g, came the surprise of which we speak.
It came in the form of a letter, which, before opening it, "Cobbler" Horn
regarded, for some moments, with a dubious air. The arrival of a letter at
his house was a rare event; and but for the fact that the missive bore his
name and address, he would have thought there was a mistake, and, even
now, the addition of the sign, "Esq." to his name left the matter in some
doubt. The stoutness of the blue envelope, and the bold character of the
handwriting, gave the packet a business-like look. For a moment, "Cobbler"
Horn thought of his lost child. A slight circumstance was sufficient, even
yet, to re-awaken his hopes; and he still clung to the conviction that,
some day, his child would return. The letter, however, contained no
reference to the great sorrow of his life; and, indeed, its contents were
such that he forgot, for the time being, Marian, and everything else. He
looked up with a gasp of astonishment; and then, turning his attention
again to the letter, deliberately read it through, and, when he had
finished, calmly handed it to his sister. She read a few words, and
broke off with a cry.

"Thomas!"

"Yes, Jemima, I am a rich man, it seems. Read on, and say what you think;"
and "Cobbler" Horn rose from his seat, and went quietly into his workshop.

Miss Jemima devoured her brother's letter with greedy eyes. It was from
a firm of London lawyers, and contained a brief announcement that the
rich uncle of "Cobbler" Horn had died, in America, without a will; that
"Cobbler" Horn was the lawful owner of all his wealth; and that they, the
lawyers, awaited "Cobbler" Horn's commands. Would he call upon them at
their office in London, or should they attend him at his private, or any
other, address? In the meantime, he would oblige by drawing upon them for
any amount of money he might require.

With what breath she had left Miss Jemima hurried into her brother's
workshop.

"Thomas," she demanded, flourishing the letter in his face, "what are you
going to do?"

"Think," he answered concisely, without looking up from the hob-nailed
boot between his knees, "and pray, and get on with my work."

"But this letter requires an answer! And," with a glance of disgust around
the rough shop with its signs of toil, "you are a rich man now, Thomas."

"That," was the quiet reply, "does not alter the fact that I have
half-a-dozen pairs of boots to mend, and two of them are promised for
dinner-time