inflamed face. He seemed never to be quite at ease in his mind, which,
perhaps, was not matter for surprise.

Mr. Kershaw next felt that it was his turn to speak.

"Ah," he said, "this kind of thing makes a false impression, you know!"

Though a man of moderate bodily dimensions, Mr. Kershaw had a largeness of
manner which seemed to magnify him far beyond his real proportions. He
spread himself abroad, and made the most of himself. He had actually a
large head, which was bald on the top, with dark bushy hair round about.
His face, which was deeply pitted with small-pox, was adorned with
mutton-chop whiskers, from between which a very prominent nose and chin
thrust themselves forth.

"Yes," broke in Mr. Caske, "people will be apt to think that everybody who
has a little bit of money ought to do as he does. But, if that were the
case, where should I be, for instance?" and Mr. Caske swelled himself out
more than ever.

Mr. Durnford had hitherto listened in silence. Though inclined to speak in
very strong terms, he had restrained himself with a powerful effort. He
knew that if he allowed these men to proceed, they would soon fill their
cup.

"Well, gentlemen," he now remarked quietly, "there is force in what you
say."

Mr. Caske and his two friends regarded their minister with a somewhat
doubtful look. Mr. Caske seemed to think that Mr. Durnford's remark made
it necessary for him to justify the attitude he had assumed with regard
to "Cobbler" Horn.

"Perhaps, sir," he said, "you don't know in what a reckless fashion our
friend is disposing of his money?"

"Well, Mr. Caske, let us hear," said the minister, settling himself to
listen.

"Well, sir, you know about his having given up a great part of his fortune
to some girl in America, because she was the sweetheart of a cousin of his
who died."

"Yes," said Mr. Durnford, quietly, "I've heard of that."

"Well, there was a mad trick, to begin with," resumed Mr. Caske, in a
severe tone. "And then there's that big house in the village which, it's
said, all belongs to him. He's fitting it up to be a sort of home for
street arabs and gipsy children; and it's costing him thousands of pounds
that he'll never see again!"

"Yes, I know about that too."

"Then, you will, of course, be aware, sir, that he gives more to our
church funds than any half-dozen of us put together."

"Yes," broke in Mr. Kershaw, with his obtrusive nose. "He thinks to shame
the rest of us, n