's leather must be purchased piece by
piece as before; and how could he ever compete with the cheap shoe-shops
that had taken away some of his customers already? His face took an
anxious look, and so did Dolly's, till she caught sight of the wrinkles
on her husband's forehead, and then she thought best to brighten up
immediately.

"It ain't best to worry about it," said she.

"No, worry never helped nobody yet." said Stephen; but his face did not
change.

"And there's nothing we can do about it, to-day, but wait," continued
his wife.

"Nothing but wait--and pray," said Stephen, quietly.

"If you could go to work now, you'd feel a sight better; but the
noise--" and her voice sank into a whisper.

"Yes; I promised young Clement that I should have little Teddy Lane's
boots ready for him to-night," said Stephen. "It's too late now, I'm
afraid; you'll have to keep all the doors shut for the noise," he added,
going; and then he turned back to say in a whisper:

"I wish I could have that Bigby in my hands for just two minutes? Eh,
Dolly?"

Dolly shook her head.

"You might do him good," said she, gravely. "But then, again, you might
not."

It never came into these people's minds that they could shirk this care
that had fallen on them. To keep Morely's fall a secret would save his
wife from terrible grief and pain, and would give the poor broken man a
better chance to retrieve the past; and kept from her it must be, at
whatever cost and trouble to them.

"For don't I remember how worse than death to me was my old man's
falling back after my hopes were raised? The poor creetur shan't have
this to bear, if I can help it," said Dolly to herself, as she went to
Morely's door.

"And don't I remember the hole of the pit from which I was drawn time
and again by God's mercy?" said Stephen, as he sat down on his bench.
"I'll do what I can; and when I can't do no more, then the Lord will put
His hand to it Himself, I expect."

It would not be well to enter the wretched man's room, or lift the
curtain which hid from all but these kind people the next few miserable
days. It was enough to say that, at their close, John Morely, weak as a
child in mind and body, found himself with the old battle before him
again. If he could have had his choice, he would have had it all end
there. There was nothing but shame in looking backward--nothing but
fear in looking forward. He was helpless and hopeless. Why had Stephen
Gr