“The only satisfaction I have in life is using such means as Providence has been pleased to put into my hands for the succour of people who are in every way better than myself, but who are in some kind of straits. I have therefore directed my London bankers to open an account for you and to put £10,000 to your credit. Upon this account you will be pleased to draw such a sum as will tide you over the present crisis, and such other sums as will enable you to extend your business along the safe and honourable lines you have hitherto followed. I do not doubt that you will repay the said sum or sums to the same account as you may be able--no interest will be accepted--and I only lay one other obligation on your honour, that you make no endeavour to discover my name. “Be pleased to accept my best wishes of this season for your admirable wife, your two pleasing children, and my confident hope for your final and large success in business.--I remain, your faithful friend, “Zaccheus.” “Let us go and kiss the children, hubbie, and then... we might say the Lord's Prayer together.” V “A respectable, elderly woman, did you say, Marshall?” said Mr. Greatheart in his room at the office; “certainly, bring her in. Very likely a widow wishing to get her son admitted to the Bluecoat School, or some poor householder in trouble about her taxes.” For to this man came all sorts and conditions of people in their distresses, and to each he gave patient audience and practical succour. “You don't trouble me. If I can be of any use, nothing will please me better,” he said, placing a chair and making a kindly fuss to cover his visitor's confusion. “Now sit down and tell me all about it” That was why the respectable poor loved him, from the Catholic Irish of Scotland Road to the Orangemen of Toxteth. “Is it your husband or your son you are so anxious about?”--for she was much agitated. “I notice that a woman hardly ever comes about herself! It's we men who are selfish, not the women.” “No, it's neither, for I am an unmarried woman. It's about my master, whom I believe you know, sir--Mr. Dodson.” “Samuel Dodson, you mean; I should think so! Have known him for fifty years--since we served our time together in Palmer's shipping office. What, is he ill?” “He's dead... this morning. You'll excuse me, I was his housekeeper for near thirty year, and... I'm a little upset.” “Good gracious! No wonder. Maria Wilkins, did you say?... You may well be upset And thirty years with him! Tell me how this happened, for we've heard nothing in the city. He couldn't have been ill long.” “No, sir, he was never ill at all--not what you would say proper; but I've seen him failin' for some time--gettin' thin like and growin' down--and last night he was that white and shaky, that I wanted him to see a doctor. But no, he wouldn't If it had been me or the girl, he would have had a doctor when there was nothing wrong with us, he was that concerned about other people; but for himself...”