"Well, I might say that I do. He lived here for over fifteen years."

"What sort of a man is he?"

He stopped in his stitching a moment to look at me, and then said:

"How d'ye mean? By trade, so to speak, or religious-like?"

"What is it he has done," I said, "that makes him so popular with all
you people? Everybody says he's a good man. Just what do you mean by
that?"

"Well," he said, ceasing 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