"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 grea