'm very busy; and, besides, these ceremonies are not at
+all in my way."
+
+The lady, who bore a title, changed countenance, and rose to her feet.
+She was conscious that she had been dismissed.
+
+"Certainly, sir," she said, in accents of freezing politeness; "no doubt
+you have many concerns. We will retire at once."
+
+The lady's sons also rose, moving as she moved, like the satellites of a
+planet.
+
+"There is no need for you to go, ma'am," "Cobbler" Horn hastened to say,
+quite unaware that he had committed a grave breach of etiquette. "If you
+will only excuse me, and stay here by yourselves, for a little while, no
+doubt my sister will soon be back; and I'm sure she will be glad to see
+you."
+
+"Thank you," was the haughty response of the angered dame; "we have
+already remained too long. Be good enough, sir, to have us shown out."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn rang the bell; and, as the lady, followed by her sons,
+swept past him with a stately and disdainful bow, he felt that, in some
+way, he had grievously transgressed.
+
+Miss Jemima, on her return, a few moments later, heard, with great
+consternation, what had taken place.
+
+"I asked the good lady to wait till you came, Jemima; but she insisted on
+going away at once."
+
+"Oh, Thomas, what have you done!" cried Miss Jemima, in piteous tones.
+
+"What could I do?" was the reply. "You see, I could not think of wasting
+my time; and I thought they would not mind staying by themselves, for a
+few minutes, till you came in."
+
+"Oh, dear," cried Miss Jemima, "I'm afraid she'll never come again!"
+
+"Well, never mind, Jemima," said her brother; "I don't suppose it will
+matter very much."
+
+The foreboding of Miss Jemima was fulfilled; the outraged lady returned no
+more. And there were many others, who, when they found that the master of
+the house had little taste for fashionable company, discontinued their
+calls. Some few of her new-made acquaintances only Miss Jemima was able,
+by dint of her own careful and eager politeness, to retain.
+
+There were also other points at which "Cobbler" Horn came into collision
+with the customs of society. He persisted in habitually going out with his
+hands ungloved. He possessed a hardy frame, and, even in winter, he had
+rarely worn either gloves or overcoat; and now, as ever, almost his only
+preparation for going out was to take his hat down from its peg, and put
+it on his head. Miss Jemima pathetically entreated that he would at least
+wear gloves. But he was obdurate. His hands, he said, were always warm
+enough when he was out of doors; and he would try to keep them clean.
+
+Another of the whims of "Cobbler" Horn was his fondness for doing what his
+sister called "common" work. One morning, for example, on coming down to
+breakfast, the good lady, looking through the window, saw her brother, in
+his shirt sleeves, engaged in trimming the grass of the lawn. With a
+little scream, she ran out at the front-door, and caught him by the arm.
+
+"Thomas! Thomas!" she cried, "if you don't care about yourself, have a
+little thought for me!"
+
+"What is it, Jemima?" he asked straightening himself. "Is breakfast ready?
+I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting. I'll come at once."
+
+"No, no," exclaimed Miss Jemima; "it's not that! But for a man in your
+position to be working like a common gardener--it's shameful! Pray come in
+at once, before you are seen by any one going by! Without your coat too,
+on a sharp winter's morning like this!"
+
+"My dear Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, as he turned with her towards the
+house, "if I _were_ a common gardener, there would be no disgrace,
+any more than in my present position. There's no shame in a bit of honest
+work, anyhow, Jemima; and it's a great treat to me."
+
+Miss Jemima's chief concern was to get her unmanageable brother into the
+house as quickly as possible, and she paid little heed to what he said.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+                         BOUNDER GIVES WARNING.
+
+
+There was another personage to whom the unconventional ways of "the Golden
+Shoemaker" gave great offence; and that was Mr. Bounder, the coachman. As
+a coachman, Bounder was faultless. His native genius had been developed
+and matured by a long course of first-class experience. In matters of
+etiquette, within his province, Bounder was precise. Right behaviour
+between master and coachman was, in his opinion, "the whole duty of man."
+He held in equal contempt a presuming coachman and a master who did not
+keep his place.
+
+Bounder soon discovered that, in "Cobbler" Horn, he had a master of whom
+it was impossible to approve. Bounder "see'd from the fust as Mr. Horn
+warn't no gentleman." It was always the way with "them as was made rich
+all of a suddint like." And Bounder puffed out his red cheeks till they
+looked like two toy balloons. It was "bad enough to be kept waiting
+outside the station, while your master stood talking to a little feller as
+looked as like a rag and bone man as anythink; but when you was required
+to stop the kerridge and pick up every tramp as you overtook on the road,
+it was coming it a little too strong." This last was a slight exaggeration
+on the part of Bounder. The exact truth was that, on one occasion, his
+master had stopped the carriage for the purpose of giving a lift to a
+respectable, though not well-to-do, pedestrian, and in another instance,
+a working-class woman and her tired little one had been invited to take
+their seats on Bounder's sacred cushions, Bounder's master himself
+alighting to lift the bedusted child to her place.
+
+But this was not the worst. The woman who lived in the little cottage past
+which Marian had trotted so eagerly, on the morning of her disappearance
+so long ago, had a daughter who was a cripple from disease of the spine.
+She was the only daughter, and, being well up in her teens, would have
+been a great help to her mother if she had been well. "Cobbler" Horn was
+deeply moved by the pale cheeks and frail bent form of the invalid girl.
+He induced his sister to call at the cottage, and they took the poor
+suffering creature under their care. It was not unnatural that the young
+secretary should also be enlisted in this kindly service. First she was
+sent to the cottage with delicacies to tempt the appetite of the sick
+girl; and then she began to go there of her own accord. During one of her
+visits, the mother happened to say:
+
+"You see, miss, what she wants is fresh air. But how's she to get it? She
+can't walk only a few yards at a time; and even a mild winter's not the
+time for sitting out."
+
+The woman spoke without any special design; but her words suggested to
+the mind of Miss Owen a happy thought. The young secretary was so firmly
+established, by this time, in the regard of her employer that she was able
+to approach him with the least degree of reserve. So she spoke out her
+thought to him with the frankness of a favourite daughter. An actual
+daughter would have thrown her arms around his neck, and emphasized her
+suggestion with a kiss. Miss Owen did not do this; but the tone of
+respectful yet affectionate confidence in which she spoke served her
+purpose just as well.
+
+"Mr. Horn"--they were in the midst of their daily grapple with the
+correspondence--"the doctor says poor Susie Martin ought to have a great
+deal of fresh air. Don't you think a carriage drive now and then would be
+a good thing?"
+
+Her knowledge of "Cobbler" Horn assured her that her suggestion would be
+adopted. Otherwise she would have hesitated to throw it out.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn laid down the pen with which he had been making some
+jottings for the guidance of his secretary, and regarded her steadfastly
+for a moment or two. Then his face lighted up with a sudden glow.
+
+"To be sure! Why didn't I think of that? My dear young lady, you are my
+good angel!"
+
+That evening Miss Owen was desired to take a message to the cottage; and
+the next day Bounder was confounded by being ordered to convey Miss Owen
+and the invalid girl for a country drive, in the pony carriage. Bounder
+stared, became apoplectic in appearance, and stutteringly asked to have
+the order repeated. His master complied with his request; and Bounder
+turned away, with haughty mien, to do as he was bid. He was consumed with
+fierce mortification. He would bear it this time, but not again. He was
+like the proverbial camel, which succumbs beneath the last straw. Very
+soon the point would be reached at which long-suffering endurance must
+give way.
+
+It was a deep grievance with Bounder that he was seldom ordered to drive
+to big houses. He was required to turn the heads of his horses into many
+strange ways. He was almost daily ordered to drive down streets where he
+was ashamed to be seen, and to stop at doors at which he felt it to be an
+indignity to be compelled to pull up his prancing steeds. Bounder hailed
+with relief the occasions on which he was required to take Miss Jemima
+out. Then he was sure of not receiving an order to obey which would be
+beneath the dignity of a coachman who, until now, had known no service but
+of the highest class. Such occasions supplied salve to his wounded spirit.
+But his wound was reopened every day by some fresh insult at the hands of
+his master. He had submitted to the odious necessity of driving out in his
+carriage the crippled girl, and that not only once or twice. But the tide
+of rebellion was rising higher and higher in his breast, and gathering
+strength from day to day; and, at length, Bounder resolved to give his
+master "warning," and remove himself from so uncongenial a sphere. He did
+not quite like to make his master's kindness to the poor invalid girl his
+ostensible reason for desiring a change; and, while he was looking around
+for a plausible pretext, the course of events supplied him with exactly
+such an occasion as he sought.
+
+Bounder had not as yet become aware of the daily visits of his master to
+his old workshop. He had been kept in ignorance of the matter merely
+because there was no special reason why he should be informed. One
+afternoon, on leaving home, "Cobbler" Horn had left word with Miss Jemima
+for the coachman to come to the old house, with the dog-cart, at three
+o'clock. Bounder received the order with a feeling of apathetic wonder as
+to what new freak he was expected to countenance and aid. At the entrance
+of the street in which the old house stood, he involuntarily pulled up his
+horse. Then, with an air of ineffable disdain, he drove slowly on, and
+proceeded to the number at which he had been directed to call.
+
+Summoning a passing boy, he ordered him to knock at the door. The boy
+contemplated disobedience; but a glance at Bounder's whip induced him to
+change his mind, and he gave the door a sounding rap. The door speedily
+opened, and Bounder's master appeared. But such was his disguise that
+Bounder was necessitated to rub his eyes. Divested of his coat, and
+enfolded in a leathern apron, "the Golden Shoemaker" stood in the doorway,
+with bare arms, holding out a pair of newly-mended hob-nailed boots.
+
+"That's right," he said; "I'm glad you're punctual. Will you kindly take
+these boots to No. 17, Drake Street, round the corner; and then come back
+here;" and, stepping out upon the pavement, he placed the boots on the
+vacant cushion of the dog-cart, close to Bounder's magnificent person.
+
+Bounder touched his hat as usual; but there was an evil fire in his heart,
+and, as he drove slowly away, a lava-tide of fierce thought coursed
+through his mind. That he, Bounder, "what had drove real gentlemen and
+ladies, such as a member of Parliament and a _barrow-knight_," should have
+been ordered to drive home a pair of labourer's boots! This was "the last
+straw," indeed!
+
+Arrived at No. 17, Drake Street, Bounder altogether declined to touch the
+offending boots. He simply indicated them with his whip to the woman who
+had come to the door in some surprise, and ignoring her expression of
+thanks, turned the head of his horse, and drove gloomily away.
+
+That night, "Cobbler" Horn's outraged coachman sought speech with his
+master.
+
+"I wish to give you warning, sir," he said, touching his hat, and speaking
+in tones of perfect respect.
+
+Bounder's master started. He had intended to make the best of his
+coachman.
+
+"Why so, Bounder?" he asked. "Don't I give you money enough, or what?"
+
+"Oh," replied Bounder, "the money's all right; but, to make a clean
+breast of it, the service ain't ezactly what I've been used to. I ain't
+been accustomed to drive about in back streets, and stop at cottages and
+such; and to take up every tramp as you meets; and to carry labourer's
+boots on the seat of the dog-cart."
+
+"I'm afraid, Mr. Bounder," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a broad smile, "that
+I've hurt your dignity."
+
+"Well, as to that, sir," said the coachman, uneasily, "all as I wishes to
+say is that I've been used to a 'igh class service; and I took this place
+under a mis-happrehension."
+
+"Very well, Bounder," rejoined "Cobbler" Horn, more gravely, "then we had
+better part. For I can't promise you any different class of service,
+seeing it is my intention to use my carriages quite as much for the
+benefit of other people as for my own; and it is not at all likely that I
+shall drive about much amongst fashionable folks. When do you wish to go,
+Mr. Bounder?"
+
+This was business-like indeed. Bounder was in no haste to reply.
+
+"Because," resumed his master, "I will release you next week, if you
+wish."
+
+"Well, sir," replied Bounder slowly, "I shouldn't wish to go under the
+month."
+
+"Very well. But, you must know, Bounder, that I have no fault to find with
+you. It's you who have given me notice, you know."
+
+Bounder drew himself up to his full height. "Fault to find" with him! The
+mere suggestion was an insult. But Bounder put it into his pocket.
+
+"If you are in want of a character, now," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "I
+shall----"
+
+"Thank you, sir," interposed Bounder with hauteur, "I am provided as to
+that. There's more than one gentleman who will speak for me," and Bounder
+faced about, and marched away with his nose turned towards the stars.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+                          VAGUE SURMISINGS.
+
+
+The feeling of familiarity with the previous abode of her employer, and
+its surroundings, of which Miss Owen had been conscious at first, had
+become modified as the weeks went by. The removal to the new house had, no
+doubt, in part contributed to this result; and, very soon, if she did not
+forget the impression of revived remembrance of which she had been aware
+at first, she ceased to be conscious that any trace of it remained. She
+did not, indeed, forget that it had been; she remembered vividly the fact
+that, when she first entered the old house, she had almost felt as if she
+had come home. That feeling had now almost passed away. But she was
+beginning to ponder certain things which seemed to be connected with it in
+some vague way.
+
+Though she had often been told of the circumstances under which she had
+been rescued from a life of poverty and possible shame, her own
+recollection of the matter was very dim. She seemed to remember a time of
+great trouble, and then a sudden change, since which all had been happy
+and bright; and certainly, if she had not been definitely informed of the
+fact, she would never have suspected that the kind friends to whom she
+owed so much were not her actual parents. That vague reminiscence of early
+distress would have lingered with her as the memory of a troubled dream,
+and nothing more.
+
+Hitherto she had not been anxious for further information concerning her
+parentage and early life. There were times when she felt some small
+measure of dissatisfaction at the thought that she did not know who she
+really was. But this feeling was held in check by the consideration that,
+if her parents had been good and kind, she would probably not have been in
+a position to need the loving service which had been rendered to her by
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton; and she felt that she would a thousand times rather
+have them for her father and mother, than be compelled to give those dear
+names to such persons as it was more than likely her actual parents had
+been. For the most part, therefore, she had feared, rather than hoped,
+that her real father and mother might appear.
+
+Now, however, vague surmisings were being awakened in the mind of the
+young secretary. Her kind employer had mysteriously lost a little girl.
+This suggested to her a new set of possibilities as to her own past. It
+came to her mind that perhaps she also had been lost, and that the misery
+she vaguely remembered, had been inflicted by other hands than those of
+her parents. If, like little Marian, she had actually wandered away, it
+was probably no fault of theirs, and perhaps they had been mourning for
+her all these years. Then, almost for the first time, she was conscious of
+an ardent desire to know who her parents had been. Over this question she
+pondered often and long. She could do nothing more--except pray. And pray
+she did. She asked that, if it were right and best, the cloud of obscurity
+might be lifted from her earlier years. And yet, as day by day she
+persisted in this prayer, she had a feeling that the prayer itself, and
+the desire from which it proceeded, might, perhaps, constitute a species
+of disloyalty to the only parents she seemed ever to have known. To this
+feeling her great love and strong conscientiousness gave birth. Yet she
+could neither repress her desire nor refrain from her prayer.
+
+But there was another thing which "Cobbler" Horn had said. When his
+secretary asked him what little Marian would probably be like, if she were
+still alive, he, in all simplicity, and without perceiving the possible
+direction that might be given to her thoughts, had replied that his lost
+child, if living, would be not unlike what his secretary actually was. He
+probably intended no more than that there might be a general resemblance
+between the two girls; and he might be mistaken even in that. Miss Owen
+herself took such a view of the matter at the time, and passed it lightly
+by. But, afterwards, in the course of her ponderings, it came back again.
+The unpremeditated words, in which her employer had admitted the
+probability of a resemblance between herself and what his own lost child
+might most likely have become, seemed to find their place amongst the
+other strange things which were perplexing her mind.
+
+Very deeply Miss Owen pondered these many puzzling things, from day to
+day. A momentous possibility seemed to be dawning on her view; but she was
+like one who, being but half-awake, cannot decide whether the brightness
+of coming day may not, after all, be merely a dim dream-light which will
+presently fade away. It appeared to her sometimes as though she were on
+the verge of the momentous discovery which she had often wondered whether
+she would ever make. Could it be that the mystery of her parentage was
+about to be solved, and that with a result which would be altogether to
+her mind? But, as often as she reached this point, she pulled herself
+sharply up. Her name was Mary Ann Owen: that settled the question at once.
+But was it so? There came a time when she began to have doubts even as to
+her name. Perhaps the wish was father to the thought. At any rate, she had
+never liked the name by which she was known; and now she was conscious of
+a very definite reason for wishing that it might, in some way, turn out
+not to be her name after all. Was it certain that her name was Mary Ann
+Owen? She had a strange, weird feeling at the thought of what the
+question implied. And there was distinct ground for doubt. When she had
+been found by her adopted parents, her baby tongue, in answer to their
+questioning, had pronounced her name as best it could. But, as her speech
+was less distinct than is usually that of a child of her apparent years,
+they had never felt quite sure about her name. The name by which she
+forthwith became known to them was the best interpretation they could put
+upon her broken words, and it had been accepted by the child herself
+without objection; but in the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Burton there had
+always been a lingering doubt. Miss Owen had been aware of this, but had
+given it little heed. Now, however, the fact that there was uncertainty as
+to her name came vividly to her mind. And yet, if her name was not Mary
+Ann Owen, it might be something else quite as far from her desires. But
+stay, might it not be supposed that her real name, whatever it might be,
+was similar in sound to the name her baby tongue had been thought to
+pronounce? She had tried to tell her kind friends her name; and they had
+understood her to say that it was Mary Ann Owen. If they were mistaken,
+what other name was there of similar sound? Ah, there was one! Then she
+thrilled with almost a delirium of delight, which quickly gave place to a
+guilty feeling--as though she had put forth her hand towards that which
+was too sacred for her touch.
+
+"What silly day-dreams have come into my head!" she cried.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" too had his ponderings, in these days. Of late he
+had been thinking more about his little Marian than for many years past;
+and, if he had searched for the reason of this, he would have discovered
+it in the fact that his young girl secretary daily reminded him,
+in various ways, of his long lost child. Miss Owen was--or so he
+fancied--very much like what his darling would have become. There was,
+to be sure, not much in that, after all; and the same might have been the
+case with many another young girl. But the points of resemblance between
+the history of his young secretary and the early fate of his little Marian
+constituted another circumstance of strange import. Like his own child,
+Miss Owen had been an outcast. Kind friends had given her a home. Might it
+not be that similar happiness had fallen to the lot of his little Marian?
+If he could think so, he would almost be reconciled to the prospect of
+never seeing her again. And every day he felt that his young secretary was
+making for herself a larger place in his heart.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXX.
+
+               A NOVEL DIFFICULTY FOR A MAN OF WEALTH.
+
+
+The trouble with most people, rich and otherwise, is to know how to keep
+their money; how to get rid of it was the difficulty with which "the
+Golden Shoemaker" was beset. "Cobbler" Horn's unalterable purpose was to
+retain no more than a comparatively small portion of his wealth for his
+own use. Since he had entered upon his fortune, he had already given away
+a great deal of money; but it seemed to him a very trifling amount in
+proportion to the vast sum he possessed. He was, moreover, aware that he
+was getting richer every day. Since the property had come into his hands,
+the investments it comprised were yielding better than ever before; and he
+could not endure that such vast sums of money should be accumulating upon
+him, while there was so much misery and want in the world. He believed
+that his immense wealth had been given him, in trust, by God; and that it
+was not absolutely his own. The purpose of God, in bestowing it upon him,
+was that he should use it for the benefit of all who had any need which
+might be supplied by its means; and, by so much, it belonged, not to
+"Cobbler" Horn himself, but, under God, to those who possessed any such
+claim to its use. He was convinced that no preacher had ever been more
+definitely or solemnly called to the ministration of the "Word" than was
+he, "the Golden Shoemaker," to the ministry of wealth. And it was a
+ministry after his own heart. Full of Christ-like love and pity for the
+needy, the sad, and the sinful, he revelled in the gracious opportunities
+which now crowded his life. He had few greater pleasures, in these days,
+than that afforded him by the signing of cheques. To negotiate a
+contribution from him for some worthy object was a means of grace;--so
+hearty and joyous was his response to the appeal, and so thankful did he
+seem for the opportunity it had brought.
+
+Never, perhaps, were the functions of a Christian man of wealth more
+clearly comprehended, or the possibilities of blessedness involved in the
+possession of riches more fully realized, than by "Cobbler" Horn. He often
+told himself that, by making others happy with his money, he secured the
+highest benefit it was able to impart. Thus bestowed, his wealth afforded
+him infinitely greater satisfaction, than if he had devoted it entirely to
+his own personal ends.
+
+But "the Golden Shoemaker" was not satisfied. His money was not going
+fast enough. The amounts he had already dispensed appeared but as a few
+splashes of foam from the sea. He wanted channels for his benevolence.
+His difficulty was rare. Most men of means find that they have not the
+wherewithal to supply the demands of their own many-handed need. He was
+able to satisfy almost unlimited necessities beyond his own, but was sadly
+troubled to know how it might be done. Yet he was determined that he would
+not rest, until he had found means of disposing, in his Lord's service, of
+every penny that remained to him, after his own modest wants had been
+supplied.
+
+Actuated by this purpose, "Cobbler" Horn resolved to pay another visit
+to his minister. Mr. Durnford had helped him before, and would help him
+again. Of set purpose, he selected Monday morning for his visit. Unless
+his business had been very urgent indeed, he would not have run the risk
+of disturbing Mr. Durnford at his studies by going to see him on any other
+morning than this. But he knew that, on Monday morning, the minister was
+accustomed to throw himself somewhat on the loose, and was rather glad,
+than otherwise, to welcome a congenial visitor at that time.
+
+Mr. Durnford, as usual, gave his friend a cordial greeting. There was not
+a member of his church who occupied a higher place in his regard than did
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Glad to see you, Mr. Horn!" he said, entering the dining-room, whither
+his visitor had been shown by the maid; and he heartily shook "the Golden
+Shoemaker" by the hand. "This is a regular 'Blue Monday' with me, as,
+indeed, most of my Mondays are; and a little brotherly chat will give me
+a lift. How go the millions?"
+
+By this time they were seated opposite to each other, in two comfortable
+chairs, before a cheerful fire. The minister's half-joking question
+touched so closely the trouble just then upon "Cobbler" Horn's mind, that
+he took it quite seriously, and returned a very grave reply.
+
+"The 'millions,' sir, are not going fast enough; in fact, they go very
+slowly indeed. And, to make a clean breast of it, that is what has brought
+me here this morning."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with deep interest.
+
+"But, sir," added "Cobbler" Horn, half-rising, and putting out his hand,
+"don't let me hinder you. I can come another time, if you are busy just
+now."
+
+"Don't speak of such a thing, my dear friend!" cried the minister,
+putting out his hand in turn. "Keep your seat. I'm never busy on a Monday
+morning--if I can help it. I am always ready, between the hours of nine
+and one on Monday, for any innocent diversion that may come in my way. I
+keep what is called 'Saint Monday'--at least in the morning. If I am
+disturbed on any other morning, I--well, I don't like it. But any
+reasonable person who finds me at home on a Monday morning--against which,
+I must admit, the chances are strong, for I frequently go off on some
+harmless jaunt--is quite welcome to me for that time."
+
+"I had an idea of that, sir," responded "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Ah, you are a most considerate man! But now, about the millions?"
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" smiled.
+
+"Not 'millions,' sir--hardly one million yet--indeed a great deal less
+now, actually in my own hands; though I am seriously afraid of what it may
+become. All my investments are turning out so well, that the money is
+coming in much faster than I can get rid of it! It's positively dreadful!
+I shall have to increase my givings very largely in some way."
+
+The minister held up his hands in mock astonishment; and there was a
+twinkle of honest pleasure in his keen, grey eyes.
+
+"Mr. Horn, I believe you are the first man, since the foundation of the
+world, who has been troubled because his money didn't go fast enough!"
+
+"Well, sir, that is the case."
+
+His unwieldy wealth weighed too heavily upon his heart and conscience to
+permit of his adopting the half-humorous view of the situation which Mr.
+Durnford seemed to take.
+
+"But surely, Mr. Horn," urged the minister, becoming serious, "there are
+plenty of ways for your money. To get money is often difficult; it should
+be easy enough to get rid of it."
+
+"Yes, sir, there are plenty of ways. My poor, devoted secretary knows that
+as well as I do. But the puzzle is, to find the right ways. If I merely
+wanted to get rid of my money, the letters of a single week would almost
+enable me to do that."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Mr. Durnford, "of course. I know exactly how it is. You
+could make your money up in a bag, and toss it into the sea at one throw,
+if that were all."
+
+"Yes," replied "Cobbler" Horn, with a quiet smile; and he sighed faintly,
+as though he wished it were permissible to rid himself thus easily of his
+golden encumbrance.
+
+"But that is not all, Mr. Durnford," he then said.
+
+"No, Mr. Horn, you feel that it would not do to cast your bread on the
+waters in that literal sense. You are constrained to cast it, not into
+the sea, but, like precious seed, into the soil of human hearts and
+lives--soil that has been prepared by the plough of poverty and the
+harrow of suffering. Isn't that it, my friend?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn leaned forward in his chair, with glistening eyes.
+
+"Yes, sir; go on; you are a splendid thought reader."
+
+"You feel that merely to dispose of your money anyhow--without
+discrimination--would be worse than hoarding it up?"
+
+"That I do, sir!"
+
+"It is not your money, but the Lord's; and you wish to dispose of every
+penny in a way He would approve?"
+
+"Yes, sir," was "Cobbler" Horn's emphatic confirmation; "and I'm so
+anxious about it that often I can't sleep at nights. I expect the Lord
+gave me all this money because He knew I should want to use it for Him;
+and I'm determined not to disappoint Him. I feel the more strongly on the
+subject, because there's so much of the Lord's money in the world that he
+never gets the benefit of at all."
+
+The minister listened gravely.
+
+"So you want my advice?"
+
+"Yes, sir; and your help. My difficulty is that it is the unworthy who are
+most eager to ask for help. Those who are really deserving are often the
+last to cry out; and many of them would rather die than beg. Now, sir, I
+want you to help me to find out cases of real need, to tell me of any good
+cause that comes to your knowledge; and suggest as many ways as you can of
+making a good use of my money. Will you do this for me, sir? Although you
+have helped me so much already, I don't think you will refuse my request."
+
+The minister listened to this appeal from "the Golden Shoemaker" with a
+feeling of holy joy.
+
+"No, my dear friend," he said, "I will not refuse your request. How can I?
+Believing, with you, that your wealth is a Divine trust, I regard your
+appeal as a call from God Himself. Besides, you could not have demanded
+from me a more congenial service. You shall have all the help I can give;
+and between us," he added, with a reviving flicker of his previous
+facetiousness, "we shall make the millions fly."
+
+"Thank you, heartily, sir. But I must warn you that you have undertaken no
+light task. We shall have to dispose of many thou----"
+
+"We will make them vanish," broke in the minister, "like half-pence in the
+hands of a conjuror."
+
+"I know," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile, "that you ministers are well
+able to dispose of the money."
+
+"Yes, I suppose we are. But, dear friend, let it be understood, at the
+outset, that I can be no party to your defrauding yourself."
+
+"It is all the Lord's money," said "the Golden Shoemaker."
+
+"Yes; but, if you employ it for Him, He means you to have your
+commission."
+
+"Oh, as to that, a very little will serve. My wants are few."
+
+"My dear friend," remonstrated the minister, "are you not in danger of
+falling into a mistake? God has given you the power to acquire a great
+deal of the good of this world; and I don't think it would be right for
+you not to make a pretty complete use of your opportunities. Though you
+should be ever so generous to yourself, and live a very full and abundant
+life, you will still be able to give immense sums of money away; and such
+a life would fit you all the better to serve God in your new sphere."
+
+"You think that, do you, sir?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, evidently impressed.
+
+"I certainly do."
+
+"Well, I will consider it; for I dare say you are right. But to return to
+what we were talking about just now, perhaps, sir, you could give me a
+hint or two, this morning, with regard to my money?"
+
+Thus invited, Mr. Durnford ventured to mention several cases of individual
+necessity with which he was acquainted, and to indicate various schemes of
+wide-spread benevolence in which a man of wealth might embark.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn listened attentively; and, having entered in his note-book
+the names Mr. Durnford had given him, promised also to consider the more
+general suggestions he had made.
+
+"I am very much obliged to you, sir," he said; "and shall often come to
+you for advice of this kind."
+
+"As often as you like, Mr. Horn," laughed the minister; "it doesn't cost
+much to give advice. It is those who follow it that have to pay."
+
+"Yes," rejoined "Cobbler" Horn; "and that will I do most gladly."
+
+So saying, he rose from his seat, and held out his hand.
+
+"Good morning, sir!"
+
+"Good morning, my dear sir!" said the minister, grasping the proffered
+hand. "By the way, how is Miss Owen getting on?"
+
+"My dear sir, I owe you eternal gratitude for having made me acquainted
+with that young lady!"
+
+"I'm glad of that, but not a bit surprised."
+
+"She is a greater help to me than I can tell. And what a sad history she
+seems to have had--in early life, that is! Her childhood appears to have
+been a sad time."
+
+"Ah, she has told you, then?"
+
+"Yes, it came out quite by accident. She didn't obtrude it in any way."
+
+"I am sure she wouldn't."
+
+"And the fact that she was once a little outcast girl increases my
+interest in her very much."
+
+"That," said the minister, "is a matter of course."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+                      "COBBLER" HORN'S CRITICS.
+
+
+The months passed. Christmas came, and was left behind, and now spring had
+fairly set in.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" had become a person of great consideration to the
+dignitaries of his church. It is true there were those amongst its wealthy
+members by whom he was unsparingly criticised behind his back. But this
+did not deter them from paying him all manner of court to his face. He
+was startled at the importance which he had suddenly acquired. His
+acquaintance was sought on every side; and he found himself the subject
+of a variety of polite attentions to which he had been an entire stranger
+until now. Men of wealth and position who, though they were his
+fellow-members in the church, had never yet shaken him by the hand,
+suddenly discovered that he was their dear friend.
+
+There was one rich man whose pew in the church was next to that of
+"Cobbler" Horn. Though this man had sat side by side with his poor
+brother for many years, in the house of God, he had seemed unaware of his
+existence. But no sooner did "Cobbler" Horn become "the Golden Shoemaker"
+than the attitude of his wealthy neighbour underwent a change. The
+first sign of recognition he bestowed upon his recently-enriched
+fellow-worshipper was a polite bow as they were leaving the church; next
+he ventured to show "Cobbler" Horn the hymn, when the latter happened to
+come late one day; and, at length, on a certain Sunday morning, as they
+were going out, he stepped into the aisle, and proffered his hand to "the
+Golden Shoemaker," for a friendly shake. "Cobbler" Horn started, and drew
+back. It was not in his nature to be malicious; and to decline the offered
+civility was the furthest thing from his thoughts. He was simply lost in
+amazement. The gentleman who was offering to shake hands with him was one
+of the most important men in Cottonborough. But his great astonishment
+arose from the fact that this mighty personage, after sitting within reach
+of him in the house of God for so many years, without bestowing upon him
+the slightest sign of recognition, should suddenly desire to shake him by
+the hand! The man noticed his hesitation, and was turning away with
+offended dignity. But "Cobbler" Horn quickly recovered himself, and,
+taking the hand which had been offered to him, gave it a heartier shake
+than it had, perhaps, ever received before.
+
+"It was not that, Mr. Varley," he said, "I'm glad enough to shake hands
+with you, as I should have been long ago. But it did seem such a queer
+thing that we should have been sitting side by side here all these years,
+and you should never have thought of shaking hands with me before. I
+suppose the reason why you do it now is that the Lord has seen fit to make
+me a rich man. Now I really don't think I'm any more fit to be shaken
+hands with on that account. Personally, I'm very much the same as I've
+been any time these twenty years past; and it does seem to me a bit
+strange that you and others should appear to think otherwise."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn spoke in a pleasant tone, and there was a twinkle of
+amusement in his eye. But Mr. Varley was not amused. Regarding "Cobbler"
+Horn with an expression of countenance which was very much like a scowl,
+he turned upon his heel and withdrew; and, during the week, he arranged
+for a sitting in another part of the church.
+
+Mr. Varley was not the only rich and influential member of the church who
+had recently discovered in "Cobbler" Horn a suitable object of friendly
+regard. But the most cordial and obsequious of his wealthy fellow-members
+were ready enough to criticise him behind his back.
+
+With the advice and help of the minister, he had begun to
+"make the millions fly," in good earnest; and his phenomenal
+liberality--prodigality, it was called by some--could not, in the nature
+of things, escape notice. It soon became, in fact, the talk of the town
+and of the country round. But it was by the members of his church that
+"Cobbler" Horn's lavish benefactions were most eagerly discussed. Various
+opinions were expressed, by his fellow-Christians, of "the Golden
+Shoemaker," and of the guineas with which he was so free. Some few saw the
+real man in their suddenly-enriched friend, and rejoiced. Others shook
+their heads, and said the "Shoemaker" would not be "Golden" long at that
+rate; and some scornfully curled their lips, and declared the man to be a
+fool. But the most bitter of "Cobbler" Horn's critics were certain of his
+wealthy brethren who seemed to regard his abundant liberality as a
+personal affront.
+
+There were many wealthy members in Mr. Durnford's church. The minister
+sometimes thought, in his inmost soul, that his church would have been but
+little poorer, in any sense of the word, for the loss of some of the rich
+men whose names were on its roll. With all their wealth, many of them were
+not "rich towards God." But Mr. Durnford was circumspect. It was his
+endeavour, without failing in his duty, either to his Divine Master, or to
+these gilded sheep of his, to make what use of them he might in connection
+with his sacred work.
+
+There was little, it is true, to be got out of these wealthy men but their
+money, and they could not be persuaded to part with much of that; but the
+minister did not give them much rest.
+
+One pleasant spring evening, Mr. Durnford set out on one of what he called
+his "financial tours" amongst this section of his members. The first
+house to which he went--and, as it proved, the last--was that of a very
+rich brewer, who was one of the main pillars of the Church. There were
+other members of Mr. Durnford's flock who were of the same trade. This was
+not gratifying to Mr. Durnford; but what could he do? The brewers were
+blameless in their personal behaviour, regular in their attendance in the
+sanctuary, and exact in their fulfilment of the conditions of church
+membership; and he could not unchurch them merely because they were
+brewers. If he began there, it would be difficult to tell where he ought
+to stop. Nor did he scorn their gifts of money to the cause of God. He was
+pleased that they were willing to devote some portion of their gains to so
+good a purpose; his regret was that the portion was so small.
+
+Mr. Durnford did not hesitate to tell his rich members what he conceived
+to be the just claims of the cause of God upon their wealth; and, on the
+evening of which we speak, he called first, for this purpose, on the
+aforesaid brewer, Mr. Caske. This gentleman lived in a large, square,
+old-fashioned, comfortable house, surrounded with its own grounds, which
+were extensive and well laid out. The entire premises were encompassed
+with a high brick wall, which might well have been supposed to hide a
+workhouse or a prison, instead of the paradise it actually concealed.
+Perhaps Mr. Caske had selected this secluded abode from an instinctive
+disinclination to obtrude the abundance and comfort which he had derived
+from the manufacture and sale of beer; perhaps he had bought this
+particular house simply because it was in itself such a dwelling as he
+desired. At any rate, there he was, with his abundance and luxury, within
+his encircling wall; and one was tempted to wonder whether there was as
+much mystery in connection with the article of his manufacture, as seemed
+to be associated with his place of abode.
+
+The minister let himself in at a small door in the boundary wall, and made
+his way, through the grounds, to the front-door of the house.
+
+"Mr. Caske has company to-night, sir," said the maid who opened the door.
+
+"Any one I know, Mary?"
+
+"Yes, sir; Mr. Botterill and Mr. Kershaw."
+
+"Oh, well, I want to see them too. Where are they?"
+
+"In the smoke-room, sir."
+
+"Well, show me in. It will be all right."
+
+As Mr. Durnford was a frequent and privileged visitor, the girl promptly
+complied with his request.
+
+The smoke-room was a good-sized, comfortable apartment, furnished with
+every convenience that smokers are supposed to require. It looked out, by
+two long windows, on a wide sweep of lawn which stretched away from the
+end of the house. In this room, in chairs of various luxurious styles, sat
+Mr. Caske and his two friends. Each of the three men was smoking a
+churchwarden pipe; and at the elbow of each stood a little three-legged,
+japanned smoker's table, on which was a stand of matches, an ash-tray,
+and a glass of whisky.
+
+The three smokers slowly turned their heads, as the minister entered the
+room, and, on recognising him, they all rose to their feet.
+
+"Good evening, sir," said Mr. Caske, advancing, with his pipe in his left
+hand, and his right hand stretched out; "you have surprised us at our
+devotions again."
+
+"Which you are performing," rejoined the minister, "with an earnestness
+worthy of a nobler object of worship."
+
+Mr. Caske laughed huskily; and the minister turned to greet Messrs.
+Botterill and Kershaw, who were waiting, pipes in hand, to resume their
+seats.
+
+Mr. Botterill was a wine and spirit merchant, and Mr. Kershaw was a draper
+in a large way.
+
+When they had all taken their seats, a few moments of silence ensued. This
+was occasioned by the necessity which arose for the three smokers
+vigorously to puff their pipes, which had burnt low; and perhaps there
+was some little reluctance, on the part of Mr. Caske and his friends,
+to resume the conversation which had been in progress previous to the
+entrance of Mr. Durnford. When the pipes had been blown up, and were once
+more in full blast, there was no longer any excuse for silence. Mr. Caske,
+being the host, was then the first to speak. He had known his minister
+too well to invite him to partake of the refreshment with which he was
+regaling his friends.
+
+He was a small, rotund man, with shining, rosy cheeks, and a husky voice.
+
+"All well with you, Mr. Durnford?"
+
+"Yes, thank you, Mr. Caske; but I am afraid I intrude?"
+
+He was conscious of some constraint on the part of the company.
+
+"I fear," he resumed, "that I have interrupted some important business?"
+and he looked around with an air of enquiry.
+
+Mr. Caske airily waved his long pipe.
+
+"Oh no, sir," he said, lightly, "nothing of consequence"--here he glanced
+at his friends--"we were, ah--talking about our friend, ah--'the Golden
+Shoemaker.'"
+
+Mr. Caske was secretly anxious to elicit the minister's opinion of
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Ah," exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with an intonation in which sarcasm might
+not have been difficult to detect, "and what about 'the Golden
+Shoemaker'?"
+
+Mr. Caske looked at Mr. Botterill and Mr. Kershaw; and Mr. Kershaw and
+Mr. Botterill looked first at each other, and then at Mr. Caske.
+
+"Well," replied Mr. Caske, at length, "he's being more talked about than
+ever."
+
+"Well, now," asked the minister, "as to what in particular?"
+
+"Chiefly as to the way he's squandering his money."
+
+"Oh, I wasn't aware Mr. Horn had become a spendthrift! You must have been
+misinformed, Mr. Caske," and Mr. Durnford looked the brewer intently in
+the face.
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Caske, somewhat uneasily, "you don't take me, sir. It's not
+that he spends his money. It's the rate at which he gives it away. He's
+simply flinging it from him right and left!"
+
+As he spoke, Mr. Caske swelled with righteous indignation. Money, in his
+eyes, was a sacred thing--to be guarded with care, and parted with
+reluctantly. No working man could have been more careful with regard to
+the disposal of each individual shilling of his weekly wages, than was
+Mr. Caske in the handling of his considerable wealth.
+
+"He's simply tossing his money from him, sir," he reiterated, "as if it
+were just a heap of leaves."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Botterill, "and it doesn't seem right."
+
+Mr. Botterill was a tall man, with glossy black hair and whiskers, and an
+inflamed face. He seemed never to be quite at ease in his mind, which,
+perhaps, was not matter for surprise.
+
+Mr. Kershaw next felt that it was his turn to speak.
+
+"Ah," he said, "this kind of thing makes a false impression, you know!"
+
+Though a man of moderate bodily dimensions, Mr. Kershaw had a largeness of
+manner which seemed to magnify him far beyond his real proportions. He
+spread himself abroad, and made the most of himself. He had actually a
+large head, which was bald on the top, with dark bushy hair round about.
+His face, which was deeply pitted with small-pox, was adorned with
+mutton-chop whiskers, from between which a very prominent nose and chin
+thrust themselves forth.
+
+"Yes," broke in Mr. Caske, "people will be apt to think that everybody who
+has a little bit of money ought to do as he does. But, if that were the
+case, where should I be, for instance?" and Mr. Caske swelled himself out
+more than ever.
+
+Mr. Durnford had hitherto listened in silence. Though inclined to speak in
+very strong terms, he had restrained himself with a powerful effort. He
+knew that if he allowed these men to proceed, they would soon fill their
+cup.
+
+"Well, gentlemen," he now remarked quietly, "there is force in what you
+say."
+
+Mr. Caske and his two friends regarded their minister with a somewhat
+doubtful look. Mr. Caske seemed to think that Mr. Durnford's remark made
+it necessary for him to justify the attitude he had assumed with regard
+to "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Perhaps, sir," he said, "you don't know in what a reckless fashion our
+friend is disposing of his money?"
+
+"Well, Mr. Caske, let us hear," said the minister, settling himself to
+listen.
+
+"Well, sir, you know about his having given up a great part of his fortune
+to some girl in America, because she was the sweetheart of a cousin of his
+who died."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Durnford, quietly, "I've heard of that."
+
+"Well, there was a mad trick, to begin with," resumed Mr. Caske, in a
+severe tone. "And then there's that big house in the village which, it's
+said, all belongs to him. He's fitting it up to be a sort of home for
+street arabs and gipsy children; and it's costing him thousands of pounds
+that he'll never see again!"
+
+"Yes, I know about that too."
+
+"Then, you will, of course, be aware, sir, that he gives more to our
+church funds than any half-dozen of us put together."
+
+"Yes," broke in Mr. Kershaw, with his obtrusive nose. "He thinks to shame
+the rest of us, no doubt. And they say now that he's going to employ two
+town missionaries and a Bible-woman out of his own pocket. Is it true,
+think you, sir?"
+
+"It is not unlikely," was the quiet reply.
+
+There was a note of warning in both Mr. Durnford's words and tone; but the
+admonitory sign passed unobserved.
+
+"Well, then," resumed Mr. Caske, "think of the money he gave away during
+the winter. He seemed to want to do everything himself. There was hardly
+anything left for any one else to do."
+
+Mr. Durnford smiled inwardly at the idea of Mr. Caske making a grievance
+of the fact that there had been left to him no occasion for benevolence.
+
+"It was nothing but blankets, and coals, and money," continued Mr. Caske.
+"And then the families he has picked out of the slums and sent across the
+sea! And it's said he'll pay anybody's debts, and gives to any beggar, and
+will lend anybody as much money as they like to ask."
+
+At this point Mr. Botterill once more put in his word.
+
+"I heard, only the other day, that Mr. Horn had announced his intention of
+presenting the town with a Free Library and a Public Park."
+
+"It's like his impudence!" exclaimed Mr. Kershaw.
+
+"After that I can believe anything," cried Mr. Caske. "The man ought to be
+stopped. It's very much to be regretted that he ever came into the money.
+And what a fool he is from his own standpoint! When he has got rid of all
+his money, it will be doubly hard for him to go back to poverty again."
+
+Mr. Caske was speaking somewhat at random.
+
+"Don't you think, sir," he concluded, with a facetious air, "that
+Providence sometimes makes a mistake in these matters?"
+
+The question was addressed to the minister.
+
+"No, never!" exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with an emphasis which caused Mr.
+Caske to start so violently, that the stem of his pipe, which he had just
+replaced in his mouth, clattered against his teeth. "No, never! And least
+of all in the case of friend Horn."
+
+The three critics of "the Golden Shoemaker" stared at the minister in
+amazement. They had been led to think Mr. Durnford was substantially in
+agreement with their views.
+
+"No, gentlemen," he resumed, "my opinion is quite the reverse of yours. I
+believe this almost unlimited wealth has been given to our friend, because
+he is eminently fitted to be the steward of his Lord's goods."
+
+This declaration was followed by an awkward pause, which Mr. Caske was the
+first to break.
+
+"Perhaps you think, sir," he said, in an injured tone, "that this upstart
+fellow is an example to us?"
+
+"Mr. Caske," responded the minister, "you have interpreted my words to a
+nicety."
+
+The three critics shuffled uneasily in their chairs.
+
+"Yes," continued Mr. Durnford, "an example and a reproach! Mr. Horn has
+the true idea of the responsibilities of a Christian man of wealth; you
+have missed it. He is resolved to use his money for God, to whom it
+belongs; you spend yours on yourselves--except in as far as you hoard it
+up you know not for whom or what. He is never satisfied that he is giving
+enough away; you grumble and groan over every paltry sovereign with which
+you are induced to part. He will be able to give a good account of his
+stewardship when the Lord comes; there will be an awkward reckoning for
+you in that day."
+
+The three friends had ceased to smoke, and were listening to Mr.
+Durnford's deliverance open-mouthed. They respected their minister, and
+valued his esteem. They were rather conscience-stricken, than offended
+now.
+
+"But, surely, sir," said Mr. Kershaw, presently, finding breath first of
+the three, "you wouldn't have us fling away our money, as he does?"
+
+"I shouldn't be in haste to forbid you, Mr. Kershaw, if you seemed
+inclined to take that course," said the minister, with a smile. "But, if
+you come within measurable distance of the example of our friend, you will
+do very well."
+
+"But," pleaded Mr. Botterill, "ought we not to consider our wives and
+families?"
+
+"You do, Mr. Botterill, you do," was the somewhat sharp reply. "But there
+still remains ample scope for the claims of God."
+
+Upon this, there ensued a pause, which was at length broken by Mr. Caske,
+who, whatever might be his shortcomings, was not an ill-natured man.
+"Well, sir," he remarked, good-humouredly, "you've hit us hard."
+
+"I am glad you are sensible of the fact," was the pleasant reply.
+
+"No doubt you are!" rejoined Mr. Caske, in a somewhat jaunty tone. "And I
+suppose you intend now to give us an opportunity of following your
+advice?"
+
+"Why, yes," said Mr. Durnford, with a smile, "I really came to ask you for
+the payment of certain subscriptions now due. It is time I was making up
+some of the quarterly payments. But, perhaps, after what has been said,
+you would like to take a day or two----?"
+
+"No, for my part," interposed Mr. Caske, "I don't want any time. I'll
+double my subscriptions at once."
+
+"Same here," said Mr. Kershaw, concisely.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen!" said Mr. Durnford, briskly, entering the amounts
+in his note book. "Now, Mr. Botterill."
+
+"Well," was the reluctant response, "I suppose I shall have to follow
+suit."
+
+Mr. Durnford smiled.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen, all," he said. "Keep that up, and it will afford
+you more pleasure than you think."
+
+When, shortly afterwards, the minister took his departure, the three
+friends resumed their smoking; but they did not return to their criticism
+of "the Golden Shoemaker."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+                      "IN LABOURS MORE ABUNDANT."
+
+
+Unlike many wealthy professors of religion, "the Golden Shoemaker" did not
+suppose that, in giving his money to the various funds of the church, he
+fulfilled, as far as he was concerned, all the claims of the Cause of
+Christ. He did not imagine that he could purchase, by means of his
+monetary gifts, exemption from the obligation to engage in active
+Christian work. He did not desire to be thus exempt. His greatest delight
+was to be directly and actively employed in serving his Divine Lord; and
+so little did he think of availing himself of the occasion of his sudden
+accession to wealth to withdraw from actual participation in the service
+of Christ, that he hailed with intense joy the richer opportunities of
+service with which he was thus supplied.
+
+For some years "Cobbler" Horn had been a teacher in a small Mission Sunday
+School, which was carried on in a low part of the town by several members
+of Mr. Durnford's church. But, about a year previous to the change in his
+circumstances, he had been persuaded by the minister to transfer his
+services to the larger school. He always made the conversion of his
+scholars his chief aim; and very soon after he entered on his new sphere,
+one of the boys in his class, a bright little fellow about nine years old,
+named Willie Raynor, had been very remarkably converted to God. The boy
+was promising to become a very thorough-going Christian, and no one
+rejoiced more than he in the good fortune of "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+There was considerable speculation, amongst the friends and
+fellow-teachers of "the Golden Shoemaker," as to whether his altered
+circumstances would lead to the relinquishment of his work in the school.
+Little Willie Raynor heard some whisper of this talk, and was much
+distressed. His relations with his beloved teacher were very close; and,
+without a moment's hesitation, he went straight to "Cobbler" Horn, and
+asked him what he was going to do.
+
+"Mr. Horn, you won't leave the school now you are a rich man, will you?
+Because I don't think we can do without you!"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was taken by surprise. The idea of leaving the school had
+never occurred to his mind. For one moment, there was a troubled look in
+his face.
+
+"Who has put such nonsense into your head, laddie?"
+
+"Oh, I've heard them talking about it. But I said I was sure they were
+wrong."
+
+"Why, of course they were, dear lad. Why should I leave the school?
+Haven't I more reason than ever to work for the Lord?"
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad!" And Willie went home with a bounding heart.
+
+Meanwhile curiosity continued to be felt and expressed on every hand, as
+to the course "the Golden Shoemaker" would actually pursue; and no little
+surprise was created as, Sunday after Sunday, he was still seen sitting in
+the midst of his class, as quietly and modestly as though he were still
+the poor cobbler whom everybody had known so well.
+
+Nor was he content simply to continue the work he had been accustomed to
+do for Christ during his previous life. The larger leisure which his
+wealth had brought, enabled him to multiply his religious and benevolent
+activities to an almost unlimited extent. He went about doing good from
+morning to night. He rejoiced to exercise for God the all but boundless
+influence which his money enabled him to exert. His original plan--which
+he persistently followed--of mending, free of charge, the boots and shoes
+of the poorer portion of his former customers was but one amongst many
+means by which he strove to benefit his necessitous fellowmen. He never
+gave money for the relief of distress, without ascertaining whether there
+was anything that he could do personally to help. He made it a point also
+to offer spiritual consolation to those upon whom he bestowed temporal
+benefactions. Hardly a day but found him in the abode of poverty, or in
+the sick-room; and not one of his numberless opportunities of speaking
+the words which "help and heal" did he let slip.
+
+One evening, as he was passing through a poor part of the town, he came
+into collision with a drunken man, who was in the act of entering a low
+public-house. The wretched creature looked up into "Cobbler" Horn's face,
+and "Cobbler" Horn recognised him as a formerly respectable neighbour of
+his own.
+
+"Richard," he cried, catching the man by the arm, "don't go in there!"
+
+"Shall if I like, Thomas," said the man, thickly, recognising "Cobbler"
+Horn in turn. "D'yer think 'cause ye're rich, yer has right t' say where
+I shall go in, and where I shan't go in?"
+
+"Oh, no, Richard," said "Cobbler" Horn, with his hand still on the man's
+arm. "But you've had enough drink, and had better go quietly home."
+
+As he spoke, he gradually drew his captive further away from the
+public-house. The man struggled furiously, talking all the time in rapid
+and excited tones.
+
+"Let me a-be!" he exclaimed with a thickness of tone which was the
+combined result of indignation and strong drink. "You ha' no right to
+handle me like this! Ain't this a free country? Where's the perlice?"
+
+"Come along, Richard; you'll thank me to-morrow," persisted "Cobbler"
+Horn quietly, moving his captive along another step or two. But, by this
+time, a crowd was beginning to gather; and it seemed likely that, although
+Richard himself might not be able effectually to resist his captor,
+"Cobbler" Horn's purpose would be frustrated in another way. In fact the
+crowd--a sadly dilapidated crew--had drawn so closely around the centre of
+interest, as to render almost impossible the further progress of the
+struggling pair.
+
+At this point, some one recognised "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Yah!" he cried, "it ain't a fight, after all! It's 'the Golden Shoemaker'
+a-collarin' a cove wot's drunk!"
+
+At the announcement of "the Golden Shoemaker," the people crowded up more
+closely than ever. While all had heard of that glittering phenomenon,
+perhaps few had actually seen him, and the present opportunity was not to
+be lost.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn grasped the situation, and resolved, under the inspiration
+of the moment, to turn it to good account. He was not afraid that these
+people would interfere with his present purpose. He could see that they
+were regarding him with too much interest and respect for that. Moreover,
+since Richard belonged to another part of the town, his fortunes would not
+awaken any special sympathy in the breasts of the crowd. On the other
+hand, there was a possibility that the delay caused by the gathering of
+the crowd might enable "Cobbler" Horn to make a deeper impression on his
+poor degraded friend, than if he had simply dragged him home from the
+public-house. Exerting, therefore, all his strength, he thrust the hapless
+Richard forth at arm's length, and, in emphatic tones, bespoke for him the
+attention of the crowd.
+
+"Look at him!" he exclaimed. "Once he was a respectable man, tidy and
+bright; and he wasn't ashamed to look anybody in the face. And now see
+what he is!"
+
+The crowd looked, and saw a slovenly and dissipated man, who hung his
+head, with a dull feeling of shame. The people gazed upon the wretched man
+in silence. They were awed by the solemn and impressive manner in which
+they had been addressed.
+
+"This man," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "once had a thriving business and a
+comfortable home. Now his business has gone to the dogs, and his home has
+become a den. His wife and children are ragged and hungry; and I question
+if he has a penny piece left that he can justly call his own. The most
+complete ruin stares him in the face, and he probably won't last another
+year."
+
+The crowd still gazed, and listened in silence.
+
+"And, do you ask," continued "Cobbler" Horn, "what has done all this? No,
+you don't; you know too well. It's drink--the stuff that many of you love
+so much. For there are many of you,"--and he swept the crowd with a
+scrutinizing glance--"who are far on the same downward way as this poor
+fool. He was my neighbour and friend; and he had as nice a little wife as
+ever brightened a home. But it would make the heart of a stone bleed to
+see her as I saw her but a few days ago. But, there; go home, Richard!
+And may God help you to become a man once more!"
+
+So saying, he released his captive; and the wretched creature, partially
+sobered with astonishment and shame, crept through the crowd, which parted
+for him to pass, and staggered off on his way towards home.
+
+Then, like some ancient prophet, upon whom the Spirit of the Lord had
+come, "the Golden Shoemaker" turned and preached, from the living text of
+his besotted friend, a telling impromptu Temperance sermon to the motley
+crowd. The whole incident was quite unpremeditated. He had never dreamt
+that he would do such a thing as he was doing now. But that by no means
+lessened the effect of his burning words, which went home to the hearts,
+and even to the consciences of not a few of those by whom they were heard.
+
+When he had finished, he passed on, and left his hearers to their
+thoughts. But, for himself, there had been shown to him yet another way in
+which he might work for God; and, thereafter, "the Golden Shoemaker" was
+often seen at the corners of back streets, and in the recesses of the
+slums, preaching, to all who would hear, that glorious Gospel of which the
+message of mercy to the victims of strong drink is, after all, only a
+part.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+                      TOMMY DUDGEON ON THE WATCH.
+
+
+It will be remembered that, after bursting into the back-room with the
+declaration, "She's come back!" Tommy Dudgeon had suddenly pulled himself
+up and substituted the commonplace statement that he had "seen the
+sec'tary." In fact, though, on marking the manner in which Miss Owen had
+stepped out of the house and walked along the street, he had, for an
+instant, imagined that little Marian had actually returned, the calmer
+moments which followed had shown him what seemed the folly of such a
+supposition. What real resemblance could there be between a child of five
+and a young woman of eighteen? He had, indeed, seemed to see, this
+afternoon, the very same determined look, and the pretty purposeful step,
+with which the little maid whom he had loved had passed out of his sight
+so long ago. But he now assured himself that "it was only the sec'tary
+after all."
+
+The child, for whom he had not ceased to mourn, would certainly come back,
+but not like that. It was inevitable that unimaginative Tommy Dudgeon
+should at first dismiss the possibility that little wild-flower Marian
+should have returned in the person of the lady-secretary. But, none the
+less, the sight of the secretary had brought back to him the vision of
+little Marian as he had seen her last; and thenceforth he was supplied
+with matter for much perplexing thought.
+
+Fortunately the occupants of the room into which he had burst with his
+hasty exclamation, who consisted of his brother and his brother's wife
+alone, had but indistinctly caught his words. Consequently no one was any
+the wiser, and he was able to assure himself that his first impression
+with regard to the "sec'tary" was still the secret of his own breast.
+
+It was a secret, however, which gave him no little trouble. The vanishing
+of the child had occasioned him bitter grief. He had not only mourned in
+respectful sympathy with the stricken father, but he had also sorrowed on
+his own account. He had very tenderly loved little Marian Horn. She had
+come to him like a fairy, scattering clouds of care, and diffusing joy;
+and, since her departure, it had seemed as though the sunshine had ceased
+to visit the narrow street upon which he looked out through the window,
+and from the doorway, of his little shop.
+
+And Tommy's regret for the loss of the child was rendered keener by a
+haunting consciousness that a measure of responsibility for it belonged
+to himself. Might he not have prevented her departure? He could not,
+indeed, have been supposed to know that she was running away. But he did
+not allow himself to plead any excuse on that account. He ought to have
+known, was his continual reflection, that she would come to harm--going
+away by herself like that; and, at least, he might have questioned her as
+to where she was going. Through all the years, he had not ceased to
+afflict himself with such thoughts as these. Once he actually mentioned
+his self-accusing thoughts to "Cobbler" Horn. It was on one of the rare
+occasions when the afflicted father had spontaneously spoken of his lost
+child to his humble friend. He gazed blankly at the little huckster, for
+a moment, as though he had not understood. Then, perceiving his drift, he
+gently answered, "My dear friend, you could not help it. Please do not
+speak of it again."
+
+Tommy had always yearned for the recovery of the child; and, the wish
+being father to the thought, he fully shared with "Cobbler" Horn himself
+the expectation that she would eventually return. This expectation kept
+him on the alert; and there is little cause to wonder that even so slight
+a sign as the poise of the secretary's head, or the manner in which she
+walked, should have induced him to think, for some passing moments, that
+his long-cherished desire had been fulfilled at last.
+
+And now, although he had dismissed that belief, it had left him more
+vigilant than ever. It may be questioned, indeed, whether he had actually
+dismissed it, or whether, having been dismissed, it had really gone away.
+There are visitors who will take no hint to depart. It would seem that
+here was such a visitor. The discarded impression that little Marian had
+come back in the person of "Cobbler" Horn's secretary refused to be
+banished from Tommy Dudgeon's mind. Henceforth he would have no peace
+until he had set the fateful question at rest once for all.
+
+To this end he watched for the young secretary day by day. A hundred times
+a day he went to the shop-door, to gaze along the street; and at frequent
+intervals he craned his neck to get a better view through the window. He
+would leave the most profitable customer, at the sound of a footstep
+without, or at the shutting of a neighbouring door. He gave himself to
+deep ponderings, in the midst of which he became oblivious of all around.
+His anxiety told upon his appetite, and affected his health. His friends
+became alarmed; but, when they questioned him, he only shook his head.
+His very character seemed to be changed. Hitherto he had been the most
+transparent of men; now he moved about with the air of a conspirator, and
+bore himself like one on whose heart some mysterious secret weighed.
+
+It was a long time before Tommy's watching and pondering produced any
+definite result. Miss Owen seldom visited the street in which "the little
+Twin Brethren" had their shop. By the desire of her employer she never
+came to him in his old workshop, except upon business which could not
+be delayed. Two or three times only, hitherto, had Tommy Dudgeon been
+privileged to feast his eyes on the dainty little figure, which, on his
+first sight of it, had awakened such tender memories in his mind. On each
+occasion those memories had returned as vividly as before; but the only
+result had been that his perplexity was sensibly increased.
+
+All through the winter, the perturbation of the little huckster's mind
+remained unallayed; but there came a day in early spring which set his
+questionings at rest. In that joyous season there was born to Mr. and Mrs.
+John Dudgeon an eighth child. The fact that, this time, the arrival did
+not consist of twins was no less gratifying to the happy father, than to
+his much-enduring spouse. But the child was a fine one, and his birth
+almost cost his mother's life. As may be supposed, "the Golden Shoemaker"
+did not forget his humble friends in their trouble. He engaged for them
+the ablest doctor, and the most efficient nurse, that money could command.
+Every day he sent messages of enquiry, and the messengers were never
+empty-handed. Sometimes it was a servant who came; and sometimes it was
+the coachman--not Bounder, but his successor, who was quite a different
+man--with the carriage.
+
+On the day of which we speak, the carriage had stopped at the door, and
+Tommy Dudgeon, on the watch as usual, observed that a young lady was
+sitting amongst its cushions. It was the four-wheeler, and its fair
+occupant, basket in hand, alighted nimbly as soon as it stopped. Tommy
+vigorously rubbed his eyes. Yes, it was the "sec'tary!" Now, perhaps, his
+opportunity had come. As yet, he had never spoken to the "sec'tary," or
+heard her speak. He made his most polite bow, as she stepped into his
+shop. But how his heart thumped! He was shy with ladies at the best; but
+now, hope and fear, and a vague feeling that, with the entrance of this
+sprightly little lady, the past had all come back, increased his habitual
+nervousness a hundredfold. Surely it was not the first time that little
+tossing dusky head, with its black sparkling eyes, had presented itself in
+his doorway!
+
+She paused a moment on the step, gazed around with a bewildered air, and
+shot a startled glance into the honest, eager face of the little man, who
+quivered from head to foot as he met her gaze. "That strange feeling
+again!" she thought, "I can never have been _here_ before, at any rate!"
+
+Tommy Dudgeon's own confusion prevented his perceiving the momentary
+discomposure of his visitor. The next minute, however, she was speaking to
+the little man in her cordial, unaffected way.
+
+"You are Mr. Dudgeon, I expect," she said, holding out her neatly-gloved
+hand. "How are you, this afternoon? But," she continued after a pause,
+"which Mr. Dudgeon is it--the one with a wife, or the one without? My
+name," she added in her lively way, "is Owen--Mr. Horn's secretary, you
+know. You've heard of me, no doubt, Mr. Dudgeon?"
+
+Tommy Dudgeon had not yet found his tongue.
+
+"But," she broke out again, "I'm not giving you a chance to tell me who
+you are. Is it Mr. Dudgeon, or Mr. John? You see I know all about you."
+
+Tommy Dudgeon was in no condition to answer Miss Owen's question, even
+yet, simple though it was. If the sight of her had brought back the
+past, what thronging memories crowded upon him at the sound of her
+voice--wooing, wilful, joyously insistent! But that she was so womanly and
+ladylike, and that he knew she was "only the sec'tary," he would have been
+ready to advance upon her with outstretched hands, and ask her if she had
+quite forgotten Tommy Dudgeon--her old friend, Tommy? As it was, he stood
+staring like one bewitched. Miss Owen, wondering at his silence, and his
+fixed gaze, repeated her question in another form.
+
+"I don't wish to be rude; but are you the husband, or is it your brother?"
+
+Tommy pulled himself together with a gasp.
+
+"My name is Thomas, miss. It is my brother who is married, and whose wife
+is ill."
+
+"Then, Mr. Thomas, I'm glad to make your acquaintance. How is your
+brother's wife to-day? I've brought a few little things from Miss Horn,
+with her respects."
+
+Miss Owen herself would have said "love," rather than respects. But it was
+a great concession on the part of Miss Jemima to send anything at all to
+"those Dudgeons," with or without a message of any kind, and was quite a
+sign of grace.
+
+"It's very kind of Miss Horn," said Tommy, who was still perturbed; "and
+of you as well, miss. Perhaps you will see my sister-in-law? She's much
+better, and sitting up--and able to converse."
+
+As he spoke, he led the way into the kitchen, in the doorway of which the
+young girl once more paused, and looked around in the same bewildered way
+as before. But she instantly recovered herself; and, at the invitation of
+a woman who was in attendance, proceeded to mount the narrow stairs.
+
+Miss Owen was performing a thoroughly congenial errand. It was her
+delight to be, in any way, the instrument of the wide-spread benevolence
+and varied Christian ministrations of her beloved employer. Nor was it
+an insignificant service which she therein performed. Her tender
+companionship had been of scarcely less benefit to the crippled girl than
+the almost daily rides which the generosity of "Cobbler" Horn enabled the
+poor invalid to enjoy; and her presence and sensible Christian talk were
+quite as helpful to Mrs. John Dudgeon, as were the delicacies from Miss
+Jemima's kitchen.
+
+John Dudgeon, who was acting as temporary nurse, rose to his feet as the
+secretary entered, and stole modestly downstairs. Miss Owen followed him
+with her eyes in renewed perplexity. What could it all mean? These dear,
+funny little men! Had she known them in a former state of existence, or
+what? She came downstairs when she was ready to leave, and in the kitchen
+she paused once more. On one side of the fire-place was an old arm-chair
+with a leather cushion. Seized with a sudden fancy, Miss Owen addressed
+the woman, who was waiting to see her out.
+
+"May I sit in that chair a moment?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly, miss," was the civil reply; and, in another moment, the young
+secretary had crossed the room, and seated herself in the chair.
+
+"How strange!" she murmured. "How familiar everything is!"
+
+At that moment, Tommy Dudgeon came in from the shop; and, on seeing Miss
+Owen in the old arm-chair, he stopped short, and uttered a cry.
+
+"I beg your pardon, miss; I thought----"
+
+It was in that very chair, standing in exactly the same spot as now, that
+little Marian had been accustomed to sit, when she used to come in and
+delight the two little bachelors with her quaint sayings, and queen it
+over them in her pretty wilful way. For her sake, the old chair had been
+carefully preserved.
+
+"You thought I was taking a liberty, no doubt, sir," said Miss Owen,
+jumping to her feet, with a merry laugh; "and quite right too."
+
+Tommy was horrified at the bare suggestion of such a thing. He begged her
+to sit down again, and she laughingly complied, insisting that he should
+sit in the opposite chair. Presently John came in, and stood looking
+calmly on. He was visited by no disturbing memories. Having chatted gaily,
+for a few minutes, with the two little men, Miss Owen took her leave.
+
+"It's all so strange!" she thought, as the carriage bore her swiftly away.
+
+Then she knitted her brows, and clenched her hands in her lap.
+
+"Oh," she half-audibly exclaimed, "what if I _have_ been here before? What
+if----" and she shivered with the excitement of the thought.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As for Tommy Dudgeon, all his doubts were put to flight at last.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+                 A "FATHER" AND "MOTHER" FOR THE "HOME."
+
+
+About six weeks after this, the old Hall at Daisy Lane was ready for
+opening as a "Home" for waifs and strays. "Cobbler" Horn had visited Daisy
+Lane, from time to time, and he had also taken his sister and his young
+secretary to see the village and the old Hall. He had been much pleased
+with the progress of the improvements, and had marked with satisfaction
+the transformation which, in pursuance of his orders, was being effected
+in the Hall. It was clear that Mr. Gray was not only a most capable agent,
+but also a man after his employer's own heart; and it was evident that
+Messrs. Tongs and Ball had assisted the agent in every possible way.
+
+The old Hall seemed likely to become an ideal Children's Home. The
+arrangements were most complete. A staff of capable nurses, and a bevy of
+maid-servants, had been engaged; to whom were added a porter and two boys,
+together with a head gardener and three assistants, to make, and keep,
+beautiful the spacious grounds.
+
+A number of children had already been selected as inmates of the "Home."
+Setting aside the majority of the appeals, which had been many, from
+relatives who had children left on their hands by deceased parents,
+"Cobbler" Horn had adhered to his original purpose of receiving chiefly
+stray children--little ones with no friends, and without homes. With the
+aid of his lawyers, and of Mr. Durnford, he had much communication with
+workhouse and parish authorities, and even with the police; and, as the
+opening day of the "Home" drew near, he had secured, as the nucleus of his
+little family, some dozen tiny outcasts, consisting of six or seven boys,
+and about as many girls.
+
+It now remained that a "father" and "mother" should be found. On this
+subject "the Golden Shoemaker" had talked much with his minister. He
+shrank from the thought of advertising his need. He was afraid of bringing
+upon himself an avalanche of mercenary applications. His idea was to fix
+upon some excellent Christian man and woman who might be induced to accept
+the post as a sacred and delightful duty. They must be persons who loved
+children, and who were not in search of a living; and it would be none the
+worse if it were necessary for them to make what would be considered a
+sacrifice, in order to accept the post.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn looked around. He had no acquaintances in whom it seemed
+likely that his ideal would be realized. He mentioned his views to his
+lawyers, and they smiled in their indulgent way. Messrs. Tongs and Ball
+had already learnt to respect their eccentric client. But it was difficult
+for their legal minds to regard the question of the appointment of a
+master and matron to the "Home" exactly in the light in which it presented
+itself to "Cobbler" Horn. He spoke of his cherished desire to Mr.
+Durnford.
+
+"If I get the right man and woman, you know, sir, I shall be willing to
+pay them almost any amount of money. But I don't want them to know this
+beforehand. I must have a _father_ and _mother_ for my little family. It
+would be just as well," he added in faltering tones, "if they had lost a
+little one of their own. And I should like them to be some good Christian
+man and his wife, who would undertake the work without asking about salary
+at all, and would leave it to me to make that all right. Do you think they
+would trust me so far, Mr. Durnford?"
+
+Mr. Durnford smiled in his shrewd way.
+
+"If they knew you, Mr. Horn, they would rather trust you in the matter
+than suggest an amount themselves."
+
+"No doubt," responded "the Golden Shoemaker," with a smile. "But now, Mr.
+Durnford," he persisted for the twentieth time, "do you know of such a
+couple as I want?"
+
+They were in the minister's study. Mr. Durnford sat musing, with his arms
+resting upon his knees, and his hands together at the finger-tips.
+Suddenly he looked up.
+
+"You want a couple who have lost a child, Mr. Horn? I can tell you of some
+good people who have found one."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn gave a slight start. "Found a child! What child?" Such were
+the thoughts which darted, like lightning, through his brain. Then he
+smiled sadly to himself. Of course what he had imagined, for an instant,
+could not be.
+
+"Well" he said calmly, "who are they? Let me hear!"
+
+For one moment only, Mr. Durnford hesitated to reply.
+
+"You will, perhaps, be startled, Mr. Horn, but must not misunderstand me,
+if I say that they are the excellent friends who have been as father and
+mother to your secretary, Miss Owen."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was indeed startled. His thoughts had not turned in the
+direction indicated by the minister's suggestion--that was all. But he was
+not displeased.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Well, if they are anything like my little secretary,
+they will do."
+
+"Mr. and Mrs. Burton do not know that I have any thought of suggesting
+them to you, Mr. Horn. Nor have I the least idea whether or not they would
+accept the post. Mr. Burton holds a good position on the railway, in
+Birmingham, which I know he has no present intention of relinquishing. But
+there is not another couple of my acquaintance who would be likely to
+meet your wishes as well as these good friends of mine. You know, of
+course, that Miss Owen was found and rescued by them, when she was quite
+a little thing?"
+
+"Yes," was the thoughtful reply; "and you really think they are the kind
+of persons I want?"
+
+"I do, indeed."
+
+"Well, well! But might I ask them, do you think?"
+
+"Perhaps," said Mr. Durnford, "it would be as well to mention it to Miss
+Owen first."
+
+"Might I do that, think you?"
+
+"By all means!"
+
+"Then I will."
+
+He spoke to his secretary that very day. Miss Owen was delighted with the
+proposal, and approved of it with all her heart. She hoped Mr. and Mrs.
+Burton would consent, and felt almost sure that they would. After that the
+minister agreed to convey the request of "the Golden Shoemaker" to his
+good friends. For this purpose, he made a journey to Birmingham, and, on
+the evening of his return, called on "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Well?" enquired the latter eagerly, almost before the minister had taken
+his seat.
+
+"Our friends are favourably disposed," replied Mr. Durnford; "but they
+would like to have a personal interview first."
+
+"By all means. When can they see me? And where?"
+
+"Well, it would be a great convenience to Mr. Burton if you would go
+there. He cannot very well get away. But he could arrange to meet you at
+his own house."
+
+Acting upon this suggestion, "Cobbler" Horn paid a visit to Birmingham,
+the outcome of which was the engagement of Mr. and Mrs. Burton as "father"
+and "mother" of the "home."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+                      THE OPENING OF THE "HOME."
+
+
+At length the day arrived for the opening of the "Home." It was early in
+June, and the weather was superb. All the inhabitants of Daisy Lane,
+whether tenants of "Cobbler" Horn or not, were invited to the opening
+ceremony, and to the festivities which were to occupy the remainder of the
+day. There was to be first a brief religious service in front of the Hall,
+after which Miss Jemima was to unlock the great front door with a golden
+key. Then would follow a royal feast in a marquee on the lawn; and, during
+the afternoon and evening, the house and grounds would be open to all.
+
+The religious service was to be conducted by Mr. Durnford. The parish
+clergyman had been invited to take part, but had declined. Many of his
+brother-clergymen would have hailed with joy such an opportunity of
+fulfilling the spirit of their religion; but the Vicar of Daisy Lane
+regarded the matter in a different light.
+
+In due course "Cobbler" Horn, Miss Jemima, the young secretary, Tommy
+Dudgeon--to whom had been given a very pressing invitation to join the
+party,--and Mr. Durnford, alighted from the train at the station which
+served for Daisy Lane, and were met by Mr. Gray.
+
+"Well, Mr. Gray," said "the Golden Shoemaker," who was in a buoyant, and
+almost boisterous mood, "How are things looking?"
+
+"Everything promises well, sir," replied the agent, who was beaming with
+pleasure. "The arrangements are all complete; and everybody will be
+there--that is, with the exception of the vicar. Save his refusal to be
+present, there has not, thus far, been a single hitch."
+
+"I wish," said "Cobbler" Horn, "that we could have got the poor man to
+come--for his own sake, I mean."
+
+"Yes, sir; he will do himself no good. It's well they're not all like
+that."
+
+Mr. Gray had brought his own dog-cart for the gentlemen; and he had
+provided for the ladies a comfortable basket-carriage, of which his son,
+a lad of fifteen, had charge. The dog-cart was a very different equipage
+from the miserable turn-out with which the agent had met his employer
+on the occasion of his first visit. Everything was of the best--the
+highly-finished trap, the shining harness, the dashing horse; and
+"Cobbler" Horn was thankful to mark the honest pride with which the agent
+handled the reins.
+
+A few minutes brought them to Daisy Lane. Here indeed was a change! An
+unstinted expenditure of money, the toil of innumerable workmen, and the
+tireless energy and ever-ready tact of Mr. Gray, had converted the place
+into a model village. Instead of dropsical and rotting hovels, neat and
+smiling cottages were seen on every side. The vicarage, and the one
+farm-house not included in the property of "Cobbler" Horn, which had,
+aforetime, by their respectability and good repair, aggravated the
+untidiness and dilapidation of the rest of the village, were now rendered
+almost shabby by the fresh beauty of the renovated property of "the Golden
+Shoemaker."
+
+On every hand there were signs of rejoicing. It was evidently a gala day
+at Daisy Lane. Over almost every garden gate there was an arch of flowers.
+Streamers and garlands were displayed at every convenient point. Such a
+quantity of bunting had never before fluttered in the breezes of Daisy
+Lane.
+
+As they approached the farm-house which "Cobbler" Horn had inspected on
+the occasion of his first visit, their progress was stayed by the farmer
+himself, who was waiting for them at his gate, radiant and jovial, a
+farmer, as it seemed, without a grievance! He advanced into the road with
+uplifted hand, and Mr. Gray and his son reined in their horses. The farmer
+approached the side of the dog-cart.
+
+"Let me have a shake of your fist, sir," he said, seizing the hand of "the
+Golden Shoemaker." "You're a model landlord. No offence; but it's hard to
+believe that you're anyways related to that 'ere old skin-flint as was
+owner here afore you."
+
+The farmer wore on his breast a huge red rosette, almost as big as a
+pickling cabbage, as though the occasion had been that of an election day,
+or a royal wedding, or some other celebration equally august.
+
+"I'm glad you're satisfied with what Mr. Gray has done, Mr. Carter," said
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Satisfied! That ain't the word! And, as for Gray--well, he's a decent
+body enough. But it's little as he could ha' done, if you hadn't spoke the
+word."
+
+Then they drove on, and the farmer followed in their wake, occupying, with
+the roll of his legs, and the flourish of his big stick, as much of the
+road as the carriages themselves.
+
+As they proceeded, they passed several groups of villagers, in gala dress,
+who were making their way towards the gates of the Hall grounds.
+
+"These are the laggards," explained the agent, "the bulk of the people are
+already on the ground."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was recognised by the people, most of whom knew him well by
+sight; and, while the men touched their hats, and the boys made their
+bows, the women curtseyed, and each girl gave a funny little bob. Of
+all the novel sensations which his wealth had brought to "the Golden
+Shoemaker," this was the most distinctly and entirely new. It had not
+seemed to him more strange, though it had been less agreeable, to be the
+object of Bounder's obsequious attentions, than it did now to receive the
+worship of these simple villagers.
+
+In due course they reached the Hall gates, and entered the grounds. A
+large marquee, with its fluttering flags, had been erected on one side of
+the lawn, which was almost like a small field. The people were dispersed
+about the grass in gaily-coloured groups, though few of them had wandered
+very far from the gates. When the carriages were seen approaching, the
+various parties gathered more closely together; and the people arranged
+themselves in lines on either side of the drive. The horses were
+immediately brought to a walking pace; and then, a jolly young farmer
+leading off, the villagers rent the air with their shouts of welcome. It
+was the spontaneous tribute of these simple people to the man, whose
+coming had restored long unaccustomed comfort to their lives, and awakened
+new hope in their despondent breasts.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" raised his hat and waved his hand; and, inasmuch
+as the acclamations of the people were evidently intended for the ladies
+also, the young secretary nodded around with beaming smiles, and even Miss
+Jemima perceptibly bent her rigid neck.
+
+At length the joyous procession arrived in front of the Hall steps. Here
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton were waiting to receive them. In response to their
+smiling welcome, "Cobbler" Horn shook these good people heartily by the
+hand, and, having introduced them to Miss Jemima, turned aside for a
+moment, that they might greet their adopted daughter.
+
+In a few moments, he turned to them again, and enquired if everything was
+to their mind.
+
+"Everything, sir," said Mr. Burton. "The arrangements are perfect."
+
+"And our little family are all here," added Mrs. Burton, pointing, with
+motherly pride, to a row of clean and radiant boys and girls, who were
+ranged at the top of the steps.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's face was illumined with a ray of pleasure, as he looked
+up, at Mrs. Burton's words; and yet there was a pensive shade upon his
+brow. Miss Jemima scrutinised the little regiment, and actually uttered a
+grunt of satisfaction. Miss Owen glanced from the happy child-faces to
+that of "Cobbler" Horn with eyes of reverent love. The children were not
+uniformly dressed; and they might very well have passed for the actual
+offspring of the kindly man and woman whom they were to know as "father"
+and "mother" from henceforth.
+
+"Is everything ready, Mr. Gray?" asked "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then let us begin."
+
+At a signal from Mr. Gray, the people drew more closely up to the foot of
+the steps; and it was noticeable that Tommy Dudgeon had withdrawn to a
+modest position amongst the crowd. A hymn was then announced by Mr.
+Durnford, and sung from printed papers which had been distributed amongst
+the people. Then, while every head was bowed, the minister offered a
+brief, but fervent and appropriate prayer. Next came an address from
+"Cobbler" Horn, in which, after explaining the purpose to which the
+Hall was to be devoted, he took the opportunity of assuring those of his
+tenants who were present that he would, as their landlord, do his utmost
+to promote their welfare. His hearty words were received with great
+applause, which was redoubled when he led Miss Jemima to the front. The
+minister then stepped forward, and presented Miss Jemima with a golden
+key, with which she deftly unlocked the great door, and, having pushed
+it open, turned to the people, and bowing gravely in response to their
+cheers, made, for the first and last time in her life, a public speech.
+She had much pleasure, she said, in declaring the old Hall open for the
+reception of friendless children, many of whom, she trusted, would find a
+happy home within its walls, and be there trained for a useful life. Here
+Miss Jemima stopped abruptly, and looked straight before her, with a very
+stern face, as though angry with herself for what she had done. And then,
+under cover of the renewed cheers of the people, she withdrew into the
+background.
+
+The simple ceremony being over, the people were invited to enter the
+building and pass through the rooms. This invitation was freely accepted;
+and soon the various apartments of the renovated Hall were filled with
+people, who did not hesitate to express their admiration of what they
+saw.
+
+When all the visitors had passed through the rooms, and admired to their
+hearts' content, the ringing of a large hand-bell on the lawn announced
+that dinner was ready. At the four long tables which ran the whole length
+of the marquee there was room for all, and very soon every seat was
+occupied. The grace was announced by Mr. Durnford, and sung by the people,
+with a heartiness which might have been expected of hungry villagers, who
+had been summoned to an unaccustomed and sumptuous feast. Then the carvers
+got to work, and, as the waiters carried round the laden plates,
+comparative quiet reigned; but, when the plates began to reach the guests,
+the clatter of crockery, the rattle of knives and forks, and the babel of
+voices, made such a festive hubbub as was grateful to the ear.
+
+After dinner, there was speech-making and merriment; and then the people
+left the tent, and dispersed about the grounds. While the former part of
+this process was in progress, Miss Owen heard a fragment of conversation
+which caused her to tingle to her finger-tips. She had just moved towards
+one of the tables for the purpose of helping an old woman to rise from her
+seat, and her presence was not perceived by the speakers, whose faces were
+turned the other way. They were two village gossips, a middle-aged woman
+and a younger one.
+
+"Is she his daughter?" were the words that fell upon the young secretary's
+ears, spoken by the elder woman in a stage whisper.
+
+"No," replied the other, in a similar tone. "He never had but one
+child--her as was lost. This one's the secretary, or some such."
+
+"Well, I do say as she'd pass for his own daughter anywhere."
+
+Miss Owen was not nervous; but her heart beat tumultuously at the thoughts
+which this whispered colloquy suggested to her mind. She placed her hand
+upon the table to steady herself, as the two women, all unconscious of the
+effect of their gossiping words, moved slowly away.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" and his friends arrived at Cottonborough late that
+night. A carriage was waiting for them at the station; and, having said
+"good night" to Mr. Durnford and Tommy Dudgeon, they were soon driven
+home. They were a quiet--almost silent--party. The events of the day had
+supplied them with much food for thought. The image of his little lost
+Marian presented itself vividly to the mind of "Cobbler" Horn to-night.
+Miss Jemima's thoughts dwelt on what was her one tender memory--that of
+the tiny, dark-eyed damsel who had so mysteriously vanished from the
+sphere of her authority so long ago.
+
+And Miss Owen? Well, when she had at last reached her room, her first
+act was to lock the door. Then she knelt before her small hair-covered
+travelling trunk, and, having unlocked it, she slowly raised the lid and
+placed it back against the wall. For a moment she hesitated, and then,
+plunging her arm down at one corner of the trunk, amongst its various
+contents, she brought up, from the hidden depths, a small tissue paper
+parcel. This she opened carefully, and disclosed a tiny shoe, homely but
+neat, a little child's chemise, and an old, faded, pink print sun-bonnet,
+minus a string. In the upper leather of the shoe were several cuts, the
+work of some wanton hand. Sitting back upon her heels, she let the open
+parcel fall into her lap.
+
+"What would I not give," she sighed, "to find the fellow of this little
+shoe! But no doubt it has long ago rotted at the bottom of some muddy
+ditch!"
+
+Then, for the hundredth time, she examined the little chemise, at one
+corner of which were worked, in red cotton, the letters "M.H."
+
+"They have told me again and again that I had this chemise on when I was
+found. Of course that doesn't prove that it was my own, and I have never
+supposed that those two letters stand for my name. But now--well, may it
+not be so, after all? It was really no more than a guess, on the part of
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton, that my name was Mary Ann Owen; and, from what I can
+see, it's just as likely to have been anything else. Let me think; what
+name might 'M.H.' stand for? Mary Hall? Margaret Harper? Mari----. No, no,
+I dare not think that--at least, not yet!"
+
+Once more she wrapped up her little parcel of relics, and returned it to
+its place at the bottom of her trunk.
+
+"Heigho!" she exclaimed, as, having closed and locked the trunk, she
+sprang to her feet. "How I do wonder who I am!"
+
+[Illustration: "A tiny shoe."--_Page 264._]
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+             TOMMY DUDGEON UNDERTAKES A DELICATE ENTERPRISE.
+
+
+The time which had elapsed since the first visit of Miss Owen to the house
+of "the little Twin Brethren" had constituted, for Tommy Dudgeon, a period
+of mental unrest. If he had been perturbed before, he was twice as uneasy
+now. He had made the joyous discovery which he had been expecting to make
+almost ever since he had seen the young secretary walking in her emphatic
+way along the street. But, joyous as the discovery was, the making of it
+had actually increased the perturbation of his mind. His trouble was that
+he could not tell how he would ever be able to make his discovery known.
+He did not doubt that, to his dear friend, "Cobbler" Horn, and to the
+young secretary, the communication of it would impart great joy. But he
+was restrained by a fear, which would arise, notwithstanding his feeling
+of certainty, lest he should prove to be mistaken after all; and his fear
+was reinforced by an inward persuasion which he had that he was the most
+awkward person in the world by whom so delicate a communication could be
+made.
+
+Yet he told himself he was quite sure that the young secretary was no
+other than little Marian come back. His doubts had vanished when he had
+seen her sitting in the old arm-chair, just as when she was a child; and
+every time he had seen her since that day his assurance had been made more
+sure. But, as long as he was compelled to keep his discovery to himself,
+it was almost the same as though he had not made it at all.
+
+Tommy almost wished that some one else had made the great discovery, as
+well as himself. His thoughts had turned to his brother John; and he had
+resolved to put him to the test, which he had subsequently done with
+considerable tact. On the evening of the day following that of the first
+visit of Miss Owen to their house, the brothers had been sitting by the
+fire before going to bed.
+
+"John," Tommy had said, seizing his opportunity, "you saw the young lady
+who was here the other day?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She's the secretary, you know."
+
+"Yes," said John again, yawning; for he was sleepy.
+
+"Well, what did you think of her?"
+
+John started, and regarded his brother with a stare of astonishment. It
+was the first time Tommy had ever asked his opinion on such a subject. Was
+he thinking of getting married, or what? John Dudgeon had a certain broad
+sense of humour which enabled him to perceive such ludicrous elements of a
+situation as showed themselves on the surface.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed slyly; "are you there?"
+
+Tommy put out his hands in some confusion.
+
+"No, no," he said, "not what you think! But did you notice anything
+particular about the young lady?"
+
+"Well no," replied John, "except that I thought she was a very nice young
+person. But, Tommy, isn't she rather too young? If you really are thinking
+of getting married, wouldn't it be better to choose some one a little
+nearer your own age?"
+
+John would not be dissuaded from the idea that his brother was intent on
+matrimonial thoughts. Tommy waved his hand, in a deprecatory way, and
+rising from his chair, said "good night," and betook himself to bed.
+
+It was plain that he was quite alone in his discovery. What was he to do?
+To speak to Miss Owen on the subject was out of the question. The only
+alternative was to communicate the good news to "Cobbler" Horn himself.
+But there seemed to be stupendous difficulties involved in such a course.
+He was aware that there was nothing his friend would more rejoice to know
+than that which he had to tell. From various hints thrown out by "Cobbler"
+Horn, Tommy knew that he regarded Miss Owen with much of the fondness of
+a father; and it was not likely that the joy of finding his lost child
+would be diminished in the least by the fact that she had presented
+herself in the person of his secretary. But this consideration did not
+relieve the perplexity with which the little huckster contemplated the
+necessity of making known his secret to "Cobbler" Horn. For, to say
+nothing of the initial obstacle of his own timidity, he feared it would
+be almost impossible to convince his friend that his strange surmise was
+correct. If "Cobbler" Horn had not discovered for himself the identity of
+his secretary with his long-lost child, was it likely that he would accept
+that astounding fact on the testimony of any other person?
+
+It is needless to say that Tommy Dudgeon made his perplexity a matter of
+prayer. He prayed and pondered, night and day; and, at length a thought
+came to him which seemed to point out the way of which he was in search.
+Might he not give "Cobbler" Horn some covert hint which would put him on
+the track of making the great discovery for himself? Surely some such
+thing, though difficult, might be done! He must indeed be cautious, and
+not by any means reveal his design. The suggestion must seem to be
+incidental and unpremeditated. There must be no actual mention of little
+Marian, and no apparently intentional indication of Miss Owen. Something
+must be said which might induce "Cobbler" Horn to associate the idea of
+his little lost Marian with that of his young secretary--to place them
+side by side before his mind. And it must all arise in the course of
+conversation, the order of which--he Tommy Dudgeon, must deliberately
+plan. The audacity of the thought made his hair stand up.
+
+It was a delicate undertaking indeed! The little man felt like a surgeon
+about to perform a critical operation upon his dearest friend. He was
+preparing to open an old wound in the heart of his beloved benefactor.
+True, he hoped so to deal with it that it should never bleed again. But
+what if he failed? That would be dreadful! Yet the attempt must be made.
+So he set himself to his task. His opportunity came on the afternoon of
+the day following that of the opening of the "Home." Watching from the
+corner of his window, as he was wont, about three o'clock, Tommy saw "the
+Golden Shoemaker" come along the street, and enter his old house. Then the
+little man turned away from the window, and became very nervous. For quite
+two minutes he stood back against the shelves, trying to compose himself.
+When he had succeeded, in some degree, in steadying his quivering nerves,
+he reached from under the counter a brown-paper parcel containing a pair
+of boots, which had, for some days, been lying in readiness for the
+occasion which had now arrived, and, calling John to mind the shop,
+slipped swiftly into the street. A minute later he was standing in the
+doorway of "Cobbler" Horn's workshop. "The little Twin Brethren" had, at
+first, been disposed to refrain from availing themselves of the gratuitous
+labours of their friend; but, perceiving that it would afford him
+pleasure, they had yielded with an easy grace, and now Tommy was glad
+to have so good an excuse for a visit to "the Golden Shoemaker," as was
+supplied by the boots in the parcel under his arm.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn perceived the nervousness of his visitor, and thinking it
+strange that the bringing of a pair of boots to be mended should have
+occasioned his humble little friend so much trepidation, he did his best,
+by adopting a specially sociable tone, to put him at his ease.
+
+"Ah, Tommy, what have we there?" he asked. "More work for the 'Cobbler,'
+eh?"
+
+"Just an old pair of boots which want mending, Mr. Horn," said Tommy, in
+uncertain tones, as he unwrapped the boots and held them out with a
+shaking hand--"that is, if you are not too busy."
+
+"Not by any means," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile. "Put them down."
+
+Tommy obeyed.
+
+There stood against the wall, a much-worn wooden chair from which the back
+had been sawn off close.
+
+"I'll sit down, if you don't mind," gasped Tommy, depositing himself upon
+this superannuated seat.
+
+"By all means," said "Cobbler" Horn cordially; "make yourself quite at
+home."
+
+"Thank you," said Tommy, drawing from his pocket a red and yellow
+handkerchief, with which he vigorously mopped his brow.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn waited calmly for his perturbed visitor to become composed;
+and Tommy sat for some minutes, staring helplessly at "Cobbler" Horn, and
+still rubbing his forehead. What had become of the astute plan of
+operations which the little man had laid down?
+
+"You have surely something on your mind, friend?" said "Cobbler" Horn, in
+an enquiring tone.
+
+"Yes, I have," said Tommy, somewhat relieved; "it's been there for some
+time."
+
+"Well, what is it? Can I help you in any way?"
+
+"Oh, no; I don't want help."
+
+His utterly incapacitated demeanour belied him; but he was speaking of
+financial help.
+
+"I've been thinking of the past, Mr. Horn," he managed to say, making a
+faint effort to direct the conversation according to his original design.
+
+"Ah!" sighed "Cobbler" Horn. "Of the past!" With the word, his thoughts
+darted back to that period of his own past towards which they so often
+sadly turned.
+
+"I somehow can't help it," continued Tommy, gathering courage. "There
+seems to be something that keeps bringing it up."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn fixed his keen eyes on the agitated face of his visitor. He
+knew what it was in the past to which Tommy referred, and appreciated his
+delicacy of expression.
+
+"Yes, Tommy," he said, "and I, too, often think of the past. But is there
+anything special that brings it to your mind just now?"
+
+Upon this, all Tommy Dudgeon's clever plans vanished into air. His scheme
+for leading the conversation up to the desired point utterly broke down.
+He cast himself on the mercy of his friend.
+
+"Oh," he cried, in thrilling tones, "can't you see it? Can't you feel
+it--every day? The sec'tary! The sec'tary! If it is so plain to me, how
+can you be so blind?"
+
+Then he darted from the room, and betook himself home with all speed.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+                         BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's first thought was that the strain of eccentricity in his
+humble little friend had developed into actual insanity. But, on further
+consideration, he was disposed to take another view. He felt bound to
+admit that, though there had been a strangeness in the behaviour of the
+little man throughout his visit, it had not afforded any actual ground for
+the suspicion of insanity, until he had so suddenly rushed away home. It
+was, therefore, possible that there might prove to be some important
+meaning in what he had said. At first "Cobbler" Horn had gathered nothing
+intelligible from the impassioned apostrophe of his excited little friend;
+but, by degrees, there dawned upon him some faint gleam of what its
+meaning might be. "The sec'tary!" That was the quaint term by which Tommy
+was wont to designate Miss Owen. But their conversation had been drifting
+in the direction of his little lost Marian. Why, then, should Miss Owen
+have been in Tommy's mind? Ah, he saw how it was! His humble friend had
+perceived that Miss Owen was a dear, good girl; and he had noticed her
+evident attachment to him--"Cobbler" Horn, and his fondness for her, and
+no doubt the little man had meant to suggest that she should take the
+place of the lost child. It was characteristic of his humble friend that
+he should seek, by such a hint, to point out a course which, no doubt,
+seemed to him, likely to afford satisfaction to all concerned; and
+"Cobbler" Horn could not help admiring the delicacy with which it had been
+done.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" was quite persuaded that he had hit upon the right
+interpretation of the little huckster's words; and he was not altogether
+displeased with the suggestion he supposed them to convey. Of course
+Marian would ultimately come back; and no one else could be permitted
+permanently to occupy her place. But there was no reason why he should not
+let his young secretary take, for the time being, as far as possible, the
+place which would have been filled by his lost child. In fact, Miss Owen
+was almost like a daughter to him already; and he was learning to love her
+as such. Well, he would adopt the suggestion of his little friend. His
+secretary should fill, for the time, the vacant place in his life. Yet he
+would never leave off loving his precious Marian; and her own share of
+love, which could never be given to another, must be reserved for her
+against her return, when he would have two daughters instead of one.
+
+Thus mused "the Golden Shoemaker," until, suddenly recollecting himself,
+he started up. He had promised to visit one of his former neighbours, who
+was sick, and it was already past the time at which the visit should have
+been made. He hastily threw off his leathern apron, and put on his coat
+and hat. At the same moment, he observed that heavy rain was beating
+against the window. It was now early summer; and, misled by the fair face
+of the sky, he had left home without an umbrella. What was he to do? He
+passed into the kitchen, and opening the front door, stood looking out
+upon the splashing rain. Behind him, in the room, sat, at her sewing, the
+good woman whom he had placed in charge of the house. She was small, and
+plump, and shining, the very picture of content. Her manner was
+respectful, and, as a rule, she did not address "Cobbler" Horn until he
+had spoken to her. To-day, however, she was the first to speak.
+
+"Surely, sir, you won't go out in such a rain!"
+
+As she spoke, the shower seemed suddenly to gather force, and the rain to
+descend in greater volume than ever.
+
+"Thank you, Mrs. Bunn," replied "Cobbler" Horn, looking round. "I think I
+will wait for a moment or two; but I have no time to spare, and must go
+soon, in any case."
+
+The rain had turned the street into a river, upon the surface of which the
+plumply-falling drops were producing multitudes of those peculiar
+gleaming white splashes which are known to childhood as "sixpences and
+half-crowns." All at once the downpour diminished. The sky became lighter,
+and the sun showed a cleared face through the thinning clouds.
+
+"I think I may venture now," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Better wait a little longer, sir; it 'ull come on again," said Mrs. Bunn,
+with the air of a person to whom the foibles of the weather were fully
+known. But "Cobbler" Horn was already in the street, and had not heard her
+words. It was some distance to the house of his sick friend, and he walked
+along at a rapid pace. But before he had proceeded far, the prophecy of
+Mrs. Bunn was fulfilled. In a moment, the sky grew black again; and, after
+a preliminary dash of heavy drops, the rain came down in greater abundance
+than before. It almost seemed as though a water-spout had burst. In two
+minutes, "the Golden Shoemaker" was wet to the skin. He might have
+returned to the house, from which he was distant no more than a few
+hundred yards; but he thought that, as he was already wet through, he
+might as well go on. Besides, "Cobbler" Horn's promise was sacred, and it
+had been given to his sick friend. So he plunged on through the flooded
+and splashing streets.
+
+When he reached his destination, he was glad that he had not turned back.
+His poor friend was much worse, and it was evident that he had not many
+hours to live. Forgetful of his own discomfort, and heedless of danger
+from his wet clothes, "Cobbler" Horn took his place at the bedside, and
+remained for many hours with the dying man. His friend was a Christian,
+and did not fear to die. He had never been married, was almost without
+relatives, and had scarcely a friend. As, hour after hour, he held the
+hand of the dying man, "Cobbler" Horn whispered in his ear, from time to
+time, a cheering word, or breathed a fervent prayer. The feeble utterances
+of the dying man, which became less frequent as the hours crept away, left
+no doubt as to the reality of his faith in God, and, about midnight, he
+passed peacefully away.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn lingered a few moments' longer, and set out for home. The
+rain had long ceased, and the sky was without a cloud. The semi-tropical
+shower had been followed by a rapid cooling of the atmosphere, and he
+shivered in his still damp clothes, as he hurried along.
+
+He found Miss Jemima and the young secretary anxiously awaiting his
+return. They knew of his intention of visiting his sick friend, and were
+not much surprised that he was so late. But his sister was greatly
+concerned to find that he had remained so long with his clothes damp. He
+went at once to bed, and Miss Jemima insisted upon bringing to him there
+a steaming basin of gruel. He took a few spoonfuls, and then lay wearily
+back upon the bed. Miss Jemima shook up his pillows, arranged the
+bed-clothes, and reluctantly left him for the night.
+
+In the morning it was evident that "the Golden Shoemaker" was ill. The
+wetting he had received, followed by the effect of the chill night air,
+had found out an unsuspected weakness in his constitution, and symptoms of
+acute bronchitis had set in. The doctor was hastily summoned, and, after
+the manner of his kind, gravely shook his head, by way of intimating that
+the case was much more serious than he was prepared verbally to admit. The
+condition of the patient, indeed, was such as to justify the most alarming
+interpretation of the doctor's manner and words.
+
+Now followed a time of painful suspense. In spite of all that money could
+do, "Cobbler" Horn grew worse daily. The visits of the doctor, though
+repeated twice, and even three times a day, produced but little
+appreciable result. Could it be that this man, into whose possession such
+vast wealth had so recently come, was so early to be called to relinquish
+it again? Was it possible that all this money was so soon to drop from the
+hands which had seemed more fit to hold it than almost any other hands to
+which had ever been entrusted the disposal of money?
+
+Miss Jemima did not ask herself such questions as these. She moved about
+the house, trying, in her grim way, to crush down within her heart the
+anguished thought that her beloved and worshipped brother lay at the point
+of death.
+
+And Miss Owen--with what emotions did she contemplate the possibility of
+that dread event the actual occurrence of which became more probable
+every day? She went about her duties like one in a dream. What would it
+mean to her if he were to die? She would lose a great benefactor, and a
+dear friend; and that would be grief enough. But was there not something
+more that she would lose--something which had seemed almost within her
+grasp, which it had hitherto been the hope, and yet the fear, of her life
+that she might find, but which, of late, she had desired to find with an
+ardent and unhalting hope? It was with a sick heart that the young
+secretary discharged, from day to day, her now familiar duties. She was
+now so well acquainted with the mind of her employer, that she could deal
+with the correspondence almost as well without, as with, his help. But she
+missed him every moment, and the thought that he might never again take
+his place over against her at the office table filled her with bitter
+grief.
+
+There were others who were anxious on account of the peril which
+threatened the life of "the Golden Shoemaker."
+
+Mr. Durnford was weighted with grave concern. He called every day to see
+his friend; and each time he left the sick-chamber, he was uncertain
+whether his predominant feeling was that of sorrow for the illness and
+danger of so good a man, or rejoicing that, in his pain and peril,
+"Cobbler" Horn was so patient and resigned.
+
+In the breasts of many who were accustomed to receive benefits at the
+hands of "the Golden Shoemaker," there was great distress. Every day, and
+almost every hour, there were callers, chiefly of the humbler classes,
+with anxious enquiries on their lips. Not the least solicitous of these
+were "the Little Twin Brethren." Tommy Dudgeon almost continually haunted
+the house where his honoured friend lay in such dire straits. The anxiety
+of the little man was intensified by a burning desire to know whether his
+desperate appeal on the subject of the "sec'tary" had produced its
+designed effect on the mind of "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+Public sympathy with "Cobbler" Horn and his anxious friends ran deep; and
+every one who could claim, in any degree, the privilege of a friend, made
+frequent enquiry as to the sufferer's state. But neither public sympathy
+nor private grief were of much avail; and it seemed, for a time, as though
+the earthly course of "the Golden Shoemaker" was almost run. There came a
+day when the doctors confessed that they could do no more. A few hours
+must decide the question of life or death. Dreadful was the suspense in
+the stricken house, and great the sorrow in many hearts outside. Mr.
+Durnford, who had been summoned early in the morning, remained to await
+the issue of the day. Little Tommy Dudgeon, who had been informed that the
+crisis was near, came, and lingered about the house, on one pretence or
+another, unable to tear himself away.
+
+But how was it with "the Golden Shoemaker" himself? From the first, he had
+been calm and patient; and, even now, when he was confronted with the
+grim visage of death, he did not flinch. Long accustomed to leave the
+issues of his life to God, willing to live yet prepared to die, he
+realized his position without dismay. No doctor ever had a more tractable
+patient than was "Cobbler" Horn; and he yielded himself to his nurses like
+an infant of days. In the earlier stages of his illness, he had thought
+much about the mysterious words and strange behaviour of his friend Tommy
+Dudgeon, on the day on which he had been taken ill. Further consideration
+had not absolutely confirmed "Cobbler" Horn's first impression as to the
+meaning of the little huckster's words. Pondering them as he lay in bed,
+he had become less sure that his humble little friend had intended simply
+to suggest the admirable fitness of the young secretary to take the place
+of his lost child. Surely, he had thought, the impassioned exclamation of
+the eccentric little man must have borne some deeper significance than
+that! And then he had become utterly bewildered as to what meaning the
+singular words of Tommy Dudgeon had been intended to convey. And then
+there came a glimmering--nothing more--of the idea his faithful friend had
+wished to impart. But, just when he might have penetrated the mystery, if
+he could have thought it out a little more, he became too ill to think at
+all.
+
+After this his mind wandered slightly, and once or twice a strange fancy
+beset him that his little Marian was in the room, and that she was putting
+her soft hands on his forehead; but, in a moment, the fancy was gone, and
+he was aware that the young secretary was laying her cool gentle palm upon
+his burning brow.
+
+It had been a wonderful comfort to the girl that she had been permitted to
+take a spell of nursing now and then.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+                             A LITTLE SHOE.
+
+
+That which happens now and then occurred in the case of "Cobbler" Horn.
+The doctors proved to be mistaken; and thanks to a strong and unimpaired
+constitution, and to the blessing of God on efficient nursing and medical
+skill, "the Golden Shoemaker" survived the crisis of his illness, and
+commenced a steady return to health and strength.
+
+Great was the joy on every side. But, perhaps, the person who rejoiced
+most was Miss Owen. Not even the satisfaction of Miss Jemima at the
+ultimate announcement of the doctors, that their patient might now do
+well, was greater than was that of the young secretary. Miss Owen rejoiced
+for very special reasons of her own. During the convalescence of "Cobbler"
+Horn, the young secretary was with him very much. He was glad to have her
+in his room; and, as his strength returned, he talked to her often about
+herself. He seemed anxious to know all she could tell him of her early
+life.
+
+"Sit down here, by the bed," he would say eagerly, taking her plump, brown
+wrist in his wasted fingers, "and tell me about yourself."
+
+She would obey him, laughing gently, less at the nature of the request,
+than at the eagerness with which it was made.
+
+"Now begin," he said one evening, for the twentieth time, settling himself
+beneath the bed-clothes to listen, as though he had never heard the story
+before; "and mind you don't leave anything out."
+
+"Well," she commenced, "I was a little wandering mite, with hardly any
+clothes and only one shoe. I was----"
+
+His hand was on her arm in an instant. This was the first time she had
+mentioned the fact that, when she was found by the friends by whom she had
+been brought up, one of her feet was without a shoe.
+
+"Only one shoe, did you say?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, in tremulous tones.
+
+"Yes," she replied, not suspecting the tumult of thoughts her simple
+statement had excited in his mind.
+
+In truth, her statement had agitated her listener in no slight degree. He
+did not, as yet, fully perceive its significance. But the coincidence was
+so very strange! One shoe! Only one shoe! His little Marian had lost one
+of her shoes when she strayed away. A wonderful coincidence, indeed!
+
+"I was very dirty, and my clothes were torn," resumed Miss Owen; "and I
+was altogether a very forlorn little thing, I have no doubt. I don't
+remember much about it, myself, you know; but Mrs. Burton has often told
+me that I was crying at the time, and appeared to have been so engaged for
+some time. It was one evening in June, and getting dusk. Mr. and Mrs.
+Burton had been for a walk in the country, and were returning home, when
+they came upon me, walking very slowly, poking my fists into my eyes, and
+crying, as I said. When they asked me what was the matter, I couldn't tell
+them much. I seemed to be trying to say something about a 'bad woman,' and
+my 'daddy.' They couldn't even make out, with certainty, what I said my
+name was. Little as you might think it, Mr. Horn. I was a very bad talker
+in those days. 'Mary Ann Owen' was what my kind friends thought I called
+myself; and 'Mary Ann Owen' I have been ever since.
+
+"Well, these dear people took me home; and, after they had washed me, and
+found some clothes for me which had belonged to a little girl they had
+lost--their only child--they gave me a good basin of bread and milk, and
+put me to bed.
+
+"The next day they tried to get me to tell them something more, but it was
+no use; and as I couldn't tell them where I lived, and they didn't even
+feel sure about my name, they naturally felt themselves at a loss. But I
+don't think they were much troubled about that; for I believe they were
+quite prepared to keep me as their own child. You see they had lost a
+little one; and there was a vacant place that I expect they thought I
+might fill. They did, at first, try to find out who I was. But they
+altogether failed; and so, without more ado, they just made me their own
+little girl. They taught me to call them 'father' and 'mother'; and they
+have always been so good and kind!"
+
+Though several points in Miss Owen's story had touched him keenly,
+"Cobbler" Horn quickly regained his composure after the first start of
+surprise. Feeling himself too weak to do battle with agitating thoughts,
+he put aside, for the time, the importunate questions which besieged his
+mind.
+
+"Thank you," he said quietly, when the narrative was finished. "To-morrow
+we will talk about it all again. I think I can go to sleep now. But will
+you first, please, read a little from the dear old book."
+
+The young girl reached a Bible which stood always on a table by the
+bedside, and, turning to one of his favourite places, read, in her sweet
+clear tones, words of comfort and strength. Then she bade him "good
+night," and moved towards the door. But he called her back.
+
+"Will you take these letters?" he said, with his hand on a bundle of
+letters which lay on the table at his side; "and put them into the safe."
+
+They were letters of importance, to which he had been giving, during the
+evening, such attention as he was able. During his illness, he had allowed
+his secretary to keep the key of the safe.
+
+Miss Owen took the letters, and went downstairs. Going first into the
+dining-room, she told Miss Jemima that "Cobbler" Horn seemed likely to go
+to sleep, and then proceeded to the office. Without delay, she unlocked
+the safe, and was in the act of depositing the bundle of letters in its
+place, when, from a recess at the back, a small tissue-paper parcel, which
+she had never previously observed, fell down to the front, and became
+partially undone. As she picked it up, intending to restore it to the
+place from which it had fallen, her elbow struck the side of the safe, and
+the parcel was jerked out of her hand. In trying to save it, she retained
+in her grasp a corner of the paper, which unfolded itself, and there fell
+out upon the floor a little child's shoe, around which was wrapped a strip
+of stained and faded pink print. At a sight so unexpected she uttered a
+cry. Then she picked up the little shoe, and, having released it from its
+bandage, turned it over and over in her hands. Next she gave her attention
+to the piece of print. She was utterly dazed. Suddenly the full meaning of
+her discovery flashed upon her mind. She dropped the simple articles by
+which she had been so deeply moved, and, covering her face with her hands,
+burst into a paroxysm of joyous tears. But her agitation was brief.
+Hastily drying her eyes, she picked up the little shoe. No need to wait
+till she had compared it with the one which lay in the corner of her box!
+The image of the latter was imprinted on her mind with the exactness of a
+photograph, with its every wrinkle and spot, and every slash it had
+received from that unknown, wanton hand. She _could_ compare the two
+shoes here and now, as exactly as though she actually saw them side by
+side. Yes, this little shoe was indeed the fellow of her own! And the
+strip of print--what was it but her missing bonnet-string? She had found
+what she had so often longed to find. And she herself was--yes, why should
+she hesitate to say it?--the little Marian of whom she had so often heard!
+
+How wonderful it was! Here was truth stranger than fiction, indeed! She
+laughed--a gentle, trilling laugh, low and sweet. But ah, she could not
+tell him! She could not say to him, "I am the daughter you lost so long
+ago. I have seen in your safe the fellow of the shoe I wore when I was
+found by my kind friends." Of course it would convince him; but she could
+not say it. She must wait until he found out the truth for himself. But
+would he ever find it out? She hoped and thought he would. Had he not
+marked what she said about her having had on only one shoe when she was
+found? And would not that lead him to think and enquire? Meanwhile, she
+herself knew the wonderful truth; and she could afford to wait. It would
+all come right, of course it would; any other thought was too ridiculous
+to be entertained.
+
+Very quietly, and with almost reverent fingers, she wound the faded
+bonnet-string once more around the little shoe, and wrapped them up again
+in the much-crumpled paper.
+
+"How often must he have unfolded it!" was the thought that nestled in her
+heart, as she replaced the precious parcel in the safe, and closed and
+locked the ponderous door.
+
+From the office, the young secretary went directly to her own room. To
+open her trunk, and plunge her hand down into the corner where lay her own
+little parcel of relics, was the work of a moment. There was certainly no
+room for doubt. The little, stout, leather shoe which she had treasured so
+long was the fellow of the one she had just seen in the safe downstairs.
+There was the very same curve of the sole, made by the pressure of the
+little foot--her own, and similar inequalities in the upper part. With a
+sudden movement, she lifted the tiny shoe to her lips. And here was her
+funny old sun-bonnet! How often she had wondered what had become of its
+other string! Last of all, she took up the little chemise, which completed
+her simple store of relics, and gazed intently upon the red letters with
+which it was marked. All uncertainty as to their meaning was gone. What
+could "M.H." stand for but "Marian Horn"? With a grateful heart, she
+rolled up her treasures, and, having consigned them once more to their
+place in the trunk, went downstairs. Miss Jemima was indisposed; and,
+having seen the nurse duly installed in the sick-room, she had retired
+for the night. Accordingly, Miss Owen, much to her relief, had supper
+by herself. She felt that she did not wish to talk to any one just at
+present, and to Miss Jemima least of all.
+
+When the young secretary fell asleep that night, she was lulled with the
+sweetness of the thought that she had not only found her father, but had
+discovered him in the person of the best man she had ever known. The
+discovery of her father might have proved a bitter disappointment; it
+was actually such as to fill her with unspeakable gratitude. She did not
+greatly regret that she had not found her mother, as well as her father.
+It would probably have caused her real grief, if any one had appeared to
+claim the place in her heart which was held by the woman from whom she had
+always received, in a peculiar degree, a mother's love and a mother's
+care. One could find room for any number of fathers--provided they were
+worthy. But a mother!--her place was sacred; there could be no sharing of
+her throne.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+                          A JOYOUS DISCOVERY.
+
+
+It was long that night before "Cobbler" Horn fell asleep. He was free from
+pain, and felt better altogether than at any time since the beginning of
+his illness. Yet he could not sleep. The story of his young secretary, as
+she had told it this evening, had supplied him with thoughts calculated to
+banish slumber from the most drowsy eyes.
+
+Miss Owen had told him her simple story many times before; but this
+evening she had introduced certain new particulars of a startling kind;
+and it was as the result of the thoughts thereby suggested that he was
+unable to sleep. The few additional details which the young secretary had
+included in her narrative this evening had given a new aspect to the
+story. There was the solitary shoe she had worn at the time when she had
+come into the kind hands of Mr. and Mrs. Burton, and the fact that she
+was a very indistinct talker at the time. The entire story, too, seemed
+to correspond so well--why should he not admit it?--with what might not
+improbably have been the history of his little Marian; and Marian would
+be, at that time, about the same age as was Miss Owen when she was found
+by the friends whose adopted child she became. But the solitary shoe! He
+wondered whether it was still in her possession. He would ask her in the
+morning. And then the indistinct talk of which she had spoken! How well
+he remembered the pretty broken speech of his own little pet! Then there
+returned to him that gleam of intelligence with regard to the meaning of
+the strange words of Tommy Dudgeon with which he had been visited at the
+beginning of his illness. Surely this was what his faithful friend had
+meant! From the great affection of the little huckster for Marian, it was
+likely that he would have a vivid recollection of the child; and no doubt
+the little man had already discerned what the father himself was only now,
+after so many hints, beginning to perceive. Thus he pondered through the
+night. Strange to say, he felt neither sleepy nor tired. He was refreshed
+by the gracious prophecy of coming joy which the story of his young
+secretary had supplied; and when, after falling asleep in the early hours
+of the morning, he awoke towards eight o'clock, he felt as though he had
+slept all night.
+
+It was the custom for the young secretary to pay a visit to her employer's
+room soon after breakfast, for the purpose of laying before him any of
+the morning's letters to which it was imperative that his personal
+attention should be given. Most frequently Miss Owen's visit was, as far
+as business was concerned, a mere formality, or little more. There were
+few of the letters with which she herself was not able to deal; and all
+that was necessary, as a rule, was for her to make a general report, which
+"Cobbler" Horn invariably received with an approving smile. Then the
+favoured young secretary would linger for a few moments in the room. She
+would hover about the bed; asking how he had passed the night; performing
+a variety of tender services, which, though he had not previously realized
+the need of them, increased his comfort to a wonderful extent; and
+talking, all the while, in her merry, heartsome way, like a privileged
+child, with now and then a gentle, cooing little laugh.
+
+There was nothing, in the whole course of the day, that "the Golden
+Shoemaker" enjoyed so much as the morning visit of his fresh young
+secretary. But he had never before anticipated it as eagerly as he did
+this morning. He had long looked upon this young girl rather in the light
+of a devoted daughter, than of a paid secretary. What if, unconsciously
+to them both, she had thus grown into her rightful place! As the time
+approached for her appearance, he had insensibly brought himself to face
+more fully the wonderful possibility which had been presenting itself to
+his mind during the last few hours. The nurse was surprised that, though
+he seemed to be even better than usual, he could scarcely eat any
+breakfast. All the time, he was watching the door, and listening for the
+slightest sound. He wondered whether Miss Owen still had in her possession
+the little shoe of which she had spoken. He must ask her that at once. And
+how he yearned to search her face, with one long, scrutinising gaze!
+
+At last she came, radiant, as usual! Did he notice that a slight shyness
+veiled her face, and that there was an unusual tremor in her voice as she
+wished him "good morning"? If "Cobbler" Horn perceived these signs, he
+paid them but scant regard. He was too much absorbed in his own thoughts,
+to consider what those of his young secretary might be; and he was too
+busily engaged in scrutinising the permanent features of her face, to give
+much heed to its transient expression. What he saw did not greatly assist
+in the settlement of the question which occupied his mind. And small
+wonder that it should be so; for, when he had last seen his Marian, she
+was a little girl of five.
+
+No less eagerly than "Cobbler" Horn scanned the countenance of his young
+secretary, did her eyes, that morning, seek his face. She too had passed a
+broken night. But it had not seemed wearisome or long. Happy thoughts had
+rendered sleep an impertinence at first; and, when healthy youthful nature
+had, at length, asserted itself, the young girl had slept only in pleasant
+snatches, waking every now and then from some delicious dream, to assure
+herself that the sweetest dream could not be half so delightful as the
+glad reality which had come into her life.
+
+If these two people could have read each other's thoughts---- But
+that might not be. She wished him "good morning," in her own bright way;
+and he responded with his usual benignant smile. Then they proceeded to
+business. There was one very important letter, which demanded some
+expenditure of time. The secretary was not altogether herself. Her hand
+trembled a little, and there was a slight quaver in her voice. Her
+employer noticed these signs of discomposure, and spoke of them in his
+kindly way.
+
+"Surely you are not well this morning!" he said, placing his hand lightly
+on her wrist.
+
+His secretary was usually so self-possessed.
+
+"Oh yes," she said, with a start, "I am quite well--quite."
+
+She smiled at the very idea of her not being well, knowing what she did.
+
+"Come and sit down beside me for a little while," said "Cobbler" Horn,
+when their business was finished; "and let us have some talk."
+
+It was the ordinary invitation; but there was something unusual in the
+tone of his voice. As the young girl took her seat at the bedside, her
+previous agitation in some degree returned. "Cobbler" Horn's fingers
+closed upon her hand, with a gentle pressure.
+
+"My dear young lady, there is something that I wish to ask you."
+
+There was just the slightest tremor in his voice; and the young secretary
+was distinctly conscious of the beating of her heart.
+
+"Yes, sir," she said, faintly, trembling a little.
+
+"Don't be agitated," he continued, for it was impossible to overlook the
+fact of her excitement. "It's a very simple matter."
+
+He did not know--how could he?--that her thoughts were running in the same
+direction as his own.
+
+"You said," he pursued, "that, when you were found by your good friends,
+you were wearing only one shoe. Did you--have you that shoe still?"
+
+It was evident that he was agitated now. Miss Owen started, and he could
+feel her hand quiver within his grasp, like a frightened bird.
+
+"Yes," she answered in a whisper, above which she felt powerless to raise
+her voice, "I have kept it ever since."
+
+"Then," he resumed, having now quite recovered his self-possession, "would
+you mind letting me see it?"
+
+With a strong effort, she succeeded in maintaining her self-control.
+
+"Oh no, not at all, sir!" she said, rising, and moving towards the door;
+"I'll fetch it at once. But it isn't much to look at now," she added over
+her shoulder, as she left the room.
+
+"'Not much to look at'!" laughed "the Golden Shoemaker" softly to himself.
+There was nothing that he had ever been half so anxious to see!
+
+Five minutes later he was sitting up in bed, turning over and over in his
+hands the fellow of the little shoe which he had cherished for so many
+years as the dearest memento of his lost child. Could there be any doubt?
+Was it not his own handiwork? It had evidently received several random
+slashes with a knife, and it still bore traces of mud. But he knew his own
+work too well; and had he not looked upon the fellow of this shoe every
+day for the last twelve years?
+
+Strange to say, so completely absorbed was "Cobbler" Horn in contemplating
+the shoe which his Marian had worn, that, for the moment, he did not think
+of Marian herself. At length he looked up. But he was alone. Discretion,
+and the tumult of her emotions, had constrained the young secretary to
+withdraw from the room. Putting a strong hand upon herself, she had
+retired to the office, where she was, at that moment, diligently at work.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn sighed. But perhaps it was better that the young girl had
+withdrawn. There was little room for doubt; but he must make assurance
+doubly sure. He touched the electric bell at the head of the bed, and the
+nurse immediately appeared.
+
+"Will you be so good as to tell Miss Horn I should like to see her at
+once."
+
+The nurse, marking the eagerness with which the request was uttered, and
+observing the little shoe on the counterpane, perceived that the occasion
+was urgent, and departed on her errand with all speed.
+
+"I don't think he is any worse this morning," she said to Miss Jemima when
+she had delivered her message. "Indeed he seems, quite unaccountably, to
+be very much better. But it is evident something has happened."
+
+Without waiting to hear more, Miss Jemima hurried to her brother's room.
+Sitting up in bed, with a happy face, he was holding in his hand a
+dilapidated child's shoe, which he placed in his sister's hands as soon
+as she approached the bed.
+
+"Jemima, look at that!" he said joyously.
+
+Thinking it was the shoe which her brother had always preserved with so
+much care, she took it, and examined it with much concern.
+
+"Whoever can have cut it about like that?" she cried.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn hastened to rectify her mistake.
+
+"No, Jemima," he said, in a tone of reverent exultation; "it's the other
+shoe--the one we've been wanting to find all these years!"
+
+The first thought of Miss Jemima was that her brother had gone mad. Then
+she examined the shoe more closely.
+
+"To be sure!" she said. "How foolish of me! Those cuts were made long
+ago."
+
+As she spoke, she put her hand on the table at the bedside, to steady
+herself.
+
+"Brother," she demanded, in trembling tones, "where did you get this shoe?
+Did it come by the morning post?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn answered deliberately. He would give his sister time to
+take in the meaning of his words.
+
+"It has been in the possession of Miss Owen. She brought it to me just
+now."
+
+"Miss Owen?"
+
+Miss Jemima's first impulse was towards indignation. What had Miss Owen
+been doing with the shoe? But the next moment, she reflected that there
+must be some reasonable explanation of the fact that the shoe had been in
+the possession of her brother's secretary--though what that explanation
+might be Miss Jemima could not, as yet, divine.
+
+"She has had it," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, in the same quiet tone as
+before, "ever since she was a little girl. She was wearing it when she was
+found by the good people by whom she was adopted."
+
+Then light came to Miss Jemima, clear and full. She grasped her brother's
+shoulder, and remembered his weakness only just in time to refrain from
+giving him a vigorous shake.
+
+"Brother, brother," she cried, "do you understand what your words may
+mean?"
+
+"Yes, Jemima--in part, at least. But we must make sure. First we will put
+the two shoes together, and see that they really are the same."
+
+"Why, surely, Thomas, you have no doubt?"
+
+"There seems little room for it, indeed; but we cannot make too sure!"
+
+He wanted to give himself time to become accustomed to the great joy which
+was dawning on his life.
+
+"You know where the other shoe is, Jemima?"
+
+"Yes, in the safe."
+
+"Yes; and you know that, while I have been up here, Miss Owen has kept the
+key of the safe?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Miss Jemima had undergone much mental chafing by reason of that knowledge.
+
+"Well, will you go to her in the office, and say I wish you to bring me
+something out of the safe? She will not know what you bring. She will just
+hand you the key, and go on with her work."
+
+"Yes, I will go, brother. But are you sure she knows or suspects nothing?
+She may have seen the shoe."
+
+"Oh no; it is well wrapped up, and I am sure she would not touch the
+parcel. I can trust my secretary," he added, with a new-born pride.
+
+As Miss Jemima went down stairs, she wondered she had not long ago
+lighted on the discovery which her brother had now made. It explained many
+things. The tones and gestures which had so often startled her by their
+familiarity; the vague feeling that, at some time, she must have known
+this young girl before; the growing resemblance--evident to Miss Jemima's
+eyes, at least--of the young secretary to "Cobbler" Horn--these things,
+which, with many kindred signs, Miss Jemima had hidden in her heart, had
+their explanation in the discovery which had just been made.
+
+Miss Owen yielded the key of the safe without question. Though she
+appeared to take no notice of Miss Jemima's doings, she knew, as by
+instinct, what Miss Jemima was taking out of the safe; and she told
+herself that she must not, and would not, let it appear that she supposed
+anything unusual was going on. She went on quietly with her work; but it
+was by dint of such an effort of self-control, as few human beings have
+ever found it necessary to make, or could have made.
+
+As the result of the young secretary's effort of self-repression, there
+appeared in her face, at the moment when Miss Jemima turned to leave the
+room, an expression so much like that assumed by the countenance of
+"Cobbler" Horn at times when he was very firm, that the heart of Miss
+Jemima gave a mighty bound.
+
+Meanwhile Miss Jemima's brother was eagerly awaiting her return. She had
+been absent less than five minutes, when she once more entered his room.
+
+"There," she said, holding the two little shoes out towards her brother,
+side by side, "there can be no doubt about the shoes, at any rate. They
+are a pair, sure enough. Why," she continued, turning up the shoe that
+Miss Owen had produced, "I remember noticing, that very morning, that half
+the leather was torn away from the heel of one of the child's shoes, just
+like that."
+
+As she spoke, she held out the shoe, and showed her brother that its
+heel had been damaged exactly as she had described. Then a strange thing
+happened to Miss Jemima. She dropped the little shoes upon the bed, and,
+covering her face with her hands, cried gently for a few moments. "The
+Golden Shoemaker" gazed at his sister in some wonder; and then two large
+tears gathered in his own eyes, and rolled down his cheeks.
+
+All at once Miss Jemima almost fiercely dashed her hand across her eyes.
+
+"Brother," she cried, "I've often heard of tears of joy; but I didn't
+think I should live to say they were the only ones I had shed since I was
+a little child! But there's no mistake about those shoes. And there's no
+doubt about anything else either."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was, perhaps, quite as confident as his sister; but he was
+a little more cautious.
+
+"Yes, Jemima," he said; "but we must be careful. A mistake would be
+dreadful--both on our own account, and on that of--of Miss Owen. We must
+send for Mr. and Mrs. Burton at once. Mr. Durnford will telegraph. It will
+be necessary, of course, to tell him of our discovery; but he may be
+trusted not to breathe it to any one else."
+
+Miss Jemima readily assented to her brother's proposal. Mr. Durnford was
+sent for, and came without delay. His astonishment on hearing the
+wonderful news his friends had to tell was hardly as great as they
+expected. It is possible that this arose from the fact that he was
+acquainted with the story of Miss Owen, and that his eyes and ears had
+been open during the last few months. It was, however, with no lack of
+heartiness that he complied with the request to send a telegram summoning
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton to "Cobbler" Horn's bedside.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XL.
+
+                   TOMMY DUDGEON'S CONTRIBUTION.
+
+
+After the despatch of the telegram, the words of Tommy Dudgeon, with
+reference to the young secretary, recurred once more to the mind of
+"Cobbler" Horn, and he mentioned them to his sister.
+
+"This must have been what the good fellow meant," he said. "You remember,
+Jemima, how fond they were of each other--Tommy and the child?"
+
+"Yes," responded Miss Jemima, reluctantly; for she still retained her
+dislike for "those stupid Dudgeons."
+
+"Do you know, Jemima, I have it on my mind to send for Tommy at once, and
+ask him what he really meant."
+
+"Send for him--to come in here?"
+
+"Yes; why not?"
+
+"Well, you must do as you like, I suppose."
+
+A moment's reflection had convinced the good lady that she had really no
+sound reason to advance against the proposal her brother had made; and she
+knew that, in any case, he would do as he thought fit.
+
+Accordingly a messenger was despatched for Tommy Dudgeon with all speed;
+and the little huckster turned over to his brother, without compunction,
+an important customer whom he happened to be serving at the time, and
+hurried away to the bedside of his honoured friend.
+
+The servant who, in obedience to orders received, showed Tommy up at once
+to "Cobbler" Horn's room, handed in at the same time a telegram which had
+just arrived from Mr. Burton, saying that he and Mrs. Burton might be
+expected about three o'clock in the afternoon. "Cobbler" Horn placed the
+pink paper on the little table by his bedside, and turned to Tommy, who
+stood just within the doorway, nervously twisting his hat between his
+hands.
+
+"Come in, Tommy, come in!" said "the Golden Shoemaker," encouragingly,
+"you see I am almost well."
+
+Tommy advanced into the room; but being arrested by the sight of Miss
+Jemima, who stood at the bed-foot, he stopped short half-way between the
+bed and the door, and honoured that formidable lady with a trembling
+bow. Miss Jemima's mood this morning was complacency itself, and she
+acknowledged the obeisance of the little huckster with a not ungracious
+nod. Greatly encouraged, Tommy moved a pace or two nearer to the bed.
+
+"I'm deeply thankful, Mr. Horn," he said, "to see you looking so well."
+
+"Thank you, Tommy," responded "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile, as he reached
+out his hand. "The Lord is very good. No doubt He has more work for me to
+do yet."
+
+As Tommy almost reverently took the hand of his beloved and honoured
+friend he thought to himself, "I wonder whether he has considered what
+I said?"
+
+"The last time we met, Tommy," began "Cobbler" Horn, as though in answer
+to the unspoken question of the little man--"But, sit down, friend, sit
+down."
+
+Tommy protested that he would rather stand; but, being overborne, he
+effected a compromise, by placing himself quite forward on the edge of
+the chair, and depositing his hat on the floor, between his feet.
+
+"You remember the time?" resumed "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Oh yes; quite well!"
+
+"It was the afternoon of the day I was taken ill."
+
+"Yes; and Mrs. Bunn said you _would_ go out in that dreadful rain."
+
+Tommy did not add that he himself, watching through his shop window, in
+the hope that his friend would come across to ask the meaning of his
+mysterious words, had, with a sinking heart, seen him walk off in the
+opposite direction through the drenching shower.
+
+"Well," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile, "I've had to pay for that, and
+shall be all the wiser, no doubt. But there was something you said that
+afternoon that I want to ask you about. At the time I thought I knew what
+you meant. But I am inclined now to think I was mistaken, and that your
+words referred to something quite different from what I then supposed. Do
+you remember what you said?"
+
+It was impossible for Tommy Dudgeon to conceal the agitation of his mind.
+He rejoiced at the opportunity to make known his great discovery to his
+friend; and yet he trembled lest he should prove unequal to the task. He
+thought, for a moment, that he would gain time by seeming not to
+understand the reference his friend had made.
+
+"What words do you speak of, chiefly, Mr. Horn?" he asked tremulously, "I
+said so many----"
+
+But Tommy Dudgeon could not dissemble. He stammered, stopped, wiped his
+forehead, and stretched out his hands as though in appeal to the mercy of
+his hearers.
+
+"Of course I know what words you mean!" he cried. "I wanted to tell you of
+something I had seen for weeks, but that you didn't seem to see. And I can
+see it still; and there's no mistake about it. I'm as certain sure of it,
+as that I am sitting on this chair. It was about the sec'tary, and some
+one else; and yet not anybody else, because they're both the same. May I
+tell you, Mr. Horn? Can you bear it, do you think?"
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" regarded the eager face of his little friend with
+glistening eyes; and Miss Jemima, leaning towards him over the framework
+of the iron bedstead, listened with an intent countenance, from which all
+trace of disfavour had vanished away.
+
+"Yes," said "Cobbler" Horn, in grave, calm tones; "tell us all. We are not
+unprepared."
+
+"Thank you," said the little man, fervently. "But, oh, I wish you knew! I
+wish God had been pleased to make it known to you," he added with a
+reminiscence of his Old Testament studies, "in a dream and vision of the
+night. Oh, my dear friend, don't you see that what you've been longing and
+praying for all these years has come to pass--as we always knew it would;
+and--and that she's come back! she's come back? There, that's what I
+meant!"
+
+"Then it really was so," said "Cobbler" Horn. "I'm surprised I did not
+perceive your meaning at the time."
+
+Tommy thought him wonderfully calm.
+
+"But I must tell you, Tommy, that we have now very much reason to think
+that your surmise is correct."
+
+"_Surmise_ is not the word, Mr. Horn; I know she's come back!"
+
+"Of course you do," interposed Miss Jemima, in emphatic tones.
+
+Tommy looked gratefully towards the hitherto dreadful lady; and she
+regarded him with eyes which seemed to say, "you have won my favour once
+for all."
+
+"Can you tell us, Tommy," asked "Cobbler" Horn, "what has made you so very
+sure?"
+
+"Yes," replied Tommy, with energy, "I'll tell you. Everything has made me
+sure--the way she walks along the street, with her head up, and putting
+her foot down as if a regiment of soldiers wouldn't stop her; and her
+manner of coming into the shop and saying, 'How are you to-day, Mr.
+Dudgeon?' and her sitting in the old arm-chair, and putting her head on
+one side like a knowing little bird, and asking questions about
+everything, and letting her eyes shine on you like stars. Begging your
+pardon, Mr. Horn, she's just the little lassie all over. Why I should know
+her with my eyes shut, if she were only to speak up, and say, 'Well,
+Tommy, how are you, to-day?'"
+
+"But," asked "Cobbler" Horn, whose heart, secretly, was almost bursting
+with delight, "may you not be mistaken, after all?"
+
+"I am not mistaken," replied Tommy firmly.
+
+"But it's such a long while ago," suggested "Cobbler" Horn; "and--and she
+will be very much altered by this time. You _can't_ be sure that a young
+woman is the same person as a little girl you haven't seen for more than a
+dozen years."
+
+Herein, perhaps, "Cobbler" Horn's own chief difficulty lay. "How," he
+asked, "can I think of Marian as being other than a little girl?" Tommy
+Dudgeon did not seem to be troubled in that way at all.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I can be quite sure when I have known the little girl as
+I knew that one; and when I have watched, and listened to, the young
+woman, as I have been watching and listening to the sec'tary for these
+months past."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn and Miss Jemima exchanged glances.
+
+"This is truly wonderful!" said he.
+
+"Not at all!" retorted she. "The wonder is, Thomas, that you and I have
+been so blind all this time."
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" smiled gently, as he lay back upon his pillows. The
+image of a small, dark-eyed child held possession of his mind; and he had
+not been able readily to bring himself to see his little Marian in any
+other form. As for any real doubt, there was only a shred of it left in
+his mind now. Yet he still said to himself that he must make assurance
+doubly sure.
+
+"Well, Tommy," he said, "we are very much obliged to you. And now, will
+you do us another kindness? We are expecting some friends this afternoon
+who may be able to give us a good deal of light on this subject. Will you
+come, when we send for you, and hear what they have to say?"
+
+"That I will!" was the hearty response, "I'll come, Mr. Horn, whenever you
+send."
+
+"You have met these friends before, Tommy," said "Cobbler" Horn. "They are
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton--at the 'Home,' you know."
+
+Tommy nodded.
+
+"They found Miss Owen when she was a very little girl; and brought her up
+as their own child; and we hope that what they may tell us about her will
+help us to decide whether what we think is true."
+
+Tommy nodded again with beaming eyes, and shortly afterwards took his
+leave.
+
+"Now, brother," said Miss Jemima, "you must take some rest, or we shall
+have you ill again."
+
+"Not much danger of that!" replied "Cobbler" Horn, smiling. "I think,
+please God, I've found a better medicine now, than all the doctors in the
+world could give me."
+
+"Yes; but you are excited, and the reaction will come, if you do not take
+care."
+
+"Well, perhaps you are right, Jemima. But first, don't you think she had
+better be out of the way when Mr. and Mrs. Burton come?"
+
+"Yes, I've thought of that; she can take that poor girl along the road for
+a drive."
+
+"A capital idea. Have it arranged, Jemima."
+
+"Very well. I'll go and see about it at once; and you get to sleep."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLI.
+
+                         NO ROOM FOR DOUBT!
+
+
+At the appointed time, Mr. and Mrs. Burton arrived. Being, as yet,
+ignorant of the purpose for which their presence was desired, they were
+full of conjectures. Miss Jemima received them in the dining-room,
+downstairs. The first question they asked related to "Cobbler" Horn's
+health. "Was he worse?"
+
+"No," said Miss Jemima; "he is much better. But he wishes to consult you
+about a matter of great importance."
+
+Then, upon their protesting that they were in no immediate need of
+refreshment, Miss Jemima conducted her visitors upstairs to her brother's
+room.
+
+Though "Cobbler" Horn had not been to sleep since the morning, he was
+greatly refreshed by the quiet hours he had passed. He turned to greet
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton, as they came in.
+
+"This is very good of you," he said, putting out his hand.
+
+Miss Jemima placed chairs for the visitors, and they took their seats
+near the bed.
+
+"I think I must sit up," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+Miss Jemima helped him to raise himself upon his pillows, and then sat
+down on a chair at the opposite side of the bed.
+
+"There now," said "the Golden Shoemaker," "we shall do finely. But,
+Jemima, how about our friend, Tommy?"
+
+"He'll be here directly" was the concise reply.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton waited patiently for "Cobbler" Horn to speak. Mrs.
+Burton was a shrewd-looking, motherly body; and her husband had the
+appearance of a capable and kindly man. They were both conscious of some
+curiosity, and even anxiety, with regard to what "Cobbler" Horn might be
+about to say. The peculiarity of the situation was that he should have
+sent for them both. Perhaps each had some vague prevision of the
+communication he was about to make.
+
+"Now, dear friends," he said, at last, "no doubt you will be wondering why
+I have sent for you in such a hurry."
+
+Both Mr. Burton and his wife protested that they were always at the
+service of Mr. Horn, and expressed the assurance that he would not have
+sent for them without good cause.
+
+"Thank you," he said. "I think you will admit that, in this instance, the
+cause is as good as can be."
+
+Looking upon the kindly faces of these good Christian people, "Cobbler"
+Horn wondered how they would receive the news he would probably have to
+impart. He must proceed cautiously. At the same time, he was thankful that
+his little lost child--if, indeed, it were so--had been committed by the
+great Father to such kindly hands.
+
+"You will not mind, dear friends," he resumed, "if I ask you one or two
+questions about the circumstances under which my--Miss Owen came into your
+charge when a child?"
+
+"By no means, sir!" The startling nature of the question caused no
+hesitation in the reply. Indeed, though startled, these good people were
+not so very much surprised. They had not, perhaps, been actually expecting
+that this would prove to be the subject on which they had been summoned to
+confer. But, ever since their adopted daughter had entered the household
+of this man, whose own little daughter had been lost, just about the time
+that she must have left her home, both Mr. and Mrs. Burton had secretly
+thought that perhaps, as the result, she would find her own parent, and
+they would lose their child. Perhaps it was on account of the vagueness
+of this thought, or because of the painful anticipations to which it gave
+rise, or for both these reasons, that the good couple had made no mention
+to each other of its presence in their respective minds. They glanced at
+one another now; and, by some subtle influence, each became aware that the
+other's mind had been occupied by this disturbing thought.
+
+"You will believe," said "Cobbler" Horn, "that I have good reasons for the
+questions I am going to ask?"
+
+"We are sure of that, sir," responded Mr. Burton.
+
+"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Burton.
+
+"Well, can you tell me in what year, and at what time of the year, you
+found the child?"
+
+"It was on the 2nd of June, 18--" said Mrs. Burton, promptly.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn and Miss Jemima exchanged glances. It was the very year in
+which, on that bright May morning, little Marian had vanished, like a
+flash of departing sunshine, from their lives.
+
+"About what age would you suppose the child to have been at the time?"
+
+"She told us her age," said Mr. Burton.
+
+"Yes," pursued his wife, "she was a very indistinct talker, and her age
+was almost the only thing we could actually make out. She said she was
+five; and that was about what she looked."
+
+"Do you think, now," continued "Cobbler" Horn, with another glance at his
+sister, "that you could give us anything like a description of the child?"
+
+"My wife can do that very well," said Mr. Burton. "She has often told Miss
+Owen what she looked like when we found her crying in the road."
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Burton, "I remember exactly what she was like. She had
+black hair--as she has now, and her eyes were very dark; her skin was even
+browner than it is now, being so dirty; and she had very rosy cheeks. It
+was evident that some of her clothes had been stolen. Indeed they were
+almost all gone, and she had scarcely anything on but an old, and very
+dirty shawl, which was wrapped round her body so tightly that it must have
+hurt her very much. She had lost one of her shoes, and her foot was bound
+up with a filthy piece of rag. She had both her socks on, but they were in
+dreadful holes. She was wearing a torn sun-bonnet, which was covered with
+mud; and--let me see--one of its strings was missing. And, yes, her one
+shoe was cut about over the top, as if it had been done on purpose with
+a knife. She had evidently been in very bad hands, poor little mite!" and
+the honest, kindly face was darkened with a frown, as Mrs. Burton clenched
+her plump fist in her lap.
+
+Miss Jemima had been listening with intense interest, from her position on
+the other side of the bed; and now interposed with a question, in her own
+quick way.
+
+"What was the pattern of the sun-bonnet? Was it a small, pink sprig, on a
+white ground?"
+
+"Why, you must have seen it, ma'am!" was Mrs. Burton's startled reply.
+"That was the very thing!"
+
+"Perhaps I have," responded Miss Jemima, "and perhaps I haven't."
+
+Mrs. Burton hardly knew what to say.
+
+"Well," she resumed, at last, "Miss Owen has kept the sun-bonnet, and the
+one shoe, and two or three other little things; and I'm sure she will be
+glad to let you see them. But, may I ask, Miss Horn, what----"
+
+But "Cobbler" Horn interrupted her.
+
+"I think, Jemima, we had now better tell our kind friends why we are
+asking these questions."
+
+"Yes," said Miss Jemima; "I should have told them at first."
+
+"Well," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, turning to Mr. and Mrs. Burton, and
+speaking with an emotion which he could no longer conceal, "we have reason
+to believe that your adopted daughter--don't let me shock you--is our
+little lost Marian, of whom you have several times heard me speak; and we
+are anxious to make sure if this is really the case."
+
+In the nature of things, Mr. and Mrs. Burton were not so much surprised
+as they would have been if the course of events had not, in some measure,
+prepared them for the announcement which "Cobbler" Horn had now made. Yet
+they experienced a slight shock; for even an expected crisis cannot be
+fully realized till it actually arrives.
+
+For a moment, there was silence in the room. Then Mrs. Burton was the
+first to speak.
+
+"Excuse us, dear sir," she said calmly, "if we are somewhat startled at
+what you have said. And yet we are not altogether surprised. You will not
+think that strange?"
+
+"No, ma'am," said "Cobbler" Horn, in a musing tone, "not altogether
+strange, perhaps. But, shall I explain a little further? It was only last
+evening that I was led to entertain the thought that Miss Owen might
+actually prove to be my lost child. She was telling me, as she had done
+several times before, all about how you found her, and of your goodness
+to her; and she spoke last night, for the first time, of the one shoe she
+was wearing when you found her in the road. Now you may judge how I was
+startled, on hearing this, when I tell you that, just after Marian was
+lost, we picked up one of her shoes in a field, over which she must have
+wandered away. So, this morning, without telling her my reason, I asked
+her to let me see the little shoe she had worn so long ago. She at once
+fetched it; and here it is, and with it the one we found in the field."
+
+So saying, he drew, from underneath the bed-clothes, the two little shoes;
+and placed them side by side upon the counterpane.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton rose and approached the bed.
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Burton, "that is undoubtedly Miss Owen's little shoe."
+
+"And this," said Mrs. Burton, "is unquestionably its fellow," and, taking
+up the shoes, she held them towards her husband.
+
+"You are certainly right, my dear."
+
+Then there was silence for a brief space, while these two simple-hearted
+people bent, with deep emotion, over the little baby shoes which seemed to
+prove so much.
+
+Mrs. Burton was the first to speak.
+
+"Well," she said, calmly, but with a quivering lip, "we are to lose our
+child; but the will of the Lord be done."
+
+Mr. Burton's only utterance was a deep sigh.
+
+"Nay," said "Cobbler" Horn, "if it really be as I cannot help hoping it
+is, you will, perhaps, not lose so much as you think. But I am sure you
+will not begrudge me the joy of finding my child."
+
+"No, indeed, dear sir. On the contrary, we will rejoice with you as well
+as we can--and with her."
+
+These were the words of Mrs. Burton, and they received confirmation from
+her husband.
+
+At this point, Tommy Dudgeon quietly entered the room, and took his seat,
+at a motion from Miss Jemima, behind the chairs on which Mr. and Mrs.
+Burton were sitting.
+
+"I have been anxious," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "thoroughly to assure
+myself that there was no mistake. Here is our friend, Dudgeon, now. You
+saw him the day we opened the 'Home.'"
+
+Perceiving Tommy for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Burton gave him a hearty
+greeting.
+
+"Our friend knows," continued "Cobbler" Horn, "that I've been very
+sceptical about the good news."
+
+"Very much so!" said Tommy, nodding his head.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn smiled.
+
+"He was the first to find it out. You must know that he took much kind
+interest in my little girl; and it was a great grief to him that she was
+lost. And when your adopted daughter came to us, he was not long in
+forming conjectures as to who she might be. In a very short time, as a
+matter of fact, he had quite made up his mind. He tried to tell me about
+it; but I was too stupid to understand him, and so it was left for me to
+find out the happy truth by accident. Tell our friends, Tommy, how you
+came to discover who Miss Owen really was."
+
+Thus enjoined, Tommy, nothing loath, recounted once more the story of his
+great discovery. Mr. and Mrs. Burton listened with deep attention, and,
+having put several questions to Tommy, admitted that what he had said
+afforded much confirmation to the supposition that Miss Owen was the
+long-lost Marian.
+
+"I have a thought about the child's name," said Mrs. Burton after a brief
+pause. "It comes to me that what she gave us as her name sounded quite as
+much like _Marian Horn_ as _Mary Ann Owen_."
+
+"Why yes," said Miss Jemima, "now I think of it, she used to pronounce her
+name very much as though it had been something like _Mary Ann Owen_. As
+well as I can remember, it was 'Ma--an O--on.'"
+
+"I believe you are right, Jemima," said her brother.
+
+"It must be admitted," interposed Mr. Burton quickly, "that _Mary Ann
+Owen_ was a very reasonable interpretation of that combination of sounds."
+
+"Undoubtedly it was," assented "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Burton, "what you say, Miss Horn, is very much like the
+way in which the child pronounced her name. And there's another thing
+which may serve as a further mark. She had on, beneath the old shawl, a
+little chemise, on which were worked, in red, the letters 'M.H.'"
+
+"I know it!" cried Miss Jemima. "I always marked her clothes like that.
+You used to laugh at me, Thomas; but what do you say now?"
+
+"Well, well!" said "the Golden Shoemaker" softly.
+
+"And listen to me," resumed Miss Jemima. "I am beginning to recollect,
+too. Marian's hair was very stubborn; and there were two or three tufts
+at the back which always would stand up, like black feathers."
+
+"I remember that very well," said Mrs. Burton, with a smile.
+
+"Of course," agreed her husband; "and many a joke we used to have about
+it. I called her my little blackbird."
+
+"And then," continued Miss Jemima, "there was another thing. A few days
+before the child's disappearance, she fell down and hurt her knee; and
+there were two scars, one on the knee, and another just below."
+
+"Ah," said Mrs. Burton, "I remember those scars. Don't you, John?"
+
+"Yes; and I used to tell her she was an old soldier, and had been in the
+wars."
+
+"So you did; and--dear me, how old memories are beginning to come
+back!--she talked a great deal, not only of her 'daddy,' but of 'Aunt
+'Mima.' I wonder I didn't think of that before. Perhaps, ma'am----"
+
+"That's me!" cried Miss Jemima. "My name's Jemima; and 'Aunt 'Mima' was
+what she always called me. There, Thomas, do you want any further proof?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was lying with his hands over his face, and the bed was
+shaking with his convulsive efforts to repress his strong emotion. Fear
+had impelled him to withstand his growing conviction that his long-lost
+child had been restored to him--fear of the consequences of a mistake,
+both to himself, and to the bright young girl whom he had already learnt
+to love as though she were indeed his child. But now, one after another,
+his doubts had been beaten down. He had listened eagerly to every word
+that had been spoken around his bed, and conviction had taken absolute
+possession of his mind. Yet, for the moment, the shock of his great joy
+seemed almost more than his weakened nerves could bear.
+
+His friends stood around the bed, fearing for him. But, in a few moments,
+he withdrew his hands from his face, which was wet with the gracious tears
+of joy.
+
+He clasped his hands, and looked reverently upward.
+
+"'My soul doth magnify the Lord; and my spirit hath rejoiced in God, my
+Saviour.'"
+
+That was all.
+
+"You would like us to leave you, brother?" asked Miss Jemima.
+
+"For a very short time."
+
+He was quite himself again.
+
+"She is out still, isn't she?"
+
+"Yes," replied Miss Jemima. "She will be in soon, no doubt. You would like
+to see her. Well, leave that to me."
+
+Then they left him to his blissful thoughts.
+
+For many minutes, he gratefully communed with God. He was thankful his
+child had come back to him so beautiful, and clever, and good. He could
+regard her with as much pride as love; though he told himself he would
+have loved her, and done all in his power to make her happy, whatever she
+had proved to be. And then, how glad he was that she had found her way
+into his heart before he knew she was his child.
+
+Great, indeed, was the joy of "the Golden Shoemaker!" That very day he was
+to clasp his long-lost child to his heart!
+
+The door of his room had been left ajar. Presently he heard the front-door
+open downstairs; and then there were voices in the hall, one of which he
+recognised as hers. The next moment he knew that she was coming upstairs.
+They had not told her the great news yet, of course? No; she was going
+direct to her own room.
+
+He took up the little shoes, which had been left lying on the bed. How
+well he remembered making them! He had selected for the purpose the very
+best bit of leather in his stock. He was proceeding to examine more
+closely the shoe that had been mutilated, when he heard the sound of a
+door being opened which he knew to be that of his young secretary's room.
+
+Would she come to him before going downstairs? In truth, he wished not to
+see her until she had been told the great news. He breathed more freely
+when he heard her foot on the stairs.
+
+When "Cobbler" Horn had been alone about half an hour, Miss Jemima
+returned to the room. Mrs. Burton, she said, was in the dining-room,
+with----Marian. There was just the slightest hesitation in Miss Jemima's
+pronunciation of the name. Her brother's tea would come up in a few
+minutes. After he had taken it, he would perhaps be ready for the
+interview he so much desired.
+
+"Tea!"
+
+"Oh, but," said his matter-of-fact sister, "you must try to take it--as a
+duty."
+
+"I'll do my best," he said; "but I must be up and dressed before she
+comes, Jemima."
+
+Miss Jemima demurred, but ultimately agreed.
+
+"I should like Mr. Durnford to be here," he continued, "and Tommy Dudgeon,
+and Mr. and Mrs. Burton."
+
+"They shall all be present," said Miss Jemima.
+
+"And you, Jemima, you will take care to be in the room at the time."
+
+"Brother," responded the lady, "you may trust me for that."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLII.
+
+                         FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
+
+
+Mrs. Burton, closeted with her adopted daughter, in the dining-room,
+found, to her surprise, that Miss Owen was not unprepared for the
+communication she was about to receive. Since her discovery of the little
+shoe--the fellow of her own--in her employer's safe, and the startling
+conclusion at which she had thereupon arrived, the young secretary had
+been in a vaguely expectant state of mind. The great fact she had
+discovered could not long remain concealed from the person whom, next to
+herself, it most concerned. Of course, it was impossible for her to speak
+out. But she had only to wait, and all would come right.
+
+She saw now why "Cobbler" Horn had been so much agitated to hear that,
+when she was found by Mr. and Mrs. Burton, she was wearing only one shoe;
+and she was not surprised, the next morning, when he asked to see the shoe
+itself. As the day passed, she was instinctively aware that something
+unusual was going on. The visit of Tommy Dudgeon; the circumstance that
+she was not summoned to "Cobbler" Horn's room as usual, during the day;
+and her being unexpectedly despatched to take Susie Martin for a
+drive--were all signs pointing in one direction; and when, on her return
+from the drive, she was greeted with the announcement that Mrs. Burton was
+waiting to see her in the dining-room, she felt sure that the great secret
+was known. And she could not be much surprised, therefore, when, in the
+end, Mrs. Burton proceeded to make in set terms, the communication with
+which she was charged.
+
+"My dear," said the good lady, fondly kissing her adopted daughter, "I'm
+sure you will be surprised to see me."
+
+"I'm delighted, at any rate, dear mother," was the pardonably evasive
+reply.
+
+"Not more than I am!" exclaimed the good creature. Notwithstanding the
+loss she expected to sustain through the discovery which had been made,
+she had schooled herself to rejoice in the happiness which had come to her
+child. "But," she added, "you, my dear, will be more delighted still, when
+you hear the news I have to tell."
+
+As she spoke, she led the young secretary to a chair, and, having caused
+her to be seated, sat down on another chair by her side. Then she took her
+companion's hand and held it tenderly in her lap.
+
+"My dear, I want to ask you something."
+
+The good lady tried to be calm, but her tones grew tremulous as she spoke.
+Miss Owen, too, was becoming excited, in spite of herself.
+
+"Yes, mother dear," and the girl seemed to put special and loving emphasis
+on the word "mother."
+
+"Do you remember," continued Mrs. Burton, "how, when you were all at Daisy
+Lane, at the opening of the 'Home,' we were talking about Mr. Horn having
+lost his little girl in some mysterious fashion; and you said, laughing,
+what fun it would be, if you turned out to be that very little girl?"
+
+"Yes, mother," was the reply, uttered in low and agitated tones, "I
+remember very well."
+
+"You didn't think that such a wonderful thing would ever come to pass, did
+you, dear?" asked Mrs. Burton, gently stroking the back of the plump
+little brown hand, which lay passive in her lap.
+
+"No," replied the girl, "I certainly did not; and it was just a mad joke,
+of course."
+
+As she spoke her whole frame quivered, and she made as though she would
+have withdrawn her hand and risen to her feet. Mrs. Burton tightened her
+grasp upon the fluttering hand in her lap, and gently restrained the
+agitated girl.
+
+"I haven't finished yet, dear," she said. "You know the saying that 'many
+a true word is spoken in jest'?"
+
+"Yes, yes----"
+
+"Well--try to be calm, my child--it has been found out----"
+
+"I know what you are going to say, mother," broke in the young girl. "It
+is that I have found my father--my very own; though I can never forget the
+only father I have known these years, and I haven't found another mother,
+and don't want to."
+
+Then the woman and the child--for she was little more--became locked in a
+close embrace. After some minutes, Mrs. Burton unclasped the young arms
+from her neck, and, sitting hand in hand with her adopted daughter, she
+told her all the wondrous tale.
+
+"So you see, my child," she concluded, "your name is not Owen after all;
+it is not even Mary Ann."
+
+"No," said the girl, with a bewitching touch of scorn. "Mary Ann Owen,
+forsooth! I always had my doubts. Horn is not much better in itself. But
+it is my father's name; and Marian is all that could be desired. And so I
+really am that little Marian of whom I have heard so many charming things!
+How sweet! But, mother, you must be the very same to me as ever; and I
+must find room for two fathers now, instead of one."
+
+"Yes, my dear, I feel sure you will not love us any the less for this
+great change."
+
+"Mother, mother, never speak of that again! If it had not been for you, I
+might never have come to know anything about myself, to say nothing of all
+the dreadful things which might have happened. Oh, God is good!"
+
+"He is indeed, dear! But you will be longing to go to your father."
+
+"Yes," said the girl, with a quiver of shy delight; "what does he say?"
+
+"My dear, he is thankful beyond measure."
+
+"But can he bear to see me just yet?"
+
+"He is preparing to receive you now. Come!"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn had finished his tea, and was dressed, and sitting in an
+easy-chair in his bedroom. Those about him had feared that the coming
+effort would be too much for his strength. But there was no need for their
+apprehension. Joy was proving a splendid tonic. He sat calm and collected,
+awaiting the appearance of his child.
+
+His friends were all around him. Mr. Durnford, Tommy Dudgeon, Mr.
+Burton--all were there; and there, too, was Miss Jemima, no longer grim,
+but subdued almost to meekness.
+
+Then it was done in a moment. The door opened, and Mrs. Burton entered,
+leading the young secretary by the hand. An instant later the girl ran
+forward, with a little cry, and flung herself into the outstretched arms
+of her waiting father.
+
+For some seconds they remained thus. Then she gradually slipped down upon
+her knees, and let her head fall upon his breast, while her arms embraced
+him still, and his hand held closely to him her nestling face. Speech was
+impossible on either side. She was weeping the sweet tears of joy, while
+he vainly struggled to find utterance for his love.
+
+One by one, their friends had stolen out of the room. Even Miss Jemima
+had been content to go. The memory of that chastened lady was very vivid
+to-night, and she felt humbled and subdued.
+
+Observing the silence, "Cobbler" Horn looked up, and perceived that they
+were alone.
+
+"They have all gone, Marian," he said, gently. "Won't you look up, and let
+father see your face?"
+
+She lifted her face, bedewed yet radiant; and he took it tenderly between
+his hands.
+
+"It is indeed the face of my little Marian," he said, fondly. "How blind I
+must have been!"
+
+He gazed long and lovingly--feasting his eyes upon the brown, glowing
+face, in every feature of which he could now trace so plainly those of
+his little Marian of days gone by. The hope which he had never quite
+relinquished was fulfilled at last! His gracious Lord had justified his
+confidence, as, indeed, there had never been any reason to doubt that He
+would.
+
+"You feel quite sure about it, my dear; don't you?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, father dear," she answered, in a thoughtful, contented tone. "There
+are so many things that help to make me sure."
+
+Then she told him of her strange feeling of familiarity with the old house
+and street. She spoke of the little shoes, and of her having seen the one
+in the safe. She told him what she had overheard in the tent at Daisy Lane
+about her resemblance to himself.
+
+"And besides," she concluded, "after all that----mother has told me, how
+can I doubt? But now, daddy--I may call you that, mayn't I?"
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" pressed convulsively the little hand he held.
+
+"That is what Marian--what you always called me when you were a child, my
+dear. Nothing would please me better."
+
+"Then 'daddy' it shall be. And now, do you know, daddy, I'm beginning
+to remember things in a vague sort of way. I'm just like some one waking
+up after a good sleep. Things, you know, that happened before one went
+to sleep, come back by degrees at such a time; and, in the same way,
+recollections are growing on me now of my childhood, and especially of the
+time when I was lost. Let me see, now! I'm like some one looking into a
+magic crystal to see the future, only I want to recall the past. After
+thinking very hard, I've been able to call up some remembrance of the day
+I ran away from home. I seem to remember being very angry with someone,
+and wanting to get away. Then there was a woman, and a man, but chiefly
+a woman, and some dark place that I was in. And I think they must have
+treated me badly in some way."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn thought for a moment.
+
+"Why," he said, "that dark place must have been the wood, on the other
+side of the field where I found your shoe."
+
+"Yes, no doubt; and wasn't it in that wood that you picked up the string
+of my sun-bonnet?"
+
+"To be sure it was!"
+
+"Yes; and perhaps it was there that I was stripped of my clothes. When I
+fell into the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Burton, my chief garment was an old
+ragged shawl. My one shoe, and my socks, and my sun-bonnet, were almost
+all I had besides. I've kept all the things except the socks, and you must
+see them by and bye, daddy."
+
+"Of course I must."
+
+But, having found his child, he did not greatly care just now about
+anything else.
+
+Presently she spoke again.
+
+"Daddy!"
+
+"Yes, Marian?"
+
+"I'm so thankful it has turned out to be you!"
+
+"Yes, my dear?" responded the happy father, in a tone of enquiry.
+
+"I mean I'm glad it's you who are my father. It might have been somebody
+quite different, you know."
+
+"Yes," he answered again, with a beaming face.
+
+"I'm glad, you know, daddy, just because you're exactly the kind of father
+I want--that's all."
+
+"And I also am glad that it is you, little one," he responded. "And how
+thankful we ought to be that we learnt to love one another before getting
+to know who we were!"
+
+"Yes," she said, "it would have been queer, and----not at all nice, if
+we had first been introduced to each other as father and daughter, and
+told it was our duty to love one another without delay. And then there's
+another thing. Though, at first, it seemed cruel to you, daddy, that your
+little girl should have been lost for so many years, when I think how much
+more--very likely--we shall love one another, than we ever should have
+done if I had not been lost, and how much happier we shall be together, it
+seems quite kind of God to have allowed us to be separated for a little
+while--especially as He found such good friends to take care of me in the
+meantime."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn gently stroked the dark head, which still nestled against
+his breast.
+
+"We at least, little one," he said, "can say that 'all things work
+together for good.' But now, there are other things that we must talk
+about. You have come back, Marian, to a very different home from the one
+you left. Your father was a poor man when you went away; he is a rich one
+now. Are you glad?"
+
+"Oh yes, daddy," she answered, simply, "for your sake, and because I think
+my daddy is just the best man in the world to have charge of money. And
+you know," she added, archly, "that, in that respect, your daughter is
+after your own heart."
+
+"I know that well."
+
+"You must let me help you more than ever, daddy."
+
+She seemed scarcely to have realized the fact that she was heiress to all
+his wealth.
+
+"You shall, my dear," he said, fondly; "but you mustn't forget that all I
+have will be yours one day."
+
+She started violently.
+
+"Well now, I declare!" she gasped. "I had scarcely thought of that. I was
+so glad and thankful to have found my father, that I forgot he had brought
+me a fortune. Well, daddy, that won't make any difference. We'll still do
+our best to put all this money to the right use. And, as for my being your
+heiress--you must understand, sir, that you've got to live for ever; so
+there's an end of that."
+
+She had withdrawn herself from his embrace, and, kneeling back, was
+looking at him with dancing eyes.
+
+"Well, darling," he said, with an indulgent smile, "we must leave that.
+But there is something else that I must tell you. When I was arranging
+about the disposal of all this money, in case I should be taken away, I
+thought of my little Marian; and I had it set down in my will that you
+were to have everything after me, if you should be found. But, beside
+that, I directed the lawyers to invest for you the sum of £50,000. But,
+let me see, I think I must have told you about this at the time."
+
+"Of course you did, daddy, the very day you came back from London, just
+before you went to America!"
+
+"So I did. Well, now, Marian, that money is all your own from this time."
+
+"Oh, daddy! daddy! How shall I thank you? So I shall be able to do
+something on my own account now!"
+
+Did no stray thought flit through her mind of all the gaiety and pleasure
+so much money might buy? Perhaps; but she was her father's own child.
+
+After a little more loving talk, the young secretary suddenly sprang to
+her feet.
+
+"I am forgetting myself sadly! The evening letters will be in."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn started. He had forgotten that she was his secretary.
+
+"I shall have to look out for another secretary, now," he said, with a
+comical air of mock dismay.
+
+"And, pray sir, why?" she demanded, standing before him in radiant
+rebellion. "I would have you to know there is no vacancy."
+
+Then she laughed in her bewitching way.
+
+"But, my dear----"
+
+"Say no more, daddy; it's quite settled. I shall very likely ask for an
+increase of salary; but there must be no talk of dismissal."
+
+Again she laughed; and, in spite of himself, the happy father joined in
+her merriment.
+
+"Well now, I must go," she said, with a parting kiss. "I'll send Miss
+Horn---- Why, she's my aunt! I declare I'd quite overlooked that!"
+
+"Yes, my dear; and a very kind aunt you'll find her."
+
+"I'm sure of that. But I'm afraid she'll be thinking me a very undutiful
+niece."
+
+At this moment, the door opened, and Miss Jemima herself walked in.
+
+"I thought it was time I came," she said, in her usual matter-of-fact way.
+"You must be thinking of getting back to bed, Thomas."
+
+Her niece interrupted her by throwing her arms around her neck, and giving
+her a hearty kiss.
+
+"Aunt Jemima, I have to beg your pardon," and she kissed her again; "but
+you didn't give me time, you were all off like a flock of sheep."
+
+"I think it is my place to beg your pardon, and not yours to beg mine,"
+replied Miss Jemima, in the most natural way in the world. "I fear it was
+largely through me that you ran away from home."
+
+"Did I actually run away, then?"
+
+"I think there's little doubt of it. But, whether you ran away or not, the
+fact remains that my treatment of you had been anything but kind. I meant
+well, but was mistaken; and I'm thankful to have the opportunity of asking
+you to forgive me."
+
+"Don't say another word about it, auntie!" cried Marian, kissing her once
+more. "It's literally all forgotten. And I dare say I was a troublesome
+little thing. But let me see. You haven't seen my treasures yet--except
+the shoe. I'll fetch them."
+
+In a few moments she had brought her little sun-bonnet, and the other
+relics of her childhood which she had preserved. It will not be difficult
+to imagine the tender interest with which Aunt Jemima, and even "Cobbler"
+Horn himself, gazed on those simple mementos of the past. The severed
+bonnet-string was lying on the bed. Marian caught it up, and fitted it
+upon the bonnet.
+
+"I must sew my bonnet-string on," she said, gaily.
+
+Her father laughed indulgently, and even Aunt Jemima smiled.
+
+"Ah," she said, "and I too have a store of treasures to display," and she
+told of the little box in which she had kept the tiny garments Marian had
+worn in the days of old.
+
+"How delicious?" cried the girl. "You will let me see them, by and bye,
+auntie, won't you? But now I really must be off to my letters."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+                        THE TRAMP'S CONFESSION.
+
+
+Before "the Golden Shoemaker" had returned to his bed the doctor arrived,
+and despotically demanded how he had dared to leave it without the
+permission of his medical man. At first the doctor prognosticated serious
+consequences from what he was pleased to call his patient's "intemperate
+and unlicensed haste." But, when he came the next day, and found "Cobbler"
+Horn considerably better, instead of worse, he changed his mind.
+
+"My dear sir," he said, "what have you been doing?"
+
+"I've been taking a new tonic, doctor," replied "Cobbler" Horn, with a
+smile; and he told him the great news.
+
+"Well, well," murmured the doctor; "so it has actually turned out like
+that! I have often thought that there were many less likely things; and
+ever since you told me how closely the young lady's early history
+resembled that of your own child, I have had a sort of expectation that
+I should one day hear the announcement you have just made. Well, my dear
+sir, I congratulate you both--as much on the fitness of the fact, as on
+the fact itself."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's "new tonic" acted liked magic, and he was soon out of the
+doctor's hands. In a few days' time he was downstairs; and at the end of a
+fortnight he had resumed his ordinary routine of life.
+
+As far as outward appearances were concerned, the great discovery which
+had been made produced but little difference in the house. The servants
+had, indeed, been informed of the change in the position of the young
+secretary. It was also understood that she was to have things pretty much
+her own way. It was moreover tacitly admitted that almost unlimited
+arrears of filial privilege were due to the newly-recovered daughter of
+the house; and she herself evidently felt that the arrears of filial duty
+lying to her charge were quite equal in amount. "The Golden Shoemaker"
+regarded his new-found child with a very tender love; and even Miss Jemima
+manifested towards her an indulgent, if somewhat prim, affection. The
+gentle affectionateness of the girl towards both her father and her aunt
+was beautiful in the extreme. Yet, even towards Miss Jemima, she was
+delightfully free from constraint; and it would have been difficult to
+decide whether to admire more the loving familiarity of the niece, or the
+complaisancy of the aunt.
+
+In the matter of the secretaryship Marian was firmness itself. "Cobbler"
+Horn wished her to give it up; and Miss Jemima was shocked at the idea
+that she should propose to retain it for a single day. But she dismissed
+their remonstrances with a fine scorn. What did they take her for? Was
+she any less fit for the post of secretary than she had been before? Her
+duties had been a pleasure from the first; they would afford her greater
+delight than ever now. And why should they bring in a stranger to pry into
+their affairs? They might give her more salary, if they liked--and here
+she laughed merrily; but she wasn't going to give up the work she liked
+more than anything else in the world.
+
+One perplexing question yet remained unsolved--What had happened to Marian
+between the day when she had left home and the time when she had been
+found by Mr. and Mrs. Burton? The girl's own vague memories of that
+unhappy period, together with the condition in which she had been found,
+indicated that she had fallen into the hands of bad characters of some
+kind. Was the mystery ever to be fully solved? To this question the course
+of events brought very speedily a complete reply.
+
+One evening, about a fortnight after the last-recorded events, an elderly
+tramp was sitting against a haystack upon some farm premises, at no great
+distance from the town of Cottonborough. His age might be sixty, or,
+allowing for the rough life he had led, something less. He looked jaded
+and unwell. The day had been very warm, and the man was eating, with no
+great appetite, a sumptuous supper of German sausage and bread. The
+sausage had been wrapped in a piece of newspaper, which spread out upon
+his knees, was now doing duty as a tablecloth. Having finished his meal,
+the man lazily glanced at the paper; but finding its contents, at first,
+to possess no particular interest, he was about to crumple it up and throw
+it away, when his eye lighted on a paragraph which induced him to pause.
+He smoothed out the paper, and raised it nearer to his eyes.
+
+"Well," he muttered, "I ain't much of a scholard; but I means to get to
+the bottom o' this 'ere."
+
+With intense eagerness, he began to spell out the words of the paragraph
+which had arrested his attention. It was headed, "'The Golden Shoemaker'
+recovers his daughter, supposed to have been stolen by tramps in her
+childhood." From line to line he laboured painfully on. Many times his
+progress was stayed by some formidable word; and again and again he was
+interrupted by a violent cough; but at length he had ascertained the
+contents of the paragraph. It contained as much as was known of the
+history of Marian Horn. It told how, at the age of five, she had, as was
+supposed, run away from home, and, as recently-discovered circumstances
+seemed to indicate, fallen into the hands of evil persons; and how all
+trace of her had then been lost until a few weeks afterwards, when, as had
+now become known, she was found, a wretched little waif, upon the highway,
+and adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Burton. The circumstances of her after life
+were then set forth; and the narrative concluded with a glowing account of
+her re-union with her friends. The tramp deeply pondered this romantic
+story.
+
+"Ah," he said to himself, "that must ha' been the little wench as me and
+the old woman took to. It was somewhere here away. I remember about the
+shoe as she'd lost. They must ha' found it. The old woman cut the other
+shoe, same as it says here. It were a bad thing of us to take the kid,
+that it were."
+
+At this point the man was seized with a violent fit of coughing. When it
+had subsided, he resumed his half-muttered meditations. "Well, I'm glad as
+the little 'un got took care on, arter all, and has got back to her own
+natural born father at last; for she were a game little wench, and no
+mistake. She were a poor people's child when we got hold on her. But I've
+heerd tell o' 'the Golden Shoemaker,' as they calls him. It must ha' been
+arter she was lost that he got his money. Well, I feels sorry, like, as we
+didn't try to find her friends. But the old gal were that onscrupulous,
+she didn't stick at nothink, she didn't. As sure as my name's Jake Dafty,
+this 'ere's a queer go."
+
+Thus mused Jake, the tramp, sitting against the haystack; and his musings
+were, ever and anon, disturbed by his racking cough. He felt indisposed
+to move. As he brooded over the past, his mind became uneasy, he was
+conscious of a vague desire to make confession of the evil he had done.
+Did he feel that the sands of his life were almost sped? And was
+conscience waking at last?
+
+At length, between his fits of coughing, he was overtaken by sleep. The
+night was chilly after the warm day. The sun went down, and the stars
+peeped out serenely upon the frowzy and wretched tramp asleep against the
+haystack; and the dew settled thickly on his ragged beard and tattered
+clothes. Every now and then he was shaken by his cough; but he was weary,
+and remained asleep. And, in his sleep, the past came back more vividly
+than it had ever re-visited him in his waking hours. He seemed to be
+present at the despoiling and ill-using of a dark-eyed child, whom he
+might have delivered, and did not; and, from time to time, he moved
+uneasily in his sleep, and groaned aloud.
+
+Thus passed the night; and, in the morning, Jake, being found by the farm
+people, in his place against the haystack, delirious, and evidently ill,
+was conveyed to the workhouse.
+
+The next day "the Golden Shoemaker" received word that a man who was dying
+in the workhouse begged to see him at once. "Cobbler" Horn ordered his
+closed carriage, and drove to the workhouse without delay. The man, who
+was Jake, the tramp, had not long to live. His delirium was over now, and
+he was quite himself. His eyes were fixed eagerly upon the face of
+"Cobbler" Horn, as the latter entered the room.
+
+"Are you 'the Golden Shoemaker'?" he asked.
+
+"So I am sometimes called," replied "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile.
+
+"Well--I ain't got much time--I'm the bloke wot stole your little 'un; me
+and the old woman."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn uttered an exclamation of surprise.
+
+"Yes. The old woman's gone. She died in quod. I don't know what they had
+done to her. Perhaps nothink: maybe her time was come. I warn't that
+sorry; she'd got to be a stroke too many for me. But I want to tell you
+about the little 'un. I'm a going to die, and it 'ull be as well to get it
+off my mind. There ain't no mistake; cos I see'd it in the paper, and it
+tallies. I've got it here."
+
+As he spoke, he drew from beneath his pillow the crumpled piece of
+newspaper on which he had read of the restoration of Marian to her father.
+
+"There," he said, "yer can read it for yerself."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn took the paper, and glanced at its contents. He had seen
+in various newspapers, if not this, several similar accounts of the
+adventures of his child.
+
+"Ah," he said, handing back to the man the greasy and crumpled paper,
+"tell me about it."
+
+"Well, you knows that field where you found one of her shoes?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, we wos a sitting under the hedge, near that field, one morning,
+a-dining, when the kid came along. She stopped when she see'd us; and we
+invited her to go along with us, and somehow she seemed as if she didn't
+like to refuse. Arter that, we took her into the wood; and the old woman
+stripped off her clothes, and did her up like as she was when she was
+found. She'd lost one of her shoes, and I went back for it; but I couldn't
+find it nowheres. You may be sure as we got out o' these parts as fast as
+we could. We thought as the kid 'ud be a rare help in the cadging line.
+But she was that stubborn and noisy, we soon got sorry as we'd ever taken
+on with her; and, if she hadn't took herself right away, one arternoon
+when we was having of our arter-dinner nap in a dry ditch, I do believe
+as the old woman 'ud ha' found some means o' putting her on one side."
+
+Having finished his story, the dying tramp lay still for awhile, with his
+eyes closed.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn looked down with pity upon the seamed and wrinkled face,
+from which almost all expression, except that of utter weariness, seemed
+to have been worn away.
+
+Presently the dying man opened his eyes.
+
+"That's all as I has to tell, master," he said faintly. "Do yer think,
+now, as yer could find it in yer heart to forgive a cove, like? It 'ud be
+none the worse for me, if yer could; nor, mayhap, for yourself neither.
+I'se sorry I done it."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was deeply moved. But, as he now knew as much of what had
+happened to Marian as was likely ever to come to light, he could afford to
+let the matter rest; and already he found himself thinking more of the
+miserable case of the dying waif before him, than of the confession the
+poor creature had made. So he gave himself fully to the congenial task of
+trying to bring this miserable being, into a fitting frame of mind in
+which to meet the solemn change which he must so soon undergo.
+
+"I forgive you freely," he said. "But won't you ask pardon of God? My
+forgiveness will be of little use without His."
+
+The dying tramp looked up with a listless stare.
+
+"It's wery good o' yer," he said, "to say as yer forgives me. But, as for
+God, I've never had much to do with Him, yer see; and it ain't likely as
+He'll mind me now. And I don't seem to care about it a deal."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was troubled, but not surprised. Breathing a prayer for
+Divine guidance and help, he set himself to make clear to this dark soul
+the way of life. In the simplest words at his command, he strove to make
+the wretched man understand and feel his need of a Saviour; and, when, at
+length, he quitted the chamber of death, he had good reason to hope that
+his efforts had not been altogether in vain.
+
+Marian was profoundly interested to hear of the dying tramp and the story
+he had told, which latter agreed so well with her own vague remembrances,
+that she joined her father and aunt in regarding it as indicating what had
+been the actual course of events.
+
+Little, now, remains to be told. Father and daughter united to render the
+vast wealth which God had intrusted to their charge a source of greater
+and yet greater blessing to increasing multitudes of needy and suffering
+people; and Aunt Jemima insisted on participating in all their generous
+schemes.
+
+Marian is still secretary; but, as she receives many offers of marriage,
+it is possible the post may become vacant even yet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FLETCHER AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, NORWICH.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER***
+
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+<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Golden Shoemaker, by J. W. Keyworth</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: The Golden Shoemaker</p>
+<p>       or 'Cobbler' Horn</p>
+<p>Author: J. W. Keyworth</p>
+<p>Release Date: July 23, 2007  [eBook #22124]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<h3>E-text prepared by Dave Morgan, Anne Storer,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;">
+<img src="images/imgcover.jpg" width="387" height="600" alt="Cover" title="" />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 362px;">
+<img src="images/img038.jpg" width="362" height="558" alt="Missy" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;Come here, missy!&rsquo;&rdquo;&mdash;<a href="#Page_38"><em>Page 38</em></a>.</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h1>THE GOLDEN<br />
+SHOEMAKER:</h1>
+
+<h2>or, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</h2>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>BY</strong></p>
+
+<h2>J.W. KEYWORTH,</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><em>Author of</em> &ldquo;<em>Mother Freeman</em>,&rdquo; &ldquo;<em>The Churchwarden&#8217;s Daughter</em>,&rdquo; <em>&amp;c.</em>, <em>&amp;c.</em></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center">LONDON:</p>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>J. WILLIAMS BUTCHER,</strong></p>
+<p class="center">2 &amp; 3, LUDGATE CIRCUS BUILDINGS, FARRINGDON STREET, E.C.</p>
+
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<h2><em>Contents.</em></h2>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="14" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align='right'><em>Chapter</em></td><td align='center'></td><td align='right'><em>Page</em></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a></td><td align='center'>BEREAVED!</td><td align='right'>1</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a></td><td align='center'>AUNT JEMIMA</td><td align='right'>8</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a></td><td align='center'>HOW MISS JEMIMA MANAGED HER BROTHER&#8217;S HOUSE</td><td align='right'>13</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;ME LUN AWAY&rdquo;</td><td align='right'>19</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN&rdquo;</td><td align='right'>22</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a></td><td align='center'>THE FATHER&#8217;S QUEST</td><td align='right'>25</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a></td><td align='center'>WHAT HAD BECOME OF THE CHILD?</td><td align='right'>36</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a></td><td align='center'>THE SHOEMAKER BECOMES &ldquo;GOLDEN&rdquo;</td><td align='right'>41</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a></td><td align='center'>A STRANGE CLIENT FOR MESSRS. TONGS AND BALL</td><td align='right'>47</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a></td><td align='center'>MISS JEMIMA IS VERY MUCH ASTONISHED</td><td align='right'>52</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN ANSWERS HIS LETTERS, AND RECEIVES<br />
+                                                       THE CONGRATULATIONS OF HIS FRIENDS</td><td align='right'>58</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN PAYS A VISIT TO HIS LANDLORD</td><td align='right'>65</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a></td><td align='center'>FREE COBBLERY</td><td align='right'>72</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER&rdquo; WAITS UPON HIS MINISTER</td><td align='right'>76</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN ENGAGES A SECRETARY</td><td align='right'>85</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a></td><td align='center'>THE ATTACK ON THE CORRESPONDENCE</td><td align='right'>91</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII.</a></td><td align='center'>A PARTING GIFT FOR &ldquo;THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN&rdquo;</td><td align='right'>98</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII.</a></td><td align='center'>THE NEW HOUSE</td><td align='right'>105</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX.</a></td><td align='center'>A TALK WITH THE MINISTER ABOUT MONEY</td><td align='right'>110</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN&#8217;S VILLAGE</td><td align='right'>116</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI.</a></td><td align='center'>IN NEED OF REPAIRS</td><td align='right'>123</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER&rdquo; INSTRUCTS HIS LAWYERS</td><td align='right'>129</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII.</a></td><td align='center'>MEMORIES</td><td align='right'>138</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV.</a></td><td align='center'>ON THE OCEAN</td><td align='right'>149</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV.</a></td><td align='center'>COUSIN JACK</td><td align='right'>163</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI.</a></td><td align='center'>HOME AGAIN</td><td align='right'>176</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII.</a></td><td align='center'>COMING INTO COLLISION WITH THE PROPRIETIES</td><td align='right'>184</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">XXVIII.</a></td><td align='center'>BOUNDER GIVES WARNING</td><td align='right'>193</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">XXIX.</a></td><td align='center'>VAGUE SURMISINGS</td><td align='right'>201</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">XXX.</a></td><td align='center'>A NOVEL DIFFICULTY FOR A MAN OF WEALTH</td><td align='right'>207</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">XXXI.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN&#8217;S CRITICS</td><td align='right'>217</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">XXXII.</a></td><td align='center'>&ldquo;IN LABOURS MORE ABUNDANT&rdquo;</td><td align='right'>232</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">XXXIII.</a></td><td align='center'>TOMMY DUDGEON ON THE WATCH</td><td align='right'>239</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">XXXIV.</a></td><td align='center'>A &ldquo;FATHER&rdquo; AND &ldquo;MOTHER&rdquo; FOR THE &ldquo;HOME&rdquo;</td><td align='right'>249</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">XXXV.</a></td><td align='center'>THE OPENING OF THE &ldquo;HOME&rdquo;</td><td align='right'>255</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">XXXVI.</a></td><td align='center'>TOMMY DUDGEON UNDERTAKES A DELICATE<br />
+                                                  ENTERPRISE</td><td align='right'>267</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">XXXVII.</a></td><td align='center'>BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH</td><td align='right'>275</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">XXXVIII.</a></td><td align='center'>A LITTLE SHOE</td><td align='right'>285</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">XXXIX.</a></td><td align='center'>A JOYOUS DISCOVERY</td><td align='right'>293</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">XL.</a></td><td align='center'>TOMMY DUDGEON&#8217;S CONTRIBUTION</td><td align='right'>305</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">XLI.</a></td><td align='center'>NO ROOM FOR DOUBT!</td><td align='right'>313</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">XLII.</a></td><td align='center'>FATHER AND DAUGHTER</td><td align='right'>326</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">XLIII.</a></td><td align='center'>THE TRAMP&#8217;S CONFESSION</td><td align='right'>339</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 1]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h1><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER.</h1>
+
+<hr style='width: 15%;' />
+
+<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>BEREAVED!</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>In a small house, in a back street, in the large manufacturing town of
+Cottonborough, the young wife of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn lay dying. It was the
+dusk of a wild evening in early winter; and the cruel cough, which could
+be heard every now and then, in the lulls of the wind, from the room
+upstairs, gave deepening emphasis to the sad fact that the youthful wife
+and mother&mdash;for such also she was&mdash;had fallen a victim to that fell
+disease which sweeps away so much of the fair young life of our land.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn himself was engaged just now in the duties of his calling,
+in the little workshop behind the kitchen. The house was very small. The
+kitchen and workshop were the only rooms downstairs, and<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 2]</span> above them were
+three small chambers. The one in which the dying woman lay was over the
+workshop, and the sound of her coughing came down with sharp distinctness
+through the boarded floor, which was the only ceiling of the lower room.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn knew that the death of his wife was probably a question of
+a few hours at most. But he had promised that the boots on which he was at
+work should be finished that night; and he had conscientiously withdrawn
+from his wife&#8217;s bedside that he might keep his word.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was a man of thirty or so. He was tall, and had somewhat
+rugged features and clear steadfast eyes. He had crisp black hair, and a
+shaven face. His complexion was dark, and his bare arms were almost as
+brown as his leathern apron. His firmly set lips and corrugated brow, as
+he bent now over his work, declared him to possess unusual power of will.
+Indeed a strength of purpose such as belongs to few was required to hold
+him to his present task. Meanwhile his chief misgiving was lest the noise
+he was compelled to make should distress his dying wife; and it was
+touching to see how he strove to modify, to the utmost degree which was
+consistent with efficient workmanship, the tapping of the hammer on the
+soles of the boots in hand.</p>
+
+<p>Sorrowing without bitterness, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had no rebellious thoughts.
+He did not think himself ill-used, or ask petulantly what he had done that
+such trouble should come to him. His case was very sad. Five years ago he
+had married a beautiful<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 3]</span> young Christian girl. Twelve months later she had
+borne their little dark-eyed daughter Marian. Two years thereafter a baby
+boy had come and gone in a day; and, from that time, the mother had
+drooped and faded, day by day, until, at length, the end was close at
+hand. But &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was a Christian, and did not repine.</p>
+
+<p>His task was finished at last, and, with a sigh of relief, he rose to his
+feet. In that moment, he became aware of a tiny figure, standing in the
+open doorway of the kitchen. It was that of a little four-year-old girl,
+clad in a ruby-coloured dress, which matched to perfection her dark skin
+and black hair. Her crimson cheeks were dashed with tears, and she looked
+like a damask rose just sprinkled by a shower of rain. The light in her
+dark eyes, which glistened with intense excitement beneath her jet-black
+hair, indicated that her tears were those of indignation rather than
+grief. How long she had been standing there he could not tell; but, as
+soon as she saw that her father had finished his work, little Marian&mdash;for
+she it was&mdash;darted forward, and throwing her arms around his neck, with a
+sob, let her small dusky head fall upon the polished breast-piece of his
+leathern apron.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&#8217;s amiss with daddy&#8217;s poppet?&rdquo; asked the father tenderly, as he
+clasped the quivering little form more closely to his breast.</p>
+
+<p>The only answer was a convulsive movement of the little body within his
+arms.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come, darling, tell daddy.&rdquo; Strange strugglings<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 4]</span> continued within the
+strong, encircling arms. This little girl of four had as strong a will as
+her father; and she was conquering her turbulent emotions, that she might
+be able to answer his questions. In a moment she broke away from his
+clasp, and, dashing the tears from her eyes with her little brown hands,
+stood before him with glowing face and quivering lip.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Me &#8217;ant to see mammy!&rdquo; she cried&mdash;the child was unusually slow of speech
+for her age. &ldquo;Dey &#8217;on&#8217;t &#8217;et Ma-an do upstairs.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn took the child upon his knee, and gently stroked the small
+dusky head.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mammy is very ill, Marian,&rdquo; he said gently.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Me &#8217;ant to see mammy,&rdquo; was the emphatic response.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By and bye, darling,&rdquo; replied the father huskily.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What &#8217;oo going to c&#8217;y for, daddy?&rdquo; demanded the child, looking up hastily
+into her father&#8217;s face. &ldquo;Poor daddy!&rdquo; she continued, stroking his cheek
+with her small brown hand, &ldquo;Isn&#8217;t &#8217;oo very well?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m not going to cry, darling,&rdquo; said the father, bowing his head over his
+child, and taking into his strong hand the little fingers which still
+rested against his face. &ldquo;You don&#8217;t understand, my poor child!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There followed a brief pause.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;P&#8217;ease, daddy,&rdquo; pleaded Marian presently, &ldquo;Ma-an <em>must</em> see mammy. Dere&#8217;s
+such pitty fings in se shops, and me &#8217;ants to do with mammy to see dem&mdash;in
+morning.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 5]</span>The shops were already displaying their Christmas decorations.</p>
+
+<p>Marian&#8217;s father gave a great gasp.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Marian shall see mammy now,&rdquo; he said solemnly, as he rose from his stool
+still holding the child to his breast.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;se so glad!&rdquo; and she gave a little jump in his arms. &ldquo;Good daddy!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But father&#8217;s little poppet must be quiet, and not talk, or cry.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Marian with childhood&#8217;s readiness to make a required promise.</p>
+
+<p>The child had not seen her mother since the previous day, and the altered
+face upon the pillow was so strange to her, that she half turned away, as
+though to hide her face upon her father&#8217;s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>The gleaming eyes of the dying mother were turned wistfully towards her
+child.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;See, poppet; look at mammy!&rdquo; urged the father, turning the little face
+towards the bed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mother&#8217;s darling!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There was less change in the mother&#8217;s voice than in her face; and the next
+moment the little dark head lay on the pillow, and the tiny, nut-brown
+hand was stroking the hollow cheek of the dying woman.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&#8217;oo is my mammy, isn&#8217;t &#8217;oo?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, darling; kiss mammy good-bye,&rdquo; was the heart-breaking answer.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Me tiss &#8217;oo,&rdquo; said the child, suiting the action to the word; &ldquo;but not
+dood-bye. Me see &#8217;oo aden.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 6]</span> Mammy, se shops is so bootiful! Will &#8217;oo take
+Ma-an to see dem? &#8217;nother day, yes &#8217;nother day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Daddy will take Marian to see the shops,&rdquo; said the dying mother, in
+labouring tones. &ldquo;Mammy going to Jesus. Jesus will take care of mother&#8217;s
+little lamb.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The mother&#8217;s lips were pressed in a last lingering kiss upon the face of
+her child, and then Marian was carried downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>When the child was gone, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn sat down by the bedside, and took
+and held the wasted hand of his wife. It was evident that the end was
+coming fast; and urgent indeed must be the summons which would draw him
+now from the side of his dying wife. Hour after hour he sat waiting for
+the great change. As the night crept on, he watched the deepening shadow
+on the beloved face, and marked the gathering signs which heralded the
+brief triumph of the king of terrors. There was but little talk. It could
+not be otherwise; for, every moment, utterance became more difficult to
+the dying wife. A simple, and affectionate question and answer passed now
+and then between the two. At infrequent intervals expressions of spiritual
+confidence were uttered by the dying wife; and these were varied with a
+few calmly-spoken directions about the child. From the husband came, now
+and then, words of tender encouragement, mingled with morsels of
+consolation from the good old Book, with, ever and anon, a whispered
+prayer.</p>
+
+<p>The night had almost passed when the end came.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 7]</span> The light of the grey
+December dawn was struggling feebly through the lattice, when the young
+wife and mother, whose days had been so few, died, with a smile upon her
+face; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn passed out of the room and down the stairs, a
+wifeless husband and the father of a motherless bairn.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 8]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>AUNT JEMIMA.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>It was Aunt Jemima who stepped into the vacant place of Marian&#8217;s mother.
+She was the only sister of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, and, with the exception of a
+rich uncle in America, from whom they never heard, and a wandering cousin,
+a sad scapegrace, she was her brother&#8217;s only living relative.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s sister was not the person to whom he would have chosen
+to entrust the care of his motherless child, or the management of his
+house. But he had no choice. He had no other relative whom he could summon
+to his help, and Aunt Jemima was upon him before he had had time to think.
+She was hurt that she had not been called to the death-bed of her
+sister-in-law. But the omission rather increased, than diminished, the
+promptitude with which she wrote to announce that she would come to her
+bereaved brother without delay, and within a week she was duly installed
+as mistress of his house.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 9]</span>&ldquo;I thought I had better come at once,&rdquo; she said, on the night of her
+arrival. &ldquo;There&#8217;s no telling what might have happened else.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very good of you, Jemima,&rdquo; was her brother&#8217;s grave response.</p>
+
+<p>And so it was. The woman meant well. She loved her brother sincerely
+enough; and she had resolved to sacrifice, for his sake and his child&#8217;s,
+the peace and freedom of her life. But Aunt Jemima&#8217;s love was wont to
+show itself in unlovely ways. The fact of meaning well, though often a
+good enough excuse for faulty doing, is not a satisfactory substitute
+for the doing of that which is well. Your toleration of the rough
+handling inflicted by the awkwardness of inconsiderate love does not
+counteract its disastrous effects on the susceptible spirit and the
+tender heart, especially if they be those of a child. It is, therefore,
+not strange that, though &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn loved his sister, he wished she
+had stayed away. She was his elder by ten years; and she lived by herself,
+on the interest of a small sum of money left to her by their father, at
+his death, in a far off village, which was the family home.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&#8217;ll be glad to know, Thomas,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that I&#8217;ve made arrangements
+to stay, now I&#8217;m here.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>They were sitting by the fire, towards supper-time; and the attention of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was divided between what his sister was saying and certain
+sounds of subdued sobbing which proceeded from upstairs. Very early in the
+evening Aunt Jemima had unceremoniously packed Marian off to<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 10]</span> bed, and the
+tiny child was taking a long time to cry herself to sleep in the cold,
+dark room.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind the child,&rdquo; said Aunt Jemima sharply, as she observed her
+brother&#8217;s restless glances towards the staircase door; &ldquo;on no account must
+she be allowed to have her own way. It was high time she went to bed; and
+she&#8217;ll soon be fast asleep.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Jemima,&rdquo; said the troubled father; &ldquo;but I wish you had been more
+gentle with the child.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Fiddlesticks!&rdquo; was the contemptuous exclamation of Aunt Jemima, as she
+regarded her brother severely through her spectacles; and she added,
+&ldquo;Since you have wished me to take the oversight of your house and child,
+you must leave me to manage them as I think fit.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn did not venture to remind his sister that he had not
+expressed any such wish. Being so much his senior, and having at least
+as strong a will as his own, Jemima Horn had always maintained a certain
+predominance over her brother, and her ascendancy still prevailed to some
+extent. Making no further reference to the child, he sat listening by
+turns to a prolonged exposition of his sister&#8217;s views on the management of
+children, and to the continued wailings which floated down from the room
+above, until, at length, as a more piteous cry than all frantically voiced
+his own name, &ldquo;faver,&rdquo; his self-restraint gave way, and he rose hastily
+and went upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima watched him in grim silence to the foot of the stairs.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 11]</span>&ldquo;Mind,&rdquo; she then called after him, &ldquo;she is not to come down.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn did not so far set his sister at defiance as to act in flat
+contradiction to her decree. Perhaps he himself did not think it well that
+the child should be brought downstairs again, after once having been put
+to bed. But, if Marian might not come down, Marian&#8217;s father might stay up.
+As soon as his step sounded on the stairs the child&#8217;s wailing ceased.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Zat zoo, daddy?&rdquo; and the father felt, in the darkness, that two tiny arms
+were stretched out towards him in piteous welcome. Lighting the candle,
+which stood on the table by the window, he sat down on the edge of the
+bed, and, in a moment, Marian&#8217;s little brown arms were tightly clasped
+about his neck. For a brief space he held the child to his breast; and
+then he gently laid her back upon the pillow, and having tucked the
+bed-clothes well about her, he kissed the little tear-stained face,
+and sat talking in the soothing tones which a loving parent can so well
+employ.</p>
+
+<p>Leaving him there, let us make a somewhat closer inspection of Miss
+Jemima, as she sits in solitary state before the fire downstairs. You
+observe that she is tall, angular, and rigid. Her figure displays the
+uprightness of a telegraph pole, and her face presents a striking
+arrangement of straight lines and sharp points. Her eyes gleam like points
+of fire beneath her positively shaggy brows. Her complexion is dark, and
+her hair, though still abundant, is already<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 12]</span> turning grey. Her dress is
+plainness itself, and she wears no jewelry, all kinds of which she regards
+with scorn. Her old-fashioned silver watch is a family heirloom, and a
+broad black ribbon is her only watch-guard.</p>
+
+<p>Yet there is nothing of malice or evil intent in Aunt Jemima&#8217;s soul. She
+is no less strictly upright in character than in form. She cannot tolerate
+wickedness, folly, or weakness of any kind. So far well. The lack of her
+character is the tenderness which is woman&#8217;s crowning grace. When she is
+kind it is in such a way that one would almost prefer for her to be
+unkind.</p>
+
+<p>Such is Aunt Jemima, as we see her sitting in front of her brother&#8217;s fire,
+and as we know her to be. Need we wonder that, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s heart
+misgave him as to the probable fate of his little Marian in such rough,
+though righteous, hands?</p>
+
+<p>When &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn at length came downstairs, his sister was still
+sitting before the fire. On his appearance, she rose from her seat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thomas, I am ashamed of you,&rdquo; she said, as she began, in a masterful way,
+to make preparations for supper. &ldquo;Such weakness will utterly spoil the
+child. But you were always foolish.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am afraid, sister,&rdquo; was the quiet reply, &ldquo;that we shall hardly agree
+with one another&mdash;you and I&mdash;on that point.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 13]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>HOW MISS JEMIMA MANAGED HER BROTHER&#8217;S HOUSE.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>On entering upon the management of her brother&#8217;s house, Aunt Jemima
+laid down two laws, which were, that the house was to be kept spotlessly
+clean, and that everything was always to be in its right place; and her
+severe, and even fierce, insistence on the minute fulfilment of these
+unexceptionable ordinances soon threatened utterly to banish comfort
+from her brother&#8217;s house.</p>
+
+<p>The restrictions this masterful lady placed upon her patient brother
+constituted a state of absolute tyranny. Lest her immaculate door-step
+should be soiled, she would rarely allow him to enter the house by the
+front-door. She placed a thick mat inside his workshop, at the doorway
+leading into the front-room; and she exercised a lynx-eyed supervision
+to ensure that he always wiped his feet before coming in. She would never
+permit him to go upstairs without putting off his boots. She removed his
+hat from<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 14]</span> the wall of the front-room, and hung it on a nail in a beam,
+which was just over his head as he sat at work in his shop; and whenever
+she walked, with her policeman-like tread, in the room above, the hat
+would fall down, and strike him on the head. He bore this annoyance for
+a day or two, and then quietly removed hat and nail to one of the walls.</p>
+
+<p>Strong-natured though he was, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn felt it no weakness to yield
+to his sister in trifles; and he bore with exhaustless patience such
+vexations as she inflicted on him alone. But he was firm as a rock where
+the comfort of any one else was concerned. It was beautiful to see his
+meek submission to every restriction which she laid upon him; it was
+sublime to behold his stern resistance to such harsh requirements as she
+proposed to lay upon others.</p>
+
+<p>More than one battle was fought between the brother and sister on this
+latter point. But it was on Marian&#8217;s account that the contention was most
+frequent and severe. Sad to say, the coming of Aunt Jemima seemed likely
+to drive all happiness from the lot of the hapless child. Rigid and cruel
+rules were laid upon the tiny mite. Requirements were made, and enforced,
+which bewildered and terrified the little thing beyond degree. She was
+made to go to bed and get up at preternaturally early hours; and her
+employment during the day was mapped out in obedience to similarly
+senseless rules. Her playthings, which had all been swept into a drawer
+and placed under lock and key, were<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 15]</span> handed out by Aunt Jemima, one at a
+time, at the infrequent intervals, during which, for brief periods, and
+under strict supervision, the child was permitted to play. Much of the day
+was occupied with the doing of a variety of tasks few of which were really
+within the compass of her childish powers. Aunt Jemima herself undertook
+to impart to Marian elementary instruction in reading, writing, and
+kindred acts. Occasionally also the child was taken out by her grim
+relative for a stately walk, during which, however, she was not permitted,
+on any account, to linger in front of a shop window, or stray from Aunt
+Jemima&#8217;s side. And then, in the evening, after their early tea, while Aunt
+Jemima sat at her work at the table, the poor little infant was perched on
+a chair before the fire, and there required to sit till her bed-time, with
+her legs dangling till they ached again, while the tiny head became so
+heavy that it nodded this way and that in unconquerable drowsiness, and,
+on more occasions than one, the child rolled over and fell to the floor,
+like a ball.</p>
+
+<p>One lesson which Aunt Jemima took infinite pains to lodge in Marian&#8217;s
+dusky little head was that she must never speak unless she was first
+spoken to; and if, in the exuberance of child-nature, she transgressed
+this rule, especially at meal-times, Aunt Jemima&#8217;s mouth would open like a
+pair of nut-crackers, and she would give utterance to a succession of such
+snappish chidings, that Marian would almost be afraid she was going to be
+swallowed up. A hundred times a day the child incurred the righteous ire
+of<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 16]</span> this cast-iron aunt. From morning to night the little thing was
+worried almost out of her life by the grim governess of her father&#8217;s
+house; and Aunt Jemima even haunted her dreams.</p>
+
+<p>Marian had one propensity which Aunt Jemima early set herself to repress.
+The child was gifted with an innate love of rambling. More than once, when
+very young indeed, she had wandered far away from home, and her father
+and mother had thought her lost. But she had always, as by an unerring
+instinct, found her way back. This propensity it was, indeed, necessary to
+restrain; but Aunt Jemima adopted measures for the purpose which were the
+sternest of the stern. She issued a decree that Marian was never to leave
+the house, except when accompanied by either her father or Miss Jemima
+herself. In order that the object of this restriction might be effectually
+secured, it became necessary that Miss Jemima should take the child with
+her on almost every occasion when she herself went out. These events were
+intensely dreaded by Marian; and she would shrink into a corner of the
+room when she observed Aunt Jemima making preparations for leaving the
+house. But she made no actual show of reluctance; and it would be
+difficult to tell whether she was the more afraid of going out with
+Aunt Jemima, or of letting Aunt Jemima see that she was afraid.</p>
+
+<p>It was a terrible time for the poor child. On every side she was checked,
+frowned upon, and kept down. If she was betrayed into the utterance of a
+merry word<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 17]</span> she was snapped at as though she had said something bad; and
+ebullitions of childish spirits were checked again and again, until their
+occurrence became rare. And yet this woman thought herself a Christian,
+and believed that, in subjecting to a system of such complicated tyranny
+the bright little child who had been committed to her charge, she was
+beginning to train the hapless mite in the way she should go.</p>
+
+<p>It was a very simple circumstance which first indicated to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+the kind of training his child was beginning to receive. Happening to go,
+one morning, into the living-room, he found that his sister had gone out,
+and, for once, left Marian a prisoner in the house. The child was seated
+on a chair, with her chubby legs hanging wearily down, and a woe-begone
+expression on her face. Taking courage from the absence of her dreadful
+aunt, Marian asked her father to give her some of her toys, and to let her
+play. Finding, to his surprise, on questioning the child, that she had
+been forbidden to touch her playthings without express permission, and
+that they were put away in the drawer, he readily gave her such of them as
+she desired, and crowned her happiness by remaining to play with her till
+Aunt Jemima returned.</p>
+
+<p>This incident created a feeling of uneasiness in the father&#8217;s mind; but it
+was a circumstance of another kind which fully revealed to him the actual
+state of things. Passing through the room one evening when Marian was on
+the point of going to bed, he paused to listen to the evening prayer of
+his child. She<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 18]</span> knelt, in her little night-clothes, at Aunt Jemima&#8217;s knee.
+The father sighed, as he waited for the sound of the simple words which
+had been learnt at the dictation of the tender mother-voice which was now
+for ever still. What, then, were his astonishment and pain when Marian,
+instead of repeating her mother&#8217;s prayer, entered upon the recital of a
+string of theological declarations which Aunt Jemima dictated to her one
+by one!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn strode forward, and laid a strong repressive hand upon
+the child; and Aunt Jemima will never forget the flash of his eye and the
+stern tones of his voice, as he demanded that Marian should be permitted
+to pray her mother&#8217;s prayer.</p>
+
+<p>After this he noticed frequent signs of the tyranny of which Marian was
+the victim, and interposed at many points. But it was only in part that
+he was able to counteract the cruel discipline to which Aunt Jemima was
+subjecting his child.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 19]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;ME LUN AWAY.&rdquo;</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>Winter passed drearily away&mdash;a wet one, as it happened, with never once
+the white gleam of snow, and scarcely a touch of the healthy sting of
+frost. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had not ceased to sorrow for his dead wife; and,
+when the spring was well advanced, there befell him another, and scarcely
+less severe bereavement, though of a different kind.</p>
+
+<p>There had been no improvement in the relations between Aunt Jemima and the
+child. Aunt Jemima still maintained the harsh system of discipline which
+she had adopted at first; and the result was that the child had been led
+to regard her father&#8217;s sister with as near an approach to hatred as was
+possible to her loving little heart. Marian&#8217;s heart was big, almost to
+bursting, with concealed sorrow. Like her father, young as she was, she
+found it easier to bear grief than to tell it out. She did not want her
+father to know how miserable she was. Her childish soul was<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 20]</span> filled with
+bitterness, and her young life was being spoiled. Such of her pleasures as
+had not been taken from her were divested of all their charm. Almost her
+sole remaining joy was to snatch, now and then, a bit of clandestine love
+with her father, when, on some rare occasion, Aunt Jemima happened to be
+out of the way.</p>
+
+<p>Recognising the uselessness of resisting a hand so hard and strong as that
+of Aunt Jemima, Marian had lately meditated another way of escape from the
+wretchedness of her lot. She contemplated an expedient which occurs more
+readily than any other to the youthful victim of oppression, but which had
+probably never before presented itself to the mind of a child so young.
+The expedient is one, indeed, which seldom effects its purpose, and is
+usually productive of a plentiful crop of troubles. But Marian had no
+fear. She was full of one thought. She could not any longer endure Aunt
+Jemima; and she must make it impossible for Aunt Jemima to scold, or
+smack, or restrain her any more. She must escape, without delay, from the
+sound of Aunt Jemima&#8217;s harsh voice, and place herself beyond the reach of
+Aunt Jemima&#8217;s rough hand. True, there was her father. How could she leave
+him? This would have been impossible to her if she had realised what she
+was about to do. But it seemed so easy and pleasant to slip out into the
+bright spring morning, and trot away into the mysterious and delightful
+country, which lay outside the town. Nor did she dream of the hardships
+and danger which might be awaiting her out<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 21]</span> in the strange, unloving
+world, into which she had so lightly resolved to launch her little life.
+So it came to pass that, on a certain bright May morning, Marian took her
+opportunity, and went out into the world.</p>
+
+<p>Marian&#8217;s opportunity was furnished by the fact that Aunt Jemima had gone
+out, leaving Marian at home, and, for once, had forgotten to lock the
+door. As soon as Aunt Jemima&#8217;s back was turned, the child huddled her
+little pink print sun-bonnet upon her small black head, and, with one
+furtive glance over her shoulder towards her father&#8217;s workshop, whence she
+could distinctly hear the quick &ldquo;tap-tap&rdquo; of his hammer, she opened the
+front-door, and slipped into the street. Her first action was to shoot a
+keen glance, from her sharp little eyes, to right and left. There was no
+one to be seen but one of the funny little twin men who kept a huckster&#8217;s
+shop across the way. This little man was a great friend of Marian&#8217;s, and
+he called to her now in joyous tones, as he stood in the doorway of his
+shop, to come over and see what he had in his pocket. Marian gave a
+decided shake of her head.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No; Ma-an going away. Tum another time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then, murmuring to herself, &ldquo;Me lun away,&rdquo; she set off down the street,
+with a defiant swagger of her small person, and her bonnet-strings
+streaming out upon the wind; and the little huckster watched her with
+an admiring gaze, little thinking into what wilds of sorrow those tiny
+twinkling feet had set off to run.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 22]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN.&rdquo;</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The name of the little hucksters across the way was Dudgeon. As to age,
+they were on the verge of thirty&mdash;Tommy having entered the world a few
+minutes previous to John. They were so much alike that it was difficult to
+distinguish them when apart. John was just a shade lighter in complexion
+than Tommy, and Tommy overtopped his brother by something like an inch.
+The twins were so small as to seem insignificant; but their meek
+amiability was an efficient set off against their physical deficiencies.
+If there was any measure of self-assertiveness between them, it belonged
+chiefly to Tommy. Though both the little men were kind to Marian, Tommy
+was her especial friend; and it was he who had watched her as she ran
+away. The twins were both bachelors; though John had kept company for
+several years with a young woman of exemplary patience. Tommy, who was
+a sincere Christian, was a member of the church<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 23]</span> to which &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+belonged. John occasionally attended the services at the same place, but
+could not be persuaded to join the church.</p>
+
+<p>The close resemblance between the brothers was the cause of many ludicrous
+mistakes. In their boyhood, they had frequently been blamed for each
+other&#8217;s faults and misdeeds; and it was characteristic of Tommy that he
+had quietly suffered more than one caning which his brother ought to have
+received. But, when it had been proposed to administer to him a dose of
+medicine which had been prescribed for John, he had quietly protested and
+explained the mistake.</p>
+
+<p>When the twins grew up, similar blunders continued to occur; and the
+little men had frequent opportunities of unlawfully profiting by the
+errors in which their close resemblance to each other often involved their
+friends. But, to the credit of these worthy little men be it said, they
+conscientiously declined to avail themselves of the opportunities of
+illegitimate benefit thus thrown in their way.</p>
+
+<p>It was a curious sight to see these two queer little men standing,
+sitting, or walking, side by side. The minister of their chapel would
+often speak of the first occasion on which he had seen John Dudgeon. It
+was one Sunday evening, shortly after he had assumed the pastorate of
+the church. The service had just commenced, and the eye of the minister
+happened to rest, for a moment, on the humble figure of Tommy Dudgeon,
+who was, as usual, in his place. The minister had already made the
+acquaintance<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 24]</span> of Tommy, but of the existence of John he was not yet aware.
+What, then, was his astonishment, the next moment, to see another Tommy
+Dudgeon, as it seemed, come in and take his place beside the one already
+in the pew! For a breathing space the new pastor imagined himself the
+victim of an optical illusion; and then he rubbed his eyes, and concluded
+that Tommy Dudgeon had a twin brother, and that this was he.</p>
+
+<p>It was not surprising that these two peculiar little men should have
+excited the amusement of those to whom they were known. Their amazing and
+almost indistinguishable resemblance to each other, and the consequent
+unconscious mutual mimicry of tone and gesture which prevailed between
+them, while they were a source of frequent perplexity, were also
+irresistibly provocative of mirth. What wonder that those who saw the
+little hucksters for the first time should have felt strongly inclined to
+regard them in a comic light; or that the mere mention of their names
+should have unfailingly brought a smile to the faces of those to whom
+their peculiarities were known!</p>
+
+<p>The boys of the Grammar School, which was situated in a neighbouring
+street, had, from time immemorial, furnished Tommy and John Dudgeon with
+an epithet accommodated from classic lore, and dubbed them, &ldquo;the <em>little</em>
+Twin Brethren.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 25]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>THE FATHER&#8217;S QUEST.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>When Aunt Jemima came home, she was surprised, in no small degree, at the
+absence of Marian. With gathering indignation she called up the stairs,
+then searched the house, and finally presented herself before her brother,
+who was quite alone in his workshop, and sat calmly working on his stool.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then she is not here?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who? Marian?&rdquo; responded &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn in no accent of concern, looking
+up for a moment from his work. &ldquo;No, I thought she was with you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No; I left her in the room for a moment, and now she is nowhere to be
+found.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There seemed to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn no reason for alarm, and, as his sister
+returned to the kitchen, he quietly went on with his work. But Aunt
+Jemima&#8217;s mind was ill at ease. Once more she searched the house, and
+called and called again. There was no response, and the silence which
+followed was profound and ominous. Swiftly she passed, with growing<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 26]</span>
+alarm, through her brother&#8217;s workshop, and out into the yard. A glance
+around, and then a closer search; but still no sign of the missing child.
+The perturbed woman re-entered her brother&#8217;s presence, and stood before
+him, erect and rigid, and with outstretched hands.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The child&#8217;s gone!&rdquo; was her gloomy exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; echoed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn blankly, looking up. &ldquo;Where?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&#8217;t know; but she&#8217;s gone quite away, and may never come back.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn perceived that his sister was alarmed; and,
+notwithstanding the occasion, he was comforted by the unwonted tenderness
+she had expressed. As for Marian, he knew her for a born rambler; and it
+was not the first time she had strayed from home.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; he said placidly, &ldquo;she has gone to the little shop over the
+way.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then he resumed his work, as though he had simply told his sister where
+she would be likely to find her spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima took the hint, as a drowning person catches at a straw. She
+made her way to the front-door, and having opened it, was on the point of
+crossing the street, when Tommy Dudgeon emerged from the shop, and came
+over towards where she stood.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good morning, ma-am,&rdquo; he said, halting at a respectful distance. &ldquo;You are
+looking for little miss?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 27]</span>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; snapped Aunt Jemima, &ldquo;and if I am, what then? Do you know where
+she is?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, ma-am; but I saw her go away.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima seized the arm of the little man with an iron grip.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Man! you saw her go away, and you let her go?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With difficulty Tommy freed his arm.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, ma-am, perhaps I ought&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you ought,&rdquo; rapped out the lady, sharply. &ldquo;You must be a
+gabey.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt, ma-am. But little miss will come back. She knows her way about.
+She will be home to dinner.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Having spoken, Tommy was turning to recross the street.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Stop, man!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy stopped and faced around once more.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Which way did she go?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That way, ma-am,&rdquo; replied Tommy, pointing along the street, to Aunt
+Jemima&#8217;s left-hand, and his own right.</p>
+
+<p>The troubled lady instantly marched, in the direction indicated, to the
+end of the street; but, finding that five ways branched off therefrom, she
+returned baffled to her brother&#8217;s house, and sought his presence once
+more.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thomas,&rdquo; she cried, almost fiercely, &ldquo;the child has certainly run away!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Still &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was not alarmed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said calmly, &ldquo;never mind, Jemima.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 28]</span> She has a habit of going off
+by herself. She knows her way about, and will not stray far. She will be
+back by dinner-time, no doubt.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Though by no means satisfied, Miss Jemima was fain to accept this view of
+the case for the time. With a troubled mind, she resumed her suspended
+domestic duties. Unlikely as it might seem, she could not banish the dread
+that Marian had actually run away; and, as the morning passed, the fear
+grew stronger and stronger in the troubled lady&#8217;s breast that she would
+see her little niece no more. Accordingly when dinner-time arrived, Aunt
+Jemima was not surprised that Marian did not appear. The dinner consisted
+of Irish stew&mdash;Marian&#8217;s favourite dish. On the stroke of twelve it was
+smoking on the table. For the twentieth time the perturbed lady went to
+the door, and gazed wistfully up and down the street. Then, with a sigh,
+she re-entered the house, and called her brother to dinner.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, feeling sure that Marian would soon return, had dismissed
+the fact of her disappearance from his mind; and when, on coming in to
+dinner, he found that she was still absent, he was taken by surprise.</p>
+
+<p>In reply to his inquiry, Aunt Jemima jerked out the opinion that the child
+would not come back at all.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why shouldn&#8217;t she?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I&#8217;ve known her stay away longer than this,
+and there&#8217;s no occasion for alarm.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So saying, he addressed himself to his dinner with<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 29]</span> his usual gusto; but
+Miss Jemima had no appetite, and the show of eating that she made was but
+a poor pretence.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&#8217;t be so much alarmed, Jemima,&rdquo; said her brother, making progress with
+his dinner. &ldquo;I&#8217;ve no doubt the child is amongst her friends. By and bye
+I&#8217;ll go out and hunt her up.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He still had no fear that his little daughter would not soon return. He
+accordingly finished his dinner with his usual deliberation; and it was
+not until he had completed one or two urgent pieces of work, that he, at
+last, put on his hat and coat, and taking his stout blackthorn stick, set
+out in search of his missing child.</p>
+
+<p>All the weary afternoon, he went from house to house, amongst friends and
+friendly neighbours; but no one had seen Marian, or knew anything as to
+her whereabouts. Every now and then he returned home, to see if the child
+had come back. But each time he found only Aunt Jemima, sitting before the
+fire like an image of grim despair. She would look up with fierce
+eagerness, on his entrance, and drop her gaze again with a gasp when she
+saw that he was alone.</p>
+
+<p>Long before the afternoon was over the father&#8217;s unconcern had given place
+to serious alarm. He was not greatly surprised that he had failed to find
+Marian in the house of any of their friends; but he wondered that she had
+not yet come home of her own accord. While he would not, even now, believe
+that Marian had run away, he was compelled to admit that she<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 30]</span> was lost.
+But what was that? He had turned once more towards home, and had entered
+his own street, and there was Marian, playing with some other children, on
+the pavement, just in front. Her back was towards him, as she bent down
+over her play. But there was no mistaking that thick, night-black hair,
+and the little plump brown legs which peeped out beneath the small frock.
+With the promptitude of absolute certainty, he put out his strong hands
+and lifted the child from the ground. Then he uttered a cry. It was not
+Marian after all! He put her down&mdash;he almost let her drop, and the
+startled child began to cry. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn hastily pushed a penny into
+her hand, and strode on. He staggered like one who has received a blow.
+It seemed almost as if he had actually had his little one in his arms,
+and she had slipped away again.</p>
+
+<p>When he reached home, his sister was still sitting in grim silence,
+before the now fireless grate. On her brother&#8217;s entrance, she looked
+up as aforetime. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn sank despondently into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nowhere to be found!&rdquo; he said, with a deep sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We must have the tea ready,&rdquo; he added, as though at the dictate of a
+sudden thought.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, you are tired, and hungry.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima hesitated on the last word. Could her brother be hungry? She
+thought she would never wish to taste food again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said quickly; &ldquo;but Marian will want her tea. Put the dinner away.
+It is cold, Jemima.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 31]</span>&ldquo;I put her plate in the oven,&rdquo; said Aunt Jemima, in a hollow voice, as she
+rose from her seat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; gasped the father. The little plate had become hot and cold again,
+and its contents were quite dried up. Aunt Jemima put the plate upon the
+oven-top; and then turned, and looked conscience-stricken into her
+brother&#8217;s face. Severe towards herself, as towards others, she
+unflinchingly acknowledged her great fault.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Brother, your child is gone; and I have driven her away.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her hands on either side of her head, and gently swayed herself
+to and fro once&mdash;a grim gesture of despair.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I do not ask you to forgive me. It is not to be expected of you&mdash;unless
+she comes back again. If she does not, I shall never forgive myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jemima,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, rising from his seat, and placing his hand
+lightly on her shoulder, &ldquo;You are too severe with yourself. That the child
+is lost is evident enough; but surely she may be found! I will go to the
+police authorities: they will help us.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He turned to the door, but paused with his hand on the latch.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jemima,&rdquo; he said, gently, &ldquo;you must not talk about my not forgiving you.
+I would try to forgive my greatest enemy, much more my own sister, who has
+but done what she believed to be best.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The authorities at the police-station did what they could. Messages were
+sent to every police centre in the town; and very soon every policeman on
+his beat<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 32]</span> was on the look-out for the missing child. At the same time, an
+officer was told off to accompany the anxious father on a personal search
+for his little girl. First of all, they visited the casual ward at the
+workhouse, and astonished its motley and dilapidated occupants by waking
+them to ask if they had fallen in with a strayed child on any of the roads
+by which they had severally approached the town. When they had recovered
+from their first alarm beneath the gleam of the policeman&#8217;s bulls-eye,
+these waifs of humanity, one and all, declared their inability to supply
+the desired information. The officer next conducted his companion into the
+courts and bye-ways of the town. Many a den of infamy was filled with a
+quiver of alarm, and many a haunt of poverty was made to uncover its
+wretchedness before the horrified gaze of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. But the missing
+child was not in any of these. Next they went a little way out on one or
+two of the country roads. But here all was dark: and they soon retraced
+their steps.</p>
+
+<p>Having ascertained that nothing had been heard at the police-station of
+his child, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn at length turned homeward, in the early morning,
+with a weary heart. Miss Jemima was still sitting where he had left her,
+and he sadly shook his head in response to the appeal of her dark hollow
+eyes. During the hour or so which remained before dawn, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+restlessly paced the house, pausing, now and then, to open the front-door
+and step out into the street, that he might listen for the returning
+patter of the two little feet that had wandered away.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 33]</span>Before it was fairly light, he left his sister, still distraught and rigid
+in her chair, and went into the streets once more. What could he do which
+he had not already done? From the first his heart had turned to God in
+prayer, and this seemed now his sole remaining resource. Yes, he could
+still pray; and, as he did so now, his belief grew stronger and stronger
+that, if not now, yet sometime, he would surely find his child again.</p>
+
+<p>Not many streets from his own he met a woman whom he knew. She lived, with
+her husband, in a solitary cottage on the London Road&mdash;the road into which
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s street directly led, and she was astir thus early, she
+explained, to catch the first train to a place some miles away. But what
+had brought Mr. Horn out so soon? &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn told his sorrowful story,
+and the woman gave a sudden start.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that reminds me. I saw the child yesterday morning. She
+passed our house, trotting at a great rate. It was washing day, and,
+besides, I had my husband&#8217;s dinner in the oven, or I think I should have
+gone after her.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn regarded the woman with strange, wide-open eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you had only stopped her!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;But of course you didn&#8217;t know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With that, he left the woman standing in the street, and hurried away.
+Very soon he was walking swiftly along the London Road. The one thought in
+his mind was that he was on the track of his child at<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 34]</span> last. He passed the
+wayside cottage where the woman lived who had seen Marian go by, and went
+on until, moved by a sudden impulse, he paused to rest his arms upon the
+top of a five-barred gate, and look upon the field into which it led. Then
+he uttered a cry, and, tearing open the gate, strode into the field. Lying
+amidst the grass was a little shoe. It was one of Marian&#8217;s without a
+doubt. Had he not made it himself? He picked it up and hid it away in the
+pocket of his coat. Marian had evidently wandered that way, and was lost
+in the large wood which lay on the other side of the field. To reach the
+wood was the work of a few moments. Plunging amongst the trees, he soon
+came upon a pool, near the margin of which were some prostrate tree
+trunks. Near one of these the ground was littered with shreds of what
+might have been articles of clothing; and amongst them was a long strip of
+print, which had a familiar look. He picked it up and examined it closely.
+Then the truth flashed upon him. It was one of the strings of Marian&#8217;s
+sun-bonnet! Holding it loosely between his finger and thumb, he gazed upon
+the foul green waters of the pond. Did they cover the body of his child?
+He had no further thought of searching the wood. With a shudder he turned
+away, and hurried home.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima had bestirred herself, and was moving listlessly about the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jemima, do you know this?&rdquo; She took the strip of print into her hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;it is&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 35]</span>He finished her sentence. &ldquo;&mdash;&mdash;the string of her bonnet.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He told her where he had found it, and showed her the shoe.</p>
+
+<p>The pond was dragged, but nothing was discovered. They searched the wood,
+and scoured the country for miles around; but they came upon no further
+trace of the missing child.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 36]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>WHAT HAD BECOME OF THE CHILD?</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>When Marian left her father&#8217;s house, she had but one idea in her mind. Her
+sole desire was to escape from Aunt Jemima; and it seemed to her that the
+most effectual method of doing so was to get into the country as fast as
+she could. It was not likely, she thought, that there would be any Aunt
+Jemimas in so pleasant a region as she had always understood the country
+to be. She knew vaguely which direction to take, and supposed that if she
+kept on long enough, she would ultimately reach her destination. What she
+would do when she got there she had not paused to think. At present she
+was simply thrilling with the sweet consciousness of liberty, and enjoying
+her scamper in the fresh spring morning air. It was not likely, perhaps,
+that Marian would run right away from home, and stay away. Like any other
+little chick, she would make for home at roosting time, if hunger did not
+constrain<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 37]</span> her to turn her steps thitherward at a much earlier hour.</p>
+
+<p>Marian&#8217;s surmise that the way she had taken led into the country proved to
+be correct. The street widened out into a road, the houses became fewer
+and brighter till they ceased altogether; and the child realized, with a
+little tremor, that, at last, she was out in the country all alone. Her
+feeling was one of timid joy. All around her were the green fields and
+waving trees; and the only house in sight was a little white-washed
+cottage far on in front. It cost Marian an effort to pass a man with a
+coal cart who presently loomed in view; but when she found that he
+slouched by without taking any notice of her, she took heart again and
+tripped blithely on.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she found herself opposite to the little white-washed cottage;
+and she remembered that she had been there once or twice with her father.
+She would have been better pleased, just now, if the cottage had been on
+some other road. How could she pass it without being seen? This was
+plainly impossible; for there was the woman of the house&mdash;being the same
+whom Marian&#8217;s father met the following morning&mdash;hanging out the clothes in
+the garden, close to the hedge. Marian trotted on, pretending not to know
+that there was any one near. Then she felt hot all over, as she became
+aware the woman had seen her, and was calling across the road. But she
+just gave her dusky little head a determined shake, and pursued her way.
+The woman, being weighted with an accumulation of domestic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> cares, without
+a second thought, and much to her subsequent regret, let the little
+runaway go by.</p>
+
+<p>When Marian had left the cottage out of sight behind, she began to feel
+lonely, and to be very much afraid. There was not a human being in sight,
+except herself; and the only dwelling she could see was a farm-house,
+perched on the top of a hill, away across the fields. She slackened her
+pace, and looked furtively around. Then she went on more quickly again;
+but, in a few moments, a slight bend in the road brought before her a
+sight at which she stopped short and uttered a cry of alarm. An
+exceedingly ill-favoured man, and a no more prepossessing woman, were
+sitting upon the bank, by the road-side, discussing a dinner of broken
+victuals. They were thorough-going tramps, of middle age. Marian would
+have fled; but their evil eyes held her to the spot.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What a pretty little lady!&rdquo; said the man, holding out a very dirty hand.
+&ldquo;Come here, missy!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Marian shrank back with a smothered cry.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ve finished my dinner, I have,&rdquo; said the man, getting up.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So have I,&rdquo; echoed the woman, following his example; &ldquo;and we&#8217;ll go for
+a walk with little miss.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What a precious lonely road!&rdquo; she remarked, when she had glanced this way
+and that, to make sure that no prying eyes were near. &ldquo;Catch hold o&#8217; the
+little &#8217;un, Jake; and we&#8217;ll take a stroll in the fields.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There was a perfect understanding between this<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 39]</span> precious pair; and Marian
+was promptly lifted over a five-barred gate, and led by the woman across
+a grass field, towards a wood on the other side, while the man followed
+stolidly in the rear. A few paces from the gate Marian&#8217;s shoe came off;
+but she was as much too frightened to say anything about it, as she was to
+ask any questions of her captors, or to resist their will. Having reached
+the wood, they plunged into its recesses, and at length halted before a
+large pool, at the edge of which there lay upon the ground the trunks of
+some trees which had been cut down. Taking her seat on one of these, the
+woman drew Marian to her side, and, while the man stood by with an evil
+smile, proceeded to strip off some of the child&#8217;s clothes. Marian began to
+cry, but was silenced with a rough shake and a threat of being thrown into
+the pond. Having divested the child of most of her garments, the woman
+took from a dirty bundle which she carried a draggled grey wool shawl,
+which she wrapped tightly, crosswise, around Marian&#8217;s body, and tied in
+a hard knot behind her back.</p>
+
+<p>Perceiving that Marian had lost one of her shoes, the hag sent her
+husband back to look for it, while she proceeded with the metamorphosis
+of the hapless infant who had fallen into her hands. She smeared the
+little face with muddy water from the margin of the pool; she jerked out
+the semi-circular comb which held back Marian&#8217;s cloud of dusky hair, and
+let the thick locks fall in disorder about her head and face; she dragged
+the little sun bonnet in the green slime at the margin of the pool, and,
+on pretence of tying it<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 40]</span> on the child&#8217;s head, wrenched off one of the
+strings, which she heedlessly left lying on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>At this point the man returned without the missing shoe.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It doesn&#8217;t matter,&rdquo; said his spouse. &ldquo;Lend me your knife.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She then proceeded to cut and slash Marian&#8217;s remaining shoe in a most
+remorseless manner, after which she replaced it on the child&#8217;s foot, and
+wrapped around the other foot a piece of dirty rag.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come now,&rdquo; said the woman, having rolled up Marian&#8217;s clothes with the
+rubbish in her bundle; &ldquo;we wanted a little girl, and you&#8217;ll just do.&rdquo; So
+saying, she took tight hold of the child&#8217;s hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I want my daddy!&rdquo; cried Marian, finding her voice at last.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s your daddy now,&rdquo; said the woman, pointing to the man: &ldquo;and I&#8217;m
+your mammy. Come along!&rdquo; and, with the word, she set off at a vigorous
+pace, dragging the child, and, followed heavily by her husband, through
+the wood, and across the field, and then out upon the road, away and away,
+with their backs turned towards Marian&#8217;s home.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 41]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>THE SHOEMAKER BECOMES &ldquo;GOLDEN.&rdquo;</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>One morning, about twelve years after the disappearance of Marian, there
+came to her father a great, and almost overwhelming surprise.</p>
+
+<p>It is not necessary to dwell on the manner in which the twelve years had
+passed. Nothing had ever been heard of Marian. The most thorough search
+was made, but without result; and at length, the stricken father was
+constrained to accept the conviction that his child was indeed gone from
+him into the great world, and, bowing his head in the presence of his
+God, he covered his bruised heart with the fair sheet of a dignified
+self-control, and settled down to his work again, like a man and a
+Christian.</p>
+
+<p>Yet he did not cease inwardly to grieve. If his child had gone to her dead
+mother, there would have<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 42]</span> been strong consolation, and, perhaps, in time,
+contentment might have come. But she was gone, not to her mother, but out
+into the cold, pitiless world; and his imagination dwelt grimly on the
+nameless miseries into which she might fall.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima still kept her brother&#8217;s house; but she had been greatly
+softened by her self-accusing grief. And now, as the brother and sister
+sat at breakfast one autumn morning, came the surprise of which we speak.
+It came in the form of a letter, which, before opening it, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+regarded, for some moments, with a dubious air. The arrival of a letter at
+his house was a rare event; and but for the fact that the missive bore his
+name and address, he would have thought there was a mistake, and, even
+now, the addition of the sign, &ldquo;Esq.&rdquo; to his name left the matter in some
+doubt. The stoutness of the blue envelope, and the bold character of the
+handwriting, gave the packet a business-like look. For a moment, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn thought of his lost child. A slight circumstance was sufficient, even
+yet, to re-awaken his hopes; and he still clung to the conviction that,
+some day, his child would return. The letter, however, contained no
+reference to the great sorrow of his life; and, indeed, its contents were
+such that he forgot, for the time being, Marian, and everything else. He
+looked up with a gasp of astonishment; and then, turning his attention
+again to the letter, deliberately read it through, and, when he had
+finished, calmly handed it to his sister. She read a few words, and
+broke off with a cry.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 43]</span>&ldquo;Thomas!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Jemima, I am a rich man, it seems. Read on, and say what you think;&rdquo;
+and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn rose from his seat, and went quietly into his workshop.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima devoured her brother&#8217;s letter with greedy eyes. It was from
+a firm of London lawyers, and contained a brief announcement that the
+rich uncle of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had died, in America, without a will; that
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was the lawful owner of all his wealth; and that they, the
+lawyers, awaited &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s commands. Would he call upon them at
+their office in London, or should they attend him at his private, or any
+other, address? In the meantime, he would oblige by drawing upon them for
+any amount of money he might require.</p>
+
+<p>With what breath she had left Miss Jemima hurried into her brother&#8217;s
+workshop.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thomas,&rdquo; she demanded, flourishing the letter in his face, &ldquo;what are you
+going to do?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Think,&rdquo; he answered concisely, without looking up from the hob-nailed
+boot between his knees, &ldquo;and pray, and get on with my work.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But this letter requires an answer! And,&rdquo; with a glance of disgust around
+the rough shop with its signs of toil, &ldquo;you are a rich man now, Thomas.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; was the quiet reply, &ldquo;does not alter the fact that I have
+half-a-dozen pairs of boots to mend, and two of them are promised for
+dinner-time. Leave me, now, Jemima, and we&#8217;ll talk the matter over this<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 44]</span>
+evening. I don&#8217;t suppose the gentlemen will be in a hurry.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima withdrew as she was bidden, thinking that there was one
+gentleman, at least, who was not in a hurry.</p>
+
+<p>All day long &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn quietly worked on in the usual way. He did
+this partly because he loved his work and was loath to give it up, partly
+because he had so much work on hand, and partly that he might think and
+pray, which he could always do best on his cobbler&#8217;s stool. He found it
+difficult to realize what had taken place; but when, at last, he fairly
+grasped the fact that he was now a rich man, mingled feelings of joy
+and dread filled his breast. There was little taint of selfishness in
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s joy. It was no gratification to him to be relieved of
+the necessity to work. Nor was he fascinated with the prospect of luxury.
+His joy arose chiefly from the thought of the amount of good he would now
+be able to do. It was impossible that he should form anything like an
+adequate conception of the vast power for good which had been placed in
+his hands. The boundless ability to benefit his fellowmen with which he
+had been so suddenly endowed could not be realized in the first moments
+of his great surprise, yet he perceived faint glimmerings of possibilities
+of benevolence beyond his largest-hearted dreams.</p>
+
+<p>Thoughts of his long-lost child stole over him ever and anon. If she had
+been left to him, he would have rejoiced in his good fortune the more, on
+her account. But she was gone.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 45]</span>The joy of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was chastened by a solemn dread. A great
+responsibility had been laid upon him from which he would have infinitely
+rather been free. He prayed, with trembling, that he might prove worthy of
+so great a trust.</p>
+
+<p>At dinner-time Miss Jemima questioned her brother as to his intentions.
+His answers were brief and indefinite. The matter could not be settled in
+a moment. In the evening they would talk things over, and decide what to
+do.</p>
+
+<p>The evening came, and brother and sister sat before the fire.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jemima,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;I must accept this great responsibility.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You surely did not think of doing anything else?&rdquo; exclaimed the startled
+lady.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;yes&mdash;I did. The burden seemed so great that, for a time, I shrank.
+But the Lord has shown me my duty. I could have desired that we might have
+remained as we were. But there is much consolation in the thought of all
+the good we shall be able to do; and&mdash;well, the will of the Lord be done!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima was astounded. Her brother had become rich beyond the dreams
+of avarice, and he talked of resignation to the will of God!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then you will answer the letter at once?&rdquo; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And you will go to London?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, next week, I think.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 46]</span>&ldquo;Next week! Why not this week? It&#8217;s only Monday.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There is no need to hurry, Jemima. There might be some mistake. And it&#8217;s
+as well to give the gentlemen time to prepare.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Lawyers don&#8217;t make mistakes,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima: &ldquo;And as for preparing,
+you may be sure they have done that already.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But nothing could induce &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn to hasten his movements; and his
+sister was fain to content herself with his promise to write to the
+lawyers the next day, which he duly fulfilled.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 47]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>A STRANGE CLIENT FOR MESSRS. TONGS AND BALL.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The day on which &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had proposed to the lawyers to pay them
+his promised visit, was the following Monday, at three o&#8217;clock in the
+afternoon, and by return of post there came a letter from the lawyers
+assenting to the arrangement. During the week which intervened, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn did not permit either himself or his sister to mention to a third
+person the change his circumstances had undergone. Nor did he encourage
+conversation between his sister and himself on the subject of his suddenly
+acquired wealth. And neither his manner of life nor the ordering of his
+house gave any indication of the altered position in which he was placed.
+He did not permit the astounding news he had received to interfere with
+the simple regularity of his life. Miss Jemima might have been inclined
+to introduce into her domestic arrangements some outward and<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 48]</span> visible sign
+of the altered fortunes of the house; but her brother&#8217;s will prevailed,
+and all things continued as before. The &ldquo;golden shoemaker&rdquo; even continued
+to work at his trade in the usual way. And all the time he was
+thinking&mdash;thinking and praying; and many generous purposes, which
+afterwards bore abundant fruit, began to germinate in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>At length the momentous day arrived, and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn travelled by
+an early train to London, and, having dined frugally at a decent
+eating-house, presented himself in due time at the offices of Messrs.
+Tongs and Ball. The men of law were both seated in the room into which
+their new client was shown. One of them was a very little, round, rosy,
+middle-aged man, with an expression of countenance so cherubic that no
+one would have suspected him of being a lawyer; and the other was a tall,
+large-boned, parchment-faced personage, of whom almost any degree of
+heartlessness might have been believed. The two lawyers rose and bowed
+as &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was shown in.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Horn?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thomas Horn, at your service, gentlemen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This is Mr. Tongs,&rdquo; said the tall lawyer with a waive of his hand towards
+his rotund partner; &ldquo;and I am Mr. Ball,&rdquo; he added, drawing himself into an
+attitude which caused him to look much more like a bat than a ball, and
+speaking in a surprisingly agreeable tone. Upon this there was bowing all
+around, and then a pause.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Pray take a seat, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; besought Mr. Ball.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 49]</span>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn modestly obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And now, my dear sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball, when he himself and his partner had
+also resumed their seats, &ldquo;let us congratulate you on your good fortune.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, gentlemen,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn gravely. &ldquo;But the
+responsibility is very great. I am only reconciled to it by the thought
+that I shall now be able to do many things that I have long desired to
+do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball, &ldquo;it is one of the gratifications of wealth that a man
+is able to follow his bent&mdash;whether it be travelling, collecting pictures,
+keeping horses, or what not.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; echoed Mr. Tongs.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, gentlemen,&rdquo; dissented &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;I was thinking of the good
+I shall now be able to do. But let us get to business; for I should be
+sorry to waste your time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Both lawyers protested. Waste their time! They could not be better
+employed!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You are very kind, gentlemen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; was the candid reply.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You have come into a very large fortune, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; continued Mr. Ball,
+as he began to untie a bundle of documents. &ldquo;You are worth very many
+thousands; in fact you are almost a millionaire. I think I am right, Mr.
+Tongs?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; assented Mr. Tongs, &ldquo;oh yes, certainly.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All the documents are here,&rdquo; resumed Mr. Ball, as he surveyed a sea of
+blue and white paper which covered the table; &ldquo;and, with your permission,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 50]</span>
+Mr. Horn, we will give you an account of their contents.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer then proceeded to give his client a statement of the
+particulars of the fortune of which he had so unexpectedly become
+possessed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We hope, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; he said, in conclusion, &ldquo;that you may do us the
+honour to continue the confidence reposed in us by your late uncle.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I beg your pardon, sir?&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I ventured to hope that my partner and I might be so fortunate as to
+retain the management of your affairs. I believe you will find that
+since&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes, of course,&rdquo; &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn hastened to interpose. He had not
+dreamt of making any change. The lawyers bowed their thanks.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;May we now ask,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball, &ldquo;whether you have any special commands?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think there are one or two requests I should like to make. I have a
+sister, and I believe my uncle left another nephew.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A sad scrapegrace, my dear sir,&rdquo; interposed Mr. Ball, whose keen legal
+instinct gave him some scent of what was coming next.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn held up his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Can you tell me, gentlemen, whether there are any other relatives of my
+uncle&#8217;s who are still alive?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We have every reason to believe that there are not.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, then, I wish my uncle&#8217;s property to be divided into three
+equal portions. One third I desire to have made over to my sister, and
+another to<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 51]</span> be reserved for my cousin. The remaining portion I will retain
+myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, my dear sir,&rdquo; cried Mr. Ball, &ldquo;the whole of the property is legally
+yours!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;True,&rdquo; was the quiet reply; &ldquo;but the law cannot make that right which is
+essentially wrong, and my sister and cousin are as much entitled to my
+uncle&#8217;s money as I am myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Ball was dumfounded.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear sir,&rdquo; he gasped, &ldquo;this is very strange!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was firm.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You will find this scapegrace cousin of mine?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyers said they would do their best; and, when some further
+arrangements had been made, with regard to the property, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+took his departure, leaving his two legal advisers to assure one another,
+as they stood together on the hearthrug, that he was the strangest client
+they had known.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 52]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>MISS JEMIMA IS VERY MUCH ASTONISHED.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>Miss Jemima Horn was sufficiently curious as to the result of her
+brother&#8217;s visit to the lawyers, to render her restlessly eager for his
+return. He came back the same night. He had work to finish in the cobbling
+line; and besides he had no fancy for any bed but his own.</p>
+
+<p>After supper, the brother and sister sat down before the fire, for the
+talk to which Miss Jemima had been looking forward all day long.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, brother,&rdquo; she queried, &ldquo;I suppose you&#8217;ve heard all about it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, in a general way.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And what is the amount?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m almost afraid to say. The gentlemen said little short of a million!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima threw up her hands with a little jerk of wonder, and gazed at
+her brother with incredulous surprise.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 53]</span>&ldquo;Where is it all?&rdquo; was her next enquiry.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Some in England, and some in America.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s not all in money, of course?&rdquo; she asked, in doubtful tones.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said her brother, opening his eyes: &ldquo;it&#8217;s in all sorts of ways. A
+great deal of it is in house property. There&#8217;s one whole village&mdash;or
+nearly so.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A whole village!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, the village of Daisy Lane. It was the family home at one time, you
+know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This was true. The village of Daisy Lane, in a Midland county, had been
+the cradle of the race of Horn. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn and his sister, however,
+had never visited the ancestral village.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; queried Miss Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, uncle had a fancy for owning the village; so he bought it up bit
+by bit.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Only to think!&rdquo; exclaimed Miss Jemima. &ldquo;And what else is there?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, there&#8217;s money in all sorts of forms that I understand very little
+about.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s simply wonderful!&rdquo; declared Miss Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And then there&#8217;s the old hall at Daisy Lane. Uncle meant to end his days
+there; but God has ordered otherwise, you see.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And you will go to live there?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered her brother, slowly; &ldquo;I think not, Jemima.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Sister, I don&#8217;t think we should be happy in<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 54]</span> a grand house&mdash;at any rate
+not all at once. But there&#8217;s something else I want to talk about.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Of late years the ascendancy had completely passed from Miss Jemima to her
+brother; and now, though she would fain have talked further about the old
+family mansion, she submissively turned her attention to what her brother
+was about to say.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is probable, Jemima,&rdquo; he begun, &ldquo;that there has never been a rich man
+who had so few relatives to whom to leave his wealth as had our uncle.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes: father and Uncle Ira were the only members of Uncle Jacob&#8217;s family
+who ever married; and the brothers and sisters are all dead now. We are
+almost alone in the world.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Except one cousin, you know,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You mean Uncle Ira&#8217;s scapegrace, Jack. But no one knows where he is. He
+may be dead for all we know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Somehow Miss Jemima did not seem to desire that there should be any other
+relatives of her uncle to the front, just now, but her brother and
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If Jack is dead,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;there will be no more to say. But
+if he is alive, he must have his share of uncle&#8217;s money; and I have left
+it with the legal gentlemen to find him if they can.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thomas,&rdquo; protested Miss Jemima, &ldquo;do you think it would be right to hand
+over uncle&#8217;s hard-earned money to that poor wastrel?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;His right to the money, Jemima, is as good as ours.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 55]</span>&ldquo;Perhaps so; but I feel convinced that uncle would not have wished for any
+part of his money to go to Jack. It would be like flinging it into the
+sea.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; but that cuts both ways, Jemima. Uncle would never have willed his
+money to me, any more than to Jack. But God has given it to me, and I mean
+to use it in the way of which I believe He will approve.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And that is not all,&rdquo; he hastily resumed. &ldquo;I have another relative;&rdquo; and
+he directed a look of loving significance towards his sister&#8217;s face. &ldquo;Do
+you think that, if I admit the claim of our poor scapegrace cousin to a
+share of our uncle&#8217;s money, I shall overlook the right of the dear sister
+who has been my stay and comfort all these sorrowing years?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; began Miss Jemima, in bewildered tones.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, you are to have your share too, Jemima.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, brother I don&#8217;t desire it. If you have the money, it&#8217;s all the same
+as though I had it myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With all her severity, there was not an atom of selfishness in Miss Jemima
+Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s all arranged,&rdquo; was her brother&#8217;s reply. &ldquo;I instructed the lawyers to
+divide the property into three equal portions.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima, supposing that an arrangement with the lawyers was like the
+laws of the Medes and Persians, which &ldquo;altered not,&rdquo; felt compelled to
+submit; but it was with the understanding that her brother took entire
+management of her portion of the money, as well as his own.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 56]</span>There was little further talk between &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn and his sister that
+evening. Their early bed-time had arrived; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, having
+read a chapter in the Bible, offered a fervent prayer, in which he asked
+earnestly that his sister and himself might receive grace to use rightly
+the great wealth which had been entrusted to their charge.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If we should prove unfaithful, Lord,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;take it from us as
+suddenly as Thou hast given it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, brother,&rdquo; cried Miss Jemima, as they were going up to bed, &ldquo;some
+letters came for you this morning.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn took the four or five letters, which his sister was holding
+out to him, with a bewildered air.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are they really for me?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Small doubt of that,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>The opening of letters was, as yet, to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, a ceremony to be
+performed with care. He drew a chair to the table, and deliberately took
+his seat. He took up the first letter, and, having read it slowly through,
+placed it in Miss Jemima&#8217;s eager hand. It was a request, from a &ldquo;gentleman
+in distress,&rdquo; for a loan of twenty pounds&mdash;a &ldquo;trifle&rdquo; to the possessor of
+so much wealth, but, to the writer &ldquo;a matter of life or death.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This will never do!&rdquo; pronounced Miss Jemima; and the lady&#8217;s lips emitted
+a gentle whistling sound.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How soon it seems to have got wind!&rdquo; exclaimed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s been in the papers, no doubt.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 57]</span>&ldquo;So it has,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I saw it myself in a newspaper that I bought this
+evening, to read in the train. It called me the &lsquo;Golden Shoemaker.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; cried Miss Jemima. &ldquo;I&#8217;ve no doubt it will go the round.&rdquo; The good
+lady was not greatly averse to such a pleasant publication of the family
+name.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;what do the other letters say?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>They were all similar to the first. One was from a man who had invented a
+new boot sewing-machine, and would take out a patent; another purported to
+came from a widow with six young children, and begged for a little&mdash;ever
+so little&mdash;timely help: and the other two were appeals on behalf of
+religious institutions.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Penalty of wealth!&rdquo; remarked Miss Jemima, as she took the letters from
+her brother&#8217;s hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose I must answer them to-morrow,&rdquo; groaned &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Answer them!&rdquo; exclaimed Miss Jemima. &ldquo;If you take my advice, you&#8217;ll throw
+them into the fire. There will be plenty more of the same sort soon.
+Though,&rdquo; she added thoughtfully, &ldquo;you&#8217;ll have to read your letters, I
+suppose; for there&#8217;ll be some you&#8217;ll be obliged to answer.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn quietly, as they turned to the stairs, &ldquo;we
+shall see.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 58]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN ANSWERS HIS LETTERS, AND RECEIVES THE CONGRATULATIONS OF
+HIS FRIENDS.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>When, after a somewhat troubled night, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn came down next
+morning, his attention was arrested by the letters lying, as he had left
+them, on the table, the night before.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, in answer to his thoughts; &ldquo;I think I&#8217;ll deal with them
+straight away.&rdquo; So saying, he drew a chair to the table, and, having found
+a few sheets of time-stained note paper, together with a penny bottle of
+ink, and an old crippled pen, he sat down to his unwelcome task. The
+undertaking proved even more troublesome than he had thought it would be.
+The pen persisted in sputtering at almost every word; and when, at crucial
+points, he took special pains to make the writing legible, the too
+frequent result was an indecipherable blotch of ink. When<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 59]</span> the valiant
+scribe had wrestled with his uncongenial task for half an hour or more,
+his sister came upon the scene. Quietly she stepped across the floor.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; she exclaimed, peeping over her brother&#8217;s shoulder, &ldquo;so you are
+answering them already!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn started, and a huge blot fell from his pen into the midst
+of his half-finished letter.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m afraid I shall not be able to send this, now,&rdquo; he said, with a
+patient sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima, laconically, &ldquo;I&#8217;m afraid not. You are writing to
+the &lsquo;widow,&rsquo; I see; and you are promising her some help. That&#8217;s very well.
+But, in nine cases out of ten, what strangers say of themselves requires
+confirmation&mdash;especially if they are beggars; so don&#8217;t you think that,
+before sending money to this &lsquo;widow,&rsquo; it would be as well to ask for
+the name of some reliable person who will vouch for the truth of her
+statements? You must not forget, what you often say, you know, that you
+are the steward of your Lord&#8217;s goods.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This was an argument which was sure to prevail with &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt you are right, Jemima,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and, however reluctantly, I
+must take your advice.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s right,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You haven&#8217;t answered the other letters?&rdquo; she then asked, with a glance
+over the table.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, hadn&#8217;t you better put them away now, and get to your work? After
+breakfast you must get<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 60]</span> a new pen and a fresh bottle of ink. Then we&#8217;ll
+see what we can do together.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In an emergency which demanded the exercise of the practical good sense,
+of which she had so large a share, Miss Jemima regained, to some extent,
+her old ascendency over her brother. He quietly gathered up his letters,
+and, placing them on the chimney-piece, retired to his workshop.</p>
+
+<p>At breakfast-time Miss Jemima&#8217;s prognostication began to receive
+fulfilment in the arrival of the postman with another batch of letters.
+This time the number had increased to something like a dozen. Having
+received them from the hands of the postman, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn carried them
+towards his sister with a somewhat comical air of dismay.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So many!&rdquo; exclaimed she. &ldquo;Your cares are accumulating fast. You will have
+to engage a secretary. Well, we&#8217;ll look at them by and bye.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely was breakfast over than there came a modest knock at the door,
+which, on being opened by Miss Jemima, revealed the presence of the elder
+of the little twin hucksters, who still carried on business across the
+way.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima drew herself up like a sentry; and little Tommy Dudgeon,
+finding himself confronted by this formidable lady, would have beaten
+a hasty retreat. But it was too late.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I beg your pardon, ma&#8217;am,&rdquo; he began humbly; &ldquo;I came to see your brother.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&#8217;t know,&rdquo; was the lady&#8217;s lofty reply. &ldquo;My brother has much business
+on hand.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 61]</span>&ldquo;No doubt, ma&#8217;am; but&mdash;but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At this point &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn himself came to the door, and Miss Jemima
+retreated into the house.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good morning, Tommy,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn heartily, &ldquo;step in.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; was the modest reply, &ldquo;I&#8217;m afraid I can&#8217;t. Business
+presses, you know. But I&#8217;ve just come to congratulate you if I may make so
+bold. Brother would have come too; but he&#8217;s minding the twins. It&#8217;s
+washing day, you see. He&#8217;ll pay his respects another time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>John Dudgeon had been married for some years, and amongst the troubles
+which had varied for him the joys of that blissful state, there had
+recently come the crowning calamity of twins&mdash;an affliction which would
+seem to have run in the Dudgeon family.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We are glad you have inherited this vast wealth, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; said Tommy
+Dudgeon. &ldquo;We think the arrangement excellent. The ways of Providence are
+indeed wonderful.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn made suitable acknowledgment of the congratulations of his
+humble little friend.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There is only one thing we regret,&rdquo; resumed the little man; &ldquo;and that is
+that your change of fortune will remove you to another sphere.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we shall see.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon Tommy Dudgeon, feeling comforted, he scarcely knew why, said
+&ldquo;Good morning&rdquo; and ambled back to his shop.</p>
+
+<p>About the middle of the morning &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 62]</span> and his sister sat down to
+deal with the letters. First they glanced at those which had arrived that
+morning, and then laid them aside for the time, until, in fact, they had
+dealt with those previously received. First came that of the assumed
+widow, to which Miss Jemima induced her brother to write a cautious reply,
+asking for a reference. To the man who asked for the loan of twenty
+pounds, Miss Jemima would have sent no reply at all; but &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+insisted that a brief but courteous note should be sent to him, expressing
+regret that the desired loan could not be furnished. It did not need the
+persuasion of his sister to induce &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn to decline all dealings
+with the importunate inventor; but it was with great difficulty that she
+could dissuade him from making substantial promises to the religious
+institutions from which he had received appeals.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think I shall consult the minister about such cases,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>The investigation of the second batch of letters was postponed until the
+afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>During the morning, and at intervals throughout the day, others of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s neighbours came to offer their congratulations, and were
+astonished to find him seated on his cobbler&#8217;s stool, and quietly plying
+his accustomed task. To their remonstrances he would reply, &ldquo;You see this
+work is promised; and if I am rich, I must keep my word. And then the
+habits of a lifetime are not to be given up in a day. And, to be honest
+with you, friends, I am<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 63]</span> in no haste to make the change. I love my work,
+and would as lief be sitting on this stool as anywhere else in the world.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There came some of his poorer customers, who greatly bewailed what they
+regarded as his inevitable removal from their midst. They could not
+congratulate him as heartily as they desired. They would rather he had
+remained the poor, kind-hearted, Christian cobbler whom they had always
+known. Many a pair of boots had he mended free of charge for customers who
+could ill afford to pay; not a few were the small debts of poor but honest
+debtors which he had forgiven; and not seldom had clandestine gifts of
+money or food found their way from his hands to one or another of these
+regretful congratulators. Perceiving the grief upon the faces of his
+friends, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn contrived, by means of various hints, to let them
+know that he would still be their friend, and to remind them that his
+enrichment would conduce to their more effectual help at his hands.</p>
+
+<p>On one point all his visitors were agreed. Great wealth, they said, could
+not have come to any one by whom it was more thoroughly deserved, or who
+would put it to a better use. &ldquo;The Lord,&rdquo; affirmed one quaint individual,
+&ldquo;knew what He was about this time, anyhow.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn and his sister set about the task of
+answering the second batch of letters. They were all, with one exception,
+of a similar character to those of the first. The<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 64]</span> exception proved to be
+a badly-written, ill-spelled, but evidently sincere, homily on the dangers
+of wealth, and ended with a fierce warning of the dire consequences of
+disregarding its admonition. It was signed simply&mdash;&ldquo;A friend.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&#8217;ll burn that, I should think!&rdquo; was Miss Jemima&#8217;s scornful comment on
+this ill-judged missive.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, putting the letter into his breast pocket; &ldquo;I
+shall keep it. It was well meant, and will do me good.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>By tea-time their task was finished; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn heaved a sigh of
+relief as he rose from his seat. But just then the postman knocked at the
+door, and handed in another and still larger supply of letters, at the
+sight of which the &ldquo;Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; staggered back aghast. The fame of
+his fortune had indeed got wind.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; exclaimed his sister, who was setting the tea-things, &ldquo;you&#8217;ll have
+to engage a secretary, as I said.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 65]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN PAYS A VISIT TO HIS LANDLORD.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The day following his trip to London &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn paid a visit to his
+landlord. His purpose was to buy the house in which he lived. Though he
+realized that he must now take up his actual abode in a house more suited
+to his altered circumstances, he wished to retain the possession and use
+of the one in which he had lived so long. The humble cottage was endeared
+to him by many ties. Here the best part of his life had been passed. Here
+his brief but blissful married life had been spent, and here his precious
+wife had died. Of this house his darling little Marian had been the light
+and joy; and her blithe and loving spirit seemed to haunt it still. These
+memories, reinforced by a generous purpose on behalf of the poor
+neighbours whom he had been wont to help, decided him to endeavour to make
+the house absolutely his own.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 66]</span>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn did not tell his sister of his intention with regard to the
+house. He simply said, after breakfast, that he was going out for an hour;
+and, though Miss Jemima looked at him very hard, she allowed him to depart
+unquestioned.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s landlord who was reputed to be enormously rich, lived in
+one of the most completely hidden parts of the town, which was approached
+by a labyrinth of very narrow and dirty streets. As &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn pursued
+his tortuous way to this secluded abode, he pondered, with some misgiving,
+the chances that his errand would succeed. He knew his landlord to be a
+man of stubborn temper and of many whims; and he was by no means confident
+as to the reception with which his intended proposal would meet. It was
+characteristic that, as he thought of the difficulties of his enterprise,
+he prayed earnestly that, if God willed, he might obtain the gratification
+of his present desire. Then, with growing confidence and quickened step,
+he proceeded on his way, until, at length, he stood before his landlord&#8217;s
+house.</p>
+
+<p>The house was a low, dingy building of brick, which stood right across the
+end of a squalid street, and completely blocked the way. Over the door was
+a grimy sign-board, on which could faintly be distinguished the vague yet
+comprehensive legend:</p>
+
+<p class="center">&ldquo;D<span class="gesperrt">.FROUD</span>,<br />
+<span class="smcap">Dealer</span>.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The paint upon the crazy door was blistered and had peeled off in huge
+mis-shapen patches; the <span class='pagenum'>[Pg 67]</span>door-step was almost worn in two; the windows
+were dim with the dust of many years.</p>
+
+<p>The door was opened by a withered crone, who, to his question whether Mr.
+Froud was in, answered in an injured tone, &ldquo;Yes, he was in; he always
+was;&rdquo; and, as she spoke, she half-pushed the visitor into a room on the
+left side of the entrance, and vanished from the scene. The room was very
+dark, and it was some time before &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn could observe the nature
+of his surroundings. But, by degrees, as his eyes became accustomed to the
+gloom, he perceived that the centre of the apartment was occupied with an
+old mahogany table, covered with a litter of books and papers. There stood
+against the wall opposite to the window an ancient and dropsical chest of
+drawers. Facing the door was a fire-place, brown with rust, innocent of
+fire-irons, and piled up with heterogeneous rubbish. The walls and
+chimney-piece were utterly devoid of ornaments. The paper on the walls
+was torn and soiled, and even hung in strips. On the chimney-piece were
+several empty ink and gum bottles, an old ruler, and a further assortment
+of similar odds and ends. The only provision for the comfort of visitors
+consisted of two battered wooden chairs.</p>
+
+<p>At first &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn thought he was alone; but, the next moment, he
+heard himself sharply addressed, though not by name.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, it&#8217;s not rent day yet. What&#8217;s your errand?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was a snarling voice, and came from the corner between the window and
+fire-place, peering in which<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 68]</span> direction, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn perceived dimly
+the figure of the man he had come to see. Mr. Daniel Froud had turned
+around from a high desk at which he had been writing in the gloom. How he
+contrived to see in so dark a corner was a mystery which belonged to the
+wider question as to the penetrating power of vision in general which he
+was known to possess. The small boys of the neighbourhood declared that he
+could see in the dark like a cat. He now moved a step nearer to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn, and stood revealed, an elderly, and rather undersized, grizzled,
+gnarled, and knotted man, dressed in shabby and antiquated clothes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good morning, Mr. Froud,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, extending his hand, &ldquo;I&#8217;ve
+come to see you on a little business.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you have,&rdquo; was the angry retort; and taking no notice of his
+visitor&#8217;s proffered hand, the man stamped his foot impatiently on the
+uncarpeted floor. &ldquo;No one ever comes to see me about anything else but
+business. And I don&#8217;t want them to,&rdquo; he added with a grim chuckle. &ldquo;Well,
+let us get it done. My time is valuable, if yours is not.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My time also is not without value,&rdquo; was the prompt reply. &ldquo;I want to ask
+you, Mr. Froud, if you will sell me the house in which I live.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>If Daniel Froud was surprised, he completely concealed the fact.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I would sell it,&rdquo; was his coarse rejoinder, &ldquo;you, &lsquo;Cobbler&rsquo; Horn,
+would not be able to buy it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am well able to buy the house, Mr. Froud,&rdquo; was the quiet response.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 69]</span>Daniel Froud keenly scrutinized his visitor&#8217;s face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I believe you think you are telling the truth,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Mending
+pauper&#8217;s boots and shoes must be a profitable business, then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have had some money left to me,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>The interest of Daniel Froud was awakened at once.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;that is it, is it? But sit down, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; and the
+grizzled reprobate pushed towards his visitor, who had hitherto remained
+standing, one of his rickety and dust-covered chairs.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn looked doubtfully at the proffered seat, and said that he
+preferred to stand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you are willing to sell me the house, Mr. Froud,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;name your
+price. It is not my intention to waste your time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Daniel Froud still pondered. It was no longer a question whether he should
+sell &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn the house: he was beginning already to consider how
+much he should ask for it.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So you really wish to buy the house, Mr. Horn?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Such is my desire.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And you think you can pay the price?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have little doubt on that point.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well&rdquo;&mdash;with a sudden jerk forward of his forbidding face&mdash;&ldquo;what do you
+say to &pound;600?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Unsophisticated as he was, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn felt that the proposal was
+exorbitant.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You are surely joking?&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 70]</span>&ldquo;You think the price too small?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I consider it much too large.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, perhaps I was joking, as you said. What do you think of &pound;500?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m afraid even that is too much. I&#8217;ll give you &pound;450.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Daniel Froud hesitated for some minutes, but at last said, &ldquo;Well, I&#8217;ll
+take your offer, Mr. Horn; but it&#8217;s a dreadful sacrifice.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes sufficed to complete the agreement; and then, in taking his
+departure, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn administered a word of admonition to his
+grasping landlord.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&#8217;t you know, friend,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that it is a grievous sin to try to
+sell anything for more than it is worth? And how contemptible it is to be
+so greedy of money! It does not seem to me that money is to be so eagerly
+desired, and especially if it does one no more good than yours seems to be
+doing you. Good morning, friend; and God give you repentance.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Froud had listened open-mouthed to this plain-spoken homily. When he
+came to himself, he darted forward, and aimed a blow with his fist, which
+just failed to strike the back of his visitor, who was in the act of
+leaving the room.</p>
+
+<p>Confronting him in the doorway was the old crone who kept his house.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Was that Horn, the shoemaker?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, woman.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Horn as has just come into the fortune?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;somewhat.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 71]</span>&ldquo;&lsquo;Somewhat!&rsquo; It&#8217;s said to be about a million of money! Look here!&rdquo; and she
+showed him a begrimed and crumpled scrap of newspaper, containing a full
+account of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s fortune.</p>
+
+<p>With a cry, Daniel Froud seized the woman, and shook her till it almost
+seemed as though the bones rattled in her skin.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You hell-cat! Why didn&#8217;t you tell me that before?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The wretched creature fell back panting against the door on the opposite
+side of the passage.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Daniel Froud,&rdquo; she said, when she had sufficiently recovered her breath,
+&ldquo;the next time you do that I shall give you notice.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With which dreadful threat, she gathered herself together, and hobbled
+back to her own quarter of the dingy house, leaving Mr. Froud to bemoan
+the absurdly easy terms he had made with &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I had only known!&rdquo; he moaned; &ldquo;if I had only known!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>That evening &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn told his sister what he had done, and why he
+had done it; and she held up her hands in dismay.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;First,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I don&#8217;t see why you should have bought the house at
+all; and, secondly, you have paid far more for it than it is worth.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 72]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>FREE COBBLERY.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose you&#8217;ll be looking out for a tenant for this house, when you&#8217;ve
+found somewhere for us to go?&rdquo; queried Miss Jemima, at breakfast the next
+morning.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, no,&rdquo; replied her brother, &ldquo;I think not.&rdquo; &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; cried Miss Jemima,
+&ldquo;I hope we are not to go on living in this poky little place!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, that is not exactly my intention, either,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;We
+must, I suppose, remove to another house. But I wish this one to remain
+very much as it is; I shall want to use it sometimes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Want to use it sometimes!&rdquo; echoed Miss Jemima, in a mystified tone.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; you see I don&#8217;t feel that I can give up my lifelong employment all
+at once. So I&#8217;ve been thinking that I&#8217;ll come to the old workshop, now and
+then, and do a bit of cobbling just for a change.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Here he paused, and moved uneasily in his chair.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 73]</span>&ldquo;It wouldn&#8217;t do to charge anything for my work now, of course,&rdquo; he
+continued; &ldquo;so I&#8217;ve made up my mind to do little bits of jobs, now and
+again, without any pay, for some of the poor people round about, just for
+the sake of old times, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima&#8217;s hands went up with their accustomed movement of dismay.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, that will never do,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You&#8217;ll have all the thriftless
+loons in the town bringing you their boots and shoes to mend.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I must guard against that,&rdquo; was the quiet reply.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; continued Miss Jemima, in an aggrieved tone, &ldquo;I altogether
+disapprove of your continuing to work as if you were a poor man. But you
+ought, at least, to make a small charge. Otherwise you will be imposed
+upon all round.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Finding, however, that she could not move her brother from his purpose,
+Miss Jemima relinquished the attempt.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Thomas,&rdquo; she concluded, &ldquo;you can never have been intended for this
+world and its ways. There is probably a vacancy in some quite different
+one which you ought to have filled.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The next few days were largely spent in house hunting; and, after careful
+investigation, and much discussion, they decided to take, for the present,
+a pleasantly situated detached villa, which stood on the road leading out
+past the field where, so many years ago, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had found his
+little lost<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 74]</span> Marian&#8217;s shoe. The nearness of the house to this spot had
+induced him, in spite of his sister&#8217;s protest, to prefer it to several
+otherwise more eligible residences; and he was confirmed in his decision
+by the fact that the villa was no great distance from the humble dwelling
+he was so reluctant to leave. They were to have possession at once; and
+Miss Jemima was permitted to plunge without delay into the delights of
+buying furniture, engaging servants, and such like fascinating concerns.</p>
+
+<p>During these busy days, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn himself was absorbed in the
+arrangements for the rehabilitation of his old workshop. He subjected it
+to a complete renovation, in keeping with its character and use. A new
+tile floor, a better window, a fresh covering of whitewash on the walls,
+and a new coat of paint for the wood-work, effected a transformation as
+agreeable as it was complete. He kept the old stool; but procured a new
+and modern set of tools, and furnished himself with a stock of the best
+leather the market could supply.</p>
+
+<p>He had no difficulty in letting his poor customers know of his charitable
+designs, and he soon had as much work as he could do. As his sister had
+warned him, he had many applications from those who were unworthy of his
+help. He did not like to turn any of the applicants away; but he did so
+remorselessly in every instance in which, after careful investigation, the
+case broke down, his chief regret being that his gratuitous services were
+rarely<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 75]</span> sought by those who needed them most. But this is to anticipate.</p>
+
+<p>It was in connection with what was regarded as the <em>quixotic</em> undertaking
+of Miss Jemima&#8217;s brother to mend, free of charge, the boots and shoes of
+his poor neighbours, that he soon became generally known as &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 76]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER&rdquo; WAITS UPON HIS MINISTER.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s correspondence was steadily accumulating. Every day
+brought fresh supplies of letters; and the humble cottage was in danger
+of being swamped by an epistolary inundation, which was the despair of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, and a growing vexation to his sister&#8217;s order-loving soul.</p>
+
+<p>For some time &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; persisted valiantly in his attempt to
+answer every letter he received. Miss Jemima&#8217;s scornful disapproval was of
+no avail. In vain she declared her conviction that every other letter was
+an imposture or a hoax, and pointed out that, if people wanted their
+letters answered, they ought to enclose a stamp. Then, for the twentieth
+time, she repeated her suggestion that a secretary should be engaged. At
+first her brother waived this proposal aside; but at length it became<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 77]</span>
+imperative that help should be sought. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was like a man who
+attempts, single-handed, to cut his way through a still-accumulating
+snow-drift. The man must perish, if help do not come; unless &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn secured assistance in dealing with his letters, it was impossible to
+tell what his fate might be. It was now simply a question by what means
+the needed help might best be obtained; and both &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn and his
+sister agreed that the wisest thing would be to consult the minister of
+their church. This, accordingly, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn resolved to do.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s minister officiated in a sanctuary such as was formerly
+called a &ldquo;chapel,&rdquo; but is now, more frequently designated a &ldquo;church.&rdquo; His
+name was Durnford; and he was a man of strongly-marked individuality&mdash;a
+godly, earnest, shrewd, and somewhat eccentric, minister of the Gospel. He
+was always accessible to his people in their trouble or perplexity, and
+they came to him without reserve. But surely his advice had never been
+sought concerning difficulties so peculiar as those which were about to
+be laid before him by &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn!</p>
+
+<p>It was about ten o&#8217;clock on the Monday morning following his visit to the
+lawyers, that &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn sat in Mr. Durnford&#8217;s study, waiting for the
+minister to appear. He had not long to wait. The door opened, and Mr.
+Durnford entered. He was a middle-aged man of medium height, with keen yet
+kindly features, and hair and beard of iron grey. He greeted his visitor
+with unaffected cordiality.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 78]</span>&ldquo;I&#8217;ve come to ask your advice, sir, under circumstances of some
+difficulty,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, when they were seated facing each other
+before a cheerful fire.</p>
+
+<p>This being a kind of appeal to which he was accustomed, the minister
+received the announcement calmly enough.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Glad to help you, if I can, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>There was a breeziness about Mr. Durnford which at once afforded
+preliminary refreshment to such troubled spirits as sought his counsel.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;I&#8217;m sure you will. You have heard
+of the sudden and unexpected&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To be sure!&rdquo; broke in the minister, leaping to his feet, and grasping his
+visitor&#8217;s hand, &ldquo;Pardon me; I quite forgot. Let me congratulate you. Of
+course it&#8217;s true?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir, thank you; it&#8217;s true&mdash;too true, I&#8217;m afraid.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How if I were to commiserate you, then?&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn gravely, &ldquo;not that either. It&#8217;s the Lord&#8217;s
+will after all; and it&#8217;s a great joy to me to be able to do so much that I
+have long wished to do. It&#8217;s the responsibility that I feel.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very good,&rdquo; replied the minister; &ldquo;such joy is the purest pleasure wealth
+can give. But the responsibility of such a position as yours, is, no
+doubt, as you say, very great.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 79]</span>&ldquo;Yes, sir; I feel that I hold all this wealth in trust from God; and I
+want to be a faithful steward. I am resolved to use my Lord&#8217;s money
+exactly as I believe He desires that I should&mdash;in fact as He Himself
+would use it, if He were in my place.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Excellent, Mr. Horn!&rdquo; exclaimed the minister; &ldquo;you have spoken like a
+Christian.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir. But there&#8217;s another thing; it seems so dreadful that
+one man should have so much money. Do you know, sir, I&#8217;m almost a
+millionaire?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He made this announcement in very much the same tone in which he would
+have informed the minister that he was stricken with some dire disease.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is your trouble so great as that?&rdquo; asked Mr. Durnford, in mock dismay.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir; and it&#8217;s a very serious matter indeed. It doesn&#8217;t seem right
+for me to be so rich, while so many have too little, and not a few nothing
+at all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That can soon be rectified,&rdquo; said Mr. Durnford.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps so, sir; though it may not be so easy as you suppose. But there&#8217;s
+another matter that troubles me. I can&#8217;t think that this great wealth has
+been all acquired by fair means. Indeed I have only too much reason to
+suspect that it was not. I feel ashamed that some of the money which my
+uncle made should have become mine. I feel as though a curse were on it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed the minister, with a long-drawn sigh, &ldquo;such feelings do
+you credit, Mr. Horn; but don&#8217;t you see that God means you to turn that
+curse into a blessing?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 80]</span>&ldquo;Yes; and yet I am almost inclined to wish my uncle had taken his money
+with him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Scarcely a charitable wish, from any point of view,&rdquo; said Mr. Durnford,
+smiling. &ldquo;It seems to me that nothing could have been better than the
+arrangement as it stands.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, at any rate, I wish it were possible to restore their money to any
+persons who may have been wronged.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A laudible, but impossible wish, my dear sir; but, though you cannot
+restore your uncle&#8217;s wealth to those from whom it may have been wrongfully
+acquired, you can, in some measure, make atonement for the evil involved
+in its acquisition, by employing it for the benefit of those in general
+who suffer and are in need.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; assented &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with emphasis; &ldquo;if I thought otherwise,
+every coin of the money that I handled would scorch my fingers to the
+bone.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>After this there was a brief silence, and the minister sat back in his
+chair, with closed eyes, smiling gently.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; he said, in another moment, starting forward, &ldquo;I have
+been thinking of all the good that might be done, if every rich man were
+like you. But you came to ask my advice?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; replied &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn; &ldquo;and I am keeping you too long.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not at all, my dear sir! Your visit has refreshed me greatly. Your talk
+is like a cool breeze on a hot day. It is not often that a millionaire
+comes<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 81]</span> to discuss with me the responsibilities of wealth. But let me hear
+what the peculiar difficulty is of which you spoke.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, there is a serious inconvenience involved in my new position,
+with which I am quite unable to grapple.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said the minister, raising his eye-brows, &ldquo;what is that?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why it is just the number of letters I receive.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course!&rdquo; cried the minister, with twinkling eyes. &ldquo;The birds of prey
+will be upon you from every side; and your being a religious man will, by
+no means, mitigate the evil.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, I have no doubt you are right, sir! And it&#8217;s a sort of compliment to
+religion, isn&#8217;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course it is,&rdquo; said Mr. Durnford; &ldquo;and a very beautiful way of looking
+at it too.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir. Well, there are two sides to my difficulty. First I wish
+to answer every letter I receive; but I cannot possibly do it myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said the minister. &ldquo;But surely many of them need not be answered at
+all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir, by your leave. My sister says that many of the letters are
+probably impostures. But you see I cannot tell certainly which are of that
+kind. She also points out that very few of them contain stamps for reply.
+But I tell her that a few stamps, more or less, are of no moment to me
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&#8217;t know,&rdquo; broke in the minister, &ldquo;which more to admire&mdash;your
+sister&#8217;s wisdom or your own goodness.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 82]</span>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn deprecatingly waved his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now, sir,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;Jemima advises me to engage a secretary.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Obviously,&rdquo; assented the minister, &ldquo;that is your best course.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose it is, sir; but I am all at sea, and want your help.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And you shall have it,&rdquo; said the minister heartily. &ldquo;There are scores of
+young men&mdash;and young women too&mdash;who would jump at the chance of such a
+post as that of your secretary would probably be.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir; but you said young <em>women</em>?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Precisely. Young women often accept, and very efficiently fill, such
+posts.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed? I don&#8217;t know how my sister&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course not. But suppose we look for a moment at the other side of your
+difficulty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, sir; the other trouble is that I find it hard to decide
+what answers to send to a good many of the letters. They are mostly
+applications for money; and it&#8217;s not easy to tell whether they are
+genuine. Then there are a great many appeals on behalf of all sorts of
+good objects. May I venture to hope, sir, that you will give me your
+advice in these matters?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;With pleasure!&rdquo; replied Mr. Durnford, with sparkling eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir; thank you very much indeed,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, greatly
+relieved. &ldquo;And will it be too much if I ask you to advise me, in due
+course, as to the best way of making this money of<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 83]</span> my uncle&#8217;s do as much
+good as possible, in a general way?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By no means,&rdquo; protested Mr. Durnford, &ldquo;I am entirely at your service, my
+dear sir. But now,&rdquo; he added, after a pause, &ldquo;I&#8217;ve been considering, and I
+think I can find you a secretary.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! who is he, sir?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is she, not he.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, sir!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know; but this is an exceptional young lady.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A <em>young</em> lady?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, a capable, well-behaved, Christian young lady. I have known her for
+a good many years, and would recommend her to anybody. I know she is
+looking out for such a situation as this. She would serve you well&mdash;better
+than any young man, I know&mdash;and would be a most agreeable addition to your
+family circle. Besides, by engaging my friend, Miss Owen, you would be
+affording help in a case of real need and sterling merit. The girl has no
+parents, and has been brought up by some kind friends. But they are not
+rich, and she will have to make her own way. Now, look here; suppose the
+young lady were to run down and see you? She lives in Birmingham.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you really think it would be advisable?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed I do. She&#8217;ll disarm Miss Horn at once. It&#8217;ll be a case of love at
+first sight.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, let it be as you say.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then I may write to her without delay?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you please, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 84]</span>&ldquo;Pray for me, Mr. Durnford,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, as he took his leave.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I will, my friend,&rdquo; was the hearty response.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s not often,&rdquo; resumed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;that a Christian man is placed
+in circumstances of such difficulty as mine.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The minister laughed heartily and long.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I really mean it, sir,&rdquo; persisted &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a deprecatory
+smile. &ldquo;When I think of all that my having this money involves, I almost
+wish the Lord had been pleased to leave me in my contented poverty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear friend,&rdquo; said the minister, &ldquo;that will not do at all. Depend upon
+it, the joy of using your wealth for the Lord, and for His &lsquo;little ones,&rsquo;
+will far more than make up for the vanished delights of your departed
+poverty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 85]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN ENGAGES A SECRETARY.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>On his way home from the minister&#8217;s house, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was somewhat
+exercised in his mind as to how he should tell his sister what he had
+done. He could inform her, without hesitation, that the minister had
+recommended a secretary; but how should he make known the fact that the
+commended secretary was a lady? He was not afraid of his sister; but he
+preferred that she should approve of his doings, and he wished to render
+his approaching announcement as little distasteful to her as might be. But
+the difficulty of doing this would be great. It would have been hard to
+imagine a communication likely to prove more unwelcome to Miss Jemima than
+the announcement that her brother contemplated the employment of a lady
+secretary. Nor was the difficulty of the situation relieved by the fact
+that the lady was young, and possibly attractive. It<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 86]</span> would have been as
+easy to impart a delectable flavour to a dose of castor-oil, as to render
+agreeable to his sister the announcement he must immediately make. Long
+before he reached home, he relinquished all attempt to settle the
+difficulty which was agitating his mind. He would begin by telling his
+sister that the minister had recommended a secretary, and then trust to
+the inspiration of the moment for the rest.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima, encompassed with a comprehensive brown apron, stood at the
+table peeling the potatoes for dinner.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&#8217;ve been a long time gone, Thomas,&rdquo; she said complacently&mdash;for Miss
+Jemima was in one of her most amiable moods.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; we found many things to talk about.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what did he say on the secretary question?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, he has recommended one to me who, he thinks, will do first-rate.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! and who is the young man? For of course he is young; all secretaries
+are.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The person lives in Birmingham,&rdquo; was the guarded reply, &ldquo;and goes by the
+name of Owen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima felt by instinct that her brother was keeping something back.
+She shot at him a keen, swift glance, and then resumed the peeling of the
+potato just then in hand, which operation she effected with such extreme
+care, that it was a very attenuated strip of peeling which fell curling
+from her knife into the brown water in the bowl beneath.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 87]</span>&ldquo;What is this young man&#8217;s other name?&rdquo; she calmly asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, now, I don&#8217;t know,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a shrewd smile.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Just like you men!&rdquo; whipped out Miss Jemima, pausing in her work; &ldquo;but I
+suppose, as the minister recommends him, it will be all right.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing for it now but a straightforward declaration of the
+dreadful truth.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jemima,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;I mustn&#8217;t mislead you. It&#8217;s not a young
+man at all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima let fall into the water, with a sudden flop, the potato she
+was peeling, and faced her brother, knife in hand, with a look of wild
+astonishment in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not a young man!&rdquo; she almost shrieked, &ldquo;What then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Her brother&#8217;s emphasis had been on the word <em>man</em>, and not on the word
+<em>young</em>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, my dear,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;a young&mdash;&mdash;in fact, a young lady.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Up went Miss Jemima&#8217;s hands.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thomas!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Jemima; such is the minister&#8217;s suggestion.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima, who had resumed her work, proceeded to dig out the eye of a
+potato with unwonted prodigality.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Durnford,&rdquo; resumed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;tells me it is a common thing for
+young ladies to be secretaries now-a-days; and he very highly recommended
+this one in particular.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 88]</span>Miss Jemima knew, that if her brother&#8217;s mind was made up, it would be
+useless to withstand his will.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;When is she coming?&rdquo; was all she said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&#8217;t know. Mr. Durnford promised to write and ask her to come and see
+us first. You shall talk with her yourself, Jemima; and, believe me, if
+there is any good reason to object to the arrangement, she shall not be
+engaged.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima permitted herself just one other word.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am surprised at Mr. Durnford!&rdquo; she said; and then the matter dropped.</p>
+
+<p>Two days later, in prompt response to the minister&#8217;s letter, Miss Owen
+duly arrived. Mr. Durnford met her at the station, and conducted her to
+the house of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. He had sent her, in his letter, all needful
+information concerning &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, and the circumstances which
+rendered it necessary for him to engage a secretary.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They reside at present,&rdquo; he said during the walk from the station, &ldquo;in a
+small house, but will soon remove to a larger one.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was busy in his workshop when they arrived; but Miss Jemima
+was awaiting them in solitary state, in the front-room. The good lady had
+meant to be forbidding and severe in her reception of the &ldquo;forward minx,&rdquo;
+whom she had settled it in her mind the prospective secretary would prove
+to be. But the moment her eyes beheld Miss Owen she was disarmed. The
+dark-eyed, black-haired, modestly-attired, and even <span class='pagenum'>[Pg 89]</span>sober-looking girl,
+who put out her hand with a very simple movement, and spoke, with
+considerable self-possession truly, but certainly not with an impudent
+air, bore but scant resemblance to the &ldquo;brazen hussey&rdquo; who had haunted
+Miss Jemima&#8217;s mind for the past two days.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn came in from his workshop, and greeted the young girl with
+an honest heartiness which placed her at her ease at once.</p>
+
+<p>With almost a cordial air, Miss Jemima invited the visitors to sit down.
+As Miss Owen glanced a second time around the room, a look of perplexity
+came into her face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you know, Miss Horn,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;your house seems quite familiar to
+me. I almost feel as if I had been here before. Of course I never have.
+It&#8217;s just one of those queer feelings everybody has sometimes, as if what
+you are going through at the time had all taken place before.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She spoke out the thought of her mind with a simple impulsiveness which
+had its own charm.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima, with a start; but she was deterred from
+further remark by Mr. Durnford&#8217;s rising from his seat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think I&#8217;ll leave you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and call for Miss Owen in&mdash;say a
+quarter of an hour. With your permission, Mr. Horn, she will sleep at
+our house to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&#8217;t go, sir,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;Your presence will be a help to
+us on both sides.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It needed no further pursuasion to induce the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 90]</span> minister to remain: with
+his assistance, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn soon came to terms with the young lady;
+and, as, upon a hint conveyed in the letter she had received from the
+minister, she had come to Cottonborough prepared, if necessary, to remain,
+it was arranged that she should commence her duties on the following day.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And would it not be as well for her to come to us to-night?&rdquo; asked
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;The sooner she begins to get used to us the better. And
+she can still spend the evening with you, Mr. Durnford.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The minister looked enquiringly at Miss Owen,</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What do you say, my dear?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am entirely in your hands, sir, and those of Mr. Horn.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Mr. Durnford, &ldquo;if you really wish it. Mr. Horn, Miss Owen
+shall come to you to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And thus it was arranged.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 91]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>THE ATTACK ON THE CORRESPONDENCE.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>When &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s secretary awoke next morning, she experienced a
+return of the feeling of familiarity with her surroundings of which she
+had been conscious on first entering the house. The little white-washed
+bedroom, with its simple furniture, seemed like a vision of the past.
+She had a dreamy impression that she had slept in this little white room
+many times before. There was, in particular, a startling appearance of
+familiarity in a certain picture which hung upon the wall, beyond the foot
+of the bed. It was an old-fashioned coloured print, in a black frame, and
+represented Jacob&#8217;s dream. For a long time she gazed at the picture. Then
+she gave herself a shake, and sighed, and laughed a low, pathetic little
+laugh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What nonsense!&rdquo; she thought. &ldquo;As if I could ever have been here before,
+or set eyes on the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 92]</span> picture! Though I may have seen one like it somewhere
+else, to be sure.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then she roused herself, and got out of bed. But when, having dressed, she
+went downstairs, the same sense of familiarity with her surroundings
+surged over her again. The boxed-up staircase seemed to her a not
+untrodden way; and when she emerged in the kitchen at its foot, and saw
+the round deal table spread for breakfast with its humble array, she
+almost staggered at the familiarity of the scene.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was in his workshop, and Miss Jemima had gone into the
+yard; and, as the young girl gazed around the humble room it seemed, in
+some strange fashion, to have belonged to her past life. The very tap-tap
+of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s hammer, coming cheerily from the workshop behind,
+awoke weird echoes in her brain, and helped to render her illusion
+complete.</p>
+
+<p>All breakfast-time she felt like one in a dream. She seemed to be drifting
+into a new life, which was not new but old; and she almost felt as if she
+had <em>come home</em>. She was utterly unable to imagine what might be the
+explanation of this strange experience. She had not a glimmering of the
+actual truth. She struggled against the feeling which possessed her, and
+partly overcame it; but it returned again and again during her stay in the
+house, though with diminished force.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn invited his secretary to attack the
+accumulated mass of letters which waited for despatch.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 93]</span>&ldquo;You see, Miss Owen,&rdquo; he said in half-apology for asking her to begin work
+so soon, &ldquo;the pile gets larger every day; and, if we don&#8217;t do something to
+reduce it at once, it will get altogether beyond bounds.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Owen turned her sparkling dark eyes upon her employer.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; she exclaimed, as she took her seat at the table, &ldquo;the
+sooner we get to work the better! I did not come here to play, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn poured an armful of unanswered letters down upon the table,
+in front of his ardent young secretary.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There&#8217;s a snow-drift for you, Miss Owen!&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir,&rdquo; was the cheery response, &ldquo;we must do our best to clear
+it away.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Owen was already beginning to feel quite at home with &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn;
+and she even ventured at this point, to rally him on the dismay with which
+he regarded his piles of letters.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&#8217;t you think, sir,&rdquo; she asked, with a radiant smile, &ldquo;that a little
+sunshine might help us?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn started, and glanced towards the window. The morning was
+dull.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but we can&#8217;t command&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; Then he perceived her meaning,
+and broke off with a smile. &ldquo;To be sure; you are right, Miss Owen. It is
+wrong of me to be wearing such a gloomy face. But you see this kind of
+thing is all so new and strange to me; and you need not wonder that I am
+dismayed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 94]</span>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied the secretary, with just the faintest little touch of
+patronage in her tone; &ldquo;it&#8217;s not surprising in your case. But I am not
+dismayed. Answering letters has always been my delight.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s well,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, gravely; &ldquo;And I think you will have
+to supply a large share of the &lsquo;sunshine&rsquo; too, Miss Owen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ll try,&rdquo; she replied, simply, with a beaming smile; and she squared her
+shapely arms, and bent her dusky head, and set to work with a will, while
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, regarding her from the opposite side of the table, was
+divided between two mysteries, which were, how she could write so fast and
+well, and what it was which made him feel as if he had known her all his
+life?</p>
+
+<p>Most of the letters contained applications for money. Some few were from
+the representatives of well-known philanthropic societies; many others
+were appeals on behalf of local charities or associations; and no small
+proportion were the applications of individuals, who either had great
+need, or were very cunning, or both.</p>
+
+<p>The private appeals were of great variety. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was amazed to
+find how many people were at the point of despair for want of just the
+help that he was able to give. It was past belief how large a number of
+persons he had the opportunity of saving from ruin, and with how small a
+sum of money, in each case, it might be done.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 95]</span> What a manifold disclosure
+of human misery and despair those letters were, or seemed to be! Some of
+them, doubtless, had been written with breaking hearts, and punctuated
+with tears; but which?</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I had no idea there was so much trouble in the world!&rdquo; cried &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn, in dismay.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps there is not quite so much as your letters seem to imply, sir,&rdquo;
+suggested the secretary.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You think not?&rdquo; queried &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I feel sure of it,&rdquo; said the young girl, with a knowing shake of her
+head. &ldquo;But we must do our best to discriminate. I should throw some of
+these letters into the fire at once, if I were you, Mr. Horn.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But they must be answered first!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Must they, sir? Every one?&rdquo; enquired the secretary, arching her dark
+eye-brows. &ldquo;Why it will cost you a small fortune in stamps, Mr. Horn!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But you forget how rich I am, Miss Owen. And I would rather be cheated a
+thousand times, than withhold, in a single instance, the help I ought to
+give.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Mr. Horn, I&#8217;m your secretary, and must obey your commands, whether
+I approve of them or not.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She spoke with a merry trill of laughter; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, far from
+being offended, shot back upon her a beaming smile.</p>
+
+<p>They took the letters as they came. Concerning some of the applications,
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn felt quite able to decide himself. Appeals from
+duly-accredited philanthropic institutions received from him a liberal<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 96]</span>
+response, and so large were some of the amounts that the young secretary
+felt constrained to remonstrate.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You forget,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;how much money I&#8217;ve got.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;excuse me, sir&mdash;you seem resolved to give it all away!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, almost,&rdquo; was the calm reply.</p>
+
+<p>There was but little difficulty, moreover, in dealing with the
+applications on behalf of local interests. It was the private appeals
+which afforded most trouble. Every case had to be strenuously debated with
+Miss Owen, who maintained that not one of these importunate correspondents
+ought to be assisted, until &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had satisfied himself that
+the case was one of actual necessity, and real merit. By dint of great
+persistency, she succeeded in convincing her employer that many of these
+private appeals were not worthy of a moment&#8217;s consideration. To each of
+the writers of these a polite note of refusal was to be despatched. With
+regard to the rest, it was decided that an application for references
+should be made.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I shall have to be your <em>woman</em> of business, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; said Miss Owen,
+&ldquo;as well as your secretary; and, between us, I think we can manage.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She felt that there was a true Christian work for her in doing what she
+could to help this poor embarrassed Christian man of wealth.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was enraptured with his secretary. She seemed to be fitting
+herself into a vacant place in his life. It appeared the most natural
+thing in the world that she should be there writing his letters. If<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 97]</span> his
+little Marian had not gone from him years ago, she might have been his
+secretary now. He sighed at the thought; and then, as he looked across at
+the animated face of Miss Owen, as she bent over her work, and swept the
+table with her abundant tresses, he was comforted in no small degree.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima&#8217;s respect for the proprieties, rendered her reluctant to
+absent herself much from the room where her brother and his engaging young
+secretary sat together at their interesting work; and she manifested, from
+time to time, a lively interest in the progress of their task.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 98]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>A PARTING GIFT FOR &ldquo;THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN.&rdquo;</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The honest joy of &ldquo;the little twin brethren&rdquo; at the sudden enrichment
+of their friend, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, was dashed with a deep regret. It was
+excellent that he had been made a wealthy man. As Tommy Dudgeon expressed
+it, &ldquo;Providence had not made a mistake this time, anyhow.&rdquo; But, in common
+with the rest of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s neighbours, the two worthy little men
+bitterly deplored the inevitable departure of their friend from their
+midst. It was &ldquo;not to be supposed,&rdquo; said Tommy again&mdash;it was always Tommy
+who said things; to John had been assigned the honour of perpetuating the
+family name&mdash;it was &ldquo;not to be supposed that a millionaire would live in
+a small house, in a narrow street, remain at the cobbler&#8217;s bench, or
+continue to associate with poor folks like themselves.&rdquo; The little
+hucksters <span class='pagenum'>[Pg 99]</span>considered it a matter of course that &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn would
+shortly remove to another and very different abode, and they mourned
+over the prospect with sincere and bitter grief.</p>
+
+<p>The little men had good reason for their sorrow, for to none of all his
+poor neighbours had &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn been a better friend. And their regret
+in view of his approaching removal was fully reciprocated by &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn himself. Of all the friends, in the network of streets surrounding
+his humble abode, whom he had fastened to his heart with the golden hooks
+of love, there were none whom he held more closely there than the two
+little tradesmen across the way. His intercourse with them had been one of
+the chief refreshments of his life; and he knew that he would sadly miss
+his humble little friends.</p>
+
+<p>And now the time had come for the removal, and the evening previous to the
+departure from the old home, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; paid his last visit,
+in the capacity of neighbour, to the worthy little twins. He had long
+known that they had a constant struggle to make their way. He had often
+assisted them as far as his own hitherto humble means would allow; and
+now, he had resolved that before leaving the neighbourhood, he would make
+them such a present as would lift them, once for all, out of the quagmire
+of adversity in which they had floundered so long.</p>
+
+<p>At six o&#8217;clock, on that autumn evening, it being already dusk, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn opened his front door, and stood for a moment on the step. Miss
+Jemima<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 100]</span> and the young secretary were both out of the way. If Miss Jemima
+had known where her brother was going and for what purpose, she would have
+held up her hands in horror and dismay, and might even, had she been
+present, have tried to detain him in the house by main force.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn lingered a moment on the door-step, with the instinctive
+hesitation of one who is about to perform an act of unaccustomed
+magnitude; but his soul revelled in the thought of what he was going
+to do. He was about to exercise the gracious privilege of the wealthy
+Christian man; and, as he handled a bundle of crisp bank-notes which he
+held in the side pocket of his coat, his fingers positively tingled with
+rapture.</p>
+
+<p>The street was very quiet. A milk girl was going from door to door, and
+the lamplighter was vanishing in the distance. Yet &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn flitted
+furtively across the way, as though he were afraid of being seen; and,
+having glided with the stealth of a burglar through the doorway of the
+little shop, found himself face to face with Tommy Dudgeon. The smile of
+commercial satisfaction, which had been summoned to the face of the little
+man by the consciousness that some one was coming into the shop, resolved
+itself into an air of respectful yet genial greeting when he recognised
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, good evening, Mr. Horn! You said you would pay us a farewell visit,
+and we were expecting you. Come in, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn followed his humble conductor<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 101]</span> into the small but cosy
+living-room behind, which the large number of its occupants caused to
+appear even smaller than it was. John Dudgeon was there, and Mrs. John,
+and several offshoots of the Dudgeon tree. Mrs. Dudgeon was ironing at a
+table beneath the one small window, in the fading light. She was a staid
+and dapper matron, with here and there the faintest line of care upon her
+comely face. A couple of the children were rolling upon the hearthrug in
+the ruddy glow of the fire, and two or three others were doing their
+home-lessons by the aid of the same unsteady gleam. The father, swept to
+one side by the surges of his superabundant family, sat on a chair at the
+extreme corner of the hearthrug, with both the twins upon his knees.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was greeted with the cordiality due to an old family
+friend. Even the children clustered around him and clung to his arms and
+legs. Mrs. John, as she was invariably called&mdash;possibly on the assumption
+that Tommy Dudgeon also would, in due time, take a wife, cleared the
+children away from the side of the hearth opposite to her husband, and
+placed a chair for the ever-welcome guest. Tommy Dudgeon, who had slipped
+into the shop to adjust the door-bell, so that he might have timely notice
+of the entrance of a customer, soon returned, and placing a chair for
+himself between his brother and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, sat down with his feet
+amongst the children, and his gaze fixed on the fire.</p>
+
+<p>For a time there was no sound in the room but the click of Mrs. John&#8217;s
+iron, as it travelled swiftly<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 102]</span> to and fro. Even the children were
+preternaturally quiet. At length Tommy spoke, in sepulchral tones, with
+his eyes still on the fire.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Only to think that it&#8217;s the last time!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&#8217;s the last time, friend?&rdquo; asked &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a start.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why this&mdash;that we shall see you sitting there so sociable like, Mr.
+Horn.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed, I hope not,&rdquo; was the hearty response. &ldquo;You&#8217;re not going to get
+rid of me so easily as that, old friend.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; exclaimed Tommy, &ldquo;I thought you were going to remove; and I&#8217;m sure
+no one could find fault with it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes: but you surely don&#8217;t suppose I&#8217;m going to turn my back on my old
+neighbours altogether?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What you say is very kind,&rdquo; replied Tommy; &ldquo;but, Mr. Horn, we can&#8217;t
+expect to see you very often after this.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, friend, perhaps oftener than you think.&rdquo; Then he told them that he
+had bought the house in which he had lived amongst them, and meant to keep
+it up, and come there almost every day to mend boots and shoes, without
+charge for his poor customers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, to be sure!&rdquo; exclaimed Tommy Dudgeon, while John chuckled
+exultantly to the twins, and Mrs. John moved her iron more vigorously to
+and fro, and hastily raised her hand to brush away a grateful and admiring
+tear.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was considering how<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 103]</span> he might most delicately
+disclose the special purpose of his visit.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But after all,&rdquo; he said at length, &ldquo;this is a farewell visit. I&#8217;m going
+away, and, after to-morrow, I shall not be your neighbour any more.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>For some moments his hand had been once more in his pocket, fingering the
+bank-notes. He now drew them forth very much in the way in which a man
+entrapped into a den of robbers might draw a pocket-pistol, and smoothed
+them out upon his knee.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I thought, old friend,&rdquo; he said, turning to Tommy Dudgeon, &ldquo;that perhaps
+you might be willing to accept a trifling memento of our long
+acquaintance. And, indeed, you mustn&#8217;t say no.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>John Dudgeon was too deeply engaged with the twins to note what was said;
+Tommy but dimly perceived the drift of his friend; but upon Mrs. John the
+full truth flashed with the clearness of noon.</p>
+
+<p>The next moment the notes were being transferred to the hands of the
+astonished Tommy. John was still absorbed with his couple of babies. Mrs.
+John was ironing more furiously than ever. Tommy felt, with his finger and
+thumb, that there were many of the notes; and he perceived that he and his
+were being made the recipients of an act of stupendous generosity. Tears
+trickled down his cheeks; his throat and tongue were parched. He tried to
+thrust the bank-notes back into the hand of his friend.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Horn, you must not beggar yourself on our account.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 104]</span>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; laughed. In truth, he was much relieved. It seemed that his
+humble friend objected to his gift only because he thought it was too
+large.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Beggar&rsquo; myself, Tommy?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I should have to be a very reckless
+spendthrift indeed to do that. You forget how dreadfully rich I am. Why
+these paltry notes are a mere nothing to such a wealth-encumbered
+unfortunate as I. But I thought the money would be a help to you. And you
+must take it, Tommy, you must indeed. The Lord told me to give it to you;
+and what shall I say to Him, if I allow you to refuse His gift?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And so the generous will of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; prevailed; and if he
+could have heard and seen all that took place by that humble fireside,
+after he was gone, he would have been assured that at least one small
+portion of his uncle&#8217;s wealth had been well-bestowed.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 105]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>THE NEW HOUSE.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s new house, which was situated, as we have seen, on one of
+the chief roads leading out of the town, marked almost the verge, in that
+direction, of the straggling fringe of urban outskirts. Beyond it there
+was only the small cottage in which had lived, and still resided, the
+woman who had seen Marian as she trotted so eagerly away into the great
+pitiless world. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had not deliberately set himself to seek a
+house upon this road. But, when he found there a residence to let which
+seemed to be almost exactly the kind of dwelling he required, the fact
+that it was situated in a locality so tenderly associated with the memory
+of his lost child, in no degree diminished his desire to make it his
+abode.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It was here that she went by,&rdquo; he said softly to himself, at the close of
+their visit of inspection, as he stood with Miss Jemima at the gate; &ldquo;and
+it was yonder that she was last seen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 106]</span>What were Miss Jemima&#8217;s thoughts, as she followed, with her eyes, the
+direction of her brother&#8217;s gaze, may not be known; for an unwonted silence
+had fallen on her usually ready tongue.</p>
+
+<p>It was a good house, with a pleasant lawn in front, and a yard, containing
+coach-house and stables, behind. The house itself was well-built,
+commodious, and fitted with all the conveniences of the day. As most of
+the furniture was new, the removal of the family was not a very elaborate
+process. In this, as in all other things, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn found that his
+money secured him the minimum of trouble. He had simply given a few
+orders&mdash;which his sister, it is true, had supplemented with a great many
+more&mdash;; and, when the day of removal came, they found themselves duly
+installed in a house furnished with a completeness which left nothing to
+be desired.</p>
+
+<p>On their arrival, they were received in the hall by three smiling maids,
+a coachman, and a boy in buttons. &ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; almost staggered,
+as the members of his domestic staff paid due homage to their master. He
+half-turned to his sister, and saw that, she, unlike himself, was not
+taken by surprise. Then he hastily returned the respectful salutations of
+the beaming group, and passed into the house.</p>
+
+<p>It was afternoon when the removal took place, and the remainder of the day
+was spent in inspecting the premises, and settling down. With the aid of
+his indefatigable secretary, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had disposed of his morning&#8217;s
+letters before leaving the old house, and, as it happened, the later mails
+were small that<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 107]</span> day. Miss Jemima stepped into her new position as
+mistress of a large establishment with ease and grace; and, assisted by
+the young secretary, who was fast gaining the goodwill of her employer&#8217;s
+sister, was already giving to the house, by means of a few slight touches
+here and there, that indescribable air of homeliness which money cannot
+buy, and no skill of builder or upholsterer can impart.</p>
+
+<p>To &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn himself that evening was a restless time. He felt
+himself to be strangely out of place; and he was almost afraid to tread
+upon the thick soft carpets, or to sit upon the luxurious chairs. And
+yet he smiled to himself, as he contrasted his own uneasiness with the
+complacency with which his sister was fitting herself into her place in
+their new sphere.</p>
+
+<p>Under the guidance of the coachman, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn inspected the horses
+and carriages. The coachman, who was the most highly-finished specimen of
+his kind who could be obtained for money, treated his new master with an
+oppressive air of respect. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn would have preferred a more
+familiar bearing on the part of his gorgeously-attired servant; but
+Bounder was obdurate, for he knew his place. His only recognition of the
+somewhat unusual sociability of his master, was to touch his hat with a
+more impressive action, and to impart a still deeper note of respect to
+the tones of his voice. His bearing implied a solemn rebuke. It was as
+though he said, &ldquo;If you, sir, don&#8217;t know your place, I know mine.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; having completed his<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 108]</span> survey of his new abode
+and its surroundings, realized more fuller than hitherto the change his
+circumstances had undergone. The old life was now indeed past, and he was
+fairly launched upon the new. Well, by the help of God, he had tried to do
+his duty in the humble sphere of poverty; and he would attempt the same in
+the infinitely more difficult position in which he was now placed.</p>
+
+<p>Entering the house by the back way, he paused and lingered regretfully for
+a moment at the kitchen door. One of the maids perceived his hesitation,
+and wondered if master was of the interfering kind. He dispelled her alarm
+by passing slowly on.</p>
+
+<p>After supper, in the dining-room, Miss Jemima handed the old family Bible
+to her brother, and he took it with a loving grasp. Here, at least, was a
+part of the old life still.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Shall I ring for the servants?&rdquo; asked Miss Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By all means,&rdquo; said her brother, with a slight start.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima touched the electric bell, with the air of one who had been
+in the habit of ringing for servants all her life. In quick response, the
+door was opened; and the maids, the coachman, and the boy, who had all
+been well schooled by Miss Jemima, filed gravely in.</p>
+
+<p>The ordeal through which &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had now to pass was very unlike
+the homely family prayer of the old life. He performed his task, however,
+with a simplicity and fervour with which the domestics<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 109]</span> were duly
+impressed; and when it was over he made them a genial yet dignified little
+speech, and wished them all a hearty good night.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Brother,&rdquo; Miss Jemima ventured to remark, when the servants were gone, &ldquo;I
+am afraid you lean too much to the side of familiarity with the servants.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Sister,&rdquo; was the mildly sarcastic response, &ldquo;you are quite able to adjust
+the balance.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Amongst the few things which were transferred from the old house to the
+new, was a small tin trunk, the conveyance of which Miss Jemima was at
+great pains personally to superintend. It contained the tiny wardrobe of
+the long lost child, which the sorrowing, and still self-accusing, lady
+had continued to preserve.</p>
+
+<p>It is doubtful whether &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was aware of his sister&#8217;s pathetic
+hoard; but there were two mementos of his lost darling which he himself
+preserved. For the custody of papers, deeds, and other valuables, he had
+placed in the room set apart as his office, a brand new safe. In one of
+its most secure recesses he deposited, with gentle care, a tiny parcel
+done up in much soft paper. It contained a mud-soiled print bonnet-string,
+and a little dust-stained shoe.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They will never be of any more use to her,&rdquo; he had said to himself; &ldquo;but
+they may help to find her some day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 110]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>A TALK WITH THE MINISTER ABOUT MONEY.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn knew his minister to be a man of strict integrity and
+sound judgment; and it was with complete confidence that he sought Mr.
+Durnford&#8217;s advice with regard to those of his letters with which his
+secretary and himself were unable satisfactorily to deal. The morning
+after the removal to the new house, he hastened to the residence of the
+minister with a bundle of such letters in his pocket. Mr. Durnford read
+the letters carefully through, and gave him in each case suitable advice;
+and then &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had a question to ask.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you tell me, sir, why you have not yet asked me for anything towards
+any of our own church funds?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; replied the minister, with a shrewd twinkle in his eye, &ldquo;you see,
+Mr. Horn, I thought I might safely leave the matter to your generosity and
+good sense.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 111]</span>&ldquo;Thank you, sir. Well, I am anxious that my own church should have its
+full share of what I have to give. Will you, sir,&rdquo; he added diffidently,
+&ldquo;kindly tell me what funds there are, and how much I ought to give to
+each.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, he extracted from his pocket, with some difficulty, a bulky
+cheque-book, and flattened it out on the table with almost reverent
+fingers; for he had not yet come to regard the possession of a cheque-book
+as a commonplace circumstance of his life.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s just like you, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; said the minister, with glistening eyes.</p>
+
+<p>He was a straightforward man, and transparent as glass. He would not
+manifest false delicacy, or make an insincere demur.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There are plenty of ways for your money, with us, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; he added.
+&ldquo;But what is your wish? Shall I make a list of the various funds?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford drew his chair to his writing-table, as he spoke, and took
+up his pen.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you please, sir,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>No sooner said than done; and in a few moments the half-sheet of large
+manuscript paper which the minister had placed before him was filled from
+top to bottom with a list of the designations of various religious funds.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, glancing at the paper. &ldquo;Will you,
+now, kindly set down in order how much you think I ought to give in each
+case.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 112]</span>With the very slightest hesitation, and in perfect silence, Mr. Durnford
+undertook this second task; and, in a few minutes, having jotted down a
+specific amount opposite to each of the lines in the list, he handed the
+paper again to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford&#8217;s estimate of his visitor&#8217;s liberality had not erred by
+excess of modesty; and he was startled when he mentally reckoned up the
+sum of the various amounts he had set down. But &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s reception
+of the list startled him still more.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear sir,&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; with a smile, &ldquo;I&#8217;m afraid
+you do not realize how very rich I am. This list will not help me much in
+getting rid of the amount of money of which I shall have to dispose, for
+the Lord, every year. Try your hand again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford asked pardon for the modesty of his suggestions, and promptly
+revised the list.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, that is better,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;The subscriptions you have set
+down may stand, as far as the ordinary funds are concerned; but now about
+the debt fund? What is the amount of the debt?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Two thousand pounds.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I will pay off half of it at once; and, when you have raised
+two-thirds of the rest, let me know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir, indeed!&rdquo; exclaimed the minister, almost smacking his
+lips, as he dipped his pen in the ink, and added this munificent promise
+to the already long list.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is a mere nothing,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;It<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 113]</span> is but a trifling
+instalment of the debt I owe to God on account of this church, and its
+minister. But you are beginning to find, Mr. Durnford, that I am rather
+eccentric in money matters?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Delightfully so!&rdquo; exclaimed the minister.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, the right use of money has always been a point with me. Even in the
+days when I had very little money through my hands, I tried to remember
+that I was the steward of my Lord. It was difficult, then, to carry out
+the idea, because it often seemed as though I could not spare what I
+really thought I ought to give. My present difficulty is to dispose of
+even a small part of what I can easily spare.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed the minister, in whose face there was an expression of
+deep interest.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; resumed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;will you, Mr. Durnford, help me in this
+matter? Will you let me know of any suitable channels for my money of
+which you may, from time to time, be aware?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You may depend upon me in that, my dear sir,&rdquo; said the minister, with
+gusto.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir!&rdquo; exclaimed &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; as fervently as though
+his minister had promised to make him acquainted with chances of gaining
+money, instead of letting him know of opportunities of giving it away.
+&ldquo;And now I think of it, Mr. Durnford, I should like to place in your hands
+a sum for use at your own discretion. You must meet with many cases of
+necessity which you would not care to mention to the authorities of the
+church; and it would be a distinct advantage to you<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 114]</span> to have a sum of
+money for use in such instances absolutely at your own command. Now I am
+going to write you a cheque for fifty pounds to be used as you think fit;
+and when it is done, you shall have more.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Horn!&rdquo; exclaimed the startled minister.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes, it&#8217;s all right. All the money I&#8217;ve promised you this morning
+is a mere trifle to me. And now, with your permission, I&#8217;ll write the
+cheques.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Why &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn should not have included the whole amount of his gifts
+in one cheque it is difficult to say. Perhaps he thought that, by writing
+a separate cheque for the last fifty pounds, he would more effectually
+ensure Mr. Durnford&#8217;s having the absolute disposal of that amount.</p>
+
+<p>The writing of the cheques was a work of time.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There, sir,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, at last, as he handed the two precious
+slips of paper across the table, &ldquo;I hope you will find them all right.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, Mr. Horn, again and again,&rdquo; said the minister, as he folded up
+the cheques and placed them in his pocket-book; &ldquo;they are perfectly right,
+I am sure.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Has it occurred to you,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;that it would be well if you were
+systematic in your giving?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; and I intend systematically to give away as much as I can.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But have you thought of fixing what proportion of your income you will
+give? Not,&rdquo; added the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 115]</span> minister, laughing, &ldquo;that I am afraid lest you
+should not give away enough.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes,&rdquo; responded &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, laughing in his turn; &ldquo;I have decided
+to give proportionately; and the proportion I mean to give is almost all
+I&#8217;ve got.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I see you are incorrigible,&rdquo; laughed Mr. Durnford.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&#8217;ll find that I am. But now&mdash;&rdquo; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn regarded his
+minister with an expression of modest, friendly interest in his face&mdash;&ldquo;I&#8217;m
+going to write another cheque.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You must be fond of the occupation, Mr. Horn.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s enrichment had not, in any degree, caused the cordiality
+of his relations with his minister to decline. There was nothing in
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn to encourage sycophancy; and there was not in Mr. Durnford
+a particle of the sycophant.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I believe I don&#8217;t altogether dislike it, sir,&rdquo; assented &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn in
+response to the minister&#8217;s last remark. &ldquo;But,&rdquo; he added, handing to him
+the cheque he had now finished writing, &ldquo;will you, my dear sir, accept
+that for yourself? Your stipend is far too small; and I know Mrs.
+Durnford&#8217;s illness in the spring must have been very expensive. Don&#8217;t
+say no, I beg of you; but take it&mdash;&mdash;as a favour to me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He had risen from his seat, and the next moment, with a hurried &ldquo;good
+morning,&rdquo; he was gone, leaving the astonished minister in possession of
+a cheque for one hundred pounds!</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 116]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN&#8217;S VILLAGE.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>It was the custom of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn to spend the first hour of every
+morning, after breakfast, in the office, with his secretary. They would go
+through the letters which required attention; and, after he had given Miss
+Owen specific directions with regard to some of them, he would leave her
+to use her own discretion with reference to the rest. Amongst the former,
+there were frequently a few which he reserved for the judgment of Mr.
+Durnford. It was the duty of the young secretary to scan the letters which
+came by the later posts; but none of them were to be submitted to
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn until the next morning, unless they were of urgent
+importance.</p>
+
+<p>One morning, about a week after the removal to the new house, the office
+door suddenly opened, and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn emerged into the hall in a state
+of great excitement, holding an open letter in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jemima!&rdquo; he shouted.</p>
+
+<p>The only response was a sound of angry voices<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 117]</span> from the region of the
+kitchen, amidst which he recognised his sister&#8217;s familiar tones. Surely
+Jemima was not having trouble with the servants! Approaching the kitchen
+door, he pushed it slightly open, and peeped into the room. Miss Jemima
+was emphatically laying down the law to the young and comely cook, who
+stood back against the table, facing her mistress, with the rolling-pin in
+her hand, and rebellion in every curve of her figure and in every feature
+of her face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You are a saucy minx,&rdquo; Miss Jemima was saying, in her sharpest tones.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Minx&rsquo; yourself,&rdquo; was the pert reply. &ldquo;No mistress shan&#8217;t interfere with
+me and my work, as you&#8217;ve done this last week. If you was a real lady, you
+wouldn&#8217;t do it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You rude girl, I&#8217;ll teach you to keep your place.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Keep your own,&rdquo; rapped out the girl; &ldquo;and it &#8217;ull be the better for all
+parties. As for me, I shan&#8217;t keep this place, and I give you warning from
+now, so there!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At this moment, the girl caught sight of her master&#8217;s face at the door,
+and flinging herself around to the table, resumed her work. Miss Jemima,
+in her great anger, advanced a pace or two, with uplifted hand, towards
+the broad back of her rebellious cook: &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, observing the
+position of affairs, spoke in emphatic tones.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jemima, I want you at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima started, and then, without a word, followed her brother to the
+dining-room.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 118]</span>&ldquo;Brother,&rdquo; she said, snatching, in her anger, the first word, &ldquo;that girl
+has insulted me grossly.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Jemima, I heard; but try to forget it for a moment. I have great
+news for you. This letter is about cousin Jack.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In a moment Miss Jemima had forgotten her insubordinate cook.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So the poor creature is found!&rdquo; she said when she had taken, and read,
+the letter.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and he proves to be in a condition which will render doubly welcome
+the good news he will shortly receive.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then you persist in your intention to hand over to him a share of uncle&#8217;s
+money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To be sure I do!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; retorted Miss Jemima, somewhat acrimoniously, &ldquo;it&#8217;s a pity. That
+portion of the money will be dispersed in a worse manner even than it was
+gathered.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&#8217;t say that, Jemima,&rdquo; said her brother gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; asked Miss Jemima, dispensing with further protest, &ldquo;what are you
+going to do?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The first thing is to see Messrs. Tongs and Ball. You see they ask me to
+do so. I can&#8217;t get away to-day. To-morrow I am to visit our village, you
+know; and, as it is on the way to London, the best plan will be to go on
+when I am so far.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So it was settled, and Miss Owen was instructed to write the lawyers,
+saying that Mr. Horn would wait upon them on the morning of the third day
+from that time.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 119]</span>The next morning, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, having invested his young secretary with
+full powers in regard to his correspondence, during his absence, set off
+by an early train for Daisy Lane, en route for London. He had but a vague
+idea as to the village of which he was the chief proprietor. He was aware,
+however, that his property there, including the old hall itself, was, to
+quote Mr. Ball, &ldquo;somewhat out of repair&rdquo;; and he rejoiced in the prospect
+of the opportunity its dilapidation might present of turning to good
+account some considerable portion of his immense wealth.</p>
+
+<p>It was almost noon when the train stopped at the small station at which
+he was to alight. He was the only passenger who left the train at that
+station; and, almost before his feet had touched the platform, he was
+greeted by a plain, middle-aged man, of medium height and broad of build,
+whose hair was reddish-brown and his whiskers brownish-red, while his
+tanned and glowing face bore ample evidence of an out-door life. He had
+the appearance of a good-natured, intelligent, and trustworthy man. This
+was John Gray, the agent of the property; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn liked him
+from the first.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s only a mile and a half to the village sir,&rdquo; said the man, as they
+mounted the trap which was waiting outside the station; &ldquo;and we shall soon
+run along.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The trap was a nondescript and dilapidated vehicle, and the horse was by
+no means a thoroughbred. But the whole turn-out was faultlessly clean.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s rather a crazy concern, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Gray<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 120]</span> candidly. &ldquo;But you
+needn&#8217;t be afraid. It will hold together for this time, I think.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn smiled somewhat sadly, as he mounted to his seat. Here was
+probably an instalment of much with which he was destined to meet that
+day.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Wake up, Jack!&rdquo; said Mr. Gray, shaking the reins. The appearance of
+the animal indicated that it was necessary for him to take his master&#8217;s
+injunction in a literal sense. He awoke with a start, and set off at a
+walking pace, from which, by dint of much persuasion on the part of his
+driver, he was induced to pass into a gentle trot.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He never goes any faster than that,&rdquo; said the agent.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; ejaculated &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;But we must try to get you something
+better to drive about in than this, Mr. Gray.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir. It will be a good thing.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As they slowly progressed along the pleasant country road, the agent gave
+his new employer sundry particulars concerning the property of which he
+had become possessed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nearly all the village belongs to you, sir. There&#8217;s only the church and
+vicarage, and one farm-house, with a couple of cottages attached, that are
+not yours. But you&#8217;ll find your property in an awful state. I&#8217;ve done what
+I could to patch it up; but what can you do without money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I hope, Mr. Gray,&rdquo; said the new proprietor, &ldquo;that we shall soon rectify
+all that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 121]</span>&ldquo;Of course you will, sir,&rdquo; said the candid agent. &ldquo;It&#8217;s very painful,&rdquo; he
+added, &ldquo;to hear the complaints the people make.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt. You must take me to see some of my tenants; but you must not
+tell them who I am.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There&#8217;s a decent house!&rdquo; he remarked presently, as they came in sight
+of a comfortable-looking residence, which stood on their left, at the
+entrance of the village.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, that&#8217;s the vicarage,&rdquo; replied the agent, &ldquo;and the church is a little
+beyond, and along there, on the other side of the road, is the farm-house
+which does not belong to you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>They were now entering the village, the long, straggling street of which
+soon afforded &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; evidence enough of his deceased
+uncle&#8217;s parsimonious ideas. Half-ruined cottages and tumbledown houses
+were dispersed around; here and there along the main street, were two or
+three melancholy shops; and in the centre of the village stood a
+disreputable-looking public-house.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I could wish,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, as they passed the last-mentioned
+building, &ldquo;that my village did not contain any place of that kind.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There&#8217;s no reason,&rdquo; responded the agent, with a quiet smile, &ldquo;why you
+should have a public-house in the place, if you don&#8217;t want one.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Couldn&#8217;t we have a public-house without strong drink?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt we could, sir; but it wouldn&#8217;t pay.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You mean as a matter of money, of course. But<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 122]</span> that is nothing to me, and
+the scheme would pay in other respects. I leave it to you, Mr. Gray, to
+get rid of the present occupant of the house as soon as it can be done
+without injustice, and to convert the establishment into a public-house
+without the drink&mdash;a place which will afford suitable accommodation for
+travellers, and be a pleasant meeting place, of an evening, for the men
+and boys of the village.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir,&rdquo; said the agent, with huge delight. &ldquo;Have I carte
+blanche?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Carte blanche&rsquo;?&rdquo; queried &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a puzzled air. &ldquo;Let me
+see; that&#8217;s&mdash;&mdash;what? Ah, I know&mdash;a free hand, isn&#8217;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; replied the agent gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then that&#8217;s just what I mean.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As they drove on, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn observed that most of the gardens
+attached to the cottages were in good order, and that some of the people
+had been at great pains to conceal the mouldering walls of their wretched
+huts with roses, honeysuckle, and various climbing plants. Glowing with
+honest shame, he became restlessly eager to wave his golden wand over this
+desolate scene.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This is my place, sir,&rdquo; said the agent, as they stopped at the gate of a
+dingy, double-fronted house. &ldquo;You&#8217;ll have a bit of dinner with us in our
+humble way?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; &ldquo;I shall be very glad.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 123]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>IN NEED OF REPAIRS.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>After dinner, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn set out with his agent on a tour of
+inspection through the village.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We&#8217;ll take this row first, sir, if you please,&rdquo; said Mr. Gray. &ldquo;One of
+the people has sent for me to call.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So saying he led the way towards a row of decrepit cottages which, with
+their dingy walls and black thatch, looked like a group of fungi, rather
+than a row of habitations erected by the hand of man.</p>
+
+<p>At the crazy door of the first cottage they were confronted by a stout,
+red-faced woman with bare beefy arms, who, on seeing &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn,
+dropped a curtsey, and suppressed the angry salutation which she had
+prepared for Mr. Gray.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A friend of mine, Mrs. Blobs,&rdquo; said the agent.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Glad to see you, sir,&rdquo; said the woman to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;Will you please
+to walk in, gentlemen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Just cast your eye up there, Mr. Gray,&rdquo; she added when they were inside.
+&ldquo;It&#8217;s come through at last.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 124]</span>Sure enough it had. Above their heads was a vast hole in the ceiling, and
+above that a huge gap in the thatch; and at their feet lay a heap of
+bricks, mortar, and fragments of rotten wood.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why the chimney has come through!&rdquo; exclaimed Mr. Gray.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Little doubt of that,&rdquo; said Mrs. Blobs.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Was anybody hurt?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, but they might ha&#8217; bin. It was this very morning. The master was at
+his work, and the children away at school; but, if I hadn&#8217;t just stepped
+out to have a few words with a neighbour, I might ha&#8217; bin just under the
+very place. Isn&#8217;t it disgraceful, sir,&rdquo; she added, turning to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn, &ldquo;that human beings should be made to live in such tumbledown places?
+I believe Mr. Gray, here, would have put things right long ago; but he&#8217;s
+been kept that tight by the old skin-flint what&#8217;s just died. They do say
+as now the property have got into better hands; but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well, Mrs. Blobs&rdquo; interposed the agent; &ldquo;we shall soon see a change
+now I hope.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; assented &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;we&#8217;ll have&mdash;&mdash;that is, I&#8217;m sure Mr. Gray
+will soon make you snug, ma&#8217;am.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We must call at every house, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Gray, as they passed to the
+next door. &ldquo;There isn&#8217;t one of the lot but wants patching up almost every
+day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cheer up, Mr. Gray,&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker.&rdquo; &ldquo;There shall be no more
+patching after this.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 125]</span>In each of the miserable cottages they met with a repetition of their
+experience in the first. If the reproaches of the living could bring back
+the dead, old Jacob Horn should have formed one of the group in those
+mouldy and rotting cottages, to listen to the reiteration of the shameful
+story of his criminal neglect. Here the windows were bursting from their
+setting, like the bulging eyes of suffocating men; and here the door-frame
+was in a state of collapse. In one cottage the ceiling was depositing
+itself, by frequent instalments, on the floor; and in another the floor
+itself was rotting away. In every case, Mr. Gray made bold to promise the
+speedy rectification of everything that was wrong; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+confirmed his promises in a manner so authoritative that it would have
+been a wonder if his discontented tenants had not caught some glimmering
+of the truth as to who he was.</p>
+
+<p>On leaving the cottages, Mr. Gray took his employer to one of the
+farm-houses which his property comprised. They found the farmer, a burly,
+red-faced, ultra-choleric man, excited over some recently-consummated
+dilapidations on his premises. He conducted his visitors over his house
+and farm-buildings, grumbling like an ungreased wagon. His abuse of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s dead uncle was unstinted, and almost every other word was
+a rumbling oath. Mr. Gray assured him that all would be put right now in a
+very short time; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn said, &ldquo;Yes, he was sure it would.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The farmer stared in surprise; but his blunter<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 126]</span> perception proved less
+penetrative than the keen insight of the women, and he simply wondered
+what this rather rough looking stranger could know about it, anyhow. He
+expressed a hope that it might be as Mr. Gray said. For himself he hadn&#8217;t
+much faith. But, if there wasn&#8217;t something done soon, the new landlord had
+better not show himself there, that was all; and the aggrieved farmer
+clenched his implied threat with the most emphatic oath he was able to
+produce.</p>
+
+<p>Their inspection of the remainder of the village revealed, on every side,
+the same condition of ruin and decay; and it was with a sad and indignant
+heart that &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn at length sat down, in Mrs. Gray&#8217;s front
+parlour, to a late but welcome cup of tea.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To-morrow,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we&#8217;ll have a look at the old hall.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; spent the evening in close consultation with his
+agent. The state of the property was thoroughly discussed, and Mr. Gray
+was invested with full power to renovate and renew. His employer enjoined
+him to make complete work. He was to exceed, rather than stop short of,
+what was necessary, and to do even more than the tenants asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You will understand, Mr. Gray,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;that I want all my
+property in this village to be put into such thorough repair that, as far
+as the comfort and convenience of my tenants are concerned, nothing shall
+remain to be desired. So set to work<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 127]</span> with all your might; and we shall
+not quarrel about the bill&mdash;&mdash;if you only make it large enough.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gray&#8217;s big heart bounded within him, as he received this generous
+commission.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And don&#8217;t forget your own house,&rdquo; added his employer. &ldquo;I think you had
+better build yourself a new one while you are about it; and let it be a
+house fit to live in.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gray warmly expressed his thanks, and they proceeded to the
+consideration of the numberless matters which it was necessary to discuss.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning, under the guidance of the agent, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn paid his
+promised visit to the old Hall. It was a venerable Elizabethan mansion,
+and, like everything else in the village that belonged to him, was sadly
+out of repair. As he entered the ancient pile, and passed from room to
+room, a purpose with regard to the old Hall which already vaguely occupied
+his mind, took definite shape; and he seemed to hear, in the empty rooms,
+the glad ring of children&#8217;s laughter and the patter of children&#8217;s feet. In
+memory of his long-lost Marian, and for the glory of the Divine Friend of
+children, the old Hall should be transformed into a Home for little ones
+who were homeless and without a friend.</p>
+
+<p>As they drove to the station, a little later, he announced his attention,
+with regard to the Hall, to Mr. Gray.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I shall leave the business in your hands, Mr. Gray. You must consult
+those who understand such things, and visit similar institutions, and turn
+the old place<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 128]</span> into the best &lsquo;Children&#8217;s Home&rsquo; that can be produced.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, sir; but the children?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That matter I will arrange myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The agent was getting used to surprises; but the next that came almost
+took his breath away.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I believe,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, at the end of a brief silence, &ldquo;that
+your salary, Mr. Gray, is &pound;150 a year?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I wish to increase the amount. Pray consider that you will receive,
+from this time, at the rate of &pound;500 a year.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Horn!&rdquo; cried the startled agent, &ldquo;such generosity!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not at all; I mean you to earn it, you know. But let your horse move on,
+or I shall miss my train. And, by the way, will you oblige me, Mr. Gray,
+by procuring for yourself a horse and trap better calculated to serve the
+interests of my property than this sorry turn-out. Get the best equipment
+which can be obtained for money.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The agent, not knowing whether he was touched the more by the kindness
+of the injunction, or by the delicacy with which it had been expressed,
+murmured incoherent thanks, and promised speedy compliance with his
+employer&#8217;s commands.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 129]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER&rdquo; INSTRUCTS HIS LAWYERS.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn reached London early the same evening, and the following
+morning, at the appointed hour, duly presented himself at the office of
+Messrs. Tongs and Ball. He was received with enthusiasm by the men of
+law. Long Mr. Ball was, as usual, the chief speaker; and round Mr. Tongs
+yielded meek and monosyllabic assent to all his partner&#8217;s words.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And how are you by this time, my dear sir?&rdquo; asked Mr. Ball, almost
+affectionately, when they had taken their seats.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had a vague impression that the lawyer was asking his
+question on behalf of his partner as well as of himself.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, gentlemen,&rdquo; was his cordial reply. &ldquo;I am thankful to say I
+never was better in my life; and I hope I find you the same?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 130]</span>&ldquo;Thank you, my dear sir,&rdquo; answered Mr. Ball, &ldquo;speaking for self and
+partner, I think I may say that we are well.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Tongs.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But,&rdquo; resumed Mr. Ball, turning to the table, &ldquo;your time is precious,
+Mr. Horn. Shall we proceed?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you please, gentlemen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said the lawyer, taking up a bundle of papers; &ldquo;these are the
+letters relating to the case of your unfortunate cousin. Shall I give you
+their contents in due order, Mr. Horn?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you please,&rdquo; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn composed himself to listen, with a
+grave face.</p>
+
+<p>The letters were from the agents of Messrs. Tongs and Ball in New York;
+and the information they conveyed was to the effect that &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s
+scapegrace cousin had been traced to a poor lodging-house in that city,
+where he was slowly dying of consumption. He might last for months, but
+it was possible he would not linger more than a few weeks.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn listened to the reading of the letters with head down-bent.
+When it was finished, he looked up.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, gentlemen,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;have you done anything?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Ball gazed at his client through his spectacles, over the top of the
+last of the letters, which he still held open in his hand, and there was
+gentle expostulation in his eye.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 131]</span>&ldquo;Our instructions, Mr. Horn, were to find your cousin.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I see,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a smile; &ldquo;and you have done that. Well
+now, gentlemen, will you be kind enough to do something more?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We will attend to your commands, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; was the deferential response.
+&ldquo;That is our business.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; was the emphatic assent of Mr. Tongs.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was becoming accustomed to the readiness of all
+with whom he had to do to wait upon his will.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, gentlemen,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I wish everything to be done to relieve my
+poor cousin&#8217;s distress, and even, if possible, to save his life. Be good
+enough to telegraph directions for him to be removed without delay to some
+place where he will receive the best care that money can procure. If his
+life cannot be saved, he may at least be kept alive till I can reach his
+bedside.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Your commands shall be obeyed, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball; &ldquo;but,&rdquo; he added with
+much surprise, &ldquo;is it necessary for you to go to New York yourself?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That you must leave to me, gentlemen,&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; in a
+tone which put an end to debate.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now, gentlemen,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;kindly hand me those letters; and let me
+know how soon, after to-morrow, I can set out.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You don&#8217;t mean to lose any time, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball, handing the bundle
+of letters to his client.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 132]</span>In a few moments, the lawyers were able to supply the information that
+a berth could be secured in a first-class steamer which would leave
+Liverpool for New York in two days&#8217; time; and it was arranged that a
+passage should be booked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We await your further orders, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball, rubbing his hands
+together, as he perceived that his client still retained his seat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m afraid I detain you, gentlemen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By no means, my dear sir,&rdquo; protested Mr. Ball.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; echoed Mr. Tongs.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am glad of that,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;I should be sorry to waste your
+valuable time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>More than once a clerk had come to the door to announce that so-and-so or
+so-and-so, awaited the leisure of his employers; and, in every case, the
+answer had been, &ldquo;let them wait.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The time of Messrs. Tongs and Ball was indeed valuable, and no portion of
+it was likely to prove more so than that bestowed on the affairs of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>Both the lawyers smiled amiably.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You could not waste our time, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; echoed Mr. Tongs.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s very good of you, gentlemen. But at any rate I really have some
+business of the gravest importance still to discuss with you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By all means, my dear sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball with gusto, settling himself
+in an attitude of attention, while Mr. Tongs also prepared himself to
+listen.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 133]</span>&ldquo;I wish, gentlemen,&rdquo; announced &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; &ldquo;to make my will.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To be sure,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; continued &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;a journey to America is attended
+with some risk.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Precisely,&rdquo; assented Mr. Ball. &ldquo;And a man of your wealth, Mr. Horn,
+should not, in any case, postpone the making of his will. It was our
+intention to speak to you about the matter to-day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To be sure,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;Can it be done at once?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; responded the lawyer, drawing his chair to the table, and
+preparing, pen in hand, to receive the instructions of his client.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You have no children, I think, Mr. Horn?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s cheeks blanched, and his lips quivered; but he instantly
+regained his self-control.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That is my difficulty,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I had a child, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; interrupted Mr. Ball, &ldquo;I understand. Very sad.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn sternly, &ldquo;you do not understand. It is not
+as you think. But can I make my will in favour of a person who may, or may
+not, be alive?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Ball was in no wise abashed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do I take you, my dear sir? You&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The person,&rdquo; interposed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;to whom I wish to leave my
+property is my little daughter, Marian, who wandered away twelve years
+ago, and has never been heard of since. Can I do it, gentlemen?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 134]</span>&ldquo;I think you can, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; replied Mr. Ball. &ldquo;In the absence of any
+proof of death, your daughter may be considered to be still alive. What
+do you say, Mr. Tongs?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes; to be sure; certainly,&rdquo; exclaimed Mr. Tongs, who seemed to have
+been aroused from a reverie, and for whom it was enough that he was
+required to confirm some dictum of his partner.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, gentlemen. Then please to note that I wish my property to
+pass, at my death, to my daughter, Marian Horn.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very good, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball, making a note on a sheet of paper. &ldquo;But,&rdquo;
+he added, with an enquiring glance towards his client, &ldquo;in the event&mdash;that
+is to say, supposing your daughter were not to reappear, Mr. Horn?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am coming to that,&rdquo; was the calm reply. &ldquo;If my daughter does not come
+back before my death, I wish everything to go to my sister, Jemima Horn,
+on the condition that she gives it up to my daughter when she does
+return.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; ejaculated Mr. Ball. &ldquo;And may I ask, my dear sir?&mdash;If Miss Horn
+should die, say shortly after your own decease, what then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have thought of that too. Would it be in order, to appoint a trustee,
+to hold the property, in such a case, for my child?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, quite in order. Have you the name ready, my dear sir?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I will give you that of Rev. George Durnford, of Cottonborough.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 135]</span>&ldquo;And, for how long, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; asked Mr. Ball, when he had written down
+Mr. Durnford&#8217;s name and address, &ldquo;must the property be thus held?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Till my daughter comes to claim it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, but, my dear sir&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, breaking in upon the lawyer&#8217;s incipient
+protest; &ldquo;put it like this. Say that, in the event of my sister&#8217;s death,
+everything is to go into the hands of Mr. Durnford, to be held by him in
+trust for my daughter, and to be dealt with according to his own
+discretion.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That is all on that subject, gentlemen,&rdquo; he added, in a tone of finality;
+and, having summarily dismissed one matter of business, he as summarily
+introduced another. &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;having made provision for my
+daughter in the event of my death, I wish also to provide for her in
+case she should come back during my life. I desire the sum of &pound;50,000
+to be set aside and invested in such a manner, that my daughter may have
+it&mdash;principal and interest&mdash;as her own private fortune during my life.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Ball regarded his singular client with a doubtful look.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is it necessary to do that, my dear sir? With your wealth, you will be
+able, at any time, to do for your daughter what you please.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Tongs, who seemed to think it time to put in his word.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;You must let me have my own way. It is
+my intention to turn my money to the best account, according to my<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 136]</span> light;
+and I wish to have the &pound;50,000 secured to my child, lest, when she comes
+back, there should be nothing left for her.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Mr. Horn, of course your wishes shall be obeyed,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball,
+with a sigh; &ldquo;but it is not an arrangement which I should advise.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With this final protest the subject was dismissed; but, for many days, the
+&pound;50,000 to be invested for the missing daughter of his eccentric client
+remained a burden on the mind of Mr. Ball.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; &ldquo;there is just another thing
+before I go. I have been to see my village. I found it, as you warned me,
+in a sadly dilapidated condition; and I have desired Mr. Gray to make all
+the necessary repairs. Will you, gentlemen, give him all the help you can,
+and see that he doesn&#8217;t want for money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We shall be delighted, my dear sir, as a matter of course.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you: Mr. Gray will probably apply to you on various points; and I
+wish you to know that he has my authority for all he does.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very good, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Ball, in a respectful tone.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then, while I was at Daisy Lane, I paid a visit to the old Hall.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed Mr. Ball, &ldquo;a splendid family mansion, Mr. Horn?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; I have desired Mr. Gray to have it renovated and furnished.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;As a residence for yourself, of course?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 137]</span>&ldquo;No; I have other designs.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then, in the deeply-attentive ears of the two men of law, &ldquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker&rdquo; recited his plans with regard to the old Hall.</p>
+
+<p>It would be a mild statement to say that Messrs. Tongs and Ball were
+taken by surprise; but their client afforded them slight opportunity
+to interpose even a comment on his scheme.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You must help Mr. Gray in this matter especially, gentlemen, if you
+please. Do all you can for him. I want it to be the best &lsquo;Children&#8217;s Home&rsquo;
+in the country. Don&#8217;t spare expense. I wish everything to be provided that
+is good for little children. My friend, Mr. Durnford will, perhaps, help
+me to find a &lsquo;father and mother&rsquo; for the &lsquo;Home;&rsquo; you, gentlemen, shall
+assist me in the engagement of skilful nurses and trustworthy servants. In
+order that we may make the place as nearly perfect as possible, I have
+requested Mr. Gray to visit similar institutions in various parts of the
+country. He will look to you for advice; and I should be obliged,
+gentlemen, if you would put him on the right track.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then he paused, and looked at his lawyers with a glowing face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s for the sake,&rdquo; he said, and there was a catch in his voice, &ldquo;of my
+little Marian, who went from me a wanderer upon the face of the earth.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then, having arranged to call in the morning, for the purpose of signing
+his will, previous to his departure from town, he took his leave.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 138]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>MEMORIES.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The following morning &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn called at the office of Messrs. Tongs
+and Ball at the appointed time. The will was ready, and, having signed it,
+he said &ldquo;good day&rdquo; to the lawyers, and took the next train to
+Cottonborough, where he arrived early in the afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>Subsequently, at the dinner-table, he answered freely the questions of
+Miss Jemima concerning his doings during his absence. Nor did he feel the
+presence of his young secretary to be, in any degree, a restraint. Already
+she was as one of the family, and was almost as much in the confidence of
+&ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; as was Miss Jemima herself. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn told of
+the dilapidated condition in which he had found the village, and of the
+instructions he had given to the agent. At the recital of the latter, Miss
+Jemima held up her hands in dismay, while the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 139]</span> eyes of the secretary
+glistened with unconcealed delight. But the climax was reached when
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn spoke of his intentions with regard to the old Hall. Miss
+Jemima uttered a positive shriek, and shook her head till her straight,
+stiff side-curls quivered again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thomas,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;you must be mad! It will cost you thousands of
+pounds!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Jemima,&rdquo; was the quiet reply; &ldquo;and surely they could not be better
+spent! And then there&#8217;ll still be a few thousands left,&rdquo; he added with a
+smile. &ldquo;It&#8217;s a way of spending the Lord&#8217;s money of which I&#8217;m sure He will
+approve. What do you say, Miss Owen?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think it&#8217;s just splendid of you, Mr. Horn!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>To do Miss Jemima justice, her annoyance arose quite as much from the
+annihilation of her dearly cherished hopes of becoming the mistress of an
+ideal country mansion, and filling the place of lady magnificent of her
+brother&#8217;s village, as from the thought of the gigantic extravagance which
+his designs with regard to the old Hall would involve.</p>
+
+<p>But the poor lady was to be yet further astonished.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I forgot to tell you, Jemima,&rdquo; said her brother, after a brief pause,
+and speaking with a whimsical air of apology, &ldquo;that I am to start for
+America to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He spoke as though he were announcing a trip into the next county; and
+Miss Jemima could scarcely have shown greater amazement, if he had
+declared his intention of starting for the moon.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 140]</span>The good lady almost bounced from her seat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thomas!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She had not breath for more than that.</p>
+
+<p>In truth the announcement &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; had made was startling
+enough. Even Miss Owen looked up in intense surprise; and the servant
+girl, who was in the act of taking away the meat, was so startled that
+she almost let it fall into her master&#8217;s lap.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn alone was unmoved.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he said calmly, &ldquo;when I considered the sad plight of our poor
+cousin, I thought it would be best for me to go and see to him myself.
+There are the letters,&rdquo; he added, taking them from his pocket, and handing
+them to his sister. &ldquo;You will see, Jemima, that the poor fellow is in sore
+straits&mdash;ill, and destitute in a low lodging-house in New York, Miss Owen!
+He will be informed, by now, of his change of fortune, and everything
+possible is to be done for him. But I feel that I can&#8217;t leave him to
+strangers. And then there may be a chance of leading him to the Saviour,
+who can tell? Besides, Jemima, a journey to America is not so much of an
+undertaking now-a-days, you know; and I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t be many weeks away.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>By this time, Miss Jemima had managed to recover her breath, and, in part,
+her wits.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But I can&#8217;t get you ready by to-morrow, Thomas!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear Jemima, that doesn&#8217;t matter at all: whether you can get me ready
+or not, I must go. The lawyers will have taken my passage by this time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 141]</span>&ldquo;But&mdash;but you can never take care of yourself in America, Thomas. It&#8217;s
+such a large country, and so dreadful; and the Americans are such strange
+people.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind, Jemima,&rdquo; was the pleasant reply, &ldquo;Messrs. Tongs and Ball have
+sent a cablegram to their agent in New York, instructing him to look after
+me. And, besides, I&#8217;ve made my will.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; shouted Miss Jemima, &ldquo;made your will?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>To Miss Jemima it seemed a dreadful thing to make one&#8217;s will. It was a
+last desperate resort. It was in view of death that people made their
+wills. It was evident her brother did not expect to get safely back.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; repeated &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a quiet smile, &ldquo;I&#8217;ve made my will.
+But, don&#8217;t be alarmed, Jemima; I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t die any the sooner for that. I
+did it as a wise precaution, with the approval of the lawyers. Even if I
+had not been going to America, I should have had to make my will sooner or
+later. Cheer up, Jemima! Our Heavenly Father bears rule in America, and on
+the sea, as well as here at home.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima had relapsed into silence. She was beginning to realize the
+fact that her brother had made his will, which, after all, was not so very
+strange a thing. But what was the nature of the will? She did not desire
+to inherit her brother&#8217;s property herself. She was rich enough already.
+But she was apprehensive that he might have made some foolish disposition
+of his money of which she would<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 142]</span> not be able to approve. To whom, or to
+what she would have desired him to leave his wealth, she could not,
+perhaps, have told; but she would not be easy till she knew the contents
+of his will. And yet she could not question her brother on the subject in
+the presence of his secretary. The girl might be very well, but must not
+be allowed to know too much.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I don&#8217;t come back, Jemima,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, as though he had read
+his sister&#8217;s thoughts, &ldquo;you will know what my will contains soon enough.
+If I do&mdash;of which I have little doubt&mdash;I will tell you all about it
+myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>After dinner, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn retired, with his secretary, to the office,
+for the purpose of dealing with the letters which had accumulated during
+his absence from home. As they proceeded with their work, Miss Owen
+learnt that, while her employer was away in America, she was to have
+discretionary powers with regard to the whole of the correspondence. With
+all her self-confidence, the young secretary was rather staggered by this
+announcement; but she could obtain no release from the firm decree.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You see, I have perfect confidence in you, Miss Owen,&rdquo; explained
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, simply; &ldquo;and besides, you know very well that, in most
+cases, you are better able to decide what to do than I am myself. But, if
+there are any of the letters that you would rather not deal with till I
+come back, just let them wait.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This matter had been arranged during the first half-hour, in the course of
+a dropping conversation,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 143]</span> carried on in the pauses of their work. They had
+put in a few words here and there in the crannies and crevices of their
+business so to speak. In the same manner, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn now proceeded to
+tell his secretary of his interview with his lawyers, and of the making of
+his will.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; had already become wonderfully attached to his
+young secretary. She had exercised no arts; she had practised no wiles.
+She was a sincere, guileless, Christian girl. Shrewd enough she was,
+indeed, but utterly incapable of scheming for any manner of selfish or
+sordid end. With her divine endowment of good looks and her consecrated
+good nature, she could not fail to captivate; and there is small room for
+wonder that she had made large inroads upon &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s big heart.</p>
+
+<p>The degree to which his engaging young secretary had won the confidence of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn will appear from the fact that he was about to reveal to
+her, this afternoon, those particulars with regard to his recently-made
+will the communication of which to his sister he had avowedly postponed.
+It was not his intention to treat Miss Jemima with disrespect. He felt
+that he could freely talk to Miss Owen; with his sister it would be a
+matter of greater delicacy to deal. He often fancied that his young
+secretary was just such as his darling Marian would have been; and quite
+naturally, and very simply, he told her about his will, and even spoke of
+the money that was to be invested for his lost child. He was quite able
+now to<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 144]</span> talk calmly of the great sorrow of his life. The gentle and
+continued rubbing of the hand of time had allayed its sharper pang.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What do you think of it all, Miss Owen?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; said the secretary, with the end of her penholder
+between her ruby lips, and a wistful look in her dark eyes, &ldquo;that your
+daughter would be a very fortunate young lady, if she only knew it; and
+that there are not many fathers like you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then you think I have done well?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think, sir, that you have done better than well.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>After another spell of work, Miss Owen looked up again with an eager face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What was your little Marian like, Mr. Horn?&rdquo; she asked, in a tender and
+subdued tone.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, she was&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; But the ardent girl took him up before he could
+proceed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Would she have grown to be anything like me? I suppose she would be about
+my age.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She was leaning forward now, with her elbows on the table, and her hands
+supporting her chin. Her richly-tinted cheeks glowed with interest; her
+large, dark eyes shone like two bright stars. The question she had asked
+could not be to her more than a subject of amiable curiosity; but no doubt
+the enthusiastic nature of the girl fully accounted for the eagerness with
+which she had spoken. Her sudden enquiry wafted &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn back into
+the past; and there rose before him the vision of a bonny little nut-brown
+damsel of five summers, with eyes like sloes,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 145]</span> and a mass of dusky hair.
+For an instant he caught his breath. He was startled to see, in the face
+of his young secretary what he would probably never have detected, if her
+question had not pointed it out.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, really, Miss Owen,&rdquo; he said, simply, &ldquo;now you speak of it, you are
+something like what my little Marian may have grown to be by this time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How delicious!&rdquo; exclaimed Miss Owen.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was gazing intently at his young secretary. What vague
+surmisings, like shadows on a window-blind&mdash;were flitting through his
+brain? What dim rays of hope were struggling to penetrate the gloom?
+Suddenly he started, and shook himself, with a sigh. Of course it could
+only be a fancy. How strange the frequent inability to perceive the
+significance of circumstances plainly suggestive of the fulfilment of some
+long-cherished hope! The joy, deferred so long comes, at last, in an hour
+when we are not aware, only to find us utterly oblivious that it is so
+near!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Miss Owen,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, rising to his feet, &ldquo;I must be
+going to my cobbling. If you want me, you will know where to come.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Mr. Horn.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She was aware of his custom of resorting now and then to his old workshop.
+When he was gone, she paused for a moment, with her penholder once more
+between her lips.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How nice to think that I am like what that dear little Marian would have
+been! I wonder whether we should have been friends, if she had lived?
+Poor<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 146]</span> little thing, she&#8217;s almost sure to be dead! Though, perhaps not&mdash;who
+can tell? How queer that Mr. Horn should have lost a little girl, just as
+I must have been lost, and about the same time too! As for my being like
+her&mdash;perhaps, after all, that&#8217;s only a fancy of his. Well, at any rate, I
+must comfort and help him all I can. I can&#8217;t step into his daughter&#8217;s
+place exactly; but God has put it into my power to be to him, in many
+things, what little Marian would have been if he had not lost her; and
+for Christ&#8217;s sake&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At this point, the young secretary&#8217;s thoughts became too sacred for prying
+eyes. Very soon she turned to her writing again. Half an hour later, the
+afternoon post arrived, bringing, amongst other letters, one or two which
+necessitated an immediate interview with &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. To trip up to her
+bedroom and dress herself for going out was the work of a very few
+moments; and in a short time she was entering the street where &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn and his sister had lived so long, and whence the hapless little
+Marian had so heedlessly set out into the great world, on that bright
+May morning so many years ago.</p>
+
+<p>As Miss Owen entered the narrow street, she involuntarily raised her hand
+to her forehead. The weird feeling of familiarity with the old house and
+its vicinity, of which she had already been conscious more than once, had
+crept over her again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How very strange!&rdquo; she said to herself. &ldquo;But there can&#8217;t be anything in
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 147]</span>As she approached the house, she became aware of the unconcealed scrutiny
+of a little man who was standing in the doorway of a shop on the other
+side of the street.</p>
+
+<p>It was Tommy Dudgeon, who had just then come to the door to show a
+customer out, a civility which he was wont to bestow, if possible, upon
+every one who came to the shop. Lingering for a moment, in the hope of
+descrying another customer, he saw Miss Owen coming down the street. Tommy
+knew about &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s secretary; but he had not, as yet, had a fair
+view of the young lady. He had not even thought much about her, and he did
+not suspect that it was she who was now coming along the street, until she
+passed into the old house. But, as he saw her now, with her black hair and
+dark glowing face, walking along the pavement in her decided way, he felt,
+as he afterwards said, &ldquo;quite all-overish like.&rdquo; It was, at first, the
+vaguest of impressions that he received. Then, as he gazed, he began to
+think that he had seen that figure before&mdash;though he continued to assure
+himself that he had not; and then, as Miss Owen drew nearer, he concluded
+that there must be some one of whom she reminded him&mdash;some one whom he had
+known long ago. Then, with a flash, came back to him the scene&mdash;never to
+be forgotten&mdash;on that long-ago May morning; and Tommy Dudgeon heaved a
+sigh, for he had obtained his clue.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What a rude little man!&rdquo; thought Miss Owen. &ldquo;And yet he looks harmless
+enough. Why he must be one of the little twin shopkeepers of whom I have<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 148]</span>
+heard Mr. Horn speak. That will account for his interest in me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The absorption of the young secretary in the duties of her office, during
+her stay in the old house, no doubt fully accounted for the fact that she
+had not become more familiar with the appearance of Tommy Dudgeon.</p>
+
+<p>By this time Tommy had withdrawn into his shop. But he continued to watch.
+Standing partly concealed behind some of the merchandise displayed in the
+shop window, he saw Miss Owen enter &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s former abode, and
+then waited for her once more to emerge.</p>
+
+<p>In ten minutes the young secretary again appeared. Pausing on the
+door-step, she looked this way and that, and then, with emphatic tread,
+stepped out in the very track of the little twinkling feet which Tommy had
+watched in their last departure on that ill-fated spring morning so long
+ago. The little man craned his neck to see the better through the window,
+and then, unable to restrain himself, he hurried to the doorway of the
+shop once more, and, with enlightened eyes, watched the figure of the girl
+till it passed out of sight. Then he turned, and rushed into the kitchen
+behind the shop. His brother was trying to put one of the twins to sleep
+by carrying it to and fro; his brother&#8217;s wife was making bread. He raised
+his hands.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She&#8217;s come back!&rdquo; he cried. Then, recollecting himself, he said, more
+quietly, &ldquo;I mean I&#8217;ve seen the sec&#8217;tary.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 149]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>ON THE OCEAN.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The evening of the next day saw &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; steaming out of the
+Mersey, on board the first-rate Atlantic liner on which his passage had
+been taken by Messrs. Tongs and Ball. Miss Jemima had bidden her brother
+a reluctant farewell. In her secret soul, she nursed a doubt, of which,
+indeed, she was half-ashamed, as to the prospect of his safe return; and
+she endeavoured to fortify her timorous heart by the utterance of sundry
+sharp speeches concerning the folly of his enterprise.</p>
+
+<p>The voyage across the great ocean, in the splendid <em>floating hotel</em> in
+which he had embarked was a new and delightful experience to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn. But his peace of mind sustained brief disturbance on his being shown
+to his quarters on board the vessel. His lawyers had, as a matter of
+course, taken for their<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 150]</span> wealthy client a first-class passage. It had not
+occurred to him to give them any instructions on the point, and they had
+taken it for granted that they were doing what he would desire. Perhaps,
+if they had asked him, he might, in his ignorance of such matters, have
+said, &ldquo;Oh yes, first-class, by all means.&rdquo; But when he saw the splendid
+accommodation which his money had procured, he started back, and said to
+the attendant:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This is much too grand for me. Can&#8217;t I make a change?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The attendant stared in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&#8217;Fraid not sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;every second-class berth is taken.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&#8217;t mind about the money,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn hastily. &ldquo;But I should
+be more comfortable in a plainer cabin,&rdquo; and he looked around uneasily at
+the luxurious and splendid appointments of the quarters which had been
+assigned to him, as his home, for the next few days.</p>
+
+<p>The attendant, regarding with a critical eye the modest attire and
+unassuming demeanour of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, inwardly agreed with what this
+somewhat eccentric passenger had said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The only way, sir,&rdquo; said the man, at length, &ldquo;is to get some one to
+change with you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, the very thing! How can it be managed?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The attendant mused with hand on chin.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir,&rdquo; he said, gliding into an interrogative tone, &ldquo;if you really
+mean it&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Most certainly I do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 151]</span>&ldquo;Then I think I can arrange it for you, sir. There is one second-class
+passenger who would probably jump at such a chance. He is an invalid; and
+it would be a great comfort to him to get into such quarters as these.
+I&#8217;ve heard a good bit about him since he came on board.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then he&#8217;s our man,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn; and then, he added hesitatingly,
+&ldquo;there&#8217;ll be a sovereign for you, if you manage it at once. I&#8217;ll wait here
+till you let me know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The attendant sped on his errand, and, before night, the desired exchange
+had been duly made&mdash;&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was established in the comfortable and
+congenial accommodation afforded by a second-class cabin, and the invalid
+passenger was blessing his unknown benefactor, as he sank to rest amidst
+the luxury of his new surroundings.</p>
+
+<p>It was late autumn, and the sea, though not stormy, was sufficiently
+restless to make the commencement of the passage unpleasant for all who
+were not good sailors. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was not one of these; and, when,
+upon the second day out, he observed the deserted appearance of the decks
+and saloons, and, on making enquiry of an official, learnt that most of
+the passengers were sick, he realized with a healthy and grateful thrill
+of pleasure, that he was blessed with immunity from the almost universal
+tribulation which waylays the landsman who ventures on the treacherous
+deep.</p>
+
+<p>It will, therefore, be readily believed that &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; keenly
+enjoyed the whole of the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 152]</span> voyage. He breathed the fresh, briny air with
+much relish; the wonders of the sea furnished him with many instructive
+and pious thoughts; and the ship itself supplied him with an inexhaustible
+fund of interest. In particular, he paid frequent visits to the steerage,
+where large numbers of emigrants were bestowed. He spent many hours
+amongst these poor people; and, by entering into conversation with such of
+them as were disposed to talk, he became acquainted with many cases of
+necessity, which he was not slow to relieve. Nor did the gifts of money,
+which he bestowed with his usual large generosity, constitute the only
+form of help he gave. In a thousand nameless ways he ministered to the
+wants and relieved the difficulties of his humble fellow-passengers, who
+quickly came to look upon him as the good genius of the ship. As a matter
+of course, the whisper soon went round, &ldquo;Who is he?&rdquo; And when, in some
+inscrutable way, the truth leaked out, the poor people regarded him with a
+kind of awe. Some, indeed, criticised, and said he did not look much like
+a millionaire; but there were many in that motley crowd in whose hearts,
+during those few brief days on the ocean, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn made for himself
+a very sacred place.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of a day or two, the decks and saloons began to assume a
+more animated appearance. Hitherto &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had not greatly
+attracted the attention of the passengers with whom he was more
+immediately associated; but now that they were in a condition to think
+of something other than<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 153]</span> their own concerns, their interest in him began
+to awake. Who had not heard of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;The Millionaire
+Cordwainer&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;The Lucky Son of Crispin&rdquo;&mdash;as he had been variously
+designated in the newspapers of the day? When it became known that so
+great a celebrity was on board, there was a general desire to make his
+acquaintance. Some vainly asked the captain to give them an introduction;
+some boldly introduced themselves.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was courteous to all, in his homely way; but he showed no
+anxiety to become further acquainted with these obtrusive persons. The
+simplicity of his manners and the plainness of his dress caused much
+surprise; and the public interest concerning him sensibly quickened when
+whispers floated forth of the giving up of his berth to the invalid
+passenger, and of his charitable doings amongst the poor emigrants.</p>
+
+<p>During the voyage, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; spent much time in close and
+prayerful study of his Bible, which had ever been, and still was, his
+dearest, and well nigh his only, book. He was induced to do this not only
+by his love of the Book itself, but also by a definite desire to absorb,
+and transfuse into his own experience, all those teachings of the Word of
+God which bore upon the new position in which he had been so strangely
+placed.</p>
+
+<p>First of all, he turned to certain notable passages of Scripture which
+shot up before his memory like well-known beacon-lights along a rocky
+coast. There glared upon him, first of all, the lurid denunciation<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 154]</span> which
+opens the fifth chapter of the Epistle of James, commencing, &ldquo;Go to now,
+ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you!&rdquo;
+&ldquo;God forbid,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;that my &lsquo;gold and silver&rsquo; should ever become
+&lsquo;cankered!&rsquo; It would be a terrible thing for their &lsquo;rust&rsquo; to &lsquo;witness
+against me,&rsquo; and eat my &lsquo;flesh as it were fire&rsquo;; and it would be yet more
+dreadful for the money which has such power for good to be itself given
+up to canker and rust!&rdquo; Then he would meditate on the uncompromising
+declarations of Christ&mdash;&ldquo;How hardly shall they that have riches enter into
+the Kingdom of God!&rdquo; &ldquo;It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a
+needle, than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of God.&rdquo; He trembled
+as he read; but, pondering, he took heart again. Though hard, it was not
+impossible, for a man of wealth to enter into the Kingdom of God. &ldquo;Camel!&rdquo;
+&ldquo;Eye of a Needle!&rdquo; He did not know exactly what this strange saying meant;
+but he thought he had heard the minister say that it was intended to show
+the great difficulty involved in the salvation of a rich man. Then he read
+further, &ldquo;How hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the
+Kingdom of God,&rdquo; and that seemed to make the matter plain. &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he
+thought, &ldquo;may I be saved from ever trusting in my riches!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He plucked an ear of wholesome admonition from the parable of the Sower.
+&ldquo;The deceitfulness of riches!&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;How true!&rdquo; And he subjected
+himself to the most vigilant scrutiny, lest he should be beguiled by the
+unlimited possibilities of<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 155]</span> self-indulgence which his wealth supplied. He
+turned frequently to the emphatic declaration of Paul to Timothy. &ldquo;They
+that will be rich,&rdquo; it runs, &ldquo;fall into temptation and a snare, and into
+many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and
+perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some
+coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves
+through with many sorrows.&rdquo; &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he would exclaim, &ldquo;I didn&#8217;t want to be
+rich. At the very most Agur&#8217;s prayer would have been mine: &lsquo;Give me
+neither poverty nor riches.&rsquo; But it&#8217;s quite true that riches bring
+&lsquo;temptations&rsquo; and are a &lsquo;snare,&rsquo; whether people &lsquo;will&rsquo; be rich or become
+rich against their will; and I must be on the watch. And then there&#8217;s that
+about &lsquo;the love of money&rsquo; being &lsquo;the root of all evil!&rsquo;&rdquo; As he spoke, he
+drew a handful of coins from his pocket, and eyed them askance. &ldquo;Queer
+things to love!&rdquo; he mused. And then, as he thought of his balance at the
+bank, his large rent-roll, and his many profitable investments, his face
+grew very grave. &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he sighed, letting copper, silver, and gold, slide
+jingling back into his pocket, &ldquo;I think I have an idea how some people get
+to love their money. Lord save <em>me</em>.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He was very fond of the book of Proverbs. Its short, sententious sentences
+were altogether to his mind. &ldquo;There is that scattereth,&rdquo; he read, &ldquo;and yet
+increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it
+tendeth to poverty.&rdquo; &ldquo;I scatter,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but I don&#8217;t want to increase.
+Lord, spare me<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 156]</span> the consequences of my scattering! &lsquo;Withholdeth more than
+is meet&rsquo;! Lord, by Thy grace, that will not I! I have no objection to
+poverty; but I would not have it come in that way!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There is that maketh himself rich,&rdquo; he read again, &ldquo;Yet hath nothing;
+there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches.&rdquo; &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he
+sighed, &ldquo;to possess such riches, I would gladly make myself poor!&rdquo; But
+there was one text in the book of Proverbs which &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn could
+never read without a smile. &ldquo;The poor,&rdquo; it ran &ldquo;is hated even of his own
+neighbour; but the rich hath many friends.&rdquo; He thought of his daily shoals
+of letters, of the numerous visiting cards which had been left at the door
+of his new abode, and of the obsequious attentions he had begun to receive
+from the office-bearers and leading members of his church; and he called
+to mind the eagerness of his fellow-voyagers to make his acquaintance.
+&ldquo;Ah&rdquo; he mused shrewdly, &ldquo;friends, like most good things, are chiefly to
+be had when you don&#8217;t need them!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In these sacred studies, the days passed swiftly for &ldquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker.&rdquo; Very different were the methods by which the majority of his
+fellow-passengers endeavoured to beguile the time. Amongst the least
+objectionable of these were concerts, theatricals, billiards, and all
+kinds of games. Much time was spent by the ladies in idle chat, to which
+the gentlemen added the seductions of cigar and pipe. There were not a
+few of the passengers, moreover, who resorted to the vicious excitement
+of betting;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 157]</span> and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn marked with amazement and horror the
+eagerness with which they staked their money on a variety of unutterably
+trivial questions. The disposition of really large sums of money was made
+to depend, on whether a certain cloud would obscure the sun or not;
+whether a large bird, seen as they neared the land, would sweep by on one
+side of the ship or the other; whether the pilot would prove to be tall or
+short; and upon a multitude of other matters so utterly unimportant, that
+&ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; began to think he was voyaging with a company of
+escaped lunatics.</p>
+
+<p>To one gentleman, who proposed to take a bet with him as to the
+nationality of the next vessel they might happen to meet, he gave a
+characteristic reply.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; he said gravely, &ldquo;I am not anxious on that subject; and, if I
+were, I should wait for the appearance of the vessel itself. Besides, I
+cannot think it right to risk my money in the way you propose. I dare not
+throw away upon a mere frivolity what God has given me to use for the good
+of my fellows. And then, if we were to bet, as you suggest, the one who
+happened to win would be receiving what he had no moral right to possess.
+I don&#8217;t&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Thus far the would-be better had listened patiently. But it was a bet he
+wanted, and not a sermon.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; he therefore said, at this point, &ldquo;I see I have made
+a mistake;&rdquo; and with a polite bow, he moved hastily away.</p>
+
+<p>One fine evening, towards the end of the voyage, as &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was
+taking the air on deck, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> was accosted by the attendant who had arranged
+the transfer of his berth from first to second-class.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The gentleman, sir,&rdquo; he said, touching his cap, &ldquo;who took your cabin&mdash;&mdash;he&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; interrupted &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn; &ldquo;how is he? Better, I hope.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Much better, sir; and he thought, perhaps you would see him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you know what he wants?&rdquo; asked &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, in a hesitating tone.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir,&rdquo; replied the man, &ldquo;he didn&#8217;t exactly say; but I rather suspect
+it&#8217;s a little matter of thanks. And, begging your pardon, sir, it&#8217;s very
+natural.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was not offended at the man&#8217;s freedom of address, as
+another in his place might have been.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If that is all, then,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I think he must excuse me. I deserve no
+thanks. I consulted my own inclination, as much as his comfort. I am glad
+he is better. Tell him he is heartily welcome, and ask him if there is
+anything more I can do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The next morning, as &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn stood talking, for a minute or so, to
+the captain, the obsequious attendant once more appeared. Touching his cap
+with double emphasis, in honour of the captain, he handed a letter to
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;From the gentleman in your cabin, sir. No answer, sir&mdash;&mdash;I was told to
+say,&rdquo; and, once more touching his cap, the polite functionary marched
+sedately away.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 159]</span></p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 364px;">
+<img src="images/img158.jpg" width="364" height="562" alt="Gentlemen" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;From the gentleman in your cabin, sir.&rsquo;&rdquo;<br />&mdash;<a href="#Page_158"><em>Page 158</em></a>.</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;I must leave you to read your letter, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; <span class='pagenum'>[Pg 161]</span>said the captain;
+and, with the word, he withdrew to attend to his duties in another part
+of the ship.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s letter was brief, and ran as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Though I may not in person express my gratitude for your great
+kindness, I have that to tell which you ought to know. Poverty,
+sickness, loss of dear ones, perfidy of professed friends, and ills
+of all imaginable kinds, have fallen to my lot. I am an American. I
+have a young wife, and a dear little girl in New York. I have been
+to Europe upon what has turned out a most disastrous business trip.
+I came on board this vessel a battered, broken man, not knowing,
+and scarcely caring, whether I should live to reach the other side.
+Faith in Christianity, in religion, in God Himself, I had utterly
+renounced. But I want to tell you that all that is changed. I now
+wish, and hope, to live; my health is vastly improved; and&mdash;will
+you let me say it without offence?&mdash;I find myself able once more to
+believe in God, and in such religion as yours. I will not again ask
+you to see me; but if, after reading this letter, you should feel
+inclined to pay me a visit, I need not tell you how delighted I
+should be.</p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 4em;">&ldquo;I am,</span></p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">&ldquo;Dear Sir,</span></p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 8em;">&ldquo;Yours gratefully,</span></p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">&ldquo;THADDEUS P. WALDRON.&rdquo;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn read this gratifying letter over and over again, with a
+secret joy. But it was not till the next day that he could bring himself
+to comply with the invitation of its closing sentence, and pay a visit<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 162]</span> to
+the writer. He found the young man, who was far on his way to recovery,
+full of thankfulness to him and of gratitude to God. It seemed that,
+previous to the accumulation of troubles beneath which his faith had given
+away, the young fellow had been a zealous Christian. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn found
+him sincerely penitent; and, during this, and succeeding interviews, he
+had the joy of leading him back to the Saviour.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 163]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>COUSIN JACK.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>As &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was leaving the vessel at New York, he witnessed the
+meeting of Thaddeus P. Waldron and his wife. Mrs. Waldron had come on
+board the steamer. She was a wholesome, glowing little woman, encumbered
+with no inconvenient quantity of reserve. She flung her arms impulsively
+around her husband&#8217;s neck, and kissed him with a smack like the report of
+a pistol.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, Thad,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;do tell! You&#8217;ve completely taken me in! I
+expected a scarecrow. What for did you frighten me with that letter I
+got last week? It might have been my death!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then, with a little trill of a laugh, the happy woman hugged once more
+the equally delighted &ldquo;Thad,&rdquo; and gave him another resounding kiss.</p>
+
+<p>By this time the attention of those who were passing to and fro around
+them began to be attracted; and, amongst the rest, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, who
+was held<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 164]</span> for a few moments in the crowd, was watching them with deep
+interest.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hold hard, little woman,&rdquo; exclaimed Thaddeus, &ldquo;or I guess I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t have
+breath left to tell you my news! And,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;it&#8217;s better even than
+you think.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Thad, do tell!&rdquo; she cried, still regarding her husband with admiring
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, my health has been fixed up by the sea air, and the comfort and
+attention I&#8217;ve had during the voyage, which is all through the goodness
+of one man. I calculate that man &#8217;ull have to show up before we leave
+this vessel. He wasn&#8217;t out of sight five minutes ago.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, he looked round, and saw the figure of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, who,
+evidently in dread of a demonstration on the part of his grateful friend,
+was modestly moving away amongst the crowd. One stride of Thaddeus P.
+Waldron&#8217;s long legs, and he had his benefactor by the arm.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Here, stranger&mdash;no, darn it all, you aren&#8217;t a stranger, no how you fix
+it&mdash;this way sir, if <em>you</em> please.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now, little woman,&rdquo; he exclaimed, triumphantly dragging his reluctant
+captive towards his wife, &ldquo;this is the man you have to thank&mdash;this man
+and God! He gave up&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; interrupted &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;you mustn&#8217;t allow him to thank me for
+that, ma-am. I did it quite as much for my own sake.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hear him!&rdquo; exclaimed Thaddeus, with incredulous<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 165]</span> admiration. &ldquo;Anyhow he
+made me think, little wife, that there was some genuine religion in the
+world after all. And that helped me to get better too. And the long and
+short of it is, I&#8217;ve been made a new man of, inside and out; and we&#8217;re
+going to have some real good times! And now, old girl, you&#8217;ve just got
+to give the man whose done it all a hug and a buss, and then we&#8217;ll come
+along.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn started back in dismay. But Mrs. Thaddeus was thoroughly of
+her husband&#8217;s mind. What he had been, as she knew from his letters, and
+what she found him now, passed through her mind in a flash. She was modest
+enough, but not squeamish; and the honest face of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was one
+which no woman, under the circumstances, need have hesitated to kiss. So,
+in a moment, to the amusement of the crowd, to the huge delight of the
+grateful Thaddeus, and to the confusion of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; himself,
+the thing was done.</p>
+
+<p>The next minute, the happy and grateful couple were gone, and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn had scarcely time to recover his composure before he found himself
+greeted by the agent of Messrs. Tongs and Ball, who, having been furnished
+by those gentlemen with a particular description of the personal
+appearance of their eccentric client, had experienced but little
+difficulty in singling him out. From this gentleman &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn learnt
+that his ill-fated cousin had been removed from the wretched lodgings
+where he was found to the best private hospital in New York, where he was
+receiving every possible care. The agent had also<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 166]</span> engaged apartments for
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn himself in a first-class hotel in the neighbourhood of the
+hospital. It was a great relief to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn that his conductor had
+undertaken the care of his luggage, and the management of everything
+connected with his debarkation. He was realizing more and more the immense
+advantages conferred by wealth. On being shown into the splendid
+apartments which had been engaged for him in the hotel, he shrank back as
+he had done from the first-class accommodation assigned to him on board
+the steam-boat. But this time he was obliged to submit. Wealth has its
+penalties, as well as its advantages.</p>
+
+<p>It was early in the forenoon when the vessel arrived; and, when &ldquo;the
+Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was duly installed in his luxurious quarters at the
+hotel, the agent left him, having first promised to come back at three
+o&#8217;clock, and conduct him to the bedside of his cousin.</p>
+
+<p>At the appointed time the agent returned.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was eager to be going, and they at once set out. A few
+minutes brought them to the hospital where his cousin lay. They were
+immediately shown in, and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn found himself entering a bright
+and airy chamber, where he presently stood beside his cousin&#8217;s bed.</p>
+
+<p>The sick man had been apprised of the approaching visit of his generous
+relative from over the water, and he regarded &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn now with a
+kind of dull wonder in his hollow eyes. At the same time he held out a
+hand which was wasted almost to transparency.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 167]</span> &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn took the
+thin fingers in his strong grasp; and, as he looked, with a great pity, on
+the sunken cheeks, the protruding mouth, the dark gleaming eyes, and the
+contracted forehead with its setting of black damp hair, he thought that,
+if ever he had seen the stamp of death upon a human face, he saw it now.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, cousin Jack,&rdquo; he said sadly, &ldquo;it grieves me that our first meeting
+should be like this.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Cousin Jack, struggling with strong emotion, regarded his visitor with a
+fixed look. His mouth worked convulsively, and it was some moments before
+he could speak. At length he found utterance, in hollow tones, and with
+laboured breath.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Have you&mdash;come all this way&mdash;across the water&mdash;on purpose to see me?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, simply, &ldquo;of course I have. I wanted you to
+know that you are to have your honest share of our poor uncle&#8217;s money. And
+because I was determined to make sure that everything was done for you
+that could be done, and because I wished to do some little for you myself,
+I did not send, but came.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Uncle&#8217;s money! Ah, yes, they told me about it. Well, you might have kept
+it all; and it&#8217;s very good of you&mdash;very. But money won&#8217;t be much use to me
+very long. It&#8217;s your coming that I take so kindly. You see, I hadn&#8217;t a
+friend; and it seemed so dreadful to die like that. Oh, it was good of you
+to come!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In his wonder at the loving solicitude which had brought his cousin across
+the water to his dying bed,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 168]</span> he almost seemed to undervalue the act of
+rare unselfishness by which so much money had been relinquished which
+might have been kept without fear of reproach. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was not hurt
+by the seeming insensibility of his poor cousin to the great sacrifice he
+had made on his behalf. He did not desire, nor did he think that he
+deserved, any credit for what he had done. He had simply done his duty, as
+a matter of course. But he was much gratified that his poor cousin was so
+grateful for his coming. He sat down, with shining eyes, by the bedside,
+and took the wasted hand in his once more.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cousin,&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;have they cared for you in every way?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, cousin, they have done what they could, thanks to your goodness!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not at all. Your own money will pay the bill, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>For a moment cousin Jack was perplexed. His own money? He had not a cent.
+in the world! He had actually forgotten that his cousin had made him rich.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My own money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; the third part of what uncle left you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>A slight flush mantled the hollow cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes; what a dunce I am! I&#8217;m afraid I&#8217;m very ungrateful. But you see I
+seem to have done with such things. And yet the money is going to be of
+some use to me after all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, that it is! It shall bring you comfort, ease, and, if possible,
+health and life.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 169]</span>The sick man shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, wistfully; &ldquo;a little of the first two, perhaps, but none of
+the last. I know I can&#8217;t live many weeks; and it&#8217;s no use deceiving myself
+with false hopes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn looked at his cousin, he knew that he was not mistaken
+in his forecast.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn did not remain long with his sick cousin at this time.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There is one thing I should like,&rdquo; he said gravely, as he rose from his
+seat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There is not much that I can deny you,&rdquo; replied Jack; &ldquo;what is it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He spoke without much show of interest.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I should like to pray with you before I go.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Cousin Jack started, and again his pale face flushed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if you wish it; but it will be of no use. Nothing
+is of any use now.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; knelt down beside the bed, and prayed for his dying
+cousin, in his own simple, fervent way. Then, with a promise to come again
+on the following day, he passed out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>The prayer had been brief, and poor Jack had listened to it with heedless
+resignation; but it had struck a chord in his bruised heart which
+continued to vibrate long after his visitor was gone.</p>
+
+<p>The next day &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn found his cousin in a more serious mood. The
+poor young man told him something of his sad history; and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+spoke many earnest and faithful words. It became<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 170]</span> increasingly evident to
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, day by day, that life was ebbing fast within his cousin&#8217;s
+shattered frame; and he grew ever more anxious to bring the poor young
+fellow to the Saviour. But somehow the work seemed to drag. Jack would
+express a desire for salvation; and yet, somehow he seemed to be holding
+back. The hindrance was revealed, one day, by a stray question asked by
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How about your will, Jack?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Jack stared blankly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My will? Why should I make a will?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because you have some money to leave.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! Whose will it be, if I die without a will?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mine, I suppose,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn reluctantly, after a moment&#8217;s
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then, let it be; nothing could be better.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But is there no one to whom you would like to leave your money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Jack looked fixedly at the already beloved face of his cousin. Then his
+own face worked convulsively, and he covered it with his wasted fingers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; he said, in tones of distress; &ldquo;there is some one. That
+is&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;You are sure the money is really my own?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He seemed all eagerness now to possess his share of the money.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To be sure it is,&rdquo; responded &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;That is quite settled.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then, there is a poor girl who would have given her life for mine;
+but I have behaved to her like a brute. She shall have every penny of
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 171]</span>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn listened with intense interest, and at once gave expression
+to a burning apprehension which had instantly pierced his mind.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Behaved like a brute!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Not in the worst way of all, I
+hope, Jack?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, no, not that!&rdquo; cried Jack, in horror.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God! But now, do you know where this poor girl is to be found?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think so. Her name is Bertha Norman, and her parents live in a village
+only a few miles from here. When I gave her up, I believe she left her
+situation, here in the city, and went home with a broken heart.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Jack, your decision will meet with the approval of God. But, in
+the meantime, we must try to find this poor girl.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If you only would!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course. But, with regard to the other matter&mdash;you would like to have
+the thing done at once?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The thing?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The will.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes; it would be better so.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then we&#8217;ll arrange, if possible, for this afternoon. Perhaps you know a
+lawyer?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No. Amongst all my follies, I have kept out of the hands of the lawyers.
+But there is the gentleman who rescued me from that den, where I should
+have been dead by now. Perhaps he would do?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, the agent of my lawyers in London! Well, I&#8217;ll see him at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So the thing was done. That afternoon the lawyer<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 172]</span> came to receive
+instructions, and the next morning the will was presented and duly signed.</p>
+
+<p>When the lawyer was gone, Jack turned feebly to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There&#8217;s just one thing more,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I must see her, and tell her
+about it myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Would she come&rdquo; asked &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;And do you think it would be
+well?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Come&rsquo;? She would come, if I were dying at North Pole. And there will be
+no peace for me, till I have heard from her own lips that she has forgiven
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; ejaculated &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;Do you say so?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, cousin; I feel that it&#8217;s no use to ask pardon of God, till Bertha
+has forgiven me. You know what I mean.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn gently; &ldquo;I know what you mean, and I&#8217;ll do what
+I can.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you!&rdquo; said Jack, fervently. &ldquo;But it mustn&#8217;t be by letter. You must
+go and see her yourself, if you will; and I don&#8217;t think you will refuse.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn shrank, at first, from so delicate and difficult a mission,
+for which he pronounced himself utterly unfit. But the pathetic appeal of
+the dark, hollow eyes, which gleamed upon him from the pillow, ultimately
+prevailed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Tell her,&rdquo; said Jack, as &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn wished him good night, &ldquo;that I
+dare not ask pardon of God, till I have her forgiveness from her own
+lips.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In a village almost English in its rural loveliness<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 173]</span> &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn found
+himself, the next morning, face to face, in the little front-room of a
+humble cottage, with a pale, sorrowful maiden, on whose
+pensively-beautiful face hope and fear mingled their lights and shadows
+while he delivered his tender message.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Would she go with him?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Go?&rdquo; she exclaimed, with trembling eagerness, &ldquo;of course I will! But how
+good it is of you, sir&mdash;a stranger, to come like this!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So Bertha Norman came back with &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn to the private hospital in
+New York. He put her into her cousin&#8217;s room, closed the door, and then
+quietly came downstairs. Bertha did not notice that her conductor had
+withdrawn. She flew to the bedside. The dying man put out a trembling
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; he began in broken tones.</p>
+
+<p>But she stifled his words with gentle kisses, and, sitting down by the
+bed, clasped his poor thin hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ask God to forgive you, dear Jack. I&#8217;ve never stopped loving you a bit!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I will ask God that,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I can now. But I want to tell you
+something first, Bertha. I am a rich man.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then he told her the wonderful story.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;that was your friend who brought me here. I felt
+that he was good.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He is,&rdquo; said Jack. &ldquo;And now Bertha, it&#8217;s all yours. I&#8217;ve made my will,
+and the money is to come to you when I&#8217;m gone. You know I&#8217;m going,
+Bertha?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 174]</span>She tightened the grasp of her hand on his with a convulsive movement,
+but did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It &#8217;ull be your very own, Bertha,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, thank you, dear Jack. But forgive me, if I don&#8217;t think much about
+that just now.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then there was a brief silence, which was presently broken by Jack.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You won&#8217;t leave me, yet, Bertha? You&#8217;ll stay with me a little while?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jack I shall never leave you any more!&rdquo; and there was a world of love
+in her gentle eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank God!&rdquo; murmured the dying man. &ldquo;Till&mdash;&mdash;till&mdash;&mdash;you mean?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; but, Jack, you must come back to God!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I will. But call cousin Thomas in.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She found &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; in a small sitting-room downstairs; and,
+having brought him up to the sick-chamber, stood before him in the middle
+of the room, and, taking his big hand, gently lifted it, with both her
+tiny white ones, to her lips.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;In the presence of my dear Jack,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I thank you. But, dear
+friend, I think you should take the money back when he is gone.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear young lady,&rdquo; protested &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with uplifted hand, &ldquo;how
+can I take it, seeing it is not mine? But,&rdquo; he added softly, &ldquo;we will not
+speak of it now.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>True to her promise, Bertha did not leave her beloved Jack until the end;
+and the regular attendants, supplied by the house, so far from regarding
+her presence as an intrusion, were easily induced to look<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 175]</span> upon her as one
+of themselves. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was rarely absent during the day-time; and,
+in the brief remaining space of poor Jack&#8217;s chequered life, his gentle
+lover, and his high-souled cousin, had the great joy of leading him to
+entertain a genuine trust in the Saviour. The end came so suddenly, that
+they had no time for parting words; but they had good hope, as they
+reverently closed his eyes. When all was over, and he had been laid to
+rest in the cemetery, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn took Bertha back to her village home,
+and then set his face once more towards England, bearing in his heart a
+chastened memory, and the image of a sweet, pensive face.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 176]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>HOME AGAIN.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>It was with feelings of deep gratitude to God that &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn set foot
+once more upon his native land. After having been away no longer than four
+weeks, he landed at Liverpool on a bright winter&#8217;s morning, and, taking an
+early train, reached Cottonborough about mid-day. He had telegraphed the
+time of his arrival, and Bounder, the coachman, was at the station to
+meet him with the dog-cart. He had sent his message for the purpose of
+preparing his sister for his arrival; for he knew she preferred not to be
+taken unawares by such events. If he had given the matter a thought, he
+would have told them not to send to meet him at the station. He would
+much rather have walked, than ridden, a distance so short. And then he
+shrank, at all times, from the idea of making a public parade of his
+newly-acquired state. And, if all the truth must be told, he was&mdash;not
+awed, but mildly irritated, by the imposing presence, and reproachful
+civility, of the ideal Bounder.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 177]</span>Here was Bounder now, with his dignified salute. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn yearned to
+give the man a hearty shake of the hand, and ask him sociably how he had
+been getting on. This was obviously out of the question; but, just then,
+little Tommy Dudgeon happened to come up, on his way into the station.
+Here was an opportunity not to be let slip, and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn seized with
+avidity on his humble little friend, and gave him the hearty hand-shake
+which he would fain have bestowed upon the high and mighty Bounder. It was
+a means of grace to &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; once more to clasp the hand of
+a compatriot and a friend. He stood talking to Tommy for a few minutes,
+while Bounder waited in his seat with an expression of very slightly
+veiled scorn on his majestic face.</p>
+
+<p>At length, quite oblivious of the contemptuous disapproval of his
+coachman, and greatly refreshed in spirit, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn bade his little
+friend &ldquo;good day,&rdquo; and mounted to his seat.</p>
+
+<p>They drove off in silence. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn scarcely knew whether his
+exacting coachman would think it proper for his master to enter into
+conversation with him; and the coachman, on his part, would not be guilty
+of such a breach of decorum as to speak to his master when his master had
+not first spoken to him.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima was standing in the doorway to receive her brother; and behind
+her, with a radiant face, modestly waited the young secretary. Miss Jemima
+presented her cheek, as though for the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 178]</span> performance of a surgical
+operation, and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn kissed it with a hearty smack. At the
+same time he grasped her hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Jemima,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;I&#8217;m back again safe and sound, you see!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; was the solemn response, &ldquo;I&#8217;m thankful to see you, brother,&mdash;and
+relieved.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn laughed heartily, and kissed her on the other cheek.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thankful enough, Jemima, let us be. But &lsquo;relieved&rsquo;! well, I had no fear.
+You see, my dear sister, the whole round world lies in the hand of God.
+And, then, I didn&#8217;t understand the way the Lord has been dealing with me
+of late to mean that he was going to allow me to be cut off quite so soon
+as that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This was said cheerily, and not at all in a preaching tone; and having
+said it, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn turned, with genuine pleasure, to exchange a
+genial greeting with his young secretary, who had remained sedately in
+the background.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Dinner is almost ready,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima, as they entered the house;
+&ldquo;so you must not spend long in your room.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I promise you,&rdquo; said her brother, from the stairs, &ldquo;that I shall be at
+the table almost as soon as the dinner itself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>During dinner, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn talked much about his voyage to and fro, and
+his impressions of America. He had sent, by letter, during his absence, a
+regular report, from time to time, of the progress of the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 179]</span> sorrowful
+business which had taken him across the sea; and with regard to that
+neither he nor his sister was now inclined to speak at large.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, somewhat to his sister&#8217;s mortification,
+retired to the office, for the purpose of receiving, from his secretary, a
+report of the correspondence which had passed through her hands during his
+absence.</p>
+
+<p>Let it not be supposed that Miss Jemima was capable of entertaining
+suspicion with regard to her brother. She would frown upon his doings and
+disapprove of his opinions, with complete unreserve; but she would not
+admit concerning him a shadow of mistrust. When, therefore, it is recorded
+that his frequent and close intercourse with his young secretary
+occasioned his sister uneasiness of mind, it must not be supposed that any
+evil imagining intruded upon her thoughts. Miss Jemima was simply fearful
+lest this young girl should, perhaps inadvertently, steal into the place
+in her brother&#8217;s heart which belonged to her. As &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn and his
+secretary sat in counsel, from time to time, in their respective
+arm-chairs, at the opposite ends of the office table, neither of them
+had any suspicion of Miss Jemima&#8217;s jealous fears.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Owen had dealt diligently, and with much shrewdness, with the
+ever-inflowing tide of letters. Her labour was much lightened now by
+reason of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s having provided her with the best type-writer
+that could be obtained for money. With regard to some of the letters, she
+had ventured<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 180]</span> to avail herself of the advice of the minister; and she had
+also, with great tact, consulted Miss Jemima on points with reference to
+which the opinion of that lady was likely to be sound and safe. The
+consequence was that the letters which remained to be considered were
+comparatively few.</p>
+
+<p>First, Miss Owen gave her employer an account of the letters of which she
+had disposed; then she unfolded such matters as were still the subjects of
+correspondence; and lastly she laid before him the letters with which she
+had not been able to deal.</p>
+
+<p>The most important of all the letters were two long ones from Messrs.
+Tongs and Ball and Mr. Gray, respectively, relating to the improvements
+in progress at Daisy Lane in general, and in particular to the work of
+altering and fitting up the old Hall for the great and gracious purpose
+on which its owner had resolved. &ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was gratified to
+learn, from these letters, that the work of renovating his dilapidated
+property had been so well begun, and that already, amongst his
+long-suffering tenants, great satisfaction was beginning to prevail.
+The remaining letters were passed under review, and then &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+lingered for a few moment&#8217;s chat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I mean to take my sister and you to see the village and the Hall one day
+soon, Miss Owen,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, thank you, Mr. Horn!&rdquo; enthusiastically exclaimed the young secretary.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You would like to go?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 181]</span>&ldquo;I should love it dearly! I can&#8217;t tell you, Mr. Horn, how much I am
+interested in that kind and generous scheme of yours for the old Hall.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In her intercourse with her employer, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s secretary was quite
+free and unreserved, as indeed he wished her to be.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s to be a home for orphans, isn&#8217;t it?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not for orphans only,&rdquo; he replied, tenderly, as he thought of his own
+lost little one. &ldquo;It&#8217;s for children who have no home, whether orphans or
+not,&mdash;little waifs, you know, and strays&mdash;children who have no one to care
+for them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m doing it,&rdquo; he added, simply, &ldquo;for the sake of my little Marian.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, how good of you! And, do you know, Mr. Horn, its being for waifs and
+strays makes me like it all the more; because I was a waif and stray once
+myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She was leaning forward, with her elbows on the table, and her pretty
+but decided chin resting on her doubled hands. As she spoke, her somewhat
+startling announcement presented itself to her in a serio-comic light,
+and a whimsical twinkle came into her eyes. The same impression was
+shared by &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn; and, regarding his young secretary, with her
+neatly-clothed person, her well-arranged hair, and her capable-looking
+face, he found it difficult to regard as anything but a joke the
+announcement that she had once been, as she expressed it, &ldquo;a waif and
+stray.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You!&rdquo; he exclaimed, with an indulgent smile.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 182]</span>&ldquo;Yes, Mr. Horn, I was indeed a little outcast girl. Did not Mr. Durnford
+tell you that the dear friends who have brought me up are not my actual
+parents?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied &ldquo; Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, slowly, &ldquo;he certainly did. But I did not
+suspect&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course not!&rdquo; laughed the young girl. &ldquo;You would never dream of
+insulting me by supposing that I had once been a little tramp!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, of course not,&rdquo; agreed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a perplexed smile.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s true, nevertheless,&rdquo; affirmed Miss Owen. &ldquo;Mr. and Mrs. Burton have
+been like parents to me almost ever since I can remember, and I always
+call them &lsquo;father&rsquo; and &lsquo;mother&rsquo;; but they are no more relations to me than
+are you and Miss Horn. They found me in the road, a poor little ragged
+mite; and they took me home, and I&#8217;ve been just like their own ever since.
+I remember something of it, in a vague sort of way.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was regarding his secretary with a bewildered gaze.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You may well be astonished, Mr. Horn. But, do you know, sometimes I
+almost feel glad that I don&#8217;t know my real father and mother. They must
+have been dreadful people. But, whatever they were, they could never have
+been better to me than Mr. and Mrs. Burton have been. They have treated me
+exactly as if I had been their own child.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Many confused thoughts were working in the brain of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 183]</span>&ldquo;But,&rdquo; said Miss Owen, resuming her work, &ldquo;I must tell you about it
+another time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, you shall,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, rousing himself. &ldquo;I shall want to
+hear it all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So saying, he left the room, and betook himself to his old workshop for an
+hour or two on his beloved cobbler&#8217;s bench. He had placed the old house
+under the care of a widow, whom he permitted to live there rent free, and
+to have the use of the furniture which remained in the house, and to whom,
+in addition, he paid a small weekly fee.</p>
+
+<p>As he walked along the street, he could not fail to think of what his
+secretary had just said with reference to her early life. His thoughts
+were full of pathetic interest. Then she too had been a little homeless
+one! The fact endeared to him, more than ever, the bright young girl who
+had come like a stream of sunshine into his life. For to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn
+his young secretary was indeed becoming very dear. It could not be
+otherwise. She was just filling his life with the gentle and considerate
+helpfulness which he had often thought would have been afforded to him by
+his little Marian. And now, it seemed to draw this young girl closer to
+him still, when he learnt that she had once been homeless and friendless,
+as he had too much reason to fear that his own little one had become. He
+had a feeling also that the coincidence therein involved was strange.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 184]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>COMING INTO COLLISION WITH THE PROPRIETIES.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>It is not surprising that, in his new station, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn should have
+committed an occasional breach of etiquette. It was unlikely that he would
+ever be guilty of real impropriety; but it was inevitable that he should,
+now and again, set at nought the so-called &ldquo;proprieties&rdquo; of fashionable
+life. In the genuine sense of the word, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was a Christian
+gentleman; and he would have sustained the character in any position in
+which he might have been placed. But he had a feeling akin to contempt for
+the punctilious and conventional squeamishness of polite society.</p>
+
+<p>It was, no doubt, largely for this reason that &ldquo;society&rdquo; did not receive
+&ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; within its sacred enclosure. Not that it rejected
+him. He had too much money for that; half his wealth would have procured
+him the entr&eacute;e to the most select circles. But the attitude he assumed
+towards the fashionable world rendered impossible his admission<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 185]</span> to its
+charmed precincts. He made it evident that he would not, and could not,
+conform to its customs or observe its rules. The world, indeed, courted
+him, at first, and would gladly have taken him within its arms. Fashion
+set to work to woo him, as it would have wooed an ogre possessed of his
+glittering credentials. But he repelled its advances with an amused
+indifference verging on contempt.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn foiled, by dint of sheer unresponsiveness, the first
+attempt to introduce itself to him made by the world. On his return from
+America, one of the first things which attracted his attention was a pile
+of visiting cards on a silver salver which stood on the hall table. Some
+of these bore the most distinguished names which Cottonborough or its
+vicinity could boast. There were municipal personages of the utmost
+dignity, and the representatives of county families of the first water. It
+had taken the world some little time to awake to a sense of its &ldquo;duty&rdquo;
+with regard to the &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; who had suddenly acceded to so high a
+position in the aristocracy of wealth. But when, at length, it realized
+that &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was indeed a fact, it set itself to bestow
+upon him as full and free a recognition as though the blood in his veins
+had been of the most immaculate blue.</p>
+
+<p>It was during his absence in America that the great rush of the
+fashionable world to his door had actually set in. But Miss Jemima had
+not been taken unawares. She had supplied herself betimes with a manual
+of etiquette, which she had studied<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 186]</span> with the assiduity of a diligent
+school-girl. She had also, though not without trepidation, ordered a
+quantity of visiting cards, and had them inscribed respectively with her
+own and her brother&#8217;s names. And thus, when Society made its first
+advances, it did not find Miss Jemima unprepared.</p>
+
+<p>When &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn espied the visiting cards on his hall table, he said
+to his sister:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What, more of these, Jemima?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Thomas,&rdquo; she responded, with evident pride; &ldquo;and some of them belong
+to the best people in the neighbourhood!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And have all these people been here?&rdquo; he asked, taking up a bunch of the
+cards between his finger and thumb, and regarding them with a mingling of
+curiosity and amusement.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Miss Jemima, in exultant tones, &ldquo;they have all been here;
+but a good many of them happened to come when I was out.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn sighed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I suppose this is another of &lsquo;the penalties of wealth!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Say rather <em>privileges</em>, Thomas,&rdquo; Miss Jemima ventured delicately to
+suggest.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, Jemima. It may appear to you in that light; but I am not able to
+regard as a privilege the coming to us of all these grand people. How much
+better it would be, if they would leave us to live our life in our own
+way! Do you suppose they would ever have taken any notice of us at all, if
+it had not been for this money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 187]</span>Miss Jemima was unable to reply; for it was impossible to gainsay her
+brother&#8217;s words. And yet it was sweet to her soul to have all the best
+people in the neighbourhood calling and leaving their cards. For the
+present, she let the matter rest. But, a day or two afterwards, the course
+of events brought the question to the surface again. Miss Jemima was
+brushing her brother&#8217;s coat, in the dining-room, after dinner, previous to
+his setting out for his old workshop, when they saw a carriage drive up to
+the gate.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Here are some more of your grand friends, Jemima,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn,
+with a sigh. &ldquo;How ever am I to get out?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima was peeping out from behind the window-curtain, with the
+eagerness of a girl.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; she exclaimed, as the occupants of the carriage began to alight,
+&ldquo;it&#8217;s Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow, the retired b&mdash;&mdash;.&rdquo; &ldquo;Brewer&rdquo; she was going
+to say but checked herself. &ldquo;Surely you will not think of going out now,
+Thomas?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn knew Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow very well by sight. He had known
+them before they rode in their carriage, and when they were much less
+splendid people than they had latterly become. He had never greatly
+desired their acquaintance when it was unattainable; and, now that it was
+being thrust upon him, he desired it even less than before. There was no
+reason why he should be intimate with this man. On what grounds had he
+called? &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn could not refrain from regarding the visit as being
+an impertinence.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 188]</span>&ldquo;My dear Jemima,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I must be going at once. These people cannot
+have any business with me; and I have a good deal of work to do. You have
+received the other people; and you can manage these. But, Jemima, do not
+encourage them to come again!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So saying, he moved towards the door; but Miss Jemima placed an agitated
+hand upon his arm.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thomas,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;what shall I say to them?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Tell them I am obliged to go out. Do you think it would be right to keep
+my poor people waiting for their boots and shoes, while I spent the time
+in idle ceremony?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima ceased to remonstrate, and her brother again moved towards the
+door. But, before he reached it, a servant appeared with the cards of Mr.
+and Mrs. Brownlow, who were by this time installed in the drawing-room.
+Miss Jemima took the cards, and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn made for the front-door.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not that way, Thomas!&rdquo; she cried after him. &ldquo;They&#8217;ll see you!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn looked around in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why not, my dear? They will thus perceive that I have really gone out.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The next moment he was gone, and Miss Jemima was left to face the visitors
+with the best excuses she could frame.</p>
+
+<p>The question of returning the numerous calls they had received occasioned
+much perplexity to Miss Jemima&#8217;s mind. Nothing would induce her<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 189]</span> brother
+to accompany her on any expedition of the kind. While, therefore, in some
+cases, she was able to go by herself, in others she was obliged to refrain
+from going altogether, and, as a matter of course, offence was given. The
+natural consequence was that the number of callers rapidly diminished, and
+&ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&#8217;s&rdquo; reputation for eccentricity was thoroughly
+established.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn very rarely consented to see any company who came merely to
+pay a call. But one afternoon, when his sister was out, he went into the
+drawing-room to excuse her absence, and, in fact, to dismiss the callers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My sister is not at home, ma&#8217;am,&rdquo; he said, addressing the buxom and
+magnificent lady, who, with her two slender and humble-looking sons, had
+awaited his coming.</p>
+
+<p>Having delivered his announcement, he stood at the open door, as though to
+show his visitors out. The lady, however, quite unabashed, retained her
+seat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;May I venture to say,&rdquo; she asked, &ldquo;that, inasmuch as the absence of Miss
+Horn has procured us the pleasure of making the acquaintance of her
+brother, it is not entirely a matter of regret?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn bowed gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is very good of you to say that, ma&#8217;am; but I&#8217;m afraid I must ask you
+to excuse me too. I&#8217;m very busy; and, besides, these ceremonies are not at
+all in my way.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The lady, who bore a title, changed countenance,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 190]</span> and rose to her feet.
+She was conscious that she had been dismissed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly, sir,&rdquo; she said, in accents of freezing politeness; &ldquo;no doubt
+you have many concerns. We will retire at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The lady&#8217;s sons also rose, moving as she moved, like the satellites of a
+planet.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There is no need for you to go, ma&#8217;am,&rdquo; &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn hastened to say,
+quite unaware that he had committed a grave breach of etiquette. &ldquo;If you
+will only excuse me, and stay here by yourselves, for a little while, no
+doubt my sister will soon be back; and I&#8217;m sure she will be glad to see
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; was the haughty response of the angered dame; &ldquo;we have
+already remained too long. Be good enough, sir, to have us shown out.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn rang the bell; and, as the lady, followed by her sons,
+swept past him with a stately and disdainful bow, he felt that, in some
+way, he had grievously transgressed.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima, on her return, a few moments later, heard, with great
+consternation, what had taken place.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I asked the good lady to wait till you came, Jemima; but she insisted on
+going away at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Thomas, what have you done!&rdquo; cried Miss Jemima, in piteous tones.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What could I do?&rdquo; was the reply. &ldquo;You see, I could not think of wasting
+my time; and I thought they would not mind staying by themselves, for a
+few minutes, till you came in.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 191]</span>&ldquo;Oh, dear,&rdquo; cried Miss Jemima, &ldquo;I&#8217;m afraid she&#8217;ll never come again!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, never mind, Jemima,&rdquo; said her brother; &ldquo;I don&#8217;t suppose it will
+matter very much.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The foreboding of Miss Jemima was fulfilled; the outraged lady returned no
+more. And there were many others, who, when they found that the master of
+the house had little taste for fashionable company, discontinued their
+calls. Some few of her new-made acquaintances only Miss Jemima was able,
+by dint of her own careful and eager politeness, to retain.</p>
+
+<p>There were also other points at which &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn came into collision
+with the customs of society. He persisted in habitually going out with his
+hands ungloved. He possessed a hardy frame, and, even in winter, he had
+rarely worn either gloves or overcoat; and now, as ever, almost his only
+preparation for going out was to take his hat down from its peg, and put
+it on his head. Miss Jemima pathetically entreated that he would at least
+wear gloves. But he was obdurate. His hands, he said, were always warm
+enough when he was out of doors; and he would try to keep them clean.</p>
+
+<p>Another of the whims of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was his fondness for doing what his
+sister called &ldquo;common&rdquo; work. One morning, for example, on coming down to
+breakfast, the good lady, looking through the window, saw her brother, in
+his shirt sleeves, engaged in trimming the grass of the lawn. With a
+little scream, she ran out at the front-door, and caught him by the arm.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 192]</span>&ldquo;Thomas! Thomas!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;if you don&#8217;t care about yourself, have a
+little thought for me!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is it, Jemima?&rdquo; he asked straightening himself. &ldquo;Is breakfast ready?
+I&#8217;m very sorry to have kept you waiting. I&#8217;ll come at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; exclaimed Miss Jemima; &ldquo;it&#8217;s not that! But for a man in your
+position to be working like a common gardener&mdash;it&#8217;s shameful! Pray come in
+at once, before you are seen by any one going by! Without your coat too,
+on a sharp winter&#8217;s morning like this!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear Jemima,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, as he turned with her towards the
+house, &ldquo;if I <em>were</em> a common gardener, there would be no disgrace,
+any more than in my present position. There&#8217;s no shame in a bit of honest
+work, anyhow, Jemima; and it&#8217;s a great treat to me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima&#8217;s chief concern was to get her unmanageable brother into the
+house as quickly as possible, and she paid little heed to what he said.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 193]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>BOUNDER GIVES WARNING.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>There was another personage to whom the unconventional ways of &ldquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker&rdquo; gave great offence; and that was Mr. Bounder, the coachman. As
+a coachman, Bounder was faultless. His native genius had been developed
+and matured by a long course of first-class experience. In matters of
+etiquette, within his province, Bounder was precise. Right behaviour
+between master and coachman was, in his opinion, &ldquo;the whole duty of man.&rdquo;
+He held in equal contempt a presuming coachman and a master who did not
+keep his place.</p>
+
+<p>Bounder soon discovered that, in &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, he had a master of whom
+it was impossible to approve. Bounder &ldquo;see&#8217;d from the fust as Mr. Horn
+warn&#8217;t no gentleman.&rdquo; It was always the way with &ldquo;them as was made rich
+all of a suddint like.&rdquo; And Bounder puffed out his red cheeks till they
+looked like two toy balloons. It was &ldquo;bad enough to be<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 194]</span> kept waiting
+outside the station, while your master stood talking to a little feller as
+looked as like a rag and bone man as anythink; but when you was required
+to stop the kerridge and pick up every tramp as you overtook on the road,
+it was coming it a little too strong.&rdquo; This last was a slight exaggeration
+on the part of Bounder. The exact truth was that, on one occasion, his
+master had stopped the carriage for the purpose of giving a lift to a
+respectable, though not well-to-do, pedestrian, and in another instance,
+a working-class woman and her tired little one had been invited to take
+their seats on Bounder&#8217;s sacred cushions, Bounder&#8217;s master himself
+alighting to lift the bedusted child to her place.</p>
+
+<p>But this was not the worst. The woman who lived in the little cottage past
+which Marian had trotted so eagerly, on the morning of her disappearance
+so long ago, had a daughter who was a cripple from disease of the spine.
+She was the only daughter, and, being well up in her teens, would have
+been a great help to her mother if she had been well. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was
+deeply moved by the pale cheeks and frail bent form of the invalid girl.
+He induced his sister to call at the cottage, and they took the poor
+suffering creature under their care. It was not unnatural that the young
+secretary should also be enlisted in this kindly service. First she was
+sent to the cottage with delicacies to tempt the appetite of the sick
+girl; and then she began to go there of her own accord. During one of her
+visits, the mother happened to say:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 195]</span>&ldquo;You see, miss, what she wants is fresh air. But how&#8217;s she to get it? She
+can&#8217;t walk only a few yards at a time; and even a mild winter&#8217;s not the
+time for sitting out.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The woman spoke without any special design; but her words suggested to
+the mind of Miss Owen a happy thought. The young secretary was so firmly
+established, by this time, in the regard of her employer that she was able
+to approach him with the least degree of reserve. So she spoke out her
+thought to him with the frankness of a favourite daughter. An actual
+daughter would have thrown her arms around his neck, and emphasized her
+suggestion with a kiss. Miss Owen did not do this; but the tone of
+respectful yet affectionate confidence in which she spoke served her
+purpose just as well.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Horn&rdquo;&mdash;they were in the midst of their daily grapple with the
+correspondence&mdash;&ldquo;the doctor says poor Susie Martin ought to have a great
+deal of fresh air. Don&#8217;t you think a carriage drive now and then would be
+a good thing?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Her knowledge of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn assured her that her suggestion would be
+adopted. Otherwise she would have hesitated to throw it out.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn laid down the pen with which he had been making some
+jottings for the guidance of his secretary, and regarded her steadfastly
+for a moment or two. Then his face lighted up with a sudden glow.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To be sure! Why didn&#8217;t I think of that? My dear young lady, you are my
+good angel!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>That evening Miss Owen was desired to take<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 196]</span> a message to the cottage; and
+the next day Bounder was confounded by being ordered to convey Miss Owen
+and the invalid girl for a country drive, in the pony carriage. Bounder
+stared, became apoplectic in appearance, and stutteringly asked to have
+the order repeated. His master complied with his request; and Bounder
+turned away, with haughty mien, to do as he was bid. He was consumed with
+fierce mortification. He would bear it this time, but not again. He was
+like the proverbial camel, which succumbs beneath the last straw. Very
+soon the point would be reached at which long-suffering endurance must
+give way.</p>
+
+<p>It was a deep grievance with Bounder that he was seldom ordered to drive
+to big houses. He was required to turn the heads of his horses into many
+strange ways. He was almost daily ordered to drive down streets where he
+was ashamed to be seen, and to stop at doors at which he felt it to be an
+indignity to be compelled to pull up his prancing steeds. Bounder hailed
+with relief the occasions on which he was required to take Miss Jemima
+out. Then he was sure of not receiving an order to obey which would be
+beneath the dignity of a coachman who, until now, had known no service but
+of the highest class. Such occasions supplied salve to his wounded spirit.
+But his wound was reopened every day by some fresh insult at the hands of
+his master. He had submitted to the odious necessity of driving out in his
+carriage the crippled girl, and that not only once or twice. But the tide
+of rebellion was rising higher and higher in his breast, and gathering
+strength from day to<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 197]</span> day; and, at length, Bounder resolved to give his
+master &ldquo;warning,&rdquo; and remove himself from so uncongenial a sphere. He did
+not quite like to make his master&#8217;s kindness to the poor invalid girl his
+ostensible reason for desiring a change; and, while he was looking around
+for a plausible pretext, the course of events supplied him with exactly
+such an occasion as he sought.</p>
+
+<p>Bounder had not as yet become aware of the daily visits of his master to
+his old workshop. He had been kept in ignorance of the matter merely
+because there was no special reason why he should be informed. One
+afternoon, on leaving home, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had left word with Miss Jemima
+for the coachman to come to the old house, with the dog-cart, at three
+o&#8217;clock. Bounder received the order with a feeling of apathetic wonder as
+to what new freak he was expected to countenance and aid. At the entrance
+of the street in which the old house stood, he involuntarily pulled up his
+horse. Then, with an air of ineffable disdain, he drove slowly on, and
+proceeded to the number at which he had been directed to call.</p>
+
+<p>Summoning a passing boy, he ordered him to knock at the door. The boy
+contemplated disobedience; but a glance at Bounder&#8217;s whip induced him to
+change his mind, and he gave the door a sounding rap. The door speedily
+opened, and Bounder&#8217;s master appeared. But such was his disguise that
+Bounder was necessitated to rub his eyes. Divested of his coat, and
+enfolded in a leathern apron, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; stood in the doorway,
+with bare<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 198]</span> arms, holding out a pair of newly-mended hob-nailed boots.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s right,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I&#8217;m glad you&#8217;re punctual. Will you kindly take
+these boots to No. 17, Drake Street, round the corner; and then come back
+here;&rdquo; and, stepping out upon the pavement, he placed the boots on the
+vacant cushion of the dog-cart, close to Bounder&#8217;s magnificent person.</p>
+
+<p>Bounder touched his hat as usual; but there was an evil fire in his heart,
+and, as he drove slowly away, a lava-tide of fierce thought coursed
+through his mind. That he, Bounder, &ldquo;what had drove real gentlemen and
+ladies, such as a member of Parliament and a <em>barrow-knight</em>,&rdquo; should have
+been ordered to drive home a pair of labourer&#8217;s boots! This was &ldquo;the last
+straw,&rdquo; indeed!</p>
+
+<p>Arrived at No. 17, Drake Street, Bounder altogether declined to touch the
+offending boots. He simply indicated them with his whip to the woman who
+had come to the door in some surprise, and ignoring her expression of
+thanks, turned the head of his horse, and drove gloomily away.</p>
+
+<p>That night, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s outraged coachman sought speech with his
+master.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wish to give you warning, sir,&rdquo; he said, touching his hat, and speaking
+in tones of perfect respect.</p>
+
+<p>Bounder&#8217;s master started. He had intended to make the best of his
+coachman.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why so, Bounder?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Don&#8217;t I give you money enough, or what?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; replied Bounder, &ldquo;the money&#8217;s all right; but,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 199]</span> to make a clean
+breast of it, the service ain&#8217;t ezactly what I&#8217;ve been used to. I ain&#8217;t
+been accustomed to drive about in back streets, and stop at cottages and
+such; and to take up every tramp as you meets; and to carry labourer&#8217;s
+boots on the seat of the dog-cart.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m afraid, Mr. Bounder,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a broad smile, &ldquo;that
+I&#8217;ve hurt your dignity.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, as to that, sir,&rdquo; said the coachman, uneasily, &ldquo;all as I wishes to
+say is that I&#8217;ve been used to a &#8217;igh class service; and I took this place
+under a mis-happrehension.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, Bounder,&rdquo; rejoined &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, more gravely, &ldquo;then we had
+better part. For I can&#8217;t promise you any different class of service,
+seeing it is my intention to use my carriages quite as much for the
+benefit of other people as for my own; and it is not at all likely that I
+shall drive about much amongst fashionable folks. When do you wish to go,
+Mr. Bounder?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This was business-like indeed. Bounder was in no haste to reply.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because,&rdquo; resumed his master, &ldquo;I will release you next week, if you
+wish.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir,&rdquo; replied Bounder slowly, &ldquo;I shouldn&#8217;t wish to go under the
+month.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well. But, you must know, Bounder, that I have no fault to find with
+you. It&#8217;s you who have given me notice, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Bounder drew himself up to his full height. &ldquo;Fault to find&rdquo; with him! The
+mere suggestion was an insult. But Bounder put it into his pocket.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 200]</span>&ldquo;If you are in want of a character, now,&rdquo; resumed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;I
+shall&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir,&rdquo; interposed Bounder with hauteur, &ldquo;I am provided as to
+that. There&#8217;s more than one gentleman who will speak for me,&rdquo; and Bounder
+faced about, and marched away with his nose turned towards the stars.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 201]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>VAGUE SURMISINGS.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The feeling of familiarity with the previous abode of her employer, and
+its surroundings, of which Miss Owen had been conscious at first, had
+become modified as the weeks went by. The removal to the new house had, no
+doubt, in part contributed to this result; and, very soon, if she did not
+forget the impression of revived remembrance of which she had been aware
+at first, she ceased to be conscious that any trace of it remained. She
+did not, indeed, forget that it had been; she remembered vividly the fact
+that, when she first entered the old house, she had almost felt as if she
+had come home. That feeling had now almost passed away. But she was
+beginning to ponder certain things which seemed to be connected with it in
+some vague way.</p>
+
+<p>Though she had often been told of the circumstances under which she had
+been rescued from a life of poverty and possible shame, her own<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 202]</span>
+recollection of the matter was very dim. She seemed to remember a time of
+great trouble, and then a sudden change, since which all had been happy
+and bright; and certainly, if she had not been definitely informed of the
+fact, she would never have suspected that the kind friends to whom she
+owed so much were not her actual parents. That vague reminiscence of early
+distress would have lingered with her as the memory of a troubled dream,
+and nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>Hitherto she had not been anxious for further information concerning her
+parentage and early life. There were times when she felt some small
+measure of dissatisfaction at the thought that she did not know who she
+really was. But this feeling was held in check by the consideration that,
+if her parents had been good and kind, she would probably not have been in
+a position to need the loving service which had been rendered to her by
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton; and she felt that she would a thousand times rather
+have them for her father and mother, than be compelled to give those dear
+names to such persons as it was more than likely her actual parents had
+been. For the most part, therefore, she had feared, rather than hoped,
+that her real father and mother might appear.</p>
+
+<p>Now, however, vague surmisings were being awakened in the mind of the
+young secretary. Her kind employer had mysteriously lost a little girl.
+This suggested to her a new set of possibilities as to her own past. It
+came to her mind that perhaps she also had been lost, and that the misery
+she<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 203]</span> vaguely remembered, had been inflicted by other hands than those of
+her parents. If, like little Marian, she had actually wandered away, it
+was probably no fault of theirs, and perhaps they had been mourning for
+her all these years. Then, almost for the first time, she was conscious of
+an ardent desire to know who her parents had been. Over this question she
+pondered often and long. She could do nothing more&mdash;except pray. And pray
+she did. She asked that, if it were right and best, the cloud of obscurity
+might be lifted from her earlier years. And yet, as day by day she
+persisted in this prayer, she had a feeling that the prayer itself, and
+the desire from which it proceeded, might, perhaps, constitute a species
+of disloyalty to the only parents she seemed ever to have known. To this
+feeling her great love and strong conscientiousness gave birth. Yet she
+could neither repress her desire nor refrain from her prayer.</p>
+
+<p>But there was another thing which &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had said. When his
+secretary asked him what little Marian would probably be like, if she were
+still alive, he, in all simplicity, and without perceiving the possible
+direction that might be given to her thoughts, had replied that his lost
+child, if living, would be not unlike what his secretary actually was. He
+probably intended no more than that there might be a general resemblance
+between the two girls; and he might be mistaken even in that. Miss Owen
+herself took such a view of the matter at the time, and passed it lightly
+by. But, afterwards, in the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 204]</span> course of her ponderings, it came back again.
+The unpremeditated words, in which her employer had admitted the
+probability of a resemblance between herself and what his own lost child
+might most likely have become, seemed to find their place amongst the
+other strange things which were perplexing her mind.</p>
+
+<p>Very deeply Miss Owen pondered these many puzzling things, from day to
+day. A momentous possibility seemed to be dawning on her view; but she was
+like one who, being but half-awake, cannot decide whether the brightness
+of coming day may not, after all, be merely a dim dream-light which will
+presently fade away. It appeared to her sometimes as though she were on
+the verge of the momentous discovery which she had often wondered whether
+she would ever make. Could it be that the mystery of her parentage was
+about to be solved, and that with a result which would be altogether to
+her mind? But, as often as she reached this point, she pulled herself
+sharply up. Her name was Mary Ann Owen: that settled the question at once.
+But was it so? There came a time when she began to have doubts even as to
+her name. Perhaps the wish was father to the thought. At any rate, she had
+never liked the name by which she was known; and now she was conscious of
+a very definite reason for wishing that it might, in some way, turn out
+not to be her name after all. Was it certain that her name was Mary Ann
+Owen? She had a strange, weird feeling at the thought of what the
+question<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 205]</span> implied. And there was distinct ground for doubt. When she had
+been found by her adopted parents, her baby tongue, in answer to their
+questioning, had pronounced her name as best it could. But, as her speech
+was less distinct than is usually that of a child of her apparent years,
+they had never felt quite sure about her name. The name by which she
+forthwith became known to them was the best interpretation they could put
+upon her broken words, and it had been accepted by the child herself
+without objection; but in the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Burton there had
+always been a lingering doubt. Miss Owen had been aware of this, but had
+given it little heed. Now, however, the fact that there was uncertainty as
+to her name came vividly to her mind. And yet, if her name was not Mary
+Ann Owen, it might be something else quite as far from her desires. But
+stay, might it not be supposed that her real name, whatever it might be,
+was similar in sound to the name her baby tongue had been thought to
+pronounce? She had tried to tell her kind friends her name; and they had
+understood her to say that it was Mary Ann Owen. If they were mistaken,
+what other name was there of similar sound? Ah, there was one! Then she
+thrilled with almost a delirium of delight, which quickly gave place to a
+guilty feeling&mdash;as though she had put forth her hand towards that which
+was too sacred for her touch.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What silly day-dreams have come into my head!&rdquo; she cried.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 206]</span>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; too had his ponderings, in these days. Of late he
+had been thinking more about his little Marian than for many years past;
+and, if he had searched for the reason of this, he would have discovered
+it in the fact that his young girl secretary daily reminded him,
+in various ways, of his long lost child. Miss Owen was&mdash;or so he
+fancied&mdash;very much like what his darling would have become. There was,
+to be sure, not much in that, after all; and the same might have been the
+case with many another young girl. But the points of resemblance between
+the history of his young secretary and the early fate of his little Marian
+constituted another circumstance of strange import. Like his own child,
+Miss Owen had been an outcast. Kind friends had given her a home. Might it
+not be that similar happiness had fallen to the lot of his little Marian?
+If he could think so, he would almost be reconciled to the prospect of
+never seeing her again. And every day he felt that his young secretary was
+making for herself a larger place in his heart.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 207]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>A NOVEL DIFFICULTY FOR A MAN OF WEALTH.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The trouble with most people, rich and otherwise, is to know how to keep
+their money; how to get rid of it was the difficulty with which &ldquo;the
+Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was beset. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s unalterable purpose was to
+retain no more than a comparatively small portion of his wealth for his
+own use. Since he had entered upon his fortune, he had already given away
+a great deal of money; but it seemed to him a very trifling amount in
+proportion to the vast sum he possessed. He was, moreover, aware that he
+was getting richer every day. Since the property had come into his hands,
+the investments it comprised were yielding better than ever before; and he
+could not endure that such vast sums of money should be accumulating upon
+him, while there was so much misery and want in the world.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 208]</span> He believed
+that his immense wealth had been given him, in trust, by God; and that it
+was not absolutely his own. The purpose of God, in bestowing it upon him,
+was that he should use it for the benefit of all who had any need which
+might be supplied by its means; and, by so much, it belonged, not to
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn himself, but, under God, to those who possessed any such
+claim to its use. He was convinced that no preacher had ever been more
+definitely or solemnly called to the ministration of the &ldquo;Word&rdquo; than was
+he, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; to the ministry of wealth. And it was a
+ministry after his own heart. Full of Christ-like love and pity for the
+needy, the sad, and the sinful, he revelled in the gracious opportunities
+which now crowded his life. He had few greater pleasures, in these days,
+than that afforded him by the signing of cheques. To negotiate a
+contribution from him for some worthy object was a means of grace;&mdash;so
+hearty and joyous was his response to the appeal, and so thankful did he
+seem for the opportunity it had brought.</p>
+
+<p>Never, perhaps, were the functions of a Christian man of wealth more
+clearly comprehended, or the possibilities of blessedness involved in the
+possession of riches more fully realized, than by &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. He often
+told himself that, by making others happy with his money, he secured the
+highest benefit it was able to impart. Thus bestowed, his wealth afforded
+him infinitely greater satisfaction, than if he had devoted it entirely to
+his own personal ends.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 209]</span>But &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was not satisfied. His money was not going
+fast enough. The amounts he had already dispensed appeared but as a few
+splashes of foam from the sea. He wanted channels for his benevolence.
+His difficulty was rare. Most men of means find that they have not the
+wherewithal to supply the demands of their own many-handed need. He was
+able to satisfy almost unlimited necessities beyond his own, but was sadly
+troubled to know how it might be done. Yet he was determined that he would
+not rest, until he had found means of disposing, in his Lord&#8217;s service, of
+every penny that remained to him, after his own modest wants had been
+supplied.</p>
+
+<p>Actuated by this purpose, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn resolved to pay another visit
+to his minister. Mr. Durnford had helped him before, and would help him
+again. Of set purpose, he selected Monday morning for his visit. Unless
+his business had been very urgent indeed, he would not have run the risk
+of disturbing Mr. Durnford at his studies by going to see him on any other
+morning than this. But he knew that, on Monday morning, the minister was
+accustomed to throw himself somewhat on the loose, and was rather glad,
+than otherwise, to welcome a congenial visitor at that time.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford, as usual, gave his friend a cordial greeting. There was not
+a member of his church who occupied a higher place in his regard than did
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Glad to see you, Mr. Horn!&rdquo; he said, entering<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 210]</span> the dining-room, whither
+his visitor had been shown by the maid; and he heartily shook &ldquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker&rdquo; by the hand. &ldquo;This is a regular &lsquo;Blue Monday&rsquo; with me, as,
+indeed, most of my Mondays are; and a little brotherly chat will give me
+a lift. How go the millions?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>By this time they were seated opposite to each other, in two comfortable
+chairs, before a cheerful fire. The minister&#8217;s half-joking question
+touched so closely the trouble just then upon &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s mind, that
+he took it quite seriously, and returned a very grave reply.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The &lsquo;millions,&rsquo; sir, are not going fast enough; in fact, they go very
+slowly indeed. And, to make a clean breast of it, that is what has brought
+me here this morning.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with deep interest.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, sir,&rdquo; added &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, half-rising, and putting out his hand,
+&ldquo;don&#8217;t let me hinder you. I can come another time, if you are busy just
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&#8217;t speak of such a thing, my dear friend!&rdquo; cried the minister,
+putting out his hand in turn. &ldquo;Keep your seat. I&#8217;m never busy on a Monday
+morning&mdash;if I can help it. I am always ready, between the hours of nine
+and one on Monday, for any innocent diversion that may come in my way. I
+keep what is called &lsquo;Saint Monday&rsquo;&mdash;at least in the morning. If I am
+disturbed on any other morning, I&mdash;well, I don&#8217;t like it. But any
+reasonable person who finds me at home on a Monday morning&mdash;against which,
+I must admit, the chances are strong,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 211]</span> for I frequently go off on some
+harmless jaunt&mdash;is quite welcome to me for that time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I had an idea of that, sir,&rdquo; responded &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, you are a most considerate man! But now, about the millions?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not &lsquo;millions,&rsquo; sir&mdash;hardly one million yet&mdash;indeed a great deal less
+now, actually in my own hands; though I am seriously afraid of what it may
+become. All my investments are turning out so well, that the money is
+coming in much faster than I can get rid of it! It&#8217;s positively dreadful!
+I shall have to increase my givings very largely in some way.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The minister held up his hands in mock astonishment; and there was a
+twinkle of honest pleasure in his keen, grey eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Horn, I believe you are the first man, since the foundation of the
+world, who has been troubled because his money didn&#8217;t go fast enough!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, that is the case.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>His unwieldy wealth weighed too heavily upon his heart and conscience to
+permit of his adopting the half-humorous view of the situation which Mr.
+Durnford seemed to take.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But surely, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; urged the minister, becoming serious, &ldquo;there are
+plenty of ways for your money. To get money is often difficult; it should
+be easy enough to get rid of it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir, there are plenty of ways. My poor, devoted secretary knows that
+as well as I do. But<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 212]</span> the puzzle is, to find the right ways. If I merely
+wanted to get rid of my money, the letters of a single week would almost
+enable me to do that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Durnford, &ldquo;of course. I know exactly how it is. You
+could make your money up in a bag, and toss it into the sea at one throw,
+if that were all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a quiet smile; and he sighed faintly,
+as though he wished it were permissible to rid himself thus easily of his
+golden encumbrance.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But that is not all, Mr. Durnford,&rdquo; he then said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, Mr. Horn, you feel that it would not do to cast your bread on the
+waters in that literal sense. You are constrained to cast it, not into
+the sea, but, like precious seed, into the soil of human hearts and
+lives&mdash;soil that has been prepared by the plough of poverty and the
+harrow of suffering. Isn&#8217;t that it, my friend?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn leaned forward in his chair, with glistening eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir; go on; you are a splendid thought reader.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You feel that merely to dispose of your money anyhow&mdash;without
+discrimination&mdash;would be worse than hoarding it up?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That I do, sir!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is not your money, but the Lord&#8217;s; and you wish to dispose of every
+penny in a way He would approve?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; was &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s emphatic <span class='pagenum'>[Pg 213]</span>confirmation; &ldquo;and I&#8217;m so
+anxious about it that often I can&#8217;t sleep at nights. I expect the Lord
+gave me all this money because He knew I should want to use it for Him;
+and I&#8217;m determined not to disappoint Him. I feel the more strongly on the
+subject, because there&#8217;s so much of the Lord&#8217;s money in the world that he
+never gets the benefit of at all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The minister listened gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So you want my advice?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir; and your help. My difficulty is that it is the unworthy who are
+most eager to ask for help. Those who are really deserving are often the
+last to cry out; and many of them would rather die than beg. Now, sir, I
+want you to help me to find out cases of real need, to tell me of any good
+cause that comes to your knowledge; and suggest as many ways as you can of
+making a good use of my money. Will you do this for me, sir? Although you
+have helped me so much already, I don&#8217;t think you will refuse my request.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The minister listened to this appeal from &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; with a
+feeling of holy joy.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, my dear friend,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I will not refuse your request. How can I?
+Believing, with you, that your wealth is a Divine trust, I regard your
+appeal as a call from God Himself. Besides, you could not have demanded
+from me a more congenial service. You shall have all the help I can give;
+and between us,&rdquo; he added, with a reviving flicker of his previous
+facetiousness, &ldquo;we shall make the millions fly.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 214]</span>&ldquo;Thank you, heartily, sir. But I must warn you that you have undertaken no
+light task. We shall have to dispose of many thou&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We will make them vanish,&rdquo; broke in the minister, &ldquo;like half-pence in the
+hands of a conjuror.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a smile, &ldquo;that you ministers are well
+able to dispose of the money.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I suppose we are. But, dear friend, let it be understood, at the
+outset, that I can be no party to your defrauding yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is all the Lord&#8217;s money,&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; but, if you employ it for Him, He means you to have your
+commission.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, as to that, a very little will serve. My wants are few.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear friend,&rdquo; remonstrated the minister, &ldquo;are you not in danger of
+falling into a mistake? God has given you the power to acquire a great
+deal of the good of this world; and I don&#8217;t think it would be right for
+you not to make a pretty complete use of your opportunities. Though you
+should be ever so generous to yourself, and live a very full and abundant
+life, you will still be able to give immense sums of money away; and such
+a life would fit you all the better to serve God in your new sphere.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You think that, do you, sir?&rdquo; asked &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, evidently impressed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I certainly do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I will consider it; for I dare say you are right. But to return to
+what we were talking about<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 215]</span> just now, perhaps, sir, you could give me a
+hint or two, this morning, with regard to my money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Thus invited, Mr. Durnford ventured to mention several cases of individual
+necessity with which he was acquainted, and to indicate various schemes of
+wide-spread benevolence in which a man of wealth might embark.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn listened attentively; and, having entered in his note-book
+the names Mr. Durnford had given him, promised also to consider the more
+general suggestions he had made.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am very much obliged to you, sir,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and shall often come to
+you for advice of this kind.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;As often as you like, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; laughed the minister; &ldquo;it doesn&#8217;t cost
+much to give advice. It is those who follow it that have to pay.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; rejoined &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn; &ldquo;and that will I do most gladly.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So saying, he rose from his seat, and held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good morning, sir!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good morning, my dear sir!&rdquo; said the minister, grasping the proffered
+hand. &ldquo;By the way, how is Miss Owen getting on?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear sir, I owe you eternal gratitude for having made me acquainted
+with that young lady!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m glad of that, but not a bit surprised.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She is a greater help to me than I can tell. And what a sad history she
+seems to have had&mdash;in early<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 216]</span> life, that is! Her childhood appears to have
+been a sad time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, she has told you, then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, it came out quite by accident. She didn&#8217;t obtrude it in any way.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am sure she wouldn&#8217;t.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And the fact that she was once a little outcast girl increases my
+interest in her very much.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said the minister, &ldquo;is a matter of course.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 217]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;COBBLER&rdquo; HORN&#8217;S CRITICS.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The months passed. Christmas came, and was left behind, and now spring had
+fairly set in.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; had become a person of great consideration to the
+dignitaries of his church. It is true there were those amongst its wealthy
+members by whom he was unsparingly criticised behind his back. But this
+did not deter them from paying him all manner of court to his face. He
+was startled at the importance which he had suddenly acquired. His
+acquaintance was sought on every side; and he found himself the subject
+of a variety of polite attentions to which he had been an entire stranger
+until now. Men of wealth and position who, though they were his
+fellow-members in the church, had never yet shaken him by the hand,
+suddenly discovered that he was their dear friend.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 218]</span>There was one rich man whose pew in the church was next to that of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. Though this man had sat side by side with his poor
+brother for many years, in the house of God, he had seemed unaware of his
+existence. But no sooner did &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn become &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo;
+than the attitude of his wealthy neighbour underwent a change. The
+first sign of recognition he bestowed upon his recently-enriched
+fellow-worshipper was a polite bow as they were leaving the church; next
+he ventured to show &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn the hymn, when the latter happened to
+come late one day; and, at length, on a certain Sunday morning, as they
+were going out, he stepped into the aisle, and proffered his hand to &ldquo;the
+Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; for a friendly shake. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn started, and drew
+back. It was not in his nature to be malicious; and to decline the offered
+civility was the furthest thing from his thoughts. He was simply lost in
+amazement. The gentleman who was offering to shake hands with him was one
+of the most important men in Cottonborough. But his great astonishment
+arose from the fact that this mighty personage, after sitting within reach
+of him in the house of God for so many years, without bestowing upon him
+the slightest sign of recognition, should suddenly desire to shake him by
+the hand! The man noticed his hesitation, and was turning away with
+offended dignity. But &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn quickly recovered himself, and,
+taking the hand which had been offered to him, gave it a heartier shake
+than it had, perhaps, ever received before.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 219]</span>&ldquo;It was not that, Mr. Varley,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I&#8217;m glad enough to shake hands
+with you, as I should have been long ago. But it did seem such a queer
+thing that we should have been sitting side by side here all these years,
+and you should never have thought of shaking hands with me before. I
+suppose the reason why you do it now is that the Lord has seen fit to make
+me a rich man. Now I really don&#8217;t think I&#8217;m any more fit to be shaken
+hands with on that account. Personally, I&#8217;m very much the same as I&#8217;ve
+been any time these twenty years past; and it does seem to me a bit
+strange that you and others should appear to think otherwise.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn spoke in a pleasant tone, and there was a twinkle of
+amusement in his eye. But Mr. Varley was not amused. Regarding &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn with an expression of countenance which was very much like a scowl,
+he turned upon his heel and withdrew; and, during the week, he arranged
+for a sitting in another part of the church.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Varley was not the only rich and influential member of the church who
+had recently discovered in &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn a suitable object of friendly
+regard. But the most cordial and obsequious of his wealthy fellow-members
+were ready enough to criticise him behind his back.</p>
+
+<p>With the advice and help of the minister, he had begun to &ldquo;make
+the millions fly,&rdquo; in good earnest; and his phenomenal
+liberality&mdash;prodigality, it was called by some&mdash;could not, in the nature
+of things, escape notice. It soon became, in fact, the talk of the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 220]</span> town
+and of the country round. But it was by the members of his church that
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s lavish benefactions were most eagerly discussed. Various
+opinions were expressed, by his fellow-Christians, of &ldquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker,&rdquo; and of the guineas with which he was so free. Some few saw the
+real man in their suddenly-enriched friend, and rejoiced. Others shook
+their heads, and said the &ldquo;Shoemaker&rdquo; would not be &ldquo;Golden&rdquo; long at that
+rate; and some scornfully curled their lips, and declared the man to be a
+fool. But the most bitter of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s critics were certain of his
+wealthy brethren who seemed to regard his abundant liberality as a
+personal affront.</p>
+
+<p>There were many wealthy members in Mr. Durnford&#8217;s church. The minister
+sometimes thought, in his inmost soul, that his church would have been but
+little poorer, in any sense of the word, for the loss of some of the rich
+men whose names were on its roll. With all their wealth, many of them were
+not &ldquo;rich towards God.&rdquo; But Mr. Durnford was circumspect. It was his
+endeavour, without failing in his duty, either to his Divine Master, or to
+these gilded sheep of his, to make what use of them he might in connection
+with his sacred work.</p>
+
+<p>There was little, it is true, to be got out of these wealthy men but their
+money, and they could not be persuaded to part with much of that; but the
+minister did not give them much rest.</p>
+
+<p>One pleasant spring evening, Mr. Durnford set out on one of what he called
+his &ldquo;financial tours&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 221]</span> amongst this section of his members. The first
+house to which he went&mdash;and, as it proved, the last&mdash;was that of a very
+rich brewer, who was one of the main pillars of the Church. There were
+other members of Mr. Durnford&#8217;s flock who were of the same trade. This was
+not gratifying to Mr. Durnford; but what could he do? The brewers were
+blameless in their personal behaviour, regular in their attendance in the
+sanctuary, and exact in their fulfilment of the conditions of church
+membership; and he could not unchurch them merely because they were
+brewers. If he began there, it would be difficult to tell where he ought
+to stop. Nor did he scorn their gifts of money to the cause of God. He was
+pleased that they were willing to devote some portion of their gains to so
+good a purpose; his regret was that the portion was so small.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford did not hesitate to tell his rich members what he conceived
+to be the just claims of the cause of God upon their wealth; and, on the
+evening of which we speak, he called first, for this purpose, on the
+aforesaid brewer, Mr. Caske. This gentleman lived in a large, square,
+old-fashioned, comfortable house, surrounded with its own grounds, which
+were extensive and well laid out. The entire premises were encompassed
+with a high brick wall, which might well have been supposed to hide a
+workhouse or a prison, instead of the paradise it actually concealed.
+Perhaps Mr. Caske had selected this secluded abode from an instinctive
+disinclination to obtrude the abundance and comfort which he had<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 222]</span> derived
+from the manufacture and sale of beer; perhaps he had bought this
+particular house simply because it was in itself such a dwelling as he
+desired. At any rate, there he was, with his abundance and luxury, within
+his encircling wall; and one was tempted to wonder whether there was as
+much mystery in connection with the article of his manufacture, as seemed
+to be associated with his place of abode.</p>
+
+<p>The minister let himself in at a small door in the boundary wall, and made
+his way, through the grounds, to the front-door of the house.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Caske has company to-night, sir,&rdquo; said the maid who opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Any one I know, Mary?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir; Mr. Botterill and Mr. Kershaw.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, well, I want to see them too. Where are they?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;In the smoke-room, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, show me in. It will be all right.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As Mr. Durnford was a frequent and privileged visitor, the girl promptly
+complied with his request.</p>
+
+<p>The smoke-room was a good-sized, comfortable apartment, furnished with
+every convenience that smokers are supposed to require. It looked out, by
+two long windows, on a wide sweep of lawn which stretched away from the
+end of the house. In this room, in chairs of various luxurious styles, sat
+Mr. Caske and his two friends. Each of the three men was smoking a
+churchwarden pipe; and at the elbow of each stood a little three-legged,
+japanned smoker&#8217;s<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 223]</span> table, on which was a stand of matches, an ash-tray,
+and a glass of whisky.</p>
+
+<p>The three smokers slowly turned their heads, as the minister entered the
+room, and, on recognising him, they all rose to their feet.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good evening, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Caske, advancing, with his pipe in his left
+hand, and his right hand stretched out; &ldquo;you have surprised us at our
+devotions again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Which you are performing,&rdquo; rejoined the minister, &ldquo;with an earnestness
+worthy of a nobler object of worship.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Caske laughed huskily; and the minister turned to greet Messrs.
+Botterill and Kershaw, who were waiting, pipes in hand, to resume their
+seats.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Botterill was a wine and spirit merchant, and Mr. Kershaw was a draper
+in a large way.</p>
+
+<p>When they had all taken their seats, a few moments of silence ensued. This
+was occasioned by the necessity which arose for the three smokers
+vigorously to puff their pipes, which had burnt low; and perhaps there
+was some little reluctance, on the part of Mr. Caske and his friends,
+to resume the conversation which had been in progress previous to the
+entrance of Mr. Durnford. When the pipes had been blown up, and were once
+more in full blast, there was no longer any excuse for silence. Mr. Caske,
+being the host, was then the first to speak. He had known his minister
+too well to invite him to partake of the refreshment with which he was
+regaling his friends.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 224]</span>He was a small, rotund man, with shining, rosy cheeks, and a husky voice.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All well with you, Mr. Durnford?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, thank you, Mr. Caske; but I am afraid I intrude?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He was conscious of some constraint on the part of the company.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I fear,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;that I have interrupted some important business?&rdquo;
+and he looked around with an air of enquiry.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Caske airily waved his long pipe.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, sir,&rdquo; he said, lightly, &ldquo;nothing of consequence&rdquo;&mdash;here he glanced
+at his friends&mdash;&ldquo;we were, ah&mdash;talking about our friend, ah&mdash;&lsquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Caske was secretly anxious to elicit the minister&#8217;s opinion of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with an intonation in which sarcasm might
+not have been difficult to detect, &ldquo;and what about &lsquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Caske looked at Mr. Botterill and Mr. Kershaw; and Mr. Kershaw and
+Mr. Botterill looked first at each other, and then at Mr. Caske.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; replied Mr. Caske, at length, &ldquo;he&#8217;s being more talked about than
+ever.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, now,&rdquo; asked the minister, &ldquo;as to what in particular?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Chiefly as to the way he&#8217;s squandering his money.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I wasn&#8217;t aware Mr. Horn had become<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 225]</span> a spendthrift! You must have been
+misinformed, Mr. Caske,&rdquo; and Mr. Durnford looked the brewer intently in
+the face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Mr. Caske, somewhat uneasily, &ldquo;you don&#8217;t take me, sir. It&#8217;s not
+that he spends his money. It&#8217;s the rate at which he gives it away. He&#8217;s
+simply flinging it from him right and left!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, Mr. Caske swelled with righteous indignation. Money, in his
+eyes, was a sacred thing&mdash;to be guarded with care, and parted with
+reluctantly. No working man could have been more careful with regard to
+the disposal of each individual shilling of his weekly wages, than was
+Mr. Caske in the handling of his considerable wealth.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He&#8217;s simply tossing his money from him, sir,&rdquo; he reiterated, &ldquo;as if it
+were just a heap of leaves.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Botterill, &ldquo;and it doesn&#8217;t seem right.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Botterill was a tall man, with glossy black hair and whiskers, and an
+inflamed face. He seemed never to be quite at ease in his mind, which,
+perhaps, was not matter for surprise.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kershaw next felt that it was his turn to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;this kind of thing makes a false impression, you know!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Though a man of moderate bodily dimensions, Mr. Kershaw had a largeness of
+manner which seemed to magnify him far beyond his real proportions. He
+spread himself abroad, and made the most of himself. He had actually a
+large head, which was<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 226]</span> bald on the top, with dark bushy hair round about.
+His face, which was deeply pitted with small-pox, was adorned with
+mutton-chop whiskers, from between which a very prominent nose and chin
+thrust themselves forth.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; broke in Mr. Caske, &ldquo;people will be apt to think that everybody who
+has a little bit of money ought to do as he does. But, if that were the
+case, where should I be, for instance?&rdquo; and Mr. Caske swelled himself out
+more than ever.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford had hitherto listened in silence. Though inclined to speak in
+very strong terms, he had restrained himself with a powerful effort. He
+knew that if he allowed these men to proceed, they would soon fill their
+cup.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, gentlemen,&rdquo; he now remarked quietly, &ldquo;there is force in what you
+say.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Caske and his two friends regarded their minister with a somewhat
+doubtful look. Mr. Caske seemed to think that Mr. Durnford&#8217;s remark made
+it necessary for him to justify the attitude he had assumed with regard
+to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you don&#8217;t know in what a reckless fashion our
+friend is disposing of his money?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Mr. Caske, let us hear,&rdquo; said the minister, settling himself to
+listen.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, you know about his having given up a great part of his fortune
+to some girl in America, because she was the sweetheart of a cousin of his
+who died.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 227]</span>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Durnford, quietly, &ldquo;I&#8217;ve heard of that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, there was a mad trick, to begin with,&rdquo; resumed Mr. Caske, in a
+severe tone. &ldquo;And then there&#8217;s that big house in the village which, it&#8217;s
+said, all belongs to him. He&#8217;s fitting it up to be a sort of home for
+street arabs and gipsy children; and it&#8217;s costing him thousands of pounds
+that he&#8217;ll never see again!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know about that too.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then, you will, of course, be aware, sir, that he gives more to our
+church funds than any half-dozen of us put together.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; broke in Mr. Kershaw, with his obtrusive nose. &ldquo;He thinks to shame
+the rest of us, no doubt. And they say now that he&#8217;s going to employ two
+town missionaries and a Bible-woman out of his own pocket. Is it true,
+think you, sir?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is not unlikely,&rdquo; was the quiet reply.</p>
+
+<p>There was a note of warning in both Mr. Durnford&#8217;s words and tone; but the
+admonitory sign passed unobserved.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; resumed Mr. Caske, &ldquo;think of the money he gave away during
+the winter. He seemed to want to do everything himself. There was hardly
+anything left for any one else to do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford smiled inwardly at the idea of Mr. Caske making a grievance
+of the fact that there had been left to him no occasion for benevolence.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It was nothing but blankets, and coals, and money,&rdquo; continued Mr. Caske.
+&ldquo;And then the families he has<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 228]</span> picked out of the slums and sent across the
+sea! And it&#8217;s said he&#8217;ll pay anybody&#8217;s debts, and gives to any beggar, and
+will lend anybody as much money as they like to ask.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At this point Mr. Botterill once more put in his word.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I heard, only the other day, that Mr. Horn had announced his intention of
+presenting the town with a Free Library and a Public Park.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s like his impudence!&rdquo; exclaimed Mr. Kershaw.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;After that I can believe anything,&rdquo; cried Mr. Caske. &ldquo;The man ought to be
+stopped. It&#8217;s very much to be regretted that he ever came into the money.
+And what a fool he is from his own standpoint! When he has got rid of all
+his money, it will be doubly hard for him to go back to poverty again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Caske was speaking somewhat at random.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&#8217;t you think, sir,&rdquo; he concluded, with a facetious air, &ldquo;that
+Providence sometimes makes a mistake in these matters?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The question was addressed to the minister.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, never!&rdquo; exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with an emphasis which caused Mr.
+Caske to start so violently, that the stem of his pipe, which he had just
+replaced in his mouth, clattered against his teeth. &ldquo;No, never! And least
+of all in the case of friend Horn.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The three critics of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; stared at the minister in
+amazement. They had been led to think Mr. Durnford was substantially in
+agreement with their views.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, gentlemen,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;my opinion is quite<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 229]</span> the reverse of yours. I
+believe this almost unlimited wealth has been given to our friend, because
+he is eminently fitted to be the steward of his Lord&#8217;s goods.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This declaration was followed by an awkward pause, which Mr. Caske was the
+first to break.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps you think, sir,&rdquo; he said, in an injured tone, &ldquo;that this upstart
+fellow is an example to us?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Caske,&rdquo; responded the minister, &ldquo;you have interpreted my words to a
+nicety.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The three critics shuffled uneasily in their chairs.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; continued Mr. Durnford, &ldquo;an example and a reproach! Mr. Horn has
+the true idea of the responsibilities of a Christian man of wealth; you
+have missed it. He is resolved to use his money for God, to whom it
+belongs; you spend yours on yourselves&mdash;except in as far as you hoard it
+up you know not for whom or what. He is never satisfied that he is giving
+enough away; you grumble and groan over every paltry sovereign with which
+you are induced to part. He will be able to give a good account of his
+stewardship when the Lord comes; there will be an awkward reckoning for
+you in that day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The three friends had ceased to smoke, and were listening to Mr.
+Durnford&#8217;s deliverance open-mouthed. They respected their minister, and
+valued his esteem. They were rather conscience-stricken, than offended
+now.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, surely, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Kershaw, presently, finding breath first of
+the three, &ldquo;you wouldn&#8217;t have us fling away our money, as he does?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 230]</span>&ldquo;I shouldn&#8217;t be in haste to forbid you, Mr. Kershaw, if you seemed
+inclined to take that course,&rdquo; said the minister, with a smile. &ldquo;But, if
+you come within measurable distance of the example of our friend, you will
+do very well.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But,&rdquo; pleaded Mr. Botterill, &ldquo;ought we not to consider our wives and
+families?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You do, Mr. Botterill, you do,&rdquo; was the somewhat sharp reply. &ldquo;But there
+still remains ample scope for the claims of God.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Upon this, there ensued a pause, which was at length broken by Mr. Caske,
+who, whatever might be his shortcomings, was not an ill-natured man.
+&ldquo;Well, sir,&rdquo; he remarked, good-humouredly, &ldquo;you&#8217;ve hit us hard.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am glad you are sensible of the fact,&rdquo; was the pleasant reply.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt you are!&rdquo; rejoined Mr. Caske, in a somewhat jaunty tone. &ldquo;And I
+suppose you intend now to give us an opportunity of following your
+advice?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Durnford, with a smile, &ldquo;I really came to ask you for
+the payment of certain subscriptions now due. It is time I was making up
+some of the quarterly payments. But, perhaps, after what has been said,
+you would like to take a day or two&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, for my part,&rdquo; interposed Mr. Caske, &ldquo;I don&#8217;t want any time. I&#8217;ll
+double my subscriptions at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Same here,&rdquo; said Mr. Kershaw, concisely.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 231]</span>&ldquo;Thank you, gentlemen!&rdquo; said Mr. Durnford, briskly, entering the amounts
+in his note book. &ldquo;Now, Mr. Botterill.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; was the reluctant response, &ldquo;I suppose I shall have to follow
+suit.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, gentlemen, all,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Keep that up, and it will afford
+you more pleasure than you think.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>When, shortly afterwards, the minister took his departure, the three
+friends resumed their smoking; but they did not return to their criticism
+of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 232]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>&ldquo;IN LABOURS MORE ABUNDANT.&rdquo;</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>Unlike many wealthy professors of religion, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; did not
+suppose that, in giving his money to the various funds of the church, he
+fulfilled, as far as he was concerned, all the claims of the Cause of
+Christ. He did not imagine that he could purchase, by means of his
+monetary gifts, exemption from the obligation to engage in active
+Christian work. He did not desire to be thus exempt. His greatest delight
+was to be directly and actively employed in serving his Divine Lord; and
+so little did he think of availing himself of the occasion of his sudden
+accession to wealth to withdraw from actual participation in the service
+of Christ, that he hailed with intense joy the richer opportunities of
+service with which he was thus supplied.</p>
+
+<p>For some years &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had been a teacher in a small Mission Sunday
+School, which was carried on in a low part of the town by several<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 233]</span> members
+of Mr. Durnford&#8217;s church. But, about a year previous to the change in his
+circumstances, he had been persuaded by the minister to transfer his
+services to the larger school. He always made the conversion of his
+scholars his chief aim; and very soon after he entered on his new sphere,
+one of the boys in his class, a bright little fellow about nine years old,
+named Willie Raynor, had been very remarkably converted to God. The boy
+was promising to become a very thorough-going Christian, and no one
+rejoiced more than he in the good fortune of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>There was considerable speculation, amongst the friends and
+fellow-teachers of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; as to whether his altered
+circumstances would lead to the relinquishment of his work in the school.
+Little Willie Raynor heard some whisper of this talk, and was much
+distressed. His relations with his beloved teacher were very close; and,
+without a moment&#8217;s hesitation, he went straight to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, and
+asked him what he was going to do.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Horn, you won&#8217;t leave the school now you are a rich man, will you?
+Because I don&#8217;t think we can do without you!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was taken by surprise. The idea of leaving the school had
+never occurred to his mind. For one moment, there was a troubled look in
+his face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who has put such nonsense into your head, laddie?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 234]</span>&ldquo;Oh, I&#8217;ve heard them talking about it. But I said I was sure they were
+wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, of course they were, dear lad. Why should I leave the school?
+Haven&#8217;t I more reason than ever to work for the Lord?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I&#8217;m so glad!&rdquo; And Willie went home with a bounding heart.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile curiosity continued to be felt and expressed on every hand, as
+to the course &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; would actually pursue; and no little
+surprise was created as, Sunday after Sunday, he was still seen sitting in
+the midst of his class, as quietly and modestly as though he were still
+the poor cobbler whom everybody had known so well.</p>
+
+<p>Nor was he content simply to continue the work he had been accustomed to
+do for Christ during his previous life. The larger leisure which his
+wealth had brought, enabled him to multiply his religious and benevolent
+activities to an almost unlimited extent. He went about doing good from
+morning to night. He rejoiced to exercise for God the all but boundless
+influence which his money enabled him to exert. His original plan&mdash;which
+he persistently followed&mdash;of mending, free of charge, the boots and shoes
+of the poorer portion of his former customers was but one amongst many
+means by which he strove to benefit his necessitous fellowmen. He never
+gave money for the relief of distress, without ascertaining whether there
+was anything that he could do personally to help. He made it a point also
+to offer spiritual consolation to those upon whom<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 235]</span> he bestowed temporal
+benefactions. Hardly a day but found him in the abode of poverty, or in
+the sick-room; and not one of his numberless opportunities of speaking
+the words which &ldquo;help and heal&rdquo; did he let slip.</p>
+
+<p>One evening, as he was passing through a poor part of the town, he came
+into collision with a drunken man, who was in the act of entering a low
+public-house. The wretched creature looked up into &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s face,
+and &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn recognised him as a formerly respectable neighbour of
+his own.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Richard,&rdquo; he cried, catching the man by the arm, &ldquo;don&#8217;t go in there!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Shall if I like, Thomas,&rdquo; said the man, thickly, recognising &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn in turn. &ldquo;D&#8217;yer think &#8217;cause ye&#8217;re rich, yer has right t&#8217; say where
+I shall go in, and where I shan&#8217;t go in?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no, Richard,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with his hand still on the man&#8217;s
+arm. &ldquo;But you&#8217;ve had enough drink, and had better go quietly home.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, he gradually drew his captive further away from the
+public-house. The man struggled furiously, talking all the time in rapid
+and excited tones.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Let me a-be!&rdquo; he exclaimed with a thickness of tone which was the
+combined result of indignation and strong drink. &ldquo;You ha&#8217; no right to
+handle me like this! Ain&#8217;t this a free country? Where&#8217;s the perlice?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come along, Richard; you&#8217;ll thank me to-morrow,&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 236]</span> persisted &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn quietly, moving his captive along another step or two. But, by this
+time, a crowd was beginning to gather; and it seemed likely that, although
+Richard himself might not be able effectually to resist his captor,
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s purpose would be frustrated in another way. In fact the
+crowd&mdash;a sadly dilapidated crew&mdash;had drawn so closely around the centre of
+interest, as to render almost impossible the further progress of the
+struggling pair.</p>
+
+<p>At this point, some one recognised &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yah!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it ain&#8217;t a fight, after all! It&#8217;s &lsquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rsquo;
+a-collarin&#8217; a cove wot&#8217;s drunk!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At the announcement of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; the people crowded up more
+closely than ever. While all had heard of that glittering phenomenon,
+perhaps few had actually seen him, and the present opportunity was not to
+be lost.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn grasped the situation, and resolved, under the inspiration
+of the moment, to turn it to good account. He was not afraid that these
+people would interfere with his present purpose. He could see that they
+were regarding him with too much interest and respect for that. Moreover,
+since Richard belonged to another part of the town, his fortunes would not
+awaken any special sympathy in the breasts of the crowd. On the other
+hand, there was a possibility that the delay caused by the gathering of
+the crowd might enable &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn to make a deeper impression on his
+poor degraded friend, than if he had simply dragged him home from the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 237]</span>
+public-house. Exerting, therefore, all his strength, he thrust the hapless
+Richard forth at arm&#8217;s length, and, in emphatic tones, bespoke for him the
+attention of the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Look at him!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Once he was a respectable man, tidy and
+bright; and he wasn&#8217;t ashamed to look anybody in the face. And now see
+what he is!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The crowd looked, and saw a slovenly and dissipated man, who hung his
+head, with a dull feeling of shame. The people gazed upon the wretched man
+in silence. They were awed by the solemn and impressive manner in which
+they had been addressed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This man,&rdquo; resumed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;once had a thriving business and a
+comfortable home. Now his business has gone to the dogs, and his home has
+become a den. His wife and children are ragged and hungry; and I question
+if he has a penny piece left that he can justly call his own. The most
+complete ruin stares him in the face, and he probably won&#8217;t last another
+year.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The crowd still gazed, and listened in silence.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And, do you ask,&rdquo; continued &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;what has done all this? No,
+you don&#8217;t; you know too well. It&#8217;s drink&mdash;the stuff that many of you love
+so much. For there are many of you,&rdquo;&mdash;and he swept the crowd with a
+scrutinizing glance&mdash;&ldquo;who are far on the same downward way as this poor
+fool. He was my neighbour and friend; and he had as nice a little wife as
+ever brightened a home. But it would make the heart of a stone bleed to
+see her<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 238]</span> as I saw her but a few days ago. But, there; go home, Richard!
+And may God help you to become a man once more!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So saying, he released his captive; and the wretched creature, partially
+sobered with astonishment and shame, crept through the crowd, which parted
+for him to pass, and staggered off on his way towards home.</p>
+
+<p>Then, like some ancient prophet, upon whom the Spirit of the Lord had
+come, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; turned and preached, from the living text of
+his besotted friend, a telling impromptu Temperance sermon to the motley
+crowd. The whole incident was quite unpremeditated. He had never dreamt
+that he would do such a thing as he was doing now. But that by no means
+lessened the effect of his burning words, which went home to the hearts,
+and even to the consciences of not a few of those by whom they were heard.</p>
+
+<p>When he had finished, he passed on, and left his hearers to their
+thoughts. But, for himself, there had been shown to him yet another way in
+which he might work for God; and, thereafter, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was
+often seen at the corners of back streets, and in the recesses of the
+slums, preaching, to all who would hear, that glorious Gospel of which the
+message of mercy to the victims of strong drink is, after all, only a
+part.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 239]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>TOMMY DUDGEON ON THE WATCH.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>It will be remembered that, after bursting into the back-room with the
+declaration, &ldquo;She&#8217;s come back!&rdquo; Tommy Dudgeon had suddenly pulled himself
+up and substituted the commonplace statement that he had &ldquo;seen the
+sec&#8217;tary.&rdquo; In fact, though, on marking the manner in which Miss Owen had
+stepped out of the house and walked along the street, he had, for an
+instant, imagined that little Marian had actually returned, the calmer
+moments which followed had shown him what seemed the folly of such a
+supposition. What real resemblance could there be between a child of five
+and a young woman of eighteen? He had, indeed, seemed to see, this
+afternoon, the very same determined look, and the pretty purposeful step,
+with which the little maid whom he had loved had passed out of his sight
+so long ago. But he now assured himself that &ldquo;it was only the sec&#8217;tary
+after all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 240]</span>The child, for whom he had not ceased to mourn, would certainly come back,
+but not like that. It was inevitable that unimaginative Tommy Dudgeon
+should at first dismiss the possibility that little wild-flower Marian
+should have returned in the person of the lady-secretary. But, none the
+less, the sight of the secretary had brought back to him the vision of
+little Marian as he had seen her last; and thenceforth he was supplied
+with matter for much perplexing thought.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately the occupants of the room into which he had burst with his
+hasty exclamation, who consisted of his brother and his brother&#8217;s wife
+alone, had but indistinctly caught his words. Consequently no one was any
+the wiser, and he was able to assure himself that his first impression
+with regard to the &ldquo;sec&#8217;tary&rdquo; was still the secret of his own breast.</p>
+
+<p>It was a secret, however, which gave him no little trouble. The vanishing
+of the child had occasioned him bitter grief. He had not only mourned in
+respectful sympathy with the stricken father, but he had also sorrowed on
+his own account. He had very tenderly loved little Marian Horn. She had
+come to him like a fairy, scattering clouds of care, and diffusing joy;
+and, since her departure, it had seemed as though the sunshine had ceased
+to visit the narrow street upon which he looked out through the window,
+and from the doorway, of his little shop.</p>
+
+<p>And Tommy&#8217;s regret for the loss of the child was rendered keener by a
+haunting consciousness that<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 241]</span> a measure of responsibility for it belonged
+to himself. Might he not have prevented her departure? He could not,
+indeed, have been supposed to know that she was running away. But he did
+not allow himself to plead any excuse on that account. He ought to have
+known, was his continual reflection, that she would come to harm&mdash;going
+away by herself like that; and, at least, he might have questioned her as
+to where she was going. Through all the years, he had not ceased to
+afflict himself with such thoughts as these. Once he actually mentioned
+his self-accusing thoughts to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. It was on one of the rare
+occasions when the afflicted father had spontaneously spoken of his lost
+child to his humble friend. He gazed blankly at the little huckster, for
+a moment, as though he had not understood. Then, perceiving his drift, he
+gently answered, &ldquo;My dear friend, you could not help it. Please do not
+speak of it again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy had always yearned for the recovery of the child; and, the wish
+being father to the thought, he fully shared with &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn himself
+the expectation that she would eventually return. This expectation kept
+him on the alert; and there is little cause to wonder that even so slight
+a sign as the poise of the secretary&#8217;s head, or the manner in which she
+walked, should have induced him to think, for some passing moments, that
+his long-cherished desire had been fulfilled at last.</p>
+
+<p>And now, although he had dismissed that belief, it had left him more
+vigilant than ever. It may be<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 242]</span> questioned, indeed, whether he had actually
+dismissed it, or whether, having been dismissed, it had really gone away.
+There are visitors who will take no hint to depart. It would seem that
+here was such a visitor. The discarded impression that little Marian had
+come back in the person of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s secretary refused to be
+banished from Tommy Dudgeon&#8217;s mind. Henceforth he would have no peace
+until he had set the fateful question at rest once for all.</p>
+
+<p>To this end he watched for the young secretary day by day. A hundred times
+a day he went to the shop-door, to gaze along the street; and at frequent
+intervals he craned his neck to get a better view through the window. He
+would leave the most profitable customer, at the sound of a footstep
+without, or at the shutting of a neighbouring door. He gave himself to
+deep ponderings, in the midst of which he became oblivious of all around.
+His anxiety told upon his appetite, and affected his health. His friends
+became alarmed; but, when they questioned him, he only shook his head.
+His very character seemed to be changed. Hitherto he had been the most
+transparent of men; now he moved about with the air of a conspirator, and
+bore himself like one on whose heart some mysterious secret weighed.</p>
+
+<p>It was a long time before Tommy&#8217;s watching and pondering produced any
+definite result. Miss Owen seldom visited the street in which &ldquo;the little
+Twin Brethren&rdquo; had their shop. By the desire of her employer she never
+came to him in his old workshop,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 243]</span> except upon business which could not
+be delayed. Two or three times only, hitherto, had Tommy Dudgeon been
+privileged to feast his eyes on the dainty little figure, which, on his
+first sight of it, had awakened such tender memories in his mind. On each
+occasion those memories had returned as vividly as before; but the only
+result had been that his perplexity was sensibly increased.</p>
+
+<p>All through the winter, the perturbation of the little huckster&#8217;s mind
+remained unallayed; but there came a day in early spring which set his
+questionings at rest. In that joyous season there was born to Mr. and Mrs.
+John Dudgeon an eighth child. The fact that, this time, the arrival did
+not consist of twins was no less gratifying to the happy father, than to
+his much-enduring spouse. But the child was a fine one, and his birth
+almost cost his mother&#8217;s life. As may be supposed, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo;
+did not forget his humble friends in their trouble. He engaged for them
+the ablest doctor, and the most efficient nurse, that money could command.
+Every day he sent messages of enquiry, and the messengers were never
+empty-handed. Sometimes it was a servant who came; and sometimes it was
+the coachman&mdash;not Bounder, but his successor, who was quite a different
+man&mdash;with the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>On the day of which we speak, the carriage had stopped at the door, and
+Tommy Dudgeon, on the watch as usual, observed that a young lady was
+sitting amongst its cushions. It was the four-wheeler, and its fair
+occupant, basket in hand, alighted nimbly<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 244]</span> as soon as it stopped. Tommy
+vigorously rubbed his eyes. Yes, it was the &ldquo;sec&#8217;tary!&rdquo; Now, perhaps, his
+opportunity had come. As yet, he had never spoken to the &ldquo;sec&#8217;tary,&rdquo; or
+heard her speak. He made his most polite bow, as she stepped into his
+shop. But how his heart thumped! He was shy with ladies at the best; but
+now, hope and fear, and a vague feeling that, with the entrance of this
+sprightly little lady, the past had all come back, increased his habitual
+nervousness a hundredfold. Surely it was not the first time that little
+tossing dusky head, with its black sparkling eyes, had presented itself in
+his doorway!</p>
+
+<p>She paused a moment on the step, gazed around with a bewildered air, and
+shot a startled glance into the honest, eager face of the little man, who
+quivered from head to foot as he met her gaze. &ldquo;That strange feeling
+again!&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;I can never have been <em>here</em> before, at any rate!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Dudgeon&#8217;s own confusion prevented his perceiving the momentary
+discomposure of his visitor. The next minute, however, she was speaking to
+the little man in her cordial, unaffected way.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You are Mr. Dudgeon, I expect,&rdquo; she said, holding out her neatly-gloved
+hand. &ldquo;How are you, this afternoon? But,&rdquo; she continued after a pause,
+&ldquo;which Mr. Dudgeon is it&mdash;the one with a wife, or the one without? My
+name,&rdquo; she added in her lively way, &ldquo;is Owen&mdash;Mr. Horn&#8217;s secretary, you
+know. You&#8217;ve heard of me, no doubt, Mr. Dudgeon?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Dudgeon had not yet found his tongue.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 245]</span>&ldquo;But,&rdquo; she broke out again, &ldquo;I&#8217;m not giving you a chance to tell me who
+you are. Is it Mr. Dudgeon, or Mr. John? You see I know all about you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Dudgeon was in no condition to answer Miss Owen&#8217;s question, even
+yet, simple though it was. If the sight of her had brought back the
+past, what thronging memories crowded upon him at the sound of her
+voice&mdash;wooing, wilful, joyously insistent! But that she was so womanly and
+ladylike, and that he knew she was &ldquo;only the sec&#8217;tary,&rdquo; he would have been
+ready to advance upon her with outstretched hands, and ask her if she had
+quite forgotten Tommy Dudgeon&mdash;her old friend, Tommy? As it was, he stood
+staring like one bewitched. Miss Owen, wondering at his silence, and his
+fixed gaze, repeated her question in another form.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&#8217;t wish to be rude; but are you the husband, or is it your brother?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy pulled himself together with a gasp.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My name is Thomas, miss. It is my brother who is married, and whose wife
+is ill.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then, Mr. Thomas, I&#8217;m glad to make your acquaintance. How is your
+brother&#8217;s wife to-day? I&#8217;ve brought a few little things from Miss Horn,
+with her respects.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Owen herself would have said &ldquo;love,&rdquo; rather than respects. But it was
+a great concession on the part of Miss Jemima to send anything at all to
+&ldquo;those Dudgeons,&rdquo; with or without a message of any kind, and was quite a
+sign of grace.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s very kind of Miss Horn,&rdquo; said Tommy, who<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 246]</span> was still perturbed; &ldquo;and
+of you as well, miss. Perhaps you will see my sister-in-law? She&#8217;s much
+better, and sitting up&mdash;and able to converse.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, he led the way into the kitchen, in the doorway of which the
+young girl once more paused, and looked around in the same bewildered way
+as before. But she instantly recovered herself; and, at the invitation of
+a woman who was in attendance, proceeded to mount the narrow stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Owen was performing a thoroughly congenial errand. It was her
+delight to be, in any way, the instrument of the wide-spread benevolence
+and varied Christian ministrations of her beloved employer. Nor was it
+an insignificant service which she therein performed. Her tender
+companionship had been of scarcely less benefit to the crippled girl than
+the almost daily rides which the generosity of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn enabled the
+poor invalid to enjoy; and her presence and sensible Christian talk were
+quite as helpful to Mrs. John Dudgeon, as were the delicacies from Miss
+Jemima&#8217;s kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>John Dudgeon, who was acting as temporary nurse, rose to his feet as the
+secretary entered, and stole modestly downstairs. Miss Owen followed him
+with her eyes in renewed perplexity. What could it all mean? These dear,
+funny little men! Had she known them in a former state of existence, or
+what? She came downstairs when she was ready to leave, and in the kitchen
+she paused once more. On one side of the fire-place was an old arm-chair
+with a leather cushion. Seized with a sudden fancy,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 247]</span> Miss Owen addressed
+the woman, who was waiting to see her out.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;May I sit in that chair a moment?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly, miss,&rdquo; was the civil reply; and, in another moment, the young
+secretary had crossed the room, and seated herself in the chair.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How strange!&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;How familiar everything is!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At that moment, Tommy Dudgeon came in from the shop; and, on seeing Miss
+Owen in the old arm-chair, he stopped short, and uttered a cry.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I beg your pardon, miss; I thought&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was in that very chair, standing in exactly the same spot as now, that
+little Marian had been accustomed to sit, when she used to come in and
+delight the two little bachelors with her quaint sayings, and queen it
+over them in her pretty wilful way. For her sake, the old chair had been
+carefully preserved.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You thought I was taking a liberty, no doubt, sir,&rdquo; said Miss Owen,
+jumping to her feet, with a merry laugh; &ldquo;and quite right too.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy was horrified at the bare suggestion of such a thing. He begged her
+to sit down again, and she laughingly complied, insisting that he should
+sit in the opposite chair. Presently John came in, and stood looking
+calmly on. He was visited by no disturbing memories. Having chatted gaily,
+for a few minutes, with the two little men, Miss Owen took her leave.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 248]</span>&ldquo;It&#8217;s all so strange!&rdquo; she thought, as the carriage bore her swiftly away.</p>
+
+<p>Then she knitted her brows, and clenched her hands in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she half-audibly exclaimed, &ldquo;what if I <em>have</em> been here before? What
+if&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; and she shivered with the excitement of the thought.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>As for Tommy Dudgeon, all his doubts were put to flight at last.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 249]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>A &ldquo;FATHER&rdquo; AND &ldquo;MOTHER&rdquo; FOR THE &ldquo;HOME.&rdquo;</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>About six weeks after this, the old Hall at Daisy Lane was ready for
+opening as a &ldquo;Home&rdquo; for waifs and strays. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had visited Daisy
+Lane, from time to time, and he had also taken his sister and his young
+secretary to see the village and the old Hall. He had been much pleased
+with the progress of the improvements, and had marked with satisfaction
+the transformation which, in pursuance of his orders, was being effected
+in the Hall. It was clear that Mr. Gray was not only a most capable agent,
+but also a man after his employer&#8217;s own heart; and it was evident that
+Messrs. Tongs and Ball had assisted the agent in every possible way.</p>
+
+<p>The old Hall seemed likely to become an ideal Children&#8217;s Home. The
+arrangements were most complete. A staff of capable nurses, and a bevy<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 250]</span> of
+maid-servants, had been engaged; to whom were added a porter and two boys,
+together with a head gardener and three assistants, to make, and keep,
+beautiful the spacious grounds.</p>
+
+<p>A number of children had already been selected as inmates of the &ldquo;Home.&rdquo;
+Setting aside the majority of the appeals, which had been many, from
+relatives who had children left on their hands by deceased parents,
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had adhered to his original purpose of receiving chiefly
+stray children&mdash;little ones with no friends, and without homes. With the
+aid of his lawyers, and of Mr. Durnford, he had much communication with
+workhouse and parish authorities, and even with the police; and, as the
+opening day of the &ldquo;Home&rdquo; drew near, he had secured, as the nucleus of his
+little family, some dozen tiny outcasts, consisting of six or seven boys,
+and about as many girls.</p>
+
+<p>It now remained that a &ldquo;father&rdquo; and &ldquo;mother&rdquo; should be found. On this
+subject &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; had talked much with his minister. He
+shrank from the thought of advertising his need. He was afraid of bringing
+upon himself an avalanche of mercenary applications. His idea was to fix
+upon some excellent Christian man and woman who might be induced to accept
+the post as a sacred and delightful duty. They must be persons who loved
+children, and who were not in search of a living; and it would be none the
+worse if it were necessary for them to make what would be considered a
+sacrifice, in order to accept the post.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 251]</span>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn looked around. He had no acquaintances in whom it seemed
+likely that his ideal would be realized. He mentioned his views to his
+lawyers, and they smiled in their indulgent way. Messrs. Tongs and Ball
+had already learnt to respect their eccentric client. But it was difficult
+for their legal minds to regard the question of the appointment of a
+master and matron to the &ldquo;Home&rdquo; exactly in the light in which it presented
+itself to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. He spoke of his cherished desire to Mr.
+Durnford.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I get the right man and woman, you know, sir, I shall be willing to
+pay them almost any amount of money. But I don&#8217;t want them to know this
+beforehand. I must have a <em>father</em> and <em>mother</em> for my little family. It
+would be just as well,&rdquo; he added in faltering tones, &ldquo;if they had lost a
+little one of their own. And I should like them to be some good Christian
+man and his wife, who would undertake the work without asking about salary
+at all, and would leave it to me to make that all right. Do you think they
+would trust me so far, Mr. Durnford?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford smiled in his shrewd way.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If they knew you, Mr. Horn, they would rather trust you in the matter
+than suggest an amount themselves.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; responded &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; with a smile. &ldquo;But now, Mr.
+Durnford,&rdquo; he persisted for the twentieth time, &ldquo;do you know of such a
+couple as I want?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>They were in the minister&#8217;s study. Mr. Durnford<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 252]</span> sat musing, with his arms
+resting upon his knees, and his hands together at the finger-tips.
+Suddenly he looked up.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You want a couple who have lost a child, Mr. Horn? I can tell you of some
+good people who have found one.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn gave a slight start. &ldquo;Found a child! What child?&rdquo; Such were
+the thoughts which darted, like lightning, through his brain. Then he
+smiled sadly to himself. Of course what he had imagined, for an instant,
+could not be.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well&rdquo; he said calmly, &ldquo;who are they? Let me hear!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>For one moment only, Mr. Durnford hesitated to reply.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You will, perhaps, be startled, Mr. Horn, but must not misunderstand me,
+if I say that they are the excellent friends who have been as father and
+mother to your secretary, Miss Owen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was indeed startled. His thoughts had not turned in the
+direction indicated by the minister&#8217;s suggestion&mdash;that was all. But he was
+not displeased.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Well, if they are anything like my little secretary,
+they will do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. and Mrs. Burton do not know that I have any thought of suggesting
+them to you, Mr. Horn. Nor have I the least idea whether or not they would
+accept the post. Mr. Burton holds a good position on the railway, in
+Birmingham, which I know he has no present intention of relinquishing. But
+there is<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 253]</span> not another couple of my acquaintance who would be likely to
+meet your wishes as well as these good friends of mine. You know, of
+course, that Miss Owen was found and rescued by them, when she was quite
+a little thing?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; was the thoughtful reply; &ldquo;and you really think they are the kind
+of persons I want?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I do, indeed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well! But might I ask them, do you think?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said Mr. Durnford, &ldquo;it would be as well to mention it to Miss
+Owen first.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Might I do that, think you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By all means!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then I will.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He spoke to his secretary that very day. Miss Owen was delighted with the
+proposal, and approved of it with all her heart. She hoped Mr. and Mrs.
+Burton would consent, and felt almost sure that they would. After that the
+minister agreed to convey the request of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; to his
+good friends. For this purpose, he made a journey to Birmingham, and, on
+the evening of his return, called on &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; enquired the latter eagerly, almost before the minister had taken
+his seat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Our friends are favourably disposed,&rdquo; replied Mr. Durnford; &ldquo;but they
+would like to have a personal interview first.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By all means. When can they see me? And where?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 254]</span>&ldquo;Well, it would be a great convenience to Mr. Burton if you would go
+there. He cannot very well get away. But he could arrange to meet you at
+his own house.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Acting upon this suggestion, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn paid a visit to Birmingham,
+the outcome of which was the engagement of Mr. and Mrs. Burton as &ldquo;father&rdquo;
+and &ldquo;mother&rdquo; of the &ldquo;home.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 255]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>THE OPENING OF THE &ldquo;HOME.&rdquo;</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>At length the day arrived for the opening of the &ldquo;Home.&rdquo; It was early in
+June, and the weather was superb. All the inhabitants of Daisy Lane,
+whether tenants of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn or not, were invited to the opening
+ceremony, and to the festivities which were to occupy the remainder of the
+day. There was to be first a brief religious service in front of the Hall,
+after which Miss Jemima was to unlock the great front door with a golden
+key. Then would follow a royal feast in a marquee on the lawn; and, during
+the afternoon and evening, the house and grounds would be open to all.</p>
+
+<p>The religious service was to be conducted by Mr. Durnford. The parish
+clergyman had been invited to take part, but had declined. Many of his
+brother-clergymen would have hailed with joy such an opportunity of
+fulfilling the spirit of their religion; but the Vicar of Daisy Lane
+regarded the matter in a different light.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 256]</span>In due course &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, Miss Jemima, the young secretary, Tommy
+Dudgeon&mdash;to whom had been given a very pressing invitation to join the
+party,&mdash;and Mr. Durnford, alighted from the train at the station which
+served for Daisy Lane, and were met by Mr. Gray.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Mr. Gray,&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; who was in a buoyant, and
+almost boisterous mood, &ldquo;How are things looking?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Everything promises well, sir,&rdquo; replied the agent, who was beaming with
+pleasure. &ldquo;The arrangements are all complete; and everybody will be
+there&mdash;that is, with the exception of the vicar. Save his refusal to be
+present, there has not, thus far, been a single hitch.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wish,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;that we could have got the poor man to
+come&mdash;for his own sake, I mean.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir; he will do himself no good. It&#8217;s well they&#8217;re not all like
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gray had brought his own dog-cart for the gentlemen; and he had
+provided for the ladies a comfortable basket-carriage, of which his son,
+a lad of fifteen, had charge. The dog-cart was a very different equipage
+from the miserable turn-out with which the agent had met his employer
+on the occasion of his first visit. Everything was of the best&mdash;the
+highly-finished trap, the shining harness, the dashing horse; and
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was thankful to mark the honest pride with which the agent
+handled the reins.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 257]</span>A few minutes brought them to Daisy Lane. Here indeed was a change! An
+unstinted expenditure of money, the toil of innumerable workmen, and the
+tireless energy and ever-ready tact of Mr. Gray, had converted the place
+into a model village. Instead of dropsical and rotting hovels, neat and
+smiling cottages were seen on every side. The vicarage, and the one
+farm-house not included in the property of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, which had,
+aforetime, by their respectability and good repair, aggravated the
+untidiness and dilapidation of the rest of the village, were now rendered
+almost shabby by the fresh beauty of the renovated property of &ldquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>On every hand there were signs of rejoicing. It was evidently a gala day
+at Daisy Lane. Over almost every garden gate there was an arch of flowers.
+Streamers and garlands were displayed at every convenient point. Such a
+quantity of bunting had never before fluttered in the breezes of Daisy
+Lane.</p>
+
+<p>As they approached the farm-house which &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had inspected on
+the occasion of his first visit, their progress was stayed by the farmer
+himself, who was waiting for them at his gate, radiant and jovial, a
+farmer, as it seemed, without a grievance! He advanced into the road with
+uplifted hand, and Mr. Gray and his son reined in their horses. The farmer
+approached the side of the dog-cart.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Let me have a shake of your fist, sir,&rdquo; he said, seizing the hand of &ldquo;the
+Golden Shoemaker.&rdquo; &ldquo;You&#8217;re a model landlord. No offence; but it&#8217;s hard to
+believe<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 258]</span> that you&#8217;re anyways related to that &#8217;ere old skin-flint as was
+owner here afore you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The farmer wore on his breast a huge red rosette, almost as big as a
+pickling cabbage, as though the occasion had been that of an election day,
+or a royal wedding, or some other celebration equally august.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m glad you&#8217;re satisfied with what Mr. Gray has done, Mr. Carter,&rdquo; said
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Satisfied! That ain&#8217;t the word! And, as for Gray&mdash;well, he&#8217;s a decent
+body enough. But it&#8217;s little as he could ha&#8217; done, if you hadn&#8217;t spoke the
+word.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then they drove on, and the farmer followed in their wake, occupying, with
+the roll of his legs, and the flourish of his big stick, as much of the
+road as the carriages themselves.</p>
+
+<p>As they proceeded, they passed several groups of villagers, in gala dress,
+who were making their way towards the gates of the Hall grounds.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;These are the laggards,&rdquo; explained the agent, &ldquo;the bulk of the people are
+already on the ground.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was recognised by the people, most of whom knew him well by
+sight; and, while the men touched their hats, and the boys made their
+bows, the women curtseyed, and each girl gave a funny little bob. Of
+all the novel sensations which his wealth had brought to &ldquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker,&rdquo; this was the most distinctly and entirely new. It had not
+seemed to him more strange, though it had been less agreeable, to be the
+object of Bounder&#8217;s<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 259]</span> obsequious attentions, than it did now to receive the
+worship of these simple villagers.</p>
+
+<p>In due course they reached the Hall gates, and entered the grounds. A
+large marquee, with its fluttering flags, had been erected on one side of
+the lawn, which was almost like a small field. The people were dispersed
+about the grass in gaily-coloured groups, though few of them had wandered
+very far from the gates. When the carriages were seen approaching, the
+various parties gathered more closely together; and the people arranged
+themselves in lines on either side of the drive. The horses were
+immediately brought to a walking pace; and then, a jolly young farmer
+leading off, the villagers rent the air with their shouts of welcome. It
+was the spontaneous tribute of these simple people to the man, whose
+coming had restored long unaccustomed comfort to their lives, and awakened
+new hope in their despondent breasts.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; raised his hat and waved his hand; and, inasmuch
+as the acclamations of the people were evidently intended for the ladies
+also, the young secretary nodded around with beaming smiles, and even Miss
+Jemima perceptibly bent her rigid neck.</p>
+
+<p>At length the joyous procession arrived in front of the Hall steps. Here
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton were waiting to receive them. In response to their
+smiling welcome, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn shook these good people heartily by the
+hand, and, having introduced them to Miss Jemima, turned aside for<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 260]</span> a
+moment, that they might greet their adopted daughter.</p>
+
+<p>In a few moments, he turned to them again, and enquired if everything was
+to their mind.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Everything, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Burton. &ldquo;The arrangements are perfect.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And our little family are all here,&rdquo; added Mrs. Burton, pointing, with
+motherly pride, to a row of clean and radiant boys and girls, who were
+ranged at the top of the steps.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s face was illumined with a ray of pleasure, as he looked
+up, at Mrs. Burton&#8217;s words; and yet there was a pensive shade upon his
+brow. Miss Jemima scrutinised the little regiment, and actually uttered a
+grunt of satisfaction. Miss Owen glanced from the happy child-faces to
+that of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn with eyes of reverent love. The children were not
+uniformly dressed; and they might very well have passed for the actual
+offspring of the kindly man and woman whom they were to know as &ldquo;father&rdquo;
+and &ldquo;mother&rdquo; from henceforth.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is everything ready, Mr. Gray?&rdquo; asked &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then let us begin.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At a signal from Mr. Gray, the people drew more closely up to the foot of
+the steps; and it was noticeable that Tommy Dudgeon had withdrawn to a
+modest position amongst the crowd. A hymn was then announced by Mr.
+Durnford, and sung from printed papers which had been distributed amongst<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 261]</span>
+the people. Then, while every head was bowed, the minister offered a
+brief, but fervent and appropriate prayer. Next came an address from
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, in which, after explaining the purpose to which the
+Hall was to be devoted, he took the opportunity of assuring those of his
+tenants who were present that he would, as their landlord, do his utmost
+to promote their welfare. His hearty words were received with great
+applause, which was redoubled when he led Miss Jemima to the front. The
+minister then stepped forward, and presented Miss Jemima with a golden
+key, with which she deftly unlocked the great door, and, having pushed
+it open, turned to the people, and bowing gravely in response to their
+cheers, made, for the first and last time in her life, a public speech.
+She had much pleasure, she said, in declaring the old Hall open for the
+reception of friendless children, many of whom, she trusted, would find a
+happy home within its walls, and be there trained for a useful life. Here
+Miss Jemima stopped abruptly, and looked straight before her, with a very
+stern face, as though angry with herself for what she had done. And then,
+under cover of the renewed cheers of the people, she withdrew into the
+background.</p>
+
+<p>The simple ceremony being over, the people were invited to enter the
+building and pass through the rooms. This invitation was freely accepted;
+and soon the various apartments of the renovated Hall were filled with
+people, who did not hesitate to express their admiration of what they
+saw.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 262]</span>When all the visitors had passed through the rooms, and admired to their
+hearts&#8217; content, the ringing of a large hand-bell on the lawn announced
+that dinner was ready. At the four long tables which ran the whole length
+of the marquee there was room for all, and very soon every seat was
+occupied. The grace was announced by Mr. Durnford, and sung by the people,
+with a heartiness which might have been expected of hungry villagers, who
+had been summoned to an unaccustomed and sumptuous feast. Then the carvers
+got to work, and, as the waiters carried round the laden plates,
+comparative quiet reigned; but, when the plates began to reach the guests,
+the clatter of crockery, the rattle of knives and forks, and the babel of
+voices, made such a festive hubbub as was grateful to the ear.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner, there was speech-making and merriment; and then the people
+left the tent, and dispersed about the grounds. While the former part of
+this process was in progress, Miss Owen heard a fragment of conversation
+which caused her to tingle to her finger-tips. She had just moved towards
+one of the tables for the purpose of helping an old woman to rise from her
+seat, and her presence was not perceived by the speakers, whose faces were
+turned the other way. They were two village gossips, a middle-aged woman
+and a younger one.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is she his daughter?&rdquo; were the words that fell upon the young secretary&#8217;s
+ears, spoken by the elder woman in a stage whisper.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied the other, in a similar tone. &ldquo;He<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 263]</span> never had but one
+child&mdash;her as was lost. This one&#8217;s the secretary, or some such.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I do say as she&#8217;d pass for his own daughter anywhere.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Owen was not nervous; but her heart beat tumultuously at the thoughts
+which this whispered colloquy suggested to her mind. She placed her hand
+upon the table to steady herself, as the two women, all unconscious of the
+effect of their gossiping words, moved slowly away.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; and his friends arrived at Cottonborough late that
+night. A carriage was waiting for them at the station; and, having said
+&ldquo;good night&rdquo; to Mr. Durnford and Tommy Dudgeon, they were soon driven
+home. They were a quiet&mdash;almost silent&mdash;party. The events of the day had
+supplied them with much food for thought. The image of his little lost
+Marian presented itself vividly to the mind of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn to-night.
+Miss Jemima&#8217;s thoughts dwelt on what was her one tender memory&mdash;that of
+the tiny, dark-eyed damsel who had so mysteriously vanished from the
+sphere of her authority so long ago.</p>
+
+<p>And Miss Owen? Well, when she had at last reached her room, her first
+act was to lock the door. Then she knelt before her small hair-covered
+travelling trunk, and, having unlocked it, she slowly raised the lid and
+placed it back against the wall. For a moment she hesitated, and then,
+plunging her arm down at one corner of the trunk, amongst its various
+contents, she brought up, from the hidden depths, a small tissue<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> paper
+parcel. This she opened carefully, and disclosed a tiny shoe, homely but
+neat, a little child&#8217;s chemise, and an old, faded, pink print sun-bonnet,
+minus a string. In the upper leather of the shoe were several cuts, the
+work of some wanton hand. Sitting back upon her heels, she let the open
+parcel fall into her lap.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What would I not give,&rdquo; she sighed, &ldquo;to find the fellow of this little
+shoe! But no doubt it has long ago rotted at the bottom of some muddy
+ditch!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then, for the hundredth time, she examined the little chemise, at one
+corner of which were worked, in red cotton, the letters &ldquo;M.H.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They have told me again and again that I had this chemise on when I was
+found. Of course that doesn&#8217;t prove that it was my own, and I have never
+supposed that those two letters stand for my name. But now&mdash;well, may it
+not be so, after all? It was really no more than a guess, on the part of
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton, that my name was Mary Ann Owen; and, from what I can
+see, it&#8217;s just as likely to have been anything else. Let me think; what
+name might &lsquo;M.H.&rsquo; stand for? Mary Hall? Margaret Harper? Mari&mdash;&mdash;. No, no,
+I dare not think that&mdash;at least, not yet!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Once more she wrapped up her little parcel of relics, and returned it to
+its place at the bottom of her trunk.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Heigho!&rdquo; she exclaimed, as, having closed and locked the trunk, she
+sprang to her feet. &ldquo;How I do wonder who I am!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 265]</span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 359px;">
+<img src="images/img274.jpg" width="359" height="562" alt="Tiny Shoe" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;A tiny shoe.&rdquo;&mdash;<a href="#Page_264"><em>Page 264.</em></a></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 267]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>TOMMY DUDGEON UNDERTAKES A DELICATE ENTERPRISE.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>The time which had elapsed since the first visit of Miss Owen to the house
+of &ldquo;the little Twin Brethren&rdquo; had constituted, for Tommy Dudgeon, a period
+of mental unrest. If he had been perturbed before, he was twice as uneasy
+now. He had made the joyous discovery which he had been expecting to make
+almost ever since he had seen the young secretary walking in her emphatic
+way along the street. But, joyous as the discovery was, the making of it
+had actually increased the perturbation of his mind. His trouble was that
+he could not tell how he would ever be able to make his discovery known.
+He did not doubt that, to his dear friend, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, and to the
+young secretary, the communication of it would impart great joy. But he
+was restrained by a fear, which would arise, notwithstanding his feeling<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 268]</span>
+of certainty, lest he should prove to be mistaken after all; and his fear
+was reinforced by an inward persuasion which he had that he was the most
+awkward person in the world by whom so delicate a communication could be
+made.</p>
+
+<p>Yet he told himself he was quite sure that the young secretary was no
+other than little Marian come back. His doubts had vanished when he had
+seen her sitting in the old arm-chair, just as when she was a child; and
+every time he had seen her since that day his assurance had been made more
+sure. But, as long as he was compelled to keep his discovery to himself,
+it was almost the same as though he had not made it at all.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy almost wished that some one else had made the great discovery, as
+well as himself. His thoughts had turned to his brother John; and he had
+resolved to put him to the test, which he had subsequently done with
+considerable tact. On the evening of the day following that of the first
+visit of Miss Owen to their house, the brothers had been sitting by the
+fire before going to bed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;John,&rdquo; Tommy had said, seizing his opportunity, &ldquo;you saw the young lady
+who was here the other day?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She&#8217;s the secretary, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said John again, yawning; for he was sleepy.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what did you think of her?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>John started, and regarded his brother with a stare<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 269]</span> of astonishment. It
+was the first time Tommy had ever asked his opinion on such a subject. Was
+he thinking of getting married, or what? John Dudgeon had a certain broad
+sense of humour which enabled him to perceive such ludicrous elements of a
+situation as showed themselves on the surface.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he exclaimed slyly; &ldquo;are you there?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy put out his hands in some confusion.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;not what you think! But did you notice anything
+particular about the young lady?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well no,&rdquo; replied John, &ldquo;except that I thought she was a very nice young
+person. But, Tommy, isn&#8217;t she rather too young? If you really are thinking
+of getting married, wouldn&#8217;t it be better to choose some one a little
+nearer your own age?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>John would not be dissuaded from the idea that his brother was intent on
+matrimonial thoughts. Tommy waved his hand, in a deprecatory way, and
+rising from his chair, said &ldquo;good night,&rdquo; and betook himself to bed.</p>
+
+<p>It was plain that he was quite alone in his discovery. What was he to do?
+To speak to Miss Owen on the subject was out of the question. The only
+alternative was to communicate the good news to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn himself.
+But there seemed to be stupendous difficulties involved in such a course.
+He was aware that there was nothing his friend would more rejoice to know
+than that which he had to tell. From various hints thrown out by &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn, Tommy knew that he regarded Miss Owen with much<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 270]</span> of the fondness of
+a father; and it was not likely that the joy of finding his lost child
+would be diminished in the least by the fact that she had presented
+herself in the person of his secretary. But this consideration did not
+relieve the perplexity with which the little huckster contemplated the
+necessity of making known his secret to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. For, to say
+nothing of the initial obstacle of his own timidity, he feared it would
+be almost impossible to convince his friend that his strange surmise was
+correct. If &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had not discovered for himself the identity of
+his secretary with his long-lost child, was it likely that he would accept
+that astounding fact on the testimony of any other person?</p>
+
+<p>It is needless to say that Tommy Dudgeon made his perplexity a matter of
+prayer. He prayed and pondered, night and day; and, at length a thought
+came to him which seemed to point out the way of which he was in search.
+Might he not give &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn some covert hint which would put him on
+the track of making the great discovery for himself? Surely some such
+thing, though difficult, might be done! He must indeed be cautious, and
+not by any means reveal his design. The suggestion must seem to be
+incidental and unpremeditated. There must be no actual mention of little
+Marian, and no apparently intentional indication of Miss Owen. Something
+must be said which might induce &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn to associate the idea of
+his little lost Marian with that of his young secretary&mdash;to place them
+side by side before his mind. And it must all arise in the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 271]</span> course of
+conversation, the order of which&mdash;he Tommy Dudgeon, must deliberately
+plan. The audacity of the thought made his hair stand up.</p>
+
+<p>It was a delicate undertaking indeed! The little man felt like a surgeon
+about to perform a critical operation upon his dearest friend. He was
+preparing to open an old wound in the heart of his beloved benefactor.
+True, he hoped so to deal with it that it should never bleed again. But
+what if he failed? That would be dreadful! Yet the attempt must be made.
+So he set himself to his task. His opportunity came on the afternoon of
+the day following that of the opening of the &ldquo;Home.&rdquo; Watching from the
+corner of his window, as he was wont, about three o&#8217;clock, Tommy saw &ldquo;the
+Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; come along the street, and enter his old house. Then the
+little man turned away from the window, and became very nervous. For quite
+two minutes he stood back against the shelves, trying to compose himself.
+When he had succeeded, in some degree, in steadying his quivering nerves,
+he reached from under the counter a brown-paper parcel containing a pair
+of boots, which had, for some days, been lying in readiness for the
+occasion which had now arrived, and, calling John to mind the shop,
+slipped swiftly into the street. A minute later he was standing in the
+doorway of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s workshop. &ldquo;The little Twin Brethren&rdquo; had, at
+first, been disposed to refrain from availing themselves of the gratuitous
+labours of their friend; but, perceiving that it would afford him
+pleasure, they had yielded with an easy grace, and<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 272]</span> now Tommy was glad
+to have so good an excuse for a visit to &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; as was
+supplied by the boots in the parcel under his arm.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn perceived the nervousness of his visitor, and thinking it
+strange that the bringing of a pair of boots to be mended should have
+occasioned his humble little friend so much trepidation, he did his best,
+by adopting a specially sociable tone, to put him at his ease.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, Tommy, what have we there?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;More work for the &lsquo;Cobbler,&rsquo;
+eh?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Just an old pair of boots which want mending, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; said Tommy, in
+uncertain tones, as he unwrapped the boots and held them out with a
+shaking hand&mdash;&ldquo;that is, if you are not too busy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not by any means,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a smile. &ldquo;Put them down.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>There stood against the wall, a much-worn wooden chair from which the back
+had been sawn off close.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ll sit down, if you don&#8217;t mind,&rdquo; gasped Tommy, depositing himself upon
+this superannuated seat.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By all means,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn cordially; &ldquo;make yourself quite at
+home.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Tommy, drawing from his pocket a red and yellow
+handkerchief, with which he vigorously mopped his brow.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn waited calmly for his perturbed visitor to become composed;
+and Tommy sat for some minutes, staring helplessly at &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, and
+still rubbing his forehead. What had become of<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 273]</span> the astute plan of
+operations which the little man had laid down?</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You have surely something on your mind, friend?&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, in
+an enquiring tone.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I have,&rdquo; said Tommy, somewhat relieved; &ldquo;it&#8217;s been there for some
+time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what is it? Can I help you in any way?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no; I don&#8217;t want help.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>His utterly incapacitated demeanour belied him; but he was speaking of
+financial help.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ve been thinking of the past, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; he managed to say, making a
+faint effort to direct the conversation according to his original design.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; sighed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;Of the past!&rdquo; With the word, his thoughts
+darted back to that period of his own past towards which they so often
+sadly turned.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I somehow can&#8217;t help it,&rdquo; continued Tommy, gathering courage. &ldquo;There
+seems to be something that keeps bringing it up.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn fixed his keen eyes on the agitated face of his visitor. He
+knew what it was in the past to which Tommy referred, and appreciated his
+delicacy of expression.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Tommy,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and I, too, often think of the past. But is there
+anything special that brings it to your mind just now?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Upon this, all Tommy Dudgeon&#8217;s clever plans vanished into air. His scheme
+for leading the conversation up to the desired point utterly broke down.
+He cast himself on the mercy of his friend.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 274]</span>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he cried, in thrilling tones, &ldquo;can&#8217;t you see it? Can&#8217;t you feel
+it&mdash;every day? The sec&#8217;tary! The sec&#8217;tary! If it is so plain to me, how
+can you be so blind?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then he darted from the room, and betook himself home with all speed.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 275]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s first thought was that the strain of eccentricity in his
+humble little friend had developed into actual insanity. But, on further
+consideration, he was disposed to take another view. He felt bound to
+admit that, though there had been a strangeness in the behaviour of the
+little man throughout his visit, it had not afforded any actual ground for
+the suspicion of insanity, until he had so suddenly rushed away home. It
+was, therefore, possible that there might prove to be some important
+meaning in what he had said. At first &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had gathered nothing
+intelligible from the impassioned apostrophe of his excited little friend;
+but, by degrees, there dawned upon him some faint gleam of what its
+meaning might be. &ldquo;The sec&#8217;tary!&rdquo; That was the quaint term by which Tommy
+was wont to designate<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 276]</span> Miss Owen. But their conversation had been drifting
+in the direction of his little lost Marian. Why, then, should Miss Owen
+have been in Tommy&#8217;s mind? Ah, he saw how it was! His humble friend had
+perceived that Miss Owen was a dear, good girl; and he had noticed her
+evident attachment to him&mdash;&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, and his fondness for her, and
+no doubt the little man had meant to suggest that she should take the
+place of the lost child. It was characteristic of his humble friend that
+he should seek, by such a hint, to point out a course which, no doubt,
+seemed to him, likely to afford satisfaction to all concerned; and
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn could not help admiring the delicacy with which it had been
+done.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was quite persuaded that he had hit upon the right
+interpretation of the little huckster&#8217;s words; and he was not altogether
+displeased with the suggestion he supposed them to convey. Of course
+Marian would ultimately come back; and no one else could be permitted
+permanently to occupy her place. But there was no reason why he should not
+let his young secretary take, for the time being, as far as possible, the
+place which would have been filled by his lost child. In fact, Miss Owen
+was almost like a daughter to him already; and he was learning to love her
+as such. Well, he would adopt the suggestion of his little friend. His
+secretary should fill, for the time, the vacant place in his life. Yet he
+would never leave off loving his precious Marian; and her own share of
+love, which could never be given to another, must be reserved for her<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 277]</span>
+against her return, when he would have two daughters instead of one.</p>
+
+<p>Thus mused &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; until, suddenly recollecting himself,
+he started up. He had promised to visit one of his former neighbours, who
+was sick, and it was already past the time at which the visit should have
+been made. He hastily threw off his leathern apron, and put on his coat
+and hat. At the same moment, he observed that heavy rain was beating
+against the window. It was now early summer; and, misled by the fair face
+of the sky, he had left home without an umbrella. What was he to do? He
+passed into the kitchen, and opening the front door, stood looking out
+upon the splashing rain. Behind him, in the room, sat, at her sewing, the
+good woman whom he had placed in charge of the house. She was small, and
+plump, and shining, the very picture of content. Her manner was
+respectful, and, as a rule, she did not address &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn until he
+had spoken to her. To-day, however, she was the first to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Surely, sir, you won&#8217;t go out in such a rain!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, the shower seemed suddenly to gather force, and the rain to
+descend in greater volume than ever.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, Mrs. Bunn,&rdquo; replied &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, looking round. &ldquo;I think I
+will wait for a moment or two; but I have no time to spare, and must go
+soon, in any case.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The rain had turned the street into a river, upon the surface of which the
+plumply-falling drops were<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 278]</span> producing multitudes of those peculiar
+gleaming white splashes which are known to childhood as &ldquo;sixpences and
+half-crowns.&rdquo; All at once the downpour diminished. The sky became lighter,
+and the sun showed a cleared face through the thinning clouds.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think I may venture now,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Better wait a little longer, sir; it &#8217;ull come on again,&rdquo; said Mrs. Bunn,
+with the air of a person to whom the foibles of the weather were fully
+known. But &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was already in the street, and had not heard her
+words. It was some distance to the house of his sick friend, and he walked
+along at a rapid pace. But before he had proceeded far, the prophecy of
+Mrs. Bunn was fulfilled. In a moment, the sky grew black again; and, after
+a preliminary dash of heavy drops, the rain came down in greater abundance
+than before. It almost seemed as though a water-spout had burst. In two
+minutes, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was wet to the skin. He might have
+returned to the house, from which he was distant no more than a few
+hundred yards; but he thought that, as he was already wet through, he
+might as well go on. Besides, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s promise was sacred, and it
+had been given to his sick friend. So he plunged on through the flooded
+and splashing streets.</p>
+
+<p>When he reached his destination, he was glad that he had not turned back.
+His poor friend was much worse, and it was evident that he had not many<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 279]</span>
+hours to live. Forgetful of his own discomfort, and heedless of danger
+from his wet clothes, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn took his place at the bedside, and
+remained for many hours with the dying man. His friend was a Christian,
+and did not fear to die. He had never been married, was almost without
+relatives, and had scarcely a friend. As, hour after hour, he held the
+hand of the dying man, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn whispered in his ear, from time to
+time, a cheering word, or breathed a fervent prayer. The feeble utterances
+of the dying man, which became less frequent as the hours crept away, left
+no doubt as to the reality of his faith in God, and, about midnight, he
+passed peacefully away.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn lingered a few moments&#8217; longer, and set out for home. The
+rain had long ceased, and the sky was without a cloud. The semi-tropical
+shower had been followed by a rapid cooling of the atmosphere, and he
+shivered in his still damp clothes, as he hurried along.</p>
+
+<p>He found Miss Jemima and the young secretary anxiously awaiting his
+return. They knew of his intention of visiting his sick friend, and were
+not much surprised that he was so late. But his sister was greatly
+concerned to find that he had remained so long with his clothes damp. He
+went at once to bed, and Miss Jemima insisted upon bringing to him there
+a steaming basin of gruel. He took a few spoonfuls, and then lay wearily
+back upon the bed. Miss Jemima shook up his pillows, arranged the
+bed-clothes, and reluctantly left him for the night.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 280]</span>In the morning it was evident that &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was ill. The
+wetting he had received, followed by the effect of the chill night air,
+had found out an unsuspected weakness in his constitution, and symptoms of
+acute bronchitis had set in. The doctor was hastily summoned, and, after
+the manner of his kind, gravely shook his head, by way of intimating that
+the case was much more serious than he was prepared verbally to admit. The
+condition of the patient, indeed, was such as to justify the most alarming
+interpretation of the doctor&#8217;s manner and words.</p>
+
+<p>Now followed a time of painful suspense. In spite of all that money could
+do, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn grew worse daily. The visits of the doctor, though
+repeated twice, and even three times a day, produced but little
+appreciable result. Could it be that this man, into whose possession such
+vast wealth had so recently come, was so early to be called to relinquish
+it again? Was it possible that all this money was so soon to drop from the
+hands which had seemed more fit to hold it than almost any other hands to
+which had ever been entrusted the disposal of money?</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima did not ask herself such questions as these. She moved about
+the house, trying, in her grim way, to crush down within her heart the
+anguished thought that her beloved and worshipped brother lay at the point
+of death.</p>
+
+<p>And Miss Owen&mdash;with what emotions did she contemplate the possibility of
+that dread event the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 281]</span> actual occurrence of which became more probable
+every day? She went about her duties like one in a dream. What would it
+mean to her if he were to die? She would lose a great benefactor, and a
+dear friend; and that would be grief enough. But was there not something
+more that she would lose&mdash;something which had seemed almost within her
+grasp, which it had hitherto been the hope, and yet the fear, of her life
+that she might find, but which, of late, she had desired to find with an
+ardent and unhalting hope? It was with a sick heart that the young
+secretary discharged, from day to day, her now familiar duties. She was
+now so well acquainted with the mind of her employer, that she could deal
+with the correspondence almost as well without, as with, his help. But she
+missed him every moment, and the thought that he might never again take
+his place over against her at the office table filled her with bitter
+grief.</p>
+
+<p>There were others who were anxious on account of the peril which
+threatened the life of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Durnford was weighted with grave concern. He called every day to see
+his friend; and each time he left the sick-chamber, he was uncertain
+whether his predominant feeling was that of sorrow for the illness and
+danger of so good a man, or rejoicing that, in his pain and peril,
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was so patient and resigned.</p>
+
+<p>In the breasts of many who were accustomed to receive benefits at the
+hands of &ldquo;the Golden<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 282]</span> Shoemaker,&rdquo; there was great distress. Every day, and
+almost every hour, there were callers, chiefly of the humbler classes,
+with anxious enquiries on their lips. Not the least solicitous of these
+were &ldquo;the Little Twin Brethren.&rdquo; Tommy Dudgeon almost continually haunted
+the house where his honoured friend lay in such dire straits. The anxiety
+of the little man was intensified by a burning desire to know whether his
+desperate appeal on the subject of the &ldquo;sec&#8217;tary&rdquo; had produced its
+designed effect on the mind of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>Public sympathy with &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn and his anxious friends ran deep; and
+every one who could claim, in any degree, the privilege of a friend, made
+frequent enquiry as to the sufferer&#8217;s state. But neither public sympathy
+nor private grief were of much avail; and it seemed, for a time, as though
+the earthly course of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; was almost run. There came a
+day when the doctors confessed that they could do no more. A few hours
+must decide the question of life or death. Dreadful was the suspense in
+the stricken house, and great the sorrow in many hearts outside. Mr.
+Durnford, who had been summoned early in the morning, remained to await
+the issue of the day. Little Tommy Dudgeon, who had been informed that the
+crisis was near, came, and lingered about the house, on one pretence or
+another, unable to tear himself away.</p>
+
+<p>But how was it with &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; himself? From the first, he had
+been calm and patient; and, even now, when he was confronted<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 283]</span> with the
+grim visage of death, he did not flinch. Long accustomed to leave the
+issues of his life to God, willing to live yet prepared to die, he
+realized his position without dismay. No doctor ever had a more tractable
+patient than was &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn; and he yielded himself to his nurses like
+an infant of days. In the earlier stages of his illness, he had thought
+much about the mysterious words and strange behaviour of his friend Tommy
+Dudgeon, on the day on which he had been taken ill. Further consideration
+had not absolutely confirmed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s first impression as to the
+meaning of the little huckster&#8217;s words. Pondering them as he lay in bed,
+he had become less sure that his humble little friend had intended simply
+to suggest the admirable fitness of the young secretary to take the place
+of his lost child. Surely, he had thought, the impassioned exclamation of
+the eccentric little man must have borne some deeper significance than
+that! And then he had become utterly bewildered as to what meaning the
+singular words of Tommy Dudgeon had been intended to convey. And then
+there came a glimmering&mdash;nothing more&mdash;of the idea his faithful friend had
+wished to impart. But, just when he might have penetrated the mystery, if
+he could have thought it out a little more, he became too ill to think at
+all.</p>
+
+<p>After this his mind wandered slightly, and once or twice a strange fancy
+beset him that his little Marian was in the room, and that she was putting
+her soft hands on his forehead; but, in a moment, the fancy<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 284]</span> was gone, and
+he was aware that the young secretary was laying her cool gentle palm upon
+his burning brow.</p>
+
+<p>It had been a wonderful comfort to the girl that she had been permitted to
+take a spell of nursing now and then.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 285]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>A LITTLE SHOE.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>That which happens now and then occurred in the case of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.
+The doctors proved to be mistaken; and thanks to a strong and unimpaired
+constitution, and to the blessing of God on efficient nursing and medical
+skill, &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; survived the crisis of his illness, and
+commenced a steady return to health and strength.</p>
+
+<p>Great was the joy on every side. But, perhaps, the person who rejoiced
+most was Miss Owen. Not even the satisfaction of Miss Jemima at the
+ultimate announcement of the doctors, that their patient might now do
+well, was greater than was that of the young secretary. Miss Owen rejoiced
+for very special reasons of her own. During the convalescence of &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn, the young secretary was with him very much. He was glad to have her
+in his<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 286]</span> room; and, as his strength returned, he talked to her often about
+herself. He seemed anxious to know all she could tell him of her early
+life.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Sit down here, by the bed,&rdquo; he would say eagerly, taking her plump, brown
+wrist in his wasted fingers, &ldquo;and tell me about yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She would obey him, laughing gently, less at the nature of the request,
+than at the eagerness with which it was made.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now begin,&rdquo; he said one evening, for the twentieth time, settling himself
+beneath the bed-clothes to listen, as though he had never heard the story
+before; &ldquo;and mind you don&#8217;t leave anything out.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she commenced, &ldquo;I was a little wandering mite, with hardly any
+clothes and only one shoe. I was&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>His hand was on her arm in an instant. This was the first time she had
+mentioned the fact that, when she was found by the friends by whom she had
+been brought up, one of her feet was without a shoe.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Only one shoe, did you say?&rdquo; asked &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, in tremulous tones.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she replied, not suspecting the tumult of thoughts her simple
+statement had excited in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>In truth, her statement had agitated her listener in no slight degree. He
+did not, as yet, fully perceive its significance. But the coincidence was
+so very strange! One shoe! Only one shoe! His little Marian had lost one
+of her shoes when she strayed away. A wonderful coincidence, indeed!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 287]</span>&ldquo;I was very dirty, and my clothes were torn,&rdquo; resumed Miss Owen; &ldquo;and I
+was altogether a very forlorn little thing, I have no doubt. I don&#8217;t
+remember much about it, myself, you know; but Mrs. Burton has often told
+me that I was crying at the time, and appeared to have been so engaged for
+some time. It was one evening in June, and getting dusk. Mr. and Mrs.
+Burton had been for a walk in the country, and were returning home, when
+they came upon me, walking very slowly, poking my fists into my eyes, and
+crying, as I said. When they asked me what was the matter, I couldn&#8217;t tell
+them much. I seemed to be trying to say something about a &lsquo;bad woman,&rsquo; and
+my &lsquo;daddy.&rsquo; They couldn&#8217;t even make out, with certainty, what I said my
+name was. Little as you might think it, Mr. Horn. I was a very bad talker
+in those days. &lsquo;Mary Ann Owen&rsquo; was what my kind friends thought I called
+myself; and &lsquo;Mary Ann Owen&rsquo; I have been ever since.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, these dear people took me home; and, after they had washed me, and
+found some clothes for me which had belonged to a little girl they had
+lost&mdash;their only child&mdash;they gave me a good basin of bread and milk, and
+put me to bed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The next day they tried to get me to tell them something more, but it was
+no use; and as I couldn&#8217;t tell them where I lived, and they didn&#8217;t even
+feel sure about my name, they naturally felt themselves at a loss. But I
+don&#8217;t think they were much troubled about that; for I believe they were
+quite prepared to keep me as their own child. You see they had lost<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 288]</span> a
+little one; and there was a vacant place that I expect they thought I
+might fill. They did, at first, try to find out who I was. But they
+altogether failed; and so, without more ado, they just made me their own
+little girl. They taught me to call them &lsquo;father&rsquo; and &lsquo;mother&rsquo;; and they
+have always been so good and kind!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Though several points in Miss Owen&#8217;s story had touched him keenly,
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn quickly regained his composure after the first start of
+surprise. Feeling himself too weak to do battle with agitating thoughts,
+he put aside, for the time, the importunate questions which besieged his
+mind.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; he said quietly, when the narrative was finished. &ldquo;To-morrow
+we will talk about it all again. I think I can go to sleep now. But will
+you first, please, read a little from the dear old book.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The young girl reached a Bible which stood always on a table by the
+bedside, and, turning to one of his favourite places, read, in her sweet
+clear tones, words of comfort and strength. Then she bade him &ldquo;good
+night,&rdquo; and moved towards the door. But he called her back.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you take these letters?&rdquo; he said, with his hand on a bundle of
+letters which lay on the table at his side; &ldquo;and put them into the safe.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>They were letters of importance, to which he had been giving, during the
+evening, such attention as he was able. During his illness, he had allowed
+his secretary to keep the key of the safe.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Owen took the letters, and went downstairs.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 289]</span> Going first into the
+dining-room, she told Miss Jemima that &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn seemed likely to go
+to sleep, and then proceeded to the office. Without delay, she unlocked
+the safe, and was in the act of depositing the bundle of letters in its
+place, when, from a recess at the back, a small tissue-paper parcel, which
+she had never previously observed, fell down to the front, and became
+partially undone. As she picked it up, intending to restore it to the
+place from which it had fallen, her elbow struck the side of the safe, and
+the parcel was jerked out of her hand. In trying to save it, she retained
+in her grasp a corner of the paper, which unfolded itself, and there fell
+out upon the floor a little child&#8217;s shoe, around which was wrapped a strip
+of stained and faded pink print. At a sight so unexpected she uttered a
+cry. Then she picked up the little shoe, and, having released it from its
+bandage, turned it over and over in her hands. Next she gave her attention
+to the piece of print. She was utterly dazed. Suddenly the full meaning of
+her discovery flashed upon her mind. She dropped the simple articles by
+which she had been so deeply moved, and, covering her face with her hands,
+burst into a paroxysm of joyous tears. But her agitation was brief.
+Hastily drying her eyes, she picked up the little shoe. No need to wait
+till she had compared it with the one which lay in the corner of her box!
+The image of the latter was imprinted on her mind with the exactness of a
+photograph, with its every wrinkle and spot, and every slash it had
+received from that unknown, wanton<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 290]</span> hand. She <em>could</em> compare the two
+shoes here and now, as exactly as though she actually saw them side by
+side. Yes, this little shoe was indeed the fellow of her own! And the
+strip of print&mdash;what was it but her missing bonnet-string? She had found
+what she had so often longed to find. And she herself was&mdash;yes, why should
+she hesitate to say it?&mdash;the little Marian of whom she had so often heard!</p>
+
+<p>How wonderful it was! Here was truth stranger than fiction, indeed! She
+laughed&mdash;a gentle, trilling laugh, low and sweet. But ah, she could not
+tell him! She could not say to him, &ldquo;I am the daughter you lost so long
+ago. I have seen in your safe the fellow of the shoe I wore when I was
+found by my kind friends.&rdquo; Of course it would convince him; but she could
+not say it. She must wait until he found out the truth for himself. But
+would he ever find it out? She hoped and thought he would. Had he not
+marked what she said about her having had on only one shoe when she was
+found? And would not that lead him to think and enquire? Meanwhile, she
+herself knew the wonderful truth; and she could afford to wait. It would
+all come right, of course it would; any other thought was too ridiculous
+to be entertained.</p>
+
+<p>Very quietly, and with almost reverent fingers, she wound the faded
+bonnet-string once more around the little shoe, and wrapped them up again
+in the much-crumpled paper.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How often must he have unfolded it!&rdquo; was the thought that nestled in her
+heart, as she replaced the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 291]</span> precious parcel in the safe, and closed and
+locked the ponderous door.</p>
+
+<p>From the office, the young secretary went directly to her own room. To
+open her trunk, and plunge her hand down into the corner where lay her own
+little parcel of relics, was the work of a moment. There was certainly no
+room for doubt. The little, stout, leather shoe which she had treasured so
+long was the fellow of the one she had just seen in the safe downstairs.
+There was the very same curve of the sole, made by the pressure of the
+little foot&mdash;her own, and similar inequalities in the upper part. With a
+sudden movement, she lifted the tiny shoe to her lips. And here was her
+funny old sun-bonnet! How often she had wondered what had become of its
+other string! Last of all, she took up the little chemise, which completed
+her simple store of relics, and gazed intently upon the red letters with
+which it was marked. All uncertainty as to their meaning was gone. What
+could &ldquo;M.H.&rdquo; stand for but &ldquo;Marian Horn&rdquo;? With a grateful heart, she
+rolled up her treasures, and, having consigned them once more to their
+place in the trunk, went downstairs. Miss Jemima was indisposed; and,
+having seen the nurse duly installed in the sick-room, she had retired
+for the night. Accordingly, Miss Owen, much to her relief, had supper
+by herself. She felt that she did not wish to talk to any one just at
+present, and to Miss Jemima least of all.</p>
+
+<p>When the young secretary fell asleep that night, she was lulled with the
+sweetness of the thought that<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 292]</span> she had not only found her father, but had
+discovered him in the person of the best man she had ever known. The
+discovery of her father might have proved a bitter disappointment; it
+was actually such as to fill her with unspeakable gratitude. She did not
+greatly regret that she had not found her mother, as well as her father.
+It would probably have caused her real grief, if any one had appeared to
+claim the place in her heart which was held by the woman from whom she had
+always received, in a peculiar degree, a mother&#8217;s love and a mother&#8217;s
+care. One could find room for any number of fathers&mdash;provided they were
+worthy. But a mother!&mdash;her place was sacred; there could be no sharing of
+her throne.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 293]</span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>A JOYOUS DISCOVERY.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>It was long that night before &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn fell asleep. He was free from
+pain, and felt better altogether than at any time since the beginning of
+his illness. Yet he could not sleep. The story of his young secretary, as
+she had told it this evening, had supplied him with thoughts calculated to
+banish slumber from the most drowsy eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Owen had told him her simple story many times before; but this
+evening she had introduced certain new particulars of a startling kind;
+and it was as the result of the thoughts thereby suggested that he was
+unable to sleep. The few additional details which the young secretary had
+included in her narrative this evening had given a new aspect to the
+story. There was the solitary shoe she had worn at the time when she had
+come into the kind hands of Mr. and Mrs. Burton, and the fact that<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 294]</span> she
+was a very indistinct talker at the time. The entire story, too, seemed
+to correspond so well&mdash;why should he not admit it?&mdash;with what might not
+improbably have been the history of his little Marian; and Marian would
+be, at that time, about the same age as was Miss Owen when she was found
+by the friends whose adopted child she became. But the solitary shoe! He
+wondered whether it was still in her possession. He would ask her in the
+morning. And then the indistinct talk of which she had spoken! How well
+he remembered the pretty broken speech of his own little pet! Then there
+returned to him that gleam of intelligence with regard to the meaning of
+the strange words of Tommy Dudgeon with which he had been visited at the
+beginning of his illness. Surely this was what his faithful friend had
+meant! From the great affection of the little huckster for Marian, it was
+likely that he would have a vivid recollection of the child; and no doubt
+the little man had already discerned what the father himself was only now,
+after so many hints, beginning to perceive. Thus he pondered through the
+night. Strange to say, he felt neither sleepy nor tired. He was refreshed
+by the gracious prophecy of coming joy which the story of his young
+secretary had supplied; and when, after falling asleep in the early hours
+of the morning, he awoke towards eight o&#8217;clock, he felt as though he had
+slept all night.</p>
+
+<p>It was the custom for the young secretary to pay a visit to her employer&#8217;s
+room soon after breakfast, for the purpose of laying before him any of
+the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 295]</span> morning&#8217;s letters to which it was imperative that his personal
+attention should be given. Most frequently Miss Owen&#8217;s visit was, as far
+as business was concerned, a mere formality, or little more. There were
+few of the letters with which she herself was not able to deal; and all
+that was necessary, as a rule, was for her to make a general report, which
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn invariably received with an approving smile. Then the
+favoured young secretary would linger for a few moments in the room. She
+would hover about the bed; asking how he had passed the night; performing
+a variety of tender services, which, though he had not previously realized
+the need of them, increased his comfort to a wonderful extent; and
+talking, all the while, in her merry, heartsome way, like a privileged
+child, with now and then a gentle, cooing little laugh.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing, in the whole course of the day, that &ldquo;the Golden
+Shoemaker&rdquo; enjoyed so much as the morning visit of his fresh young
+secretary. But he had never before anticipated it as eagerly as he did
+this morning. He had long looked upon this young girl rather in the light
+of a devoted daughter, than of a paid secretary. What if, unconsciously
+to them both, she had thus grown into her rightful place! As the time
+approached for her appearance, he had insensibly brought himself to face
+more fully the wonderful possibility which had been presenting itself to
+his mind during the last few hours. The nurse was surprised that, though
+he seemed to be even better than usual, he could scarcely eat any<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 296]</span>
+breakfast. All the time, he was watching the door, and listening for the
+slightest sound. He wondered whether Miss Owen still had in her possession
+the little shoe of which she had spoken. He must ask her that at once. And
+how he yearned to search her face, with one long, scrutinising gaze!</p>
+
+<p>At last she came, radiant, as usual! Did he notice that a slight shyness
+veiled her face, and that there was an unusual tremor in her voice as she
+wished him &ldquo;good morning&rdquo;? If &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn perceived these signs, he
+paid them but scant regard. He was too much absorbed in his own thoughts,
+to consider what those of his young secretary might be; and he was too
+busily engaged in scrutinising the permanent features of her face, to give
+much heed to its transient expression. What he saw did not greatly assist
+in the settlement of the question which occupied his mind. And small
+wonder that it should be so; for, when he had last seen his Marian, she
+was a little girl of five.</p>
+
+<p>No less eagerly than &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn scanned the countenance of his young
+secretary, did her eyes, that morning, seek his face. She too had passed a
+broken night. But it had not seemed wearisome or long. Happy thoughts had
+rendered sleep an impertinence at first; and, when healthy youthful nature
+had, at length, asserted itself, the young girl had slept only in pleasant
+snatches, waking every now and then from some delicious dream, to assure
+herself that the sweetest dream could not be half so delightful as the
+glad reality which had come into her life.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 297]</span>If these two people could have read each other&#8217;s thoughts&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;But
+that might not be. She wished him &ldquo;good morning,&rdquo; in her own bright way;
+and he responded with his usual benignant smile. Then they proceeded to
+business. There was one very important letter, which demanded some
+expenditure of time. The secretary was not altogether herself. Her hand
+trembled a little, and there was a slight quaver in her voice. Her
+employer noticed these signs of discomposure, and spoke of them in his
+kindly way.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Surely you are not well this morning!&rdquo; he said, placing his hand lightly
+on her wrist.</p>
+
+<p>His secretary was usually so self-possessed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes,&rdquo; she said, with a start, &ldquo;I am quite well&mdash;quite.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She smiled at the very idea of her not being well, knowing what she did.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come and sit down beside me for a little while,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn,
+when their business was finished; &ldquo;and let us have some talk.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was the ordinary invitation; but there was something unusual in the
+tone of his voice. As the young girl took her seat at the bedside, her
+previous agitation in some degree returned. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s fingers
+closed upon her hand, with a gentle pressure.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear young lady, there is something that I wish to ask you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There was just the slightest tremor in his voice; and the young secretary
+was distinctly conscious of the beating of her heart.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 298]</span>&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; she said, faintly, trembling a little.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&#8217;t be agitated,&rdquo; he continued, for it was impossible to overlook the
+fact of her excitement. &ldquo;It&#8217;s a very simple matter.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He did not know&mdash;how could he?&mdash;that her thoughts were running in the same
+direction as his own.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You said,&rdquo; he pursued, &ldquo;that, when you were found by your good friends,
+you were wearing only one shoe. Did you&mdash;have you that shoe still?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was evident that he was agitated now. Miss Owen started, and he could
+feel her hand quiver within his grasp, like a frightened bird.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered in a whisper, above which she felt powerless to raise
+her voice, &ldquo;I have kept it ever since.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; he resumed, having now quite recovered his self-possession, &ldquo;would
+you mind letting me see it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With a strong effort, she succeeded in maintaining her self-control.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, not at all, sir!&rdquo; she said, rising, and moving towards the door;
+&ldquo;I&#8217;ll fetch it at once. But it isn&#8217;t much to look at now,&rdquo; she added over
+her shoulder, as she left the room.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Not much to look at&rsquo;!&rdquo; laughed &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; softly to himself.
+There was nothing that he had ever been half so anxious to see!</p>
+
+<p>Five minutes later he was sitting up in bed, turning over and over in his
+hands the fellow of the little shoe which he had cherished for so many
+years as the dearest memento of his lost child. Could there be any doubt?<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 299]</span>
+Was it not his own handiwork? It had evidently received several random
+slashes with a knife, and it still bore traces of mud. But he knew his own
+work too well; and had he not looked upon the fellow of this shoe every
+day for the last twelve years?</p>
+
+<p>Strange to say, so completely absorbed was &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn in contemplating
+the shoe which his Marian had worn, that, for the moment, he did not think
+of Marian herself. At length he looked up. But he was alone. Discretion,
+and the tumult of her emotions, had constrained the young secretary to
+withdraw from the room. Putting a strong hand upon herself, she had
+retired to the office, where she was, at that moment, diligently at work.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn sighed. But perhaps it was better that the young girl had
+withdrawn. There was little room for doubt; but he must make assurance
+doubly sure. He touched the electric bell at the head of the bed, and the
+nurse immediately appeared.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Will you be so good as to tell Miss Horn I should like to see her at
+once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The nurse, marking the eagerness with which the request was uttered, and
+observing the little shoe on the counterpane, perceived that the occasion
+was urgent, and departed on her errand with all speed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&#8217;t think he is any worse this morning,&rdquo; she said to Miss Jemima when
+she had delivered her message. &ldquo;Indeed he seems, quite unaccountably, to
+be very much better. But it is evident something has happened.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Without waiting to hear more, Miss Jemima hurried<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 300]</span> to her brother&#8217;s room.
+Sitting up in bed, with a happy face, he was holding in his hand a
+dilapidated child&#8217;s shoe, which he placed in his sister&#8217;s hands as soon
+as she approached the bed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Jemima, look at that!&rdquo; he said joyously.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking it was the shoe which her brother had always preserved with so
+much care, she took it, and examined it with much concern.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Whoever can have cut it about like that?&rdquo; she cried.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn hastened to rectify her mistake.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, Jemima,&rdquo; he said, in a tone of reverent exultation; &ldquo;it&#8217;s the other
+shoe&mdash;the one we&#8217;ve been wanting to find all these years!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The first thought of Miss Jemima was that her brother had gone mad. Then
+she examined the shoe more closely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To be sure!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;How foolish of me! Those cuts were made long
+ago.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, she put her hand on the table at the bedside, to steady
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Brother,&rdquo; she demanded, in trembling tones, &ldquo;where did you get this shoe?
+Did it come by the morning post?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn answered deliberately. He would give his sister time to
+take in the meaning of his words.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It has been in the possession of Miss Owen. She brought it to me just
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Owen?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima&#8217;s first impulse was towards indignation.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 301]</span> What had Miss Owen
+been doing with the shoe? But the next moment, she reflected that there
+must be some reasonable explanation of the fact that the shoe had been in
+the possession of her brother&#8217;s secretary&mdash;though what that explanation
+might be Miss Jemima could not, as yet, divine.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She has had it,&rdquo; resumed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, in the same quiet tone as
+before, &ldquo;ever since she was a little girl. She was wearing it when she was
+found by the good people by whom she was adopted.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then light came to Miss Jemima, clear and full. She grasped her brother&#8217;s
+shoulder, and remembered his weakness only just in time to refrain from
+giving him a vigorous shake.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Brother, brother,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;do you understand what your words may
+mean?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Jemima&mdash;in part, at least. But we must make sure. First we will put
+the two shoes together, and see that they really are the same.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, surely, Thomas, you have no doubt?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There seems little room for it, indeed; but we cannot make too sure!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He wanted to give himself time to become accustomed to the great joy which
+was dawning on his life.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You know where the other shoe is, Jemima?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, in the safe.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; and you know that, while I have been up here, Miss Owen has kept the
+key of the safe?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 302]</span>Miss Jemima had undergone much mental chafing by reason of that knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, will you go to her in the office, and say I wish you to bring me
+something out of the safe? She will not know what you bring. She will just
+hand you the key, and go on with her work.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I will go, brother. But are you sure she knows or suspects nothing?
+She may have seen the shoe.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no; it is well wrapped up, and I am sure she would not touch the
+parcel. I can trust my secretary,&rdquo; he added, with a new-born pride.</p>
+
+<p>As Miss Jemima went down stairs, she wondered she had not long ago
+lighted on the discovery which her brother had now made. It explained many
+things. The tones and gestures which had so often startled her by their
+familiarity; the vague feeling that, at some time, she must have known
+this young girl before; the growing resemblance&mdash;evident to Miss Jemima&#8217;s
+eyes, at least&mdash;of the young secretary to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&mdash;these things,
+which, with many kindred signs, Miss Jemima had hidden in her heart, had
+their explanation in the discovery which had just been made.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Owen yielded the key of the safe without question. Though she
+appeared to take no notice of Miss Jemima&#8217;s doings, she knew, as by
+instinct, what Miss Jemima was taking out of the safe; and she told
+herself that she must not, and would not, let it appear that she supposed
+anything unusual was going on. She went on quietly with her work;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 303]</span> but it
+was by dint of such an effort of self-control, as few human beings have
+ever found it necessary to make, or could have made.</p>
+
+<p>As the result of the young secretary&#8217;s effort of self-repression, there
+appeared in her face, at the moment when Miss Jemima turned to leave the
+room, an expression so much like that assumed by the countenance of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn at times when he was very firm, that the heart of Miss
+Jemima gave a mighty bound.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Miss Jemima&#8217;s brother was eagerly awaiting her return. She had
+been absent less than five minutes, when she once more entered his room.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There,&rdquo; she said, holding the two little shoes out towards her brother,
+side by side, &ldquo;there can be no doubt about the shoes, at any rate. They
+are a pair, sure enough. Why,&rdquo; she continued, turning up the shoe that
+Miss Owen had produced, &ldquo;I remember noticing, that very morning, that half
+the leather was torn away from the heel of one of the child&#8217;s shoes, just
+like that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, she held out the shoe, and showed her brother that its
+heel had been damaged exactly as she had described. Then a strange thing
+happened to Miss Jemima. She dropped the little shoes upon the bed, and,
+covering her face with her hands, cried gently for a few moments. &ldquo;The
+Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; gazed at his sister in some wonder; and then two large
+tears gathered in his own eyes, and rolled down his cheeks.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 304]</span>All at once Miss Jemima almost fiercely dashed her hand across her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Brother,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;I&#8217;ve often heard of tears of joy; but I didn&#8217;t
+think I should live to say they were the only ones I had shed since I was
+a little child! But there&#8217;s no mistake about those shoes. And there&#8217;s no
+doubt about anything else either.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was, perhaps, quite as confident as his sister; but he was
+a little more cautious.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Jemima,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but we must be careful. A mistake would be
+dreadful&mdash;both on our own account, and on that of&mdash;of Miss Owen. We must
+send for Mr. and Mrs. Burton at once. Mr. Durnford will telegraph. It will
+be necessary, of course, to tell him of our discovery; but he may be
+trusted not to breathe it to any one else.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima readily assented to her brother&#8217;s proposal. Mr. Durnford was
+sent for, and came without delay. His astonishment on hearing the
+wonderful news his friends had to tell was hardly as great as they
+expected. It is possible that this arose from the fact that he was
+acquainted with the story of Miss Owen, and that his eyes and ears had
+been open during the last few months. It was, however, with no lack of
+heartiness that he complied with the request to send a telegram summoning
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s bedside.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 305]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>TOMMY DUDGEON&#8217;S CONTRIBUTION.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>After the despatch of the telegram, the words of Tommy Dudgeon, with
+reference to the young secretary, recurred once more to the mind of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, and he mentioned them to his sister.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This must have been what the good fellow meant,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You remember,
+Jemima, how fond they were of each other&mdash;Tommy and the child?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; responded Miss Jemima, reluctantly; for she still retained her
+dislike for &ldquo;those stupid Dudgeons.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you know, Jemima, I have it on my mind to send for Tommy at once, and
+ask him what he really meant.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Send for him&mdash;to come in here?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; why not?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you must do as you like, I suppose.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>A moment&#8217;s reflection had convinced the good<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 306]</span> lady that she had really no
+sound reason to advance against the proposal her brother had made; and she
+knew that, in any case, he would do as he thought fit.</p>
+
+<p>Accordingly a messenger was despatched for Tommy Dudgeon with all speed;
+and the little huckster turned over to his brother, without compunction,
+an important customer whom he happened to be serving at the time, and
+hurried away to the bedside of his honoured friend.</p>
+
+<p>The servant who, in obedience to orders received, showed Tommy up at once
+to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s room, handed in at the same time a telegram which had
+just arrived from Mr. Burton, saying that he and Mrs. Burton might be
+expected about three o&#8217;clock in the afternoon. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn placed the
+pink paper on the little table by his bedside, and turned to Tommy, who
+stood just within the doorway, nervously twisting his hat between his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come in, Tommy, come in!&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; encouragingly,
+&ldquo;you see I am almost well.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy advanced into the room; but being arrested by the sight of Miss
+Jemima, who stood at the bed-foot, he stopped short half-way between the
+bed and the door, and honoured that formidable lady with a trembling
+bow. Miss Jemima&#8217;s mood this morning was complacency itself, and she
+acknowledged the obeisance of the little huckster with a not ungracious
+nod. Greatly encouraged, Tommy moved a pace or two nearer to the bed.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 307]</span>&ldquo;I&#8217;m deeply thankful, Mr. Horn,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to see you looking so well.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, Tommy,&rdquo; responded &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a smile, as he reached
+out his hand. &ldquo;The Lord is very good. No doubt He has more work for me to
+do yet.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As Tommy almost reverently took the hand of his beloved and honoured
+friend he thought to himself, &ldquo;I wonder whether he has considered what
+I said?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The last time we met, Tommy,&rdquo; began &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, as though in answer
+to the unspoken question of the little man&mdash;&ldquo;But, sit down, friend, sit
+down.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy protested that he would rather stand; but, being overborne, he
+effected a compromise, by placing himself quite forward on the edge of
+the chair, and depositing his hat on the floor, between his feet.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You remember the time?&rdquo; resumed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes; quite well!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It was the afternoon of the day I was taken ill.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; and Mrs. Bunn said you <em>would</em> go out in that dreadful rain.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy did not add that he himself, watching through his shop window, in
+the hope that his friend would come across to ask the meaning of his
+mysterious words, had, with a sinking heart, seen him walk off in the
+opposite direction through the drenching shower.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 308]</span>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a smile, &ldquo;I&#8217;ve had to pay for that, and
+shall be all the wiser, no doubt. But there was something you said that
+afternoon that I want to ask you about. At the time I thought I knew what
+you meant. But I am inclined now to think I was mistaken, and that your
+words referred to something quite different from what I then supposed. Do
+you remember what you said?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible for Tommy Dudgeon to conceal the agitation of his mind.
+He rejoiced at the opportunity to make known his great discovery to his
+friend; and yet he trembled lest he should prove unequal to the task. He
+thought, for a moment, that he would gain time by seeming not to
+understand the reference his friend had made.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What words do you speak of, chiefly, Mr. Horn?&rdquo; he asked tremulously, &ldquo;I
+said so many&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Tommy Dudgeon could not dissemble. He stammered, stopped, wiped his
+forehead, and stretched out his hands as though in appeal to the mercy of
+his hearers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course I know what words you mean!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I wanted to tell you of
+something I had seen for weeks, but that you didn&#8217;t seem to see. And I can
+see it still; and there&#8217;s no mistake about it. I&#8217;m as certain sure of it,
+as that I am sitting on this chair. It was about the sec&#8217;tary, and some
+one else; and yet not anybody else, because they&#8217;re both the same. May I
+tell you, Mr. Horn? Can you bear it, do you think?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; regarded the eager<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 309]</span> face of his little friend with
+glistening eyes; and Miss Jemima, leaning towards him over the framework
+of the iron bedstead, listened with an intent countenance, from which all
+trace of disfavour had vanished away.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, in grave, calm tones; &ldquo;tell us all. We are not
+unprepared.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said the little man, fervently. &ldquo;But, oh, I wish you knew! I
+wish God had been pleased to make it known to you,&rdquo; he added with a
+reminiscence of his Old Testament studies, &ldquo;in a dream and vision of the
+night. Oh, my dear friend, don&#8217;t you see that what you&#8217;ve been longing and
+praying for all these years has come to pass&mdash;as we always knew it would;
+and&mdash;and that she&#8217;s come back! she&#8217;s come back? There, that&#8217;s what I
+meant!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then it really was so,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;I&#8217;m surprised I did not
+perceive your meaning at the time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy thought him wonderfully calm.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But I must tell you, Tommy, that we have now very much reason to think
+that your surmise is correct.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<em>Surmise</em> is not the word, Mr. Horn; I know she&#8217;s come back!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you do,&rdquo; interposed Miss Jemima, in emphatic tones.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy looked gratefully towards the hitherto dreadful lady; and she
+regarded him with eyes which seemed to say, &ldquo;you have won my favour once
+for all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 310]</span>&ldquo;Can you tell us, Tommy,&rdquo; asked &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;what has made you so very
+sure?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Tommy, with energy, &ldquo;I&#8217;ll tell you. Everything has made me
+sure&mdash;the way she walks along the street, with her head up, and putting
+her foot down as if a regiment of soldiers wouldn&#8217;t stop her; and her
+manner of coming into the shop and saying, &lsquo;How are you to-day, Mr.
+Dudgeon?&rsquo; and her sitting in the old arm-chair, and putting her head on
+one side like a knowing little bird, and asking questions about
+everything, and letting her eyes shine on you like stars. Begging your
+pardon, Mr. Horn, she&#8217;s just the little lassie all over. Why I should know
+her with my eyes shut, if she were only to speak up, and say, &lsquo;Well,
+Tommy, how are you, to-day?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But,&rdquo; asked &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, whose heart, secretly, was almost bursting
+with delight, &ldquo;may you not be mistaken, after all?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am not mistaken,&rdquo; replied Tommy firmly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But it&#8217;s such a long while ago,&rdquo; suggested &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn; &ldquo;and&mdash;and she
+will be very much altered by this time. You <em>can&#8217;t</em> be sure that a young
+woman is the same person as a little girl you haven&#8217;t seen for more than a
+dozen years.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Herein, perhaps, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s own chief difficulty lay. &ldquo;How,&rdquo; he
+asked, &ldquo;can I think of Marian as being other than a little girl?&rdquo; Tommy
+Dudgeon did not seem to be troubled in that way at all.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I can be quite sure when I have<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 311]</span> known the little girl as
+I knew that one; and when I have watched, and listened to, the young
+woman, as I have been watching and listening to the sec&#8217;tary for these
+months past.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn and Miss Jemima exchanged glances.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This is truly wonderful!&rdquo; said he.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not at all!&rdquo; retorted she. &ldquo;The wonder is, Thomas, that you and I have
+been so blind all this time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; smiled gently, as he lay back upon his pillows. The
+image of a small, dark-eyed child held possession of his mind; and he had
+not been able readily to bring himself to see his little Marian in any
+other form. As for any real doubt, there was only a shred of it left in
+his mind now. Yet he still said to himself that he must make assurance
+doubly sure.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Tommy,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we are very much obliged to you. And now, will
+you do us another kindness? We are expecting some friends this afternoon
+who may be able to give us a good deal of light on this subject. Will you
+come, when we send for you, and hear what they have to say?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That I will!&rdquo; was the hearty response, &ldquo;I&#8217;ll come, Mr. Horn, whenever you
+send.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You have met these friends before, Tommy,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn. &ldquo;They are
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton&mdash;at the &lsquo;Home,&rsquo; you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy nodded.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 312]</span>&ldquo;They found Miss Owen when she was a very little girl; and brought her up
+as their own child; and we hope that what they may tell us about her will
+help us to decide whether what we think is true.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tommy nodded again with beaming eyes, and shortly afterwards took his
+leave.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now, brother,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima, &ldquo;you must take some rest, or we shall
+have you ill again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not much danger of that!&rdquo; replied &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, smiling. &ldquo;I think,
+please God, I&#8217;ve found a better medicine now, than all the doctors in the
+world could give me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; but you are excited, and the reaction will come, if you do not take
+care.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, perhaps you are right, Jemima. But first, don&#8217;t you think she had
+better be out of the way when Mr. and Mrs. Burton come?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&#8217;ve thought of that; she can take that poor girl along the road for
+a drive.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A capital idea. Have it arranged, Jemima.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well. I&#8217;ll go and see about it at once; and you get to sleep.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 313]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>NO ROOM FOR DOUBT!</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>At the appointed time, Mr. and Mrs. Burton arrived. Being, as yet,
+ignorant of the purpose for which their presence was desired, they were
+full of conjectures. Miss Jemima received them in the dining-room,
+downstairs. The first question they asked related to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s
+health. &ldquo;Was he worse?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima; &ldquo;he is much better. But he wishes to consult you
+about a matter of great importance.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then, upon their protesting that they were in no immediate need of
+refreshment, Miss Jemima conducted her visitors upstairs to her brother&#8217;s
+room.</p>
+
+<p>Though &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had not been to sleep since the morning, he was
+greatly refreshed by the quiet hours he had passed. He turned to greet
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton, as they came in.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 314]</span>&ldquo;This is very good of you,&rdquo; he said, putting out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima placed chairs for the visitors, and they took their seats
+near the bed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think I must sit up,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima helped him to raise himself upon his pillows, and then sat
+down on a chair at the opposite side of the bed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There now,&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rdquo; &ldquo;we shall do finely. But,
+Jemima, how about our friend, Tommy?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He&#8217;ll be here directly&rdquo; was the concise reply.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. and Mrs. Burton waited patiently for &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn to speak. Mrs.
+Burton was a shrewd-looking, motherly body; and her husband had the
+appearance of a capable and kindly man. They were both conscious of some
+curiosity, and even anxiety, with regard to what &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn might be
+about to say. The peculiarity of the situation was that he should have
+sent for them both. Perhaps each had some vague prevision of the
+communication he was about to make.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now, dear friends,&rdquo; he said, at last, &ldquo;no doubt you will be wondering why
+I have sent for you in such a hurry.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Both Mr. Burton and his wife protested that they were always at the
+service of Mr. Horn, and expressed the assurance that he would not have
+sent for them without good cause.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I think you will admit that, in this instance, the
+cause is as good as can be.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 315]</span>Looking upon the kindly faces of these good Christian people, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn wondered how they would receive the news he would probably have to
+impart. He must proceed cautiously. At the same time, he was thankful that
+his little lost child&mdash;if, indeed, it were so&mdash;had been committed by the
+great Father to such kindly hands.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You will not mind, dear friends,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;if I ask you one or two
+questions about the circumstances under which my&mdash;Miss Owen came into your
+charge when a child?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By no means, sir!&rdquo; The startling nature of the question caused no
+hesitation in the reply. Indeed, though startled, these good people were
+not so very much surprised. They had not, perhaps, been actually expecting
+that this would prove to be the subject on which they had been summoned to
+confer. But, ever since their adopted daughter had entered the household
+of this man, whose own little daughter had been lost, just about the time
+that she must have left her home, both Mr. and Mrs. Burton had secretly
+thought that perhaps, as the result, she would find her own parent, and
+they would lose their child. Perhaps it was on account of the vagueness
+of this thought, or because of the painful anticipations to which it gave
+rise, or for both these reasons, that the good couple had made no mention
+to each other of its presence in their respective minds. They glanced at
+one another now; and, by some subtle influence, each became aware that the
+other&#8217;s mind had been occupied by this disturbing thought.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 316]</span>&ldquo;You will believe,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;that I have good reasons for the
+questions I am going to ask?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We are sure of that, sir,&rdquo; responded Mr. Burton.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, indeed,&rdquo; said Mrs. Burton.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, can you tell me in what year, and at what time of the year, you
+found the child?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It was on the 2nd of June, 18&mdash;&rdquo; said Mrs. Burton, promptly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn and Miss Jemima exchanged glances. It was the very year in
+which, on that bright May morning, little Marian had vanished, like a
+flash of departing sunshine, from their lives.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;About what age would you suppose the child to have been at the time?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She told us her age,&rdquo; said Mr. Burton.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; pursued his wife, &ldquo;she was a very indistinct talker, and her age
+was almost the only thing we could actually make out. She said she was
+five; and that was about what she looked.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you think, now,&rdquo; continued &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with another glance at his
+sister, &ldquo;that you could give us anything like a description of the child?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My wife can do that very well,&rdquo; said Mr. Burton. &ldquo;She has often told Miss
+Owen what she looked like when we found her crying in the road.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Burton, &ldquo;I remember exactly what she was like. She had
+black hair&mdash;as she has now, and her eyes were very dark; her skin was even
+browner than it is now, being so dirty; and she had very rosy cheeks. It
+was evident that some of her<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 317]</span> clothes had been stolen. Indeed they were
+almost all gone, and she had scarcely anything on but an old, and very
+dirty shawl, which was wrapped round her body so tightly that it must have
+hurt her very much. She had lost one of her shoes, and her foot was bound
+up with a filthy piece of rag. She had both her socks on, but they were in
+dreadful holes. She was wearing a torn sun-bonnet, which was covered with
+mud; and&mdash;let me see&mdash;one of its strings was missing. And, yes, her one
+shoe was cut about over the top, as if it had been done on purpose with
+a knife. She had evidently been in very bad hands, poor little mite!&rdquo; and
+the honest, kindly face was darkened with a frown, as Mrs. Burton clenched
+her plump fist in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima had been listening with intense interest, from her position on
+the other side of the bed; and now interposed with a question, in her own
+quick way.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What was the pattern of the sun-bonnet? Was it a small, pink sprig, on a
+white ground?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, you must have seen it, ma&#8217;am!&rdquo; was Mrs. Burton&#8217;s startled reply.
+&ldquo;That was the very thing!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps I have,&rdquo; responded Miss Jemima, &ldquo;and perhaps I haven&#8217;t.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Burton hardly knew what to say.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she resumed, at last, &ldquo;Miss Owen has kept the sun-bonnet, and the
+one shoe, and two or three other little things; and I&#8217;m sure she will be
+glad to let you see them. But, may I ask, Miss Horn, what&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn interrupted her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 318]</span>&ldquo;I think, Jemima, we had now better tell our kind friends why we are
+asking these questions.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima; &ldquo;I should have told them at first.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; resumed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, turning to Mr. and Mrs. Burton, and
+speaking with an emotion which he could no longer conceal, &ldquo;we have reason
+to believe that your adopted daughter&mdash;don&#8217;t let me shock you&mdash;is our
+little lost Marian, of whom you have several times heard me speak; and we
+are anxious to make sure if this is really the case.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In the nature of things, Mr. and Mrs. Burton were not so much surprised
+as they would have been if the course of events had not, in some measure,
+prepared them for the announcement which &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had now made. Yet
+they experienced a slight shock; for even an expected crisis cannot be
+fully realized till it actually arrives.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment, there was silence in the room. Then Mrs. Burton was the
+first to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Excuse us, dear sir,&rdquo; she said calmly, &ldquo;if we are somewhat startled at
+what you have said. And yet we are not altogether surprised. You will not
+think that strange?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, ma&#8217;am,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, in a musing tone, &ldquo;not altogether
+strange, perhaps. But, shall I explain a little further? It was only last
+evening that I was led to entertain the thought that Miss Owen might
+actually prove to be my lost child. She was telling me, as she had done
+several times before, all about how you found her, and of your goodness
+to<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 319]</span> her; and she spoke last night, for the first time, of the one shoe she
+was wearing when you found her in the road. Now you may judge how I was
+startled, on hearing this, when I tell you that, just after Marian was
+lost, we picked up one of her shoes in a field, over which she must have
+wandered away. So, this morning, without telling her my reason, I asked
+her to let me see the little shoe she had worn so long ago. She at once
+fetched it; and here it is, and with it the one we found in the field.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So saying, he drew, from underneath the bed-clothes, the two little shoes;
+and placed them side by side upon the counterpane.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. and Mrs. Burton rose and approached the bed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Burton, &ldquo;that is undoubtedly Miss Owen&#8217;s little shoe.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And this,&rdquo; said Mrs. Burton, &ldquo;is unquestionably its fellow,&rdquo; and, taking
+up the shoes, she held them towards her husband.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You are certainly right, my dear.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then there was silence for a brief space, while these two simple-hearted
+people bent, with deep emotion, over the little baby shoes which seemed to
+prove so much.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Burton was the first to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she said, calmly, but with a quivering lip, &ldquo;we are to lose our
+child; but the will of the Lord be done.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Burton&#8217;s only utterance was a deep sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;if it really be as I cannot help hoping it
+is, you will, perhaps, not lose<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 320]</span> so much as you think. But I am sure you
+will not begrudge me the joy of finding my child.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, indeed, dear sir. On the contrary, we will rejoice with you as well
+as we can&mdash;and with her.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>These were the words of Mrs. Burton, and they received confirmation from
+her husband.</p>
+
+<p>At this point, Tommy Dudgeon quietly entered the room, and took his seat,
+at a motion from Miss Jemima, behind the chairs on which Mr. and Mrs.
+Burton were sitting.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have been anxious,&rdquo; resumed &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;thoroughly to assure
+myself that there was no mistake. Here is our friend, Dudgeon, now. You
+saw him the day we opened the &lsquo;Home.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Perceiving Tommy for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Burton gave him a hearty
+greeting.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Our friend knows,&rdquo; continued &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, &ldquo;that I&#8217;ve been very
+sceptical about the good news.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very much so!&rdquo; said Tommy, nodding his head.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He was the first to find it out. You must know that he took much kind
+interest in my little girl; and it was a great grief to him that she was
+lost. And when your adopted daughter came to us, he was not long in
+forming conjectures as to who she might be. In a very short time, as a
+matter of fact, he had quite made up his mind. He tried to tell me about
+it; but I was too stupid to understand him, and so it was left for me to
+find out the happy truth by accident. Tell our friends, Tommy, how you
+came to discover who Miss Owen really was.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 321]</span>Thus enjoined, Tommy, nothing loath, recounted once more the story of his
+great discovery. Mr. and Mrs. Burton listened with deep attention, and,
+having put several questions to Tommy, admitted that what he had said
+afforded much confirmation to the supposition that Miss Owen was the
+long-lost Marian.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have a thought about the child&#8217;s name,&rdquo; said Mrs. Burton after a brief
+pause. &ldquo;It comes to me that what she gave us as her name sounded quite as
+much like <em>Marian Horn</em> as <em>Mary Ann Owen</em>.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why yes,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima, &ldquo;now I think of it, she used to pronounce her
+name very much as though it had been something like <em>Mary Ann Owen</em>. As
+well as I can remember, it was &lsquo;Ma&mdash;an O&mdash;on.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I believe you are right, Jemima,&rdquo; said her brother.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It must be admitted,&rdquo; interposed Mr. Burton quickly, &ldquo;that <em>Mary Ann
+Owen</em> was a very reasonable interpretation of that combination of sounds.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Undoubtedly it was,&rdquo; assented &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Burton, &ldquo;what you say, Miss Horn, is very much like the
+way in which the child pronounced her name. And there&#8217;s another thing
+which may serve as a further mark. She had on, beneath the old shawl, a
+little chemise, on which were worked, in red, the letters &lsquo;M.H.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I know it!&rdquo; cried Miss Jemima. &ldquo;I always marked her clothes like that.
+You used to laugh at me, Thomas; but what do you say now?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well!&rdquo; said &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; softly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And listen to me,&rdquo; resumed Miss Jemima. &ldquo;I am beginning to recollect,
+too. Marian&#8217;s hair was very<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 322]</span> stubborn; and there were two or three tufts
+at the back which always would stand up, like black feathers.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I remember that very well,&rdquo; said Mrs. Burton, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; agreed her husband; &ldquo;and many a joke we used to have about
+it. I called her my little blackbird.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And then,&rdquo; continued Miss Jemima, &ldquo;there was another thing. A few days
+before the child&#8217;s disappearance, she fell down and hurt her knee; and
+there were two scars, one on the knee, and another just below.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Mrs. Burton, &ldquo;I remember those scars. Don&#8217;t you, John?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; and I used to tell her she was an old soldier, and had been in the
+wars.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So you did; and&mdash;dear me, how old memories are beginning to come
+back!&mdash;she talked a great deal, not only of her &lsquo;daddy,&rsquo; but of &lsquo;Aunt
+&#8217;Mima.&rsquo; I wonder I didn&#8217;t think of that before. Perhaps, ma&#8217;am&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s me!&rdquo; cried Miss Jemima. &ldquo;My name&#8217;s Jemima; and &lsquo;Aunt &#8217;Mima&rsquo; was
+what she always called me. There, Thomas, do you want any further proof?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was lying with his hands over his face, and the bed was
+shaking with his convulsive efforts to repress his strong emotion. Fear
+had impelled him to withstand his growing conviction that his long-lost
+child had been restored to him<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 323]</span>&mdash;fear of the consequences of a mistake,
+both to himself, and to the bright young girl whom he had already learnt
+to love as though she were indeed his child. But now, one after another,
+his doubts had been beaten down. He had listened eagerly to every word
+that had been spoken around his bed, and conviction had taken absolute
+possession of his mind. Yet, for the moment, the shock of his great joy
+seemed almost more than his weakened nerves could bear.</p>
+
+<p>His friends stood around the bed, fearing for him. But, in a few moments,
+he withdrew his hands from his face, which was wet with the gracious tears
+of joy.</p>
+
+<p>He clasped his hands, and looked reverently upward.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;My soul doth magnify the Lord; and my spirit hath rejoiced in God, my
+Saviour.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>That was all.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You would like us to leave you, brother?&rdquo; asked Miss Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;For a very short time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He was quite himself again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She is out still, isn&#8217;t she?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Miss Jemima. &ldquo;She will be in soon, no doubt. You would like
+to see her. Well, leave that to me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then they left him to his blissful thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>For many minutes, he gratefully communed with God. He was thankful his
+child had come back to him so beautiful, and clever, and good. He could<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 324]</span>
+regard her with as much pride as love; though he told himself he would
+have loved her, and done all in his power to make her happy, whatever she
+had proved to be. And then, how glad he was that she had found her way
+into his heart before he knew she was his child.</p>
+
+<p>Great, indeed, was the joy of &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker!&rdquo; That very day he was
+to clasp his long-lost child to his heart!</p>
+
+<p>The door of his room had been left ajar. Presently he heard the front-door
+open downstairs; and then there were voices in the hall, one of which he
+recognised as hers. The next moment he knew that she was coming upstairs.
+They had not told her the great news yet, of course? No; she was going
+direct to her own room.</p>
+
+<p>He took up the little shoes, which had been left lying on the bed. How
+well he remembered making them! He had selected for the purpose the very
+best bit of leather in his stock. He was proceeding to examine more
+closely the shoe that had been mutilated, when he heard the sound of a
+door being opened which he knew to be that of his young secretary&#8217;s room.</p>
+
+<p>Would she come to him before going downstairs? In truth, he wished not to
+see her until she had been told the great news. He breathed more freely
+when he heard her foot on the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>When &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had been alone about half an hour, Miss Jemima
+returned to the room. Mrs. Burton, she said, was in the dining-room,
+with&mdash;&mdash;Marian.<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 325]</span> There was just the slightest hesitation in Miss Jemima&#8217;s
+pronunciation of the name. Her brother&#8217;s tea would come up in a few
+minutes. After he had taken it, he would perhaps be ready for the
+interview he so much desired.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Tea!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, but,&rdquo; said his matter-of-fact sister, &ldquo;you must try to take it&mdash;as a
+duty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ll do my best,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but I must be up and dressed before she
+comes, Jemima.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Jemima demurred, but ultimately agreed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I should like Mr. Durnford to be here,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;and Tommy Dudgeon,
+and Mr. and Mrs. Burton.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They shall all be present,&rdquo; said Miss Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And you, Jemima, you will take care to be in the room at the time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Brother,&rdquo; responded the lady, &ldquo;you may trust me for that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 326]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>FATHER AND DAUGHTER.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>Mrs. Burton, closeted with her adopted daughter, in the dining-room,
+found, to her surprise, that Miss Owen was not unprepared for the
+communication she was about to receive. Since her discovery of the little
+shoe&mdash;the fellow of her own&mdash;in her employer&#8217;s safe, and the startling
+conclusion at which she had thereupon arrived, the young secretary had
+been in a vaguely expectant state of mind. The great fact she had
+discovered could not long remain concealed from the person whom, next to
+herself, it most concerned. Of course, it was impossible for her to speak
+out. But she had only to wait, and all would come right.</p>
+
+<p>She saw now why &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had been so much agitated to hear that,
+when she was found by Mr. and Mrs. Burton, she was wearing only one shoe;<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 327]</span>
+and she was not surprised, the next morning, when he asked to see the shoe
+itself. As the day passed, she was instinctively aware that something
+unusual was going on. The visit of Tommy Dudgeon; the circumstance that
+she was not summoned to &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s room as usual, during the day;
+and her being unexpectedly despatched to take Susie Martin for a
+drive&mdash;were all signs pointing in one direction; and when, on her return
+from the drive, she was greeted with the announcement that Mrs. Burton was
+waiting to see her in the dining-room, she felt sure that the great secret
+was known. And she could not be much surprised, therefore, when, in the
+end, Mrs. Burton proceeded to make in set terms, the communication with
+which she was charged.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; said the good lady, fondly kissing her adopted daughter, &ldquo;I&#8217;m
+sure you will be surprised to see me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m delighted, at any rate, dear mother,&rdquo; was the pardonably evasive
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not more than I am!&rdquo; exclaimed the good creature. Notwithstanding the
+loss she expected to sustain through the discovery which had been made,
+she had schooled herself to rejoice in the happiness which had come to her
+child. &ldquo;But,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;you, my dear, will be more delighted still, when
+you hear the news I have to tell.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke, she led the young secretary to a chair, and, having caused
+her to be seated, sat down on another chair by her side. Then she took her
+companion&#8217;s hand and held it tenderly in her lap.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 328]</span>&ldquo;My dear, I want to ask you something.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The good lady tried to be calm, but her tones grew tremulous as she spoke.
+Miss Owen, too, was becoming excited, in spite of herself.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, mother dear,&rdquo; and the girl seemed to put special and loving emphasis
+on the word &ldquo;mother.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you remember,&rdquo; continued Mrs. Burton, &ldquo;how, when you were all at Daisy
+Lane, at the opening of the &lsquo;Home,&rsquo; we were talking about Mr. Horn having
+lost his little girl in some mysterious fashion; and you said, laughing,
+what fun it would be, if you turned out to be that very little girl?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, mother,&rdquo; was the reply, uttered in low and agitated tones, &ldquo;I
+remember very well.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You didn&#8217;t think that such a wonderful thing would ever come to pass, did
+you, dear?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Burton, gently stroking the back of the plump
+little brown hand, which lay passive in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied the girl, &ldquo;I certainly did not; and it was just a mad joke,
+of course.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As she spoke her whole frame quivered, and she made as though she would
+have withdrawn her hand and risen to her feet. Mrs. Burton tightened her
+grasp upon the fluttering hand in her lap, and gently restrained the
+agitated girl.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&#8217;t finished yet, dear,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You know the saying that &lsquo;many
+a true word is spoken in jest&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 329]</span>&ldquo;Well&mdash;try to be calm, my child&mdash;it has been found out&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I know what you are going to say, mother,&rdquo; broke in the young girl. &ldquo;It
+is that I have found my father&mdash;my very own; though I can never forget the
+only father I have known these years, and I haven&#8217;t found another mother,
+and don&#8217;t want to.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then the woman and the child&mdash;for she was little more&mdash;became locked in a
+close embrace. After some minutes, Mrs. Burton unclasped the young arms
+from her neck, and, sitting hand in hand with her adopted daughter, she
+told her all the wondrous tale.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So you see, my child,&rdquo; she concluded, &ldquo;your name is not Owen after all;
+it is not even Mary Ann.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said the girl, with a bewitching touch of scorn. &ldquo;Mary Ann Owen,
+forsooth! I always had my doubts. Horn is not much better in itself. But
+it is my father&#8217;s name; and Marian is all that could be desired. And so I
+really am that little Marian of whom I have heard so many charming things!
+How sweet! But, mother, you must be the very same to me as ever; and I
+must find room for two fathers now, instead of one.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, my dear, I feel sure you will not love us any the less for this
+great change.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mother, mother, never speak of that again! If it had not been for you, I
+might never have come to know anything about myself, to say nothing of all
+the dreadful things which might have happened. Oh, God is good!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 330]</span>&ldquo;He is indeed, dear! But you will be longing to go to your father.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the girl, with a quiver of shy delight; &ldquo;what does he say?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear, he is thankful beyond measure.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But can he bear to see me just yet?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He is preparing to receive you now. Come!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn had finished his tea, and was dressed, and sitting in an
+easy-chair in his bedroom. Those about him had feared that the coming
+effort would be too much for his strength. But there was no need for their
+apprehension. Joy was proving a splendid tonic. He sat calm and collected,
+awaiting the appearance of his child.</p>
+
+<p>His friends were all around him. Mr. Durnford, Tommy Dudgeon, Mr.
+Burton&mdash;all were there; and there, too, was Miss Jemima, no longer grim,
+but subdued almost to meekness.</p>
+
+<p>Then it was done in a moment. The door opened, and Mrs. Burton entered,
+leading the young secretary by the hand. An instant later the girl ran
+forward, with a little cry, and flung herself into the outstretched arms
+of her waiting father.</p>
+
+<p>For some seconds they remained thus. Then she gradually slipped down upon
+her knees, and let her head fall upon his breast, while her arms embraced
+him still, and his hand held closely to him her nestling face. Speech was
+impossible on either side. She was weeping the sweet tears of joy, while
+he vainly struggled to find utterance for his love.</p>
+
+<p>One by one, their friends had stolen out of the<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 331]</span> room. Even Miss Jemima
+had been content to go. The memory of that chastened lady was very vivid
+to-night, and she felt humbled and subdued.</p>
+
+<p>Observing the silence, &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn looked up, and perceived that they
+were alone.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They have all gone, Marian,&rdquo; he said, gently. &ldquo;Won&#8217;t you look up, and let
+father see your face?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her face, bedewed yet radiant; and he took it tenderly between
+his hands.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is indeed the face of my little Marian,&rdquo; he said, fondly. &ldquo;How blind I
+must have been!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He gazed long and lovingly&mdash;feasting his eyes upon the brown, glowing
+face, in every feature of which he could now trace so plainly those of
+his little Marian of days gone by. The hope which he had never quite
+relinquished was fulfilled at last! His gracious Lord had justified his
+confidence, as, indeed, there had never been any reason to doubt that He
+would.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You feel quite sure about it, my dear; don&#8217;t you?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, father dear,&rdquo; she answered, in a thoughtful, contented tone. &ldquo;There
+are so many things that help to make me sure.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then she told him of her strange feeling of familiarity with the old house
+and street. She spoke of the little shoes, and of her having seen the one
+in the safe. She told him what she had overheard in the tent at Daisy Lane
+about her resemblance to himself.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 332]</span>&ldquo;And besides,&rdquo; she concluded, &ldquo;after all that&mdash;&mdash;mother has told me, how
+can I doubt? But now, daddy&mdash;I may call you that, mayn&#8217;t I?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; pressed convulsively the little hand he held.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That is what Marian&mdash;what you always called me when you were a child, my
+dear. Nothing would please me better.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then &lsquo;daddy&rsquo; it shall be. And now, do you know, daddy, I&#8217;m beginning
+to remember things in a vague sort of way. I&#8217;m just like some one waking
+up after a good sleep. Things, you know, that happened before one went
+to sleep, come back by degrees at such a time; and, in the same way,
+recollections are growing on me now of my childhood, and especially of the
+time when I was lost. Let me see, now! I&#8217;m like some one looking into a
+magic crystal to see the future, only I want to recall the past. After
+thinking very hard, I&#8217;ve been able to call up some remembrance of the day
+I ran away from home. I seem to remember being very angry with someone,
+and wanting to get away. Then there was a woman, and a man, but chiefly
+a woman, and some dark place that I was in. And I think they must have
+treated me badly in some way.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn thought for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that dark place must have been the wood, on the other
+side of the field where I found your shoe.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, no doubt; and wasn&#8217;t it in that wood that you picked up the string
+of my sun-bonnet?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 333]</span>&ldquo;To be sure it was!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; and perhaps it was there that I was stripped of my clothes. When I
+fell into the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Burton, my chief garment was an old
+ragged shawl. My one shoe, and my socks, and my sun-bonnet, were almost
+all I had besides. I&#8217;ve kept all the things except the socks, and you must
+see them by and bye, daddy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course I must.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But, having found his child, he did not greatly care just now about
+anything else.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Daddy!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Marian?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m so thankful it has turned out to be you!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, my dear?&rdquo; responded the happy father, in a tone of enquiry.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I mean I&#8217;m glad it&#8217;s you who are my father. It might have been somebody
+quite different, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered again, with a beaming face.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m glad, you know, daddy, just because you&#8217;re exactly the kind of father
+I want&mdash;that&#8217;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And I also am glad that it is you, little one,&rdquo; he responded. &ldquo;And how
+thankful we ought to be that we learnt to love one another before getting
+to know who we were!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;it would have been queer, and&mdash;&mdash;not at all nice, if
+we had first been introduced to each other as father and daughter, and
+told it was our duty to love one another without delay. And<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 334]</span> then there&#8217;s
+another thing. Though, at first, it seemed cruel to you, daddy, that your
+little girl should have been lost for so many years, when I think how much
+more&mdash;very likely&mdash;we shall love one another, than we ever should have
+done if I had not been lost, and how much happier we shall be together, it
+seems quite kind of God to have allowed us to be separated for a little
+while&mdash;especially as He found such good friends to take care of me in the
+meantime.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn gently stroked the dark head, which still nestled against
+his breast.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We at least, little one,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;can say that &lsquo;all things work
+together for good.&rsquo; But now, there are other things that we must talk
+about. You have come back, Marian, to a very different home from the one
+you left. Your father was a poor man when you went away; he is a rich one
+now. Are you glad?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes, daddy,&rdquo; she answered, simply, &ldquo;for your sake, and because I think
+my daddy is just the best man in the world to have charge of money. And
+you know,&rdquo; she added, archly, &ldquo;that, in that respect, your daughter is
+after your own heart.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I know that well.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You must let me help you more than ever, daddy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She seemed scarcely to have realized the fact that she was heiress to all
+his wealth.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You shall, my dear,&rdquo; he said, fondly; &ldquo;but you mustn&#8217;t forget that all I
+have will be yours one day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She started violently.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 335]</span>&ldquo;Well now, I declare!&rdquo; she gasped. &ldquo;I had scarcely thought of that. I was
+so glad and thankful to have found my father, that I forgot he had brought
+me a fortune. Well, daddy, that won&#8217;t make any difference. We&#8217;ll still do
+our best to put all this money to the right use. And, as for my being your
+heiress&mdash;you must understand, sir, that you&#8217;ve got to live for ever; so
+there&#8217;s an end of that.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She had withdrawn herself from his embrace, and, kneeling back, was
+looking at him with dancing eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, darling,&rdquo; he said, with an indulgent smile, &ldquo;we must leave that.
+But there is something else that I must tell you. When I was arranging
+about the disposal of all this money, in case I should be taken away, I
+thought of my little Marian; and I had it set down in my will that you
+were to have everything after me, if you should be found. But, beside
+that, I directed the lawyers to invest for you the sum of &pound;50,000. But,
+let me see, I think I must have told you about this at the time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you did, daddy, the very day you came back from London, just
+before you went to America!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So I did. Well, now, Marian, that money is all your own from this time.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, daddy! daddy! How shall I thank you? So I shall be able to do
+something on my own account now!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Did no stray thought flit through her mind of all the gaiety and pleasure
+so much money might buy? Perhaps; but she was her father&#8217;s own child.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 336]</span>After a little more loving talk, the young secretary suddenly sprang to
+her feet.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am forgetting myself sadly! The evening letters will be in.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn started. He had forgotten that she was his secretary.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I shall have to look out for another secretary, now,&rdquo; he said, with a
+comical air of mock dismay.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And, pray sir, why?&rdquo; she demanded, standing before him in radiant
+rebellion. &ldquo;I would have you to know there is no vacancy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then she laughed in her bewitching way.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, my dear&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Say no more, daddy; it&#8217;s quite settled. I shall very likely ask for an
+increase of salary; but there must be no talk of dismissal.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Again she laughed; and, in spite of himself, the happy father joined in
+her merriment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well now, I must go,&rdquo; she said, with a parting kiss. &ldquo;I&#8217;ll send Miss
+Horn&mdash;&mdash;&nbsp;Why, she&#8217;s my aunt! I declare I&#8217;d quite overlooked that!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, my dear; and a very kind aunt you&#8217;ll find her.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;m sure of that. But I&#8217;m afraid she&#8217;ll be thinking me a very undutiful
+niece.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At this moment, the door opened, and Miss Jemima herself walked in.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I thought it was time I came,&rdquo; she said, in her usual matter-of-fact way.
+&ldquo;You must be thinking of getting back to bed, Thomas.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 337]</span>Her niece interrupted her by throwing her arms around her neck, and giving
+her a hearty kiss.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Aunt Jemima, I have to beg your pardon,&rdquo; and she kissed her again; &ldquo;but
+you didn&#8217;t give me time, you were all off like a flock of sheep.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think it is my place to beg your pardon, and not yours to beg mine,&rdquo;
+replied Miss Jemima, in the most natural way in the world. &ldquo;I fear it was
+largely through me that you ran away from home.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Did I actually run away, then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think there&#8217;s little doubt of it. But, whether you ran away or not, the
+fact remains that my treatment of you had been anything but kind. I meant
+well, but was mistaken; and I&#8217;m thankful to have the opportunity of asking
+you to forgive me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&#8217;t say another word about it, auntie!&rdquo; cried Marian, kissing her once
+more. &ldquo;It&#8217;s literally all forgotten. And I dare say I was a troublesome
+little thing. But let me see. You haven&#8217;t seen my treasures yet&mdash;except
+the shoe. I&#8217;ll fetch them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In a few moments she had brought her little sun-bonnet, and the other
+relics of her childhood which she had preserved. It will not be difficult
+to imagine the tender interest with which Aunt Jemima, and even &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn himself, gazed on those simple mementos of the past. The severed
+bonnet-string was lying on the bed. Marian caught it up, and fitted it
+upon the bonnet.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I must sew my bonnet-string on,&rdquo; she said, gaily.</p>
+
+<p>Her father laughed indulgently, and even Aunt Jemima smiled.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 338]</span>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and I too have a store of treasures to display,&rdquo; and she
+told of the little box in which she had kept the tiny garments Marian had
+worn in the days of old.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How delicious?&rdquo; cried the girl. &ldquo;You will let me see them, by and bye,
+auntie, won&#8217;t you? But now I really must be off to my letters.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 339]</span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><strong>THE TRAMP&#8217;S CONFESSION.</strong></p>
+
+
+<p>Before &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; had returned to his bed the doctor arrived,
+and despotically demanded how he had dared to leave it without the
+permission of his medical man. At first the doctor prognosticated serious
+consequences from what he was pleased to call his patient&#8217;s &ldquo;intemperate
+and unlicensed haste.&rdquo; But, when he came the next day, and found &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn considerably better, instead of worse, he changed his mind.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My dear sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;what have you been doing?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&#8217;ve been taking a new tonic, doctor,&rdquo; replied &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a
+smile; and he told him the great news.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; murmured the doctor; &ldquo;so it has actually turned out like
+that! I have often thought that there were many less likely things; and
+ever since you told me how closely the young lady&#8217;s<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 340]</span> early history
+resembled that of your own child, I have had a sort of expectation that
+I should one day hear the announcement you have just made. Well, my dear
+sir, I congratulate you both&mdash;as much on the fitness of the fact, as on
+the fact itself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn&#8217;s &ldquo;new tonic&rdquo; acted liked magic, and he was soon out of the
+doctor&#8217;s hands. In a few days&#8217; time he was downstairs; and at the end of a
+fortnight he had resumed his ordinary routine of life.</p>
+
+<p>As far as outward appearances were concerned, the great discovery which
+had been made produced but little difference in the house. The servants
+had, indeed, been informed of the change in the position of the young
+secretary. It was also understood that she was to have things pretty much
+her own way. It was moreover tacitly admitted that almost unlimited
+arrears of filial privilege were due to the newly-recovered daughter of
+the house; and she herself evidently felt that the arrears of filial duty
+lying to her charge were quite equal in amount. &ldquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rdquo;
+regarded his new-found child with a very tender love; and even Miss Jemima
+manifested towards her an indulgent, if somewhat prim, affection. The
+gentle affectionateness of the girl towards both her father and her aunt
+was beautiful in the extreme. Yet, even towards Miss Jemima, she was
+delightfully free from constraint; and it would have been difficult to
+decide whether to admire more the loving familiarity of the niece, or the
+complaisancy of the aunt.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 341]</span>In the matter of the secretaryship Marian was firmness itself. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo;
+Horn wished her to give it up; and Miss Jemima was shocked at the idea
+that she should propose to retain it for a single day. But she dismissed
+their remonstrances with a fine scorn. What did they take her for? Was
+she any less fit for the post of secretary than she had been before? Her
+duties had been a pleasure from the first; they would afford her greater
+delight than ever now. And why should they bring in a stranger to pry into
+their affairs? They might give her more salary, if they liked&mdash;and here
+she laughed merrily; but she wasn&#8217;t going to give up the work she liked
+more than anything else in the world.</p>
+
+<p>One perplexing question yet remained unsolved&mdash;What had happened to Marian
+between the day when she had left home and the time when she had been
+found by Mr. and Mrs. Burton? The girl&#8217;s own vague memories of that
+unhappy period, together with the condition in which she had been found,
+indicated that she had fallen into the hands of bad characters of some
+kind. Was the mystery ever to be fully solved? To this question the course
+of events brought very speedily a complete reply.</p>
+
+<p>One evening, about a fortnight after the last-recorded events, an elderly
+tramp was sitting against a haystack upon some farm premises, at no great
+distance from the town of Cottonborough. His age might be sixty, or,
+allowing for the rough life he had led, something less. He looked jaded
+and unwell. The day had been very warm, and the man was<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 342]</span> eating, with no
+great appetite, a sumptuous supper of German sausage and bread. The
+sausage had been wrapped in a piece of newspaper, which spread out upon
+his knees, was now doing duty as a tablecloth. Having finished his meal,
+the man lazily glanced at the paper; but finding its contents, at first,
+to possess no particular interest, he was about to crumple it up and throw
+it away, when his eye lighted on a paragraph which induced him to pause.
+He smoothed out the paper, and raised it nearer to his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;I ain&#8217;t much of a scholard; but I means to get to
+the bottom o&#8217; this &#8217;ere.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>With intense eagerness, he began to spell out the words of the paragraph
+which had arrested his attention. It was headed, &ldquo;&lsquo;The Golden Shoemaker&rsquo;
+recovers his daughter, supposed to have been stolen by tramps in her
+childhood.&rdquo; From line to line he laboured painfully on. Many times his
+progress was stayed by some formidable word; and again and again he was
+interrupted by a violent cough; but at length he had ascertained the
+contents of the paragraph. It contained as much as was known of the
+history of Marian Horn. It told how, at the age of five, she had, as was
+supposed, run away from home, and, as recently-discovered circumstances
+seemed to indicate, fallen into the hands of evil persons; and how all
+trace of her had then been lost until a few weeks afterwards, when, as had
+now become known, she was found, a wretched little waif, upon the highway,
+and adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Burton. The circumstances of her after life<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 343]</span>
+were then set forth; and the narrative concluded with a glowing account of
+her re-union with her friends. The tramp deeply pondered this romantic
+story.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he said to himself, &ldquo;that must ha&#8217; been the little wench as me and
+the old woman took to. It was somewhere here away. I remember about the
+shoe as she&#8217;d lost. They must ha&#8217; found it. The old woman cut the other
+shoe, same as it says here. It were a bad thing of us to take the kid,
+that it were.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At this point the man was seized with a violent fit of coughing. When it
+had subsided, he resumed his half-muttered meditations. &ldquo;Well, I&#8217;m glad as
+the little &#8217;un got took care on, arter all, and has got back to her own
+natural born father at last; for she were a game little wench, and no
+mistake. She were a poor people&#8217;s child when we got hold on her. But I&#8217;ve
+heerd tell o&#8217; &lsquo;the Golden Shoemaker,&rsquo; as they calls him. It must ha&#8217; been
+arter she was lost that he got his money. Well, I feels sorry, like, as we
+didn&#8217;t try to find her friends. But the old gal were that onscrupulous,
+she didn&#8217;t stick at nothink, she didn&#8217;t. As sure as my name&#8217;s Jake Dafty,
+this &#8217;ere&#8217;s a queer go.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Thus mused Jake, the tramp, sitting against the haystack; and his musings
+were, ever and anon, disturbed by his racking cough. He felt indisposed
+to move. As he brooded over the past, his mind became uneasy, he was
+conscious of a vague desire to make confession of the evil he had done.
+Did he<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 344]</span> feel that the sands of his life were almost sped? And was
+conscience waking at last?</p>
+
+<p>At length, between his fits of coughing, he was overtaken by sleep. The
+night was chilly after the warm day. The sun went down, and the stars
+peeped out serenely upon the frowzy and wretched tramp asleep against the
+haystack; and the dew settled thickly on his ragged beard and tattered
+clothes. Every now and then he was shaken by his cough; but he was weary,
+and remained asleep. And, in his sleep, the past came back more vividly
+than it had ever re-visited him in his waking hours. He seemed to be
+present at the despoiling and ill-using of a dark-eyed child, whom he
+might have delivered, and did not; and, from time to time, he moved
+uneasily in his sleep, and groaned aloud.</p>
+
+<p>Thus passed the night; and, in the morning, Jake, being found by the farm
+people, in his place against the haystack, delirious, and evidently ill,
+was conveyed to the workhouse.</p>
+
+<p>The next day &ldquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rdquo; received word that a man who was dying
+in the workhouse begged to see him at once. &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn ordered his
+closed carriage, and drove to the workhouse without delay. The man, who
+was Jake, the tramp, had not long to live. His delirium was over now, and
+he was quite himself. His eyes were fixed eagerly upon the face of
+&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, as the latter entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are you &lsquo;the Golden Shoemaker&rsquo;?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 345]</span>&ldquo;So I am sometimes called,&rdquo; replied &ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;I ain&#8217;t got much time&mdash;I&#8217;m the bloke wot stole your little &#8217;un; me
+and the old woman.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn uttered an exclamation of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. The old woman&#8217;s gone. She died in quod. I don&#8217;t know what they had
+done to her. Perhaps nothink: maybe her time was come. I warn&#8217;t that
+sorry; she&#8217;d got to be a stroke too many for me. But I want to tell you
+about the little &#8217;un. I&#8217;m a going to die, and it &#8217;ull be as well to get it
+off my mind. There ain&#8217;t no mistake; cos I see&#8217;d it in the paper, and it
+tallies. I&#8217;ve got it here.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, he drew from beneath his pillow the crumpled piece of
+newspaper on which he had read of the restoration of Marian to her father.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;yer can read it for yerself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn took the paper, and glanced at its contents. He had seen
+in various newspapers, if not this, several similar accounts of the
+adventures of his child.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he said, handing back to the man the greasy and crumpled paper,
+&ldquo;tell me about it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you knows that field where you found one of her shoes?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, we wos a sitting under the hedge, near that field, one morning,
+a-dining, when the kid came along. She stopped when she see&#8217;d us; and we
+invited her to go along with us, and somehow she seemed as if she didn&#8217;t
+like to refuse. Arter that,<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 346]</span> we took her into the wood; and the old woman
+stripped off her clothes, and did her up like as she was when she was
+found. She&#8217;d lost one of her shoes, and I went back for it; but I couldn&#8217;t
+find it nowheres. You may be sure as we got out o&#8217; these parts as fast as
+we could. We thought as the kid &#8217;ud be a rare help in the cadging line.
+But she was that stubborn and noisy, we soon got sorry as we&#8217;d ever taken
+on with her; and, if she hadn&#8217;t took herself right away, one arternoon
+when we was having of our arter-dinner nap in a dry ditch, I do believe
+as the old woman &#8217;ud ha&#8217; found some means o&#8217; putting her on one side.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Having finished his story, the dying tramp lay still for awhile, with his
+eyes closed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn looked down with pity upon the seamed and wrinkled face,
+from which almost all expression, except that of utter weariness, seemed
+to have been worn away.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the dying man opened his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&#8217;s all as I has to tell, master,&rdquo; he said faintly. &ldquo;Do yer think,
+now, as yer could find it in yer heart to forgive a cove, like? It &#8217;ud be
+none the worse for me, if yer could; nor, mayhap, for yourself neither.
+I&#8217;se sorry I done it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was deeply moved. But, as he now knew as much of what had
+happened to Marian as was likely ever to come to light, he could afford to
+let the matter rest; and already he found himself thinking more of the
+miserable case of the dying waif before him, than of the confession the
+poor<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 347]</span> creature had made. So he gave himself fully to the congenial task of
+trying to bring this miserable being, into a fitting frame of mind in
+which to meet the solemn change which he must so soon undergo.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I forgive you freely,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But won&#8217;t you ask pardon of God? My
+forgiveness will be of little use without His.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The dying tramp looked up with a listless stare.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&#8217;s wery good o&#8217; yer,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to say as yer forgives me. But, as for
+God, I&#8217;ve never had much to do with Him, yer see; and it ain&#8217;t likely as
+He&#8217;ll mind me now. And I don&#8217;t seem to care about it a deal.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cobbler&rdquo; Horn was troubled, but not surprised. Breathing a prayer for
+Divine guidance and help, he set himself to make clear to this dark soul
+the way of life. In the simplest words at his command, he strove to make
+the wretched man understand and feel his need of a Saviour; and, when, at
+length, he quitted the chamber of death, he had good reason to hope that
+his efforts had not been altogether in vain.</p>
+
+<p>Marian was profoundly interested to hear of the dying tramp and the story
+he had told, which latter agreed so well with her own vague remembrances,
+that she joined her father and aunt in regarding it as indicating what had
+been the actual course of events.</p>
+
+<p>Little, now, remains to be told. Father and daughter united to render the
+vast wealth which God had intrusted to their charge a source of greater<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 348]</span>
+and yet greater blessing to increasing multitudes of needy and suffering
+people; and Aunt Jemima insisted on participating in all their generous
+schemes.</p>
+
+<p>Marian is still secretary; but, as she receives many offers of marriage,
+it is possible the post may become vacant even yet.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p class="center">FLETCHER AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, NORWICH.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER***</p>
+<p>******* This file should be named 22124-h.txt or 22124-h.zip *******</p>
+<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br />
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/1/2/22124">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/1/2/22124</a></p>
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+search system you may utilize the following addresses and just
+download by the etext year.
+
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/</a>
+
+    (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99,
+     98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)
+
+EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are
+filed in a different way.  The year of a release date is no longer part
+of the directory path.  The path is based on the etext number (which is
+identical to the filename).  The path to the file is made up of single
+digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename.  For
+example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:
+
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234
+
+or filename 24689 would be found at:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689
+
+An alternative method of locating eBooks:
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a>
+
+*** END: FULL LICENSE ***
+</pre>
+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Golden Shoemaker, by J. W. Keyworth
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Golden Shoemaker
+       or 'Cobbler' Horn
+
+
+Author: J. W. Keyworth
+
+
+
+Release Date: July 23, 2007  [eBook #22124]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Dave Morgan, Anne Storer, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 22124-h.htm or 22124-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/1/2/22124/22124-h/22124-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/1/2/22124/22124-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER:
+
+or, "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+by
+
+J.W. KEYWORTH,
+
+Author of "_Mother Freeman_,"
+"_The Churchwarden's Daughter_," _&c._, _&c._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "'Come here, missy!'"--_Page 38._]
+
+
+
+
+London:
+J. Williams Butcher,
+2 & 3, Ludgate Circus Buildings, Farringdon Street, E.C.
+
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+
+Chapter                                                  Page
+
+      I.  BEREAVED!                                         1
+
+     II.  AUNT JEMIMA                                       8
+
+    III.  HOW MISS JEMIMA MANAGED HER BROTHER'S HOUSE      13
+
+     IV.  "ME LUN AWAY"                                    19
+
+      V.  "THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN"                       22
+
+     VI.  THE FATHER'S QUEST                               25
+
+    VII.  WHAT HAD BECOME OF THE CHILD?                    36
+
+   VIII.  THE SHOEMAKER BECOMES "GOLDEN"                   41
+
+     IX.  A STRANGE CLIENT FOR MESSRS. TONGS AND BALL      47
+
+      X.  MISS JEMIMA IS VERY MUCH ASTONISHED              52
+
+     XI.  "COBBLER" HORN ANSWERS HIS LETTERS, AND RECEIVES
+          THE CONGRATULATIONS OF HIS FRIENDS               58
+
+    XII.  "COBBLER" HORN PAYS A VISIT TO HIS LANDLORD      65
+
+   XIII.  FREE COBBLERY                                    72
+
+    XIV.  "THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER" WAITS UPON HIS MINISTER   76
+
+     XV.  "COBBLER" HORN ENGAGES A SECRETARY               85
+
+    XVI.  THE ATTACK ON THE CORRESPONDENCE                 91
+
+   XVII.  A PARTING GIFT FOR "THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN"    98
+
+  XVIII.  THE NEW HOUSE                                   105
+
+    XIX.  A TALK WITH THE MINISTER ABOUT MONEY            110
+
+     XX.  "COBBLER" HORN'S VILLAGE                        116
+
+    XXI.  IN NEED OF REPAIRS                              123
+
+   XXII.  "THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER" INSTRUCTS HIS LAWYERS    129
+
+  XXIII.  MEMORIES                                        138
+
+   XXIV.  ON THE OCEAN                                    149
+
+    XXV.  COUSIN JACK                                     163
+
+   XXVI.  HOME AGAIN                                      176
+
+  XXVII.  COMING INTO COLLISION WITH THE PROPRIETIES      184
+
+ XXVIII.  BOUNDER GIVES WARNING                           193
+
+   XXIX.  VAGUE SURMISINGS                                201
+
+    XXX.  A NOVEL DIFFICULTY FOR A MAN OF WEALTH          207
+
+   XXXI.  "COBBLER" HORN'S CRITICS                        217
+
+  XXXII.  "IN LABOURS MORE ABUNDANT"                      232
+
+ XXXIII.  TOMMY DUDGEON ON THE WATCH                      239
+
+  XXXIV.  A "FATHER" AND "MOTHER" FOR THE "HOME"          249
+
+   XXXV.  THE OPENING OF THE "HOME"                       255
+
+  XXXVI.  TOMMY DUDGEON UNDERTAKES A DELICATE
+          ENTERPRISE                                      267
+
+ XXXVII.  BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH                          275
+
+XXXVIII.  A LITTLE SHOE                                   285
+
+  XXXIX.  A JOYOUS DISCOVERY                              293
+
+     XL.  TOMMY DUDGEON'S CONTRIBUTION                    305
+
+    XLI.  NO ROOM FOR DOUBT!                              313
+
+   XLII.  FATHER AND DAUGHTER                             326
+
+  XLIII.  THE TRAMP'S CONFESSION                          339
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER.
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER I.
+
+                            BEREAVED!
+
+
+In a small house, in a back street, in the large manufacturing town of
+Cottonborough, the young wife of "Cobbler" Horn lay dying. It was the
+dusk of a wild evening in early winter; and the cruel cough, which could
+be heard every now and then, in the lulls of the wind, from the room
+upstairs, gave deepening emphasis to the sad fact that the youthful wife
+and mother--for such also she was--had fallen a victim to that fell
+disease which sweeps away so much of the fair young life of our land.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn himself was engaged just now in the duties of his calling,
+in the little workshop behind the kitchen. The house was very small. The
+kitchen and workshop were the only rooms downstairs, and above them were
+three small chambers. The one in which the dying woman lay was over the
+workshop, and the sound of her coughing came down with sharp distinctness
+through the boarded floor, which was the only ceiling of the lower room.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn knew that the death of his wife was probably a question of
+a few hours at most. But he had promised that the boots on which he was at
+work should be finished that night; and he had conscientiously withdrawn
+from his wife's bedside that he might keep his word.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was a man of thirty or so. He was tall, and had somewhat
+rugged features and clear steadfast eyes. He had crisp black hair, and a
+shaven face. His complexion was dark, and his bare arms were almost as
+brown as his leathern apron. His firmly set lips and corrugated brow, as
+he bent now over his work, declared him to possess unusual power of will.
+Indeed a strength of purpose such as belongs to few was required to hold
+him to his present task. Meanwhile his chief misgiving was lest the noise
+he was compelled to make should distress his dying wife; and it was
+touching to see how he strove to modify, to the utmost degree which was
+consistent with efficient workmanship, the tapping of the hammer on the
+soles of the boots in hand.
+
+Sorrowing without bitterness, "Cobbler" Horn had no rebellious thoughts.
+He did not think himself ill-used, or ask petulantly what he had done that
+such trouble should come to him. His case was very sad. Five years ago he
+had married a beautiful young Christian girl. Twelve months later she had
+borne their little dark-eyed daughter Marian. Two years thereafter a baby
+boy had come and gone in a day; and, from that time, the mother had
+drooped and faded, day by day, until, at length, the end was close at
+hand. But "Cobbler" Horn was a Christian, and did not repine.
+
+His task was finished at last, and, with a sigh of relief, he rose to his
+feet. In that moment, he became aware of a tiny figure, standing in the
+open doorway of the kitchen. It was that of a little four-year-old girl,
+clad in a ruby-coloured dress, which matched to perfection her dark skin
+and black hair. Her crimson cheeks were dashed with tears, and she looked
+like a damask rose just sprinkled by a shower of rain. The light in her
+dark eyes, which glistened with intense excitement beneath her jet-black
+hair, indicated that her tears were those of indignation rather than
+grief. How long she had been standing there he could not tell; but, as
+soon as she saw that her father had finished his work, little Marian--for
+she it was--darted forward, and throwing her arms around his neck, with a
+sob, let her small dusky head fall upon the polished breast-piece of his
+leathern apron.
+
+"What's amiss with daddy's poppet?" asked the father tenderly, as he
+clasped the quivering little form more closely to his breast.
+
+The only answer was a convulsive movement of the little body within his
+arms.
+
+"Come, darling, tell daddy." Strange strugglings continued within the
+strong, encircling arms. This little girl of four had as strong a will as
+her father; and she was conquering her turbulent emotions, that she might
+be able to answer his questions. In a moment she broke away from his
+clasp, and, dashing the tears from her eyes with her little brown hands,
+stood before him with glowing face and quivering lip.
+
+"Me 'ant to see mammy!" she cried--the child was unusually slow of speech
+for her age. "Dey 'on't 'et Ma-an do upstairs."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn took the child upon his knee, and gently stroked the small
+dusky head.
+
+"Mammy is very ill, Marian," he said gently.
+
+"Me 'ant to see mammy," was the emphatic response.
+
+"By and bye, darling," replied the father huskily.
+
+"What 'oo going to c'y for, daddy?" demanded the child, looking up hastily
+into her father's face. "Poor daddy!" she continued, stroking his cheek
+with her small brown hand, "Isn't 'oo very well?"
+
+"I'm not going to cry, darling," said the father, bowing his head over his
+child, and taking into his strong hand the little fingers which still
+rested against his face. "You don't understand, my poor child!"
+
+There followed a brief pause.
+
+"P'ease, daddy," pleaded Marian presently, "Ma-an _must_ see mammy. Dere's
+such pitty fings in se shops, and me 'ants to do with mammy to see dem--in
+morning."
+
+The shops were already displaying their Christmas decorations.
+
+Marian's father gave a great gasp.
+
+"Marian shall see mammy now," he said solemnly, as he rose from his stool
+still holding the child to his breast.
+
+"I'se so glad!" and she gave a little jump in his arms. "Good daddy!"
+
+"But father's little poppet must be quiet, and not talk, or cry."
+
+"No," said Marian with childhood's readiness to make a required promise.
+
+The child had not seen her mother since the previous day, and the altered
+face upon the pillow was so strange to her, that she half turned away, as
+though to hide her face upon her father's shoulder.
+
+The gleaming eyes of the dying mother were turned wistfully towards her
+child.
+
+"See, poppet; look at mammy!" urged the father, turning the little face
+towards the bed.
+
+"Mother's darling!"
+
+There was less change in the mother's voice than in her face; and the next
+moment the little dark head lay on the pillow, and the tiny, nut-brown
+hand was stroking the hollow cheek of the dying woman.
+
+"'oo is my mammy, isn't 'oo?"
+
+"Yes, darling; kiss mammy good-bye," was the heart-breaking answer.
+
+"Me tiss 'oo," said the child, suiting the action to the word; "but not
+dood-bye. Me see 'oo aden. Mammy, se shops is so bootiful! Will 'oo take
+Ma-an to see dem? 'nother day, yes 'nother day."
+
+"Daddy will take Marian to see the shops," said the dying mother, in
+labouring tones. "Mammy going to Jesus. Jesus will take care of mother's
+little lamb."
+
+The mother's lips were pressed in a last lingering kiss upon the face of
+her child, and then Marian was carried downstairs.
+
+When the child was gone, "Cobbler" Horn sat down by the bedside, and took
+and held the wasted hand of his wife. It was evident that the end was
+coming fast; and urgent indeed must be the summons which would draw him
+now from the side of his dying wife. Hour after hour he sat waiting for
+the great change. As the night crept on, he watched the deepening shadow
+on the beloved face, and marked the gathering signs which heralded the
+brief triumph of the king of terrors. There was but little talk. It could
+not be otherwise; for, every moment, utterance became more difficult to
+the dying wife. A simple, and affectionate question and answer passed now
+and then between the two. At infrequent intervals expressions of spiritual
+confidence were uttered by the dying wife; and these were varied with a
+few calmly-spoken directions about the child. From the husband came, now
+and then, words of tender encouragement, mingled with morsels of
+consolation from the good old Book, with, ever and anon, a whispered
+prayer.
+
+The night had almost passed when the end came. The light of the grey
+December dawn was struggling feebly through the lattice, when the young
+wife and mother, whose days had been so few, died, with a smile upon her
+face; and "Cobbler" Horn passed out of the room and down the stairs, a
+wifeless husband and the father of a motherless bairn.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER II.
+
+                            AUNT JEMIMA.
+
+
+It was Aunt Jemima who stepped into the vacant place of Marian's mother.
+She was the only sister of "Cobbler" Horn, and, with the exception of a
+rich uncle in America, from whom they never heard, and a wandering cousin,
+a sad scapegrace, she was her brother's only living relative.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's sister was not the person to whom he would have chosen
+to entrust the care of his motherless child, or the management of his
+house. But he had no choice. He had no other relative whom he could summon
+to his help, and Aunt Jemima was upon him before he had had time to think.
+She was hurt that she had not been called to the death-bed of her
+sister-in-law. But the omission rather increased, than diminished, the
+promptitude with which she wrote to announce that she would come to her
+bereaved brother without delay, and within a week she was duly installed
+as mistress of his house.
+
+"I thought I had better come at once," she said, on the night of her
+arrival. "There's no telling what might have happened else."
+
+"Very good of you, Jemima," was her brother's grave response.
+
+And so it was. The woman meant well. She loved her brother sincerely
+enough; and she had resolved to sacrifice, for his sake and his child's,
+the peace and freedom of her life. But Aunt Jemima's love was wont to
+show itself in unlovely ways. The fact of meaning well, though often a
+good enough excuse for faulty doing, is not a satisfactory substitute
+for the doing of that which is well. Your toleration of the rough
+handling inflicted by the awkwardness of inconsiderate love does not
+counteract its disastrous effects on the susceptible spirit and the
+tender heart, especially if they be those of a child. It is, therefore,
+not strange that, though "Cobbler" Horn loved his sister, he wished she
+had stayed away. She was his elder by ten years; and she lived by herself,
+on the interest of a small sum of money left to her by their father, at
+his death, in a far off village, which was the family home.
+
+"You'll be glad to know, Thomas," she said, "that I've made arrangements
+to stay, now I'm here."
+
+They were sitting by the fire, towards supper-time; and the attention of
+"Cobbler" Horn was divided between what his sister was saying and certain
+sounds of subdued sobbing which proceeded from upstairs. Very early in the
+evening Aunt Jemima had unceremoniously packed Marian off to bed, and the
+tiny child was taking a long time to cry herself to sleep in the cold,
+dark room.
+
+"Never mind the child," said Aunt Jemima sharply, as she observed her
+brother's restless glances towards the staircase door; "on no account must
+she be allowed to have her own way. It was high time she went to bed; and
+she'll soon be fast asleep."
+
+"Yes, Jemima," said the troubled father; "but I wish you had been more
+gentle with the child."
+
+"Fiddlesticks!" was the contemptuous exclamation of Aunt Jemima, as she
+regarded her brother severely through her spectacles; and she added,
+"Since you have wished me to take the oversight of your house and child,
+you must leave me to manage them as I think fit."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn did not venture to remind his sister that he had not
+expressed any such wish. Being so much his senior, and having at least
+as strong a will as his own, Jemima Horn had always maintained a certain
+predominance over her brother, and her ascendancy still prevailed to some
+extent. Making no further reference to the child, he sat listening by
+turns to a prolonged exposition of his sister's views on the management of
+children, and to the continued wailings which floated down from the room
+above, until, at length, as a more piteous cry than all frantically voiced
+his own name, "faver," his self-restraint gave way, and he rose hastily
+and went upstairs.
+
+Aunt Jemima watched him in grim silence to the foot of the stairs.
+
+"Mind," she then called after him, "she is not to come down."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn did not so far set his sister at defiance as to act in flat
+contradiction to her decree. Perhaps he himself did not think it well that
+the child should be brought downstairs again, after once having been put
+to bed. But, if Marian might not come down, Marian's father might stay up.
+As soon as his step sounded on the stairs the child's wailing ceased.
+
+"Zat zoo, daddy?" and the father felt, in the darkness, that two tiny arms
+were stretched out towards him in piteous welcome. Lighting the candle,
+which stood on the table by the window, he sat down on the edge of the
+bed, and, in a moment, Marian's little brown arms were tightly clasped
+about his neck. For a brief space he held the child to his breast; and
+then he gently laid her back upon the pillow, and having tucked the
+bed-clothes well about her, he kissed the little tear-stained face,
+and sat talking in the soothing tones which a loving parent can so well
+employ.
+
+Leaving him there, let us make a somewhat closer inspection of Miss
+Jemima, as she sits in solitary state before the fire downstairs. You
+observe that she is tall, angular, and rigid. Her figure displays the
+uprightness of a telegraph pole, and her face presents a striking
+arrangement of straight lines and sharp points. Her eyes gleam like points
+of fire beneath her positively shaggy brows. Her complexion is dark, and
+her hair, though still abundant, is already turning grey. Her dress is
+plainness itself, and she wears no jewelry, all kinds of which she regards
+with scorn. Her old-fashioned silver watch is a family heirloom, and a
+broad black ribbon is her only watch-guard.
+
+Yet there is nothing of malice or evil intent in Aunt Jemima's soul. She
+is no less strictly upright in character than in form. She cannot tolerate
+wickedness, folly, or weakness of any kind. So far well. The lack of her
+character is the tenderness which is woman's crowning grace. When she is
+kind it is in such a way that one would almost prefer for her to be
+unkind.
+
+Such is Aunt Jemima, as we see her sitting in front of her brother's fire,
+and as we know her to be. Need we wonder that, "Cobbler" Horn's heart
+misgave him as to the probable fate of his little Marian in such rough,
+though righteous, hands?
+
+When "Cobbler" Horn at length came downstairs, his sister was still
+sitting before the fire. On his appearance, she rose from her seat.
+
+"Thomas, I am ashamed of you," she said, as she began, in a masterful way,
+to make preparations for supper. "Such weakness will utterly spoil the
+child. But you were always foolish."
+
+"I am afraid, sister," was the quiet reply, "that we shall hardly agree
+with one another--you and I--on that point."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER III.
+
+             HOW MISS JEMIMA MANAGED HER BROTHER'S HOUSE.
+
+
+On entering upon the management of her brother's house, Aunt Jemima
+laid down two laws, which were, that the house was to be kept spotlessly
+clean, and that everything was always to be in its right place; and her
+severe, and even fierce, insistence on the minute fulfilment of these
+unexceptionable ordinances soon threatened utterly to banish comfort
+from her brother's house.
+
+The restrictions this masterful lady placed upon her patient brother
+constituted a state of absolute tyranny. Lest her immaculate door-step
+should be soiled, she would rarely allow him to enter the house by the
+front-door. She placed a thick mat inside his workshop, at the doorway
+leading into the front-room; and she exercised a lynx-eyed supervision
+to ensure that he always wiped his feet before coming in. She would never
+permit him to go upstairs without putting off his boots. She removed his
+hat from the wall of the front-room, and hung it on a nail in a beam,
+which was just over his head as he sat at work in his shop; and whenever
+she walked, with her policeman-like tread, in the room above, the hat
+would fall down, and strike him on the head. He bore this annoyance for
+a day or two, and then quietly removed hat and nail to one of the walls.
+
+Strong-natured though he was, "Cobbler" Horn felt it no weakness to yield
+to his sister in trifles; and he bore with exhaustless patience such
+vexations as she inflicted on him alone. But he was firm as a rock where
+the comfort of any one else was concerned. It was beautiful to see his
+meek submission to every restriction which she laid upon him; it was
+sublime to behold his stern resistance to such harsh requirements as she
+proposed to lay upon others.
+
+More than one battle was fought between the brother and sister on this
+latter point. But it was on Marian's account that the contention was most
+frequent and severe. Sad to say, the coming of Aunt Jemima seemed likely
+to drive all happiness from the lot of the hapless child. Rigid and cruel
+rules were laid upon the tiny mite. Requirements were made, and enforced,
+which bewildered and terrified the little thing beyond degree. She was
+made to go to bed and get up at preternaturally early hours; and her
+employment during the day was mapped out in obedience to similarly
+senseless rules. Her playthings, which had all been swept into a drawer
+and placed under lock and key, were handed out by Aunt Jemima, one at a
+time, at the infrequent intervals, during which, for brief periods, and
+under strict supervision, the child was permitted to play. Much of the day
+was occupied with the doing of a variety of tasks few of which were really
+within the compass of her childish powers. Aunt Jemima herself undertook
+to impart to Marian elementary instruction in reading, writing, and
+kindred acts. Occasionally also the child was taken out by her grim
+relative for a stately walk, during which, however, she was not permitted,
+on any account, to linger in front of a shop window, or stray from Aunt
+Jemima's side. And then, in the evening, after their early tea, while Aunt
+Jemima sat at her work at the table, the poor little infant was perched on
+a chair before the fire, and there required to sit till her bed-time, with
+her legs dangling till they ached again, while the tiny head became so
+heavy that it nodded this way and that in unconquerable drowsiness, and,
+on more occasions than one, the child rolled over and fell to the floor,
+like a ball.
+
+One lesson which Aunt Jemima took infinite pains to lodge in Marian's
+dusky little head was that she must never speak unless she was first
+spoken to; and if, in the exuberance of child-nature, she transgressed
+this rule, especially at meal-times, Aunt Jemima's mouth would open like a
+pair of nut-crackers, and she would give utterance to a succession of such
+snappish chidings, that Marian would almost be afraid she was going to be
+swallowed up. A hundred times a day the child incurred the righteous ire
+of this cast-iron aunt. From morning to night the little thing was
+worried almost out of her life by the grim governess of her father's
+house; and Aunt Jemima even haunted her dreams.
+
+Marian had one propensity which Aunt Jemima early set herself to repress.
+The child was gifted with an innate love of rambling. More than once, when
+very young indeed, she had wandered far away from home, and her father
+and mother had thought her lost. But she had always, as by an unerring
+instinct, found her way back. This propensity it was, indeed, necessary to
+restrain; but Aunt Jemima adopted measures for the purpose which were the
+sternest of the stern. She issued a decree that Marian was never to leave
+the house, except when accompanied by either her father or Miss Jemima
+herself. In order that the object of this restriction might be effectually
+secured, it became necessary that Miss Jemima should take the child with
+her on almost every occasion when she herself went out. These events were
+intensely dreaded by Marian; and she would shrink into a corner of the
+room when she observed Aunt Jemima making preparations for leaving the
+house. But she made no actual show of reluctance; and it would be
+difficult to tell whether she was the more afraid of going out with
+Aunt Jemima, or of letting Aunt Jemima see that she was afraid.
+
+It was a terrible time for the poor child. On every side she was checked,
+frowned upon, and kept down. If she was betrayed into the utterance of a
+merry word she was snapped at as though she had said something bad; and
+ebullitions of childish spirits were checked again and again, until their
+occurrence became rare. And yet this woman thought herself a Christian,
+and believed that, in subjecting to a system of such complicated tyranny
+the bright little child who had been committed to her charge, she was
+beginning to train the hapless mite in the way she should go.
+
+It was a very simple circumstance which first indicated to "Cobbler" Horn
+the kind of training his child was beginning to receive. Happening to go,
+one morning, into the living-room, he found that his sister had gone out,
+and, for once, left Marian a prisoner in the house. The child was seated
+on a chair, with her chubby legs hanging wearily down, and a woe-begone
+expression on her face. Taking courage from the absence of her dreadful
+aunt, Marian asked her father to give her some of her toys, and to let her
+play. Finding, to his surprise, on questioning the child, that she had
+been forbidden to touch her playthings without express permission, and
+that they were put away in the drawer, he readily gave her such of them as
+she desired, and crowned her happiness by remaining to play with her till
+Aunt Jemima returned.
+
+This incident created a feeling of uneasiness in the father's mind; but it
+was a circumstance of another kind which fully revealed to him the actual
+state of things. Passing through the room one evening when Marian was on
+the point of going to bed, he paused to listen to the evening prayer of
+his child. She knelt, in her little night-clothes, at Aunt Jemima's knee.
+The father sighed, as he waited for the sound of the simple words which
+had been learnt at the dictation of the tender mother-voice which was now
+for ever still. What, then, were his astonishment and pain when Marian,
+instead of repeating her mother's prayer, entered upon the recital of a
+string of theological declarations which Aunt Jemima dictated to her one
+by one!
+
+"Cobbler" Horn strode forward, and laid a strong repressive hand upon
+the child; and Aunt Jemima will never forget the flash of his eye and the
+stern tones of his voice, as he demanded that Marian should be permitted
+to pray her mother's prayer.
+
+After this he noticed frequent signs of the tyranny of which Marian was
+the victim, and interposed at many points. But it was only in part that
+he was able to counteract the cruel discipline to which Aunt Jemima was
+subjecting his child.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER IV.
+
+                           "ME LUN AWAY."
+
+
+Winter passed drearily away--a wet one, as it happened, with never once
+the white gleam of snow, and scarcely a touch of the healthy sting of
+frost. "Cobbler" Horn had not ceased to sorrow for his dead wife; and,
+when the spring was well advanced, there befell him another, and scarcely
+less severe bereavement, though of a different kind.
+
+There had been no improvement in the relations between Aunt Jemima and the
+child. Aunt Jemima still maintained the harsh system of discipline which
+she had adopted at first; and the result was that the child had been led
+to regard her father's sister with as near an approach to hatred as was
+possible to her loving little heart. Marian's heart was big, almost to
+bursting, with concealed sorrow. Like her father, young as she was, she
+found it easier to bear grief than to tell it out. She did not want her
+father to know how miserable she was. Her childish soul was filled with
+bitterness, and her young life was being spoiled. Such of her pleasures as
+had not been taken from her were divested of all their charm. Almost her
+sole remaining joy was to snatch, now and then, a bit of clandestine love
+with her father, when, on some rare occasion, Aunt Jemima happened to be
+out of the way.
+
+Recognising the uselessness of resisting a hand so hard and strong as that
+of Aunt Jemima, Marian had lately meditated another way of escape from the
+wretchedness of her lot. She contemplated an expedient which occurs more
+readily than any other to the youthful victim of oppression, but which had
+probably never before presented itself to the mind of a child so young.
+The expedient is one, indeed, which seldom effects its purpose, and is
+usually productive of a plentiful crop of troubles. But Marian had no
+fear. She was full of one thought. She could not any longer endure Aunt
+Jemima; and she must make it impossible for Aunt Jemima to scold, or
+smack, or restrain her any more. She must escape, without delay, from the
+sound of Aunt Jemima's harsh voice, and place herself beyond the reach of
+Aunt Jemima's rough hand. True, there was her father. How could she leave
+him? This would have been impossible to her if she had realised what she
+was about to do. But it seemed so easy and pleasant to slip out into the
+bright spring morning, and trot away into the mysterious and delightful
+country, which lay outside the town. Nor did she dream of the hardships
+and danger which might be awaiting her out in the strange, unloving
+world, into which she had so lightly resolved to launch her little life.
+So it came to pass that, on a certain bright May morning, Marian took her
+opportunity, and went out into the world.
+
+Marian's opportunity was furnished by the fact that Aunt Jemima had gone
+out, leaving Marian at home, and, for once, had forgotten to lock the
+door. As soon as Aunt Jemima's back was turned, the child huddled her
+little pink print sun-bonnet upon her small black head, and, with one
+furtive glance over her shoulder towards her father's workshop, whence she
+could distinctly hear the quick "tap-tap" of his hammer, she opened the
+front-door, and slipped into the street. Her first action was to shoot a
+keen glance, from her sharp little eyes, to right and left. There was no
+one to be seen but one of the funny little twin men who kept a huckster's
+shop across the way. This little man was a great friend of Marian's, and
+he called to her now in joyous tones, as he stood in the doorway of his
+shop, to come over and see what he had in his pocket. Marian gave a
+decided shake of her head.
+
+"No; Ma-an going away. Tum another time."
+
+Then, murmuring to herself, "Me lun away," she set off down the street,
+with a defiant swagger of her small person, and her bonnet-strings
+streaming out upon the wind; and the little huckster watched her with
+an admiring gaze, little thinking into what wilds of sorrow those tiny
+twinkling feet had set off to run.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER V.
+
+                   "THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN."
+
+
+The name of the little hucksters across the way was Dudgeon. As to age,
+they were on the verge of thirty--Tommy having entered the world a few
+minutes previous to John. They were so much alike that it was difficult to
+distinguish them when apart. John was just a shade lighter in complexion
+than Tommy, and Tommy overtopped his brother by something like an inch.
+The twins were so small as to seem insignificant; but their meek
+amiability was an efficient set off against their physical deficiencies.
+If there was any measure of self-assertiveness between them, it belonged
+chiefly to Tommy. Though both the little men were kind to Marian, Tommy
+was her especial friend; and it was he who had watched her as she ran
+away. The twins were both bachelors; though John had kept company for
+several years with a young woman of exemplary patience. Tommy, who was
+a sincere Christian, was a member of the church to which "Cobbler" Horn
+belonged. John occasionally attended the services at the same place, but
+could not be persuaded to join the church.
+
+The close resemblance between the brothers was the cause of many ludicrous
+mistakes. In their boyhood, they had frequently been blamed for each
+other's faults and misdeeds; and it was characteristic of Tommy that he
+had quietly suffered more than one caning which his brother ought to have
+received. But, when it had been proposed to administer to him a dose of
+medicine which had been prescribed for John, he had quietly protested and
+explained the mistake.
+
+When the twins grew up, similar blunders continued to occur; and the
+little men had frequent opportunities of unlawfully profiting by the
+errors in which their close resemblance to each other often involved their
+friends. But, to the credit of these worthy little men be it said, they
+conscientiously declined to avail themselves of the opportunities of
+illegitimate benefit thus thrown in their way.
+
+It was a curious sight to see these two queer little men standing,
+sitting, or walking, side by side. The minister of their chapel would
+often speak of the first occasion on which he had seen John Dudgeon. It
+was one Sunday evening, shortly after he had assumed the pastorate of
+the church. The service had just commenced, and the eye of the minister
+happened to rest, for a moment, on the humble figure of Tommy Dudgeon,
+who was, as usual, in his place. The minister had already made the
+acquaintance of Tommy, but of the existence of John he was not yet aware.
+What, then, was his astonishment, the next moment, to see another Tommy
+Dudgeon, as it seemed, come in and take his place beside the one already
+in the pew! For a breathing space the new pastor imagined himself the
+victim of an optical illusion; and then he rubbed his eyes, and concluded
+that Tommy Dudgeon had a twin brother, and that this was he.
+
+It was not surprising that these two peculiar little men should have
+excited the amusement of those to whom they were known. Their amazing and
+almost indistinguishable resemblance to each other, and the consequent
+unconscious mutual mimicry of tone and gesture which prevailed between
+them, while they were a source of frequent perplexity, were also
+irresistibly provocative of mirth. What wonder that those who saw the
+little hucksters for the first time should have felt strongly inclined to
+regard them in a comic light; or that the mere mention of their names
+should have unfailingly brought a smile to the faces of those to whom
+their peculiarities were known!
+
+The boys of the Grammar School, which was situated in a neighbouring
+street, had, from time immemorial, furnished Tommy and John Dudgeon with
+an epithet accommodated from classic lore, and dubbed them, "the _little_
+Twin Brethren."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER VI.
+
+                        THE FATHER'S QUEST.
+
+
+When Aunt Jemima came home, she was surprised, in no small degree, at the
+absence of Marian. With gathering indignation she called up the stairs,
+then searched the house, and finally presented herself before her brother,
+who was quite alone in his workshop, and sat calmly working on his stool.
+
+"Then she is not here?"
+
+"Who? Marian?" responded "Cobbler" Horn in no accent of concern, looking
+up for a moment from his work. "No, I thought she was with you."
+
+"No; I left her in the room for a moment, and now she is nowhere to be
+found."
+
+There seemed to "Cobbler" Horn no reason for alarm, and, as his sister
+returned to the kitchen, he quietly went on with his work. But Aunt
+Jemima's mind was ill at ease. Once more she searched the house, and
+called and called again. There was no response, and the silence which
+followed was profound and ominous. Swiftly she passed, with growing
+alarm, through her brother's workshop, and out into the yard. A glance
+around, and then a closer search; but still no sign of the missing child.
+The perturbed woman re-entered her brother's presence, and stood before
+him, erect and rigid, and with outstretched hands.
+
+"The child's gone!" was her gloomy exclamation.
+
+"Gone!" echoed "Cobbler" Horn blankly, looking up. "Where?"
+
+"I don't know; but she's gone quite away, and may never come back."
+
+Then "Cobbler" Horn perceived that his sister was alarmed; and,
+notwithstanding the occasion, he was comforted by the unwonted tenderness
+she had expressed. As for Marian, he knew her for a born rambler; and it
+was not the first time she had strayed from home.
+
+"Perhaps," he said placidly, "she has gone to the little shop over the
+way."
+
+Then he resumed his work, as though he had simply told his sister where
+she would be likely to find her spectacles.
+
+Aunt Jemima took the hint, as a drowning person catches at a straw. She
+made her way to the front-door, and having opened it, was on the point of
+crossing the street, when Tommy Dudgeon emerged from the shop, and came
+over towards where she stood.
+
+"Good morning, ma-am," he said, halting at a respectful distance. "You are
+looking for little miss?"
+
+"Well," snapped Aunt Jemima, "and if I am, what then? Do you know where
+she is?"
+
+"No, ma-am; but I saw her go away."
+
+Miss Jemima seized the arm of the little man with an iron grip.
+
+"Man! you saw her go away, and you let her go?"
+
+With difficulty Tommy freed his arm.
+
+"Well, ma-am, perhaps I ought----"
+
+"Of course you ought," rapped out the lady, sharply. "You must be a
+gabey."
+
+"No doubt, ma-am. But little miss will come back. She knows her way about.
+She will be home to dinner."
+
+Having spoken, Tommy was turning to recross the street.
+
+"Stop, man!"
+
+Tommy stopped and faced around once more.
+
+"Which way did she go?"
+
+"That way, ma-am," replied Tommy, pointing along the street, to Aunt
+Jemima's left-hand, and his own right.
+
+The troubled lady instantly marched, in the direction indicated, to the
+end of the street; but, finding that five ways branched off therefrom, she
+returned baffled to her brother's house, and sought his presence once
+more.
+
+"Thomas," she cried, almost fiercely, "the child has certainly run away!"
+
+Still "Cobbler" Horn was not alarmed.
+
+"Well," he said calmly, "never mind, Jemima. She has a habit of going off
+by herself. She knows her way about, and will not stray far. She will be
+back by dinner-time, no doubt."
+
+Though by no means satisfied, Miss Jemima was fain to accept this view of
+the case for the time. With a troubled mind, she resumed her suspended
+domestic duties. Unlikely as it might seem, she could not banish the dread
+that Marian had actually run away; and, as the morning passed, the fear
+grew stronger and stronger in the troubled lady's breast that she would
+see her little niece no more. Accordingly when dinner-time arrived, Aunt
+Jemima was not surprised that Marian did not appear. The dinner consisted
+of Irish stew--Marian's favourite dish. On the stroke of twelve it was
+smoking on the table. For the twentieth time the perturbed lady went to
+the door, and gazed wistfully up and down the street. Then, with a sigh,
+she re-entered the house, and called her brother to dinner.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn, feeling sure that Marian would soon return, had dismissed
+the fact of her disappearance from his mind; and when, on coming in to
+dinner, he found that she was still absent, he was taken by surprise.
+
+In reply to his inquiry, Aunt Jemima jerked out the opinion that the child
+would not come back at all.
+
+"Why shouldn't she?" he asked. "I've known her stay away longer than this,
+and there's no occasion for alarm."
+
+So saying, he addressed himself to his dinner with his usual gusto; but
+Miss Jemima had no appetite, and the show of eating that she made was but
+a poor pretence.
+
+"Don't be so much alarmed, Jemima," said her brother, making progress with
+his dinner. "I've no doubt the child is amongst her friends. By and bye
+I'll go out and hunt her up."
+
+He still had no fear that his little daughter would not soon return. He
+accordingly finished his dinner with his usual deliberation; and it was
+not until he had completed one or two urgent pieces of work, that he, at
+last, put on his hat and coat, and taking his stout blackthorn stick, set
+out in search of his missing child.
+
+All the weary afternoon, he went from house to house, amongst friends and
+friendly neighbours; but no one had seen Marian, or knew anything as to
+her whereabouts. Every now and then he returned home, to see if the child
+had come back. But each time he found only Aunt Jemima, sitting before the
+fire like an image of grim despair. She would look up with fierce
+eagerness, on his entrance, and drop her gaze again with a gasp when she
+saw that he was alone.
+
+Long before the afternoon was over the father's unconcern had given place
+to serious alarm. He was not greatly surprised that he had failed to find
+Marian in the house of any of their friends; but he wondered that she had
+not yet come home of her own accord. While he would not, even now, believe
+that Marian had run away, he was compelled to admit that she was lost.
+But what was that? He had turned once more towards home, and had entered
+his own street, and there was Marian, playing with some other children, on
+the pavement, just in front. Her back was towards him, as she bent down
+over her play. But there was no mistaking that thick, night-black hair,
+and the little plump brown legs which peeped out beneath the small frock.
+With the promptitude of absolute certainty, he put out his strong hands
+and lifted the child from the ground. Then he uttered a cry. It was not
+Marian after all! He put her down--he almost let her drop, and the
+startled child began to cry. "Cobbler" Horn hastily pushed a penny into
+her hand, and strode on. He staggered like one who has received a blow.
+It seemed almost as if he had actually had his little one in his arms,
+and she had slipped away again.
+
+When he reached home, his sister was still sitting in grim silence,
+before the now fireless grate. On her brother's entrance, she looked
+up as aforetime. "Cobbler" Horn sank despondently into a chair.
+
+"Nowhere to be found!" he said, with a deep sigh.
+
+"We must have the tea ready," he added, as though at the dictate of a
+sudden thought.
+
+"Ah, you are tired, and hungry."
+
+Aunt Jemima hesitated on the last word. Could her brother be hungry? She
+thought she would never wish to taste food again.
+
+"No," he said quickly; "but Marian will want her tea. Put the dinner away.
+It is cold, Jemima."
+
+"I put her plate in the oven," said Aunt Jemima, in a hollow voice, as she
+rose from her seat.
+
+"Ah!" gasped the father. The little plate had become hot and cold again,
+and its contents were quite dried up. Aunt Jemima put the plate upon the
+oven-top; and then turned, and looked conscience-stricken into her
+brother's face. Severe towards herself, as towards others, she
+unflinchingly acknowledged her great fault.
+
+"Brother, your child is gone; and I have driven her away."
+
+She lifted her hands on either side of her head, and gently swayed herself
+to and fro once--a grim gesture of despair.
+
+"I do not ask you to forgive me. It is not to be expected of you--unless
+she comes back again. If she does not, I shall never forgive myself."
+
+"Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, rising from his seat, and placing his hand
+lightly on her shoulder, "You are too severe with yourself. That the child
+is lost is evident enough; but surely she may be found! I will go to the
+police authorities: they will help us."
+
+He turned to the door, but paused with his hand on the latch.
+
+"Jemima," he said, gently, "you must not talk about my not forgiving you.
+I would try to forgive my greatest enemy, much more my own sister, who has
+but done what she believed to be best."
+
+The authorities at the police-station did what they could. Messages were
+sent to every police centre in the town; and very soon every policeman on
+his beat was on the look-out for the missing child. At the same time, an
+officer was told off to accompany the anxious father on a personal search
+for his little girl. First of all, they visited the casual ward at the
+workhouse, and astonished its motley and dilapidated occupants by waking
+them to ask if they had fallen in with a strayed child on any of the roads
+by which they had severally approached the town. When they had recovered
+from their first alarm beneath the gleam of the policeman's bulls-eye,
+these waifs of humanity, one and all, declared their inability to supply
+the desired information. The officer next conducted his companion into the
+courts and bye-ways of the town. Many a den of infamy was filled with a
+quiver of alarm, and many a haunt of poverty was made to uncover its
+wretchedness before the horrified gaze of "Cobbler" Horn. But the missing
+child was not in any of these. Next they went a little way out on one or
+two of the country roads. But here all was dark: and they soon retraced
+their steps.
+
+Having ascertained that nothing had been heard at the police-station of
+his child, "Cobbler" Horn at length turned homeward, in the early morning,
+with a weary heart. Miss Jemima was still sitting where he had left her,
+and he sadly shook his head in response to the appeal of her dark hollow
+eyes. During the hour or so which remained before dawn, "Cobbler" Horn
+restlessly paced the house, pausing, now and then, to open the front-door
+and step out into the street, that he might listen for the returning
+patter of the two little feet that had wandered away.
+
+Before it was fairly light, he left his sister, still distraught and rigid
+in her chair, and went into the streets once more. What could he do which
+he had not already done? From the first his heart had turned to God in
+prayer, and this seemed now his sole remaining resource. Yes, he could
+still pray; and, as he did so now, his belief grew stronger and stronger
+that, if not now, yet sometime, he would surely find his child again.
+
+Not many streets from his own he met a woman whom he knew. She lived, with
+her husband, in a solitary cottage on the London Road--the road into which
+"Cobbler" Horn's street directly led, and she was astir thus early, she
+explained, to catch the first train to a place some miles away. But what
+had brought Mr. Horn out so soon? "Cobbler" Horn told his sorrowful story,
+and the woman gave a sudden start.
+
+"Why," she said, "that reminds me. I saw the child yesterday morning. She
+passed our house, trotting at a great rate. It was washing day, and,
+besides, I had my husband's dinner in the oven, or I think I should have
+gone after her."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn regarded the woman with strange, wide-open eyes.
+
+"If you had only stopped her!" he cried. "But of course you didn't know."
+
+With that, he left the woman standing in the street, and hurried away.
+Very soon he was walking swiftly along the London Road. The one thought in
+his mind was that he was on the track of his child at last. He passed the
+wayside cottage where the woman lived who had seen Marian go by, and went
+on until, moved by a sudden impulse, he paused to rest his arms upon the
+top of a five-barred gate, and look upon the field into which it led. Then
+he uttered a cry, and, tearing open the gate, strode into the field. Lying
+amidst the grass was a little shoe. It was one of Marian's without a
+doubt. Had he not made it himself? He picked it up and hid it away in the
+pocket of his coat. Marian had evidently wandered that way, and was lost
+in the large wood which lay on the other side of the field. To reach the
+wood was the work of a few moments. Plunging amongst the trees, he soon
+came upon a pool, near the margin of which were some prostrate tree
+trunks. Near one of these the ground was littered with shreds of what
+might have been articles of clothing; and amongst them was a long strip of
+print, which had a familiar look. He picked it up and examined it closely.
+Then the truth flashed upon him. It was one of the strings of Marian's
+sun-bonnet! Holding it loosely between his finger and thumb, he gazed upon
+the foul green waters of the pond. Did they cover the body of his child?
+He had no further thought of searching the wood. With a shudder he turned
+away, and hurried home.
+
+Aunt Jemima had bestirred herself, and was moving listlessly about the
+house.
+
+"Jemima, do you know this?" She took the strip of print into her hand.
+
+"Yes," she said, "it is----"
+
+He finished her sentence. "----the string of her bonnet."
+
+"Yes."
+
+He told her where he had found it, and showed her the shoe.
+
+The pond was dragged, but nothing was discovered. They searched the wood,
+and scoured the country for miles around; but they came upon no further
+trace of the missing child.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER VII.
+
+                    WHAT HAD BECOME OF THE CHILD?
+
+
+When Marian left her father's house, she had but one idea in her mind. Her
+sole desire was to escape from Aunt Jemima; and it seemed to her that the
+most effectual method of doing so was to get into the country as fast as
+she could. It was not likely, she thought, that there would be any Aunt
+Jemimas in so pleasant a region as she had always understood the country
+to be. She knew vaguely which direction to take, and supposed that if she
+kept on long enough, she would ultimately reach her destination. What she
+would do when she got there she had not paused to think. At present she
+was simply thrilling with the sweet consciousness of liberty, and enjoying
+her scamper in the fresh spring morning air. It was not likely, perhaps,
+that Marian would run right away from home, and stay away. Like any other
+little chick, she would make for home at roosting time, if hunger did not
+constrain her to turn her steps thitherward at a much earlier hour.
+
+Marian's surmise that the way she had taken led into the country proved to
+be correct. The street widened out into a road, the houses became fewer
+and brighter till they ceased altogether; and the child realized, with a
+little tremor, that, at last, she was out in the country all alone. Her
+feeling was one of timid joy. All around her were the green fields and
+waving trees; and the only house in sight was a little white-washed
+cottage far on in front. It cost Marian an effort to pass a man with a
+coal cart who presently loomed in view; but when she found that he
+slouched by without taking any notice of her, she took heart again and
+tripped blithely on.
+
+Presently she found herself opposite to the little white-washed cottage;
+and she remembered that she had been there once or twice with her father.
+She would have been better pleased, just now, if the cottage had been on
+some other road. How could she pass it without being seen? This was
+plainly impossible; for there was the woman of the house--being the same
+whom Marian's father met the following morning--hanging out the clothes in
+the garden, close to the hedge. Marian trotted on, pretending not to know
+that there was any one near. Then she felt hot all over, as she became
+aware the woman had seen her, and was calling across the road. But she
+just gave her dusky little head a determined shake, and pursued her way.
+The woman, being weighted with an accumulation of domestic cares, without
+a second thought, and much to her subsequent regret, let the little
+runaway go by.
+
+When Marian had left the cottage out of sight behind, she began to feel
+lonely, and to be very much afraid. There was not a human being in sight,
+except herself; and the only dwelling she could see was a farm-house,
+perched on the top of a hill, away across the fields. She slackened her
+pace, and looked furtively around. Then she went on more quickly again;
+but, in a few moments, a slight bend in the road brought before her a
+sight at which she stopped short and uttered a cry of alarm. An
+exceedingly ill-favoured man, and a no more prepossessing woman, were
+sitting upon the bank, by the road-side, discussing a dinner of broken
+victuals. They were thorough-going tramps, of middle age. Marian would
+have fled; but their evil eyes held her to the spot.
+
+"What a pretty little lady!" said the man, holding out a very dirty hand.
+"Come here, missy!"
+
+But Marian shrank back with a smothered cry.
+
+"I've finished my dinner, I have," said the man, getting up.
+
+"So have I," echoed the woman, following his example; "and we'll go for
+a walk with little miss."
+
+"What a precious lonely road!" she remarked, when she had glanced this way
+and that, to make sure that no prying eyes were near. "Catch hold o' the
+little 'un, Jake; and we'll take a stroll in the fields."
+
+There was a perfect understanding between this precious pair; and Marian
+was promptly lifted over a five-barred gate, and led by the woman across
+a grass field, towards a wood on the other side, while the man followed
+stolidly in the rear. A few paces from the gate Marian's shoe came off;
+but she was as much too frightened to say anything about it, as she was to
+ask any questions of her captors, or to resist their will. Having reached
+the wood, they plunged into its recesses, and at length halted before a
+large pool, at the edge of which there lay upon the ground the trunks of
+some trees which had been cut down. Taking her seat on one of these, the
+woman drew Marian to her side, and, while the man stood by with an evil
+smile, proceeded to strip off some of the child's clothes. Marian began to
+cry, but was silenced with a rough shake and a threat of being thrown into
+the pond. Having divested the child of most of her garments, the woman
+took from a dirty bundle which she carried a draggled grey wool shawl,
+which she wrapped tightly, crosswise, around Marian's body, and tied in
+a hard knot behind her back.
+
+Perceiving that Marian had lost one of her shoes, the hag sent her
+husband back to look for it, while she proceeded with the metamorphosis
+of the hapless infant who had fallen into her hands. She smeared the
+little face with muddy water from the margin of the pool; she jerked out
+the semi-circular comb which held back Marian's cloud of dusky hair, and
+let the thick locks fall in disorder about her head and face; she dragged
+the little sun bonnet in the green slime at the margin of the pool, and,
+on pretence of tying it on the child's head, wrenched off one of the
+strings, which she heedlessly left lying on the ground.
+
+At this point the man returned without the missing shoe.
+
+"It doesn't matter," said his spouse. "Lend me your knife."
+
+She then proceeded to cut and slash Marian's remaining shoe in a most
+remorseless manner, after which she replaced it on the child's foot, and
+wrapped around the other foot a piece of dirty rag.
+
+"Come now," said the woman, having rolled up Marian's clothes with the
+rubbish in her bundle; "we wanted a little girl, and you'll just do." So
+saying, she took tight hold of the child's hand.
+
+"I want my daddy!" cried Marian, finding her voice at last.
+
+"That's your daddy now," said the woman, pointing to the man: "and I'm
+your mammy. Come along!" and, with the word, she set off at a vigorous
+pace, dragging the child, and, followed heavily by her husband, through
+the wood, and across the field, and then out upon the road, away and away,
+with their backs turned towards Marian's home.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER VIII.
+
+                    THE SHOEMAKER BECOMES "GOLDEN."
+
+
+One morning, about twelve years after the disappearance of Marian, there
+came to her father a great, and almost overwhelming surprise.
+
+It is not necessary to dwell on the manner in which the twelve years had
+passed. Nothing had ever been heard of Marian. The most thorough search
+was made, but without result; and at length, the stricken father was
+constrained to accept the conviction that his child was indeed gone from
+him into the great world, and, bowing his head in the presence of his
+God, he covered his bruised heart with the fair sheet of a dignified
+self-control, and settled down to his work again, like a man and a
+Christian.
+
+Yet he did not cease inwardly to grieve. If his child had gone to her dead
+mother, there would have been strong consolation, and, perhaps, in time,
+contentment might have come. But she was gone, not to her mother, but out
+into the cold, pitiless world; and his imagination dwelt grimly on the
+nameless miseries into which she might fall.
+
+Miss Jemima still kept her brother's house; but she had been greatly
+softened by her self-accusing grief. And now, as the brother and sister
+sat at breakfast one autumn morning, came the surprise of which we speak.
+It came in the form of a letter, which, before opening it, "Cobbler" Horn
+regarded, for some moments, with a dubious air. The arrival of a letter at
+his house was a rare event; and but for the fact that the missive bore his
+name and address, he would have thought there was a mistake, and, even
+now, the addition of the sign, "Esq." to his name left the matter in some
+doubt. The stoutness of the blue envelope, and the bold character of the
+handwriting, gave the packet a business-like look. For a moment, "Cobbler"
+Horn thought of his lost child. A slight circumstance was sufficient, even
+yet, to re-awaken his hopes; and he still clung to the conviction that,
+some day, his child would return. The letter, however, contained no
+reference to the great sorrow of his life; and, indeed, its contents were
+such that he forgot, for the time being, Marian, and everything else. He
+looked up with a gasp of astonishment; and then, turning his attention
+again to the letter, deliberately read it through, and, when he had
+finished, calmly handed it to his sister. She read a few words, and
+broke off with a cry.
+
+"Thomas!"
+
+"Yes, Jemima, I am a rich man, it seems. Read on, and say what you think;"
+and "Cobbler" Horn rose from his seat, and went quietly into his workshop.
+
+Miss Jemima devoured her brother's letter with greedy eyes. It was from
+a firm of London lawyers, and contained a brief announcement that the
+rich uncle of "Cobbler" Horn had died, in America, without a will; that
+"Cobbler" Horn was the lawful owner of all his wealth; and that they, the
+lawyers, awaited "Cobbler" Horn's commands. Would he call upon them at
+their office in London, or should they attend him at his private, or any
+other, address? In the meantime, he would oblige by drawing upon them for
+any amount of money he might require.
+
+With what breath she had left Miss Jemima hurried into her brother's
+workshop.
+
+"Thomas," she demanded, flourishing the letter in his face, "what are you
+going to do?"
+
+"Think," he answered concisely, without looking up from the hob-nailed
+boot between his knees, "and pray, and get on with my work."
+
+"But this letter requires an answer! And," with a glance of disgust around
+the rough shop with its signs of toil, "you are a rich man now, Thomas."
+
+"That," was the quiet reply, "does not alter the fact that I have
+half-a-dozen pairs of boots to mend, and two of them are promised for
+dinner-time. Leave me, now, Jemima, and we'll talk the matter over this
+evening. I don't suppose the gentlemen will be in a hurry."
+
+Miss Jemima withdrew as she was bidden, thinking that there was one
+gentleman, at least, who was not in a hurry.
+
+All day long "Cobbler" Horn quietly worked on in the usual way. He did
+this partly because he loved his work and was loath to give it up, partly
+because he had so much work on hand, and partly that he might think and
+pray, which he could always do best on his cobbler's stool. He found it
+difficult to realize what had taken place; but when, at last, he fairly
+grasped the fact that he was now a rich man, mingled feelings of joy
+and dread filled his breast. There was little taint of selfishness in
+"Cobbler" Horn's joy. It was no gratification to him to be relieved of
+the necessity to work. Nor was he fascinated with the prospect of luxury.
+His joy arose chiefly from the thought of the amount of good he would now
+be able to do. It was impossible that he should form anything like an
+adequate conception of the vast power for good which had been placed in
+his hands. The boundless ability to benefit his fellowmen with which he
+had been so suddenly endowed could not be realized in the first moments
+of his great surprise, yet he perceived faint glimmerings of possibilities
+of benevolence beyond his largest-hearted dreams.
+
+Thoughts of his long-lost child stole over him ever and anon. If she had
+been left to him, he would have rejoiced in his good fortune the more, on
+her account. But she was gone.
+
+The joy of "Cobbler" Horn was chastened by a solemn dread. A great
+responsibility had been laid upon him from which he would have infinitely
+rather been free. He prayed, with trembling, that he might prove worthy of
+so great a trust.
+
+At dinner-time Miss Jemima questioned her brother as to his intentions.
+His answers were brief and indefinite. The matter could not be settled in
+a moment. In the evening they would talk things over, and decide what to
+do.
+
+The evening came, and brother and sister sat before the fire.
+
+"Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, "I must accept this great responsibility."
+
+"You surely did not think of doing anything else?" exclaimed the startled
+lady.
+
+"Well--yes--I did. The burden seemed so great that, for a time, I shrank.
+But the Lord has shown me my duty. I could have desired that we might have
+remained as we were. But there is much consolation in the thought of all
+the good we shall be able to do; and--well, the will of the Lord be done!"
+
+Miss Jemima was astounded. Her brother had become rich beyond the dreams
+of avarice, and he talked of resignation to the will of God!
+
+"Then you will answer the letter at once?" she said.
+
+"Yes, to-morrow."
+
+"And you will go to London?"
+
+"Yes, next week, I think."
+
+"Next week! Why not this week? It's only Monday."
+
+"There is no need to hurry, Jemima. There might be some mistake. And it's
+as well to give the gentlemen time to prepare."
+
+"Lawyers don't make mistakes," said Miss Jemima: "And as for preparing,
+you may be sure they have done that already."
+
+But nothing could induce "Cobbler" Horn to hasten his movements; and his
+sister was fain to content herself with his promise to write to the
+lawyers the next day, which he duly fulfilled.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER IX.
+
+             A STRANGE CLIENT FOR MESSRS. TONGS AND BALL.
+
+
+The day on which "Cobbler" Horn had proposed to the lawyers to pay them
+his promised visit, was the following Monday, at three o'clock in the
+afternoon, and by return of post there came a letter from the lawyers
+assenting to the arrangement. During the week which intervened, "Cobbler"
+Horn did not permit either himself or his sister to mention to a third
+person the change his circumstances had undergone. Nor did he encourage
+conversation between his sister and himself on the subject of his suddenly
+acquired wealth. And neither his manner of life nor the ordering of his
+house gave any indication of the altered position in which he was placed.
+He did not permit the astounding news he had received to interfere with
+the simple regularity of his life. Miss Jemima might have been inclined
+to introduce into her domestic arrangements some outward and visible sign
+of the altered fortunes of the house; but her brother's will prevailed,
+and all things continued as before. The "golden shoemaker" even continued
+to work at his trade in the usual way. And all the time he was
+thinking--thinking and praying; and many generous purposes, which
+afterwards bore abundant fruit, began to germinate in his mind.
+
+At length the momentous day arrived, and "Cobbler" Horn travelled by
+an early train to London, and, having dined frugally at a decent
+eating-house, presented himself in due time at the offices of Messrs.
+Tongs and Ball. The men of law were both seated in the room into which
+their new client was shown. One of them was a very little, round, rosy,
+middle-aged man, with an expression of countenance so cherubic that no
+one would have suspected him of being a lawyer; and the other was a tall,
+large-boned, parchment-faced personage, of whom almost any degree of
+heartlessness might have been believed. The two lawyers rose and bowed
+as "Cobbler" Horn was shown in.
+
+"Mr. Horn?"
+
+"Thomas Horn, at your service, gentlemen."
+
+"This is Mr. Tongs," said the tall lawyer with a waive of his hand towards
+his rotund partner; "and I am Mr. Ball," he added, drawing himself into an
+attitude which caused him to look much more like a bat than a ball, and
+speaking in a surprisingly agreeable tone. Upon this there was bowing all
+around, and then a pause.
+
+"Pray take a seat, Mr. Horn," besought Mr. Ball.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn modestly obeyed.
+
+"And now, my dear sir," said Mr. Ball, when he himself and his partner had
+also resumed their seats, "let us congratulate you on your good fortune."
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen," said "Cobbler" Horn gravely. "But the
+responsibility is very great. I am only reconciled to it by the thought
+that I shall now be able to do many things that I have long desired to
+do."
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Ball, "it is one of the gratifications of wealth that a man
+is able to follow his bent--whether it be travelling, collecting pictures,
+keeping horses, or what not."
+
+"Of course," echoed Mr. Tongs.
+
+"No, no, gentlemen," dissented "Cobbler" Horn, "I was thinking of the good
+I shall now be able to do. But let us get to business; for I should be
+sorry to waste your time."
+
+Both lawyers protested. Waste their time! They could not be better
+employed!
+
+"You are very kind, gentlemen."
+
+"Not at all," was the candid reply.
+
+"You have come into a very large fortune, Mr. Horn," continued Mr. Ball,
+as he began to untie a bundle of documents. "You are worth very many
+thousands; in fact you are almost a millionaire. I think I am right, Mr.
+Tongs?"
+
+"Yes," assented Mr. Tongs, "oh yes, certainly."
+
+"All the documents are here," resumed Mr. Ball, as he surveyed a sea of
+blue and white paper which covered the table; "and, with your permission,
+Mr. Horn, we will give you an account of their contents."
+
+The lawyer then proceeded to give his client a statement of the
+particulars of the fortune of which he had so unexpectedly become
+possessed.
+
+"We hope, Mr. Horn," he said, in conclusion, "that you may do us the
+honour to continue the confidence reposed in us by your late uncle."
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir?" said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"I ventured to hope that my partner and I might be so fortunate as to
+retain the management of your affairs. I believe you will find that
+since--"
+
+"Oh yes, of course," "Cobbler" Horn hastened to interpose. He had not
+dreamt of making any change. The lawyers bowed their thanks.
+
+"May we now ask," said Mr. Ball, "whether you have any special commands?"
+
+"I think there are one or two requests I should like to make. I have a
+sister, and I believe my uncle left another nephew."
+
+"A sad scrapegrace, my dear sir," interposed Mr. Ball, whose keen legal
+instinct gave him some scent of what was coming next.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn held up his hand.
+
+"Can you tell me, gentlemen, whether there are any other relatives of my
+uncle's who are still alive?"
+
+"We have every reason to believe that there are not."
+
+"Very well, then, I wish my uncle's property to be divided into three
+equal portions. One third I desire to have made over to my sister, and
+another to be reserved for my cousin. The remaining portion I will retain
+myself."
+
+"But, my dear sir," cried Mr. Ball, "the whole of the property is legally
+yours!"
+
+"True," was the quiet reply; "but the law cannot make that right which is
+essentially wrong, and my sister and cousin are as much entitled to my
+uncle's money as I am myself."
+
+Mr. Ball was dumfounded.
+
+"My dear sir," he gasped, "this is very strange!"
+
+But "Cobbler" Horn was firm.
+
+"You will find this scapegrace cousin of mine?" he asked.
+
+The lawyers said they would do their best; and, when some further
+arrangements had been made, with regard to the property, "Cobbler" Horn
+took his departure, leaving his two legal advisers to assure one another,
+as they stood together on the hearthrug, that he was the strangest client
+they had known.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER X.
+
+               MISS JEMIMA IS VERY MUCH ASTONISHED.
+
+
+Miss Jemima Horn was sufficiently curious as to the result of her
+brother's visit to the lawyers, to render her restlessly eager for his
+return. He came back the same night. He had work to finish in the cobbling
+line; and besides he had no fancy for any bed but his own.
+
+After supper, the brother and sister sat down before the fire, for the
+talk to which Miss Jemima had been looking forward all day long.
+
+"Well, brother," she queried, "I suppose you've heard all about it?"
+
+"Yes, in a general way."
+
+"And what is the amount?"
+
+"I'm almost afraid to say. The gentlemen said little short of a million!"
+
+Miss Jemima threw up her hands with a little jerk of wonder, and gazed at
+her brother with incredulous surprise.
+
+"Where is it all?" was her next enquiry.
+
+"Some in England, and some in America."
+
+"It's not all in money, of course?" she asked, in doubtful tones.
+
+"No," said her brother, opening his eyes: "it's in all sorts of ways. A
+great deal of it is in house property. There's one whole village--or
+nearly so."
+
+"A whole village!"
+
+"Yes, the village of Daisy Lane. It was the family home at one time, you
+know."
+
+This was true. The village of Daisy Lane, in a Midland county, had been
+the cradle of the race of Horn. "Cobbler" Horn and his sister, however,
+had never visited the ancestral village.
+
+"Well?" queried Miss Jemima.
+
+"Well, uncle had a fancy for owning the village; so he bought it up bit
+by bit."
+
+"Only to think!" exclaimed Miss Jemima. "And what else is there?"
+
+"Well, there's money in all sorts of forms that I understand very little
+about."
+
+"It's simply wonderful!" declared Miss Jemima.
+
+"And then there's the old hall at Daisy Lane. Uncle meant to end his days
+there; but God has ordered otherwise, you see."
+
+"And you will go to live there?"
+
+"No," answered her brother, slowly; "I think not, Jemima."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Sister, I don't think we should be happy in a grand house--at any rate
+not all at once. But there's something else I want to talk about."
+
+Of late years the ascendancy had completely passed from Miss Jemima to her
+brother; and now, though she would fain have talked further about the old
+family mansion, she submissively turned her attention to what her brother
+was about to say.
+
+"It is probable, Jemima," he begun, "that there has never been a rich man
+who had so few relatives to whom to leave his wealth as had our uncle."
+
+"Yes: father and Uncle Ira were the only members of Uncle Jacob's family
+who ever married; and the brothers and sisters are all dead now. We are
+almost alone in the world."
+
+"Except one cousin, you know," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"You mean Uncle Ira's scapegrace, Jack. But no one knows where he is. He
+may be dead for all we know."
+
+Somehow Miss Jemima did not seem to desire that there should be any other
+relatives of her uncle to the front, just now, but her brother and
+herself.
+
+"If Jack is dead," said "Cobbler" Horn, "there will be no more to say. But
+if he is alive, he must have his share of uncle's money; and I have left
+it with the legal gentlemen to find him if they can."
+
+"Thomas," protested Miss Jemima, "do you think it would be right to hand
+over uncle's hard-earned money to that poor wastrel?"
+
+"His right to the money, Jemima, is as good as ours."
+
+"Perhaps so; but I feel convinced that uncle would not have wished for any
+part of his money to go to Jack. It would be like flinging it into the
+sea."
+
+"Yes; but that cuts both ways, Jemima. Uncle would never have willed his
+money to me, any more than to Jack. But God has given it to me, and I mean
+to use it in the way of which I believe He will approve."
+
+"And that is not all," he hastily resumed. "I have another relative;" and
+he directed a look of loving significance towards his sister's face. "Do
+you think that, if I admit the claim of our poor scapegrace cousin to a
+share of our uncle's money, I shall overlook the right of the dear sister
+who has been my stay and comfort all these sorrowing years?"
+
+"But--but----" began Miss Jemima, in bewildered tones.
+
+"Yes, you are to have your share too, Jemima."
+
+"But, brother I don't desire it. If you have the money, it's all the same
+as though I had it myself."
+
+With all her severity, there was not an atom of selfishness in Miss Jemima
+Horn.
+
+"It's all arranged," was her brother's reply. "I instructed the lawyers to
+divide the property into three equal portions."
+
+Miss Jemima, supposing that an arrangement with the lawyers was like the
+laws of the Medes and Persians, which "altered not," felt compelled to
+submit; but it was with the understanding that her brother took entire
+management of her portion of the money, as well as his own.
+
+There was little further talk between "Cobbler" Horn and his sister that
+evening. Their early bed-time had arrived; and "Cobbler" Horn, having
+read a chapter in the Bible, offered a fervent prayer, in which he asked
+earnestly that his sister and himself might receive grace to use rightly
+the great wealth which had been entrusted to their charge.
+
+"If we should prove unfaithful, Lord," he said, "take it from us as
+suddenly as Thou hast given it."
+
+"Oh, brother," cried Miss Jemima, as they were going up to bed, "some
+letters came for you this morning."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn took the four or five letters, which his sister was holding
+out to him, with a bewildered air.
+
+"Are they really for me?" he asked.
+
+"Small doubt of that," said Miss Jemima.
+
+The opening of letters was, as yet, to "Cobbler" Horn, a ceremony to be
+performed with care. He drew a chair to the table, and deliberately took
+his seat. He took up the first letter, and, having read it slowly through,
+placed it in Miss Jemima's eager hand. It was a request, from a "gentleman
+in distress," for a loan of twenty pounds--a "trifle" to the possessor of
+so much wealth, but, to the writer "a matter of life or death."
+
+"This will never do!" pronounced Miss Jemima; and the lady's lips emitted
+a gentle whistling sound.
+
+"How soon it seems to have got wind!" exclaimed "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"It's been in the papers, no doubt."
+
+"So it has," he said; "I saw it myself in a newspaper that I bought this
+evening, to read in the train. It called me the 'Golden Shoemaker.'"
+
+"Ah!" cried Miss Jemima. "I've no doubt it will go the round." The good
+lady was not greatly averse to such a pleasant publication of the family
+name.
+
+"Well," she resumed, "what do the other letters say?"
+
+They were all similar to the first. One was from a man who had invented a
+new boot sewing-machine, and would take out a patent; another purported to
+came from a widow with six young children, and begged for a little--ever
+so little--timely help: and the other two were appeals on behalf of
+religious institutions.
+
+"Penalty of wealth!" remarked Miss Jemima, as she took the letters from
+her brother's hand.
+
+"I suppose I must answer them to-morrow," groaned "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Answer them!" exclaimed Miss Jemima. "If you take my advice, you'll throw
+them into the fire. There will be plenty more of the same sort soon.
+Though," she added thoughtfully, "you'll have to read your letters, I
+suppose; for there'll be some you'll be obliged to answer."
+
+"Well," said "Cobbler" Horn quietly, as they turned to the stairs, "we
+shall see."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XI.
+
+           "COBBLER" HORN ANSWERS HIS LETTERS, AND RECEIVES
+                 THE CONGRATULATIONS OF HIS FRIENDS.
+
+
+When, after a somewhat troubled night, "Cobbler" Horn came down next
+morning, his attention was arrested by the letters lying, as he had left
+them, on the table, the night before.
+
+"Yes," he said, in answer to his thoughts; "I think I'll deal with them
+straight away." So saying, he drew a chair to the table, and, having found
+a few sheets of time-stained note paper, together with a penny bottle of
+ink, and an old crippled pen, he sat down to his unwelcome task. The
+undertaking proved even more troublesome than he had thought it would be.
+The pen persisted in sputtering at almost every word; and when, at crucial
+points, he took special pains to make the writing legible, the too
+frequent result was an indecipherable blotch of ink. When the valiant
+scribe had wrestled with his uncongenial task for half an hour or more,
+his sister came upon the scene. Quietly she stepped across the floor.
+
+"Ah!" she exclaimed, peeping over her brother's shoulder, "so you are
+answering them already!"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn started, and a huge blot fell from his pen into the midst
+of his half-finished letter.
+
+"I'm afraid I shall not be able to send this, now," he said, with a
+patient sigh.
+
+"No," said Miss Jemima, laconically, "I'm afraid not. You are writing to
+the 'widow,' I see; and you are promising her some help. That's very well.
+But, in nine cases out of ten, what strangers say of themselves requires
+confirmation--especially if they are beggars; so don't you think that,
+before sending money to this 'widow,' it would be as well to ask for
+the name of some reliable person who will vouch for the truth of her
+statements? You must not forget, what you often say, you know, that you
+are the steward of your Lord's goods."
+
+This was an argument which was sure to prevail with "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"No doubt you are right, Jemima," he said; "and, however reluctantly, I
+must take your advice."
+
+"That's right," said Miss Jemima.
+
+"You haven't answered the other letters?" she then asked, with a glance
+over the table.
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, hadn't you better put them away now, and get to your work? After
+breakfast you must get a new pen and a fresh bottle of ink. Then we'll
+see what we can do together."
+
+In an emergency which demanded the exercise of the practical good sense,
+of which she had so large a share, Miss Jemima regained, to some extent,
+her old ascendency over her brother. He quietly gathered up his letters,
+and, placing them on the chimney-piece, retired to his workshop.
+
+At breakfast-time Miss Jemima's prognostication began to receive
+fulfilment in the arrival of the postman with another batch of letters.
+This time the number had increased to something like a dozen. Having
+received them from the hands of the postman, "Cobbler" Horn carried them
+towards his sister with a somewhat comical air of dismay.
+
+"So many!" exclaimed she. "Your cares are accumulating fast. You will have
+to engage a secretary. Well, we'll look at them by and bye."
+
+Scarcely was breakfast over than there came a modest knock at the door,
+which, on being opened by Miss Jemima, revealed the presence of the elder
+of the little twin hucksters, who still carried on business across the
+way.
+
+Miss Jemima drew herself up like a sentry; and little Tommy Dudgeon,
+finding himself confronted by this formidable lady, would have beaten
+a hasty retreat. But it was too late.
+
+"I beg your pardon, ma'am," he began humbly; "I came to see your brother."
+
+"I don't know," was the lady's lofty reply. "My brother has much business
+on hand."
+
+"No doubt, ma'am; but--but--"
+
+At this point "Cobbler" Horn himself came to the door, and Miss Jemima
+retreated into the house.
+
+"Good morning, Tommy," said "Cobbler" Horn heartily, "step in."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Horn," was the modest reply, "I'm afraid I can't. Business
+presses, you know. But I've just come to congratulate you if I may make so
+bold. Brother would have come too; but he's minding the twins. It's
+washing day, you see. He'll pay his respects another time."
+
+John Dudgeon had been married for some years, and amongst the troubles
+which had varied for him the joys of that blissful state, there had
+recently come the crowning calamity of twins--an affliction which would
+seem to have run in the Dudgeon family.
+
+"We are glad you have inherited this vast wealth, Mr. Horn," said Tommy
+Dudgeon. "We think the arrangement excellent. The ways of Providence are
+indeed wonderful."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn made suitable acknowledgment of the congratulations of his
+humble little friend.
+
+"There is only one thing we regret," resumed the little man; "and that is
+that your change of fortune will remove you to another sphere."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn smiled.
+
+"Well, well," he said, "we shall see."
+
+Whereupon Tommy Dudgeon, feeling comforted, he scarcely knew why, said
+"Good morning" and ambled back to his shop.
+
+About the middle of the morning "Cobbler" Horn and his sister sat down to
+deal with the letters. First they glanced at those which had arrived that
+morning, and then laid them aside for the time, until, in fact, they had
+dealt with those previously received. First came that of the assumed
+widow, to which Miss Jemima induced her brother to write a cautious reply,
+asking for a reference. To the man who asked for the loan of twenty
+pounds, Miss Jemima would have sent no reply at all; but "Cobbler" Horn
+insisted that a brief but courteous note should be sent to him, expressing
+regret that the desired loan could not be furnished. It did not need the
+persuasion of his sister to induce "Cobbler" Horn to decline all dealings
+with the importunate inventor; but it was with great difficulty that she
+could dissuade him from making substantial promises to the religious
+institutions from which he had received appeals.
+
+"I think I shall consult the minister about such cases," he said.
+
+The investigation of the second batch of letters was postponed until the
+afternoon.
+
+During the morning, and at intervals throughout the day, others of
+"Cobbler" Horn's neighbours came to offer their congratulations, and were
+astonished to find him seated on his cobbler's stool, and quietly plying
+his accustomed task. To their remonstrances he would reply, "You see this
+work is promised; and if I am rich, I must keep my word. And then the
+habits of a lifetime are not to be given up in a day. And, to be honest
+with you, friends, I am in no haste to make the change. I love my work,
+and would as lief be sitting on this stool as anywhere else in the world."
+
+There came some of his poorer customers, who greatly bewailed what they
+regarded as his inevitable removal from their midst. They could not
+congratulate him as heartily as they desired. They would rather he had
+remained the poor, kind-hearted, Christian cobbler whom they had always
+known. Many a pair of boots had he mended free of charge for customers who
+could ill afford to pay; not a few were the small debts of poor but honest
+debtors which he had forgiven; and not seldom had clandestine gifts of
+money or food found their way from his hands to one or another of these
+regretful congratulators. Perceiving the grief upon the faces of his
+friends, "Cobbler" Horn contrived, by means of various hints, to let them
+know that he would still be their friend, and to remind them that his
+enrichment would conduce to their more effectual help at his hands.
+
+On one point all his visitors were agreed. Great wealth, they said, could
+not have come to any one by whom it was more thoroughly deserved, or who
+would put it to a better use. "The Lord," affirmed one quaint individual,
+"knew what He was about this time, anyhow."
+
+In the afternoon, "Cobbler" Horn and his sister set about the task of
+answering the second batch of letters. They were all, with one exception,
+of a similar character to those of the first. The exception proved to be
+a badly-written, ill-spelled, but evidently sincere, homily on the dangers
+of wealth, and ended with a fierce warning of the dire consequences of
+disregarding its admonition. It was signed simply--"A friend."
+
+"You'll burn that, I should think!" was Miss Jemima's scornful comment on
+this ill-judged missive.
+
+"No," said "Cobbler" Horn, putting the letter into his breast pocket; "I
+shall keep it. It was well meant, and will do me good."
+
+By tea-time their task was finished; and "Cobbler" Horn heaved a sigh of
+relief as he rose from his seat. But just then the postman knocked at the
+door, and handed in another and still larger supply of letters, at the
+sight of which the "Golden Shoemaker" staggered back aghast. The fame of
+his fortune had indeed got wind.
+
+"Ah," exclaimed his sister, who was setting the tea-things, "you'll have
+to engage a secretary, as I said."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XII.
+
+            "COBBLER" HORN PAYS A VISIT TO HIS LANDLORD.
+
+
+The day following his trip to London "Cobbler" Horn paid a visit to his
+landlord. His purpose was to buy the house in which he lived. Though he
+realized that he must now take up his actual abode in a house more suited
+to his altered circumstances, he wished to retain the possession and use
+of the one in which he had lived so long. The humble cottage was endeared
+to him by many ties. Here the best part of his life had been passed. Here
+his brief but blissful married life had been spent, and here his precious
+wife had died. Of this house his darling little Marian had been the light
+and joy; and her blithe and loving spirit seemed to haunt it still. These
+memories, reinforced by a generous purpose on behalf of the poor
+neighbours whom he had been wont to help, decided him to endeavour to make
+the house absolutely his own.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn did not tell his sister of his intention with regard to the
+house. He simply said, after breakfast, that he was going out for an hour;
+and, though Miss Jemima looked at him very hard, she allowed him to depart
+unquestioned.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's landlord who was reputed to be enormously rich, lived in
+one of the most completely hidden parts of the town, which was approached
+by a labyrinth of very narrow and dirty streets. As "Cobbler" Horn pursued
+his tortuous way to this secluded abode, he pondered, with some misgiving,
+the chances that his errand would succeed. He knew his landlord to be a
+man of stubborn temper and of many whims; and he was by no means confident
+as to the reception with which his intended proposal would meet. It was
+characteristic that, as he thought of the difficulties of his enterprise,
+he prayed earnestly that, if God willed, he might obtain the gratification
+of his present desire. Then, with growing confidence and quickened step,
+he proceeded on his way, until, at length, he stood before his landlord's
+house.
+
+The house was a low, dingy building of brick, which stood right across the
+end of a squalid street, and completely blocked the way. Over the door was
+a grimy sign-board, on which could faintly be distinguished the vague yet
+comprehensive legend:
+
+                            "D. FROUD,
+                               DEALER."
+
+The paint upon the crazy door was blistered and had peeled off in huge
+mis-shapen patches; the door-step was almost worn in two; the windows
+were dim with the dust of many years.
+
+The door was opened by a withered crone, who, to his question whether Mr.
+Froud was in, answered in an injured tone, "Yes, he was in; he always
+was;" and, as she spoke, she half-pushed the visitor into a room on the
+left side of the entrance, and vanished from the scene. The room was very
+dark, and it was some time before "Cobbler" Horn could observe the nature
+of his surroundings. But, by degrees, as his eyes became accustomed to the
+gloom, he perceived that the centre of the apartment was occupied with an
+old mahogany table, covered with a litter of books and papers. There stood
+against the wall opposite to the window an ancient and dropsical chest of
+drawers. Facing the door was a fire-place, brown with rust, innocent of
+fire-irons, and piled up with heterogeneous rubbish. The walls and
+chimney-piece were utterly devoid of ornaments. The paper on the walls
+was torn and soiled, and even hung in strips. On the chimney-piece were
+several empty ink and gum bottles, an old ruler, and a further assortment
+of similar odds and ends. The only provision for the comfort of visitors
+consisted of two battered wooden chairs.
+
+At first "Cobbler" Horn thought he was alone; but, the next moment, he
+heard himself sharply addressed, though not by name.
+
+"Well, it's not rent day yet. What's your errand?"
+
+It was a snarling voice, and came from the corner between the window and
+fire-place, peering in which direction, "Cobbler" Horn perceived dimly
+the figure of the man he had come to see. Mr. Daniel Froud had turned
+around from a high desk at which he had been writing in the gloom. How he
+contrived to see in so dark a corner was a mystery which belonged to the
+wider question as to the penetrating power of vision in general which he
+was known to possess. The small boys of the neighbourhood declared that he
+could see in the dark like a cat. He now moved a step nearer to "Cobbler"
+Horn, and stood revealed, an elderly, and rather undersized, grizzled,
+gnarled, and knotted man, dressed in shabby and antiquated clothes.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Froud," said "Cobbler" Horn, extending his hand, "I've
+come to see you on a little business."
+
+"Of course you have," was the angry retort; and taking no notice of his
+visitor's proffered hand, the man stamped his foot impatiently on the
+uncarpeted floor. "No one ever comes to see me about anything else but
+business. And I don't want them to," he added with a grim chuckle. "Well,
+let us get it done. My time is valuable, if yours is not."
+
+"My time also is not without value," was the prompt reply. "I want to ask
+you, Mr. Froud, if you will sell me the house in which I live."
+
+If Daniel Froud was surprised, he completely concealed the fact.
+
+"If I would sell it," was his coarse rejoinder, "you, 'Cobbler' Horn,
+would not be able to buy it."
+
+"I am well able to buy the house, Mr. Froud," was the quiet response.
+
+Daniel Froud keenly scrutinized his visitor's face.
+
+"I believe you think you are telling the truth," he said. "Mending
+pauper's boots and shoes must be a profitable business, then?"
+
+"I have had some money left to me," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+The interest of Daniel Froud was awakened at once.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed, "that is it, is it? But sit down, Mr. Horn," and the
+grizzled reprobate pushed towards his visitor, who had hitherto remained
+standing, one of his rickety and dust-covered chairs.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn looked doubtfully at the proffered seat, and said that he
+preferred to stand.
+
+"If you are willing to sell me the house, Mr. Froud," he said, "name your
+price. It is not my intention to waste your time."
+
+Daniel Froud still pondered. It was no longer a question whether he should
+sell "Cobbler" Horn the house: he was beginning already to consider how
+much he should ask for it.
+
+"So you really wish to buy the house, Mr. Horn?" he asked.
+
+"Such is my desire."
+
+"And you think you can pay the price?"
+
+"I have little doubt on that point."
+
+"Well"--with a sudden jerk forward of his forbidding face--"what do you
+say to L600?"
+
+Unsophisticated as he was, "Cobbler" Horn felt that the proposal was
+exorbitant.
+
+"You are surely joking?" he said.
+
+"You think the price too small?"
+
+"I consider it much too large."
+
+"Well, perhaps I was joking, as you said. What do you think of L500?"
+
+"I'm afraid even that is too much. I'll give you L450."
+
+Daniel Froud hesitated for some minutes, but at last said, "Well, I'll
+take your offer, Mr. Horn; but it's a dreadful sacrifice."
+
+A few minutes sufficed to complete the agreement; and then, in taking his
+departure, "Cobbler" Horn administered a word of admonition to his
+grasping landlord.
+
+"Don't you know, friend," he said, "that it is a grievous sin to try to
+sell anything for more than it is worth? And how contemptible it is to be
+so greedy of money! It does not seem to me that money is to be so eagerly
+desired, and especially if it does one no more good than yours seems to be
+doing you. Good morning, friend; and God give you repentance."
+
+Mr. Froud had listened open-mouthed to this plain-spoken homily. When he
+came to himself, he darted forward, and aimed a blow with his fist, which
+just failed to strike the back of his visitor, who was in the act of
+leaving the room.
+
+Confronting him in the doorway was the old crone who kept his house.
+
+"Was that Horn, the shoemaker?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, woman."
+
+"Horn as has just come into the fortune?"
+
+"Well--somewhat."
+
+"'Somewhat!' It's said to be about a million of money! Look here!" and she
+showed him a begrimed and crumpled scrap of newspaper, containing a full
+account of "Cobbler" Horn's fortune.
+
+With a cry, Daniel Froud seized the woman, and shook her till it almost
+seemed as though the bones rattled in her skin.
+
+"You hell-cat! Why didn't you tell me that before?"
+
+The wretched creature fell back panting against the door on the opposite
+side of the passage.
+
+"Daniel Froud," she said, when she had sufficiently recovered her breath,
+"the next time you do that I shall give you notice."
+
+With which dreadful threat, she gathered herself together, and hobbled
+back to her own quarter of the dingy house, leaving Mr. Froud to bemoan
+the absurdly easy terms he had made with "the Golden Shoemaker."
+
+"If I had only known!" he moaned; "if I had only known!"
+
+That evening "Cobbler" Horn told his sister what he had done, and why he
+had done it; and she held up her hands in dismay.
+
+"First," she said, "I don't see why you should have bought the house at
+all; and, secondly, you have paid far more for it than it is worth."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XIII.
+
+                            FREE COBBLERY.
+
+
+"I suppose you'll be looking out for a tenant for this house, when you've
+found somewhere for us to go?" queried Miss Jemima, at breakfast the next
+morning.
+
+"Well, no," replied her brother, "I think not." "Why," cried Miss Jemima,
+"I hope we are not to go on living in this poky little place!"
+
+"No, that is not exactly my intention, either," said "Cobbler" Horn. "We
+must, I suppose, remove to another house. But I wish this one to remain
+very much as it is; I shall want to use it sometimes."
+
+"Want to use it sometimes!" echoed Miss Jemima, in a mystified tone.
+
+"Yes; you see I don't feel that I can give up my lifelong employment all
+at once. So I've been thinking that I'll come to the old workshop, now and
+then, and do a bit of cobbling just for a change."
+
+Here he paused, and moved uneasily in his chair.
+
+"It wouldn't do to charge anything for my work now, of course," he
+continued; "so I've made up my mind to do little bits of jobs, now and
+again, without any pay, for some of the poor people round about, just for
+the sake of old times, you know."
+
+Miss Jemima's hands went up with their accustomed movement of dismay.
+
+"Why, that will never do," she cried. "You'll have all the thriftless
+loons in the town bringing you their boots and shoes to mend."
+
+"I must guard against that," was the quiet reply.
+
+"Well," continued Miss Jemima, in an aggrieved tone, "I altogether
+disapprove of your continuing to work as if you were a poor man. But you
+ought, at least, to make a small charge. Otherwise you will be imposed
+upon all round."
+
+Finding, however, that she could not move her brother from his purpose,
+Miss Jemima relinquished the attempt.
+
+"Well, Thomas," she concluded, "you can never have been intended for this
+world and its ways. There is probably a vacancy in some quite different
+one which you ought to have filled."
+
+The next few days were largely spent in house hunting; and, after careful
+investigation, and much discussion, they decided to take, for the present,
+a pleasantly situated detached villa, which stood on the road leading out
+past the field where, so many years ago, "Cobbler" Horn had found his
+little lost Marian's shoe. The nearness of the house to this spot had
+induced him, in spite of his sister's protest, to prefer it to several
+otherwise more eligible residences; and he was confirmed in his decision
+by the fact that the villa was no great distance from the humble dwelling
+he was so reluctant to leave. They were to have possession at once; and
+Miss Jemima was permitted to plunge without delay into the delights of
+buying furniture, engaging servants, and such like fascinating concerns.
+
+During these busy days, "Cobbler" Horn himself was absorbed in the
+arrangements for the rehabilitation of his old workshop. He subjected it
+to a complete renovation, in keeping with its character and use. A new
+tile floor, a better window, a fresh covering of whitewash on the walls,
+and a new coat of paint for the wood-work, effected a transformation as
+agreeable as it was complete. He kept the old stool; but procured a new
+and modern set of tools, and furnished himself with a stock of the best
+leather the market could supply.
+
+He had no difficulty in letting his poor customers know of his charitable
+designs, and he soon had as much work as he could do. As his sister had
+warned him, he had many applications from those who were unworthy of his
+help. He did not like to turn any of the applicants away; but he did so
+remorselessly in every instance in which, after careful investigation, the
+case broke down, his chief regret being that his gratuitous services were
+rarely sought by those who needed them most. But this is to anticipate.
+
+It was in connection with what was regarded as the _quixotic_ undertaking
+of Miss Jemima's brother to mend, free of charge, the boots and shoes of
+his poor neighbours, that he soon became generally known as "Cobbler"
+Horn.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XIV.
+
+           "THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER" WAITS UPON HIS MINISTER.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's correspondence was steadily accumulating. Every day
+brought fresh supplies of letters; and the humble cottage was in danger
+of being swamped by an epistolary inundation, which was the despair of
+"Cobbler" Horn, and a growing vexation to his sister's order-loving soul.
+
+For some time "the Golden Shoemaker" persisted valiantly in his attempt to
+answer every letter he received. Miss Jemima's scornful disapproval was of
+no avail. In vain she declared her conviction that every other letter was
+an imposture or a hoax, and pointed out that, if people wanted their
+letters answered, they ought to enclose a stamp. Then, for the twentieth
+time, she repeated her suggestion that a secretary should be engaged. At
+first her brother waived this proposal aside; but at length it became
+imperative that help should be sought. "Cobbler" Horn was like a man who
+attempts, single-handed, to cut his way through a still-accumulating
+snow-drift. The man must perish, if help do not come; unless "Cobbler"
+Horn secured assistance in dealing with his letters, it was impossible to
+tell what his fate might be. It was now simply a question by what means
+the needed help might best be obtained; and both "Cobbler" Horn and his
+sister agreed that the wisest thing would be to consult the minister of
+their church. This, accordingly, "Cobbler" Horn resolved to do.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's minister officiated in a sanctuary such as was formerly
+called a "chapel," but is now, more frequently designated a "church." His
+name was Durnford; and he was a man of strongly-marked individuality--a
+godly, earnest, shrewd, and somewhat eccentric, minister of the Gospel. He
+was always accessible to his people in their trouble or perplexity, and
+they came to him without reserve. But surely his advice had never been
+sought concerning difficulties so peculiar as those which were about to
+be laid before him by "Cobbler" Horn!
+
+It was about ten o'clock on the Monday morning following his visit to the
+lawyers, that "Cobbler" Horn sat in Mr. Durnford's study, waiting for the
+minister to appear. He had not long to wait. The door opened, and Mr.
+Durnford entered. He was a middle-aged man of medium height, with keen yet
+kindly features, and hair and beard of iron grey. He greeted his visitor
+with unaffected cordiality.
+
+"I've come to ask your advice, sir, under circumstances of some
+difficulty," said "Cobbler" Horn, when they were seated facing each other
+before a cheerful fire.
+
+This being a kind of appeal to which he was accustomed, the minister
+received the announcement calmly enough.
+
+"Glad to help you, if I can, Mr. Horn," he said.
+
+There was a breeziness about Mr. Durnford which at once afforded
+preliminary refreshment to such troubled spirits as sought his counsel.
+
+"Thank you, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn, "I'm sure you will. You have heard
+of the sudden and unexpected----"
+
+"To be sure!" broke in the minister, leaping to his feet, and grasping his
+visitor's hand, "Pardon me; I quite forgot. Let me congratulate you. Of
+course it's true?"
+
+"Yes, sir, thank you; it's true--too true, I'm afraid."
+
+Mr. Durnford laughed.
+
+"How if I were to commiserate you, then?" he said.
+
+"No, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn gravely, "not that either. It's the Lord's
+will after all; and it's a great joy to me to be able to do so much that I
+have long wished to do. It's the responsibility that I feel."
+
+"Very good," replied the minister; "such joy is the purest pleasure wealth
+can give. But the responsibility of such a position as yours, is, no
+doubt, as you say, very great."
+
+"Yes, sir; I feel that I hold all this wealth in trust from God; and I
+want to be a faithful steward. I am resolved to use my Lord's money
+exactly as I believe He desires that I should--in fact as He Himself
+would use it, if He were in my place."
+
+"Excellent, Mr. Horn!" exclaimed the minister; "you have spoken like a
+Christian."
+
+"Thank you, sir. But there's another thing; it seems so dreadful that
+one man should have so much money. Do you know, sir, I'm almost a
+millionaire?"
+
+He made this announcement in very much the same tone in which he would
+have informed the minister that he was stricken with some dire disease.
+
+"Is your trouble so great as that?" asked Mr. Durnford, in mock dismay.
+
+"Yes, sir; and it's a very serious matter indeed. It doesn't seem right
+for me to be so rich, while so many have too little, and not a few nothing
+at all."
+
+"That can soon be rectified," said Mr. Durnford.
+
+"Perhaps so, sir; though it may not be so easy as you suppose. But there's
+another matter that troubles me. I can't think that this great wealth has
+been all acquired by fair means. Indeed I have only too much reason to
+suspect that it was not. I feel ashamed that some of the money which my
+uncle made should have become mine. I feel as though a curse were on it."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed the minister, with a long-drawn sigh, "such feelings do
+you credit, Mr. Horn; but don't you see that God means you to turn that
+curse into a blessing?"
+
+"Yes; and yet I am almost inclined to wish my uncle had taken his money
+with him."
+
+"Scarcely a charitable wish, from any point of view," said Mr. Durnford,
+smiling. "It seems to me that nothing could have been better than the
+arrangement as it stands."
+
+"Well, at any rate, I wish it were possible to restore their money to any
+persons who may have been wronged."
+
+"A laudible, but impossible wish, my dear sir; but, though you cannot
+restore your uncle's wealth to those from whom it may have been wrongfully
+acquired, you can, in some measure, make atonement for the evil involved
+in its acquisition, by employing it for the benefit of those in general
+who suffer and are in need."
+
+"Yes," assented "Cobbler" Horn, with emphasis; "if I thought otherwise,
+every coin of the money that I handled would scorch my fingers to the
+bone."
+
+After this there was a brief silence, and the minister sat back in his
+chair, with closed eyes, smiling gently.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said, in another moment, starting forward, "I have
+been thinking of all the good that might be done, if every rich man were
+like you. But you came to ask my advice?"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied "Cobbler" Horn; "and I am keeping you too long."
+
+"Not at all, my dear sir! Your visit has refreshed me greatly. Your talk
+is like a cool breeze on a hot day. It is not often that a millionaire
+comes to discuss with me the responsibilities of wealth. But let me hear
+what the peculiar difficulty is of which you spoke."
+
+"Well, sir, there is a serious inconvenience involved in my new position,
+with which I am quite unable to grapple."
+
+"Ah," said the minister, raising his eye-brows, "what is that?"
+
+"Why it is just the number of letters I receive."
+
+"Of course!" cried the minister, with twinkling eyes. "The birds of prey
+will be upon you from every side; and your being a religious man will, by
+no means, mitigate the evil."
+
+"Ah, I have no doubt you are right, sir! And it's a sort of compliment to
+religion, isn't it?"
+
+"Of course it is," said Mr. Durnford; "and a very beautiful way of looking
+at it too."
+
+"Thank you, sir. Well, there are two sides to my difficulty. First I wish
+to answer every letter I receive; but I cannot possibly do it myself."
+
+"No," said the minister. "But surely many of them need not be answered at
+all."
+
+"Yes, sir, by your leave. My sister says that many of the letters are
+probably impostures. But you see I cannot tell certainly which are of that
+kind. She also points out that very few of them contain stamps for reply.
+But I tell her that a few stamps, more or less, are of no moment to me
+now."
+
+"I don't know," broke in the minister, "which more to admire--your
+sister's wisdom or your own goodness."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn deprecatingly waved his hand.
+
+"Now, sir," he resumed, "Jemima advises me to engage a secretary."
+
+"Obviously," assented the minister, "that is your best course."
+
+"I suppose it is, sir; but I am all at sea, and want your help."
+
+"And you shall have it," said the minister heartily. "There are scores of
+young men--and young women too--who would jump at the chance of such a
+post as that of your secretary would probably be."
+
+"Thank you, sir; but you said young _women_?"
+
+"Precisely. Young women often accept, and very efficiently fill, such
+posts."
+
+"Indeed? I don't know how my sister----"
+
+"Of course not. But suppose we look for a moment at the other side of your
+difficulty."
+
+"Very well, sir; the other trouble is that I find it hard to decide
+what answers to send to a good many of the letters. They are mostly
+applications for money; and it's not easy to tell whether they are
+genuine. Then there are a great many appeals on behalf of all sorts of
+good objects. May I venture to hope, sir, that you will give me your
+advice in these matters?"
+
+"With pleasure!" replied Mr. Durnford, with sparkling eyes.
+
+"Thank you, sir; thank you very much indeed," said "Cobbler" Horn, greatly
+relieved. "And will it be too much if I ask you to advise me, in due
+course, as to the best way of making this money of my uncle's do as much
+good as possible, in a general way?"
+
+"By no means," protested Mr. Durnford, "I am entirely at your service, my
+dear sir. But now," he added, after a pause, "I've been considering, and I
+think I can find you a secretary."
+
+"Ah! who is he, sir?"
+
+"It is she, not he."
+
+"But, sir!"
+
+"Yes, I know; but this is an exceptional young lady."
+
+"A _young_ lady?"
+
+"Yes, a capable, well-behaved, Christian young lady. I have known her for
+a good many years, and would recommend her to anybody. I know she is
+looking out for such a situation as this. She would serve you well--better
+than any young man, I know--and would be a most agreeable addition to your
+family circle. Besides, by engaging my friend, Miss Owen, you would be
+affording help in a case of real need and sterling merit. The girl has no
+parents, and has been brought up by some kind friends. But they are not
+rich, and she will have to make her own way. Now, look here; suppose the
+young lady were to run down and see you? She lives in Birmingham."
+
+"Do you really think it would be advisable?"
+
+"Indeed I do. She'll disarm Miss Horn at once. It'll be a case of love at
+first sight."
+
+"Well, sir, let it be as you say."
+
+"Then I may write to her without delay?"
+
+"If you please, sir."
+
+"Pray for me, Mr. Durnford," said "Cobbler" Horn, as he took his leave.
+
+"I will, my friend," was the hearty response.
+
+"It's not often," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "that a Christian man is placed
+in circumstances of such difficulty as mine."
+
+The minister laughed heartily and long.
+
+"I really mean it, sir," persisted "Cobbler" Horn, with a deprecatory
+smile. "When I think of all that my having this money involves, I almost
+wish the Lord had been pleased to leave me in my contented poverty."
+
+"My dear friend," said the minister, "that will not do at all. Depend upon
+it, the joy of using your wealth for the Lord, and for His 'little ones,'
+will far more than make up for the vanished delights of your departed
+poverty."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XV.
+
+                "COBBLER" HORN ENGAGES A SECRETARY.
+
+
+On his way home from the minister's house, "Cobbler" Horn was somewhat
+exercised in his mind as to how he should tell his sister what he had
+done. He could inform her, without hesitation, that the minister had
+recommended a secretary; but how should he make known the fact that the
+commended secretary was a lady? He was not afraid of his sister; but he
+preferred that she should approve of his doings, and he wished to render
+his approaching announcement as little distasteful to her as might be. But
+the difficulty of doing this would be great. It would have been hard to
+imagine a communication likely to prove more unwelcome to Miss Jemima than
+the announcement that her brother contemplated the employment of a lady
+secretary. Nor was the difficulty of the situation relieved by the fact
+that the lady was young, and possibly attractive. It would have been as
+easy to impart a delectable flavour to a dose of castor-oil, as to render
+agreeable to his sister the announcement he must immediately make. Long
+before he reached home, he relinquished all attempt to settle the
+difficulty which was agitating his mind. He would begin by telling his
+sister that the minister had recommended a secretary, and then trust to
+the inspiration of the moment for the rest.
+
+Miss Jemima, encompassed with a comprehensive brown apron, stood at the
+table peeling the potatoes for dinner.
+
+"You've been a long time gone, Thomas," she said complacently--for Miss
+Jemima was in one of her most amiable moods.
+
+"Yes; we found many things to talk about."
+
+"Well, what did he say on the secretary question?"
+
+"Oh, he has recommended one to me who, he thinks, will do first-rate."
+
+"Ah! and who is the young man? For of course he is young; all secretaries
+are."
+
+"The person lives in Birmingham," was the guarded reply, "and goes by the
+name of Owen."
+
+Miss Jemima felt by instinct that her brother was keeping something back.
+She shot at him a keen, swift glance, and then resumed the peeling of the
+potato just then in hand, which operation she effected with such extreme
+care, that it was a very attenuated strip of peeling which fell curling
+from her knife into the brown water in the bowl beneath.
+
+"What is this young man's other name?" she calmly asked.
+
+"Well, now, I don't know," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a shrewd smile.
+
+"Just like you men!" whipped out Miss Jemima, pausing in her work; "but I
+suppose, as the minister recommends him, it will be all right."
+
+There was nothing for it now but a straightforward declaration of the
+dreadful truth.
+
+"Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, "I mustn't mislead you. It's not a young
+man at all."
+
+Miss Jemima let fall into the water, with a sudden flop, the potato she
+was peeling, and faced her brother, knife in hand, with a look of wild
+astonishment in her eyes.
+
+"Not a young man!" she almost shrieked, "What then?"
+
+Her brother's emphasis had been on the word _man_, and not on the word
+_young_.
+
+"Well, my dear," he replied, "a young----in fact, a young lady."
+
+Up went Miss Jemima's hands.
+
+"Thomas!"
+
+"Yes, Jemima; such is the minister's suggestion."
+
+Miss Jemima, who had resumed her work, proceeded to dig out the eye of a
+potato with unwonted prodigality.
+
+"Mr. Durnford," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "tells me it is a common thing for
+young ladies to be secretaries now-a-days; and he very highly recommended
+this one in particular."
+
+Miss Jemima knew, that if her brother's mind was made up, it would be
+useless to withstand his will.
+
+"When is she coming?" was all she said.
+
+"I don't know. Mr. Durnford promised to write and ask her to come and see
+us first. You shall talk with her yourself, Jemima; and, believe me, if
+there is any good reason to object to the arrangement, she shall not be
+engaged."
+
+Miss Jemima permitted herself just one other word.
+
+"I am surprised at Mr. Durnford!" she said; and then the matter dropped.
+
+Two days later, in prompt response to the minister's letter, Miss Owen
+duly arrived. Mr. Durnford met her at the station, and conducted her to
+the house of "Cobbler" Horn. He had sent her, in his letter, all needful
+information concerning "Cobbler" Horn, and the circumstances which
+rendered it necessary for him to engage a secretary.
+
+"They reside at present," he said during the walk from the station, "in a
+small house, but will soon remove to a larger one."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was busy in his workshop when they arrived; but Miss Jemima
+was awaiting them in solitary state, in the front-room. The good lady had
+meant to be forbidding and severe in her reception of the "forward minx,"
+whom she had settled it in her mind the prospective secretary would prove
+to be. But the moment her eyes beheld Miss Owen she was disarmed. The
+dark-eyed, black-haired, modestly-attired, and even sober-looking girl,
+who put out her hand with a very simple movement, and spoke, with
+considerable self-possession truly, but certainly not with an impudent
+air, bore but scant resemblance to the "brazen hussey" who had haunted
+Miss Jemima's mind for the past two days.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn came in from his workshop, and greeted the young girl with
+an honest heartiness which placed her at her ease at once.
+
+With almost a cordial air, Miss Jemima invited the visitors to sit down.
+As Miss Owen glanced a second time around the room, a look of perplexity
+came into her face.
+
+"Do you know, Miss Horn," she said, "your house seems quite familiar to
+me. I almost feel as if I had been here before. Of course I never have.
+It's just one of those queer feelings everybody has sometimes, as if what
+you are going through at the time had all taken place before."
+
+She spoke out the thought of her mind with a simple impulsiveness which
+had its own charm.
+
+"No doubt," said Miss Jemima, with a start; but she was deterred from
+further remark by Mr. Durnford's rising from his seat.
+
+"I think I'll leave you," he said, "and call for Miss Owen in--say a
+quarter of an hour. With your permission, Mr. Horn, she will sleep at
+our house to-night."
+
+"Don't go, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn. "Your presence will be a help to
+us on both sides."
+
+It needed no further pursuasion to induce the minister to remain: with
+his assistance, "Cobbler" Horn soon came to terms with the young lady;
+and, as, upon a hint conveyed in the letter she had received from the
+minister, she had come to Cottonborough prepared, if necessary, to remain,
+it was arranged that she should commence her duties on the following day.
+
+"And would it not be as well for her to come to us to-night?" asked
+"Cobbler" Horn. "The sooner she begins to get used to us the better. And
+she can still spend the evening with you, Mr. Durnford."
+
+The minister looked enquiringly at Miss Owen,
+
+"What do you say, my dear?"
+
+"I am entirely in your hands, sir, and those of Mr. Horn."
+
+"Well," said Mr. Durnford, "if you really wish it. Mr. Horn, Miss Owen
+shall come to you to-night."
+
+And thus it was arranged.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XVI.
+
+                 THE ATTACK ON THE CORRESPONDENCE.
+
+
+When "Cobbler" Horn's secretary awoke next morning, she experienced a
+return of the feeling of familiarity with her surroundings of which she
+had been conscious on first entering the house. The little white-washed
+bedroom, with its simple furniture, seemed like a vision of the past.
+She had a dreamy impression that she had slept in this little white room
+many times before. There was, in particular, a startling appearance of
+familiarity in a certain picture which hung upon the wall, beyond the foot
+of the bed. It was an old-fashioned coloured print, in a black frame, and
+represented Jacob's dream. For a long time she gazed at the picture. Then
+she gave herself a shake, and sighed, and laughed a low, pathetic little
+laugh.
+
+"What nonsense!" she thought. "As if I could ever have been here before,
+or set eyes on the picture! Though I may have seen one like it somewhere
+else, to be sure."
+
+Then she roused herself, and got out of bed. But when, having dressed, she
+went downstairs, the same sense of familiarity with her surroundings
+surged over her again. The boxed-up staircase seemed to her a not
+untrodden way; and when she emerged in the kitchen at its foot, and saw
+the round deal table spread for breakfast with its humble array, she
+almost staggered at the familiarity of the scene.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was in his workshop, and Miss Jemima had gone into the
+yard; and, as the young girl gazed around the humble room it seemed, in
+some strange fashion, to have belonged to her past life. The very tap-tap
+of "Cobbler" Horn's hammer, coming cheerily from the workshop behind,
+awoke weird echoes in her brain, and helped to render her illusion
+complete.
+
+All breakfast-time she felt like one in a dream. She seemed to be drifting
+into a new life, which was not new but old; and she almost felt as if she
+had _come home_. She was utterly unable to imagine what might be the
+explanation of this strange experience. She had not a glimmering of the
+actual truth. She struggled against the feeling which possessed her, and
+partly overcame it; but it returned again and again during her stay in the
+house, though with diminished force.
+
+After breakfast, "Cobbler" Horn invited his secretary to attack the
+accumulated mass of letters which waited for despatch.
+
+"You see, Miss Owen," he said in half-apology for asking her to begin work
+so soon, "the pile gets larger every day; and, if we don't do something to
+reduce it at once, it will get altogether beyond bounds."
+
+Miss Owen turned her sparkling dark eyes upon her employer.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Horn," she exclaimed, as she took her seat at the table, "the
+sooner we get to work the better! I did not come here to play, you know."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn poured an armful of unanswered letters down upon the table,
+in front of his ardent young secretary.
+
+"There's a snow-drift for you, Miss Owen!" he said.
+
+"Thank you, sir," was the cheery response, "we must do our best to clear
+it away."
+
+Miss Owen was already beginning to feel quite at home with "Cobbler" Horn;
+and she even ventured at this point, to rally him on the dismay with which
+he regarded his piles of letters.
+
+"Don't you think, sir," she asked, with a radiant smile, "that a little
+sunshine might help us?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn started, and glanced towards the window. The morning was
+dull.
+
+"Yes," he said; "but we can't command----" Then he perceived her meaning,
+and broke off with a smile. "To be sure; you are right, Miss Owen. It is
+wrong of me to be wearing such a gloomy face. But you see this kind of
+thing is all so new and strange to me; and you need not wonder that I am
+dismayed."
+
+"No," replied the secretary, with just the faintest little touch of
+patronage in her tone; "it's not surprising in your case. But I am not
+dismayed. Answering letters has always been my delight."
+
+"That's well," said "Cobbler" Horn, gravely; "And I think you will have
+to supply a large share of the 'sunshine' too, Miss Owen."
+
+"I'll try," she replied, simply, with a beaming smile; and she squared her
+shapely arms, and bent her dusky head, and set to work with a will, while
+"Cobbler" Horn, regarding her from the opposite side of the table, was
+divided between two mysteries, which were, how she could write so fast and
+well, and what it was which made him feel as if he had known her all his
+life?
+
+Most of the letters contained applications for money. Some few were from
+the representatives of well-known philanthropic societies; many others
+were appeals on behalf of local charities or associations; and no small
+proportion were the applications of individuals, who either had great
+need, or were very cunning, or both.
+
+The private appeals were of great variety. "Cobbler" Horn was amazed to
+find how many people were at the point of despair for want of just the
+help that he was able to give. It was past belief how large a number of
+persons he had the opportunity of saving from ruin, and with how small a
+sum of money, in each case, it might be done. What a manifold disclosure
+of human misery and despair those letters were, or seemed to be! Some of
+them, doubtless, had been written with breaking hearts, and punctuated
+with tears; but which?
+
+"I had no idea there was so much trouble in the world!" cried "Cobbler"
+Horn, in dismay.
+
+"Perhaps there is not quite so much as your letters seem to imply, sir,"
+suggested the secretary.
+
+"You think not?" queried "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"I feel sure of it," said the young girl, with a knowing shake of her
+head. "But we must do our best to discriminate. I should throw some of
+these letters into the fire at once, if I were you, Mr. Horn."
+
+"But they must be answered first!"
+
+"Must they, sir? Every one?" enquired the secretary, arching her dark
+eye-brows. "Why it will cost you a small fortune in stamps, Mr. Horn!"
+
+"But you forget how rich I am, Miss Owen. And I would rather be cheated a
+thousand times, than withhold, in a single instance, the help I ought to
+give."
+
+"Well, Mr. Horn, I'm your secretary, and must obey your commands, whether
+I approve of them or not."
+
+She spoke with a merry trill of laughter; and "Cobbler" Horn, far from
+being offended, shot back upon her a beaming smile.
+
+They took the letters as they came. Concerning some of the applications,
+"Cobbler" Horn felt quite able to decide himself. Appeals from
+duly-accredited philanthropic institutions received from him a liberal
+response, and so large were some of the amounts that the young secretary
+felt constrained to remonstrate.
+
+"You forget," he replied, "how much money I've got."
+
+"But--excuse me, sir--you seem resolved to give it all away!"
+
+"Yes, almost," was the calm reply.
+
+There was but little difficulty, moreover, in dealing with the
+applications on behalf of local interests. It was the private appeals
+which afforded most trouble. Every case had to be strenuously debated with
+Miss Owen, who maintained that not one of these importunate correspondents
+ought to be assisted, until "Cobbler" Horn had satisfied himself that
+the case was one of actual necessity, and real merit. By dint of great
+persistency, she succeeded in convincing her employer that many of these
+private appeals were not worthy of a moment's consideration. To each of
+the writers of these a polite note of refusal was to be despatched. With
+regard to the rest, it was decided that an application for references
+should be made.
+
+"I shall have to be your _woman_ of business, Mr. Horn," said Miss Owen,
+"as well as your secretary; and, between us, I think we can manage."
+
+She felt that there was a true Christian work for her in doing what she
+could to help this poor embarrassed Christian man of wealth.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was enraptured with his secretary. She seemed to be fitting
+herself into a vacant place in his life. It appeared the most natural
+thing in the world that she should be there writing his letters. If his
+little Marian had not gone from him years ago, she might have been his
+secretary now. He sighed at the thought; and then, as he looked across at
+the animated face of Miss Owen, as she bent over her work, and swept the
+table with her abundant tresses, he was comforted in no small degree.
+
+Miss Jemima's respect for the proprieties, rendered her reluctant to
+absent herself much from the room where her brother and his engaging young
+secretary sat together at their interesting work; and she manifested, from
+time to time, a lively interest in the progress of their task.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XVII.
+
+            A PARTING GIFT FOR "THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN."
+
+
+The honest joy of "the little twin brethren" at the sudden enrichment
+of their friend, "Cobbler" Horn, was dashed with a deep regret. It was
+excellent that he had been made a wealthy man. As Tommy Dudgeon expressed
+it, "Providence had not made a mistake this time, anyhow." But, in common
+with the rest of "Cobbler" Horn's neighbours, the two worthy little men
+bitterly deplored the inevitable departure of their friend from their
+midst. It was "not to be supposed," said Tommy again--it was always Tommy
+who said things; to John had been assigned the honour of perpetuating the
+family name--it was "not to be supposed that a millionaire would live in
+a small house, in a narrow street, remain at the cobbler's bench, or
+continue to associate with poor folks like themselves." The little
+hucksters considered it a matter of course that "Cobbler" Horn would
+shortly remove to another and very different abode, and they mourned
+over the prospect with sincere and bitter grief.
+
+The little men had good reason for their sorrow, for to none of all his
+poor neighbours had "Cobbler" Horn been a better friend. And their regret
+in view of his approaching removal was fully reciprocated by "Cobbler"
+Horn himself. Of all the friends, in the network of streets surrounding
+his humble abode, whom he had fastened to his heart with the golden hooks
+of love, there were none whom he held more closely there than the two
+little tradesmen across the way. His intercourse with them had been one of
+the chief refreshments of his life; and he knew that he would sadly miss
+his humble little friends.
+
+And now the time had come for the removal, and the evening previous to the
+departure from the old home, "the Golden Shoemaker" paid his last visit,
+in the capacity of neighbour, to the worthy little twins. He had long
+known that they had a constant struggle to make their way. He had often
+assisted them as far as his own hitherto humble means would allow; and
+now, he had resolved that before leaving the neighbourhood, he would make
+them such a present as would lift them, once for all, out of the quagmire
+of adversity in which they had floundered so long.
+
+At six o'clock, on that autumn evening, it being already dusk, "Cobbler"
+Horn opened his front door, and stood for a moment on the step. Miss
+Jemima and the young secretary were both out of the way. If Miss Jemima
+had known where her brother was going and for what purpose, she would have
+held up her hands in horror and dismay, and might even, had she been
+present, have tried to detain him in the house by main force.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn lingered a moment on the door-step, with the instinctive
+hesitation of one who is about to perform an act of unaccustomed
+magnitude; but his soul revelled in the thought of what he was going
+to do. He was about to exercise the gracious privilege of the wealthy
+Christian man; and, as he handled a bundle of crisp bank-notes which he
+held in the side pocket of his coat, his fingers positively tingled with
+rapture.
+
+The street was very quiet. A milk girl was going from door to door, and
+the lamplighter was vanishing in the distance. Yet "Cobbler" Horn flitted
+furtively across the way, as though he were afraid of being seen; and,
+having glided with the stealth of a burglar through the doorway of the
+little shop, found himself face to face with Tommy Dudgeon. The smile of
+commercial satisfaction, which had been summoned to the face of the little
+man by the consciousness that some one was coming into the shop, resolved
+itself into an air of respectful yet genial greeting when he recognised
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Ah, good evening, Mr. Horn! You said you would pay us a farewell visit,
+and we were expecting you. Come in, sir."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn followed his humble conductor into the small but cosy
+living-room behind, which the large number of its occupants caused to
+appear even smaller than it was. John Dudgeon was there, and Mrs. John,
+and several offshoots of the Dudgeon tree. Mrs. Dudgeon was ironing at a
+table beneath the one small window, in the fading light. She was a staid
+and dapper matron, with here and there the faintest line of care upon her
+comely face. A couple of the children were rolling upon the hearthrug in
+the ruddy glow of the fire, and two or three others were doing their
+home-lessons by the aid of the same unsteady gleam. The father, swept to
+one side by the surges of his superabundant family, sat on a chair at the
+extreme corner of the hearthrug, with both the twins upon his knees.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was greeted with the cordiality due to an old family
+friend. Even the children clustered around him and clung to his arms and
+legs. Mrs. John, as she was invariably called--possibly on the assumption
+that Tommy Dudgeon also would, in due time, take a wife, cleared the
+children away from the side of the hearth opposite to her husband, and
+placed a chair for the ever-welcome guest. Tommy Dudgeon, who had slipped
+into the shop to adjust the door-bell, so that he might have timely notice
+of the entrance of a customer, soon returned, and placing a chair for
+himself between his brother and "Cobbler" Horn, sat down with his feet
+amongst the children, and his gaze fixed on the fire.
+
+For a time there was no sound in the room but the click of Mrs. John's
+iron, as it travelled swiftly to and fro. Even the children were
+preternaturally quiet. At length Tommy spoke, in sepulchral tones, with
+his eyes still on the fire.
+
+"Only to think that it's the last time!"
+
+"What's the last time, friend?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, with a start.
+
+"Why this--that we shall see you sitting there so sociable like, Mr.
+Horn."
+
+"Indeed, I hope not," was the hearty response. "You're not going to get
+rid of me so easily as that, old friend."
+
+"Why," exclaimed Tommy, "I thought you were going to remove; and I'm sure
+no one could find fault with it."
+
+"Yes: but you surely don't suppose I'm going to turn my back on my old
+neighbours altogether?"
+
+"What you say is very kind," replied Tommy; "but, Mr. Horn, we can't
+expect to see you very often after this."
+
+"Well, friend, perhaps oftener than you think." Then he told them that he
+had bought the house in which he had lived amongst them, and meant to keep
+it up, and come there almost every day to mend boots and shoes, without
+charge for his poor customers.
+
+"Well, to be sure!" exclaimed Tommy Dudgeon, while John chuckled
+exultantly to the twins, and Mrs. John moved her iron more vigorously to
+and fro, and hastily raised her hand to brush away a grateful and admiring
+tear.
+
+Meanwhile "Cobbler" Horn was considering how he might most delicately
+disclose the special purpose of his visit.
+
+"But after all," he said at length, "this is a farewell visit. I'm going
+away, and, after to-morrow, I shall not be your neighbour any more."
+
+For some moments his hand had been once more in his pocket, fingering the
+bank-notes. He now drew them forth very much in the way in which a man
+entrapped into a den of robbers might draw a pocket-pistol, and smoothed
+them out upon his knee.
+
+"I thought, old friend," he said, turning to Tommy Dudgeon, "that perhaps
+you might be willing to accept a trifling memento of our long
+acquaintance. And, indeed, you mustn't say no."
+
+John Dudgeon was too deeply engaged with the twins to note what was said;
+Tommy but dimly perceived the drift of his friend; but upon Mrs. John the
+full truth flashed with the clearness of noon.
+
+The next moment the notes were being transferred to the hands of the
+astonished Tommy. John was still absorbed with his couple of babies. Mrs.
+John was ironing more furiously than ever. Tommy felt, with his finger and
+thumb, that there were many of the notes; and he perceived that he and his
+were being made the recipients of an act of stupendous generosity. Tears
+trickled down his cheeks; his throat and tongue were parched. He tried to
+thrust the bank-notes back into the hand of his friend.
+
+"Mr. Horn, you must not beggar yourself on our account."
+
+"Cobbler" laughed. In truth, he was much relieved. It seemed that his
+humble friend objected to his gift only because he thought it was too
+large.
+
+"'Beggar' myself, Tommy?" he cried. "I should have to be a very reckless
+spendthrift indeed to do that. You forget how dreadfully rich I am. Why
+these paltry notes are a mere nothing to such a wealth-encumbered
+unfortunate as I. But I thought the money would be a help to you. And you
+must take it, Tommy, you must indeed. The Lord told me to give it to you;
+and what shall I say to Him, if I allow you to refuse His gift?"
+
+And so the generous will of "the Golden Shoemaker" prevailed; and if he
+could have heard and seen all that took place by that humble fireside,
+after he was gone, he would have been assured that at least one small
+portion of his uncle's wealth had been well-bestowed.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+                            THE NEW HOUSE.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's new house, which was situated, as we have seen, on one of
+the chief roads leading out of the town, marked almost the verge, in that
+direction, of the straggling fringe of urban outskirts. Beyond it there
+was only the small cottage in which had lived, and still resided, the
+woman who had seen Marian as she trotted so eagerly away into the great
+pitiless world. "Cobbler" Horn had not deliberately set himself to seek a
+house upon this road. But, when he found there a residence to let which
+seemed to be almost exactly the kind of dwelling he required, the fact
+that it was situated in a locality so tenderly associated with the memory
+of his lost child, in no degree diminished his desire to make it his
+abode.
+
+"It was here that she went by," he said softly to himself, at the close of
+their visit of inspection, as he stood with Miss Jemima at the gate; "and
+it was yonder that she was last seen."
+
+What were Miss Jemima's thoughts, as she followed, with her eyes, the
+direction of her brother's gaze, may not be known; for an unwonted silence
+had fallen on her usually ready tongue.
+
+It was a good house, with a pleasant lawn in front, and a yard, containing
+coach-house and stables, behind. The house itself was well-built,
+commodious, and fitted with all the conveniences of the day. As most of
+the furniture was new, the removal of the family was not a very elaborate
+process. In this, as in all other things, "Cobbler" Horn found that his
+money secured him the minimum of trouble. He had simply given a few
+orders--which his sister, it is true, had supplemented with a great many
+more--; and, when the day of removal came, they found themselves duly
+installed in a house furnished with a completeness which left nothing to
+be desired.
+
+On their arrival, they were received in the hall by three smiling maids,
+a coachman, and a boy in buttons. "The Golden Shoemaker" almost staggered,
+as the members of his domestic staff paid due homage to their master. He
+half-turned to his sister, and saw that, she, unlike himself, was not
+taken by surprise. Then he hastily returned the respectful salutations of
+the beaming group, and passed into the house.
+
+It was afternoon when the removal took place, and the remainder of the day
+was spent in inspecting the premises, and settling down. With the aid of
+his indefatigable secretary, "Cobbler" Horn had disposed of his morning's
+letters before leaving the old house, and, as it happened, the later mails
+were small that day. Miss Jemima stepped into her new position as
+mistress of a large establishment with ease and grace; and, assisted by
+the young secretary, who was fast gaining the goodwill of her employer's
+sister, was already giving to the house, by means of a few slight touches
+here and there, that indescribable air of homeliness which money cannot
+buy, and no skill of builder or upholsterer can impart.
+
+To "Cobbler" Horn himself that evening was a restless time. He felt
+himself to be strangely out of place; and he was almost afraid to tread
+upon the thick soft carpets, or to sit upon the luxurious chairs. And
+yet he smiled to himself, as he contrasted his own uneasiness with the
+complacency with which his sister was fitting herself into her place in
+their new sphere.
+
+Under the guidance of the coachman, "Cobbler" Horn inspected the horses
+and carriages. The coachman, who was the most highly-finished specimen of
+his kind who could be obtained for money, treated his new master with an
+oppressive air of respect. "Cobbler" Horn would have preferred a more
+familiar bearing on the part of his gorgeously-attired servant; but
+Bounder was obdurate, for he knew his place. His only recognition of the
+somewhat unusual sociability of his master, was to touch his hat with a
+more impressive action, and to impart a still deeper note of respect to
+the tones of his voice. His bearing implied a solemn rebuke. It was as
+though he said, "If you, sir, don't know your place, I know mine."
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker," having completed his survey of his new abode
+and its surroundings, realized more fuller than hitherto the change his
+circumstances had undergone. The old life was now indeed past, and he was
+fairly launched upon the new. Well, by the help of God, he had tried to do
+his duty in the humble sphere of poverty; and he would attempt the same in
+the infinitely more difficult position in which he was now placed.
+
+Entering the house by the back way, he paused and lingered regretfully for
+a moment at the kitchen door. One of the maids perceived his hesitation,
+and wondered if master was of the interfering kind. He dispelled her alarm
+by passing slowly on.
+
+After supper, in the dining-room, Miss Jemima handed the old family Bible
+to her brother, and he took it with a loving grasp. Here, at least, was a
+part of the old life still.
+
+"Shall I ring for the servants?" asked Miss Jemima.
+
+"By all means," said her brother, with a slight start.
+
+Miss Jemima touched the electric bell, with the air of one who had been
+in the habit of ringing for servants all her life. In quick response, the
+door was opened; and the maids, the coachman, and the boy, who had all
+been well schooled by Miss Jemima, filed gravely in.
+
+The ordeal through which "Cobbler" Horn had now to pass was very unlike
+the homely family prayer of the old life. He performed his task, however,
+with a simplicity and fervour with which the domestics were duly
+impressed; and when it was over he made them a genial yet dignified little
+speech, and wished them all a hearty good night.
+
+"Brother," Miss Jemima ventured to remark, when the servants were gone, "I
+am afraid you lean too much to the side of familiarity with the servants."
+
+"Sister," was the mildly sarcastic response, "you are quite able to adjust
+the balance."
+
+Amongst the few things which were transferred from the old house to the
+new, was a small tin trunk, the conveyance of which Miss Jemima was at
+great pains personally to superintend. It contained the tiny wardrobe of
+the long lost child, which the sorrowing, and still self-accusing, lady
+had continued to preserve.
+
+It is doubtful whether "Cobbler" Horn was aware of his sister's pathetic
+hoard; but there were two mementos of his lost darling which he himself
+preserved. For the custody of papers, deeds, and other valuables, he had
+placed in the room set apart as his office, a brand new safe. In one of
+its most secure recesses he deposited, with gentle care, a tiny parcel
+done up in much soft paper. It contained a mud-soiled print bonnet-string,
+and a little dust-stained shoe.
+
+"They will never be of any more use to her," he had said to himself; "but
+they may help to find her some day."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XIX.
+
+                A TALK WITH THE MINISTER ABOUT MONEY.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn knew his minister to be a man of strict integrity and
+sound judgment; and it was with complete confidence that he sought Mr.
+Durnford's advice with regard to those of his letters with which his
+secretary and himself were unable satisfactorily to deal. The morning
+after the removal to the new house, he hastened to the residence of the
+minister with a bundle of such letters in his pocket. Mr. Durnford read
+the letters carefully through, and gave him in each case suitable advice;
+and then "Cobbler" Horn had a question to ask.
+
+"Will you tell me, sir, why you have not yet asked me for anything towards
+any of our own church funds?"
+
+"Well," replied the minister, with a shrewd twinkle in his eye, "you see,
+Mr. Horn, I thought I might safely leave the matter to your generosity and
+good sense."
+
+"Thank you, sir. Well, I am anxious that my own church should have its
+full share of what I have to give. Will you, sir," he added diffidently,
+"kindly tell me what funds there are, and how much I ought to give to
+each."
+
+As he spoke, he extracted from his pocket, with some difficulty, a bulky
+cheque-book, and flattened it out on the table with almost reverent
+fingers; for he had not yet come to regard the possession of a cheque-book
+as a commonplace circumstance of his life.
+
+"That's just like you, Mr. Horn," said the minister, with glistening eyes.
+
+He was a straightforward man, and transparent as glass. He would not
+manifest false delicacy, or make an insincere demur.
+
+"There are plenty of ways for your money, with us, Mr. Horn," he added.
+"But what is your wish? Shall I make a list of the various funds?"
+
+Mr. Durnford drew his chair to his writing-table, as he spoke, and took
+up his pen.
+
+"If you please, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+No sooner said than done; and in a few moments the half-sheet of large
+manuscript paper which the minister had placed before him was filled from
+top to bottom with a list of the designations of various religious funds.
+
+"Thank you, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn, glancing at the paper. "Will you,
+now, kindly set down in order how much you think I ought to give in each
+case."
+
+With the very slightest hesitation, and in perfect silence, Mr. Durnford
+undertook this second task; and, in a few minutes, having jotted down a
+specific amount opposite to each of the lines in the list, he handed the
+paper again to "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+Mr. Durnford's estimate of his visitor's liberality had not erred by
+excess of modesty; and he was startled when he mentally reckoned up the
+sum of the various amounts he had set down. But "Cobbler" Horn's reception
+of the list startled him still more.
+
+"My dear sir," said "the Golden Shoemaker," with a smile, "I'm afraid
+you do not realize how very rich I am. This list will not help me much in
+getting rid of the amount of money of which I shall have to dispose, for
+the Lord, every year. Try your hand again."
+
+Mr. Durnford asked pardon for the modesty of his suggestions, and promptly
+revised the list.
+
+"Ah, that is better," said "Cobbler" Horn. "The subscriptions you have set
+down may stand, as far as the ordinary funds are concerned; but now about
+the debt fund? What is the amount of the debt?"
+
+"Two thousand pounds."
+
+"Well, I will pay off half of it at once; and, when you have raised
+two-thirds of the rest, let me know."
+
+"Thank you, sir, indeed!" exclaimed the minister, almost smacking his
+lips, as he dipped his pen in the ink, and added this munificent promise
+to the already long list.
+
+"It is a mere nothing," said "Cobbler" Horn. "It is but a trifling
+instalment of the debt I owe to God on account of this church, and its
+minister. But you are beginning to find, Mr. Durnford, that I am rather
+eccentric in money matters?"
+
+"Delightfully so!" exclaimed the minister.
+
+"Well, the right use of money has always been a point with me. Even in the
+days when I had very little money through my hands, I tried to remember
+that I was the steward of my Lord. It was difficult, then, to carry out
+the idea, because it often seemed as though I could not spare what I
+really thought I ought to give. My present difficulty is to dispose of
+even a small part of what I can easily spare."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed the minister, in whose face there was an expression of
+deep interest.
+
+"Now," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "will you, Mr. Durnford, help me in this
+matter? Will you let me know of any suitable channels for my money of
+which you may, from time to time, be aware?"
+
+"You may depend upon me in that, my dear sir," said the minister, with
+gusto.
+
+"Thank you, sir!" exclaimed "the Golden Shoemaker," as fervently as though
+his minister had promised to make him acquainted with chances of gaining
+money, instead of letting him know of opportunities of giving it away.
+"And now I think of it, Mr. Durnford, I should like to place in your hands
+a sum for use at your own discretion. You must meet with many cases of
+necessity which you would not care to mention to the authorities of the
+church; and it would be a distinct advantage to you to have a sum of
+money for use in such instances absolutely at your own command. Now I am
+going to write you a cheque for fifty pounds to be used as you think fit;
+and when it is done, you shall have more."
+
+"Mr. Horn!" exclaimed the startled minister.
+
+"Yes, yes, it's all right. All the money I've promised you this morning
+is a mere trifle to me. And now, with your permission, I'll write the
+cheques."
+
+Why "Cobbler" Horn should not have included the whole amount of his gifts
+in one cheque it is difficult to say. Perhaps he thought that, by writing
+a separate cheque for the last fifty pounds, he would more effectually
+ensure Mr. Durnford's having the absolute disposal of that amount.
+
+The writing of the cheques was a work of time.
+
+"There, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn, at last, as he handed the two precious
+slips of paper across the table, "I hope you will find them all right."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Horn, again and again," said the minister, as he folded up
+the cheques and placed them in his pocket-book; "they are perfectly right,
+I am sure."
+
+"Has it occurred to you," he continued, "that it would be well if you were
+systematic in your giving?"
+
+"Yes; and I intend systematically to give away as much as I can."
+
+"But have you thought of fixing what proportion of your income you will
+give? Not," added the minister, laughing, "that I am afraid lest you
+should not give away enough."
+
+"Oh yes," responded "Cobbler" Horn, laughing in his turn; "I have decided
+to give proportionately; and the proportion I mean to give is almost all
+I've got."
+
+"I see you are incorrigible," laughed Mr. Durnford.
+
+"You'll find that I am. But now--" and "Cobbler" Horn regarded his
+minister with an expression of modest, friendly interest in his face--"I'm
+going to write another cheque."
+
+"You must be fond of the occupation, Mr. Horn."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's enrichment had not, in any degree, caused the cordiality
+of his relations with his minister to decline. There was nothing in
+"Cobbler" Horn to encourage sycophancy; and there was not in Mr. Durnford
+a particle of the sycophant.
+
+"I believe I don't altogether dislike it, sir," assented "Cobbler" Horn in
+response to the minister's last remark. "But," he added, handing to him
+the cheque he had now finished writing, "will you, my dear sir, accept
+that for yourself? Your stipend is far too small; and I know Mrs.
+Durnford's illness in the spring must have been very expensive. Don't
+say no, I beg of you; but take it----as a favour to me."
+
+He had risen from his seat, and the next moment, with a hurried "good
+morning," he was gone, leaving the astonished minister in possession of
+a cheque for one hundred pounds!
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XX.
+
+                     "COBBLER" HORN'S VILLAGE.
+
+
+It was the custom of "Cobbler" Horn to spend the first hour of every
+morning, after breakfast, in the office, with his secretary. They would go
+through the letters which required attention; and, after he had given Miss
+Owen specific directions with regard to some of them, he would leave her
+to use her own discretion with reference to the rest. Amongst the former,
+there were frequently a few which he reserved for the judgment of Mr.
+Durnford. It was the duty of the young secretary to scan the letters which
+came by the later posts; but none of them were to be submitted to
+"Cobbler" Horn until the next morning, unless they were of urgent
+importance.
+
+One morning, about a week after the removal to the new house, the office
+door suddenly opened, and "Cobbler" Horn emerged into the hall in a state
+of great excitement, holding an open letter in his hand.
+
+"Jemima!" he shouted.
+
+The only response was a sound of angry voices from the region of the
+kitchen, amidst which he recognised his sister's familiar tones. Surely
+Jemima was not having trouble with the servants! Approaching the kitchen
+door, he pushed it slightly open, and peeped into the room. Miss Jemima
+was emphatically laying down the law to the young and comely cook, who
+stood back against the table, facing her mistress, with the rolling-pin in
+her hand, and rebellion in every curve of her figure and in every feature
+of her face.
+
+"You are a saucy minx," Miss Jemima was saying, in her sharpest tones.
+
+"'Minx' yourself," was the pert reply. "No mistress shan't interfere with
+me and my work, as you've done this last week. If you was a real lady, you
+wouldn't do it."
+
+"You rude girl, I'll teach you to keep your place."
+
+"Keep your own," rapped out the girl; "and it 'ull be the better for all
+parties. As for me, I shan't keep this place, and I give you warning from
+now, so there!"
+
+At this moment, the girl caught sight of her master's face at the door,
+and flinging herself around to the table, resumed her work. Miss Jemima,
+in her great anger, advanced a pace or two, with uplifted hand, towards
+the broad back of her rebellious cook: "Cobbler" Horn, observing the
+position of affairs, spoke in emphatic tones.
+
+"Jemima, I want you at once."
+
+Miss Jemima started, and then, without a word, followed her brother to the
+dining-room.
+
+"Brother," she said, snatching, in her anger, the first word, "that girl
+has insulted me grossly."
+
+"Yes, Jemima, I heard; but try to forget it for a moment. I have great
+news for you. This letter is about cousin Jack."
+
+In a moment Miss Jemima had forgotten her insubordinate cook.
+
+"So the poor creature is found!" she said when she had taken, and read,
+the letter.
+
+"Yes, and he proves to be in a condition which will render doubly welcome
+the good news he will shortly receive."
+
+"Then you persist in your intention to hand over to him a share of uncle's
+money?"
+
+"To be sure I do!"
+
+"Well," retorted Miss Jemima, somewhat acrimoniously, "it's a pity. That
+portion of the money will be dispersed in a worse manner even than it was
+gathered."
+
+"Don't say that, Jemima," said her brother gravely.
+
+"Well," asked Miss Jemima, dispensing with further protest, "what are you
+going to do?"
+
+"The first thing is to see Messrs. Tongs and Ball. You see they ask me to
+do so. I can't get away to-day. To-morrow I am to visit our village, you
+know; and, as it is on the way to London, the best plan will be to go on
+when I am so far."
+
+So it was settled, and Miss Owen was instructed to write the lawyers,
+saying that Mr. Horn would wait upon them on the morning of the third day
+from that time.
+
+The next morning, "Cobbler" Horn, having invested his young secretary with
+full powers in regard to his correspondence, during his absence, set off
+by an early train for Daisy Lane, en route for London. He had but a vague
+idea as to the village of which he was the chief proprietor. He was aware,
+however, that his property there, including the old hall itself, was, to
+quote Mr. Ball, "somewhat out of repair"; and he rejoiced in the prospect
+of the opportunity its dilapidation might present of turning to good
+account some considerable portion of his immense wealth.
+
+It was almost noon when the train stopped at the small station at which
+he was to alight. He was the only passenger who left the train at that
+station; and, almost before his feet had touched the platform, he was
+greeted by a plain, middle-aged man, of medium height and broad of build,
+whose hair was reddish-brown and his whiskers brownish-red, while his
+tanned and glowing face bore ample evidence of an out-door life. He had
+the appearance of a good-natured, intelligent, and trustworthy man. This
+was John Gray, the agent of the property; and "Cobbler" Horn liked him
+from the first.
+
+"It's only a mile and a half to the village sir," said the man, as they
+mounted the trap which was waiting outside the station; "and we shall soon
+run along."
+
+The trap was a nondescript and dilapidated vehicle, and the horse was by
+no means a thoroughbred. But the whole turn-out was faultlessly clean.
+
+"It's rather a crazy concern, sir," said Mr. Gray candidly. "But you
+needn't be afraid. It will hold together for this time, I think."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn smiled somewhat sadly, as he mounted to his seat. Here was
+probably an instalment of much with which he was destined to meet that
+day.
+
+"Wake up, Jack!" said Mr. Gray, shaking the reins. The appearance of
+the animal indicated that it was necessary for him to take his master's
+injunction in a literal sense. He awoke with a start, and set off at a
+walking pace, from which, by dint of much persuasion on the part of his
+driver, he was induced to pass into a gentle trot.
+
+"He never goes any faster than that," said the agent.
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated "Cobbler" Horn. "But we must try to get you something
+better to drive about in than this, Mr. Gray."
+
+"Thank you, sir. It will be a good thing."
+
+As they slowly progressed along the pleasant country road, the agent gave
+his new employer sundry particulars concerning the property of which he
+had become possessed.
+
+"Nearly all the village belongs to you, sir. There's only the church and
+vicarage, and one farm-house, with a couple of cottages attached, that are
+not yours. But you'll find your property in an awful state. I've done what
+I could to patch it up; but what can you do without money?"
+
+"I hope, Mr. Gray," said the new proprietor, "that we shall soon rectify
+all that."
+
+"Of course you will, sir," said the candid agent. "It's very painful," he
+added, "to hear the complaints the people make."
+
+"No doubt. You must take me to see some of my tenants; but you must not
+tell them who I am."
+
+"There's a decent house!" he remarked presently, as they came in sight
+of a comfortable-looking residence, which stood on their left, at the
+entrance of the village.
+
+"Ah, that's the vicarage," replied the agent, "and the church is a little
+beyond, and along there, on the other side of the road, is the farm-house
+which does not belong to you."
+
+They were now entering the village, the long, straggling street of which
+soon afforded "the Golden Shoemaker" evidence enough of his deceased
+uncle's parsimonious ideas. Half-ruined cottages and tumbledown houses
+were dispersed around; here and there along the main street, were two or
+three melancholy shops; and in the centre of the village stood a
+disreputable-looking public-house.
+
+"I could wish," said "Cobbler" Horn, as they passed the last-mentioned
+building, "that my village did not contain any place of that kind."
+
+"There's no reason," responded the agent, with a quiet smile, "why you
+should have a public-house in the place, if you don't want one."
+
+"Couldn't we have a public-house without strong drink?"
+
+"No doubt we could, sir; but it wouldn't pay."
+
+"You mean as a matter of money, of course. But that is nothing to me, and
+the scheme would pay in other respects. I leave it to you, Mr. Gray, to
+get rid of the present occupant of the house as soon as it can be done
+without injustice, and to convert the establishment into a public-house
+without the drink--a place which will afford suitable accommodation for
+travellers, and be a pleasant meeting place, of an evening, for the men
+and boys of the village."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said the agent, with huge delight. "Have I carte
+blanche?"
+
+"'Carte blanche'?" queried "Cobbler" Horn, with a puzzled air. "Let me
+see; that's----what? Ah, I know--a free hand, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied the agent gravely.
+
+"Then that's just what I mean."
+
+As they drove on, "Cobbler" Horn observed that most of the gardens
+attached to the cottages were in good order, and that some of the people
+had been at great pains to conceal the mouldering walls of their wretched
+huts with roses, honeysuckle, and various climbing plants. Glowing with
+honest shame, he became restlessly eager to wave his golden wand over this
+desolate scene.
+
+"This is my place, sir," said the agent, as they stopped at the gate of a
+dingy, double-fronted house. "You'll have a bit of dinner with us in our
+humble way?"
+
+"Thank you," said "the Golden Shoemaker," "I shall be very glad."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXI.
+
+                         IN NEED OF REPAIRS.
+
+
+After dinner, "Cobbler" Horn set out with his agent on a tour of
+inspection through the village.
+
+"We'll take this row first, sir, if you please," said Mr. Gray. "One of
+the people has sent for me to call."
+
+So saying he led the way towards a row of decrepit cottages which, with
+their dingy walls and black thatch, looked like a group of fungi, rather
+than a row of habitations erected by the hand of man.
+
+At the crazy door of the first cottage they were confronted by a stout,
+red-faced woman with bare beefy arms, who, on seeing "Cobbler" Horn,
+dropped a curtsey, and suppressed the angry salutation which she had
+prepared for Mr. Gray.
+
+"A friend of mine, Mrs. Blobs," said the agent.
+
+"Glad to see you, sir," said the woman to "Cobbler" Horn. "Will you please
+to walk in, gentlemen."
+
+"Just cast your eye up there, Mr. Gray," she added when they were inside.
+"It's come through at last."
+
+Sure enough it had. Above their heads was a vast hole in the ceiling, and
+above that a huge gap in the thatch; and at their feet lay a heap of
+bricks, mortar, and fragments of rotten wood.
+
+"Why the chimney has come through!" exclaimed Mr. Gray.
+
+"Little doubt of that," said Mrs. Blobs.
+
+"Was anybody hurt?"
+
+"No, but they might ha' bin. It was this very morning. The master was at
+his work, and the children away at school; but, if I hadn't just stepped
+out to have a few words with a neighbour, I might ha' bin just under the
+very place. Isn't it disgraceful, sir," she added, turning to "Cobbler"
+Horn, "that human beings should be made to live in such tumbledown places?
+I believe Mr. Gray, here, would have put things right long ago; but he's
+been kept that tight by the old skin-flint what's just died. They do say
+as now the property have got into better hands; but----"
+
+"Well, well, Mrs. Blobs" interposed the agent; "we shall soon see a change
+now I hope."
+
+"Yes," assented "Cobbler" Horn, "we'll have----that is, I'm sure Mr. Gray
+will soon make you snug, ma'am."
+
+"We must call at every house, sir," said Mr. Gray, as they passed to the
+next door. "There isn't one of the lot but wants patching up almost every
+day."
+
+"Cheer up, Mr. Gray," said "the Golden Shoemaker." "There shall be no more
+patching after this."
+
+In each of the miserable cottages they met with a repetition of their
+experience in the first. If the reproaches of the living could bring back
+the dead, old Jacob Horn should have formed one of the group in those
+mouldy and rotting cottages, to listen to the reiteration of the shameful
+story of his criminal neglect. Here the windows were bursting from their
+setting, like the bulging eyes of suffocating men; and here the door-frame
+was in a state of collapse. In one cottage the ceiling was depositing
+itself, by frequent instalments, on the floor; and in another the floor
+itself was rotting away. In every case, Mr. Gray made bold to promise the
+speedy rectification of everything that was wrong; and "Cobbler" Horn
+confirmed his promises in a manner so authoritative that it would have
+been a wonder if his discontented tenants had not caught some glimmering
+of the truth as to who he was.
+
+On leaving the cottages, Mr. Gray took his employer to one of the
+farm-houses which his property comprised. They found the farmer, a burly,
+red-faced, ultra-choleric man, excited over some recently-consummated
+dilapidations on his premises. He conducted his visitors over his house
+and farm-buildings, grumbling like an ungreased wagon. His abuse of
+"Cobbler" Horn's dead uncle was unstinted, and almost every other word was
+a rumbling oath. Mr. Gray assured him that all would be put right now in a
+very short time; and "Cobbler" Horn said, "Yes, he was sure it would."
+
+The farmer stared in surprise; but his blunter perception proved less
+penetrative than the keen insight of the women, and he simply wondered
+what this rather rough looking stranger could know about it, anyhow. He
+expressed a hope that it might be as Mr. Gray said. For himself he hadn't
+much faith. But, if there wasn't something done soon, the new landlord had
+better not show himself there, that was all; and the aggrieved farmer
+clenched his implied threat with the most emphatic oath he was able to
+produce.
+
+Their inspection of the remainder of the village revealed, on every side,
+the same condition of ruin and decay; and it was with a sad and indignant
+heart that "Cobbler" Horn at length sat down, in Mrs. Gray's front
+parlour, to a late but welcome cup of tea.
+
+"To-morrow," he said, "we'll have a look at the old hall."
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" spent the evening in close consultation with his
+agent. The state of the property was thoroughly discussed, and Mr. Gray
+was invested with full power to renovate and renew. His employer enjoined
+him to make complete work. He was to exceed, rather than stop short of,
+what was necessary, and to do even more than the tenants asked.
+
+"You will understand, Mr. Gray," said "Cobbler" Horn, "that I want all my
+property in this village to be put into such thorough repair that, as far
+as the comfort and convenience of my tenants are concerned, nothing shall
+remain to be desired. So set to work with all your might; and we shall
+not quarrel about the bill----if you only make it large enough."
+
+Mr. Gray's big heart bounded within him, as he received this generous
+commission.
+
+"And don't forget your own house," added his employer. "I think you had
+better build yourself a new one while you are about it; and let it be a
+house fit to live in."
+
+Mr. Gray warmly expressed his thanks, and they proceeded to the
+consideration of the numberless matters which it was necessary to discuss.
+
+In the morning, under the guidance of the agent, "Cobbler" Horn paid his
+promised visit to the old Hall. It was a venerable Elizabethan mansion,
+and, like everything else in the village that belonged to him, was sadly
+out of repair. As he entered the ancient pile, and passed from room to
+room, a purpose with regard to the old Hall which already vaguely occupied
+his mind, took definite shape; and he seemed to hear, in the empty rooms,
+the glad ring of children's laughter and the patter of children's feet. In
+memory of his long-lost Marian, and for the glory of the Divine Friend of
+children, the old Hall should be transformed into a Home for little ones
+who were homeless and without a friend.
+
+As they drove to the station, a little later, he announced his attention,
+with regard to the Hall, to Mr. Gray.
+
+"I shall leave the business in your hands, Mr. Gray. You must consult
+those who understand such things, and visit similar institutions, and turn
+the old place into the best 'Children's Home' that can be produced."
+
+"Very well, sir; but the children?"
+
+"That matter I will arrange myself."
+
+The agent was getting used to surprises; but the next that came almost
+took his breath away.
+
+"I believe," said "Cobbler" Horn, at the end of a brief silence, "that
+your salary, Mr. Gray, is L150 a year?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well, I wish to increase the amount. Pray consider that you will receive,
+from this time, at the rate of L500 a year."
+
+"Mr. Horn!" cried the startled agent, "such generosity!"
+
+"Not at all; I mean you to earn it, you know. But let your horse move on,
+or I shall miss my train. And, by the way, will you oblige me, Mr. Gray,
+by procuring for yourself a horse and trap better calculated to serve the
+interests of my property than this sorry turn-out. Get the best equipment
+which can be obtained for money."
+
+The agent, not knowing whether he was touched the more by the kindness
+of the injunction, or by the delicacy with which it had been expressed,
+murmured incoherent thanks, and promised speedy compliance with his
+employer's commands.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXII.
+
+             "THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER" INSTRUCTS HIS LAWYERS.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn reached London early the same evening, and the following
+morning, at the appointed hour, duly presented himself at the office of
+Messrs. Tongs and Ball. He was received with enthusiasm by the men of
+law. Long Mr. Ball was, as usual, the chief speaker; and round Mr. Tongs
+yielded meek and monosyllabic assent to all his partner's words.
+
+"And how are you by this time, my dear sir?" asked Mr. Ball, almost
+affectionately, when they had taken their seats.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn had a vague impression that the lawyer was asking his
+question on behalf of his partner as well as of himself.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen," was his cordial reply. "I am thankful to say I
+never was better in my life; and I hope I find you the same?"
+
+"Thank you, my dear sir," answered Mr. Ball, "speaking for self and
+partner, I think I may say that we are well."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Tongs.
+
+"But," resumed Mr. Ball, turning to the table, "your time is precious,
+Mr. Horn. Shall we proceed?"
+
+"If you please, gentlemen."
+
+"Very well," said the lawyer, taking up a bundle of papers; "these are the
+letters relating to the case of your unfortunate cousin. Shall I give you
+their contents in due order, Mr. Horn?"
+
+"If you please," and "Cobbler" Horn composed himself to listen, with a
+grave face.
+
+The letters were from the agents of Messrs. Tongs and Ball in New York;
+and the information they conveyed was to the effect that "Cobbler" Horn's
+scapegrace cousin had been traced to a poor lodging-house in that city,
+where he was slowly dying of consumption. He might last for months, but
+it was possible he would not linger more than a few weeks.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn listened to the reading of the letters with head down-bent.
+When it was finished, he looked up.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen," he said; "have you done anything?"
+
+Mr. Ball gazed at his client through his spectacles, over the top of the
+last of the letters, which he still held open in his hand, and there was
+gentle expostulation in his eye.
+
+"Our instructions, Mr. Horn, were to find your cousin."
+
+"I see," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile; "and you have done that. Well
+now, gentlemen, will you be kind enough to do something more?"
+
+"We will attend to your commands, Mr. Horn," was the deferential response.
+"That is our business."
+
+"Yes," was the emphatic assent of Mr. Tongs.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" was becoming accustomed to the readiness of all
+with whom he had to do to wait upon his will.
+
+"Well, gentlemen," he said, "I wish everything to be done to relieve my
+poor cousin's distress, and even, if possible, to save his life. Be good
+enough to telegraph directions for him to be removed without delay to some
+place where he will receive the best care that money can procure. If his
+life cannot be saved, he may at least be kept alive till I can reach his
+bedside."
+
+"Your commands shall be obeyed, sir," said Mr. Ball; "but," he added with
+much surprise, "is it necessary for you to go to New York yourself?"
+
+"That you must leave to me, gentlemen," said "the Golden Shoemaker" in a
+tone which put an end to debate.
+
+"Now, gentlemen," he resumed, "kindly hand me those letters; and let me
+know how soon, after to-morrow, I can set out."
+
+"You don't mean to lose any time, sir," said Mr. Ball, handing the bundle
+of letters to his client.
+
+In a few moments, the lawyers were able to supply the information that
+a berth could be secured in a first-class steamer which would leave
+Liverpool for New York in two days' time; and it was arranged that a
+passage should be booked.
+
+"We await your further orders, Mr. Horn," said Mr. Ball, rubbing his hands
+together, as he perceived that his client still retained his seat.
+
+"I'm afraid I detain you, gentlemen."
+
+"By no means, my dear sir," protested Mr. Ball.
+
+"No," echoed Mr. Tongs.
+
+"I am glad of that," said "Cobbler" Horn. "I should be sorry to waste your
+valuable time."
+
+More than once a clerk had come to the door to announce that so-and-so or
+so-and-so, awaited the leisure of his employers; and, in every case, the
+answer had been, "let them wait."
+
+The time of Messrs. Tongs and Ball was indeed valuable, and no portion of
+it was likely to prove more so than that bestowed on the affairs of
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+Both the lawyers smiled amiably.
+
+"You could not waste our time, Mr. Horn," said Mr. Ball.
+
+"No," echoed Mr. Tongs.
+
+"That's very good of you, gentlemen. But at any rate I really have some
+business of the gravest importance still to discuss with you."
+
+"By all means, my dear sir," said Mr. Ball with gusto, settling himself
+in an attitude of attention, while Mr. Tongs also prepared himself to
+listen.
+
+"I wish, gentlemen," announced "the Golden Shoemaker," "to make my will."
+
+"To be sure," said Mr. Ball.
+
+"You see," continued "Cobbler" Horn, "a journey to America is attended
+with some risk."
+
+"Precisely," assented Mr. Ball. "And a man of your wealth, Mr. Horn,
+should not, in any case, postpone the making of his will. It was our
+intention to speak to you about the matter to-day."
+
+"To be sure," said "Cobbler" Horn. "Can it be done at once?"
+
+"Certainly," responded the lawyer, drawing his chair to the table, and
+preparing, pen in hand, to receive the instructions of his client.
+
+"You have no children, I think, Mr. Horn?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's cheeks blanched, and his lips quivered; but he instantly
+regained his self-control.
+
+"That is my difficulty," he said. "I had a child, but----"
+
+"Ah!" interrupted Mr. Ball, "I understand. Very sad."
+
+"No, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn sternly, "you do not understand. It is not
+as you think. But can I make my will in favour of a person who may, or may
+not, be alive?"
+
+Mr. Ball was in no wise abashed.
+
+"Do I take you, my dear sir? You----"
+
+"The person," interposed "Cobbler" Horn, "to whom I wish to leave my
+property is my little daughter, Marian, who wandered away twelve years
+ago, and has never been heard of since. Can I do it, gentlemen?"
+
+"I think you can, Mr. Horn," replied Mr. Ball. "In the absence of any
+proof of death, your daughter may be considered to be still alive. What
+do you say, Mr. Tongs?"
+
+"Oh yes; to be sure; certainly," exclaimed Mr. Tongs, who seemed to have
+been aroused from a reverie, and for whom it was enough that he was
+required to confirm some dictum of his partner.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen. Then please to note that I wish my property to
+pass, at my death, to my daughter, Marian Horn."
+
+"Very good, sir," said Mr. Ball, making a note on a sheet of paper. "But,"
+he added, with an enquiring glance towards his client, "in the event--that
+is to say, supposing your daughter were not to reappear, Mr. Horn?"
+
+"I am coming to that," was the calm reply. "If my daughter does not come
+back before my death, I wish everything to go to my sister, Jemima Horn,
+on the condition that she gives it up to my daughter when she does
+return."
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated Mr. Ball. "And may I ask, my dear sir?--If Miss Horn
+should die, say shortly after your own decease, what then?"
+
+"I have thought of that too. Would it be in order, to appoint a trustee,
+to hold the property, in such a case, for my child?"
+
+"Yes, quite in order. Have you the name ready, my dear sir?"
+
+"I will give you that of Rev. George Durnford, of Cottonborough."
+
+"And, for how long, Mr. Horn," asked Mr. Ball, when he had written down
+Mr. Durnford's name and address, "must the property be thus held?"
+
+"Till my daughter comes to claim it."
+
+"But, but, my dear sir----"
+
+"Very well," said "Cobbler" Horn, breaking in upon the lawyer's incipient
+protest; "put it like this. Say that, in the event of my sister's death,
+everything is to go into the hands of Mr. Durnford, to be held by him in
+trust for my daughter, and to be dealt with according to his own
+discretion."
+
+"That is all on that subject, gentlemen," he added, in a tone of finality;
+and, having summarily dismissed one matter of business, he as summarily
+introduced another. "And now," he said, "having made provision for my
+daughter in the event of my death, I wish also to provide for her in
+case she should come back during my life. I desire the sum of L50,000
+to be set aside and invested in such a manner, that my daughter may have
+it--principal and interest--as her own private fortune during my life."
+
+Mr. Ball regarded his singular client with a doubtful look.
+
+"Is it necessary to do that, my dear sir? With your wealth, you will be
+able, at any time, to do for your daughter what you please."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Tongs, who seemed to think it time to put in his word.
+
+"Gentlemen," said "Cobbler" Horn. "You must let me have my own way. It is
+my intention to turn my money to the best account, according to my light;
+and I wish to have the L50,000 secured to my child, lest, when she comes
+back, there should be nothing left for her."
+
+"Well, Mr. Horn, of course your wishes shall be obeyed," said Mr. Ball,
+with a sigh; "but it is not an arrangement which I should advise."
+
+With this final protest the subject was dismissed; but, for many days, the
+L50,000 to be invested for the missing daughter of his eccentric client
+remained a burden on the mind of Mr. Ball.
+
+"And now," said "the Golden Shoemaker," "there is just another thing
+before I go. I have been to see my village. I found it, as you warned me,
+in a sadly dilapidated condition; and I have desired Mr. Gray to make all
+the necessary repairs. Will you, gentlemen, give him all the help you can,
+and see that he doesn't want for money?"
+
+"We shall be delighted, my dear sir, as a matter of course."
+
+"Thank you: Mr. Gray will probably apply to you on various points; and I
+wish you to know that he has my authority for all he does."
+
+"Very good, sir," said Mr. Ball, in a respectful tone.
+
+"Then, while I was at Daisy Lane, I paid a visit to the old Hall."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Ball, "a splendid family mansion, Mr. Horn?"
+
+"Yes; I have desired Mr. Gray to have it renovated and furnished."
+
+"As a residence for yourself, of course?"
+
+"No; I have other designs."
+
+Then, in the deeply-attentive ears of the two men of law, "the Golden
+Shoemaker" recited his plans with regard to the old Hall.
+
+It would be a mild statement to say that Messrs. Tongs and Ball were
+taken by surprise; but their client afforded them slight opportunity
+to interpose even a comment on his scheme.
+
+"You must help Mr. Gray in this matter especially, gentlemen, if you
+please. Do all you can for him. I want it to be the best 'Children's Home'
+in the country. Don't spare expense. I wish everything to be provided that
+is good for little children. My friend, Mr. Durnford will, perhaps, help
+me to find a 'father and mother' for the 'Home;' you, gentlemen, shall
+assist me in the engagement of skilful nurses and trustworthy servants. In
+order that we may make the place as nearly perfect as possible, I have
+requested Mr. Gray to visit similar institutions in various parts of the
+country. He will look to you for advice; and I should be obliged,
+gentlemen, if you would put him on the right track."
+
+Then he paused, and looked at his lawyers with a glowing face.
+
+"It's for the sake," he said, and there was a catch in his voice, "of my
+little Marian, who went from me a wanderer upon the face of the earth."
+
+Then, having arranged to call in the morning, for the purpose of signing
+his will, previous to his departure from town, he took his leave.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+                               MEMORIES.
+
+
+The following morning "Cobbler" Horn called at the office of Messrs. Tongs
+and Ball at the appointed time. The will was ready, and, having signed it,
+he said "good day" to the lawyers, and took the next train to
+Cottonborough, where he arrived early in the afternoon.
+
+Subsequently, at the dinner-table, he answered freely the questions of
+Miss Jemima concerning his doings during his absence. Nor did he feel the
+presence of his young secretary to be, in any degree, a restraint. Already
+she was as one of the family, and was almost as much in the confidence of
+"the Golden Shoemaker" as was Miss Jemima herself. "Cobbler" Horn told of
+the dilapidated condition in which he had found the village, and of the
+instructions he had given to the agent. At the recital of the latter, Miss
+Jemima held up her hands in dismay, while the eyes of the secretary
+glistened with unconcealed delight. But the climax was reached when
+"Cobbler" Horn spoke of his intentions with regard to the old Hall. Miss
+Jemima uttered a positive shriek, and shook her head till her straight,
+stiff side-curls quivered again.
+
+"Thomas," she cried, "you must be mad! It will cost you thousands of
+pounds!"
+
+"Yes, Jemima," was the quiet reply; "and surely they could not be better
+spent! And then there'll still be a few thousands left," he added with a
+smile. "It's a way of spending the Lord's money of which I'm sure He will
+approve. What do you say, Miss Owen?"
+
+"I think it's just splendid of you, Mr. Horn!"
+
+To do Miss Jemima justice, her annoyance arose quite as much from the
+annihilation of her dearly cherished hopes of becoming the mistress of an
+ideal country mansion, and filling the place of lady magnificent of her
+brother's village, as from the thought of the gigantic extravagance which
+his designs with regard to the old Hall would involve.
+
+But the poor lady was to be yet further astonished.
+
+"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Jemima," said her brother, after a brief pause,
+and speaking with a whimsical air of apology, "that I am to start for
+America to-morrow."
+
+He spoke as though he were announcing a trip into the next county; and
+Miss Jemima could scarcely have shown greater amazement, if he had
+declared his intention of starting for the moon.
+
+The good lady almost bounced from her seat.
+
+"Thomas!"
+
+She had not breath for more than that.
+
+In truth the announcement "the Golden Shoemaker" had made was startling
+enough. Even Miss Owen looked up in intense surprise; and the servant
+girl, who was in the act of taking away the meat, was so startled that
+she almost let it fall into her master's lap.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn alone was unmoved.
+
+"You see," he said calmly, "when I considered the sad plight of our poor
+cousin, I thought it would be best for me to go and see to him myself.
+There are the letters," he added, taking them from his pocket, and handing
+them to his sister. "You will see, Jemima, that the poor fellow is in sore
+straits--ill, and destitute in a low lodging-house in New York, Miss Owen!
+He will be informed, by now, of his change of fortune, and everything
+possible is to be done for him. But I feel that I can't leave him to
+strangers. And then there may be a chance of leading him to the Saviour,
+who can tell? Besides, Jemima, a journey to America is not so much of an
+undertaking now-a-days, you know; and I sha'n't be many weeks away."
+
+By this time, Miss Jemima had managed to recover her breath, and, in part,
+her wits.
+
+"But I can't get you ready by to-morrow, Thomas!"
+
+"My dear Jemima, that doesn't matter at all: whether you can get me ready
+or not, I must go. The lawyers will have taken my passage by this time."
+
+"But--but you can never take care of yourself in America, Thomas. It's
+such a large country, and so dreadful; and the Americans are such strange
+people."
+
+"Never mind, Jemima," was the pleasant reply, "Messrs. Tongs and Ball have
+sent a cablegram to their agent in New York, instructing him to look after
+me. And, besides, I've made my will."
+
+"What?" shouted Miss Jemima, "made your will?"
+
+To Miss Jemima it seemed a dreadful thing to make one's will. It was a
+last desperate resort. It was in view of death that people made their
+wills. It was evident her brother did not expect to get safely back.
+
+"Yes," repeated "Cobbler" Horn, with a quiet smile, "I've made my will.
+But, don't be alarmed, Jemima; I sha'n't die any the sooner for that. I
+did it as a wise precaution, with the approval of the lawyers. Even if I
+had not been going to America, I should have had to make my will sooner or
+later. Cheer up, Jemima! Our Heavenly Father bears rule in America, and on
+the sea, as well as here at home."
+
+Miss Jemima had relapsed into silence. She was beginning to realize the
+fact that her brother had made his will, which, after all, was not so very
+strange a thing. But what was the nature of the will? She did not desire
+to inherit her brother's property herself. She was rich enough already.
+But she was apprehensive that he might have made some foolish disposition
+of his money of which she would not be able to approve. To whom, or to
+what she would have desired him to leave his wealth, she could not,
+perhaps, have told; but she would not be easy till she knew the contents
+of his will. And yet she could not question her brother on the subject in
+the presence of his secretary. The girl might be very well, but must not
+be allowed to know too much.
+
+"If I don't come back, Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, as though he had read
+his sister's thoughts, "you will know what my will contains soon enough.
+If I do--of which I have little doubt--I will tell you all about it
+myself."
+
+After dinner, "Cobbler" Horn retired, with his secretary, to the office,
+for the purpose of dealing with the letters which had accumulated during
+his absence from home. As they proceeded with their work, Miss Owen
+learnt that, while her employer was away in America, she was to have
+discretionary powers with regard to the whole of the correspondence. With
+all her self-confidence, the young secretary was rather staggered by this
+announcement; but she could obtain no release from the firm decree.
+
+"You see, I have perfect confidence in you, Miss Owen," explained
+"Cobbler" Horn, simply; "and besides, you know very well that, in most
+cases, you are better able to decide what to do than I am myself. But, if
+there are any of the letters that you would rather not deal with till I
+come back, just let them wait."
+
+This matter had been arranged during the first half-hour, in the course of
+a dropping conversation, carried on in the pauses of their work. They had
+put in a few words here and there in the crannies and crevices of their
+business so to speak. In the same manner, "Cobbler" Horn now proceeded to
+tell his secretary of his interview with his lawyers, and of the making of
+his will.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" had already become wonderfully attached to his
+young secretary. She had exercised no arts; she had practised no wiles.
+She was a sincere, guileless, Christian girl. Shrewd enough she was,
+indeed, but utterly incapable of scheming for any manner of selfish or
+sordid end. With her divine endowment of good looks and her consecrated
+good nature, she could not fail to captivate; and there is small room for
+wonder that she had made large inroads upon "Cobbler" Horn's big heart.
+
+The degree to which his engaging young secretary had won the confidence of
+"Cobbler" Horn will appear from the fact that he was about to reveal to
+her, this afternoon, those particulars with regard to his recently-made
+will the communication of which to his sister he had avowedly postponed.
+It was not his intention to treat Miss Jemima with disrespect. He felt
+that he could freely talk to Miss Owen; with his sister it would be a
+matter of greater delicacy to deal. He often fancied that his young
+secretary was just such as his darling Marian would have been; and quite
+naturally, and very simply, he told her about his will, and even spoke of
+the money that was to be invested for his lost child. He was quite able
+now to talk calmly of the great sorrow of his life. The gentle and
+continued rubbing of the hand of time had allayed its sharper pang.
+
+"What do you think of it all, Miss Owen?"
+
+"I think, Mr. Horn," said the secretary, with the end of her penholder
+between her ruby lips, and a wistful look in her dark eyes, "that your
+daughter would be a very fortunate young lady, if she only knew it; and
+that there are not many fathers like you."
+
+"Then you think I have done well?"
+
+"I think, sir, that you have done better than well."
+
+After another spell of work, Miss Owen looked up again with an eager face.
+
+"What was your little Marian like, Mr. Horn?" she asked, in a tender and
+subdued tone.
+
+"Well, she was----" But the ardent girl took him up before he could
+proceed.
+
+"Would she have grown to be anything like me? I suppose she would be about
+my age."
+
+She was leaning forward now, with her elbows on the table, and her hands
+supporting her chin. Her richly-tinted cheeks glowed with interest; her
+large, dark eyes shone like two bright stars. The question she had asked
+could not be to her more than a subject of amiable curiosity; but no doubt
+the enthusiastic nature of the girl fully accounted for the eagerness with
+which she had spoken. Her sudden enquiry wafted "Cobbler" Horn back into
+the past; and there rose before him the vision of a bonny little nut-brown
+damsel of five summers, with eyes like sloes, and a mass of dusky hair.
+For an instant he caught his breath. He was startled to see, in the face
+of his young secretary what he would probably never have detected, if her
+question had not pointed it out.
+
+"Well, really, Miss Owen," he said, simply, "now you speak of it, you are
+something like what my little Marian may have grown to be by this time."
+
+"How delicious!" exclaimed Miss Owen.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was gazing intently at his young secretary. What vague
+surmisings, like shadows on a window-blind--were flitting through his
+brain? What dim rays of hope were struggling to penetrate the gloom?
+Suddenly he started, and shook himself, with a sigh. Of course it could
+only be a fancy. How strange the frequent inability to perceive the
+significance of circumstances plainly suggestive of the fulfilment of some
+long-cherished hope! The joy, deferred so long comes, at last, in an hour
+when we are not aware, only to find us utterly oblivious that it is so
+near!
+
+"Well, Miss Owen," said "Cobbler" Horn, rising to his feet, "I must be
+going to my cobbling. If you want me, you will know where to come."
+
+"Yes, Mr. Horn."
+
+She was aware of his custom of resorting now and then to his old workshop.
+When he was gone, she paused for a moment, with her penholder once more
+between her lips.
+
+"How nice to think that I am like what that dear little Marian would have
+been! I wonder whether we should have been friends, if she had lived?
+Poor little thing, she's almost sure to be dead! Though, perhaps not--who
+can tell? How queer that Mr. Horn should have lost a little girl, just as
+I must have been lost, and about the same time too! As for my being like
+her--perhaps, after all, that's only a fancy of his. Well, at any rate, I
+must comfort and help him all I can. I can't step into his daughter's
+place exactly; but God has put it into my power to be to him, in many
+things, what little Marian would have been if he had not lost her; and
+for Christ's sake----"
+
+At this point, the young secretary's thoughts became too sacred for prying
+eyes. Very soon she turned to her writing again. Half an hour later, the
+afternoon post arrived, bringing, amongst other letters, one or two which
+necessitated an immediate interview with "Cobbler" Horn. To trip up to her
+bedroom and dress herself for going out was the work of a very few
+moments; and in a short time she was entering the street where "Cobbler"
+Horn and his sister had lived so long, and whence the hapless little
+Marian had so heedlessly set out into the great world, on that bright
+May morning so many years ago.
+
+As Miss Owen entered the narrow street, she involuntarily raised her hand
+to her forehead. The weird feeling of familiarity with the old house and
+its vicinity, of which she had already been conscious more than once, had
+crept over her again.
+
+"How very strange!" she said to herself. "But there can't be anything in
+it!"
+
+As she approached the house, she became aware of the unconcealed scrutiny
+of a little man who was standing in the doorway of a shop on the other
+side of the street.
+
+It was Tommy Dudgeon, who had just then come to the door to show a
+customer out, a civility which he was wont to bestow, if possible, upon
+every one who came to the shop. Lingering for a moment, in the hope of
+descrying another customer, he saw Miss Owen coming down the street. Tommy
+knew about "Cobbler" Horn's secretary; but he had not, as yet, had a fair
+view of the young lady. He had not even thought much about her, and he did
+not suspect that it was she who was now coming along the street, until she
+passed into the old house. But, as he saw her now, with her black hair and
+dark glowing face, walking along the pavement in her decided way, he felt,
+as he afterwards said, "quite all-overish like." It was, at first, the
+vaguest of impressions that he received. Then, as he gazed, he began to
+think that he had seen that figure before--though he continued to assure
+himself that he had not; and then, as Miss Owen drew nearer, he concluded
+that there must be some one of whom she reminded him--some one whom he had
+known long ago. Then, with a flash, came back to him the scene--never to
+be forgotten--on that long-ago May morning; and Tommy Dudgeon heaved a
+sigh, for he had obtained his clue.
+
+"What a rude little man!" thought Miss Owen. "And yet he looks harmless
+enough. Why he must be one of the little twin shopkeepers of whom I have
+heard Mr. Horn speak. That will account for his interest in me."
+
+The absorption of the young secretary in the duties of her office, during
+her stay in the old house, no doubt fully accounted for the fact that she
+had not become more familiar with the appearance of Tommy Dudgeon.
+
+By this time Tommy had withdrawn into his shop. But he continued to watch.
+Standing partly concealed behind some of the merchandise displayed in the
+shop window, he saw Miss Owen enter "Cobbler" Horn's former abode, and
+then waited for her once more to emerge.
+
+In ten minutes the young secretary again appeared. Pausing on the
+door-step, she looked this way and that, and then, with emphatic tread,
+stepped out in the very track of the little twinkling feet which Tommy had
+watched in their last departure on that ill-fated spring morning so long
+ago. The little man craned his neck to see the better through the window,
+and then, unable to restrain himself, he hurried to the doorway of the
+shop once more, and, with enlightened eyes, watched the figure of the girl
+till it passed out of sight. Then he turned, and rushed into the kitchen
+behind the shop. His brother was trying to put one of the twins to sleep
+by carrying it to and fro; his brother's wife was making bread. He raised
+his hands.
+
+"She's come back!" he cried. Then, recollecting himself, he said, more
+quietly, "I mean I've seen the sec'tary."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+                            ON THE OCEAN.
+
+
+The evening of the next day saw "the Golden Shoemaker" steaming out of the
+Mersey, on board the first-rate Atlantic liner on which his passage had
+been taken by Messrs. Tongs and Ball. Miss Jemima had bidden her brother
+a reluctant farewell. In her secret soul, she nursed a doubt, of which,
+indeed, she was half-ashamed, as to the prospect of his safe return; and
+she endeavoured to fortify her timorous heart by the utterance of sundry
+sharp speeches concerning the folly of his enterprise.
+
+The voyage across the great ocean, in the splendid _floating hotel_ in
+which he had embarked was a new and delightful experience to "Cobbler"
+Horn. But his peace of mind sustained brief disturbance on his being shown
+to his quarters on board the vessel. His lawyers had, as a matter of
+course, taken for their wealthy client a first-class passage. It had not
+occurred to him to give them any instructions on the point, and they had
+taken it for granted that they were doing what he would desire. Perhaps,
+if they had asked him, he might, in his ignorance of such matters, have
+said, "Oh yes, first-class, by all means." But when he saw the splendid
+accommodation which his money had procured, he started back, and said to
+the attendant:
+
+"This is much too grand for me. Can't I make a change?"
+
+The attendant stared in surprise.
+
+"'Fraid not sir," he said, "every second-class berth is taken."
+
+"I don't mind about the money," said "Cobbler" Horn hastily. "But I should
+be more comfortable in a plainer cabin," and he looked around uneasily at
+the luxurious and splendid appointments of the quarters which had been
+assigned to him, as his home, for the next few days.
+
+The attendant, regarding with a critical eye the modest attire and
+unassuming demeanour of "Cobbler" Horn, inwardly agreed with what this
+somewhat eccentric passenger had said.
+
+"The only way, sir," said the man, at length, "is to get some one to
+change with you."
+
+"Ah, the very thing! How can it be managed?"
+
+The attendant mused with hand on chin.
+
+"Well, sir," he said, gliding into an interrogative tone, "if you really
+mean it----?"
+
+"Most certainly I do."
+
+"Then I think I can arrange it for you, sir. There is one second-class
+passenger who would probably jump at such a chance. He is an invalid; and
+it would be a great comfort to him to get into such quarters as these.
+I've heard a good bit about him since he came on board."
+
+"Then he's our man," said "Cobbler" Horn; and then, he added hesitatingly,
+"there'll be a sovereign for you, if you manage it at once. I'll wait here
+till you let me know."
+
+The attendant sped on his errand, and, before night, the desired exchange
+had been duly made--"Cobbler" Horn was established in the comfortable and
+congenial accommodation afforded by a second-class cabin, and the invalid
+passenger was blessing his unknown benefactor, as he sank to rest amidst
+the luxury of his new surroundings.
+
+It was late autumn, and the sea, though not stormy, was sufficiently
+restless to make the commencement of the passage unpleasant for all who
+were not good sailors. "Cobbler" Horn was not one of these; and, when,
+upon the second day out, he observed the deserted appearance of the decks
+and saloons, and, on making enquiry of an official, learnt that most of
+the passengers were sick, he realized with a healthy and grateful thrill
+of pleasure, that he was blessed with immunity from the almost universal
+tribulation which waylays the landsman who ventures on the treacherous
+deep.
+
+It will, therefore, be readily believed that "the Golden Shoemaker" keenly
+enjoyed the whole of the voyage. He breathed the fresh, briny air with
+much relish; the wonders of the sea furnished him with many instructive
+and pious thoughts; and the ship itself supplied him with an inexhaustible
+fund of interest. In particular, he paid frequent visits to the steerage,
+where large numbers of emigrants were bestowed. He spent many hours
+amongst these poor people; and, by entering into conversation with such of
+them as were disposed to talk, he became acquainted with many cases of
+necessity, which he was not slow to relieve. Nor did the gifts of money,
+which he bestowed with his usual large generosity, constitute the only
+form of help he gave. In a thousand nameless ways he ministered to the
+wants and relieved the difficulties of his humble fellow-passengers, who
+quickly came to look upon him as the good genius of the ship. As a matter
+of course, the whisper soon went round, "Who is he?" And when, in some
+inscrutable way, the truth leaked out, the poor people regarded him with a
+kind of awe. Some, indeed, criticised, and said he did not look much like
+a millionaire; but there were many in that motley crowd in whose hearts,
+during those few brief days on the ocean, "Cobbler" Horn made for himself
+a very sacred place.
+
+In the course of a day or two, the decks and saloons began to assume a
+more animated appearance. Hitherto "Cobbler" Horn had not greatly
+attracted the attention of the passengers with whom he was more
+immediately associated; but now that they were in a condition to think
+of something other than their own concerns, their interest in him began
+to awake. Who had not heard of "the Golden Shoemaker"--"The Millionaire
+Cordwainer"--"The Lucky Son of Crispin"--as he had been variously
+designated in the newspapers of the day? When it became known that so
+great a celebrity was on board, there was a general desire to make his
+acquaintance. Some vainly asked the captain to give them an introduction;
+some boldly introduced themselves.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was courteous to all, in his homely way; but he showed no
+anxiety to become further acquainted with these obtrusive persons. The
+simplicity of his manners and the plainness of his dress caused much
+surprise; and the public interest concerning him sensibly quickened when
+whispers floated forth of the giving up of his berth to the invalid
+passenger, and of his charitable doings amongst the poor emigrants.
+
+During the voyage, "the Golden Shoemaker" spent much time in close and
+prayerful study of his Bible, which had ever been, and still was, his
+dearest, and well nigh his only, book. He was induced to do this not only
+by his love of the Book itself, but also by a definite desire to absorb,
+and transfuse into his own experience, all those teachings of the Word of
+God which bore upon the new position in which he had been so strangely
+placed.
+
+First of all, he turned to certain notable passages of Scripture which
+shot up before his memory like well-known beacon-lights along a rocky
+coast. There glared upon him, first of all, the lurid denunciation which
+opens the fifth chapter of the Epistle of James, commencing, "Go to now,
+ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you!"
+"God forbid," he cried, "that my 'gold and silver' should ever become
+'cankered!' It would be a terrible thing for their 'rust' to 'witness
+against me,' and eat my 'flesh as it were fire'; and it would be yet more
+dreadful for the money which has such power for good to be itself given
+up to canker and rust!" Then he would meditate on the uncompromising
+declarations of Christ--"How hardly shall they that have riches enter into
+the Kingdom of God!" "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a
+needle, than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of God." He trembled
+as he read; but, pondering, he took heart again. Though hard, it was not
+impossible, for a man of wealth to enter into the Kingdom of God. "Camel!"
+"Eye of a Needle!" He did not know exactly what this strange saying meant;
+but he thought he had heard the minister say that it was intended to show
+the great difficulty involved in the salvation of a rich man. Then he read
+further, "How hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the
+Kingdom of God," and that seemed to make the matter plain. "Ah," he
+thought, "may I be saved from ever trusting in my riches!"
+
+He plucked an ear of wholesome admonition from the parable of the Sower.
+"The deceitfulness of riches!" he murmured. "How true!" And he subjected
+himself to the most vigilant scrutiny, lest he should be beguiled by the
+unlimited possibilities of self-indulgence which his wealth supplied. He
+turned frequently to the emphatic declaration of Paul to Timothy. "They
+that will be rich," it runs, "fall into temptation and a snare, and into
+many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and
+perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some
+coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves
+through with many sorrows." "Ah!" he would exclaim, "I didn't want to be
+rich. At the very most Agur's prayer would have been mine: 'Give me
+neither poverty nor riches.' But it's quite true that riches bring
+'temptations' and are a 'snare,' whether people 'will' be rich or become
+rich against their will; and I must be on the watch. And then there's that
+about 'the love of money' being 'the root of all evil!'" As he spoke, he
+drew a handful of coins from his pocket, and eyed them askance. "Queer
+things to love!" he mused. And then, as he thought of his balance at the
+bank, his large rent-roll, and his many profitable investments, his face
+grew very grave. "Ah," he sighed, letting copper, silver, and gold, slide
+jingling back into his pocket, "I think I have an idea how some people get
+to love their money. Lord save _me_."
+
+He was very fond of the book of Proverbs. Its short, sententious sentences
+were altogether to his mind. "There is that scattereth," he read, "and yet
+increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it
+tendeth to poverty." "I scatter," he said; "but I don't want to increase.
+Lord, spare me the consequences of my scattering! 'Withholdeth more than
+is meet'! Lord, by Thy grace, that will not I! I have no objection to
+poverty; but I would not have it come in that way!"
+
+"There is that maketh himself rich," he read again, "Yet hath nothing;
+there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches." "Ah," he
+sighed, "to possess such riches, I would gladly make myself poor!" But
+there was one text in the book of Proverbs which "Cobbler" Horn could
+never read without a smile. "The poor," it ran "is hated even of his own
+neighbour; but the rich hath many friends." He thought of his daily shoals
+of letters, of the numerous visiting cards which had been left at the door
+of his new abode, and of the obsequious attentions he had begun to receive
+from the office-bearers and leading members of his church; and he called
+to mind the eagerness of his fellow-voyagers to make his acquaintance.
+"Ah" he mused shrewdly, "friends, like most good things, are chiefly to
+be had when you don't need them!"
+
+In these sacred studies, the days passed swiftly for "the Golden
+Shoemaker." Very different were the methods by which the majority of his
+fellow-passengers endeavoured to beguile the time. Amongst the least
+objectionable of these were concerts, theatricals, billiards, and all
+kinds of games. Much time was spent by the ladies in idle chat, to which
+the gentlemen added the seductions of cigar and pipe. There were not a
+few of the passengers, moreover, who resorted to the vicious excitement
+of betting; and "Cobbler" Horn marked with amazement and horror the
+eagerness with which they staked their money on a variety of unutterably
+trivial questions. The disposition of really large sums of money was made
+to depend, on whether a certain cloud would obscure the sun or not;
+whether a large bird, seen as they neared the land, would sweep by on one
+side of the ship or the other; whether the pilot would prove to be tall or
+short; and upon a multitude of other matters so utterly unimportant, that
+"the Golden Shoemaker" began to think he was voyaging with a company of
+escaped lunatics.
+
+To one gentleman, who proposed to take a bet with him as to the
+nationality of the next vessel they might happen to meet, he gave a
+characteristic reply.
+
+"Thank you," he said gravely, "I am not anxious on that subject; and, if I
+were, I should wait for the appearance of the vessel itself. Besides, I
+cannot think it right to risk my money in the way you propose. I dare not
+throw away upon a mere frivolity what God has given me to use for the good
+of my fellows. And then, if we were to bet, as you suggest, the one who
+happened to win would be receiving what he had no moral right to possess.
+I don't----"
+
+Thus far the would-be better had listened patiently. But it was a bet he
+wanted, and not a sermon.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he therefore said, at this point, "I see I have made
+a mistake;" and with a polite bow, he moved hastily away.
+
+One fine evening, towards the end of the voyage, as "Cobbler" Horn was
+taking the air on deck, he was accosted by the attendant who had arranged
+the transfer of his berth from first to second-class.
+
+"The gentleman, sir," he said, touching his cap, "who took your
+cabin----he----"
+
+"Yes," interrupted "Cobbler" Horn; "how is he? Better, I hope."
+
+"Much better, sir; and he thought, perhaps you would see him."
+
+"Do you know what he wants?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, in a hesitating tone.
+
+"Well, sir," replied the man, "he didn't exactly say; but I rather suspect
+it's a little matter of thanks. And, begging your pardon, sir, it's very
+natural."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was not offended at the man's freedom of address, as
+another in his place might have been.
+
+"If that is all, then," he said, "I think he must excuse me. I deserve no
+thanks. I consulted my own inclination, as much as his comfort. I am glad
+he is better. Tell him he is heartily welcome, and ask him if there is
+anything more I can do."
+
+The next morning, as "Cobbler" Horn stood talking, for a minute or so, to
+the captain, the obsequious attendant once more appeared. Touching his cap
+with double emphasis, in honour of the captain, he handed a letter to
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"From the gentleman in your cabin, sir. No answer, sir----I was told to
+say," and, once more touching his cap, the polite functionary marched
+sedately away.
+
+[Illustration: "'From the gentleman in your cabin, sir.'"--_Page 158._]
+
+"I must leave you to read your letter, Mr. Horn," said the captain;
+and, with the word, he withdrew to attend to his duties in another part
+of the ship.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's letter was brief, and ran as follows:
+
+     "DEAR SIR,
+
+           "Though I may not in person express my gratitude for your great
+     kindness, I have that to tell which you ought to know. Poverty,
+     sickness, loss of dear ones, perfidy of professed friends, and ills
+     of all imaginable kinds, have fallen to my lot. I am an American. I
+     have a young wife, and a dear little girl in New York. I have been
+     to Europe upon what has turned out a most disastrous business trip.
+     I came on board this vessel a battered, broken man, not knowing,
+     and scarcely caring, whether I should live to reach the other side.
+     Faith in Christianity, in religion, in God Himself, I had utterly
+     renounced. But I want to tell you that all that is changed. I now
+     wish, and hope, to live; my health is vastly improved; and--will
+     you let me say it without offence?--I find myself able once more to
+     believe in God, and in such religion as yours. I will not again ask
+     you to see me; but if, after reading this letter, you should feel
+     inclined to pay me a visit, I need not tell you how delighted I
+     should be.
+
+             "I am,
+
+               "Dear Sir,
+
+                 "Yours gratefully,
+
+                   "THADDEUS P. WALDRON."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn read this gratifying letter over and over again, with a
+secret joy. But it was not till the next day that he could bring himself
+to comply with the invitation of its closing sentence, and pay a visit to
+the writer. He found the young man, who was far on his way to recovery,
+full of thankfulness to him and of gratitude to God. It seemed that,
+previous to the accumulation of troubles beneath which his faith had given
+away, the young fellow had been a zealous Christian. "Cobbler" Horn found
+him sincerely penitent; and, during this, and succeeding interviews, he
+had the joy of leading him back to the Saviour.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXV.
+
+                            COUSIN JACK.
+
+
+As "Cobbler" Horn was leaving the vessel at New York, he witnessed the
+meeting of Thaddeus P. Waldron and his wife. Mrs. Waldron had come on
+board the steamer. She was a wholesome, glowing little woman, encumbered
+with no inconvenient quantity of reserve. She flung her arms impulsively
+around her husband's neck, and kissed him with a smack like the report of
+a pistol.
+
+"Why, Thad," she cried, "do tell! You've completely taken me in! I
+expected a scarecrow. What for did you frighten me with that letter I
+got last week? It might have been my death!"
+
+Then, with a little trill of a laugh, the happy woman hugged once more
+the equally delighted "Thad," and gave him another resounding kiss.
+
+By this time the attention of those who were passing to and fro around
+them began to be attracted; and, amongst the rest, "Cobbler" Horn, who
+was held for a few moments in the crowd, was watching them with deep
+interest.
+
+"Hold hard, little woman," exclaimed Thaddeus, "or I guess I sha'n't have
+breath left to tell you my news! And," he added, "it's better even than
+you think."
+
+"Oh, Thad, do tell!" she cried, still regarding her husband with admiring
+eyes.
+
+"Well, my health has been fixed up by the sea air, and the comfort and
+attention I've had during the voyage, which is all through the goodness
+of one man. I calculate that man 'ull have to show up before we leave
+this vessel. He wasn't out of sight five minutes ago."
+
+As he spoke, he looked round, and saw the figure of "Cobbler" Horn, who,
+evidently in dread of a demonstration on the part of his grateful friend,
+was modestly moving away amongst the crowd. One stride of Thaddeus P.
+Waldron's long legs, and he had his benefactor by the arm.
+
+"Here, stranger--no, darn it all, you aren't a stranger, no how you fix
+it--this way sir, if _you_ please."
+
+"Now, little woman," he exclaimed, triumphantly dragging his reluctant
+captive towards his wife, "this is the man you have to thank--this man
+and God! He gave up----"
+
+"Oh," interrupted "Cobbler" Horn, "you mustn't allow him to thank me for
+that, ma-am. I did it quite as much for my own sake."
+
+"Hear him!" exclaimed Thaddeus, with incredulous admiration. "Anyhow he
+made me think, little wife, that there was some genuine religion in the
+world after all. And that helped me to get better too. And the long and
+short of it is, I've been made a new man of, inside and out; and we're
+going to have some real good times! And now, old girl, you've just got
+to give the man whose done it all a hug and a buss, and then we'll come
+along."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn started back in dismay. But Mrs. Thaddeus was thoroughly of
+her husband's mind. What he had been, as she knew from his letters, and
+what she found him now, passed through her mind in a flash. She was modest
+enough, but not squeamish; and the honest face of "Cobbler" Horn was one
+which no woman, under the circumstances, need have hesitated to kiss. So,
+in a moment, to the amusement of the crowd, to the huge delight of the
+grateful Thaddeus, and to the confusion of "the Golden Shoemaker" himself,
+the thing was done.
+
+The next minute, the happy and grateful couple were gone, and "Cobbler"
+Horn had scarcely time to recover his composure before he found himself
+greeted by the agent of Messrs. Tongs and Ball, who, having been furnished
+by those gentlemen with a particular description of the personal
+appearance of their eccentric client, had experienced but little
+difficulty in singling him out. From this gentleman "Cobbler" Horn learnt
+that his ill-fated cousin had been removed from the wretched lodgings
+where he was found to the best private hospital in New York, where he was
+receiving every possible care. The agent had also engaged apartments for
+"Cobbler" Horn himself in a first-class hotel in the neighbourhood of the
+hospital. It was a great relief to "Cobbler" Horn that his conductor had
+undertaken the care of his luggage, and the management of everything
+connected with his debarkation. He was realizing more and more the immense
+advantages conferred by wealth. On being shown into the splendid
+apartments which had been engaged for him in the hotel, he shrank back as
+he had done from the first-class accommodation assigned to him on board
+the steam-boat. But this time he was obliged to submit. Wealth has its
+penalties, as well as its advantages.
+
+It was early in the forenoon when the vessel arrived; and, when "the
+Golden Shoemaker" was duly installed in his luxurious quarters at the
+hotel, the agent left him, having first promised to come back at three
+o'clock, and conduct him to the bedside of his cousin.
+
+At the appointed time the agent returned.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was eager to be going, and they at once set out. A few
+minutes brought them to the hospital where his cousin lay. They were
+immediately shown in, and "Cobbler" Horn found himself entering a bright
+and airy chamber, where he presently stood beside his cousin's bed.
+
+The sick man had been apprised of the approaching visit of his generous
+relative from over the water, and he regarded "Cobbler" Horn now with a
+kind of dull wonder in his hollow eyes. At the same time he held out a
+hand which was wasted almost to transparency. "Cobbler" Horn took the
+thin fingers in his strong grasp; and, as he looked, with a great pity, on
+the sunken cheeks, the protruding mouth, the dark gleaming eyes, and the
+contracted forehead with its setting of black damp hair, he thought that,
+if ever he had seen the stamp of death upon a human face, he saw it now.
+
+"Well, cousin Jack," he said sadly, "it grieves me that our first meeting
+should be like this."
+
+Cousin Jack, struggling with strong emotion, regarded his visitor with a
+fixed look. His mouth worked convulsively, and it was some moments before
+he could speak. At length he found utterance, in hollow tones, and with
+laboured breath.
+
+"Have you--come all this way--across the water--on purpose to see me?"
+
+"Yes," replied "Cobbler" Horn, simply, "of course I have. I wanted you to
+know that you are to have your honest share of our poor uncle's money. And
+because I was determined to make sure that everything was done for you
+that could be done, and because I wished to do some little for you myself,
+I did not send, but came."
+
+"Uncle's money! Ah, yes, they told me about it. Well, you might have kept
+it all; and it's very good of you--very. But money won't be much use to me
+very long. It's your coming that I take so kindly. You see, I hadn't a
+friend; and it seemed so dreadful to die like that. Oh, it was good of you
+to come!"
+
+In his wonder at the loving solicitude which had brought his cousin across
+the water to his dying bed, he almost seemed to undervalue the act of
+rare unselfishness by which so much money had been relinquished which
+might have been kept without fear of reproach. "Cobbler" Horn was not hurt
+by the seeming insensibility of his poor cousin to the great sacrifice he
+had made on his behalf. He did not desire, nor did he think that he
+deserved, any credit for what he had done. He had simply done his duty, as
+a matter of course. But he was much gratified that his poor cousin was so
+grateful for his coming. He sat down, with shining eyes, by the bedside,
+and took the wasted hand in his once more.
+
+"Cousin," he asked, "have they cared for you in every way?"
+
+"Yes, cousin, they have done what they could, thanks to your goodness!"
+
+"Not at all. Your own money will pay the bill, you know."
+
+For a moment cousin Jack was perplexed. His own money? He had not a cent.
+in the world! He had actually forgotten that his cousin had made him rich.
+
+"My own money?"
+
+"Yes; the third part of what uncle left you know."
+
+A slight flush mantled the hollow cheeks.
+
+"Oh yes; what a dunce I am! I'm afraid I'm very ungrateful. But you see I
+seem to have done with such things. And yet the money is going to be of
+some use to me after all."
+
+"Yes, that it is! It shall bring you comfort, ease, and, if possible,
+health and life."
+
+The sick man shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, wistfully; "a little of the first two, perhaps, but none of
+the last. I know I can't live many weeks; and it's no use deceiving myself
+with false hopes."
+
+As "Cobbler" Horn looked at his cousin, he knew that he was not mistaken
+in his forecast.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn did not remain long with his sick cousin at this time.
+
+"There is one thing I should like," he said gravely, as he rose from his
+seat.
+
+"There is not much that I can deny you," replied Jack; "what is it?"
+
+He spoke without much show of interest.
+
+"I should like to pray with you before I go."
+
+Cousin Jack started, and again his pale face flushed.
+
+"Certainly," he said, "if you wish it; but it will be of no use. Nothing
+is of any use now."
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" knelt down beside the bed, and prayed for his dying
+cousin, in his own simple, fervent way. Then, with a promise to come again
+on the following day, he passed out of the room.
+
+The prayer had been brief, and poor Jack had listened to it with heedless
+resignation; but it had struck a chord in his bruised heart which
+continued to vibrate long after his visitor was gone.
+
+The next day "Cobbler" Horn found his cousin in a more serious mood. The
+poor young man told him something of his sad history; and "Cobbler" Horn
+spoke many earnest and faithful words. It became increasingly evident to
+"Cobbler" Horn, day by day, that life was ebbing fast within his cousin's
+shattered frame; and he grew ever more anxious to bring the poor young
+fellow to the Saviour. But somehow the work seemed to drag. Jack would
+express a desire for salvation; and yet, somehow he seemed to be holding
+back. The hindrance was revealed, one day, by a stray question asked by
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"How about your will, Jack?"
+
+Jack stared blankly.
+
+"My will? Why should I make a will?"
+
+"Because you have some money to leave."
+
+"Ah! Whose will it be, if I die without a will?"
+
+"Mine, I suppose," said "Cobbler" Horn reluctantly, after a moment's
+thought.
+
+"Well, then, let it be; nothing could be better."
+
+"But is there no one to whom you would like to leave your money?"
+
+Jack looked fixedly at the already beloved face of his cousin. Then his
+own face worked convulsively, and he covered it with his wasted fingers.
+
+"Yes, yes," he said, in tones of distress; "there is some one. That
+is---- You are sure the money is really my own?"
+
+He seemed all eagerness now to possess his share of the money.
+
+"To be sure it is," responded "Cobbler" Horn. "That is quite settled."
+
+"Well, then, there is a poor girl who would have given her life for mine;
+but I have behaved to her like a brute. She shall have every penny of
+it."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn listened with intense interest, and at once gave expression
+to a burning apprehension which had instantly pierced his mind.
+
+"Behaved like a brute!" he exclaimed. "Not in the worst way of all, I
+hope, Jack?"
+
+"No, no, not that!" cried Jack, in horror.
+
+"Thank God! But now, do you know where this poor girl is to be found?"
+
+"I think so. Her name is Bertha Norman, and her parents live in a village
+only a few miles from here. When I gave her up, I believe she left her
+situation, here in the city, and went home with a broken heart."
+
+"Well, Jack, your decision will meet with the approval of God. But, in
+the meantime, we must try to find this poor girl."
+
+"If you only would!"
+
+"Of course. But, with regard to the other matter--you would like to have
+the thing done at once?"
+
+"The thing?"
+
+"The will."
+
+"Oh yes; it would be better so."
+
+"Then we'll arrange, if possible, for this afternoon. Perhaps you know a
+lawyer?"
+
+"No. Amongst all my follies, I have kept out of the hands of the lawyers.
+But there is the gentleman who rescued me from that den, where I should
+have been dead by now. Perhaps he would do?"
+
+"Ah, the agent of my lawyers in London! Well, I'll see him at once."
+
+So the thing was done. That afternoon the lawyer came to receive
+instructions, and the next morning the will was presented and duly signed.
+
+When the lawyer was gone, Jack turned feebly to "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"There's just one thing more," he said. "I must see her, and tell her
+about it myself."
+
+"Would she come" asked "Cobbler" Horn. "And do you think it would be
+well?"
+
+"'Come'? She would come, if I were dying at North Pole. And there will be
+no peace for me, till I have heard from her own lips that she has forgiven
+me."
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated "Cobbler" Horn. "Do you say so?"
+
+"Yes, cousin; I feel that it's no use to ask pardon of God, till Bertha
+has forgiven me. You know what I mean."
+
+"Yes," said "Cobbler" Horn gently; "I know what you mean, and I'll do what
+I can."
+
+"Thank you!" said Jack, fervently. "But it mustn't be by letter. You must
+go and see her yourself, if you will; and I don't think you will refuse."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn shrank, at first, from so delicate and difficult a mission,
+for which he pronounced himself utterly unfit. But the pathetic appeal of
+the dark, hollow eyes, which gleamed upon him from the pillow, ultimately
+prevailed.
+
+"Tell her," said Jack, as "Cobbler" Horn wished him good night, "that I
+dare not ask pardon of God, till I have her forgiveness from her own
+lips."
+
+In a village almost English in its rural loveliness "Cobbler" Horn found
+himself, the next morning, face to face, in the little front-room of a
+humble cottage, with a pale, sorrowful maiden, on whose
+pensively-beautiful face hope and fear mingled their lights and shadows
+while he delivered his tender message.
+
+"Would she go with him?"
+
+"Go?" she exclaimed, with trembling eagerness, "of course I will! But how
+good it is of you, sir--a stranger, to come like this!"
+
+So Bertha Norman came back with "Cobbler" Horn to the private hospital in
+New York. He put her into her cousin's room, closed the door, and then
+quietly came downstairs. Bertha did not notice that her conductor had
+withdrawn. She flew to the bedside. The dying man put out a trembling
+hand.
+
+"Forgive----" he began in broken tones.
+
+But she stifled his words with gentle kisses, and, sitting down by the
+bed, clasped his poor thin hand.
+
+"Ask God to forgive you, dear Jack. I've never stopped loving you a bit!"
+
+"Yes, I will ask God that," he said. "I can now. But I want to tell you
+something first, Bertha. I am a rich man."
+
+Then he told her the wonderful story.
+
+"Ah!" she exclaimed, "that was your friend who brought me here. I felt
+that he was good."
+
+"He is," said Jack. "And now Bertha, it's all yours. I've made my will,
+and the money is to come to you when I'm gone. You know I'm going,
+Bertha?"
+
+She tightened the grasp of her hand on his with a convulsive movement,
+but did not speak.
+
+"It 'ull be your very own, Bertha," he said.
+
+"Yes, thank you, dear Jack. But forgive me, if I don't think much about
+that just now."
+
+Then there was a brief silence, which was presently broken by Jack.
+
+"You won't leave me, yet, Bertha? You'll stay with me a little while?"
+
+"Jack I shall never leave you any more!" and there was a world of love
+in her gentle eyes.
+
+"Thank God!" murmured the dying man. "Till----till----you mean?"
+
+"Yes; but, Jack, you must come back to God!"
+
+"Yes, I will. But call cousin Thomas in."
+
+She found "the Golden Shoemaker" in a small sitting-room downstairs; and,
+having brought him up to the sick-chamber, stood before him in the middle
+of the room, and, taking his big hand, gently lifted it, with both her
+tiny white ones, to her lips.
+
+"In the presence of my dear Jack," she said, "I thank you. But, dear
+friend, I think you should take the money back when he is gone."
+
+"My dear young lady," protested "Cobbler" Horn, with uplifted hand, "how
+can I take it, seeing it is not mine? But," he added softly, "we will not
+speak of it now."
+
+True to her promise, Bertha did not leave her beloved Jack until the end;
+and the regular attendants, supplied by the house, so far from regarding
+her presence as an intrusion, were easily induced to look upon her as one
+of themselves. "Cobbler" Horn was rarely absent during the day-time; and,
+in the brief remaining space of poor Jack's chequered life, his gentle
+lover, and his high-souled cousin, had the great joy of leading him to
+entertain a genuine trust in the Saviour. The end came so suddenly, that
+they had no time for parting words; but they had good hope, as they
+reverently closed his eyes. When all was over, and he had been laid to
+rest in the cemetery, "Cobbler" Horn took Bertha back to her village home,
+and then set his face once more towards England, bearing in his heart a
+chastened memory, and the image of a sweet, pensive face.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+                             HOME AGAIN.
+
+
+It was with feelings of deep gratitude to God that "Cobbler" Horn set foot
+once more upon his native land. After having been away no longer than four
+weeks, he landed at Liverpool on a bright winter's morning, and, taking an
+early train, reached Cottonborough about mid-day. He had telegraphed the
+time of his arrival, and Bounder, the coachman, was at the station to
+meet him with the dog-cart. He had sent his message for the purpose of
+preparing his sister for his arrival; for he knew she preferred not to be
+taken unawares by such events. If he had given the matter a thought, he
+would have told them not to send to meet him at the station. He would
+much rather have walked, than ridden, a distance so short. And then he
+shrank, at all times, from the idea of making a public parade of his
+newly-acquired state. And, if all the truth must be told, he was--not
+awed, but mildly irritated, by the imposing presence, and reproachful
+civility, of the ideal Bounder.
+
+Here was Bounder now, with his dignified salute. "Cobbler" Horn yearned to
+give the man a hearty shake of the hand, and ask him sociably how he had
+been getting on. This was obviously out of the question; but, just then,
+little Tommy Dudgeon happened to come up, on his way into the station.
+Here was an opportunity not to be let slip, and "Cobbler" Horn seized with
+avidity on his humble little friend, and gave him the hearty hand-shake
+which he would fain have bestowed upon the high and mighty Bounder. It was
+a means of grace to "the Golden Shoemaker" once more to clasp the hand of
+a compatriot and a friend. He stood talking to Tommy for a few minutes,
+while Bounder waited in his seat with an expression of very slightly
+veiled scorn on his majestic face.
+
+At length, quite oblivious of the contemptuous disapproval of his
+coachman, and greatly refreshed in spirit, "Cobbler" Horn bade his little
+friend "good day," and mounted to his seat.
+
+They drove off in silence. "Cobbler" Horn scarcely knew whether his
+exacting coachman would think it proper for his master to enter into
+conversation with him; and the coachman, on his part, would not be guilty
+of such a breach of decorum as to speak to his master when his master had
+not first spoken to him.
+
+Miss Jemima was standing in the doorway to receive her brother; and behind
+her, with a radiant face, modestly waited the young secretary. Miss Jemima
+presented her cheek, as though for the performance of a surgical
+operation, and "Cobbler" Horn kissed it with a hearty smack. At the
+same time he grasped her hand.
+
+"Well, Jemima," he exclaimed, "I'm back again safe and sound, you see!"
+
+"Yes," was the solemn response, "I'm thankful to see you, brother,--and
+relieved."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn laughed heartily, and kissed her on the other cheek.
+
+"Thankful enough, Jemima, let us be. But 'relieved'! well, I had no fear.
+You see, my dear sister, the whole round world lies in the hand of God.
+And, then, I didn't understand the way the Lord has been dealing with me
+of late to mean that he was going to allow me to be cut off quite so soon
+as that."
+
+This was said cheerily, and not at all in a preaching tone; and having
+said it, "Cobbler" Horn turned, with genuine pleasure, to exchange a
+genial greeting with his young secretary, who had remained sedately in
+the background.
+
+"Dinner is almost ready," said Miss Jemima, as they entered the house;
+"so you must not spend long in your room."
+
+"I promise you," said her brother, from the stairs, "that I shall be at
+the table almost as soon as the dinner itself."
+
+During dinner, "Cobbler" Horn talked much about his voyage to and fro, and
+his impressions of America. He had sent, by letter, during his absence, a
+regular report, from time to time, of the progress of the sorrowful
+business which had taken him across the sea; and with regard to that
+neither he nor his sister was now inclined to speak at large.
+
+After dinner, "Cobbler" Horn, somewhat to his sister's mortification,
+retired to the office, for the purpose of receiving, from his secretary, a
+report of the correspondence which had passed through her hands during his
+absence.
+
+Let it not be supposed that Miss Jemima was capable of entertaining
+suspicion with regard to her brother. She would frown upon his doings and
+disapprove of his opinions, with complete unreserve; but she would not
+admit concerning him a shadow of mistrust. When, therefore, it is recorded
+that his frequent and close intercourse with his young secretary
+occasioned his sister uneasiness of mind, it must not be supposed that any
+evil imagining intruded upon her thoughts. Miss Jemima was simply fearful
+lest this young girl should, perhaps inadvertently, steal into the place
+in her brother's heart which belonged to her. As "Cobbler" Horn and his
+secretary sat in counsel, from time to time, in their respective
+arm-chairs, at the opposite ends of the office table, neither of them
+had any suspicion of Miss Jemima's jealous fears.
+
+Miss Owen had dealt diligently, and with much shrewdness, with the
+ever-inflowing tide of letters. Her labour was much lightened now by
+reason of "Cobbler" Horn's having provided her with the best type-writer
+that could be obtained for money. With regard to some of the letters, she
+had ventured to avail herself of the advice of the minister; and she had
+also, with great tact, consulted Miss Jemima on points with reference to
+which the opinion of that lady was likely to be sound and safe. The
+consequence was that the letters which remained to be considered were
+comparatively few.
+
+First, Miss Owen gave her employer an account of the letters of which she
+had disposed; then she unfolded such matters as were still the subjects of
+correspondence; and lastly she laid before him the letters with which she
+had not been able to deal.
+
+The most important of all the letters were two long ones from Messrs.
+Tongs and Ball and Mr. Gray, respectively, relating to the improvements
+in progress at Daisy Lane in general, and in particular to the work of
+altering and fitting up the old Hall for the great and gracious purpose
+on which its owner had resolved. "The Golden Shoemaker" was gratified to
+learn, from these letters, that the work of renovating his dilapidated
+property had been so well begun, and that already, amongst his
+long-suffering tenants, great satisfaction was beginning to prevail.
+The remaining letters were passed under review, and then "Cobbler" Horn
+lingered for a few moment's chat.
+
+"I mean to take my sister and you to see the village and the Hall one day
+soon, Miss Owen," he said.
+
+"Oh, thank you, Mr. Horn!" enthusiastically exclaimed the young secretary.
+
+"You would like to go?"
+
+"I should love it dearly! I can't tell you, Mr. Horn, how much I am
+interested in that kind and generous scheme of yours for the old Hall."
+
+In her intercourse with her employer, "Cobbler" Horn's secretary was quite
+free and unreserved, as indeed he wished her to be.
+
+"It's to be a home for orphans, isn't it?" she asked.
+
+"Not for orphans only," he replied, tenderly, as he thought of his own
+lost little one. "It's for children who have no home, whether orphans or
+not,--little waifs, you know, and strays--children who have no one to care
+for them."
+
+"I'm doing it," he added, simply, "for the sake of my little Marian."
+
+"Oh, how good of you! And, do you know, Mr. Horn, its being for waifs and
+strays makes me like it all the more; because I was a waif and stray once
+myself."
+
+She was leaning forward, with her elbows on the table, and her pretty
+but decided chin resting on her doubled hands. As she spoke, her somewhat
+startling announcement presented itself to her in a serio-comic light,
+and a whimsical twinkle came into her eyes. The same impression was
+shared by "Cobbler" Horn; and, regarding his young secretary, with her
+neatly-clothed person, her well-arranged hair, and her capable-looking
+face, he found it difficult to regard as anything but a joke the
+announcement that she had once been, as she expressed it, "a waif and
+stray."
+
+"You!" he exclaimed, with an indulgent smile.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Horn, I was indeed a little outcast girl. Did not Mr. Durnford
+tell you that the dear friends who have brought me up are not my actual
+parents?"
+
+"Yes," replied "Cobbler" Horn, slowly, "he certainly did. But I did not
+suspect----"
+
+"Of course not!" laughed the young girl. "You would never dream of
+insulting me by supposing that I had once been a little tramp!"
+
+"No, of course not," agreed "Cobbler" Horn, with a perplexed smile.
+
+"It's true, nevertheless," affirmed Miss Owen. "Mr. and Mrs. Burton have
+been like parents to me almost ever since I can remember, and I always
+call them 'father' and 'mother'; but they are no more relations to me than
+are you and Miss Horn. They found me in the road, a poor little ragged
+mite; and they took me home, and I've been just like their own ever since.
+I remember something of it, in a vague sort of way."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was regarding his secretary with a bewildered gaze.
+
+"You may well be astonished, Mr. Horn. But, do you know, sometimes I
+almost feel glad that I don't know my real father and mother. They must
+have been dreadful people. But, whatever they were, they could never have
+been better to me than Mr. and Mrs. Burton have been. They have treated me
+exactly as if I had been their own child."
+
+Many confused thoughts were working in the brain of "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"But," said Miss Owen, resuming her work, "I must tell you about it
+another time."
+
+"Yes, you shall," said "Cobbler" Horn, rousing himself. "I shall want to
+hear it all."
+
+So saying, he left the room, and betook himself to his old workshop for an
+hour or two on his beloved cobbler's bench. He had placed the old house
+under the care of a widow, whom he permitted to live there rent free, and
+to have the use of the furniture which remained in the house, and to whom,
+in addition, he paid a small weekly fee.
+
+As he walked along the street, he could not fail to think of what his
+secretary had just said with reference to her early life. His thoughts
+were full of pathetic interest. Then she too had been a little homeless
+one! The fact endeared to him, more than ever, the bright young girl who
+had come like a stream of sunshine into his life. For to "Cobbler" Horn
+his young secretary was indeed becoming very dear. It could not be
+otherwise. She was just filling his life with the gentle and considerate
+helpfulness which he had often thought would have been afforded to him by
+his little Marian. And now, it seemed to draw this young girl closer to
+him still, when he learnt that she had once been homeless and friendless,
+as he had too much reason to fear that his own little one had become. He
+had a feeling also that the coincidence therein involved was strange.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+              COMING INTO COLLISION WITH THE PROPRIETIES.
+
+
+It is not surprising that, in his new station, "Cobbler" Horn should have
+committed an occasional breach of etiquette. It was unlikely that he would
+ever be guilty of real impropriety; but it was inevitable that he should,
+now and again, set at nought the so-called "proprieties" of fashionable
+life. In the genuine sense of the word, "Cobbler" Horn was a Christian
+gentleman; and he would have sustained the character in any position in
+which he might have been placed. But he had a feeling akin to contempt for
+the punctilious and conventional squeamishness of polite society.
+
+It was, no doubt, largely for this reason that "society" did not receive
+"the Golden Shoemaker" within its sacred enclosure. Not that it rejected
+him. He had too much money for that; half his wealth would have procured
+him the entree to the most select circles. But the attitude he assumed
+towards the fashionable world rendered impossible his admission to its
+charmed precincts. He made it evident that he would not, and could not,
+conform to its customs or observe its rules. The world, indeed, courted
+him, at first, and would gladly have taken him within its arms. Fashion
+set to work to woo him, as it would have wooed an ogre possessed of his
+glittering credentials. But he repelled its advances with an amused
+indifference verging on contempt.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn foiled, by dint of sheer unresponsiveness, the first
+attempt to introduce itself to him made by the world. On his return from
+America, one of the first things which attracted his attention was a pile
+of visiting cards on a silver salver which stood on the hall table. Some
+of these bore the most distinguished names which Cottonborough or its
+vicinity could boast. There were municipal personages of the utmost
+dignity, and the representatives of county families of the first water. It
+had taken the world some little time to awake to a sense of its "duty"
+with regard to the "Cobbler" who had suddenly acceded to so high a
+position in the aristocracy of wealth. But when, at length, it realized
+that "the Golden Shoemaker" was indeed a fact, it set itself to bestow
+upon him as full and free a recognition as though the blood in his veins
+had been of the most immaculate blue.
+
+It was during his absence in America that the great rush of the
+fashionable world to his door had actually set in. But Miss Jemima had
+not been taken unawares. She had supplied herself betimes with a manual
+of etiquette, which she had studied with the assiduity of a diligent
+school-girl. She had also, though not without trepidation, ordered a
+quantity of visiting cards, and had them inscribed respectively with her
+own and her brother's names. And thus, when Society made its first
+advances, it did not find Miss Jemima unprepared.
+
+When "Cobbler" Horn espied the visiting cards on his hall table, he said
+to his sister:
+
+"What, more of these, Jemima?"
+
+"Yes, Thomas," she responded, with evident pride; "and some of them belong
+to the best people in the neighbourhood!"
+
+"And have all these people been here?" he asked, taking up a bunch of the
+cards between his finger and thumb, and regarding them with a mingling of
+curiosity and amusement.
+
+"Yes," replied Miss Jemima, in exultant tones, "they have all been here;
+but a good many of them happened to come when I was out."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn sighed.
+
+"Well," he said, "I suppose this is another of 'the penalties of wealth!'"
+
+"Say rather _privileges_, Thomas," Miss Jemima ventured delicately to
+suggest.
+
+"No, Jemima. It may appear to you in that light; but I am not able to
+regard as a privilege the coming to us of all these grand people. How much
+better it would be, if they would leave us to live our life in our own
+way! Do you suppose they would ever have taken any notice of us at all, if
+it had not been for this money?"
+
+Miss Jemima was unable to reply; for it was impossible to gainsay her
+brother's words. And yet it was sweet to her soul to have all the best
+people in the neighbourhood calling and leaving their cards. For the
+present, she let the matter rest. But, a day or two afterwards, the course
+of events brought the question to the surface again. Miss Jemima was
+brushing her brother's coat, in the dining-room, after dinner, previous to
+his setting out for his old workshop, when they saw a carriage drive up to
+the gate.
+
+"Here are some more of your grand friends, Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn,
+with a sigh. "How ever am I to get out?"
+
+Miss Jemima was peeping out from behind the window-curtain, with the
+eagerness of a girl.
+
+"Why," she exclaimed, as the occupants of the carriage began to alight,
+"it's Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow, the retired b----." "Brewer" she was going
+to say but checked herself. "Surely you will not think of going out now,
+Thomas?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn knew Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow very well by sight. He had known
+them before they rode in their carriage, and when they were much less
+splendid people than they had latterly become. He had never greatly
+desired their acquaintance when it was unattainable; and, now that it was
+being thrust upon him, he desired it even less than before. There was no
+reason why he should be intimate with this man. On what grounds had he
+called? "Cobbler" Horn could not refrain from regarding the visit as being
+an impertinence.
+
+"My dear Jemima," he said, "I must be going at once. These people cannot
+have any business with me; and I have a good deal of work to do. You have
+received the other people; and you can manage these. But, Jemima, do not
+encourage them to come again!"
+
+So saying, he moved towards the door; but Miss Jemima placed an agitated
+hand upon his arm.
+
+"Thomas," she cried, "what shall I say to them?"
+
+"Tell them I am obliged to go out. Do you think it would be right to keep
+my poor people waiting for their boots and shoes, while I spent the time
+in idle ceremony?"
+
+Miss Jemima ceased to remonstrate, and her brother again moved towards the
+door. But, before he reached it, a servant appeared with the cards of Mr.
+and Mrs. Brownlow, who were by this time installed in the drawing-room.
+Miss Jemima took the cards, and "Cobbler" Horn made for the front-door.
+
+"Not that way, Thomas!" she cried after him. "They'll see you!"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn looked around in surprise.
+
+"Why not, my dear? They will thus perceive that I have really gone out."
+
+The next moment he was gone, and Miss Jemima was left to face the visitors
+with the best excuses she could frame.
+
+The question of returning the numerous calls they had received occasioned
+much perplexity to Miss Jemima's mind. Nothing would induce her brother
+to accompany her on any expedition of the kind. While, therefore, in some
+cases, she was able to go by herself, in others she was obliged to refrain
+from going altogether, and, as a matter of course, offence was given. The
+natural consequence was that the number of callers rapidly diminished, and
+"the Golden Shoemaker's" reputation for eccentricity was thoroughly
+established.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn very rarely consented to see any company who came merely to
+pay a call. But one afternoon, when his sister was out, he went into the
+drawing-room to excuse her absence, and, in fact, to dismiss the callers.
+
+"My sister is not at home, ma'am," he said, addressing the buxom and
+magnificent lady, who, with her two slender and humble-looking sons, had
+awaited his coming.
+
+Having delivered his announcement, he stood at the open door, as though to
+show his visitors out. The lady, however, quite unabashed, retained her
+seat.
+
+"May I venture to say," she asked, "that, inasmuch as the absence of Miss
+Horn has procured us the pleasure of making the acquaintance of her
+brother, it is not entirely a matter of regret?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn bowed gravely.
+
+"It is very good of you to say that, ma'am; but I'm afraid I must ask you
+to excuse me too. I'm very busy; and, besides, these ceremonies are not at
+all in my way."
+
+The lady, who bore a title, changed countenance, and rose to her feet.
+She was conscious that she had been dismissed.
+
+"Certainly, sir," she said, in accents of freezing politeness; "no doubt
+you have many concerns. We will retire at once."
+
+The lady's sons also rose, moving as she moved, like the satellites of a
+planet.
+
+"There is no need for you to go, ma'am," "Cobbler" Horn hastened to say,
+quite unaware that he had committed a grave breach of etiquette. "If you
+will only excuse me, and stay here by yourselves, for a little while, no
+doubt my sister will soon be back; and I'm sure she will be glad to see
+you."
+
+"Thank you," was the haughty response of the angered dame; "we have
+already remained too long. Be good enough, sir, to have us shown out."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn rang the bell; and, as the lady, followed by her sons,
+swept past him with a stately and disdainful bow, he felt that, in some
+way, he had grievously transgressed.
+
+Miss Jemima, on her return, a few moments later, heard, with great
+consternation, what had taken place.
+
+"I asked the good lady to wait till you came, Jemima; but she insisted on
+going away at once."
+
+"Oh, Thomas, what have you done!" cried Miss Jemima, in piteous tones.
+
+"What could I do?" was the reply. "You see, I could not think of wasting
+my time; and I thought they would not mind staying by themselves, for a
+few minutes, till you came in."
+
+"Oh, dear," cried Miss Jemima, "I'm afraid she'll never come again!"
+
+"Well, never mind, Jemima," said her brother; "I don't suppose it will
+matter very much."
+
+The foreboding of Miss Jemima was fulfilled; the outraged lady returned no
+more. And there were many others, who, when they found that the master of
+the house had little taste for fashionable company, discontinued their
+calls. Some few of her new-made acquaintances only Miss Jemima was able,
+by dint of her own careful and eager politeness, to retain.
+
+There were also other points at which "Cobbler" Horn came into collision
+with the customs of society. He persisted in habitually going out with his
+hands ungloved. He possessed a hardy frame, and, even in winter, he had
+rarely worn either gloves or overcoat; and now, as ever, almost his only
+preparation for going out was to take his hat down from its peg, and put
+it on his head. Miss Jemima pathetically entreated that he would at least
+wear gloves. But he was obdurate. His hands, he said, were always warm
+enough when he was out of doors; and he would try to keep them clean.
+
+Another of the whims of "Cobbler" Horn was his fondness for doing what his
+sister called "common" work. One morning, for example, on coming down to
+breakfast, the good lady, looking through the window, saw her brother, in
+his shirt sleeves, engaged in trimming the grass of the lawn. With a
+little scream, she ran out at the front-door, and caught him by the arm.
+
+"Thomas! Thomas!" she cried, "if you don't care about yourself, have a
+little thought for me!"
+
+"What is it, Jemima?" he asked straightening himself. "Is breakfast ready?
+I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting. I'll come at once."
+
+"No, no," exclaimed Miss Jemima; "it's not that! But for a man in your
+position to be working like a common gardener--it's shameful! Pray come in
+at once, before you are seen by any one going by! Without your coat too,
+on a sharp winter's morning like this!"
+
+"My dear Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, as he turned with her towards the
+house, "if I _were_ a common gardener, there would be no disgrace,
+any more than in my present position. There's no shame in a bit of honest
+work, anyhow, Jemima; and it's a great treat to me."
+
+Miss Jemima's chief concern was to get her unmanageable brother into the
+house as quickly as possible, and she paid little heed to what he said.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+                         BOUNDER GIVES WARNING.
+
+
+There was another personage to whom the unconventional ways of "the Golden
+Shoemaker" gave great offence; and that was Mr. Bounder, the coachman. As
+a coachman, Bounder was faultless. His native genius had been developed
+and matured by a long course of first-class experience. In matters of
+etiquette, within his province, Bounder was precise. Right behaviour
+between master and coachman was, in his opinion, "the whole duty of man."
+He held in equal contempt a presuming coachman and a master who did not
+keep his place.
+
+Bounder soon discovered that, in "Cobbler" Horn, he had a master of whom
+it was impossible to approve. Bounder "see'd from the fust as Mr. Horn
+warn't no gentleman." It was always the way with "them as was made rich
+all of a suddint like." And Bounder puffed out his red cheeks till they
+looked like two toy balloons. It was "bad enough to be kept waiting
+outside the station, while your master stood talking to a little feller as
+looked as like a rag and bone man as anythink; but when you was required
+to stop the kerridge and pick up every tramp as you overtook on the road,
+it was coming it a little too strong." This last was a slight exaggeration
+on the part of Bounder. The exact truth was that, on one occasion, his
+master had stopped the carriage for the purpose of giving a lift to a
+respectable, though not well-to-do, pedestrian, and in another instance,
+a working-class woman and her tired little one had been invited to take
+their seats on Bounder's sacred cushions, Bounder's master himself
+alighting to lift the bedusted child to her place.
+
+But this was not the worst. The woman who lived in the little cottage past
+which Marian had trotted so eagerly, on the morning of her disappearance
+so long ago, had a daughter who was a cripple from disease of the spine.
+She was the only daughter, and, being well up in her teens, would have
+been a great help to her mother if she had been well. "Cobbler" Horn was
+deeply moved by the pale cheeks and frail bent form of the invalid girl.
+He induced his sister to call at the cottage, and they took the poor
+suffering creature under their care. It was not unnatural that the young
+secretary should also be enlisted in this kindly service. First she was
+sent to the cottage with delicacies to tempt the appetite of the sick
+girl; and then she began to go there of her own accord. During one of her
+visits, the mother happened to say:
+
+"You see, miss, what she wants is fresh air. But how's she to get it? She
+can't walk only a few yards at a time; and even a mild winter's not the
+time for sitting out."
+
+The woman spoke without any special design; but her words suggested to
+the mind of Miss Owen a happy thought. The young secretary was so firmly
+established, by this time, in the regard of her employer that she was able
+to approach him with the least degree of reserve. So she spoke out her
+thought to him with the frankness of a favourite daughter. An actual
+daughter would have thrown her arms around his neck, and emphasized her
+suggestion with a kiss. Miss Owen did not do this; but the tone of
+respectful yet affectionate confidence in which she spoke served her
+purpose just as well.
+
+"Mr. Horn"--they were in the midst of their daily grapple with the
+correspondence--"the doctor says poor Susie Martin ought to have a great
+deal of fresh air. Don't you think a carriage drive now and then would be
+a good thing?"
+
+Her knowledge of "Cobbler" Horn assured her that her suggestion would be
+adopted. Otherwise she would have hesitated to throw it out.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn laid down the pen with which he had been making some
+jottings for the guidance of his secretary, and regarded her steadfastly
+for a moment or two. Then his face lighted up with a sudden glow.
+
+"To be sure! Why didn't I think of that? My dear young lady, you are my
+good angel!"
+
+That evening Miss Owen was desired to take a message to the cottage; and
+the next day Bounder was confounded by being ordered to convey Miss Owen
+and the invalid girl for a country drive, in the pony carriage. Bounder
+stared, became apoplectic in appearance, and stutteringly asked to have
+the order repeated. His master complied with his request; and Bounder
+turned away, with haughty mien, to do as he was bid. He was consumed with
+fierce mortification. He would bear it this time, but not again. He was
+like the proverbial camel, which succumbs beneath the last straw. Very
+soon the point would be reached at which long-suffering endurance must
+give way.
+
+It was a deep grievance with Bounder that he was seldom ordered to drive
+to big houses. He was required to turn the heads of his horses into many
+strange ways. He was almost daily ordered to drive down streets where he
+was ashamed to be seen, and to stop at doors at which he felt it to be an
+indignity to be compelled to pull up his prancing steeds. Bounder hailed
+with relief the occasions on which he was required to take Miss Jemima
+out. Then he was sure of not receiving an order to obey which would be
+beneath the dignity of a coachman who, until now, had known no service but
+of the highest class. Such occasions supplied salve to his wounded spirit.
+But his wound was reopened every day by some fresh insult at the hands of
+his master. He had submitted to the odious necessity of driving out in his
+carriage the crippled girl, and that not only once or twice. But the tide
+of rebellion was rising higher and higher in his breast, and gathering
+strength from day to day; and, at length, Bounder resolved to give his
+master "warning," and remove himself from so uncongenial a sphere. He did
+not quite like to make his master's kindness to the poor invalid girl his
+ostensible reason for desiring a change; and, while he was looking around
+for a plausible pretext, the course of events supplied him with exactly
+such an occasion as he sought.
+
+Bounder had not as yet become aware of the daily visits of his master to
+his old workshop. He had been kept in ignorance of the matter merely
+because there was no special reason why he should be informed. One
+afternoon, on leaving home, "Cobbler" Horn had left word with Miss Jemima
+for the coachman to come to the old house, with the dog-cart, at three
+o'clock. Bounder received the order with a feeling of apathetic wonder as
+to what new freak he was expected to countenance and aid. At the entrance
+of the street in which the old house stood, he involuntarily pulled up his
+horse. Then, with an air of ineffable disdain, he drove slowly on, and
+proceeded to the number at which he had been directed to call.
+
+Summoning a passing boy, he ordered him to knock at the door. The boy
+contemplated disobedience; but a glance at Bounder's whip induced him to
+change his mind, and he gave the door a sounding rap. The door speedily
+opened, and Bounder's master appeared. But such was his disguise that
+Bounder was necessitated to rub his eyes. Divested of his coat, and
+enfolded in a leathern apron, "the Golden Shoemaker" stood in the doorway,
+with bare arms, holding out a pair of newly-mended hob-nailed boots.
+
+"That's right," he said; "I'm glad you're punctual. Will you kindly take
+these boots to No. 17, Drake Street, round the corner; and then come back
+here;" and, stepping out upon the pavement, he placed the boots on the
+vacant cushion of the dog-cart, close to Bounder's magnificent person.
+
+Bounder touched his hat as usual; but there was an evil fire in his heart,
+and, as he drove slowly away, a lava-tide of fierce thought coursed
+through his mind. That he, Bounder, "what had drove real gentlemen and
+ladies, such as a member of Parliament and a _barrow-knight_," should have
+been ordered to drive home a pair of labourer's boots! This was "the last
+straw," indeed!
+
+Arrived at No. 17, Drake Street, Bounder altogether declined to touch the
+offending boots. He simply indicated them with his whip to the woman who
+had come to the door in some surprise, and ignoring her expression of
+thanks, turned the head of his horse, and drove gloomily away.
+
+That night, "Cobbler" Horn's outraged coachman sought speech with his
+master.
+
+"I wish to give you warning, sir," he said, touching his hat, and speaking
+in tones of perfect respect.
+
+Bounder's master started. He had intended to make the best of his
+coachman.
+
+"Why so, Bounder?" he asked. "Don't I give you money enough, or what?"
+
+"Oh," replied Bounder, "the money's all right; but, to make a clean
+breast of it, the service ain't ezactly what I've been used to. I ain't
+been accustomed to drive about in back streets, and stop at cottages and
+such; and to take up every tramp as you meets; and to carry labourer's
+boots on the seat of the dog-cart."
+
+"I'm afraid, Mr. Bounder," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a broad smile, "that
+I've hurt your dignity."
+
+"Well, as to that, sir," said the coachman, uneasily, "all as I wishes to
+say is that I've been used to a 'igh class service; and I took this place
+under a mis-happrehension."
+
+"Very well, Bounder," rejoined "Cobbler" Horn, more gravely, "then we had
+better part. For I can't promise you any different class of service,
+seeing it is my intention to use my carriages quite as much for the
+benefit of other people as for my own; and it is not at all likely that I
+shall drive about much amongst fashionable folks. When do you wish to go,
+Mr. Bounder?"
+
+This was business-like indeed. Bounder was in no haste to reply.
+
+"Because," resumed his master, "I will release you next week, if you
+wish."
+
+"Well, sir," replied Bounder slowly, "I shouldn't wish to go under the
+month."
+
+"Very well. But, you must know, Bounder, that I have no fault to find with
+you. It's you who have given me notice, you know."
+
+Bounder drew himself up to his full height. "Fault to find" with him! The
+mere suggestion was an insult. But Bounder put it into his pocket.
+
+"If you are in want of a character, now," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "I
+shall----"
+
+"Thank you, sir," interposed Bounder with hauteur, "I am provided as to
+that. There's more than one gentleman who will speak for me," and Bounder
+faced about, and marched away with his nose turned towards the stars.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+                          VAGUE SURMISINGS.
+
+
+The feeling of familiarity with the previous abode of her employer, and
+its surroundings, of which Miss Owen had been conscious at first, had
+become modified as the weeks went by. The removal to the new house had, no
+doubt, in part contributed to this result; and, very soon, if she did not
+forget the impression of revived remembrance of which she had been aware
+at first, she ceased to be conscious that any trace of it remained. She
+did not, indeed, forget that it had been; she remembered vividly the fact
+that, when she first entered the old house, she had almost felt as if she
+had come home. That feeling had now almost passed away. But she was
+beginning to ponder certain things which seemed to be connected with it in
+some vague way.
+
+Though she had often been told of the circumstances under which she had
+been rescued from a life of poverty and possible shame, her own
+recollection of the matter was very dim. She seemed to remember a time of
+great trouble, and then a sudden change, since which all had been happy
+and bright; and certainly, if she had not been definitely informed of the
+fact, she would never have suspected that the kind friends to whom she
+owed so much were not her actual parents. That vague reminiscence of early
+distress would have lingered with her as the memory of a troubled dream,
+and nothing more.
+
+Hitherto she had not been anxious for further information concerning her
+parentage and early life. There were times when she felt some small
+measure of dissatisfaction at the thought that she did not know who she
+really was. But this feeling was held in check by the consideration that,
+if her parents had been good and kind, she would probably not have been in
+a position to need the loving service which had been rendered to her by
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton; and she felt that she would a thousand times rather
+have them for her father and mother, than be compelled to give those dear
+names to such persons as it was more than likely her actual parents had
+been. For the most part, therefore, she had feared, rather than hoped,
+that her real father and mother might appear.
+
+Now, however, vague surmisings were being awakened in the mind of the
+young secretary. Her kind employer had mysteriously lost a little girl.
+This suggested to her a new set of possibilities as to her own past. It
+came to her mind that perhaps she also had been lost, and that the misery
+she vaguely remembered, had been inflicted by other hands than those of
+her parents. If, like little Marian, she had actually wandered away, it
+was probably no fault of theirs, and perhaps they had been mourning for
+her all these years. Then, almost for the first time, she was conscious of
+an ardent desire to know who her parents had been. Over this question she
+pondered often and long. She could do nothing more--except pray. And pray
+she did. She asked that, if it were right and best, the cloud of obscurity
+might be lifted from her earlier years. And yet, as day by day she
+persisted in this prayer, she had a feeling that the prayer itself, and
+the desire from which it proceeded, might, perhaps, constitute a species
+of disloyalty to the only parents she seemed ever to have known. To this
+feeling her great love and strong conscientiousness gave birth. Yet she
+could neither repress her desire nor refrain from her prayer.
+
+But there was another thing which "Cobbler" Horn had said. When his
+secretary asked him what little Marian would probably be like, if she were
+still alive, he, in all simplicity, and without perceiving the possible
+direction that might be given to her thoughts, had replied that his lost
+child, if living, would be not unlike what his secretary actually was. He
+probably intended no more than that there might be a general resemblance
+between the two girls; and he might be mistaken even in that. Miss Owen
+herself took such a view of the matter at the time, and passed it lightly
+by. But, afterwards, in the course of her ponderings, it came back again.
+The unpremeditated words, in which her employer had admitted the
+probability of a resemblance between herself and what his own lost child
+might most likely have become, seemed to find their place amongst the
+other strange things which were perplexing her mind.
+
+Very deeply Miss Owen pondered these many puzzling things, from day to
+day. A momentous possibility seemed to be dawning on her view; but she was
+like one who, being but half-awake, cannot decide whether the brightness
+of coming day may not, after all, be merely a dim dream-light which will
+presently fade away. It appeared to her sometimes as though she were on
+the verge of the momentous discovery which she had often wondered whether
+she would ever make. Could it be that the mystery of her parentage was
+about to be solved, and that with a result which would be altogether to
+her mind? But, as often as she reached this point, she pulled herself
+sharply up. Her name was Mary Ann Owen: that settled the question at once.
+But was it so? There came a time when she began to have doubts even as to
+her name. Perhaps the wish was father to the thought. At any rate, she had
+never liked the name by which she was known; and now she was conscious of
+a very definite reason for wishing that it might, in some way, turn out
+not to be her name after all. Was it certain that her name was Mary Ann
+Owen? She had a strange, weird feeling at the thought of what the
+question implied. And there was distinct ground for doubt. When she had
+been found by her adopted parents, her baby tongue, in answer to their
+questioning, had pronounced her name as best it could. But, as her speech
+was less distinct than is usually that of a child of her apparent years,
+they had never felt quite sure about her name. The name by which she
+forthwith became known to them was the best interpretation they could put
+upon her broken words, and it had been accepted by the child herself
+without objection; but in the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Burton there had
+always been a lingering doubt. Miss Owen had been aware of this, but had
+given it little heed. Now, however, the fact that there was uncertainty as
+to her name came vividly to her mind. And yet, if her name was not Mary
+Ann Owen, it might be something else quite as far from her desires. But
+stay, might it not be supposed that her real name, whatever it might be,
+was similar in sound to the name her baby tongue had been thought to
+pronounce? She had tried to tell her kind friends her name; and they had
+understood her to say that it was Mary Ann Owen. If they were mistaken,
+what other name was there of similar sound? Ah, there was one! Then she
+thrilled with almost a delirium of delight, which quickly gave place to a
+guilty feeling--as though she had put forth her hand towards that which
+was too sacred for her touch.
+
+"What silly day-dreams have come into my head!" she cried.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" too had his ponderings, in these days. Of late he
+had been thinking more about his little Marian than for many years past;
+and, if he had searched for the reason of this, he would have discovered
+it in the fact that his young girl secretary daily reminded him,
+in various ways, of his long lost child. Miss Owen was--or so he
+fancied--very much like what his darling would have become. There was,
+to be sure, not much in that, after all; and the same might have been the
+case with many another young girl. But the points of resemblance between
+the history of his young secretary and the early fate of his little Marian
+constituted another circumstance of strange import. Like his own child,
+Miss Owen had been an outcast. Kind friends had given her a home. Might it
+not be that similar happiness had fallen to the lot of his little Marian?
+If he could think so, he would almost be reconciled to the prospect of
+never seeing her again. And every day he felt that his young secretary was
+making for herself a larger place in his heart.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXX.
+
+               A NOVEL DIFFICULTY FOR A MAN OF WEALTH.
+
+
+The trouble with most people, rich and otherwise, is to know how to keep
+their money; how to get rid of it was the difficulty with which "the
+Golden Shoemaker" was beset. "Cobbler" Horn's unalterable purpose was to
+retain no more than a comparatively small portion of his wealth for his
+own use. Since he had entered upon his fortune, he had already given away
+a great deal of money; but it seemed to him a very trifling amount in
+proportion to the vast sum he possessed. He was, moreover, aware that he
+was getting richer every day. Since the property had come into his hands,
+the investments it comprised were yielding better than ever before; and he
+could not endure that such vast sums of money should be accumulating upon
+him, while there was so much misery and want in the world. He believed
+that his immense wealth had been given him, in trust, by God; and that it
+was not absolutely his own. The purpose of God, in bestowing it upon him,
+was that he should use it for the benefit of all who had any need which
+might be supplied by its means; and, by so much, it belonged, not to
+"Cobbler" Horn himself, but, under God, to those who possessed any such
+claim to its use. He was convinced that no preacher had ever been more
+definitely or solemnly called to the ministration of the "Word" than was
+he, "the Golden Shoemaker," to the ministry of wealth. And it was a
+ministry after his own heart. Full of Christ-like love and pity for the
+needy, the sad, and the sinful, he revelled in the gracious opportunities
+which now crowded his life. He had few greater pleasures, in these days,
+than that afforded him by the signing of cheques. To negotiate a
+contribution from him for some worthy object was a means of grace;--so
+hearty and joyous was his response to the appeal, and so thankful did he
+seem for the opportunity it had brought.
+
+Never, perhaps, were the functions of a Christian man of wealth more
+clearly comprehended, or the possibilities of blessedness involved in the
+possession of riches more fully realized, than by "Cobbler" Horn. He often
+told himself that, by making others happy with his money, he secured the
+highest benefit it was able to impart. Thus bestowed, his wealth afforded
+him infinitely greater satisfaction, than if he had devoted it entirely to
+his own personal ends.
+
+But "the Golden Shoemaker" was not satisfied. His money was not going
+fast enough. The amounts he had already dispensed appeared but as a few
+splashes of foam from the sea. He wanted channels for his benevolence.
+His difficulty was rare. Most men of means find that they have not the
+wherewithal to supply the demands of their own many-handed need. He was
+able to satisfy almost unlimited necessities beyond his own, but was sadly
+troubled to know how it might be done. Yet he was determined that he would
+not rest, until he had found means of disposing, in his Lord's service, of
+every penny that remained to him, after his own modest wants had been
+supplied.
+
+Actuated by this purpose, "Cobbler" Horn resolved to pay another visit
+to his minister. Mr. Durnford had helped him before, and would help him
+again. Of set purpose, he selected Monday morning for his visit. Unless
+his business had been very urgent indeed, he would not have run the risk
+of disturbing Mr. Durnford at his studies by going to see him on any other
+morning than this. But he knew that, on Monday morning, the minister was
+accustomed to throw himself somewhat on the loose, and was rather glad,
+than otherwise, to welcome a congenial visitor at that time.
+
+Mr. Durnford, as usual, gave his friend a cordial greeting. There was not
+a member of his church who occupied a higher place in his regard than did
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Glad to see you, Mr. Horn!" he said, entering the dining-room, whither
+his visitor had been shown by the maid; and he heartily shook "the Golden
+Shoemaker" by the hand. "This is a regular 'Blue Monday' with me, as,
+indeed, most of my Mondays are; and a little brotherly chat will give me
+a lift. How go the millions?"
+
+By this time they were seated opposite to each other, in two comfortable
+chairs, before a cheerful fire. The minister's half-joking question
+touched so closely the trouble just then upon "Cobbler" Horn's mind, that
+he took it quite seriously, and returned a very grave reply.
+
+"The 'millions,' sir, are not going fast enough; in fact, they go very
+slowly indeed. And, to make a clean breast of it, that is what has brought
+me here this morning."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with deep interest.
+
+"But, sir," added "Cobbler" Horn, half-rising, and putting out his hand,
+"don't let me hinder you. I can come another time, if you are busy just
+now."
+
+"Don't speak of such a thing, my dear friend!" cried the minister,
+putting out his hand in turn. "Keep your seat. I'm never busy on a Monday
+morning--if I can help it. I am always ready, between the hours of nine
+and one on Monday, for any innocent diversion that may come in my way. I
+keep what is called 'Saint Monday'--at least in the morning. If I am
+disturbed on any other morning, I--well, I don't like it. But any
+reasonable person who finds me at home on a Monday morning--against which,
+I must admit, the chances are strong, for I frequently go off on some
+harmless jaunt--is quite welcome to me for that time."
+
+"I had an idea of that, sir," responded "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Ah, you are a most considerate man! But now, about the millions?"
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" smiled.
+
+"Not 'millions,' sir--hardly one million yet--indeed a great deal less
+now, actually in my own hands; though I am seriously afraid of what it may
+become. All my investments are turning out so well, that the money is
+coming in much faster than I can get rid of it! It's positively dreadful!
+I shall have to increase my givings very largely in some way."
+
+The minister held up his hands in mock astonishment; and there was a
+twinkle of honest pleasure in his keen, grey eyes.
+
+"Mr. Horn, I believe you are the first man, since the foundation of the
+world, who has been troubled because his money didn't go fast enough!"
+
+"Well, sir, that is the case."
+
+His unwieldy wealth weighed too heavily upon his heart and conscience to
+permit of his adopting the half-humorous view of the situation which Mr.
+Durnford seemed to take.
+
+"But surely, Mr. Horn," urged the minister, becoming serious, "there are
+plenty of ways for your money. To get money is often difficult; it should
+be easy enough to get rid of it."
+
+"Yes, sir, there are plenty of ways. My poor, devoted secretary knows that
+as well as I do. But the puzzle is, to find the right ways. If I merely
+wanted to get rid of my money, the letters of a single week would almost
+enable me to do that."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Mr. Durnford, "of course. I know exactly how it is. You
+could make your money up in a bag, and toss it into the sea at one throw,
+if that were all."
+
+"Yes," replied "Cobbler" Horn, with a quiet smile; and he sighed faintly,
+as though he wished it were permissible to rid himself thus easily of his
+golden encumbrance.
+
+"But that is not all, Mr. Durnford," he then said.
+
+"No, Mr. Horn, you feel that it would not do to cast your bread on the
+waters in that literal sense. You are constrained to cast it, not into
+the sea, but, like precious seed, into the soil of human hearts and
+lives--soil that has been prepared by the plough of poverty and the
+harrow of suffering. Isn't that it, my friend?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn leaned forward in his chair, with glistening eyes.
+
+"Yes, sir; go on; you are a splendid thought reader."
+
+"You feel that merely to dispose of your money anyhow--without
+discrimination--would be worse than hoarding it up?"
+
+"That I do, sir!"
+
+"It is not your money, but the Lord's; and you wish to dispose of every
+penny in a way He would approve?"
+
+"Yes, sir," was "Cobbler" Horn's emphatic confirmation; "and I'm so
+anxious about it that often I can't sleep at nights. I expect the Lord
+gave me all this money because He knew I should want to use it for Him;
+and I'm determined not to disappoint Him. I feel the more strongly on the
+subject, because there's so much of the Lord's money in the world that he
+never gets the benefit of at all."
+
+The minister listened gravely.
+
+"So you want my advice?"
+
+"Yes, sir; and your help. My difficulty is that it is the unworthy who are
+most eager to ask for help. Those who are really deserving are often the
+last to cry out; and many of them would rather die than beg. Now, sir, I
+want you to help me to find out cases of real need, to tell me of any good
+cause that comes to your knowledge; and suggest as many ways as you can of
+making a good use of my money. Will you do this for me, sir? Although you
+have helped me so much already, I don't think you will refuse my request."
+
+The minister listened to this appeal from "the Golden Shoemaker" with a
+feeling of holy joy.
+
+"No, my dear friend," he said, "I will not refuse your request. How can I?
+Believing, with you, that your wealth is a Divine trust, I regard your
+appeal as a call from God Himself. Besides, you could not have demanded
+from me a more congenial service. You shall have all the help I can give;
+and between us," he added, with a reviving flicker of his previous
+facetiousness, "we shall make the millions fly."
+
+"Thank you, heartily, sir. But I must warn you that you have undertaken no
+light task. We shall have to dispose of many thou----"
+
+"We will make them vanish," broke in the minister, "like half-pence in the
+hands of a conjuror."
+
+"I know," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile, "that you ministers are well
+able to dispose of the money."
+
+"Yes, I suppose we are. But, dear friend, let it be understood, at the
+outset, that I can be no party to your defrauding yourself."
+
+"It is all the Lord's money," said "the Golden Shoemaker."
+
+"Yes; but, if you employ it for Him, He means you to have your
+commission."
+
+"Oh, as to that, a very little will serve. My wants are few."
+
+"My dear friend," remonstrated the minister, "are you not in danger of
+falling into a mistake? God has given you the power to acquire a great
+deal of the good of this world; and I don't think it would be right for
+you not to make a pretty complete use of your opportunities. Though you
+should be ever so generous to yourself, and live a very full and abundant
+life, you will still be able to give immense sums of money away; and such
+a life would fit you all the better to serve God in your new sphere."
+
+"You think that, do you, sir?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, evidently impressed.
+
+"I certainly do."
+
+"Well, I will consider it; for I dare say you are right. But to return to
+what we were talking about just now, perhaps, sir, you could give me a
+hint or two, this morning, with regard to my money?"
+
+Thus invited, Mr. Durnford ventured to mention several cases of individual
+necessity with which he was acquainted, and to indicate various schemes of
+wide-spread benevolence in which a man of wealth might embark.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn listened attentively; and, having entered in his note-book
+the names Mr. Durnford had given him, promised also to consider the more
+general suggestions he had made.
+
+"I am very much obliged to you, sir," he said; "and shall often come to
+you for advice of this kind."
+
+"As often as you like, Mr. Horn," laughed the minister; "it doesn't cost
+much to give advice. It is those who follow it that have to pay."
+
+"Yes," rejoined "Cobbler" Horn; "and that will I do most gladly."
+
+So saying, he rose from his seat, and held out his hand.
+
+"Good morning, sir!"
+
+"Good morning, my dear sir!" said the minister, grasping the proffered
+hand. "By the way, how is Miss Owen getting on?"
+
+"My dear sir, I owe you eternal gratitude for having made me acquainted
+with that young lady!"
+
+"I'm glad of that, but not a bit surprised."
+
+"She is a greater help to me than I can tell. And what a sad history she
+seems to have had--in early life, that is! Her childhood appears to have
+been a sad time."
+
+"Ah, she has told you, then?"
+
+"Yes, it came out quite by accident. She didn't obtrude it in any way."
+
+"I am sure she wouldn't."
+
+"And the fact that she was once a little outcast girl increases my
+interest in her very much."
+
+"That," said the minister, "is a matter of course."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+                      "COBBLER" HORN'S CRITICS.
+
+
+The months passed. Christmas came, and was left behind, and now spring had
+fairly set in.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" had become a person of great consideration to the
+dignitaries of his church. It is true there were those amongst its wealthy
+members by whom he was unsparingly criticised behind his back. But this
+did not deter them from paying him all manner of court to his face. He
+was startled at the importance which he had suddenly acquired. His
+acquaintance was sought on every side; and he found himself the subject
+of a variety of polite attentions to which he had been an entire stranger
+until now. Men of wealth and position who, though they were his
+fellow-members in the church, had never yet shaken him by the hand,
+suddenly discovered that he was their dear friend.
+
+There was one rich man whose pew in the church was next to that of
+"Cobbler" Horn. Though this man had sat side by side with his poor
+brother for many years, in the house of God, he had seemed unaware of his
+existence. But no sooner did "Cobbler" Horn become "the Golden Shoemaker"
+than the attitude of his wealthy neighbour underwent a change. The
+first sign of recognition he bestowed upon his recently-enriched
+fellow-worshipper was a polite bow as they were leaving the church; next
+he ventured to show "Cobbler" Horn the hymn, when the latter happened to
+come late one day; and, at length, on a certain Sunday morning, as they
+were going out, he stepped into the aisle, and proffered his hand to "the
+Golden Shoemaker," for a friendly shake. "Cobbler" Horn started, and drew
+back. It was not in his nature to be malicious; and to decline the offered
+civility was the furthest thing from his thoughts. He was simply lost in
+amazement. The gentleman who was offering to shake hands with him was one
+of the most important men in Cottonborough. But his great astonishment
+arose from the fact that this mighty personage, after sitting within reach
+of him in the house of God for so many years, without bestowing upon him
+the slightest sign of recognition, should suddenly desire to shake him by
+the hand! The man noticed his hesitation, and was turning away with
+offended dignity. But "Cobbler" Horn quickly recovered himself, and,
+taking the hand which had been offered to him, gave it a heartier shake
+than it had, perhaps, ever received before.
+
+"It was not that, Mr. Varley," he said, "I'm glad enough to shake hands
+with you, as I should have been long ago. But it did seem such a queer
+thing that we should have been sitting side by side here all these years,
+and you should never have thought of shaking hands with me before. I
+suppose the reason why you do it now is that the Lord has seen fit to make
+me a rich man. Now I really don't think I'm any more fit to be shaken
+hands with on that account. Personally, I'm very much the same as I've
+been any time these twenty years past; and it does seem to me a bit
+strange that you and others should appear to think otherwise."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn spoke in a pleasant tone, and there was a twinkle of
+amusement in his eye. But Mr. Varley was not amused. Regarding "Cobbler"
+Horn with an expression of countenance which was very much like a scowl,
+he turned upon his heel and withdrew; and, during the week, he arranged
+for a sitting in another part of the church.
+
+Mr. Varley was not the only rich and influential member of the church who
+had recently discovered in "Cobbler" Horn a suitable object of friendly
+regard. But the most cordial and obsequious of his wealthy fellow-members
+were ready enough to criticise him behind his back.
+
+With the advice and help of the minister, he had begun to
+"make the millions fly," in good earnest; and his phenomenal
+liberality--prodigality, it was called by some--could not, in the nature
+of things, escape notice. It soon became, in fact, the talk of the town
+and of the country round. But it was by the members of his church that
+"Cobbler" Horn's lavish benefactions were most eagerly discussed. Various
+opinions were expressed, by his fellow-Christians, of "the Golden
+Shoemaker," and of the guineas with which he was so free. Some few saw the
+real man in their suddenly-enriched friend, and rejoiced. Others shook
+their heads, and said the "Shoemaker" would not be "Golden" long at that
+rate; and some scornfully curled their lips, and declared the man to be a
+fool. But the most bitter of "Cobbler" Horn's critics were certain of his
+wealthy brethren who seemed to regard his abundant liberality as a
+personal affront.
+
+There were many wealthy members in Mr. Durnford's church. The minister
+sometimes thought, in his inmost soul, that his church would have been but
+little poorer, in any sense of the word, for the loss of some of the rich
+men whose names were on its roll. With all their wealth, many of them were
+not "rich towards God." But Mr. Durnford was circumspect. It was his
+endeavour, without failing in his duty, either to his Divine Master, or to
+these gilded sheep of his, to make what use of them he might in connection
+with his sacred work.
+
+There was little, it is true, to be got out of these wealthy men but their
+money, and they could not be persuaded to part with much of that; but the
+minister did not give them much rest.
+
+One pleasant spring evening, Mr. Durnford set out on one of what he called
+his "financial tours" amongst this section of his members. The first
+house to which he went--and, as it proved, the last--was that of a very
+rich brewer, who was one of the main pillars of the Church. There were
+other members of Mr. Durnford's flock who were of the same trade. This was
+not gratifying to Mr. Durnford; but what could he do? The brewers were
+blameless in their personal behaviour, regular in their attendance in the
+sanctuary, and exact in their fulfilment of the conditions of church
+membership; and he could not unchurch them merely because they were
+brewers. If he began there, it would be difficult to tell where he ought
+to stop. Nor did he scorn their gifts of money to the cause of God. He was
+pleased that they were willing to devote some portion of their gains to so
+good a purpose; his regret was that the portion was so small.
+
+Mr. Durnford did not hesitate to tell his rich members what he conceived
+to be the just claims of the cause of God upon their wealth; and, on the
+evening of which we speak, he called first, for this purpose, on the
+aforesaid brewer, Mr. Caske. This gentleman lived in a large, square,
+old-fashioned, comfortable house, surrounded with its own grounds, which
+were extensive and well laid out. The entire premises were encompassed
+with a high brick wall, which might well have been supposed to hide a
+workhouse or a prison, instead of the paradise it actually concealed.
+Perhaps Mr. Caske had selected this secluded abode from an instinctive
+disinclination to obtrude the abundance and comfort which he had derived
+from the manufacture and sale of beer; perhaps he had bought this
+particular house simply because it was in itself such a dwelling as he
+desired. At any rate, there he was, with his abundance and luxury, within
+his encircling wall; and one was tempted to wonder whether there was as
+much mystery in connection with the article of his manufacture, as seemed
+to be associated with his place of abode.
+
+The minister let himself in at a small door in the boundary wall, and made
+his way, through the grounds, to the front-door of the house.
+
+"Mr. Caske has company to-night, sir," said the maid who opened the door.
+
+"Any one I know, Mary?"
+
+"Yes, sir; Mr. Botterill and Mr. Kershaw."
+
+"Oh, well, I want to see them too. Where are they?"
+
+"In the smoke-room, sir."
+
+"Well, show me in. It will be all right."
+
+As Mr. Durnford was a frequent and privileged visitor, the girl promptly
+complied with his request.
+
+The smoke-room was a good-sized, comfortable apartment, furnished with
+every convenience that smokers are supposed to require. It looked out, by
+two long windows, on a wide sweep of lawn which stretched away from the
+end of the house. In this room, in chairs of various luxurious styles, sat
+Mr. Caske and his two friends. Each of the three men was smoking a
+churchwarden pipe; and at the elbow of each stood a little three-legged,
+japanned smoker's table, on which was a stand of matches, an ash-tray,
+and a glass of whisky.
+
+The three smokers slowly turned their heads, as the minister entered the
+room, and, on recognising him, they all rose to their feet.
+
+"Good evening, sir," said Mr. Caske, advancing, with his pipe in his left
+hand, and his right hand stretched out; "you have surprised us at our
+devotions again."
+
+"Which you are performing," rejoined the minister, "with an earnestness
+worthy of a nobler object of worship."
+
+Mr. Caske laughed huskily; and the minister turned to greet Messrs.
+Botterill and Kershaw, who were waiting, pipes in hand, to resume their
+seats.
+
+Mr. Botterill was a wine and spirit merchant, and Mr. Kershaw was a draper
+in a large way.
+
+When they had all taken their seats, a few moments of silence ensued. This
+was occasioned by the necessity which arose for the three smokers
+vigorously to puff their pipes, which had burnt low; and perhaps there
+was some little reluctance, on the part of Mr. Caske and his friends,
+to resume the conversation which had been in progress previous to the
+entrance of Mr. Durnford. When the pipes had been blown up, and were once
+more in full blast, there was no longer any excuse for silence. Mr. Caske,
+being the host, was then the first to speak. He had known his minister
+too well to invite him to partake of the refreshment with which he was
+regaling his friends.
+
+He was a small, rotund man, with shining, rosy cheeks, and a husky voice.
+
+"All well with you, Mr. Durnford?"
+
+"Yes, thank you, Mr. Caske; but I am afraid I intrude?"
+
+He was conscious of some constraint on the part of the company.
+
+"I fear," he resumed, "that I have interrupted some important business?"
+and he looked around with an air of enquiry.
+
+Mr. Caske airily waved his long pipe.
+
+"Oh no, sir," he said, lightly, "nothing of consequence"--here he glanced
+at his friends--"we were, ah--talking about our friend, ah--'the Golden
+Shoemaker.'"
+
+Mr. Caske was secretly anxious to elicit the minister's opinion of
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Ah," exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with an intonation in which sarcasm might
+not have been difficult to detect, "and what about 'the Golden
+Shoemaker'?"
+
+Mr. Caske looked at Mr. Botterill and Mr. Kershaw; and Mr. Kershaw and
+Mr. Botterill looked first at each other, and then at Mr. Caske.
+
+"Well," replied Mr. Caske, at length, "he's being more talked about than
+ever."
+
+"Well, now," asked the minister, "as to what in particular?"
+
+"Chiefly as to the way he's squandering his money."
+
+"Oh, I wasn't aware Mr. Horn had become a spendthrift! You must have been
+misinformed, Mr. Caske," and Mr. Durnford looked the brewer intently in
+the face.
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Caske, somewhat uneasily, "you don't take me, sir. It's not
+that he spends his money. It's the rate at which he gives it away. He's
+simply flinging it from him right and left!"
+
+As he spoke, Mr. Caske swelled with righteous indignation. Money, in his
+eyes, was a sacred thing--to be guarded with care, and parted with
+reluctantly. No working man could have been more careful with regard to
+the disposal of each individual shilling of his weekly wages, than was
+Mr. Caske in the handling of his considerable wealth.
+
+"He's simply tossing his money from him, sir," he reiterated, "as if it
+were just a heap of leaves."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Botterill, "and it doesn't seem right."
+
+Mr. Botterill was a tall man, with glossy black hair and whiskers, and an
+inflamed face. He seemed never to be quite at ease in his mind, which,
+perhaps, was not matter for surprise.
+
+Mr. Kershaw next felt that it was his turn to speak.
+
+"Ah," he said, "this kind of thing makes a false impression, you know!"
+
+Though a man of moderate bodily dimensions, Mr. Kershaw had a largeness of
+manner which seemed to magnify him far beyond his real proportions. He
+spread himself abroad, and made the most of himself. He had actually a
+large head, which was bald on the top, with dark bushy hair round about.
+His face, which was deeply pitted with small-pox, was adorned with
+mutton-chop whiskers, from between which a very prominent nose and chin
+thrust themselves forth.
+
+"Yes," broke in Mr. Caske, "people will be apt to think that everybody who
+has a little bit of money ought to do as he does. But, if that were the
+case, where should I be, for instance?" and Mr. Caske swelled himself out
+more than ever.
+
+Mr. Durnford had hitherto listened in silence. Though inclined to speak in
+very strong terms, he had restrained himself with a powerful effort. He
+knew that if he allowed these men to proceed, they would soon fill their
+cup.
+
+"Well, gentlemen," he now remarked quietly, "there is force in what you
+say."
+
+Mr. Caske and his two friends regarded their minister with a somewhat
+doubtful look. Mr. Caske seemed to think that Mr. Durnford's remark made
+it necessary for him to justify the attitude he had assumed with regard
+to "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Perhaps, sir," he said, "you don't know in what a reckless fashion our
+friend is disposing of his money?"
+
+"Well, Mr. Caske, let us hear," said the minister, settling himself to
+listen.
+
+"Well, sir, you know about his having given up a great part of his fortune
+to some girl in America, because she was the sweetheart of a cousin of his
+who died."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Durnford, quietly, "I've heard of that."
+
+"Well, there was a mad trick, to begin with," resumed Mr. Caske, in a
+severe tone. "And then there's that big house in the village which, it's
+said, all belongs to him. He's fitting it up to be a sort of home for
+street arabs and gipsy children; and it's costing him thousands of pounds
+that he'll never see again!"
+
+"Yes, I know about that too."
+
+"Then, you will, of course, be aware, sir, that he gives more to our
+church funds than any half-dozen of us put together."
+
+"Yes," broke in Mr. Kershaw, with his obtrusive nose. "He thinks to shame
+the rest of us, no doubt. And they say now that he's going to employ two
+town missionaries and a Bible-woman out of his own pocket. Is it true,
+think you, sir?"
+
+"It is not unlikely," was the quiet reply.
+
+There was a note of warning in both Mr. Durnford's words and tone; but the
+admonitory sign passed unobserved.
+
+"Well, then," resumed Mr. Caske, "think of the money he gave away during
+the winter. He seemed to want to do everything himself. There was hardly
+anything left for any one else to do."
+
+Mr. Durnford smiled inwardly at the idea of Mr. Caske making a grievance
+of the fact that there had been left to him no occasion for benevolence.
+
+"It was nothing but blankets, and coals, and money," continued Mr. Caske.
+"And then the families he has picked out of the slums and sent across the
+sea! And it's said he'll pay anybody's debts, and gives to any beggar, and
+will lend anybody as much money as they like to ask."
+
+At this point Mr. Botterill once more put in his word.
+
+"I heard, only the other day, that Mr. Horn had announced his intention of
+presenting the town with a Free Library and a Public Park."
+
+"It's like his impudence!" exclaimed Mr. Kershaw.
+
+"After that I can believe anything," cried Mr. Caske. "The man ought to be
+stopped. It's very much to be regretted that he ever came into the money.
+And what a fool he is from his own standpoint! When he has got rid of all
+his money, it will be doubly hard for him to go back to poverty again."
+
+Mr. Caske was speaking somewhat at random.
+
+"Don't you think, sir," he concluded, with a facetious air, "that
+Providence sometimes makes a mistake in these matters?"
+
+The question was addressed to the minister.
+
+"No, never!" exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with an emphasis which caused Mr.
+Caske to start so violently, that the stem of his pipe, which he had just
+replaced in his mouth, clattered against his teeth. "No, never! And least
+of all in the case of friend Horn."
+
+The three critics of "the Golden Shoemaker" stared at the minister in
+amazement. They had been led to think Mr. Durnford was substantially in
+agreement with their views.
+
+"No, gentlemen," he resumed, "my opinion is quite the reverse of yours. I
+believe this almost unlimited wealth has been given to our friend, because
+he is eminently fitted to be the steward of his Lord's goods."
+
+This declaration was followed by an awkward pause, which Mr. Caske was the
+first to break.
+
+"Perhaps you think, sir," he said, in an injured tone, "that this upstart
+fellow is an example to us?"
+
+"Mr. Caske," responded the minister, "you have interpreted my words to a
+nicety."
+
+The three critics shuffled uneasily in their chairs.
+
+"Yes," continued Mr. Durnford, "an example and a reproach! Mr. Horn has
+the true idea of the responsibilities of a Christian man of wealth; you
+have missed it. He is resolved to use his money for God, to whom it
+belongs; you spend yours on yourselves--except in as far as you hoard it
+up you know not for whom or what. He is never satisfied that he is giving
+enough away; you grumble and groan over every paltry sovereign with which
+you are induced to part. He will be able to give a good account of his
+stewardship when the Lord comes; there will be an awkward reckoning for
+you in that day."
+
+The three friends had ceased to smoke, and were listening to Mr.
+Durnford's deliverance open-mouthed. They respected their minister, and
+valued his esteem. They were rather conscience-stricken, than offended
+now.
+
+"But, surely, sir," said Mr. Kershaw, presently, finding breath first of
+the three, "you wouldn't have us fling away our money, as he does?"
+
+"I shouldn't be in haste to forbid you, Mr. Kershaw, if you seemed
+inclined to take that course," said the minister, with a smile. "But, if
+you come within measurable distance of the example of our friend, you will
+do very well."
+
+"But," pleaded Mr. Botterill, "ought we not to consider our wives and
+families?"
+
+"You do, Mr. Botterill, you do," was the somewhat sharp reply. "But there
+still remains ample scope for the claims of God."
+
+Upon this, there ensued a pause, which was at length broken by Mr. Caske,
+who, whatever might be his shortcomings, was not an ill-natured man.
+"Well, sir," he remarked, good-humouredly, "you've hit us hard."
+
+"I am glad you are sensible of the fact," was the pleasant reply.
+
+"No doubt you are!" rejoined Mr. Caske, in a somewhat jaunty tone. "And I
+suppose you intend now to give us an opportunity of following your
+advice?"
+
+"Why, yes," said Mr. Durnford, with a smile, "I really came to ask you for
+the payment of certain subscriptions now due. It is time I was making up
+some of the quarterly payments. But, perhaps, after what has been said,
+you would like to take a day or two----?"
+
+"No, for my part," interposed Mr. Caske, "I don't want any time. I'll
+double my subscriptions at once."
+
+"Same here," said Mr. Kershaw, concisely.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen!" said Mr. Durnford, briskly, entering the amounts
+in his note book. "Now, Mr. Botterill."
+
+"Well," was the reluctant response, "I suppose I shall have to follow
+suit."
+
+Mr. Durnford smiled.
+
+"Thank you, gentlemen, all," he said. "Keep that up, and it will afford
+you more pleasure than you think."
+
+When, shortly afterwards, the minister took his departure, the three
+friends resumed their smoking; but they did not return to their criticism
+of "the Golden Shoemaker."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+                      "IN LABOURS MORE ABUNDANT."
+
+
+Unlike many wealthy professors of religion, "the Golden Shoemaker" did not
+suppose that, in giving his money to the various funds of the church, he
+fulfilled, as far as he was concerned, all the claims of the Cause of
+Christ. He did not imagine that he could purchase, by means of his
+monetary gifts, exemption from the obligation to engage in active
+Christian work. He did not desire to be thus exempt. His greatest delight
+was to be directly and actively employed in serving his Divine Lord; and
+so little did he think of availing himself of the occasion of his sudden
+accession to wealth to withdraw from actual participation in the service
+of Christ, that he hailed with intense joy the richer opportunities of
+service with which he was thus supplied.
+
+For some years "Cobbler" Horn had been a teacher in a small Mission Sunday
+School, which was carried on in a low part of the town by several members
+of Mr. Durnford's church. But, about a year previous to the change in his
+circumstances, he had been persuaded by the minister to transfer his
+services to the larger school. He always made the conversion of his
+scholars his chief aim; and very soon after he entered on his new sphere,
+one of the boys in his class, a bright little fellow about nine years old,
+named Willie Raynor, had been very remarkably converted to God. The boy
+was promising to become a very thorough-going Christian, and no one
+rejoiced more than he in the good fortune of "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+There was considerable speculation, amongst the friends and
+fellow-teachers of "the Golden Shoemaker," as to whether his altered
+circumstances would lead to the relinquishment of his work in the school.
+Little Willie Raynor heard some whisper of this talk, and was much
+distressed. His relations with his beloved teacher were very close; and,
+without a moment's hesitation, he went straight to "Cobbler" Horn, and
+asked him what he was going to do.
+
+"Mr. Horn, you won't leave the school now you are a rich man, will you?
+Because I don't think we can do without you!"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was taken by surprise. The idea of leaving the school had
+never occurred to his mind. For one moment, there was a troubled look in
+his face.
+
+"Who has put such nonsense into your head, laddie?"
+
+"Oh, I've heard them talking about it. But I said I was sure they were
+wrong."
+
+"Why, of course they were, dear lad. Why should I leave the school?
+Haven't I more reason than ever to work for the Lord?"
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad!" And Willie went home with a bounding heart.
+
+Meanwhile curiosity continued to be felt and expressed on every hand, as
+to the course "the Golden Shoemaker" would actually pursue; and no little
+surprise was created as, Sunday after Sunday, he was still seen sitting in
+the midst of his class, as quietly and modestly as though he were still
+the poor cobbler whom everybody had known so well.
+
+Nor was he content simply to continue the work he had been accustomed to
+do for Christ during his previous life. The larger leisure which his
+wealth had brought, enabled him to multiply his religious and benevolent
+activities to an almost unlimited extent. He went about doing good from
+morning to night. He rejoiced to exercise for God the all but boundless
+influence which his money enabled him to exert. His original plan--which
+he persistently followed--of mending, free of charge, the boots and shoes
+of the poorer portion of his former customers was but one amongst many
+means by which he strove to benefit his necessitous fellowmen. He never
+gave money for the relief of distress, without ascertaining whether there
+was anything that he could do personally to help. He made it a point also
+to offer spiritual consolation to those upon whom he bestowed temporal
+benefactions. Hardly a day but found him in the abode of poverty, or in
+the sick-room; and not one of his numberless opportunities of speaking
+the words which "help and heal" did he let slip.
+
+One evening, as he was passing through a poor part of the town, he came
+into collision with a drunken man, who was in the act of entering a low
+public-house. The wretched creature looked up into "Cobbler" Horn's face,
+and "Cobbler" Horn recognised him as a formerly respectable neighbour of
+his own.
+
+"Richard," he cried, catching the man by the arm, "don't go in there!"
+
+"Shall if I like, Thomas," said the man, thickly, recognising "Cobbler"
+Horn in turn. "D'yer think 'cause ye're rich, yer has right t' say where
+I shall go in, and where I shan't go in?"
+
+"Oh, no, Richard," said "Cobbler" Horn, with his hand still on the man's
+arm. "But you've had enough drink, and had better go quietly home."
+
+As he spoke, he gradually drew his captive further away from the
+public-house. The man struggled furiously, talking all the time in rapid
+and excited tones.
+
+"Let me a-be!" he exclaimed with a thickness of tone which was the
+combined result of indignation and strong drink. "You ha' no right to
+handle me like this! Ain't this a free country? Where's the perlice?"
+
+"Come along, Richard; you'll thank me to-morrow," persisted "Cobbler"
+Horn quietly, moving his captive along another step or two. But, by this
+time, a crowd was beginning to gather; and it seemed likely that, although
+Richard himself might not be able effectually to resist his captor,
+"Cobbler" Horn's purpose would be frustrated in another way. In fact the
+crowd--a sadly dilapidated crew--had drawn so closely around the centre of
+interest, as to render almost impossible the further progress of the
+struggling pair.
+
+At this point, some one recognised "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Yah!" he cried, "it ain't a fight, after all! It's 'the Golden Shoemaker'
+a-collarin' a cove wot's drunk!"
+
+At the announcement of "the Golden Shoemaker," the people crowded up more
+closely than ever. While all had heard of that glittering phenomenon,
+perhaps few had actually seen him, and the present opportunity was not to
+be lost.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn grasped the situation, and resolved, under the inspiration
+of the moment, to turn it to good account. He was not afraid that these
+people would interfere with his present purpose. He could see that they
+were regarding him with too much interest and respect for that. Moreover,
+since Richard belonged to another part of the town, his fortunes would not
+awaken any special sympathy in the breasts of the crowd. On the other
+hand, there was a possibility that the delay caused by the gathering of
+the crowd might enable "Cobbler" Horn to make a deeper impression on his
+poor degraded friend, than if he had simply dragged him home from the
+public-house. Exerting, therefore, all his strength, he thrust the hapless
+Richard forth at arm's length, and, in emphatic tones, bespoke for him the
+attention of the crowd.
+
+"Look at him!" he exclaimed. "Once he was a respectable man, tidy and
+bright; and he wasn't ashamed to look anybody in the face. And now see
+what he is!"
+
+The crowd looked, and saw a slovenly and dissipated man, who hung his
+head, with a dull feeling of shame. The people gazed upon the wretched man
+in silence. They were awed by the solemn and impressive manner in which
+they had been addressed.
+
+"This man," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "once had a thriving business and a
+comfortable home. Now his business has gone to the dogs, and his home has
+become a den. His wife and children are ragged and hungry; and I question
+if he has a penny piece left that he can justly call his own. The most
+complete ruin stares him in the face, and he probably won't last another
+year."
+
+The crowd still gazed, and listened in silence.
+
+"And, do you ask," continued "Cobbler" Horn, "what has done all this? No,
+you don't; you know too well. It's drink--the stuff that many of you love
+so much. For there are many of you,"--and he swept the crowd with a
+scrutinizing glance--"who are far on the same downward way as this poor
+fool. He was my neighbour and friend; and he had as nice a little wife as
+ever brightened a home. But it would make the heart of a stone bleed to
+see her as I saw her but a few days ago. But, there; go home, Richard!
+And may God help you to become a man once more!"
+
+So saying, he released his captive; and the wretched creature, partially
+sobered with astonishment and shame, crept through the crowd, which parted
+for him to pass, and staggered off on his way towards home.
+
+Then, like some ancient prophet, upon whom the Spirit of the Lord had
+come, "the Golden Shoemaker" turned and preached, from the living text of
+his besotted friend, a telling impromptu Temperance sermon to the motley
+crowd. The whole incident was quite unpremeditated. He had never dreamt
+that he would do such a thing as he was doing now. But that by no means
+lessened the effect of his burning words, which went home to the hearts,
+and even to the consciences of not a few of those by whom they were heard.
+
+When he had finished, he passed on, and left his hearers to their
+thoughts. But, for himself, there had been shown to him yet another way in
+which he might work for God; and, thereafter, "the Golden Shoemaker" was
+often seen at the corners of back streets, and in the recesses of the
+slums, preaching, to all who would hear, that glorious Gospel of which the
+message of mercy to the victims of strong drink is, after all, only a
+part.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+                      TOMMY DUDGEON ON THE WATCH.
+
+
+It will be remembered that, after bursting into the back-room with the
+declaration, "She's come back!" Tommy Dudgeon had suddenly pulled himself
+up and substituted the commonplace statement that he had "seen the
+sec'tary." In fact, though, on marking the manner in which Miss Owen had
+stepped out of the house and walked along the street, he had, for an
+instant, imagined that little Marian had actually returned, the calmer
+moments which followed had shown him what seemed the folly of such a
+supposition. What real resemblance could there be between a child of five
+and a young woman of eighteen? He had, indeed, seemed to see, this
+afternoon, the very same determined look, and the pretty purposeful step,
+with which the little maid whom he had loved had passed out of his sight
+so long ago. But he now assured himself that "it was only the sec'tary
+after all."
+
+The child, for whom he had not ceased to mourn, would certainly come back,
+but not like that. It was inevitable that unimaginative Tommy Dudgeon
+should at first dismiss the possibility that little wild-flower Marian
+should have returned in the person of the lady-secretary. But, none the
+less, the sight of the secretary had brought back to him the vision of
+little Marian as he had seen her last; and thenceforth he was supplied
+with matter for much perplexing thought.
+
+Fortunately the occupants of the room into which he had burst with his
+hasty exclamation, who consisted of his brother and his brother's wife
+alone, had but indistinctly caught his words. Consequently no one was any
+the wiser, and he was able to assure himself that his first impression
+with regard to the "sec'tary" was still the secret of his own breast.
+
+It was a secret, however, which gave him no little trouble. The vanishing
+of the child had occasioned him bitter grief. He had not only mourned in
+respectful sympathy with the stricken father, but he had also sorrowed on
+his own account. He had very tenderly loved little Marian Horn. She had
+come to him like a fairy, scattering clouds of care, and diffusing joy;
+and, since her departure, it had seemed as though the sunshine had ceased
+to visit the narrow street upon which he looked out through the window,
+and from the doorway, of his little shop.
+
+And Tommy's regret for the loss of the child was rendered keener by a
+haunting consciousness that a measure of responsibility for it belonged
+to himself. Might he not have prevented her departure? He could not,
+indeed, have been supposed to know that she was running away. But he did
+not allow himself to plead any excuse on that account. He ought to have
+known, was his continual reflection, that she would come to harm--going
+away by herself like that; and, at least, he might have questioned her as
+to where she was going. Through all the years, he had not ceased to
+afflict himself with such thoughts as these. Once he actually mentioned
+his self-accusing thoughts to "Cobbler" Horn. It was on one of the rare
+occasions when the afflicted father had spontaneously spoken of his lost
+child to his humble friend. He gazed blankly at the little huckster, for
+a moment, as though he had not understood. Then, perceiving his drift, he
+gently answered, "My dear friend, you could not help it. Please do not
+speak of it again."
+
+Tommy had always yearned for the recovery of the child; and, the wish
+being father to the thought, he fully shared with "Cobbler" Horn himself
+the expectation that she would eventually return. This expectation kept
+him on the alert; and there is little cause to wonder that even so slight
+a sign as the poise of the secretary's head, or the manner in which she
+walked, should have induced him to think, for some passing moments, that
+his long-cherished desire had been fulfilled at last.
+
+And now, although he had dismissed that belief, it had left him more
+vigilant than ever. It may be questioned, indeed, whether he had actually
+dismissed it, or whether, having been dismissed, it had really gone away.
+There are visitors who will take no hint to depart. It would seem that
+here was such a visitor. The discarded impression that little Marian had
+come back in the person of "Cobbler" Horn's secretary refused to be
+banished from Tommy Dudgeon's mind. Henceforth he would have no peace
+until he had set the fateful question at rest once for all.
+
+To this end he watched for the young secretary day by day. A hundred times
+a day he went to the shop-door, to gaze along the street; and at frequent
+intervals he craned his neck to get a better view through the window. He
+would leave the most profitable customer, at the sound of a footstep
+without, or at the shutting of a neighbouring door. He gave himself to
+deep ponderings, in the midst of which he became oblivious of all around.
+His anxiety told upon his appetite, and affected his health. His friends
+became alarmed; but, when they questioned him, he only shook his head.
+His very character seemed to be changed. Hitherto he had been the most
+transparent of men; now he moved about with the air of a conspirator, and
+bore himself like one on whose heart some mysterious secret weighed.
+
+It was a long time before Tommy's watching and pondering produced any
+definite result. Miss Owen seldom visited the street in which "the little
+Twin Brethren" had their shop. By the desire of her employer she never
+came to him in his old workshop, except upon business which could not
+be delayed. Two or three times only, hitherto, had Tommy Dudgeon been
+privileged to feast his eyes on the dainty little figure, which, on his
+first sight of it, had awakened such tender memories in his mind. On each
+occasion those memories had returned as vividly as before; but the only
+result had been that his perplexity was sensibly increased.
+
+All through the winter, the perturbation of the little huckster's mind
+remained unallayed; but there came a day in early spring which set his
+questionings at rest. In that joyous season there was born to Mr. and Mrs.
+John Dudgeon an eighth child. The fact that, this time, the arrival did
+not consist of twins was no less gratifying to the happy father, than to
+his much-enduring spouse. But the child was a fine one, and his birth
+almost cost his mother's life. As may be supposed, "the Golden Shoemaker"
+did not forget his humble friends in their trouble. He engaged for them
+the ablest doctor, and the most efficient nurse, that money could command.
+Every day he sent messages of enquiry, and the messengers were never
+empty-handed. Sometimes it was a servant who came; and sometimes it was
+the coachman--not Bounder, but his successor, who was quite a different
+man--with the carriage.
+
+On the day of which we speak, the carriage had stopped at the door, and
+Tommy Dudgeon, on the watch as usual, observed that a young lady was
+sitting amongst its cushions. It was the four-wheeler, and its fair
+occupant, basket in hand, alighted nimbly as soon as it stopped. Tommy
+vigorously rubbed his eyes. Yes, it was the "sec'tary!" Now, perhaps, his
+opportunity had come. As yet, he had never spoken to the "sec'tary," or
+heard her speak. He made his most polite bow, as she stepped into his
+shop. But how his heart thumped! He was shy with ladies at the best; but
+now, hope and fear, and a vague feeling that, with the entrance of this
+sprightly little lady, the past had all come back, increased his habitual
+nervousness a hundredfold. Surely it was not the first time that little
+tossing dusky head, with its black sparkling eyes, had presented itself in
+his doorway!
+
+She paused a moment on the step, gazed around with a bewildered air, and
+shot a startled glance into the honest, eager face of the little man, who
+quivered from head to foot as he met her gaze. "That strange feeling
+again!" she thought, "I can never have been _here_ before, at any rate!"
+
+Tommy Dudgeon's own confusion prevented his perceiving the momentary
+discomposure of his visitor. The next minute, however, she was speaking to
+the little man in her cordial, unaffected way.
+
+"You are Mr. Dudgeon, I expect," she said, holding out her neatly-gloved
+hand. "How are you, this afternoon? But," she continued after a pause,
+"which Mr. Dudgeon is it--the one with a wife, or the one without? My
+name," she added in her lively way, "is Owen--Mr. Horn's secretary, you
+know. You've heard of me, no doubt, Mr. Dudgeon?"
+
+Tommy Dudgeon had not yet found his tongue.
+
+"But," she broke out again, "I'm not giving you a chance to tell me who
+you are. Is it Mr. Dudgeon, or Mr. John? You see I know all about you."
+
+Tommy Dudgeon was in no condition to answer Miss Owen's question, even
+yet, simple though it was. If the sight of her had brought back the
+past, what thronging memories crowded upon him at the sound of her
+voice--wooing, wilful, joyously insistent! But that she was so womanly and
+ladylike, and that he knew she was "only the sec'tary," he would have been
+ready to advance upon her with outstretched hands, and ask her if she had
+quite forgotten Tommy Dudgeon--her old friend, Tommy? As it was, he stood
+staring like one bewitched. Miss Owen, wondering at his silence, and his
+fixed gaze, repeated her question in another form.
+
+"I don't wish to be rude; but are you the husband, or is it your brother?"
+
+Tommy pulled himself together with a gasp.
+
+"My name is Thomas, miss. It is my brother who is married, and whose wife
+is ill."
+
+"Then, Mr. Thomas, I'm glad to make your acquaintance. How is your
+brother's wife to-day? I've brought a few little things from Miss Horn,
+with her respects."
+
+Miss Owen herself would have said "love," rather than respects. But it was
+a great concession on the part of Miss Jemima to send anything at all to
+"those Dudgeons," with or without a message of any kind, and was quite a
+sign of grace.
+
+"It's very kind of Miss Horn," said Tommy, who was still perturbed; "and
+of you as well, miss. Perhaps you will see my sister-in-law? She's much
+better, and sitting up--and able to converse."
+
+As he spoke, he led the way into the kitchen, in the doorway of which the
+young girl once more paused, and looked around in the same bewildered way
+as before. But she instantly recovered herself; and, at the invitation of
+a woman who was in attendance, proceeded to mount the narrow stairs.
+
+Miss Owen was performing a thoroughly congenial errand. It was her
+delight to be, in any way, the instrument of the wide-spread benevolence
+and varied Christian ministrations of her beloved employer. Nor was it
+an insignificant service which she therein performed. Her tender
+companionship had been of scarcely less benefit to the crippled girl than
+the almost daily rides which the generosity of "Cobbler" Horn enabled the
+poor invalid to enjoy; and her presence and sensible Christian talk were
+quite as helpful to Mrs. John Dudgeon, as were the delicacies from Miss
+Jemima's kitchen.
+
+John Dudgeon, who was acting as temporary nurse, rose to his feet as the
+secretary entered, and stole modestly downstairs. Miss Owen followed him
+with her eyes in renewed perplexity. What could it all mean? These dear,
+funny little men! Had she known them in a former state of existence, or
+what? She came downstairs when she was ready to leave, and in the kitchen
+she paused once more. On one side of the fire-place was an old arm-chair
+with a leather cushion. Seized with a sudden fancy, Miss Owen addressed
+the woman, who was waiting to see her out.
+
+"May I sit in that chair a moment?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly, miss," was the civil reply; and, in another moment, the young
+secretary had crossed the room, and seated herself in the chair.
+
+"How strange!" she murmured. "How familiar everything is!"
+
+At that moment, Tommy Dudgeon came in from the shop; and, on seeing Miss
+Owen in the old arm-chair, he stopped short, and uttered a cry.
+
+"I beg your pardon, miss; I thought----"
+
+It was in that very chair, standing in exactly the same spot as now, that
+little Marian had been accustomed to sit, when she used to come in and
+delight the two little bachelors with her quaint sayings, and queen it
+over them in her pretty wilful way. For her sake, the old chair had been
+carefully preserved.
+
+"You thought I was taking a liberty, no doubt, sir," said Miss Owen,
+jumping to her feet, with a merry laugh; "and quite right too."
+
+Tommy was horrified at the bare suggestion of such a thing. He begged her
+to sit down again, and she laughingly complied, insisting that he should
+sit in the opposite chair. Presently John came in, and stood looking
+calmly on. He was visited by no disturbing memories. Having chatted gaily,
+for a few minutes, with the two little men, Miss Owen took her leave.
+
+"It's all so strange!" she thought, as the carriage bore her swiftly away.
+
+Then she knitted her brows, and clenched her hands in her lap.
+
+"Oh," she half-audibly exclaimed, "what if I _have_ been here before? What
+if----" and she shivered with the excitement of the thought.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As for Tommy Dudgeon, all his doubts were put to flight at last.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+                 A "FATHER" AND "MOTHER" FOR THE "HOME."
+
+
+About six weeks after this, the old Hall at Daisy Lane was ready for
+opening as a "Home" for waifs and strays. "Cobbler" Horn had visited Daisy
+Lane, from time to time, and he had also taken his sister and his young
+secretary to see the village and the old Hall. He had been much pleased
+with the progress of the improvements, and had marked with satisfaction
+the transformation which, in pursuance of his orders, was being effected
+in the Hall. It was clear that Mr. Gray was not only a most capable agent,
+but also a man after his employer's own heart; and it was evident that
+Messrs. Tongs and Ball had assisted the agent in every possible way.
+
+The old Hall seemed likely to become an ideal Children's Home. The
+arrangements were most complete. A staff of capable nurses, and a bevy of
+maid-servants, had been engaged; to whom were added a porter and two boys,
+together with a head gardener and three assistants, to make, and keep,
+beautiful the spacious grounds.
+
+A number of children had already been selected as inmates of the "Home."
+Setting aside the majority of the appeals, which had been many, from
+relatives who had children left on their hands by deceased parents,
+"Cobbler" Horn had adhered to his original purpose of receiving chiefly
+stray children--little ones with no friends, and without homes. With the
+aid of his lawyers, and of Mr. Durnford, he had much communication with
+workhouse and parish authorities, and even with the police; and, as the
+opening day of the "Home" drew near, he had secured, as the nucleus of his
+little family, some dozen tiny outcasts, consisting of six or seven boys,
+and about as many girls.
+
+It now remained that a "father" and "mother" should be found. On this
+subject "the Golden Shoemaker" had talked much with his minister. He
+shrank from the thought of advertising his need. He was afraid of bringing
+upon himself an avalanche of mercenary applications. His idea was to fix
+upon some excellent Christian man and woman who might be induced to accept
+the post as a sacred and delightful duty. They must be persons who loved
+children, and who were not in search of a living; and it would be none the
+worse if it were necessary for them to make what would be considered a
+sacrifice, in order to accept the post.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn looked around. He had no acquaintances in whom it seemed
+likely that his ideal would be realized. He mentioned his views to his
+lawyers, and they smiled in their indulgent way. Messrs. Tongs and Ball
+had already learnt to respect their eccentric client. But it was difficult
+for their legal minds to regard the question of the appointment of a
+master and matron to the "Home" exactly in the light in which it presented
+itself to "Cobbler" Horn. He spoke of his cherished desire to Mr.
+Durnford.
+
+"If I get the right man and woman, you know, sir, I shall be willing to
+pay them almost any amount of money. But I don't want them to know this
+beforehand. I must have a _father_ and _mother_ for my little family. It
+would be just as well," he added in faltering tones, "if they had lost a
+little one of their own. And I should like them to be some good Christian
+man and his wife, who would undertake the work without asking about salary
+at all, and would leave it to me to make that all right. Do you think they
+would trust me so far, Mr. Durnford?"
+
+Mr. Durnford smiled in his shrewd way.
+
+"If they knew you, Mr. Horn, they would rather trust you in the matter
+than suggest an amount themselves."
+
+"No doubt," responded "the Golden Shoemaker," with a smile. "But now, Mr.
+Durnford," he persisted for the twentieth time, "do you know of such a
+couple as I want?"
+
+They were in the minister's study. Mr. Durnford sat musing, with his arms
+resting upon his knees, and his hands together at the finger-tips.
+Suddenly he looked up.
+
+"You want a couple who have lost a child, Mr. Horn? I can tell you of some
+good people who have found one."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn gave a slight start. "Found a child! What child?" Such were
+the thoughts which darted, like lightning, through his brain. Then he
+smiled sadly to himself. Of course what he had imagined, for an instant,
+could not be.
+
+"Well" he said calmly, "who are they? Let me hear!"
+
+For one moment only, Mr. Durnford hesitated to reply.
+
+"You will, perhaps, be startled, Mr. Horn, but must not misunderstand me,
+if I say that they are the excellent friends who have been as father and
+mother to your secretary, Miss Owen."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was indeed startled. His thoughts had not turned in the
+direction indicated by the minister's suggestion--that was all. But he was
+not displeased.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Well, if they are anything like my little secretary,
+they will do."
+
+"Mr. and Mrs. Burton do not know that I have any thought of suggesting
+them to you, Mr. Horn. Nor have I the least idea whether or not they would
+accept the post. Mr. Burton holds a good position on the railway, in
+Birmingham, which I know he has no present intention of relinquishing. But
+there is not another couple of my acquaintance who would be likely to
+meet your wishes as well as these good friends of mine. You know, of
+course, that Miss Owen was found and rescued by them, when she was quite
+a little thing?"
+
+"Yes," was the thoughtful reply; "and you really think they are the kind
+of persons I want?"
+
+"I do, indeed."
+
+"Well, well! But might I ask them, do you think?"
+
+"Perhaps," said Mr. Durnford, "it would be as well to mention it to Miss
+Owen first."
+
+"Might I do that, think you?"
+
+"By all means!"
+
+"Then I will."
+
+He spoke to his secretary that very day. Miss Owen was delighted with the
+proposal, and approved of it with all her heart. She hoped Mr. and Mrs.
+Burton would consent, and felt almost sure that they would. After that the
+minister agreed to convey the request of "the Golden Shoemaker" to his
+good friends. For this purpose, he made a journey to Birmingham, and, on
+the evening of his return, called on "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Well?" enquired the latter eagerly, almost before the minister had taken
+his seat.
+
+"Our friends are favourably disposed," replied Mr. Durnford; "but they
+would like to have a personal interview first."
+
+"By all means. When can they see me? And where?"
+
+"Well, it would be a great convenience to Mr. Burton if you would go
+there. He cannot very well get away. But he could arrange to meet you at
+his own house."
+
+Acting upon this suggestion, "Cobbler" Horn paid a visit to Birmingham,
+the outcome of which was the engagement of Mr. and Mrs. Burton as "father"
+and "mother" of the "home."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+                      THE OPENING OF THE "HOME."
+
+
+At length the day arrived for the opening of the "Home." It was early in
+June, and the weather was superb. All the inhabitants of Daisy Lane,
+whether tenants of "Cobbler" Horn or not, were invited to the opening
+ceremony, and to the festivities which were to occupy the remainder of the
+day. There was to be first a brief religious service in front of the Hall,
+after which Miss Jemima was to unlock the great front door with a golden
+key. Then would follow a royal feast in a marquee on the lawn; and, during
+the afternoon and evening, the house and grounds would be open to all.
+
+The religious service was to be conducted by Mr. Durnford. The parish
+clergyman had been invited to take part, but had declined. Many of his
+brother-clergymen would have hailed with joy such an opportunity of
+fulfilling the spirit of their religion; but the Vicar of Daisy Lane
+regarded the matter in a different light.
+
+In due course "Cobbler" Horn, Miss Jemima, the young secretary, Tommy
+Dudgeon--to whom had been given a very pressing invitation to join the
+party,--and Mr. Durnford, alighted from the train at the station which
+served for Daisy Lane, and were met by Mr. Gray.
+
+"Well, Mr. Gray," said "the Golden Shoemaker," who was in a buoyant, and
+almost boisterous mood, "How are things looking?"
+
+"Everything promises well, sir," replied the agent, who was beaming with
+pleasure. "The arrangements are all complete; and everybody will be
+there--that is, with the exception of the vicar. Save his refusal to be
+present, there has not, thus far, been a single hitch."
+
+"I wish," said "Cobbler" Horn, "that we could have got the poor man to
+come--for his own sake, I mean."
+
+"Yes, sir; he will do himself no good. It's well they're not all like
+that."
+
+Mr. Gray had brought his own dog-cart for the gentlemen; and he had
+provided for the ladies a comfortable basket-carriage, of which his son,
+a lad of fifteen, had charge. The dog-cart was a very different equipage
+from the miserable turn-out with which the agent had met his employer
+on the occasion of his first visit. Everything was of the best--the
+highly-finished trap, the shining harness, the dashing horse; and
+"Cobbler" Horn was thankful to mark the honest pride with which the agent
+handled the reins.
+
+A few minutes brought them to Daisy Lane. Here indeed was a change! An
+unstinted expenditure of money, the toil of innumerable workmen, and the
+tireless energy and ever-ready tact of Mr. Gray, had converted the place
+into a model village. Instead of dropsical and rotting hovels, neat and
+smiling cottages were seen on every side. The vicarage, and the one
+farm-house not included in the property of "Cobbler" Horn, which had,
+aforetime, by their respectability and good repair, aggravated the
+untidiness and dilapidation of the rest of the village, were now rendered
+almost shabby by the fresh beauty of the renovated property of "the Golden
+Shoemaker."
+
+On every hand there were signs of rejoicing. It was evidently a gala day
+at Daisy Lane. Over almost every garden gate there was an arch of flowers.
+Streamers and garlands were displayed at every convenient point. Such a
+quantity of bunting had never before fluttered in the breezes of Daisy
+Lane.
+
+As they approached the farm-house which "Cobbler" Horn had inspected on
+the occasion of his first visit, their progress was stayed by the farmer
+himself, who was waiting for them at his gate, radiant and jovial, a
+farmer, as it seemed, without a grievance! He advanced into the road with
+uplifted hand, and Mr. Gray and his son reined in their horses. The farmer
+approached the side of the dog-cart.
+
+"Let me have a shake of your fist, sir," he said, seizing the hand of "the
+Golden Shoemaker." "You're a model landlord. No offence; but it's hard to
+believe that you're anyways related to that 'ere old skin-flint as was
+owner here afore you."
+
+The farmer wore on his breast a huge red rosette, almost as big as a
+pickling cabbage, as though the occasion had been that of an election day,
+or a royal wedding, or some other celebration equally august.
+
+"I'm glad you're satisfied with what Mr. Gray has done, Mr. Carter," said
+"Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Satisfied! That ain't the word! And, as for Gray--well, he's a decent
+body enough. But it's little as he could ha' done, if you hadn't spoke the
+word."
+
+Then they drove on, and the farmer followed in their wake, occupying, with
+the roll of his legs, and the flourish of his big stick, as much of the
+road as the carriages themselves.
+
+As they proceeded, they passed several groups of villagers, in gala dress,
+who were making their way towards the gates of the Hall grounds.
+
+"These are the laggards," explained the agent, "the bulk of the people are
+already on the ground."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was recognised by the people, most of whom knew him well by
+sight; and, while the men touched their hats, and the boys made their
+bows, the women curtseyed, and each girl gave a funny little bob. Of
+all the novel sensations which his wealth had brought to "the Golden
+Shoemaker," this was the most distinctly and entirely new. It had not
+seemed to him more strange, though it had been less agreeable, to be the
+object of Bounder's obsequious attentions, than it did now to receive the
+worship of these simple villagers.
+
+In due course they reached the Hall gates, and entered the grounds. A
+large marquee, with its fluttering flags, had been erected on one side of
+the lawn, which was almost like a small field. The people were dispersed
+about the grass in gaily-coloured groups, though few of them had wandered
+very far from the gates. When the carriages were seen approaching, the
+various parties gathered more closely together; and the people arranged
+themselves in lines on either side of the drive. The horses were
+immediately brought to a walking pace; and then, a jolly young farmer
+leading off, the villagers rent the air with their shouts of welcome. It
+was the spontaneous tribute of these simple people to the man, whose
+coming had restored long unaccustomed comfort to their lives, and awakened
+new hope in their despondent breasts.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" raised his hat and waved his hand; and, inasmuch
+as the acclamations of the people were evidently intended for the ladies
+also, the young secretary nodded around with beaming smiles, and even Miss
+Jemima perceptibly bent her rigid neck.
+
+At length the joyous procession arrived in front of the Hall steps. Here
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton were waiting to receive them. In response to their
+smiling welcome, "Cobbler" Horn shook these good people heartily by the
+hand, and, having introduced them to Miss Jemima, turned aside for a
+moment, that they might greet their adopted daughter.
+
+In a few moments, he turned to them again, and enquired if everything was
+to their mind.
+
+"Everything, sir," said Mr. Burton. "The arrangements are perfect."
+
+"And our little family are all here," added Mrs. Burton, pointing, with
+motherly pride, to a row of clean and radiant boys and girls, who were
+ranged at the top of the steps.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's face was illumined with a ray of pleasure, as he looked
+up, at Mrs. Burton's words; and yet there was a pensive shade upon his
+brow. Miss Jemima scrutinised the little regiment, and actually uttered a
+grunt of satisfaction. Miss Owen glanced from the happy child-faces to
+that of "Cobbler" Horn with eyes of reverent love. The children were not
+uniformly dressed; and they might very well have passed for the actual
+offspring of the kindly man and woman whom they were to know as "father"
+and "mother" from henceforth.
+
+"Is everything ready, Mr. Gray?" asked "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then let us begin."
+
+At a signal from Mr. Gray, the people drew more closely up to the foot of
+the steps; and it was noticeable that Tommy Dudgeon had withdrawn to a
+modest position amongst the crowd. A hymn was then announced by Mr.
+Durnford, and sung from printed papers which had been distributed amongst
+the people. Then, while every head was bowed, the minister offered a
+brief, but fervent and appropriate prayer. Next came an address from
+"Cobbler" Horn, in which, after explaining the purpose to which the
+Hall was to be devoted, he took the opportunity of assuring those of his
+tenants who were present that he would, as their landlord, do his utmost
+to promote their welfare. His hearty words were received with great
+applause, which was redoubled when he led Miss Jemima to the front. The
+minister then stepped forward, and presented Miss Jemima with a golden
+key, with which she deftly unlocked the great door, and, having pushed
+it open, turned to the people, and bowing gravely in response to their
+cheers, made, for the first and last time in her life, a public speech.
+She had much pleasure, she said, in declaring the old Hall open for the
+reception of friendless children, many of whom, she trusted, would find a
+happy home within its walls, and be there trained for a useful life. Here
+Miss Jemima stopped abruptly, and looked straight before her, with a very
+stern face, as though angry with herself for what she had done. And then,
+under cover of the renewed cheers of the people, she withdrew into the
+background.
+
+The simple ceremony being over, the people were invited to enter the
+building and pass through the rooms. This invitation was freely accepted;
+and soon the various apartments of the renovated Hall were filled with
+people, who did not hesitate to express their admiration of what they
+saw.
+
+When all the visitors had passed through the rooms, and admired to their
+hearts' content, the ringing of a large hand-bell on the lawn announced
+that dinner was ready. At the four long tables which ran the whole length
+of the marquee there was room for all, and very soon every seat was
+occupied. The grace was announced by Mr. Durnford, and sung by the people,
+with a heartiness which might have been expected of hungry villagers, who
+had been summoned to an unaccustomed and sumptuous feast. Then the carvers
+got to work, and, as the waiters carried round the laden plates,
+comparative quiet reigned; but, when the plates began to reach the guests,
+the clatter of crockery, the rattle of knives and forks, and the babel of
+voices, made such a festive hubbub as was grateful to the ear.
+
+After dinner, there was speech-making and merriment; and then the people
+left the tent, and dispersed about the grounds. While the former part of
+this process was in progress, Miss Owen heard a fragment of conversation
+which caused her to tingle to her finger-tips. She had just moved towards
+one of the tables for the purpose of helping an old woman to rise from her
+seat, and her presence was not perceived by the speakers, whose faces were
+turned the other way. They were two village gossips, a middle-aged woman
+and a younger one.
+
+"Is she his daughter?" were the words that fell upon the young secretary's
+ears, spoken by the elder woman in a stage whisper.
+
+"No," replied the other, in a similar tone. "He never had but one
+child--her as was lost. This one's the secretary, or some such."
+
+"Well, I do say as she'd pass for his own daughter anywhere."
+
+Miss Owen was not nervous; but her heart beat tumultuously at the thoughts
+which this whispered colloquy suggested to her mind. She placed her hand
+upon the table to steady herself, as the two women, all unconscious of the
+effect of their gossiping words, moved slowly away.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" and his friends arrived at Cottonborough late that
+night. A carriage was waiting for them at the station; and, having said
+"good night" to Mr. Durnford and Tommy Dudgeon, they were soon driven
+home. They were a quiet--almost silent--party. The events of the day had
+supplied them with much food for thought. The image of his little lost
+Marian presented itself vividly to the mind of "Cobbler" Horn to-night.
+Miss Jemima's thoughts dwelt on what was her one tender memory--that of
+the tiny, dark-eyed damsel who had so mysteriously vanished from the
+sphere of her authority so long ago.
+
+And Miss Owen? Well, when she had at last reached her room, her first
+act was to lock the door. Then she knelt before her small hair-covered
+travelling trunk, and, having unlocked it, she slowly raised the lid and
+placed it back against the wall. For a moment she hesitated, and then,
+plunging her arm down at one corner of the trunk, amongst its various
+contents, she brought up, from the hidden depths, a small tissue paper
+parcel. This she opened carefully, and disclosed a tiny shoe, homely but
+neat, a little child's chemise, and an old, faded, pink print sun-bonnet,
+minus a string. In the upper leather of the shoe were several cuts, the
+work of some wanton hand. Sitting back upon her heels, she let the open
+parcel fall into her lap.
+
+"What would I not give," she sighed, "to find the fellow of this little
+shoe! But no doubt it has long ago rotted at the bottom of some muddy
+ditch!"
+
+Then, for the hundredth time, she examined the little chemise, at one
+corner of which were worked, in red cotton, the letters "M.H."
+
+"They have told me again and again that I had this chemise on when I was
+found. Of course that doesn't prove that it was my own, and I have never
+supposed that those two letters stand for my name. But now--well, may it
+not be so, after all? It was really no more than a guess, on the part of
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton, that my name was Mary Ann Owen; and, from what I can
+see, it's just as likely to have been anything else. Let me think; what
+name might 'M.H.' stand for? Mary Hall? Margaret Harper? Mari----. No, no,
+I dare not think that--at least, not yet!"
+
+Once more she wrapped up her little parcel of relics, and returned it to
+its place at the bottom of her trunk.
+
+"Heigho!" she exclaimed, as, having closed and locked the trunk, she
+sprang to her feet. "How I do wonder who I am!"
+
+[Illustration: "A tiny shoe."--_Page 264._]
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+             TOMMY DUDGEON UNDERTAKES A DELICATE ENTERPRISE.
+
+
+The time which had elapsed since the first visit of Miss Owen to the house
+of "the little Twin Brethren" had constituted, for Tommy Dudgeon, a period
+of mental unrest. If he had been perturbed before, he was twice as uneasy
+now. He had made the joyous discovery which he had been expecting to make
+almost ever since he had seen the young secretary walking in her emphatic
+way along the street. But, joyous as the discovery was, the making of it
+had actually increased the perturbation of his mind. His trouble was that
+he could not tell how he would ever be able to make his discovery known.
+He did not doubt that, to his dear friend, "Cobbler" Horn, and to the
+young secretary, the communication of it would impart great joy. But he
+was restrained by a fear, which would arise, notwithstanding his feeling
+of certainty, lest he should prove to be mistaken after all; and his fear
+was reinforced by an inward persuasion which he had that he was the most
+awkward person in the world by whom so delicate a communication could be
+made.
+
+Yet he told himself he was quite sure that the young secretary was no
+other than little Marian come back. His doubts had vanished when he had
+seen her sitting in the old arm-chair, just as when she was a child; and
+every time he had seen her since that day his assurance had been made more
+sure. But, as long as he was compelled to keep his discovery to himself,
+it was almost the same as though he had not made it at all.
+
+Tommy almost wished that some one else had made the great discovery, as
+well as himself. His thoughts had turned to his brother John; and he had
+resolved to put him to the test, which he had subsequently done with
+considerable tact. On the evening of the day following that of the first
+visit of Miss Owen to their house, the brothers had been sitting by the
+fire before going to bed.
+
+"John," Tommy had said, seizing his opportunity, "you saw the young lady
+who was here the other day?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She's the secretary, you know."
+
+"Yes," said John again, yawning; for he was sleepy.
+
+"Well, what did you think of her?"
+
+John started, and regarded his brother with a stare of astonishment. It
+was the first time Tommy had ever asked his opinion on such a subject. Was
+he thinking of getting married, or what? John Dudgeon had a certain broad
+sense of humour which enabled him to perceive such ludicrous elements of a
+situation as showed themselves on the surface.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed slyly; "are you there?"
+
+Tommy put out his hands in some confusion.
+
+"No, no," he said, "not what you think! But did you notice anything
+particular about the young lady?"
+
+"Well no," replied John, "except that I thought she was a very nice young
+person. But, Tommy, isn't she rather too young? If you really are thinking
+of getting married, wouldn't it be better to choose some one a little
+nearer your own age?"
+
+John would not be dissuaded from the idea that his brother was intent on
+matrimonial thoughts. Tommy waved his hand, in a deprecatory way, and
+rising from his chair, said "good night," and betook himself to bed.
+
+It was plain that he was quite alone in his discovery. What was he to do?
+To speak to Miss Owen on the subject was out of the question. The only
+alternative was to communicate the good news to "Cobbler" Horn himself.
+But there seemed to be stupendous difficulties involved in such a course.
+He was aware that there was nothing his friend would more rejoice to know
+than that which he had to tell. From various hints thrown out by "Cobbler"
+Horn, Tommy knew that he regarded Miss Owen with much of the fondness of
+a father; and it was not likely that the joy of finding his lost child
+would be diminished in the least by the fact that she had presented
+herself in the person of his secretary. But this consideration did not
+relieve the perplexity with which the little huckster contemplated the
+necessity of making known his secret to "Cobbler" Horn. For, to say
+nothing of the initial obstacle of his own timidity, he feared it would
+be almost impossible to convince his friend that his strange surmise was
+correct. If "Cobbler" Horn had not discovered for himself the identity of
+his secretary with his long-lost child, was it likely that he would accept
+that astounding fact on the testimony of any other person?
+
+It is needless to say that Tommy Dudgeon made his perplexity a matter of
+prayer. He prayed and pondered, night and day; and, at length a thought
+came to him which seemed to point out the way of which he was in search.
+Might he not give "Cobbler" Horn some covert hint which would put him on
+the track of making the great discovery for himself? Surely some such
+thing, though difficult, might be done! He must indeed be cautious, and
+not by any means reveal his design. The suggestion must seem to be
+incidental and unpremeditated. There must be no actual mention of little
+Marian, and no apparently intentional indication of Miss Owen. Something
+must be said which might induce "Cobbler" Horn to associate the idea of
+his little lost Marian with that of his young secretary--to place them
+side by side before his mind. And it must all arise in the course of
+conversation, the order of which--he Tommy Dudgeon, must deliberately
+plan. The audacity of the thought made his hair stand up.
+
+It was a delicate undertaking indeed! The little man felt like a surgeon
+about to perform a critical operation upon his dearest friend. He was
+preparing to open an old wound in the heart of his beloved benefactor.
+True, he hoped so to deal with it that it should never bleed again. But
+what if he failed? That would be dreadful! Yet the attempt must be made.
+So he set himself to his task. His opportunity came on the afternoon of
+the day following that of the opening of the "Home." Watching from the
+corner of his window, as he was wont, about three o'clock, Tommy saw "the
+Golden Shoemaker" come along the street, and enter his old house. Then the
+little man turned away from the window, and became very nervous. For quite
+two minutes he stood back against the shelves, trying to compose himself.
+When he had succeeded, in some degree, in steadying his quivering nerves,
+he reached from under the counter a brown-paper parcel containing a pair
+of boots, which had, for some days, been lying in readiness for the
+occasion which had now arrived, and, calling John to mind the shop,
+slipped swiftly into the street. A minute later he was standing in the
+doorway of "Cobbler" Horn's workshop. "The little Twin Brethren" had, at
+first, been disposed to refrain from availing themselves of the gratuitous
+labours of their friend; but, perceiving that it would afford him
+pleasure, they had yielded with an easy grace, and now Tommy was glad
+to have so good an excuse for a visit to "the Golden Shoemaker," as was
+supplied by the boots in the parcel under his arm.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn perceived the nervousness of his visitor, and thinking it
+strange that the bringing of a pair of boots to be mended should have
+occasioned his humble little friend so much trepidation, he did his best,
+by adopting a specially sociable tone, to put him at his ease.
+
+"Ah, Tommy, what have we there?" he asked. "More work for the 'Cobbler,'
+eh?"
+
+"Just an old pair of boots which want mending, Mr. Horn," said Tommy, in
+uncertain tones, as he unwrapped the boots and held them out with a
+shaking hand--"that is, if you are not too busy."
+
+"Not by any means," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile. "Put them down."
+
+Tommy obeyed.
+
+There stood against the wall, a much-worn wooden chair from which the back
+had been sawn off close.
+
+"I'll sit down, if you don't mind," gasped Tommy, depositing himself upon
+this superannuated seat.
+
+"By all means," said "Cobbler" Horn cordially; "make yourself quite at
+home."
+
+"Thank you," said Tommy, drawing from his pocket a red and yellow
+handkerchief, with which he vigorously mopped his brow.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn waited calmly for his perturbed visitor to become composed;
+and Tommy sat for some minutes, staring helplessly at "Cobbler" Horn, and
+still rubbing his forehead. What had become of the astute plan of
+operations which the little man had laid down?
+
+"You have surely something on your mind, friend?" said "Cobbler" Horn, in
+an enquiring tone.
+
+"Yes, I have," said Tommy, somewhat relieved; "it's been there for some
+time."
+
+"Well, what is it? Can I help you in any way?"
+
+"Oh, no; I don't want help."
+
+His utterly incapacitated demeanour belied him; but he was speaking of
+financial help.
+
+"I've been thinking of the past, Mr. Horn," he managed to say, making a
+faint effort to direct the conversation according to his original design.
+
+"Ah!" sighed "Cobbler" Horn. "Of the past!" With the word, his thoughts
+darted back to that period of his own past towards which they so often
+sadly turned.
+
+"I somehow can't help it," continued Tommy, gathering courage. "There
+seems to be something that keeps bringing it up."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn fixed his keen eyes on the agitated face of his visitor. He
+knew what it was in the past to which Tommy referred, and appreciated his
+delicacy of expression.
+
+"Yes, Tommy," he said, "and I, too, often think of the past. But is there
+anything special that brings it to your mind just now?"
+
+Upon this, all Tommy Dudgeon's clever plans vanished into air. His scheme
+for leading the conversation up to the desired point utterly broke down.
+He cast himself on the mercy of his friend.
+
+"Oh," he cried, in thrilling tones, "can't you see it? Can't you feel
+it--every day? The sec'tary! The sec'tary! If it is so plain to me, how
+can you be so blind?"
+
+Then he darted from the room, and betook himself home with all speed.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+                         BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.
+
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's first thought was that the strain of eccentricity in his
+humble little friend had developed into actual insanity. But, on further
+consideration, he was disposed to take another view. He felt bound to
+admit that, though there had been a strangeness in the behaviour of the
+little man throughout his visit, it had not afforded any actual ground for
+the suspicion of insanity, until he had so suddenly rushed away home. It
+was, therefore, possible that there might prove to be some important
+meaning in what he had said. At first "Cobbler" Horn had gathered nothing
+intelligible from the impassioned apostrophe of his excited little friend;
+but, by degrees, there dawned upon him some faint gleam of what its
+meaning might be. "The sec'tary!" That was the quaint term by which Tommy
+was wont to designate Miss Owen. But their conversation had been drifting
+in the direction of his little lost Marian. Why, then, should Miss Owen
+have been in Tommy's mind? Ah, he saw how it was! His humble friend had
+perceived that Miss Owen was a dear, good girl; and he had noticed her
+evident attachment to him--"Cobbler" Horn, and his fondness for her, and
+no doubt the little man had meant to suggest that she should take the
+place of the lost child. It was characteristic of his humble friend that
+he should seek, by such a hint, to point out a course which, no doubt,
+seemed to him, likely to afford satisfaction to all concerned; and
+"Cobbler" Horn could not help admiring the delicacy with which it had been
+done.
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" was quite persuaded that he had hit upon the right
+interpretation of the little huckster's words; and he was not altogether
+displeased with the suggestion he supposed them to convey. Of course
+Marian would ultimately come back; and no one else could be permitted
+permanently to occupy her place. But there was no reason why he should not
+let his young secretary take, for the time being, as far as possible, the
+place which would have been filled by his lost child. In fact, Miss Owen
+was almost like a daughter to him already; and he was learning to love her
+as such. Well, he would adopt the suggestion of his little friend. His
+secretary should fill, for the time, the vacant place in his life. Yet he
+would never leave off loving his precious Marian; and her own share of
+love, which could never be given to another, must be reserved for her
+against her return, when he would have two daughters instead of one.
+
+Thus mused "the Golden Shoemaker," until, suddenly recollecting himself,
+he started up. He had promised to visit one of his former neighbours, who
+was sick, and it was already past the time at which the visit should have
+been made. He hastily threw off his leathern apron, and put on his coat
+and hat. At the same moment, he observed that heavy rain was beating
+against the window. It was now early summer; and, misled by the fair face
+of the sky, he had left home without an umbrella. What was he to do? He
+passed into the kitchen, and opening the front door, stood looking out
+upon the splashing rain. Behind him, in the room, sat, at her sewing, the
+good woman whom he had placed in charge of the house. She was small, and
+plump, and shining, the very picture of content. Her manner was
+respectful, and, as a rule, she did not address "Cobbler" Horn until he
+had spoken to her. To-day, however, she was the first to speak.
+
+"Surely, sir, you won't go out in such a rain!"
+
+As she spoke, the shower seemed suddenly to gather force, and the rain to
+descend in greater volume than ever.
+
+"Thank you, Mrs. Bunn," replied "Cobbler" Horn, looking round. "I think I
+will wait for a moment or two; but I have no time to spare, and must go
+soon, in any case."
+
+The rain had turned the street into a river, upon the surface of which the
+plumply-falling drops were producing multitudes of those peculiar
+gleaming white splashes which are known to childhood as "sixpences and
+half-crowns." All at once the downpour diminished. The sky became lighter,
+and the sun showed a cleared face through the thinning clouds.
+
+"I think I may venture now," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Better wait a little longer, sir; it 'ull come on again," said Mrs. Bunn,
+with the air of a person to whom the foibles of the weather were fully
+known. But "Cobbler" Horn was already in the street, and had not heard her
+words. It was some distance to the house of his sick friend, and he walked
+along at a rapid pace. But before he had proceeded far, the prophecy of
+Mrs. Bunn was fulfilled. In a moment, the sky grew black again; and, after
+a preliminary dash of heavy drops, the rain came down in greater abundance
+than before. It almost seemed as though a water-spout had burst. In two
+minutes, "the Golden Shoemaker" was wet to the skin. He might have
+returned to the house, from which he was distant no more than a few
+hundred yards; but he thought that, as he was already wet through, he
+might as well go on. Besides, "Cobbler" Horn's promise was sacred, and it
+had been given to his sick friend. So he plunged on through the flooded
+and splashing streets.
+
+When he reached his destination, he was glad that he had not turned back.
+His poor friend was much worse, and it was evident that he had not many
+hours to live. Forgetful of his own discomfort, and heedless of danger
+from his wet clothes, "Cobbler" Horn took his place at the bedside, and
+remained for many hours with the dying man. His friend was a Christian,
+and did not fear to die. He had never been married, was almost without
+relatives, and had scarcely a friend. As, hour after hour, he held the
+hand of the dying man, "Cobbler" Horn whispered in his ear, from time to
+time, a cheering word, or breathed a fervent prayer. The feeble utterances
+of the dying man, which became less frequent as the hours crept away, left
+no doubt as to the reality of his faith in God, and, about midnight, he
+passed peacefully away.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn lingered a few moments' longer, and set out for home. The
+rain had long ceased, and the sky was without a cloud. The semi-tropical
+shower had been followed by a rapid cooling of the atmosphere, and he
+shivered in his still damp clothes, as he hurried along.
+
+He found Miss Jemima and the young secretary anxiously awaiting his
+return. They knew of his intention of visiting his sick friend, and were
+not much surprised that he was so late. But his sister was greatly
+concerned to find that he had remained so long with his clothes damp. He
+went at once to bed, and Miss Jemima insisted upon bringing to him there
+a steaming basin of gruel. He took a few spoonfuls, and then lay wearily
+back upon the bed. Miss Jemima shook up his pillows, arranged the
+bed-clothes, and reluctantly left him for the night.
+
+In the morning it was evident that "the Golden Shoemaker" was ill. The
+wetting he had received, followed by the effect of the chill night air,
+had found out an unsuspected weakness in his constitution, and symptoms of
+acute bronchitis had set in. The doctor was hastily summoned, and, after
+the manner of his kind, gravely shook his head, by way of intimating that
+the case was much more serious than he was prepared verbally to admit. The
+condition of the patient, indeed, was such as to justify the most alarming
+interpretation of the doctor's manner and words.
+
+Now followed a time of painful suspense. In spite of all that money could
+do, "Cobbler" Horn grew worse daily. The visits of the doctor, though
+repeated twice, and even three times a day, produced but little
+appreciable result. Could it be that this man, into whose possession such
+vast wealth had so recently come, was so early to be called to relinquish
+it again? Was it possible that all this money was so soon to drop from the
+hands which had seemed more fit to hold it than almost any other hands to
+which had ever been entrusted the disposal of money?
+
+Miss Jemima did not ask herself such questions as these. She moved about
+the house, trying, in her grim way, to crush down within her heart the
+anguished thought that her beloved and worshipped brother lay at the point
+of death.
+
+And Miss Owen--with what emotions did she contemplate the possibility of
+that dread event the actual occurrence of which became more probable
+every day? She went about her duties like one in a dream. What would it
+mean to her if he were to die? She would lose a great benefactor, and a
+dear friend; and that would be grief enough. But was there not something
+more that she would lose--something which had seemed almost within her
+grasp, which it had hitherto been the hope, and yet the fear, of her life
+that she might find, but which, of late, she had desired to find with an
+ardent and unhalting hope? It was with a sick heart that the young
+secretary discharged, from day to day, her now familiar duties. She was
+now so well acquainted with the mind of her employer, that she could deal
+with the correspondence almost as well without, as with, his help. But she
+missed him every moment, and the thought that he might never again take
+his place over against her at the office table filled her with bitter
+grief.
+
+There were others who were anxious on account of the peril which
+threatened the life of "the Golden Shoemaker."
+
+Mr. Durnford was weighted with grave concern. He called every day to see
+his friend; and each time he left the sick-chamber, he was uncertain
+whether his predominant feeling was that of sorrow for the illness and
+danger of so good a man, or rejoicing that, in his pain and peril,
+"Cobbler" Horn was so patient and resigned.
+
+In the breasts of many who were accustomed to receive benefits at the
+hands of "the Golden Shoemaker," there was great distress. Every day, and
+almost every hour, there were callers, chiefly of the humbler classes,
+with anxious enquiries on their lips. Not the least solicitous of these
+were "the Little Twin Brethren." Tommy Dudgeon almost continually haunted
+the house where his honoured friend lay in such dire straits. The anxiety
+of the little man was intensified by a burning desire to know whether his
+desperate appeal on the subject of the "sec'tary" had produced its
+designed effect on the mind of "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+Public sympathy with "Cobbler" Horn and his anxious friends ran deep; and
+every one who could claim, in any degree, the privilege of a friend, made
+frequent enquiry as to the sufferer's state. But neither public sympathy
+nor private grief were of much avail; and it seemed, for a time, as though
+the earthly course of "the Golden Shoemaker" was almost run. There came a
+day when the doctors confessed that they could do no more. A few hours
+must decide the question of life or death. Dreadful was the suspense in
+the stricken house, and great the sorrow in many hearts outside. Mr.
+Durnford, who had been summoned early in the morning, remained to await
+the issue of the day. Little Tommy Dudgeon, who had been informed that the
+crisis was near, came, and lingered about the house, on one pretence or
+another, unable to tear himself away.
+
+But how was it with "the Golden Shoemaker" himself? From the first, he had
+been calm and patient; and, even now, when he was confronted with the
+grim visage of death, he did not flinch. Long accustomed to leave the
+issues of his life to God, willing to live yet prepared to die, he
+realized his position without dismay. No doctor ever had a more tractable
+patient than was "Cobbler" Horn; and he yielded himself to his nurses like
+an infant of days. In the earlier stages of his illness, he had thought
+much about the mysterious words and strange behaviour of his friend Tommy
+Dudgeon, on the day on which he had been taken ill. Further consideration
+had not absolutely confirmed "Cobbler" Horn's first impression as to the
+meaning of the little huckster's words. Pondering them as he lay in bed,
+he had become less sure that his humble little friend had intended simply
+to suggest the admirable fitness of the young secretary to take the place
+of his lost child. Surely, he had thought, the impassioned exclamation of
+the eccentric little man must have borne some deeper significance than
+that! And then he had become utterly bewildered as to what meaning the
+singular words of Tommy Dudgeon had been intended to convey. And then
+there came a glimmering--nothing more--of the idea his faithful friend had
+wished to impart. But, just when he might have penetrated the mystery, if
+he could have thought it out a little more, he became too ill to think at
+all.
+
+After this his mind wandered slightly, and once or twice a strange fancy
+beset him that his little Marian was in the room, and that she was putting
+her soft hands on his forehead; but, in a moment, the fancy was gone, and
+he was aware that the young secretary was laying her cool gentle palm upon
+his burning brow.
+
+It had been a wonderful comfort to the girl that she had been permitted to
+take a spell of nursing now and then.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+                             A LITTLE SHOE.
+
+
+That which happens now and then occurred in the case of "Cobbler" Horn.
+The doctors proved to be mistaken; and thanks to a strong and unimpaired
+constitution, and to the blessing of God on efficient nursing and medical
+skill, "the Golden Shoemaker" survived the crisis of his illness, and
+commenced a steady return to health and strength.
+
+Great was the joy on every side. But, perhaps, the person who rejoiced
+most was Miss Owen. Not even the satisfaction of Miss Jemima at the
+ultimate announcement of the doctors, that their patient might now do
+well, was greater than was that of the young secretary. Miss Owen rejoiced
+for very special reasons of her own. During the convalescence of "Cobbler"
+Horn, the young secretary was with him very much. He was glad to have her
+in his room; and, as his strength returned, he talked to her often about
+herself. He seemed anxious to know all she could tell him of her early
+life.
+
+"Sit down here, by the bed," he would say eagerly, taking her plump, brown
+wrist in his wasted fingers, "and tell me about yourself."
+
+She would obey him, laughing gently, less at the nature of the request,
+than at the eagerness with which it was made.
+
+"Now begin," he said one evening, for the twentieth time, settling himself
+beneath the bed-clothes to listen, as though he had never heard the story
+before; "and mind you don't leave anything out."
+
+"Well," she commenced, "I was a little wandering mite, with hardly any
+clothes and only one shoe. I was----"
+
+His hand was on her arm in an instant. This was the first time she had
+mentioned the fact that, when she was found by the friends by whom she had
+been brought up, one of her feet was without a shoe.
+
+"Only one shoe, did you say?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, in tremulous tones.
+
+"Yes," she replied, not suspecting the tumult of thoughts her simple
+statement had excited in his mind.
+
+In truth, her statement had agitated her listener in no slight degree. He
+did not, as yet, fully perceive its significance. But the coincidence was
+so very strange! One shoe! Only one shoe! His little Marian had lost one
+of her shoes when she strayed away. A wonderful coincidence, indeed!
+
+"I was very dirty, and my clothes were torn," resumed Miss Owen; "and I
+was altogether a very forlorn little thing, I have no doubt. I don't
+remember much about it, myself, you know; but Mrs. Burton has often told
+me that I was crying at the time, and appeared to have been so engaged for
+some time. It was one evening in June, and getting dusk. Mr. and Mrs.
+Burton had been for a walk in the country, and were returning home, when
+they came upon me, walking very slowly, poking my fists into my eyes, and
+crying, as I said. When they asked me what was the matter, I couldn't tell
+them much. I seemed to be trying to say something about a 'bad woman,' and
+my 'daddy.' They couldn't even make out, with certainty, what I said my
+name was. Little as you might think it, Mr. Horn. I was a very bad talker
+in those days. 'Mary Ann Owen' was what my kind friends thought I called
+myself; and 'Mary Ann Owen' I have been ever since.
+
+"Well, these dear people took me home; and, after they had washed me, and
+found some clothes for me which had belonged to a little girl they had
+lost--their only child--they gave me a good basin of bread and milk, and
+put me to bed.
+
+"The next day they tried to get me to tell them something more, but it was
+no use; and as I couldn't tell them where I lived, and they didn't even
+feel sure about my name, they naturally felt themselves at a loss. But I
+don't think they were much troubled about that; for I believe they were
+quite prepared to keep me as their own child. You see they had lost a
+little one; and there was a vacant place that I expect they thought I
+might fill. They did, at first, try to find out who I was. But they
+altogether failed; and so, without more ado, they just made me their own
+little girl. They taught me to call them 'father' and 'mother'; and they
+have always been so good and kind!"
+
+Though several points in Miss Owen's story had touched him keenly,
+"Cobbler" Horn quickly regained his composure after the first start of
+surprise. Feeling himself too weak to do battle with agitating thoughts,
+he put aside, for the time, the importunate questions which besieged his
+mind.
+
+"Thank you," he said quietly, when the narrative was finished. "To-morrow
+we will talk about it all again. I think I can go to sleep now. But will
+you first, please, read a little from the dear old book."
+
+The young girl reached a Bible which stood always on a table by the
+bedside, and, turning to one of his favourite places, read, in her sweet
+clear tones, words of comfort and strength. Then she bade him "good
+night," and moved towards the door. But he called her back.
+
+"Will you take these letters?" he said, with his hand on a bundle of
+letters which lay on the table at his side; "and put them into the safe."
+
+They were letters of importance, to which he had been giving, during the
+evening, such attention as he was able. During his illness, he had allowed
+his secretary to keep the key of the safe.
+
+Miss Owen took the letters, and went downstairs. Going first into the
+dining-room, she told Miss Jemima that "Cobbler" Horn seemed likely to go
+to sleep, and then proceeded to the office. Without delay, she unlocked
+the safe, and was in the act of depositing the bundle of letters in its
+place, when, from a recess at the back, a small tissue-paper parcel, which
+she had never previously observed, fell down to the front, and became
+partially undone. As she picked it up, intending to restore it to the
+place from which it had fallen, her elbow struck the side of the safe, and
+the parcel was jerked out of her hand. In trying to save it, she retained
+in her grasp a corner of the paper, which unfolded itself, and there fell
+out upon the floor a little child's shoe, around which was wrapped a strip
+of stained and faded pink print. At a sight so unexpected she uttered a
+cry. Then she picked up the little shoe, and, having released it from its
+bandage, turned it over and over in her hands. Next she gave her attention
+to the piece of print. She was utterly dazed. Suddenly the full meaning of
+her discovery flashed upon her mind. She dropped the simple articles by
+which she had been so deeply moved, and, covering her face with her hands,
+burst into a paroxysm of joyous tears. But her agitation was brief.
+Hastily drying her eyes, she picked up the little shoe. No need to wait
+till she had compared it with the one which lay in the corner of her box!
+The image of the latter was imprinted on her mind with the exactness of a
+photograph, with its every wrinkle and spot, and every slash it had
+received from that unknown, wanton hand. She _could_ compare the two
+shoes here and now, as exactly as though she actually saw them side by
+side. Yes, this little shoe was indeed the fellow of her own! And the
+strip of print--what was it but her missing bonnet-string? She had found
+what she had so often longed to find. And she herself was--yes, why should
+she hesitate to say it?--the little Marian of whom she had so often heard!
+
+How wonderful it was! Here was truth stranger than fiction, indeed! She
+laughed--a gentle, trilling laugh, low and sweet. But ah, she could not
+tell him! She could not say to him, "I am the daughter you lost so long
+ago. I have seen in your safe the fellow of the shoe I wore when I was
+found by my kind friends." Of course it would convince him; but she could
+not say it. She must wait until he found out the truth for himself. But
+would he ever find it out? She hoped and thought he would. Had he not
+marked what she said about her having had on only one shoe when she was
+found? And would not that lead him to think and enquire? Meanwhile, she
+herself knew the wonderful truth; and she could afford to wait. It would
+all come right, of course it would; any other thought was too ridiculous
+to be entertained.
+
+Very quietly, and with almost reverent fingers, she wound the faded
+bonnet-string once more around the little shoe, and wrapped them up again
+in the much-crumpled paper.
+
+"How often must he have unfolded it!" was the thought that nestled in her
+heart, as she replaced the precious parcel in the safe, and closed and
+locked the ponderous door.
+
+From the office, the young secretary went directly to her own room. To
+open her trunk, and plunge her hand down into the corner where lay her own
+little parcel of relics, was the work of a moment. There was certainly no
+room for doubt. The little, stout, leather shoe which she had treasured so
+long was the fellow of the one she had just seen in the safe downstairs.
+There was the very same curve of the sole, made by the pressure of the
+little foot--her own, and similar inequalities in the upper part. With a
+sudden movement, she lifted the tiny shoe to her lips. And here was her
+funny old sun-bonnet! How often she had wondered what had become of its
+other string! Last of all, she took up the little chemise, which completed
+her simple store of relics, and gazed intently upon the red letters with
+which it was marked. All uncertainty as to their meaning was gone. What
+could "M.H." stand for but "Marian Horn"? With a grateful heart, she
+rolled up her treasures, and, having consigned them once more to their
+place in the trunk, went downstairs. Miss Jemima was indisposed; and,
+having seen the nurse duly installed in the sick-room, she had retired
+for the night. Accordingly, Miss Owen, much to her relief, had supper
+by herself. She felt that she did not wish to talk to any one just at
+present, and to Miss Jemima least of all.
+
+When the young secretary fell asleep that night, she was lulled with the
+sweetness of the thought that she had not only found her father, but had
+discovered him in the person of the best man she had ever known. The
+discovery of her father might have proved a bitter disappointment; it
+was actually such as to fill her with unspeakable gratitude. She did not
+greatly regret that she had not found her mother, as well as her father.
+It would probably have caused her real grief, if any one had appeared to
+claim the place in her heart which was held by the woman from whom she had
+always received, in a peculiar degree, a mother's love and a mother's
+care. One could find room for any number of fathers--provided they were
+worthy. But a mother!--her place was sacred; there could be no sharing of
+her throne.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+                          A JOYOUS DISCOVERY.
+
+
+It was long that night before "Cobbler" Horn fell asleep. He was free from
+pain, and felt better altogether than at any time since the beginning of
+his illness. Yet he could not sleep. The story of his young secretary, as
+she had told it this evening, had supplied him with thoughts calculated to
+banish slumber from the most drowsy eyes.
+
+Miss Owen had told him her simple story many times before; but this
+evening she had introduced certain new particulars of a startling kind;
+and it was as the result of the thoughts thereby suggested that he was
+unable to sleep. The few additional details which the young secretary had
+included in her narrative this evening had given a new aspect to the
+story. There was the solitary shoe she had worn at the time when she had
+come into the kind hands of Mr. and Mrs. Burton, and the fact that she
+was a very indistinct talker at the time. The entire story, too, seemed
+to correspond so well--why should he not admit it?--with what might not
+improbably have been the history of his little Marian; and Marian would
+be, at that time, about the same age as was Miss Owen when she was found
+by the friends whose adopted child she became. But the solitary shoe! He
+wondered whether it was still in her possession. He would ask her in the
+morning. And then the indistinct talk of which she had spoken! How well
+he remembered the pretty broken speech of his own little pet! Then there
+returned to him that gleam of intelligence with regard to the meaning of
+the strange words of Tommy Dudgeon with which he had been visited at the
+beginning of his illness. Surely this was what his faithful friend had
+meant! From the great affection of the little huckster for Marian, it was
+likely that he would have a vivid recollection of the child; and no doubt
+the little man had already discerned what the father himself was only now,
+after so many hints, beginning to perceive. Thus he pondered through the
+night. Strange to say, he felt neither sleepy nor tired. He was refreshed
+by the gracious prophecy of coming joy which the story of his young
+secretary had supplied; and when, after falling asleep in the early hours
+of the morning, he awoke towards eight o'clock, he felt as though he had
+slept all night.
+
+It was the custom for the young secretary to pay a visit to her employer's
+room soon after breakfast, for the purpose of laying before him any of
+the morning's letters to which it was imperative that his personal
+attention should be given. Most frequently Miss Owen's visit was, as far
+as business was concerned, a mere formality, or little more. There were
+few of the letters with which she herself was not able to deal; and all
+that was necessary, as a rule, was for her to make a general report, which
+"Cobbler" Horn invariably received with an approving smile. Then the
+favoured young secretary would linger for a few moments in the room. She
+would hover about the bed; asking how he had passed the night; performing
+a variety of tender services, which, though he had not previously realized
+the need of them, increased his comfort to a wonderful extent; and
+talking, all the while, in her merry, heartsome way, like a privileged
+child, with now and then a gentle, cooing little laugh.
+
+There was nothing, in the whole course of the day, that "the Golden
+Shoemaker" enjoyed so much as the morning visit of his fresh young
+secretary. But he had never before anticipated it as eagerly as he did
+this morning. He had long looked upon this young girl rather in the light
+of a devoted daughter, than of a paid secretary. What if, unconsciously
+to them both, she had thus grown into her rightful place! As the time
+approached for her appearance, he had insensibly brought himself to face
+more fully the wonderful possibility which had been presenting itself to
+his mind during the last few hours. The nurse was surprised that, though
+he seemed to be even better than usual, he could scarcely eat any
+breakfast. All the time, he was watching the door, and listening for the
+slightest sound. He wondered whether Miss Owen still had in her possession
+the little shoe of which she had spoken. He must ask her that at once. And
+how he yearned to search her face, with one long, scrutinising gaze!
+
+At last she came, radiant, as usual! Did he notice that a slight shyness
+veiled her face, and that there was an unusual tremor in her voice as she
+wished him "good morning"? If "Cobbler" Horn perceived these signs, he
+paid them but scant regard. He was too much absorbed in his own thoughts,
+to consider what those of his young secretary might be; and he was too
+busily engaged in scrutinising the permanent features of her face, to give
+much heed to its transient expression. What he saw did not greatly assist
+in the settlement of the question which occupied his mind. And small
+wonder that it should be so; for, when he had last seen his Marian, she
+was a little girl of five.
+
+No less eagerly than "Cobbler" Horn scanned the countenance of his young
+secretary, did her eyes, that morning, seek his face. She too had passed a
+broken night. But it had not seemed wearisome or long. Happy thoughts had
+rendered sleep an impertinence at first; and, when healthy youthful nature
+had, at length, asserted itself, the young girl had slept only in pleasant
+snatches, waking every now and then from some delicious dream, to assure
+herself that the sweetest dream could not be half so delightful as the
+glad reality which had come into her life.
+
+If these two people could have read each other's thoughts---- But
+that might not be. She wished him "good morning," in her own bright way;
+and he responded with his usual benignant smile. Then they proceeded to
+business. There was one very important letter, which demanded some
+expenditure of time. The secretary was not altogether herself. Her hand
+trembled a little, and there was a slight quaver in her voice. Her
+employer noticed these signs of discomposure, and spoke of them in his
+kindly way.
+
+"Surely you are not well this morning!" he said, placing his hand lightly
+on her wrist.
+
+His secretary was usually so self-possessed.
+
+"Oh yes," she said, with a start, "I am quite well--quite."
+
+She smiled at the very idea of her not being well, knowing what she did.
+
+"Come and sit down beside me for a little while," said "Cobbler" Horn,
+when their business was finished; "and let us have some talk."
+
+It was the ordinary invitation; but there was something unusual in the
+tone of his voice. As the young girl took her seat at the bedside, her
+previous agitation in some degree returned. "Cobbler" Horn's fingers
+closed upon her hand, with a gentle pressure.
+
+"My dear young lady, there is something that I wish to ask you."
+
+There was just the slightest tremor in his voice; and the young secretary
+was distinctly conscious of the beating of her heart.
+
+"Yes, sir," she said, faintly, trembling a little.
+
+"Don't be agitated," he continued, for it was impossible to overlook the
+fact of her excitement. "It's a very simple matter."
+
+He did not know--how could he?--that her thoughts were running in the same
+direction as his own.
+
+"You said," he pursued, "that, when you were found by your good friends,
+you were wearing only one shoe. Did you--have you that shoe still?"
+
+It was evident that he was agitated now. Miss Owen started, and he could
+feel her hand quiver within his grasp, like a frightened bird.
+
+"Yes," she answered in a whisper, above which she felt powerless to raise
+her voice, "I have kept it ever since."
+
+"Then," he resumed, having now quite recovered his self-possession, "would
+you mind letting me see it?"
+
+With a strong effort, she succeeded in maintaining her self-control.
+
+"Oh no, not at all, sir!" she said, rising, and moving towards the door;
+"I'll fetch it at once. But it isn't much to look at now," she added over
+her shoulder, as she left the room.
+
+"'Not much to look at'!" laughed "the Golden Shoemaker" softly to himself.
+There was nothing that he had ever been half so anxious to see!
+
+Five minutes later he was sitting up in bed, turning over and over in his
+hands the fellow of the little shoe which he had cherished for so many
+years as the dearest memento of his lost child. Could there be any doubt?
+Was it not his own handiwork? It had evidently received several random
+slashes with a knife, and it still bore traces of mud. But he knew his own
+work too well; and had he not looked upon the fellow of this shoe every
+day for the last twelve years?
+
+Strange to say, so completely absorbed was "Cobbler" Horn in contemplating
+the shoe which his Marian had worn, that, for the moment, he did not think
+of Marian herself. At length he looked up. But he was alone. Discretion,
+and the tumult of her emotions, had constrained the young secretary to
+withdraw from the room. Putting a strong hand upon herself, she had
+retired to the office, where she was, at that moment, diligently at work.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn sighed. But perhaps it was better that the young girl had
+withdrawn. There was little room for doubt; but he must make assurance
+doubly sure. He touched the electric bell at the head of the bed, and the
+nurse immediately appeared.
+
+"Will you be so good as to tell Miss Horn I should like to see her at
+once."
+
+The nurse, marking the eagerness with which the request was uttered, and
+observing the little shoe on the counterpane, perceived that the occasion
+was urgent, and departed on her errand with all speed.
+
+"I don't think he is any worse this morning," she said to Miss Jemima when
+she had delivered her message. "Indeed he seems, quite unaccountably, to
+be very much better. But it is evident something has happened."
+
+Without waiting to hear more, Miss Jemima hurried to her brother's room.
+Sitting up in bed, with a happy face, he was holding in his hand a
+dilapidated child's shoe, which he placed in his sister's hands as soon
+as she approached the bed.
+
+"Jemima, look at that!" he said joyously.
+
+Thinking it was the shoe which her brother had always preserved with so
+much care, she took it, and examined it with much concern.
+
+"Whoever can have cut it about like that?" she cried.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn hastened to rectify her mistake.
+
+"No, Jemima," he said, in a tone of reverent exultation; "it's the other
+shoe--the one we've been wanting to find all these years!"
+
+The first thought of Miss Jemima was that her brother had gone mad. Then
+she examined the shoe more closely.
+
+"To be sure!" she said. "How foolish of me! Those cuts were made long
+ago."
+
+As she spoke, she put her hand on the table at the bedside, to steady
+herself.
+
+"Brother," she demanded, in trembling tones, "where did you get this shoe?
+Did it come by the morning post?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn answered deliberately. He would give his sister time to
+take in the meaning of his words.
+
+"It has been in the possession of Miss Owen. She brought it to me just
+now."
+
+"Miss Owen?"
+
+Miss Jemima's first impulse was towards indignation. What had Miss Owen
+been doing with the shoe? But the next moment, she reflected that there
+must be some reasonable explanation of the fact that the shoe had been in
+the possession of her brother's secretary--though what that explanation
+might be Miss Jemima could not, as yet, divine.
+
+"She has had it," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, in the same quiet tone as
+before, "ever since she was a little girl. She was wearing it when she was
+found by the good people by whom she was adopted."
+
+Then light came to Miss Jemima, clear and full. She grasped her brother's
+shoulder, and remembered his weakness only just in time to refrain from
+giving him a vigorous shake.
+
+"Brother, brother," she cried, "do you understand what your words may
+mean?"
+
+"Yes, Jemima--in part, at least. But we must make sure. First we will put
+the two shoes together, and see that they really are the same."
+
+"Why, surely, Thomas, you have no doubt?"
+
+"There seems little room for it, indeed; but we cannot make too sure!"
+
+He wanted to give himself time to become accustomed to the great joy which
+was dawning on his life.
+
+"You know where the other shoe is, Jemima?"
+
+"Yes, in the safe."
+
+"Yes; and you know that, while I have been up here, Miss Owen has kept the
+key of the safe?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Miss Jemima had undergone much mental chafing by reason of that knowledge.
+
+"Well, will you go to her in the office, and say I wish you to bring me
+something out of the safe? She will not know what you bring. She will just
+hand you the key, and go on with her work."
+
+"Yes, I will go, brother. But are you sure she knows or suspects nothing?
+She may have seen the shoe."
+
+"Oh no; it is well wrapped up, and I am sure she would not touch the
+parcel. I can trust my secretary," he added, with a new-born pride.
+
+As Miss Jemima went down stairs, she wondered she had not long ago
+lighted on the discovery which her brother had now made. It explained many
+things. The tones and gestures which had so often startled her by their
+familiarity; the vague feeling that, at some time, she must have known
+this young girl before; the growing resemblance--evident to Miss Jemima's
+eyes, at least--of the young secretary to "Cobbler" Horn--these things,
+which, with many kindred signs, Miss Jemima had hidden in her heart, had
+their explanation in the discovery which had just been made.
+
+Miss Owen yielded the key of the safe without question. Though she
+appeared to take no notice of Miss Jemima's doings, she knew, as by
+instinct, what Miss Jemima was taking out of the safe; and she told
+herself that she must not, and would not, let it appear that she supposed
+anything unusual was going on. She went on quietly with her work; but it
+was by dint of such an effort of self-control, as few human beings have
+ever found it necessary to make, or could have made.
+
+As the result of the young secretary's effort of self-repression, there
+appeared in her face, at the moment when Miss Jemima turned to leave the
+room, an expression so much like that assumed by the countenance of
+"Cobbler" Horn at times when he was very firm, that the heart of Miss
+Jemima gave a mighty bound.
+
+Meanwhile Miss Jemima's brother was eagerly awaiting her return. She had
+been absent less than five minutes, when she once more entered his room.
+
+"There," she said, holding the two little shoes out towards her brother,
+side by side, "there can be no doubt about the shoes, at any rate. They
+are a pair, sure enough. Why," she continued, turning up the shoe that
+Miss Owen had produced, "I remember noticing, that very morning, that half
+the leather was torn away from the heel of one of the child's shoes, just
+like that."
+
+As she spoke, she held out the shoe, and showed her brother that its
+heel had been damaged exactly as she had described. Then a strange thing
+happened to Miss Jemima. She dropped the little shoes upon the bed, and,
+covering her face with her hands, cried gently for a few moments. "The
+Golden Shoemaker" gazed at his sister in some wonder; and then two large
+tears gathered in his own eyes, and rolled down his cheeks.
+
+All at once Miss Jemima almost fiercely dashed her hand across her eyes.
+
+"Brother," she cried, "I've often heard of tears of joy; but I didn't
+think I should live to say they were the only ones I had shed since I was
+a little child! But there's no mistake about those shoes. And there's no
+doubt about anything else either."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was, perhaps, quite as confident as his sister; but he was
+a little more cautious.
+
+"Yes, Jemima," he said; "but we must be careful. A mistake would be
+dreadful--both on our own account, and on that of--of Miss Owen. We must
+send for Mr. and Mrs. Burton at once. Mr. Durnford will telegraph. It will
+be necessary, of course, to tell him of our discovery; but he may be
+trusted not to breathe it to any one else."
+
+Miss Jemima readily assented to her brother's proposal. Mr. Durnford was
+sent for, and came without delay. His astonishment on hearing the
+wonderful news his friends had to tell was hardly as great as they
+expected. It is possible that this arose from the fact that he was
+acquainted with the story of Miss Owen, and that his eyes and ears had
+been open during the last few months. It was, however, with no lack of
+heartiness that he complied with the request to send a telegram summoning
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton to "Cobbler" Horn's bedside.
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XL.
+
+                   TOMMY DUDGEON'S CONTRIBUTION.
+
+
+After the despatch of the telegram, the words of Tommy Dudgeon, with
+reference to the young secretary, recurred once more to the mind of
+"Cobbler" Horn, and he mentioned them to his sister.
+
+"This must have been what the good fellow meant," he said. "You remember,
+Jemima, how fond they were of each other--Tommy and the child?"
+
+"Yes," responded Miss Jemima, reluctantly; for she still retained her
+dislike for "those stupid Dudgeons."
+
+"Do you know, Jemima, I have it on my mind to send for Tommy at once, and
+ask him what he really meant."
+
+"Send for him--to come in here?"
+
+"Yes; why not?"
+
+"Well, you must do as you like, I suppose."
+
+A moment's reflection had convinced the good lady that she had really no
+sound reason to advance against the proposal her brother had made; and she
+knew that, in any case, he would do as he thought fit.
+
+Accordingly a messenger was despatched for Tommy Dudgeon with all speed;
+and the little huckster turned over to his brother, without compunction,
+an important customer whom he happened to be serving at the time, and
+hurried away to the bedside of his honoured friend.
+
+The servant who, in obedience to orders received, showed Tommy up at once
+to "Cobbler" Horn's room, handed in at the same time a telegram which had
+just arrived from Mr. Burton, saying that he and Mrs. Burton might be
+expected about three o'clock in the afternoon. "Cobbler" Horn placed the
+pink paper on the little table by his bedside, and turned to Tommy, who
+stood just within the doorway, nervously twisting his hat between his
+hands.
+
+"Come in, Tommy, come in!" said "the Golden Shoemaker," encouragingly,
+"you see I am almost well."
+
+Tommy advanced into the room; but being arrested by the sight of Miss
+Jemima, who stood at the bed-foot, he stopped short half-way between the
+bed and the door, and honoured that formidable lady with a trembling
+bow. Miss Jemima's mood this morning was complacency itself, and she
+acknowledged the obeisance of the little huckster with a not ungracious
+nod. Greatly encouraged, Tommy moved a pace or two nearer to the bed.
+
+"I'm deeply thankful, Mr. Horn," he said, "to see you looking so well."
+
+"Thank you, Tommy," responded "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile, as he reached
+out his hand. "The Lord is very good. No doubt He has more work for me to
+do yet."
+
+As Tommy almost reverently took the hand of his beloved and honoured
+friend he thought to himself, "I wonder whether he has considered what
+I said?"
+
+"The last time we met, Tommy," began "Cobbler" Horn, as though in answer
+to the unspoken question of the little man--"But, sit down, friend, sit
+down."
+
+Tommy protested that he would rather stand; but, being overborne, he
+effected a compromise, by placing himself quite forward on the edge of
+the chair, and depositing his hat on the floor, between his feet.
+
+"You remember the time?" resumed "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Oh yes; quite well!"
+
+"It was the afternoon of the day I was taken ill."
+
+"Yes; and Mrs. Bunn said you _would_ go out in that dreadful rain."
+
+Tommy did not add that he himself, watching through his shop window, in
+the hope that his friend would come across to ask the meaning of his
+mysterious words, had, with a sinking heart, seen him walk off in the
+opposite direction through the drenching shower.
+
+"Well," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile, "I've had to pay for that, and
+shall be all the wiser, no doubt. But there was something you said that
+afternoon that I want to ask you about. At the time I thought I knew what
+you meant. But I am inclined now to think I was mistaken, and that your
+words referred to something quite different from what I then supposed. Do
+you remember what you said?"
+
+It was impossible for Tommy Dudgeon to conceal the agitation of his mind.
+He rejoiced at the opportunity to make known his great discovery to his
+friend; and yet he trembled lest he should prove unequal to the task. He
+thought, for a moment, that he would gain time by seeming not to
+understand the reference his friend had made.
+
+"What words do you speak of, chiefly, Mr. Horn?" he asked tremulously, "I
+said so many----"
+
+But Tommy Dudgeon could not dissemble. He stammered, stopped, wiped his
+forehead, and stretched out his hands as though in appeal to the mercy of
+his hearers.
+
+"Of course I know what words you mean!" he cried. "I wanted to tell you of
+something I had seen for weeks, but that you didn't seem to see. And I can
+see it still; and there's no mistake about it. I'm as certain sure of it,
+as that I am sitting on this chair. It was about the sec'tary, and some
+one else; and yet not anybody else, because they're both the same. May I
+tell you, Mr. Horn? Can you bear it, do you think?"
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" regarded the eager face of his little friend with
+glistening eyes; and Miss Jemima, leaning towards him over the framework
+of the iron bedstead, listened with an intent countenance, from which all
+trace of disfavour had vanished away.
+
+"Yes," said "Cobbler" Horn, in grave, calm tones; "tell us all. We are not
+unprepared."
+
+"Thank you," said the little man, fervently. "But, oh, I wish you knew! I
+wish God had been pleased to make it known to you," he added with a
+reminiscence of his Old Testament studies, "in a dream and vision of the
+night. Oh, my dear friend, don't you see that what you've been longing and
+praying for all these years has come to pass--as we always knew it would;
+and--and that she's come back! she's come back? There, that's what I
+meant!"
+
+"Then it really was so," said "Cobbler" Horn. "I'm surprised I did not
+perceive your meaning at the time."
+
+Tommy thought him wonderfully calm.
+
+"But I must tell you, Tommy, that we have now very much reason to think
+that your surmise is correct."
+
+"_Surmise_ is not the word, Mr. Horn; I know she's come back!"
+
+"Of course you do," interposed Miss Jemima, in emphatic tones.
+
+Tommy looked gratefully towards the hitherto dreadful lady; and she
+regarded him with eyes which seemed to say, "you have won my favour once
+for all."
+
+"Can you tell us, Tommy," asked "Cobbler" Horn, "what has made you so very
+sure?"
+
+"Yes," replied Tommy, with energy, "I'll tell you. Everything has made me
+sure--the way she walks along the street, with her head up, and putting
+her foot down as if a regiment of soldiers wouldn't stop her; and her
+manner of coming into the shop and saying, 'How are you to-day, Mr.
+Dudgeon?' and her sitting in the old arm-chair, and putting her head on
+one side like a knowing little bird, and asking questions about
+everything, and letting her eyes shine on you like stars. Begging your
+pardon, Mr. Horn, she's just the little lassie all over. Why I should know
+her with my eyes shut, if she were only to speak up, and say, 'Well,
+Tommy, how are you, to-day?'"
+
+"But," asked "Cobbler" Horn, whose heart, secretly, was almost bursting
+with delight, "may you not be mistaken, after all?"
+
+"I am not mistaken," replied Tommy firmly.
+
+"But it's such a long while ago," suggested "Cobbler" Horn; "and--and she
+will be very much altered by this time. You _can't_ be sure that a young
+woman is the same person as a little girl you haven't seen for more than a
+dozen years."
+
+Herein, perhaps, "Cobbler" Horn's own chief difficulty lay. "How," he
+asked, "can I think of Marian as being other than a little girl?" Tommy
+Dudgeon did not seem to be troubled in that way at all.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I can be quite sure when I have known the little girl as
+I knew that one; and when I have watched, and listened to, the young
+woman, as I have been watching and listening to the sec'tary for these
+months past."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn and Miss Jemima exchanged glances.
+
+"This is truly wonderful!" said he.
+
+"Not at all!" retorted she. "The wonder is, Thomas, that you and I have
+been so blind all this time."
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" smiled gently, as he lay back upon his pillows. The
+image of a small, dark-eyed child held possession of his mind; and he had
+not been able readily to bring himself to see his little Marian in any
+other form. As for any real doubt, there was only a shred of it left in
+his mind now. Yet he still said to himself that he must make assurance
+doubly sure.
+
+"Well, Tommy," he said, "we are very much obliged to you. And now, will
+you do us another kindness? We are expecting some friends this afternoon
+who may be able to give us a good deal of light on this subject. Will you
+come, when we send for you, and hear what they have to say?"
+
+"That I will!" was the hearty response, "I'll come, Mr. Horn, whenever you
+send."
+
+"You have met these friends before, Tommy," said "Cobbler" Horn. "They are
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton--at the 'Home,' you know."
+
+Tommy nodded.
+
+"They found Miss Owen when she was a very little girl; and brought her up
+as their own child; and we hope that what they may tell us about her will
+help us to decide whether what we think is true."
+
+Tommy nodded again with beaming eyes, and shortly afterwards took his
+leave.
+
+"Now, brother," said Miss Jemima, "you must take some rest, or we shall
+have you ill again."
+
+"Not much danger of that!" replied "Cobbler" Horn, smiling. "I think,
+please God, I've found a better medicine now, than all the doctors in the
+world could give me."
+
+"Yes; but you are excited, and the reaction will come, if you do not take
+care."
+
+"Well, perhaps you are right, Jemima. But first, don't you think she had
+better be out of the way when Mr. and Mrs. Burton come?"
+
+"Yes, I've thought of that; she can take that poor girl along the road for
+a drive."
+
+"A capital idea. Have it arranged, Jemima."
+
+"Very well. I'll go and see about it at once; and you get to sleep."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLI.
+
+                         NO ROOM FOR DOUBT!
+
+
+At the appointed time, Mr. and Mrs. Burton arrived. Being, as yet,
+ignorant of the purpose for which their presence was desired, they were
+full of conjectures. Miss Jemima received them in the dining-room,
+downstairs. The first question they asked related to "Cobbler" Horn's
+health. "Was he worse?"
+
+"No," said Miss Jemima; "he is much better. But he wishes to consult you
+about a matter of great importance."
+
+Then, upon their protesting that they were in no immediate need of
+refreshment, Miss Jemima conducted her visitors upstairs to her brother's
+room.
+
+Though "Cobbler" Horn had not been to sleep since the morning, he was
+greatly refreshed by the quiet hours he had passed. He turned to greet
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton, as they came in.
+
+"This is very good of you," he said, putting out his hand.
+
+Miss Jemima placed chairs for the visitors, and they took their seats
+near the bed.
+
+"I think I must sit up," said "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+Miss Jemima helped him to raise himself upon his pillows, and then sat
+down on a chair at the opposite side of the bed.
+
+"There now," said "the Golden Shoemaker," "we shall do finely. But,
+Jemima, how about our friend, Tommy?"
+
+"He'll be here directly" was the concise reply.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton waited patiently for "Cobbler" Horn to speak. Mrs.
+Burton was a shrewd-looking, motherly body; and her husband had the
+appearance of a capable and kindly man. They were both conscious of some
+curiosity, and even anxiety, with regard to what "Cobbler" Horn might be
+about to say. The peculiarity of the situation was that he should have
+sent for them both. Perhaps each had some vague prevision of the
+communication he was about to make.
+
+"Now, dear friends," he said, at last, "no doubt you will be wondering why
+I have sent for you in such a hurry."
+
+Both Mr. Burton and his wife protested that they were always at the
+service of Mr. Horn, and expressed the assurance that he would not have
+sent for them without good cause.
+
+"Thank you," he said. "I think you will admit that, in this instance, the
+cause is as good as can be."
+
+Looking upon the kindly faces of these good Christian people, "Cobbler"
+Horn wondered how they would receive the news he would probably have to
+impart. He must proceed cautiously. At the same time, he was thankful that
+his little lost child--if, indeed, it were so--had been committed by the
+great Father to such kindly hands.
+
+"You will not mind, dear friends," he resumed, "if I ask you one or two
+questions about the circumstances under which my--Miss Owen came into your
+charge when a child?"
+
+"By no means, sir!" The startling nature of the question caused no
+hesitation in the reply. Indeed, though startled, these good people were
+not so very much surprised. They had not, perhaps, been actually expecting
+that this would prove to be the subject on which they had been summoned to
+confer. But, ever since their adopted daughter had entered the household
+of this man, whose own little daughter had been lost, just about the time
+that she must have left her home, both Mr. and Mrs. Burton had secretly
+thought that perhaps, as the result, she would find her own parent, and
+they would lose their child. Perhaps it was on account of the vagueness
+of this thought, or because of the painful anticipations to which it gave
+rise, or for both these reasons, that the good couple had made no mention
+to each other of its presence in their respective minds. They glanced at
+one another now; and, by some subtle influence, each became aware that the
+other's mind had been occupied by this disturbing thought.
+
+"You will believe," said "Cobbler" Horn, "that I have good reasons for the
+questions I am going to ask?"
+
+"We are sure of that, sir," responded Mr. Burton.
+
+"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Burton.
+
+"Well, can you tell me in what year, and at what time of the year, you
+found the child?"
+
+"It was on the 2nd of June, 18--" said Mrs. Burton, promptly.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn and Miss Jemima exchanged glances. It was the very year in
+which, on that bright May morning, little Marian had vanished, like a
+flash of departing sunshine, from their lives.
+
+"About what age would you suppose the child to have been at the time?"
+
+"She told us her age," said Mr. Burton.
+
+"Yes," pursued his wife, "she was a very indistinct talker, and her age
+was almost the only thing we could actually make out. She said she was
+five; and that was about what she looked."
+
+"Do you think, now," continued "Cobbler" Horn, with another glance at his
+sister, "that you could give us anything like a description of the child?"
+
+"My wife can do that very well," said Mr. Burton. "She has often told Miss
+Owen what she looked like when we found her crying in the road."
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Burton, "I remember exactly what she was like. She had
+black hair--as she has now, and her eyes were very dark; her skin was even
+browner than it is now, being so dirty; and she had very rosy cheeks. It
+was evident that some of her clothes had been stolen. Indeed they were
+almost all gone, and she had scarcely anything on but an old, and very
+dirty shawl, which was wrapped round her body so tightly that it must have
+hurt her very much. She had lost one of her shoes, and her foot was bound
+up with a filthy piece of rag. She had both her socks on, but they were in
+dreadful holes. She was wearing a torn sun-bonnet, which was covered with
+mud; and--let me see--one of its strings was missing. And, yes, her one
+shoe was cut about over the top, as if it had been done on purpose with
+a knife. She had evidently been in very bad hands, poor little mite!" and
+the honest, kindly face was darkened with a frown, as Mrs. Burton clenched
+her plump fist in her lap.
+
+Miss Jemima had been listening with intense interest, from her position on
+the other side of the bed; and now interposed with a question, in her own
+quick way.
+
+"What was the pattern of the sun-bonnet? Was it a small, pink sprig, on a
+white ground?"
+
+"Why, you must have seen it, ma'am!" was Mrs. Burton's startled reply.
+"That was the very thing!"
+
+"Perhaps I have," responded Miss Jemima, "and perhaps I haven't."
+
+Mrs. Burton hardly knew what to say.
+
+"Well," she resumed, at last, "Miss Owen has kept the sun-bonnet, and the
+one shoe, and two or three other little things; and I'm sure she will be
+glad to let you see them. But, may I ask, Miss Horn, what----"
+
+But "Cobbler" Horn interrupted her.
+
+"I think, Jemima, we had now better tell our kind friends why we are
+asking these questions."
+
+"Yes," said Miss Jemima; "I should have told them at first."
+
+"Well," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, turning to Mr. and Mrs. Burton, and
+speaking with an emotion which he could no longer conceal, "we have reason
+to believe that your adopted daughter--don't let me shock you--is our
+little lost Marian, of whom you have several times heard me speak; and we
+are anxious to make sure if this is really the case."
+
+In the nature of things, Mr. and Mrs. Burton were not so much surprised
+as they would have been if the course of events had not, in some measure,
+prepared them for the announcement which "Cobbler" Horn had now made. Yet
+they experienced a slight shock; for even an expected crisis cannot be
+fully realized till it actually arrives.
+
+For a moment, there was silence in the room. Then Mrs. Burton was the
+first to speak.
+
+"Excuse us, dear sir," she said calmly, "if we are somewhat startled at
+what you have said. And yet we are not altogether surprised. You will not
+think that strange?"
+
+"No, ma'am," said "Cobbler" Horn, in a musing tone, "not altogether
+strange, perhaps. But, shall I explain a little further? It was only last
+evening that I was led to entertain the thought that Miss Owen might
+actually prove to be my lost child. She was telling me, as she had done
+several times before, all about how you found her, and of your goodness
+to her; and she spoke last night, for the first time, of the one shoe she
+was wearing when you found her in the road. Now you may judge how I was
+startled, on hearing this, when I tell you that, just after Marian was
+lost, we picked up one of her shoes in a field, over which she must have
+wandered away. So, this morning, without telling her my reason, I asked
+her to let me see the little shoe she had worn so long ago. She at once
+fetched it; and here it is, and with it the one we found in the field."
+
+So saying, he drew, from underneath the bed-clothes, the two little shoes;
+and placed them side by side upon the counterpane.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Burton rose and approached the bed.
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Burton, "that is undoubtedly Miss Owen's little shoe."
+
+"And this," said Mrs. Burton, "is unquestionably its fellow," and, taking
+up the shoes, she held them towards her husband.
+
+"You are certainly right, my dear."
+
+Then there was silence for a brief space, while these two simple-hearted
+people bent, with deep emotion, over the little baby shoes which seemed to
+prove so much.
+
+Mrs. Burton was the first to speak.
+
+"Well," she said, calmly, but with a quivering lip, "we are to lose our
+child; but the will of the Lord be done."
+
+Mr. Burton's only utterance was a deep sigh.
+
+"Nay," said "Cobbler" Horn, "if it really be as I cannot help hoping it
+is, you will, perhaps, not lose so much as you think. But I am sure you
+will not begrudge me the joy of finding my child."
+
+"No, indeed, dear sir. On the contrary, we will rejoice with you as well
+as we can--and with her."
+
+These were the words of Mrs. Burton, and they received confirmation from
+her husband.
+
+At this point, Tommy Dudgeon quietly entered the room, and took his seat,
+at a motion from Miss Jemima, behind the chairs on which Mr. and Mrs.
+Burton were sitting.
+
+"I have been anxious," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "thoroughly to assure
+myself that there was no mistake. Here is our friend, Dudgeon, now. You
+saw him the day we opened the 'Home.'"
+
+Perceiving Tommy for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Burton gave him a hearty
+greeting.
+
+"Our friend knows," continued "Cobbler" Horn, "that I've been very
+sceptical about the good news."
+
+"Very much so!" said Tommy, nodding his head.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn smiled.
+
+"He was the first to find it out. You must know that he took much kind
+interest in my little girl; and it was a great grief to him that she was
+lost. And when your adopted daughter came to us, he was not long in
+forming conjectures as to who she might be. In a very short time, as a
+matter of fact, he had quite made up his mind. He tried to tell me about
+it; but I was too stupid to understand him, and so it was left for me to
+find out the happy truth by accident. Tell our friends, Tommy, how you
+came to discover who Miss Owen really was."
+
+Thus enjoined, Tommy, nothing loath, recounted once more the story of his
+great discovery. Mr. and Mrs. Burton listened with deep attention, and,
+having put several questions to Tommy, admitted that what he had said
+afforded much confirmation to the supposition that Miss Owen was the
+long-lost Marian.
+
+"I have a thought about the child's name," said Mrs. Burton after a brief
+pause. "It comes to me that what she gave us as her name sounded quite as
+much like _Marian Horn_ as _Mary Ann Owen_."
+
+"Why yes," said Miss Jemima, "now I think of it, she used to pronounce her
+name very much as though it had been something like _Mary Ann Owen_. As
+well as I can remember, it was 'Ma--an O--on.'"
+
+"I believe you are right, Jemima," said her brother.
+
+"It must be admitted," interposed Mr. Burton quickly, "that _Mary Ann
+Owen_ was a very reasonable interpretation of that combination of sounds."
+
+"Undoubtedly it was," assented "Cobbler" Horn.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Burton, "what you say, Miss Horn, is very much like the
+way in which the child pronounced her name. And there's another thing
+which may serve as a further mark. She had on, beneath the old shawl, a
+little chemise, on which were worked, in red, the letters 'M.H.'"
+
+"I know it!" cried Miss Jemima. "I always marked her clothes like that.
+You used to laugh at me, Thomas; but what do you say now?"
+
+"Well, well!" said "the Golden Shoemaker" softly.
+
+"And listen to me," resumed Miss Jemima. "I am beginning to recollect,
+too. Marian's hair was very stubborn; and there were two or three tufts
+at the back which always would stand up, like black feathers."
+
+"I remember that very well," said Mrs. Burton, with a smile.
+
+"Of course," agreed her husband; "and many a joke we used to have about
+it. I called her my little blackbird."
+
+"And then," continued Miss Jemima, "there was another thing. A few days
+before the child's disappearance, she fell down and hurt her knee; and
+there were two scars, one on the knee, and another just below."
+
+"Ah," said Mrs. Burton, "I remember those scars. Don't you, John?"
+
+"Yes; and I used to tell her she was an old soldier, and had been in the
+wars."
+
+"So you did; and--dear me, how old memories are beginning to come
+back!--she talked a great deal, not only of her 'daddy,' but of 'Aunt
+'Mima.' I wonder I didn't think of that before. Perhaps, ma'am----"
+
+"That's me!" cried Miss Jemima. "My name's Jemima; and 'Aunt 'Mima' was
+what she always called me. There, Thomas, do you want any further proof?"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was lying with his hands over his face, and the bed was
+shaking with his convulsive efforts to repress his strong emotion. Fear
+had impelled him to withstand his growing conviction that his long-lost
+child had been restored to him--fear of the consequences of a mistake,
+both to himself, and to the bright young girl whom he had already learnt
+to love as though she were indeed his child. But now, one after another,
+his doubts had been beaten down. He had listened eagerly to every word
+that had been spoken around his bed, and conviction had taken absolute
+possession of his mind. Yet, for the moment, the shock of his great joy
+seemed almost more than his weakened nerves could bear.
+
+His friends stood around the bed, fearing for him. But, in a few moments,
+he withdrew his hands from his face, which was wet with the gracious tears
+of joy.
+
+He clasped his hands, and looked reverently upward.
+
+"'My soul doth magnify the Lord; and my spirit hath rejoiced in God, my
+Saviour.'"
+
+That was all.
+
+"You would like us to leave you, brother?" asked Miss Jemima.
+
+"For a very short time."
+
+He was quite himself again.
+
+"She is out still, isn't she?"
+
+"Yes," replied Miss Jemima. "She will be in soon, no doubt. You would like
+to see her. Well, leave that to me."
+
+Then they left him to his blissful thoughts.
+
+For many minutes, he gratefully communed with God. He was thankful his
+child had come back to him so beautiful, and clever, and good. He could
+regard her with as much pride as love; though he told himself he would
+have loved her, and done all in his power to make her happy, whatever she
+had proved to be. And then, how glad he was that she had found her way
+into his heart before he knew she was his child.
+
+Great, indeed, was the joy of "the Golden Shoemaker!" That very day he was
+to clasp his long-lost child to his heart!
+
+The door of his room had been left ajar. Presently he heard the front-door
+open downstairs; and then there were voices in the hall, one of which he
+recognised as hers. The next moment he knew that she was coming upstairs.
+They had not told her the great news yet, of course? No; she was going
+direct to her own room.
+
+He took up the little shoes, which had been left lying on the bed. How
+well he remembered making them! He had selected for the purpose the very
+best bit of leather in his stock. He was proceeding to examine more
+closely the shoe that had been mutilated, when he heard the sound of a
+door being opened which he knew to be that of his young secretary's room.
+
+Would she come to him before going downstairs? In truth, he wished not to
+see her until she had been told the great news. He breathed more freely
+when he heard her foot on the stairs.
+
+When "Cobbler" Horn had been alone about half an hour, Miss Jemima
+returned to the room. Mrs. Burton, she said, was in the dining-room,
+with----Marian. There was just the slightest hesitation in Miss Jemima's
+pronunciation of the name. Her brother's tea would come up in a few
+minutes. After he had taken it, he would perhaps be ready for the
+interview he so much desired.
+
+"Tea!"
+
+"Oh, but," said his matter-of-fact sister, "you must try to take it--as a
+duty."
+
+"I'll do my best," he said; "but I must be up and dressed before she
+comes, Jemima."
+
+Miss Jemima demurred, but ultimately agreed.
+
+"I should like Mr. Durnford to be here," he continued, "and Tommy Dudgeon,
+and Mr. and Mrs. Burton."
+
+"They shall all be present," said Miss Jemima.
+
+"And you, Jemima, you will take care to be in the room at the time."
+
+"Brother," responded the lady, "you may trust me for that."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLII.
+
+                         FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
+
+
+Mrs. Burton, closeted with her adopted daughter, in the dining-room,
+found, to her surprise, that Miss Owen was not unprepared for the
+communication she was about to receive. Since her discovery of the little
+shoe--the fellow of her own--in her employer's safe, and the startling
+conclusion at which she had thereupon arrived, the young secretary had
+been in a vaguely expectant state of mind. The great fact she had
+discovered could not long remain concealed from the person whom, next to
+herself, it most concerned. Of course, it was impossible for her to speak
+out. But she had only to wait, and all would come right.
+
+She saw now why "Cobbler" Horn had been so much agitated to hear that,
+when she was found by Mr. and Mrs. Burton, she was wearing only one shoe;
+and she was not surprised, the next morning, when he asked to see the shoe
+itself. As the day passed, she was instinctively aware that something
+unusual was going on. The visit of Tommy Dudgeon; the circumstance that
+she was not summoned to "Cobbler" Horn's room as usual, during the day;
+and her being unexpectedly despatched to take Susie Martin for a
+drive--were all signs pointing in one direction; and when, on her return
+from the drive, she was greeted with the announcement that Mrs. Burton was
+waiting to see her in the dining-room, she felt sure that the great secret
+was known. And she could not be much surprised, therefore, when, in the
+end, Mrs. Burton proceeded to make in set terms, the communication with
+which she was charged.
+
+"My dear," said the good lady, fondly kissing her adopted daughter, "I'm
+sure you will be surprised to see me."
+
+"I'm delighted, at any rate, dear mother," was the pardonably evasive
+reply.
+
+"Not more than I am!" exclaimed the good creature. Notwithstanding the
+loss she expected to sustain through the discovery which had been made,
+she had schooled herself to rejoice in the happiness which had come to her
+child. "But," she added, "you, my dear, will be more delighted still, when
+you hear the news I have to tell."
+
+As she spoke, she led the young secretary to a chair, and, having caused
+her to be seated, sat down on another chair by her side. Then she took her
+companion's hand and held it tenderly in her lap.
+
+"My dear, I want to ask you something."
+
+The good lady tried to be calm, but her tones grew tremulous as she spoke.
+Miss Owen, too, was becoming excited, in spite of herself.
+
+"Yes, mother dear," and the girl seemed to put special and loving emphasis
+on the word "mother."
+
+"Do you remember," continued Mrs. Burton, "how, when you were all at Daisy
+Lane, at the opening of the 'Home,' we were talking about Mr. Horn having
+lost his little girl in some mysterious fashion; and you said, laughing,
+what fun it would be, if you turned out to be that very little girl?"
+
+"Yes, mother," was the reply, uttered in low and agitated tones, "I
+remember very well."
+
+"You didn't think that such a wonderful thing would ever come to pass, did
+you, dear?" asked Mrs. Burton, gently stroking the back of the plump
+little brown hand, which lay passive in her lap.
+
+"No," replied the girl, "I certainly did not; and it was just a mad joke,
+of course."
+
+As she spoke her whole frame quivered, and she made as though she would
+have withdrawn her hand and risen to her feet. Mrs. Burton tightened her
+grasp upon the fluttering hand in her lap, and gently restrained the
+agitated girl.
+
+"I haven't finished yet, dear," she said. "You know the saying that 'many
+a true word is spoken in jest'?"
+
+"Yes, yes----"
+
+"Well--try to be calm, my child--it has been found out----"
+
+"I know what you are going to say, mother," broke in the young girl. "It
+is that I have found my father--my very own; though I can never forget the
+only father I have known these years, and I haven't found another mother,
+and don't want to."
+
+Then the woman and the child--for she was little more--became locked in a
+close embrace. After some minutes, Mrs. Burton unclasped the young arms
+from her neck, and, sitting hand in hand with her adopted daughter, she
+told her all the wondrous tale.
+
+"So you see, my child," she concluded, "your name is not Owen after all;
+it is not even Mary Ann."
+
+"No," said the girl, with a bewitching touch of scorn. "Mary Ann Owen,
+forsooth! I always had my doubts. Horn is not much better in itself. But
+it is my father's name; and Marian is all that could be desired. And so I
+really am that little Marian of whom I have heard so many charming things!
+How sweet! But, mother, you must be the very same to me as ever; and I
+must find room for two fathers now, instead of one."
+
+"Yes, my dear, I feel sure you will not love us any the less for this
+great change."
+
+"Mother, mother, never speak of that again! If it had not been for you, I
+might never have come to know anything about myself, to say nothing of all
+the dreadful things which might have happened. Oh, God is good!"
+
+"He is indeed, dear! But you will be longing to go to your father."
+
+"Yes," said the girl, with a quiver of shy delight; "what does he say?"
+
+"My dear, he is thankful beyond measure."
+
+"But can he bear to see me just yet?"
+
+"He is preparing to receive you now. Come!"
+
+"Cobbler" Horn had finished his tea, and was dressed, and sitting in an
+easy-chair in his bedroom. Those about him had feared that the coming
+effort would be too much for his strength. But there was no need for their
+apprehension. Joy was proving a splendid tonic. He sat calm and collected,
+awaiting the appearance of his child.
+
+His friends were all around him. Mr. Durnford, Tommy Dudgeon, Mr.
+Burton--all were there; and there, too, was Miss Jemima, no longer grim,
+but subdued almost to meekness.
+
+Then it was done in a moment. The door opened, and Mrs. Burton entered,
+leading the young secretary by the hand. An instant later the girl ran
+forward, with a little cry, and flung herself into the outstretched arms
+of her waiting father.
+
+For some seconds they remained thus. Then she gradually slipped down upon
+her knees, and let her head fall upon his breast, while her arms embraced
+him still, and his hand held closely to him her nestling face. Speech was
+impossible on either side. She was weeping the sweet tears of joy, while
+he vainly struggled to find utterance for his love.
+
+One by one, their friends had stolen out of the room. Even Miss Jemima
+had been content to go. The memory of that chastened lady was very vivid
+to-night, and she felt humbled and subdued.
+
+Observing the silence, "Cobbler" Horn looked up, and perceived that they
+were alone.
+
+"They have all gone, Marian," he said, gently. "Won't you look up, and let
+father see your face?"
+
+She lifted her face, bedewed yet radiant; and he took it tenderly between
+his hands.
+
+"It is indeed the face of my little Marian," he said, fondly. "How blind I
+must have been!"
+
+He gazed long and lovingly--feasting his eyes upon the brown, glowing
+face, in every feature of which he could now trace so plainly those of
+his little Marian of days gone by. The hope which he had never quite
+relinquished was fulfilled at last! His gracious Lord had justified his
+confidence, as, indeed, there had never been any reason to doubt that He
+would.
+
+"You feel quite sure about it, my dear; don't you?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, father dear," she answered, in a thoughtful, contented tone. "There
+are so many things that help to make me sure."
+
+Then she told him of her strange feeling of familiarity with the old house
+and street. She spoke of the little shoes, and of her having seen the one
+in the safe. She told him what she had overheard in the tent at Daisy Lane
+about her resemblance to himself.
+
+"And besides," she concluded, "after all that----mother has told me, how
+can I doubt? But now, daddy--I may call you that, mayn't I?"
+
+"The Golden Shoemaker" pressed convulsively the little hand he held.
+
+"That is what Marian--what you always called me when you were a child, my
+dear. Nothing would please me better."
+
+"Then 'daddy' it shall be. And now, do you know, daddy, I'm beginning
+to remember things in a vague sort of way. I'm just like some one waking
+up after a good sleep. Things, you know, that happened before one went
+to sleep, come back by degrees at such a time; and, in the same way,
+recollections are growing on me now of my childhood, and especially of the
+time when I was lost. Let me see, now! I'm like some one looking into a
+magic crystal to see the future, only I want to recall the past. After
+thinking very hard, I've been able to call up some remembrance of the day
+I ran away from home. I seem to remember being very angry with someone,
+and wanting to get away. Then there was a woman, and a man, but chiefly
+a woman, and some dark place that I was in. And I think they must have
+treated me badly in some way."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn thought for a moment.
+
+"Why," he said, "that dark place must have been the wood, on the other
+side of the field where I found your shoe."
+
+"Yes, no doubt; and wasn't it in that wood that you picked up the string
+of my sun-bonnet?"
+
+"To be sure it was!"
+
+"Yes; and perhaps it was there that I was stripped of my clothes. When I
+fell into the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Burton, my chief garment was an old
+ragged shawl. My one shoe, and my socks, and my sun-bonnet, were almost
+all I had besides. I've kept all the things except the socks, and you must
+see them by and bye, daddy."
+
+"Of course I must."
+
+But, having found his child, he did not greatly care just now about
+anything else.
+
+Presently she spoke again.
+
+"Daddy!"
+
+"Yes, Marian?"
+
+"I'm so thankful it has turned out to be you!"
+
+"Yes, my dear?" responded the happy father, in a tone of enquiry.
+
+"I mean I'm glad it's you who are my father. It might have been somebody
+quite different, you know."
+
+"Yes," he answered again, with a beaming face.
+
+"I'm glad, you know, daddy, just because you're exactly the kind of father
+I want--that's all."
+
+"And I also am glad that it is you, little one," he responded. "And how
+thankful we ought to be that we learnt to love one another before getting
+to know who we were!"
+
+"Yes," she said, "it would have been queer, and----not at all nice, if
+we had first been introduced to each other as father and daughter, and
+told it was our duty to love one another without delay. And then there's
+another thing. Though, at first, it seemed cruel to you, daddy, that your
+little girl should have been lost for so many years, when I think how much
+more--very likely--we shall love one another, than we ever should have
+done if I had not been lost, and how much happier we shall be together, it
+seems quite kind of God to have allowed us to be separated for a little
+while--especially as He found such good friends to take care of me in the
+meantime."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn gently stroked the dark head, which still nestled against
+his breast.
+
+"We at least, little one," he said, "can say that 'all things work
+together for good.' But now, there are other things that we must talk
+about. You have come back, Marian, to a very different home from the one
+you left. Your father was a poor man when you went away; he is a rich one
+now. Are you glad?"
+
+"Oh yes, daddy," she answered, simply, "for your sake, and because I think
+my daddy is just the best man in the world to have charge of money. And
+you know," she added, archly, "that, in that respect, your daughter is
+after your own heart."
+
+"I know that well."
+
+"You must let me help you more than ever, daddy."
+
+She seemed scarcely to have realized the fact that she was heiress to all
+his wealth.
+
+"You shall, my dear," he said, fondly; "but you mustn't forget that all I
+have will be yours one day."
+
+She started violently.
+
+"Well now, I declare!" she gasped. "I had scarcely thought of that. I was
+so glad and thankful to have found my father, that I forgot he had brought
+me a fortune. Well, daddy, that won't make any difference. We'll still do
+our best to put all this money to the right use. And, as for my being your
+heiress--you must understand, sir, that you've got to live for ever; so
+there's an end of that."
+
+She had withdrawn herself from his embrace, and, kneeling back, was
+looking at him with dancing eyes.
+
+"Well, darling," he said, with an indulgent smile, "we must leave that.
+But there is something else that I must tell you. When I was arranging
+about the disposal of all this money, in case I should be taken away, I
+thought of my little Marian; and I had it set down in my will that you
+were to have everything after me, if you should be found. But, beside
+that, I directed the lawyers to invest for you the sum of L50,000. But,
+let me see, I think I must have told you about this at the time."
+
+"Of course you did, daddy, the very day you came back from London, just
+before you went to America!"
+
+"So I did. Well, now, Marian, that money is all your own from this time."
+
+"Oh, daddy! daddy! How shall I thank you? So I shall be able to do
+something on my own account now!"
+
+Did no stray thought flit through her mind of all the gaiety and pleasure
+so much money might buy? Perhaps; but she was her father's own child.
+
+After a little more loving talk, the young secretary suddenly sprang to
+her feet.
+
+"I am forgetting myself sadly! The evening letters will be in."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn started. He had forgotten that she was his secretary.
+
+"I shall have to look out for another secretary, now," he said, with a
+comical air of mock dismay.
+
+"And, pray sir, why?" she demanded, standing before him in radiant
+rebellion. "I would have you to know there is no vacancy."
+
+Then she laughed in her bewitching way.
+
+"But, my dear----"
+
+"Say no more, daddy; it's quite settled. I shall very likely ask for an
+increase of salary; but there must be no talk of dismissal."
+
+Again she laughed; and, in spite of himself, the happy father joined in
+her merriment.
+
+"Well now, I must go," she said, with a parting kiss. "I'll send Miss
+Horn---- Why, she's my aunt! I declare I'd quite overlooked that!"
+
+"Yes, my dear; and a very kind aunt you'll find her."
+
+"I'm sure of that. But I'm afraid she'll be thinking me a very undutiful
+niece."
+
+At this moment, the door opened, and Miss Jemima herself walked in.
+
+"I thought it was time I came," she said, in her usual matter-of-fact way.
+"You must be thinking of getting back to bed, Thomas."
+
+Her niece interrupted her by throwing her arms around her neck, and giving
+her a hearty kiss.
+
+"Aunt Jemima, I have to beg your pardon," and she kissed her again; "but
+you didn't give me time, you were all off like a flock of sheep."
+
+"I think it is my place to beg your pardon, and not yours to beg mine,"
+replied Miss Jemima, in the most natural way in the world. "I fear it was
+largely through me that you ran away from home."
+
+"Did I actually run away, then?"
+
+"I think there's little doubt of it. But, whether you ran away or not, the
+fact remains that my treatment of you had been anything but kind. I meant
+well, but was mistaken; and I'm thankful to have the opportunity of asking
+you to forgive me."
+
+"Don't say another word about it, auntie!" cried Marian, kissing her once
+more. "It's literally all forgotten. And I dare say I was a troublesome
+little thing. But let me see. You haven't seen my treasures yet--except
+the shoe. I'll fetch them."
+
+In a few moments she had brought her little sun-bonnet, and the other
+relics of her childhood which she had preserved. It will not be difficult
+to imagine the tender interest with which Aunt Jemima, and even "Cobbler"
+Horn himself, gazed on those simple mementos of the past. The severed
+bonnet-string was lying on the bed. Marian caught it up, and fitted it
+upon the bonnet.
+
+"I must sew my bonnet-string on," she said, gaily.
+
+Her father laughed indulgently, and even Aunt Jemima smiled.
+
+"Ah," she said, "and I too have a store of treasures to display," and she
+told of the little box in which she had kept the tiny garments Marian had
+worn in the days of old.
+
+"How delicious?" cried the girl. "You will let me see them, by and bye,
+auntie, won't you? But now I really must be off to my letters."
+
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+                        THE TRAMP'S CONFESSION.
+
+
+Before "the Golden Shoemaker" had returned to his bed the doctor arrived,
+and despotically demanded how he had dared to leave it without the
+permission of his medical man. At first the doctor prognosticated serious
+consequences from what he was pleased to call his patient's "intemperate
+and unlicensed haste." But, when he came the next day, and found "Cobbler"
+Horn considerably better, instead of worse, he changed his mind.
+
+"My dear sir," he said, "what have you been doing?"
+
+"I've been taking a new tonic, doctor," replied "Cobbler" Horn, with a
+smile; and he told him the great news.
+
+"Well, well," murmured the doctor; "so it has actually turned out like
+that! I have often thought that there were many less likely things; and
+ever since you told me how closely the young lady's early history
+resembled that of your own child, I have had a sort of expectation that
+I should one day hear the announcement you have just made. Well, my dear
+sir, I congratulate you both--as much on the fitness of the fact, as on
+the fact itself."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn's "new tonic" acted liked magic, and he was soon out of the
+doctor's hands. In a few days' time he was downstairs; and at the end of a
+fortnight he had resumed his ordinary routine of life.
+
+As far as outward appearances were concerned, the great discovery which
+had been made produced but little difference in the house. The servants
+had, indeed, been informed of the change in the position of the young
+secretary. It was also understood that she was to have things pretty much
+her own way. It was moreover tacitly admitted that almost unlimited
+arrears of filial privilege were due to the newly-recovered daughter of
+the house; and she herself evidently felt that the arrears of filial duty
+lying to her charge were quite equal in amount. "The Golden Shoemaker"
+regarded his new-found child with a very tender love; and even Miss Jemima
+manifested towards her an indulgent, if somewhat prim, affection. The
+gentle affectionateness of the girl towards both her father and her aunt
+was beautiful in the extreme. Yet, even towards Miss Jemima, she was
+delightfully free from constraint; and it would have been difficult to
+decide whether to admire more the loving familiarity of the niece, or the
+complaisancy of the aunt.
+
+In the matter of the secretaryship Marian was firmness itself. "Cobbler"
+Horn wished her to give it up; and Miss Jemima was shocked at the idea
+that she should propose to retain it for a single day. But she dismissed
+their remonstrances with a fine scorn. What did they take her for? Was
+she any less fit for the post of secretary than she had been before? Her
+duties had been a pleasure from the first; they would afford her greater
+delight than ever now. And why should they bring in a stranger to pry into
+their affairs? They might give her more salary, if they liked--and here
+she laughed merrily; but she wasn't going to give up the work she liked
+more than anything else in the world.
+
+One perplexing question yet remained unsolved--What had happened to Marian
+between the day when she had left home and the time when she had been
+found by Mr. and Mrs. Burton? The girl's own vague memories of that
+unhappy period, together with the condition in which she had been found,
+indicated that she had fallen into the hands of bad characters of some
+kind. Was the mystery ever to be fully solved? To this question the course
+of events brought very speedily a complete reply.
+
+One evening, about a fortnight after the last-recorded events, an elderly
+tramp was sitting against a haystack upon some farm premises, at no great
+distance from the town of Cottonborough. His age might be sixty, or,
+allowing for the rough life he had led, something less. He looked jaded
+and unwell. The day had been very warm, and the man was eating, with no
+great appetite, a sumptuous supper of German sausage and bread. The
+sausage had been wrapped in a piece of newspaper, which spread out upon
+his knees, was now doing duty as a tablecloth. Having finished his meal,
+the man lazily glanced at the paper; but finding its contents, at first,
+to possess no particular interest, he was about to crumple it up and throw
+it away, when his eye lighted on a paragraph which induced him to pause.
+He smoothed out the paper, and raised it nearer to his eyes.
+
+"Well," he muttered, "I ain't much of a scholard; but I means to get to
+the bottom o' this 'ere."
+
+With intense eagerness, he began to spell out the words of the paragraph
+which had arrested his attention. It was headed, "'The Golden Shoemaker'
+recovers his daughter, supposed to have been stolen by tramps in her
+childhood." From line to line he laboured painfully on. Many times his
+progress was stayed by some formidable word; and again and again he was
+interrupted by a violent cough; but at length he had ascertained the
+contents of the paragraph. It contained as much as was known of the
+history of Marian Horn. It told how, at the age of five, she had, as was
+supposed, run away from home, and, as recently-discovered circumstances
+seemed to indicate, fallen into the hands of evil persons; and how all
+trace of her had then been lost until a few weeks afterwards, when, as had
+now become known, she was found, a wretched little waif, upon the highway,
+and adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Burton. The circumstances of her after life
+were then set forth; and the narrative concluded with a glowing account of
+her re-union with her friends. The tramp deeply pondered this romantic
+story.
+
+"Ah," he said to himself, "that must ha' been the little wench as me and
+the old woman took to. It was somewhere here away. I remember about the
+shoe as she'd lost. They must ha' found it. The old woman cut the other
+shoe, same as it says here. It were a bad thing of us to take the kid,
+that it were."
+
+At this point the man was seized with a violent fit of coughing. When it
+had subsided, he resumed his half-muttered meditations. "Well, I'm glad as
+the little 'un got took care on, arter all, and has got back to her own
+natural born father at last; for she were a game little wench, and no
+mistake. She were a poor people's child when we got hold on her. But I've
+heerd tell o' 'the Golden Shoemaker,' as they calls him. It must ha' been
+arter she was lost that he got his money. Well, I feels sorry, like, as we
+didn't try to find her friends. But the old gal were that onscrupulous,
+she didn't stick at nothink, she didn't. As sure as my name's Jake Dafty,
+this 'ere's a queer go."
+
+Thus mused Jake, the tramp, sitting against the haystack; and his musings
+were, ever and anon, disturbed by his racking cough. He felt indisposed
+to move. As he brooded over the past, his mind became uneasy, he was
+conscious of a vague desire to make confession of the evil he had done.
+Did he feel that the sands of his life were almost sped? And was
+conscience waking at last?
+
+At length, between his fits of coughing, he was overtaken by sleep. The
+night was chilly after the warm day. The sun went down, and the stars
+peeped out serenely upon the frowzy and wretched tramp asleep against the
+haystack; and the dew settled thickly on his ragged beard and tattered
+clothes. Every now and then he was shaken by his cough; but he was weary,
+and remained asleep. And, in his sleep, the past came back more vividly
+than it had ever re-visited him in his waking hours. He seemed to be
+present at the despoiling and ill-using of a dark-eyed child, whom he
+might have delivered, and did not; and, from time to time, he moved
+uneasily in his sleep, and groaned aloud.
+
+Thus passed the night; and, in the morning, Jake, being found by the farm
+people, in his place against the haystack, delirious, and evidently ill,
+was conveyed to the workhouse.
+
+The next day "the Golden Shoemaker" received word that a man who was dying
+in the workhouse begged to see him at once. "Cobbler" Horn ordered his
+closed carriage, and drove to the workhouse without delay. The man, who
+was Jake, the tramp, had not long to live. His delirium was over now, and
+he was quite himself. His eyes were fixed eagerly upon the face of
+"Cobbler" Horn, as the latter entered the room.
+
+"Are you 'the Golden Shoemaker'?" he asked.
+
+"So I am sometimes called," replied "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile.
+
+"Well--I ain't got much time--I'm the bloke wot stole your little 'un; me
+and the old woman."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn uttered an exclamation of surprise.
+
+"Yes. The old woman's gone. She died in quod. I don't know what they had
+done to her. Perhaps nothink: maybe her time was come. I warn't that
+sorry; she'd got to be a stroke too many for me. But I want to tell you
+about the little 'un. I'm a going to die, and it 'ull be as well to get it
+off my mind. There ain't no mistake; cos I see'd it in the paper, and it
+tallies. I've got it here."
+
+As he spoke, he drew from beneath his pillow the crumpled piece of
+newspaper on which he had read of the restoration of Marian to her father.
+
+"There," he said, "yer can read it for yerself."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn took the paper, and glanced at its contents. He had seen
+in various newspapers, if not this, several similar accounts of the
+adventures of his child.
+
+"Ah," he said, handing back to the man the greasy and crumpled paper,
+"tell me about it."
+
+"Well, you knows that field where you found one of her shoes?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, we wos a sitting under the hedge, near that field, one morning,
+a-dining, when the kid came along. She stopped when she see'd us; and we
+invited her to go along with us, and somehow she seemed as if she didn't
+like to refuse. Arter that, we took her into the wood; and the old woman
+stripped off her clothes, and did her up like as she was when she was
+found. She'd lost one of her shoes, and I went back for it; but I couldn't
+find it nowheres. You may be sure as we got out o' these parts as fast as
+we could. We thought as the kid 'ud be a rare help in the cadging line.
+But she was that stubborn and noisy, we soon got sorry as we'd ever taken
+on with her; and, if she hadn't took herself right away, one arternoon
+when we was having of our arter-dinner nap in a dry ditch, I do believe
+as the old woman 'ud ha' found some means o' putting her on one side."
+
+Having finished his story, the dying tramp lay still for awhile, with his
+eyes closed.
+
+"Cobbler" Horn looked down with pity upon the seamed and wrinkled face,
+from which almost all expression, except that of utter weariness, seemed
+to have been worn away.
+
+Presently the dying man opened his eyes.
+
+"That's all as I has to tell, master," he said faintly. "Do yer think,
+now, as yer could find it in yer heart to forgive a cove, like? It 'ud be
+none the worse for me, if yer could; nor, mayhap, for yourself neither.
+I'se sorry I done it."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was deeply moved. But, as he now knew as much of what had
+happened to Marian as was likely ever to come to light, he could afford to
+let the matter rest; and already he found himself thinking more of the
+miserable case of the dying waif before him, than of the confession the
+poor creature had made. So he gave himself fully to the congenial task of
+trying to bring this miserable being, into a fitting frame of mind in
+which to meet the solemn change which he must so soon undergo.
+
+"I forgive you freely," he said. "But won't you ask pardon of God? My
+forgiveness will be of little use without His."
+
+The dying tramp looked up with a listless stare.
+
+"It's wery good o' yer," he said, "to say as yer forgives me. But, as for
+God, I've never had much to do with Him, yer see; and it ain't likely as
+He'll mind me now. And I don't seem to care about it a deal."
+
+"Cobbler" Horn was troubled, but not surprised. Breathing a prayer for
+Divine guidance and help, he set himself to make clear to this dark soul
+the way of life. In the simplest words at his command, he strove to make
+the wretched man understand and feel his need of a Saviour; and, when, at
+length, he quitted the chamber of death, he had good reason to hope that
+his efforts had not been altogether in vain.
+
+Marian was profoundly interested to hear of the dying tramp and the story
+he had told, which latter agreed so well with her own vague remembrances,
+that she joined her father and aunt in regarding it as indicating what had
+been the actual course of events.
+
+Little, now, remains to be told. Father and daughter united to render the
+vast wealth which God had intrusted to their charge a source of greater
+and yet greater blessing to increasing multitudes of needy and suffering
+people; and Aunt Jemima insisted on participating in all their generous
+schemes.
+
+Marian is still secretary; but, as she receives many offers of marriage,
+it is possible the post may become vacant even yet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FLETCHER AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, NORWICH.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER***
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