John Dudgeon had been married for some years, and amongst the troubles which had varied for him the joys of that blissful state, there had recently come the crowning calamity of twins--an affliction which would seem to have run in the Dudgeon family. "We are glad you have inherited this vast wealth, Mr. Horn," said Tommy Dudgeon. "We think the arrangement excellent. The ways of Providence are indeed wonderful." "Cobbler" Horn made suitable acknowledgment of the congratulations of his humble little friend. "There is only one thing we regret," resumed the little man; "and that is that your change of fortune will remove you to another sphere." "Cobbler" Horn smiled. "Well, well," he said, "we shall see." Whereupon Tommy Dudgeon, feeling comforted, he scarcely knew why, said "Good morning" and ambled back to his shop. About the middle of the morning "Cobbler" Horn and his sister sat down to deal with the letters. First they glanced at those which had arrived that morning, and then laid them aside for the time, until, in fact, they had dealt with those previously received. First came that of the assumed widow, to which Miss Jemima induced her brother to write a cautious reply, asking for a reference. To the man who asked for the loan of twenty pounds, Miss Jemima would have sent no reply at all; but "Cobbler" Horn insisted that a brief but courteous note should be sent to him, expressing regret that the desired loan could not be furnished. It did not need the persuasion of his sister to induce "Cobbler" Horn to decline all dealings with the importunate inventor; but it was with great difficulty that she could dissuade him from making substantial promises to the religious institutions from which he had received appeals. "I think I shall consult the minister about such cases," he said. The investigation of the second batch of letters was postponed until the afternoon. During the morning, and at intervals throughout the day, others of "Cobbler" Horn's neighbours came to offer their congratulations, and were astonished to find him seated on his cobbler's stool, and quietly plying his accustomed task. To their remonstrances he would reply, "You see this work is promised; and if I am rich, I must keep my word. And then the habits of a lifetime are not to be given up in a day. And, to be honest with you, friends, I am in no haste to make the change. I love my work, and would as lief be sitting on this stool as anywhere else in the world."