No doubt the fellow had a proper name yet in our home be bore the unenviable name of Ananias. Undoubtedly he had earned that name because of versions of the truth, entertaining though they were. That natural ability made him a welcome visitor in our farm home.
The man’s work in a slaughter house located three quarters of a mile away allowed him to acquire from time to time some small knife or other tool that he kindly offered to my mother. She felt some uncertainty about accepting these ‘maybe’ gifts. Possibly she offered some small item in return.
When one of her daughters became quarantined with a case of Scarlet Fever, Ananias appeared with a copy of the Sunday comic’s and a magazine or two. He valued our good opinion, and we saw no harm in showing friendship. We hoped he would not intrude on our neighborliness.