CHAPTER XI.
“COBBLER” HORN ANSWERS HIS LETTERS, AND RECEIVES THE CONGRATULATIONS OF HIS FRIENDS.
When, after a somewhat troubled night, “Cobbler” Horn came down next morning, his attention was arrested by the letters lying, as he had left them, on the table, the night before.
“Yes,” he said, in answer to his thoughts; “I think I’ll deal with them straight away.” So saying, he drew a chair to the table, and, having found a few sheets of time-stained note paper, together with a penny bottle of ink, and an old crippled pen, he sat down to his unwelcome task. The undertaking proved even more troublesome than he had thought it would be. The pen persisted in sputtering at almost every word; and when, at crucial points, he took special pains to make the writing legible, the too frequent result was an indecipherable blotch of ink. When the valiant scribe had wrestled with his uncongenial task for half an hour or more, his sister came upon the scene. Quietly she stepped across the floor.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, peeping over her brother’s shoulder, “so you are answering them already!”
“Cobbler” Horn started, and a huge blot fell from his pen into the midst of his half-finished letter.
“I’m afraid I shall not be able to send this, now,” he said, with a patient sigh.
“No,” said Miss Jemima, laconically, “I’m afraid not. You are writing to the ‘widow,’ I see; and you are promising her some help. That’s very well. But, in nine cases out of ten, what strangers say of themselves requires confirmation—especially if they are beggars; so don’t you think that, before sending money to this ‘widow,’ it would be as well to ask for the name of some reliable person who will vouch for the truth of her statements? You must not forget, what you often say, you know, that you are the steward of your Lord’s goods.”
This was an argument which was sure to prevail with “Cobbler” Horn.
“No doubt you are right, Jemima,” he said; “and, however reluctantly, I must take your advice.”