Isn't it an honour, I say,
to mend boots for John Turnbull?"
"Oh, yes--for John Turnbull! I know John," said Willie, as if it made
any difference to his merit whether Willie knew him or not!
"And there," Hector went on, "lies a pair of slippers that want
patching. They belong to William Webster, the weaver, round the corner.
They're very much down at heel too. But isn't it an honour to patch or
set up slippers for a man who keeps his neighbours in fine linen all the
days of their lives?"
"Yes, yes. I know William. It must be nice to do anything for William
Webster."
"Suppose you didn't know him, would that make any difference?"
"No," said Willie, after thinking a little. "Other people would know him
if I didn't."
"Yes, and if nobody knew him, God would know him; and anybody God has
thought worth making, it's an honour to do anything for. Believe me,
Willie, to have to keep people's feet dry and warm is a very important
appointment."
"Your own shoes aren't very good, Hector," said Willie, who had been
casting glances from time to time at his companion's feet, which were
shod in a manner that, to say the least of it, would have prejudiced no
one in favour of his handiwork.
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