A wealthy spice merchant had brought his heavy wooden crates to the village square. Steve, wanting to be helpful, spent the entire morning carrying the crates from the cart to the merchant's stall.
The merchant was delighted. He patted Steve on the back in front of the village baker and the blacksmith. "What a strong, wonderful boy! The most virtuous boy in the village!"
Steve beamed. His chest swelled with pride. It felt incredible to be praised.
The next day, Steve went looking for the merchant again. But this time, he didn't do it just to help. He did it so people would watch him. When Kynthos dropped a basket of olives near the house where no one was looking, Steve walked right past him.
But when the baker's wife dropped a loaf of bread in the crowded square, Steve sprinted to pick it up, making sure everyone saw him do it.
Grandfather called Steve into the woodshop that afternoon.
"Yesterday, you carried the crates because the man needed help," Grandfather said, sanding a piece of olive wood. "Today, you carried them because you wanted applause."
Steve felt his face flush. "Is it wrong to want people to know I'm good?"
"It is dangerous," Grandfather corrected gently. "The man who works for praise is no freer than the man who works in chains. Both are driven by someone else."
Grandfather blew the sawdust from the wood. "If you only do the right thing when there is an audience, you are not virtuous, Steve. You are just an actor. Do not let praise become your master."
