Miss Jemima, supposing that an arrangement with the lawyers was like the laws of the Medes and Persians, which “altered not,” felt compelled to submit; but it was with the understanding that her brother took entire management of her portion of the money, as well as his own.
There was little further talk between “Cobbler” Horn and his sister that evening. Their early bed-time had arrived; and “Cobbler” Horn, having read a chapter in the Bible, offered a fervent prayer, in which he asked earnestly that his sister and himself might receive grace to use rightly the great wealth which had been entrusted to their charge.
“If we should prove unfaithful, Lord,” he said, “take it from us as suddenly as Thou hast given it.”
“Oh, brother,” cried Miss Jemima, as they were going up to bed, “some letters came for you this morning.”
“Cobbler” Horn took the four or five letters, which his sister was holding out to him, with a bewildered air.
“Are they really for me?” he asked.
“Small doubt of that,” said Miss Jemima.
The opening of letters was, as yet, to “Cobbler” Horn, a ceremony to be performed with care. He drew a chair to the table, and deliberately took his seat. He took up the first letter, and, having read it slowly through, placed it in Miss Jemima’s eager hand. It was a request, from a “gentleman in distress,” for a loan of twenty pounds—a “trifle” to the possessor of so much wealth, but, to the writer “a matter of life or death.”
“This will never do!” pronounced Miss Jemima; and the lady’s lips emitted a gentle whistling sound.
“How soon it seems to have got wind!” exclaimed “Cobbler” Horn.