. Leave me, now, Jemima, and we'll talk the matter over this
evening. I don't suppose the gentlemen will be in a hurry."

Miss Jemima withdrew as she was bidden, thinking that there was one
gentleman, at least, who was not in a hurry.

All day long "Cobbler" Horn quietly worked on in the usual way. He did
this partly because he loved his work and was loath to give it up, partly
because he had so much work on hand, and partly that he might think and
pray, which he could always do best on his cobbler's stool. He found it
difficult to realize what had taken place; but when, at last, he fairly
grasped the fact that he was now a rich man, mingled feelings of joy
and dread filled his breast. There was little taint of selfishness in
"Cobbler" Horn's joy. It was no gratification to him to be relieved of
the necessity to work. Nor was he fascinated with the prospect of luxury.
His joy arose chiefly from the thought of the amount of good he would now
be able to do. It was impossible that he should form anything like an
adequate conception of the vast power for good which had been placed in
his hands. The boundless ability to benefit his fellowmen with which he
had been so suddenly endowed could not be realized in the first moments
of his great surprise, yet he perceived faint glimmerings of possibilities
of benevolence beyond his largest-hearted dreams.

Thoughts of his long-lost child stole over him ever and anon. If she had
been left to him, he would have rejoiced in his good fortune the more, on
her account. But she was gone.

The joy of "Cobbler" Horn was chastened by a solemn dread. A great
responsibility had been laid upon him from which he would have infinitely
rather been free. He prayed, with trembling, that he might prove worthy of
so great a trust.

At dinner-time Miss Jemima questioned her brother as to his intentions.
His answers were brief and indefinite. The matter could not be settled in
a moment. In the evening they would talk things over, and decide what to
do.

The evening came, and brother and sister sat before the fire.

"Jemima," said "Cobbler" Horn, "I must accept this great responsibility."

"You surely did not think of doing anything else?" exclaimed the startled
lady.

"Well--yes--I did. The burden seemed so great that, for a time, I shrank.
But the Lord has shown me my duty. I could have desired that we might have
remained as we were. But there is much consolation in the thought of all
the goo