he man who kept the meat-market and grocery at the corner
frequently testified. Even in the coldest weather, a fire was never
kindled in the house till evening; for over its dying embers the solitary
man made his coffee the following morning. A basket of coal lasted him a
week, and he sifted the cinders as carefully as if he did not know where
to find a silver quarter to buy more fuel. He had nothing to do with his
neighbors, who really knew very little about him beyond what they could
see of his daily life. They were almost all working people, blessed with
steady employment; though they had not more than enough of this world's
goods, there was no actual poverty among them. They were respectable,
honest, and industrious; as Bernard said, not one of the dwellers in the
street would ever be suspected of being "mean enough to steal coal,"
unless indeed Stingy Willis.

II.

Gloomy days continued for the Farrells; yet the outside world never
dreamed of the straits to which they were reduced, for a spirit of worthy
independence and pardonable pride led them to keep their trouble to
themselves. Mrs. Farrell would have died, almost, rather than reveal
their need to any one; nothing save the cry of her children asking in
vain for bread would bring her to it. Well, they still had bread and
oatmeal porridge, but that was all.

Who would have imagined it! The little house was still distinguished
from the others of the row by an appearance of comfort. Although Mrs.
Farrell could not do any type-writing, the children were neat and trim
going to school; Bernard's clothes were as carefully brushed, his boots
as shining, linen as fresh, his mien as gentlemanly as ever. And they
found great satisfaction in the reflection that no one was aware of the
true state of affairs. The mother and Bernard agreed, when they began
housekeeping under their changed circumstances, to contract no bills;
what they could not afford to pay for at the time they would do without.
So now no butcher nor baker came clamoring for settlement of his account.
The doctor was willing to wait for his money; all they owed besides was
the rent. Only the landlord knew this, and he was disposed to be
lenient. Mrs. Farrell still tried to hope for the best, but sometimes
she grew dejected, was sorely tempted to repine.

"Mother," little Jack once asked, "aren't people who, as you say, 'have
seen better days' and become poor, much poorer than people who ha