od 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