y Dudgeon. The smile of
commercial satisfaction, which had been summoned to the face of the little
man by the consciousness that some one was coming into the shop, resolved
itself into an air of respectful yet genial greeting when he recognised
"Cobbler" Horn.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Horn! You said you would pay us a farewell visit,
and we were expecting you. Come in, sir."

"Cobbler" Horn followed his humble conductor into the small but cosy
living-room behind, which the large number of its occupants caused to
appear even smaller than it was. John Dudgeon was there, and Mrs. John,
and several offshoots of the Dudgeon tree. Mrs. Dudgeon was ironing at a
table beneath the one small window, in the fading light. She was a staid
and dapper matron, with here and there the faintest line of care upon her
comely face. A couple of the children were rolling upon the hearthrug in
the ruddy glow of the fire, and two or three others were doing their
home-lessons by the aid of the same unsteady gleam. The father, swept to
one side by the surges of his superabundant family, sat on a chair at the
extreme corner of the hearthrug, with both the twins upon his knees.

"Cobbler" Horn was greeted with the cordiality due to an old family
friend. Even the children clustered around him and clung to his arms and
legs. Mrs. John, as she was invariably called--possibly on the assumption
that Tommy Dudgeon also would, in due time, take a wife, cleared the
children away from the side of the hearth opposite to her husband, and
placed a chair for the ever-welcome guest. Tommy Dudgeon, who had slipped
into the shop to adjust the door-bell, so that he might have timely notice
of the entrance of a customer, soon returned, and placing a chair for
himself between his brother and "Cobbler" Horn, sat down with his feet
amongst the children, and his gaze fixed on the fire.

For a time there was no sound in the room but the click of Mrs. John's
iron, as it travelled swiftly to and fro. Even the children were
preternaturally quiet. At length Tommy spoke, in sepulchral tones, with
his eyes still on the fire.

"Only to think that it's the last time!"

"What's the last time, friend?" asked "Cobbler" Horn, with a start.

"Why this--that we shall see you sitting there so sociable like, Mr.
Horn."

"Indeed, I hope not," was the hearty response. "You're not going to get
rid of me so easily as that, old friend."

"Why," exclaimed Tommy, "I thought you were g