“Sam,” said Dr. Brice, who was a slight, nervous, excitable man, “I’m not your regular medical attendant, and I don’t know that it’s any of my business, but I’ve come in here in a friendly way to say to you that, if all I hear about your working all day and most of the night too, is true, you are going to break down.  You can’t stand it, my boy:  human nature isn’t made in that way.  You have got a wife and family, and you seem to be trying real hard to take care of them.  But you can’t burn the candle at both ends without having the fire flicker out in the middle all of a sudden, and perhaps just when you can least afford it.  Now, do take better care of yourself.  You have made a splendid start, and there are more people than you know of in this town who are looking at you with a great deal of respect.  They want to see you succeed, and if you want any help at it I am sure you can get it; but don’t kill the goose that lays the golden egg.  Don’t break yourself up, or there won’t be anybody to help.  Don’t you see?”

The shoemaker looked up at the good-natured doctor with a quick expression, and said,—­

“Doctor, I’m not doin’ any more than I have to, to keep soul and body together in the family.  If I stop any of it, I’ve got to stop carryin’ things home.”

“Oh well,” said the doctor, “that may be, that may be.  But I’m simply warning you, as a fellow-man, that you must look out for yourself.  It’s all right to trust the Lord, but the Lord isn’t going to give any one man strength enough to do two men’s work.  I have been in medical practice forty years, and I have never seen a case of that kind yet.  That’s all.  I’m in a hurry,—­got half a dozen people to see.  Don’t feel offended at anything I’ve said to you.  It’s all for your good, you know.  Good day.”

The doctor departed as rapidly as he had entered, and the cobbler stole a moment or two from his work to think.  How his thoughts ran he could scarcely have told afterwards, for again the door opened, and the room darkened slightly, for the person who was entering was Father Black, the Catholic priest, a man whose frame was as big as his heart, he being reputed to be one of the largest-hearted men in all Bruceton.  Everybody respected him.  The best proof of it was that no one in any of the other churches ever attempted to do any proselyting in Father Black’s flock.

“My son,” said the priest, seating himself in the chair and spreading a friendly smile over his large, expressive features, “I have heard a great deal of you since you came back from your unfortunate absence, and I merely dropped in to say to you that if it’s any comfort to you to know that every day you have whatever assistance there can be in the prayers of an old man who has been in this world long enough to love most those who need most, you may be sure that you have them.”

“God bless you, sir!  God bless you!” said the cobbler, quickly.

“Have you connected yourself with any church here as yet?” asked the priest.