Once more came the noise, now more distinct and definable.  The heartless intruder had become daring; the click of a shovel was discernible; he was evidently helping himself liberally.

Bernard looked at his mother in perplexity and surprise.

“Stingy Willis?” he interrogated.

She nodded.

“And at the coal, by Jove!” he exclaimed, suddenly realizing the situation, and now wide awake.

He started up, and presently was creeping down the stairs to the kitchen.  Mrs. Farrell heard him open the cellar door with the least possible creak.  She knew he was on the steps which led below, but he made no further sound.  She had no other clue to his movements, and could only distinguish the rumble of the coal.  She waited, expecting momentarily that it would cease, dreading the altercation which would follow, and regretting she had aroused her son.

“He is quick-tempered,” she soliloquized.  “What if words should lead to blows,—­if he should strike the old man!  How foolish I was to let him go alone!”

The suspense was ominous.  What was the boy going to do?  Why all this delay?  Why did he not promptly confront the fellow and order him to be gone?  In reality, only a few minutes had elapsed since she first heard the noise, but it seemed a quarter of an hour even since he left her.  Should she go down herself, or call out to him?  While she hesitated Bernard suddenly reappeared.  She leaned over the banisters to question him; but, with a gesture imploring her to be silent, the astonished boy said, hardly above his breath:  “Mother, come here!”

Cautiously she descended to the entry.  He led her through the kitchen to the cellar steps.  All the time the shovelling continued.  Whispering “Don’t be afraid,” Bernard blew out the candle he carried, and, taking her hand, added:  “Look!”

From the corner of the cellar in which the coal-bin was situated came the light of a lantern.  Crouching down, Mrs. Farrell could see that it proceeded from a hole in the wall which separated the two houses.  There was no one upon her premises, after all; but at the other side of the partition was Stingy Willis, sure enough!  Through the opening she could just catch a glimpse of his grey head and thin, sharp features.  Trembling with indignation, she peered forward to get a better view.  Yes, there was Stingy Willis certainly; but—­oh, for the charity, the neighborliness which “thinketh no evil!”—­he was shovelling coal from his own into the Farrells’ bin!  As this fact dawned upon her she felt as if she would like to go through the floor for shame.  Drawing back abruptly, she groped her way to the kitchen, and sank into a chair, quite overcome by emotion.  Bernard, having relighted the candle, stood gazing at her with an abashed air.  In a moment or two the shovelling ceased, and they could hear the old man, totally unconscious of the witnesses to his good deed, slowly ascending to his cheerless rooms again.