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.
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