y were received in the hall by three smiling maids,
a coachman, and a boy in buttons. "The Golden Shoemaker" almost staggered,
as the members of his domestic staff paid due homage to their master. He
half-turned to his sister, and saw that, she, unlike himself, was not
taken by surprise. Then he hastily returned the respectful salutations of
the beaming group, and passed into the house.

It was afternoon when the removal took place, and the remainder of the day
was spent in inspecting the premises, and settling down. With the aid of
his indefatigable secretary, "Cobbler" Horn had disposed of his morning's
letters before leaving the old house, and, as it happened, the later mails
were small that day. Miss Jemima stepped into her new position as
mistress of a large establishment with ease and grace; and, assisted by
the young secretary, who was fast gaining the goodwill of her employer's
sister, was already giving to the house, by means of a few slight touches
here and there, that indescribable air of homeliness which money cannot
buy, and no skill of builder or upholsterer can impart.

To "Cobbler" Horn himself that evening was a restless time. He felt
himself to be strangely out of place; and he was almost afraid to tread
upon the thick soft carpets, or to sit upon the luxurious chairs. And
yet he smiled to himself, as he contrasted his own uneasiness with the
complacency with which his sister was fitting herself into her place in
their new sphere.

Under the guidance of the coachman, "Cobbler" Horn inspected the horses
and carriages. The coachman, who was the most highly-finished specimen of
his kind who could be obtained for money, treated his new master with an
oppressive air of respect. "Cobbler" Horn would have preferred a more
familiar bearing on the part of his gorgeously-attired servant; but
Bounder was obdurate, for he knew his place. His only recognition of the
somewhat unusual sociability of his master, was to touch his hat with a
more impressive action, and to impart a still deeper note of respect to
the tones of his voice. His bearing implied a solemn rebuke. It was as
though he said, "If you, sir, don't know your place, I know mine."

"The Golden Shoemaker," having completed his survey of his new abode
and its surroundings, realized more fuller than hitherto the change his
circumstances had undergone. The old life was now indeed past, and he was
fairly launched upon the new. Well, by the help of God, he