“Yet most people are willing to take their chance of that,” said the merchant.

“You are right, sir, nor can I call myself an exception.  Still I should be satisfied with the certainty of constant employment.”

“I hope you have that, at least.”

“I have had until recently.”

“Then, at present, you are unemployed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is your business?”

“That of a cooper.”

“I must see what I can do for you.  Can you call at my office to-morrow, say at twelve o’clock?”

“I shall be glad to do so, sir.”

“I believe I have a card with me.  Yes, here is one.  And this is my house.  Thank you for your company, my good friend.  I shall see you to-morrow.”

They stood before a handsome dwelling-house, from whose windows, draped by heavy crimson curtains, a soft light proceeded.  The cooper could hear the ringing of childish voices welcoming home their father, whose life, unknown to them, had been in such peril, and he could not but be grateful to Providence that he had been the means of frustrating the designs of the villain who would have robbed him, and perhaps done him farther injury.

He determined to say nothing to his wife of the night’s adventure until after his meeting appointed for the next day.  Then if any advantage accrued to him from it, he would tell the whole at once.

When he reached home, Mrs. Crump was sewing beside the fire.  Aunt Rachel sat with her hands folded in her lap, with an air of martyr-like resignation to the woes of life.

“I’ve brought you home a paper, Aunt Rachel,” said the cooper, cheerfully.  “You may find something interesting in it.”

“I sha’n’t be able to read it this evening,” said Rachel, mournfully.  “My eyes have troubled me lately.  I feel that it is more than probable that I am growing blind.  But I trust I shall not live to be a burden to you.  Your prospects are dark enough without that.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with any fears of that sort, Rachel,” said the cooper, cheerily.  “I think I know what will enable you to use your eyes as well as ever.”

“What?” asked Rachel, with melancholy curiosity.

“A pair of spectacles,” said her brother, incautiously.

“Spectacles!” retorted Rachel, indignantly.  “It will be a good many years before I am old enough to wear spectacles.  I didn’t expect to be insulted by my own brother.  But it’s one of my trials.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Rachel,” said the cooper, perplexed.

“Good night,” said Rachel, rising and taking a small lamp from the table.

“Come, Rachel, don’t go yet.  It is early.”

“After what you have said to me, Timothy, my self-respect will not permit me to stay.”

Rachel swept out of the room with something more than her customary melancholy.

“I wish Rachel war’n’t quite so contrary,” said the cooper.  “She turns upon a body so sudden, it’s hard to know how to take her.  How’s the little girl, Mary?”