,
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