ress he was making in
his latest picture. He was ambitious, pushing, self-reliant. Now he does
nothing. I know for a fact that it is two months since he put brush to
canvas. He has turned from a student into an idler, and, what is worse,
I fear into a parasite. You will forgive me for speaking so plainly?"

Raffles Haw said nothing, but he threw out his hands with a gesture of
pain.

"And then there is something to be said about the country folk," said
the vicar. "Your kindness has been, perhaps, a little indiscriminate
there. They don't seem to be as helpful or as self-reliant as they used.
There was old Blaxton, whose cowhouse roof was blown off the other day.
He used to be a man who was full of energy and resource. Three months
ago he would have got a ladder and had that roof on again in two days'
work. But now he must sit down, and wring his hands, and write letters,
because he knew that it would come to your ears, and that you would make
it good. There's old Ellary, too! Well, of course he was always poor,
but at least he did something, and so kept himself out of mischief. Not
a stroke will he do now, but smokes and talks scandal from morning to
night. And the worst of it is, that it not only hurts those who have
had your help, but it unsettles those who have not. They all have an
injured, surly feeling as if other folk were getting what they had an
equal right to. It has really come to such a pitch that I thought it was
a duty to speak to you about it. Well, it is a new experience to me.
I have often had to reprove my parishioners for not being charitable
enough, but it is very strange to find one who is too charitable. It is
a noble error."

"I thank you very much for letting me know about it," answered Raffles
Haw, as he shook the good old clergyman's hand. "I shall certainly
reconsider my conduct in that respect."

He kept a rigid and unmoved face until his visitor had gone, and then
retiring to his own little room, he threw himself upon the bed and burst
out sobbing with his face buried in the pillow. Of all men in England,
this, the richest, was on that day the most miserable. How could he use
this great power which he held? Every blessing which he tried to give
turned itself into a curse. His intentions were so good, and yet the
results were so terrible. It was as if he had some foul leprosy of the
mind which all caught who were exposed to his influence. His charity,
so well meant, so carefully bestowed,