e sat down to his unwelcome task. The
undertaking proved even more troublesome than he had thought it would be.
The pen persisted in sputtering at almost every word; and when, at crucial
points, he took special pains to make the writing legible, the too
frequent result was an indecipherable blotch of ink. When the valiant
scribe had wrestled with his uncongenial task for half an hour or more,
his sister came upon the scene. Quietly she stepped across the floor.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, peeping over her brother's shoulder, "so you are
answering them already!"

"Cobbler" Horn started, and a huge blot fell from his pen into the midst
of his half-finished letter.

"I'm afraid I shall not be able to send this, now," he said, with a
patient sigh.

"No," said Miss Jemima, laconically, "I'm afraid not. You are writing to
the 'widow,' I see; and you are promising her some help. That's very well.
But, in nine cases out of ten, what strangers say of themselves requires
confirmation--especially if they are beggars; so don't you think that,
before sending money to this 'widow,' it would be as well to ask for
the name of some reliable person who will vouch for the truth of her
statements? You must not forget, what you often say, you know, that you
are the steward of your Lord's goods."

This was an argument which was sure to prevail with "Cobbler" Horn.

"No doubt you are right, Jemima," he said; "and, however reluctantly, I
must take your advice."

"That's right," said Miss Jemima.

"You haven't answered the other letters?" she then asked, with a glance
over the table.

"No."

"Well, hadn't you better put them away now, and get to your work? After
breakfast you must get a new pen and a fresh bottle of ink. Then we'll
see what we can do together."

In an emergency which demanded the exercise of the practical good sense,
of which she had so large a share, Miss Jemima regained, to some extent,
her old ascendency over her brother. He quietly gathered up his letters,
and, placing them on the chimney-piece, retired to his workshop.

At breakfast-time Miss Jemima's prognostication began to receive
fulfilment in the arrival of the postman with another batch of letters.
This time the number had increased to something like a dozen. Having
received them from the hands of the postman, "Cobbler" Horn carried them
towards his sister with a somewhat comical air of dismay.

"So many!" exclaimed she. "Your cares are accumulating fast. Y