Mr. Cooper scratched his whiskers and looked at his wife.
"She ought to know," said the latter. "We'll come and have a look at him," said Mr. Cooper.
Mrs. Simpson pondered, and eyed him dubiously.
"Come in and have a bit of supper," she said at last. "There's a nice piece of beef and pickles."
"And Bill—I mean the stranger—sitting on the beer-barrel," said Mr. Cooper, gloomily.
"You can bring your beer with you," said his sister, sharply. "Come along."
Mr. Cooper grinned, and, placing a couple of bottles in his coat pockets, followed the two ladies to the house. Seated at the kitchen table, he grinned again, as a persistent drumming took place on the cellar door. His wife smiled, and a faint, sour attempt in the same direction appeared on the face of Mrs. Simpson.
"Open the door!" bellowed an indignant voice. "Open the door!"
Mrs. Simpson, commanding silence with an uplifted finger, proceeded to carve the beef. A rattle of knives and forks succeeded.
"O-pen-the-door!" said the voice again.