nother 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.

And now the time had come for the removal, and the evening previous to the
departure from the old home, "the Golden Shoemaker" paid his last visit,
in the capacity of neighbour, to the worthy little twins. He had long
known that they had a constant struggle to make their way. He had often
assisted them as far as his own hitherto humble means would allow; and
now, he had resolved that before leaving the neighbourhood, he would make
them such a present as would lift them, once for all, out of the quagmire
of adversity in which they had floundered so long.

At six o'clock, on that autumn evening, it being already dusk, "Cobbler"
Horn opened his front door, and stood for a moment on the step. Miss
Jemima and the young secretary were both out of the way. If Miss Jemima
had known where her brother was going and for what purpose, she would have
held up her hands in horror and dismay, and might even, had she been
present, have tried to detain him in the house by main force.

"Cobbler" Horn lingered a moment on the door-step, with the instinctive
hesitation of one who is about to perform an act of unaccustomed
magnitude; but his soul revelled in the thought of what he was going
to do. He was about to exercise the gracious privilege of the wealthy
Christian man; and, as he handled a bundle of crisp bank-notes which he
held in the side pocket of his coat, his fingers positively tingled with
rapture.

The street was very quiet. A milk girl was going from door to door, and
the lamplighter was vanishing in the distance. Yet "Cobbler" Horn flitted
furtively across the way, as though he were afraid of being seen; and,
having glided with the stealth of a burglar through the doorway of the
little shop, found himself face to face with Tomm