that," said Miss Jemima.

The opening of letters was, as yet, to "Cobbler" Horn, a ceremony to be
performed with care. He drew a chair to the table, and deliberately took
his seat. He took up the first letter, and, having read it slowly through,
placed it in Miss Jemima's eager hand. It was a request, from a "gentleman
in distress," for a loan of twenty pounds--a "trifle" to the possessor of
so much wealth, but, to the writer "a matter of life or death."

"This will never do!" pronounced Miss Jemima; and the lady's lips emitted
a gentle whistling sound.

"How soon it seems to have got wind!" exclaimed "Cobbler" Horn.

"It's been in the papers, no doubt."

"So it has," he said; "I saw it myself in a newspaper that I bought this
evening, to read in the train. It called me the 'Golden Shoemaker.'"

"Ah!" cried Miss Jemima. "I've no doubt it will go the round." The good
lady was not greatly averse to such a pleasant publication of the family
name.

"Well," she resumed, "what do the other letters say?"

They were all similar to the first. One was from a man who had invented a
new boot sewing-machine, and would take out a patent; another purported to
came from a widow with six young children, and begged for a little--ever
so little--timely help: and the other two were appeals on behalf of
religious institutions.

"Penalty of wealth!" remarked Miss Jemima, as she took the letters from
her brother's hand.

"I suppose I must answer them to-morrow," groaned "Cobbler" Horn.

"Answer them!" exclaimed Miss Jemima. "If you take my advice, you'll throw
them into the fire. There will be plenty more of the same sort soon.
Though," she added thoughtfully, "you'll have to read your letters, I
suppose; for there'll be some you'll be obliged to answer."

"Well," said "Cobbler" Horn quietly, as they turned to the stairs, "we
shall see."

CHAPTER XI.

"COBBLER" HORN ANSWERS HIS LETTERS, AND RECEIVES
THE CONGRATULATIONS OF HIS FRIENDS.

When, after a somewhat troubled night, "Cobbler" Horn came down next
morning, his attention was arrested by the letters lying, as he had left
them, on the table, the night before.

"Yes," he said, in answer to his thoughts; "I think I'll deal with them
straight away." So saying, he drew a chair to the table, and, having found
a few sheets of time-stained note paper, together with a penny bottle of
ink, and an old crippled pen, h