was
preparing to open an old wound in the heart of his beloved benefactor.
True, he hoped so to deal with it that it should never bleed again. But
what if he failed? That would be dreadful! Yet the attempt must be made.
So he set himself to his task. His opportunity came on the afternoon of
the day following that of the opening of the "Home." Watching from the
corner of his window, as he was wont, about three o'clock, Tommy saw "the
Golden Shoemaker" come along the street, and enter his old house. Then the
little man turned away from the window, and became very nervous. For quite
two minutes he stood back against the shelves, trying to compose himself.
When he had succeeded, in some degree, in steadying his quivering nerves,
he reached from under the counter a brown-paper parcel containing a pair
of boots, which had, for some days, been lying in readiness for the
occasion which had now arrived, and, calling John to mind the shop,
slipped swiftly into the street. A minute later he was standing in the
doorway of "Cobbler" Horn's workshop. "The little Twin Brethren" had, at
first, been disposed to refrain from availing themselves of the gratuitous
labours of their friend; but, perceiving that it would afford him
pleasure, they had yielded with an easy grace, and now Tommy was glad
to have so good an excuse for a visit to "the Golden Shoemaker," as was
supplied by the boots in the parcel under his arm.

"Cobbler" Horn perceived the nervousness of his visitor, and thinking it
strange that the bringing of a pair of boots to be mended should have
occasioned his humble little friend so much trepidation, he did his best,
by adopting a specially sociable tone, to put him at his ease.

"Ah, Tommy, what have we there?" he asked. "More work for the 'Cobbler,'
eh?"

"Just an old pair of boots which want mending, Mr. Horn," said Tommy, in
uncertain tones, as he unwrapped the boots and held them out with a
shaking hand--"that is, if you are not too busy."

"Not by any means," said "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile. "Put them down."

Tommy obeyed.

There stood against the wall, a much-worn wooden chair from which the back
had been sawn off close.

"I'll sit down, if you don't mind," gasped Tommy, depositing himself upon
this superannuated seat.

"By all means," said "Cobbler" Horn cordially; "make yourself quite at
home."

"Thank you," said Tommy, drawing from his pocket a red and yellow
handkerchief, with which he vigorously mop