"No, they searched every portion of the rubbish, ashes and all, but could
find no trace of it. That's what's troubling me. I do hope they will find
it for the parson's sake."

"Indeed! Ye surprise me," and Mrs. Stickles laid down her knitting. "Wot
the parson has to do with that box is more'n I kin understand."

"No, perhaps you don't. But you see after the men had made a thorough
search and could not find the box, Tom Fletcher became much excited. He
swore like a trooper, declared that there had been foul play, and hinted
that the parson had something to do with it. You know that the Fletchers
have been waiting a long time for Billy to die in order to get his gold,
property and--"

"Yes, yes, I know Tom Fletcher," broke in Mrs. Stickles. "Don't I know
'im, an' wot a mean sneak he is. He's suspicious of everybody, an' is
always lookin' fer trouble. An' as to meanness, why he hasn't a heart as
big as the smallest chicken. Ye could take a thousand hearts sich as his'n
an' stick 'em all to the wall with one tiny pin, an' then they wouldn't be
half way up to the head. Mean! Why didn't he once put a twenty-five cent
piece inter the kerlection plate by mistake, an' come back the next day to
git it, an' gave a cent in its place. If that ain't mean I'd like to know
whar ye'd find it," and Mrs. Stickles sniffed contemptuously as her
needles whirled and rattled between her nimble fingers.

"Yes," Mrs. Larkins replied, "he carries his meanness into everything. If
he even imagines that it was the parson's fault that the house burned
down, and the will was destroyed, his anger will burn like fire. He's very
revengeful, too, and has an old grudge to pay back. The parson, you know,
was the means of making him close up his liquor business some years ago,