ourselves. The Squire has very handsomely given fifty pounds.' 'Well,'
said he, 'how about the poor folk? How many families are there?'
'About three hundred,' I answered. 'And coals, I believe, are at about
a pound a ton', said he. 'Three tons ought to see them through the rest
of the winter. Then you can get a very fair pair of blankets for
two pounds. That would make five pounds per family, and seven hundred
for the church.' He dipped his pen in the ink, and, as I am a living
man, Robert, he wrote me a cheque then and there for two thousand two
hundred pounds. I don't know what I said; I felt like a fool; I could
not stammer out words with which to thank him. All my troubles have
been taken from my shoulders in an instant, and indeed, Robert, I can
hardly realise it."

"He must be a most charitable man."

"Extraordinarily so. And so unpretending. One would think that it was
I who was doing the favour and he who was the beggar. I thought of that
passage about making the heart of the widow sing for joy. He made my
heart sing for joy, I can tell you. Are you coming up to the Vicarage?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Spurling. I must go home and get to work on my new
picture. It's a five-foot canvas--the landing of the Romans in Kent.
I must have another try for the Academy. Good-morning."

He raised his hat and continued down the road, while the vicar turned
off into the path which led to his home.

Robert McIntyre had converted a large bare room in the upper storey of
Elmdene into a studio, and thither he retreated after lunch. It was as
well that he should have some little den of his own, for his father