The cobbler was submitting the shoes, first the sickly one, now the sound one, to a thorough scrutiny.
"You don't think them worth mending, I think!" said Donal, with a touch of anxiety in his tone.
"I never thought of that while the leather would hold the nail," replied the cobbler. "But sometimes, I confess, I'm just a bit troubled to know how to charge for my work. It's not merely to consider the time it'll take me to repair a pair, but what the wearer is likely to get out of them. I cannot take more than the job will be worth to the wearer. And yet the worse the shoes, and the less to be made of them, the more time they take to make them worth anything at all!"
"Surely you ought to be payed in proportion to your labour."
"In that case I would sometimes have to say to a poor person that hadn't another pair in the world, that her one pair of shoes wasn't worth mending; and that would be a heartbreak, and sore feet as well, so such as couldn't, like yourself, sir, go upon the Lord's own shoes [i.e., bare feet]."
"But how do you make a living that way?" suggested Donal.
"Man, the master of the trade sees to my wages!"
"And who may he be?" asked Donal, well forseeing the answer.
"He was never cobbler himself, but he was once carpenter; and now he's lifted up to be the head of all trades. And there's one thing he cannot bide, and that's close paring."
He stopped. But Donal held his peace, waiting; and he went on.
"To those who make little, for good reasons, from their neighbor, he gives the better wages when the go home. To those who make all they can, he says, `You helped yourself; help away; you have your reward. Only don't come near me, for I cannot stand you.'"