There came some of his poorer customers, who greatly bewailed what they regarded as his inevitable removal from their midst. They could not congratulate him as heartily as they desired. They would rather he had remained the poor, kind-hearted, Christian cobbler whom they had always known. Many a pair of boots had he mended free of charge for customers who could ill afford to pay; not a few were the small debts of poor but honest debtors which he had forgiven; and not seldom had clandestine gifts of money or food found their way from his hands to one or another of these regretful congratulators. Perceiving the grief upon the faces of his friends, "Cobbler" Horn contrived, by means of various hints, to let them know that he would still be their friend, and to remind them that his enrichment would conduce to their more effectual help at his hands. On one point all his visitors were agreed. Great wealth, they said, could not have come to any one by whom it was more thoroughly deserved, or who would put it to a better use. "The Lord," affirmed one quaint individual, "knew what He was about this time, anyhow." In the afternoon, "Cobbler" Horn and his sister set about the task of answering the second batch of letters. They were all, with one exception, of a similar character to those of the first. The exception proved to be a badly-written, ill-spelled, but evidently sincere, homily on the dangers of wealth, and ended with a fierce warning of the dire consequences of disregarding its admonition. It was signed simply--"A friend." "You'll burn that, I should think!" was Miss Jemima's scornful comment on this ill-judged missive. "No," said "Cobbler" Horn, putting the letter into his breast pocket; "I shall keep it. It was well meant, and will do me good." By tea-time their task was finished; and "Cobbler" Horn heaved a sigh of relief as he rose from his seat. But just then the postman knocked at the door, and handed in another and still larger supply of letters, at the sight of which the "Golden Shoemaker" staggered back aghast. The fame of his fortune had indeed got wind. "Ah," exclaimed his sister, who was setting the tea-things, "you'll have to engage a secretary, as I said." CHAPTER XII. "COBBLER" HORN PAYS A VISIT TO HIS LANDLORD.