ng his work as though the subject were one of
extreme importance to him, "he's a peculiar man, Charlie is. He believes
in giving nearly everything he has away, if any one else needs it. He'd
give the coat off his back if you asked him for it. Some folks condemn
him for this, and for not giving everything to his wife and them orphans
he has, but I always thought the man was nearer right than most of us.
I've got a family myself--but, then, so's he, now, for that matter. It's
pretty hard to live up to your light always."

He looked away as if he expected some objection to be made to this, but
hearing none, he went on. "I always liked him personally very much. He
ain't around here now any more--lives up in Norwich, I think. He's a man
of his word, though, as truthful as kin be. He ain't never done nothin'
for me, I not bein' a takin' kind, but that's neither here nor there."

He paused, in doubt apparently, as to what else to say.

"You say he's so good," I said. "Tell me one thing that he ever did that
struck you as being preeminently good."

"Well, now, I can't say as I kin, exactly, offhand," he replied, "there
bein' so many of them from time to time. He was always doin' things one
way and another. He give to everybody around here that asked him, and to
a good many that didn't. I remember once"--and a smile gave evidence of
a genial memory--"he give away a lot of pork that he'd put up for the
winter to some colored people back here--two or three barrels, maybe.
His wife didn't object, exactly, but my, how his mother-in-law did go on
about it. She was livin' with him then. She went and railed against him
all around."

"She didn't like to give it to them, eh?"

"Well, I should say not. She didn't set with his views, exactly--never
did. He took the pork, though--it was right in the coldest weather we
had that winter--and hauled it back about seven miles here to where they
lived, and handed it all out himself. Course they were awful hard up,
but then they might 'a' got along without it. They do now, sometimes.
Charlie's too good that way. It's his one fault, if you might so speak
of it."

I smiled as the evidence accumulated. Houseless wayfarers, stopping to
find food and shelter under his roof, an orphan child carried seven
miles on foot from the bedside of a dead mother and cared for all
winter, three children, besides two of his own, being raised out of a
sense of affection and care for the fatherless.

One day