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