e wont to observe
that although Willie possessed some common sense he was blessed with
uncommon little of it, the observation was facetiously uttered and was
offered with no malicious intent.

In fact had one scoured Wilton from end to end it would have been
difficult to unearth a single individual who bore enmity toward the
owner of the silver-gray cottage on the Harbor Road. It was impossible
to talk ten seconds with Willie Spence and not be won by his
kindliness, his optimism, his sympathy, and his honesty. Willie
probably could not have dissembled had he tried, and fortunately his
life was of so simple and transparent a trend that little lay hidden
beneath its crystalline exterior. What he was he was. When baffled by
phenomena he would scratch his thin locks and with a smile of endearing
candor frankly admit, "I dunno." When, on the other hand, he knew
himself to be master of a debated fact, no power under heaven could
shake the tenacity with which he clung to his beliefs. There was never
any compromise with truth on Willie's part. A thing was so or it was
not.

This reputation for veracity, linked as it was with an ingenuous good
will toward all mankind, had earned for Willie Spence such universal
esteem and tenderness that whenever the stooping figure with its ruddy
cheeks, soft white hair, and gentle smile made its appearance on the
sandy roads of the hamlet, it was hailed on all sides with the loving
and indulgent greetings of the inhabitants of the village.

Even Celestina Morton, who kept house for him and who might well have
lost patience at his defiance of domestic routine, worshipped the very
soil his foot touched. There was, of course, no denying that Willie's
disregard for the meal hour had become what she termed "chronical" and
severely taxed her forbearance; or that since she was a creature of
human limitations she did at times protest when the chowder stood
forgotten in the tureen until it was of Arctic temperature; nor had she
ever acquired the grace of spirit to amiably view freshly baked
popovers shrivel neglected into nothingness. Try as she would to curb
her tongue, under such circumstances, she occasionally would burst out:

"I do wish, Willie Spence, you'd quit your dreamin' an' come to dinner."

For answer Willie would rise hastily and stand arrested, a bit of
string in one hand and the hammer in the other, and peering
reproachfully over the top of his steel-bowed spectacles would