Farrell, brightening up.
"No, there's nobody living immediately around here whom I'd suspect of
being mean enough to steal coal," returned Bernard, carelessly,--"except,
perhaps, Stingy Willis, I don't think I'd wager that old codger wouldn't,
though."
"I am afraid I should not have entire confidence in him, either," agreed
Mrs. Farrell.
But the intelligence that there was still coal in the bin had cheered her
wonderfully. Repenting of her rash conclusion, she hastened to qualify
it by adding, "That is, if half of what the neighbors say is true. But,
then, we have no right to listen to gossip, or to judge people."
Stingy Willis, the individual who apparently bore an unenviable
reputation, was a small, dried-up looking old man, who lived next door to
the Farrells,--in fact, under the same roof; for the structure consisted
of two houses built together. Here he dwelt alone, and attended to his
household arrangements himself, except when, occasionally, a woman was
employed for a few hours to put the place in order. He was accustomed to
prepare his own breakfast and supper; his dinner he took at a cheap
restaurant.
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