e, sure enough we came upon "Billy the Cobbler," seated at
his bench in a little shop at the beginning of a straggle of houses,
alone, save for his cat, at the sleepy end of afternoon. We had
understood that he had been crippled in some cruel accident of machinery,
and was hampered in the use of his legs. But, unless in a certain
philosophic sweetness on his big, happy face, there was no sign of the
cripple about his burly, broad-shouldered personality. He was evidently
meant to be a giant, and was what one might call the bo'sun type, bluff,
big-voiced and merry, with a boyish laugh, large, twinkling eyes, a
trifle wistful, and the fine teeth of the district.

"Well, boys," said he, looking up from his work with a smile, "and what
can I do for you? Walking, eh?--to New York!" and he whistled, as every
one did when they learned our mysterious business.

Then, taking Colin's shoe in his hand, he commenced to pound upon that
instrument of torture, talking gaily the while. Presently he asked, "Do
you care about music?" and on our eagerly agreeing that we did, "All
right," he said, "we'll close the shop for a few minutes and have some."

Then, moving around on his seat, like some heroic half-figure bust on its
pedestal, he rummaged among the litter of leather and tools at his side,
and produced a guitar from its baize bag, also a mouth organ, which by
some ingenious wire arrangement he fastened around his neck, so that he
might press his lips upon it, leaving his hands free for the guitar.

Then, "Ready?" said he, and, applying himself simultaneously to the
guitar and the harmonica, off he started with a quite electrical gusto
into a spirited fandango that made the little shop dance and rattle with
merriment. You would have said that a whole orchestra was there, such a
volume and variety of musical sound did Billy contrive to evoke from his
two instruments.

"There!" he said, with a humorous chuckle, pushing the harmonica aside
from his mouth, "what do you think of that for an overture?" He had
completely hypnotized us with his infectious high spirits, and we were
able to applaud him sincerely, for this lonely cobbler of shoes was
evidently a natural well of music, and was, besides, no little of an
executant.

"Now I'll give you an imitation of grand opera," he said; and then he
launched into the drollest burlesque of a fashionable tenor and a
prima-donna, as clever as could be. He was evidently a born mime as well
as