in."

He spoke in his usual soft and subdued voice. He was sitting on his
bench, with the window looking out upon the west behind him; and his
bald pate and prominent ears were clearly defined, with a picturesque
effect, upon the crimson background of the fiery sunset clouds.

"We're too many of us, Brother Job," said the old clergyman, with a
smile of sympathetic pleasure: "perhaps you would not like to see us all
in your little shop at once?"

"The more the better, bless you!" rejoined the soldier shoemaker, in a
sort of glow; "only I'm sorry we haven't chairs enough for all of you."

"Never mind chairs," observed Father Brighthopes, taking Mrs. Bowen's
hand, as she was arranging what available seats there were, with her
customary melancholy air. "And how are you to-day, sister?"

"I'm pretty well for me," answered the poor woman, in her broken voice.
"But we've been hard pushed for means this week; and, besides, since
Margaret has been to Mr. Royden's, my other darter has been wo'se, and
everything has come upon me."

"Yes; she's had a rather hard time on 't," put in Job, mildly, and with
a faint smile. "But she does remarkable, that woman does, my
friends--remarkable! She means to make the best of everything."

"He! he! he!" laughed the grandmother, starting up in the corner, and
drawing the blanket around her. "That was a chicken-pie not to be
ashamed of," she mumbled, in shrill tones, between her toothless gums.
"I han't tasted nothing like it these forty year. Our company was wet
and hungry enough when they got there; and you'd better believe that
'ere pie had a relish!"

"Bygones, bygones!" whispered Job, touching his forehead, with a tender
glance at the old woman. "You mustn't mind her, my friends: we never do.
She is a nice old lady, but all out of date, and very deaf."

"How does Margaret get along?" asked Mrs. Bowen, in her most ghastly
tone.

"Oh, very well indeed. She is the best girl we ever had, by all odds,"
replied Mr. Royden.

"I don't know but I shall have to have her come home for a few days,"
proceeded the other. "I shall, if my other darter continues so sick. I
shall want her help more than the money, though we need that bad enough,
Lord knows. We're all out of flour; and, if it wan't for the potatoes
you sent over Sunday morning, I don't know what we should do."

"Oh, we shall do very well, my good wife!" cried Job, cheerily. "The
Lord won't forget us! He is our friend: he is on ou