There was but little difficulty, moreover, in dealing with the applications on behalf of local interests. It was the private appeals which afforded most trouble. Every case had to be strenuously debated with Miss Owen, who maintained that not one of these importunate correspondents ought to be assisted, until “Cobbler” Horn had satisfied himself that the case was one of actual necessity, and real merit. By dint of great persistency, she succeeded in convincing her employer that many of these private appeals were not worthy of a moment’s consideration. To each of the writers of these a polite note of refusal was to be despatched. With regard to the rest, it was decided that an application for references should be made.
“I shall have to be your woman of business, Mr. Horn,” said Miss Owen, “as well as your secretary; and, between us, I think we can manage.”
She felt that there was a true Christian work for her in doing what she could to help this poor embarrassed Christian man of wealth.
“Cobbler” Horn was enraptured with his secretary. She seemed to be fitting herself into a vacant place in his life. It appeared the most natural thing in the world that she should be there writing his letters. If his little Marian had not gone from him years ago, she might have been his secretary now. He sighed at the thought; and then, as he looked across at the animated face of Miss Owen, as she bent over her work, and swept the table with her abundant tresses, he was comforted in no small degree.
Miss Jemima’s respect for the proprieties, rendered her reluctant to absent herself much from the room where her brother and his engaging young secretary sat together at their interesting work; and she manifested, from time to time, a lively interest in the progress of their task.
CHAPTER XVII.
A PARTING GIFT FOR “THE LITTLE TWIN BRETHREN.”
The honest joy of “the little twin brethren” at the sudden enrichment of their friend, “Cobbler” Horn, was dashed with a deep regret. It was excellent that he had been made a wealthy man. As Tommy Dudgeon expressed it, “Providence had not made a mistake this time, anyhow.” But, in common with the rest of “Cobbler” Horn’s neighbours, the two worthy little men bitterly deplored the inevitable departure of their friend from their midst. It was “not to be supposed,” said Tommy again—it was always Tommy who said things; to John had been assigned the honour of perpetuating the family name—it was “not to be supposed that a millionaire would live in a small house, in a narrow street, remain at the cobbler’s bench, or continue to associate with poor folks like themselves.” The little hucksters considered it a matter of course that “Cobbler” Horn would shortly remove to another and very different abode, and they mourned over the prospect with sincere and bitter grief.
The little men had good reason for their sorrow, for to none of all his poor neighbours had “Cobbler” Horn been a better friend. And their regret in view of his approaching removal was fully reciprocated by “Cobbler” Horn himself. Of all the friends, in the network of streets surrounding his humble abode, whom he had fastened to his heart with the golden hooks of love, there were none whom he held more closely there than the two little tradesmen across the way. His intercourse with them had been one of the chief refreshments of his life; and he knew that he would sadly miss his humble little friends.