"Cobbler" Horn was greeted with the cordiality due to an old family friend. Even the children clustered around him and clung to his arms and legs. Mrs. John, as she was invariably called--possibly on the assumption that Tommy Dudgeon also would, in due time, take a wife, cleared the children away from the side of the hearth opposite to her husband, and placed a chair for the ever-welcome guest. Tommy Dudgeon, who had slipped into the shop to adjust the door-bell, so that he might have timely notice of the entrance of a customer, soon returned, and placing a chair for himself between his brother and "Cobbler" Horn, sat down with his feet amongst the children, and his gaze fixed on the fire. For a time there was no sound in the room but the click of Mrs. John's iron, as it travelled swiftly to and fro. Even the children were preternaturally quiet. At length Tommy spoke, in sepulchral tones, with his eyes still on the fire. "Only to think that it's the last time!" "What's the last time, friend?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, with a start. "Why this--that we shall see you sitting there so sociable like, Mr. Horn." "Indeed, I hope not," was the hearty response. "You're not going to get rid of me so easily as that, old friend." "Why," exclaimed Tommy, "I thought you were going to remove; and I'm sure no one could find fault with it." "Yes: but you surely don't suppose I'm going to turn my back on my old neighbours altogether?" "What you say is very kind," replied Tommy; "but, Mr. Horn, we can't expect to see you very often after this." "Well, friend, perhaps oftener than you think." Then he told them that he had bought the house in which he had lived amongst them, and meant to keep it up, and come there almost every day to mend boots and shoes, without charge for his poor customers. "Well, to be sure!" exclaimed Tommy Dudgeon, while John chuckled exultantly to the twins, and Mrs. John moved her iron more vigorously to and fro, and hastily raised her hand to brush away a grateful and admiring tear. Meanwhile "Cobbler" Horn was considering how he might most delicately disclose the special purpose of his visit. "But after all," he said at length, "this is a farewell visit. I'm going away, and, after to-morrow, I shall not be your neighbour any more." For some moments his hand had been once more in his pocket, fingering the bank-notes. He now drew them forth very much in the way in which a man entrapped into a den of robbers might draw a pocket-pistol, and smoothed them out upon his knee. "I thought, old friend," he said, turning to Tommy Dudgeon, "that perhaps you might be willing to accept a trifling memento of our long acquaintance. And, indeed, you mustn't say no." John Dudgeon was too deeply engaged with the twins to note what was said; Tommy but dimly perceived the drift of his friend; but upon Mrs. John the full truth flashed with the clearness of noon.