"Cobbler" Horn foiled, by dint of sheer unresponsiveness, the first attempt to introduce itself to him made by the world. On his return from America, one of the first things which attracted his attention was a pile of visiting cards on a silver salver which stood on the hall table. Some of these bore the most distinguished names which Cottonborough or its vicinity could boast. There were municipal personages of the utmost dignity, and the representatives of county families of the first water. It had taken the world some little time to awake to a sense of its "duty" with regard to the "Cobbler" who had suddenly acceded to so high a position in the aristocracy of wealth. But when, at length, it realized that "the Golden Shoemaker" was indeed a fact, it set itself to bestow upon him as full and free a recognition as though the blood in his veins had been of the most immaculate blue. It was during his absence in America that the great rush of the fashionable world to his door had actually set in. But Miss Jemima had not been taken unawares. She had supplied herself betimes with a manual of etiquette, which she had studied with the assiduity of a diligent school-girl. She had also, though not without trepidation, ordered a quantity of visiting cards, and had them inscribed respectively with her own and her brother's names. And thus, when Society made its first advances, it did not find Miss Jemima unprepared. When "Cobbler" Horn espied the visiting cards on his hall table, he said to his sister: "What, more of these, Jemima?" "Yes, Thomas," she responded, with evident pride; "and some of them belong to the best people in the neighbourhood!" "And have all these people been here?" he asked, taking up a bunch of the cards between his finger and thumb, and regarding them with a mingling of curiosity and amusement. "Yes," replied Miss Jemima, in exultant tones, "they have all been here; but a good many of them happened to come when I was out." "Cobbler" Horn sighed. "Well," he said, "I suppose this is another of 'the penalties of wealth!'" "Say rather _privileges_, Thomas," Miss Jemima ventured delicately to suggest. "No, Jemima. It may appear to you in that light; but I am not able to regard as a privilege the coming to us of all these grand people. How much better it would be, if they would leave us to live our life in our own way! Do you suppose they would ever have taken any notice of us at all, if it had not been for this money?" Miss Jemima was unable to reply; for it was impossible to gainsay her brother's words. And yet it was sweet to her soul to have all the best people in the neighbourhood calling and leaving their cards. For the present, she let the matter rest. But, a day or two afterwards, the course of events brought the question to the surface again. Miss Jemima was brushing her brother's coat, in the dining-room, after dinner, previous to his setting out for his old workshop, when they saw a carriage drive up to the gate.