“THE GOLDEN SHOEMAKER” WAITS UPON HIS MINISTER.

“Cobbler” Horn’s correspondence was steadily accumulating. Every day brought fresh supplies of letters; and the humble cottage was in danger of being swamped by an epistolary inundation, which was the despair of “Cobbler” Horn, and a growing vexation to his sister’s order-loving soul.

For some time “the Golden Shoemaker” persisted valiantly in his attempt to answer every letter he received. Miss Jemima’s scornful disapproval was of no avail. In vain she declared her conviction that every other letter was an imposture or a hoax, and pointed out that, if people wanted their letters answered, they ought to enclose a stamp. Then, for the twentieth time, she repeated her suggestion that a secretary should be engaged. At first her brother waived this proposal aside; but at length it became imperative that help should be sought. “Cobbler” Horn was like a man who attempts, single-handed, to cut his way through a still-accumulating snow-drift. The man must perish, if help do not come; unless “Cobbler” Horn secured assistance in dealing with his letters, it was impossible to tell what his fate might be. It was now simply a question by what means the needed help might best be obtained; and both “Cobbler” Horn and his sister agreed that the wisest thing would be to consult the minister of their church. This, accordingly, “Cobbler” Horn resolved to do.

“Cobbler” Horn’s minister officiated in a sanctuary such as was formerly called a “chapel,” but is now, more frequently designated a “church.” His name was Durnford; and he was a man of strongly-marked individuality—a godly, earnest, shrewd, and somewhat eccentric, minister of the Gospel. He was always accessible to his people in their trouble or perplexity, and they came to him without reserve. But surely his advice had never been sought concerning difficulties so peculiar as those which were about to be laid before him by “Cobbler” Horn!

It was about ten o’clock on the Monday morning following his visit to the lawyers, that “Cobbler” Horn sat in Mr. Durnford’s study, waiting for the minister to appear. He had not long to wait. The door opened, and Mr. Durnford entered. He was a middle-aged man of medium height, with keen yet kindly features, and hair and beard of iron grey. He greeted his visitor with unaffected cordiality.

“I’ve come to ask your advice, sir, under circumstances of some difficulty,” said “Cobbler” Horn, when they were seated facing each other before a cheerful fire.

This being a kind of appeal to which he was accustomed, the minister received the announcement calmly enough.

“Glad to help you, if I can, Mr. Horn,” he said.

There was a breeziness about Mr. Durnford which at once afforded preliminary refreshment to such troubled spirits as sought his counsel.

“Thank you, sir,” said “Cobbler” Horn, “I’m sure you will. You have heard of the sudden and unexpected——”

“To be sure!” broke in the minister, leaping to his feet, and grasping his visitor’s hand, “Pardon me; I quite forgot. Let me congratulate you. Of course it’s true?”

“Yes, sir, thank you; it’s true—too true, I’m afraid.”

Mr. Durnford laughed.

“How if I were to commiserate you, then?” he said.

“No, sir,” said “Cobbler” Horn gravely, “not that either. It’s the Lord’s will after all; and it’s a great joy to me to be able to do so much that I have long wished to do. It’s the responsibility that I feel.”

“Very good,” replied the minister; “such joy is the purest pleasure wealth can give. But the responsibility of such a position as yours, is, no doubt, as you say, very great.”

“Yes, sir; I feel that I hold all this wealth in trust from God; and I want to be a faithful steward. I am resolved to use my Lord’s money exactly as I believe He desires that I should—in fact as He Himself would use it, if He were in my place.”

“Excellent, Mr. Horn!” exclaimed the minister; “you have spoken like a Christian.”

“Thank you, sir. But there’s another thing; it seems so dreadful that one man should have so much money. Do you know, sir, I’m almost a millionaire?”

He made this announcement in very much the same tone in which he would have informed the minister that he was stricken with some dire disease.

“Is your trouble so great as that?” asked Mr. Durnford, in mock dismay.

“Yes, sir; and it’s a very serious matter indeed. It doesn’t seem right for me to be so rich, while so many have too little, and not a few nothing at all.”

“That can soon be rectified,” said Mr. Durnford.

“Perhaps so, sir; though it may not be so easy as you suppose. But there’s another matter that troubles me. I can’t think that this great wealth has been all acquired by fair means. Indeed I have only too much reason to suspect that it was not. I feel ashamed that some of the money which my uncle made should have become mine. I feel as though a curse were on it.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the minister, with a long-drawn sigh, “such feelings do you credit, Mr. Horn; but don’t you see that God means you to turn that curse into a blessing?”

“Yes; and yet I am almost inclined to wish my uncle had taken his money with him.”

“Scarcely a charitable wish, from any point of view,” said Mr. Durnford, smiling. “It seems to me that nothing could have been better than the arrangement as it stands.”

“Well, at any rate, I wish it were possible to restore their money to any persons who may have been wronged.”

“A laudible, but impossible wish, my dear sir; but, though you cannot restore your uncle’s wealth to those from whom it may have been wrongfully acquired, you can, in some measure, make atonement for the evil involved in its acquisition, by employing it for the benefit of those in general who suffer and are in need.”

“Yes,” assented “Cobbler” Horn, with emphasis; “if I thought otherwise, every coin of the money that I handled would scorch my fingers to the bone.”

After this there was a brief silence, and the minister sat back in his chair, with closed eyes, smiling gently.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, in another moment, starting forward, “I have been thinking of all the good that might be done, if every rich man were like you. But you came to ask my advice?”

“Yes, sir,” replied “Cobbler” Horn; “and I am keeping you too long.”

“Not at all, my dear sir! Your visit has refreshed me greatly. Your talk is like a cool breeze on a hot day. It is not often that a millionaire comes to discuss with me the responsibilities of wealth. But let me hear what the peculiar difficulty is of which you spoke.”

“Well, sir, there is a serious inconvenience involved in my new position, with which I am quite unable to grapple.”

“Ah,” said the minister, raising his eye-brows, “what is that?”

“Why it is just the number of letters I receive.”

“Of course!” cried the minister, with twinkling eyes. “The birds of prey will be upon you from every side; and your being a religious man will, by no means, mitigate the evil.”

“Ah, I have no doubt you are right, sir! And it’s a sort of compliment to religion, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” said Mr. Durnford; “and a very beautiful way of looking at it too.”

“Thank you, sir. Well, there are two sides to my difficulty. First I wish to answer every letter I receive; but I cannot possibly do it myself.”

“No,” said the minister. “But surely many of them need not be answered at all.”

“Yes, sir, by your leave. My sister says that many of the letters are probably impostures. But you see I cannot tell certainly which are of that kind. She also points out that very few of them contain stamps for reply. But I tell her that a few stamps, more or less, are of no moment to me now.”

“I don’t know,” broke in the minister, “which more to admire—your sister’s wisdom or your own goodness.”

“Cobbler” Horn deprecatingly waved his hand.

“Now, sir,” he resumed, “Jemima advises me to engage a secretary.”

“Obviously,” assented the minister, “that is your best course.”

“I suppose it is, sir; but I am all at sea, and want your help.”

“And you shall have it,” said the minister heartily. “There are scores of young men—and young women too—who would jump at the chance of such a post as that of your secretary would probably be.”

“Thank you, sir; but you said young women?”

“Precisely. Young women often accept, and very efficiently fill, such posts.”

“Indeed? I don’t know how my sister——”

“Of course not. But suppose we look for a moment at the other side of your difficulty.”

“Very well, sir; the other trouble is that I find it hard to decide what answers to send to a good many of the letters. They are mostly applications for money; and it’s not easy to tell whether they are genuine. Then there are a great many appeals on behalf of all sorts of good objects. May I venture to hope, sir, that you will give me your advice in these matters?”

“With pleasure!” replied Mr. Durnford, with sparkling eyes.

“Thank you, sir; thank you very much indeed,” said “Cobbler” Horn, greatly relieved. “And will it be too much if I ask you to advise me, in due course, as to the best way of making this money of my uncle’s do as much good as possible, in a general way?”

“By no means,” protested Mr. Durnford, “I am entirely at your service, my dear sir. But now,” he added, after a pause, “I’ve been considering, and I think I can find you a secretary.”

“Ah! who is he, sir?”

“It is she, not he.”

“But, sir!”

“Yes, I know; but this is an exceptional young lady.”

“A young lady?”

“Yes, a capable, well-behaved, Christian young lady. I have known her for a good many years, and would recommend her to anybody. I know she is looking out for such a situation as this. She would serve you well—better than any young man, I know—and would be a most agreeable addition to your family circle. Besides, by engaging my friend, Miss Owen, you would be affording help in a case of real need and sterling merit. The girl has no parents, and has been brought up by some kind friends. But they are not rich, and she will have to make her own way. Now, look here; suppose the young lady were to run down and see you? She lives in Birmingham.”

“Do you really think it would be advisable?”

“Indeed I do. She’ll disarm Miss Horn at once. It’ll be a case of love at first sight.”

“Well, sir, let it be as you say.”

“Then I may write to her without delay?”

“If you please, sir.”

“Pray for me, Mr. Durnford,” said “Cobbler” Horn, as he took his leave.

“I will, my friend,” was the hearty response.

“It’s not often,” resumed “Cobbler” Horn, “that a Christian man is placed in circumstances of such difficulty as mine.”

The minister laughed heartily and long.

“I really mean it, sir,” persisted “Cobbler” Horn, with a deprecatory smile. “When I think of all that my having this money involves, I almost wish the Lord had been pleased to leave me in my contented poverty.”

“My dear friend,” said the minister, “that will not do at all. Depend upon it, the joy of using your wealth for the Lord, and for His ‘little ones,’ will far more than make up for the vanished delights of your departed poverty.”